#cor is furious

[ertrunkenerwassergeist]

Cor to Pax: What did you lot do this time? And if not you, then who disappeared the Galahdians and how?

Oh, the fae would be in an uproar. Especially the pixies. They're on a warpath. Because poor dear Io is gone. Went poof right alongside every foreign human having a taste of Beginning-of-All in their smell.

Cor goes right down to Little Galahd the moment he notices something fishy going on. Which is right when he wakes up and something in the air feels off.

So he goes to Little Galahd. Where there is not a living soul. Humans keep away as if they can sense that whatever happened there is dangerous on a level they can't really comprehend.

Cor gets the impression of a path in front of his feet, a guiding light, the tugging of follow-me-I-know-the-way. He can taste moss, standing water and peat in the roof of his mouth. Someone gathered the people and led them away. Cor can barely breathe at the realisation he's so furious. It happened right under his nose and didn't notice anything.

So he turns around and walks into the direction of an old, derelict arcade. Only for Pax, them who always insist on doing things the proper way - because there is a way these things are don - to meet him outside.

"Where are they?" Cor growls, and it sounds like whisper-soft paws in the underbrush, feels like the weight of a cattish stare that knows too much.

And Pax... trembles.

In fear and trepidation, yes, but also in anger. Pink hair stands up even straighter than it usually does. Dust-wings shimmer in pale sickly blues, and dark reds and shadowy blacks.

"Io is gone," Pax says, sounding like trembling grains of salt. "Lionheart. The falselights. They took our Io. Get her back. Get her back now."

[torpublishinggroup]

Attentive readers might recall our Severely Unmoored Winter Holiday Quiz. 

Well.

New year, new us, and we’re going to keep these seasonally wild quizzes churning until the heat death of the universe (And maybe beyond. It’ll depend on engagement).

Take this drastically off-kilter quiz to find out what you should read this spring!

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

ouuugh the tags in your last post gave me an idea, childe filling in doll!reader's cracks with kintsugi!! (if you don't know, kintsugi is the art of repairing pottery using gold leaf, which accentuates the cracks and turns them into something beautiful rather than hiding them!)

*furious scribbling* people like doll reader,,,, got it,,, /lh

unfortunately, being made of fragile material means you tend to break. A LOT. at least once a week. luckily, they're usually small cracks that can be easily repaired and they don't hurt an awful lot, so you have a lot of tiny "scars" in your body even since before you met Childe. it's the bigger cracks you have to worry about, the ones that sting and spark and expose the inner cavity of your body- they need repairs from a specialist, leaving a large, jagged slash across your skin even after they're healed. you've generally made your peace with them, but even you occasionally wish you could get rid of them or spruce them up a bit- civilians tend to stare if you have a massive break on your body on display out in public, puppet nature notwithstanding

it's Foul Legacy who comes up with the idea, batting around a chunk of Cor Lapis. he likes shiny things, shiny things are pretty. you're pretty! he can use gold to line your cracks, just like Childe learned when he visited Inazuma once! well, the Harbinger is the one who actually does it, his fingers being smaller and nimbler than Legacy's claws, but the Abyssal monster supplies any gold or gemstone or rock or leaf or anything that you need. he chitters and chirps in delight when it's finished, circling you and observing you at all angles with glee. if you'll let him he'll run his talons gently over the lines of gold, purring and nuzzling his head under your chin before scooping you up, light as air. Legacy will try to make sure you don't get seriously injured- it hurts you and his heart. but he can't deny that he adores the way your cracks are lined with gold, running through your skin like gleaming sun kissed rivers

[pupsmailbox]

HORROR ID PACK

NAMES ⌇ abyss. adelaide. alex. allure. alluria. amnesia. amnesty. annabelle. archer. ash. asher. ashton. athena. axe. axette. bates. beal. belial. belladonna. bellatrix. bellow. billy. blade. blair. bleedesse. bloodiesse. bones. bow. briar. brute. bubba. buffy. butcher. cain. caliburn. calyspo. carcass. carna. carrie. carrion. casey. casper. chainette. chains. charley. charlie. chase. chi. chris. chucky. claire. claymore. clear. colt. connor. corpse. craven. cross. crypt. cybre. cynthia. damien. danger. derry. desdemona. dove. dracula. drow. elisabeta. elm. elmira. elvria. em. enigma. erin. eros. ethan. evelien. eventide. falchion. finale. finalis. finn. fleur. freddy. galatine. ghost. ghostesse. gladius. graves. grim. guts. harker. haunt. hound. howl. hunter. hush. ikino. jace. jane. jason. javelin. jekyll. jesse. john. julie. kateline. kille. killer. killesse. killette. killire. killyr. knifesse. knifette. krueger. lamb. laurie. lavender. lenz. lillith. loomis. lorraine. lucien. lucy. machete. mal. malice. massacresse. massacrette. max. maxine. megan. mia. michael. mike. mikey. molar. mors. morticia. mortis. myer. myers. necro. nephi. night. noir. norman. nyx. nægling. obsidian. onyx. ophelia. pandora. pearce. pike. pin. pointe. pointette. pridwen. pyper. quentin. raven. reaper. renfield. retro. revenant. river. roadkill. rosemary. rot. ryker. sabel. sabre. sacrifesse. salem. samara. sawyer. scum. scythe. seraph. serene. sharpette. sharppe. shaun. shelley. sidney. slash. slasher. slashesse. slashette. slashine. slashire. slashyr. specter. spite. survivesse. survivette. sybil. syd. talia. thomas. vein. verity. vesper. visage. viscera. vivo. warden. weaponesse. weaponette. weaponne. wendy. whisp. william. wraith.

