#condensed cities my beloved

[anni-aughta]

thinking about college rn. do people decide their "dream school" based on how good the schools programs are or based on like. location. bc like what if i want to go to school around san francisco just bc its san francisco.

[theemporium]

You were going to be late.

Hockey was a beloved sport around the world. It was adored by thousands of fans all over the globe, if not more. It grew with each passing year. It was the dream of so many little kids to make it into the big leagues and have one of your biggest passions be your job. And for those who worked their way up the leagues, it was surreal to even be considered—let alone drafted—into the top league. 

And to be named captain on top of it all? It was an honour that anyone would fucking dream of. 

And despite being so aware of said honour, you were going to be late to Quinn’s first official gala as captain of the Vancouver Canucks because of his wandering hands and stupid fuck-me eyes that you couldn’t seem to resist.

The event itself wasn’t special, in the sense that it was just one of many that the Canucks would hold over the season. And it wasn’t the first one Quinn had been invited too (though, he usually tried to get out of them). But it was his first one attending after his captaincy was announced so he should have been hell-bent on making a good impression as he entered this new stage of his career.

Instead, his attention had been focused on you the second you walked out your shared bedroom in the floor length Canuck blue dress. 

You had batted his hands away when you were applying the finishing touches of your makeup in the mirror. You had scolded him when he playfully slapped your ass when you bent down to pick a pair of heels. You had warned him that you were going to be late if he didn’t hurry up and grab his keys instead of ogling you while you took some photos of yourself to send to your friends. 

And then, in the car, it was like he had you right where he wanted you. 

The venue wasn’t very far in distance, just set in a place a little out of the main city. But with Vancouver traffic, it was taking you around forty minutes to get there, and that would be just minutes before the event was officially meant to start. 

But instead of rushing, Quinn was taking his time. He was driving leisurely, taking the backroads and longer routes with his hand lazily resting on your thigh, between the slit of your dress. 

You told yourself you weren’t going to fall for it. You knew what he was doing, you knew what he wanted, you could see it in his eyes and the slight tilt of his lips. You fucking knew, and you told yourself you wouldn’t give in because this wasn’t an event you could afford to be late for. 

You told yourself you wouldn’t, but you were never really good at listening. 

“Shitshitshitshit—”

You had one hand pressed against the window, the glass fogged up and the condensation dripping down in small droplets. Your dress was bunched up at your hips, the fabric now wrinkled and creased as Quinn gripped it between his fingers. 

“You’re a fucking dream,” Quinn gritted out between clenched teeth, his heart thumping in his chest as his hands guided you. “Bouncing on my dick in your pretty, lil’ dress.”

“Quinn,” you whined, the coil in your stomach tightening as you gripped the fabric of his shirt between your fingers. “Shit, baby, I-I can’t.” 

“Shhhh no, you’re doing so well, honey,” he murmured as he tucked his chin to his chest, his eyes focused on the sight of his cock disappearing inside of you. “Just one more, baby, one more.”

You shook your head, tears prickling in your eyes and blurring your vision ever so slightly. “Too much—”

“You can take it,” he told you because he knew you could, and he knew you would. “You’re gonna take it like a good girl, gonna let me fill you up, hm?” 

“Please,” you whined as you dipped your head down, lips pressing against his in a messy exchange of kisses. “Wanna feel you inside me all night.”

“Fuck,” he groaned, his hands tightening as he held you in place, thrusting his hips up to meet yours. “Gonna fill you up nice and good, honey, since my pretty girl asked me so nicely.”

“Oh shit,” you choked out, nuzzling yourself further into the boy as he pounds up into you, his tempo fast and relentless as if he hadn’t already fucked two orgasms out of you. 

“Atta girl, honey, come f’me one more time,” he moaned, his lips brushing against your ear as you tipped over the edge for the third time that night. 

You could barely lift your head off his shoulder, your body wanting nothing more than to cling onto him and stay there forever. His hands were warm and comforting, rubbing up and down your thighs as he cooed and whispered about how good you did for him, like he always did because Quinn Hughes was nothing but a giver in bed—in both orgasms and praises. 

“We’re definitely late now,” you murmured against his shoulder, though made no move to lift yourself off his cock as you pressed your cheek against his shoulder. 

He huffed out a small laugh. “It’s your fault, you wore that dress.” 

“Or you’re just a horny bastard,” you retorted. 

“Maybe that too,” he admitted unashamedly. “But that is also your fault. Look at you, honey, can’t expect me to not wanna fuck you every chance I get.” 

“Yeah, well, now everyone’s gonna know that,” you murmured. You were going to have to spend the last fifteen minutes of the car ride to the venue trying to fix your hair and makeup so it didn’t look like your boyfriend fucked you relentlessly in the back of his car.  

“Maybe we should just head back home,” Quinn suggested, his words thick and heavy with desire as his fingers slowly moved up until his thumbs were brushing over your tits. “The dress is ruined, there’s no point of going.” 

You snorted. “This is why I put a hand steamer in the back of your car. I’m not walking in there with a creased dress.”

Quinn groaned. “You’re no fun.” 

“We gotta go, Quinn,” you murmured as you lifted your head, this time meeting his lips in a softer and slower kiss. “And then you can fuck me all you want when we’re home.” 

His lips twitched upwards. “Any chance I can convince you to leave early too?” 

“Guess we will have to see, Captain.”

.

[lyculuscaelus]

A Delicate Copy

(AU; a pretty old one-shot, finally got the time to upload it on tumblr)

Nobody greeted him “morning” this time.

He woke up on an unfamiliar beach. The sand felt different—coarser than the one he used to sit on in those last seven years. The air smelled misty, unlike the clear sky that used to embrace most parts of the island with her warm arms, a cycle lasting for seven years. He saw the trees growing in bloom, but they did not remind him of his homeland—for he didn’t find that forest anywhere, nor did he see his beloved Mount Neriton. There were only mists, mists that used to arise from the wine-dark sea, mists that used to hide the face of death where gods were lurking, mists that used to give way to the warmth of a cave, in the past seven years.

And that was when he finally realized he was lost. Again.

The tired mariner crumbled on the beach, and sobbed.

He didn’t check what his tears were made of, for he knew there was nothing but pain in them. Pain as found in the glimmering reflection, pain as found in himself. Twenty years of pain condensed into one single teardrop, and he held up his hands to wipe it from his face.

But he sobbed still.

He did not see the herd of sheep coming. He did not see the young man cloaked in a kingly air walking. He sobbed until he felt himself melting, and that was when he stopped, for his sorrow had brought him burning rage. Rage for an unjust promise.

“Where did the Phaeacians send me? What country have I come to this time?” he roared, clenching his fists. “Why did they leave me here—with all this treasure I cannot protect? Have those Phaeacians not promised me to send me home—to my homeland where I came into being? And now what foreign land is this? Those idiots…they did me wrong indeed. May Zeus, god of suppliants, grant them a punishment that is only too proper for them…but for now, let me just count these gifts, in case some of them happen to be missing.”

And so he counted. The tripods seemed untampered, and the cauldrons looked fine. Gold and silver, and all this splendid clothing—surprisingly, he found nothing missing. Then he rose to his feet, and again he wandered, on this unfamiliar beach, with a heart much-enduring he let out another wail of sorrow, another stream of tears.

And then, the young man came forward. A cloak across his shoulders, A spear in his hand—the tip seemed somewhat strange—the young shepherd stopped, and regarded him curiously.

“Friend,” he addressed the young shepherd quickly, wiping out his tears when his eyes were not coping. “You’re the first one I see here. Will you promise me no harm, if I greet you with open arms? For I’m entreating you, like I would a god, to save me, protect my goods, and keep me in good company. I’m begging you, as a friend on his knee. Now please tell me everything, so I can understand—what country have I come to? What people have I met? Is this a sunny isle, or a headland of the mainland reaching out to sea?”

“Stranger—are you a fool? Wait no, I don’t think you are, so you must be a traveler from a distant land,” the young man answered him, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “But I’m sure men from different places have all heard of this island—because of its fertility? Maybe. But it’s a rugged place not fit for herding horses. You can find crops and grapes here, though, but it’s not like they’re uncommon. So I suppose it’s because of its heroes—stranger, do you happen to know the great Argonaut Laërtes, or Odysseus the sacker of cities? This is where they come from—such a place well-known, for I’m sure even lands far as Troy would still recognize the name ‘Ithaca’.”

He twisted his head, searching for memories. Ithaca—a name he had whispered so many times, to the goddess waiting in her cave, to the king sitting on the Phaeacian throne, in the songs he had sung in his pleading. He felt his lips lifting as joy swarmed up in his chest, but something about this place seemed strange…it still felt foreign to him, for some reason.

So he answered carefully. “Ithaca—a famous name indeed. I’ve heard of it even in wide Crete, somewhere far across the sea. Ah, so I’m finally here in person, with all these goods of mine. But there is more that I left when I fled from my city, when a dear son of Idomeneus fell to my own hands, for that swift-footed Orsilochus wished to take away the spoils I had won at Troy, for which I had suffered so much already—in the devastating war and on the dangerous sea. We struck him when he was heading home—me and my companions, with my bronze-tipped spear I ended him. But then I ran off to a ship, paying some Phoenicians to get me to other lands—I’d hoped they would take me to either Pylos or Elis, but the winds did not heed our command. And then here I was, worn out by exhaustion, laid low by sleep. But when I woke up, I found them all gone—and now it’s just me, alone with all my goods, here on this foreign land, seeking help.”

The young man smiled, and replied with a hand reaching out to his left shoulder. “Surely, Odysseus, one’s cunningness must be so wily if he is to outwit you—even for a god.”

He felt a jerk in his heart. How would a young shepherd like him see through his disguise?

“Yes, I know who you are—that pair of eyes I have indeed seen and heard of,” the young man continued gleefully. “But come now, Odysseus, do you really think there will be a celebration party waiting for you here? No, you will find troubles in your home, and I fear even you cannot defeat them this time.”

“What trouble are we speaking of?” Odysseus asked tentatively. “Then again, something feels wrong about this place already. If it is indeed Ithaca you’re speaking of, I don’t find any evidence—”

“You’re always thinking like that, aren’t you?” the young shepherd giggled. “No wonder people call you polymetis. Anyone else would’ve rushed to meet his wife and children—but not Odysseus. No, he’d test everything with trickery first, then he’d observe his wife himself, seeing if she’s still the Penelope he knew of—the answer is yes, even if you’d like to see for yourself. She still remains your wife—though not for long. At this very moment there are one hundred and eight suitors reveling in your house, spending your wealth as they wait for your wife to reconsider her marriage—a proposal she’s been denying for three years straight.”

He felt delighted, somehow, knowing that Penelope remained his own, even when he didn’t belong to Penelope alone anymore. For days he had been wondering if Penelope would find comfort in the fact that she didn’t have to wait for him any longer, and now…he could finally find out for himself.

“As for this place,” the young shepherd continued, pointing to the west. “I bet you can’t recognize it because of all this fog—it’ll probably disperse any moment soon—see? Now it’s gone.”

And then Odysseus saw it—Mount Neriton, where the forest was verdant; Phorcys’s anchorage, with an olive tree standing at the harbor head; the Naiads’ cave beside it—where one would make sacrifices to the nymphs to grant their wishes. And as Odysseus beheld everything, he fell to his knees, kissing the fertile ground with great passion, and held out his hands towards the nymphs with an utterance of prayer. The young man watched him with interest. But when Odysseus finished his prayer, the young shepherd replied. “Now let’s not delay but put these goods in some hidden corner of this sacred cave. Then I’ll tell you all the details about the troubles in your house before you go.”

