#{ drabble tbt. }

[forgesahead]

For some reason, the Scions, in all their curated wisdom, had decided that Meteor would be the mentor of their group. It had begun with Thancred advising Zero to look to Meteor for her answers rather than him, and now Alisaie and Alphinaud looked to him expectantly to help usher Wuk Lamat along her path with more than just his strength.

From a purely logical, objective standpoint, it made sense; Meteor was more than the Warrior of Light, he was perhaps the most hardened soldier in all of Eorzea. It stood to reason, then, that he would have the most lessons to impart to those who would come after him. Yet that was only looking at the larger picture. When it was also factored in that he often chose to follow rather than speak and offered deliveries of food rather than words of comfort to the needy, he really has to question the wisdom behind it all.

Even now, with all the time he'd spent with Wuk Lamat, he flails in silence. So much for all the time he'd spent journaling his experiences as he went-- any wise words he could impart were scarcely covered in the breadth of the few sentences he spoke when prompted to talk in turn, and he found that he'd struggled with much tutoring beyond that. It was why he'd preferred the company of other Scions most of the time. They'd been more than happy to speak where he chose to stay silent, wearing their flowery oratory like a fine frock where he would have floundered.

The Scions were not here, though. Thancred and Urianger had joined Koana's team, and though Alisaie and Alphinaud were with him, this time they had wandered off to question the Mamool Ja on their own, leaving him to deal with Wuk Lamat as she moped over her failed attempts to converse with the locals.

"Gods, I've dealt with unfriendliness before, but this is something else! They won't even talk to us!"

House cat, Bakool Ja Ja had jeered towards her, and Meteor saw where the nickname might have stemmed from, though in a way more affectionate than unkind. Her ears drooped as she rested her hands on her chin, and her tail, once animated even when she stood idle, lay still at her rear, as though it were a prop rather than a proper part of her. It was cute, and he couldn't help the smile on his face despite the circumstances.

Nor could he blame her for her frustration. After getting so far along her quest, she's hit a roadblock. A seemingly insurmountable one, given her approach. She requires open dialogue to be able to understand the people's problems and offer a solution, but the residents here don't even want to breathe towards them. An unpleasantness that is not all unfamiliar to him, given his last expedition to Ilsaberd.

"They're like the Garleans." Meteor murmurs to himself. He looks out at the shadow-shrouded landscape and the stony buildings and finds himself back at the subway station, when he had first arrived. The junkmonger, the mender the people huddled around the fire-- none of them had wanted to talk to him, and the few that did made it well and clear that they wanted him gone. As if the environment wasn't hostile enough, the residents that took shelter within it were as cold and immovable as all the grey contraptions around them.

He hadn't realized he'd been thinking out loud until Wuk Lamat startles him back to the present with a "really?" and he flinches back when he turns around and sees just how close she's gotten. She's peering at him with wide eyes-- newfound hope, he supposes, now that he potentially has some words of wisdom. Meteor blinks at first, because he thinks surely Wuk Lamat would have known about the Garleans already, if she's already talked with Alphinaud and Alisaie. If she had, his words wouldn't have been anything new, only a reminder of what they probably would have relayed to her before. But her stare doesn't relent, so Meteor sighs and looks to the distance.

"They... the Mamool Ja remind me of them, is all." He starts, and winces. This is why he doesn't like explaining so much. He's out of practice, and the delivery is wooden, jilted. Still, Wuk Lamat doesn't seem to mind at all, and only looks at him with more interest, so he continues. "Most of the locals wanted nothing to do with us, and when we came to their leadership offering supplies, they took the twins hostage instead. That's when I realized... our way of saving them was pretty one-sided.. and admittedly naive."

Wuk Lamat seems shocked by the sudden pessimism with the way she recoils, but with his flow found, Meteor looks at her and continues. "Everyone has their own idea of saving themselves, I think. For the Garleans, or at least their leadership, that idea didn't include outsiders at all. Anyone outside of the empire were their enemies, so they would kill them and use their spoils to feed their people, and they would survive. Life would go on. They almost followed through with that, before we finally convinced them to cease fire and lay down their weapons."

There's a long pause after that. Wuk Lamat seems to be considering the words, and Meteor lets her. He turns away and folds his hands behind his back, but beyond that, barely moves where he stands. The drone of the forest's insects fills the absence of words.

Then, "I... am I being naive then? Do you think my approach is wrong?" Her voice is too quiet, and when Meteor looks back at her, he frowns. The sad droop of her ears are back.

He purses his lips as he's flooded with memory, first of his conversation with Gulool Ja Ja. He remembers being asked what he thinks of the Third Promise, he remembers gritting out that he thought her too green, too unprepared for her duties to come. He remembers the raucous laughter that followed after that, the surprise that washed away his frustration when he realized the Dawnservant knew, yet put his faith in his daughter anyways.

He remembers his doubts starting to be assuaged as their journey went on and despite her shortcomings, Wuk Lamat finally, finally started finding her footing again.

He remembers himself, surrounded by Garlean soldiers that were too scared to get close to him despite having weapons pointed at him, as if he would slaughter them all at the first provocation, because he was Eorzea's champion, Garlemald's ill-famed butcherer.

He remembers Fray's solemn words at Myste's reminder of all the blood spilled in his heroics. The reminder that when he cut others down with his sword, he could save only one. Himself.

"I offer you peace! Restitution! A chance to make amends! Do not think you are above it! Do not think that a reckoning will be postponed indefinitely!"

"When it comes, I shall welcome it with open arms... but today will not be the day, and you will not be the judge!"

He exhales.

