#chess writes

[chesters-ocs]

started this at 2am, fell asleep in the middle of writing it, finished at like 6.30am cuz the grind never stops 💪💪💪 no plot just fluff. and nudity but thats barely important

wc: 483

It'd been a bloody gruelling day. It seemed Lady Luck has turned her back on Sylvester for the time being, as he returns home dripping wet, grumbling, and borderline hissing at Butcher, who greets him from the kitchen.

"Yeesh, kitty, you look more akin to a wet dog now than a-"

"Shut it." The agitated man grunts, dropping his briefcase unceremoniously, causing the other to raise a brow.

"Sorry. Rough day...?"

"Very."

"I see. Mind telling me about it? Or do you want a bath first? ... Or both. I can do both, doll." He grins charmingly, despite the fact that Sylvester's back is turned to him, as he peels the sopping wet windbreaker from his body

"... I could use the help."

"Gotcha, sweet-cheeks. Coffee's on the counter" He calls, before strolling to the bathroom to prepare the tub.

As expected, by the time he's back, Sylvester is drapes across the counter, sipping on Butcher's drink. "New blend..?"

"Yeah. Boss gave me a taste test. Like it?"

"... 's drinkable."

"Ah, so you love it!" Butcher grinned toothily, before continuing "bath's ready, dolly."

"Join me?"

Without a beat, he nods "Always."

Butcher's hands are surprisingly gentle as he helps peel the wet layers of clothing off his boyfriend, discarding them in the hamper.

"There we go. Now, in you get, doll." He encourages, watching with a fond expression as Sylvester sinks under, resurfacing with a low, satisfied groan.

Carefully, he guides him to sit upright, while massaging shampoo I'm his hair, honey scented, of course.

"So... mind elaboratin' now?" the man asks as he, slowly, gently, shampoos the others' hair.

"... It was just... one thing after another, I guess... Forgot my umbrella at home, got a damn speeding ticket, which I'm pretty sure was rigged, by the way. Then I couldn't even go on my stupid lunch break because the damn ticket drained most of my bank account, so, just my fucking luck! ... Sorry." Sylvester rants, getting riled up in the process, muscles tensing, as Butcher coos.

"Ey. It's alright. Get it outta yer system. Relax." He speaks softly, tone sincere, as he washes his hair, feeling his partner slowly relax under his touch.

"... So... I'm guessin' you're hungry?"

"Fucking starving"

"Heh, got it. Whatcha cravin', doll?"

Sylvester thinks for a second, before answering "Anything by you is fine." That line causes a small smile to appear on Butcher's face, as he rinses the hair out.

"Gotcha. Well, your pretty little mane is clean. Ya want me to stay here, or can I go cook?"

"... Uh. Stay a little longer?" The hybrid asks, turning around to face him, the water following his movements.

"You don't have to beg. You know damn well I can't resist you" Butcher chuckles, and leans in for a quick kiss, before continuing "But just a few minutes. I don't want my kitty starving, got it?"

"Yeah yeah... got it, baby."

[chessala]

Teacher AU update!

It feels like it has been forever since I updated this fic. It was pretty much a spur of the moment write and I had problem figuring out where to go with it. While writing on this update though, I got some ideas forming so I hope to put these down in due time. I do still want to focus on perils though, so it may be a while until the update.

[jupiter-reimagined]

she cherished him and he adored her

he gave her stars and she painted with them

she gave him the sea and he brought life to it

he sought her out and she awaited him

she was the ocean and he was the stars

he wanted for nothing and she gave him all

she wanted to be together and he agreed

she became him and he became her

the universe was one and the universe was all

the universe was made and the universe was alive

the universe sung and the universe wept

the universe loved and the universe lost

and then the universe ended the waltz with itself

and then the universe was two again

and then she was her and he was him

and then the universe was forgotten anew

[celestialvoid-fanfiction]

Ten years on, I have so many questions about one line of dialogue in Teen Wolf 3B...

We see the chess board with all the names on it and the names correlating with the pieces would suggest that Stiles has an understanding of chess at the bare minimum. But was Stiles a chess kid? And if he is/was or does play chess, how did Peter know? Does Stiles play chess with Peter? Is this just Peter's way of saying Stiles knows how to play games? Is he saying Stiles knows how to strategize and think tactically?

