#vialacteus

Meteor's weapons rest upon the rack that is set up at the foot of his bed, although his eyes gaze down at it occasionally, and his eyes gaze up towards the window and the stars that seem painfully bright in his eyes, and he finally draws the curtains and douses the room in dark.

For some reason, he doesn't really feel afraid, or nervous, when he feels someone touch him. He feels a touch upon his back, towards the nape of his neck, and finds a touch upon the tattoo he has -- his brand, granted to him by the Twelve.

There is a couple of scars of shrapnel from Dalamud, but they have begun to heal over lately. A scar from Zenos upon his neck. Some marks on his face from intermittent fighting. Part of him remembers something, someone checking to see if he was sleeping, and him pretending he was... The hand that touches his face is cold, it causes him to clench his jaw, and squeeze his eyes shut, before finally opening his eyes.

"Mom?" Meteor asks without thinking.

Silence.

His heart beats. He sees nothing. Faint light between the curtains from the wide and imposing moon.

"Sorry." He murmurs without thinking. "This is your body too, now. You can look if you like."

It was a deal he agreed to after all. Meteor took his sleep shirt off, tossing it on the floor. It was cold tonight but he didn't care, not being able to sleep was common enough for him.

"Did you not like something you saw?" He asked quietly to the air.

He sits up at night, listless, wondering if there will be an answer.

He should have been able to feel it too, that quiet fettering of desire.

Yet Esteem fades into the peripheries when called out to, like the whistling of a distant train barely picked up upon by the ears. The offer emboldens the shade, a threadbare mattress creaking with a phantom shift in weight. Perhaps it was a lingering trick of the mind, perhaps not.

The nature of aether so well understood by scholars and sages, yet the element still continued to surprise those learned minds with rather unexpected results.

Meteor had accepted him in his entirety and while Esteem was familiar with those discolored scars, in both pallid and darker shades than his natural skintone, there was a reverence to the featherlight touches that dragged across flesh.

“Your body is a map that I am most familiar with,” the voice begins, a terse silence following as the clawed finger armor of Esteem’s gauntlet drags over a small divot near the corner of Meteor’s lips, where the bite of a straight razor had sliced into the sensitive skin there some days ago. Facial hair the color of ripe chestnuts had already reclaimed the shorn areas in an even growth, darkening the areas around his mouth and the cleft of his chin.

“There are certain marks that yet freshly ache with the weight of our memories.”

The sound of leather creasing and the gentle weight of a gloved thumb tracing along the edge of Meteor’s right cheekbone, a gesture of quiet affection while the opposite hand remains a ghostly chill along Meteor’s shoulders, the bony landmarks sharp and stark like living blades. It slides and shifts, trailing down the slow rise and fall of a bare chest, ‘till it rests over his heartbeat.

her heart seems to freeze over despite the arid landscape. alisaie’s no stranger to fear and danger ; oft times leaping into the fray without hesitation for the consequences. now is different. halric appears unperturbed to the eater looming over him, as if given thought to the inevitable fate laid out for him. the horror creeping through the elezen’s heart slows her, barely hearing her own voice cry out for him.

‘ this is wrong, all wrong, ‘ the girls mutters under her breath. her legs feel like they’re tied down as she tries to run, tries to get to halric and tesleen, tries to prevent the sword now driving through alisaie’s friend. the shock is enough to halt her steps entirely, petrified, her body too stiff to even glance at meteor. she knows what happens now. she knows, and still she screams as the light begins corrupting tesleen.

@vialacteus​​ : 🤞 (from Tsukuyomi) —  Send 🤞 to grasp my muses chin [ accepting ]

Her breath hitches the moment the goddess forces her to look at her — icy blue meeting honey gold. Ever since Castrum Fluminis, Tsukuyomi’s presence has been like needles pricking her skin, incessant and painful. Instead of disappearing, she lingers; and Yotsuyu can only wonder if it’s the Eikon who wishes to remain attached to her... or if it’s HER who, subconsciously, cannot let go. Perhaps it doesn’t matter. It’s a discomforting situation one way or another. Tsukuyomi may have no hold over her the way she did before, yet the connection exists without a doubt.

"Ah s... fuck... Sorry Sai... I may have started without you," the Miqo'te apologised, though his tone was anything but apologetic as he lay there, sprawled on the chaise longue with his hand languidly moving in his lap.

"When they said you were delayed and.. I wasn't sure how long you'd be..." he'd figured that he might as well entertain himself in the meantime. His thumb swiped across the head of his cock as if to punctuate the thought and he sank little fangs into his bottom lip as he kept his gaze on his company.

meteor vc: YOU ONE SHOT ME IN BOZJA