#also thanks for letting me play with your ocs like dolls it was fun

[i-eat-worlds]

A Late Night Discovery

This is a crossover with @pigeonwhumps ‘s story Immortal Cannon Fodder, who Phoenix and Aaron belong to. Set during Joseph’s time working in Hero Alliance London’s medbay.

cw: medical whump, depictions of wounds, discussions of abuse; primarily denial of medical care and fear of punishment, hospital setting, author’s questionable knowledge of British English

Joseph sighs as he finishes organizing the last shelf of supplies. His shift has been pretty slow, and he’d spent most of the time doing housekeeping. They’d gotten a shipment of supplies, and since he had nothing better to do, he ended up restocking the supply rooms. That was how he’d ended up in the fifteen hundred hallway supply room with twenty minutes left in his shift.

If Joseph is being honest, he doesn’t know why the fifteen hundred hallway even has a supply closet. The old patient rooms had been converted into office space, but the supply closet still needed to be stocked, for some reason. When he’d done inventory, most of the stuff had only ever been touched to move it somewhere else. So, he is very surprised when another person walks in.

They’re wearing a battered HAL uniform, minus a mask, arm wrapped protectively around their waist and panting heavily. It’s obvious that they’re injured and in pain. His medic mode kicks in as he steps out from behind the shelf and moves closer. “Hey, are you okay?”

The hero jolts when they see him, scampering away into a corner of the room. Joseph would’ve sworn he’d seen them before, but he couldn’t quite place where. He squats down in front of them, keeping his expression neutral. “Are you injured? I’m a medic, I can help.”

The words seem to make them more nervous. “I’m sorry,” they blabber, “I didn’t mean to intrude, please.”

Joseph sighs. This is going to be complicated. “I’m not going to hurt you. You look like you need some help, that’s all. Do you want to go to the medbay?”

This helps even less. “No, no, I wouldn’t do that.” They shake their head vigorously. “I don’t-I don’t wanna waste.”

So no medbay. At least not yet, though it’s an odd response to the question. He can see the long, bloody gash on their side from the other side of the closet, though. They need help, sooner rather than later. “Can I take a look?” He offers instead.

The hero hesitates before nodding yes. They seem to be in a state of petrified silence, eyes following Joseph as he opens up one of the brand-new boxes of gloves he’d just placed on the shelves and pulls a pair on, then kneels down next to them. “I’m Joseph, by the way. Do you have a name?”

“Phoenix,” they say quietly.

So that’s where he knows them from. The name is all it takes for him to finally recognize them. They’re the poor kid who came in a couple of weeks ago with their mouth stitched shut, the one who apologized continuously for just existing. He’s pretty sure they’re on one of the teams that Aaron does medical for. “I’m gonna pull your hand away so I can look, yeah?”

Phoenix nods, letting Joseph carefully move their hand away from the wound. “Sorry if this hurts,” he says as he inspects it, trying not to poke or prod too much.

It’s not as bad as he’d thought it would be, especially considering Phoenix's healing abilities. It’s about six inches long, but he can’t see any lobules of fat sticking out, so it probably won’t need stitches. The bleeding isn’t horrible, and he doubts Phoenix will notice by the morning. Still, he’d like to clean it out, get something on it, and maybe get them some antibiotics.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” He asks as he tears open a package of gauze and presses it into the wound.

Phoenix barely inches at the pain. “No, sir. I’m not.”

“Alright,” he says, keeping pressure as he speaks. “I’m going to need to clean this out and bandage it up, and I’d like to do that somewhere a little nicer than a storage room floor.” Phoenix is looking up at him with the same fear filled eyes he’d seen a few weeks before. “Can you walk to the medbay, or do I need to get some help?”

Their eyes go wide at that. “I don’t need the medbay.” He’s never seen somebody shake their head so much. “I’m immortal, I’ll be okay. We can do it here.” There's a couple seconds of silence, then Phoenix speaks again. “I’ve been to the medbay too many times recently. Abbie says I can’t go anymore, or else-or else I’ll get punished.” They speak very quietly.

So that’s what’s going on. Aaron had warned him about Abbie when he first arrived, and now he knows why. She’s an abusive asshole. “We don’t have to tell anyone,” Joseph says. “I can’t tell anybody anything without your permission, and the medbay is pretty empty right now.”

Phoenix hesitates before answering. “I’ll go. I’m sorry for disagreeing.”

“It’s okay,” He says, using one hand to keep pressure while he unpackages a roll of bandages. “I’m going to wrap these around you, okay?” Phoenix nods, repositioning themself so that it’s easier. “Does anyone else know that Abbie would punish you for going down to the medbay?”

“Aaron, and Kai,” They say, voice shaky as they speak. “Please don’t report it. I’m getting a transfer. It’s just for a little bit longer.”

“I won’t,” he says, and he means it. He will talk to Aaron about maybe expediting that process though. “Let’s get you up.”

He helps them to stand, then wraps their arm around his waist-Phoenix is too short for his shoulders-and guides them out the door.

The halls are all pretty much empty, and most of the staff is used to seeing bleeding, injured heroes around, and they probably wouldn’t have batted an eye at Joseph helping Phoenix down the hallway anyway. As they get closer to the medbay, things get busier. He can feel Phoenix leaning into him, and he can hear the way their breath hitches with every step. “We’re nearly there,” he comforts, “Just a little bit longer.”

Finally, they arrive in the heart of the medbay. The room is pretty calm, some nurses bustling about, a couple gathered in the break room. Tori, the charge nurse, is sitting at her desk, busily typing away. She looks up when she hears him walk in “I thought you’d left…”Her voice trails o when she sees Phoenix leaning against him, bandages wrapped around their abdomen. “Treatment six is open.”

“Thank you, Tori,” he says as he walks through the nurses station to get to the room. “Can you page Dr. Thomas?”

“No problem,” she says, already reaching for the phone.

Joseph thanks her before pulling the curtain around treatment six closed and getting to work. “Can you hop up on the table while I get some things ready?”

Phoenix listens, paper crinkling as they pull themself up onto the exam table and carefully lay down. “I’m sorry for making you work late.” They swallow nervously, watching as Joseph replaces his soiled gloves with fresh ones.

“Don’t worry about it, I don’t mind,” he says, grabbing the blood pressure cuff from the basket on the wall. As if he, or really any decent human being, would’ve left them bleeding in a storage room because their shift was over. “I’m gonna take some vitals, and then I’ll treat your wound. Aaron might pop in soon, is that okay?”

They nod, but their eyebrows furrow like they’re confused. It’s quick and painless; first temperature, then blood oxygen, heart rate and respirations, and finally blood pressure. He’s typing it in their chart when Aaron walks in.

“Good evening, Joseph,” he says as he rubs some sanitizing gel on his hands. “How are you doing, Phoenix?”

“I got hit, I’m sorry, sir,” they say with a hint of shame in their voice.

“It’s not deep. It’ll be okay.”

“We’ll get it taken care of,” Aaron says, then turns to Joseph. “Obs?”

“Pretty much normal,” he reports, “Pulse and bp are elevated but that’s not surprising.”

Aaron nods, and he’s about to ask another question but Phoenix starts first. “I tried to deal with it myself, sir. Mr. Joseph caught me. It’s my fault, I know, but please, please, please don’t tell Abbie.” The words fall out of their mouth in a panicked string. They sound like they’re pleading for their life. Joseph worries that it’s not far off from the truth.

“I won’t do that, Phoenix, I promise.” Aaron is seething right now, and Joseph can tell, even though he’s got his doctor face on. “I’m going to take a look at your wound now. It might hurt a little bit, but I’m not going to cause more pain than I need to, alright.”

Joseph hands him the scissors, and he quickly cuts the bandage away. “Oh yeah, that’s not too bad at all.” Arron sounds pleasantly surprised. “You feel okay with Joseph closing it? I need to go get you some antibiotics.”

“Yes,” Phoenix says, though Joseph can see them shift towards Aaron. They look less nervous when he’s in the room.

“It’s okay if you aren’t. Nobody will be angry.” Aaron assures them.

Their bottom lip starts to tremble a little bit. “Please stay,” they whisper, desperate. “I-I’m sorry. I know it’s stupid because it's not that bad and I’m gonna be fine, but please stay.” They sniffle, trying to keep the tears in. “It’s okay, I can stay,” Aaron says, squeezing their shoulder. “How about I hold your hand while Joseph takes care of your wound. Would that be good?”

They nod tearfully. “Thank you. ’m sorry for causing trouble.”

“Don’t worry, it’s not your fault.” Aaron moves over to Phoenix’s uninjured so Joseph can get to work. He takes their hand, smiling comfortingly.

Joseph steps up to their side. “I’m going to have to clean it out first, and after that, I’ll use some strips of silk tape to keep it closed,” he explains.

Phoenix watches in what looks concerningly like awe as treats their wound. Joseph apologizes in advance before he flushes it out, and he can see on Aaron's face how tight their grip is during that part. The flushing doesn’t knock too many clots loose, and it doesn’t take him very long to get the bleeding back under control so he can close it. It’s not deep enough to need stitches, which makes Phoenix very happy, and the process of taping it closed is almost painless. The look on their face when Joseph says that he’s done makes it seem like they were expecting something a lot worse. After he’s done with his notes, Aaron reminds him that it’s about an hour or so past his shift change and that he should probably go home. After he leaves, he presumes that Phoenix gets the “please seek help from medical staff when you are injured” speech. He’s given that one a few times, but never in a situation like theirs.

When he showers that night, he scrubs himself extra hard, eager to remove the icky feeling that hearing them beg caused. Because they weren’t allowed to get medical treatment. They were afraid that she’d do who knows what to them, because they got medical treatment, and it makes his blood boil. Abbie is a pathetic excuse for a team leader, heck, she’s a pathetic excuse for a human being. He promises himself that if he ever gets the chance, he’ll make her regret every single thing she’s done to them. Every. Single. Thing.

[mechawaka]

To Reach for the Sun, Part 1

A commission for @golden-feline. This is an original series set in their world and depicting their characters, and all names have been changed per request for public posting.

Genre: High Fantasy / Romance

Rating: T

Words: 9k

Summary: A deadly illness spreads across the lands; a pragmatic huntress shelters an eccentric doctor who seeks its cure. Can they overcome the anchors of tradition, the flames of conflict, and the whims of the heart in order to find it?

[ Part 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 ]

Part 1: Galaran

Evening settled over the Gaia Forest. The sun cut slanted beams through gaps in its canopy, diffusing hazy orange into the humid dark below. Songbirds ceased their entreaties; rodents hunkered in burrows; all things vulnerable became as quiet and still as the trees themselves, for night was the hunter’s domain.

Galaran walked the cusp of this transition, following the light as it receded along the Ran clan’s border. This time of year, she expected little trouble from her patrols; the mad seasonal rush of mating and birthing had ended, and human poachers generally avoided the deep forest during its hotter moons. 

Nevertheless, she remained alert. Desperate predators - or another clan’s hunters, grown bold - could always push into Ran territory, and it was her responsibility as the clan’s next leader to shield her people from such threats. To that end, she monitored the border trails for signs of crossing, checked landmark stones for tampering, and tested vine tension on hidden net traps, all with unwavering focus.

Just as she passed a scenting tree, though, something else mingled with the marks of her kin - not a sharp scent, like the claim of a rival, but soft. Delicate. Out of place. It tugged vaguely at her memory, but ended in nothing but frayed rope.

Where would she have even encountered it before? Nothing in the forest smelled like this, not even humans, and no creature of Gaia would dare flaunt their presence so close to a clan’s border.

That is, she contemplated, unless they lacked the knowledge to avoid it.

Intrigued, Galaran shifted into her other body - that of the sleek white tigress, much better suited for tracking. Her tanned skin melded into protective fur, her lithe frame expanded with muscle and sinew; she pitched forward onto strong paws rather than nimble hands.

  Thus empowered, she dove into the dense undergrowth. The forest brightened at once in her new eyes, all the hazards that vexed the two-legged doing nothing to obstruct her pursuit.

With the tiger’s keen senses, she determined that the odd scent originated from two creatures, not one, and that they seemed incapable of masking their location. Even at a moderate distance, she could hear branches shift and brush crackle in a way unique to the untrained.

Humans, then, and young ones at that.

But it was exceedingly rare for humans to come so far undetected, and they must have done something to alter their scents. Was it some new method to infiltrate clan borders?

She flattened her body to the ground as she neared her prey, ears back and fangs bared. Humans and their damned tricks. Well, this one wouldn’t work. They’d have to be more clever than that to steal from the Ran.

Just when she’d coiled herself for an ambush, a strained cry echoed through the forest. It came from the same direction as her targets, but didn’t sound like any human she’d ever heard. In fact, it more closely matched the timid quality of the scent trail.

Galaran released the tension in her back legs. As she crept around the base of a massive tree, her eyes confirmed it; there, huddled together amidst mossy roots, lay two small creatures. And indeed they were no denizens of Gaia, nor even of the human lands, judging by the feathery white wings that sprouted from their backs.

Galaran flicked her eyes upward. Though it was usually concealed by the canopy, the Floating Isle hung like a perpetual second moon over the forest, casting its long shadow across it during each day’s course. The ones who lived upon it, the winged Featherlings, rarely descended; Galaran herself had only heard tales of them, but never seen one. 

Coincidentally, there was a break in the leaves above, and the isle’s void-black silhouette interrupted the starry sky. Had these two juveniles fallen from their home somehow? According to the stories, they would not leave it voluntarily.

She returned to her two-legged body - the tiger, for all its strength, could not speak - and approached the children carefully, like she would any wounded animal. Sudden movement would only make them run.

“Hello,” she called softly, putting her hands up when they flinched away. “It’s all right, I want to help you.”

The children clung more tightly to each other, pushing back into the moss as if they might escape into it, but made no move to flee. They merely stared back at her with wide, cloud-white eyes, shivering silently. Now that she was closer, Galaran noticed that their flowing garments were torn, their fair skin marred with scrapes; white feathers littered the ground around the tree, and one of their wings bent at an unnatural angle.

“My name is Galaran,” she tried again, even quieter. “I live near here. Did you fall from above?”

One of the children looked upward at the Floating Isle and her eyes began to water. Though they both had the same pale green-hued hair, this one wore it longer, braided over one shoulder, and it flopped around as she vehemently nodded.

“Yes,” she said in a small, miserable voice thick from crying. “You really - you won’t hurt us?”

Galaran smiled gently to reassure them, but her thoughts did not match. This was a question born of inexperience; what predator would speak truthfully to its prey were its intentions harmful?

Luckily she had found them, and not one of the less scrupulous forest dwellers.

“I won’t hurt you,” she promised, crouching next to them to appear less threatening. “What are your names?”

They both looked up at their distant home, then to the surrounding forest, dark save for faint shafts of moonlight, and then to one another. In the way of siblings, they seemed to pass some judgment wordlessly between them.

“I am Imariel,” said the one with the braid, pressing a hand to her sternum and then to her companion’s arm. “This is my brother Mahir.”

“We didn’t fall,” Mahir asserted. As it happened, his was the injured wing; he held it gingerly spread like it couldn’t fold inward. “We flew. These stupid trees are too big.”

Siblings, indeed, Galaran thought with an amused huff. “So you meant to come to Gaia? Why?”

“Liquid Gold!” they both answered at once, jarringly offset and much too loud for comfort.

Galaran made a slicing motion with one hand, her clan’s signal for silence, and the children seemed to understand its intent; they clamped their mouths shut as she scanned the area, turning her ears to those shadows too deep for her eyes.

She detected nothing amiss, but in the Gaia Forest, stillness was itself worrisome. They had been here too long, in too much light, making too much noise.

“What do you know of the forest?” she asked the children quietly, monitoring the spaces between trees. “Do your people tell tales of the shape-shifters?”

They didn’t reply right away, and when she glanced back at them, they were both frowning uncomfortably. Galaran couldn’t fault them for that, she supposed; the stories she’d been told about Featherlings weren’t very flattering, either.

“Mother says it’s dangerous,” Imariel finally said. “Everything wants to hurt you, especially the, uh…”

“The beastmen,” Mahir finished for her, oblivious to her hesitation. “They look like people, but they turn into animals and eat you. But you don’t seem like you’ll eat us, Miss Galaran.”

And you don’t seem like a craven sheep.

“Thank you,” Galaran said, forcing a smile. It was pointless to hold such biases against the young. “We are weretigers, not beastmen. And we do not ‘turn into’ animals, we simply have two shapes. Both are our true selves.”

By their questioning stares, she guessed that the concept of duality might be too complex for them at the moment.

“I can look like this, or I can look like a tiger,” she simplified. This seemed to get across better, because Imariel’s eyes brightened as if she’d just received a gift.

“But there are other shape-shifters in the forest that do want to eat you,” Galaran said gravely before either child could interject. “They can see your memories and change their faces to resemble those you trust. I want to take you somewhere safe from them. All right?”

They nodded and helped each other to stand, though their legs still shook; whether it was from residual fear or fatigue, Galaran couldn’t tell, but neither was in a fit state to walk.

“I’m going to, hm, ’turn into’ a tiger. When I do, climb onto my back and hold tight.”

Though some of her clansmen bore one another into battle in such a way, she had never personally carried a rider. Such a thing was, according to her father, below the dignity of the clan’s leadership.

But exceptions could always be made. Galaran certainly didn’t sense any mortal blows to her dignity as she took her tiger shape and crouched low to let the children ascend.

Imariel eagerly went first, getting a bit distracted by Galaran’s white-and-gold fur before Mahir reminded her that he needed her help to climb; unlike his sister, he couldn’t make use of his wings for balance. He gritted his teeth all the way up as the exertion strained his wound.

When they were both situated, Galaran loped off down a game trail. It was shockingly easy to carry them; she’d expected at least a slight burden on her spine, but they barely registered at all. Wild hens felt like this, too, when she brought them back to the village by the dozen, and she wondered if all winged creatures had traded a strong body for their mastery of the skies.