[xxplastic-cubexx]

Chat have we discussed drunk chess with cherik cause i just think. That would be the darnedest silliest thing they could do

[chesters-ocs]

in that moment, all sylvester could do, was stare. the bag of groceries slipped from his grasp unceremoniously, landing on the asphalt with a thud.

it felt like his mind was lagging behind. forcing him to watch his body move in slow-motion, yet also at light speed. there was a brief moment of silence between the three, mārīte already clinging to sylvester's leg, staring at the stranger too. she's about to pipe up, when he regains his composure, the awkward moment, as well as his shock, fading away.

he shakes his hand, being oddly gentle, despite the obvious difference in stature, just silently hoping the man doesn't notice how cold and clammy his is. and he lets go sooner than either party would have liked to, but its clear his nerves are getting to him

"... fate took her damn time.. im... i'm sylvester.. this here is mary.. my apologies i.. figured you don't exist, to put it bluntly" the man laughs nervously, clearly intimidated... but a quick glance at his own wrist, confirmed what the man said. its pointing right at the stranger.

but despite the unusual situation, the tiny girl's eyes sparkle, as she gets yet another onslaught of questions that demand to be answered.. just what her father didnt want to hear, his expression hardening just by seeing that little glint.

"does this mean i have two dads? why is your name stone? will you live with us-"

luckily, a firm stare is all it took for her to quiet down, as sylvester addressed his.. soulmate..? once more, now a bit more composed, as he reaches down to grasp his grocery bag, the other one patting the head of his (their...) daughter.

"my apologies... children love questions... it's.. its lovely to meet you... sir. unfortunately.. i dont have much time"

however, in their hasty return to their apartment, sylvester at least had the clarity to slip the man one of his business cards.

aesthetically, nothing special. just a few buzzwords on it, his face, but most imporantly, a number.

by the time stone snaps out of it and glances up, the pair are already down the block, stepping into the stairwell of an apartment space

crying in the club cuz i have no idea how to continue onto. That. cuz i have no idea how stone would behave in that soulmate situation aAAA,,,

/lh

Don't worry, my brain is working now, thank God. But I'm afraid I might not do Sylvester's dialogue justice, so I just... I'll do a little and then we'll bounce off each other.

Stone stared down at the silver-haired man who was his soulmate, if the compass was to be true.

Maybe it was malfunctioning, it wouldn't surprise him if he was the first person person to have a malfunctioning compass tattoo. He was so unlucky in life with everything else, why should he believe a soulmate was in the cards for him?

But the man in front of him... Stone could feel it in his bones it was true, though his usual paranoia waged war with his heart and gut. He wanted so badly for it to be true that this man was his soulmate. And that made him braver than usual, bringing back his yearning to have someone beside him.

Stone realized he was taking too long to respond, so he cleared his throat. "It seems... It seems my compass tattoo is directing towards you," he said, cursing himself internally as his voice was cold as usual. He could not shake his usual cold and stoic demeanor, not even in the face of his soulmate.

He looked down at the man's daughter, noticing her bright eyes on him. He would've tried to smile, if he knew how to. His attempt probably would scare her, he told himself. It was a shame, he felt the stirring of fatherhood towards her despite not even knowing her yet.

"I'm... Call me, Stone," he added, sticking his large hand out for the man to shake. Even now, he couldn't tell this stranger, his soulmate, his name. "It seems fate has brought us together, at last."

[fatedroses]

More than just the Demon.

[viserya-firstofhername]

I'm fine. It's fine. Everything is fine.

[lackadaisycats]

Hi, magnificent Tracy! Congrats on "Stratagem"! Speaking of which: Mordecai lists off some chess strategies. I tried to google these strategies, but found information about only a few of them. Can you please share some info/links on the sources where it's possible to read about these chess strategies if they're real ones? Thank you in advance!

Thanks very much! All credit to the crew and the VAs who conjured it into existence! We went down quite the rabbit hole researching chess strategy and historic chess games for this, trying to keep it relatively aligned with the time period. At one point we even reached out to a St. Louis-based chess master looking for advice. (I guess the subject header of our attempted email correspondence - "Sir, we need your help for our angry cat cartoon" - was a non-starter for him, though.) In the end, we compromised on something in-between historicity and proclivity for silly names. Some of the strategies Mordecai rattled off are real things - Hammerschlag, for instance. Some are odes to real things. Dave C. stumbled on the Fried Fox, which is a real sort of attack in chess, and came up with Poached Penguin. Some are allusions to grandmasters of the past, like Savielly Tartakower, who wrote books on playing chess, and was generally a big deal in the chess world in the 1920s. Fable wanted to make sure we fit the very excellent word zugzwang in there somewhere. How could I resist? And there are a couple we just fully made up.

[lovesickeros]

☆ even the gods bleed [ pt 4 ]

{☆} characters arlecchino, furina, lyney {☆} notes cult au, imposter au, multi-chapter, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings blood {☆} word count 3.7k {☆} previous [ 1 ] [ 2 ] [ 3 ]

Fontaine was bathed in darkness, not even the moon daring to illuminate where the common man fears to walk. The streets were bleak and empty save for the constant, rhythmic ticking and clanking of machines marching on endlessly, dauntlessly wading where even the bravest dared not to venture. Not even the sharp click of the Gardes boots followed the occasional hisses of steam as they walked the barren streets.

It was haunting, and it'd been like that for days now. It showed little signs of stalling in the slightest, too. Every inch of Fontaine was practically crawling with Gardemeks– like a swarm of rats skittering about.

Arlecchino had secluded herself in the Hotel Bouffes d'ete for days at this point, waiting– biding her time. Her nails clicked against the wood as she tapped at the table in a stilted rhythm, the subtle click of the clock mixing into the clanking outside, weaving in and out of earshot as the patrols slipped by. She reached forward after a moment of thought, reaching for the white king.

She leaned back against the chaise, tilting her head just enough to catch a glimpse of a patrol of Gardemeks as they vanished behind the rows and rows of buildings. It wasn't enough to keep her attention for long, however, her features twisting in disinterest as she glanced back to the chessboard– and the letter neatly resting beside it. The seal was unmistakable and a sobering sight, demanding her attention– the soft hues of blue etched into the shape of a dragon stared back at her in a way that almost unsettled her.

She had already parsed through it's contents hundreds of times, but she was met with only vague, flowing script that only served to irritate her more then anything– it filled the page top to bottom yet managed to say nothing at all. Her hand reached out again, but instead of reaching for the letter she plucked the black rook from the board, setting it down with a soft click.

Arlecchino had all the time in the world to sit back and observe her prey, but all that time would be useless if she lacked the information to act.

And he was quite tight fisted about it, evidentially. None of her inquiries or attempts to decipher any potential codes in the letter left her empty handed. She could not act without even knowing the reason for his summons– it was almost worded like a personal affair rather then one would expect for a foreign diplomat. In truth, she'd expected a scalding report on her operatives, but it lacked any mention of anything of the sort.

She was no stranger to people masking hostility behind pretty words and compliments, not that it was ever unwarranted per se– the Fatui did not create connections through honesty and genuine kindness. They have strong armed more then their fair share of people into cooperation to the point distrust is all the Fatui are met with outside of Snezhnaya. Every word was meant to conceal the deceit, every action meant to conceal the price later paid.

So she had been..skeptical of the letter, to put it lightly. She doubted the Iudex of all people would offer a hand to the Fatui without a price attached– a trap, perhaps, meant to lure in the most powerful piece left on the board. Her eyes narrowed, reaching for a white rook and moving it to the right.

Or he was hiding something. Something that he simply couldn't risk getting out to anyone, not even the Divine themself. A tempting prize, whatever it was.

..A dangerous prize, too.

She'd considered burning the letter and forgetting it all together– the risk was great, and she couldn't risk getting caught up by whoever else the Iudex may have on his side of the board. But she could hardly pass up the challenge and the prize that he fought so hard to keep from prying eyes and ears. Even her agents came back empty handed each time. She lazily picked up a black rook, sliding the white pawn aside.

"Lyney," Arlecchino drawled, crossing one leg over the other and turning her gaze to the door as it slowly creaked open. The pale visage of Lyney stepped through, though his siblings were noticeably absent. The weariness that weighed down on his shoulders was apparent in the slightest furrow of his brows and the subtle creak of leather as he clenched his fists behind his back. "Father." He choked out, the title dragged out by the sharp inhale and shaky exhale.

He looked out of breath, she noted.

The silence that lingered after the small exchange was punctuated only by the click of another chess piece being moved. She sets aside the black rook, letting it sit among the dozen other pieces that had been wiped off the board. She can see the conviction glinting beneath the fog of exhaustion, but if he would utilize it was another matter all together.

He had seemed to make his choice quickly, at the very least.

"Our contacts and operatives within the Fortress of Meropide have gone silent– all we have is their final confirmed missive.." His voice is confident, but it is rigid as the words spill from his lips. He takes a sharp step forward, unfolding his arms from behind his back and opening his hands– the small, water stained and messily folded note catches her eye, plucking it from his palms with a half hearted interest. "They believe the Duke left the Fortress of Meropide..and that he may be coming to the Court of Fontaine."

Her eyes narrow dangerously, nearly crumpling the thin paper in her hands– yet just as quickly, she collects herself.

But she cannot get rid of the bitter taste on her tongue, lingering as she sets down the note and slides it to the side, her lips pursed into a thin line.

So the Iudex had shown one of his pieces..she tightly grasps a black rook, tipping over the white rook, letting it roll against the board.

If the Duke was involved, things were much more complicated then she expected– he would be a problem, she was certain. She couldn't blame the lamb for fearing the wolf, either. Whether her agents had been killed or captured by the man mattered little. He had his ways, and he was a force that could instill fear in even them.

Which meant the possibility that her operation was already compromised was far too real.

What had the Iudex so concerned he had gone through the trouble of bringing in the Duke and herself? The Fatui was one thing, but to specifically request one of it's Harbingers..

The Prophecy? The thought had her clenching her fist, but..no. If it were to rear it's head now, the Iudex could simply not afford to waste time on his contacts deciphering his nonsensical script– If the prophecy were to be the issue, there time would be limited to mere minutes in the worst of cases. Which meant it was worth biding his time in order to ensure absolute secrecy.

So if not the prophecy, then what?

Her next moves were..limited. She was already walking on eggshells considering her position and the reputations of the Fatui– especially with a Harbinger in the midst. If they caught wind of her operations, they'd weed out her operatives and be on guards for any snakes that lingered in their garden.

She reached for the chessboard again, picking up one of the white rooks from the board with a scowl. The sharp click as she sets down the white rook and sets aside the black pawn draws a shaky inhale from Lyney as she moves another black pawn, the dull click of the pieces drowning out the distant clinking of machines.

..A draw, perhaps.

The pieces were all falling into place– the players of this game were slowly being revealed. Whether she could secure her victory..she was unsure.

She wasn't even sure who her opponent was. Only that the Iudex himself was but another piece in their game.

Arlecchino reached for the board again, yet this time she hesitated. Perhaps she could still swipe the win from beneath them, if she played her cards right.

She would simply have to capture the king– or, if need be, let it end on a draw. Either way, she would not concede. She could not afford to concede. Down to the last piece, she would drag out this match until she was in a position to force their hand into the outcome she desired.

She stood slowly, picking up the king piece and observing it for only the briefest of moments before she set it down on the table, taking measured steps around the table and across the room. She was hunting a much more dangerous quarry today– it would be no simple runaway traitor this time.

"Do you remember the directive?" She inquired coldly, her hand lingering on the door for that long, tense moment. "..Yes, Father." Lyney faltered, taking a hesitant step back and bowing at the waist. "Then do not stray."

All that was left was the silence and click of the door shutting behind her as she disappeared down the hall, her boots clicking harshly against the floorboards. The rest of the agents knew better then to linger in her path as she stepped down into the lobby, adjusting the cuffs of her sleeves. She barely even acknowledged the Fatui agent standing at the ready by the heavyset doors, their gloves hands held out with her cloak held loosely in their palms. She quickly snagged it from them, tugging it over her board shoulders and clasping it around her throat.

With a quick tug, she brought the hood up over her head to conceal her sharp features, lifting her hand and placing a neatly folded note within their waiting hands. She had only one chance to make the right moves and secure her victory– no matter the cost.

Each piece had it's purpose.

Oft, that purpose was a bloody and horrible end– but for the grand goal of the Fatui built on the backs of the dead, it was an honor.

She didn't bother speaking a word as she dismissed them with a wave of her hand, pushing open the heavyset doors and stepping out into the barren, damp streets. The rhythmic clink and whir of Gardemeks was still distant– she needed to move. Her boots clicked and splashed in the rain soaked stone of the streets as she slithered between the buildings, ducking through the openings in the patrols.

It was almost too easy.

She tilted her head back, taking in the towering Palais Mermonia with a scowl, her hands clenched into fists. The final moves were being played– the king was within her reach, yet she felt no more confident then when she began.

The air carried a sense of unease, thick and heavy, filling her lungs until she felt her breath still in her chest– listening to the empty, bleak night that seemed so..quiet.

She'd done her fair share of research, had more then her fair share of her agents try to peer into the Iudex's office or the Archon's supposedly hidden chambers, but every attempt was a failure. She had to give them credit, they were quite elusive when they wished to be. Though now she only thought about it bitterly– this was all a risky gamble, in the end, and only time would tell if it paid off.

With minimal effort, she'd managed to pull herself to the flat, tiled roof, eyeing the massive tower peaking out of the center cautiously. At least here the wandering patrols down below weren't likely to notice her..she could hear them passing by the spot she'd been in only a few minutes ago, just beneath her. She pulled the hood further over her face, peering through the sheer darkness of the night for any oddities, but it was almost impossible to see in the dark.

Her boots clicked softly against the tiles as she approached the tower jutting out from the Palais, her hand gliding along the smooth stone, pressing against odd indents or crevices. If it was for the Archon's chambers, she doubted they made it very difficult– she'd only met the woman once, but she doubted the Iudex make it all that complex just from a brief glance. And it surprised her little when one of the stones sunk into the wall, gears whirring as the walls split open to reveal a stairwell straight into an inky black hall. Only the barest hint of light peaked under the door at the bottom, but it's occupants must have heard her, considering it went out not a moment later.

She cautiously stepped down into the small crevice, her breath visible in the bitter cold air– her shoulders tensed at the subtle sound of muffled footsteps behind the door, her vision flaring with a molten heat between her shoulder blades as she reached for the worn handle of the door. The heat of her vision was enough to just barely heat the metal, her vision flaring like a quickly building inferno.

Arlecchino was prepared for a fight, if it came down to it.

The door creaked as she pressed against it, shoving it open with a grunt of effort and surveying the room with narrowed eyes and a biting remark on the tip of her tongue– the lavish opulence was expected, she supposed, but the lack of the towering figure of the Iudex was not.

Yet before she could get a word in or even take in her surroundings properly, the light flickered back on and she had to squeeze her eyes shut with a hiss at the sudden brightness. She could hear the door being shoved closed behind her, the hurried footsteps retreating just as quickly as her eyes adjusted to the light.

..This was a joke, wasn't it? It had to be.

She'd expected the Iudex, perhaps even the Duke if she'd been unlucky, not the Hydro Archon. She had half the mind to test her worth as an Archon then and there, her temper flaring like an uncontrollable blaze, barely kept at bay. It took all her self control to force herself to smile politely at the woman rather then snarl.

"Miss Furina," She sneered beneath her hood, x shaped pupils locked onto the startled, trembling Archon with thinly veiled contempt. "What a..pleasant surprise. You'll have to forgive my manners, I assumed I was meeting with the Iudex." She observed her body language carefully– the way her eyes darted about like a frightened rabbit seeking escape, the slightest tremble of her lips..

Arlecchino opened her mouth to offer another scathing remark, but her jaw audibly clicked shut as her entire body seemed to lock up. Even her vision went cold against her back, a chilling feeling creeping up her spine as someone, or something, crept up behind her. Their footsteps were almost silent, the slight rustling of their clothes the only thing she could hear over her heart pounding against her ribcage.

Arlecchino had always prided herself on being on the other end of that sensation– she was the monster, and her target was the prey frozen like a deer between the hunters crosshair.

It was a chilling feeling to have the dynamic shifted on it's head.

