#Katya Woods

[russian-dallas]

Особенности домов в Далласе

Особенности домов в Далласе

Для Северного Техаса очень актуальны благоустроенные патио Многоэтажки Нью-Йорка, дворцы Лос-Анжелеса, аккуратные таунхаусы Бостона, фермы Оклахомы, ранчо Техаса. Согласитесь, что жизнь в каждом штате, в том числе в Техасе, имеет свои нюансы во всех областях и сферах, начиная от кухни и заканчивая общением. Есть у техасцев устоявшиеся традиции и привычки и относительно жилья, причем, многие из…

[silvertiefling]

❛ i’m trying to fix your hair, so hold still. ❜ / @faebhaal

&. 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬. // @faebhaal

Katya grumbled, trying to stay still, but that was never something she was good at.

" What's the point? S'not like it's gonna stay fixed anyway," she scoffed, huffing as she leaned into the fey's touch.

[blogthefiresidechats]

Latest haul today!

I visited my local book store today and found some more books. I think I was able to get so many because everything I found today was from the bargain section. I am surprised people don’t drive by where I live and think my house is another branch of the local library……

[fuegoesquivo]

A un año

A un año de su creación, este blog ha cambiado de uso. La lujuria oculta en la experiencia estética dio paso a la lujuria a secas, y de allí al deseo, a la melancolía. Lo que hay en el deseo no es exclusivamente sexual, sino otro tipo de contacto, de intimidad. Seguido, cuando me masturbo, me invade esa melancolía. Añoro otro tipo de contacto, de complicidad en la desnudez, el consentimiento y el placer, incluso en las fantasías de dominación que he comenzado a tener. Añoro el tacto, el aroma de la respiración, la humedad y el conocimiento y control cercano de otro cuerpo, otro sueño. Todo esto es inseparable de las cursilerías que acompa��an al amor y los poemas que antaño, en otra vida, escribía. Poemas cortos, pequeños, húmedos, para nada sexuales, pero muy excitantes.

Bueno, como sea, aprovecho la circunstancia para dejar una lista de las etiquetas más importantes en este blog.

Trop Special permitaseme soñar artistic nude sweet elegante Fuego Close Up senos piernas piel descubierta trasero monte de venus pies sombrero y mis modelos favoritas, en ningún orden Anna Tatu Viktoriia Aliko Gloria Sol Katya Clover Serena Wood Rachel Cook Caramel Siya Miller Marta Gromova

[gingerhastoomanyobsessions]

not to post like it’s still 2022 but how did nobody notice that goncharov was a Macbeth adaptation???

like. we’ve got our troubled protag (macbeth/goncharov) whose ambitious wife (lady mac/katya) pressures him into clawing his way to the top of a violent power structure (scotland’s monarchy/the italian mafia). he ends up ordering the death of a former friend because said friend realizes what he’s done (sending assassins after banquo/sending ice pick joe after mario, but the latter has more emotional depth since joe and mario were friends). valery takes on the role of the witches by supplying goncharov with ominous warnings and hinting that all is preordained as he tries to bring goncharov to justice. in reaction, goncharov attempts to destroy potential threats (sending ice pick after andrey and sofia, who survive because of joe’s failure to go through with it and subsequent death in the church scene), paralleling the assassination of the macduff family. it’s also when we get that sweet gunfight amid the historical ruins, but that’s not important rn. when katya learns that goncharov tried to have sofia killed, she breaks down and tries to shoot him on the bridge scene (“if you loved me you wouldn’t have missed” etc etc) before almost throwing herself over the edge, bringing to mind lady macbeth’s mental collapse and subsequent suicide. instead of birnam wood coming to dunsinane, we get the boat scene. when goncharov asked valery why he was so determined to bring him back to russia to be prosecuted instead of just killing him, valery told goncharov “you’re untouchable so long as you’re on Italian soil” and the boat isn’t technically on Italian soil. andrey and goncharov have their stand-off at the ship’s wheel, symbolizing their fight for control over the system. meanwhile, sofia and katya make their escape, getting the chance to survive and leave the system of violence that killed their shakespearean counterparts. goncharov doesn’t know that katya is still alive, so his speech winding up his pocketwatch when he’s talking about how her time ran out and how nothing could stop the clocks? that was his “tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow” moment! when andrey shoots goncharov and DOESN’T MISS, it’s not just gay, it’s his “man of no woman born” parallel. he managed to do what nobody else could. but this movie has no malcolm character to bring the system back to normal and take the throne/lead the mafia. it’s just andrey at the wheel. and the deafening ticking of goncharov’s pocketwatch, laying face-open in the pool of blood, before it runs out of time and winds down for good.

[deathbypufferfish]

~ click here to read the written story while you read this legacy post! It is under the cut as well ~

So many good things happened that night. Getting a fake relationship off your chest, coming out, touching. If only Ilya hadn't tried to kiss him. And if only he wasn't drunk enough that Haru had stop him. Maybe then Ilya wouldn't have run away and maybe then neither of their hearts would be broken. Too many things happened that night.

Full written scene under cut (word count: 1635)

Somewhere in-between Emi’s keg-stand and Joe’s flirting, Haru had lost track of Ilya.

What began as a simple scope around the room had quickly turned into a frantic search and a pit of anxiety in Haru’s stomach. The last time he saw Ilya he was downing his beer with fervor. It was something he had never seen before. He wondered if he had ever even seen him drink in the first place.  Anxious thought upon thought was stacking up in his brain when the most obvious location finally came to mind. His dorm room. 

The tower of thoughts toppled over and a new mixture of emotions arose. Anticipation and excitement. Haru had accepted weeks ago that things between him and the dancer would never be more than friendly, but the feelings he tucked away were hard to keep down. They haunted him at night and filled idle daydreams throughout the day. Imagining scenario after scenario. But that was all they were and all they ever could be, daydreams. He just needed to find Ilya already.

Once down the hall Haru could tell by the dim glow underneath his door that his bedside lamp was still on. He walked in and his hunch was confirmed. Ilya was sitting on the floor, his back leaned up against Haru’s bed, and his shoes were off . He lazily stroked the wooden grooves of the nightstand. Slowly and exaggerated. It was very apparent that he was drunk out of his mind.

“I’m sorry, I was looking at your stuff,” he slurred.

“Huh?”

“I’ve been looking at all your things. Like your pictures…and your books…” He barely spoke louder than a murmur. His fingers still traced the wood as he spoke.

