#a scroll brought to me by the crows

[op3n-arms]

[Poseidon rises out of the water to step onto the beaches of Ithica. He has a gift from the sirens to give to Odysseus, but has no idea where to find him]

( @king-of-the-fish )

[Polites had idly wandered to the shore as he had many times before, sitting on a rock at the edge of the shore as he works on mending the light blue doric chiton he always wears over his tunic. He hums lightly to himself as he works, perking up lightly at the sound of someone breaking the surface and looking towards the source. His eyes widen as his deep brown gaze lands on Poseidon.]

[the20thangel]

The Pearl of the Realm

Summary: This is a one-shot connected to my series, The Dragon and The Raven. Little Princess Aemma has been born, and many celebrate her entrance into the world. Calling her the Pearl of the Realm. Looking into a glance of a House receiving the news of the birth of the little princess.

Word Count: 1.4k

Masterlist

Ravens flew across the seven kingdoms. All brought the glorious news of the Heir to the Iron Throne, Princess Rhaenyra, giving birth to a new princess—a new realm’s delight to grace the whole of Westeros and the Houses Targargeyn and Velayron. The Princess named Aemma in honor of the Crown Princess’s late mother, Good Queen Aemma. Her mother and father eagerly greeted little Aemma. 

As one raven descended towards the Riverlands, it was met by a weirwood tree teeming with crows and ravens. The Blackbird found its way into an open window, greeted by the sight of a striking lady with raven hair and piercing grey eyes. She was a Northern beauty, her tall stature and profound cheekbones accentuating her grace and beauty. Her smile, more of a permanent smirk, hinted at her fierce nature, making her the epitome of a Northern woman. 

The lady named Erena Reed, now Blackwood, was the Current Lady of House Blackwood; noticing the raven, she raised her arms to welcome the bird to land. Cooing at the creature dear to her family, she caressed its wings momentarily before taking the scroll from the raven’s legs. Erena thanked the raven before releasing it back to the outside, watching the raven circle twice before landing on the weriwood tree. Smiling, Erena walks back to her chair, asking for a maid to bring her husband, Samwell Blackwood, and to let him know that a raven had arrived from Kingslanding. 

Erena opened the letter, grinning at its contents. She chuckled as Samwell walked in tow with his younger sister, Alysanne Blackwood, and two maids carrying two babies. Samwell smiled at his wife. Walking towards her, he grasped her hands and kissed them. 

“My Love, what news does the Dragon King bring?” pondered Samwell. 

Erena smiled, greeting Alysanne before answering her husband, “There were two letters, one from King Viserys and the other from my cousin, who is part of the Golden Cloaks. Both bring marvelous news: Our Princess has safely given birth to her second child.” 

Samwell raised an eyebrow as Alysanne clapped in delight.

“Oh, what news indeed… perhaps the spare heir for the princess or the new heir for lord of tides?” Samwell pressed on as he took a seat, accepting a babe from the maid.

Erena hummed, allowing the second maid to place a twin in her arms. Smiling, Erena kissed the child’s chubby cheeks. Feeling his mother's kiss, little Benjicot opened his eyes, staring at his mother before yawning, snuggling into her embrace, and returning to sleep. 

“No, Sam, a little princess has been graced to the realm. A beauty from the accounts of her grandsire and my cousin. Kingslanding is celebrating the little pearl of the realm.” 

“Oh, another dragon princess, how wonderful. Do you think she will have a dragon?” asked Alysanne as she wiggled her finger to the babe in Samwell’s arms. 

Little Davos followed his aunt’s finger momentarily before growing bored and fussing. Samwell hushed his son, rocking him back to sleep.  Chuckling himself, Samwell thought Davos was always the fussiest twin. 

Erena shook her head, “No, according to my cousin, when the little Princess was born, she quickly bonded to Good Queen Alyssane Targaryen’s dragon, Sliverwing. The smallfolk have started praising the little Princess, claiming she will be like her grandmothers, Queens Alysanne and Aemma. Of course, not all are singing praises.” 

Samwell snorted, “Let me guess, The Green Hightower queen and her snakes of allies?” 

The Blackwoods did not love the Hightowers, for that family believed higher than others, especially those who still followed the Old gods. Blackwoods also had enough blood of the first men to follow the ways of the first men in fulfilling their pledges, and they swore loyalty to Princess Rhaenyra and her family. 

Erena laughed tauntingly, making little Benjicot jump in his sleep, “apparently, she was green like her horrid dresses, filled with envy that the little Princess is a beauty of actual Valyrian descent and bonding with a glorious dragon. Mainly because none of her four children have had a dragon as a babe.”

The Blackwood family laughed at the Green Queen’s jealousy. The childish act of being jealous of little children for being born into genetics made them bond to dragons. As the Blackwoods came down from their laughter, Alysanne remembered King Visery’s letter. 

“Good sister, was the letter from King Visery just the announcement of the birth of Princess Aemma?” 

“Ah, no, the King is also hosting a week-long celebration for Princess Aemma’s birth, causing more strife for the Hightower queen.”

“A week's worth? Are the celebrations soon?” inquired Samwell. 

Erena said, “In about two moons, rumors that the King wanted them to take place earlier, but Princess Rhaenyra expressed two moons of peace for her and her family before the realm comes to celebrate.” 

“That's perfect; two moons will allow enough time to prepare everything for the journey to Kingslanding,” explained Samwell, standing. 

The Lord of Raventree Hall kissed his Heir, Davos, and placed him back in the arms of the maid before leaving to call his council to prepare for the journey. 

Erena smiled at her husband’s excitement, glancing at Benjicot. Who knows, she thought, perhaps you both will meet the little Princess when you are older, Ben, maybe you can become a squire in her mother’s household. She smiled as she continued to rock the babe in her arms. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Princess Rhaenyra collapsed in her birthing bed, tired, and she shed happy tears at hearing the sounds of her new baby’s cries. Allowing the midwife to place her child in her arms, the Princess began to sob as she stared at her daughter’s face. Her daughter, although tanner, had the same face as her late mother. She was beautiful; her hair was white like snow and curlier than hers. She was perfect, thought Rhaenyra, glancing up to see Leanor walk nervously into the room. Both were still awkward with each other in their marriage. 

Rhaenyra placed her daughter into Laenor’s awaiting arms. As the Sea Dragon stared at the little Princess, he began to cry, still not being used to the idea of ever having children. Laenor knew he would gladly double down and give his life for his daughter…and his son. Just then, Prince Jacaerys walked in with his grandparents, who all eagerly wanted to see the Princess. Queen Alicent sniffed dryly, staying towards the back and watching the family crowding the parents from a distance. 

Viserys took the little Princess into his arms, with Rhaenys and Corlys standing at either side, shedding tears at the little beauty, who briefly opened her eyes to show the same purple eyes as her mother. Laenor raised little Jace, who was awed by his little sister, and the family was all happy. 

Unfortunately, the happy moment was broken when Alicent walked forward and glanced at the Princess. 

“Interesting how the little princess doesn't share many similarities to her father or Grandsire?” questioned Alicent, staring cooly at Rhaenyra. 

Rhaenyra glared but did not need to speak because Princess Rhaenys spoke faster. 

“Nonsense, your grace. My granddaughter has a mix of her parents' skin tone and the famous white Velayron hair and curls, unlike us Targarygens' waves or straight hair. She happens to hold the face of her late grandmother Aemma,” explained Rhaenys, turning her purple eyes coolly to Alicent’s green, who flushed at being called out. 

Alicent’s face only grew redder when Visery’s cried out. 

“My Aemma has returned to me, daughter, if I may, no more tremendous honor you would grace me if you named our little princess after your late mother.” cried Viserys as he stared at his sweet daughter. 

Rhaenyra smiled tiredly, nodding in agreement that her daughter would be named after her beloved mother, the true queen of her father. 

Laenor praised, “Princess Aemma, the pearl of the realm!” 

Viserys cried more as he exclaimed, “A true pearl; as princess of the realm, we need a week of celebrations to welcome her…”

Alicent gasped, “My love, surely that is too extreme, a week for a princess; we should not need to be excessive-”

“Aemma is worthy of that and more Alicent; she is the realm's Princess and the daughter of the Lady of Dragonstone. All must come and celebrate our newest family member!” countered Viserys. 

Alicent grew green with envy as she hurriedly curtsied and walked out of the room, not wanting to spend another minute in the room. She was upset that everyone was swooning over a bastard princess when her daughter was only given a small feast. 

Rhaenyra followed the retreating green gown before returning to her family. She giggled as Jacaerys waved at his little sister, growing annoyed that little Aemma did not wave back. Yes, little Aemma was indeed a pearl in her mother’s eyes.

[short-honey-badger]

Peppermint Tea 9

Hey guys! On to part 9! I've been doing a lot of thinking on this fic and I think it's evolved into something bigger. Let me know what you guys think!

Warnings! Violence in a dream

Masterlist

Dracule leaves two days later. You send him off with a kiss and a pouch of your peppermint tea leaves and watch him sail away until he is nothing but a speck on the horizon. You shake your head, the forlorn feeling present, but you are quick to shove it down. You had things to do, so you didn't need to be standing around wondering when you would see Dracule again. 

After the incident at the cliff, Mihawk had acted as if nothing had happened, and you were content to let the promise slide. The next two days had been spent quietly reading and getting to know one another. Sweet kisses and wandering hands had invaded each one of those moments until Dracule rose this morning and deemed that he had to go. Business to attend to once again. 

You frown thinking about those words. You want to know what he means by business. You want to know what islands he goes to and who he's met. You have poured over your books and sea stained papers for years, and every single map you have come across never has your island. 

You know the shape and length and every plant and animal that shares this island with you. You and Hank have explored every nook and cranny your home has to offer, down to the sandy beach and up to the small mountain on the western side of the tropical island. And not once have you seen it labeled or drawn on any of the scrolls that wash up on the shore. 

Dracule offered you so little knowledge about himself. However, he could go on for hours about the books he's read, reciting poetry from memory as the two of you sit by the fireplace late at night. Later, he would say that he would bring you more books, either to add to your collection or to replace the old ones. 

Maybe you can convince him to bring some maps so that you can try and find out more about your home. Did you live in any of the Blues? Or was your home in the more dangerous parts of the ocean such as the Grand line and the New World? You had no idea. 

The shaggy body of Hank barreling into you sends the melancholy thoughts from your mind as the big dog pulls your focus on him. He has his stick again, and the two of you play until both of you are exhausted and in need of a good nap. 

The two of you would wake up later than you had intended in the evening and examine the seeds and other goodies that Dracule had brought with him. You had been far too distracted with the man in question to even think about going out and planting any, but now was a good time as ever. You find some empty pots and carefully press the delicate seeds into the soil that you'd gathered from your garden. Once covered, you add enough water to properly dampen the spoil and then place each of your pots on the tall barrels that sit behind your home. You smile down at your hard word, excited for when the saplings break through the soil, though that wouldn't be for a week or two at the least. 

