#and like a gift from god she is able to craft a shelter that will protect these dumbass vampires from burning to death

[trashydm]

This roll was so clutch! This is TWELVE successes! That is just insane. I have never rolled so well in my life and will never roll so well again.

[voidtouched-blue]

Starter for @heartsurpluss - Dion

The horizon was all wrong. All the spires of the capital were gone, and a large crater laid in it's absence. Like a God had scooped up the earth with their hand.

In the night, Cyra had seen something bright falling from the wreckage of what remained of the grand city. Her lord having been slain by another in her absence had only set her back upon the soil of Storm to seek a new purpose, one that she hoped had freedom waiting for her. What better place to start anew, and without shackles than a land stripped of it's people?

With how transformed her appearance was from a normal human form, isolation was the only solution for her peace. Now donned with horns, coeurl-like ears, and a lengthy tail...She already knew how cruel humans could be. She lived in their twisted reality that oozed with hatred and a demand to control all they did not understand. The moment she was born, her fate had been set for her. The bearer hated how little control she had over it all. Maybe at least she could live out the rest of her days in solace, and isolation from the rest of the cruelty of man. She could build her own home with whatever she could salvage from the falling sky.

Settled in her decision, the transformed slave stepped forth into the crater and began her trek to find the glimmering wreckage she spotted falling from the heavens. She wrapped a thick cloth around her face to protect her airways from the dust that had yet to return to the earth, and pulled her horns through the holes in her hood. Staff in hand, she wandered through the rubble.

Hours had passed, and while the moon provided little light below the cloud of chaos that remained of the sinking land in the sky, darkness did not provide her with any limits as it did for the unchanged majority of Valisthea. This was the only thing she had truly been grateful for after her body had began morphing into this thing she had become. It gave her a gift in being able to find all she needed to make a temporary shelter for the nights and days to come. She found a section of unbroken marble flooring, and had chosen to build her makeshift residence around it. Having a floor that was easy to clean would help prevent disease. The unfortunate part of all of this was that it was difficult for her to find bits of debris that were easy for her to carry. Lacking rope, or any real tools meant she had to wait to craft those herself before she could really start working on a cabin.

She sighed, settling for the small hut she had been able to throw together in just a few hours. She wiped sweat and dirt off of her brow with the back of her sleeve, and set back out for any remains of cloth she could find. A sheet, or even salvaging bloody cloth from the poor souls who didn't survive the fall...anything would do. Blood was harder to remove from fabric, but if she laid it in the sun long enough, it would bleach out most of the color. She held a still-damp strip in her hands, weighing her options when she heard the rubble shift in the distance. Her keen ears caught the sound of what sounded like a groan, or maybe even a creak. Wood made that sound sometimes, she told herself that there couldn't have been survivors with the absolute destruction she witnessed. Still, curiosity got the better of her. Everyone should have been dead, and she wouldn't have a need to defend herself.

Better to look than to leave it alone and assume the best. The world has a funny way of playing cruel jokes on me. She thought.

As she snaked her way through the precariously balanced wreckage, that initial groan sounded less like wood and more like a labored breath. Her heart nearly stopped when she recognized it as such. The hair on her body stood on end, her tail bristling along with the rest of her skin as she quietly stepped closer. Cyra's clawed hand found the handle of the dagger sheathed at her side. A necessary precaution given her rather decorated past. As she stepped into the small structure, the stench of blood flooded her nostrils even through the cloth that covered her face. She winced at the smell, crinkling her nose, and closing her eyes.

Upon opening them again, her feline eyes glowing in the dark, the vision before her had her heart sink. Not only had this man survived the cataclysmic destruction of the Holy Empire, but he had been entirely in one piece. Her eyes drank in his figure, the bloodstained drapery that clearly meant him a man of higher status before this place had been destroyed. Her lips curled into a scowl under her protective face covering.

Just turn around. You never saw him. Leave. If he's still unconscious, he will die soon and peacefully. Don't you dare burden yourself with another. Her mind flooded with thoughts she wasn't proud of. The world itself was a survival test, and having compassion for your fellow man was a luxury she knew she couldn't afford. Her kindness had been met with greed and lies far too many times for the lesson not to be learned. Yet, part of her felt pity for this man. However he survived had her curiosity piqued. Even then, if he was part of the Holy Empire, the despair he would feel for his fallen home almost felt sweet on her tongue at the thought of his own despair. Cyra held a significant amount of malice within her towards man. It was her fellow kin who did this to her, who made her into this thing. Even with all the hatred that quite nearly drowned her, there was a sliver of generosity and kindness that cut through it.

Maybe...maybe I can use this to my advantage. Besides, he will be at my mercy. Her mind was made up. Cyra stepped cautiously closer to the man, unaware of the weight of his pedigree, or the value his name would have held before the city was destroyed. His breathing was quite ragged, but if his heart beat was as strong as it was, he would survive this yet.

"Can you hear me?" She spoke up from across the room. The bearer would be damned if she stepped another foot closer only to be surprised with a blade in her belly. "You're badly wounded, ser. I can help you." She wasn't great at communicating, and her responses were very mechanical considering the state of the poor man before her.

[firstwcman]

Back when humanity began to broaden their spiritual horizons and find worship in other Divines, various influences began to spread as a result: lessons of mathematics, sacred geometry, astrology, learned invisibility.. and then from Lilith came the gift & curse of vampirism.

At first it was a gift and only a gift, it was Lilith's highest & most precious accolade that was considered deeply forbidden - a continued theme in her story:

It was the chance of immortality. The surpassing of one's natural lifespan to walk the Earth to their heart's content, never aging, never surrendering to illness, only indulging in the natural pleasures of the world. Spending the days feasting upon fruits, vegetables, and meats. Drinking wine, entangling with appetites of the flesh, practicing magic and craft in peace, and sundering those who intrude upon that peace and come with ill intention. Lilith gave the gift of teeth that mirrored her own and the hunger to match - the gift to feast upon the unsavory, much like how she fed upon Adam before fleeing Eden and survived the coming days off his blood alone. The power to be nourished by the blood of your enemy, and the ingenuity to use their corpses for your soil to feed your crops.

The transformation was always very private and personal, powerful and done in the night beneath the moonlight. An exchange would take place where Lilith would first drink from her devotee, always favoring the neck to bite into. She would drink their blood in deep until they were dazed and on the verge of sleep, almost entirely empty and feeling their heart slow as they begin to go limp in her arms, and then she would feed them her own blood and let herself flood their veins and bring them new life. Pushed into death and resurrected, rebirthed and strengthened, much like her drowning. Her mark forever embedded in their skin as two dark punctures that illuminate magenta when they speak, forever showing that they are a direct childe of Lilith.

Beyond immortality, teeth, and sanguine hunger, vampires inherit Lilith's perpetually slowed heartbeat and the cold of her skin. They inherit her favoritism of the night and her ability to shapeshift, as well as to become mist. They inherit strength and telepathy, great speed, flight in the aid of leathery wings, and exude an aura of attraction. Their natural magic is bolstered, and they can blend well with the darkness. They also gain the ability to spread vampirism themselves with the same process. You never drink all the blood of your turned, you let them keep just enough of themselves to remember the blood they have always had.

However, God would eventually decide to spin Lilith's gift around on her followers and add a few caveats, and make it into what many do consider to be a curse:

✞ No longer would they be able to walk beneath the light of day and enjoy the warmth of the sun on their cold skin, they will only burn and burst into flame, and perish if shelter is not sought quick enough.

✞ If they are going to feed on the blood of the living, they do not need the sustenance from food anymore, now do they? The flavor is there, but it is all so hollow and empty and will never again satiate. Like Cain, you will no longer be able to enjoy the fruits of your harvest. Some will find they have an awful reaction to garlic, to boot.

✞ If you are going to walk this Earth, you won't just lie anywhere. You must bring the dirt from where you were born with you and set it below. If you fail to do that, you will never find rest even when you close your eyes - you will live like an endless insomniac, exhausted, and prone to breaks of mental fortitude - especially effective for those who are very old.

✞ You chose to drink from a demon so you will be effected like a demon, ad be burned by crucifixes and holy water. You can never walk into the House of God unharmed.. but how fun it is to discover the churches where He is lacking.

✞ With who Lilith is, it's only right to lay down one very especially petty part of the curse that forbids some lineages from being able to cross running bodies of water and finding pain in the rain.

This affliction upon her gift broke Lilith's heart, reminding her much of the one upon her womb. Gifting vampirism has become a very, very rare occasion as a result, not wanting to cause further harm to her faithful. It takes a very special alignment of comfort and interests for her to bestow the transformation. Due to this rarity, those who were originally turned by Lilith are revered as the Paragons in vampiric society, the first turned, the ancients, and the most powerful of them all.

[starkerforlife6969]

Starker - Reward

It’s a world rife with magic and monsters. Full of fantasy and witches and fate.

Tony cares little for those. He’s an inventor. A mechanic. An artist. He hones his skill, his craft, every day for twenty years, and then another twenty years. Worn and scarred, fingers thick and nimble, tremble-less. He knows little of magic and monsters. Of fantasy and witches. Those things that change and shape the world.

He uses his craft and he earns his power.

He’s a court favourite. The King likes him well-enough. That’s as much as anyone really likes Tony. Well-enough.

“You’re too tough. Too sharp. People don’t like that.” His mother had warned, even as she smoothed her fingers through his hair.

He hadn’t heeded her advice. His eyes had been on her loom. “There must be a better way,” he had said, “for that to work. So you don’t have to weave the cloth yourself.”

There is little to be said of gallantry. Heroes who have slain monsters come into the golden halls. They show King Brock the latest head of some nymph, or some great, long lost treasure, but in the end they must go on other adventures.

Tony, a court favourite, has a place in the palace always. A little wing to call his own. When he asks for iron, he is given iron. When he asks for silence, people hush.

Of course, when Rumlow demands an invention, or a maze to house some monster, Tony has to stop the whirrings on his mind to tend to those whims. He does not fight that. HIs mother was right, he’s rough and sharp, but he is no fool.

So, when he’s summoned for the King, he sets down his welders tools and follows the guards. He chatters at them, trying to see them rile, but they only smile tightly. Something weighs on them.

“Stark,” Rumlow beams, too encouraging, “men, leave us.”

The guards disappear. Smoke in the wind.

“My lord.” Tony doesn’t get down on one knee. But he inclines his head and Rumlow lets him have it.

“I have a task for you.”

“Name it, sire.”

“Years ago, I was shipwrecked across the strait.”

Tony nods. A sea-farer, perhaps a boat, a new oar. He can design something. Plans start to form in his head.

“I was given refuge upon a tiny island. It housed a demi-goddess. I lay with her.”

Tony waits. It doesn’t click. He doesn’t understand.

“It has become apparent that she had a child. My son. His name is Peter. He is mortal, but his blood, I believe, carries some trace of the gods. Because of this, they give him favour. My heroes have not been able to slay him. The seas that should kill, full of sirens and monsters, give him way. I have sent assassins and witches, and they fall prey to his charms.”

“Magic?” Tony asks, intrigued and a little disgusted. The petty foulness, the ease of magic. The fact the King is trying to kill his own blood, that is of little consequence. There are at least a dozen princes and princesses that flit about the kingdom now. Bloodshed will come once Rumlow dies as they battle for the throne. One less contender should shorten the battle.

“I had hoped it was magic.” The King sighs. “I fear it is him. He is…” the King sneers. “Beloved. They fall to him. Pledge their allegiance as if he were already their King.”

“I don’t understand.” Tony confesses, a hardship. “What would you have me do?”

Here, Rumlow smiles. Like the monster that prowls beneath the palace. “I would have you kill him, Tony. Don’t you see? You’re the only one who could. Who would not fall for his doe-eyes or sweet words. You are hardened. Use your mind, that cunning tool, or any of your inventions, and slay him. I can promise you rewards.”

Tony nods, already exhausted. This is not his domain, but the sooner it is begun, the sooner it is done. “What about the ire of the gods? You said they have given him favour. Will this not beget their anger?”

“Gods are fickle.” The King waves him away. “I have a hundred lambs all ready to be slaughtered for them. Pilgrims ready to visit their temples. I have had a boat prepared for you to leave this evening. I have heard from Cleo that Peter dwells on an island off her shore. My men will guide you.”

Tony grits his teeth a little at the lack of control, but it is a familiar ache. “And what proof of his demise? His heart?”

The King laughs at that. “You speak like a solider, Stark. I do not need proof. I will trust your word and the darkening skies.”

It goes unsaid, of course, that failure means death.

***

Tony likes sea-travel. The allusion of freedom on that endless horizon. The rough work of rigging. The smell. He used to pour over his father’s atlases, used to dream of travelling the world.

He has made himself content with Rumlow’s palace. The golden walls. His inventions.

They reach the island swiftly. The seas are much calmer. It must be Peter’s presence.

“We can go with you no further.” The men say. “Rumlow forbids it. He believes Peter would affect our minds.”

Tony wades through the water to the craggy edges. Rocks black with wet, gulls screaming.

“Sailor, let me help.” Comes a voice, soft as a siren, and Tony looks up and sees- him.

For it must be. Gold eyes. Eyes of a god. Traces of that divine lineage, but so devastatingly mortal. And it’s devastating, because Tony knows he cannot kill such beauty.

There’s no magic, but it feels like it. Carved like one of Romanov’s marble statues. It’s hard to believe such a thing could be part Rumlow.

He takes the lily hand, bronzed with sun, and lets himself be pulled up.

It’s but a boy. Not old enough to command armies. Barely a man.

“Peter.”

Peter smiles at him. “It never fails to surprise how many know my name. Where do you travel from?”

“From your father.”

Peter nods. He helps Tony manoeuvre the slippery rocks onto the sandy beach. There, he stoops to collect perfect white shells. “He would see me dead.”

“Yes.”

“I do not desire his throne.”

Tony smiles a little at that. “I don’t think it much matters.”

“Maybe not.” Peter’s eyes appraise his form. Tony puffs like a bird. “You’re no sailor. What are you?”

“An inventor.”

“An inventor.” Peter breathes, looking up at him in awe. He says the word with sacrilegious reverence. “What a gift my father has given me. I have been searching for an inventor my whole life.”

Tony itches to touch him. His skin prickles with a strange desire to taste. He’s had lovers in the past, in the endless escapades of youth, but Peter would be the only one that Tony would remember. “Hardly twenty years then.”

Peter laughs like music. “Will you help me?”

“Do you command me?”

“Of course not.” Peter humms, his eyes sparkle. “The God’s command. King’s demand. I am neither.”

“You are both. Son of a king and a goddess.”

“Bastard son of a king, and of a demi goddess.” Peter bows his head. “For some reason people help me. I cannot say why. I appreciate it, but I do not expect it. Your king would have you kill me.” Peter looks up at him. Eyes glazed like honey. Lips like wildflowers. “Will you?”

Throat dry, Tony croaks: “No.”

“I would ask for your help. Will you?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you.” Peter whispers, genuine, artless. He is pure, an unwilted flower. He could command strangers. Unite enemies. “I need a boat that would withstand the river of the underworld.”

Tony recoils from this. Unnatural. “I deal with inventions, not magic.” He spits. 

“They are one.” Peter insists gently, but sees Tony’s face. “You build. I’ll do the magic.”

“You can command magic?”

“Barely. Basic charms. The ingredients are kind to me.”

“As is all of life, it seems.” Tony quips.

Peter’s smile is indulgent. “If that were true, I would need no ship.”

“Who are you collecting from the underworld?”

Peter’s eyes scan over the horizon. In the distance, the boat Tony came on bobs. Peter tilts his eyes to the sky: the countless, silent, watching Gods. “Later.” He vows.

Tony believes him.

…

He seems older than his face suggests. In the same way Gods that saw the beginning of the earth have scarce a mark of time upon their face.

Tony wonders if it is his divine blood.

A ship to withstand the underworld needs to be very slim indeed. The rivers below are narrow, sharply turning. Tony cuts and shapes the wood, methodical in his work.

Peter, meanwhile, gathers roots and strange plants, grinds them into paste, spreads them onto the wood planks and whispers. They glow under his touch, seep into the wood. “Protection,” Peter will say after one, “courage,” after another, “safety”, “resistance”, “resoluteness”, “fierceness”.

In the evenings, Tony is led to Peter’s home. It’s a small castle, grand in it’s own right, teeming with treasures but empty of attendants. They sit before the hearth and Peter brings out salves, and rubs Tony’s hands; eases out the splinters and sprains of the day’s work.

“There is no need.” Tony insists, though the sight of Peter on his knees before him is one that will haunt him.

“There is every need. You do me a great kindness.”

“This is my reward?”

“No.” Peter hums, “this is my reward.”

His fingers unfasten the belt of Tony’s britches, the hot, wet mouth tight and stomach-lurching. It’s all Tony can do to breathe, jerking in his chair, sparking with pleasure.

When he’s finished, Peter tucks Tony away. Cleans him up. “Is there a deity you worship?” He asks, and Tony wants to say you but knows the gods would scorn him for it.

“Hermes is well-travelled.” He says instead.

“I will ask him to give you favour.”

“There is no need-”

“You say a lot about need.” Peter laughs, airy, nymph-like. “I suspect you understand very little of it. Your own are so tightly bound within you. I do not need, but would very much like you in my bed tonight. How is that?”

Tony’s throat is dry, blood already hot. “That is well.” He whispers.

*

A smarter man would delay the building of the ship. Spend more seasons with Peter on this island.

But the only thing that can rival Tony’s passion for the boyy, is his desire to work and invent.

As he sands the boards, he notes the cove they take shelter in. The shadows that hide them from the gods of the sky. “Who,” he says quietly, the waves lapping at their toes, “do you seek to bring from the Underworld?” A parent, who has died? A dear friend lost in battle? Worse- a lover. Tony almost could not bear it.

“I will bring an army of the undead,” Peter says, and Tony drops the block of cinder from his hand. It clatters to the deck. Peter continues to hum, binding rope with moss for strength.

Tony must be deceived. But there is no lie anywhere in Peter’s body. Just slim, muscled, beauty.

“Do not look so shocked, mortal.”

“Mortal?” Tony croaks.

Peter laughs. Musical. “I confess to you then. My mother was no demi-god. She was Zeus’ first born. I am no human. I’m more powerful than that.”

“You are not a god.”

“And grateful for it. Gods cannot go into the underworld.”

“You want war. Against who?”

“Rumlow. I will take his city. I will rule Attica.”

Tony laughs in disbelief, trembling with fear. He has been taken here for a fool. This is no kindness. This boy is vicious and cruel, like any God. “Attica cannot be united-”

“An army of the undead will unite them. The fates have written it. Led by me.”

