#Language of Stone

[arinewman7]

Language of Stone

M.F. Husain

2008–2011

[joanofarc]

it's not like, sharon van etten (2009).

and it's not like i have anyone to love, or do i want to? these eyes, these arms, this heart has loved almost everything, but not you, but not you, but i want to

[nervouswrecktm]

the dynamic names in critical role are so good and funny

for beau and caleb you have the empire siblings because they are both children of the empire who seek to right the wrongs of the place they were born and the systems they were placed into and who have become found siblings after struggling to understand each other for so long

for beau and fjord it is brjeaus because they are bros™️ and their names are spelt stupidly

[dedalvs]

Today's Valyrian glyph is daema "violet". One of the main characteristics of Valyrians is their violet eye color. I waited a while to come up with this word because I wanted it to be good and fit in with the world. Once we saw Daemon as a character I knew I had the right base. Also his name is pretty badass: The Stone Violet. It's like an 80s wrestler who wears pink spandex and has a steel flower in his teeth. Or a 70s prog band that finishes a song at 3:04 but then keeps on playing it anyway until 17:38. I dig it.

[carpsoup]

i dont even have to come up with ocs they just come to me in dreams and visions

[butch-bf]

yeah we all know (and love <3) all the butches with masculine personality; and let me make it clear that you’re all loved and valid!! but let’s talk about butches that cannot or simply don’t want to get rid of their “feminine” traits and energy.

like seriously i could never kill a spider without screaming or change your car’s tire but i’ll definitely cook you the best dinner when you get home from work and i’ll be more than happy to stitch the holes of your favorite shirt, with all the patience in the world; because that’s how my mother and my grandmother used to show their love to me. i could never ever ever imagine being affectionate to someone in any other way.

something that always bothered me as a transmasc butch was the fact that everyone would clock me the moment i opened my mouth, which is already something that causes me waaaay too much dysphoria. so, i would try to “compensate” that by being the most masculine being that i could ever be. but deep down, i knew that i wasn’t being fully me, you know?

not being “masculine enough” would often make me feel like i wasn’t butch enough, that i wasn’t doing the “job” correctly or something. at least where i’m from, people expect me to fill that role and pretty much just act like a man 24/7.

but as i was cooking some dinner for myself and my mom tonight, something hit me; i’ll never be 100% masculine when it comes to my traits, my energy or even the way i speak. i’ll protect you, i’ll be there for you and i’ll try my best to intimidate whoever tries something bad with you. but sometimes, maybe i’d wanna be protected too; maybe i’d wanna be the little spoon every now and then; maybe i’ll cry in front of you and expect you to dry my tears. and that won’t ever make me less masculine or less butch.

i hope that my future partner understands that, no matter what happens; at the end of the day, i’ll still be your guy. i’ll just be a sensitive guy, you know? it’s kinda scary to admit this out loud but i feel like someone out there would like to know that they’re not alone. butches come in all shapes and forms, and it may be scary to be this kind of butch in a world where masculinity is praised, but i think we’ll be fine.

and also my dinner was so delicious what the fuckkk 🤤🤤🤤 i’m such a good cook like i genuinely believe i’m the butch version of guy fieri

[azrielslittleslut]

"The Lost Queen"- Chapter 3

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary: A magical incident causes Azriel to unexpectedly tumble through a portal into modern-day Earth. Confused and injured, he is discovered by a compassionate human woman with a hidden past. She takes care of him and helps him discover the complexities of the modern world, completely unaware of who she truly is. Meanwhile, Azriel struggles with his conflicting desires: his duty to the Night Court and his growing love for the woman who saved him.

Their journey unfolds amidst ancient prophecies and the looming threat in Prythian. As they uncover the truth about forces conspiring against them, they must confront their deepest fears and make choices that will change their lives and the world forever.

Warnings: language, az is still going through it but he's gonna get better, more slight mentions of alcohol

Word Count: 9.1k

series masterlist

a/n: i laughed waaaay too much writing this chapter... i also want to say thank you for the kind comments about this series! they truly make me smile so big.

Enjoy!

Tell the male from Prythian that I saw him fall through the portal.

Those haunting words still echoed in your head as you walked out of the bathroom. After the woman, Serena Rousseau, had given you an address and a time to meet, the call ended.

You felt as if your whole world had shifted. Your bedroom suddenly felt too small, your scrubs too tight. You fought to keep your heart rate calm as you stood there, feeling utterly out of place.

Prythian… it was like an answer to a question you had been asking your entire life. It unlocked something in your chest, and you forced yourself to take deep breaths as the world started to spin off its axis.

Azriel’s low voice brought you back to the present. “Are we going to the doctor now?” He was still lying in the same position on the bed, his hands laced gracefully across his stomach. He turned his head to the side to look at you, his hazel eyes shining in the lamplight.

You braced your hand against the doorframe, feeling as if the floor was moving beneath your feet. “There’s been a change of plans,” you mumbled. After a deep breath, you pushed away, walking toward him. “I just got a phone call.”

His face contorted in confusion. “I don’t know what that is.”

Of course he doesn’t.

You walked over to the bed, reclaiming your previous spot beside him. Though you stared at the wall above his head, you could feel his eyes on you. “Where are you from?” You turned to meet his gaze, not missing the wariness in his eyes. “Really.”

He shook his head, his eyes moving to stare at the wall behind you. “Why are you asking me this?” His words were careful. Guarded.

There’s something this guy isn’t telling you.

“A woman called me. Serena Rousseau is her name.” You dared to place a hand on his bicep, squeezing slightly. His skin beneath your palm was warm, and you bit the inside of your cheek at the feeling of the strong muscle beneath your fingers. “She said she saw you fall through a portal. And that you are from a place called Prythian.” You lowered your eyes to meet his, and you sucked in a breath at the fire in his gaze. You felt something charged rush through the room, and your skill prickled with goosebumps.

“What do you know about Prythian?” he asked, his voice so low you could barely him. “What did this woman say on the… phone call.” His tongue faltered slightly as he said the words, his strange accent standing out.

Hand still on his arm, you leaned forward. This close, you could smell his masculine scent underneath the grime he was covered in. Something woodsy and deep, with the underlying fragrance of cedar. “She said to tell the male from Prythian that she saw you fall through a portal.” Your clipped words dripped with disbelief.

Just saying them out loud sounded ridiculous. Surely, you were still dreaming. None of this was real. You just needed to lay off the melatonin before you went to sleep.

Azriel blinked and pulled his arm free from your grasp. “We need to go see her. Now.” He braced his hands against the mattress and pushed, his neck muscles straining from the effort. “Mother above,” he groaned as he sat up.

“No!” you exclaimed, moving to push him back down on the bed. “You’re injured. You need to be still, or you could hurt yourself more.” You pushed down on his chest, planting your hands against his pectorals.

But he was faster… and stronger. He managed to sit up, pushing himself back against the headboard. He was a little breathless as he said, “I’m fine. I heal fast.” He looked down, examining his body with squinted eyes. “Though, I should be healing faster…”

You shook your head at him, eyes wide. “I don’t care how fast you heal. Your broken ribs should take at least three weeks to fully heal.” You looked him over, running your eyes along his body, searching for any sign of the pain he should be in. When your eyes reached his ankle, which had earlier been swollen and mottled with shades of purple and blue, a gasp escaped your lips.  

Now… it looked as if nothing had happened. His skin was clear, the swelling gone down, and you wondered if you had imagined it.

“What the hell?” you ask, your voice full of wonder. You knew some people healed faster than others, depending on how healthy and fit they were. But you had never seen anything like this.

“Give me your hand,” he murmured in that deep voice of his. “Let me show you.”

Reluctantly, you offered him your hand, not bothering to hide how much it was shaking. He took it in his scarred one, his grasp strong and warm. You could feel the ridges of those scars under your fingertips, and you had the strange urge to know what they felt like on your body, your lips.

He gently placed your hand on the side of his ribcage and pressed it in firmly. Only a few hours ago, you had felt his bones protruding out, painfully out of place. Now, as you pressed down, the smooth, unbroken surface of his bones met your fingers. They were sturdy and aligned, as if they had never been fractured.  

You recoiled, pulling your hand away as if he had shocked you. “What the hell?” you ask again, your voice quivering with shock and awe. “What are you?”

“I’ll explain later,” he said as he moved again, throwing his long legs off the side of the bed. “We need to go see that woman right now.” You watched in stunned silence as he stood, preparing to catch him if he fell. He swayed on his feet, but he recovered, planting them onto the floor.

He reminded you of the warriors you had read about in your beloved fantasy novels, preparing to charge into battle. He had a look of sheer determination and resolve on his face as righted himself, his expression guarded as he moved.