PRONOUNS ⌇　aby/abyss. alien/alien. amnesia/amnesia. axe/axe. bat/bat. bite/bite. bla/blade. blade/blade. blood/blood. bone/bone. brain/brain. brutal/brutal. bull/bullet. bullet/bullet. camp/camp. carna/carnage. chain/chain. chain/chainsaw. chainsaw/chainsaw. chase/chase. choke/choke. claw/claw. co/corpse. content/content. copy/copy. cor/corpse. corpse/corpse. cry/cry. cryp/cryptid. crypt/crypt. cut/cut. dae/daem. dae/daer. dark/dark. de/demo. dea/death. death/death. dec/decay. decay/decay. die/die. eldritch/eldritch. elm/elm. evil/evil. fear/fear. fie/fire. fien/fiend. final/final. flesh/flesh. fog/fog. freak/freak. fury/furious. gau/gauze. gauze/gauze. gho/ghost. ghost/ghost. gloom/gloom. gnaw/gnaw. go/gore. gor/gore. gore/gore. gra/grave. grave/grave. gun/gun. gut/gut. hallow/hallow. haun/haunt. haunt/haunt. horr/horror. horror/horror. house/house. hunt/hunt. hush/hush. k9/k9. ki/kill. kill/kill. kni/knife. knife/knife. lash/lash. lethal/lethal. live/live. machete/machete. maim/maim. mallet/mallet. mask/mask. massacre/massacre. med/medical. medi/medical. monster/monster. murder/murder. night/night. no/none. pin/pin. point/point. point/pointy. pois/poison. prey/prey. pyr/pyramid. red/red. reveil/reveil. revive/revive. rib/rib. rip/rip. rodent/rodent. rot/rot. run/run. sacrifice/sacrifice. saw/saw. scream/scream. scythe/scythe. shadow/shadow. sharp/sharp. sharp/sharpen. sharpen/sharpen. sin/sin. slash/slash. slash/slashe. slash/slashed. slash/slasher. slasher/slasher. slice/slice. sly/sly. sni/snipe. sound/sound. stab/stab. stalk/stalk. steel/steel. step/step. survive/survive. survivor/survivor. tear/tear. thon/thon. tomb/tomb. trope/trope. vamp/vamp. victim/victim. voi/void. weapon/weapon. weep/weep. whisp/whisper. wound/wound. wra/wrath. ☠️. ⚰. ⚰️. ⚱. ⛧. ⛨. 🏥. 🏹. 🐀. 💀. 💉. 💣. 📿. 🔪. 🔫. 🕳️. 🛡️. 🥀. 🦴. 🧛‍♂️. 🧟‍♂️. 🧨. 🩸. 🩹.

[bluemoonperegrine]

One Giant Leap - Part I

This is a silly yet angsty one-shot in the Hallmark by Knight universe that combines an idea @vicarious-rebel and I had kicked around with Jake being the one to finally tell Jack about the system's DID. This isn't how it will go down in HbK canon. It's an AU to the AU, if you will.

Translations of the handful of Spanish phrases are at the end.

Jack frowned on his perch atop the Giant Dipper, the old wooden rollercoaster he hadn’t ridden since the whole family had visited Belmont Park when he and Lissa were teenagers. Mostly to distract from his urge to help Marc, he said through his balaclava to the mic clipped on his T-shirt, “Bebé, this isn’t natural.” 

The spiky creature the size of a tractor trailer got its webbed feet under itself as Moon Knight, grass-stained and soaked from fighting in Bonita Cove, flew straight at it. A Bluetooth earpiece carried Marc’s reply. “YA THINK?!?” 

Marc slammed into the beast, sending both of them into the miniature windmill of an already mostly trashed mini-golf course. Authorities had evacuated the area an hour earlier, when the monster had lumbered out of the Pacific. One of Marc’s contacts had alerted him, which immediately changed their plans for the day.

“Frogs can’t tolerate salt water,” Jack informed his partner, who probably wasn’t listening because the giant frog had wrapped its long tongue around him. “Bebé! Let me—”

“No!” Marc cried as he took to the air again despite his pinned arms. The tongue pulled taut but held, pulling a thrashing Moon Knight toward its gaping maw. “Stay safe!”

Finally! Jack thought, half sliding and half climbing down the ladder he’d used to get to the rollercoaster’s peak. “Stay safe” had a lot more wiggle room than “Stay there.” Although Khonshu would bring Marc back from death, Jack wasn’t about to stand back and watch his partner die if he could intervene.

The earpiece carried increasingly frantic cries as Jack neared the bottom of the ladder with his back turned to the fight in progress. With twenty feet left to go, Jack pushed off the ladder, twisting around in mid-air and hoping to find Marc breaking free.

The monster’s wide mouth snapped shut on white cape as Jack’s feet hit the ground. Wet, stomach-turning noises replaced Marc’s screams. 

Jack's wolf side roused, furious and lethal, and he found himself at a dead run aimed at the predator. His halves had reached an unspoken agreement: his human mind was needed to save his mate. If that was unsuccessful, he’d bite and slash and kill as the wolf.

With forty feet between him and his target, Jack jumped a custodian’s cart, grabbing a broom along the way. The broom head was useless, but the handle could skewer the monster’s eyes.

Twenty feet.

The huge amphibian turned and trudged east, toward the cove’s sandy shore.

Holding the broom overhead, Jack leaped while roaring as best he could with human vocal cords. A similar cry sounded in his ear—one he hadn’t heard since the Tecate mission—as the wooden pole pierced a tire-sized eyeball. Then the frog’s enormous webbed foot lashed out and Jack was hurtling backwards. He hit the ground hard and rolled.

With the gory sounds of a brawl straight out of a horror movie in his ear, Jack looked up to find the frog writhing from something within. 

The sound of blood rushing in his ears nearly swamped out what he heard from the earpiece. He murmured, “Bebé?”

The frog’s mouth opened and poured out blood.

“Más o menos,” Marc gasped.

Half of a gold crescent blade jabbed through the creature’s flesh and slashed a wide arc. The frog bellowed as blood and bile flowed, then collapsed.

The wireless earpiece carried Marc’s panting and swearing in Spanish as he pushed through the cut he’d made through the monster.

Beaming, Jack rushed up to him, wishing he could take off his balaclava and Marc could remove his bloody cowl and mask. Although no people were around, surveillance cameras surely were, not to mention the helicopters and drones overhead.

“Corazón,” Jack sighed as he wrapped his arms around his partner despite the ichor. Marc’s hug seemed hesitant; he must be injured. 

Jack let go and took a step back, noticing how the suit’s mask and some of the linen wrappings were now black instead of their usual white. Chuckling, he said, “Being swallowed by a giant frog inspired a new look?”