And they brought them all into the cave—the shining bronze and gold, the fine clothes and all other gifts—and then they worked together to move a rock in place to block the entrance. When they had finished their work, the young shepherd was the first to speak. “Now, Odysseus, you can begin to plan for the suitors’ demise. That is a task I cannot assist you—but know that you can always trust your swineherd and your own son. So, stop by his house before you head for the palace. You can learn about everything that transpires in your house there.”

Then the shepherd gestured to him to go.

And Odysseus nodded with gratitude, then walked away. He didn’t notice how the young shepherd stared at his back, how a smirk revealed itself on his lips, how he slowly walked up, a spear in his hand, and all of a sudden—

Odysseus found himself falling to his knees, his back bleeding. 

And then the pain suddenly struck.

He knelt down to the ground, gasping in surprise and anguish. He barely caught a glimpse of the young man pacing beside him, as the shepherd finally spoke. “Well done, Odysseus, you have left your back open.”

“Why…why are you doing this?” Odysseus growled, his voice failing. “Who…are you?”

“A son you never had,” the young man smiled ominously. 

“Te…Tele…?”

“No,” the young man cut him off, looking away in disgust. “No, you’re the farthest thing I have to a father.”

“But…but why?”

“Touch your wound, and you’ll find your answer.”

So he stretched out his right hand with effort, and found the wound he did. Strangely, he did not see any red stained on his fingers—for there was no blood at all. Instead, a drop of water dripped from the tip of the finger, falling towards the sands. “What is…happening to me?” he hissed.

The young shepherd pointed at him with the spear, letting slip his words with wings. “I see you’re a good lier…but not as good as him. I know what you are at first sight—a shadow, a counterfeit, a phantom made of cloud—”

“What?” he exclaimed, his eyes wide open.

“Yes, you’re no Odysseus of Ithaca…” the young shepherd crouched down, lowering his face of mockery. “You’re nothing but a mere eidolon—of the man who is supposed to be here. I see you’re sharing his memories, his wits—but the thing is, you lack his spirit. The heart of a man is built upon hardships he endured, not hardships he remembered. For him, it’s been nineteen years since he had seen his home; but for you, it’s been twenty-seven days only.”

“How could you possibly know?” he snarled, ignoring his pain. “Who are you to judge my memory? The things I recall—the things I feel—They’re so real to me. I can smell the scent of gore as faces of men were smashed against the walls in that Cyclops’s cave, see the rays of Helios diminish as we entered the realm of Hades, hear the war-cries as we clashed with the Trojans…I have felt the pain of losses. I have known fear. I have suffered and sailed through the toughest of hells…and now you’re telling me that all these memories are nothing but fancy?”

“First of all,” the young man rose to his full height. A cloud of gold suddenly enshrouded the shepherd. The next thing he saw, the one standing before him had become a tall woman, armed with a panoply, her spear blazing. Upon her helmet, the red crest seemed as if drenched in blood. On the face of her shield, the head of a Gorgon stood out menacingly.

“…Athena?”

“I am to judge as I say so.” the woman allowed a smirk on her lips. “Second, no, these memories aren’t your fancy—they’re just not yours to begin with. Third, you are far from the man you’re trying to impersonate. For that reason, I have no use for you to clean up the mess here in Ithaca. Now, look at my eyes and tell me—where is Odysseus?”

He gasped, and raised his head painfully. His strength was failing him. “But I am…Odysseus.”

“Don’t keep fooling yourself. What you bear with you is not yours, and I cannot let you take what he has from him—his form, his memories, his sufferings…and his wife, his son, his family. I cannot allow you to have your ‘revenge’ while the real Odysseus suffers still,” the goddess glared at him, her eyes gleaming with rage. “I’ll ask you again—where is he?”

The pain was working its way through his veins as he once again crumbled, this time breathing rapidly as he felt his life slipping away. He had never felt the brink of death so close to him…but then, what remedy could he possibly find to appease the rage of a goddess?

Goddess…

“I don’t know…I’m sorry…” the words sounded softer than a whisper. He knew that death had finally found him—a sacker of cities, a man of twists and turns…

…a shadow of this man, at least—

—he accepted his death like accepting his identity.

He did not see the fluttering waves, forming a near-smirk on the face of the sea.

He did not see the goddess of wisdom plunging her spear into the sands, calculating new wiles for her scheme.

He did not see the wife of Odysseus weeping by her loom, wherein a shroud had been woven, her time run out finally.

For at that moment, he had drawn his final breath already.

All of a sudden, the fallen body melted into a rising cloud, erasing any trace of recognition. A gist of steam rose up silently, taking away one last sign of its existence. Staring at the emptiness where a phantom of Odysseus had once laid, Athena already knew her answer.

“Calypso.”

…………………………………………………………………………………

(TW: implied SA)

He beheld the daylight blankly, trying to blink away the memories of the last five days. Or the last few years—the number had already lost its meaning here.

But he’d never thought the goddess would be cruel enough to lock him up in the cave for five days straight. Five days without sunlight, five days without fresh air, five days without mourning by the sea, whispering hopes of his homecoming.

The door was only opened when he was in need of food…or when the goddess was in need of him. 

Why don’t you just close the door forever, and trap myself in? Why don’t you just leave me here dying of hunger, or simply suffocating?

Is it really necessary to open the door again?

Odysseus shook his head, continuing his walk towards the shore. He didn’t turn to see if the goddess was following behind—he couldn’t care anymore. It wasn’t even the goddess herself who freed him—he just woke up finding the door open, and took his chance. And now he had finally come out, no goddess in sight.

I’d rather die than let you take possession of me. It’s a thought he had whispered on the first night, when he was asked into her cave. When he was forced into her cave. Only now had he realized, he had been so simple, so naïve. 

He did not die, but he had been her possession ever since.

Sometimes he would just hope that the goddess would be merciful enough to simply let him die an Ajax’s death. Sometimes he would think about casting himself into the neighing sea, wishing for an end to all this misery. But he would always restrain himself whenever he thought of Penelope. He just couldn’t leave her waiting forever.

“But you already did,” sometimes he could hear the goddess’s voice answering. “You failed your comrades already. What makes you think you won’t fail your family?”

Is that really her voice? Or is it just an illusion? He could no longer tell the difference. Reality had become the nightmare he woke up to, and he couldn’t find solace in his dreams either.

It’s as if I’m dead inside…

But deep down, he knew he was dead already. Dead to the mortal world he knew of, dead to the people he loved and cared for. If anything, at least he was not physically dead yet.

But after five days of that kind of treatment…he only hoped to be long dead before then.

What are those five days for?

He had no answer. Although…some trees did appear to be missing. He’d always notice it whenever there was a tree missing. It was like an instinct, something he had trained himself when he used to garden with his father. But that memory had seemed so distant as Ithaca itself—so hard to access now. 

He had just reached the shoreline when he noticed a spot on the sea. 

Is that…a raft?

A raft in full sail, steered by a person with an oar, three large sacks beside them…

But then he saw the goddess, waving at the person on board, a pleasant smile on her face, as the raft slowly sailed away. The person on board—a man, as he saw that now, his face seemed rather familiar. It was as if…

Wait.

Is that…me?

Odysseus almost called, and stopped himself in fear of the goddess. That man didn’t seem to notice him, but instead turned towards the brightening horizon, a brave new journey ahead…

What on top of Mount Neriton is going on here?

But then he found the goddess approaching. The smile on her face had somehow turned malicious, and Odysseus wasn’t sure if he’d want to find out why. The goddess walked up to him, and gave his shoulder a squeeze.

“Now that he’s gone,” the goddess looked beyond the wine-dark sea, beyond the lands and islands that had composed his wanderings, then whispered gently to his ears. “It’s like I promised, Odysseus of Ogygia: we shall have our eternity.”

[dark-and-kawaii]

Kiwi, I'd love to have an in-depth exposé of Thay's political system. What are the factions at court? Who are the great noble families of Thay? What about dragons? Are they a big cultural element in Thaian society? What about that society, though. How is it organized?

I'll need your three volumes book by tomorrow thank you.

I love talking about the lore but I apologize because I’m trying to condense a 5 year campaign and that’s EXTREMELY hard!!! I did my absolute best and I hope you enjoy it<333 Thank you jelly for taking such a huge interest <33 I have something cooking for you as a thanks for all the lovely stories you’ve been sending me xoxo!!

If you are interested in learning more about Lofn & Zevlor and where they live I highly recommend checking this out!!

Tʜᴇ Lᴏʀᴇ Oғ Tʜᴀʏ

In the court of Thay it is primarily composed of Wizards representing different schools of magic. These Wizards serve as advisors to Thay’s ruler, including the princess and her siblings, such as Signa, the King of Cormyr. The Red Wizards are a secret society since Lynnania’s grandfather took control and are known to be able to use the red crystals (a magical energy source) at their full potential. As members age, they seek successors to continue their legacy. The Red Wizards also provide counsel to the rulers and vigilantly guard against threats to the city. Korgus, the leader of the Red Wizards, holds a position on the council and has demonstrated unwavering loyalty to the Thay family for many years.

As for the great noble families; the lineage of Lofn stands as the sole noble family in Thay, tracing its origins back to Thorion, Lofn’s great grandfather, who shaped Thay into its current form. Upon Thorion’s “death” (never fully confirmed), his son Merciel ascended to the throne, and he was loved and respected just as his father was. However, his reign faced turmoil when his beloved wife, Lilia, had an affair with the King of Cormyr, resulting in a pregnancy. Despite the scandal, she managed to ensure the child was safely delivered to the King of Cormyr before Merciel could discover the child wasn’t his and slay the infant.

When Merciel discovered the affair, a prolonged war erupted between Cormyr and Thay. This conflict raged on until Merciel, alongside the ancient red dragon he rode, slayed both the King of Cormyr and his ancient blue dragon. As time went by, Lilia gave birth to Lynnania but fled with her due to Merceil becoming more violent natured (he would abuse Lilia). That’s where Lynnania’s story began, when her mother died she eventually discovered who she was and at age 19 she ascended the Throne of Thay and took her rightful place as Queen after killing her father and handing his soul over to Grazzt.

Lynnania(19) later forged peace with Cormyr, having fallen in love with Lykos Cormyr (30), the son of the former king her father had slain. But before uniting the kingdoms, the two clashed despite their affections, resulting in Lynnania defeating Lykos and trapping his soul within her dagger. Eventually, she resurrected him, and together they have had three children, including Lofn.

In the heart of the city lies an enormous dragon spine, so massive that the district is aptly named The Spine. Whispers and tales suggest that this spine once belonged to Astilabor, the dragon Goddess of wealth. Legend has it that she and Thorion were inseparable allies, waging numerous battles side by side until she ascended to the heavens, leaving her spine as a symbol of the dragons' guardianship over the city.

The dragons hold a strong cultural influence on the realm of Thay but the one they embrace the most is The Ancient Red Dragon, Thalerion. Some even use the red crystals as a form of reverence.

