#Aurora Writes

[sapphicslvtt]

Sit on my lap while I gently tease your clit as you tell me about your day?

[watcheraurora]

I know there probably won't be an Empires S3 and that's genuinely fine

But imagine with me for a minute

It's 1,000 years since the end of Empires S2, and the souls of the rulers are reincarnated yet again, fresh and new as before

And one of them in particular—a blond, brown-eyed young man—wanders the land with a pair of yellow-gold wings folded against his spine

Those wings bear him through the sky, soaring high above anything else. Sometimes he wonders if he could even fly so high that he would reach Stratos, the long-forgotten, mythical land of the gods. Or, according to myths and legends, the last god

With those yellow wings in the sun and his warm blond hair, he's given the name Canary King by his people

He builds his empire from scratch. He plants orchards in a plain biome—a canary's natural habitat. He trades honey and apples with the other kingdoms

He builds homes for his people with his bare hands. He builds his seat of power nearby. A palace for an Avian nestled in the branches of the tallest tree in the world. He made the tree himself, in a way. With the help of a little magic, he grew a sapling into a true marvel. A grand treehouse, high in the air, is where he builds his throne. The perfect fit for a wingéd king, born for the high blue skies

Sometimes he dreams of a homey swamp full of cod and slime. He dreams of gills in his neck and webbed hands. He dreams of a woman with blue skin and pink hair like Lizzie's in a light, flowy dress. He calls that woman sister, in his dreams. He dreams of an elf from the cold, high mountains—an ally. Sometimes he wonders if there was something more there. He dreams of the demon. The corruption.

Other times he dreams of a mesa—badlands. Exact opposite of that homey swamp. Instead of perpetual damp, the mesa is bone dry and blisteringly hot. He dreams of a brass badge on his chest. Tall boots to keep the sand out of his socks. He dreams of a hat to keep the sun off his face. The mesa is empty and lonely. He dreams of enclosed walls meant to emulate the blue sky and clouds the badlands are too hot to form. He dreams of mocking laughter. Shouts of "Toy!" He dreams of strangers appearing in the world, smaller than most everyone else. He dreams of the world the strangers—Hermits?—came from. A Rift in reality. He dreams of a funny old man with a grey beard teaching him to be "better" in his role

He dreams of a man with blue fire for hair, blue eyes with darker blue sclera, and a long black coat rarest of all, but they are always the sweetest dreams. The Canary King wears the brass badge and boots in those dreams, and the blue-fire-hair man isn't like the others—he treats him kindly. Even sweetly. In stark contrast to the mocking teasing of the others

The Canary King dreams he builds the two of them a ranch in the badlands, and then sees the fortress in the frozen norths of the Hermits' world that the blue fire hair man built himself

The Canary King always wakes up from these dreams feeling nostalgia. Like he misses something he never had, or lost something he no longer remembers

He serves his people and enjoys the company of the other rulers, his friends. He pretends he's not haunted by these dreams and the lives that seemed to be contained within them. No one else speaks of reoccurring dreams. No one else seems to notice the thousand-yard stare that he has when he thinks about them

Sometimes Scott smiles at him a little too fondly. Sometimes Joel's teasing needles him a little too deeply and he feels much smaller than he is. Sometimes Lizzie scolds him in a tone that sounds like the older sister the Canary King doesn't have—

And he remembers those dreams all over again

And his wings pull closer to his body, trying to protect him. He seeks comfort in the feeling of his feathers against his hands. He ignores the flashes of red-yellow-and-blue macaw wings on one of the Hermits in his dreams

So he flies. He flies and flies and flies. He sees the world whiz past below him. He flies so far and so fast, he tries to let the wind steal his thoughts and dreams from his mind. The skies are his home even more than the treehouse he poured blood, sweat, and tears into. The skies bring relief. And quiet. And solace. He still hasn't flown high enough to reach Stratos. He doesn't think he ever will

He doesn't want to anymore, with those dreams following him

The Canary King flies for days, barely sleeping, barely eating

He doesn't stop until he sees a mesa below him

It pulls him up short. He circles as he descends, eyes sweeping the land

He lands and kicks at the red sand here and there, thinking himself ridiculous for hoping to see—to find—anything

Until he slams his foot into something

He digs with a shovel and a pickaxe for what feels like hours. He exposes the ruins of an old town. He knows exactly where he's going to find the next building, somehow. As familiar with this town's layout as he is his orchards and the villages he built with his bare hands back home

He finds a small wooden sign with Welcome to Tumble Town! etched into the wood

He drops the sign and takes wing again. He deliberately ignores every swamp he passes over

He flies until he can't anymore. Until his beautiful, strong, yellow wings have no strength left and cannot bear him on the winds any longer. He crash lands in the snow and does not get up

The Canary King expects to freeze to death and never see his orchards or his treehouse palace ever again. He expects to finally be free of the dreams

Night falls. Creepers sneak around the mountains. Spiders spit and skeletons clank. Zombies groan

The world has grown dark, and the Canary King's vision begins to become even darker—

A blazing golden light flares. A voice cries out and then giggles

That same voice asks if the Canary King is alright. A warm hand rests on his shoulder

The newcomer has yellow fire for hair and red eyes with darker red sclera. He has the same face shape, the same nose, the same ears as the man in the Canary King's dreams

The newcomer is concerned and the Canary King is on the brink of unconsciousness. The newcomer promises that he's safe now—he'll be taken care of. It's the last thing the Canary King remembers before passing out

He wakes up in a cozy ranch house

He feels like he's home for the first time since the dreams started

[aurorarose2112]

Sugar Apple Fairy Tale (Episode 18) - Challe & Anne cheek kiss scene

So, after watching the new episode that came out, and positively dying, buried under all that fluff that was Challe’s rizz, I decided to do a lil narrating of that cheek kiss scene.

(PS, this is just my imagination; I never read the novel for this scene, so I don’t know how this actually plays out)

･: *₊ ⁎ ⁺˳ ✧ ༚ ♡ ༚ ✧ ˳ ⁺ ⁎ ₊ * :･

Challe let out a sigh — in both relief and annoyance — at Anne’s words, before reopening his eyes and leaning in.

“Challe?” She called in a questioning manner, not realising just how titillating the sound of his name on her lips was to him.

The sweet little thing had absolutely no idea what was about to come next.

He drank in the endearing sight of Anne’s widened eyes and flushed face, as he pressed his pale lips against her rosy cheek in a featherlight kiss.

Gazing adoringly at the lovely young lady before him, his thoughts floated back to the memory of the sight of that Opal fairy caressing her cheek with his fingertips. Challe’s eyes narrowed as the once gentle gleam sharpened into a hard, even possessive glare.

It is known he despised the idea of being oppressed or objectified after years of enslavement under humans, thus the irony of possessing the following thoughts was not lost on him.

‘How dare he try covet her. She is mine; I will never let anyone take her away from me.’

At that, he began to move, trailing his lips down the soft supple skin, mimicking the way he had seen that fairy stroke her cheek. Putting his mark over that insolent fairy’s touch.

Claiming what was rightfully his.

　　 ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

Anne wasn’t sure what to think. How had they gone from talking about what Gladice had asked to… t-to this?!

To say that Challe kissing her cheek in reply being the last thing she had expected, was an understatement.

Her mind had gone blank at the sudden turn of events.

Abashed and flustered as she was, she felt — rather than saw — the silky sensation of his lips (she couldn’t emphasise this enough; CHALLE’S LIPS), moving down her cheek in a trail of open-mouthed butterfly kisses.

As though he were slowly taking his time, tasting her, savouring her, bit by bit with each kiss.

Right before he would devour her.

That train of thought snapped her back to reality.

“C-Challe?!” She exclaimed, managing to somehow will herself into taking a step back, enough to set the slightest of distance between them. Evidently needing that space to calm herself down and clear her mind.