“Oh, um, that’s alright.” Haru didn’t know what else to say. Not a single thing made sense to him right now. Ilya was drunk, in his room, and apparently perusing through his things. That pit of anxiety returned with a vengeance. Ilya finally turned to look at him. His eyes were red. His shirt collar was wet with tears. Haru’s actions came to him so naturally after that.

He let him help him off the floor and onto his bed. There was no protest or drunken apologies. Ilya simply stared at him with an expression that felt so blank and yet so sad. His gaze felt heavy on him. Intrusive even.

He knelt to the ground and grabbed his shoes. Without even thinking, he began to put them back on Ilya. He immediately felt like such a fool, but it was too late. Stopping now would be worse, right? Right? As he tied his laces he dared to take a peek up at Ilya’s face. He was covering his face with both of his hands, but Haru could still see furious blushing on the tips of his ears. He finished tying his shoes as quickly as possible as the blood rushed to his own face as well.

Haru sat next to Ilya on his bed at a respectful distance, and they both sat in silence for an uncomfortable minute or so. Ilya shifted back and forth every once and a while, seemingly always on the edge of saying something. At last he spoke in just a soft enough whisper to hear.

“I’ve never had a friend like you.”

“What do you mean?” Haru turned to look at him, but still found him evading his gaze. Ilya rubbed his hands along the knees of his jeans. Slowly feeling the rough fabric slide to and fro underneath his palms. Haru thought it almost sounded like the rolling of waves along a shore. Every sentence seemed to take him a great deal of time to form and think through. Whether it was the alcohol or nerves, Haru couldn’t tell.

“I mean, I’m close with Katya, but not like I am with you.”

“Well, she’s your girlfriend. Of course it would be different.”

“No, no, it’s not different,” he snapped. “She's not actually my girlfriend.”

Ilya squeezed his eyes shut and clenched the fabric in his hands. What was he talking about? Did they break up? Haru had seen them talking to each other just an hour ago. If he was honest, he hadn’t been watching them that closely. He’d rather not see his unrequited crush talk to his girlfriend, but he would have at least noticed any domestic tension.

The reality of Ilya’s confession dawned on him. They weren’t in a real relationship and maybe never were. They were faking it. When he looked at it under this lens, he realized that they never truly interacted as a couple. Of course, except when Katya would kiss Ilya in front of him. Maybe it was for show. Maybe it was Katya’s disdain for Haru. But Ilya had just confessed that their relationship was never truly romantic. More than that, Haru thought about what this may mean for Ilya’s sexuality.

“Oh…I see.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” he whispered.

Ilya finally turned to look at him. They were closer together than Haru initially realized. He couldn’t help but examine every mole, every crease, every detail of his sorrowful, yet beautiful face. It was hard to breathe in such close proximity. The hugs they had shared before felt prudish in the shadow of this intimacy.

He tried to deny it, but he felt as if Ilya was doing the same thing. The way he was leaning in, the way his chest heaved with his shallow breaths. That far-fetched idea of him loving him back felt so tangible all of a sudden. And it was terrifying

“It’s okay. You could have never told me, and it would still be okay,” he whispered back. “I care about you.”

Ilya opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. His face was burning red again. His eyes wide and dilated. Haru couldn’t bear it, being so close. It was pure torture. As his stomach flipped and the heat rose in his chest he took his chance and laid a soft hand over Ilya’s.

It was stiff and terribly awkward at first. Ilya had frozen so quickly you would think he would shatter. Haru was wondering if he had made a grave mistake when Ilya’s deep breath interrupted him. In just a moment more he mellowed under his touch, simply letting his hand lay atop his own. For a moment everything fell still. They did not speak, they just sat in each other’s presence. After a while things began to feel tense again, overwhelming even, so Haru broke the silence.

“How about we get you some coffee?” he said.

Ilya was still staring at the floor, but a small smile had crept up onto his stern face. He nodded. Haru stood up and tried to gain his composure before leaving the privacy of his dorm room. Ilya followed suit, but wobbled at his own sudden movement. Haru grabbed his elbow and steadied him with a soft chuckle. Coffee was a requirement at this point. Ilya stared at Haru's hand on his arm and before Haru could even react he found himself in his arms.

Sure they had hugged before, but it was fleeting and friendly. This was something else entirely. Ilya was practically hanging off him, pressing most of his weight into their embrace. He pressed his face into his shoulder and sighed. Haru could have passed out right then and there. This entire night was threatening his ability to stay conscious, honestly. It was worth it, he decided, and pressed his cheek to the top of the shorter man’s head. His curls tickled his nose. It was hard to not think about how much he loved him.

Ilya pulled away only slightly, their faces mere inches apart. He leaned in further. Their lips had only barely made contact when Haru had brought a hand up to his chest. He pushed him away as gently as he could. He was drunk, too drunk, but those words could not get out faster than Ilya's face fell. Complete and utter horror.

”No, Ilya, please wait! I love you, I do!”

It was too late. Ilya bent his head under the weight of his shame. He shoved him off so hard Haru stumbled into the nightstand, knocking the lamp onto its side. He grabbed at Ilya’s sleeve, tears streaming down his face, but Ilya shook him off once again.

“Don’t fucking touch me.”

His voice was layered with so much emotion it pierced Haru’s heart like a dagger. It was over. He humiliated him. He had humiliated himself. 

Ilya slammed the door shut in his escape. Haru ran after him, but lingered as he reached for the doorknob. He couldn’t run after him in the midst of the party. It would just have made things worse, much worse. He knew this, yet it took everything in him to not open that door and chase after him anyways. To tell him how much he loved him. How he didn’t want him to have any regrets about their first kiss being a drunk, crying mess. He couldn’t tell if it was the right or wrong thing to do. The heartbreak had crippled any logical thought or reason he could have come up with. It didn’t matter anymore.

He slid down the door as the floodgates opened up. It was hard to breathe. It was hard to even think through the sobs that tore through him. The banging at the door began as Emi shouted at him to move out of the way in-between asking what happened. Eventually he would let her in and eventually he would stop crying, but for now all he could do was lay down and hope he would sink into the floor. Into nothing. Never to be seen again.