Thay holds a yearly celebration to honor Thalerion and the other dragons with fireworks and street food. The society of Thay has a bustling marketplace (similar to the Bazaars Of The Ottoman Empire). Thay is even known for being a very artistic culture with lots of sculptures, the red crystals creating murals, and in some parts they value design over function. It’s a very magical place where you can find many rare weapons, clothing, and even creatures.

Since Bane’s arrival (Lynnania’s greatest ally/A father figure in his eyes to Lofn), the Banites have become a part of the guards and have been loyal to Thay. Because of the alliance Lynnania formed with them, the temple of Bane was built for those loyal to him. You will always find Bane lurking around near/ or with Lynnania (he also takes on the appearance of a wood elf named Reyes).

The guards of Thay are led by a man named Riznof, a well known seasoned veteran of the royal guard and Lynnania’s personal guard. They are all able to use teleportation circles all across the city that they use to get to needed locations to protect it. Since Thay is known for being extremely hot, their material is made of enchanted leather that is resistant to the heat. When a member of the Thay guards meet their end, the Thay family honors their sacrifice with a sacred burial ceremony. It is believed that these warriors who have departed this life with honor, are embraced by one of the dragons from the heavens in their final moments. Their bodies are set aflame by one of the Thay’s dragons so that their soul can embark on a journey, riding upon the back of a dragon into the celestial realms above.

Due to Lynnania’s alliance with the Abyss and Grazzt her castle is guarded by Giant Demon Dire Wolves. These beasts have fur as black as night, blood red eyes that pierce your very soul and bones that protrude from their spines. Besides the Thay family only five members of the Royal guards are able to command them, Riznof being one.

Thay’s greatest enemy is Asmodeus and the Nine Hells. Lynnania and the devil lord have been at one another’s throats ever since she interfered with his plans to conquer Toril, and corrupt Thay. Asmodeus has had numerous attempts at trying to ensalve the queen and destroy the city, but he has failed each time. This only fueled the hatred between the two further, and he has since made it his mission to find a way to end Lynnania...

In an act of desperation he took control of a close and very powerful ally of hers, a wizard named Veroon- and Asmodeus attempted to kill her himself as soon as he got close enough. Though he landed a near fatal blow, Lynnania survived and before she could trap his soul in her dagger, Asmodeus escaped the body he was in. Years have gone by and Asmodeus has yet to make another move and the hells have kept at bay away from Lynnania.

[thunder-threnodies]

hmmm... outer space and acid wash jeans?

Already done for Morgan so I'll answer for the future... Reflection/collection of memories? of them? Spawned from Parabola bleeding out of a mirror, she's called Morgana.

And OH BOY MORGANA MY BELOVED would absolutely ditch everything to yeet herself in space. She'll be born in the 7th City and stuff like cowboy bebop and galazy express 999 are HER ABSOLUTE FAV things. She LOVES the space and stars, she's mad in love with them. Not as Judgments tho! She doesn't know shit about it butr she'll FIND OUT when she'll be ready. And she will have a hard time there too.

acidic wash jeans: an ES featuring her would include identity, belonging and reflections. the many masks we wear, shaped in the form of those that surround us and shape us in turn.

Much as Twitch, Morgana is the sum of Morgan's feelings and the memories of them from ALL the people who met the Captain in the Neath before 7th City. She doesn't actually know WHO she is (a reflection, abbandoned long ago) or WHAT she is (Red Honey condensed) but she's growing a soul and EVERYONE IS CONCERNED ABOUT IT.

I'll make a proper character sheet of her soon <3

[rare-clone-fic-exchange]

Double, Double Boil and Trouble - Part 1

It is I, @dystopicjumpsuit, with a fic written especially for my beloved longtime reader @goblininawig!

Pairing: Clone Trooper Boil x Reader (GN; reader practices tasseomancy/reads tea leaves) 

Rating: T but minors DNI as always

Wordcount: 2.2k

Warnings and tags: fluff; minor angst; Star Wars swearing; Boil is canonically a bit of a tool; Boil still has his mustache 

Summary: Boil and his friends visit a fortune-telling shop during a night out on Coruscant.

A/N: There will be at least one more chapter coming soon. Don't worry, it ends happily 🧡

Suggested listening: "Reaching for the Moon," by Ella Fitzgerald

https://open.spotify.com/track/1PSpnTbP2TnstBbSpcGWGb?si=efc74bbdd4c34465

Stak, Razor and Wooley were approaching the raucous stage of inebriation as Boil sipped his iazacal liquor and watched them in stoic silence. By his calculation, they had about thirteen minutes left before they all got eighty-sixed from 79’s. They probably would have made it, except some shiny from the 104th got a little overly familiar with the pretty Twi'lek bartender, raising Wooley's immediate ire. The ensuing confrontation got them all kicked out and banned from the club for a week.

Boil would have happily gone back to the GAR barracks and pretended to sleep, but the others were determined to make the most of their first night of shore leave, and so they ventured out into the frigid, rainy night to explore the district around the clone bar in search of further entertainment. 

They didn't have to look far; the entertainment district was packed with all varieties of businesses eager to separate tourists from their credits. Unfortunately, most of them also had signs proclaiming “NO CLONES ALLOWED” displayed prominently in their windows.

We're good enough to die for them, but not good enough for them to let us have lives, he reflected bitterly.

“Look, that one allows clones,” Stak said, pointing to a small shop illuminated by lurid neon signs.

“A fortune teller?” Boil scoffed. “Might as well just toss your credits into the underworld portal. It'll get you the same result in the end.”

“Don't be such a kriffin’ buzzkill,” Wooley said. “I want to find out if there's a tall, good-looking stranger in my future.”

“If that's how you describe a super-battle droid, I'd say the odds are good,” Boil retorted.

“Well, I’m not going to stand out in the rain,” Stak said, overruling Boil’s objections.

Thus, the troopers soon found themselves in a cramped, stuffy room that reeked of incense and was cluttered with a dizzying array of mystical and occult paraphernalia. Their damp wool uniforms smelled like wet hounds, and condensation fogged the windows, making the neon city outside look blurry and dreamlike. The four fortune tellers who greeted them were dressed in elaborate, flamboyant robes that Boil highly doubted were authentic to any culture in the galaxy, but they were very effective in giving them an otherworldly—almost fantastical—air. 

Stak opted to have his palm read; Razor was intrigued by the card reader; and Wooley opted for runes, leaving Boil alone with the remaining con artist—er, fortune teller. He sized up the civvie before him, trying not to look openly hostile as he searched for the words to politely decline whatever snake oil remained to be peddled. Before he could speak, though, the charlatan—kriff—fortune teller gave him a dazzling smile, and Boil blinked, taken completely off guard.

You weren't particularly surprised when the first three troopers quickly paired up with your partners. Their styles of fortune telling were certainly flashier and more attractive to many customers than your quieter approach. Still, none of them could boast the numbers of loyal repeat customers that flocked to you again and again. The difficulty lay in convincing them to give you a chance in the first place.

The remaining clone did not look like the type to give you a chance. He stared at you and your partners with hard, jaded eyes and a mouth set in a firm line beneath his mustache. As his fellow troopers paired off one at a time with the other mediums, he looked more and more skittish, until it was just the two of you left in the reception room. It was clearly time to break out your secret weapon.

You gave him your patented brilliant smile that walked the perfect line between welcoming and subtly flirtatious. “Welcome. Am I right in thinking that your brothers wanted to have their fortunes read, and they insisted you come with them?”

He blinked at the force of your smile, then gave you the most reluctant half-smile you’d ever seen. “That obvious?”

“I don’t need to be psychic to see that you don’t want to be here,” you replied.

He laughed shortly. “No offense, but I don’t believe in any of this.”

“No offense taken. Perhaps you'd like to join me for a cup of tea while you wait for your brothers. When they're finished, you can pretend I read your tea leaves. No charge, of course.” You gave him a cheeky grin. “I won't tell if you don't.”

Some of the tension eased out of his shoulders at your offer. “Thanks. That’d be… nice.”

You led him into your reading room and invited him to sit wherever he liked. He looked around the room curiously before settling onto the ancient velvet sofa. You began to prepare a pot of tea for the two of you to share.

“Not exactly what I was expecting,” he observed as he looked around the cozy space furnished with soft, somewhat shabby furniture and bathed in the soft light of a few old-fashioned lamps. “Where are all the crystals and tchotchkes?”

“I prefer to minimize distractions during readings,” you replied. “Though as you can see, I do try to make it as comfortable as possible for my guests.”

“‘Guests,’” he snorted. “Is that what you call them?”

You raised your eyebrows at his tone. “Yes. And while I fully accept that you are skeptical of the services we provide, I draw the line at outright rudeness. If you intend to insult me, my colleagues, or our guests, I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

He flinched, realizing he’d overstepped. “Apologies.”

You accepted his begrudging apology as you finished brewing the tea and arranged a small plate of sweet pastries. You had plenty of experience with the clone troopers, and you knew they tended to have a sweet tooth. Besides, you’d smelled the unmistakable scent of iazacal wafting off of him, and you hoped that his sullen mood might improve if he sobered up a bit. Hence, tea and pastries.

He tugged his gloves off and laid them neatly on the low table, wrapping his hands around the cup of tea you passed him. It was a cold night, and his uniform was damp from the rain, so it was no surprise to feel the chill of his skin when his fingers brushed against yours as you handed him the drink. You poured a cup for yourself, then curled up with the other at the opposite end of the small sofa, tucking your feet under you and leaving a small gap between yourself and him. His eyes flickered over you briefly as you sat. At least his expression was no longer actively hostile, though you also wouldn’t exactly describe him as friendly. He sniffed the tea curiously. 

“Is this magical tea?” he asked in a faintly mocking tone.

“Certainly not,” you replied with dignity. “I never perform spellwork on someone without their consent. Besides, the magic tea is too expensive to give away for free.”

“I can’t tell if you’re joking,” he said.

You merely gave him a mysterious smile. “I didn’t catch your name earlier.” 

“Don’t you know it already?” he asked with a tiny smirk.

“Never heard that one before,” you said drily.

“You’re right. It was a low-hanging meiloorun,” he admitted. “Name’s Boil.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Boil,” you said.

“Now I know you’re lying,” he said with a self-deprecating chuckle.

“Fine, it’s an… experience to meet you,” you laughed. “What are you boys up to this fine Coruscanti evening?”

He shrugged. “Same as every shore leave. Gettin’ kriffed up. Tryin’ not to think too hard.”

You nodded. It wasn’t the first time a clone trooper had said something similar to you, and it wouldn’t be the last. “Is it working?”

He met your eyes. “Might have if those di’kuts hadn’t gotten us kicked out of the bar.”

“Music is better here.”

He frowned. “I don’t hear any music.”

“Exactly.”

He laughed, a genuine laugh for the first time since he’d walked into your shop. “You’re not wrong. What about you? Busy night?”

“Oh, you know, fleecing innocent tourists, bewitching unsuspecting troopers on shore leave, making pacts with the forces of darkness, eating more pastry than I should.”

“So an average Centaxday, then,” he said with a grin. When he smiled, his entire face transformed. His eyes lit; the lines of stress eased on his forehead; and he looked younger, less hardened.

“Maybe a few less blood sacrifices than usual,” you said with a smile.

“We’ve all had to cut back in this economy,” he replied, deadpan.

“So true. We should protest in front of the Senate building.”

“You’d certainly catch some eyes in that,” he said, gesturing toward your elaborate costume. 