Not that Challe was about to let her.

The hand that remained on her cheek kept her facing his way, while his other arm that had long wound around her waist prevented her from backing away any further.

“You’re too careless.” Challe supplied, his tone even and firm, as though he hadn’t effectively been nipping away at her sweet skin mere moments ago.

However, there was a hint of seriousness Anne detected, which managed to keep her focused on his words.

“Is Gladice dangerous?” She inquired, looking down to avoid his gaze. After all, if she kept staring at his gorgeous face and mesmerising eyes, there’s no way she would have any leeway to think straight, let alone remain standing.

Challe was having none of it.

The hand on her cheek trailed downwards to tip her chin up with his index and thumb, prompting her with no other choice but to gaze deep into his clear sharp eyes. Eyes that held a burning emotion, so raw and passionate, it seemed to pierce right through her heart as though it were molten sugar.

“I don’t know, so don’t let your guard down.”

“Okay…” Hearing her soft reply seemed to finally let him relax, releasing some of the tension that had built up within him. He then cupped her cheek and gently drew her face towards him, till his lips reached her ear.

“Good girl.”

If the rarely-used, smooth husky tone of his voice didn’t surprise her, his lips that found the small spot connecting her cheek and ear certainly did.

Challe couldn’t deny the masculine pride and satisfaction that arose in him, as he felt her jolt in his arms at his final kiss while gasping in what seemed to be both bashfulness and a tinge of pleasure.

Separating his lips from her, he studied her blushing face once more — which was red enough to rival a sugar apple at this point — and decided that it was enough for tonight.

Any further and she would surely combust.

As interesting as that may be, he would give her a reprieve for now. After all, a balance is needed between the candy and the whip. (A/N: Japan’s saying of ame to muchi, the Japanese equivalent of ‘carrot and stick’)

“Yesterday you didn’t sleep too well.” He stated softly, slowly pulling himself away from her alluringly lithe form. “Tonight, you may sleep in my room.”

Barely capable of any coherent thought at this point, it was all Anne could do to so much as nod in response. Challe felt a smile spread across his lips before he could stop it.

She was so acquiescent, it was adorable.

“I will look after Noah tonight. Go on ahead.” Giving his gentle reassurance, he smoothly retracted his hands from her cheek and waist, right before she limply slumped onto the bed in a sitting position.

“Okay…” Anne managed to breathe out, her ruby-red eyes never leaving the obsidian-black ones of the breathtaking warrior fairy before her.

･: *₊ ⁎ ⁺˳ ✧ ༚ ♡ ༚ ✧ ˳ ⁺ ⁎ ₊ * :･

And that’s about it. Hope you enjoyed it; lemme know what you think?

[xauroraxborealisx]

Apparently, I'm back? Or at least trying? Just a few quick one-shots to get back into writing before diving back into longer projects! Enjoy and oh! Song suggestions are welcomed, if ever! 😉

[dawnarowdite]

Lovely (What They Don’t Understand)

Chapter 2

—————

"Ayo Smii7y welcome back," a voice called out as a teen waltzed into the room.

"What up Wildcat," Smii7y smiled as he placed a bag on the table. The bag slumped to the side, weighted down by the number of items in the sack. Smii7y had a pretty good run tonight. The Millers are always gone so Smii7y never has to worry about getting caught. It’s an easy in-and-out heist, perfect for a casual day.

"You got anything good," the tall man asked, walking towards the bag Smii7y brought in. Wildcat, also known as Tyler, was Smii7y’s second in command. He has known Wildcat since Smii7y first started his record. They didn't have the best lives, but he was glad that Tyler had stuck by him throughout everything. The taller peered over the table, eyeing the new treasure that the shorter brought into the base.

"Of course, the fucking Millers are so fucking easy to steal from," he responded taking a diamond out of the bag. Smii7y felt Tyler playfully mess his hair around, before pushing his head away to get a better look inside the bag. Smii7y laughed at Tyler’s eagerness.

"Oooooh goodies," a voice cheerfully said as he saw the bag.

"Ah ah ah, Marcel you know you can't have anything I take," Smii7y said. Marcel, also known as Basically, was the newest member of his little gang. He was almost finished with his training, but Smii7y knew he wasn't ready to go out.

"But Smiiiitttty you hardly ever let me go out and steal," Marcel jokingly whined using a different version of his nickname. Smii7y rolled his eyes playfully.

"And the reason for that is that you're still the newest one here and you're not ready," Smii7y casually replied, making Marcel pout.

"Come on Marcel, maybe you'll go on a heist soon," someone added from behind the three. Evan walked closer to the group standing in the middle of the room. Smii7y smiled at the entrance of the familiar Asian man.

"Evan, you know that'll never happen," Marcel dramatically complained, making Evan chuckle. Smii7y knew Evan just as long as he knew Tyler. He's been there from the beginning and was probably his first friend in this business. He would consider Evan to be his best friend, but he wouldn't tell Tyler that.

"Anyways, I've been thinking of trying something bigger, something more grand if you will," Smii7y grinned.

"Oh do tell Smii7y," another person, who went by the name of Scotty, said joining the room. Scotty, also known as 407, was their hacker. He'd find out people's security and disable them as much as he could. He licked him up somewhere along last year.

"I want to steal from the Keyes residence," He revealed. Smii7y expected laughs and cheers however the room went completely silent.

"No," was the first thing that came out of Tyler's mouth.

"Wait what? Why," Smii7y laughed out in shock at his friend’s sudden disagreement.

"Because you know how dangerous their security can be," Tyler argued.

"So what I've dealt with is so much worse than that. I can definitely handle a few security cameras and alarms," He argued back. Smii7y was very confused. Usually, his friends would fully be on board with trying out a new venture. For them to suddenly shut down his plan was extremely out of nowhere.

"He's not ready to see you," Marcel mumbled softly.

"Wait, who's not ready?" Smii7y asked, Smii7y never heard of another person being at the Keyes residence. He thought there were only Mark and Angela Keyes who lived there, but there was another? Smii7y needed to know more about this mysterious boy.

"No one," Evan said, shooting a glare toward Marcel. Marcel avoided his gaze nervously. Smii7y raised an eyebrow at his friends. Smii7y knew his friends were hiding this person from him, something that only fueled his burning curiosity.

"Come on guys you can tell me," Smii7y said, getting excited about the possibility of meeting someone new, he was looking for someone new to mess around with.

"No, because we know what you'll do considering your past," Jay said, making Smii7y smirk.

Smii7y was prone to find someone, either male or female, to lead them on and leave them high and dry. It started when he was 15 and has been doing it for 2 years. He found it so much fun to manipulate them into falling for him, it was his favorite pastime, behind stealing of course. "Whaaaat me never," he denied, still wearing a smirk on his face.

"I'm serious Smii7y if you go to Keyes you'll regret it," Tyler threatened.

"Alright, alright I won't go to Keyes's residence, I promise." Smii7y rolled his eyes annoyed. He smiled sweetly and crossed his fingers behind his back, he was not going to give up that easily. His friends nodded in confirmation before diving into a conversation. Smii7y didn't miss the threatening glare that was thrown his way from Tyler, but he decided to ignore it. Smii7y ran his hand through his rough silver hair, fixing his messed-up hair into something neater. Smii7y smiled, Now he definitely has to meet this person whom his friends are oh so trying to protect.

—-

John hates school, but he hates staying home more than actually learning. Of course, he doesn't really learn anything. He's learned everything since he knew how to talk. It's a bit over-exaggerated but he still knew a lot of things. He wasn't even supposed to go to school either, but he managed to convince his parents that attending school would allow good publicity.

