#do not match length

[noheroessarge]

muse: Leo Barnes (The Purge) open to: 21+ only please / mutuals and non-mutuals / other canon horror muses, multifandom crossovers, OCs, whatever! triggers: canon-typical, including mentions of death/dead bodies, genocide, guns, violence, classism, racism, ableism, police, grief

21ST MARCH 2028

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EMERGENCY BROADCAST SYSTEM

WEAPONS OF CLASS 4 AND LOWER HAVE BEEN AUTHORIZED FOR USE DURING THE PURGE. ALL OTHER WEAPONS ARE RESTRICTED.

GOVERNMENT OFFICIALS OF RANKING 10 HAVE BEEN GRANTED IMMUNITY FROM THE PURGE AND SHALL NOT BE HARMED.

ANY AND ALL CRIME, INCLUDING MURDER, WILL BE LEGAL FOR 12 CONTINUOUS HOURS.

POLICE, FIRE, AND EMERGENCY MEDICAL SERVICES WILL BE UNAVAILABLE UNTIL 7AM WHEN THE PURGE CONCLUDES.

BLESSED BE OUR NEW FOUNDING FATHERS AND AMERICA, A NATION REBORN.

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07:26:03 LEFT OF THE ANNUAL PURGE

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With one exception, Sarge had never cared for Purge night. It went against everything he'd sworn to do as a police officer. Protect and serve. It had been hard to argue with the results those first few years though because it seemed like it worked. Overall crime did go down in the country, and it stayed down. His job got easier. Then his world ended, and he believed in the Purge a lot. The Purge kept him going that whole first year. The Purge would get him the justice he'd never see in a courtroom. The Purge would set him free.

Yeah, grief could mess with a man's head like that. It wasn't until that night that he started to see it for what it was. Who was mostly likely to be a target. (Not him.) Who suffered the most on those nights. (Not him.) And who stood to benefit the most from things staying exactly as they were. (Not. Him.) It was unfairly stacked against people of color, people of low income, people who couldn't protect themselves. And, naturally, the New Founding Fathers liked it that way. Crime wasn't lower because people got to purge their darkest impulses once a year. It was lower because it cleared out all of society's "undesirables," and the government no longer had to pay to protect them. And when the Purge wasn't effective enough on its own, they sent their own people to help.

He would know.

He hadn't been able to stomach going back to the force after that night. He'd worked on the edges of private security for a couple years but hadn't yet decided if it was going to work out. Nobody needed a bodyguard more than on Purge night, and he wasn't quite willing to give this up. He'd been warned to stay out of it, warned not to play hero, but shit, it wasn't illegal. Nothing was tonight. The worst they could do was kill him, and that could happen just as easily if he was sitting at home as out here in the thick of it. (Maybe not just as easily. But he'd rather be a dead hero than a sitting duck.)

It wasn't that hard to tell the government Purgers from the regular population if you knew what you were looking for. They were better trained and better funded. Sure, you'd get the occasional rich asshole on a murder spree, with piles of fancy or custom weapons they had no fucking idea how to use, but more and more these days, the rich preferred to Purge in the privacy of their homes. Get someone old or sick or dying to come on Purge night, pay their family an enormous sum of money for their sacrifice, and never risk a damn thing. You could bet the government would be extra and trained. He fucking hated those semi-trucks with the automatic weapons in the back, take out a whole block at once like it was a goddamn genocide. (Wasn't it, in a way?)

He'd gotten lucky that first night. Few people had ever dared to fight back against that kind of weaponry. He'd caught them off guard. They were prepared now, but he was too. The explosion had knocked the semi on its side and left a crater in the street, and it was a chaos of gunfire and screaming. His team might not be well-funded or ex-military, but with a sniper rifle at that range, they didn't really have to be. There were plenty of people who hated the Purge even more than he did, and they were more than willing to hit back in any way they could. A little strategy, a little target practice, a little contracting, and you got this, a little street guerilla warfare.