Galaran slipped back across the Ran border, making for a cave system she knew to be empty this season. The old bear matriarch who wintered there wouldn’t mind the occupation, she wagered, especially if it was used to shelter cubs.

Deserted though it was, she made a loop of its entrance and tunnels before settling in the main chamber. The children watched in rapt fascination as she folded back into her two-legged body, perhaps finding the process just as mysterious as Galaran found their ability to fly. However, though they looked positively full to bursting with questions, she bade them assist her with building a fire and laying a mat of leaves before speaking.

Finally, when all sat comfortably and a pleasant warmth filled the chamber, she gave them a silent nod of permission.

“What does it feel like? Does it hurt?” Imariel immediately asked, reaching over to pat Galaran’s shoulder, mouth agape as if she thought the skin might still feel like fur.

Mahir poked at her catlike ears and swishing tail. “Can you make these go away too?”

Galaran, knelt before them with her waterskin and a bit of moss, endured the contact with a practiced patience. For all their prodding, they were much gentler than the mischievous young of her clan, who gleefully sunk their claws into any nearby legs.

“It doesn’t hurt,” she said, using the wet moss to blot at the children’s various cuts and abrasions. They allowed it without complaint, as if accustomed to similar treatment. 

“It feels like…”

Shifting between bodies was so mundane among her people that she’d never considered how it felt before. For some of her kin the transformation took effort, but for her it had always been simply innate, like chewing or breathing.

She thought for a moment, then gave her best approximation. “It feels like stretching. It is refreshing. Freeing.”

Imariel stretched her arms high above her head, humming curiously.

“And no, I can’t change this body any more,” Galaran said, pulling a length of twine from her belt.

Mahir seemed rather disappointed by this, but soon turned to yelping as Galaran straightened his wing and bound a stick to it in a makeshift brace.

“That hurts!” he whined, recoiling, but then looked surprised when he could properly fold in the wing again. He tested the motion several times for confirmation, even though each instance made him grimace.

“Sorry,” she murmured, frowning at the unfamiliar structures. Being a lifelong warrior, she held no fine knowledge of medicine; all she’d learned was how to keep a broken bone still until it could be treated by a healer.

But Mahir’s wingbone didn’t look broken, just…bent. She was pretty sure her own bones couldn’t do that; perhaps this was a benefit of their being so light?

Galaran glanced toward the cave entrance. The village was far from here, and the children were much too exhausted for an extended ride - nevermind the night time dangers of the forest, besides.

“I can take you to a healer in the morning,” she said, hoping they’d actually be able to help. Even if they could, it would require getting the children into the village, first.

Outsiders generally needed to prove their value before the clan would welcome them, but she’d seen this waived before to shelter the injured. Moreover, there were no rules specifically concerning Featherlings, rare as they were, and her father wasn’t such a staunch traditionalist that he’d turn away two lost children.

Probably.

She sighed. It was a problem for the morrow.

“Now, what is this Liquid Gold?” she asked, settling next to the fire. It had to be something unfathomably precious to make these baby birds jump from their nest.

“It’s an herb that grows here in the great forest,” Imariel replied animatedly. “It can cure any illness!”

At Galaran’s confusion, her own face fell somewhat. “You don’t know of it?”

Mahir added, “Our mother is sick. Lots of other people are, too, and no one can fix it, so we’re going to fix it.” 

He shrugged, winced when it jostled his wings, and then carefully folded them up again. “We - ow - we couldn’t find the portal, so we had to jump.”

The portal. Galaran had heard this story, too, of a strange place in the forest that could transport one instantly to the Floating Isle. Many generations’ youths had spent their idle hours searching for it in vain - for it was only a story, after all.

Still, dire circumstances could make even the most impossible solutions seem appealing, and she knew well the despair that incurable sickness could bring. 

“Describe this herb,” she said, propping her elbow up on one knee and resting her chin on her fist. She couldn’t name many plants, especially medicinal ones, but could recognize most by form or function.

The children looked at each other, each expecting the other to answer. When neither did, their expressions grew rather sheepish.

“Um. Uncle Zak never said what it looked like, did he?” Imariel asked nervously, to which Mahir merely shook his head. She laced her fingers together in her lap. “Well, I suppose it must be yellow…”

Galaran blinked several times, too shocked to comment. The greenest leaves are eaten first, said her elders. Those most unacquainted with danger were most prone to meeting it. These younglings had truly left the safety of their isle without even the shadow of a plan?

“We use many yellow flowers in our medicines,” she replied carefully. “But none of them can cure any illness. If something could, we would need nothing else.”

Imariel sighed, shoulders drooping, like she’d been expecting that answer.

“Maybe you just haven’t found it yet,” Mahir offered, undeterred.

Galaran hesitated. The Gaia clans did possess different knowledge on various subjects, true, but it was, more often than not, willingly traded amongst them. And even though the clans’ territories were spread widely apart, there was no corner of the forest her people hadn’t prowled. She seriously doubted that such a miraculous herb could escape everyone’s notice - or remain a secret if discovered.

Gently, so as not to dampen their hope, she agreed, “Maybe. Why don’t you ask our healers about it tomorrow?”

This seemed to appease the children, who perked up at once. Given their past impulsivity, Galaran thought it best to conceal the most likely outcome - that the herb was nothing but a legend, much like the portal. There was no sense in crushing their spirits while they were already injured; the harsh truth could, and would, come later.

She pulled the remainder of her last hunt - boar meat, smoked and dried - from her ration satchel and laid it out to warm by the fire. “For now, why don’t you tell me about your home?”

Part 2: Zakiriel

None left the Floating Isle.

There was no mandate against it, of course; no one could be punished for simply wishing to leave. But custom often outweighed law, and it was customary to consider the departed as voluntary exiles - no longer denizens of the isle.

The Featherlings of Haven did this not out of cruelty, they claimed, but practicality; the terrestrial lands were hostile, treacherous places full of beasts and killers, and the departed would surely meet their ends there.

Zakiriel, as he stared into the swirling currents of mist that surrounded his home, thought this precept more than a trifle reductive. It was accepted as common wisdom in his community, yet there were several printed accounts of the human nations to the west and the shape-shifters in the great forest below.

One needed simply to peruse the archives to read them. And such firsthand reports could have only been written by a Featherling who’d left and returned, no?

Alas, most of his people would rather embrace isolationism. To them, Haven was secure and prosperous, and they need not expand their literal or figurative horizons beyond it.

Well. Those attitudes had led him here, to the edge of the isle, in the dead of night, wrapped up like a thief and ready to brave the dreaded world.

He never should have read them the scroll. Why in all the illustrious heavens had he read them the scroll? He’d known exactly how desperate they were for a cure, had thought that maybe an old story could calm their anxiety…

Foolishness. He’d been so focused on Anahel’s care that he’d neglected the mental wellbeing of her children, and now they were gone.

Exiled.

They didn’t even know the meaning of the word, and yet the people would condemn them to it, deaf to their plight.

Zakiriel breathed in deeply, expelling frustration in his exhale. This would work; this had to work. He’d always been a strong flier. If he could find them in the great forest and bring them back before dawn, then no one would even know they’d been missing.

All would be right. All would be well.

He gripped the leather strap of his shoulder-sling bag, took a step back, and -

“And here I thought you’d come to see me.”

The voice came from behind him, languid and low, and Zakiriel didn’t need to turn around to know who’d spoken.

“Kazach,” he acknowledged, pivoting on his heel for propriety’s sake. Rudeness toward one’s family - even if said family found the concept of empathy challenging - was rarely excusable. “I did not know you were visiting.”

The man in question scoffed, hopping down from the rock on which he’d previously reclined. His dark hair and leathery black wings blended almost completely into the night, making pale skin and narrowed red eyes stand out by contrast.

“Aye, and you’d better be thankful I am,” he spat, gesturing to the isle’s rim with his chin. “There I was, dropping in for a lovely little chat with my favorite brother, just to catch him in the act of throwing his damn life away for a couple of reckless brats.”

Zakiriel pursed his lips. Apparently, his past lectures on the ethical dubiosity of eavesdropping on people’s thoughts hadn’t quite sunk in yet - but, in the interest of time and camaraderie, he let it pass without comment. Instead he cleared his throat and promptly upped his mental wards against intrusion.

“I’d hardly call the rescue of two innocent souls ‘throwing my life away,’” he replied evenly. “And besides, Imariel and Mahir acted on my counsel, intended or not. It is my responsibility to bring them home.”

Kazach shook his head incredulously. “Your responsibility is to the people of the isle. How do you think they’ll fare against the Withering without your aid?”

He looked down upon the undulating black sea of the great forest’s canopy, translucent through the mist. “They’re dead - eaten by beasts or beastmen. It’s not worth it.”

As always, Zakiriel had been expecting his brother to return sincerity with cold pessimism. It was his lifelong trial to break upon that unforgiving shore again and again, yet he’d continue for as long as he drew breath; someday, Kaz would discover his capacity to care for others. It may be more deeply buried than the average person’s, but it was surely there.

“The Withering will consume its hosts whether I am present or not,” he answered patiently. “At least, if I can recover the twins, Anahel may pass with the comfort that her children are safe.”

“Oh, please. I know you; you just want to satisfy your guilt.”

Zakiriel drew himself up indignantly. Pessimism he could stomach - regularly stomached - but barbed insults?

To his credit, Kazach had at least enough grace to look regretful.

“All right. Listen.” He scrubbed a hand down his face. “Those fledglings would have found that scroll with or without your help. The archive was their next logical step. You said it yourself: they were desperate for a cure.”

Zakiriel’s reply came out rather more icily than he’d intended, “I didn’t say that, Kazach. I thought it. Privately.”

“Regardless,” Kazach continued, throwing up one hand dismissively. “You didn’t force them to jump off the isle. In fact, no one in their right mind would even consider it. This -” he waved at the precipice, “- is simply nature taking its course. You needn’t share that fate.”

Zakiriel closed his eyes. On matters of life’s sanctity, they’d never agreed; he could call up countless instances of them standing in this same place, having a permutation of this same argument. Over the years, through experience, he’d learned which hills to defend and which to abandon - and this particular hill required urgency.

“You’re right,” he said after a moment of reflection. “It’s too dangerous to search the forest at night. If something were to befall me, Haven would be all the worse for it.”

When he opened his eyes again, Kazach was smiling. Of course he was; nothing made the man happier than compliance. Indeed, in the next few moments, he felt the invasive tendrils of his brother’s magic withdrawing from his mind.

“Good.” Kazach looked toward the warm, distant light of Haven proper. “The roads should be empty by now. How about a late dinner?”

Zakiriel folded his arms inside his wide sleeves. “Not tonight. I’ll stand watch here until morning.”

In response to his brother’s skepticism, he added, “I only wish to see if the twins fly back up on their own. If not, I’ll consider the matter settled.”

Kazach tilted his head like a barnyard cat taking a rabbit’s measure. “Will you?”

A beat passed in tense silence, neither man willing to give an inch, and then Kazach relented with a laugh too easy for his sharp smile.

“Very well, then. We’ll meet tomorrow evening instead.”

Zakiriel nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Lying did not come naturally to him; lying to someone close to him, even less so.

But fortune favored him tonight. Kazach seemed to trust the ruse, disappearing into the night sky without further questioning.

It was only after a full minute of stillness that Zakiriel let out a relieved breath. Hopefully, by the time Kaz came back, it would no longer be a ruse; he’d have long returned with the twins, safe and sound.

Thus resolved, he spread his wings, read the air currents that fluttered through his white feathers, and jumped.

---

Poets often likened the great forest to a body of water, comparing its windblown canopy to the western oceans’ volatile waves. Until this moment, Zakiriel had lauded such poems; from their distant perspective, the great forest truly did appear to be a rippling emerald surface, quite similar to any lake upon the isle.

It was, perhaps, too easy a comparison to internalize. Zakiriel had scarcely cleared Haven’s rocky bulk when the illusion shattered around him; the canopy’s uniform blanket, with proximity, separated into individual trees and gradients of blended earthy hues. He’d logically known that it would - that green became leaf, became branch, became trunk, became soil - but the reality stunned him.

Before the humans drove them skyward, his people had once inhabited seaside cliffs. Had his ancestors looked upon dark waters the same way, rationalizing their unknown depths?

A lucky updraft allowed him precious seconds to clear his head and refocus.

If he were a juvenile with underdeveloped wings, where might he choose to land? The winds beneath the isle were deceptively fierce, so he’d likely want to leave them at once to avoid being buffeted about. Flying straight down would be risky, though, since a strong current could propel him toward the forest at dangerous speeds.

But Imariel and Mahir hadn’t yet learned the perils of the skies - and they’d always been bolder than their peers, requiring Zakiriel’s medical aid rather frequently. Even worse, they’d reached the age where children pushed the bounds of their abilities, striving to recreate the aerial feats that adult Featherlings could perform - and because of this, it was a period more commonly referred to as their falling season.

He spotted a break in the canopy almost directly beneath the isle, past those treacherously invisible winds, and feared he knew which path the twins had chosen. 

Grimly, he approached it, and found himself floating above a bottomless void. What had seemed a natural passage from afar now resembled a hungry mouth ringed in grasping hands; Zakiriel couldn’t even make out the undergrowth from here, let alone the ground - but he often gathered herbs in the dark. He knew how to traverse dense foliage safely, albeit slowly.

The night’s arrival seemed to accelerate with his descent; the sun had barely dipped behind the far-off mountains when he’d jumped, but its lingering twilight faded at an alarming rate as he sank beneath the treetops. Looking up, he could see the faint dividing line of light in the air, like someone had painted it with luminescent ink, separating day from night. How strange, he thought, that such a barrier should only be visible from below.

He unhooked a bronze lantern from his belt and sparked its wick, illuminating the massive tree trunks that surrounded him on all sides, and used its glow to navigate a path downward. Despite his experience, the twisting branches still caught in his hair, snagged in his clothing, clawed at his skin, and he shuddered to think what the children must have endured.

When his boots finally hit the forest floor, a blanket of wet leaves muted the landing. An upward view now showed a nearly complete darkness, as if swathes of stars had extinguished while his back was turned and only a thin oval of twinkling skyscape above his head remained.

Zakiriel swallowed hard. It was just the canopy, he reassured himself. It was just the forest’s canopy from the opposite side, and the stars still existed beyond it.

He lifted his lantern to expand its radius, finding that he’d landed at the base of a tree so ancient that its root system had overtaken several of its adjacent fellows, forming a sort of uneven clearing. The area outside it was a wall of entwining green, broken rarely by narrow game trails - and even those looked tenuous, like the forest could snap shut the gaps at its leisure.

He took an involuntary step back from it, disquieted by such congestion, and froze. Right next to his foot lay a tiny white feather, much too short to be one of his own, limply draped over a root.

A breath stuttered in his throat; he whirled, casting wild, blocky shadows around the clearing with swaying lantern-light, to see dozens of feathers scattered around the tree’s base in a similar fashion. Crucially, though, he couldn’t find any traces of blood, and this calmed his racing heart somewhat.

So the twins had utilized this direct route into the forest, met misfortune in the winds, and then landed here. But what had become of them after?

Zakiriel walked the clearing’s perimeter and found a trail wider than the rest. He knew very little about tracking, but he did know about foraging - and the plants along this trail, while foreign in appearance, had obviously been disturbed in comparison to others in the vicinity. Recently, too; their broken leaf nodes hadn’t yet closed over.

It was good enough for him. He folded his wings close to his back and ducked into the trail, holding the lantern as high as he could.

The ground was covered in a patchwork of dirt, moss, and leaves, struck through with rotting logs and roots that arched like snakes. More than once he tripped over a rock camouflaged by leaves, or slid down an incline on a dislodged bit of moss.

Heavy, stagnant air further belabored his progress, sitting thick in his lungs; and though the forest abounded with unfamiliar sounds, they came across tinny in his ears without the isle’s perpetual undercurrent of wind.

Never mind the beasts, he thought dryly. The forest might claim him through geography alone before a hungry nose ever caught his scent. 

But…now that he thought of it, wasn’t it odd that no beasts had yet accosted him? Not that he wanted them to - after all, he had only his lantern’s fire to deter an attack - but his research had suggested an intense local hostility.

Zakiriel paused on the trail. Were the lesser hunters so wary of his flame that they’d vacated the area entirely?

Or had something greater driven them away?

A droplet of cold sweat ran down his neck; suddenly, it seemed that the trees pressed inward, that the night itself pushed against his dome of light - that a hundred unblinking eyes waited just beyond the lantern’s reach. If he listened closely enough, he even thought he could hear movement farther down the trail, belonging to -

“Ow! This one’s got thorns!”

“Quiet, Mahir!”

- the twins?

Both were whispering, but in the forest’s relative silence they may as well have been screaming. Zakiriel scrambled toward the sounds, filled with relief and dread both, ready to grab the children and quit this terrible place before anything monstrous could leap from the darkness.

To his great dismay, however, Imariel and Mahir did not greet him with equal excitement when he breached the treeline; in fact, they did scream, throwing down handfuls of red berries and sprinting away into a rocky cave.

Zakiriel, at a loss for words, held out his hands and inspected himself. He was quite disheveled, yes, and covered in a fair amount of dirt, but surely he was still distinguishable from a woodland beast?

He lifted his eyes just in time to see his fears actualized. 

A gigantic white tiger hung in a mid-leap arc as it emerged from the underbrush, its fierce yellow eyes trained on his throat. Zakiriel tried to raise his arms, to protect his face, but the creature closed on him faster than he could translate intent to action.

In numb panic, he could only register the attack as a series of impacts: first as a giant paw collided with his chest; next as his back hit the ground; and finally as his head followed suit, bouncing off loose earth with a yielding but dizzying thud.

His ears rang; his vision swam. The tiger loomed over him, its weight a crushing pressure on his sternum. Its bared fangs glistened in the asymmetric orange light of his discarded lantern; a low growl issued from its parted jaws, rumbling in his bones.

