#Blue Anvil Sound

[eiightysixbaby]

princess leia, and other wishes

pairing: bestfriend!eddie munson x fem!reader

wishing on a star? i guess it can’t hurt… (1.7k)

cw: mutual pining, eddie calls r an asshole playfully, fluff fluff fluff

a/n: just something short and sweet with our favorite guy 🥹 this really started as something smaller to give me a break from writing my longer oneshots. enjoy!!

The grass is prickly beneath your fingers, your palm outstretched beyond the edges of the blanket beneath you, pulling absentmindedly at the lush green strands.

Night fell some time ago, the sky a deep inky blue above you with stars that twinkle spectacularly as far as the eye can see.

Eddie lays beside you, hands clasped on his chest as he looks up at the bright flickering dots. You’d come out to this field on a whim, a random suggestion from him to go stargazing. Tucked high on a hill, away from the lights of Hawkins, you feel as though you can see every galaxy.

Occasionally you find yourself stealing glances at him, watching the way his chest rises and falls easily with each breath. If you were braver, you’d roll onto your side and study every inch of his face, radiantly beautiful even in the dark.

You feel his pinky finger graze your side, and you turn your face to his.

“You need to come up with a wish, in case we see a shooting star,” he says, his voice conspiratorial, like he’s telling you about a top-secret operation.

The corner of your mouth twitches in a sort of smile. “D’you believe in that junk?”

He chuckles lightly, shrugging. “Not really, but it’s worth a shot, right?”

“Yeah. Worth a shot,” you reply, feeling your heart thrumming in your chest.

Both of you turn your faces back to the sky, listening to the crickets chirp in the grass around you. Occasionally you hear the faint, dreamlike sound of car horns honking on the roads beyond. Being here with Eddie, in your quiet secluded oasis all alone, only ramps up your suppressed longing for him. Your right hand and his left rest mere centimeters apart from each other on the worn blanket, and you swear your skin vibrates with the desire to touch his.

You allow yourself a moment to wonder if he's feeling the same urge, if it's as hard for him to hold back as it is for you. The weight of your yearning is heavy on your chest, as if you have an anvil sitting on top of you and stealing your breath. You curse yourself for letting it get this bad, this stupid crush on your best friend that never should've started to begin with.

You're broken from your thoughts as one of his hands reaches out to grab your arm, his other hand pointing up at the velvety blue above. Sure enough, a shooting star streaks across the sky; a blink-and-you'll-miss-it moment. As you watch it, you're unaware of the fact that Eddie is watching you.

One foolish wish crosses your mind.

"Okay, I honestly didn't think we'd actually see one," Eddie says beside you. His fingers release their grip on your arm, and you find yourself missing the soft squeeze of them. “So, what'd ya wish for?” He waggles his brows expectantly, waiting for your answer.

You swallow hard before forcing yourself into a lighthearted tone. “No way, if I tell you it won't come true.”

He scoffs, rolling onto his side so he's facing you. “What happened to not believing in 'that junk'?” he jokes. “Now you're getting all superstitious on me.”

You match his movement, rolling onto your side as well.

“My wishes are top secret, sorry,” you reply, miming zipping your lips shut.

“No fair! What if I tell you mine?”

“Let me guess, you wished Steve would finally let you steal that Slave Leia cardboard cutout from Family Video?”

He narrows his eyes. “Okay, am I that predictable?”

“Yes,” you say deadpan, trying not to crack a smile. He doesn't reply, just stares at you, like he's committing every inch of your face to his permanent memory. It's too much, and you avert your gaze abruptly from his deep brown eyes. You're suddenly far too close to him, and your heart feels like it might claw out of your chest and find a home in his instead.

You lie on your back once more, your breathing shallow as your heartbeat races.

A finger pokes you in the ribs.

“Will you pleeeeease tell me what you wished for?” Eddie asks, giving you his best pout and puppy eyes.

“What if I didn’t wish for anything?”

“Nice try.”

“Why is it so important to you what I wished for?” you ask, intending to stall as long as you can. You could come up with a lie, some dumb filler wish, but you know Eddie would see right through it.

“Honestly, the fact that you won’t tell me is driving me crazy. So now I need to know or I’ll literally die.”

You huff, reaching a hand out to cover his still-pouting face with an open palm. “You are SO dramatic.”

His tongue licks a flat stripe up your palm, making you recoil with a gasp. You go to swat at him, but he moves quicker than you, pinning your arms down on either side of your head. His knees press into the blanket on either side of you, his body hovering over yours but not quite touching anywhere.

He’s keeping his distance. Your heart aches. You want more than anything to pull him into you, press your lips to his.

“Tell me your wish, you little asshole!” he says, a devious smile playing on his lips.

When you don’t return his playfulness, his teasing, is when his brow furrows. You look too serious beneath him, lost in thought. He moves again to sit beside you, letting go of the hold he had on your wrists.

“Hey, what’s up? If it’s that big of a deal, you don’t have to tell me. Swear, I was just messing around.”

You shake your head, groaning softly as you rub your hands down your face, your skin stretching with the motion. “Eddie, you have no idea.”

“What do you mean?”

Your words barely come out audible the first time, and he can’t hear you over the singing crickets and the slight breeze rustling the leaves.

“I wished for you,” you say again, after he asks you to repeat yourself.

“Me? But I’m— I’m right here. I’m sorry, are you being funny, or?” he trails off, not putting the pieces together in his head.

“Eddie,” you say, sitting up now.

“Yeah?”

This is a bad idea, you think to yourself. Bad idea bad idea bad idea.

And yet you push yourself to keep talking. To not lose your nerve. To get an answer, finally. Because there’s a smaller voice in your head that’s telling you this is right.

“Can I kiss you?”

His eyes go wide, confusion crossing his features like he’s not sure he heard you right. “Wh- me? Now? You want to kiss me?”

He’s not into it. Retreat. Retreat. Retreat.

“I wished for you,” you say with a shaky inhale. “Because I want you, as more than a friend.” You’re speaking so quietly he has to lean in to hear you.

He doesn’t say anything for a minute, and for once you can’t gauge his expression. You’re ready to tell him to forget it, to get up and haul ass out of this field and back to the van, but then he clears his throat.

“Swear you’re not messing with me,” he says finally. His eyes search your face almost frantically, and your breath catches in your throat.

“I’m not messing with you, Eddie. I mean it.” You aren’t sure how you even manage to say the words. You feel like all of the oxygen has left your lungs.

“Well, shit. Then yeah,” he says, almost bashfully. “Yeah, you can kiss me.”

Your eyes blow wide, blinking at him while you make sure you heard him right.

“I can?”

“Did you think I’d say no? Shit, sweetheart, I would’ve let you kiss me ages ago. O-or I would’ve done it myself, but y’know, I didn’t want to cross a line or anything—”

“Eddie,” you say, a smile breaking out on your face.

“Damn, my wish was so fucking stupid. I mean you’re out here wishing for me, and I really couldn’t see the signs? I’m so sorry—”

“Eddie!” He stops his rambling, eyes wide as they meet yours.

You don’t give him the chance to say anything else, leaning forward into his personal space. You let one hand come up to hold his jaw gently, pressing your lips to his in your final act of bravery.

It’s such a fucking cliche, but you swear there’s fireworks going off the moment you kiss each other. You can see them behind your closed eyelids, vibrant colors bursting before you. His lips are so soft against yours, the way you’d imagined them to be on all of those restless nights spent tossing and turning and yearning in your bed.

When you pull away, you can hear your heartbeat loud in your ears. His eyes are huge and bright, like the galaxies up above shrunk down to fit inside his dark irises. Neither of you know what to say at first, and it’s silent until you both erupt into a fit of giggles. His hands are warm when they take yours, letting his thumbs run over your knuckles.

“Can we please do that again?” he asks, a sweet smirk tugging at one corner of his pretty mouth.

In lieu of a verbal response, you simply lean back into him, kissing him harder this time. Far more sure of yourself. His hands find your waist, holding you so softly. You'd be perfectly content staying in this moment forever, fireflies twinkling in the grass surrounding you as your mouth moves slowly against Eddie's.

There’s no awkwardness, not a single hint of doubt pooling in your gut. His hands feel like they were made to hold you and his lips slot with yours like they were molded to fit together. This time it's him who pulls away, a boyish grin spreading across his face.

“Would you look at that,” he says. “Wishes really do come true.”

“Should we go talk to Steve about yours?” you tease, letting your nose brush against his.

A puff of air leaves his nose, a quiet laugh. "Nah, I'm good with this."

“Me too.”

When he eases you down onto the blanket, his weight on top of yours as he kisses you breathless, you have no complaints. The stars twinkle down at you, and everything is perfect.

[heavenbarnes]

“He’s here again.”

You could swear the girl from reception says it like she knows something. Like there’s some swirling inside joke that everyone was in on,

except you.

Instead, you were left with that swirling feeling in your stomach as the elevator traveled to reception. A swirling that should’ve been laced with fear, but wasn’t.

One that was gripping tight in your stomach as the doors opened and you were eclipsed by a sun wearing blue tradesman’s clothes.

Ugly bastard.

Mean face with a shorn head, snarled lip and cauliflower ears. Tattooed arms like battering rams and tree trunk legs leading to steel cap boots like anvils.

And he was here for you.

“Um- I’m not actually in facilities.”

You could’ve cursed yourself for sounding so small. You’ve lead meetings, addressed crowds, argued points with a voice like cracked thunder.

But he takes one step towards you and,

“B-but that’s okay, I’ll take you.”

And he doesn’t say a word, just grunts as he steps into the lift with you and you feel the tension spring.

He never says a word.

He met you for the first time three years ago, the girl from facilities was on maternity leave and you happened to be the lucky duck who sat beside the reception door.

Three years later you’d changed floors and you hadn’t even seen him for at least six months. But he still asks for you.

“He always asks for you.”

You’d shushed your colleague, boasting about being helpful and having a tendency to be in office more often than not.

“Probably doesn’t want to remember another name.”

“Then how do you explain the time he refused the job when you were off sick?”

You don’t explain it, you actually try not to think about it.

When the doors open on the floor with the broken toilet, he follows you along the hall like a dog.

Like a hound.

The floor shakes every time he puts his boot on it and he actually manages to make you feel very small against picture windows.

Your colleagues look away when he walks past.

The sign for the ladies toilet at the end of the hall is like a beacon of hope, you can let him in and leave him be and then pretend to be on a phone call when it’s time for him to leave.

Until you get inside.

The sound of running water from the broken cistern echoes off the walls as you show him to the cubicle.

“It’s that one.”

He gives you a look that says “no shit” before he lowers his head to step through the stall door. He must hear your shoes scuff against the floor as you break for your exit.

“Stay put.”

You tell yourself you’re just shocked it’s the first time you’ve heard his voice. He’s British, Mancunian you reckon. Caught you by surprise.

That’s why you obediently spin on your heel and press your back to the wall.

No other reason.

You listen to the sound of grating porcelain as he removes the cistern lid and messes about with the flushing mechanism.

Your eyes catch him in the mirror, watching the way his back flexes under his work shirt as he reaches a bloody great paw into the water.

“Piece of shit.”

Second thing you’ve ever heard him say. Granted, it’s under his breath but he definitely said it. You try not to show any expression lest he have eyes in the back of his head.

Wouldn’t put it past him.

