#also missing Tempus too

[kittykatinabag]

This post I saw on reddit is peak "How to tell that you don't watch Holostars or even consume anything about them" energy.

Also while I don't really closely watch the girls all that much, I'm pretty sure a lot of them are incorrectly placed too.

[blueberrynyan]

I'm sorry what do you mean Vesper is graduating at the end of the week????

[astralnymphh]

copy that, romeo

— ellie williams was supposed to be your supervisor, not your object of infatuation ~ ♡

⋆❝ this is cordero tower, calling in.❞⋆

CHAPTER ONE: SUMMERTIME INTERLUDE . NEXT CHAPTER > ♡. pair; firewatcher!ellie x recruit!reader

♡. summary; it's 1995, and the angel crater national park welcomes you; a retrograde lookout all to yourself, a space nerd for a supervisor, and a whole summertime job spent in hues of sepia and juniper, waiting for the first sign of smoke. ninety–three days. you don't know her face, you share no breath— but by walkie–talkie, you know her voice.

♡. a/n; READ THESE; 1 and 2, HELP HERE, BOYCOTT. CLICK HERE. DO NOT BUY THE REMASTER, TLOU2, TLOU1, OR ANY GAME FROM NAUGHTY DOG! neil druckmann (the creator) is a zionist. PLEASE READ THIS. AND REBLOG THIS. ALSO THIS.

♡. content; EVENTUAL SMUT, narrator present, silly fourth wall breaking, a dash of comedy, slowburn (somewhat), living alone, long–distance pining, reader/characters are similar ages(mid–late 20s), depression, heavy metaphor usage, complicated poetry styles, mentions of organs, mentions of weaponry, metaphorical death, grim humor, drinking alcohol, drunk!ellie, drunken flirting (vaguely and bluntly), ellie jumpscare, uh-oh sassy masc apocalypse, she's corny and cheesy too (a dork), awkwardness, humiliation, lighthearted bickering, nicknames used. [lmk if i missed anything] . SERIES PLAYLIST .

WC; 6.1k+ ✮ thank you @trackinglessons for your sexy brain and beautiful ideas + custom art ✮ masterlist ✮ series masterlist ✮ ellie ref sheet

Summertime is the interlude between misery and Mondays.

  May was a rough patch for you. A coagulated chapter within the spring world, a shunned ponder, red jello in the gradience of passage. Tempus, time. Early months hence were just as pessimizing, doubt is an arid reservoir in you. But, as a maypole sits a svelte giant in the sweet Beltane soil, braving an invisible smile whilst little ones— little laughters, spun prances and wraps of dainty satin to an ensnare on its long body, it weeped for its delicate capture. You; flesh coarse like timber, relate to the log standing, ensnared. Sunk in that gelatinous texture, unmoving as pressures collided with the surface outward, ripples everywhere yet incapable of sprinkling through you. Something would have to delve itself to drag you out.

  Chapters; cusp of autumn to April, every single month, wound ‘round you. They each had separating colors, and spared turns to soundly fold your limbs and bulge your skin in ribbons. It snipped your circulation, shriveled the ripe breath in your skull and traded it for a pressure. A throb. Weight upon the cranium, you felt the narrowing cradle inside wilt from thought, drain from consciousness, and soften your stiff eyes locked on drywall. Hour to hour.

  But those weren't the only things taunting you with a dance— expectations danced faster. Expectators, paired minds heaping expectations; yourself and the selves blackjacking their wants expressed as worries onto you. Stressful creatures, they are. Bosses, co–workers, energy vampires disguised as lover boys prowling about your workspace, general creatures of the retail world. God, they're like ravenous wolves snarling hunger through their teeth, slobber moonlight–bright of that dire carnality for variety meats. Depression just took the first serving before they could.

  Even the domesticated places are a wilderness untamed.

  Stress drained you of life. It softened your desire to even try. Gods are dulling, blamed you, on another dull morning where the trickling sound of coffee pouring drilled irk into your ears, rather than simply a trickle. Caffeine, a roast so void–black was brewed to un–drain you. Yet, it fuckin didn't.

  Impugning was your everything, until it could no longer purify; Elaine. Emptiness. Hmm, you gave this state of vacuum–headed hollowness a name, keenly because it deserved so by its dismantling of your autonomy. You don't want it. It's not you. It's Elaine. A some–angel fallen out of grace, weary of its wander upon a washed up cove, beige toned and swept shivering–cold. Interested by the warmth your sundry organs pushed into its light silhouette. 

  And perhaps, if the bird was never freed from its heavenly cage, it would be powerless to pester you, to poke the meat inside with the pointy end of plumage.

  Elaine was an organized assault on your wellbeing, moreso against the pulpy, pinkish-gray blob sitting ugly above your throat. Believe it, or assume it. A paralysis, moving shoulders from bed sheets proved farcical, running bristles over your teeth twice a day rhymes with nonsense, and midnight ink born to swirl and curtsy to convey thoughts gone rancid, goes unused atop the white flutter between your journal hardcovers. You have a morbid case of the seasonal blues, except this time, the season is beyond its blue hues. Spring, a fuckin’ kaleidoscope embellished. Blotches of big fuck you greens so vibrant you'd long to die from your tears, and an abstract spit of smell me reds thorny as your stomach brought to a scream for something. Anything.

It was a slow, banal descent into the jello.

  January, floating atop the sweet delicacy, atop your bed.

  February, the solidity gave out beneath you, goo subtly etching around your ankles, calves, elbows, unforgivingly cold when it first hit. When in reality, the bed was heating from your lay.

  March, marrow goes heavy, your limbs at this time could not lift, your efforts waned, and satiating the rumble in you with sustenance was forgotten, as that rumble got so, so.. quiet. 

  April, the jello had stuffed your nose, your sockets, and lullabied your ligaments. You let it happen.

May.

  You let yourself sink. Let yourself decompose and go mush in the head. Like a zombie.

  The descent doesn't taste of sweet delight, but it also fails to churn your lips with a heavy saccharinity. Neutral, your hopeful side did say. Nothing, rationality slapped past your lips.

Five months, either a misery, or a Monday.

  Yes Eve, a bite out of the Apocrypha will indeed fill this human abysm in me. Forbidden knowledge is my craving. Contraband of truth, bite to bite, I envy that I could not cope with its coating of my empty gut earlier.

  Innocence is so dull. You are depressed, not a fucking saint for staying indoors, starving your rage.

  But on came a crisp bouquet of biker–boy newspapers; ‘Hiring’, and a few scans further; ‘Do you harness a great love for the evergreen?’

  A honed section in Missoula's local print— jobs. A publisher boldens and compresses enthusiasm sporadically; writing–on–the–wall hollers speckle themselves meticulously on the newsprint that strike a sense of obligation into the susceptible and soft–of–heart chunk of the population. A pert voice read with persuasion between your ears, gritty in tone and stereotypical of a middle aged ranger, vocals fried by cigarettes but as booming as a cannon.

“Do you care for the animals inhabiting our national sanctuaries?”

  Abutting small paragraphs, the sagging belly of a black bear, tender caramel snout and snoopy–faced, fitted on its head a mustard yellow campaign hat labeled, ‘Smokey’. Its burly, blundering frame on all fours stood out over a comic–style vista of the Montana rockies, paws obscured by blocks of thickset text reading ‘Only you’.

  Huh, a realistic depiction of Smokey Bear— over a not–so–realistic background, avant–garde. 

  Tree greens sprawly that didn't shout ‘Fuck you’ on your poor, sunken eyes searing for sleep and a twilight darkness. Sagey lichens that didn't draw out the spasms above your own bones, calling your regard to bring pin–sized problems and blemishes sprawling your own flesh out of the bliss of ignorance. Brunette muds with only a fleck of sun, a slice of earth dull, humble and unprocessed enough from benevolence to leave you unconsumed, unsunken. A mere slop and pudge in the future and wake of your walk. Nothing obnoxiously grand, nothing sanctimonious. Nature is by birth— righteous, regardless.

  “Before we can be proud of our nation, our nation must be proud of us!”

  The advertisement gropes for a summertime made free. A cyclopean sinkhole in the becoming of time. Recruits–in–waiting are called to bargain normalcy and the bustling cities plump with lumbering limbs of sheen–tight pantyhose shaded under short shapes of plaid skirts for boot–cuts n’ backpacks hefty with gear that could either save you the trouble of mountaineering by path, or trouble your time with a faulty snapping of two things. Rope and neck.

Too grim?

  A months’–long moment of tension snapped at the pressure joint— Summertime the snapper.  You'd be devoting ninety–three suns, ninety–two moons, and some two–million breaths of fir laden air up in Angel Crater National Park, northwest of here. Pupils flickering the double-page setup, you continue: A pictographic, old–fashioned lookout taller than the timber spires surrounding would be your station, your core of operations, for those three young and sunny months. Boxed provisions and supplies are guaranteed to ship every other week, and testimonies encourage even the anxious, balmy buzzes of your brain to sigh in solace learning that the weald creatures there— are mostly harmless, if you aren't bred an imbecile. Alongside, an appointed supervisor, whose name was never disclosed duly except for a scratch of text gingerly clasped in quotations reading, “E.R.W” trailing the mention of said supervisor. What’s required of you was delivered plain written and patent on that shoddy newspaper, held thick in your intrigued thumbs; Keep the forest from catching wild fire.

  You fiddled the idea. Should I? Or should I wallow the summer away? Fiddled it anxiously, fiddled it needily, bumped the clumped rim of the newsprint on your cupid's bow in bending rumination, steadied it cause newspaper smells oddly good— but next to minutes racing hours upon musing, a conclusion had to knock your static looping of gloomdom in the butt.

  One phone call, and the bird would be barred again. Pesterer, Elaine the Terrible, would be cast back where eyes can't roll over the cottony clouds. Just a couple fucking prods to your number–pad, might genuinely un–drain you.

  Luckily, you aren't an idiot reared to take bullshit longer than meritted.

You took the job.

May 30th, 1995, 7:28 PM.

  What does any clever pedestrian traipsing capricious terrain store in their pack to avoid total gangly–branch–grips–of–nature butchery?

Item one; Black nylons— scratch that, you aren't getting paid to snag at every kink and curl of the forest, tighties of gossamery fabrics are a no–go. Citywear stays citywear. Double scratch on those sweet, blackberry Mary Janes too prized and polished to muck up in shit of the earth. Immolating the rigid underside of some chunky hiking boots to the unruly woodlands is the adrenaline pinnacle of out–worlding, come on. It proves you've got a hardy backbone and the right row of teeth to chew what you've bitten off, sullying boots ‘till the color is forevermore stained. Backup boots are tradition, so that's item number two. Best get used to cargo, ankle–length overalls and miscellaneous graphic tees, cause the rockies’ fashion gurus can't get enough of ‘em!

Clothing, check.

  Swathes of ropes twined pumpkiny orange and plenty of clanging anchors to bolt them in, goddesses and gods forbid you be tight on anchors. Medical kits— duh, did you trudge all from yonder just to die out here? This country is dicey, at the cuddly claw of a bear, or not. Hair ties, scrunchies you hoarded as a teenager in the eighties, disposable camera to suit your flaky memories, and an eclectic dump of nutty and fruity cereal bars galore. Unless you're allergic. Substitute.

Accessories and essentials, check.

  Ah, and a spare pistol and switchblade in replacement of newcomer paranoia! Keep that hush–hush though. No matches or lighters, obviously.

True American, illegal weaponry, check.

  All this paraphernalia bangs and clangs heavily on the polyester holding of your backpack, straining your scruff uncomfortably as you tiptoe, scarcely tumble, and tread lightly across a log. It creaks, it groans, it wobbles slightly over the blaring white rush of a stream, suctioning your heart–to–stomach when it grinds a wee bit louder than you thought it should.

  “Shit!” you crimp your torso in and dart wary hands on the timber beam at your feet, assuming a gawky newborn–bambi–pose in hesitation, shuddering in cracked tones, “This can't be the right way..” 

  Hoping on an evaporated sun, you frazzlingly testify in repetitive thought that the map mailed by the rangers a week prior led you on this perilous and incorrect path.. for the last two days. Winding and wounding, literally— your bruises are measureless and on top of that ache your skin to want no more of this. But, you have to. A boulevard of brown, short and stout, wrung unyielding from one gray side to the greener other, a shortcut. Assumed to be a shortcut, based on the route drawn by utter confusion.

Oh yeah, and remember the advertisement stating the park was twenty-five miles out?

Nothing about that hot-press, black-cat inked newspaper accounted for the extra eight weighing your ankles down and your motivation dead low. Twenty-five only stretched out unto the ranger parking lot. The entrance, for fuck's sake.

  Shaky flit of your digits, they float gently off the carve–veined surface of the wood, unfolding your spine as you rise. “Wrong way—” you utter to your chest, oven–warm as it puffs, “—gotta be the wrong..” 

  Tentative–ism is normal here, right? Like, no way you're cautious and sweating at the brow for nothing. Right? 

  One foot— creeakkk— in front of the prudent other, two sailing lunges, three hurried hops and a matched thud soft as marshmallows plants your shoes to hallowed ground. Blades of verdant whiskers so innocent crush under, and it feels fucking— demeaning, actually. All that gulping and pausing.. for nothing.

  You tuck a shoulder–glance to the makeshift ricket of a bridge, and blankface, “Didn't feel like killing me today?”

