#neverending mending

[swallowsummer]

Two more knees. Each pattern is the reverse side of the other, though in reality the reverse is much messier, as this is… the mend of a mend of a mend? The pink running through is the original stranded cotton thread, before I got more durable supplies.

#mending #sustainable #visible mending #embroidery #boro #neverending mending #stars #texture

[botchallthethings]

You know, I’d have sworn my clothes never had holes until I started mending them

#mending #what a neverending cycle

[knotworking]

More neverending mending. A wool sweater that is more hole than sweater.

#darning #visible mending #needleart #needlework

[icarusmonsoon]

healed wounds, mended hearts pt I - rafe cameron

rafe cameron x reader

PREVIEW: You and the Cameron were friends from childhood up until you choose to socialize with the pogues. Though Sarah never minded, you and Rafe's friendship ended way long ago up until you both unexpectedly reunited on the kook families new years eve party. That was two years ago though, you don't remember exactly when things have changed drastically. With you and your friends fighting to get what's rightfully yours. A seemingly neverending treasure hunt.

You and the pogues snoop into the Cameron's cargo ship, wanting to get Sarah and the cross back. But something unexpected happened, and you were left with the person you hate the most because that was the only way to safe you.

Healed wounds, mended hearts PART 1

Part II

NOTE : It was only after i rewatched some clips of the scenes that i realize the ship in season 2 was actually not that big….lmao so please just imagine it being a pretty big cargo ship so the deck is pretty high up with a small chance of survival when someone fell overboard Anyway, hope you enjoy! ALSO i didnt proof read this so sorry if there are any mispronunciations or grammatical errors

***

You reached out to get ahold of a metal piece, a single part of the ship to hold your body up. The humming sound of the engine bombed through the air, followed by the neverending sounds of waves crashing the body of the ship. How ironic is it that something that has very little convenient on a normal day could be the sole thing that is preventing you from meeting death.

Your heart is beating heavily that you can feel it on every parts of your body. Sweats crawled down your skin and you can feel it against your palm, the one having a hold of the broken piece of railing. Shit. You can feel your lungs tightened as fear engulfed your whole body and your limbs starting to weakened by fear. Its hard not to panic when you are only seconds away from meeting your end.

You felt your hand starting to slip, your hold loosen each second passed without knowing what to do. Your mind brought you the image of your mom, the only person you can't live without, of how worried she must've been not knowing where her missing daughter is. You dont want to die, not today. Tears blurred your sight, and though shaky, you tried to call for help again, and again, and again. You have stopped for a while as it requires so much strength with no replies at all. You reckon everyone is busy with their own fight. With a shaky breath, you call out. "Somebod-"

"Y/n!" Just before you can finish your sentence, somebody called your name, their voice muffled by the roaring sound of the ship. You recognize their voice. "JJ? J im right here!"

You felt a hand tightly grabbed ahold of yours, pulling you up until your whole body is secure on the deck. Your face hit a warm and slightly damp hard surface, and you can feel a hand holding the back of your head. JJ hugged you tightly against his chest, his arms wrapped around your head and waist. "Fuck, Y/n. I've searched for you everywhere. How the fuck did you even get there?" You can hear the slight panting in his voice.

You shook your head in response. You can feel your tears blurring your empty gaze, looking straight into the endless deep blue ocean as your cheek leaned against his chest. The sky has darkened, tinted with hues of orange and pink. Such a beautiful sight when seen from a very different circumstances. You wonder when everything is going to end, whether you and your friends will even meet the end of this treasure hunting adventure at all. One moment you almost died, falling and drowning overboard. What's next will always be unexpected. "I dont- i dont know J, one minute i- one" You inhaled sharply, feeling your throat closing with shock and heavy breaths.

"You're okay bug, you're okay" He lulled softly against your ear, his hand rubbing circles on your lower back. "I was there with you, and the next thing i knew i was fighting one of Ward's man on the edge of the ship. He bring me down with him, i managed to kick his ass off though"

JJ pulled away from you, both of his hands now placed on your shoulders with concern written all over his face. "You killed them?" You raise your shoulders. "Yeah? Maybe? I dont know J he went down to that fucking ocean"

A small smirk creeped up his face, one that is psychotic enough when you think about it. "Thats my girl. Woo!" He said, both hands shaking your body slightly.

"J, wheres everyone else?" You asked, snapping him out of distraction which was followed by the realization in his ocean blue eyes. Oh my god, this guy.

"Yeah..yeah. Everyone else. C'mon follow me" He dragged you through steep stairs and wet floors, looking back at you every once in a while to make sure that you're fine and right behind him. At times you can feel his thumb rub the inner side of your wrist. That gesture is so very not him, the unfamiliarity weirdly moved your heart. It's a whole different side of this boy you knew, and you reckon that is what the realization of potentially dying could do to a person.

You both stopped at the sound of metal clashing against metal, you can feel JJ's left arm backing out, moving you to stand right behind him pressed against the wall as he touched your left side. Butterfly erupted from your stomach, but you ignored them as you stared dirtily at the back of his head. This boy saved you once and think he's the master knight. "The fuck are you doing? Let's go J the clock is ticking!" You hit his shoulder, shout whispering behind him.

"Shh! You hear that? That's Rafe Y/n. Hes fighting someone" Your heart dropped at the mention of him. Your childhood friend turned into the villain in you and your friends's story. You both walked slowly towards the scene, deep down anticipating for the worst. The hallway ended, the floor no longer covered by the shadow of the wall. You felt exposed, not having something to cover you both from whoever is in front of you.

Up there you see Pope fighting Rafe over the cross, and on the other side you see Ward's men coming to help him. "Pope watch out!" You screamed as you shove JJ out of your way. One of them is coming for Pope with a piece of machete-like metal while he was busy fighting Rafe. You shoved the bearded man from the side with your back, you both stumbled to the floor with a heavy thud. Pain traveled down your back from the impact, but you heard the weapon cluttered to the floor. Out of instinct, you quickly crawled to get them just a few feet away from your hand. But the man seemingly thought of the same thing, as you both raced to grab the machete.

Something grabbed your legs and pulled you back just when you were inches away from the metal, but you were able to shove the handle, making it slides far enough so the man. If you can't have it, no one can.