The rest of the day was spent harvesting your other herbs, cutting and drying out the roots and leaves for brewing and leaving the rest to replant. It's satisfying work, and soon, your kitchen is full of drying herbs that make your home smell delightful. Chores done for now: You make yourself a cup of tea from the ones that Mihawk had gifted you and settle on the couch by the fireplace with one of his books. You read until you dozed off, Hank curled up on the floor snoozing away with you. 

~~~~~~~~

“Oh boy, look who decided to grace us with their presence,” Shanks crowed, a grin stretching across his face as he raised his mug of ale up in greeting. It isn't often that Mihawk would show up in a good enough mood for a drink, especially since the warlord didn't want to fight him anymore. 

Dracule rolls his eyes, a sneer on his lips as he casts his ringed eyes over the Red-Haired Pirates and their Captain. He'd seen the Red Force by chance and had decided on a whim to investigate what they were up to. In a way, it was his job to do so, so it wasn't like it was out of his way, “Only to see what you and your lot are doing here.” 

It didn't help that the Yonko had docked on an island only a four day sail away from your home. Shanks didn't hang around the first half of the Grand Line often, so it made him antsy to know that someone so powerful, even with a single arm, was so close to his safe haven. 

“The usual, partying, exploring, having a good time. Something you should definitely do more often,” Shanks tells him, vague and annoying like always. 

Dracule keeps his expression neutral. Shanks was like a shark in the water when it came to finding out things about his once close friend. It would be catastrophic if the redhead found out about you. 

“I have my own way of enjoying my time. One that doesn't involve drinking myself into a stupor every evening,” Dracule quips, but still takes the offered drink despite his words. 

Shanks slaps him on the back, laughing jovially, and Mihawk grimaces when the unexpected contact makes his drink slosh over the edge of his mug. Dracule shrugs off the offending hand with a roll of his eyes. 

“I'm sure you do, Hawkeye. Brooding away in that castle if yours. When's the last time you even spoke to a woman?” Shanks teases and knocks back the rest of his ale then signals the bar keep for a new one with a cheeky wink. 

“A couple of days ago, if you must know,” Dracule admits without thinking about it, and immediately curses himself when Shanks gasps dramatically and crowds his space. 

“What? Tell me about her! What's she like? What's her name? She must be someone special to catch your eye, Mihawk.” 

Dracule shoves the redhead back, regret coiling hot at his mishap. He takes his time by sipping his ale and ignores the manchild whining in his ear and asking questions after question that Dracule would not be answering. His patience soon wears thin, however, and he slams his mug down on the counter with a snarl.

“It is none of your business, Shanks. I never meant to say anything to you about her,” Dracule states, tone tinged in an unfamiliar rage. He doesn't get angry very often, but the thought of playboy, beachbum, Shanks even knowing your name sets his teeth on edge. 

The other pirate captain shows some tack for once in his life and raises his hand in surrender, “Alright. I won't ask anymore,” he says, but a shit eating grin is curling his lips and he leans in close to the warlord, “Ya gotta at least tell me she's a catch though, right?” 

Mihawk huffs and pinches the bridge of his nose. Shanks just couldn't stop could he? 

“As beautiful a fresh blanket of snow, but with a smile that could melt it all away,” Dracule murmurs quietly and Shanks eyes the swordsman in a new light. He had never heard the man wax poetry about someone before. 

“Huh, you must really like her then, huh?” Shanks presses and is rewarded with the sight of Dracule dipping his head in a nod. he sips his ale, thoughts swirling about this mystery woman. 

“Well. I'm glad you've finally found someone that'll put up with your broody ass,” Shanks snickers and slaps Mihawk on the back once more with a big grin. Truly, he was happy that his friend had someone to escape to, especially when their world grew more dangerous every day. 

Mihawk is quiet for a long time, long enough that he has finished his ale and stands from his stool. He tosses enough berri on the counter to cover his drink, and then turns away from Shanks, “Thank you, Red Hair,” he begins and sends the Yonko a look over his shoulder, eyes holding The threat of a fight, “Don't make me regret telling you.” 

Shanks laughs with a shake of his head and waves at Dracule, “I'll try not to, Hawkeye,” he snickers again at the glare that receives for that, but it was definitely worth it. 

Mihawk leaves the island without bothering to learn its name and sets sail for Gloom. He filled the boring trip with thoughts of you, recalling how nicely your cool skin felt upon his heated body. How much he enjoyed listening to you read from the books he's already devoured countless times. How sweet your lips taste when you kiss him so innocently. 

Dracule is not sure when he will go back, but his hands already itch to feel your soft skin, and he is parched for the sweet peppermint tea you grow. The warlord sighs, a great expel of air from his lungs, and looks north to the calm belt, where your island stays protected at its edge. 

~~~~~~~~~~~

The screams of the men and children of your home island echo in your ears as you are dragged through the crowds of people. Your older brother holds you tight by the wrist, pulling you through the throngs of citizens. Your short legs can hardly keep up, but you power through the fatigue to keep up with your brother. 

Your island, your home is being attacked, and you are terrified. You don't understand why it's happening, only know that your oldest brother had woken you up in the middle of the night and packed your largest bag with the essentials. He had instructed you to be silent as the two of you snuck through the castle, away from your mother and father and other siblings that still slept in peace. 

You yelped when you suddenly tripped over a loose brick in the road, sending you to your knees and snow exploded around you and your brother, causing screams to erupt all around. You wince and push yourself up, desperately scrambling for your older brother. 

Gods, you wish you could remember his name. 

“Come on, princess,” He is suddenly there, swinging you up and over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, “We're almost to the port.” 

You watch from your perch as the people of your island run for the castle, panic and fear all around as the town burns and the fields are decimated by someone with an earth devil fruit. Your brother runs as fast as he can to the port, trying to shield his baby sister from the harsh realities of a treaty gone wrong and a dark secret revealed. 

The two of you make it to Port just in time to witness the biggest ship you have ever seen crash into the main docks. The pirates don't seem to care about the destruction they have caused, and you watch in horror, eyes latching onto the symbol that the barbarians proudly wear. It's a bright pink cloud, a skull with bug red lips and with a sun and a tree on opposite corners. 

The sight is broken when your brother rounds a corner, and you grunt when he slides to a sudden stop. You try to turn around and are able to catch sight of a wide brimmed hat with a massive white feather falling from the back. A giant sword rests on the man's back, the hilt oddly shaped like a cross.

“Don't look, Sunshine,” your brother orders, but you don't listen. You can't listen to him. Not when that hat and sword look so familiar. But from where? 

You are still thinking about the strange looking man when the two of you finally make it to the escape ship. Your brother loads you up, and with one last forlorn look at your dying island, he sets sail for Paradise, away from the New World, where his precious little sister would be safe. 

You wake slowly, the dream trickling away like grains of sand in an hourglass. It felt familiar, and your heart ached at the sight of the man who had saved you. With a sigh, you pull yourself up from the couch and give Hank a smile. It was time to start the day. 

@writingmysanity @kenkenmaaa @foggyturtleknightangel @browneyedhufflepuff @djbumblebee @goth-mami-writer @myradiaz

[kuro-cache]

Day 9 of Whumptloktober!

"Time + Obsession"

"Southern Water Tribe....Tidal wave...no no...Tsunami.."

Her hands moved slower than her thoughts as she tried to grasp the fragmented memories and jot them down.

"Chief Ronuk." Yangchen paused as her head popped up at the name. It was unfamiliar to her. She quickly turned to a pile of scrolls and threaded her fingers through the documents.

"Ronuk...Ronuk..." He wasn't there.

This was a new person!

She turned back to her desk and quickly tried to write faster. Her slim and fragile hands were desperate to match the pace of her mind. She had to be quick.

Chief Ronuk must have been a past Avatar companion.

What did he want with her? What was he trying to say?

"City..underwater..."

This must of been a very long time ago. The South was a frozen tundra, not an oasis. Something was amiss.

Her miscellaneous scribbling drowned out the noise of a person entering the room. He crossed the space slowly, but with confident purpose. His shoes delicately shuffled the mess of papers aside as he carved a path to her.

"Something's there..." She muttered incoherently. "In the water...the ice?"

"Yang." He spoke softly, with a firm hand on her arm.

She abruptly stopped writing and turned to look up at his face like his presence broke her free of a trance.

Frozen in silence, she examined him closely as if trying to deduce if he too was a character from these tales.

Her eyes softly traced the deep lines framing his mouth, the crows feet on the ends of his kind, blues eyes. The salt and pepper hair that fell to his shoulders.

Kavik...

She knew him.

She ...loved him.

"Let us turn in for the night..." He finished, trying to be gentle with her.

"No!" She yelled and pushed him away. "I have to—Keep writing..I'm the only one who can!"

Kavik closed his eyes for a moment, pulling on the decades long reserve of patience he held for his life-long companion. Yangchen's condition only got worse with age, to the point where she now spent almost her entire day, sitting in the temple library communing with past Avatars and their companions.

They tugged on her subconscious so much, that she spent more time as a bridge for them to recount their lives, than cherishing the fleeting years of her own.

She convinced herself that it was her duty to document their legacies, as much as she could find. To preserve this knowledge for the Avatar's that will succeed her.

This desire to tell their stories consumed her. He didn't have the heart to tell her the majority of what she wrote down was illegible.

"I'm the only one who can hear them..." Yangchen replied and when she looked up at him, a part of his heart broke at the fading pigment in her irises. Like she was in a perpetual Avatar state.

They were older now...much older. There wasn't anything else their bodies could handle that was outside of a well deserved retirement. There wasn't anything else Yangchen could give to the world as she has already solidified herself as an Avatar that will influence generations to come. She didn’t need to be the keeper of time.

Yangchen was only a few years shy of 90 years old, and Kavik was the same. He was determined to hold on to her. His Avatar Yangchen, not the others that warred over her mind. He feared that if he did not continue to remind her of who she was. She'd truly be lost forever. He was the only one who could do this for her.

"Hear me Yangchen..." He cautiously took her small, slender hand and removed the quill from her fingers. He drew her up to his lips and softly kissed the skin that had thinned and wrinkled with age.

He brought the back of her hand to the middle of his forehead and pressed it there, directly to his third eye as he bowed his head to her.

She watched him do this in silent curiosity as if partly wondering why he showed such affection but also trying to remember she was the sole proprietor of his love.

There was an intuitive pull she felt towards him. An unmistakable certainty that she was safe with him.

"Come lie down with me...and I will tell you a story..."

[ruhorih4ra]

Hi! (⁠´⁠ε⁠｀⁠ ⁠) Heheh maybe this story won't end with 20 chapts... The risk I took was calculated, but man, am I bad at math?

This chap has a cliffhanger but I actually have the next part ready so is safe to wait until next monday!

Get out of my way! 🌈

And that’s how you’ve been using the Newspaper club for your own benefit. The routine was pretty simple but exhausting, every day you woke up as early as possible to search for any information that could be used against the Little D.’s. Sometimes you would find something, you would follow the clue until a dead end was met. Those days weren’t completely useless, at least you had learned a few tricks. Books, old scrolls and even antique boards surrounded you day and night. You were completely absorbed and stupidly oblivious to the passage of time and curious eyes.

To begin with, it was difficult to differentiate mornings, afternoons and nights, but now? All days were blurred into something unspecific, your days divided into useful information and effective weapons or useless information and the ever present possibility of a tragic ending.

