#IT DIED. I TURNED IT ON. WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS

[alchemistc]

Tommy has a bad date and goes to visit Abby at her loft, only shocker, Abby left months ago and The Himbo is staring at him from the other side of the door.

He tips his chin. Raises an eyebrow. Scans down, back up, just in time to meet the kids eyes.

"U - uh hi?"

He gets it immediately. What would have drawn Abby in despite the age difference, despite the knowledge that all her friends and family were gonna give her shit, despite -

Well. He's fucking adorable, for a start. Bright bright blues eyes that look like maybe they're always a little wet, the foundation for a really great muscle base, even though he clearly hasn't figured out how to balance cardio and weight lifting, pink full lips, an adorably puppy-dog slash to his face, legs for fucking days. God. Yeah okay. Tommy'd been younger than Abby too but not this young.

"Is Abby home?"

Something strange crosses his face. Confusion, upset, maybe some genuine pain. He shakes his head, opens his mouth. Snaps it shut. Tommy's had a shitty night and honestly for a second he thinks making the look on this kids face go away for a few minutes would fix him.

"Patricia?" Tommy asks, because maybe at least Pat will be lucid enough to sit and with him and mope to the tune of whatever's on Hallmark.

The kid swallows, brows knitting together. "She uh. She passed. A - a few months ago now."

Tommy has to dig his nails into his palms to keep himself from being rude as hell. Sure, things with Abby hadn't ended great but Christ he'd loved Patricia. She could have at least sent him a fucking pigeon. Smoke signals. Something. It's not this kids fault though.

"And Abby ...?"

This kid doesn't know him from Adam. He'd have every right to kick Tommy off the welcome mat and shut the door. Something sad and vulnerable crosses his face. "Are you Tommy?"

Tommy's brow jumps. His posture shifts. "Cross my heart I'm not here to steal her back from you." He doesn't know what Abby's told people. He'd promised he wouldn't do what he'd done to her to another person and left it at that. They'd been together for years and Tommy honestly doesn't know if she'd go the bitter route and tell everyone, or if she'd be ashamed and hide it.

The kid laughs, watches Tommy's fingers make an x over his left pec. The face falls after a moment. "I - uh - I actually don't think she's coming back," he says, choked up just a bit, rising inflection on the end of his sentence. The wet eyes look a little watery now. "S -she went to find herself after her mom died and I don't think - I don't think I'm gonna be a part of whatever she finds."

Yeah. Fixing him will definitely make Tommy forget how terrible his date with Frank had been.

"Can I buy you a drink, kid?"

He blinks. Swallows. Does a piss poor job of hiding the way he's feeling, and Tommy wishes he remembered how to be so open. "Evan. Buck. I - Evan Buckley."

Tommy nods. Grins. "Kind of a mouthful. You mind if I just call you Evan?"

Something passes across his face. He takes a step back. "Uh - if you're serious, I would - that'd be - I just have to grab my wallet?"

Tommy shrugs. He'd offered to pay, but it's entirely possible he still gets carded at bars. "I've got time."

Evan opens the door wider. Gestures him in. Tommy passes the threshold and takes in the space. It looks fucking exactly the same. Evan hasn't made a mark on this place at all.

Tommy's got no room to resent Abby, but if he did...

Evan reappears in record time. He's changed his shirt.

Tommy is absolutely not going to read into that.

"You like craft beer, Evan?"

Evan pulls a face, and Tommy laughs, letting himself be ushered right back out the door. His keyring, Tommy notices, only has a house key and a car key.

Tommy slaps him on the back. "Fine, I won't subject you to my refined palette. I know a place that has a PB&J special."

Evan's stride is fucking ridiculous, as he keeps an easy pace with Tommy down the hall. He turns his face, his body, fully into the space Tommy occupies. Tommy's just waiting for him to trip over his own goddamn legs. "W-what uh - what's a PB&J?"

He already looks brighter than he had five minutes ago.

If Tommy were a shittier person, he'd spend the night trying to to get straight into his pants.

"Pabst and a shot of Jameson?"

He blinks. "Oh. Hey, that's clever. Sorry, when I bartended all the drinks were either in Spanish or some hokey touristy lingo. I mean I memorized like a thousand drinks but no one ever ordered them."

He's honest to god pouting as he says it. Tommy wants to bite that bottom lip.

He babbles all the way down the elevator, across the parking garage to Tommy's truck. Doesn't even pretend to make a fuss about driving separately. Tommy's a virtual fucking stranger and Evan just hops right in the passenger side and asks him about his license plate.

"No shit? I'm at the 118!" Evan says, and Tommy forces himself not to make the joke about stranger danger he'd been planning. That's an awful coincidence, unless it's not. Maybe a few drinks in he'll feel a little less tight lipped about the Abby of it all. Maybe this kid will do just as good a job of patching Tommy's night as Tommy plans to patch his.

He barely stops to breathe the short drive to the bar, and Tommy can already tell he's in way over his fucking head.

After he drops him off, tucks him into bed if he needs it, he's pretty sure he's gonna have some choice words for Abby.

Until then, he's gonna spend the next few hours doing everything he possibly can to keep the sad look off his face.

[keferon]

Something I came up with for mecha pilot Jazz Au:

____________________

The battlefield was in chaos, mechs and the invaders could be seen everywhere, yet Prowl's focus was else were.

Jazz, the strangest mech he ever seen, was fighting with all his might against one of the invaders while he had way too many lost parts to even be doing half of whatever that stupidity was.

Yet, there he was, fighting like that didn't matter, like it didn't hurt.

Like he could survive whatever came his way.

"Is that all you've got you fucker!"

Prowl did not know what that least part meant, like he didn't know many other things that the mech would say, by he knew it should be an insult.

But now there was no time to keep staring, he had his own fight to think of.

-------

"Fuck!"

Prowl had just finished his own enemy when he heard that.

It was Jazz's voice, and using a not so comforting tone

He immediately turned, knowing full well that when Jazz screamed like that, it meant trouble.

But nothing prepared Prowl for what he saw.

One of the invaders had stabbed him in the chest, a deep wound that was obviously fatal.

He watched in horror as the lights on Jazz's bisor started to go out as the invader pulled back its weapon and left.

Prowl ran, arriving in time to catch him before Jazz hit the ground.

"Jazz!" He called out as the lights became weaker and weaker.

He got no response other then the low buzz he sometimes heard the mech do when going to recharge before the lights died.

But Prowl knew, Jazz wasn't recharging.

Jazz was not there with them anymore.

He felt his spark skip a beat as he stared at his fallen friend, the one with no concept of personal space or when to or not to flirt with someone, and the one to seemed to always have something to say.

That same Jazz was now silent in front of him, still and cold.

Prowl was sad by the loss.

But he was also enraged.

Enraged by Jazz's recklessness, by the invaders presence, by his inability to do something to save his friend.

That brought a surge of rage to him.

He wanted to fight and bring down the ones that liked Jazz, and he was about to.

But something made him stop.

A quiet and nearly impossible to hear voice.

A voice that came from Jazz's body.

He looked at his friend as his chest suddenly started to open and a something that he never seen appeared sitting where his spark should be.

A small creature, with an armor way too similar with Jazz's design to be a coincidence, its side had a nasty cut that was leaking a strange red liquid.

Its face painted with obvious pain, yet it was still showing a smile that Prowl might not know, but that seemed right as it spoke with the same, yet too small for confort, voice he thought he would never hear again.

"Hey Prowler, could you give me a hand here?"

OH I LOVE IT SO MUCH HELPP YOU MAKE ME WANNA WRITE

[inkskinned]

i haven't been back to CT since the accident.

which is to say I hate driving in CT, every time i have to go through it to get to NYC i spend the whole time holding my breath and hoping nobody acts stupid. there are exactly 2 things in CT worth preserving: rein's deli and the mystic seaport museum - and that second one only because my grandpa loved that shit.

now, i am not particularly familiar with the specifics but it just feels like CT is not an appropriate place for a christmas tree farm. when i got The Call, Roger on the other line called it "your standard CTF" and i had to say my what and he said "you've never heard that? CTF? christmas tree farm? CTF? - or haha, if you're woke, maybe holiday farm? haha".

i hung up after that for like 12 minutes just to take a deep breath and do a 10-minute meditation so i don't peak my blood pressure. and then i said sorry my phone died and ignored him talking while i googled. oregon has the highest number of CTFs per state. most firs and standard christmas trees are in zones 4-7 and CT is mostly a 6 state, so actually maybe i was just being biased against CT when i assumed you simply can't grow the spirit of christmas down there.

i like the name balsam fir and i keep repeating it to myself. i didn't know there were so many species of christmas trees. meanwhile Roger is still talking a mile a minute. "you don't gotta come in with force but really stick it to 'em. that's what Kevin and Herb taught me - none of that nice-guy stuff, okay? we're talking quick-and-easy. get in, hand 'em the folder, get out. it's efficiency that's the matter here."

i tune him out and then eventually get the pleasure of hanging up.

I only really work for this stupid place because i need insurance for my fucking laundry list of chronic "hysterical woman" issues (EDS, POTS, PCOS. probably something else with a fun acronym, why not). i fucking hate it here, except that it's actually been, like... fine? since the top 6 account managers kind of (i guess) disappeared - including my 2 bosses, Kevin and Herb.

most of us are just like, still doing our job. we still have meetings. there's less weird jokes. the meetings are much shorter. we just present our stuff and go home. so imagine how i fucking feel getting in my stupid honda civic and driving the 3 hours down from boston to bum-fuck just to... check on the boys.

i grew up on a farm, so im not too surprised when the road suddenly turns from "gravel" to "makeshift" to "shut the gps off, it's just confused at this point." no worries. a guy in a torn flannel drew a picture for me at the last gas station. he had leaned over and sniffed a little while sipping his Dunks. they got good trees.

they do. after a little white picket fence, suddenly the entire road is swarmed by them. firs on all sides like a coat. red twine marks off alleys of pine; cute little bows shine on the top of many. bells and white plastic deer and each branch dusted with glittering pristine snow. ornaments and little santas peeking out of present boxes.

i lean over the steering wheel and glance upwards. "aw shit. it's fucking cute here." in my passenger's seat, TERMINATION OF ACCOUNT is a red folder. i don't feel fucking good about this. i don't want to fucking do this. there's a freaking hand-painted sign saying family-owned! with handprints on it and tiny little names scrawled under it. jesus christ(mas). i'm 1000% going to hell for doing this.

on the other hand, Jen was one of the 6. like, losing the men was fine. but it is weird that jen never came back last month. i'm like, too feminist to feel okay with that. obviously yes quit your job and walk out but like - she had a life before she left. apartment and everything it sounds like.

i give up trying to bump my car over the potholes and end up walking the last 1.2 miles. it's been getting warmer these years, which i hate - but it's a lot colder here than i expected. the weather app said 54F. it feels maybe 21. the smell of snow warns me before i glance upwards - sure enough, decadent fresh flakes come tumbling down.

aw fuck. if it was gonna snow i should have put my windshield wipers up. i nestle closer into my jacket and pointlessly check my out-of-service phone for the 125th time. i realize only now i fucking forgot the folder in the fucking car.

the little house-barn-store is too close and i'm too cold at this point, so fine. the whole thing is covered in warm white lights and cute decorations. old christmas music is coming out of speakers placed at the end of the tree aisles.

i practice what i'm going to say. hi. i'm with Herrington Asset Management. we have sent, like. a lot of representatives. what did you do with the 6 entire human beings that came down here.

wait, why am i just now realizing our acronym is HAM? okay, so i'm going to say -

a man with a bright smile and a red flannel comes out from behind a work shed, wiping his hands on a rag. he's pretty, the way men can be pretty sometimes: rugged and approachable, blue eyes, 5'oclock shadow. he fills out that flannel well. "didn't hear ya come in, my apologies! what can i do ya for?"

i'm with HAM and I'm here to shut down your CTF. "hi."