"Despite all my experience, I can't claim to know what the right way forward is." Is what he finally says, and then he looks meaningfully into Wuk Lamat's wide eyes. "You showed me that. I thought you too naive, once, and though I helped you along, I didn't believe in you, not really. Yet despite my doubts, you've succeeded, and now you've come this far. You're one stone's throw away from becoming Dawnservant."

He gazes at her. Even with the canopies above smothering all sunlight, her orange mane and pale yellow fur stand out starkly against the blue and black backdrop. A flame in the dark. A splash of vibrancy on a murky canvas.

"So I'm going to believe in you still. I want to see you use this method and succeed, however misguided it may be. I want to believe your way works, because I'm tired of fixing one evil by causing another."

Wuk Lamat is eerily silent after that, to the point where Meteor's confidence falters, and he starts to wonder if he'd spoken out of turn. If his honesty had been too much, and doused her spirits completely. Then before he can ask, she gives him a toothy grin, and smacks him on the back hard enough to make him yelp, surprised by the sudden force of the blow.

She laughs at the reaction. "Then that means I'll just have to succeed again!" And despite the pain, Meteor is smiling again. Finally, there's that enthusiasm. "I've finally earned your faith; I'm not going to let you down now just because some people don't want to talk to me."

"Don't get so ahead of yourself." Meteor grouses, but there's no bite to the words, and he elbows her. "Let's go find Alphinaud and Alisaie first, alright? If they haven't gotten anything out of the locals, at least we'll have their counsel."

They make their way to the twins, who seem heartened by how determined their Third Promise looks. Meteor nods to them with a small grin, spirits lifted well enough that he forgets to ask himself if he played his part correctly this time.

For the first time in a while, a weight is lifted off his shoulders.

[simpletoymaker]

☆. REFLECTIONS ON A CERTAIN MAN. @miratenebrarum

⍵ . Its lips curl up, grin on its face could almost be considered sweet, as saccharine as any one of the many, many treats dear Ms. Sweetie was so terribly fond of.

     A bit too much like them, perhaps. Their smile kind and warm at first glance, yet longer one's gaze lingers, the more... uncanny it may seem.

     He was preparing a bouquet, little pink butterflies made of ribbons, kraft paper, and glitter fluttered around her, perhaps brought from her. She glanced down, was there a hole in his sternum ? It was difficult to tell. Well, it wouldn't have been important either ways.

     Flowers, each one a different color, each one a different texture, scent, flavor. Some more exciting then others, but it was a good mix of variety, for stagnation was the death of all things good in this universe and others.

     Ick. Stagnation.

     Oh, what a horribly cruel concept.

     Never changing. Always staying the same. Boredom was truly the height of torture. Which was why he cared so much about making wondrous toys to entertain and delight !

     ...Or was it for money ? For diamonds and gold ? They couldn't quite recall and, frankly, it couldn't find itself too interested in that train of thought at the moment.

     Where was I ? Ah, right. He'd been thinking on stagnation, a fitting topic, all things considered, their eyes falling to the bouquet in their hands and the gift box still open on the table.

     ...A gift, for a certain particular someone who'd caught their attention and still hasn't decided to join its wonderful company.

     He wasn't a fool. Master of them, perhaps. But he knew why he kept finding themselves going to visit that little quaint facility during her free time  ( if such time existed ). Why they kept sending little gifts and trinkets, even when he knew only one of the many who'd see it would truly appreciate it.

     Ah, it was a tale as old as time. The quaint feeling of clouds and hell all wrapped around in a neat little pink heart shaped box. The playground crush, letters snuck underneath desks and gifts left in lockers.

     Oh dear, she'd forgotten about Valentines that year, hadn't she? Or rather, she'd been busy with far more important matters. Dr. Wondertainment's Valentines Exclusive Limited Edition series of candies and toys wouldn't produce themselves, after all !

     It was partially certain that they'd been someone — something — else at the time as well. Which brought him back to the present  ( what a silly concept to play along with ).

     He smiled as wrapped a lovely pink ribbon around the gift with gloved hands that may or may not have been scarred and stitched on — who's keeping track, really ? — and finished the last touches of his bouquet.

     This little curiosity of theirs had outlived its expectations, as much as something could, when reality was ever fluid. And wasn't that the point ?  It never knew what she would be, moment to moment, ever faithful servant to the whims of the masses.

     Yet the forces around Elias Shaw were proving to be more stubborn. It was unexpected, and the unexpected was such a wonderful change of pace.

     Dr. Shaw, Dr. Shaw, Dr. Shaw. He was like them, in some ways and in no ways at all. Ever changing, always the same. Perhaps that what made it curious in the first place. Dr. Shaw was quite the perfect candidate for a sideshow attraction, oh. How they would have loved to have him as part of her company. Ah, but I digress.

     Dr. Shaw, quite the lovely toy it'd found in the middle of boring business. Something they could enjoy playing with until the inevitable day they got bored or blinked, finding themselves unable to recall a thing or feel an ounce of the warmth and sparklers currently dancing within their chest.

     If they were honest, he'd expected it to have happened long ago. And yet, Elias continued to prove himself quite the anomaly, a play of words it couldn't help but be amused by. Ah, Elias. Their dear, dearest Elias.

     It should tell him one of these days, how much she was doing for him. How they'd been holding back those beautiful temptations to whisk him away or give him a show so dazzling, he couldn't help but agree to join it. A desire so characteristically childish, to want to have and to keep.

     But. But, Dr. Wondertainment™ was a responsible company, even if they knew how to have fun and not be a dour stick in the mud, thank you very much. She couldn't disappoint her fellow members of the board  ( whenever they came back from whichever existence they're in currently, if they existed at all )  by playing such silly little pranks on their business partners.

     So. Gifts and visits it would be, for now.

     With a chuckle, it added the final flourish to her signature on the yellow-pink card he'd put admits the honey-dripping flowers. Closing his eyes, clicking his heels three times, and wishing upon a star or two, he sent the package on its merry way straight to Elias' office.