Tony turns from him, shaking, eyes stinging. “I thought you good. I loved-”

Peter is before him, hands gentle on his face, smoothing through the inventor’s beard. “You love me with your mortal heart, dear sweet, Tony,” Peter whispers, kissing him. Melting into him, seeping into him, taking him over. Tony feels the eagerness against his thigh. Wants to jerk away but cannot bring himself to. He clutches Peter tighter. “I will reward you for it.”

Peter’s hand slips into Tony’s trousers. Tony is hard. Throbbing. But he resists. “I want no reward from you who brings such bloodshed.”

The boy, not a boy at all, laughs. Even as his hand works at Tony, spreading wetness, teasing, touching all the right ways. “This is not your reward. Your reward is much greater,” his teeth find Tony’s ear, nipping. “I will make you a god.”

Tony moans, Peter works him harder, he’s shaking, closer, trying to resist. “M-mortals cannot be made-” he gasps for breath, “-into gods.” He knows little of magic, but he knows that. Peter is pressed flush against him, hand moving between them.

“It must be written in Fate. I chose you, Stark. I had Rumlow choose you. I orchestrated it all. You are fated to be a God. Inventor who trapped the Minotaur, it is your destiny. You will be powerful and eternal and you will be mine.”

“I will be a god, and you not- you will die.” The thought is arresting. “I will have to continue without you.”

“There are tricks,” Peter grins, “Goddess of beauty is charmed by me. She will keep me young and beautiful forever. I will do a favour for the Underworld harpies. They will not take my soul.”

“What is this favour?”

“Do not fret,” Peter coos, licking Tony’s lips, grip merciless, taunting, Tony’s so close. Hips thrusting. “I have taken care of you now, have I not? I will give you all you desire. Every invention to make, all the means. I will care for you and not ask much in return. Let me do so for eternity. You can release, god.”

Tony cries out, does as he’s commanded.

An eternity. Ruled by Peter. A mystery wrapped up like a kindness. He’s hungry for it. He is no fool, Peter will ask for few, but terrible, things in return. Inventions that will turn Tony’s stomach. Wings of wax to trick a father and a son. A sea-spider to eat good sailors. A poison sword and arrow to destroy demigods. And he’ll make them all. Just like he’s made this ship. He’ll obey.

And if he’s good, Peter will reward him.

[lotornomiko]

Triumph’s Tribulation Five Sneak Peak

Ah I usually don’t like posting until a chapter is complete, but I am having a lot of problems offline, in addition to the the third and final segment of the chapter, the check in on Midgard, is giving me no end of difficulties. It was supposed to be a Rufus POV but seeing as his POV keeps derailing the fic and my timeline, I will take whoever I can get to be the narrating voice for Alicia and Co. at this point.

I’ve actually debated posting five as it is, but I am trying to have each chapter have three segments, even if one segment ends up being incrediably small like the Lenneth interlude was in uh was it chapter two...?

Right now I have Loki (With Frei!) and Lezard’s parts done...I am posting the Lezard part at least...it[’s mostly finalized, although I’ll probably tweak some words here and there when I go over it for the umpteenth millionth time...X_X

I’d say this scene is PG 13, though it is Lezard so has some darker edge to it...but still hopefully worksafe...! Side note, the A ending got strongly influenced after rewatching the A ending, and all the events leading up to it. It left me with the strong impression and opinion that Lenneth had some kind of mental, nervous break down when the seal broke. I think I even wrote down a few lines from it...if not to use in this chapter, then maybe a future one! I’m also currently in the midst of rewatching VP 2: Silmeria...so maybe that will find my muse for the Midgard crew in this! XD

Onto the scene excerpt now!!

====

The marble of the floor had sealed itself together seamlessly, not so much as a sliver of a crack to betray the chaos that had gone on just moments earlier. That of the anger that had been felt, the world itself a living extension of what had been in its God’s heart. Such has been Lezard’s displeasure that in that moment, Creation itself had acted, moving to protect him and his interests, spiriting the frightened Goddess away to somewhere else safe. Safe from his rage, and safe from his desires, the man who had once been human,  having pushed too hard, too fast, too soon.

She wasn’t ready. He knew that, every bit from her fight to her flight had in fact acknowledged it, the fear that was in Lenneth’s heart. It had sent her running, the Goddess scared, not so much of what he might do to her physically as much as the emotional havoc he had been intent on wreaking. The truths that had needed to be confronted, and with it would come all of its pain, such sorrow born of those lies that the woman had told herself. She wouldn’t be spared its sting, not even God himself able to shelter Lenneth from the agony of breaking free of such warped delusions. The comfort it had once given her, was now nothing more than a crutch, one that that divine beauty needed to break free of if that heart of hers was going to stand a chance at any true solace.

It wouldn’t be easy, that fact something Lezard could acknowledge in his more rational moments. His beloved needed a far gentler hand than he had thus far been capable of, that near overpowering lust of his, making him impatient and clumsy whenever she was so near. So consumed with the want of her, his attempt at a controlled veneer had all but shattered when her fear had turned violent, Lenneth’s fist finding its mark against his jaw. It had left him so close to doing something unforgivable, illusions torn and discarded if not for his world acting instead. Protecting him as much as her, Lenneth swallowed up whole into an abyss that had opened up beneath her feet.

Even now she was still there, free falling in an endless darkness, that heart of hers in an absolute turmoil that would only be the start of her unraveling. There was both pain and pleasure in the idea of it, Lenneth this intoxicating brand of everything that Lezard could have ever wanted. Her heart, her soul, that of her mind and her body, her tears, her agony, and that of her happiness, the man wanted it all. He was obsessed with the having of it, of attaining paradise with so perfect a being. It was so close to a reality, that he could almost taste it, his blood stained hands reaching for it, for her, Lezard this newly remade being, the ultimate Lord of it all, Lenneth and the effect she has always had on him, the one thing this God could not control.

Even now he was tempted, sheer folly though it would be to go after her right now. Lenneth was too wild in the moment, too angry and afraid, tormented by a truth he had only merely hinted at, such insinuations holding the strength to make a Goddess reel in an absolute terror. It was a fear not just for herself, for what might be done to her, but that of her world, the paradise that she had created. That perfect utopia that was nothing more than a lie that her wounded soul had retreated into, every insinuation that Lezard could make had the power to tear that universe apart from the root, the very foundations it had been built and brought to life upon.

It was a world of desires, that perfect paradise grounded in a pain so blatant that it had nearly torn the Goddess apart. That heart of hers that had been so ripped to pieces by the sins committed against her, it had left Lenneth reeling in an agony even she herself had not understood, the Goddess so overwhelmed in the moment as to escape into a fantasy. An illusion, the deceits woven there all by her own hand, the ageless woman latching onto a figment, the fragment that had been dangling before her. Seizing upon it, with that earring in her hand, out of all the lives she had slept through, it had been the latest, that of a child, a girl no older than fourteen when she had died, that had helped feed into a delusion. In that moment she had been thinking not as a Goddess, but as a human, a child, torn apart by a loss that had been about more than just one man’s death.

The seal had been broken, a flood gate of emotions overtaking the Goddess. How much agony had it been, to remember them all, every last life that had hosted Lenneth inside them. The highs and the lows, their joys and their pains, hundreds upon hundreds of women, all helping to shape the Valkyrie’s humanity. Her compassionate heart, the depth of her millennia of experience far more than anything those scant fourteen years as Platina could have given. She was just a sliver of what had helped shaped the Goddess, so small and inferior a speck, the child was not who Lenneth was meant to be.

So much more than any one human girl, Lenneth was in fact a being so uniquely her own. A caring Goddess, one whose capacity to feel and sympathize with the mortals a threat that Odin and the other Gods could not abide by. They hadn’t killed her, they had done WORSE, the woman’s free will taken from her, her true sense of being SEALED away.

A safeguard meant to control that which the Gods could not understand, that human compassion that that particular Goddess had been gifted with, the likes of which had been cultivated and learned over the course of a millennia of different hosts. Through them she had loved, and Lenneth had cared, the woman so wholly unique in her ability to FEEL, the Goddess the champion that the mortals had needed. The Gods had feared it, feared Lenneth and the allegiance that such emotions had wrought, Odin needing the Valkyrie to be a good little soldier who fell into line with his own selfish wants. Unable to dominate her as she had truly been, that tyrannous God had tried to eradicate her spirit, that of her true self, through such archaic means, such a brutal manipulation of the self, such that Lenneth had been little more than a doll. A puppet, beautiful and perfect, and so wholly without the feelings that would have interfered with the Heavens’ schemes.

The Gods had seen her as nothing more than a Death Goddess, a chooser of the slain to bolster their own armies with the souls of dead heroes. They had let her pick from the brave as though they were mere flowers, calling into service warriors from all corners of Midgard. Leaving her exposed to the very thing that the Gods themselves had feared, the emotions that were so plentiful in the humans, putting cracks in the shield erected around Lenneth’s heart. Bit by bit, that ancient magic had been worn away, the seal itself eroded with each and every encounter, until it had finally shattered, and with it went Lenneth’s mind, the woman having snapped.

It must have been so, so overwhelming, to have been hit at once with all those feelings, with the many lives she had slept through, their hopes, their desires, all coming to life within Lenneth in startling clarity. Was it any wonder she had lost her true self in the process, spinning from one host to another, again and again, until she had latched onto the most recent, that of the child, those scant years of fourteen the most overwhelming dream of them all given how fresh it had still been.

Even grounded in that child’s psyche, it had proved too much. Lezard himself had born witness to it, to that mental break that the Goddess had had. The tears that had fallen, the screaming that had been done, it hadn’t been just the Goddess, but the child, Platina, made horrified by the one solace of her life, Lucian the only kindness and warmth she had ever known, LOST, killed in turn by his own refusal to let go of his own delusions.

It had all been such a mess, a tragedy the likes of which all else had fallen short. Her puppet strings not just severed, but left tangled across the board, Lenneth had been operating on a grief born madness, forgetting who she really was, to play fantasy for one ignorant human. For some fake facsimile of him, Lucian a shadow, his miraculous return to life nothing more than a figment born of Lenneth’s own desperation and desires. Instead of the warrior she had known, he was something new, a puppet who was nothing more than some idealized version of who she had thought him to be, Lucian just one of the many dolls whose every thought had been painstakingly crafted by Lenneth’s power.

Creation itself had been remade on desire, on such potent delusions and lies, the many souls there not the people they had once been. They were just shadows of those that had died, annihilated in the Ragnarok that Lucian had helped Loki bring about. It hadn’t just ended lives, it had wiped out everything, including that of nearly every living being’s soul from existence, such devastation a permanent end, the cycle of rebirth itself destroyed. Such finality was there to it, that no one, not even God, could fight against, the world and its people entirely eradicated.

It left the world in complete ruins, Lenneth’s land a paradise populated in lies. It was a copy, a mere imitation of what had once been, formulated out of fragmented glimpses, the memories she had gathered, the people there nothing more than a pathetic bunch of puppets. They were just these hollow husks of what she thought them to be, these seemingly ideal versions ultimately falling short, all an attempt that was unfulfilling when it came towards truly easing the pain in the Goddess’ heart. They were all lies that couldn’t make her truly happy, anymore than they could satisfy her needs. Each and every last one of them, Lenneth living in a farce, a waking dream that could crumble apart so easily given the right push. If enough care wasn’t given, the Goddess would crumble again with it, her psyche perhaps lost to yet another kind of fantasy.

Lezard couldn’t lie and claim that he hadn’t considered it. Hadn’t given thought to molding Lenneth into a fantasy that would suit HIM best. But ultimately, he didn’t want the illusion, that of those broken remnants of who the Goddess had once been. He wouldn’t be satisfied with just a sliver, wouldn’t embrace the farce of just one of her sides. He wanted her everything and her all, Lezard made mad with the desire, with that need. It fueled him, his obsession with Lenneth the motivating strength that had led Lezard into doing the impossible again and again. He had died for her, traveled through time for her, even become a God for her, such a warped semblance of love a catalyst that had no limits and no match. Not even Lucian could compete, that young man unable to see past Platina, and past the Valkyrie, to the supreme manifestation of the woman, a Goddess so sublime as to move a heart that had once been so unfeeling.

Her mark left on him, Lenneth had helped shaped Lezard into this mad man, so utterly devoted in the pursuit of her. Worlds had been ruined, people slaughtered, time itself run roughshod all over, yet his hands were no less dirty than any of the other Gods. Than even HERS, Lezard creating his own world, his own perfect paradise to ease the pain that was in HIS heart. That it spilled hurt onto others, was of no concern, Lezard an unfeeling God who had no desire to rule or be worshiped by anyone other than by Lenneth.

Such blasphemies should have been sins enough to weigh even God down, yet Lezard was instead made unburdened by it all, free of the demands the throne of Creation should have made of him. He was free, having discarded duty the way he had discarded bodies, nothing but time on his hand, and power, and harboring a patience that was fast running out.

====

[mostfacinorous]

Stoki Whumptober Day 24: You’re Not Making Any Sense. [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9][10][11][12][13][14][15][16][17][18][19][20][21][22][23]

They were able to travel forward the next day. 

“I think it’s safer that we do this over the course of several shorter jumps-- we haven’t any idea how far back we’ve gone, and the last thing we want is to overshoot our present. So… I am going to say not more than a few hundred years at a time.” Loki explained. 

Steve nodded, then spun to look around at their little shelter-- their home for the last few days. “You know, it’s funny, but I feel unreasonably attached to this little fort.” He told Loki, and Loki couldn’t help the fond smile. 

“Well, it did likely save your life. Some attachment is reasonable.”

Steve turned back to him, one brow raised. “I suppose that’s even more true of people, huh?” 

Loki swallowed, his mouth feeling dry and his face feeling warm. “I suppose it depends on the person. Ah-- shall we?” He lifted the stone and held his other hand out to Steve. 

He took it, and squeezed Loki’s hand reassuringly. Loki smiled at him, then closed his eyes and reached out with his seidhr, trying to use his will and his power to shape and control the power of the stone, to coax it into doing what he needed it to. 

The only problem was, the stone was stronger than him. Older. Much more stubborn. 

But Loki remembered Steve, at his side, and firmed his resolve. He couldn’t falter in this, could not fail. 

He felt the power of the stone moving up through his seidhr again, as it had done when he was fixing Barnes’s arm, and he could feel it more potently from the source, running through him. It felt as if it was setting his veins alight, sending electricity and fire coursing through all of him. He took a deep breath, opened his mouth, and screamed-- but didn’t let that stop him. Holding tight to Steve’s hand, he launched them both forward through the rift that his voice had somehow torn open.

They landed, sprawled on one another, on the floor of a forest much like the one they’d just been in. There were signs of life, though-- game trails and footpaths that cut through the snow, speaking of at least semi-frequent use. 

Loki pushed himself upright, shivering as he finally let go of Steve’s hand and tucked the stone away into his pocket. 

“Well. That was unpleasant,” He tried to say-- save that when he opened his mouth, all that came out was a croak. 

He grasped at his throat, only now registering the agony of it. 

His voice had been burned out by the stone’s power, which he supposed was good-- it had to come out somewhere, better there than his eyes. 

But Steve was looking alarmed. 

“Loki? Are you alright? You’re not-- you’re still you this time, right?”

Loki laughed, albeit soundlessly, and pointed to his throat, then shook his head.

“You can’t talk?” Steve asked, catching on blessedly fast. Faster than Thor would have, Loki was certain. He nodded.

“What-- uh, is it… is it permanent?” 

That hadn’t occurred to Loki and he tilted his head, feeling around the edges of the injury with his seidhr. He put some of his gift towards helping along the healing process, and was glad to feel some small relief to the pain. 

He shook his head no, then tapped his wrist, the way he’d seen Stark do. 

“You just need time to heal.” Steve filled in, sounding relieved. “Okay. Good. I’m-- I’m glad. Alright-- well. Should we follow this, you think? Go in search of better shelter?” 

Loki considered. Their garb would no doubt be outlandish to any who saw them; as it was, he still wore Asgardian clothing, and Steve was in sweatpants, a thin shirt, and Loki’s jacket. Unless they wanted to be mistaken for Gods, or burned as witches, better to avoid the people of this time. 

But that also meant they needed to be discreet insofar as building their shelter. Ripping trees in half was hardly quiet-- or subtle. 

He tilted his hand as if balancing it, then pointed to the game trail-- which ran alongside the main path, but through the bush. 

Steve frowned. “You want to hunt-- what, deer?” 

Loki huffed and shook his head. He pointed at the path, then put his hand over his eyes, then pointed at himself. 

“We can’t be seen.” Steve filled in, understanding dawning on his face. “But we should find somewhere safe to spend the night-- I assume both you and the stone need to recharge?” 

Loki nodded at this. 

“Okay, got it. So the game trail it is.” 

They followed said trail for some ways, until it led to a small river that Loki didn’t think had been there when they’d camped in the dead of winter; it must be closer to spring now. There was still snow but it was patchy and dirty looking, and the water, though sluggish, was certainly running. 

“You think it’s safe to drink?” Steve asked. 

Loki looked back towards the path, which had widened into something of a road. It turned to follow the river downstream, which meant that whatever settlement it led to was also downstream, and so were any pollutants that came of it. 

He nodded, grateful. 

Rogers used his shield to scoop up some of the water and offered it to Loki, who drank greedily, the water spilling down his front as much as getting in his mouth, but that hardly mattered. He swallowed and relished the coolness on the inside of his throat. 

Steve was openly laughing at him when he finished, and he scowled before lightly tossing the shield in his direction. Steve caught it easily, and fetched some water for himself. 

While he drank, Loki saw a deer, a brave thing, venturing down for its own drink, upstream just a short way and on the opposite bank. 

He carefully tapped Steve’s shoulder, then pointed.

“Oh, I didn’t realize there were actually deer.” Steve said, voice hushed. 

Loki nodded, then, in a flash, embedded a throwing knife in its eye. 

The deer screamed and Steve startled, but Loki was already crossing the stream to get to his quarry. 

It wasn’t dead yet-- he pulled the knife out and slit its throat, putting it out of its misery. 

“Wh-- why did you--?” Steve asked, looking queasy. 

Loki pointed, then mimed eating, then pointed again, and pointed at the fur on Steve’s coat, then pointed a third time, and pointed in the direction that the road went. 

“Wait, you want to… to sell or trade it or something?” Loki nodded. 

“I thought you didn’t want us to be seen, though?” 

Loki shook his head. He pointed to himself, then his eye, then the road, then held up one finger. 

“You want to see them first.” 

Loki nodded, then gestured with his hands to create a little sparkle. 

“Are you going to… bespell them?” Steve was frowning, already disapproving, and Loki sighed and shook his head. 

He wiggled his fingers again, and pointed at the two of them.

“You’re going to bespell us-- oh, so that we fit in!” 

Loki nodded. 

“Great, that’s handy!” 