She couldn't even swallow, her jaw clenched so hard she could hear it creak as she tried to reason with her quickly splintering mind– a futile effort, her joints locking up almost painfully. Black spots were quickly swallowing her vision from the lack of air in her lungs, the sound of shuffling behind her barely audible over the ringing in her ears.

For a moment – a moment too long to have only lasted the seconds that it did, yet so quick it gave her whiplash – she thought she would hit the floor dead before she could even glimpse her assailant.

And then it was gone. She came crashing back into reality with a startled inhale, her lungs burning and her knees nearly buckling under her. The instinct to lash out and kill whoever had done it was intense, yet she couldn't bring herself to move even a finger– it would be so easy to twist around and ignite them with searing flames, but her feet were rooted in place.

She almost didn't notice the surprisingly gentle hands unclasping her cloak, tugging it off her shoulders, if not for the sheer intensity of the presence still lingering behind her. Her mind was still fractured, struggling to right itself after the ordeal, and it had her seething.

"..Are you certain you held back enough?" Furina croaked, the normally soft lilt raspy and almost hoarse. "Not– not that I doubt your capability, most Divine!"

Arlecchino felt her nails dig harshly into her palms, heat swelling beneath her skin– Divine? Had she lost her mind? The Divine was..

The Divine was upon their throne where they belonged. She'd seen them!

"Hm. Well, maybe? Sorry, I didn't think it'd affect you too." Their voice was sickeningly soft as they stepped around her like she wasn't even there, focusing their attention on the Archon who seemed more then delighted about it. "What gave you that impression, most Divine? Aha, I..was completely unaffected, as you can see! Perfectly fine."

Furina let out a small squeak when they pinched her cheek, but the almost affectionate smile that tugged at their lips revealed the lack of malice behind the action.

"You're a bad liar, Furina. You might want to sit down..please?" They didn't take her protests for an answer, gently pushing her to sit on the bed before abruptly turning to face Arlecchino once more, a forced smile on their lips. "Oh, good, you're..uh, not dead. That's good. I thought I fried your brain. Sorry?"

..Had she hit her head on the way here? The Divine should still be on their throne, yet she couldn't shake the weight of their stare– it felt tangible. She felt like she was standing face to face with the stars– galaxies and constellations bearing down upon her.

She grit her teeth and clenched her hands until she felt the sting of her nails against her palms, grounding herself in the pain through the sheer overwhelming nature of their existence.

"You.." She croaks, reaching out with a shaky hand and grabbing them by the collar of their shirt, lifting them up until their feet left the floor– she pays no mind to the startled protests of the Archon. Arlecchino would crush her like a bug before she even got the chance to intervene and they both knew it. "You shouldn't exist– you aren't them, and yet you..you're the imposter, aren't you?" Her grip tightens yet they face her without an ounce of fear, meeting her unyielding glare with a pondering look.

Arlecchino wanted to make them bleed just to see if she could, the urge to sink her teeth into skin welling up in her chest to the point she visibly snarled, her mask of politeness long . "You're the imposter." Her expression falls for a moment before she schools it into one of apathy, setting them back down and holding them there for a moment, finally releasing them after a tense moment. "Or you were supposed to be."

Hers brows furrow– she wants to demand answers, to throttle them for damning them to being nothing more then dolls for the supposed Divine to break at their whim, but none of the words come to her.

"..Why now? The current Divine has been in power for years, yet you descend now?" Her shoulders tensed, lips pursed into a thin line– it's impossible to ignore the truth that lay before her. The Divine is a fraud and this..imposter is the true Divine. How many years had they been in power, now? How many years were they waiting? Why did they wait? Was the suffering of Teyvat not enough? Was the blood that painted the steps of their stolen throne not enough?

She'd personally been on the wrong end of the Divine's wrath– she wonders..had they watched? Had they seen the cruel hand of their imposter and turned their back on Teyvat?

"I.." They hesitated. It made her seethe, her hands clenching into fists at her sides– her vision flickered, flames swelling within it's casing just to be smothered by the presence of the Divine. But once that spark had been lit, she refused to let it go out. "I didn't know."

The answer does not satisfy her. There is an itch beneath her skin that she cannot scratch, a fire that burns in her chest so hot it scorches even herself.

"And what about now? Are you content to cower like prey in the safety of the Palais Mermonia?" She snapped, taking a step forward, her brows furrowed and her glare intense– she can see the slightest bit of worry in their eyes. She revels in it. "Will you let them use your acolytes like pawns? How many more need to be broken on the steps to your throne before you act?"

Again, her vision flares and dims– it refuses to be used against the Divine that created it.

"Have you no answer?"

The room is silent. They do not speak and neither does she.

Even the world itself seems to quiet in the face of her accusations, fury boiling to the surface so hot it incinerated all it touched.

"I will kill them myself."

Their words are quiet, but they are not soft– there is a vindictive, searing anger that explodes out like dying stars within their eyes. The sight of constellations replaced by a void that would not be . The smell of ichor grows stronger– to the point she feels almost lightheaded.

"..I am aware that I have failed in preventing this, but I had no choice in the matter. Still," They muse, their voice like the tolling of bells. A solemn melody that stills the swelling fury burning in her chest, if only for a moment. "I will rectify it– I will tear down their throne of lies and let not even the earth tarnish itself by burying their corpse among it's soil."

They pause for a moment, holding out their hand– scarred and bandaged by the weapons of the devout, yet still they take upon the burden of dirtying their hands to save those who did not save them.

"Do you trust me, Arlecchino?"

Did she?

"Will you help me?"

She exhales heavily, meeting the starry iris' of the Divine with a scowl still tugging at her lips. Arlecchino trusted no one but herself.

"..Yes."

[ironworked]

911 8a

The good part is that the door remains wide open, with a second episode making clear how unfinished this situation is; the bad part is that the building is on fire, so by the time they think to use said door it might not matter.

Because 8a didn't wrap storylines started in s7, it just trashed them in favor of... what, Brad? It's not that Brad had more (time, story) than Tommy, it's that it could be said he had more than Bobby! Remember Bobby, whom we saw in the tail end of s7 being rather depressed (possibly suicidal), resign, rescue his wife from a fire, and die for a few minutes? we started s8 with an implication that the 118 hadn't talked to him (in months?), and I guess that was a sign of how the next episodes would go.

Now there's Buck spiraling again (making his best impression of a Hallmark movie heroine for some reason), Eddie leaves the 118 because of Chris again, Hen and Karen pretty much disappear until their kids are threatened once more I guess, Maddie will get kidnapped again, and who knows if they'll remember Chim exists.

I think we all expected some repetition from the weewoo show by now, suspension of disbelief too. Some rushing through storylines for sure. But I certainly didn't expect it to be so joyless.

[chesters-ocs]

idk how this happened but im not mad about it

"Why are you awake?"

"Mm?" Sylvester hums, looking up at the man, eyes tired and hair unkempt. The clock reads close to 4 in the morning.

"You heard me. What are you doing up?" Butcher asks again, sitting down next to Sylvester on the couch.

"Pre-flight jitters?" He asks, pulling the man into his lap, who slowly relaxes, as Butcher's scarred hands knead at Sylvester's shoulders ever-so gently, wanting him to relax.

"I.. think so."

"Penny for your thoughts?"

"What if I'm making a mistake?"

"Elaborate." Butcher pries, hands still on the older man's body.

"What if.. I ruin their lives? They'll be alone. Absolutely alone."

"Oh c'mon, give Mary and Sam a little more credit. She's tough as nails and the boy trusts you like a dog. Besides, you three will be alone together. The kids trust and adore you, dollface. They'll be fine. "

"...And if they're not...?" He asks after a brief silence, before expanding "what if.. What if none of us are alright?"

"Then you remember my damn number and call me. I'll get your sorry asses back in my arms the moment shit goes south, y'hear?"

"Yeah... I hear."

"Good kitty. C'mon, back to sleep with you now. You gotta get some sleep. Eye bags ain't cute on that muzzle of yours." Butcher states simply, pulling a blanket over the both of them, still on the couch.

"I'll be right here, kit. Just get some rest." He coos, pressing a soft kiss into the other's hair, still holding him. He savors the feeling of Sylvester's face nestling in the crook of his neck. He stops his impromptu massage when the short man's breathing evens out, smiling sadly at the thought that he leaves tomorrow, but pushes the thought away.