The tree bears no reply.

  “Hmph, surprising. Seeing as someone killed you,” a sigh parts, fading into the whip and straightening of your head, “figured the pursuit of revenge doesn't stop at ghosts.” and the hoist of your boot up, carrying onward.

  Sundown paints, crescent layers repose approaching moonlight and dying sunlight sprawls psychedelic limbs above you. Balance ambling in tiny bops only made the swirling grasp of those gradient rays more trippy on your eyes and coercive of daydreams, rot–nip for the brain. You spot nutbrown brick— a fireplace in your mind, fevered heat roasting on the inside wall of your forehead too. It was Christmas before the storm, a subzero December. And it was, in fact, colder than the unreachable heaven. Dad was hunkered down in front of that innocuous amber crackle, his right leg slack to the ground and his left arched in the neck of an acoustic guitar, arms plaiting its hollow curve into his chest. 1971, when the veil through and within was thin, and love–vomit poured so easily through. A time of justified ignorance; Childhood. 

  Stood you adjacently, legs short and posolutely not stout, dimpled in the knees. Aged two years, and mushy as ambrosia, contorting your mouth jubilant as you're told for the camera, contrary to your father with his expression drooping to his strumming fingers. Sickly sweets, adult–you unpurposefully neglects to twirl lips at, your extraordinary grins now turned ordinary flat–lines. Holiday memoirs, those spoiled ripe quick after adulthood bolted itself in the slabs of your tender spine and instilled an artificial love for labor and country, displacing nostalgia from ever being seen as a flesh existence. 

“Say cheese!”

  America is sub–human, and sub–humans created America, the imperfect cycle. Families tear, eagles outcry, friends drink their death, and the days continue to unfold without a trace of acknowledgement. Days exist where you soak festivities and stave off the pointer–finger poking at so called slack you relish, and some twenty dwindling years ahead the slowly deadening oak grove road, carousals will be criminally known as layabout–makers.

Joy is a luxury now.

  A blockage prevents your foot from winching clean forward, meeting the bone–hard kiss of a boulder to sore your toes. “Fuck!” you brand your throat walls to a shout, pissed at the rock rather than your woolgather that lead you to said rock, “Fucking fuckhead rock!”

  Woolgather means daydreams, by the way. Funner to use words that don't make a split of sense. Yay for English.

 The sunset clouds dripped with a mania of fascination and had strung your brain to its hypnotic whims, like a siren had soloed a trance, drifting your mind somewhere utopian and phantasmagorical. It sounds silly, but, blanking out seems so often out of grasp from your control, you usually could never flag what caused it, when it started, and why. Nothing practical surfaces. Fuck, your head is so tangled upon memories, you haven't even noticed the progression of scenery twelve o’clock from you. 

  Ponderosa boughs band together where your eyes brush shapes and forage for a clue of what scene wants to greet you ahead. The sequestering silence of rustles indicates a clearing, possibly. Possible as it could be, you fully expected this cruel footslog to wallop your ass into a minefield, so you bet cards and course carefully beneath the crowns of pine, completely bent to the chance of another obstacle threatening your tender ankles. Leafy whispers above strum your ears brimmed with its sotto voce song, and then— colors it silently behind.

“Holy shit.”

  Presence crumbles above you, and opens before you. The lookout. Wood shafts slant in opposing directions, up and up along four brawny beams in three consecutive layers, like a blocky cone. The face closest to you overlaps the backing rest, giving the illusion of tufted wooden legs sketched under all lackadaisical. Endgame daylight spies from behind this one–roomed cyclops, gushing final spurts of citrus rays as if it truly was an orange squeezed to pulp. So, the flank and forehead of that towering, mountainscaping lookout rolling a cold shoulder to the sun, paves in a tattered tapestry of garnet smokiness instead. Shadow of sundown. From where you sow feet, a football field apart, petty details are difficult to squint into clarity, but the window panes appear tawny, too.

  An intimidation, “So much for a tiny room.” A beaute intimidation, “And no actual bathroom.” it makes you feel like a genuine insect compared.

  A sort of stairwell serpent faintly chokes the foot, the calves, the thighs, and punctures kindly a mouth leading up to the skirting balcony hedged in many gaunt teeth. Tamping gravel closer, subtleties and fine points fade as the tower's plank–lined and flat underbelly turns to you. Larger and larger, it dips darkly from miniscule masquerade.

  Bringing your decently aching foot to the first step, you press into the curb and meander your cruder aching— thanks to a random boulder— foot weirdly on the outer ridge of your boot. Making it up the stairs to fund yourself a fucking break was a palpable mockery in itself. Like, ‘Hey! Climb this long–ass stairwell for a teensy break before doing it all over again the next day!’. 

Un–fucking–believable. 

  Fifty years of history and past rangers grate in your walk, the floorboards thump with their stories, thump into your skin— verse you a wordless eulogy. Each step is a sentence, and every sentence branches into a whole tree of genealogy, lives. Lifestyles you can't understand now, but will.

  Really redundant of me to highlight the generations alive in those floorboards. The walk up there isn’t that exciting.

  After the last step, you're met eye–to–frame with a scratched door, pygmy window centered and paper–screened from within, and the stories predating your stay inspire a comical theory, “Jeez— bears make it up here?” you half–suppress a snort, palming a fist on the doorknob coldly before rotating and giving sympathetic pressure to the door.. jammed. 

  “C’mon..” knuckles pulse into the knobs plate, gradually upping the force you pushed, “.. losing light out here..” eventually adding your other hand to sweeten the push.

  Sure, a whole year has gone by since it homed somebody, and it's retro, but come on.

  Breaking splinters into the door was your last intention, so you try so–so carefully— to some extent, “Please..” now butting the tip of your boot on the rim to ease it— ease, and finally pry, a clapback of wind blowing dusty, nightfall air past your crescent cheeks following the snap of the fallow door.

  Thank goodness for your grace and balance, some days, avoiding a timely trip face–first to a floor so powdered in light dust, any kid would mistake it for a good time sweeping snow angels. 

  Not so good for the respiratory system though.

  Muggy space filtering your lungs tightly, you cough out, “Gah— fuck!” nothing higher than the level of a guttural wheeze, your chest punching into your throat. Gaping out the last flock of butterflies clumped at your collarbones, the tickle inside calms, and you find your sights taking in a dark box. A dim orb of lily silver glow rests in the middle of the pall room, raising the natural, “Where's the ligh— ah, big clunky thing—” 

  Flicking the off–white and stubby nub attached to an impractically sized lightswitch, which frankly resembles an electric box externally, an essence of Apollo ladens the room. Lemony–gold light, passably bright off the redwood ceiling, and murmuring a low buzz through one ear, and out the other, your pupils caper along the contrasting shades awakened.

  “Definitely retro, but.. no roommates.” spoke you, gingerly content with the colors piecing this camper pad together. You observe.

  Forget–me–nots bled the cotton bedsheets baby blue, leavening the mattress with a tidy emotion as it's tucked, folded at the top and draped in a complimentary quilt— benevolent blues, hues your lids soften on. The bed beelined from the doorway, a corner counter fawn–brown as the wood extends adjacent to it, covering the northeastern angle of the room. Magpied brands of canned food clutter shelves, spines spanning thick books of epic poetry to sci–fi comics create a ribcage of literature along a compact bookcase perching that countertop, and sunken in the east side of it, a steel sink. It shimmered sunflower bands of light as you moved, a rainbow–arched faucet brightened completely.

  Step by step, you draw near a circular table in the middle. Strange rods and gadgets stuck out of the borders, inlaid glass protecting a local map so sleek you could see a phantom of your face in it, and a black bar looming the width, so it rings with tangible importance. Of which you'll gauge about later. Truthfully, the journey by foot here? Dead–beating, your knees bloated, throbbed flesh hot, and almost buckled; fatigues infamous way of scolding you to sit the fuck—

“Sup Maple lake, you there?” 

  A pang hammers to your heart, and a crawlish wave of startled blood pales from your face and drops to your jaw, “Jesus!” sweat hitting you a blink after, every normal function just— flunked. That voice, more like a ruptured stereo sizzling, caught you the fuck off guard. Now you dither, dumbassery taking your eyes through a new loop of figuring out where–why–how and what the robotic intruder wants.

  But pre–realizing, your ears perk to a more coherent, and outstretched string of static, “C'mon, know you're checked in.” and post–realization tugs your eyes to a mustardy n’ black cased device; a walkie–talkie.

  Okay, way to creep recruits out. Whoever, for whatever reason— at the nick of night too, gimme’ a break. You wry, knitting raisin crinkles above your nose, trying to discern your palette of options; pick up the walkie, tap in and feign politeness in the shortest and sluggiest scraps of small talk to be done with the day, or rant off the bat— highlight how fucking late it is, and how taxing a double–goddamned–day hike made your head and patience feel. And right now, the second response route feels arguably more tempting than—

  “This is Cordero Tower, calling in. Can see ya’ standing by the Osborne, by the way.” 

  Its staticy feedback has waned completely, densening a thick husk and tilting towards a honeyed undertone. Relaxed sounding or not, what the fuck.

  You react predictably, flicking your chin west, then east only for you to meet the dead of night— thanks mountains— stalking perfectly in every single window. So, useless to check. Answering it was a yes–go, it would be sickenly awkward to thrust it under the rug now. Your knees pull forward, eyes calligraphing the power buttons tinted in cherry light, palm drawing to meet your focal point.

  The case is ribbon gentle under your fingertips’ graze, fresh and in store–new condition. Maybe the only thing hot from the pot of newfangled technology. Plastic intricacies roll under until you settle on a swollen button, denting the plush of your finger as you press, hold, and speak. A crisp crackle activates your line, tuning you in.

    Breath hesitates between your chords, “Maple.. lake.. speaking,” off–the–tongue words manifesting on–the–spot, “you can see me?”

  “Yeah.” the walkie chuckles, sugary curl pitching up and through their tone, “Look out ur’ north window, you'll see her.”

Her?

  Nooking your nose north, you only widen pupils on that same, starless coast of darkness nosing the rim of your window sills. What do they mean to—

  “Nh–no,” You literally said north, “get closer to the window, n’ look up.” What, are you a fucking sparkling, rasp–voiced eagle?

  “Fuck are you talking about,” mouthed you void of voice, stumped on what this person was getting at. Wedging your knuckles below the meshy underside of your backpacks right strap, you wrangle it down your arm as you glide rubbery sole along croaking oak, tossing that bag so cumbersome atop a lily white pillow— looking fresher than a daisy, and clamber the mattress pliantly dented to your knees to grasp a broader panorama. 

  And with that window hood washed over, a convoy of fireflies focus a tiny constellation in the murked glass. Little pinholes of light, dots in the distance. They rough–hew a blur, but the excess seconds taken to brood squints and balance the blurry blotches, an outline crops up. Another fire lookout, sprouting from rock and rise of a berg. Offspring of the distant cordillera that gives this whole park its sense of a cradled–woodland, but either way thought, a lookout hosts it home on top.

  “You can see me from all the way out there?” you wondered, truly. I mean— at minimum, a sore sprawl of miles bridges you both.

  “Mhm..” a pause loiters that fluid hum, then some really throaty syllables, “Binoculars~” you could almost envision— nah, feel the stare of those binocs, undoubtedly taking note of every contort in your body right now.

  “Oh thats, totally.. not,” you blunt your tone, shying a few inches from the glass, “.. creepy.” awkwardly. “Uh, who are you anyways— are you like, uh, another recruit?” as you engage small talk, grumpy frown pouting, the habit of kissing your wrist to your jaw as you would a piglet–tailed telephone overruns your burnt out focus, having to wince the walkie away when your eardrums nearly burst.

Ouch.

  “For one, I'm actually your supervisor. I know, I don't sound like a typical smoker–lunged, middle–aged white dude.” their tone gruffs and deepens to impersonate, finger air quotes practically radiating from the other end, “And two, my name is Ellie— Ellie Miller–Williams, if you care.”

  “Don't.” you heave out the pain stretching your head, aching each time you simply thunk.

  “Straightforward,” her timbre ups in approval, seemingly, “I like it. I like you, recruit I dunno’ the name of.” and a bubble hics her throat, quite audibly.

  “Not single.” Wrong, just uninterested. Hooking two fingers in the fabric handle of your bag and craning it to the ground, with scattered grates of plastic buckles skating the floor.

“What?”

  Oh, shit she wasn't— oops, ‘course she meant that platonically, heads so damn muggy,  “Uh, it's—my name.. sorry I’m just a bit out of the loop—” Dumbass, unscramble your brain alphabet soup, will you?

  “That’s a long ass name, what were your parents thinking? Haha.” Her duo–beat chuckle flares your humiliation, and then proceeds to pinch its swollen parts into total inflammation, “Where does it originate from?”  

  Cheesy bitch, “Can you not— I like, pfhh..” you temper yourself with a moon–cool blow to chap your lips and inflate your cheeks, ending up with a draw of an even more loosened tongue sour as it complains, “Did a whole two–day hike through the most torturous terrain just to get here, I really don't—”

Please.

  And if gripes trudged through teeth aren't persuasive enough, you recess your bone–ache bod avidly in the springy haven of your bed which chirped at your weights shifting motions, collarbones packing down on your vocal chords. You shouldn't sound up to chat whatsoever. Instead, vehemently drained, “I just wanna get some shut eye, talk me over n’ the mornin’.” your thumb lying a button away from disconnecting. 

