#I was high when I drew this and I was having a hard time capturing his face

[domovzy]

Superstar

[oozedninjas]

No Hard Feelings~

Warnings: NSFW | Explisit Smut | MDNI | 18+ | Friends with Benefits trope | Breeding kink | Slight Dumbification | Dirty Talking | Use of the word "Daddy" twice. | Daddy kink | Dry-Humping | Slight Bruising | General (animated verses) strongly leaning toward 2007, for that one line lol. | Leo is in his early 30's

A/N: This piece has been my baby for over two weeks now. Hope you like it! Mixed two requests, one for the "daddy" thing and other who asked for fwb trope. Enjoy, my dirty hoes! 💜

It was supposed to be a one-time thing. But his kiss was a blaze in the dark, igniting something primal within you. You watched him from afar, his muscles stretching as he trained—the soft swing of his two katanas in perfect harmony. Strong hands gripping the hilts as firmly as they had held you.

You looked aside as if running away from the memories of his palms on your hips, holding you still as he fucked his cum back in, growling in your ear how good you could take him. 

“Come for daddy, baby. One more time, I know you can,” his voice hoarse, fighting not to tremble with his high approaching. Fuck, you loved to have him like this, sensitive, dripping, pussy-drunk. 

How could it be just a one-time thing?

A loud clang of metal jolted you from the heated memory. You pressed your legs together to relieve some tension, your breath catching as Leo tipped a water bottle over his head, dousing himself to cool down. His plastron gleamed, immaculate under the water.

He glanced at you, shooting a sidelong smile—confident, self-assured, and irresistibly flirty.

“What?” he teased. “Want some?” He jostled the remnants of the bottle toward you.

You reached him in two swift steps. “Yeah, but what if I want to drink from here?” You ran your palms over his chest, your nails grazing the edges. He gasped, his strong hands gripping your wrists. Desire poured from his gaze as he eyed you.

“We agreed not to cross the line again.”

“Hmm, but how can I keep my word when you look like this,” you muttered, pressing yourself against his crotch, driven by an unashamed need to have him closer.

Leo let out a rough breath. “Careful.”

“Why? afraid you’d catch feelings?” 

He let out a sexy laugh. Leo drew you into his arms, trapping you between himself and the cold wall of the lair’s training room.  “I’m afraid you might,” 

“Try me,” you said, lifting your face toward his, lips barely brushing.

Leo caught your mouth in a searing, intense kiss that stole your breath. He hauled you onto a chest of drawers. Your legs wrapped around his torso, pulling him as close as possible. You ground against him, caring little about your pathetic desperation.

Noticing, Leo followed your movement, grating a hot, tingling sensation that spread from your core through your body. You moaned. 

"Feels good?" he smiled, eying you with burning desire. 

Yes. More. Skin against skin. You were dying for it. Yet, all that fell off your mouth were small sighs and moans, as he rubbed over your clit so fucking good even through the fabric the contact weakened you.

Leo captured your gaping mouth, and his tongue found yours shortly, It was a fierce, almost violent melding of lips, each seeking dominance. The intensity of his kiss was intoxicating. Suddenly, he was more essential than air itself. 

You don’t know how, but he managed to peel your pants off just in time to meet the shirt you discarded on the floor. Your underwear met them right after. He panted as the heat of your body pressed against his ever-so-cold one. His hands roamed your back, taking his time to memorize every curve on it. It would be romantic if it weren’t for the frantic way in which he was still humping his hard, dripping cock against your core. 

The smooth and creamy texture mingled with yours made it heavenly. You could feel the coil inside your lower belly tightening along with each muscle in your body. 

“Leo- I’m…”

“I know,” he breathed, pulling your hair to tilt your face towards his, “look at me.”

You tightened the grip of your legs around him, not allowing a single inch of space between your bodies. Gazes locked only for the brief seconds before your orgasm crashed over, and then your eyes rolled to the back of your head, mouth gaping as you came loud and long. The hot throbs of bliss spread from your sensitive nub through your body to your temples, numbing you in tingling ecstasy. 

“You’re so hot like this,” he panted. 

You hadn’t come down from the afterbliss when he thrust into you, all the way in, in one motion. It knocked the air out of you, but he stretched you so well you couldn't help but curve your little mouth into a drunk-like smile. 

“Shit, I can still feel your cunt throbbing. You’re such a whore for Daddy, aren’t you?”

You panted something, it came out trembly and almost faint. Leo chuckled against your pulse line. What’s the matter, sweetness? Can't talk now? Feels that good?

You embraced him tighter, with both legs and arms, enjoying the deep, brutal pace he picked up. The filthy sound of skin slapping filled the room alongside your moans. Suddenly, you didn’t give two fucks if any of his brothers walked in, not even if Splinter heard you. It was all about Leo allowing you into that special place so close to heaven. 

“Fuck, I can’t stop. You’re so tight, so— warm,” 

Your muscles tensed in anticipation of the high that was coming. 

“Baby, come inside me, I— I want you to fill me—, I want it, I want it, I—” 

He moaned. Strong hands gripped your thighs as he relentlessly abused your cunt, hard and hot until you felt his cum painting your insides. His cock throbbed inside your cunt which each new load, his voice broke a bit as he came. It triggered your release. You fisted his blue bandana, enjoying every drop of him inside you, adoring the way pleasure spread from your core to every corner of your body.

In a few moments, you managed to catch your breath. Leo turned to look at you, his gaze locking with yours. There was a glint in his eyes, subtly altered from before, now more intense. It held a curious blend of astonishment and something else, elusive and difficult to pinpoint.

You could still feel him connected to you when for a fleeting moment, it almost seemed like he might lean in to kiss your nose. Panic surged through you, not because of the action, but because you caught yourself yearning for it.

"What's with that look, huh? Don't tell me you're falling for me..." It came out bluntly, unintentionally tinged with mockery.

Leo halted.

"No," he muttered, forcing a stiff and brazen smile to his lips as he pulled out. He grabbed a towel from the dojo's rack, his movements mechanical and devoid of their usual grace. "Of course not."

[sludge-saturday]

catching feelings ☆ pencil and charcoal

you've been riding with the van der linde gang for a few months now, pulling your weight and helping out when you can. you've earned the trust of nearly everyone there with your hard work and are starting to capture the interest of a certain someone...

pairing: arthur morgan x gn!artist!reader

summary: you show arthur your artwork by the fire. how will he react when he sees himself amongst your drawings?

tags: fluff, arthur has low self-esteem, high honor arthur

warnings: very brief mention of alcohol consumption

word count: 1,141

a/n: first entry in the "catching feelings" series! i can't tell if my writing style is too corny or not so feedback is encouraged. :)

☆ the trotting of your horses' hooves served as gentle ambience as you and arthur watched the van der linde camp come into view. an involuntary feeling of relief washed over you, knowing that you were safe here. the two of you were just arriving from a particularly difficult bounty hunt, but your combined skills proved to be efficient. "a job well done," as arthur had told you.

☆ you both approach the camp and hop off of your horses, hitching them to an available post. arthur gives boadicea a gentle, appreciative pat on the neck. "i'm gonna go tell dutch how much we made." he says, walking toward where the gang leader is standing. dutch is next to one of the posts holding up his tent and a fire had been made not too far away by some of the other gang members. karen, tilly, charles, javier, and lenny all sat around the flame, a couple with bottles in their hands.

☆ you wanted to stop at your tent for your sketchbook before heading over to sit with them. now would be a perfect time to keep practicing, you thought to yourself. after making the short trip to where your belongings were, you swiped the leather-bound book and the rest of your supplies off of your cot. as you walk towards the fire you glance at everyone sitting around it. no one had left yet, but another person had joined: arthur.

☆ scanning for a place to sit, you decide on an open spot next to the gunslinger. you had to admit, you've grown fond of arthur's presence since you first started traveling with the gang. it was something about his get-it-done attitude, his undying loyalty to those he cares about, and, of course, his rugged handsomeness. you kept your affection for him a secret, though, afraid of what might happen if anyone ever found out. you drew one of your knees up to your chest, propping your sketchbook up on your thigh in an attempt to dispel the thought.

☆ arthur's gaze couldn't help but wander to what you were doing beside him. as you opened your sketchbook, flipping through the pages to find where you last left off, arthur's eyes were able to steal a few glances at what was inside. from what he able to see, there were sketched pictures of people he could have sworn he recognized. was that... dutch? and sean? and mary beth? arthur gestured to the book in your hands and spoke in a hushed tone, as if afraid someone else would hear what he had to say. "you draw too?"

☆ you looked up at arthur with a smile already on your face. "it's been one of my passions since i was a child. i practically clung to my pencils when i fell on hard times." your eyes sparkled as you spoke to him, and you could have sworn you saw the same kind of shimmer in his eyes as he listened. "can i..." he started, "can i see 'em?" arthur had never met anyone else that shared his love of drawing and thought he never would, he had made peace with that. but this new discovery, this moment he was now sharing with you, it made him feel more alive and more connected to someone than he felt in a while.

☆ a flush threatened to creep onto your cheeks as you process arthur's request. you can't remember the last time someone asked to actually see what you were making. anxiety bubbled in your stomach as your mind raced through everything that could happen if you agreed. but, when you looked at arthur, his features were graced with a subtle glow, an expression of wonder and pure curiosity. how could you refuse?

☆ "of course." you gave him a sweet smile. "should i start from the beginning?" your hand prepares to move all of the pages on the left back to the right, but you look at arthur for approval anyway. "sure." he answered, nodding his head.

☆ and so you do. you show him everything, from your finished portraits of the gang members to sketches of your horse to quick scribbles of plants and animals you spot on your adventures. and arthur found it all so breathtaking. your art style, the way you chose to characterize your figures, your ability to make photo-realistic images from just pencil and charcoal, he never knew you had this in you.

☆ he watched as you flipped through the pages, admiring your work and pointing out ones he particularly liked. the person drawn on the last page had a dark cowboy hat on with rope tied around the base. he had a dark kerchief draped around his neck and a stubbly face. "recognize him?" you smooth your hand over the paper, remembering the unforgettable process that was drawing arthur for the first time. "this is one of my favorites." smiling at the page, you turn to look at his reaction.

☆ arthur was utterly dumbfounded. he couldn't believe what he was looking at. someone, especially someone like you, had deemed him worthy enough of being a muse for artwork. he thought he was so... ugly. he thought everyone found him that way. at a loss for words, the man felt tears prick his eyes. he didn't know why he was getting so emotional! he couldn't cry in front of anyone, so he cleared his throat and searched for what to say. "is that me?"

☆ you noticed that arthur's eyes looked glossier and that his expression shifted. you couldn't gauge how he was feeling from the look on his face, so you looked back down at the drawing. "it is," you said, fiddling with the corner of the book. "you are a joy to create." your smile was genuine, the apple of your cheeks shining in the firelight as you turned your head to face arthur again. his expression was still unreadable, his gaze tilted down towards his lap. after a few seconds of silence, arthur speaks softly. "ya really mean that?"

☆ arthur's eyes were still glassy, but softer this time around. he looked like the answer to his question would make or break him. he looked... vulnerable. even you knew that this was not a disposition you would typically, if ever, expect of him. you were careful with your response, knowing that you held the very livelihood of arthur morgan in your hands. "i do."

☆ those two simple words sent a small swarm of butterflies through his gut. for him, nothing would be able to compare to the way you just made him feel. for him, this moment would be occupying his mind for longer than he cared to admit. for him, this gesture was just another piece of the stunning mosaic created in your image. after this, there's no more room for doubt. he's smitten.

[moodymisty]

hello❤️‍🔥I hope everything is fine with you in life✨Congratulations on the beginning of October🥰 Lion El'Jonson/reader-aristocrat Let everything revolve around the official ceremonial portrait (well, you know those huge full-length paintings when women are sitting on a high-backed chair in a ball gown, and a man is standing a little behind with his hand on his wife's shoulder and they are holding hands) Lion in the days before the Heresy was very skeptical about the idea of making such a portrait, but in the end the reader persuaded him. Cute moment Then skip all the way to Heresy. There is confusion everywhere, war. The reader is either on Caliban or Terra. Lion sent them there, thinking that she would be safe. And so he looks either at the portrait itself or at a small picture and feels anxious and longing for quiet days. And skip up to 41k. Lion woke up after so many years, everything changed around. But he still has this little reproduction and he looks at it when it gets hard. Lion is transported to pleasant memories where everything was fine. He does not know what has become of the reader and the original portrait🥺 Hope for a happy ending or an open dramatic ending - the choice depends entirely on you how to complete it🌹

[ 𝕸����𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙| 𝕬𝖔3 ]

Author's note: Hey! Sorry this took so long, it took me a hot minute to get it going but once I did I really like how it came out. I hope you enjoy, and it's close enough to what you wanted :3

Summary: Azrael asks a newly awoken Lion about a Chapter relic with a curious history.

Relationships: Lion El'Jonson/Fem!Reader

Warnings: Reader's fate is vague but given the amount of time passed largely spoken about as if dead, Typical 40kness, Far less fluffy than perhaps you wanted but I got carried away with the angst

Word Count: 1196

"Father,"

Azrael looks towards the man he calls his pater, who only spares him a sparse glance. They stand side by side, and while the Primarch in all of his glory dwarfs the Chapter Master, Azrael still feels more on equal terms that he thought he would- in the presence of their Primarch.