When everyone with body armor, gas masks, and automatic weapons was on the ground, dead or dying, he stepped out from his cover but didn't holster his gun until it was clear he wasn't being shot at. Most of the people who had been hauled out of their tenement buildings to be slaughtered had already fled at the first opportunity, but a few had stayed behind, too shocked or injured to run. All of his team wore the same matte black mask, featureless and invisible in the shadows. It was an extra precaution; they'd already thrown out a signal jammer for the cameras. Everything might be legal on Purge night, but there were 364 other days in the year where "accidents" might happen to people who fought back.

He pushed it up to reveal his face as he knelt by a girl, maybe eight, frightened and bleeding. "Hey, it's alright. Can I have a look at that?" He nodded toward her arm, gently inspecting the three-inch gash in it, likely from being pushed to the ground. "It'll be okay. Hold it up like this to stop the bleeding. You got somewhere safe to go?" This he directed at the woman who had joined them. Mother, aunt, older sister? He had no idea. When she shook her head no, he produced a business card with a single address printed on it, no other information. "Memorize it. Head that way and take a left on 5th. There are weapons and medical supplies. You'll be safe there until morning." The card disappeared back into a pocket, and he nodded a goodbye as they started down the street. He needed to move too, before the next wave, before all the noise brought vultures of a different kind down on them.

It was instinct that had him pointing the gun before he even understood what the threat was or if there was one. He couldn't see clearly enough in the shadows of the alley to tell whether it was victim, threat, or something else entirely, but he hugged the building for cover and kept his aim steady.

"Come on out of there. Slowly."

[devanitoland]

closed starter for @ruqaiyahdayne setting: lann's day

it was a stupid, and reckless decision. and yet, stupid and reckless was what devani did best.

she had not expected ruqaiyah dayne to welcome her home with open arms. had she done so, perhaps devani would have been more wary, expected some sort of underhanded trick from the lady of starfall. no, ruqaiyah's rage was to be expected, the depths to which she would sink to get the upper hand? devani had quite forgotten just how cruel she could be, when she had a mind to be.

and yet. ruqaiyah had long been the one thing she could never quite let go of, no matter how many years and miles she tried to put between the two of them. devani did not like that. she had never belonged to anybody but herself, but when it came to ruqaiyah, that confidence was shaken a little. she knew she should leave it alone, stop picking at the raw wound that existed between them, but she could not when she was in essos, every few months an anonymous gift with no note attached finding it's way to dornish shores, to ruqaiyah's hands. she must have suspected who sent them.

and she could not leave it alone now. the tension of their last meeting gripped at her. perhaps it was because she was already so weighed down, by the boy who lay in the sewers of king's landing, by what was left of dante uller upon the floors of sunspear, by the selhorys sell sword who had succumbed to a terrible illness and the little boy who now needed to be, somehow, smuggled into dorne, but she could not let it go.

she approached from behind, one hand resting upon ruqaiyah's hip to keep her still, the other lifting the mask from her face. she had known it was ruqaiyah before she had even had to look too closely, the hue of her clothing giving her away, if not anything else. she did not wish to think about the anything else.

she released her grip, stepping backwards with her prize clutched in her hands, waggling it a little as ruqaiyah turned so that she could see what she had done. "i win," she let out a laugh, turning the mask over in her hands. "you ought to be more vigilant, ru. you'd never have won the day like that, anyway."

mask shifted to her left hand, devani held out her right, in the expectation that ruqaiyah would pay her the winnings she was owed. "come on, then. i believe you owe me a little coin now." there was a teasing lilt to her voice. though their last meeting was still fresh on her mind, devani was acting as though nothing had ever happened. as though she was sixteen again. if she were, would she have made different choices, knowing all she did now?

in her heart, she knew the answer was a resounding no.

[wildcstwinter]

closed starter: @wxlbxrr !!

it wasn't often that goob expressed his emotions. sure , he felt things like fear , panic, anxiety, depression, sadness, loneliness , hopelessness on the daily. tragedy , at this point , was a commonality — something he was used to. something he understood and knew like an old friend.

but this time ?? this time — it was different. showing them wasn't even an option , they were all encompassing , possessing him like a foreign entity was sharing his skin.

spotting the other , damn near tripping over the bleacher he had been sat upon as he flew to his feet , goob couldn't help but let the cocktail of emotions he was feeling show itself on his features. " wilbur , you're okay . . . " goob breathed , exasperated , horror-struck despite being thankful the other hadn't been the one of seemingly many to up and vanish.