Loki nodded, smug. Then he pointed at the deer, and then at Steve. 

“You want me to carry it, I take it.” Steve sounded less enthused about this. 

Loki pulled his knife free and took it to the water’s edge to rinse it off. 

That done, he removed his cape and used it to fashion a sling, then, through a series of gestures, had Steve help him hoist the deer up to hang upside down and drain out a bit. 

He didn’t want his coat covered in its blood if he could avoid it. 

He got Steve’s attention, then pointed to himself, then to the road, and then he pointed to Steve and to the deer and to the ground on which they stood. 

Steve’s brow creased, an increasingly familiar sign of his disapproval.

“If you scout ahead and get into trouble, how will I know? It’s not like you can call for help.” 

That was...a fair point, Loki supposed. He wiggled his fingers again and shot off a few tiny green sparks, then pointed into the air. 

“So I watch for those?” Steve asked, and Loki nodded.

For all that he was known for his words, and not particularly pleased to be without them, at least he was with someone intelligent enough to make it less painful than it would have been. 

“I don’t like it, but I guess it’s the easiest way. Alright. But I mean it, the very first sign of trouble…” 

Loki nodded and flapped his hand, waving off Steve’s worrying. 

He followed the path, gratified to see the smoke from cooking fires off in the distance-- further than he necessarily wanted to go alone-- but he also saw a smaller spire of smoke from nearer. 

He approached that one, cautious, and found what looked like a family at a semi permanent camp. Their structures looked made to be carried with them, but not so temporary as a normal camp. They’d set up several pieces of furniture, crafted with wood and weaving, and there was a woman cooking at a fire, which had been formed in an oven shaped of clay and built in place. 

It was not the sort of thing one made for a day or two’s stay, but rather if one meant to be there for a time, but not permanently. 

Loki located the man among all of this, and listened as they spoke. 

It was not Steve’s language, he realized with a sinking feeling. And they looked little enough like Steve. That would complicate matters; he could understand them, but neither of them would be able to communicate effectively. 

He silently made his way back. Steve was leaning against a tree, sketching on a small notebook that Loki didn’t think he’d noticed him having before, though he must have done. 

The deer’s draining had slowed to a drip, and Loki waved when Steve heard him approaching and looked up. 

“Any luck?” He asked. Loki nodded, and gestured between them, shifting both of their appearances to better match their soon-to-be hosts. 

Steve looked surprised, then sheepish. 

“Oh, native Americans. That makes sense. I wonder if anyone who looks like me has even made it here yet.” 

That would actually be a useful means of measuring time, Loki supposed, provided Steve was even passingly familiar with his history. 

She took away Steve’s illusory skin color, but left the clothing. Now at least he would seem of the time, but his skin would explain why he did not know their language. 

“So your plan is to be my wife?” Steve asked, and Loki nodded, glad he’d at least realized the reasoning behind changing into a woman. 

“That makes sense. It’ll seem less threatening too-- I assume it’s a woman?” 

Loki held up his fingers, for five people, then pointed to herself, woman, two, Steve, man, one, then he put his hand at waist height, for children, and held up two fingers. 

“A family?” Steve guessed, and Loki nodded. 

“Well alright. Let’s go meet them.” Steve stood and Loki helped him pull the deer down and get it situated over his shoulder. 

They reached the family’s camp again, and Loki gestured for Steve to wait, then walked ahead. She could understand them, and she looked the less threatening, the more familiar of the two. 

She approached the edges of the camp, openly visible. 

“Who’s there?” A woman called, and the man looked up, alarmed. 

Loki gestured in a circle around her mouth, then gripped her own neck to further illustrate. She bowed his head. 

“I don’t think she can talk.” The woman told the man. 

He nodded. “I got that. Who’s that behind you?” He lifted his voice, calling out to Loki. 

Loki looked back and pointed at Steve, then at herself, and crossed her fingers, hoping they would understand. 

“Her mate?” The woman guessed. 

“Seems so. Funny looking guy, but maybe that’s why they are on their own.” 

Loki made a gesture to draw their eyes back to her, and she pointed at Steve, then at herself, and scooped both hands forward, as if in offering. 

Then she pointed at the two of them, and then at the camp behind them, and made a gesture over her head, for a roof. 

“Can you understand me?” The man asked, and Loki nodded yes. 

Fortunately, that seemed to mean the same thing here as it did in her time. 

“Do you need somewhere to stay for the night?” 

Loki nodded yes again. 

“Call your man.” The man answered, and Loki turned, gesturing that Steve should join her. 

He closed the distance, and when he reached her, she stopped him and turned him so they could see the deer more clearly. 

“That’s a lot of meat.” The woman pointed out helpfully. “More than two people can eat.” 

Loki again made the gesture for a gift. 

“I think that’s the exchange-- they need a place to escape the cold tonight, and they will give us the deer. Yes?” The man was looking at Steve, who was looking lost. 

Loki waved to pull the man’s attention back to her. 

She pointed at Steve, then made her hand into a mouth, and opened and closed it. 

“You want me to talk?” Steve asked, and she nodded. “Oh, okay, uh, Hi, I’m Steve and this is Loki.” He said. She raised a hand; that was enough to prove the point. 

“He’s from somewhere else.” The man said, staring uneasily at Steve. Loki nodded. 

She made the offering gesture, then the gesture for shelter, then brought her hands to her face as if to eat. 

“Your deer in exchange for a night’s sleep and a meal?” The man asked, and Loki nodded, giving him a hopeful smile. 

He laughed. “That is a good deal, I think. Though I warn you, my children will be pests about your man’s looks.” 

Loki smiled wider at that.

“What’s he saying?” Steve asked, and Loki looked to him, trying to figure out how to explain. She made the short sign again, then pointed at him, then sketched a heart in the air. 

Steve smiled and chuckled. 

“Yeah, I’m good with kids. I’m happy to watch them, if that’s what they’re asking.” 

Loki smiled; close enough, and turned back to the man. She nodded. 

He made a welcoming gesture. 

“Come in, then. We should begin to prepare the meat, if Kanti is to have it ready for eating tonight.” 

Loki pointed at herself, then at the woman. 

Kanti smiled. “Of course you can help. What can we call you?”

Loki tugged on Steve, then made the speak sign again, and pointed at herself. “Loki.” Steve said, catching on and pointing at her. 

“Loki.” Kanti repeated. Then she pointed at Steve, and mimicked Loki’s talking signal. 

“Steve.” He said, tapping his own chest. 

“Loki. Have Steve put the deer near the log?” The man requested, and Loki nodded. 

She gestured, and Steve obeyed easily. She took a deep breath, glad that this was working. 

She could not imagine that it would with anyone else. 

A short while later, they were all around the fire, eating the soup that Kanti had made as well as the meat from the deer that they’d provided. 

True to Machk’s promise, the children were chattering at Steve and demanding that he play with them. Meanwhile, Kanti and her sister, Hausis, were talking to Loki as if she were holding up her end of the conversation seamlessly. And she did her best, with gestures and facial expressions. 

It was easy, and nice, and watching Steve with those children made her feel… incredibly fond. 

“Don’t worry.” Machk said, breaking into her thoughts and surprising her. “I am sure you will have some of your own, soon. It is good not to have them while traveling, though. We travel very slowly, for it.” 

Kanti smacked her husband lightly with some reeds from a nearby project, and Hausis laughed. 

“It’s true. Still, we wouldn’t have it otherwise. You’ll get your own blessings, when you get where you’re going.” She promised, and Loki felt herself flushing, though she glanced back at Steve, still smiling entirely too wide, and met his eye. She turned back to their hosts and nodded. 

She certainly hoped so.

[deuce-duce]

Am I...?? (Inwardly GASPS)!! Which Part...??

Today is March 2nd 2021 and I got my puter back and went to look at what I had last written on December 16th 2020. When I opened the file, it had been changed… dates had been obscured and certain things had been reworded… So… I have decided to go back through all of my previous posts to ensure the integrity of what I am writing stays that way! During this process I will be putting together a collection of my favorite quotes and post fragments. Which I will dub Rock and Roll’s Greatest Hits, if you live near me go buy airhorns Ill tell you why, When the greatest hits album comes out. What your about to read is primarily from Dec. 16th with a few changes or should I say… restorations?? Probably a little of both to be honest. Everything is still as it happened, I just add better descriptive words and fine tune the analogies so that they are easier to digest… My English teacher always told me that was what I was good at! Along with many others… who have said the same… not only do I understand it… I’m able to explain it in a way that others understand as well. ENJOY

On the seventh of December I woke up not too sure if something had occurred that night or not… as I have mentioned before they use a numbing agent that basically masks the pain until it wears off approximately 12 hours later… When I a woke on this day I was having moments of clarity and for some reason just couldn’t keep them to myself. talking to one of the staff members of the homeless shelter I expressed my destiny that I actually had one, that was going to bring me to greatness… then out of nowhere I just blurted out there is going to be a power shift!!!! And at that very moment I couldn’t believe what it was that had just come out of my mouth. I didn’t even believe it at first because the guy at the desk was like IDK… about… that… but when I went back into my room, the look on my roommate’s face said it all!! It seems as though those who pull strings and orchestrate a lot of this… put all of their eggs into one basket. I don’t know exactly what the terms of thee bet were but I’m assuming it had/has something to do with me not being able to control my compulsivity associated with my dissociation. Unfortunately for them I made a deal with God. It was while I was on quarantine and even though I was in a basement all by myself people kept F$%^&*!> with me. This is when I prayed stating that I would not falter, for my body his temple his craft and his glory. that I need to take care of myself and my destiny, for it is in his hands and I won’t let my selfishness or imperfections stop him from fulfilling his plan. Over and over again I have cried and cried about how fundamental and powerful this is all going to be. EFFIN CRAZY!! And now that I know without anyone telling me and it literally being given to me somehow is what is freaking everybody out. How do I know or how the hell did I figure it out!! I really couldn’t tell you and the only thing that is possible is that our Creator endowed me with such responsibility. Crazy!! (this was before I considered the probability of God being a woman, A mother, A Lover)

Low and behold one of my favorite artists Mr. Kid, Maniac, Rager, Wizard, Pursuer of Happiness Cudi dropped a new album entitled Man on the MOON Three. Ill have to say it’s a wonderfully made album! The album delves deep into who Scott is… I know the Fans are going to love it.

Rewind a little bit sorry for my hiatus just needed to stay focused and well as your aware have been led here not by accident and had some things that I needed to take care of before I started writing again. Not to mention I have been dealing with a lot only to know that I am who I am for a reason Rockstar Knights off MOTM3 has a lot to say concerning who I am and what I have realized as a result to my struggle. The Song is a collab with Trippie Redd and really encapsulates so much, that its hard to describe in words.

I had a very interesting conversation with my mother the other day and came to a pretty profound thought. 1st I was telling her how I was being told that I am too….!!! Smart!! Like WTF!! REALLY!! Is that even a thing?? But I didn’t let it get to me too much as it probably is the reason I face so much adversity, No matter the community I enter into. This is how I have explained it to her and a couple other people in the community as well as the Rasta Man in the PNW. The best analogy I could present is if a plant with a fire burning so big and so hot on one side of the plant, a fire so big and hot that it probably would kill most other plants, but not this plant. This plant had sooooo much drive and will to live that instead of giving up it grew in the opposite direction of the blaze. While the roots could withstand the blazing inferno becoming one with the heat and pain Upon the journey away from the fire (society) the plant developed different characteristics colors and attributes that no other plant had. Essentially that journey completely changed that plants physiology Psychology and possible its genetic makeup altogether. Now that the plant has grown so far from the fire (Society) that its all alone. Now theres a different kind of fire where he once thought was safe. But as he grows back towards the fire to escape the new blaze (tyranny) he realizes he will never be able to be the same as the fire he grew so far away from. Now the only option the plant has with death being imminent is to grow as big and bright as quickly as possible before it is engulfed on all sides.

All this taken into account along with factoring in the two major belief structures in the world one Being Creation or Evolution (The Big BANG) this plant which has defied all odds still shines brightly displaying its colors and unique characteristics no matter how dark the room may be it still continues to bloom! Is this a Divine will and plan or are we experiencing the next step of Evolution??? My honest opinion is its both! For the mere ability to adapt and change and prevail in situations others couldn’t dream of or even have nightmares about is truly remarkable and in my eyes is an act of GOD! Just as any evolutionary step would be. The crazier part is… he has no handle!! Nothing to grab on to leaving no way for anyone to grab hold and control! AYE….

I thought this all might just be me being stubborn or simply an idiot until for some reason I opened up my meme App. Something I never open or even look at and the first thing that popped up was a picture and quote saying that many told Marilyn Monroe that she was only beautiful because of the clothes and dresses she wore. It then concluded Marilyn Monroe did a photoshoot in nothing but a burlap potato sack. The photos and the message she sent were completely opposite of that which was being said by spectators. Now!! As scrolled to the second meme I was expecting something funny!! That wasn’t the case what I saw next was the upcoming alignment of the two largest planets in the solar system Jupiter and Saturn. Not only does their alignment happen only every 20 years but the proximity of this occurrence to the earth as well as the proximity to each other hasn’t been the same for close to 800 years… What does it all mean… IDK but The Christmas Star is what their calling the alignment and if your familiar with the bible is the star that the kings, from other lands followed  to bring gifts to baby JESUS! Who knows what this alignment could usher in.?

So profound thought comes to me on a daily basis now it’s so strange the way that it comes it will just be momentary thoughts that will pass through my conscience and as they go by I latch on to it delve a little deeper and experience an overwhelming amount of… IDK what to call it but it feels very powerful so much so that it brings me to tears… I don’t know exactly what the future holds but I think that is what makes this so great! I just keep my mind open Like apple IOS Systems letting everything come and go as it pleases when something goes by that strikes me, I latch on and don’t let go. Its weird how it all happens.

Steve Jobs once said that if he had never had an acid trip that he would have never of come up with the operating system for Apple and after explaining to you what I do as a spiritual and destiny seeking process I believe was his thought process as well. This in of itself is what I think they mean when they say to keep an open mind. Just so you know I didn’t come up with that little bit about the late Mr. Jobs by plan it just came to me when thinking about how to have, use and keep an open mind.

The reason I explained this to you was because this is how I Pray! After I pray I sit still with an open mind allowing multiple ideas thoughts and perspectives to pass through my brain… until like an IOS operating system, something speaks to me… when I latch on to it, focus on what it means and what it will mean… “I Get Those Goosebumps Everytime” (Goosebumps, Travis Scott, feat. Kendrick Lamar, Birds in the Trap Sing Mcknight, 2016). This is how you know! A little extra for ya, when I went to look up the info for my first Hip Hop citation it was 11:11 lol there they go again… its really a cool feeling!

Can someone tell me if that APA or MLA…?? Ya know what!! Eff IT!! None of my writing is orthodox, besides I kinda like the way I did it haha

Kid Cudi’s new video just dropped and I couldn’t be more amazed with all of the hidden messages that are in there. He is officially the man on the moon. Passion pain and demon slaying like a maniac on the pursuit of happiness. Love that DUDE!!

That’s all I got for 12-16-2020 Five More Days…

LOVE & PEACE

Songs

Heaven On Earth – Kid Cudi

Goosebumps – Travis Scott, feat. Kendrick Lamar

Dirty Heads – Sound Of Change

 Just so you know the only thing I added this time other the cleaning up what I had already written was the praying part. Although I originally remember that being the purpose as to why I wrote what I did looking at it today March 2nd 2021 it wasn’t there… have a great day everyone. Ill post this on 3/3/2021

I've added parts to the story on my business cards and will leave then random places, what you do with them is up to you but I think It would be cool for those who want to stop me to have to work extra hard just like they make me!!  

LOVE

[aroworlds]

Those With More, Part One

When Mara Hill's magic results in her brother's impossible, wondrous transition, of course Suki wants to know how she did it! What if Sirenne's magic workers can help others find euphoria? What if this magic can heal Suki's hands—or at least lessen her pain? But Mara, distrustful of priests after their failure in protecting Esher, won't share her power.

A senior priest must bear responsibility, but Suki suspects her problems lie deeper than lack of oversight, and her reluctance to discuss her aromanticism with a woman who needs support only proves it. Would she have preserved Mara's faith and Esher's health if she hadn't first avoided revealing herself to her aromantic kin? If she'd faced their expectations that she shoulder their pain and grief as well as her own?

Suki has lived her life by the Sojourner's second precept, but how does she serve when she doesn't have more to give—and never will?

Contains: A disabled, non-partnering allo-aro woman struggling with the expectations of her young, fledgling aromantic community; an autistic, aromantic priest reconsidering their expectations of their community's leader; and an allo-aro woman in need of support as she struggles with her non-partnering, aro-ace brother's illness. 

Content Advisory: Please expect many references to or depictions of aro antagonism, allo-aro antagonism, amatonormativity, familial abuse, mental illness, suicidal ideation, death, gender dysphoria, chronic pain, ableism and ageism. This piece contains non-detailed, non-specific reference to a character's past suicide attempts. 

Length: 4, 409 words (part one of two). 

Note: This is the last story in my Suki mini-series, but it refers to characters introduced in The Sorcerous Compendium of Postmortem Query and is best read following the stand-alone story What Makes Us Human. You can find links to all on my pinned post or on this Tumblr master post.

Non-romantic love, to Suki, serves a similar role as the Sojourner or any other god: a fine concept in theory, but while she respects others’ need for a guiding framework, she can only nod vaguely at love’s existence.

***

They talk in a west-facing corner of the inner gardens, the sun edging towards the valley’s cradling ridgelines. Suki sits with careful stillness, resting her bony wrists and fingers in her lap. Her companion, Mara Hill, twirls a lock of dark hair around her finger with the ease of a woman unaware of her movements’ toll. Few people reach the ends of their lives untouched by disability, but Suki still aches to watch others take their youthful ability for granted … even if Mara’s restless fidgeting suggests anxiety as much as mind-type.

Suki was an artist once, albeit not the kind of craftswoman draped in the world’s renown. She built wonder from bare ingredients. She made the needed and the practical from scraps of thread and fabric. She took her hands’ ability to knead and shape for granted, revelling in others’ appreciation, until the pain built to a degree even she couldn’t deny. Given the option, she’ll always sit in her garden with her knitting needles or workbasket, making.

She can’t reconcile herself to hours spent halting her fingers and wrists in too-often-futile hope of preserving later use.

“Must I explain, one trans woman to another, why we want this?” Suki works to ease her voice, to sound possessed of patience and released of jealousy. “We … dabble, in spells and medicines, parlour tricks to lessen anguish, but this … it can be freedom. When wrought correctly.”

Now, Suki sees little sense in seeking such a transition: she’s had time to forge an accord with her body and gender. If said accord holds a touch of the defiant, rebellion nonetheless sheltered her through aching moments of feeling her body less hers than a chafing suit she’ll endure for this life. Gender, though, only began the war of Suki’s selfhood separating from her own blood and breath, and it long ago won second place on her list of impossible wishes.

