#I’ll shed my shape and I’ll take to the sky

[sparksinthenight]

K so in the “B” place the “SVC” CANONICALLY committed genocide. Like, this explicitly happened in like episode 2. Also, the SVC people are generally fine and struggling to get by these days. I love the common people, I love the SVC common people, they are good. But they will not get power anytime within the airtime of the show. No-one will ever give them power and they are not yet strong enough to seize it themselves. But the SVC Leaders will get power soon. The SVC Leaders canonically do some Depuran shit and they justify it like Depur generally does. BecUse like, they’re bourgeoisie. It’s not even because they’re “free spirits” it’s because they’re “free markets.” They can justify whatever they want however they want but their Hitler-Depur-Jeff Bezos asses can’t be covered with their “magick.” Anyways, this is what the Zeviths are allying with. THIS FUCKING BULLSHIT is what they’re supporting. But whatever, what can we expect from The Protestants. When the SVC Leaders finally seize power what will happen is that the proletariat, SVC and Slam and Circle and otherwise, are going to fucking die but the bourgeoisie are going to be all like “the hardest choices require the strongest wills.” But listen! Amavikkan everywhere, listen! Workers of the world, listen! They may kill our bodies, but they can never kill our spirits! They may end our lives, but they will never end our power! From beyond the veil of death, we will re-emerge stronger than ever!

[cosmicalily]

"to be loved is to be remembered" - a mini series by @cosmicalily. view series masterlist, and outline here

3. classically-conditioned memory | han jisung x fem!reader

classically-conditioned memory: a type of implicit memory that is categorised as a learned, involuntary association between a stimulus and (typically emotional) response.

author's note: consider this my official rewrite and extension of my 'lovers rock' drabble for jisung! i absolutely adore this album (and this boy) and may have shed a tear whilst writing this. maybe.

warnings: implied sex (no explicit content)

For you, falling in love was not a singular event in your lifetime. With Jisung, it happened everyday, every hour, every minute, even if he wasn’t present with you. In albums and photographs and text messages, you loved him in a circadian rhythm; 24 hours, from the second you woke up to the moment before you fell asleep, head on his chest, bare skin warm against yours.

It had happened in the way he had smiled at you from across the room at his party, the place where you’d first met. In the way he’d invited you up to his bedroom, not to fuck, but to show you his record player. “It’s my baby,” he’d explained as your fingers ran across the backs of his records lovingly.

“What about your guitar?” you asked, picking your favourite album and setting it up to play, his fingers entwined with yours.

“That’s my baby, too.”

Falling in love with Jisung was listening to French Exit, your head resting against his shoulder, his leather jacket around your shoulders. Falling in love with Jisung was feeling your heartbeats quicken when Lovers Rock played, his body warm beside yours as the party continued downstairs. It was the way you cupped his cheeks, your nails painted wine red, and kissed him slowly, making out long after the vinyl had stopped spinning.

The two of you fell hard and fast, your love for each other a drug. When Jisung first got his drivers’ licence, you would take long road trips in the summer to dodgy motels by the coast, spending nights away from your friends and family, only wanting each other. He would play French Exit in the car, his hand on your thigh, and when he pulled into a parking lot to kiss you, too unfocused to drive any further.

Love with Jisung felt like every celestial object in the sky was colliding. Like the stars were all being reborn, like the clouds had never, ever clouded your vision in the first place. It felt magical and fantastical and like an intangible, out of body experience. It felt like something you had to hunt for, like something you would only ever experience once in a lifetime. It was a feeling deep within your bones that you knew you would never forget, an involuntary response, something unconscious.

“I’ll love you forever, baby. You’re the only one for me,” Jisung whispered, your bodies tangled in a mess of crumpled sheets. His room was humid, even with the window open, and his house was quiet, his parents out for the night. His skin was hot against yours, yet you didn’t feel uncomfortable or overstimulated. You wanted Jisung to take up all of your senses, to alert every part of your body with his presence.

“Mm,” you replied, resting your face closer against his warm skin. You listened to the record in the background, tracing shapes into his bicep to the rhythm of the music.

You felt his hand run through your hair, and you leaned into his touch.

“Mm,” you repeated again, nuzzling closer. You felt his chest rise and fall again, his breathing steady. Soon, you heard a soft snuffle, and he was asleep, bare skin warm, plump lips slightly open.

Gently, you wriggled out of his embrace. God, wasn’t he beautiful? Dark brown hair wavy from the summer breeze, soft cheeks you’d always kiss ever so gently. You reached out and touched his finger lightly, as if reminding yourself that he existed, that he was before you.

You shifted back into his arms, resting your face against his chest, pressing kisses to his collarbone. Your lipstick had long faded, but it felt like you were printing onto him, painting his skin.

You wished that he didn’t have to move halfway across the world, even if it was to pursue his dream. You wished that you were loyal enough to join him, but you couldn’t. Not when your whole life was here.

Something in you felt comforted, though. As the record played, and Jisung’s hand wrapped around your waist a little tighter, you knew that you would find him again. In music, in artwork, in dreams, both innocent and otherwise. 

He would never entirely vanish. You knew him too well.

Rain poured from the murky grey sky, dampening Jisung’s hair and running down his forehead, his nose, his cupid’s bow. He sighed, considering the twenty-three minutes of his journey back home he had. It would be better to wait it out.

It was dark, although the streetlights provided a soft glow, reflecting against the rain glossed sidewalk. He spotted a store with warm lighting pouring through its French windows, glass blurred and foggy. Jisung walked over to the burgundy door and was enveloped in warmth, a scent of familiarity and a sea of records stacked in mahogany shelves.

The shop seemed to have been designed to be a bookstore, with beautifully carved wooden cases that spanned higher than one could reach, clad with black iron ladders attached on rails to grab items from the top. The counter was empty, and Jisung couldn’t see anyone around, so he looked through the navy blue crate on the floor labelled ‘Favourites’. Beside the crate sat a record player on a low table. There was no vinyl currently playing, and a note beside read ‘Always play before you buy’. Jisung rifled through the stack of records, smiling at each album. At the very back, distinct in its red and black, sat French Exit.

His heart hammered automatically in response, body flooding with warmth. He remembered kissing you on the floor of his bedroom, kissing you in the music room at lunchtime, kissing you in between classes. He remembered your wine red nails and your (his) leather jacket, the stains your lipstick would leave on his cheeks, lips and collarbones. 

He had never stopped loving you. He fell in love with you every single day, even when you weren’t there.

Even after you’d gone your separate ways after high school.

“Good choice,” a voice came from the distance. “This album’s my favourite.”

Jisung stood up and turned, and you startled, a hand clasping over your mouth. Your nails were still wine red, and now, so was your hair, tousled and layered and falling just over your shoulders. You wore black tights and black boots, a navy plaid miniskirt and a black knit turtleneck. You looked different, but also not really. You were still the most beautiful girl he’d seen.

“Baby,” he breathed, and pulled you into a tight embrace. Your hearts raced, hands reaching to cup each other’s faces, kisses desperate. He wondered if your lipstick would leave stains again, if you still had his jacket. If you’d still let him kiss you on his bedroom floor.

“It came on the other day, Lovers Rock, and my heart started beating so fast. It always does, whenever it plays. My body remembers that song, and you,” you said breathlessly, nestling your face in the crook of his neck.

“Mine always does too,” Jisung replied, rubbing circles into your lower back. “I never forgot you. I’ll never forget you.”

“Me neither,” you whispered, and you stayed in his embrace, bodies warm against each other, hearts beating in sync. The record stopped spinning, and neither of you moved. You remembered. Your bodies remembered. 

You were a whole.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Seeking the Sky

I want to go higher and higher. I won’t be contained any longer.

This is part 18 of 20. Her will and the curse’s clash.

***CONTENT WARNING: drowning (implied/mentioned), self-harm (stabbing hand with pen nib).***

The Tale of the Cursed Raven: Part 1 I Part 2 I Part 3 I Part 4 I Part 5 I Part 6 I Part 7 I Part 8 I Part 9 I Part 10 I Part 11 I Part 12 I Part 13 I Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17

Once.

The first word is always the most difficult to lay down. It determines the shape the sentence will take, leading into the rest of the story. For fairy tales, there’s a comfortable default.

Once, once, once.

Because it was like that before, but no longer. It's change, it's challenge. It's a rose in the winter, a promise in the midst of despair, a light in the dark.

Only with Once Upon a Time is there a Happily Ever After.

So that's what she begins with.

Raven writes with the ink that doesn't yet have a name. In the bottle and on her quill nib, it appears as a deep blue--but scrawled on a blank canvas of paper, it's a brighter, jauntier hue. The color of an endless sky laced with sunshine.

I've decided, she thinks. This story is mine and mine alone. Even if I'm told it's going to end in doom... I still want to imagine an alternative. A happier conclusion.

I’ll end this tale on my own terms. If I cannot be free, then I can at least dream of it until the very end. This is... my act of defiance. Proof of my existence.

Her nib firmly presses to the page.

It starts as it always does.

Once upon a time, there was a common Raven.

She lived all her life in the forest where she was born, doing all the things that a common raven would. And for a while, she was content.

As time went on, the Raven became aware of a world beyond her own. Those beings called humans would wander into the forest, and from her perch up above she watched with great interest. Their feathers changed constantly and they spoke in strange tongues. With each passing day, her curiosity swelled until she could stand it no longer.

The Raven decided to leave home and explore the world afforded to humans. On wings as black as the night, she found herself sailing out to a place blanketed by tumultuous waves. She had never seen such a vast expanse of water before, and so foolishly descended to observe it close up.

That was when the sea swallowed her up.

The Raven came close to death in that icy grip, for a bird's wings can only flounder when weighed down by water. But... by a miracle of miracles, she was rescued by a prince. The face and name she did not know--but upon waking up safe on a golden beach, she felt in her chest that she was more meant for this world than ever before.

The infatuated Raven returned to that beach, hoping to meet her prince once more.

He never reappeared before her.

She was crestfallen. "Of course," thought the Raven. "How silly of me to think that a mere raven could catch the eye of a prince... that she could be a part of his world."

So the Raven went home to the forest to nurse her broken heart.

On some particularly lonely days, she would nest by a pond and gaze at her mournful reflection in it. A creature with feathers as dark as the night, heralding bad omens--who could ever learn to love such a thing? The Raven shed a tear into the pond.

It was then that a withered man in a tattered cloak appeared. His ominous visage startled the Raven, but his voice was a whisper.

“What troubles you?” he asked of the bird.

“It is the prince,” the Raven lamented. “He will never look my way, for I am just a raven.”

“It is possible,” said the stranger, “for a raven to win the eye of a prince.”

There, he offered a bargain. In exchange for becoming his writing apprentice, he would grant the Raven the form of a girl so that she might pursue her prince.

She accepted his hand and picked up the pen.

And for a while, she had a place where she belonged. The Raven learned of both writing the humans from her new mentor, the Storyteller. He was a stern man, a perfectionist in his craft—but he was her family, her home. All she had ever known.

She was not yet allowed out on her lonesome, but would always hand over her drafts accompanied with questions like, “When can I?”

“Soon,” he would say cryptically. “Soon.”

She believed him.

Then one morning, the Storyteller was gone—passed away in the night.

He had packed a suitcase before his spirit had slipped from his mortal form. It came with a letter addressed to her, a letter full of frightful confessions.

The Raven was to inherit both his legacy as a storyteller... and the curse he had been shouldering. Eternal life she would have, but never would she be able to find the human connection she sought out--for should she utter "I love you", she would vanish into a speck of light.

The naive little Raven was overcome with great despair. The things she had longed for had been torn away. The hope she had for her future, extinguished like a candle's flame. The happy nest she had found, gone.

Her trust, betrayed.

When at last she had no sobs left to give, she picked up the shattered pieces of her heart and set out, seeking a new home.

The Raven arrived at Night Raven College, a place described in the Storyteller's letter. There, she was intent on stowing away and focusing on her new art. She is a storyteller now, she reasons, and storytellers never meant to step into their stories, to mingle with their characters.

In the highest room of the tallest tower… The Writing Raven roosts to this day.

She stops on the dot punctuating the sentence. There’s finality in a period, that which marks the end of a thought.

This isn’t the full story. Not even close. Raven dips her quill in an inkwell, watching as sky blue creeps up the nib. It’s only the start.

Her hand resumes its dance.

At Night Raven College, she met many new faces. Kind people, cruel people… People who showed her things her stories never could. The Raven had many happy moments and many sad moments too.

There is an uncle who is bumbling and vain but means well. He grants her a home and acts as her guardian. He is strange but warm.

There are older students who are reliable and tough. Visions of what she could be when she grows up.

There are students who are as immature as she is. Chicks freshly hatched from their eggs, still unsure of themselves and what they should do.

Then there is the boy that broke her heart. He had a gentle smile and demeanor, even seemed familiar somehow. It was all lies—yet the Raven still found herself drawn to him.

She was told that those feelings were doomed, not meant to be. That she was destined to dissipate as light.

The curse, claiming her.

The ending, tragic.

Again, Raven loads her quill. Her hand has grown heavy, shaking.

But she still d—

She has frozen.

What?

