#favion

[sasster]

Civil Matters

I guess that’s that then, huh? [doc] —

Very few trolls can attest to having seen The Restorer outside of the grounds that his safe haven of a city occupies in the many hundreds of sweeps since the passing of his predecessor. If asked after it, he might say there is simply no reason to exert any power over the remainder of his region; they have always more or less followed the norms of the area immediate to the church and its surroundings. Even fewer trolls have seen him move with any more passion than his typically relaxed gait, if his very recent worrying after his son went uncounted.

All of this nonsense feels to him as though it somehow started seconds ago and has been going on for many many sweeps at the same time. Whenever it started, he would like to see it end now, a thought that might have lent itself to why he moves with such swiftness behind enemy lines.

When he enters the Church of the Divine Dreamer, the yellow blooded priest falls short mid-sentence. His wings twitch, and Ailzea supposes that he is in search of the right thing to say in the face of their territory’s overseeing purple blood deciding on a surprise visit. Behind the frozen priest, the Goddess he preaches in the name of tilts her head at the sight of the newcomer.

Then she smiles.

The gathered congregants' heads turn to catch sight of the disruption.

“Father Restorer! Will you be joining us for service this evening?” She asks brightly as her brother bristles.

Ailzea nods his head. “Please forgive my tardiness. It is quite a bit out of the way from my own home.” He says and then takes a seat at the back.

Promptly, the attention of the congregation returns to the priest at the pulpit, whose visible eye darts wildly between them and someone unseen at the other end of it.

The godling closes her eyes and settles back in, while her brother clears his throat, taking a moment to recalibrate his thinking and relocate his center. He begins to move again, there is something familiar about the way he carries himself that fills the Restorer’s mind with a weight that he is uncomfortable with carrying.

Cylion suddenly smiles.

“Yes, thank you for joining us, Father Roatus! It is truly an honor to have you.” Clearly not one to let an opportunity slip through his claws, the yellow blood places those same hands down onto the lectern with gusto, and sweeps his gaze over the crowd in a manner that suggests hunger. He practically laps up their attention. “In times of uncertainty, even other religious leaders make the time to visit our Dreamer.” A quiet murmuring starts to spread among the congregation, from what Ailzea listens in on there is a range of reaction in the small gathering that ranges from doubt to astonishment. To him it seems that Cylion really grew into the perfect little priest that Ailzea’s own predecessor looked for within him. At least someone came to learn from the brute. A shame about everyone catching strays as a result of that learning.

“The dream world that you know of is a bridge between the divine and mortal worlds,” he continues, explaining what must be an introduction to the religion for new comers. There is a nervous edge to his movement as he gestures to the furnishings and decorations that resemble or allude to Nymira within the chamber. “And our Dreamer is a gift from the Divine, sent here to show us and teach in its name the ways we can become closer to it…”

Behind him the Goddess sits motionless, save for the swaying of her tail fanned out behind her. What a massive undertaking for such a young troll. The pair of them must be under tremendous stress.  Trollkind was never meant for the burdens of godhood, but damn do they keep trying.

Cylion continues to ramble on in his indoctrination and Ailzea finds himself drawn to the artwork of the young Goddess, allowing the light blues and dreamlike qualities of the pieces pull him away from the sermon. It is a wonder she doesn’t feel completely smothered with all of this attention, that the only pressure she claims to feel presently is the way her brother has started to behave.

He will not get a better understanding of the situation until the three of them sit down for a real conversation. Four if Favion chooses civility. Ailzea is unsure that it’s something he is capable of these days, however. A conversation to have with Weaver when this has all ended.

There is a sudden, almost flighty, tap on his shoulder that serves as a welcome interruption from the thought of his old friend’s descent into madness, and he turns to give his full attention to that disruption. He trades the view of beautiful artwork, depicting scenes of the whimsical and fantastical, for an uneasy looking troll with a bowl cut. Arkiro would find that juxtaposition hilarious.

“Can you come with me?” The disruption mumbles under the priest's lecture, and Ailzea can’t tell if those pupil-less eyes are on him or the speaker at the far front.

He casts a look to the Dreamer before he responds. Nymira gives him an encouraging smile. Somehow, despite the circumstances, she still believes her brothers operate on goodwill. He nods and stands to follow the troll that stands in front of him.

They walk until they reach a part of the compound that seems a bit more residential, their slice of land surely impressive and no doubt a result of Favion’s masterful use of manipulation tactics when he’s in his best mind. 

“Cylion will speak to you in here,” the troll with the bowl cut says as he leads him into a dining area flanked by two closed bedroom doors. It is all he’s said the entire trip. “In the name of privacy.” He explains.