What if Mara’s magic can do more than change a body’s sexual characteristics?

What if it can ease Suki’s hands, heal her knees, return to her the gift of unthinking movement?

Mara shifts her hands to twist the untied lace dangling from her bodice. She’s a handsome woman: tall and long-limbed, her cheekbones sharp enough to slice hard cheese. Full lips, wide skirts and a waist-length sable braid soften the flat planes of her face, shoulders and hips. Suki can’t call Mara beautiful, but she may have used the word “ethereal” if Mara didn’t also bare her haphazard humanity: hair falling out of its pins, scores of grass stains marking her petticoats, a waistcoat absent any matching buttons, a dress ten years out of style knotted up to bare clashing stockings and scuffed boots. Life with Mara, Suki suspects, is no small amount interesting, but one needn’t fear from her airs or pretentiousness.

This conversation, regardless, comes none the easier.

“I know you understand,” Suki says, attempting a beseeching gentleness. “How can’t you?”

“It’s a secret.” Mara stares at Suki with a distressingly direct gaze, as though hoping to emphasise her sincerity through eye contact. “Handed down from witch to witch. I’ve sworn oaths to the living and the dead. I can’t. And I won’t.”

Mara Hill is also a terrible liar.

“You insist this isn’t sorcery. It’s witchcraft—a type of magic that can be taught! Why, then, can’t you teach us? Can’t you imagine what we could do, if we could study and understand it?”

Just as Suki regrets such desperation-fuelled bluntness, flashes of brown, red and grey show through the eucalypts and fern-encrusted rockery dividing the outer garden from an interior courtyard. Only two other people in Sirenne stand tall enough to be seen over said wall of rocks, and neither looks towards her. Moll, their face set in their accustomed expressionlessness and their iron-grey hair scraped back in a braid, walks close by their companion: a man with Mara’s cheekbones, his gaze distant and his face cavernous. While health warms her sienna skin, even when moistened by anxiety and dappled sunshine, his sallow complexion provokes no kind adjectives.

Esher Hill is the gaunt, walking embodiment of the nightmare Sirenne’s priests struggle to dispel when discussing medicines and spells—a man who appears drugged and ensorcelled into a puppet-like lifelessness, a state absent all vitality.

His sister caused, provoked or necessitated most of it.

Most.

Like too many guests, Mara brought her brother to the monastery when absent solutions in her home village’s offerings of lay priests, physicians, magic workers and well-meaning family members—a last, desperate resort. Esher wasn’t happy or healthy, but he had muscle and energy enough that Suki decided his taciturnity somewhat intentional. He stopped to pet Sirenne’s horses; he allowed their cats to settle on his lap. He scowled when faced with chattering acolytes. He reacted.

Mara’s power stripped his bones of flesh and tissue in the quest to craft him an almost-cis body. New organs, somehow, grew; others withered and sloughed away like an unused cocoon. Such impossibility should be a miracle, but can one fairly call a tempest that devoured his body and hammered his mind miraculous?

What if, though, this transition becomes a goal identified and worked towards with desire, preparation and consent? What if a patient understands what lies ahead? Can one then cope with magic’s trauma, a difficult moment endured in travelling a chosen road? Or what if they narrow the scope to one change, one part of the body?

Will she then see a butterfly, bloodied but eager to take flight?

Will she then be able to live her last years still wielding her pastry brushes and knitting needles?

“It’s dangerous!” Mara follows Suki’s gaze towards the rockery, her lips pressed together in pale, thin lines. “Can’t you see that? Shouldn’t you?” Her husky voice sharpens like a blade on a grindstone. “And what makes you think I should trust you with it? Or would?”

Suki bites her lip while counting backwards from ten. Her tongue runs to tart even when voicing second and third thoughts, and she fears she offers little sympathy when she finds something worth speaking: “But less dangerous in better circumstances? If he knew, was prepared, agreed, expected…”

If a witch doesn’t work her magic behind the priests’ backs, but that’s less Mara’s fault than Sirenne’s.

The question remains: if a witch fears dysphoria's ache the cause of her brother’s depression, why didn’t she offer this magical transition weeks or months earlier? Why didn’t she gain Esher’s prior agreement and approval? Why did Mara bother to take him to a monastery? That she wrought this after Sirenne’s failures dashes Suki’s hopes: Mara’s supposed witchcraft is sorcery, unpredictable and unreachable. Nothing more than a panicked, desperate deal made with demons, a grave power Sirenne can’t replicate ... even should a priest be fortunate enough to make the same bargain with the same brace of demons.

If demons routinely offered such vast power, how many trans people wouldn’t sell their soul for a body suiting their nature?

“Prepare? After you made me—” Mara’s voice cracks like thick, shadowed frost under morning’s first footstep. “If there were anywhere else, if I thought … we wouldn’t be here!”

Suki shifts in her chair, her hands and feet aching as though a purple-black bruise engulfs her joints. Is it a wild, ridiculous joke that her body throbs as if beaten while showing no wound to draw sympathy? Why must a black eye or nasty scrape provoke sorrow while injuries or illnesses unable to heal garner, at best, a mute acceptance? Why do people following the Sojourner’s path lack comprehension in the second precept’s broadness? Why must a priest spend her day asking questions lacking comforting answers?

Because Amadi’s ideal became her god: question.

Mara’s desperation, too, deserves an answer.

“We failed,” Suki says, her own throat roughening. “We failed to serve Esher’s needs. A man who has too long had those needs unmet, and believes he has failed in even wishing his needs met, reacted to this lack in despair. There’s nothing irrational in that.” She wants to smile, because she can’t not know the rationality behind such a conclusion, but Mara won’t understand. She doesn’t know about Mama Lewis. “We went over our changes with you, for we can’t allow this to again happen. I ask you sincerely: are we now doing something inadequate? Are you unhappy with Moll or Thanh’s service? Within the limits of our resources and ability, what aren’t we doing that you think we should? How can we better help Esher? Help you?”

Suki didn’t assign Esher’s first priest. She didn’t speak or condone the words that gave him reason to lose the last shred of a trust abraded by too many authoritative people. She didn’t know why he needed consideration in the priest given to guide him; the unasked question wasn’t hers to speak. Ignorance, nonetheless, rings like an intimate, personal failure.

Not a failure Sirenne’s priests share as a collective whole.

A failure, terrible and tragic, in Suki.

Could she have tried harder to serve as an aromantic priest?

Mara purses her lips, her green skirt clenched in tight-knuckled hands. “He’s … always been. A little. But only in the last few years was he so distant, and I don’t think … he wasn’t bad like this until after the Thinning and Benjamin.”

Suki takes Mara’s non-answer as indication that, at least for the moment, she has no objection—and perhaps that’s a victory, but what good is winning when the war shouldn’t be fought? Suki sighs, shaking her head, as Moll and Esher move past the gap in the trees, vanishing behind canopy and granite outcrops. Only her garden, in its art-defying muddle of ferns, trees, mushrooms and bright-coloured orchids, remains—and while, ordinarily, such clashing shades appeal to her, today those greens and reds feel another mockery, a symbol and privilege undeserved.

Even when Moll gave her the opportunity to address her neglect, she took retreat in her brusque manner and authority, confident that a conscientious priest wouldn’t examine the shallowness of her answer. She offered reassurance, solved a problem, revealed herself in the most cursory of ways and fled with fears and feelings still buried within her aching bones.

Question.

If she considers god her ideal and Amadi’s ideal her god, why didn’t she?

“Benjamin is your partner, yes?” Suki shifts her left ankle, thinking even a circumlocutory attempt to build rapport better than another futile attempt at questioning. “May I ask what happened at the Thinning? You needn’t answer.”

Mara’s body softens, although she doesn’t ease her grip on the skirt. “Have you had … family, friends, come visiting? After they … pass?”

For all that belief in the Sojourner’s path embodies the human struggle to conceptualise, negotiate and accept death, hir followers still deal in euphemisms. Family come visiting. Bad like this. Suki, in the outspoken rebelliousness of a would-be priest, spent a year into her novitiate chanting “death, death, death” at her mirror before bed, just to prove that death isn’t a black-cloaked reaper summoned upon saying hir name.

Such boldness failed her, of course, when Mama Polly passed.

“There’s always spirits flickering about, but few speak.” Suki barks a hoarse laugh. “A man who desired me and told me that he’d never have broken his neck if I’d first wed him. Both my mothers. Mama Lewis talks too much.”

Such events aren’t for Suki as unusual an occurrence as they are for the non-necromantic laity, but the conversations between the returning dead and the priest who offered guidance on their paths through the life now history aren’t for outsiders. There’s always a few, often those who died in the last year and haven’t yet had their connections to this world stretch thin, who come back to speak rather than observe. Sometimes those spirits come burdened with regret and recrimination; sometimes they express gratitude or relief. Death, drawing closer with every breath, grants the living a night a year where one must look into hir shadow and fearlessly accept, even celebrate, hir company.

She’s none too fond of Mama Lewis’s bitter postmortem moaning, but a salt circle and poker at least puts paid to that nonsense.

Respecting the sacred covenant of life and death doesn’t mean tolerating abuse.

“Really?” Mara blinks, shaking her head. “She came to me, with other dead relatives and villagers—my Aunt Rosie. I think she knew I needed to talk to her. She told me that I don’t have to romantically love a girl to want or love a girl, and they told me all the ways they didn’t love, which made me feel that … I could talk to the woman I wanted. So I did.” A sweet warmth softens and curves her lips, but the speed with which Mara flattens them suggests she isn’t easy with smiling in current circumstances. “And we’re together, now. But Esh … he doesn’t want anyone, and that should be fine, but maybe … it wasn’t good for him to see me and Ben happy.”

She leans forwards, coughing, before wiping her palm on her skirt.

Suki clenches her hands, fighting to ease her expression before Mara catches her face. It rankles, to say the least, when someone happy in an intimate partnership—however non-romantic!—suggests that those without must be broken in their loneliness. How can she ignore the reflections of Mama Lewis, one shape of expected love or partnership replacing another in the same unyielding structures and assumptions? Mama Lewis cut and hewed the shape of Suki’s illnesses, not another’s possession of something she doesn’t want!

Non-romantic love, to Suki, serves a similar role as the Sojourner or any other god: a fine concept in theory, but while she respects others’ need for a guiding framework, she can only nod vaguely at love’s existence.

Anger, though, doesn’t explain the terror stiffening her body.

“Or after seeing you find a less-conventional form of the coupled happily-ever-after,” she says in a voice perilously close to “glacial”, “your kin and village increased their expectations that he should find the same?”

Mara stares, her lips parted as if in surprise or hurt. “I … Uncle Sascha would say that, I guess. So would the Fisher sisters.” She sighs, frowning. “I don’t know. Just that he got worse after Benjamin … right when I thought he’d get better, because Aunt Rosie said that we’re … real, human. Just a less-known ordinary. Even if we didn’t know the specific word before Moll said it.”

“Only your brother knows why,” Suki says in the mild, self-evident comment a guiding priest says to people having difficulty observing—or permitting themselves to observe—the truth before them. The mild, self-evident comment a priest, who doesn’t fear the direction of this conversation, may say to a guided guest. “So why bother yourself with if I didn’t non-romantically pair up with a girl, maybe he wouldn’t have tried to kill himself drivel? Can you go back in time to not pair up? No! Nor should you halt your life just in case it may be the reason!”

Mara’s half-raised eyebrows suggest that she doesn’t agree.

“Girl, the world tells you in so many ways that you shouldn’t non-romantically partner. After all that repetition, you’re inclined to find excuses to obey that! Keeping my brother from attempting suicide feels more reasonable to you than most puerile objections, but is this reasonable? Are you helping him by thinking this? Or are you obliging everyone who thinks you shouldn’t exist by undermining your partnership with misplaced guilt?”

She refrains from mentioning the insult in anyone’s assuming that depression must be provoked by the existence of someone else’s intimate partnership, as though such relationships are so fundamental one must sicken in witnessing another’s contentment! She refrains, unable to think of anything that doesn’t sound like an observation based in betraying knowledge. Shouldn’t they focus less, anyway, on Mara’s limited understanding of non-partnering people and more on the real issue at hand: her trying to craft another impossible?

Even if it means making herself the cause, Mara seems set on wishing together a world possessed of perfect assurance that her brother won’t again attempt suicide.

Sorcery is by far an easier art, but that’s no comforting truth.

Mara glances at Suki’s belt, as if in need of reassurance that she talks to a senior priest. “Are you, uh … well...”

“Am I what, girl? Don’t cluck!”

Mara swallows, stumbling over the word likely strange to her voice. “Aro … aromantic? Because you sound like…”

Aromantic.

A word in a book, discovered by accident.

A word feared, weighted down by her obligation and pain.

A word unsaid, a man nearly dying of its absence.

“Aromantic and allosexual. I like men for bedding. I don’t like partnerships.” Suki speaks with the casualness that shaped her words when speaking to a distressed priest in a vegetable garden, words said now as if they’ll make up for their silent past. Words said devoid of her terror. “I have enough of one with myself.”

She waits, wondering if Mara will subject her to the young, abled trick of past tense, as though sexuality must be Suki’s history and not her present or future. Something accessible only to the hale and young, presuming her sense of another’s sexual attractiveness withers along with her body? Or will Mara grimace, disgusted by the notion of an elderly, disabled woman whose sexuality hasn’t “decently” become distant memory?

She waits for the accusation: why didn’t you say this before?

“So you understand … why it’s … hard, to live unknowing who you are and what you want, what the words are?” Mara’s brow furrows, her hesitant speech giving way to a spurting rush of feeling: “That’s what Aunt Rosie gave us that night, but it came so late. I lived for so long not knowing, without a word, without knowing it an option! That it had a name! And that hurts, even now I have what I didn’t know I wanted or could want. For so long, I didn’t know! Maybe … that’s it, for Esh, the hurting? Or part of it? How can’t it be…?”

How old is she? Twenty-five? Thirty at most? One needn’t own precision in telling another’s age to know that Mara’s adulthood, outside of accident or illness, stands years distant from death’s shadow. Suki draws a sharp breath, fighting to swallow the tart, quill-bristled question clogging her throat: And when do you think I found the word, girl?

Amadi gifted her the other-shape-of-normal permissiveness, but ey died unknowing of the word describing them both.

Ey died, leaving her alone in a world where she feels outdated and unwanted, where everyone sharing in the known power of the word aromantic can’t comprehend her pain but expects her to, immediately and easily, carry theirs.

Mara needs her pain acknowledged, to have someone confirm that possession of a happy non-romantic partnership can’t and shouldn’t erase ignorance’s lingering hurts. Someone who acknowledges that such bruises are long in the fading but one can still build a life worth living. Someone who reflects understanding and the vital, powerful sense of aromantic siblinghood. Someone who can give what she needs and deserves.

Why must Suki provide it? Why not Moll? Why not anyone else?

“Yes.” She swallows, shifting her throbbing hands, fighting to keep the growl from claiming her voice. Another failure! “We all feel the … betrayal, the years lost to ignorance. Why didn’t I know? You’ll have times of hurting, of struggling, of wondering what could have been if your family knew, your friends, your neighbours. When something isn’t yet recognised or accepted, despite being extant and common … pain, for those of us ahead of that coming, isn’t optional. You aren’t alone in that.”

Suki isn’t gentle. Increased social permissiveness towards the crotchety manner discouraged in children and younger adults stands as one of age’s rare benefits. Mama Polly joked that Suki was set to be a grandmother while still a maiden, but Mama Lewis—curse her long-dead soul—didn’t laugh. Even after half a century gone, Suki can still recite her clipped lectures, delivered in the hope that decreased acidity and increased sweetness will help her daughter find the happiness packaged in a loving, romantic partnership.

Mama Lewis’s shade, returning for her once-yearly lecture, still hopes that her now-elderly daughter will soften enough to allow love into her heart.

It should amuse Suki that such gentleness is now demanded whenever she dares reveal herself as aromantic.

Mara nods, her lips pressed together, her jaw tight, her glistening eyes angled towards her lap.

“It could be part of your brother’s feelings. It could be something else. But this second-guessing of his motivations doesn’t help you or him!” Suki changes the subject for Mara’s sake: for a woman fighting to keep from breaking down before a near-stranger. “Where does this get you but exhaustion? You’re only going to chase your guesses around and around until you’re a dog barking at a rat behind a grate—only to finally spot a different rat gnawing on his brain, realise you’ve been barking at this one for no reason, and there’s actually a score of invisible rats feasting on his poor, bloody brain. Does this help you see those invisible rats? Does this barking help your health, girl?”

She absolutely, assuredly isn’t changing the subject because Suki fears the explosion of her own anger and hurt while discussing aromanticism.

Question. How can she?

Mara’s eyes meet Suki’s face in the bulging stare had by someone imagining rodents chewing on grey matter. “R—rats?”

“Chewing brain rats. You want pretty metaphors for a bloody illness? Don’t talk to a priest, then. Pretty metaphors leave people telling themselves depression isn’t illness, just something that can be shouted, shamed or pressured into abeyance. I don’t hold for that.” Suki sighs and attempts to ease Mara’s shock, hating her bluntness’ sharp, gleaming edges. Is she trying to hurt Mara, wounds delivered in return for those unintentionally given? “I know you want to help your brother. You’ll do more for him by asking what he needs, and listening to what he tells you even if it’s ‘nothing’, instead of chasing every rat in the hope they’re the ones eating him. There’s too many rats, girl! When he’s able to cope with your asking, ask. Leave handling the rats to us—because that’s what we’ll teach him.”

If only they’d thought to ensure Mara realised this before she attempted to bludgeon the rat labelled “dysphoria”, but who imagined a village witch owning such power or ability?

Mara nods: perhaps accepting such advice, perhaps planning to avoid future commentary on what she thinks provoked her brother’s attempt. Her silence is, though, more honest than immediate agreement. Better that than false approval or out-of-hand rejection, especially when she hasn’t agreed to a guiding relationship between priest and guest. Especially when Suki has already stepped further over that line than is wise for a priest struggling with herself! Anyway, hasn’t she gleaned enough to make a solid guess—that Mara sold her soul to purchase Esher’s transition? What more need they discuss?

She isn’t a powerful witch keeping her magic a solemn, oath-bound secret.

She’s a frightened sister doing everything she can to hold her brother into life.

Is that another rat set to gnaw on Esher’s brain? Is that, as much as distrust or fear of priestly reaction to sorcery, reason for her denial? Does she seek to keep this secret from Esher and the priests involved in his care to avoid making yet another rat? Does Moll realise this?

Is Mara all that different from Suki herself?