     Thinking on future problems was such a bore, who cared if things fell through ? Bridges were built to be crossed only once they were crossed, after all, and the current present was so much more new and enticing. One must live within the moment and embrace the next, not steal it prematurely, to truly enjoy life !

     Which gave him the most wonderful idea for a potential future product... alas, it would have to wait until after Easter. Oh, they should have never signed that contract with that overgrown bunny...

Dr. Wondertainment's Fantastical Flavorful Flower Frenzy™ !

Dearest Elias Shaw. A new product of mine, hasn't hit the markets yet, so no need to have those friends of yours get themselves all in a tizzy— by the way, how have they been enjoying my recent line of Dr. Wondertainment Back-To-School Power PermaErasers™ ?  I did notice that they purchased my entire stock !  And as always, do let them know I'm grateful for their patronage, even if I do think it's rather selfish. Ah, but look at me go, making this all about business.

Regardless of all that, I thought you might enjoy this prototype. I look forward to hearing your thoughts on it next time I see you ㄷ|:)

Yours truly, Dr. Wondertainment.

[loyaltymoved]

This isn’t his body anymore… at least it doesn’t feel like it at the moment. For years he’d had this fullness, this light within him. A fire hotter than the sun, a warmth entangled in the depths of his soul.

He felt so cold.

His death hadn’t been permanent… He’d been ‘restored’ by the new god. Humanity was back, the world was as it was. But Adam… no, he wasn’t how he was. This wasn’t what he was supposed to be. He was supposed to be with Michael.

So where the hell was he?

He can’t even begin to count the number of times he’s prayed. The different iterations of prayers, the nights spent awake, looking at the stars and hoping that maybe he’s just a little too far away.

He doesn’t want to think about it-

So here he is, on the floor of his bedroom, in his tiny little apartment, after getting off work at his silly little job… and all he feels is sadness. Emptiness.

“Michael…” His voice is hardly even a whisper, a tear threatening to spill from baby blue hues as he takes a shaky breath. “Please… I don’t know if you can hear me.. but.. come back… I…”

Words get caught in his throat, a pang in his chest as he tries to find the strength to continue. Who is he kidding- he hasn’t come… why would this change anything?

“I need you. I miss you… without you I’m… I’m empty.. I’m cold, Michael… I… I don’t know who I am without you. You’re a part of me.” His words waver ever so slightly as he swallows thickly, his fists balled up at his sides. “I love you… and I’ll do anything to get you to come back to me..”

“I’d rather spend eternity in the cage with you than spend another second on earth without you… I hate it.. I hate this feeling. I hate this empty feeling, this void where your grace is supposed to be.. where you’re supposed to be.. We made a promise…”

So where are you?

[mythologiaes]

Soooo you gonna explain this lovely confrontation between Ellie and her true mother, and the consequences after?? Hmmm ??

█ ▌ RANDOM Q'S ( ... ) ↷ ft : @anon — ELEANOR CONTAVIUS .

small note, this was how you gave yourself away CJ, I mentioned this to you once. and now look, I have an ask. but fine I shall indulge you.

the idea was born, from the fact that her whole life, ellie had no idea that her mother was truly artemis. she just knew her as mater. nothing more. even on the day that ellie was granted her wolf. she was told that artemis had blessed her, blessed their family. and even she knew, that it wouldn't sit well in olympus. gods didn't make people into dangerous beings. not this way \ this powerful \ this dangerous. a fact that is only proved. when it seems like olympus itself hates her after she becomes immortal, but it was fine as she hated them. her back completely turned on the gods, when no one stopped her siblings being murdered. they had the blessing of artemis. but she never once lifted a figure to stop their slaughter. [ obviously she couldn't. artemis couldn't interfere if she wanted. which she didn't. ] the reason being, ellie and her siblings were her biggest secret. to zeus and the rest of the pantheon, artemis was still the virgin goddess. already punished, for her blessing becoming immortal. artemis offers up an innocent human. stating she was the mother of the 'queen of wolves'. and the one who had begged artemis to change them into wolves. and so zeus in his anger: killed the woman and cursed her soul, to never be reborn, and quite literally into the deepest torment to which he only had the key. and thus artemis' secret was secure. hidden from all. as thanks to ellie carrying the artemis blessed wolf, it hid the truth. it wasn't artemis' aura the gods were sensing. it was her blood.

now fast forward almost 4500 years, and you have ellie finally learning the truth, of just who her lineage is derived from. it rocks her, to know that she wasn't artemis' granddaughter, that she wasn't just blessed by the goddess. that she was actually, her child. but more then that, she was her heir. the one child who inherits the whole of a gods power, should that god ever die. but looking past her anger at being lied too for that long. there is one thing that ellie focuses on more then anything else. the poor innocent human suffering for unimagined sins: and it prompts her to call an audience with zeus. to lay herself at the gods feet to attempt to save the soul. of course, in this very meeting she allows zeus to read her soul. to see the truth of her claim. that she was artemis' child, her heir. and that artemis had been lying to the king of gods, for the better part of four millennia. [ not something the king of gods takes lightly, not from one considered respected within the council. ]

now the goddess was not impressed, by what her daughter does. exposing the secret, that she'd worked so long to hide. and therefore reveals a hidden secret. that the wolves were under her control, and had been the whole time. and as punishment for her daughter exposing her secret, artemis begins to painfully rip, ellie's wolf straight from her soul. causing immense, pain \ suffering \ torture. ellie had never felt such pain in her life, but more than that, the queen of wolves could feel the tethers breaking with the other wolves. the way they were slowly starting to lose control, to become feral. she could also feel the connection to her children, her mate, slowly disintegrating with every second, the goddess attempted to rip the wolf free. to kill the wolf. [ and that was just something ellie wouldn't stand for. it wasn't in her nature. ] and artemis had sorely underestimated her daughter, and the connection she shared with the beast inside. they'd been as one for four millennia, and thus they were now far out of the reach of artemis' and her control. ellie belonged to her wolf, and her wolf belonged to her. two souls, one body, one connection: one that was about to come and bite, the goddess in her ass. literally.