“How do you heal so fast?” you asked, standing from the bed, unable to move on from that fact. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

For the first time since you met Azriel, he offered you a crooked smile. “Would you believe me if I said you’re just that good?”

“Not for a second,” you responded, placing your hands on your hips. You wouldn’t back down, and you would get the answers you wanted. “How?” You raised an eyebrow at him as a silent demand.

He sighed, a sound of the long-suffering. “You’re a demanding little human, aren’t you?”

Your hands slid from your hips as you took a step back. “What? Are you not human?”

“Later,” he commanded, and the tone of his voice held no room for argument. “Take me to the woman.”

For the first time in your life, you decided to give it a rest. But you would get the answers you wanted. Eventually. “Lucky for you, she gave me an address and a time.” You looked over at the clock on your nightstand. “We have to be there in thirty minutes.”

“How far away is it?” Azriel asked, taking a wobbly step toward the bedroom door. He stuck a hand out to steady himself against the bedframe. Slowly, he reached down, grabbed his boots you had discarded earlier in the morning, and shoved his feet into them.

You grabbed him by the arm, helping him out of the bedroom and toward the front door. “About twenty miles,” you murmured to him, focusing on not letting him fall to the ground.

Azriel stopped dead in his tracks, looking over at you with wide eyes. “Twenty miles?” he asked, anxiety etched into every feature of his beautiful face. It was almost amusing to see him so worked up. “We can’t walk twenty miles in thirty minutes!”

Despite everything going on, you let out a laugh. You laughed so hard you had to bend over to catch your breath. Once you recovered, you looked back at Azriel, fighting back more giggles at his concerned stare. “We aren’t walking. I have a car.” You grabbed the keys from the table next to the front door and wiggled them in front of his face.

“I don’t know what that is,” he groaned as you pulled him through the front door and out into the humid summer beyond.

This is going to be a long, long day.

——

It had taken you a solid ten minutes to convince Azriel to get into your small car. The whole ordeal was almost comical. At first, he stood there, arms crossed while staring at the vehicle as if it were some alien contraption. He circled it twice, kicking the tires with his feet and inspecting the mirrors, brows furrowed in concentration and confusion.

It had taken another five minutes to fit his abnormally large body into the thing. It had been an awkward, hesitant process. He tried to fit one leg in first, then the other, only to end up tangled and nearly falling out again. At one point, he gave the dashboard a skeptical look, tapping it cautiously as if expecting it to respond. His expression was a mix of anger and frustration, which only grew when he had to contort his tall frame to fit inside.

Apparently, Prythian, or wherever the hell he was from, didn’t have cars.

You were still laughing as you drove, looking down at your phone to make sure you were following the directions carefully. The fiasco with the car had made you late, so you pressed down a little on the gas pedal, not bothering to worry about the speed limit.

Azriel shifted in the passenger seat, eyes glued to the road. “How do you… operate this machine?” He placed his hands on the dashboard as you hit a pothole as if he were scared the car was going to fall apart.

With the potholes around here, it was a solid possibility.

“Relax,” you murmured soothingly to him, reaching over to place a comforting hand on his thigh. “I know what I’m doing.”

He dug his scarred fingers into the dashboard, eyes wide as he took in the buildings zooming by through the windows. “This is normal to you? It feels like we’re riding a wild beast.” He let out a garbled noise as you hit a steep curve in the road. “I feel like I’m going to be sick.”

You whipped your head to him, grip tightening on the steering wheel. “Don’t you dare puke in my car, Azriel!” As you looked him over, you noticed his knuckles had gone white, his eyes clamped shut as he tried to adjust to the movement of the car. “Hey, hey. It’s alright. Try placing your head between your knees. I hear that helps with motion sickness.”

Azriel nodded, moving his head down. Well, he tried to. His knees were pushed so far up against the dashboard, there was no way in hell he was going to make it work. He looked up at you with wide eyes. “Why is this thing so small?”

You turned your eyes back to the road, watching for the street you needed to turn onto. “It’s all I can afford.”

Azriel leaned back slowly into the seat, his breathing rapid. “Distract me.”

You pursed your lips, considering what to say or do. You looked over at his hand, noting the strange black stone strapped there, fastened with a loop around his middle finger. “What’s that thing on your hand?” you asked.

He glanced down at the stone, his expression grim. “A siphon,” he explained with a strained voice. “It’s how I channel my magic.” He said the word “magic” like this was an everyday conversation for him.

You laughed softly, turning the car onto Arcane Avenue. “Magic. Right.” Once this business with this strange woman was over, you had every intention of taking the guy to a psych ward.

You were having a conversation about a magical stone with a guy who had never seen a car, and he just showed up in a bayou.

Hell, maybe you needed to join him.

Azriel glanced over at you, sensing your doubt. “You don’t believe me.”

“It’s not that I don’t believe you…” you said, eyes scanning the surrounding area for a parking spot. “It’s just that magic isn’t real. And I think you hit your head really hard when you… fell.” You still didn’t know what had happened.

It seemed he didn’t know, either.

“Whatever,” he mumbled, turning his head to look out the window. The buildings of the French Quarter towered above the car, their balconies adorned with intricate ironwork and vines. He looked at the streets and people with wide eyes. “Where are we?” he asked, his voice filled with something like wonder.

“The French Quarter,” you explained, pulling the car off the street to squeeze it between two others. “It’s one of the oldest and most iconic neighborhoods in the city.” You gestured to the various establishments lining the streets. “It has everything, really. Bars, music, vices-“

Azriel’s dark brows shot up in surprise. He turned to you, his eyes full of amusement. “Vices? What do you mean?”

You chuckled as you undid your seatbelt and opened the car door. “It’s lively and vibrant, but sometimes it gets a little… wild.”

Azriel hummed as he got out of the car, fumbling momentarily with the seatbelt. “It’s… rather intriguing.”

The two of you walked in silence down the street, dodging the people stumbling out of the bars. Azriel took everything in with his eyes agape, glancing back and forth between the cars, drunkards, and street performers. He got particularly caught up on a gentleman doing some sort of performance with a sword.

He reached a hand out, placing it gently on your arm. His touch sent a bolt of something like electricity through your body. “Did you happen to see a black dagger around me in the water?” he asked, his tone suddenly serious. “Or on the ground?”

You kept looking at the buildings around you as you thought back to when you found him. “No,” you said at last. “It was just you.” You continued looking around, looking closely at the numbers next to each door.

“Damn it,” Azriel muttered from beside you, his tone sour.

You were about to turn to ask him more about the dagger when you saw the number you were looking for. “This is it,” you murmured to him, stopping as you took in the small building.

13 Arcane Avenue stood proudly in the heart of the French Quarter, standing out vibrantly amongst the rather dull surroundings. You looked to the shops next to it, muttering to yourself under your breath.

Azriel took a step forward, his boots stepping on some broken glass on the sidewalk. “What is it?”

“That’s strange,” you said as you looked at the number next to the door. “All of these building numbers are in the thousands, but this one is 13.” You turned to him with a wicked smile on your face. “Think it’s a bad omen?”

He squared his broad shoulders, tilting his head back to observe more of the area. “Numbers are just numbers, Y/N.”

“Not to the weirdos around here,” you responded as you started to walk up the steps that led to a bright red door.

Above it, there was a giant black sign with Serena’s Art Emporium written in bright gold letters. The exterior of the shop was adorned with vibrant, hand-painted murals depicting scenes that looked straight out of the fairy tales you read as a child. They showed majestic dragons soaring over mountains with fire pouring from their mouths. Some showed misty forests where unicorns grazed beneath a canopy of stars, and ancient-looking castles overlooking stormy seas.

You whistled softly, taking in the paintings with critical eyes. “She’s quite the artist, huh.”

Azriel straightened as he laced his hands behind his back. He was also taking in the paintings but with much less criticism. His gaze was soft, almost contemplative as he examined the various scenes. “I know a better one,” he said, and there was a distant sadness in his voice as he spoke.

The sadness in his tone startled you, so you took his arm, gesturing toward the door. “Shall we?” He nodded, and you led the rest of the way up the stone steps.

When you opened the door, a small bell tinkled throughout the empty shop, echoing along the walls. The interior was cozy, with twinkling lights hanging across the beams above. In the background, the smooth, mellow notes of jazz music drifted through the air.

The walls were filled from floor to ceiling with paintings, each piece portraying various scenes. Some of them showed modern people dancing and drinking at a Mardi Gras parade, while others illustrated more scenes from a fantasy world.

A particular painting caught your attention, and you found yourself walking toward it. The canvas depicted an ornate black throne crafted from weathered wood with intricate symbols and ancient runes. The throne itself was draped in an iridescent veil that shimmered with something that looked like starlight.