"hi." he smiles wider. "welcome."

"um..." i sniff a little, feeling stupid. i keep thinking about my parents and how fucking hard it actually is to keep a farm. like, they say it a lot in movies, but it's genuinely like really very hard. fucking A, man. I don't want to do this.

he squints at me. "you from around here?"

i try not to bristle - is that because i'm fucking hispanic and allowed outdoors in CT - and suck in a breath. "no, i, um..." i decide to tell the truth. "a guy at cumby's told me where to find ya."

he laughs, and the sound is a sonic boom in the stillness. "that'd be Ron. he's a looker, huh? no, i recognize all our regulars, is all. don't recognize you."

HAM is located in Jersey and i work remote, so i take a second pass at radical honesty. my yoga teacher would be so proud. "i'm from boston, actually. just swinging through."

"oh? for real? laurel's from boston - she's my fiancée. how 'bout that. small world. can you believe - she left the big city for a dunce like me and now i get to marry the best lady around."

i do the little appropriate chuckle you are supposed to do when someone you don't know is also from the same major metropolitan area that you are from. also, that's extremely sweet to say about his partner. i am a sucker for wife-guys. "no kidding?"

"how are you liking conneticut? it's beautiful this time of year."

"it's..." fine? "more snow than i expected. weather said clear through 'til like thursday."

he offers me a warm hand. "i'm nick. what brings ya down here?"

i can't remember the name on the account. maybe it's in her name. and didn't i just say i was passing through? i flash him a smile while i think of the easiest way to warm him into the idea of shutting down his personal business. fuck. "um, just had some stuff to handle."

"that time of year, huh?" at my noncommittal smile, he waves a big, meaty paw. "come inside, i'll getcha some hot chocolate. laurel just made cookies."

he leads me into the store part of the building, and i stop for a second to pick up a tiny ornament shaped like a cottage. okay, this shit really is very cute.

"christmas really is the best holiday of all of 'em," he sighs. "wouldn't you agree?"

no, that's halloween. "sure," i say. i hold up the ornament. "this is nice." i glance around. "this is all... very rustic."

"sometimes you gotta just hit the brakes and slow down. this town is so perfect for that. places like this are so rare, ya know?"

oh i really fucking hope he doesn't know i'm from HAM. literally that would be such a vibe killer. "very rare," i agree.

i follow him into the back. i pause at the green velvet-rope stanchion that blocks off a hallway presumably leading into the "house" portion of the building. "oh. i can stay out here...?" because i am not going into this man's house. alone.

"don't be silly." he wraps his arm around mine like a gentleman and i almost scratch his damn eyes out, except i'm genuinely so fucking shocked by the boldness of the action that i just sort of follow him down the hallway. "i won't letcha leave without a cookie."

he walks me into a simply stunning kitchen. the ceiling skyrockets into a beautiful, tinseled roof. the living room folds out to the left of the kitchen island. a fire is roaring, and a massive christmas tree winks cheerily at me. outside the huge windows, the snow peacefully rests in perfect layers.

well, there's part of their money problems. they need better insulation because paying for heat in a building with this many windows has got to cost an arm and a leg. nevermind how much dust must collect on those exposed beams. why do people design houses like this - have they never cleaned?

also, they need to stop spending half their budget on christmas decorations. surely not every surface needs to be frosted with pottery barn items. it is dangerously close to a modernized cracker barrel in here. i wander into the living room, trying not to be jealous of the casual wealth.

nick stands next to me and chuckles. "this kinda weather always makes me want cookies. but that's what laurel's here for, i guess."

"you have a pretty place," i say, because i am clearly staring.

"oh, i don't know. needed a woman's touch." he winks at me and goes behind the granite kitchen island to wash his hands. "you shoulda seen it before laurel."

"oh yeah?"

he nods. "had some money troubles. 'course, she is an angel and organized a whole fundraiser. mind you - she's only been here but a second when she does. i proposed to her right then and there."

i can't help it. i genuinely fucking love that. "that is incredible," i say. "how precious to find love like that."

"she's my answer to all life's problems. truly."

"honey?" a warm voice greets us and a lady comes around the corner, one hand in an oven mitt. "do we have a customer?"

i stop moving.

her hair is darker now. her smile is wider. something opens a pit in my stomach and i fall through myself. i put my hand on my stupid useless phone and take a step backwards.

"oh!" her white teeth shine. "hi there. you're not from around here, are you?" she picks up a tray of cookies. "i recognize all our regulars."

the man laughs. "rob is tellin' on us again." she laughs too, tinkly and high and beautiful.

of course she doesn't recognize me, we're remote and don't work on the same accounts, i was never high up enough -

nick gives her a little slap on the back that makes her stumble. she laughs and wipes a little bit of flour on his nose affectionately.

maybe i'm not being fair. she could have legitimately found love and dropped out of our shitty job. he wraps his arms all the way around her and buries his nose in her hair. "my girl," he says.

"i'm laurel," she smiles at me. "i'm his fiancee. come inside, let me getcha some hot chocolate."

he picks up a cookie from the counter and waves at me. "i'm gonna go whack on a tractor for a few minutes, but i'll leave you in the capable hands of my beautiful christmas girl," he promises. "warm up, and then let's go back out there and pick you out something nice."

i force a smile at him and at her and watch him leave. i do not move. i stay perfectly still, like an animal. because here's the thing: her name isn't laurel.

maybe she's conning him?

i stare at her. she doesn't seem to notice, instead taking a bag of white icing out of the large, beautiful fridge. "how are you liking conneticut? isn't it beautiful this time of year?"

"jen, what the fuck is happening."

she arranges a single gingerbread man on her countertop and starts icing him. "how are you liking conneticut?" she repeats. "isn't it -"

"it's beautiful this time of year," i say.

"christmas is the best holiday of all," she sighs, "wouldn't you agree?"

"sure," i say. i put the phone in my pocket. i stand up straighter. "i am really just..." going to leave now. maybe i should try subtlety. "don't i know you from somewhere?" like, ya know, work?

the cookie is too hot and the icing is melting as she draws the outlines on the gingerbread. a bead of sweat trickles down her nose. "i'm from the big city," she says. "but now i am going to be married to the best man around. i'm his beautiful christmas girl."

"right, but which big city?"

"i'm from the big city. how are you liking conneticut?"

there is ice in my gut. i am getting the pure, foreboding sense of fuck that which i am pretty sure is genetically engineered in me. in spanish we call it espookies. i try to make it look casual while i walk closer and closer to the exit. i pretend to look at the decorations closely. "i'm just wondering because your partner said you're from boston?"

she laughs. the cookie icing is pooling on the counter. "sometimes you gotta just hit the brakes and slow down. this town is so perfect for that. places like this are so rare, wouldn't you agree?" she pushes the gingerbread to the side and starts working on the next one.

it's hot in here, i realize. too-hot. sweat licks down my back. i watch it slide down her neck, down her arms.

she outlines a melting gingerbread man. "what brings you down here?"

"i had..." i feel my voice crack. the hallway back into the store is within a few steps at this point. "...some stuff to handle."

"that t-"

"that time of year," i finish for her.

she stares at me. the icing has burst out of the bag and is melting down her wrists and over her apron. "doesn't this weather make you want cookies?"

i put one heel into the hallway, trying to back up as subtly as possible.

she looks up at me. icing melts over the counter. "doesn't the weather make you want cookies?"

i'm so close to making a bolt for it. but when i look at her and the icing and her perfectly applied lipstick i just fucking can't. my heart breaks for her. i need to at least fucking try.

"jen - laurel - whatever," i hiss. "i don't know what fucking happened but - we need to fucking leave." i glance behind me. "jen, this isn't fucking okay. whatever he's doing to you - we can get out of here. call the cops. something."

"it's beautiful this time of year."

"jen. come on girl, i will put you in my fucking car. but we got to go. i don't know if it's like a cult thing or -" i hork down a breath and feel dangerously close to crying. "please."

"doesn't the weather make you want cookies? that's what i'm here for!"

i take another step backwards and a hand comes down on my shoulder. when i jump, nick is back, and laughing.

"sorry about that." tucked under one arm is a huge ax. nick wipes his hands on a rag. "low on oil. you get a cookie from the missus? that's what she's -"

"balsam fir," i blurt. "i'm looking for a balsam fir."

he puts the axe over one shoulder. "oh? i love balsam. good choice. didn't expect a city slicker like you to know much about christmas trees." he lets out a laugh and so does she.

sweat is beading down my back. "i grew up on a farm," i feel my voice come out creaky and high.

he laughs again. "when you came in, i thought - this lady is corporate. you know how we take to that."

"money troubles," jen says from the kitchen. "we had money troubles."

my lips feel dry. i manage to slide by him, closer to the store. i force a watery smile. "oh. no, sir."

"they come in with a folder, talking about our CTF. i said i've been doing this for years."

my heart is slamming against my chest. i take another step down the hallway. i throw a look to jen.

she opens the oven and sticks her head inside.

"you know," nick says. "the firs are out by where you left your car."

i didn't tell him where i left my car. "oh, great." i say. "must be a sign." i take another step. and then another. i feel the weight of the velvet rope behind me and jump a second time.

"from the big city" jen says, her voice muffled by the oven. "how are you liking conneticut? this place needed a woman's touch."

at the other end of the long hallway, Nick swings the axe to come home in his hands. "it needs a woman's touch," he says.

yeah, absofuckinglutely not.

i turn and bolt, wiggling past the rope, stumbling into the many, many ornament displays. above me, white christmas rings out while i run-walk through wreaths and bobbles and reindeer. tears prick at the side of my eyes but being raised on a farm teaches you the professional art of being incredibly good at a panicked run-walk.

behind me, i hear nick pacing the store. the rope must have slowed him down. he's bigger than i am - he doesn't weave through things as easily. thank god.

i throw myself against the front doors and burst out into the chill and immediately feel a cough in my chest. the snow whips through the air. i dash past handmade right this way to holiday cheer! signs and tinsel. behind me, like a ghost, nick stomps his way ever-closer. i dart into the thickest part of the trees, hoping he will lose me in the snow and branches.