Something kicked you on the chest as you twisted your body upward, your eyes meeting an unfamiliar vague pair of dark eyes. You wheezed, your chest burning with pain and shock that it hurts to even breathe in the ocean air. But the man stumbled back when someone punched him, reeling him away from your vulnerable state.

"The fuc- Cleo?" You realized it was really her. "No time to chat, distract them while Pope takes care of the cross" she said while ducking away from a punch. You nodded, eyes scanning your surroundings and noticed that JJ was nowhere to be found. Rafe was still coming at Pope, but the cross was already tied up. Your gaze went to the other side and you saw Cleo struggling to take down both of Ward's men. Fuck it. Pope can deal with one man.

You jumped on the back of one of the guy and hit the side of his head with your elbow repeatedly, with one hand tightening your hold on his neck. You released your hold from the guy, but managed to blow a hit behind his neck before he passed out.

You clutched your side as something cold pierced through your side. A pained gasp escaped your lips as pain quickly erupted from the wound, and you felt yourself fell backwards as your limbs weakened.

To be continued..

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #jj maybank #pope heyward #sarah cameron #john b routledge #outer banks #obx #obx fic #rafe obx #rafe smut #smut #obx smut #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron fanfiction #outerbanks smut #Rafe cameron enemies to lovers #enemies to lovers #slow burn #Rafe cameron slow burn #Obx enemies to lovers

[isilwhore]

Leaves Before the Wind

Between the trees, nigh evening late

Were seven brothers saved by fate

Escaped and fled to refuge east

Before the dreadful battle ceased

Thus injured, broken, mad with grief

Their travel paused in respite brief

Stained mail and weapons strewn about

Discussed a future now in doubt

Raw wounds to mend and tears to cry

Where next shall seven brothers lie?

Amrod, Amras suggest the wilds

With memories as of a child’s:

Carefree days in Aman roaming

Ere this neverending gloaming

A forlorn voice hung in the air

Verses of sorrow and despair

In Maglor’s song heard o’er the lands,

A traitor’s blood upon his hands

Betrayal vanquished by a spear

Which greatly troubled Caranthir,

Who grew to place a trust in Men

Found his heart darkened once again

More so than it had ever been

And next to him sat Curufin,

Newly redeemed in brotherhood

In their defense he bravely stood

For he had nothing left to lose

A noble action, rare to choose

Same too for weary Celegorm,

As terrible as any storm

When he arrived and charged the field

With fierceness and great strength to wield

Revenge flashed bright behind his eyes

In hope Fëanor’s sons would rise

And who had suffered most of all

But Maedhros, standing grim and tall

Unmoving, as if under spell

Within him though emotions swell

His one hand gripped tight on his sword

While hot the fire in him roared

End of power, last of glory;

Not an ending to their story

In time their oath will be fulfilled

Though how much blood would yet be spilled?

As scattered leaves the brothers drift

Long waiting for the winds to shift

And send them to their destiny

Together, may they soon be free

#wish someone would tell me my ‘poems’ are cringy so I stop lol #silmarillion #nirnaeth arnoediad #maedhros #maglor #celegorm #caranthir #curufin #amrod #amras #feanorians #sons of Feanor #Tolkien #silmarillion fanart #silmarillion fic #this scene lives in my head #among many many others

[fallenwhumpee]

"I'm so sorry."

June 27: Sacrifice | Obsession | Display • Masterlist •

Warnings: Creepy whumper, multiple whumpers, implied torture, implied public torture, poison, medieval settings.

People would come to the ball to see the war prize.

And the thing, for they looked too battered and out of it to be called a human, would be sitting at the emperor's side, silent and broken.

Then, the emperor would brag about their victory, while the thing glared around with a neverending hatred. The emperor liked to mock them, sometimes insulting even, but it was clear the emperor had liked them enough to keep them presentable— at least at the beginning of the ball.

When the emperor wasn't hosting a ball, they would have fun with the fallen knight.

But the person in front of them couldn't look too weary, or the guests would shy away from joining the fun. No one wanted a mess in the middle of the entertainment.

So, they started to mend the knight after they were done. And despite this covering all of their free time, they enjoyed.

With time, they realised their delight was how much they had hurt and healed the knight.

They found new ways to hurt them without damaging the appearance.

And they enjoyed it.

It soon stopped being an act to fill their free time, consuming all their attention. The gifts given to the emperor also changed, poisons and herbal plants presented with a polite smile.

As the emperor tried their gifts on Whumpee, Whumpee's defiance died slowly, but emperor was so used to their snarl and small acts of anger, and they didn't want to lose it.

They let Whumpee go, with a fake I'm so sorry. At least until they saw the sky. Then, the emperor pulled them back in and saw the fire come back. Whumpee thought they were hallucinating all the way but still went back to their previous, silent glare state.

But they wouldn't risk an actual escape.

They searched for solutions, and in one of their time which Whumpee, they noticed some of the poisons they were gifted caused Whumpee to actually see things.

So they whispered Whumpee hopes when they were ripped off the reality.

Whumpee's fire kept going from its ashes.

And the emperor loved that fire.

#juneofdoom #whump #whump writing #creepy whumper #multiple whumpers #implied torture #implied public torture #poison whump #medieval settings

[naivesilver]

@ouattober Day 9: OCs - Eliana, daughter of the Blue Fairy and older sister to August

Name: Eliana (Enchanted Forest), Alba (Dark Curse), [REDACTED] (fairy name) Age: technically early 30s, looks younger because ✨fairy genetics✨ (see also the funky blue-purplish eyes) Likes: her brother, Ruby, her angery cat Tosca who hates everyone else, a certain dragon girl she is bound to meet soon 😏 Dislikes: her mother, Rumpelstiltskin, Snow White It's Complicated: her father, Archie, her brother (I told you it was complicated) Fancasts: Anuk Steffen, Tatiana Papamoschou, Ashley Laurence TLDR: Eliana is Blue's bio daughter, but was raised by Geppetto since she was a baby. In his neverending quest against fairies, Rumple tried to use her to damage her mother when she was very young - it backfired, but it still damaged Eliana and Blue's relationship even more than it already was. To this day Eliana carries a hefty amount of mommy issues, torn between resenting any connection she has with Blue and being hurt by its absence. She's a doting sister and very protective of her baby brother (though now he's technically older than her and decidedly taller), but also can't help her jealousy, because sometimes she perceives him as their father's favorite child - an hypothesis sustained by the whole wardrobe business, of course. During the curse she had distanced herself from Marco and Archie, who she sees as an accomplice to this unfairness, and only recently agreed to start mending that relationship, with middling results. Human-looking and human-raised, she appears to be very far from her mother's high fairy status and powers...but keep an eye on how the forest behaves when she's upset, if you know what's good for you (and watch out for the teeth).