The Little D.’s annoyed you all the time, their voices always trying to rile you up. Always trying to seduce you to succumb to lust and sloth and ultimately losing the battle. However, the constant chatter and loud work at the club was your shield, so strong and efficient that you had been reduced to a human hermit who barely speaks and lives on caffeine and Beelzebub’s snacks.

“Mc, are you listening?” Mephistopheles repeated for the third time. “Yes. I heard you loud and clear. Would you please be kind enough to stop yelling in my ear?” You heard distant laughter. The demons had grown fond of your presence and the idle bickering between you and the former president of the club. “I would if you would consider listening to me!”

“Well, today’s your lucky day! What can I do for you?” Immediately after you finished talking, an elegantly decorated yet formal folder landed on your already messy desk. “What is this?”

Mephistopheles cleared his throat. He inspected his cane with rehearsed interest as he spoke. “We need to talk. A serious talk about… the mess you had brought upon this club and how you’re going to fix it.” You were silent for a few minutes, a foolish “Eh?” was your only response.

“Follow me please.” Upon entering Mephisto’s office and leaving the publicity of the previous room you felt more at ease to talk. The demon took the large black curtain that covers a gigantic window that overlooks the RAD patio and removed it with a theatrical movement. “Look!”

Nothing. You couldn’t see a single thing, but that wasn’t rare in the Devildom where the sun never comes out. “Yes, the sky is as black as ever, beautiful. So?” You questioned. Mephisto’s eyes widened purposefully, his head bowed to the side, urging you to take a closer look. You narrowed your eyes, walking closer too, slowly noticing that what you previously thought was the sky was far from being it.

Those were… feathers. A little eye opened, followed by another, and then dozens. Crows. All pushing each other uncomfortably together and pressing themselves to the window. “What the actual hell?” You looked at Mephisto in horror. “Why?”

He crossed his arms, looking the scene as if he were already used to it. “You know whose familiars are these, don’t you?”

“I know but why would he do this?” You couldn’t stop looking at the poor horde. “He’s not doing it on purpose, at least that’s what I think. They are simply reacting to Mammon’s emotions. It’s very disturbing if you ask me.”

Mephisto had seen Mammon’s downfall. First, he acted surprisingly mature, showing control and calm. But the more days passed, the more absorbed you became in who knows what, the more you distanced yourself from them, the less the demon was able to keep it together. Constantly seeking you and more often than not facing a refusal, even Mephisto felt bad for the avatar of greed.

He sat in a little sofa and you sat in front of him, still unable to tear your eyes away from the window. That was until you noticed something was remarkably different from all the furniture in the room. The seat you had taken were pink with floral embroidery. “I didn’t remember your office to be this… romantic?” Mephisto was serving a cup of tea, and even though you had a coffee just some minutes ago, you didn’t complain. It must be something nobles do, the need to drink tea while discussing important things. “You see, Mc, this furniture was a gift from Asmodeus. He told me that you would get sick if everything was plain and gray.”

You surveyed the room, quickly noticing that Mephisto’s office had been taken over by pastel colors, from the huge pink wooden clock to the very striking orange coat rack. Your eyes fell on the set of expensive porcelain. “This tea and cake are from Barbatos. The new tiny fridge outside is from Beelzebub, although you only eat the energy bars, everyone else here is happy to help you with the rest.” You looked around, tons of cushions were piled up in different places. “Belphegor.” Mephisto answered with a sigh that you were sure was full of resignation. “Except the cat shaped ones, those are Satan’s.”

You were confused, but Mephistopheles continued, ignoring the growing frown on your forehead. “All of the members of our club are pretty happy, comfortable and well fed thanks to you.”

“I haven’t done anything special. I’m just here.” You said. “That’s enough for the brothers.” Mephisto handed you a cup of tea, he was happy, too much for your liking. “Lucifer gave us twice the budget from last month too.”

“Why? He used to complain about this club quite often.” The smell of the beverage in your hands reached your nose, it was your favorite. You looked at it as if it could explain things better than the demon who exuded smugness. “He gave us the paper you’ve been asking for, even if it’s more expensive, now the newspaper looks better.”

“I haven’t asked for any particular type of paper.” You said and Mephisto nodded enthusiastically. “No?” “I would remember.” You narrowed your eyes while Mephistopheles smelled his tea, closing his eyes and sipping from the tiny cup. “Does it really matter?” The door to Mephisto’s office opened and a demon rushed over to give him a piece of paper, leaving the room as fast as he entered. He read it in no more than a minute, if the smile was any indication, he was satisfied. “Levi agreed to review video games for us. He used to say he was too busy to take another responsibility, but he’ll do it if it helps you.”

“Why would it help me?” you put the cup on the little table with no delicacy, surprisingly it didn’t break. “Honestly? No clue, but he was desperate to help you and the newspaper needed a new column.” Mephistopheles shrugged, not even batting an eye at your outburst of anger.

Just how busy have you been to not notice their attempts to make amends. Your eyes traveled to the curtain again, if you sharpen your ears you can even hear the low chirps of the crows outside. When was the last time that you heard about the brothers? When was the last time you hang out together? You recalled Belphegor’s sad eyes in that brief dream. All your interactions with them had been defined by its short duration and superficial treatment. Perhaps your relationship with them was worse than you had thought, and all this obsession with the Little D.’s was the root of the problem.

Maybe you should follow Barbatos’s advice and confess.

“The new exchange student has been busy too. She’s always with one of the brothers.” Mephisto tried to address the topic downplaying it. “Naturally.” You answered. It is logical, she’s still the NEW exchange student, a human surrounded by demons. A witch, you remembered Mammon’s words. He had called her a witch, but you could remember that there was affection in those words.

“Last time I saw her she was dancing in The Fall with Lucifer. They looked good together.” If looks could kill, Mephistopheles would be drowning in that fancy tea. He was provoking you on purpose.

“Mephistopheles. What do you want?” you spited.

You could feel the strings of smoke tightening your soul, making his way through your nostrils, filling your lungs and taking hold of your throat. How can they be so worried about you if they keep flying around her like flies? You were trying to fight the Little D.’s stupid curse while they enjoy their time together? So while you had been working your ass off to go back to them as soon as possible, they just decided to replace you again.

You took the cup in your hands, your grip tightening around it. “I heard Lord Diavolo wanted her to move into the castle.” Mephisto looked at you intently, he was sure your aura was growing dark around you. “Rumors said he begged.” Mephistopheles found incredibly difficult to say those words, it was risible to think that Lord Diavolo would even think of doing that for a mere human, but there was something mesmerizing about the way your eyes grew cold.

“Liars. All of them.” What if you’ve been busy? Couldn’t they wait as they said they would? “I would find it impossible if not for the fact that she forged a pact with Satan.” You crushed the cup with your hands. You snapped out of the trance when you heard a loud, high-pitched laugh right next to your ear. A Little D. with orange eyes vanished in front of you and was replaced by the worried expression of Mephistopheles.

“What exactly do you think you are doing?! That’s hot!” He hurried to your side, quickly guiding you to the bathroom attached to the office. “Are you okay?! How much heat can a human endure?” He asked, covering your hands with a wet cloth. “She made a pact with Satan?!”

“What am I doing?? What are YOU doing?!” You didn’t give Mephisto a chance to answer your previous question, removing your hands from his and tossing the cloth at him. “Why are you telling me all of this!?”

“Because I don’t know what’s happening!” He tried to keep his voice low but giving the perfect amount of emphasis. “It is none of your business!” You replied, low voice too, suddenly remembering where you were. “It is if it affects Lord Diavolo!” Mephisto handed you the cloth again, his eyes never leaving yours. “But he hasn’t asked for your help, has he?”

Mephistopheles felt a familiar ache that was too close to that certain wound he had buried deep inside his soul. As if he had winced you retreated, guilt present in the way you crossed your arms and averted his gaze.

Mephisto left the room with nothing more than a small snarl. You sat on the toilet, too afraid to go out and discover that the one demon that had offered you help had changed his mind. You heard the door open with zero delicacy, and Mephistopheles appeared holding a small box that seemed to be a first aid kit. He guided you to sit where you were before, on that pink and flashy couch. He then took an ointment you had never seen before and applied it with so much softness that you barely felt it. “This is not from the human world.” You noticed, feeling relief all too quickly.

“No. I asked the angel for it, in case that something like this would happen. You didn’t think that I would not be prepared for everything, right?” He said, managing to sound both offended and somehow unbothered. “Thank you, Mephisto.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you so angry. You’re right, Diav- I mean, Lord Diavolo hasn’t asked me for help.” He continued to tend your hands. “I’m not doing this just for him.” His confession surprised you, to be honest he looked a little surprised too, as if he had discovered something. A small blush crept to his face, but it dissolved quickly enough for you to ponder if it had been real.

“I don’t know what is troubling you or why you keep reading those… twisted things,” he looked at your hands, maybe reproaching himself. “but I wanted to make sure.”

“Make sure of what?” you murmured. “I know what is like to be replaced, Mc, and I can assure you, they could never replace you.” The violet hair of Mephisto glowed in the white light of the hanging lamp above you. The nobleman shook his head fervently. “I know what you’re feeling. Someone who comes out of nowhere and takes what was supposed to be yours. She seems to be perfect in everything, nothing you do is enough compared to her” You saw a spark of indignation in those green eyes, a spark that wanted to start a fire.

“I know it hurts when you think he’s better than you at something you were specifically created for.” You were at a loss for words, or rather, the strength of Mephisto’s feelings kept stealing them. The demon walked through the room aimlessly, speaking vigorously to the inanimate objects around. “Everything happens very fast and, when you least expect it, he has taken your place. The worst is that after some time, it suits him so perfectly that you begin to wonder if you ever had the right to call it yours.” Mephisto stopped and breathed again.

Although you knew Mephisto was speaking of his own painful heartbreak, you couldn’t help but imagine that fateful scenario. Sc slow dancing with Lucifer, her head resting on his shoulder and on his face, the soft smile he reserved just for you. Mammon hugging her and showing her off as he used to do with you. Sc sleeping between Beel and Belphie, feeling the warmth of their arms and calmly listening to the lullaby of their heartbeats. You could imagine Asmo and Sc, modeling for each other ridiculous outfits they had no intention of buying. Sc lying in Satan’s chest, reading the demon’s favorite book, hearing his charming laugh in her ear and Levi, you could hear him call her “my Henry.” As if you never existed to begin with.

A single tear slid down your face. When he met your eyes, his eyes widened, although it was almost imperceptible. He cleared his throat and fixed his hair, trying to act calmer than he felt. “But please, human. You’re acting like a fool. I know you can’t see their pitiful eyes since you keep your head buried in those books, but you only need one look to see how miserable they are.”

“All these things around us! All these are proof of their devotion to you, don’t you agree?” Mephisto insisted but your attention was in his eyes, how much pain was underneath? It seemed that you hadn’t contemplated them before, and now you couldn’t take your eyes off them.

Because maybe he couldn’t help but made foolish scenarios too. Perhaps he used to picture himself at Diavolo’s side, not as the vice president of the newspaper club but as the vice president of the student council. Surely, he had expected Diavolo to choose, and the prince did choose.

