#YOU TAKE YOUR GOD DAMN TIME BEATING THE CALAMITY AS YOU GO FUCK AROUND ON THAT 900TH KOROK

[botwstoriesandsuch]

Kip your inner Gordon Ramsay is showing

IT’S JUST FRIED BANANAS IT’S NOT THAT HARD

[igotathingforvampires]

Alice and the Cheshire Cat - Aro Volturi F!Reader!Telekinetic/Telepathic

This was a bad idea.

Such a bad idea, why in the hell did you let your idiot friends make you follow that damn tourist trap-- emphasis on trap!

Grinding your teeth you glared about the halls of the spectacularly built Italian architecture as the woman who was named Heidi guided the flock of people further-- deeper into the depths.

Your stomach churned.

Something wasn't right.

You glance at your moronic friends-- they aren't even really friends, they're people your mother has sent you with so she can get her fill on whatever hunk she sunk her claws into. They babble on and on senselessly and make you want to clap your hands over your ears. You're not going to die like this.

Fuck that shit.

"Y/N! Look! Omgosh it's so ROMANTIC." Tiffany gushes and giggles with her cronies and gives you a side eye. You're the odd one out-- always has been as she loops her arm through her boy-toy's and saunters further in. But you hang back. Allow yourself to view the entire room and sense the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

Suddenly you're shoving your way forward to the girl named Heidi. And stay at the front of the pack. She eyes you curiously. Her head tilting but that smile on her face doesn't wane. I know what you're doing. You think with a glare in your thoughts and shove them into the person in front of you.

She pauses stunned.

You always were one for surprises.

I won't go down easily. I haven't survived what I have to be taken down by you.

The woman's eyes sharpen considerably as the group is led, with you leading head held high to meet your potential executioner. Your sandals click on the floor, you rather thought your outfit of choice was fitting today, a sundress, white and yellow with flowing skirts and long billowing sleeves.

How utterly Gothic Horror.

You didn't know what was going to happen. Didn't know who you were facing, but just knew this would be your last moments in this world.

If only your mother was here to share it.

Your eyes sting at that, the pain from your past coming forward as you shakily take a breath to still your heart beat as best you can. People are moving around the giant domed circle of a room. Vaulted ceilings so beautiful one might weep.

"Ah, our guests are here." A voice calls sounding gleefully mad. Your eyes snap up to the dais, you are just below the first step and your eyebrows draw down sharp and you glare, the three men before you are quite beautiful.

No scratch that.

They ARE and they are terrifying to behold. The one to the left of the center throne eyes you suddenly shifting from whatever stupor he was in, eyes half hooded and radiating pain and sorrow, you almost felt sorry for him aside from the blood red eyes. Dark brown hair cascading to his shoulders, a long face and deep set eyes with high cheekbones.

The one to the right looked gleeful, blond hair, a sinister smile, and a sneer all in one. Avoid at all costs your mind tells you.

And the one in the center-- staring right at you as you peruse your surroundings. He has a frown, ever so slight, his brow furrowed. And then a gleeful smile crosses his face, gaze glittering like rubies.

God fucking damn it you were in a vampire den.

You knew such things existed but kept your mouth shut and your head down.

Well. Might as well get a jab in before they eat you. You meet the man's stare and glare at him, setting your face to one of complete indifference causing him to tilt his head and smirk.

Your Heidi led me down the rabbit hole. And I see you're the Mad Hatter. You send his way across a whisper of thought. Am I to be your Alice or is this where you are given a choice to drink me?

The man's eyes widen only just a moment, you see a shift to your left, a curious expression coming from the taller and sorrowful looking individual.

The one before you clasps his hands together and tries to puzzle you out.

It feels like forever.

Are you going to drain me now or do I get a fighting chance? You feel the pull, the anger within you, that snapping of an elastic band holding all your sorrow and rage and you focus, jerking the vampire in front of you by the lapels of his suit a couple inches.

The raven haired man blinks, and a maniacal grin appears "Magnifico......" he steps down the stairs one at a time, as chaos erupts around you, blood splattering, throats tearing, screams of your friends behind you.

He reaches, offering his hand, and stupidly you take it.

Or is it stupid. You're drawn in despite the calamity around you to those ruby eyes and soft curious look on his face, almost child like wonder as he whisks through your memories at lightning speed. He frowns, at the memories of being alone, the abuse, the torment, learning of your gifts and being tortured for them.

You were the Devils child. Evil incarnate and had to repent for your sins. In fact your mother was sending you to a convent in Italy.

The man's smile grew wide, and you realized this was no Mad Hatter but the Cheshire Cat. Is this where you tell me which road I take?

His whisper through your connection in your mind echos through the never ending rage you carry. "You may call me Aro."

"And is this where you devour me?" Your voice despite yourself shakes.

A smoldering look engulfs you with those red eyes as he leans down to the shell of your ear. "in more than one way Cara Mia."

You had seen enough of Morticia Adams and Gomez to know what that meant.

This thought as he kisses the back of your knuckles makes him giggle a bit like a maniac. "I've waited a long time for you. Tell me. How would you like me to extract justice for you?"

You exhale deeply as he engulfs you in an embrace, "oh please....I think I would like that very much."

"Bene." The word is like the gavel of a judge.

And suddenly, all seems right with the world as you feel a bite and burning sear your entire being.

[defilerwyrm]

⭐️ Bei Mir Bist Du Schön

FIC SPOILERS AHEAD!

Bei Mir Bist Du Schön on AO3

He opened his mouth to thank Essek but what came out instead was, “Deine Augen sind wunderschön.”

Essek stared at him, perfectly neutral save for the subtle rise of stark white eyebrows. “I don’t speak Zemnian,” he said, flashing his customary, placid little smile.

This is early Essek, well before c2e097, so this is a fully calculated move. That stare is him running simulations in his head, as it were, weighing his options, and he finally decides that he can learn more about Caleb if the guy thinks he doesn’t understand these little asides.

And boy did he ever just learn something juicy.

The second time, he was feeling petulant. Essek was normally a very patient and talented teacher, but there came a time when they butted heads over the best way to work a spell: Essek’s experience and Caleb’s contradicted each other, and neither was willing to admit that he was wrong because they weren’t. Caleb couldn’t have said why they were getting spirited over it. It was unlike them to lock horns this way, and the condescension chafed fiercely.

To my understanding, Wildemount never—at least post-Calamity—had a continent-spanning culture like the Roman Empire that would standardize learning across regions, and the Empire and Dynasty have utterly lacked in cultural exchange pretty much throughout their histories; so I reason that their approach to magic must be very damn different right down to the fundamentals. But, I also reason, magic is like math, in that there’s more than one way to come to a given conclusion—so the same spell cast by an Imperial mage might use different theory and somatic/verbal components with the same results.

I love fic that plays homage to cultural differences, so I figured that there must surely come a point where Caleb and Essek quibble about how to do a thing, with the crux being that they’re both right.

In a fit of pique, he muttered, “Du hast Glück, dass du abartig schön bist, denn du bist so ein Arsch.”

Essek’s head whipped up so fast that, for a moment, Caleb thought maybe he understood after all—but Essek just squinted at him without recognition and said, “I beg your pardon?”

Essek’s poker face is doing triple duty here because Caleb just said he’s hot af but also a dick, and this isn’t a sentiment Essek hasn’t heard before, but it hasn’t really gotten under his skin like it does this time.

Caleb passed a hand over his face and scratched at the beard he desperately needed to shave off. “Nothing,” he lied, “just annoyed with myself. This should be a moment of discovery, now that we know this can go either way. A door has unlocked and we’re both pulling it shut. Can we start again?”

The slip, and Essek’s reaction to it, made Caleb realize that they were both being dillweeds about the whole thing and it wasn’t going to move them forward at all.

It was—of course, of fucking course the intonation mattered. “A tonal shift,” he breathed. He took Essek by the lapels of his robe and shook him gently, and blurted out, “Ich könnte dein Gehirn küssen und dann deinen Mund.”

“What the hell is going on,” Nott squeaked at the same time as Essek chuckled almost nervously, “Caleb, I don’t—”

Hot boi damn near let the cat out of the bag right here. It’s certainly not that he specifically did not want to be smooched at all, but more that 1) Nott was RIGHT THERE so it would be mortifying, 2) he’s still very D: about physical contact and this point, and 3) he’s still very privately going “fuck fuck fuck WHY a HUMAN” about his own attraction to Caleb. There is very much a part of him that Wants That, but the rest of him is just not coping with it at all just yet.

The following morning, though, all he could think about was Dein Bett wäre besser and Essek’s careful fingers touching his face.

Both of them are fully mortified with themselves. They’re ridiculous. I see Caleb heading back to the Xhorhaus with shoulders bunched up, brow furrowed, and wide eyes glued to his own feet as his brain screams “DEIN BETT WÄRE BESSER” at him, mockingly, over and over. Slipping up and confessing your attraction to your crush is relatably horrifying (gods, I’ve been there, it’s awful) and Caleb is predisposed to beat himself up to begin with. Add in the rest of the party making a big deal over the fact that he spent the night over at Essek’s towers and you’ve got an abject storm in that little ginger head of his.

It did not help matters that no matter how much he insisted that nothing happened, the Mighty Nein were dead set on believing that he’d slept with his mentor, and they spent the next three days teasing him about it, none of them aware that he was simultaneously tormenting himself.

Okay so I try to be good and not talk shit about my own work these days, but that sentence just landed in a belly flop for me. I’m not sure it actually gets across what I’d meant, which was that Caleb was beating himself up for a different reason than what they all thought.

In the midst of a messy ambush by three of the wolf-cat eye-beasts, one of them managed to get the drop on Caleb, and it pinned him, screaming, to the ground. Its claws dug fiery punctures into either side of his chest. He thrashed, trying to get both hands up to cast, but it would be too late—his reflexes weren’t good enough. His body had never been nearly as sharp as his mind, and he was about to pay the price in the form of massive, dagger-like fangs lunging towards his throat. He screamed again, chest nearly frozen with fear, when—

Adventurers are generally made of tough stock, but I really wanted to dig into the POV of someone who’s being attacked by a terrifying cerature intent on ripping them apart. “You take 12 piercing damage and are knocked prone” is mechanical and dry; I wanted to show the full in-character implications of those mechanics.

Another fic that represents game mechanics narratively to absolutely stunning affect is Hard Mouth by road_rhythm, which I cannot recommend highly enough. I wrote Bei Mir before Hard Mouth started posting but had it been the other way around, it 100% would have been an inspiration in that regard.

He could not help but murmur, “Götter, ich bins so verschossen in dich.”

Fun fact: I got myself the book Talking Dirty German specifically for writing Caleb dialogue, and it really came in handy here. This idiom is from that book, as did abartig schön. The literal translation is “Gods, I am so shot into you,” which coming to think of it sounds a wee bit dirty but is figuratively very sappy.

Speaking of sappy….

“Das Gefühl ist Gegenseitig,” came the warm and sleepy reply.

Part of this is Essek being barely-conscious, but the bulk of it is this—and this is basically giving away the whole way the fic progresses: pretending not to know Zemnian began as a manipulation tactic to get intel, then became a game of “Let’s see how long it takes you to figure this out, smart boy” as their bond grew and Essek stopped deliberately trying to throw Caleb off, and finally when they were a couple he figured it would be cruel and pointless to keep up the ruse, especially since he’d been growing to appreciate pet names in their mother tongues.

Caleb took a deep breath, set his tea aside, and launched himself at Essek, who yelped, laughing, and danced out of his grasp. Essek led him on a merry chase around the kitchen and held out as long as he could before crying mercy at Caleb’s vicious tickling.

You know, I probably shouldn’t point this out in case my readers hadn’t cottoned onto it yet either, but it wasn’t until like a week after publishing this that I stopped and thought, “WTF happened to Essek’s teacup? Did he take the time to set it down? Did it get dropped and shatter? Did he show off and levitate it?? Did he bring it with him and get tea all over the place and himself?!” Smh…. Choose your own explanation, I guess, lmao.

The rolls were a little burnt that morning, but Caleb had no regrets.

Part of me feels like this is kind of a weak ending, but I justify it to myself by remembering how hard Caleb regretted his slip-ups over the course of the fic. He spends a good bit of copy beating himself up over them, so ultimately I think it fits, even if it kinda lacks punch.

[touchmycoat]

blackwater arc reread: notes

okayo kayokayaokay

so several hundred years ago, baby qingxuan was born, and the White Thing was like, “you’re cursed!” the only way free of this super powerful Shit is if qingxuan becomes a god

shi wudu not only managed to find one person born in the exact same minute/hour as sqx, but also someone with the Xuan character in his name, and swaps the fates of sqx and hx

hx’s life falls apart and he loses everyone he loves to miserable deaths

sqx continues to be a golden child, and ascends to godlihood

the White THing haunts hx, but according to xie lian’s estimation, never really gets a meal from hx, ‘cause hx is just that steady, that hardcore—until the Confrontation with the White Thing, during which hx goes absolutely batshit, kills all the horrible people within reach, dies of his own power flipflop shit, and then turns around and swallows the white thing to boot

he’s so damn powerful he goes on to make it through Tonglu Mountain and become a Calamity

through swallowing the White Thing he learns the truth about the Shi brothers?

so as the Earth Master, the true Ming Yi is ascending, HX nabs that poor fucker, and takes his identity, and keeps him imprisoned to torture and extract information from

hx lives life as ming yi, hooks up with hua cheng somewhere along the way, and the two share singular purposes as they infiltrate heaven

sqx becomes determined to befriend hx

hx does not shy away from turning him down, but is, by xie lian’s later exposition (with pressing open his own wound to trigger the amulet), such an upstanding soul anyways that sqx is very, very determined to befriend him

all this while, hx is bidding his time. His goal is utter ruination for the brothers that destroyed his life, so he picks the time of swd’s third 天劫

he’s also been collecting live humans with miserable, miserable lives at his mansion

there are two possible outcomes he wants: 1) get a taste of your own medicine, sqx. you took a life that was not meant for you, now you’ll live among the most wretched.

(That outcome can only be realized by swd’s hands—so there’s a test for swd here as well, or more a taunt. Even when your little brother is desperate to repent in some kind of way, for both of you to survive, can you do it? Can you be the catalyst for giving sqx a life of suffering?)

2) go fuck yourself, swd. you can either make your baby brother miserable by giving him a wretched fate or make your baby brother miserable by making him responsible for your death. And sqx will live. He’s lived this long in blissful ignorance, hx will make sure he lives further in the most agonizing knowledge.

(This outcome wants sqx to stop choosing his brother.)

so he’s been collecting bad fates toward that end.

not long after xie lian’s third ascension, the real ming yi breaks out once and for all, sending up a help signal. hc and hx have an agreement, so hc goes to cover for hx, pretending like hx’s been undercover in his shit for years.

this is also when the real ming yi dies. hx puts the bones in his own mansion ‘cause where else can you put it.

(hc would drag hx to hell for his shit taste in interior decor)

The day hx enacts the plan, and has the White THing haunting sqx again, sqx tosses a wrench in his works by going to xie lian. Otherwise, hx probably just planned on scaring sqx a little (okay a lot), break his mind a little (a lot), and then take away sqx’s powers. Send him back to swd armed with the truth of what his brother’s done and see what sqx chooses.

(Over and over and over again, hx wants sqx to stop choosing swd.)

But. Okay. Xie Lian tags along. So hx puts his plan into motion, but has to keep swerving. Hence all the hide-and-seek, all the misdirection, all the gradual realizations in the black water arc.

He tries to ditch xl in the festival people, but surprise! xl can take over sqx’s body, and beats up hx’s kagebunshin no jitsu

(hc gets REAL mad at hx about this, which is frankly hilarious ‘cause hx is just like. “?!?!?!?! YOUR babe’s the one messing with OUR pl—” and hc’s like “shut UP dianxia does no wrong this is YOUR problem bITCH”)

hx goes to save sqx after swd has sqx tied up but surprise! xl is there again. they get to the rain master’s to hide. pm takes sqx to go see swd, and sqx agrees.

which hx takes as a confirmation of sqx’s complicity

but xl gets dragged along yet again, with hc’s insistent company. at blackwaters hx does his best to separate the group, taking the most important sqx. but fucking swd meets up with xl and they end up in the mansion together

so hx fakes being poisoned so he can send everybody away. hc helps him out.

so hualian are back at puji shrine. xie lian has everything pretty much pieced together, and so nyooms back into sqx’s body in a last ditch attempt to help.

he witnesses the entire shit show

hx is such a specific man, with such specific grievances. he wants vengeance. it’s hard to say whether this vengeance is proportional or not because what happened to him was so fucking disproportionate. he knows the main culprit is swd, and wants him brought down, wants him torn from his godly status. He succeeds in this by failing swd at his third 天劫, then basically going “I’ll tell everyone what you did”

sqx is more complicated. sqx is ignorant, but is the furthest thing from innocent.

but sqx knows it too. between the two brothers, he’s the one reacting with the most compassion. He acknowledges the horror of what’s been done, and knows there really isn’t anything he can say. He’s not here to beg for mercy, he doesn’t have the right.

hx asks if he’d die then

he says yes, but probably knows at this point that’s not something hx even particularly wants

sure enough the choices were put to them

sqx would’ve so very gladly chosen the fate switch. yeah, it’d suck, but honestly he knows it’s the least he deserves. god this is fucked. He’s been reaping the benefits of someone else’s ruined life all this time and he doesn’t even know how to begin making up for it. but hx gave them options! This is fine!

but swd wouldn’t take it. to his last breath swd is a stubborn prideful motherfucker, and refuses to let everything fall the way hx wants. so he’s determined to blast a third option onto the table—his own death, but not at sqx’s hands. and no fate switch either, if he’s relatively confident he’s the only one who can do it.