He even got to choose what school he went to, something that he never knew would ever happen. Of course, he chose a public school, much to the dismay of his parents. But he convinced them by reasoning that one day when he took over the business, he could scout out potential people to work for them at his school. They patted him on the back and said how proud they were that he was thinking of the business. But John wanted to make a life of his own, hoping no one would recognize him, but his parents insisted the limo driver take him.

He didn't make many friends, only a couple. His first friend was a guy named Cameron, but he calls himself Fitz. When he first stepped out of his limo Cameron approached him and said: "I am now your new best friend, oh rich person." Being Fitz's "new best friend" caused him to meet his other friends. There was Eric, or Swagger, who he has to admit is a bit crazy all the time. But he was high all the time so John couldn't blame him. If he could be high all the time, he would probably be happy. Then there was Mason, or Zuckles. He was the guy everyone made fun of but still is a cool guy. John then met someone named Tobi. She was very good friends with John’s group of friends, and she sometimes hung out with his friends. However, she was usually gone hanging out with her girlfriend instead, but she was always a blast to be around and was super funny. Lastly, there was Jay or McCreamy. Those are the main guys he hangs out with. Of course, he also has Tyler, Marcel, Scotty, and Evan but they hardly have time for him. He will always consider them close friends, but he likes the group he's with now.

"Hey hey John, watch me make this in Swagger's mouth," Fitz said excitedly as he held a piece of popcorn. Swagger was asleep with his mouth open, and they always took the opportunity to just throw random food in there. "And he shoots... and he misses," Fitz said pouting as the popcorn landed on his cheek.

"Alright, alright let a professional handle this," Zuckles said as he took aim.

"And he misses as well will anyone put their popcorn in Swagger's mouth," John said in an announcer voice making them chuckle.

"Clearly it's all up to me," McCreamy said as he took aim. He tossed the popcorn, and they all watched in anticipation to see if it would land or not.

"And it's good!" John cheered as it landed in Swagger's mouth. They watched Swagger blink awake. John found it comedic at Swagger’s delirious state of mind.

"What?" Swagger asked, sleepy as he chewed on the popcorn.

"Good morning, sleeping beauty," Fitz said dreamily.

"What year is it?" Swagger asked. He blinked slowly and turned his head around. John found it comedic, fighting the urge to laugh at the delirious man.

"It's still the same year dude," John laughed.

"Oh wake me up never then," Swagger mumbled, trying to go back to sleep. The boys all laughed at Swagger’s neediness to sleep.

"So, John, how are the rich parents?" Zuckles asked, turning over to the blond.

"You know the same, gotta act super posh and all that," John said, taking out his vape and taking a hit. A sweet watermelon taste filled his senses, and he felt the nicotine calm his nerves. Swagger peeked an eye open and held out his hand to John, asking for a hit. John laughed as he handed the sleepy man his vape. Swagger took a hit and lay down on his back, blowing the vapor into the air.

"It must be nice to have rich parents," Jay sighed and John slightly flinched; however, it went unnoticed. He focused intently on Swagger’s vape cloud floating into the air.

"Oh yeah, I get to do anything I want and have anything I want," John said sarcastically. Of course, John wanted to tell them his life was hell. That he was struggling to just pass by each day trying to be the perfect son his parents wanted him to be. Isn't it why they had personally selected their best genes just to be in him? He was supposedly the perfect son and yet he rather be anything than that. Maybe the doctors messed up and gave him the want for freedom. Swagger returned the borrowed vape back to John, seemingly finished with it. John grabbed it and stared at it in his hands, flipping the cartridge over and over again.

John must have had a distant expression on his face because Fitz noticed something was up with John. "Hey, are you okay dude?" Fitz asked softly. John looked over at him. He noticed Fitz wore a weird expression; it was different from his normal joking and fun personality. This was something out of curiosity, concern, and strangely enough, understanding. John was about to reply when a limo had pulled forward. He quickly stashed his vape and mumbled a small goodbye to his friends. They waved at him as he entered the car.

"You have an appointment with the Thompson's son and then later you have piano lessons. You'll be able to do your homework after the lessons and then you have a free day young sir," his limo driver said as John settled into the luxurious car.

"Alright thank you, Kevin," John replied in a monotone voice.

John noticed from the rearview mirror that his limo driver was frowning at him. He loves his staff; they take care of him. They always seem to worry about him; he considers them his real family, not the parents who quote on quote raise him. But every time he ever showed kindness towards the staff he was reprimanded with the words: "Don't be nice to the help. They get paid for what they do, that's why they're the help."

Overall he hates his family and their beliefs in everyone. They believe that anyone who isn't rich isn't an important person. That is why his parents didn't know his school friends. They only know Tyler, Evan, Scotty, and Marcel but that's because their parents are among the rich. They're pretty much the only friends he could have but he's glad to have this part of his life a secret.

"We'll be arriving in ten minutes young sir," his car driver said but John didn't respond. He might as well merely stare out the window for the rest of the ride. He knows he isn't going anywhere soon.

—————

[theoriginalsapphic]

death's other kingdom

For @flashfictionfridayofficial

Title: death's other kingdom

Word count: 543

She always show up at nine on the clock. She comes in, dressed in white as the rest of the orderly working there, but whereas the color make them look frigid and austere, on her it makes her appear like an angel coming to save him from this place. He doesn’t belong here; he knows that much.

He doesn’t know where he is, locked in a sterile and morose enclosure like a wild animal that was abducted from his habitat in some faraway land. Everyone either looks at him with a murky, tenebrous look in their glassy eyes, with just pure detachment and scientific curiosity, or with a fixed gaze that tints their irises with scarlet that reveal their subdued thirst for blood whenever they see him.

Everyone but her.

She is not like the rest of them, with her sweet, auburn eyes, and her delicate, diligent hands and the tired but determined look settled in her features. Anytime her coarse fingertips touches his knobby hands, he gets her message: trust me.

Every once in a while, the harsh, fluorescent lights overhead provoke greyish smudges in his vision and blur parts of the woman in front of her— her pleasant smile turns into a grimace stretched painfully in horror, and her friendly eyes become wide and lachrymose with dread.

It doesn’t matter because she is beautiful anyway, with the pronounced lines of a permanent frown between her brows and the tinges of white ash on her fingers from her early smoke breaks. Trust me.

The windows are barred as to forbid any natural light from coming in, the artificial lemon smell from the detergent used to wash his clothes burns his nostrils, and the constant squeak of sneakers on tiled-floor functions as the soundtrack of his daily life. He is trapped in here, and she is his only true ally in this inhumanity.

He taps his skeletal, gnarly hands, and he catches his reflection on the glass outside his room, looking pale as time-worn bones but he isn’t scared; he doesn’t feel fear anymore. He is a patient man; he can wait for her to break him out of here and save him.

—

The police sirens blare in the distance. He can only stare at his slender hands painted crimson and the blood-stained cleaver to testify for what he has done. He stares at his wife laying on the hardwood floor, with her mouth wide open in an aborted scream and the accusatory betrayal of her dilated pupils glaring at him.

He didn’t do it— he could never harm the woman he loves.

He didn’t do this. Someone must had walked in when he didn’t notice, murdered her, and then put the knife in his hand. That is the only way to explain it.

He didn’t do this. The Devil must have tricked him, manipulated him, and forced him to take away from him the one woman he ever loved.

He would never do this; he would never hurt anyone, let alone his wife.

He didn’t do this.

He didn’t do—

He didn’t—

He—

As the walls of the living room are casted in shaking hues of blue and red, he stops existing, leaving a hollow carcass to deal with the fallout.

[goddessofthedawn]

guillaume cover

 Hello hello! So Guillaume--my next book--it's coming out March 3rd--I'll let you know when I have a pre-order link I PROMISE--now has a cover! The cover is done! I'll post cover + synopsis below!