"Dream of me, dollface." He murmurs, staring up at the ceiling, avoiding looking at the packed suitcases.

"... Please."

[theodaione-incorrect-quotes]

Snape: Potter, I’ve left a letter telling your guardian not to worry— Harry: They won’t. Snape: that you’re safe— Harry: That’ll just depress them. Snape: —and you’ll see them in a few weeks. Harry: Do we have to?

[jupiter-reimagined]

my dreams in life always used to be so dissapointingly vague.

"oh, what do you want to be when you grow up?"

and i always said the same thing.

an artist!

an artist who paints, who draws, who has their very own studio! who becomes famous! who will do commissions!

but now im in school for art.

now im an upcoming product designer, one who will shake the world with my ideas! who will be internationaly known!

... sure... that... whatever the fuck that even *means.*

and now i yearn for the blissful feeling of not knowing what the life of an artist is like.

i now truly understand what goes on beyond the scenes. i know i will probably have more downs than ups.

sorry, 6 year old me....

maybe you should have chosen a different way to spend your free time, back when you didnt have friends...

now i have to live knowing i will never fully be able to make a living just from art.

maybe you'll just find me in a convenience store uniform... or maybe just never.

because the world is a scary place!

its scary to be alone in such a wide world we live in!

maybe i should stay home... draw my feelings away... thats better for everyone involved...

right?

so now as i finish my 23rd sketchbook

all i can do is sigh...

why didnt i have different passions while growing up...?

because now all i have is art... everything always comes back to art.

...

where's my sketchbook...?

i want to draw again...

... i think its just in my nature to draw... well.. cant rewrite dna, so.. heh.. sucks to be me.

anyways...

what should i draw... hm.

[whereserpentswalk]

There's a chess board out there that's eternally bound to a fae lord. The pieces all look like strange insects, and nobody can tell what the two colors are, no matter how much they look at them, they just know that they're different.

When you move a piece the fae will make his own move, and you'll see him on the other side of the board. Nobody who hasn't played knows what he looks like. And once you start playing, you're not allowed to stand up.

Nobody can see the fae but they can hear him, everyone even a bit close to the board can hear him speak. He promises so many things if you win. "I can make you ruler of the world." "I can make you the richest person to ever live." "I can make anyone on earth fall in love with you." "All you have to do is play and win." "It would all be so easy if you just chose to play."

But you should never choose to play him. When you lose, he will eat your existence, not your current existence, but your existence in the world. Your impact of the world will be erased, and nobody will ever remember you. Everyone who ever knew you, loved you, hated you, will have never met you at all.

It's only a few scholars and sorcerers have figured out what happens to the losers of the game, by finding the holes in people's lives. It's unknown if the people who lose the game die or disappear when they're forgotten, or if they just walk away, anonyms, with no lives to go back to. Perhaps some throw the game on purpose, just to have their name disappear.

Many have played the game and lost, those who thought they would be sure to win. Chess masters. Great wizards and occultists. Military tacticians. People blessed by gods, and those with demons bound to their flesh. Nobody knows their names, only what the fae lord brags about them, only their lives as he saw them.

The fae is not the greatest at chess. He is good, but not the greatest. But he is clever with words, and just as he knows what to tell people to make them play, he knows what to tell people to make them lose, to trick them, to throw them off, to make them cheat, or to make them throw the game. His kind is not permitted to lie, but he does not require lies.

He speaks all languages. He has manipulated people in the tongues of countless nations. He has spoken the secret languages of ancient cults to their followers and spoken to dragons in their tongue of inaudibly low song. When they called on a deaf man to play against him, he signed to them what he needed to sign. And when the great universities of the world brought out a computer to play him, a computer that could defeat any human play, he was even able to psyche that out, and tricked it into leaving it's king open at the wrong time.

They say there is only one person who the fae lord was afraid to play. It was a young woman who had no name, no family, and no official identification. She had been tracking it down for years, since the first record of her existence she had been searching for the chess board, and she seemed to already know a lot about it. He has begged everyone he could, from scholars, to wanderers, to other fae, to not let her near him. If she does play him, and if she does win, who knows what will happen, we do not know if anyone has won before, and if anyone did, we do not know why.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Advanced Hall Monitor Technique: Go To Detention

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