#earthquake swarm

[sepdet]

*glares at East Anatolian Fault*

STOP THAT.

(my quake app keeps waking me up with the dreaded "7 or above" alert sound. Hella big aftershocks on this monster. :( That one was almost as strong as the original quake.)

Note: times listed above are my timezone, PST, 11 hours earlier than Turkey.

[zinjanthropusboisei]

The LevRed fracking episode is a bit weak when it comes to the con plotline but I did really enjoy the deeply greenwashed "GreenSlate" drilling company with their knock-off BP logo...

[seat-safety-switch]

When I visit folks in the palliative care home (to see if their cars are running up a big parking ticket that I can "take care of,") they have a lot of regrets. You have but one life to live, unless you're Sonic the Hedgehog, but then you'll fall down holes or get impaled on spikes a lot. I digress: near the end, everyone knows that they are missing a big part of their life.

You might think that this is a loss of a relationship, or an opportunity, or even not seeing that awesome movie in theatres. And you'd be totally wrong. Most people miss their favourite coffee mug from times long past.

Coffee mugs are fragile, and so are our lives. Just like human beings, they're made of dirt and some kind of external force we don't understand. Each one is unique, and when you find your ideal mug, it is gutting to be torn away from it. Clumsy maids. Cabinet door malfunctions. Earthquakes. Swarms of ceramic-devouring wasps. There are so many threats, and we will all part with our favourite coffee mugs before their times.

If only there were something we could do. There is something we could do. To be more correct, there is something I could do. I was extremely fortunate that the palliative care home also contained many dying mad scientists (who did not practice appropriate workplace safety, just saying.) After reading their journals very, very closely, I was able to devise a new machine. This machine, which we are now calling the Mugmembrer, reaches into the farthest depths of the human mind and 3D-prints up an exact replica of that mug you smashed so long ago. Life is brought full circle, with a truly fulfilling sense of closure at long last.

Just don't hook this fucking thing up to a dog. They don't know what mugs even are, but that doesn't stop the machine, oh no. Real bad shit happens really fast, trust me.

[florencemtrash]

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Twenty-One

Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.

Warnings: Character death and canon typical violence/graphic descriptions.

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

It was the sound and smell that really got to you. The crackle of bones snapping and the stretching of skin and the slick squelch of new flesh as it grew into place. The scent of burning curtains and couch stuffing and meat so thick in the air Emerie could only lean over and vomit into the fireplace. 

Through the smoke and the haze you saw barbs sprout from Vassa’s skin like needles before splitting down the middle to reveal sickly red feathers. Putrid flowers crawling their way through the dirt. 

She fell to the ground, convulsing with pain and anguish as she transformed.  

“VASSA!” Lucien roared. He threw his arm over his face, magic bursting forth in a protective shield around you and Azriel. His russet eyes reflected the flames that licked at his skin and hair, fighting and absorbing the power that flashed throughout the room. 

From the corner of your eye you saw Feyre use her own spark of Autumn’s magic. The flames took on the shape of wolves and threw themselves over Mor, Gwyn, Emerie, and Elain in a protective huddle. 

Vassa’s screams thinned out into one long screech and the beating of her wings sent another wave of heat through the room.

Azriel pressed you further against the ground as she took off, flying so close overhead that the sweat frying your skin evaporated and the tips of Azriel’s hair singed off. 

Cassian swore, drawing out the short sword he always kept on him as he shielded Ione’s body from the worst of the initial blast, wings out and glaring siphon red in the shape of shield.

Vassa sank her claws into his back, latching onto leather armour and ripping him off the old woman. Her wings took up the length of the room, trailing ribbons of blue and scarlet fire as she finally descended on her prize. 

Ione was no stranger to death. She did not fear it as some might have expected her to. She’d seen friends and family ruthlessly murdered. Experienced loss of a kind that the fae could not comprehend with their long lives. Maybe that was the reason she fought so little when Vassa’s talons closed over her arms and lifted her into the air. 

Rhysand roared, night triumphant rumbling over the floors like an earthquake as darkness spilled from his hands.

But he was too late. 

Vassa crashed through the window with Ione in tow. Glass and fragments of the supporting wall crumbled down in a chorus of cries that tore through your spine as shadows swarmed overhead. Reaching, reaching, reaching after the firebird and the woman she carried higher and higher up into the sky. 

Cassian rolled to his feet, leaping after them with a furious beat of his wings that sent shards of glass skittering over the floor and dust flying into your eyes. 

Azriel scrambled to his feet, hauling you up with him. You dragged your nails over his arms, blinking through smoke-filled eyes as you coughed. 

All around you the House was burning. 

“Are you ok?!” He shook you, hands coming up to your face. He was split between two choices — stay with you, or go get Ione. 

“Go. Go! I’m fine,” you rasped, lifting your sleeve up to your nose and mouth as your eyes streamed with tears. Azriel hesitated, hearing your hacking coughs even as you pushed him towards the gaping wound of the House. Cassian continued to shrink into the distance, red light searing past Vassa’s feathers as she desperately dodged his attacks. 

He wouldn’t go for a killing blow. Not when she was carrying such precious cargo. 

“Just go! If Koschei gets his hands on Ione, we’re all dead!” You erupted in another fit of coughs.

Fuck.

“Stay with Lucien,” Azriel said.

“Yes, yes. Now go!” You gave him one final shove.

Azriel swore beneath his breath, turned, and raced towards the window with his wings ready to unfurl before disappearing in a flurry of smoke. 

Misunderstanding — that was what made Shadowsingers so dangerous. Not their silence. Not the tendrils of darkness they commanded, but how little anyone knew of them and where they came from.

Illyrians, by nature, couldn’t winnow. It was one of the simple, unexplainable facts of their world. As immutable as gravity. As intrinsic as the magic that flowed through their land like a bottomless sea. And despite all the rules Azriel had broken, and would break, in his life — all the contradictions he flirted with like it was a game — he was, first and foremost, an Illyrian.

He did not winnow. 

Winnowing was simple.

Winnowing happened when you folded the fabric of the world in half like a piece of paper and stretched that fabric thin enough to pass through. It was instantaneous. One moment you had both feet planted in one place, the next moment in another. 

What Azriel did was wholly different. 

Because when he “winnowed,” he actually went somewhere else first. 

When he was running away from you, he was moving towards an opening only he could see. A black, flickering spot that grew and grew and grew until it swallowed him whole and he felt himself fall into a different realm. 

The sounds of shouting and feet trampling over glass disappeared with a whisper and he dove into the silence, feeling shadows slip over him like water. 

When he’d first shadow-traveled, it had been an accident. He’d been young and desperate to escape the cramped confines of his bed in the Windhaven barracks. He would never miss his time spent in the cellar, but at least there it had been quiet. At least there he could commune with his shadows in private. Accommodations in the Windhaven barracks were a poor imitation of horse stables — tiny bedrooms lined up with just enough space for growing wings and walls that didn’t reach the ceiling. Boys would peer over the walls at him like an animal on display, throwing food and boasting their strong wings while his lay on the floor like crumpled paper. 

To this day he didn’t quite know where he went when he shadow-traveled. All he knew was that in this world of black sand, cracked rock, and perpetual music, beings roamed free that answered to him and only him. Creatures both same and different to the shadows he commanded in Prythian. They crowded around him, welcoming him home and blocking out the background hums of someone’s sweet singing as the light of three moons cast their silvery net over the Shadowsinger.

The plan is working.

Why have you left her behind? 

The firebird is nearing the edges of your borders. 

Your mate is safe. She remains by her brother’s side.

He listened to their reports, gliding through the still air and watching as a familiar light opened up ahead of him. A fourth moon that wasn’t a moon at all, but a light back home. Through the opening he saw a blue sky raked with fire as Vassa turned onto her back, careening through the air like a firework and opening her mouth wide. 

She’s endowed with new powers. Be cautious, Shadowsinger.

Your brother is on your left. 

What had felt like minutes flying through this darkness vanished into nothing. The time he’d spent in this realm never passed on Prythian. To anyone watching him, they’d think he disappeared from the House and reappeared here, hundreds of feet above the earth.

But things were better this way. When he traveled with his shadows, he had time to gather his thoughts and anticipate the fight ahead.

Quick! Get the warlord.

And he had help.

NOW!

Azriel shattered the boundaries of the world in an explosion of shadow, careening into Cassian’s side and knocking him off course just as Vassa spit out a ball of flame. Azriel heard Cassian’s shout in his ear as they tumbled through the air together in a tangle of wings. He felt the heat that had come close to scorching his back.

I am not that little boy. Not anymore. Azriel promised himself

The warlord grasped the harness hidden in the back of Azriel’s armor just between the shoulder blades, using the momentum of their fall to throw him back towards Vassa. 

The Sidra glowed beneath him, the mouth of the river stretching wide as it prepared to feed the sea. Another mile, and the protections surrounding Velaris would fall away. Who knew what would happen to Ione and Vassa then? 

Azriel saw the distance between them narrow. Vassa’s body could only be propped up by so much magic. Feathers continued to strip themselves from her body, curling inwards as they fell like paper left too close to a flame. 