“I’m sorry that I can’t help you.” Mara stands and bows in the abrupt, jerking movements of a woman looking to leave before the conversation leads them anywhere uncomfortable—and Suki feels unreasonably relieved. “Thank you for your advice—and wisdom.” She hesitates, leaving Suki certain that “wisdom” is nothing more than politeness. “I’m glad, I suppose, there’s more people like us here. Maybe … maybe that will help Esh, if things go better.”

“If you think a priest’s guidance may be useful for your own sake,” she says, falling back on well-worn script in the surety that her own words are far too confronting, “please know that our service extends to all. And I hope, one day, aromantics are so ordinary there’s no need to comment.”

Mild, facile, trite.

Her hands throb, and Suki fights to unclench them.

Mara’s face shutters. “You’ve more than enough work with Esh.”

She bows again and, in a frenetic, long-paced stride best described as “hurrying”, heads down the garden path towards the guest quarters.

Trust.

Can she blame Mara for not trusting her when Suki has none to give?

She sighs and stares at her orchids, at the stone rising behind the tangle of shrub and ivy, at the blue-tinged mushrooms threatening to take over the lawn, at the green grass beneath her chair and the cloudless sky overhead. She stares at the rocks and leaves of her sanctuary, thinking about Mara, thinking about Mamas Lewis and Polly, thinking about the conversation with Moll in the vegetable garden, thinking about words unsaid and feelings concealed … but as the sun ebbs lower, she finds no course of action but the obvious.

Question.

Why has she, for so long, chosen avoidance over service? Why has she refused to face her pain, even while knowing the impact her absence has on others? If she preaches the sacred power in guiding another to a better road, why does she refuse another’s gift of the same? Will she leave this world as Mara is now? Or will she trust her own kin, her own ideals—the only god worth her wholehearted belief?

“Aziz!” Suki waves a hand at the acolyte reading on the lawn just out of non-shouting earshot. “Tell Moll that I’d like them to attend me here at their earliest convenience. Please have the kitchen arrange sweets for both of us and my afternoon tea.” She pauses, considering, as Aziz scrambles upright and straightens hir brown robe. “My shawl. And ask Thanh for an additional dose of my pain medicine. Thank you.”

Question.

If Moll is good enough for Esher Hill, they ought to be good enough for Suki of Sirenne.

[gutsymmetry]

canon divergent, blending movie and some comics canon.

available primarily in her canon verse (spanning both historical time periods and the modern day, and compatible with most superhero and other quasi-realistic settings), but a modern, human verse may be added.

long ago, the goddesses of mount olympus gathered to craft a humankind of their own, one to match the creation of the king of the gods, zeus. the results of their work were the amazons, formed from the souls of women who died at the hands of men. the second amazon to wake to life was antiope, and she was to become the amazons’ greatest warrior, their general, and second-in-command to the first amazon, the women’s elected queen, hippolyta. they were able to speak all the languages of the earth, both to fight, and to negotiate, intended to act as arbiters between the nations of mankind and to bring a universal peace. but the course of history never did run smooth, and for thousands of years, the amazons have instead been in hiding, on the sheltered island paradise of themyscira.

antiope has grown over the course of these many hundreds of years. the unending peace on themyscira required her to learn to live beyond certain values--her hatred of injustice and her love of battle and strategy--and develop a new world of her own, one that allowed her to grow her natural gifts, to pursue new interests and private joys. the general now keeps bees; she composes poetry and plays her lyre. she trains her soldiers, waiting for the day when war will come to their safe haven, and she helps her sister hippolyta raise the goddesses’ greatest gift to them: the child they both love, the future champion of peace and justice, the girl who will become wonder woman--diana.

this post will act as a permanent starter call. please feel free to like it if you are interested in receiving memes, starters, etc. from this character.

[itsclydebitches]

Title: Mightier Than the Sword (Chapter Two) 

Fandom: Witcher

Summary: A month after the events of “Rare Species,” Geralt slinks his way into an inn and is faced with the question of how an emotionless man apologies. (TV!canon with some details drawn from the books and Wild Hunt.)

Pairing: Pre-slash Geralt and Jaskier

Word Count (This Chapter): 1,962

Where to read it: Below or on AO3

The new inn, song, and passing of past friends arrived a mere three months later, on a day that was as bright as the first had been bleak. Alone on the roads, Geralt lifted his face to the sun and let it warm his cheeks. Whatever else life might take from him, he’d always have this—and he did not treat such gifts lightly.

In truth, the songs had come earlier. Just a few miles east of that night and Geralt started hearing new tunes sung by drunks and children alike. He didn’t like to admit that he recognized the style. It was true enough to claim that music wasn’t a witcher’s craft... but he recognized it nonetheless. There was no easy way to describe the sensation, only familiarity. Geralt watched a woman hanging clothes, singing a song she only had a handful of words to, and knew that it was one of Jaskier’s.

Something born of his notes. Gallant tales of slicing through wraiths and taking down bandits; surviving armies of neckers and doing right by the people. It was somehow both honest and fabricated, though Geralt supposed that was true of all stories. All he cared about was whether these new ballads meant something. Reconciliation? Forgiveness? Whether he could hope that Jaskier wouldn’t spit at his feet when he next saw him, as so many did? Geralt didn’t know. His memories of the bard’s words to Roach had gone fuzzy. He could no longer believe that he’d heard such kindness over the rain and if it weren’t for the weight of coin in his pockets—keeping him fed and sheltered over these last three months—Geralt would have thought it a dream all together. So no. He had no knowledge of such things... but he found himself hoping nonetheless.

Clearly destiny was a child. In his experience only children could orchestrate such ironic coincidences. For as he tilted his face to the sun and thought of Jaskier, Geralt suddenly heard his voice.

From the woods. Screaming.

He was through the first line of trees in an instant. Before he’d consciously decided to do so, long before any consequences could pop into his head. Geralt dropped Roach’s reins and replaced them with his sword. Through brush. Over boulders. Slipping against mud. With every yard he covered Jaskier’s voice grew clearer until Geralt was finally able to make out his words.

“Rumors!” he cried, causing Geralt to register brief confusion. Jaskier’s voice held the high-pitched string of panic though and that was all that mattered. “Surely the rumors exaggerate?”—Geralt vaulted a felled tree—“I mean, I’ve spoken with many so-called monsters in my time,”—slashed through particularly dense brush—“and they’re always more civilized than people claim,”—palmed a vial of Blizzard and shot the cork into the trees—“so if you lovely, ah... sirs would just hear me out, perhaps we could come to some sort of understanding? Something? Anything?!”

Geralt finally cleared the woods and saw him: bound to a stump at the beginning of the swamp, attempting to reason with a pack of drowners. It was simultaneously the worst and most absurd thing he’d ever seen and for a split second Geralt just stood in shock, useless as a child pre-Trial. It was in that moment that Jaskier’s eyes moved away from the creatures bearing down on him and happened—just happened—to catch sight of him across the way.

“You!” Jaskier said and reality came crashing back down.

He was too far. The drowners too close. With a growl Geralt bent the middle finger of his left hand and thrust outward, a gale bursting forth from his palm. Normally Aard was enough to blast even the toughest opponents off their feet, but Geralt knew from experience that drowners were a tricky bunch. They tended to tangle with the moss and weeds around them, blurring the line between creature and environment. They wouldn’t topple easy so Geralt aimed for the next best thing.

His Sign easily tore the ropes binding Jaskier and he soared away from his would-be killers, landing in a deeper part of the swamp. Geralt caught Jaskier’s indignant shriek right before he went under.

Advancing, a distant part of him hoped the bard knew how to swim. Then Geralt’s mind went blank as muscle memory took over.

That was the easiest way to deal with semi-sentient monsters. Just let his sword do the work, especially when other, compromising thoughts might distract him. So for three minutes Geralt knew nothing but the weight of steel and the pungent smell of creatures born of the mire. When it was over a collection of body parts floated around him, blood spreading outwards onto the water. Geralt sheathed his sword.

A few yards away Jaskier stood, dripping. He hacked up muck with a groan.

Well. If he was going to spit at Geralt, this wasn’t so bad.

“What the fuck?” Jaskier cried.

“You’re welcome.”

“I’m—? Oh no. No, no, no, no, no. I am not thanking you for any of this,” and he gestured to his entire self.

Geralt shrugged. “You’re not welcome then.”

“Yes. Precisely. Quite right. You keep ruining my clothes, Geralt, and I—” Jaskier’s mouth suddenly unhinged, a little more water dribbling out. He absently wiped it away. “I’m mad at you. That’s right, I’m furious, I—hold on. Where are you going?”

It had taken all his concentration to keep from smiling. Because yes, Jaskier was furious, but if he could complain about his outfit than he wasn’t furious enough. Enough to hate him, that is. Not yet.

Suddenly, that confirmation was worth wet boots and the lingering smell of decay.

Geralt turned and started heading back towards Roach. The small bit of warmth in his chest grew at the sound of frantic splashing behind him.

“Geralt? Geralt wait! I haven’t a horse!”

***

A few hours later found them seated around a fire roasting meat. Specifically, the meat of a wolf Geralt had killed after cleaning his sword of drowner residue. Jaskier stared at the white pelt laid out to dry, then pointed to the hunk Geralt was tearing his teeth into.

“Is that cannibalism?” he asked. Geralt grunted.

It would be cliche to claim that they were the first words he’d spoken. In fact, Jaskier had done nothing but talk during their walk back to the road and during all the chores since. It was nonsense though. Silly, rambling thoughts that danced around the conversation they were meant to have. Problem was, Geralt didn’t know how to start it and based on the insistent tapping of Jaskier’s foot, he didn’t know either.

So, more dancing then.

“Another wife?” Geralt asked. Across from him Jaskier was dressed only in his smalls and a blanket, his clothes drying next to the pelt. He looked vulnerable in the dying light. More akin to a child than a man. Geralt suddenly found it hard to reconcile this Jaskier with his cuckolder reputation. Though that grimace told him he needn’t have strained himself.

Jaskier snatched his own portion of the food and raised it for emphasis. “If only. Those drunk cads aren’t nearly creative enough to pull something like this off. You met that one in Cintra. They just want me to drop my pants and,” the spit came down in a chopping motion. “It’s all that and punching, yelling, you know how it is. Tying someone up and leaving them for...what did you call them again?”

“Drowners.”

“Because they...?”

“Drown people.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes with such violence Geralt feared they’d leave his skull. “What a pedestrian name. Honestly, could no one come up with better?”

“Some believe they’re called that because they’re born of men who drowned at sea.”

“Oh! Is that true?”

Geralt ate more wolf. After a long moment of silence Jaskier scowled.

“Fine. Be stoic and boring. I don’t need to know the truth for a good song.” He raised a hand only to realize that the notebook he carried was with his clothes, completely waterlogged. Jaskier finally took a vicious bite of his dinner.  “Hmm. Right. Songs. That’s what did it.”

Geralt blinked. “You were nearly murdered over a ballad?”

“Not all of them are about you,” he shot back. “Apparently bigots are everywhere nowadays. Sing a few ditties painting halflings in a nice light and suddenly you’re getting knocked over the head and dragged out to the swamp. The barbarity! Thought they were poetic about it too. ‘Support monsters and you can be with monsters,’ or some such nonsense. I was still a bit groggy at that point, but... by all the gods what are you doing now?”

The same instinct that had Geralt charging into the woods made him put his food down now, standing and circling around Jaskier to get a look at his head. “You didn’t tell me you were injured,” he growled.

“You didn’t tell me you cared!” and Jaskier slapped Geralt’s hand away, glaring.

He could have said he did. Two simple words. An ‘I do’ and they could move on from this, but Geralt’s jaw felt locked shut and all he seemed capable of was glaring back.

Then Jaskier sighed. “Oh go on,” he said. “I’d hate to lose any of my brilliance to the back of a beer bottle. Consider this recompense. You owe me.”

Geralt slipped fingers into Jaskier’s hair and lightly searched. There was only a small lump, hardly worrying, and something in him loosened. “I just saved your life.”

“Ha! We’ll call that payment for your filling-less pie comment. Your little temper tantrum, however...”

His hands slipped away. “The notes.” It was all Geralt could manage, but Jaskier turned, his expression softening.

“Well yes,” he said. “But I had already given you coin.”

“Thought that was a gift.”

“And I thought you were trying to be less of an ass.”

Fair enough. Geralt returned to his side of the fire and his quickly cooling meat. It tasted sour on his tongue. Ridiculous considering that witchers cared little for taste.

Oddly though, his mouthful improved when Jaskier caught his eye. He tapped one finger against his lips, highlighting the smile there.

“Although... hypothetically speaking, if you did want to make things up to me—not that big bad witchers apologize or anything—but if they did you could always go get my lute.”

It was a shock the ran straight down to the soles of Geralt’s feet. How distracted had he been not to notice that missing bit of Jaskier? It was a worrisome realization. A hint that Geralt had been right the first time around: better to separate now.

Except that after the fire had burned low and Jaskier slept on Geralt’s mat, he snuck off in the direction of the nearest village. It wasn’t a long walk, the would-be murderers not willing to drag their victim far, but it was long enough for Geralt to come to still another realization, much to his chagrin.

The first time he’d saved someone she’d screamed, vomited, and passed out at the mere sight of him. Now Jaskier shrieked in rage, spat out muck, and passed out in his bed, not quite joking about the nightmares. Technically the same and yet so obviously different. What were the chances that he would be walking that road, at that time, precisely when Jaskier needed him?

If destiny existed, she seemed to be a mischievous little thing.

When he reached the village there was still late night life in it, though Geralt didn’t know who he sought and he wasn’t about to punish all for the sins of a few. Still, if he bared his teeth more than usual and refused to hide his eyes that was nothing of any consequence. Geralt found the precious lute behind the bar and a roomful of guilty looks. He had what he’d come for.

Despite that, before he left Geralt stole a new outfit. Sturdy shoes, warm pants, and a shirt of robin egg blue. A new book as well. He carried those apologies through the dead of night, his steps sure.

And if along the way Geralt strummed the lute a bit, committing those notes to memory... well, there were old sayings about trees and silence. If no one was around to hear him do it, who was to say it ever happened at all.

[spunky-89]

A Very Merry Christmas

A/N: Hellloooo, so I know it’s not the weekend, but in my defense, I lost a day. I thought today was Sunday but I have been informed I was wrong. Anywho, this will be a two-parter as I wrote soooo much it felt like I needed to snip it a bit. So without further ado, here is the next part (not in story timeline) of “Domestic(ish) Life”!!!!!

Series Masterlist

Word Count: 3100

The second Thanksgiving ended, you were all in on Christmas. This was not new information to Steve and Bucky. Though Bucky only had a year under his belt where Steve had five. But they knew how much you loved the holiday so even when they weren’t really in the mood, they put on the Santa hats and smiled because it made you happy. And there was nothing they loved more than seeing you happy. ---------

“Come on, come on, come ooonnn,” You whined as you tried to drag the two super soldiers into the tent.

“We’re coming,” Steve laughed.

“Not fast enough.” you groaned and ditched them to head into the tent in front of them.

“I don’t understand why we don’t do this-”

“If you say the old fashion way I swear Bucky, I will murder you.” You glared as he came up behind you.

He put his hands up and laughed, “All right, message received.”

“Good, now put these muscles to use and pull that tree out for me.” You asked as you patted his chest and pointed to a tree towards the back.

You knew that you could actually go to a tree farm in New York, but your family had always gotten them from the tents at Home Depot, Lowes, or just a stand off the main road. It was one of the traditions you couldn’t let go of. That and needing to get a real tree, even when you were alone and had to drag it up to your apartment by yourself. 

Steve came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist, resting his head on your shoulder. The two of you shared a quiet laugh as you watched Bucky fight to get the tree you wanted from the pile. 

“Thank you for doing this with me. I know it’s kind of silly, but-”

“Hey, it’s not silly. It’s something you love and something that means a lot to you. You know we’re there if it means making you happy.” He said. Bucky then let out a string of curses under his breath as he finally got the tree out. “And I can’t say I don’t enjoy myself.”

You giggled and moved forward to evaluate the tree.

Two hours and three Tree Tents later, you had found your perfect tree. The boys helped bring it up and set it in its base. You smiled, clapped, and did a little dance once it was in place. 

“I’m glad you’re happy, but I am never doing that again,” Bucky grumbled.

“Aw come on, don’t be like that.” Steve teased.

“There is sap all in the groves of my hand. That shit is never coming out.” 

“Le gasp! We do not use that kind of language sir!” You exclaimed in fake shock.

“God I hate you guys.” 

“But seriously,” You giggled as you pecked Steve on the cheek in apology, “I told you to wear gloves. It is not my fault you didn’t listen.” 

“I didn’t think they were necessary!”

“Well, you should know that I’m always right and you should really listen to me more.” You smiled.

“Whatever, let’s just decorate it.”

“Sorry hunny, but we can’t decorate quite yet. We need to give it a day or two to make sure it’s all puffed out.”

“I have no idea what you just said or why that’s a thing,” Bucky stated as he plopped next to you on the couch. 

“It meeaanns, the trees from tents are usually all wrapped up, so it takes them some time to flatten out. So if we put lights and ornaments on it now, they are liable to just fall off once the branches have adjusted.” You explained.

“I see. I still think it’s stupid and next year we’re taking you to a tree farm.”

“Oh, so you’re already planning for next year huh?” You teased.

“You can’t get rid of me princess.” He said as he grabbed you and pulled you into his lap as he hugged you tight and layed kisses all over you while you giggled.

-----------------------

The boys were extremely unhappy when a mission popped up two weeks before Christmas. They were so excited to do all the fun Christmas things with you for your first official Christmas as a couple. You assured them it was fine, as it was just a day after all. You firmly held the belief that the day you celebrated didn’t matter, as long as you were celebrating with the ones you love. So off they went.

You were almost kind of glad they were gone. It gave you plenty of time to get their gifts done. You firstly picked up some of the gifts you and Bucky had discussed for Steve and the same with Bucky’s. You had all made the decision to include each other in the gift-giving process to make sure no one got the same things. It was working out pretty good. You did decide to do something extra for both the boys. You wanted to spoil them and it was something you’d been planning for a while anyway. So you got to work. Though you loved buying gifts, you also loved making them. It made you feel like it was just a touch more personal. Luckily you had some time off and were able to put it to use. You actually made it a girls’ night. Nat and Wanda weren’t needed for the mission, so you invited them and Pepper over. You all had a ball, mixing wine and crafts. Though they were all crafty in their own right, they always said your assistance and expertise made it way easier and the product much prettier. Some of the creations were just for fun, or in Pepper’s case, a fun gift to give the man who had pretty much everything.

“So what’s the deal with that?” Nat asked as she was laser-focused on her wine glass, not the one that was full, the one she was painting.

