#( int. brandon )

[blushdrunks]

a closed starter for @slickvinyl from sarah brandon.

she smiled wide at them as she cut up the chicken, "you hungry? i'm cooking up something good. i'm exhausted from my shift, but i was starving when i got home so i showered and was in here, immediately," she said, looking around the kitchen. she took a deep breath and started cooking up the mushrooms, garlic, and onion to put in the sauce for the chicken. "can you put the rice in the cooker?" she asked, nodding at the box of rice on the counter.

[amadoures]

                    TOO   FOCUSED   ON   HOW   EVERYTHING   WOULD   LOOK   TOGETHER   ,   mila   almost   didn’t   hear   the   man   ,   already   assuming   that   he’s   talking   to   someone   else   until   she   finally   looks   up   and   catches   him   looking   in   her   direction   .       “   oh   ,   me   ?   ”       both   hands   holding   her   phone   ,   ready   to   snap   a   picture   of   a   book   together   with   other   different   things   —       her   signature   lip   gloss   ,   dior   perfume   ,   cute   pair   of   sunglasses   &   a   hair   scrunchie   .       all   in   pink   ,   obviously   .       “   a   little   disclaimer   though   ?       i   don’t   read   .       not   really   .       i   mean   ,   i   used   to   .       i   read   a   lot   when   i   was   a   teenager   but   now   ,   not   anymore   .       i   don’t   even   remember   the   last   time   i’ve   read   something   ,   to   be   honest   .       and   i’m   not   going   to   read   this   book   either   …       just   thought   the   cover   is   pretty   and   it’s   pink   ,   so   i   had   to   take   a   picture   .       i’m   actually   waiting   for   my   friend   .   ”      then   a   sweet   smile   .       “   are   you   a   reader   ?   ”

who: open @palmviewstarters where: the book nook

Over the last few years Brandon had called Palmview home, there were a few places that had begun to feel more home than the others. The bookstore was simply one of them. It somewhere he could curl up in a corner and be unbothered for a few hours... and if he was lucky, he could even carve out some time to write there. It was his way of justifying the fact that he took home a new book every week -- if he managed to hit his word count for the week, Bran could treat himself to a new book, and in turn add to his never ending TBR. “How about a deal,” he said, turning to the person seated a few feet away from him, a desperate effort to break out of his own shell. “You tell me about the book you’re currently reading and I’ll buy you a coffee.”

[itsyouch]

I have a confession to make.....😔

I stopped reading Beyonders for two weeks straight....

remember when I said I stop reading/watching when I suspect my fave character is gonna die and I haven't drawn them yet? And if I don't draw then before they die I feel guilty or smth?..... owwww welp that just happened....

Drake is literally done.

HE TOOK THE SWORD MEANT FOR JASON FROM THE LURKER. HES NOT MAKING IT OUT. ITS A LURKER ARE YOU KIDDING ME!!!!!?? GALLORAN ISNT EVEN HERE TO HELP OOOOOHH MY DAYS.

YOU'RE TELLING ME THAT THE ONLY PERSON IN HISTORY THAT SURVIVED A LURKER WAS THE BEST SWORD FIGHTER IN LYRIN AND STILL ALMOST LOST? AND HES NOT EVEN W THE GROUP. AND DRAKE ONLY HAS ONE LIFE LEFT AND HES NOT THE BEST SWORD FIGHTER INT HE WORLD??

oh haha, wait he can make it! The lurker just so happens to be Lurkey! Lurkey and Jason are friends, totally! Ya! All Jason has to do is ask Lurkey to leave them alone right?

Yaaaah Lurky and Jason don't have the BEST relationship BUT IT CAN WORK!

OOOH GOD NOOOO! LURKY IS NEVER GONNA COME TO IT'S SENSES. IT HAD A SWORD. MALDOR SENT IT TO KILL JASON! HES NOT A GOOD LURKER!

wait! Maybe it IS a good lurker! Lurkers get set free when they complete their job right? Lurkey did it's job, he messed with Jason, made him sleep deprived, made him have nightmares, killed innocent people in that one town. It did its job right? So maybe Lurkey is here to give Jason another sword to get ready for the war, ya! That's it! (lowkey delusional)

WAIT WAIT WAIT WAIT WAIT! I GOT AN IDEA!

it's not likkke.... morally correct but I'm desperate.

DRINLINGS! THROW AS MANY DRINLING AS YOU CAN ON THE LURKER. THEY ARE PROBABLY GONNA GET CUT DOWN AND ALL DIE BUT ITS WORTH A TRY!

DRINLINGS ALSO ARE OBSESSED WITH SACRIFICING THEMSELVES TO HELP OTHERS! IF JUST LIKE, 40 DRINLINGS JUMP AT THE LURKER MAYYYYBEE JUUUST MAYYYBEEE THEY COULD KILL IT AND MAYYYBE DRAKE COULD LIVE!

NO BUT THEY CAN'T DO THAT BECAUSE IT TAKING ADVANTAGE OF THE DRINLINGS. GAAAAAH!!! AND THEY LITERALLY NEED AS MANY DRINLINGS AS THEY CAN GET FOR THE WAR

WAIT. ITS ACTUALLY OVER FOR DRAKE.

Brandon Mull set up EVERYTHING so beautifully for Drake's story to come full circle and die, he gave us (me) hope with this:

giving us just one more sweat interaction before things go so horribly down hill. And the fact that after this chapter, the next chapter is when Drake might die...

It really fits Drake's character though. Despite Drake, Jasher, Farfelee and the others agreeing that who ever the lurker picks would just have to try to survive on their own, Drake would of course intervene for Jason. Of course, Drake, the one with one life left, the one determined to end his life in a way that would help others, the one who only ever left Harthenham to improve himself because of Jason, who got a new purpose BECAUSE of Jason, would take the sword for him...

sorry for cutting mid fight, I'm not allowing myself to read any further, I stopped right there cuz I'm too scared to read. So I could basically be ranting and freaking out over nothing, I don't know if Drake is gonna die in this chapter, not yet at least :(

OH SHOOT! NOOO NO NO O NONNO NOOOOO. I ACCIDENTALLY READ SOMETHING I WASN'T SUPPOSED TO. WHY DIDN'T I JUST CLOSE THE BOOK GOD DAMN.

WHAT DO YOU MEAN "Drake coughed wetly" ???? IS HE COUGHING OUT BLOOD??? DID HE JUST GET STABBED??? OOOOH MY GOOOODDD NOOOOOO!!!!!

WAIT WAIT WAIT!! DID THE LURKER THOW HIM OVER THE SHIP INTO THE WATER??? ok lemme think.

if Drake got thrown over board, it's literally over. the waves of the ocean at Drake's disadvantage, and the lurker able to walk on water could easily spear Drake with his sword through the water and kill him.

But what if the lurker threw Drake over board to get to Jason again, what if it's getting rid of interference? Jasher also intervened, if the lurker killed Jasher, would he crush the amar so he can't grow back? If an Amar Kabal is a target for a lurker, would the lurker keep coming back every time the seedman grows back? Is there this kind of ping that keep the lurker on the seedman until they use all their lives?

Did Maldor put in a special request to not bother with anyone who's not the original target? Is Jason going to have to face the lurker despite Drake and Jasher's attempt to help? Is Drake gonna keep throwing himself on the lurker to save Jason? Is he going to get more desperate every time the lurker ignores him? Is the lurker gonna keep pushing past them to get to Jason?

I'M OVERTHINKING THIS. NOTHING EVEN HAPPENED YET.

I also wanted to mention:

Brandon Mull really knows how to write his characters, I know it's his job, but Brandon Mull writes child character so well.

Jason is always trying to do his best and help his team in dangerous situations even in spite of fear; but at the end of the day, Jason is still a kid, he's still 13, how much more could he possibly take? He's seen people die in front of him, some friends, some innocent strangers, he's been tortured, isolated, and nearly killed himself. He is not getting out of this without any lingering traumas and issues, it's to late now to not be effected by any of this. He is still a kid, he still gets scared.

But now that I've drawn Drake, there is no getting around it..... I've been ignorant for too long now, tonight..... I will finish the chapter....

its not like I have a choice cuz my friend will literally kill me if I stall any longer......

[onlycosmere]

Brandon Sanderson doing a reading from Stormlight 5.

Transcript of the reading is below:

Chapter Shallan One

Shallan lingered atop Lasting Integrity, the great fortress of the honorspren, thinking about all the people she'd been. The way she changed based on perspective. Indeed, life was largely about perspective. Like this strange structure: a hollow, rectangular block hundreds of feet tall, dominating Shadesmar's landscape. People—spren—lived along the inside walls, walking up and down them, ignoring conventions of gravity. Looking down along one of the inside walls could be stomach-churning, unless you changed your perspective. Unless you convinced yourself that walking up and down that wall was normal. Whether a person was strong or not wasn't usually subject to debate; yet if gravity could be a matter of opinion...

She turned away from the heart of Lasting Integrity and walked along the very top of the wall, looking out to survey Shadesmar. Rolling ocean of beads in one direction; jagged obsidian highlands lined with crystalline trees in the other. On the wall with her, an even more daunting sight: two spren with heads made of geometric lines, each wearing a robe of some too-stiff, glossy black material.

Two spren.

She'd bonded two. One during her childhood, one as an adult. She'd hurt the first and suppressed the memory. Shallan knelt down before Testament, her original spren. The cryptic sat with her back to the stone railing. The lines and pattern that made up her head were crooked, like broken twigs. Int he center, the lines were scratched and rough, as if someone had taken a knife to them. More telling, her pattern was almost frozen.