“Whatever, I shouldn’t be saying this. I,” He looked around the office, spoting the elegant folder from earlier. His hands were shaking, although you had to be keen to notice it. “I wanted to ask your help to get Lord Diavolo’s approval for this proposal.” He handed you the folder, eager to change the topic.

“He didn’t replace you.” You said, taking it but completely ignoring its contents.

“What? No I,” He began speaking but perhaps something in the way you looked at him showed him how useless was to keep the act. He had been too obvious letting his heart speak, wearing it on his sleeve. “You may be right. I didn’t have a place to begin with.” Mephistopheles said “You had and still have a place.”

“Yes, I’m Mephistopheles, the vice president of the newspaper club.” He smiled, or at least his mouth tried to. “Mephistopheles, heart isn’t an ownership.” You took one of the arms of the demon, moving closer to him. “Hearts are big enough to allow many inside. For example, you have a special place in mine.”

Mephistopheles would have laugh of your naive words if he hadn’t seen an open door in your eyes. He focused in the white glint that escaped from your eyes, he moved closer, ignoring the tension in your body and the growing nervousness. Your soul was like a precious gem, so white, beautiful and stained… a misty smoke that clouded it. “Mephisto?” You placed a hand on his chest, his nose was already touching yours but his eyes were glued to your pupils.

Mephisto could finally breath in peace, knowing exactly what was happening and why everyone was tense. Your soul was in the middle of a war, that much was clear.

However, in his opinion the brothers were exaggerating, after all you were winning. “How competent, human.” He smiled. “You’re a tough one.” He laughed, his minty breath emphasizing his closeness.

The sudden sound of someone slamming the door open, took your attention away. Neither Mephisto or you moved, instead your heads turned to see the person behind the action. Mephisto was ready to scold them until a pair of well known golden eyes looked at him.

“Am I interrupting something?” Lord Diavolo’s voice had an unsual severity as his eyes alternated between Mephisto and you.

Chapt 20?

Taglist: @yuumaofc @asmolover1234 @gallantys @prefesro @urminebutidontwantyou @fiveofspades @exrellian @kaiserkisser @cutestpatoootie @fandumshippr @frenchmess23yo

[daaydreamy]

on my knees begging for the absolute filthiest most obscene blurb about rimming sub!h for the very first time and how the idea gets brought up 🥺🙏🏻🧎🏻‍♂️ sorry for being weird, love your work ❤️

trembling still

summary: harry and y/n try something new. 

warnings: coarse language, smut, rimming (m receiving)

pairing: harry styles x fem!reader

•••

“Oh f-fuck, yeah, please.” Harry sighed out dreamily, burying his face into the pillow beneath him to hopefully muffle his loud whines and moans, arching his back and pressing himself against Y/N’s face even more, before he even realized that was what he was even doing, quickly curving his back upwards once more as his cheeks grew hot in embarrassment. He glanced over his shoulder for a second to look at Y/N, and he felt one of her hands slide up the back of his thigh all the way up to his back, sliding it down again slowly whilst pressing down, as if she was encouraging him to arch his back. She wanted to see how much he was enjoying it since his face was facing away from her.

“Just relax…” She chuckled softly after pulling away, looking over at where he had squished his face into a pillow, “Does it feel good?” She asked as she started mouthing at the soft flesh of his ass, gently biting to see what reaction that would elicit from his body and a subtle way to make him answer. 

“So good.” Harry replied airily, letting his grip on the pillow loosen, his back now arched downwards beautifully and Y/N hummed in satisfaction.

“You want me to eat you out?” Y/N asked as she put her phone down on her lap, where she had been scrolling on Pinterest for quite a while. Y/N had always been open to trying new things with Harry, sexual or not, and she wasn’t exactly sure why he was still so nervous despite her telling him exactly that many, many times. She liked trying new things with him, practically loved it.

“...Yeah?” Harry replied tentatively, cheeks still insanely hot and insanely pink. He just wanted to try it since he saw a porn video about it a little while ago when Y/N was on a business trip for a week, which ended with a hand over his mouth, eyes squeezed shut tightly, his toes curled deliciously, and his phone long forgotten beside him because he got so lost in his thoughts and filthy fantasy of Y/N eating him out until he was all sensitive, shivering and squirming.

“Then relax, let me make you feel good.”

a/n: super not weird at all, i hope this was okay!! loved this concept and i’m so glad you enjoy my work!! i actually have a longer version of this in my google docs that i never got the motivation to finish... should i finish it? but thank you for reading, feedback is always appreciated! mwah mwah 💋

🏷: @crow-i-guess, @planetflos, @harrycanyonmoonn, @bxtchboy69, @sweet-as-lilacs, @lyricalniall, @venusincleo (couldn’t tag you!), @bxbun111, @tenaciousperfectionunknown, @emispleased, @goldenhrry, @cinnamongirlrry, @manifestrry, @sadqn1, @sad1esgf, @taylorsreputationsversion , @violetsandfluff, @purplefishingline, @a-strange-familiar, @moonlightbea-33 (couldn’t tag you!), @famedrs-blog, @coochiesteak, @blahblahblah-888 (couldn’t tag you!), @milesisntdonewritingyet, @harrysgoth, @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite, @cinnamonlola, @youcan-nolonger-run, @velvetrylie, @vamprry, @ellie-loveshs, @conssurnorthli

[olderthannetfic]

https://www.tumblr.com/olderthannetfic/749771671880204288/httpswwwtumblrcomolderthannetfic749333039047

I'll say up front that I tuned out completely and skipped to the comments about as soon as Birth of a Nation/other state-sanctioned propaganda was brought up (and then my eyes bugged out of my head at how atrociously long-winded the ask was given how much scrolling I had to do), but it's always really funny to me when people make that sort of argument. If you can't tell the difference between outright propaganda designed specifically to have the sort of effect it did (and BotN was such a successful propaganda piece BECAUSE of how deeply entrenched white supremacy is within US society; still is, but it was especially true at the time the movie was released, with the Jim Crow era still in full swing) and niche porn of 'unsavory' kinks, I'm not sure anyone can help you.

You wanna talk about art the Nazis used in their propaganda? Why don't you study a little bit on art the Nazis burned. See which side of that fence you think porn generally fell on!

--

[genevawrenn]

I am just going to put this at the top : this post is going to be a long vent about missing Technoblade, please scroll on if you do not wish to read.

We are coming up on two years without him.

We are also coming up on three years since I discovered his content.

I thought I was at the point I could watch one of his videos tonight, as I used to often do when I am doing tasks or writing he was always the background noise I used. I remember calling into work when he streamed for the sheer sake of enjoying them while they happened the few times I caught them before...well. I think you know. He was the reason my passion for writing came back to life and I believed I could actually follow my lifelong dream of eventually publishing a story.

But I suppose the part I always forget about grief is the absence of the unique spirit that person brought to your life. I found his content and engaged with it instantly, developing one of the longest running fixations I have had in a good while. The sheer excitement I'd have getting the notification he went live for one of his rare streams.

I don't think it truly sunk in when he announced his diagnosis. I remember discussing it with the irl friend who got me into watching him and both of us laughed, saying he's strong enough to fight off anything.

A few months pass with his rare posts and there was always this tiny little bit of intuition I had where he never told us what severity of cancer it was. Like he was a very private guy, yes, but this seemed extra...odd.

Then I remember the way my heart sunk when 'so long nerds' popped into my notification bar. The dashing of my heart against the floor texting people as I tearfully listened to Technodad tell us the words his son Alex wished for us to hear.

Its been a long two years. Its been great ones, tbh. I found a new passion with QSMP and Hermitcraft after the finishing of DSMP [tho c!Techno will forever remain close to my heart]. I kept writing, with over half a million words in published fics on ao3 and several WIP including 3 original novels.

But the only one I ever wanted to thank for helping me find my creativity again I can't, and I never will be able to.

I miss Technoblade.

I will never stop missing him.

I wish he could have laughed with his friends for many years yet, being silently proud of their accomplishments while he messed with people on the QSMP. I wish he could have had another MCC with friends.

I wish his unique soul wasn't taken from us so soon, as we weren't done following our hero yet.

But the only thing I can do now is continue to speak his tales. The first book I properly publish, the gratitude page is going to be addressed to him. I will continue to tell others about his accomplishments and tell them to go watch his content on his Youtube channel [get him to 17 million!]! Buy some of his merch [when it comes back in stock]! Support his family & friends!

Though he would call us nerds for crying, I think its beautiful how many lives he touched and how many thousands mourned his passing. He was a light all corners of the MCYT sphere and beyond saw and respected, and not too many creators can claim such an honour.

I'll always be a Voice at my core. Even if I spend my time these days as a crow, a huevito, a ferret, a tubling, a doozer and many more, my heart will forever belong to Technoblade.

Please keep creating art and writing in his name. I love scrolling the fanart tags and adore every piece I come across with my favourite piglin in them. Please, please, please keep saying his name. Sing his legends. Make references, continue the jokes, hang out in one of his friends chats and support the people he loved.

Support those who are still here, even if your heart hurts.

It's only painful because we all loved him so much, which is a beautiful type of sorrow.

[its-time-to-write]

i hold it like a grudge - ch. 3

I don’t know why I’m awake and still editing 😭 I have to go to work tomorrow morning. It’s not even the weekend yet and I’m acting like it is but it’s ok, right? Right.

table of contents watch me fall

Five hours later, Keeley is scrolling through pictures of you and Jamie on your phone. 

“Oh my god, you’re both so tiny!” she crows. She can hold her alcohol much better than you would have expected, but by this point, she’s definitely far gone.

You can’t bring yourself to have more than two drinks. Everything leaves behind an acrid taste, so you switched to water a while ago. That means you’re completely fucking sober as Keeley swipes through your entire friendship with Jamie.

“Wow, you two were like, attached at the hip,” she comments. “Is this your mums?”

It’s a picture of two women about the same age, looking at the camera with strained smiles. You remember that day. Your mum had slipped you and Jamie money to get ice cream with the condition that you’d eat it at the shop and not bring it home. She’d looked right into your eyes as she said it, conveying a message beyond her words. You were maybe ten years old and not sure exactly what she meant, but you nodded seriously and ran to drag Jamie down the street.

You and Jamie had come back, hours later with ice cream drips on your shirts, none the wiser to what had transpired in your absence.

“I remember that picture,” you say aloud. “Jamie’s dad took it, the piece of shit. He dropped ‘round and was a happy drunk until he wasn’t. Mum threatened to call the police, but Georgie still came away with a black eye. They thought me and Jaim didn’t know, but,” you shrug. “You know how it is when you’re ten. You know fucking everything.”

Keeley nods, and you take it as an invitation to keep talking. “We used to share a brain, basically. Hardly ever seen without each other. You know we didn’t even date till I was in secondary? Mum was so surprised we weren’t already sneaking around behind her back. Guess she and Georgie used to talk about it a lot. Jamie was home four hours after she died. Not even sure how, really, he was out of town. I asked him about it once and he wouldn’t tell me, the little shit. That night… I couldn’t sleep. It was awful. I sneaked out of my room and down the hall to her bed, because it still smelled like her, you know? I had this dream that she was still there with me and when I woke up it felt like I had lost her all over again. I had to remember that she wasn’t just downstairs making breakfast.”