(Cover by Larisa Katz, by the way)

SIX YEARS AGO, FORTY-TWO BOYS CRASHED ON AN ISLAND IN THE CARIBBEAN. ONLY FIFTEEN OF THEM MADE IT BACK ALIVE.

            Now in his first year of college, Ashton Collins is trying to keep his life normal. But turning eighteen means that Guillaume Argot, the purported antagonist of the island, has been let out of the psychiatric ward he’s lived in since their rescue. And Guillaume getting set free means that Ashton has to confront some things he’d rather keep inside: for example, the fact that he was Guillaume’s right-hand man.

            When Guillaume shows up as Ashton’s college roommate, Ashton is faced with a decision: does he slip right back into his role at Guillaume’s side? Because Guillaume has a list—and he’s not resting until every boy who made it back from that island alive is dead.

[adoreddestiny]

ೃ⁀➷ BITING ON THEM — rafayel, zayne, xavier x gn!reader

rafayel yelps before staring at you in utter silence. he blinks once, twice before rubbing the spot on his hand that you just took a good chomp out of. “what was that for?!” and you shrug, going back to whatever you were doing beforehand.

rafayel appears to come to his senses. pushing his hand in front of you once more. “do it again!” you shake your head, haughty amusement glittering in his eyes as he frowns and shakes his hand again. “don’t wanna," you grin. he scoffs, leaning in closer to try and get a reaction. but you give him none.

rafayel frowns, turning away from you dramatically before taking your hand and gently sinking his teeth into the palm of your hand. his eyes daring you to say anything against him. “if you get to do it, i do too,” he says stubbornly, crossing his arms over his chest.

zayne is unphased. to be fair, he's gotten to know you well enough to always expect the unexpected. he blinks at you, glances at his forearm, before going back to typing up another email. seeing as you've failed to get his attention, you go back to laying on the couch staring up at the ceiling.

zayne tilts his screen down, raising an eyebrow at your behavior. "care to explain?" he says gently. you take his arm, stubbornly biting it once more. at this, a deep chuckle rumbles from his chest. "is this one of your many tricks?"

zayne watches as you sit back up, leaning against his shoulder as you look over what he was previously working on. "no. i just felt like it," you say with a shrug. he shakes his head at your antics before taking your hand and nibbling your fingertip. "then i might as well give you a taste of your own medicine."

xavier gives you a look of gentle surprise as you munch on his ear. he glances behind him, pleasantly surprised to see you. as you release him from your toothy hold, he rubs the spot you latched yourself to. "what was that for?"

xavier grasps your hand as you wrap your arms around his shoulder from behind the couch. you don't answer right away but give him a well-behaved smile. "can't i just bite you?" a curious look of mirth fills his pretty blue eyes.

xavier turns slightly, tilting his head to graze his teeth against the column of your neck. the sensation has you hurrying backwards and grasping the spot he teased. your shocked expression only elicits a smug look from him. "like that?"

[kroas-adtam]

Kinktober 2024

Here it is my ghoulfriends! Now remember, you can chose one, both or none! Do one every day, one a week or just one! They’re great writing warmups in my experience, and don’t stress yourself out too much with them. Kinktober is supposed to be fun, so have the wildest, wettest fun this month, and tag me in it all!

if you have any questions, dont hesitate to ask!

List compiled with help by @forlorn-crows, @coffeeghoulie, @jimothybarnes, and others whom I can’t find buried in my inboxes!

Be sure to share over and over again so we can get all our depraved ghoulfriends to see this!

[comicaurora]

I really love how you set up conflicts between Falst and Erin in ways that make both of them and neither of them in the wrong simultaneously, and make people make mistakes without it ever feeling like they've been passed the idiot ball. It's happening again right now!

Erin's endangered everyone by rushing into this and overestimating his ability to hold everything together, but that's understandable when the group's a few mistakes or misfortunes away from letting Voidy destroy the world at all times until this is solved. And noone else has to deal with Voidy as often as him. Of course he's desperate!

Meanwhile, Falst's completely right to call out Erin for doing this and bailing seems like an exponentially better idea with each new page. He's especially trying to look out for Dainix, and doing so would be practical even if he wasn't emotionally attached. But spinning the ship without warning anyone else- especially the very-spread-thin mage currently keeping them alive- was not the best way to deal with that and it's going to make Dainix even worse.

Tl;dr: love this, writing good. Have a nice day!

[sapphicslvtt]

Shy sub who is insecure x domme who worships them like the goddess they are

[watcheraurora]

Spirit Vision

I... wanted to write a silly GIGGS Phasmo/Ghost Hunting AU. This... is not that. Not exactly. Where did the Ranchers come from for this? I have no idea 5.3k words

CW: Phasmo-typical horror ghost elements, mentions of death and blood, mild gore described

I know Phasmo is a four player game ssssshhhh this is creative liberty

—

"You comin', Top?" Skizz called from the van, where he was loading up the last few things and strapping them in for the job.

Tango looked up from the paperwork he'd been filling out for the last... oh gosh. Three hours. "Do I have to?" he asked, the slight whine of complaint tightening his throat. "Where's Gem?"

"She couldn't make it tonight. Family obligation."

"Do you need me?"

"Five brains are better than four! Especially if one of them is yours," Grian remarked, strolling past with a box of smudge sticks in his arms. He chucked it to Skizz when he was in range.

"C'mooon," Skizz encouraged, "don't you miss field work? Don't you get bored of just filling out papers all the time? Admin is fine but, like, don't you miss the thrill of adrenaline when a hunt starts? The puzzle of it all?"

Tango narrowed his eyes behind his glasses. "Why would I? I think you just miss me screaming."

Impulse guffawed from the cab of the van. "That too!" he called.

Tango flipped him off, which only served to make him laugh harder. Tango rolled his eyes and went back to his paperwork.

"Tango?" Scar asked, his green eyes wide. "It is really helpful to have five people on a job." There was genuine emotion in Scar's voice. Scar could be very manipulative and scheming when he wanted to be. But it was always him playing it up as a bit. This was real. He was... worried? Concerned? Scared?

Therein lay the other problem. Tango could tell Impy and Skizz to buzz off and know they'd back off. Even Grian took the order to scram as a sign that he was pushing too far.

But Tango always struggled to say no to Scar. He couldn't help it. Scar was a few years younger than him and had Little Brother energy. In such a way that Tango had a hard time turning down his shenanigans.

Tango rubbed his eyes under his glasses with his fingertips, making sure the glasses were back in place before he opened his eyes again. "Fine. But we're not making this a regular thing. I left the field for a reason," he said. He clapped his pen down onto the desk top and pushed to his feet while Scar's face lit up.

"You never did tell us what that reason was," Grian remarked quietly, scooping up five doses of sanity medication. His dark eyes flicked pointedly toward Scar and then back to Tango.

"That's because it's none of your business," Tango retorted, tone sharper than he intended.

Grian gave him a look—the Grian Look™ that looked like it pierced right into his soul and laid it bare—but didn't push. Just took the sanity medication to Skizz, who loaded it in. Tango stretched and climbed into the back of the van to help.

—

"One, two, three, not it!" Skizz said, lashing a hand up to put his finger on his nose.

"Not it!" Impulse, Scar, and Grian all chorused, throwing hands up to their own noses.

Tango rolled his eyes and snatched the Spirit Box off the rack in the back of the van, glancing at the ghost's name on their pin board. "You're all children." He glowered at Impulse and Skizz, who were roughly the same age as him, rather than a chunk of years younger like Grian and Scar.

As he tromped down the ramp and headed toward the door, the radio-flashlight-combo device attached to his shoulder crackled to life. "Could you do this with your radio on? I want to be part of the experience from afar," Grian said playfully. Scar's laugh was just barely audible nearby.

Tango activated his radio's microphone and gave them both some choice words before marching into the house while they cackled.

The ghost room was in one of the bedrooms. It was a one-story house with a basement, but the bedrooms were all on the ground floor.