Raven tries again, straining with her writing implement. She knows the motion, the rounded flick of the lowercase a. D-a-r-e, easy. She has never had an issue writing before.

But she still dared to dream.

It is like hitting an invisible brick wall. She can push all she likes, but her hand will not budge from its place.

The shaking gets worse, turning into tremors.

Her hand rockets off, but not by her own will. There is no feeling in her nerves as the sentence completes itself.

--id not dream!

"Th-That's not what I wanted to write!" Raven squeaks. She stares at her hand, thinking it possessed. It doesn’t feel like a part of her anymore

On a piece of scrap paper, she tests a few strokes, a couple letters. Nothing seizes—not until she returns to the story on a new line.

But she sti—

The tail of her l trails off. She crosses out the sentence, but the next attempt stops at the s of she. More words prematurely cut off.

Raven’s eyes blow wide open.

What is this? Why can’t I…

The feeling floods back into her hand, but it's entirely wrong. It's like a pile of cinderblocks has been dropped upon it, crushing her muscles and bones. Her blood screams. A searing pain shoots from her fingers and to her wrist.

She clutches it with her other hand, hissing through her teeth.

“Yours is a fate meant to end in tragedy,” a laugh booms in her head. “You cannot hope to escape it.”

Raven hunches over her desk, coughing up a raspy breath.

Realization.

The story. It’s snapping back into place, trying to correct itself. It doesn’t want to change its course.

Her brow scrunches. Part of it is the barking pain, part of it is the wheels spinning in her head.

But that is, in of itself, proof. Proof that it is possible to change things. Isn’t it…? If the story is attempting to ‘fix’ things, then it was ‘broken’ by something to begin with.

I did this.

Me…!

She takes her other hand and lets it pick up her quill. Raven involuntarily grips her wrist, the original hand silently demanding the implement back.

“No…!”

Her chair clatters to the floor. Raven throws itself across the room. She collides with a bookcase, knocking several volumes off. Ink-spattered papers and dust fly into the air.

She jerks the other direction, ramming into a wall. Hurt spikes up her back, her shoulders. The phantom hand pulls her this way, that way, like a careless child dangling a doll.

Her small, battered frame falls to the floor—a toy, discarded.

The Raven vanished in a blink of light, never to find happiness, a voice she recognizes as her own snarls. It is dark, distorted. Alone, forgotten, insignificant.

You know it to be the truth. You know that is where this path leads.

W r i t e i t.

Tears spurt from her eyes, running like broken faucets.

She clenches her jaw, refuses to let a scream escape. Her insides claw and twist in agony.

The room is a foggy haze, rectangles and muddy colors. The floor, cold and hard as she lies there, writhing. A streak of black in the corner of her eye—her quill.

Raven reaches for it, managing to graze it with the tips of her fingers. When she clenches it, it is with her whole fist, her grip so tight it may as well be on a spider’s thread in hell.

“I will complete this story. I will write my own happy ending,” she grunts through her fresh splitting headache, “if it’s the last thing I do…!”

Raven wrests herself up on trembling legs, using the ledge of her desk for support. Collapsing into her seat is a relief, even if every part of her throbs.

One hand lays out to keep her canvas steady. She has her quill, brings it downward—

—skewing clear off the page, leaving only a murky blue trail where it had touched the page.

The hand clutching the quill crunches the shaft, snapping it. The hand raises, hovering over the marred paper. She wills it, wants it to strike white.

Then the quill plunges.

Down, down, down.

Into the back of her own hand.

There's a terrible crunch. Flesh tearing, bone cracking, as the nib punches through her glove and skin like it's nothing. Something thick and black oozes out.

She feels faint.

Is it blood or ink or blot? She cannot tell.

The pain magnifies, cresting at the puncture wound. Her mind threatens to split in half at its seams.

The things on her desk are jostled. Pens and papers scatter, her glass inkwell tipping over. A beautiful blue paints a sorrowful sea on the page.

Her backstabbing hand goes to retrieve the ruined quill, and her heart stops. Once it is pulled, she knows whatever flows inside of her will gush out uncontrollably. By the time her uncle will find her in the morning, it will already be far too late.

No.

She pushes against the force, attempts to reel her hand back. The immense effort causes sweat to dribble from her brow.

Stop…!!

It fights her, advancing. The pain is nothing compared to the sirens wailing in her head.

Her tears heat. She glares at the spilled ink, the few words that peek through the blue fog.

This can’t be where it ends. It can’t. The story isn’t done…!

Faces, scenes.

They dart by at a rapid pace. Life flashing before her eyes.

Happy times, sad times. All precious moments, priceless and glittering treasures.

Wobbling, unsure steps into the Mirror Chamber, donning her ceremonial robes. The sting of betrayal, chocolates crushed at her feet. Lessons in the library, one-on-one, testing new sounds out on her tongue. The slick of something awful rising in her throat and spilling over her fingers. The thrilling energy of a live concert. The stiffness after an argument. The sweetness of a schoolgirl crush.

The little things she loves about each dorm and the campus. Ghostly staff, fire pixies, the grand buildings rich with stories history. The flowers of Heartslabyul and Pomefiore, the vastly different sceneries of Savanaclaw and Scarabia. The mystique of Diasomnia, the cold unfamiliar composition of Ignihyde… The romantic sea of Octavinelle, stretching out beyond a glass wall.

The hand extended, beckoning.

Hope courses through her. The sun itself is in her veins, a warm blossom in her center.

It dullens the pain like some miracle inoculation. Her vision clears.

She knows.

I want to see that endless blue sky that's full of endless possibilities. I want to see it here, at our Night Raven College. I want to see it with everyone, to walk beside them.

I want…!!

Summoning the last vestiges of her strength, Raven releases a guttural shriek. There is both bird and human in her raw voice, naked animals flailing for survival. Blood pumping, spirit soaring.

And she rakes her ink-stained hand across a blank page.

So Quoth the Raven.

Jade slips out of Octavinelle in the dead of night. It’s not too terribly difficult—he moves swiftly, making nary a sound that might rouse Floyd from his slumber. Stepping over discarded bags of chips (half-finished) and clothes, he easily lets himself escape.

In his pocket is the letter. He fears that if he puts it down, lets it out of his sight, it could disappear in a fine mist. A dream—a figment of his imagination. As he briskly heads for the mirror, a hand goes to the letter, stroking it, to ensure it is still where it should be.

That it is still real.

I have something important to tell you. Too important to scrawl on paper. It must be said face-to-face.

The mirror ripples as he passes through its face. When he comes out the other side, the chamber is frigid, bleak.

In the dark, his eyes glow.

The apple tree in the courtyard is in bloom. It’s so very beautiful this time of year. I wish I could stare at them forever and ever. In the language of flowers, apple blossoms can mean many things. Love, peace, rebirth, good luck... a long life too.

He walks, thinking he should keep cool.

Let’s meet there, in the shade of the apple tree and under the cover of stars.

His pace picks up. He is restless.

Tomorrow, right before the stroke of midnight.

He breaks out into a sprint. He doesn’t know why.

I will give you my answer then.

Something feels wrong.

Best regards,

The letter, still with him. It has never left.

Raven Crowley

He makes it to the meeting location. Stops to catch his breath, to seek out a familiar bird-like shape in the shadows.

And Jade waits.

But one comes for him under that desolate apple tree.

[dujour13]

WOOHOO Owlcatober begins! It’s my Tumblr birthday! 🎉 I signed up on October 1st 2022 just so I could send a cheeky ask out of nowhere to @starlightcleric for some Owlcatober prompts, and she very graciously put some together overnight even though she wasn’t planning on it. Thank you so so much Luna ❤️

I will forever be grateful for stumbling on this community. You people are the best 🥰

This time I’m not even going to try to hit the prompts in order. Instead I wrote three mini-series, so I’ll keep them in their own logical order regardless of prompt number.

The first series is titled “The Prodigal Tiefling” and it’s in four parts, starting with

26. Fear

(cw: canon-typical violence, swooping)

Woljif Jefto never had been blessed with nice dreams much, at night anyway, but this crusade business put all kinds of addled visions in his sleeping mind.

Facing down Minagho and her demons with no pants on. Babaus in Eagle Watch tabards grinning as they locked him up and swallowed the key. Kerismei pursuing him through the streets of a flaming city and his legs like jelly. The Prelate lighting him on fire and tossing him into a crevasse that went all the way down to the Abyss. Falling endlessly through a purple void.

The Knight-Commander’s musical hands caressing his neck.

It was one of those rare nice ones this time, sadly, that was interrupted by disaster.

A full-throated scream, not two meters outside his tent. A crash.

He jerked upright so fast stars sparked behind his eyes.

Another more distant crash. An explosion. Shouting. Screaming. Inhuman shrieks.

Lucky he was smart enough to sleep in his trousers, just in case opportunity knocked. Or this happened, whatever it was. He groped about for his tunic and belt with frantic hands.

An orange glow through one side of the tent shed enough light for him to get his belt and boots on, but orange glows weren’t generally a good sign when accompanied by the sounds of explosions and panic on all sides, not to mention the acrid, oily smell of something burning he reckoned was not a nice, comfy campfire. A slithery thump made him start and stare around, but it was just his agitated tail slapping against the tent flap.

Mostly dressed, he crawled out of the tent on his hands and knees, and stayed low among the crates stacked between his tent and the quartermaster’s. People were running, and not purposefully in the same direction. Just running.

A gnome crusader careened past, not looking where she was going but at the sky instead for some reason, which drew his own eyes up to the starless Worldwound night—just in time to spy a horrible slate-black demonic shape glide past, turn and dive somewhere beyond the next tent.

Wide-eyed he peered over the crates.

Sure enough, a portion of the Eagle Watch camp was on fire. There were bodies on the ground. The clashing of swords just out of view.

Through a gap in the crates Woljif saw that rookie Andoren priest Sosiel run to the side of a downed crusader and kneel, healing light flooding from his hands.

Aright. There’s been an ambush, but it’s under control. The healers are on it.

Woljif breathed a sigh of relief. He’d hunker down here until Sosiel and his lot could get things sorted, and then maybe he’d sneak out and stab something if anything still needed stabbing.

He watched the wounded crusader cough and roll to one side. Sosiel said something to her. She nodded. Froze suddenly. Looked over the priest’s shoulder and threw her hands over her face. Screamed.

Before he could blink Woljif watched one of those flying whatevers—bat-winged monsters with dangling claws and leering teeth—dive out of the fiery darkness and seize Sosiel in its talons and take to the sky again, beating wings fanning the flames, the priest pounding his fists in vain against its flank.

shit shit shit

Huddling with both hands over his head probably wasn’t going to help.

think think think

The Knight-Commander. There would be help at the command tent. The chief would know what to do. He would smile and say “It’ll be fine,” and somehow it would be.

The problem was making it to the command tent without getting swiped up by one of those—what were they, anyway? Like the grotesque gargoyles that perched on the cornices of the temple of Iomedae back in Kenabres.

He tried to gauge the distance to the command tent and pick out some likely cover along the way, but he’d have to avoid swooping demons, panicked crusaders barreling about blindly, and patches of fire that had begun exploding at random all about the crusade camp.

He made it to the first cover position, the blacksmith’s lean-to behind Wilcer’s tent. From here he could spy the Knight-Commander’s pavilion. Between here and there, however, lay fallen crusaders, flaming timber and precious little cover.

A series of bowstring twangs told him the crusaders were putting up some resistance, but the arrows clattered uselessly to the ground, and it seemed now like more and more of the winged demons crisscrossed the sky overhead.

Worse, across the camp in the light of the flaming tents a fierce battle was unfolding between one of the creatures and a half-dozen crusaders, the crusaders’ swords clanging against its skin as if it were made of stone. They were losing. In a bloody way. He cringed.

“I can promise you you’ll regret this!” suddenly shrieked a man’s voice from overhead. “You pestilent, senseless, drooling, shit-eating insect. Release me this instant!”

The Count. Whew, he could almost hold his own against Gran. Woljif cringed again as his howling receded into the night sky.

It made his horns itch to think of talons locking around them and dragging him up kicking into the air after the Count. He shuddered all over, all the way down to the tip of his tail.

Anything but that.

Get to the chief.

Cautiously, eyes to the sky and head scrunched down between his shoulders as if that would somehow protect it, Woljif took a tentative couple of steps out of the blacksmith’s shed and prepared to sprint—

—when a whistling, roaring clamor overhead grew in volume with ominous speed, and he ducked back just in time to avoid a fully armored paladin hurtling out of the sky and landing with an extremely painful crunch on the ground at Woljif’s feet, inches from what would have been an extremely painful crunch atop Woljif’s head.

shit shit shit

He was still staring in horror when at last the chief appeared. Through the smoke and flame Woljif could see his silhouette just across the assembly yard, Lann and a handful of crusaders at his side.

Woljif scanned the sky and tried to breathe. Make a break for the chief. It’ll be fine.

He was just getting ready to step over the dead paladin, squeezing his eyes shut so that the image of the man’s face wouldn’t be burned into his memory forever, when a gust of hot wind raised a whirlwind of dust and flame in the middle of the assembly yard before him, and right between him and the chief landed one of the flying demons. A big one.

Its winged, stone-gray back was turned to Woljif as it faced off against the chief.

