#ashes exerpt

[tricorderreading]

The Ashes of Eden (the shatnerverse)

Spock visits Kirk's grave after the events of the TNG movie Generations

[tate-lin]

M+S Ethereal Excerpts: Life

From Joker of Ashes!

There, nestled deep inside a cavity of a tree trunk was a flat and round glass blown necklace with a leather cord looped through it. Varying shades of green swirled around the pendant and bubbles of white dotted the centre in a curl. It was beautiful. Picking it up, a warm, familiar pulse of ethric energy ran through her palm in soothing waves, and it just made her fingers feel all the more cold. Numb. The wind whistled through her hair as she stood there, staring. Her father’s ashes were in there. Her father was in there.

TAGLIST

Let me know if you want to be added or taken off!

@justahalfling @ihaventpickedausername @iced-ginger-tea @andromeda-grace @kaiyo @iriswords @yors-truly @words-after-midnight @islanded-in-a-stream-of-stars @sabels-small-sphere @leebrontide @pure-solomon @mattresses-and-macaroni @thepixiediaries @sternenmeerkind @arowanaprincess @hd-literature @freedominique

[feeblescholarmyass]

hey! this is chance & here’s week 3’s prompt. share an excerpt that you’re very proud of from any of your wips.

this is from my original book I've been working on for two years (more like procrastinating on for two years) that Alex is from!!!!

[hootshooch]

I've called Alias a "construct" before (which is correct), but to be more specific she's more like... an advanced human-sized homunculus

This is the exerpt about homunculi from the 5e Monster Manual:

Shaping a mixture of clay, ash, mandrake root, and blood, one can channel rare ritual magic to create a faithful, squirrel-sized companion.

The Monster Manual doesn't explicitly mention it, but homunculi are specifically made with the blood of whoever their master is. The Dark Urge was canonically created with Bhaal's blood, as well as some indeterminate parts of his mortal avatar's corpse (rather than clay, like a typical homunculus). In Alias's case, this detail is especially important because it is one of the factors in why Bhaal can control her in the first place (as a wizard or artificer would control a homunculus).

A homunculus is a construct that acts as an extension of its creator, with the two sharing thoughts, senses, and language through a mystical bond. A master can only have one homunculus at a time (attempts to create another always fail), and when its master dies, the homunculus also dies.

A homunculus and their master are of one mind—the homunuclus only lives to serve their master and has no free will or desires of its own. Everything the homunculus knows, the master knows. This was Bhaal's intent for Alias (but something went wrong, evidently, and now Alias has thoughts of her own). Moreover, Alias can never truly die because Bhaal can never truly die by merit of being a deity (even when he was "dead" he was still hanging out in the Astral Plane, just unable to assume an avatar in the material).

Shared Mind. A homunculus knows everything its master knows, including all the languages the creator can speak and read. Likewise, everything the construct senses is known to its master, even over great distances, provided both are on the same plane. Functioning as a spy, a scout, or a messanger, a homunculus is an invaluable servant for a spellcaster engrossed in secret experimentation or adventuring.

A master can only have one homunculus at a time (attempts to create another always fail). Why would Bhaal continue to invest in Alias after his initial plan failed, even after Alias defies him over and over again? Because Bhaal has no other options. He invested a ridiculous amount of resources and time into the creation of this "perfect assassin" and loyal servant of his, and (like the rest of his weird plans) it blew up in his face. He can't even try again because Alias would need to be dead for him to do that, and his ego is so large that he'd rather do everything in his power to keep her under his control rather than just cut his losses and admit defeat (...at least until the end of the game). Sunk cost fallacy baby

It's far more complicated than this, especially with how it relates to all the other Bhaalspawn and the events of the games (still haven't actually decided what I think Alias's role was meant to be in his resurrection or what was supposed to happen afterward), but I just wanted to explain exactly why I define Alias as a "construct" rather than something else (like a titan or a quasideity similar to an aasimar)

[blossomsofchaos]

Fics Im reading/I've read <3!

These are the main fics I've been reading lately so I wanted to share them! (I'll also put my fav ships for the fandom at the end of its section <3)

my absolute fav fics on here have ! after the author

TWST

"Lost in Translation" by broken_synchronicity !

"Spiteful entrance to a twisted world" by mofomango

"Some guy ex machina" by elydenaponia

"caged birds don't sing, but they still bite" by devin_trinidad !

"the seven habits of highly unfortunate souls: a transmigrator’s guide to the coral sea" by mercen !

"I am that which has survived (a blessing, and now a curse)" by runlittlerabbitrun

"unit y-ou" by writinggayer

"“Smile Now, Dear. It’s Sunrise.”" by HummingSparrow

"The Mantra, Sung Like A Forbidden Melody" by unbearably_adorable !