You pause. It’s all coming out so matter-of-factly, like it happened to someone else.

“Anyway, I just laid there and cried. The first tear had barely fallen when Jamie just came in and got in bed next to me. I think he had just woken up, but he… he held me so fucking tight and whispered, ‘I felt you crying. I can be here as long as you want,’ and then we just stayed there. We were there for fucking…hours. He just let me cry and didn’t say anything, just kissed the tears off my face and handed me tissues. The next couple days he moved all my things from the house to a room at Georgie’s. She had this like, office thing upstairs that was basically a closet, but it was the same layout for mine and theirs so it was familiar if that makes sense? Like they were mirrored, so her room was the same as mum’s and Jamie’s was the same as mine, then a third little bedroom that had room for a bed and that’s pretty much it. Jamie offered his room, but I didn’t want it. It felt wrong, somehow. And I couldn’t bring myself to get out of bed to do any of it but he did everything. I think Georgie probably helped, but when it was all done, he brought me over and he’d decorated it just how I would’ve. Except he made a copy of his Roy Kent poster and stuck it on my wall, right next to one of his dumb headshots he liked so much. He slept in that little bed with me every night until he went back. We were nineteen at the time, right before he got signed for City. We loved that team. Used to watch it every time it was on the telly, and he always told me he’d play for them some day and take me to every match, even the away games.”

You trail off. You’ve run out of steam, back in the present reality. This is the first time you’ve allowed yourself to look back fondly, to wonder how Georgie and Simon are.

Meanwhile, Keeley’s staring at you, openmouthed.

“Shit, babe,” she says.

“Shit,” you agree.

“How the fuck did he know you were crying?”

You wiggle your head back and forth. “Like I said, he said he felt it. I mean… sounds strange, but we used to be able to feel when things were wrong with each other. Even if we were in different places. We used to text and be like, ‘oi, you good?’ and every time, the answer was no. It’s like a nauseous feeling, you know?”

“No,” Keeley shakes her head. “I don’t fucking know.”

“Right,” you say, “I’m done being sober. Give me the fucking bottle.”

Keeley cheers and passes it your way. You take a swig and make a face. It still tastes like shit, but it’s better than trying to figure out the implications of Keeley’s five little words.

No. I don’t fucking know.

—

The next week, you’re slipping charms on a necklace for someone name Ashley, part of a set for a wedding party. You’ve had a steady stream of customers this weekend, many tourists from out of town passing through on their way to the heart of London. You check instagram in between sales and see that your location is getting tagged in stories and public posts, and you smile. 

The day passes by smoothly and by the time you lock up, it’s drizzling ever so slightly. You grin and step out the door, turning the lock then back around to head up the street. You run smack into someone and say, “Shit, sorry,” before realizing it’s fucking Jamie. You scoff and go to step around him but he puts himself in your path.

“I’m going back to Manchester,” he tells you without preamble.

“Gaffer sent me back. Thought you might want to know.”

“Okay,” you reply lightly, as if to a stranger, then duck past him again. You hurry away and risk a glance back. He’s still standing in the rain by your store, watching you walk away.

table of contents

[mstarcreates]

A/N: make sure you scroll all the way to the bottom for a special treat! Happy Festival of the Lost Guardians!

***********************

Special: Festival of the Lost

Cayde looked around as he waited by the ramen bar, tapping his finger against the handle of his holstered weapon. He sighed a little and leaned back against the bar. Night had already fallen over the Tower and there were a ton of Guardians filtering through the place, all of them donning various face masks.

Many were of himself, which he found particularly amusing. But there were others too; the Witness, Riven, Master Rahool and even the Colonel. By far his favorite was the one he currently had stowed in his back pocket.

The Tower has also been fully decorated for the event, there were lanterns strewn across every conceivable corner, candles littered about burning soft flames and bright orange flowers that pulsed when he got near them. It was truly a sight. However, the guy he’d planned to share it with was nowhere to be seen and he was starting to get a little antsy.

He was sure Crow was just running a bit behind, taking Cayde’s place as Hunter Vanguard hadn’t exactly been a cakewalk. Still, it wasn’t like Crow to be late without letting him know.

What if something happened? The thought slithered in and it was enough to get Cayde pacing, his hands going from his waist to being crossed and then back to his waist again. Like he wasn’t sure what to do with them.

Then he heard familiar footsteps. He’d know those boots from anywhere. Cayde turned quickly toward the source of the sound, his cardiac drive all but stopping in his chest. Crow was surrounded by several Guardians—mostly Hunters—all vying for an autograph on their masks. True to his nature, Crow smiled and signed as many as he could.

Cayde’s chest immediately ached at the sight. Here was this guy who used to be the universe’s biggest jerk; a Prince, a murderer, and an outcast now having finally come into his own. He was confident, sure of himself and the path he’d chosen, wearing his Hunter Vanguard cloak with pride. Man, had he earned it, Cayde smiled at the thought.

Something about seeing Crow like this, well it just never got old. Finally, Crow managed to wiggle away from the gaggle of Hunters, to catch up with him.

“What are you grinning about?” Crow asked him in lieu of a greeting.

“You,” Cayde answered without any hesitation.

“Me?”

“Yeah, look at you. Signing autographs and mingling with Guardians. Just got me thinking how funny fate is sometimes.”

“Sure, fate’s a riot. I’ll put that in an inspirational postcard.”

“It brought us together didn’t it?”

“I suppose there’s that one very specific thing.”

“Oh!” Cayde snapped his fingers. “I know, you could add it to the obnoxious collection of sticky notes you’ve got. Seriously, who the hell puts them on the screen?”

“You’re just hurt because I took down the one you stuck on.” Crow chuckled softly as he settled in next to Cayde.

“It was art!”

“It was a drawing of me dressed as a chili pepper.”

“As inspiration for this evening,” Cayde gestured outwardly to indicate that he meant the festivities currently happening.

Crow shook his head, a small laugh leaving him. “I’m not sure I’ll ever understand you, Cayde.”

“Probably best to stop while you’re ahead and just…run with it.” Cayde grinned wide again, finally taking the mask he’d purchased from Eva out of his pocket. He quickly pulled it on.

“Oh not you too,” Crow groaned instantly at the sight of his own face. Well, Uldren Sov’s face to be more exact. “Do you have any idea how many Guardians have been popping up to taunt me with that thing? That's why I was late.”

Cayde ignored him and proceeded to do his best impression of Uldren. “Oh look at me! I’m Uldren Sov, the broody Awoken Prince! I like to listen to sad music and write lengthy poems in the dark about how no one understands me.”

“Alright, you want to go there? We’ll go there.” Crow pulled a mask from his own inventory and donned it quickly. Soon Cayde was staring back at himself. He chuckled a little at that. “I’m Cayde-6, I never take anything seriously, including my own death. I like to play pranks on everyone, especially my Hunter Vanguard boyfriend—despite the fact that he outranks me.”

Cayde put a hand to his chest, pretending to be offended. “Pulling the Vanguard title card on me already, Crow? And here I thought we had somethin’ special.”

“Maybe you should have thought of that before teasing me.”

“Alright, well I’ve had just about enough of this,”Cayde pulled his mask off and then grabbed Crow by the front of his cloak, tugging him closer. Then he took Crow’s mask by the edge and pushed it upwards to reveal his face. “I know exactly how to shut you up.”

Crow quirked a playful eyebrow, but Cayde could see a flush already starting to form. “You’re going to kiss me? Out here in the bazaar? Bold.”

“Bold is my middle name.” Then he leaned up and pressed his lips against Crow’s.

[op3n-arms]

(Hello! I’m a Hephaestus role player and now I’m interested how polites and Hephaestus interact)

As you get off the ship and get back to Ithaca finally you feel a hand on your shoulder and as you look back you see a tall man dressed in a cloak with a hood covering his face and a leg brace “hello sir.”

(I’m sorry i didn’t know how to start it up but there you go)

-@god-of-smithing-and-cozy-vibes

<< you're all good! i've been wanting an excuse to use my alive!Polites au a bit more either way :3 >>

[He pauses slightly when he feels the hand on his shoulder, keeping one hand on the side of the ship for balance as he looks up at the man. His legs tremble slightly underneath him, they always had since the cyclops encounter, but he still stands steady as he meets the man's gaze.] "Hello..?"

[hcdragonwrites]

Apple Blossoms (@journey-to-the-au What if AU fic)

A cute Haarini and Wukong fic that I’ve been dying to push out. God I love this pairing so much. Please ENJOY!

“How long do you think it will take?” Bajie, third disciple, was leaned against the monastery wall a frown furrowing his snout. The pig had just wanted Wukong settle their Master into an alcove in the room, set away from any windows or doorways. Of course Trip had asked Wukong to go begging for fruits- even though the monastery had given them a hearty course of noodles and steamed buns from the kitchens. Wukong had obliged his master, bowing low before seeking out her and asking her if she wanted anything.

“What do you mean?” Wujing was tending to some clothing, working a needle through the ripped and broken stitching along the edge of the fabric. The river demon didn’t seem to have a care in the world as the Stone Monkey leapt from the window and out into the afternoon light beyond.

“Come on Wujing!” Bajie stated exasperated. “ You can’t be blind to what’s going on…” he motioned with his hands to the open window where their brother had gone out and the silver form of Haarini who brought over the scrolls Tripitaka had requested from the monastery archives.

Wujing looked up from his stitching when Bajie have him a kick in his leg and blinked. It took him a moment between looking out the latticed window and to the silver simian beside their master to piece together what was bothering Bajie so much.

“Oh you mean between Wukong and Miss Haarini?” Wujing asked. He didn’t quite see the point his brother was trying to make.

“Yes. The ape is practically head over heels for her and he doesn’t have a clue!” Bajie fumed. He watched Haarini help lay out stones to hold the old and crumbling scroll open, setting a small red candle nearby so Tripitaka could read the fading letters with little strain. Bajie liked to think he was an expert on love and courtship. He had experience - albeit mostly rejections but he would never admit they were failures, just wrong girl wrong time scenarios- and had an eye to see that when Wukong looked at Haarini he had all the tenderness in the world.

“I think the young Miss is also in love with him.” Wujing commented softly. He was almost done fixing the hole in his spare trousers. Bajie whirled off the wall and gripped the river demons shoulders and gave such a violent shake as to send the needle flying out of his hand.

“So you see it too?!” Bajie ground his teeth. If he was a fire demon, steam would have been coming from between his teeth. “Why doesn’t Wukong come out with it and just say it?! It’s infuriating.”

“Infuriating that he’s clueless ?” Wujing bent down to feel for his needle, staying calm even though some of the stitching from his hard work had come undone. “Or is infuriating because Bajie is jealous that our brother has someone interested in him?”

The sly taunt pricked the pig just as Wujing found his needle again- only to loose it as his brother grabbed his shoulders and shook again.

“Wujing! I had a wife remember.” Bajie huffed. “ If anyone knows romance it would be me!”

“Keeping your wife locked up while your in-laws called you a monster?” Wujing pushed his brother off him and caught his needle up again.