(swd would only die like that if he’s decently confident of hx’s character? if he saw through to hx’s bottom line in the options hx presented them—that hx’s not some mad fuck out for any desperate shred of revenge, but actually never once wants sqx dead. But, well, maybe swd just measured everything up and saw that if he lived for any longer, he’d only serve to bring further pain to himself and sqx.)

(sqx must be so fucking pissed swd wouldn’t let them choose the first option though)

so we get these through-lines of CHOICE. Isn’t it so fucking brilliant that SWD, with all his love for SQX, never once gave SQX a choice that matters, and HX’s pivotal introduction to SQX’s life is a choice. A choice that SQX made, by the way. I really do think that counts for something, and HX knows it.

IMPORTANT MOMENTS:

SQX calling the wrong name—symbolizing his ignorance. Not knowing is complicity too, when you’re the beneficiary.

“Do you have anything you want to say to me?”—this is the first thing HX offers SQX after SWD’s death. why?

[belladxne]

you've got a look in your eyes (i knew you in a past life)

[see notes for AO3 & ff links]

prequel fic | part of the put your faith in the light that you cannot see series AU: Breath of the Wild pairing: KiriBaku word count: 5,504 Description:

(one glance and the avalanche drops, one look and my heartbeat stops)

One hundred years ago, there was a prince who would come to wield the sacred power inherited from his distant ancestor, the god Bakusatsuo, and a courageous knight chosen by the Sword that Seals the Darkness who fought at his side.

If only it were that fucking simple. Katsuki has spent his whole life being told he alone holds the sealing power that will repel the impending return of the Calamity. He's royalty, he's descended from the mortal incarnation of a god, he's been assured all his life that he's special for having this ability, and yet he still can't even harness a spark of the power. How could he possibly be blamed for resenting whoever comes to draw the sword, and masters their destiny as simple as that?

Katsuki stalks around his study with an indescribable energy welling up in him, clawing feverishly up his chest and throat. He won’t call it panic because it’s not—it’d be lousy and lazy to describe it that way when it ignores that he’s always dreaded this and has been near-resigned to it for maybe years now. He won’t call it what it’s not, but—but it evokes something similar, some same instinct of fight or fight in his gut.

Deku should be back soon. Should’ve been back at least a day or two ago, realistically, and the extra time spent waiting has been as much an agony as it’s been a relief. Katsuki doesn’t know if no news is good news, or simply a delaying of the inevitable.

He slams his fist on the desk with a force that rockets through his knuckles, up his wrist, a roar of frustration forcing its way from his chest, and then runs his hands through his hair, mindlessly tugging. He isn’t even supposed to be in here right now. If his mother knew he was shirking his training—“training,” she calls the endless prayers and rituals and meditations and recitations and time wasted on his knees doing the same things that never fucking worked—she’d no doubt bite his head off. No matter.

Deku should’ve been back by now. They’d sent him, finally, after years of talking and talking and driving Katsuki insane about it, to see if he was the hero of legend. If he would be the one to draw the Sword that Seals the Darkness. And Katsuki wants, more than anything, to vomit.

It’s all he’s been fucking hearing, for years now. Apparently it doesn’t matter that Deku’s not like him. That he’s not special. He’s not royal. He’s not descended from a god, or a hero, or any legend of note. He’s not even Sheikah by blood, but he’d been raised among them and trained among them and apparently had worked so hard, despite being such a nobody, that out of all the actual Sheikah they’d chosen to send him to the castle under the impression he’d be a suitable companion and protector for Katsuki.

If the assumption that he needed companionship or protection weren’t degrading enough, they had to add insult to injury by encouraging someone as weak and timid as Deku to think he could believe he was on Katsuki’s level and even capable of protecting him. Katsuki had the blood of Hyrule’s patron god in his veins, the legacy of a sealing magic that had been passed down through the entire royal line, but, hey, Deku had a can-do attitude and all the backbone of a welcome mat, so that made them equals, did it?

Somewhere along this line of thought, Katsuki’s hands had started shaking, and he squeezed his eyes shut so tightly it hurt as he leaned all his weight on the desk. Because if everyone was right about Deku after all—then he wasn’t just equal. If the sword chose him, let him wield it—then he’d have mastered his destiny, and all it’d have taken was plucking a blade from its stand.

This shrinking, trembling little nobody wouldn’t be equal to Katsuki, who’d tried and tried and tried and tried and couldn’t unlock the power that was his birthright.

He’d be above him. For having mastered his destiny in a way Katsuki just—just couldn’t.

Fuck, destiny—that was the real worst part, wasn’t it?

Not just that Katsuki worked harder than anyone else he’d ever fucking met and had nothing to show for it but scathing gossip from his own subjects, not just that the entire court hailed Deku as some sort of prodigy who could ever be mistaken for his peer, not just that the damned nerd might actually even shatter Katsuki’s entire understanding of the world and come back with that sword on his back as indisputable proof that everyone was fucking right and he was better than Katsuki after all and Katsuki really was useless if he couldn’t even measure up to someone so—

It doesn’t matter. It’s not just that. It’s that if Deku comes back wielding that sword, their destinies are tied forever. The hero of Hyrule, and the descendant of Bakusatsuo—they were always bound, by fate, by destiny.

If everyone’s right about Deku, Katsuki will never be rid of him—will never have hope of being free of this constant reminder that there’s nothing special about him. That the blood of Bakusatsuo in his veins, the royal position of his birth, the sealing power supposedly lying dormant within, the favor of each of the three Goddesses granted to him by his bloodline and status as Hyrule’s crown prince—it’s not enough. He had every head start in the world, and he can’t fucking measure up.

And this nobody, with no significant blood, no amazing history, no special boon—he could achieve what Katsuki never will, with ease, it seems, and Katsuki will be tied to him for the rest of their lives. He’ll never escape it.

He really does want to vomit.

He doesn’t know what he’ll do when Deku gets back—because it feels like an inevitability, at this point, how everyone talks about this. Maybe that’ll finally be it—maybe he’ll just fucking snap and the power will come flooding out of him and raze this kingdom to the fucking ground in an uncontrolled rage- and anguish-fueled haze.

That thought doesn’t bring him any sort of bitter relief, either.

Manifesting his power, being able to carry the fate of this kingdom on his shoulders—it was the one and only goal he’d worked for his entire life. Not even resentful misery at a merciless fate can erase that—can take away the need to have others see him, to have them know that he’s competent enough, strong enough, powerful enough to carry that weight. No petty destruction could bring him the same—the same—not even satisfaction, but relief.

Katsuki doesn’t just want the gossip mongers to say he’s good enough. He needs it.

Just as he’s preparing to slump into the chair beside his desk—to hell with training and prayer; he’s more than shown his devotion and dedication, and even if one of the three Goddesses or Bakusatsuo himself were to see fit to come back to this realm to personally unlock his power for him, it’s going to take something he hasn’t been doing nonstop for ten years already—he hears footsteps on the stone signaling someone’s approach, and he tenses.

“Your Highness?” The attendant who stands in the doorway might spark apprehension at the best of times—but right now Katsuki’s nerves are frayed and he’s solidly at his wit’s end, and there’s something he can’t place in the young man’s tone and expression that grates at him like nails on a chalkboard. He knows, before the attendant even opens his mouth once more, what will come out. “Midoriya Izuku has returned from the Great Hyrule Forest. Her Majesty the Queen expects your presence in the throne room immediately.”

Fuck.

Fuck.

Katsuki barely registers anything past the word returned, not once his ears have begun ringing, and it wasn’t panic before but it feels like it now, and he really can’t fucking stand this. He nods dully and thinks there’s probably a scowl on his face, but he doubts it has its usual ferocity even as he grits his teeth to bite out, voice hollow, “Thanks. I’ll be there. You’re dismissed.”

The man doesn’t so much as twitch at Katsuki’s lack of formality. Obviously the castle staff all know to expect it by now. Less expected is the way he doesn’t so much as budge at Katsuki’s dismissal, even when Katsuki moves to get past him. He has to change; he’s not going to the throne room in his ceremonial prayer garb, but the attendant opens his mouth and seems to brace himself for backlash.

“Her Majesty was insistent that you come immediately—”

Katsuki rolls his eyes. Of course the old hag had been insistent, had been up the attendant’s ass about making sure the man would be up his ass about getting there. Well, they can both fuck off.

“I’ll be there,” he interrupts, halting just in front of the attendant to glare up at him. “Now fuck off already.”

The attendant hesitates only a few moments longer, likely less than enthusiastic at being caught in the middle of a battle of wills between the infamous queen regent and crown prince, but the conflict at least serves as a catalyst to pull Katsuki back into his own body, enough so that he knows the severity of his glare is back in full force. Predictably, the attendant caves.

“Your Highness,” the young man acknowledges with a nod of his head, before he beats a hasty retreat. Katsuki’s satisfaction is less than fleeting—gone in such a flash he can’t be sure it was actually there. It doesn’t matter. With something heavy and leaden in the back of his throat, he stomps out of his study and across the walkway to his room. He waits only for the door closing behind the unwanted messenger before he begins to tug off his ceremonial clothes, a process that takes hardly a couple moments.

It’s not so quick a process to don his usual attire. Still, it’s not so slow as he’d like, either, as he mindlessly and efficiently dresses with all the numb haste of a man determined not to be late to his own funeral.

He doesn’t want to go. He doesn’t want this news. He doesn’t want to face the nightmare scenario that’s going to be realized right before his eyes, but there’s no avoiding the inevitable—and at least there might, might be some avoiding of his mother’s temper if he doesn’t piss the old hag off by holding everything up. Despite every instinct in his body screaming for him to linger and hold off on what’s coming, he makes his way out of his own room, through the brief passageways to the sanctum.

He can’t say what it is that’s roiling under his skin, mostly because he doesn’t even feel like he’s inhabiting his own skin right now. His body’s moving itself, his mind is—it’s somewhere, but it feels miles away. There’s a grievous swooping in his gut and an uneasy tremble through all his limbs but it feels… muted, like he’s somehow disconnected.

There’s only each step his feet take, and the dread that continues to flood his system.

It turns out, his mother being such a bitch about him coming immediately was completely fucking unnecessary—not a shock, but he’s too numb to get irritated about it—because in the brief, near-unseeing gaze he flashes around the vast room as he enters it’s obvious that Deku’s not even here yet, that hardly anyone is, apart from the queen.

He bows the way he always has to whenever one of them enters the room with another, and he doesn’t even have the presence of mind for his blood to boil at the requirement like it normally does. He can’t focus on anything long enough for that.

Stiffly approaching where she stands in front of her throne to stand at her right side, Katsuki’s barely conscious of his posture or propriety. It’s all he can do to take his place, face forward, and play his part through the jumbled way his thoughts crash restlessly around his head in waves.

“Katsuki.” He doesn’t turn to see her face, but he can hear the disappointment dripping from her tone, and it makes him feel—feel—disgusting, somehow, a mental sensation like something slimy washing over his skin. “It took you long enough.”

As dazed as he is, he’s perfectly divided between the overbearing urge to snap back at her or simply not respond at all in his hazy state. Decorum, however, would mark both as unforgivable, a matter he’s grappled with all his life, moreso now that his own kingdom has started to loathe him. It takes more effort than it ever has in the past to strain for a response suitable enough to fit him through the situation, his thoughts disjointed as they are.

“I came as fast as I was able, Your Majesty.”

He doesn’t call her mother when he grits the words out—he never does. He hasn’t in years, maybe a decade. If they were alone, he’d have called her hag instead, and likely have gotten a smack to the head for it—but they’re almost never alone, almost always surrounded by an unremarkable backdrop of servants and guards and courtiers, all always listening for Katsuki to find some new way to disgrace himself.

The queen makes a scolding, derisive noise, and his hands twitch as somewhere faded and distant he feels the flare of indignation she always brings out in him, but he can’t maintain a hold on this conversation any more than anything else right now. He merely clenches his fists and, in effort to keep his gaze from flashing around the room wildly as if in search of escape, he finds a spot to the left of the main entrance, where the wall meets the floor, and levels his gaze there, eyes unfocused and unseeing.

Trying to calm himself has never come easy in the past and it doesn’t now, and he loses himself in the attempt—he couldn’t say how long it is before the massive double doors finally swing open, a servant announcing, “Your Majesty, Midoriya Izuku and his companion have come, just as you requested, ma’am.”

As simple as that, any attempt at composure is gone—once again, Katsuki’s ears ring, and it feels as though the floor has dropped out from under him as he swallows roughly, nearly dizzy for how quickly he pales. Fuck, it’s here, it’s finally happening, and there’s nothing he can do to stop it—for the first time in years he almost actually feels religious, enough so to want to drop to his knees and beg Bakusatsuo or the three Goddesses or—or fucking someone to just—to stop this before it happens, to save him from this.

He doesn’t. As it is, it takes all his strength not to sway to his knees anyways, but he keeps standing, faking steadiness with all he has in him.

His gaze doesn’t move from the spot he’d affixed it, still so inattentive he can barely register as Deku and another body move further into the room, each dropping to a knee before him and his mother, heads bowed low in deference. Fucking hell, he doesn’t know how to get through this.

“Izuku,” his mother greets, and Katsuki clenches his teeth, shuts his eyes, tries and fails to take a steadying breath. The level of familiarity is, of course, far from common, but the relationship between the Sheikah clan and the royal family has always been closer than most.

Even so, Katsuki knows she only goes as far as Deku’s given name because she knows Katsuki thinks he’s above needing Deku around as a companion, or protector, or gods forbid an equal, and she wants him to know he isn’t above shit. An awful lot of what she does is centered around trying to send him that message.

“If my understanding is correct, the day we’ve all been anticipating has come, and the Sword that Seals the Darkness has finally been drawn. This is so?”

Against his will, Katsuki’s eyes pry themselves open, and for all his reluctance his eyes flick unbidden to Deku. There’s something different about him, something beyond description—he seems… more confident, more vivid. He seems steady and unyielding, the green of his hair even seems fucking brighter somehow, and the way the light shines off of it almost creates an illusion of lightning crackling through it until Katsuki blinks. Lightning, a symbol of Farore. Fuck. Even with his head still somewhat downturned, Katsuki can see there’s a new light in his eyes, and it really sinks in.

The churning in his stomach is back, moreso than before, and Katsuki doesn’t know if he’s going to be able to move an inch before his nerves make him empty the contents of his stomach all over the throne room’s floor. He’s never felt this fucking helpless or hopeless, despair taking over at the blatant change in Deku that must have come from—

The thought stops cold as Katsuki starts to tear his eyes away, and he finally realizes something crucial.

There’s no sword at Deku’s back.

No grand, enchanted blade, no magnificent work of craftsmanship bearing the familiar Hyrulean Royal Family’s symbol. Not at his back, not in a parcel in his hands, nowhere. Even the shortsword at his waist is the same shitty eight-fold blade he’s always had, definitely not something new. There’s a hiccup in Katsuki’s thoughts, mind simply stumbling to a stop in its tracks as he fails to process for a moment. There’s… no way this can be the case. He’s heard the kingdom talk for years. He’d known the futility of hoping against the predicted outcome. He’d heard his mother just now.

How can Deku not have the sword?

His mind still hasn’t caught up, but some part of him must have, because his eyes finally register the other person in the room, the one who’d entered with Deku. His gaze shifts over unthinkingly, taking in hair that’s an absolutely atrocious shade of red, styled into the stupidest fucking spikes Katsuki has ever seen. He looks over the unfamiliar new face with the same lack of comprehension, seeing but not exactly perceiving the strong jawline paired with soft features; the pointed nose paired with rounded cheeks; the large, cat-like crimson eyes paired with small, furrowed red brows. He’s dressed in the typical armor of a Hylian soldier, though there’s no helmet to be seen to cover his absurd hair.