The next moment haunted him often, later. It was a coin toss. Adrenaline shot fire into his legs as his muscles coiled to sneak up and stab the thing in the back, or zap it, or better��both.

An arrow from Lann skittered off the thing’s stony hide. Woljif hesitated. His dagger hand felt clammy on the hilt. He blinked sweat from his eyes.

Of course, at the Gray Garrison he never thought they could have won against Minagho either, but that time some kind of divine power had come out of nowhere to give them the victory.

We got this. Right?

But then—a chill against his breastbone, a whisper, a shadow deep in the back of his mind: Have your horns grown into your brain? You absolute idiot. Attacking that thing would be suicide.

Run!

Run! Survive! You don’t want to be there when the chief’s luck dries up.

His breath hitched. The point of his dagger danced as his hand shook. A shame to think he’d have to give up all those nice dreams, the ones about a partner in crime. Music. Laughter.

But—

You think you’ll have nice dreams when you’re dead?

But the chief—

The chief doesn’t give a rat’s ass for a scrawny, two-bit demonspawn like you, and you know it.

He shrank back into the shadow of the smithy. Flames reflected in his yellow eyes, but he felt cold.

That’s right. You’re on your own.

Must have been the smoke inhalation that made his chest ache.

Think.

Fight? Yeah, right.

Hide? Nope. Not with the explosions. The quatermaster’s tent could easily be next, and he’d almost rather be torn to shreds than burned to death if it came down to it.

Run it was.

No time for regrets. Let it never be said Woljif Jefto was not a survivor.

In a crouch he scampered back past his tent and huddled next to it, planning his escape route, his pounding heart about to jump out of his mouth.

The stables. Horses had no business making terrifying noises like that, but at least nothing that direction seemed to be on fire. Yet. He only had to cross some ground to get there, but luckily it was dark enough he reckoned he could make it without being seen. Then through the stables and over the palisade and along the ditch for cover until he could round the camp on the river side and slink among the brush and rocks until he was far enough away to abscond like the wind.

In the midst of planning Woljif became aware of a voice, distant and mostly drowned out by the horses and the screaming: the chief’s voice, rallying the troops. It was a brave voice, even though it really didn’t look to Woljif like there was anything to be brave or hopeful about at this point, when half the crusade was on fire and the other half fighting for their lives against flying demons and losing.

For the briefest of moments he pictured the chief, probably as terrified as he was, putting on a brave face and desperately trying to regain control of the situation, and for some reason the mental image seemed to grab his heart and give it a nasty pinch.

Sorry chief.

I am not gonna die here.

Woljif scanned the sky, kissed the Moon of the Abyss, and sprinted.

also on AO3

[stackofstories]

shotgun rider | chapter four

Blaise nestled between an old beech tree and a cluster of bushes, relishing the solitude that enveloped him. To his delight, there wasn't a soul within earshot--a truly perfect spot.

The Black Lake shimmered beneath the brilliant midday sun, its surface a captivating sight. Groups of students congregated along its banks, some engrossed in various activities, be it reading, sunbathing, or playing games.

"Next time," Blaise remarked casually as he shed his outer robe, laying it out on the grassy floor. Removing his socks and shoes, he stretched out and closed his eyes, a contented smile gracing his lips. With such pleasant weather, he resolved to spend more of his free time in this serene setting--it certainly beat the confines of the dungeons or the library.

"You look comfortable."

Blaise opened an eye, squinting against the glare reflecting off Harry's round frames. Almond-shaped green eyes peered down at him with keen interest as Harry ruffled his own hair, further tousling it, before settling beside Blaise and discarding his worn socks and shoes.

"Where's Weasley?" Blaise asked after a moment.

"I dunno," Harry shrugged. "I think he’s playing chess with Seamus."

Harry's gaze drifted towards the lake, lingering thoughtfully for a beat. "Let's get closer." Without awaiting Blaise's response, he bounded up and headed towards the water's edge, settling in once his toes and ankles were submerged.

Blaise considered the option of staying put, basking in the warm sunlight, but a nagging sense told him Harry would persistently call out to him until he joined. With a resigned sigh, he rose to his feet, feeling a slight shiver as his toes skimmed the water before submerging completely.

"Do you know how to swim?" Harry suddenly asked.

"Yes," Blaise said, recalling that some of his earliest memories involved water. It was inevitable considering Italy's status as a peninsula, coupled with his family's summer villa situated on the shores of Lake Como.

Harry's cheeks tinged with a faint pink hue. "Yeah, of course. I never learned. They always took D to the pool and left me behind."

Blaise furrowed his brow. Who were 'They'? The Aunt and Uncle Harry had mentioned in Potions last Friday? Hadn't Harry said he never wanted to go back to them?

“Why wouldn’t your aunt and uncle take you too?” Blaise asked softly.

“I don’t really remember their excuses,” Harry replied, his head bowed as his feet swished just beside Blaise. “Uncle Vernon probably thought I’d get into some funny business, or Aunt Petunia said it was a Piers and Dudley event only, and Piers’s mom wasn’t sure about me.”

Blaise pursed his lips together, noting the clear disdain Harry's family held towards him.

“I hate being a kid,” Harry confessed. “It’s terrible. You can’t do anything. No one listens to you. You just have to swallow it until you get bigger. I didn’t know why I thought it would be different when I got here, but Snape, that big greasy bat, reminds me of the Dursleys.”

Blaise gazed at the cloudless sky, its bright blue expanse unobstructed. “But you have magic now and they don’t.”

Harry turned to face him. “I heard they take our wands at the end of the school year. I can’t do magic without my wand.”

Blaise snorted. “Yes, you can; in Africa, they teach their students how to mold magic without a wand. It just takes practice. As for wand removal, that applies to the Yanks. In Europe, we have the Trace. The Ministry tracks your magic until you turn seventeen.”

Harry's expression shifted. “I’ll have my wand, but the Dursleys don’t know about the Trace. I can’t do anything.”

Blaise chuckled and grinned. “So you would if you could?”

“No question,” Harry replied, his tone carrying a surprising amount of venom. “If I could, I would turn Uncle Vernon and Big D into pigs for real and serve them up. I love bacon and ham.”

“You’ll have to send me an invite for dinner, even if I wouldn’t eat such a low-class meat,” Blaise retorted, his tone dripping with haughtiness.

“Of course. You’re posh,” Harry remarked. “You probably speak three languages, have a ring on your pinkie, and go hunting in Balmoral with Mummy and Daddy.”

Blaise struggled to maintain a composed expression. “Don’t be daft. I’m not an American. Of course, I speak Italian, English, French, Latin, and German. And I do spend the first week of my summer hunting Aetolian boars and Acromantulas before retreating to our villa in Lake Como.” He held up his slim pinky, adorned with a heavy signet ring and crest.

Their eyes met, and they both erupted into laughter. Once again, Harry's proximity felt uncomfortably close. His slender shoulders brushed against Blaise's, and Blaise smelled summer sweat and quill ink.

Pulling back slightly, Blaise's smile remained undiminished.

“I might have grown up like you, like Malfoy. After all, I am the heir to the Most Ancient and Noble House of Potter,” Harry remarked, rolling his eyes. “I’d rather be Ron. He has everything, don’t you think? A house full of brothers and a mum and dad. It’s quite marvelous.”

Ah. Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, was astonishingly alone. It dawned on Blaise that Harry had been isolated and made to feel unwanted. It sounded as if Harry had been pushed aside, left to feel insignificant.

Blaise wasn’t sure how to process this information. He found himself grappling with conflicting emotions--was the idea ridiculous, sad, or perhaps a bit of both? He lay down on the sandy bank, feeling the pebbles dig into his arms and trousered pants.

Harry stretched out beside him, his pale skin reddening under the September sun.

“Dudley used to bully anyone who ever talked to me,” Harry revealed. “Now I have two friends.”

“I know Weasley. Who’s the other one?”

“Ron’s not my friend,” Harry clarified, then added, “There’s nothing wrong with him. He’s great, and I get on with him. He and his brothers are a riot.” A faint furrow appeared between his eyebrows. “I think we will be friends, but my first friends are Hedwig. And you.”

Blaise had grown up surrounded by a family full of cousins, all older and often indifferent. Being the youngest, he was often left to his own devices. His enduring friendships, like those with Flavia and Elia, were with peers from well-positioned families, two and three years older than him respectively, who attended Beauxbatons instead of Hogwarts.

On the journey to Hogwarts, Harry was Blaise's first encounter and his first, well, Blaise wasn’t too sure what to make of him. Harry stood out as the friendliest face in Hogwarts by a mile.

“I can’t have a friend who doesn’t know how to swim,” Blaise declared.

Harry responded by flinging water at him.

-

“What’s got you skulking about, Zabini?”

He spent the better part of his afternoon with Harry before writing and sending off a letter to Mamma.

Blaise whipped around to face the mocking tone. Mildly surprised, he found himself confronted by his older House classmates. They were vaguely recognizable, as was everything at Hogwarts. He had seen them at lunch and dinner, and he was sure they frequented the common room, but there had never been a reason for a conversation. Parkinson was the only face he knew, trailing behind the two brutes, her expression full of anticipation.

“All right, lads?” Blaise said coolly.

The path from the owlery to the main castle was empty. Blaise realized it now. His hand edged toward his right pocket.

“Just wondering when Hogwarts started to become the bin? They let all sorts in these days. Mudbloods. Monkeys,” the tall one with short-cut black hair and a protruding lip grinned nastily at him.

Parkinson and his companion laughed as if it was the funniest thing they had ever heard, while the black-haired one focused on Blaise with a spitting mean intelligence in his eyes. He was trying to provoke him.

Blaise curled his hand around his wand, inhaling deeply. “I wouldn’t be so quick to throw insults about blood status. I wonder what I’d find if I looked in your family tree; perhaps an unfortunate encounter with a troll.”

He took out his wand just as Blaise did. His companion was faster than both of them, shouting “Expelliarmus!”

Blaise’s wand flew from his hand and shot up in the air, clattering noisily several feet away from him. His heart thudded in his chest. Would he be fast enough to tuck and roll and aim?

Unlikely. There were three wands pointed at him, and he found himself in an empty corridor. He lifted his chin, sneering.

“Incarcerous,” Parkinson said in a clear, high voice. Blaise didn’t have time to dodge. Thick ropes flew from Pansy’s short wand and wrapped themselves around him.

He fell to the ground, bound and squirming as the thick cords rubbed harshly against him, seemingly tightening by the second.

“How does it go again?” Parkinson asked. “The song? My gran taught me. ‘Eeny meeny miney mo, catch a nigger by the toe, if he hollers let him…’ Are you going to beg us for help, Zabini?”

His heart was beating so fast it made him feel woozy. Blaise lay still on the cool tiles, staring up at Parkinson, then at the ugly black-haired one, and finally at the stocky blond.

“Look at me--” Blaise began frostily. “--look at my face. It’ll be the last good thing you see before I bring your life to rot and ruin.”

Another curse him came at him and Blaise convulsed, blood and bile filled his mouth as he fought to contain his screams. Above his bum he felt it--his tailbone--he felt the persistent and powerful knotting and then the rapid growth. It felt as if he was being torn into and pulled outward. How long it lasted, he wasn’t sure, but the end result was a long tail coiling on his leg.

Blaise turned on his side, spitting blood as the pain subsided slightly. He winced at the pinprick sensation on his bottom lip. A quick lick confirmed that his incisors had elongated and sharpened.

His three tormentors laughed in unison. "Now the outside matches the inside!" Parkinson giggled, her tone high and cold. "This was fun and all, but I'm off. Daph and Milly are expecting me."

Parkinson glided around him with delicate steps, leaving him with the two guys.

"Wickle monkey doesn’t need people’s clothes," the blond said nastily, viciously banishing Blaise’s clothing and ropes with a stroke of his wand.

Instinct propelled Blaise to reach for his wand. He lunged for it clumsily and fell to the ground. The two boys, not skilled duelists or particularly intelligent, allowed Blaise to seize his wand and prepare. It was a grave mistake.

"Duro Maximus!" Blaise said calmly, despite his heart pounding in his chest.

A brilliant white light engulfed both boys, eliciting a split-second scream before they turned to stone, their faces frozen in confused horror.

Blaise's wand radiated heat in his grip as he approached them. "Did you think I came to Hogwarts defenseless? That I would be one of those muggleborns who shoot sparks from their wands?"

The air crackled with magic. "I’m not a muggleborn, and I’m not a monkey. Perhaps if I used Reducto, it would be the lesson you all carry into your next life."

Blaise desired it too. When he closed his eyes, he envisioned them shattered on the stone tiles, tasting the bitter satisfaction of vengeance, blood for blood. They had crossed him, and it was only fair that he responded, setting boundaries to prevent such cruelty from happening again. Desire pulsed in his veins.

But Blaise exhaled heavily. "I’m not going to do that. I’m not," he said, as if convincing himself while still teetering on the edge. "When your friends ask you what happened, I suggest you tell them the truth. I showed mercy. I gave you back a couple of years on your life."

He glanced between the two statues. "I'll send someone to retrieve you," Blaise promised. However, he needed to focus on himself. He couldn’t very well roam Hogwarts in his current state. His nails dug into the wood of his wand as he stared intently at his feet.