“Well, I’ve been working on this for months, bullying Tony and even enlisting Maria’s help to gather some relics from their past and- I don’t know. I thought it would be cute.” You said with a shrug.

“Oh it’s adorable, I just wasn’t sure what it was from or where you got the idea.” She assured you.

“Oh, it’s from one of my favorite movies.” You explained.

“I see,”

“Hey (Y/N/N), how do you use this thing again?” Wanda asked, staring at the Cricut with hatred in her eyes. You laughed as you put down what you were working on and went over to show her.

---------------------------

When the boys returned only five days later, they were thrilled. There was a minor concern that their mission would mess up the holidays, but luck was on your side for this one. But they were faced with a new problem. Christmas was coming fast, and they were stumped at what to get their girl. They knew very well she wasn’t super materialistic and cared more for small gestures then grand ones. But they were just so unsure of what to do. This was the first official Christmas as a triad, and they were panicking. 

“I feel like you gotta go jewelry, my man, it’s a classic,” Sam suggested when the boys brought their fears and worries to him.

“But that’s just it, it’s classic. She deserves more than that.” Bucky said with a groan.

“I don’t know, jewelry is pretty romantic. And it can be kind of personalized for her.”

“Still not what we’re looking for though,” Bucky argued.

“Hey, you asked for my help!”

“No Steve asked you. For some reason,”

“Stop it, both you.” Steve sighed, pinching his nose between his fingers and shaking his head.

“I’m just saying, I mean, how many successful relationships has he had?” Bucky asked,

“I’ve had relationships!”

“Name two that have lasted longer than 2 months.”

“Listen here-”

“Enough.”

The three men sat in silence for a while after that.

“What about a companion?” Asked a female voice. Steve and Sam jumped a bit at the sudden appearance of Natasha. 

“What?”

“Like a pet or something. I mean she’s always sad when she’s left alone when you guys go on missions.”

“No no, that part I got.” Bucky said, “But how the hell did you know what we were talking about?”

“You guys have been struggling for a week. It’s getting really close to Christmas, I gave an educated guess.”

“You scare me,” Sam said, completely straight-faced.

“Oh, I know that.” She said, smiling innocently at him.

“I don’t know Nat, an animal is so much work.” Steve said, “And they usually end up destroying a lot.” 

“Yeah, but (Y/N) is great with animals.” She argued.

“I don’t know,”

“I kinda like the idea.” Bucky chimed in.

“Of course you would. You want a pet just as much as she does.”

“All the more reason. It’s a two-for-one gift.” Bucky said a bright smile on his face.

“I hate you.”

--------------------

An hour later the two men were at a local animal shelter asking the kind workers for help. The receptionist freaked out for a minute but was able to get over her shock and help them. They took a picture with her but made her promise not to post it anywhere until after Christmas as to not ruin the surprise. She willingly agreed.

“So, are you looking for a dog or a cat? Or something else?” She asked as she led them to a back office to talk so they wouldn’t be seen by others out in the main area. 

“Uh, we’re not really sure actually,” Steve admitted.

The woman laughed and had them sit down to chat.

“Okay, so this is for your mystery girlfriend I assume?”

“Yeah, we want to get her a companion for when we’re gone, but we’re not sure what would be best,” Bucky explained.

“Alright, does she have a preference for one type of animal?”

The two boys snorted. 

“Anything that has fur and four legs.” Bucky laughed, 

“Well, that’s not true, she also loves birds and bats.”

“Oh true, can’t forget the bats.” 

The woman looked at the two icons in front of her, fond smiles on their faces as they spoke of their lover. She hoped she could one day find someone who would look like that when they talked about her. “I feel that I'm the same way.” She laughed, “Unfortunately, we don’t rescue bats here but we have lots of furry friends.”

“Do have any animals that have been here for a while? Or any animals that you guys don’t think anyone is going to take?”

“Well, we have quite a few that have been here for a year or more, a few senior animals which are less popular, and then animals who have some form of illness or disability.”

“Not one with an illness or disability. Though I’m sure she would love it unconditionally, I think a healthy animal would be better.” Steve said.

“So judgmental Steve,” 

“Shut it punk,” Steve said as he glared. He turned back to the woman who was smiling as she watched the two men.

“Come on, I’ll show you a few different critters and you can see what you think will complete your family.”

She led them out the door and down a hallway. Immediately they could hear the barking. 

“So, these are some of the dogs who need special attention or are small enough we can fit them in the kennel. We have bigger dogs and healthy ones outside in big pens so they have room to roam.” The woman explained. 

She led them to a cage with a small shaggy terrier. It started yapping as soon as the boys walked up.

“So this is Nancy, she’s 3 years old and she’s been here for 8 months. She had some heartworms but she is finally done with treatment and is ready to find her forever home.”

The two boys shared a look.

“She’s cute but I don’t think we want a tiny dog,” Steve said.

“Specifically no yappers,” Bucky added.

The woman laughed and nodded, “I don’t blame you. But that will help our search a little bit.”

She then led them outside where they could see a number of fenced-in areas with dogs of all kinds running, sleeping, or playing with their toys.

“So, first we have Pluto, he’s a 6-year-old Lab/Pit mix. He’s a sweetheart but people get scared with him being part pitbull. He’s active but not so much that he’s too much to handle. He does enjoy going for walks and playing with his ball. He also loves tug-of-war, but I usually warn people about hurting their shoulders due to his strength, but I get the feeling you two won’t need to worry about that.” She smiled as she crouched down to call over the dog.

“Yeah, I think we’ve got that covered.” Steve laughed.

Bucky got down right next to the worker and started petting him through the fence.

“Oh, aren’t you a cutie. Oooh, you’re so sweet.” Bucky cooed.

“I’m gonna live to regret having you here aren’t I?”

“Listen, these cuties need someone to love them. Let me live my life.” Bucky snapped playfully defensive.

Steve laughed and they all moved on to the next dog, then onto cats, and finally the birds and small critters like hamsters and ferrets.

---------------------

Their next stop was the pet store. They talked to the woman at the shelter about what supplies they would need and she gave them a detailed list with some things that weren’t necessary, but might be good to have.

They never realized how many toys you could get for animals. Needless to say, they were extra glad for the instructions as they would have been lost without them. They had put their new family member on hold to be picked up on Christmas Eve and somehow figure out how they were going to smuggle it into the apartment. But they would worry about that later. Right now they were arguing over colors.

“We should get the pink or purple, they’re girl colors,” Steve argued.

“Did you really just say that? Do you know what (Y/N) would say if she heard that?” Bucky asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Yeah, you’re right.” Steve nodded, realizing his mistake.

“Obviously,”

“Don’t get smart with me punk.”

“Whatever, we still need to pick a color.”

“What about (F/C)?”

“No, that’s a weird shade. She would hate that.” 

“What about this one?” Steve asked, holding up a sparkly red/orange one with little brown flecks in it.

Bucky tilted his head. “It’s very fall, but I think she’ll love it.” 

“My thoughts exactly.”

“One thing down, a hundred to go.” Bucky sighed looking at the list.

“I don’t want to hear it, this is all on you pal. You wanted to do this.” Steve said.

“Oh I know, I have no regrets.”

---------------------

Once they had all of the stuff, they made a quick stop to get bags, boxes, and wrapping paper. They knew they would have to wait until tomorrow to wrap their gifts as by now you were bound to be home from work and they had too much stuff to hide effectively. 

They were so glad they had figured this out because they were down to the wire. It was only five days till Christmas.

With it being so close to Christmas you were practically glowing and floating on air. There was constantly a Christmas candle burning and music playing. After all the stress of the year between missions and dealing with telling people about your relationship, the boys were glad to see you let loose and be happy. You were only minorly stressed out because you had offered to host a small Christmas Eve get together with a few of the team who didn’t already have plans. Though you would all be gathering at the Tower for Christmas dinner. But on Christmas Eve it was just going to be Sam, Wanda, Vision, Natasha, and Bruce.

You had grand plans of making all sorts of delicious baked goods for both meals, but on top of it, you had to make an actual dinner for Christmas Eve. But you were thrilled. You loved hosting events and you were ready to hold a holiday in your own space. The boys helped you clean everything and make sure all the presents for the team were wrapped, as well as the presents for each other. You managed to wrangle Steve into assisting you with some of the cooking and decorating of the desserts. Bucky had long been banned from the kitchen because he infamously ate everything and you would end up having to make more. So he was stuck on cleaning duty and doing other minor jobs for you. 

-----------------

After a whirlwind of activity leading up to the big night, it was here. You all had discussed it and decided to get a bit dressed up, especially since Tony had decided that it was going to be a pajama dinner. So while the food was finished cooking, you got all dressed up in a dark red, sparkly, knee-length dress. You did your make-up and put on some jewelry before topping the look off with heels you knew you would take off within half an hour. Each of the boys stuck with a nice pair of jeans and a button-up. Both looked absolutely delicious. Not long after you all finished getting ready, you heard the first knock at the door.

As everyone arrived, wine and mixed drinks were served and you all gathered at the table for the meal. As they all sat, you stayed standing.

"Before we all enjoy this meal, I just wanted to say, thank you. This has been a rough year between missions gone wrong and huge fallouts. I want to say thank you for being my family when my family was being dicks. I firmly believe that family isn’t defined by blood but by love. I feel so incredibly lucky to have wonderful people like you surrounding me and trying to keep my dumbasses safe." Everyone laughed a bit, but your eyes had started tearing. "I love you guys. Thank you for accepting me into your family and for understanding that love comes in many forms. Merry Christmas." You finished, raising your glass, tears trickling down your cheeks. 

Everyone chorused a 'Merry Christmas' and you sat between your boys, who both squeezed your hands and kissed your cheeks. 

[diusdice]

As an extension to this post, I made some pre-Gods (the ones who created the world, in this case Yurillia)

The First God

Before Yurillia had the Gods it does now, there was but one God - Ania - who created the world in its barest form. While she had the power to create the world, she quickly decided that she’d need help with the detailed aspects of this new existence. Ania divided herself into seven - and created the Inanis Gods, or the original Gods. 

Goddess of the Sun, the Moon, and the Sky - Stratia

With a gentle breath, Stratia breathed the air into Yurillia, granting the world its atmosphere and skies. Stratia set to work on building a giant pyre in the sky to gift Yurillia warmth and light, and once she was done, she created stars to brighten the night. Finally, she reached into the earth and pulled out three lumps of clay, before sending them into orbit, creating the three moons. 

God of Valleys, Caverns, and Caves - Junis

Armed with his pickaxe, Junis carved out the empty spaces in the world. He carved out the depths into which the water could flow freely, and the caves to provide shelter from the intense sun. Eventually, he divided Yurillia into various continents and islands, leaving room for water to fill between them. 

God of Mountains, Hills, and Cliffs - Silex

Like a sculptor working with clay, Silex crafted the heights of the world. He molded the bare ground into small hills at first, before building larger and larger hills that became known as mountains and volcanoes. In addition, he created the cliffs off of the edge of the world - he truly crafted all of the peaks across Yurillia.

Goddess of Rivers, Streams, and the Open Ocean - Deria

It is said that, as Yurillia’s topography was nearly complete, Deria was devastated that she hadn’t found anything to gift the earth yet, and began to cry. Her crying, which lasted for weeks, pooled in the rifts created by Junis, and created the streams. As she continued, her tears rolled further to create the rivers; the ponds; the lakes; and eventually the vast oceans that cover Yurillia. 

God of Forests, Meadows, and Fields - Cael

With the fortune of Deria’s tears, Cael was able to create simple plants. At first, he started with algae and mosses, before carefully cutting out individual blades of grass. As his creativity built, he brought more colour to the world, and painted wildflowers across the fields of the world. Finally, he slaved over building the flowers taller and taller, and eventually created the trees and forests.

God of Ice, Glaciers, and the Wastes - Erogio

Hello is a God characterised by a bitter indifference to creation. While a part of Ania, he was hardly a big part of the development of Yurillia. Seeking to isolate himself away from the rest of the world, Hello froze the extremities of the oceans to create barren wastelands of ice. He is often forgotten about when talking about the Inanis and given little credit.

Goddess of Life - Vivelia

Vivelia is the only surviving Inanis, and was the last to offer her creation to Yurillia. She, upon seeing the beauty and perfection of the new world, decided to gift it with life - starting, at first, with simplistic life forms, before becoming more complex. Finally, she created the first peoples of Yurillia, and was promptly worshipped by them. Their prayers brought her more power, and with it, the other Gods faded into obscurity. In time, Vivelia would create more Gods to join her.

[problematicshipper]

Arranged Marriage AU

(Peter is 16, and Tony is 20)

An arranged marriage AU where Peter’s parents are both alive and own Parker Industries. It’s taken Richard and Mary decades of dedication to their craft in multiple fields of science, but they’re finally a force to be reckoned with. Establishing rivalries with other companies such as Oscorp, and Pym Labs. Parker Industries specializes in helping out the common man, and the help. Donating over 55% of their income to many helpful causes, and even having other family members such as Ben and May Parker open several homeless shelters in the Manhattan area alone.

Born and raised into this new era for his family is Peter Parker. Who is being shown the reins by his parents, and even has delved into biological sciences and some chemistry here and there. He’s shown on the covers of several science magazines, and many articles speak of the Prodigal Parker Son. One such news cover starts a rumor about Peter and the other children of famous scientists such as Harry Osborn and Tony Stark. Claiming that with Peter’s growing popularity among the public, he could easily overthrow the “Pompous Princes”  and lead the innovative world.

These rumors cause spite among other gifted children Peter’s age, and force him to become an outcast. Until Harry Osborn approaches him with a wink and a smile and tells Peter that he disregards all the rumors, and doesn’t think he’s a bad guy. Peter immediately melts into Harry’s presence and preens at the approval. He’s glad to have found a friend who is willing to hear from his perspective, and not some jackal from the Bugle or wherever. A friendship is quickly forged where Harry admits to Peter that he was originally set up by his father to befriend him to gather information. But after meeting Peter, he’s thrown all incentive to do his father’s will out the window. Peter is glad that Harry is honest about his past ulterior motives and the two remain best friends.

One day, Peter’s parents reveal they have life changing news for him. They’ve discussed with merging with another company to heighten their goals financially. While they are leading an ever growing company, there’s only so much they can accomplish on their own. This way, by joining forces with Stark Industries, they can accomplish so much more, and open up hundreds, if not thousands more job opportunities.

Peter is ecstatic until he learns the catch: He has to marry the Stark’s son and heir, Tony Stark.

Naturally, he isn’t too stoked about being forced to marry someone he doesn’t even know. He tries to get out of the situation, but his parents are guilt tripping him into conceding and just going through with it. Claiming it was the only way to get the Starks to agree with the merge. Peter calls bullshit and storms off, calling Harry to meet up with him. He spends the rest of the day in Harry’s car crying. Exclaiming how he can’t believe that his parents could do such a thing to him. Harry listens and calmly suggests bringing it up again when Peter’s head is more clear.

Peter never gets the chance because the announcement of the betrothal spreads like wildfire all across the nation the very next day. Peter locks himself away in his room, refusing to speak to either of his parents. He feels like a pawn that his parents are using to further their own careers without any consideration for his feelings.

The only person who Peter allows to enter his room is his uncle Ben, who serves as a shoulder to cry on, and an open ear for listening. Peter asks if it’s possible for his aunt and uncle to adopt him as a last resort. Ben, clearly upset with the decision that his brother and sister-in-law made for their son, sadly has to decline.

“I don’t want to be trapped in a loveless marriage, Ben. I want to be able to do whatever I want - I should be able to do whatever I want with my life!”

“I know, Peter. I am sorry.” And Ben means it.

A week passes before Peter is pulled out of his room to ready himself for the ‘meeting the fiance’ event. He scoffs as he looks over himself in the mirror. He’s sure that most couples have already established a relationship and a bond with one another before going the next step into marriage, but whatever. Apparently he doesn’t get to write his own story.

Admittedly, Peter doesn’t know much about Tony Stark other than he’s the heir to Stark Industries, and is somewhat of a flake. He’s never really attended any of the balls, or awards ceremonies that he and Harry, and all the other future heirs were forced to attend. Rumor has it the young Stark often plays hooky during events where his parents make their appearance to spite his father, Howard.

And of course, Peter knows what Tony looks like. He has to admit, he is handsome. That compiled with all the floating rumors paints a mess of a picture that Peter isn’t sure he’s ready to deal with. He’s going to have to spend the rest of his life living with a total stranger who probably won’t even spare him a passing glance. The thought of his bleak future makes his heart clench in so much hurt, it springs out tears from his eyes. Peter curses himself, wiping at his face when his mother comes around to let him know they’re ready to leave. Peter turns to leave without even acknowledging her or his father.

The proposal party is held at The Plaza. Everybody who’s anybody has attended. Most are people whom Peter has never met in his life. All congratulating him on his engagement. With fake smiles, and forced ‘thank-yous’, Peter steals glares at his parents, who coincidentally ignore him in favor of talking to the goddamn Mayor and the Starks.

However, Peter does notice that the Starks seem uncomfortable. With Howard looking at his watch every minute, and Maria glancing over  the crowd to the door. He swears he hears Howard murmur something along the lines of, “Better not be late, I swear to God.” Instantly, Maria focuses on her husband, rubbing his arm in comfort. Attempting to calm the ever growing angry man. Peter briefly wonders if Maria married Howard willingly, or if she was shoehorned into a similar position when she was younger.

The party goes on for a couple of hours. A good chunk of the guests are either sitting down looking bored, or shifting uncomfortably. Tony was supposed to have arrived hours ago. Seems the rumors of him being a flake are true after all. Peter sighs, and walks outside onto the balcony. At this rate he wouldn’t be surprised if he was left at the altar.

Peter gazes down to the traffic below, envious of the freedom of others. He’s shook out of it by the voices of partygoers growing in volume behind him. It’s a mix of gasps, laughter, and screams. He warily steps back inside the building just in time to see Tony Stark finally making the scene.

In the most outlandish clothes possible. The man looked like a mix between Willy Wonka and Pippi Longstocking. Mismatched undershirt with a blazer that seemed to be too small on him. Short pants that rode up his waist, and long socks with two different dress shoes on. A pair of Persol sunglasses perched atop the bridge of his nose.

Tony Stark struts through the party like he owns the place. Lifting his glasses at some people to wink at them, pointing finger guns at others, and flashing that huge and gorgeous smile at everyone he can. He stops in front of his parents. To Peter’s surprise, they seem unaffected by their son’s interesting choice in attire. Unlike everyone else around them who are either snapping pictures, or recording live video.

It’s when Peter looks towards his parents for their reactions that gets him to genuinely smile for the first time in weeks since the announcement. They are both naturally horrified by Tony Stark. His appearance and demeanor speaks volumes. Mary brings Richard down to her level to whisper in his ear. Peter can’t make it out, but it’s clear they’re reconsidering their decision. Good.