Ione flailed in Vassa’s clutches, iron cane still held tightly in her hand as she twisted and turned at the mercy of Vassa’s frantic flight maneuvers. 

The firebird squawked in panic when she felt the first cold licks of Azriel’s shadows creep up her wings. They hissed and smarted upon first contact with her fiery feathers, before eating away at her magic like ravenous beasts. 

But she also understood hunger. It was hunger that had driven her to take Ione. It was hunger that had forced her to turn. Hunger for the kind of magic that only Koschei could grant her when she was back in his malignant embrace.

To Azriel’s horror, Vassa twisted in the air and flung Ione down with a shriek. 

The old woman’s face twisted in shock, her scream choked by wind as her stomach flew into her throat and the burning pressure in her arms gave way to freefall. 

Azriel didn’t hesitate. He dove down, reaching out with two scarred hands.

For one brief moment they were falling together. 

Ione saw the firebird change direction and aim right at Azriel, slipping into the blindspots of his vision. Ione looked him dead in the eye and gave the faintest nod. 

Azriel tucked his wings in close and veered off course at the last second, rolling with the impact of Vassa’s wing slamming into his side and feeling the burn when his leathers caught fire.

Somewhere in the wind, Cassian roared. 

Vassa caught Ione and fled beyond the borders of Velaris.

And Azriel fell.

And fell. 

And fell.

A comet.

And disappeared into the ocean. 

Feyre stood in the center of the House, hands raised and eyes alight as fires leapt up the walls and swallowed the curtains. With one fell swoosh they vanished, wind rushing in through the battered side of the House and sweeping away the ash and smoke until the air tasted clean again.

She raised a trembling hand and with one decisive snap of her fingers the worst of the damage vanished, leaving behind the skeletal remains of their once lovely living room. 

“Mor.” The High Lady rasped. 

The blonde female stood to attention, cheeks stained grey, and brown eyes flaring with rage. People liked to think she was just a pretty face — a diplomat or a soothing presence. But right now, she was out for blood and she could smell it coming in the air. 

“Go tell Helion and the others. We meet at Thesan’s as planned.” 

Mor nodded and grabbed Emerie’s hand, giving it a tight squeeze as the Illyrian shook off the worst of her sickness. Her stomach, now empty, twisted. Mor kissed Emerie’s dark hair, whispering promises that they’d see each other again soon. Then it was only a matter of folding the universe in half and stepping into Helion’s palace to the sight of two dozen golden warriors. 

Emerie blinked and her wife was gone.

Rhys stood by the staircase with Gwyn, touching the crown of her head and showing her his most treasured prize. Beneath the fabric of her priestess robes, a new bargain tattoo was being written onto the skin of her ribs. Until their parents’ safe return, Gwyn would protect Nyx and Velaria with her life. No force, natural or otherwise, would keep her from her goal, and those that sought to harm her charges would meet their end on her blade. 

In the privacy of her room she donned the armour of the Valkyries and knelt down at the small altar carved into the wall. She touched the smooth white stone at the center and prayed to the Mother for strength and protection and health. She lit a red candle and dripped the wax onto the blade of her sword and polished it clean, reciting her prayers beneath her breath. 

What seeks to break me will fail. I am a protector. I have always been a protector. And that is what I will always be. It is written in my blood and in my bones, but where I was strong in my spirit, I am now strong in my body.

She stood with her sword in her hands.

I am the rock against which the surf crashes.

Tucked away in a cabin in the Illyrian Steppes, Nyx stood in front of his wooden soldier, practice sword clutched in his hand as he danced around the immobile warrior with a crease in his brow identical to Feyre’s. Every so often he would look over his shoulder at the female sitting on the floor, searching her silver eyes for that hint of pride she hid so well. 

Velaria lay in the crook of her arm, soft fingers tangled in the layers of gold and jewels that hung heavy from her slim, straight neck. Her eyes narrowed as she saw beyond the confines of the cabin into Rhysand’s mind. 

It’s happened hasn’t it? She asked knowingly. 

Yes.

And which one will you be sending to the children and I, boy?

Gwyn.

A good choice. I like that one.

Rhysand smiled tightly, feeling that knot in his chest loosen. No matter what happened, his children would be protected. They’d survive. 

As if sensing what the High Lord needed, Amren looked down at the child swaddled in her arms, allowing Rhysand the relief of seeing his children even if he couldn’t be there to hold them himself. 

Nyx, ever the precocious child, stopped his play-fighting and looked towards his aunt. 

He was still young but greatness hovered over his shoulder like a vulture ready to descend upon his innocence the moment he came of age. It frightened Rhysand to no end. 

Please, keep them safe.

Amren’s mind flickered with something like indignation and she clutched Velaria closer to her chest. It wasn’t maternal instinct that drove her, but something else. Something more feral and possessive. 

I have protected you and your family for centuries. I have killed for you and I died for you when I had far more to lose than just this mortal body. Do you truly believe I will fail you now?

No, Amren. No I do not. 

You raced up the steps after Lucien, smoke settling into your lungs as you wheezed and tried keeping up with his long, frantic strides. Vassa’s bloody footprints and a trail of burnt blue-orange feathers marked her descent. 

“JURIAN!” 

Lucien called his friend’s name the whole way up, praying to the gods that he’d hear a response. The air cleared the higher you went through the House until finally you stood at the base of the attic steps. 

The door stared down from above. Neatly closed. Unassuming. Vassa had shut it calmly before walking down. Or maybe she just couldn’t bear to look at the scene she’d left behind. 

Lucien burst through the silent, unblinking door and stopped dead in his tracks.

The first thing you saw from around his shoulder was the mangled remnants of the birdcage. Its side had been ripped open like ribs, cushion stuffing and blanket fragments spewing out. Claw marks decorated the walls and you detected the cling of iron in the air through your burning nostrils.

“Lucien?” Your voice shook.

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t move past the edges of the room. 

When you went to move around his frame, he gripped your arm and covered the way. 

Jurian’s body lay sprawled on the floor, blood pooling in a neat circle around him like he’d been blotted out with a red pen. His right arm was in tatters and three long gashes split him from the temple to his hip. His pearly white winked cruelly. The hazy afternoon sun settled on the dust in the air. 

He must have gotten too close to Vassa not realizing that she was too far gone for even him to help. Maybe she’d done it intentionally as a means of escape, thinking that Jurian was her jailor. But maybe it had all been an accident. The wrong turn of her talons as the pain of her transformation took over. 

The method did not matter. Nor did the reason. 

Because Jurian was dead. 

Lucien crumbled to his knees, sinking into the carpet and feeling nothing and you…

It took everything within you not to scream. You pressed down on the feeling. Down. Down. Down. Burying it deep beneath layers of willpower and practice. 

You walked over to the windows, feeling hatred at the sun for shining down with its yellow light, and ripped the curtains off their rings with a metallic clang. 

Jurian looked up at the ceiling with glistening eyes. Somehow, even in death, there was the faintest hint of a smile on his face — proud, mischievous, and a little wild. A sign of the charismatic general he’d been by Vassa’s side and long before then. You covered that smile carefully, ignoring the squelch of your shoes when you stepped into the circle of blood. 

Something in Lucien cracked open when the curtain fell into place.

He finally screamed. Hands and knees braced on the floor. Face twisted in pain. 

You clapped your hands over your ears, tears streaming down your cheeks as you willed the sound to stop. 

“Lucien—” Elain skidded to halt at the doorway, the mass of pink fabric around her waist swishing once then falling still. She looked at the outline of Jurian. She looked at you. Then she fell to her knees, pulling Lucien’s body into her lap and whispering his name. The initial silence stretching across the bond had terrified her. Hearing him scream and the heartbreak that followed after had sent her running. 

Lucien collapsed against her, wrapping his arms around her waist and burying his face in the flesh of her stomach. She cradled his head in one arm, the other splayed over his back as he wept.

“I’m sorry,” she gasped through her own tears. “I’m so so sorry, Lucien.”

He cried. 

And cried. 

And cried. 

You and Elain heard the shouting from downstairs as a collection of Cassian’s most trusted Valkyries and Illyrian warriors assembled on the lawn. Emerie stood among them, her seconds helping to tie the leather straps of her armour into place as she barked orders left and right. 

Elain looked towards you. The fight to come left no time for grief. Not even Lucien was exempt from that. 

You moved in front of your brother, blocking the sight of the curtains on the floor.

“Lucien,” you begged. Your brother’s bloodshot eye looked at you from the crook of Elain’s arm. “We need to get ready. We need to go.” 

“I can’t… I can’t just leave him. I can’t leave him to rot in this room. I can’t—” 

“I’ll take care of him,” Elain promised. She looked down at her mate. “You can trust me with him, Lucien.” 

He said nothing, but together you and Elain helped him up to his feet, and Elain — beautiful, lovely Elain — stood on the tips of her feet to kiss her mate’s tear-stained cheek. She tasted the salt on her tongue and felt the burning of unshed tears in her own eyes. 

“I’ll bury him somewhere calm in a bed of marigold and poppy.” Fiery, resilient flowers to remind Jurian of the woman he had loved. “And when you and Vassa return we will have a proper goodbye. I promise.”