The sound of running water stops but you can tell by the huffing and puffing that he’s not fixed it, you can tell by his next outburst he’s not even close.

“Cunt of a thing.”

You almost let a smile slip onto your face before you’re blanching at the sound of your name.

“In ‘ere.”

He’s the mutt, he’s the hound with sharp teeth and clipped ears. He’s mean and he’s nasty and he’s not good with others, definitely not house trained.

But it’s you whose ears prick up at his call and immediately walk to join him in the small space. Show dog.

A retriever, running towards the sound of a gun.

The cubicle is small enough as is but with Simon (the embroidered patch on his shirt tells you, he’s never actually given you his name) in here it feels like a coffin.

You end up with your back to the wall again, this time with his elbow all but digging into your stomach. He’s got pieces of the flusher in his hand and he’s sending them your way.

Obedience in spades, you’re letting him place the dirty parts right in the flat of your hand.

Getting you as dirty as the rest of him.

“Oh, okay.”

You catch him look at you out the corner of his eye before he huffs, again, and reaches right back into the cistern.

He almost looks disappointed, dissatisfied- like he’d hope you’d put up more of a fight with him. Like you’d shove the metal right into his chest and really give him something to huff about.

But you leave your hand out stretched and let him pick from it at his leisure. Take from you as he pleases.

(He wonders if that’s a transferable skill)

To your delight (and his dismay) the toilet is back in perfect order and after three test flushes you can both leave the tiny fluorescent cave you’d been inhabiting for the last fifteen minutes.

“Um, do you need to go back upstairs or are you good to go?”

He dries his hands on the thighs of his trousers before he stares at you blankly. He snarls his lip in a way the makes the scar above it stretch and you wonder if it hurts him.

(If it does, you wonder if that’s why he does it)

He turns without warning and suddenly it’s you following him back down the hall. Struggling to keep up, pretty pampered little dog following this great big mutt around on his heels.

“Need t’go down to my van- I’ll show you.”

You could probably stop walking here. It would’ve been very easy for you to break to your desk and honestly? He probably would’ve let you.

“Oh, you don’t need me to access the garage.”

But you’re following him to the elevator anyway and you think you see that same air of disappointment drift across his features as he realises how easy you’ve made yourself.

“Don’t tell me what I don’t need.”

[ghouljams]

You recognize this feeling, even if you've only ever known it by your own name.

SCREAM 😭🫣💞✨🥹

He's gone in the morning.

Barely a dent on the pillow. You'd almost think it was a dream, some wonderful fantasy you'd concocted of your husband coming to you in the night. No hair left on the pillow, no heat on the sheets, no proof Nikto had been there at all.

A wonderful dream.

You shiver at the memory of his hands touching you, phantom warmth that lingers in your mind where it should sink into your skin. He'd done something, pushed your hair back with gentle, if clumsy fingers.

You slip from your bed. You can't tell excitement from fear these days, anxiety mixing with affection, and your heart left fluttering like a caged bird either way. No gift on your pillow but perhaps one on your head. Placed so delicately by your master craftsman that you could sleep with it.

Forget-me-nots. A soft pool of blue blooming in a gentle cascade over the comb holding onto your hair. They may as well be flowering from your scalp with how precisely they weave their way across and throw your hair. You watch your reflection reach to touch them, feeling the soft whisper thin delicacy of petals, the light downy texture of new blossoms and the cool wetness of dew. You touch one of the buds and watch it unfurl, the tiny petals stretching out towards sunlight in the same icy blue that finds a home for itself in Nikto's eyes.

You've never seen anything so beautiful.

Even Narcissus would glance from his reflection if only to look at Nikto's handiwork.

You don't bother dressing to go to the forge, your nightclothes draping from your shoulders and your feet bare. You only pause long enough to slip on the boots by the door before fitting your key in the lock. No more of that locked door nonsense, no more sleeping alone, no more loveless marriage.

You know what you felt, what Nikto felt for you.

You expect him at the anvil, but he's hunched over his workbench, the tinny sound of a hammer tapping out the edge fills the air. You don't waste time worrying about his work, not when you have affectionate thanks to give.

'Thank you for loving me,' you want to say, 'for finally accepting me.'

He smacks your hand away when you touch his shoulder. His eyes frenzied and distant before they seem to come to a single point of focus on you.

His attention cools, a palpable chill in the air. You suppress a shiver, and reach for Nikto again. He catches your wrist, his grip almost bone breaking.

"Do not touch," he warns you, his eyes cold, "we will hurt you." The low threat in his voice makes you recoil. Snatching your hand from his grip. He turns back to his work without so much as another word.

And you don't feel anything at all from him.

[todoriin]

tidal waves | ayato is looking for a spouse. he comes to you.

cw: mentions of pregnancy, ayato kind of toxic (sry), coercion, manipulation, arranged marriage, unrequited love, ambiguous ending.

“Our new diplomatic relationships with Fontaine are moving along smoother than I imagined.”

The blue-haired head of Kamisato Clan sits before you comfortably, happily relaying the events that occurred during the time he was away from Inazuma. The sunlight shines delicately over you, creeping through the leaves of the sakura blooms that hang overhead. Often, the leaves fall around and onto you, summoning drizzles of pink.

Ayato remains the centre of your attention, though, the colour palette of spring enchanting when it is surrounding him. 

“I’m happy to hear that. Trustworthy and hardworking, that’s our Yashiro Commissioner for you,” you praise, raising your cup of tea to your lips. 

“No doubt this will bring forth some interesting business opportunities for you, correct?”

“Of course, as with any nation. However, my greatest concern with Fontaine is the travel time, but with their advanced technology, I doubt any rigorous human effort will be required during the process. I’m hoping it will be smooth for both parties.” 

A long time ago, you were ashamed of how long you could talk for. Now, with someone like Ayato listening to your every word, you don’t withhold any (negligible) information. 

(There is no news that will escape Ayato. He knows more than he lets on and has ears placed at all corners of Inazuma. Try as you may to keep something from him, the only thing you can truly control is when and how the information reaches him.) 

“Please, feel free to keep me updated. I am fascinated by Fontaine’s productivity with their machinery, I would love to learn more.”

With a humble bow of your head, you reassure him you will invite him so he may see for himself when the time comes. “Why did you invite me here, Ayato?” You ask, setting down your now empty tea cup with a clink. 

“Oh, yes, thank you for coming on such short notice. Hopefully you did not have to cut out any important matters for this meeting, did you?”

“I will always have time to see you. Arranging my schedule is no trouble if the Yashiro Commissioner needs me.” 

He blinks twice before his expression melts into something softer. “I am delighted to hear that. As for why I summoned you here today, well, I am hardly as young as I was when I first took up the mantle of Yashiro Commissioner. With every passing day, I am increasingly aware of my age.” He begins, violet eyes as unreadable as ever as they gaze into you, unyielding. It’s always hard to look away when you first get a glance.

(If you were to describe Kamisato Ayato, you’d compare him to an ocean. On the surface, harmless with his calm and predictable waves, reflecting the light of the sun in ripples, tempting you to take a step in.)

“Even Chiori made a comment about having to make me look younger.”

“Stop it- the wrinkles around your eyes aren’t that deep-”

“-Y/n. There is still no heir to the Kamisato Clan or the Yashiro Commission.”

“You won’t be giving up the mantle any time soon though, right?”

“Rest assured, I have no thoughts as such, but it is now the time to think about matrimony.”

You’re not sure why, but your stomach feels like a falling anvil, premonition settling in your bones like lead. “Why did you call me here, Ayato?”

An answer formulates in your head before he even needs to open his mouth, and it sounds out an awful song, one that causes your ears to bleed and knees to buckle. 

(You take your first step into the sea. The sand is silk beneath your feet, and the water splashes with your every step. You keep going until the water is up to your waist, knocking against your chest with each wave.)

“I want you to be my spouse.” 

No matter how many surprise meetings you have sat through with alarming news, none will ever shake you to your core like this one. For all the news of lost shipments, pirates that confiscated your products, and investment failures, nothing would have ever trained you for an occasion like this.

Professionalism is a delicate mask, and Ayato knows exactly how to chip away at it.

“No- no, I couldn’t,” you begin, nothing but a jumble of feelings that have turned you inside out like a kimono. “Ayato, I refuse.”

You? A Commissioner’s spouse? How detestable. You know the last thing Ayato could wish for you is a life of misery, confined to the chains of propriety, social etiquette, and societal management, but you also thought you’d be the last person he’d consider to be wed to. 

All these decades of friendship, was it just so it could lead to this finale? Did you ever know him like you truly thought you did? 

The monster disguised as a man sits himself beside you, sinking to his knees, and the white, rich fabrics of his attire pool around you. 

“I can promise you happiness, Y/n. Mora, safety, whatever you need, I’ll be at your beck and call.”

Happy? Married?

His gloved hand finds yours. It’s not warm, and his touch feels inhuman, but you don’t have it in you to pull away from him. “In collaboration with the resources from the Yashiro Commission, we could make your business operations much more efficient.”

“Can’t you find another partner? There are no shortages of elites who are looking for potential partners in Inazuma. I could talk to some candidates on your behalf to organise a meeting, I am certain no one could ever reject your hand in marriage-”

“-Then, why are you?”

“Why are you so persistent that it must be me?” 

“There are… no other individuals like you. I recognise that not all marriages need to be formed from love, but that does not exclude friendship. Our companionship is one I trust, you are my ideal candidate.”

“I would not make a good spouse.” You omit to tell him of your carefree qualities, that you have a business to run, and that you could not imagine a life bound to another, even if he is someone as dreamy as the Kamisato head. “I could not make you happy.”

“Guaranteeing my happiness does not have to be your duty.” His hands delicately trace the lines on your palms, you protest against the way they naturally curl at the sensation. 

“Then what will be?”

“Producing an heir to the Kamisato Clan.” 

He does not miss the way you shift uncomfortably in your position, or the subtle displeasure that clouds your eyes. Ayato’s not sure how successful he can be if he remains this persistent, every attempt seems to only push you further away, but if there’s anything he’s good at it is biding his time. The best lesson his time as the Yashiro Commissioner has taught him it’s that patience leads to success, and he’s willing to give you some time to figure it all out.

“I do not want to force you into something you do not want to partake in. You may have some time to think, I await to hear your answer once you are ready.” he gets up silently and quickly. It’s strange. You feel like you disappointed him. 

He strides out of the gardens, tea and sweets untouched. For all the years you have known him, this is the first time he leaves without escorting you out, showing you the retreating figure of his broad back.

What will you do? Ayato, above all else, is cunning and calculating; a terrifying trait of his. Everything he wants, he eventually gets, the art of patience is one he has mastered. The only thing you can liken him to is a fox biding its time to catch its prey.  

You will not remain ignorant to the fact that it appears this time, you are his prey.

He will find subtle ways to intercept in your business, he will take advantage of everything he knows about you and use it to your demise, everywhere you turn, he will be there. How long will it be until he sinks his teeth into you? 

That day, you go to sleep with an uneasy heart. You feel like you’re playing with a lit bomb, juggling with it so that it will explode when it is out of your hands. 

Three weeks later, you receive news that a shipment of yours suddenly caught fire, destroying everything that you were exporting, harming few of your employees in the process. 

Your time is up. 

(His hand grabs your ankle, and pulls you under.)