A feeling washes over Katsuki, one he has no idea how to name or place, one unfamiliar but that he knows, knows is somehow caused by the sight of this boy he doesn’t recognize at all. He can’t look away, except to briefly stare behind him.

To stare at a point, just over his left shoulder, where a masterpiece of a sword is strapped to his back. The hilt is elaborate; a deep, royal blue, with a green pattern woven around the hilt, and golden accents embedded in the wing-shaped guard. Katsuki’s never seen it before, but he knows, feels it somewhere deep and undeniable, that this is the Blade of Evil’s Bane.

Katsuki stops breathing. His eyes snap back to the boy’s face and slowly, finally, understanding dawns, seeps through him with a dizzying sense of relief so intense he almost—he almost fucking starts crying. Deku’s not the chosen of the Master Sword. Deku’s not the Hero of Hyrule. Deku’s not—he’s not suddenly and out of the blue a master of everything Katsuki’s a failure at, he’s not tethered to Katsuki’s side for the rest of his life—Katsuki can—can escape this, can actually fucking breathe—

And he does, lets out a breath so painfully shaky with overwhelming gratitude towards fucking any one of the gods out there who had a hand in this, who saw fit to grant him this reprieve, because there’s no outcome he can imagine worse than being some fated pair with Deku. He hopes the exhale isn’t too audible, too obvious to those in the room.

“Yes, Your Majesty, ma’am.”

Deku’s answer startles Katsuki, makes him realize—fucking—this entire winding, tumultuous journey his thoughts and emotions have trekked through has somehow taken no more than a handful of seconds. And only now, secondarily, does Katsuki’s understanding that this newcomer is the sword’s chosen shift from what it means for him and Deku, to what it means for them.

His first thought, taking in the sight of this other boy with his new understanding that this is the prophesied hero of legend he’s to save the entirety of the kingdom with is—just who in the hell is this clown?

“This marks a day of grave importance, then—and prodigious news for the kingdom, as well,” Katsuki hears his mother say beside him with the voice she uses to seem important and respectable in front of people who matter. (Katsuki clearly isn’t one of those people, in her mind.) “This makes the forewarned return of the Calamity seem all the more real—but it also gives us another weapon required to bring about its downfall. Nearly all of the pieces are in place to secure our victory.”

Katsuki doesn’t miss how pointedly she says the word nearly, and it brings him back into his own head, if only slightly.

“You understand, it is a shock to many of us in the castle that Izuku is not the hero foretold—I doubt there’s a soul in the room who isn’t surprised to discover it—but it is an honor to meet the champion with the spirit of the hero, chosen by the sacred blade. Is it true that you are a knight?”

A knight? So he’s not merely a run of the mill soldier, the way his armor suggests. Katsuki’s gaze is analytical now, and as the rush that accompanied his worst fears being alleviated finally ebbs, he finds new, subdued unease and dread taking their old place. What kind of person is this, the hero he’s destined to face the return of the Calamity beside? And—and what does it mean, that he’s drawn the sword when Katsuki can’t even manage a mere spark of the power that he’s supposed to master?

The boy nods, the very image of approval-seeking, meek respect. Katsuki feels his nose wrinkle.

“This is Kirishima Eijiro, Your Majesty,” Deku pipes up, and almost as soon as Katsuki’s irritation flares that he’s speaking for this Kirishima, the redhead shoots Deku a glance that almost looks… grateful? Katsuki wants to roll his eyes. “I—I was passing to the Great Hyrule Forest the way we planned, and when I neared the training camp by Rauru Settlement—Kirishima’s one of their most competent trainers; he trains all of their soldiers in fighting in unconventional styles—he’s familiar with how almost every army in Hyrule fights, and—”

“Izuku,” the queen interrupts, flatly. She can fake familiarity, but she can’t fake care, or patience—and while she makes it clear she must like Deku more than Katsuki, it can’t possibly be by much.

A brief glance reveals that Deku flushes, but he doesn’t startle like a rabbit frightened of its own shadow, anymore. Katsuki’s brow furrows. What in the hell is his deal, now? Even as he wonders at this, he can’t keep his gaze from the shitty-haired asshole that Deku has brought.

“Apologies, Your Majesty! I—he helped me dispatch of a monster camp that had set up too close to Rauru Settlement, that I encountered on the way, and he offered to accompany me to the sword, for safety in numbers. When we finally reached the heart of the Great Hyrule Forest, where the Great Deku Tree watched over the blade...” There’s something in the way Deku says the name, something that—that reeks of awe, and… gratitude? Something like it, at least. “I wasn’t able to draw it—it—trying took a lot out of me. But Kirishima felt drawn to it, and when I suggested he try his luck, he drew it with ease. I’m more than sure of it, he does bear the spirit of the hero, and he’ll serve the kingdom well, ma’am.”

There’s a silence that follows while his mother seems to ponder who the fuck knows what, Katsuki’s eyes still intent on the face he can’t seem to pull his gaze away from, still studying. He feels sick again, but this time the sensation’s not as physical. With ease, Deku had said. This Kirishima had drawn the blade—had mastered his destiny—had bested Katsuki—with ease.

He doesn’t know what to make of him, this boy who’s remained stone-still and stoic through this entire explanation, but he can’t help but wonder—how the fuck is this fair? As if sensing Katsuki’s thoughts, the knight suddenly chances a glance upwards for nearly the first time since entering, his eyes finding Katsuki’s as if magnetized, curious and open.

Something jolts through Katsuki so overpowering and fierce that his heart skips a beat, before galloping ahead at a breakneck pace as his breath hitches, transfixed by a sensation he cannot name. It’s—somehow, red locked with red, Katsuki is overcome by what feels almost like familiarity, but so much more than that, so much weightier. The way the knight’s eyes widen, he thinks it might be mutual.

Katsuki rips his eyes away, feeling unsteady. What the fuck was that? What the hell?

He obstinately refuses to look back, no matter the odd draw he’s felt so far, adamant not to let himself be buried once more by—whatever the hell that phenomenon was. He grits his teeth, fists clenching tighter, and forces himself to glare Deku down instead.

“And this Kirishima cannot explain any of this for himself?” his mother finally asks, and it’s one of the rare, almost nonexistent times she’s ever said something Katsuki would want to ask himself. He still will not allow himself to look back to Kirishima, but Deku shoots the knight a look, and there’s another brief pause while something seems to pass between them.

“He… doesn’t speak much, Your Majesty.” Deku only pulls his own stare away from Kirishima halfway through the sentence, and it rankles at Katsuki to know he can read Deku well enough to tell that the look on his face means he’s reluctant and unsatisfied to be speaking as he is, that he’s not being fully truthful. His expression shifts, though, to absolute faith and certainty as he asserts, “But his skill with a blade speaks for itself, and I know beyond a doubt that you’ll only ever need to see him in battle once to agree, ma’am. He has my complete faith.”

The noise Katsuki’s mother makes in response puts him on edge, if only because he’s on the receiving end of it so often. She makes it when she won’t go so far as to assert her disapproval, but she wants it made clear that she’s withholding any approval as well.

Katsuki chances a glance to his side, to gauge her demeanor in his periphery. She’s eyeing Kirishima appraisingly, a look Katsuki has often associated with a lioness looking for the weakest in the herd to hunt down, for anything she can exploit. She seems, soon enough, to come to a decision, tilting her head upwards slightly.

“Then may I once again extend my welcome, and emphasize what an honor it is to meet the wielder of the sacred blade. Rise, both of you.”

Both stand from the knee they had taken, rising with straight postures, hands clasped behind their backs, and heads remaining bowed respectfully.

“Kirishima, it sounds as though you are more than dedicated, and notably accomplished. This is something we will need more of in the castle, as we devote ourselves with singleminded focus to our final preparations to thwart the Calamity’s return.” Again, the words are pointed, directed more to Katsuki than the one they’re actually addressed to. Katsuki can feel her eyes on him, oppressive, as she continues, “Starting tomorrow, you are to take over as the head of Prince Katsuki’s personal guard, and you are to become his appointed knight. You must accompany him at all times, to ensure his safety and to prepare for the role the two of you will share when All For One once again rears its head. Is this clear?”

Katsuki can barely even catch how Kirishima bows and nods with prompt obedience as his own head swivels, mouth agape as he stares incredulously at his mother.

“Your Majesty,” he bites out, trying with all his might to hold onto some shred of etiquette despite the red tinting at the edges of his vision, “I don’t think that’s necessary. I don’t need—”

“What you need, Katsuki,” she cuts him off sharply, glare heated and tone caustic, “is to remember your place, and to meet the needs of your kingdom in the coming Calamity. Perhaps the competence of this knight, who has no such hindrances with meeting his own destiny, will rub off on you. This is not negotiable, and you will not treat it as such.”

Hot shame and an angry flush burn at him equally. There has to be something—something he can say—some argument he can make to get himself out of this, but as he struggles desperately to find it, fucking Deku clears his throat.

“Pardon my interruption, Your Majesty, but if Kirishima is going to be with Kacchan from now on, I think that makes this a good time to explain that I won’t be able to remain at the castle any longer.”

Katsuki and the queen both snap their gazes to him, Katsuki livid at the interruption as though his time to argue his case was over, and his mother with surprise. No one simply informs the queen something like this, without asking her leave.

“And why might that be?” Her tone is even, but Katsuki’s sure everyone in the room can hear the underlying dangerous note in her voice at the perceived insubordination.

Deku meets her eye, and it strikes Katsuki as wrong. He was never able to do so so steadily before. “Ma’am, in the wake of the prophecy of the Calamity’s return, I know most people in the kingdom have been looking to old legends again—so I’m sure you’re familiar with the legend behind the Great Deku Tree. A hero sacred to the Goddess Farore, gifted with Her blessing and tasked with roaming the land to be a caretaker to Her creations.”

Katsuki is preparing to snap a dismissal, unaware and uncaring where he’s going with this, but Deku presses on, “A hero who fulfills this duty for as many centuries as they are able, before choosing a successor and settling in one place to transform into the next Great Deku Tree, to protect Farore’s creations from up close.”

Choosing a successor.

The purposeful way he says the words, the shift in his demeanor—Katsuki stares at him, agape and disbelieving. There’s no way, it’s—it doesn’t seem possible. And why him, of all people?

“Your Majesty, the Great Deku Tree of our time—the legendary warrior, All Might—he awoke when Kirishima claimed the sword. And after he spoke to us, he chose me as his successor, and passed Farore’s blessing to me. I have to return to the Great Hyrule Forest after this to learn from him, ma’am, and after that… I don’t know.”

A murmur passes through the room, making Katsuki actively aware, for the first time, of its other occupants. Mostly guards, but a small handful of courtiers as well—he’d known they were there, before, but they had faded in the background as they often did for him; seeming little more than an everyday backdrop to his and his mother’s power struggles. He only really registers them all now to share in their shock at having such unexpected turns of events, twice in one day.

He stares at Deku, and it occurs to him—yes, the rest of the kingdom was wrong. Deku wasn’t special. He hadn’t had any grand destiny, or power, or role always living inside him. He wasn’t born with the same greatness that—that the chosen hero and god-blood prince were said to have. Instead, he’d forged his own destiny, made himself into someone special, on his own terms.

Katsuki feels envy like he’s never felt in his life blow through him, grinding his teeth so hard he swears he can hear it. He’s always hated Deku, but this—this is too much, it feels like acid eating away at his insides.

In the stunned silence that captivates the room, Deku seems to understand that no one would dare or see any need to challenge his right to leave. He draws himself to his full height, and adds, “It’s been my honor to serve the royal family, Your Majesty, but I know with Kirishima here that Kacchan will be in good hands. You can trust Kirishima to keep him safe.”

In good hands—as if he needs that—as if he’s still so helpless and useless as they’ve always treated him, like he really needs protecting and constant accompaniment. Deku says it, and Katsuki feels a familiar bitterness welling up as he finally looks once more to Kirishima, a fierce glower taking over his expression.

Kirishima having the sword is better than Deku having it—anything is—but Katsuki doesn’t, can’t find it in himself to feel gracious to the knight for that.

He knows resentment when he feels it. And he’s not going to shake it—not now, maybe not ever.

If this asshole thinks he’s just going to trail behind Katsuki like a good little knight and not deal with the crown prince’s ire, he’s got another thing coming.

[dagohoy]

『 vivoree esclito. twenty. cis woman. she/her. 』 oh heavens, is that PRIMROSE DAGOHOY from MAIN STREET i see roaming around mapleview? minnie may’s always calling them -CAUSTIC & -UNCONGENIAL. i happen to think they’re not that bad! they’re a pretty cool UNIVERSITY STUDENT and every time i’ve seen them, they’ve always been +INTREPID & +ENTERPRISING. i hope i see them around again! 『 thia. nineteen. gmt. she/her. 』

hello sexies and miscellaneous ( whichever applies to you ) ‘tis i, thia, with another character! i love her so much already so please love her too. trigger warnings for mentions of superstition and occult beliefs, corrupt governments, death, calamity, and abuse/neglect. @mapleviewstarters​

primrose grew up in the deeply superstitious town of namokot, philippines. ( this is a fictional town, but i grew up in a small philippine town, so i’m not stereotyping or anything! ) namokot, like many philippine towns, had a predominantly poor or working-class population. the corrupt governments used superstition, as well as religion, to manipulate the citizens. whenever there were fatal calamities that were invariably exacerbated by the incompetence/negligence of the local government and/or the nature-eroding infrastructure, the politicians of namokot often blamed it on god’s wrath or sinister ghouls.

primrose was, however, among the batch of kids who would later be known as generation z. this meant that she was raised right alongside the boom of the internet. like many filipino children, she would save a lot of cash to play at internet cafés (it was the norm to be unable to afford your own computer, even well into the 2010s). but from dress-up games and mmorpgs, she slowly found herself being introduced to... political theory. oh, the wonders of the internet. at a young age, she became aware of the manipulations of corrupt people in power. her understanding wasn’t perfect, sure, but it grew refined, steadily. primrose was lucky in that she was bright-minded, in the precise way needed to comprehend academic concepts.

but this made her a bit of an odd duck. they weren’t stupid, no, the rest of the citizens. but they’d been conditioned to be terrified of “god’s wrath” and malevolent ghouls across countless generations; at first, she was angry at what she perceived to be their ignorance, but in time, the girl realized that the residents of namokot were ultimately victims. typhoons and landslides caused ruination and killed many, and the citizens were stuck in mass hysteria, attempting to ward off demons and appease the gods to no avail. because the truth was, the only demons and gods that existed were these powerful, wicked people.

though she has reserves of sympathy for them, primrose won’t deny that her parents never knew what to do with such a sharp-minded, intellectually provocative, ambitious daughter. she wanted to change the world, and they just wanted to beat her into shape, into a decent, low-key citizen. to primrose’s relief, her aunt and uncle who had no children took her away from there, and let her live with them in texas.

texas wasn’t the friendliest place, especially for some born-and-raised asian newbie. but at least she could access greater opportunities in the usa. she didn’t have friends, sure, whatever. who cared? no one did. she didn’t. she learned to be comfortable with loneliness. she had a more caring family now, at least; that would suffice.

her aunt and uncle decided to move to mapleview for reasons ( i haven’t decided yet lol ) when she was 16ish. she was nothing short of shocked and overwhelmed by the much tighter-knit, warmer, more diverse community in mapleview. against her will, i figure she’s been forced to... UGH.. [barfs] have friends... and maybe even some romantic relationships... here in mapleview. dis cos tang.

primrose isn’t the type of person who goes out of her way to be an asshole. but she does come across like that frequently. she just doesn’t have tolerance for bullshit anymore, particularly given what she’s gone through, and so she’s prone to being sarcastic and surly as fuck.

she’s studying pre-law, hoping to become an infrastructure lawyer in the future. she resents how she’s spent so long (in her opinion.... she’s young af, let’s be real!) but she’s still way too young to be... things. despite her blistering intellect, she’s still a decade (AT MINIMUM!) away from becoming a bona fide practicing lawyer. she hates it so much. but once she does become a lawyer, she intends to make life better for poor/working-class people. probably including the ones back home. yeah. she’ll go global.

her surname dagohoy is from the bisaya language of the philippines. dagon (talisman, amulet, lucky charm) + sa (of) + huyuhoy (breeze)... her surname means charm of the breeze, basically. it’s lovely. but more importantly, it came from francisco dagohoy, a revolutionary from bohol who stood up against the philippines’ oppressors (the spanish) in the country’s longest insurrection in history. she likes it. she’s comforted by the thought of her revolutionary visayan ancestors.

but though she likes to be a tough cookie, a brave and brilliant girl, she does have a soft side, as her name hints. she’s just a touch too traumatized and constantly on the edge; it would take really special people to see that side of her.

she’s super ambitious, you can tell. though many, many people would contest the idea that music can’t do anything to fix the world, primrose believes that her own interest in music is pointless and frivolous. she’s damn good at it, though. i beg you all to watch this short clip of her faceclaim being gorgeous while playing the piano, bc this is canon primrose

if you two aren’t close, call her primrose or prim. rose or rosie is reserved for family and friends.

so ummm this got long but!!

please plot with us!!! i’m looking for all the usual. platonic plots (negative or positive or neutral), romantic plots, what have you! (note for romantic plots, though: the girlie is heterosexual. so they’d be open to boys.) there are so many i’d love to see for my grumpy gal.