things move quick, as goddess and heir go at each other. both fighting for survival, fighting to come out on top. but unlike with artemis, ellie has a connection to her children. their love burning inside of her. and it gives her the edge she needs. to stay on top. even as her skin rips and tears, even as blood coats her frame. the fight is brutal, neither willing to bend, to break. to lay battered on the floor. yet soon it comes to an end, with a result no one could have predicted. the heart of artemis sitting in ellie's hand: the goddess a crumpled mess upon the floor. as ellie did the one thing no child should do, no heir should do. she killed her parent. [ killed the one, from whom she gets her very life. ]

the wolf queen was now a god killer, and by doing so she had commited one of the worst sins ever. as an heir was not supposed to kill their godly parent. for if a god was to die at the hands of their heir, they take even longer to be reborn. sometimes the soul taking millenia's, to return. others the soul never returned at all. thus zeus had to punish ellie for now stripping the world, of its goddess of the hunt and nature. even if secretly he understood, ellie had done it in self defense. the crime could not go unpunished. [ but with ellie it was not as simple as it looked. ] for the world could not lose it's wolf queen, nor could he kill or harm someone with an active mate bond. thus he makes ellie a proposition. one that was both a punishment, as well as the only way out of this situation he could see. that would benefit all involved. as the heir she would take the title: and become the new goddess of the hunt, of nature. she would do what no other heir had done for a long time, since the time of the titans. seeing no other way to survive, to make sure she saw many more years with her children. she accepts. on one condition, her wolf remains. and with the promise bound in blood. a new goddess arises.

[mirevasan]

if not for the fact she could feel the slowly cooling air stinging fresh against her raw skin, the Inquisitor might think she was still dead.

it's quiet. night has fallen and the gray she once saw has been replaced by muted color. somewhere off in the distance, crickets chirp. distant light shines faintly as the stars flicker above, leaves rustling as the breeze flows through the trees. the large double doors of the gallery behind her clicks shut softly, yet the sound is enough to make her jump. ( she never jumps. she has brought a mountain down on top of her, face every threat with conviction, but gone from her blood is the adrenaline and fight, leaving only the beating of her heart.)

one, two, three. deep, painful breaths as her chest rises and falls. one, two, three. eyes blink as fingers curl and straighten, little bolts of pain shooting up to her wrist. (still broken?) one, two, three. her back protests with every movement. one, two, three. the mage glances downwards for the first time to take proper stock of herself.

her armor is practically ruined. cracked metal, torn leather, shreaded fabric stained a deep red with blood and god knows what else. (darkspawn and red templars, a voice reminds her. flemeth's, too. she winces at that for some odd reason.) every inch of her aches and begs to lay down, to stay still. she raises her right hand, fingers flexing slowly. good, this one was not broken. carefully, she brings it to her abdomen, fingers delving between the large rip in the leather and fabric to touch her surprisingly frigid skin there. eyes narrow as her fingertips touch a half-healed wound, opened, still slowly dripping blood from the jagged gash. she can't recall what caused it, but she can breathe easier. which means her lung was no longer pierced.

she tries to reach, to stretch her hand towards her back. intense pain shoots through her like a bolt of lightning. she hisses sharply through clenched teeth, eyes squeezing shut as something wet flows freely down from her shoulder diagonally to the tip of her backside, staining her armor anew. the mage gives up, shoulders sagging as her hand rests against her leg once more as she struggles to calm her breathing.

the rest of her is covered in healed cuts and half-faded bruises, some angrier than the other. her hair hangs loose and free, the strands towards the end stained darker than the rest.

she was dead. that much Elaria was sure of. she starkly remembers feeling her last breath leave her and it all going black only to wake up in that place which then led her.....to here. she could not make heads or tails of it. she died and yet she was....alive again? her mind did not have the strength to understand nor even try to make it make sense. no, the only thing she could think about was finding somewhere soft to sleep for a little while.

her steps are slow. careful, as bloody footprints are left behind in her wake. she needed to clean herself up. wash this blood off of her, tend to her wounds, bandage them, and dress in something clean. warm. make herself look as if she got beat up at best. surely after what had happened, nobody would bat an eye at her sleeping for a couple of days. it is to be expected, isn't it?

there is relief in the fact that it was dark outside. late, perhaps sometime after midnight? there is almost nobody out. good. she did not have the strength to try and sneak her way back home. as tempting as it was to find a spot in-between some shaded trees and sleep, she could not. someone might find her and nothing raises the alarm like a bloody elf curled up on the ground. and so, the moon is her guide and silence is her companion.

it wasn't far. she just had to make it back home. walk through the pain, be thankful for the faint numbness and pray nobody she knows spots her.

[ofaarein]

✶ indie & selective ISRAFEL OF AAREIN a fandomless original character from own lore.

✶ generic fantasy & fandom verses available. strictly 21+ .  ✶ low activity sideblog to @henosiis. written by KAT ✶ affiliated with;

✶ exploring fate, sacrifice, love, responsibility, change ✶ DOSSIER.

[regnantlight]

“How did it feel?”

It burned.

There was no slow build to the dragonification process, no opportunity to ease into the spread of pain that bled into every nerve. Instead, it was as though her blood had become a gas lamp lit aflame by a single match—and it burned. Everything. Her blood boiled and her lungs smoked and her bones crumbled beneath the fire until they turned to ash, only to rise anew.