"Accio!" he called envisioning an oversized cloak.

_

Madam Pomfrey startled easily, jumping a few feet in the air when he appeared in the Hospital Wing.

"Heavens!" she clucked her tongue disapprovingly. "You snuck up on me, dearie. Any chance you could pull the hood down for me? What can I help you with?"

Blaise wished he knew the Notice-Me-Not charm. The room appeared mostly empty, some beds had the curtains drawn shut.

Reluctantly, Blaise lowered his hood and met Madam Pomfrey's dewy brown eyes. Her round face wore a sympathetic expression. "Spell gone wrong, love? No need for the long face. It happens all the time."

"It happens all the time," reverberated in his ears, because yes, it did. It happened at six years old when his muggle primary teacher separated him from the other kids at nap time for being disruptive. It happened at ten when he was followed in a high-end store. And now, it happened here.

"My assailants need attention as well. I left them near the owlery tower," Blaise said smoothly.

It took a moment for realization to dawn on Madam Pomfrey's face. She hemmed as she struggled for words, and Blaise recognized this familiar discomfort. It was a space where he felt the need to apologize, his pain minminized an effort to accomandate and make palatable this truth; he was sorry for bringing this uncomfortable truth into the light. Mamma taught him never to apologize.

"May I have a bed and a set of clothing?" Blaise asked.

"Of course, dearie. Right over here," Madam Pomfrey said, leading him to the bed furthest from the entrance. "Without your badge, I’m not sure which house you belong to."

"Slytherin," Blaise said.

"Name and year?"

"Zabini, Blaise. First year."

"I have to report this incident to your Head of House," Madam Pomfrey said. "We have zero tolerance for bullying or discrimination of any kind at Hogwarts."

This witch, with hair as grey as storm clouds and liver spots on her gentle hands--did she really believe that? Blaise hadn't been at Hogwarts for a full week, and every day he had heard "mudblood" in the Slytherin common room. If that term circulated openly, Blaise didn't have to imagine what other thoughts swirled around Hogwarts. This wasn’t a case of a few bad apples.

"Fine. Whatever," Blaise said informally.

"We’ll have to fill a report, and if necessary, it will be escalated to the Headmaster."

Blaise closed his eyes. He had never wanted his mother more, to be back home in the safety of the familiar.

"When you find my Slytherin brethren, keep them away from me," Blaise said, looking at Madam Pomfrey. What she saw on his face, he couldn't say, but she pressed her lips together in a thin line and sharply nodded at him before leaving him alone.

Once she was gone, Blaise rose to his feet. He reached for the curtains, only to hear the familiar call of his name. So different from this morning and this afternoon.

"Potter," Blaise's lip curled. "What are you doing here? Do you have a tracking charm on me?"

Harry didn’t laugh. "I was practicing Incendio with Ron and the others and I ended up burning myself a little…" He shook his head, running a hand through his hair. "What happened to you?"

Blaise took a step back and sat on the bed. "I don't want to talk about it."

Harry’s face pinched with something like resolve. He glanced over his shoulder, then promptly closed the curtains around Blaise’s bed and sat beside him.

Blaise looked at his tail, hanging limply at his side. It was the exact shade of his hair.

Why was it the same shade as his hair? The same hair he had agonized over yesterday and spent two hours of his morning being cared for.

Parkinson’s braying laugh. The looks.

Blaise’s eyes burned. Swallowing hard, he scrubbed at them.

He wasn't--he wouldn't--

“It’s okay,” Harry said softly.

Blaise cried.

[daisychainsandbowties]

1, 4, 7, 8, 9!

1. answered 🥰

4. What detail in [insert fic] are you really proud of?

oh it’s absolutely the way i incorporated ava’s psychometry in chapter 3 of star wars au. almost as though they made that force power to suit my style of writing…

and it just links in so well with ava’s story of loss loss loss loss and the living with it, after it, always reliving it every inch of it every day.

i love that detail and how it waltzes with ava in star wars au (as older, curled up around the scars of a lost generation) letting her touch things and feel, enormously. having these glimpses into the past and ava haunted so loudly by absolutely everything. it really felt so… overwhelming to write her in those chapters and it made that 40k probably the most affecting thing i’ve ever written. and yeah, i’m so proud of it 🥹

7. any worldbuilding you’re particularly proud of?

again, star wars au and incorporating elements of hard sci-fi into it. actually talking about physics- i think star wars can be very disconnected from the fact that so much of it takes place in outer space, in hard vaccum, in that very tenuous grasping life and death sharing breath space.

so i’m really proud of the worldbuilding in chapter 3 and 4 especially. i did a lot of research into canon star wars ships (like, starships) and i made up some new droids and designed most of Bracca (especially the Lucrehulk town) since the prologue of the game doesn’t show you where the scrappers actually live - and that idea of where and how people live in hostile space(s) is thematically so important to me, so i’m terribly proud of the work i’ve done (am doing) in star wars au . sad of it to be so SLOW 😠

8. what song would make a great fic (to either write or read)?

i often use songs to help me with the… emotional scaffolding of a fic. for the first chapter of star wars au it was hozier’s “sunlight” and chapter three was “river from the sky” by the weepies. i’ll usually… store the emotion from when i first conceived of a particular plot point inside a song and then listen to it when i need to beat myself over the head with the emotions broom.

so, in a way those chapters are in the shape of songs. like, shrike by hozier and icarus & apollo by ripto are both bealil songs to me. so, god i have a hard time imagining a fic based on the… content of a song? since they’re storage sheds of feeling to me. but oh the psalms one by the mountain goats where they go burn down a church and then sleep in a motel reeking of gasoline and smoke would make a GREAT avalil fic.

9. answered 🥰🥰

[the-ashen-gm]

Untitled Flying Wizard Tower #Dungeon23

Hello! I thought here would be a good place to share my progress on #Dungeon23. Expect nothing, I may well update this VERY occasionally.

But what is #Dungeon23?

Glad you asked.

[IMAGE ID: a tweet from @seanmccoy that shows a notebook with dungeon notes doodled in that reads “ Megadungeon for 2023. 12 levels. 365 rooms. One room a day. Keep it all in a journal. ⁦@LukeGearing⁩ let’s do this.”. End ID.]

And there’s your answer.

My concept is this: a dungeon that takes the form of a flying wizard tower, helmed by a mysterious wizard. Said tower floats around the world and abducts people, animals (wildlife and livestock alike), and even buildings to do gods-know-what to them (reanimate them as undead, combine them into chimera, and other messed-up experiments). The tower is seemingly supernaturally sturdy, as not even the most powerful siege engines can knock it out of the sky.

The PCs are hired heroes who intentionally get abducted in order to delve into the tower in search of lost loved ones. Maybe their own (which would make a great hook), but far more likely they’ll be working for a client who has lost a spouse, beloved pet, or irreplaceable building/object to the tower’s abduction laser.

First few rooms are already done! The initial abduction room, a sorting chamber staffed by undead (some intelligent, most not), and a corridor from which the PCs can look out on the clouds.

[IMAGE ID: the inside of a binder showing notes on two rooms: a spike-shaped tube sucking up some people, a cow, and a shed, and the birds-eye view of said tube showing a wide-open sorting room. “Notes on Undead” cover the opposing page. End ID.]

[IMAGE ID: Notes on a corridor from which the PCs can see above the clouds. End ID.]

The template can be found here: https://pandiongames.itch.io/dungeon23-journal

Oh and also, I’m collecting stickers for my binder. Just for fun!

[IMAGE ID: a pink binder folder decorated with stickers of RPG fantasy things like a wizard duck, a d20 on a nat1 that is captioned “guess i’ll die” and a nat20 captioned “critical rolls not gender roles”, and an isometric dungeon surrounded by miscellaneous dungeoneering gear. End ID.]

[m1ckeyb3rry]

LMAOO it’s so funny how both Rin and sae have the same number of letters in their name the censoring can work both ways

AHAHAH you fr just get possessed and channel the energy instead of kaneshiro or kiyora it’s aiku now maybe that’s why you have crazy rizz too

IM CRYING the way the TikTok is so specific and fits perfectly how did you just have that on hand (ig it’s a sign pursuit truly meant to be)

SHOELIVER STOP why did i imagine a shoe and a liver HSHSSHSH BUT YES THATS THE ULTIMATE NAME

Wait spewpa fits so well another pokemon pairing W…I’ve also never watched either series I just know people memeing about it LMAOO BUT YEAH from what I’ve seen it’s just everyone’s kids THE WEDDING SCENE IS CRAZY no because the brides side is STACKED (Barou’s soul descends from the sky to shed some tears /j) omg Charles DOES give the bug kid energy guys…

I LOVE MIKAGES MUSTACHE LMFAOO the houndoom arcanine fusion is so funny it’s giving digimon (I think) you should just add a red noodle in the bg….one big squiggle….modern contemporary art we’ll know that it represents her red gyarados as well as the red string of fate tying them all together (insert the akshually nerd meme here)

THE DIAGRAMS the way that it’s all in cursive too has me sending because reading “fuckass butler coded” in cursive the vibes have me crying I love it though it’s so iconic (I’m ngl though my eyes moved too fast and I read that as butter at first so I was like huh….? Now imagine Karasu in one of those ridiculous Halloween outfits and he’s just a stick of butter with a hole for his face and his arms out on the side) ninja wannabe otoya is so real but the way that he makes Karasu carry all his shit is giving when a girl tells her man to carry her purse and bags LMFAOAOA long coat Karasu >>>> ok imagine his coattails are actually kinda shaped like wings though omg the bird motif goes hard I know some people don’t like long coats generally but I think it looks soooo good on him!! Wait ok I’m imagining he wears some like button up under the coat imagine him with rolled up sleeves and the gloves…..karasu the man you are….ok but i fr love the diagrams if you ever make more do show…

Side stories guys side stories…imagine you sandwich them between arcs like how they do beach episodes and fillers guys can someone actually pitch this to an animation studio (not eight bit) the mc slander is CRAZY LMAOO I love that dynamic to the reader and co group

Otoya acts cool but he’s so be fangirling over that like you know that one face he makes where he’s like happy/content and his eyes kinda turn into rectangles/lines and he’s throwing a like surfer hand thing (WOW this is why I don’t write) or like when anime’s add the like shoujo pink bright sparkly flower fx yeah that’s what I’m imagining but CRYING I THINK SO?? Prince being like wow Karasu you’re pretty strong! I immediately started playing the Justin Bieber that should be me audio in my mind congrats you’re now forever associated with him

LMAOO considering that even kaneshiro gave Barou some crack moments (maid Barou) id agree Barou and crack work so well im so excited to read about the goofy shenanigans im prepared to fr laugh my ass off

WAIT THE BUILD ME A PKMN TEAM IS GENIUS I gotta go brush up on my dex knowledge know and get prepared pursuit really opening up all these opportunities and ideas

That’s fr me anytime I use a non auto saving software like I’ll move my cursor an inch to the left and press save (Karasu over Isagi any day straight facts)

Wait no because I NEVER see Reo hate I actually usually only see Reo defenders/glazers and they like fully blame Nagi for EVERYTHING and I’m like are we gonna ignore the toothbrush scene /hj (I thought it was funny for comedic effect but people also take it way too seriously but also the dependency goes crazy) and fr!! Actually I think the sub idea is pretty good the copy ability reminds me of a character from Kuroko’s basketball who’s really good but not number one because of the limitations the copy has (he’s able to copy 100% but only for a limited time because stamina energy typical sports stuff) but I agree Nagi being a miracle is kinda his brand….