Only now, as it lowered its head for the fatal bite, could Zakiriel process his imminent demise.

Ah. This is it, then.

This was the danger he’d expected - the danger for which he’d thought himself so well prepared. But now three lives would end in obscurity, in quick succession, with ruthless efficiency.

He shut his eyes and let his body go limp. Maybe, maybe, if the beast thought him dead, then he could run back into the forest, lure it away from the cave, and give the twins time to run. 

But as his thoughts raced along such lines, there came no puncturing fangs. A moment passed, then two, then three, and still the tiger waited.

Zakiriel was just contemplating his options when the weight on his chest receded - not completely, but enough for him to draw a stuttering breath. He cautiously opened his eyes, and - 

And the tiger had vanished. 

In its place was a young woman who looked just as surprised as he felt. She had him pinned by the shoulder with one arm, the other raised as if to strike, with muscular thighs caging either side of his torso. From her overhead position, her hair - soft and layered above her neck, then bound into two symmetrical queues below - hung down and brushed his cheeks; dazedly he realized that, without the lantern’s warm cast, it must be a pale blonde, like sun-bleached stalks of late autumn wheat. 

For the second time, Zakiriel struggled to make sense of this sudden change. He swiveled his head to the left, then to the right, wondering if perhaps she had shielded him from the tiger and it was still in the vicinity - but the forest, save for their small pocket of firelight, was silent. Empty.

He turned back to the woman, noticed the gold glint of her eyes and the white-furred ears atop her head, and realized his mistake. She and the tiger were but two expressions of a single deadly creature; one, above all other possibilities, he’d hoped to never encounter.

Beastmen, his people called them - denizens of the great forest who could shift between animal and man like Zakiriel might change his clothing. But the stories depicted them as hungry cutthroat predators, and this one had hesitated.

He focused again on the young woman’s posture, at the fierceness that had morphed to curiosity, and his own fear melted away to mirror it. Perhaps the stories, like so many other aspects of the isle’s common wisdom, were more than a trifle reductive.

Part 3: Galaran

Galaran stared down at the strange man in mute bewilderment. Another Featherling? She’d been so sure he was a shifter, come in disguise to claim an easy meal - but even at risk of death, his form held. The man merely laid there, waiting for the killing blow like an exhausted deer. 

No, not quite, she thought; even a deer would have tried to run.

She reshaped her body, confident that this man didn’t pose an immediate threat, but kept her hold on him. Just because he was a fellow Featherling didn’t mean his intentions were good.

But…he certainly didn’t look nefarious. His long azure hair, initially braided in a similar manner to Imariel’s, had come undone in the struggle and now fanned wildly around his head and shoulders; his eyes, blue as the midday sky, peered up at her without a trace of suspicion.

The strongest evidence laid in his scent. He and the children carried similar currents of foreign grass, trees, and soil, marking them as kin of the same land. A shifter could never mimic that which didn’t exist in the forest.

Conclusion reached, Galaran stood, and after a moment of thought extended a hand down to him as well. Would he take it, though it had nearly killed him?

Annoyingly, he took it without reservation and climbed laboriously to his feet. She observed in further disbelief as he gave her an easy, grateful nod and began to dust himself off. He even turned his eyes away, shaking the dirt from his wings like a songbird bathing in rain.

So he, like the children, had decided to trust her after a single brief interaction. Galaran wondered what sort of idyllic living conditions must exist on the Floating Isle to produce such naivete. Did any Featherling possess even a shred of survival instinct?

“Sorry,” she said, breaking the extended quiet. “I thought you were something else.”

The man looked up from his task wearing an altogether too friendly smile.

“Ah, well, no harm done,” he replied lightly, following it with an unconvincing roll of his shoulder. The stiffness in the act told her that there might have indeed been some harm done.

He glanced past her into the cave’s mouth. “You’re protecting the twins, then? Are they all right? Were they injured in the fall?”

Galaran cocked her head to one side, unsure how to answer such instant familiarity.

Seeming to misunderstand her pause, the man quickly added, “Oh, forgive me. My name is Zakiriel. I’m a doctor from Haven -” he pointed upward like his origin wasn’t obvious, “- and I’m looking for the children that ran into your cave, there. May I come in?”

She quirked an eyebrow at the assumption. “Galaran. Yes, they were injured, but not severely. Put that out and follow me,” she said, indicating his light source.

Zakiriel retrieved his strange torch and obeyed, shrouding the cave’s exterior once more in safe, inconspicuous darkness. 

A beat later he awkwardly inquired, “But how will we see?”

Galaran, already a few steps away, turned her head to frown at him. “You can’t?”

At first she thought that Featherlings might simply take time in adjusting to light’s sudden absence - but when Zakiriel continued to just stand there, shaking his head at a spot vaguely to her left, she realized that he couldn’t see anything.

“Oh,” she said, waving one hand in front of his face. No reaction. “Stay close, then.”

“Right,” he answered, and promptly tripped over a rock in his haste to comply.

Galaran caught him by the arm, patiently guided his hand to a pouch on her belt, and didn’t speak aloud her amazement that he’d managed to survive this long.

Past several bends - enough to mask the firelight from outside - they arrived in the main chamber, where Mahir and Imariel were attempting to hide in a shadowed alcove. Several wingtips poked clumsily out from it, moving around as the children, presumably, tried to improve their concealment.

“You can come out. It’s safe,” Galaran said, exhaling a puff of laughter. She waved Zakiriel inside but stayed posted by the exit herself, just in case any of his pursuers hadn’t yet given up the chase.

Two heads of pale green hair poked around the alcove’s corner, sniffling and teary-eyed, but didn’t yet approach. It was only when Zakiriel softly called their names that they broke from cover and practically launched themselves toward him, clinging to his robes like prickly vines.

“Uncle Zak!” Imariel wailed, her voice muffled by fabric. “I’m sorry! I thought it would be easy but it was so hard, and the wind was so strong, and the trees are so tall -”

Her voice trailed off into blubbering as Zakiriel gently smoothed down her hair; she slumped against him like all the rigors of the day had finally drained her.

With his other hand, Zakiriel reached for Mahir’s injured wing. Galaran noted that Mahir didn’t flinch away from it this time, unlike when she’d tied on the brace - and then her eyes widened as it started glowing. 

An ice-blue light radiated from Zakiriel’s hand to the wing, flowing like water over the wounded section. When the light faded away, Mahir spread the wing to its full extent without any of his previous complaints.

Galaran had no idea Featherlings could do magic - that was a human talent, she’d thought, used solely to advance their warfare. She supposed it only made sense that there would be beneficial magic in the world, as well; maybe it signified this doctor title Zakiriel had mentioned outside.

Mahir, with his head ducked in shame, said, “Thanks, Uncle Zak. Sorry we thought you were a monster.”

At this, Zakiriel - who had still been inspecting the outstretched wing - dropped it at once. “You thought I was a - heavens, why would you think so?”

“W - well,” Mahir stammered, “Miss Galaran said that there are monsters here that can look like people you know, so…”

Zakiriel glanced at Galaran in alarm, and she confirmed it with a curt nod. He nodded back repeatedly like he couldn’t quite believe it.

“Then,” he began slowly, “how did you know I wasn’t one of them?”

Galaran shrugged. “You didn’t fight back.”

He waited, perhaps expecting more of an explanation, and prompted when none came, “That’s it?”

“That’s it,” she said, leaning against the chamber’s inner wall and crossing her arms. “The faceless ones break before I have them by the neck.”

Zakiriel raised his brows, replied with a concerned, high-pitched hum, and swiftly turned his attention back to the children. “Well! Let’s get you two home, then.”

He was met with an immediate, simultaneous shout of, “No!” from both of them, so intense that he pulled away.

Galaran put a finger to her lips and gestured to the exit passage.

“No,” Imariel, renewed in defiance, repeated more quietly. She detached herself from Zakiriel’s robe and stepped back to make her argument, wobbling only a little. “We can’t leave without Liquid Gold. You said it was down here.”

Mahir joined his sister, though their stern solidarity was undermined somewhat by his attempts to untie the wooden brace from his wing; when he reached for it, his body moved, and when his body moved, his wing went with it, locking him in a repetitive and frustrated cycle.

Catch-your-tail, Galaran thought with a nostalgic smile. It seemed that children’s antics, at least, bridged the divide between cultures.

“If we don’t - ah -” Mahir made another swipe at his wing, missing yet again, “- if we don’t bring it back, Mother won’t ever get better, right?”

Zakiriel mercifully plucked the twine on the brace, sending it and the stick clattering to the cave floor. His perpetual cheer had faded to resignation. 

“Right,” he answered softly, holding Mahir by the shoulders to help him stabilize.

From their earlier conversations, Galaran had gathered that their mother’s illness was persistent and grueling; the way the children spoke, it was clear they had no real concept of death, but she recognized the described afflictions of one whose end drew near.

“We haven’t even searched for a day,” Imariel complained. “We can’t give up yet!”

Zakiriel hesitated for a long moment.

“Imariel. Mahir. What I read to you - the scroll from the archive,” he said haltingly, and both children nodded. “It was the only account, among dozens of shelves, that mentioned this curative, and even then its details were so sparse. I…”

He exhaled deeply and closed his eyes.

Galaran pitied the man. The children regarded him with such radiant hope, and all he had in answer was the rotten task of dousing it. The sooner the better, though - ignorance had led them to danger, and it would only continue to do so if left uncorrected.

“So how about I look for it instead?” Zakiriel suggested brightly, grinning like it was the most natural idea in the world.

Galaran stared at him, too incredulous to hush the children’s answering exclamations. This - this overeager river reed, liable to wash away in a drizzle, was going to stay here?

She pressed two knuckles to the bridge of her nose. No, surely not; he was just indulging the children’s whims to get them back to the Floating Isle.

“Really? Do you know where to look?” Mahir practically bounced in his exuberance. “Miss Galaran said her healers could help!”

“Our healers might be able to help,” she quickly corrected.

Zakiriel made a grand show of considering the question. “Well, I don’t know where exactly to look, but I work with the isle’s plants every day. I’m sure I could narrow down a possible location with time and study.”

Mahir nodded sagely along with the act, entirely taken in by it.

“And,” Zakiriel continued, “don’t you think your mother would miss you?”

Imariel cast her eyes downward. “She would.”

“Is it not better, then, for me to stay, and for the two of you to return to Haven?”

The siblings shared a conflicted look, clearly reluctant to abandon their mission. They held a debate through subtle expressions; though no words were exchanged, the negotiations appeared quite heated via gesture alone.

Finally Imariel, the apparent victor, turned back and gravely stipulated, “You have to promise you’ll find the Liquid Gold. Okay?”

Zakiriel held a hand over his heart. “Mari, I promise I will do my very best to find it.”

Mahir, visibly pouting, kicked his former brace stick across the floor in defeat. “Oh, fine. Let’s go.”

It was sort of endearing, actually, that these three foreigners - who had very recently witnessed Gaia’s brutality - looked to be planning their departure for the middle of the night. Perhaps they thought their encounters to be abnormal, the product of misfortune rather than their own inexperience; or perhaps, since Galaran had aided them, they had a deceptively generous view of the forest’s inhabitants.

Regardless.

“Wait until morning,” she advised. “Regain your strength.”

The other reason, she kept to herself: might alone could not prevail against unfavorable conditions.

In her clan, this was one of several basic facts of survival. A mother leopard forced to move her young in the dark must accept a measure of loss. She is strong, but her cubs are many; she is alert, but she cannot defend every angle. 

Luckily, Zakiriel accepted her initial reasoning.

He herded the children toward the back of the chamber and helped them heap moss and leaves into a pile. Though he weathered several complaints over its texture and crudeness, fatigue finally caught up with them; soon they were nestled like eggs into the improvised bed, soundly asleep.

Galaran fed a few more branches into the small central fire, then motioned for Zakiriel to follow her into the exit passage. They stood with their backs to opposite walls, close enough to see into the main chamber but far enough to speak in confidence.

“All right, tell me,” she said, dropping all the softness and euphemism she’d employed for the children’s benefit. “What is ‘Liquid Gold’? Do you really think it’s here in the forest?”

Zakiriel breathed a tired laugh. “Liquid Gold is a substance mentioned once in our historical records. For reference -” he indicated the cave’s interior, “- the archive’s contents could fill this place thrice over, at least. And only one person, in one instance, ever documented its existence. But…”

He steepled his fingers. “If the record was in the archive, then it was verified at some point. Someone had enough evidence to convince an archivist to include it. So, to answer your question: I think it’s a plant, and I think it might grow in the forest.”

“Hm,” Galaran acknowledged, digesting his lengthy reply. “As I told Imariel, we use many ‘yellow’ plants in our medicines, but none can cure every illness.”

Zakiriel’s fatigue instantly sharpened to interest. “So your people have knowledge of herbology? That is most fortunate. You see, I don’t think the original plant is necessarily yellow; the substance was presumably named Liquid Gold for a reason, and there are many natural derivatives that, when combined in a solution, change their hues quite dramatically -”

“Wait. Wait.” Galaran waved one hand as if clearing away smoke. She hadn’t recognized many of his words, but he was conveying a certain intent. “Do you actually mean to return to Gaia?”

“Gaia? Is that the great forest’s name?” He gazed outside with fresh wonder for a few seconds, then shook his head and refocused on her. “Ah, apologies. I do indeed. Why wouldn’t I, after giving my word?”

Galaran had found herself speechless in the face of these Featherlings’ actions several times now, but this one outsized the others by far.

“You - you -”

He patiently waited while she struggled to gather a response.

“You plan to risk your life a second time for the honor of your word?”

Zakiriel’s eyes slightly widened. “Oh! No, no, you misunderstand. I only gave my word because I planned to return.”

At her sustained disbelief, he cleared his throat and continued more seriously, “I’m aware of the dangers, believe me, but the twins…well, they acted recklessly, but they weren’t wrong. Haven isn’t doing enough to treat the Withering.”

The Withering. The name alone made Galaran shiver. “Is that what ails their mother?”

Zakiriel averted his eyes and dipped his chin once, tightly. “Her and many more. Mahir spoke the truth; there is no cure. Once contracted, the disease invariably claims its victim. They waste away to nothing. It consumes them whole.”

He glared down at his hands as he spoke, as if blaming them for the problem. “And neither magic nor medicine can do anything but ease their passing.”

Galaran listened with cold, mounting unease to the description. “When you say it ‘consumes,’ do you mean it makes them frail? So weak they can barely stand?”

“Yes, exactly,” he said, startled. “Why? Have you seen it?”

She glanced back into the main chamber to make sure the children were still sleeping; they didn’t need to hear this.

“I think so,” she said, near-whispering to ensure their privacy. “It is a new killer. The first one to fall was ten seasons ago - one of our elders. He was a fearless, proven warrior. Death could not take him.”

Her fists clenched in indignation. “Over a single moon’s gaining, he slowed until he could no longer lift his head to receive water. We thought it a single tragedy, but then those who had cared for him began to slow as well. They died, all of them.”

Zakiriel hummed darkly. “Those do sound like the same symptoms, and the manner of spreading is quite similar.”

“But we assumed it had come from the humans. They bring so much sickness with them,” Galaran said with an agitated flick of her tail. “How could they have brought it to the Floating Isle?”

 “They could not have,” he agreed, putting a thoughtful hand to his chin. “No human has set foot on the isle in centuries. Perhaps it is transmitted via wind? There are species of trees and fungi that reach Haven in such a fashion…”

He shook his head again; Galaran now recognized it as a sign he’d drifted away mentally and wished to return.

“That - that isn’t important,” he said quickly. “The salient point is that both of our peoples are suffering from it with no recourse. All the more reason to search in earnest for ‘Liquid Gold.’”

She snorted, intending to dissuade him, but a new idea buzzed to life in her mind. Conspiratorially, she probed, “The children said you were a healer; is this true?”

“A doctor, yes,” he confirmed, raising an eyebrow like he questioned its relevance.

Ah, so that was what it meant. She smiled in satisfaction as all the threads came together. “Then, if you’re determined to stay, why not take shelter with my clan?”

He raised his brows skeptically, but seemed intrigued nonetheless. “Your clan would readily welcome an outsider?”

“Not readily,” Galaran hedged, thinking of her father’s past intolerance, “but the Ran value those who are useful, and skilled healers are rare. I think the clan head would see worth in your knowledge.”

Zakiriel spent a few moments in silent deliberation.

“It would be better than wandering Gaia until you are eaten by a wolf,” she said flatly to hasten him along. “Or a bear. Or a serpent -”

“All right, all right, I understand,” he interjected, his face a bit paler than before. “I’ll meet with your clan head. Assuming they won’t kill me if I fail to impress…?”

She hesitated in answering. Such a thing wasn’t customary, and she’d only seen it applied to deceitful humans, but she supposed it wasn’t impossible.

“I must say that this reaction is not inspiring confidence.”

“You won’t be killed,” she told him decisively. “But since there are no clan laws about Featherlings, I’ll make no pledges otherwise.”

After a brief pause, she amended, “I’ll make one pledge. If my father denies you shelter with our clan, I will see you safely to another.” “Your father?” he spluttered nervously, but then managed to compose himself. “That, ah - that sounds agreeable to me. Thank you.”

“Thank me after you prove yourself,” she threw back. “Elder Varran is not easy to please, but I think you will succeed. Your cause is just.”

He beamed at her in the same fond way he had with the children. Such familiarity unsettled her, as it had during their initial meeting, and she still couldn’t really explain why; caution was so fundamental to her worldview that his lack of it was simply…baffling.

“You should -” go away right now, her mind supplied, but she firmly rejected that option, “- sleep. While you can. Tomorrow’s journey will be long.”

“Ah. You’re probably right,” Zakiriel said amicably, then started toward the central chamber. At its threshold, he turned to her with his hands clasped behind his back. “Goodnight, then.”

His continued presence after speaking probably meant he expected a response, Galaran thought, but she hadn’t the faintest idea what it should be.