" i didn't know who else to call . . . " goob croaked , face flushed from the tears he had been undeniably shedding , voice trembling. despite people having left goob behind his entire life , this time it felt different. never had he actually had people to worry about ; people to care about who cared about him in return. swiping his sleeve across his face , goob swallowed another sob , anxiety gripping his tongue and clumsily steering it. " i — i've never had people to care about before. people to — people to worry about and . . . i'm — fuck , i-i don't know what to do. i'm losing my mind. "

[abstractguilt]

closed starter: @riverxcalloway !!

the one thing about harboring a secret is your stories always had to line up. every detail needed to remain unchanged, unshifted, and with the three month anniversary of her family's massacre coming up . . . sanem needed to perfect the role of a woman still in mourning. how long was too long to dwell on a tragedy ?? kai wilder seemed to be above them all, despite his brother's disappearance being the talk of the town once more, and yet . . . the timeline for a survivor seemed to remain confusing. so, sanem had sat herself on a bench in the park, heels of hands pressed against knee caps, and she was weeping. hysterically, she cried, chest-heaving sobs that rattled her bones spilling against palms that were clamped over blubbering lips. waiting for someone to approach, to express concern . . . give her the practice she needed in perfecting that beautifully tragic image she wanted to badly to be seen with. hearing boots on gravel, sanem feigned a look that she was trying to pull it together, mascara staining rouged cheeks as she dug furiously in her purse for a tissue she knew wasn't there. why dry tears you WANTED people to see ??

looking up to see river, sanem offered a pained smile, making a display of ferociously wiping under her eyes as she tried to get it together. she hadn't seen much of him at the alumni event, too distracted by her own amusement in what she had done. in who she had entertained afterwards. ❛ river . . .  ❜ sanem greeted, voice quivering, head turning away as quickly as it had shifted to face him. ❛ gosh, what a . . . what a horrible time to find me. what are you doing here ?? ❜

[notsobxd]

jim hadn't had many break ups in his life time, therefore his tool-belt was ill equipped to aid him in dealing with them. him and rosetta just had two entirely different visions for their future together and... in retrospect, it just wasn't going to work out now matter how hard they tried to convince themselves it would. did it make it suck any less? absolutely not. did it make him feel guilty that he had been getting with one of her friends behind her back ever since? of course it did. he was so angry when things ended, so infuriated that she wasn't seeing his side (or maybe he was refusing to see hers), that he hadn't cared that night he slept with vidia for the first time.

however, seeing her across the bar now, the first time since they ended it- fuck, he cared more than ever.

he didn't even have the balls to say anything. so, jim just sat there, thumbing at his beer, staring at her as she elegantly carried herself as if she was unfazed by the whole thing- like she was weightless. smiling with those rose petal lips, batting long lashes at undeserving men and gracing every single patron in this place with her angelic presence- shit. he made the mistake of not tearing his gaze away fast enough, entranced by her, and before he knew it her glittering irises were finding his. not wanting to even see her expression, knowing no matter what it was it would pain him, he quickly turned away and busied himself with the barmaid; "another beer. please."

@rosettafleur

[ambercast]

where: the woods who: rusty craven (@containatrocity)

Lucy was sitting a few feet from Roman's cave, in that small patch of sunlight that came through the trees during a certain time each day. Each day she managed to crawl out of the cave and into the patch of sun, sitting and soaking in the rays, hoping that enough exposure would help her mood.

It wasn't really working, but it got her out of the cave and Roman's sleeping bag, at least.

They were in this spot when they heard footsteps coming toward them. They weren't Roman's footsteps, she knew them by now. Standing quickly, she balled her hands into fists, not sure what to expect, but knowing they couldn't lead whoever it was back to Roman's cave.