"―and the things i hold dearly, i'll let them fall for you" by kaiwaredaikon

"Retrogradation" by Torigale

"To Cause Trouble, To Cause Loyalty" by Tw7sted

"Like Lark Notes From the Sky" by ARevenantDreamingOfRoses

(FAV SHIPS/FRIENDSHIPS: Idiazu, Idikei, Leoide, Adeuce)

GENSHIN

"cage of your own making" by sunjinjo

"the lightning goe and the thunder die" by moonlight_mist

"Is this what therapy is?" by aliasgoeshere !

"someone's abandoned creation" by dustyyy

"sinner and the saint" by cometh_into_the_abyss

"a twisted performance" by motivation_loss

"The Puppet Who Cried In His Sleep" by !

"Meeting-Promise-Departure" by Crescent_River !

"Exerpts From Monstadt" by cocoplanet !

"I'll carve you my heart" by anonymous

"A Graceless Dance of Epithets" by pyrotechpuffs !

"kuusoku zeshiki" by GStK

"Cracks" by XiariaDragneel

"Puppet Theater" by opalvulpix

(FAV SHIPS/FRIENDSHIPS: Wanderer/Xiao, Furina&Wanderer, Wanderer/Albedo, Wanderer/Cyno, Venti/Zhongli, Shogun&Wanderer, Shogun&Ei, Miko&Wanderer, Tighnari/Wanderer)

OM

"Let's all be shadows" by universalworst

"take it easy!" By miss_sunflower

MCD/MYS

"shadow knights in mystreet" by shipper_brainrot

"here comes the sun" by blankgeode

"the worms must be fed" by honeyyhop !

"Rain Falls Green in Seattle" by Pokegamer9999 !

(FAV SHIPS/FRIENDSHIPS: Zane/Travis Zanvis, Travis/Laurance, Aphmau/Cadenza, Vylad/Laurance, Zane&Laurance)

TMA

"The Reverb in These Holy Halls" by Wolftraps (AlwaysBoth)

"Ocellus" by Dragoncurl

"A Vivisection of Me (Done by God for all to See)" by ComposerEgg !

"Utterly Incorrect (and in need of Correction)" by PestilenceandSunshine !

"falling slowly" by thegreatandpowerfultoaster !

"Devotion from the Future" by Lilwoofs

"Did It Even Work" by LiterallyImpossible

"To Firebrands and Ashes" by chlodobird

"In The peripheral" by Willowingends !

"Redeath" by Gallifrey63

"The Friends of Mr. Spider" by Pitchpine

"Starboard Shines Green, Port is Glowing Red" by PitViperOfDoom

"To Sleep in a Sea of Earth" by meekome

"how big, how blue (how beautiful)" by screechfox

"beautiful and annihilating" by advantagetexas !

"Sing a Song of Sixpence" by Kaiel

"All Hail The Mysterious Gap" by Anonymous

"alpha rats nest" by spacefleeting !

"Slip Into That Rhythm Again" by Doodlelupin !

(FAV SHIPS/FRIENDSHIPS: Jon/Tim Jontim, Jon/Mike Jonmike Brainstorm, Jon/Sasha Jonsasha, Jon/Michael Jonmichael Optical Illusions, Polyarchives, Jon&Daisy, Georgie&Jon, Oliver/Jon Jonoliver, Daisy/Jon Jondaisy Jaisy)

[theycallmebabycakes]

anyway have an exerpt of the naruto fic i'm writing, because i'm unusually proud of this bit of writing. i don't think you really need a whole lot in the way of context to understand what's happening but you're welcome to ask questions if you feel like it :)

Finally, their relief arrived, and Tsu and Ayumu rushed back to the village. Duy’s funeral had come and passed; in war, there was little time for ceremony.

Ayumu volunteered to deliver their report to the Hokage; Tsu went in search of her friend.

Guy was at home, sitting in the empty room he and his father normally slept in. He had red, puffy eyes from crying and was wearing a house robe instead of his green jumpsuit. Tsu had entered his home when he didn’t answer the door; now she approached slowly, sinking to her knees in front of him. Guy looked at her for a moment, sniffling.

“Already dressed for a funeral,” he managed to say. His voice cracked when he spoke, tears welling in his eyes again.

“The whole village is calling him a hero,” Tsu said quietly.

“Does it matter?” He whispered. He stared down at a book in his hands.

“Not really,” she admitted. “I’m sorry, Guy.”

“You gave him this,” Guy said, lifting the book slightly. It was about the Eight Inner Gates. Tsu felt her chest tighten with guilt. “I remember seeing you hand it to him.”

“Yes,” she said quietly.

“Did you read it?”

“Only enough to know it was what he was looking for,” she admitted.

“Do you know why the Eighth Inner Gate is called Death?”

“I… I can guess.”

“There wasn’t even a body, Tsu,” Guy whispered. “He’s just…ash, now. Somewhere in the forest.”

“I’m so sorry,” Tsu said. She wanted to say more, but there wasn’t really anything else to say.

“I wish you hadn’t given him this book,” Guy said.

