#all that's left behind

[asteriaspirit]

The Storms of War

Rain pours from the heavens, the sky weeping as the storm cackles. A flash of lightning splits the air as a berserker’s axe cleaves an empire soldier’s helmet in two. An arrow zips across the town square, piercing the calf of a fleeing soldier, his scream lost to a crack of thunder.

Odhran stumbles into an alley, colliding with a building. He barely feels the stone digging into his shoulder as his pained gaze falls to his thigh—and the arrow jutting from it.

“Fookin’ idiots,” he mutters with a grimace. “Wouldn’t be surprised if’n it was one of our useless archers.”

His fingers curl around the arrow's shaft, arm tensing to pull it free, but the hairs on his neck stand on end. It isn't from the cold rain. Someone is approaching, their steps masked by the chaos of war and the storm overhead. Odhran's grip loosens on the arrow, sliding to the dagger at his belt. He spins, ready to drive the blade into his assailant.

Gloved fingers wrap around his wrist, and gold-green eyes meet his hazel ones. Cassandra grins, her lips parting slightly.

"Odhran," she whispers in her familiar husky monotone. He can smell blood on her breath, her face inches from his. “You smell like death.”

“You too, lass,” he replies, frowning as he pulls back to focus on her face.

She looks... radiant, despite being drenched in rain and covered in blood. Her pale complexion has a faint blush, and though the red on her lips is surely blood, a part of him wonders if it could ever just be paint.

“You’re hurt,” she whispers, her gaze trailing from his throat, across his chest, and down to his thigh. Her hand releases his wrist and hovers over the arrow’s haft. Her brow furrows, head tilting slightly like a curious animal.

She always watched him skin her kills with the same eerie focus—

“Nothin' but a scratch,” Odhran grunts, his attention flicking to the wound, then back to her. The unnatural quickness with which her gaze snaps to meet his makes his jaw clench. "Nothin' ta worry about. Not now when the enemy’s retreatin’. We should be givin’ chase, makin’ sure they ain't rallyin'—"

“You can’t run on that leg.”

“Yer always underestimatin’ me just ’cause yer some creature with no shred o’ humanity left—”

“You’ll do more damage to yourself if I don’t get it out—”

“I don’t need yer help ta pull it—”

“This is the second battle I’ve fought beside you, and still, you don’t trust—”

“No, I don’t, ’cause ye just be waitin’ ta stick yer fangs in my throat—”

“Not your throat, Odhran.”

His teeth snap together as he shuts his mouth, lips pressing into a grim line. He tries to ignore the part of his mind that wonders where she would bite, if not his throat.

It’s just the adrenaline talking. These thoughts will pass.

“Thanks for the offer,” he mutters, “but I’ll decline the vampire lass helpin’ with the bleedin’ wound.”

Cassandra clicks her tongue in mock dismay, though her expression still looks playful—almost amused. The emotion stirs something in Odhran’s stomach, and he can’t tell if it’s unease.

“I’ve eaten well,” Cassandra says, her grin widening, the points of her canines catching in the flash of lightning that illuminates them for but a moment. “I don’t hunger, Odhran.”

“Nah, yer just battle drunk. Fergot yerself entirely, lass.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” she says with a smirk. “But I do know you’re right—we should give chase.”

Before Odhran can nod in agreement, Cassandra’s hand darts up, catching a bolt mere inches from his skull. He gasps, both of them turning to see an empire soldier reloading at the end of the alley.

Cassandra chuckles low in her throat, a sound Odhran doesn’t recall ever hearing from her.

“I’ll make a bloody bolt,” she muses, twirling the projectile between her fingers, “and after I kill the boy, I’ll come back for your bloody arrow. Deal?”

“No deal, ye devil woman—”

She sighs, rolling her eyes at the soldier, then flings the bolt with precise aim. It embeds in his wrist, sending the crossbow clattering to the ground as the man falls to his knees, screaming into the storm.

“Odhran,” Cassandra sighs, and Odhran stiffens at the tone. “You’re no fun.”

She vanishes, reappearing behind the soldier, forcing his head aside to sink her fangs into his throat.

[thecosmoswhispers]

i can turn you into poetry but i cannot make you love me.