  “Hey, hey—” Ellie ushered, her slurry breath fogging up the mic. Lips squeak softly into it, smacking before an intone, “Can't I be a little curious?”

  You synchronized in noise, sucking teeth behind heart–pursed lips, “Do you think somebody this exhausted has the appetite to entertain you?” stilling your thumb–pad on the power off key.

  “If I keep bothering you,” that alone ticked you, her blatant drive to carry on when your brain rejected its substance, “.. yeah. Maybe you'll be nicer then too.. huph!” a heartier peep hicced up on the speaker, and right then that noise jogged a discovery.

“Are you drunk?” has to be.

  Of course, she ignores the naked and sorely obvious, “Did your boyfriend break ur’ heart or something— an’ that's why you're out here?” bottle sloshing in the background of her mumble.

  Dumbstruck, you furrow a miffy expression, “W–what, boyfriend?” 

  “Said you weren’t single.” she recalls, warmly unspinning the fuddle that knit your brows, “Think I forget so easily?” drawled like a sultry retort, baking your ears.

You a hundred percent forgot though.

  Gosh, short–term memory sucks, or it's just your energy drought making you woozy. Blame it on lethargy, “No no, that was just.. tired talk. I thought you were hitting on me.” 

  “Oh? That's cute.” her choosing to say that latter statement unfolded discordantly, you seriously couldn’t gauge if that was a flirt, or another paper daisy— mock honey, a platonic notion. Even so, it sounded so damn smooth, lace to the ears. “But no, I wasn't— m'not like gay or ‘whutever.” stammered her, light snort fanning.

  A stifled chuckle hops from your chest, mixing with hers, “Uhuh, cool.” halfway uncaring and halfway amused, bafflement working your facial muscles. 

  “Yeah, um, but seriously..” her voice drifts into a ponderous rasp, the faint rustles of flimsy paper licking page to page subtler than her speech, “what's got you out here, newbie?”

“Newbie. Really?” A brow pricks.

  “I mean, you're new— new to the lookout, new to the job, in need of my phenomenal supervision and my wide range of knowledge. Yeah, a newbie.” 

  Then your brow mellows, tension held in your face dropping dead on backhanded flattery, “You are funnily agonizing.”

  “Aw.” her scratchily suave coo has your jaw set like stone, “That's so sweet.” but her short–lived song has your heartstrings soaked in ripe honeycomb, touched to the core by sweetness nebulose and an assortment of some foreign threads. Thickened heart, tighter ribs, a churn to weaken your stomach, a maverick of things unfamiliar to you.

  Momentaries, but still noticeable even if your senses were twisted backwards.

  Chewing over how you'll begin to explain, a few letters sift through your chords, until you hook on a sigh, “Ah, well, I'm out here for a fuck ton of reasons—”

“Reasons, or— huhp, problems?” Ellie blurt–hics, nosy.

“..”

  A brief gulp and exhale wheezes from her, “Sorry, it's the bourbons’— super good. Continue.” 

 You loosely split your mouth, gasping to exchange a gale for words pressing out, “A series of reasons, and problems, that I don't bother to lay on a grand platter, so you'll get a summary tossed on an appetizer plate.” you preface. Allow an elliptical gap to cut through, rousing her hum to let you know her ears are as intent–peaked as a Chihuahua’s, “Contact with my parents’ has gone cold, my last job made me want to hurl into a pack of crocodiles— and the city became too loud and too heavy–handed. Saw this job on the local paper, and got the hell out of dodge.”

An omissive summary, you meant. 

  There’s more that eats the heart. People can’t just.. drop the burden of knowledge wantonly on randos like they’re idling under fertile treetops waiting for the apples to plummet, biting into a pulpy biography. She’s just a girl, not a therapist.

  A discomforted purr lengthens into her reply, “Mmmmh, ever try a drink or two?” her intoxicated reply.

  “Oh, see,” you flap your hand and slap it to your denim clad thigh, “you are drunk.” as if she could even see your gesture.

  “No, I’m Ellie, hmhm~” comes with a giggle, and you consider her state of insobriety to be— wavering, but it’s stimulating to hear her fluctuate between groaned jokes and extra raspy comments, “Still haven’t told me your name though.”

  Some moments during this whole ‘Who are you?’ seminar made you concerned for your future here— if you’ll make it out psyche intact, but some moments found by winnowing through the illogical backtalk touched you with inbound camaraderie.

  Invisible touches that inhabit your neck with a leak of your name so— sincerely. It transforms into a fairer sound on your ears when she repeats it, affirming it. Nobody else's teeth clutches your name so welcome as she.

  “Hmm, ‘name kinda fits your voice.” odd commentary, but since composed with her already peculiar and drunken tongue, the shoe fits.

  That said, crabby confusion seems easier to articulate, “Thanks, weirdo.” but lips rebellious, they press an inevitable grin together. 

“No problem, sleepyhead.”

So many nicknames.

  Recognizing that downtick in hubbubs and breaths on the walkie, checking out for the night posed as a passionate option the burden weighing your eyelids couldn't or shouldn't veto. So you haul your torso up, kick and poke your toes over ankles to butt your boots off prior planting your heels, whisking toward the lightswitch and committing your lookout to swell with the outside's dark fresco. 

Stygian tones.

  “Speaking of sleepy heads..” you taper off speech, leaving the rest to her— touch wood— wide enough, hopefully–not–drunk–enough imagination to fathom as you slide and slip desperately beneath woolen blankets, sleepy worries, and sentences sailed to rest.

  “Aw man.” Ellie bums so, so stupidly, for comical value.

“Yeah, man.”

  “Mpht—” wetness smacks, “wanted to bore a pretty girl to death with recruit regulations and syllabi..”

How would you know?

  In reality, Ellie was reaching a transcendent caliber of wasted, drinking up your atmospherics and drunken to her gutly core. Woods hatch forlorn people; forlorn people get thirsty, “But, mhh, heads’ nearly falling off, whoof.” she expresses a soaring of vowels, but it parallels a gruff howl more. 

  Drowsy, buzzy jubilancy, plucking her flirty strums. You sugarcoat the flare in your chest hearing ‘pretty girl’, ears clicking to the swallow convincing your heart that Ellie was not flirting. As established; She’s under the influence, and not gay. Your brain repeats that, over and over, repeat, repeat, she isn’t flirting. 

  “Hey, here's a tip..” you inch the walkie a penny away from your flopped head, clefting your lip open, “Don't get drunk on the job. They didn't hire you to decoct your brain the day before chaperoning a recruit in the literal wilderness. So, stash that shit, n’ let's both get some shut eye, yeah?” and saying all that, may have just cashed in your last dose of breath and brain cells for the night.

  Ellie being Ellie— well, what you suspect is a ‘her’ thing after these few speckled minutes, dopily laughs at you. And dammit if she wasn't glamoring a dopey smirk in accord, you’ll have gleaned wrong.

  A voice, “Who’s the boss again?” her witty and cruel wisecrack, “They didn't pay you to boss the— hup, boss around.” 

  They will pay you to confront and reflect your spectrum of limits if this girl brushes their seams, that's for certain. Or, play God and lambast her, tender as milk.

  There's even a stroke of a chance, that your crooked lips poached her dopey grin instead, “Kay, well, maybe they'll reimburse me for your poor services.” 

  “My services are not poor. You'll see, tomorrow.” the volume of her melts away, going muted under liquid swills clanging on glass.

  “Please tell me that's the sound of you putting the bottle away.”

  “Mhm!” came out plugged, the bottle confining her garble, then popping clean as a cork, “Fuck— okay,” she siphons air in, pure little clink tinting the end of her sharp–edged sniffle, “Make sleeping in earlier worth it t’morrow, wanna drive you nuts with my questions.” she nasals, drawing near the mic again.

  Such a magpie, “Cause you're lonely?” and weird.

  “Shut up,” she shushes you, a satin whisper light–hearted and quick on beat, “M’not lonely anymore, right?” The type of softly spoken outcry that would balloon your cheeks with soreness if you were face–to–face with the throat that conducts it. Involuntary smiles plague you everywhere. But there is no mouth, no larynx, no throat that you view the swallow of. Just a walkie, so you settle in stoicism.

  You tug your upper–lip and pivot your eyes, drumming up something clever to combat, “In a sense. Not like we’re bunkmates, thank goodness.”

  “Fuck you,” Ellie breaks into a cuss spout so serenely, she sounded small and harmless, “just go to bed.” reduced to birch in winter shed of its brittle autumn arguments.

“Don’t gotta tell me once.”

  By the first full and emphatic giggle she cast just now that wasn’t suppressed nor achieved by humble pie, you take it that Ellie found you funnily harrowing just as her, two peas in an outstretched pod. Fault be with her, for getting wasted. Otherwise, you might have pried her skull open with questions dolled up as a pruner, clipping the forelimbs that are foliated in a messy breadth of first glance leaflets and attitudes until you piece it prettily, in a way that thralls you to never shrink your eyes back into their sockets. Drunk people are like prone beehives though, so you don't prod them.

Tomorrow, you can paint her portrait, or vice versa.

“Whatever you say, newbie.”

And with the whirry crunch of the walkie shutting off, Monday, came to a close.

if you enjoyed this chapter, please lmk what you thought!! i love getting asks about my content ♡

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[kanerallels]

Okay I can't resist it thoughts on MSATD season four, episode 3 under the cut:

The first scene KILLED ME. Eliza talking to unconscious William and visiting him every day and lying to the nurses and pretending to be his wife so she could get in, and bEGGING HIM TO WAKE UP HELP

The flashbacks were absolutely MASTERFULLY done. The actors for young William and Eliza were INCREDIBLE-- she looked just like a younger Eliza, and sounded like her too!! I wasn't immediately sold on William's actor-- probably the lack of beard threw me off-- but that did NOT last. He sounded so much like him, and he really did a great job of William's expressions and his patented "Good Grief Eliza Why Do You Do This" sigh made MULTIPLE appearances

The S1 E5 reference with "tempus fugit" made me very emotional, as did all of the interactions with William and Henry

OH ALSO WE GOT TO SEE THE PARKERS AGAIN I MISSED THE PARKERS

I will never stop losing my mind over the fact that Eliza fell first but William fell harder

"do you always lie this much?" ENDED ME the way it-- and so many things in this episode-- set up their dynamic as we know them now is just *chef's kiss*

Also I love that Eliza solved the case

But I can also see how it must have felt SO unfair that William gets the job she's always dreamed of, I love and appreciate her for forging her own way

OKAY BUT THE FACT WE GOT THE KISS THEY'VE ALWAYS BEEN TALKING ABOUT FIRST OF ALL ELIZA. GIRL. THAT WAS IN NO WAYS JUST WILLIAM. SECOND OF ALL it cracked me up that teenage William's only idea for how to stop her from crying was to kiss her. Almost like you've been thinking about kissing her a lot huh

And then the ending scene where he woke up and she was so HAPPY and they were bantering a little and I just. AUGH I AM FEELING SOME EMOTIONS ABOUT THESE TWO OKAY THAT'S ALL FOR NOW

[brisquad-unit-4402]

hello i’ve got some thoughts and updates for this blog.

i’ve been on a bit of burnout for a while, including life outside of writing. naturally the termination has sped up that burnout. i’m exhausted and struggling to be graceful about it, but that’s to be expected. i’m not one to sit on my feelings even though i’ve lacked the energy to write. which really bites because that’s my number-one passion really.

however i’ve taken some time to relax by diverting my attention away from social media and niji streams. i’ve relearned an old hobby and splurged a little too much on a new one, and i kind of can’t believe how much i missed drawing on real paper with a real pen and pencil. and thank god the love and deepspace sponsorship wrapped up before the termination, because that game has me in not just a chokehold but like one of those umbilical cords from astral projection. the silver cord? that

i’ve been watching other vtubers lately as well. i’ve always considered adding holostars en to my list but hesitated because everything else on my blog was niji-related.

consider this confirmation that i will be adding holostars’ tempus hq, vanguard and armis, and first stage productions’ avallum to my list of characters i will write for. i admit i’m not as familiar with armis, but i’ll be paying closer attention in the near future as i branch out from strictly watching niji only.

(might also be adding idol corp’s e-sekai? maybe? i watch them once every few months and i haven’t seen pochi or yuko stream since they debuted 💀 no clue on their gen 2 either)

i’ll be overhauling my masterpost for organization soon. so apologies for the horrors about to come… to be clear i will not delete any of my writing so don’t worry!

i’m unsure how much niji i’ll write in the future. give me some time to think as the situation hopefully cools down. i appreciate your patience.

and who knows maybe i’ll write for non-vtuber fandoms too

i think it’s about time i clean my inbox out soon too. i‘ll answer what asks i can and delete the remaining ones. i’ve had a few requests sitting in my inbox for nearly a year now and i’ve recently realized how stressed i was over them and learned about some boundaries i didn’t know i had beforehand, among other things, so so it’s about time i face them head-on. i apologize if i never got to your request! please don’t take it personally if i don’t answer your request. but above all else thank you for being patient, understanding, and kind enough to send in a request. even though i tend to bite off more than i can chew i always get so happy whenever i see a notif in my inbox and i appreciate your time for a little unit 4402.

even though i’m not watching niji streams atm i’m hesitant to stop writing for them because, like, i keep thinking of this clip of doppio saying he feels like he’s allowed to buy healthy/organic food because of fan support and donations, and among other reasons... it’s very easy to make conclusions on people you only know through a screen and i just can’t bring myself to cut them out so abruptly, even if i’m a fan creator on a site none of them use.

idk when i’ll post next and it feels nice to say that. i usually try to post once every 2 weeks, but considering how i’m trying not to think about niji right now and am instead embracing other parts of my life, i dunno. it’s nice. this blog is a major source of joy for me and it feels like i’m preserving what makes it so special for me instead of turning it into a chore. hopefully with time and rest i’ll have a clearer idea of where to go from here.

that’s pretty much everything on my mind, i think? thank you for bearing with me and my yapping. i hope to return soon and that the next time you see me, my blog will be cleaner, more expansive, and with a fresh mindset. take care of yourselves and don’t get immersed in toxicity. don’t forget to do what you love 💛

[minsarasarahair]

Okaayyy... I think I'm fine now. I can talk about the changes in Vesper Noir's design.

I'm easy to please. As long as he has long hair, I'm good. I really love the hair. His new design looks like a fusion of Aruran 1.0 and Vesper 1.0. Yellow and black is still part of his color scheme but green is now his character color. I think the redesign is good for him "to move on". He has so many hiccup in his Vesper 1.0. He's always associated to Castlevania Alucard design, got suspended because of his temper and drained his social battery in his stay in Japan resulting missing out Tempus half-anniversary. I'm not super upset about that because I'm still new in vtuber fan community so most of the time when it happened I'm just confused. Questioning why he need to interact with his fans more in social media? Because I used to fangirl over fictional idols that will never reply to me. Why there's even a half-anniversary? You can just do only the anniversary. Stuff like that lol I always thought the first design has a troublemaker aura. Its like a teenager who's rebelling against his parents. So that's probably why even if he has little attitude problem I'm like oh it suits his character design lol The new design is more mature. Its still the same guy but he turn into a new leaf. I really like that. I confessed as a teenager I'm a bit emo and even wear a yellow-black jacket in my casual but as an adult, I like the color green. I can relate to that so his redesign really works for me.

Let's talk about the technicality of the design. First of all, even if I really love the first design I admit its not everyone's cup of tea especially if we're talking about what's popular nowadays. I guess they have no choice but to adapt. Being an artist is you always need to face changes too. I like that the color is more vibrant in 2.0. The coloring is also more rendered. I'll definitely miss the dorito chin, his glasses with reflection and coat. I really love Vesper 1.0. But what makes me happy the most in this new design is the ID featuring Vesper 1.0. Its like the message of the design is even if there is so many hiccups in my past what really matters is I'm here and I'm thriving. There is changes but there's also something that didn't change. He's not forgetting Vesper 1.0 and the mistakes he did but more like he's moving forward. Another message of this design is I feel like HQ boys did something together behind the scene hence why Vesper and Magni are very grateful to Tempus HQ boys. I don't know what it is but they said its a joined effort implying Vesper 2.0 and Magni 1.5 are the result of that effort. As a HQ fan, I can't help but appreciate that. Ah, another message is uh his new design is for older community in vtubers fanbase. It seems he's very well-loved by older vtuber fanbase during his indie days, aka his past life or other vtuber persona. That's always his target audience and strength as a talent so I'm quite happy they showcase that in his new design. So in short, his design has 3 messages: 1. To move forward. 2. HQ boys joined efforts. 3. For older community in vtuber fanbase. Its not just a pretty design. It has message at least from what I can see so that's why I believe the redesign is good. Message is important in art, okay? Remember that 3 messages before you think its ugly. I think art will only look ugly if it has no message. Even Vesper 1.0 has a message. It has this retro design that reminisce of 1900s anime bishounen.

If there is something I don't like is its the rigging of the face. Well, Vesper 1.0 don't have the best rigging too but I got used too it. Maybe I just need time? Just like Magni's 1.5? I don't know if Vesper just don't know how to use his own model but there is something off in his mouth. It opens too wide even if he's not that loud lol Its fine if he's laughing but when he's just talking normally, it looks weird. Another one is his eyebrows. I barely see any movements. I'm expecting something like Magni 1.5 update but oh well. I really like the hair rigging tho. His hair is truly his best asset.

Also, I want to congratulate Pako-sensei for being Vesper's adoptive parent. I think his original artist Kuniharu Komiya-sensei is currently sick so they have no choice but to find different artist. I think its like Fatamoru's situation? Moyataro was sick when Novectacle made the Fatamoru Reincarnation. I hope sensei will get better soon. So anyway, Pako-sensei is a regular Tempus viewer ever since his daughter Sana from Holocouncil graduated because of health issues. He really deserve becoming Vesper's new papa because of how frequent he is in Tempus stream lol. And yes, he's also an FGO artist like other Tempus boys parents. He's known for his Karna and Oda Nobunaga characters. Here are his Vesper illustrations that he did before and until he became Vesper's new papa!

[california-112]

For the ask game:

If you were a character, who would you be and why?

Very unpopular opinions? Share them here!

Have fun:)

Hi, hello! Thanks for the ask!

This is the list they're from, and I'm still (always!) open to more :)

If you were a character, who would you be and why?

Mulder. Next question...

No, I'll elaborate. For my first reason, I'll quote my own post:

"Imagine. Going through your whole life looking like that." Yeah I can imagine going through my whole life looking like Fox Mulder, it's called gender eurphoria

I spelt euphoria wrong waaah

Apart from the looks, though, he seems to have a pretty cool life. UFO hunting, investigating the supernatural, cool apartment, great partner, fun basement office, action and adventure...of course, there are downsides (missing sister, constant brushes with danger, frequently hunted by the government, paperwork, etc.), but overall it looks very interesting.

However, we're also already not dissimilar. I may not be quite as much of a conspiracy nut as he is (though of course I believe in aliens 🛸), and I'm certainly not about to join the FBI even if the 'uniform' does look hella cool, but we apparently both have issues with sleeping, eating, trust, fire, and obsession/hyperfixation (e.g. Grotesque and his whole search for the Truth), at least. [Let me know if you think my assessment of his character (and/or mine?!) is unfair or wrong; I can't remember exactly what's in canon and what appears more in fanon.]

The most random similarity is that both of us have used the sound of a light aircraft to locate something. In Mulder's case, during S01E15 'Lazarus', it's a sound caught on a recording that helps him find Scully. For me, I was hiking with a group a few years ago and we were mildly lost. However, when I heard a light aeroplane doing spin training, I knew that it could only being doing that over certain areas in our locality, and from the map we had I could work out our location more accurately, the result being that we made it home that evening.

I can also blame Mulder for my new sunflower seed addiction! Thanks a bunch.

Of course, if I were actually to turn up in a TXF episode, it would probably be as background character #3 who has a couple of lines being questioned by Scully whilst Mulder waits moodily in the background, but hey. I want to believe.

Very unpopular opinions? Share them here!

Look, this show may be a new love of mine, but yes, I do already have some potentially unpopular opinions. Buckle in...

I'm not a fan of MSR. You said unpopular! I've really enjoyed the early seasons of the show for the friendship between Mulder and Scully, and I see that as just continuing. Yes, they get closer, how could they not? But I dislike the fact that they (apparently) actually get together in the end and it's canon.

I will add the disclaimer that, yes, I am only up to S05E09 at the moment, and I suppose that the storyline could lead very nicely into it. However, at the moment from what I've seen in content on here like gifsets and edits, I don't think I'll like it, and I prefer the vibe of the show as it now is.

This marries up (!) with my dislike of many of later parts of the mytharc that I'm coming to now. It's probably because I personally prefer monster of the week episodes, but especially the S4 mytharc eps were among my least favourites, and some of them were bordering on a struggle to watch.

Which leads into my general dislike of S4, definitely an unpopular opinion according to the poll that happened recently. I won't go on too much as I've said this in some tags before, but I find it hard to believe that S4 is a favourite season. Yes, there are some good eps! Demons is my favourite of the season and among my top episodes of the show so far, and Tempus Fugit/Max was excellent. But there was also The Field Where I Died, Never Again, Memento Mori, Synchrony, Zero Sum...some of my least favourite episodes so far, that I would probably avoid on a rewatch.

Ok, rant over. Thank you for this ask, it was great fun to think about the answers! :D

[elliebyrrdwrites]

Dramione 'dynamics'

Every chapter is always here: dynamics

DRACO

Draco could not sleep for a number of reasons.

The most obvious is that this bed was awful. The mattress was too soft, not at all firm enough for him. It caused his back to bow and he felt like he was being suffocated by it whenever he turned onto his stomach.

The second most obvious reason was that Granger was in the room beside him. How many nights had he stroked himself, in their youth, because she was simply in the same castle as him?

But she was floors away, a lifetime away from him then. Wanking off to the idea of Hermione Granger in every possible position was fine because they would never cross paths. Well, not usually. Sometimes, he’d ensure that they would and he’d say something to piss her off and she’d make that face at him. And then Draco would have a fresh memory of her lips or her angry eyes to fill his visions as he jerked off.

He’d never slept this close to her. Not even in fourth year when the staff gathered all of the students up and piled them into the Great Hall. Because not only was she across the hall, she was a world away from him. Always so out of reach.

But now?

Now he was close to her every day. So much so that he could still smell her on him when he’d go home to the manor. He’d seen her in pajamas, which was by far, the last thing he’d ever thought he’d see when he was a stupid teenage boy. It was intimate and more erotic than just picturing her naked.

He didn’t want to risk wanking it with her in the next room, despite how delicious she had looked when she had glared and practically growled at him in the kitchen.

The third and also very obvious reason he was having a hard time chasing sleep, is that he couldn’t stop replaying the conversation he and Harry had with Fiadh Giles today.

Fiadh was a stark woman and though she was full of grief, she had spoken of her daughters death as if she should have seen it coming. There was a sense, she had eluded to, that this was bound to happen to one of them, she had just never considered her own daughter being the victim.

Fiadh had no one else but those she traveled with. She had no husband, no other children. The gypsy’s she traveled with were all mostly mothers and their children. Many of the children had grown to be men and took care of the women. But nobody was there to protect Belinda when she had mysteriously snuck out of the tent at night, only to disappear forever.

The devil in the grass she spoke of, upon further prodding by Draco, was what Fiadh referred to as an evil entity that followed the caravan, though not always successfully.

“Sometimes, it shows up and we manage to feel it’s presence before we set up camp.” Other times, it didn’t manage to predict where they might pop up next.

This time the devil in the grass had “managed to sneak up on us. Lured my Belinda in the dead of night.”

Draco had to wonder why they felt this happened. Why would someone or something stalk them? Had any of their kind gone missing like this before? He had asked Fiadh that very question and her reply was ominous.

“It happened five years ago. Took one of our girls from under our noses. Her body never popped up, though.”

“What was her name?” Harry had asked.

“Cara Walsh.”

There was something about that disappearance that was now grading at Draco. He couldn’t definitively say that they were all connected. But there was a gut feeling that it there was something there worth looking into. Five years ago, there were no missing muggle women that followed the profile of the killer. At least...he hadn’t been aware of any at the time.

He wanted to jump out of bed and work his way into the London police, search through their records spanning the last five years. Maybe the last decade! and then maybe he could sleep.

Except that he couldn’t leave. Granger was here, alone.

With him.

Draco flipped onto his back and flicked his wand overhead, casting a Tempus. 4:17 AM. Seemed as good a time as any to get up.

HERMIONE

Hermione heard Draco leave his room and found herself unable to fall back asleep. It had been difficult to find any rest, what with him in the next room and the having the knowledge that there was a vile wizard out there, stalking witches.

She didn’t know how Draco or Harry could do it. Looking at those photos, seeing the bodies in person...talking to their families. All while knowing it was up to them to catch the wizard responsible.

She had to admire Draco for it. Theo had told her yesterday that it was why Draco had even joined the DMLE. Because of this one wizard hunting muggle women and then witches.

With a long, resigned sigh, Hermione pulled herself out of bed and threw her robe and slippers on before heading down to find him.

Through the kitchen, there was a back door that led onto the back porch that overlooked the garden Harry had insisted upon when he moved in after the war. Neville had helped him transplant flowers and plants that would be charmed to last year round. Lilies of varying shades, to remind him of the mother he never got to know. His mother, who was a muggleborn witch and had died because of a dark wizard’s demented ideas.

That was where she found Draco. Standing on the wood porch, staring out over the garden. It was dark and the only light that illuminated against his back came from the kitchen when she opened the door.

Draco turned to her, hands still braced on the railing. His eyes gobbled her up in one swoop over her as she stepped onto the wooden planks of the porch. He was dressed in the same clothes as yesterday, fully armed and his hair...Hermione sighed.

His arm was perfectly disheveled. Like he had just ran his hands through it, furiously lifting the strands before allowing them to drop wherever they pleased.

She felt the warmth spread over her cheeks, unable to look away from the way it framed his face.

“You’re up early.” His warm, rich voice slid over her, despite the roughness to it as he turned back to look out at the garden.

“I heard you get up.” She inhaled deeply, the scent of lilies heavy in the air around them.

“I didn’t mean to wake you.”

She shook her head, approaching the railing. “I couldn’t sleep and when I heard you, I...” Her voice trailed off. She allowed her eyes to scan the shadows tucked into the corner of the yard. She felt him look down at her. Felt his eyes roaming her face. She knew that when he had said her face was infuriating, it was really his way of complimenting her.

She recalled the boy who had a difficult time expressing himself with words while the tender tips of his fingers against her cheek, cradling it as if it were something precious.

“I wanted to talk to you.” I wanted to see you.

Draco’s body shifted, turning toward her. “Did you?”

There was such an incredible amount of energy coming off of Draco, there always was. But when he was serious and staring at her the way he was now...she felt engulfed by it. She felt like wrapping herself into it and allowing it to seep into her bones.

“You joined the DMLE because of this killer?”

“No.”

She looked up at him and he tilted his head, those gray eyes still holding onto her. “I did but,” He sniffed. He shrugged his shoulders. He never stopped staring. “I thought it might be the only way for me to keep you safe, without...getting too close.”

“Oh.” She looked down at where his left hand rested on the railing. At the way his body was open to her, the way it was less than a foot from where she stood. “You’re rather close now.”

The corner of his mouth twitched up. “I didn’t count on being Potter’s partner.”

She glanced down to his right hand. It hung at his side, but was clenched into a tight fist.

“You joined for me?” Hermione asked, peering up at him. Still, his eyes held onto her as he nodded. “What happens when you catch the killer? Will you quit?”

He scoffed and dragged his eyes away from her, stared out into the dark garden and sighed. “Probably not. It’s a lot more interesting than going on dates and attending useless parties.” He looked back down at her, and his gaze was digging into her skin.

“You went on so many, I suppose a break would do you good.” She avoided his eyes, looking instead at his jaw, the way the skin stretched over the sharp angle. The way it flexed as it worked, like he was physically battling the tension in his body.

“I assume I’ll go to a few here and there.” She watched the skin along his jaw tighten with the lift of his lips.

Her skin prickled. The idea of Draco going on dates while forcing her to stay in this house...well, it was irritating.

“That does pose a rather serious question.” She sniffed.

“What’s that?”

“Is Theo supposed to accompany me on dates?”

“What dates?” His response was lightning quick and she should have felt bad, but there was that sensation again. The idea of a jealous Draco sending her stomach into a freefall and her skin to tighten. “With Weasley?”

Hermione lifted her chin and shook her head. “Not, Ron and I are over.”

“You sure about that?”

“Of course.” She turned away and moved back into the house.

Draco followed her inside, and practically nipped at her heels as she moved to make coffee.

“Who are you going on a date with, then?”

“That’s none of your business.” She noted the pie kept under a preservation spell as she worked. There was one slice missing from it and she knew he had tried it last night. Probably after cleaning the kitchen for her.

She should really be nicer, but he made it so difficult.

“That’s where you’re wrong, actually.”

“Oh?” She pointedly ignored him, staring at the machine while coffee slowly dripped into the pot.

“Yes,” He was right behind her, she could feel the energy coming off of his body, pressing into her back. “It’s too dangerous. Too many risks involved.”

“It’s not. Dinner in a public place is perfectly safe.”

“Then the wizard will be vetted by Theo or myself.”

She scoffed and looked up over her shoulder. “You’ll scare them off.”

His smirk was ruthless. “If he scare easily, perhaps he isn’t up for the challenge to be your wizard.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She spun around to face him at the same time he took a step into her. His tall body caged her in against the counter, each one of his hands grabbing onto the counter, one hand on either side of her. “What are you doing?”

“Do you really think I’m going to sit back and watch you date?”

“Yes.” She winced at the quiver in her voice, despite the way she held her chin up high, her shoulders rolled back.

“I told you that I wanted you.” He had. Though, it was under the influence of a rather curious and vaporous potion.

“You have been out of my life for seven years. Before that, you were awful to me. You don’t just get to waltz back in, and demand that I give you all of my affections!” Gods, she could feel the warmth coming off of him as he leaned over her. She could feel it in her chest, and against her face.

“And what would you have me do, huh?” He was suddenly sliding down onto his knees and he was practically shouting at her. “Get on my knees and beg you to forgive me? Apologize for kissing you?”

Hermione was stunned into silence, because yes she had wanted him to apologize. She had wanted him to explain himself. She wanted to know why he kissed her. Why had had not done anything more. Why he still seemed to want her. But there were no words currently migrating from her brain into her throat.

His hands pulled at her foot, knocking her back against the counter. She had to grip it with her hands behind her back to stop herself from losing her balance.

“Would you have me beg at your feet and apologize for never pursuing you?” He tore the fluffy pink slipper off and tossed it over his shoulder. He was raising her foot towards his face, causing her leg to push through the opening in her robe.

“What—” She gasped when he lowered his head, placing his lips to the sole of her foot.

“What would you have me to, Granger?” With his head still bent, lips still pressed against her foot, he lifted his eyes to hers.

“Draco,” She rasped and stuttered. His eyes flared and suddenly, his hands were moving from her foot, to her calf. His hand was so large, he could wrap it almost entirely around the thickest part of her leg.

“Forgive me, Granger.” He murmured as his other hand continued to hold her foot, massaging his fingers into her arch.

She fought back a moan and swallowed, desperate to dampen her suddenly too-dry throat.

His hand continued to move up. His hand burned a trail up to her knee and was inching toward her thigh and suddenly she was trembling as all warmth began to spread down into her core, in between her thighs.

“I forgive you.” The words were meek and whispered. She didn’t even know if she meant it. But he was clearly manipulating her.

His eyes remained on her and they had darkened, full of hunger and something more. “How kind of you.”

The coffee machine beeped, startling Hermione enough to flinch. Her foot kicked out and caught him in the middle of his chest. Hard.

“Oh!” She dropped her foot and her hand slammed over her mouth.

A mixture of a cough and a laugh rushed out past his lips as he stood up. “Theo’s right.” Draco rubbed at his chest and scowled down at her. “You are violent.”

With a roll of her eyes, Hermione moved to make their morning cups of coffee.

[xandraspalace]

Where the Heart Settles

----- Where the Heart Settles || Banzoin Hakka [HOLOSTARS EN]x GN! Reader - Birthday Fiction

Summary : Hakka used to think that a garden was nothing more than just a place filled with various flowers. However, on his birthday, you proved him wrong. Hakka found himself settling his heart in a safest haven, the garden you made only for him.

WC : 2421 words.

Warning : Grammar errors, fluff with a hint of angst, hint of TEMPUS lore, Ikemen Sengoku references, MLQC references, etc.

Featured Characters : An unnamed friend (OC), Gavis Bettel (mentioned), Josuiji Shinri (mentioned), and Magni Dezmond (mentioned).

Disclaimer : Everything written here is FICTITIOUS. This story is written in second-person point of view and the reader is gender-neutral. The personas written here are based on the avatar of the characters as vtubers, not the person behind it. Enjoy.

A/N : IT’S MY FAVORITE BIRD’S BIRTHDAY AND FOR ONCE I MANAGED TO POST THE BIRTHDAY FICTION ON TIME YEYYYY:D

Other Platforms : [MEDIUM] [TWITTER]

     INDEED. From the outside, your tea shop might look like just a normal shop. That's not wrong at all. You actually run a tea house in your homeland, Xenokuni. However, everything changed when the Jester came to you. Your shop is no longer an ordinary tea house. It now also serves as an information base specifically for Adventurer's Guild TEMPUS.

     You don't remember why you agreed to that. But one thing you know that once the war was over, you had to part ways with your significant other because the Jester took him to the TEMPUS Guild headquarters. And it had been quite a while since the last time you saw him.

     "I'll be fine, I promise."

     To be honest, those worries never went away, not only because he left you, but also because of the eroding effects of the Records Corruption on his body after he was attacked during the war.

     No one knows when they will attack again. You always get scared and anxious every time you think about it. There has been no peace since the people of Xenokuni questioned the validity of Utopia that the elites of Elysium had idealized.

     “Today is his birthday,” you glanced at the digital clock in the room and sighed, feeling a little disappointed. You wanted to celebrate his birthday with him too.

     You don't know, but perhaps the divine forces heard your complaint and answered your wish. The sound of—specifically—okobo sandals hitting the floor can be heard clearly by your ears. However, you ignored whoever it was, considering that your close friend who also works at your tea shop was up front to greet customers.

     But not long after, your friend split the curtain door open to see you. They stood there with a wide smile, it made you confused. “[Y/N],” they called, excitement could be heard in their calm voice.

     "What, are they our customers who want tea or clients who need information?" you asked.

     “You have a guest.”

     With hesitation, you asked again, "I have a guest?"

     However, your question was answered when your friend stepped back, making way for someone. From behind the curtain, you saw a figure that you would never have thought of. Your eyes widen in disbelief.

     You missed this person so much. It would be a lie if you didn't expect a little bit about his sudden arrival, but you also can't hope too much because of his busy life now as a member of the Guild TEMPUS. But one thing you were sure of was that the divine forces did heard your complains about just a moment ago.

     “Hakka…?” you called his name, approaching him slowly. “Is that really you?” That was a stupid question, you admit to yourself. 

     The purple-haired man smiled gently at you. "Of course it’s me. Is there any coolest and cutest exorcist that is better than me here? Tell me who it is!”

     It was him.

     You could confirm it from his antics. Your hand reached for his face, making sure that he wouldn’t disappear when you touch him. You looked down to see one last thing that could prove it was really him.

     You lifted one of the Hakka's hands gently, his eroded one. When you saw the traces of the corruption on his right hand, you could finally breathe a sigh of relief. “Oh, right. It is you,” you laughed shakily, probably because of the tears you were trying to hold back.

     Hakka also raised his right hand to hold yours that was cupping his cheek. "I'm home," he whispered softly.

     You finally pulled him into a hug. Hakka also rested his chin on your crown. He embraced you with such tenderness while whispering sweet nothings.

     Being in his arms again made you realize ... he is your home, no matter how far you two were apart.

     Since Hakka left for Guild TEMPUS, you have prepared something for him when he comes back. His arrival on a birthday was perfect, so you could show the things you prepared for him as a gift.

     You told Hakka there was a place you wanted to show him. You also warned him that this place would be dangerous to visit. The reason why is because this place you were going to visit has the most and strongest concentration of Records Corruption residue. You even call it the Xenokuni’s residue center of Records Corruption.

     But because you told Hakka it would be a birthday gift for him, he agreed to go there with you. He paid no heed to the actual danger he was about to approach. You'd think there would be at least a bit of trauma reactions from him because of what happened to him during the war. But it seemed that he really was the coolest exorcist because he was not afraid of any dangers and obstacles before him.

     "You guys will have a date?" your friend, who was serving some customers, asked.

     "Not really a date, but we will take a little stroll," you answered. “You wouldn’t mind looking after the shop by yourself for a bit, right?”

     Your friend laughed lightly and shook their head. "Of course I don't mind. And Hakka,” they turned to the Tengu. “I wish you a happy birthday. I thought you came here because you or someone from the guild needed information. Turns out you actually came here to meet your darling.”

     Hakka touched his chest, acting dramatic. "Ouch, that's hurting me, you know?" Hakka and your friends laughed, making you smile with them.

     Right after that, Hakka took something out from inside of his white kimono cloth that covered his black shirt. “Here.” Hakka took out an envelope and handed it to your friend.

     "What is this?" they asked.

     “Letter from Dad,” he loud-whispered to them you could hear him. "He really misses you."

     You looked at your friend with teasing gazes and chuckled. “Looks like you guys miss each other. It's not a one-sided feeling."

     Your friend received the letter from the Tengu. Shades of pink blushed their cheeks.

     Hakka grabbed your hand to quickly step out of the tea house. “Bye, Mom! We're off."

     "I'm not your mother!" they protested, but did not seem to hate it.

     Before actually leaving, once again Hakka shouted, “Shinri's my dad, so you're my mom. See you!”

     “Don't tease them too much,” you laughed while walking out of the tea house with him.

     "It's okay. They need to know that Shinri is missing them as well." He took your hand in his. "Let's go. Should we jump down to the spot you mentioned or walk to enjoy the view instead?”

     You giggled. "Let's take a walk. I want to enjoy, not only the view, but also spending time with you too.”

     "That's a great idea."

     With that, hand in hand, you went to the place where your gift for him was.

     After a while of walking, you and Hakka finally arrived at your destination. You stared into the misty abyss in front of you. The concentration of Record Corruptions residue at the bottom of the abyss made your stomach sick. Your legs felt weak, as if you were tired. You're not sure how you came to this place for the past few months.

     “Careful there.” Hakka wrapped once of his arms around your waist, making sure you didn't fall. The Tengu looked at you with a worried look.

     Hakka felt the same way as how you feel. But thanks to his Karasutengu Data, Hakka could still stand and make sure he didn’t fall because of the corruption residue concentrations

     “Hakka, let's go there,” your muttered weakly, pointing a dark, narrow alley. You tried to stand still. "There's a nice place at the end of the alley. I think that place has not been touched by the residue of Records Corruption," you explained.

     Hakka gave you a curious look. While helping you, the two of you entered the alley way.

     When you and Hakka reached there, the exorcist dropped his jaw in surprise, his periwinkle eyes was perfectly rounded. “What is… this…?” Hakka was speechless with what he saw before him. He felt like he was in a different world.

     A bed of flowers stretched out in front of him. It wasn't that wide, but what was before him can spoil his eyes and it could rest his mind which was previously spinning abysmally because of the corruption residue concentration outside.

     "It's a small garden," you answered his previous question. You looked at the garden fondly. “I found this place a while after you and Shinri left to join the headquarters members. Before you left, the Jester had asked me to take a few samples of the corruption residue, and the alley way caught my attention, then I found this place,” you once again explained.

     Hakka listened to you carefully and you continued, “I noticed that the soil in this place is more fertile than most of the land in Xenokuni after the battle. I sent a sample of the residue that the Jester requested along with a letter containing a report about this place. Sir Dezmond replied to the report and said it seems that this place was indeed left untouched during the battle. The influence of the Records Corruption didn’t reach this place.”

     What you said earlier was true. The place seemed untouched by the influence of Records Corruption at all. That place was so fresh and calming, as if it was a world apart from Elysium which is always filled with an unobtrusive aura, despite its beautiful scenery. The exorcist took a deep breath, feeling the fresh air.

     A thin, soft smile touched Hakka's lips. "It's beautiful," he uttered, lightly chuckling.

     A few moments after gazing at the garden, Hakka noticed how neat the garden was. The corner of the garden had been fenced in with wooden pickets. Flowers of all shapes and colors grew out of its well-tended soil. He wasn't sure everything could be this neat without someone’s hands.

     "I grew all of these flowers and tended it ever since Sir Dezmond said I could plant this place with flowers and trees." As if you were reading his mind, your statement succeeded in answering Hakka’s curiosity. You smiled sweetly. “I thought I'll take care of this garden and show you someday. Apart from being located near the Records Corruption residue center, this place has become my safest haven when I need a place to clear my mind.”

     Hakka looked at you in surprise. But if you look at his smile and eyes, curiosity, excitement, and pride was mixed together. “You did all this?!”

     Seeing his expression, you laughed lightly. “Yup! You came here at the right time—it's your birthday, so can you consider this as your birthday present?”

     "You mean... you tended these flowers for me?"

     You nodded, “Do you like it—woah!”

     “I love it!” Hakka interrupted your question with an instant answer as he jumped on you, hugging you tightly. You and Hakka bursted out laughing. "Are you going to continue to take care of this garden until later?" he asked.

     “You bet!” You looked at him with a prideful smile. “When Xenokuni is more stable, when Elysium is fine again, I want people to see this garden too. I want to prove to them that even in the midst of despair, there is still hope blooming for us to hold on to.”

     Before the war erupted, Xenokuni was a very beautiful place. The spring usually beautifies every corner of the land. The garden was like a mini version of Xenokuni's condition before the battle.

     Hakka could practically see the love and devotion that had been poured into each and every flower. The sight was overwhelming yet feeling so good.

     “Happy birthday, Hakka.” As he stood there in amazement, you reached out and took his hand, smiling somewhat bashfully. "Years from now, I hope we'll still be together and come out to see these flowers again."

     In the hands of the elites of Elysium, Hakka never knows what will happen in the future. However, seeing you who were so committed and confident about the future, he couldn’t bear to destroy your hopes. The sights you mentioned—a stable Xenokuni without war, and a beautiful Elysium without dictatorship of the elites—Hakka really wanted to see those sights. He wanted to see the end result of his and the rest of Guild TEMPUS’ hard works.

     Hakka hold your hands tight in his. “What are you talking about? Of course we will always be together. Where are you going? You're stuck with me for a really, really long time."

     It might sound like a joke, but Hakka wasn’t joking at all. He was very serious about what he said. His bluish violet eyes painted dedication and compassion.

     The spring breeze blew, not carrying the gray vibes of Xenokuni, but the scent of the flowers you tended to so beautifully. In your heart, you felt so proud of your gift for him, seeing how calm Hakka was when he's with you.

     You noticed your hands he was holding. Hakka looked back at you with a beautiful smile on his face. He pulled you into a hug, embracing you so gently, protecting you from the outside world.

     To the exorcist, this was what it’s like if pure, unadultred joy took form. “[Y/N],” he called your name softly.

     “Yes, Hakka?” You shot him a questioning look as he smiled and looped his arms around you, drawing you closer.

     “Thank you... Thank you so much... Thank you for being with me...”

     Hakka used to think that a garden was nothing more than a place filled with various flowers. It was indeed beautiful, and colorful, and sweet. But it was just what it was. However, in that moment, you proved him wrong. Hakka found himself settling his heart in that very place. He found himself a safe haven, only for you and him. And it was a prove that love could still bloom in the midst of despair and hopeless darkness. A place that shines so brightly in the midst of chaos, it almost felt like you two were hidden away from the rest of the world.

     Since the war that destroyed Xenokuni happened, Hakka no longer believes in the concept of Utopia. But maybe, with you, he can feel what they call “perfect world.”

     To him, meeting you was a blessing. You turned his world upside down, yet you do it beautifully and effortlessly.

     With you, his heart settled.

     Forever. -----[FIN].

Where the Heart Settles Fiction by Author Xandra April, 2023

[braveclementine]

Day 19~ 4:47 P.M.

Warnings: None, Readers under 18 can read this book.

Copyright: My OCs are Coach Yonce, Emma, Ila, Tempus, and Itty Bitty. I own these characters. I do not condone any copying of this.

You look like shit Stan." Downey said as we met in the room.

"Thanks." I muttered. "Have they found them?"

"They're looking." Downey said, sounding sympathetic. "Not everyone's aware though and not many people know what she looks like. Her parents are here though, with her brothers. So are the other girls families. Evans offered them to stay at his house if you want to visit them."

"What would I say?" I scoffed, tossing back my beer. "Hi, I'm Sebastian Stan. I could've stopped your daughter from running but I was scared she'd shoot me through the head if I did and she'd be gone anyways. Oh, and I also loved her but let terrible things be done to her to get us out alive. No thanks."

"Well, I did get in touch with Donald Trump. He's got some great lawyers for the Russo trial. They want you to be a witness of course. And they're digging into Goodman's car crash. I'm assuming foul play is in play." Downey sighed, checking his watch. "The CIA and the FBI and every other agency is going to want to talk to you."

"Thanks Downey." I said, giving him a bitter smile. "I wasn't aware."

He rolled his eyes. "Don't say something stupid. Give them the Journal and the facts."

"I already did." I muttered. "And before you ask- yes, I made a dozen different copies of the Journal before I handed it over."

Robert sighed as he sat down on the couch, observing me. I hated it. "Are you okay?"

"Better than the kids back at the facility." I responded.

"Sebastian, they're dead." Robert said. "They don't have problems anymore and they don't need therapy. They're not sitting in their house drinking alcohol to forget and they're not screaming into their pillows because of nightmares. I get it. You don't want to be labelled the victim because you weren't the victim. But you still saw shit. You still saw people die in front of you. Yeah, maybe you're not missing your left pinky, you're absolutely fucking right. But there is more than physical pain. There's mental pain too."

"I didn't know you were a psychologist." I muttered.

"Philanthropist, pretty sure its the same thing." He shrugged with the half-hearted joke. He sighed again, "We're worried about you. Chris definitely is even if he's not gonna say it. Get a therapist Stan."

I put my glass down on the table and put my head in my hands. "I keep thinking about her out in the dessert. Who knows what's out there. They created literal monsters Robert. Real ones."

"They're going to find her." Robert said sternly, checking his watch again. "You're going to call up Evans. He's with Benedict and Hiddleston tonight for dinner. You're going to freshen up and join them. You're going to have a normal night. I'm going to go and meet with Trump's lawyer whose going to be working with you. And then you're going to come home, avoid the alcohol, and go to sleep. You're going to have nightmares. Then I'm going to come back tomorrow and help you get a therapist."

"Yes dad." I replied sardonically.

"We're family, Sebastian." Robert responded. "Or we were supposed to be. One big, happy, Marvel family. We still are, minus the Russo's. We take care of each other."

He clapped me on the shoulder and left.

I followed his instructions to the dot. 

⬅️➡️

[corvids-calling]

(slamming my hands down on the table)

tell me about elairo! who is this character!

OMG OF COURSE!! So, Elairo Ayvenwix is my sun elf war domain cleric for my friend's campaign. They were chosen by Tempus (or, as I like to think of it, "one of Tempus's champions), and fight primarily with a warhammer. They use their magic for passive things such as healing or investigation (ie, Detect Magic. oh how I love that spell...). They're a little on the reserved side, but friendly. They write in their journal and have a prayer book, but Elairo's not too interested in academia. Before the campaign, they were traveling to explore more of the world and help where they could, while occasionally returning to a place they could consider home. They also have a penchant for badgers (Puff, how I miss you... this was a bit that just randomly happened and became reoccurring). We've had about 8 sessions so far.

now, @/that-one-engineering-bard, if you're seeing this, there are spoilers for some parts of Elairo's backstory I haven't discussed /roleplayed yet in sessions :3

tw for religion, death, implied abuse. Incredibly stereotypical tragic D&D backstory, but the joy of it means that I get to watch Elairo heal over the course of the campaign.

So, Elairo didn't have the best home life. As I mentioned, they're a cleric, but not by choice. Elairo was chosen by Tempus, a war domain god, as a child. This create tension in their home because their parents, who are traditionalist elves, expected that if their child were to be blessed by a god, it would be a god from the Seldarine (elven pantheon of "good" gods). Tempus is not from the Seldarine, and the stress of this led Elairo running away at the human equivalent of 18.

Elairo felt embarrassed and ashamed to have this divine magic from Tempus, which leads to them isolating themself for a very long time. They would hear whispers every now and then, and the divine magic would flair up, causing them to panic. They would go into town for necessary supplies or to pick up odd jobs, and then go back into the wilderness.

Eventually, Elairo decides to join the military of a random kingdom, thinking it would be a good outlet for divine war magic. Instead, years of repression building up result in them slaughtering everyone on the battlefield, even their own side, and they were horrified. After years and years of isolation and trying to avoid any religion, they stumble blood-soaked into a temple dedicated to Tempus, begging for help. The priest there redirects them a cleric.

This cleric is Nadani Yacria, a Tempest domain tiefling in her late 50s. Elairo around this time is mid-late 200s-ish, I don't have the numbers pinned down, but point is, they've been (not) dealing with their trauma by themself for a long time. Nadani agrees to train them, although, clerics aren't typically "trained." She suspects something bad happened in Elairo's past, but isn't sure what until a few weeks into training when Elairo breaks down and tells them about the battlefield. Over the course of a few years, Elairo slowly begins to learn how to have better grip on their divine magic and kinda views Nadani as a mother figure.

Elairo starts going on small journeys, this time to explore the world and learn more about themself. It's on one of these trips that they meet the rest of the party (Elanor, Echo, and Crikit) at a tavern in Bramblefield :)

initial picrew of Elairo

my cosplay!! I love this character so much.

I've written 3 short stories expanding on details in their backstory, 2 short stories where I play Elairo as a bard in a different campaign, and 1 random AU bc I saw a tumblr prompt.

Random detail I'm proud of- the bandages on their hand:

They fight with a warhammer, so to many others it seems like they were bandages to prevent calluses. Semi-correct idea. They also do it to hide the scars on their hands they received from their parents.

I also am a secretive little shit, and this isn't everything. I just wanna hold some things close to my chest :)

[bewitchingbooktours]

Quest for Copia by E.P. Bellows

Quest for Copia

John William Drake

Book Two

E.P. Bellows

Genre: Children’s Fantasy

Publisher: Azra’s Pith books

Date of Publication: 11/1/24

ISBN: 979-8865821205

ASIN: B0CLJ2BQDP

Number of pages: 197

Word Count: 38,000

Tagline: Join John William Drake and his friends on their Quest for the Lost City of Copia… but beware, something evil lurks in the shadows.

Book Description:

John William Drake believed there was something special about the medallion Celeste found. It chimed and sparkled in the sunlight. He was right; the medallion was from Copia, a lost city masked in time. Legendary tales were repeated of a golden city inhabited by Empyrean Wizards until it was plagued by dark sorcery when a meager fledgling magician by the name of Imperious the Great wandered in.

Some did not believe the city ever existed; others who knew better wanted it to stay lost. How did it all start? How would it end? The answer simmered for hundreds of years waiting for the right moment to escape.

John and Celeste were more than ready for another adventure. The journey to Copia was also a search for his missing father. They were unaware of just how dangerous their quest was until it was too late. The medallion’s power could bring the lost city to life again, unlocking the dark past dormant within its walls. The young explorers were in the middle of a battle of ancient sorcery that could end with an evil capable of destroying the realm and they held the key.

Amazon

~The Copian Mediallion is discovered after being buried for years by layers of the realm.

Come on, wings! Don't fail me!" Gusts of wind blew the little bird in all directions. Her vivid red feathers stole the sun’s beams from the sky.

This was not an ordinary bird. This was a young Empyrean wizard named Celeste. Empyrean wizards lived in an extraordinary place where fantastic creatures and magic were a part of every day. All Empyrean Wizards have a bird form appropriately coordinated with their personality. This particular Empyrean was fearless and kind. She also had a knack for finding

"Made it!" Her small but determined wings descended into the trees below. There was a peculiar tree she heard whispers about, and she was on her way to see it for herself. The tree was believed to be a passageway to the other side. Of course, she had no idea what the other side was, which only drove her curiosity. She perched on a boulder next to a single dead tree that boasted the broadest tree trunk in all of Copious Forest. The tree was surrounded by a blanket of thriving greenery. Celeste cautiously glanced around and gave her feathers a ruffle. A young girl emerged through the feathers with wild hair the same shade of vibrant red.

“Incredible!” she gasped and scuttled over to the tree. She poked her fingers out of the sleeve of her cloak and ran them along the rigid bark on the trunk. The bark chimed a soft melody as her fingers went along.

“So it is real.” Her eyes beamed. She stepped back and pulled a scroll out of her cloak. As she unraveled the scroll, the verses of an ancient spell were revealed. “The Tunnel of Light Enchantment ...

Cuniculum lucis incantationis tempus sit, electi ingrediantur. Cum tempus est, electi per cuniculum lucis relinquere possunt.

 When it is time, the chosen may enter. When it is time, the chosen may leave through the tunnel of light." She gazed at the dead tree, waiting for even a small flicker of magic. The trunk looked like it had not been seen or touched in years. “Hmm ..." Celeste raised her brow.

A prickly chill traveled down her spine. She squeezed her arms across her chest to soothe her goosebumps.  "Hello? Is-is someone there?" Celeste frantically glanced around.

An angry groan rumbled through trees.

“I'm not afraid of you!" she declared. “Come out and show yourself!”

Twigs and bits of forest flew past her curls. She scrambled behind the boulder. Sharp whispers buzzed through the gaps in the trees.

“The moan went from a groan to a vicious roar. A wind funnel shaped like a pair of long, wretched claws appeared.

“Oh, no—it’s the Rive.” Her body tensed.

The dark spell was strong enough to twirl her straight into the air with one dizzying burst. It plowed through trees and shot rocks in all directions. Celeste's cloak whipped around in a frenzy. She crouched behind the boulder and gripped her hands around the base. Then her body lifted off the ground. Inch by inch, her fingers slipped from the boulder. "Oh no!" Her head throbbed from intense pressure as the wind consumed her.

"Where is it? I must find it," the Rive whispered sharply, bringing a sting to Celeste's ears.

"Where is what? What are you talking about?" she shrieked.

"Where is it? I must find it!" the Rive's whisper was now at a rattling shrill.

Celeste closed her eyes and fisted her trembling hands. She felt herself drifting into a dizzying slumber. “I have to channel the élan. Come on, Celeste ... concentrate. I can do this!"

She took a deep breath. "Azra lucem tuam ostende. Azra tua industria illuminet …

Azra lucem tuam ostende. Azra tua industria illuminet."

A warm, vibrant energy burst through her cloak. The dark spell released its grip. It hissed and hurled rocks at Celeste. She stood her ground and

Celeste collapsed to the ground, breathless. “I just did that.” She examined the palm of her hand in astonishment.

She scooped up the shimmering clump and scraped the forest coating off it until all that remained was a medallion with strange markings and feathered wings carved in the center. It chimed and sparkled in her hands. Celeste stuffed it in her cloak and cautiously looked around. An excited giggle slipped out just before she morphed back into a little red bird and flew above the trees.

About the Author:

A little about me…

Let's see... When I was eight, I had a pet turkey. I used to take it with me on my short-lived paper route. Needless to say, I was terrible at delivering the paper. No one wanted a "Dollar Saver" with turkey poop splattered across the best coupons on the front page.

Books... "Treasure Island" is a fantastic pirate tale. I love just about anything by Roald Dahl. Who could ever leave out Tolkien? I would also like to thank C.S. Lewis for sending me on an unrelenting childhood quest for portals to amazing worlds.

I write fantasy stories for children. Yep - proud fantasy geek here. It's pretty darn awesome to escape to another realm with sorcerers and wizards for a chunk of the day. The underlying theme in my stories is empowerment and living purposefully. We all have that spark inside just waiting to shine ;)

When football is on I turn into a cookie-eating pottymouth. I have a theory that avocados are the Jedi of all foods. I also believe the aroma of garlic and butter sizzling in a pan is pure magic.

Last random nugget… few things make me smile more than chocolate, cheese, and a nice splash of vino... AND, if the Chargers would make it to the Super Bowl again - just once 

X - https://x.com/lizzypbellows  

Website https://www.azraspithbooks.com/

Blog - https://lizzypbellows.blogspot.com/

Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/epbellows

Instagram - https://www.instagram.com/lizzypbellows/

LinkedIn - https://www.linkedin.com/in/e-p-belllows-aa9b6221/

Goodreads - https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/20564105.E_P_Bellows

[r-we-taire-yet]

The Failed Assassinations of Helena Tempus Entry 2

July 23rd, 1875

     Trains rattle me to my bones. The only other time I was on a train was when we were helping Tallulah and Connor move to Pittsburgh, and I was with my mother during that trip. This time I am alone, just me, my bag, and the several other people in the carriage. I can handle hard work but I know I’ll ache when this trip is over. It takes hours and hours to get from Pottsville to Latrobe, Northeastern Pennsylvania to Southwestern Pennsylvania, and I don’t have a sleeper car. I don’t need one! I can sleep in my seat, or stay up! I will be fine. I’m almost an adult now, I can travel alone. I’m going to read my new book now and I will write about it as I do for my own entertainment.

12:31 pm

     I am enjoying this book, as expected. Poe’s poetry has given me joy in the past so a book of his short stories was bound to be very nice as well. I just finished ‘The Black Cat’ and Mam I do not recommend you read it. It’s very well done but you have too much empathy for animals to be able to stand it. I enjoy Gothic stories like this, I enjoy suspense and mystery stories like these, even if they can be sad. The best part of a story of that sort is the righteous conclusion where the crimes are made clear and the villainy is ended. I hope other people on the estate enjoy this genre, most boys back home were uninterested in literature and didn’t want to talk about books, let alone ones of this sort.

2:15 pm

     I am going to play a game so I can rest my eyes. I’m going to try to deduce what I can of the man across from me, and write it down here, and then I will talk to him and see if I was correct.

     He is a young man traveling alone who also lacks a sleeper car ticket. He has a well tailored suit and has a sturdy suitcase with him. His suit is ironed nicely, but there are white hairs on his pant legs and several long curly, red ones on his jacket along with a fresh wet mark on the shoulder and a missing button on the sleeve. He keeps playing with his wedding ring and looking out the window nervously like he would prefer to be somewhere else.

     I suspect he just left his red haired wife at home with their new baby and white haired pet and would prefer to be with them, but he has to leave for business. I bet the button fell off during the chaos of getting ready to leave and that there wasn’t time to fix it.

     Conclusion: He’s a lovely man! His wife is named Aoife and their daughter is named Aine and they both have the same red hair. Their cat is named Mildred and she enjoys rubbing against his legs when it seems like he is going to leave the house. He is apparently heading to Pittsburgh for a job interview with a company there! I recommended he visit my sister for help with the button on his cuff before the interview and maybe the mark on the shoulder if it doesn’t disappear when it dries. Apparently Aine is having some issues with her stomach at the moment and his goodbye hug came with consequences. I told him to visit my sister for help with the button and the mark before the interview. Tula can work wonders with fabric and thread, and can always use more business if she wants a proper shop someday.

4:45 pm

     Note for future reading, ‘The Murders in the Rue Morgue’ starts on page 116 and the adventures of Detective Dupin appear to continue through page 218. I haven’t gotten far into this story yet, but I skimmed through a chunk of the book and they all seem to be about him. I’m enjoying his opinions on observation and analysis, and they seem to be detective stories so I want to make a note now.

5:21 pm

     The orangutan? The ape? The murderer was the orangutan? Why? Most stories I've read of this type are absolutely terrible, but I enjoyed the concept nevertheless. This is honestly the best detective story I've found so far, and yet. The murderer is an orangutan and my life is ruined. Maybe the other two stories have better endings.

---

Enjoying the story? You can read the rest of the posted chapters on my ko-fi! I am posting chapters weekly!

[kprciffdw]

Ratchet and Kim Possible Chronicles: Another Sitch in Time-Part 28

They were soon flying into space. Ratchet: “Kim, contact Wade.”

Kim was able to do just that. Wade: “Hey, guys, what’s up?”

Clank shifted himself closer to the view of the screen. Clank: “Hello again, Wade.” Wade: “Clank!? Is that you!? Oh my gosh! I can’t believe it!” Kim: “That’s not all. Look who else is here with us.”

Clank held up Rufus on the palm of his hand. Rufus: “Hi.” Wade: “Whoa! Rufus is there, too!? Ron! Come over here! You have to see this!” Ron: “What? I’m coming!”

Ron appeared on the screen. Ron: “What is it, Wade?”

He became immediately became startled upon noticing Clank. Ron: “Clank!?” Clank: “Hello, Ron. It is good to see you again.” Rufus: “Hi.” Ron: “Rufus! Buddy! Oh! I’ve missed you so much!”

Rufus whimpered, as he felt the same. Clank: “Yes, Rufus has also missed you, Ron.” Ron: “Oh, you guys, you just made me feel the best I’ve ever…hork!”

He then rushed off the screen, he was heard throwing up again. Ratchet, Kim, Clank and Rufus all had disturbed and concerned looks on their faces. Ratchet: “I take it his unusual stomach pains haven’t gotten any better.” Wade: “No, he’s still upchucking meat cakes.” Rufus: “Huh?” Clank: “Um, am I missing something here?” Wade: “Oh, right, you didn’t know about what’s been going on. You see, the past few days, Ron has been undergoing some bizarre stomach pains which occurred around the same time that these strange time anomalies have taken place.” Ratchet: “Also, Kim has been experiencing some on and off headaches that also started around that time.” Kim: “Wade looked into this and from what we were able to find, we realized that none of these occurrences could be a coincidence, so I came all the way out here to find out why all of this was happening since the source of the anomalies were traced back to somewhere around here.”

Clank seemed very alarmed from hearing this. Clank: “Oh, no! All of this occurred because Dr. Nefarious damaged the Great Clock. I am sorry that you both had to go through all of what you did.” Kim: “Oh, don’t get all worked up about it, Clank. What could you have done to prevent it?”

Clank seemed very happy to have been reassured. Wade: “Not only that, but part of the mystery was why the time anomalies were causing their conditions in the first place.” Clank: “Well, yes, there is that.” Wade: “But thanks to Ratchet, we’ve managed to figure out a lot of why this was happening.” Ron: “Whoa! Hold up! What did you just say?”

Almost instantly, Ron rushed back on to the screen. Ron: “You guys know why these anomalies have been causing KP’s headaches and me to throw up meat cakes?” Wade: “That’s right, Ron.” Ratchet: “When Kim collapsed from one of her headache attacks, she blurted out "Tempus Simia”. From there, Wade was able to find out that her headaches were caused by massive amounts of lost memories returning into her mind, memories of when the both of you traveled through time.“

From that news, Ron, Clank and Rufus became immensely startled. Clank: "Miss Possible and Ron have traveled through time before!?” Kim: “I was also surprised to hear that at first, but yeah, we did. When Ratchet and I stepped through that time rift on Zanifar, I caught of brief glimpse of my younger self. Also, stepping through it felt…familiar.” Ron: “But what about me? Why am I throwing up meat cakes?” Wade: “I would guess that they were something that you’ve been eating a lot during your time traveling episode, but as to why you’ve been eating them? Well, I haven’t been able to figure that out.” Ron: “Hm…well, I know it wasn’t because I enjoyed them; I remember that they tasted horrible.” Kim: “I think I may know why. I remember catching a glimpse of Ron…moving…to Norway. It…it wasn’t a happy memory…”

Kim sulked upon mentioning that. Ratchet, concerned for her, placed his hand on her shoulder. Ratchet: “No, I wouldn’t think it is. You and Ron are very close.” Kim: “Yes…” Ron: “You know what? Now that you mention it, when I was going through all of that…grossness, I remembered living in Norway for some reason and then I remember getting angry at Shego for that and…Bueno Nacho?” Ratchet: “Oh, no, did you really have to bring up Bueno Nacho? Don’t tell me that you’re in the mood for Nacos again.” Rufus: “Mmm, Nacos.” Ron: “No way! After more than an hour of throwing up meat cakes, just the thought of eating any meat of any kind makes me…(groan) oh…oh, no…it's…it’s coming up again.”

Ron rushed out and was heard throwing up again. He then walked back into the screen, moaning as he was looking awfully ill. Ratchet: “Uh…yeah…I can understand that.” Clank: “So, the time anomalies have been bringing back all of the meat cakes that Ron had eaten, thus causing his…stomach pains.” Ratchet: “None of us could even imagine the kind of pain that you’re in, Ron.” Kim: “But it’s safe to say that it’s a lot.” Ratchet: “Especially that one time when you were screaming a lot.” Ron: “Uh, yeah! It felt like my stomach was going to explode!” Ratchet: “Oh, that's…not a…pleasant picture.” Kim: “Uh, perhaps we should leave you guys. You need to rest, Ron.” Ron: “OK, gotcha, KP.” Ratchet: “Try to fell better, Ron. We’ll do what we can to help you out.” Ron: “Sure thing, Ratchet. A little R&R has been doing me some good.” Clank: “We hope to see you soon, Ron, and do not worry; I will continue to look after Rufus.” Rufus: “Bye.” Ron: “Of course, Clank. I know you will. See ya, guys. Oh, and KP? Now that you’re with Ratchet again, you know what it is that you have to do.” Kim: “Uh…yes…of course…”

They severed communications with Wade and Ron. Kim: “Um…Ratchet?” Ratchet: “We’ll talk later, right now, we have to get to Nefarious.” Kim: “Uh…sure, OK…”

She began to sulk as did Ratchet. He spoke under his breath. Ratchet: “Kimberly…”

Out of the blue, they received a transmission from Qwark. Qwark: “Qwark calling Ratchet, Qwark calling Ratchet. Come in, Ratchet.” Clank: “Is that…Captain Qwark?” Qwark: “Clank? Well, I’ll be Scrunch’s uncle!” Kim: “Uh…what?” Qwark: “Where did you come from, little buddy?” Ratchet: “There’s no time to explain that. We need to stop Nefarious from reaching the clock.” Kim: “Lilo told us that you have found a way into his space station. We’re heading over there now, but you need to find a way to stall him.” Qwark: “I’m way ahead of you guys. As a matter of fact, I’m further undercover than I’ve ever been before…ever! I'd…rather not talk about it.” Kim: “No problem. I wouldn’t want to hear the details, anyway.” Ratchet: “Me neither.” Clank: “Ditto.”