At the center of its high backrest was a crest. It had a pair of outstretched wings, meticulously carved with sleek, smooth lines, showing off the delicate membranes. Where the wings converged at the base, there was s small flame, its carved tendrils rising and intertwining with the lower parts of the wings.

Though it was a painting, you swore you could see the flames moving, as if the wings were truly on fire.

“That’s my newest one,” a voice said from behind. It was that same velvety smooth voice from the phone call. “But it’s not for sale.”

You turned to face Serena, and your breath caught in your throat as you took her in. Her tousled chestnut brown hair fell in loose waves around her heart-shaped face. She had sun-kissed brown skin with vibrant emerald green eyes that glittered in the dim lights. Her bohemian-style dress flowed around her slim body, and it had various spots of paint splattered across it. Around her neck and wrists, she had handcrafted jewelry painted in bright turquoise, orange, and red.

Azriel cleared his throat, taking a step forward to stand beside you. “We’re not here for your merchandise,” he said politely. Though his tone was warm, you couldn’t miss the intensity in his eyes as they subtly analyzed the artist.

He looked like a warrior assessing a potential threat.

Serena chuckled lowly. “Oh, I know,” she said as she used her dress to wipe some paint from her fingers. “I’m assuming Y/N relayed my message to you.” Her voice was calm, as if telling someone she saw them fall through a portal was normal.

Azriel said nothing as he nodded once, his black hair falling across his brow.

Serena clapped her slim hands together, a smile forming on her full lips. “Excellent!” she exclaimed. She turned around, heading for a black door on the other side of the shop. She gestured for the two of you to follow. “This way.”

You and Azriel followed her through the door and down a dimly lit hallway. The walls here were lined with more paintings, each one portraying a more intense scene. There were soldiers on a battlefield, slaying creatures with massive wings. Others showed human-looking people with pointed ears gathered around a bonfire in the middle of the woods.

How strange, you thought to yourself as you walked. You couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something… different about this woman. You looked over at Azriel to see if his face showed any sign of wariness, but his features were closed off. So closed off that the walls around you seemed to have more emotion than him.

Eventually, the hallway ended, opening up to a small art studio. There was a small desk along the far wall and some comfortable-looking chairs in the center. Serena’s art supplies were scattered throughout the room, making everything look rather unorganized and chaotic.

“Please,” Serena said at last, walking over to the coffee bar situated in the corner of the room. “Have a seat.”

You looked at Azriel, waiting to see his response. After a few moments, he took a seat, leaning back comfortably in the chair. He didn’t seem to care that he was still covered in grime, and you winced as you saw some of it stain the clean fabric. “What do you know about the portal?” he asked.

Straight to the point, then.

Serena grabbed some cups from the rack above the coffee bar. “Can I get you anything to drink? I have water, tea, coffee…” she trailed off, taking in Azriel’s rigid frame. “Bourbon.”

Azriel clenched his jaw, a sign of his anger and frustration. “Once again, we did not come here for your merchandise… or your courtesies.” He gestured to you with a hand. “Tell us what we want to know.”

Serena looked over at you, amusement flickering in her green eyes. “He’s a difficult one, isn’t he?”

You plopped down in the chair, leaning back against the soft cushions. “You have no idea,” you responded as you smirked over at Azriel.

Azriel made a noise that sounded something like a snarl. “Forget it,” he said through gritted teeth. He pushed himself out of the chair, wincing slightly. “We’ll find someone else.”

Serena faced him, all amusement gone from her pretty face. “The portal took your magic, didn’t it?” she asked, her tone smug. “It’s slowing down your healing.” As she spoke, you could hear the faint traces of her Creole accent. Something about it sounded odd, though, as if she had to force the accent to come out.

He met her eyes with a fierce glare. “What. Do. You. Know. About. The. Portal.” he said, his words full of venom. He turned his head to the side, his hazel eyes full of rage. “I can get you to talk.”

Your heart was beating rapidly as you took in the confrontation. You stood from the chair, meaning to step in and diffuse the situation, but Serena cut you off with a hand.

“I will tell you what I know, though it’s not much,” she said, walking over to take a seat in the third chair. She gestured for you and Azriel to sit down as well. “Sit. You’re making me nervous.”

She sat back, crossing her long legs as she began to speak, “I’ve seen Prythian, your world, in dreams and visions. I’ve had them since I was a little girl. They’re always foggy, and they never last long, but I’ve seen things.”

Azriel gripped the chair, his knuckles whitening. You had the sudden urge to place a hand over his to comfort him, but the angry look on his face stopped you. “I don’t believe you,” he said.

Serena gestured to the walls in the studio, all filled with different paintings. “Look around the room. Tell me what you see.”

With calculating eyes, Azriel looked around. You watched his expression carefully as it went from angry to shocked to outright livid. He stood from the chair with such force that it flipped over, sending the pillows scattering across the floor. You jumped at his sudden outburst, eyes darting over the paintings to see what had made him so angry.

They were just… paintings. Nothing more unusual than what you had already seen in the shop. One of them showed a mansion surrounded by roses and various other flowers. The mansion looked destroyed as if someone had tried to tear it down from the inside out.

Another showed a large mountain with stars above it. On the mountain, Serena had painted what looked like people with wings, fighting with swords and daggers.

The third painting you looked at was a nighttime scene, and it portrayed a city above steep, rolling hills, with a sapphire blue river winding through the center. The buildings were white, sandstone, and red, and you could see little people painted throughout, carrying on with their daily tasks.

On the bottom of the painting, there was a phrase, written in pretty calligraphy: The City of Starlight

“How the hell do you know of Velaris?” Azriel roared, stalking over to Serena. He bent down, his face mere inches from hers. “And the Spring Court? The Illyrian mountains?”

Serena leaned back in her chair, completely unphased by his outburst. “I told you. I see them in visions and dreams.”

For a moment, you thought back to how normal your life had been just twenty-four hours before. All you cared about was going to work at the hospital, paying the bills, and spending time watching your shitty reality TV shows.

Now, you were in the middle of a conversation about some foreign world you had never heard of, coming from an insane artist and a mysterious guy who washed up in the middle of the night.

Maybe you should have gotten that bottle of wine before coming here.

“Azriel,” you murmured from where you still sat, your voice soft. “Calm down. Snarling at her won’t get you the answers you want.”

“Smart girl,” Serena muttered beneath her breath. She nodded her head toward you. “You should listen to her.”  

Azriel took a deep breath as he stepped back, his body shaking as he tried to calm himself. “I am sorry,” he said, running his hands through his hair. “I just- I don’t understand what happened.” He sounded defeated, his voice dropping, his strange accent thickening for a moment.

Your heart went out to him. You didn’t necessarily believe any of this nonsense, but it was clear that he did, and he was in distress about it. “Come sit by me,” you offered, reaching down to straighten his overturned chair. You pulled it next to yours as you said, “Just listen as she explains.”

Azriel took the seat, his eyes empty as he glanced at you. The dim light of the room cast long flickering shadows across his face, accentuating the sharp planes of his cheekbones and the dark circles under his eyes. “My apologies for being rude. Please explain,” he murmured, his voice uncharacteristically soft.

The artist smiled softly as she took in her paintings on the wall. “The visions are fleeting. They come in flashes, and I only see bits and pieces of the scene. That is why I paint them,” she said, gesturing to her artwork. “So I don’t forget what I saw.”

“Are you human?” Azriel asked, leaning forward slightly in his chair. “It’s strange that you’ve seen my world, while she,” he said, gesturing to you, “has no idea about it.”

Serena looked over at you, her eyes squinting slightly. “Oh, there’s more to that story, but that’s for another time.” She sighed, running her hands over the arms of the chair. “But to answer your question, yes. I am human.”

What story? You wanted to ask, but Azriel cut you off before you could respond. “How.” Not a question; a demand.

“My family comes from a long line of witches and warlocks. Voodoo priests and priestesses,” she responded, playing with a string on the arm of the chair. “At least that’s what I was told by my parents.”

“All of that is bullshit, and you know it,” you said, anger rising in your voice. You stood from the chair, ignoring Azriel’s hand grasping your wrist. “We have come to you for help. He has come to you for help, and you’re speaking nonsense.”

“Are my paintings nonsense, Azriel?” Serena drawled as she examined her paint-covered nails.

Azriel’s grip tightened on your wrist, causing you to turn to him. He gave you a soft nod as he said, “No.” He made eye contact with you again, and you felt your heart skip a beat at the softness in his gaze. “That’s my world, Y/N.”

You held his stare for a few seconds before turning away to face Serena. “What else do you know, then? Can you even help him?” Not that you believed any of this. You just wanted to get this over with so you could go home and sleep.

Maybe stop on the way home and get that wine you’ve been thinking about first.