(creds will be added in a hot sec! my bad y'all ;p)

[fishyfishyfishtimes]

Look at this girl go! What a champ huh?

Finally, it has begun!! The rainbow trout are all grown and it’s time to give them a little spin in the swimming respirometer. This girl was understandably pretty shocked about being measured and weighed but she quickly recovered once in the respirometer — the fish is swimming against a certain water flow (here it’s about half a body length per second) and she seemed to immediately realise what to do. My supervisor explained that in earlier experiments with brown trout, the brown trout were more prone to not swimming at all and laying on the net in the back, but rainbow trout are more cooperative and raring to go!

[bluerosefox]

Kidnapped Persephone Style

Me: *tossing prompt idea up and down in the air before chucking it into the Void we call the internet*

Jason is dating Ghost Prince (not yet King) Danny and goes on a really awesome and romantic date on his day off. He forgot to tell the fam though. So when Red Robin comes to give Jason an update on some entil, he watches in muted horror as Jason is 'kidnapped' by a glowing entity in black armor and a nightmare looking horse (Danny is a bit busy doing paperwork, so he had his Fright Knight pick Jason up) off of a Gotham rooftop and into a green portal, while the knight had proclaimed Jason as their future Kings 'intended'..

No one on coms is ready for Tim to yell out

"I THINK JASON JUST GOT KIDNAPPED PERSEPHONE STYLE!!"

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Ghouls night out

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[cataclysmictide]

In Another Life...

Warsh_Tippy and Zelda - Whatever, Dad/Unknown/A Nest of Quiet: A Notebook-Anna Kamienska/The 1 - Taylor Swift/ghost, zero, suitcase, and the moon - richard siken/Last Kiss - Taylor Swift/Unknown/rebecca malakai/Warsh_Tippy and Zelda - Whatever, Dad/everything everywhere all at once /Scott Street- Phoebe Bridgers/the 1 - Taylor Swift/c. t. salazar/unknown/unknown/ The Goldfinch-Donna Tartt/Warsh_Tippy and Zelda - Whatever, Dad

[shushmal]

okay but a like post-series fic i want that's like: steve harrington being the only man left in hawkins fighting monsters

and not like a 'everyone died, last man standing' way but just. they beat it back, the story ends, nice little tie-up and neatly concluded, eleven loses her powers because their world is completely cut from the other. and life goes on. eddie (yes, eddie lives au don't fight me) goes off with his band, robin-nancy-jargyle off to separate cities for college. the kids go to high school, graduate high school, and scatter across the country. joyce and hop buy a beach house far-far-far away from goddamn hawkins indiana.

steve though. steve stays. he does it too without comment, takes all their calls telling him all these amazing things. the years pass. the calls are fewer and far between. he's mostly in contact with only dustin and robin. except robin's out of country doing some crazy temp job in some remote country, she never catches him at home right now so just leaves him messages. and it takes a couple of weeks for dustin to realize he hasn't gotten steve on the phone.

frantically he calls around "have you heard from steve???" except the most people talk to steve anymore is like phone calls during holidays and holy shit what could have happened??

and what if it's back?

cue everyone who can in that moment, rushing back. eddie hopping on a flight from fucking london direct to indianapolis somehow, heart in his throat. he manages to meet hopper in the airport and they pick up max and dustin at the bus station.

they get to hawkins that is even more different that what they left. a smaller town, a town that shuts down completely when the sun sets. it's creepy and deserted.

except for the fucking upside down monsters of course.

and they're in their stupid little rental in front of this demogorgon and they're screaming but then the thing just goes splat on the concrete and steve fucking harrington is blinking owlishly at them.

"Oh, hey guys!" he calls jogging up to the driver's side window. "Wow, what brought you back down this way? You should have told me, I would have told you about the curfew!"

turns out steve just forgot to pay his phone bill that month, didn't even realize he was missing calls and he's been fighting monsters the entire time because actually they WEREN'T cut off from the upside down at all and he's just been casually fighting monsters for the remaining hawkins residence—the whole town knows now and steve's the guy you call when you have a monster problem

sidebar: WAYNE still lives in hawkins, and he and steve are best friends, eddie munson you are gonna LOSE YOUR MIND

[juniemunie]

[Abandoned by the Lightners, his heart became cracked with hatred.]