He took a deep, trembling breath and whispered, “Thank you, Elain.” 

You let him lean against you, let him bury his face in your hair to escape the smell of blood and death, and walked with him downstairs. 

After you and Lucien were gone and Elain stood alone in the presence of the dead, she rolled up her pale pink sleeves, tied off the length of her dress and prepared for a new garden. 

Azriel was soaking wet and aching as he flew up to the House of Wind. Salt stripped his hair of moisture and the strands dried hard and tacky against his scalp. 

“Did you need to make such a dramatic exit?” Cassian snapped when they landed on the balcony. “I thought she’d killed you.”

Azriel moved through the House without even looking, charred leather flaking off his shoulders and floating to the ground as he walked. His wings were sore and tender from the heat, along with his ribs and shoulder from when Vassa had first barreled into him and then when he’d landed in the Sidra. 

“We needed to make it look real, remember?” Azriel answered smoothly.

It had always been part of the plan to let Vassa take Ione if she attempted it, but they couldn’t let her go without a fight or Koschei would find it suspicious. Even so, Azriel hated to admit that he’d been distracted thinking about you. If he’d been any slower today he might have lost his wings. 

“Well you did your job too well.” Cassian growled. 

Azriel dipped into his room, quickly stripping out of his clothes and donning new leathers before he and Cassian set off once again deep into the mountain.

They stopped in front of a grey wood door, and Azriel knocked twice. Paused. Knocked thrice. Paused. Then knocked twelve times. 

Ione — the real Ione — opened the door.

Feyre had inherited many gifts from the seven High Lords of Prythian — her healing touch, her water wolves, her mastery over flame and light and dark. But one of her least used gifts had been glamouring people from her Court… until now.

It had taken her half a dozen portraits to familiarize herself with every subtle valley and curve of Ione’s face, and double the number of attempts before she’d successfully woven Nesta’s features into a perfect copy. You’d swooped in for the final steps, using your knowledge and magic to dampen Nesta’s magical signature until even Cassian couldn’t tell when it was Nesta or Ione standing in front of him without relying on the mating bond.

“Has it happened?” The old woman asked gravely, pulling her shawl tight around her shoulders.

Azriel nodded. “Vassa took the bait.” 

As they spoke, the mortal queen was carrying a disguised Nesta to the Continent where she’d be a hidden weapon in enemy territory. Koschei wouldn’t even know he’d been delivered the wrong prize. 

At least that was the hope.

They brought Ione down to the House, and Azriel forced the woman into a brisk walk, weaving through the small collection of fae in search of you. You stood by Feyre and Rhysand close to the river, one arm kept tight around Lucien’s and a new satchel slung over your back. You kept glancing over at your brother, watching as he did what he could to compose himself. 

“Y/n.” 

One small word spoken from his lips and your eyes were latching onto him. There was a question in his eyes as he looked first at your pale face, and then at Lucien. The trembling of your hands and the shake of your head was all he needed. 

Jurian was gone. 

Azriel swallowed, stopping in front of the male he’d once hated so unfairly and feeling shame. “Lucien, I’m so—”

“Finish that sentence and I’ll rip your tongue out,” Lucien seethed, his eyes flat and hard as stone. The despair had given away to fury before Jurian’s body was even cold and suddenly Lucien was itching to be on the Continent. To feel Koschei’s blood on his hands. 

It wasn’t too late to save Vassa. It wasn’t too late to get his friend back. 

“You can feel pity for me when this is over.” 

There were only a dozen fae crowded around Feyre and Rhysand, but you could feel every wave of power that rippled off their skin, the electricity they shot into the air as they bounced on the pads of their feet and loosened their muscles. 

You found yourself pressed between Azriel and Lucien, the Shadowsinger’s hand balanced on the small of your back. Ione stood in front of you, your hand laid protectively on her shoulder, and a Valkyrie stood behind. She had her corn yellow hair braided around her head in a crown of gold, and stretching out from the slits in her armor fluttered the black and orange wings of a butterfly.

“Techaria,” she introduced herself with a smile and a handshake. “I’ve been assigned to you and Ione.” 

Techaria never left your side, standing firmly at your back after Rhysand winnowed you all to the Dawn Court and the crowd swelled to nearly a hundred. 

You were miles away from the Dawn Palace — the ocean at your front and a sea of frost-tinged grasses at your back. The air buzzed with excitement and dread and no small amount of bloodlust. 

You caught glimpses of the shimmering High Lord of Dawn and the hawk-winged peregryn soldier who held his hand as he dispensed final healing touches. He would not be among the seven High Lords and High Ladies leaving for the Continent. 

The High Lord and High Lady of Winter stood glistening like a pair of crystalline figures beside one of the coast’s watchtowers. White-haired warriors of frost and starshine bobbed around like snowfall and you struggled not to tremble in the presence of the three armored polar bears among their ranks. Eris’s males were similarly easy to spot with their burnished copper armour and their battle hounds hovering at their shoulders. Azriel stepped in between you and one of the beasts, froth pouring from between razor sharp teeth as it growled in your direction for staring too long.

A Summer soldier shoved past, earning himself a glower from Techaria and Azriel as he grabbed another female and drew her into one last passionate kiss. The seashell necklaces they wore clattered as they met, evidence of the dozens of battles they’d survived together. 

It wasn’t an uncommon sight as the crowd quickly split apart at the orders of their High Lords and High Ladies, coalescing into pre-determined divisions that sometimes asked mated pairs to separate. In foreign territory against a mysterious god, communications through their bonds would be indispensable. 

You saw an Autumn Court male — one of the High Lord’s brothers by the name of Castor — break away from his group. He ran towards a willowy Spring nymph two divisions over and slipped a ring into their pocket. 

Their blue eyes blew open in surprise, cries of protest smothered by a firm kiss before he whispered, “I have my High Lord’s blessing. When this is over, I’ll propose to you properly, but you’ll keep this safe in the meantime, won’t you?” 

The nymph sputtered, then nodded when words failed them. Just as quickly as he had come, Castor sprinted back to his men and his division disappeared before your eyes. They were the first to winnow to the Continent.

Lucien folded you into a back-breaking hug. “Stay safe.” Your brother commanded. You heard the tightness in his voice. He’d be staying with Feyre and Rhysand to lead one of the main charges alongside Eris and Tarquin. “I can’t lose you as well.”  

“I’ll come back so long as you do.” 

You squeezed him hard enough to crack ribs, but Lucien wished it had lasted longer. He dove into the parting wave of bodies and vanished. 

You felt your throat tighten as you turned to face the goodbye you’d been dreading the most. 

“Az, I—” 

He silenced you with a kiss, sliding his tongue over your lips for one last taste. He didn’t want to say goodbye. He refused to accept the possibility that you wouldn’t return to each other.

He pulled away so quickly your head spun. 

“I’ll be with the second division,” he breathed out, “Near the southwest corner, not even a mile away from you.” The map flashed in your mind with all its little figurines spread out like a chess game. “Remember what we talked about?” 

If things go wrong, find me so I can protect you. And so if anything happens, we won’t be alone. I want you to promise me.

You nodded fervently. 

Someone in the crowd was calling his name. Maybe Cassian? You couldn’t pay attention to anything other than the hazel eyes burning into you. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but suddenly his brother was there grabbing his arm and hauling him away towards the second division. Red and blue siphons flashed in the grey light and then the pair were gone. 

The crowd thinned as more groups began winnowing away to the Continent. One second there. The next second, gone.

“We need to go, my Lady,” Techaria said gently, but firmly. She’d given you both your privacy and a few precious seconds, but that time was over now. 

You nodded, not able to look away from the empty space Azriel had occupied. 

“He’ll be fine, girl,” Ione said, taking Techaria’s hand. She wore thin, chainmail armour enchanted to feel weightless and a glamoured veil over her features. You caught glimpses of her true face out of the corner of your eyes, but direct eye contact and her face blurred and warped into something unnatural. 

“I know,” you whispered. 

Your stomach dropped when you realized you never did say goodbye to Azriel.

You felt Techaria’s calloused palm slide into yours and then you were gone.

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Author's Note:

Yeah guys, RIP Jurian. As I said in a previous post, one of my qualms with SJM is that she doesn't let characters stay dead. I want y'all to know, Jurian is gone. Sorry............ he wasn't even in the story for very long and didn't do much but I'm going to miss him.

[frostbitebakery]

Frost 👀👀👀 In the keldabe kiss LOUD WIP 👀👀 What is on the back of Cody's neck?? --🤍@smoosey

“As requested in the contract, the clones are 80% above the average human baseline, though of course they are merely humanoid,” Nala Se explains and Depa blinks very slowly at her to keep her face passive. “Per design they are produced, trained, and outfitted to equal a Jedi’s battle prowess.”

There’s an earthquake in Depa’s mind. So few words to sum up the horror of a situation they’ve found themselves in and it’s been in the making for a decade at the least.

They walk along training rooms, sim halls, module centers. The same face with lips pursed in concentration as young adults, teenagers, little kids to toddlers.

“The interface is embedded at humanoid level sixteen years standard. Testing has shown while implementing suit training earlier results in higher performance, the human body regrettably rejects the interface connector in the prepubescent stage.”

“Rejects?” Depa asks, voice hollow which gut churningly serves her well in sounding cold and uncaring.

Nala Se pauses, long fingers tapping on the data pad she’s holding. “Rejection of the procedure prompts a terminal response at 60%,” she admits and hurries on in a reassuring manner, “we have solved this problem timely and cost efficient. No clone from the testing sites will be deployed.”

Depa’s stomach feels sick.

They walk to another hall, glass walls baring all down to the abject terror in Depa’s eyes.

“The suit itself is connected to the clone. They are interchangeable of course.” Of course. “We have used the newest technology in translating brain waves to action. The suit is to enhance their above average abilities. Comm systems have been embedded into the suit technology.”

Nala Se proudly waves a hand at 6 clones in suits working through a battle sim. “We have been inspired by your so-called battle meditation,” which makes Depa jerk in her step, “they can communicate by thinking on the same frequency. Orders can be directly deployed into their brains without voice prompt.”

Depa reaches out. Her mind becoming one with the Force, with her surroundings, and she’s overwhelmed by the emotions swarming her as Nala Se continues.

“We have failsafes installed of course. Clone technology is far superior to droids in this regard as well. No order can be given by unauthorized personnel.”

[jolalibrary]

pulse. skin. soap.

soap mactavish x f!reader (call of duty)

you have two things to thank for this: wine + @ghostaholics

IMAGINE stumbling to your room on base. exhausted, banged up. scrapes and bruises protesting something chronic. using the door to lean to capture your breath. dropping your things, one by one. heavy, loud in the quiet of your room—something you should desire, but you don't want silence. you want noisy, busy, limited space to think about how close all of that was.

flipping the light on, only to come face to face with him. soap—mactavish. john.

he's been sat waiting. given a heads-up that it hadn't gone to plan. the term 'gone to shit' was used, and he’s been stewing, fretting. working himself up.

because he should have been there.

and when your eyes land on him, your throat closes—having only wanted to see him. and here he is. and now you’re not sure what it is you want.

soap doesn't allow you to ask, push or talk. just stands, mattress protesting his movements as he closes the gap in three strides. lips latching to yours, kissing you like he's starved—like he hasn't been able to breathe.

there's been a noose around his neck since someone told him—his nails picked, skin raw around the beds.

now though, he just feels you. sliding his head down, kisses left on your chin, jaw and neck, before he takes a moment to press his face into your chest. hearing your pulse, feeling it hammer against his nose as he breathes in the scent of you mixed with the world that tried to take you.

blinking, your hands slide to his neck, fingers tracing around to his chin, lifting him, his tongue warm and heavy in your mouth. desperation beating through you as you take in his calloused palms, all scorching against the bitter cold of your cheeks.

you don't grumble when your back meets the door, barely even a wince—body having been aching for so long, this, with him is minor. then the kiss turns messy, a blend of bitter and sweet as gratitude falls from you in unspoken whispers and apologies fall from his. mixing, merging. falling as quickly as they appear, quickly followed by fabric—the remainder of your clothes hitting the floor with a clunk before its thinner pieces, ones that float and make no noise when they hit the ground. then you just feel him, skin to skin, his gratefulness against your thigh, hard, leaking—desperate.

pulse. skin. soap.

it only dawns then, practically swarming you, that you're safe. a sob threatening to escape. a crack appearing over your wall, but he holds you tighter. more intently. as though feeling the earthquake that runs through you.

he's decided, in the second since he's felt your body against him, that it’s less about being in you, than being against you. more desperate to feel your heart beat, than hear you whisper his name. but you're pulling, tugging, pleading. his lips kissing your collarbone, down your breastbone, feeling you arch into him until he can lay you down in soft, made sheets, the instrumental sound of the bed groaning once more filling the space around your breaths.

it escapes then. runs, flees from his throat. "thought I lost yer, lass."

you can't stop it from wobbling, your bottom lip twitching between you place it between your teeth. your hands finding purpose on him, the back of his neck and waist, not wanting to tell him that at one stage, you thought he had to.

instead, you press your mouth to his. roll your hips. punctuating a few words back with action than comments you can’t mutter.

you know he knows. the two of you are connected, more than just in how you both are between your thighs. but more in a way that’s like an invisible thread. one that hummed when you were on your back, eyes blinking as orange, yellow and red exploded up into the blue, cloud-filled sky.

"eyes on me, lass."

you’re not there now. his words yanking you back. placing you here, with him, on your back in a different way entirely as you dig your nails into his skin. eyes landing on the once-white ceiling above him—just dull yellow light casting shadows over you and him.

"came back for you, mactavish. just you. always for you."

his head dips, and presses to your neck. eyes closing, forcing back tears of worry and dread. because you're here, breathing on his neck.

soap knows he should be focused on making you forget the hell you’ve just survived. knows you need this, that this is who you are. that this is the two of you, a complex array of pulling and tugging before words can be muttered and honesty can respire. because he knows what their job is—what it means. knows each time he waves you off—or you him—that could be it. gone, stolen, vanished as though the other next existed in the desert, greenery or water. which is why he pauses his movements, thumbs brushing over your cheeks, staring into your wide-open eyes.

“shoulda told y'how much y'mean to me,” he whispers.

something shattering in you, tears appearing then falling. dashing in a quick flood down your dirt-covered cheeks as he nips at your neck; suspects it’s why your nails dig into his neck, shoulders and scalp. to feel it, how real this is—this thing the two of you have and the dangers you both have to face.

the ones you have to fight through to get back to the other. it against your neck, tongue licking at the sweat at the base. not giving a single fuck that you’ve not showered. barely able to force away the sight of clotted blood just above your knee, on your hip and on your cheek. unable to stop thinking about the swelling of your bruises that are quickly forming.

because soap knows he should be happy, pleased that this is all it is. while you know you should be happy you have him waiting for you.

thankful for the little things, like pulses, skin and each other.

[undreaming-fanfiction]

There isn't much left of Hawkins now. The town is nearly empty, only a few residents here and there, but other than that? Basically a ghost town. It's slowly fading away and those few windows that shine in the night rarely interact.

One of them is the Harrington mansion.

The Harrington mansion was nearly destroyed in the Red earthquake of 1986, and whoever rebuilt it must have had a weird sense of humor, a questionable taste in movies or both. It is a gothic-inspired monstrosity, tall windows, statues, gargoyles, crooked trees and all. People say it is haunted and honestly, it looks the part.

But it's supposed to be full of stuff worth stealing so of course the group decides to go in. Anything to scratch the itch. The guy in the local pawnshop, a vulture who built his business on the misery of others, on their abandoned homes and dreams,  doesn't ask any questions and pays well.

They don't know much about the house, but someone told them it's the perfect target. The Harrington guy who lives there is around fifty and has a known distaste for guns, so they feel confident. Maybe he'll be asleep. Maybe they won't even have to hurt him.

Maybe some of them hope he'll fight. Maybe they need to find an outlet for all that anger. Their families failed them and so has the society, there's nothing for them here, not anywhere else. They just have each other, another damaged group of teenagers and fresh adults, and if roughing that guy up and getting a bunch of valuables in the process gets them some food and maybe a bottle of whiskey to forget it all? It's worth it.

There is light shining through the living room windows and they feel the warmth and luxury they feel they were denied. It's decided, no waiting for the guy to fall asleep.

They kick in the ornate door and prepare to enter the house.

And then it happens: the gargoyle above the main door comes to life.

It descends on them and knocks the first two to the ground immediately. They don't see much of it before darkness takes them, but it has wings, long hair and talons like a hawk. It tosses their strongest friend away as if he was a rag doll. When it squeezes one of the girls by the throat, she can see faded ink on its forearm, a swarm of flying creatures. 

The thought of it being originally human is even worse.

"It's a fucking monster!" one of them sobs as he shuffles back on his elbows, screaming into the dark that will never answer.

That's when Harrington finally joins the hissing monster on the steps, but he isn't afraid. He doesn't even flinch. His hand reaches out and tucks a strand of that long curly hair behind the creature's pointed ear. "A monster?" he smiles at the intruder. "That's no way to call my boyfriend."

Can be read as a standalone, or, if you like more wholesome endings, read it HERE.

[reality-detective]

🚨BREAKING: Iceland Volcano has just Erupted Near the town of Grindavík After Months of powerful Earthquake Swarms

Grindavík, Iceland 🇮🇸

After months of powerful earthquakes shaking the country's southwestern Reykjanes peninsula, a volcano has just started to erupt, unleashing large amounts of lava flows near the village of Grindavik. The village, housing around 4,000 people, has been evacuated. Officials are closely monitoring the Blue Lagoon, along with its geothermal plant near Grindavik, which serves as the primary provider of electricity and water to 30,000 residents.

[pollyannawog]

Regional Beedrill

Type: Bug/Ground

Ability: Sand Force / Arena Trap (HA)

“Unlike its more well-known Kantoean counterpart, which lives in large, highly aggressive swarms, these Beedrill are mostly solitary in nature. Using their shovel-like forearms and posterior drill, these Pokémon make cozy underground burrows in which they can raise their young. The unique lifestyle of this subspecies puts it at risk from human activity, as recent construction efforts and introduction of more aggressive pollinator species has limited available resources.”