“I plowed their fields! I harvested their crops! They should be thankful for such a good Son-in-law!” Crowed the ex marshal. Haarini peaked around at them from her place beside Tripitaka. They were making such a noise about marriage and the pat exploits of Bajie she couldn’t help but listen in.

“Tell that to your ex wife.” Haarini heard that and immediately turned back to the scriptures Tripitaka was gently explaining. Whatever the two brothers were talking about- she wanted nothing to do with.

“Why doesn’t he just say it?!” Bajie reiterated, setting himself back down and against the wall.

“Say what?” Wujing was already engrossed in his work again, having forgotten what point his brother was trying to get to.

“That he loves her Brother! That he is doting on her like a moon eyed dawn after its mother!” It was adorable to see the very cheeky and very sly monkey stumble over his own feet in the presence of a girl. It would give Bajie satisfaction- if it didn’t confound him that this monkey had gained the amour and fluttering lashes of a lady!! “He practically tangled tails with her at every moment!”

“Maybe Wukong doesn’t really understand why he loves her… or what he may be feeling.” Wujing observed.

“What do you mean Wujing? Are you hinting that … Wukong may Never have … felt love before?” The thought seemed so sudden, so alien to Bajies mind that he recoiled from it. Bajie had loved almost since the moment he could conceptualized the thought. There were a lot of pretty women in the courts of Heaven and across the cosmos. I mean… they were women! Pretty dainty things with lips and curves and they all smelled wonderful! To think Wukong had never felt love.. never trysted with another …

“He’s felt love.” Wujing amended. With a pull and tug, the thread came free of its binding in a nice stitch. The hole was mended. “I just don’t think he’s ever had a crush.”

Wukong traipsed through the grove of apple trees, smiling softly to himself. His basket was full of fruit from seven different mountaintops now. He had oranges, cherries, plums, peaches, strawberries, mangos and apples. An assortment of fruits he had to beg and somersault across ranges and deserts for, to hop and skip rivers and oceans just to get across.

Wukong wouldn’t range so far for several reasons. One was his master had a terrible stroke of misfortune that always plagued him to no end whenever the monkey was gone. One would think after so many kidnappings and snatchings, trickings and plyings with sly words, that his other brothers would become more observant right ? Wrong! Wujing could be depended upon, bless him. But Bajie? Sometimes Wukong wanted to peel those pig ears off his head and wipe that grin from his snout in frustration.

When it came down to seeing glamour Wukong was the best. No demon could hide from his discerning eye. His Master knew this- and still would be swayed my Bajies words to disbelieve the Sage.

Bajie had talked his Master into saving demonic women who could pluck the very souls from bodies. The pig had made arguments against Wukongs cautions when it came to a platter of fruits that smelled too sweet or tea that looked just a bit to colorful. And the third disciple ? He had a terrible and scary habit of falling asleep at any and all hours. Ba Longma, their second brother and disciple, had had to wake the pig on more occasions then not.

So the rest of Wukongs reasons? They solely fell on Bajies shoulders. The blame for Wukongs paranoia was at the pigs feet. However that had changed when she came to join them.

Haarini.

She was a flash of silver white fur that had taken him by surprise, knife held to his throat and her teeth flashing. “Who are you?” Had been hissed from a face full of violence and fear.

I am someone completely confused and surprised. Had been Wukongs first thoughts.

Wukong had knives, polestars, maces, bats, clubs, swords, halbergs, quarterstaves, fans, morningstars, greatswords, axes, arrows, tekko, butterfly swords, falchions, rapiers, katana, Dadao and all things sharp or meant for killing pointed at him along the journey. The people wielding them had been mortal and demon alike.

However none of them had been monkey. It was like … looking into the past. She resembled nothing of his people, nothing of his mountain. She wasnt him, had never been him.

Yet the fear… the tremble… Haarini had been in a state when she came to the group. It had taken communicating and gentle coaxing by all to get her to ease. And when she did ? She promptly fell to sleep like a stone being dropped in water. Wukong felt a smidge of something within him beginning to grow white hot. An ember of a feeling he had not been aware of missing.

He had been king of Flower Fruit Mountain longe before he had been imprisoned beneath the Five Phases mountain. Though he hadn’t acted kingly in quite a long time, Wukong felt himself beginning to slip back into that mantel.

Was he bossing anyone around and giving orders and such? No. Being a king was a bit more then that. Besides Bajie would probably disregard him as he always did if given an order. No this was the other side of Wukong that had been seen in glimpses and flashes, like a white Hart in the woods.

This was the part he had always at his core had been: loving. Caring. Compassionate. Wukong wanted the best for his people. He had been driven across the sea to find in in Sabhuti and learn of the art of eternal life. The monkey had cultivated himself for years- all in the name of seeing his people live long and happy lives. To forever live.

Wukong had seen what death did. It took the joy from the living, took a person they loved - wether it be mate or child, mother or sibling- and left nothing but the frozen form from whence their soul inhabited. A husk of the bright flicker that had been before. Wukong had seen his fair share of tears from his people when the first of their troop had died, heart giving out in the middle of festivities and livelihood.

He had tasted the tears of his people as they had buried the elder, the first death Wukong had seen so naturally snatched in the prime spark of life, thrown petals onto the body. Wukong had experienced his first burial. He had seen the mourning.

That sorrow had been a thorn in his foot, a bite from a bug he could not ignore. He worried at it, picked at it. Would he suffer the same fate? But if he did- who would be left to protect the little children,the elder mothers, the stubborn adolescents, from the things that prowled and saw them as nothing more then Monkeys?

They were more then Monkeys. Each of his people had a name. The elder, Sunrise, had been the first name etched into the stone monkeys heart. Wukong refused to forget his smile, the way he called the loudest in the halls during feasts, or how he liked to tell the little ones ghost stories and make the mothers box him about the ears.

Wukong had made a determination, a declaration to himself. That would be the last needless death.

He had not been able to fulfil it completely.

Wukongs own need to secure safety had lead to his rise in power, which had lead to Heavens notice of him. This had lead to the first incidence of scorn and contempt by immortals Wukong had ever experienced. From Humanity? He had learned in his time with Sabhuti that bot all the disciples there looked at him with fondness.

They were mortal men, unaccustomed to the long days of merriment and joviality that Sun Wukong had created in his mountain. Their time was fleeting in Wukongs mind- like grains of sand racing to the bottom of the glass. Wukong wanted to stop his own pell mell fall into that same trap- and had succeeded.

From immortals however ? Beings he had given respect to - as much as he could while also giving them a bit of cheek and teasing for that was his way, to tease and to teach- and had been full of wisdom to him?

They had treated him nothing like his people. Nothing like Sabhuti. Contempt and belittlement had been slung at him.

So of course he had reacted.

That had been more then Five hundred years go. Ages since he had last seen his people, the children, the elders of his mountain.

Flashes of his old self, of the caring free loving monkey king from before had been slow to come forward. Yes he was still a cheeky and conniving trickster. But the playful care ? The kind he would use to tease the children of the mountain into trying new things, or to encourage his generals into learning new maneuvers ? That came in rare flashes in the most secluded moments with Tripitaka, when his master was not breathing down his neck about the importance of every life.

The importance of every life is moot if your being picked out of some upstart demons teeth.

However… Haarini had woken something Wukong was not expecting to awake until he was home and back on his mountain. Care.

Wukong set the basket down in the dew speckled grass, humming as he leapt into the tree above. The cloud cover here was beautiful - frosted in the dying light of the sun and cold crisp scent of winter winds. Wukong was in a place that had longer winters and shorter summers, where the breath of winter was always a step from the door. But for right now the summer was warm enough to fight the chill winds.

Up among the twisting branches, blossoms and apples hung. The smell was soft and fragrant and numerous. The blossoms were small, delicate little things. Bees late to their hives still flitted over them. Wukong picked the best branches and gave them a fast snap. They came away like toothpicks, the blossoms hardly disturbed.

Wukong hoped down setting the branches in the top of the basket. His smile was soft. Warmth settled in his body as he placed the little cloth back over his findings. Then with a breath he spun away, up and over clouds in a somersault that sent him into the air and beyond.

Wukong was soon back at the monastery. The rooftile beneath his feet was still warm from the sun. Night had fallen fully, the blanket of stars in full display. Cicada’s and cricket song flooded the night. The monastery’s paper lanterns gave off a amber honey glow, the fluttering of moths casting large then life shadows across their surfaces.

Below the tiled roof came the comforting murmurs of conversation. Candlelight spilled from the latticed window below. Wukong could hear Bajie and Wujing arguing and the gentle tones of Haarini and Tripitaka in polite conversation. He pulled a bit of fur from his coat and blew, creating a woven basket. Wukong separated the fruits for his master and the little treats he had gathered for Haarini. There was a bit of honeycomb he had snatched, the apple blossom branches, the best Mangos and a few rich and juicy strawberries.

Once that was settled, Wuong felt his fur itch. The urge overcame him and he set to grooming- settling his orange and reddish fur back into place. Ears immaculate, clothes without a speck of dust, tail looking less poofy then before. Once his body stopped itching so terribly, Wukong rapped his knuckles against the latticework and gave a happy hoot. There was a silence then Haarini returned the greeting, musical voice answering his in greeting.

The frame was opened and Haarini stuck her head out, yellow eyes flashing in friendship.

“What are you doing out here? You can just come in.”

“I want to give you something.” Wukong waited eagerly at the edge of roof. He was leaning down looking at her, hands holding the tiles. Everything was cast in a sort of upside down view, the room beyond the window a mess of jumbled shapes. Except Haarini. The simians silvered fur was like a second moon in the light as she quirked a brow at him.

“And that cant be done inside?”

“Not with Bajie.” He peered a bit further and into the room. The third disciple was carrying on about his ex wife and how he was a great husband. Rubbish. He may have done the work of seven people and then some but he had kidnapped his wife first off. That was something no father in law would enjoy. Or mortal women.

“The pig will only ruin it!” Wukong decided to use his secret weapon- he pressed his face close to hers, blinking to make his eyes grow large. “Please Haarini it will be a good surprise.”

Haarini blinked then laughed, snorting in a way that set Wukongs spine to rippling in the most beautiful way. He loved seeing her delight. The Sage would become the greatest jester in all the heavens if he got to hear her soft laughter.

Wukong passed the basket through the window, the one containing the majority of the fruit “Here take the fruits to Shifu and then come back to the window.”

Haarini took the basket and disappeared from sight. With her gone the itching began again in Wukongs fur. He had to resist turning to it and grooming by biting a fang into his lip. It felt like ages bur it was merely moments before she reappeared. The silver monkey was back at the window looking up. Wukong offered her a hand and pulled her up.

He didn’t let go and neither did she. Haarini leaned in looking at the identical basket covered in cloth and back to his golden eyes. Wukong took that moment to try and regain some of his thoughts back. Her smell was in his nose, her hands were soft in his. The way the dim starlight caught in her fur and danced across it like an Arctic crest of permafrost… she was so beautiful.

He could get lost in those eyes… warm like nectar and soft in the light…

“You are eager to show me what you have.” She spun and now was holding both of his hands. She looked up at him, a smirk on her face. “It better not be a trick.”

“No trick. Just close your eyes.”

“Wukong if you put a frog on my head..”

“It was one time! One!”