[aspenmissing]

ᴡʜᴇɴ ꜱᴘᴀʀᴋꜱ ꜰʟʏ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ || 1009 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ɴ/ᴀ

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ᴀ ʏᴏᴜɴɢ, ᴍᴜꜱᴄᴜʟᴀʀ ᴇɴɢɪɴᴇᴇʀɪɴɢ ᴘʀᴏꜰᴇꜱꜱᴏʀ ᴀᴛ ᴘɪʟᴛᴏᴠᴇʀ'ꜱ ᴀᴄᴀᴅᴇᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ᴛɪʀᴇʟᴇꜱꜱʟʏ ᴏɴ ɢʀᴏᴜɴᴅʙʀᴇᴀᴋɪɴɢ ɪɴᴠᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴꜱ. ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ ᴛᴀʟɪꜱ ᴠɪꜱɪᴛꜱ ʜᴇʀ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱʜᴏᴘ, ʟᴀᴛᴇ-ɴɪɢʜᴛ ᴄᴏʟʟᴀʙᴏʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ꜱᴘᴀʀᴋ ᴀᴅᴍɪʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴏᴍᴀɴᴄᴇ, ᴀꜱ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ꜱʜᴀʀᴇᴅ ᴘᴀꜱꜱɪᴏɴ ꜰᴏʀ ɪɴɴᴏᴠᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ꜰᴏʀɢᴇꜱ ᴀ ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀꜰᴜʟ ᴄᴏɴɴᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ʙᴇʏᴏɴᴅ ꜱᴄɪᴇɴᴄᴇ.

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ

The sound of clanging metal and the hum of arcane energy filled the workshop. You wiped the sweat from your brow, the back of your gloved hand leaving a streak of grease along your temple. It was late—or early, depending on how one measured time. As the youngest engineering professor at Piltover’s Academy, this wasn’t unusual for you. The pursuit of innovation and perfection often demanded sacrifices, and sleep was often the first casualty.

"You're burning the midnight oil again, I see," came a familiar voice. You looked up from your project, a set of intricate gauntlets designed to channel kinetic energy, to see Jayce standing in the doorway, his expression a mix of admiration and exasperation.

"It’s not like you’re a stranger to late nights," you replied with a smirk, turning back to your work. "What brings the Man of Progress to my humble corner of the Academy?"

Jayce chuckled, stepping further into the room. "I could say it’s the lure of innovation or the smell of molten steel, but the truth is, I was curious. Word has it you’ve been working on something groundbreaking."

You raised an eyebrow, glancing at him over your shoulder. "Rumours travel fast around here."

"Only when they involve someone as brilliant as you," he said, leaning casually against the workbench. His gaze lingered on your muscular arms as you adjusted a bolt with practiced ease. Despite your stature and strength, there was a certain grace to your movements, a balance between power and precision that Jayce found mesmerizing.

"Flattery doesn’t get you a sneak peek, Talis," you teased, though the faint heat rising to your cheeks betrayed your composed tone. "But since you’re here, maybe you can help me test something."

Jayce’s eyes lit up. "You don’t have to ask me twice."

You gestured for him to follow as you moved to a cleared area of the workshop. "These gauntlets are designed to amplify physical strength using kinetic energy. They’re still in the testing phase, but I’m confident they’ll work."

Sliding the gauntlets onto your hands, you flexed your fingers, the joints emitting a faint blue glow. Jayce watched with keen interest as you lifted a heavy anvil from the ground with ease, the energy coursing through the device making the task seem effortless.

"Impressive," he admitted, clapping his hands. "The craftsmanship alone is remarkable. How’s the energy stability?"

You set the anvil down and began explaining the technical details, your enthusiasm infectious. Jayce listened intently, occasionally asking questions or offering insights. The conversation flowed naturally, your shared passion for engineering creating an easy camaraderie.

"You’ve got a knack for this," Jayce said after a particularly detailed explanation. "It’s no wonder you’ve made such a name for yourself here."

You shrugged, a hint of humility in your expression. "It’s not just about the work. It’s about pushing boundaries, finding solutions that can make a difference."

Jayce nodded, his admiration for you growing with each passing moment. "That’s what I’ve always believed too. It’s inspiring to see someone else who shares that vision."

The two of you spent the next few hours testing and refining the gauntlets, exchanging ideas and laughter. There was an ease to your interactions, a mutual respect that made the collaboration feel effortless. As the first rays of dawn crept through the workshop windows, you finally set the gauntlets aside, satisfied with the progress you’d made.

"I think we’ve earned a break," Jayce said, stretching his arms over his head. "What do you say to breakfast? My treat."

You hesitated for a moment, caught off guard by the offer. "Are you asking me out, Talis?"

Jayce’s cheeks flushed, but he didn’t back down. "Maybe I am."

A smile tugged at your lips as you removed your gloves. "Alright, but only if you promise not to talk shop the whole time."

"Deal," he said with a grin, holding the door open for you.

Breakfast turned into a regular occurrence, the two of you finding solace in each other’s company amid the chaos of the Academy. Over time, your connection deepened, the bond between you growing stronger with every shared project and stolen moment.

Jayce admired your determination and strength, both physical and mental. You, in turn, were drawn to his unwavering optimism and drive. Together, you pushed each other to be better, to dream bigger, to believe in the impossible.

One evening, as the city lights of Piltover twinkled outside your workshop, Jayce approached you with a familiar gleam in his eye.

"I’ve been thinking," he began, fiddling nervously with the cuff of his sleeve. "About us."

You looked up from your work, curiosity piqued. "What about us?"

He took a deep breath, stepping closer. "I’ve spent so much of my life chasing ideas, trying to change the world. But somewhere along the way, I realized that it’s not just the ideas that matter. It’s the people you share them with. And I want to share them with you."

Your heart skipped a beat, the weight of his words sinking in. "Jayce, I—"

Before you could finish, he reached for your hand, his touch warm and steady. "You don’t have to say anything. I just needed you to know."

For a moment, the workshop was silent, the air thick with unspoken emotion. Then, without hesitation, you leaned forward and kissed him, your lips meeting his in a tender, electrifying moment. When you pulled away, his expression was a mix of surprise and elation.

"I guess that’s one way to answer," he said, a soft laugh escaping him.

You smiled, your hand lingering in his. "Actions speak louder than words, right?"

From that day on, you and Jayce were inseparable. Together, you continued to push the boundaries of science and engineering, your partnership a testament to the power of collaboration and love. And in each other, you found not just a partner, but a kindred spirit, someone who believed in the impossible and was willing to chase it—no matter how late the hour or how steep the odds.

[thewertsearch]

I'm getting 'em all this time, dang it!

I love that John plays along with the Consorts' programmed ignorance of him. He's such a good sport.

These guys really love their Important RPG Terms. It's sort of like a species-wide typing quirk.

SALAMANDER: Our great elder, the magnificent Secret Wizard was one day graced with the First Rag of Souls from the clouds. SALAMANDER: He donned the oily, humble cloth and assumed the countenance of a simple beggar. SALAMANDER: But lo, he beheld a great pillar of rock, and on that pillar he beheld an impossibly tall white tower belonging to the fabled Heir of Breath. SALAMANDER: And so our leader ascended this pillar and this tower, but found no sign of the heir. SALAMANDER: He did however find the Heir's floating blue servant, and she laundered his robes, and so the Rag of Souls was born anew. SALAMANDER: Such was his magnanimity, he employed the Heavenly Machina to duplicate this relic and distribute robes to his many followers across the land, so that they too might be beheld with a beholden eye of admiration.

What I'm getting is that Nanna started a salamander cult for the bit.

Talented though he is, John will have a hard time living up to such a prankster's legacy.

Ooh, we're back in the old style - it's like a game-within-a-game!

This thing does an uncomfortable amount of damage, even with John's maxed Gel Viscosity.

Still, at least it doesn't one-shot him like I expected. These Imps aren't quite as scary as I originally thought.

I can even time-freeze it with Fear No Anvil! There's a shocking amount of polish here for a one-panel walkaround.

It's tough, but John's fully capable of taking it down.

Hopefully once he's scaled the god tiers, Imps will go back to being fodder - although we don't know for sure if the god tiers increase your stats. I assume they're distinct from the Echeladder levels in some way, but I can't really speculate.

SALAMANDER: I'm so hungry. Alas, I have not a single boondollar to pop my bubble with. JOHN: i've got loads of boondollars! here, i will treat you to a nice lunch.

Such a good dude.

Is that some LOHAC contraband I spy?

The Consorts must have opened an interplanetary trade route.

SALAMANDER: Do you hear that? He is still asleep, thank goodness. SALAMANDER: But when the Windy Thing was kicking up all that fuss, it sounded like he was not happy at all. SALAMANDER: It makes him absolutely furious when anyone other than him bends The Breeze to his will! It is not pleasant for anybody. SALAMANDER: Luckily there is only one person who can do that, and he is surely a mythical figure, who only morons believe in.

Now this is interesting. Typheus claims authority over the Breath element, and can't abide anyone else wielding it...

SALAMANDER: Luckily there is only one person who can do that, and he is surely a mythical figure, who only morons believe in.

...which means he's basically calling John out by name.

The Heir is the only person in the Medium even capable of drawing his ire - and thus, the seeds of their inevitable battle have been sown.

SALAMANDER: It's said the Heir will wake the denizen by playing a magical song only he can play, and when he wakes up, the Heir will meet the terrible beast face to face! SALAMANDER: It is then that he will be offered The Choice. The nature of the Heir's triumph depends on what he chooses!

How much choice do you really have, when your future's set in stone? Choose anything that hasn't been pre-approved, and you're sent careening into an offshoot timeline, before being dissolved into nonexistence.

Maybe this proper-noun Choice is a real choice, then - a decision that can violate fate, but won't doom the timeline. The implications could be staggering.

SALAMANDER: Then the Heir will lead us all to a beautiful place, with the most bristling insect furrows and the richest, dampest mushroom soil you could hope to farm.

Either way, John's Choice seems to involve transporting the Consorts somewhere. This salamander is describing a heaven-like location, so I hope the twist isn't that John will destroy LOWAS, 'transporting' its residents to the afterlife :/

[netherfeildren]

Joel

A Fear of God story : Series Masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x OFC

Summary: The thought sounds on the anvil of your mind every night at four am on the dot, the song of grasshoppers and slumbering, fatherless children singing around you; I am lost, and if I read a little bit confusing, it is only because I am confused amidst the battleground of my grief, and it is difficult to find my way back now that he is not here to guide me.

A/N: this was only written for myself, but i’ve decided to share with you, as well. if you’re a fear of god reader please know that this isn’t part of my official story line, and again — only an exercise for myself, but as this is written about birdie i’ve decided to include it as a part of the birdie’s house anthology. i apologize for any confusion or emotional turmoil this might cause, but rest assured that i’m desperately hoping to have something else up for birdie and joel for his birthday and that i plan to continue to write for them after that as well.

Content Warnings: Character death; Grief/Mourning; Description of death/injury; Unreliable narrators

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 2.1K

Read on AO3

JOEL

The billboard said “The End Is Near”

I turned around, there was nothing there

Yeah, I guess the end is here

Phoebe Bridgers, I Know the End

The week before it happened, you watched a pack of wolves take down a moose. Old and stalwart and with a sort of strength only an animal that stands apart from all others in the hierarchy of nature can hold. Something unrelenting about a creature like that, that was made all the more shocking for the way the wolves had surrounded the old thing, tricked and felled the beast that for so long had stood solitary and unmoving. 