#ouat #ouattober2023 #once upon a time #august booth #oc: eliana #au: appalachian wine #that's the whole thing if anyone is interested #I have many ouat ocs but she's the one I can most easily describe in a single post lmao #my specialest feral girl 💝

[athousandbyeol]

fanfic update(s) while i was away (hehe)

these are some stories i posted before (and there are some recent ones) (and after) i was on a writing hiatus :)

and it's over before it begins [forcebook] (final chapter)

and it begins before it's over—because destiny wants kasidet and jiratchapong to be forever.

we're the shape of our love (even if it's imperfect) [forcebook]

"you better show them what you got! i don't raise a quitter, but a fighter!" the same wave of relief washes over book like a rapid tide. his body now resides in a forever home, mending piece by piece with the glue of longing and gratefulness. he doesn't want to cry on national television, but force made it impossible, coming to his match unnoticed, flaunting his usual bravado to the world, grinning that stupidly charming smile of his. yet it's so comforting and assuring that book screams, "this is all for you, jirat!"

or book kasidet is a basketball player, and force jiratchapong is a former muay thai champion. they're lovers traversing every time and space, yet fate decides to bestow tumour into force's system. but it won't stop book from loving force with all his heart and soul.

standing next to you, wherever you want me to. [morkday]

"do you still think i feel pity for you?" because there's never pity when it comes to loving day—it's a neverending fixation that runs so wickedly deep in his bones, becoming a second skin, the blood in his veins, the air mork greedily breathes.

we grace the dance floor; so let feelings soar. [morkday]

"give me a safe code," mork demands, naughty hands trespassing day's shorts, outlining the visible erection with the tip of his fingers. "ah—sunflower—" day squeaks a reply, already seeing stars and the whole galaxy when mork starts stroking. "sunflower, phi. sunflower," day repeats, doing the same to mork, pushing down the shorts, scalding his palm with the fire on mork's bare thighs.

or day falls into another pit hole of endlessly loving his phi mork as they cross another line together.

#force jiratchapong #book kasidet #forcebook #mork pankhamdee #day danainat #morkday #mhokday #jimmy jitaraphol #sea tawinan #jimmysea #thai rpf #last twilight fanfic #ao3 fanfic #fanfic #fanfic update #na writes #for forcebook #for morkday #<3

[practically-an-x-man]

Angst prompt-

"Why did you come back for me? You and I both know I'm not worth it."

Oooh good one! Let's see if I can give this a go... I'm thinking Ophelia's a good fit for this one :D

____

"Go. I'll close it." she said, actuators already beginning to spiral and weave. Orange light glimmered from between their pinched claws, seamstresses weaving the fabric of the cosmos.

"It's a rift in the multiverse, Ol's, I don't think-"

"And it's destabilizing, and I can fix it. Go." she snapped, wreathed in harsh orange light. It cast strange shadows on the planes of her face, catching on her brows and cheekbones and generating something almost monstrous in appearance. She looked powerful, terrifying, the creature from every children's story told under the flickering gaze of the campfire.

But he trusted her. He trusted her with his life.

So Peter ran, and ushered the others along with him.

Ophelia grimaced, rolling her shoulders and squaring her stance as her actuators fought to seal the rip between worlds. Already the generator on her back was whirring madly, pushed to its limits, but she pressed on. Her eyes burned from staring into the space between worlds. It was something no human being was ever meant to see. Her actuators were sparking with the exertion, trembling as they fought to sew the rift before it tore apart both worlds. She'd never felt more like Atlas, bearing the weight of the Earth on her shoulders.

The rift flared, a ray of every color that somehow in her mind was read as purple, and something hit her like a kick to the gut. The chip on her neck sparked, and the neverending consciousness of her actuators flooded in. It was easy to see how her father had gone mad, with so many thoughts clogging his mind like this.

Then it was gone. The worm, the failsafe, had gone through. Her actuators were dead. Ophelia dropped out of her vest and rolled, coughing as the wind was knocked from her lungs.

The rift. It wasn't sealed, and without her actuators it was beginning to pull apart once again.

She'd have to do it herself.

Ophelia staggered up to her feet, clasping the devices on her wrists until orange light bloomed around them.

She took the multiverse in her hands. She mended the torn seams.

There was another flare, and every cell in her body screamed with pain. Her vision went purple, then bright, then dead. She was guided only by touch and intuition, even as she felt her body begin to fray around her. She was never meant to be this close.

And then... it was done. The relentless battering of the rift, its terrible energy, finally ceased around her. She smelled burning meat and realized a moment later that her devices had overloaded, searing her skin. Ophelia tried to slip them free and found they wouldn't budge. They were welded to her wrists. Her hands felt... wrong.

She turned from the rift, stumbling over unseen obstacles, pain ratcheting through every limb. She managed two whole steps before her body simply gave out.

She had no idea how long she stayed there. She had no idea if she ever truly lost consciousness, or if she'd only basked in agony with her broken mind.

But then there were hands, gentle on her shoulders as they pulled her up from her sprawl. Fingers, trembling palpably but exploring the burns and bruises that decorated her skin.

"Olly?" Peter's voice was ragged but familiar as his hands danced up to her face, "Fuck, c'mon... Ol's, talk to me. Say something."

"I can't see."

She didn't mean for those to be her first words. She hardly even realized she'd said them. Hot tears streamed down her cheeks, a desperate mingling of fear and pain. She blinked, but still couldn't catch so much as a glimpse of Peter before her- or anything else. She couldn't see, and it terrified her like nothing else.

"Some- something's wrong, Peter, something feels really wrong. My hands-" She reached for the devices on her wrists, but never got there. Peter's fingers caught her arms in a firm grip. She wished she could see the expression on his face. She wished she could see what was wrong.