“Then I must be doing it right,” you replied with a tiny smirk.

“So it’s all for show, then?” he asked, his voice neutral, but his eyes speculative.

You took a delicate sip of your tea and sighed with pleasure at the taste. “People have certain… expectations about the way someone in my line of work will look. Who am I to disappoint them?”

“So you exploit their expectations to manipulate them for profit,” he observed without heat.

“You certainly don’t pull your punches,” you said. It was far from the worst accusation you’d had flung at you by a disgruntled customer, but it still stung to learn that you sat so low in his opinion. “Do you feel like I’m swindling you with free tea and pastries?”

His gaze dropped briefly to your lips, then rose back to meet your eyes. “Nothing is free.”

“And you say I’m the cynical one,” you replied with a level stare.

“Just an observation.”

“And what else do you observe about me?” you asked.

He sat back and surveyed you slowly, raking his eyes down your body. You felt your pulse kick up at his scrutiny; you were accustomed to people eyeing you like a piece of meat—so many would-be guests didn’t seem to comprehend the difference between paying for your services and paying for your body—but rarely did you have the sense that someone truly perceived you. You sat calmly with a slight, defiant tilt to your jaw, refusing to let him know he’d rattled you.

“For starters,” he said, “the fortune teller act is just that: an act. You've gotten a little tired of it, but it pays the bills.”

“I prefer ‘medium.’”

He laughed mirthlessly. “But you don’t deny the rest.”

“Would you believe me if I did?”

He didn’t reply, but merely took a long drink of tea. “I can also tell that you're clever, charming, and very good at reading people. How am I doing so far?”

“You should have led with that,” you replied, adjusting the drape of your robes. “The flattery would have made it easier to swallow being called a fraud.”

“Like I said. Just an observation.”

You smiled faintly. “Shall I tell you what I observe about you?”

“Seems fair,” he said with a confident smirk. “I’m just an amateur, after all. Can’t wait to see the master at work.”

You leaned forward slightly and gazed deeply into his eyes. After a few seconds, he glanced away, setting his half-empty cup of tea down on the low table, then he sat back and folded his arms over his chest, staring back at you with his jaw set in a stubborn line.

“You lost someone,” you said softly.

He huffed derisively, looking away. “We’re in a war. Everybody has lost someone.”

“Not just someone,” you replied, unperturbed by his interruption. “A brother.”

His eyes jolted back to yours. “Everyone knows we clones call each other ‘brother.’ We’re bred to die. It’d be more surprising if I hadn’t lost a brother.”

He snatched up his teacup and tossed back the rest of the tepid brew, his eyes hard and angry.

“May I see your cup?” you asked.

His brows snapped together as he eyed you suspiciously, but he handed it over. You gave him a soft, reassuring smile, but he didn’t relax as you peered down into his cup to examine the leaves that clung to the delicate porcelain.

“There’s a word,” you said slowly. “It’s not Basic or Sy Bisti. It could be a name.”

Despite himself, he leaned closer, trying to see what you saw.

“Boil… does ‘Nerra’ mean anything to you?”

Boil shot to his feet, staggering backward. “How do you know that?”

His voice was hoarse and strained. You set down the cup carefully and rose from the sofa.

“How the hell do you know that?” he repeated, his voice a menacing growl as he advanced a step closer to you.

Quite suddenly, he seemed to tower over you, and your heart raced as you realized that you could be in real danger. You subtly reached for the small panic button that you kept concealed in one of your many bracelets, but before you could call for help, he whirled abruptly and stormed out of the shop into the torrential downpour of the dark Coruscant night.

You sagged with relief and closed your eyes as you leaned against the wall, breathing hard. I’m safe. He didn’t hurt me. When you opened your eyes, the first thing you saw was a pair of leather gloves sitting on the low table. You didn’t need to read the leaves in the bottom of your cup to know that he’d be back.

[pleaseitsjustrae0nly]

Can you please do a Zane X jack frost daughter reader basically the reader is the daughter of jack frost the reader is half spirit and immune to the cold and can control ice and at first it confuses them because there is supposed to only be one master of ice but the quickly told them she the daughter of jack frost to clear up the confusion and Zane falls in love with the reader and he convinces his felling for the reader and the reader accept them (do to the reader being half spirit she is immortal and well everyone knows that Zane is also immortal the version of jack frost in this is from rise of the guardians)

THIS IS ABSOLUTELY ADORABLE! I love jack frost, so this will be fun! This was my favourite to write, ty so much for letting me write this 💙 this story is a bit longer than I thought so... yeah!

*･ﾟﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*ﾟ:*:✼✿　　

Your my own snow fall.

A Zane x Jack Frost Daughter! Reader. Uses she/her. Fluff, Comfort, family argument, mention of an oc (4 the mom) and slight swearing!

"BUT MOOOOOM! Dad said I could go out this winter with him!" You whined, you were in a pale baby blue hoodie and some grey leggings. "Not tonight. May I remind you, YOU promised you'd help me bake your favourite dessert for the meet up, didn't you?"

"Leilani, she can help you when we come back. We won't be gone for too long!" Your father, Jack Frost argued with his beloved.

It was always like this whenever it was winter season. Your mother Leilani, the guide to all flora, and your father, Jack Frost, the personification of winter.

"Jack, the last time you brought her with you ended in complete disaster!" Your mother said as she tended to the plants in your home. "She was fine! Besides that was years ago, our daughter can now grow icey flowers now and fly in the wind, just like us!" You nodded, you were always a daddy's girl. You loved your mom, but sometimes, she can be overprotective. "She MAY be able to, but she's only flew through the spring winds and early winter winds. THESE ARE LATE WINTER WINDS JACK, THEY ARE STRONGER THAN THE ONES SHE'S TRAINED ON."

"... you didn't tell her?" You ask your dad, he was sweating. He didn't tell your mom that you've been secretly flying in the late winter winds with his permission. "Tell me what." Your mother was death staring both of you. "uhhh... WE'LL BE BACK IN A BIT, LOVE YOU HONEY!"

"JACK I SWEAR ON THE MAN IN THE MOON-" your mother's cursing lowered as you and your dad flew through the strong winds. You and your dad flew over the village and then began ascending into the clouds where you started to glide smoothly over the fluffy condensed masses of air and water.

"You're so dead when we get back dad.", "HA! I'm dead? We're both dead! May I remind you, you were the one who started flying in the strong winds without BOTH OF US knowing, be grateful it was me who heard you smack yourself into a tree."

You were both laughing and joking around when you both heard screams coming from below. "Dad? Can we-", "No 'we' sweetheart. Just me, you stay somewhere high up okay?", "But dad-", "Sweetheart, no. Your mom is already going to kill me for not telling her, who knows what she'll do if she found out I let you fight with me?"

You sighed, allowing yourself to sit on a tall building. You were in a completely new area. Your mom was right, these winds were stronger, it felt like you were just flying for 15 minutes. The signs were written in some characters, you glanced around to try and find the name of the city when a blimp flew over with a message flashing on it: "WELCOME TO NEW NINJAGO CITY, THE CITY THAT'S ALWAYS CHANGING."

"huh, Ninjago. Dad never told me about this place." you started to swing your feet, you started to create snowflakes and blow them through the city streets. You would usually create them with your dad but he was busy helping in whatever that situation was.

It's been like, 10 minutes? 15? Either way, it's been a bit too long since your dad left to assist in whatever that situation was. Your dad isn't the type to just leave you alone in an unknown city, your mom would kill him and he loves you too much. "Where the hell is he..."

"Excuse me miss, you shouldn't be sitting there. It's dangerous." a male voice spoke. It you lifted your staff (that your parents gifted you) at the man, he had a mask covering everything except his eyes, his icey glowing eyes. "Oh, sorry... I'm just waiting for my dad." you lower your staff, 'his eyes are pretty...'

"I see, but why on the rooftop?" he asks, "Well, he just said to wait for him here." you sat down on the concrete floor and staring at the mysterious masked boy. "Did he say where he was going?", "We heard screaming so he went to check it out.", "Really? Where from?", "Uhhh, like down those alleys I think?"

You pointed to where you think the screams came from. You didn't want to say you were flying over, but then something clicked. HE COULD SEE YOU. "Uhm, how did you see me up here anyway?", "I saw your silhouette." No one is suppose to see you unless they believe in either your mom or dad...

"Well...uhm." the winds howled, through the cold night. "Aren't you cold miss?" you shook your head, just praying to the man in the moon that your dad would come and pick you up soon. And seems like your prayers were heard for a gust of cold wind whooshed behind you. "Sorry sweetheart, I got held up by some dumb pajama people. They think I harmed the townsfolk and..." He saw the guy next to you, "Y/N, step away from him.", "Dad?", "Step. Away. From. My. Daughter."

"Sir I think there's a misunder *static*... what?" his hand was placed next to his ear. "Sweetheart we have to go, NOW." you start making your way to your father when the boy in white spoke again, "Who are you..." Your father then grabbed your wrist and jumped off the building.

"DAD WHAT THE FUCK?" You quickly adjusted into your gliding position and began yelling at your father. "They started attacking me sweetheart, it's not safe there.", "Dad, what do you mean? Your Jackfrost, the personification of winter! How are you a threat?"

"...They could use elements, one had water, the others were earth, fire, and lightning. There was another, they used some sort of Green..." He said, "And the white one?", "No clue, but i'm not staying to find out."

The silence made the trip seem longer than it was coming. You and your father arrived to see your mother happily laying out some dinner and taking what seemed to be her famous Lemon Ginger Cookies. "Well you two are back earlier than expected, something happened?" You were about to tell your mom what happened but your dad... "Nothing, the winds were a bit weak so we weren't able to travel that far. Anyway! What did you make? It smells good as usual."

You didn't really mind your dad flirting or sweet talking your mom, but at that moment, you wanted to punch him in his cold face. he has lied for you so much, your worried the trust that your mom and dad have might break. "Y/N sweetie? Aren't you gonna eat?", "Huh? Oh yeah, sorry i couldn't help mom...", You mom patted your head "It's okay, I should give you a little more freedom now that your older. But your helping me bake tomorrow, no backing out!"

The next day came, guilt was eating away at you. Sure, you've lied to your mom a few times, but dad is lying to her for YOU. You walked out of the cabin to see your dad sprinkling snow on some plants. "Dad, why did you not tell mom about what happened last night?", "Sweetie, I will tell her but not yet. She's in a really good mood and I don't want to ruin it.", "Dad, we've been lying to her for far too long, at least tell her at lunch.?" he nodded, "Hey... don't you have some baking to do?", "SHIT!" you muttered as you quickly ran inside to help your mom.

BACK IN NINJAGO...

"Guys, he's not here, and neither is his daughter." PIXAL said reviewing their body cameras. "Are all sure that he used... ice?" Zane questioned. ever since the incident last night, they were searching for the man who could control ice, along with his daughter. "Were sure Zane, he froze most of us besides Kai and Me... did she tell you where they came from?" Lloyd, the green ninja asked.

"Of course not, I was a masked stranger." Cole was still slightly shivering, "Where do you think they went?", "They're home probably." They re-watched the footage again to see what they missed, but again nothing.

"Well fuck. WHAT DO WE DO? SOME GUY WHO CAN ALSO USE ICE IS OUT THERE AND WE DOn'T KNOW WHAT HE'LL DO!" kai yelled, he had a point. They don't know what the guy uses his powers for, good? evil? they have to know...