She didn’t know how to answer that. They sat silently for a long, painful minute, Guy’s eyes still wet with unshed tears. Finally, he wiped at his face one last time and stood, book in hand.

“Thank you,” Guy said. Tsu looked up at him, confused.

“For… for what?”

“For coming,” he answered, turning to a bookshelf in the corner of the room. He put the book away and paused again. “And for giving Papa this book. It let him live out his greatest self-rule.”

“Oh,” was all she managed.

“I haven’t slept in a while,” Guy said, turning to his stored bedding. “I’m gonna try and sleep now.”

“Oh,” she said again, standing up. “Okay.”

With Guy curled up in his bedroom, even his head under a cover, Tsu wandered into his kitchen. She never knew what to say to someone who was mourning, but she could always help them out elsewhere.

The kitchen was a mess; the sink full of dirty dishes, and more mold in the refrigerator than there was fur on Anji’s back. Pulling her kimono’s sleeves back, Tsu got to work.

Ayumu showed up as Tsu was putting the last of Guy’s rotten food in the compost heap on the side of his house. She’d brought several of their Academy classmates with her, presenting them in a lineup like troops on the battlefield. Tsu took a deep breath and cleared her throat.

Guy woke up to the smell of soap mixed with a fresh hot pot. Rin was in charge of the hot pot as Obito set out every bowl, spoon and chopstick set Guy owned; Kurenai led Genma and Ebisu in the scrubbing of the living room floor. Kakashi cleaned the bathroom while Tsu and Asuma finished beating dust out of curtains and area rugs on the front lawn.

[broomsick]

Selected exerpts from the Ynglingasaga!

Chapter 7, of Odin's feats

“Odin could transform his shape: his body would lie as if dead, or asleep; but then he would be in shape of a fish, or worm, or bird, or beast, and be off in a twinkling to distant lands upon his own or other people's business. With words alone he could quench fire, still the ocean in tempest, and turn the wind to any quarter he pleased. [ … ] Sometimes even he called the dead out of the earth, or set himself beside the burial-mounds; whence he was called the ghost-sovereign, and lord of the mounds.

He had two ravens, to whom he had taught the speech of man; and they flew far and wide through the land, and brought him the news.

In all such things he was pre-eminently wise. He taught all these arts in Runes, and songs which are called incantations, and therefore the Ásaland people are called incantation-smiths. Odin understood also the art in which the greatest power is lodged, and which he himself practised; namely, what is called magic. By means of this he could know beforehand the predestined fate of men, or their not yet completed lot; [ … ].

Odin knew finely where all missing cattle were concealed under the earth, and understood the songs by which the earth, the hills, the stones, and mounds were opened to him; [ ... ].”

Chapter 8, of Odin's lawgiving

“Odin established the same law in his land that had been in force in Ásaland. Thus he established by law that all dead men should be burned, and their belongings laid with them upon the pile, and the ashes be cast into the sea or buried in the earth. Thus, said he, every one will come to Valhalla with the riches he had with him upon the pile; and he would also enjoy whatever he himself had buried in the earth. For men of consequence a mound should be raised to their memory, and for all other warriors who had been distinguished for manhood a standing stone; which custom remained long after Odin's time. On winter day there should be blood-sacrifice for a good year, and in the middle of winter for a good crop; and the third sacrifice should be on summer day, for victory in battle. Over all Swithiod the people paid Odin a scatt or tax -- so much on each head; but he had to defend the country from enemy or disturbance, and pay the expense of the sacrifice feasts for a good year.”

[waterfall7290]

Joseph Delle’s 2009 statements

A few days ago I noticed that even thejeremystory was offline. I have posted links to the Wayback Machine copy of it. Not sure if the admin is still alive or not, I had tried contacting them a few years ago but never received any reply. Since this blog is also intended at preserving the work of the people who researched about Jeremy, I was looking up the copy of the website and wondering what I could repost. The majority of it is a timeline which I found redundant to post since Ash already included it on his website, and then there were things about Jeremy's last day which, as you know, aren't what I talk about. I actually dread seeing them, to be honest. However, I reread Joseph Delle's (Jeremy's father) 2009 statements and while I find them hard to read given they do talk about Jeremy's death, I thought it was important to repost them because in my opinion they really give a glimpse of the pain his poor parents endured, and how incredibly insensitive some people got (and I know still get). I thought these statements humanize Mr. Delle a lot. Wanda already gave her testimony in a WFAA interview in 2018. I'll repost the original images shared on thejeremystory. In case the admin of the website is still alive and would like me to take them down, please contact me at waterfall7290 + @ + google mail domain.

- - - - - 

Family Statements

After Jeremy's  violent public suicide and the subsequent song by Pearl Jam, Joseph Delle sold his home to escape the notoriety. Later, Joseph, Wanda and Jeremy's sister invoked a Texas law to keep a police video of the classroom from being publicly released. Below are exerpts from the family's statements.

