#The Ember Blade Archives

[nevermore-grimes]

HOLY SHIT!!! I’M LITERALLY SHAKING OMG!!! I FOUND THEM!!! I FOUND MY OLD PARACOSM NOTEBOOKS!!!

Oh my god, I thought I was gonna throw up… Oh my god…

It’s gonna take me ages to digitize them, but I took pictures of all the pages so I didn’t have to get caught with the real copies (it took me, like, an hour and I was sick with anxiety the whole time).

So, please enjoy some really old arts that I drew of some of my paras (terrible art warning below the cut, lmaooo!).

*NOTE*: Since these designs are old, they do not exactly reflect how each of the paras depicted look today.

[michaela-o]

Hey guys !! Here's a little writing post for tonight since i once again suffer from art block and i couldn't really get my thoughts on canvas so at least i'll write them down for you🥹🫶🏻

I had a little poetic moment about Cybertronians and how each bot from the Lost Light might view humans in their own way. Here’s how i think a few of them might feel, translated into their own brand of poetic musing:

Rodimus

"They’re like embers scattered on a night’s breeze. Small, insistent, daring to claim a spark of the vast unknown. Fragile? Yes, but isn’t fragility the very flame that burns the brightest in the dark?"

I think Rodimus sees in humans a little bit of reflection of himself—bold and driven, yet so often skimming along the edges of destruction. I think he would admire their recklessness despite their short lives and finds in them a kinship, like stars burning out as they fall.

Drift

"With hands of flesh, they reach for the stars, tiny pilgrims, undeterred by dark. They are warriors bound in tender shells, yet their spirits are sharper than any blade."

I think Drift sees humanity’s journey as sacred, an unlikely pilgrimage. Despite their fragility, they pursue wonders that many would fear, displaying a purity of heart that resonates with his own search for purpose and redemption.

Brainstorm

"They are puzzles, equations, broken in ways no theorem can solve. I could build them stronger, make them last longer, stretch their days to years—yet it’s the ticking clock that drives them which we cannot touch, the glitch of life within the code. They’re impossible, improbable—beautifully, infuriatingly unsolvable."

For Brainstorm, i think humans are the ultimate enigma. So imperfect, so baffling, so limited by their biology—and yet, somehow, they thrive. Their existence nags at him, like a problem he can’t quite crack, but one that has woven its way into his circuits.

Ultra Magnus

"They obey no Prime, no order, no code, yet they find honor in dust and devotion in ruin. There is chaos within them, yet in their eyes—clarity. For all their flaws, perhaps they see the law of the universe far better than we."

Ultra Magnus finds himself both exasperated and quietly moved by humans’ defiance of logic. I think he might struggle with their disorder but recognizes the strange beauty in their conviction. They possess a kind of honor that is beyond his ability to define—a law unto themselves.

Chromedome

"Stories woven in short threads of skin and sinew, their lives stitched in seconds, minutes, hours—a blink of a shutter. Yet they carry tales, so rich and raw, that I cannot forget. They are memory incarnate, fragile as newborn spark, but so full of color."

I think Chromedome would treasure humans for their stories, for the vibrant, bittersweet memories they create within the boundaries of their lives. Every moment for them is fleeting, and so they seem to capture life with a vibrancy he longs to archive.

Swerve

"They bumble and fumble, awkward yet bold, finding joy in the smallest things. They laugh in the face of a world so vast—their clumsy courage, a song I want to know by my spark."

We all know Swerve loves humans and human things. I think he sees humans as charmingly imperfect, stumbling yet fearless in a universe that dwarfs them. Their humor and resilience bring a joy that he can’t resist, as if they were a song that lingers in his circuits, warming him in ways he would never expected.

Megatron

"They are the dreamers, the fools, the ones who hope, rebels in skin who believe in the impossible. I have seen it. They build kingdoms on bones and dreams, believing they can change the world."

Megatron is an amazing character in my opinion in the Lost Light universe. I think he looks upon humanity with a blend of scorn and admiration. They are so weak, yet so defiant—champions of hope despite their powerlessness. Their resilience reminds him of what he once fought for, and though he might deny it, he can’t help but see in them a reflection of his own self.

Ratchet

"Flawed and failing, breaking with each breath, they stitch themselves back with their tender hands. They fall, they fail, yet rise again reminding me why I mend the wounded steel."

I really like Ratchet. I like to think he regards humans with a mix of exasperation and reluctant respect even when he wouldn't directly word it. He sees them as frail and imperfect, breaking down as quickly as they heal. Yet, their resilience, their refusal to give up despite everything, is what keeps him caring deep in his spark. In their struggles, he finds purpose, and in their imperfection, he rediscovers his own reason to heal.

I hope you liked this silly little post for tonight. I hope the art block goes away soon so i can draw more silly robots and their silly lil human friends together :3🧡🧡🧡

[forgingtheblade]

I’VE GOT A PICKAXE, QUACKITY, AND I’LL PUT IT THROUGH YOUR TEETH

or: On Toothpick

i started with my concept sketch and made a clean blueprint based on it in illustrator! this allows me to print it out to test scale and use a laser engraver to achieve those finer details like the enchantment script along the blade.

my original blueprint was WAAAAY too big. i genuinely could not tell you what the thought process was there. i scaled it down by a third and ended up with a much more reasonable scale for a pickaxe to be.

i traced and cut all of those pieces out of foam, three times. in the handle, the middle layer had the center cut out for a pvc pipe to be installed to make it more sturdy.

after gluing the layers together with contact cement, i used a dremel tool to sand the shape down into something rounder, more handle like. this step created a LOT of foam dust, and i’d like to clarify that any time i was using the dremel, contact cement, spray paint, or heating foam i was wearing a respirator! i also have n95 dust masks available for any visitors to my studio on days where i’m doing this sort of work :)

i glued the head together, laser cut the detail work, and dremeled in a bevel along the head of the pickaxe. i also added a googly eye as a rivet on the part where the head and handle meet.

after 3 coats of plastidip and 2 coats of glossy spray, the head of the axe got a pass with black rub-n-buff, airbrushed with purple interference paint, and then back in with the rub-n-buff for weathering.

i then painted the same gold paint i’ve been using for the crown and other accessories onto the detail work and into the engravings. this process made me decide that on any future designs the enchantment text will not be any smaller than 1/2 an inch, and if i can manage it it will be bigger than that still. painting this was a messy nightmare.

the handle and wraps and blood splatter are all just various treatments of acrylic paint! i took a pass over the whole thing with a satin varnish (that ended up being a little glossier than i’d hoped, but it’s ok), and then a gloss varnish over the blood specifically to try and give a wet illusion.

i am genuinely obsessed with this thing! i can’t wait to put it though quackity’s teeth!

taglist under the cut! reply or send an ask to be added!

@too-much-alphabet-soup , @embers-archive , @nothing-to-see-around-here, @pluralphilza, @aleeaviancrowalt

[kaihuntrr]

part twenty-five: the huntsman.

Martyn makes a run for it.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

In. Out.

Breathe.

Martyn took ragged breaths as he forced his numb legs to move. Step by step he forced himself forward as the night’s haunting and slow winds turned sour and blistering as it turned against them and blew smoke into their path. His pace was sluggish. The others had to periodically stop to check on him or drag him over a particularly rough patch of terrain.

He was slowing them down.

At least they were all going to make it out together, right? Martyn nodded to himself. Think positive thoughts. It’d serve them best if they could just keep thinking positive thoughts.

“We’re nearly out!” Puffy grinned, as she ran just a couple steps behind Katherine, who had been leading the group back through the forest. “Come on, let’s go!”

Martyn’s heart raced. He couldn’t see much smoke- at least not yet- but he could smell hints of it from behind. Charred wood, flickers of ember, burnt grasses and flowers- all leading to a bright blaze. He had to move faster. They all did. 

They had to move. 

They had to leave. 

They had to move! 

They had to leave–!

Martyn looked straight ahead, trying to quiet the rampant thoughts in his head as he swore his pace grew more sluggish. His breaths were labored as he attempted to keep up with the others. His vision ran blurry as he felt his heart explode in his chest. 

Then he tumbled. 

Martyn fell on the ground with a harsh thud, groaning as he looked behind him. 

A thick root wrapped around his left boot. Martyn attempted to move- get his foot free from the boot at least- but he couldn’t. He swore he could feel the roots almost dig into his boot…!

He looked around, preparing to scream for help, but saw the glint of metal on his belt.

Right! Martyn thought. The knife!

He sat up, twisting his body to reach for the knife the stranger had given him. He leaned in close to the roots, cutting it free from his boot as he periodically looked around him. 

Martyn nearly jumped as a pair of hands grabbed his shoulders. “Martyn!” Grian shouted. His eyes widened at the thick roots on Martyn’s boot and pulled out his gun. “Don’t worry, I’ll–!”

“You’re only going to make that worse!” Katherine cut in, glancing at Grian and Martyn. Her eyes rested on the knife for a split second, then she shook her head. “Leave him with me. The rest of you should go on ahead.”

“Are you sure?!” Tubbo chimed in. “We could get out of here together–”

“And risk the fire catching us first?” Katherine’s voice grew louder, more stern. “We’ll get out of here, now GO!”

Katherine crouched down beside Martyn as the others ran.

“Jeez, you got yourself pretty stuck there!” She laughed. The bright smile on her face eased Martyn’s breathing. She was calm. He should be calm, too. She pulled out her sword and began to slice away at the thick roots with ease. “Come on, help me get you out.”

The two of them made quick work with the roots. Martyn cut through the roots closest to his boot while Katherine chipped away at the sides. He couldn’t help but notice how often she glanced at the knife as she worked away at cutting him out.

Katherine let out a sigh of relief as she sheathed her sword, standing up and reaching her hand out to Martyn. “We should walk a little,” she said, looking around. Her eyes narrowed as she looked at the forest, staring off at the direction they ran from. “I don’t think you can manage running if your ankle’s all twisted.”

Martyn took Katherine’s hand, “You’re probably right.” He stood up, but the moment he placed pressure on his left foot, he stumbled almost immediately. He would’ve fallen, if not for Katherine catching him at the last second. The fall caused his knife to slip out of his hand, thudding against the dry grass.

Martyn noticed Katherine’s slow look towards the blade and narrowing her eyes. “...Is something wrong with it?” 

“N-No. Nothing’s wrong.” Katherine quickly replied. She wrapped one of her arms around Martyn’s waist and the other on his arm, lifting him up as she walked closer to the knife. She was eerily quiet. “...Where did you get this from?”

“Someone gave it to me.”

Katherine leaned down to pick up the blade, turning it over to examine all of the details Martyn assumed she was able to see. 

Martyn assumed the stranger had given him a regular combat knife, but….

It definitely wasn’t normal.

There were some scratch patterns on the knife’s blade, definitely intentional as it was almost glowing in this strange teal light. The butt of the knife had a small and pretty iridescent scale. 