He nearly tripped on the camera tripod transmitting its video to the van that Impulse had set up in the doorway and rolled his eyes harder. He loved his friends but they were also idiots sometimes. Tango repositioned the tripod so he could close the door. Once it was shut, he turned off the light, muttering incomprehensible noises the whole time.

He pulled his glasses off. The camera had night vision, so he kept his back to it.

The lenses were heavily yellow-tinted. He told Grian and Scar it was because the prescription lenses had a really good blue-light filter on them so he could look at screens all day without irritating his eyes quite so much.

He lied. The lenses weren't prescription. The yellow tint just helped hide the real color of his eyes. With his glasses on, they looked orange-amber enough to pass as brown. His eyes were listed as brown on his driver's license. But they weren't brown. Even in the poor-quality picture on his license photo without his glasses on, his eyes were noticeably not brown.

His eyes were red.

Impy and Skizz knew. They just didn't say anything.

Tucking one side-arm of his glasses down the collar of his baseball shirt, he switched on the Spirit Box. "Are you here?" he asked, blinking hard and looking around the room.

The row of lights flashed red.

"Are you near?" he tried again.

Flash of red.

Tango raised a brow. "Are you friendly?"

Red.

He huffed a sigh. "Are you French?"

Impulse giggled over the radio—but the lights were again red.

Tango took a deep breath. "Where are you?"

"Where are you!" Grian sang over the radio.

"And I'm so sorry!" Skizz sang back.

A row of white lights. The Spirit Box searched nearby radio frequencies, and it skipped between two, robotically seeming to say, "Behind you."

But directly in front of him, a figure shimmered into existence. Not interacting with the D.O.T.S. projector at all. The figure was tall. Broad-shouldered and narrow-hipped. Short dirty-blond hair, dark eyes. There was a faint outline of red around the edges.

Tango yelped at the Spirit Box on instinct.

"Whoo! We got Spirit Box!" Skizz announced over the radio, knowing Tango's tells from years of working with him.

The figure smiled at Tango. "Does that still scare you?" he teased.

Tango reached up and turned off his radio, moving out of sight of the video camera. He stared at the new figure. The others would have no idea the figure was there. This one wasn't the ghost haunting this house. This one was a separate entity entirely. And Tango was the only one who could see this figure.

Red eyes were the most obvious sign of Spirit Vision. An extremely rare gift that allowed a person born with it to see ghosts all the time, rather than during events or hunts.

He swallowed. "I thought you moved on," he said.

The figure smiled sadly. "I had."

—

Five Years Ago...

—

"Jimmy Solidarity. Where are you?" Tango asked, slowly spinning around the kitchen with the Spirit Box at eye-level. Joker and Impulse were talking quietly in the hallway around the corner.

A young man popped up directly in front of Tango, outlined in red. "Right here," he said playfully.

Tango screamed.

The young man—Jimmy Solidarity—scrunched his eyebrows. "Wait... what? No. I can't... that thing doesn't work with me. I can't figure it out." His dark eyes looked at the Spirit Box. "How are you..." He reached up. Before he even got close, Tango's glasses went flying. "Why are your eyes glowing?!"

They weren't. Even when he was looking right at the ghost, his eyes didn't glow. Not to mortal, living eyes anyway. But he'd never had a ghost react intelligently to him before.

"I... I can see you," he said. "I can hear you without this." He waved the Spirit Box vaguely.

Jimmy Solidarity floated back like he'd taken a step back. "What?! How?"

"Spirit Vision."

"I'm not a Spirit though. I'm a Revenant."

"That's just what it's called. I can see ghosts. Of all varieties." That didn't usually involve having a normal conversation with one. Most ghosts were long-gone creatures driven by nothing more than a need to hunt mortals. Primal and feral.

Tango switched on his radio. "Gentlemen, we have ourselves a Rev."

"How do you know that?" Impulse demanded, striding into the room and flicking the lights on. Jimmy Solidarity whirled to look, and noticed Impulse couldn't see him. Looked right past him, even.

"He told me," Tango said, peeking at Jimmy.

"What? How—dude, what happened to your glasses?" Impulse looked around the handful of objects that had been thrown. He spotted the glasses. The lenses were plastic and hadn't even cracked from the impact of getting thrown. Impulse returned them, but Tango didn't put them on.

"Look at my eyes," Tango said quietly while Joker and Skizz were goofing off outside the room, unwilling to come in and get their sanity dropped by being in the cold ghost room with the ghost.

Impulse scrunched his eyebrows and got a little closer to Tango, who looked at Jimmy—who was floating just off the floor and looking a little uncomfortable—and then smiled at his old friend. He blinked slowly to allow Impulse a second.

"Why are they red? I thought they were brown!"

Tango shrugged and put his glasses back on. "They are with these. Or close enough to it, anyway." He looked toward Jimmy. "I have Spirit Vision. You have to be born with it to have it. I was. Spirit Vision gives a person red eyes. I can see ghosts. Just... all the time. Doesn't have to be a hunt or an event. And he's standing right there. Watching us."

Jimmy stuck his tongue out. Tango stuck his out right back. Jimmy laughed and Tango smiled.

"This one's different. He's awake," Tango continued to Impulse, not taking his eyes off Jimmy. "He's intelligent, not mindlessly hunting. But he's a Revenant. No Spirit Box." Tango handed the Spirit Box to Impulse. "Will you put that back in the van for me? I'm gonna talk to him."

"I'll check your sanity monitor while I'm there. If it's at zero, I'm not believing a word you've said," Impulse said.

Tango flipped him off. Impulse returned the gesture and left the room.

"So. Jimmy. What can we do to help you move on?"

"I don't want to move on," Jimmy said. "I have things that I need to do."

"Meaning?" Tango prompted.

"There are some people that I need to pay a visit."

Tango looked Jimmy up and down. Denim jeans, white T-shirt, blue button-up worn unbuttoned over the T-shirt. Fairly modern hairstyle. "You didn't die too long ago, did you?"

"Tango, your sanity is plummeting, man," Impulse said over the radio.

"No. I died about ten years ago."

"And you've just been chilling here ever since?" Tango asked. "That's long enough that any other ghost would have been driven to madness. Lost all human intelligence."

Jimmy shrugged. "Like I said. I have things to do. Once I get revenge, I'll be able to move on."

Ahhh. So he was that kind of Revenant.

"Did you die young?" Tango asked.

Jimmy nodded.

"We'll help where we can. How about that? Then you can move on."

Jimmy smiled. He had a nice smile—a little cheeky, with his tongue poking between his teeth. "I think we can come to some sort of agreement," he said.

—

Present Day...

—

"Why are you back?" Tango asked, breathless. His heart was hammering in his chest.

He, Impulse, Skizz, and Joker had kept Tango's promise. They helped Jimmy find the people he needed to take revenge on. That had been too much for Joker and he'd resigned eventually. And Tango had suffered so much from constant use of his Spirit Vision—which he'd always assumed was a passive ability up until that—that he struggled to stay in the field. So he'd taken the desk jockey position with their little ghost hunting enterprise. Impulse had fought him hard on that. They argued for weeks, and at certain points it seemed like their friendship wouldn't survive. Tango's ability to see ghosts all the time and communicate with them was extremely effective. But after Tango's last job in the field left him crying blood, Impulse had finally backed down. Then hired Grian and Scar to take his and Joker's places in the field. Ghost hunting wasn't any of their day jobs. There simply weren't enough real hauntings to sustain them consistently. But it was a good side-hustle... up until Jimmy.

Tango had never admitted to Impulse, Skizz, or Joker that he'd developed sympathy—and later feelings—for the Revenant they helped.

Who was now back from the Afterlife, rather than Limbo Between, looking at him like they were old friends who'd run into one another at the grocery store.