The Lion however still finds himself unfamiliar with the Chapter Master, and it has proven difficult for the two to navigate around each other. It has been many years since The Lion drew breath of his own accord; Much has changed since then. The Dark Angels have grown more suspicious, secretive; The Fallen have grown in number. The Necrons, the Tyranids, his father being nothing more than a rotting corpse splayed across his golden throne in a mimicry of what once was.

He stares at the 'relic'- as Azrael had called it when they'd first approached- ahead of him, and it serves as a beacon to a place he can no longer go.

He knows this isn't the original.

The original was put in a gold frame with a delicate filigree, this one is in one of the distinctive Dark Angel green. To match the surroundings, or perhaps the actual art was removed from it's old frame and into this one. Damage, perhaps. The canvas is torn, yellowed with age and the signature of the artist who'd captured this moment in time is unreadable. He can barely see your face, with how much the paint has fallen away.

He can barely see his own as well. Perhaps it's all for the best.

"Who is she?"

The Chapter Master holds his winged helmet in his hands, a rare moment of him not being fully armored. He glances towards the portrait with a stoic curiosity and continues speaking.

"We, know vaguely of her mention in texts from the Heresy, but nothing else. Not even her name." The Librarium is quiet. Only he, Azrael, and a few others occupy the monumental space. The painting is surrounded by other relics of the chapter; Statues, weaponry from warriors of old, scripts and written texts.

"We've never known. Years of searching lead us nowhere, so we had given up our attempts. It was thought to be knowledge lost to time." He hesitates. "Lost to the Heresy."

The Astartes faces trouble with identifying the expression on his Primarch's face, as they both stand paces away from the tattered relic. When he accepts that it's unreadable, he casts his eyes back towards the old painting.

Azrael can tell from what paint is left on the canvas that you're clearly smiling.

Even thousands of years later the warmth of that smile is still palpable; Multiple Dark Angels have found an odd, abit unfamiliar solace in it. It's not uncommon for the Captains and Commanders of the chapter to ponder it in the rare moments they need a form of clarity. It seems to help, and none of them have ever found why.

The dress you wear in the portrait matches the green they cast their armor in, though the paint has lost it's vibrancy over the years. It still matches The Lion's armor however, as he stands behind you the chair you're seated in. You're on a small platform, to make it easier to fit the Primarch who is massively taller into the same frame. His hand rests firmly on your shoulder, and your much daintier, unarmored hand softly grasps two of his fingers.

It's peaceful. It makes the Chapter Master think as to what life was like before the Heresy took it all away. It makes him wonder how a clearly baseline human could have had such a bond with a god; A Primarch.

Meanwhile, it makes The Lion think back to when it was first being painted- the original one- before he'd lost so many of his brothers.

"Smile for once, Lion."

He doesn't, but he does look down on you with a familiar glare. His face barely changes orientation, but you can still so clearly see his desire to scold you. Tucking a single bit of hair behind your ear, you make sure to keep the same position you'd started in. The artist has already requested once you do so, as to avoid any errors in the painting.

Still as you possibly can be, you try not to hurt your cheeks from holding back a smile.

"Roboute was actually right about you having such a sour moue all the time."

Again, he doesn't say a word. His hand stays heavy on your shoulder however, as he stays remarkably still. He can't feel your gentle grasp through his armor, though he can glance down towards it and his nerves attempt to simulate the feeling; a dull accuracy from the memories of previous times.

He thinks this is all pointless. But it's clearly pleasing you, so for once he'll begrudgingly allow it.

After towing you all the way to Terra, to tear you from everything you knew to surround you with thousands of fresh Astartes all hungry for battle, looking to you for orders you aren't yet trained to give. He supposes he can gift you this rare platitude. Perhaps it will serve as a memory to this time that can be looked back upon in the future. To remember how hard they fought to make the galaxy free of the scourge that fills it.

The painter gestures to his serf to gather another color for him, and the young man quickly scurries off to go retrieve it. Meanwhile the artist continues, working in a fashion far more slowly and inferior to the current technology of the time.

The Lion considers it a waste, though unlike him you come from a planet with an emphasis on the arts; Same as Fulgrim and Roboute. There's something in this you value, and while he doesn't consider himself as soft as some of his brothers, the love he has for you prevents him from squandering your joy.

Sanguinius will surely find this all hilarious.

Azrael glances upward again towards his Primarch. He thinks he hears him mumble something, but The Lion is silent by the time he realizes something might've been said.

The Primarch could taste your name on his lips, but speaking it would only make it worse. He silenced himself before it was spoken aloud for the first time in thousands of years.

He knows that after his 'demise', after he was put in the dreamless sleep deep within The Rock, you briefly issued orders alongside his old council. That's all the Chapter's records have left, after so many centuries.

Not a single one of those texts even mentions your name, let alone your fate. You're a ghost of his own mind. Your memory is but a relic in a Librarium locked away for untold years.

Part of him is glad he acquiesced to your silly, human desire. Another part is hateful, because now he has a memory he can do nothing with but feel the way it aches.

He never answers Azrael. And so the Astartes files the question away in his mind, discontent but accepting to never ask it again.

[vacantgodling]

a shorter chapter just to introduce punzie and the chaos of him and march’s first meeting. there’s gonna be one more chapter with march to really explain the tower and her current situation before we head back to the outside to figure out the uh. guard situation. :)

chapter 2: the hair is alive

There were several reasons why Punzie was dragging the dead weight of a tall woman in a bundle of his own hair, and the late, late hour, of yestermorning. Or was it tomorrownoon? It was hard to tell—since time never seemed to pass inside The Tower; and Punzie himself had never heard of the concept of time. In general, there were many things that Punzie hadn’t heard of nor had he seen. And one thing he definitely had never seen was a living, breathing body fly through a trapdoor in The Wandering Hallway from the outside world.

The woman was shrieking, which drew Punzie to the area. He quickly descended from one of his many bird-nests and swung down from the suspended loft by a long, corded strand of his hair. His bare feet hit the ground, and then he leapt again from another high perch, using a bed of his draped hair as a cushion—a different part of his hair than the strands that hung like ropes over every available perch that it could possibly be draped across—dangling from the highest heights of the ceiling, coiling underfoot as Punzie walked, and snaking throughout doors and corridors unseen in the winding darkness around him. But Punzie was used to this, hardly paying it any mind. Another shriek made Punzie pick up the pace, and he quickly took a running leap from another high ledge, catching a strand of his seemingly neverending length of dark black hair, and using it like a vine to swing towards the sound. The Tower hissed and hummed, doors and rooms adjusting and careening out of his way; innately knowing where he was headed and almost bending to his whim; almost. He nearly slammed into a trap room that came careening out of the darkness underneath him; rocketing up towards somewhere at the top of the structure and hoping to ensnare him with its open doors. But Punzie was prepared for interference. He simply let go of the hair he was riding, raising his hands. In the darkness, the hair stories and stories beneath him reassembled into the shape of a net underneath him to break his drop. Once he was safely cradled inside of it, his hair rose, right to where the young woman whom The Tower ensnared was banging at the walls looking for an exit.

Hearing his landing, the woman spun around, and gasped.

Then several things happened at once.

She pointed at him. For what reason, Punzie didn’t know, he didn’t stop to ask. Another room came barreling in from the left side, a chorus room; full of shrieking plants that wouldn’t be quiet until each individual leaf was pet and attended to; more often than not getting violent if their whims weren’t adhered to. The door-like jaws of the room snapped open and shut seeming intent on capturing the young woman before Punzie could get to her. And Punzie thought she was an intruder—but having never seen an alive one before; only the skeletons and bones he found every now and then; he wanted to talk to her.

So Punzie leapt at her, and with a swift hand, chopped her right in the neck, making her drop like a ton of lead. Comically, her tongue lolled out of her mouth, swelling only slightly where her teeth bit down upon it in shock when she was struck, and a welt forming on the side of her neck where Punzie had hit her. But, it did get her out of the way of the chorus room, which shrieked in protest as it sailed overtop of her body, too high off the ground to snatch her up in its jaws.

With the momentary danger gone—for now—Punzie crouched down, regarding the woman who had so suddenly turned up in this wretched place.

“What am I to do with you…” He wondered aloud. He knew he couldn’t just leave her here. It would be too easy for her to either fall off of this ledge when it became one once more in its next cycle. Or she would just get caught in a chorus room or any other one of the dangerous rooms that crawled about in this place, looking for easy pickings. No, that wouldn’t do.

So here Punzie was. He’d gathered some of his closest hair to him, and arranged it around her, making sure to swaddle her head and neck so it wouldn’t fall back and hit something while he dragged her to his main campground. He whistled, sharp and loud; echoing with a magic tremor that rattled even the bricks outside The Tower, to summon more of his illustrious, overgrown magic hair to him. It assembled itself to his inner desires and formed a soft, lush walkway over the chasm before them. Other bits of his hair careened down from the ceiling, holding little orbs of soft, warm light to illuminate the way before him. He could’ve walked for days, or seconds—but no one would know. For time moved differently in The Tower, and Punzie moved with it; aware of it and a manipulator of it; living and breathing it since he was first born into it. And perhaps, until he died—but it was hard to find a state of permanence when he could as easily walk on the ceiling here as he could fall to his untimely end.

But these were all questions for another day; the task at hand was ferrying this unwanted presence to somewhere where she wouldn’t be found, and then ask her all she knew of The Outside.

[stevie-petey]

Decided to just send this in directly but! I have explanations for everything so buckle in bc when i say i have brain rot about this fic I MEAN IT ITS SO GOOD

1. BI BUG CONFIRMATION. ENOUGH SAID.

2. I will never forget reading that scene from season 1 of steve driving bug home w her bike in his trunk and her all flustered about it and i dont super remember what time of day it was in the scene but in my head it was right after sunset where the sun has set but its light creates this contrast that makes everything look cool toned in comparison to whats in the light n i wanted to play w that in the coloring also im a sucker for steve n his big arms so this was almost entirely self indulgent

3. The cardigan bc i needed to. I re read that chapter constantly it gives me all the warm n fuzzies and thats good for the soul

4. The phones were both an “i need to put this in here immediately bc my brain never stops thinking about it” and a filler for blank space. The colors for each are tied to what s3 bug and what s3 are associated w in my head like you cannot tell me bug isnt soft ivory coded and steve is not light grey-blue coded in s3 it just feels right for them (plus i needed to reference the nicknames at least once my very soul craved it)

5. Dustins hat was a lil bit of a last minute thing, i was working on a bigger piece w all of this kids n their looks for season 3 but it wasnt coming out the way i wanted it to so i scrapped it but i still wanted a something in there that wasnt steve or bug related and it felt fitting to put in dustins camp know where cap both bc of his relationships w steve n bug and bc every now and then i think about how dustin felt ditched by the party at the beginning and how heartbreaking that scene was when i read it n how much i just wanted to hug the lil guy bc feeling lonely at an age like that is so devastating it made my heart hurt for him so i wanted to have a lil thing for dustin in there somewhere

6. In the show i really liked the whole bit w steve asking girls out and robin keeping score n before you wrote this scene i was curious as to how you were going to go about it and it ended up cracking me up dude i love that scene if him just being awkward and so not “king steve” suave and i needed to put down how my brain saw that scene to something visual bc it was so ugh hes such a dork i love steves himbo self

7. Follow up is the lil doodle of steve n robin running around high as hell and there was no way i wasnt going to include that somehow if i am given the chance to write the phrase “trash popcorn” and draw robin frolicking i will take it with both hands and bolt

8. Going back to the whole “steve is a desaturated light blue in s3” thing i just wanted an excuse to draw my boy being cute in my head this is when hes helping bug put away books at her job and yes the anatomy is a lil wonky but i luv him and his hair swoops and joes side profile is so very fun to draw <3

Over all come home is wonderful n amazing and i love it n ur brain is so big n full of wrinkles

i genuinely cried when i first saw this im not kidding. im speechless, its so fucking beautiful and everything you drew from the fic is captured SO perfectly i cannot even begin to explain how much this means to me :(((( thank you so so so so much. truly.

the DETAILS ???? you brought the cardigan to life. its exactly how i envisioned it in my head, its BEAUTIFUL :((((( and bug being ivory and steve a blue ,,,, god you really truly nailed this i again cannot put into words how PHENOMENAL this is. the telephone lines being connected with their nicknames, steve carrying a box of books at bugs job, him driving and the setting sub (which you got EXACTLY. it was the same i envisioned in my head writing that scene), the bi colors on the lady bug like are u kidding me !!!! youre insane and i LOVE YOU !!!

steve n high robin doodle is so <333 and the steve scene at scoops with his flustered monologue in the background made me giggle so hard oh my god.

i know you dont know this, but my birthday is tomorrow and this is the best gift ive ever been given. i want to frame the doodles and put it on my bedroom wall because i am astounded and in awe of your talent and still so baffled my fic was brought to life !!!!! its mind boggling and i cannot thank you enough for this experience <333

(obviously with ur permission in reference to wanting to print n frame the doodles because theyre so dear to me and i respect ur talent !!)

[tg-headcanons]

TELL US ABOUT AHIGA!!