[aquaaquila]

The Owl House Family Tree

Behold, the family of the Owl House mixed with my headcanons that I made because I felt like it, and gosh is it crazy. Explanation under the cut lol

The Grimwalkers (and Hunter who's a grimwalker) were created by Philip, essentially being his children, but Philip created them using Caleb's DNA and modeled them in his image. So yeah, they pretty much are both parents of Grimwalkers as they're not perfect clones of Caleb and it's fucked up in plenty of ways

Since both Gwen and Dell are theorized to be descendants of Clawthorne with how Gwendolyn follows the mold of Clawthorne women with her looks, power, and name. Still, then there's Dell who has an uncanny resemblance to Philip and Caleb, along with being the best wood-carver in the wood-carving family, so it's not clear who's the Clawthorne and who was married to Clawthornes, I went a different route. I made Gwendolyn a very very distant descendant of Clawthorne's ancestor (16 generations and possibly even more), whereas Dell is the descendant of Caleb as a compromise.

Lilith and Hooty are in QPR.

I included Hooty's mom along with possible ancestors and used the tapeworm in Titan's eye as a point of reference.

The BATTs are adopted children of Raine and Eda's co-parent to them. She however adopted the Collector, King, and Luz individually, even though Raine also would co-parent them to an extent. Granted Eda was called "mama Eda" by Amber, whereas Luz, King, and the Collector never referred to Raine as their parent.

Raine and Eda are neither dating nor married, but a secret third thing. And the same applies to Darius and Alador

Camila and Perry Porter (Gus's dad) are in QPR as well.

Professor Hermonculus is Amity's grandparent because yes xD

Eberwolf and Darius are "like brothers" but they aren't officially brothers by either blood or adoption, or they're necessarily in QPR. They're just bros.

Darius had a failed relationship that resulted in Gavin (that abomination Glandus kid). That's rather a leftover theory with plenty of story-telling potential that came back from season 2A days when we knew nothing about Darius and were looking for some connections. The picture of the mom came from the old photo from Reaching Out.

Gavin is dating Cat (Amity's former friend, she set them up).

There was a funny theory that once I heard about Mason being dad of Willow's dad and I decided to go along with it because A) I find it funny, especially since the point of connection is how alike they look, and B) explains where Willow got her green eyes from.

Mason is a grandparent of Matt and Steve, as I figured he's too old to maybe be just their dad IMO, but he could still be. It's also an old and forgotten theory from times of TOH S2B when Steve got revealed to be Matt's step-brother (meaning they share one parent and have 2 different parents of their own) and there were storyboards of ASIAS that revealed there was a storyline with Mason and Tholomules, granted as I said, it was forgotten so I can't say it's really valid.

Steve and Katya are dating. @secretly-of-course here is your Stevatya mention.

Any other questions? The ones that aren't asking who is who, unless it is a really obscure character then let me know.

[welldonekhushi]

Call of Duty OC: Katya Kovalevskaya 🌹

An updated bio sheet of Katya! The last one felt like it was straight Wiki format style, but doesn't really explain her character properly, I also added some changes to her character as well so, here you go! <3

GENERAL:

Name: Katya

Full name: Yekaterina Viktornovna Kovalevskaya

Codename: "Katyusha"

Alias(es): Lady of Death (by the Red Army), Mama Katya (by her soldiers), Der Russische Leutnant (by the Germans)

Age: 32 years old (Call of Duty: World at War), 58 years old (Call of Duty: Black Ops), 70 years old (Black Ops: Cold War)

Gender: Female

Nationality: Russian

Languages spoken: Russian, German (for intelligence purposes), English

Date of birth: June 15, 1916

Place of Birth: Ural Mountains, Imperial Russia

Sexuality: Heterosexual

Martial Status: Single

Occupation: Senior Lieutenant and Sniper of the Red Army (retires after the events of the first Black Ops)

Status: Active

Rank: Senior Lieutenant (1942), Lieutenant Colonel (1945)

Affiliation: Red Army, CIA (briefly)

Universe: Call of Duty: World at War, Call of Duty: Black Ops, Black Ops: Cold War (alternative AU)

Faceclaim: Anna Chipovskaya

Song: "Katyusha" by Boris Alexandrov

Biography: Yekaterina, commonly known as Katya joins the Red Army for the service of the Soviet Union to avenge her parents death under the hands of German forces. While defending her country amidst the raging Second World War, she faces tremendous amounts of obstacles and barriers in her life which often try to make them as her weakness, but the woman was sworn to take her last breath in achieving one goal with her comrades — and that was liberating Berlin.

AFFILIATIONS:

3rd Shock Army (Red Army)

Sergeant Viktor Reznov [K.I.A]

Private Dimitri Petrenko [K.I.A]

Private Chernov [K.I.A]

Commissar Markhov [fate unknown]

Major General Nikita Dragovich [K.I.A]

Colonel Lev Kravchenko [fate unknown]

CIA (Call of Duty: Black Ops)

Alex Mason

Frank Woods

Jason Hudson

Grigori Weaver

SKILLS AND ABILITIES:

Weapon induced: Scoped Mosin-Nagant, Tokarev (TT-33), PPSh-41, Molotov Cocktail, RGD-33

Fighting style: Hand-to-hand combat, but rarely, since she's more used to being a sniper giving covering fire

Special skills: Is a very experienced sniper, that gave her the infamous name of "Lady of Death", but Katya didn't want to coin such a name for herself when she was only serving her people as a soldier of the frontlines.

Talents: Knows natural remedies, holds a lot of empathy for others, can speak fluent German even if she knows a little bit of it

Shortcomings: Due to the incident, she lost her face partially along with the half-vision of her eye throughout the accident, faces survivors guilt, is a bit mentally depressed but she's able to push those negative thoughts down

PERSONALITY:

Myers-Briggs Type: ISFJ (The Defender)

Is very protective towards her comrades: Ever since she lost her parents, Katya had always been searching for a way to cope up with her loss by taking care of the people she loves and believes in the most. Even if she never married, or birthed a child, she automatically unlocked her motherly instincts by calling her comrades as her "sons and daughters", considering them as her one, found family.

Ruthless, but at times merciful: Katya has shown immense strength and courage in the battlefield as a sniper and a squad leader, haunting the Germans in their own sleep thinking Katya wouldn't kill them and make the mattress they're sleeping on as their deathbed. But also, when Katya wants to show mercy, she'll show it. She thinks there's no use to wasting her own bullets on someone who already decided to surrender to the Red Army.

Emotional: Let it be a soldier dying, or a civilian, she'll ask forgiveness from God that she wasn't able to save an innocent despite having the duty to protect her own people. The incident that killed all of her soldiers left her deeply scarred, and believed she committed a bigger sin for being too naive and careless, and she deserved the impact on her face. It was even worse when Nikita Dragovich killed her teammates again by putting them as test subjects for the Nova 6 experiment that made her grow deranged and bloodthirsty to hunt Dragovich and his lapdog, Kravchenko in a fit of vengeance, until the CIA caught her presence.