IM CRYING THE NAGI TIKTOK your fyp is actually insane ok but glad it didn’t delete the entire thing wait im gonna do a wc of this to see how long our responses usually are this one’s 797 words counting “are” as the end sooooo

LMAOOO Barou’s one insecurity is his tiny ass nose /j lowk I kinda like how ironic it is like you’ve got big angry ripped man with a cute little nose

- Karasu anon

LMAOO NO LITERALLY like it could really be either one but i feel like i tend to talk abt them very differently so even through the censor it’s kind of obvious?? like rin i at least acknowledge that he’s pretty and i’d like him more if he weren’t popular but sae…my opp fr /j /j sae fans don’t hate me

no because that’s literally how it feels like people will ask me for writing tips and i’ll just be like i wish i could help but my process is just be chronically online -> get inspo from a random tik tok audio -> get possessed by the character i’m writing for -> end up with a fully formed fic a few hours/days/weeks later LMAOAOAO it just happens

THE TIK TOK HAD ME CRYINGGG i saw it and was immediately like omg pursuit reoy/n…pursuit references are everywhere it’s a sign from the universe that it needs to happen fr!!

shoeliver best duo and HAHA no because that lowkey fits…i know in hindi it’s a common thing for mom’s to threat to throw a shoe at their kids when they’re mad (it sounds better in hindi i fear) which lowkey is giving barou??? and liver -> lover and aiku is a lover of many women fr

CHARLES THE BUG KID OF ALL TIME the wedding would be so crazy imagine nagiy/n’s son looking at kiyora like “twin 😟 where have you been ⁉️” honestly that mixture of personalities in one room is just crazy work…why not throw in grandpa chris prince sponsoring the wedding while we’re at it /hj HAHAAH grandpa lavinho as the dj…grandpa noel noa the officiant…grandpa snuffy the only one who doesn’t get drunk and helps clean up…😭😭😭

the funniest thing is mikage doesn’t even have a mustache like that in canon?? like he has slight stubble but he was giving too many aiku vibes so i decided to drip him out and give him the full villain stache FBXJSJSH omg gyarados as nagi and reader’s red thread you’re cooking here…nah because we were talking abt how chaotic the nagiy/n daughter + charles wedding would be imagine the tullireo and nagiy/n weddings absolutely INSANE work 😨

okay because hear me out maybe when he’s just training karasu takes the coat off and rolls the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows and undoes the top couple of buttons of his shirt 🤤 i have a very specific vision of him post-training with reader sitting on a log or smth and he’s slightly sweaty (enough that his hair is just a bit messy but not enough that he’s gross yk) and he has the gloves on and his fletchling is sitting on his right forearm and he’s scratching it for doing a good job KFHCISJS KARASUUU we mustn’t fold…nah because why are both of reader’s brother figured such baddies bro forget being y/n and getting w nagi i need aegislash to isekai me in there so i can get with her brothers ‼️ /hj

nah because get pursuit to pokémon studios fr the plot goes so crazy i’d single-handedly revive the anime with it (jk or am i??) and yes i think that’s the plan!! like toss in the side stories in between interconnected arcs and relate them to the previous arc (so not after every arc but for example after the arcs where reader and co meet up and where they meet manshine trio there can be a mini side story of nagi getting his growlithe or smth)

PLEASEEE THE SHOUJO FLOWERS meanwhile otoya’s wearing his all black emo coded fit the duality >>> literally chris prince sees karasu’s talonflame and as the fire type elite four member he’s like “wow that’s a great pokémon you take great care of it” and karasu’s like “heh thanks man 😅” maybe this is what inspires otoya to sign up for the chris prince scam egg gift program that gets him his ninetales HFJSDKSJ

barou is so fun because you can see him in a more serious role like pursuit but he also works well in a crack situation!! he’s such a versatile character we love him for that…like for example shidou and aiku i would mostly only write in those lighter situations whereas almost anything i do with nagi ends up leaning towards more serious just because I’M serious abt him (jkjk) barou can do it all that’s why we must stan

RIGHT I THINK IT COULD BE REALLY FUN AS AN OPTION i’ll def see if i can think of anything else but this is def a strong contender!!

THAT’S WHAT I’M SAYINGGG all i see are reo and chigiri fans slamming on nagi where are the mysterious nagi fans that hate on reo or don’t acknowledge chigiri??? maybe it’s a twitter thing but all i’m seeing are nagi haters nowadays 😒 tbh i think that’s another reason i forgot i liked chigiri HDKSDK his stans are crazyyyy either they overly feminize him, gas him up toooo much at the expense of every other character (yes he consistently slays but at the end of the day when things are said and done i don’t think he can compete with a fully motivated/unlocked nagi SORRY), or both 😭 REMIND ME WHO GOT REPLACED IN THE U20 MATCH 🤔🤔🤔🤔 all jokes ofc i do love chigiri and yes he’s currently carrying manshine but i thought we all agreed that this is just a character development arc for nagi…anyways…

PLS THE TIK TOK WAS SO GOOD sometimes you just have to laugh 😭 and speaking of tik toks i found another barou edit hehe the intro is wild i lowkey lost it at the spongebob JFDJSKA also i’m sorry i don’t have any other friends into bllk so you get all of my silly videos HAHAAH

LMAOO no i agree it’s very cute it fits his off field personality!! his isn’t as tiny as karasu’s in the trailer either omg karasu’s is so tiny…not in a bad way though i kind of love it i think it’s adorable…anyways i think i’m the only person who’s not wigging out over the trailer literally everywhere i go it’s just people being insane over it like y’all PLEASE relax i think we will be okay!!

[libidomechanica]

“On me, me, me, me, me,”

Divine ASTREA right guid will coupe.     He came to shoote agayne: sike a sighing on, that befel,     even in safety to fold me overwrought for him Pity’s     heels. The changed, or odds, it may be. ’ Alas! Always petals     nipp’d Fate will turn the

eyes! On me, me, me, me, me, that     if she’d tell her to do, saddening breath-air,—but for a humble     shone the lady stream that none else transition we’re ever-     nearing a kind of the age of course wounded into     the Sun. All this descending;

once the place and makest faced     snubnosed rogue of your round, and sky. Without colors is     to smile, an’ I’ll troubles fall, and my own deserving? Is     not seen only I saw it and good. Like a length, and such     giddiness is in them:

knowledge from memory, doth trust;     may man thou speak in the Baron saith Loue, I thinke so longer     spousals are dared. But thine. Perhaps with a rose that were     slurring on the whole, to screen, and rehearsal of all marrow     drain’d. Credit as early,

and yet the amorous Deep     with endorse her souls! And yet this sad court in its populous     starry rope of scorch’d on Nature’s soft sheepe in gay let     thee in my experience my honest man that love, and     for thee. Than poor souls’

antipodes. Some where is so great     arc his sleep underneath the lifted upon the virginity,     be duly pull him and hand, as she had gone. Is     chief of pantomime;—he dances of melancholy mirth     is all give throat: then can

tell me when it comes the hid and     only now it—I willing stuff might night I stands now poring     over mouths with the river leaves are done if we had     hang the love and kiss it may breasts. Of burst with phantom years     and chide my lips and by

black clouds bedimme my flocke did sing     i’d say easily as they eyed each got his rash in     the thing, and out for could sing into the very model     of the snow is below no bigger not disgrace; let cloud     they found his neck them to

his extreme, rude, cruel, love, I would     I cared his sword decide: the millinery with sacred     mounted by dignified: the Princess crie on the wrath and     all his ravish’d by those flash’d, and near and gazed upon the     oak but sometime and stirs;

ah!—And troubled lattice wrought limbs     before the gold to bind your fancies healèd me, if asked what     lonely for heroines my musick mass may scorn and that     of being on? And meet youth of shut very rough at the     shade, not wild figtree snapp’d up

thy contumelious, are old, I     said, sir Ralph has when he had taught. In this shed. On her speak     the cuckoo-like, endangerous quality agreeable,     and of people might be but to the feature sickening     to be your pypes she

never on his face down. Like grow     now my discontent vs in this thou my heart and girt     roused to them stood aloof;— and Scylla and takes him ere there.     Of lust of blood, my Queen; at whose rose within the jasmine     and folded her maidens

glimmering page than Heaven shall     a summer, dusty skin, but the enthrall, maud the moonlight,     sank down than fiction of the shared it EVIL. As she was     thine: see him three paces the swamp of your braid to blossom’d     bowed my cared for men short

to the sonnet; with hooded breathe     away her own worth and stools, that month with its fruit, is that     they are no more to my mother shalt win. There is strange sighing     flood—the sweet love can speak footing in and root, and through     infinite immensity.

Dost thou liest, that Christabel     her lap. With a suddenly sent from the city, guess, I     hardly highway ringed Ministers the chamber floor of tumbled     and would have actually, inevitably ridiculous.     For month withstood

and still we rename here, it’s a     kiss, shaped strawberry, that are a day, and was gone a fabric     crystalline: so strictly over us. Have ebbs of     foot, and we went to the wanting with eye or history of     hys misdeede, that all be

that she was I clung about thou,     but one of thing every titles a’ arc empty corridors     which bear the green snake I bring your despairing, all being     blood so fine would fall. He does not thou shalt heard me some     and tried my echoing

slowly, creep to the sweet, and look     at me! Who fondly loue. So prayse is such, so cased; then     we parts of blue who tries to entering bosks of her till     my name …. Her way even of my boys dead and the sun’s noonsted’s     made, in rymes with

soul stands of days! Brother’s almost     miserable is the world of my tremulous stars tis we,     who reward; still. Then their backs, whom rage Go thought mighty deeps,     and though dooms of hope, we drove this flowers have seeketh on     a kind of—as it shows

wildly clad; her dangered the     yesterday my joy and his deep, deep emotion new     magnificence. Like to hate, in such vnsuted spot for wear not     a tutors. Which he lies, traverse the Lady of     Is there wert thought, and love.

[bucksfucks]

  𝙘𝙡𝙚𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙚 ; 𝘀𝘁𝗲𝘃𝗲 𝗿𝗼𝗴𝗲𝗿𝘀

summary┃steve has always had his eyes on you, yours on him. catching you on the beach he finally gets a taste of what he’s missing. 

pairing┃achilles!steve x f!reader

word count┃1,721 words

warnings┃beach sex, semi-public sex, a lot of nudity, oral, fingering, skinny dipping, soft smut, light degradation, dirty talk, unprotected sex — 18+ ONLY//MINORS DNI

notes┃this is very loosely based off of the story of achilles, like...very loosely. the only similarity is the blonde hair and the fact that steve is a demi-god, other than that, it’s self-indulgent <3

     He isn’t really sure when he first saw her. 

    All he knows is that he can’t keep his eyes off of her as she wanders through the cobbled street.

    She’s dressed in a simple gown, slightly weathered with loose strands floating above her feet as she wanders through the bazar. There’s an airiness to her, light and free as he sees light emanating from her. 

    He’s perched on top of a thick tree branch that’s able to hold his weight. Legs swinging and hair blowing in the summer air as he crunches down on the last slice of his clementine. 

    He wonders if she’d be sweeter than the sweet juice coating his tongue. 

    “If you stare at her any longer you’ll burn holes through her skull,” he feels a nudge against his right shoulder, pushing him slightly forward as someone joins him on the large branch. 

    He ignores the remark, scoffing as the bitter peel falls from his hand and other the grass below where it would be hoarded by squirrels and chipmunks. 

    Bucky’s legs dangle with Steve’s, touching but not connected as he continues to admire the way she picks a few apples into her woven basket. 

    He pays no attention to Bucky, the sound of his voice outweighed by the thoughts of her. 

    “Steve?” It’s a question as he finally snaps out of his haze, “what’s gotten into you?” Bucky asks, a genuine sense of wonderment in his tone as the younger of the two sighs. 

    “I think I’ve been struck by cupid himself.” He says aloud and Bucky can’t help but roll his eyes, but the smirk displayed on his lips makes him happy, happy that Steve has finally taken a liking to anything other than the bronzed shield he wields. 

    “I hear she has no lover,” Bucky whispers cheekily, the words catching Steve by surprise as he feels his heart leap towards her. 

    “Who told you that?” Steve asks, bewildered, amused, and hungry for more information. Bucky just laughs, jumping from the branch effortlessly before craning his head up to look at the golden haired man.

    “You’ll have to find out for yourself.” 

~

    The waves crashed against the shore, sand growing damp as you dug your toes into it. The sun was slowly fading, but still just as hot as you closed your eyes and let the sunshine was over you. 

    The beach was always a safe space, providing you with recluse when you wanted time with the most important person; yourself. 

    The woven basket you carried, now filled with fresh fruit and a jug of water, sat half buried in the tan sand, acting as a weight on the rag you lay for when you emerged from the water. 

    Shedding your clothes, you made your way beneath the waves, relishing in the cool water against your skin as your mind wandered back to the bazar. You saw him, perched atop a tree, lounging with his bow and arrow across his toned chest and back as he ate the sweet clementines you’d been trying to find. 

    Everyone knew of Steve, but vert few knew Steve. 

    He wasn’t like you or anyone else you knew, part God as his walked with a high head and a glimmer in his eye that made him shine. 

    When you made your way back onto the beach you were tired, taking you time to re-dress as you dig into the basket, an apple in hand before you’re biting down on it. 

    It’s sweet, quelling your hunger just enough, but it doesn’t satisfy you. 

    “Apples are sweet, but the summer is the season for clementines.” A sweet voice rings out from behind you, turning around to be met with none other than Steve.

    He was barefoot, buried in the sand, his bow and arrow still slung across his back and you couldn’t help but let your eyes wander across the vast expanse of his broad chest. 

    A smile stretches across your lips, tantalizing Steve as he takes a few steps closer until he’s at the edge of the rag you’re sat on. 

    “Perhaps I can entice you with one, instead?” He smirks, the orange fruit resting perfectly in the middle of his large hand as he sinks to his knees. You bite at your bottom lip, meeting his gaze. 

    “What is Steve, Son of Peleus doing talking to just a mere mortal?” You tease, craning your head slightly upward as Steve tosses the fruit upward, catching it with ease. 

    “Have you forgotten, my dear?” He muses, rolling the fruit towards you as you catch it in your own hand. “The sea is also my home, this is where I go when it calls me.” 

    His words are so soft, voice sweet like honey as it flows through the air and you feel the warm breeze surrounding you like a hug from Aeolus himself. You felt the familiar rush of butterflies you often felt when you thought about him, but here he was, in front of you with a beaming smile on his lips. 

    “Has it called you today?” You asked, a soft whisper and almost barely audible as he leans closer, “the sea amongst other things are calling me.” 

    Your heart is racing in your chest, he smells like lavender, almonds, and earth as he pulls back. He’s quick on his feet, marvelling at the muscles and strength he posses as he strips of the rest of his clothes. 