(Lost this in the ask pile and was just reminded) MY WRETCHED LITTLE BOY!! I’m putting it under the cut because it’s a big rant about my most wildly self indulgent oc

(My drawing ability is extremely bad but Fuck It We Ball) he’s from an Au I made with my bf @fawntastic (he drew the cast here)

Ahiga Cain is 17 years old, 6’5, an up and coming musician and is the last known member of H. Sapiens Cleptavox. They were one of the native ghoul species of the Americas and once a prominent part of the environment and society, but after hundreds of years of sickness and war, their numbers have dwindled to the certainty of extinction. He was born as the result of a last ditch attempt to save the species, but it ultimately failed.

He only made it to three years old before the CCG found where his mother had been living with him in a cave on protected land in the Grand Canyon, and an extermination operation was carried out on the day his younger brother was born. He was the only one who managed to make it out, fleeing towards the closest shelter, a dumpster where he was found a few days later by Arlen Cain, one of the investigator’s responsible who was coming back to the scene to do reports. He, already having some weird relationships with ghouls (I lowkey based psyb houji on him), and having also just been given custody of the daughter of a coworker who died in the operation, took him home and hid him away until he could be sure the kid wasn’t dangerous and reported him as a human child he found captured by ghouls. It was obvious that Ahiga was not human, he wasn’t even a normal ghoul, but after seeing what his partner did to that kakuja’s other cub, Arlen didn’t want any more children to die. Plus, he kind of wanted to see how this played out

Ahiga grew up in an extremely weird situation. One of his fathers is a common Eurasian ghoul, the other is an investigator actively covering up his identity, and his sister is a human who lost her mother at the same time he lost his, but they grew up close as creepy rural kid twins who just go off into the desert unsupervised sometimes. They had to learn as they went how Ahiga worked, especially when he ate birds and rodents and seemed to be fine and mimicked their own voices back at them, but they were happy. They just put him in loose clothing so it’s hard to tell how weirdly shaped he is, claimed he was born with ROS, and occasionally got information and help raising him from the few members of his mother’s tribe who knew about him.

The main problem at this point, was Vivienne. She’s Arlen’s partner, and more importantly, she was the one who brought down his mother. She’s reached high acclaim after killing a kakuja of a ghoul species previously thought to be prehistoric, and has since wracked up a reputation as being the most ruthless and effective ghoul hunter the Las Vegas CCG has seen in a long time. She’s a friend of the family, because it would be suspicious to cut her off at this point, and is close to Ahiga. He knows who she is, what she did, but instinctively he wants to be near her because when she uses the quinque made from his mother, it left her scent on her, and ever since sensing it as a small child he’s been attached. No matter how much he tries to rationalize it as he gets older, he still wants to be around her. And Vivienne, not aware that there’s anything wrong with Ahiga besides his illness and many allergies, loves him. Arlen is the closest thing to family she has, and so are his kids

His life was, oddly enough, pretty normal as a kid, up to the time other ghouls found out about him. They were so focused on protecting him from humans, that they didn’t know to protect him from certain ghouls, and a restaurant society heard rumors that the last cleptavox in the world was alive and well and ripe for the taking. He was taken by them when he was 11, and carefully kept alive so he could be butchered and auctioned off piecemeal, fed enough to regenerate, and start over again. It was there in captivity when his kagune finally started to harden, and after a couple weeks there, he managed to kill a handler and escape. He made his way home, but wasn’t the same after that. He had hoped to never get involved in the violence of the ghoul world, he wanted to just live like a human as much as he could, but the violence had found him and all because he was the last of a doomed species. He never wanted to be an endling, it wasn’t his choice, but he was one and now both humans and ghouls want to cut him to pieces for it, without even the dignity of a clean death

After that, he accepted that he’d need to be prepared to fight, but that wasn’t enough. It wasn’t fair, his mother didn’t deserve to die, his little brother didn’t deserve to die, all ghouls didn’t deserve to be hunted and have their lives ruined for what they can’t control, and he’ll do whatever he can to change it. The way his body changed after having to regenerate from being butchered, his hair turning white and his instincts getting worse, as well as the feeling that it wasn’t his anymore, made him eager to decide to turn it into a weapon. He and his sister, Megan, learned to hunt. His fathers, though reluctant, brought home ghoul meat. Ahiga, being a subspecies designed for cannibalism, grew a kakuja quickly.

He burst onto the scene to slaughter doves patrolling any area close to where his mother was killed, and it was obvious that this new one was the same species as the SSS ranked Coyote King that was exterminated there years ago. The CCG was whipped into a frenzy trying to find and kill it, headed by Vivienne, who having grown up in CCG education, saw the extermination of another ancient monster the perfect legacy

Ahiga became known as Roadkill, and quickly rose to his mother’s rank of SSS along with his sister, who became known as Jaeger, who is rank S as the CCG hasn’t yet figured out she isn’t a ghoul. They’ve amassed a gang, making it their business to not only support the ghouls in the area with food and shelter, but to launch coordinated attacks on CCG buildings and operations. There was a particularly brutal one when Operation Headlights, the task force led by Vivienne and Arlen to exterminate Roadkill and it’s gang, was first formed. His gang cornered the members sent to exterminate them, but rather than killing them themselves, he had them split into groups, vote on which of them will die, and them to kill the losers. After the wave of resignations that came from that it became well known in the CCG that even the money and acclaim that comes with the position isn’t worth what those ghouls will do to them.

He and his sister are horrors. In possum and deer skull masks, they and their gang move quickly on bikes and in cars, strike fast, and pile up corpses before the law can respond. He’s the reason that their branch of the CCG had to make new rules that sound like they come straight out of a horror movie, such as “do not believe anything said over the phone or radio as it could be a mimicry” and “no gloves or sunglasses in the office to ensure a ghoul wearing human skin is not on the premises”

In order to justify staying in Las Vegas full time as opposed to the more rural area outside of it his family lived at, they claimed to be starting a band as it was very believable that two idiot teenagers thought they could make it big performing at casinos. Their cover story worked to explain why they were always in the city that Roadkill and Jaeger were terrorizing, but by pure coincidence, they did well. They just happened to be at the right place at the right time, performing some stupid little show at a casino a relative worked at, when they got some attention. They realized that some fame will be good, not because of the money (though being able to afford a private jet to smuggle ghouls around in didn’t hurt), but because making music with ghoul dogwhistles can help get the word out to recruit more people for their militia

By now they’re a well oiled machine of performance, Murder, and self destructive spirals for the sake of destroying the CCG. Though Ahiga remains distant from his comrades. It’s not that he’s particularly rude or doesn’t want to be close to them, but because as he gets older, his subspecies traits become more obvious and very unsettling to other ghouls. He makes too much eye contact, his talons are way too big, and his occasional quadrupedal walk make other ghouls not want to be around him as he’s just uncanny. Being a kakuja also doesn’t help. So he’ll go out of his way to find other ghouls that are weird subspecies or kakuja because he’s kind of desperate to hang out with someone as weird as him. He’s also just kind of cringe in the way he behaves

Becoming so powerful at such a young age, especially in response to a horrific event and knowing that he’s the last of his kind, did terrible things to Ahiga. He compulsively cannibalizes to grow his kakuja even as his RC fluctuations grow out of control and leave him dependent on all sorts of suppressants and medications, and leaning on a cane half the time he’s out of combat. He’s been utilizing drugs and machinery to try to make himself stronger, dosing himself with all types of chemicals and plants to make his kakuja bigger and more aggressive while his sister tries out ways of armoring it and attaching mounted turrets to his back. It’s quickly destroying him, chipping away at his body and mind as he’s left with injuries, chemical imbalances, mood swings and hallucinations for the sake of turning himself into the war machine

But he’s careful to make sure the public and Vivienne can never tell. He wears sunglasses to hide his eyes that can rarely conceal his kakugans, he dresses in elaborate alternative fashion so no one thinks to question why he’s always wearing high heeled platform boots, ones with false bottoms inside to conceal his naturally digitigrade stance. He tells people that it’s just illness that makes his hair white, that he only looks so tall because of the boots, that he never eats anything because of allergies. It works, he even set up a donation drive for ROS research in his name to keep the lie going, and even Vivienne doesn’t question it. She’s the most dangerous person to him, having a personal vendetta against Roadkill, yet he still can’t bring himself to kill her. He wants so badly to tell her what he really is and for her to join him, but he knows she’s too far gone into CCG brainwashing to be saved yet

In all, he’s a very weird creep who is torn between the desire to save ghouls so that no other ghoul will have to suffer like he did, and wanting to slaughter everyone for causing him to be the last of his kind doomed to die in a world that he doesn’t belong in. Increasingly sick and unwell, he puts on a persona of a sweet, good humored teenager to the public to protect his human image, and a persona of a brutal, sadistic leader to protect his people as he orders others to kill and die for him. Even he isn’t sure what his plan is, he mostly does what will immediately help the ghouls in his community, follows leads of ghoul restaurants to slaughter anyone involved, or does as Arlen commands to strike at the CCG. He is in a death spiral with his surrogate mother, he and his sister cyberbully public officials together, he loves divorced dad rock, and he is a horrible little gayboy who can not be saved

[th3-0bjectivist]

Face # 6: @ the bar with Winston from London

This year (2024) I have been trying to draw faces, all year long. By the end of this year, I hope to capture some truly expressive faces with my drawings. This last week I sauntered into Cowbell, a restaurant in Charlotte with great burgers and potent drinks. I sat at the bar and inadvertently met a group of three guys from the UK that wrapped themselves around the corner-bar. They were trying to start an international business of sorts and were thinking of setting up an office in North Carolina. These guys started buying me beers after they began asking me about the political situation in America. I guess because I was keeping them entertained at the bar, they started dropping some coin to keep me there. Among these English dudes was their youngest, drunkest, loudest and most brash member, Winston.

I had already been drinking a series of high-powered Manhattans when this group of Londoners approached my left-flank. After giving them my thoughts on modern politics in America, which I dare not repeat here on Tumblr, Winston said to the attractive bartender, “Close this fella’s tab, we’ve got his drinks until we leave.” So, I paid my bill, and these guys plied me with beer as a business expense until 12:30AM while I answered their intoxicated, but very proper English questions. Winston began telling me he was a big Millwall soccer hooligan before his shift into the business world. Winston had a girlfriend that was also his baby momma… and I guess because he was visiting America, he kept insisting on repeatedly fist-bumping me because he interpreted it as a charming local custom. Seriously, I have never fist bumped anyone intentionally, and this guy must have requested more than twenty fist bumps that very night. I found Winston initially likeable because he was charismatic, but he revealed himself as a bit of a grating asshole. After hitting on the bartender several times and asking me how I felt about Pakistani immigration (???), he openly told me he was partially in America to chase ‘American tail’. This gentleman proceeded to tell me everything about his life and everything he knew about London, until his business partners dragged him away. No matter what he was saying, his spirits were high, he was laughing hilariously every other sentence, and sometimes, I swear, he was laughing so hard he was crying a little. I wanted to remember his face for that dichotomy. So, I drew it. I think this was a guy that just liked listening to himself talk. More to more!

Face # 1: Click here

Face # 2: Click here

Face # 3: Click here

Face # 4: Click here

Face # 5: Click here

[loupy-mongoose]

That last piece aaaaaaaah beautiful and sweet, really captures how Lav feels about Randy :D

Also I love how you colour and shade everything, how do you do it? Do you think you could record a speed paint or something? What brushes do you use? Canvas size? How do you painstakingly colour within the lines? What device do you use?

Sorry for so many questions in one ask, I’m really curious lol. Hope you can answer these! No rush :3

First off, thank you so much!

I use Procreate on iPad, which has a handy-dandy little feature where it automatically records everything you do on a canvas, and you can create a time lapse of it. So, yes, I can give a speed paint. :3

(Yes I painted this specifically for this ask.) For comics (and this painting sample), I use a canvas that's 1813X2263. For doodle dumps and other less dedicated projects, I use a 1955X2357 canvas, rotating as I want or need to. If I have a bigger project I want to do, I start with Procreates "Square" canvas default (2048X2048) and crop as I need to as I work.

I've been sticking to this Jingsketch brush set for a while now, though I've modified some to make them more comfortable. As of now the set is free to download. (There appears to be a larger Jingsketch set that costs about $15--I may get that someday lol)

For smudging of shadows and markings, I use the Jingsketch "Jittery Smudge".

Alright, prepare for a thorough rundown of the time lapse. X3

As for how I color, the video shows my two most used methods. I do the Momo method when I want it to look a little neater or smoother, and the Midas method for when I don't care how unpolished it looks and just want to show a colored image.

For flats (the solid red seen in the video) I do it on a layer under the lines. I usually put all the flats on one layer, but this time I did their flats on separate layers for demonstration purposes, and merged them once they were both filled.

For Momo, I colored by drawing just inside the lines, erasing what went outside. Then used a Freehand (or equivalent) selection tool to fill in the inside. This is the more time consuming but smooth of the two methods, in my opinion.

For Midas, I specifically drew the outer lines thicker so that I could use the "automatic" (I guess that's "wand" in other programs? I'm not sure) selection to do a quick fill. This method will usually leave the colors with a hard, semi-unappealing edge. (Feathering the selection a little or smudging the flats can probably help with that, but I don't do that very often.)