Hitting a lil' too close to home?

[sems-diarie]

death is insane. wdym i’ll never see my grandmother again

[demaparbat-hp]

On your most recent From the Couch post... is that a dragon tattoo I see poking out of Zuko's collar? ...................may we see more of it?

You may see all of it.

[the-woman-upstairs]

Really fucked up that, when they’re young, Patrick and Art are SO tactile with each other, so comfortable sharing the same space. Art lets Patrick touch him and move him and physically overwhelm him and easily acquiesces to it, if not outright enjoys it.

Then in the present, they’ve been so far out of each other’s orbit for so long, held such animosity that when they have their moment alone in the sauna, Art physically recoils from Patrick’s close proximity! It’s so painful to watch because even as Patrick’s goading him, it’s so obvious he wants to be able to get back into Art’s space. But Art has erected all these walls around himself, he refuses to give Patrick an inch or even admit to missing how close they used to be!

AND THEN we see Art and Tashi later and he wants her to hold him, to be gentle with him, and just TOUCH him. Like, he does miss that kind of close physical contact! He either doesn’t know how to ask for it or is uncomfortable being that openly vulnerable. Worth noting that he pretty much always defers to Tashi in regard to initiating physical intimacy (with their first kiss, though he does state his desire, SHE has to be the one to make the first move). And it seems pretty obvious that Tashi herself isn’t comfortable providing that intimacy, whereas Patrick actively seeks to provide it (the hug/forehead kiss after their win together in the early years, dragging the stool closer to him).

Art has tried very hard to act like he doesn’t need physical affection and even though his discipline and devotion to Tashi has made him a stronger tennis player, it’s made him a hollow person, which, in turn, has kept him from becoming a GREAT tennis player.

All of this, of course, is why the ending hits so damn hard.

[asteriaspirit]

Bloody Monster

TW: Blood

“Eirik!”

          The alarmed, slightly panicked pitch of Odhran’s voice cuts through the fog clouding Cassandra’s thoughts like a sword through mortal flesh. She rotates her head left to right, her brow pinches, and she straightens her spine to her impeccable posture once again—

          “Don’t go acting like yer all human now!” Odhran snarls. “Not when you’re lookin’ at me’n’him like yer thinking of eating us. Like we’re your next meal! Not me, lass.” He points to himself for clarification while pulling his shoulders back and puffing his chest out. “I see ya for the monster ya really are, beneath all that poise and yer fancy clothes—”

          “Eirik,” Cassandra murmurs while her gaze tracks away from Odhran’s mask of disgust and rage to Eirik’s calm ice blue eyes. “According to the…agreement…we made, I am to tell you when I am hungry and I am remiss to inform you that I do not believe I can persist another night without…feeding.”

          “Well, ya can’t be draining him dry lass!” Odhran exclaims while throwing up his hands. “How in the nine hells would we get his big ass back to Ironhome? Whose gonna do this fookin spell ya done dragged us all out here fer if not him, eh?!”

          Cassandra visibly swallows and her hands lock behind her back, the fingers of her right hand circling around her left wrist. Her unblinking stare focuses on Odhran.

          “I do not believe I need to drain him—”

          “Aye, tell that to the poor lad what you killed the other night—”

          “I could easily find something else—it is no inconvenience to me—I would simply be gone the remainder of the evening—”

          “No,” Eirik’s voice cuts through her explanation and cuts off whatever Odhran was prepared to say.

He sighs, heavily, while dragging the his blunt nails down his scruffy cheek. His lips purse, the muscle in his jaw ticks and Cassandra isn’t sure if it’s due to anger or resentment or some other emotion that she has no experience with, but she notices it all the same.

          “You can’t be serious man,” Odhran whispers as Eirik retrieves the dagger from his belt.

          Cassandra’s luminous golden eyes bounce from the blade to his face and back again as the need for it suddenly becomes clear. Her stomach tightens, saliva pools in her mouth, and that once dead muscle in her chest gives a feeble kick at the prospect of…food. Not a squirrel, a rabbit, or even a six-tined buck; Eirik was offering her something much more substantial.

          “You won’t put fangs in me,” he declares warily and Cassandra can only nod in agreement. Truth be told, she hadn’t considered what the agreement made in Ironhome would consist of—certainly not this.