She held up her hands, her face somber. “I don’t know how to get you home if that’s what you want to know.” Azriel opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off with a piercing stare. “But I saw you fall through the portal. It took your magic, shadows, and wings.”

Wings? Was she being serious?

“There was a strong magic at work, so strong I felt it, even when the vision ended.” She leaned forward, bracing her forearms against her legs. “There is something… dark and evil happening in Prythian, correct?”

Azriel nodded, his eyes darkening. “Yes.”

Serena nodded, her brown hair falling over her shoulders. “I’ve seen that, too. It’s poisoning the land, the magic…” she trailed off, her eyes going distant for a few seconds. She blinked rapidly, coming back to herself. “I will say, I don’t think that had anything to do with you coming here.”

“What did, then?” you ask in a clipped tone.

“I don’t know.” Her smooth voice carried a faint tremor of frustration as she spoke.

That did it. “Oh, fuck this!” you screamed, throwing your hands up in the air. You looked at Azriel, grabbing him by the arm. “Let’s go.” You started to haul him out of the chair, but you were cut off by your phone ringing. You pulled it from your pocket, your face turning white as you looked at the caller ID. “Shit. It’s my boss. I forgot to call in.”

Azriel stood up on his own, shaking off your arm. “I think we’re done here, anyway.”

You looked over at Serena, giving her the most scathing look you could muster. “Nice meeting you, I guess.” You started to head back through the hallway, but you were stopped by her silky voice.

“Wait,” she called out, rising from her chair. “Azriel, I need to talk to you.” She looked at you, her expression firm. “Alone.”

Azriel offered you a slight nod. “Go. I’ll follow you when I’m done here.”

You didn’t want to leave him alone with her. You had this strange urge to protect him from any more harm that could come his way. Something about the way she spoke and moved made it difficult for you to trust her. But your phone was still ringing, and you wanted to keep your job.

“Fine,” you retorted, starting back down the dim hallway. You moved your gaze to Azriel, giving him a wink. “Scream if she tries to murder you.”

——

Azriel turned back to the artist, laughing internally at the thought of this woman trying to murder him. She was odd and peculiar, but he didn’t sense anything particularly threatening about her. It was obvious that she was telling the truth about her dreams and visions. Nobody from this odd world should know about Prythian, so he had no choice but to trust her.

If he had any hope of getting back home, at least.

“What did you wish to speak to me about?” he asked, forcing his voice to remain polite and steady. He was tired, and his body still hurt like hell. He wanted to get this over with as fast as possible.

Az still didn’t know how he could understand and speak this strange tongue. He vaguely remembered the bright light from that stone hitting him in the head, followed by the odd language. This language. It was like his brain suddenly had a built-in translator.

But honestly, being able to speak a new language was the least of his worries right now.

Serena walked toward him on light feet, her dress flowing around her. “When you fell through the portal, I heard something. Did you?” she asked, arching up an eyebrow at him.

Azriel thought back to falling through the portal, his mind whirling as he tried to remember anything other than excruciating pain.

His shadows dispersing, Truth-Teller falling from his hand, the bright light hitting him in the head, that strange language, those prophetic words being spoken to him-

“I heard words,” he said at last, meeting her amused gaze. “Something about a veil and a counterpart and… ancient blood and shadows.” The words didn’t make sense to him at all, but if this woman had heard them…

Serena pulled a piece of paper from a pocket on her dress. She held it out to him as she said, “I wrote them down. I think I got the whole thing. Can you check for me?” she asked, her voice full of innocent curiosity.

He took the paper and unfolded it, reading the words written there:

“Across the veil, in worlds apart,

A warrior's heart seeks its counterpart.

Where ancient blood and shadows meet,

The lost queen's reign, his fate shall greet.”

He read them two more times before saying, “Yes. Now that I’m reading them, I can confirm this is what I heard.” He looked up at her, meeting her intense gaze. Her eyes had darkened slightly, filled with something that looked like satisfaction. “What does this mean?”

“Again,” Serena said, lacing her hands in front of her. “I don’t know. But I will tell you this: I’ve seen Y/N in my visions and dreams. They are… foggy to say the least, but it’s her.” She paused for a moment, as if contemplating what to say next. “That’s why I called the two of you here today. I needed to verify my suspicions.”

Azriel was at a complete loss for words. Just when things start to make a little sense, it all goes to shit again. How could that human woman be tied into this?

“Can you help me at all?” he asked, his voice quiet. He wanted, no he needed to get back to Prythian. He would tear this world apart if that was what it took to accomplish that.

Serena bit her bottom lip, her eyes looking to the ground.

Because of her silence, Azriel sighed as he turned around to leave. He stopped as he heard her call out, “I do know someone who might be able to help. But she will contact you on her terms, in her own timing and way.”

He looked over his shoulder at her, not bothering to face her. His neck ached at the movement, but he ignored the pain. “What do I do until then?”

Serena let out a low chuckle that seemed to vibrate through his bones. For a brief moment, his senses pricked with unease, detecting something off about her. The warmth in her voice washed away his suspicions as she said, “In the meantime, I suggest you make yourself comfortable in this world, Azriel.”  

——

The journey home in the strange contraption called a car had been tense and silent. Y/N had been called into work, so she had decided it was best to take Azriel back to her home to rest.

“You’re not taking me to the doctor?” he had asked, mind still whirling from what Serena had said. How was he supposed to get comfortable here, with the mechanical beasts, loud alarm clocks, and small rectangular devices that rang? Not to mention all of the strange people, dressed in their vibrant, and somewhat revealing, clothing.

“No,” you had responded, your grip tight on the steering wheel. Your face had been a mask of quiet rage, the tips of your ears turning an adorable shade of pink. “I’ll deal with you later.” And that had ended the conversation.

The compassionate human woman was kind, he thought, but when you were pissed off, there was a hidden fire beneath your gentle features. Despite his inner turmoil, Azriel couldn’t help but be amused by the contrast, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he observed you.

As you pulled into the driveway, he let himself take in your home for the first time. It was a small white cottage, wrapped in green vines and flowers. It had a small porch that contained a table with two chairs on what looked like rails. The porch offered a good look at the water out in front of the house, with its muddy, slow-moving current.

Out of all the places in this strange world, why had he landed there?

You stopped the car in front of the house and turned to Azriel. “I’ll be back in a few hours,” you said. “Make yourself at home, I guess.” You leaned over to him and sniffed, your face grimacing. “And take a shower. You smell awful.”

Indeed, he was still wearing his torn fighting leathers, and they were covered in grime, blood, and dried sweat. Azriel grimaced himself as he murmured, “I don’t know what that is.”

You rolled your eyes, gesturing for him to get out of the car. “I don’t have time to explain. You’re a big boy. You can figure it out.” Your words were short and clipped, filled with an emotion Azriel hadn’t heard from you before.

Azriel nodded as he fought to untangle himself from the car. As he closed the door behind him, he could see the bleakness on your face through the window. He had the odd desire to get you talking, to figure out what was going on in that head of yours.

But his own desire to sit in silence and think through everything won. He numbly walked up the steps to the front door, turning around in time to see your small car turn off the driveway. He watched until you disappeared, and he felt an overwhelming wave of loneliness wash over him.

He opened the door and let your sweet scent fill his nose as he walked inside, taking in the interior for the first time. It was cozy but spacious, with hardwood floors and exposed wooden beams. The décor looked a little old, and there were various pillows and blankets scattered on the furniture.

The walls were filled with different pictures of you. They weren’t paintings, he realized. They looked extremely realistic as if someone had captured the exact moment and printed it on the canvas. Some of them were of you hiking in some mountains, while others showed you lounging on a beach with a drink in your hand. One in particular caught his attention, and he found himself walking over to it.

It was a small picture of you with a middle-aged male and female. You had this strange gown on with a square hat on the top of your head. All three of you were laughing, and the beautiful smile on your face eased something in Azriel’s chest. He wondered who the older couple was in the picture because they shared no resemblance with you.

Azriel sighed, his head dropping slightly. He leaned his head against the wall as his mind whirled. The thoughts he had been pushing down came bubbling up, rising to the forefront of his mind.

Did his family know he was here? Did they think he was dead? Were they dead?

He quickly turned around, pressing his back against the wall. He slid down as his breathing sped up, his vision narrowing. His stomach rolled as wave after wave of nausea hit him. He recalled the words that had been spoken to him earlier.

“Hey, hey. It’s alright. Try placing your head between your knees.” The words you had said in that soft voice washed over him, calming him enough to follow your instructions.

With his head between his knees and his back against the wall in a strange land, Azriel breathed deeply. He thought back to the few memories in his life that brought him happiness, knowing that would center him.