ABOUT THIS BLOG

[hardyhazelnut]

Exerpt - Sci-fi Novel (WIP)

It had all happened before.

He’d seen this same exact scenario play out over and over and over in his head, in the midst of confused dreams and exhaustion-induced hallucinations, each time more detailed and yet more frenetic than the one preceding.

Stumbling, crawling, lying with his face in the scorched earth. Eyes unseeing through the mangled, twisted remains of his ops helmet, ash and dust mixed with tears like paste over his eyes. His head, ringing like the prayer-hall bell tower at mid-day.

He coughed, choking on the acrid smoke — real, this time, even if the rest of him felt more imaginary than ever. The ash in the air forced itself on to him with every laboured breath, an abrasive force against the back of his throat and heaving, burning lungs. His eyes watered, diluting and veiling the scene before him, until all he could see were ghosts running aimlessly among the threads of water woven into his eyelashes, flickering and disappearing among the blazing orange of dancing flames.

Ghosts and fire.

“Karaya!” His voice did not sound his own; distant, hollow — a child shouting through a metal tube at the dim light on the other end.

The only dim light he’d seen in days.

“Oijak!” He had put all the strength he’d had in his vocal chords; and yet he’d wondered if the noise he made was more than a whisper.

“Wykora!” A painful force wrapped itself around his foot, dragged him down to the ground. He hissed as the gashes on his hands filled with dirt and gravel, forced into his flesh by the impact. Unseeing through his burning eyes, he kicked blindly at the thing holding him captive. Each kick sent a jolt of deep, numbing pain up his left leg, the infringing force wrapping tighter around his foot.

Stop; breathe. Where are you?

He bent forward, head ringing at each movement, felt around his ankle. His left foot had gotten caught in the root of an up-turned tree, twisted around as he’d fallen — but that didn’t explain all of the pain. The ankle must have been twisted when he was thrown away in the explosion. He pried at the root, scooted forward to release some of the pressure on the tangled appendage. His hands were numb and unfeeling, slicked in something wet and sticky, but his fingers finally found purchase on the gnarled root, loosening it further.

His foot free, he grasped at what was left of his ops helmet, pulled the shattered remains off from around his jaw. His comm link hissed and crackled in his ear, dead noise. He tapped at the plating on his wrist cuffs, willing it to come back online.

“Wykora.” He gritted through his teeth. “Gil, Gil — come in. It’s Wyat.”

His answer was only static… Or maybe even the static was just the ringing in his head.

“Karaya.”

He dropped on to his stomach, feeling the bulges of every single content of his pockets and packs dig in against his protesting ribs, and listened.

The fresh breeze ruffled through his freed hair, shed some sunlight into his clearing but still watery eyes. There were birds in the trees, it seemed — little birds singing songs full of questions. He must have been out for a while. The wind blew through the foreign light-green leaves of the forest edging into the nearest side of the valley.

He crawled, slowly — painfully slowly. His left ankle didn’t bend all the way, so he dragged it behind him. His fingers collided with something — rubber, it felt like charged rubber and broken armoured plating. He blinked — swiped at his face with the rough tooth of the fastens on his cuff plates. His eyes cleared, the close-up image slowly coalescing before him.

It was a shoe; a standard, Dharan-manufactured armed assault boot. The plating was half-dislodged off of one side; the tread burned off at the heel. It felt too heavy for a standard Dharan boot.

He turned it over.

The foot — and half of a charred tibia — was still inside.

The static in the comm link inside his jaw cracked like lightning.

“Gil?”

He heard a noise through the slowly-dissipating fog in his head.

Vehicles. Multiple, incoming, from the road at the western edge of the valley. The engines were loud, noisy, wheels thudding over pot-holes in the untended roads.

Petrol power. Wasteful.

Obsolete.

Hjali.

Perhaps the residents of Kakavec-Under-The-Sun heard the noise from the distance and came to investigate. Perhaps they heard the explosion in the mill and were bringing the local hapless volunteer doctor.

Something there didn’t sit right. Something about the engine noise… the lack of a poorly-maintained skip to one of the cylinders as they propelled the loaded vehicle up the mountain.

He rolled over, needles of pain shooting up his arms, torso, legs. Boot cradled in the crook of his arm, he crawled on elbows and knees towards the cover of trees — the vanguard of the forest blown and frozen in surprise, covered in settling soot and ash. His legs gave out under the patch of shrubbery; he sank into the soft, moist earth, his cheek relishing the old winter cold that the alien-smelling moss still clung to.

The trucks drew nearer. He could hear the screaming of gravel under the worn-out rubber tires as they ran to a complete stop. Boots hit the ground, and voices flew — only male, adult — raised and free of fear, as if there was nothing out of the ordinary about the carnage in front of them. He’d began to remember some of the language faded from his childhood memory in the last few months here, but these men were not speaking in the Eastern Island dialect.