Katherine mumbled something under her breath.

“Katherine…?”

She didn’t move.

“Katherine!”

She stared at the knife with her eyebrows furrowed. 

“Katherine, the fire’s getting closer!”

That woke her up. 

Katherine suddenly jerked into motion. She stooped down so quickly that Martyn nearly lost his balance. But in one smooth motion she was upright again, shoving the hilt of the knife into his hand. “Take care of that. The someone who gave it to you must care about you a whole lot.”

Martyn wasn’t sure how to respond to that, but Katherine didn’t give him time to contemplate. She dragged him forward by the arm around his back, forcing him to either limp along with her or fall on his face. 

Martyn shoved the knife into its sheath and did his best to walk while not putting weight on his injured ankle, though it was feeling better already.

The two of them moved quickly. Over the course of Katherine’s dragging, Martyn eventually found his footing. One foot after the other, he followed behind Katherine as they left the forest. Martyn couldn’t help but notice the distant stare on her face as they left. Her mind was probably clouded from her thoughts on that knife. 

But he couldn’t think about that now.

Not when they were so close to the exit.

Martyn nearly shouted in relief as he stepped out of the forest and into the now somewhat comforting mist of Crescent Bay’s outskirts. He didn’t like the thought of finding this place comforting. This entire island was out to get him. Get everyone.

But he froze as he heard the rumble of thunder. 

Rain.

The thought of being burned alive in the forest was already plaguing his mind. Even if the thought was slowly disappearing from his mind, he could feel the embers pricking his skin. He could almost feel the cold droplets of rain hitting his skin, even if the clouds hadn’t opened to a storm. He didn’t want to get drenched. He didn’t want beasts to come at him. He didn’t want a bigger target pointed at his back.

“We need to go!” Katherine shouted, as if she could hear Martyn’s panic. He could hear her panic through her words and through her actions as she grabbed his wrist and ran quickly. Martyn nearly stumbled to catch up to her as they ran into town.

Thunder continued to rumble above their heads, brief flashes of lightning passing through clouds as Katherine and Martyn entered the oddly comforting old town. Martyn shouldn’t get used to it, considering that they were leaving as soon as they got to port. 

The town was dark, but it was still bright enough to see the streets around them. Martyn’s heart leapt as he could hear the distant sound of the sea. Oh, how he missed that salty sea air, the passing tides that rolled lazily against the ship, the cool air of the ocean flowing around him. 

And the adrenaline of taking a new monster down.

Though this whole venture of just escaping the island and being chased down by a witch was enough of an adrenaline rush as it could be. Martyn was too busy running for life to really register that they were escaping one life-threatening event and heading straight into another. On top of that, they were running away from a fight instead of engaging with it- and they had a whole other crew to deal with! It felt like the world was constantly shoving them down with so many things to do, they couldn’t even focus on their main goal!

But….

Something odd stuck out to Martyn as he and Katherine rushed through the streets.

There was mist.

The only time there was mist was when…

Pearl wasn’t here already, was she? That was impossible. 

Martyn looked behind him. No signs of anything. Then how come there was…

Martyn saw Katherine start to pull away from him when he slowed down to look back. He couldn’t dive deep into his thoughts again. He had to continue. He had to catch up.

“Katherine! Martyn!” Martyn’s eyes lit up as he heard Scar call from a distance down the misty street, waving the two over to him and Grian. He was barely visible through the mist, but as they grew closer Martyn saw him give them a relieved smile. He and Katherine stopped in front of him as they caught their breath. “You’ve made it!”

“Of course!” Katherine grinned, smacking Martyn’s shoulder and pulling him in for a quick hug. “He’s just fine.”

Grian and Scar smiled back, but Martyn’s eyes narrowed as he looked around. Grian and Scar had met them next to a building, some type of closed down general store with its front porch stacked with wooden crates and a hanging sign, but Cleo and the Kites were nowhere to be seen. Martyn glanced at Katherine, who appeared just as confused as he was.

“Where are the others?” Martyn asked.

“They went ahead,” Grian tilted his head to the empty streets before them, the path growing more shrouded underneath the haze of the unnatural mist. “Scar and I wanted to stay here and wait for you two.”

At least that’s more people safe on the ship. I hope they’re alright. 

Martyn stared down the path before them, a shiver crawled up his spine.

I hope they make it to the ship.

“Thank you, Grian, Scar.” Martyn nodded at his fellow Canaries. He may have been overthinking about things, but it never hurt to be courteous. Grian and Scar should have gone with them, but traveling in groups sounded better than traveling in pairs.

“I think we’re far enough from the fire to just walk. I don’t think it’ll burn far past the forest and I assume we’re all tired,” Grian began to walk, leading the group, “Besides, with all this mist, we could bump into something.”

“Yeah…,” Martyn glanced behind him again. Still nothing. He narrowed his eyes and sighed, “Let’s… take it easy.”

Just like any other time he’s been walking around this place, it was as silent as ever. Martyn longed for the ambience of a living city once more. To pass by distant conversations, to hear laughter in the streets where locals walked and ran around town to get where they needed to be. The residents here might as well have been dead with how silently eerie they were. Judgemental stares. Hollow expressions. If it hadn’t been for Pearl taking him, the Canaries would have been long gone by then.

The only ‘reassuring’ sound of life was the sporadic thunder and wind howling above them. The wind sifted through some of the mist, clearing away the hazy veils for the group to walk through. Martyn focused on his heartbeat and breathing with each step, his hands prematurely curled into tight fists in case they encountered Pearl.

He had attempted to feel for his gun, but sighed as he realized Pearl had likely broken or tossed it when she took him. Just how much strength did that lady have? She had knocked him out in a single hit he hadn't even seen, then dragged his dead weight who knew how far through the forest, and hauled him into a chair. Martyn grimaced at the thought of how helpless he'd been under her hands, unconscious and weaponless. He reached towards the small of his back so he could feel the strange knife's hilt against his hand.

“We’ve learned a couple of things about the Kites while you were gone,” Grian’s voice drew Martyn back into the real world. Martyn must’ve been gone for a good while for the two groups to be all buddy-buddy, but that was preferable to them being at each other’s throats. “Apparently, the ocean at the world border was just as empty to them as when we found it.”

Martyn’s thoughts ground to a halt as his mind immediately flashed to the image of the sea prince.

The world border was empty, practically nothing but smooth sailing.

But there had been a sea prince.

It wouldn’t be too far-fetched to assume it ate everything in there. He’d seen it eat the scuttler. The hairs on Martyn’s arms rose. Maybe the monster didn’t eat him because it was too full to eat him. Martyn was saved because the beast didn’t bother to eat him due to its full belly. Or maybe he was just too small….

He had to think of something else.

Martyn zoned back to the conversation. “O-oh?” he looked at the vagabond hunter unmasked with curiosity. “Hey- Katherine, how did the Kites’ ship get destroyed?”

“A boneback got us.” Katherine shrugged, “it was swarmed by scuttlers after, but we hadn’t seen another beast otherwise. The Kites were all pretty disappointed.”

Scar glanced at Grian with a teasing grin. “Maybe they got all scared when we arrived.” Grian shook his head, rolling his eyes with a small smile he didn’t really try to hide.

Martyn wanted to talk about the sea prince right then and there, but he closed his mouth and shook his head. He didn’t know how to explain his feelings yet. He couldn’t formulate the proper sentences in his head yet either. 

“Ha! Like you guys are that formidable,” Katherine laughed a little before shaking her head. “I try not to think about it as much, though. I’m only thankful there weren’t any deaths.”

No deaths? That confirmed that the sea prince really didn’t eat the other hunters because of its…. 

“Wait,” Scar paused, also stopping abruptly in his walk as he stared at the ground cross-eyed and looking at Katherine, perplexed. “So a boneback destroyed your ship, but it didn’t attack you at all?”

Katherine paused, looking up at the cloudy sky and hummed. “Nope, not at all,” she said casually. “Maybe it’s just a thing for the monsters at the world border.”

“That’s a little strange, isn’t it?”

Katherine shrugged. “Yeah, but,” she crossed her arms, “you’re also probably thinking about it a little too hard.”

Martyn tilted his head. “How?”

“No one’s really studied the beasts beyond the world border, let alone near it,” Katherine said flippantly. “Who knows, maybe the way they kill hunters off around here is with starvation or something.” She mumbled, her eyes staring at the ground.

An odd chill ran down his spine. 

“It’s a little morbid, but do you see what I’m getting at?” He could hear Katherine continue to speak as Scar and Grian looked at each other with some kind of knowing expression and nodded.

“Maybe we should try and investigate the world border more often…,” Grian muttered, but Katherine quickly shook her head in reply.

“I’d strongly suggest against it,” Katherine glanced at Grian. “You may have been lucky now, but what about later? Maybe the monsters do swarm, and you just got lucky the other day.”

“Or if a sea prince lurked by.” Martyn felt hot as the trio’s eyes landed on him. The words had fallen out of his mouth faster than he could even think of them. “It- it would just scare all the beasts away, right?”

Katherine shifted uncomfortably.

Katherine was the first to speak after a long pause. “...I guess? That is a… possible explanation.” she spoke slowly, like the gears in the back of her head turned as she made sense of Martyn’s words. “But no one’s ever seen a sea prince before, so I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that! You’re going to see one soon.”

The group froze as they heard Pearl’s voice. Martyn slowly turned around. He saw Pearl standing in the center of the mist filled street, staring at them with her menacing grin and casual stance. She didn’t look like she had been affected by the fire at all– nothing indicated she had nearly gotten burnt alive. She looked exactly the same.

“Pearl!” Martyn glared at the witch. “How did you–”

Pearl stepped forward. “I told you, I have my ways. Now,” she pulled out one of her sickles and pointed it at Martyn. “You are coming with me.” she hissed, venom dripping into her voice. 

“I think I’d rather risk the sea,” Martyn spat. “RUN!”

The four of them took off down the street as fast as they could run. Scar pulled ahead, his mechanical legs built to have extra bounce in them, with the lightweight and light footed Grian right on his heels. Martyn felt left behind even after a moment, his injured ankle twinging as his foot jolted when it hit the pavement. But Katherine stayed at his side, even though he knew she could run faster than that.

Pearl groaned. She started to run, picking up the speed as she inched closer and closer to Martyn with both of her blades unsheathed. “Oh no you–”

Katherine suddenly lurched backwards and caught Pearl in a chokehold, nearly pulling her off her feet.

Katherine sent both of them down on the ground, letting Pearl absorb the fall as the hunter’s arm wrapped around the witch’s neck. Pearl’s face collided in the pavement first, her sickles skidding away over the road as she attempted to roll out and get Katherine off her back. Katherine retaliated by shifting her weight over top of Pearl, tightening her arm around Pearl’s throat.