"you're from boston, right?" he shouts. "my ex was from boston. small world."

i dart across the wet snow and almost slide on the black ice underfoot. fuck fuck fuck fuck i cannot run a fucking mile in the cold. see above multiple chronic reasons for this. my bones and joints are already fucking hurting as i try to shimmy my way through the boughs, alternatively running and hiding. if i survive this, i wont be able to move for like a week.

if. good fucking lord. if.

"it's a nice place," he calls. i can't locate him in the whip of the snow. "it just needs a woman's touch."

thankfuckinggod im used to snow and blizzards because otherwise i would be utterly fucked. i try to keep any amount of calm in my body while i manage the slide-waddle of running on black ice - the backwards lean and body-tilt that i've practiced many times over farmland. the kind of tilt-run that is only possible if you've done it before. thankfuckinggod i'm not a city slicker - the trick isn't to rush.

but fuck it would be nice to rush right now!

over the speakers, white christmas restarts. i fork my keys through my fingers into a sharpened fist. i pause only for a second to pick up a particularly swingable gnome and then i keep fucking running. my chest feels like liquid fire. i can't stop coughing. christmas trees rise up on all sides of me. i can't get a breath down. the air feels like a fire hose. every step i take fucking echoes. go go go go go go.

i dart, he laughs, i freeze. i dash my way forwards. a branch cuts into my cheek. my nose is full of the smell of pine. my hands are sticky with sap and i'm covered in green needles.

i keep going. if i fucking die on a christmas tree farm i hope i poison all of the trees and end christmas. i run and hide and run and hide. i have no idea where that fucker is but i am not going to be caught relaxing for a moment.

my knee makes a particularly sharp turn and i know for a fact i've just done some serious damage. i slap my hand down onto it and hide inside the branches a particularly thick tree, trying to catch my breath for a second.

a family owned! sign winks up at me. the little handprints are the names of children, but the big ones say Steve and Piper. the date on it is from this year.

i simply do not have the time to care about that. i shiver through several calming breaths, trying to force my body back into running. i stumble into a clearing and recognize it as the road i took in.

something loud and banging starts and i know in my bones it's the sounds of a tractor starting up.

my heart drops and i seriously think about just laying down on the ground and letting him run me over.

except there is my car, blanketed peacefully in a white layer. i should have put the fucking windshield wipers up.

what-the-fuck-ever. my hands are shaking too much. i just need to get inside the fucking thing and go. i will ruin my suspension but i will take every pothole dead on if i must.

the tractor lights slice through the blizzard, heading right towards my car. it bounces jovially over the snow and potholes, unhindered.

nick is on the back of it, swinging his axe, laughing.

over the hum of his engine he calls: "how are you liking conneticut?"

Sending my most reliable corporate staffer to Connecticut to shut down a Christmas tree farm. Wish me luck

[mohntilyet]

imagine being illario and finally finding the resolve to kill your cousin right. you seduce and fuck a blood mage venatori magister to get her to do this for you. you figure you’ll eventually kill her once you are first talon, tie up the loose end and make it look good for you. a vengeance story! except when your cousin’s body shows up your grandma retreats into herself presumably out of grief and you’re like jesus christ he’s a corpse and still the favorite. at this point you start feeling some regret and at the wake you’re beside yourself. it helps to be really feeling some of that to fool everyone else. but months pass and your grandma still isn’t even discussing the inheritance and you have to be normal because you don’t want to incriminate yourself. and then a year later some random guy (worse if its a de riva tbh) shows up saying they need your cousin to kill an elven god (what.) and he’s the only one who could (insulting). and its at this point your grandma is like “lucanis died… but he is not dead!”. record scratch freezeframe. while you juggle with the fact that the freak woman you fucked specifically to get her to kill your cousin didn’t even kill your cousin AND your grandma didn’t bother telling you (for good reason ofc but she doesn’t know that), you have to lead these assholes to go save him and unravel your hard work. so plan b. you kidnap your grandma and push your (now possessed) cousin away (and then get mad when he actually walks away. because you’re like this). and when your cousin comes dangerously close to figuring out what’s happened with you and the magister, you kill the magister. you ally with those elven gods and venatori (you aren’t sure how you’re going to get out of this one but it’s fine. that’s a hill for future illario) to make sure you have enough backing to stand up against the other houses if they challenge you becoming first talon. you continue to gaslight your cousin into staying away, because if there is one thing you can count on, it’s his literal inner demons and total lack of a support group, you’re certain he’ll fuck it up by himself. you know this because his support group used to be your grandma (dubious) and yourself (lol). you’re almost home free. and caterina will definitely acknowledge you as a player on the board. which isn’t important but it would be nice, right. BUT THEN IT TURNS OUT. YOUR COUSIN HAS RECENTLY MADE 7 FRIENDS. one of whom can speak to the fucking dead because of course he can. and then some of those friends show up to publicly humiliate you at the dinner party that should have been YOUR crowning moment. your grandma ALSO shows up to tell everyone you have gathered that your cousin is first talon. your cousin gapes at her because he doesn’t actually even want it so it’s kind of awkward for everyone. and then when you’re sure he’s about to ask viago de riva to poison you to death, he actually tells him just to take you away. because OF COURSE he’s being the bigger person. anyways the point is i’m surprised illario just lets himself be taken away because if i were him i would have started biting people and then bombed the villa

[pomefioredove]

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ honesty is a virtue

type of post: short fic characters: lilia additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu, a little suggestive, actually a lot suggestive, this is based off a stupid joke I made, reader is older than nrc students etc

It had started as a joke.

IT WAS A JOKE!!!

How could you have known? You had had your suspicions, but it's not like anyone tells you these things.

You meant it as a JOKE!

"Yeah, well, I fucked your dad,"

Sebek looked absolutely horrified, as if you had just told him his pet puppy died. Silver was stuck in place, pale, staring at you. Malleus chuckled.

You look between the three, confused. "Relax, guys, I was kidding,"

Sebek's horror immediately twists into rage, his whole face going red. "HAVE YOU NO DECENCY? TO JOKE ABOUT SUCH VULGAR THINGS!!!"

"Sebek, it's alright," Malleus interrupts, smirking. Weird. Usually, he's the one who doesn't get your jokes. "They didn't know."

"Didn't know?" you ask. "Didn't know what?"

Malleus chuckles, and pats your head like one would a puppy, or a small child. "Some things are better left unsaid, child of man. You should know better than to make such comments around the younger students, though,"

"...Oh, right," you mutter. "Oops."

Sebek still looks like he's about to burst a blood vessel.

"...It's fine, I'm not offended. I was just... surprised, that's all," Silver says, the color slowly returning to his face.

You still can't seem to figure out what it is. You'd made crude jokes in front of them before, they're not that young, Lilia has said much worse, and you'd only been messing with them. Besides, you don't even know their dad.

Or so you thought.

"Knock knock~" a familiar, cheery voice calls out for you, opening your door.

You look up from your phone, trying to distract yourself from your earlier embarrassment.

"Oh... hey, Lilia,"

"Busy?" he asks, letting himself in, anyway.

"Uh... no. Not really. Is everything okay?"

The fae smiles, the tips of his fangs visible between his lips. He's got that look on him again.

"Malleus told me you caused quite the commotion, earlier,"

Oh, great. Now him, too? You're never gonna live this down. You sigh.

"I..." you hesitate. You really don't want to be scolded again, and you've heard that Lilia can be quite scary when he's mad.

"...We were all just... having a silly little argument, nothing serious, and I made a bad joke, I guess."

"Which waaaas?"

At least he doesn't seem upset, you think. If anything, he seems amused. Which isn't great, either.

You sigh again. "...I joked, in a jokey manner, in a joking conversation, that I had... done certain things with their father,"

"And is that true?"

"What?" you scoff, almost in disbelief. Is he really turning this into a lecture about lying? He never lectures you. "Obviously not! I was joking! People make those kinds of jokes all the time!"

"Ah, but how careless of you. Poor Sebek almost fainted," Lilia says, taking a seat on your bed next to you. He really is turning this into a lecture...

"Hm. But would you like it to be true?"

Pause.

Huh?

Even when he's scolding, he finds a way to surprise you. And yet... what if he's not scolding at all...?

You give him a weird look. "Meaning what?"

Lilia giggles, and you catch a glimmer in his eye. He's teasing. Not lecturing. Teasing. What is he...

"Remember how I told you that I'm much older than I look?"

Oh.

Oh, no.

Your stomach drops. Everyone's horrified looks, Malleus' amusement, Lilia's teasing, suddenly make sense.

"No,"

"Yes," Lilia lowers his eyes, getting closer. "I must say, I'm flattered. But it was rather cruel of you to lie to my boys. I'm simply suggesting we... make that lie a truth."

You stare at him, unflinching. Perhaps you'd always thought he was a little cute, perhaps you're just thinking it now. What you're sure of, though, is that you could hold this over everyone's heads forever. He knows it, too.

Finally, you nod.

Lilia sets a hand on your knee and leans a little closer. "Good. Honesty is a virtue, after all,"

[teecupangel]

What if desmond was reborn as the 5th auditore child? Like he was just a baby/toddler when the auditore were executed

Hey, nonny.

We can make Desmond be born on March 13, 1476 so he would only be months old when the Auditores are executed.

Wanna fuck with Desmond and the Auditores some more?

What if we keep Maria’s mental state after the execution and make her believe that the baby in her arms is Petruccio.

The only person who could remind her that she was holding and caring for her fifth child was Claudia and it was becoming harder and harder for her to keep trying to stay strong when her mother treating Desmond as Petruccio makes her think that she’s in the past and asking when her husband would be back or if Federico and Ezio be back from playing outside.

The final nail in the coffin is that Maria mistook Claudia as someone else, maybe an older sister that was already dead or even her old nanny who died when Petruccio was just born.

Ezio saw what was happening and pushed Claudia to managing Monteriggioni to keep her from spiraling.

It becomes apparent that Maria sees Giovanni in Ezio and Mario tells him that it might be better if they slowly separate Maria from Desmond.

It’s not doing either of them any good and making Desmond replace Petruccio was a fate that no child should ever shoulder.

So Ezio pretends to be Giovanni taking Petruccio for walks and tries to be there for his younger brother.

But being an Assassin made it hard for him to return home frequently.

He tries his best and he knows Claudia also tries to make their younger brother understand that they don’t see him as a replacement and that their mother is simply… confused at the moment.

That’s how Desmond grew up, pretending to be Petruccio when he’s with Maria Auditore.

Mario trained him while Ezio was running around but he couldn’t leave Monteriggioni because Maria starts to ask where Petruccio is whenever she doesn’t see Desmond for a few hours.

Ezio went to Firenze after journeying to Spain (and got entangled with Bonfire of the Vanities) when Maria finally realized that Desmond isn’t Petruccio. To be more exact, Desmond had turned 21 and Maria cried as she remembered that Petruccio would have never grown as old as Desmond.

At that point, Maria’s relationship with her youngest child was strained by her own guilt and grief while Desmond just accepted it because he loved Maria and a part of him believed that he should have done something more (even if he was still a baby, guilt does not care about one’s age)

Desmond starts doing Assassin work as well but goes rogue for a few months, returning with the remaining seals for Altaïr’s statue.