“I understand. Thank you.”

Then his escort moves to exit the way they entered, but Ailzea speaks again before he can get very far. “Will the elder Lefera be joining us as well? 

He freezes in the doorway and seems to wince or shudder at the thought.

“Yeah, I’ll,” a pause. “I’ll check on that for you.”

A curious response, but not one the Restorer can fault him for.

Favion is not a troll to be invoked lightly.

Some time passes before the young priest finds his way to the room that Ailzea waits for him in. In that time, Ailzea has found himself regretting not bringing something with which to keep his hands and mind busy. Though he dares not craft under that savage of a man’s roof. The ghost of a horrible memory looms somewhere in the back of his mind. He sighs it away.

Cylion enters the room briskly, already having tugged the collar out from his shirt, the sunflower from his eye, holding each in his hand as he pulls the rest of his ceremonial garb up over his head to reveal a tanktop underneath. The ceremonial clothes seems to Ailzea to hide much of the bulk of the yellow blood’s wings, but his under shirt allows him the freedom to stretch them out. Which he does.

He discards his accessories on a counter on his way to where the Restorer sits. Finally, he gives him his full attention.

The eye contact fills Ailzea’s head with an uncomfortably pregnant fog.

“Father will not be joining us.” He asserts.

It must be that he is over the original shock of the Restorer’s presence enough for the coolness of his facade to have taken root again. Something tells him that it was in the name of that facade that he was sent away in the middle of the sermon.

“I am afraid my visit largely concerns your father and his recent behavior, regarding my children and otherwise. I would like him to be in attendance.”

Cylion’s nose nearly scrunches, almost twisting his face up at the mention of children, but he stops himself partway through. Ailzea imagines the protest of Marrie as a child dying on the tongue he sucks against his teeth.

Cool neutrality returns to his face. “We are deeply sorry for that–”

“Favion will join us. Nymira as well.” There is a level of force alien to even Ailzea that the words leave his mouth with. “Please.” He amends.

The younger priest’s mouth clamps shut with an audible clacking of his teeth, clearly unused to his authority being challenged. “Father is unwell. And Nymira must rest.”

“Cylion. I am no longer asking.”

Something familiar that isn’t forcibly repressed in the Restorer’s mind bubbles behind Cylion’s eye and just below the surface of his features. Ailzea’d seen that look long ago, hundreds of times, just before Favion would do something reprehensible.  The expression passes over the younger Lefera like a ghost.

At least he has some level of self control.

“Of course.” He grits, takes a moment to step away to give the instruction to Bowl Cut at the door, and returns to sit near the Grand High Blood finally tossing his weight around. “It would be easier with me.”

“I am not looking for easy. I am looking for finished.”

Cylion shakes his head and averts his gaze to his own perfectly manicured nails, tongue sucking against his teeth again. “You’re as stubborn as Archie.”

–

Nymira arrives first, also changed into clothing designed more in the name of comfort than presentation. She practically floats ahead of Bowl Cut as they enter.

The two yellow bloods exchange an indecipherable look as the godling crosses all the way to the side of the table the Restorer sits at.

“I’m so happy you made it, Father Restorer!” Her enthusiasm as palpable as one brother's dread and the other’s anger. “Did you enjoy the service?”

“I did, thank you for having me.” He looks at the brothers for a brief moment and then returns his attention to her. “I have been thinking about our conversation, my child. How does some time away from home sound to you?”

The silence that wraps itself around the room as the question leaves his mouth is as thick and impenetrable as the block that prevents Ailzea from properly focusing on the winged yellow blood.

“She can’t just–”

“I will not force you,” Ailzea continues once Cylion’s bewildered, close to the tipping point, voice pierces through the blanket of silence. “However, there is a space for you within my walls should you choose to take me up on that offer.”

Nymira stares back at him with eyes wide and shaking, bright shimmering pools of black that could suck him in with her desire if he wasn’t careful. She chews on the idea, her gaze shifting from the elder priest to the younger, then back again.

“Nymira-” Cylion’s protest is quelled as quickly as it starts by a wave of Ailzea’s hand.

The Goddess fidgets.

“Father Restorer,” her voice catches and he waits for her to find her balance. She chances a glance at her brother, he stares back as though he means to bend her to his will with his mind. She shrinks. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I trust that your brothers will handle business while you are away.”

Now it is Ailzea’s turn to put the full brunt of his attention on Cylion, the younger priest does not flinch in the face of it, a stormy look taking hold of his own features. Both sets of wings flare and fold in on themselves in time with the breathing he fights hard to regulate.