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

[ This isn't a scene break. I need to get some work done, is all. I was inspired, so I banged this out. ]

bebé = baby Más o menos = More or less corazón = darling, dear (literally "heart")

[sparklecryptid]

Derived from an idea that just came to me.

If a Lucis Caelum (or anyone else, really) uses too much magic and dies by burning up into ash and ember, consider Lucis Caelum’s who fail to do so crystallizing. Creating curatives, talismans, flasks, beacons, etc takes the edge off of magic build-up, but if you don’t for a while or can’t…

Was wondering about Ardyn and Ace in a situation like that, and one - or both - of them dealing with it or the aftermath.

Ardyn, because he spent two millennia chained away and literally crucified. Ace, because he is trying to not out himself as an LC.

It happens gradually. The slow crystallization of Ace’s skin isn’t something he notices until he looks down one day and sees the lightning fractal scars that run down his left arm shimmering lilac in the light of his kitchen. The crystals forming on his skin are small, easy to over look and mistake for some sort of cosmetic.

Ace begins to wear long sleeves anyway.

It won’t stop Nyx from finding out, but it will give Ace time to figure out how to tell Nyx what is happening.

-

That’s what he thought at least. Ace had only meant to deliver lunch to his friends. He didn’t even think of the scale like crystals decorating his arms under the long sleeves he wears when he threw him in between Luche and a would be assassin.

The assassins blade ricochets off of the crystal on Ace’s arm and in the next moment Tredd has the assassin unconscious.

“Are you alright?” Ace asks Luche.

Luche’s eyes are furious. His glare concentrated on the crystal that is slowly overtaking Ace’s arm.

Ace follows Luche’s gaze to find that his sleeve is ripped and the evidence of what has been happening to him is undeniable.

“Ace,” Luche says in a tone that brokers no argument, “You owe us an explanation.”

Ace blanks.

Footsteps distracts him long enough for someone else to sigh heavily. Ace turns, Tredd tries to block Ace’s arm from sight but it’s too late.

Clarus stands before them with Cor at his side and both men suddenly look exhausted.

“I believe,” Clarus says with the tone of a man who is unbelievably tired, “We need to talk.”

[butvega]

FICS.

mark lee; spidermark, spidermark II , summer nights, desejos, jealous, sem título, feeling, o cinema, take care, furacão

jung jaehyun; i wanna be, don't mess with my wife, wuthering heights, babys making a baby, o mundo em seu quarto , linha tênue, love story, love story II, love story III, azul da cor do mar, that gucci prada comfy, ballet

johnny suh; mágica do papai, rede de apoio, my best friends brother , linha tênue, mr. suh, tal do johnny,

lee taeyong; do you remember, doce morango, cherry bomb,

nakamoto yuta; era só um colo, coquette, daddy issues

lee donghyuck; daddy issues, grande marco, virgin!, transbordou!, girls (and haechan), deadpool haechannie

wong yukhei; meu cachorro perguntou...,

zhong chenle; popcorn, vicious

lee jeno; i take care of you, on my way, shh proibido é mais gostoso,

hendery; mô! não é monstro, você é minha,

ten lee; paint me naked,

huang renjun; especial de carnaval,

jeon jungkook; secret wish, 2 fast 2 furious I,

kim taehyung; o efeito dela, capitão?

min yoongi; genius lab,

choi yeonjun; doces ou travessuras?

choi soobin; doces ou travessuras?

son heung-min; wet calvin's, bbq at home, soo good for me, strawberry, netflix and chill, cheerleader, pequeno son seo-jun, a lot of anxiety, chá da tarde, pós jogo

pedro pascal; insegurança, chilenitos,

jay park; me like you,

g dragon; the fact is,

TIME STAMPS.

20:52, johnny suh.

02:57, huang renjun.

19:14, kim jungwoo.

20:39, mark lee.

spidermark, mark lee.

20:26, mark lee.

22:18; haechan.

DRABBLES.

ten lee; 1,

[lanabeey]

Kylo Ren x Reader

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒏𝒆𝒓

A/n:I know it took me a long time, but I ended up overloading myself with a lot of things, but here it is and it will probably need another part..

Summary: Working for The First Order is scary, and your only moment of peace is dinner time, but maybe you need company...

1103 words

3/..4

Finally in the barracks away from his superiors, away from Stormtroopers, away from Hux and no Supreme Leader. A calmer mind, free from daily work and humiliation, now only at peace and happy for its achievement, a good deed of returning something lost to its owner is a comforting feeling.

Just this feeling of strangeness, even with his achievement, that moment of communication with his leader was peculiar. A feeling that something is happening, but not knowing how to distinguish it. Like a headache, it's an inconvenient feeling but nothing can be done about it. Maybe resting will improve this strange feeling.

________________

On the other hand, someone can't sleep, is always nervous, is never at peace with themselves even when they are resting.

Even with several things to think about, perhaps combat strategies against Resistance or dealing with its prisoners. The choice was obvious, You. Maybe he needed that, it had been a while since something like this happened, someone communicating with him like that, without knowing how to feel about the attitude, was something so common, even banal. But he felt strange, it shook him, maybe his gentle nature disturbed him and you are the real culprit in this situation for making him feel strange, disturbed and human.

His nature bothers him, many would take the saber for themselves, perhaps sell it or even worse. Perhaps you felt sorry for being so naive and not knowing what was in your hands, something practically deadly, that destroyed lives and you made it look like a simple toy. He should have been furious about this, but deep down he knew he couldn't blame you for it. You were just honest, it was your simple act that touched Kylo's heart.

And he missed having something like that, maybe he lacked something or someone to have for himself, the humanity inside him screamed for something that Kylo tried to ignore, but over time this could become a need, a hunger.

You, your humanity asked for more, it could be anything, your words, your looks, as long as he felt your contact, he wanted you.

_______________

Weeks pass, and Kylo had seen you very few times, and it was killing him, making him want more looks, more words from you, no matter how simple and banal they may be.

"This room is ready."

"Sorry for the intrusion."

"Have a great day!"

Even though sometimes it wasn't directly said just to Kylo, ​​but also other people around who were attending the damn meeting. Wanting these phrases to be said just for him, for his desire to want you.