[hello-im-a-vent-blog]

I wish I could help people. But how can you help others when you can’t even help yourself?

Things started looking up for me after I got “ Saved “ years ago. I started loving my mom again, I began to love being alive, loved to exist. I became a homophobe, a transphobe, you name it. I was deluded into believing there was actually a “ God “ out that that cared about everybody.

Boy, was I wrong.

I started thinking, critical thinking, might I add, about this whole mess. God sent his son ( himself, basically ) to die for our sins. Seems simple, right? Of course it is when you’re specifically told to not think critically, to not question. At one point I began wondering, “ God, why is it so wrong to be gay? “. I began searching through multiple sites trying to figure out why it was so “ sinful “. I’ve found sites saying that it was wrong, a complete abomination to God, and then I found sites saying where it wasn’t wrong, that there were translation issues and that people were interpreting Bible verses wrong. I then wanted to find out why polygamy was so wrong to God. In the Bible, God gave David multiple wives, and even stated that he ( God ) would’ve given David many more, if he’d ask. What happened since then? What happens if a man gets “ Saved “, but he was already married to three wives. He can’t just divorce two and keep the one, Jesus said that one should only divorce your spouse if they commit adultery. What if NONE of the wives committed adultery? Then what? Is polygamy still wrong? No, it isn’t. As long as everybody consents, and nobody commits adultery, it’s ok. But, the type of polygamy the Bible talks about is between one man and multiple women, not a mixture between the two, not the other way around. So, what gives? What was so wrong about being gay? Not everybody is required to go forth and multiply, and nobody should be forced to have kids if they don’t want to, whether God, or anybody, wants them to or not.

I got into a very bad place during this time. I put everything on my shoulders. If I was a good Christian, why wouldn’t God tell me the truth about these things? Why did I have to force myself to figure them out by myself? Then comes along the threat of eternal torment ( for the ones who weren’t “ Saved “ ). Why should they be punished eternally? Much less be thrown into a place worse than hell ( aka, the Lake of Fire )? At the time, I agreed that the people who weren’t Saved “ deserved “ a punishment, but not eternal punishment! What kind of sicko would do something like that, CREATE something like that?!

I then began to wonder why God would create an eternal place of torment at all. I figured out that, since God can do anything and everything he wants, why not create a world where EVERYBODY would be happy WITHOUT the possibility of evil? Because you don’t “ need “ evil as an option to have free will, fyi. You can make multiple good choices WITHOUT evil being an option. God could’ve made it that way. Besides, it’ll supposedly be like that in Heaven after God destroys the world and all evil with it.. why the HELL would he create evil in the FIRST place!?! Also, God knew, he knew, who would choose to obey him and who wouldn’t. WHAT in the actual living FUCK was the POINT of CREATING PEOPLE YOU KNOW WILL GO TO HELL?!? For the pleasure?! “ Ohhh, but God doesn’t want people to go to Hell! “. Then explain to me why the FUCK God would create those people for in the first place. Explain to me the verse that says God will “ laugh at the calamity “ of those who need him. Oh, I’m taking it out of context? I’m mistranslating it?? Are you fucking serious? Do you always use those cop-outs when you want to defend your “ all-loving “ God??? I bet you do. Because I used to do that as well. Man, was I an idiot back then, thinking that God cares about us, thinking that God would do anything to protect his precious creation. What a joke. Why the hell didn’t God create a world like I described, where we could all do multiple good things but NOT have evil as an option. Don’t fucking dare tell me that we’d be ” robots “ then. That’s a damn lie and you know it, so don’t even start.

Sorry that I went on a rant. This isn’t aimed at any person/Christian in particular, but I’m so sick of hearing people defending this monstrosity of a “ God “.

Anyways, this is the point I’m trying to make: I’m worried that this God is real. I want to help people, I want to get better, I want to do better, but what’s the fucking point when “ the Rapture is near? “. There’s no point in doing ANY of that, because the world will just burn anyways. How the hell am I supposed to live with myself knowing I was never good enough to change God’s mind ( if he even exists ) about the Rapture, about Hell, about the Lake of Fire, about anything? I don’t even want to live anymore, if I can’t change his mind. I don’t want to be with God OR Satan, they’re BOTH horrible monsters. I don’t want to go to Heaven knowing that people are in Hell/the Lake of Fire. I’d rather be with them, at least they’d know that I cared enough about them to try and convince God otherwise about this mess.

... I just.. don’t know what to do anymore. I’m supposed to help people, but I can’t. I’m not good enough. I always mess up, and THEN I start brow-beating myself, but that’s because I deserve it. Only I deserve to do that, nobody else should be mean to themselves because they matter a lot. They do to me, at least, even if I don’t know they exist. Everybody matters.

I don’t know what to do.

[zer0pm]

Diverging Jealousy: Devil Hunters

A/N: The next part of the Diverging Jealousy multific that continues after V’s part. I was considering ending it as I don’t want to drag the story too long, but with how I left V’s part along with all the great feedback, I felt it better to write some scenes that would create a natural transition to the heart-pulling finale. Hope this keeps the hype up. Thanks a bunch to everyone that has been following this. Y’all are the best :)

.

.

.

You: “Wait, Dante. Stop.”

He was about to kiss you and you almost let him, but a nagging feeling tugging at your heart and mind told you to stop and take a step back. So you did, placing a hand against his chest to keep him at bay, allowing you to create some distance. He looks crestfallen at your rejection, but he doesn’t push it.

Dante: “Guessing you’re not feeling me.”

You shake your head.

You: “I don’t know what to feel. This is too sudden and it sure as hell not the right time and place to open up to something like this.”

When you were certain Dante wasn’t going to try to pull a fast one, you lower your hand and your guard.

Dante: “We may not have another chance to talk about this.”

You: “Well, we’re not going to do this in front of V.”

If he was hurt before, Dante certainly was now. Feelings aside, you had a job to do, and you were not going to cause a scene in front of your client. That’s what you convinced yourself anyways. You turn your head to apologize to him about how unprofessional Dante must appear but find him nowhere to be found.

You: “Where did V go?”

Dante: “...Guess he heeded my warning.”

You narrow your eyes at Dante suspiciously.

You: “What warning? You guys have been acting weird all day, you gonna tell me what’s going on?”

Dante’s body grows frigid. Him and his big mouth, but there was no point in hiding or lying about it now. He scratches the back of his head, trying to find the best words to put it.

Dante: “I didn’t like the way he acted around you or how you two talked to each other. It got on my nerves. So I told him to watch himself, ‘cause I already had my sights on you longer than he has and wasn’t going to let him just waltz in and-”

You: “Take what’s yours? Like you own me?”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing and his eyes widen at your outburst.

Dante: “It isn’t like that!”

You: “Then what is it, Dante? ‘Cause it sounds to me like you two started a competition where I’m the prize and I didn’t even have a say in it! Now V’s fucking gone off to god knows where and we still got an asshole demon king to kill against which we’re going to need all the fucking help we can get!”

Your fists clenched so tightly, your body was shaking, and your head felt like it was about to burst from all the anger building up inside you.

You: “And you two thought it was a good idea to fight over what?! A chance with me!? God, you can be so stupid sometimes!”

That made his heart fall. Did they not have a chance with you? You storm off, sword drawn. You hear Dante calling out to you.

Dante: “Where are you going?!”

You: “To find our client!”

With a swing, you point your sword at Dante, annoyed rage in your eyes.

You: “And don’t think I’m picking any sides. He’s just as dumb as you for letting this rivalry get the better of both of your judgments! You’re going to fucking keep the office and we’re all going to live through this so I can smack both of you upside your thick skulls! Until then, I’m going to make sure that you two get the fuck along so that I can get back to fucking work!”

Dante knows you’re pissed when half of your sentences are filled with expletives. If he wasn’t legitimately scared of you right now, he would have thought your spirited anger was sexy. Empowering even. It was one of the things that made you so damn attractive while working, ‘cause you had nothing but feeling in everything you do. But he has thrown himself on your bad side and knew it was his fault. He scratches the back of his head in frustration.

Dante: “Fuck...”

.

.

.

He didn’t know how long or far he has been walking, trying to actively move to get his mind of over Dante being so close to you. But no matter how hard he tried, even reciting William Blake to calm his nerves, the quake in his heart shook him painfully. It was pathetic really how much it affected him.

Griffon: “Hey, uh...you okay, V?”

V: “Once Urizen is defeated, I will be.”

Griffon: “True, but what about...you know who, Walker, I think is what you call that other devil hunter.”

V: “Little Wanderer.”

Griffon: “There ya go, that’s the pet name.”

He started calling you that not too long after meeting you, a play on your exceptional scouting abilities. It also helped that it was an ode to one of his favorites poems, fueling his attraction to you. V supposes that he’ll have to come up with another nickname, one that would not serve as a symbol of his hopeless affection.

V: “Irrelevant now. Dante has made his claim clear.”

He sighs, stopping in the middle of an open area.

V: “Besides, he has everything to offer. Me...I have nothing to give. I cannot even give myself as I will simply either crumble away or reveal myself to be the monster that brought calamity to this city Wanderer loved so much. I don’t know which of these would be worse to see on that wonderful face, but it not a sight I can bare. It is better this way.”

Griffon: “V...”

Suddenly he feels a presence zoom right towards them. With amazing reflexes, V instinctively ducks, Shadow leaping from his marks to claw at the attacking figure. The familiar nicks the creature, revealing itself before V. A large, lizard-like demon with long, dagger-like claws and glowing red skin. Out of the all the species of demons in the underworld, this was the his least favorite to deal with and with his current state, he would ride victorious still but not before going through a bit of a struggle destroying it. His worst fear is realized when more Chaos demons fade into vision, completely surrounding them. Well, then...

Griffon: “Um... Now would probably be a good time to call in Nightmare.”

Not needing to be told twice, V summons the full force his demonic energy with a snap of his fingers, triggering the call of his most powerful familiar. Like a meteor falling from the sky, Nightmare crashes into the plaza. The Chaos demons were quick to move out of the way, hissing at the rising ink creature. In their venomous daze, V dashed on top of Nightmare, Griffon and Shadow in tow to defend him.

The Chaos horde engages them, V using his connection with his demon companions to guide their every move, taking extra care to make sure they do not attack too far from him. It was difficult as the enemies were too quick, using their superior speed to dodge most of the strikes and lightning attacks. Even Nightmare’s energy blasts and monstrous strength did little against them. One swiftly sneaks behind V, he could not summon Griffon back enough to knock it away and instead was forced to dodge. He barely missed the killing blow as one hellish claw scratched deep on his shoulder. If he didn’t move at all, that would have pierced his heart right through, yet it still hurt like hell, and he was bleeding profusely.

V: “Gahh!”

The reptilian demon stood atop Nightmare with him and moved to slice upward. V had no choice but to roll off of his own familiar to escape, he landed on the ground on top of his bad shoulder and hisses in excruciating agony. Nightmare beside him fades into a pool of black ink before merging back within him, turning his hair and some of the marks on his back to its dark hue.

He looks up to see Griffon and Shadow trying to get to him, but the surrounding Chaos demons kept them at bay with fierce attacks. He sensed that it is taking all their vigor alone to avoid their vicious offense.

V moves to get back up but feels his weakening body give, keeping him to a kneeling position. His dying core forces him to cough, he covers his mouth as if doing so would muffle the sound and steady his breathing but once he removed his hand, he sees nothing but the red proof of his fading life splattered on his palm.

V: “No, not like this... I can’t lose here.”

He thinks back on how this hell came to be. How everything fell to ruin, all because of him and his selfish pursuit of power. Even now, he wished himself to be stronger. But not just to right his wrongs.

But to see you again...

He was mentally himself for his foolish sentimental heart, but he honestly could not complain. On the brink of death and all he can think about is you. If you were to be his last thoughts, then he felt that everything was worth it. And he hoped even now, that and you and Dante would rise victorious, together. V smiles sadly.

V: “I curse my stars in bitter grief and woe.”

Behind him, a shadow approaches, the signal of the end.

V: “That made my lov-”

BOOM!

The demon behind him falls, fading into black ash. V’s look up to seek out the source and sees a familiar face beside him, helping him back on his feet.

V: “Dante-!”

Dante: “Don’t thank me yet, my partner is still going to kill our dumb asses. Until then...”

He was lucky to have found V first, his feet driven by the desire to beat you to him so that he could speak with the tattooed man first. Not to manipulate the situation between you all, he learned that lesson the first time. But to set it right and let things come naturally. If you chose V over him, if you chose between them at all, then he wanted V to give it his all for you. That would be worth it. The white-haired man looks back at the dark-cladded man with a profound determination in his eyes that told the latter that his pride has been casted aside.

Dante: “Help me out here, will ya?”

Understanding what he means, V nods. His cane in hand, he puts himself in his stance, Griffon and Shadow bracing themselves by his side to carry out their next orders. He eyes the demons that have formed around them with a newfound vigor and malice.

V: “Behold the taste of despair.”

Dante laughs, facing his back to V’s, both men making sure they had each other covered.

Dante: “Took the words right out of my mouth.”

[cyberneticlagomorph]

>Cyberneticlagomorph is live on Caster! 🔴

>Jack  is back at it again at his ranch in space, his breath fogging in the freezing cold, thin air as he floats around almost aimlessly. The dusty, kelp-grass covered ground beneath him is sprinkled with tools, seedlings, bags of seeds, and his little glowing sunfire friend.

>the chat is filling fast with familiar faces, each excited about space. There’s Paramore playing instead of normal High Wilderness ambiance

>a few giddy newcomers spam the chat with questions

>”zippitydoodumbass: wtf is this? like where is he?”

>”fee-fi-fuck-off: YOOOO IS HE IN SPACE??? HOW IS HE IN SPACE HOW IS HE BREATHING?? IS HE AN ELF?? AN ALIEN?? WTF??”

> apatheticInfinity donates 420 bytes and asks Jack to do a flip, which he does while answering the numerous questions and loudly contemplating adding a FAQ to his stream description

>”Hello i’m Jack, today we’re out in space, specifically we’re in the High Wilderness, which is space but in an entirely different timeline than the one I live in.”

>As he lazily does a flip in zero gravity the chat floods with even more questions asking how he can cross timelines

>”The High Wilderness has air, it’s just thin as all fuck, and colder than the sad empty void my ex calls her heart. I can hop timelines ‘cuz magic. Many of my friends are from other timelines, this stream is broadcasting to other timelines actually, I’m very thorough.”

>He does a very wiggly, complex maneuver that puts him back on the ground. You can see where he is now, see everything from the first person perspective of whatever camera he’s using to stream. Likely his cybernetic eye.

>The place is beautiful and strange, so very strange.

>he’s definitely in space, some dinky little planetoid covered in odd plants that sway like seaweed and kelp, strange sail-like trees with tiny black leaves like moss against the trunk. Harsh howling winds blow across their numerous hollows and produce a haunting flute-like sound

>far away, in the star-speckled void, are vibrantly hued dust clouds and nebulae, and the dark dusty band of a nearby asteroid field.

>something bright and glowing gold scampers up to him, speaking a language that hurts to hear. The stream glitches and flickers for a second before a very cute graphic of jack tangled up in computer wires comes up, proclaiming technical difficulties. It doesn’t last long before the stream comes back and the strange language the little glowing creature was speaking is wholly understandable. This language is Correspondence, it doesn’t so much as translate clearly into words as it does notions, feelings, and concepts that one can both hear and feel

>”Hullo friend, star friend, feeder friend, soulless and sweet. Will you furrow the earth today? sail the stars today? challenge gods today? I’m hungry... your boat came.” its voice is without gender but is high like a child’s, it looks something like a very small star, something like a clump of souls, and something like a cat or a monkey. It floats effortlessly through the thin air to nuzzle Jack’s face with it’s flame-haloed head. Jack scratches it behind what might be ears, or what might be gills. It’s very hard to tell what does what on something so strange.