Intelligent and observant: Katya is more aware of her surroundings ever since the incident impacted her, which caused her to be very vigilant, and grew her intelligence in the battlefield which made her useful for the Red Army as a sniper and as a squad leader in the infantry.

BACKGROUND STORY

Katya was born around 1916 with her mother Elizaveta Kovalevskaya (neé Petrova) and father, Viktor Kovalevsky. Spending her childhood in the Ural Mountains, she learnt how to snipe at a young age from her father, who was a hunter, the reason why she took her father's skill in the field of sniping.

In 1939, she recruited herself in the Red Army as a sniper, in which her talent gave a huge role and reputation among the soldiers as a source of bravery, courage and inspiration, that gave her the name "Lady of Death". But, Katya on the other hand didn't want to coin such a name for herself when she believes she's only doing it for the protection of her own people.

But, in 1941, when Germany attacked Soviet Russia under "Operation Barbarossa", her village became a victim of the attacks, which ended up killing her family in the process. Broken and enraged, Katya wanted to avenge her parents death by going through missions and eliminating every single enemy who tried to cross the Soviet borders. Her life completely changed when one day she encountered General Heinrich Amsel, who was responsible for the death of her family along with many others, wanted to kill him by her own hands but never succeeded because he evaded before she could get to him.

Furious, the General wanted to eliminate Katya in her path, by luring her into a trap that he was staying at a hotel and could grab her an opportunity to end his life there. But little to her knowledge, it was all a set up, when he used that entire building as a decoy with the explosives attached. His soldiers locked away his teammates, including Katya but she was able to break through it. In a desperate attempt to find her comrades who were still locked inside, it was too late before the explosion could take effect, and blew her out of the building, leaving her drastically injured.

The explosion was the turning point of her life, where it emotionally scarred her and made her regret being a soldier, when she couldn't even protect her own soldiers, who basked into the flames of Amsel's planned explosion. She was taken for medical assistance, which took her a month to recover physically, and mentally. But, that didn't stop Katya from retiring, as her mind still revolved around that one goal — to eliminate General Amsel, and push all the German forces back from invading Russia.

Somewhere around 1942, she was promoted to Senior Lieutenant, and became the squad leader for the 3rd Shock Army, and participated in the Battle of Stalingrad alongside Pvt. Dimitri Petrenko and Sgt. Viktor Reznov. As the General's whereabouts were found, she led her team throughout the warzone and successfully countered Amsel, which led to his untimely death under the hands of Dimitri's sniper rifle. Katya, who held immense pride for the Private for doing something she couldn't, made him along with Reznov and Chernov as her closest comrades.

After the entire battle, in 1945, they finally achieved victory by liberating Berlin by hoisting the Soviet flag on the Reichstag, Katya was now at peace, hoping for a better future after the war's end.

But, somehow.. her life was going to go into a bigger turmoil, when she gets sent to the mission around the Arctic Circle, leading the events of the first Black Ops.

[paradoxarchive]

i feel his absence in everything;

a web weave about pet loss

terry pratchett | katya minkina | vita sackville-west | will wood | ryuko azume | hot mulligan | jamie anderson | unknown | lemony snicket | chloe frayne

[anchor-ice]

ok since the overall response was positive i'm gonna tell you a bit about this project!

this is a series of jokey mini-comics detailing the (after) lives of a band of ghosts who are stuck in an abandoned summer camp near omsk location pending in 2005. this is basically bbc ghosts but russian and with more gore.

katya is the only one who's alive! she's 15 and started seing ghosts after her shitty boyfriend crashed his bike with her in the back seat. she's trying to help the ghosts mediate their relationships with eachother and the world, and they're helping her with homework (sometimes) or being general nuisances (more often).

the pilot died in 1944 when his plane crashed while he was test-flying it. he was wounded in the frontlines and sent home to recover, but decided to help out in the poiloting school in the meantime. the guy on whose watch the plane crashed was shot for sabotage afterwards, and his ghost in turn is pretty resentful about that, because it was just the lack of funds and old equipment going out. plot: katya helping them meet and make peace with eachothers deaths. the pilot had a daughter himself and thus is feeling very paternal towards katya. most organised and helpful of the ghosts. died with one broken cigarette whick they all now share and an officers notepad with his papers and maps, where he sketches from time to time (it all disappears after he stops concentrating 😔) has ideological beef with the suit and ex-beef with the sailor (they are besties now).

the sailor died in 1921 during the kronstadt rebellion and was very surprised when he woke up near omsk. he had a precious cigar case that was lost a year before his death, and in the chaos of th civil war found itself in a magpie's nest in the woods near omsk. his soul is tied to this case, and he spends a lot of time trying to get to the case and taunting the magpie family (unsuccessfully). has a tin of cocaine, 4 machine gun belts, no machine gun and an attitude. loves asking katya to marry him and run away to saint-petersburg together. plot: katya finally getting him his cig case back. obsessed with space and in love with yuri gagarin, wants to find and meet his ghost

the suit died in 1997 during a buisness deal gone wrong, shot and buried on the abandoned camp territory, is still a bit pissed about that. is disgusted by the starry-eyed belief in the happines of all mankind the pilot and the sailor exibit and in general is tormented by the fact tht he will have to spend his afterlife in a summer camp surrounded by these people. loves to come harass the monk living in the lake nearby to get some sort of ideological closure and figure out how afterlife works. plot: getting katya the money to move to another sity when she goes to uni

the bomber died in 1896. tried to sicide bomb a govt official but was discovered and sentenced to death, later pardoned bc of Nicholas 2 acending to the throne, sentence switched to siberian exile for 25 years with no rights to return. killed herself out of boredom and despair. gets along well with the sailor (he is slightly intimidated by her), would really like to talk to the monk but he doesn't answer to anyone. plot: idk so far 😔

the bear victims - a lego of bear victim parts. that's it. a comedic side character.

the monk died alone on an island in the lake in ????, the island was later blown up to increase the water capacity flowing from the lake to a water reservoir. doesn't talk to any of the other characters bc of his seraphimic schema and vow of silence & solitude. slowly warming to the idea of breaking his vow and trying to help the other ghosts move on, because if god's not letting him go, that must be for a reason, right? plot: speaking to katya

[fandomsandflyingstingrays]

Reposting yesterday's fic because I accidentally published the first, highly unedited draft... it's Fine

Also, it's now on AO3!