They also knew that they probably wouldn't last in a fight. She was small, not only in height, but everywhere. She was smaller than she should've been, barely able to stand. Still, it wouldn't matter what happened to her, as long as Roman was safe.

[ambercast]

"Well it was a secret to me. I knew they were into each other, and then boom they were married! I think weddings are fun, that's all," Nico said, shaking his head. "I don't get why anyone would want to have a small one. I mean, it's a day about you and your love! Everyone should get to celebrate love! Love is like the best thing there is!" He threw his hands into the air for emphasis, nearly dropping the coffees. He quickly recovered, though, with a sheepish grin.

"Sorry, sorry, I just get excited about some things. I respect their decision, I guess, I know I'm a different kind of person than them. I didn't even think Mr. Knightley could smile until I saw him with Zarina." He grinned. "Which kinda proves your point, huh? About everyone being up in your business? I get that. I don't mind, though. Everyone says I have a big mouth, which I guess I do. I just get excited about things and blurt them out. Like, the other day I kinda got in trouble because I was going around telling everyone I got a girl pregnant. We don't know if it's really my baby, but I was so excited to move in and like get everything ready for the baby and maybe me and the mama would be, like, a thing, you know? But she ended up getting a boyfriend so now I don't have any of that." He heaved a sigh. "That's the second time a girl I liked got with someone else before I figured out I liked her. The first one slept with Xander too, right after confessing to me, and it was kind of my fault because I said I don't know, because I didn't know how I felt yet, but like, she went straight to my brother after that??? so that was a major punch to the gut."

He paused, glancing over at Julie. "Sorry, am I talking too much? You can tell me to shut up. I won't be mad."

"I don't know if it was in secret, necessarily, her sister and his cousin were there," Julie replied with a small smile. By now, she had spent enough time around Knightley and Zarina to know that even if the decision might have appeared spontaneous to others, it had not been for them. Her expression brightened when she listened to Nico describe the commune. "It sounds like the opposite of where I grew up," she mused with a soft laugh. "Our house was way too big for three people. It's a super entitled complaint, I know, but it just felt so cold and empty. I don't know if I could live with that many people though. It seems way too easy for everyone to be up in your business."

[lovesickeros]

☆ even the gods bleed [ pt 4 ]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

..A dangerous prize, too.

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

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

He looked out of breath, she noted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So if not the prophecy, then what?

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

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

..A draw, perhaps.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Each piece had it's purpose.

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

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

It was almost too easy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Have you no answer?"

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

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

"I will kill them myself."

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

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

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

"Do you trust me, Arlecchino?"

Did she?

"Will you help me?"

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

"..Yes."

[cozylittleartblog]

random note about king on that animation, i got really lucky with how simple his animation was and how clean my sketches were to begin with that i was able to do very minimal cleanup on what i had sketched (and add back. his horn. it's supposed to take place just after echoes of the past, Oops) and call it done that way instead of having to redraw the entire thing like i had to on his dad

first sketch > line cleanup > nearly final animation (i'd added slight eye movements last-second but otherwise that's the final)

[xflashbastardx]

closed starter for @ofginjxints

When Aziraphale had left, naturally, Crowley had first tried to drown his heartbreak in alcohol. After all, he'd been using it to try to numb his feelings for the angel for centuries, why wouldn't he turn to it now? But apparently getting blackout drunk didn't help the way it used to. Before, he would drink and maybe pass out for a few days, but he'd always awaken with the knowledge that he could saunter into the bookshop and at least be near him. But now that he was gone, now that Crowley had well and truly lost him, that wasn't enough. And it certainly didn't help matters that he no longer had to only imagine the feel of the angel's lips; he knew it. He knew it and it drove him half mad with longing and heartache.

He needed to forget. And if booze wasn't going to do the trick, something else would have to.

At some point, his regular outings to bars and clubs had turned into desperate searches for someone, anyone, that could make him forget how miserably in love he was with someone who had left him behind with apparent ease. Easier said than done, it seemed. Oh, it was easy enough to find humans that wanted him. The hard part was achieving what he'd set out to do and forget. Even for a short time.