Desmond takes the armor for himself and just shrugged it off as Ezio’s birthday present or something equally unimportant and Ezio returned to Monteriggioni with… well…

A very awkward family reunion, that’s for sure.

So many things have happened at that point and, as much as he is happy to see his mother healing, he feels guilty for not being there for Desmond who just shrugs it off and tells him “I understand.”

“I understand.”

That was the worst phrase Ezio heard.

He kept hearing it from his younger brother.

At first he was relieved that his brother understood.

Then he realized that the phrase meant more than that to Desmond.

It was a resignation to his current situation.

And Ezio wasn’t really in the best place himself.

He was still grieving the death of Cristina who died while Ezio was in Firenze for Savonarola and his men so there was also a bit of guilt there.

So Mario suggested Ezio takes Desmond to the Vatican with him as a ‘trainee’ and Ezio agreed.

He tells Desmond that he never wanted him to be an Assassin, that he hoped he was the only one who had to carry the blood that drenched the Auditores’ blade.

Desmond just stares at him and goes…

“I understand.”

And Ezio knew that he failed being a brother to his youngest in this bloody path of vengeance he had taken.

[fact-dogsarehappiness]

OP’s tags

Not necessarily addressing the content in the post, however

There is actually a debate among scholars about what exactly was up with Lancelot and Galehaut (a Prince he worked for for a while) because they certainly were passionate about each other (someone wrote a whole fucking academic article about it). At some point Morgan Le Fey forces Lancelot to not see Guinevere OR Galehaut for a whole year and Galehaut falls sick with longing and actually dies of anguish when he’s led to believe that Lancelot is dead

I have also heard of a version of the story where Lancelot was in love with Arthur but knew they could never be together so he turned his affections to Guinevere because she was the closest thing to Arthur that he could actually have HOWEVER I don’t know much about this one so don’t quote me

It's cool when Merthur fics go in depth on homophobia of the time plots but also if there is any medieval setting where you can have the King just decide to say "fuck social convention" and do what he wants its THE ONE WHO USED A ROUND TABLE FOR HIS KNIGHTS

We're pretty used to the concept by now but I dont think we always appreciate how batshit insane Arthur is. Or how crazy it is the amount of unthinkable stunts he gets away with. the magic was secondary to aurhurian legends when the real fantasy was a King who would and could radically change the system that kept the lower classes powerless and unseen

[azsazz]

Dead by Dawn (Part 18)

Azriel x Cassian x Reader

Summary: Zombie!AU: It’s been a while since the end of the world.

Warnings: Blood, gore, injury, graphic depictions of violence, poly!relationship, slow burn, undead, death

Word Count: 4328

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7) (Part 8) (Part 9) (Part 10) (Part 11) (Part 12) (Part 13) (Part 14) (Part 15) (Part 16) (Part 17)

_________________________________________

Day 195 Part 4

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

When you’ve successfully managed to empty the contents of your stomach, the first thing you notice is that your ears are ringing.

Everything slowly begins to creep back into focus. The warm hand on your back, running a soothing pattern up and down your spine. The soft voice murmuring at your side. The vomit pooling on the floor before you. And of course, the thing that’s causing your ears to ring in the first place: the screaming.

You don’t remember falling to your knees, but you’re here, and you sit back on your haunches slowly because your stomach is still roiling. You try to focus on the massacre happening around you.

Nesta’s screaming in the doorway. She looks like she’s actually going to kill you, which is probably why Eris is holding her back with an arm wrapped firmly around her waist. She has a crazed look on her face, silver eyes alight with a fear so deep that it reads like the rage of a thousand wars.

“She’s been bit!” Nesta screeches, clawing at Eris in a desperate attempt to reach for anyone she can get her hands on. His soft, consoling words in her ear are doing nothing to break past the white-hot rage burning across her features. “What did he do to her?”

“He didn’t do a damn thing but fall for your sister,” Cassian bites back, voice louder than necessary. You all know what happens when you love something in a world like this. It always gets ripped away, which is why you haven’t allowed yourself to think anything more about the two men you’ve been occupying your time with. “We don’t have time to waste, they need us out there searching for them.”

Azriel’s murmuring into the walkie-talkie, trying to discern where the hell Rhysand and Feyre might be, but after a few broken responses from your friends, they stop responding.

He turns to the rest of you with a solemn look. “Their walkie died.”

Fuck. This is worse than bad.

“We need to move,” Cassian says, tone pitched with a worry he’s failing to mask. He needs Rhysand alive like he needs Azriel alive, because without either of them, he wouldn’t want to be living in this godsforsaken planer either. “Where are our weapons? We’ll find them and bring them back.”

“That’s my sister. I’m going,” Nesta growls, and your heart pinches at the sight of the turmoil in Eris’ amber eyes because you feel the exact same as him.

“Then I’m going, too,” he murmurs, caressing Nesta’s cheek. She’s stopped fighting now, and you think you catch him brushing a tear from her face. You’re not sure how she hasn’t entirely broken down yet, knowing that both of her sisters have been bitten.

The pair share an embrace so tender you have to look away.

When they return their attention to your party, Nesta’s voice is firm, any traces of her anguish long forgotten, except in the way that her fingers are white knuckled around Eris’. “One of you stays here.”

“What? Why?” Cassian asks in disbelief.

“So we know this isn’t an ambush,” Eris provides, already double-checking the weapons attached to his hips. It’s a move so similar to Azriel that it stuns you until her words hit home.

“An ambush?” You blurt your confusion. Rage boils the blood in your veins. You refuse to lose another friend out there, not after how horrible the last time any of you split up is turning out to be. “This isn’t a fucking ambush, it’s your fucking sister!”

Your anger doesn’t land. Nesta’s glare punctures a hole in your chest and it’s suddenly difficult to breathe. “Exactly. It’s my sister. I will go and see to her. Your presence isn’t needed. You’ve already done enough.”

You want to crumple beneath the weight of her words. They hang thickly in the air, the only sound filling the suddenly eerie dining room is the soft crackling from the walkie-talkie. Rhysand and Feyre are waiting for reinforcements, there’s no time to wither into the ground and cry until the house is flooded.

“Every second we waste here is another second Feyre suffers,” Azriel spits, his hand clenching yours. Cassian’s body is warm at your front from where he’s stepped slightly in front of you at Nesta’s implied threat. “We need to go.”

But Nesta is even more hard-headed than her sister. “She stays.”

You don’t like the look on Azriel’s face when he turns to you. You’re already shaking your head when he tries to speak, but you’re quick to cut him off, your hysterics taking over your words.

“No,” your voice breaks, tears spilling down your cheeks. “No, Azriel. Please, I need to be there.” This might very well be the last time you see Feyre, and you need to be there for her.

“We need you to stay,” Azriel pleads. His hand is firm where your shoulder meets your neck and his hazel eyes are stern, but it isn’t difficult to read how terrified he is. You’re not sure you’ve ever seen him so scared, not even when you’d first found each other and Cassian was on the brink of bleeding out. Maybe you hadn’t known him all that well at that point, but now, you know that his heart is much larger than you ever gave him credit for.

“No,” you protest, shaking your head, but you can tell that there’s no room for arguing this. He’s already running through ideas of how to save your friends in his head. “They’re my friends, too!”

“We need you safe.” We need you to survive.

You shake your head, fingers fisting into his shirt. Azriel ducks down and captures you in a kiss so desperate, filled with so much love and pleading and finality that you can’t raise your head when he pulls away from you and Cassian takes his place.

“Please…” It’s all you can do to beg, falling into Cassian’s strong arms, but at this point you know it’s futile. They’ll be going without you, and you’re to stay here so that Nesta and Eris know they won’t try anything. It’s smart, protecting themselves, but it doesn’t make you like them.

“I’m sorry,” Cassian whispers, cradling you in his arms and pressing light kisses to your hair while Eris doles out weapons to Azriel. Nesta watches with a menacing look on her face and arms crossed over her chest like she’d rather let the two men you’re falling for on a recon mission in the woods without any protection.

In this world, being bitten means you have hours. If Feyre isn’t already showing signs of the infection taking hold, she will be soon. Realization strikes you down like a fucking semi-truck, tightening your throat and prickling your eyes. Your best friend, the one that you’ve stuck with for the better part of the last year has been bitten, and you’re all arguing about playing savior.

Fuck. As much as you want to be out there finding your friend, one of you needs to stay. Because Azriel and Cassian want you safe, because Nesta and Eris are scared out of their minds, because if something goes wrong, there is nothing worth fighting for anymore, but if everything goes right, this place could be your haven.

You saw the way Cassian’s eyes lit at the mention of the underground bunkers, at the sight of the healthy greens on your plates. He’s been dreaming of a place like this, a place to take root and utilize the seeds he’d so carefully traveled with all this time. This place could be his playground, and you want nothing more than for him to have something positive to latch onto in a world of the undead.

And Azriel. Somewhere hiding behind the walls he’s so carefully constructed, he cares. He cares about finding someplace safe for everyone he loves to set up camp for a prolonged period. He’s tired of running, tired of searching for something that he’s given up hope on a long time ago. Everyone he cares about now is here, or almost here, and he doesn’t need the weight on his shoulders of searching for safety.

“Go,” you choke, clutching Cassian’s forearms so tightly your nails dig into his skin. His eyes flicker between yours, searching for any sliver of indignation. If you truly don’t want him to go, he won’t. There’s no predicting what will happen out there, and you’re just as important to him as the rest of his friends. “Go,” you urge again, softly. “Find them and bring them back.”

“Yes ma’am,” he agrees, before smashing his mouth against yours. It’s desperate, a promise of so much more, and then he’s pulling away and taking the knife Azriel’s handing him, and then they’re all out the door and you’re standing in the doorway of a silent home, with only the distant coughs coming from a bitten girl upstairs to keep you company while the men you’ve fallen completely in love with leave to save her bitten sister.

“We’re coming back to you,” he calls over his shoulder, determined.

It's all you can do to keep yourself together until they’re out of your line of sight.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Minutes pass. Then hours, and there’s no sign of your companions.

You try not to worry, but it’s inevitable. Cleaning up the abandoned dinner does nothing to ease your nerves. Snooping through cabinets and the pantry and the rest of the main floor does nothing to stop the haunting scenarios of everything that could go wrong from playing in your head. You eye the staircase leading upstairs, but knowing what’s up there, who’s up there, you refrain.

For now.

There is no peace in knowing that their group of four is searching for your lost friends. None of you hardly know Nesta and Eris, and as good as Azriel is at tracking, they have no clue where the hell Rhysand and Feyre are. They must be closer than you think, because they were in range of the walkie-talkies, but that could span for miles, and the sun is shining brightly through the large, front windows of the house. They have hours before night falls completely.

It's Lucien who finds you in the front room. You’ve barely moved from one of the large chairs you pulled in front of the window because you can’t find it in yourself to leave.

He takes the free one across the room, and it looks like he’s sat there many times, pondering Elain’s health.