But that would change today.

_____________

While cleaning the cafeterias was being completed, a Stormtrooper appeared, his presence was requested. Just that, it could be any of his superiors, all except Hux. He rarely held a grudge against anyone, but for Hux it was hatred that he just didn't let show.

Your service was requested for one of the cabins, it could be that, you were dedicated to cleaning, but you hardly received praise for it.

The Stormtrooper was constant, not talking, just walking to the destination, didn't even say where we were going. But his good memory could remember this place, it was cleaner, organized even the corridors smelled better, next to the Supreme Leader's room.

"I can at least ask who requested it, to inform me better, I don't want to be inconvenienced..."

But finally he stopped, next to the door of your leader's room, you thought of everyone in your superiors except the main one.

Then the Stormtrooper's robotic voice can be heard. "Dare well, this is an important place where our Supreme Leader rests, just do your job and leave." He quickly returned back to his work, he walked back to the corridors leaving only in front of the requested place.

Before even knocking on the door, it opened and the previously dark cabin was now lit up by the lights from the hallway.

Without delay, he went in to do his work, everything seemed in order, even clean. The aroma was pleasant, apparently everything was in its right place, it seems like the Stormtrooper brought me to the wrong place.

The door closes, darkness takes over the room and a chill takes over her completely, her desire now was to be outside where there was light and her heart was still calm.

"Don't be afraid, I won't.." that deep, slightly robotic voice.

Your scream startled him, perhaps it was deserved, the darkness was deliberate so as not to make him afraid of its presence, but it seems to have had the opposite effect.

"PLEASE DON'T KILL ME"

"Calm down, I won't hurt you...I just want to hear your voice, maybe even see it"

"Look if it was because of the cameras it was an accident, I was just cleaning and Hux came into the room, he probably thought of something wrong but nothing happened, I swear I'm innocent."

Finally the light in this place was turned on and now Kylo is visible, in his clothes and with that macabre mask.

"Don't worry, I know you didn't do anything wrong, you're here to keep me company, a form of thanks for giving back something important."

"I..I'm glad I helped you, Leader Supra-" "Just Kylo, ​​you can use my name when we are alone."

"Of course, yes sir..I say Kylo." Even saying your name felt strange yet strangely good, but using it only alone, your body will always notice the warning signs, but your heart will always ignore them.

"Well, so I don't look so weird I'll take off the mask, it might be...a little weird for some people or they're just afraid of it."

It's for the first time, you see him remove that mask, the feeling of seeing something that shouldn't spread throughout your body, as if it were inappropriate to see him that way. Turning your head towards the floor, unconsciously, somewhat spontaneously, you don't even realize you did it.

"No need to look away, I won't bite."

Looking into those eyes was mesmerizing, it would be an outrage to offend him, their beauty was magnificent, something to admire, like a statue carved by angels in love. It really was breathtaking, the true fallen angel.

"Sorry..but I don't think that's necessary, I mean I'm really happy to help you, but you need it"

"Of course it is necessary, I want to repay your act of kindness, I rarely see these attitudes."

"But I.." "It's done, you're invited to join me for dinner, I'd really like you to come."

[tendertenebrosity]

New piece for my Ocean's Echo fan characters! Masterpost here.

Saelin Cor had long since stopped judging the people around him for the stray, incidental thoughts that flitted past his awareness like minnows. A lot of them were just silly and shallow. Many were unreasonable - petty, unfair, disproportionately angry.

Most people knew it, too. It just wasn’t something anybody could help.

What mattered the deeper patterns of thought that Saelin had to focus on to sense. Actual intention, action and deliberate choices.

Saelin could quite happily judge people on those.

Davi had just had a whole morning full of briefings and seminars. It would have been nice if Saelin could be excused from that kind of thing, since Davi would send him all the information he needed to know and nobody ever asked his opinion. People rarely even acknowledged him where he sat beside Davi (or sometimes slightly behind, which felt just great). But that didn’t seem to be allowed.

Now, as they walked down the corridor into the mess hall, past the streams of military personnel, Saelin took a deep breath and steadied himself against the flash and flutter of hungry, thirsty, I can’t believe he did that, ugh what is taking this bitch so long, wow look at them, longing…

“If you go get the food, I’ll get coffee,” Davi said, turning away.

A quick scan of the crowded mess hall didn’t detect any of the handful of people he knew, so Saelin didn’t have any real cause to object to Davi’s assumption that they’d sit together. Probably with some of the other pilots, none of whom were synced except Davi. Fantastic. Exactly what I need.

Saelin wove his way between the crowds of people, through the billowing clouds of noise that nobody but him ever perceived, towards the food lines.

… did she see me, Lights my back hurts, for fuck’s sake not this guy again…

And it was then, collecting his tray and weaving his way through the crowd, that Saelin realised he had gone all day without once consciously thinking about the sync bond or the looming counterweight of Davi Antrell’s mind on the other end of it.

It was just… there. He had not thought about it.

He wanted to throw the tray in his hands. The urge, the need to do it rose up in his chest and made his hands tremble; he wanted to dump its contents on the ground and fling the whole thing as hard and as far away from him as possible. Maybe it’d break. He wanted to break it against the ground, and scream or cry, and run. To break something, to make noise, to show some kind of external sign of the horror and grief and rejection that pressed against his skin. No. No. No. Can’t.

He’d been here for six months.

And this was normal now.

Saelin took a deep breath, resettled the weight of the tray in his hands, and resumed walking. Probably the mugs and bowls wouldn’t have broken anyway, he told himself distantly. Not the way he wanted them to.

He was aware of the sync bond now. So was Davi; there was no way he wouldn’t have felt that sudden tempest of emotion. Here he was now, sliding alarm, inquiry and concern down the bond.

Saelin pushed back, more firmly than he probably should have. No need. Wait.

When Saelin slid the tray onto the table and dropped into the seat beside him, Davi frowned at him.

“What was that?” he asked, aloud, but under his breath.

“Nothing,” Saelin said.

Irritated concern pulsed across the sync. “Did somebody say something to you?”

The protective edge to the question was annoying. “No.”

“Saelin…” Davi glanced behind Saelin, his eyes scanning across the crowded mess hall. “Don’t pretend you didn’t flip out just now. If somebody did or said something, you need to tell me about it.”

No, I don’t, Saelin wanted to say. In fact, if I were being bullied, telling you so you could pull rank on whoever it is would probably not result in anyone thinking better of me.

The murmuring of thoughts pressed in around Saelin, distracting him from the conversation. Someone two tables back was engaged in a furious argument with the supervisor they’d just left, sitting alone and stabbing a fork at their meal viciously.

The non-synced pilot sitting across from Davi was carefully keeping his face blank and wondering with queasy fascination about the sync bond and what it felt like.

“Agent Thirty-two…”

He needed to give more than this, he realised, Davi didn’t respond well if Saelin gave him nothing.

He sighed, put his hands up to massage his temples as if they hurt. They didn’t, yet. “Nobody said or did anything wrong,” he managed to say. “I just - it’s just one of those days. Nearly dropped something, and I just... Overreacting to minor inconveniences. You know how it is.”

Davi’s face cleared slowly. “Okay,” he said. “Yeah, I get it.”

That was an odd thing about this. Saelin had thought, when this began, that the sync bond would let Davi hear his thoughts the way he heard everybody else’s. That it would convey reader powers onto Davi somehow, even if it was just Saelin it worked on.

It didn’t. Unless they were sunk really deep into the sync, one bilobed mind with the ship as its metal body, Davi had no more idea of what Saelin was actually thinking than anybody else did. Emotions came across if Saelin wasn’t careful, intentions sometimes, but conscious thought? No. Saelin could still lie to him.

“You always do get a bit oversensitive at lunch,” Davi said, offhandedly. “Low blood sugar or something?”

And every so often Davi would say something that showed two things simultaneously: that he was actually paying attention to Saelin’s moods and preferences. And that he no more understood what powered those moods than Saelin understood the inner workings of the coffee dispenser.

Saelin fought back another wave of grief and refusal, took a deep breath. He swiped his coffee from Davi’s tray and used it as an excuse not to speak for a moment.

Caffeine made his barriers worse, if anything. But the coffee was the way he took it; Davi remembered without asking now, just as Saelin remembered to snag an extra bread roll and ignore the dessert option when he got Davi’s food.

He kind of wished he had gotten the wrong things on purpose. But that was one of those mean, self-destructive little impulses he already knew decent people pretended they didn’t have.

He should give Davi credit for trying, should extend that little bit of grace that said ‘he didn’t mean that to come out as rude as it did, let it go’.

Saelin didn't want to.

“Or something,” he mumbled. “Sure.”

[ertrunkenerwassergeist]

What was the general assumption made by Cor and his friends when the Fihrie disappeared the entire Little Galahd? That they were kidnapped (by some unknown group of Otherfolk!) or that they left on their own?

Most people in Insomnie first thought it was a kind of divine wrath from the Gods. They thought the Galahkari had finally angered them enough that they got smitten out of existance.

Of course that isn't what happened. And Cor and his friends know this the moment they arrive on the scene.

The aura the area gives of is positively drenched in chaos magic. The kind of magic the fae reign over. So the conclusion first is that a powerful fae (or several) did this. It makes Cor furious, because how could he not notice? For all that the fae don't exactly have standing territories, this is still his city.

So Cor visits Pixie. They get to talking and Cor gets the information that this wasn't the doing of a fae (or several) but of something different. A lot of different being in fact. Powerful ones.

Cor and his friends treat this as a rescue mission becaus none of them can imagine the Galahkari having left on their own free will. They can't really conceive that someone might want to leave Insomnia (the most secure city on Eos).

And they're partly right. The Galahkari didn't leave on their own free will, but they're home now and don't intend to return.

[caparrucia]

Cor and Nyx getting into trouble together, or anything CorNyx, I love the way you write them

"So..." Nyx began, when the silence had stretched beyond uncomfortable past awkward and straight up into hilarious. "Is this a thing you're into?"

"Shut up, Ulric," Cor hissed out of the tiniest corner of his mouth, not taking his ear off the solid wooden door he'd shoved them through a few minutes ago.

Nyx, who did not, despite common slander to his name, have a death wish, did in fact shut up.

For five minutes.

It was the longest five minutes of his life and he spent them being mostly keenly aware of how small a space they were shoved into and how very much it didn't seem designed to house two full grown men in it. He counted the number of tiny skulls in the print of Cor's shirt - 438 - and tried his best to pin down the scent of his aftershave, and then, just as he reached peak restlessness, just as he was about to open his mouth and say something dumb or improper or suicidal or all three, Cor sighed and slouched down against the solid door.

"So..." Nyx tried again, resisting the urge to nuzzle into the underside of Cor's chin, because whatever that aftershave was, it smelled nice. "Why are we hiding in a closet?"

"I'm not hiding in a closet, I happen to have chosen the strategic retreat when in the face of the Lord Shield's rampaging fury," Cor said, eloquent and not the least bit bothered by the fact Nyx had a foot trapped between his and he was desperately trying not to make their already awkward position somehow worse. "You're here because you're an idiot with bad luck and you don't know how to duck properly."

"Hey," Nyx protested, almost on reflex. "I'm excellent at ducking." Cor stared down his nose at him. And then Nyx blinked. "Why was the Lord Shield so rampagingly furious at you?"

Cor shrugged.

"Because I put a glitter bomb in his desk drawer," he said, utterly deadpan.

Nyx reached several important, earth shattering realizations in quick succession, and then, in true Nyx fashion, opened his mouth and said:

"If you buy me dinner, I'll teach you how to do it without him knowing it was you."

[sunderedazem]

“whenever you get stressed, you do this thing with your hands. what is it?”

For Corr plz

(Odessen, following the assault on Voss, and Arcann's early defection to the Alliance)

It's...very strange, having a brother again. Especially after losing Thexan to his own blind rage and jealousy. Especially when that new brother is, by right of birth order and raw strength in the Force, the rightful heir to the throne of Zakuul, even if he had been dismissive of his claim to the throne the one time Arcann had brought it up. Especially when that new brother is a half-brother, older made younger through the preservation of Carbonite, and the parent they share brought horror and pain to both of them in such different ways.