Rarely did it ever progress beyond wandering hands and clumsy, desperate lips, but even when it did, Crowley couldn't shake images of him from his mind. Maybe it would have been easier if he didn't keep choosing men with pale curls or soft, cherubic features. But he couldn't help it; he knew what he wanted, and if he couldn't have that, he'd take the closest thing available.

It never really worked, but bless it, Crowley was nothing if not persistent. Which was why he was once again in a dimly-lit booth in the back of one of Soho's many bars with a man who looked familiar but not familiar enough. With lips on his neck, a hand on his thigh, and nearly a full bottle's worth of whiskey in his bloodstream, he could almost make himself forget about the one he wished was touching him.

[heartthrobxhook]

@fornassau closed starter

After some long weeks of planning and convincing the other pirate captains of Nassau to work together, it was time to launch an assault on the blockade. The Jolly Roger had gotten past to begin with because she had was not a pirate ship on paper, having skillfully avoided leaving any witnesses when attacking the english whenever he had made port he was merely a merchant that imported goods. Now this fight would be a daring attack. Four english frigates and one large galleon flagship formed the blockade. The galleon was Killian's main target when he launched the attack, the other four ships would be who the other pirates would focus their attacks on.

That evening the backup hid in the shadows of the cliffside and come dawn the Jolly Roger began sailing right for the blockade. The english made no move to stop him, having the united kingdom's flag flying he was allowed to pass and they were all none the wiser. Once they sailed past was when the plan was set into motion. Killian began to sing, commanding his crew with a shanty as they took down the english colors and raised their pirate flag. The crew worked to the beat of stomping boots and Killian's voice as the cannons were loaded and the shipped turned to take aim at the galleon.

"FIRE!" With Killian's command the long range cannons shot out, all sixteen cannon balls hit their unsuspecting target. Early morning the navy was not ready for a fight so the pirates had plenty of time to quickly reload and fired upon them again before the ships began to react. This was when the other captains sailed out from hiding and began their own assault. The confusion of being attacked from both sides was their advantage as the navy would be frantic on who they should attack. Killian ordered them to sail closer and he brought James over to the unique mortar cannon. Unlike the normal cannons on a ship that shot straight out, the mortar shot up into the sky to drop the ammunition down onto the deck. He and two other of the crew would show James how to aim a lob shot like this and when they were within range Killian had the other captain be the one to ignite and shoot it.

After the mortar went off the pirate ship would turn broadside so the cannons that were ready would shoot as they worked together to load the mortar again. The navy would return fire but Jolly was already turning swiftly the opposite way, cannon balls whooshing past but not hitting the beautiful agile ship. With the mortar reloaded this time they aimed at one of the frigates, fired again this hit dealt critical damage having gone straight through the deck down through the hull that it began sinking. The ship would turn to it's other side, this time the call to brace for impact was shouted by Smee and the pirates had enough time to take cover as some shots blasted into the ships hull and one ripping through a sail. "RETURN FIRE!" Killian commanded and the cannons blasted, much closer at this point they did serious damage to the large galleon.

"RAMMING SPEED!" Killian called out with adrenaline and excitement of the thrill of battle racing through him. The helmsman spun the ship's wheel to turn Jolly to maneuver the waters to go around the galleon's side then face it head on. The captain rushed across the deck to the bow of the ship as his vessel charged forward. A reckless tacktick many would say was too dangerous as it could damage one's own ship and would leave them vulnerable to a point blank attack. But the navy did not expect this aggression and were completely rocked to their core upon impact. Killian was ready though, just after hitting he wasted no time climbing onto the railing and dashing over the bowsprit so he could leap onto the other ship. Some of his crew followed as their captain drew his sword and lead the attack, others took up to the smaller mounted canons on the front of the ship as well as rifles to shoot at the english crew.

[sennenpharaoh]

@flamesignite

It had been a week since his burns have happened and now with the sudden jabbing pain to his side, he had to act. While he originally intended to just allow the burns to his face to heal naturally, for some reason they just... wouldn't go away. Maybe he was using the wrong ointment? Who knows, he was certainly not a doctor.