"Hey, don't-" he started, still holding her a hair too tightly, "Something, um, something happened, just... we'll figure it out, okay?"

She didn't like those words. Those words meant something was really wrong with her. That meant more than just a trip to the hospital, more than just a bone saw and some bandages to get these damned things off her wrists, more than just an optometrist to check her eyes. Ophelia had a degree in medicine. She'd seen more than her share of difficult sights. And that made sightlessness so much worse.

"Why did you come back for me?" she found herself asking, "You... you and I both know I'm not worth it."

He was silent for too long. Ophelia found herself counting the seconds in her head, wishing she could see his eyes.

Finally he released his grip on her arms and again cupped her face in his hands. He never let himself break away from her, she realized. He never broke contact. She found herself grateful for that. Without her eyes, without her hands... she felt more untethered than she ever had. He was her only grip on the world.

She felt him shift in front of her, and then his lips brushed her forehead. He let out a shuddering breath as he pulled back.

"I love you, Ol's." he said, "And we'll figure it out. I promise."

And as he carried her back to somewhere a little more familiar, she realized it wasn't really an answer at all.

#my friends!!! #answered asks #prompts #angst prompts #my writing #my ocs #ophelia octavius #angst #whump #spiderman fanfic #spiderman no way home

[broomballkraken]

Title: A Light in the Dark

Fandom: Octopath Traveler 2

Pairing(s): Osvald/Rita, Osvald/Partitio

Word count: 1823

Warnings: None

Summary: During the fight for the dawn, Osvald is trapped in darkness, where an unexpected source of light helps him to find his way out.

“All shall be mine!”

Vide’s distorted voice was the last thing that Osvald heard as he was swallowed by complete darkness. It was suffocating, unbearably so, and every breath that he took was like jagged ice in his lungs.

Clenching his jaw so hard that it popped, Osvald lifted his slightly shaking hand and produced a small flame in a futile attempt to drive away the darkness. He needed to find a way out of here, and fast. His friends were still fighting that unholy abomination, and he would not let them face it alone.

Osvald’s eyes narrowed as he held out the flame and turned in place. Neverending darkness stretched in all directions, and a sense of dread washed over him; he was at a complete loss at how to proceed.

Out of the corner of his eye, Osvald spotted a soft glow slowly approaching, and he had to shield his eyes until they could adjust to the light. When he lowered his hands from his face, he sucked in a sharp breath past the lump that had formed in his throat.

“My dear Osvald.”

“R-Rita...”

Rita smiled as she stopped in front of Osvald, who pushed up his glasses and rubbed at his eyes. She was still there when he put his glasses back on, and he offered her a small smile in return. This was…familiar. He had seen Rita like this once before, when he had almost died after his escape from Frigit Isle. Osvald didn’t think that he would ever see her again after that, but as he was currently in the middle of a fight with a dark god to save the world, he should have known better than to think that anything was impossible now.

Osvald sighed when Rita’s arms wrapped around him and a calming warmth flooded through him, chasing away the cold that had tried to suffocate him only moments ago. His returned hug was very gentle, as she didn’t seem to be quite corporeal and he didn’t want his arms to faze through her.

“Oh, Osvald, I’m sorry that I couldn’t be there to ease your pain...to help you save our daughter.” Rita’s smile seemed to pierce through the surrounding darkness with ease, and the tears that Osvald was trying to hold back fell down his face. “But, I’m so glad that you had wonderful friends to help you in my stead.”

Osvald sniffed as Rita reached up to cup his face, brushing away his tears with her thumbs. “I was ready to go after Harvey alone but...I truly could not have achieved what I did without their support.”

Rita embraced him once more, causing him to choke out a sob. “I’m so proud of you, my love. And...I’m so happy that you found love again.”

“Rita, I’m sorry-” Osvald cringed and pulled away slightly, the guilt that he felt from moving on causing his stomach to churn and bile to rise in his throat. 

Letting out a light chuckle, Rita shook her head before taking Osvald’s hands in hers. “Oh Osvald, it’s okay. I can’t be with you anymore, and I’ve seen how much Partitio loves you. I’m so happy that you have someone else who loves you so much in my place.”

“Rita...” Osvald choked out a sob and pulled her into a hug, burying his face as best he could into her shoulder. “I-I was so lost, so full of hate. I really did forget what love was.”

Rita rubbed slow circles over Osvald’s back as he composed himself enough to continue: “Partitio he...he never gave up on me, and helped me out of the kindness of his heart. His unconditional love mended my heart, and...” Osvald lifted his head so that he could look Rita in the eyes, and the gentle understanding that he saw in them caused a smile to cross his face.

“...I’m so happy that I fell in love with him.”

“As long as he continues to make you happy, then I am happy too.” Rita let out a giggle and cupped Osvald’s face, pulling him down so that she could place a chaste kiss onto his forehead, and Osvald pulled her back into a hug as he silently thanked the gods for this opportunity to speak to her once more. 

“-vald. Osvald!”

A familiar voice pierced the eerie quiet of the darkness, and Osvald’s eyes went wide when a white-gloved hand - Partitio’s hand - suddenly punched through the shadows in front of him. 

“You cannot stay here, my dear,” Rita said, placing her hand over Osvald’s and lifting it towards Partitio’s, “You must make sure the dawn continues to come for all of Solestia.”

“I know,” Osvald said, a sad smile crossing his face when Rita wiped away his tears with her free hand, “We will win, I swear to you.”

Rita nodded, and her body seemed to grow dim. “I love you, Osvald. Please live a long and happy life, and give Partitio my thanks for giving you all of the love that you deserve.”

“I will. I love you, Rita. Rest well.”

When Osvald finally grabbed Partitio’s hand, he felt Rita’s fade away, and he was pulled from the cold, dark void and into Partitio’s warm embrace.

“Osvald! Are ya alright, darlin’?” Partitio yelled, his voice cracking in his distress. Osvald placed his hands on Partitio’s arms to steady himself, and he gave Partitio a nod before looking to see how their other companions fared. Ochette cried as she hugged Castti’s legs tightly, Temenos was healing a shaken Throné, and Agnea yanked Hikari from the void of darkness with surprising strength.