Jimmy glanced over Tango's shoulder. "She is actually behind you, by the way."

Tango whirled—and shrieked—at the presence of the mangled figure of a long-gone-mad ghost. Sunken empty eye sockets, a gaping maw of rotten black teeth, torn to shreds and covered in viscera. Tango had almost forgotten how abhorrent ghosts became when they drove themselves mad.

He backed away from her—passing through Jimmy. Who was frigid. But familiar.

She left the room and went back to roaming the house.

Tango set a hand on his racing heart.

Jimmy slowly turned around. "You alright?"

"Fine. What are you doing back? I thought ghosts couldn't... I thought..."

"We're not supposed to be able to leave the Afterlife. We're supposed to stay once we made it there. I snuck back. I've been piggybacking every haunting in town for months, looking for you. Where have you been? I've seen Impulse and Skizz, but not you."

No wonder Impulse, Skizz, Scar, and Grian kept getting Twins but only contained one ghost.

Tango shook his head, his legs bumping into the bed. "I left the field. I couldn't... after you were gone... you being around all the time pushed me to the brink of my Vision. A few weeks after... I cried blood during a job. I couldn't... I didn't want to do this anymore. Being in the field..." He rubbed his eyes. They were starting to ache—and not from staring at a computer all day. He squeezed them shut. Having his eyes open didn't stop him from being able to hear Jimmy, but his ability was called Spirit Vision for a reason. Jimmy's voice muffled when Tango's eyes were closed.

"Are you alright?" Jimmy asked.

Tango hadn't used his Vision in years, at this point. He'd forgotten the strain it put on him. The strain that he'd once been so accustomed to that he didn't realize there was any discomfort.

"I... I... I need to leave," he said. Squinting to keep his eyes mostly closed, he stumbled out of the bedroom and jammed his glasses back on his face. Staggering, he pushed past Skizz, lingering on the front door's threshold, and ran to the van. He fell to the floor and sat with his back to one wall, next to the monitor screens.

"Top?" Skizz called, rushing back toward the van himself. "Tango!"

Grian was lingering in the van, as usual, standing at the desk and monitoring the video feed. He turned when Tango collapsed. "What's going on?!" he demanded, voice high-pitched and squawky.

Tango rubbed his temples and grunted a quiet sigh. "One of these days, you'll learn to mind your own damn business."

Lightning flickered with an almost inseparable crash of thunder right as Grian's eyes... flashed purple. But Tango's eyes were squeezed shut against the strain of his Vision and he didn't notice. Just kept rubbing his temples, curled up into a ball. Hoping that Jimmy couldn't leave the house and come see him like this. Most ghosts were stuck within the house they haunted. But if Jimmy was piggybacking every haunting in the area... was he stuck?

A weight heavier than Grian's small, slight frame crashed into the metal floor of the back of the van right beside Tango. "Hey. Buddy. You okay?" Skizz asked as big, warm, callused hands wrapped around Tango's wrists and pulled them away from his face.

Tango shook his head, running a hand through his hair.

"G, will you go grab Impulse?" Skizz asked, tone noticeably frazzled.

"I don't want to go in there with a ghost!" Grian shrieked.

"G! This is an emergency!" Skizz snapped. "Go get Impulse!"

Tango peeked one eye open in time to catch Grian glaring in their general direction while storming out of the van, muttering under his breath.

Once he was out of earshot, his calls for Impulse drowned out by the rain starting to fall, Skizz's hand rested on Tango's shoulder. "What's goin' on, Top?" he asked, voice gentle and concerned. Skizz wasn't the most experienced ghost hunter of the group—that would be Impulse—but he was the oldest. And he had kinda slotted himself into the responsible one of the group role. When things got serious. Other than that, he was also the biggest goofball.

Tango pulled his glasses off, blinking dry, exhausted, red eyes up at Skizz. "It's Jimmy," he breathed. "He's back. He's here."

"You can See him?"

Tango nodded. "He's been piggybacking every haunt in the area for a bit, trying to find me. Since I can See him. I think that's why you've been getting Twins so often but only contain one ghost when the house is cleansed."

"How is he back? Why is he back?"

"I don't know. But using my Vision after four years... Skizz, it hurts."

He felt Skizz wrap him up in a hug. Skizz's hugs were nice. All-encompassing and full of comfort. "It's okay, buddy. You're going to be okay."

They stayed like that for a while before Impulse's distinct run gait splashed through the puddles forming outside.

"What's going on?" Impulse demanded as he crashed up the ramp and into the back of the van. "Grian said Tango wasn't okay?"

Skizz looked around, checking if Grian or Scar had tagged along.

Impulse noticed the look. "I left Grian with Scar, working on putting some salt down. Should keep them occupied for a few minutes," he said, kneeling on Tango's other side after edging around Skizz. "What's going on?"

"My Vision," Tango said. "It hurts."

"Because you haven't used it in so long?"

"I think so. Whatever tolerance I'd built up for the strain it put on me, I've lost it."

"Also Jimmy's back," Skizz added.

"I was getting to that, Skizz," Tango ground out around a clenched jaw.

"Wait. Jimmy? As in... Jimmy Solidarity? That Rev we helped so he could finally get to the Afterlife?" Impulse asked, eyebrows furrowed. From confusion and a bit of frustration, probably. He'd taken Joker's resignation after their process getting Jimmy to move on the hardest of all of them.

"Yeah." Tango nodded.

"What's he doing back? After all that work to get him to move on?!"

"I don't—I don't know, okay?!" Tango retorted. "I couldn't really stay in there and conduct an interview. Just talking to him for a few sentences was starting to make my eyes hurt really bad. And I can't hear ghosts very well if my eyes are closed. It's a weird quirk of Spirit Vision, I guess."

Impulse opened his mouth to reply, but at that moment, Scar and Grian came barreling out of the house. Scar was screaming like Goofy from a Disney movie and Grian was shrieking like a bird.

"Twiiiiinnnsss!" Grian shouted.

"Again?" Scar complained.

Skizz squeezed Tango's shoulder.

"It's not Twins," Tango said.

"What? But we have Spirit Box and Freezing Temps. All we're missing is EMF-Five," Grian said.

Tango shook his head. "It's not Twins. I suggest checking for UV. I think she might be a Mimic."

Grian and Impulse both glanced toward the desk. "I haven't seen any orbs," Grian said.

"Might be a Moroi," Impulse conceded thoughtfully. "Do we have a book down?"

"It's in the wrong room," Skizz said. "Scar set it down in the kitchen."

"You said it was cold in there!" Scar protested.

Tango pushed himself to his feet. "I'll go move it to the ghost room."

"Whoa. Dude," Impulse cautioned. "You're not feeling well. Are you sure you want to go back in there?"

"I need to," Tango said, stepping partially around, partially over Skizz, who was still kneeling. He ran out of the van.

Before he was out of earshot, he heard Grian say, "What's with him?" and Impulse making a noncommittal noise back.

He went back in the house, shaking rainwater out of his hair. "Jimmy?" he called.

"Yes?" The ghost in question slid right through a wall, an excitable smile on his face.

"Talk while we walk. But I can't look at you much or I'm going to get a headache."

"Okay. I remember that toward the end. Before you helped me rest. You stopped looking at me as much."

Tango headed toward the kitchen. "I had to if we wanted to be able to communicate at all," he said. He could feel Jimmy's cold presence floating along at his elbow.

"And here I've spent the last five years thinking it was because you were embarrassed of being attracted to me—I'm joking, I'm joking!" Jimmy added quickly when Tango's gait hitched. He snatched up the Ghost Writing book and turned on his heel. Jimmy stood in the way, but Tango could just walk straight through him. He'd done it before. It wasn't a pleasant sensation and it made sanity plummet, but he could.

"Move over," he said.