Alright, suppose he might as well try to heal them himself, or at the very least heal the burns. He did it to his hand a while back, surely it could work on his face as well. One would only hope.

Standing across from the mirror in his bedroom he took a look at his reflection, the burned marks on his face standing out now more than ever. Were they always this bad? He remembered that they were discomforting enough that he for some reason always felt the need to itch, but seeing it in front of him was... huh.

Okay, let's do this.

He pulled out a card from his deckbox. A healing card, one he had been using quite a bit often as of recently, and closed his eyes, preparing the spell. That's when he heard it.

"You IDIOT!!!"

Atem's eyes snapped wide open, immediately recognizing the voice. It was his Colonel's, filled with anger. Anger that he was looking for, but not for the reason he originally wanted.

That's right. The burns on his face were of his own doing, when he tricked-- no, manipulated Roy into snapping so that he could burn himself with his own card, seemingly catching Roy's "anger" for the events of Death Valley. He remembers that night vividly. The yelling, the fighting back and forth, but most of all... not just the anger in his Colonel's voice... but the pain.

That's right. I hurt him.

He lowered the hand holding his card to his side

I manipulated him. I forced him to attack me, all because I wanted him to punish me. I didn't want him to forgive me, I wanted him to be angry. But instead I hurt him. I'm no better than... than him.

He continued to look at the mirror, specifically the burns to his face, though it was obvious to anyone that he was starting to tremble.

I did the exact same thing Haga did to me... played with his emotions behind a false card. How could I have been so stupid?! I remember exactly how it felt when Haga did this to me, and yet I did the exact... same... thing... to Roy. He was right, you are an idiot!

A pause before he looked at the card in his hand.

I can't just... magic this away. I can't just magic these burns, and the hurt I did to him away! I can't! What I did wasn't okay! None of what I did was in any way okay! Actions. Have. Consequences!

Then his eyes trailed back to the mirror, although his vision seemed a bit... foggier than usual. A bit blurry, one might say--

Oh. Oh no you don't.

"You have no right." He scolded, though the only one in the room was himself. "All this time and now you decide you want to cry about it? The time to hide behind those tears left a long time ago when you felt his rage after what you did. Hell it took you to watch your duel against Haga for it to even stick, so don't you dare even try to cry about it now. You have no right. Not after what you've done. You hurt him. You did this to him."

He felt a sting to his cheeks, causing him to shut his eyes, which unfortunately allowed the tears that were building in his eyes to finally fall, making the skin sting even more as they ran over his burn. A horrible cycle. A punishing cycle, one could say. Fitting, as he hurt his Colonel's emotions with that foolish act, so should his emotions harm himself.

At least he was quiet enough, right? Maybe... no one would see him like this?

[councillor-roland]

closed starter for @adrasian

What had it been now, two weeks? A little more? It felt closer to three but then it also felt like an eternity since last he'd seen or held Rhys. The angry episodes were fewer and further between now, the rage mostly having spent itself and now there was just...emptiness. It wasn't numbness, not quite, that might have been welcomed. Instead it was like he existed in a sort of void where colours, sounds, sensations, everything was dulled. He had little motivation to do much of anything, though he was mechanically doing his job, making sure thing still ran, even if he took work calls with video turned off sitting in a robe at his desk. There were still meetings to attend and he dressed himself impeccably with far more effort than it should've taken. Roland felt weighted down, the sadness, the loneliness, and the longing seemed to have some sort of anchor in his chest that kept him pinned. Often times he found himself at the piano and there was a little brightness there, he still played with passion, he couldn't not. More often, though, he sat on one of the couches and put records on, smoking endless cigarettes and just listening to the music. He felt dulled and yet at the same time there were still sharp edges to the emotions if he got too close to them.