Cylion exhales hard through his nose.

“Father Roatus,” he begins, silver tongue searching for a line to pull. “There are people here that rely on her here. She can’t be taken from her people.”

“That is a decision she will make when she has had her rest, should she choose to take my offer.”

Cylion opens his mouth to respond, but he pauses. His attention is somewhere else, brought toward the entrance to the room, by the sound of a low thud that spills into it. All eyes fall on Favion as he crouches into the doorway.

Immediately the elder Lefera’s attention is grabbed by the sight of Ailzea.

He breaks into an uneven grin.

“Favion,” Ailzea acknowledges him with a nod. “We were just discussing Nymira’s break from her duties.”

The hulk of a yellow blood stops just beyond the threshold and grips the doorframe, he works his jaw for a moment. Then he speaks.

“Interesting proposal,” he gravels, the words struggling through a rock tumbler before falling out of his mouth. “My sprout stays here.”

“It is not a request.” Ailzea asserts as he stands up.

A rattle of a growl shakes loose in the beast's chest, Cylion and his brother look between each other, Nymira takes a step behind the Restorer.

“Favion, I only asked you here so that your children are not made to explain to you what has occurred.” The Restorer turns his attention to the godling and nods again in her direction. “The decision is hers.”

There is a sharp snap, and a crack begins to form along the door frame from beneath Favion’s massive claw, then another silence descends on the group. The silence vies for dominance over the new wave of tense atmosphere that smothers them. Nymira says nothing, shrinking from her father and closer to the purple priest when he lets loose another growl and steps further into the room. This time the growl is punctuated by the sound of his teeth grinding together.

Cylion’s anger looks right at home on his father’s face.

Beyond the ferocity, Ailzea finds something else mixed into it. Something that he cannot place.

Not on Favion’s face, anyway, the way his lips always twisted into a fierce snarl ready to rip someone apart. Beyond that, there was something soft. A tenderness.

Love. He thinks. For his daughter.

And here she was hiding away from him.

“Nymira?” Ailzea asks softly, tearing his attention away from the hulk. “What do you say?”

“I would like to go with you.” She responds in a voice meant for a mouse, unable to rip her own eyes off of her father’s threat display. “Just… For a little while.”

“Sprout,” Favion advances, enough that Ailzea can make out the age which aids the deterioration that mars the yellow giant’s face. The ghost of a fearsome sneer finds itself locked behind the gentle expression he wears like a mask to look at his daughter with. “Why?”

There is a lull, the Restorer looks from Favion to his descendant behind him. The winged troll looks furious, staring coldly at his sister, once against doing his best to control her with that steely gaze.

Ailzea turns slightly to obscure her from his view.

Nymira breathes, he feels her grab hold of his robes from behind.

“Father,” her voice wavers. “You hurt my friends and everyone was ready to lie to me about it! Cylion has been cruel and he…” She hesitates, Ailzea imagines that she might’ve brought up Little Friend but thought better of it in present company. He is grateful for this. “He let a bad man take me away! To teach me some sort of lesson. He made sure I would forget things… That his words meant more to me than my own thoughts. That’s no way to treat someone you care about!” The words rush out of her quickly, a poorly made dam coming down in the face of her flood of emotion.

Favion stands statue still, teeth grinding all the while he processes the information. It would take a moment for him to catch it all even on his best day. Behind him, Cylion cannot help the growl that thunders from his chest. Bowl Cut fidgets with the edges of his shirt.

“I just need somewhere to breathe. Please, Father.”

Ailzea speaks before the broken yellow blood finds use of his mouth again. “Go, Nymira. Gather your things.”

“Okay. Thank you Father. Thank you, too, Father Restorer.” She says breathlessly and takes the long way around to the room’s exit so she does not risk crossing the path of her explosive brother and frozen father.  Her failed prophets.

When she is safely out of the room, all compassion leaves Favion’s face. His expression twists into one of pure animosity, then his lips part into a snarl that brings Ailzea back to all of those daymares where his children are mutilated right before his eyes.

One of the brothers makes an involuntary sound.

The yellow blood advances on him, claw angled to grab him up by the horn.

Ailzea sighs.

“Favion. I have had enough of this!” Once again, the force that Ailzea manages is alien even to himself. “If you cannot behave civilly, return to your chambers!” This time his own voice rings loud in his ears, leaving behind the echoes of all the times in his youth that he’d been on the receiving end of one of his predecessor's tyrades.

He sounds just like Matere Roatus. That man’s voice on Ailzea’s tongue leaves a metallic taste behind. How many times was that line used on him, followed by the destruction of something dear to his heart?

Ailzea would never stoop so low.