What I do is select the OUTSIDE of the lines, expand the "Selection Threshold" so that it barely selects JUST outside the lines, then invert the selection so that it filles everything INSIDE the lines. With this method you need to be careful to get all the negative zones as well--I didn't think about demonstrating that in this painting, so here a mini-tut on that.

For the actual colors, I usually do each color on a separate layer set as a "Clipping Mask" to the flats layer. Eyes usually get a layer of their own--The iris colors and pupil (if present) get the Clipping Mask treatment until I'm satisfied with them and merge them into one eye layer.

For shading, I'll fill an entire layer, still Clipped to the flats, with my color of choice, usually set it to the Multiply blend mode, and adjust the opacity as I want. I usually shade the main body separately from the eyes, but try to match the blend mode and opacity settings.

For more high-effort projects, I'll fill a layer with a solid color under the shadow layer but above all the other colors so that I have a better idea of the shapes. Colors like on Midas here can really badly mess with the perception of the shapes and shadow locations. I may also add more Multiply layers if necessary.

And that's my lengthy and extensive look into how I paint~ Keep in mind this is MY process, and I admit I work in a rather quick, dirty, and even somewhat lazy way. So take what you will from this, and go arting as YOU please! ^w^

[verybadatwriting]

The Healer 4

Summary: Reader is captured by Hydra again. 

Warnings: Blood, torture, needles, gore, angsty stuff. Major character death (temporary)

Notes: Writing this has helped get me out of a stretch of writer’s block. I hope to be more active going forward. If y’all have any requests, be they new stories entirely, or continuations of existing ones, don’t hesitate to send an ask!

Gn!reader

Words: 4,336

You were just starting to get a feel for how this team operated. Learning how to triage and when to conserve your strength. Dr. Cho was interested to learn more, so you often hung out in the medbay with her. She taught you how to operate almost all the medical equipment, and together you had healed a whole range of injuries. Gunshots were common, but they caused a lot of blood loss, making them hard to fix. Burns were surprisingly difficult, seeing as the damaged tissue was unlikely to comply with the process. 

On most missions, you’d sit on the jet with a com in one ear, and the injured would be brought to you. This worked really well for large-scale stuff, where there were SHIELD agents working in tandem with the Avengers. Today, you were paired with an Avenger to go inside the area.

“Now, Y/n,” Natasha said when the plan was proposed, “If you don’t feel comfortable being back in a HYDRA base, we can sort something else out.”

“Nobody’s going to force you to go,” Steve added.

“But?” You prompted.

“But it’s the best way to ensure everyone comes back from the mission.”

There was a moment where they seemed to hold their breath, and you realized that they were more worried than you. 

“Yeah,” You said, “I’m fine with going in with one of y’all.”

“Thank you so much.” Nat said. Their fears were unfounded. You knew you could operate just fine with the rest of them. The funny thing is, none of them could heal as fast as you, so the worry should have been reversed.

Today was your fifth mission with them, the first time you went in with them. They were tipped off about a small new base, in a strategically compromising place. Their plan was to wipe it out before it became too much of a problem.

You and Natasha were dropped off near the southern entrance, and instructed to wait till Steve drew attention at the western one. It was only the three of you on this mission, as it wasn’t that high-stakes.

Not too long after, the order was sent out, and Natasha cracked open the vault-like door. She took a few steps inside and waved for you to follow her. She took you through a descending maze of tunnels. You kept going, even after Steve’s com went silent. Even through the seemingly endless waves of HYDRA agents. 

As the tunnels kept twisting and turning, a realization dawned on you. The maps were wrong, this place was much larger than anyone had thought.

“Y/n?” Natasha turned to you. Her voice was strained. It felt strange to hear someone speak in such a place, especially after hours of silence broken only by footsteps, water dripping down the damp walls, and an occasional scuffle.

“Yes?” You replied.

“I’m afraid that we must now shift our priorities to getting ourselves out.”

“But what about Steve?” You asked. 

“I’m sorry, kid.” She said, “But we have to leave him.”

“No… No, we have to go find him! He wouldn't just leave us if we were missing! He could be alive out there. If they caught him-”

“Stop!” Her voice ricocheted around the hall, ripping you out of your spiraling thoughts. For a second the word hung in the air, waiting to be followed up.

“Stop.” She repeated, her voice much quieter now, almost pleading. “I know you were close with Steve, and this can’t be easy for you, but we have to assume he is dead. We are both worn out. Even if we were to find him, we would be of no help. I need you to focus on right here, right now.”

“Okay.” You wiped your eyes. Natasha knelt down next to you to get to eye level.

“I’m sorry for yelling,” She said.

“It’s okay.” You murmured, avoiding eye contact. “It’s not easy for you, either.”

“It’s not, no, but that doesn’t mean I can yell at you.” She said, “Do you think we can keep going or do you need a hug first?”

One hug later, you were retracing your steps along the cold tunnel. It was now oddly quiet. Like the walls dampened any sound, or the darkness swallowed it.

“Natasha Romanoff, put your weapon down.” Natasha tightened her grip as a man emerged from the shadows. He was a sharply-dressed, impossibly smug, older man. Obviously HYDRA. 

“Nope.” She aimed it at his head. “You're gonna stay right there, and tell me how you're still alive."

“Miss Romanoff, I suggest you drop the pistol.” Dozens more HYDRA agents materialized out of the darkness in front of and behind you. 

“Half of my men have their aim set for them,” He gestured to you, “You and I both know even they can’t heal a shot through the skull.” He was right, and she was worn out after walking and fighting for hours. Finally she relented and dropped the gun. Immediately, an agent with dark hair stepped forward and wrangled her into handcuffs. She resisted a little, but one reminder that your life was hanging in the balance put that to an end.

The dark haired agent then opened a small briefcase, and removed a syringe and vial. He filled it slowly and injected it into Natasha’s inner arm. She winced for a moment, then her eyes rolled back and she lost consciousness.

You gasped.

“Not to worry.” The smug agent said, “This is simply a precaution. She will wake up shortly after we relocate her.” 

“Who are you?” Your voice wavered. 

“I am Alexander Pierce.” He said, “But you will only need to address me as 'sir.' Rumlow here is going to sedate you as well.”

“No!” You managed to scramble a few feet back before someone grabbed you by your shoulder, and dragged you towards Rumlow, who had now filled another syringe. 

As you lost consciousness, Pierce spoke to you.

“It seems we have quite a bit of re-training to do.”

Once again, you found yourself waking up in a cold, dark cell. You opened your eyes, and the room spun violently. You curled and uncurled your fingers as you slowly started getting your senses back. After a few minutes of staring at the ceiling, they all seemed to be back, though the room still spun.

A man was walking down the hall. When he peered in and saw you were awake, he swung the cell door open, and grabbed you by your forearm. 

“Up.” He said bluntly, “This way.”

You tried your best to walk, but despite your efforts, your legs refused to cooperate, and you ended up being dragged behind him. The cold floor was almost a relief. It was a jarring start back to reality, and helped you to fully regain consciousness. By the time you reached your destination, you were walking behind the man. 

“Sit here.” He ordered. “And wait.”

The room was blank, only a small drain in the center, and a wooden chair bolted to the floor to the right of it, and a rolling cart filled with shining tools to the left. You quickly slipped back into the familiar routine of following commands, and sat. Instinctively, you attempted to make yourself as small as possible, shrinking down as much as the chair would allow.

Not a minute ticked by before the door swung open again. In walked Alexander Pierce, followed closely by Rumlow. 

“Ah, Y/n.” Pierce said, “I was beginning to think that we’d given you a little too much sedative. I need you to tell me about the Avengers.”

“But they’re my friends,” You meekly replied, “They loved me.”

With one swift movement he snatched a knife from the cart and plunged it straight through the palm of your hand. Your eyes widened in surprise and more than a little pain, but you didn’t make a noise.

“Y/n,” He sighed, “This was all a test. And I’m sorry to say that you failed. You betrayed HYDRA the very first chance you got.”

Blood dripped down the arm of the chair. Your hand started to heal around the knife, and Pierce noticed this. 

“For your betrayal, you must be punished.” He wrenched the knife out of your hand, and stabbed it back through. The skin was fresh and tender, which made it hurt all the more. Still, you choked back any reaction.

“Sir,” Another HYDRA agent entered the room, “I’m sorry to interrupt, but the Captain is awake.”

“I’ll go speak with him.” Pierce sighed and turned to Rumlow, “Rumlow, could you take over here? It seems I have more important matters to deal with.”

“Happily, sir.” 

Before he left, Pierce yanked the knife from your palm. You held pressure on the wound, trying to slow the bleeding. A moment later, you removed your hand, and saw the skin knitting itself back together. 

“That’s a neat trick.” Rumlow said. “Hope you’re good at it. When I’m done, a small scratch will be the least of your concern.”

He pulled his arm back and landed a blow to the side of your head.

Hours later, even with your increased healing, you were bloody and broken. Ribs cracked, probably a concussion, four fingernails ripped off, and Rumlow had done something to your arm which made it bend the wrong way. Blood and vomit trickled into the drain. Sweat beaded down your face. All you wanted to do was slip into the darkness, but you still fought to keep your eyes open. 

“Bring them back to their cell.” Rumlow ordered.

“But sir, shouldn’t the medic–?” He protested.

“They’ll be fine.” Rumlow cut him off. And so you were dragged back through the halls, and thrown into the cell once more. Now that the drugs were mostly out of your system, you could take a look around the room. It had a cot pushed against one wall, and a joint toilet/sink combo on the other. The concrete walls were rough, and the only light came from a yellow bulb down the hall.

You lugged yourself to the cot and wrapped the thin blanket around your shoulders before flopping over. The coarse fabric was like a potato sack, but it was better than lying directly on the hard bunk. Most of your injuries had stopped bleeding by now, and the rest of them could be dealt with in the morning. For now, resting was the most important thing you could do.

It felt like your eyes had just drifted closed, when a uniformed man rattled the bars, waking you up. As you opened your eyes, familiar pain washed over you. You walked over to the cell door, only a little groggy and off-balance. The agent guided you across the hall and up a staircase. He led you into a room, with an unconscious Natasha, tied to a chair. Alexander Pierce was waiting patiently beside her. 

“Here we have Ms. Romanoff.” Pierce said to you, “She used to work for HYDRA, but she decided to turn her back on us in favor of the Avengers.”

You nodded. You already knew that Nat had escaped the Red Room, having bonded with her over shared stories of HYDRA’s brutality. 

“I need you to know what happens when someone betrays HYDRA.” He motioned to the man who escorted you there. He was now holding a gun to the back of Nat’s head. Pierce crouched down in front of you, taking your hands in his. He was now at eye level, and you could see the pure evil in his eyes.

“She will not wake up.” Pierce said, looking you straight in the eye, “Ever.”

Hearing that, something snapped. Something deep inside you gave way. Years of pain came bubbling to the surface, along with something new. A novel emotion, one you hadn't felt before.

Anger.

It coursed through your veins and even a decade of HYDRA’s conditioning couldn’t hold it back. The energy you felt, the glow when you healed someone prickled at your skin, but it was colder, more painful.

Suddenly, Pierce recoiled, clutching his hand. A hole went straight through his palm, an identical wound to the one he gave you earlier. You lunged towards the man threatening Nat, and snatched his weapon. Without any hesitation, you shot him. He crumpled to the floor. 

Then you turned to Pierce.

“Pierce,” You said, pointedly not calling him ‘sir.’ 

“There has been something I’ve been dying to try. Turns out it works. Can you guess what it is?”

Pierce scrambled backwards, still holding his hand, trying to stop the bleeding.

“That’s right,” You said through gritted teeth, “I gave you back the injury you so graciously gifted me. Except, I don’t need a weapon.” With that, you crouched next to him, mirroring the movement he had done just moments before. You closed your eyes, recalling an extra-painful gunshot wound you’d healed, you touched Pierce’s arm. The cold flash of pain only lasted a split second for you, but as you opened your eyes, you saw the pain and terror on his face, and knew it worked.

You had successfully transferred an injury to someone. Standing, you looked at his shirt, which blood was starting to stain. 

“Pierce,” You said, “You still have a few seconds to do something good in your life before you bleed out. I just need to know two things. How do I wake Natasha up, and where is Steve?”

“I’ll…” He sputtered, “I-I’ll never t-tell.”

“That’s too bad. I guess I’ll just have to figure it out myself.” 

A moment passed, then Pierce wheezed two final words.

“Hail HYDRA.” Then he slumped back against the wall. Just to be sure, you unloaded the rest of the clip into his head before walking back to Nat’s chair. 

Finally, you had a moment to take in the room, you saw she was hooked up to an IV of what you assumed was a sedative. You carefully removed the needle, and took a quick assessment of her state. 

She was bloody and bruised, with a nasty laceration on her calf, which was probably going to make walking hard, but ultimately not anything she couldn’t handle. You desperately wanted to take it from her, but decided against it since you were already overloaded with healing your own injuries.

It felt so strange. She was the person who came and rescued you from HYDRA, and now she was tied up in one of their bases. Every day, Nat was so strong. Always protecting you, making sure you felt welcome and safe, and helping you through the memories of HYDRA.

The adrenaline from discovering part of your powers was still flowing through you, and you managed to push the spiraling anxiety down. After all, you had to get Nat out of here. 

She stirred slightly.