“Wahh, Ma! I was so scared for you!” Ochette clung to Castti’s legs, and Castti gently pat her head.

“I’m alright, Ochette.”

“We’re not done here,” Osvald said, turning to Vide, who was just completing their transformation. He felt Partitio take his hand, and when their eyes met, he shot Osvald a wink, and Osvald gave his hand a squeeze in return.

Taking a step forward, Osvald pointed his staff at the dark god and turned his head to his most treasured companions. “Let’s go, we fight for the dawn!”

“Yeehaw, for the dawn!” Partitio yelled, leaping up to stand in line with Osvald as he brandished his spear.

“For the dawn!” The others chimed in as well, and the travelers continued their valiant fight for the dawn.

---

In the end, the eight travelers had vanquished Vide, allowing the dawn to greet them like it always had. Exhausted from their hard fought battle, they had all returned to the Grand Terry and all of them were sleeping soundly below deck...all of them except for Osvald, that is.

His hands gently gripped the railing as he watched the sun slowly rise over the horizon, and the sight was one that he would not take for granted ever again. With his mind too busy to even think of trying to sleep yet, his thoughts turned to Rita, and he let out a deep sigh of relief; he was glad that she approved of her new relationship.

“Here ya are, sweetheart!”

Osvald smiled when Partitio appeared next to him, holding two cups of coffee. He took the one that Partitio offered to him and muttered a thanks, and they stood in silence for a moment as they both sipped their drinks.

“You couldn’t sleep either, huh?” Partitio asked as he leaned his head against Osvald’s shoulder.

“Not at all. There is...still a lot to process about what just transpired.” He turned his head so that he could place a kiss onto Partitio’s forehead, and the cute giggle that he had coaxed out of his lover made Osvald’s heart skip a beat.

“Hoo-eey! You’ve got that right. Still can’t believe we took out a god...It’s like somethin’ out of a fairy tale.”

Speaking of fairy tales, Osvald chewed at his bottom lip before turning to Partitio. “Partitio, when I was trapped in the darkness, I was...” Saying it out loud seemed rather silly, and Partitio cocked his head to one side when Osvald barked out a laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

“Ah, sorry, it’s just...very unbelievable.”

“Osvald,” Partitio rolled his eyes and poked Osvald’s chest, “We just got done fightin’ a god. I’m not sure I can count anything as unbelievable after that.”

“A fair point,” Osvald said, chuckling as he took Partitio’s hand and entwined their fingers, “Yes, well, in the darkness, I was visited by Rita...or, her spirit rather.”

Partitio’s eyes went wide, and Osvald pushed his chin up to close his jaw when it hung open with his shock. “Really?”

Osvald nodded, a wistful smile crossing his face as he gazed out at the horizon. “Yes. She thanked me for saving Elena, and...she said that she’s happy that I found love again.”

“Shucks...” Partitio sniffed and rubbed at his watery eyes. Osvald reached up to cup his face and he pressed their foreheads together.

“She also wanted to thank you, for giving me all of the love that I deserve.”

That made Partitio cry harder, and Osvald pulled him into a hug, letting him sob into his chest. When he composed himself, Partitio pulled away with a small smile on his face.

“Sounds like she was an amazing woman,” Partitio said, letting out a sigh as he leaned his elbows against the railing, “Wish I could have met her.”

Osvald chuckled and slipped his arm behind Partitio’s back, hugging him to his side. “I think she would have liked you, as long as you keep making me happy, that is.”

“Heh, well, that’s easy!” Partitio beamed as he placed a foot on the railing and flicked up the brim of his hat as he took a deep breath. “Don’tcha worry Rita! I’m gonna take good care of Osvald, and give him enough love for the both of us, I promise ya that!” Partitio shouted at the sea, and Osvald barked out a laugh as his arm tightened around his lover.

Thank you...

A whisper was carried to them on the wind, and Osvald’s eyes went wide as he jerked his head towards Partitio, who looked about as shocked as he felt.

“Was that...?” Partitio breathed, and Osvald pushed up his glasses so that he could rub at his damp eyes.

“Yes, that was her voice. I think she’s still watching over me.”

“That’s right! And she’ll always be with ya, Osvald. Right here.” Partitio placed his hand over Osvald’s heart, and Osvald smiled as he covered it with his own.

“I know. Thank you, Partitio. I love you.”

“Love you too, Osvald. Always.”

Osvald gazed deep into Partitio’s beautiful blue eyes before he pressed their lips together in a deep, tender kiss. With Rita always watching over him, and Partitio showering him with his unconditional love, Osvald knew that his heart was in good hands.

#octopath traveler 2 #octopath traveler 2 spoilers #osvald v. vanstein #rita vanstein #partitio yellowil #osvald x rita #osvald x partitio #fanfiction #jade writes fanfiction #osvitio

[swallowsummer]

I had to mend a mend.

It was one of my first ever mends (on the knee of my jeans) and so it was a nice chance to reflect on my journey so far. The back section is rather a mess - since then, I’ve learned to use larger patches of a similar fabric to the material being patched. I reinforced the fraying stitches and found a way to add to the pattern.

Here’s the original and the tangle on the reverse.

#sustainable #mending #visible mending #neverending mending #sashiko

[ina-nis]

“It’s hard to be next to you and watch you have your own family.”

So you just distance yourself from them. It’s going to hurt you anyway. It’s going to hurt them too, but they have their own loved ones (already). You know if they’re put in a position where they need to choose, they will not pick you.

That makes you a cold, heartless person, doesn’t it?

Because they have you in their life because they like you, they want you to be there, and so on...

But you can’t control your own feelings, only how you react to them. What’s the point of keeping going in a relationship (of any kind) where you’re just getting hurt in a neverending cycle, and find no relief from these “bad” feelings whatsoever?

You keep people at an arm’s length. You keep nurturing superficial relationships because it all comes down to that: you feel unimportant and not loved the way you need. You don’t get the intimacy you want from these relationships. It doesn’t matter how much people care about you, how much they love you (and say so), it doesn’t get through you.

You can’t connect with them in a way that feels safe for you. Nor for a long time. Soon enough, you’re overwhelmed with feelings of inadequacy and loneliness and it is so, so painful.