When he refocuses on the scene in front of him, the beast of a troll has already fallen still. He stands in a neutral position, perhaps awaiting an order. At the same time, the pair of brothers have found themselves on the other side of the kitchen, not keen on a bath of blood if it came down to it.

“Favion, you will let her do as she wishes.”

Favion grunts, and though he appears to comply, contempt poisons his features and taints the air between them.

Cylion opens his mouth to protest, anger paints him in a grim light, but Ailzea shoots it down with a glower of his own.

“The game is done. Nymira has made her decision.”

[roetrolls]

Warnings: Um. Gore. Lol. Mainly the bone breaky type.

Mad Dash

This isn’t the first time Archie has woken up tied to a chair. He can feel his faculties returning, but his eyelids are slow on the uptake. Fighting the exhaustion in his limbs, the purpleblood rolls his shoulders and lets his head lull back, taking a deep breath as he tries to force his eyes open.

He’s remarkably calm for the situation, but then, he’s never been one to panic. He’s still waking up when a hand roots itself in his hair and holds his head in place, a blade coming to rest against his throat. That’ll perk a guy up.

“No funny business, got it? I see your eyes start glowing, you’re dead.” His assailant gives his head a jerk and Archie grunts in response.

“Fuck... Be gentle. M’tired.” He squints in the light of the room, grimacing slightly. Before him stands a goldblood, his god-awful haircut only slightly less notable than the pitch black pools where his eyes should be. “Hell d’you want?”

"I'll ask the questions," Somnia grits, his voice lending far more gravity to the situation than it frankly deserves. "What were you doing in my sister's room?"

"Your sister?" Archie slurs, brows inching together in confusion as he racks his foggy brain for context. It washes over him slowly, more a trickle than a pour, and he chews each word thoroughly as it leaves his mouth. "That's right. I'uz lookin' for your sister."

Somnia's empty eyes narrow. "Funny. I remember telling you not to do that."

"And I 'member tellin' you I'd do it anyways," he bites back, evidently more irritated by the rejection than he'd realized. Really though, what kind of brother turns away help when his sibling is in trouble?

The memory is coming into focus now, though not as sharply as he'd like. Weaver had finished Marrie's arm, right? Then it was back to his hunt for the missing godling.

He'd teleported without checking the destination. After half a week spent battering his powers against the strange psychic block that seemed to be blanketing her, Archie wasn't going to risk waiting when a clear vision of Nymira finally appeared before him.

And then he woke up here, lashed in this asshole's kitchen with a knife against his jugular.

What happened in the interim?

He doubts he'll get any answers from Somnia. Even without pupils, Archie can tell the goldblood is glaring daggers at him. Nothing but drama, these guys.

He can feel Somnia's tension plainly, carried through his hands and straight into the blade that threatens him, but the purpleblood is shockingly nonplussed. In fact, Archie is about as relaxed as Somnia is stiff, a fact that only loosens him further.

"First time?" He croons.

"What?"

"Look, we can take it slow if y'need to. Your first time holdin' a guy at knifepoint, I mean... It oughta be special."

Somnia stares at him, doing little to hide his disdain, and Archie offers a salacious grin in response.

"S'matter, baby? Not feelin' it?"

He wrinkles his nose, though he has little time to rebuke the taunt before another voice joins the fray. Dressed down more than Archie has ever seen him and looking exceedingly fed up with the commotion, Cylion steps from one of the adjoining bedrooms into the kitchen.

“Don’t answer him,” the winged troll grunts as he passes to the sink. “He’s just being annoying.”

“Plenty enough to go around.”

Cylion rolls his eyes and turns his back on them, Somnia’s interrogation now accompanied by the quiet clinking of dishes and steady pulse of water from the faucet. 

“Do you have to do that now?” Somnia huffs, angling his head towards Cylion.

“You put him in the kitchen. I’m going to use my kitchen.”

Archie studies Somnia with an intensity typically reserved for admiring his father’s craftsmanship, trying to assess where exactly those tarry eyes are pointed. Is he looking at Cylion or at him?  Could he get away with using his powers right now?

“Sounds like y’want me outta your hair,” Archie offers cheekily, watching for a shift in Somnia’s focus. What does that look like? “How ‘bout we pick this back up some other time?”

Cylion tosses a sneer over his shoulder. 

“Couldja least call off Ringo here? This whole hostage game seems a bit excessive.”

“Does it? You’re not exactly predictable.” He turns his attention back to the sink and shrugs. “For all we know, you were behind Nymira’s abduction in the first place.”

“Man, c’mon.”

“It happened outside your church, didn’t it?”