Evolves from Kakuna at level 12 while knowing a ground-type move (sand-attack).

Stats:

HP: 75

Atk: 105

Def: 65

Sp. A: 20

Sp. D: 90

Spe: 40

Total: 395

Sample moves:

Earthquake, U-Turn, Dig, Steel Wing, Bug Bite, Bug Buzz, Body Press, Drill Run, Rock Slide, Bulk Up

[yuesya]

The sudden earthquake is… not entirely unexpected, in retrospect, although it’s certainly overkill. Suguru knows that Satoru has a flair for the dramatic, and Shiki is always eager to join her brother’s chaotic schemes. Without a voice of reason around to run herd on them, those tendencies of theirs are probably even worse in this world.

… In this world where Geto Suguru is dead, killed as a curse user intent on committing mass slaughter. He still has trouble imagining what his alternate self was thinking, honestly. Sorcerers are only a minuscule portion of the entire population; what did he think would actually happen if he’d somehow managed to succeed in basically wiping out humanity?

Utterly inconceivable.

“That was Gojo-sensei, right?” Itadori’s voice sounds from behind one of the makeshift barricades. The Itadori in this world is a little more jaded and solemn than the cheerful first year student that Suguru remembers, which is… saddening. But then, considering the boy’s experiences –Yoshino dying, Satoru and Shiki being sealed, Nanami dying, Kugisaki in a coma, Sukuna using his body to kill and kill and kill in Shibuya… and, more recently, Sukuna switching to Fushiguro as his new host…

It’s a miracle that the boy hasn’t broken beneath the pressures and horrors of everything that’s happened since he became a sorcerer. He’s a strong, resilient boy, although Suguru dearly wishes that he hadn’t been tested in this way.

“Seems about right for Gojo,” Tsukumo responds. The tall woman stands up, brushing off dust from her hands. There’s a large scar down her midsection, courtesy of the fight against ‘Kenjaku,’ but between three Special Grades, they’d been able to win decisively, even though the slippery man had managed to escape at the end. “Can’t imagine it being anyone else.”

Boy had it been weird, fighting ‘himself.’ The memory of the fight is enough to make Suguru cringe. He knows that it’s not actually ‘him,’ but seeing his body being saying those sorts of things and making those expressions…

If Suguru’s Satoru or Shiki had been here to see it, they’d never let him live it down, gods.

“Thank you for unsealing Gojo-sensei,” Okkotsu nods towards the angel-winged girl drifting down from the sky. Kurusu smiles, making an ‘okay’ sign with her fingers. “… Where is he, though? And that earthquake just now, too… is he–”

Suguru’s head snaps up; Tsukumo looks up, too, half a beat behind him.

“He’s here.”

Satoru’s teleportation is a thing to behold. One instant, there’s nothing in the air above them, then in the blink of an eye, he’s standing there. Prison Realm clearly hasn’t been kind to him and Shiki. Satoru is definitely looking a little ragged, and his clothes are significantly tattered. But despite that, he looks down upon them with glowing eyes, calm and confident–

A single blink. His composure wavers, and breaks.

Then, he’s standing right in front of Suguru. The suddenness of the motion causes the dimension-hopper to startle, taking half a step backwards–

“… Suguru?” Satoru –and there’s no doubt that this is all Satoru, even if he’s not Suguru’s Satoru– frowns. His Six Eyes gleam, sharp and analyzing. “No. You are, but you’re still not…”

“Bit of a long story,” Tsukumo cuts in. “In short, this is Geto Suguru from another world parallel to ours, where he decided to go the path of teaching like you did instead of bloody revolution.”

“Can you please not put it that way?” Suguru rubs a hand against his forehead, distinctly pained.

“What? I think that summary explains things pretty well. Right, Gojo?”

Satoru hums, straightening up with a thoughtful sound. “Huh… from another world, you say?”

“Sensei!”

“Sensei!”

The students finally catch up to them, swarming around Gojo-sensei like excited puppies. It warms something inside Suguru’s chest to see them like this –the students of this world are (understandably) wary of him, given his alternate self’s actions, but it’s clear that they care for and trust their Gojo-sensei.

He’s not surprised, when Satoru pulls him aside for a private chat, eventually. If the relationship that he and his sister had had with their Suguru was anything like what he had with them back in his world…

No, Suguru definitely isn’t surprised.

It’s also a good chance for him to ask his own questions, because this confusion has been gnawing at him for a long time. “How did Kenjaku get the drop on you, with Shiki watching your back?”

The familiar-unfamiliar man tilts his head. His lips move, forming a single question that makes Suguru’s blood run cold.

“Who’s Shiki?”

[scaryscarecrows]

Hallucinations

Jason never likes dealing with Crane, but he really didn’t appreciate the bastard slipping a needle into the soft spot in his armor. Either he got lucky or he knows way, way too much (probably the latter, because Scarecrow’s an observant bastard who’s been in the Bat-bullying business for too long), but it doesn’t matter which it was.

That wasn’t his worst trip. No self-harm. Seemingly no harm to others, not that it would have been a loss. Just. Just a final burning out of weakness. It was almost worth it.

Almost.

What he could have done without was waking up in a chair with hands on his wrists that, for a terrible moment, felt kind. But then he’d opened his eyes and Scarecrow had been looking back at him with those cold, calculating eyes and for a second he’d been Robin again, facing down a monster.

But only for a second. He’d come to his senses fast enough and sent Robin packing, shoved Crane off him and managed to stand up. He hadn’t fled, after. It had been an abrupt leaving, yes, because the conversation had been over, but he wasn’t fleeing.

Even if it looked like it. Appearances can be deceiving.

He’d been glad, though, to get back to base where it was safe and warm. Somewhere where he had control of the situation. He’s not entirely sure how he made it back, but it doesn’t matter now. If he’s quietly grateful to be surrounded by normal-enough people who probably aren’t going to drug him, well, that’s his business, isn’t it.

“--some of the guys broke into a vending machine and confirmed the soda in there is still fine,” Drouot’s saying tiredly. “I don’t know why they did that, but it wasn’t worth stopping them.”

“The soda,” Jason confirms. “The earthquake soda that’s been down here for a couple of years.”

“Yep.”

God. He goes to the trouble of assembling one of the finest armies in military history, and the idiots drink years-old soda that got buried in an earthquake.

Sometimes he wonders why he bothers.

He looks towards the ceiling, sighs, and looks back.

And nearly throws up.

Drouot, who was fine two seconds ago, is a lot less fine now. Half the skin on his face has been peeled off, revealing splintered bone underneath, and his body’s riddled with bullet holes. One arm is hanging on by mere sinews and the other’s outright gone.

“Deathstroke got a little too happy with a hand grenade,” he continues, the broken teeth clacking together. “So that was…not good.”

Jason can’t answer. Drouot shrugs, coughs, and spits out a gob of bloody maggots. Behind him, a swarm of roaches scurry up the wall and into the vent.

“Joker’s been sighted two blocks south, but Riley went after him, so I don’t think he’ll be a problem for long.”

No. No, no, no, Joker’s a Do Not Engage–

Joker’s been dead for a year.

–it’s not safe to handle him, none of them know what he’s capable of–

“And Frank’s just about got the drill done, he said to come down there when you got back–boss?”

Jason blinks. Pulls in a ragged gasp. And wishes he could rub his temples.

Drouot’s fine. No bullet wounds, no visible skull. No roaches behind him, either.

Joker’s dead, isn’t he?

“Where’s Dylan.”

“Running a training session over at the construction site.” Drouot sounds mildly concerned. “They left when you did.”

…

…

He remembers now. They’d split for one of the construction projects and he’d headed to Chinatown. Joker is still dead. No roaches. Drouot probably can’t shrug off a hand grenade, and certainly not with that kind of damage.

Motherfucking Crane.

“That’s right.” Thank God for the modulator. It hides the shake in his voice. “It’s been a long night.”

“Mm.” Drouot takes a drink from his water bottle. “You up to looking at the drill?”

On one hand, no. He wants to go to bed. On the other hand, he both needs to look at it and doubts he’ll sleep anyway.

“Yeah.”

It’s Scarecrow’s fault. He knows it is. But he has to check.

“Deathstroke didn’t drop by, did he?”

“No, should he have?”

Oh thank God.

“No. Just making sure.” He rolls his shoulders and inwardly winces at the crackle. “I don’t completely trust him.”

“Then why is he here?” Drouot complains. “He’s a dick!”

That he is, but Jason’s pretty sure Scarecrow’s a bigger one. Pretty sure.

“Contingency, Drouot. He’s a damn good contingency.”

“F’you say so, boss. But he’s still a dick.” Drouot frowns and squashes a scurrying cockroach under his boot. “I think we oughta spray again. These fuckers are everywhere.”

“Tomorrow.” Jason looks at the horde climbing the wall again and wonders if they’re real or not. “Tomorrow we’ll get on that.”