There were so many things you knew about Joel after all these years. He was a father, a husband, a brother, a friend. Once he’d been a monster. Everything about him had been red. He’d tried not to cause harm. He’d failed more than he’d succeeded. 

He had loved you. You think, more than any creature had loved another in all of man’s history. Or… at least sometimes it had felt like that. He had made you feel like that. 

He is killed in the seventh year of your life together. Only seven little years which seem like nothing in the face of everything. Nothing in the face of the destruction of the whole world, and then the rebirth of it right here in this farm house in Wyoming, but which you know, no matter what they might seem like in the aftermath, were really everything, the only time that has ever mattered. 

You remember that sometimes when you’d look around the kitchen table, the girls sitting around laughing and screeching and raucous with so much joy it seemed imaginary and untouchable, it felt like the whole world was sat existing around that oak table he’d made for you. The whole world right here at our kitchen table, Joel. 

You remember the last time you heard his voice, right before he went out into the frigid snow to look for Ellie: Don’t you love me, Birdie bird?

Oh, shut up. And then whispered right into the reddened sea shell of his ear, Here is what I see in your eyes right now: myself, reflected back at me – more love than has ever existed before in all history. And then his laugh – you’re laughing and when you laugh I want to carve the face of the world in your image. Lena zooming by your legs as you kiss for the last time, a blue ribbon in her hair. 

Half a century from now, no one will remember us, but I will never forget you. 

Remember the first time we met? Bated breath and racing heart, and the sound of the rest of your life ringing in your ears. 

Remember the stitches in your palm? The first time I took you inside of me and all the times thereafter? When you pulled our first daughter from my body – and then the two others? Her first birthday? The countless birthdays after that? Remember the endless happiness so intense it was almost painful sometimes? Remember how much I love you?

But of course, he cannot. He’s not here anymore, and nothing hurts worse than the memory of joy when you’re living through grief. The thought sounds on the anvil of your mind every night at four am on the dot, the song of grasshoppers and slumbering, fatherless children singing around you; I am lost, and if I read a little bit confusing, it is only because I am confused amidst the battleground of my grief, and it is difficult to find my way back now that he is not here to guide me. 

They’d hurt him so badly. Fractured him in a way that not even your hands could mend, your years of study and practice futile in the face of such destruction. He’d fought hard, he’d tried to get away. This is the least comforting thing you could ever imagine. 

What does it do to a person to be confronted with the inequity of their purpose? To have worked tirelessly for so many years only to fail when the moment was most dire. 

Fracture of a different but equally devastating nature. And that moment of final realization, that there was nothing to be done – his bones had carried him for so long, you rest now, we’ll be okay, whispered into his mangled ear, half a chunk missing, savaged. You did good, Joel. You did good, my love. 

The sound of Ellie’s voice telling herself over and over and over again that he was okay; he’s okay, he’s okay, he’s okay. 

And she’d said to you: I wasted so much time being angry at him, for what? For loving me too much? For keeping me alive? For making a decision that now, with the clarity of age and a child of my own, I would have made exactly the same way? I wish I could walk in his shoes through that hospital all those years ago. I’d take his exact same steps – not a single pace different. And now he’s dead. And all that anger was for nothing. And our reconciliation feels so fraught, so meaningless in the face of all that time now. No matter that we’d had years after to be together, to be a family. All I can focus on now is the time lost, the sight of his crushed skull, the night I pushed him away before you, his face full of pain and regret. And the sound of his screams at the end. 

Ellie tells you: I remember the sound of his screams better than anything else. The sound of him screaming out for me, for you Birdie – Birdie, Birdie, my Birdie. Begging for help, but actually, I’m not sure, she says. I’m not sure if that really happened or if my nightmares imagined it. 

[I still think of you on your birthday. I’m sorry for everything, she thinks, when she lays in the grass with her sisters and looks for shapes in the clouds without him now. I only see you in the spaces between them. And she asks God why He didn’t work harder to save him. And He spits in her face and asks why she didn’t do the same.]

So, there are still our children. There is still Ellie. This family you’ve gifted me. The whole world abandoned here at our kitchen table. How can death exist when that exists? How can your death exist when they’re still here?

Don’t stop to think. Don’t interrupt the scream. 

And you tell yourself, no this wasn’t supposed to happen, but the universe laughs and grips you by the throat; the gladiator scream goes on. Salt the earth, there’s nothing to return to. 

And yet… that isn’t true either. Four little faces look up at you. Three sets of his eyes. 

You were furious at the sun the day after he died. How could it just continue to rise as if nothing had happened?

And after all that, it is like this: You scream for seven days and seven nights.

You don’t get out of bed for thirty days. 

You cry every single night for a year. 

This is different. A strange and terrified sort of place. What does it mean to lose the basis of your entire existence?

And Ellie? Ellie, Ellie, Ellie, Ellie, Ellie. What is Ellie going to do without him? How is she going to be okay? The sound of her cries: Don’t let me be alone. Please, God, don’t let me be alone. I never wanted to end up alone. You need to make sure she’s okay, you need to take care of her the way that he would, the way that he’d want you to.

Ellie loses her mind for a little bit. After your thirty days in bed, she calls her turn, tells you and Dina that she’s leaving, that she’s going. That she’ll bring you back a vengeance you could never want and lay it at your feet, and you cup her chin gentle in your palm, and ask, What does it matter now, honey? Connie’s voice ringing in your memory. He’s gone now, what difference would it make?

She tells you that he would have done it for her, and you cannot refute such a claim. He would. He’d do much worse. He’d turn himself back into that monster we both know he had inside of him.

“So I need to do this.”

And you tell her: “I’m begging you not to. Me, who belonged to him, who knew him in a way no one else in the whole world did. I’m asking you not to. I’m still here. The girls are still here. We need you. We need you as a reminder of him.”

“You’ll remember him anyways,” she tells you, which is true.

“But you’ll make the memory all the better,” And so she does not go, for a time.

Ellie stays, and you have a funeral surrounded by the people of Jackson who respected a man who was good. A man who took himself for a monster for so long, even though he never said it out loud, but you knew, you saw. All that time apart, all that fear, fear, fear, the very fear of God struck into his heart, afraid of what he was, of what the world and a little girl with green eyes more than thirty years ago had made him into, but then, look at what we’d turned around and made together. 

And you whisper to the apparition of him in your dreams: Joel if you were a monster, surely it was some sort of divine monstrosity. 

So many people leave remembrances at the gate of the farm, the whole of Jackson. His brother, holding you up gripped beneath the elbows so as to not frighten your children, and Ellie is crying but trying to pretend she’s not, which somehow makes it worse than if she were to throw herself at the base of his coffin and howl. 

You give her his jacket after that, and she smells like him all the time until the day she doesn't. Until the day it’s been so long since the last time that he was alive that his scent fades and leaves forever. She wears that jacket everywhere, to work, to hunt, to bed. Leaving her wife, leaving her family, leaving her sisters, leaving you because eventually she does – leave, and she wears his jacket. An inevitability like so many other things in life, you’re unable to keep her forever, and for a time she does go. 

And you will never forget him, you will never move on, you will never stop telling your daughters about him. He lives on in them. And you wonder why it is that no one ever talks about the physically intimate aspect of grief? Of missing your person and wanting them and needing them, and your body physically craving relief from that singular person and never being able to achieve it fully ever again to completion like he could give it to you because he’s just not here. 

He was, in every way, all that anyone could ever be. 

I cried every single day for a year. The day I stopped, I put him inside of a drawer within myself and was never able to move myself to tears again. 

Seven years since then, and you go to his grave for what you tell yourself will be the last time, recognize the lie for what it is, a single slab of carved stone, and you think, he doesn’t belong here, even still after all these years, and yet this is the only place he will ever be again. 

He should have been made into a redwood, the tallest thing in the entire world. Let him be a tree. You’d climb and climb and climb, like that night with Beth, so long ago you can barely remember the sound of her voice most days. You’d climb, and he’d protect you one more time like he had so many times before. 

Joel, years ago, when we were first married, I had a strange dream: I’d had to walk down a staircase that led far beneath the earth. As I traversed it, I had to move through all of our happiest memories, the births of our daughters, the birthdays and celebrations and the long nights together, dinners, breakfasts and laughter, lazy afternoons at the lake, in bed together, still endlessly fascinated with each other despite all the times we’d found ourselves in that exact position. But when I reached the end, I’d be able to come upon our worst moment, see what it was in preparation, perhaps, for what would come to pass. 

I feel as though I have finally reached the bottom of that staircase, and part of me would like nothing more than to have never begun the journey down, but had I not, then I would have not lived through all the rest of it. And in the end, that was worth everything else.

That last night again, in my memory: Don’t you love me, Birdie bird? 

Close your eyes, he whispers, it’ll be worth it, the last taste of his mouth. 

My eyes are still closed.

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

Updates Blog

[respheal]

WIP Wednesday!

Smith leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching his grandson work. Well—grandsons, at the moment. “Watch your angle, Blue,” he said, his voice firm but not unkind.

“I know what I’m doing,” Blue snapped. Sparks flew from the blade he was sharpening, the whetstone’s pitch climbing with each turn.

“Sure you do, lad. That’s why you’ve broken three hammers this month,” Smith chuckled.

“I didn’t break three! It was two and a half!”

Vio, bent low over the workbench with a dagger in hand, setting gems in its hilt, didn’t even glance up. “You can’t break only half of something. It’s a binary—broken or not.”

“I’ll break your—”

“Enough, Blue,” Green cut in. “Let’s just finish the sword, alright? The customer’s coming by today.”

Red piped up from the scrap bin. “Do you think we’ll get to work on that big order next week? You know, the ceremonial—”

The shopfront door rattled suddenly, the sound cutting through the banter. Four voices groaned in unison, and Smith pushed off the wall with an exaggerated sigh.

“That’ll be them now,” he said, giving the boys a pointed look. “Keep at it. I’ll handle the customer.”

Green nodded and set his hammer down, taking a step back from the anvil as the others gathered. “Thanks, Grandpa.”

Smith waved him off, already moving toward the shopfront, paying no mind to the brief pulse of magic in the forge. His voice shifted seamlessly into the hearty, welcoming tone he used to greet customers. “Welcome! You here for that blade we talked about?”

Behind him, Link lowered his hand from the hilt of the Four Sword, sheathed snugly on his back. As if nothing had happened, he picked up the hammer Green had left behind and resumed his work on the glowing steel.

[mirroringdust]

STAVE 2 - THE FIRST OF THE THREE SPIRITS

When it’s darkest the light fights its way back and the herald of something threatening comes to its fulfilment.

There is a sound in the silence and from afar.

He has opened his eyes again, but he doesn't see anything yet. It is only a slight sensation from outside the tower, more of a muffled sound than anything else.

Yet it's not so much the tone that disturbs his peace, but the recurring rhythm in the night that shouldn't be there.

Clang, it makes again. Then again.