The suite was more in disarray than it had been as well. Normally, Roland kept everything tidy, or at least made sure to let the staff in to do their regular cleaning but no one had been allowed in his suite for some time outside of invitation. There were still shards of glass on the floor from where he'd thrown drinking glasses against the wall, broken pieces of porcelain, a scratched and blood stained couch that he'd at least pushed back into a corner but he hadn't cared to have it cleaned yet, if it could even be salvaged. Roland would probably just get rid of it. Overflowing ashtrays littered the surface of several tables beside dirty wine glasses. One of the things that helped, or sort of helped, was having the slaves come up as distractions. Even then, Roland was different with them, much less teasing, confident and playful than usual, just quieter, a little more needy and desperate. It disconcerted some to the point where they didn't even have sex, their behaviour influenced by his mood enough to turn Roland off and send them away though that was rare. He fed, if nothing else, even if he didn't end up sleeping with them, that was something. Still, he even had fewer slaves to his suite than he used to and hadn't been down to the Undercroft himself to pick them, having them sent up instead.

Tonight was one such night. Part of the distraction of having the slaves here was a kind of pretend companionship that helped ease the loneliness a little. The slaves that did stay, that he took to bed, Roland ended up keeping for some time afterwards just to hold them, just to be close. Adrasia hadn't allowed that last time but Roland wouldn't give him much choice tonight. Rather than wait at the door, he waited in his bedroom, clad in a robe, having told the guards to escort the celestial right to the bedroom and then leave. They'd just done that and were gone, the celestial standing before him as Roland looked at him, hands in his pockets, probably looking as dull as he felt but he forced a small smile anyway. "Hello." It was quiet, already a contrast to how he'd greeted Adrasia the last couple times he'd been in the suite. "It seemed easier to bring you straight here."

[ryanparrish]

Ellie. He didn't have to fire a smoldering look her way to know she was there. The sound of her footfalls trailing him sent electric jitters down his back. You'd think someone had taken a taser to his spine and lit the damn thing up like a Christmas Tree.

He hated that he recognized her scent, almost as much as he hated how the mere presence of her ghost still conjured a physical reaction out of him.

How many nights since he dropped their divorce papers in the mail, has he laid awake at night thinking of her? The answer was an embarrassing: too many. But would he admit to so much out loud? Or to himself? Never.

If that's why she came, she'd be sorely disappointed over the wasted, miles long trip. Come to think of it -- there were a million and one things Ryan would rather do right now than subject himself to an unowed conversation with her. He'd rather take an ice cold bath in the dead of winter, than spare her a single ounce of his breath.

Its too bad, his head had already turned to confirm what his dread already knew to be true - she was not another uninvited figment of his imagination. She was as real as the frostbite making its way through Ryan's fingers without the vendor's coffee or hot chocolate to warm it. "If my memory still serves me correctly, I've lost a lot more than that while I was with you." They weren't the first words he had rehearsed for her had this day ever come. But they didn't entirely disappoint him. So there's.... that.

"What are you doing here, El?" Last he heard, she was still in San Diego. Breaking hearts one luscious kiss at a time. He'd claim, it wasn't his business either way. He'd made sure of that when he filed for divorce some odd years ago and never looked back.

Covington now, was his hometown again. Not hers. And he'd be damned if he let her waltz in its barriers and claim yet more territory he had no intentions of giving up. "I thought small towns weren't really for you." There weren't as many high paying gigs to plan. Small towns were built on camaraderie, and charity. Funny, considering that's what he'd claim this exchange would be to make himself feel better about it, and less guilty for being a teensy bit relieved to see there were still some things she hasn't forgotten about him. | @elianaalmeida