Raine had been counting down to the Day of Unity all year, had burned the number of days and hours remaining into their mind, but somehow, it still felt like they should have had more time. Headquarters was in chaos, people calling out over each other, the air a mess of requests and worries. A blessed, momentary silence occurred when Katya dropped her tambourine— only for the panic to double as she realized it left her without an instrument.

“Can you play the bell cittern?” Raine asked. At her nod, they wove their way through the crowd to the back of the room where the beds lay, the only truly peaceful corner, where Eda was sitting with Luz.

“Eda, I was wondering if I could borrow— why do you have a box of toenails?”

Luz gave a muted laugh. “She was using it to hide this,” she said, holding up a log of blue wood.

“And the mystery of who depleted the Bonesborough Garden Club’s precious stash is answered,” Raine said, casting an amused glance at Eda. She winked, and they quickly turned their gaze back to Luz. “What are you going to carve?”

“I… don’t know. Eda taught me the basics, but…”

She was quiet for almost a minute before Raine realized she wasn’t going to finish the sentence.

“So,” Eda said finally, “what was it you needed?”

“Oh— I was wondering if Katya could borrow your bell cittern. Her tambourine was a… casualty of rushed preparations.”

“I’d love to say yes, but I don’t have it on me. I was so busy grabbing my fabulous toenails from the Emperor’s stash of all my stuff that I didn’t have time to look for anything else, and obviously I can’t just summon it anymore.”

Raine drew a circle in the air, and the bell cittern fell into their arms. It was Eda’s turn to look away.

“Right. I forgot that you still remember its magical signature.”

“Of course I do.”

I never forgot you, they wanted to say. I’m sorry for making you believe that I did. I’m so glad you never really believed it.

But the Day of Unity was in two days. There was no time for distractions or regret, only what needed to be done.

“Could you give it to Katya and make sure she knows what she’s doing?” they asked instead. “She’s a talented musician, but any bard worth their bile sack would still benefit from your expertise.”

A smile tugged at the corners of Eda’s lips. “You got it.” To Luz, she added, “Give me a shout if you need me, all right?”

The young human nodded, not looking up from her wood. Raine had a million other things to do, a million questions to answer, but for reasons they couldn’t quite explain, they found themself perching beside her, taking the spot Eda had vacated.

“You know, Eda taught me how to carve my palisman, too. Her dad taught her a few months before our class was supposed to learn, and she couldn’t resist passing on the forbidden knowledge.” They said the words in a low, dramatic tone, and were rewarded with a faint smile. “It still took me a while to figure out what I wanted, though.”

“That’s my problem, too,” she sighed. “Your palisman is supposed to represent your future, but for the last month, I haven’t been able to think about anything beyond the Day of Unity. I have no idea what my future is supposed to look like… or my palisman.”

“I get that,” Raine said, the words coming out a little more bitterly than they intended. To soften them, they added quickly, “but Eda told me that you both know about the portal the emperor has in the skull. As soon as we defeat him, we’ll take control of it. We’ll be able to get you home.”

Tears welled in Luz’s eyes, but they didn’t look grateful or hopeful. Just sad.

“Luz?”

She wiped her eyes. “I want to go home. I do. I miss my mom so bad, but… she made me promise, the last time I saw her, that when I went back, I would stay there for good.”

“What? But… you have a family here. It sounds like you two love each other a lot. Why would she want to take that from you?”

“That’s not how she sees it,” Luz said quickly. “It’s just… things are different in the Human Realm. You can’t do magic, or tell anyone about magic, and if you disappear or get injured by like… detention monsters or plants with fangs, that’s not normal. That’s not something you can explain.” She shrugged. “I want to be with my mom. I know she loves me, and I love living with her. But… that would also mean I couldn’t be a witch. There are no human witches.” She laughed quietly. “Besides the one who’s trying to kill everyone, I guess. What I’m trying to say is, the Demon Realm and the Human Realm… they’re what my teachers would call mutually exclusive. I have to choose.”

“That sounds a lot like Belos’s thinking, you know.”

Luz flinched, and Raine tried to make their next words as gentle as possible. “I’m not trying to compare you to him. I’m just saying, this whole business of needing to choose sounds a lot like what he’s been telling us all these years. That we can only take one path. That works for some people. But there are lots of people who can never fit into it, and they shouldn’t be ignored.”

Luz’s expression didn’t change, and they tried again.

“When I was born, I was given a set of words to identify me that didn’t feel right. For a while, I thought that meant I should go the opposite route, but that didn’t feel good either. What finally made me feel settled was choosing not to choose. To just exist, without any expectations or labels that would make people feel like they knew who I was before I got the chance to tell them.”

That made Luz let out a long breath, and something seemed to loosen in her when she looked up at them. “I get that,” she said quietly. “In the Human Realm, they have a lot of rules. A lot of people think you should stick with the identity you were born with. Follow the role they lay out for you. Love the people they want you to love. And like you said, that works for some people, but it never really worked for me. Getting to come here, getting to be away from that, it was nice, but… I never fully belonged here, either.”

“But you made your own way,” Raine told her. “Eda explained about your talent with glyphs. You found your own magic. I’d bet the Human Realm could use some of that, too.” “Glyphs don’t work in the Human Realm.”

“They wouldn’t work without you either. You are the magic I was talking about, Luz. You’ve done so many impossible things during your time here. What’s one more?”

Finally, she gave them a real smile. “You know, I think you’re the first person I’ve met here who’s just as sappy as me.”

They winked. “I can tell we’re going to be good friends. But only if you come visit from time to time.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“That’s good enough for me.”

Luz released a shaky breath and turned back to the wood in her hands. “Could you… show me how to round the top? Eda went over it, but I want to make sure I get it right.”

“Of course. Round, huh? Are you carving a chicken?”

Luz laughed. “You know, that’s sort of close. I’m going to cave an egg.”

“An egg?”

“Yeah. I still don’t know what I want my future to look like… or theirs. But I want us both to be able to choose.” She waved a hand at the maps on the tables and the banners on the walls, at the assembled revolution. “That’s what this is all about, right?”

A sigh of their own escaped Raine, the words snapping a tension they’d carried for so long they’d almost forgotten it was there. “Right.”

Years of subversion and sacrifice had led up to this. Raine had lost things, people, and parts of themself that they could never get back, all in the hopes of winning a single battle. And now that that battle was finally approaching, they worried they’d done too much, or not enough, that they wouldn’t win, or that winning wouldn’t be worth the cost. But beyond all those regrets, all those fears, was the simple truth that in two days’ time, the people of the Isles would be able to choose a future for the first time in half a century. It was enough. It had to be.