Had the troublemakers dared to rise up against him and oppose him in the darkness? If that was the case, it was the worst possible time for them. They would not cause unrest for long. But there is something else in that echo that compels him to move. There is something in that sound that makes him sit up and take notice, something that awakens a picture in him, like a long, lost memory of a time before the curtain fell over his life. But it is impossible.

Clang. Clang. Clang it shatters through the tower.

He straightens, stands up from the ornamented black chair and looks. He would recognise this sound anywhere, but he knows that it should not be here.

Yet he hears it, the sound of glistening sharp metal on a smooth stone and then a hammer blows over and over again, rhythmic blows, then a pause. The sound vibrates in his mind like a tremor, as if something is being violently torn from him.

He turns his gaze downwards, searches for the source of this strange sound. After tonight, he has killed every smith in Nûmenor. Every forge has fallen silent under his hands. This is a past he has vanished from his tracks, never to return to.

But now he cannot help but be shaken. His eye glimmers through the darkness, down from the balcony to the base of the tower, then up again to the other rooms, leaning on his might. There shouldn’t be a forge there. Yet his inward glance halts, the arc of his mind stops, for suddenly he senses something, he sees someone there right in his room.

His eyes open wide, but when he sees the darkness again, the clanging persists, and the overthrowing of his watchful gaze allows him to only see something tinged in a strange shade of blue. It’s only an irritating glowing light, but there is a hammer in misty schemes that's been thrown down to the anvil. The steady rhythm suddenly erupts into a shattering, clanging sound, crashing into his alert mind, pulling him back. There’s someone there holding the hammer.

Clang. Clang. Clang.

Zigûr’s hands join the rhythm in an uncontrolled impulse, pulling his fingers together just as the hammer falls down on the stone again and again. He stares, clenches his hands to fists and follows the glimmering blueish light. No one is allowed to intrude on his majestic place, no one is allowed to trouble his mind like this. He always regains control.

The being standing there is bent over, focusing on his craft with his back to him. His wavering arm rushes up and down and up and down, creating the rhythm that has seeped down into Sauron's marrow.

(Continue the second chapter on AO3)

[puffyducks]

DCRC Week #19 (Part 2)

This post isn't slightly late SHUT UP SHUT UP. We're reading Trick or Treat ok it was made by this really underground duck artist idk if you've ever heard of Carl Barks before. This is also an adaptation of the animated Disney short of the same name but it's BETTER because it's Carl Barks. Not that YOU'VE ever heard of him...

THEY'RE SO LITTLEEEE I LOVE THEM!!!! Nevermind that Louie's soul was sucked out of his body his eyes are scaring me a bit

look at them they're so small and polite..... surely no one would want to be mean to these fine young gentlemen on this night

Shoutout to Huey using his pitchfork to ring all the doorbells. I'm assuming cause his tiny little baby hands are too short to reach.

WHYYY 😭 WHAT REASON WAS THERE FOR THIS YOU'RE GONNA BLOW DEWEY'S FUCKIN FINGERS OFF

THIS GUY FUCKING SUCKS!!!!!! DNI donald duck fans I don't fw him anymore

He's not even being mean to get back at the triplets or whatever he's literally just harassing whoever comes up to his door LMAO WHAT'S HIS PROBLEM BRO

DT17 Louie could never L + ratio

Shoutout to Donald saying "what the blazes" it reminds me of my very southern grandmother who says "WHAT IN BLUE BLAZES" a lot as an expression of shock

shoutout to this freak with the hand nose I dig his whole vibe tbh. he's very well dressed for the occasion

WHAT THA HELL

he's gonna fucking axe her to death

cuddle dove???

NOT THE FUCKING LASSO 💀

Guys this is so much fucking work between both parties. The boys probably could've had like 10x as much candy by now if they just went to other houses instead of doing all this 😭 I get it though it's about sending a message and beating the fuck out of your mean uncle

SHE'S LITERALLY CONJURING HORRORS BEYOND IMAGINATION JUST GIVE THEM THE DAMN CANDY

and there it is... THE panel. I adore this shot he needs to be flattened by an anvil

that one's gonna hurt coming out the other end

I appreciate his stupid little sound here

WHAT DOES THIS ACCOMPLISH NOW WE ALL FUCKING LOSE

Huey just like 8l

This beef isn't even involving the triplets anymore it's just Donald and Hazel going at each other lmao

Y'know it might've been easier to just knock him out at the start

All that back and forth and Donald still smiles and waves goodbye. I guess it wasn't personal he's just REALLY defensive over his candy.

Well folks, I think there's a lesson to be learned in all this. And the lesson is to not be a huge BITCH on Halloween and just give out some damn candy!!! And don't be one of those guys that hands out like plastic spider rings or whatever ok nobody wants those just give out some fuckin chocolate or don't even bother.

And hey, for what it's worth, it took like 70 years but Donald finally learned his lesson and actually WANTED to hand out candy in DT17!! (also my way to sneak Della into this post hi Della)

[bridgyrose]

Penny nearly flinched as she heard the sound of a hammer slamming down onto molten metal, her eyes wandered around to look at the spirits that flew around her like fireflies. It was unlike anywhere she’d seen on Remnant, and yet, almost familiar to her. As if it was something she’d seen in a dream. “W-where… am I?” 

“This is the Ever After,” the Blacksmith replied as they looked up from the anvil, almost curious as they looked over Penny. “Though, you aren’t one of mine.” 

“One of yours?” 

“Someone who belongs in the Ever After. No, you’re a lost soul. One that shouldnt belong here, but needs help.” 

“I-I guess I am lost,” Penny answered quietly as she looked away. “Though, I-I am not sure how I got here to begin with. I know I died, but I… I do not know why I am here.” 

“No one in the Ever After dies, they ascend,” the Blacksmith answered. “You must’ve been caught between Remnant and here instead, so instead of making it to the afterlife in Remnant, you’ll be allowed to ascend and take on a new life.” 

“But I do not want a new life, I want the one I had with Ruby.” A faint blush crossed her cheeks as she said those words and a smile crossed her lips. “She made me feel��� human. Like every part of me mattered and that I was more than just a weapon. That I was loved and cared for, that I was allowed to be my own person. I-I do not wish to live a life where I did not know Ruby.” 

The Blacksmith smiled and offered a piece of floating array to Penny. “Choosing yourself is always an option, though I cannot guarantee where you’ll end up once you’re back, only that you’ll arrive where you’re needed most.” 

Penny nodded and reached for her weapon, only to pause as she caught her reflection in the blade. For a brief moment, she had thought about choosing a different life, one where she could be anyone she wanted. One where she didnt have to be her. And yet, even with those thoughts in mind, she took hold of her sword. 

The blade itself was warm, nothing like how she thought it’d been. She smiled at the Blacksmith as she felt herself start to get pulled away. “Thank you.” 

“Good luck, Penny.” 

Penny took a deep breath as she felt her body plunge into a pool of white light beneath her, only for everything around her to turn black. Then she felt a pain in her side as she gasped, green eyes opening wide as she started to pant. Finally, she started to get her bearings as she realized she was on a cot in a tent. 

“You’re finally awake,” a young man said with a smile. “Mom said you were probably as good as dead when we found you. Figured some bandits left you for dead after taking anything they could from you. She’ll be surprised you’re awake.” 

Penny nodded and sat up, wincing as the wound on her stomach started to act up. Her fingers clutched at the bandages around her side, still getting used to the feeling of being alive again. “Where… where am I?” 

“About four days north of Vacuo,” the young man answered. “Though we’re probably going to get moving again in a few days. You’re welcome to stay with us until we can get to a village that has an airship. Otherwise, we might be able to lend you a horse once you’re feeling up to traveling.” 

“That is fine, I can call my friends and-” Penny paused for a moment as she searched through the pockets of her dress, unable to find her scroll. She frowned a bit and leaned back a bit. “Or not. Do you have a scroll I can borrow? I am sure Ruby is worried about me.” 

“I’m sure we can find one. By the way, I’m Garnet Valkyrie.” 

“Penny Polendina,” Penny answered. 

“Its nice to meet you. I’ll let you rest and grab some food for you.” 

Penny relaxed a bit and laid down. “Valkyrie, huh?” she thought to herself. The only Valkyrie she knew was Nora, though now that she thought about it, Garnet did look a lot like her. The same orange hair and blue eyes, though he did seem to have the same smile as Ren along with his skin tone. 

She sat up again as she heard someone outside the tent, then paused once she saw a woman walk in with a plate of meat and bread for her. Familiar orange hair had a few streaks of gray, her skin was scarred in a way that looked like lightning had run through her body. 

“You must be Penny,” the woman said as she placed the plate down next to Penny. “Garnet said you woke up and I wanted to meet you myself.” 

Penny nodded and took the plate, still staring at the woman. Now hearing her voice, without a doubt she knew exactly who this was. “Thanks, Nora.” 

Nora cocked a brow. “How do you know my name?” 

“Its me, Penny,” Penny answered as she tried to move off the cot and stand up, wincing before she could move enough to get her legs over the side. “Though it seems to have been a long time.” 

Nora took a step back as she looked Penny over. “P-Penny… but you… Ruby told us you were killed… how are you back?” 

“I do not understand it myself.” Penny looked over her hand and smiled a bit. “But I met a woman who gave me another chance. A chance to be with Ruby again and to help others.” 

“That… might be a problem,” Nora said quietly. “A lot has changed since you died.” 

“LIke what? And where is Ruby?” 

“Assuming Weiss hasnt moved her yet, she’s still buried out on Patch.” 

“I… I do not understand.” 

Nora sighed and sat down. “Ruby was killed by Cinder just a couple years after Atlas fell. Then we lost Sun and Coco while trying to reclaim Vale and the relic. We lost a lot of friends while trying to stop Salem.” 

Penny felt her heart stop for a moment as she listened, her whole reason for being alive gone. She was supposed to be here for Ruby, and yet, with Ruby gone… A tear fell into her lap and she moved a finger to her eye to wipe away a few more, not sure when she had started to cry. “I… I want to see her.” 

“Ren and I will send out a rider to the closest village to see if they have an airship that can take you to Patch.” Nora sat up and gave Penny a sad smile. “I’m glad to see you again, but… I’d be careful giving your name out. A few of the churches see you as a saint now. If they find out you’re back, its anyone’s guess about what they’ll do.” 

“Thanks, Nora.” Penny slowly picked up some meat with her fork, staring at her reflection on her fork. She still looked like she did all those years ago, out of place compared to everyone else. But now, she had a start. She’d go to Patch and visit Ruby and then try to find her place in this world. 

Weeks went by as Penny healed and an airship came for her to take her to Patch, and over those weeks she learned more about what she had missed. Salem had been defeated a little over a couple decades ago and a monument now stood in a reclaimed Vale to memorialize those that lost their lives to stopping Salem. Atlas had been rebuilt and renamed as Neo Atlas, a reminder to humanity that nothing is ever lost. And the grimm had started to become restless. Without Salem to control them, while many areas saw grimm keeping to themselves, others like Mistral started to see the grimm attack in larger groups, making it harder to keep villages safe away from the kingdom walls. Even as the airship flew over Vale, she could still see the mark that Salem left with her grimm river, much of the farmland now dead due to the grimm. 

“We’ll be arriving at Patch shortly,” the pilot said over the speakers. “Please stay seated in case of grimm activity.” 