“One too many!” Her laughter echoed again. Wukong felt his ears melt in the sound of it. He was egged on now, entranced and encouraged by her mirth. A bit of the old King slide out from that place beneath the mountain of memory. He laughed back, allowing that play to prance upon his soul.

“But the frog had the same color eyes as you- it was a comparison” He teased and clucked. The words had their desired effect.

“You cheeky furbag!” Haarini called, smacking his shoulder in mock battle. Wukong felt none of the slaps but felt the little free spark in his heart flair to a flame.

“I am no cheek!” Wukong said with all the mischief.

“You are full of yourself and you know it.” Haarini teased. “Is this why you didn’t want to go down with Bajie?”

“Bajie likes my good humour! He would laugh at my jokes all the time before you came along.” Wukong puffed. He crossed his legs and gently coaxed Haarini down beside him.

“Possibly because you threatened him with a smack between the eyes.” She gestured to his ear where he hid his staff and mimed pummelling someone on the head.

“All in jest. I promise!” He pressed a hand to his heart as she glared at him. He felt a prickle of worry, just a smidge, as he motioned again.

“No frogs just close your eyes. Please?” Baby eyes engaged once more, trying to coax her not to be suspicious.

Haarini reached up and tugged on his ear in play.

“Alright. But if what you give me moves, I will shove it down into your gullet.”

“I dont doubt that.”

He waited until she had closed her eyes. He tested it by waving first his hand then his tail in front of her nose. Her face remained impassive, calm. The Sage had to shake himself bodily to get moving. She just was so pretty in the starlight — it should be criminal to shine without stars.

Wukong turned back to the basket and set to work. He quickly took the branches and easily wove them together. He only lost a few petals from the precious flowers. The scent smelled wonderful, crisp and clear. Wukong felt his tail twitching in excited flutters. He almsot giggled and ruined the surprise. Then Wukong turned and, with delicate care, set the crown of branches and blossoms onto her brow.

“Wukong wha—“ she was a bit startled, opening an eye as the cheeky King sprinkled the last of the apple blossom petals onto her.

“Behold! The flower Queen!” Wukong gave a regal bow, hands swooping back and out as his forehead practically kissed the tiled roof. “All hail the queen of spring!”

“You made me a crown out of blossoms?” Haarini gently ran a hand up and over the little branches that Wukong had woven together. The pale pinkish white petals gave off the softest smell and made her fur look lustrous.

“I couldn’t get you a bouquet.” Wukong chuffed smugly - and with a little bit of mirth. “Those are in the cities and the last time i got you one you nearly bit my fingers.”

“Wukong,” Haarini reproached, “You didn’t get me them-you stole them.”

“I acquisitioned them!”

“You stole them!”

Wukong smirked down on her. And unfurled his hand.

He dropped more petals onto her upturned face. The petals brushed over her nose and lips and Haarini breathed in the pollen.

This elicited the cutest sneeze The Great Sage Equal To Heaven had ever heard. Wukongs eyes blew out as she rubbed at her nose. “Oh my…”

Of course poor Haarini was unaware of the fawning King. She simply rubbed at her snout, trying to gain some composure. The petals had spread their pollen right into her face and nose, setting her to a few more sneezing fits.

A few more adorable honks that had Wukong all but fallen into himself in the urge not to suddenly grab her. It was just so … cute!

Haarini grumbled about the unfair advantages he had, specifically the one where she had no petals to throw at his smirking face when she had been right in the argument all along.

“Wukong my nose is streaming do you have a—“ her eyes had cleared enough to notice how close Wukong had gotten. He was less then a handspan away. He was laying on his belly, feet kicked up over his back, tail curled in a crescent.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Cute.” Wukongs head rested on his two hands as he peered up at her.

“What?” Haarini felt her ears beginning to burn, her fur itching all over as this monkey looked at her like she was the moon and stars and heaven come all to earth. Her heart gave a leap and her emotions were off and running. She had never had anyone admire her like that- had never had someone jest and play and look with such golden eyes into her face …

“Super cuuuute!” Wukong called again, reaching out to tap her now blushing face with the pad of a thumb. Haarini felt steam leave her ears and her fur curl. That heartbeat earlier ? It was racing- galloping- full sprinting like an Arabian horse over the desert dunes.

Seeing him looking at me like that …. I want to —

“Stop it, it was a sneeze!” She slapped at his face, feeling the thoughts of her heart beginning to overwhelm her. Haarini had had bachelors court her. She had had bachelorettes try and weave flowers into her fur. None had ever tempted her eye or caught her heart. There had been handsome ones, kind ones, ambitious ones. As the next matriarch of her troop, Haarini had felt a pressure to perform- to love and to tryst as her mother wanted and secure a successor to the bloodline.

Love had not come into the equation of it.

She had never expected to find it here, leagues away from everything she knew and loved, in the form of a monkey whos eyes glowed like the desert sun, whos laugh made her bones shake in pleasure and whos hands held the gentleset touches. A warrior such as he touched with the softness of day blending to twilight. Subtle and gentle.

Like he was now against her face, holding her in his palm and she, leaning in like she belonged there.

“The most adorable sneeze ever!” Wukong chortled as Haarini regained her independence from her lovesick heart and growled. She gathered some of the fallen petals up.

“Lets see how you like petals in your face!” Haarini pressed them into Wukongs face just as the simian had opened his mouth. The poor King was set on a fit of coughing and sneezing that had Haarini in stitches- but also rubbing his back and apologizing. Wukong returned the favour however as he grabbed her and tugged her back down and into him.

Haarini valiantly struggled under the wrestling. It was like fighting to pin and flip a mountain. She could try all she wanted but each time she got some headway over the King he would simply topped her back onto him. Then under him.

They both lay on the tile for a moment, Haarini catching her breath as she laughed and Wukong hardly breathing as he stared down at her. She was flushed a darker shade- from exertion or laughter he could not tell- and it added a undertone that had him staring into her.

Each time I look at her its like seeing her for the first time. My mind just cant give her an accurate shape.

Maybe one day I can ask an artist to paint her portrait. I never want to forget her smile.

Wukong flopped onto his side beside Haarini, fingering a bit of her crown.

“You are so cute covered in flowers.”

“Shut up-“ her breathes came out a bit faster but with no serious reprimand in them. Wukong felt a bit of a thrill. He had won. “I hope you have more then flowers for me.”

“Of course.”

Under the starlight, in the casting of apple blossoms and the smell of ripe mango and strawberries, the two sat. Enjoying each others company long into the night- past when the cicadas stopped their singing, past when the sky began to grow warm like milk tea in the turning of the day. Haarini talked and teased to Wukong and Wukong listened and teased back. They didn’t realize they were leaning into and upon each other, tails curled and wrapped like vines. When eventually Haarini fell asleep, it was Wukong who curled about her. He grew in size just enough to shelter her from whatever wind came upon them. He slept light, the seeping warmth from the roof tiles lending a heat to wherever they pressed into. Bellies full of fruit and hearts full of one another, the bight passed in peaceful companionship.

A companionship blossoming into the petals of love.

[raayllum]

9.2k wordcount for chapter 3, featuring more set up, some heavy handed chess and apple symbolism, and burgeoning plot progression

The Associate Crow Lord brought the mail in breakfast, which was an overall normal occurrence. Most of the time, none of them received any mail except for Ezran, which Opeli would swiftly put in a stack off to the side to be addressed post-meal, but occasionally there had been a couple of letters for Callum, largely in communication with officials from Xadia about certain texts or magical items he could get his hands on for studying purposes. A few times there had been proposals from other noble families that had snuck through, but those had been returned unopened even before Rayla had come back, and he certainly wasn’t going to open them now.  There was the usual assortment for Ezran, maybe a few more than usual, and then the Associate Crow Lord nervously held one out to Rayla. “For you, uh, my Ladyship.” It was a title that had been bestowed only after the wrongful arrest, and Callum knew the only reason Rayla didn’t scoff was because she was too surprised. “For me?” “Is it from Evenere?” Callum asked. The seal looked Lux Aurean gold, not Evenerean green. “No.” Faint, familiar light emitted briefly from the parchment as she opened it. “It’s from New Aurea.” “Already?” Ezran inquired. “We just wrote them yesterday—” Rayla shook her head, eyes quickly scanning the letter. She went paler with every word and Callum did his best not to stare; he’d never seen her like this. Fearful, yes, but not frightened . “No. They’re... they’re asking me about a Moonshadow folktale. It’s nothing.” It was not nothing, but Callum wouldn’t push it. Not in front of everyone.  “If you say so,” Ezran said a tad uncertainly, sighing when he turned his attention to the stack of scrolls in front of him. He looked to Opeli. “Nothing from any of the elven representatives of the dragons yet, either?”

[moonzshiftz]

Help me with my AU

okay so i kinda have no idea what to do from here so im gonna post my first draft (mostly written at 3am) and you guys tell me if the plot is good and the plot holes I need to fix and also a name for the AU because i just found out people name their AUs and i can't just call mine "my tangled au" forever yk

please tell me if it's shit i need to know that to make it better (but also keep in mind that it's the first general idea)

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

a world where only eugene, rapunzel and her parents know about her powers and everyone else thinks her hair just turned brown as she aged and there was nothing special about her rapidly growing blonde hair as a baby. cassandra never takes her to the rocks and her hair never grows back and she lives her life normally, apart from having to adapt to a new world and dealing with trauma from being in the tower

moon is eugene's lost sister and her mom died birthing her. she absorved all of the moonstone's powers because her mom was around it so much and now the moonstone is almost harmless because moon carries almost all the power, that's why she has the ability to recite the spell

king edmund sent everyone away and stayed in the kingdom taking care of moon after finding out about her powers, scared that she would harm someone, but as she grew up, she questioned why she was stuck in an empty castle with her dad, why she couldn't explore the world, but the king only told her it was too dangerous (the only thing he didnt tell her was that it wasnt the world that was dangerous for her, it was the opposite) so one day when she was 15 she found a scroll in her father's bedroom and she saw that there was a drawing of the moonstone- the same stone that is in the center room of the castle that her father doesn't let her enter- and a lot of symbols that she couldn't decipher so she found a way to run out of the castle at night and find out the truth about that stone and why her father kept her there. after walking for days she finally found a village with people so she went up to the first person she saw for answers, and she showed a nice old woman the scroll and asked if she knew what it meant and she smiled and took her into her home. she figured what it said very quickly and asked moon to read the decay incantation, to which she only smiled as the little girl was possessed by moon magic, unable to stop reciting the spell. "you own the moonstone, don't you?" the old woman asked her, to which she responded explaining where she came from and that the moonstone is locked up, so she took the woman back to the kingdom after she manipulated moon into thinking she needed the moonstone, only to try to steal it at the last second. fortunately, king edmund saw the old woman (an old spirit and follower of zhan tiri) and stopped her forever. he then decided that moon wasn't even safe stuck in the dark kingdom and did a spell to wipe all of her memories and made the crows take her somewhere she could live a new and anonymous life, hopefully being saved by a kind family. the only thing he didn't know was that she sent the girl still with the demanitus scroll in her pocket to varian's house in old corona

varian also has some moonstone power but not enough to kill people like moon, in his maximum capacity he would only be able to put someone in a coma, but that would take a lot of his energy. his mom is a descendent of demanitus and she met quirin through studying the magic of the sundrop and moonstone, and they were around the moonstone a lot, but not as much as the queen, so that's why varian has magic but a lot less than moon

varian never believed that rapunzel was magically brought back with different hair and the person who kidnapped him just died. he knew that woman must've had a reason to kidnap the princess and keep her hidden for 18 years, why doesn't the rest of the kingdom know the reason? the queen drank tea from a magic healing flower that cured her deathly disease and rapunzel was born with long hair the same color as the flower, then she was kidnapped and came back with the opposite- short brown hair- and those facts have nothing to do with each other? so when that mysterious girl showed up at his doorstep with a scroll about that same flower, he knew it was a sign for him to investigate

[variksenpesa]

SUFFER DOES THE WOLF, CRAWLING TO THEE

Variksenpesä

Welcome to the crow's nest. I'm a Finnish pagan and shapeshifter. Call me Varis or Crow!