“Go! Run! I’ll catch up!” Katherine shouted. Pearl wriggled underneath her, but Katherine kept the witch pinned. Martyn had stopped running the moment he realized Katherine left his side. He stood in place, frozen. Katherine looked over her shoulder and met his eyes. “Martyn! Go!”

Martyn flinched at his name being called. What was he supposed to do? Help Katherine? But before he fully registered the motion, he was moving, following her orders. Martyn turned and left her there.

Martyn ran. He watched as Grian and Scar disappeared into the mist and his own sluggish attempts to keep up. It was hard to put pressure on his foot, as he could feel himself tumbling with each step he took. If only he wasn’t so careless, he wouldn’t have tripped in the first place!

He could feel the pain on his ankle worsen, his thoughts running rampant in his mind as his heartbeat drummed in his ears. But he had to keep running. He had to make it back to the ship. 

And since Katherine was able to get a proper hit on Pearl, she could make it too! She just had to!

 He could’ve even ran right past the ship with all the fog by now, though– it was a miracle he hadn’t tripped yet–! “Hey,” Katherine bumped Martyn’s shoulder. She was here! She glanced behind, then looked forward. “Nothing to worry about for now, let’s go!”

Martyn’s adrenaline kicked in as he attempted to follow Katherine’s pace, but the hunter was much faster than he was.

Pearl’s enraged shriek echoed in the distance, but Katherine gave Martyn a reassuring smile as they bolted through the streets.

Before Martyn could reply, Katherine continued to speak. “We shouldn’t be too far from port,” she put a hand to her ear and giggled. “Listen for the ocean. You might hear it before we reach it!”

With the whole ‘running for their lives’ event going on, Katherine was remarkably calm. Martyn glanced at her, seeing a confident grin on her face as she ran forward. Martyn smiled, feeling something building up in his chest as he ran. It was confidence, comradery. He finally believed that they would all make it out of here alive. If Katherine was so confident, then he should be too.

Maybe… he could convince her to join the Canaries’ crew. She’d fit right in.

Left, right, twist and turn, they were making progress. Martyn couldn’t even hear Pearl anymore, but he wasn’t sure whether to consider that a good thing or not. Katherine kept glancing behind them every so often but just kept pushing forward. They navigated through the misty streets of Crescent Bay, somehow not running into anything.

“How are you so calm through all this?!”

“Honestly, I’m not sure,” Katherine forced a laugh, shaking her head. “I think I’m just so used to the chase that it doesn’t bother me anymore.”

How much running had she done? Whenever Martyn was on a chase, it was usually by ship. He would barely need to run after his targets, just enough energy to run around a boat. Katherine’s lungs must be really strong to have all that air in her.

Martyn looked at Katherine and smiled, saying through heavy gasps, “I’m glad you’re here with me, Katherine.”

Katherine’s eyes widened as she stared at him for a split second, several emotions flashing across her face too quickly for Martyn to read, then she smiled and nodded. “Likewise.”

“Just a little further…!” Martyn felt his legs about to give up, but his heart sank first.

Martyn and Katherine abruptly stopped as they were faced with a wall at the end of the street they’d taken. Some unlit torches rested on the sides of the alleyway, boxes haphazardly placed on top of each other as vines grew out from the top of the wall and reached the bottom. The wall was made out of concrete. He looked up, seeing a small balcony with a couple of crates on top. But it seemed too high to jump too. There was nowhere left for them to go….

Martyn’s heartbeat drummed out of his chest as he tried to catch his breath and think, but his breathing quickly became rapid and panicked as he heard Pearl’s footsteps faintly echoing from the far end of the dead end street. 

It had definitely been better to not hear Pearl earlier.

Pearl ran one of her sickles against a wooden wall of one of the buildings at the end of the street, the metal scraping against wood as she came closer. Then she stood before them, at the far end of the street, blocking their only exit. “Can’t run from me now, can you?” she asked as she slowly walked down the street, her eyes’ piercing gaze focused solely on Martyn.

“Get behind me.” Katherine pulled out her sword and stepped in front of Marytn.

“I- I can fight for myself, Katherine.” Martyn pleaded, wishing he could believe it himself. He didn’t want a person’s blood on his hands. 

“After all the trouble you’ve been through?” Katherine shook her head and took a step forward. “I suggest you save your energy. We still need to make it to the ship.”

“Aww, a hunter sticking up for other hunters,” Pearl rolled her eyes, pretending to gag at the sight. She spun her sickles around and sighed, “You’re giving me a lot of trouble, Hunter, and quite frankly, I’m not sure it’s worth it.”

“Like you haven’t been causing enough havoc,” Katherine snapped, sounding irritated rather than angry. “Why do you want Martyn so badly?”

“He’s Chromia’s little pet,” Pearl hissed, taking another step forward as the sickle scratched the wall. “I’m doing him a favor. I’m helping him. He’ll be better once that insect is gone and he’s done feeling sorry for it.” She pointed her sickle at Martyn as she called him an insect. 

Katherine suddenly went very still. Even as she moved, she seemed still. Her back straightened and her head turned, eyes widened as she glanced from Pearl to Martyn. Martyn saw something in her eyes, something not quite like pity and not quite like fear, but between those two. The grip on her sword trembled as she seemingly forced herself to take in shaky breaths. She shook her head and let out a long, deep breath, looking forward with a calm expression.

“Martyn,” Katherine whispered, just barely audible, “You should be able to scale that wall, right?”

Martyn looked behind him, cataloging the contents cluttering the dead end with that in mind. Boxes. Vines. Enough for the both of them to scramble over.

“Yeah–,” Martyn cut himself off. Wait. She- she’d said ‘you’- Martyn, not ‘we’. No. No no no. She could not be serious. Martyn placed his hand on Katherine’s shoulder. “Katherine, do not play the hero.”

“Keep going, Martyn,” Katherine said, a bit too quietly. “Remember who you’re hunting for.”

Remember who you’re hunting for.

But– Katherine had taken Pearl down with a quick choke before! Granted, that had been by surprise, but that meant that Katherine was a better fighter… right? She seriously could not be planning to–

“You need to get out of here,” Katherine moved her shoulder away from Martyn, her gaze locked on Pearl as the two stared each other down. “I’ll catch up.” Martyn was about to retort, but Katherine cut him off. “If I don’t,” she mumbled, her voice shaking, “sail on without me.”

“But–”

“I have a gun,” Katherine’s grip on her sword became stable, her breaths slower and heartbeat calmed. “If I shoot three times in the air, you go. Promise that to me.”

“Katherine, don’t–”

“Promise me, Martyn!” Katherine raised her voice. She didn’t look at him. Martyn’s heart twisted.

“Okay… I- I promise….”

Katherine cast one last look at Martyn, as she charged forward.

“You cannot be serious,” Pearl hissed, then she raised her sickle to meet Katherine’s blade, “But fine. If that’s how you want to play… come at me, Hunter!”

Martyn ran to the wall as fast as he could with the sound of blades clanging against each other. His heart pumped him with adrenaline as he reached it, steeling himself to look up at the wall instead of the fight behind him. He couldn’t look back. He shouldn’t.

Metal scraped against metal, producing the metallic screeches as Martyn desperately stumbled on the boxes and climbed the vines, hauling himself up the side of the wall.

Then, he climbed all the way up. 

Martyn wanted to collapse, the exhaustion from the climb and the running beforehand taking its toll on his body, but he knew that if he stopped now, Pearl would get him. 

But his heart froze as he heard the familiar sound of metal distantly skidding against the ground, and a sudden silence.

Martyn risked a glance.

Katherine breathed heavily, pointing her sword at Pearl, who looked to be just as exhausted as she was.

Martyn stared at Pearl, watching blood drip from a small cut on her forehead.

That… that wasn’t… That wasn’t blood. It couldn’t be blood. It was hard to see against the darkness, but if Martyn squinted his eyes hard enough, he could make out a faint tint of yellow… but no… it can’t be.

“Oh you’re in for it now.” Pearl’s eyes were wide as a grin crept up her face. 

Martyn needed to get out of there. Now.

“MARTYN! GO!” Katherine roared at him. Martyn flung himself over the side of the wall, wincing a bit as his ankle twinged. But he forced himself up and started running. Katherine’s voice drifted after him, much softer than before, “Don’t look back, Martyn.”

Katherine’s final words were what pushed him to get out as fast as he could. Martyn ran, his chest heaving as he made his way across the last strip of street and back onto the familiar feeling dock. 

He had to get on the ship. 

He had to return to his friends.

He had to get back home.

He had to fulfill his promise to Scott.

He heard the clang of metal blades ringing through the mist-thick air. But Martyn did not look back.

[savebatsartedition]

Whumptober 2024 Day 14:

Summary:

Hiccup and Toothless have separate paths, but they do meet. Prompt pieces used: LEFT FOR DEAD | Hunting Gear

Notes:

My one and only wing whump. (Tail whump?) This was really awful for me to write. :( Content Warnings: Mentioned mind control, injury causing loss of flight. Words: 1,019

(Fic also under the cut.)

While the boy was safe in is fathers arms, the dragon was already feeling the allure of the Red one. While the boy was stumbling down the stairs on his way to dinner, the dragon was dropping his first fish into the pit. While the boy was being caught and comforted, the dragon felt his stomach rumble from too much sacrifice. Neither knew how long things were going to go on for, but they wished for something more.

The boy took on an apprenticeship, something nice, something simple, something way different from all the others. He was crafty, and he excelled, but he did not enjoy what was happening.

The dragon took to the skies, feeling the cool wind brush down his scales. This was freedom, up here, where even the birds didn't go and the other dragons stuck by the queen's side like a bunch of fleas. This dragon didn't feel the pull the way they did, at least, not once he was up in the sky.

The boy did try to do the other jobs, but he wasn't meant for throwing water onto flames, or standing by and watching as the dragons stole his sheep. He wasn't good at mixing potions, or sewing tapestries, or laying foundations. 

He wasn't good at listening to his father.

The dragon was good at what he did. Swoop down, scoop the water and the fish, fly back to the nest, drop his catch, repeat. Repeat on and on, until the Red one had had enough. His wings let him slice through the air at speeds that no other dragon could. He didn't think much of it.

He was a dragon after all.

The boy did his best at his mentor's side. He was good at sharpening blades, once he got them over to the sharpening stone, he could work a fire, keeping just the embers alive for as long as he could want to. He could even make specific weapons for customers, from scratch! (His dad said that made him crafty and interesting, but it was always so clear that the boy wasn't the boy that his father longed for.)

Lately, he had been experimenting with the extra metal scraps. If he couldn't lift the weapons that he so lovingly made, he might as well find another way to use them.

The smooth wood of his new invention felt like the softest wool under his fingers. The heavy weapons inside felt positively weightless as he rolled the wheels so carefully around the shop. The power he felt... that was unmatched. He was finally going to be the boy his dad wanted him to be.