Delicately, he propped himself up and squinted through the tiny dark green leaves of his hiding place. The men who arrived were definitely not locals — he didn’t recognize any faces, any mannerisms of movement. He had spent the major part of this mission with the men from Kakavec — sometimes in quarters more close than he would’ve liked. He knew how they moved — knew the subservient, worn-down stoop that none of these new men possessed. The delicate colourful embroidery on the jackets and collars of these new men was not the rough handiwork of any of the local women either.

And yet, these strangers strode around the obliterated factory as if they owned the place. One of them spat at something on the ground and grinned a gap-tooth smile through the black of his beard at the man beside him. His hands were tucked into the arm holes of an over-sized stained vest — big enough to suit a man of greater stature with heavy ballistic armor. Each pocket’s loop-hole decorated with a standard-issue ESOF frag grenade — a necklace of skulls, their blind, unlit eyes of arming lights sparkling in the sun. His red-headed companion was dressed in a garish light blue robe with the same delicate embroidery at the hems and collar. His red hair and beard were braided with bead-work Wyat could not place as Hjali, even if the man’s pale skin and beard — just like Wyat’s own — left no mystery to his heritage. His over-armor, however, was clearly his own; fitted perfectly to his upper body, cinched at the arms — Dharan made, laser-fitted, with the same meticulous level of perfectionism.

There was only one way he could’ve gotten such a well-fitted set… which meant that someone, somewhere, was running a second fucking op right underneath the first one. Their first one.

Or he was something completely different. Something unheard of.

Something that just did not fucking happen to the men who passed the Al-Dharan selection process.

The armored man gestured to something on the ground a few feet away from them. They both laughed — Black Beard barking and gleeful, Armor more of a chuckle, barely audible above the first. He said something else, in the same quiet, rapid Hjali. The first man bent over, slapping his side like some kind of a barn animal. But the armored redhead turned, and looked — straight into Wyat’s eyes, piercing through the little leaves and lower branches of the white-barked trees. Wyat’s breath froze in his throat, burning the flesh. His knuckles were small white pebbles, half-dug into the dirt. For an eternity he stared into the moss-green eyes — covered in a recognizable permafrost of a seasoned shooter.

Then the redhead looked away, throwing a bored glance towards the further edge of the sunlit valley. A call came from within the destroyed mill — Wyat made it out as a dialect-distorted call for attention or interest towards something specific. The two Hjali turned and walked, black-beard’s grenade decorations softly clinking in tune to a familiar bawdy song he was badly intoning.

Wyat’s breath returned when the two men were swallowed by the factory’s gaping, broken mouth of a door. He pulled back and ran, his left ankle stabbing straight through the bone with each step. He ran, deeper into the forest — further into the dark.

The boot was still securely clenched in his hand.

[doctor-nu]

The effects have been extensively documented by the community in fact:

It can randomly cause 60 points of fire, frost, or shock damage, absorb attributes (damaging the target's Health, Stamina and Magicka by 50% of their maximum value, and restoring the player's attributes by 50% of their maximum values), make the target invisible, heal the target by 75 points, and in some cases instantly kill the target. Along with its offensive abilities it can also randomly transform a target into a chicken, rabbit, mudcrab, Dremora, more rarely into a sweet roll or a shower of 50 gold coins, along with a pile of ash.

Exerpt from the UESP:

[tricorderreading]

The Ashes of Eden (the shatnerverse)

Spock finally says goodbye, but something impossible happens

[sidhewrites]

EXERPT, because I love Rat with all my heart and can’t wait to start talking about her. Approx 2000 words. As always, feel free to send Asks or Messages about what’s written or anything you’re curious about.

The wind bit into her very bones, but the smoke was worse, stinging her eyes and sticking in her throat. Still, she kept herself still, watching and waiting, though this last display had made her bold enough to stick her neck out, just enough into the light that her golden eyes glittered in the firelight. Fee never came out so brazenly to anyone, much less for human beings. What had this one done? He’d pulled something from his pack. If she could just get down there and see what it had been ...

The travellers ate little -- a bit of dry rabbit, berries from the new bushes growing right out of the altar. Her stomach still groaned at the smell. How long since she had eaten a proper meal? More than two weeks, at least. Surely they wouldn’t miss one leg, just a handful of berries … and that tall woman’s blade did look frightfully shiny. Shiny enough that she saw gold in her future, very soon.

And the two pale ones -- twins? She was sure their eyes were red. Was it glamour, or were these folk really walking with demons into Veroesse? Curiosity burned hotter than branding irons. She rubbed the back of her hand, memory all too fresh in her mind.

She waited until they slept. She was good at this part, the waiting. Listening to them talk and figuring them out. The pale woman was from money, even if she hardly dressed the part now. What was a toff like her doing covered in mud like that? The dark man, though, he was could have been from any number of places. There was something Suvi about his lilt, but it was mixed in with too many other accents to tell. At least the other two made sense. The woman was from Guisson, if ever she heard it, and the pale man from south Merveaux. Lower middling class at best.