Training with Cass and Rhys, faces full of smug grins and bared teeth. Helping his mother around Rosehall, listening to her soft voice as she sang a lullaby in an ancient language he didn’t understand. Family dinners with the Inner Circle. Flying over Velaris, the stars bright above him as his wings caught on the wind.

Azriel pulled his head up from between his knees, his face filling with determination. If he wanted to get back home, he had to get his shit together.

“Make myself comfortable here,” he murmured to himself with a laugh, remembering Serena’s words. It seemed that, at this point, he didn’t have a choice. So he slowly stood, muttering a prayer to the Mother for help and guidance as he did so.

He looked around the small house, trying to think of what to do while he waited for you to return. He placed his hands on his hips, spinning around in a circle as he observed more about the room. He stopped as he took in the large black square hanging on the wall in front of the couch. It must have been some kind of mirror because he could see his reflection in the glass.

He grimaced as he looked at himself. His hair was standing out in all directions, and he could see the lines of dirt and dried blood on his face. He looked down at his hands, noting the mud caked under his fingernails.

He hadn’t felt this disgusting in years.

Take a shower. You smell awful. He didn’t know what a shower was, but apparently that’s what he needed.

“A shower must be something like a bath,” he murmured to himself as he walked through the bedroom, doing his best to ignore the stains on your bedding. He distantly felt a wave of regret at the sight, and he made a mental note to figure out a way to clean it.

Azriel walked into a small adjoining room, his eyes wide as he took everything in. The counter was simple white marble, and it was filled with various bottles and brushes, all scattered haphazardly across the surface.

“She must not be one for organization,” he said, a faint smile gracing his lips. He kept looking around with curious eyes. He saw a porcelain fixture that had to be a toilet, and he was thankful that at least something here seemed straightforward and familiar.

Eventually, his gaze fell upon a glass enclosure surrounding a tile-lined floor. Inside, there was a metal fixture mounted high on the wall, as well as some metal knobs below. He hastily looked around the room, checking to see if he was missing something.

There had to be a bathtub somewhere.

No, it was only the cluttered counter, the toilet, some towels hanging on a rack… and this glass-encased monstrosity.

“Well, this has to be it, then,” he said as he cautiously pulled the handle on the glass door. He watched it swing open, his mouth opening slightly in surprise. Stepping into the enclosed space, he turned his attention to the metal knobs, reaching out a tentative hand as he turned one.

“Shit!” he yelled as waterfell like rain from the fixture on the wall, drenching him from head to toe. He scrambled back, pushing against the glass door, trying to get it to open again. He tumbled out, catching himself against the edge of the counter. Looking at his dirty reflection in the mirror, he whispered, “You can do this, Az.”

It was just fucking water.

With methodical movements, Azriel peeled off his leathers, throwing them onto the floor with a loud plop. He removed his empty siphons, ignoring the slight pang in his heart as he did so. He had no use for them now.

He went back through the motions again, opening to door to step inside. He yelped as the freezing cold water hit his skin, causing him to throw himself against the tile wall.

“How in the hell do these people do this?” he groaned, trying to think of some sort of solution. After pondering for a few moments, he came up with nothing, so he steeled himself, preparing to lock the pain away.

Without thinking it through, he grabbed a bottle of liquid on one of the shelves. He poured some into his hand, the sweet smell wafting to his nose. Vanilla and jasmine, just like you. He quickly went to work rubbing it all over his body, paying special attention to his face and hair.

For a few moments, Az watched the dirt and blood flow down the drain with the water, never to be seen again. “How convenient,” he said to himself. Looking back up at the fixture on the wall, he bit his lip as he threw himself under the water stream. He quickly rinsed himself, even though it felt like his skin was being pelted by a thousand tiny needles.

After turning the knob in the opposite direction, he got out and dried himself with one of the towels hanging on the rack. Azriel wrapped it around his waist and turned to the mirror to look at himself.

His ribs were healed, but there was a deep purple bruise on his side that was tender to the touch. There were strange cuts along his chest and stomach, and he vaguely recalled the feeling of his skin being shredded as he was ripped from his world.

Azriel took a deep breath and turned around, afraid to look at his back where his wings should be. He slowly turned his head, gasping loudly as he saw the smooth brown skin on his back. It truly looked like his wings had never been there.

But now that he could focus on something other than pain, he could almost feel the sensation of them, as if they were there but invisible. The distant feeling of the connecting tendons along his spine and shoulders was proof of their existence, even if he couldn’t see them with his own eyes.

He focused, letting his mind wander deep into that well inside of himself from which his magic flowed. Under his skin, he could still sense the remnants of his magic, but it was like trying to grab fog in his palm. It was there, lurking in his veins, but it was muted. Dimmed.

With a groan, Azriel forced himself away from the mirror, unable to let himself think of what he had become. Who was he without his magic, his shadows? His whole identity was defined by his ability to slaughter, kill, and torture. He was more spymaster and shadowsinger than he was Azriel on most days, and he felt as if some core part of him had been suddenly ripped away.

He walked back into the bedroom, stopping once a horrifying realization dawned on him: he didn’t have any clothes. His leathers were torn and disgusting, and the portal that threw him here hadn’t been kind enough to send him an overnight bag for the journey.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Azriel muttered, rubbing his face in his hands. He sat down on the bed, staring at the wall with vacant eyes. He forced himself to turn his thoughts off, willing his brain into that warrior focus that had carried him through countless battles and risky missions.

Breathe. In. Out. Repeat.

Azriel sat on the bed as still as a rock as the sky outside grew darker, casting the room into blackness. He jumped as he heard a car door slam, followed by light footsteps on the stairs. “Oh, gods. Please no.” He couldn’t let you see him like this.

The front door opened, and Azriel’s heart stuttered as he heard you call out, “Azriel. I’m home.” Your voice no longer carried the anger from earlier. Now, it was just distant and empty, and he could hear the weariness in your tone.

He didn’t respond as he tried to focus on the shadows lurking in the dark corners of the room, willing them to cover him. Only silence followed, and Azriel cursed his entire existence as he sat on the bed.

“Azriel?” you asked again, worry filling your sweet voice. “I swear to God, if you are ignoring me, I will find you and break your ribs again.” The tone in which you threatened him reminded him of a wildfire, your voice untamed and adorably ferocious.

You were a feisty little human.

No point in hiding from her, Az thought to himself as he stood from the bed. He had nowhere to go, and this house wasn’t big enough to hide in, anyway. “Calm down. I’m right here,” he said as he walked into the living room.

You stood next to the couch, still dressed in that cobalt blue outfit. Your hair was a mess, as if you had been running your fingers through it, and your face looked tired, the dark circles under your eyes prominent. As you took in his almost naked form, your eyes widened, not bothering to hide their wandering trail up and down his body.

Despite the embarrassment he was feeling, Azriel felt a little smug at the sight of the small blush creeping onto your cheeks. He cleared his throat, trying to steady his voice. “How was work?” He still didn’t know exactly what you did for your job, and he silently cursed himself for not asking.

Oh well. He had bigger things to worry about right now.

You gulped, your throat bobbing with the action. “Good, good.” Your eyes had stopped on his stomach, your mouth opening slightly at the sight of his muscles there. “It was a… hard day.”

Azriel hummed as he noticed a bag in your hand. “What is that?” he asked, taking a step forward. He placed a hand on the towel to make sure it didn’t crumple to the floor.

“Clothes. For you,” you said, your eyes finally meeting his. You held the bag out to him with a shaking hand. “I hope they’re the right size.”

Something in his chest warmed at the sincerity of the gesture. “You didn’t have to do that,” he murmured, taking the bag from your grasp.

You chuckled, waving a hand toward his body. “Oh, I think I did.”

Azriel didn’t know what to say, so he started to take the clothes out of the bag, examining each item. They were plain and simple: a few pairs of black pants and soft shirts. Exactly his style, or at least what he assumed his style would be if he were from here.

“Um,” you murmured, breaking the awkward silence. “Everything that Serena said is real, isn’t it?” Your eyes were full of nervousness, and your fingers were fidgeting with the bottom of your shirt. “You- you’re really not from this world?”

Azriel was shocked, not knowing what to say. So, he only nodded.

“I mean, it makes sense the more I think about it. Your clothes, your accent… you’ve never seen a car or a phone.” You started pacing in front of him, your breathing rapid. “Those paintings. That’s where you’re from?”

He wondered what had caused you to come to the conclusion. “Yes. That is Prythian. My world.” He didn’t even know how to begin explaining it to you. He didn’t know if it was safe. The secrets and dangers of his home were not something he wanted to expose you to.

You were… kind and compassionate. There was something gentle about your demeanor, a warmth that spread throughout his body, thawing his cold bones and touching his lost soul.

Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that you had steel beneath your skin, a core of resolve that was masked by your gentleness. It was as if beneath the softness there lay a strength, tempered and resilient, ready to emerge when needed.

Your eyes bore into his with such an intensity, he could have sworn he saw fire in them. “Tell me everything. If you want me to help you, I need to know.” You took a step toward him, placing your palm on his tattooed chest. Your hand was warm against his skin, and he had to fight the urge to place his over it. “I deserve to know.”

Azriel bit the inside of his cheek, suppressing the sudden desire to cradle your face in his palm. You looked up at him through your eyelashes, your expression tender. For a moment, the world stilled as you looked at him with those beautiful eyes, trusting and hopeful, yet full of an intensity that made his heart race. He wanted to tell you everything about him. He didn’t want to face this, whatever this was, alone.

The realization shocked him; he had always faced his problems by himself, not wanting to burden anyone else with his issues and trauma. But with you…

Azriel shook himself from those thoughts, forcing himself to return to the present. You needed to know what Serena had said about her visions, about seeing you in them. You deserved to know that first.

“I will tell you,” he murmured, tilting his head to the side. He found himself caught up in the way your lips parted slightly, the way your nose curved down elegantly. His eyes lingered, capturing the delicate details of your face. “But first I need to tell you what the artist said. She said-“

Az had been so caught up in the conversation, in you, that he hadn’t heard another car pull into the driveway. He hadn’t heard the footsteps on the stairs or the laughter of the people outside.

The front door flew open, revealing the frame of a man and woman. The same man and woman from the picture on the wall, Azriel realized.

The man was holding a plastic-looking bag, and the woman held a colorful box in her arms that had the smell of garlic and herbs coming from it.

“Y/N!” the woman exclaimed, her gentle face lighting up for a moment. That gentleness turned to shock as she looked at Azriel, still wearing nothing but a small towel around his waist. “Oh, we didn’t know you had company tonight.”

Azriel stepped back quickly, his hand tightening his grip on the towel. The last thing he needed to happen was for it to fall off. “Who are they?” he asked you, unable to hide the embarrassment in his voice.

You groaned quietly as you turned away from him to face the couple. “My parents.”

tag list: @starofanotherworld @lilah-asteria @melmo567 @xxemmarldxx @a-frog-with-a-laptop @rcarbo1 @saltedcoffeescotch

@that-one-bibliophole @happyt0exist @thefandomswhre @serxndipity-ipity-blog @doodlebugg16-blog @berrikun

@i-am-infinite @wolvesnravens @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @bluejayswhistle @vera0214 @jananigk @carnelshephard @lovetia

[hijinxinprogress]

The JL keeps trying to stop Captain Marvel from talking to the media (and it’s not working)

The jl held a meeting about marvel’s conduct with cops bc he got a little too excited and suplexed a cop completely fucking forgetting he’s a 7ft buff ass man (the video goes viral for months) and the press is having a fucking field day with this bc ‘Captain Marvel Hates The Government!’ ‘Justice League Member, Captain Marvel, Shows His True Colors…?’ ‘Fawcett Superhero Attacks Civilian!’ ‘Captain Marvel Sends Police Officer to ICU!’ ‘Philadelphia Hero Puts Public Servant In Coma’ and shit like that is on the front page of every newspaper, magazine, and tabloid for the next eight months at least

so they’re like ‘hey you gotta say something! The people think you hate the us government esp the police!’ and he’s just sitting there confused before he says very slowly and clearly ‘But I do…I fucking despise them’

Barry and Hal are fucking losing it bc this is the guy that says ‘darn!’ in the heat of battle and has said on multiple occasions ‘Well, that’s not very nice, now is it?’ to opponents that destroy worlds for fun

like this guy still tries very hard not to make faces at the broccoli on his plate in front of the jl (and fails)

this guy hears a yj member or even the very adult titans cussing and going on the longest rant bc ‘I’ve not heard such foul language in all my years-!’ and what’s this ‘‘I’m an adult’ nonsense?? I’m older than Ravens grandfather 🤨 When you get to be my age-’

they’re all so pissed when they hear him cussing like a sailor playing video games on cyborgs phone the next day and he’s playing fucking temple run at that

[365filmsbyauroranocte]

Tokyo Blood (Sogo Ishii, 1993)

[aroaessidhe]

Aromantic Adult Books - High Fantasy (mostly)

ARO WEEK 2023

KAIKEYI /  historical fantasy/retelling / aroace MC

MOONSHINE /  1920s-ish fantasy / major side character who has some POV is aro bi

THE LANGUAGE OF ROSES / fantasy novella / aro MC

AN ACCIDENT OF STARS  /  upper YA/adult portal fantasy / secondary MC is a polyam married aro woman

A DAY OF FALLEN NIGHT  / high fantasy / apparently one of the MCs is aroace, haven’t read it yet!

CITY OF STRIFE/ISANDOR SERIES / high fantasy / last cast includes multiple aroaces, demiros & greyros

THE WOLF AMONG THE WILD HUNT  / fantasy novella / centres a QPR between and aroace & enby

THE ORACLE STONE / NA high fantasy / one of the three MCs is aro pan

THE BRUISING OF QILWA / fantasy novella / MC is aroace

*as a note, some of these only briefly explore aromanticism, and/or explore the ace part of the aroace character more. If you want more details on how much things are explored, see my database!

[emotionallyconstipatedturtle]

am i projecting?, yes.

yes i am.

[mci-writing]

Hi I saw that your requests are open. Can I request a senku x female reader where he has a crush on an older tattooed foreigner who was on vacation in Japan when the world was petrified

I've had this sitting for a minute tbh, but mostly bc I didn't want there to be too many spoilers for anime-onlys 😭😭 mostly for how tattoos work,,, Don’t be surprised if there’s a heavy focus on language plot wise, I’ve been working on a lot of linguistics homework 😞

Anyways, hope you enjoy

Science Makes Age Complicated (Ishigami Senku x Reader):

Warnings: technically an age gap but also not (reader was once 2 years older than Senkuu, but now they're the same age due to time shenanigans), fem!reader, some language use (a few swears here and there), reader is American (RIP but it’s plot relevant), reader is implied to know an insane amount of languages (bc this is Dr Stone and it’s relevant to world-building)

"Think you can scrounge something up for her, Yuzuriha?" Senku parts the lush shrubbery for his friend, unresponsive to her obvious surprise at the sight before her. He figured it would go that way, considering how kept away the whole area is, but he'd rather start the spectacle with her big reactions instead of the loud and boisterous version involving the rest of their crew, "I'm more than sure you'll manage to make her something she's 1 billion percent comfortable in."

He'd considered this statue his secret weapon for the next part of their excursion. Well, that would be his explanation as to why he'd waited so long to unveil her and finally free her from her encasement. Really, he could never find the proper time to finally revive her, especially when every time it would feel right to, something else would arise that would require them to use the revival fluid for someone else.

When talks of traveling to the Americas came up, he knew it'd be the perfect time to properly reveal her and, hopefully, ease her into their current predicament. While Gen is a great diplomat, thew mentalist isn't exactly fluent in as many languages as the girl in the statue before them. Even more, if they are to run into more people (which they very likely are), it's better to have at least two representatives to talk things over. That's going to be his reasoning, anyway.

Deep down, he's a little nervous to finally see her again, especially now that he's technically older than her by a few months at least. The last time they'd seen each other had been the day before the petrification light, the two decided to spend time with each other before he went back to school. She was visiting Japan for a bit, a trip she'd planned to make at least once a year since the two had officially met in person while he had been in America. Back then, she'd been 17 to his 15, owning an American driver's license and a tattoo sleeve that left many of the older members of society scandalized.

"I don't think she's going to take being younger than us well," Yuzuriha mentions as she finishes up sewing the outfit she'd made for (Y/n). She worked fast, wiping the sweat that had accumulated on her forehead once she finished. She takes a step back once she's finished, watching as Senku steps forward, "Especially when she finds out how long it took for you to bring her back."

"She'll be fine. I'm 1 billion percent sure she's going to be grateful for it," He responds, popping the top off the tiny vial between his fingers. He doesn't stop the grin from spreading across his face as he lets the contents of the vial drip from the top of her head. The two watch expectedly as it eases its way down her body, stone cracking and parting in its wake, “She’s going to get to visit home, after all.”

The stone falls from her body, the life slowly coming back into her (e/c) orbs as more of her skin is revealed. Her tattooed sleeve remains, now accompanied by the petrification markings on her face and other parts of her body. A wave of confusion hits her as she takes in the unfamiliar surroundings, but her shoulders relax a little as she takes in the two familiar figures next to her, "Senku...? Yuzuriha...?" "Hey, (Y/n)," He immediately greets in response, an excited light coming to his eyes as ruby meets (e/c), "Looks like we're the same age now."