He hasn’t been taking very good care of himself, either, from what you can tell. It looks like he hasn’t been far from her bedside in ages, his auburn hair is a tangled mess, and you know you’re no longer filling out your clothes the way you used to, but with the food you now know they have around here, you know he hasn’t been eating well.

“You’re the one that helped Cassian, right?” He asks, and your head snaps in his direction. How could he have known that? Cassian’s hardly limping these days at all, but it’s the desperation in Lucien’s eyes that keeps you from shifting further into your seat. He blushes at your surprise, a sheepish look overtaking his handsome features. “I noticed the wound on his leg. I was hoping that you would be the one to have fixed it.”

“Why would you hope that I was the one to fix it?” You all but whisper. Your heart is jackhammering in your chest, but Lucien doesn’t look like he’s going to attack. The only crazed thing about him is the circles under his eyes from lack of sleep, and the despair weighing his shoulders down.

“Because I want you to take a look at Elain.”

His words make the earth shift.

“She’s bitten,” you breathe. “There’s nothing I can do about that.”

“Please,” he begs, “I just—I can’t give up on her yet.”

The utter rawness in his tone, the way he’s looking at you like you’re the one who could save the woman he loves…it’s too much to say no. You know that if it were Azriel or Cassian, or when Feyre arrives, you’d be doing anything that you can to help.

You nod, and Lucien’s shoulders drop so hard that you think he might faint. You refrain from telling him that what you’d done to Cassian was done in haste, that you really don’t know all that much about treating wounds or diagnosing zombie bites, only things that you’d picked up from your mother after her long shifts at the hospital when she’d come home exhausted and grumbling about her work.

She had been one of the first to go, hoping to help people get through the infection.

It’s the least you can do.

You follow Lucien up the carpeted staircase. It has an intricate design, crimson leaves and brunt oranges tangled together. It matches the color of the walls, the creamy trim lining the top and bottom. This would have been a mighty fine house to grow up in, you think as you follow him across the hall, past photographs of several young boys, all with the same-colored hair. There are several frames missing from the sunspots on the wallpaper.

You hesitate at the door Lucien slowly opens, suddenly nervous. You hadn’t caught much of a glimpse of the middle Archeron sister, from what you had seen, she hadn’t looked good.

“Come, please,” Lucien says, opening the door wider and gestures you inside.

Azriel and Cassian would be furious with you if they knew you were about to put yourself within inches of someone who’s potentially infected, but they’re the ones who left you here, so you follow Lucien inside.

The room is warm and damp, dusty, like the curtains haven’t been pulled back in ages. It’s dark, but you can still make out the lump in the middle of the large bed, the indent on the sheets from where Lucien must lie beside her, holding her through this pain.

You move closer to the bed, blinking the light from your eyes when Lucien lights a battery-powered lamp on the table beside the bed.

Your breath catches in your throat.

She looks worse in the dark than she had in the dining room downstairs, but maybe it’s because you stand closer now. With the lamplight shadowing her face, her cheeks and eyes look even more sunken, what you imagine were once pink, plump lips are chapped and dry to the bone.

“Has she been eating? Drinking?” You blurt, already concerned for the girl. Normally, you’re weary of strangers, and you don’t know if it’s because she’s Feyre’s sister or she looks like she’s fighting through hell to stay alive from this bite, but the urge to help her in any way that you can is great.

“She eats bites, at most,” Lucien offers sadly. There’s a plate on the bedside table with a can you’re all too familiar eating from. “Soft things she’s able to get down. And I have to drip water in her mouth while she’s sleeping because that’s what she does most.” You can hear the sadness in his voice, the thickness of his throat when he speaks. He stares at Elain with so much devastation in his eyes that it’s difficult to look at.

You focus on the girl in the bed instead. Her breath is a brittle rattle in her chest, but Elain looks at peace. At least, while she’s sleeping.

“How long has she been like this?” You ask, silently asking if you can touch her. Lucien nods wearily, allowing you to get to work. You gently move the damp compress from her head to press the back of your hand to her forehead. She’s warm, cheeks a ruddy red that is the only sign of life against her pale skin.

Elain’s lashes flutter when you touch her, mumbling something uncoherent under her breath, but doesn’t wake.

“Weeks now,” Lucien admits, worried. “I’d say nearly four.”

Four weeks ago. Your stomach curdles, even though it’s empty. She’s been like this for four weeks.

“Where is the bite?”

Lucien doesn’t look like he wants to show it to you. Reluctantly, he carefully removes Elain’s arm from beneath the thick blankets and pulls up the sleeve to the loose-fitting shirt she’s resting in.

When he removes the wrap around the wound, you can’t help but gasp, stepping closer out of a horrific curiosity. Sure, you’ve seen zombie bites before, but you’ve never seen something quite like this.

 The bite is near her elbow. It’s red and raw, and the wounds haven’t seemed to heal all that much in four weeks, but it’s not…decaying either. Her veins are blackened where the infection has leeched into her blood. They crawl halfway up her arm, and almost to her fingertips, where they disappear.

“We tied a tourniquet around her arm when she was first bitten,” Lucien explains, swallowing thickly. His fingers caress her arm, careful to avoid the plague-looking bite. “They say that the infection takes hold within hours, and when the electricity was still running, it was said that the longest surviving bitten person lasted twelve…” He trails off, and you can’t help but notice the soft glint to his eyes, the upturned corners of his mouth as he stares down at the woman he loves. When his gaze finds yours again, there’s a strength to his tone. “Elain hasn’t showed any progressing signs, and it’s been weeks.”

“Just because it’s been weeks doesn’t mean that it won’t happen,” you say, and you hate that you have to. Her case is convincing, but not all infections progress as rapidly or as violently within each person. It’s a case-by-case basis, though most tend not to last more than a few hours. You must admit, Elain is doing well.

Lucien doesn’t say anything in response, and you know he’s choosing not to believe it. You don’t want to believe it either, especially for Feyre’s sake, but you need to be realistic right now, things don’t last forever.

“We should clean the wound,” you continue. You want to help Lucien and Elain, you truly do, so you’ll do what you can. “It’s looking a little…”

“Festered?” Lucien offers with a soft smile.

You can hardly manage one back. “Yeah.”

“There’s a bag of supplies on the bathroom counter,” Lucien nods toward the ensuite. “There’s disinfectant, though I don’t know how well it will work because it’s been expired for months. You can look through the rest, see if there’s anything else that might be of help.”

You nod, removing yourself from their sight. You take another flashlight that Lucien hands you, and when the door closes behind you, you release a harsh breath that you didn’t know you were holding.

Elain doesn’t look like she’s in good shape, but the wound doesn’t seem to be spreading, and if she had a fever, it’s broken since then. You remind yourself to ask Lucien about it when you return to the bedside, but for now you take the time to scour the bag of medical supplies they’ve seemed to haphazardly throw together.

In it you find fresh bandages and the peroxide Lucien mentioned was in there. There’s about a half bottle left, and you don’t like the looks of that, but you can use it sparingly. You find painkillers, though you don’t expect Elain to wake for long enough to swallow them down.

“Has she been coughing a lot?” You ask when you return. Lucien sits on the bed beside Elain, gently stroking her hair. Her injured arm is propped in his lap, and he watches you carefully as you take the empty spot on the sheets, setting your supplies down.

“Not as much as when it began,” he answers.

“And has there been any mucus?”

“Yeah.”

“What color?”

He grimaces, and your muscles tense, awaiting his response. “Black, to begin. Now it’s cleared up. Almost clear.”

That’s a good sign, you think.

The peroxide bubbles softly, cleaning the wound. For the most part, it seems to be fine, and as much as you’d like to poke and prod at it, you don’t want to disturb what seems to be a peaceful sleep for Elain.

Which is perfect, because the door to the house crashes open downstairs and shouting ensues.

You and Lucien startle, both jumping from the bed. He’s already reaching for the knife at his hip, but when a shout drifts up the stairs, he relaxes slightly.

“Lucien?”

He looks at you. “I think they found your friend.”

Your heart rate skyrockets, and it’s all you can do to give him final instruction before you’re bolting from the room. “Dab this on the wound before you wrap it with fresh gauze.”

You’re not all that sure you want to see the condition Feyre is in, but your legs don’t stop moving. You skip the steps down the stairs and go crashing into the dining room where Rhys is gently laying your best friend down on the table.

Everything seems to come to a screeching halt.

Eris is by the front door, locking it shut. He’s looking in your direction frantically, probably wondering why his brother hasn’t called back to him. You barely notice him brushing past you as he makes his way upstairs.

Your eyes are locked on her.

Nesta and Cassian are shouting at one another while Azriel helps hold Feyre to the table. Rhys looks like a mess, tears streaming down his cheeks, and the sight breaks your heart. It gets your feet moving, and you almost slam into him as you make it to Feyre’s side.

The bite is deep and raw, new. You can’t help but compare it to Elain’s, and unfortunately, Feyre’s looks much worse. Elain’s was a clean bite, like as soon as the zombie broke flesh, its jaw had unhinged. Feyre’s looks like the undead bit into her and latched on like a feral beast, almost ripping an entire chunk out of the back of her forearm.

Rhys shouts your name and you jump, turning to him. His cheeks are stained with tears, his voice is a ragged mess from the crying a pleading. “Please, you have to help her,” he says frantically, “You have to save her.”

And fuck, if that isn’t a heavy weight to put on your shoulders.

You spring into action. As soon as Eris reenters the room, you’re screaming for him to get all the supplies that he can find that might help. He follows your direction, sprinting back up the stairs. Next, you shout the same thing to Cassian, telling him to fetch your bag from downstairs.

Feyre’s a moaning mess. She’s sweating profusely, hair matter to her head as she writhes on the table. Her fingers claw into the wood as she moans in pain and your heart breaks for her.

“It’s okay, Fey,” you say, brushing some of the sweat from her head. Fuck, her skin is on fire. Her frantic eyes meet yours and she’s groaning your name, pupils consuming the blue of her eyes. “I’m going to help you.”

Cassian makes it back first and you ask him to dig out the painkillers. “You have to swallow these,” you tell Feyre, who’s quickly fading into unconsciousness. You wonder how long she’s been awake.

Rhys takes over as Cassian pins her injured arm down, trying to coax her into swallowing the painkillers. From across the table, Azriel watches on, but his face shows nothing. He’s watching you, you realize, watching you do what he knows you do best. Nesta stands beside him, ready to assist in any way that she can now that she’s not bickering with Cassian.

“How long ago was she bitten?” You ask Rhys, who’s petting Feyre’s hair gently. He’s murmuring to her softly, something about keeping her eyes on him, but he lifts his gaze to meet yours when he answers.

“A few hours ago. Maybe three.”

How did you not realize how long it’s been since they’ve been gone? The sun has fully set and darkness pours in through the windows. You don’t have the time to wonder if any zombies have followed them back.

“Okay,” you breathe, taking in the state of the wound. It’s bleeding, oozing black blood that’s beginning to creep up her arm in the same way as her sisters. There’s a poorly made tourniquet fastened around her bicep, and that’s the first thing you fix.