The dragon just kept on flying. He flew and flew, and he caught and caught. The fish were soft and weak in his jaws, sliced to pieces by his teeth when he playfully unfurled them. The queen liked the fish he brought, and always roared for more. The queen liked when he came back smelling of smoke and burning villages, it liked when they all did. 

The dragon was never on the chopping block, he always got his job done.

The boy finally got the chance he had been looking for. He rolled up his sleeves, threw off his apron, and began to run. The weapons stand could remain unmanned for a few moments, right? He just had to catch himself a dragon, and he knew exactly how he was going to do it.

His invention, so strong and sleek, it made him stronger than any other. He could do this, he was going to do this.

The dragon was a streak of purple death in the night.

The boy nearly fell on his way to his hunting spot.

The dragon roared in victory.

The boy shot.

Pain.

Blood floating through the sky.

Loss of altitude.

The dragon fell, screaming as something held his body, screaming when his wings refused to open, screaming when his fin would not move at all, screaming as he met the trees of the forest below.

He did not know what had ensnared him, he didn't even know why he couldn't feel his fin. He could not beat whatever thin thing was holding him, he didn't feel strong anymore. Even away from the Red one, he wasn't free.

The boy found him. He found him there, but he couldn't do it. He just couldn't. His knife dropped, but it did not meet the dark flesh of the animal. He sliced through something awfully tough, but the beast before him didn't scream or roar.

As wings slowly unfurled, and legs slipped back into motion, the boy kept at his work. This was something he could do.

The dragon lept and roared, but when he took to the skies, he could not stay. His tail was off balance, it hurt. He didn't know why. He couldn't open his tailfin, couldn't take advantage of the leathery wings on his back. No. He couldn't return to his queen.

Again he fell, and this time there was no small boy to help him out, no roots to grab onto as he climbed, and no way to eat something to make his aching muscles feel any better.

The boy made it into dragon training. He made it into the place that his father would finally appreciate him.

But he didn't want it anymore. He couldn't do it anymore. All he wanted was to know if that poor dragon was safe. All he wanted to do was get back to blacksmithing, pretend this never happened.

But he couldn't.

And worst of all, his father wasn't even here to watch him become the son he had always wanted. The boy knew he couldn't do it without his father, but even more so, he couldn't do it with the memory of the fear in that dragon's eyes.

While the boy was training, the dragon was doing his best to climb. While the boy was crying, the dragon was realizing that there was no way out. While the boy was trekking back through the woods, the dragon had all but given up.

[edelgarfield]

show me how ruin makes a home (4/4)

Relationships: Astarion/The Dark Urge, Lae'zel/Shadowheart, The Dark Urge & Shadowheart, Astarion & Lae'zel Rating: Mature Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Chapter Excerpt:

“I was raised to be a blade, to serve my queen until my dying breath.” The corners of her mouth tighten. “I was never taught anything aside from Vlaakith’s will.” A chill runs down Astarion’s spine, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end. Lae’zel’s eyes dart away, burning gold in the low light. “I find myself tormented by desire like never before, visions that have no place inside a a weapon forged from steel.” Astarion follows her gaze to Shadowheart’s tent, the flap closed to shield the cleric from the campfire’s final embers. Astarion can’t help the incredulous laugh that bursts out of his chest. “Lae’zel, are you asking me for relationship advice?”

Continue on AO3

[saunne]

“Won’t you look at me, Ren ?”

He gulped. 

“Look at them, Ren,” Yingxing snapped, unintentionally drawing Ren's attention to himself. His voice echoed throughout the room, warm as dying embers and resounding like the crash of a hammer on metal. Imposing, commanding even, and allowing no refusal. Not angry but full of bruised pride, of wounded incomprehension.

Yingxing's eyes looked cold from where he stood in the shadows of the hangings, an indecipherable look on his haughty face as he observed them. His gaze had lost the warmth it had when he had helped Blade earlier. Blade, with clenched jaw and gnashing teeth whose gaze had never left Yinyue-jun. Blade, with eyes that kept promising violence and destruction despite its iron will weakened by Ren's inner pleas, wanting a little more, a little longer, just a little more time. Yingxing, that somehow seemed disappointed with Ren's weakness and his state of being so pitifully weak that he couldn't even—

(I never dared to dream of taking my eyes off them, Yingxing seemed to say. Not when their sole attention was always on me, although I never deserved it. I am not you, but you have been me, are me. Don't you dare turn away from them.)

[scarletslament]

Sharp Thorns:

Started: February 1st, 2021

Finished: February 4th, 2021

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This takes place a few months after my last entry of the series. There will be some topics which might not be suitable so be advised and read with caution my dear reader, because this deals with thoughts of suicide and self inflicted cuts. Now please enjoy this entry of Shallow Dreams! And little note...I’m sad to say I wasn’t able to find any of the previous parts of this series. This is a major loss because it told the story of the first protagonist and her adventure but with this loss I am able to put more heart into these because they will be going into the archive that I have recently made.

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A red haired girl was running through town, her cloak and tunic had a few rips and holes. She didn’t give them any mind because she was overjoyed that her dream was finally accomplished and wanted to tell her elder all about the assessment. Only a few feet away from the mansion Violet would begin to slow down, there was something off about the area. Looking down the ground she was standing on was burnt and seemed to have been newly set aflame. “What is this pungent smell..? It’s so strong, it reminds me of the fireplace on a snowy evening.” She says starting to look around the area, getting concerned as she saw a few embers make its way through the gate that should have been opened. Putting a hand on the gate Violet slowly pushed it open, once open she would run towards the front door of the mansion.

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Inside the mansion everything was destroyed, no sign of the ever prospering entrance she had grown up and worked in for most of her life. This only got worse as Violet made her way to the other rooms, it took many hours of fumbling around the once lively hallways to find her room. All that was left untouched was her closet and desk. “This can’t be real... just this morning I had woken up and prepared to spar with the Pontifex of the academy...I worked hard to beat Miss Astria. For what if all I had left was to be destroyed, I know Elder is in town but where are the others... where the hell is the protector of the mansion she should’ve been here with her brother at a moment's notice!?” Violet began to have a panic attack from all the thoughts that had just begun swirling through her mind. She reached for a box inside her closet, opening it up the box, it had held a few weapons. Grabbing a small brown and green dagger Violet would rake the sharp blade across her inner thigh for a few seconds. Putting more pressure on the blade she would make the wound a bit deeper before snapping out of her delusional state of mind. Realizing what she had done the girl would put the blade down and tear a part of her cloak to wrap around the wound to stop the bleeding. “Oh sweet pardel...what have I done to myself... I need to get out of here quickly.” Violet says as she grabbed a new cloak and a crimson and emerald colored rapier. It’s sheath was the color of her eyes, a deep sapphire blue that one may lose their sense of stared into for too long. Standing up the girl would place it on her belt along with the newly blood soaked dagger she used on herself. Walking out of the room Violet made her way outside of the mansion and went towards the forest to distance herself from everyone for the time being. Until she can look herself in the face she won’t return, perhaps all she needs is a break from everything and time for herself to explore the world. Violet thought as she limped her way through the forest. “I’ll see you later...goodbye Drâl I’ll come back one day and apologize for disappearing, this was the best town I’ve been in. I just hope Drâl doesn’t change much...” She said before turning around and went back to limping away into the lush forest.

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This is the last full part of what I wrote, the next part has been *checks notes* in production for about 3 fucking years. So since I started my first job all my motivation went out the window. I might continue it just for tumblr and maybe just maybe write a new chapter once I have time. While writing these I realized how heavily my mental state influenced my writings which is Cary to say the least which is why I stopped writing aswell but rereading all of this gives me hope that one day I can rekindle my creative attributes. Oh and writing the first part or well making the character is how I found out I was trans so yknow. There’s that.

[mraprilfools]

Word Count: 4.1k

Rating: Mature

CW/TW: Period typical Racism, F slur, Graphic depiction of insects, Child Abuse, Animal abuse & Death

Summary:

A story about Alastor's beginning's and how he ended up with the chain around his neck. In the confines of a prison he meets a devil, a god, or something else entirely that offers a deal too good to be true... Preview under the cut.

It was always dark in the attic.

And it was always filthy.

Dust everywhere. On walls, the floors, you couldn’t take a breath without it filling your lungs.

Cobwebs webbed on every corner, you couldn’t breach any new territory without it wrapping around your body.

Then there was the musty stench of sweat crawling over Alain’s body. Unwashed from so many days left up in the sweltering hell. He quickly retracted his hand when an insect skittered across it. He wondered if it might be a spider, centipede, roach, or otherwise. Eyes adjusted to the darkness hours ago, he preferred to remain ignorant. So he did not go searching for answers he didn’t want. Didn’t think about it. He focused on the single lifeline he had up here: The light from the Four-pane window.

It was the only connection he had with the outside world. The dying embers of the day stained half the attic in an ethereal orange glow. As if peering into the gates of hell. And some days? He felt like opening the window and taking that leap. He’d cast his body to the flames if it meant he could escape this silence.

Escape the sound of his blood pumping through his veins. The company he shared in these four dark corners. And the looming presence of something he could not be sure was imagination, madness, or… a demon that stepped through the glowing orange gate.

Tk. Tk. Tk. Tk. Tk. Shkshkshkshskshk.

One could argue it was a squirrel. But it was far too constantly skittering across the ceiling above him. A crumbling of dirt fell into his hair, greasy from the days left unwashed. A large rat sped past him. Ugly, matted fur, red beady eyes, with a short pinkish tail, torn at the end. Alain’s eyes fixated on it, watching it nibble on the leftovers of the meal his mother prepared him yesterday. The unwashed, ragged face of the boy reflected in its glassy soulless eyes.

A heavy wind hissed through the trees outside the window, a large gnarled branch stretched banging against the window. Shadowy tendrils in the outstretched yellow light crawling across the floorboards only just out of reach. Waiting. Simply waiting to drag him to hell.

How did he end up here?

Well-- He’d been a very, very, very bad boy.

A man insulted his mother. And he sought to make him into something far more polite. He’d practiced on many creatures before. Cats, dogs, birds, even pigs. But, never a man. The drunkard was far bigger than him, stronger too. But strength and size weren’t everything. The dullard was fond of day drinking and far too confident around a child. He never expected to wake up with a blade in his throat, and the impassive eyes of a child holding it down to silence his burbling protests.

When he kicked the body into the gator-infested waters, he felt far more guilt for soiling his mother’s dear kitchen knife than what he’d done to him. To Alain, the sailor had been no better than the rats feasting on garbage. A cold corpse was an improvement over the blithering idiot he once was. It was…easier than he thought it would be. It was… empowering, life-changing. A realization of his power to change the world around him.

When Alain got home, his first instinct was to wash the blade in the sink. Alain didn’t want manman’s cherished knife to rust! He didn’t care about how he tracked swamp mud through the house, or how it stuck to his clothes mingled with blood. Brand new clothes soiled by the swamp waters still secondary to the things his mother cherished.