To become a dragon was to die painfully and swiftly in shreds torn asunder in order to then be reborn as something everlasting and empty.

Zelda did not recall her time as a dragon.

But she would always remember how it felt to burn.

[timelesstories-a]

“Millie? Is everything ok? You were in there for a while.”

Moxxie said after Mille came out of the bathroom. Millie opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. “Mills?” Moxxie asked again, stepping towards his wife, sounding concerned. “Is…everything…?”

“Ah’m fine…” Millie finally said, sounding stressed. She was obviously lying.

“Millie…you know that you could tell me anything, right? I’ll understand.”

Millie was silent for a long moment, appearing much more smaller. Her hands trembled as she worked up the courage to finally tell her husband.

“Ah’m pregnant.”

The words hung in the air between them in their small apartment. It took a moment for the words to finally sink in and when it did, Moxxie’s fainted, his body dropping to the floor like a sack of potatoes.

“MOXXIE!” Millie exclaimed as her husband fell to the floor. She came down to floor. “Moxxie! Baby, wake up!” She yelled, slapping his cheeks.

After a few seconds, Moxxie finally came to in a daze. “Wha-? What…happened?”

“You fainted, honey!”

“I…” It took a moment for Moxxie to come back to his senses. As soon as he did, he looked at Millie. “You’re…pregnant?” Moxxie asked, whispering that last part.

“Ah am.”

“Oh…Satan!” Moxxie exclaimed. “B-But…we were so careful…how did this happen?” Moxxie’s hands began to shake just has Millie grabbed his hands into hers. “T-This is just…This was just so unplanned? C-Can we even afford to take care of this child? What…”

Moxxie’s voice trailed off as he thought of his own parents. He had very few memories of his mom but he remembered how gentle and kind she was but also wasn’t afraid to stand up to his dad…even when it cost her life in the end. But as he thought of his dad…his eyes grew wide. All those years he was scared of his father, once a very powerful and imposing figure in his life. He learned early on how those who cross him don’t have long futures.

But in this moment? He wasn’t scared of becoming his dad…he was scared of what his dad would do if he found out about his grandchild. Moxxie was Crim’s only son. There was no way that Moxxie would’ve been able to just walk away…especially not after the botched wedding between him and Chaz. And as long as this child was around…none of them were safe; not him. Not Millie. Not her family.

Millie saw Moxxie’s terrified look. “…What do you want to do? I can-!”

“NO!” Moxxie shouted, cutting Millie off. Despite the danger this put them in, Moxxie couldn’t bear the thought of terminating Millie’s pregnancy. Milie couldn’t either; she grew up with a large family and there was a part of her that WANTED a family but she understood that wasn’t a possibility with Moxxie, given who his father was. But she loved Moxxie anyways.

“Don’t worry, sweetie. We’ll figure out what to do. Together.”

[timechange]

MCFLY JULY ‘24 — blind spot.

JANUARY 11, 1986

The key turns in the front door, the winter chill rushing into the house. A moment later, the hall light turns on.

“Mom? You awake?” 

Sylvia smiles at the sound of her son’s voice, putting down her crochet things on the end table.  

“We’re in here, Georgie!” 

Carefully, she stands, easing her grandson’s head off her lap and tucking a pillow underneath. She’s pretty sure the kid must’ve been an acrobat in another life; there’s no way he’d be able to sleep all twisted up like a pretzel otherwise. She readjusts the blanket she’d put over him, smoothing down his hair, before meeting her son and daughter-in-law halfway.

“Well, how was the party?” she asks, leaning up against the breakfast bar as George and Lorraine hang up their coats. “You two crazy kids have fun hobnobbin’ with the head honchos at Simon & Schuster?” 

“It was nice, Mom, thanks,” George answers, way too dismissively for a party he’d been talking about for weeks, full of editors and publishers and everything he’d always dreamed of, “but–”

“How was Marty?” Lorraine interrupts, urgently.

Here we go. Finally, some answers.

“Lorrie, honey, you know Artie and I always love bein’ with the kids,” Sylvia begins, and she meant it, even though Artie had called it a night about three hours ago and was now snoring loud enough to shake the walls, “but seventeen goin’ on eighteen’s a little old for a babysitter, don’t you think?” 

“Oh, we’ve just been so worried about him, Sylvia,” Lorraine pleads, eyes wide. “We… we didn’t think it would be a good idea to leave him alone.” 

“For the last few months,” George elaborates, wrapping an arm around his wife and holding her close, “he hasn’t been himself. He doesn’t sleep, he’s been having nightmares… he’s been having memory problems, too, and I know he’s a teenager, but sometimes he’ll get in his own head and it’s like… he’s not even here, like he goes somewhere else instead.”

“He’ll get so confused,” Lorraine agrees, “and-and he used to love thunderstorms but now he’s just so afraid of them and... other things… sometimes it even feels like he's afraid of us…” She bites her lip and buries herself into George. 

It breaks Sylvia’s heart to see them like this; in mourning for the boy who’s alive and breathing and fast asleep on the couch. Just a few hours ago her and Marty were singing along to the radio while making dinner and laughing until they cried trying to play games on his Nintendo while eating Lucky Charms by the bowlful.

“We must’ve missed something,” George murmurs, “something must’ve happened to him and we missed it somehow.”

“We’ve just been so busy,” Lorraine laments, “too busy. I-I thought it was the stress… with college applications and everything changing… but even Jennifer and Doctor Brown don’t know what’s wrong.”  

Sylvia isn’t quite sure she buys that. 

She may not know a lot of things, but she does know that Carl Sagan from 1931 certainly doesn’t look like that nice young man on PBS from a couple years back but did look a whole lot like that whiz kid Emmett and even more like her grandson’s best friend, that nice Doctor Brown, that Emmett grew up to be. 