>Jack says something back to it that suggests affection and warmth on the tail end of a gentle scolding. The little glowing thing pulsates like a beating heart and perches on Jack’s shoulders. The chat is filled with ‘awws’ and ‘dawws’ and further questioning as to who/what the fuck that thing is

>”This is Glimmer, a ‘judgements heart’, i picked them up during my last trip here. They’re sweet and warm and I love them. Say hi Glim”

>Glimmer says hi back and Jack grabs a garden hoe off the ground.

>”Today’s itinerary is getting these seeds in the ground and then going hunting the the asteroid field out yonder.” He jerks a thumb towards the dusty gray line in the distance. Glimmer is singing to themself, a strange nonsensical song about dirt and wells and things that write poems for worms. Glim isn’t of much help as Jack tills the soil and plants strange seeds of all different shapes and sizes. He buries bulbs and roots, blankets odd black tumors with mulch, and transplants long creeping things with long hollow ‘leaves’ that thrum like violin strings whenever the wind blows.

>Jack doesn’t explain anything about the plants and seeds, only that they’re a surprise for later. His final act of botany is to plant a number of rose bushes and berry brambles around the base of the Ranch house, along with some other things that look like they’d climb just as eagerly.

>Gardening in space is much harder than it sounds considering everything wants to float away when you're not looking, but he sticks to his task and gets it done just in time for the door to his ranch house to open and reveal a tall, beautiful woman in red. Her long white hair kisses the back of her ankles, blowing elegantly in the wind as she seems to glide up to him. Her silver eyes glint with the same gentle affection that tugs the corners of her mouth up into the barest ghost of a smile. Other than that she's stonefaced and a little mean looking, like she'd cut you if you breathed at her wrong.

>The chat breaks out in heart eyes emojis and shouts of "WIFE", Jack is purring, a sweet whirring-rumble like an old school computer. He greets this woman with a soft, dreamy hello and a half-assed warning that he's streaming this live

>"Don't you fret lapin, I know how to behave." Her voice is sultry, almost mockingly so as she leans in to kiss him only to pull away before their lips can meet, and the chat howls that she's a tease. She introduces herself to the chat as Jeanne. She is one of Jack's fabled two wives and by god is she beautiful, ethereal, terrifying. She seems more fae than he does somehow, every move she makes is artwork, and the world is her canvas. The Caster chat is suddenly a sea of [message deleted] as some of the less... tactful comments about Jeanne removed at Jack's discretion. Everyone is warned to keep it in their pants or else he can and will curse them over the internet.

>That stops everyone cold. Quietly wondering if he is that powerful. He likely isn't but someone who can marry THAT and also afford a ranch in fucking SPACE is obviously not to be fucked with. So the chat settles down like a pack of scolded school children. Jack leaves Jeanne to linger in the fields, while he circles back behind the barn to wash off at least some of the dirt he is now caked in.

>You'd expect a well in such a rural setting, but no, instead there is something like a bastard cross between a normal stone well and a gas pump with a windmill strapped to its back end. Empty canisters litter the ground around it, some rusted, some new, all of them painted a ghastly florescent yellow that makes them easier to see among the dark foliage. Jack asks the chat to watch before he takes the pump and squeezes it into empty air. Fat globs of water, like shimmering soap bubbles, flow from the nozzle trembling and steaming in the cold cold air.

>He sticks his hands into it, giggling like a dork. He manages to get most of the dirt off before the glob evaporates or freezes... honestly it's hard to tell just exactly what happens to it after awhile. Mostly cleaned, he makes his way back to join Jeanne but is interrupted by a great scarred calamity of a Curator, shrieking about hunting, singing shrill songs about teal eyes, North, and meat.

>Jack explains to the confused chat, that this is Mr Veils, an associate of his. Veils is a Curator, a giant starry furred horned space bat native to the High Wilderness that drift about hoarding things, and selling said things to other species they come across. Most are nicknamed after their hoards. Mr Veils deals in fine fabrics... usually. But today Veils couldn't give a damn about buying or selling, it just wants to hunt.

>The chat is entranced really. Jack stows the last of the gardening tools in the barn before pointing towards the asteroid fields and asking Veils to meet him there. Veils flies off with a joyous cry and a thick layer of foam coating its lips. He watches the quickly shrinking dot that is Veils grow ever smaller before turning to Jeanne.

>"Race you." He says, sounding a little cocky. She merely lifts an eyebrow before leaping into the air, a pair of gorgeous moth's wings appearing at her back as she swoops away in the direction Veils went. Jack, along with the chat, shouts that she's cheating to which she replies

>"Since when has any witch ever played fair, lapin?" you can hear the smile in her voice, even over the wind as Jack shifts into something winged and powerful, flying right after her. He loses of course, landing grumpily on a large asteroid at the edge of the field, Glimmer still clinging stubbornly to his shoulder.

>From afar it looked barren, maybe even mournful, but up close it is lush, and wild, and strange, oh so very strange. Each and every chunk of pitted stone is alive with plants. Strange swaying things that look more at home at the bottom of the sea than space. Translucent, sail-like things, strange whistling trees, even stranger bushes and undergrowth that retreat into hollows in the rocks when disturbed. Each and every 'plant' clings stubbornly to the stones with armored roots. What isn't stone, or plant, is ore and ice glowing with what little light can be found here.

>Some ores are recognizable, others are impossible colors and textures that ooze when Jack touches them, or slither and shift. There are gems stuck in the stones as careless as sprinkles on a cupcake. There are animals here too, as equally strange as their surroundings. Eyeless deer leaping from stone to stone, scaly rabbits with tough hides to protect against the pebbles and grit blowing in one the winds, geese-like things with segmented necks and pincers like bobbit worms drag anything that scampers too close shrieking into the darkness of their burrows.

>There are birds and fish, massive crabs, strange mantas, jellies, cat-faced harpies, all bounding though the waving grasses and cavern mazes. Spider-legged beasts lap at exposed patches of ice, or gnaw lazily on transparent lichens.

>Jack is overcome with awe that is quickly replaced by annoyance as Veils swoops low and plucks some hapless beast off a rock and into the sky, the animal bellowing in fear. He remembers that he is here to hunt, not sight-see, and his entire demeanor changes. His body drops low, his movements suddenly fluid and catlike, but it's somehow clear that he hasn't changed shape again. This is all him.

>He slinks off like an animal, picking across the ground on all fours with surprising ease, as if  he were born out here. The chat keeps making 'dummy thicc' jokes

>"inutechy: hrn colonel, I'm trying to hunt, but I'm dummy thicc and the clap of my ass cheeks keeps alerting my prey."

>Jack is far too focused on the eyeless deer thing in front of him to be amused. His normal tactics won't work here, so he has to be fast and brutal. Just as he prepares to strike, the beast is shot cleanly and he just sort of sits there, dumbfounded.

>"Too slow." Taunts Jeanne as she flits off to do more damage elsewhere, gun still smoking. Jack scowls at her retreating back before slithering off to find more prey. Between Jeanne and Veils and his overall unfamiliarity with this place, Jack has a tough time catching anything, but manages to snag a few not-rabbits ("cannibalism" proclaimed the chat), and the evil geese-worms ("cursed. Thanks I hate it" whined the chat).

>Amid the gunfire and Veils... everything, another curator descends upon the scene. Much chubbier than Veils, with small folded ears, and a very stony expression. Its holding a much much smaller Curator with long rabbitlike ears and horns similar to Jack's antlers.

>Jack drops everything (mostly a half dead... something his teeth were in) to go and greet the pair of them. As he gets closer it's clear to all that even though the smaller bunny-like Curator is obviously a baby, that she is nearly the size of an average human adult. Curators are absurdly huge but Jack doesn't seem to mind. He greets them both with kisses and hugs, introducing them to the stream as Mr Stones and Galena. Galena is the obvious offspring of Jack and Stones, several people make rude remarks about Jack's apparent sluttiness and get banned on the SPOT. Stones wraps a wing around Jack and licks his face.

>Veils sings taunts from high on the winds, betting Stones that it can't out-hunt it this night. Stones merely huffs and tells Galena "Watch and learn." Before hauling its powerful body into the cold sky. What happens next is nothing short of amazing and a little humiliating on Veils end. Stones sails through the asteroids with grace and speed, plucking bobbit geese from their holes with practiced ease, fleeing scalebuns run right into its opened jaws and blind deer meet their ends before Stones even hauls their bodies off the ground.

>It's anything but gory, it's clean, efficient, magnificent and Jack just sort o f stands there, watching. It's clear he's given up on catching anything else tonight, so he might as well sit back and learn from a master. Galena watches too, babbling excitedly in Correspondence, flapping her leathery wings. Soon the fun is over and everyone is dragging their numerous kills into piles to further show off their prowess.

>And then a curious thing starts to happen. The Curators start to sing. Well, Veils sings, Stones raps surprisingly well with its monotone voice. Both spit lyrical disses tearing each other's hunting skills apart line by line. It's beautiful, it's BRUTAL. Jack mentions that normally he'd join in but with a pile as small as his it'd be a fools errand, but somehow he gets drawn into it anyway. His melodies swoop high, combined with echoing tones produced by glittering crystal shards made by his magic. As he predicted he gets lyrically evicerated by the others. Even Jeanne gets in on it, her voice is as pretty as the reset of her and She Does Not mince words.

>By the end everyone is grinning, packing up their kills to take home. Jack carries both his AND Jeanne's catches in his chest space, leaving the chat to wonder just how much room he has in that thing. Stones gives Jack a few parting licks before scooping up Galena and heading back to the ranch house, Veils leaves with something small and fluffy clenched in its teeth.

>The stream ends with Jack trying to tetris everything he and his wife have caught into his concerningly large meat freezers. He promises an update on the plants soon and signs off by blowing a kiss to himself, and therefor the stream in a bathroom mirror.

[cathygeha]

COVER REVEAL

RABETTE RUN by NICK RIPPINGTON

A psychological page-turner with a shocking twist

Publication Date: February 21, 2020

Publisher: Cabrilon Books (February 21, 2020)

    BOOK DESCRIPTION

‘ALICE IN WONDERLAND... WITH TANKS AND GUNS’ – NICK RIPPINGTON

EMERSON RABETTE has a phobia about travelling on the underground, so when he is involved in a car accident his worst nightmare is about to come true.

A middle-aged graphic designer and father of one, Emerson’s entire future depends on him reaching an important business meeting. Without an alternative method of transport, he has to confront his biggest fear.

Things immediately go wrong when Emerson’s Obsessive Compulsive Disorder kicks in and his fellow passengers become angry at the way he is acting. Thankfully a young woman called Winter comes to his rescue and agrees to help him reach his destination.

Once on the train, she thinks her job is done. What she isn’t prepared for is Emerson taking flight after reading a message scrawled on the train’s interior. 

It simply reads: ‘Run Rabette Run’.

(Rabette Run is Nick Rippington’s fourth book, a standalone psychological thriller. The author’s Boxer Boys trilogy is highly acclaimed and is now available in a digital boxset)

What the critics say about Nick Rippington

‘Addictive, funny, touching, brilliant stories’

‘’Characters that truly come alive on the page’

‘’Evocative, original, unfailingly precise and often humorous’

EXTRACT

PROLOGUE

HE was sneaking a glance at his daughter in the rear-view mirror, listening to her talk about college and friends, when their blue family estate was broadsided by the Jeep.

Time suspended before a tsunami of shattered glass crashed in and he lost control of the steering wheel. The airbag deployed and the seat belt cut painfully into his shoulder as it absorbed the strain of his 15-stone bulk before boomeranging him back into place. What was left of the windscreen retreated as his body reacted like the lash of a whip and, in his confusion, he experienced that eureka moment... ‘Ahhh, whiplash!’

As the car skidded across the road he was dazzled by a kaleidoscope of bright lights – neon advertising boards, shop windows and street lamps. When his eyes adjusted it was as if he was watching everything in slow motion: A couple he had noticed walking hand in hand moments earlier ran in different directions, while a newspaper seller deserted his pitch, money pouch flapping against his pounding legs. Further along, a dapper-looking bloke in tweeds seemed in two minds which way to flee before settling on the safety of the Underground steps.

The visions tumbled from his mind as the car completed its 360-degree spin and he finally locked eyes on his assailant. Marooned in the stationary Jeep, the dark-haired woman stared through the windscreen vacantly, a thick stream of blood meandering down her face from a garish wound above her eyebrow. Devoid of expression, it seemed the shock had vacuumed all thought from her brain.

As soon as she appeared, she was gone, the car continuing to spin. Facing the pavement again, the driver’s attention was captured by what he thought was a bundle of blankets and rags in a shop doorway. With alarm he noticed startled eyes staring out from a face swamped in facial hair. ‘Get out of the fucking way!’ the driver mouthed as he realised one of London’s street dwellers was totally oblivious to the approaching danger.

The car made jarring contact with the kerb and suddenly it was the driver who was spinning, like a sock in a washing machine. His head bumped against the ceiling, his left arm smashed against the twisted metal of the door and his right leg sent jolts of electrifying pain through his nervous system.

Finally, the fairground ride from hell came to an abrupt halt, the car thudding against something hard. The heap of tangled metal that was once a solid and protective shell settled slowly back in an upright position, bouncing like one of those gangster rides with hydraulic suspension that featured in American movies. This wasn’t America, though, this was twenty-first century Britain and he wasn’t a teen gangster, just an ordinary Joe going about his boring, routine business.

New sounds invaded the void left by the disintegrated windows: horns blowing, tyres screeching, glass crunching, people screaming. His ears slowly acclimatising to the noise, he then detected an unfamiliar ticking and saw steam pouring from the bent and buckled bonnet. Performing calculations in his head, he tried to work out how much this entire calamity might cost him. What would the insurance company say? Was there any possibility the vehicle wasn’t a write-off and did his policy contain the use of a courtesy car? How the hell was he going to get to work? What the hell was he going to tell his wife?

Shit, his daughter!

‘You OK back there, honey?’

There was a pause during which his heart skipped a beat.

Then...

‘Yeah, I think so. I’ve a... pain in my tummy.’

Superficial damage. Nothing serious. Thank God. Relief flooded through him.

‘You?’ she asked.

‘My leg’s killing me but otherwise...’

His thoughts were interrupted by another sound. Looking to his left, he was surprised to see the passenger window still intact. Outside, a man in a navy-blue uniform and cap gesticulated wildly, but it was hard to make out what he was saying. The driver felt as if his head was submerged in that slime kids found all the rage.

Still, at least he was conscious enough to interpret the police officer’s manic, hand-waving gestures and detect the urgency in them. Shaking his head to free himself from the gloop, he felt needles of pain attack his nervous system as he shifted sideways, utilising every muscle necessary to reach out and press the button which released the window.

The car’s electrics made an uncomfortable, whirring sound as the glass slid down a few centimetres then stopped. Jammed. He continued pushing the button, but the internal workings were badly damaged. He watched as a gloved hand slipped through the gap at the top of the door and exerted pressure. There was another crunching noise and the window dropped to around halfway, the brute force almost certainly rendering the mechanism irreparable. Not thinking straight, his first reaction was one of anger and his mind made calculations about how much compensation he should claim once he was back on his feet.

The police constable battled gamely to get his point across amid a deafening ensemble of alarm bells and sirens. ‘We need to get you out of there, sir. No need to panic, but we have to make you safe before we can get the paramedics to check you over.’

‘Sounds serious, Dad,’ said his girl.

‘Thanks, Sherlock, always the optimist.’

‘What was that?’ The officer’s face seemed blurred as the driver tried to focus.

‘Sorry, it’s my ears...’ he shouted, the frenzied effort to make himself heard betraying his underlying fear. ‘I can’t... Is the car going to explode?’

‘Umm, I sincerely hope not, sir, but there is a lot of fuel around, the engine’s smoking... It’s best to err on the side of caution. We need to get you a safe distance away in the unlikely event that things escalate. The fire brigade will be here in two ticks and they’ll bring it under control in no time. Until then...’

‘Not sure I can move to be honest, son. I think my leg’s trapped.’

‘Ahhh.’ The policeman nodded. ‘Can you have a look around – see what the problem is? You might be able to free it. On second thoughts, hold on, I’ll come around to your side and see what I can do.’

Appearing at the driver’s window, he then brushed aside fragments of glass and leaned through, peering into the gloom of the footwell. ‘O... K,’ he said slowly. He wasn’t very good at disguising his feelings. It was serious. ‘We have a bit of a problem. A lump of metal appears to have wedged itself in your leg. I’m guessing it will take special tools to get you out of there.’

Shit! The Jaws of Life. Only the other day he had been watching a TV programme about the fire service and the equipment they used to cut people free from road traffic accident wrecks. The jaws had saved many lives, but the name alone was enough to send a shudder rippling through his damaged body. The sirens in the distance were getting louder as they announced their urgency to the world. Blue spinning lights roamed the darkness of the car’s interior, before a more permanent red glow encroached on the shadows. Was it getting hot?