Eris arrives with the bottle of peroxide you used upstairs and his arms chock full of supplies. This place is a haven, alright, and you’re more than thankful you might have the supplies you need to help your friend.

You uncap the bottle and douse it onto Feyre’s arm. She moans as the liquid works its magic, trying to clean the wound. You repeat this step until the bubbles that fizzle off the wound are no longer muddy with black.

There’s not much that you can do, you’re afraid. From what you’ve seen, the infection needs to run its course. She’ll be in pain for now, but there’s nothing you can truly do for your friend.

Which is probably why Rhysand begins freaking out when you pull out the gauze to wrap her wound in.

“That’s it?” He shouts, rounding the table. Fury is written on his face like a tattoo. Feyre’s slipped into a less than peaceful unconsciousness, whimpering and twitching. “That’s all you’re going to do for her?”

Cassian leaves his post at Feyre’s arm to stop his friend.

“There’s nothing I can do, Rhys,” you reply just as sadly. You hold your breath, unsure if you should speak what’s really on your mind, but with the way Rhysand is struggling against Cassian, you blurt, “I think the cure is in their blood,” and the room plunges into silence.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

DBD Taglist: @writingsbychlo @kemillyfreitas @5moremin @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @waggel36  @bionic-donut @queserasera @applepie02 @azrielsbabyg @arcadianmoonlight @pradaxstyles @illyrian-dreamerdreamer @reiincarnatiion @fuckthatfeeling @shadowsingersmate24 @poppyalice2001 @fallmyriad @sstrohma @tcris2020 @jeannineee @21stcenturytaegi @ochiolism @secretly-here @harrystylesfan2686 @i-am-infinite @lees-chaotic-brain @eternallyelvish @lilah-asteria @randombibitch @st4r-girl-official @nanisearchinginnerpeace @aemondsb1tch @chxosangxl @marigold-morelli

[starberry-cupcake]

WE'RE DONE WITH BOOK 2!!! THIS IS IT!!! Time for one last recap for Harrowcita ♥

previously, in harrowcita del 9:

this happened

CHAPTER 52

last we've seen of Team Gideon (this is Team Gideon, Team Harrow is coming and going from the river rn), mercygirl had decimated dr reverend emperor john

popped him like a piñata

mercygirl and augustine start talking about how everything's gonna go directly to shit now without the guy, since the houses existed because of him, etc.

they have some sort of hope on finding somewhere they can go stay at, maybe

they hug and augustine says something like he wants to be buried beside her, so they can hate each other eternally

I love what they've got going on tbh they're soulmates in hate, new form of eternal bond just dropped

gideon the first is about to tell them something, but they're interrupted by light

gideon starts describing that red dust becomes blood and then becomes body things and I'm like "nonononononono"

BUT I'M NOT THAT LUCKY

GUESS WHO'S BACK

DOCTOR REVEREND EMPEROR JOHN IS NOT DEAD

LPM [in south american spanish]

packing back all my celebratory party supplies

so he immediately murders mercygirl upon returning

rip girl, you really tried and that's more than I can say for a lot of people

who are in this room rn

emperor asshat takes mercy's robe from her body and puts it on

he says "hope the sixth house didn't get cooked in the flare"

"I never like cleaning house all at once, but it seems as though I have to, don't I ?"

so...is this a frequent thing? killing all your lyctors? replacing them with others by making them slurp their cavaliers once in a while? acting like there's no other way around it?

the emperor does that asshole thing

he starts asking them if they'll be loyal to him and, if they say no, he's gonna kill them

all very democratic and whatnot

apparently beasts can't kill him and he was acting afraid, in case you needed more reasons to hate him and whatnot

he calls gideon the first "gideon episode one", so that's also a genetic trait, aside from the eyes

gideon the first says he's gonna be loyal

gideon the first is taking things very calmly, but we'll see what's going on with that in a sec

also, the emperor asked gideon the first to kill harrow

because he's still buying numbers for the ass-kicking raffle I've got going on

it isn't at all a surprise, not just because another addition to the silver platter of bullshit he has done, at this point, doesn't really change much, but also because he was not doing anything about the harrow-aimed violence at any point, so

gideon (ours) goes "go to hell, pops"

he's bummed about gideon the first "killing" wake and is going to spare gideon's life, even if she doesn't want to be loyal to him

yandere twin pledges loyalty (we'll come back to this later)

and augustine goes "fuck you, john"

those aren't his words but that's what I heard in my head when I read it

then, the entire emperor's bolthole starts tilting to the side and in goes the whole thing into the river

at this point, I was remembering that the emperor mentioned there was a layer in the river, in the cylinder schematics mercygirl had drawn, in which he was powerless

so I was hoping and wishing for this to be the plan

gideon the first takes our gideon, trying to save her from the whole river situation, since she isn't a necro and there's not much she can do about it

so, since the emperor's bolthole went straight into the river, they've entered with their whole body, soul and etc.

fully dressed in flesh

gideon the first goes "wish he'd given me the packet"

???????

augustine and the emperor are wrestling homoerotically into the river

with yandere twin trailing behind them

so gideon asks gideon Sr to do something, since he's a necromancer

and gideon Sr says he isn't actually gideon Sr....

IT'S PYRRHA THE CAVALIER

turns out gideon Sr died in the fight against the beast

battle he was fighting with "mad sweetheart matthias"

♥

pyrrha has been living in gideon Sr this whole time, kinda like gideon and harrow, but with less finesse

and pyrrha ALSO had an affair with wake using gideon Sr's body

but there's no time to unpack the insane amount of luggage gideon is gaining from this whole encounter with her entire family tree

because augustine's plan was indeed to throw the emperor into the bit of river he can't defend himself in

but the entrance looks a bit like this thing from inuyasha, only that's a lot bigger

augustine and the emperor are still homoerotically pulling each other on their way down to the mouth, that's extending tongues to lick at them

it's probably a familiar scenario for them, only in a bigger scale

gideon and pyrrha are trying to decide if they wanna die by a bullet, by this whole thing that's going on in here or in the river

according to pyrrha, gideon's mom would have taken the bullet

but not gideon

gideon is gonna see this thing through, dammit

she's also having an existential crisis the size of the emperor's bolthole because life was simple before, it was just harrow and the dusty ninth, and now there's a family tree, she's a child of multiple divorces and she was born to blow up

so, gideon sees that yandere twin is close to augustine and dr rev emperor john, which means she can probably help augustine out and push the emperor in

BUT THAT'S NOT WHAT SHE DOES, NO

NO NO NO NO

WHAT SHE DOES

IS TO BE THE WORST

OF COURSE, YOU VALIDATION-SEEKING ASSHOLE, OF COURSE YOU'RE GONNA DO THAT

"uwu you're the emperor's favorite, harry" "at least augustine pays attention to me, harry" "the emperor loves you, harry" "you have it easy because you're the emperor's pet, harry"

GET OUT OF MY FACE YOU TRAITOROUS THIRD HOUSE ATTENTION-SEEKING TIM-BURTON-BLONDE-AND-PALE LEAD

YOU AND CHAD CAN GO STRAIGHT TO THE FANG-FILLED MOUTH OF HELL

I'M FUMING

I'M GONNA BITE HER ARM OFF AND RIP IT FROM HER BODY ALL OVER AGAIN

AND I'M GONNA SPIT IT RIGHT AT THE EMPEROR'S FACE

ANYWAY, BACK TO THE RECAP

gideon is being very poetic about harrow in what she thinks might be the last moments of her life

again

"at the end of everything, if it was going to be you and me, layered over each other as we always were"

♥

but in comes ice cube barbie to...save the day?????

idk, at this point

people's intentions are blurry

"your bullshit dead girlfriend had come to claim you"

gideon says she speaks "in the wrong voice twice removed" and that she's trying to do CPR on her

to some extent, because her sternum is shattered, apparently

or harrow's, I guess

so, who knows what's gonna come out of this

CHAPTER 53

this one happens half an hour before the other stuff

for the timeline that I'm still somewhat keeping, hanging by a thread, as is my sanity

Team Harrow is currently just consisting of harrowcita, the reverend kitten, and real!dulcinea

the super important info real!dulcinea said she needed to tell harrow is that what's using harrow's body isn't a spirit or a revenant

her body isn't being puppeted, something is moving it around and it isn't a fragment or a ghost

because it doesn't feel like awake will the real slim shady please stand up

is this gideon???? does it mean gideon is more than a ghost?????

real!dulcinea is like "idk what you can do with that info but that's not up to me anymore, bye~"

and harrow goes "there's a difference between keeping a shred of dance card and saving the last dance"

IS THIS HOPE???? ARE WE HANGING ONTO HOPE????

I SURE AM

so, into the river goes harrow

(if you wanna reblog onto better things harrow, this is the post)

there's the corridor from the last time

and she ends up in the locked tomb

always back to the tomb

wonder why the series is called that

but there's nobody in the actual tomb

chains are broken and there's the two-handed sword that the sleeper waker slasher awake love the way you lie had with her

harrow goes to mimir in the tomb

but in she finds...

P*RN

apparently it's a gideon originally imagined piece of high quality fifth house erotica

of course it is

EPILOGUE

six months after the "emperor's murder"

I DON'T THINK HE'S DEAD THOUGH

YANDERE TWIN DECIDED TO RUIN THINGS BECAUSE SHE CAN'T DEAL WITH AUTHORITY REJECTION OR WHATEVER

DON'T MAKE ME GET INTO THIS AGAIN

MY BLOOD PRESSURE CAN'T TAKE IT

sixth house skull though, we love to see that

so there's a "she"

who is being taken care of by three people

one is teaching her how to do necromancy, another how to use a sword and another is taking care of her

maiden, mother and crone

my first bet was judith, regina george twin and camilla

undetermined, though

idk why judith would be helpful, but those are three people we know of that were alive and kickin'

they're eating nice food but when a vendor makes a comment about how "she" should have been hurt by the hot food and she wasn't, they decide to ghost that vendor forever

they're somewhere around soldiers and gunfights

this "she" perspective then starts waxing poetic about the person who takes care of her

and asks "have you worked out who I am?"

and CAMILLA answers "not yet"

WHAT A HOPEFUL THING TO END WITH

THE BOOK ENDS WITH A LIE, THOUGH????

"the tomb will open in alecto the ninth"

gonna have to wait a whole other book for the tomb to open, I guess

harrow's taking a long nap

she deserves it

@lady-harrowhark told me the situation of the book releases when I mentioned how I thought this was a trilogy that had ended and she had to give the "oh, sweet summer child" explanation

who the fuck is nona though

is this "she" nona? maybe it is

she's smiling in the cover, which is already an oddity, but if she's been taking care of by camilla, that's a good reason to smile forever

I NEED TO STOP THEORIZING

ANYWAY, this is it for Harrowcita Del Nueve!!!! The adventure continues, though, because the hiatus I went in allowed me to get Nona beforehand and I already have a cute bookmark for her that my sister gifted me. See you in the next one!!!!