Trying to push through the pain only works temporarily, and it’s the same for all other “solutions” you have tried and still are trying.

Being grateful of the good things in your life doesn’t erase the loneliness.

Being happy for other people’s achievements doesn’t erase the loneliness.

Being proud of your own progress doesn’t erase the loneliness.

Surrounding yourself with people doesn’t erase the loneliness.

Because none of these things is addressing loneliness in the way it needs to be addressed.

That hole in your heart is still there, and it’s still sucking up everything around it. You can try to mend it, put a lid on it, even forget about it and go elsewhere, but it’s still there and it will not go anywhere.

The only way you can see yourself out of this suffering is by avoidance.

And doesn’t avoidance only makes things worse over time?

You know the answer. You’re still helpless.

#avpd #avoidance #avoidant #avoidant personality disorder

[rotworld]

15: Roses and Thorns

your friend in the woods often asks for help cleaning up his scraps...and sometimes, for more.

->explicit. contains gore, murder, graphic descriptions of corpses, hard vore, D/s dynamic, sadism and masochism, painplay, self-inflicted injury, bondage, size difference, terato.

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.

.

“Thistle would like to see you,” says the fox. She’s sitting patiently outside your door, blinking up at you with big, amber eyes and pricked ears. She’s cute, dog-sized with an orange coat and a white belly, black paws like little socks. She also has blood smeared across her muzzle. Like all of Thistle’s animals, she smells like the meadow, a rosy musk wafting from her fur. 

“Now?” you ask. 

“Now,” she says, licking her maw.

There’s no point in arguing. You throw on a cloak and start your journey deeper into the forest. The fox trots alongside you, hopping over fallen logs and weaving through the underbrush. You live on the outskirts, an ordinary woodland with chirping birds dappled sunlight filtering through dense foliage. But it isn’t far until you reach the end of the normal, gentle woods and the start of the Creeping Briars. It seems to get closer every day. 

Birdsong grows distant. Light chokes and fades. The shadows are thick and shifting. The sky is gray in the Creeping Briars, the trees gnarled and twisted. This place is in the grip of neverending twilight gloom without fire, without the gold of the setting sun. It’s remarkable to you that anyone would find themselves at that boundary, the place where the light dies and the prickling silhouettes of the Briars loom dark and foreboding ahead, and keep walking, but people do it all the time. Wagon wheel scars dig into the ashy dirt, all careening down the same beaten path, never returning. The first few bloodied scraps of clothing start to appear, hooked on the ends of pointed branches and clusters of thorns. 

“It’s strange that he keeps asking for you,” the fox says, leering. “It’s even stranger that he keeps letting you leave.”

She wouldn’t hurt you. Not if Thistle asked you to come. Still, you keep an eye on her. “I’m not causing any trouble, as far as I can tell,” you say. The Briars thicken. Your cloak tears in all the spots it’s been mended before, loose stitches and mismatched patches ripped out by outstretched, thorny vines. They sway without wind to move them. When they prick your skin, they shiver in delight. 

The fox says, “Everything causes trouble. Every rabbit I chase troubles me because it makes me run after it.” 

“Isn’t that the point, though?” you ask. “Wouldn’t it trouble you even more if the rabbit jumped right into your jaws and you never got to chase it at all?” 

The fox narrows her eyes at you. She looks angry, and a little impressed. 

Your boot sinks into the mud. Red mud—a bloody puddle. The garden must be up ahead, because everything he doesn’t want has been stripped away and abandoned here. A broken wagon, tipped over on its side and infested with writhing, bloodied roots and vines. A chipped breastplate. Shoes and burlap and swords and trowels. They were after the roses, it seems.

The fox pokes her snout curiously through the heap of discarded things. You go on alone. There’s a wall of trees, a brambly thicket that writhes and closes in around you. It scrapes and pricks at you playfully but it lets you pass. Wet, dripping chunks of those who weren’t as fortunate remain trapped in the tangled mass. 

The garden is just on the other side. The wall opens, the thorns falling away. You come upon a meadow, a moonlit glade carpeted in roses. Their brilliant colors range from scarlet to lustrous gold and deep, lapis blue. Thorny stems slither up your legs and leave sharp, biting kisses beneath your cloak. A human jawbone crunches beneath your boot. A man or something shaped like one kneels in the center of the garden, a handful of viscera clutched in his fist. Sharp, carnivore teeth dig into the fleshy mass with a burst of blood and he tears a chunk free to swallow. 

“I think your fox wants to eat me,” you say. A thorned branch caresses your shoulder, ripping open your sleeve. You step over a severed hand, a half-buried ribcage. Skin and muscle tissue shred between the man’s teeth and blood drips down his chest. Thistle’s skin is rough and ridged like bark, his hair spilling down his back in veined, leafy clumps. He’s all earth tones, browns and greens and the stony gray of the Briars, flecked with moss and mushroom growths.

“She was only trying to scare you,” he murmurs. “She knows you are prey for a much larger beast.” Wood creaks and snaps when he moves. You hear a sick squelch when he finishes the offal in his hand, stringy tissue sticking between his teeth. 

You meander through the roses, grazing your fingertips across their velvety petals. “People tell some really fantastic stories about these, you know,” you say, kneeling to smell one. “In the capital, they’re saying you can crush the roots and make a panacea. Or an aphrodisiac, depending on who you ask.” 

Thistle stands, as solid and looming as any tree in the Briars. His steps shake the garden. “Humans say the most peculiar things about what they cannot have.” His shadow falls across your back. A large, gnarled hand reaches past you, plucking a red rose from the stem. He threads the thorned branch through your hair, tucking it behind your ear. “Did you see anything you wanted? I have no need for things from the human lands. I will dispose of whatever you do not take.” 

“Some of the food, maybe,” you say. His thick fingers stroke your scalp and you lean into the touch like an animal, letting your eyes fall shut. “I could try to start telling people they’re just flowers. Maybe there wouldn’t be so many bothering you then.” 

“Humans are a bother no matter what they do or do not do.” 

“Your fox said something like that earlier.” 

“Did she?” Thistle chuckles. Your cloak catches and drags against his rough palm as he plucks one corner of the fabric, toying with it. “She is right. You bother me more than anyone.” 