‘Ahhh...’ said the officer.

There were snapping sounds followed by a crackle. Random memories of an old advert for cereal entered the driver’s head: snap, crackle, pop. Twisting as best he could, the driver realised the noise was being created by flames eating into the car’s paintwork. ‘No!’ he muttered through clenched teeth. Damn, he’d just forked out a small fortune on a touch-up job after some local punk had dug a thick groove right along the passenger’s side with a coin or a key.

‘Uh oh!’ said his daughter, looking over her shoulder. ‘They’re going to get us out of here, aren’t they, Dad? I’m scared.’

‘Stay calm,’ he replied, wishing he could practice what he was preaching. ‘I’m sure it will be fine. The fire brigade is on their way and will be here shortly.’

‘Ahh, they’re here,’ the policeman announced on cue, relief evident in his tone.

Moments later the driver heard a new voice, the accent pure Cockney. ‘Stay calm, sir, and we’ll have you out in no time.’

The driver twisted in the direction of the person speaking and another wave of pain rolled through him. On the periphery of his vision he could make out a tall man with a pointed jaw in a fire brigade uniform.

‘What seems to be the trouble, eh? Let the dog see the rabbit.’ The fireman leaned inside. ‘Rrrr...igh...t,’ he said before shouting some instructions to the rest of his crew.

Suddenly, the car was plunged into darkness. The driver guessed it was being buried in that foam the fire services used to bring a blaze under control. It felt strangely comforting to know they weren’t going to be burnt alive. Another sound, a screeching, grating noise soon invaded the car’s interior, setting his teeth on edge.

‘Cool!’ muttered his daughter as sparks sprayed through the roof. Moments later the metal was peeled back like the lid on a tin of tuna, bright lights invading the space, making them cry out and shield their eyes.

‘Sorry, mate, it’s got to be done,’ advised the fire officer. ‘Once we’re inside, we can hopefully remove the obstacle that’s holding you in place and get you out of there. Second thoughts, the best thing we can do, looking at it now, would be to remove the door, together with your good self. It should be easier to cut you free elsewhere, rather than in the midst of this, um, chaos. When we get somewhere a bit less volatile the medical people can assess the problem and hopefully free your leg from the door.’

As he said this, for the first time the driver realised that up until now the darkness of the footwell had prevented him taking a closer look at his injury. Shielding his eyes from the glare, he glanced downwards. A thick metal shard was protruding from his leg and a dark, sticky substance soaked his trousers. The limb looked like a theatrical prosthesis in a zombie apocalypse movie, the foot at a right angle to the rest of the limb.

He experienced an unfamiliar dizziness and passed out.

GLOVED hands grasped the limp body and gently carried it to the stretcher. The patient felt a needle entering the soft tissue in his arm and after that remembered little, sliding into unconsciousness as he murmured her name. The paramedic whispered to one of the fireman.

‘What did he say? Sounded like a name? Jane, was it? I think he said something about a daughter. Was there anyone with him?’

‘Nope,’ replied the fireman. ‘He was all on his lonesome.’

A colleague arrived at the paramedic’s shoulder. ‘Right, best get him to intensive care, lickety spit,’ said the new arrival. ‘I hate to be the prophet of doom, but it will be touch and go if he survives the night.’

BUY LINKS:

UK https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B084D3TT36

shortlink is https://amzn.to/36Iqhta

In the USA it's https://www.amazon.com/dp/B084D3TT36

shortlink is https://amzn.to/2OisZ1U

AUTHOR BIO

NICK RIPPINGTON is the award-winning author of the Boxer Boys series of gangland crime thrillers.

     Based in London, UK, Nick was the last-ever Welsh Sports Editor of the now defunct News of The World, writing his debut release Crossing The Whitewash after being made redundant with just two days notice after Rupert Murdoch closed down Europe’s biggest-selling tabloid in 2011.     On holiday at the time, Nick was never allowed back in the building, investigators sealing off the area with crime scene tape and seizing his computer as they investigated the phone-hacking scandal, something which took place a decade before Nick joined the paper. His greatest fear, however, was that cops would uncover the secrets to his Fantasy Football selections.     Handed the contents of his desk in a black bin bag in a murky car park, deep throat style, Nick was at a crossroads – married just two years earlier and with a wife and 9-month-old baby to support.     With self-publishing booming, he hit on an idea for a UK gangland thriller taking place against the backdrop of the Rugby World Cup and in 2015 produced Crossing The Whitewash, which received an honourable mention in the genre category of the Writers’ Digest self-published eBook awards. Judges described it as "evocative, unique, unfailingly precise and often humorous".     Follow-up novel Spark Out, a prequel set at the time of Margaret Thatcher and the Falklands War, received a Chill With A Book reader award and an IndieBRAG medallion from the prestigious website dedicated to Independent publishers and writers throughout the world. The novel was also awarded best cover of 2017 with Chill With A Book.       The third book in the Boxer Boys series Dying Seconds, a sequel to Crossing The Whitewash, was released in December 2018 and went to the top of the Amazon Contemporary Urban Fiction free charts during a giveaway period of five days. A digital box set, the Boxer Boys Collection, came out in September last year.

       Now Nick, 60, is switching direction feeling that, for the moment, the Boxer Boys series has run its course. His latest novel, Rabette Run, will be released in the Spring and Nick says, ‘It is a gritty psychological thriller with twists and turns galore. Think Alice in Wonderland with tanks and guns.’     Married to Liz, When Nick isn’t writing he works as a back bench designer of sports pages on the Daily Star. He has two children – Jemma, 37, and Olivia, 9. 

Author links: 

Website: www.theripperfile.com

Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/buckrippers

Twitter: @nickripp

Instagram: @nickrippingtonauthor

Where to find Nick’s books...

Amazon Author Page in the UK: 

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Nick-Rippington/e/B0135YST78

Amazon Author Page in the US:

https://www.amazon.com/Nick-Rippington/e/B0135YST78

CITATIONS:

For Crossing The Whitewash: “"Evocative, original, unfailingly precise and often humorous" – Writers Digest eBook judges

 For Spark Out: “Down and Dirty, visceral, occasionally violent but engaging and strangely compelling. The writer has a great street voice” – IndieBRAG judges

 COVER STORY

 Nick’s covers are designed by the hugely talented Jane Dixon-Smith of JD Smith designs. His second book Spark Out received the cover of the year award from the reviewer website Chill With A Book.

[poklina]

stains

allo it is i, your friendly neighborhood trashy fanfic writer. my favorite things are run in sentences and commas so if those ain’t ur jam  u shld prolly click away ANYWAYS this is me falling headfirst into the jimon hole and rewriting the evolution of their relationship through jace’s eyes. its not great but i really like it hope u do too.

--

Jace had officially had it with all of them.

4 months ago, he was just a regular Shadowhunter with a killjoy brother and annoying sister that really liked killing demons together. It was comfortable, accountable, dependable. Jace knew that every day, he'd wake up, he'd train with Alec, he'd make fun of whatever skintight leather outfit Izzy was wearing that day, they'd go out on a mission, come back, fall asleep, rise and repeat. The inanity of it all was starting to get a little monotonous, but a little Downworld revolt would've spiced it up just enough.

But of course, Clary fucking Fray had to come in and take his perfect little bubble and pop it as violently as she could.

Now the Circle is back in action, the Mortal Cup is lost but for real this time, Alec is dating a warlock, Izzy is acting really weird, and the whole Institute has basically gone to shit.

And don't even get him started on the calamity that is Simon Lewis.

Not even 2 days after Jace met him, he had to go and get himself kidnapped by the vamps. And then he'd started calling Clary every 5 fucking minutes like she didn't have anything better to do than to talk to him.

And then of course, he shows up on the doorstep in Raphael's arms, dead.

When Raphael told Clary the 2 options, there was ever any doubt in Jace's mind. For some reason, even though he could barely stand the idea of Simon Lewis living forever, the first thought in his mind was "I need more time." That shocked him. More time for what? More time to yell at Simon, to groan and growl every time he got his ass kidnapped? More time to watch how he talked with his hands when he started rambling on about something or another, or how he looked at Clary and how Jace wanted Simon to look at him like that...

Yea, Jace beat that train of thought into the ground with amazing speed.

Anyways, Simon turned into a vamp and somehow had become 10x more annoying than when he was just a regular Mundane.

Shadowhunting-wise, life had calmed down. Valentine was still fucking shit up with astounding speed, but now they knew how to deal with it, and with Aldertree essentially kicking him out of the institute, Jace didn't have much to do with his days anymore except for go to Hunters Moon and flirt with Seelies until they came back to Magnus' with him.

Jace is very good at ignoring that all of the one he brought back had brown hair and brown eyes.

Life was easy for a while there. Of course, a while in Shadowhunter time is like, 3 days, so Jace honestly should've seen the oncoming shitstorm that was about to hit.

First Clary hooks up with Simon, and while he's trying to tell himself that is Simon he's jealous of, his mom throws a fucking axe at his head. Great. Just another Tuesday. The rest of the party goes pretty well, with the exception of the cheating bastard that is-was-his father, so Jace checks it off as a night that wasn't wholly terrible.

Clary goes into "hiding" with her boyfriend, and Jace is amazed at just how incompetent this guy is, and also at how nice his abs are-

Once again, whack-a-mole-with-thoughts comes out in its full raging glory, and it isn't until Clary's hand starts turning black that he can actually fully focus.

So now they have to go find this Madzie kid, and Jace really didn't want Simon to come because he's already having enough trouble and driving around New York with a guy you definitely are not interested in but also like to admire from afar does not sound like how he wants to spend his evening. But of course he comes, and of course he trades Jace's leather jacket for some ribbon that might not even be hers, and of course he's right.

He's always infuriatingly right.

So, the rest of the evening goes off without a hitch. He see his piece of shit dad again, gets the kid back to Clary, and boom, they're done.

That is until Clary gets pulled to God knows where by that little kid.

Jace probably could've stopped her. He should've stopped her. But his mind was preoccupied with "Thanks...for everything." What is everything? Because the only thing the vamp should be thanking him for is saving his girlfriend, and he already did that, so what is everything?

It runs like a broken record in his mind all the way up until Valentine's got an arm around Simon's neck because he's so infuriatingly stupid and selfless and why the fuck did he have to go and fall for a guy that puts his neck on the line every 5 fucking minutes-

And then he's gone.

--

Jace runs on autopilot all the way until Dot tells him that if he touches the Sword, it'll destroy it and take him with it, and he'll be damn if that isn't best news he's gotten all week.

Luke takes him to the Institute after promising 101 different ways that he won't touch the Sword but doesn't intend to keep them, and for some reason Clary is there when they get there. And Raphael’s got her by the neck. And this is going to get very bad very fast if they don't do something right now.

Luke convinces them to let Clary and Magnus (why is he here too?) go, and since everybody is so keen on hearing what the fuck Clary has planned, Jace isn't really listening when she says what happened until the words "Simon" and "hurt" come out of her mouth. Honestly, he's not surprised, but they way she said it made his stomach fall out from under him.

And then she tells him what Valentine did, and Jace sees red.

Everybody seems to be "concerned" that Jace won't convincingly pull off Clary with the shape shifting rune, but he doesn't hear any of it. Right now, the only thing he pretty much wants to do it tear the Institute doors from their hinges and slaughter every single fucking Circle member in there.

He makes it in, and there’s a guard on either side of him and then Valentine is stepping out from the shadows and Jace? Jace has never felt more pure, unaltered rage than he did in that moment. He just wants to see Simon, he needs to see Simon because Jace cannot live with himself if Simon dies without ever knowing how much he's screwed Jace over and how much he loves him for that.

Valentine says something about being too late, but the only thing Jace can hear is the roaring of blood in his ears and heavy breathing of someone who is very, very angry.

--

They take him to Aldertree's office and when they open the door, the floor falls out from under Jace's feet.

Simon is covered in blood. And he's been covered with blood before but not like this. Never like this. It's pulsing out from his throat and staining his lips and hands and arms and everything and for 15 seconds, all Jace can do is stare.

Then the coppery tang hits him dead in the face and he runs over to the desk where there's a knife and slits his arm, hoping, pleading, praying that he's not too late.

And of course, Jace had to go and fall for the most kindhearted guy on the planet because even as a vampire who's bleeding out, he still refuses to drink. And goddammit Jace will not let his kindness get in the way of his life so he shoves his arm up against his mouth, barely feeling the tiny huffs of air that are escaping, and Simon finally, finally drinks.

Of all the Seelies in all the world, Jace thinks,  I would give them all up for another moment of this.

Because Simon drinks, and as Jace arches into what feels like the best make out session/sex ever, he feels a tear roll down his (Clary's?) face because holy shit. He knew that being bitten was like injecting an aphrodisiac straight into your veins, but this...this is almost a religious experience. Jace can feel the blood leaving his arm and travel down Simon's throat, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down and he is gone. His eyes roll back in his head because he thinks that if he looked at Simon right now, covered in blood and sucking the life from his arm, he'd probably rip it away and kiss him until it was just them and the couch and the dim lamplight, Valentine be damned. Dimly, he can feel Simon grabbing his arm as he goes deeper and deeper into his vein, and Jace's vision is completely shot at this point because the only thing he can see in his minds eye is Simon on his arm, Simon taking everything from him, Simon being the opposite of who he normally is and he is loving every single millisecond he spends on his arm. There is not enough time in the world nor words in English to describe exactly how Jace was feeling, but the 2 closest ones would have to be fucking orgasmic.

And then its over. Jace feels Simon being pulled away from him and he slips back to the couch, breathless and tired and absolutely ready for more. He feels the rune slipping him back to his actual body, and when he looks up at Simon with lidded eyes and sagging hands, the thing he sees is horror.

They get out of the office with minimal difficulty, and as they travel down the hall Simon just keeps talking. And he won't stop. He's babbling on about how he's felt blood thirst before but "never that bad" and how he's "really sorry" and if that isn't just the end of his patience.

"I would've killed you."

"I would've let you."

Because he would've. Jace didn't, doesn't and still does not know exactly what this vampire did to him but what he does know is that if Simon were running out of blood Jace would be the first one in line because the thought of Simon dying is something that sent ice crawling through his veins, and he almost lost him tonight and when Simon pulled away Jace swore to himself that he would never, ever let it happen again.

But this thick-headed, pretty-eyes vampire will still not stop talking about rescuing him from "actual death" as if Jace wouldn't have done it a thousand times over and Jace just wants him to stop. So he tells him to shut up and amazingly he does. For once in his life, Simon listened to him, and in that moment he could die a happy man no matter what came next.