He didn't think Corrain would find it in his heart to forgive him, after he'd nearly killed the now-younger man on Asylum, impaling him clean through on a furious lightsaber. Not after he'd ravaged the galaxy Corrain so loved, glassed planets and terrorized billions simply because he could, because he was angry at the world and couldn't take it out on Valkorion. But then Corrain had found him on Voss, had quietly confirmed their shared father - and had stretched out a hand and said "...I cannot forgive you for anyone but myself, but if you want atonement...I can help you start somewhere, Arcann."

And now here he is, standing at Corrain's side as the tiny man paces around the holotable with the Alliance's latest reports, his long white hair tied back in a neat plait. He's rubbing at the base of his neck again, a habit Arcann has slowly noticed that occurs whenever he's particularly anxious about something. But before he can say anything, can ask any questions- Lana catches the offending hand in hers, pulling the slight Jedi to a halt, and plants a soft kiss on the nape of Corrain's neck.

"Relax, my sweet Jedi," she murmurs softly. Arcann turns away, feeling like he's intruded on something precious in spite of how they're standing in the command suite, in plain view of everyone. He's not the only one to do so either - he can see Eiri rolling his eyes pointedly, and the Togruta smuggler who's been such an impressively disruptive force for his supply lines, Kessin, also makes a face and looks away. It's not unusual for Lana or Theron to need to drag Corrain into a moment of calm, he's come to learn. Nor is it unusual for them to clearly display their affection for each other, with the odd side-effect of often quieting his brother's more passionate moments - as if he can only find peace within their presence.

But as Theron wanders over to help Lana corral their agitated Commander out of his nervous pacing, he can't help but wonder about the odd tic here - one that warrants simultaneous attention from both of his brother's partners. He bites his lip on the question, trying not to allow it to cross his tongue. The answer can come in due time, he's sure. When the memory of Valkorion's bitter ache on their pasts rings less clear.

And then Kessin clears their throat, absently flipping one of their lekku around their throat like a violet scarf.

"Oi, ex-tyrant, c'mere for a second," they call.

It stings - but he sighs heavily, turns away from where his brother is leaning into Lana's shoulder, a cold distance in those thunderstorm eyes, and follows them. He's led only a short distance away, just out of earshot of everyone clustered around the holotable - and then Kessin growls at him a little. Belatedly, he remembers that Togruta are carnivores.

"Okay, listen," they snap, but there's an unusual gravity to their voice and he can't help but straighten up somewhat at the tone. "You're about to ask about the reason why Cor's got both the Sith lady and spyboy on him right now, yeah? I can see you watching him when he paces like that."

Arcann doesn't have the heart to lie, so he nods once and then tucks his hands behind his back.

"Well...more precisely, I wanted to ask about the thing he's doing with his hands - where he rubs at the back of his neck," he confesses. "He...does it often, it seems, when he's anxious or stressed, and it's unusual. I wasn't about to ask NOW though, I'm not quite that foolish. Lana has already threatened my life at least four times."

Kessin appears only slightly appeased by that, and they lean back against the stone wall with an eye roll. They're taller than him, Arcann notices idly, though that's mostly due to their arcing montrals.

"Tactful choice," they comment lightly. Then they're quiet for a minute before their expression softens marginally. "Look. You're one of the few people in the galaxy I hate as much as Sith, but Cor's decided you're worth the effort somehow, and he's right about ninety percent of the time. So lemme give you some advice. If you ask about the neck tic - have a few bottles of alcohol with you, and put Lana or Theron on standby. I was there for part of uh...his particular incident. It's a hell of a story, and he's still shattered by it, in a lot of ways."

Arcann stares, a little flabbergasted.

"You- aren't trying to warn me away?" He asks, stunned. Kessin's expression hardens again.

"...no. Not when...well. This involves your father. His father. Ugh. The karking piece of shit Sith Emperor. You already know the little Commander hates your dad. This is related to why."

Arcann can feel his blood boil at the mention of Valkorion's other incarnation - and suddenly the way Lana and Theron are tag-teaming his younger- older?- brother into a semblance of calm makes far more sense.

"Then thank you for your guidance, Captain Meyka," he says, tone low. "I'm grateful."

They snort, but there's no bite in it.

"It's not for you, jackass."

-

He manages to catch Corrain alone later that evening, after carefully approaching Lana - suicidal, probably, but she'd just raised an eyebrow at him and nodded curtly, then shot off to find Theron - and the location is ideal. Arcann almost wonders if either the Sith lord or former Republic spy that his brother loves so much had suggested the young commander come out here.

The Odessen wilds are beautiful, after all. Calming but cold, steady but melancholic- a strange, delicate tightrope between pain and peace. And Corrain sits calmly in the grass, meditating. Arcann can feel him in the Force, like the warmth of a summer thunderstorm, clean ozone and soft rain and muggy heat, and dangerous potential. Storms can build, he knows - and Corrain feels like he's been waiting for the sky to break for years.

"You, uh...noticed my little habit, did you?" Corrain asks as he approaches. Arcann reaches for him without speaking, brushing the edge of his awareness against his brother's as carefully as he can, hesitantly projecting both worry and curiosity and the ache that wishes he knew this new sibling better- and Corrain turns to look at him and smiles wryly.

"I'm not going to break anytime soon, Arcann, you don't have to just tap me like that," he says- and then he sees the bag in Arcann's hand, a bottle of Alderaanian wine and a couple cups peeking out- and he laughs. There's a rueful twist to it.

"I was...warned this may help make the conversation smoother," Arcann explains with a sheepish frown, and pauses next to a patch of grass next to the Jedi. "Ah, may I-"

"Sit your ass down," Corrain laughs again, and there's no bitterness in the sound anymore. Arcann does as invited. "And alright, I might crack a bit. Who told you to bring wine?"

Arcann hesitates, then shrugs.

"Captain Meyka."

Corrain groans, a little exasperated, but fond.

"Classic Kess," he sighs. "Alright then. Ask."

Arcann pauses, regarding Corrain for a long moment. This close, his relation to Valkorion is distinct, but not obvious - there's a similarity in their faces that eludes definition- and then of course, there are those stormy grey-blue eyes. Valkorion had that eye color, once.