Yuzuriha flinches at his greeting, sighing with a shake of her head as she takes a small step closer to their friend. A nervous smile forms on her lips as she takes (Y/n) hands into her own, leading her out of the hidden away area into the light of the new world. She feels the grip tighten as (e/c) eyes dart around the surrounding forestry in an attempt to better understand the circumstances and environment, "We have a lot to catch you up on, but I'm sure if we ease you in slowly it won't cause you too much whiplash-"

"We don't have time for that, Yuzuriha. We still have to load the ship back up and travel to America," Senku waves the notion off, walking past the two of them and leading them back into the village. Neither of the girls miss the smirk on his face as he continues, unmoving as they gape at him like fish, "(Y/n) will catch up along the way."

He's bluffing, which they realize a little later when Ryusui recounts the plan to spend the next few days loading the ship and replacing the items they used on their last voyage. (Y/n) is assimilated faster into their new society than she can process, the rest of their group taking the basic information they're fed and working with it. Yuzuriha is eventually forced to leave her to fend for her own after a bit to attend to her own assignments and Taiju only stops to catch up for a bit (which is mostly him speed talking and making assumptions about how much she's been made aware of) before continuing to move along.

Senku doubts he'll ever admit it out loud, but he is grateful that they're the same age, even if he's technically older by a few months now. Standing next to (Y/n), who hadn't aged a day past the last time he'd seen her, was the reassurance he secretly needed about his own development. While his growth spurt, a result of the final pushes of puberty during the Stone Wars and roughing it during the New Stone Age, was the only difference he could notice next to her, (Y/n) had been hit with the whiplash of every other development.

To her, it felt like both a lifetime and a long night since she had seen Senku, yet he looked almost completely different and exactly the same. The remainder of his baby fat had rounded out of his cheeks, his face maturing nicely into that of a young adult, and he'd sprung up quite a bit in height. He was still lithe in comparison to Taiju, till thin and very much not built for too much physical labor, but he'd gotten a bit of meat on his bones to fill his arms out a little more. Despite that, he still looked like him, like the jerky boy she'd met by chance in middle school who would be the first person she'd show her newest tattoos to when she was 16 to get some kind of rise out of him.

Taiju and Yuzuriha were a further reminder of the weird passage of time, the two more developed in their own rights. He was beefier, still ever-muscular in a more defined way. His hands seemed rougher, but she didn't know if that had been due to the rougher circumstances or if they were always meant to get so rough with all the handy work Senku would put him up to. Yuzuriha had filled out a little, a few scars littering her hands from what (Y/n) could only assume was from her thread work she'd seem to consistently be working on since they'd gotten back to their stronghold. Her silky brown hair, which had once reached her waist and made a few of the girls from their school envious of its length, now barely reached past her shoulders in its bobbed shape.