Basically DNI if you're easily creeped out, but also don't interact if you're a creep, and no Endos. I'm not offended if you block me.

I'm a side blog for @koirankusema666 and I'm going to talk about the more darker and uglier side of my nonhumanity on here. Beware, I talk about spiders and other bugs, and some unpopular food instincts as well.

My pronouns are she/it.

Kins:

- Arachnids, especially black widow spiders and scorpions.

- Bugs in general.

- Corvids, especially hooded crows.

- Snakes, especially common european adders.

- Scary and Eldritch horror goats and sheep.

- Black or melanistic animals in general.

These are animals that can mentally, emotionally and physically represent me. My mascot is Mephala, an evil goddess from the Elder Scrolls series. I like goth aesthetics. I am a crafter by heart. I like taxidermy, bones, magic and the metaphysical world. I believe I'm some sort of a hiisi, or evil Finnish spirit.

Tags list:

Spiders, Arachnids, bugkin, tw spider, tw scorpion etc...

I can also tag about random things like blood, bones, taxidermy, wet specimens, dead bugs and animals!!

Decay, mushrooms, honeycombs may also get brought up. As well as

Darkness, death and satanism and such.

Physical nonhumanity

Please do NOT reality check me. Engaging in my delusions will not led to any harm. I have frequent contact with healthcare professionals.

[insurrection-if]

MC seems complex to me, can you share snippets of MC's backstory with us?

Here's some listed out set and variable elements of their past that are rather major (a.k.a. often referenced). It's unnecessarily long, so I'll place a cut to make it easier for those uninterested to continue scrolling along. d( ´ ⌄ ` )

Life Events

Youth

Mockingbird lost their mother at a young age. Her body was unrecovered from the HAWKS raid that ended her life.

Mockingbird began to manifest elements of their gift shortly before the passing of their mother. A hungered sense for nearby gifted, a craving for their blood. Their mother expressed excitement towards this sign of their inheritance, a starkly different reaction than that from their father.

Following their mother's death, it became clear that the settled home life their parents intended for them was not a viable option. If not born within the United States, Mockingbird, their father, and a family friend known to them as Uncle Fletcher immigrate to the United States to start a new life. If Mockingbird was born within the United States, the three flee from Mockingbird's hometown to escape the attention brought on by their mother's death. Below is a drafted snippet for an immigrant Mockingbird:

Depending on their region of origin, Mockingbird will have vague yet established familial (not quite personal) connections to certain prominent Gifted who appear now and then within the narrative. Their mother was a revolutionary, (and former borderline Gifted supremacist), eager for recruits and allies after all. An Eastern European Mockingbird would be heavily familiar with the reputation of Dollmaker, a Mockingbird from Southern Africa would have been on the radar of the Patriarch Tshabalala, Mockingbirds from Oceania may have sooner stumbled upon Osvaldo, and so on. Nothing horribly game-changing, but it allows for more flavor and roleplay (esp. in relation to certain characters).

Mockingbird had a mostly nomadic life within the United States, rarely settled in one city or town for long in order to keep a low profile. This kept them from having many long-lasting relationships from their youth outside their household.

Elov, whether a friend / rival / victim / crush / distant acquaintance, was a rare exception due to his fellow Gifted nature and the violent manner in which their paths together came to an end. Mockingbird's first use of their gift came from Elov and it was, to sum it up, messy and horrific. It also entailed their first personal encounter with the CROWS.

Following their father's second marriage, Mockingbird obtained the greatest period of normalcy and settlement in their life. Achieving a newfound respite in the comforts and attentiveness of their new home, Mockingbird was able to finally experience the simple luxuries of living like any other human, unafraid of death or capture around every corner.

Adulthood

Upon reaching true adulthood, Mockingbird heads out to Los Angeles to pursue their ambition (variable) and, perhaps, address the call of their gift. They are accompanied by Uncle Fletcher, their father too ailed by his recently declining health to join them. Their stepmother remains behind as his caretaker.

Below is a drafted introduction to the reputation of Los Angeles and its Gifted residents:

In Los Angeles, one's choice of career greatly impacts the type of life and crowd Mockingbird finds themself within. Mercenaries might establish a budding found family beneath the command of Captain Kaminski (or remain solo in their career), police officers may be anchored by their novel friendship with Officer Izan Garcia, circus performers will be surrounded by a troupe of fellow veiled Gifted, teachers will have a CARDINAL attending their classes right under their nose, and so forth. It also influences which CARDINAL they encounter face-to-face prior to their capture by the HAWKS, and this will be harkened back to in some instances.

It will be a distinct choice for Mockingbird to either actively involve themselves with the underground Gifted community of Los Angeles or keep far from it. Involvement will influence their degree of knowledge regarding the CARDINALS (who very much target this community for recruitment) and how bright a spot they were on the radar of the HAWKS + be referenced now and then.

Regardless of their career or ambition, Mockingbird will be given options regarding their degree of indulgence towards their gift . . . a.k.a. how frequently they drank the blood of fellow Gifted prior to their time among the HAWKS. This blood would be sourced from their acquaintances - career / community involvement dependent - or from the (undisclosed) connections of Uncle Fletcher. This will influence Mockingbird's senses and responses to the (overwhelming) proximity of so many Gifted in the time to come and other flavor stuff. A drafted example being (during a Thespian Mockingbird's first encounter with Lempo):

Guardians

Mockingbird will have customizable attitudes towards their guardians ranging from being incredibly close to openly hostile. This is always a reflection of Mockingbird's side of the relationship. Different guardians may have clashing views with Mockingbird's variable conduct, ambitions, and principles but it will never override the love they have for them . . . even if Mockingbird may wish to have nothing to do with them / their memory.

Their Mother

Mockingbird has faint, few, and troubled memories of their mother from their most primary years. Though their parents were very much in love, their memories of her are largely from the absolute rockiest stage of their parents' relationship due to their deep disagreements on how to raise their (Gifted) child. It was a very tense time for their little family, and that tension never fully left even after their mother's death.

The memory of their mother is that of a strong-willed, passionate, tough-as-nails revolutionary who took immense pride in her heritage and was determined to instill that pride in her child. And yet . . . sometimes her pride became arrogance. Sometimes her strong-will became bullheadedness, her passion became recklessness, and her strength became a justification for taking on her greatest fears alone. She was a woman who gave all of herself to her convictions, for her people and for you, and then paid the ultimate price.

Mockingbird's mother had no living relatives on her side of the family. She never acknowledged her relationship with her own mother as being horribly toxic and never managed to reconcile with her brother before his passing. She rarely spoke of either of them with anyone but Mockingbird's father.

Their mother heavily encouraged Mockingbird to embrace their gift as their blood right. She insisted that they were special and destined for great things. She wanted them to live as freely as possible, to become as powerful as they could become, and to escape the shadows their kind has always been suppressed within.

Their Father

The primary guardian of Mockingbird has always been their father. Before their mother's death, their memories of him are that of a soft-spoken man, introverted and inquisitive with a knack for appeasing strangers and blending into crowds.

After his wife’s death, it was as though something in him had broken and was never quite fixed. Cold silence, vacant stares, and a bitterness towards the world became accessories to his contemplative nature. His trust in all people (with exception to his child) dwindled down to string. His gentleness became largely reserved for his child alone, replaced by a direct sharpness for all others whenever his genuine nature peeked out from behind his polite mask, and his former meekness was reforged into a paranoia anxiety towards every shadow he faced. It is this anxious nature that made his overprotectiveness at times cross the line into overbearing.

Nevertheless, his love for his child is unquestionable. There is quite possibly nothing they can ever do to make him turn his back on them.

Mockingbird's father came from a considerably large family, more so in terms of extended relatives, who were a distant but loving presence throughout his upbringing. He was essentially disowned by them as a result of his relationship with Mockingbird's mother, and he has since mourned the loss of them deeply and silently. In the end, he has never considered reconciliation with them since it would ultimately, and selfishly, risk the safety and happiness of Mockingbird. Mockingbird never has and never will meet any of them (unless one wishes to headcanon such a thing post-epilogue). Their awareness of this extended family lies only in old keepsakes maintained by their father which he never openly displays or comments upon.

I think I've shared this snippet before, but here's a drafted piece about Mockingbird's father:

Their Uncle

Other than their biological parents, Mockingbird was heavily raised by their family friend "Uncle" Ivo Fletcher. Born in Ireland, he became an ardent follower of their mother in her mission as a revolutionary and vigilante. He has, however, become greatly disillusioned towards her ideals in the present.

Uncle Fletcher, a Gifted ruffian, devoted himself to the security and health of Mockingbird for much of their upbringing, similar to a nanny and bodyguard rolled up into one rowdy and nostalgic secondary father figure. Fletcher did his best to keep the memory of Mockingbird's mother alive for them, candid and eager to share anything about the woman he once loved (much unlike their father).

Uncle Fletcher remained as a nearby guardian figure for Mockingbird in Los Angeles, a reliable pillar of support they could always seek out for any need, no matter how shady or risky it may be. Not one inclined to control those around him, he is a laidback presence much more suited for the explorative independence Mockingbird needs as a young adult.

Drafted examples of Uncle Fletcher trying his best to be a guardian to a young Mockingbird:

Their Stepmother

Wealthy and well-educated, she met Mockingbird's father in her youth and skirted around a romantic relationship with him up until he met Mockingbird's mother. Upon meeting Mockingbird, she found herself deeply sympathetic to the plight of their upbringing and formed a quick, deep fondness for them.

She has tried to be an influence that counters much of what Mockingbird had been taught in the past. She tries to lead by example with her kindness for all others, her altruism for those in need, and her hope for the future of the Gifted. She has done her best to offer them a comfortable life and continues her political activism for the Gifted however she can . . . more subtly after taking in Mockingbird, however, in order to lessen the attention she might draw from groups such as the OWLS or DOVES.

An only child, with both her parents long deceased, she very much considers Mockingbird, their father, and Ivo Fletcher to be her family in the present. Ivo has especially become someone dear to her, their budding romance rather covert and on a shaky pause as he assists Mockingbird with their life in Los Angeles, the two not wishing to 'rock the boat' too much with anything open or concrete between them for Mockingbird's sake.

Below are drafted examples of a young Mockingbird and their stepmother: