#but tally is a good weight too. they both are!!!

[orcelito]

I just freshly weighed my kitties :3

Tally ^ is 10 lbs (exactly !!)

June Bug ^ is 11.2 lbs :3

[mychlapci]

TFA anon is SO SORRY FOR THE DELAY ON BULKHEAD DREAM BUT HERE IT IS NOW

Anyways, in Decepticon society, I feel like in terms of romantic relationships, bots that are large and chunky like Bulkhead are considered to be very desirable. In fact, Decepticons are known to violently fight over those types of bots with other potential mates. Large and fat bots are desirable because they are able to carry many sparklings (averaging around four to five sparklings. The most was thirteen) and are generally very attractive to Decepticons unlike for Autobots those types of mechs are looked down upon.

So when Blitzwing and Lugnut met Bulkhead for the first time, they were immediately enamored. He was large enough to carry a fat litter of sparklings with hardly much trouble and was good looking as well. He was kind but also could hold his own if ever threatened by someone. Team Prime was incredibly confused when Blitzwing and Lugnut suddenly started acting weird. Towards Bulkhead they were more friendly and flirtatious but towards the rest of them they were more hostile. Maybe they considered the Autobots as a threat towards their courtship for Bulkhead. Additionally, they also started to bring Bulkhead gifts ranging from small trinkets to literal energon crystals for some reason.

It got even weirder when out of nowhere, Lugnut and Blitzwing just started brawling right in front of them. Like- actually brawling. Just snapping and clawing and just overall animalistic. Then they realized that had a job to do and went back to attacking the Autobots like nothing happened.

And then it gets even weirder. When it’s just Bulkhead and maybe even one other person like Bumblebee, Blitzwing starts doing these weird maneuvers in the air as if he was dancing and Lugnut just starts randomly showing off displays of strength by let’s say ripping a tree out of the ground (which Bulkhead does not appreciate in the slightest)

Ratchet is the first one who pieced together that they were not trying to intimidate them like they first suspected but were in fact trying to court Bulkhead. At this revelation, Bulkhead is both flattered and very flustered and Bumblebee just unhelpfully pats his arm and solemnly tells him good luck.

Since the two would not stop their advances on Bulkhead they decided to weigh the pros and cons of dating either Lugnut or Blitzwing. I am not joking. Ratchet literally pulled out a whiteboard from god knows where and told them to check the pros and cons before he hits them all with a wrench. In the end, the tallying for the both of them ended up being tied so they genuinely debated on just flipping a coin and choosing from there but Bumblebee comes up with the frankly obvious solution and just asks “Why not just pick both?”

Problem one just got solved just like that.

Problem two just got complicated because now Bulkhead was pregnant.

So when Bulkhead accepted the both of them as his mates Lugnut and Blitzwing got a bit too excited and ended up fucking him so hard not only was he sore and limping for the next two weeks, but they knocked him up as well. Lovely.

So now they had to deal with two very overprotective sires, a teammate who’s down for the count because he’s carrying a whole litter worth of sparklings, and then dealing with Decepticons while being down a member.

And also Megatron showing up more often and gaining an interest in Optimus which- what???

Ratchet might just kill someone if he has to deal with any more of this shit.

OH. holy shit I thought I answered this… crying emoji. so sorry TFA anon. 

You know I'm a big believer that Decepticons would find big fat bots extremely attractive. What's a skinny little speedster gonna go? They'll snap with the weight of a strong soldier on their waist. But big bots? They can carry many good heirs. The moment the 'Cons see Bulkhead they're swooning all over. He's a big fat bot, in prime breeding age, how can they just let those unappreciative autobots keep him? 

There's probably a momentary truce as Blitzwing and Lugnut need to balance wanting to keep their pretty carrier all for themselves, and Bulkhead still wanting to stay with the team. But I bet he enjoys knowing that he's swelling with babies and it only makes the 'Cons want him more. He was never desired this insanely and definitely not for his size… it’s very flattering.

(Okay, but do you think that Megatorn taking interest in Optimus is considered odd? Everyone is just shaking their heads as Megatron makes moves on the skinny-waisted little twink. They won't say anything, but they know he's choosing a sub-par carrier. How sad… Megatron and his ugly ass autobot boyfriend...)

[tallysgreatestfan-art]

Disabled4Disabled ships spotlight for Disability Pride Month: Tally Youngblood and Shay from Scott Westerfelds Uglies Series.

As much as I love them and as much as their stories helped me accept my own neurodivergence, I was hesitant to include them here and can only recommend Uglies with a huge caveat.

First reason: Unlike the other ships I include in this, Tally/Shay is not canon, it is just the relationship the series focuses on the most and has a fairly strong subtext.

Second reason: While the way the series portrays both Tally and Shays increasingly intense, for the lack of better words, general neurodiversity, and especially Tallys choice at the end, was groundbreaking for this time period and is even now much braver than what most novels would do – the way the series portrays their self-harming and Tallys and her boyfriend Zanes eating disorders is not good to say it friendly.

I don’t think the whole series is irredeemable, because everything else about it is just so good, but it is something you have to be aware of going in.

The issue lies not so much in the characters glorifying both as ways to escape their dystopian brainwashing, dystopias are famous for unreliable narrators, but that the disconnect between them doing this and the narrative and the author knowing that this is not a healthy way to deal with this is not better established.

It is also described not just fairly explicit, but also in a way that made readers who actually dealt with these issues feel alienated, since the self-harm is first described in a fairly antagonistic cult-like clique, and Tally and Zanes clique amicably mock them for loosing weight and becoming bony and haggard.

Why was this still so healing for me as a queer autistic woman with bipolar disorder?

Close to every book says that being different is okay and you should not conform to societal ideals. Uglies actually shows how insidious societal expectations are, how you still believe them even when they harm you, and how much it hurts to be lonely and different. With Uglies, you can believe it when it says being different (neurodivergent, queer) is okay, because it feels like it understands how hard it is.

In the first book, their neurodivergence is only hinted at, if anything. Tally doesn’t has many friends and all of them already were made into the older societal caste aka Pretties. She is lonely, and she desperately wants to be like them too, normal, how she should be. She meets Shay, who doesn’t fit in either, but takes the opposite route, rebelling against the system and being just so angry. It feels like the two extremes neurodivergent people can deal with their differences.

Their friendship made me feel so seen. It was deep and close, but also so jealous and it becomes increasingly more toxic and complex, as their dystopian system pushes them against each other again and again. It felt like all these messed up, failed female friendships I had. Even with how homoerotic it is, but both of them are too trapped in their other relationships and their past to ever act on it.

In the second book, without spoilering too much, their neurodivergent behaviors become so much more clear and also self-destructive due to the golden-cage like environment they find themselves in.

And in the third book, it is explicitly mentioned that the way their brains work is very different from the norm in a mental illness way. Even if, spoilers for the rest of this paragraph, their neurodivergence is artificially altered to make them more effective (read: self-destructive) super soldiers. As their allies come up with a way to undo this, Shay choses to do it. But Tally refuses. This blew my mind as a teen. That you could actually see your neurodivergence as a part of yourself. Even if it’s seen as bad, or destructive, or inconvenient for yourself and others.

There also is a third disabled character, Tallys boyfriend Zane, who already from the first time we meet him has an eating disorder, and also later acquires brain damage that causes him problems with motor skills. Tally at this point is horrible ableist to him about the physical disability, being programmed to by her dystopian society, but both her and the narrative also very firmly know that this is bigoted and something she needs to overcome. It is uncomfortable and harrowing and tragic to watch, but IMO it is respectful even if the characters are not.

Ultimately, it depends on what you search for if this would be a good read for you. Are you searching for accurate, healing self-harm and eating disorder representation? Then this is absolutely the wrong book. Are you searching for a touching, thought-provoking story about beauty culture, societal pressure and human nature, told through the toxic friendship between two teenage girls in a dystopian society? Then I can only recommend it.

A movie of the first book will come out 13.September this year on Netflix, hope it’s as good as the book. Sadly, in the book racially ambiguous Tally is white in it though, but Shay stays a WOC.

[ivanttakethis]

Before Round 27 - Tov’s Log

Jae (?) vs. Lang (?) -> ??? Win

————————————————————

Tov awoke the next morning to the phone ringing.

Nyx was gone, just as he said.

The only evidence of his presence left behind was rumpled sheets and a radio communicator so they could stay in contact.

They still had a lot to talk about.

All of the secrets Nyx spilled were still whirling around in her head.

“Vera is still alive.”

Good. Great. One less dead classmate.

“I never told you that I saw Aurien get taken away by Solei.”

They were even on that. Tov never told Nyx that she knew Solei was the one who rescued Aurien.

But that was before Round 7. Before she thought Tallis had died right in front of her eyes and lost her mind.

At least Tov returned the favor and spilled the secret about him too.

Now two people knew Tallis was out there somewhere.

Though what stuck in her mind the most, what left her with far more questions was—

“I never told you about my children.”

The thought of Nyx having just one child was enough to make Tov’s head spin. But he said children. Multiple.

He was so young. When the fuck did he have time to have multiple children?

Who were they? How long ago did he have them? Does he know their names? Are they still in contact? Where are they now? Please tell me they’re not in Anakt Garden—

The phone rang again.

Tov’s plot to tear that bastard Guardian Oryon’s wings off with her bare hands would have to wait for now.

She sat up in her bed and fumbled blindly for the answer button, hitting it with more force than necessary.

Wren started talking before she could greet her. “Hey! Where have you been? I’ve called you like three times already.”

“Late start.” She said around a yawn.

“Ah, so you haven’t read the news yet.”

Tov frowned, “What news?”

“Don’t worry about it. Just a bunch of gossip rags spewing bullshit about Round 26.” The distain in Wren’s voice was palpable. “‘Has the star of Season 39 fizzled out? Tov’s stellar fall from grace!’ Gag me.”

Ouch.

“That bad, huh?”

“It’s not bad, it’s tacky. They’re acting like you bombed on stage.” She said. “Akane was tough competition. Neither of you were going to win by a landslide. I don’t know why people are losing their fucking minds about it.”

Wren sounded pissed off enough for the both of them. Tov found herself smiling.

“Hey, I’m the one who almost died.”

“Yeah, but you didn't.” Wren said after a moment. “You beat death.”

“I just got lucky.”

“Then I guess that means my good luck charm worked.”

Oh, that’s right.

The new weight on Tov’s right ring finger came to the front of her mind.

She raised her hand up toward the window, letting the silver band catch the sunlight pouring in.

���Maybe...” Tov hummed softly, running her thumb over the sun and moon engraving.

“Something about your voice sounds different today,” Wren said. “You’re a lot more upbeat than I’d expect someone in your position to be.”

Is it really that obvious?

There was no way Tov was going to tell Wren anything about what happened last night.

She shook her head, “I think you're just hearing things.”

Wren laughs, “You're a terrible liar.”

“I'm a great liar.” Tov countered, affronted.

“Then l'm great at figuring out whether you're lying or not.”

“I don’t like the connotations of that.” She said flatly.

“You’re overthinking it.” Wren matched her tone.

Tov made a noncommittal noise, scrubbing the sleep from her eyes with her palms.

“I won't push you on where this new spark came from, as long as you put it to good use.”

“Put it to good use how?”

“For your next round!” She said. “You need a song that plays to your vocal strengths and uses that new spark you have. It should be something powerful, something that shows the audience that you’re still here and you’re still going to come out on top.”

“I still have to become the Sun.” Tov echoed.

“Exactly. It isn’t over yet.” Wren said. “You have a season to win, remember?”

————————————————————

This is a follow up to @imperfectnothing’s post of Tov and Nyx’s reunion after Round 26! Plus some sisterly bickering bonding!

Getting to see Nyx and being able to confirm that he’s okay has helped lift Tov’s spirits (even if she does want to put his owner in the dirt over what she’s learned).

She also has major survivor’s remorse over what happened with Akane, but Nyx and Wren’s encouragement makes her want to keep going. The power of siblings!!

While Nyx mentioned Solei to Tov, she still doesn’t know Solei is part bird 😅

[yiiyiiwrites]

The list | Pope x burnt out overachieving Kook (2)

More Pope x Burnt out, overachieving Kook and the cause of her burn out revealed. [First one here] and [moodboard] The boys trying to console Elwin after a horrible day back at school. (Not edited so might be some errors)

"I just feel like I'm sleepwalking, nothing I do seems to matter," she said, eyes locked with Pope's across the makeshift fire. The idle chat around her died away, the smoke session becoming so cold that she shivered after admitting how she feels.

Pope see's through it though, the crushing weight of her parents and the whole school ordeal that names her as the cheat. Those red letters scored into her back as she carried the label slapped upon her.

She picked herself up, dusting the dirt from her legs. Sigh leaving her lips, making up an excuse of needing another drink from the chateau.

“Elwin,” Pope called after her. The name of her favourite elvin warrior and character of the book that brought them together. She didn’t know if he’d called her the nickname out of familiarity (her username, Elwin11 and the identity she used to talk to Pope online) or to remind her of the strength she loved of the character. They both admitted that the stories and people in the books helped them escape from the everyday crap.

Following her up the stairs, Pope took her hand and clasped it between his. He smiled down at her, thumb tracing the small marks on her palm. Angry crescent shapes scored into her skin, the curl of her fingers relaxing before she can make a fist and add to the tally.

Pope found her honesty refreshing, never met someone so open about their feelings, that it makes him feel vulnerable himself. He finds himself offering a piece of his own as if trading his thoughts will mean she’ll share more. So he can understand her and help in anyway he can.

She rested her forehead against his shoulder, her deep shaky breath trembling through his frame too. “I wish the summer wasn’t over,” she said, her voice a scarce whisper.

Tomorrow morning she’d be miles from Pope. Donning her academy blazer and stuffy tie. Walking against the crowd instead of with it after her fall from the top.

“Why won’t you tell me their name?” Pope holds her at arms length, head dipping so that he can scan her face for any crumbling resolve and a bit more honesty. The one thing she wouldn’t admit was the name of the person that had set up.

She shook her head, arms wrapping around him as she clutched around his waist and pulled his chest to her cheek. “Don’t worry,” she mumbled, fingers twisting the back of his shirt in her grip.

Elwin retreated from him, the cool night breeze whipping through the space between them. Pope swept the stray strand of her hair out of her face, the complicated braid she’d learnt to do after they’d seen their favourite film, laid over her shoulder.

“Well whenever you’re ready, I’m here. How ever long it takes.”

*

On any other day, the sight of the Twinkie glistening in the sunlight would have drummed up some excitement. But in the wake of Elwin’s first day back at school, she traipsed down the neatly bricked stairs with all the energy she could muster. Her gaze down cast, the new shiny black shoes stained with the dust of another footprint.

It’s not until she slid into the back of the Twinkie that Pope caught the tear on her blazer, burgundy outer fabric curled over to reveal the striped lining beneath it. Her fingers playing with the pleated hem of her skirt as the Pogues tried to distract themselves from the bubbling rage rising in Pope’s gaze.

Kiara glanced between the two, Sarah shoving JJ’s head back to face the front before he could say something he’d regret. Elwin was thankful that they kept the conversation going, the chatter around her helped her not focus on the previous hours at school.

Elwin knew that the tightrope she’d been balancing on today would either break or she’d fall. She got good at falling, but she wouldn’t break so easily.

They pulled up at the chateau, John B’s gaze connecting with Pope’s in the mirror. He left the keys in, silent nod for Pope to use if he wanted to take Elwin anywhere else.

He nudged his knees against hers, leather sticking to the back of her warm thighs. Elwin peeled herself off the seat and ducked out of the door, gravel scuffing her shoes. She smoothed her skirt down, not looking back to check on Pope clambering out after her.

It took everything in her not to look at him, one glance and she knew she’d come undone. She wanted so badly to tell him about her day, but knew he’d get angry, wouldn’t understand.

Didn’t know that money even for her, someone with more than enough could not be enough to keep her safe. Her name alone no longer held weight, no high regard to protect her from the ones that tried so hard to knock her down.

And oh she’d been knocked off the column, not a few pegs.

“El-…” Pope tried to reach out, fingers ghosting her elbow as she dodged him.

They stood there, Elwin’s gaze on his shifting shadow on the ground. “I don’t,” she said pausing, “cant, not right now.” She shook her head, eyes squeezing as if trying to shake the tears away before they threatened to fall.

She heard the sigh, the mumble of his words flitting by as he walked past her.

Heat pricked her skin, jolt spreading across her chest in anger. “You’re mad at me?” She snapped, her hand circling his wrist.

Pope stopped, he slipped out of her grasp and pushed the door open to the chateau, thankful that Kiara and Sarah exited to give them some privacy.

Elwin entered before the door could shut, her eyes meeting John B and JJ’s on the sofa. She moved through the small area and to the kitchen where Pope leant against the table staring at the wall opposite in silent defiance.

Where she was normally open, Pope let his feelings fester and needed to sort through or overthink things before he could get them out. The stubborn streak she was used to, but today it seemed nothing was easy between them.

“Funny how you want to hang around with me and my friends all summer, but when it comes to anything about school, about those Kooks you can’t even talk to me.” Pope spat the word out, kooks the difference drawing a line between them.

“You said you’d wait,” she mumbled, arms wrapping around herself. “I don’t want…” part of her knowing she wouldn’t tell him or anyone. Pope knew it too. But a big part being she didn’t want him to get hurt seeking revenge.

Pope pushed away from the table, “how am I supposed to help you, when you won’t tell me who it is? What happened to you today?” His words came tumbling out without a filter, worry shaking in his voice. “Huh, who did this?” He flicked the torn piece of her blazer.

“Hey, woah!” John B cuts between them, arms stretching to create some space between the two of them. He didn’t miss Elwin’s stumbling feet and her back smacking the wall.

She couldn’t help the flinch, as if another rip appearing on her blazer. The reminder of a fist grabbing her lapel and shoving her against the school lockers.

Never been one for violence or backed into a corner for that matter. Can’t understand why she’s the target when she’s never done anything to harm anyone.

JJ rose from the sofa slowly as if not wanting to scare Elwin, his can of soda discarded on the floor. He’d seen it before, hell he’d done it a hundred times. Seen the way she’d closed herself off, letting her mind recycle the image of whatever happened to her today.

“Pope, why don’t you make some tea,” JJ said, his brows scrunching at his friend’s odd stares, but they slowly understood. Pope had kept a box of Elwin’s favourite tea, the specific blend she used when she helped them study and de-stress.

Guiding her to the sofa, JJ offered her a strained smile. He crouched in front of her where she sat, hands trembling in her lap and lashes glittering with tears. He glanced over his shoulder, John B talking to Pope as he watched the steam rise from the kettle.

The whistling kettle brought her back to the blurry surroundings, lump stuck in her throat. JJ noticing how small she’d become, slumped forward and curling into herself. Anything to take the attention away from herself.

“You’re okay,” JJ repeated a few times, knowing that she’d need someone to help her ground herself. To pull herself out of her head and focus on his words. The same words he’d tell himself over and over again.

“I don’t want to,” she mumbled as she finally looked at JJ. The peak of his hat tapping her forehead as she leant forward.

JJ shushed her, hands waving in the air. “You don’t have to do anything, that you don’t want okay?” The softness in the way he relayed the message made Elwin’s bottom lip quiver.

The bundle of nerves in her stomach tightening, she wondered if she should just confide in the boys. She welcomed the warm tea, hands enveloping the hot mug, a welcome distraction to the mixture of feelings going through her.

“We know something’s wrong,” Pope said, cushion dipping beside her as he sat down. “What ever it is, we can help,” he said smoothing his palm up and down her back.

“Promise you won’t do anything though.” Elwin said more to Pope than the other two boys. She sipped her tea ignoring the burn on her tongue, anything to distract her from the moment.

Elwin clutched the cup in her hands closer, warm tea sloshing over the edge. “It’s the same person that stole my essay, they were waiting for me after school. He…”

In unison the boys all blurted out, “he?”

The hand on Elwin’s back froze at the revelation. She nodded her head, continuing before they could get another word in. “He shoved me against the lockers and took my backpack. All my lesson notes gone,” she said as if the schoolwork going amiss was the most important thing instead of her getting hurt.

John b was trying to calm a raging pope who was pacing in front of them.

“Okay, okay,” pope said removing his cap flinging it to the sofa. “I’ve been going over and over this summer.” He waves his hand as he speaks, head bopping as if convincing himself to just say whatever’s on his mind.

“Dude just spit it out!” JJ snapped.

“So it’s like this. Ever since you told me about the whole essay stealing and getting done for cheating. I know you would never cheat for the record. I signed up for a tutoring gig during the summer but it fell through,” Pope paused, gaze flitting to each of them before continuing, his words are rushed and it’s hard for him to finally get it all out. “I just secured a job for after school tutoring at the academy, so if this guy is on the list…then I’m going to set this right.”

John B slapped his palm against Popes back offering him an encouraging smile and turned to Elwin. “Think we’re going to need a name,” he said raising a brow at her.

[rafent]

— 𝐒𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐒 𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐖: 𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐋

SWORD

LANCE

AXE -> boon

BOW

BRAWLING

REASON -> bane

FAITH -> budding talent

AUTHORITY -> boon

HEAVY ARMOR

RIDING -> bane

FLYING -> bane

◆ ��𝐎𝐎𝐍𝐒

Axe: Once Nil drops the defenseless act in chapter 5 of the Fell Xenologue, his unit description changes into a Fell Child who 'fights viciously with an axe' and that to me says it all. If you use JPN Rafal to score a finishing blow, if you land a special engaged attack, or if he wins his match in arena, he'll laugh like a maniac with unadulterated joy. Even in his ally profile Rafal has an image where he's swinging Revanche with a smile. He likes being in the thick of the action and that axe in his hand makes him feel alive.

"Inheritor of the blood of the Fell Dragon. Ill-suited for fighting, but reluctantly wields an axe." -> "Inheritor of the blood of the Fell Dragon. His true nature revealed, he fights viciously with an axe."

He prefers axes because they have the capacity to deal excruciating damage and as much of it as possible; they can hack, they can crush, spill guts, decapitate, and break bones. Combining personal (40%) and Fell Child (20%) growth rates tallies him at a hefty 60% over all growth rate in strength. Rafal has the highest strength growth not only among his half-siblings, but among the entire lineup of royals after likewise combining their rates. Some combatants rely on tactics or precision to score kills but Rafal is reliant on brutality, on a weapon that taps into his raw strength, and it gets the job done.

Looking at Rafal's in-game battle model as a Fell Child, his idle posture is confident, loose, and even casually leaned back as opposed to upright, vacant hand reached out in readiness similar to his twin; there's a lot of mixed signals going on here; it speaks to someone who is powerful and knows it, but likely not as concerned with textbook technique even if still disciplined in his own way. Revanche itself is functionally a signature Killer Axe with lighter weight balancing power and wieldiness. If you view him then as a Killer Axe user, someone who seeks out critical hits and inflicts dominating blows that leave his opponents in pieces, 'fights viciously with an axe' is precisely correct.

Authority: Authority has no skill equivalent in Engage so this boon comes from a purely character-based understanding. Rafal's contentious personality didn't affect his ability to successfully organize hundreds upon thousands of Corrupted. It helps that said Corrupted were obligated to serve him, their creator, but other than that they retained their original personalities no matter how troublesome and in some cases even needed to be fielded for it (looking at you Ivy and Fogado). If we're talking upper management, he has both the experience and the patience to commit without losing his cool.

Relevantly, his interaction with the Corrupted archer in the Gregory B-support tells me a bit more about him. Though Rafal is a Fell Child it's made clear that Corrupted soldiers don't obey the will of just everyone who shares in Sombron's blood. They can sense that Rafal is an Other, an anomaly from a different Elyos or an enemy aligned with the Divine One, and so conflate him with humans. Rafal's authority despite his own understanding doesn't reach here; he's disturbed by the absence of it and disgusted by a lowly foot soldier 'daring' to attack him. It's a sense of indignation come from being higher in position. This is someone who is used to being in charge, who has a precedence with giving out orders and having those orders obeyed.

Other derivatives of his relationship with authority exist, too. When speaking to him post-battle at Brodia Castle, he makes a remark that 'wanton destruction is not leadership' and that 'a good ruler should be admired'. This is a likely reflection of his own tastes, but there's an earlier light shed on this perspective when he compliments the reign of his native Divine Dragon during the DLC as Nil. Rafal who makes a show of prioritizing his own comforts and not caring what others think is noticeably interested in public opinion; the parameters of success in rulers and kingdoms.

Another instance of his interest occurs at the post-battle Mountain Settlement where he says, "alas, weak governance breeds banditry, and weak citizens are prone to death by bandits". Over all, he takes note of others with exceptional periods of rule, vocalizes his thoughts on systemic chinks, and knows inherently how promising leaders should behave - even if his way of communicating that is a bit morbid. It's not a stretch to believe that given his understanding, authoritative mannerisms, and natural self-confidence, he can be honed into something resembling a leader, given the opportunity. A diamond in the rough so to speak.

◆ 𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐒

Reason: Rafal is the Fell Child with the lowest magic growth rate. Black magic of the wholesale offensive variety isn't writ in his cards. He won't be casting grand spells like Obscurité and Bolganone or taking up the mantle of Gradlon's most powerful sorcerer any time soon. With that said, it's notable to me that Rafal is the Fell Child we see the most out-of-combat and status based magic application from.

From casting tracking and warping spells, to immobilizing prisoners with conditional barriers that eviscerate any limb out of bounds, Rafal's use of petty magic is a separate distinction that falls under the Reason category, but can't be categorized perfectly alongside proper offensive spells. Rafal took Sombron's advice to heart because his magic at a glance is rooted in underhanded schemes as opposed to straightforward devastation. Though I have no doubt he purposed these death traps to useful ends when weeding out his sibling rivals. Practice makes perfect and Rafal had a lot of practice.

When used alone his tools can be duds seen coming from a mile away. However, because he pairs them with coercion or ambush or a carefully manufactured weakling image, there isn't much that his prey can do. Even as a failure, he's a piece of work; a Fell Dragon who played the game through and through, and you can tell. A spider that patiently prepares a web, waiting for the right time and the right place, can be just as dangerous as the wasp that stings you outright. The fact is that you don't expect a failure to catch you off guard or to have such nasty tricks up his sleeve and he takes advantage of that. It's a bit oxymoronic, but utility spells like Warp, Silence, Fracture, etc (the majority of which are in Faith) are what I'm gunning for in order to better flesh out that unique aspect of Rafal.

Riding & Flying: Self-explanatory banes on the basis of being a Fell Dragon with an especially potent aura. Even more explanatory, JPN Rafal's formal character talent is scaring away animals ( 動物を追い払うこと ) which is abridged in the localization as being intimidating. I doubt this is an opt-in feature and it's more about his innate way of being. Everything about his presence screams scary and that glare doesn't play. When predators go into hunt mode and the entire din of the forest dies down from birds to crickets, that's the kind of effect we're talking when he walks by, and Rafal himself is well-aware of it.

Rafal, at Shadowy Moor: "Fear not. Even if more foes are lurking about, they will not dare reveal themselves to me."

He's terrifying enough to his human allies and enemies, so unless they lack a sense of life preservation, there is no animal in the world that is going to let Rafal ride them. Travel by buggy and horseback are virtual impossibilities for him. It's a good thing he can fly faster than any of them can move. Did I mention Rafal starts fresh out of the DLC with a Fell Stone that has cavalry effectiveness and another that can be refined to have flying effectiveness? Animals avoid this dude like the plague. There's a reason why you will never find him loitering at the farm in the Somniel.

◆ 𝐁𝐔𝐃𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐓

Faith: Hi, Nil. Why do you have a restore staff sitting in your inventory that you can't even use, Nil. I choose to believe that Rafal at one point possessed an interest in faith magic, an avenue separate from his axe that could not only help Nel by lessening her burdens, but also by empowering himself with new purpose. This was undoubtedly a failed venture because the restore staff collected cobwebs in his inventory. His low magic proficiency wasn't about to take him anywhere. A catch, though; after you pour your life force into someone for a thousand years, something about you is probably going to change on a fundamental level. A long span of muscle memory embedded in you, from healing a sister, little by little, each and every day.

His 10% magic growth rate is a pitiful and near obsolete number, unable to be relied on for any concentrated magic build. 10% is just about fumes and more-or-less represents the inalienable Fell Dragon blood in him, but it's better than nothing. Even assuming that "Nil" had no promise in this field, succeeding the DLC he had a millennia of constant patterns and prayers that put its footprint on his body. Lumera when speaking of her identical actions in reviving Alear refers to the process as healing. Rafal has no knack for destructive Fell magic, but what about the strange equivalent to faith magic he has a thousand years worth of history dabbling in? Much to think about.

This last bit is just about pure indulgence on my end, but Rafal is a clearly defined destroyer. Someone who snuffed the life from his own world and took countless innocents over the course of his ambitions. Healing and giving as opposed to taking is diametrically opposed to his dark past, another way of atonement, and a quaint opposite.

[willshipanything-blog]

Breaking the Rules- Chapter 5

Sorry for the delay! But the next chapter is here!

A little breakfast after last night's games, which was absolutely overheard! And Y/N has a heart to heart with her new friend...

As always, MINORS DNI, full tags on AO3

Chapter on AO3 here

Full chapter index here

Chapter 5- Into the Woods

Stepping out of the bathroom, dressed and ready for work, Al’s eyes locked on you with a tense expression. His lips pursed slightly and his brows creased together upon seeing you still in the bedroom. You sat on the edge of the bed, dressed too- though you hadn’t left to start on breakfast like you normally would have. Waiting for Al had seemed like the sensible option, or at least, the option that filled you with the least amount of wariness. You still felt this inexplicable need to have him with you in Max’s presence. He was Al’s brother- but what was he to you? Not that Max hadn’t been completely understanding and friendly last night; you just didn’t know him. He was still a stranger, an unknown entity, and you didn’t want to face him alone just yet. Not if you didn’t have to. 

“You waited for me?” Al asked softly, seeming to understand your hesitance and worry about leaving the comfort of your shared space. 

“Yeah, I just- I dunno- felt weird-”

“Don’t worry, dove,” Al interjected, perching next to you on the bed. The mattress dipped beside you and you leaned into him as he placed a reassuring hand on your thigh. “You think Max won’t find something to talk about? By the end of the day, you’ll be begging him to shut up.” 

A small smile curled on your lips. You definitely weren’t scared of Max (he seemed about as threatening as a bunny), but you sensed there might be an awkwardness. A void of silent, empty space that you wouldn’t know how to fill. But Al was right; Max was more than capable of padding out the silence with his endless conversation. 

Pleased that you were reassured, Al kissed the top of your head before he slapped his hands to his thighs and heaved himself up. He headed towards the door ready to guide you out of the room. But you weren’t quite ready to leave just yet. A little playfulness would be a good excuse to postpone the inevitable.

“I guess, while you’re away… I’ve got time to win him over with my charming personality.” The coy tone of your voice had Al whipping his head around at your teasing statement, meeting your wide, smug grin. Sometimes it was satisfying to have the shoe on the other foot and be the one who got to tease and taunt. To get Al’s hackles raised just a little and savor his reaction. He was on you in an instant, shoving you backwards and gripping your wrists beside your head. His weight pressed on you just enough to knock any remaining breath out of your lungs, suffocating any more of your brazen comments. His eyebrows dipped as if he was livid, but his sharp smile matched your playful tone. Al’s minty breath ghosted your lips as he spoke.

“Oh dove, I don’t think he could handle such a naughty little thing like you.”

“And just how would you handle me, Al?” you croaked beneath the weight bearing down on your ribcage. He was silent after you asked the question, and in the tight space between you both, you flicked out your tongue to brush against his lips. It was your final little act of defiance before Al snapped, growling through his wide, toothy smile and then crashing his mouth into yours, his tongue invading hungrily. As quickly as he pounced, he tore his lips away, standing back up and dragging you upright with him. You groaned at the fleeting moment, but he just chuckled at your frustration.

“Sorry dove, outta time this morning. Guess you’ll hafta find out the answer to that next time.” he said, thumbing your lip softly. Returning to the door, he opened it and gestured you through in his theatrical little way.

“By the way, Y/N,” Al leaned towards you as you walked down the hallway, lowering his voice to a whisper. “That little remark of yours just added another tally mark to the total- I do hope you’re keeping count.” A cold shudder of sweet anticipation coursed through you at the words, but he bared that wicked smile and walked ahead to greet his brother, who you could hear clanging around the kitchen. You hoped the very visible blush on your cheeks would be another topic definitely not up for discussion this morning. 

“Perfect timing!” Max crowed as you and Al entered the kitchen, Samson padding over to greet you in the doorway with a sloppy lick along your knuckles. Al gave a quiet murmur of ‘good morning’ and headed for the coffee pot, whilst you sat down opposite Max and insisted that he needn’t have made breakfast for everyone. Though, when you glanced at the nearly-toppling stack of dishes in the sink and smelled the distinct aroma of something recently burnt that hadn’t quite dissipated through the open window, a small part of you actually wished he hadn’t. Turns out someone could cook worse eggs than Al. Still, you thanked Max for the kind gesture with a wide, warm smile as you started to fill your plate with only slightly charred sausage links and buttery toast. 

“How’d you sleep, Max?” Al asked, leaning on the counter with a fresh mug of coffee in hand. 

“Oh, sure, it was great, yeah. Well- er- that is, I slept eventually. Thin walls, ya know?”

The orange juice you’d just swallowed nearly came back up through your nose. Choking and spluttering at Max’s offhand comment, you glanced over at Al, who was laughing quietly into his coffee cup as if the remark wasn’t completely mortifying. Was this something brothers actually joked about? You beat your chest with a clenched fist to clear your throat, and dared to peek over at Max. He was busy scooping more eggs onto his plate, but paused to give you an innocuous smile; obviously, he meant no harm by the comment. 

Turns out both the Shaw brothers could make you blush, neither afraid of a little ribbing. Although… only Al’s lewd remarks sent that familiar charge of electricity deep in your stomach. Thinking it over, you supposed Max only heard the suggestion of what was happening in your bedroom last night. If he’d any idea of the twisted game you had played, the obscene words uttered, you doubted he would be making such casual observations. You could take a little light teasing, but you weren’t about to be the butt of everyone’s joke that morning.

“Well,” you chirped, stealing the last sausage as Max reached for it, tossing it to a very happy Samson. “I was going to offer to help clean up your mess, but it looks like you’re on washing and drying duty now, Max.” Amidst Max’s childish, exaggerated groans, Al had slipped over to the table, standing with his arms crossed across his broad chest as he addressed both you and Max.

“Okay, break it up, children. I’m off to work, and when I get back I’d prefer it if both of you were in one piece.” He leaned down to your side of the table, curling his hand around your neck and pulling you in for a soft kiss. You stiffened only slightly, having never kissed Al in front of, well, anyone before. Even before Al, you tried to keep signs of affection to a minimum out in public. But when his fingers grazed your skin, his touch dissolved everything around you, pulling you into a bubble where only the two of you existed. He pulled away, straightening up and giving Max a nod before leaving to a chorus of you and Max offering your goodbyes. You heard the front door open before Al gave a final order:

“Be good!”

“I will!” both you and Max hollered in unison, and you swore you heard a soft sigh in the pause that followed before the door closed again. Likely Al shaking his head at now having two nuisances instead of one to deal with for the next few weeks. The door closed, and you and Max exchanged glances before simultaneously breaking out into fits of laughter. Even Samson gave a happy-sounding bark. 

Admittedly, you had been worried about spending time with Max alone, but those worries had drifted out of the window along with the smoke from the burnt breakfast. He was clearly going to be a welcome addition to your day, a veritable ray of sunshine in a Hawaiian shirt. He’d be a distraction from potential boredom, and a wealth of information about Al, an enigma you loved, but still hadn’t fully cracked. This was gonna be all kinds of fun.

-----

“Hellooo, Earth to Y/N. You ok?”

“Huh?”

Max’s concerned voice broke you from your momentary stupor; you’d frozen half-way through locking the front door after agreeing to join Max on taking Samson for a walk. You turned to him and offered a brief, forced smile before swiveling to lock the door, cursing yourself for faltering now, after such a perfect breakfast.  

You’d talked this over with Al at length, and you’d come to a (somewhat uneasy) agreement that things would be ok if you left the house, on occasion. Since your reconciliation with Al, you’d been on plenty of outdoor walks together, and you hadn’t attracted any attention. This neighborhood was on the other side of the city from your old one and the walks had done you good; you had a healthy color on you now compared to the pallid complexion you’d adopted from weeks spent solely inside the house. Granted, they had been mostly either early morning strolls or quiet walks under the inky blackness of night, but Al lived in a quiet, unassuming suburb. And since the Grabber’s spree had stopped, there was no curfew, no worry among citizens, no more horrors prowling the streets of Denver. You had still made sure to take precautions and certain measures, of course. Specific clothing, specific routes, always with Al. 

That was the only change, you supposed- that you’d never left without Al before. Theoretically, it shouldn't have been much different with his brother. As long as you were careful, you wouldn’t be recognised. Which meant both you, and especially Al, were safe. The idea of recognition was nauseating to you now. When Max’s face had dropped last night, the telltale flicker of deduction in his eye had been almost too much to bear. The thought of someone in the street having that same reaction (and the consequences that could follow) sickened you. But it wasn’t like you were planning to go shopping at the Galesburg Mall on a bustling Saturday, so you tamped down your fears and locked up the house.

You pocketed the house keys, pulled your baseball cap further down your brow, and turned towards the outside world. If Max thought something was amiss, he’d simply chalk it up to you being scared of bumping into past ghosts. Hiding from a past life that, at least in his view, you were avoiding like the plague. 

“Sorry Max, I was miles away. Let’s go.” you chirped. You possibly said that a little too energetically.

“Uh…huh,” Max said, unconvinced by your sudden 180 from pensive to chipper, but carrying on nonetheless. “Speaking of miles, don’t say I didn’t warn you about the walk. Sammy needs his long walks or he’s gonna go stir crazy cooped up in the house all day, aren't cha boy?” Samson answered with an emphatic bark, pulling on the thick leash so hard in excitement, you thought Max’s bony arm might dislocate. The house was your comfort, your sanctuary, and you never felt safer when you were tucked inside- but even so you had to agree with Samson on this one. Stretching your legs now and then had its benefits.

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep up!” you said, falling into step down the sun-baked sidewalk. You placed yourself on the half of the path furthest from the road, the huge dog and Max’s tall figure blocking you from full view of any passing cars. 

“Alrighty then- don’t say I didn’t warn ya, Scout!” He chuckled at the questioning glance you threw him. “What? I’m not gonna start using those lovey-dovey nicknames that Al uses now, am I?” he shuddered in mock disgust. You smiled inwardly. A warm feeling intensified in your chest, and it wasn’t the heat of the mid-morning sun. You’d had so many conflicting feelings about Max’s visit, but this felt so relaxed and natural. You’d lost friends from your past, and Al had never fit that description. But you had a friend now, and it felt like a small vacant spot in your heart (one you weren’t aware existed) was being occupied once more. 

You veered left at the end of the street, heading towards the woods that you and Al preferred (a secluded area of woodland that was much less popular than the bustling public park a block away). Small talk abounded with Max, just as Al had predicted. Still, as much as Max liked to babble, the topics stayed light. You supposed he was taking what Al had said to heart, and didn’t want to pry into the mystery of your life, much as he might want to. Perhaps he wanted to determine what you would and wouldn’t talk about. He seemed the type of person who often put their foot in it unwittingly, and was trying his best to avoid his usual tactless demeanor and stepping on any toes. Completely oblivious about the real secrets you and Al were harboring. But what would you tell him? A story so absurd as to be almost laughable. His big brother- a kidnapper and a killer? You, his captive- falling for Al and staying with him all these months? Max would have to be as crazy as you and Al to believe it. 

You still felt exposed outside of the house, but once you entered the shade of the thick woods, your skin cooling slightly as the sun disappeared, you allowed your guard to drop just a little. Even when you’d been out with Al, only the safety of the dense forest and the canopy of trees that darkened the woods felt truly safe from prying eyes. The atmosphere was calming, a safe veil from the outside, and as you tracked down the dirt path together it felt like the time to pry a little. 

Al had not had the best childhood- knowledge you’d accumulated from just a few terse conversations about it. But upsetting Max was the last thing you wanted- if it had been hell for Al, surely the same applied to his little brother. Max was less affected by those events, clearly: he didn’t possess the same haunting demons that Al had almost allowed to consume him completely. Still, you thought, best to ease into it subtly. Start with something comfortable- and something you’d noticed as soon as you’d laid eyes on Max when he crashed into your life the previous night. 

“You look just like your mom, you know.” Max glanced your way, his eyes softening and a small smile broadening at the mention of his mother.

“Yeah, I used to hear that a lot growing up.”

It wasn’t a lie. The similitude between Max and his mother was striking, you thought- even when you’d only seen an old sepia-toned picture of her to compare him to. The same dark, intense eyes that still carried a softness within them, set back under a wide brow. She wasn’t smiling in the faded photograph, but she had the same square-set jaw and you could imagine an identical set of deep dimples embedded in each cheek just like her son’s. Al had a small hint of a dimple in one side of his face, but Max’s baby-faced divots made his smile more warm and earnest. An innocent aura at odds with how Al first appeared to you. At odds, you know too, with Al and Max’s father.   

“Does Al look like…?” you raised the pitch on the final word, asking the question without using the word ‘father’, inexplicably finding yourself unable to say it.

“Yeah, he does.” Max said sheepishly. He didn’t say the ‘f’ word either. In fact, he didn’t say much for a while after answering you. Instead, you walked for a short time in silence, a little awkward, broken only by Samson’s occasional barking at distant squirrels and the sound of dried leaves and twigs crunching underfoot. You guessed you’d hit on a subject Max couldn’t (or perhaps wouldn’t) chatter about endlessly. That was a quirk you’d noticed about the Shaw brothers- the avoidance of talking about their father. They had reminisced plenty after Max’s arrival last night, and talked constantly about their mother- the terms ‘mom’, ‘ma’ and ‘Florence’ bandied around without hesitation. But you noticed if the conversation did include their late father, it was always that formal title. Never ‘dad’, or ‘pop’ or even his Christian name, which you didn’t even know. You didn’t care to ask. You wouldn’t pry on that subject anymore. Not today, at least. 

Samson approached you, whining and eager to play with a thick branch he’d found and brought to you clamped between his jaws. You took the stick, throwing it far into a thicket of trees off the main path, watching the huge dog bound after it excitedly. You turned back to Max, grateful for the distraction that gave you time to think about your next move. Max had been honest and open with you, someone he barely knew, and yet almost everything he did know about you was a falsity. You’d told enough lies already, and decided a little truth was only fair. 

“My dad left when I was too young to remember.” Max chuckled dryly at your statement, a soft ‘huh’ and a nod of understanding. Coming from anyone else, maybe even Al, it might have sounded bitter, but you didn’t think Max capable of such a trait. He was probably thinking how lucky you were: your dad might have been a piece of crap too, but he had the decency not to burden you with it. In comparison, you guessed you were lucky. “After that, it was just my mom and me for a little while, and then a couple of years later my stepdad came into the picture. It felt like a whole family after that-” you clammed up, realizing your mistake. 

Either you carried on that thought, thinking fondly of your childhood and contradicting the picture you’d painted for Max last night. Or you’d have to add another lie to the pile, which you weren’t prepared to do. If Max caught on to your stumble, he didn’t pry. Just like Al, he kept his promises. Sensing your unease, though, he steered the discussion away from your past.

“Ya know, I don’t ever remember my father smiling,” Max said “but I don’t think Al stopped smiling, like, the entire night last night. Shit, he’s happier than I’ve ever seen him, really. Looks like ya worked some magic on him, Scout.” You beamed, hoping the shade afforded by the thick mass of trees would hide the color that rushed to your cheeks. Max must have seen your daydream-induced smile. “You’re crazy about him, huh?”

You nodded, as much to yourself as a reply to Max, reaffirming that you had accepted what had come before, however wrong it was. You had allowed yourself to hide the past wrongs to embrace the present which felt so right. 

“I love him.” You said aloud- an admission to an outside party. Saying it to Max, outside the four walls of the house where your relationship lived in a secret shadow, made it feel more real. Your love had momentarily escaped the confines of the house, and existed in the real world. 

“Well I’m sure you already know, but he’s crazy about you too, Scout.”

“He told you that?”

“He did, but it’s not like he needed to. I mean, come on, he looks at you like nothin’ else I ever saw. Plus, that huge hickey you got there is a bit of a giveaway…”

You slapped your hand to your neck, remembering the playful assault Al had administered during your game last night. You reddened a little, but there was really no hiding the evidence of Al’s ministrations. It’s not like you were going to wear a turtleneck in the middle of summer. At least you’d had the sense to wear a t-shirt that hid the scar on your chest. How you’d ever explain Al’s name carved above your heart you’d never know. You made a mental note to mark Al at some point so he could take a turn being the butt end of Max’s playful digs. Max continued:

“Yeah, you two got somethin’ special, Y/N. People would kill for what you guys got.” No sooner did Max say that, then he suddenly bolted with a cry of ‘shit!’, noticing Samson jumping into the small creek up ahead, dangerously close to a boggy patch of mud that was all-too-tempting to an inquisitive dog. 

Left walking alone, you slowed your pace, turning over those parting words. ‘People would kill for what you guys got.’ That was the problem- people had been killed. Your stomach lurched and you swallowed down the rising bile, hoping the memories would go the same way. There was always a trigger, a word or action that reminded you of the facts, but you’d gotten better at pushing them down. Thoughts of Al helped- and like Max had said, Al was happy. You hadn’t seen him truly worried or angry in a long while. To know that you were the cause of his happiness sparked a warming flame in your chest. You saw him as a decent man, despite the awful things he’d done, but you wondered morosely: was it possible for the fucked-up parts of all this to be outweighed by the good? It crushed you, the weight of that question, as did the answer you thought would probably win out. 

Luckily, you were yanked out of your thoughts by the sight of Max wrestling Samson out a mudbank, only to slip and fall in it himself. Finally, you cheered inwardly, a little leverage to tease Max with. The companionable silence that descended upon the rest of the pleasant walk was interrupted only by your stifled laughter at the sight of a mud-covered Max, as well as Samson’s energetic barking. The pair really did provide a welcome distraction from any worries that had been building inside you. There was no need for any more forced smiles on the walk that sunny morning. 

-----

Al had worried the relief that had crept over him that morning would be short lived. That his skepticism that came all-too-easily would weasel its way into his head, leaving him in pained worry all day. But even on the journey home from work that evening, Al didn’t feel that familiar knot in his stomach that something would go wrong; it simply hadn’t materialized. It was a feeling of happiness, of safety, and of hope. 

He hummed tunelessly to the fuzzy radio static on the drive home, amusing himself that the worst thing he felt was probably a small sting of jealousy. Not that anything like that would occur (he had complete faith in both his love and his little brother). No, it was jealousy that he couldn’t spend the whole day in their company. Max was able to spend time with Y/N, when Al wanted to breathe in her scent every minute of every day, to lose himself in her completely. And, if Al was being honest, jealous too that his little thing got to spend time with Max, when Al had seen him maybe twice a year in the past decade or so. Both brothers had been at fault, Al concluded- with Al’s own frosty demeanor and Max’s habit of drifting constantly with no real focus being equally to blame.

But that could change now. No, it would  change. Max seemed genuinely determined to make a home for himself in Denver. Soon enough, Al would have his good girl all to himself again, with the added bonus of Max in small, manageable doses. His whole family right here with him, for good. He dialed up the volume on the radio, drumming his fingers on the leather steering wheel in rhythm with The Eagles’ ‘Take it Easy’. And for once, Al really felt like he could. 

Another fear had been allayed by what Al had witnessed so far too: that Max hadn’t pried. With his little dove’s tearful retelling of her past (however embellished they had had to make it), and Al’s stern insistence that Max not poke his nose into it, Al felt confident Max would stay true to the agreement he’d made, and would stay in blissful ignorance that they were hiding anything.

-----

What the hell were they hiding? Max couldn’t put his finger on what felt strange about his brother and Y/N’s relationship. Ok, so maybe there were several weird things, but something just didn’t sit right with him. 

The age thing did freak him out initially; she was maybe 15 years younger than Max, and he couldn’t do the math in his head, but he knew the difference between her and his brother was pretty far from what might be seen as ‘normal’. But the bounds of what Max considered ‘normal’ was more lax and open-minded than most other people. Plus, he figured, he’d date someone as young and pretty as Y/N in a heartbeat if given the opportunity. He could tell it was real too- and that’s what mattered in the end.

But it was so bizarre that he’d seen her face, clear as day, in a little square frame accompanying news reports on almost every channel. It hadn’t been too long after that kidnapper had been taking those boys, Max remembered. To know that she hadn’t been taken by The Grabber was good news, obviously. But did she really feel isolating herself, running away, had been the best option to escape her situation? Max cringed at this thought- because he’d done the same, in his own way, hadn’t he?

And that one thing she’d said on the walk- about her mom and stepdad. She’d sounded happy, and the look on her face was sad- not in a scared way, but like she missed them. That was at odds with what she’d hinted at the night before, wasn’t it? Or maybe it was good, until it wasn’t. A home, a childhood, could be made of good and bad parts. Was he thinking too hard about all of this?

Max had all these questions and more which, infuriatingly, he’d agreed not to ask. He couldn’t ask where she had run to. How they’d met. How she’d come to stay at Al’s place. Why Al had gone along with this crazy situation. A million more raced through Max’s mind, and not a single one of them was allowed to leave his mouth. Max couldn’t help it sometimes- he had a knack for saying the wrong things at the worst time, and envisioned bottling up his questions for so long, they’d fall out of him and he’d spoil everything.  

So maybe he should try and forget about the strangeness of it all. Max was the one who had upped and left, leaving Al to deal with things back home, so maybe he should be grateful his brother was being so welcoming, and Y/N had been so kind too. After all, they were adults, and free to have their own secrets- god knows Max had his own too. He supposed he didn’t need to know every detail of their lives. And he’d joked at breakfast, but he certainly didn’t need to know what they got up to behind the closed door of their bedroom- the muffled grunts and squeals were enough to have him folding his pillow over his head in mortification. The jibe this morning was a petty retaliation. Max was just sore that it embarrassed Y/N more than Al, but he had ideas for that. Plenty of embarrassing skeletons in his brother’s closet that he was more than willing to tell Al’s ‘little dove’ all about…

[rhodesrider]

Learning

Drew M. x Little! Black! Fem Reader (Ft. Uncle! Sheamus)

SFW! Age Regression! 18+!

Word Count: 745

~

“My Queen! The knights are attacking your towers! What do we do?!”

Y/N looked around and got out her sword trying to protect her fort, but it was too late. The fort came down and she pouted starting to cry. Drew the knight in shining armor, went to go get her and gave the evil eye at Sheamus that knew he fucked up. “Dude you weren’t suppose to destroy the fort!” Drew said. “Uncle shemi why did you do that?” Y/N started to cry more upset. “Oh gosh darlin’ I’m sorry. My foot slipped.” Sheamus hugged her saying sorry a bunch of times. “No I don’t forgive you!” Y/N as you can tell is in her little space, and Sheamus was chilling with Drew having a drink till he asked her Daddy to play. Sheamus is still new to her being a little but he’s learning, it’s like having fun with a kid.

“Babydoll come on now you can’t forgive me at all?” Sheamus asked with a sweet voice. Y/N turned around and crossed her arms. Sheamus looked at Drew for help but he shrugged seeing if he can figure it out on his own. “Oh god mi heart…” he grabbed his chest dramatically. Y/N turned around and gasped going to him to help him. “Gosh darlin, I guess your powers are too strong..” Drew watched the scene trying to see what what going on. “Uncle what powers?” She asked confused and worried. “Your powers that strike down anyone that take your kingdom away but I swear it was an innocent my queen.” He pleaded. “I didn’t mean to..” she pouted. “It’s alright darlin, but there is a way to cure me!” Y/Ns eyes lit up. “Accept my apologies my queen , and I’ll take ya for ice cream.” She nodded quick. “Uncle shemi I forgive you!” He got back up dramatically and smiled picking her up hugging her, facing drew smirking taking this as a victory. “Now let’s go lass, how’s about some cookies and cream. My treat. Think of it as the enemy giving a truce.” She nodded. Sheamus smiled and fixed her tiara going to the kitchen with her. “I feel abandoned!” Drew said and Y/N got down from the island in the middle of the kitchen, getting Drew’s hand and he sat with her for ice cream.

~

After a while, Y/N was sleep on the couch, Drew put her weighted blanket over her smiling. Both Drew and Sheamus went to the other room with talk some. “How long have you been with Y/N again?” Sheamus asked sipping on the drink Drew poured. “Oh like 2 years, why?” “When she told you about this little space thing, how did you react?” Drew looked at Sheamus smiling. “Well, I was unsure about it. But I love her. So I learned about it, took a class on insta-“ “There’s a bloody class?!” Sheamus asked and Drew shushed him to keep it down. “Yea you would be surprised a lot of people helped me to understand, it was private too so I didn’t have to worry about fucking reported up my ass about this. What Y/N does is private in this house hold.”

Sheamus nodded understanding. “She has one little friend that’s it.” “Who?” “Judgement Days little hound..” Drew sighed. Sheamus blinked. “That little fucker Nicole?” He nodded. “She’s been there little for a minute. Dominik is the only one she doesn’t like.” They laughed some. “Why does she do it?”

Drew sighed and looked at her as she was sound asleep. “People hurt that poor lass. And she grew up too fast. You know the other day I got her a bratz doll. Those dolls from like the 2000s, I got her four and she was crying. They are right above her vanity in my room. She never had one. And I fulfilled that. I felt good when I did.” He smiled. “Good on you brother. What about when she acts out? Like does she have tantrums? Just throws fits.” Drew sighed nodding. “She does and it’s a struggle. But I got this.” He smirked pulling out a tally counter. “A counter?” “When she hears clicks she straightens up.” He smirked. “Got it from Balor.”

Y/N started to wake up but not as a little, as her usual self. She yawned and rubbed her eyes taking off the tiara looking at the time getting up getting her laptop. “Hey babygirl, you had a nice nap?” Drew asked. “Yea I did. Um imma go finish up my work and turn in these assignments…” she yawned again going upstairs to handle her business. “And that’s another thing, it’s not all the time. It’s just when she needs it.” Drew smiles going back in the living room and cleaning her toys and stuffed animals taking the fort down. “She gets stressed she ask, or sometimes when she has a nightmare she goes into it, either way I’ll be there for her.” Drew smiles finishing up. He texts her did she want any snacks while she studied. “Well I’m glad I’m a uncle for her.” He smiled. “Thank you and you’re awesome for learning more about her regression brother.” Drew smiles as Sheamus got his keys heading out. “You call me if you need a sitter.” He smiled and Drew let him out.

[mantis-dea]

When a Good Deed Causes a Series of Unfortunate Events - Chapter 5 - Lunch with Roomie

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

It’s currently noon, and it is a gloomy day, but luckily rain is not expected today. You stepped out of class, finally being liberated from the clutches of your Introduction to Accounting class, and are currently riding the bus to get groceries, a task you attempted to do yesterday.

Considering your hectic work schedule and the fact you’ve been away from school for a few years, you opted to only enroll in one class. That way, you can gradually acclimate to the academic routine while accommodating your demanding work commitments.

Luckily, your class is only once a week. Unluckily, it is over three hours long.  

Never. Again.

The bus comes to your stop, and you step off, determined to check off your grocery list. Your destination: Szechuan Market – a quaint grocery store nestled in Chinatown. In this neighborhood, prices are generally more wallet-friendly compared to the mainstream grocery stores or farmer's markets you’ll find across Lapalton. What kept you coming back to this specific store was the owner, Lian; she is one of the kindest souls you'd ever encountered.

You first met Lian a few months back when a neighbor told you that Chinatown was the go-to place for affordable groceries. As you strolled down the bustling streets, you noticed a middle-aged lady struggling to carry a box of jackfruit into her store, Szechuan Market. Without hesitation, you stepped forward, taking the box from her and asking where it should go. That chance encounter had led to a friendly conversation and a helping hand in restocking her store.

Now, most of your grocery runs coincided with the days of Lian's deliveries. It was a tradition you both appreciated, and you tried to continue.  Unfortunately, unforeseen circumstances have disrupted your plans for the past couple of weeks. You hope Lian wasn’t too upset with you.

Pushing open the entrance door, a small chime from the bell above it rang out. Almost instantaneously, you hear Lian’s greeting, “Welco-… Oyouu. Shh. Lah, where have you been?”

You met her gaze, a tinge of guilt in your expression, “Sorry, I’ve been busy.”

Grabbing a basket, you start filling it with food items you need, all while engaging in a conversation with Lian. You catch on to the latest neighborhood gossip as you make your way through the narrow aisles.

When you place your basket down on the counter for Lian to tally and bag your items, your eyes land on a cookbook, The Recipes of Naples. Thinking about Giorno, you grab the book and add it with your other purchases.

“This is a lot more than you usually purchase. You know, like it’s for two.” there’s a glint in her eyes as she smiles, “Have you met someone?”

You scratch your cheek, “A friend is staying with me. They fell on hard times, so I’m helping them get their footing back.”

“No need to lie, lah,” She chastises, “You know, you’re awful at lying.”

“Sorry.” you apologize, guilt ridden on your face.

You carefully pack whatever you can into your backpack, carrying what you can’t by hand. Just as you are about to make your exit, Lian tells you to wait. She rushes into the back and returns shortly with a plastic bag.

“Two servings of steamed duck, one for you and one for your boyfriend. Let me know how it tastes. You take care of yourself, okay? Come back next week!” Lian said with genuine warmth.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you mumble.

You thank her for the delicious lunch and head home.

You rigorously climb up the stairs to your apartment, sweating from the weight of the groceries you’re carrying. When you reach your apartment door, you set down your bags to fumble for your keys. Just as you were about to unlock the door, it swings open, and out comes a ladybug. You peer inside and see Giorno in the doorway. He glances at the bags in your hands.

“Oh, I was just about to go find you,” he says, now taking the bags from the ground and helping you carry them to the kitchen.

You step inside your apartment, shedding your bag and taking off your shoes, “Thanks for the help.”

He gives a single nod, his expression calm and composed.

You sit the bag with the duck dish onto the small dining table. “I’ve got lunch!” you state, unpacking everything and setting aside one for Giorno.

You grab two glasses and a carton of orange juice from the fridge and set them on the table. Giorno sits down across from you, peering at the food in front of him.

As you eat your meal, you notice his peculiar dining habits. Every bite he took of the duck, he would swiftly wash it down with a sip of orange juice. He’s not even a third of the way through the meal, and he’s already onto his second cup of orange juice. It’s quite evident that he isn’t particularly fond of the duck meal.

"Is duck not to your liking?" you ask, genuinely curious about his taste preferences.

Giorno pauses for a moment, his piercing gaze thoughtful as he considers his response. "I just find the combination of flavors... unique."

"I appreciate your willingness to try it," you say with a smile, acknowledging his polite approach to the meal.

Giorno takes another sip of orange juice before continuing with his meal. Despite any reservations he may have, he continues eating with his characteristic composure and grace.

A soft chuckle escapes your lips, admiring his determination to finish the meal. “I’ll make you something else. Don’t eat something you don’t like. I ain’t that broke,” you assure him.

“It’s not a problem,” he insists, but you are too quick for him; you snatch the Styrofoam container and flip through the Italian cookbook you bought. Your face lights up when you see a dish from your cookbook.

“I don’t have the right pasta, but how does pasta alla genovese sound?” you ask.

Giorno, now right behind you, examines the recipe. "You went out and bought a Neapolitan recipe book?" he asks, surprise evident in his voice.

You reply, not revealing your true reason for buying the cookbook. “For some reason, it was on the shelf of a Chinese grocery store.” You scratch your cheek with a finger. “I saw it, and I wanted to try recipes from Italy.”

Giorno chuckles softly, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "I suppose that's a fair point. Let's give it a try.

While Giorno goes through your kitchen to find the ingredients needed, you roll up your sleeves and begin to wash the tomatoes.

“Thank you,” he says.

You wave your hand, “I really don’t mind. I actually enjoy cooking and baking. It’s a relaxing activity for me.”

Normally, on your off days, you would go grocery shopping, and when you came home, you would meal prep for the week. However, the past couple of weeks have been hectic, with an increase in customers and a decrease in workers. You love your boss but hate the job and city.

As Giorno follows the first steps to make the sauce, you got down to cutting the last vegetables needed. The two of you cook the dish in a surprisingly comfortable silence before Giorno asks a question.

“I hope I am not overstepping, but may I ask where you went this morning?”

 “I went grocery shopping.”

“For five hours?”

“You were awake?” you ask before responding, “I had class today. It’s a 3 hour-long class.”

He hums, “I was awake. I also know that you didn’t get any sleep last night.”

“Was I too loud? Sorry.“

“No, I also was unable to sleep.” He looks at you, aware of the question forming in your mind, “No, the bed was comfortable… and it smelled nice.”

You pause in adding pasta to the boiling water, taken aback by his unexpected comment.

Last night, you told Giorno to take the bed. He was reluctant in taking it, insistent that he did not want to take that away from you. So, you plopped onto the couch and nudged him off, so that he would be forced to take the damn bed.

It made perfect sense for him to sleep there. You often returned from work at odd hours, and the small dining table near the kitchen served as your study area. Besides, the couch had become increasingly comfortable for you over time, feeling like a soft cloud to rest on. Creedance had given you the couch just a month ago when his daughter moved out for college, and you had found yourself falling asleep on it more and more.

When he finally relented and headed up to the loft area to sleep, you settled in at the dining table to catch up on assignments. Three hours into your study session, you realized you should have washed the sheets for him, and anxiety crept in, keeping you restless throughout the rest of the night.

Before you can formulate a response, he takes the initiative, “What do you study?”

“Bookkeeping. I’m already learning a bit on how to do bookkeeping via my boss, and I like crunching the numbers, so I said, ‘eh, why not.’”

Your explanation seems to satisfy Giorno's curiosity, and the two of you continue working on the pasta alla genovese, occasionally exchanging remarks about the recipe. There is a surprising feel of comfort and warmth in the air.

As the dish nears completion and the aromatic scent of the sauce fills the apartment, you feel a sense of contentment. Once the pasta is plated and ready to be served, you gesture for him to take a seat at the table.

As the two of you enjoy the pasta alla genovese, you note Giorno's remarkable composure despite the extraordinary circumstances he found himself in. It has only been a short time since he had been transported into your universe, a situation that would have sent most people, like you, into a state of panic or confusion. However, Giorno appears to handle it with a calm and determined demeanor that left you both impressed and intrigued.

"You aren't scared?" you ask, genuinely curious about his mindset.

Giorno met your gaze with a resolute expression. "No, I am not. I know I will return.”

You awe at his conviction. It’s clear Giorno possesses a strong sense of purpose and resolve. You wonder more about his life, what challenges he faced in his own world, and what the outcome of this unexpected encounter will be for both of you.

After the paste was consumed, Giorno insists on doing the dishes. You try to help, but he simply urges you to relax. Seeing that he will not let you back into the kitchen, you decide to indulge in a long-overdue shower.

You ascend the loft area, grabbing your clothes before descending and heading to the bathroom. You shed your clothes and hop into the shower. The warm water cascading down feels like a soothing embrace after a long day. The tension gradually melts away, and you emerge from the shower feeling refreshed and revitalized.

As you sink into the comfort of your couch with a content sigh, a gentle smile plays on your lips. Sleep beckons you, your eyes starting to feel heavy, you struggle to keep them open.

Just then, the shrill ring of the phone shatters your hopes and dreams. Your smile remains, as you hold back tears that are welling up in your eyes; you answer the phone. You didn't need to check the Caller ID; you know exactly who it is.

“Creed,” you murmur.

“Y/N.”

“What times?”

“4 p.m to closing.”

You hit the mute button and give a heart-heavy sigh, a single tear defiantly tracing a path down your cheek. You then glance at the time on your phone, the digital display showing 3:30 p.m.

Hitting the mute button once again to unmute the call, you pose another question, “Just me?”

“Just you.”

Fuck.

Your heart sinks, and you concede. “Aight, I’ll be there.”

Creed offers his thanks, promptly ending the call. You pinch the bridge of your nose, grappling with your exhaustion, and start preparing for work.

Giorno pops his head out from the kitchen. "You should call back and let them know you can't today. You haven't had any sleep yet."

You shrug, nonchalantly grabbing a uniform from one of the few storage compartments in the walls of your apartment, “It’s fine,” you remark as you scratch your cheek with an index finger. The remark is mostly to yourself and not him; you are trying to convince yourself that everything’s okay, “I like money.”

With the uniform in hand, you disappear into the bathroom to change. Giorno follows closely behind, his concern palpable. After donning the uniform, you sling your satchel over your shoulder and start putting on your shoes, all the while with Giorno shadowing your every move.

“No,” you assert, anticipating his objections, “you cannot change my mind, and no, don’t come.”

He relents. “I understand… Be safe.”

With that settled, you head to work, aware that today will be a challenging day with you being the only employee. Then again, when are you not the only employee?

About five hours into your shift, the bell chimes, and a familiar face walks through – Matteo. He is the same age as you, 23 years old. His family use to own an Italian restaurant a few streets away from the bar. However, due to the pricey rent, his family decided to move the restaurant to Wayward, a city two hours from Lapalton.

You’re accustomed to seeing his charming smile as he chats up whatever lady he encounters but today, he looks awful. His eyes are red and puffy, indicating he’s been crying.

You offer him his favorite drink on the house and strike up a conversation. “You wanna talk about it, buddy?”

You feel a pang in your chest as you see Matteo in such a state. Tears well up in his eyes, and then, the dam breaks. He starts crying. “You haven’t heard? What’s been going on in Wayward?”

You shake your head, concern etched across your face “No, I haven’t.”

Matteo's emotions are running high, and he slams his fist onto the table. "There's been a string of crimes happening these past two days in Wayward, and no one is doing anything about it," he exclaims, his voice quivering with frustration. "My sister… was kidnapped.”

You cross your arms on the table and lean forward, “Tell me everything.”

[tottwriter]

Hindsight

You are five years old

“Do you want a brother, or a sister?” you’re asked, as you rest against her, the unshakable iron of her presence only stronger as they kick out from within,   A brother. I’ve already got a sister, you say, mindful of your partner in play, the other half of your life. New is good, new is exciting, and you don’t see the warning signs you will later learn of, because how could the world ever change from the steady pattern of five whole years?

You are eight years old

One house later, still fresh and exciting, that first night in a curtainless room, (too new to fit) has given way to the shared master suite. And a memory you can never be sure is real, of a parting, the morning before a late night phone call in a strange house you visited once, but now call home. “I had a feeling it would be today” he says, not further than he’s ever been, but it feels it, nonetheless.

You are nine years old

The apple trees in this perfect playground garden swell with fruit, safe from the chaos of construction, and the great green box with so much furniture. You climb trees, scale ropes, and stare out over a sea of grass, and you’re not alone, so you don’t dwell on friends left behind, and the classroom where you never say a word. The raised voices don’t register as odd, because they never have been, though it’s interesting, to drive for almost an hour just to make a phone call. “It won’t show up on the phone bill,” she says, and you nod, trusting. Her iron core has no room for doubt.

You are ten years old

The pile of belongings in the middle of the lawn is just a story. But the missing CDs give it truth because not all was saved. Not all came too. In this new house,   you watch from unlit windows for the blue car at night, determined to catch the Bad Guy until you’re caught instead, and the room is banned after dark. A playroom for daylight hours only, and sleep saved for the room which overlooks nothing at all. It will be six months, all told, before you pack up your life once again, more completely this time, severing those first threads of new friendships which had taken so long to form.

You are eleven years old

And you don’t understand all the jokes but you know enough about loneliness to pretend otherwise, and to seize this newfound friendship with all the haste you wish you had known to need before. It won’t matter, ultimately, because there is no losing a friendship like this, but the yawning gulf of those lost years will tear at you too many times, mocking and undermining, before you dare believe it could be real.

You are fourteen years old

And you make a tally, day by day, counting down until that sixteenth birthday when you are allowed to leave. You won’t, but by then you’ll have forgotten this desperation, lost in the background radiation of hormones and exams, and the weight of responsibility for the siblings you would have to leave behind.

You are eighteen years old

This time, you choose stability. You choose the calm and quiet, the house unchanging, where a near-decade of summers have passed in peace. You don’t go alone, packing all your worldly belongings in boxes, with the promise that whatever is left behind lies forfeit. She loves you both, wants you to stay so badly, loves with a weight that has smothered you past the bounds of adulthood, and into your independence. You owe her everything, and she will never understand what that has cost you.

You are twenty years old

Two lines stare up at you, past the nausea and the shock, and the threads of this fragile new existence as a partner. They mark the end of so many dreams, so many plans, even as they herald the beginning of your first unconditional love. You will cradle these lines into flesh, and carry them home with words of wisdom and judgement alike, and you will vow to do better. This promise, like others before it, carries far more weight than you know.

You are twenty three

Two feels right, two is important, as the remembered years of company in the darkest times remains. You have always known this, And your love is no less as this second child stares back at you, clinging so tightly, screaming protests at a world filled with discomforts. As though, even then, the future was already written. This time, when you cry at night, you understand where the blame lies, but the fear and that promise are still so strong. Two more years until that dam bursts, sweeping you into yourself at last.

Now, with the weight of experience, I sit here and look back, warning signs laid out like landing lights, and marvel at the kindness of my ignorance twin-edged and biting. Two doors ever closed in my home, their owners beset by traumas I could not prevent. And that core of iron I at once admired and feared to repeat, has never looked so beset by rust.

[where-theres-smoak-2]

Shadow and Bone Book Spoilers Ahead!!

Something I can’t help but wonder is what scenes from the books they are going to keep in and what is going to be cut? I keep thinking about the difference in name reveals in the book compared to the show. In the show Alina learns Aleksander’s name very casually in ep 4 when they are about to go horse-riding and he asks her to call him Aleksander. I know some book fans were upset with this because in the books the darkling’s name was this secret that was kept until the last book, like readers literally had to wait until the last book came out to learn what his real name was. The scene is also a very moving one between Alina and the darkling so I do get why some fans were disappointed that they didn’t get to see it on screen the way it played out in the books, here’s an extract of that moment: 

He studied me for a long moment. He had always watched me this way, as if I were an equation that didn’t quite tally. “I want you to know my name,” he said. “The name I was given, not the title I took for myself. Will you have it, Alina?” I could feel the weight of Nikolai’s ring in my palm back at the Spinning Wheel. I didn’t have to stand here in the Darkling’s arms. I could vanish from his grip, slide back into consciousness and the safety of a stone room hidden in a mountaintop. But I didn’t want to go. Despite everything, I wanted this whispered confidence. “Yes,” I breathed. After a long moment, he said, “Aleksander.” A little laugh escaped me. He arched a brow, a smile tugging at his lips. “What?” “It’s just so … common.” Such an ordinary name, held by kings and peasants alike. I’d known two Aleksanders at Keramzin alone, three in the First Army. One of them had died on the Fold. His smile deepened and he cocked his head to the side. It almost hurt to see him this way. “Will you say it?” he asked. I hesitated, feeling danger crowd in on me. “Aleksander,” I whispered. His grin faded, and his gray eyes seemed to flicker. “Again,” he said. “Aleksander.” 

This is one of my favourite darklina scenes in the books just because of how raw it is. Its a surprisingly sweet and vulnerable moment between the two of them at a time where they are both very angry with each other. I do wonder though if we still might get a similar scene between them in season 2, now hear me out, but whilst Alina does now know that his real name is Aleksander, she doesn’t know that he is a Morozova. Thinking more about that interview with Ben, Jessie and Daisy, Jessie mentions that the conflict between Alina and Aleksander happens in Morozova’s workshop. We also see shots in the trailer that suggest Baghra leads Alina to the workshop and I don’t think it would be too much of a leap to assume Alina goes to Baghra to find out where the workshop is because she discovers Baghra and Aleksander are descended from Ilya Morozova. Ben also says in the interview that darklina have been circling each other and trying to navigate different ways of approaching each other. To me this sounds like they do want to talk to each other and do try to talk to each other, most likely during mind palace scenes. My theory is that one of the ways Aleksander tries to approach Alina is by opening up to her about his past and heritage and maybe we get a scene similar to the one above from the book where Aleksander gives Alina his full name. It would be a good call back to the scene in ep 7 of season 1 when Alina challenges Aleksander before he puts the collar on her by saying ‘General Kirigan is it? Or is Aleksander a fake name too?’ Maybe in season 2 we’ll get a scene where Aleksander not only confirms that Aleksander is his real name and he didn’t deceive her when he told her that, but also reveals that he is a Morozova. It could be just as raw, sweet and vulnerable as the scene from the book and you just know that Ben and Jessie would kill a scene like that. I think Alina will then find herself in a bit of a conflict because she now has this secret that she could use against Aleksander but those lingering complicated feelings between them make her hesitant to use this information he has given her in confidence. But eventually something happens that tips her hand and so she goes to Baghra to find out where the workshop is. Aleksander finds out that Alina, with the help of his mother, is heading to the workshop and he realises that Alina is using this information about his heritage that he gave to her in a moment of vulnerability to get one up on him and this makes him feel betrayed and makes him even angrier, similar to how he felt in ep 6 when Kaz tells him Alina ran on her own. It is this that then leads to the conflict between them in Morozova’s workshop where they both let out all the anger they’ve bottled up and the betrayal they both feel towards the other.  

I could be totally wrong about this but I do think it could be a really good darklina moment if they do go that way and after all Alina has to discover that Aleksander is a Morozova somehow, and having it happen this way could be a way of satisfying disappointed book fans who really wanted to see the name reveal scene in the show.  

[whitegoldtower]

Thinking about that fight, I genuinely don’t know who’s going to win.

Caerwyn is a stone cold strategist and is not afraid to fight dirty and use everything to his advantage bc he’s extremely manipulative

Corryn is a hero with the weight of the world on his shoulders and is slowly being driven mad with ambition, and we know from experience that mad people + dragons is never a good combo

Eddard is a scorn fuelled vampire lord with an entire army of vampires at his back and at least 90 years of pent up rage, with an insatiable bloodlust. Literally the most powerful vampire in Tamriel. He’s also a strategist and embodies the worst qualities of both Caerwyn and Corryn

And to make things even worse, they all start out as friends / allies. So not only are they going to fight each other for power, they’re going to be fighting each other for REVENGE.

It’s worse because it’s personal.

🥶🥶🥶

(This song is good bc it’s like all three of them. The orchestral is Caerwyn, the drums and lyre are Corryn, the vocals embody Eddard. I’m imagining a war of eternal night, with the vampires swarming and ripping everyone apart, Corryn calling in his dragons and Caerwyn using strategy to make everyone pile onto each other and crush everyone like the Battle of the Bastards. It would be an absolutely devastating battle. Blood everywhere, everything’s dark, you can’t see where you’re going, there’s dragonfire in the distance and roaring overhead, you’re being stampeded and crushed by shield walls, and you hear more screams of terror than war cries. The sun is a deep crimson, every so often you see eyes glowing in the darkness, bat wings cutting your cheeks as they swarm past you, lifting some poor bastard into the air and ripping him limb from limb, smoke fills your lungs, the earth is charred and hot with embers, a thousand Thalmor soldiers are crushing everyone together, you can’t breathe, and in the middle of it all, you see the Dragonborn charging towards the swarm on horseback, swinging a sword at those on the outside, slowly carving his way inwards. Everyone’s crushed together too tightly to fight properly so everyone’s just screaming in terror and wheezing as the people on the outside hack their way inwards and the people on the inside have to butcher their way out to survive.

Ondolemar and Dagduach get separated in the swarm and have to fight their way back to each other. Caryalind, Taliesin and Nebarra are crushed together in the middle of the onslaught and Corryn is literally butchering people to get them out. Eddard and Vingalmo briefly get separated from Serana but manage to drag her out before she can get drawn into the ring of death.

I recommend skipping to 1:30 when imagining yourself in the midst of the battle.)

Eventually, a cease fire is called from all three sides because the battle is just too horrific to continue.

Eddard panics like “where’s Vingalmo?!” And both he and Serana spot him being dragged along the scorched earth by the hair by Dagduach, who is getting ready to behead him. Both start to attack him, forcing him to let go of Vingalmo, and then Ondolemar runs in to defend Dagduach, but not before Taliesin tries to stop him. Caryalind and Nebarra soon follow after Tally, followed by Corryn. Of course, Caerwyn comes to investigate. That’s when the cease fire is called.

It’s called at a stalemate, where Eddard is pointing a sword at Dagduach, who is pointing his sword at Vingalmo, who is now aiming a spell at Ondolemar, who has Corryn at knifepoint with *his* sword aimed at Caerwyn, who has Caryalind by the scruff of his collar. If one makes a move, they all die. They have no choice but to call a truce.

Just gotta hope that they all manage to reason with one another

[troutfur]

is this still going? hmm. ocotillokit, a grey tabby with dark stripes and a long tail

You were a lil' past the deadline but since you're cool and we're mutuals I'll allow it. <3 Sorry it took like. 4 days.

The chart I got looks like this:

[Image ID: Under the header “What will Ocotillokit’s life be like? (02/17/2023)” 16 rows of tally marks crossed out two by two until there is only 1 or 2 left uncrossed. To the left, a shield chart at the top with the following geomantic figures: Populus as the first mother, Cauda Draconis as the second mother, Amissio as the third mother, Carcer as the fourth mother, Amissio as the first daughter, Coniunctio as the second daughter, Rubeus as the third daughter, Fortuna Maior as the fourth daughter, Cauda Draconis as the first niece, Fortuna Minor as the second niece, Fortuna Maior as the third niece, Caput Draconis as the fourth niece, Albus as the right witness, Rubeus as the left witness, Coniunctio as the judge, and Coniunctio as the sentence. Below the shield chart, an astrological house chart with the first twelve geomantic figures above mentioned assigned to houses 1 to 12 in the order mentioned above. /end ID]

Interpretation under the cut:

Judge and sentence are both Coniunctio, meaning our character's life story centers around a rather uncomplicated idea of making connections. These connections stem from facing anger and aggression (Rubeus as the left witness) with wisdom and tranquility (Albus as the right witness). So we have on our hands SandClans' resident rational cool head and rational thinker. I'm thinking they'd be a good addition into the Clan as one of our elders or at the very least a senior warrior whose ideas hold weight. Let's find out more of their life story to see what it reveals about the path getting there.