Still, they washed their hands and said their prayers and curled up as comfortably as they could in such a miserable place, every single one lying still.

Another hour after that, and she allowed herself to move, ignoring the protesting in her knees as she finally lifted herself from the crouch and slowly, silently eased herself down from the vaulted ceilings to the rafters, and finally leaping the final distance to the flagstones below, slippered feet silent as the sleeping travellers. One of them stirred.

She froze.

The woman from Guisson rolled over, batting her long dark braid away from her face, and went still.

She counted to fifty before moving again, silent and measured. First to the bush, picking as  many berries as could fit in her pockets. Doubtless she’d get tired of them in less than a week, but it was better than starving. Next, to the man’s pack, fishing out what she could. Smelly leaves -- she sniffed them once and put them back inside. A coin purse -- irritatingly light, but she wasn’t about to be picky, and a few whittled animals. No doubt she could get a silver or two if she sold them all together. She stuffed them all into the coin purse, and hid it down her tunic.

Now on to that sword -- that beautiful, glittering sword that…

Was now pointed beneath her chin, pressing against the soft skin of her throat.

She looked along the blade, past the grip and up into the dark, dangerous eyes of its wielder.

“I hope you have a good explanation for this,” she said in that low Guisson accent.

Shit.

“Now you’re just being dramatic, Liv.” The Suvi man. He pressed a hand against the back of her neck, fingers large enough to wrap around it -- and no doubt snap her spine without a second thought.

Double shit.

The woman glanced to the man behind her, hatred no less strong in her eyes. “Call me Liv again, and I’ll point this at you instead.”

“All right, I understand. We’re not there in our friendship yet. No need to get angry.”

“Friendship isn’t the word I’d use.”

Her head swam. Were they really bickering while holding someone’s life in their hands? What sort of people were they?

Something moved in the corner of her eye -- the other woman. She was slight, almost frail, and her voice sounded too soft to ever hold any strength as she asked, “What are you doing?”

#

Winnie hadn’t been able to sleep. It wasn’t the thunder or the howling wind that kept her up, but the lack of noise beside her. Rhoan’s constant tossing had become almost a comfort to her in the past few weeks, reassuring her that nothing dangerous was nearby. But he’d been still tonight -- wide awake, no doubt, thinking of something. Or watching for something.

Exhaustion tugged at her, but as hard as she tried to give in, anxiety and anticipation kept her irritatingly awake.

At least she hadn’t missed the ambush -- or, rather, the ambush of the would-be thief. They had been nearly silent, but her mouth watered at the smell of fabricant blood, and there was no hiding the soft snapping of berries being plucked from twigs, or the rustle as the thief had gone through Rhoan’s pack.

She kept herself perfectly still, hardly breathing as they came near, waiting for Rhoan or Livia to do something. Wondering if she ought to reach out and nudge Rafe awake.

Once the bickering started, Winnie finally exhaled. They were safe, then, and the thief had been subdued. She allowed herself to sit up and look over -- and freeze.

That was a child.

Livia and Rhoan had overpowered the girl in a second, and with good reason. She couldn’t have been much more than thirteen, with a gaunt, freckled face and ratty black hair. Even her faded red tunic and woolen pants looked like they hadn’t been replaced in years, judging by the fraying and the way her ankles and wrists poked out the hems. Her heart broke at the sight, and she spoke without thinking.

“What are you doing?” There was no strength behind her words, no confidence. Barely anything but fear.

All eyes turned on her, though Livia kept her blade at the girl’s throat, Rhoan’s hand wrapped tightly around it like he was about to pick her up and throw her aside like an old sack of flour.

“Is….is it not obvious?” Rhoan answered, though he seemed to wilt a bit under her soft stare.

Livia, however, held her ground. “She’s got your coin purse in her tunic. I’m sure that wasn’t all she intended to make off with tonight.”

“You always like to ruin the mystery, don’t you?” Rhoan pouted even as Livia glared.

Winnie would have none of it. She smoothed her curls back best she could and stood, turning her soft eyes onto the young thief. “What’s your name?”

“Miss Ashley--” Livia managed to say before the girl answered, stern and blunt.

“Rat.”

It caught them all off guard.

“Rat?” Rafe’s voice echoed behind Winnie, and she turned to see him standing tall just behind her. When had he woken up?

“‘S right. Rat.”

“But surely that’s…” Winnie fumbled. It wasn’t an unfair comparison, with her mousey features and buck teeth, but she felt guilty for even thinking about it. “That’s not a real name, is it?”

“Don’t see how it’s your problem.” Rat made a face. “‘S my name to do with as I please.”

“Well -- er, Miss Rat--”

“Just Rat. Ain’t no miss about it.”

“Right, of course, er. Rat, then. How old are you?”

“Old enough.” She sneered.