Then Tony turns to face Peter, and the air of swagger enveloping him all but disappears. His face softens to surprise and shock, and he ignores whatever it is that Howard is saying to him. Eyes locked on Peter, he pushes his way to his betrothed that he finally gets to meet. Tony lifts his glasses to rest on his head, and Peter’s breathing comes to a halt. His stomach litters with butterflies, and he’s pretty sure he’s shaking.

“Hey.” says Tony.

“Uh, h-hi.” Peter replies in a daze.

Tony shifts in place, and pockets his hands. “So, you’re Peter, hm? My fiance?”

“Yeah.” Peter answers meekly.

“Well then, Peter,” Tony stretches out his arms, opening himself up for evaluation. “You like what you see?”

Before Peter has a chance to answer, Howard is on them, roughly pulling at Tony’s arm to turn him around. Peter frowns.

“Tony, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” Howard hisses through clenched teeth. “In front of all these people? In front of the Mayor? Our supporters.”

“Didn’t realize this was your party, Howard,” Tony scoffs then gestures to all the attendees. “Or theirs for that matter.”

“Tony please,” Maria pleads in a hush tone. “Don’t make a fool of yourself.”

“Aw, come on, mama. It’s what I do best, right?” Tony turns and smiles at Peter who can’t help but return the gesture.

“Howard? Maria?” Richard and Mary rush over. “Can we talk? Privately?”

With a sharp leer from Howard, Tony rolls his eyes as he watches the four adults excuse themselves. Howard makes a brief apology the the guests, and virtually sucks the mayor’s dick in front of everyone before exiting the room.

Slowly, the guests go back to partying. Some leaving after all the hubbub has died down. Everyone gives Tony and Peter some space to get to know each other.

“I didn’t mean to embarrass you, Peter.” Tony mumbles to him. “It was never my intention.”

“I know,” Peter believes him. “I figured the news must have struck you the wrong way too.”

“Yeah, I was so pissed when my parents told me I was going to be involved in a forced marriage. Especially after they told me who it was I was betrothed to.”

Peter felt his heart sink. Was he really that big of a disappointment?

“Because I got worried that I wouldn’t be good enough for you, so I figured I’d pull this whole charade to give you and your parents a chance to back out.” Tony looks toward the doorway the parents went through. “Looks like it worked.”

“Wait, you thought that you wouldn’t be good enough for me?” Peter gasped. “Are you joking? You’re Tony Stark! You’re smart! You’re handsome! You’re funny! Who wouldn’t want to marry you?”

Tony cocked his head to the side, mouth widening in an open grin. “You think I’m funny?”

Peter stammers, “W-well, I… I mean, yeah. I think you’re… pretty funny.”

“You turn really red when you’re embarrassed. It’s cute.”

Peter had no idea how to respond to that. He shifts under Tony’s hooded gaze and honestly, he wants more of it. Wants more of Tony. He doesn’t want to end the engagement.

“I like you.” Peter blurts out.

Tony blinks. “Okay. I like you too?”

Peter groans, “No, I mean… I want to get to know you more. I don’t want to call off the engagement, or have my parents do it. If you know, that’s alright with you too?”

“You really want to subject yourself to this mess?” Tony gestures to himself.

“Hey, I have self-confidence issues myself. So maybe, we can be messes together?”

“Sounds nasty.”

“Not what I meant!”

Tony just smiles and takes Peter by the hand, leading him away from the party, away from the scolding judgement of their parents. They make it outside where Tony has the valet bring his car up to the entrance. He opens the side door, allowing Peter to sit down before closing it, and getting in the driver’s side.

“Where are we going?” Peter asks, excitement overtaking his senses. He’s slightly bouncing in the seat, which makes Tony laugh.

“Wherever you want, baby.”

Peter thinks for a second, “The beach, maybe?”

They spend most of the afternoon and early evening along The Hamptons shoreline, hand in hand.

[arcane-literary-dreams]

Insomnia headcanons for the other three as well?

So I have decided instead of max 3 characters per headcanon request that it’ll be 6! Now I understand that’s all the romance-able characters, but, I am willing to do some side characters to a certain extent, though it will take me longer! Thank you! I will be making those edits to the rules and rbing soon~

I hope you enjoy!

Muriel

He had first found out when you arrived at his door late at night, the faint scent of softened earth and petrichor clinging to you, a slightly damp blanket sheltering you from the mist of night as you stood before him in your nightclothes.

Muriel has always cared so much for your well being, wanting to make sure you’re safe and out of harm’s way.

In this case, he wants to make sure you’re taking care of yourself as well!

At first, he’d be hesitant and just the slightest flustered, almost unsure of what to do from here on.

After letting you in, the both of you sat faced each other for what seemed to be an eternity.

It would be a soft murmur, an inquiry so faint you hadn’t known if it was simply sleep deprived thoughts, as he asked if, well, if he could help with anything.

As you were exhausted, and you knew, you wanted to sleep, but all methods previously seemed to fail, you simply wanted to go to a source of comfort.

And so you ask, first, if he could hold you. If he’s okay with that, if he’s comfortable, that you didn’t mind if he did other things, just that you wanted to be held.

To which he reddens visibly, but god, he’s definitely alright with this.

He would allow you to scoot close, legs crossed, and arms to the side so that you could sit yourself across his lap, legs hanging over the side of his thighs.

Carefully, any sharp chains or potentially harmful articles of clothing are removed, leaving his bare neck and shoulders. You would wrap your arms around his neck, burrowing your face into his shoulders as he fumbled about.

As to not wake you, he would quietly, unsurely begin whittling, arms encircled around you just the lightest, so he could move with ease.

A soft silence would ensue, and you would be lulled to sleep with the gentle rise of his chest, the deep scent of myrrh comforting and familiar. Light crackling of fire and the repetitive, quiet dull of whittling would eventually lure you to sleep.

He wouldn’t immediately notice you has fallen asleep, but a few moments after, he would carefully place aside his whittling knife and half finished statue to move you to bed.

Inanna would help a bit, perhaps shift the furs about, and once you were tucked in, she would lay her head upon your abdomen, the slight weight rather nice.

Of course, Muriel would finish his little craft, before placing it alongside whatever belongings you had hauled with you. It would be a subtle gift, he hoped.

From then on, he would quietly ask about your sleep from time to time, albeit hesitantly and almost indirect it seems!

With some extra myrrh, and a lovely carving, deep within the latest of the night you would run your fingers along each individual face and edge of the statue, and even if he’s not there, you slip into sleep once more.

Portia

She had caught you one night, wandering throughout the gardens of the palace. Extremely curious as to your whereabouts, she had questioned your doings with a playful wink.

Finding out of your lack of sleep, she would a little surprised, but intrigued, having learned more about you.

She would offer the fluffed up and ready for cuddling pillow pile within her cottage~!

It would be a welcoming feeling, the soft, tender cushions surrounding your tired body, familiar scents wafting about as she lit a few dim candles

After fetching you a nice warm cup of chamomile tea, she would sprawl out alongside you, and what would have been a long night along soon turned into a chatter filled sleepover, the two of you sharing stories and loud laughter.

Portia would be talking animatedly, though pausing when you leaned your head upon her shoulder.

She would then guide your head into her lap, carefully as to make sure you weren’t hurt! Setting your cup to the side, she would smile down at you, gaze loving as she looked upon your tired face.

Her hands would entangle within your hair the best they could, carefully running her hands through your hair, each individual strand, or perhaps merely playing with the tips of it, or curling it around her fingers as her voice grew softer.

Of course, Pepi had joined the pile at some point in time, and was currently cuddling upon your stomach, perhaps kneading softly into your belly as you breathed softly.

She would continue to do this until you fell asleep, glimmering moonlight slipping in from the open window, and the gentle breeze lulling the both of you into the clutches of sleep.

It would become a habit, to lovingly play with your hair or massage your scalp lightly during sleepless nights.

She’s quite good with her hands, loving and delicate, forceful when need be, she absolutely adores feeling your muscles begin to relax and unwind beneath her touch.

Portia might tease you lovingly about that as well~

Lucio

Either stirring within the night to find you wide awake, sitting at the balcony staring out the window, or perhaps with you knocking at his door quietly within the depths of the night, either way he is at first flirty, and provocative at seeing you.

After all, it isn’t usual for late night visits, or for you to be awake at this time~

Or at least, from what he was aware of. With some time, you explain your issues sleeping.

He may actually be a bit confused at first! But, with how sometimes his beloved animals need help calming down for the night as well, he’ll begin to somewhat understand??

Lucio would want to drown you in as many luxuries as you wish! Pamper you, find a way for you to relax!

Have all your favorites ready for you, honestly, your favorite drinks (even if your drink is something that may cause you to get energetic yikes he just wants to shower you), foods, clothes, anything!

An extremely extravagant, fancy late night meal~ perhaps with some lovely desserts in bed!

Although all this is quite nice, truly you wish to sleep,,,

He would be extremely proud of how grand his bed is, with all his favorite blankets and pillows and textures, combined with your own, it’s a personal heaven for the both of you!

He himself may already be a bit tired, at this point,,!

The hounds, having followed you two to his room (at the familiar scent of chamomile tea), would bump their noses at your hands, bringing attention to them momentarily.

Hesitantly, he’ll allow the borzois to slip into the bed alongside you two!

Mercedes and Melchior will be laying around you two, nuzzled up to one another, for brushing against your legs, curling around your feet.

He would pull you close, sharp claws of his prosthetic carefully gripping at your shoulder, prickling just the very slightest.

With Mercedes resting her head upon your side, it’s rather comforting, added to the tender, occasional light tugs and strokes of your hair from Lucio, it easily lures you into the clutches of sleep.

He sleeps like a baby, so if he falls asleep with a claw entangled within your hair…. Danger,,

In the future, it may as well become just a comfy cuddle pile of animals.

Thank you so very much for requesting~! I found that these were quite a bit longer than the others,, as I got a feel for them haha,,? I hope these are alright,!

[bluepenguinstories]

Happiness Overload Chapter Thirty-Two

Needle slid in. Rough armor, soft skin. Duly noted.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA--” Erupted from the soldier's mouth.

My head tilted.

“Why do you scream?” I leaned forward, inquisitive.

No response. Skin shifted to a beautiful shade of green. Teal, or something akin to it. Some may protest that teal is more of a shade of blue, but it is a shade nonetheless.

“I can imagine such a procedure would be painful, yes,” I noted. “I remember when I injected myself. I thought I had been given the lethal injection, but soon, I felt rejuvenated.”

Soldier screamed further, gasped, then made seething sounds. I took note of each one, though lacking in a note pad, my memory was all the record I needed.

“Rejoice, man! You are proof that miracles can happen! Look at this,” I pointed to my arm, or my multitude of mini hands. The soldier croaked, puffed his cheek, and looked over. It was beginning. “Yes, you may find it odd, but this is the beauty of becoming part axolotl! Who knows what you, nay, what the others may become!”

Upon opening his mouth, the soldier spoke:

“Wow! I have GOT to tell the others!”

I nodded. “You will, you will.” I handed him the syringe. “I want you to spread this gift to the others.”

I released him and slid back into the shadows of the laboratory. Multiple soldiers ran in, the alarm having been alerted to Polo and I's presence. Polo was long gone, through the vents. I, on the other hand, was about to witness the birth of the next step for humanity.

As they ran in and stormed the place, before they could notice me, my acquired froggy friend lunged at one of them and took off their helmet and plunged the syringe into their fellow's neck.

Shriek. Next was the other two, which after you had seen it in action the first time, it became less exciting; still, the transformation never got tiresome. I relished in the rebirths of these fine men.

Once the scene had played its course, I stepped out to greet all of them.

“Greetings. You may call me Gumby.” I handed each of them their own set of syringes. “Resume your duties of protecting the secrets of these halls, but do so while birthing more amphibians!”

They all puffed their cheeks and croaked in agreement. I watched as they put their helmets back on and crept back outside of the lab.

Such an accomplishment before my eyes, it was almost enough to make me weep. But as a serious researcher, I am above such novelties.

Evils of being awake, the desire to chew on a pillow. Had it not been for the errors of the pleasure center of the brain, I would have choked on cotton or down feathers by now. Instead, I had to build them, package them, send them away. So grueling. So torturous.

Wave goodbye, every day. Whimper.

Some salt in the sky, a twinkle felt. Noticed a faint whiff of freedom, though my coworkers seemed immune. Out on the assembly line, I gorged myself on pillow fluff.

Euphoria was here. I could smell it in the air. That one smell I wasn't allowed to smell, but everyone else could; the scent of happiness.

My body craved it. My mind craved it. My shadow...

Each step, I ran my fingers through the metallic walls.

“Oh, if you could appear before me right now, what image would you choose?”

I wanted to know what image I had in my mind, but the only images were the ones others had seen. They were not images that would have satisfied me.

Do I have to wait until after I die to be cremated? Impatience. Intricate, insecurities. When the group came over, some of them began to chat, some of them took a dip into some salsa – pico de gallo. One dipped twice. Same chip. When one friend smoked...

Lungs. What do they do again? Cough, every night. Since I didn't know when. Sometime ago.

Water depleted. Supply ran dry. To be the same...

Smoke, ash. To be one of them. Many little dust particles. When I watched those friends, when we sat at the bonfire, I made my wish. Residual ash from the flame, to be part of it. Alive, and, well, a part of the process.

Entire body was turned to ash. So were the friends. We were most alive, in a fireside chat.

Several truths and misconceptions, lies and questions that some may have pointed out, had they the opportunity to dissect my thoughts. Those precious thoughts.

Let's begin with the first one: that there is no cellular range in such a remote location. That all and any signals would be jammed, blocked, intercepted. Yes. Very good. We, Lilypad, had considered this, so we brought miniature tower boxes with us and scramble the tracking so anyone hoping to intercept our call would have been left confused and disappointed. So when I called the World Wildlife Foundation, the group itself was in no danger. Gay amphibious humanoids and its allies that make up Lilypad are all high in intelligence. So of course, as seasoned hackers, we would also be seasoned engineers.

Second of all, the location and purpose: Groom Lake, or as its more common to call, Area 51 – believed to be called such due to an Atomic Energy Commission numbering grid. Whether or not this was true doesn't matter much. Call it Paradise Ranch, call it Hidden Valley for what little difference it made.

What really mattered was the purpose – originally a testing ground for the CIA for the U-2 plane, its ownership was later handed over to the US air force for the purpose of crafting other experimental air crafts which continued to this day. Yes, that part was true, to an extent. There have also been those who believe beings from other planets resided within the facility and others would argue that such a notion was preposterous. Rest assured to the naysayers, that part was false, to an extent.

It was of my experience that experimental weaponry of all kind has been built and tested. Beginning with vehicles, whether air, land, or sea, it didn't matter. Then it expanded – not all at once, but funding and nudges from my former employer, The Flashbulb, helped pull things along (not to say that the CIA and US military wasn't already part of The Flashbulb, but such direct involvement was a large shift) – biological weaponry in the form of chemical agents, toxins to fill the air, genetic experiments (which I am proud to say I made myself a test subject of), armor for soldiers, technological advances that would address a potential rise in an unstoppable force of soldiers designed with the sole purpose of subjugating those who did not fall in line.

All of what I just described has been what the facility functioned as at one point or another. At the present, it's been taken over as a whole by the ETNA corporation and the entire structure shifted and changed at a constant rate due to the desires of Etna, the artificial leader of The Flashbulb's Morale Department. Etna itself, herself, has become one with the facility. The very walls, the technology, the weaponry, they all could change at a moment's notice, if Etna so wills it.

I took my strides out of the laboratory, already taken stock of what I needed, and wandered into the halls, where I continued to be lost in thought of the history of where I happened to be.

“That's no good,” I noticed as I made the mistake of stepping on a soldier lying on the ground, helmet off. Pale green skin told me what I needed to know. “Someone had killed one of my babies.”

I shook my head and walked off. Not just one, but three.

“Whoever did this, I pray they get their due. As for you three, at the least, I hope you were able to spread our gift with others before your departure from this world.”

I walked on. Somewhere, a better view would present itself. I wanted to see crowds, nay, rows and rows, lined up. Their eyes would stare up at me and I would smile. To bring my dream to life, I needed the right topography.

Etna, if you would so kindly. Make it happen.

However much she fancied herself a god, I had my doubts she could listen in on my thoughts. Or perhaps, with the angel she had fused herself, the facility, and all of its soldiers with, she just may have. See, Euphoria was not a man-made creation. While the scientific side of me reels at the thought of calling anything an 'angel', a better term may be 'alien' or 'cosmic entity', which is just what the fanatics would love to hear. Euphoria was real, and she was not of this earth.

Frozen pea hailstorm bit the head of me. Hunger struck upon stomach for days, shelter not given unto. Dwelt sidewalks, dwellings. Under bridges, overpasses, benches, nomadic. Caught some grass at a park. Bit off some tree bark. Hunger so dire. Desire.

Rained down, my memory – sign of joy. Ode to thee.

Mother used to make the best frozen peas. Children sat at dinner table, hands raised high. One of them was I. Cannot remember the rest. Such a fond nostalgia, trip down a lane taken.

Hail of frozen peas, velocity punctured skin off of facial structure. Rest of body. Still, tongue stuck out, swallow some. Smiled, shed tears, blood ran from exposed flesh. Weak and feeble, no, strong. Memory so pleasant. Tasted of fondness.

Even in decay from the favorite meal, warmth could be found from the frozen.

Best memory was the last.

Life wasn't always like this; just a couple days ago, in fact, life was normal. Or, as normal as a life could be. Cold paradise we lived in, this city. For at least three years now, the ETNA Corporation had bestowed our city with great inventions, pioneering us from a no-name metropolis to something greater. However, just the other day, a chain reaction started.

No one knows the root cause, but it spread like a virus. People throwing themselves into traffic, the very roads themselves crumbling, traffic lights changing color and becoming strobe lights, just to name a few things. While there could be no logical explanation, a quarantine over the city was issued and the next thing I knew, we were all trapped.

Or, we were supposed to be. I overheard from some CDC agents that it shouldn't spread so long as they kept the city locked down, but I wasn't so sure about that. Nor was I so sure when a statement was released from the ETNA Corporation stating that the infection was due to a substance having infiltrated itself in their elevators and causing an adverse reaction in those who rode them. 'Those exposed to the elevators (as in simply been in them) were more at risk than those who had not used them, or seldom have used them' the statement had said.

I wasn't so sure about that because I think it had affected (affected? Infected?) me as well. Even now, I thought I could feel its effects. The strong desire to...

I don't know what. My mind goes blank before coming to a conclusion. Best way to describe it would be a sugar rusk. Or drinking an entire pot of coffee in one sitting. High on cocaine. Complete manic energy. Except this high you don't come down from.