“You think I’m in league with Persep fuckin’ Lycaon? I ain’t that kind of crazy.”

Cylion’s wings twitch slightly, though he neglects to respond. Archie sighs, glancing between the brothers as he speaks.

“Look, I see the play. I get it. You got no clue what you’re gonna do with me, right? But your hands’re tied. You warned me once n’ I still came back. Can’t let your threat be empty, so now you gotta play warden.”

Both Somnia and Cylion seem to stall, the latter raising his head as if to listen for something and the former’s grip becoming less incensed. 

“Let’s just skip to the part where you tell me to fuck off n’ stay there, yeah?”

As if to punctuate––or perhaps mock––his mild attempts at diplomacy, a thud spills into the room from outside, soon accompanied by a quiet shuffling by the door. Archie realizes then, all too late, that he is not the one giving them pause.

Favion must crouch to enter the kitchen.

Once he is past the threshold, the hulking goldblood straightens his shoulders and grinds his jaw, eyes locking onto Archie as if he is something to be consumed. The clown shifts against his bindings as Favion lumbers closer, his sons watching on with shocked faces and bated breath.

Despite the danger he knows Favion to pose, Archie greets the man with a glib smile. “Aw, shucks, a petting zoo? You didn’t tell me this was a party!”

One massive, clawed hand stretches forward to grab Archie by the chin, fingers pressing into his jaw with frightening strength. When he opens his mouth to fire off another taunt, Favion’s hold grows tighter, sending a flash of white-hot pain searing through his skull.

He grits his teeth, bracing against the mounting pressure of Favion’s crushing grip. Then something crunches, audible to Archie from the inside out, and the taste of blood floods his mouth. 

Archie grunts, a lipless noise set somewhere between pain and surprise, breath rattling as he tongues the bone fragment now sticking through his inner cheek. Favion rumbles his pleasure, jaw clattering in a crude mimicry of the break.

“No jibes this time,” he gravels, tugging Archie from the chair by his shattered mandible. 

The transition is less than gentle. The violent motion sends a mouthful of blood washing back towards Archie’s throat, and the purpleblood suddenly finds himself choking on it as Favion begins to drag him from the room.

With a sputtering cough, he flings his roped-up hands towards the monster’s wrist, scrabbling to dig his nails into flesh in hopes of alleviating at least some of the pressure on his broken jaw. He gurgles around the blood still seeking entry into his lungs, heart pounding more from adrenaline than fear.

Favion carries on unbothered, tugging Archie to the door in slow, lumbering steps. Cylion and Somnia, on the other hand, appear absolutely horrified, both pale in the face and looking more than a little sick. He still can’t tell where exactly those eyes are looking, but Archie is almost certain Somnia meets his gaze before he is unceremoniously pulled from their view.

He doubts either of them will get much sleep.

---

Archie is no stranger to pain. Hell, he sometimes goes looking for it––getting his ass kicked might as well be one of his favorite pastimes.

This, though… 

He can’t exactly call this fun.

A brutal pop echoes through Favion’s dungeon of an abode, one more in the long list of sickening sounds to come from Archie’s body tonight. The pain in his jaw has ebbed somewhat at least, fading into background noise amongst the litany of other injuries he’s incurred. Favion holds him to the wall with a hand against his throat, at this point doing more to keep him standing than his own legs, and Archie wheezes softly around the blood that’s made a game of encroaching on his lungs.

The lack of air has made him lightheaded––too much so to focus––but he’s fairly certain he has not suffered any loss of consciousness while Favion has had his fun. None of his injuries seem a mystery to him, at least.

The one he’s just acquired is a freshly mangled arm, bones snapped at the elbow and shoulder wrenched from its socket. It’s a miracle the thing is still attached at all. Favion releases the limb to fall limply to his side, and Archie brays at the sudden motion. 

This is a bit much, even for him.

Even without the man’s nullifying psionics in the way, Archie doubts he’d be able to activate his powers in this state. He can barely picture where he is, let alone imagine where he wants to go.

Being unable to see his family doesn’t strike them from his thoughts, however.

Sorry, pops. I think I really fucked up this time.

A wet cough paints Favion’s wrist purple. The other hand aims above Archie’s line of sight, and soon even his inner monologue is silenced by the excruciating pressure that blossoms through his skull. He barely has time to guess what the man is doing before a snap fills the air, sharp and crisp, and Favion draws both arms back to admire the bloodied horn within his claws.

Archie slumps to the floor, groaning as his battered body folds in on itself. 

Looming over him and shrouded in darkness, Favion works his jaw until it forms a smile, the hunger in his eyes finally replaced with cool satisfaction. He ponders his prize a few moments longer, then shifts his gaze back to Archie, voice low.