“Hey Nat. Can you hear me?” You asked, undoing the cuffs holding her wrists to the chair, “You’re gonna be fine. We’re getting out of here.”

“Mhm…” She murmured, “Pierce?”

“Don’t worry. He can’t hurt you, me, or anyone else ever again.” 

“Steve?” She asked, opening her eyes, but quickly shutting them again.

“I don’t know where he is, sorry.”

“We’ll find him…” She sighed. Natasha opened her eyes – slowly this time – and looked at you. 

“Oh, little зайчик [bunny], when did you get this?” She reached out and touched the side of your face, which you realized still had dried blood on it from yesterday. 

“You’ve been asleep for a long time.” You replied, “If I had to guess, a whole day has passed since we got here.”

“That’s good,” She said. You looked at her, and the confusion on your face was clear, so she explained.

“If we don’t get back today, the others will know something went wrong…”

“And they’ll come get us!” You filled in the rest.

“Exactly.” 

The two of you stayed there for a few more minutes as Natasha fully regained consciousness. You filled her in on the few events between being caught and now.

“Yesterday really sucked, but I did overhear something good.” You said, “Pierce was going to interrogate me or something, but he had to leave when one of his goons came in and told him ‘the Captain’ was awake. So – as of yesterday at least – Cap’s alive! Isn’t that awesome?”

Nat started to nod, but stopped.

“Dizzy, right?” You asked.

“Whatever that stuff was,” She said, “It was strong. How long did you say I was out for, a whole day?”

“Yeah.” You nodded, “I think they dosed you with way more than Steve and I. They didn’t really care if they gave you too much, since they were planning on killing you right here, just a few minutes ago.”

“How’d you stop them? No offense, you’re not too good at hand-to-hand combat.”

“I…” You started, not exactly sure how to explain, “So… I can take injuries from people, you know that, and I was thinking about that a lot, and I thought ‘Hey, I can take them, what if I can give injuries to people?’ I had no way of testing this, because I didn’t want to hurt anyone. Today I finally got a chance to try it out.”

“I’m impressed,” She said, looking around the room at both Pierce and the unnamed guard’s bodies. 

“I bet someone’s gonna get worried about Pierce disappearing.” You said, “We should get moving.”

“Mhm,” Nat agreed, “Help me stand up.”

At first, she was a bit wobbly, but she was fine so long as she could lean on you.

“See if either of them have weapons.” Nat said.

“I already snagged his,” You motioned to the guard. You had pocketed Pierce’s pistol, which you passed to Nat. She probably wouldn’t be very helpful, since she was half-draped across your shoulders. It was better than nothing, though. Her being armed made you feel a little safer.

Just as you were starting towards the door, you heard the muted sounds of raised voices and fighting.

“Stay here,” You said.

“Are you sure?” Nat questioned.

“I can handle this.” You reassured her, and she lowered herself back into the chair. You poked your head out of the room quietly. All the way down the hall, you could see half a dozen men fighting Cap. His movements were sloppy, so he was probably still under some form of sedative. 

Rushing down the hall, you got there just as the HYDRA agents started to get the upper hand. Once again channeling your anger, you extended a hand to the arm of a tall agent, and conjured an injury you’d healed before: a broken arm. For a split second you felt a flash of pain in your own arm, then you felt the bones of the agent’s arm splinter and snap, as if they were tearing themselves apart from the inside.

He yelled and turned, swinging at you with this other arm. You ducked and swiped at his torso, transferring another injury. This time red quickly started seeping through his shirt and he collapsed.

By now the other HYDRA agents had noticed, and one approached you with a knife. This might have posed a bit of a problem, seeing as you had to touch him to utilize your powers.

“Hey kid,” He said, smiling strangely, “I don’t wanna hurt you. If you just–” Before he could say any more you lunged towards him, and threw all your weight into it, knocking him over. Your hands touched either side of his head as you recalled a nasty head injury Stark had once needed help healing.

As you were inflicting brain damage, he stabbed you. While he did manage to puncture a lung, it was a futile attempt at escape. You simply transferred the knife wound to him. His breath sputtered, and he gasped for breath. 

Rolling off of the agent, you saw Steve was able to take out three of the others. You walked through the hall – now littered with bodies – towards Steve. He still looked off-balance, although not that bad now that adrenaline was pumping through his veins. Super soldier serum was helping with the sedative.

“Thank God you’re alright, Y/n.” He said, “Is Nat oka–”

A gunshot reverberated through the hall, and a HYDRA agent that had slipped behind Steve unnoticed fell to the ground. Both you and Steve’s attention quickly snapped to where the shot had come from. Leaning against the door frame, gun in hand, was Nat.

“You missed one,” She said.

“Thanks,” You said, “Now, does anyone know how to get out of here?”

“I remember the path I came in through,” Said Steve, “But there’s quite a few HYDRA agents that route.” 

“I’ll be okay,” Nat said, still more than a little loopy. “We’ll figure it out.”

“Yeah,” You said, the concern slipping into your voice, “How about you two sit down? I’ll grab these guy’s weapons, while you rest a bit.” 

They put up a little resistance, but ultimately slid down the wall to rest. Your mind raced as you took inventory of the supplies you had. How were you meant to get two semi-sedated adults and yourself out of here with only a few handguns, a pocket knife, and a whole base of HYDRA agents after you?

You glanced at the two woozy fighters slumped against the wall. Even in their doped-up state, they were bandaging each other up.

“Hey Cap,” You said, walking over, “Are you just about ready?”

“Yeah.” He said, “Right after I finish dealing with this.” He gestured towards Nat’s lower leg. Steve was almost done wrapping it up using a torn strip of a HYDRA uniform.

“Can you support Nat while we move?” You asked.

“I could, but then it would be up to you to fight anyone we encounter.”

“Don’t you worry about that.” Nat laughed.

You simply shrugged him off, “Just show me the way, and we’ll be out in no time.”

You helped Steve up, and he helped Natasha to her feet. Nat was still rather wobbly, but Steve adapted quickly. The three of you hobbled along, with Steve occasionally stopping to readjust his hold on Nat or to give directions. 

The first time HYDRA agents stumbled across your trio, it was at a junction between two tunnels. Steve nearly dropped Nat in an attempt to throw himself between you and them. By the time he got into position, you had already killed them.

“How did…?” He started.

“I discovered some new aspects of my powers.” You replied. Making a mental note to check up with you back at the Tower, Steve nodded towards the left hallway. 

“It’s this way.” He said. Onwards you went, only encountering a few more groups, and you dealt with them as swiftly as the first. Gradually the walls became less moldy, and the air less musty.

“We’re coming up on the exit,” Steve said, rounding a corner. 

“Be careful, we should expect some–” Nat started, but was cut off by the sound of gunfire. Quickly you smushed back around the corner, against the wall, but not quick enough. Steve wasn’t hit. Neither were you. 

But Nat.

Nat didn’t look good.

A bullet had ripped through the left side of her chest. Her skin was growing paler by the second. She didn’t even get to finish her sentence.

Not thinking in the slightest, you immediately started healing her. Steve tried to push you away, you’d never healed someone this far gone. Even your healing capabilities had limits. Your rage fueled you, blinding you to the pain and stupidity of trying to heal someone who was already dead. 

Life slowly came back to Natasha. Her eyes flickered open, filling with horror at seeing blood now seeping through your shirt.

“Y/n,” Steve said, dread dripping from his words, “What did you do?”

“I took the injury.” You gasped, coughing up blood, “There wasn’t anything else I could do.” You stood up, and turned the corner straight into the sights of countless HYDRA agents.

You were at death’s door, and only rage kept you on your feet. Only anger allowed you to extend your powers over the hall full of cruel, evil people. Only wrath fueled the transfer of this horrible pain from your chest to them instead. 

With a sickening thunk, everyone in the hall fell to the floor, bearing identical wounds across their chests. A moment later, you lost balance. Pain radiated from where your head hit the concrete beneath you, but at least you had gotten rid of the hole in your chest. Distantly, you saw Steve rush towards you, but you blacked out before he reached you.

A dull ache.

That’s all it was.

Distant and floating in an endless void, the only thing tethering you to your body was a dull ache in your head.

Well, that and you could hear voices.

They weren’t talking to you, but still you listened. They were worried. Then the rumble of an engine covered what little you could hear, and you slipped back into the endless void.

You opened your eyes, more than a little confused as to how you got here. You knew where you were, it was obviously the medbay. Moonlight filtered through the windows over the machines that beeped around you. Annoying wires and tubes poked into the skin of your arm. 

You disconnected the machines from you, carefully following the proper protocols so as to not set off any blaring alarms. It was night, after all. Nobody wanted to wake up to the thought of a medical emergency. 

Next to you there was another bed and an armchair. Both of them were occupied by familiar faces. Nat was in the bed, while Steve seemed to have fallen asleep while reading. A smile grew across your face.

You padded over to Natasha, and curled up beside her. 

She was in for a surprise when she woke up. A welcome one, but a surprise nonetheless. 

Part 3, Hair (Medium/Long), Hair (Buzzed)

[pillowfriendly]

15 lines of dialogue

Share 15 or fewer lines of dialogue from an OC, ideally lines that capture the character/personality/vibe of the OC. Bonus points for just using the dialogue without other details about the scene, but you're free to include those as well!

tagged by @ferrocyan yayayay yippyyy ^^ tagging @smallest-turtle and viewers like you

(coming back to the top to say i definitely did more than just the spoken lines because i misunderstood the prompt. my official stance on this is: whatever. eat my shorts)

---

The man scrambled back further, waving his spoon. “Are you going to rob me?”

“Um.” She conducted a brief inventory of his few belongings and glanced at the single scraggly chocobo. “No?”

---

“My mothers mostly told me forest stories, so I don’t know much about the ocean. But it seems… big… there?” She winced. Jude frowned at her.

“Too much water,” she added, desperate. This was a conversation. She was making conversation.

---

“Does it always have to be so hard?” She spoke to Fray, but would have liked to pose the question to several gods, too.

---

He backpedaled, holding his arm close. The saber lay at his feet, yet he didn’t reach for it. He wasn’t even trying. Why did that make it worse? “Do you even want to live at all?” Fray said. Kethry said.

---

“Yeah, we’ll go out. Unless you can trace the aetheric signature of defensive constructs. Or whatever that last scholar was talking about.”

“Kweh.”

“Me neither.”

---

She threw up her hands. “What for? If there’s something that needs killed again, I’ll get it out of your way. Happy?” She shook grit from her log and stood. “If I can’t do anything else, I’d like to do my job without busybodies.”

---

He thumbed his chin. “Still, the fact that she changed plumage, I assume after she reached full maturity, might make her something of a scientific anomaly.”

Kethry’s ears flattened. “An anomaly? That’s so! So!” she sputtered. “That’s so rude! She’s a good bird!”

“I’m not saying she’s not,” he said, in a tone somewhere between confusion and amusement. His eyes landed on a fin stuck to Phoebe’s beak. “Perhaps it was induced by dietary changes?”

“She’s just blue! Don’t be mean!” Kethry struggled to scramble into the saddle and maintain disapproving eye contact at the same time.

---

“There’s something like this up in Coerthas too. They say it came down when the moon fell. Saw an Echo of it happening first time I came here.” She waved his question away before he could ask. “I get these… past visions, sometimes. Side effect of the Echo. Don’t worry about it. Anyway, this whole thing formed ’cause of the impact.” She narrowed her eyes and tossed him the arrows. “But don’t stand there thinking about what it all means. That’s on your own time.”

---

This arrow flew true, but a twirl of her staff knocked it out of the air. “No, she just has Limsa. For now.”

“Has Limsa.” He drew several arrows to fire in succession. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

She turned to avoid the first shot. “It’s hers.” Ducked under the second. “She can use it.” Sent the next skittering and sparking along the crystal. “Get people to do things.” Startled him by leaping over the fourth with a dragoon’s high jump, and aimed for the fifth on the return. It zipped under her—she swung for it and missed, landing with a thud on the field. “She takes a cut for organizing trade. Makes the fleet sail here or there. But if she messes it up, or pulls too much…” She opened her hands and dropped the staff, then kicked it back up to herself. “Someone will take it from her. And if that can happen, she’s not really in charge of it, see? It’s a tool she can use while she’s got it. Or something.”

---

“Mmbwuh,” said Kethry.

---

“It doesn’t…” She scrunched up her face, then made a waving motion. “When Alphinaud and Y’shtola cast spells, you can feel their aether move when they weave it, and it goes like, fwoosh. But when I try to shape mine into a sigil, or anything like that, it’s like pulling on an anchor rode. Doesn’t move.”

---

“I just. When I lived here. We were hunting, the kids. I mean, we were kids, not that we were hunting any. It was the first time I was supposed to lead. And we ran into one of those, a boar, they grow too big here, and we should have ran, but I tried to take it down anyway, and—” She shook her head, to try and shake out the memory, too. “It got my cousin. Tore her right open.”

---

Still, he’d been whiny about it. “Since when have you gotten so demanding?” he panted.

“Since I decided we were friends.”

His ears flicked. “Oh? And when was that?”

She folded her hands over his head and rested her own on top of them while she considered. “Right now? A while ago? I dunno. I'm hungry, though.”