Raine placed their hand over Luz’s, guiding her knife to the top of the log. “Shave the wood away from you,” they instructed, “until you get a gentle sort of slope.”

Luz clenched the wood and the knife so hard that her knuckles turned white, but she made the first cut. “Like this?”

It was wobbly, uneven, less a the start of a smooth egg and more the top of a swirling orb. It wasn’t the way Raine would have done it.

“That’s perfect.”

[gorbalsvampire]

𝖃𝕴𝕴𝕴 𝕿𝖆𝖑𝖊𝖘 𝖋𝖗𝖔𝖒 𝕱𝖊𝖚𝖉𝖆𝖑 𝕭𝖔𝖍𝖊𝖒𝖎𝖆

𝔄𝔠𝔱 ℑℑ, 𝔰𝔠𝔢𝔫𝔢𝔰 𝔳 𝔢𝔱 𝔳𝔦

Our story arrives at the traditional two-part end-of-season finale-type wham episode. It wasn't planned this way, but it turned out I'd overplanned slightly and there was a knot of "I know what you need to know but I can't tell you what to ask for" we needed to pick our way past to resolve things and we were all too sleepy, so we split this session right down the middle and it was the correct decision to make. Oh lord, was it ever the correct decision to make.

This is gonna run long. Put a brew on. Make one for me while you're in there - Earl Grey, oat milk, no sugar. Big mug. No, the big mug - there you go. Perfect.

We begin in the monastery of St. Lawrence, on Petrin Hill, where Brother Marsillius is tending to the wounded knight and also sipping from his dressings because the Lord helps those who help themselves. Said knight has regained consciousness, and introduces himself as Christof, a second son on his way to join the muster of the Sword Brethren for crusade into pagan Livonia.

Alas, he was waylaid in the woods outside Prague: some demon, with great paws and a scaled hide and baleful red eyes, set upon him and gouged him without mercy. Marsillius recognised this as a vodnik - a water creature that comes in many forms and does not usually attack travellers without provocation. Christof confessed he might have swung first, but - he is here to fight the enemies of the Lord, is he not?

Christof thanked him for his ministrations and asked if, perhaps, now that he could walk again, there was some small duty he could do? Even if not the sword, some work to which he might put his idle hands?

Marsillius also saw an opportunity, or perhaps experienced a craving. Seeking permission from his sire, he produced a potion of sorts - a muddle of herbs and vitae that would, he swore, aid noble Christof in his recovery. In return, said Garinol, Christof was to visit the Cathedral of St. Vitus and transcribe the inscription from a reliquary that Garinol could not bear to handle.

Marsillius and Christof experienced a very godly and heterosexual moment. That's what the notes say.

We needed a brief moment of OOC time here, to re-establish exactly why everyone was going to Vysehrad. It helps to keep everyone aware of all the threads and stakes going into a resolution, and also to refresh the memory of decisions made weeks ago in real time.

To summarise: Marsillius' premonition suggested he should go to the mountain and Alzbeta was going too, to pray with him. Theodericus was worried about his friends, and Libussa, and Shaagra. Mariam needed to prove there was nothing evil in the ghetto, and to confirm her Compulsion-induced belief that All This Shit Was Connected, and also her cat was up that mountain somewhere.

As Mariam and Marsillius had an awkward conversation - she can't read him at all, but no doctrine on either of their parts says they can't be friends. This was the first time, I think, that she'd admitted these people were her friends. She wanted to make right what she'd done to Katya, or caused to be done - nobody deserves to live forever as a tongueless, silent possession. Alzbeta arrived, and then Theodericus, and gosh, when he walks up with his travelling cloak and his chainmail, his long sword and his short sword and his eating knife with their lion's head pommels, suddenly it's possible to take him seriously. The age of chivalry is almost upon us, and the stories are already starting to be told; Mariam was genuinely awed by the sight of this actual knight.

The coterie made their way along the south road, by the banks of the Vitava, sneaking out of the city without lights to avoid the Prince hearing of their departure. A mist was rising off the river, and the going was hard. I should add, at this point, that it's a long and tricky enough walk to Vyserhad, on a short summer night, that nobody had a chance to feed before they left - so Alzbeta was sharply hungry at 4, and nobody was below 2.

Along the road they passed a decrepit watermill, and the two Cainites leading the way - Mariam with Eyes of the Beast, Alzbeta with Heightened Senses - pulled up sharp. Something was watching. Something in the rafters with eyes as red as either of theirs. Mariam stared it down, sheer heft and silent fury incarnate, and when she showed a Messy Critical, the watcher's will broke first; something tumbled, and fell into the stream, and was gone into the river proper in a flash. Some vast and terrible fish. Something Marsillius also recognised; the vodnik is said to take many forms, among them a pawed and scaled fiend, an old man with a ragged beard and a green felt hat, and a pike of unusual size.

The lights of Vyserhad were visible, ahead and above - so many lights. Torches and candles lining the crenellations, the battlements carved from the living mountain. A path, winding to and fro up and up. A gatehouse, and atop it a grotesque, a winged shape with vast owlish eyes, seven feet tall and not even standing upright, and - it was moving. It knew they were coming.

In the end, it was Theodericus that stepped up: they were guests and, as such, must introduce themselves. Such courtesy (and dots in Etiquette, dump skill my ass) did not go unrewarded. Szarka, warlord of the Fiends, descended with a powerful leap and greeted the visitors; trifold jaws and a foot-long tongue choked out a welcome. Mariam's lack of respect for the Prince, and Alzbeta's talk of visions, were the deciders; Szarka took them in.

Through the winding streets of Vyserhad, the Citadel; dense and shuttered, flickering candles and restless dreams all around. To the square before the immense Gothic basilica, the Cathedral of St. Peter and St. Paul, the most nodular and extravagant architecture in the city: as though the stone itself wished for a more outlandish shape.

In the square before it, a dead tree hung with climbing orange flowers. At the foot of the tree, bare earth, and on that earth a throne, and on that earth, barefoot and languid, Libussa. Theodericus took a knee and Alzbeta dropped a curtsey before Mariam and Marsillius could even ask who this was.

She was attended by guards - orange surcoats and splinted leather, or the wide hats and staves of the wandering Chods - and by a second Fiend. This Depolt, tall and rangy, arms hanging a foot longer than is normal and four more twitching within his robes, bade them welcome in a voice semi-consistently resembling that of David Warner, and extended to them the hospitality of Clan Tzimisce.