Everything was new to her here. The people, the home, the feeling of unease. It was all new and unfamiliar. Ellie didn't do well with the unfamiliar, she never had. She liked to know what to expect in a situation and everything about being in Covington, from Ryan to her unknown familial connections. A normally overly confident woman was filled to the brim with nerves. The same nerves had kept her holed up in her new apartment since her arrival to Georgia the previous week and a half, only leaving for the necessities and making sure to avoid eye contact with anyone while doing so. But tonight, tonight was different. She refused to spend her time ringing in the new year all by her lonesome. She didn't want to allow that gnawing feeling of fear to keep her from celebrating a new year, a chance to do things differently. A fresh start. At least, that's what she kept telling herself as she readied herself. Over and over again, she mentally repeated those statements until she made her way out the door of her apartment. For a while, she kept to herself on the outskirts of the townspeople. Things were different here, the people, the atmosphere. It was cold, but she felt warmth from the kindness that exuded from those around her. Even keeping her distance, people said excuse me as they passed her and vendors offered her a variety of treats and drinks. She settled for a sweet, but stiff drink offered to her by an older woman who had a drink cart available for the townspeople. She sipped on her drink and made her way through the square as the night neared midnight. Her eyes scanned the crowd, seeing all of the families and happy couple prepare for their kisses and warm embraces, and then there he was. Ryan Parrish. Her legs seemed to move on their own accord, propelling her forward and closer to the man whom she had come to this very town to see. Before she realized it, she was walking beside him in silence. She was sure he didn't realize it was her, as the words that tumbled out of his mouth likely would not be the first he would choose to say to her. She waited for him to finish, swallowing down the last of her drink and mustering up all of the confidence she was known to exude. "Well, Mr. Parrish," she started, the fake confidence seeming to warm her body through, her cheeks a new shade of rosy pink, "Don't tell me you've lost your charm and your sense of adventure since the last time I saw you."

[lilacheavns]

closed starter for @tinkrbell.

a weekend getaway to her father’s lake house sounded like the perfect remedy for the stressful week she’d had. wedding planning had already begun and it was definitely taking a toll on her. her brain had been busy figuring out what aesthetic they wanted, what flowers would look best, what catering company to go with, what flavour cake they should pick—the list was endless. there was so much fuss about something she still didn’t completely know she was ready for. she hopes this trip will help with that and that the fresh pine scented air would ease her mind a little. it won’t be all pleasure though, she knows she still needs to let the cat out of the bag and finally tell alex about the engagement. she’d been putting it off for some time, she was so worried about how he’ll react to it. briar chews nervously on her bottom lip as she thinks about it, palms getting sweaty at just the thought. she’s pulled out of her thoughts by her fiancé’s voice, their car pulling into the driveway of the house. alex’s car is parked next to them, the familiar sight of it bringing a smile to her face. they hadn’t seen nearly as much of each other since she got into this relationship and she felt guilty about it—she never wanted him to feel like anything but her priority. her partner parks the car and she jumps out, eyes settling on her bestfriend. “well howdy there, stranger!” she cooes, rushing up to him to wrap him in a tight bear hug. “was the drive down okay?”

[denverneumann]

It was with not just a little bit of trepidation that Denver took her first steps into the Tower since she'd been escorted out. It hadn't even been that long ago. Snow, what had it been, a week? Two? Time seemed to be in a state of flux, or else a kind of liminal stasis. In a world without Games there were no bookends to the seasons, no touchstones upon which to ground one's sense of reality. And what a painful reality it had been. But Denver had been promised it would be okay this time. She was going to be okay. She had walked in through the front door, and no one had arrested her yet. Besides, even if someone didn't believe she was here on business, she was still just a low-level loyalist. A rich girl without a rich name to back her up. She'd be safe.

Her kiosk was gone. Denver wondered idly as she passed where it had once stood if there had been any satisfaction in tearing it down. Her manager was dead, she was certain. As best as she'd been able to gather, all of the upper management for the Hunger Games Museum were dead.

She walked in nearly a straight line until she reached the back of the Tower, a window in one of the old lounges. No arrest. She was okay. She sighed at that, a mix of relief and sheer uncertainty, and took a seat. She pulled out her notebook and a pen, lucky finds from the BEEF gift shop, and started taking notes of the world around her. So wrapped up in her observations was she, so bent on mastering the art of recording history as it was actually happening, that she'd missed someone coming up to her until she felt the presence right by her side. She jolted up, startled.

"Hi," she said, resisting the urge to insist she was allowed to be there. "Sorry, I didn't realize anyone was there. You must have quiet feet or something." She gave a laugh and a smile, but gripped her pen tighter.