“Run home, little Roatus.”

Archie’s eyes widen. He wastes no time in staggering to his feet and limping towards the stairs, breathing heavily as a trickle of blood begins to blot out the vision in his left eye. He clutches his shoulder and braces his back against the wall, practically floundering up the steps as Favion calls after him once more.

“Run home.”

---

There is no moonlight on the street. 

A thick blanket of clouds stamps out both moons, and Archie is left with only the soft glow of the streetlamps to guide him back.

Does he know his way?

Has he ever needed to?

When has Archie walked anywhere?

He teleports. He teleports ten, fifteen, twenty feet at a time, flashing forward only as far as his unmarred eye can see and stumbling into each leap like he expects to collapse. Blood pounds in his ears, faster than he’s ever felt it.

Dad.

He can feel his breath picking up as his surroundings become more and more familiar. 

I need you, dad.

He sees it. Just a few blocks away, standing regal and proud, Archie finally sees the church. A guttural cry rips itself from his throat, and he blips onwards in a rapid succession of bursts to fling himself up the steps to his home.

There, standing at the threshold to the House of Restoration, Archie grips the ornate handle and, for the first time in his life, stumbles through the door.

The next minute is a blur. Someone screams. Another races down the corridor shouting for the Restorer. Archie barely acknowledges the whirlwind around him as he blunders on, mind dazed and body beaten. 

Then Ailzea is in front of him, collecting Archie mid-collapse with worried hands and a hurriedness that marks yet another first for the night. 

A million apologies rush to Archie’s tongue, all of them dying on his broken lips.

Ailzea shushes him, cupping his battered face and smoothing his bloodied hair. Then, with a fervent kiss upon his forehead, Archie’s father snaps his neck.

[mik-mania]

i love storytime TOLD BY SPEC <3

(somnia -> @roetrolls) (favion -> @sasster)

[soliyl]

the biggest thing ive ever drawn for artfight! ive always wanted to take a crack at that one poly meme and Chary's characters were perfect for it ♥

[byrdstrolls]

man i feel like chase planning something big for the favion reveal

[sasster]

If Little Friend even hints at him being mean, Cylions giving him to Favion for enrichment.

Fuck Cylion. All my homies hate Cylion.

[dany-bug]

So I was cleaning out my art desk and I found some old species sheets from like 3 years ago...i kinda like them

[camiene]

“NEW SONA REF JUST DROPPED!!!!!!!!!”  -- hello . its me . ya boy (friend)  jk . i realized my old sona ref was LOOONGGG overdue and i wanted to! yk! redo it after like a year   for roleplay purposes n shit ... my sonas name is cameron / cornelius !  they solo ur favs <3 

[wildorcaaviation]

Favion Kitty appreciation post. I had this lil guy for 14 years, from the end of April 2004, until May 7th of this year. I miss him...he has been my best friend...at times ONLY friend I had, during some very trying periods of my life. Sadly, last month he was diagnosed with hyperthyroidism...making his metabolism ridiculous fast, changing his behaviour, and making him lose half his weight before we knew what was wrong. Also, the cost of feeding him we t up drastically, as he noe NEEDS to be on special food for the rest of his kitty life. We couldn't afford to keep up with that. :( I signed him over to the local cat rescue society, as a last resort...but I know he's going to be okay. I just wish he was here...I miss my furry blanket!!!

[youreallyshouldtalkmore]

Unfreeze my Heart_Part 3

A.N:  An 7 part angst filled   AU eventually VentixReader, happy ending fanfic. That’s it!

Genshin Impact MasterList

----

You stared up at the Statue of the Seven under the tree at Windrise. 

Why did your feet lead you here? 

They always seemed to, especially after speaking with him. You knew the Knights of Favionous were becoming less trusting of you. Your commissions had greatly decreased as they feared you were becoming a threat to Mondstadt. With fewer commissions, you were beginning to have fewer distractions as you made your way towards Stormterror’s Lair. 

Before you felt conflicted, your commissions were being completed less and less. Now that you were having virtually no commissions, it was one of the last barriers you had. 

Now your feet pointed to Stormterror’s Lair once it set foot out of the gates of Mondstadt. You would disappear for days, only to stay wrapped in his arms, listening to his words. 

You owe them nothing. 

They don’t trust you. 

Even when you arrived, they didn’t like you. You can see the clear difference in the way they treat Aether and you, so you being a Traveler has nothing to do with it. 

They can’t understand you, and so they fear you. 