“Goodbye,” she tried. 

She’d heard humans say that before, and it was pretty close to the word he had used - but his stiff smile told her it was probably wrong. He inhaled as if to respond, but then simply nodded awkwardly and strode away.

Odd. She’d have to ask about that.

Gradually, silence - almost pure, save for the faint crackle of their fire - settled over the cave, and she finally felt secure again. If anything approached, she’d hear it, and the winding passage shielded her from an ambush.

Reassured, she relaxed against the wall, letting some of the day’s tension drain from her body. Tomorrow’s journey would be long, indeed, and taxing in more ways than one. She could only hope that her father didn’t awaken feeling particularly obstinate.

Her head fell back against the wall, then lolled to one side to observe the sleeping Featherlings. Lacking any proper bedding, Zakiriel had curled one of his wings underneath his body and the other atop it; his deep blue hair flowed over one shoulder and pooled by his side, sleek despite the trials it had met, framing an elegant face smoothed by slumber.

In some areas of the forest where the canopy was thinner, where sunlight nourished a lush undergrowth, there grew a colorful flower prized for its beauty. Its vibrant petals resembled the head of a long-necked crane reaching skyward, its leaves suggested wings arched in flight - and its stem snapped under any but the lightest touches.

Long ago, her mother had told her those flowers were called birds of paradise, and Galaran thought she knew, now, how they’d acquired their name.

[tastesousweet]

⭒ the girl with the tattoo (xiii) - pt 1 pt 2 p3 p4 p5 p6 p7 p8 p9 p10 p11 p12

matt sturniolo x fem!oc / reader

summary : halloweekend finds the pair in a tense party environment, putting their declaration of "just friends" to a test.

warnings : fluffy fun, very angsty at times, smutty at times (forgive me if it’s not up to par i haven’t wrote smut in a sec :/), alcohol and weed use mentioned, barely proof-read

mickey speaks : i have too much fun writing lucas and y/n scenes pls save me also i hope u enjoy and had a good halloween luv u all sm

THIS IS PART THIRTEEN, READ THE OTHERS FIRST PLEASE...

THE house is flooding. people are moving in and out constantly; stepping out for a smoke, or leaning over to let out strings of bile-filled saliva, or just leave the crowded event altogether. those who walk past the leaving groups are likely to step over a few drunk, costume-clad bodies (who have decided the floor looks "hella comfy" at that point in their night), and would be met with an undeniable heat radiating from every wall as the electric beats of the rhythm of the night headlines over every speaker.

by the time you arrive (with remi's hands wrapped tightly around your upper arm as if you were both entering a terrifying, haunted house rather than a boozy costume party) the party is at it's peak. a man in a hyper-realistic werewolf costume stood at the door to ask for your names and shamelessly flirt with the two of you before you were let into the large house.

you look to remi with excitement once you're fully engulfed in the home and your faces are both painted by the slow changing, colored lights. just as your mouth opens to speak, a smooth and familiar voice rings out a groan around you both, "good god!" lucas breaks between you two, hanging each of his large arms over the length of both you and remi's shoulders. "you two are lookin' fine as hell," he looks back and forth, eyeing you both with his toothy grin that glimmers extra with the decorative gem on his canine.

remi lets out a laugh, "thank you lucas," she sees the way he's leaning onto you and drawing circles on your shoulder making her smile, "but i will not be participating in any sister-wive shenanigans- so i'll see you," she slips from his hold and begins to walk backwards and silently mouths "i'll be in the kitchen" to you while motioning her hand as if she was drinking something which makes you laugh to yourself and exchange thumbs up's with each other.

lucas sends a flutter of his fingers to remi and when she turns around to navigate through the crowd, he's looking at you again- with your dolled up face and sheer-red glossed lips that he keeps staring at whenever you're speaking or rubbing them together. he hooks his arm to pull you closer as he leans down to speak into your ear through your hair, "how've you been, baby?"

your face gives away his obvious affect on you. you look down and then back up at him, bringing your hand up to play with his fingers on your hot skin, "i've been good. how about you?"

he brings his head close as he listens to you speak, nodding his head at a few people who assumingly recognize him.

"mmm," he unwraps his arm from you as he moves to lean his back against a wall with various faux spiderwebs and skulls stuck to it; still just as crowded by people on either side of him talking loudly or meeting each other's tongues. "love to hear that, you know 'm always feelin' good," he keeps ahold of your hand and smoothly spins you around to face him. he eyes your tight red corset and the way your ass sits in those tiny pink bloomer shorts and has to ask, "so.. what are you? some kind of fairy?"

his face looks so genuinely curious and attractive under the luxurious lighting that you can't help but smile, "i'm cupid! see?" you turn and lift your leg slightly to show off a small decorative bow and arrow attached by a lacy thigh garter.

"have you shot anyone yet?" he grins and his eyes, while puffy and red, remain focused on you.

it's been a while since you've seen lucas and even longer since you've felt the gentle intimacy from a guy you like, so you lean close and wrap your arms around his neck, lifting yourself up slightly to kiss his cheek, "just one."

lucas dramatically groans and leans his head back against the wall, "fuckin' hell," he bites at his bottom lip. when he finally brings himself to make eye contact with you again you're there, so close to him, with that pretty smile and those charming eyes. he jokingly shakes his head back and forth, "jesus." he starts to look around before calling out, "are there any nurses around here?! shit i'll take a sexy doctor at this point- my heart might just give out right now!"

you let out a cackle and look behind you at the few people who have overheard lucas' call for help before looking back to him and shushing him through his attractive laugh and calls of “help me”. he pulls you close enough for your faces to unintentionally meet to share an intoxicating giggle, before you take hold of his thick overall strap and hold his chin, feeling over his soft facial hair. you surprise him when you deliver a taste of you with a kiss to his lips, your voice gentle, "hey shhh ... i can take care of you."

౨ৎ

"what. the. fuck?!" matt says through a stifled laugh, waving through the smokey air to ensure he is seeing correctly.

chris stands with his hips tilted and cherry red lips pouted, dressed head to toe in a little red-riding-hood costume while he leans on a giggly andrea who's his self-proclaimed slutty big-bad-wolf counterpart. she’s got fluffy grey ears on top of her loosely curled hair and heavy dark eyeliner that brings out the hazel in her eyes. her tiny daisy duke shorts, furry boots, and sharp fake canines pull the rest of her costume together perfectly.

nathan's cackle rings as he comes from behind matt to greet his friends, "holy shit, that's too good, which one of you thought of this?!" he points a finger out from his grip on a slim beer bottle.

chris starts to laugh as andrea playfully replies, "who do you think?"

"just wait until nick sees you in this after you told him you wouldn't do drag with him..." matt tsks, still astonished by the sight of his brother in a tiny skirt.

chris twirls and plays with the ends of his frazzled wig as andrea begins to show them the photos she'd taken while they were getting ready. matt looks over to chris, "i really can't deal with how into this you are."

chris' face deadpans and he jokingly jumps at matt with a fist curled, making matt move backwards and almost knock nathan's drink out of his hand, "yeah, that's what i thought! i'll beat your ass!" he pitches his voice up to a hyper-feminine octave.

andrea lifts her hands up as she laughs, "woah? i thought this was a classy party?!"

matt sputters out his own chuckle at chris who is still playing up some sort of reality tv level fight, "oh my god hold me back!" he wraps andrea's arms around his torso while simultaneously throwing his arms in matt's direction, "hold me back babe, i'm about to kill this bitch!"

almost everyone around them has fallen weak from laughter when nick's exclaim cuts through over the loud music and hysterics, "is that christopher?! my brother?!" nick rushes down the stairs and chris immediately pushes through a crowd to go hug him.

"dude, chris is off one tonight! holy shit, i can't stop laughing," nathan wipes his eyes and rests his hand on matt's shoulder.

asha (who just so happened to get caught in chris' tight hug due to nick's hold on her hand) gives chris a soft pat on the back before ducking from between the two drunk idiots' hold and heading to greet her friends. "andrea! hi pretty lady!" the two squeeze each other tight before she moves to hug nate and matt.

"you all look so good! where's y/n?" she asks with a wide grin, the bright colors of her daphne costume enhancing the bronze of her skin in the low lighting.

"don't know." matt says with a shrug and a glance around the party atmosphere. he wish he knew. honestly, he wishes you were at his side, holding onto him right now.

his night out with elijah a few weeks back was only helpful for that night. sure, he had fun with the attention and heat of the moment sex that came with it- but he was left annoyed the next day when he woke up next to a girl incomparable to you. it was embarrassing and an emotionally drunk mistake; he's given himself enough shit for it, so he doesn't feel any need to ever expose that to you, if he's gifted with your openness again. if.

"she got ready at remi's, so i haven't seen her yet," andrea says before she's distracted by her boyfriend stood on a wooden table across the room, "chris! bájate (get off)! get down from there!" she yells in worry while quickly parting from the group.

"god, he’s wild." asha looks from chris dancing on the raised table to the two boys next to her, "well, i'm gonna go get a drink and hopefully find y/n while i'm gone," she spins to leave and surprisingly matt is right next to her, ready to follow suit.

"i'll come with you," he explains and asha pauses in question, "c'mon, just keep walkin'."

the two approach the vile display of a kitchen with cluttered liquors and mixers, sticky residue atop the counters and plenty of bodies using the space as their personal lounge. matt's got his head turning constantly (in hopes to at least spot you from afar and get the chance to admire), as he stands next to asha who's creating a beverage of sorts, "what're y'making?"

"literally have no clue, just puttin' a little malibu with hawaiian punch i'm sure it'll be fine-" she looks over to him, "what the hell are you doing?" she laughs while putting the cap back onto the tall bottle, "whipping your head around like crazy. do you have opps around here, matthew?"

matt rolls his eyes, "no," he sighs and goes to grab another beer from the fridge (after excusing himself to a couple leant against it). he twists the cap and takes a long sip.

"hey! you done with that yet?" a brash and irritating voice yells into the air, causing matt and asha to look over to see the guy with a poorly made vampire costume and his grimy finger pointed at her, "yeah, you!"

"excuse me?! who the fuck are you talking to?" asha immediately defends while gesturing to the bottle dismissively, "yeah i'm done with it you asshole, take it."

though he stays silent, matt's face displays disgust which makes the man just as mad, "the fuck is wrong with your face, cowboy? can't even defend your girl but you wanna have that dumbass look on your face."

matt laughs, the last thing he expected was to be ridiculed and pestered tonight, "can you chill the fuck out? there was no issue until your greedy ass came in here and started cussin' at girls and callin' me a cowboy when i'm clearly indiana jones."

asha tilts her hand as if to say, clearly? well that's debatable, which makes matt kiss his teeth. she ignores him and flashes a smile, mouthing, "okay, let's go" but the guy can't help but rebuttal and continue to shout profanities while the pair head out of the kitchen. so it's only right that matt turn his head to the guy and yell out, "go find some happiness and peace you drunk fuck, no one wants you here!" before he snickers to himself and gulps down more of his beer, wiping his dripping mouth with his exposed forearm.

matt and asha swiftly move through the crowd while laughing and sipping at their drinks until they find a spot big enough for both of them on the makeshift dancefloor. "hey, that drink better be worth literally fighting for." matt yells over the music and points at the solo cup in her hand.

"eh," she shrugs and begins to sway herself with the hypnotic dance-pop music playing loudly. she connects large dips of her hips with movement in her arms and lipsyncing that helps to loosen matt up enough to find some enjoyment in the small buzz of alcohol and pounding musical vibrations. though his playful mood dies when asha almost chokes on her drink (out of excitement) as she taps at matt's shoulder a few quick times. "oh my god! i found y/n! and ... is that ... lucas?" she squints her eyes.

matt doesn't mean to but his entire body reverses to get a view. only it's worse than he could ever imagine in his own creative mind. it's the harsh breaths you're taking and the way your bodies move as one and how he's hugging onto you under these turquoise and orange lights, it feels like matt has just been kicked down onto his knees and beaten over the head bloody. the heat of the people around him who keep bumping into him as he stands and watches you perform, is dizzying. there's constant movement in both time and the crowd, yet matt feels stuck. but that's strictly internal, matt's external remains dangerously calm. calm enough that asha doesn't notice any change, not even the roughness in his throat when he replies to her comment of "i didn't even know they were a thing" with a hushed, "me neither..."

౨ৎ

"wow you look fucking terrible, matt" nick stares with wide eyes, "asha, babe, how did you leave my brother alone for like thirty minutes and he's got the face of death the next time we see him?!" he laughs at his brother slumped in a lonesome outdoor chair.

"s’not on me! i promise he was fine when i left him!" she drunkenly expresses.

matt leans his head to the side, "yeah, make fun of me all you want. i'm not the idiot in a fuckin' blonde wig."

nick dramatically caresses his short, slightly off-centered, wig, "not too much! i am fred fucking jones!” making asha giggle uncontrollably as he adds, “where is the respect for icons around here?!”

matt's finding it difficult to enjoy any part of his night now that he has the sight of lucas practically fucking you in his friend's living room imprinted in his skull. he wishes you could have seen him there, watching. he hopes that your stomach would've dropped and you'd ask him to forgive you as he walked away. he hopes that maybe lucas was bothering you and matt just missed the part where you slapped him and told him to leave you alone. that wasn't his fucking sunny. sunny has more respect for herself. he knows sunshine when he sees it; and sunshine is better than matt. from what he saw, tonight you're just like him. how could you? do you truly see matt as a fucking friend? has all of his bickering about not getting with his friends fallen on deaf ears? or do you just not care enough?

౨ৎ

"so you're the only minion? what are your friends dressed as then?" you ask in reference to his costume as lucas feeds you a potato chip from the large bowl he stole from a dining table.

he has a smile as he looks up at you, sat on top of his lap, "yeah, you could say i went rogue, i guess. i got fired for bein' high on the job." you laugh and he brings another chips to your mouth, "all my boys are dressed like m&ms or batman and shit." lucas is caught by surprise when he sees matt approach the couch. "matt! what's up, man. i haven't seen you in a minute, here sit down." he moves the bowl from the cushion next to him, tapping the seat to invite him closer.

you quietly take a sip from the cold mixed drink in your hand and play with the lacy ruffles on your tiny shorts. you wonder if he’ll actually sit down, just to fuck with you. you truly never know what to expect from matt, you two haven't even been alone together since he'd given you an impromptu tattoo on your back. you know he’s likely come over to degrade you over enjoying any time without him. you don’t think he should be bothered with what you do with anyone else at this point.

he speaks up with a shake of his head and downturned lips, "nah i'm cool. y/n, can i talk to you?" his voice has a deep rasp that forces his east coast roots to sprinkle into his dialect.

"hm?" you finally look over to him. while your eyelids sparkle with loose glitter, his eyelids are heavy and his eyebrows, a confusing kind of angry. his lips are upset with you and his jaw is achingly pissed. your lips are still so soft and plump; matt would hate to think they've been kissed by the man underneath you.

"can we go talk?"

"what's going on? is it about one of our friends?" you're playing clueless in hopes that he'll let you finish enjoying your time not thinking about him tonight. for one fucking night.

he repeats your words in a breathy mock, "what's going on? y/n, please don't do this bullshit with me right now."

"alright no need for all that," lucas breathes out, his eyebrows pinched together.

a smile plays on matt’s face at the audacity of him to speak up as the literal other man here, "lucas, shut the fuck up. this has nothing to do with you, i'm just tryna' talk to my friend right now before i leave this dumbass party."

"wh-?!" lucas' voice gains it's own, contrasting, roughness.

“matt?!” you scold and immediately stand up, turning to lucas with an exhaustive sigh, "just give me a sec, okay?" you squeeze his hand before turning to matt, "come on."

౨ৎ

"this is fucking ridiculous,” he huffs.

"matt, slow down. please," you try to keep up with him physically through the crowd, and emotionally through his words.

he's mostly talking to himself with the way he speaks under his breath, "what the fuck were you thinkin'?"

"i can't hear, what are you saying?" you genuinely ask and try to move closer from behind him, only you accidentally move too harsh and swift, tripping yourself in the process.

he's quick to grab hold of your torso and lift you upright, "be careful, y/n."

"yeah, m’trying, matt." you readjust yourself upright and he takes his warm hands away from your body, reluctantly grabbing your hand instead to pull you the rest of the way through.

౨ৎ

you can finally see him. now that you’re both stood in the first bedroom matt could find upstairs, you're finally able to see him under the controlled, yellowed light of the private room.

you're in the middle of the unfamiliar room, watching him with his back towards you as he shuts the door. he lets out a deep breath as he looks over to you. it's too bad he can't cherish you when you're so damn cute in your tight costume and angel wings.

you curiously admire his appearance as well; he's clad in brown textured pants with a belt and rope connected while his toned chest and arms display his collection of tattoos under the brown vest. his face is attractively looking to you with fake bruises on his cheekbones and corner of his lip. the hat and satchel he wears would normally make you smile and giggle out of appreciation for his commitment to the character, but he's looking at you with such trouble you're feeling the drunken buzz you once had begin to fade.

"hey," your voice is small.

"y/n, what the fuck is going on?" his voice is immediately bitter.

you breathe out a laugh through your nose dismissively, "wow, okay. i'm not doing this right now..." you start to walk around him and towards the door.

"what? don't leave?!" he follows you and you stop.

you look over your shoulder at him, "matt, i'm not letting you yell at me and make me feel bad for enjoying my night out."

"no, i-" he sighs through his nose and comes close as he lowers his voice, "i'm trying to look after you," he gently wraps his arms over your shoulders, connecting his hand with his wrist.

"you're not... you're actually just being selfish, matt." you stand your ground.

"lucas isn't good for you, y/n, i've told you this," he reminds you with his face buried into the space where your shoulder and neck meet.

you groan, "i don't think you understand how fucking frustrating you sound!" you remove his arms and turn yourself around to look into his eyes, because maybe it will help him (and yourself) believe your words, "you wanna talk matt? let's talk. how about this: you and i were never and will never be together."

matt's tongue runs over his teeth and his stomach slightly aches the thought but he takes it on the chin, playing up his cocky personality you unfortunately have grown to favor. he smiles in your face, "i bet that felt good, huh?"

"better than you'd think." you think he can't tell but your eyes are the slightest bit glossier as you speak.

"mm," he nods his head, "right … so now what? you found another sleazed-out pothead to give you dick every now and then? you replacin' me?" he condescendingly laughs at you.

"'m not fucking him, matt. you're being childish." your eyes pinch in animosity.

matt notices your hand remaining on the doorknob, "you're not gonna leave yet though? we still need to talk.."

"about what?" you cross your arms.

matt shrugs with pouted lips, "i mean, i don't know. whatever friends talk about. i haven't seen your pretty ass all night- don't want my impact to be us fussin' at each other."

"you've made a big enough impact already don't you worry." you sarcastically roll your eyes and move to go stretch out on the soft bed, “but fine we can talk, as long as you go get a few drinks for us to share.”

౨ৎ

"you can’t be serious!" he exclaims with a laugh.

"no! m' dead serious-” you adjust yourself to sit up tall on your knees, the bed dipping below you and your strawberry wine cooler in hand, “and you know me, i’m just stood there trying to fight off actual tears while this woman nitpicks my entire cake design in front of a crowd of customers, matt.” you widen your hands to exaggerate your drunken spiel, “a crowd!”

matt continues to laugh at you through his mouthful of slightly bitter beer, he swallows before tugging your arm so that you’re sat once more, “c’mere.”

after you asked that he bring drinks up to you if he expected you to stay and talk with him, matt almost immediately went to the kitchen. he left you to sit alone in the space with your thoughts, which only made you crave a drink strong enough to make you stop thinking of all the bad. you wondered what lucas was doing but that began to make you fell terrible; you sent him a text apologizing for matt’s behavior and telling him you were going home for the night but you’d enjoyed your time with him. he was kind and cool about it which you appreciated.

you accidentally topple into his chest him when you’re pulled down, but matt easily adjusts himself to hold you as if it was a perfect accident. you blink slowly as you look at him and his teeth that show only slightly with his smile.

he can’t help but move his free hand further along your body, he hasn’t held you like this in what feels like forever. “i missed you,” he admits and palms your thigh soothingly.

you just stare at him. you want to believe him so badly but even your intoxicated brain can replay andrea’s words from two nights ago through your head: “and chris told me that … matt’s been sleeping around with a few different girls over the past month and a half …”

it pains you to remember the initial shock you felt, so you take your final sip of your drink and move from his lap, taking his drink he was currently sipping from him and placing both cans on a small table in the room.

“what is it?” matt questions with his costume-clad body stretched over the length of the bed and his head propped up by his hand when you come back over to the bed.

“i know you don’t miss me, matt,” you try to sound as put together as possible, sitting yourself cross-legged and in front of him. you take off his hat to let his hair fall out and into its place, kissing at his temples.

you place the hat behind you as matt leans closer to you, placing a hand on your knee, “you don’t know anything if you think i’m lyin’…” he looks up into your droopy yet seductive eyes.

you smirk at his confidence before you lie down parallel to him, “be honest, i can handle it.” you pry. you wonder if he’d actually tell you, especially when he so obviously wants to get in your pants.

“you want honesty? hmmm…” he reaches for your hand, playing with your smooth and manicured nails, “honestly… i was pissed when i saw you with lucas earlier, i don’t think you should give him your time.” his expression is a bit serious like he truly had kept those words in his drunken mind all night. you don’t give any change in your face, tired of reiterating that you don’t care what matt has to say about your love life anymore. “and well, honestly…” he licks over his bottom lip, “you look cute as fuck as cupid tonight.”

you reluctantly smile, “wow all of that and your nose never grew.”

“i’m an honest man. your turn,” you continues to play with your hand.

“honestly… i think the indiana jones look is doing you favors.” you giggle when he displays a look of shock by your compliment, “don’t act so surprised! ‘m more shocked we haven’t kissed each other yet.” you comment.

matt blinks a few times finding the space between you two has become warmer, “pretty sure kissing is considered a friendly interaction in france,” he pulls you closer before leaning over to hold your face in his palm.

“you made that up,” you giggle and look from his intoxicating blue eyes to his pink lips.

his own laugh slips through his smooth delivery, “yeah i did but-”

you tangle your fingers through his deep brown hair as you pull his face to connect with yours, suddenly too overwhelmed with desire to let matt finish his sentence.

he lets the control stay in your hands, with his weight on top of yours and his tongue only peeking out once your lips wrap around it.

it’s hot and spit heavy collision, with both of you endlessly sucking and holding the other’s lips captive. you’re so clouded that you can’t be bothered to complain that your decorative wings are uncomfortable and poking into you.

matt’s hands reach into the bloomers you wear and pull them down slightly to grip the skin of your full hips and feel the fabric of your tiny pair of underwear. your hands continue to scratch at his scalp and hold his cheeks (at times moving to hold his neck and give tiny pulsing squeezes).

your mind is one tracked and eventually you’re fed up with waiting for matt to push past your underwear and give you what you need. you take it upon yourself to move your hand from his chiseled cheek to the space between you two, trailing down and into your shorts.

matt initially thinks you’ve gone to move into his pants but is pleasantly surprised to pull back and see you using your fingers on yourself. he hums against your ear, “mmm you’re so fucking sexy when you’re touching yourself, sun’.”

you mewl out a soft moan at his words as he lays wet kisses from your ear to your neck, where he licks and nips lightly. you move your fingers from your clit to dip into you, whining out towards the ceiling as you work them.

matt purposely places his crotch against your spread thigh to give you insight into his cravings. what he doesn’t expect is you to tell him, “fuck yourself matt- do it against my thigh,” through several breathy moans. he moves to kiss your lips and flick his tongue against your own again. when he pulls away you whisper, “please? i wanna watch you, matt.”

he punches his eyes closed and you bring your hand from your shorts up to his mouth, smearing your index and middle fingers across his lips until he opens his mouth and sucks your fingers thoroughly, attempting to give out a moan with his mouth full.

his teeth slightly graze your fingers as you pull them from him, your soft voice meeting his ears while his eyes stare admirably, “you got me all wet,” you show your damp fingers before you move them back to play with your sensitive clit.

matt’s head tilts downwards to watch you move your hand beyond the fabric, taking it upon himself to pull your pink bloomers off of you.

he watches your fingers working eagerly under your lace underwear as he unbuckles his belt as quickly as he can. he glances up at your face, with your mouth hung in an open “o” shape and your hair slightly disheveled, and can’t help but pause his undressing to kiss your cheeks harshly, making his way to your mouth for needy and rushed kisses. you remove your hand from your pleasure to finish unzipping matt’s pants and messily pushing his boxers down far enough to free his dick.

matt lets out a relieved groan at the feeling, removing his lips from you to spit on his hand and immediately wrap it around himself to release the tense pressure. matt holds onto you as he moves himself against the fullest part of your inner thigh, so close to your heat that his stomach recoils just thinking about being inside you.

his moans are just as whiney as yours when you begin to hurriedly hump into your own hand. matt’s face is smushed into the side of your face with heavy breaths and body heat adding to the tumultuous pressure in your core. “matt,” you breathe against him, “i can’t hold-”

he brings his hand to your neck, shushing you, “yeah? s’okay…”

you allow his encouragement and strained voice to aid you as you finish with shaking legs and a string of sharp moans into matt’s ear. you attempt to close your legs but matt forces them to remain wide as he adjusts his dick to lie against your soaked panties before rutting his hips pathetically against the covered area.

you whimper at the feeling and your legs jerk softly whenever his head bumps at your tired clit. you wrap your arms around matt’s neck to keep his body close to yours whispering in his ear how sensitive you are and that he needs to be gentle with you to make him moan into your mouth and promise he’ll try.

your tongue plays in his mouth as matt reaches his peak, groaning (embarrassingly loud for someone who did nothing more than jerk himself against you) and continuing his strokes as he cums on your covered cunt.

he removes himself from on top of you after a few breaths, immediately taking off your filthy underwear and exchanging them for your tiny bloomer shorts for you.

you allow him to care for you as you stare at the ceiling, your body’s sweat becoming apparent as you begin to mentally process the fact that you just participated in the one action you promised yourself (and andrea) you would not commit again. you feel weak and embarrassed where you’d normally feel bubbly and excited to get to spend time with matt after having sex.

you want to cry but you also want to yell. you want to tell matt that you wished he cared about you. you wish he would have called you again instead of taking random girls to bed. you wish he would look up from his fucking phone right now and see you pouting and saddened by what’s happened to the two of you.

you get up from your spot on the bed and walk across the room to grab one of the small pink whitney shooters lying on the dresser. as you twist the cap off you wish you were at home, with your kitten and your warm bed. matt watches you throw the shot back, coating your tongue with a sting and leaving your throat warm.

he slowly makes his way to you as you go to open the second shooter. he wraps his arms around your waist, “do you believe i missed you now?” he leans down to ask into the air next to your face.

you breathe out before taking the second shot silently, pinching your face at the awful taste.

“sunny?”

silence.

you finally turn to look at him, your eyes carry such misery that matt’s face changes from one of contentment to one of complete worry. “what’s going on?”

your mouth is downturned and your brain is foggy, “this is ruining me, matt. you’re not good for me.”

matt’s completely offended, “i’m sorry? did i just spend the last hour and a half with someone else?! what are you talking about?”

you look down at the red wood of the dresser you lean on for balance, “this all was a mistake, i can’t believe i let this happen again …”

matt can’t help but let out a laugh in disbelief, “what the fuck is happening?!” he’s concerned at this point.

“i can’t- like, explain. i’m just-” you’re the worst type of drunk at this point; you’re being a confrontational drunk yet you're too fucked up to make any sense out of what you’re trying to say.

matt rubs his head and grabs the final seltzer from next to you, “y/n,” you can hear the snap of the tab as he opens it, “should i take you to ‘drea?”

you crouch slightly and bury your head in your crossed arms, no longer fighting any tears that escape.

“baby, why are you cryin’? come here, hug me.” he taps your sides to get you to stand and let him hold onto you.

you reluctantly wrap your arms around his middle and allow him to caress your head. “i just don’t think we should do this,” you get out through a small sob.

“hey, i’m gonna get you home and then we’ll talk in the morning, okay?”

after a few moments and calmed breaths you just shake your head and remove yourself from him, letting his arms trail off of you as you walk away and grab your shoes off of the floor.

you stumble over to the bed to put the small kitten heels back on. matt watches you with his eyes and puts the slim can down before he moves close to you and squats down to be level with your feet, “are you sure you wanna put these back on?”

“i don’t need your help,” you mumble and push his hands away from your shoe.

“sunny.”

“matt, you can go!” you finally let out your frustration through yelling.

“sshhh, stop fighting me, y/n!”

you throw the shoe against the floor harder than you intend, “no! don’t tell me what to do. don’t try to treat me all fucking special i know those other girls might get jealous.”

“here we fucking go,” he sighs, “there’s literally no one else, y/n! i haven’t even talked to other chicks tonight, you’re the one who was all over someone else and i’m over that shit! we’re cool and we’re friends so there’s no fucking reason for you to be mad.”

your mouth is flat and your eyes squinted as you look down at him, “i’m talking about the ones you’ve been seeing over the past few months!”

“why’re you sayin’ shit that’s not even true?!” he’s stands upright, “i can’t deal with this shit.”

“i know it’s true!” your lips pout as you fight off crying again.

“no you don’t, because it’s not!” he walks away and begins to slip on his own boots.

“yes i do! chris told me you fucking idiot!” you point at him, letting tears pour once more. your face is crumpled and your eyes welled with salt.

matt shakes his head silently as he finishes lacing up his boots.

you wipe your eyes and slide your second shoe back on before frustratingly removing the bracelet he’d bought you only a little over a month ago for your birthday. you stand up and grab your broken lopsided angel wings from the bed, walking back over to him.

“you done?” he asks roughly.

“yeah. stay out of my life,” you coldly push the bracelet into his chest and move towards the door.

“don’t worry about it, sweetheart. don’t think we’ll need to be friends anymore!” he yells as the door slams. he looks down at the bracelet and runs his thumb over the inscribed frank ocean lyrics, then glances around at the poor shape of cameron’s guest bedroom.

“fuck!” he shouts into the air above him.

* bonus a/n: i know a party + hookup + fight sesh hates to see them coming😭😭😭. no but in all seriousness i can see the toxicity here, pls this is not normal and i know that! BUT their feelings are very complex towards each other and the idea of being loved which causes shit like this to happen to them. by the end of this story they will not be this toxic i promise growth to come lol!!!!

taglist -★

@deadxrx @saintsturn @honestlybabymiracle @starrysturniolo @st7rnioioss @cupidsword @nickmillersn1gf @sturnioloa @tcvazq @novasturniolo03 @wovenribbons @watercolorskyy @imsosillygoofylol @wh0resstuff @peachmels @h3arts4harry @imaslutforwhitemen @lovingregulusblack @sturnsintrouble @udonknowmeh12 @mattandchrismakemewett @sturnsorbit @mommykinks4matt @bluebayousblog @jetaimevous @eyelovedher89 @grimholic @graysturns @cartiiwannagotoplutoo @sturniolosreads @almondamaretto @kentahoe @blissfulbellss @streamermattsgf @mattandchrismakemewett @starringthesturniolos @moonykai @envyjust @sirenedeslily

[dazedkook]

adore you

pairings: wolf hybrid jungkook x bunny hybrid oc

warnings: pseudo incest (oc is adopted), softdom jungkook, masturbation (f), kissing, nipple play, slight penetration

[unedited]

growing up with jeon jungkook has been one of the most beautiful moments in your life, he's your favourite person on earth. although, you spend a good 12 years thinking that he is your biological brother. you never realise the differences in between you and his family until you learn about genetics in science class. later did you know that it was his mother's idea to adopt you from the orphanage. the jeons family loves volunteering and mrs jeon quickly grows fond of you so they decided bring you home. to her suprise, jungkook is very gentle and loving around you.

jungkook has always been your number one supporter. despite the age gap of four years with him, he will never get tired of spending his time with you. jungkook remembers when he was 10, his friends made fun of him for still playing doll house with you, he doesn't give a fuck. he secretly loves combing the doll's hair and enjoys decorating the house. he also encourages you to eat vegetables (which is funny because he never met a bunny hybrid that absolutely despise the greens). finally, you could never thank him enough for assisting you through school. despite being busy with his senior year and sports, he tries his best to help you and make sure you're on top of your studies too. many years later and jungkook had successfully established himself as a successful young lawyer. he resides in a fancy apartment while you just started university. of course, like a good doting brother, he lets you to live with him instead of the crappy dormitory.

jungkook types in his house's key and expects to see you in the study room or living room, instead he sees you running around in your room. it's 7pm and you're frantically searching a pair of socks to match your loafers.

"bunny, where are you going?" a frown appears on jungkook's pretty face as he takes the socks from your hands and he kneels down to put it on you. he can’t help but to stare a little bit longer before putting it on. jungkook admits that he loves touching your hands and feet, he loves to compare it with his size.

"ah, i forgot to tell you! soobin invited me to his birthday party!" he looks up when he hears the name, he remembers him. choi soobin is the bunny hybrid who happens to be your best friend since grade school and he isn’t surprised to learn that he is majoring in the same program like yours.

"do you think he'll like his gift? i got him a-" you don't even get to finish your sentence when his hands lay on your thighs, he takes a deep breath before forcing a smile. see, jungkook tries his best to be calm but how can he stays sane when you've been spending too much time with this boy?

ever since he was younger, he has always hated when he overhears the mothers around the neighbourhood joke around about how you’ll end up being mated to the choi’s youngest child. he remembers getting into a serious arguement with his mother when he finds out that soobin is arranged to be your first heat partner. much to his delight, you haven’t had your first heat yet.

"ooh, how was your day?" you fiddle along with his long hair and gently rub his greyish ears that sit on top of his head. he can't hide the smile on his face and pulls you to his lap before you quickly lean on to his neck to take a whiff of his musky scent. he chuckles seeing your new habit.

for the past few months, he notices that you like to smell him more frequent, sneak into his bed almost every night, and steals his things to keep inside your room. strangely, you never think much on how his scent make you feel cloudy but brings you comfort at the same time.

"hmm, it was tiring as always. i still have tons of documents to read" he gives your round nose a boop and kiss the temple of your head. you adore him for always being passionate in his field but you can't help to feel bad after seeing how tired he can get sometimes. you want to tell him to rest before he cuts you.

"and baby, how many times do i have to remind you to be careful? it's dangerous to go out at night, people are getting kidnapped these days" jungkook lightly scolds you, he knows that he sounds like the old people but he is just concerned. the world isn't exactly a safe place and he doesn't want you to ever get hurt.

"kook, he's a good friend of mine! i promise that i will be back before midnight and i will keep you updated. you'll let me go, right?" you beg while you randomly play with his tie as you wait for his answer. you don't have to know that it makes jungkook hard whenever you pull him close by his tie, he just wants to kiss you and mark you as his.

"alright, you can't get too drunk and you have be home before midnight" he defeatedly says and makes a pinky promise with you before putting on your loafers. like a good girl, you give him a hug and kisses before saying goodbye.

few hours passed and there is no sign of you. jungkook runs his hands through his hair as he painfully listens the clock ticks, it is past midnight and you haven't answered to any of his call or a text. he can't go to sleep without knowing your whereabouts, he silently prays that you're having fun and forgot to check your phone. soon, he hears the beeping sound of the door and exhale a sigh when he sees you struggle to walk straight and bump into the shoe cabinet.

"jungkook? why are you not sleeping yet?" you walk towards him and sat on his lap, you laid your head on his chest as you try to rest. he shakes his head seeing how your hair becomes disheveled, the black sock became a mismatched colour instead, not to mention that you smell like five different types of alcohol.

"did my baby enjoyed the party?" jungkook softly mutters as he unclasps your necklace and put it on the coffee table. he gently bounce you on his legs while he waits for your answer.

"mmhm, i met a lot of new people from different department. they're cool" you mutter under your breath as you feel your eyelids are getting heavier.

jungkook is getting upset seeing how you seems to forget about the promise. he becomes even irritated when he smells a strong male scent all over your body. being a wolf hybrid, his sense of scent is superior compared to the others. he keeps himself composed and cups your face to take a good look at your beautiful face.

"i'm glad that you had a lot of fun but you didn't keep your promise" his thumb ran across your stained lips and he slowly pushes it inside your mouth. he almost slip up a moan when you innocently suck on his finger as you stare into his orbs. it always drive him crazy whenever you do something so innocent yet his sick brain finds it sexual. this includes where you always offer to massage his body with baby oil, showing off your new skirt, and playing with his hair.

"kookie, i am so sorry. i-i forgot to check my phone" he already feel bad seeing how regretful you look. there's a reason why jungkook can't play the mean big brother narrative to you. ever since he was young, his natural instinct is to protect and shower you with warm love. no matter how hard he tried, he will always end up babying you.

"that's okay, don't do it again" he whispers and give your thighs a gentle squeeze before he scooped you into his arms.

"let me run a bath for you. my baby reeks of alcohol" he jokingly says as carries you to his bedroom. he helps to remove your makeup while waiting for the bathtub to be full.

"bunny, take off your clothes. i'll wait for you in the bathroom" he leaves to check on the temperature to make sure the water is warm enough. he silently thank god when you show up in a robe, he turns around and reminds you to be careful as you get into the bath tub. to avoid himself from staring inappropriately, he only look at your face. he starts by shampooing your hair with your favourite scent and washed it off.

his intention is pure, he wants you to get a nice warm bath and sleep comfortably. so, he left you alone and tells you to wash yourself. thankfully, you didn't hurt yourself in the bathroom. he smiles seeing you're dressed in his black shirt, he lets you to join him.

"kookie, please help me to put on the body lotion" you sit on his lap and fondle with the muscle on his shoulder as he apply the lotion on your legs. he slightly lift your shirt and apply it on your back and stomach, you always feel electrifying tingles whenever he touches you in that way. he is taken aback when you guide his hand right on your chest.

"you also have to put the lotion there" you breathe out. you are aware that jungkook shouldn't touch you there but it is so tempting, his veiny hands look so inviting.

"baby, i can't touch you in this way" jungkook replies as he quickly remove his hand away from touching you improperly. he assumes your drunken state has made you mischievous.

"but, you always do everything for me" your eyebrows furrowed in frustration, you need more of his touch and he just choose to shrug it off. what's so wrong about you wanting him to have fun with your body?

"that doesn't include touching you inappropriately, you're my baby sister" jungkook responds as he puts the lotion on the bedside table, he caresses your hair and give you a forehead kiss. truthfully, jungkook wants to touch and play with you but he considers that you're drunk. he wants everything to be consensual and comfortable with you.

"kook, i am adopted" you blurt out, jungkook laughs hearing you casually speak about it. he is glad that you are no longer holding any grudge against your parents for not telling you about the adoption. he remembers you being so upset and decided to ignore everyone in the house except him, he thought it should be obvious when you're the only one with a long floppy brown ears inside the house.

"baby, you have to sleep" he suggests so that you'll go to bed and forget about it in the next morning, he doesn't have enough mental capability to restrain himself from doing bad things to you.

well, you don't want to go to bed. he made you feel excited so he must finish it. you can feel his erected cock poking you through the thin fabric of his short, you know that he is equally aroused like you.

"kookie, what's stopping you?" you ask him in hope that he will give you an explanation. personally, you don't think that it is wrong because you are not related by blood.

"baby, you're not thinking straight when you're drunk" he confesses. so, he must've feel that he is taking advantage of you.

"but, i really want you" your hand sneak inside of his short and took his cock out. you give it a gentle stroke as you observe his reaction, he seems to be getting off with it.

you slide your panty aside and stroke the reddening head against your wet entrance before rubbing it on your clit, a shaky moan escapes your lips as you pleasure yourself. jungkook's nails dig into your thighs as he tries to be cool. it took every sanity and moral inside him to not just shove his whole length and fuck you into oblivion.

"and it doesn't matter if you don't put your cock inside of me" your genius mind works its way to convince him, he feels so dizzy hearing his well mannered angel speaks filthy words to him.

"no baby, i can't do that to you" jungkook ignores your eye contact and tries to push you off his lap, he needs to get away before his inner beast takes over his mind. he doesn't want to scare you.

"please, just the tip?" you pathetically ask him with almost teary eyes. he really can't say no to you, not when you ask nicely with such adorable face.

"fuck— okay, but you have to tell me to stop if it hurts" he gently pushes you to lay on bed before he gets on top of you. his heart beats with pride when you quickly grabbed his thick cock and put it right in front of your entrance. you are just so excited to have the first dick in your life. he gives you a light kiss on your cheek before he slowly pushes his tip into your tight hole. he panics when he sees that you're starting to cry, he wants to stop but you shake your head furiously.

soon, his room is filled with your wanton noises, jungkook no longer felt guilty. in fact, he had keep you edged for half an hour. you've become a crying mess and keep on begging for him to let you come but he just had to pull out and stop playing with your clit whenever you're about to come.

"you're so mean, i hate it" you whimper when he denies your orgasm again. you did try to touch yourself but he will gently swat your hands away.

"aww, my baby is getting so upset" he mocks as he massages your tits and gives the nipples a little pinch at the end. his cock twitch in interest when he hears your moan, he rubs your sensitive nipples and notices that you're getting even wetter.

"my pretty bunny, i should've breed you earlier" jungkook mutters and lands a light slap on your aching clit. he groans when you let out a tiny squirt, he had been denying your orgasm for so long that you become so sensitive to every touch.

he decides to be nice and put the tip of his hard cock inside of your throbbing core. it only takes a few small thrusts before he feels your hole spasms all around his cock, you just had your first orgasm. he pulls out and gives his cock a few stroke before he comes all over your thighs.

jungkook showers your face with kisses and praises you for taking him so well. he will regret this by the morning comes but that's not his concern for now. he cleans your body with a damp towel and froze when he hears you speak,

"can we do this again tomorrow?"

author's note: happy belated new year and valentine everyone 💖 this is user tete1995 and i changed my username to dazedkook, i actually started uni last year which explains my inactivity. i want to get back on writing this year so hopefully i will be able to post more, please stay safe and be happy 🫶

[ink-flavored]

Character Cuddle Scale

Tagged by @vacantgodling thank u! <3

Rules: Rate your OCs based on how they handle cuddling/being cuddled.

Okay so on a scale of 0 (cuddle hater) to 10 (cuddle expert), here is the cast of Pride & Justice

Pride: 7/10 on a good day and 2/10 on a bad day. His emotional issues make it so he either wants attention all the time from everyone or or has an "if you touch me I'll bite your fingers off" level of touch-aversion. When he's in the mood, he will plop himself into your lap for cuddles whether you like it or not, and it's only like 60% of the time because he wants to have sex. On a bad day, he'll avoid touch even if he really wants it (which is why the score is 2 and not 0). Sometimes he'll be able to crawl out of his shell to lay his head on your shoulder, but only rarely.

Justice: 10/10 on any day of the week, Justice loves cuddles and cuddles love him back. He's a very physically affectionate person (if you're okay with it, of course), and can span the range from gentle headpats to ultimate bear hug. He's very warm and large, and he'll definitely fall asleep.

Honesty: 0/10 but also why would you want to cuddle her. She's a strict authoritarian who's only goal is to bring down Enemies of The Lord. She doesn't have time for cuddles.

Lust: 5/10 because Lust is only going to cuddle if it turns into sex and after that you're getting kicked out of bed immediately. It also chose the form of a lifelike sex doll, so if you're into that, I guess it would be a good time.

Kindness: Another 10/10 cuddle master. Kindness' cuddles have the vibes of... mom hugs, your favorite aunt hugs, big sister hugs, "best friend from middle school you lost touch with but still think about sometimes" hugs. You're gonna feel like crying for a loss you never knew you needed to grieve. She'll pet your hair the whole time.

Ollie: 8/10 butch cuddles are chicken soup for the soul. Ollie likes cuddling while laying down and doing other stuff (watching TV, playing a game, etc.) so it might take a few minutes to find an optimally comfortable position. The best way I can describe her body type is a bit fatter than this woman here, so very soft, very comfortable. However, your limbs will risk falling asleep, because she's not moving.

Sofía: 6/10 because she's going to insist on snuggling with her cat, Marbles, and will jump up and run away to go get him if he leaves. Other than that, Sofía is a cuddly little catgirl herself, if fidgety.

Dante: 4/10 on a good day. Dante is cool with long--ish hugs, arm-around-shoulders, head-on-shoulders, but that's the extent of their touch tolerance. They don't want to do a full-body cuddle, sorry not sorry!

Stella: 8/10 more mom hugs. Ideal scenario is you laying on her chest while she reads a book to you. She has a wife and also multiple other partners, so they might join you.

Emelia: 5/10 because she just can't sit still that long. She likes cuddles well enough, but would much rather not spend more than an hour there. Cuddles are fun! They're neat! But while you're cuddling, she's studying the blade, etc.

Chris: 7/10 very friendly chill cuddles on this one. It's going to let you pick the position you're comfortable in and just roll with it, Chris is great at being a body pillow or a person-shaped weighted blanket. And then it'll show you pictures of its frogs the whole time.

Tagging: @foxys-fantasy-tales @noblebs @ceph-the-ghost-writer @auntdarth @damageinkorporated @srjacksin @sigridhawke @duelistkingdom and anyone else who wants to play!

[sailor-artemis]

5 Songs I'm Into Right Now

Thanks to @riftdancing for the tag! I love talking about music so this was perfect :)

1. acloudyskye - Surface

I decided to check out this album after seeing it pop up in RYM's new music since I'd heard one of acloudyskye's previous albums, and this song just sunk its hooks into me and won't let go. That guitar line. The piano chords backing it up. The production. The lyrics. The vocal delivery. The vibes. The main guitar riff and the chorus ("If you're there, can you hear it?/They're shooting flares in the distance/They won't find a trace of us/We'll be gone when morning comes") both live in my head rent free. This is a song that ends a character playlist I'm working on, and that spot is well earned.

2. 2hollis - all 2s

Fitting to go at number 2, I stumbled on this while trying to find more electroclash in the vein of Justice and decided to give it a spin. That first 30 seconds or so is what grabbed me: the simple synth line & choppy vocals that becomes a Wall of Noise after 16 bars. Don't know what it is about it, but that kinda noise just scratches some part of my brain the right way, and this song does it like few else. The synths in this are also fun, and I love the hype energy this has. Just a banger.

3. Fever Dolls - Gennifer Flowers

You can blame @reversalsun for this one, I got it from their playlist for one of their OCs (Anja, the one I made a drink for, as it happens), and it's wormed its way right into my brain. I love the very "theatrical" delivery of the verses with a lot of meat to unpack in the lyrics that's counterbalanced by the shouted chorus: "And if I've got the power to take it (got the power to fake it)/Gennifer Flowers got the power to shake her debasement". Basically, I wanna see the musical this is from, and the fact this band has only a handful of singles is a crime. Thanks Sam!

4. The Hives - Tick Tick Boom

A classic garage rock tune that made its way onto a playlist I put together for Lehon'a's time in Shadowbringers. In my head this soundtracks the final fight with Emet-Selch, with Lehon'a lording her superiority over Emet in the lyrics: "Yeah, I was right all along/Yeah, you were tagging along/Exhibit A: on a tray, what you say as I throw it in your face/Exhibit B: what you see, well it's me I put you back in your place". And that main guitar riff and the iconic "tick tick tick tick tick tick tick BOOM" where everything cuts out just make this song.

5. The 8-Bit Big Band - Can You Feel The Sunshine? (originally from Sonic R)

This one is YouTuber Adam Neely's fault. I decided to rewatch his video on how Video Game Music has spawned its own jazz scene and how it fits into the culture of jazz at large, and this is one of the songs that he helps perform. Just from the snippets in the video, the main hook managed to get trapped in my brain, and now I'm obsessed. The original song is a fantastic eurobeat adjacent track, but this jazz version just adds some extra spice. I especially love the vocalist really showing off towards the end of the number. Highly recommend watching the YouTube video which shows all the performers in the studio playing (and the Adam Neely video too), it's super cool!

Tagging (though no pressure to do it if you're busy or otherwise don't wanna): @reversalsun @zylphiacrowley @ga-keaton @ferrocyan @gatheredfates and any other passers-by who wanna share some cool tunes!

[gentlelass]

Hello!

Is there fun facts about your oc Marjorie? She's quite a lovely lady!

I love your artsyle and have a good day/Night!

Ooh an unexpected question! I LOVE ANSWERING QUESTIONS

Fun facts about Marjorie, uh? Well of COURSE I have some about her, a whole yet to be spoken lore about her twirls inside my otherwise air-filled head literally all day (Whatever God above please save me).

And now I've got the pretest to dump some random facts about her!-

Most of the time she smells like bleach. Or ammonia. Or soap in general. Because she spends pretty much all day cleaning, both for her day job as one of the Maribel's maids, and also cleaning other sorts of stains at night for the Marigold. Most people find it unpleasant, but the ones who work with her are long used to it; Mordecai in particular actively likes it even, because his hypochondriac ass immediately associates it with cleanliness and hygiene.

Marjorie is half-Italian. To be specific, from mother's side of the family. She lived in Italy with her mother and father and brother (yes she has an older brother, another fun fact, his name is Malcom) for the first years of her life, but then they started incessantly travelling all across Europe due to her mother's job - for the record, and this is another fun fact, her mother's an opera singer. Her mother's career is what influenced Marjorie herself towards theater and down her path to ballerina-hood... alas thanks to the Great War the dream collapsed, sad story.

The flowers I associate with Marjorie (and, SPOILER!, the ones which will appear in the standee I've been busy designing the last few days) are black dahlias. Yes, due to their generally negative symbolism of dishonesty and betrayal. Yes, MaRjorie sure is quite a lovely lady in mien, but... as stated in her little biography, she's also "as sweet as Judah's kiss, and just as ambitious". She's always smiling almost in any drawing of hers I've made, but if you pay attention you'll notice her smile never reaches both eyes - the smile of a politician, that just as easily lies, just as easily tells the truth or lies by omission. She looks like a doll, but she's the one pulling the threads.

To continue on this line, when she was a professional ballerina - which was the period of her life between her 16 and 21 years - she used to actively cut and destroy her competitors' pointy shoes. Like, tearing them to shreds. Because a ballerina must sew the ribbons of her own shoes, so that their particular shape of feet fits perfectly. So if you take a ballerina's shoes away from her, she will have to lose precious time sewing another pair, and you'll be ahead of her in training. Let alone if you destroy her shoes just before a competition: then you'll have eliminated a rival before they even become one.

Yeah, maybe this one wasn't much of a fun fact but more like Marjorie just being a clever piece of shit. Anyways!

This is part of the reason why her weapon of choice to this day is a pair of scissors - to her, it holds an almost emotional value close to her heart... in a twisted way. Also, they're easier to conceal in a skirt and even if spotted it's easier to play them off as innocent and not sus at all, especially with the manual line of legal job Marjorie finds herself in.

But when she must go for a gun, then Marjorie goes for a Luger P08 without further questioning.

For the record, Marjorie has never voted. You know, in a political context. Nor will she ever. Why? Because Marjorie stands for anarchy. What else'd you expect from someone who gets along so well with the uncontrollable, unstoppable Savoys? She's not a follower, she's not a leader, she just want to do what she wants and not be bothered (the petty hedonism makes itself be heard here), and for all she cares everyone else may do the same.

Mordecai harbors some reservations about this particular way of thinking of Marjorie's.

Okay, I've written quite a lot, more than I expected to do. I don't even know is someone will bother at all to read all that lol. I won't hold it against you if you don't. It is quite evident I really spend literally all my current existence thinking about this lady and her alone. Send help.

[imaginarycyberpunk2023]

ᴜɴᴜꜱᴜᴀʟ ᴏᴄ ᴀꜱꜱᴏᴄɪᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ

ᴛᴀɢɢᴇᴅ ʙʏ @katsigian - I wanna do this for Vinnie too, bc it's fun! Thank you again for tagging me 💚

Also got tagged by @theviridianbunny - thank you doll 😘

--

Vinnie: "What is this?"

Macha: "It's just a fun little associations game. Indulge me by playing along."

Vinnie: (sighs) "Okay, Kitten, let's hear it"

-------- ✵ --------

ꜱᴇᴀꜱᴏɴɪɴɢ: What? Like salt? Yes, salt.

ᴡᴇᴀᴛʜᴇʀ: I don't mind any weather. Do you? (Yes, like icy rain?) Then I'll just stay inside, problem solved.

ᴄᴏʟᴏʀ: Love me some gold lately.

ꜱᴋʏ: Yes! It's up above!

ᴍᴀɢɪᴄᴀʟ ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀ: My sexually prowess. Right? Right!

ʜᴏᴜꜱᴇ ᴘʟᴀɴᴛ: You can have plants? Inside the house?

ᴡᴇᴀᴘᴏɴ: Katana, knives, and my own guns (flexes)

ꜱᴜʙᴊᴇᴄᴛ: Do motorcycles count?

ꜱᴏᴄɪᴀʟ ᴍᴇᴅɪᴀ: No, I like personal contact.

ᴍᴀᴋᴇᴜᴘ ᴘʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴛ: Yes! See! I can say yes here. Whatever that' stuff is called I put around my eyes.

ᴄᴀɴᴅʏ: All of the candy! And your sweet butt.

ꜰᴇᴀʀ: You'll publish that? Then no, I'm not telling.

ɪᴄᴇ ᴄᴜʙᴇ ꜱʜᴀᴘᴇ: There are different shapes? (You like crushed eyes in your drinks, right?) Yes, but that's not a shape, Macha.

ᴍᴇᴛʜᴏᴅ ᴏꜰ ʟᴏɴɢ ᴅɪꜱᴛᴀɴᴄᴇ ᴛʀᴀᴠᴇʟʟɪɴɢ: Never go faster than a motorcycle can go. That's my motto. Doesn't matter how long it takes, I'll make time.

ᴀʀᴛ ꜱᴛʏʟᴇ: I like that stuff you showed me the other day, that colorful stuff. (That’s called Pop Art) Yeah, I like the sound of that.

ᴍʏᴛʜᴏʟᴏɢɪᴄᴀʟ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴜʀᴇ: Dinosaur! (That’s not a mythological creature, they were real!) Well they're pretty fucking cool though. (Say Dragon, it's similar.) No!

ᴘɪᴇᴄᴇ ᴏꜰ ꜱᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴᴀʀʏ: I have a paper box over there.

3 ᴇᴍᴏᴊɪꜱ: 🙂🙂🙂

ᴄᴇʟᴇꜱᴛɪᴀʟ ʙᴏᴅʏ: Saturn, the flashiest of them all, with the rings and stuff.

--

Macha: "Thank you Vinnie, that was fun!"

Vinnie: "Anything for you, Kitten."

------- ✵ -------

Tagging (no pressure as always)

@cyberpunkaddict (tagging you bc I want you to see Vinnies emoji answer lol)

@miyokovektor

@miss--river

@maimaiapologist

@itzsassha

@fly-amanitaa

@bnbc

@wanderingaldecaldo

@chevvy-yates

@kittenchrissy

@morganlefaye79

@jaymber

@gloryride

@noirapocalypto (I know you did it for SVALEM already. Maybe you wanna do it for another one of your OCs?)

[moth-the-rp-cryptic]

I want to do an overwatch rp with my oc

I'm willing to do a double up, ocxcc , ocxoc or just a fun story with no shipping!

Also ill ship My oc with any cc you are willing to play (I perfer roadhog, Ramattra, or junkrat. But ill take any chacter no matter the gender)

TW: abuse

Storyline:

Ace is a underground fighting "dog" a human that has been modified and basically torture to be a fighting "dog" for people's entertainment

One day he is found by (insert) and freed

The rp will follow him getting use to the outside world and living day to day

Also forming relationships something he never really did before

Idk I thought this could ge fun!

Dm me if you wanna try!

Charcter info

Name: ace oak (chosen name. Dead name deleted from everything)

Alias: muzzled mutt

Gender: male

Race: southern/ American

Appearance: every fluffy white hair, most the time coving eyes. Very pale skin and scary sharp teeth. A scars on the face and body from fighting

Personality: actually quite sweet, acts dumb, but actually isn't. He doesn't talk much; mostly just sits and watches people

DOB: ????????????

Height: 6'3"

Job: lab experiment/ fighting "dog"

Role: tank

Health Max:

Weapon: claws

Background/Bio: Ace was an experiment made by random nobodies to see if they could mix dna to create the perfect killer, ace is the perfect killer, stronger and faster. Much of Aces's years were spent in underground fighting, treated like an animal and forced to fight and kill others; junkrat was the one to find and free Ace. Ace doesn't really know what to do with his new freedom <can be edited this is just the original stroy

Ability 1: claw attack- will claw and cut at enemies

Ability 2 : tail whip- tail act like a whip and hits hard enough to throw people a little

Passive Ability : four-legged run- can run super

Ultimate Ability : feral rage- will rip off their muzzle and begin to attack and tear at people around them, causing "bleeding" out health for a few moments

---

Quotes/Interactions:

" My bark Is ALOT worse than my bite, baby doll"

"Well, Ain't you as sweet as a rotten lemon"

"Sorry, but My job is to crush you like a can, so I will!"

"Touch my healer again, and I'm breaking your windpipe."

"I'm not violent, just passionate!"

------

Junk: "Let's cause trouble!"

ace: "With pleasure firecracker."

------

roadhog: laughter "Hey there."

Ace: "Aw fancy meeting you here sugar, don't worry, when I'm done il kiss your booboos better."

roadhog: "Over your dead body"

-----

Mercy: "Oh dear, why are they making you fight."

Ace: "I can't blame them; I'm the perfect killer. And got the scars to prove it."

Mercy: sigh

-----

Lifewever: "You aren't alone out there. Remember that."

Ace: "Thanks that means a lot to me, actally."

---

Lucio: "hey! Ace any music request?!"

Ace: "Got any hyperpop?!"

Lucio: "hell yeah, I do."

----

hello= hello there!

Thanks= thank you so much!

Sorry= fuck! I'm so sorry

I need healing= I'm sorry, but I'm low here

Ping enemy= we got a problem, guys!

With payload= im guarding the payload!

[hyliasblade]

OOC/Rules

mun is kris. 24. they/them, anxious bastard lol

updated 7/3/23: the wrath month edition

the roulxs:

18+ only

minors and personals will be soft blocked. upon following again: hard block.

if you are a personal with an rp sideblog please make it clear on your blog or just tell me because otherwise you might get blocked.

minor MUSES are fine though

i read rules pages for every blog i follow that has one but i have a shit memory so if i accidentally breach one of your rules please let me know. or block me if it’s that egregious but please for the love of god do not publicly @ me who the fuck does that. do not make a callout post for me being forgetful like a fucking weirdo. if i breach a rule that is not on your rules page then i’m sorry, i’m not a mind reader.

on the “q slur:” i’ll do my best to tag is as “#q //” that’s q, two slashes. keep in mind i identify with that word, strongly. if it angers you that i would dare use a “"slur”“ to label myself or whatever, remember “gay” has seen just as much use as a slur. i grew up in the american south, i’ve heard both words used for the same harmful reasons. sorry if this comes off as angry or petty, but if you were continually told that “gay” is a slur and you shouldn’t use it for yourself, you’d be tired and angry too, wouldn’t you? i’ll do my best to tag for it, but i will die on this hill.

please tag spiders/scorpions/arachnids, hanging/nooses, and also maybe trypo/holes thanks

semi-selective i will roleplay with most fandoms, ocs, and muses also not moots exclusive.

please don’t like. involve me in drama or callouts or shit. i’m just here trying to play fucking online dolls

with the above said i do reserve the right to block/cease interacting with ppl who make me uncomfortable, just like you reserve the right to block/cease interacting with me if i make u uncomfortable. i prefer to try to come to some kind of understanding first, but sometimes it doesn’t work out that way

please note that i, the mun, am mentally ill and neurodivergent. in a lot of cases, my muses will share some of my own personal struggles to sort of like. explore these things myself and shit. link in particular shares a lot of my neurodivergencies and chronic pain. shit gets frustrating and sometimes roleplaying a tiny elf twink going thru the same shit helps a bit. u know how it is.

though link may act a bit naive and sometimes even childish, he is still very much an adult. not a “rule” exactly just something to keep in mind.

sorry if some of these seem overly detailed or serious. i’ve been around the block when it comes to rp tumblr i’m just trying to cover all my bases in at least a semi concise manner.

also sorry if any of this comes off as passive aggressive or rude. i can’t parse or regulate tone for shit like in an actual verbal conversation, trying to convey it thru text is damn near impossible for me lmao

i’m really just a tired nerd who is trying to have fun on this hellsite.

um that’s all i can think of for now may add or change more later thanks for reading have a great time

[rrosyan]

Tagged by @saikkunen. Thanks a lot, I like doing stuff like this and it’s been a while :3

What book are you currently reading? Brisingr (for those who’ve never heard of it, the third book in the series Eragon starts). I’ve read it few times before, but it’s been a while since I last did it. Still love the series. Also there’s Mariel of Redwall, with which I’ve been stuck for more than six months now. It is dangerous to re-read a book for a millionth of time when you remember that oh no, next is the part you don’t care about.

What’s your favorite movie you saw in theaters this year? I only went to see one movie in theaters in 2022 (yeah it’s already 2023, shut up), and it was Sonic 2. I did go see it 3 whopping times, so it’s pretty safe to say it’d be my favourite even if there were any others.

What do you usually wear? Uhhhh hoodies, fitting tank tops or t-shirts, loose pants. Colors vary, mostly black but there can be others.

How tall are you? 169cm.

What’s your Star Sign? Do you share a birthday with a celebrity or a historical event? Libra. I do not know, Trafalgar Law from One Piece is close enough to a celebrity for me.

Do you go by your name or nickname? I choose to think this refers to irl, so name. My dad is literally the only one to ever call me nicknames or pet names.

Did you grow up to become what you wanted to be when you were a child? I never really wanted to be anything but a tango queen when I was a kid, and that was when I was 4 or so. So, I guess ‘no idea’ came true.

Are you in a relationship? If not who is your crush if you have one? Nope. Also no crushes.

What’s something you’re good at vs something you’re bad at? Uhhh I guess I’m kinda good at drawing and writing? Maybe? Good is such a vague term. I do enjoy those, and I think that’s more important than being ‘’’good’‘‘ at things. I am bad at playing any instruments. Too many things you’re supposed to do simultaneously with your body.

Dogs or cats? Cats!!!! Dogs are also good, but cats make me more stupidly happy than any other creatures I’ve met.

If you draw/write, or create in any way, what’s your favorite picture/favorite line/favorite etc. from something you created this year? I have drawn some pretty good pictures this year, but I haven’t posted them online and I don’t feel like doing that now either. I do enjoy one undead wolf knight thingy I drew. I also like (still partly wip) doll’s bed I made a lot. I have written a lot, but isolating a single line is impossible.

What’s something you would like to create content for? Currently I’d like to doodle all of my favourite One Piece characters, but we’ll see when I’ll get to that. I have also been redrawing my oldest ocs with the same kids’ color pencils and other stuff as 20 years ago, and it’s been lots of fun. Overall I wanna work on my original projects more.

What’s something you’re currently obsessed with? Stardew Valley and Sonic Frontiers. Too bad I already completed the latter, I am waiting for the dlc’s to come. Also obsessed about my original projects.

What’s something you were excited about that turned out to be disappointing this year? Dissapointment is for those who do not know how to keep their expectations and excitement realistic. Jokes aside, I am honestly fairly good at being realistic about things I’m interested in, and it is a very rare occasion I am actually dissapointed about something I was excited for first, and it didn’t happen in 2022.

What’s a hidden talent of yours? It wouldn’t be hidden if I told you, would it. Tbh, I have no idea. Organizing material things maybe? Keep your timetables and whatnot away from me, but let me rearrange those messy drawers and closets of yours.

Are you religious? Nah. I am slightly spiritual pagan of my own brand though.

Whats something you wish to have at this moment? Does not-ill body and mind free of constant anxiety count? If not, then Freedom Planet 2 Switch port would be nice, but that won’t be out before next summer.

Tagging: Nah, don’t really feel like atm. If you wanna do this, consider yourself tagged.

[localwindmage]

Okay, I refuse to say who I am (all I'll say is you know me through ST) but I'm asking on here because this isn't directly related to skib BUT.

I absolutely ADORE your art. No, that doesn't do it justice. I am GUSHING over your art. It's so YUMMY and DELICIOUS and DELECTABLE and EXTRAVAGANT UONSIINOJKSNJKNSKJN /platonic

Like. How???? Just how??? How do you do it CCTV????? You literally ACE anatomy, everytime I've tried to start a drawing in the past,,, what, month? maybe more? I start with the head, have to restart about 15 times and then give up and cry in a corner. You can like. Make such pretty drawings with amazing posing. If it's not clear already I am in awe

AND. ANIMATION. You've made like 3 animations so far and ALL of them are REALLY good. How do you get so good at it so quickly. Either you had experience before krita animation or you're using some sort of dark magic

OH YEAH you use Krita. That's an accomplishment of its own. I tried Krita once and got immediately overwhelmed by the UI and uninstalled it

You're like a big inspo to me n stuffs and your also a really cool and nicies person outside of your art aswell!!

OKAY lastly. The character design. They're just SO unique like there's so many amazing oc's on this site but yours are just so. nrgghhhhhhh /pos /gen

Okay that's all. Sorry for the wall of text!!

(feel free to delete this ask if this makes you feel uncomfies n stuff!!)

I DO NOT HAVE A JAWDROP EMOJI ON ME BUT THIS MADE ME GAPE MY MOUTH OPEN READING /POS

iwiwuhsnrfkfhg thank you so much ���� this means a whole lot to me

I accidentally rambled too hard so I’m putting it under a cut lmao

I never considered myself really good at anatomy, but I have a huge thing for like. Robot or doll anatomy. Not the same as human anatomy but it scratches the itch in my brain a lot tehee

I also always forget, a LOT of my poses are pretty dynamic. Funny thing is, back when I started dynamic posing, I didn’t even know what dynamic meant 😭 so every time someone said “that pose is so dynamic” my idiot brain would go “? no it’s not?” because I’ve just gotten so used to it

Krita was automatically installed on the computer I use (it’s an art computer so it has like a HUUUGE SCREEN to draw on it’s brilliant) and admittedly I had the outdated version for YEARS 😭 I wasn’t aware until watching like 200 animation tutorials because they all had new features I didn’t)

But also the best thing abt Krita is, it’s free! And I’ll confess, when I started out on Krita, I BARELY used like 95% of the stuff, hell, I didn’t even know what LAYERS were at the time (I was an MS Painter in my early days) so I completely understand how overwhelming it is, but after like… SIX years, I finally get at least half of it now! The fact it’s free but has SO MUCH you can use is actually brilliant!

With animations, I’ll say, IT’S PAINFUL AS FUCK it’s actually very stressful but fun at the same time, and often, despite how low quality my animations are, they’re worth all the pain at the end of the day. Never judge an animator ever again, that shit’s HARD. Audio syncing is Even Harder (ESPECIALLY ON KRITA BECAUSE IT GOES OUT OF SYNC IF YOU DON’T ALWAYS PLAY IT FROM THE VERY BEGINNING)

As for character design… I don’t even know </3 whatever comes in my head happens really. I have nothing on this one besides like. Inspo coming from places every now and then but that’s all.

I’ve been doing art for about 8 years now, and in those 8 years, general society would assume you’re a master artist by then, but that’s simply not true. EVERYONE has their own different pacing, patience (especially patience), style and motivation. One of my irl friends learnt human anatomy in Less Than A Month and meanwhile I’ve been drawing solely cartoons my whole 8 years.

When it comes to art, Bad Art Is Always Good. You NEED to start off somewhere, and every “bad” art you make, you have something to learn from it! Not to mention, art is a Self Expression! If it’s bad, sometimes you can let it be bad! THERE IS NO RIGHT OR WRONG IN ART!!! If you see art tutorials like “YOURE DRAWING X WRONG, DRAW IT LIKE THIS” uh fuck those tutorials really.

Art tutorials should merely be advice and suggestions, but not a MUST DO. Maybe you can follow the ‘correct’ way or you can just go “ok” and keep doing what you originally do. It’s YOUR art and it should be for YOUR satisfaction

Btw, TRACING CAN BE GOOD FOR PRACTISE AS LONG AS YOU DON’T CLAIM IT AS YOUR OWN ART AND PRETEND YOU DIDN’T TRACE! Whenever tracing poses or such, always credit the image you traced off of and, please refrain from tracing other artists!! References are EXTREMELY helpful so you can get the basic shapes and such, and some art tutorials can be REALLY good, especially if you hope to learn rendering!

Also, I’m a cartoonist saying this, but LEARN ANATOMY! My favourite rule in art I’ve learnt is, LEARN THE RULES, SO YOU LEARN HOW TO BREAK THEM. Art is freedom. Draw whatever the hell you want. Will it be bad? Sure it can be, but that’s part of the fun too! Express yourself and embrace the art you make!

And if you decide AI generation counts as art, sincerely, you’re not welcome here. /srs

[dogsgone]

ooc/rules/cw

mun is kris. 24. they/them, anxious bastard lol

updated 7/3/23: the wrath month edition

the roulxs:

18+ only

minors and personals will be soft blocked. upon following again: hard block.

if you are a personal with an rp sideblog please make it clear on your blog or just tell me because otherwise you might get blocked.

minor MUSES are fine though

i read rules pages for every blog i follow that has one but i have a shit memory so if i accidentally breach one of your rules please let me know. or block me if it’s that egregious but please for the love of god do not publicly @ me who the fuck does that. do not make a callout post for me being forgetful like a fucking weirdo. if i breach a rule that is not on your rules page then i’m sorry, i’m not a mind reader.

on the “q slur:” i’ll do my best to tag is as “#q //” that’s q, two slashes. keep in mind i identify with that word, strongly. if it angers you that i would dare use a “"slur”“ to label myself or whatever, remember “gay” has seen just as much use as a slur. i grew up in the american south, i’ve heard both words used for the same harmful reasons. sorry if this comes off as angry or petty, but if you were continually told that “gay” is a slur and you shouldn’t use it for yourself, you’d be tired and angry too, wouldn’t you? i’ll do my best to tag for it, but i will die on this hill.

please tag spiders/scorpions/arachnids, hanging/nooses, and also maybe trypo/holes thanks

semi-selective i will roleplay with most fandoms, ocs, and muses also not moots exclusive.

please don’t like. involve me in drama or callouts or shit. i’m just here trying to play fucking online dolls

with the above said i do reserve the right to block/cease interacting with ppl who make me uncomfortable, just like you reserve the right to block/cease interacting with me if i make u uncomfortable. i prefer to try to come to some kind of understanding first, but sometimes it doesn’t work out that way

please note that i, the mun, am mentally ill and neurodivergent. in a lot of cases, my muses will share some of my own personal struggles to sort of like. explore these things myself and shit. link in particular shares a lot of my neurodivergencies and chronic pain. shit gets frustrating and sometimes roleplaying a tiny elf twink going thru the same shit helps a bit. u know how it is.

though link may act a bit naive and sometimes even childish, he is still very much an adult. not a “rule” exactly just something to keep in mind.

sorry if some of these seem overly detailed or serious. i’ve been around the block when it comes to rp tumblr i’m just trying to cover all my bases in at least a semi concise manner.

also sorry if any of this comes off as passive aggressive or rude. i can’t parse or regulate tone for shit like in an actual verbal conversation, trying to convey it thru text is damn near impossible for me lmao

i’m really just a tired nerd who is trying to have fun on this hellsite.

um that’s all i can think of for now may add or change more later thanks for reading have a great time

content warnings:

Content warnings for this blog include, but may not be limited to:

- Religious trauma

- Violence, death, etc.