Penny stared outside the window for a little longer before making her way back to her seat, her heart pounding in her chest as her emotions ran wild. Love, grief, terror, anger… all of it still new to her. She took a few deep breaths to calm her heart as the airship descended, lucky that there werent any airborne grimm around to halt the descent. Finally the airship landed and Penny clutched the armrest of her seat. 

“You may now depart.” 

Penny slowly got up and filed out of the airship with everyone else with shaky steps. Cold air hit her cheeks as she stepped off the airship, a reminder that it was mid fall. She shivered as she walked away from the landing pad and into the streets of Patch, pulling what was left of Ruby’s cloak that Nora gave her over her shoulders. It wasnt warm, but it at least kept the breeze off as she walked through the small town and out towards the place Nora said Ruby had been buried. 

It took almost an hour for Penny to reach the gravesite, her cheeks red from the cold wind and her body aching from the cold. She hadnt been sure what to expect, but seeing Ruby’s grave next to her mother’s did bring her a bit of comfort. Penny knelt down and rubbed her hands together to try to keep warm. Tears welled up and stung her eyes as it finally hit her that Ruby was gone. 

She wasnt sure how long she sat there on her knees shivering, but as the cold air stopped, she looked up to see a glyph behind the grave blocking the wind. Then, she turned to her left, then to her right to see a woman she didnt quite recognize  standing next to her. At least, until she saw the scar underneath what she could only describe as stress induced wrinkles. “Thanks,” Penny said quietly. 

“Its a bit cold to be out here dressed like that, dont you think?” Weiss asked. 

“I-I just came from Vacuo. I did not expect it to be this cold.” 

“Maybe this will help.” 

Penny paused when she saw Weiss hand over a green cloak, almost surprised that she still had the cloak that Ruby had given her in Atlas. She slowly reached for it, then pulled away. “I-I cannot accept-” 

“Please, take it, its only going to get colder tonight.” 

Penny nodded and took the cloak from Weiss and put it over her shoulders. The fabric felt warm against her skin, much warmer than what she had before. “I will make sure to return it to you before I leave.” 

Weiss shook her head. “After Ruby passed, we thought we went through everything she had. I only found this today when I got a message about a lockbox we never knew about. I was planning to leave it as an offering for her, but I think she’ll be happy to know its being put to good use now.” 

“I am glad she kept it,” Penny whispered under her breath. Her chest felt warm as she kept the cloak around her arms, glad she had something more to remember Ruby by. “How do you know she would not mind?” 

“She always wanted to help people even until she died.” Weiss knelt down and lit a small candle at the side of Ruby’s grave. “What brings you out to her? Only a few of us know she’s here.” 

“I-I wanted to… pay my respects to one of the fallen heroes,” Penny lied as a small hiccough escaped her lips. Well, it wasnt a complete lie, she did want to pay respects to Ruby, but not because she was a hero. Because of what she meant to Ruby, to try to say the words she never did to her. “But I should get going.” 

“Since you’re out here, why not come to my place for some tea to warm up? Next airship wont leave until morning and it’ll be a pain to get a room at the inn.” 

“That… that would be lovely.” 

“I’m Weiss,” Weiss said as she stood up and offered a hand to Penny. “What’s your name?” 

“P-Pen- Penelope,” Penny answered through another hiccough. She took Weiss’s hand and smiled a bit. “I go by Peneolpe.” 

“You look familiar. Like an old friend I knew.” 

“Maybe you can tell me stories about her. A-and Ruby. I would very much like to hear more about Ruby.”

“Tea first to warm you up, and then I can tell you a few stories.”

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Penny motioned for her swords to swing around to slice through the grimm, a smile crossing her lips as she watched the blades move as commanded. It took months to get everything to work, and while she was glad that she could finally take them on a test run, the amount of grimm that were showing up had started to worry her. She looked behind her towards the caravan she was protecting, yelling between breaths. “Get across the bridge now!”

“Are you sure you can handle this?” the caravan leader yelled back. “There’s no shame in blowing the bridge!”

“My job is to make sure you get across the bridge and to the next village!” Penny took a few steps back towards the bridge, eyes on the grimm in front of her. “I will follow once you are across!”

“We’ll hold you to that, Penelope!”

Penny sighed as she heard the name, still not quite used to being called it. Still, she couldnt worry about that now, not while the grimm were more aggressive than normal. Her blades stayed between her and the grimm as she tried to keep them from the caravan. Then, she paused as a larger beowolf made its way closer. She swore the eyes were silver instead of red, her body freezing as she remembered the Hound when it attacked.

She came out of her thoughts as she felt the grimm ran into her. Penny lost her footing and fell back, slipping off the edge of the bridge. No scream left her lips as she fell down the abyss, swearing she saw silver eyes staring back at her as she listened to the caravan leader call out her name. Soon, she felt water rush around her. It was warmer than she had expected, almost turning to light as she continued to sink. She closed her eyes, ready to accept her fate until she felt air across her face.

Penny gasped as she swam to shore and climbed out of the water, coughing as her body practically glowed. She picked herself up and started to walk back to the bridge she had fallen from, pausing as she watched a gash on her arm heal itself. With a sigh, she continued moving on forward, ready to continue her work.

[letsgetdowntobismith]

How did you even get into the sword making business?

Oh wow my first ask!! 😁 👍and actually a rather sweet story so get comfortable cause we’re going on a trip down memory lane kiddo 🙏

So growin up my parents where STRICT people, I’m talkin: 7 o’clock bed time, all work must be done before I can draw and eat, always wearing gods awful dresses with those frilly sleeves and fuckin ruffle on the skirt bottom, no going outside past 5 (and even then I had rarely left the house), no playin with the other kids as my parents always had some neighbourhood issue with their parents and the way they where raising them to be (as she puts it) ‘brutes’ , to put it simply I was kinda lonely, parents trying to turn me into a little madam so I’d ’attract a man better’ I couldn’t do ‘boyish’ things essentially. They say that they were protecting me from corruption. Pathetic excuse to get me to change who I was for what they wanted me to be. The only thing I could do so I didn’t die of boredom was draw using a sketching pad and some shitty old dried out markers my parents had found most likey on the street, and even THEN what I was actually allowed to draw was very restricting, no blasphemy, no inappropriate drawings, the only thing that I was allowed to draw where patterns. I cant make this shit up, I assume my parents thought they were patterns for a dress but I didn’t like that, I wanted them to be used for a greater purpose. I wanted to have a greater purpose.

I had a neighbour who never really showed themselves or went outside to interact with others, I guess looking back now we had a lot more in common than I thought but anyway, during the day time I would cautiously look outside my window considering I wasn’t really allowed outside much. At the time I didn’t fully comprehend what everything was in their home front, there were some tables, a couple mallets on the walls and a large stone furnace with a couple of different sized metal slabs (of course I know now these were called anvils), really nothing interesting but at night would be a different story. My room window was facing his house, as I would sleep at night id see spark past my window, sound of metal grinding and screeching and smoke would fill my room. I was always so scared of the shadows it would cast in my room, I didn’t know what the hell it all was. Parents told me our neighbour was ‘a brute’ ‘a corrupted person who would bring harm and violence to this world’ ‘up to no good’ and the list goes on. I grew to fear my the next door neighbour, I hated what they did and how my parents said they would harm people; so I would spend my nights watching the shadows on the walls whilst cowering under the bed sheets listening to the whistling and clanking from the window, though, despite the terror I felt watching the room fill with bright sparks there was always something so mesmerising about it.

I still don’t know what had come over me that one night, perhaps it was the lack of food that day, or the amount of sleepless nights I had suffered OR maybe even curiosity to help my mind relax but as I had gone to bed that night, and the noises and lights began I had decided to look out of my window for once during the night time. What followed was the moment I realised the world is not defined by my parents word.

A strix, with pale blue skin, top of their head adorned with different symbols running downwards leading onto their face, long ears pointed downwards with metal hoops hanging from random parts and as they turned to face the direction of my window their eyes, pitch black sclera with a glowing orange iris. Taking their blistered and stained hand reaching into a bucket of bubbling water and pulling out a spike before throwing it back into the fire and grabbing a mallet off the nearest wall, the once dull scenery of this workshop now shined and dazzled with bright colours of red and amber as the strix whilsted its familiar tune I’ve heard many times before, only this time it felt more comforting than scary. Every move they made was done with such grace, taking out the glowing hot metal from the ovens and smashing them repeatedly with a hammer watching as all the sparks fly out. The metal was then moulded and crafted into a long swords with fancy swirls around the handle. A new found wave of inspiration washed over me (till this day I’m not sure why but Michael’s guess was I had finally seen something new and it was exciting) as I ran to get my sketch book and pen, immediately copying the outline of the sword before drawing detailing on the swords blade.

I had awoken the next morning to my dad shouting, crying bloody murder but not from inside the house, from out side my window. Confused by this I walked over to the sound and there was my dad, MY notepad in hand, holding it up against the face of that strix from last night. “Look what you’ve done with your violent ways, exposing my child to such weapons” he should have known this was bound to happen, I mean seriously my room was right above his workshop!! But I suppose that he thought after scaring me so much I would be too afraid to do investigate what the strix was up to at night. My dad ripped the paper with the sword on it and slapped it onto the strix chest, they took the paper and started to analyse the drawing I watched as their now pitch black eyes study the paper a faint smile going across their face. I don’t think my dad was aware that I was listening because when he had walked in he told me the neighbour was going to hurt me and kill me with their weapons if they ever saw me by that window again. I knew that was a lie.

I wasn’t scared falling asleep that night, I felt nothing really. I awaited for the sparks, whistling and screeching but none of that came. Confused I once again walked up to the window now peering out at the glowing workshop with the strix sat ontop of one of the anvils eyes fixated on the drawing in their hand. “Did you draw this?” They said, such a gravelly and corse voice but one laced with intrigue and happiness. Now looking up at my window with their new glowing orange iris’s back. I didn’t know what to say really, all the terrible thoughts I had about this person because of my parents words had been completely false. “My names Orpheus, you are Runica aren’t you?” All I could do was nod my head. “That’s a lovely name, say, this is a quiet design you made.” Again I didn’t respond “Would you like to see it come to life?” They sat up from the anvil and walked over to a wooden barrel with a couple of handles sticking out and proceeds to pull out the sword that I had watched being made the night before, placing it on the anvil with my drawing beside it, unravelling a leather kit inside filled with different small chiseling tools each with a unique ending to them. Now grabbing the end of the sword Orpheus’s hand begins to glow orange as the sword begins to copy heating up the metal. Without thinking I walk closer to the window, opening it up all the way and begin sitting in the window ledge watching their every move. They tie their messy brown apron around their waist “this” Orpheus said placing their hand on the metal square “Is an anvil, I use it aswell as some other tools to be able the morph and shape it into what I desire” they reach over and grab a mallet off the table next to them “This here is a called a cross -peen hammer, you may want to take note of that, and its job is to shape the metal and this will help us get the basic blade and flatness of the sword, do you follow?” I nod my head along as I observe and listen intently to their voice. The way they spoke with such passion really changed my perspective on things, things my parents had told me about them. They aren’t doing this because they wish to bring harm, they do this because it’s art. That night I had spend my evening asking many questions, learning all different types of mallets/tongs/anvils and their purposes, whilst watching them make my drawing a reality upon that sword until the sun peered over the hills signalling morning.