Jimmy did, disappearing partway into the wall. Tango went back to take the book to the ghost room. "Wait, Tango. Did I go too far? I'm sorry if I did. I just missed joking around with you. It was always—" He cut off as the light on Tango's shoulder flickered. The house—or the woman's ghost haunting it—began to groan.

"Hunt!" Impulse shouted over the radio, his voice cutting out with the ghost's interference.

Tango swore and ducked into the hall closet, yanking the door shut behind him and holding it closed in case the ghost tried to open it. Jimmy drifted through the closet door and hovered near Tango. The closet was large enough for two people, but the quarters were tight.

Tango closed his eyes, listening to the ghost's footsteps. He scrunched his eyebrows, tapping one finger against his thigh to the beat of the footsteps. The lights through the slats in the door flickered—

And then turned off.

Tango shoved open the door, rushed to the ghost room and dropped the book open on the ground, before bolting out the front door. Jimmy's cold presence followed him out the door this time. Tango grabbed the radio on his shoulder, turning it back on. "Ghost fast! Ghost fast, ghost fast, ghost fast!" He careened into the back of the van, already searching out the monitor that tracked their sanity.

"What?" Grian asked, not looking away from the computer monitor at the desk still looking for Ghost Orbs in case she was a Mimic. He snatched up his journal. "And you're sure it's not Twins?"

"Pretty darn," Tango said. "I'm genuinely thinking she's—"

"A Moroi," Grian finished. "The lower the sanity, the faster the Moroi."

"Exactly."

"Well, could still be a Mimic mimicking the Moroi," Grian reasoned, snapping his journal shut and looking up to meet Tango's eyes. He froze. "Whoa, whoa, whoa! What is that?!" His voice went shrieky again, looking over Tango's left shoulder.

Tango turned to see Jimmy also looking behind himself curiously.

"How did the ghost leave the house?!" Grian demanded. "Wait. Our ghost is..." He looked at the pinboard. The distinctly feminine name. Eve Leonard. Then back to Jimmy. "Where did he come from?"

"You can See him?" Tango asked.

"You can See him?!" Grian retorted.

Tango removed his glasses, revealing the real color of his eyes when they didn't hide behind the amber-orange of the yellow lens tint. But he said nothing.

Grian stalked over to Jimmy, glowering. "Have you been messing with our evidence tonight, fella?" he snapped.

"He hasn't," Tango said before Jimmy could say anything. "He's a Rev. He doesn't interact with the Spirit Box. He does cause Freezing Temps, but he's not skewing the rest of the evidence."

"How do you know he's a Rev?"

"I told him when we first met," Jimmy said.

Grian's gaze snapped back to Jimmy. "You can talk? Most ghosts—"

"I was never quite like the other ghosts," Jimmy remarked.

"I feel like we're not addressing the big elephant in this van right now," Tango said sarcastically. "How can you See a ghost without Spirit Vision?"

Grian met Tango's eyes, and finally seemed to register that they were red. His face blanched a little. "I'm... a little different," Grian admitted. "Please don't tell the others."

Tango shrugged. "Not my secret to tell." Grian's shoulders relaxed. "Different how? E.S.P.?"

"Not exactly. I'm, uh... I'm what's called a Watcher. A rare intersection of a few different sight-based abilities. Spirit Vision, precognition—but it's pretty limited—some clairvoyance. From what I've been able to find, it's a lot rarer for a Watcher to exist than someone with Spirit Vision or precognition or clairvoyance. Like, no more than three on the planet at a time."

"So the odds of us both being on this ghost hunting team are astronomical. And yet here we are," Tango said.

"Basically."

Tango rounded on Jimmy. "Now what are you doing back from the Afterlife? We didn't spend four months helping you with your revenge so you could finally move on for you just to show up here again because you were bored."

"No, I... I came back because... I... I missed you. I can go back to the Afterlife anytime I want, now. But I missed you all. I've just... I've wanted to see your faces again. But you weren't at your old offices, and it's hard to travel around places that aren't haunted so I couldn't follow the van back. I've been..." He cleared his throat, flicked a glance at Grian, and looked back to Tango. "I've been looking for you."

Tango scrunched his eyebrows at Grian. "And you haven't noticed?"

"Well, see, I'm the man in the van," Grian said. "I don't go inside with the ghosties if I can help it."

Tango sighed. "Fine. Whatever. Jim, can we talk outside, in private?" He gave Grian a pointed look and led the way out into the rain. Leaving his glasses off. It was annoying to put up with them when they got streaked with rain.

They circled to the side of the van away from the house. Tango leaned against the van wall, looking around. It was late. No one seemed to be awake or looking around. Maybe the neighbors had all been informed that this house was haunted and ghost hunters were coming to capture the ghost so they were all hiding inside.

"What do you want to speak about?" Jimmy asked. Tango cleared his throat but didn't say anything yet. Trying to parse his thoughts into words that made sense. Why were words so hard? Like, all the time? "Look, I know I might have messed up, coming back like this. I know you weren't expecting to see me. I know you promised that when your time came, you'd meet me in the Afterlife. But that won't be for such a long time and I missed you. Your smile, your laugh—Tango. Are you still... do you still...?"

"Am I still in love with you?" Tango finished, voice sharper than he meant it to be. He pretended not to notice Jimmy's slight flinch in the corner of his eyes. "Yeah. I am."

"Really?" The disbelief in Jimmy's voice was closely entwined with hope.

"Mmhmm." Tango still couldn't look at him directly without his Vision making his eyes hurt. "Kinda hard to explain that to my friends though. 'Ohhh Tango hasn't gone on a date in five years because he's still pining for the Revenant who moved on to the Afterlife.'" It was a poor imitation of Impulse's voice, but noticeably Impulse all the same.

"Tango... am I holding you back? There's no point in you living a long life before joining me if it's not a happy one."

"I'm keeping my promise to you. I'm living my life. You're not holding me back. No one has come into my life that's felt like you. If they do, I'll be happy to share my time with them. But so far, that hasn't happened. So here I am. Still single five years later, and fine with it. Maybe someone wanders into my life, maybe they don't. I'm living my life on my terms. And if that means missing a ghost I'm in love with, then that's what it means. I have no intentions of cutting my life short just to be with you. But that doesn't mean what we have and have had isn't real to me."

He felt the familiar frigid iciness of Jimmy's hand passing through his. And finally turned to look Jimmy square in the face. The ache in his eyes throbbed, but eased a little. Some semblance of a tolerance returning.

"Go back to the Afterlife, Jimmy. I've kept my promise and I intend to continue keeping it. To live my life to the fullest and join you when my time comes."

Jimmy looked like he would tear up if he could. But he was still a ghost, and had no tears to shed. He floated as close to Tango as he could get. The icy sensation of him cupping Tango's face in his hands sent chills down Tango's spine. "I'll miss you. I love you."

"I love you too, Jimmy. I'll miss you."

The frozen kiss against his forehead made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

His Vision ached a little less as Jimmy faded from view, blowing another kiss off his fingertips as he did so. Tango pretended to catch it, tucking it into the chest pocket of his vest.

Jimmy vanished.

Tango went back into the van.

"I don't think we need to discuss that any of this happened with the others, do you?" he asked Grian.

"What?"

"I don't tell them you're a Watcher, you don't tell Scar I have Spirit Vision and was talking to a different ghost than the one who haunts this house. Yeah?"

"Deal," Grian said, sticking a hand out. Tango shook it.

At that moment, Skizz came barreling out of the house, screaming. "Moroooooiiiii!" Impulse came jogging out after, smiling smugly, with Scar in tow, who was wide-eyed and ashen, his bronzed-tan skin blanched with fear. The three of them rushed into the van.

"Survive the hunt, did you fellas?" Grian asked.

"No thanks to you!" Skizz retorted. "You're sackin' up and getting in the war next time!"