Nearby, Pattern's head pulsed like a vibrant heart, always moving, always forming some new geometric display. Comparing the two broke Shallan's heart. She had done this to Testament by rejecting the bond after using her Shardblade to kill her mother.

Testament reached out with a long-fingered hand, and Shallan, pained, took it. It gripped hers lightly. But Shallan got the sense that it was all the strength Testament had. Testament responded to being a deadeye differently from Maya, who stood nearby with Adolin and Kelek. Maya had always seemed strong of body, even as a deadeye. Spren broke in different ways, it appeared. Just like people.

Testament squeezed Shallan's hand again, bearing no expression but that torpid motion of lines. "Why?" Shallan asked. "Why don't you hate me?"

Pattern rested his hand on Shallan's shoulder. "We both knew the danger, the sacrifice in bonding to humans again."

"I hurt her."

"Yet, here you are," Pattern said, "able to stand tall. Able to control the Surges. Able to protect the world."

"She should hate me," Shallan whispered. "But there's no vitriol in the way she holds my hand. No judgement in the way she remains with us."

"Because the sacrifice was worth something, Shallan," Pattern said, uncharacteristically reserved. "It worked. In the end, you recovered, did better. I am still here, and remarkably, I am not even a little bit dead. I do not think you will kill me at all, Shallan. I am very happy about that."

"Can I heal her?" Shallan asked. "Maybe if I bond her again?"

"I think, after talking to Kelek," Pattern said, "I think you are still bonded to her."

"But..." Shallan looked over her shoulder at him. "I broke the bond. That did this."

"Some breaks are messy," Pattern said. "A slice with a sharpened knife is clean. A slice with a dull one is ragged. Your break, done by a child without full intent, is like the one ragged. In some ways, that makes it worse. But it does mean there is still some Connection between you two."

"So..."

"So, no," Pattern said. "I do not think merely saying words again would heal her." His head pattern spun a little more slowly, as if he were contemplating something profound. "These numbers are unfamiliar, Shallan. Strange. Irrational. And a sequence I do not understand. I mean... I mean we are walking on unfamiliar ground. A better metaphor for you, yes. Unfamiliar ground."

In the deep past, deadeyes did not exist. It was what they had learned, in part, from the honorspren and from Maya. The deadeyes—all of them except Testament—had been bonded to ancient Radiants before the Recreance. Together, they had rejected their oaths, human and spren alike. They thought it would cause a painful but survivable split. Instead, something had gone terribly wrong. The result had been the deadeyes. The explanation might lie with Kelek, the very person Shallan had been sent to Lasting Integrity to kill.

She squeezed Testament's hand. "I'm going to help you," Shallan whispered. "Whatever it takes." Testament didn't respond, but Shallan leaned in, wrapping her arms around the cryptic. Pattern's robe always felt hard, yet Testament's bent like cloth. "Thank you," Shallan said, for coming to me when I was young. Thank you for protecting me. I still do not remember it all, but thank you."

The cryptic slowly but deliberately put her arms around Shallan and squeezed back.

"Rest, now," Shallan said, wiping her eyes and standing up. "I'm going to figure this out."

* * *

Shallan and Pattern left Testament to rest and crossed the wall at Lasting Integrity to meet with Adolin, Maya, and the Herald Kelek, who were speaking with a kind of spren that Kelek called a seon. She manifest as a hovering ball of light roughly the size of a head, with an odd symbol at the center. Other than them, the wall top was empty this day.

"You don't remember?" Pattern asked softly as he and Shallan walked. "The events with Testament? I thought you did. I thought, with Veil gone..."

"Veil is not gone," Shallan said. "She's part of me, like she always was."

"I don't understand."

"It's hard to explain," Shallan said, "and I'm not sure I've entirely figured it out. Healing is not an event, Pattern, but a process. I've incorporated Veil into myself so she doesn't take control any longer, but she's not gone. Veil is me, but Veil is not always Shallan."

"But... you are Shallan."

"Imagine it," she said, "as Veil moving to the back of the wagon as we ride to the future. She's still there, coaching me, and we're both aware of the world." There was more to it than that, of course. Shallan had projected some uncomfortable aspects of herself into Veil; now she had to face them. She'd worried that Adolin would find it difficult, but, well... Adolin Kholin was storming wonderful. After the discussion last night, he seemed to understand. Together, they knew that there was work to do, but Shallan had taken an enormous step toward healing. And along with it, acknowledged something important: she didn't deserve hatred, but understanding. It was hard to believe, but Veil insisted they try anyway.

"But..." Pattern said, "Radiant is still separate?"

"More separate," Shallan said.

"Mmm... so still in the front of the wagon."

"Yes. That might change. It might not need to change. I'm figuring this out as I go, Pattern. But I do feel better. More importantly, I no longer need Veil to stand between me and the memories."

"So you do remember!"

"Yes and no," Shallan said. "It's a jumble. I was young, and the events were traumatic, and there was so much pain associated with memories of my mother. I need time to process."

"Mmm... humans are squishy. Not just bodies; minds, too. Memories, too. Ideas, too. Mmm..." He seemed pleased by that.

As a child, she'd bonded a spren. Something her mother had not liked. A man had come, either to hurt Shallan or separate her from Testament. Her father had fought him, and during their struggle, Shallan's mother had come at her with a knife. In self-defense, Shallan had killed her mother with an early manifestation of Testament as a Shardblade. Shallan, in trauma, had rejected her nascent oath and buried those memories. But if her bond with Testament had never been fully broken, what did that mean? And which memories of those days between her mother's death and the arrival of Pattern... which of those involved Testament?

I knew I had a Shardblade, long before I had bonded Pattern. I thought about it in Kharbranth. She'd convinced herself that the weapon belonged to her father and had been kept in a safe. She'd gone there before leaving and drawn it out to dismiss it, pretending it was an ordinary Blade, pretending she had ten seconds to summon it. However, a part of her had known, even then, it was Testament, a friend to whom she'd done great harm. That was the one thing Shallan clearly remembered. Testament was her friend. A dimpled pattern on the wall that had delighted, then engaged, then protected a young girl.

Her spren had never been as talkative as Pattern. Indeed, Shallan could only remember rare, soft fragments of speech, encouraging her to stand against the darkness in her family. Shallan had loved her mysterious spren dearly. Though her memories were jumbled, the emotions shone through the pain. Strength could be a matter of perception, sometimes, and today Shallan found she could choose strength.

They approached Adolin, Maya, and Kelek. Shallan still found it incredible that this man was one of the Heralds of the Almighty. The short, balding fellow kept rubbing his hands together, as if washing them with an invisible soap and water. Adolin and Maya practically towered over him as they spoke to the ball of light.

Maya was obviously paying attention. She wasn't completely healed; her eyes were still scratched out, and her coloring wan brown instead of vibrant green like the others of her kind, but she was getting better. She no longer wandered off or just stared blankly during conversations. She was even starting to talk more, here and there.

"I worry about what is to come," the ball of light was saying. It had transformed into an approximation of Wit's face, made all of soft white-blue light, and spoke with his voice. The spren was a way to contact him, as they'd discovered a few days ago. "The war is about to intensify. It all rests upon the contest of champions. Odium's chosen warrior against whomever old Dalinar chooses."

"Father will choose himself," Adolin said. "When the Blackthorn needs to be certain something is done right, he will do it himself." Adolin paused, then glanced at Maya. "Storm him, he's probably our best chance, though."

"Wit," Shallan said. "It's really happening?"

"It is indeed. The contest is set, contracts agreed to. Shallan, they've set it for ten days from now."

"So soon?" Shallan asked. "Storms. Where?"

"Urithiru," Adolin said, arms folded. "They've already sent Windrunners to get us, apparently. Should arrive today." Shallan chewed on that, trying to to feel emotional whiplash. It had taken weeks to reach Lasting Integrity, but Windrunners could have them back to Urithiru within the day, depending on how much Stormlight they brought.

She found herself eager to return. She'd had enough of the honorspren and their elitism. She missed blue skies and plants that didn't crinkle when you touched them. Though Shadesmar had a sun, it was distant and cold. She could never thrive here. Plus, as she'd indicated to Testament, she had work to do.

"Wit," Shallan said, stepping closer, the glowing version of his face focused on her. "My brothers are safe? You're certain?"

"Very certain, Brilliant One," he said back, soft. "You're sure the Ghostbloods will move against you?"

"Yes," she said. After a year and a half of flirting with the Ghostbloods, she'd finally stepped up and said no. Doing so had essentially declared war on them. She found Adolin's hand for support. He knew the entire story, now. "Wit, I know their faces, their plans. I'm likely the greatest threat on the planet to their organization, and they've tried to kill Jasnah for less. Everyone I love is in danger."

"I have to manage Dalinar and try to prepare him," Wit said, "but I think I can help you, as well. I've been watching Mraize's little crew; I'll send your people my drawings of their members. But take care, Shallan. I know this group and their leader; they can be brutal."

"As can I," Shallan whispered. She glanced at Kelek, who was staring out over the bead ocean and the deadeyed spren who still stood on the shore. Despite him, she felt safe here, with Pattern, Adolin, and Maya. Safe enough to voice it. "Wit, I'm worried, though. Am I ready?"

"I ask myself that same question, now and then," he said. "And, Shallan, I'm ten thousand years old."

"During the trip," she said, "I started to create a new persona, Wit. Formless. A version of me, but..." How did she explain it? "A version of me with no face. A version of me who could do terrible things. I walked away from it, Wit, but that capacity is still inside of me."

"Shallan," he said, and she looked up, meeting his eyes. "If it weren't for that capacity, then what good would choices be? If we never had the power to do terrible things, then what heroism would it be to resist?"

"But..."

"Did you turn it away?" he asked. And Adolin squeezed her hand.