.・゜゜・.・゜゜・.・゜゜・.・゜゜・

A week has passed, and the situation had died down. The 'man' and his daughter never showed, and there wasn't any problems with the people in ninjago so they assumed they were just travelling from somewhere. That is until one night where Zane was sitting on top of the same building where he met you.

"...I hope she's okay." he found himself talking to the wind when he felt a similar chill. "You again?!" he jumped to his feet and saw you... "It's you, the daughter of that man with ice.", "Okay that's rude. Look, I just came here to get away from home for a bit, I don't want to deal with anyone right now."

He tilted his head, you had to get away from your home? You then sat on the ledge behind him as he sat next to you. "...wanna talk about it?" he asks softly. You sigh. "It's a long story." you looked at him and he looked like he didn't care if it was a long story.

"Well, remember that time me and my dad came here? He didn't tell my mom about our encounter, and he promised he'd tell her at lunch the next day... but he didn't. My mom was the one who found out after I asked him to tell her... and she went ballistic." You lowered your head, in shame. "I've kept some things hidden from my mom, and my dad always takes the blame for it. But he hasn't been telling my mom everything. My training, the fight, all of it." Zane listened well, and put two and two together, 'then your dad must really not trust her.' he didn't say that, but he wanted too. "Have they fought before?" he asked, "Not like this, it was worse. They were both yelling, my mom was crying... I felt like I caused this, and I did. If I had told my mom before everything, maybe this wouldn't have happened."

"Would your mother have reacted badly?", "At first, maybe. But she's understanding... god I should have told her from the start... I'm horrible." you began to form ice on the edge, and Zane took notice. "She might never forgive my dad... they may even separate... this all my fault." tears began to roll down your cold cheeks, whilst more ice began to form on the ledge.

"They loved each other... and now, they might never love again... all because I didn't tell her from the beginning."

Zane saw the ice grow, he shouldn't be this shocked. It was a possibility you inherited the ice abilities from your father, and it seemed to revolve around your emotions. "Would you like to hear my honest opinion on the situation?" he asks, ignoring the ice. "Yes please, *sniff*" you wiped your tears.

"You should have told her everything. She's your mother, trust and honesty are one of the main structures a relationship relies on to stay healthy and sturdy. You knew that, yet you still kept it hidden. You had the right to not tell her, but she should know when her own daughter was in a situation and was nearly hurt." He began to form ice around where he sat, making a sculpture of a flower, "Your mother has every right to be upset at both you and your father. You broke her trust, just because you both are dear to her does not mean it will repair quickly. Trust is earned, not given."

He handed you the flower, "I would like to start over, I'm Zane. Master of ice. You are?" you held the flower with your cold hands, looking up at the now unmasked boy, revealing a steel exterior, paired with teal eyes. "Y/N, the daughter of Jack Frost. An honor to meet you Zane."

After the proper introduction, you hung with Zane on top of the building for another hour, talking about both of your powers, family, friends and immortality.

He gave you the confidence to head back home and apologize to your mother about keeping things from her. And promised to return to Zane to hang out once everything was sorted out.

A week had passed, Zane returning to the top of the building every night, just to check if you had arrived. It usually brings him disappointment when not seeing you, even after waiting 10 minutes.

But on a Sunday night, he was about to leave when he felt a similar wind behind him. He turned and was met with a hug, you were hugging him. You finally released him from your strong grip, and smiled at him.

You told him what had happened that week. You and your dad both apologized to your mother that same night after their argument. She did give them both the silent treatment.

But in the end, they reconciled. The air is slightly tense still but it's slowly returning back to normal in your family home.

"Thank you Zane, I'm sorry I wasn't able to hang out with you this week.", "Don't worry about it. After all...

We have all of our life to be with each other."

JESUS THIS TOOK FOREVER IM SORRY

[shinakkyo]

wednesday x tyler canon-divergence au wip

i wanted to write my own version of “what if wednesday managed to get out of jericho in ep. 01” fic, mostly as an excuse to write about tyler getting to be actually weird and the addams mansion (my beloved). i also wanted to try writing a multi-chaptered fic again instead of a long one-shot, to like reeeeeally explore the slow burn and to devote time to write about the house as a proper character (did i mention i love her?).

this fic will probably be rated M or E, but it starts pretty tame :)

please lmk your thoughts!!

cw: derogatory language, torture, death (canon typical, not overly graphic)

In some other reality, one that is bloodier in that teenage-drama-show way, Wednesday bumps into someone while scurrying through the Harvest Festival with the sheriff’s son, and it triggers a vision that makes her change her goals of Getting Out of Jericho to Preventing a Killing, and, instead of leaving behind this town threaded with her parent’s memories, she lives out her own murder mystery story, with enough twists and plot holes that any publisher would delight in turning into a full trilogy, under a signed contract that made sure the author died in obscurity and full of debt. 

Wouldn’t that be a dream come true. 

But as it stands, she is on Tyler Galpin’s passenger seat, watching the city’s lights fade amidst the trees as they drive to the nearest train station, with Thing attempting to play hangman with her on the condensation building on the window. She is only paying attention to him halfheartedly, losing on purpose even though she knew at first glance the word was “fratricide”; there are things mildly more pressing at the moment, like the anxious clenching and unclenching of Tyler’s hands on the steering wheel that looks calculated to make Wednesday demand him to stop that. And thus start a conversation.

Just when she thought the uncomfortable silence between them was getting to the good part.

He sighs an apology and takes a big breath to calm his nerves down, relaxing his posture, and Wednesday thinks that will be the end of his little show as the resident Anguished Small Town Boy, but she catches him sneaking a glance at her, and really, it was dreadfully naïve of her to expect anything else; she knows that she might as well be the equivalent to a haunted paperback edition of a Ripley’s Believe It or Not! anthology to someone like him. 

“Can I ask you something? Yes, other than this.”  There is a hint of a smirk on his lips when he catches the way Wednesday’s eyes shift from capricious antagonism to quiet amusement at his quick amendment. She nods, and he looks back at the road, the cliché maneuver to feign nonchalance that Wednesday didn’t think she’d see in person so soon.

“Was Nevermore that bad? I mean, I get wanting to leave Jericho as soon as you arrive in that town, but… I don’t know, the students there seem happy. Like it’s worth it all.”  There’s curiosity in his voice, but also something that sounds a little like envy, a feeling that Wednesday finds difficult to comprehend when she thinks of what in that school he could be envious of. 

She decides to entertain him, given his puzzling generosity that so far is working to her benefit. “I suppose, all high school experiences considered, it’s not quite as vexing.”  She pauses, focusing her look on his profile so their eyes meet, and holds a stare contest that he, naturally, loses. “The student body was just full of your common American high school clichés, though. Teenagehood is the same whether you’re a normie or a gorgon, after all.” 

Tyler frowns in confusion, mouthing to himself what the fuck is a gorgon while looking at the road, and it makes the corner of Wednesday’s lips twitch minutely in what only an Addams could tell was a smile, her expression remaining neutral to anyone else. The time she spent in Jericho was enough to have her thinking like a simple minded girl when she observes that there was something about this boy that made him feel more deserving of her attention than most, enough to prompt her to ask a question to keep the conversation going.

“And you? Why is that the sheriff’s son is so angst-filled over his provincial hometown that he would aid an outcast in her escape, but not go away himself?”  The question apparently surprises him, his eyes widening as his hands clench around the steering wheel once again. Wednesday waits for his answer but she’s getting bored by the minute with this, there’s not much he could say that would be actually interesting, and she doesn’t really care about the mundane day-to-day drama of small towns built on racist history. 

He relaxes again after they pass a sign with the directions to the train station, some miles away from them still. “There’s not much to it, really. I spent a year at a boot camp for… misguided behavior, now I guess I’m repenting. It’s hard to just leave when your dad is the sheriff, too.”  Wednesday catches him glancing at her, searching for a reaction, probably wanting to see shock or surprise on her face. There’s a glimpse of disappointment in his eyes when he doesn’t find it, and Wednesday takes pity on him just for her own continued amusement, taking the bait.

“What exactly was your misguided behavior? Did you kill someone?”  Another car passes by them at that moment, and for a second there’s an unnatural flash of red on Tyler’s eyes, but his expression is relaxed and amused, like he thinks Wednesday’s question was a joke and he didn’t think she was capable of those, so she dismisses the red in his eyes as a reflection of light. “No, actually… I destroyed a Nevermore student’s mural and beat him up, for no reason other than being stupid, I guess.” His self-deprecating tone takes a bitter turn when he continues: “There were others with me, those guys bothering you at the Weathervane, but I was the one who got blamed for everything.” 

That was exactly the kind of meaningless misdeed Wednesday expected to hear, something so completely abecedarian when it came to the typical activities of a high school boy that she couldn’t help but huff in amusement. At least her short stay in Jericho entertained her with its microcosmic banality, as if she had spent her week at a theme park of stale white bread americana, reminiscent of that summer camp she went to as a child. 

They could see the signs pointing towards the train station now, more lights coming into view the closer they got, and as Tyler was doing a right turn to get to the station’s parking lot, his phone flashed with a notification from where it was sitting inside the cup holder. “Can you check what that was for me? If it’s a text just tell me who the sender is.”  He looked worried, and Wednesday supposed that maybe they were already past his curfew, she wasn't paying attention to the time.

She reached out to pick up his phone at the same time he reached out to change gears, and in that fraction of a second where their hands touched, an electric current replaced the blood in her veins, lighting her up like her least favorite electric chair, and the last thing she felt before her vision went black was Thing, running up her arm trying to keep her head upright as she passed out.

She doesn’t recognize this place.

Rough stone walls with unnatural scratch marks, the putrid-sweet smell of decay, specks of dust glittering in the air when she looks around and hears before she sees a figure— curled up against a corner, heavy chains around its neck, ankles and wrists, breathing erratically.

She gets closer to it, the sound of her footsteps echoing loudly in this cave-like place, as if she was trying to make herself noticed and intimidating at the same time, and the figure against the wall curls up even more, making himself smaller. She's close enough now to see it’s a boy, naked and covered in a thin veil of sweat, with red distressed marks where the chains are rough against his skin, and needle-like punctures on his arms. 

Wednesday stands right in front of him and lifts his face up with the toe of her boot, a bright red that makes her want to itch with allergies, and Tyler Galpin looks back at her, hair disheveled and eyes red from tears but hollow with fear, his pupils dilated as if he was high. She doesn’t understand—

“Well, you were useless after all. I should’ve known, and yet I put my trust in you—” She gets interrupted by a slurred mantra of “sorrysorrysorrysorrysorry” from Tyler, his voice small and hoarse, and kicks him on his throat, making him choke and gasp when the chains pull against his neck with the impact. 

Why is she saying these things? That was not her voice, but she knows it, she—

“Did I give you permission to speak? Like this you’re no better than any of those other freaks, did you know that? I’m so disappointed, honey.” Her tone is deceptively sweet but her words are cold, cutting, and Tyler looks up at her with hope and then confusion, like a trained dog thinking he’ll be taken for a walk, only to find himself at the veterinarian to get neutered. 

She thinks she sees a reflection of copper hair in his eyes, but she can’t remember—

There’s a syringe in her hand now, and she can actually smell the fear and panic in Tyler’s sweat, acidic and salty mixed with the distinctive iron of the blood now dripping from where the chains cut into his skin. He’s shaking like a cornered animal, and Wednesday feels her mouth curl in a saccharine smile when she gets close to him.