Corrain just watches him, white eyebrows hiding behind his bangs.

"My original question was going to be to ask why you rubbed at your neck when you were anxious...but I was informed it was related to our father, so-"

He doesn't miss the way Corrain's entire expression curls into a snarl at the mention of Valkorion, nor the way his thunderstorm aura crackles into static electricity and howling anger, a cyclone of hatred forming in the blink of an eye- and Arcann can almost taste the satisfaction of his own answering fury on his tongue. After all - it was this hate, it's intensity and passion which had convinced him to join his younger brother.

"...Darth Vitiate held me captive for almost two years," Corrain says finally, and reaches for the collar of his shirt, tugging it open and pushing the fabric down to bare the upper part of his back and neck. And Arcann freezes at the sight of raised, ropy scars striping over pale skin, at the jagged lines of stark white cut into the nape of the Jedi's neck. There's so many, he realizes. And some are layered over each other, as if to rip open old injuries for added pain.

When he lifts his head to meet his brother's gaze again, he can swear those grey eyes flash acid gold.

"He implanted a shock collar." The quiet voice is like ice. "Wired it directly into my spinal column while I was awake to feel the agony. Used it to punish me when I wouldn't kill for him, then forced me to kill anyway."

Ah. Arcann's expression sours, like a flame forced to smolder, and Corrain grins in answer. It's not a nice smile- there's a feral bloodlust in it, and the promise of vengeance. Arcann knows from his knowledge of the Jedi that it's not something they'd encourage. But it's what convinced him to follow - the genuine pain, the rage, the kinship it creates between them. The sure knowledge that this young storm - his brother, his younger sibling, found in the worst of ways - is his best chance at truly seeing Valkorion fall.

And yet- he can't shake the guilt, the sorrow for what he's done. For the suffering that must be having their father's spirit rattling around inside Corrain's subconscious. There's too much of Thexan's strength of heart in Corrain to see it lost to Tyth's fire and Izax's desolation.

So he reaches out, steadier this time, and lets his youngest sibling feel the weight of his promise.

"I will see his hold on you broken, little brother," Arcann swears, and it tastes a little like hope. "I will see you free again."

And Corrain softens back into kindness and summer rain and the smell of the earth after a nourishing rainstorm, and his smile turns true.

"And I, you, Arcann. And I, you."

[useless-catalanfacts]

I'll go back to a song from 2013 but it's worth it. This is a rap song by the Catalan band At Versaris ft. the American MC Invincible and DJ Waajeed. The song is mostly in Catalan with a last part in English.

The song is titled "No fear" because the rapper talks about fighting back against fear, which is the feeling the used to keep people in place in the capitalist system.

I translated the part in Catalan, but in the original language it's better because the lyrics are very well written to create sound repetitions. Anyway, here's the original lyrics (in red) and translation of the part that was in Catalan (in black), and the part of the song in English I leave it as it is (in purple).

[Chorus:]

[Cap por, cara a cara, tots junts, colze a colze, apreta els punys.

Cap por mira'm als ulls, apunta al cor, un altre juny.

No fear, face to face, all together, side by side, close your fists tight.

No fear, look me in the eyes, aim for the heart, another June [June means a time to fight because of a historical reference in Catalonia's anthem].

No fear: never a phobia ever controlling ya, build a utopia

No fear: when you're courageous the feeling's contagious I'm willing to wage it.

Cap por, avui la claca clar que no s'aplaca. Ataca.

No té cap por, chapeau l'actitud de capo

No fear, today of course the chatter isn't abated. It attacks.

It has no fear, bravo to their mafia boss attitude

No fear: ain't nothing stoppin' this, love is the opposite

We got no fear: world is ours, building power, say it louder]

Calla, domina la por.

Doctrina, morfina, les mans sobre el capó.

Una fina cortina de fum, estímul, resposta, rutina, consum,

governa la fòbia, l'escòria, la pasta i la làbia.

Obre la gàbia, fuck religió, crida cap por i autoorganitza la ràbia.

Quiet, control your fear.

Doctrine, morphine, your hands on the hood [of the car].

A thin layer of smoke, encouragement, response, routine, consumption,

the phobia, the scum, the cash and the glibness is what governs.

Open the cage, fuck religion, shout "no fear" and self-organize the rage.

Controlo el tempo, més viu que mai,

jo estic atent, tu al ciberespai.

Jo rebento i tu caçant el hype,

assaltem els bancs com Bonie & Clyde de la mà.

Ara tenim un pla, volem un plat a taula i un tros de pa.

Prou, no demanem si us plau, som el monstre si la nit cau.

I control the tempo, more alive than ever,

I'm paying attention, you're in the cyberspace.

I blow up and you hunting the hype,

let's rob the banks like Bonie & Clyde holding hands.

Now we have a plan, we want a dish on our table and a load of bread.

Enough, we're not asking "please", we're the monster if the night falls.

Cap por, saps, no? Hem assumit el risc,

no guardem el crit a la boca, hem creuat el límit, idiota.

Sóc prop del precipici intentant no perdre el cap,

com Grandmasterflash i Furious 5, com al principi.

No fear, you know, don't you? We've accepted the risk,

we don't keep the shout in our mouth, we've crossed the limit, idiot.

I'm near the cliff trying not to loose my head,

like Grandmasterflash and Furious 5, like at the beginning.

Malson, Barna en flames, columnes de fum,

ningú no dorm quan cau la nit Diagonal amunt,

és l'u per cent contra el sentiment de tot el conjunt,

una altra esquela i La Vanguardia plora els seus difunts.

Nightmare, Barcelona in flames, smoke columns,

nobody sleeps when the night falls from the Diagonal above [note: the rich neighbourhoods of Barcelona are above the Diagonal avenue]

It's the 1% against the feeling of the whole rest,

another obituary and La Vanguardia cries their deaths. [note: La Vanguardia is a centre-right newspaper]

[Repeat chorus]

La por d'una xavala que s'amaga entre la gent quan sent

un mirada de babosa prepotència.

La por a que s'acabi l'idil·li amb foli i el boli que neix a la infància.