THE END

[eddiediazismyhusband]

no because actually my expectations for this season are so fucking deeply in the negative rn and that just made them go down even lower bc what the fuck do you mean it’s just a swarm of bees

who the fuck sat down and thought “okay we’ve had earthquakes, a tsunami, a dam break, hackers, a capsized cruise ship in a hurricane, a blimp crashing into a stadium……… yknow what we need? a bee swarm: nothing else… just a bunch of bees. Bc that’s worthy of a possible multi-episode arc!”

i really really really hate to feel like this but genuinely this show has been going downhill since s5 and nothing has given any signs that they are actively attempting to bring back the quality the show used to have…. which is disappointing as fuck seeing that tim minear actually used to think things through and put in effort to create a strong story but now he just sits there throwing shit at the wall and going with what sticks

between that and trying to shoe-horn in random ripoffs of old movies into the show bc he wants to be hitchcock or something, even though hitchcock actually had the capability of coming up with original and compelling narratives whereas tim just wants to milk out cheap drama by torturing these characters with needlessly convoluted and repetitive arcs that don’t advance their development whatsoever, therefore not earning any narrative payoff for the stress they put on the audience.

i understand this show is a drama, but tim used to actually put thought into things; now it feels like he’s just writing shit to write shit rather than actually putting in the effort he’s getting paid fucktons of money to do…

i’m fine with this show being a drama but the drama needs to actually have a point and stop. just running a hamster wheel, and if you’re gonna market something as a major season-opening disaster then MAKE IT WORTHY OF THAT not just a dumbass bee swarm that was so fucking predictable from the first teaser of the season

anyway, rant over with. i’m done w this show until something promising actually happens bc i don’t watch this show to see them getting endlessly tortured for no reason other than ✨drama✨ i’m sick of them dragging their feet and these characters having zero development every fucking season bc KR said “fuck development” in s5 and for some reason tim minear is continuing that trend

[ladelinee]

Authors note: I can't believe I finally finished this part! I struggled with finding inspiration 😫, but I'm happy that you can enjoy it now! If you have any suggestions about what you'd like me to include in future parts, feel free to DM me 🖤 Enjoy!

Word count: 3,7K

Warnings: Negative thoughts, teasing, kissing, touching, +18 language.

“All shook up”

(Part 3)

The air was buzzing with excitement as Elvis prepared for his show backstage. With a soft hum, he sang improvised songs while his stylist meticulously adjusted every sequin and stitch on his jumpsuit. The intricate patterns on the fabric hugged his form, enhancing his stage presence. As the room filled with the murmur of conversations and equipment, Elvis remained poised and cool, ready to electrify the audience with his performance. It was a moment of pure anticipation, and you could feel the energy crackling in the air.

Joe entered the room, panting but trying to appear calm. "Hey E, how are you?" he asked.

Elvis turned around with a smile but sensed that something was off. "Hey Joe, everything alright?" he asked.

Joe hesitated for a moment before delivering the news that Elvis was dreading. "Well, I came to speak to you about this... Priscilla is on her way to see the show. She wants to surprise you."

Elvis's face immediately dropped at the mention of his wife's name. He knew that this could cause some trouble. "What? Ya're kiddin’ me, right?" he asked, trying to downplay its importance, but his nervous laugh betrayed his anxiety.

Joe's expression turned serious as he shook his head, "No, Elvis. She's really coming," he said. "I know we agreed to only have wives on opening and closing shows, and I tried to stop her with that, but she's determined to see you. She wants to make sure you're safe after the earthquake."

Elvis sighed and rubbed his face with his hands, looking irritated. "I know, Joe... I know the deal. Damn it, I didn't keep her in the loop.”

Elvis couldn't help but think about Y/n's beautiful face, which had been a nice break from his usual routine lately.

A staff member suddenly entered and informed Elvis that only 15 minutes were remaining until the start of the show.

Elvis nodded at the staff member. "Alright. I'll be there in a minute. Thank you"

Elvis let out a heavy sigh as he turned back to Joe again. “Ya know what, Joe, I was really hopin' to see y/n tonight. But now, it's lookin' like Cilla might just stay on over. Guess I gotta handle this whole thing right now”

“Hey, have you lost your mind?" Joe exclaimed. "There's no way you or any of the guys can leave now to deal with this, Elvis. The fans are swarming the building, trying to find their seats, and the media is everywhere. It's chaos out there!“

Elvis groaned and shook his head, thinking and walking in circles. "Damn... you're right, Joe.”

Suddenly Elvis walked towards the phone backstage, feeling his heart racing with anticipation. He pressed the dial button and tried to contact y/n's office. He thought that cancelling the date would be the quickest way to find a temporary solution.

"Damn it all…” Elvis let out a frustrated groan as he heard nothing but silence on the other end of the line.

"Mr. Presley, you have 10 minutes left." The staff member announced.

Elvis started feeling anxious and decided to resort to a plan B.

“Hear me, Joe. Hunt down that son-of-a-bitch Red, and instead of him playin' bodyguard tonight, send him for a minute to go and tell the girl this…”

Elvis thought for a moment and finally, with a snap of his fingers, he came up with a message. “Alright, just go on and tell her things got switched around. Tonight I'm dealin' with somethin' else, right at the last minute. Make sure she knows I'll ring her later to explain and I'm real sorry, ya hear?”

Joe nodded in agreement and began to head towards the door when Elvis interrupted him again.

“One last thing, tell Red to be gentle with her, will ya? At times, he's rougher 'n a bull in a china shop” Elvis sighed and ran his hands through his hair.

“Priscilla is getting on your nerves. Am I right?” Joe playfully teased Elvis to lighten the mood.

Joe's voice caught Elvis' attention as he looked up from his thoughts "Ya got no idea how much... I just want this night to be over, damn it" he said.

…“5 minutes, Mr. Presley”…

Elvis's demeanour changed, and he became laser-focused on giving his fans the performance of a lifetime. It was clear that nothing could stop him from delivering his best.

—————————————————————

“Seat 5, row B, on the right – get ready for a night to remember!” I exclaimed with contagious enthusiasm, guiding the last fan to their seat.

The night was so busy that every employee helped with the crowds coming to see Elvis. Time passed quickly, and the more time went by, the more nervous I became. "Only a few more hours until midnight" I whispered while hugging myself inside the furry coat that Elvis had given me.

As I began a daydream, my mind filled with fantasies and exciting scenarios. I wondered if Elvis would want to grab drinks with me, or maybe he would suggest we go to a secret spot. My mind ran wild with imaginations of all sorts.

My hands began to shake, but not from the cold. They were reacting to the sound of the applause and music coming from inside the showroom, a clear sign that Elvis was on stage. I couldn't help but smile to myself, feeling incredibly lucky at the thought of seeing him later. My body was responding to the nervous excitement, and my

smile seemed to light up the whole lobby.

My thoughts completely caught me off guard when I looked towards the front of the lobby and, to my utter surprise, there stood a stunning woman. Her graceful movements, almost like a model, along with the security team that accompanied her, were walking directly towards the entrance of the showroom.

It was Priscilla Presley.

I was so shocked that I couldn't find the right words to respond. I even missed the chance to welcome her myself. Thankfully an employee intervened, and she entered the showroom.

She made me question how on earth I thought I could ever stand a chance with Elvis. At that moment, I felt so small… and I was still wearing the coat that Elvis had given me, probably as a way to compensate me for the inconvenience rather than anything more significant.

As I was still trying to process the situation, a loud voice suddenly drew my attention. I turned to see a tall and red-haired man standing next to me, who I could only assume was Red West.

“Y/n? I have a message from Elvis” He asked. I could sense the weight of his words, especially given that he spoke on behalf of Elvis.

“Yes, it's me. How may I assist you?” I replied professionally. I waited nervously, unsure of what he would say next.

"He can't make it tonight, he is busy dealing with something more important, Have a good night, miss" Red said before rushing to the corridors leading backstage, without a chance for me to even reply.

The sudden change in my status from something special to something insignificant had sent my anxiety levels soaring, and I felt a hundred daggers piercing my stomach. The coat I was wearing began to feel heavier, as all the joy and excitement it was bringing me was suddenly drained away. I had been nothing more than entertainment for Elvis all this time. How stupid I was!

The sound of Elvis's voice filled the air. The lyrics were hitting me hard. The pain was too much to bear, and I knew I had to leave. As I walked away, the words of the song echoed in my mind, and I couldn't help but feel crushed and devastated.

“Do you gaze at your doorstep and picture me there?

Is your heart filled with pain, shall I come back again?

Tell me dear, are you lonesome tonight?”

At 4 pm, a new shift started and I found myself in front of the mirror once again. I applied concealer to hide my dark circles as I had barely slept the night before.

I stepped out of my office and walked over to do the daily check before attending to Elvis and his wife, a thought that made my heart ache.

"Oh la la! My dear friend!" Alex suddenly jumped out from the corner as if he were a tiger on the hunt. "Wow, what are those dark circles? Did your secret admirer make them for you?" he asked with a mischievous smirk as if he were fishing for information.

"I really don't want to get into it. He just cancelled everything, end of story" I said, my voice betrayed a hint of hurt.