Rufus groaned in a rather grossed out manner. Clank: “We will meet you outside the station as soon as possible.”

They made their way towards the space station at breakneck speed..

[charcherry-weekly]

Charcherry Weekly - Issue 141

Hello, Mage of Light Nick Card here. I have seen the light atop the mountain. Let me share it.

Too Mnay Bnuuy

On Easter Sunday, a great deal of buneary arrived in Unity Village. For most of the day, they were mostly just a curiosity, but once night fell, a veritable stampede eclipsed the village under their fluff. Needless to say, those who stayed inside stayed safe from the relentless flurry. Netnavi Enker, using their copybot, managed to get bowled over in the crossfire, losing their head in the process. The head is still missing, but at least its not as serious of an issue as it appears to be. Witch of Heart Cyrus managed to capture a buneary and is now caring for it as a pet. They named the buneary Ticket. After roughly an hour, the buneary dispersed and ran off to various places. Some were spotted in Gene's Garden, and some were reportedly dumped out from charcherry hangar by an anonymous temporic. Apparently there is one buneary that is still located in Gene's Garden, which the bar mice have tentatively adopted, if only because removal has become so difficult. Buneary are known to be very mistrusting of new trainers, codified in the games as having a supremely low default friendship rating. As with most rabbits, it is highly advised that you become aware of the commitment needed if you plan to adopt one. And please, do not gift one to anyone for this spring season.

Aura Master Tempus has been returned to the Aurelia dimension, after an extended stay on Mt. Phoenix. Reportedly, Heir of Time Thoren and Page of Mind Samm spent the night at Tempus's moon garden before returning home the next day. Tempus has been given a device that will allow them to still contact our group here while outside of paradox space.

Quest for the Legends (and Aspects)

Pokemon Trainer Nate appeared in Unity Village the other day, knees down covered in ice. Your dear newsletter writer defrosted their legs with Sunburst the Larvesta, who simply used passive heat for safest results. Reportedly, there was an incident involving Rogue of Heart Charles and Legendary Pokemon Kyurem that led to this. Gym Leader Jovin carried Nate to the pokemon center to be healed by Sylph of Life Nurse Eden. The next day, a team of dungeon crashers were sent to the location of pink kyurem, who had flown off to the paradoxically new ruins located at magnetic north. The initial team that took this trip included Netnavi Enker, using a backup copybot that actually has an intact head, Bounty hunter Samus Kitten, her wife Witch of Time Katyleen Kitten, Unity Mayor Brae Emit, Prince of Time and mayor's assistant Aeons Edgeworth. Upon arriving, they were challenged to a battle by pink Kyurem, who erected an energy shield of some sorts. The team struck the energy shield until they finally broke it, allowing Samus to split Kyurem from Charles using a DNA Splicer. After the battle, it was discovered that the location had a series of circles that lit up when stood upon by certain Powers that fulfilled certain requirements. There is reportedly a circle for every major type, which responds to Legendary Pokemon of a certain power level, only if defeated in fair combat. There are also 12 aspect circles, which appear to respond to two assumed conditions: - High association with a given aspect - Has made a successful visit to a corresponding aspected wonder of the world

A number of players and legendaries were summoned here to try and light up some circles, though there was a noted sense of frustration from some, due to the cryptic nature of the aspect circle requirements. After this, all involved returned home, incidental artifacts confiscated for safety.

413 things in one day

On April 13th, Heir of Breath June Egbert and Maid of Life Jane Crocker celebrated their birthdays. The iterations currently visiting are at different ages than they would be if they were entirely synced to our timeflow. Reportedly their shared birthday did not have much fanfare, due to the date being charged with enough importance to make multiple significant events occur on that day. They did however both get a blueberry pie each.

It was on this date that None Pizza With Left Beef Chapter 2 was released in full, adding part 2 to the already released part 1 of that game. As of writing, it has been downloaded six times in total, and has been bugfixed after a series of reports from a particular player. I also took the liberty to blaze the tumblr post with the link to the game, though only got thirteen notes in total, possibly because only the lowest tier was used. More than likely it was due to it being presented without context, while being the back-half of the sequel to a game that relies upon homestuck post-canon to make sense.

At the end of the day, Thoren Emit and their wife Lord of Rage Raine Emit celebrated their wedding anniversary in private, taking off to a location only known as "Cheese World". Reportedly they will be there for a week before returning.

An Illuminating Visit

The next day, your dear newsletter writer, having been told about the Kyurem Charles battle and the circles of the Powers, decided to trek to the top of Enlightenment Mountain, to attempt to obtain the blessing of the light aspect, to hopefully fulfill the requirements needed to light the Light circle. Joining me on this journey was Page of Rage and Gym Leader Jovin. We took the transportalizer link from charcherry hangar to make the trip much faster. After a rather smooth hike, and an encounter with a solrock that was bypassed with a basic polite request, we arrived at the summit. To make sure it would be safe, Jovin volunteered to sit in the Light Spot first. He received a number of visions of importance. the following were reported by Jovin: - A denizen with accompaniment issuing a challenge - A village to the south with a different gym leader - A warm city in a possibly volcanically active location, with both bears and temporics present

After confirming the safety of the spot, I was given a turn to sit upon the Light Spot. It was... intense. It felt as if a great massive amount of important knowledge was right there in front of me. It was a lot to handle, but somehow I was able to focus enough to figure some things out. The following visions were experienced personally: - A certain heir of time giving a speech on an open air stage in a desert town, possibly on korous - A deep sea pokemon in a dark cave - A number of children listening to a book reading at the local Unity Library - an egg in shallow water, discovered by two recognizable figures, only to be stolen by two robed figures that match the descriptions of two voidco agents

After this, me and Jovin descended back to the transportalizer pad and went back home. I assume these visions will become important eventually, though not all of them have the needed context to know why they're important.

And that's all for now. I think Aeons had an important existential moment at some point they wanted to mention, but it didn't quite fit in there. They plan on working on some mapping stuff, and possibly even a pokemon game if they have the time to do so. Meanwhile, I have a flash movie that may have more importance than I thought... https://letssosl.boards.net/thread/371/charcherry-weekly-issue-141

[theinsanecrayonbox]

Xmen Unlimited Infinity Comics #62-#67 “A World Without X” (aka Age of Apocalypse island of stupid edition)

heyhey, look who found a way to finally read this! so when this was announced, i was intrigued; AoA is my favorite Xmen story/setting, and to be fair the House of Stupid 90s edition wasn’t *that* terrible and it was fun to see how they could creatively mimic the island of stupid using only the 90s animated stock. so can the same be said for AoA?

this is long because i’m covering the whole story, so lets save some dash space with a cut huh

#62

so...Chuckie boy is annoyed that he’s over worked...or that no one cares about him/are too busy to care about him...idk, i have no sympathy for him to start with so i probably am missing the point. Logan tells him to suck it up while beating him up in a sparring match, so that’s nice. then him and Rachel are on the Astral Plane building something?? (why is the Astral PLANE now a physical dimension??) and Nightmare shows up to throw Chuck into AoA. 

so ok, this isn’t “what if Xavier had been killed off and Apocalypse rose to power” but “What a Wonderful Life”. i guess that can work, plus this is a short format so yeah that’s fine.

#63

Sinister just had Xavier clones...mk, and is surprised that this one’s awake because that’s the body Nightmare shoved Chuck into. ok, cool, that works. this Sinister is the more jokey one of the island though and not the AoA one, but alright... Chuck tries to call for Logan but...

uh yeah...Laura wasn’t in AoA. “but KP she didn’t exist when AoA came out so of course blahblahblah” haha i know that, but in the 2000s after she was created, there was an X-23 counterpart introduced in the anniversary stories, and she was not Laura. again, again, semantics i know, but like i said i like AoA. and again, this is the island of stupid doing AoA so they’ll use what pieces they have. plus...

i like how she looks very much like Kyle here

Havok shows up...i could’ve sworn Cannonball was on Gen-Next but maybe i’m misremembering (that was my least favorite part of the story after all)

yay Kyle!

even more yay at this panel!! Kyle, Laura, AND Victor! this was made for me ^^

hurray! it’s the correct AoA and not the terrible Battleworld one! this has just gotten SUPER good ^^

#64

i was going to make a joke about him eyeballing due to you not wearing a shirt, but then the rest of this dialog just slammed me in the feels. it’s official, i love this. also adorable to watch Kyle and Laura go play in the yard.

ok, so our X-team here is Rogue, iceman, and Sunspot as usual, so that’s good. Cypher and Proteus i can give them, because they’re island folks. idk who Tempus is, i thought that was Moira but...

Moira is Magneto???

so the explanation is a little weird but it works well enough i guess; plus it gives the baby Charles vibe without having it be Magneto and Rogue’s kid. anyways, Tempus is part of the Five i guess? and i just now realize that Chuck is Bishop in this, the guy that knows  the timeline is wrong and how to fix it. the good guys are then like “cool lets do the island of stupid here to fix everything” however...

Sinister says the same to Apocalypse with the added caveat of “hey let’s make a clone army to invade the multiverse”.

so the good guys are going to raid the pens for the missing Five members, the bad guys are planning to capture their members...

you are leaving Victor and Kyle out of this assault??? (Laura is on the Next panel and got cut off whoops). boo on you. you just lost your SUPER status. also where’s Blink???

#65

so fight time. Darkchylde (who i don’t believe was in the original, but island so hey) summons magic zombies of dead Xmen? fight time. Xavier waxing about being a teacher and how his Xmen are so much better because he taught them. blahblahblah

oh Victor and Kyle are here. good. the Pack is sticking together i guess

Moira gets a good line about not focusing on fixing the past or over thinking the future, just living in the now. so that’s a nice contrast to her murderbot normal self. i say they AoAed her well then.

Laura and Kyle take on Scott! yay!

lookit Victor being so proud of his pups with very fitting caption boxes across TWO panels! (have i finally found the person at marvel who follows me???)

so Chuck decides to take the fight to Apocalypse...and by fight i mean kaiju fight as they super-grow Krakoa into a big boy.

#66

kaiju smash! lol. has Holocaust been Nemesis for a while? or was that just changed for this? i’m not sure if that feels correct or not...

Chuck melts Sinister’s brain after Sinister beats him up. Apocalypse says he’s too smart for that...so Chuck manifests his wife and...blah. why is Genesis such a huge deal? if it was this easy to defeat Apocalypse all these decades, just gotta talk about his wife, why has he been so hard to stop. i know the answer is “magic of retcons” but still.

Chuck complains how mind wiping is totally a bad thing to do...despite the fact that he does that on the regular...the day is saved? Chuck seems to die (in a cliché La Pieta pose), so...happy ending?

#67

ah boo, there’s more. so Nightmare goes “haha that was round one of torture, lookit how evil and cool i am” and Chuck is all “nuuh looser i’m winning”

ok, i’ll give you that part of his argument, even though Moira seemed to have more lines, Victor kinda had more of the emotion even if it wasn’t the focus.

so blahblahblah, Nightmare trips an alarm and all the Grey-Summers ladies come in to save Chuck. Chuck talks about how the Xmen are an idea and will never die, because hope eternal even if he’s not there, blahblahblah.

so Logan takes him hot tubbing to unwind. ok...didn’t see this turning into a gay porno...

is that a nod to the AoA-esque 90s episode “One Man’s Worth”? because Logan was a main character of that

oh, oh great, he’s gonna try to invade other realities and convert them to his hivemind of terribleness. that, that’s just brilliant -.-

so we jump back to the AoA, which i guess is real and not just a vision created by Nightmare, cause their gang sets up an island seed? and is all “welp let’s wait for the real world to find us”. and Victor still refuses to wear a shirt XD

SO how did this stack up overall? you know, actually pretty good. it’s a super short read, and it’s own little pocket world, so it doesn’t affect anything in the grand scheme. it’s the stock Wonderful Life plot, and if it wasn’t done to rise up a character who’s so terrible, it’d’ve hit all the correct notes i’m sure. but it hit enough of the good ones. and it did a good job mimicking it’s inspiration using different pieces. if this story makes it to print like some of the other Xmen Unlimited ones have, i’d be willing to grab it. the art was good (turns out it was the same art team as the House of Stupid 90s edition, which i also really enjoyed the art on too), the writing was good. a very nice and quick one and done.