"Yes."

"Then heroism it is, Shallan."

"I'm remembering what I did to my mother," she said. "And my father. And, to a lesser extent, Tyn and now Mraize. I'm going to have to kill him, Wit. Is that my destiny? To kill every person who has ever mentored me?" In that, finally, her fears found voice. Did it sound silly, foolish, ridiculous? This pattern she'd seen in her life?

Wit did not laugh, though, and he considered himself an expert on what was ridiculous. "Would that any of us," he said, "could protect ourselves from the costs of heroism. But, again, if there were no costs, no sacrifice, then would it be heroism at all? I cannot promise you that it will be easy, Shallan, but I'm proud of you."

"I'm proud of you," Radiant whispered.

"I'm proud of you," Veil—the part of her that was Veil—agreed.

"Thank you," she said.

"I have to go," Wit said, "but I'll leave you with this. The Ghostbloods want something extremely valuable, and you have the key to it standing with you right now. If you want to destroy them, you might not need to kill every last one of them. Instead, you might just need a powerful leverage over them."

The glowing sphere melted from his face, back to a sphere. "He's gone," the spren said. "I'm sorry."

Wit's final words lingered with Shallan, reinforcing something she'd been considering: a way to protect Roshar from the Ghostbloods. And indeed, she knew what their next target was likely to be. They'd sent her to Lasting Integrity to get intel on one of the Unmade, and the Herald standing with her had the secrets they all wanted to know.

"I need," she said to Kelek, "to know everything you know about Ba-Ado-Mishram.

The Herald wrung his hands and looked to the side, as if seeking to escape.

"We're not going to hurt you," Adolin said calmly. "You know that by now."

"I do," Kelek said. "It's just... I wasn't supposed to be involved. None of us are."

"I don't think the other Heralds follow that," Shallan noted, folding her arms. "What did you do, Kelek?"

"Not much," he said, putting his hand to his head. "I... I can't do much, these days. I don't know why. I can't decide. I..." He looked up at them and then formed fists, pulling them close up to his chest. "I was at Urithiru when the plan to capture Mishram was conceived. Then I joined them on their mission. I guess I'm the only one alive who actually knows what happened to her. It's why the Ghostbloods and their cursed Lord of Scars want me."

"Just tell us," Shallan said.

"Some of us learned you could capture spren inside gemstones," he explained. "Mishram, for all her power, was a spren. The Radiants prepared a flawless heliodor, the color of sunlight, and they trapped her inside, and then they hid her prison. Not in the Physical Realm, and not in Shadesmar." He bit his lip between his teeth, then forced out another part. "In the Spiritual Realm. Melishi hid it there."

"How?" Shallan asked, sharing a look with Adolin."

"I don't know," Kelek said, backing away. "I don't know. But now... now they'll send more people for me, won't they? They'll trap me in a gemstone; or they think they'll be able to." He looked to the two of them, wide-eyed, and fled toward the way down. None of them gave chase. This was, unforunately, usual behavior for Kelek.

Maya grunted softly, watching him go. "He's gotten a lot worse," she said.

Shallan started. "You knew him?"

"Met him a few times," Maya said, then took a deep breath. "Never... never thought much of him, even then."

"Well," Shallan said, "we know something more about Mishram, at least. Her prison is part of what Mraize has been hunting for a long time now, I suspect. I might need to find it first, before he can do so."

"Ba-Ado-Mishram," Adolin said, thoughtful, leaning back against the wall's battlements. "The most powerful of the Unmade. What would the Ghostbloods want with her, though?"

"Mmm," Pattern said. "Power. So much power. She was nearly a god. She bonded the singers, once. Could Mraize be wanting to do something similar?"

Shallan shivered, considering and thinking of Mraize and his master Iyatil, somehow commanding the entirety of the enemy army. Was that possible? "Whatever the reason," Shallan said, "I have to stop him."

"Her prison is in the Spiritual Realm, though?" Adolin said, frowning. "What does that even mean?"

"Mmm," Pattern said, "means we will never be able to find it."

"Surely it's possible," Shallan said. "The ancient Radiants put it there; we should be able to take it out."

"You don't understand," Pattern said, holding hands apart and gesturing in his way. "You think Shadesmar is odd, yes? Black sky, little sun, Pattern with arms and legs for perambulating." His head spun a little faster. "The Spiritual Realm is stranger by orders of magnitude. It is a place where the future blends with the present. The past echoes, like the striking of a clock. Time and distance stretch, like numbers, infinitely repeating. It is where gods live, and even baffles some of them."

Shallan took that in, then glanced at Testament, huddled in the shadow of the wall further back along the walk. "Our best guess," she said, "is that the deadeyes were created because Mishram was imprisoned, right?"

"Agreed," Pattern said. "Mishram became like a god to the singers, the parshmen. She connected to Roshar, and echoes of that filtered to the spren. Ah, so wonderfully odd. Her imprisonment is the reason broken bonds now have such an effect on the spren."

"It's because," Maya said, "humans have no Honor. The god, I mean... I heard that... that Mishram had been captured. I heard that... the Radiants would destroy the world. That is why I decided.... decided it was done." She shook her head. "I don't know it all. I'd... like to. Considering the breaking... what the breaking... breaking the bond did to me..."

That day, the day Mishram had been captured, something deeper had happened, an event connecting humankind, Honor, spren, and the bonds. "We need to figure out how Mishram or her prison has power over bonds," Shallan said, looking to Pattern. "We need to go into the Spiritual Realm and find that prison, however difficult it is."

His pattern slowed, then finally he laced his fingers together. "Very well. Though, you know what I said when I said I was sure you wouldn't get me killed?"

"Yes."

"I should like," he declared, "to make a retraction.

 

Chapter Shallan Two

It was nice for Shallan to take a few hours to think, for once. Sitting, wearing a bright blue havah, rather than her traveling clothing, settled at the top row of the stone, open-air forum within Lasting Integrity, drawing. How long had it been since she'd simply let herself draw? She'd sketched a little during her trip, but that felt like an eternity ago.

She relaxed, flowing with the drawing, a depiction of the vertigo she felt looking up along the inside walls of Lasting Integrity. A surreal painting, like something from one of the older art movements, where perspective was intentionally alien and off-putting. She liked to think that the old surrealists had made contact with spren in Shadesmar, warping their minds to new ways of seeing things. Though she'd never been quite as good with landscapes as she was with people, she was proud of the sense her sketch gave of falling. Yet into what? You could not see, because the unnatural perspective held your eyes upward.

Like others she'd done today, a strange face kept sneaking into the art. In this case, she'd absently warped the shadings of one wall into that face. Feminine, a singer with angular carapace and shadows and curves forming a strata-like design on her face. Shallan flipped through her sketchbook. Each drawing done today had that singer face hidden somewhere, and she didn't remember making them. She'd done something similar at Urithiru, where the presence of an Unmade had warped her sketches. She tried not to let it disturb her quite so much, this time. Then, it had been a message. Was there a similar one, now?

She looked toward Adolin, who paced at the center of the forum, a place where just a few days before he'd been on trial. Today, he'd been joined by Godeke, a lanky Edgedancer. Shallan's agents had joined them, as well—Ishnah, Vathah, and Beryl—along with their cryptics. Together, they waited for the Windrunners, and for the fruits of some final efforts in Lasting Integrity. She started another sketch as they waited.

In the end, twelve arrived. Twelve honorspren, from a population of hundreds. That was how many showed up in response to Adolin's call to arms. He and Godeke greeted each one with a smile, but she knew he'd expected more.

One other did arrive. Notum, the former sea captain, still had his unique facial hair, though he walked on unsteady feet. They still didn't know why he'd been assaulted by those Tukari that Adolin had saved him from. Notum didn't join Godeke and Adolin, but instead walked down the steps to join Shallan. "Radiant Kholin?" he said.

That was still odd to hear, even a year after the wedding. It hadn't been assumed that she would take Adolin's name. Among the Alethi lighteyes, either party was equally likely to keep their name as adopt a new one. In her case, she was needed in the Kholin line of succession. She doubted she'd take a throne that Adolin had turned down, but Dalinar wanted people he trusted in line. Her adoption in the Kholin house would strengthen their claim, should it come to that. In explaining this to her, Dalinar and Navani had been speaking pragmatically. But Shallan knew she'd remember that day differently. For her, it was the day when a set of parents had, for the first time, wanted her.

Notum settled down beside her. "Your mission was a success. Twelve new Radiants."

"We expected more, though," Radiant said, emerging. "After the support Adolin got at the trial, I anticipated an excellent recruitment effort."

"A good number of the honorspren support him," Notum said, "but that doesn't mean they want to be bonded. One can be irate at the honorspren leadership and think humans are deserving of support without wanting to take that step."

Down below the twelve honorspren started to fade. "I've never seen this before," Notum added. "I thought they'd go in a blink. Instead, they fade away to nothing."

"Not nothing," Radiant said. "They'll appear on the other side."

"I hear it's traumatic," Notum said. He had a stiff, formal way of speaking, even when the words were casual, clipping each word as if he were making an announcement from the quarterdeck of a ship. "Spren on the other side forget themselves."

"Only briefly," Radiant said. "These will probably stay in a group, which helps, and immediately make their way to Urithiru, drawn by the squires training there."

"Do you even need them now, though?" Notum asked. "Isn't the war soon to end?"

"Windrunners are our primary method of traveling long distances, and I suspect they'll be helpful in peacetime. Beyond that, even if Dalinar wins the contest, I worry about what is to come next. I think, the more Radiants we have, the more stable our position will be."

"Then I should hurry," Notum said, standing. "To join them. So that I'm not left alone."