- The inherent psychological torment that comes with being cursed to reincarnate forever and ever, only to be brought into the world when evil once again threatens to destroy everything, and having only a single use and purpose in life to the goddess one serves, that being the wielder of her sacred blade to seal away the evil once more, until it inevitably rears its ugly head again. I guess this goes under religious trauma.

- Mental illness and trauma in general.

- Lycanthropy.

That’s all I can think of for now; if more comes up, I’ll add to this list, and as always, if I’m unsure of anything, I will tag it with #ask to tag, so feel free to blacklist that tag if you need to.

[zagrean]

OOC/rules/content warnings

mun is kris. 23 as of currently writing this (24 as of may 12, 2023). they/them, anxious bastard lol

the roulxs:

18+ only

minors and personals will be soft blocked. upon following again: hard block.

if you are a personal with an rp sideblog please make it clear on your blog or just tell me because otherwise you might get blocked.

minor MUSES are fine though

i read rules pages for every blog i follow that has one but i have a shit memory so if i accidentally breach one of your rules please let me know. or block me if it’s that egregious but please for the love of god do not publicly @ me who the fuck does that. do not make a callout post for me being forgetful like a fucking weirdo. if i breach a rule that is not on your rules page then i’m sorry, i’m not a mind reader.

please tag spiders/scorpions/arachnids, hanging/nooses, and also maybe trypo/holes thanks

please please ESPECIALLY arachnids. seriously i have them blacklisted like a million separate ways. cartoony depictions, as well as spider-themed characters (i.e., vriska, muffet) are usually fine, but even like. semi-realistic art is too much sometimes.

semi-selective i will roleplay with most fandoms, ocs, and muses also not moots exclusive.

please don’t like. involve me in drama or callouts or shit. i’m just here trying to play fucking online dolls

with the above said i do reserve the right to block/cease interacting with ppl who make me uncomfortable, just like you reserve the right to block/cease interacting with me if i make u uncomfortable. i prefer to try to come to some kind of understanding first, but sometimes it doesn’t work out that way

please note that i, the mun, am mentally ill and neurodivergent. in a lot of cases, my muses will share some of my own personal struggles to sort of like. explore these things myself and shit. zag doesn’t really share anything with me in particular, except maybe daddy issues. that’s only partially a joke.

sorry if some of these seem overly detailed or serious. i’ve been around the block when it comes to rp tumblr i’m just trying to cover all my bases in at least a semi concise manner.

also sorry if any of this comes off as passive aggressive or rude. i can’t parse or regulate tone for shit like in an actual verbal conversation, trying to convey it thru text is damn near impossible for me lmao

i’m really just a tired nerd who is trying to have fun on this hellsite.

um that’s all i can think of for now may add or change more later thanks for reading have a great time

CONTENT WARNINGS

Murder, death, etc. Blood, probably.

Potentially parental abuse, mostly verbal

Greek god shit in general. These guys are… a mess.

I’ll tag these, as well as any other potentially triggering material not mentioned, to the best of my ability, usually as #[trigger] //. In some cases, just the word itself. Anything I’m unsure about will be tagged #ask to tag

Please feel free to ask me to tag anything!

[direwombat]

That anon again. Thank you for listening to my rambling. And if it matters any, Joseph gets plenty of chances to Suffer during my dep's canon. Because we're (plural because this is all from an RP verse my best friend and I have where she plays Joseph and a 'John fucker' GFH while I play my dep and John) bitches like that and can't let the Seed boys get away with being the worst without suffering for it. (1/?)

A major theme of Joe and Dep's relationship is 'be careful what you wish for' since he spends a good early portion of things wanting to change her to fit his whims (for her 'own good' of course), but oops, he gets attached to who she is but by the time he realizes it, his actions are already responsible for her having begun to change for the worse. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes, Joseph. Now suffer. And I'm rambling again, but I had another question to ask. Two actually.

First: how did you first get comfortable with sharing Syb with the rest of tumblr? I ask because part of me is tempted to do this with my Dep, but the other part of me is scared of being perceived and judged for my dep, my interpretations of characters, etc. Two: With Augustine becoming Faith, did Joseph specifically pull this to punish Syb? Because I'm getting big 'you took my family member, now I take yours' vibes. And it sounds about right and petty and fucked up enough for Joe. (3/3)

f;lakdjfaldfkj that's TOTALLY FAIR i sure as hell don't let jacob off easy either fal;dfjkadf

and OOF well...to answer question 1: i've been shouting about my ocs into the void of the internet for the past several years (got started in the dragon age fandom, moved to the general dnd fandom, and ended up here) having friends already on tumblr/in the fandom space to share ideas and bounce off of certainly helps. it's for sure scary!, but tbh? the more you talk about them the more curious people will get. at least that's been my experience. and then of course, engaging with other people who have their own ocs, rb-ing their art/fic/sending asks for ask games and prompt lists are a great way to kind of find your place in the fandom/community and make friends! And to address your fear of being judged for your dep/interpretations of characters, i'll just say this: fandom would be boring if everyone had the exact same interpretation of the characters and it's ok to disagree with an interpretation as long as you're not a dick about it, yk? And, just like people irl, everyone's deputy is different and adds to the fandom!

my advice: do whatever you feel most comfortable doing. make your characters in picrews and do those uquizes! I normally open tag, so if you see one from me that you like! tag me! this includes wip wednesdays/whenevers too if you ever feel brave enough to share any writing you have! BUT MOST IMPORTANTLY, you are your oc's number one fan! if (god forbid, and i've never seen this happen personally) someone doesn't like them and has the gall, the sheer audacity to say that to your face? block them. have fun with your oc is what i'm getting at. they're your little barbie/bratz/whatever doll that inspires the most nostalgia for you. we're all just playing little games, telling little stories and dressing up our personal blorbos however we want. :)

as for question 2:

ahh.. poor sweet Augustine. So, Augustine is a park ranger who was on duty at the Whitetails Ranger Station the night of the Reaping and was injured in a pretty nasty fall. One of his coworkers (another oc, Shaw) is one of Jacob's Chosen (who spent a lot of time undercover as a civilian), and after hearing that the Deputy escaped, he essentially lets Jacob know that they have a piece of leverage against her. He's sent to Joseph to heal, where he's very subtley and slowly indoctrinated into the cult. He keeps Augustine hidden from Syb and he also keeps it secret that Syb is the one causing misery to the Cult/newfound family Augustine has found himself welcomed into (as much as he and syb love each other, they're not perfect and uh...there are some abandonment issues there). anyway, i'm still kind of ironing out the details of it all, but essentially, after john and faith are neutralized (john dead and faith/rachel safe and getting clean) jacob and joseph are like, "alright, time to use our secret weapon." Syb knows they have Augustine at this point, but she's under the impression that he's a prisoner, not a member of the cult.

So they meet up on neutral ground (i'm thinking tanami island) only instead of a loving and wholesome reunion, Syb finds out that her brother drank the kool-aid and Augustine finds out that his sister is the one causing the "unnecessary" violence plaguing the Project (which also, Joseph is very careful to shield Augustine from the actual violence, and paints the Project as a much more peaceful organization than it actually is). Anyway, cult tactics win over in Augustine's head and he turns against Syb, and given the power vacuum in the Henbane and his *ahem* closeness to Joseph, he's offered the mantle of Herald/Brother Faith. And. Yeah. It's definitely a method to punish/break Syb, and it's also a way to reward Augustine for his loyalty. Even she wouldn't kill or arrest her own brother. That reunion with her brother is the beginning of Syb's breaking point, and everything after that is just her slipping into misery, helplessness, and despair. everything about this is exploitative as hell :)

[wpdarlingpan]

I have a suggestion! What about pan or jerome valeska kiddnaping the reader/oc? Ik its pretty basic, but maybe pan kidnapps her to obress Emma and Jerome kiddnapps her because he is fond of her appearance yk? Maybe a little bit yandere style.

Thank u I hope you like my suggestions!

Thanks for my first suggestion! I hope it’s good :)

Please let me know if there is something I should fix for later suggestions. Be it my writing style, or if you’d prefer me to make an OC for the story.

Also TW with just a mention of how Greenwood is charged with Rape and Murder. It’s only the mention and will not be brought up further.

Now on with the story.

Background information: Y/N is the daughter of Jim Gordon and Barbara. She isn’t associated with Barbra since she went slightly crazy. She considers Lee like her mom. Her dad is very over protective since he’s seen the dark side of Gotham. She is 18 years old and somewhat shy/innocent from being protected by her dad.

“Bye dad! Love you!” Y/N yelled out as she approached the front door of their apartment. She was hoping to leave before her dad could give her the talk she always got before leaving the house but luck wasn’t on her side. She also felt the teeniest bit of guilt for rushing out so quickly as she and her dad had a good relationship and she knew he was just trying to protect her.

“Wait.” He spoke coming down the hallway into the room. He knew she didn’t like the fact she had to go over rules before she left the house but he’d been even more nervous since there was a breakout at Arkham.

“Yes?” Y/N questioned.

“Got your phone?”

“Yep.”

“Charged?”

“100%.”

“House key?”

“Definitely.”

“Emergency money?”

“Right in my pocket.”

“Pepper spray?”

“Yep and with the safety on so I don’t accidentally spray myself... again.” She spoke while looking down sheepishly.

“All right love you kiddo. Remember what I said about those people who broke out yesterday.”

Jim spoke while lightly kissing the side of her head and let her go to school.

“I remember. Also love you Always and forever dad. Don’t forget you have a date with Lee later!” Y/N reminded before closing the door to make her way to the Gotham High school. Her dad had bought her a car so she would be more safe getting to and from school as he didn’t trust city busses or taxis. She didn’t mind though it was nice and she was able to play some music while she drove.

Once she arrived at the school she saw the cheerleaders loading onto the bus. She was a photographer for the yearbook and it was one of their first football games for the year so they send her to photograph for the team. She was way to shy to actually try out for it. Once double checking if her car was locked she put the keys in her pocket and made her way to the bus with her camera looped around her neck.

She got on first as the rest of the cheerleads were talking outside the bus with the coach. Y/N sat in the very back with her feet up next to her as a sign of ‘do not sit by me’ she was rather short so it was comfortable as well. She then pulled out her phone and began to text her dad that she was safely on the bus. He replied with a quick ‘ok’ and ‘be safe’ then she started to play a game on her phone as the cheerleaders began to load onto the bus. Once everyone was on the bus they drove away from the school at the cheerleaders were practice their cheers. The. Whole. Ride. It was beginning to get on her nerves as she preferred the peace and quiet but she knew that being on a bus with cheerleaders would be anything but. She grabbed one side of her headphones and began to play music. She lightly tapped her fingers to it and looked out the window.

They drove for about 20 more mins before they were stopped. A red truck had pulled in front of them and people approached the truck. She spotted guns in their hands. She quickly dialed her dads phone and begged for him to pick up.

“Y/N? What is it?” He could tell by her erratic breathing that something was wrong.

“There are people with guns on the bus! They just shot the driver. We are on (random Gotham street) please hurry!”

“I’m on my way! Try and stay on the line.” She said a quiet okay she a boy with red hair entered the bus. Jim quickly ordered police officers to make their way towards the scene.

“I want you all to know... this was a very difficult decision for us.” The boy spoke as he waved around his guns as if it was a toy. Y/N had already ducked down in her seat after a different person had handcuffed them to the seats. She wanted to stay out of of the seemingly ringleaders point of view as she watching her phone continue to hold the call with her dad and her headphone was in on low in order for him not to hear the phone. She still listened from her other ear to be aware.

“It was between you and a senior citizen bingo party.

In the end, we decided to skew a little younger.” He spoke while putting the gun to one of the girls heads. He walked towards the back of the bus as he continued his speech. She heard him coming and quickly tucked her phone into her pocket along with the headphones.

“Youth won the day. Sorry.”

He had reached the back to the bus and was about to turn around when he saw her tucked into the seat. She was very small and if he didn’t know this was a high school bus he would have thought she was a kid. She looked up at him with terrified doe eyes and he looked at her with a smile. He liked her. The innocence in her eyes that made him swoon. She clearly wasn’t like his whore of a mother. She would make a good partner.

“And who might you be.” He spoke while he used his charm. He lifted her chin up lightly with his unoccupied hand as the gun still rested in the other. She scooted as far away as she could with the handcuffs keeping her in place.

“Y-Y/N.” She stuttered out in fear. She was trying to hide not stand out. He moved her hand away from the start of the handcuffs and brought up his gun to which she began squirming at as it was raised.

“Shh, just going to get these off.” He attempted to comfort but it was honestly more frighting what was he going to do.

He shot the handcuffs and the bullet got lodged into the seat as she was detached from the seat but still had the cuffs around her wrist.

“You’ll be coming with me Doll.” He spoke while tugging her up from the seat as the cheerleaders continued to cry at the situation.

“No!” She attempted to struggle but she was too small to get away. But he held onto her. He tugged her out of the bus before giving her to Aaron. Since he didn’t trust Greenwood with his girl. Not like he trusted Aaron any more but he wasn’t charged for rape.

Aaron obeyed and tightly held her as Jerome put back on his crazy face and went back onto the bus.

“Give me an "O"!” He shouted to make fun of them.

“I said, give me a "O".” He shot the roof of the bus making the cry harder.

“O!” The cried out through their tears.

“ Give me an "N".” He spoke again with enthusiasm

“N!”

“Give me another "O"!”

“O!”

“What does that spell?” He questioned while greenwood handed him a hose that would spray gasoline out from the truck they had stolen.

"Oh, no!"

He walked up and down the isles of the bus and sprayed each and everyone one of them with gasoline while they all screamed in fear.

He finished and walked out of the bus and grabbed a lighter from his pocket.

“Ready? Okay!” Jerome said as he attempted to make the lighter work. The flame wouldn’t appear and Y/N continued to struggle in Aaron’s arms but for the man it was nothing. Dobkins was bouncing in his place with anticipation.

But it never lit.

“This is so embarrassing.” Jerome spoke harshly. He was making a fool out of himself in front of his girl.

“Anyone got a light?” He requested from the group of cheerleaders. Y/N was questioning if he really expected them to give him one since he was trying to kill them. He walked off after they all cried out a ‘No’ and winked at Y/N as she looked at him making her glance away hoping for her dad to hurry.

“I do. I got...” Dobkins replied while reaching into his own pocket to grab a lighter.

As Dobkins went to hand Jerome the lighter sirens sounded and police pulled onto the scene. She began struggling more as Aaron held her with one hand and shot with the other with little to no aim.

She saw as her dad got out of the car and quickly held up his gun. His heart stopped as he saw his daughter in the hands of one of the Maniax.

“Stand your ground, boys. They can't shoot at a bus.” Jerome smugly told the crew. He glanced at his doll to see her struggling still while eyeing one of the officers.

“Hold your fire! Hold your fire!” Jim quickly yelled in fear one something hitting his daughter or the bus.

“Dad!” She yelled out as she attempted to kick Aaron but did little to no damage.

Jeromes eyes widened with surprise. Jim Gordon had a daughter? This would be two birds with one stone. He smirked as Jim looked panicked.

“Aaron, Greenwood, get the truck started. And pass me my girl.” Jerome demanded. Y/N was shoved towards Jerome who caught her with a arm wrapped around her waist. He spotted her phone in her pocket and tossed it onto the pavement so they couldn’t be tracked nor could she call.

The officers had ducked behind their cars as Jerome shot at them.

“We're gonna blow this barbecue stand, huh Doll?” He told her as he tugged her towards the truck as her dad tried to follow before he was shot at again.

Greenwood sat on the outside holding onto the bus with the hose.

“Light 'em up!” Jerome spoke as he turned around and made a round motion with his arm to Dobkins who struggled with a lighter as well.

Jerome laughed manically as he got into the truck with her on his lap to which she blushed making him smirk and they began to drive off leaving Dobkins with the police.

Soon they were out of view and Jim quickly drove the bus away from the flames that had fought when the lighter was dropped. He needed to get his daughter back.

Y/N had a blind fold put on her as they left the scene to head back to Galivants building. Once they arrived Jerome picked her up bridal style and carried her into the building. He was stopped by the man himself as he headed to his room.

“And whose this?” He questioned quite poshly. She couldn’t recognize the voice but it seemed familiar.

“My girl.” He replied looking Galivant in the eye with a murderous look, daring him to say she couldn’t stay.

“Fine. But she stays in your room. Wouldn’t suggest having her out here with Greenwood.” He spoke before walking away to his office. Jerome laughed at even the thought of letting Greenwood anywhere near her. He brought her into his room and sat her on the bed. He quickly locked the door with a key to which he placed in his pocket before removing the blindfold.

Y/N blinked to adjust to the light and when she did she quickly scrambled back on the bed, away from the boy in front of her.

“Oh Y/N your never getting away from me. Not now, not ever.” He spoke before laughing crazily making her whimper and her eyes water. She curled up in a ball in an attempt to shield herself away from the boy.

“Well Doll, welcome to your new home. By the way, the names Jerome. Jerome Valeska.”

Y/N began to shake, her dad had told her about his interview. She should have for the hint from the fact of his unsettling laughter.

She was utterly screwed.

Let me know if you’d like a quick part 2

Also, please suggest things to write 😁