She feels so out of place...

~~~~

The rush of information coming to people’s senses is always amusing to watch, but (Y/n) is taking a little more time to process than usual. Even now, a few days into her now being free from the stone prison, she still has more questions. They aren’t particularly scientific, more so just random observations that she really wants the answers to. She’s also hyper-analyzed the villagers' speech patterns, having them repeat their newer slang and pronounce random words in Japanese, English, and German (something they did not realize they were fluent in until she came around). In return, they ask her questions about the past (mostly Senku, Yuzuriha, and Taiju), the sleeve on her arm, and why the hell she knows so many languages already.

Senku can’t really be mad about it slowly down progress, he’s sure he’d slack off a little too if they didn’t have so little time to prepare for their trip across the sea. Neither of them miss the way their eyes longingly stare at one another, meeting a few times before either is dragged away by the others they’re surrounded by. It’s even worse that (Y/n) feels she hasn’t been able to get any time alone with him since they made it to the village. She’d been made aware of their plans once her confusion died down a little, even taking the time to freshen up on the main languages she’d be focused on for their trip and doing what she can to pitch in. Unfortunately, their different preparations would barely, if ever, cross over. Lowkey, it had been killing both of them inside, but they kept up appearances for the sake of getting things done.

She’d learned from Gen, who gave her brain a break by speaking in English with her, that Senku had kept her relatively well hidden. He’d visit her often, but no one had put together that’s what he’d been doing until now. Yuzuriha made it clear she’d only learned of (Y/n)’s whereabouts a little before they’d revived her. However, the brown-haired girl did mention that a few passing statements he’d made in the past were starting to make sense.

It took the last night before the Kingdom of Science would set sail again for (Y/n) to find time away from the others. Despite the various discussions scratching her brain in the best way possible in a new world, the dark blue of the night accompanied by the low noises of crickets and crashing waves gives her the solace she needs. While everything has mostly settled, or settled as much as it can, it's still moving so fast. To her, everything was normal yesterday and then dark for longer than she thinks possible to comprehend, "Maybe this is how Sleeping Beauty felt..."

"I doubt that," A familiar voice speaks up from behind her, the heels of his shoes clopping along the ground as he approaches. The gravel scrunches as he shifts to sit next to her, deep zircon-colored eyes staring out towards the ocean's expanse. He scoots a little closer to her, his head tilting as his pinky reflexively reaches to dig out of his ear, "Considering she typically is depicted to have been a young preteen when she first fell asleep and an older teenager when she wakes, I doubt there were many technological changes to throw her for such a loop, especially if the story takes place in a fictional version of the middle ages."

His eyes shift to peak at her instead, his typical grin filing onto his face. Somehow, they're one of his few features to remain the same despite his growing age. He's one of the reasons she's out here tonight, gathering her thoughts privately one last time so she can tuck them away to focus her attention more on to returning civilization.

Of course, she always thought he was good-looking, most people did. However, where they were turned off by his passion for science and technical engineering, she found it to be all the more endearing for his character. He had his pesty moments, but so did everyone else in some way. It added to his charm, "Didn't see you as the fables type, Senku."

"Had a friend who was super into literature. She read it in different languages to challenge herself," He teases in response, his gaze turning back to the sight before them, "Wonder where she is now..."

(Y/n) tugs her knees up to her chest, the irony of the comparison not lost on her, though made completely on accident. She pulls them closer, resting her cheek on them as she takes in the boy next to her, "Maybe she's trapped somewhere in a stone prison back in the woods."

She watches his chest rumble with his chuckle, a soft breeze picking up and spreading the smell of salt water. He's closer now, the smaller changes staring her in the face and taunting her. She'd wanted him this close to her again, just for the reassurance, but now... She kind of regrets it.

"I would've found her by now," He mumbles, the sound just barely reaching her ears. A fond smile slowly eases across his mouth as he returns his gaze to her, "Would've taken me a while to finally see her like this again, but I think it'd finally be worth seeing her again. Even with the circumstances."

"I'm sure she'd be grateful to see you again too, even with the circumstances."

[kadextra]

“eu costumava esperar por ti, see you tomorrow forever”

“because… gosto de você. did I butcher that?”

lines that are rotating in my brain today.

lorewise it kills me how one is a message for the “dead” and the other is words intended for the living, one feels heartbreaking while the other feels heartwarming, they were beautifully delivered

but meta? I keep thinking about how these are two native english speakers who practiced the phrases, because they wanted to have their characters express their emotion during these specific lore scenes in the portugese language. that’s amazing to see

[furiarossa]

"Danny looked down, thinking. Only then did he notice an inscription on the pedestal holding the three statues. “Madeline Walker | Vlad Masters | Jack Fenton The ghost friends honor them, April the 3rd, 1983: For the heroic saving of our lives" «They… they never told me anything» Danny looked at the statue, then at Skulker, then back at the statue «Why?»."

Okay, this lineart is so good that inspired a scene in me (I wrote it, even though I practically never write in English) and TWO different color versions.

7th submission for the @green-with-envy-phandom-event! This is a collab: the lineart was created by the awesome @ecto-stone, while we did the color. 

Alternative (golden) version + ficlet under the cut!

Danny approached the sculptural group, vaguely in disbelief. At first he didn't really understand what he was seeing... he just had the feeling that it was something familiar, that the shapes of those greenish bodies reminded him of something. There were three people, dressed like ghostbusters, with tools and protective goggles. There were also other details, rays and small figures.

Danny squinted. One of the three was too similar to his father... but younger, with more hair, with a cheeky smile. So the other two, they were... yes, he had only seen them like this one other time, in a photograph from their college days, but... they must have been his mother Maddie and Vlad Masters.

It was quite impressive, to see a statue of three people he knew so well as adults, but immortalized forever, frozen in time, as the version of them that had been real only years before.

«Why is there a statue of them in this place?» He asked Skulker «They are ghostbusters, why did you immortalize them here, in the Ghost Zone?».

Skulker looked up at the sculptural group, his gaze unreadable, machine-like. But his silence, which lasted a few moments too long, spoke for him.

«It's a celebration» He said «From the times of the ectoquake. We all risked dying... or losing all the information in our cores, due to altered magnetism» he touched his chest with his large gloved hand «We would have forgotten who we are, we would have become a bunch of babbling ectoplasms devouring each other to survive, unable to recognize ourselves. A fate worse than death».

Danny looked down, thinking. Only then did he notice an inscription on the pedestal holding the three statues.

“Madeline Walker | Vlad Masters | Jack Fenton

The ghost friends honor them, April the 3rd, 1983:

For the heroic saving of our lives"

«They… they never told me anything» Danny looked at the statue, then at Skulker, then back at the statue «Why?».

Skulker pulled his gun from the holster, a handkerchief from his back pocket, and began cleaning it. That gesture worried Danny, but the other ghost didn't seem to want to attack him.

«They never told you anything because they don't know anything» Skulker revealed, speaking in a low voice «They themselves asked for their memories to be erased»

«Why?» Danny shook his head «Vlad certainly wouldn't have thrown away the opportunity to be adored as someone's savior»

«You know nothing about Vlad» Skulker's voice was thick, sticky, full of menace. Danny realized that they had never talked about Vlad before: how had he and Skulker met? What did they think of each other?

«Vlad wouldn't let anyone, not even himself, see him as a hero» The ghost hunter continued, moving the cloth more rapidly on the butt of the gun, as if he was trying to remove a stain «That's not what he does. But on that distant day… he and your parents saved the lives of all of us. They saved the entire Ghost Zone ecosystem»

«My parents probably did all the work and he joined the group only to take the glory» Danny snorted

«You don't know anything» Skulker said slowly

«I know Vlad quite a bit»

«No. You are a fourteen years old boy who thinks he knows how things go, but he doesn't. I've known him for twenty years, and you for... how long? Less than a year? And most of the time you just argue like two children»

«The fact that he fights with a fourteen year old» Danny pointed to his chest «I think already says a lot about him»

«He's training you, brat. For my part, if I could I would have taken your head off a long time ago... but he saved you, remember?».

Danny blinked. Yes, the first time they had seen each other… he had been trapped in the cube, powerless, with only his head sticking out, like a trophy. And Skulker would have gladly used his new blade on him, if it hadn't been for Vlad, who had stopped him.

«He's only doing it because he wants to have me as his son» Danny muttered

«Doesn't sound like a bad reason to me» Skulker growled.

For a few moments, there was silence. Only the movement of the ectoplasm could be heard, like the riptide of the sea in a bay, there wasn’t even the sound of breathing.

«So...» Danny, who had no intention of arguing with Skulker, continued «What's this about the ectoquake?»

«It's something that... happens» explained the ghost hunter «Every now and then. It's not exactly cyclical, but almost. And anyway, you can predict it, but you can't stop it. An ectoquake is the most terrible circumstance the community can experience: it not only destroys the lairs, but also the physical forms of the ghosts and their memories. It is a magnetic storm of such magnitude that it destroys everything it touches, rearranges it and turns it into something different. Every time an ectoquake occurs, thousands of species disappear forever and those who survive become mindless cannibals. It takes years for species to re-evolve and for ghosts to regain a minimum of reasoning»

«Wow. It really sucks...»

«Indeed. Usually very few ghosts survive: those who have access to a portal and can escape into the material world, for example. You get out of here» Skulker pointed up, as if there was a ceiling (which wasn't there) «The ectoquake can't get you. But the problem is that ectoquakes can also be predicted by humans»

«And so?»

«And so the ghost slayers remain stationed outside any natural portal, trying to kill every ghost that is escaping. It's a sealed fate»

«The ghost slayers?» Danny wrinkled his nose «I've never heard of them...»

«You're used to seeing those ridiculous ghostbusters... the Guys in White, those bad copies of Mystery Incorporated, your parents... but there are real monster hunters out there, with real weapons capable of blowing your head off. They don't go hunting for flying kids, they want to collect large quantities of ectoplasm at once, and to do so they predict ectoquakes and capture and kill those who escape»

«Terrifying».

Even though he was in his ghost form at the moment, Danny still felt goosebumps. Perhaps his ectoplasmic body simply remembered the reactions of his flesh body, or perhaps the idea disgusted him enough to change the surface composition of his ghost.

«At that time I was… little. Small. In the physical sense of the term» Skulker seemed a little embarrassed at this revelation, but he didn't stop recounting «I didn't have the armor yet, I was a small and defenseless body, and I managed to get out early, without the ghost slayers noticing. The ectoquake was a month away. But I was captured by them» he pointed to the three statues «They were in college and still studying, they weren't dangerous. Maddie and Jack wanted to dissect me, study me and then kill me» Skulker's voice softened «Vlad begged them not to do it. He saved my life»

«I can't imagine it»

«Too bad for you, kid. Too bad that you can't imagine that your parents, exactly as they do today, try to destroy the ghosts, while Vlad, exactly as he does today, helps me»

«Touché»

«I told them about the ectoquake. And they did something incredible: they built a portal for the first time. Not that little thing that would later destroy Vlad's life: a real portal, bigger than all the others. Huge, inside an abandoned building. Six meters in diameter, so that ghosts of any size could fit through. No ghost slayer expected us to escape from there, because they didn't know that portal existed. And then they invented something else, the Fenton thermos, a device capable of capturing ghosts, with which I was able to collect and transport the slowest or weakest ghosts, or those who were too afraid, into the material world» Skulker frowned «When the ectoquake came, the damage to the Ghost Zone was incalculable, but… but we didn't have to start from scratch. There had been many casualties, but many of the plants and animals were safe, my friends and I were still sane, we were fine. We had spent all the necessary time inside the abandoned building. Some inside the thermos, others free… we were all alive. Thanks to them: Madeline, Jack, Vlad»

«I… I didn't know. Why didn't I know?»

«I’m telling you, they don't remember anything»

«Why?»

«They knew ghost slayers were dangerous, boy. They knew they might have let some information slip: how to build the portals, where the escape route they'd created for us was. They decided together that they would forget it. There is one of us who can make wishes come true...»

«Desiree»

«Yes, exactly, Desiree. To protect us all, they wanted to forget what happened»

«Couldn't you just wish the ghost slayers would stop hunting you? Or that ectoquakes didn't exist?»

«You have a skull as thick as a bison's» Skulker placed his index finger on Danny's forehead «Do you really think ghost slayers are stupid? They are protected by amulets, ghost powers do not work on them. As for ectoquakes, they cannot be avoided in any way, they are an integral part of the Ghost Zone!»

«Well, yeah, I didn't know» Danny's cheeks turned a light shade of green.

Skulker withdrew his hand and approached the sculptural group, placing his hands on the pedestal. «Their heroism, their intelligence, their sacrifice… we will never forget them. They have already forgotten them» He sighed «It's a real shame that Madeline and Jack betrayed him and abandoned him like this. He didn't deserve it. Together they could have conquered the world, obtained everthing, but instead...»

«They didn't betray and abandon him!» Danny exclaimed

«You weren't there, ghost boy. How would you know?» Skulker looked at him over his shoulder, a single green eye visible, luminescent like a light bulb «You should listen to the story as told by others too. And maybe even your stupid parents would be ready to admit what they did to him. You weren't there, but I was. And I don't wish for anyone to see what I saw».

Danny looked up at the statue, feeling a myriad of emotions boiling inside him. An invisible hand squeezed his stomach. He didn't know about this, about how they had become heroes of the Ghost Zone… what was there that he still didn't know about them?

---------------------------------------------------

(I will definitely expand this thing later... for now, you got the idea XD).

Aaand here there is the golden version (of course there are gold statues of the saviors, somewhere!):

[Oh, and a lot more of our Danny Phantom fanarts: Here’s our tag!]

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[faeriekit]

FMA fic I'm never going to write:

Hoenheim's lifespan and continued existence is entirely tied to the hundreds of thousands to possibly millions of dead his soul eats off of, slowly leeching life from the dead kingdom of Xerxes.

...It stands to reason, then, when begetting life, that spiritual artefacts make themselves known in the begotten sons of the dead. There are only four that can claim true heritage of Xerxes— the immortal, the synthesized man, and the heirs to the memories of a long-gone people.

Or. Well. Gone in body, certainly. But that's hardly stopped anyone from wanting to step up and parent.

[artofmaquenda]

Very slowly tinkering on my Stoned Ape hypothesis homage (While I work on multiple others things xD). The origin of us, our language, art and culture through deep time gives me Big Feelings 💚

Also highly recommend this book🖤 I cried when the first docu about Homo Naledi came out years ago and so much more has been discovered since 🥹