Radiant approved, but Shallan... she noticed something. "You sound reluctant," Shallan said.

He looked at her, glowing the same soft blue of all the honorspren. His uniform, his hair, everything about him was made of the same soft light. Solid, not transparent, but also not quite real in the way she understood reality. "There's nothing more for me here," Notum said. "I've been rejected of mine and seen their pettiness. I should like to be of service. Though, I admit, I do not wish to bond a human. I loathe the idea. Is that petty of me, in turn?"

"Absolutely not," Shallan said. "I have two bonds, Notum, and understand the cost better than most. It's not pettiness or even cowardness to be hesitant. Just like it's not cowardly or petty to reject any relationship."

"Pardon," Notum said, "but other sorts of relationships don't lead to soldiers with remarkable powers."

That did, admittedly, complicate the matter. But after learning what she'd done to Testament, who sat with Pattern a few rows down, Shallan couldn't help but question their mission itself. They needed Windrunners, yes; but it made her increasingly uncomfortable to demand that a spren bond. It wasn't intimate in the traditional human sense of the word, but it felt as deeply personal. "We can use every Windrunner, yes," she said, "but I don't think you should force yourself to bond a human if that makes you uncomfortable. You can be a good person and say no, Notum. I've learned that."

"Perhaps," Notum said. "Perhaps I will stay a little longer here, then. With effort, I might persuade others of my kind to offer you support." He pointed and drew her attention to a group of honorspren walking past wearing traveling clothing and carrying gear, as if to leave on a long hike. They waved to Shallan and Adolin but did not join those fading away.

"Objectors?" Shallan asked as Adolin waved back to them. "Those you mentioned earlier?"

"Yes. They don't agree with how you were treated but also don't want to go to war. They leave Lasting Integrity to make their own way."

She nodded. "Well, Radiant Godeke is staying to continue to normalize relations with the honorspren, and I might leave one of my agents, as well. If you stay, that would help. They could use a solid ally here."

"I am your ally," he said, "but as I warned you, the honorspren leadership does not care for me, even if they have been forced to revoke my exile." His expression grew distant. "We have an entire navy that once sailed the bead ocean. It is a shame to see those boats abandoned in the shipyards. It gives the enemy full control of Shadesmar's seas. Perhaps I could sail under honorspren authority again."

Storms. If Shallan hadn't said anything, Notum might have actually gone to become a Radiant spren. Meaning she'd just actively gone against their orders in coming here. Perhaps she wouldn't mention that part in her report to Dalinar.

No other spren came. Lucintia, the spren who had been Shallan's guide since her arrival at Lasting Integrity, made no appearance. Shallan had hoped she would change her mind, despite their occasional clashes.

"Notum" Shallan said, "thank you. For how you stood up for us during the trial."

"I am one person stretched thin, Radiant Kholin," he said, standing with his hands clasped behind his back. "Like colors on the mast, which have waved too long in the wind. I don't know what I believe or trust any longer. But what was done to you was not right. I could not play the sham role they demanded of me. I ask your forgiveness for even considering it."

"It was natural to want your old life back, Notum."

He turned to her, blue eyes meeting hers. "I lay on the ground, battered and assaulted, and watched your husband rise in my defense against overwhelming odds. He saved me with no expectation of reward. In that moment, I knew that Honor lived." He nodded curtly to Shallan, then walked down the steps to talk with Adolin.

Shallan slowly turned back to her sketch, where she soon found that she'd drawn yet another face in Adolin's shadow. Storms. Don't be unnerved, she thought. You were upset when you drew Pattern for the first time back in Kharbranth. But look how that turned out. She would not be afraid of her own art. She gritted her teeth and forced herself to flip to the next sheet and start drawing again, until someone else settled down beside her. Kelek leaned forward, hands clasped, seeming small and fragile.

"I'm not going with you," he said softly. "I... I can't."

"It's not safe for you here," Shallan said, sketching, fingers moving as if of their own accord. "If I got to you, Mraize's other assassins can do so."

"I... I will hide. Better. But I can't leave the seon, and she can't travel right now. It wouldn't be good for her."

Shallan didn't argue. It never seemed to work with Kelek. Instead, she lost herself in a sketch of him. A Herald to add to her collection. She might have said this was the rarest of gems to obtain, but was a Herald actually rarer than anyone else? One might say, because of their immortality, they were less so.

"We are broken, Shallan," Kelek finally said. "We are not the heroes you wish us to be. Not any more."

"I know how that feels."

"I don't think you do," he said, wrapping his arms around himself. "I don't believe anyone does." He looked to Adolin, chatting with Notum and Godeke. "You're really going to try to find Mishram?"

"If I don't," Shallan said, "my enemies will."

"Then what?" he said. "Will you release her? I... I cannot decide. Always cannot decide. I have preached for her freedom in the past, but now I worry. She might join and strengthen Odium. She hates humans." He put his hand to his head. "Ishar says all the Unmade should be contained. Yet what we did to the singers by imprisoning her..."

"I'll worry about that when we find her gemstone," Shallan said. "Honestly, I'll probably bring it back to the Bondsmiths and let everyone decide together."

He didn't decide to respond, so she continued drawing. The familiar sound of charcoal pencil on paper, the distilled attention of creation, like the most potent of alcohol. She attracted a few creationspren, like little swirling lights. These ones, though, behaved oddly. In here, she'd never seen them change shape like they did in the Physical Realm, but these started adopting the look of her pencil and eraser.

She kept drawing, lines imitating life, freeing it, but altering at the same time. You could never make an exact copy; that wasn't the point. Every sketch was a picture of the artist, as well. Their perspective, their emphasis, their instinct, reclaiming a moment otherwise lost. Once you got to the end, it was sublime. The moment when you basked in the thing you'd created. The feeling of awe mixed with disbelief that this beautiful object had come from you, accompanied by the slightest worry that, because if you didn't understand how you did it, you maybe didn't deserve to have been part of the creation. She loved the feeling, even the uncertainty of it.

"Radiant," Kelek said, hands clasped as he stared down at the stone floor of the amphitheater, "what do you fear?"

What kind of question was that? "I don't know," she lied.

"I fear options," he said. "I see every choice I make, and I see the terrible results that could stem from them. If I stay here, I see you fail without me. If I go, I see my presence—broken as I am—cause your failure. I cannot continue. I do not..."

She rested her hand on his, then handed him the sketch. He took the picture, frowning, then his hands widened as he saw it depicting him standing tall, wearing robes and striding from a fanciful city with colorful walls and strange trees with long fronds she'd made up. He carried a staff with an odd shape at the top and strode toward the growing light on the horizon. Though, in the picture, he looked backward, and his face was determined. Decisive.

"Do you often do this?" he asked.

"Sketch people?" she said, then blushed. "Yes, I kind of do it all the time. When I'm feeling like myself, at least."

"Not simply sketching, child. Do you often draw upon Fortune? Glimpse someone's possible selves, then pull one forth? Touch, in some way, what could have been? What might still be?" He glanced at her and must have seen the utter confusion in her eyes as he sighed. "Is this a skill commonly employed by Lightweavers during your time?"

"Not that I know of," she said. "But I don't exactly understand what you're saying."

He glanced toward Pattern and Testament. "Two spren... Of course, you've bonded two. Strange things happen when a Nahel bond is imbricated. There were rules against it once, I believe. How long have you had them both?

"For some time" she said. "Though I didn't know it. I didn't remember it until just recently."

"And how often," he asked, holding up the sheet, "do you glimpse into the Spiritual Realm, then manifest it in your art?"

"I..." She thought back to pictures she'd done, like one found in the pocket of a dead man. Like sketches of the Unmade lurking in Urithiru, or faces turning up in her art without her intending to draw them. She began to feel like a fool for objecting so quickly to someone who obviously knew far more about these things than she did. "It might happen now and then," she said. "There was an Unmade at Urithiru, and it showed up in my art. Now, these faces." She turned one toward him.

He nodded. "Because you've been thinking about traveling to the Spiritual Realm and finding Ba-Ado-Mishram."

"That's her?"

"One interpretation of her, yes," he said. "If you were someone else, I would assume you had seen some ancient art and were unconsciously influenced by it. For you..." He shrugged. "Fortune can do unthought, <phantotic> things."

"I'm sorry? '<Phantotic>'?"

"It means 'unnerving,'" he said. "I'm sorry. I don't keep up on shifts in language, nor am an expert on Fortune. Best speak to Midius, your Wit, about that. A <phantotic> man himself, that one."

[zaceouiswriting]

Fairy Prince - Hearts of Leviathans - Ch.53

Character: Sky x male reader, Riven x male reader, Brandon x male reader, (OC) Callisto x male reader

Universe: Somewhere in Winx Club/Saga

Warnings: Blood, Gore

(Brandon)

(Callisto)

"No, Galan!" I hear myself scream as I see a dagger penetrate his throat. Blood splatters everywhere, covering the dark stone walls of the bedroom with its red color. I feel my body shaking. My vision goes black for a moment, but when I can see in the darkness again, there is another body lying next to my brother. Fear filled my body, but I jumped to my brother, ripped a piece of my nightshirt, and pressed it to his throat, all the while watching to see if the other man would attack us again.

Something switched in my mind when I saw the intruder's hand move. Before I knew it, a massive stone sword was hovering over the man, and with just a wave of my hand, I brought it down, squashing the man to pieces. But what pissed me off was the black piece of cloth covering his face, as if nobody would ever find out who he was.

When my brother's breathing returned to somewhat normal, I turned to the man who had tried to kill us and walked toward him. Even though I wanted nothing more than to run away and cry in an empty room, I knelt down beside him anyway. I grabbed the cloth that was covering his face and ripped it off like a bandage, but instead of fear, my head was spinning with confusion.