---

She shook her head, flicking water about as she did so. “The only reason not to help people is if you can't. And you should be sure that you really can’t, not just that it might be hard. Anyway, I know the Echo doesn’t work like that, probably. That's why it's stupid.”

---

Kethry laughed. “You kidding? Of course we can.” She leaned out to look up the incline, then rolled an eye over her shoulder at him. Her grin had too many teeth. “Monsters this big rely on having more power than you, and that's usually enough. It can try to hit us, sure. But it can't fight.”

[kiyoshimizu]

Starlight, Starbright Part 4

"Come on Maggy! Just think it!" A deep sigh left him as he rubbed at his temples. Hours. They had been at this for hours over the last few days. While he did manage to get the floating itself under control, moving any direction was still as if he was moving through sludge with how slow and shaky it was. Virgo's attempt at explaining wasn't helping either. He knew she was simply not using the right words but… Gods this was going to be frustrating…

"So… New idea. We take a break and then come back to this when we're both ready. Where exactly are we…?" He needed one honestly. He couldn't exactly figure out what she was trying to tell him if he was about ready to rip his hair out over it. No. He needed to take a moment and look at this with a clearer head. After all… Look where that had gotten him before. He needed to take this much slower. And figure out where they had ended up in their efforts to get him to move better.

It looked like some sort of courtyard with how there were statues at all corners and how intricately the pathway had been made. He couldn't tell what the statues were meant to be but… This patterning… Was this meant to be the night sky? He could make out something in the center but what it could be he wasn't certain.

Wait… Was that… Polaris?

It looked to be from the gentle blue glow but something… He was moving before he even realized it, paying no mind to Virgo calling after him, and as he drew closer he could tell that he'd been right to suspect there was something wrong. She was just floating there. Staring at the sky with the most pained expression he'd ever seen from her. Gods had something happened? Why was she out here all alone?

"Polaris? What… Are you… alright?" It was impossible to keep the panic from his words and it only grew as she turned to him with what looked to be tears streaking her face before she smiled that gentle smile and wiped them away. Who had hurt her? Who had caused her so much grief? Was there anything he could do? Oh Gods… What had upset her so? What-

"Ah starlight… I… Yes. I will be. Its just hard on nights like these. I can see them when its clear like this." Them? Did she mean…? He glanced up to see far more than he was expecting, the deep array of colors and sheer volume of stars capturing his attention and making him stare in wonder. This was far more than he'd ever seen from his study. Was it because they were so high up? It was… beautiful. No. He shouldn't be focusing on that. Polaris needed-Why was she laughing?

"You're just like the little ones. They look at it that way too. Virgo even cried the first time she saw it. Its moving isn't it? The cosmos is so vast and so vibrant and yet as near as it is far from us. They're so far from us… I…" There it was again. That pain. The way she griped the railing as she held back tears. It had to do with the other stars didn't it? Why they were no longer there when he'd seen they had been. Why else would it only be her and the little stars there when there were so many rooms that had been unused and untouched for so long? This… Should he even dare to pry into this?

She must have seen his discomfort because she would reach over and pull his arm out from where it had been behind his back, gently holding his hand as she reassured him. Even now she was so quick to ease him. It… He didn't deserve to have such a gentle soul comforting him like that. Not when she was so hurt herself. "You deserve to know. You've seen how things are. I… It was a long time ago but… The stars you see used to be here. Some of us even lived with humans. We weren't too different after all. One of them… My… My daughter loved them most. She would spend hours just talking and helping them. She was… so giving."

There was a sad and yet warm tone to her words and he could do nothing but listen as she spoke of her daughter, his heart aching as he knew all too well what it felt like to have someone cherished in such a way and then have the worst happen. He could feel that something had happened. "But then… Things changed. Time passed and as all things do they change. They changed. Began building all sorts of things and discovering new methods. Not all of them for good reasons. And it broke her. She… She couldn't accept it. So she left. They all followed her. Some left with her and others over time but they… What's above us is all that's left. I don't even know if they…" She was in his arms in an instant and he held her tightly as a muffled sob left her. That was why. Why there was nothing but them and the little stars. It… Oh Gods… How long had she been tormented by it? How long had she spent there alone with no one to comfort her? He couldn't imagine the agony and loneliness she must have endured. And despite that… She had gone to such lengths to help him. Him who had only inflicted more on her. She… She was a better person than he'd ever be…

"I… I'm sorry. I shouldn't have troubled you with this. You're still recovering and here I am burdening you with more. I'll be alright. I've lived in the coffin of my past for so long. What's another night?" He was holding her closer before he realized and the words left him before he could stop them, the echoed tone of his voice shaking as they did. She shouldn't have to endure this. Not anymore. Even if he still nothing more than a guest here he wasn't going to let her suffer. He couldn't let her suffer like he had.

"You shouldn't have to! I… I know what it feels like to lose the people you love… Its like a part of you is missing and you can't get it back. You want to but… Its gone. So you try to fill it with something else. Put up a wall to stop anymore hurt. But its still there. It will never go away. Please… You… You shouldn't have to endure this alone. I know I'm asking a lot of you but…"

Her soft and gentle gaze stopped the rush of words and a shuddering breath left him as she placed a hand on his cheek. Had he… overstepped? She didn't look to be troubled by what he'd said but… Why had he said all of that? Was… Was there truly so much he'd had buried? It really had never gone away had it? Gods… He should be better than this. He shouldn't be- "Then we'll have to endure it together. Your hurt and mine. I see it. How deeply you've trapped it. You don't need to hold it there. Its alright to let me see it. You don't have to push it aside. You're safe here. Please starlight… Let me in."

What…? He wasn't… He hadn't been… Had he…? He couldn't fathom what she was trying to tell him. Yes the pain he'd felt from both his first and most recent loss was there but… He had done everything to prevent it from happening to others. He had put all of his grief and sorrow into doing so. He had to be better. He couldn't… He couldn't let it consume him. He just… When had… he started crying? Why was he crying? Oh Gods… He truly was breaking wasn't he? He shouldn't be folding this easily. He had been better at managing this. He had to be better than this. He just had to… Oh… "I… I didn't… I'm sorry…"

How had he been so blind? He'd had to appear strong and capable for Rosas but… How long had he been holding it in? He couldn't recall. All he could remember was the many years of work and focus he'd put into helping the kingdom and refining his magic. There wasn't a time he'd taken to express the toll taken on him. He'd always privately endured it all. Even with Amaya there. Her presence had always alleviated some of it but… This… This was why he couldn't hold himself together. He was doing it again. The same exact mistake he'd made before. The one that had led him to lose everything again. He couldn't… He couldn't let this happen again. He couldn't push himself so hard that he hurt others again. He had to be better than that. He had to-

"Magnifico. Ssh… Its alright. You don't need to do everything yourself. I'm here. I'll help you. Its okay to ask for help if you're lost. We'll help you and you can help us if we need it." It was impossible to keep his composure. Her words had released the frustration and pain that had been lying dormant for so long and all he could do was hide himself against her as it flowed out, a soft gentle warmth hardly catching his attention with how strong it was. And yet… It was strangely… freeing. He'd held onto it, buried it so deep, that uncovering it was like a weight had been lifted from him.

How much time passed before it finally slowed was lost on him but once it had… He felt… so at ease. Enough to look up at her with slight mischief as he pulled himself back together and moved out of the embrace he'd been in. "I was supposed to be the one making you feel better. That's called cheating. I'd like to file a complaint."

A soft airy chuckle left her at his words and he couldn't help but laugh himself, smirking as he dusted her shoulders off from where some of his stardust had collected. It felt much more natural to do so. As if any restraint he'd had towards acting that way had lessened. It felt so deeply relieving. Like a part of him had been returned. It wasn't as if he couldn't do so now anyway. He wasn't anything more than just a simple man, star?, now.

"I wouldn't say you didn't. I'm glad I spoke with you about them. It feels… good to finally tell someone. Oh but you probably still have questions. I know Virgo is helping you but… I can as well if you wish."

The smirk turned to a soft smile at her words and while part of him immediately wanted to assure her he was alright, he pushed it down. He wasn't burdening her by asking for a better understanding. She had made it clear how honestly she wished to help him. She would have a better grasp of things too. Virgo had been helpful but she still had trouble telling him in ways he'd understand. "I… I'd like that. I wish to… I want to do something about… it… Can you teach me?" He couldn't lie to her. Not now. He had to tell her about what he was hoping to do. It had a better chance of working with her knowing. She had been the one to free him so she had to know how to ensure that thing didn't get loose again. Gods… He didn't even know what it might be doing now. The sooner he could handle it the better it would be for all their sakes.

"I wanna help too! That's the big meanie that made you do stuff right? I wanna punch them right in their stupid face for-"

Right… Virgo had been with him hadn't she? He didn't hesitate to place a hand over her mouth once she spoke up like that but the fact she had seen and likely heard all of that… It took all of his willpower not to hide himself in embarrassment and instead a long suffering sigh left him as he placed the other hand on his face. He should have been more careful with this…

"We'd have company but… Yes. I can teach you. Is that why you've been using the laboratory? I… I can't stop you but… Please be careful. I don't know what its capable of and I couldn't bear it if… No. I'll just prepare you properly. I've seen how well studied you are. You should be fine." Even now she was trying to put faith in him. He didn't understand how she could but it was becoming something he admired of her. Especially with what he knew of her now. She truly was the strongest person he'd ever known and-Did Virgo just lick his hand? How was that even possible? What was on him now? It made him recoil just thinking of it… "Can I help? I promised so I wanna help Maggy! Oh! Oh! And he can teach me too! He said he'd show me what's down there! Like what keeps making that big boom!"

That little… He had promised. Gods what was he to do with her? It would be hard enough trying to get back to the castle unnoticed but having her constantly following him made that even more difficult. Although… As much as it puzzled him to admit it… He wouldn't dare deny her. He had come to enjoy her company even with how much trouble she could cause. She was… important to him. "As long as you stay close to him and don't go wandering off. Its dangerous to be alone there for a little one like you. You'll both have to keep each other safe. Ah but… He can't go out like that either. We'll have to do something about those clothes." He gazed down at his robes at that and frowned as he noticed how tattered they had become. Much like everything else about him, they had become much more worn and disheveled since being banished in that mirror. Though where they kept anything he could change into he wasn't entirely… What was she doing? Polaris had drifted right up to him and was looking him over methodically. Did she have something in mind or…?

"Just hold still starlight. This shouldn't take long. Virgo? Can you please help?" What…? Why was she whispering to her? What did she mean by- What was happening!? He stiffened as the little star giggled and tapped his chest, a bright light enveloping him and making him unable to do more than watch as it flowed through him before dissipating in a flash. What the… What had… Why did his clothes suddenly feel more comfortable? He didn't feel as cold as he had been and… Wait…

"How did you…?! I… This… Yes… This should work." He cleared his throat as he glanced over himself and took in the change. His cape was no longer there and instead was a dark cloak with a hood, his boots were much more simplistic, black riding boots even, and yet he could tell there was lots of care put into them, and he had on a simple dark blue shirt with dark pants and a similar dark blue sash with a star at the end without any patterning upon it. It was different but… A good different. How exactly Virgo had done that he'd have to look into but at least now he wasn't going to be immediately recognized.

Polaris seemed just as pleased with the result and he smiled as she looked him over again. It felt much less like he wasn't meant to be there. His clothes weren't too far off from hers and from the stitching he could make out she must have had him in mind when she told Virgo to make them. It was another thing he would need to thank her for. "There… You shouldn't be recognized with your hood on now. But I'll need to make sure you know how to defend yourself first. I can feel it. Your magic is different. You seem to be moving better though. I didn't see you struggling when you came up to me."

Of course it would be. He'd seen how differently he could use it now and- Wait what was that last part? He hadn't… He didn't… Had he done it without realizing? He did remember rushing over the instant he'd seen her… How was he going to explain that? What had he been thinking to move so effortlessly? Thinking… He had been…

His eyes widened as he slowly attempted to move again, willing his body to the right and gasping as it responded with little trouble despite a little shakiness. Of course… That was what she'd meant! It was like moving a limb. He just needed to will it to do what he wanted. It was going to take adjusting but at least he could understand it now.

"You did it! You did it Maggy! Now we can play more!"

He couldn't help the laugh that left him as the little star zipped around him excitedly and he turned to better watch, carefully leaning back in amusement as Polaris chuckled next to him. It would take some practice to ensure he didn't bump into anything or lose balance but he could already get an idea of how much he would have to account for that. There was a lot he was going to have to account for. And yet, he didn't feel as worried about it as he had been. He wasn't alone in this anymore.

[basedkikuenjoyer]

This has been a really fun re-visit for me. I first read Memoirs of a Geisha around the time the movie was announced. It was still a relatively new novel in 2005, this was when I was really getting into anime, the film was pushed very hard despite not doing all that well. It was the first time I really noticed Michelle Yeoh and I remember being super excited to finally rent it only for my mom to be an annoying brat the whole movie because how dare I "make" her watch something "too foreign." (Read, I was happy to watch it in my room and she was bitter I was into something so girly) She got into the Noh scene here though. That's all I really want to say about the film, I like it but it misses a lot of what made the book one of the most impactful things I read as a teenager.