I anticipated Alex would show some compassion towards me, but instead, he said:

"Look, I've never seen you like this before. First off, you're a top-notch pro. Let's not let the guard down now. Second..." Alex began sprucing up my hair and tweaking my jacket. "Dress to impress, so he kicks himself for what he's missing. And third... guess who left the hotel this morning?" Alex revealed with a sly grin as if he had the inside scoop on last night's drama.

Without even having a say in the matter, I was instantly swept up in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. My expression became a mix of confusion and curiosity. Before I had a chance to voice my thoughts, Alex broke in.

"No time to waste!" he declared firmly, noticing that I was puzzled. "Elvis is up and asking for you. Please go! I will take care of the daily check" he assured me with a determined tone, urging me to focus on the immediate priority rather than being distracted by other matters.

"Oh, you really know how to keep the gossip alive, don't you?" I mumbled under my breath, a smile played on my lips as I headed towards the elevator.

Alex just shot me a friendly smile and gave me a wink to cheer me up. I nodded my appreciation and walked into the elevator, heading towards Elvis's penthouse.

“So I got up and walked out in that… hallway

Had my flashlight and my gun in one hand

I looked at that big chandelier hangin’ over the dining room table…

That son-of-a-bitch was shakin’ man, back and forth”

As I opened the door to the penthouse, I could already hear the sound of Elvis's voice coming from within.

When I stepped inside, I found Elvis sitting in an armchair with his back turned, dressed in black. The jumpsuit he had worn for the concert the previous night was on the floor, and the room was a little messy with some beer cans in the living room area.

Elvis continued talking on the phone until he finally noticed my presence. He said a quick goodbye to the person on the other end of the call and turned his focus to me.

He appeared to be quite pleased with the sight of me, though I could see a small glimpse of guilt on his face for having cancelled our plans the previous night. He didn't speak right away, probably awaiting my response.

“Good afternoon” I said smiling. I knew my role. The last thing I wanted to do was make this scenario personal. So, I maintained my professional demeanour, waiting for Elvis to speak first.

“Darlin’. M’sorry for cancelling our plans, last night was not easy, trust me.” Elvis said, regretful.

“It’s fine, Mr. Presley, I understand. I hope you had a nice time during the show with your wife.”

In return, I remained cold, maintaining my distance. It seemed that Elvis was getting anxious as he realized that I had no intention of engaging in any emotional connections with him.

Elvis seemed quite surprised by me calling him by his last name. "Darlin’, call me Elvis." He insisted.

I remained stoic, calmly replying "Fine, Elvis."

Elvis, worried about my answer, stared at the floor and then continued “Listen, Cilla ain't supposed to be showin' up here. Our marriage ain't going well, believe me. We ain't even sharin' the same bed”

I couldn't help but wonder whether what he said was true or just a lie. Although I wished it to be true, it seemed too good to be true. When faced with a challenge, I chose to respond boldly.

"If your marriage isn't going well, why are you still with her? " I asked. "I knew from the very beginning that you considered me as just an entertainment" I continued, letting my bitterness and frustration show.

Elvis got the point straightaway. “The main reason I'm still with her is all 'cause of my little girl, Lisa. She’s everythin’ to me. I… I love comin’ home and seein’ her pretty little face waitin’ for his daddy." Elvis explained while he walked towards me.

He held my chin gently in his hand, and his piercing gaze locked into mine. He stood so close that his towering height made it hard for me to even see the window behind him, casting a shadow with his broad shoulders.

“And…from the moment I saw ya...” he said, his voice low and steady. My heart raced as he continued, “…I felt somethin' special. That's why I argued with your boss to keep ya. Y/n, ya are very special to me, I can't deny it.” He said. My breath caught in my throat as I realized that the feeling was mutual.

"Is that true?" I asked with disbelief. I couldn't believe the words coming from his mouth. As he drew closer, my heart started pumping even harder. His presence made me weak. I was hopelessly drawn to him.

“I’ve never been so honest in my life, darlin’”

As I was still processing the weight of his words, Elvis swiftly reached out and held my face with both hands, bringing me into a deep kiss before I could react.

The kiss was filled with passion and hunger, almost as if we were both finally giving in to what we truly desired. I felt overwhelmed by the suddenness of his action, but I couldn't resist the feeling of attraction and passion I felt for him.

In the closeness we shared, my senses started to heighten. I could feel the warmth of his breath on my cheek and the firm grasp of his large, soft hands on my jaw. The familiar, sweet and musky scent of his fragrance, evoking memories of our first meeting, caused a tremble throughout my body.

One of his hands slowly slid down my back, as if a hissing snake was running over it. His hand stopped at my butt, grabbing it with desire. His movement was so powerful that he almost lifted me off the ground, slamming me against him.

I moaned into his mouth.

Elvis paused and looked me straight in the eye, making me skip a heartbeat. His blue eyes were filled with a mix of desire and affection.

"Goddamit, baby, do that again," he requested, his voice almost breathless with excitement. He looked down and noticed that he was hugging me so tightly that my breasts were pressed against his chest, and he let out a subtle groan of pleasure.

"I think somethin’ is in the way," Elvis said with a sly grin, now looking at my jacket. My face couldn't help but turn red, the blush of shyness and heat filling my body. His looks and his gestures were becoming more and more sensual and teasing.

Elvis gently removed my jacket, letting it fall directly to the floor. Meanwhile, his lips were close to mine and attempting to bite me. I couldn't help but moan softly, as he requested previously, when he grabbed my breasts by surprise before he finally managed to achieve his aim of biting my lip.

“Oh my… “ I added. I was starting to feel a tingling in my core. His warm and big hands grabbing my breasts with a possesive grip made me feel like in heaven.

"Baby, I can stop if ya want me to" He suggested with a cheeky smirk, while his hands moved down to my shirt and slowly unbuttoned it, his focus shifted to my black bra and looked at it with parting lips.

"No, please... keep going" I replied, my voice became more urgent and needy. I needed his touch, his caresses were like a drug to me and I couldn't get enough.

The manly smell and the roughness of his skin after having shaved yesterday were enough for me to notice the wetness of my panties.

I started kissing and licking his neck vigorously as if begging him for more.

"Oh fuck" he moaned under his breath. We both knew what was coming next, as his bulge hardened against my stomach and Elvis' eyes, gleaming with a hunter’s glint, turned hungry as they fixated on my bra. His hands moved swiftly and decisively, grabbing my breasts with urge and pulling my bra down. His gaze was fixed on my breasts and he was making no intention of stopping any time soon.

My breasts were still bouncing from the sudden movement Elvis made when I felt his warm breath and soft lips on one of my nipples, and my whole body began to tremble.

He kissed them softly at first, passing his tongue around, making me grab his black hair, and whine softly. That reaction convinced him to take it to the next level, and he started nibbling, getting them hard and giving me an even more intense pleasure. Right after, he pinched them and rolled between his fingers, making my breathing become heavier.

I started feeling my clit growing slowly and throbbing. I couldn’t help but rub my thighs together. Elvis watched how I was doing it with a naughty and amusing smile that slightly curled his lip “Hhm, There ya go.” He added.

He started playing harder with my nipples, turning them red. I was about to gasp when he grabbed my neck, taking control of my breathing.

I could feel Elvis’ pants tightening around his crotch area, and he started to buck his hips against me in a slow and sensual dry-humped motion. His breathing was heavy, as he was focused entirely on the sensation of my body and the friction he was making.

The mix of Elvis’ lips just inches apart from mine, mixed with the sound of his growls and his breath hitting my face, was overwhelming. The warmth of his hand on my neck, reddened nipples, and the heat caused from his bulge were driving me wild, the pleasure was too intense to handle at once, all while Elvis was enjoying my gestures and keeping his eyes piercing into mine.

I began to caress his bulge, and my eyes widened in surprise when I realized his length and how hard it was. Immediately I pulled his shirt towards me, eager to kiss him. He leaned back and avoided the kiss, laughing softly and teasingly.

“Well, well…look at ya. Miss Prim and Proper’s gone and turned into a little ol’ thing yearnin’ for me. So am I forgiven?" he said, his smile revealed that he was enjoying my attempts to get closer to him, and I couldn't help but feel desperate for more.

"Oh, Elvis...You're so..." I sighed, blushing but at the same time hungry for more.

Elvis removed his hand from my neck, and grabbed my butt once more. “So… what, darlin’?”He asked with husky and teasing voice while his hands started moving down to the edge of my skirt, slowly lifting it up and showing a glimpse of my panties.

Right before I could reply or he had the chance to peek beneath my skirt, a sudden knock at the door halted everything.

“Housekeeping, may I come in, please?” The voice from outside asked.

It seemed someone had noticed Elvis was awake, and sent them in to clean.

As soon as we started hearing the knocking on the door again, Elvis turned his head to look at the door, then at me. And I just froze. "Oh god, no. No, no, no!" I exclaimed in panic, my face turned pale. "They're going to come in anyway, and they'll see me like this"

Elvis laughed softly, leading me to the wardrobe. He said "Don't ya worry, we'll be hidden in here for a while. Come on, let's hide!" He took my wrist and helped me step into the wardrobe. When we were inside, Elvis kept laughing softly as he shut the door. “Well, ain’t this a pattern? We’re always endin’ up in these tight, shadowed spots.” He said.