The person I feared was not a man but a young woman with purplish hair, reminiscent of the assassins in the old records concealed in the forbidden section of the dark library. I knew instantly that I would never forget her face, nor the intensity with which she attacked my brother and me. Although we were still just children, she left nothing to chance, or at least she tried not to.

I can only see her face briefly, as I finally heard the metallic clanging of our guards in the distance. They took their sweet time. However, I summoned another stone that smashed the woman's face before they could get there. Immediately after I turned back to Galan, I swept him up from the floor and ran out of the room. At that moment, my body feels weak, and tears streamed down my cheeks. A heavy realization hit me: I have just taken a life. In a panic, I glanced back once more and saw something strange outside my brother's bedroom—a faint glow.

I never found out what it was.

“(Y/N), are you there, is everything okay?”

I shake my head when I hear Brandon's worried voice. My eyes are still fixed on the room. I haven't thought about that night in a long time. But I can understand why; it was traumatic, and yet the same strange glow radiates, not from the room itself, but from the door. Inspecting it further, I realize it's their sign.

Out of the corner of my eye, I suddenly see someone moving. Reflexively, I slam my arm against the door frame, preventing the person who dares to try to enter the room. Rescuing the person, I snap in their direction. Vinok's shocked face says it all.

"I'll warn you just once. None of you—" I turn to the others and look them in the eyes—"will enter this room until I specifically tell you otherwise. And if you do, I will prevent you from receiving life-saving help. I will let you suffer and die a death from which you will beg to be released!"

Without giving them a chance to answer me (since this should not be necessary), I made myself perfectly clear; I turned toward the interior of the room. I close my eyes, knowing I must prepare myself. 

"Armor of harmonizing metals," I whisper. Just a moment later, I feel my entire body being covered by a thin layer of magical particles that quickly harden into metal armor. "Lius Proktus Crelianis Senkneuis Cekelius." The magical core of my ring lights up, and a second layer of light envelops me, followed by a warmth that heals a small scratch on my hand, after which a second gray layer covers the first light, only to be overshadowed by another stable light that quickly hardens into a barrier. And as a final push, I take a deep breath and move the aura of the other core of my ring through my body, even though it burns, since it no longer normally flows through me; I bite through it.

I open my eyes, surrounded by three layers of protection, and take the first step into the room. Immediately I sense the magical pressure, the air full of poison, and the energy of witchcraft. I knew it! The moment I looked into that room and saw all those crystals, little dolls, forest forage, symbols, and little servants walking around with engravings, there was really no surprise anymore.

This is really getting more annoying than I first thought. Where do I start? Just as I wonder about this, I feel something at my leg. Looking down, I can't help but smile because fate always gives me the right answers. I bend over and catch the creature that ran into me. It tries to fight, but at this size it can't do anything. Upon closer inspection, I am sure of what it is. I gently stroke his little furry head. At least he's still furry.

With both hands I feel his skin under the fur until I find what I'm looking for: the engraving. It's sloppy; the corners are almost rounded, and the circle is more elliptical, but it still seems to work because his skin is getting darker, and in some places the fur is already falling out.

I form a stone ball, capturing the little creature inside. "Proctus!" My voice echoes through the room, the magic deep inside. I wait a moment before opening the ball. I immediately see the little creature crouched at the back of the ball. The creature's fur is pure white again, its skin has returned to its beige color, and the deformed nose has almost reverted to its original, round shape. But its ears are the best part; they are long, pointed, and curled up, just too cute. "Don't worry, little guy, everything will be fine!" I tell him as I scratch his head. It seems to calm down, but I close the ball again and cast the spell a second time.

Turning in circles, I desperately try to find a safe place to put the ball until I can clear the fog of darkness from the room, but the space is too cluttered. Not just because of the witchcraft used, but almost as if no one has cleaned the room since the owner fell into a coma. It's almost like a little time capsule here; at least the three brothers seem like the kind of guys who throw their crap around and only clean their room when their mother tells them to. But then my eyes suddenly fall on Brandon; a lightbulb goes off in my head.

"Brandon?" I call to him in a sweet voice. There is a gasp and a pant from outside, but I can only smile at it. These guys are too easy to fluster.

"Yes?" His usually confident voice, gentle. I see him approach the door, but he doesn't step over it. What a good boy, like a well-trained hunting dog.

Smiling inwardly, I try not to burst out laughing. He doesn't rush me once but waits patiently, even though I need a moment to continue speaking. "Can you catch something for me?" I finally ask.

“Yeah, sure,” he calls back immediately, but I hear some hesitation.

"Is something up with you?" I ask, but don't get an answer. "What's going on?"

He sheepishly scratches his neck. "I can't see inside."

Confused, I look around again. Is he playing with me? Only for the situation to dawn on me pretty harshly. "Sorry," I mumble, a little embarrassed. "I'll throw it towards your chest; I can see you clearly." When I hear his agreement, I prepare to throw him but hold back most of my strength so as not to knock him to the ground. But just before I can throw it, something stops me. "Do you have a piece of cloth to catch the ball?"

A little scuffle starts, but he gives me the go-ahead just a few seconds later. I'm sure no one would let him grab the ball with his bare hands, so I finally throw it. A huff echoes in my ears. It's almost as if a weight has been lifted from my heart. Seeing the success of this little operation, I am about to go and look for the others, only to find dozens of them around my feet. Maybe they saw what I did to their friend; perhaps they're not as stupid as everyone thinks.

My theory about their intelligence is further confirmed as they do exactly what I tell them to. They waddle at an exact distance from each other. It's rather impressive; not even the hunting dogs I praised earlier could do that. Somehow I can't stop smiling; witnessing them walking so helplessly just makes my heart swell. I give them the same treatment the first one got, a little scratching of their heads before trapping them in their own little stone ball to heal and cleanse their little bodies. Seeing so many little balls around me feels kind of tragic. Sometimes I hate the universe for things like this, but thankfully they don't happen that often anymore.

"Hey, Daniel?" I call again. A hesitant head comes in front of the open door. "Can you catch a few more balls? But remember to only catch with cloth!"

Not long after, I see him standing where Brandon had stood, holding a large blanket. But I didn't plan for him to stay there for long. I let all the balls hover around me like a protective belt and throw them into the air with a mischievous grin. One after the other, they hit Daniel with so much force that after three of these balls, he is thrown backward straight into the wall. Still, I don't let the stream of stone balls stop. Much to my surprise, he catches them all, as if he still thinks he's my friend, or maybe he's just afraid of my authoritative tone.

Once all the balls are on the blanket he's holding, he closes it and grimaces as he tries to get up. I may have overdone it, but he smiles at the room even though he can't see what's inside. It hurts my heart, but deep down I know I won't easily forget the dismissive and slightly asshole way he disrespected my feelings for Callisto.

I turn away from him, already having decided what to do next. Raising my hands, I call the crystals all over the room to me. My eyes widen as the room cracks and creaks. Before I know it, the walls are breaking open, furniture is being destroyed, and even the floor is opening up.

There were hundreds of tiny, small, medium, and large crystals. I can't believe the sight. What horrible creature would do such a thing? The black magic must be unbearable, but strangely, only this room is tainted by it, as if the person didn't want anyone else to suffer like that. What did this poor guy do to this witch?

The longer I look at them, the more I wonder what to do. They need to be purified before anything can be done with them, because if not, they would cause contamination, probably even in a place like this.

I gather my strength until I feel my magic vibrating. Fusing the crystals would be the easiest way to purify them, but as far as I know, there is no spell for that, so I must create my own. I focus on the crystals; soon they too begin to vibrate, just like my magic, and I imagine them becoming one. To a certain extent it works; the tiny ones become small crystals, but the larger they get, the harder it becomes to combine them into a new one. It gets quite painful quickly. My brain begins to fog up until I can no longer imagine it, but I know if I stop here, it could all go wrong faster than my eyes can see.

The pain becomes immeasurable, but I continue, although I have to close my eyes to avoid hurting them. When someone uses too much magic, open eyes are always the first to be damaged because that's where the magic can release the pressure most easily.

A cry of pain escapes my lips, but thankfully the pain suddenly disappears just as my cry escapes into the darkness of the room. Opening my eyes, tears obscure my sight, yet I can make out a huge crystal, probably as tall as me, maybe even a little taller and three times as wide. It would be impressive if it wasn't as black as the deepest night. For now, I give it the same treatment I gave the little rascals before. I could immediately feel the oppressive nature of the black magic weakening. It's not a permanent solution. I'll have to do that later, but for the moment, that's all I can do.

"Jokus Dunsel Pulsavias Voucha Kra Nemlian Sekneuis Proktun." It has been a while since I’ve used such a high-level spell, but I can clearly sense that it is not powerful enough. To avoid repeating myself, I simply channel more magic to artificially strengthen the spell. Gradually, the air in the room begins to shift; the darkness collects, drawing itself from the air and surrounding fabric, gathering in one place, forming a sphere, enclosing it within a barrier, and slowly purifying and healing it. What many people in dark magic organizations don't realize is the harm they inflict on the magical particles and the pure mana. It saddens me to witness this.

This mana can never return to nature. It can be healed, but it will never be the same again. But it can still be used as a tool, perhaps even a powerful one, considering how much effort I had to put into gathering it all and how intense its power seems to be. Now I just need to find someone who can use it after I make a magical weapon out of it.