It's the story of a girl named Chiyo, later Sayuri, who was sold off into the traditional Gion pleasure district of Kyoto at a young age to become a geisha. We follow most of her life from a small fishing village to this famous entertainer. Punctuated with the Great Depression and WW2 happening during this time. Nice three-act structure; learning the ropes and dealing with the bitchy Hatsumomo, becoming a star with her mentor Mameha's help, the disruption of the war and picking up the pieces after. All woven together with a nice little romantic plot which was always the least interesting to me. Where it really shines is the imagery, the sense of place in Gion, and Sayuri as a narrator very much keeping that tone of a skilled conversationalist.

So let's get the controversy out of the way. Not the movie casting Malaysian and Chinese actors as Japanese characters...if you have an axe to grind there you're madder about it that the Japanese actors were. And it is banned in some Asian countries because it's partially about Japan in WW2 but usually highlighting how the protagonist is isolated from that. The real controversy was about the book. Author Arthur Golden was sued by one of the geisha he interviewed, Mineko Iwasaki, because he acknowledged her in the first release. She thought they had an agreement, powerful people in her life thought they saw stuff about them, she faced backlash and even death threats, there was a settlement out-of-court and she released her own "true" story. Which itself drew it's own criticism for likely lying in some parts for damage control. Her book is next on my list.

I'm going to be honest, it always felt like looking back that controversy was one of my first experiences with annoying twats trying to "cancel" something they don't like for dumb reasons while needing to convince themselves it's a righteous thing to do. You had a lot of people at the time who heard "geisha" and assumed it was a sordid tale about high-class prostitutes and there was an obsession over whether or not it was a true story despite always being clearly presented as historical fiction.

All that to say, like Narnia it bugs me when people let the noise become an excuse for ignoring a great story. It's very much a tale of a charming, smart girl using her wits to survive and get ahead in the world. The movie misses the mark because it's a little too obsessed with the beautiful aesthetics, but I always loved Chiyo as a character for being a little shit through and through. The book really captures that tone of her being used to all that. The way everything shifts around WW2 is absolutely excellent as well. Before that you hear things about cars and electricity spreading and all that but Gion itself feels so timeless. Then that world is ripped away.

Re-reading now, I get why this appealed to me so much. I was about 14/15 at the time and maybe not out yet but things were obvious enough I'd get caught up in the shitty social games of teenage girls plenty. Maybe that little bit of distance helped to see how what I was dealing with as the same. And being out for so long has definitely showed how important that type of poise and composure is in my life. Chiyo's never really a meek protagonist even if she has to fight back with a clever turn of phrase over slapping a bitch. The strength of her as a main character and the rich setting definitely make this a worthy read. I feel much stronger about that on a re-visit than I did back then.

[thevindicativevordan]

Thoughts on Scott Lobdell's Superman run?

Rocafort's art kept me reading.

Rocafort's depiction of Krypton, the Fortress even the armor which no one outside of him and Jim Lee sold me on, all look great! They all had a flavor to them that we don't usually get on the Superman books. He drew Clark with a youthful appearance that suited his age, and I wish going forward artists would emulate New 52 Superman's design for when they want to draw a "young" Superman. Unfortunately Rocafort isn't a fast artist given his style, which meant he needed lots of filler. Still I powered through the filler simply because the issues he did draw were always worth it for me.

Storywise though? It was bad. Lobdell was trying to do the Johns technique of taking old Silver Age concepts and "modernizing" them, but he wasn't as good as it as Johns was. We'd get cool ideas like Kryptonian dragons or Superman benching the weight of the entire planet, but it all rang hollow. There was no real heart or underlying theme just an excuse for the artist to draw cool shit. Early New 52 felt a lot like 90s Image and Superman was hit especially hard in that regard. H'el as a character is nothing but a cool looking Bizarro knockoff, and he is the big villain of the run. The Court of Owls had a point to make about Scott Snyder's relationship with Snyder's hometown and also a point to make about Bruce's relationship with Gotham and his wealth. Couldn't tell you what Lobdell was trying to do with H'el on a thematic level.

Also it's no secret that Lobdell would execute on editorial edicts that other writers wouldn't, which meant he was implementing orders from on high that didn't result in good stories, but did check the list on whatever Didio or Harras wanted. Only Shay Veritas has sorta outlived his run (which is good because I love the concept of Superman befriending the world's smartest woman in contrast to his relationship with the world's smartest man), and unlike Morrison or even Pak's Action Comics runs I haven't seen anyone step up to bat for this run as underrated.

I loved this moment this though:

Clark gives a big speech about the value of truth, justice, and the American Way in the context of real journalism bowing to corporate interests - hoping to rally his fellow reporters to walk out with him in protest - and no one cares!... except Cat Grant. The one person you'd think wouldn't give a damn about those things, does. This is an unironically great Superman moment, one that I think really does capture his appeal as a character, showing how he can inspire others, especially those you'd think couldn't be reached, while showing the cost of that attitude too. Clark and Cat going on to found a blog was actually not a bad idea in the context of "what does journalism look like in the 21st century?" which most Superman runs ignore.

Even having Clark and Lois butt heads over that isn't a bad idea. Clark as a journalist is mainly concerned with his own stories, while Lois as a producer/editor has to look out for the organization as a whole. Clark only has to worry about himself but Lois has to worry about "if the paper isn't profitable and I have to lay people off, what's going to happen to these people in a field where the number of journalism positions is steadily decreasing?" which is a recipe for good organic conflict between the two! It didn't have to be bad or forced for those two to be at odds because a journalist and an editor/producer have different concerns. It just... wasn't good.

Sure looked pretty at times though.

[nirikeehan]

hello! maybe Samson/Thalia (always love some messy Samson lmao) with the otherwordly prompt of "Numinous (English, origin Latin) - (adj.) Describing an experience that makes you fearful yet fascinated, awed yet attracted — the powerful, personal feeling of being overwhelmed and inspired."

OH BOY what a dynamite prompt!! So perfect! I tried hard with this one tho tbh I'm not sure I quite got there in the end? Ah well.

@demarogue also had similar designs:

For @dadrunkwriting

Set in some far-flung point in nightmare au, whence Thalia has already agreed to join Samson as a hostage.

WC: 1581

CW: Samson is a creepy sad sack; referenced past non-con/dub-con situation; non-consensual touching

---

They lie on the bed in the old Orlesian emperor’s quarters — her in a shift, he fully clothed. She was on her stomach, clutching a pillow, sprawled perpendicular. He had propped himself up against the ornate headboard, pulled her leg into his lap, and absently massaging her bare foot.

He seemed to prefer things this way. She learned to let her hair down before he summoned her, to appear comfortable with him and interested in what he had to say. In return, his touches were gentle, and he never attempted a repeat performance of the first night. 

Thalia worried he was biding his time, to capture her with her guard down. Then she wondered if he would dare, or whether the humiliation had proved too much. Or maybe, deep down, he was ashamed. It was difficult to tell. Samson carried on as a man in the midst of a delusion — as if she had chosen him from the start. As if the name Cullen did not exist. 

“You seem far away.” The words slipped from her mouth without her permission. She could have done with more silence. Sometimes he talked, but was careful to reveal only broad strokes: his men were restless, Empress Calpernia was trying his patience, Corypheus had not done him the courtesy of returning his messages. He did not trust her, nor was she sure he ever would. Thalia knew someone braver would try, would do whatever it took. She did not possess that fortitude.

“Hmm?” Samson roused, blinking at her with languid eyes. How much of the red had he taken today? Enough to keep his hands from shaking. His fingers were warm as they encircled her ankle. The knuckle in her sole felt almost pleasant. “I’m right here. Nothing to worry about.” 

Playacting, that’s what this was. She had to feign concern, so he could believe in the version of her that existed in his head. Thalia sat up, frowning. One side of her shift slipped off her shoulder and she didn’t bother to pull it back into place. “Are you sure?” 

No, he wasn’t sure. He was too taut, like a bowstring about to snap. “I’ve got to address the troops tomorrow. They’re being sent off to—” Samson caught himself at the last moment, grimacing. “Don’t matter where. They should hear from their general before they go.” 

You can tell me. That’s what she should say, drawing closer to him. Maybe if she sat in his lap again, and played with the plum collar of his tunic, she could pry it from him. 

No. He would see through that. Maybe he’d get angry and backhand her. The force of the blow from one so fueled by red lyrium could crack bone with little effort. 

“A speech,” she said instead, and Samson nodded. 

“To boost morale. Morale is so bloody important, when you ask your men to lay everything down for you.”

He ought to know, she supposed. Thalia had seen Sahrnia quarry, had seen Maddox die for him. Cullen had called him a friend, once. Samson inspired something in people, that much was obvious. She drew a little closer, dipping her head demurely. “You could practice, perhaps. On me?” 

Samson’s eyebrows shot up into his high forehead, but his eyes betrayed the desire. “You wanna hear it?” 

She nodded. “If you wish to share it.”

“It’s not — well. It’s sort of something that mostly exists up here.” He tapped his temple. “Comes out best in the moment, I think.”

Embarrassed? Thalia wondered. He’ll run his mouth to rally the Red Templars to his cause, but he won’t let his guard down in front of a woman? It tracked, but she still found it curious. 

She could tell him she did this sort of thing with Cullen frequently. Brainstorming sessions often lasted late into the night. And sometimes, they’d adjourn up the ladder to his quarters, where she sunk into his bed and he showered her with soft kisses—

Best not. 

“I’m sure it’s very inspiring,” Thalia said lightly. 

Samson smiled. Most of his teeth were quite grey. He reached out a hand. “C’mere.”

Thalia slid closer. He encircled her with his arms and she settled against his chest. He liked this. She suspected she could fake this better part than paid company. The only part. 

He wound a finger in her hair. Thalia closed her eyes and pretended it was Cullen. She could endure this, just for a little longer. Dorian was due in Val Royeaux soon with his retinue of Venatori, and then… maybe…

“What are you thinking, little lamb?” Samson put his thumb under her chin and turned her head, gently, to face him.

“Just wondering if you could tell me a story,” Thalia lied. 

“What? Like a bedtime story?” He let out a raspy guffaw. 

Thalia shrugged. He liked her docile and meek, now that he had her. Should she not play into his perception that she was a child? “I don’t know. You didn’t want to try your speech on me—”

“Oh, she’s very cross about that, is she?” 

“—I’m just saying, it might be useful to workshop your ideas.” Maker, what was she on about? She should leave the stupid speech alone.

Now he was practically in hysterics, doubled over and laughing so hard he went into a coughing fit. Thalia slapped him on the back without thinking; then, horrified, withdrew. He recovered a few seconds later, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. 

“You are something else, love.” 

“All right, fine. Tell me something true, then. Tell me— why you decided to become a Templar.” She grasped the topic out of the air, though deep down she had always wondered. Cullen had been scant on the details of Samson’s origins; just that they had been friendly before Samson’s expulsion. 

He narrowed his eyes at her, as if to gauge whether she was serious. “Why do you wanna know that?”

“Because.” It implies you had a shred of honor once. “I’m curious.” 

Samson sighed, scraping his hand down his narrow face. “Fine. It were a long time ago now, twenty years or more. You must have been a babe at the breast at the time.” The thought didn’t seem to trouble him. “I was, shall we say, a man of humble means back then. I had nothing, came from nothing. Classic story of Lowtown through and through, see?” 

Thalia nodded. “A beggar?”

He smirked. “Nah, nothing so noble. Young men don’t have the patience, neither. Easier to take the coin than ask.” 

“So a thief?”

“Cutpurse, more like. Thieves tend to plan heists, join guilds or the Carta. Kids are less organized; just trying to eat, usually.” 

Thalia swallowed hard. She found such an existence difficult to imagine. Samson nodded, as if reading her mind. “Don’t expect you know much about it.” 

“I’m sorry, I… that sounds challenging.”

Samson snorted. “Not looking for pity. Just telling you how it was.” 

“How did you go from that to a… Templar?” She had always assumed Templars usually came from noble stock, given her own family’s history. Cullen had been a notable exception. 

Samson chuckled. “One day, I got too bold. I tried to pickpocket Knight-Commander Guylian himself. Caught me red-handed.”  

Thalia’s eyes widened. “And? Did he… let you go?”

“No!” Samson laughed heartily. “Had me arrested on the spot, o’ course. I spent a few days languishing in the city jail, thinking I was gonna lose a hand, or worse.” He paused. “Till Guylian came to see me. He was in good with the city guard. They owed him a few favors. I still don’t know why he bothered. I didn’t give him any reason to see potential in me. But he said a few things.  He didn’t sugarcoat it, mind. I never would have gone for a bunch of platitudes. There’s always someone in that city trying to save degenerate souls from themselves. I dunno.” Samson shrugged. “He said, ‘I’m looking for people who understand Kirkwall. There’s too many coddled nobles in my ranks. Come see me if you want to put your skills to better use.’ And then I was released.” 

Thalia’s mouth was agape. “Just like that?”

Samson nodded. “Just like that. I thought about it for a bit, nursed my wounded pride, went on a couple benders…. Then a few weeks later there I was, standing in the Gallows courtyard, asking to be let into recruitment training.”

“That is… quite a story.” Thalia sat up, shaken. It felt too easy to root for the young man in the story. She could see him, quite clearly, as a heroic underdog.

“What’s wrong?” He brushed the hair from her shoulder. “You think I made that up?”