          Odhran’s snort reaches her ears from what feels like miles away and it’s difficult to turn and look at him, to process the abject revulsion he shoots her way—their way—when she’s so close to getting rid of this pit in her stomach, this gaping hole that has been edging further and further from the periphery of her awareness into the spotlight.

          Eirik’s long strides eat up what small distance there had been between them and the crackling firelight does odd things to his shadow, morphing it in ways that would have drawn her attention if she hadn’t been so focused on his weapon. She is forced to swallow a second time as he brings it up and places the blade against his forearm. But it’s the tenseness in his face that quells whatever excitement had been dancing in her stomach.

This was a thing borne of duty, one that he, perhaps unknowingly, shouldered. And for that, Cassandra detests it.

“If you not stop, I stop you.”

“By all the fookin trees—Eirik, this is a terrible idea—”

Eirik’s arm flexes and his hand yanks the dagger across his flesh, cutting a shallow wound that immediately begins to bleed.

Cass stares as his life’s fluid begins to bubble and a single droplet escapes, runs down the length of his arm and dribbles harmlessly onto the ground. An inhuman groan attempts to rumble from her, but she remains quiet, stoic, waiting for permission, for a sign, for something—

Eirik turns his head away as he lifts his arm toward her, offering the shallow, bloody cut.

Cassandra steps forward, her hands unclenching from behind her back. Her touch is delicate as her fingers come up to cradle his arm, the pads indenting against his skin while her head lowers and her lips press against the wound.

The first swallow is a heady, delicious thing that defies every explanation that she can think of to describe it. Eirik’s blood is cold—or perhaps that’s the feeling of her organs being rejuvenated after starving for so many nights.

And she can taste the magic that flows through him, the sizzle reminding her of the protective layer that covered the standing stone in Ironhome. His blood was certainly more turbulent than what she had felt before, but it didn’t hurt her when she got too close, didn’t repel her as she drank it down, swallow after greedy swallow.

This was not a hunt. There was no need to stalk Eirik through a dark alley and catch him unaware and perhaps it’s the lack of adrenaline that allows her to remain semi-aware while she gorges herself on the sweet, slick blood pouring down her throat.

Therefore, she expects Odhran’s noise of contempt, but it’s the sudden echo of Eirik’s heartbeat invading her senses that pulls her from the meditative, zen-like state of feeding. Her eyes flutter open and dart up, connecting immediately with Eirik’s slightly glassy stare. She pulls back after one last swallow and Eirik pushes forward, as if he doesn’t want this connection between them to be broken.

Cassandra’s head jerks away from his offering as that realization slams into her. She quickly takes a step back, putting an arm’s worth of distance between them. Eirik blinks and his nostrils flare before he turns and reaches for his pack, his hand disappearing inside only to withdraw a bundle of bandages of which he begins to wrap his wound with.

Her hand darts up to her face and smears the blood from her lips. Her tongue chases, attempting to savor, to devour, every drop, but it comes with a weighted feeling that she can’t place and she doesn’t have the time to examine.

“What in da fook—”

“I will do the first round of patrols,” she tells her traveling companions with a short, quick nod before pivoting on her heel and leaving their makeshift camp.

[findasongblog]

Find A Song like a memory from years gone by that is beginning to fade

Narrow Skies - All That's Left Behind

Inspired by the climate emergency, while simultaneously weaving in adjacent themes of love lost and the passing of time, the melancholic tone of the song is a fitting prologue for the diverse range of musicality to come from Earth: II...

Added to FAS Spotify playlist dream/psych/shoegaze/ambient.

[jaxonkreide]

We miss you. Come return to us… Why did you abandon us?

Last night at 1am I read all about @wasyago's trail's gone cold au and the brain rot immediately caused me to stay up until 5am starting this art before sleeping and finishing it today. Now I'm a little sick and got a sore throat, I think the cave is getting to me too

[mizaruwu]

You remember the sound of waves crashing into the shore, you remember the warmth of an embrace, you remember the soft hair on your face and fingertips and nothing more. But still, you miss it.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Bonus 8: How met your mother (CSSR design by @qourmet!)

[First] Prev <–-> Next