When Manman wandered the house, Alain could always tell by the daintier footsteps on the floorboards. Those always meant safety to him. Serenity. Peace.

But he feared the heavy stomping of boots. Those belonged to his father. Or as he called him in his mind: The Beast.

The way he stomped around his grounds making his authority known, feared wasn’t the picture of a loving father or a doting husband. It was a beast that wanted control over what was under its roof. The heavy footsteps made him a doe in the woods.

If it remained constant, that was fine. It was his father’s neutral state. What does he truly need to watch out for? Was the silence. When it became so quiet you could hear a pin drop. When you could hear the rush of air hissing through his nostrils and his teeth. The beast didn’t use words. It had to hiss through its jaws and strike violence so you knew to not provoke it.

If you were lucky, it would be the drywall. More than a few holes littered the house where a fist punched clean through. A reminder that it could have been him if the transgression or noise had been any worse. The handyman of this father would plaster them in places, but the off-color still told the story of many nights of undirected rage.

[silverstarstrike]

"Brothers Under the Sun" ☼ Chapter 1

Crow was a lone Lightbearer tormented by the sins of his past life. Faolan, the Young Wolf, knew about the sins of the Forsaken Prince and knew it became personal. As the shadows of inner demons both Lightbearers had, they would find kindred spirits within each other and a brotherhood begins. Like any relationship, however, there will always be challenges.

☼ Prologue ☼

The forest was holding its breath. Nary a bird or insect would make a sound. The scent of smoke thickened the air around Faolan. The edges of their robes were blackened and burned. Their knuckles whitened under their dark gloves as they gripped a fiery sword. In front of them, an oak tree’s bark was stripped clean off by the blade, revealing the darkened insides.

Faolan threw their helmet to the side, a clear crack streaked across the dark visor like lightning in a stormy night sky. Their unkempt brown hair bristled, and rings of orange light shone around their pupils, creating two perfect solar eclipses.

“YAAAAAAAAAAGH!” Faolan let out a pitiful battle cry. Their voice was hoarse, and their throat strained.

The Warlock struck against the oak. Some lands hit precisely, ash and bark flying out with every impact. Most, however, landed clumsily. Their grip weakened, their footing slipped, and they landed knees-first next to the tree. Faolan managed to anchor themselves by leaning on it before they dropped their sword. It disappeared in mid-air.

After a minute, Faolan’s Ghost would finally show himself. His shell slightly twitched at the sight of his Guardian. He hasn’t seen them that ragged since the Red War. His one eye blinked when he heard them coughing. He didn’t need to scan them to see their lungs straining under usage. He slowly floated over to meet them. Another ragged cough, and the Ghost could see Faolan cough up flecks of embers. The rings of light in the Warlock’s eyes dimmed only slightly.

The sound of cawing caught the pair’s attention. Faolan would bristle up again as they would struggle to stand up. They stared at a black crow that just so happened to be making a racket up on top of an unscathed tree

Read the rest on Archive of Our Own ☼ "Brothers Under the Sun" - Prologue

[nevermore-grimes]

Why did middle school me write Nevermore as such a cringefail loser? 😭

[ascianblood]

Eva Lore (FFXIV) - 6/15/23

A dump of lore for my FFXIV au oc Evangeline for my own archival. Not to be mistaken for Alaqa, who is the canonical version of Eva. TRIGGER WARNING FOR: Mentions of mental and physical torment, suicide, and homicide. 

Basic Information: Evageline Kagon (born Alaqa Kagon). 25 years old. Au Ra, Xaela. 4′9.  Alaqa was as any other Kagon tribeswoman, who spent most of her time under the cover of the night hunting beasts for meal and sport. She was very good with blades, but preffered her dual knives over a more traditional spear. She was so remarkable with her blades that the tribe often relied on her to bring back game from hunts and prepare them accordingly. There isn’t much to mention about her childhood or family, but they were stable and very close. She had one older brother, Orin, and two younger brothers, Dei and Dodai. I’ll probably make a more in-depth post about her familial relationships at a later date. 

As she grew older, she started having rather violent nightmares out of nowhere; horrible views of people being ripped to pieces, their flesh torn asunder, as well as vicious screams. She could hardly even stand to sleep, let alone hunt or participate in tribe activities. She found herself feeling isolated and perturbed, anxious that what she was seeing was a premonition of suffering from the Dusk Mother. Her family worried for her, but she refused to elaborate on her sudden changes. Eventually, the terrors became so pronounced that she refused to sleep altogether, for she would wake in a writhing fit, unaware of her surroundings. 

And then came the voices. Rather than the screams she had known, these voices whispered to her in frightened tones, and repeated over and over for her to leave. She couldn’t stand it anymore, so at the break of dawn before the sun could crawl over the Steppe’s hills, she left her home. She knew that she would never be allowed to return, but the voices urged her, almost controlling her. So she fled, as far as her meager feet could take her.  Upon the shores of the Ruby Sea, she stowed away within a Confederate vessel and prayed that Nhaama would release her of her torment. It must have been over two weeks of scavenging within the small confines of the ship when she landed in Limsa Lominsa. Her condition had stabilized since leaving the Steppe, but the voices had been replaced by a burning migraine so heavy she felt as if her whole body was a flaming ember.  She needed money. Badly. So when she arrived in the city proper, she lent her blades to odd causes. The procuring of meats, perhaps bodyguard duty here and there. Sometimes, a hit request; her first real taste in spilling mankind’s blood. Her Lominsan connections grew, and she was forwarded to the Adventurer’s Guild. There, she was officially enrolled, and continued with her tasks until she was approached by Jacke, leader of the Rogues. Dual blades being her specialty, she agreed to join them. It was here that she adopted the name that Jacke gave her, Evangeline, or “angel”. Her membership within the Rogue’s guild ultimately lead her to the Scions as well, where Minfilia promised her aid from her migraines. The story goes as MSQ does, but Eva never truly becomes better. In fact, she becomes more and more unstable the more animals, men, and gods she fights. Every ascian battle left her uncomfortable, but for a reason she could not place. Unknown memories started finding their way into her mind, like lost puzzle pieces. Minfilia never could rid her of her pain, and after her passing, Eva felt as if she had been cheated. Once friendly and outgoing within the Scions, she became colder. She still seemed kind, but on the inside, she was becoming jaded; nihilistic, even. In SB, she truly changed for the worst when Zenos made an appearance. At this point, she had grown an aqquired lust for blood, whether it be man or animals. She needed to kill, and Zenos matched her need with his own. She was beginning to lose sight of reason. It took all of the patience within her not to cut down the very beings she called friends.  And then in ShB, Eva is met face to face with the ascian Emet-Selch when he so kindly introduces himself. It is then that she remembers fully. The Sundering, her relationship with him, and how their beautiful life had turned sour so quickly. She knows she must speak to him, and they do, alone in her chambers of the Pendants. He reveals to her that he had been calling her for years now, hoping she would find her way to him. The Nightmares, the voices, the constant headache, and the memories; all of his design, for he had forced her sundered soul to remember things which she otherwise would have never remembered in the first place. She hated him. Despised him. It mattered not their previous relationship, as loving and gentle as it was. The pain of thousands of years was still fresh within her mind, a gaping wound pried open that she had not had sufficient time to heal, unlike his millennium of recovery. Yet she knew that she still loved him, as vile as he had become, and when he offered her his hand in comaraderie towards the goal of recovering the sundered world, she accepted. All of ShB is spent with the two together, secretly working together in favor of the rejoining. Emet is always with her, but not in view. The only times the Scions know he’s there is when he willingly allows himself to be seen.  Their relationship becomes one of physical desire and lust, but being far beyond the path of reason, also becomes one full of pain. A love and hatred so deep that they know not how to deal with it effectively, leaving only a truly broken reflection of their previous relationship. Emet enjoyed using her like a tool or a toy, and often reveled in the monster she had become. Eva, in turn, grew so restless that she craved for the deaths of anyone she did not care for. There is a constant battle throughout ShB because Eva wishes to slay all of the Scions, but Emet refuses to allow her to do so as it would completely ruin their plan. She even thought about the death of Emet herself. She wanted things to return to how they used to be, but at the same time, she was so far removed from feelings of love. In the end, she figured that the sooner she died and was reborn as her full self, the better.  This continues until the final battle with Hades, where Eva pretends to kill him. No, she does not kill him. She knows she could, but he had become her only source of entertainment, and she knew that their plan would ultimately not fail. She was a rabid dog on a leash, following his command. Elidibus is another story. I’ve not fully thought out why she fells him, but for now, let’s say it was because she cared for noone at this point other than Emet, though she despised him.  In EW, Eva’s story ends with the end of the entire world. Fandaniel’s summoning of Zodiark marks the end of her life. In the original version of this story, I let her and Emet die, but not be returned to their ancient days. I am thinking of allowing the possibility of the rejoining working, and them returning as whole beings with all of the trauma still stockpiled from their previous incarnations.  This is all for now. I really just like to draw them and their ridiculously horrible relationship. 

[neopronouns-in-action]

Neopronouns in Action #097: Carpenter Bee Aether

Neopronouns: mu/oz/ozself, which will follow the same rules as it/its/itself for this example.

Replace it with card Replace its with cards Replace itself with cardself

Example paragraph:

"It is going to adopt a new puppy soon, as soon as it gets a fence set up around its yard so the puppy can go outside without it having to walk it. Its uncle is going to help set up the fence, since he has a set of power tools he's letting it use, since it lost its. It's going to buy toys and train the puppy itself."

Becomes:

"Mu is going to adopt a new puppy soon, as soon as mu gets a fence set up around oz yard so the puppy can go outside without mu having to walk it. Oz uncle is going to help set up the fence, since he has a set of power tools he's letting mu use, since mu lost oz. Mu's going to buy toys and train the puppy ozself."

Also includes xa/vo/co/(noh)/xavoconoh, which are explained within the story.

___

It was without thought that Ember had seen the bumblebee floating downstream in the creek, unable to get back into the air, and, of course, immediately ripped up a piece of the long grass lining the creek's edge, splashed in, and held the long, hairy leaf so that the bee could grab on, then gently carried it back up the hill to the nearby purple and white asters.

The large bee was soaking wet, its fur disheveled, and had the most strikingly green eyes mu had ever seen on one, with a large white spot on the face between them, bright against the otherwise black surface.

Moving slowly so the bee wouldn't be knocked off the blade of grass, Ember held it up so that the crown of one of the larger asters was in front of the bee, so that it could get nectar if it was hungry.

To oz delight, the bee immediately latched onto the flower with its front legs and stuck its face into the center.

(Archived read-more link) [when the internet archive is working normally again]

Sometimes the bees mu rescued were too exhausted to react to flowers, so this probably meant it would be okay. Mu let out a small breath of relief, and experimentally lowered the blade of grass a little, to see if the flower head were strong enough to hold up the relatively large bee's weight without assistance.