She also knows that Sonny Crockett (who is pretty much all they talked about at dinner tonight) is from one of Marty’s favorite shows, not that kid from 1931 with her grandson’s sweet blue eyes and a fake mustache.

She even remembers George begging her and Artie to help him get all dolled up for some dance at the last minute and talking all about how he wasn’t going with a date but he was going to meet up with his new friend Marty there.

Not to mention the date on that Bubble Bobble game of his is two years from now.

When you grow up around liars and cheats, you get to be really good at noticing things. 

“So how was he tonight?” George asks again. “Really?”

“Georgie, sweetheart, he was fine,” Sylvia emphasizes. “We had a great time. As for the other stuff… Remember what you were like when you were his age? I sure do. Any time your dad and I got near ya we’d have to promise we weren’t tryin’ to look in your journals. Even if we were just givin’ you a hug!”

They crack a smile at this, George at least having the decency to look sheepish.

“Whatever’s going on with Marty,” she continues, “he’ll tell ya when he’s good and ready. And remember: you’re great parents. He loves you. He’d do anything for you. Just be there for him until then and let him know that you love him too. No matter what.”

Sylvia looks over her shoulder at her sleeping grandson, a fond smile and a mischievous look in her eye.

We got a lot to talk about, kiddo. I’m ready when you are.

[spikescream]

How strange. Has Piers always owned a lyre? He's surely never bought it, but the lovely instrument is sitting there amongst his other belongings as though its been there all along. The craftsmanship alone tells him that this should be worth a small fortune, made dark polished wood with intricate engravings.

It feels... right in his hands. Natural, even. Like it was made just for him. If he has no song in mind, they seem to come naturally. Working songs, drinking songs, songs of the people of ages long past; ones that haven't been sung in a very, very long time. They wish to be remembered.

In exchange, all that is asked is a story; share a memory of rebellion.

(xoxo fae presents from @swcrdheroed)

The odd instrument is on his bed sitting directly upon his pillow as though waiting for him. When he sees it his heart races for a moment, rushing to check the locks on all the apartment windows, then his closet and under the bed. The locks remain fastened, the closet untouched since last used and the only residents under his bed are some dust bunnies awaiting the next time he has energy to clean under there. He knows the front door was locked and nothing in the apartment is moved. Had someone been there he's certain they would've taken something even if he considers most of his belongings worthless. They're worthwhile to somebody and worth a disturbing amount online.

When all is clear he returns to the instrument, picking it up to investigate it. It appears old yet in pristine condition as though it were made just yesterday. The engravings on it look like flames with the bottom akin to a birds head, a blue gem where the birds eye ought to be. Is there something familiar to this design? In his hands it feels as though it simply demands to be played. Almost thoughtlessly he strums the chords, the sound making him think of songs he's never known. The more he plays though the more the memories become personal.

The Birth of the Yell Raiser

He's young again barely sixteen, Macro Cosmos employees and members of the Leaue's Board are walking through Spikemuth on their way to his house. He can see the disgust on the Board members' faces as they look over his family's city, his city. One pulls a handkerchief out to cover their mouth as though they'll catch something just from being here. He runs to tell his dad of their approach. His father is glassy eyed and distant Piers worries momentarily that he hasn't been heard. But his father sighs, tells him to take Marnie and wait outside, that he'll handle it. There's a gnawing dread in Piers' stomach but he does as he's told. Standing by the front door with Marnie and glaring at the group as they are welcomed to his home. He hands Marnie to James asking him to watch her for a little bit and promises Marnie that everything is okay.

Then he returns home, sneaking to the window to listen in on the conversation. Anyone else would be unable to make out a word being said. But he can hear them just fine. "We just don't think the gym is prospering as it could be. You've been a fine gym leader all these years. But since the death of your dear wife..."

The mention of his mother makes Piers' heart drop and his hands turn to fists. It's barely been a few weeks, and they're using her death as if it were just a bargaining chip in their game? "You haven't been the same. Don't you think the gym deserves better?"

Piers' peers up into the window, trying to get a look at his dad. His dad's head hangs low as the employees stand around him, and the board members sit about the living room table. It's a claustrophobic scene. Piers has to strain to hear his father, who is practically whispering. "We're doing fine. I'm... I'm going to pass the reins to my eldest. He's strong..."

"Cadell. We need the gym open by the end of the month. If the gym isn't open again you're going to lose your place among the major league anyway. Besides, doesn't he deserve better? If you hand the gym over to a new city you and your family can leave this place. Wouldn't you rather go somewhere more comfortable than here? This city... You know it doesn't have long."

"I... I know..." Piers doesn't hesitate hearing his father's almost silent admission. His hands shove him away from the wall, his feet carry him before he even realizes he's moving. He hears others asking him what's wrong, what's going on, as he turns the corner of the house heading straight for the front door. The door slamming open, unbothering to close it to the on lookers outside.

"We're not leaving!" His normally meek voice carries loud enough that it nearly echoes through all of Spikemuth. Everyone in the leaving room turns to look at him. Even his father's head is raised in his direction. "The gym ain't moving, we're not leaving and all a you can go fuck yourselves!"

At the mention of the Gym moving gasps and whispers erupt from the small gathered crowd outside. Nervous glances are shared among the board members. Piers father speaking his voice quiet, even and exhausted yet still commanding. "Piers..."

"All a you have already taken enough from this city!! You're not taking our gym, too!" Piers ignores his father's warning as he steps forward into the room. Sounds of agreement erupt from the crowd outside.