You can’t feel any warmth, and they refuse to give that to you. So why don’t you help us. Help us burn it down, and then I promise you will feel something. 

You will feel warm, and your heart will beat…. 

Even now, as you sat in Jean’s office, his words rattled in your head. You picked a spot on her desk and stared at it. You were never good at eye contact. Jean folded her hands as she took you in.  Kaeya, Diluc, Amber and Sister Rosaria littered the room. 

You’ve finally been caught for the first time by Sister Rosaria as you returned from Stormterror’s Lair. Since the Abyss Order had moved it with him at the head, Abyss activity had increased. This led Sister Rosaria to investigate the matter and found out about you. 

You hadn’t exactly been trying to hide anything. 

Jean finally spoke, her voice soft, “Please speak to us, Y/N. Why were you there? Sister Rosaira mentioned that the hilichurls and Abyss Mages didn’t even do anything to you as you entered and exited. Please explain this matter.” 

You were silent. 

Sister Rosaria added, “Then there was a strange man that moved in. I managed to ascertain that he wields a Pyro vision. Have you been seeing him? Who is he?” 

You were silent. 

Sister Rosaria growled, “I won’t keep repeating myself.” 

You gave a sigh and turned your head in Sister Rosaira’s direction, “What exactly do you want me to say?” 

“Are you planning to do something to Mondstadt?” asked Diluc bluntly.  

“Why would I?” you mumbled. 

Amber’s voice was gentle as she took a step towards you, “Y/N, we are just concerned. You have been going to Stormterror’s Lair a lot lately. A growing center for Abyss activity. What are you doing there?” 

Siste Rosaria snorted, “It’s obvious she was meeting that man. It’s obvious he’s part of the Abyss Order, so the question is why?” 

Kaeya spoke up for the first time, “Let’s not be too hasty.” 

He had helped trained you and had grown very fond of you, but he realized very quickly that your emotional meter differed greatly from them. He had never seen you give a genuine smile and what’s more, your eyes. Your eyes looked lifeless, devoid of any real warmth. It disturbed him, but he was willing to try to coax you out of this shell you lived in. That was why he wasn't so quick to blame you. 

What if the Abyss Order was using you for something? 

He caught Jean’s eyes and, ever perceptive, he knew that she realized the same as well. 

“These are very simple questions.” Diluc stated, “Is she a threat to Monstadt, yes or no? That is why we are here. However, if the Knights of Favionius are incapable of getting to the bottom of this, it wouldn’t be the first time.”

Kaeya couldn’t help the grin, “No need to break up old wounds. At least, not right now.”  

Amber glanced at you in concern, “Still, we shouldn’t be so callous though.”

Diluc growled as his eyes bore into your frame, “Just know, Y/N. That if you ever decided to harm Mondstadt, I will with not show you any mercy.” 

Though you were not looking into his eyes, you felt the heat of his words. But then strangely your lips quirked. A shiver went down everyone’s spine. 

Even Diluc’s. 

—---

You had continued to go to Stormterror’s Lair despite their repeated warnings. 

This time was no different, but as it was becoming habit you didn’t feel like returning to Mondstat, so you came to this Statue of the Seven under the tree at Windrise.  

The city of Mondstat was losing its glow to you. Even there, you felt eyes on you. More and more people were becoming wary as word seemed to get around quickly about your escapades to Stormterror’s Lair.  How you weren’t sure.  

But what did it matter when your head felt as though it was going to split open? 

What did it matter when you were searching for something even you couldn’t understand? 

Why, why was it you felt something akin to warmth with a man from the Abyss Order? Logically, you knew it was wrong, but you could never seem to stop going back. 

Even when you walked down the road to Springvale your thoughts would yell at you. Sometimes you would cut through Wolvendom and other times continued down the road through Dawn Winery to Stomterror’s Lair. 

You know this is wrong! 

You are losing everything you’ve been given in since arriving to Mondstadt. In a while they will not even look your way. You will be an enemy of theirs. 

You should tell them. 

Tell them what? Tell them how? I don’t know how. 

But is he really warm? Is he really what warmth was? He holds you and looks at you, but is that warmth? Does it do anything to move your heart? You are still just as dead the day you arrived. 

Then maybe I should die.

You fear death, you know that. Death is just as eternity of a chilling embrace. Is that what you want? 

“Is it what I want?” you murmured, starting unseeing up at the statue. 

You didn’t expect an answer, but you did get a response. 

“How long….?” came a soft voice, “How long do you plan to do this, Y/N?”  You looked to see Venti had once again appeared out of nowhere sitting on the rock next to the statue. 