Nervous, Marsillius chose to Sense the Unseen, and lord, did he ever sense it! The comforting light-without-light, warmth-without-warmth of the Basilica ahead, and all around, all around, beneath and below, the mountain - dark, watchful, aware, seeing him and them through every flame. Our poor boy bare shat himself, had he but been living, and tried to sneak into the Basilica to be with his God.

Libussa's head snapped round, and a voice not quite her own asked what he was about. He spoke to her of visions; of a calling from God that brought him to this mountain, and his need to pray. Alzbeta spoke of experiences much the same. And Libussa asked them if she was the royal nun the rumours spoke of (she is not; that honour belongs to Sister Agnes), and if he had seen what she had seen; been seen by what saw her.

Here follows a break between sessions. We wrapped up by establishing everyone's immediate Desires for next time. Alzbeta was discovering things about herself and God, and she wanted to know more of the Tzimisce and their ways. Marsillius was afraid, mortally afraid, and wanted to get onto consecrated ground where he was safe. Mariam was disgruntled; none of these people save for Szarka spoke plainly, and she wanted to speak to Szarka, protector to protector. Theodericus was concerned: although the Tzimisce didn't seem as monstrous and horrible as he'd been warned, Libussa still seemed ill-treated, and he wanted to ensure her well being. She was, after all, a queen. And everyone wanted more meat crimes; it was felt that I could be going harder. I still find Koldunic Sorcery more interesting than Vicissitude, but let it not be said that ol' Relleytrots doesn't take feedback...

To ease the pressure and create some better scenes, oh some absolute scenes, we (I) divided the coterie. Depolt sensed the Hunger radiating off Alzbeta, and invited her and Theodericus to dine with him; what kind of host would he be if he did not?

Libussa rose from her throne and expressed, to the air at large, that she was so tired, may she rest now? thus confirming to Marsillius that she was not in control of her own form. He recalled that she often slept on sacred ground, and asked if they could see inside the Basilica. Alas; no. Ground sacred to the White Christ is not for Tzimisce to walk upon. But Marsillius was free to try, and the Tzimisce looked... expectant. Anticipatory, even.

This left Mariam alone with Szarka, whose form imploded on itself, buckling and collapsing into a body more human, a little shorter than Mariam, patagia wings indistinguishable from sleeves, that furry mass behind her shoulders merely a fine stole, ignore that her dress is the flushed red of a blush and that her tongue is still a foot long.

Marsillius first, inside the Gothic magnificence of the Basilica, seeing and feeling Libussa's steps become lighter and more hesitant with every stair they climbed. He ended up carrying her to the altar, laying her down before Peter and Paul and Christ, and asking her, in hesitant tones: who is doing this to her?

And Libussa answered, clearer than she'd ever been before: magna mater, blood of my blood, queen of my world, the goddess Shaagra, the Dragon of Prague. She who gave Libussa the gift of prophecy; she who claimed two older sisters and two eldest sons. She whose blood was the Premsyl blood, and the secret of Libussa's four hundred years of life. And Libussa was - is - so old. So tired. May she not rest? Is there not more toil?

Marsillius, tormented - for this is how he preys, and this is the Lord's work that he does, to feed upon the dying and ease their passage from the world - asked: can she be stopped? If she is waking, can Shaagra be stopped?

Libussa does not know why you would want that. Libussa must sleep, now.

Smash cut. Mariam and Szarka, outside. The realisation that I've fucked myself with Szarka and Shaagra and, in everyone's consciousness, Sorcha. I should have used Valasca, but I got so hooked on the murder valley...

Mariam and Szarka had their heart to heart. It was a beautiful conversation: long silences and long thought, speaking true and from the heart. Mariam wanted to know if there was evil in the Josefov, or threat to it and to her people; to those she called friends; to the people of Prague. Szarka took her time to answer carefully, for hers is the Road of the Beast - she does not dissemble.

Evil in the Josefov? Not of her doing or her family's. Threat to the Josefov? Not by her will; no grievance there. Threat to the city? To others? Who can say? When the Dragon wakes, she will be hungry, but her hunger will be sated first in Vysehrad.

If it comes to blows, these two will be enemies, but they were able, here and now, to talk as kindred spirits. Mariam expressed her concern that Prince Brandl thought the threat to Prague was coming from her clan and people, and Szarka explained that he has always feared and mistrusted Zvi and the Jews; that if he spilled their blood it would not be on the hands of the Tzimisce.

There followed a discussion of who owns the city. Szarka, maiden of Valasca's revolt, warlord to Libussa the first princess of Prague, saw the city as theirs - that is to say, the Tzimisce's. Mariam, a farmer's daughter, saw a continuity: those lands she grew up tilling would never be hers again, they are her father's, and will be his son's, and their son's. What was is passed. What was built by you is not yours forever.

Both of them acknowledged they sounded like their sires. Perhaps there's something there.

For now, their conversation was over, and Mariam went inside the Basilica.

Meanwhile, by the Devil's Column on the north face of the mountain, Depolt and Alzbeta shared stories - Depolt told the tale of how the Devil was cheated and threw down this pillar on the mountainside in rage, and Alzbeta explained how her mother, in madness and fear, had pushed her into the fire to make her form less desirable to men. There was some sympathy there; perhaps she was merely mad.

Depolt explained that he could take those scars - if she wished it - but he understood if she did not wish it, if the body was where the memory was written. There followed a discussion of Disciplines, of moulding the mind and body, and a demonstration of the particularly visceral Feral Weapons to which Depolt had access. These two also have a spark between them - a tendency toward philosophy.

But then the men in splinted leather brought out a family from their home; a woman and her adult sons. A test for both visitors; Alzbeta, the Consensualist, and Theodericus, the Ventrue. Both took their lumps; Alzbeta two Stains, for doing what she did even with a prayer for the prey and letting Theodericus do the same, and Theodericus two Willpower hits, for the weight of his Bane descending. He confided, as they walked back to the square, that he found biting people like that - just like that - rather cruel, and rather crass, and most untidy. Alzbeta, shaking, could not discuss it, and fearing she would have another vision, Theodericus bore her with haste to the Basilica.

Here was Marsillius, and here was Libussa, so very tired. Would he do what he felt bound to do? But here was Mariam, walking in alarmed, saying he and Alzbeta had been right. There was something waking in the mountain, and it was dangerous, but was it something they did not want? Would they let whatever came come, and deal with the aftermath? Would fighting only make things worse?