But the flower stalk started to dip, so mu kept the grass where it was, willing to give the bee a minute or two to drink with assistance before mu would have to set the grass down and let the bee get back to its own business. Usually, mu would pick a few flower heads off and set them down somewhere with the bee, but this one seemed so energetic, it seemed worth it to wait.

The bee was already starting to twitch its wings, vibrating them against its back without flying away.

Just to be safe, Ember leaned slightly further away from where mu had gotten oz face closer than the bee probably wanted. Mu thought mu could remember reading somewhere that bees would posture with their wings or something if they felt threatened, but maybe mu was thinking of something different. Mu had yet to be stung in all oz years of doing this, but, still, it was better not to scare them when possible. Not that the bee would most likely be able to chase after mu to sting mu right now, but that was beside the point. Mu didn't want to frighten the little animal if mu could help it.

After carefully positioning the leaf to be held further from oz hand and scooting back a bit to give the bee more space, mu carefully lowered ozself into a more comfortable kneeling position. Mu knew it would mean more dirt stains to wash out of oz long red skirt later, but mu was fine with that. Mu wouldn't have worn this skirt today if mu weren't okay with it getting dirty. One didn't bring fancy clothes to the creek if one wanted them to stay fancy.

Ember had gotten used to the quiet of the creek, so when a voice suddenly spoke, sounding like it was coming from directly in front of mu, saying, "You are very kind.", Mu jolted so hard in shock mu almost fell over backwards, and the blade of grass, with the bee still halfway on it, went flying through the air, as much of a blade of grass could possibly go flying. 

So this meant that it fell to the ground in a medium-speed spiral, fluttering off in a diagonal. The bee, fortunately, managed to stay hanging onto the flower, which dipped under its weight, but didn't snap in half like mu had half feared it would.

When Ember twisted to look in all directions, no one was there. Mu seemed to be just as alone in the park as mu had been before. Then who had spoken?

As if in answer, the voice came again, less startling this time because mu was already half-expecting it. 

"Oh, I'm sorry to scare you, I didn't mean it." The voice was coming from in front of mu again, but this time mu realized that, truly, the only thing in that direction... was the bee.

It was still clinging to the aster, facing up towards mu, those green eyes sparkling in the sunlight. 

"Hello" the voice said again, as mu stared down at the bumblebee in slowly dawning realization. And this time mu could see the bees mouth moving in time with the words, even though mu was pretty certain that carpenter bees did not have the right kinds of mouth parts to pronounce those syllables at all. "My name is Thentin, what is yours?"

Oh.

Oh crap.

Oh wow.

Oh crap.

"Uh—um," Mu stammered, almost too shocked to speak, "My name is Ember."

Mu had dreamed of this moment for years, but never thought it would really happen. Not like this, and most certainly not when mu was only ten years old.

Neither of oz parents had found their aethers yet, and most of oz teachers hadn't found their aethers yet. Most young celebrities hadn't found their aethers yet, and even the president hadn't found his aether yet, and he was really old, like, 50 something!

And yet the bumblebee — Thentin — said, in perfect English, "Hello, Ember." and it was beyond all doubt that it was Ember's aether.

Only aethers looked like normal animals but could talk, no matter what kind of animal form they were in. Even though this one was tiny, the size of a bee, its voice was clear as day, though a little bit of a monotone, almost robotic. But maybe that was because this was the first time it had ever spoken?

Either way, the fact was undeniable. This was Ember's aether. This big, fluffy, bedragled carpenter bee with sparkly green eyes, still staring up at mu from the bent over aster. Thentin. Its name was Thentin. It — no, wait —

Ember reached out to straighten the flower so Thentin wouldn't have to hold on so tightly. "Um, hello, Thentin." Mu said, trying to sound normal and friendly instead of shocked beyond belief, "Do you know what pronouns you want to use? What should I think of you as?" Without thinking, mu said, "Mine are mu/oz/ozself. You use them the same way you use it/its/itself."

Then, as oz brain caught back up to the reality of the situation, and the ways this could end horribly, mu hastened to add, "But, um, I keep them secret, so, please don't tell anyone else, alright? Please call me he/him if we're around other people."

Oz heart was racing in oz chest now, as elation warred with worry and confusion and too many other things mu didn't even know what to call. Would mu have to explain the whole concept of pronouns to Thentin? Would they understand the concept of keeping them a secret?

Thentin was silent for a few moments, long enough for oz anxiety to spike further.

Then the bumblebee aether spoke. "I don't know what my pronouns are yet, but I'll keep yours secret for you. You can just call me...whatever works best, for now, if you have to keep your own secret."

What would 'work best' for now would be she/her pronouns, since most people assumed that an aether was always 'the opposite' gender of the person they'd bonded to. It wasn't unheard of for aethers to be 'the same', but that was rare enough, and controversial enough, that Ember didn't think it would be worth the risk. Especially not if Thentin hadn't even decided what pronouns...she actually wanted to use yet.

"Most people will assume you use she/her pronouns, so I'll call you that until you decide otherwise, if that's okay?" Ember wasn't sure if mu was asking a question or making a statement.

But Thentin didn't seem to mind. "That is okay with me." She said, and then came the magic words that Ember had known were coming. "Do you accept me as your aether?"

Even though Ember had known Thentin was going to ask, it still felt like the entire world slowed to a standstill as mu heard the words, and oz thoughts began whirling faster than time itself.

This was always the climax of movies, and books, and comics. Once someone found their aether, they had the option to either accept, or reject it. Always those fated words, in different voices, from different mouths, in different times and places, but always the same. Do you accept me as your aether?

If someone rejected it, that aether would leave, and, sometimes, if the person was lucky, their aether would reappear later, in a different form, in some other place.

But just like the first apparition, there was no telling what circumstances would let them meet again. It could be anything from as simple as going hiking at the right time and place, to fishing a bee out of a creek, to getting lost at sea.

There was no controlling or predicting what form your aether would take, and no guarentee that you would ever see them again if you rejected them the first time. There were legends of people who sent an already bonded aether, or a person, to follow one that had been rejected, leading to various fantastical results, usually in the form of magical journeys.

It had been tried in the real world too, proving that you could re-accept an aether as long as you came bearing gifts of apology, but only if they were still in the same form you'd rejected before. Once they died in their current body, they would be reborn again as a different animal, anywhere on the planet, with no way to track them down again.

Aethers, once bonded, couldn't be injured or killed, so mu wouldn't have to worry about Thentin being crushed by accident in a form so small. Only after Ember died, and was beyond any hope of resuscitation, would Thentin vanish back into the ether she had manifested from in the first place.

The only real question mu needed to ask ozself was — was mu okay with having an aether in the form of a bumblebee?

And the answer was easy. Of course mu was.

This was possibly a once in a lifetime opportunity. There was no way mu was going to give it up just because Thentin hadn't appeared as a bigger or more dramatic form. Mu had once dreampt of an aether that would take the form of a saber toothed tiger, or a polar bear. But now that Thentin was here, mu wouldn't give Thentin up for anything.

Ember said the words mu had been dreaming of saying since mu could remember. "I accept you as my aether."

And mu didn't need to be told to gently reach oz hand out towards Thentin as Thentin began to crawl toward mu.

Ember's outstretched fingers met the light touch of Thentin's front feet, and a spark of life itself jumped between them.

For a few dizzying moments, Ember felt the whole world spin and rearrange itself.

Mu could see ozself, looking back at ozself, through Thentin's eyes, seeing colors mu didn't have words for. And Ember knew that Thentin was seeing the same thing but in reverse — seeing her own bee form through Ember's eyes.

Their thoughts swirled together, curiosity and excitement and wonder and every other emotion under the sun. Memories were shared between them with ease, fast forwarding through their lives up until this moment in a whirlwind of impressions and images.

Thentin had lived more lives than mu had. This carpenter bee body was two years old, but before this, she had been a robber fly, a shovelhead shark, a little brown mudbug, a domestic cat. But the memories of those lives faded the longer and longer it had been since Thentin had lived them, so all that was left were hazy feelings.

But this carpenter bee body was only two years old, and these memories were sharp and fresh. They both saw and felt Thentin's vague dreams from within the tiny carpenter bee egg, then the time as a larva in the wood-bored tunnel, with nothing to worry about except eating the delicious store of pollen her mother had packed in. The slow, sleepy process of pupating, then finally emerging from the tunnels in the spring as an adult, and flying for the first time. Going out in search of flowers in that first spring, and overwintering in that same old pine for the last two years.

Then it was Ember's earliest memory, of running out into the snow before anyone could stop mu in only oz pajama onsies, without any of the proper warm or waterproof clothes, because the prospect of jumping into the snow had just been too exciting, and little baby mu hadn't yet grasped the concept that cold snow = cold Ember.

Then they watched oz last day of kindergarten, when all of the students were given teddy bears of their favorite color. Then the first day of middle school, and oz pride in being the only one who knew the way around because of all the times mu had visited to watch oz older sister compete on the debate team.

They shared memories, and thoughts, and feelings. Every one they had, and even ones they didn't even know they remembered. They shared every moment of embarassment, wonder, joy, and fear.

 When the experience was over, Thentin looked up at Ember, and though the bee face couldn't smile, in a purely mental fashion she smiled nonetheless, sending a wave of happiness across the telepathic bond they now shared. The happiness came imbued with the suggary taste of honeysuckle nectar, so Ember could feel it distinct from oz own, which mu pushed back across the bond to share with Thentin.

For a moment they just examined the sensation of the other's happiness and compared it to their own. Ember's tasted like Boston cream pie, the first dessert mu had any real memories of, and always on special occasions. They spent a few more minutes sitting there in the grass, excitedly trading emotions back and forth to see what memories they came entwined with.

For Ember, fear came with the sensation of sitting in the living room in the dark, watching a scary movie that mu was definitely too young to be watching. For Thentin, it was hearing the feeling of flying for her life with a robber fly hot on her tail, knowing  that if it caught her, her life as a carpenter bee would end.

Curiosity, they found with a spark of surprise and happiness, was now reflective of their current positions; Ember kneeling in the grass, hearing the trickle of the creak, the wind through the trees, looking down at Thentin as she perched in oz warm hand, looked back up at mu in colors unknown to human eyes, the taste of the aster's nectar still so fresh and strong on her tongue that Ember could taste it as though mu had eaten it ozself.

They spent the rest of the afternoon exploring the creek together, with Ember holding Thentin until she'd rested and dried enough to fly on her own again.

They went through every pronoun set Ember could remember, and made up a few new ones, testing each one out to see if Thentin liked any of them for her secret pronouns.

Finally, they found a set that xa liked, one Ember had made up by just picking different sounds that were fun to say.

The set was xa/vo/co/(no)/xavocono, with the X in xa pronounced like a Z, and used the way you would use they/them/their/(theirs)/themself pronouns.