He seats himself among the flowers and tugs you into his lap. Your cloak comes off with a tug and a swarm of brambles, twining rose bush stems tangled together like a ball of snakes, comes slithering across your body. Nothing is simple with Thistle. No pleasure without pain. No excitement without fear.

He doesn’t touch you himself, allowing his roses to shred through your clothing and loop around your wrists and ankles, sharp and prickling bondage. The slightest twitch drives razor points into your skin but it’s a struggle to stay still. The air of the Briars is cold and Thistle’s gaze alone has you squirming, feeling uncomfortably vulnerable. 

His gaze is frightening. Vivid, glowing green swims in black sclera. His large fingers curl beneath your chin and tilt your head higher, forcing you to meet his eyes. “It is bold of you to return here, time and again,” he says. 

A fern unrolls along the curve of your spine, lined with sharp barbs, punishing you every time you try to shrink away from him. It nudges forward, pushing you further against Thistle’s broad chest. “You keep inviting me,” you tell him. “No, not even inviting. Ordering me, really.” 

“And you keep obeying.”

You wiggle your hips teasingly and that earns you a lash on the thigh. It stings, the thorns rolling across your skin in a fast, tearing motion that leaves a line of bloodied dots across your leg. You hold in a startled yelp but it’s harder to bite back a whimper when it starts to throb and ooze. “I thought you liked that,” you stammer.

“I like it very much,” Thistle purrs. “It makes me want to push you even more. To see what will make you tell me to stop.” He cups his hand between your legs and you let out a shuddered gasp. His palm is hard and solid, the friction satisfying, but the dryness and uneven texture makes it uncomfortable. You grind on him anyway, entranced by the heat in his eyes and the long, black tongue that darts out to lick the blood from his lips. 

Another spiny length of rosebush wraps around your waist. Every time you move your hips, pushing against Thistle’s hand, it digs into your stomach. Thistle encourages you, cooing soft praise. “Harder, little one,” he murmurs. “If you want pleasure, you will have to chase it. There you go…as lovely as my roses.” Your arms are restrained, brought together behind your back. Your other leg is encircled and painfully stretched taut, spreading you wide open on Thistle’s lap. It’s hard to find a rhythm. You get carried away, start to lose yourself, and the soft prickle turns sharp and biting. There’s no way to move that doesn’t sting. 

But Thistle’s voice is a constant purr, a litany of heated adulation and lust pouring over you. “So wonderfully, perfectly obedient. So soft, so tender. It pleases me to feel you writhe like this, wanting everything I have to give. Harder. Give yourself to me. Surrender to my bite.” 

It takes a lot of trust to do this. Thistle’s thorns are his weapons, the maw of the Briars that chews up anything he deems unwelcome. You’ve seen people turned to mincemeat in a sea of brambles. You’ve seen bodies flayed, butchered, reduced to pulp and gristle, swallowed by the forest. You could die painfully here, in his grasp. He could make it last a long time if he wanted to.

There are tears in your eyes as you desperately rub against Thistle’s hand. You’re rewarded for your persistence, his palm pushed firmly against your sex. You scrape yourself raw and bloody chasing an orgasm that’s always a few steps ahead, just on the other side of every sharp, thorny kiss. Your thighs are a canvas of punctures, your chest heaving with quick, shuddering breaths. Blood rolls down your back, heavy droplets inching along your spine. 

The thorns around your legs tighten and you wail as you’re torn from the edge again, those little knife points lodging in your skin. “Hush,” Thistle soothes you. “You are so, so close, I can feel it. Harder. Show me how badly you want this.” He makes you an animal, strips away all human pretension with his aloofness, the only tenderness afforded in his words. The thorns around your body constrict and not even stillness protects you from the pain. Thistle’s hand doesn’t move. You have no choice but to lean into the thorns, to wound yourself further for pleasure. 

You forget how to speak. All you have left is noise, whining and keening, staring blearily into Thistle’s eyes in search of mercy and finding only cool, calm dominance. You want to cum. You don’t want to disappoint him. There’s absolutely nothing else on your mind but the sensations you’re feeling and the sound of his voice.

“You want to do as I say, do you not?” Thistle murmurs.

You make a wounded sound and nod desperately. 

“Then you will cum, just like this. You will find pleasure in the pain. I know you will, my precious rose.” 

His certainty is all you need to push forward. Half-mindless with lust and frustration, you strain against the thorns and hump Thistle’s hand like your life depends on it. A pleased growl rumbles in his chest and you shriek when he suddenly starts to work you with his fingers, hard, fast strokes that have you trembling in his lap.

You couldn’t hold yourself back if you tried. Thistle’s voice washes over you, telling you how beautiful you are like this, how perfect, how divine, and you cum on his fingers with a sob. He pushes you through it, his fingers coated in your pleasure. The thorns loosen and slither away, still wet with your blood, leaving only the sharpness and heat of overstimulation. 

It’s hard to tell when it stops. You drift, hips bucking involuntarily, your whole body shivering. You come back to yourself once limp in his lap, the bark of his chest scratching up your cheek and one of his thick fingers pumping slowly in and out of you. The time after that, you’re on your back in the garden, rose petals tickling your cheeks. Eventually, you open your eyes and Thistle is gone. Only his thorns remain. They stay out of your way when you leave. A relief, since all you have left to wear is a thin, ragged cloak. 

The fox watches you go, her little head tilted in confusion. She still doesn’t get it. Why hasn’t Thistle eaten you yet? You smile and give her a little wave. The jagged limbs of the Briars fall together in your wake, sealing the path back to the garden. It would be easy for them to catch you and never let go. 

But they don’t. You doubt they ever will. There are hungers the fox can’t understand, ones that can never be sated by devouring.

#rotpeach writes #goretober #original

[lacunasbalustrade]

The Sculptor's Skin

You've always been soft. Bruise easily- wear down quick when cold eyes grate against you. This is your curse. Every finger that brushes your skin, every breath, to help or to harm, lingers there. You wear them. You change. You are clay under the sculptors’ hands and you cannot help but let yourself be shaped. With every thumb that leaves its spiral behind, you feel yourself move farther from what you used to be. It's hard to remember what that was. One day you will be something else altogether, pinched and molded and mended until you are nothing true. Barely even human. And then you will change again.