At least, that's what I would imagine. I'm not sure if that's how I'm feeling. There's just...this desire to be that way.

An object in motion stays in motion...

There was a friend I once knew, her name was Rick O'Shea. Or, her name was something else. It's been difficult to recall simple things. Or, her name could have been Beau Meringue. Or, it was one of the two, something in between. Or, her name was never important, just her presence.

She was overjoyed by the state of the city. How wonderful the elevators had been. Each time she took those trips, she described it as a new experience. The only reason I never rode on one of them was because I never liked venturing outside. Call it agoraphobia, or a strong social anxiety. Just the thought of being surrounded by others would have been enough to send me into a panic. I only felt like I could venture out when she was around.

When the city was quarantined, she was still overjoyed, much to my shock.

I told her how we should leave, how this city was destroying itself, how it seemed like everyone had become crazed and maddened by their own manic bliss. She shook her head in rapid motions, almost violent. She told me, “what is there to leave? Can't you feel it all around you? In the air, dolphins exiting your body. How you know you're right where you should be. These dolphins are here to help us.”

I begged, pleaded. She didn't look confused, but may as well. Even though I told her how it wasn't safe, how we could all die, this only made her smile widen. As if all she heard was good news and pleasant tunes. So, I concluded, I no longer had her. I would have to leave on my own.

Through careful analysis of my surroundings, I had escaped the city and as of last night, stowed myself away in a nearby motel. Where I will be soon, I only wish I had an answer.

I stood at the balcony, my gaze fixed downward at the marvelous sight: rows of soldiers, amphibious, lined up, synchronized and looking back at me. My dream was coming to light. As a collective, they took off their helmets, stared each other in their beady eyes, and stuck out their long, stringent tongues. Their tongues flapped against each other and flies descended from ventilation shafts, something I could not have anticipated, but also pleased me. Flies were caught, the soldiers having taken a break from licking each other.

With my arms outstretched, I addressed my audience:

“Rejoice! This is the ideal next step for humanity! Outsiders may not like it, but this is what peak performance looks like!”

Tongues clapped into the air. Many of the tongues caught flies. All was well.

My next set of actions would become clear: descend from the rafters to join the crowd, be carried off with them, and we would rise up, ascend from this underground, and spread our joy to the rest of the world.

Before I could do any of that, I felt a hand clasp down on my shoulder.

“Good job, brother. I see you got your wish.”

Such kind words. I knew the one behind me speaking such words was smiling from cheek to cheek. It was just like him to do so. Yet I also know that such words carried malice.

“Have you come to take it away from me?”  I turned around, despite already knowing who was there. The tall figure, the shadow.

“Is that something I would do?” Marco laughed and released his grip on me.

“Have you come to kill my men?”

“I am glad, I mean that with sincerity. You gained your happiness without having to devour Euphoria. However, I still want to. Just to get a taste.”

“Is that what you came here for, then? Because if that's the case, I don't know where she is.”

“I have no need to kill your creation. You have been granted your wish, attained your happiness. I could never take that from you.”

“Then why are you here?”

He closed in and embraced me for a hug. His arms coiled and tightened around my back. It would seem his intention was to suffocate me. But in spite of the tightness, he didn't go far enough to do harm.

“She is everywhere. She is spreading her wings and giving everyone what they need.”

I struggled, but managed to reach into my pocket and pull out the syringe. I tried to stab it into him, inject him with the formula, make him subservient. Just to see what would happen. Just so he could no longer pose a threat.

But instead, the needle broke as I tried to push it into his skin. It never even made a mark.

“You think I betrayed you,” he spoke softly. “But that couldn't be further from the truth. See, I brought you here so you could get what you wanted and now you have it.”

I tried to break free. He wouldn't allow it. Was this some kind of divine punishment? Not that I believed in such nonsense.

“You should enjoy it while it lasts. For when everything in this world has experienced all this angel has to offer, it will end. The world will experience such happiness that it will not be able to contain itself and there is nothing that you, nor I, can do about that. Nor should we. The only influence I have had is where to direct this happiness, but it would have taken its natural course, regardless. When it all ends, I hope you enjoy yourself. I hope I do too.”

He released me and I could feel his presence fade. Somehow his nonsense made total sense.

This triumph I had felt was meaningless.

We found Gumby sitting on the floor like some kind of LAME-O (and no, that is NOT the name of a cereal).

I poked Gumby. Also, I looked down and noticed more friends!

“Hey, hey! Hey bud! Hey Gumbs! Gumb-o! Goomy! Hey!”

Gumby groaned.

“Hey, look! I have a girlfriend now!”

I roped along my girlfriend, who I still did not have a name for.

“Look! We tried to eat each other but then our mouths got stuck on each other and that's when I realized that's probably how people kiss!”

We demonstrated. Our mouths expanded to form a perfect circle against each other. I looked at Gumby. He still sat there.

“I don't care...” He groaned. I watched as he went to laying down and turned to his side.

“How RUDE!” My voice box exclaimed.

“The world is ending. What is there to care about?”

“Yeah! That's the spirit! It's so cool!”

In spite of my enthusiasm, Gumby sounded glum. So...glumby?

“I won. But I also lost. But then again, this is how it was always going to go. What should I have done differently, then?”

He laughed, though it sounded pretty un-funny.

“World's ending. What's the point to anything?”

“Dude! Totally! So go get yourself a boyfriend or something!”

“That wouldn't matter either.”

He closed his eyes and I let him lie there. This was getting WAY too boring for me, YO! My girlfriend and I frolicked ANYWHERE ELSE and left the lame-o to be sad or whatever.

[ashencreature]

Important Update for partners across the board

This is long, and I’m sorry, but I just wanted everyone to know what’s going on. Honestly, I’m not expecting anyone to actually waste time reading through all this, but it’s just so I can try to ease my own anxiety in case the worst case scenario does come and I left some sort of explanation.

Ok, so, some of you know there’s been a lot going on for me at home in the last 3 or 4 years. But everything’s kind of getting worse by day and at this point, I’m not sure what to do anymore. 

When I was 14, I moved in with my dad. We moved quite a few times in the first few years I was with him. Hell, that first year alone, I was in 3 different schools. All for Freshman year. And the last house we were in that year, we stayed in for maybe 2? 

But when I was 16, the factory my dad worked at closed and he lost his job. That’s kind of where all this starts. Instead of getting a new job, he decided he wanted to spend all day drinking with his new friends and occasionally doing odd jobs for them or things with them. We had to move out of that house, take my dog to the shelter, and move into a trailer. It was only supposed to be for a year. But nearly 14 years later, and we’re still here. 

Now the landlord here is a real prick. More like a slumlord if you ask me. He jacks the rent up for the dumbest reasons and acts like he’s god’s gift to humanity or some shit. He told us himself, and had the park manager tell us, that we couldn’t fix our roof to stop the leaking because the walls would collapse of we tried to move it. So literally the entire 14 years we’ve been here, the roof has been leaking. My dad tried everything he could think of, short of tearing it out and redoing it, to fix it. Nothing worked. 

And in that time, the entire back half of the house got destroyed by mold. My bedroom, being the very last room, was the first to go. I think I slept in it for a year? And ever since, I’ve had to sleep in the living room because the walls had to be torn out due to the mold. It’s right down to the studs and the scant insulation. It’s been like that for over 10 years. Well, now the mold is spreading and getting worse. The bathroom is destroyed pretty much. The back hallway is the same. The floor’s rotting away, and the toilet is falling through the floor; again. 

Now, I think my dad went to the garage he was at for the first time when I was maybe 18? I don’t remember exactly. I do remember being in junior year and my friends either having to buy me lunch, share theirs with me, or pray that we actually were cooking in cooking class; which happened a lot less than you’d think. Other than that, I didn’t eat. Senior year was a little better because I at least would get money dropped off to eat. Not that the cafeteria had a lot of choices for me to pick from. I pretty much ate nothing but gross excuse for pizza and occasionally pretzels, fries, or Belgian waffles. 

Anyway, so senior year rolls around and we’re all prepping for college. At the time, I wanted to go to AMDA for musical theater, and managed to get an audition there for that March. I had to force my dad to go to the meeting about FAFSA and to fill out the paperwork. Which he said he did, but I don’t believe it because he says they denied me. And I’ve never heard of FAFSA being denied. Not that it mattered anyway, because I bombed the audition and didn’t get in. So graduation rolls around and all my friends go off to college. I haven’t seen or spoken to most of them since. They never stop to visit when they come home and they never try to reach out on Facebook. Eventually, I got sick of being the one to initiate and maintain all conversations, so I just gave up. 

The 2 friends I still had at that time helped me to get jobs when I was 20/21 and living with them, in 2011/2012. This was because 2 of us and their mom were in a car accident on the way to my friend’s college at the time. We all nearly died. My friend had a concussion, their mom needed surgery, and I nearly got impaled by a fake Christmas tree. I ended up going to the hospital a lot later than they did with a copy of the report in the doctor’s hand and got told I wasn’t in an accident I had the flu, go home. Anyway, so after my friend’s mom’s surgery, I moved in to help around the house and look after my friend’s youngest sister. These jobs weren’t the best; Wendy’s and the deli department of one of the local grocery stores. But it was money. 

For all the good it did. Because by that time, my dad had quit working at the garage. So here I was, paying for rent, bills, gas, food, and child support for my brother. All on $200 a week. My anxiety was driving me insane. And I came to find out that my dad was going in and threatening one of the store managers, which was probably why the guy was such a scumbag to me. But I digress. So I was in the store for a month shy of 2 years. I started at maybe $7.45 or $7.50. an hour when I started. It was slightly over the minimum wage at the time. By the time I left, 2 years later mind you, I wasn’t even making $8, and I was working full time hours while only being part time. Everything that went wrong got blamed on me, even when it was my day off and I wasn’t anywhere near the store. I liked most of the people that I worked with, even if I hated the job, and the assistant department manager became a really good friend. She was 2 years older than me, and we hung out a lot. I’d spend the night at her house, I was at her wedding, I’ve been to her daughter’s birthday parties and so on. 

At one point, I was supposed to get training to be an assistant specialty cheese shop lead. They sent me to one class, told me about another, but never gave me any more details about it, even when I asked. Then they said they were going to train me over there, but never did. That was just the first of a long list of grievances. The culmination of which was on a Sunday night, our busiest day of the week. There was just me and 1 other guy in the department. Then 1 lady in the hot food section, 1 lady in the beer store, and no one in the bakery. But they expected me to take care of all 4 departments and still wait on the 20+ people that were at the counter the whole night. And I had an order to make and put away for the assistant department manager. Needless to said, I had a panic attack. I told my partner, and both of the other people nearby. They told the assistant store manager, and he didn’t care. They made me work for 3 and a half hours, through a panic attack, without a break. I couldn’t breathe and was on the verge of fainting. I finally had enough and told one of the ladies that I didn’t care what the store manager said, I was going to get my inhaler in the break room and get a drink at the water fountain, or I was going to faint. 

A few days later, I got called to the main office to speak to the store manager, who I usually didn’t have a problem with. And unfortunately, since my anger receptors are evidently attached to my tear ducts, I broke down in tears when I wanted to be furious. He basically told me that I was going to the bakery or I was getting fired. So the next day, I quit. There was a lot of other stuff too but that doesn’t really matter. Including being so sick that I couldn’t eat for over a week, fainting in the back room because they wouldn’t let me take a day off, and not being able to talk for over a month. The assistant department manager almost called the ambulance when I fainted, but you know, I’m clearly the problem here. 

So there we were, I didn’t have a job. My dad didn’t have a job. I was 23, and feeling just as helpless as I did at 16. I spent a year filling out job applications for a bunch of different things from craft stores to fast food to jewelry stores, but never heard back from any of them. The only interview I got was for Chipotle. But they wouldn’t even hire me. Naturally, cue the anxiety and depression getting worse. And around this time, our electric got shut off. This was in May I believe because it was just before my birthday. 

At that time I started thinking about going back to school. So I looked at schools and degrees you could do all online, because I knew I could never afford to go on campus. And, as most of you know, I started at CTU in July of that year. Now the program I did was an accelerated one, which meant I could finish gen ed classes faster, be done faster, and lower my tuition. I did as many as I could, but only my admission adviser was any help. My actual student adviser was never around, never responded to my emails, never called me back. But whatever. 

So for 3 years I spent pretty much all day, every god damn day doing schoolwork. I’d be at my local Dunkin from 3 in the afternoon until they closed at 11. Sometimes I’d be working even later next door because I still had stuff to do. The first year and a half I was fine. It didn’t bother mine, just like working didn’t bother me at first. But then, a year and a half after I started, I got sick. I couldn’t eat anything without my stomach cramping up and getting the worst migraines. It got so bad that one day at Dunkin, I felt like I was going to puke, and got up to go to the bathroom and almost fainted. Personally, I think it’s a combination of anxiety, depression, Celiac/gluten intolerance, anemia, and asthma. But I don’t know for sure because I haven’t had a doctor since I was going to the pediatrician. And even if I did, can’t afford it. 

So I’ve just been getting sicker and sicker. I was 125 pounds in January of this year. 11 months later, and I’m down to 108.5 the last time I checked. I think the lowest I hit was 107, and that was all 6 months after the weight loss started. There’s times it’ll go back up, but I can’t get past 110 or 111 tops. Neighbors who used to live down the road came to visit earlier this week, and all the lady could say was how skinny I got. I’m like yeah, malnourishment’ll do that to you. 

And to make things worse, my dad at some point went back to the garage and was working again, so things were slightly better. I say slightly in the loosest way possible. But, just after Christmas last year, my dad quit again. I’ve seen him apply to 1 job and go to 1 interview in the year since. Other than that, he’s been collecting scrap and doing shit for people who refuse to pay, including the landlord. In the last 7 or 8 months, despite how many times I’ve told him that my refund checks from the school aren’t free money I can spend however I want, my dad’s made me spend it. The $5,000 I had that was supposed to set me ahead for my student loans are gone. And I’m $5,000 deeper in the hole than I should be. Which means instead of being like $45 or 50 grand in debt I’m about $55 grand. 

Then, because we haven’t had electricity in almost 4 years, and with the mold problem, everything in the house is ruined. We had only cold water, and I took cold showers for as long as I could. But last winter, the shower pipes froze and burst. So even if I wanted to, I can’t do that. Plus, because we can’t use the washer and dryer, or hook up a generator thanks to the scumbag landlord, or afford a laundromat, our clothes have gone unwashed for over a year. Most of mine were sitting in the tub, which got filled with mold and bugs. I have practically no clothes left, with no way to wash them, and no way to shower unless I go to someone else’s house. And even when I do, I still don’t feel clean. Even after washing my hair 4 times or more. 

We were supposed to move into the place next door and tear this one down. But the landlord and my dad made a deal that he’d give it to us for the cost of the title transfer. Then suddenly, he wanted $600, then like $800 or $1,000. But he won’t stop asking about it, no matter how many times we tell him no. Him and his wife keep trying to say we’re $5,000 behind on rent which isn’t possible because with what rent is now, you can’t even get $5,000 as a total for a whole year, and this last year is the only time we fell behind because everything else was caught up. He gave us a bill full or errors. Payments that were made aren’t marked. Payments that weren’t made are. There’s random charges after the monthly rent cycle. Which I think are from when he was bitching about us paying the taxes for a place we didn’t even own and was still in his name. He told us we can’t run the generator for power because it was too loud. Though the noise ordinance here is 11, and it was always off by then. And when one of the neighbors asked how we were supposed to live, he told them it “Wasn’t his problem”. 

So when I started getting really sick, and unable to leave the house to go to Dunkin for school because I was too gross, the neighbors next door let us run an extension cord over to their place. Not a lot. Just enough for the light in the living room, the fan, a mini fridge, and to plug in my phone and computer. OH WANNA HEAR A GOOD ONE. THE LANDLORD TOLD MY DAD 3 SEPARATE TIMES IF I NEED TO PLUG IN MY COMPUTER TO GET A LANTERN. YES THE OLD FASHIONED OIL OR CANDLE TYPE LANTERN. WHICH YOU CAN TOTALLY PLUG AN ELECTRONIC COMPUTER INTO. So because of that, I was able to finish school and graduate in June. 

But, because I still can’t bathe or do laundry and have no clothes, I still can’t go to interviews. If I walked in with my arms, face, neck, and legs literally black from dirt, and reeking to high heaven, I’d fucking get laughed out of the place. My dad still refuses to get a real job and insists on hauling scrap or doing shit for people who won’t pay at all, or want to pay less than it’s worth. And guess what’s due this week? You got it, my first loan payment. 

I can’t figure out how much I have to pay, work on getting it lowered or delayed, or even access my account info because there’s an issue with my birthday apparently, and they can’t find it even though they have my name and social and keep emailing me. I’ve been telling him this for months, and he still won’t come with me to try and sort it out. Because what he needs has to taken care of then and there and everything else can fuck all. He blew up at me the other day about it, blaming me for going, leaving him with payments, for my mother walking out 20 years ago even though they hated each other, and pretty much for being born. Because he resents having to take care of kids he made the choice to have. Not like I asked to be born, and I’ve been wishing I was dead since I was 9, but whatever. 

Anyway. 

So, the neighbor’s dad was diagnosed with lung cancer over the summer. Like 2 weeks later, he was dead. And she’s struggling just as much. We’ve been trying to help her and she’s been trying to help us. But her ex was paying her rent and some of the other bills until she found a job because they have a young son. But he started refusing to do that, which I honestly wouldn’t be surprised it if was the landlord’s doing cause they were talking. And he was telling her to “pull the plug” on us. And his wife started harassing her about rent like 2 weeks after her father died. Then, she went to Domestic relations earlier this week and then like the day after she goes, her ex somehow gets an emergency custody on the little guy. They came for him yesterday. 

She’s most likely going to have to move, which means that we’ll be losing power and internet unless we can figure something out to get our power back on. But even then, the bill’s supposedly at least $1300, and that won’t fix the internet problem. 

So... Needless to say, if I disappear suddenly in the near future, that’s why. I don’t want to go. I’ve spent too much time here, made too many friends, and put too much work into my muses. But everything is going to shit all at once. It’s just been building and building for the last 3 years, especially the last year, but my dad refuses to see and do anything about it. Instead, he’d rather blame everything on me and expect me to fix it. As if my mental health wasn’t bad enough from childhood abuse and being sick and stressed all the time. Now I’m too fucking scared to leave the house. I haven’t been outside since the midterms when I went to vote. But I honestly don’t know what’s going to happen now. And I just wanted everyone to know that I love them. And even if I do disappear, I still plan on keeping my muses and coming back when I can. Granted Tumblr doesn’t die before then. In which case the only blog i’m worried about losing is Elizabeth’s because of all the worldbuilding, metas, and headcanons I’ve done.