“I don’t know.” She wanted to call him a liar. It would be better to believe he had invented the tale, striving to impress her with a cultivated persona.

“Well, I didn’t. For what it’s worth.” Samson sighed. “’S just a shame, you know. Guylian really believed in what he did. Thought he could make a difference. He didn’t realize, and me neither, until it was much too late.” 

“Realize what?” Thalia breathed.

Samson let out a weary chuckle. “That ambition will stamp out honor every time, love. Those who want power — they will take it, by any means necessary.”

“I suppose that was a lesson hard learned,” Thalia said softly. 

“Indeed. But I’ll never make that mistake again.” 

Nor will I, Thalia thought.

[mama-qwerty]

So this is from an original I was working on, oh, about 8 years ago. I couldn't decide how I wanted to handle it, so I have 3 different beginnings for it.

(Yes, the character's name is Callie. I like the name and just used it everywhere because I hate coming up with names.)

~~~~~

Callie tried to stay calm. She really did.

But it was kind of hard not to panic when being chased by a nine-foot daemon. Especially one that so closely resembled a giant spider. But with twice as many legs. And very big fangs.

The other daemon, the seven-foot troll-like thing that had appeared on the other side of town, was behaving just as her master had predicted. It lumbered down the designated path toward the trap, herded along by the warriors trained to deal with these types of things. When they reach the clearing between the town and forest to the south, they would capture and dispose of it quickly and efficiently, before it had a chance to hurt anyone or cause any damage.

This monstrosity behind her, however, wasn't as cooperative. Or as respectful to carefully laid plans.

This one had stepped through an open rift hidden by the treeline on the outskirts of the forest to the north. Callie knew this area well – she spent many hours cataloging the foliage and wildlife there. She had just finished measuring the growth of a group of evergreen saplings when she felt the rift open. The prickle started at the base of her skull, making the fine hairs on her neck stand on end. The feeling intensified, traveling up the back of her scalp when the daemon appeared.

It stepped through, blinking its many red eyes. Callie stood still, eyes wide and heart pounding. The thing shuffled in the underbrush for a few seconds, seeming to test the firmness of the ground beneath it. Its body swayed uncertainly, as it shifted its weight over its many legs. An image flashed in Callie's mind, of a newborn fawn finding its footing.

Then it opened his mouth, uttering a high-pitched primal screech. Callie jerked at the sound. The movement drew the creature's attention, and it spun toward her, lifting itself up on its four hindmost legs. The screech came again, this time louder.

So the brunette ran. Despite its multitude of legs, the daemon was surprisingly slow. It moved clumsily, occasionally tripping over its own limbs. But it would right itself quickly, intent on the chase. And the hope for a kill.

Callie pushed her panic back, focusing her mind on one goal—get this thing to the clearing near the southern woods. It was a fairly straight shot through town, but that would have lead the monstrosity through the highly-populated market square. The more people about, the higher the chances of utter catastrophe. No, best to take a less populated route.

But every twist and turn she attempted to lure the thing to its imminent demise resulted in disaster. She'd tuck into an alley, and the daemon would destroy the buildings in its pursuit. When she zigged left, the creature zagged right, heading straight for the market square. It destroyed three shops and injured five people before she reversed course and gained its attention once again.

The trollish daemon's rift had opened across town, drawing the master scribe out to head the “disposal” efforts. Callie had stayed behind, with the intention of staying out of the way. Dealing with daemons wasn't her forte.

Oh the irony.

A stitch appeared in her side. She kept running, but every breath felt like a hard finger jabbing her in the spot below her ribs. The thing behind her bellowed in its endless rage. It was also catching up. She needed a new plan.

Plans were not her forte, either. There were always too many variables, too much to consider. If she had time, she could develop a few possibilities, compare their chances of success, ultimately deciding on the one that offered the best opportunity for disposal of the daemon with low damage and casualties.

But she didn't have time. The stitch in her side was growing steadily worse, causing her stride to stagger and breathing turn shallow. It wouldn't be long until the thing overtook her.

Panic, the unwelcome visitor slinking in the back of her mind, stretched further. Rational thought was impossible at this point. Now it was all about survival.

Each breath tore at her side, and she cut hard to her left. Villagers offered her questioning looks as she streaked past, and uttered screams when they saw her pursuer. Callie could only hope they dove for cover before the thing on her heels decided to pick an easier target.

Another hard right and she found herself in the large field to the east of town. Four large grain bins stood in the middle, each pair filled with the most basic ingredients necessary to carry the village through the wet, cold months of winter—the first two held corn, the remaining two wheat. If luck was with her, she could burrow into one of those silos and hide out while the daemon searched for her. By that time word would have gotten back to her master and the warriors, and they'd come tend to the thing properly.

The open field gave the daemon an easy view of her, and less obstacles to slow it down. Its many legs moved faster, the previous clumsy movements gone.

Callie cut around the back of the left-most bin. She slowed enough to allow the creature to close the ever-shrinking distance slightly, then curved around the next bin in an S-shaped course. The thing followed, barely squeezing its bulk between the tall stone structures.

Callie curled around the next bin, continuing her serpentine path. The painful stitch stretched all along the length of her side now, digging into her hip and causing her to favor her right leg. Every breath was agony. Her legs trembled. Time to stop running.

Curling around the last grain bin, Callie doubled back to complete the figure eight pattern. The thing registered surprise—as much as a daemon could look surprised, anyway—and swiped a clawed leg at her as she passed. She ducked, half-crawling around the base of the third silo to the foot of a tall ladder. It lead to a small platform at the top, where workers dumped the harvested grain through a small square door.

Ignoring the stitch currently ripping at her side and the wobbly feeling in her legs, Callie climbed. The daemon passed her once, missing her only by chance. It was still giving chase around the silos and hadn't noticed she was no longer on the ground.

Callie pulled herself onto the standing platform, and yanked open the wooden door. A small cloud of grain dust puffed forth, making Callie cough. The daemon below her roared in response. The brunette swore under her breath. Betrayed by her own hiding place.

As the creature doubled back, Callie leapt into the silo. She landed in the dry store of wheat meant to carry them through the winter. It poured into her clothes, making her itch. Dust billowed around her, getting in her nose, her eyes, her mouth, making her gag, sneeze, and cough. She sank for a few seconds, conjuring up mental images of suffocating at the bottom of the silo, but then settled to a stop with the wheat up to her chest. Through some effort, she shimmied and maneuvered herself to a more reclined position to prevent further sinking and possible entrapment.

Outside, the daemon searched. It circled the silos, roaring and growling in anger at the sudden disappearance of its prey. Callie closed her watery eyes and hoped the warriors would show up soon.

Two minutes later, Callie opened her eyes. Silence drummed at her ears, broken only by her own shallow breathing. Something wasn't right.

Slowly, she half-crawled, half-swam her way through the wheat toward the ladder directly under the wooden door. Her tired muscles objected, making her grip shaky and climb slow. All the while she kept her ears tuned to the area outside. No sign of the daemon.

Holding her breath, Callie gently pushed the wooden door open. She blinked against the bright sunlight, and cautiously peeked through the opening. The ground around the base of the silos, worn smooth by the foot traffic of countless generations, was rough and churned by the sharp, spiky feet of the daemon. But there was no sign of the creature itself.

Callie let out a long, controlled exhale and opened the door wider. She looked to the left and found the same churned path. Still no daemon. The door opened wider and she leaned out, listening for signs it had returned to the village to continue its rampage.

Instead she heard movement against the side of the silo. She turned, and ducked as one of the daemon's bony legs pierced the air where her head had been. Crying out, Callie pushed herself backwards, falling back into the soft, itchy wheat store. A second later and the wooden door was gone, torn to shreds by the daemon as it tried to reach the prey inside.

Heart thumping, Callie scrambled away from the thrashing monster. Having discovered the doorway much too small and secure to allow it entrance, the thing was now tearing the wooden roof to shambles. Daylight streamed in, as splinters and broken planks rained down into the wheat.

“Oh Gods oh Gods oh Gods!” Callie prayed, flattening herself against the far wall. The thing above her had just about broken a hole large enough to push through.

The daemon brought two forelegs down against the roof. The strike shattered the cross support beam, sending the entire structure into a free fall into the silo. It landed at an angle, creating an impromptu shield and cover for Callie.

This pushed the daemon into an even larger rage. It scrambled into the silo, landing on top of the broken roof. The thing's sharp, heavily armored legs poked hole after hole into the wood, as it kept two legs hooked over the top edge of the silo to support its large, heavy body. Despite this anchor, it was starting to sink into the wheat. It shrieked as the wheat swallowed inch after inch of its thick legs.

In a panic, the creature dug its claws into the stone wall, desperate for purchase. Callie covered her ears to block out both the monster's screams, and the skin-crawling sound of its bony exoskeleton scraping against the stone. Each swipe with a claw left a deep groove in the stone, and generated a rain of small sparks. Most blinked out of existence a second later, but a few managed to stay alight until they reached the wheat. The more the daemon sank, the more panicked it became, the more it scraped and dug at the walls. The more sparks were born. The more landed in the dry, dusty wheat.

Behind her makeshift shield, Callie could only hold onto the wall and avoid the thrashing and poking of the daemon. She herself was starting to sink further into the wheat, and she kicked to keep herself above it.

Between the wheat dust and overall stink of the daemon itself, Callie didn't notice the smell of smoke. It wasn't until she looked up through one of the daemon created holes in the roof that she noticed the dark clouds billowing out of the silo. That's when she felt the heat.

The daemon screeched, this time in fear. The wheat around it burned, and every attempt it made to escape only spread the flames. Its prey forgotten, the thing's only focus now was to get away from the ever-growing fire around it.

Screeching in panic, the daemon thrashed and kicked and bucked its body. Large holes appeared where its legs had punched through the walls, and burning wheat leaked out. Seemingly encouraged by the reaction, it kept punching holes into the stone, until the entire right side of the silo was more hole than wall.

Wheat, burning and non, poured out, pooling on the ground below. In some areas the falling grain smothered the flames, in others they spread hungrily. Soon the entire ground was aflame.

With less wheat to hold it, the daemon righted itself and scrambled toward the large hole it had created. As it pushed and shoved its way out, the rest of the silo creaked under the stress and strain. The still intact upper wall crumbled, causing the structure to lean heavily to the right.

Callie felt the silo lean, and grabbed the remaining roof around her. The wheat drained out, pulling her along with it.

The daemon, meanwhile, had managed to push itself through the broken wall, but the collapsing silo pinned it against the last storage unit in line. Frantic, the daemon pushed and scraped against the intact silo. Holes appeared in its walls, replaying what had happened to its neighbor just a moment ago. The wheat stored in that silo spilled out, adding to the flames below.

The broken roof slid along with the draining wheat, dragging Callie toward the trapped, panicking daemon. The entire silo crumbled, threatening to crush the girl if the daemon didn't get her first.

A large chunk of wall fell away to Callie's right, and she scrambled to escape. The daemon's struggling made for a difficult path, as it flailed its many legs wildly. At last she saw the outside world, and jumped the last five feet to the ground below.

Villagers ran toward her, some with weapons, others simply curious about the commotion. The daemon's struggles were weakening, its fight nearly spent.

“What happened?” an older man asked, his gnarled hands curled around a large pitchfork.

Before Callie could respond, the last silo collapsed. Two heavy chunks of stone fell directly onto the daemon's body, resulting in a mind-numbing crunch. Its legs spasmed, kicking at the burning piles of wheat below. The flames spread, eagerly devouring the remaining wheat, and the dry patches of grass close by.

Then, stillness. Thick black ichor seeped from the daemon's broken body, mixing with the wheat not already on fire. When flames touched the grain tainted with this foul fluid, they flared, burning bright blue.

“What's going on?” a familiar voice called from the growing crowd. “What's happened here?”

Callie turned to see her master push through. Garvan Tierney, master scribe of Westerbarrow, took in the scene with wide eyes. Confusion passed over his face, then he saw his apprentice. The confusion was replaced with a tired acceptance.

She offered him an embarrassed smile.

“I can explain.”

~X~X~X~

“For the good of the village, she has to go.”

Callie sat with her head slightly bowed, hands folded neatly in her lap. The Yarl stood with his hands clasped behind his back, a single attendant hovering by the door with a scroll and charcoal pencil. Every time his master spoke, he scribbled furiously to record the words.

“Yarl, be reasonable,” Garvin Teirney, the village's Master Scribe, said in a calm voice. “She meant no harm. In fact, she tried to lead the deamon away from the village.”

“And yet, here we are,” the Yarl said, anger edging into his voice. “Half the village's food supply gone, countless buildings damaged, and a fairly large daemon rotting on the edge of town.” He glanced at the girl to his right. “She may have meant no harm, but she caused plenty of it.”

Callie lowered her head, cheeks burning.

“She was alone in the forest to the north of town when this daemon appeared,” Garvin said, crossing his arms. “She was defenseless and understandably terrified. What should she have done? What would YOU have done?”

“Spare me your logical arguments, Scribe,” the Yarl said, waving a dismissive hand. “The fact remains this was not an isolated incident and you know it. She has caused catastrophe after catastrophe in the past.” He turned toward the door. “She must be gone by sundown tomorrow.”

~~

And that's where I petered out. It wasn't clicking with me so I switched to a different angle for it and started over.