That day I had spent all my time in my room, drawing new patterns only this time on different weapons. Once Orpheus had given me a showcase of all the different weapons they’ve forged I was a drawing MACHINE. Sickles,syths, knuckle dusters, flails you name it I had already drawn it. Of course I had to keep this a secret from my parents as they probably would have beaten Orpheus to death with their own tools so they had given me one of their books with all the different sketches they’ve made over the years, notes on temperatures, hammer sizes and metal quantity. During the day I would design, by night fall I was a blacksmith. Orpheus had set up a ladder so I could come down undercover, get a better veiw of their workshop and let me tell ya it’s even more magical up close once you see everything for their actual size. The anvil was almost as big as me!! After days of preparing and sketching different work for Orpheus, they would take my designs and show me how to craft them but they were always adamant on ME doing it, they would sit off in the corner on their chair observing me. In a way I’m greatful for that, at the time I was a little annoyed frankly but as I’ve grow up remembering those nights of all that hard work and heavy lifting I can look back and think, I DID THAT. I believe this was their subtle way of showing me independence, I don’t have to rely on someone to tell me what to do.

Orpheus would sit off to one side and would answer any question I asked, but there was one answer that had always stuck with me. Orpheus’ worked during the night time as opposed to the day because of the light. There was something about the sun rays that would cause their eyes to hurt and strain resulting in such pain for them, however watching the red hot glow from the metal and fire was one of the only lights that Orpheus could bare witness too, the glow provided them with the ability to see light without the strain that the sun would give off. I always thought that was rather sweet, the fact that despite their difficulty they still managed to do something they loved and brought them joy, it’s the simple things that get to me honestly.

that’s what made me fall in love with blacksmithing and forging weapons, you don’t have to follow the rules, because there are none, forging is about making your ideas come to life and testing new ideas. If it works, great do it again!! If it doesn’t, melt it down and try again, you don’t have to get it right first time and you know deep down in your heart that with a couple of changes it will work you just have to keep trying. It’s art and I will never forget when I made my first dagger, it wasn’t perfect don’t get me wrong, could have been less bumpy, the leather on the handle was overlapping to much in certain parts and the soldering was um unique to say the least but I had done something for myself for once in my life, I had control over something. I kept going, I kept pushing the limits of what’s possible and always did my best; I owe Orpheus my life, gods knows what I would be doing now if I had just stayed away from the window, I wish to continue on their legacy and create all the designs they had made in that book they gave me all those years ago.

I hope they would be proud of me.

PHEW that was a long one apologies for the ramble but when I see the opportunity to talk about Orpheus I simply can’t pass it, I’ll speak of them until the day I die 👍

[finn-m-corvex]

Whumptober Day 22: Vehicular Accident

Day 22, and this one was also extremely fun to write. I try to inject humor into everything I write, and this one is no exception. We also get some Lloyd and Jay bonding time because it's been too long since I've had a sip from that particular coffee cup!

Taglist: @splinnters @abigailxoxo @tornoleander @mondothebombo @ghostwalloper @toastingpencils37 @lightning-chicken

Words: 2k

Slight tw for very VERY small suicidal ideation towards the end!

Jay stirred to the sound of alarms wailing, opening his eyes and squinting at the flashing hazard lights spilling over his dashboard. There was something sticky on his face, but when he tried to move his arm it wouldn’t cooperate, almost like it was being pinned down. Pain was radaiting from everywhere in his body as he was coming around, enough that Jay couldn’t pinpoint any injury in particular. Jay wasn’t even sure if he could feel his legs.

He was covered in small shards of glass, the windshield in front of him utterly destroyed and doing nothing to keep the breeze from blowing past him. His head was pounding, throbbing like someone was trying to break his skull open on an anvil. Blood poured out from a wound on his chest, flowing down into his lap and soaking through his pants.

Oh yeah, and someone was shaking him.

“--ay!” the person was saying loudly, jostling his shoulder. “Jay! Come on man, wake up!”

Lloyd. He was driving with Lloyd.

Groaning, Jay did his best to turn his head to the side, but his neck refused to cooperate. Maybe if he didn’t feel so tired then he would’ve felt afraid of his neck being broken. “Lloyd?”

“Oh thank the First Master,” and Jay saw his little brother’s blond hair as Lloyd reached over to unbuckle his seatbelt. “The police are on their way. I need you to stay awake for me and I’m going to look you over.”

“What happened?” Jay asked, coughing. He felt blood spatter across his chin, Lloyd reaching up to wipe it off with his sweatshirt sleeve.

“There was a truck coming,” Lloyd said, still working to free Jay, “and there wasn’t enough time to get out of the way, so you swerved the car so it would hit your side instead of mine. It was incredibly stupid of you.”

A soft click, and the ruined seatbelt was going back to its place and Jay was falling to the side. Lloyd quickly caught him, but Jay cried out when the side of his head brushed against the younger’s shoulder. Breathing was a chore, every inhale dragging against his ribs like nails on a chalkboard. He swallowed back the sudden urge to puke his guts up all over the both of them, instead leaning on Lloyd and shutting his eyes to dispel the dizziness.

“Are you okay?” Jay’s tongue felt like it was made of sandpaper, the taste of iron overwhelming.

Lloyd snorted. “You look like you’re on death’s door and you’re asking if I’m okay?”

“Well, yeah, you’re my little brother.”

“Unbelievable,” Lloyd shook his head. “Okay, we need to get out. I think your door is smashed in, so you’ve gotta come out from my side. Can you do that?”

“Can’t feel my legs.”

Stopping, Lloyd turned, fear flashing across his face. “What?”

Jay’s hand was shaking when he tried to grab Lloyd’s arm. “I can’t feel my legs.”

Taking a deep breath, Lloyd closed his eyes and counted to three before opening them. “Okay. Okay. We can work with this. Since my legs still work, I can get you out if I need to.”

He quickly checked over Jay’s head, fingers skimming lightly against his scalp as he searched for any injuries. There was a small bump on the back, and Jay flinched when Lloyd touched it. Backing off, Lloyd apologized, and propped the blue ninja up against the seat so that he wouldn’t fall over again.

“Where are the others?” Jay slurred, barely noticing as Lloyd got out of the car. There was a green glow on Jay’s other side, and suddenly the door was gone as Lloyd tossed it aside. His hands were still glowing with the residual energy. Lloyd’s hands were everywhere, on his neck and then his shoulders and down his back. Oh yeah, he guessed that snapping his spine was a possibility.

Frowning, Lloyd continued until he reached Jay’s hips. “I haven’t called them yet.”

“Shouldn’t you do that before I die?”

Lloyd snapped his head up. “You’re not dying, Jay.”

“Uh, yeah I am,” Jay chuckled, and he cringed from how wet it sounded. “I can’t feel my legs, I’m bleeding out, and we don’t even know if we can get me out.”

“I am getting you out of here,” but Lloyd’s hands were shaking, covered in Jay’s blood as he finally glanced down to where Jay’s legs were, and he nearly lost his lunch. “You know what? I think I will call Nya now.”

Miraculously, Lloyd’s phone had made it out of the wreck with only a few cracks, and Jay sucked in a breath as something in the car shifted. Pain lanced up his back, blinding, and he bit his bleeding tongue to keep from crying out. His little brother was already worried enough.

Was his vision always this spotty?

Someone on the other line finally picked up. “Lloyd? What’s up?”

“I think Jay lost his leg.”

“What?!”

Lloyd was panicking. “Okay look we got in an accident because a truck was coming and we couldn’t get out of the way in time so we crashed but it went into Jay’s side and he was knocked out and now he’s bleeding with a maybe broken spine and he can’t feel his leg and I don’t know what to do—”

“Hey,” Jay said, shoving his hand out clumsily, “give it here and calm the fuck down.”

Shoving the phone into his hand, Lloyd started some breathing exercises, clenching his fists and slamming his eyes shut. Jay brought the phone up to his ear as best as he could, hoping that he wasn’t going to get his blood all over it.

“Lloyd! What is happening?!” Nya was saying, sounding angry. He hated it when she was angry.

He coughed. “Hey, Nya.”

“Jay!” she said. “What happened? Where are you?”

“Car accident on one of the side streets. Hit and run. We don’t know where it went.” His vision was dimming, either that or the bulbs in his hazard lights were starting to fade. Either option wasn’t great, especially when they didn’t know when the emergency services were coming.

“Where is Lloyd?”

“Next to me,” Jay said, watching his little brother as carefully as he could, “he’s fine. I made sure that I took the brunt of the hit.” Talking was suddenly very hard.

Nya sighed, and he knew that she was still worried. “Pixal is tracking you and then we’re coming. I just need you to stay awake until we get there. If you ever do something this stupid and reckless again I will murder you myself.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” Jay said, and he screamed into the phone when Lloyd started trying to lift the debris off of his legs. The front of the car had been completely crushed, collapsing directly on top of Jay’s legs and midsection; the only thing that had saved him was the now deflated airbag. Colors flashed rapidly in front of him like a kaleidoscope, and it took every ounce of Jay’s self-control to keep from throwing up.

Panting, he squeezed his eyes shut as Lloyd kept going, continuing to lift and lift and lift until it was finally somewhat unbent and Jay’s legs were technically freed. He started to feel pins and needles as the blood flowed back into the limbs, and Lloyd looked relieved to see Jay’s legs still firmly attached to his body.

“Come on, let’s get you out of here,” Lloyd said, reaching for Jay’s arm and throwing it over his shoulder. Jay was basically deadweight as the green ninja hauled him out of the ruined car, plopping him down in the wet grass and laying him down as carefully as he could. “Holy shit, you’ve lost a lot of blood.”

“Yeah, I know,” but Jay still didn’t think that it was the most that he had ever lost in his life. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”

Shaking his head, Lloyd started to feel around Jay’s legs. “You are most definitely not fine if you’re bleeding this much.”

“Is the moon supposed to be green?”

“No, Jay. The moon is not supposed to be green.”

“Good, just checking.”

Both of them had forgotten that Nya was still on the phone until there was a loud “HELLO?!” echoing from Jay’s hand. Lloyd snatched it up and put it to his ear, rolling up Jay’s pant leg to inspect a gash that had been inflicted on it. It was deep, and would definitely need stitches.

“Nya, I’m fine. Seriously. I think I just hit my head,” Lloyd was insisting, “the one you need to be worried about right now is Jay. But don’t worry! He still has his legs.”

The night air felt good against Jay’s warm skin, and he hummed as his lightning started to activate. It was almost tingly, and Jay was happy to feel it stretch into every one of his limbs and through each of his nerves, helping to dull some of the pain and bring him back down to earth. Lloyd wasn’t prepared for it, pulling back after an initial shock but continuing his work.

His little brother. His baby brother.

First Master, he loved him so much.

“Hey, hey Lloyd,” Jay said, looking up at the dark sky as Lloyd carefully folded his hoodie to use as a pillow for the blue ninja. His phone lay on the ground with a dark screen; Nya was gone.

“What?” Lloyd asked.

“I’m glad it was me and not you.”

Lloyd stopped for a second and then kept going. “Why’s that?”

“If it was you…” Jay shook his head, “I never would’ve forgiven myself.”