@neverending-symphonia @mu1m1-yum3 ?

#<archetypal riddles>

[idanwyn-et-al]

(XIV||22-1): Cross.

Though vessels completed this task daily, their arrivals and departures both serving as background sights for an average coastal dweller, crossing any sea was no glib feat.

A checklist, neverending, always mending when cropped down. Idanwyn’s father had called a ship’s manifest ‘wistyrwaek’ for as long as he lived. In their old Sea Wolf tongue, ‘western battle’; shorthand for the struggle that one must endure to answer the horizon’s call.

There was the cargo to consider during this struggle, to be certain. Fine cheeses and neatly-rolled bolts of velveteen from Ul’dah; check. Wineport wines, a staple, check. A bouquet of polearms from Gridania, rope looped around their centers in the hold, check. Various missives and treaties entrusted to the Captain of the Free Trader Nixie, hidden within the galleon’s core itself; check.

Too, the Captain’s Regulars must be accounted for. Falkgara Khannmagasyn, the First Mate, the southpaw Captain’s Left Hand: preoccupied of late, but ever-present, manning the helm; check. Zakuro Kaifu: the Chief Engineer, corralling her kobolds into pressing the Nixie’s ceruleum engines ever-harder; check. Miovont Kotelleloix, the so-called Cabin Boy that worked well within the allowances that silly title allowed him; check. Rinh Relanah, the tribal Keeper who could read the stars and thus served as the Nixie’s Navigator; check. Malachi Bloodforged, the attache whose connections were inversely proportional to his free time; check.

There were other able crew to consider, of course; friends and loved ones of those who currently served as the Regulars. Worth consideration, too, were those who remained loyal to Idanwyn after her aunt Hymlbyrta suffered a mutiny, half the former crew making off with more than half of the Nixie’s treasures.

Scoundrels to a person, those. Even the Nixie Herself, the spirit that swam within the crystalline core surrounding her namesake’s mainmast, seemed content to let the mutinous former-pirates go. Her vessel was Hers, now, and Her Captain an ally.

Idanwyn Lluan’s-kin, finishing her wistyrwaek, felt for a moment as if the deck beneath her feet was made of swimming stars; points of predatory light within the unfathomable abyss. Nauseated, she rested her left hand on the map table; sweat condensating on her brow before drizzling to the deck below; air filling and leaving her swimmer’s lungs in miniature tempests. On her left arm, beneath her kosode, her largely-drained aetheric tattoo threads itself with the barest hint of wind aether.

One’s sails will be filled even if one’s lungs strain to fill them herself.

(Continued here!)

#FFxivWrite2022 #my writing #idanwyn lluanswys #Prompt 1 Cross #sea wolf #roegadyn #XIV Write 22 Idanwyn Story

[madefordvarka]

Harringsmith One-shot based on my friend @luminescenthunter’s idea! Currently picturing Steve in Lery's and just saying to someone "Hey wanna see my drip?" and then just whipping out a drip stand for an IV.

Quentin hated Léry's.

It was cold, and moldy, and reminded him of the time he had to visit his friend Nancy in the hospital, and promptly break her out of it.

Before being brought here it was one of the worst experiences of his life. 

Though, he had to admit, being here in The Fog was at times a little preferable to the torture of never being able to sleep. Being sleepless made him see things that weren’t there, a special, neverending torture that constantly haunted him.

At least here death was never permanent. He had his tent to come back to, and the quietness of the campfire. Respite from his old life, really.

Freddy couldn’t get him when he was safe at camp.

Quentin flexed his fingers, preparing them for the next hour or so of mending wounds and fixing generators, gaze fixating on the chest in the hospital foyer.

Lucky for him, he always seemed to have the best luck finding well-stocked medkits on his first try- something that had always annoyed some of his friends. He scoffed at their words, if anything, it made him a valuable asset to the team! He almost always was ready to patch himself (and others) up!

Carefully he swooped down, fiddling the lock with a hairpin he’d been given by his new friend Nancy.

Miss Nancy Wheeler herself.

He honestly loved being around Nancy- even when they weren’t in trials, he liked to spend time around her, Jonathan, and Steve. He was glad that they were at least brought here together- Nancy and Jonathan were able to take solace in the fact they were still with one another, and Steve?

Well, Steve…

The thought of Steve brought a smile to his lips- despite the imminent danger that was closely approaching him.

He and Steve completed one another.

Quentin was always rather shy back home, and from what Nancy and Jonathan had told him, Steve was a jock. He was loud and fun and full of an energy that nobody could really match. Even when Quentin fell into a darker headspace, he found that Steve was easily able to bring him back out of it.

And sure enough, Steve was the one to find him first. 

“Quen! My BELOVED!” 

Quentin spun around, procuring, as he figured, a pristine medkit from the chest. He offered his boyfriend a small grin, as the other man casually threw an arm around him.

“I have something so important to show you, come with me! We need better lighting!” 

Steve grabbed Quentin’s hand, and before he knew it, he was being dragged through the fluorescent hallways of the hospital.

They hadn’t heard the killer’s heartbeat, yet, so clearly Steve was feeling a little cocky.

He stopped them in front of an IV pole, hardly able to suppress the grin on his face.

“Hey, Quentin,” He whispered, the pair of them hearing the familiar jingle of a generator being completed in the distance, “You wanna see my new drip?”

Quentin furrowed his brows. 

“Dude, you know now is not the time for show and tell-”

Steve didn’t wait for him to finish his sentence, spreading his arms in a grandiose motion and gesturing to the IV pole in front of them.

“Take a look at this bad boy!”

Quentin let out a groan, rolling his eyes and stifling the deranged giggles that wanted to escape his lips.

“You’re insufferable, you know that!” He chirped, pecking the man on the cheek before grabbing his hand and tugging them in the direction of a generator. He could hear Steve hum in approval, and Quentin knew he’d be hearing a lot of this joke moving forward- but he didn’t mind. 

He’d known teaching Steve new lingo was going to be a mistake, but at least he had new jokes to look forward to.

And truthfully? 

Anything was worth it to see Steve smile.

♥

#Steve Harrington #Quentin Smith #Harringsmith #My Writing #little do you know they are my other DBD OTP #Harringsmith my beloved...