[carlos-in-glasses]

Thank you for the tag @nisbanisba @thisbuildinghasfeelings @heartstringsduet

@paperstorm @carlossreaders @strandnreyes @alrightbuckaroo and @bonheur-cafe 🧡

Some domestic fluff from the upcoming chapter of Rhythms:

“You’ve done so well, sweetheart. You could have wrestled in high school too.”

“You think?” Flattering though it is, TK has to laugh. “Nah. I’d have come in my pants every time, if that’s what it was like.”

“Did your school have the no-underwear policy?”

“Yeah.”

Carlos stares into the distance with horror. “I’d have died.”

“I almost died just walking past the track team once. I actually saw more cock in school than I ever did in club bathrooms years later. Kinda fucked up when you think about it. Urgh, hold on–” TK grimaces and covers his mouth as he coughs himself silly and struggles to catch his breath, his cheeks turning purple.

“Okay, that’s it,” Carlos says, helping him to sit up and open up his lungs. “We’re taking a bath of eucalyptus.”

“You make it sound like it’s going to be totally eucalyptus oil.”

“If that’s what you need.” Carlos, forthright, grabs TK’s hand and drags him up.

“I don’t think we have enough to fill the tub.”

Jokes aside, Carlos does empty half the tincture of eucalyptus aromatherapy oil into the bath water where it blends with chamomile bubble bath. The scent knocks him back for a moment like a light punch to the nose, and when TK walks into the bathroom he holds onto the doorframe for comedic effect.

“I am not playing around,” Carlos says, “We’re getting those bronchial tubes back in action and then you’re relaxing for the rest of the day.”

TK chuckles at his insistence. “We should watch a movie later. Something comforting, from the ‘90s.”

Watching a childhood-favorite, post-bath while eating a slice of orange and chocolate cake, with his husband’s cozy-socked feet in his lap? Nothing sounds better than that right now.

When the bath is ready, Carlos lights candles and pulls the blind to diffuse the afternoon light. It’s beautiful. The light seems to float above the bathwater.

On his phone, Carlos finds a playlist on Spotify called “spa music”, which unexpectedly includes whale song, so they dip into the water to the sound of a whale going, “Weeeehhhhhhhh.”

“We should watch Free Willy,” Carlos says, “That was my favorite. God, I loved that movie when I was a kid. I wanted a pet whale.”

“And we should watch Hocus Pocus while we’re at it,” TK adds.

“And Homeward Bound. They don’t make movies like that anymore.”

TK flicks water at him. “Okay, old man.”

Open tag and tags below:

@henrygrass @the-126-family @corsage

@sapphic--kiwi @emsprovisions @ironheartwriter

@fifthrideroftheapocalypse @nancys-braids @captain-gillian

@butchreyes @literateowl @kiwichaeng

@eclectic-sassycoweyes @pimento-playing-hopscotch

@carlos-tk @whatsintheboxmh @three-drink-amy

@tellmegoodbye @orchidscript @mikibwrites

@herefortarlos @sugdenlovesdingle @honeybee-taskforce

@theghostofashton @freneticfloetry @lemonlyman-dotcom

@chicgeekgirl89 @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut @irispurpurea

@liminalmemories21 @ladytessa74 @welcometololaland @rmd-writes

@lightningboltreader @goodways @reyesstrand - if you want to share/haven't already. No pressure ever! ❤️🩷🧡💛💚💙🩵💜

[tiny-minecraft-rabbit]

Please do Rats Treebark #4!!!

"Captain! Look out!" Martyn shouted, shoving Ren to the side. The snap that resulted turned everything into blinding white fire, an explosion going through his leg.

"Lieutenant!" Ren's voice was distant despite him being right next to him.

Martyn couldn't think. Martyn couldn't see. His world had narrowed to the pain that was moving in waves across his body, centering from the place where the trap had snapped around his leg.

His leg. Thank goodness it was his leg and not the rest of him. Thank goodness it was him and not the Captain. The Captain that had been too focused on backing away from the cat to see the trap in the first place.

Oh FUCK the cat-

"I got you. I got you Lieutenant," Ren's voice was near his ear. He could barely register the Captain's arms wrapped around his own and pulled them further under the cabinet they had slipped uner.

His eyes blinked away the spots just enough to see the cat's paw reaching under. It's claws just barely grazed the trap still snapped around his leg- he quickly closed his eyes when it processed in his brain that that was his leg that was smushed in the trap that was dragging with him.

"You guys okay over there?"

That was.. That was Owen, he had going on the supply run with them. He was on the other side of the room, he thinks, the three of them serperating when the cat had entered.

"No!" Ren's voice was screechy with panic, octaves higher than his voice actually allowed, "Martyn's leg- we can't- we can't leave like this."

"O-Okay. I'll get the cat out the room, lead it away for a bit. Do you think you can get to the tunnel out when I do?" Owen asked, taking charge of the situation quickly despite his own panic.

He could feel Ren's chest heaving. Ren must of sat against the wall and pulled Martyn into his lap. That was nice. "I- I don't think- It's still in the trap! Juice, his leg is still in the trap."

"Shoot. Right, okay. I'm leading the cat out and I'll circle back around. Hang tight you two. Be right back."

Martyn heard the telltale squeak of a rat hitting the floor running and then the skittering of cat claws on a wood floor.

The blinding pain had reduced some, it was still throbing all through out his body, but at least there was some space to think now.

Ther was an arm wrapped around his torso, holding him in place against the Captain, and a hand wrapped around his head and fingers scraping against his ear. It was probably meant to be comforting but Ren was too panicked himself and was scratching a little hard and fast. Not that Martyn minded, it certainly wasn't the worst thing he was feeling at the moment.

"What were you thinking?" Ren muttered, head dropping and resting against Martyn's.

It took Martyn a few deep breaths to get his answer out, fighting against the fog. "You were backing right into it. Would have- Would have been a lot worse than a leg if I didn't do something."

"You could have died," Ren hissed, the hand around his ear unintentionally squeezing. Not painfully. Ren couldn't hurt him.

"My life or yours, Captain? Yours. Every time."

Ren was silent for a moment, "We will be talking about this later. When you're not delirious with pain."

They wouldn't.

Martyn wasn't changing his mind on this. He was a selfish man. A very selfish man; and if potentially dying to a stupid human trap meant he never had to see the end of Ren's life, then so be it.

[bibibbon]

eveyone calling dabi touya after the reveal is making me wanna claw my eyes out because HOW IS EVERYONE MISSING THE POINT SO FUCKING BADLY

THE POINT IS THAT HE ISN’T TOUYA AND HE NEVER WILL BE AGAIN BECAUSE TOUYA IS DEAD

dabi was created from the ashes of touya and that’s literally the whole point

he can never BE touya again because of the things he’s done and the small issue that touya is legally dead

AND WHAT MAKES YOU THINK HE WANTS TO BE TOUYA AGAIN??????

he wants NOTHING to do with the todoroki’s and tries to actively distance himself from his family

ik he is so fucking pissed in the afterlife because everyone is calling him touya when he’s not touya he’s DABI

same with shigaraki. this one is definitely an unpopular opinion but people calling him tenko just feels so wrong to me

i just hate it when people think that just bc it’s technically their real names is means is *their name*

like sure my legal name is my legal name but *my name* is caleb

anyway i just wanna scream sometimes

You bring a very interesting point!!

This is something I haven't really realised, but now that you mentioned it and now that I am looking back at various different posts, I can tell how different people sometimes use dabi and touya interchangeably and yeah actually it makes sense why you're mad about it.

A core part of Dabi's character is that he is no longer Touya. Touya died the minute he went back to his old home, and everyone forgot about him, and nothing changed. The greif and emotions that young touya held to try and appease to his father burned away turning touya into ashes and that's how dabi was born.

Yes, the phoenix imagery with Dabi is strong. The death of touya, where touya turns into ashes and dabi is born from those ashes, is something so slept on by the fandom!!

People using dabi and touya interchangeably is like someone using jink and powder interchangeably. The plot for both mha and arcane has made it clear that those characters are two different people.

Jink isn't powder, and powder isn't jink. They might be the same person genetically speaking, but they aren't the same when it comes to character and personality.

The same thing goes for dabi and shigaraki. However, the plot of Mha does make it an integral part of Dabi's character it literally focuses and says it directly on chapter 350!!

Dabi, like you said, will never be touya, and touya will never be dabi. I have noticed that even when it comes to me writing my analysis, I have never really used dabi and touya interchangeably. When it comes to me talking about touya, I talk about touya, and when I talk about dabi, I talk about dabi (this doesn't make sense, but I have no way of fully explaining it tbh)

Shigaraki is a bit more complicated and a bit of a grey area. Yes, he also has the same thing as both dabi and jink, yet it's not made or focused to be an integral part of his character. I personally blame the writing for that instead.

With shigarakis character, it's kind of the opposite of jink and dabi. What I mean is that the narrative kind of goes out of its way to make it clear that shigaraki will always be tenko even if he tries to reject that. This can be seen with izuku seeing tenko or during shigaraki's fight with afo and mirio he mentions HIS backstory with HIS friends.

As much as shigaraki may try to reject it, he is tenko, and in the end, he acknowledges that. He dies as both tenko and as the leader of the leauge of villains.

[beef-brisket]

Adam walked up the desolate streets of the Pride Ring. Behind him, the exorcists took off to the sky.

Adam could hear the screaming and begging of the sinners not quick enough to get away.

Lute walks up next to him: Year three, sir. Would you like me to stay with you?

Adam: Nah, go kick some ass bitch.

Lute: You to, sir.

She spreads her wings and launches herself up and away from her commander.

Adam sighed. Fuck he hated coming down here. It's been a good six thousand years since he died. And five thousand since he learned just how many of his descendants were ending up here when they died. It was fucking embarrassing.

He didn't want to slaughter them, but Heaven insists it's a better fate than Hell. He thinks they should suffer down here. It's what they deserve. To fall with that bastard who calls himself a king.

Lucifer: Back again, huh? I really thought Heaven was joking! But uh... well, look who's back.

Adam rolled his eyes. This fucking clown. He turns and stares down the "king". The fucking lair.

Adam: Nope. Their dead serious. You signed the contract, asshole, so don't act so surprised.

Lucifer leaned on his cane and waved his hands around.

Lucifer: No, no, I understand the whole contract thing... I'm just surprised, is all. You of all people... actually condoning this? You were so... not this.

Adam didn't want to do this. He struggled for over nine hundred years on earth. He wanted his afterlife. He wanted his peace. But no. He was cleaning up this chuckle fucks mess. He had to raise his son, deal with constant pressure from the angels, deal with Eve's fucking put downs and bulling- while still having to fuck the bitch.

After all these years, he's still picking up after Lucifer. And all he has to do is sit on his bullshit throne and jerk off. Raise a daughter. With a wife who loves him. Adam doesn't have that. He can't. He can't give himself to another. He doesn't dare touch anyone or let them get too close. No one has seen his face for thousands of years.

It's to the point where he doesn't even know if there's someone underneath it. Or if he really has horns and sharp teeth.

Adam: You don't know me.

Lucifer: ...I used to.

Adam glared, his fingers itching to spawn his axe.