There’s no way her face could pull such an expression, she’s physically incapable of it, no way, no—

“In the end that girl left you, didn’t she? See how nobody wants you close? How you’re only good as a tool, as a toy? And yet you had the audacity to betray me. Honestly, baby boy, you did this to yourself.” 

She holds him by his chin, brushing a thumb over his cheekbone in mocking tenderness, catching a tear in her manicured nail, while her other hand pushes the needle deep into his neck, and his eyes go from wet and pleading to a dull emptiness in a matter of seconds.

Wednesday chuckles as she sees his wrists falling limp to his sides, and a hint of blue tinging his lips.

The sound of a body slamming down on the ground and the rattling of chains echo in the cave.

[oh-no-another-idea]

Writer positivity tag

Tagged by @cherrybombfangirlwrites SO long ago you wouldn't believe. Thank you, lovely!

1. What motivates you to write?

Half pure enjoyment, half the beast inside me demands it. The beast keeps ya going when the enjoyments are few. ;)

2. A line/short snippet of your writing that you are proud/happy of. If not maybe share a line of someone else's work you love (just please credit them)

I love this bit here from my wip Cemetery Sisters:

The idea stayed, lingering like the condensation on Madeleine's ice water glass. An illusive definition of family dripped down and over her fingers, a question of grief and love left a ring behind on the table. “Is it going to give you purpose in a healthy way?” Miguel asked, like he was some kind of therapist and not a boy with a circ saw. “Are you asking me if I’m going to get obsessed with results that exist only in my head?” Madeleine retorted, pulling the lemon wedge from her glass and slurping it. Her teeth tingled.

3. Which OC makes you smile every time you think/talk about them and what are they like?

Most all of them do! But I definitely love thinking about my boy Tim Alabaster from a wip of only vibes at this time. He's a magician framed for murder, and I adore him :)

4. What process of writing do you enjoy the most?

When you know just enough about the characters and the arc of the story that you can see it taking shape and the words are flowingggg

5. What part of writing do you think you are the best at? (Yes stroke your own ego it's okay)

I'm good at dialogue, I think, at having different voices and humorous jokes.

6. What is something in the writeblr community is most enjoyable?

I love how supportive everyone is, how you can get so many wonderful glimpses of others' work through tag games, how there's really a story for everyone out there.

7. A writing tool/device you use that helps you with writing? (It could be speech to text, a writing program etc)

I enjoy trying to put down 300 words per day. More often than not, I end up writing way more than that, but it's a nice attainable goal.

8. A piece of worldbuilding that you like in your own story? (It could be the magic system, a particular place in the story, a law etc)

In Stars and Ships there's a city on a planet that's built on tidal flats--all the structures are on stilts and at low tide canoes are tied up and hang up above the sand. I still like thinking about all the implications of the setting...

9. What piece of advice would you say to encourage others to write if they are having a rough patch?

Don't be hard on yourself, and take a rest. Sometimes, just not holding yourself up to other standards and sleeping is all that's needed, and sometimes pursuing other creative outlets really helps me! Read, draw, go on a walk, talk with friends. The writing is still inside you, it'll be there.

10. Tag some people whose works you love/have been your biggest supporters

Everyone I meet on here is kind and wonderful! Thank you to everyone who boosts me up from all over the globe. Your kindness really inspires me. And also beloveds @sleepy-night-child @drippingmoon @sleepyowlwrites @reneesbooks @chauceryfairytales

@charlesjosephwrites @eccaiia @ashen-crest <333 Hugging you guys!!

Everyone^^^ consider yourselves tagged if you'd like, and also OPEN TAG for everyone else that sees this!!

[opalimagines]

Can I request something with reader being the Shade's daughter and dating Rick? With a lotta theatrics from the Swifts, if you please 😁 and maybe some spicy with Rick 😜

Characters: Rick Tyler/Hourman and Platonic!Richard Swift/The Shade

Requested by anonymous

Reader: Neutral

Warnings: None

Notes: Did this as headcanons because it fits better and I've thought about this scenario way too much to condense it into one imagine. But I have a lot of story ideas based around this that I'd like to play around with for sure. Some of it is discussed below.

First of all, we gotta talk about how Shade ended up with a kid. I don't think he could even have a biological child anymore (nor do I see him having one if he could), but they could be his orphaned great great great grandchild from when he was human, or the orphaned great great great grandchild of his beloved sister. Or something similar to his adopted daughter in the comics where you have powers or something and definitely could not have been raised by normal humans, so he takes you in.

My personal favorite is him adopting the child of one of the dead JSA members. Say, The Flash (IYKYK 😉)

No matter how he ended up being your parental figure, he's not a strict one. Shade has cared for you to the best of his ability, made sure you're well educated, and tried to keep the darker parts of himself from rubbing off on you (that didn't completely work though)

I see there being a lot of periods where you're sort of left to your own devices within the limits of Opal City. And I think that, as well as being different from other kids your age, makes you a little lonely by the time you arrive in Blue Valley.

You follow Shade there because he was acting strange when he told you he was leaving, and you make it there right around when he does. Naturally, you end up meeting the JSA and initially just think Rick is cute.

Nothing ends up happening during season two's events, but you stay in Blue Valley with Shade and a friendship begins to develop between you and the JSA. And something more slowly forms with Rick. You enroll at the high school so you're spending even more time with the team than before.

Shade can absolutely tell that the two of you have feelings for each other, and he really doesn't mind it. While he does value your safety very much, he's not the type of person who's going to control who you might date. And besides, after getting to know Rick better while attempting to resurrect Grundy, Shade's not concerned about the possibility of the two of you dating. If it takes too long, he'll end up planning some dramatic thing to get you and Rick to finally figure things out 😆

Anyway, you stay in town when Shade leaves and things with Rick continue as they are. Until he's deep in his hourglass addiction and says some very personal, hurtful things to you when you're trying to help him. You leave to join Shade and the twins, and once Rick starts coming back to himself, he thinks he screwed everything up and pushed you away for good.

But you make your dramatic entrance during the fight against Ultra-Humanite and the Icicle family, saving him in the process. He apologizes to you afterward, and you accept. I see feelings also being admitted at this point, but it's all kinda taken slowly because Rick's still going through some things after how messed up he got.

When you and Rick are official, Shade's glad for you. He trusts you and knows that Rick is a good young man, and as long as the two of you are being safe about things and you're happy, he doesn't insert himself in any way. Overall just pretty decent for Rick to have as his partner's parental figure (and future in law). He could be terrifying, but Rick would never do anything to bring that upon himself anyway.

Rick's pretty much accepted into your family of two before too long. He spends a good amount of time at your Blue Valley home, which Shade doesn't mind as he knows he still lives alone. You even take him back to Opal City at some point to show him your real home there. And all of your favorite places.

Dates at the diner, drive in movies, stargazing, hanging out in the woods with Grundy, and just enjoying one another's company.

You're so very happy with Rick, and that's all that a father can ask for.

And in a decade or so, Shade totally officiates the wedding

[happyinjection]

♠️♥️High Card Short Story 7 ~Aftermath of The Jack of Hearts Retrieval Mission~ “Post-Mission Banoffee Pie” (1/3)♦️♣️

Chris was having a banoffee pie for lunch and Wendy got curious. As she expected, it tastes...?

Original: https://twitter.com/highcard_pj/status/1560567265254572032

Author: https://twitter.com/poipheno

Artist: https://twitter.com/ebimoji3

In the aftermath of The Jack of Hearts retrieval mission, we successfully made it back to Shield City. It was a rather safe and uneventful ending, but it could hardly be called a pleasant memory, so I don’t want to dwell on it too much.

After a few days had passed, I returned to my normal routine and went to work. At lunch break, I put my laptop on sleep mode, got up from my seat, then sat down on the sofa which was located on the opposite side of the low table. 

“Hold on. You’ve been here since before the lunch break, haven’t you.”

Sitting across me was Chris.

“Hear me out, Wendy. Today it’s only you and I holding the fort, right? Isn’t that wonderful. Our resident demon of the store is not around, so—”

He pulled a paper box out of an eco bag.

“Behold, a banoffee pie.”

Comparable to a kid unwrapping his birthday present, he opened the box in an exaggerated manner. As a sweet scent surrounded me, I felt as though my whole body was wrapped in strings made out of sugar. 

“Wow.......”

The moment I witnessed it in all its glory I could not help but admire.

It was an open-face pie. The entire surface of the pie was covered in fresh cream all the way to its edges.

“The cream has a black tinge, right? That’s because it contains coffee.”

“Eh~ If that’s true, won’t it taste a little bitter?”

“Wendy-chan. Don’t judge a pie by its appearance. A pie is an ensemble, so to speak..... a harmony weaved layer by layer.”

Out of nowhere, Chris already had a plate and a cake knife ready, then proceeded to cut a slice out of the pie.

“Woah, pretty!”

The layers of the pie looked just perfect.

“The top layer is coffee-flavored cream, while the bottom layer is solid, pure whipped cream.....”

“So there are two layers!”

“That’s right! Double cream!”

“Double cream!”

In excitement, I unconsciously repeated what he said. Underneath the cream, bananas cut in the shape of crescents were lined up.

“Beneath these bananas, was what made from a traditional recipe of boiling a  can of condensed milk, the toffee. At the bottom, there’s a layer of crunchy short crust pastry, When all of them comes together, the flavor and texture of such a golden ratio spreads in your mouth!”

“Amazing!”

“This is banoffee pie at its finest!”

Chris cut the pie using a fork and brought it up to his mouth. Watching him doing so, my heart felt as though it was about to leap out of my chest.

The pie was swallowed into Chris’ mouth. Munching and chewing, his lips were moving while being pressed into a thin line.

“.....H-how’s it?”

For some reason, I grew nervous and swallowed hard.

“Oooh......Oof......”

Placing the back of his hand on his forehead, Chris sank back into the sofa as he let out a sigh that sounded as if it was dripping with melted sugar. 

“What an indulgence..... Aah, for every bite I take, it’s like climbing up a staircase leading to Heaven....... My beloved Papi, it’s good to see you. Have you been well?”

“Don’t make fun of such things.”

Chris made a startled face, then slapped himself on the cheeks.

“Even so, Chris...... you must be a tough one to be able to eat bananas after returning from that mission.”

“You are one to talk.”

“I-I don’t have a problem with bananas.”

“Jokes aside, it really seems like I’ve been haunted, for all day long I can’t take my mind off bananas.”

With a slightly melancholic, somewhat distraught expression, he poked on the banoffee pie. It’s true that during the mission, there had been a quarrel over bananas. Apparently it was quite a big deal for him.

“You can never forget her, is that so……..”

“Yeah……. the summer wind, it blew through my body as though I’m a phantom…… say, Wendy, I am a pretty traumatized man, aren’t I?”

"That’s a stretch. Well then, let me have a bite too—”

I took a plastic fork that came along with the pie.

“Huh, what are you doing.”

“I mean...... I get my own share, right?”

“Who ever said I’d share it with you.”

After a long moment of silence, I put my fork down.

“......Eh. I knew you’d say that. Hmph.”

“Wha, what are you sulking for. This is my lunch, you know?”