Suddenly, something pulls me out of my thoughts. When I look back, Brandon is smiling at me so genuinely, so sweetly; it almost makes me sway. Why does he have to be so handsome? Just then, as if he can sense it, Callisto's equally handsome face appears from the side, barely poking around the door frame, smiling; however, his expression feels different—more familiar, perhaps mischievous as always. Just as I'm about to ask about their behavior, he raises something next to his head. Between two fingers, he holds one of the little rascals, who is also smiling, waving its little arms, desperately searching for attention. Although I can see Callisto saying something toward the small rascal, I can’t hear a word. To my astonishment, the rascal frees itself from Callisto's grip, digs its little claws into his cheeks, and hugs him tightly. I want to protect the sight, even as it disarms me; Callisto really does seem like the perfect man.

"You can come in, you idiots; I got rid of all the darkness," I tell them, chuckling, but they look at each other and then at me. Confused, I turn around and only see Callisto, with a serious expression, reaching out his hand to me, but it gets held back by a barrier. I blush, unable to believe my error. "Sorry!" I yell and run towards them. Directly opposite Callisto, I try to touch the barrier to dissolve it. Instead of feeling the cold of a barrier, I fall.

With wide open eyes, I am afraid to feel the cold, hard floor. But I don't fall for long. A strong arm and the scent of the forest catch me. "I got you. I always will!" Callisto's deep voice and the warmth that emanates from him make me feel safe.

Just as all of this overwhelms my senses, I feel something on my head. "I think he likes me more," I comment as I feel four feet and two hands trying to make themselves comfortable in my hair. It's nice to know that my magic, although drastically diminished over time, is still enough to help these creatures.

“I can’t blame him; you smell so good,” Callisto whispers. His lips are so close to mine.

“And the barrier?” Daniel’s voice rang out again, just before I got my well-deserved kiss.

The urge to splatter the floor with his blood makes me grit my teeth and twist into Callisto's arm, gripping both sides of the doorframe. "Please convey my apologies to your parents for my upcoming actions." I grin casually over my shoulder at Brandon. As always, he stares at me like a deer caught in headlights, but his eyes widen with shock as I effortlessly rip the doorframe out of the wall, destroying a large portion of it in the process.

Brandon trembles at the sight. He is clearly terrified, but I simply don't have enough mana to do anything else at the moment.

"Now that you can enter, I need your help to remove all runes and witch symbols from the walls, floor, and ceiling."

None of them seem to take me seriously, so I step aside and invite them to enter the now purified room. It didn't take long for them to realize the truth. "I'm sure Brandon or one of his family's servants can show you where the cleaning supplies are. I'll take care of his brother in the meantime!" I push them back out of the room, smiling widely.

With no one else around, I finally have time to look at my second patient. This may not have been the best moment, as I'm dangerously close to passing out and sleeping for another month, but what can one do?

As I step close to the bed, I can't see his face in the darkness; it's only lit up from the hallway. I reach for the curtains behind the bed and pull them open, only to feel like I've been knocked out of my comfort zone. Someone is lying on the bed, but are these people sure he's Brandon's brother? Brandon already has a masculine, sharp facial structure with a beautiful, rather small nose, thick lips, and high cheekbones, but this guy can literally cut diamonds with his jawline. And don't let me start with his body. Damn. Even after lying for so long, he doesn't seem to have lost a single muscle: a broad neck, equally wide shoulders, and those pecs. Man, how much I just want to lie on it; it would probably be the best sleep of my life!

"Fuck, he's the most beautiful man I've ever seen!" I murmur quietly. It just slipped out of my mouth.

But I wonder how his body survived like that, especially with all the dark magic that was supposed to eat away at it.

I reach out to feel his skin and maybe trace his jaw, but who could blame me? As I almost touch his body, a loud, booming voice stops me.

"Don't touch him!" The voice boomed so loudly that I flinched a little. Panicking, I look around, yet I can't see anyone, which confuses me even more. "If you touch him, his bones will turn to dust!"

Irate, it slowly dawns on me: that stupid stone guy again. "I'll touch anyone I want; he can't even say no!" I almost shout. As the words echo in my ear, I sigh in shock. "That's not how I meant—" I wipe my hand over my face—"I "need to touch his skin to see what I need to do to get him back on his feet!" I can only hope that someone believes my words, because I don't.

“Use your damn magic, you foolish fairy!”

Muttering incomprehensible words, I close my eyes, let my hands float over the prone body, and use the surrounding mana particles like a scanner. The manipulation is simple and requires hardly any mana of my own. At first I don't see anything, but the stone guy insists that I use more power.

As I search his chest, I realize I've made the biggest mistake of my life, maybe the third biggest, but still. I immediately throw up my hands and curse myself silently. What should I do?

But before I can decide, I sense a change. When I turn back to the lying man, I see the first bone breaking apart.

“Help!” I scream throughout the house, my voice echoing off the walls in a desperate attempt to save this poor man’s life.

[Masterlist]

[silkchvffon]

SHE WAVES AN ARM ABSENTMINDEDLY AROUND. « they don't need maids when they have us, » she counters, though she's sure they have to have house elves or something. they never leave the cabin completely spotless, and yet whenever they return it's like they were never here. mirren being magical of sorts would be the least surprising revelation to amina. they work in unison, falling into a familiar rhythm that borders on something more intimate than amina is willing to explore. his words have her freezing momentarily, bottle of tequila floating in her hand. « and why — » she begins, spinning around to face him, « would you want to get me alone ? » it's always the same challenge, the same stupid game, and yet she can't resist.

"  THE  EASTMANS  DON'T  HAVE  MAIDS,  "  brandon  singsongs  under  his  breath,  a smirk  playing  on  his  lips.  it's  in  stark  contrast  to  the  way  mirren  usually  spits  those  same  words  out,  when  someone  gets  a  little  too  frisky  while  trying  to  get  under  her  skin.  it's  usually  mack  or  ronnie,  but  brandon's  been  on  the  receiving  end  of  her  wrath  too. "  maybe,  "  he  shrugs,  diligently  handing  amina  the  bottles  she'll  need  for  their  drinks,  one  after  the  other.  she  didn't  need  to  ask  for  that,  either.  she  usually  doesn't  need  to  ask  him  for  anything,  ever.  brandon  is  well - trained.  eager  to  please. they're  standing  close  —  there's  a  pleasant  warmth  from  the  fireplace  in  the  other  room,  yet  he  can  feel  the  heat  coming  off  of  her  body.  their  fingers  brush  whenever  a  bottle  is  passed  between  them.  "  or  maybe  i  seized  the  opportunity  to  get  you  alone,  before  the  booze  makes  you  do  — what was it ? something  stupid ?  "

[dylawa]

A thought I just had and part of me wonders why I haven't seen more of this, but another part of me knows at least two reasons why I haven't seen more of this:

Have an animatic/scene idea? Can't draw? Can draw but don't have the discipline for a full animatic? Can't write fanfic? Can write fanfic but don't want to put in that much time/effort?

Might I suggest the humble ✨ screenplay ✨

Sure, you still have to write a bit, but the point of a screenplay isn't to be the entire description of a thing, like one might find in a novel or fanfic. It's a foundation for a bigger picture, made for anyone to interpret the finer details of to their own ends. It takes less time to do than an animatic, and though it requires a different train of thought from writing in traditional formats, it creates a more specific and personal visual direction for the reader (or theoretical director).

Have trouble depicting character emotions? Tonal indicators aren't fleshed out, usually mostly indicated by a single word next to the name of the character speaking, for example:

MARK (Irritated) Really? Right in front of my salad?

(Sorry for mobile users if the formatting is dogass, feel free to google screenplay examples)

Don't like describing environments in-depth? Not to worry, the humble screenplay simplifies it all:

INT(ERIOR). DASHCON - NIGHT (this is a Slug Line) End of the first day of the first ever Tumblr Convention. A few STRAGGLERS (names of characters/groups of characters are capitalized) remain lingering around the con floor. JACK, DEAN, and PEARL surround the ballpit. They have their hands on their hips as they look into its depths.

No need to talk about anything not important to the immediate moment, like lighting, weather, how they got there, etc. Just mention anything that will be important to the scene right out of the gate, and then you can reference back to them in short sentences later:

PEARL grabs a ball from the ballpit and chucks it at JACK'S head. STRAGGLERS turn to look at the commotion.

Have a hard time switching between scenes? CUT AWAY and FADE IN/FADE OUT at the start and end of a scene is common practice.

Picturing camera movements that would normally not fit in descriptions in a fanfic? More slug lines, baby. PAN CAMERA and ROTATE CAMERA and CLOSE UP and ZOOM OUT.

(Not that the above practice is frowned upon in professional screenwriting spaces, but fuck them, you're doing this for fun, you're your own director for this theoretical movie/play/etc)

The point is, you don't have to be Shakespeare or Brandon Sanderson or Da Vinci or Andy Warhol to make the thing you want to make. As long as you've got a strong image for the thing in your head, writing a fic or drawing an animatic are not your only two options. Break down the puzzle pieces, then shove them in fragments into a written document, and boom.