Grian's "NoooOOO!" of protest was cut off by Impulse pulling out the cleansing and containment equipment.

"Let's get this done, gentlemen!" he announced.

Tango fell into the old routine. As he reached down to grab for a containment unit, his long-sleeve shirt slipped up to reveal the yellow feather tattooed on his wrist. Jimmy's favorite bird was a canary. No one else knew that. He got it after Jimmy had moved on. As a reminder.

He was still going to keep his promise. He owed himself that much.

With a laugh, he grabbed Grian by the collar and dragged him into the house with everyone else.

[linderosse]

Guys.

Super long post; read at your own peril (tl;dr at the end).

But I just had a brilliant possible idea about where Echo (the new Zelda from Echoes of Wisdom) fits in the Wisdomverse, so I’m documenting it in case I decide to use it.

See, merging Echo into Fable would be cool. They seem very similar already (relevant post), and it’s a good option.

Yet there are a few small problems with this. I can get around them, but they’re still something to consider.

Fable’s already in four separate games (Most Zeldas get one game or less). Adding EoW makes a fifth.

Fable is already quite powerful amongst the Zeldas. Adding EoW makes her a bit OP. I’ll have to balance that carefully.

Fable has a planned story arc in the Wisdomverse. This might conflict with EoW (for example, this is why LU decided against adding TotK to Wild)

So while I still think it could be cool to merge Fable and Echo, I’m also looking for other possibilities. I don’t want to introduce a new Zelda between Fable and Dawn unless I have to.

And then I realized:

There is already a canon Zelda between Fable and Dawn.

I’ve literally already introduced her.

I have plans for her that could totally work with what we see in Echoes of Wisdom.

She’s vastly underpowered and could use the abilities from EoW very well

I could totally see myself writing her personality into EoW Zelda— it’s a different take than how I’ve depicted Echo before, but it would work equally well imo

And she’s also the Zelda with the least canon information; the one we know the least about overall— especially since we never meet her in her own time.

Guys, if Fable doesn’t work out, I think it might be awesome to merge Echo with Aurora— Hyrule’s second Zelda.

Imagine this:

Aurora woke up centuries in the future, after the Great Decline. She’s trapped in a vastly different world with Dawn and Hyrule as her only solace. She loves them, but she’s not from here; and she can’t shake the dread that she’s left everything behind: her friends, her realm, her brother, who she still cares about despite everything he did to her— and also, of course, her Link, who she loves, and went on an entire adventure to save.

When she was Echo, she was a hero. But as Aurora, she’s an echo of the past; a mournful ghost of a bygone age

Tl;dr: What if Echoes of Wisdom is the era Aurora came from— and where she desperately longs to return?

Masterpost

(More thoughts on the timeline under the cut.)

So— Echoes of Wisdom seems (so far) to take place around the time of Legend’s era, with enough ambiguity that it could be either before or after Legend’s era of ALttP/Oracles/ALBW/TH.

Currently leaning towards “EoW before Legend” considering the similarities to OoT, but I could very well go with “EoW after Legend,” which would be necessary for the Aurora merge. The Oracle games, after all, have a lot of similarities with OoT in terms of races and characters present (Zoras, the Deku Tree, Zelda’s design, etc), and they come after ALttP, which doesn’t have quite as many. Same thing with FSA, which is canonically after Twilight Princess but obviously resembles Four Swords more, and both Wisdomverse and LU have shifted the timeline to match. So there is precedent for similarities to skip a generation or two, even in canon.

I also doubt EoW is going to include a Prince of Hyrule (the one character we know of from Aurora’s backstory). This is fine, because I’m confident I can come up with a reason the Prince was away during the events of EoW. Perhaps during the events of EoW, the Prince left on a journey of his own and first encountered the Wizard that leads to Aurora’s downfall.

Anyways, these are just tentative plans. We’ll see what happens when the game comes out!

[xauroraxborealisx]

Seasons are time markers.

They can be short... or just long enough for Atem to realise he may have the tiniest crush on his new colleague.

Between tumblers of hot (and sometimes cold) coffee, colourful pens and eager children, Atem must navigate his way through the beginning of the school year while entertaining the idea that the teacher down the hall may just as well be a better paycheck than he had hoped for.

Part of my works for PuzzleJune 2020

***

Oh geez... 2020 *facepalms*

Well, better late than never, no? ❤️

[dawnarowdite]

Another sneak peek because I want to

[theoriginalsapphic]

And we kissed.

For @flashfictionfridayofficial

Title: And we kissed.

Word count: 787

The years following the end of the Second World War, many speculated on how long it would take for the next one to break out, how long it would have been before a small flame would ignite into a blazing fire, a raging inferno that consumed the world.

In the end, to the surprise of everyone, it wasn’t our fault. An asteroid was about to hit the earth; that is what the weather channel said. When the night sky blazed in the light of blood, I knew they predicted the weather right for once.

A couple of my neighbors across the street are packing their bags and suitcases in a hurry, piling them up in their pick-up trucks and minivans. Where are you going? I want to shout and point out how gullible and stupid they are if they believe there is a way to escape the inevitable. I purse my lips and don’t say a word instead— hope is the last thing you lose, even after death.

She tightens her hold on my hand; I tighten my hold around her waist. All throughout the chaos the breaking news had unleashed over our small town, she has remained by my side. She also hasn’t shed a single tear; she had never been one for crying.

I imagine the world had succumbed into the panic likewise, but I haven’t bothered to keep up with updates— what would be the point, anyway?

I turned my eyes away from the burning sky and I gaze at her. If I’m going to die, I would rather do it while watching something worthwhile: her brown eyes reflecting the red of the firmament, her freckled, bumpy nose, the small slope between her nose and her mouth, —

“Can we kiss?” A voice that sounds like mine asks, but it couldn’t come from me; I would never admit that desire aloud. Except—

We are all about to die— what is there left to ruin?

She doesn’t reply back, at least not with words. She gently holds me by the angle of my jaw and pulls me in. One would think that the end of the world would guarantee a passionate kiss to match the high adrenaline coursing through our veins, but it doesn’t. Her lips are a velvet heaven against mine, and I can taste the ashes everyone has been inhaling for the last couple of days on her tongue.

People kiss at weddings as to symbolize the beginning of a new stage in their lives. People kiss when the clock marks midnight on New Year’s Day as to ensure that they will stay together for the rest of the upcoming year. People kiss their newborns’ heads as to say ‘you’re finally here’. People kiss every day, hello and goodbye, as a promise to always return to each other.

If a kiss is meant to be a celebration of life, then what does it mean to share a first kiss when we are going to die?

I wish you had told me sooner.

I wish we had more time.

I wish I could had loved you my whole life.

She lays her head in the crook of my neck. I lay my head on top of hers, drawing spirally patterns on the bare skin of her waist where her tee rides up. In the back of my mind, I wonder if we are going to be last human beings on Earth that had ever kissed.

“Do you think anyone will remember us?” her breath is warm on my collarbone, then damp with some of her tears.

People scare themselves their whole lives with the uncertainty of what lies beyond death. We can’t control death, but most people refuse to believe that anything could be up to circumstances and just sheer luck. Of what I am certain, however, is that we are ultimately connected to Earth: we die, we decompose, and we return to the soil, becoming part of Earth. We never truly die— we just become something else to support and nourish something else.

If the physical part that compose us persist and transform, what is there to say that it can’t also be our souls? Even when the world ends and I become nothing but particles and nutrients to fertilize the soil, I know my love for her will persevere through the destruction of humanity, the Earth and the universe itself.

“We will”, I rasp through the ashy air.

The sky turns a gorgeous golden of a thousand dawns we will never share, and we know the end is near. I turn her head and press my lips against hers, choosing to drown in her self before we are enveloped in the doomsday dust.