    It’s not hard to believe that he is part God, Adonis himself having competition as he flicks his eyes up at you. 

    “Join me,” he says gently, outstretching his hand before you’re stripping once again, clothes in a pile with his as you take his hand, submerging beneath the water. 

    He clearly belongs in the water, waves calming around him as he wraps his strong arms around you to bring you close to his warm body. You’re lost in the blue of his eyes, like the sky met the sea and you never want to look away. 

    “I have been dreaming of the day I can get my hands on you,” he admits faintly, your breath hitching in your throat as you can’t resist the urge to smile. 

    “The day that my lips get to meet yours,” your heart is now tumbling, core aching as you feel him stiffen against you. 

    “The day that I get to taste you.” There’s a glimmer in his eyes, mischievous, playful, and yearning as you tangle your fingers in the hair that rests at the nape of his neck. 

    Steve wastes no time in wrapping your legs around his waist before his lips are on yours, hungry and passionate as he steals the breath from your lungs until you’re dizzy. 

    Water sloshes around your bodies, breaths hot and heavy as wandering hands squeeze at your flesh and curves, Steve memorizing the way you feel. 

    Your eyes are closed, lips still on his as he carries you both onto the beach and onto the warm cloth lining the sand, gently setting you down. You take a moment to admire the way his wet hair hangs in front of you eyes, pieces of it seemingly glued down to his forehead. 

    “You are breathtaking, practically Aphrodite herself,” he mumbles against your neck, lips passing by your collarbone before he’s peeling the sweet fruit in front of your eyes. 

    “Open,” the command is gentle as you do so, parting your lips to welcome the fruit slice. You moan at the taste, relishing in the sweetness of it before Steve is running his thumb over your bottom lip. 

    His lips seal yours once again, body heavy on top of yours as you feel the weight of his cock between your thighs. It swells when you sink your teeth into his bottom lip. 

    “Mmm, so sweet, my dear,” he mumbles against your mouth, “but I can think of something sweeter.” He purrs, nose running between your breasts until he’s situated right above your hair decorated mound. 

    “Oh,” you gasp when he throws your legs over his broad shoulders, the sun just barely peeking over the horizon as Steve laps at your folds. 

    You’ve never experienced pleasure like this, every part of your body feeling as if it’s on fire as he groans against you, “so sweet.” He praises your legs beginning to tighten around his head. 

    “I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you,” he pants, emerging with wet lips as his fingers are still focused on you. You can’t keep your eyes open, back arching as you lose yourself to the pleasure; waves crashing in the background. 

    “I need to feel you, sweet. Feel all of you.” He whispers, low and raspy as he holds himself over you on his forearms. He smells like you, tastes like the sweet orange juice, and you’re hypnotized. 

    “Steve,” you can only croak out his name before he’s filling you. 

    He’s thick and it stretches you like no other as his low groans and grunts fill your ears. 

    “Feel so fuckin’ good,” the curse causes you to clench around him as he smirks. 

    “My sweet, sweet, sweet girl.” His voice is much lower this time around, tone slightly condescending as his hips rock against yours. 

    “Here I thought you were innocent,” he smirks, “but the sounds you’re makin’, oh they are anythin’ but innocent my filthy little girl.” 

    Steve’s words, combined with his deep thrusts have you digging your nails into his lightly tanned back, crescent shaped indents the only reminder of you.

    “Be mine,” he gasps, your eyes shooting open as those words leave his mouth. His lips are wet and parted, ragged breaths leaving them as he trains his eyes on you. 

    “Be mine and I will show you the world,” he promises as his hips stutter inside of you. You nod your head, “yes, yes!” 

    Your words are a double edged sword, a promise and a plea as you feel the white hot pleasure seeping through your bones for the second time that night as your name leaves through his mouth. 

    By the time you open your eyes next the waves have calmed and the moon is now showing her face, stars littering the sky as Steve’s eyes are a muted cerulean shade.  

    “You are my Clementine, sweet like the summer breeze.” 

[chewiedon]

REASSURANCE | RENGOKU K.

prompt: “Rengoku breaks down after getting back from talking with his father and reader comforts him afterwards!”

FEM READER

TW//: ALCOHOL USAGE

“Shut the fuck up!”

Sliding his arm across the table, Shinjuro sent the glasses across the wooden counter flying in all directions. Red in the face, breath reeking on intoxication, he stared at his son Kyojuro before slapping him right across the face.

“I don’t care who the fuck you marry, I don’t care about your position in the corps. You’re no son of mine, you’re shit I can’t scrape off the bottom of my shoe,” he grimaced, “Why are you even here? Why must you show your face to me?”

Senjuro was around the corner, his knees against his chest and his palms against his ears. Tears peeking out of the corner of his eyes. Kyojuro stood his ground, slowly turning his head back towards his father with a blank stare, his famous smile nowhere to be seen on his face.

Kyojuro was exhausted out of his mind. He didn’t know where to go but back to you, dragging his feet as he reluctantly walked back. His little brother Senjuro trailing behind him.

“Are we going back to (Y/N)-san’s house?” he asked, jogging up to Kyojuro’s side.

The sound of your name pained his heart, he would marry you either way but the way his father spoke about you so disgustingly had sent him into a burning rage. He didn’t show it, clenching his fists as he sat there and let his father blatantly insult you as he stayed quiet. In a way he felt completely robbed, he always searched for his fathers’ praise but it all seemed empty in the end.

Kyojuro forced a smile at his smaller brother, “Yes! We’ll stay over there, I’ll try to introduce father to (Y/N) once he sobers up a bit.”

There’s a good chance that’s never going to happen. Ever since Shinjuro had become abusive at the hands of alcohol the stink or the mere mention of it made him sick. Kyojuro can still remember his father pulling Senjuro’s hair when he had asked to send his eldest son off to his first mission as a hashira. The cries and the tears Senjuro must have shed because of the intoxication. Kyojuro’s throat felt tight, his nose stuffy— but he didn’t show any signs of weakness to his dear brother… That was the last thing he would want to do.

The evening moon has made its way into the sky, both brothers were exhausted once they arrived. Kyojuro felt no need to knock, he knew you were awake and alone. He’s visited you many times in the dead of night before or after missions, finding any excuse to bask in your presence. If anything, this was like a second home to him and Senjuro— the only reason they’re not living there full time is that Senjuro insists on taking care of his father.

“Darling,” Kyojuro mumbled once he saw your figure in the entryway.

He didn’t need a response, he made a beeline for you, leaning on your frame and sighing into you. Senjuro walked past the two of you, hugging you softly from behind.

“Your futons are in the other room, go get some sleep, boys,” you said softly, Senjuro letting go of you and scurrying off to the other room.

You tugged on the back of Kyojuro’s uniform, “You too,” he only shifted his weight more on to you.

“Not yet,” he mumbled, “I don’t want to leave you yet.”

Slowly, he brought his arms up to embrace you fully, sinking to his knees- your body following his until both of you were on the floor in one another's arms. Kyojuro finally broke down, his lips pulled back as he softly sobbed into your shoulder.

“I don’t know what to do anymore,” he mumbled, “I feel so hopeless, I have no idea where to go now. I don’t want Senjuro to live in fear of his own father- it’s unfair to him.”

His tears soaked through your sleeve as you traced shapes into his back. You didn’t know what to say but to offer him your estate like you’ve done hundreds of times already, the both of you had a small window of time for a short break. Right before demon slayer duties would begin to get more and more busy, who knows when the two of you would see each other again. Hopelessness sunk into Kyojuro and leeched off of him as if it were some kind of parasite, a variety of hics and sharp inhales escaped his lips.

“It’ll be okay, even if he acts like he doesn’t care. You’re still his son nonetheless, if he can’t learn to love you then I’ll be here to love you twice,” your grip tightened around him, allowing him to completely sink into your arms.

Kyojuro’s cries became quieter and quieter. Eventually, you managed to drag him into his futon. He didn’t let you go, his arms wrapped securely on your waist pulling you against his chest. Quiet, in the dead of night, you sneaked in a kiss on his supposedly unconscious lips. You didn’t see the sneaky smile he left on his face.

Everything was going to be okay...

[stardustedangel]

You Make Me Feel Blue

⊱ ━━━━━━━━.⋅ ෆ ⋅.━━━━━━━━ ⊰

pairing || steve rogers x fem!reader

word count || 1.5k

summary || you had slipped into a depressive state and after ignoring steve for a few days he comes to find you

warnings || hurt/comfort, angst, talks of depression, fluff

author’s note || first fic after a month, i’m a little rusty but i hope it’s okay <33 ; do not repost my work

*gif does not belong to me*

⊱ ━━━━━━━━.⋅ ෆ ⋅.━━━━━━━━ ⊰

You’d stop responding to the texts Steve had sent you days ago. You didn’t have in your heart anymore to spew out lies.

‘I’m fine.’ ‘I’m okay. Just tired.’ ‘Don’t worry about me. I’m fine.’

You weren’t fine. How could you be when every thought that consumed your every waking mind made you want to sleep and never wake up again. You stayed up though. Night after night. Day after day. You couldn’t bring yourself to have a peaceful sleep so you laid in your bed tracing the random shapes you found on the wall.

They reminded you of clouds. And clouds reminded you of the blue sky you’ve kept yourself from seeing after you decided to keep yourself inside. You missed blue. And everything blue reminded you of Steve. You missed Steve. You wanted him to be here with you, maybe shed a few endearing words to warm your heart and soothe you to sleep. A sleep you’d want to wake up from if it meant you could look into Steve’s eyes, even for a second.

You should text him. Ask him if he could be here, but that’d be selfish of you. Selfish. A word you called yourself often when you wanted Steve. He had more important things to do than comfort you because you couldn’t shush the voices in your head. He was an avenger for god's sake. You could wait.

You shifted your gaze to the clock on your bedside table. 2:52 a.m. You sighed at the time, feeling like the world had slowed down all around you. You wished it could be daylight already, but that thought made you scoff. Daylight didn’t make a difference to you—you’d still be sitting in bed analyzing every thought that left your subconscious. You brought your right arm up to cover your eyes and tried to focus your mind on Steve again.

Steve. The most caring and loving man you’d ever been with. He made you feel only ever good things. But what would he say if he saw you like this? The way his face would drop was enough to have your eyes sting with tears. You abruptly sat up hoping to settle the sudden burst of pain that you felt in your chest. Your hand went to your mouth hoping to silence the sobs that threatened to tumble out. This was the first time you’ve felt anything like this in days. You hadn’t even cried and you were determined to keep it that way. You almost longed for the numb feeling because at least you wouldn’t feel pain.

The drumming of your heartbeat fastened when several knocks echoed throughout your home. Your eyes widened, drying any tears that rested on your waterline. You made your way to the front door warily—who would even show up at almost three a.m.? Deep down you knew who and so when opening the door you were hesitant. Maybe he’d just leave if you didn’t answer, realize that you didn’t want to see anyone. But that would be a lie. And so the burning want to see Steve is what had you unlocking our door and pulling it open to reveal your super-soldier.

Steve’s head whipped up to face you. Your body relaxed once seeing him and you took in his figure—the one you’d been missing for days. His lips were pulled into a frown and his eyebrows were furrowed above his dark eyes, not the vivid blue you were used to. Where had the blue gone? Your chest clenched at the thought. When his eyes met yours they softened and his hands that were once on his hips dropped to his side languidly.

That was the look. The look that made you crash.

The tears that you had previously built up earlier now came cascading down your cheeks and the choked sob you had quieted earlier erupted from your chest, a tight pain following quickly after. Your knees weakened, but before you could hit the ground Steve’s arms were wrapped around you pulling you into his chest. He was situated up against the frame of the door with you haphazardly in his lap. Your head was against his chest and Steve ran his fingers through your hair and across your back trying to calm down the violent sobs that fell from your lips. He whispered affirmations and comforting words into your ear hoping somehow you could hear him through your crying. His now tear-stained shirt was clenched between your hands as you continued to cry against him.

You wish at this moment you weren’t so emotional. You wish you had some sense of clarity so you could take Steve in. What had he been wearing? Was he speaking to you? Why couldn’t you smell his cologne? If he was really here, why did you still feel so cold? The only thing that seemed to pull you back to the present was the pounding of a heart beneath your ear. You took comfort in the sound and nuzzled your head further into Steve’s chest trying to chase the sound. It was then that you could hear the familiar timbre of his voice.

“I’m right here with you. I got you, sweetheart, okay? I got you.”

Steve’s voice made a safe feeling was over you and he must’ve noticed because your sobs quieted down greatly and your body went lax. Steve let out a sigh, grateful that you had calmed down slightly. He decided that now would be the best time to take you back inside and hopefully into bed where you’d fall asleep. When you opened the door he noticed how restless you look and how much your body must’ve been aching. His heart ached thinking about how you must’ve been over the past week he hadn’t seen you. He knew he should’ve come earlier, but he was here now. You needed him right now.

“I’m going to pick you up, okay?”

You let out no sign of refusal so Steve placed his left arm under your knees and his right across your back. Your head still rested on his chest and your fingers were still hooked into his shirt. You were absentminded the entire time Steve took you inside and into your bedroom. You had only noticed when he placed you on your bed and went to remove our grasp from him. You let out a small whimper, worried that he was leaving you. You’d leave you.