"We're not trying to take anything away, we're just trying to-"

"BULLSHIT! You guys have been trying to kill this city for years! Well I'm not going to let you! We're not gonna let you! This is our city, not yours and if I gotta I'll keep the likes of you out of it myself!" Without realizing what he was doing his hand wraps around the head of an empty bottle sitting atop the trash and the bottle is leaving his hand again thrown directly at the group before he can think twice of what he was doing. The group all duck leaving the bottle to crash and shatter against the wall behind them. The league members sitting jump to their feet as does Piers' father while the Macros Cosmos employees put themselves in front of the board making a barricade between them and the child.

"Ellis!" Piers' dad voice is raised amongst the commotion brewing outside as people begin yelling in agreement to Piers' stance.

"Cadell! Control your kid!" One of the members closest to his father snaps. A Macro Cosmos employee grabs the member, whispering that it'd be better if they left now before things got out of hand. Piers hands grip into tighter fists nails digging into his fists. He steps aside as the group begin making their way out of the house. Macro Cosmos employees having to hold back the gathered crowd who have nearly turned to a mob yelling insults and a few even joining in on throwing things at the suited men. The sight emboldens Piers and despite the way his father grabs his arm he pulls himself free following the group out.

"And stay the fuck out of my house, out of our whole city even! We won't let you take anything from anymore!" Piers following them yelling the entire time with the mob now following behind him throwing rocks, garbage, anything they can get their hands on and yelling in agreement. He only stops when he sees the familiar stage of the gym. Separating from the group to climb atop it while some follow him others continue to chase the group from their home. He grabs the mic usually used for announcing turns in battles and turns it on to carry his voice through all of Spikemuth.

"Everyone hear that?! This is our city and no posh bastards' are gonna take it from us!" Cheers of agreement and encouragement ring out through the crowd as adrenaline rushes through the young boys bloodstream.

"If they wanna bleed it dry we're gonna make 'em fight for every drop a blood they think they want! Whose with me!" It's the first time he hears the roar of the crowd, over time the crowds would grow far bigger. But none would ever be as deafening, as meaningful as this one. This was more then the cheering of fans, these were the cheers of the start of a rebellion, the creation of a new leader to Spikemuth. The birth of the Yell Raiser himself.di

[frcnzied]

-do you know what you did to me?

I never even SMILED at you. I couldn’t do something so simple as look you in the eye. every time you'd get closer or touch me, I ran away. did you ever wonder why I couldn’t do those things? did you even notice?

you were always so sure of yourself- I held all of 'our' doubts. & you dismissed every one of them. you thought I was just shy... overwhelmed by your good nature / kindness - but i still wanted it, right? no, i NEEDED it.

as if it’s something that’s never been shown to me before. you’d like that idea.. I know you would.

the version of me reflected through your own needs was hardly a person. it was nothing more than a pitiful gaze & a quiet presence easy to overpower.

you wish you could have 'fixed' me, don't you?

don't feel sorry, you did control it- ...control me for a time. I was addicted to each & every subtle way you showed me you 'cared'. although you never called to me outright —

...that was the trick, wasn’t it? you gave just ENOUGH. just enough to make me believe something was growing under the surface. something that might bloom — if I stayed long enough. gave enough. believed enough. you're a good person. you could make me the same.

it felt good. to go along with what you said, as if every word was the answer I’ve been looking for my whole life. It was like you understood me better than I could myself. but we were both WRONG.

I tried — & tried — & tried to tell you without telling you the truth. tried to keep you away… but you pried me open and stuck each one of your fingers in as DEEP as you could into every crevice of my body over & over again—

until It was a deep, inseparable connection for me. but for you? i changed into someone I couldn't recognize by being CRUSHED under you. the weight that exposed parts of me you couldn't cope with.

I will never blame you for that- but did you have to yell? the screaming, the threats... I still can't believe that was YOU.

I RAN AWAY.

we've been on different paths since... but why does it still not feel over?

everything is still scattered — like I’m trying to rearrange all of these tiny pieces that will connect to show me to the end. but it doesn’t.

it was all my fault, i know. I'm sorry for being angry...

I'm sorry...

[ovenborn]

She is to never be near the ocean.  For every rule that is enforced in her life, this is the most important one.  The threat of an outsider discovering the closest guarded secret of House Oyster is the gravest here most of all… because the touch of water reveals the curse of her bloodline.

She sighs quietly to herself as she walks along the shoreline, toeing dangerously close to the waves of saltwater that seem to stretch out like fingers in hopes to grab her.  The girl does her best to ignore the part of her that wants to jump headfirst into those endless hands made of sea foam.  Though she cannot convince herself of it yet; this allure, too, was a part of the curse…  The soft whisperings of the sea all around her, waves beckoning her below to hidden depths.  She is told these voices will only grow harder to ignore — become voracious, erode her sanity — until it is impossible to muster up the will to fight against fate any longer.  Her womanhood will be swallowed whole by rage and she will be transformed beyond recognition, both dough and soul.

She is destined to become a mindless monster, as all women of House Oyster have before her.  A sentence thought to be more cruel than the fate the men in her family suffer.

( Oyster Cookie is unsure it is. )

If she is here now, though, the girl wonders if its call is already growing more powerful.  Lately, she feels as if she belongs nowhere else, finding herself walking along the shoreline in the veil of the morning mist as she does now.  But, it is only in the fog does Oyster Cookie dare to venture out this far out — no, this close, to these waters.  With its cloak, she is shielded from the world, because in its embrace it transforms reality into an illusion and her appearance changes from girl to ghost with it.

Slowly does she begin to realize that this is nothing more than a compromise between her and the curse.  Even so, she'll continue to pretend otherwise for a little while more...