He positioned himself behind me, my heart was racing. “This is not funny, Elvis,” I whispered while hiding in the wardrobe. I was terrified of being caught and fired.

As the housekeepers opened the door, I peeked out through the gap between the wardrobe doors and saw my jacket on the floor, with my name tag on it.

“Right, Mr. Presley is not here; I want the room impeccable,” a lady in a suit said before leaving the room.

Oh Lord, that was Angelica, Doris’ boss. That housekeeping manager hated me for no apparent reason, and if she catches wind of this, my career will be over.

The employees began cleaning the room, and my heart pumped with fear. “They’re going to see my jacket” I said, worried.

Elvis, standing behind me, grabbed my waist and pulled me closer, covering my mouth with his hand. “Shh…It’s okay, darlin’, ya work for me now. We’ll figure somethin’ out,” he whispered. “By the way… this ain’t over,” he added softly, his voice filled with desire as he finally brought his free hand to the front part of my panties.

The rush of thinking we might get caught, mixed with Elvis's touch, sparked a whole new excitement in me.

Today's shift was shaping up to be a real rollercoaster.

Need to recap? Part 2 here

Part 4

[hiding-in-the-vault]

I would love to know more about the cave au. Why are the cave more dangerous now? Who's death Dream managed to get safety for bringing them back?

And because I'm a huge fantasy dwarves and fallen london fan : how did the architecture change? Is it safe to build underground or is everyone nomadic now? How is the food situation?

Long post oh boy!

The cave au is kinda like taking Dream's original mention of a "world altering event" and making it very literal. In minecraft terms, I'd describe it like the cave and cliff update installed overnight except on amplified mode. All of this is because there is so much imbalance™, that's the overworld is behaving erratically.

Most of the shifting already occurred underground by the time they noticed something was wrong. But things shifted a looott to the point where what they had explored had been altered or displaced, and what now expands below dwarfs their existing tunnels in comparison. So to answer the first question, it's essentially uncharted, for one. For two, the mobs are acting as unpredictable as the earth is, swarming the tunnels en masse. But more importantly, the longer theyre down there, the longer this goes on, the more the mobs get altered themselves. (which originally was so i can say hey more things glow now :) pretty!) But now, we're talking like massive spiders in every classic work of fantasy. I'm mulling over introducing new things here too, for flavor. (like those mods with the huge centipedes ughuhg) Maybe a warden or two gets displaced and starts wandering the tunnels, who knows! On that note, sculk is probably on the rise as well and they need to be careful about keeping it from getting too close.

As for who dies-- ngl, I haven't decided 100%. For what it's worth, this is only the First death, not the only one. I've been thinking one of the teens, as they seem most likely to wander too out from camp and get Got by something. First I thought Tubbo, but I don't really want Tommy to have to ask Dream to bring him back. (not like he'd do it alone- the entire group wants to avoid casualties) Then I thought Tommy, but discduo can't hog limbo forever, right, we've been there and seen that! My desire to not repeat things that already happened in canon vs whatever actually feels most likely, FIGHT!!

I haven't put too much thought into generated structures yet, like the dungeons or ancient cities, but I would like there to be some change there as well. It'd be coooool. (shaking your hand, i loove dwarven architecture) The walls of the caverns themselves often have a stretched feel about them. A looot of stalactite and stalagmites, on massive scales. I'd say it is safe enough to build, once they find a place that feels fitting- a cavern big enough for them but not too big that they'll have to share it. Water, nutrient rich dirt, existing vegetation preferred, etc etc. But even then, the caves do still shift on occasion. Basically earthquakes that will require them to do some repairs and plan structures around, but it's possible! They think, anyway :D

And finally food. They go in prepared the best they can. A lot of them has massive farms and lots of animals, ofc. They can't drag too many animals into the caves with them, but they prepared as much food as they could before going on, with intentions to start new farms once they settle down. Lots of potatoes, yay for Dream! And Some the underground lakes have a surprising about of fish in them. In all the uproar above ground, there was a lot of flooding, but many of those bodies of water pooled underground as well, taking the fish with them. This becomes a bit more reliable as time passes as well, as the fish adapt.

I'm kinda rolling with mobs very short life cycles and using that to explain why they change so much faster. Also Magic™

[tmwcs]

S E 7 E N : L E V I A T H A N P A R T 5 I VE

Warnings: oral sex (female receiving), reptilian features during oral sex, intimidation, use of force, mentions of torture, death, rape, and cannibalism, murder, insulting religion, characters going against God…I think that’s it.

The cult members merely stood in shock and fearful awe, processing the poetic riddle as Jake revealed his true identity, Leviathan, one of the Seven Princes of Hell, associated with the deadly sin, Envy. 

He didn’t budge his posture as he remained standing with the superior stance of having his feet shoulder width apart, his arms crossed as he makes eye contact with each cult member. 

It was at that moment you noticed the level of the ground starting to shake, as if an earthquake was breaching the city. It grew more intense at a rapid pace.

Paired with the raging waves of the ocean, there was a horrendously loud sound that emerged from the water. It was a screeching echo mixed with a roar that you’ve never heard from any other animal. 

Jake smirks as he maintains his glare, tilting his chin downward, he slightly turns to your direction and extends a hand out for you to grab onto. 

“Beautiful mortal daughter of God.…come over to my side.” He smiles. 

Taking his hand, he gently pulls you over in front as he wraps his arms around your waist and lifts his hand to cradle your chin. 

Slightly tilting your face upwards and tilting it to the side, off into the view of the wide ocean, he bids you to watch. 

“Witness what I can do…” 

You leaned back into his chest, your muscles shake at the sound coming from the sea, it was getting louder and the waves grew larger and stronger. 

“We-we’ll all drown! Those waves! They’re coming right towards us!”

“Get the Senator out of here! Quickly!”

As the men scurried and tucked the Senator away into the vehicle, the remaining regulators who stood by watched in disbelief and horror at what emerged from the water. 

You couldn’t lie, you also were stricken with fear for a moment. It drew its body out of the sea as it flowed through the waves, levitating, it continued its motions as it swam through the air, circulating around the tall buildings…yet all the infrastructure in the city couldn’t compare to its great size. 

“My pet…” Jake smirks out as he tugs on your waist. 

The creature continued to flow gracefully throughout the city, up high, it remained just below the clouds as it effortlessly tangled itself around the city buildings with its elongated and serpentine form.

Screams and chaos ensued in the city as the public all swarmed, hiding away for safety and cover. The creature roared and screeched, it’s thunderous sound effect caused glass to shatter, buildings to rattle, and the clouds to dissipate. 

“Listen here you morons!” Jake exclaims to the members who remained behind as the senator’s vehicle drives off. 

“Remember this, you and all who are like you, are so far from God. You praise his name yet you disrespect it in the unholiest manner. You believe yourself to be led by a noble leader, but take my warning with strict value…if anything should happen to y/n….I will personally see to it that the city and all who reside within it is devoured. Don’t even get me started on what HE would do…the world will cease to exist, and you all will face him in Hell…every single one of you.” 

The members all shook and froze in fear as both, Jake’s words and the monstrosity of the demon lurking through the city nearly caused them to lose pulse. 

Scattering as they hurried away, dropping their weapons and migrating deep into the suburbs, they disappeared like roaches. 

Smirking once more, Jake looks up and watches as the enormous serpent swiftly, with incredible speed, dives back into the sea. As the last bit of its form submerges and disappears into the depths of the water, the waves die down and the water returns to a placid state of tranquil ripples.

“Let’s go back princess.”

…….....

Just as Sunoo did, Jake stayed with you all throughout the night. You can’t recall what time you went to sleep, for the moment you both reached your apartment, he started up your shower and undressed you. 

“Let’s get wet….come here."

...............

Stripping you of your clothing, he follows suit as he guides you in the shower. Plastering your back against the tiled wall, he kneels down and loops one of your legs over his shoulder. 

With the sweet kisses of his lips, the metal lip ring pressing up against your skin as he sucks on your clit, thrusts in his tongue and explored you inside and out, causing your body to go limp.

Continuing on with his oral performance, he went on for what must have been hours, your body was reaching the painful tingles of overstimulation as you grabbed onto his hands, his hair, and his shoulders. 

“I-I can’t! Please…n-no more!”

“That’s too bad princess…Heeseung has a lot of stamina, we gotta get you up to speed…unless you want that type of pain…." he pauses as he performs a slow and painfully pleasing lick up your slit.

"trust me...you don’t want that." he finishes.

You screamed out your moans as both your bodies remained drenched from the sprinkling shower head. 

 “Just learn to overcome it…it’s going to help you in the long run….besides…" breathing against your clit, he gently taps his lips with gentle pecks as he speaks in between. "you taste really good.” 

Making sweet love to your entry with his mouth, you couldn’t recall when or how, but at some point while you were still inside the shower, you had passed out. Though it wasn’t too far from him finally reaching a finishing point as you heard him whisper out just before your vision grew dark…

“Not too bad. Longer than I expected…you’ll do fine with him….sweet princess....” 

A gentle kiss on your inner thigh was the last thing you felt before suddenly waking the next morning. 

…….

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