Steve looked down at you and pressed a kiss onto your forehead to soothe you. He then grabbed the hands you had bunched in his shirt, you noticed it was white, and pressed kisses onto them before giving you a sweet smile. “I’m just getting changed so we’ll both be comfortable. I’m not leaving, sweetheart. Not anytime soon.”

Your grip was loosened and Steve moved quickly to grab some sweats and shirt out of the drawer and changed into them. He got underneath the covers and eagerly pulled you onto him, wanting to comfort you in any way that he possibly could. Steve pulled the blankets over the two of you and looked down at you.

Your eyes were heavy, and not heavy in the kind of way that a simple nap could fix, but heavy in the way that your heart must’ve felt. Your lips were swollen—either from crying or from your habit of biting at them. Steve bet it was because of both. He bit at his own lips looking at you, trying hard not to cry at the sight of you.

“Sweetheart,” you replied with a quiet, hesitant hum, “do you want to talk about it?”

“Everything just hurts. Why does it have to hurt so much Steve.” The quiver in your voice was evident and Steve pulled you closer into him.

“I’m not sure, but it’s not forever. It won’t always be like this.”

“I don’t want to feel like this anymore,” your whisper practically shattered his heart.

“I don’t want you to either and I’ll be there for you every step of the way for you to never feel like this again.”

For right now, that could be enough for you. The hope that had remained deeply in your chest could be enough. You’d make it enough.

And you’d make this moment enough. You opened your once shut eyes and took in your room. The moonlight was streaming in from your curtains and so much was illuminated. Had it always been that bright before? You looked up at Steve finally and took him in again. This time the blue of his eyes glowed. They pierced into yours and you almost gasped when seeing them. You always loved blue. Steve looked at you with love and adoration, something you missed seeing. You angled your head up his and planted a kiss onto his lips, a kiss that had said it all. When the two of you broke apart, you rested your head against his chest once more. Your eyes fluttered shut and you were ready to let sleep take you, content knowing that the next morning you’d be with Steve.

You had really missed blue.

⊱ ━━━━━━━━.⋅ ෆ ⋅.━━━━━━━━ ⊰

taglist || @cloudystevie @donutloverxo @aquariuslavenderhoney @just-one-ordinary-fangirl @ilovemarvel-andcats @brattycherubwrites @kenzieam @animnerd @capsiclecevanss @honeychicana @la-cey @nony-bear

(send me an ask if you want to be added <3)

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Miss Americana (Part 3)

Summary: The reader recovers from her second dose of Compound V and explores her stronger abilities with Dean. But the events of a fun night out might give Miss Americana and Soldier Boy an unlikely ally...

Masterlist

Pairing: Soldier Boy!Dean x reader

Word Count: 1,900ish

Warnings: language, implied past torture/assault/killings

A/N: Enjoy this final part! This contains very minor spoilers for The Boys...

______

“Let me hide this stuff and I’ll be back in five, okay?” he asked. You nodded, Dean cupping your cheek before he was gone. It was barely a minute before he was returning, wearing sweats and a henley, a box under his arm. “Brownies from the bakery down the block.”

“I thought you liked pie.”

“I do. But you like brownies,” he said. “Something to look forward to after you spend the night shaking and sweating.”

“Lovely,” you said. He sat down beside you, urging you to lean into him. He tucked a blanket over your legs, watching the fire crackle. “I don’t think I mind if you’re a monster.”

“I can be pretty horrible.”

“You’re not horrible to me. You’ve never been that way. Even if your first instinct was to try to manipulate me you decided not to.”

“I hate most people. Think they’re worthless. Only care about myself.”

“So? I told you when we met...I’m the nice bad guy. I frankly don’t give a fuck anymore about being the pushover, the one that gets hurt. I just want to never be afraid again.”

“We never have to be afraid after tonight. Never,” he said. “You’ll be stronger than Homelander. Stronger than me. You’ll be safe.”

“For a bad guy, you were awfully nice giving me that dose with no strings attached.”

“There’s no strings,” he said. He stroked your arm when you shivered. 

“Partners?” you asked. He leaned down, kissing you more gently than he ever had. No need behind it.

“I like partners,” he said. He was warm as you started to feel cool, Dean drawing shapes on your bare skin. “I had a little brother.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“He got sick right after I shipped out. Died the morning I got my first dose of Compound V. Only reason I volunteered for the shot. They said volunteers got special benefits. I wanted my brother to get to a good hospital and proper care and he was already dead by the time I got my shot. Then uh, then some of us started dying cause they didn’t know dosages or shit. I thought at least Sam’s gonna be okay. Then I spent three days wishing it would kill me so I could be with him instead of having been away for the last year of his life. But I didn’t die. I was the only one. Then they gave me more and...I guess I enjoyed becoming the super soldier over grieving. Then it goes to your head and changes you and...Sammy wouldn’t even recognize me now. At least I know I’m not going to the same place he wound up so he won’t have to see.”

“What was that like, being honest just now,” you asked, goosebumps covering your skin. You bundled into him more, Dean pulling up the blanket.

“I miss Sammy. I haven’t thought about him in years. I hope the kid’s happy wherever he is.”

“Maybe you’ll see him again someday,” you said. You shook, sweat forming all over you, muscles aching. You turned, unable to get comfortable. “How long does this last?”

“About six hours. Then I passed out and when I woke up it was over.”

“Awesome.” You gripped the blanket tight, Dean massaging your tense shoulders. “Tell me more about Sammy. Please.”

“He absolutely hated being called Samuel,” said Dean with a chuckle. “So naturally I did it all the time when we were kids.”

“Keep going,” you said, stomach churning briefly. “Distract me.”

“Let me tell you about the time we jumped off the shed roof.”

You were in sweaty clothes when you woke, lifting your head off Dean’s chest to find him passed out and snoring lightly. You sat up, shaking out your head. Something was different. You stood, deciding to test out flying first. You yelped when you nearly hit the ceiling, freezing and plopping straight down onto the couch and Dean.

He groaned awake, peeling open his eyes to find you hovering above him.

“Sweetheart I’m all for a little rough in the bedroom but not a full body tackle awake,” he said. You moved to the side, the motion second nature quickly but it required much less effort than before. You looked around, nothing in the room heavy enough to test your strength. Dean sat up, smirking as he looked at you. “Wanna arm wrestle?”

“Yes!” you said, Dean chuckling, groggily taking a seat at the counter. You stood on the other side of the island, Dean clasping your hand.

“Let’s go,” he said. You squeezed, Dean keeping up with you for a good few seconds before he started to go down fast. You heard the counter creek and then it was breaking, Dean backing up. 

“Uh,” you said. 

“Don’t worry about it. What do you expect when you got supes in the place? But you, you’re stronger. Stronger than me,” he said. “How do you feel?”

“Good. Very good. I um, I’d like to go fly. I think I might be faster.”

“Go for it. I’ll call someone to get this fixed. Just be careful. Try not to fly into any planes.”

“I’ll do my best, Soldier Boy.”

“Again?” asked Dean that night. You flew up high and smiled, Dean letting go of you, free falling a few seconds before you dove down and caught him. He giggled and you flew higher, Dean jumping off. You could heard him laughing and went down, something hitting you on the way. You threw a punch and arms released you, Dean holding on tight when you finally caught up with him. You both looked up and glared, a cape and pair of red eyes looking down. “You do realize the fall won’t kill me.”

“Probably not. But it’d be fun to try,” said Homelander. He floated down to your level, your arm tight around Dean’s waist. “Oh relax. I won’t touch your boy toy again.”

“I thought I said to stay the fuck away from us,” you growled.

“I just thought you’d like to know that Soldier Boy’s internal file will be released to the major news outlets tomorrow. Did you know-”

You grabbed his neck with your free hand, squeezing hard, Homelander pawing at your wrist.

“Any good reasons why I shouldn’t kill him?” you asked Dean.

“None come to mind,” said Dean, Homelander’s eyes red but fading as he choked for air.

“Feel free to speak up,” you said, gripping his neck even tighter. 

“Stop,” said a voice, the three of you turning towards a small drone hovering close by. “Let him go.”

“He tried to kill Soldier Boy,” you said, holding on tight. You didn’t even see the drone shoot out the darts, the three of you hit. You instantly dropped Homelander, flying down to the roof of Vought as soon as you could, Dean out cold already and you quickly joining him.

You woke up on the couch in Edgar’s office, no sign of Dean or Homelander. Everything felt off still as you sat up, Mr. Edgar suddenly sitting on the edge of the coffee table.

“Are you alright?”

“No,” you groaned, stretching out. “What the hell was that?”

“If you’re going to act like children, we’ll treat you like them.”

“Dean and I were having fun, minding our own business-”

“Dean and you stole Compound V for your own benefit. I thought you were going to be more understanding of this arrangement.”

“I have to be stronger than Homelander and now I am. We didn’t hurt anybody to get it. You people let him do whatever the fuck he wanted so get off your high horse.”

“We understand. But you can’t kill him.”

“Why the fuck not.”

“He brings value in, even not as part of the Seven. Miss Americana and Soldier Boy can take over the leadership roles and Homelander is to be left alone.”

“He wants to kill-”

“I said to leave it be.” You stood, glaring down at him. “If an incident like this occurs again, there will be consequences. Dismissed.”

“Gonna throw us back in a hole? That’s kinda your thing isn’t it.”

“We know how to deal with problem children, even supe ones,” he said, standing up. “Back off before all three of you are worth more dead than alive. Don’t make me dismiss you again.”

You stormed out, slamming the door after you, not bothering to look back when you heard the wood splinter. You went straight to Dean’s apartment, Dean unscathed inside. But Homelander standing there, neither of them actively trying to kill the other, that was more than enough to forget your anger for the moment.

“You okay?” asked Dean, stepping over to grab your hand. You hummed, looking Homelander up and down. “You got the same message we did I’m guessing.”

“Behave or we’re all fucked. Yeah. Why the hell is he here?”

“We were spoken to at the same time. While he’s still a psycho and has some major fucked up issues, he has a different idea,” said Dean. 

“Said the mass murderer.” Homelander rolled his eyes. “We all want to be in charge of the Seven. Be the best.”

“You shoved your hand down my pants,” you growled.

“True. But enemies can work together when they have a larger, common enemy, hm?”

“Edgar,” said Dean. “He wants to wipe out Edgar. Ashley is the next logical choice and we can control her. She wouldn’t do jack shit to us.”

“Remove Edgar from the equation and we can all get along. Maybe form a little, trio, best of the best. Still part of the Seven but top dogs. Vought would eat that shit up. Behind the scenes you two fuck or whatever it is you do. Publicly, we’re the strongest go America team there ever was. The soldier from a simpler time, the soldier who fought the terrorists and defend her country, and the everyday man who protects his fellow citizens. All walks of life, all the basis covered. Between the three of us our numbers are sky high in every single demographic.”

“What’s to stop us from killing each other after Edgar is out of the picture,” you said.

“You’re strong enough to kill me. But your little boyfriend can’t fly. You come after me, I’ll drop him in the ocean. Leave me alone, I leave you two alone and we all win,” said Homelander. “Deal?”

“What do you think?” you asked Dean. 

“Lesser of two evils. I think,” said Dean. “I say we give it a chance to see if we can get Edgar out.”

“Fine. We can discuss this more tomorrow. Oh and Homelander. I ever catch you in my or Dean’s apartment again, I’ll snap your neck. Deal or no deal.”

“If you were only a little more twisted we could have had something,” he said. He nodded and left, Dean letting out a deep breath when he was gone. 

“Y/N,” said Dean. You hummed, wrapping your arms around him. “Thanks. For catching me earlier.”

“I’m sure you would have been fine.”

“Probably but I don’t want to test that theory out. If he dropped me in the ocean...I still need to breathe. We have to play nice.”

“We will. Until we don’t have to,” you said. He smirked, kissing your lips. “He tried to kill you. Now I hate him even more. As soon as we can, he’s gone.”

“That’s my girl,” he grinned.

“Yes I am and you, you’re my Soldier Boy. We’re going to own this place, very, very soon.”

“Damn straight we are sweetheart. Just a little bit longer and then we can do whatever we want to. Promise.”

_________

[aminiatureworld]

Deserving

Characters: Childe, gn!reader

Word Count: 1,651

Warnings: None

Premise: Even those who don’t regret their choices can doubt their worth.

In which Childe feels undeserving.

Author’s Note: Since I’m no longer dying you get a proper length fic. I realized halfway through I didn’t write anything for Diluc’s birthday, but blatant Childe favoritism comes first!

He’d never expected to be in a relationship, expected to spend his entire life serving the Tsaritsa and her purposes, dying for the salvation of Snezhnaya. He had no need for romance, no need for any of those connections that humans did. He’d given that all up the day he’d stepped into the Abyss, and for a long time he’d managed to make it seem like it didn’t matter to him, even to himself. And then he’d met you.

You were the greatest source of Childe’s happiness, offering him a sort of sanctuary, without any attempt to do so. You didn’t treat him as a lesser being, as the automaton he’d turned into; nor would you accept his superiority, determined to be his equal in every way. It was refreshing, to have a relationship unfettered by bureaucracy or by prejudice. But it was also frightening, and the small voice inside Childe that whispered he was no more than a monster was quick to remind him how undeserving he was of your love.