El pànic a la repressió que cala a cada militant

et va minant perquè és quinta essència

de l'estratègia capitalista per excel·lència

The fear of a girl who hides among people when she feels a glance of creepy arrogance.

The fear of the end of the idyll of paper sheet and pen that's born in childhood.

The panic of repression that seeps through every activist

and slowly undermines you 'cause it's the quintessence

of the capitalist strategy par excellence.

La por a la mala imatge, t'esquitxa el rumor?

Mostrar el dit del cor i fer el cor fort,

riu-te del mort i el que el vetlla.

Viuen vides de tedi, tu al podi i ells són morralla.

I no falla: quan calla el pobre el ric no trontolla.

Ens podreu xapar a la trena, però tenim cinc mil homes de palla

The fear of looking bad, does the rumour taint you?

Giving the middle finger and being courageous [literally: giving the heart finger and making the heart strong],

laugh at the dead one and at the one who keeps the vigil.

They live tedious lives, you in the podium and they're rabble

And it doesn't fail: when the poor man is silent, the rich man doesn't tremble.

You might be able to lock us up, but we have 5000 frontmen.

Que el què et pot tombar no és tenir por sinó mostrar-la a un poli.

Jo me la guardo per mi.

Que la cel·la és petita però el somni és immens:

Tombar el capital, per fi.

Teniu fotos dels tatoos, empremptes i el meu adn.

Teniu el TN.

Però jo una germana de mil cares de nom "subalterna" que em guarda l'esquena.

Having fear isn't what can knock you down, it's showing it to a cop.

I keep mine for me.

'Cause the cell is small but the dream is huge:

finally knocking down the capital.

You have photos of the tattoos, fingerprints and my DNA,

you have the TV news

but I have a sister with 1000 faces called "working class" that keeps my back.

A cada burgeset: la por com xarop.

Que solidaritat és set de tot i viure amb poc.

Ric, sents el tic-tac?

La tropa de xusma que et posa en escac.

Ni caritat, ni 0,7, ni paritat.

La massa el què vol és pitet.

Babejant de veure de un banquer entre el poble i la paret com va reculant

amb cap por.

To every little bourgeois: fear as a syrup.

'Cause solidarity is being thirsty for all and living with little.

Rich man, can you hear the tick-tock?

The riffraff troop that puts you in checkmate.

No charity, nor 0.7, nor parity.

What the masses want is a bib

they're drooling seeing a banker between the people and the wall,

how he walks back.

With no fear.

[Repeat chorus]

No fear:

whether you board a flight although you scared of heights

or a kid getting bullied when you go to school but you train up and

you go prepared to fight

you got no fear

now the bully chills to a lower Fahrenheit and they freeze, or they

try to be your friend and appease, then the plane lands in a place

with a warm breeze

No fear

that's what I tell em- only way to deal with an unfree world is to be

so free, your existence is rebellion

and I'm so clear

that fear debilitates and it could seal your fate when they manipulate

but my amygdula's irregular transform the molecular, fear it ain't protecting ya

No fear-

immigrants internationally

no papers so they try to deport ya

but fuck their borders

you gonna still raise your family

we got no fear-

cuz you're queer or trans and they hate you with judgement

be who you are and love who you love and still hold hands and date you in public

We got no fear-

from foreclosing and eviction

if you can't pay the loan gotta reclaim your home

cuz we chose to be brave not frozen as victims

we got no fear-

it's not when fear is absent

it's when you absolutely passionate bout the life that's past it

battle trance shit.

[leorugiet]

@ravusnightblossom​ liked for a small starter

Cor stands at the ready, hand upon his blade’s handle, knees bent, arms relaxed. He looks at the other before him, furious anger in his mismatched eyes. “Your hair is in your eyes.” Cor remarks. “You should take care of that if you wish to fight me. It’ll be a disadvantage.”

[sparklecryptid]

BrokenIce!Luche: Gilgamesh tries to pull his ‘I must test you oh daughter of the stone and if you should prove worthy you’ll need a shield’ stuff with Luche. Only to run headlong into a furious Ardyn who is sweetly inquiring if Gilgamesh would like to repeat what he said to HIS DARLING NEICE? (Bonus if Cir gets to see his childhood nightmare running away very very fast, pursued by an enraged trash hobo)

Cor:…

Luche: *who literally just got back from her ‘I’m not hiding from my father but totally am’ road trip* Cor, Uncle, Uncle, Cor. Please don’t make me wrangle you two like cats.

Tredd, who managed to find Luche and convince her to come back: *snicker*

Ardyn: we aren’t members of your Glaive, dear niece.

Luche: that may be so, but I know you-

*ominous booming voice*

Gilgamesh: Daughter of Stone, prove thyself worthy-

*a sword almost impales Gilgamesh*

Ardyn: what do you think you’re doing?

*Ardyn’s voice is dark, dark like the shadows that follow him. Dark like the lingering sick that sticks to him like gauze on a wound.

He takes a step forward, around him magic whirls like a storm.

Luche takes a loud sip from her straw. If shit goes down she is not wasting the bubble tea.*

Cor: *letting his sword fade again as Gilgamesh tries to move forward only to be blasted backward by the force of Ardyn’s magic* hm.

Luche and Tredd: *stare at him*

Luche: no.

Cor: I never said anything.

Luche: you’ve said enough.

[mysterymenmovie]

[Shoveler's backyard.]

(Later, they are all sitting around a patio table.)

Furious: So, why don't you um, tell us a little bit about yourself? Help us understand why we should choose you, over all the other qualified applicants.

Shoveler: What other qualified applicants?

Furious: Eddie, please. Start at the top. Where'd you get your powers?

Bowler: Mmm. Uh, I got my powers from my father.

Furious: Oh, okay. Who's he?

Bowler: Have you ever heard of Carmine the Bowler?

Shoveler: Have we ever heard--?

Raja: Cor! Blimey, miss, don't tell us you're the Bowler's daughter.

Furious: I seem to remember there being a little controversy around his death.

Bowler: That's right. The police said it was an accident. He'd come home late one night and fell down an elevator shaft...onto some bullets.

Raja: You know, I've always suspected a bit of foul play.

Bowler: As have I.