Both thoughts and stride come to an end when she nears an obstacle in her path.  Something has washed ashore, she notices.  The girl only blinks down at it initially, mind still trying to figure out its shape.  It's only when a wave swept up and encircles the form of the strange creature does she understand ( when she sees the jam from their wounds turning the translucent water around them cerulean... )

It's something alive, and more importantly, hurt.

She kneels into the sand to inspect their condition more closely, expression growing worried. The girl is quick to act.  Swathing the creature's wounds with her shawl, carefully does Oyster Cookie lift them into her embrace when the ocean pulls back — cradling her as delicately as one would their own child.  ❛ You'll be okay now. ❜  The girl comforts, head against their form as another reassurance as she rises to stand again.  ❛ I have you. ❜  She will be punished severely, no doubt.  She is carrying proof that she was near the ocean in her arms this time, after all.

That's alright; she doesn't mind, Oyster Cookie decides.

🌊 Drabble! @capt3n ( Blue Raspberry Cookie )

[loyaltymoved]

adam's death, round 2

It’s beautiful outside. The sun is shining, and the cafe is full of life. He’s happy. For the first time in a long time. He feels free. They can be free. They’ve done their part… they helped. Now it’s their turn to live. There’s a pizza sitting on the table, a smile tugging upwards at his lips.

Everything is perfect.

He glances over to Michael, that smile still on his face. A dumb little grin to the visage of the archangel that only he can see. He doesn’t care if he looks crazy, talking to himself. He knows what it might look like from the outside. Let them talk, let them judge him. He knows the truth.

He’s about to speak when a deafening silence surrounds them. One moment they were surrounded by voices, the clink of cutlery on plates. And then there was nothing. Everyone was gone, and it was just them.

He casts a glance around, his heart racing in their chest as his eyes finally come to focus on Michael. He can feel the burn of grace holding tightly to his soul… there’s a flicker of concern across previously bright features. Something’s wrong. Very, very wrong.

“Michael-” He feels a tug at his soul, and panic creeps in. Another harsh tug, separating him from the controls of his body. “Mi-“

“No-!” Is the last thing he hears, feeling the grace of his lover ripped away from him. There’s a cry of pain from the vessel, different from any sound a human had made before. This wasn’t physical pain- no… this was much, much deeper. He can feel as his soul is ripped, his desperation to stay causing it to be all the more painful.

He’s dead… again…

[diiistcntlands-a]

Marsha pulled a blade out of one of the two dogs that now laid on the ground, unmoving. A green ooze leaked from their eye sockets and mouths. Judging by the bite mark on the larger one’s neck and a bite mark on the smaller one’s back, Marsha can conclude that they were infected by oozers. She didn’t like having to do this but it needed to be done. They couldn’t have been saved.

As Marsha began scavenging the abandoned house for supplies, the giant canine-like creature accompanying Marsha wandered around the house before stopping right at a closed closet door on the second floor. After a minute of the canine gone, Marsha went searching for them. ❝Georgie?❞ She called out. ❝Where are you, boy?❞

Marsha finds her companion scratching at the closet door he stopped in front. Wanting to see what he was scratching at, Marsha opened the closet door. While she was expecting it to be maybe a rat or something, she ended up being surprised to see a box containing four puppies. Georgie pushed past Marsha in order to get to the box, smelling each of the four puppies before Marsha managed to grab him and pull him back.

As Marsha approaches the box herself, all 4 of the puppies look up at her. Systematically, Marsha picked up each puppy one by one to check them out before putting them back in their box. The first one she picked up was the largest one, a dark brown puppy. The next was another dark brown puppy but a different shade with floppy ears. As she held this one, it squirmed in her grasp until she put them down. Next was one of the smaller puppies, a white puppy with long ears and brown spots. As they were held above the ground, a small amount of light yellow liquid tricked down onto the floor in-between Marsha and the box, causing Marsha to quickly put the puppy down. The last puppy was the smallest one, being able to fit into Marsha’s palms.

They all looked perfectly fine. It seems like those two dogs downstairs didn’t get to them. She sat there hunched over the box for a moment, thinking on what she could do. Not wanting to leave them here, Marsha ultimately picked up the box and carried it downstairs and out the abandoned house, with Georgie following behind.

[crows-primadonna]

What..?

Before, she could feel blood clogging her throat, once the danger finally went limp and collapsed into a pool of red. She did it, she killed him. She was the last one standing. But not for long.

Her body couldn't handle the damage, the slashes that were the size of wide smiles on her body. Before she could even think of finishing off her initial target, everything went dark.

She's at the tower now. Alive. But, how?? She died when he became.. that! She's pretty sure she got hit badly and then took him down with her! So, why is she back? That bunny isn't here. Is he gone or did he manage to get out of there?

She shakes her head, marching away and towards Eterna Village. She isn't gonna give that oaf the time of day. There are more pressing matters. Why is she back? Does that mean death is meaningless? Can she still take their heart or would that dissappear as well?? No, then she has to get them out as well. This won't do. Would it? Maybe, her father can reach contact with her here.

Wait.. Death is meaningless. That means.. She can't be killed by her father. She can't be killed by anyone. Twisted happiness rose from her chest, a smile dancing on her features ominously. A feeling of relief. That even if she were to fail, she can not die. All that's left to do is to try again, yes? Keep trying to leave, no matter how dangerous. Keep trying to kill, no matter the outcome. They can't stop her if she's immortal.

Why were people so cautious if death has no meaning?! This is great!! Amazing!! Right?! The raven's blood in her boils with anticipation. Yes, she can do it. She can complete her mission. She just has to keep trying! It's what her father would have wanted!

It's what father would want, for her to not give up. She won't. She'll keep trying.

[inseparableduo]

B4 I pass out I will add twins absolutely love the concept of drive in movies. Smth about it is just cooler than a normal theater. Probably it’s acceptable to bring in your own food and chat thru the entire film and be fine