[thegeminisage]

hella spoilery zeldablogging from earlier tonight

feel kind of bad cause i had to look up the gerudo maze desert thing but i was SOOO close on my own

oh my god there's a lady over here by this shrine failing at cooking and all the recipes she teaches me give me dubious food

there are PILES of rotting garbage that have flies around them and the thing in the pot is sending up this black cloud of smoke lmao

wow the blood moon came in the middle of me clearing out an enemy camp :/

good god there's a stable out here in all this deep snow? how?? would the horses not, like, die?

aww beedle's here but he's cold ):

WOW you can upgrade the boy gerudo clothes but not the GIRL ones? that is SEXIST

oh noooo shield surfing DOES damage your shield i hate this i love my current shield what if i can't find another!!!!!

lol the ridge tower si surrounded by water and electric enemies. Great

omg i found the royal lab ruins ):

ok, i gotta begin prioritizing here

while i'd LIKE to complete all 120 shrines before i beat the game just for the armor, i don't think that's going to be possible - i haven't even unlocked some of them yet bc i don't have the snowballs or the quest takes so long

but the most important thing to me is memories

so after i check out all the ridge shrines on this map i'm gonna get the hyrule field map as well and get those memories

and i'll just save a lot and if i fuck something up and trigger endgame stuff i'll reload

god idk how to do this trial on the thunderplanes so like...im gonna let it be

see? i could never do all 120 before tmrw night

PLEASE this memory i just got was so cute zelda was being a nerd over plants and caught a frog she wanted link to eat :')

i love this zelda like i'm super not crazy about her voice actress sounding much older than i think of her as, and the fantasy british accent, but she has so much more personality than many of the others

ah, and i see now why she loved the silent proncess so...can't be grown domestically, only thrives in the wild

much like herself if you watch some of the other memories haha she feels trapped by her own destiny that's easy to see

i think it's super clever how even with a map you still have to look around for shrines bc they are hidden semi-underground

and i wish i had more time to stop and enjoy the little things like that, but i CAN come back and explore later, i can't unlearn a plot point

this spoiler fear might be a little baseless...tbh i also want to finish the main story tho bc like

i want it to be something i play in my free time, not something i obsess over 24/7 and HAVE to play and think about all the time

it's been a beautiful fun and absolutely life-changing experience but also it's been two weeks and i gotta get back to my actual life, i can't be Like This indefinitely

i'm kinda stunned that it took me this ling tbh? like, even skyyward sword was like a week and a half the first time iirc and i did that at like, a pace where i could stop and explore, i remember thinking how huge skyward sword was

omg im so glad i decided to ride epona down to where i need to go next rather than fast travel + walk bc 1. faster maybe? and 2. THE MAIN THEME PLAYS WHEN YOU'RE ON EPONA OVER THE NORMAL HORSE THEME i could weep

KASS IS BY THIS BRIDGE HI BUDDY I LOVE YOU

i solved the puzzle! this time im talking to him BEFORE i go in

he told me it was stupendous ;_; thanks pal

aw dude another memeory and it played the trailer music but

is zelda really only SIXTEEN about to turn seventeen? how old is link?? i guess under 21/18 if they wouldn't let him drink...

jesus, they're just babies ;_;

also, she quoted link's horse advice so like

this + the dialogue options gives the feeling that he does actually speak, you know? so as much as i love mute link i also like these glimpses into his personality as well, bc he's always been such a blank slate

he's empathetic, playful, sometimes downright goofy, and very tenacious - confident, but not in a cocky way, and obviously always a bit shaken when he gets a memory back

it's nice getting to know him a bit, even if you have to patch most of it together - kinda like narrachara lol

;w; it's so nice to have epona gallop over when i call her again

omg i think i found kass's house! i see his journal :3

haha i got this song "when the blood moon rises stand naked on that platform" ok nintendo

i wonder if you get all the puzzles do you get to tell him who you are ):

im tempted to unlock this one now lol

like, it takes a long time to get here and it's almost the blood moon

SIGH this is gonna take awhile but it'll save me time later

oh lmao it was JUST the blood moon so i'd actually have to wait a SUPER long time nvm tbh

well. welp. welly well well

i guess.......its time for hyrule field tower

Im Scared

wow. holy shit. i can see the great plateau from here...and it looks so small. i can see the temple of time, i can see the tower from which i first saw hyrule castle. i can even see the little path i nearly followed, when catching sight of my first moblin and becoming curious, before i got myself back on track. damn. Damn. i have come FULL CIRCLE, holy shit

and like, it's just the way i played it. hyrule castle for last. but you know? i love that shit. journeys ending the way they began. gets me in the feels every time

i'll be honest, THIS i could really stop and explore. forget those awful snowy mountains. this is where the #history is

oh god. i see a guardian down near that tower. please god don't let it be a mobile one

FUCK

i saw two still ones and relaxed and a mobile one snuck up RIGHT FUCKING BEHIND ME

[wheezing]

i don't wanna stop and grind but i worry i might HAVE to get some guardian armor before i can do this, even just one piece...!

i have a diamond circlet so all i'd need from the prof is the chest and/or legs........oh god. jesus fuck

motherFUCKER the range on those still ones, i wish i had been able to take them out...!

oh jesus i made it

this is it. final tower. thank fuck

there'll be more guardians, way more. i gotta at least check and see if i can afford some arrows without setting myself back further for the armor

i think i had all the mats i needed actually i just needed cash...maybe i can cook to earn some since i sold my monster parts

k, i only have enough gears for the chest OR legs, and i don't have enough rupees for either... :/

i COULD buy some arrows and still have enough mats for the armor but then i'd be setting myself back HUGELY re: rupees

ok, i FINALLY got the chest, jesus, now i can go back to hyrule field

altho it doesnt have any def and without even going to the fountain i know i cant upgrade it so rly is it worth it at all, but w/e

also, i read online that if you can learn the timing of parrying their lasers they go down REALLY easily but i suck so much at combat

i guess i'll just wear my anti-guardian stuff, i have daruk and mipha's abilities and fairies AND FAST TRAVEL if anything goes wrong

YES i did it holy FUCK

oh my god! three-shotted!

oh

i just climbed a small hill and got my first look at the rolling green plains...i missed you

no, no, i gotta go get epona to make this perfect, there's a stable i can warp us both to

omg it's the very first people i ever encountered outside the great plateau again

NOOO i hit epona when i was aiming for a monster baby i'm sorry!!!

i gave her an apple and some pats to say sorry ;w;

"legend says that an ancient voice resonates inside that sword...can you hear it yet, hero?"

frankly i'm glad they finally got their timeline shit together bc even tho the games are SO far apart im LOVING these continuity nods

yeesh, only two memories left but they're both RIGHT at the castle...im scared LOL

): i wouldn't feel right taking epona any further

reasons i never have money: cannot physically stop myself from buying arrows

oh, hyrule field is just beautiful ;___;

ohh god im scared

its fine its fine they wouldnt put a memory that close to the castle and then make you go back to impa if hat wasnt POSSIBLE its gonna be ok

awww no zelda sees link as a living reminder of her own failures?? whyyy

ha i love fighting guardians for the first time in ages im like COME TO ME LET US BATTLE

im uh. still working on the timing, but

oh JESUS

my mouth fell open in horror i climbed over a wall to get to the outsideish of the castle (castle town ruins, so says my map) and

the music was already creepy but jesus CHRIST

there's no color except for that blight evil goop stuff...no life...it's awful

poor hyrule, oh god

it's a lot like finding hyrule castle town devastated in oot when you first wake up, except of course this time we've nothing to compare it to visually, only emotionally...

i see a fuckton of guardians too so its a good thing i learned not to be scared of them

ok, god, i can do it, just one memory, i know RIGHT where it is

apparently the hylian shield is in here too and i am sooo sorely tempted

i mean if i have to get that fucking close anyway...

lord i googled it and apparently this memory is super hard to get you gotta Activate some shit but they did it this way they made it so you have to go back out i know i'll be able to come back out i WILL

ah, apparently you need to fight a stalnox for the hylian shield.ok. ok. good, great, Nice, Perfect

haha im soooo scared ;_;

ok, apparently the two paths are COMPLETELY different, so One Thing At A Time

we'll start with the memory, it's more important

tbh, i can't even bring myself to go in. i gotta go around anyway to get to the starting point of this path so i will

lmao i am almost PHYSICALLY ILL with dread this is SO stressful

JESUS

the music went all scary and the map is in 3D like a beast!! which i knew but it's so Much

and i got a cutscene of the calamity screaming with the Classic ganondorf theme i'm Dying how the fuck does anyone just get this memory and LEAVE holy shit

oh my god the main theme comes in!!! jesus

even ballad of the windfish a little?!?!

oh FUCK and ofc with the lightning

haha aww there's a "leave area" button on the map i can bail whenever i guess tat's reassuring

not yet!! i'm gonna have Courage

ohhh i dipped into a doorway just to wait for revali's thing to recharge and the music changed!! so i got scared and went back outside lol

oh god the higher you go the oranger the sky turns it looks like the blood moon jesus fuck

I MADE IT INSIDE

oh god, zelda's STUDY, the rooms all have names bc ofc they do

holder of the triforce of wisdom of COURSE she had a study she's such a nerd im crying i bet she loved it here and it's totally decimated

a silent princess sprouted in her study too ;_;

HER LULLABY IS PLAYING IN HERE IM GONNA CRY

oh good there's the memory!!

ohhh this picture of how it used to be is hurting my heart it was BEAUTIFUL

holy FUCK dude

ok old man is struck from my heart forever he was such a DICK to zelda no wonder he called himself a fool

link knelt right away but god damn i would have interjected on her behalf

you can't expect a person to pray 24/7!!!!

and deny her her passions, which are obviously machines and learning!

omg she has a journal in here and i almost missed it jesus

TODAY SHE MET WITH IMPA im cryin

omg this is her finding the sheikah slate!!!

jesus, and she found the shrine of ressurection too and hoped she'd never have to use it, and Yet...

oh GOD i hit leave area and it plucked me down in the middle of castle town nope nope nope fast travel outta there

ok to impa and then last memory i can do it and then do stream

and for once not play again afterwards bc to be quite frank i could never stress myself out this bad right before bed again, FUCK

hylian shield and all the rest of it tomorrow

h o ly fuck

he DIED protecting her, or he was going to, but she stood in front of him for once and finally unlocked the power, that's how she unlocked it, for HIM

i'm WEEPING and the sword made the fi noise from SS

even the sheikah warriors ran like sheik in smash bros

im gonna cry that was so much!!! there's so much continuity

fi is in TWO GAMES like...that was such direct referencing!!!!

SHE HAS BEEN FIGHTING ALONE FOR 100 YEARS jesus CHRIST she is SEVENTEEN

ok, im gonna watch all the memories in order and then quit for the night

i just realized the ceremony scene is where she mentions embers of twilight and adrift in time - putting us on the mm/tp timeline

aaaah im sad

god and i LOVE her princess dress i wanna see it in her classic pink why is everyone in this game blue??

so like, despite me not being crazy about zelda's voice ACTRESSS and the VOICE she's using, she actually does the best ACTING out of the entire cast

high key loving this zelda who is smart but has trouble with feelings, also

holy SHIT

ok so one of the first memories i got was of zelda coming down mt lanayru

amd it was badass and i enjoyed it

but there's SO much in there once you know more context

mipha was highkey about to spill to zelda that she was in love with link

revali's distain for link

urbosa seems less stern and more caring now that i know her better

now i know what zelda was trying so hard to do

"we have to keep trying until we find the thing that unlocks your sealing power [long shot of link]"

and "i'm not a child anymore" ofc it's bc she just turned 17! like link in oot!

oh man oh man

i love so much link's expressions in these serious moments especially that very last look into zelda's eyes before he "died"

it feels a bit like, with the other stuff i was talking about, i'm getting just a hint of character

and it's kinda close to My Headcanon but even if it wasn't i just like getting to know him

warped back to the temple of time & i'm leaving it there for the night

tomorrow: The End

(and my shield)

[dreliasbongo]

The edge of fucking nowhere

it was a late night in February when the come down of this MDMA was finally allowing me to bare the full force of the large bright halogen bulb in the corner of the room nurturing a cannabis seedling called Beth, I can’t help but sit and think about the causality of time and how my day had escaped me, it was the weed you see it was laced with MDMA great big fucking crystals blew a hole in my head, I had woken up with the plan that id have a full breakfast of water and pita bread and then I would walk a mile or so to the nearby fields and accompanying lake and smoke a this devil weed “what if I can’t walk back” I said to myself waiting for a reply, nothing it was to early for the madness yet. I put on some slightly comfortable shoes and grabbed my polaroid camera, the police were fine easily led flash them some coin they will sing like god damn canaries but the dog walkers oh they wouldn’t let me go, no if they caught me with a joint in their white lake side suburb id be eaten alive for sure, at least with my camera I could at least entertain the idea that I could convince these middle class savages at I had a purpose that I had not simply come to smoke weed on their sacred land hell maybe could even convince them that i was meant to be there

“that’s it officer I’m here on commission you see by the err local council to take photos of the daffodils” yes that’s what I’d say if I was cornered.

I sat on a bench that over looked the field and was directly faced towards the early morning sun and away from the scum soaked roof tops of the classist hive, peaceful, the sky blue, the air crisp and fresh would have been complete peace but the wind was on me making it impossible for me to smoke forcing me towards distant more versatile lands. Eureka! A spark of hope and a flame that pressed play on the start of what was to be an impressive day, the madness had begun at this point, junked up voices of garbled rubbish blistering the mind “hold back you bastards” I shout, internally of course madness is contagious and these foul disgusting people deserved better, who knows maybe they were already infected. It was around 11 am when the MDMA started to take effect; the mind slips into a existential coma and you feel reality fade slightly as you let the voices recoil into their nests of calamity and then it hits you, the fucking stare. The stare commonly comes with PCP, LSD, DMT and some Indica weed stains; you find yourself sat there looking at something anything and your brain is submitted to the freelance work of the drug “I got to get home” I thought as I sat there vegetating. Could I? will I be able to get to my home nearly a mile away? Everything became hilarious suddenly ah yes the euphoria of the MDMA hits in waves horrific for those on looking, a daffodil and an old woman with a dog of some kind became my most focused problems, what if she knew? “what if she knows?” I thought, even at this early point I could have said this and have no realisation that I was speaking at all

“it’s okay” I say softly in the direction of this agent of torment and her canine companion

“I’m a photographer for the daffodil council” fuck that wasn’t right “or was it? I said to the flower, which was wilted and discoloured “poor fucker” I get on my knees and look at this thing, I mean even if there was a daffodil council who would want to look at this poor fucker, the physical manifestation of the biological miscalculation of an early bloomer.

I go home.

This room isn’t very big and the reflection of myself in its contents is exactly as it is perceived, an explosion of multiple personalities and more importantly a collection of aesthetics that accompany each of these wild boys, I put on a record and try to focus my mind on something other than the beating of my heart, I can feel it, I can feel my heart beating and my eyes pulsing “man this is some heavy stuff” I thought, an uncomfortable trip is like that of a trip in an uncomfortable motor vehicle, no position will affect the severity of the ride but you try to make some attempt to make yourself comfortable and effortlessly adjust your temperature to get off this stretch of road and into an oasis.

Home was no safe haven, “mans wickedness sleeps only with death” did I say that, perhaps not its seemed intellectual, I had an appointment with the local arts centre some inner-city youth fashion show they wanted my magazine to cover I was in no fit state but when one promises the people you must deliver or the people band like savages and make you eat your words before promptly eating your entire being or worse, your career.

I arrived at the arts centre around 1ish, the usual hassle and bustle this place had once been accustomed to was long left at shore and the vultures of culture had yet to decend, the show was a mess and most importantly barren; not a single item of clothing worth its name all except a tank top brightly displaying the union jack. A record player sat neatly centre of the room and it was at this point I decided to take acid, “why not?” I thought slipping the bitter paper on my tongue with its destination: stomach foreclosed my destination at this place became unimaginable “what delights may come from this wasteland of lesser talents” harsh words I spoke alone but non the less true.

The acid was working, good acid does that you see it hits hard and it hits fast, free falling in my mind was the sudden urge to hide from all things blue, suspicious amounts of blue one dress in particular was haunting “who would do such a thing?!” I shouted, an echo returned only slightly but enough to give me the subtle madness that whispered sweet New Orleans jazz through my mind and into this dull blue tempered room. It was the record player; to the civilised mind it was but a record player but to me it was more, the music that was not playing but so loud it echo amongst these garments, “this is the place” I whispered, this was the space between worlds, whole dimensions that meet, don’t get me wrong i was humbled; no mortals get to walk so easily in these spaces ones mind may break like a cosmic egg “better tread carefully” i said, wise words.

The outside world was bright even through my sunglasses and for some reason a foul smell filled the air, nothing called me at this point; the MDMA was still holding strong however the acid had picked up a spur and was galloping full tilt, incredible thirst washed over me as if my saliva receded directly into my lips. There was a coffee shop that I had become accustomed to in my lesser adventurous trips into town square, my whole body fell through the doorway each atom calling out a beggar in this desert, what a sight it must have been for that average joe just finishing a quick lunch so unaware of the blind consciousness that tied him to his small small world. This may have been the acid talking but I felt the cosmic grains of time in each sip of my espresso. Ignorance is bliss.

[thetoolswetook]

14/5/19

Closed curtains Cold clothes and Old routines I’ve been dancing in your traffic God And The Machine The greatest mistake of my life Was saying goodbye To you I’m cheating on myself with you I’ll be fine Acting like I’m fine All the fucking time I hate myself for thinking the things I never say But ——— it never feels the same Just paint those scars and forget it ever happened If only to make my ghost a martyr A Box Full I spent all my life Learning my lines Only to find I’m stuck with stage fright Heights of heaven / Depths of hell I had a dream that was a different life, Everything else was different But you and I the same Overthinking Day drinking Drugs Or Love Are you going to walk slow for the whole of your life? Burned to death looking for your shade I’ve been Lying Down and Crying All alone Salt drips down my ear lobe How is it fair That I must travel this life Without your infinite light And guidance? If I die to the road I just want you to know I choked on what I loved That’s more than enough

You make me tremble like a loaded gun You make me shiver in the summer sun 

Heaven, honey, home 

I’m so scared of dying With so much left unsaid

Learning how to fly Try to touch the Sky Always felt so fine Until you got blinded by the light

Icarus 

You walked in and damned me Because now I can’t live without you Now I’m just roadkill on your stretch to something better 

You give me forever And it scares me to death  ---- Passive passion

I’m not who you want

I’m not who you need

Exhausted, by it all

Being on this earth made your soul fragile - I hope you made it out

Bone Music

Lilly white

And if I have to break my heart, to share it with you, I will

When you cross my mind, I beam with pride

Her/Hurt

I bite a chunk of skin off my bottom lip,

For every word I never said, but wished I did

I only often speak about death,

Because I love my family and my friends,

And I’m scared of their lives coming to an end.