Livia pressed the tip of her blade against the skin of Rat’s throat, gently but definitively. “Miss Ashley, does any of this matter? She’s a child who thought to steal from us.”

“So you threaten her life?” Something like fire lit up her red eyes, and Rhoan’s grip faltered, even if Livia’s did not. “I thought you’d left the Chatvaliers to protect people, not to kill them.” It wasn’t a fair argument, and Winnie knew it. But she wasn’t about to let this slide. “Rhoan, let her go.”

He grimaced.

Her confidence faltered, but she pressed on. “Rhoan.”

He obeyed, and Rat slipped out of reach, rubbing her neck, scowling as she turned her big golden eyes on the rest of them, but she made no further move to escape or attack, or even reach for the small blade strapped to her belt, glinting in the firelight. Doubtless Rat understood what Winnie was reluctant to accept -- one wrong move, and at least two deadly warriors would strike her down in an instant.

Winnie would ensure it did not come to that. She stepped forward again, well aware of Rhoan and Rafe’s eyes on her, Livia’s still trained on Rat. No doubt she was being foolish -- one of the easy pickings for young pickpockets who would fall for a sad story. But she still figured foolishness was better than coldness.

“Rat, could you please answer my question?”

“Already did.”

“I’d like a number, please.”

Rat set her jaw, buck teeth barely poking out from between her lips. “Forteen.”

“Winnie, maybe we…” Rafe tried, but trailed off quickly under Livia’s scrutiny.

“And how long since you’ve last eaten?” Winnie pressed on, no less gently than before.

“Miss Ashley, enough.” Livia stepped forwards again, and Rat backed away. “She could be lying about any of this. If you’re intent on sparing a thief from persecution, turn her out and be done with it.”

“She’s a child, Livia.”

“So are half the criminals in Veroesse. She’s one of the older ones, too.”

“Am not! You’re an ugly liar.”

Livia snarled and grabbed at Rat’s hand. She yanked the glove off and pulled her into the firelight, even as the girl protested and swore. A pale brand bloomed on the back of her hand in the shape of an eagle in flight. “Talonpalm.”

Winnie winced. The talonpalms were one of the three largest thieves’ guilds in Veroesse. She looked away in shame, even as Rat continued to struggle, face pale, squeezing her eyes shut and turning her face away.

Rafe found his voice once more, stepping closer and placing a hand on Winnie’s back. “Where’s her talon, then?”

She opened her eyes, looking from him to Rat, cowering from the fire’s heat.

“Least someone has some workin’ eyes,” Rat hissed, still clawing at Livia’s hand.

He squeezed his hand, fighting for strength, and spoke up once more. “Talonpalms are branded for life, but they’re only part of the guild so long as they have their ring. She doesn’t have one anymore.”

“Course not.” But her resolve was fading. She was no further from the fire than when Livia first pulled her over, and sweat was beading on her face.

“Livia, would you please let her go?” Winnie tried.

Llivia did not.

“She hasn’t reached for her knife once. And look at her, she’s scared.”

Rat opened her mouth to protest, but one last glance to the fire had her shutting her mouth again, and looked to Livia pleadingly.

Finally, she did. Rat nearly fell backwards, and instead bolted to Winnie.

Livia’s sword was raised again, and Rhoan spread his hands wide to hold her. But Winnie held a hand up, towards them, catching Rat as she wrapped her arms around Winnie’s middle. She was small, even compared to Winnie, and her head only barely came up to Winnie’s shoulder as she pressed in tight, eyes trained on the other two as if daring them to come any closer.

Winnie wrapped her own arms around Rat’s shoulders. “Let her eat first, at least. It’s not like we’re going to pick the bushes clean on our own, right?”

Tag List: @fearlings-lament @maitretmaitresse @purpleshadows1989 @madammuffins

[sisyphean-everchase]

Daisy,

Horizon grey, the name of humanity,

Composed of singing and cooking and stories;

Hard to hum with a beast’s vocal chords,

But you make do;

Your sorry’s stole the wind,

But the anger ripped from your veins with hands trembling,

You replaced with kindness,

And repented.

-

Third piece of the Giant Beasts series; the Hunt

[rainpebble3]

Ok, first? I am so touched to be tagged in this :D and what an exerpt to be tagged in 😍 thank you so much ❤

I’m surprisingly organised with this story that I’m writing and have nearly four chapters ready in advance so this is a teaser for chapter 3! Before everything goes HORRIFICALLY wrong.

I’m a bit nervous seeing as my fic is a bit of a Windhelm Bash and I’ve been tagged by the QUEEN of Windhelm @thequeenofthewinter​... Oh well 😁

Layers of Ash and Snow Chapter 3: A Painful Performance

He was still looking around and pulled her into his side tightly. Mea didn’t know if she liked the way her heart fluttered but she certainly felt safer with him close by. They walked over the now clear paths and the twilight sky twinkled above them, casting a soft, violet glow over the mounds of snow pushed against walls. A few people wandered the street in front of them, their size giving them away as Nords and for some reason, the butterflies in Mea’s stomach doubled in size.