In the first house we have Populus, stillness and passivity. So, not a character who is out doing stuff. Someone more lowkey, living in the background, not very notable nor facing major growth as a person.

In the second house we have Cauda Draconis, foregone conclusions and endings. The second house, as many know is the weak link of this whole system. I really don't see an angle to interpret this in light of the traditional meaning of the house as referring to material posessions so I'll just put it in my back pocket to use it as a reinforcement of the next Cauda Draconis of the chart.

In the third house Amissio! In the house representing close platonic relationships this could be about feeling like they lose their social circle as they grow up. Perhaps being so plain and boring their apprenticeship denmates just move on from them once they are warriors. Perhaps they have a tragedy of dead littermates (though I would for no particular reason lean towards the idea of stillborn littermates here). Perhaps they just can't keep friends.

In the fourth house Carcer! We've seen this one before folks, strict parents and/or mentors. Not much too interesting to say here but perhaps if we're going with the dead littermates thing, overbearing and overprotective parents who just want to shelter their surviving kit? I think that is an interesting angle as to how their passivity developed.

Amissio in the fifth house and I'm thinking this should represent a lack of children rather than a tragedy related to them. A loss of the opportunity to leave a legacy, if you will. In relation to house seven I'm seeing a potential angle already but let me not get too ahead of myself.

Coniunctio in the sixth house, connection through health. I'm thinking! How's everyone feeling about a congenital cataract in one eye? And it is a bonding experience with another elder who developed cataracts from age? No particular reason why I leaned towards that but I like the idea of a cat developing a disability associated with age young coming to bond with an elder over the experience.

Rubeus in the seventh house could tell us that a reaction to singleness is anger. I'm not really feeling it though. I don't want that type of character in the dynamic of SandClan and that doesn't seem like boring background dude material. Perhaps, this is about dating preferences? Wanting to spice up his life with romance but ultimately ending up with people too chaotic for him who end up not meshing?

Fortuna Maior in the eighth house! Now that's interesting, independent success in the face of death. Or in death. Very open interpretation. I'm not feeling this is quite the right time to use this as a "succesfully kills someone" figure. But I also don't feel like the other obvious interpretation of "thrives upon the death of the strict parental figure" is applicable. And honestly since this is a character that is supposed to be mostly static I don't see how it fits. What I could most see is perhaps independent success in moving on? Perhaps when his elder buddy finally kicks it he is able to go on on his own without too much hiccups.

Cauda Draconis in the ninth house. Once again, I don't have much of a "journey" specially given Populus on the first house implies a mostly static character. Perhaps this is telling us that it's a foregone conclusion any attempt at a personal journey, to change their essential plainness, is doomed to fail.

Fortuna Minor in the tenth house. Dependent or short-lived success in the house of authority figures and figures that command respect. I see this boding well for my elder idea, just a dude that became respected just by living enough. Not a particularly hard to achieve form of respect, save for the difficulties of saying alive out in the desert.

Fortuna Maior in the eleventh house tells me this character will have success independent of benefactors. But again, as a lowkey dude relegated to background character, I don't see their success amounting to much of note beyond "staying alive long enough to get the perks of elderhood". So, ya know.

Finally Caput Draconis in the twelfth house, endless potential in the house of adversaries. Tends to bode badly, but I'm not sure what kind of adversary or antagonistic force a dude like this would collect. Cranky apprentices who don't want to be tending to his needs? That's kind of a cute interpretation of it. At odds with the younglings who are full of potential.

Putting it all together:

Ocotillokit's life is one spent largely drifting along. Raised in as much a sheltered environment as a Clan can be, they developed a personality that's rather withdrawn and passive. This led to all sorts of things drifting away from them, friendships, opportunities to start a family, etc. Though they found some connection with elders in the experience of losing sight, to a congenital cataract, they still weren't able by and large to stop being dragged along the current. Romance was one avenue this was attempted to be plugged, not to very great results, as their choice of "interesting" partners more often than not ended with someone too chaotic for them. Once their elder friend passed on, they had success in moving on, and managed to live a good life into old age when they became an elder. Although often at odds with the apprentices, he is genuinely able to temper their hot heads with their wisdom and connect at least on some level. And that is ultimately a comfortable position they, the plain and boring background cat, found themselves in.

As a name, I suggest Ocotillostripe maybe?

[meatymidnightmultiverse]

Fffffffffrick... Numbers way too good for my own good....

Because in the system we’re playing, I’m having to ask about how many “calorie points” certain meals have so I can keep a proper tally at the end of the day. So far she’s had a double helping of biscuits and gravy to start the day thanks to it being a reward for defending the town in the first session and then recently got hit with the funny hypno/hunger mist in this dungeon and forced to gorge on a third of a feast (because two others were there and involved while the other two were safe in another room [which one of them pulled the lever that caused it])

So it just plays off of my love of numbers when we get to calculate it all. (and also had to total up her total weight, which is both her actual weight and all of her equipment which includes medium armour and a shield)

[eldest-daughter-musings]

maybe you’re so caught up fighting your wars

you’ve made up in your head who you’re fighting them for

you sing praise to a being, a god “merciful, rich in love”

“we’re all in gods army, for his kingdom above!”

fuck the box you’ve put her in

wars bring death, so does one ever really win?

your words pierce deep in the hearts of “the lost”

the ones you’re determined to “save at any cost”

and by save, we know there’s a code and it screams

“repent and agree or your dead to me”

because you know all that there is to know

about where we came from and where we will go

the tally runs long, the toll of “gods war”

countless dead to you, who you “fought so hard for”

is your god smiling down on you seated above??

are you overflowing with joy, peace, gentleness and love??

as the river of blood rushes through your own streets

back turned, you resign yourself - not to soil your feet

climbing up, over bodies, making way through the door

of the steeple you worship, a safe haven after war.

inside at last with the people you love

saved warriors too, also crowned from above.

the cream of the crop, thank god for these people

fighting the good fight inside of your steeple.

your eyes scan the room for your daughter and son

they’re both usually here, but you see only one.

“where is your sister?”, you ask the young man.

“did you not hear, parent? she was scared and she ran”

“No boy, i did not see her out on the street,

only bloodied bodies of our conquests, dead at my feet”

then you hear the synth pad and your focus is taken.

your daughters’ whereabouts can wait - son must be mistaken.

you sing, and you cry, and you raise your hands high

to be healed from the war you’ve been fighting day and night.

speaking in tongues like a disoriented mob,

you say a prayer for your daughter, you’ve done your job.

the synth pad stops, you wipe your eyes and hug your friends -

peace be with you, a new person when the service ends.

you make way down the isle and back to the door,

up and over the bodies you had scaled once before.

you grab hold of a shoe on the foot of the fallen - weird,

it looks just like one that belongs to your daughter.

oh well.

up and over the pile, the streets are stained red,

past the spoils of war you walk home to your bed.

you sleep soundly knowing you’ve pleased the high king

today’s battle was won, tomorrow a repeat of everything.

a bedtime prayer for those you hope you can save

before they meet their demise and fiery eternal grave

my mother, my father, my brother alike -

my family at birth, became strangers through life.

“there’s nothing more important than family”, they say

until one of the members starts thinking astray.

and by astray, I mean thinking for themselves,

done reciting ancient texts collecting dust on the shelves.

i’d say thanks for your prayers, but they won’t do much good.

maybe if you had noticed that it was my foot,

my shoe that you used to leverage your weight

was attached to my body, once living, now late.

my blood joins the river that flows down from your steeple

my body crushed under weight of other inadequate people

did you recognize me, when did I join the lost?

will you notice my absence? or crusade on for “the cause?”

I met her today, the god i’ve prayed and cried out to.

shes different than I learned, and I wish you all knew.

there’s no use for an army that’s killing their own

in the name of a woman who burned down her own throne.

I wept and my heart realized this is it:

she just smiled without speaking and welcomed me in.

[webbedfoet]

August 25th, 2024. 4:40 AM

I mourn all of the small moments.

Holding your hand at graduation. Moving in together. Coming home to you after a long day. Telling each other goodnight. Congratulating the wins and comforting the losses. Sharing stupid memes on our stupid phones. Driving around town just to get out of the house for a little while. Waking up on a Sunday morning just to lay there next to you. Feeling your heartbeat next to mine. Feeling safe. Feeling okay.

Every time I see something that reminds me of you, I mourn all over again. A lifetime of memories I will never have flashes in my eyes and I am overwhelmed with nothing but grief for a life unlived. I think of how much I loved you. I think of how much I still love you.

I think of every time I begged you not to leave. I think of the pain of grief and loss and visceral panic I felt every time you said we were incompatible. The weight of all of my lifetime of grief piled on top of me in those moments. I thought about my brother. And my best friend. And everyone in my life who has gone. And I would mentally start trying to add you to the tally but the thought of it was so terrifying I froze in fear every time. I grieved you in those moments, but I grieved every life I had lost before you, too.

I always kept trying harder. and harder. and harder. Desperately trying to prevent more death and more grief and more loss from entering my life yet again, swallowing me whole. I cursed myself with every new argument we had. I lived in the fear of your anger for quite some time. I questioned why I could never seem to do enough to prevent the threats from coming up again. I tried so hard. I tried so very hard.

And then you drifted away, no matter what I did. And I watched it happen. I saw it from afar. I knew what was happening. I knew it was too late. I had lost you. We just hadn't called it that yet.

For about 6 months, I grieved. I mourned. I desperately tried to regain your love and affection. I cried so much that semester. I could feel it all slipping away. I know I should have just talked to you before it got that bad. I was afraid to. I was afraid you'd finally force the end for good. I was terrified of losing yet another person I had fought so hard to not lose. I was terrified of being alone again. I was terrified of what it said about me that I can never seem to prevent the loss. That I always, always end up alone in the end.

Even when I know it was doomed to end this way, I still blame myself. If I was skinnier and more attractive, maybe you wouldn't have lost interest. Maybe I could have prevented it if I just suffocated all of my needs and wishes. Maybe if I could have just been happy without having any boundaries for myself. Maybe I was just a nagging bitch. I don't deserve anything. I should be grateful anyone even looked my way. I don't deserve anything.

So I sit here. And I mourn and I cry and I hold back the urge to go running and pleading to the one person who can make the pain stop for just a moment. To my comfort person. My safety blanket. My love. And I know I can't do that. I know it will drive a larger wedge. I know it will be incredibly unhealthy for the both of us. So instead I just sit in my bathroom and grieve the person I wanted to spend the rest of my life pouring my love into, and I wonder where I went wrong, and I wonder if it was the right decision, and I curse myself for all of my decisions regardless, and I wish you would love me again, and I wish I had never met you, and I wish I could turn back time so that I could start over and build it back up healthily this time, and I wish I didn't care whether or not you love me, and I wish I still didn't love you so deeply, and I wish I loved you enough to have made it work out, and I wish you did too.

Maybe someday I'll send this to you. Maybe we can cry over it together. I hope I can hug you again. And hold your hand again. I can't hug anyone else I've lost. Those ones are a little more permanent. I saw a really cute video today and wanted to send it to you. I shouldn't miss you so much but I do. My worst nightmare has come true entirely of my own volition and I knew it would hurt, but not like this. I didn't know just how haunted I would feel by the ghosts of the future. I don't want reality to be real right now. I want a hug. I want anything to take the pain away. I love you too much. I wish love was all we needed. But unfortunately love is not enough.