So I guess it’s just my way of not being able to forget.

A pedestal to you is a gallows to I.

You’ve given up on yourself

Teach me how to love,

Or fill me up,

With lots of drugs,

Till I am stuffed.

Hopefully that will be enough.

Every time I sing you to sleep,

My troubles subtlely dilate.

You think it’s beautiful, more or less,

But between the cracks in my voice, I’m crying for help.

Though I’m exhausted, I try not to sleep through the days,

Because I hate the thought of you seeing the look on my face, when I’m dreaming of a better place,

And painfully, miserably, I must awake.

I have spent years of my life, feeling guilty,

For being ill behind this white picket fence

But everybody bleeds differently, I’ll use that as my defence.

Whether a disease is noticeably killing you on the outside,

Or it’s just a minor fault of the chemicals inside your mind.

That’s fine. The degree of your suffering is something I cannot define. Still, I hope you’ll heal in time.

I find it hard to shoulder burdens far less heavy than some, and sit awake at night telling them “It’s okay to be numb”, when maybe in your shoes I would simply just crumble - But in the eyes of our issues it’s so important to stay humble.

No matter who you are - Where you are or what you do. We’re similarly different... That much is true.

Our key similarity also holds us apart: The dull numb ache of our beating hearts.

So, now you know; You’re never alone. And in that knowledge, I hope you find hope.

Acid test

Like Home

Hide your ghost in my shadow

Mourning Song

You were there when I was alone, I just need to let you know, every word that I had said I had truly meant. I hope you know

And now I’m as alone, as I’ve always felt

If I could look into your eyes for the rest of my life, or walk the whole entire world with your hand in mine, I would never be ready die.

How I wish I was someone else. Someone far away. -

------

Endure the throes of yesterday

Just to maintain the throne you own today

How am I to know what I have thrown away?

A victory lap, or a funeral parade?

When I fell from the apex of it all

I promised myself

Now I’m sailing on the seas that I used to drown in

Oh what a burden it is 

To be blessed with a beating heart

And bludgeoned with a purpose

You are the middle of the compass

But I have to fade away

To find myself again another day

Lured like a sailor to a siren

Man Of Sorrows

Arma Christi

I’ve been watching the binding crack

And the veins pop out your neck

Open the door to find there’s nothing left

Filthy as lard - Guilty as charged

Rain sodden, down trodden - so so sick of the rain

So so sick of the rain

On my parade

Strength in solitude

Wherever you go when you are dead,

I hope it’s somewhere that we can meet again

Tears Of A Clown

How can I find you help

When I can’t even find myself?

A little white cross

A little blue dot  

I’ve started stepping on the cracks

What happens when we fall out of love?

I really want to live

To see the look on your face

When it all falls in place

Nuclear Family

B U T T E R F L I E S

Airborne Pheromones

Sweetheart Grip

God’s Eye

As it’s reflection bounces off your face

The end of the world’s such a pretty place

-----------

Let me live forever with you

Lonely Lamb

Married to the way

You bury every day

Ophelia

It pumps in my rib cage

Cold metal

Pressed against my temple

Will I ever find peace

With myself

And the pieces of myself

That I left

Behind

All the happy fat people

Are watching me starve

Our Greatest Glory

We are defined not by how we fall, and who pushes us, but the way we wipe the dirt from our knees and plant the earth back beneath our feet

I’ll never let you know

But it Helped Me Out Of A Hole

I’m ashamed to feel it, but not to talk about it

The last time was cathartic, my friend. I only came back here to give my life meaning again

Let this be my Funeral Portrait (hidden mother)

An empty stomach

A plethora of food

A mouth wide open

No teeth to chew.

We all make mistakes - Don’t let your mistakes make you.

Every laborious lesson learned, I bare to you.

My friend is ill. Where do I begin?

As much as I love to help, I’m sorry that I have to.

Running from my life

For my life

Spite-filled and bitter

Curse me with your

Curse me with your

Curse me with your

Kiss

We cherished what the sun said

Perished with the sun set

Greek Tragedy

The Inbetween

Colour-Starved

Light of my life - How I miss you so

Melatonin

In between dreams

I Am An Island

I lie in bed at night

And dream of a better life

With my eyes wide open

Every magpie

Must take flight

Nothing left to live for

Nothing left to lose

What’s the time in Texas?

I wrote you this message

I know it’s hard to find the time at the end of every day,

Half the world away

Dear Calamity

When I grow up I want to be something to someone

Making peace with my devils

When I breathe my life down the back of your neck,

What happens next?

No Joy

Morfydd

Two nuns in love

Cognitive Dissonance

Phantom Limb

I sometimes wonder - Am I in your nightmares, or do I just wake you from them?

What once was a burden, is now a blessing

Because forgiving

Is not forgetting

The love that we once willed

The love that we watched wilt

-----

It’s always been a long plight for happiness, or fulfilment. Not sure which one. You have a long time on this earth and the best way is to take things step by step. Assess your surroundings, and move on to the next healthy step. Over time, you soon learn that the constant yearning for more is both healthy and frightening. Of course, it sees you often climbing above those around you, but when do you discover the ladder comes to an end? When the last step suddenly becomes a leap of faith?

So, do we sit on the ground, smug with the knowledge that we’re never going to fall? The gluttony of comfortable complacency? Or is that adrenaline rush we feel as we climb to the top maybe worth the time we spend in limbo, falling back down? The question really is, do we feel the risk of failure is worth the sense of fulfilment? And once you’ve turned that corner, you face the really ugly problem at hand.

Fulfilment is NOT happiness. Your ivory tower is hollow. Your money and your attention can buy you nothing. Was the journey even worth it? Do we climb this ladder through the clouds to see a wasteland? Do we then yearn for that cold, hard ground we once lay upon?

There are more questions you must ask yourself. Would I have spent a lifetime of comfort sat wondering what could have been? And whether this self-sabotage in the name of overthinking was worth it? Or will I spend a lifetime of regret, free-falling from a great height with remorse in my heart, but proud callouses on my hands? And the final question you must ask is - In the long run - Which poisonous decision will be less painful?

-----

It found me when I was young

It sits in the crease of my lung

It keeps me awake with its incessant hum and

It da da da da da

It da da da da da

---

Funeral Portraits

Pagliacci

Helped Me Out Of A Hole

Ophelia

Lonely Lamb

In Retrograde

Take Care

Our Greatest Glory

Paradise Lost

In A Birdcage

Blood In The Snow

Pandora

No Teeth

Without Wax (Open Letter)

Burning Bush

Beyond Belief

All.ways

-----

Every laborious lesson learned, I bare to you. 

So, I write this letter to you, and everyone else in fact, My hurting heart, without wax. I’ll be the black cloud looking down

Out of your depth

In over your head

The rhythm of life, ebbs and flows

Nobody knows

Another begrudged,

Lap of the sun

It’s the death and the birth. For better or worse.

Sick and tired. Sick of crying.

The side of the bed where you once slept is cold as hell

I am not defined by the illness in my mind

Still got my heart in a birdcage

Those days

Maybe weeks

Maybe months

Made me weak

Give up on me

Like everybody else

Even myself

In your eyes I saw it die. Like it or not - Paradise Lost

And now my body shudders every time I hear your name. I know not of a love like ours; We’re chained.

Was it a magnetic field, or gravity, that brought you back to me?

When you walked in the room, how was I to know,

That we were sat together, like blood in the snow?

Every angels wing is clipped and bent - The devil made me deaf

If I could look into your eyes for the rest of my life, or walk the whole entire world with your hand in mine, I would never be ready die.

Live and die in black and white

Just so you know,

I swallowed every single bow,

That tied me to you

I’m doomed. A pulse-less moon.

Floating to and from, the maelstrom of,

You. A limp harpoon.

Floating from and to, my sibling moon. Begging for guidance.

Leave your dreams alone

“A dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world.”

Pandora

Pagliacci

It’s fine

To sit and cry

Every night

If that’s what you want

Please just be my friend

I haven’t got much else

--------

It really broke my heart when I read you say

“It’s better to burn out than to fade away”.

As much as I respect you, I could never take your advice;

Though I resent it - I cherish my life.

----------

In Glorious Memory Of The Love I Lost

On the outside we’re fine,

We’re just two miserable magpies.

I remember the crack in your voice when you said “I’m leaving”. Just another person that left me behind

This Dream Of Mine  (Dramamine?)

I remember it all. The rise. The fall.

I remember it all. The climb. The crawl.

I remember the ————

It’s the death and the birth. For better or worse.

Sick and tired. Sick of crying.

I think I’ve lost my mind.  Where has it gone?

I’ve been missing things for so long

I thought you were a magpie, turns out you are a crow. One for sorrow, two for joy. Now I’m all alone.

The Last Letter

To the moment I sleep, from the second I wake, I dwell on my mistakes

But you always cared

I’ve stared at these paper walls for so long

You don’t want to make me well. You just want to know what makes me sick.

Mourning Song / Celebration Song

The side of the bed where you once slept is cold as hell

I am not defined by the illness in my mind

I lie awake at night thinking of all the days I’ve wasted

Still got my heart in a birdcage

Those days

Maybe weeks

Maybe months

Made me weak

All of the pain that we harbour

I wish we were kids in the garden

Not just skeletal targets

Spill my guts

So sick of love

So sick of

I’m

All out of rhyme

All out of rhythm

All out of time

------------- An open letter of sorts - My musings and thoughts.

I pressed your flowers in to my book, so when I miss you I know just where to look.

Whenever I see the tapestry your blessed hands have wove for me - The poetry, the misery, it all meant so so much to me.

Just give me a lobotomy, and cure these things inside of me so maybe I can then be free, to love you for eternity.

But

The side of the bed where you once slept,

Is cold as hell.

The side of the bed where you once slept,

It’s empty now.

I tried to hold your hands, but they were always pushing me,

Towards my hopes and dreams.

If, in another life,

My heart is beating fine,

And love is on my mind,

You’ll be the first in line.

[awriterstransition]

Calamity Part 3

 When I had returned back to the old apartment building, I was greeted by Mrs. Beatrice who was standing at her desk. “I told you to stay at the desk where were you yesterday when I got back?”      “Sorry, I was helping the new guy into his apartment.” I explained with a sigh as I came to the desk, and hearing this Mrs. Beatrice calmed down and took in a small breath a small smile coming to her beak. “Next time when you leave the desk can you at least put up a sign.”       “I’m sorry, but I’m leaving.” Mrs. Beatrice froze hearing this trying to process what I had just said, but when she had, she quickly hollered out her protest.     “What in the gods names are you saying?!” The penguin called out in anger as she came around the desk before standing in front of me. “You can’t leave!”      “Mrs. Beatrice, I’m already set up in my new home, I’m here to get my stuff.”       “You better bring it the fuck back.” Mrs. Beatrice countered aggressively poking me in the chest, causing a mild pain because of her strength. I simply took her hand and looked down at her, and said nothing and she looked at me sadly.        “Why are you leaving? I thought you liked it here?” I pulled the penguin into a hug and rubbed the back of her head. She was like a mother to everyone in the apartment, even to me in some manner. So I didn’t want to leave her so bothered or upset.     “I just felt it was about time that I moved out, and started to try and live on my own for a bit.”  I sighed not telling her about the black mail, or about what Lynn did, before I pulled away and started to walk upstairs.      “Will I get to see you again?” Mrs. Beatrice asked sadly, and I looked at the banister.      “I don’t know.” I replied and with that the penguin fell silent and let me continue on my way. I used the key to the apartment and walked inside, and heard nothing but silence. Whenever Lynn was deeply upset he always used his magic to go to a retreat, somewhere secret where he could go and calm down. Not even I knew where it was, but it wouldn’t have been the first time, and when I entered the bedroom I found a few boxes laying on the bed, and some duct tape to the side. I formed the boxes and soon enough started to put my things away, my books, my left over clothing, what other electronics I had and some pictures I owned. I even collected the games I personally bought to play on Lynn’s game station. By the time I had finished I had at least three boxes to move and a few pictures.      Seeing this, I pulled out my phone and called a cab, and started to carry my things down stairs and set them by the door. By the time I had gotten to my finale box others started to take notice, especially Mrs. Ring from next door who had come down stairs with Andrew in tow.      “Isen?” She called out seeing a few others surrounding me, all of them very much upset. I looked at Mrs. Ring as she came near and she saw the box’s and looked at me. “What’s going on? What are those for?”      “I’m moving out.” I simply explained, and her entire mood feel hearing this, her mouth moving trying to make words but nothing but miss matched words fell from her lips. Until she was finally able to speak up. “What? Why?”       “I just think it’s about time I move out as well.” I simply responded and even Andrew became saddened by this and came close grabbing my hand.       “Don’t go.” I hated the look on Andrew’s face, he was truly upset and in fact he had started to softly cry and pulled into my hip. Only made this moment even harder, I hated making cubs cry so when Andrew did it was hard to keep a distance.       “Did you and Lynn have a fight? I thought you liked living here with him.” Mrs. Ring questioned looking at me just trying to understand this sudden change. Mrs. Ring knew something was off, and she knew if this was going to happen she would have, if not the entire building would have heard about it at least a week prior. The fact that I was leaving so quietly and so quickly, she understood something else was being hidden from her.       “I can’t explain, I’m sorry.” Hearing this Mrs. Ring picked me up and forced me against the wall, easily holding me up with one hand.       “Don’t give me that shit, what happened? I’ll beat him senseless if I have to, you don’t have to leave you can move in with me if you have to. You don’t need to leave like this.” However by this time there was the sound of the horn, and I looked at Mrs. Ring and grabbed her hand.      “I need to go.” I simply protested and Mrs. Ring dropped me before turning away, feeling betrayed. Isen was always there for her, he was always around when she needed him, she was a friend and Isen had never told her a damn thing. She owed Isen so much, and she trusted him, but he couldn’t trust her.       “Fuck you!” Mrs. Ring snapped back in anger, as tears started coming down the side of her muzzle as she stormed away. Pulling Andrew away with her, I watched her until she disappeared from view, and with the second horn honk. I started too picked up a box and carried it down stairs and outside.       The Mincridarn taxi driver put the car into park and popped the trunk and got out, taking the keys with him. “Do you need help Isen?” The caby asked, and I nodded not really questioning the fact that the rabbit knew my name. It wouldn’t have been the first time that had happened.        “Just a few boxes.” I explained and with that the caby came up the steps, and helped me put things into the trunk, before helping me into the car. With that he started the car and looked back at me.         “Corner of Iron and Crimson road” I said before the rabbit asked, hearing this the caby turned around and with that started to drive away.       “What’s with the boxes?” The driver asked looking in the rear view mirror as they came to the first stop.        “Moving.” I responded as I started to dig through my wallet, wondering if I need to use a card or cash.          “Why are you doing that? I thought you and Lynn were mates?” The caby asked as he started drive away from the corner.  I sighed and looked at the rabbit and he saw my look and nodded in understanding.         “Sorry, I guess it’s not my business.”       “Thank you.” I sighed, leaning back in the seat enjoying the car ride, one of the few things I haven’t really experience in a while.  Though when the car was parked, the caby was kind enough to help me take my boxes inside in my apartment. I paid for the ride in cash, luckily having enough and with that I closed the door, and looked out into the empty space. One by one I unpacked my boxes and with how little I had, it took me under an hour and I was able to settle into my new living room just as work on the apartment started over head, loud banging, nail guns firing, and plenty of loud movement.       I found the remote for the TV and turned it on, turning it up I went into the kitchen and made a simple breakfast. Trying to answer calls and text messages, as my phone continually vibrated for over an hour with aggressive complaints, and worried questions. Though it only settled down after two hours. and once those hours were up I called my employer.     “Isen did you really break up with Lynn?”      “Were in a damn city how the hell did you find out? You don’t even live in my apartment.” I protested and the female on the other end gave a small laugh. Truly bothered with how quickly word spread about what had just happened.       “Facebook, and twitter, and Instagram, and snapchat, I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if the news covered it. Your relationship was a pretty big deal.” The female responded as if she was going through her phone at that very moment.  I groaned leaning back against the couch, and the female gave a small laugh.        “Do you need more hours?”       “Please, I can keep the apartment if I work full time, the expenses are workable and that’ll give me time to find a roommate or something. To help pay for them.” I explained and there were sounds of agreement.      “Alright, just come in at seven-twenty, tomorrow morning.”     “Thank you.” I sighed ended the call after I got something similar back from the employer.