“Suit yourself. In that case, things like issuing sales slips in Chris’ place, I aaaaaaaa—”

“...”

“—aaaaaa—”

“....that’s long. You’ve got some stamina, huh.”

“—aaaaabsolutely won’t do it ever again!”

By the time I finished speaking, Chris had already left his seat, and walked around to finally plop down next to me.

“Hehehe. Please don’t say that, my dear senior Wendy.”

“We’re on the same wavelength, aren’t we.”

Out of nowhere, he pulled out a plate, laid out a fork, and brought in the pie. His movements were quick and agile.

“Even though you just asked for a slice, please enjoy two.”

“Open-face pies are tiny. I want to eat three.”

“T-three....! That’s, impossible!”

In a strangely limp and disgustingly dramatic manner he pretended to collapse.

“Do you have a problem with that? Who knows if Leo would get you fired[*] once he hears of the many mistakes you’ve made in the past. Compared to that, I think it’s a small price to pay.”

“Ugh..... fire is harder to put out on a full stomach.”[*]

“I’d also like some tea. Green tea would be sufficient.”

“A-as you wish, ma’am.”

I watched as Chris went and disappeared to the pantry at the back of the store, then took a large bite out of the banoffee pie.

With pursed lips, I muffled my satisfied squeal.

♠️♥️♦️♣️

TL notes: I’m in no way a professional translator so if you find any mistakes, please do not hesitate to inform me right away. Short Story 7 is meant to be a side story to Drama CD vol 2 (TLDR High Card went on a mission together to retrieve a card and shenanigans happened). You may want to check that out first to understand the context of the jokes. [*] A pun here, more or less Wendy says Chris will get fired (lit. “get his neck chopped off”), Chris replies that it’s true he can’t “replace his chopped off neck with his stomach”.

[mariacallous]

Bringing new life to hamantaschen was a challenge. People are dead set on their favorite flavors, like classic poppy seed and apricot. Of course, newer directions such as Nutella and rainbow funfetti are a big hit with the kids, but reinventing the grown-up hamantaschen into a decadent cookie you actually crave was very important to me. Then it hit me: alfajores!

Alfajores are an incredibly decadent sandwich cookie filled with dulce de leche, a caramel-like spread made from condensed milk. 

The cookies have a complex history. Most people associate alfajores with Argentina, Uruguay and Peru, but they were brought to the New World by the Spanish in the 16th century. Before that, it’s said that the cookies were actually an Arab import when Spain was largely under Arab control in the 14th and 15th centuries. 

I was first introduced to the famous South American cookie at the well-known Israeli cafe chain Aroma in New York City. Alfajores are actually extremely popular in Israel today, much more so than in the States. It was love at first bite. Cornstarch and extra egg yolks give the cookies a very light, crumbly texture that melts in your mouth. Then, slowly cooked dulce de leche is sandwiched in between. The cookies are usually rolled in lightly toasted coconut and sprinkled with powdered sugar. 

Translating all of these elements into our beloved traditional hamantaschen was a no brainer, and made for the most popular hamantaschen in my house to date! Making your own dulce de leche filling is actually incredibly easy, but if you can find it at your grocery store, feel free to use it here. 

Note: This hamantaschen recipe calls for unsweetened large flaked coconut, which is preferable to the heavily sweetened macaroon coconut.

[circa-specturgia]

Graves

A scene between Cyril and Adira, my power couple of Generals, meeting to honor their fallen, after coming back from a mission with maybe one too many close calls.

Some context: Caspian is Cyril’s adopted son; initially adopted simply for the legal purposes of giving him a guardian, and a citizenship, however Cyril, and Adira, have grown to care for him more than for just a student

TW // Discussion of death, mention of young person death.

The morning was cold steel - sharp, metallic. Cutting into her skin, condensation - freshly drawn blood.

By the time she’d gotten there, he was already standing by the gate, a handful of white flowers with a neat silver ribbon tying them together, a satchel over his shoulder, the silver clips the same as the rings in his hair, and rims of his glasses.

They didn’t speak as she stopped in front of him, waiting for a second before he sighed, and followed her down the path hewn stone arch, turning his back to the city piercing the gray clouds, far behind them.

They made their way to the top of the hill path in similar silence, looking out over the cliff overlooking the sea, grasses rolling like the dark waves below. White polished stones, like fallen stars, dotted the earth. A dozen, slightly more. They both knew the exact number, memorized. Carved into memory.

Their breaths fogged on the air, a cold wind running through their hair. The scars of old, healed wounds ached, every heartbeat a pulse of dull reminder. They stopped for a moment, looking out to the emptiness, a hollowness consuming them, their hearts like drums beating in the hallows formed of their chests.

“How many years now…?” Something, anything to break the silence. To not be alone. He knew the answer, but speaking was better than the noise that would fill his mind if he didn’t.

“31.” Her reply was calm, unwavering. Not a hint of shakiness, but, Cyril had known her long enough to know how she hid it. Underneath it all, it was all still there.

The breeze kicked up the mist of the waves crashing on the rocks below, the droplets like needles scratching their skin.

“Starting from the eldest?”

He mustered a nod, following her to the end of the row, dew in the tall grass cold against his sandaled feet.

One by one, they stopped by the gravestones lain in the grass. A white flower, and a coin set face up left on each, the sleeping soldier given a prayer.

One by one, they remembered each soldier.

A moment of realization at one of the last of them rooted Cyril to the ground. Memories flashed like the glint of a dagger, ripping into his chest, a hand finding the cold marble to hold him steady.

‘Marius Rosenwood - A good soldier, a beloved son.’ Etched beneath two insignia, one of the crown, one of the legion. The same Cyril wore.

“He was Cas’ age…”

Adira squared her jaw, trying to find something to say, before he did so for her.

“I won’t allow any more names here. I won’t let their lives slip through my fingers.”

“Cyril—”

“If there will be another, it will be mine.”

She took the remaining flowers from his hands, the stems having been smoldered and burnt in his grasp, walking to the next stone. A moment passed before she spoke, without looking at him.

“Or mine.”

A bit of a contrast to the previous scene with the two of them, but one I'm glad to finally finish. Hope you enjoyed.

[spinbingle]

my dnd lore, as well as a planet that will never see the light of day

all of my stories across all my worlds are connected through the Mother. she is the stars and the cosmic matter that keep all of my stories and my worlds safe. she cares for all of them, and her hair is the magical weave that breathes life and gives energy to my worlds.

except for one.

the orphaned planet, Io. it was once a battleground for dragons. where their echoes would converge and settle their scores for who should become the strongest variant of themselves. universal forms were cannibalized, and this strife made the world a hellscape. the eternal war got so bad that it flung Io from the safety of the Mother’s embrace, and it is relegated to fly through the inky darkness. not quite alone, as its companion is a white dwarf, a star that has seen the Mother open her eyes and form the first story.

Io has no spin. its seasons are daybreak, noon, evening, and night. its separation from the Mother means that it has no connection to other worlds anymore, and has no magic because it is no longer entangled in her hair. However, it is not all dark in the vastness of space, as migratory celestials give Io company. Sometimes, one will die on its migratory journey, and will fall to the ground. As large as a mountain range, these animate shooting stars are the twinkling lights the people came out of the dark waters in search of.

civilizations rise and fall around the bodies of these celestial creatures. the people use their energy to live, as energy is incredibly important for growing food and as, well, a source of energy. people are always curious, and tired with the unsustainable practice of praying that another creature falls, they have discovered what remained of the dragons. nestled within the ribcages of these leviathans was the condensed energy that they once were. they burned in an odd fashion when you held them, and being around them for too long would make you incredibly sick.

so you can only imagine what happened when people tried to harness the energy of these condensed souls.

their one facility erupted in flames that rival the heat that churns below the earths core, and it formed - and screamed - much like the being it once was. what remained was the area around being sunken by one entire foot, and some visitors still hanging on, not even realizing what had happened to them.

human souls are still energy, as small as they are, and without an afterlife to move onto, they stick around and can cause dangerous conditions where their bodies once were if they cannot make peace with what has happened to them.

outside the disaster, lost travelers can be seen waving down carriages asking to be taken back to the city capital, and can disappear, leaving the seat they occupied, singed.

i know this was all cobbled together but its my beloved

@foofiebitch because you are the person who inspired me to take up dming in the first place

people with ocverses or fantasy stories… this is ur sign to make your world a lil weird it doesnt have to be a lot but make your plant life purple or smth

[confessioncassette]

𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐥𝐞 - 𝐀𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞

minors do not interact. 18+

II - “I want everyone to see you.” 

IX - “Look at you, squirming around like that. Pathetic.” 

(regarding this post)

summary : you play a joke on Alastor and it backfires

tw : nsfw, DUBCON (consent is not voiced, Alastor owns readers soul already), public (shaming? humiliation), degradation, fingering, yandere themes - PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS.

“Don’t act all shy now, my dear. Remember who started all this?”

You could try and act that this wasn’t your fault, having your body pressed against the cold glass forced to overlook the city of Pride below you, but you’d be lying. Alastor’s temper has put you in a rather sour mood lately, so why not have a little fun to ease the tension? Owning your soul was one thing, but the demon always took it to another level. Maybe it was pride. Maybe it was because he has an aggressive case of power control. Who the fuck knows, but, like when all things come to a head, it was time for you to mess around in your own way.

You’ve filed through every harmless prank you could think of this week. It was time for the arrogant bastard to choke, just like the sickly cherry flavored syrup on silver spoon he’d been forcing down your throat since you’ve become a pet on his chain. It was supposed to be all in good fun, obviously for your own gain, to do the one thing you knew was off limits.

Now, you know the demon has a particular short temper, but you never thought that it would lead you to this.

“Out of all the things your little mind could come up with,” Alastor’s voice drawls close by your ear, “you decide to interrupt my show.”

You knew that poking the bear was a dangerous act, but what’s the fun in that? Alastor always wedged his way into your life, finding the most ridiculous tasks to give you at any time of the day. Day after day, he silently weasels his way into your life, appearing out of thin air like a fox sneaking into the henhouse- which is ironic considering his looks. He always makes himself visible, appearing around every corner, every meeting, every dinner- smiling like he’s got the upper hand, just to spite you. Your cup was surely overflowing, it was only a matter of time for that last straw to set you over the edge.

“Did you forget who owns you?”

The jaunty song playing over the radio fades out, clearing the air within the studio. Condensation from your breath fans over the window as you remain still, awaiting his next move. Maybe he’ll continue his show as normal and save your punishment for later in the sake of his beloved hobby… you could only hope.

The air is thick and the hairs of your neck prick your skin. Vermillion eyes intensely gaze at the back of your head, swimming with so much disgust and scrutiny that it almost feels physically invasive.

Subtle static of a record fills the broadcasts’ dead air.

After what feels like an eternity, Alastor finally moves to reach for the microphone, all while keeping a firm grip on the nape of your neck to keep you pinned. Your cheeks burn numb from the cold, and you swallow, quickly coming to the realization that this little joke you’ve played was a huge mistake.

Alastor wasn’t in the mood for silly games, nor was he ever, but with the way his eye twitched and lips curled into a sinister smile when you hid under his desk to unplug his microphone mid-show… you guess you didn’t really think it through.