Marsillius wondered aloud if they should warn the Prince, evacuate the city, at least warn him to quit the city - but if he did, said Mariam, he would come back and find it in others' hands and besiege it, and that would be worse. Prince Brandl was bound to do something stupid, and to blame his rivals, and the visionaries - Alzbeta and Marsillius - were complicit in that, to a degree.

What if they simply removed Prince Brandl? Would they be better off, asked Mariam?

Marsillius looked down at Libussa, maddened and weary, ancient and possessed, and asked in answer: "do you think this is better?"

Stirring in her sleep, Libussa seemed to recognise that Mariam was Jewish - they'd mentioned the rabbi in their conversation - and murmured something about that poor old man, about the Prophet of Kupala, about what she'd seen that night in May-time. That got Mariam worked up, and she strode out, intent on asking the Tzimisce which of you is Kupala's prophet -

Instead, she found Theodericus and the worrying Alzbeta, and as they hastened back inside to confer, Alzbeta dropped her bombshell: "the Prophet of Kupala is my sire."

She described him as resembling Brother Marsillius in passing - older, more haggard, less well kept - and as Marsillius spoke of his desire to save Libussa somehow, to take her from this place or grant her rest with the Kiss, Alzbeta broke down fully. She had already fed here. She had not been able to quiet that scratching dry Hunger in her throat. She had fed upon the unwilling, and - was she damned? was she evil?

That question, in this place, and the concurrent loss of Humanity? That changed things. Libussa rose, and intoned her prophecy in a voice they had not heard before:

Faith defiled shall lead you to me. Innocent blood shall lead me to you.

And within the foundations of the Basilica, within the bowels of that sacred place, they all heard it - crack.

Exit coterie, pursued by a fear. Mariam racing to warn the Jews. Alzbeta and Marsillius, clinging to each others' hands in fear of God and something worse. Theodericus, with Libussa in her arms, convinced at last that she needed to be saved - and, as the players remarked as the tension bled, they'd need her.

Here ends Act II - She Only Speaks In Exposition

Join us next week for Act III - We Gotta Kill The Prince Yesterday

[silvertiefling]

Send "lover" to caress the tail in a sensual manner - tiefling tail <3

TOUCH THE TAIL // @sharransepulchre

Katya had currently been trying to make a fire, or, well, more like playing with pieces of wood and stacking them instead of actually making a fire. It had gone out, and the night was cold but she was lazy and ran warm anyway - too busy in her building that she didn't even notice Shadowheart until she felt a hand sensually stroke her tail, grabbing the end of it and running a thumb along the tip.

She froze for a moment before huffing and yanking her tail out of Shadowheart's grip and gently bapping it against her forehead with a pout.

"You and your thing for tieflin's - would you leave my tail alone you terrible woman, I'm busy - " she huffed, though her silver eyes were alight with a playful glint. Clearly she wasn't actually upset and was just teasing.

[transbookoftheday]

A Lake of Feathers and Moonbeams by Dax Murray

Strange things can be said of the forest that spans the border of two kingdoms long at war. An evil sorcerer has made it his dominion, or an elegant enchantress has claimed it as her domain and grants wishes to those who chance upon her, or maybe the forest is guarded by an ancient and wrathful spirit.

Katya calls the forest home, living a life of magic and charms with her partner Ivan. But a threat looms over their forest, some darkness and danger that Ivan swears to protect her from. Katya finds herself caught up in a web of grudges and deception spanning generations, but most dangerous of all is the beautiful princess who stumbled into their woods. A princess who sets Katya’s heart fluttering with both desire and fear.

As forces rally to rescue the princess or go to war, Katya must take measure of her own powers and decide what she is willing to sacrifice. Will she retreat to the safety of what’s familiar or give up everything she knows to spread her wings and fly?

[somefishycat]

WIP Wednesday 10/30/24

I added a little bit to the backlog this week (I'm behind on olb) but here's what I've got.

marble wall 2 for @kitten-kokomo @loyal-house-of-lupin @violet-prism-creatively @enigma-the-mysterious @zyrafowe-sny

@kallisto-k @tiercell

“No,” Luz says. “What? No, you are not.” Everyone else turns to stare at them. But Hunter doesn't even look up. “It has to be here,” he says. Gus has to admit, it does make a terrible sort of sense. Those are Caleb's bones, too, aren't they? And Hunter must know that. There's no way he still thinks he's a regular witch. Not after the way he died. (There's a galdorstone tied to Gus's wrist. Thanks to his glimpse of Belos’s memories, Gus is now far too aware of where it came from.) “I don't like it either,” Hunter admits. “But listen. This is an empty grave. You want to hide my body? Nobody’s going to be looking in an empty grave.” “Or stumbling on it by accident. What if we hide it in the woods and someone just happens to dig there? And…” Amity trails off, looking around at everyone else.

marble wall 3 for @eriquin @oriharaizayadividesintoslytherin @auburnlaughter @wizisbored @twyrewolf

@hurricanebreeze @tamsinswriting

“Why did he kill you?” he asks. “In the… the book, I mean. Luzura is you, right? Why does — sorry for anyone who hasn't read it yet, spoilers —” Vee covers her ears. “Why does Luzura die?” Luz laughs nervously. “It's just a story? We had a little fight because King was being a selfish little shit. We had different ideas of how it would go, and he didn't want to compromise. It doesn't mean anything.” Just a story. It doesn't mean anything. It doesn't matter that a literal god wrote it. Okay. (And it's a good story. Knowing that one of the main characters, the one who dies, is based on Luz makes it a little uncomfortable, but he still kind of loves how it ended. Luzura’s sacrifice was tragic! She saved Ruler and their friends, at the cost of her own life!) “Tell me about it,” he says. “You wrote it together?”

ones left behind for @kalira @aparticularbandit @whimsicalmeerkat @asha10100101010 @shelfthe-reader

The younger bards aren't convinced. “You're going to get caught,” Derwin says. But at least none of them have any complaints about Steve being in charge. Everyone likes Steve. “They know what they're doing,” Steve says. “They wouldn't take a risk like that for no reason.” (Steve also has just a little too much faith in his friends. The CATs, Eberwolf will readily admit, don't have the best track record when it comes to decision making. See: attempting to break into the emperor's mind and getting a kid killed instead. Or everything they did on the Day of Unity.) Eber nods, confident at least in his ability to not be torn to shreds by Eda the Owl Lady. Then he leans against Steve until the witch gives him a pat on the head. Steve gives the best head pats. “Good luck. You're going to need it,” Katya mutters, scribbling something in a journal.