No one looked around at them, they were too intent on getting inside the tavern. Rei made to follow them inside but stopped when Mea halted abruptly. She eyed the door and then Rei.

“Where are we going?”

“We can still get a quick drink,” Rei gestured towards the door, “there are plenty of Dunmer who go into the tavern but once the bard starts, we’ll go back outside.”

Mea couldn’t move. Her limbs were locked in place and refused to take another step forward. She didn’t like this. Her earlier courage and defiance had vanished, leaving her frightened and wanting to return home. Her insides twisted as she took in Rei’s expression.

“I’d rather wait outside,” she whispered, just loud enough for Rei to hear. “I don’t need a drink.”

He threw a final look at the tavern door and shrugged. “Neither do I, come on, we’ll find a spot to sit.”

“It’s ok, Rei,” Mea protested, holding up her hands, “you earned a mead, I’m happy to wait outside for a little while.”

He looked at her for a moment and hugged her gently. “I’m not ditching my friend for a drink, we can go to your Cornerclub afterwards and drink twice as much.”

Mea blinked, her eyes stung, and her throat felt tighter, but in the end she nodded. “Ok, that sounds fair.”

His teeth shone in the setting sun as he grinned at her. “Follow me,” he took her hand and led her around the side of the tavern.

They passed by a door and a few shuttered windows before stopping next to an open one. The smell of hot, cooking meat wafted out and Mea’s mouth watered. Underneath that was the scent of freshly baked bread unlike anything she had ever tasted before. To her surprise, heat drifted out of the window, along with the exquisite aroma of food.

Rei directed her to sit down against the wall, next to the window and somehow the wall seemed to warm Mea’s back. She groaned softly, resting her head against it while he grinned. Closing her eyes, she sniffed again, breathing in the wonderful smell as deeply as she could. Never in her life had she eaten anything that had smelled that good.

“You like the spot?” Rei asked in a hushed tone. Mea could only nod, and he laughed. “Nils is a great chef. Tomorrow, when it’s quiet I’ll treat you to a meal here.”

“Really?”

He nodded and his smile slipped. “I’m sorry I haven’t thought of it sooner.”

Mea shrugged, “It’s not like we spent much time here, we stick more to the Gray Quarter.”

“It’s nicer there,” Rei said.

“Are you joking?” Mea hissed, trying not to speak too loudly. “Have you seen the state of the place? It’s left to rot and…”

“Sorry, I know how it is, but the people are nicer. You and your family are so kind to anyone who visits.”

Mea pursed her lips. Their ‘kindness’ was more than that, it was a survival tactic. Life in Windhelm was perilous. Just one offence and then the Nords would make their lives even worse, it’s not as if Mea could just go and report someone to the city guards. She had to just hope that enduring it quietly and good naturedly would be enough to survive. Perhaps this was why she still felt a strange prickle of unease when thinking of the altercation with Rolff earlier.

Work-in-Progress Wednesday

Wednesday so soon? Time to poke some friends and see if any candy will fall out. @oblivions-dawn @sneaksandsweets @tallmatcha @blossom-adventures @rose-like-the-phoenix @rainpebble3 and any and all other friends who might like to share something. <3

As Dahlia’s eyes take in the scene, it is unlike anything she has experienced before. Sure, she has seen festival days in many Holds, and the great market in Solitude, but nothing compares to the grandeur she sees in front of her today. It is clear to her that Vignar has taken advantage of the influx in guests to reveal new plans for the city. 

Briefly, she looks to Ulfric and wonders if this too was part of his elaborate plans. While he has made her a part of everything that he has done since the closing of the Civil War, there are still things she is sure were put into motion well before she had become important to him. Out of anyone she has ever met, she has never seen anyone who spends more time thinking—even more so than herself, and she had thought she spent too much time with her own musings.

Eventually, the great doors of Dragonsreach loom in front of her, just as familiar as ever. That has not changed at all since she was in the Hold for the last time—after the Battle of Whiterun and the death of Irileth.

Her heartbeat flutters, pounding slightly in her ears as the faintest hints of nausea turn her stomach like waves in a distant storm as she shakes the memory from her head. What is in the past is dead and buried, and there are more important things to focus on now: what will bloom from the uncertain future. Her stomach churns at the thought as nerves and unease threaten to consume her. What will the future will bring for Skyrim, for her people, and most of all for herself and her family?

One of Dahlia’s hands grips tightly to Ulfric’s, and he squeezes it back, trying to put her mind at ease. Vaguely, she wonders if he feels the same way. He always seems so certain of himself—so sure of what will come next. Conviction and faith run steadfast through his veins even in times like this. He is her rock of strength; however, she knows that he must feel the rippling waves of incertitude at times.

[worldoffae]

There’s an expert out and if this is how the book starts then we’re all doomed. 😅

[bookfandomtalk]

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