“Welcome back, dear listeners! I apologize for being cut short earlier, I had a little mouse in my studio. Though I hope you enjoyed Eddie Cantor in his infamous song ‘Makin’ Whoopie’ as you waited!” Alastor laughs lightheartedly before setting the microphone up on a small stand. In the next millisecond, both of Alastor’s hands were below your waist to roughly rip your panties down over your thighs and flip your skirt over your ass in one swift motion.

Alastor’s reflection in the window showed his eerily calm composure, his gaze downcast, focusing on himself as he slides off his gloves, tossing them carelessly to the floor before loosening his bow tie.

“We’ve had a change of plans. You see, I’ve caught this little mouse and I haven’t a clue what to do with the poor thing.”

Polished red tipped shoes kick your feet further apart, as one clawed hand curls around your waist while the other that held your neck travels downward; a single finger trailing slowly over your spine. The scratch sends a chill down your back and flares your instinctive fight or flight response. It’s funny, the cool glass shivered you to the bone, but that clawed finger branded your skin.

“Your heartbeat,” Alastor growls, “I can feel the vibrations. Is this poor little mouse scared?”

Indeed you are. Your blood rattles under your skin and your breath shakes unsteadily within your ears. With his prey caught in a trap, paralyzed in fear and eyes blown wide, he savors the moment.

So pretty - to have you still for once.

“If you think moving right now will get you out of this situation, you’re in for it. Stay put,” he warns in a lowly, pessimistic tone.

In a split second, like you’re not even there, Alastor continues to talk to his listeners.

“Now! Let’s give a little lesson, shall we? When a little joke goes too far, what should you do?” He pauses for a beat like he’s waiting for his audience to answer through the speakers, “that’s right, punishment. And what is the best way to punish someone?”

A hand spreads your ass apart, and roughly at that, sharp fingernails threaten to break the soft flesh. You whimper, but not too loud. Avoiding your gaze to the city below you, you opt to close your eyes. Alastor’s floor to ceiling windows give the illusion of standing on the edge of a cliff. You pray to whatever god would hear you in the depths of Hell that it doesn’t crack under the pressure, and your stomach blanches at the feeling.

“Humiliation.”

Two long, thick fingers force their way into your hole and you arch slightly at the intrusion.

“Humiliation is the best way to teach someone that their acts have consequences. If one is humbled enough, they’ll never do it again.” The end of that sentence was filled with static, his voice a demonic growl. Lights flicker all around you in the studio, the knobs of his ancient electronic equipment going haywire.

“Alastor, please I’m sorry!” You whimper the best you could, lips squished against the window and all.

The demon tuts, then lowers his voice to speak directly to you. “You got yourself in this mess, little girl. It’s only right that I correct your insane behavior.”

“Shut up if you know what’s good for you.” Alastor adds.

The long fingers that fill your hole now begin to move at a medium pace. Your own slick coats him in one, two, three steady pumps. The sound of your wetness begins to fill the air along with the radio static as he grinds the palm of his hand into your clit, forcing the sounds from your hole to amplify.

You roll your head backwards, lolling your mouth open in a silent scream. Your eyebrows furrow with his ministrations, and fuck, does it feel good. You would have never thought that the prude demon would have this in him, to pleasure so well…

“Look at you, squirming around like that. Pathetic.”

Sharp teeth scrape the tenderness of your neck before gently biting down, forcing a half shocked scream of pleasure. But you don’t dare say anything, not when it feels this good, not when you’re confused from it all.

Where did this come from? Surely this wasn’t just from the prank you pulled. No, this passion is deeper. This comes from…

Alastor’s smile creeps wide, eyes glimmering with delight as he reads every expression of your face, your body, you scent, your heart beating like a little rabbit. It’s only fair he’d let you know now that this was the final push before all hell broke loose. He just needed a reason to bend you over the table to properly exercise the pent up emotions. A good reason other than he owned you, because for him, that’s not entertainment.

“Ah,” Alastor sighs, “seems like this little mouse is enjoying her punishment. Come on, dear, let everyone hear your little moans of pleasure.”

You let a groan slip past your lips, sultry and smooth as Alastor curls his fingers deep into your cunt, dragging the pad of fingertips along your sweet spot. Breathless and dazed, your moans sing a sweet melody to his ears.

“Do you like this? Do you like being my little pet?” The hand over your hip guides you to hump back into him, meeting his knuckles deep inside you. Squelching fills your ears, and this earns a groan from the demon behind you, his voice vibrating your backside.

Alastor contemplates conjuring his chains around your neck, but what’s the fun in that? He already has you trapped, compliant.

“So helpless, don’t worry,” He tuts, ears pinning back as he enjoys the way your walls squeeze tightly around him.

In the heart of the Pride ring, where most channels are broadcasted, all TVs are switched off in an instant. Sounds of your pleasure ring through every street and alleyway, catching the attention of all who dwell here.

“So pathetic, fucking yourself on my hand. I can feel you leaking all over me, squeezing me… Do you want more?” Alastor’s tone is degrading. You’ve never heard him like this before. He was the master at come backs and shit talking without aggressiveness, so this comes as a shock. Maybe this was who he was behind it all. Maybe his own feverish emotions override it all. The power trip you have known to know was way worse when it meant you’re completely at his mercy.

“That pretty little face, you don’t even care that you’re exposed for all of Pride to see, do you? You want people to see that you’re mine? You like being controlled?”

This time, that hand that rests on your hip, travels forward and down to your little bud.

You fuck back into him fully now, a burning fire grows deep in your belly. With every thrust, you’re either met with his fingers knuckle deep, curling at your gummy walls, or forward into the pad of his fingers swirling wet circles at your clit. You can’t control the feeling, your body acts as if you’re a rabid animal, desperate for release. Your walls tighten around him, and your body grows hot, your mind drifting away… away… away for that string to snap.

Alastor pauses.

You let out a breath you didn’t think you were holding, tears swell hot in your eyes. You blink, wetness catching your lashes, but again, you don’t dare make a sound. You don’t dare tell him your disappointment.

He might not even let you finish if you did.

So you remain good, in hopes that he’ll continue.

“This doesn’t seem like a punishment, does it?” He chimes before amplifying his voice to the microphone.

“Beloved listeners, you all know that I reside here at the Hazbin Hotel.”

Your eyes shoot open and you blanch at the thought. You know where this is going.

“No,” you whisper, meeting crimson eyes in the reflection of the window.

“Hmm?” Alastor taunts, his head tilting to the side, ears twitching as he does.

In one breath, the demon ignores your pleading eyes.

“This pest has had me at my wits end lately. I’ve been dying to properly dispose of it. I encourage whoever is listening, if you have free time, to stop by the hotel and see a show.”

Your knees buckle and once Alastor was done, he began pumping his slender fingers deep inside you once again.

“You’re going to be a spectacle.” His voice low and right outside your ear.

“I want everyone to see you. I want everyone to see you unravel in my hands. Only then will you know who you belong to. -

Only then, everyone will know who you belong to.”

[steamtrapsblog]

Unveiling the Ingenious Mechanics of the Inverted Bucket Steam Trap

Ah, the wonders of engineering! Today, we embark on a journey through the fascinating world of steam traps, focusing our gaze upon the ingenious contraption known as the “Inverted Bucket Steam Trap.” Brace yourselves for a whirlwind adventure into the depths of steam systems and the pivotal role these traps play in their efficiency and functionality.

What Exactly is an Inverted Bucket Steam Trap?

Let’s kick things off by unraveling the mystery behind the name. Picture a tiny, upside-down bucket nestled snugly within a labyrinth of pipes and valves. This, my friends, is the heart and soul of the inverted bucket steam trap.

But wait, what’s its purpose, you ask? Well, imagine your steam system as a bustling metropolis, with steam flowing through its veins like traffic on a busy freeway. Now, just as traffic jams can wreak havoc on city streets, condensate buildup within your steam system can spell disaster if left unchecked. Enter the hero of our story: the inverted bucket steam trap.

How Does It Work?

Ah, the million-dollar question! Fear not, for I shall elucidate this marvel of engineering in simple terms. Picture our trusty inverted bucket, bobbing merrily along atop a sea of steam. As condensate accumulates within the system, our bucket begins to fill, gradually sinking under the weight.

But here’s where the magic happens: as steam enters the bucket, it causes the air within to escape through a vent at the top. This creates a buoyant force, lifting the bucket and allowing the condensate to be expelled through a valve at the bottom. Once the condensate is drained, the bucket rises again, ready to repeat the cycle.

Why is it called “Inverted”?

A valid question, indeed! The term “inverted” refers to the unconventional orientation of the bucket within the trap. Unlike its conventional counterparts, which rely on buoyancy to operate, the inverted bucket steam trap harnesses the power of gravity to expel condensate effectively.

Advantages of the Inverted Bucket Steam Trap

Now that we’ve demystified its inner workings, let’s explore the myriad benefits offered by our trusty inverted bucket steam trap.

Reliability: Picture a loyal watchdog standing guard over your steam system, ever-vigilant and unfailingly reliable. That’s the inverted bucket steam trap for you! With its robust design and simple mechanism, this stalwart guardian ensures uninterrupted steam flow, minimizing downtime and maximizing efficiency.

Versatility: From industrial power plants to cozy heating systems, the inverted bucket steam trap is a versatile companion that adapts to a multitude of applications with ease. Whether you’re dealing with low-pressure steam or high-temperature condensate, rest assured that this resilient trap has got you covered.

Energy Efficiency: In today’s eco-conscious world, energy efficiency is more than just a buzzword — it’s a way of life. Thankfully, the inverted bucket steam trap shares our commitment to sustainability, helping reduce energy consumption and operating costs by efficiently removing condensate and preventing steam loss.

Common Misconceptions Debunked

Ah, but no tale would be complete without addressing a few misconceptions that often swirl around our beloved inverted bucket steam trap like mischievous spirits in the night.

Myth: Inverted bucket traps are prone to failure. Nothing could be further from the truth! While it’s true that all mechanical devices are susceptible to wear and tear over time, proper maintenance and regular inspections can keep your inverted bucket steam trap humming along like a well-oiled machine for years to come.

Myth: Inverted bucket traps are difficult to install and maintain. Nonsense! With the guidance of skilled technicians and a dash of common sense, installing and maintaining an inverted bucket steam trap is a breeze. Plus, the rewards of improved system performance and reduced operating costs far outweigh any minor inconvenience.

Inverted Bucket Steam Trap: A Testament to Human Ingenuity

As we draw the curtains on our whirlwind journey through the enchanting realm of steam traps, let us pause to reflect on the marvels of human ingenuity that have brought us to this moment. From the humblest of beginnings to the heights of technological prowess, the story of the inverted bucket steam trap serves as a poignant reminder of our boundless capacity for innovation and discovery.

So, the next time you find yourself gazing upon a labyrinth of pipes and valves, spare a thought for the unsung hero lurking within — the inverted bucket steam trap. And remember, whether you’re navigating the bustling streets of a metropolis or the intricate pathways of a steam system, innovation and perseverance will always light the way.

Perfect Engineering Services: Your Trusted Partner in Steam System Solutions

At Perfect Engineering Services, we understand the vital role that steam traps play in the efficiency and reliability of industrial processes. That’s why we’re committed to providing top-of-the-line products and unparalleled service to meet all your steam system needs. Whether you’re in need of installation, maintenance, or troubleshooting, our team of experts is here to lend a helping hand. Together, let’s unleash the full potential of your steam system and pave the way to a brighter, more efficient future.