Asam: No, you didn't.

Lucifer: Adam- it's been a long time. Don't you think we- you should have moved past this by now? You have your afterlife, live it! Pun intended-.

Adam: I don't have a fucking afterlife. THIS bullshit takes up 98% of it! Do you think I WANT to be fucking down here?! Do you think I WANT to have to fucking see you every fucking year!? I've had enough of this bullshit! But no. Their my descendants- my fucking issue! Picking up YOUR trash! Instead of doing whatever I want, I have to come here and fucking listen to the screams! To the begging! I don't want to be here. I don't want to see you. Or think about you. Or hear you. Or about your fucking bullshit family- I don't give a fuck.

Lucifer: Adam- if you keep doing this, you'll end up down here-.

Lucifer tensed as a giant, golden axe flew past his head. He follows the axe and watches it slam into the torso of a snake sinner. A large one, too. He hears a gutteral scream, the sinner clawing at the heavy axe before falling limp.

Lucifer eyes are wide, and he turns to look at the man he considers- after all these years, his best friend. His sweet, gentle Adam.

He suddenly finds himself looking up at the man. He's so much taller than he was in Eden. He can't read his expression because of that damn mask. How can he be sure that's even his Adam under there?

Adam: I won't fall for your people's sins. I'm here to cleanse them. To rid their souls from this joke of an existence. I'm cleaning up your mess.

Lucifer stares at him. Even as the axe his pulled into Adam's hand, he doesn't flinch. But he could barely keep his eyes off the dark red blood dripping from the blade and down the handle to Adam's hands.

Lucifer: ...this isn't you. This isn't Adam.

Adam: Adam's dead. He died in that fucking garden. And I wish I could fucking join him.

Lucifer was stunned into silence as Adam walked away. He watched him for a few seconds.

Lucifer: You'll end up here Adam! And I'll be waiting for you!

Adam stops and turns to Lucifer, a deranged smile on his face.

Adam: I'll butcher every last one of these fuckers before that happens. And, as soon as that contract is broken, I'll be coming after you, and that little family of yours~.

Lucifer: Don't you DARE threaten them, Adam!

Adam: It's not a threat, it's a fucking promise. I'll show your daughter who you really fucking are, a lair, a cheater, a betrayer, a fucking clown. I'll make her hate you as much as I do.

Lucifer watches as Adam takes off. It's so quick that he almost missed it.

Adam could feel himself start to cry, and it pisses him off. Now he's shedding tears for that fucker. He eyes a group of sinners who aren't running. Good, they haven't noticed him.

Lucifers is about to walk away when a few blocks away. There is an explosion of golden light. It sets the sky on fire, and smoke and dust are sent into the sky. The screaming echoes through the streets.

Lucifer: ...I've lost you.

Adam finds himself standing in the kitchen. His face and chest were soaked with tears. His vision is nothing but gold until he rubs his eyes, and everything slowly returns to normal. He looks down at his chest and hands, their covered in gold. The golden tears he cries.

He looks out the window. It's still dark. He has time to shower and start on Lucifer's breakfast.

Maybe he'll pick some fresh flowers.

I'm coming up with some aus for you, but I need some meeting shenanigans.

I would love to know what bullshit Adam and Lucifer got up to during meetings.

Slowly healing their relationship, one meeting at a time 👀

Well I think the very first one they wouldn't even be alone together because of what happened. I think Adam would just silently glare at him.

Over time when Adam was feeling more confident to face the devil he'd go alone but by hologram, Sera's idea.

Making snide remarks, snappy comments, and being sassy.

And Lucifer would come back with his own and they would end up in banter for a while other than why they are really there.

As more time passes it's less hateful and more playful, maybe even takes on a flirty edge.

And I always see Lucifer being the one to make the first move after what happened in Eden. Adam has so many insecurities he wouldn't think that Lucifer would want him as more than maybe a friend.

Hit me with them bud 👀

[obeymeasks]

I'm not sure if you write angst or not, but if you do can you write the brothers (separately) and mc get into a big argument like a very heated one and the brothers says something like "im so fucking tired of you blah blah blah the next time i see you better be at your funeral" and then like a few hours later mc either dies or is like almost dead but survives you can pick 🫶🏿🫶🏿 FEEL FREE TO MODIFY(?) MY REQUEST AT ALL !! you don't have to write all of the brothers

hi anon!! for sure, i got you!! i'll do just Lucifer for now because i'm SOO bad at angst and in my own personal hc's, i don't think some of them would ever say that (looking at beel). but if you want a specific character other than Luci, just submit another request and i will for sure do that brother for you!!

CW: Angst, Death

Lucifer's Pride

Lucifer had never felt such shame. Even during the Fall, the encumbering weight of all he had said, all he had done, had never been so heavy. But here he stood, unable to face his brothers, who glared at him with such malice as they all stood before your limp body.

It had taken all of his power to bring you back to the brink of life, barely hanging on by a breath, and even then he wasn't entirely sure if it would be enough to keep you stable. But it was all he could do after... after he...

His gloved hands clenched tight, teeth digging into his bottom lip as he willed the tears away that stung at his eyes.

What had he done?

It truly meant nothing, the argument you two had had. Not in the grand scheme of it all. The issue had been brought up before - ad nauseam by now - and had always left you both irrate, both fuming and wishing Hell upon the other. But it was never worth this. So when the words, 'Go off and die, then, if you're so despondent here' left his mouth, he had regretted them instantly. And when that look of shock, confusion, and anger, lit up your once energetic face, Lucifer knew he had to apologize. But... for some reason... his pride has gotten the better of him yet again. And so you had stormed off, with no more words between you.

Perhaps if he had gone after you, had not let you leave alone in that storm, things would have turned out different.

He wouldn't be here, now gripping onto your hand as if it were all that kept you alive still. He wouldn't be uncertain if he would ever see those beautiful eyes open once more.

He would let go of his pride.

[atanxdoesstuff]

"Whenever I die... my memories are uploaded into a new body. But are they really 'mine'?"

aand my WIP is done! done-ish. idk what to add anymore; rendering is a social construct

ramblings + timelapse under the cut!

awright, so this piece was originally part of a comic-thing that i sketched out in my sketchbook. but it was just something i slapped on figuring i'd rework the composition later. well, i couldn't. it was too crowded. so this is severely reduced from the original plan.

the gist of it is that: obv the top left connor is connor-51. the side connor is actually connor-52. 51 died in "the hostage", but he did still manage to save emma! (i blame dbh youtube poop for making me think connor and daniel could shoot each other. so even tho thats not canon, let's just pretend that happened here lol)

now when you move files on your device, you aren't actually moving them. what you're doing is essentially copying the file into a new location and erasing the original. and based on this premise, i have inflicted an existential crisis on 52! :D it's sort of similar to soma, and their brain scans. is 52 the same person as 51? is it a continued existence or did 51 as a person die on that terrace, with 52 just simulating continued existence?

the game has conflicting stances there: on one hand, connor often says shit like "my predecessor was destroyed", implying that he thinks he's a different person. on the other, he also says shit like "i'll be back" and "this isn't over". and additionally, if hank has chosen to force quit life but connor still turns deviant, connor gets wrecked by 60 and to win, "transfers" himself into 60's unharmed body. and this is framed like an actual transfer.

i feel like if the data is "moved", it's not the same person anymore. to ensure the data transfer doesn't essentially kill the person and resurrect them as a clone of themselves, I think you'd need to physically disconnect, move and reconnect the memory storage device. if we're basing android physiology on currently existing tech, at least. but that's just my headcanon i use to inflict existential dread.

and here's the timelapse! :))

as you can see I've struggled a lot with this work :P i think i got to a point where this looks pretty fine to me (i still really like how i drew 52 here), although it could deffo be better.

i really want to also draw markus more. i've never even made a proper illustration for him but honestly i tried to digitally paint the grenade launcher scene bc its so pretty and i failed miserably. painting in digital is so hard?? idk i should research some stuff on how to do that because i really want to paint that scene still.

also north. north with the grenade launcher :O fuck i want north with the grenade launcher.

[hanzajesthanza]

i feel like i just got so used to ciri and how natural ciri and geralt’s relationship left, via being introduced to the witcher via witcher 3, and then reading the middle of the saga before i finished the short stories…

that i never really innately picked up on the fact that ciri turning out to be geralt’s daughter and not his son was… uhm, part of the entire surprise, let’s put it that way :’)

geralt and ciri are just soooo natural as a father and daughter duo that i can’t imagine it any other way, if ciri had been a boy this would have been way less remarkable as a series, there would be no witcher series as we know it. so to me ciri being a girl was the normal and default, expected way things were supposed to go.

even when i read a question of price-sword of destiny-something more for the first times, i was like “ok” when ciri being a girl was a switch of expectations: geralt (and, supposedly, the reader) having expected pavetta to have a son. like… “alright, it’s a girl, so what.”

i had to be informed about how this was an intentional shock… not only because i’m not a parent, but i mean, well, ultrasounds get mixed up all the time, right… it’s not so uncommon to have a kid and be surprised by the gender…

and because of this, i was more inclined to eyeroll at blood of elves being preachy with going over ciri’s biological sex what seemed like ten million times in chapters two and three… what with the whole “daughter has her first period” subplot, ciri upset over her lack of potential strongmanship, and the witchers mostly relying on triss for guidance in raising a girl. the moral being both “just raise her like any other child” and “be sensitive to her needs that you’re blind to…”

although i still think these segments have visibly aged and date the series (not inherently a bad thing, just a quality of it)… they do make more sense when i try to empathize more with the perspective of a new father… who didn’t know he was receiving a girl… who thought she died… who only got her back through a miracle… and having to raise a girl… that’s not a young child anymore, not yet a teen, but is very shortly going to start going through puberty?! it’s like growing up in the desert, just learning what water is, and then getting thrown into the ocean.

because “having to raise a girl” still doesn’t seem that strange to me, but then i remember geralt didn’t see a woman and only had heard about them as a concept until he was an adult (because “warrior-monk” realness), he grew up with a hole in his heart that his absent mother bore, he lives in a highly gendered society, he experiences hostility from everybody of course but especially from women and girls, who take fright at him for… specific reasons explained by the old women in edge of the world…

no, geralt’s not helpless, but i forget, because he acts normal, but… (i mean, although he has issues, he could have really gone off his rocker with regards to women, a little sacrifice confirms this and vilgefortz embodies this) i forget that geralt’s inexperience with women… mostly manifesting in anxiety and both uncertain and impulsive behavior… like ghosting with a nosegay of flowers, the “dear friend” and all… would affect his view of the gender as a whole, including how he sees ciri. and it does.

in his situation, yes, having to raise a girl does intensify the element of “what the fuck am i doing”. especially as a single dad.

and although i do like it when the pov shifts from geralt in the saga but just to another person in the room, for how he becomes more of a distant and enigmatic figure, seeing him through others’ eyes always makes fills me with this uncertainty. buuuut, i would fucking adore blood of elves chapters two and three through geralt’s eyes just for how much of an emotional wreck he must have been… and trying not to show it to her :(