His ribs were protesting every breath, creaking and groaning under the pressure and struggling to fight against the force of gravity. There was a part of him that didn’t want to try and fight it anymore, content to let nature crush his lungs into the ground. The feeling of his head splitting open was slightly soothed when Lloyd started to run his fingers through Jay’s filthy hair, untangling the knots and twirling the natural curls around his thumb.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive myself either,” Lloyd whispered, and Jay forced himself to stay awake. Nya told him to stay awake.

“You have to,” Jay insisted, “it wasn’t your fault. I made my choice.”

Was he even saying the right things?

Jay wanted his Yang and her voice and her touch and all of the sweet nothings that she could say. He wanted his big brothers and their strong arms and their confidence and their comforts. He wanted someone else to be here and comfort Lloyd and comfort him and take all of the pain away. Jay had never been good at that sort of thing, in his opinion. Tears started to run down his face, hot and fat and ugly and Lloyd began to wipe them away with his other hand.

“You’ll be okay,” Lloyd said, and Jay hated how close his brother’s voice was to breaking, “you’ll be okay.”

What were they even going out for? What could’ve been worth a risk like this?

He vaguely remembered something about being sad and wanting to go out, and Lloyd had volunteered to keep him company.

Sirens wailed in the distance, and Jay could’ve sworn that he saw the Bounty swooping in from the sky behind the cover of the clouds. Lloyd continued to comfort him, squeezing his hand and still playing with his hair, and Jay was grateful because if he wasn’t being reminded that there was someone next to him then he may have given up on breathing. It was too hard to do by himself; too suffocating and too much and too difficult and what was the point if all it was going to do was cause you more pain?

Lloyd sobbed when Jay said that out loud, and he hoped that he wouldn’t have to talk about it later at the hospital.

[ghouljams]

At this point aphrodite!reader should just bite him in a fit of cuteness agression, maybe then he'll understand

Teeth you know.

They scrape against your skin, dredge themselves through the pitch of night and leave you burning for more.

They follow phantom touches and words whispered in a tongue that sticks to consonants you can't parse.

They are dangerous and gleaming, and oh so gentle with you.

And you arch into the feeling of them, hoping to be devoured,

Only for the dream to leave you.

You pad down to the forge, the heavy clang of Nikto's hammer guiding you like a siren's call. The grit of soot beneath your bare feet reminds you that you've foregone the boots Nikto insisted you wear, but you can't find it in you to mind. The stone floor is so warm, and you let out a please hum at the blast of hot air that hits you as you open the forge door.

Nikto is inspecting an arrow when you enter the forge, holding the silvery thing up to the darkness with his pliers as he inspects it. He lowers it back to the anvil and raises his hammer to strike it anew.

"Zolotse," Nikto greets, his voice just loud enough to cover the sound of metal striking metal, "It is late, go back to bed."

You ignore his command in favor of picking your way to his workbench. A quiver of silvery arrows strewn across the wood, each with perfectly trimmed feathers and sculpted points. You press your fingers against one and find Nikto's rough hand covering yours, pulling you away.

"For Artemis," He tells you, "Don't touch."

You've never seen his worktable properly before. Screws and nails are set in neat plates with walled edges. Tools rest on leather wraps. Raw ingots and metals sit in lumps in one corner waiting to be processed by Nikto's practiced hand. Organized, and yet there's a distinct messiness to the workstation. Claustrophobically cluttered.

Your eyes fall on the plate of food at the edge of the table, warming grapes and olives, bread quickly going stale, ambrosia barely touched.

"You haven't eaten." It puzzles you, somehow. He hasn't eaten, he hasn't come to bed, how is he still able to swing his hammer with such strength? Isn't he tired? Hungry?

"We will eat later." He turns you away from the table, "You will bed now."

You turn back and catch the growl of frustration that Nikto bites off.

"You have to eat something," You insist, reaching for the plate. You're surprised his hands don't catch you again as you break the crusty bread between your hands and tear off a bite to dredge through the wine like ambrosia.

You cup your hand under the bite as you hold it out to him.

"Eat."

You don't know where your boldness comes from, if you were so bold when you married Nikto, or if it's his own curt demeanor starting to rub off on you, but you stand there and wait.

Nikto watches you, his breath puffing through the mask he wears like smoke from a chimney. His eyes are cold, the icy blue like a winter storm in the middle of the forge, and then they're gone, covered by the mask he tugs up as he beds down to take the bite from between your fingers. His mouth furnace hot and his tongue searching.

His teeth scrape your fingers and your body shivers with heat.

Familiar,

like a wonderful dream.

[waitwhaa]

cw: shots, mention of kidnapping, chasing

It's cold, wet and damp in the forest - jogging through wet grass at five o'clock in the morning obviously won't have a good effect on Phos' health, but now wet grass was the least of her worries.

FUCKING RUN.

R U N.

Her lungs were already burning - it seemed to her that a little more and she would simply spit them out. Her legs were buzzing, the blood was pounding in her head, and the thin dress she was wearing had already become slightly torn on the branches of the bushes.

It was terribly quiet around her and because of this, her whole soul sank into her heels every time she made loud noises.

She wonder what will happen when he finds her?

Will he kill her?

Will he kidnap her? He's already done it, damn it!

Why was she so stupid and went along with his sweet speeches?

Ever since she was a child, she had been told to be wary of strangers and not to trust them.

..however, he was not a stranger.

The edge of the forest - but the girl does not feel inspired, only an endless, tight, dense anxiety, nerves stretched like a bowstring do not allow joy to embrace an already tired mind.

Mechanical sound of a hunting rifle.

"Wait...what?.."

`Shot!`

It looks like he will kidnap her after all.

Screaming in pain, the girl collapsed to the ground, straight into the mud.

The bullet went through the arm muscle, but Phos still fell to the ground. Pain shot through her head and, trying to overcome the darkness and stars in her eyes, with a roar, the 21 y.o. student stood up and ran forward.

Now it was impossible to stop - she pulled as hard as she could, ignoring the wound and only squeezing her hand on top of the hole.

Click, cruck.

Does he reload on purpose to warn of a shot?

Is he making fun of her!?

Of course he does.

"He's aiming at me right now, i need to do something unexpec-"

`Shot!`

Phos jerked to the left - the bullet slid across her right calf, leaving a scratch.

"I need somewhere to hide..I NEED TO FUCKING HIDE!!!"

Her heart is beating like crazy - the girl feels her throat being constricted. This is a game of life and death, and she clearly doesn’t set the rules!

She runs out of the forest.

Oh, yes, of course.

Fucking bare field.

All that was left was to run along the curve, ignoring the throbbing of her hand and the prickling of the scratch.

And she rushed forward...

...To fall screaming into the ground again - this time it hurt to the point of sparks from the eyes.

A sharp, piercing, paralyzing pain grabbed her leg like a thorn vine and climbed onto her back. Tears flowed from her eyes involuntarily - she was shot in the knee.

Writhing and groaning, she convulsively grabbed the lumbago with her fingers. There was absolutely no relief from the pain, but she grabbed the skin above her injured knee and clenched her teeth, whining.

"I need to leave...I need to leave, get out of here!!"

The heart beat like a dull hammer against the anvil, the body began to tremble - the hand made itself felt again. The girl could not stand it and whined again, protractedly, suffering.

"But I can not! ...I can't get up...I can't get up...I can't get up, I can't get up, I can't get up, I can't get up, I can't get up, I CAN'T GET UP, I CAN'T-.."

Jerk.

Groan.

"Ugh, get up...the field is small, there are houses nearby..."

Strained breath.

Jerk!

"C`mon, Phos, it's just a knee... You moved calmly and on one leg, jumping, for the longest time than others, come on, you can do it, come on, you just need to do nothing - get up, and walk, get up and..."

"Do you want to take a second bullet in the knee?"

What?

The girl froze in a half-raised position.

"A good choice."

"How is he so fast..?"

The girl was afraid to move. And it wasn’t just the hellish pain dulled by adrenaline.

Behind her stood a blue-haired hunter with blue and white eyes.

In his jacket and with his hunting rifle.

Which was now pressed to the back of her head.

The girl slowly sank to the ground.

"Good girl. Now, be the good girl you are, turn to me and let me pick you up so I can carry you home."

Carefully turn sideways.

.

.

.

Phos felt boiling lava inside her.

Anger.

"DIE, SCUM!!!"

.

.

.

The attack was successful but useless.

Having fallen out of the stranger's hands and falling straight on her shot knee, the girl froze in painful shock.

"Hm. Bad girl."

A moment later, the butt of a rifle landed on the back of her head.

The darkness fell on her with a ringing sound...

UPD: She's not dead damn it, why does everyone think she's dead? He knocked her out with the butt of a hunting rifle, hitting her on the head, guys, LMAOOO HAHAHA...

Also,,,,

@turvuren hi friend

[writernopal]

Find the Word

Hi, hello, using this as proof that I do indeed live lol I've just been. Having A Time. Anyway, thank you to @oh-no-another-idea for tagging me here!

My words to find were: remember, something, blue, and dawn. All sneeps are coming from Man O' War for this one because I desperately miss this project!

remember

‘Do not expect to return as you are.’  Quye’ck looked all around. Not a thing for miles. Did it matter where he went? ‘With any luck, you shall return as who you are meant to be.’ Perhaps. Perhaps not. But anywhere was better than standing here.  ‘The wilds are the furnace and anvil with which Kava perfects us in her image. Remember that and you shall not break.’

something

They walked, in his case, slithered, for miles and miles, cleaving through sand and across earth. Sand and earth. Sand and earth… Golden and shining. Waves upon waves of splendor decorated the horizon, marvelously unaware of their own violence, blotched only by the occasional tuft of something living and wild. Perhaps a hare or a dried up shrub. It was hard to know, and he hardly cared. The blank stares from before had yet to leave his mind, and the hobbling steps of the modest one created an uneasy clock, ticking down and down…  Four days later, the clock stopped ticking, striking instead a heavy sound.  They stopped. 

blue

A man as tall and wide as his Pa, though far more wrinkled, circled the couple, speaking words not of contract but of unity. He donned robes in the same bright colors of the squawking birds that decorated the canopies of The Heartlands—rich greens, vivid yellows, and brilliant blues—to stand out against his maroon scales. Jewelry crafted of carefully carved wood and bone dangled around his neck, wrists, and ankles, making the pieces of steel in his nose all the more noticeable. They glinted in the candlelight. One, two, three, four, five rings straddled the space between his nostrils, one for each of his wives. Not just ‘a man’ then, no, he was the indelible, the ancient, Lord X’chtlama, Clan Leader of Lexlar. The only one worth remembering in that sea of faces.

dawn

He flinched and from the cluttered space emerged a woman. She was old and walked with a cane. Her scales were a silvery-blue, like the waking color of the dawn sky, and her shoulders were hunched. They made the papery crest trailing down her back appear more like a vestigial fin or perhaps a tattered piece of old fashion. Swirls of shapeless fabric draped over her person, given structure by cleverly placed pins and a heavy belt. On her face, a kindly and teetering smile. One which made apparent the puckering creases on her snout and around her mouth as it quivered to form that pleasant look.

Tagging (gently): @tabswrites @void-botanist @thatndginger @sarahlizziewrites

Your words will be: wither, gather, surreal, and fragrant

M.O.W Taglist: @moonluringfrost @full-on-sam @illjustpretend @sparatus @outpost51 @captain-kraken @the-mindless @zestymimblo @mysticstarlightduck @tabswrites @void-botanist

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