✨ Screenplay. ✨

[princerevelucide]

going back int deltarune so deeply has me thinking about my spamton backstory headcanon again. i’m still going all in on the idea that he as an addison was born from an egg that got tossed around and lost, resulting in his code being jumbled and glitchy, which caused not only the identities of whoever his parent(s) might have been to be completely scrubbed from his internal data, but also caused other problems such as his albinism (what colour addison was he meant to be…?), stunted growth (he says he was always shorter in the fangamer q&a iirc), a near-constant stutter, and also a weak immune system so he was frequently sick on top of it all

i also used to go with the idea that all six of the addisons that came to the trash zone were his older brothers, an idea i know a few others work with and is still fun, but i ended up finding it excessive to work with for myself so now i’m deciding he only has two older brothers, the two blue addisons, Bannerdan (like brandon) and Magail (like mikhail) (going with the idea that spamton = samson). the pink, orange, and two yellow addisons that also show up are the blue guy’s work buddies who also got acquainted with little spamton and watched him grow up

but because of his disadvantages and frequent illness, little spamton in my head-cyber city was a shy little fluttershy of a critter. always hiding behind his brother’s or their friend’s legs, barely saying a word and taking longer to come out of his shell and learn salesman stuff than the average growing addison. the work buddies tried to help push him while the blue brothers were a little more coddling. this resulted in spamton being slightly more stubborn on his teen years, becoming more and more insistent that he can’t have handouts anymore, that he has to do things himself for once, that he’s gonna be a big shot and he’s not letting anyone hold his hand through life anymore. and as it is known this goes badly. and then the call and spamton’s fame and etc. etc. and he gets all haughty as it goes to his head, saying look i can do it all on my own after all, i don’t need any of you anymore, look at me thriving even better than all of you combined without your help even though i started off so much worse!!! and from there the inevitables we all know happen. woe is spang tom and all that

i just think it’s both funny and compelling to imagine going back to when spamton was a small child and somehow finding fluttershy instead of some obnoxiously loud annoying kid. boy how did that cute tiny shy thing become this piece of shit ugly little haunted puppet that scams you and tells you to kill people

[gifting-stealing-bah]

HAAIIIII do u have any roblox arg fictives for us to steal.........

sincerely, @hazermates

Name: Brandon Nicknames: Brandon6875935, NUMBUH369 (Both usernames) Age: 12 Gender: Male Pronouns: He/Him They/Them Orientation: Fasaaroace Type: Fictive Role: Trauma Holder, Paranoia Holder Source: Brandon Works ARG (Link is to a video explaining the ARG) R/S: n/a, not interested at all. Int Status: interact with extreme care. xtra notes: extremely paranoid and private, refuses to let us log him on our pk or list him anywhere, barely agreed to let us do this alterpack for him.

[blcssom]

"only you: every time i see you." and it's the constant criticism that keeps him coming back, frankly. there's something about her ability to tell him no (if only for a while) that's caught his interest. "maybe, but if i was really as mediocre if you're implying then you wouldn't still be standing here entertaining the idea." pushing off of the frame, he stands up straight again. "it's okay to admit you're not entirely satisfied, tess. if anything, i think you're being proactive by having your needs met elsewhere. i mean, how humiliating would it be to have to ask him to eat you out? embarrassing for him, i mean."

" i am not... " maybe she was trying to convince herself that it would happen, though it was more so that it didn't matter if it happened or not. she was still happy with her boyfriend... right? head shook to try and stop herself from falling into that train of thought. " positive. i don't - you think far to highly of yourself, has anyone ever told you that? if you were that good, my legs would already be spread. "

[the-football-chick]

Week 15 kicked off with Thursday Night Football Chargers @ Raiders

Nothing short of an embarrassment for the Chargers under backup QB Easton Stick as they get mollywhopped 63-21 by the Raiders on TNF.

Stick, who is replacing the injured Justin Herbert, didn't really have a bad game going 23/32 for 257 yards, 3 TDs and 1 INT but it couldn't match the Raiders electrified offense tonight with rookie QB Aidan O'Connell going 20/34 for 248 yards and 4 TDs, and their defense also adding 2 TDs, and a trick play by WR Jakobi Meyers throwing to star WR Davante Adams for another TD. 👀

Chargers coach Brandon Staley's seat getting pretty hot with the team losing their last 5 out of 6 and sitting in last place in the AFC West at 5-9.

IG: raiders (12/14/23)

[sentientcave]

Oh hey it's Wednesday again! You know what that means!

IT'S WIP WEDNESDAY BAYBEE

I've been bouncing around from project to project a lot lately so have a little Fic Flight of a few thangs

You Only Live Twice

Sadie was already creeping down the shadowed path strip of grass between the building and the outer wall, shoes in hand. She felt the Russian’s presence at her back, the intake of breath indicating that he intended to scold her for getting ahead of him. “I imagine they’ll have men at the gate already,” she said, cutting him off. “I’ll pretend I think they’re the real security and blather on about what’s going on upstairs, and you pick them off once I have them in the open. I assume you’re a good shot?” “I don’t like that. You could be killed.” Why the man cared all that much if she were killed, she didn’t know. Something to figure out later, once they were out of there. At the moment he was useful, and that was all that mattered. “I doubt it. They would have just blown the place to bits if they wanted everyone dead. They’re looking for high-profile hostages.” He tugged her further into the shadows, his big hand not leaving her waist even once he had her pressed against the wall. “You’re right, but—” “If you’re not a good shot, now would be the time to tell me,” she hissed back. “We don’t have time to stand around and think about it. I can probably only take on one myself, if I have to fight hand to hand.” She looked past him, down to where the lights from the gate station glared out into the darkness. “Are you ready?” He sighed, resigned. “Da. Make it a good performance, umnyashka. I will follow.”

Rugby

Your morning passes in a steady trickle of numbers and signed reports. You get up and stretch halfway through the morning, water your plants, get back to work. The second half of the morning flies by, and Brandon is back in your doorway again before you know it. It was a vain hope to think you would be able to slip out and get lunch without tagging along with him. Or it would have been, if the elevator didn’t open to reveal Simon ‘Perfect Timing’ Riley, holding a brown paper bag of takeout. “Forgot t’pack you a lunch, pretty boy,” he rumbles, stepping out and pulling you to the side. “Figured you could show me your office.” Brandon opens and closes his mouth like a fish, taking in the full expanse of Simon. Simon gives him a sly look out of the corner of his eye, and tugs you a step closer by the tie. “No kiss, love?” he asks playfully. You short circuit, face heating up so much that you’re sure Simon can feel it when he cups your jaw and tips your face up, and fucking kisses you. He’s not shy about it either, his tongue lapping at the seam of your lips, head tilted so your noses don’t squish together. “This is your boyfriend?” Brandon asks, interrupting the absolutely bizarre moment. “Hm?” Simon pulls away and looks at Brandon properly, like he’s just noticed him there. “Who’s your friend, Rip?” “Um. This is Brandon. Brandon, this is Simon. Yeah. My um. Boyfriend.” You look back at Simon. “You didn’t have to bring me lunch.” “Maybe I wanted to. You gonna say no to a curry?” “No. Come on, lets go sit in my office.” You shrug at Brandon. “Rain cheque, eh?” “See you around, Bradley,” Simon adds, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

Field Trip

He looks serious for a moment, before the grin flickers back on. “Aw, weel, it wasnae as much fun as I might make it look. I had things ta keep livin’ fer.” “Like volunteering to help out with a school trip?” you ask mildly. “Of course. Few things matter more’n education, ye ken. Want tae make sure Finn doesnae wander off like Ah would’ve at his age.” His knee bumps into yours as he gets comfortable in the seat, and he makes no move to remove it. “Ah didnae have such a bonnie teacher, mind. Might’ve paid a bit more attention in class.” You tilt your knees toward the aisle, humming noncommittally. As far as you’re aware, Mr. Mactavish was SAS— An officer, and no slouch in regards to intelligence. Acting like an over eager puppy probably gets him further than behaving like a serious soldier, but you don’t really buy it. “I’m sure you did just fine in school, Mr. Mactavish.” “Ye can call me Johnny, ye ken. We’re no’ strangers by now, are we Sweetpea?” “Mr. Mactavish—” “Ah, come on bonnie, Ah’m no’ on a last name basis with anyone else here. Even the kids call me Soap.” “Are you ever going to tell us what that means?” Mrs. Kingsley asks, leaning across the aisle with a smile. “Ah cannae, Barb, ye cheeky thing, an’ ye know it. Classified.” Johnny taps the side of his nose and winks. He takes the opportunity to lean across you, one hand on your thigh and one arm braced against the barrier between your seat and the door. “How’s yer grandkids gettin’ on? No’ in school themselves yet, are they?”

Sparrow

She chanted his name, pressing her lips to his ear. He growled in response, barely missing a stroke as he transferred his weight to one arm, the other grabbing her by the throat, putting just a little pressure there. “Shut it, birdie, you’re gonna make me come.” “Yes, yes please,” she whispered, cunt clamping down on him like a vice. “Want you to. Please, Simon—” “Fuckin’ christ, Morgan,” he grunted. “Never fuckin’ shut up, do you?” She grinned, tipping her chin up to give him better access to her throat. “No. You’ll have to make me.” He groaned, dropping his forehead to her shoulder, giving her a few more grinding thrusts as deeply inside her as he could get, and came hard. Morgan could feel every pulse and twitch as he stuffed her full, the sensation almost enough to send her over the edge too. She whined, wrapping he legs around him tightly so he couldn’t pull out. “S’your own fault, birdie,” Simon grumbled, letting his full weight come down on top of her to keep her from moving her hips any more. “Gimme a minute. I’ll take care of you.” She sighed, stroking a hand through his hair and pressing a kiss to the side of his head. “I know you will. We’ll take care of each other.”

[mariamakeslemons]

Spooktober 2024: Day 10 Demons/Satan

Warning: Implied gore and minor character deaths, mention of supernatural torture, implied stalking at the end, mention of cheating

I'm going with the fan theory of Alone being a combination of 141, although excluding Soap in this piece.

You’ve never liked the idea of entering a “haunted” house, not due to believing in the supernatural, but this was someone’s home. Abandoned to time, left to rot after their death, why would someone willingly enter a place of death.

“C’mon, chicken,” one of your boyfriend’s asshole friend calls to you, “Let’s go!”