They practiced sentences together as they played around the creek, making up stories on the spot.

Once there was a kitten born with wings, and xa (they) had color changing fur and feathers that let vo (them) turn almost invisible, except for co (their) eyes, which were always bright red, and sparkly, like rubies. Xa went on adventures with the opossum who lived under the porch of co family's house and opened the windows to let xa out, and xa was always trying to keep away from the animal control van, trying not to let the city find out which house was no.

As they got to this part of their imagined story, it was Thentin who realized that having one of the pronouns just be N O, like the word no, might be confusing if it was written down. So they decided to add an H to the end, making it noh instead, but keeping the pronunciation the same.

So, their original winged cat character, whose name they still hadn't decided on, had to try to keep animal control from figuring out which house was noh.

So, xa/vo/co/(noh)/xavoconoh.

Thentin interjeted that the character's name should be Shimmer, for the way co feathers and fur could shimmer from color to color, and Ember agreed, after thinking about it for a few moments and imagining the sight of a winged cat, shimmering in and out of existance, except for the bright red eyes, which only disappeared when they were closed.

"And maybe xa can make co fur shimmer like a rainbow too?" Ember suggested, and Thentin readily agreed.

It took them a while to figure out a sentence that would let them test the last word in the pronoun set, equivalent to themself. Finally they settled on the idea that Shimmer was afraid of the abandoned buildings that the opossum, whose name and pronouns neither Ember nor Thentin could think of anything for, liked to explore, so xa never went in any of them by xavoconoh; the opossum always had to be there to encourage vo, or xa would never even dream of going in.

The sun was starting on its downward angle by the time Ember and Thentin decided it would be a good time to head back home. Ember was hungry, and was starting to need to use the bathroom.

Mu had no idea how mu was going to tell oz parents about Thentin, besides maybe charging through the front door and yelling, "I found my aether!" at the top of oz lungs. They were going to be so surprised, and probably jealous. They'd want to ask questions, and maybe throw a party? Ember hoped there would be a party, with presents. And Boston cream pie. Maybe mu would get to be on the news and be on TV!

They went home together, Ember walking, Thentin flying next to and above oz.

Unfortunately, they didn't pass anyone on the way back, so there were no strangers they could show off to, despite Ember's fantasies of getting a crowd of admirers to follow them home, cheering and carrying mu on their shoulders.

But both cars were parked in the driveway when they got there, which meant everyone was home, unless their sister had gone over to a friend's.

It was sad that they wouldn't be able to share Thentin's neopronouns with everyone, and would have to just pretend xa was a girl, just like it was sad that Ember still had to hide oz pronouns from everyone. But they were together now, and would always be there to support one another from now on, until their next lives began. They would know each other's real identity, and for now, that would be good enough. 

Someday they would be able to tell everyone who they really were, but until then, they had eachother, and the rest of Ember's friends, which mu couldn't wait to introduce Thentin to.

[s0lar-ch3ri]

all my troubles on a burning pile / all lit up and i start to smile

chip whump moment!!!! theres spoilers for like the noctis arc and beyond, self harming things, and also burning alive things (not really alive but yk)

if you want to be hurt a second time by rereading this you can find it over at ao3

The heat of battle. When you’ve felt like you’ve never stopped fighting, that heat is hard to forget. Through streets and alleys, with gangs and brothers, you don’t forget the warmth that is the feeling of a punch making contact with a face, how flesh in your teeth as you skin them in isn’t easy to gloss over in your mind, how blood flows warmly out a body. How cold it is when the whole thing falls. The way your blade feels so spine-chillingly cold.

Atleast, Chip doesn’t.

They’ve dropped Ollie off at Zero as of a couple days ago. They’re on their way to Allport, to get to a man who taught him how to handle the burn of clashing blades and brutal violence. It’s dark out, and Chip feels cold. He feels ever so cold. It’s strange, and he has to wonder if this is what’s ahead when he’s in that sea- from what he can tell- again. Still, he wants to believe he was warmer than before.

Fresh out on sea, Chip pretended he was warm, a flame that could burn. Gillion had shown he wasn’t that. He was nothing more than a small ember, and the ocean took him out from it. Chip learned how to burn brighter, no longer for himself, but for others. He wanted to say he was doing a pretty good job. It meant more with their next battle, where the waves still took him down, but he felt warmer. He was warmer, by all means. He had a fire truly in him, smoke could rise from him.

Yet he needs it to fall.

This has been his plan for however long he’s thought about it. Find Arlin in that sea, get him out of there. Finding Finn, Drey, Lizzie, and Rufus were more than enough proof he could do it. Hell, he was proof it’s possible. He wasn’t sure how exactly he got out, but he’d have to learn.

A bit ago, they found an entrance, and by they, he meant his co-captains, who never learned of his cruel flames. A brother he faced once more, and he was a cold, cold man. Chip set his temper ablaze. He got back at him, using his fire like how he would have all that time ago.

Chip snaps back as he feels a warmth in his hand, a burn. He drops what he was holding, almost instantly. A small coin, gold and not as shiny as he first got it. He scrambles to pick it up from the wooden deck, though he didn’t process how it could damage the ship. He ignores the burning feeling (it warms him up slightly at least?), the way his hand smokes, he’s focused on how the coin is. It’s untouched, nothing melted, thank the Lord. It’s a regular coin- to anybody but Chip. It’s one of his remaining connections to him. He’d hold it as close as he could for all his life.

As much as he tries to ignore the feeling, Chip can’t shake the feeling of that burning warmth. Did it feel good? No, that’s silly. He just likes warmth. Most people do. He’s wanted warmth for a while. The night is cold. His hands were just getting warm. The feeling of the warm flames was just on Chip’s brain, it was a simple accident. He wouldn’t do that to himself, he’s not fireproof, he knows all too well how it could feel to be burned. There’s just strange ways he knows that warmth. Holding a sword made shivers go down his spine uncontrollably. His crew, while some were cold, gave him a warmth. Strangest of all, fishing was ever so warm and yet he felt himself slightly freeze. It was strange. Going through memories was a strange experience. He tried to hold them all close, even the nightmarish and actual nightmares that plagued him, ones he wanted to kick and scream and beat and run from.

Maybe Captain Chip needed to go rest. He can’t get caught up in his head. It’s getting cold anyways.

—

It’s been maybe a couple days into the Black Sea. Nobody could tell. The dark waves made it impossible to guess what time it was. It wasn’t like their “guests” were all too helpful either, they were remnants of what the sea had made them, the forms left behind by the waves. It was slightly sickening for Chip.

At least, it was once.

Chip looked all human, looked fine, but he knew it was all a disguise of his bandana. He was scared if he took it off…maybe he’s not going to think about that right now. Chip’s heart hadn’t gotten the chance to go cold inside him, no, from what he was told, his heart was ripped out forcefully, and he woke up as nothing more than a corpse, the remainder of whoever Chip was.

A lot of who he was has rotted off. At least he thinks. He’s not sure. He hasn’t taken the bandana off. He knows it won’t be pretty, if Chip could ever be called that. He is impressed by its magic though. His skin has mostly the same feel as it did before, and his hands run through what one could only know to be hair. He has all his scars and marks. He holds the form of Captain Chip.

Minus one detail.

He is so cold. The fire inside him is numb. His hands only feel freezing. He can barely tell how it makes him all feel. His body has been chilled, and if one thing is strong enough to break through it, he holds fear like a torch, knowing it will only get worse.

Memories have tried to escape him. He holds onto them with all his might. There are, however, 2 memories Chip holds again, no longer exactly bound to its arrangements. First off, he remembers how he lost the second one. They needed an invite for a party, and Chip could do better off without the plaguing chill it gave. Second, he remembers Reuben. He remembers a brother betrayed, betraying a brother, and making his own flame. He sparked it up and left, letting any of the fire he had burn who he tried to pretend held nothing but cruel flames for him. He does remember the way the base felt behind him. It was ever so warm. He misses the warmth.

He’s alone on deck again. It’s too dark to see much of where they’re going. He hears souls trapped in this dark place at their sides, calling for him to join them. He hears them getting closer. He almost forgets he’s once again holding that coin, noticing how it starts to smoke again, and so does he. Perhaps there’s something left to burn still. He puts the token of his past away.

Chip holds his hands on his blades. The cold chills are something he’s been made used to now.

He watches them board. There aren't too many, he doesn’t need to wake up Jay or Gill, he doesn’t mind the alone time. Unsheathing the blades from his sides, he does know they are warm, and the numbness in his hands slightly cool. Nothing big, but it’s something. He counts his opponents. There’s maybe 20, 30 of them. Maybe more like 45. Yeah, he can handle this. As a captain, he can handle this.

He cuts through them one by one, cursing the feelings and thoughts that circle his brain as he slashes and sees their desires, their final wants. It’s not a pleasant moment, and it brings back his own. He gets through, 3, 4, 5, and it stays there, stays strong.

He wants to be a warm fire again.

The most he’s felt in days, his hands are…warm. He sets them ablaze. He sets it ablaze, like Chip has set many things ablaze without a care, and he embraces the warmth like the old friend it is, the one that’s taunted and ran and engulfed him his whole life. A smile crawls onto his face as he can see his surroundings slightly better, and his blades are too alight. He shares these gifts of warmth, the crackling flames that cause his skin to smoke and his body to emit a mixture of odors like the world’s worst scented candle, with the fallen, slashing and cutting and burning their bodies. Parts of him yell he’s burning their desires. Chip finds this further from the truth, he’s setting them ablaze to free them from here, let them pursue them wherever they’re going. Besides, they had no use for them here.

He can’t help but laugh and cackle a bit, this is just what he needed after all of this. Chip does take in the smells he emits. He smells slight amounts of copper and maybe a bit more of maybe something like pork? Another part says rotting eggs, which didn’t even seem so horrible. He was one of those already. There was also the smell of cooking steak. It was a bit hard at first to rack his brain in all the fighting, all the not-bloodshed and undead haze, to picture what this strong combined stench was in its entirety. He thought it smelt pretty good.

It felt powerful, cutting them down. The floors of the ship were getting charred by Chip’s flaming fast feet, but it didn’t matter, not to Chip. He could repair it in the- was it morning? Oh, who cared! He was a skeletal man in pirate attire, on fire, and smiling through it! He looked sick, and felt it too! It was the warmest he’s been in a while, so who cares if the smoke’s slightly bothering him? There were 20 left, 15, 10, and Chip didn’t even have a sweat to break! He’s a pirate, the issue of being very flammable wasn’t in his mind. He deserved to go down in a blaze of glory.

Any of those stuck here deserved the light and warmth he could make.

The deck was covered in blackened water and chopped apart bodies. His own vision was being clouded to the smog of the flames crackling on his arms and shoulders and spreading across his body. He was a human torch here, if he counted as human. He panted, coughing lots as his body, despite not needing air, tried to breath. Any blood left inside of him was for sure gone, evaporated away or however liquids worked. He curled his smile more. Chip didn’t feel great about killing people, and he didn’t feel great about being on fire, but there’s a simple thing here.