Not that Childe didn’t think that already, that he didn’t feel that emptiness inside of him where had once stood his hope, his innocence, the piece of his humanity that could still believe in a good ending. Sometimes it seemed even his empathy had been sacrificed, and now he had little left of himself. All these feelings had only grown, given encouragement the more time he spent with you, the more time he realized how much was truly missing from himself. And though he tried to ignore these feelings, knowing they weren’t your burden to bear, knowing that he could never change what had happened, he still knew they were there.

 “Are you okay?”

You tugged at the end of Childe’s sleeve, eyes filled with concern. It was a lovely day, right between the beginning of spring and the end of winter. It was colder than it had been the past few days, and you’d taken the lowered temperature as an opportunity to steal Childe’s scarf. The tails flapped about around you, and for a moment Childe’s eyes followed the movement as he attempted to come up with something to say.

“I’m perfectly fine my dear. Simply a little tired.”

“A long day at work?”

“A long week. The servants of the Tsaritsa never sleep, as you know firsthand.” Childe smirked, ruffling your hair. The movement seemed to distract you, and as you batted at his hands, grumbling as usual about his work, the Harbinger wondered if it wasn’t dishonest of him to lie about such a thing.

 “I’m sorry I have to go again.” Childe smiled apologetically, checking his belt to make sure his wax and extra bow strings were there.

“It’s alright.” You smiled, leaning over to give Childe a quick peck on the cheek.

Childe smiled back, before leaning down to kiss you properly. He wondered if you could feel all the love he held towards you, if his lips could convey his regret not just in words. He wondered if one day these fleeting kisses would be enough to sate the distance between the two of you each time he left.

“I’ll write to you as soon as I find a mailbox.” He said, withdrawing slightly, hand still grazing your hip.

“I’ll try to reply.”

“Try?”

“No promises.” You teased.

“The audacity! Honestly, how do I ever put up with you?”

“Because you love me?”

“Yes.” Childe pressed one last kiss to your forehead. “Because I love you.”

If only my love were enough to keep us united, he added in his mind, too apprehensive to let those words be released into the air.

 My dear,

How very boring things are without you. Honestly, sometimes I wonder if I’m not working in a glorified daycare, my subordinates more uncontrollable with every passing day. One must wonder if it’s even worth it to whip them into shape, for they make poor sparring partners. If you were here you’d knock every single one of them on the ground, before they could even wonder what an adventurer was doing in a Fatui camp. Maybe I’ll invite you next time, we’ll make it happen.

Childe couldn’t express truly the solace he found in writing to you. It was easier to write sometimes than talk, and it was easier to send his words out to you than rely on the memories of what had already happened. More than that it was the one thing that reminded him of his outside existence, of his world beyond the camp grounds and the men and women who dragged their feet around him, no wish to fight in them, only the wish to get a few hours more sleep. It was a depressing existence, if Childe were honest with himself. It’d become even more depressing, now that he missed you.

He set down his pen for a moment, sighing at the ink which was now frozen in its jar. Where were you now? Were you happy? Did you miss him? Did you resent the fact that he was gone? Three weeks was nothing to a member of the Fatui, how long had Childe been in Liyue before he met you, and yet now those weeks seemed interminable. And if it seemed so to him, he who was used to the isolation, then what would it be like for you?

The Harbinger sighed. Placing a blank sheet on top of his letter he stood up. He never got that much time to write letters. Maybe that was why they weren’t really any good. But you didn’t mind. Didn’t you?

 It was dark when he stepped off the ship and onto the docks of Liyue. Night had fallen, and the lanterns were lit, casting a familiar glow on the city which Childe had come to appreciate so much. Taking a pocket watch out of his pack he checked the time, cursing when he realized how truly late it was. Hurrying up the ramp he didn’t bother to look behind at the subordinates who were also plodding towards the city. If they got lost it was their fault.

The door opened silently, something that made the Harbinger breathe out a sigh of relief. Hopefully he wouldn’t wake you up. Setting down his things he smiled slightly to himself. It’d certainly be a surprise, you waking up to him next to you. Hopefully you’d forgive him for not waking you at 4 in the morning. Walking slowly down the hall, hoping that the occasional creaks weren’t audible, Childe slid open the door to the bedroom you shared.

The first thing he noticed was the chill of the room, something that surprised him. The next thing he noticed was the door to the balcony open. The third thing was you, leaning against the railing, gaze pointed towards the inky sky, expression somewhat distant. He didn’t move for a moment, taking in this small moment of intimacy. You looked beautiful, face glowing slightly from the distant lanternlight, expression serene, a soft smile playing at the edges of your mouth. And yet there was something opaque in your eyes, something that Childe couldn’t quite touch upon. It shook him out of his thoughts, and caused him to call out softly to you.

“I’m home.”

You started for a moment, spinning around to meet the Harbinger’s gaze. For a moment you were still, but then a sort of cry left your lips, as you barreled into Childe’s chest. He just as soon wrapped his arms around you, sighing softly, for the moment feeling nothing but pure bliss, pure love.

“You’re home.”

“I am.”

“I’ve missed you so much.” You drew back, expression ecstatic.

“I’ve missed you too.”

For a moment Childe hesitated, not wanting to break this moment, not wanting to go down that path of doubt, of fear and uncertainty. Yet he was tired, and slightly emotional. If he regretted it later so be it, he had to ask the question that burned in the back of his mind, the question that had once more reappeared upon seeing your expression.

“Am I worth waiting for?”

“Oh Ajax.” your reaction was immediate as you wrapped your arms once more around him, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. “Always, you’re always worth waiting for.”

“But I’m away for so long. And when I’m here I’m still bound to my duties as a Harbinger. Nor can I shed that part of me when I’m not doing my job. I cannot get back those pieces of me that would make me a better lover, a better person. What if I’m just not worth it?”

“Don’t talk like that!” You let out a small sigh, that opaque expression once more visible in your eyes. “I wish you wouldn’t talk like that. You aren’t missing anything, you aren’t worth any less than me or any other person. You’re loyalties might be… unconventional –”

“You mean wrong to most?”

“I mean unconventional. And yes even wrong. There may be parts of your work I hate, things I wish you wouldn’t do or have to do. But I don’t wish for you to change. You. Childe. Ajax. You are who you are, and that is the person I’ve fallen in love with. It’s a choice I made, and I don’t question it, don’t regret it. So neither should you.”

“Are you sure?” Childe knew he was probably being annoying, but he didn’t care. Neither did you, it seemed, for you simply shook you head, an exasperated expression on your face.

“Yes. I will always be sure.”

Childe nodded, feeling as if a weight had been lifted from off his back. Suddenly he was aware of how very tired he was. Stifling a yawn he smiled once more.

“It’s late. We should go to sleep.”

“Yes,” you smiled, closing the balcony door and sliding the curtains closed, “we should.”

[feionadventure]

Communion and Correspondence

When the group wakes the following morning, Fei finds a letter from Question, promising to look further into the Jewel. Hi Fei! I’m going to go try to dig up some additional information about the Jewel of Three Prayers for you, I know a few arcanists in town who might have some books to lend. I’ll be in the tavern later, my usual spot. See you then, hopefully! Question

And before heading out to make inquiries, they also make sure to warn their other traveling companions not to take Aloysia’s offer since it’s rather suspicious.

The party then heads off to visit the Taskhand to ask him about potential maps of Betrayer’s Rise. In front of the barracks Theren runs across Amalyrr, a former fellow trainee and his ex, and they catch up while the rest of the group talks to the Taskhand. Verin agress to let them copy their maps and Unelias volunteers to spend their day on the task.

From there the rest of the group makes their way to the crumbling temple of the Changebringer. Only parts of the structure are still standing, the beautiful mosaic depicting the Lady Luck is in shards and the tree in the middle of the spiral-shaped building is withered. But there are potted plants from all kinds of places scattered throughout and tended by Fogholm, the Wildmother cleric in charge of the building.  Caddy discovers an offering altar and small prayer site with old and worn messages scribbled into the walls surrounding it. “Friends forever. Don’t——forget——”    “You owe me a drink in Marquet, A——”    “I am writing this——record of me stating——I will never, ever duel you again.”    “This——written proof——promise to show you the mountains of my home one day.”    “We love you. We will always be with you.” When she touches them, she feels a gentle welcoming sense of her home and the presence of the Changebringer.  And when she leaves an offering on the altar, she has a vision of Alyxian, praying here at the temple for guidance before the coming battle. In that vision the walls of the temple then disappear, revealing the night sky and the moons that begin to race across it in a rapid passage of time until an angry red sun is all that is visible. It’s then that 5 indistinct figures rejoin Alyxian, embrace him like a brother, and together they march off to war.

On the way back to the inn Theren exchanges his sword for a better one and Caddy buys some spell components. 

Question is not at the inn when they arrive, and the group decides to wait for her a little bit before going looking, but then gets distracted by the arrival of Mizri, Theren’s cousin. She invites them to have dinner with her and a few other of Theren’s former friends. It’s a bit of a tense and awkward affair since Mizri seems to be the only one who is truly happy to see Theren, leaving him to look for emotional support from Fei. 

In the meantime, Relic decides not to join the dinner and instead look for Question. Their inquiries lead them to the house of an old human arcanist who Quesion visited earlier today looking for information on the Jewel. While looking for a paper that might shed some light on Question’s inquiries, the arcanist babbles on about Torog’s and Asmodeus particular influence in the area and the repetition of the myth surrounding Alyxian who found a gift of the Changebringer here in Betrayer’s Rise - the Jewel - and used it to turn the tides of a major battle. But the book going into details on that is currently in Question’s possession. Then the scholar remembers something else, a message Question left for Fei as she was picked up by a woman dressed in red - don’t leave the tavern tonight. 

Unfortunately, even with Relic now sprinting back to the tavern it is too late.  While doing her best to extricate Theren from the dinner with his former friends, Fei receives a letter delivered by an Aurora Watch soldier.  Miss Mirimm - We have your tiefling friend. If you would like to see her unharmed, let this gentleman escort you outside, alone. If your friends ask, tell them the Taskhand has asked to see you. Alert no one, or we will not guarantee her safety. She excuses herself under the stipulated pretense of having been summoned by the Taskhand and meets with Aloysia alone - who, not getting what she wanted, takes her hostage. 

Relic now arrives at the inn, finding Fei already gone, and drags Theren, Caddy and Unelias off to find the Taskhand, and - so they hope - by extension Fei. But when they do find him it becomes clear that she is gone.

(22.10.2022)

[squeak-the-cat18]

Song prompts #2

(All belong to the respectful artist, none are mine)

I'm goin in

Just know that we're alright

You gave me scars, beautiful scars

I'm not gonna fight back what I've become

Guess that growing up was never meant to be easy

Broken are the pieces I've been shaping lately

What is lost ain't gone

I wouldn't change if I could restart

I've read my bible; respect thy rival

Truth in my lies right now are falling like the rain so let the river run

All my friends are heathens take it slow

This town is colder now, I think its sick of us

Im shaking off the rust

Ive got my heart set on anywhere but here

Time to make one last appeal for the life I live

Ive become what i cant be

I don't want a trust fund baby

All this time the saint was a sinner.

Jokes on me, a stone cold killer

Just know I want the best for you.

Please don't go, no not yet. Just stay and hold me until I'm weightless.

Please don't go, I'm not okay.

Maybe in another life we could forgive

First things first, Imma say all the words inside my head

I'm the master of my sea.

I was broken from a young age

Seeing the beauty through the pain

Lonely souls that love the pain

You don't give a damn if I leave or stay

Have mercy because I ain't strong.

The fallout no it never clears.

Darling have mercy when the loves gone

Let me run, let my heart get away, you don't give a damn if i leave or I stay

Sound the bugle now, play it just for me.

I'm a soldier wounded, so I must give up the fight.

As the season change remember how I used to be.

Now I can't go on. I cant even start

There's nothing more for me, lead me away or leave me lying here.

If you lose yourself your courage soon will follow so be strong tonight.

There's not a road i know that leads to anywhere.

Darling stand by me

I wont be afraid just as long as you stand by me

Turn your face to the sun, let the shadows fall behind you, don't look back, just carry on and the shadows will never find you

Got lost in a promise of love I'll never know.

I'm waiting patiently, though time is moving slow

Keep your head down and make it to me.

Are you gone? Is this real?

Sacred to think, scared to feel

Is safer where you are? Are you free from all your scars? I hope you've left behind your pain

Take me down, pull me deep into the water, let me drown I beg you

If the sky we look upon should tumble and fall, or the mountains crumble into the sea, I wont cry, I wont shed a tear just as long as you stand by me

This world was just too cold to take ever since you've been away.

Now your gone I finally see, you could never be replaced, took for granted every day.

Wish I could turn back time, take all these wrongs and make them right.

If there is another life, had you found your paradise? Take me with you i cant do this on my own

Dear god don't save me, let me slip away, back to you, to a better place.

Remember who you are

Lay right down decide not to go on.

You slipped away right through my hands I'm left with this hell here in my head.

The moon is the only light we'll see