“Honey, there’s nothing to be scared of,” Brandon huffs, doing a shit job of reassuring you. You roll your eyes, rifling through your bag for gloves and the spare N95 you carry just in case. Pulling it all on, you finally follow the little group, ignoring the eyerolls and how some of the idiots whisper about your precautions. All that matters is that you won’t be the one with tetanus or some kind of cardiovascular issues.

The group moves on, entering the building and the others disperse, all of them laughing and swinging around their phones and cameras. You sigh, unsurprised that Brandon takes off with some of the assholes and leaves you behind. Slowly, using the flashlight you had brought when you were told these plans, you start to walk through the home.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Alone. They’ve been alone for so long. Since JohnnySoapMactavishFriend died, they’ve been alone. Then, Hell came for them, merging them and making them even more alone. Ghost pauses, Gaz stops chewing and Price listens. There are people, invading their home, this mansion that was once Price’s mother’s. They stand, the shadows surrounding them, the training clinging to their brains muffling their steps.

Hunt, Price growls as they walk down the hall.

Hunt, Gaz repeats when two idiots run past the hall, laughing and revealing their location with phone lights.

Hunt, Ghost agrees, beginning to do just that.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

You kneel in the master bedroom, praying for the soul of whoever lived here prior, when a scream rings out in. You jump at the sound and turn, listening for any other noise that would indicate who it was and where they are. Only, the next scream was far away, in the opposite direction.

“What the hell?” you wonder, leaving the room and looking around warily, flashlight up. The hall is empty, but a third scream tells you that something is happening. Something bad. Swallowing nervously, you walk down the hall on edge, flinching when you hear more yelling and screaming. Eventually, you stumble across one of the assholes from earlier and you wish you didn’t. Their face is slack in death and their body is split open, blood and organ spread out around them. You press your mask closer to your face and take a step back in horror, only to tense when you bump into something that is not a wall. Slowly, you turn your head and shake at the being behind you.

It’s a mammoth of a being, with five fucking arms and three heads. The one in the center is bent down to look at you while the others give you a side-eye, like it’s waiting on you to do something.

“…Hello,” you croak out. The thing remains silent, watching you. Swallowing, you bluster on, “Who are you?”

“…We are Alone,” the middle head rumbles.

“A team,” one of the side heads rasps out.

“One,” the other explains smoothly. You swallow again, watching it warily as it seems to mull something over. The last head continues, “You should leave, love.”

“Not safe, sweetheart,” the other head agrees.

“Leave,” the center growls. You nod and carefully step over the corpse, walking back to the entrance while keeping an eye out for the creature. A few more screams sound out, making you flinch with each one. Eventually, you make it back to the door and you hesitate.

“Babe!” you hear, startling you into turning. Brandon limps into the room, clutching his arm and looking at you in terror.

“Babe, help me!” he pleads, only to yell as a large hand grabs him, drawing him back into the darkness, followed by the wet crunch of something eating. You press against the door, shaking as you stare at the darkness.

“Leave,” the center head growls again, “Or stay as ours.”

“…No thank you,” you choke out, opening the door and fleeing to the car, fishing out your keys as you run.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ghost watches as the only respectful one flees, leaving the pathetic coward to be properly devoured. Of course, as Gaz eats the bastard, they get glimpses of his past. You, pretty and sweet, were his partner, and he was cheating on you with the slut they had caught earlier. In a manner, they saved you from heartbreak.

“We can follow,” Price decides. Gaz grunts in agreement as he finishes off the bastard.

“We already marked them as ours,” he points our through a mouthful of flesh.

“They won’t leave us,” Ghost agrees as their cocks harden in the remains of their pants. You’d be perfect for them, not replacing SergeantSoapJohnnyCompanion, but they’d no longer be alone. They’re tired of being alone.

[blcssom]

"what about me trying to help out a friend is dickish?? am i supposed to have blind loyalty for the guy just because he's my brother?" a trick question, honestly. brandon didn't have loyalty to anyone but himself, and that much was evident in the way her reminders don't wipe the smile from his face. "i think that's exactly what you would do if you found someone who could give you want you wanted. and that's exactly what i like about you, ez. you see opportunities and you take them."

" oh, is he? " ezra questioned as if she wasn't already aware that her boyfriend was exactly as he described. " brandon... do you not think this is also a rather dickish move. " though it was true, he didn't exactly treat her well and they certainly had their problems. " do you think i'd just say okay and jump between brothers. "

[cowboys-column]

the Dallas Cowboys faced a 44-19 defeat against Derek Carr and the New Orleans Saints in Dallas. With Brandon Aubrey’s standout performance the Cowboys had opportunities to turn things around, but mistakes and penalties led to the Saints scoring on their first six drives. Dallas faces an even tougher challenge next week against the Baltimore Ravens. The need for the team to learn from this loss and get ready for the game ahead.

D. Prescott 27/39 CMP/ATT 293 YDS 2 INT

[twwpress]

Weekly Press Briefing #64: September 10th - September 16th

Welcome back to the Weekly Press Briefing, where we bring you highlights from The West Wing fandom each week, including new fics, ongoing challenges, and more! This briefing covers all things posted from September 10 - September 16, 2023! Did we miss something? Let us know; you can find our contact info at the bottom of this briefing! 

Challenges/Prompts:

The following is a roundup of open challenges/prompts. Do you have a challenge or event you’d like us to promote? Be sure to get in touch with us! Contact info is at the bottom of this briefing.

@callixton is hosting The West Wing Pride Week (@twwpride here on tumblr) September 17 - 23. More details here! 

Photos/Videos:

Here’s what was posted from September 10 - September 16:

Amy Landecker posted photos of herself and Bradley Whitford with their friend Arian Moayed at the Creative Coalition luncheon, where Brad presented Arian with a humanitarian award. 

Bradley Whitford posted photos of himself with the directors and cast of The Gospel At Colonus, put on at the Getty Villa by the company of Chicago’s Court Theater. 

Dule Hill posted reflections on the news that his show The Wonder Years has been cancelled. 

Marlee Matlin posted a photo of herself and her friend Alexis Kashar sporting LOVE SIGN ASL shirts for their rival football teams. 

Marlee Matlin posted photos of herself with her son Brandon, along with a sweet birthday wish, for his 23rd birthday. 

Marlee Matlin posted in honor of National Sober Day, saying she is grateful for her 36 years of sobriety. 

Mary McCormack posted photos of her family saying goodbye to her daughter Rose as she goes off to college for the year. 

Mary McCormack posted a photo of her youngest daughter with a wish for her 12th birthday.

Melissa Fitzgerald reposted a photo from her friend Jon Lovitz taken when he was helping her run lines for her upcoming performance of Love Letters at the Kennedy Center with Martin Sheen.  

Peter James Smith posted a cute childhood photo of himself with some of his siblings. 

Rob Lowe posted a photo of his dog Daisy. 

Bird York posted a photo of herself with Dave Hodge. 

Donna Moss Daily: September 10 | September 11 | September 12 | September 13 | September 14 | September 15 | September 16 

Daily Josh Lyman: September 10 | September 11 | September 12 | September 13 | September 14 | September 15 | September 16 

No Context BWhit:  September 10 | September 11 | September 12 | September 13 | September 14 | September 15 |  September 15 (2) | September 16 

@twwarchive:  September 10 | September 11 | September 12 | September 13 | September 14 | September 15 | September 16 

@bestofcjtoby:  September 10 | September 11 | September 12 | September 13 | September 14 | September 15 | September 16 

Editors’ Choice: 

This week, we’re sharing some of our favorite stories that take us on an emotional roller coaster. Enjoy our recs for fics tagged “angst with a happy ending”! Be sure to share your favorites, too.

no one won the war by mmousik | Rated T | Leo McGarry & Toby Ziegler (No Pairings Listed) | Complete | “What happened?” “The war happened, Toby,” Leo said it like it were obvious, but Toby heard the blank, conceded tone as clear as day. “And serving my country was something every man did. It wasn't noble nor heroic to read from pages when there were people getting shot and crawling through dead bodies. I wanted to protect my county, not read about it. There was a time for reading and studying and writing, and it had long passed by the time I had enlisted myself.” Toby and Leo have an emotionally charged conversation about war.

i’ve got a blank space baby (and i’ll write your name) by sam_writes_fics for JessBakesCakes | Rated M | Josh Lyman/Donna Moss | Complete | No one knows how or why the marks started appearing – some say it’s a physiological phenomenon brought on by evolution, others say it’s divine intervention – but the world changed seemingly overnight into a place where the stars align for those brave enough to ask for it. // soulmate au

let my love fix you up (when you're coming undone) by JessBakesCakes for hufflepuffhermione | Rated T |  Josh Lyman/Donna Moss | Complete | The Gaza Arc reimagined: what if Sam flew to Germany to make sure his friends didn't miss their third chance?

hope is a dangerous thing for a woman like me to have- but I have it by IreneSpring | Rated T | C. J. Cregg/Kate Harper, Danny Concannon/C.J. Cregg | Complete | C.J. ends her relationship with Danny and begins a new life in California.

but i could only look down by smallandblueandloud | Rated G | C. J. Cregg/Toby Ziegler, C. J. Cregg/Andrea Wyatt/Toby Ziegler | Complete | “CJ,” he says, bracing himself for the big guns. “CJ, tell me you don’t love us and I’ll drop it. Tell me you left because you didn’t love us anymore, and I will walk out of this room and we can never speak of this again.” “Toby-” (or, it's been years since cj walked out on toby and andy, and he's ready to ask her to come back. things don't go to plan.)

Everything Else by piperset | Rated G | Danny Concannon/C.J. Cregg | Complete | The aftermath of "Institutional Memory."

It looks like we're stuck with tumblr's new post word limits for the foreseeable future, but stay tuned for our reblog with this week's fics and chapter updates!