He wasn’t Chip.

He was what’s left, and what’s left of Chip knew he wasn’t killing them. Anybody deserved to be free of this fucking hole. This was a freedom for them, one Chip wasn’t getting yet. Sure, the warmth made marks and was cooking him, but the good part of it? It hurt. It was maybe the most pain he’s been in since…well, it’s been a while, and Chip hadn’t kept track of the things he felt.

Undeads couldn’t cry. Undeads should probably be dead now. That was the fun thing though, Chip seemed to be special. The world liked keeping him around to toy around with him, beat him down. Well, here, he had control. Chip controlled that the flames came out and engulfed him, choosing to burn those who would have burned him first. Not even just him, his crew, his friends, all he cared about! So maybe it’s a bit of self sacrifice for those he loves, a bit of a break from the cold, and something that wasn’t numb. Sue Chip, he didn’t see the issue.

Although, it did hurt. A lot. He could dance around and smile all he wants, but the disguise of the bandana can only fake a smile for so long. His legs wobbled and he stumbled around, unable to ground himself. The idea of gripping the rails or the mast were futile, he knew better than to set his own ship ablaze. There was the idea of jumping into the sea, joining the cold waves…There was no longer the idea of jumping into the sea. He was stuck here.

Chip started lightly itching his skin, quickly having to put his swords back at his sides to keep trying to get rid of the itch. He never understood it, but pain? Fucking itchy as hell, and this one was hell. The pain seemed to fade in, and set ablaze, finding kindling and getting worse and worse. Chip wanted to throw up, it all hurt, and it all sucked. His voice, hoarse and dry, tried to cry out as tears didn’t fall from his eyes. Without his own choice, he fell to the ground of the Albatross, wanting to get up, to stop charring the floorboards, he’d have to apologize for this later. Coughing and struggling for breath, his body panicking as though it was still living, still human, Chip’s hand goes for his pockets, which aren’t hard to get to, the coat wasn’t all too fireproof. He pulls out that coin. It’s mostly intact, but his burning hands are causing marks, and he knows it. He can’t lose that connection, he can’t ruin his last connection to Arlin, not again. He holds it closer to him before throwing it to the side. Chip focuses on it as he burns away, unable to stop his flames, a smile on his face, plastered.

It’s not cold anymore. He’ll wake up and regret himself and all he is. He’s going to ache and he’s going to scream more and he won’t be able to let go of the pain, he’ll hold it so closely. He’s going to hate himself for letting that coin get ruined and it’ll crush him completely. He’s not even sure if he’ll stop, if he’ll get to rest or if this will last until they get tired and burn away all that Chip’s left behind. He doesn’t know if tomorrow comes soon and if the pain leaves with it. He doesn’t know how lucky the dead get to be, especially when the dead are him. He’s not a lucky bastard, never thought of himself a good enough man to get there.

Chip has never known many things but one thing’s certain; He’s not cold anymore.

[sidhelives]

Chapter 11: Never Betray the Dark Brotherhood or its Secrets

"So you are alive. I was starting to wonder." Nazir jogged to her side, sheathing his blade.

Diem nodded, her mouth set in a furious line. "The Oculatus knew I was coming. It was all a trap. We were set up."

"Considering most of us are now dead, I assumed as much. And before you ask, no -- I don't think it was you." He coughed, wiping the smoke from his eyes. "Well, maybe I did, but you saving my sorry hide just now sort of erased any doubts. So thanks."

Behind him, the stairs to the sleeping quarters collapsed in a shower of embers, making them both jump.

"We need to get out of here!" Diem growled, looking back the way she had come. It had been clear moments before, but with the state of the Sanctuary, it may not remain so for long.

Nazir followed her gaze and started in that direction. "You've got that right. Only a matter of time before we're roasted alive. You most of all. Come on!"

Around them the timbers creaked and groaned, the sound chasing them out through the winding caves which were, Diem noted unhappily, supported by wooden beams. The main chamber opened up before them, the destruction more palpable now that the vengeful bloodlust had faded. Everything that could catch fire was burning, flames licking the high ceiling and choking the air with deadly fumes. Nazir struck ahead, running for the stairway that led out, but Diem caught his arm, pulling him back.

"Nazir, the forge!" She shouted, a moment before it exploded. They covered their faces as razor-sharp shrapnel ripped through the air, the force of the explosion knocking them off their feet.

Coughing violently, Nazir rolled up to a knee, squinting through the smog towards the exit. "Damn it all," he growled. The way was blocked, the blast knocking loose massive stones between them and the stair. While the boulders may have been maneuverable under normal circumstances, in the current conditions Diem and Nazir would not last long enough to do so. Even stalling her breathing, the toxic air seeped into Diem's lungs, making them itch, and Nazir was coughing furiously.

"There has to be another—" Diem shouted above the roar of the fire, her voice cutting off as a cascade of vibrations rang through her skull like it were a gong.

"Listener," the Night Mother's voice reverberated behind Diem's eyes. "I am your only salvation. Come. Embrace me."

Full Chapter:

[areus-in-a-little-cave]

Hi bestie, do you happen to have any emerald duo longfic recs for me?

Please im going insane i need to read

Hi Ember I do not read enough emerald duo fics But I have searched some up soo here are a few, some I have not read and some I know by reputation. These are all completed as well and over 50k words

agnosthesia by ambibii and TearsOfAStarling - 111k words, High Fantasy AU, Creator chose not to use archive warnings

agnosthesia n. the state of not knowing how you really feel about something, which forces you to sift through clues hidden in your behavior, as if you were some other person—noticing a twist of acid in your voice, an obscene amount of effort put into something trifling, or an inexplicable weight on your shoulders that makes it difficult to get out of bed.

Philza Minecraft was the exiled prince of the Kingdom of Heart Cove, a darkness plaguing his heart. Technoblade was his loyal knight, is a pledged Blade since birth. Then Technoblade met a necromancer named Dream, who dragged the both of them to therapy and taught them about the magic of friendship along the way. Oh, and some actual magic too.

Don't know this one, looks like it has a lot of rivalsduo and doomsdaytrio but a decent amount of emerald duo

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The Next Great Adventure by Pathfinder - 114k words, Fantasy AU, Graphic depictions of violence

Philza is closed-off, hardened from centuries without aging while watching his friends turn to dust, taking jobs under the moniker Angel of Death to try and feel something again.

Technoblade is a brute of a piglin with more scars than unbroken skin and a penchant for uncovering trouble, hot on the trail of… something. He’s exactly the sort of routine job that should consume a few weeks of Phil’s endless time, before he’s forced to find something else to waste away doing.

(Such a shame, then, that the Angel of Death should meet his match.)

Or: A fanfiction in which an elaborate AU is crafted as an excuse to focus entirely on Technoblade and Philza's relationship.

Only has Emerald duo and Phil/Kristin tagged so I'm guessing it's just them!

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oh dear, can you see me? by findingkairos - 70k words, Antarctic Empire Age Swap AU, No archive warnings apply

Philza Minecraft is the youngest person ever to beat a Hardcore world and earn his wings. It makes him a target.

For an enterprising faction fighting in a server-wide war, it makes him a weapon.

(Age Swap!AU where Technoblade is a legendary warrior who's been having fun scaring newbies and occasionally conquering realms on behalf of Hypixel, Philza is a young player who's been guilt tripped into choosing the losing side, and things get worse before they get better.)

this one is actually on my tbr, looks like it's just emerald duo :]

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Orphan's Path by aenor_llelo, Alderous, Anarchy-Schmanarchy (Murder_Schmurder), BattleBlaze, ConcoctionsFromHell, Falrisesi, fluxphage, izziel_galaxy, Otakuforlife19, and Rocket999 - 686k words, Canon compliant/additional, Warnings vary by fic

Since this one is a series, I don't have a summary for it, but it's basically a retelling of canon from mostly Phil or Techno's POV with tons of additional backstory and headcanons and etc. Technically this one is not done since the series is on-going but there's, y'know, 686k words already

Also on my tbr, and it mostly seems to be emerald duo with some other people thrown in every now and again

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A collection of dust by SwordSoup - 78k words, Hunger Games AU, Graphic depictions of violence and Major character death

Phil's name is scrawled on 27 individual pieces of paper. Wilbur's is only written on one. Yet somehow, the younger boy is the one who is selected to join the Hunger Games, forced to die on television for the entertainment of the ravenous elite. Phil won't allow it. He volunteers, and then a man he has only spoken to once is called to the platform, and Technoblade's eyes are an eerie shade of red, and then he's being taken away, and-

And then suddenly, Phil is dragged into a bloody and gruesome struggle for power against a country that only wants to watch him die. But he'll fight, no matter how little the odds favor him.

okay I really want to read this one now oop don't mind me. Phil and Techno's relationship tag and Phil and Wilbur's are the only ones on the fic so despite the other character tags I'm guessing it's about them mostly

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bones in the ocean by bunflower - 86k words, Pirate AU, Graphic depictions of violence

“The Angel of Death, the ferryman of the Styx, the terror of the western seas. One of the most feared captains ever to sail, and yet, I have to wonder… how did a man like you end up all on his own? We searched the area where you were found—not another soul in sight. So,” He fixes him with a long look, allowing the silence to hover like a dark cloud, the words rolling off of his tongue with all the venom and smugness he can muster, “—tell me, Philza. Where is your crew?”

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OR: Technoblade is a naval captain, and Phil his unwilling prisoner. Somehow, they manage to come out of it as friends in the end.

yeah so unlike the others I actually know this one because it's very popular and I know Bun is a great emerald duo author so I'm guessing it's quite good

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i wanna hear it's alright by bunflower - 114k words, Canon-divergent, Graphic depictions of violence and Major character death

“T’ the gates of hell…”

“Go to hell, then.”

“I’ll see you there.”

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A Phil-centric whump!fic that grew into a story of friendship, love, betrayal, and loss. A series of interconnected one-shots focusing on the nature and complexity of Phil and Technoblade’s friendship over the centuries.

one day when I am strong enough and won't cry I will read this

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Anyways that's it for fics BUT I have three authors here that I know write a lot of emerald duo even if they don't have completed long fics for them

Anarchy_and_Piglins - Most popular and longest fic is About Phantom Pains of Dying, an ongoing collection of Techno-centric oneshots, 88k words and no archive warnings.

h_mellohi - Most popular fic is feathers laden with dust and stone, a season one OSMP angel duo oneshot, 5k words and no archive warnings. Longest fic is red eggs and ham, a finished peerpressureduo eggpire fic, 94k words and creator chose not to use archive warnings.

bunflower - Most popular fic is Bones in the ocean, same as above. Longest fic is i wanna hear it's alright, same as above. Just here because they have a lot of other emerald duo fics