You stared at him for a long moment. Why did he always seem to appear before you? It boggled your mind. There were even moments when he appeared to you when you were at that crossroads: 

You stood at the fork in the road. Either turn back to Mondstadt, go straight to Stonegate or, left to Dawn Winery or right to Stormterror’s Lair. 

But that paled in comparison to the fork in the road of your heart. 

“Please don’t go, Y/N.” 

You turned around to see Venti stood behind you, his eyes sad as he looked at you. 

You looked at him dully. 

“You don’t have to do this. It’s not too late.” 

He was only concerned for this country. You thought. As the Ameno Archon, he only cares for Mondstadt. This display has nothing to do with you. 

For some reason, a sense of rage filled you. Your nose widen, and you turned your back to him and chose to go right. 

You didn’t see Venti lift his hand as if to stop you. 

You didn’t see his hand clench into a fist after a moment. 

You didn’t see his sad eyes. 

And you certainly didn’t see the lone tear that made its way down his cheek. 

Part 4

[glazelilyy]

Hello luce! It’s been a hot minute. My brain has been a little empty lately, with… bleh. School work. I’ll never get quite use to homework, and my grades will suffer all the more for it. But in any case. How have you been lately?

Recently, the Mondstadt reputation rewards caught my eye. I’m curious about the NRE and the portable waypoint. I could just look it up or whatever, get the experience there, but then there wouldn’t be much of a point of playing genshin on the first place for me. That all aside, how do you like fishing? Ive been really enjoying it, but I feel distaste for the long respawn times of the fish. I wish it was like, only one real life day instead of three. Did you participate kn the Lunar Leviathan event?

Do you have any tips for expanding vocabulary? I’ve been trying to check thesaurus’s word of the day, along with other dictionaries, what advice you have on it if any?

I don’t have any good transitions for this, but here are some Kaeya hcs I came up with on the spot.

-Kaeya putting his cape on your shoulder when he has to leave the room. People staring at him incredulously, “The Calvary captain??? Without his signature cape???” “That’s Sir Kaeya for you. He gets uncharacteristically sweet when ever his s/o is around,”

-Kaeya coming to work in braids because you braided his hair while you two were cuddling that morning. Adamantly refuses to take it out unless it’s by you at the end of the day.

-memorizes your favorite takeout orders, every side, every specification. Then, when you need comfort food, he’ll be able to bring your favorite food to you with no hassle.

-begging you for attention when he’s bored. “Y/nnnnn, you’re so cruel… coming so late to pick me up from the angels share… hold me, y/n… I’m so incredibly touched starved from your missing presence..!” It’s all playful, of course, but he hopes the genuine affection for you isn’t lost in translation. Because after a stressful day of work, you really are all he needs.

-I like to imagine that if you were a knight of Favionous, on some days, you’d be able to talk to Jean and take over most of Kaeyas paperwork, giving him a break. He’d be startled, wondering if the small pile of papers on his desk is a trap, as if when he finishes it the more typical pile up to his neck will appear. He’ll scold you for it when he finds out- he’d really rather be the one taking the extra stress instead of you, after all, he’s use to it- but those days you help him split the work are the ones where he realizes now much he was in need of a break.

-🎃

🎃 nonnie!! hello hello hehe how are you? :) i'm doing pretty well myself, thanks for asking! booo i hear you on school, but it'll get better! it's only september after all and everyone's still adjusting :)

ooh i've had the nre for a while, it's a bit of a life saver (especially for me who relies on zhongli's shield far too much HAHA) but the game will always be there for you to play at your own pace! take your time and enjoy what you like best about the game :)

fishing? honestly i really like the mechanic HAHA it's sort of like animal crossing (i used to play animal crossing new horizons A LOT before i got into genshin) and fishing was always my favorite part in ac! i also like the pretty fish in genshin eeeee i really wanted this gorgeous looking crystalfish but i was fishing in an event pond and couldnt pull out the fruitpaste bait :( i'm glad you're enjoying it too!! but like you said, i hope the respawn times can be fixed!

hmm, i found that my vocabulary was best expanded the more i read. i'd find new words and remember them when i'd do google searches for more intriguing words. additionally, you can substitute a word in your writing with a suitable one that you find on thesaurus.com or onelook.com! it really depends on how much you like reading and what methods you prefer best: in the moment stuff or long-term expansion of vocabulary. either way, don't worry about rushing! take your time and find words you like the best :)

WOOHOO HEADCANONS WITH THE BEST BOY!! :D

- kaeya without his cape is like klee without her hat LOL but he'd sacrifice his appearance if it meant you'd stay warm >:)

- YES AAA he doesn't care if he looks ridiculous or whatever, his!!! s/o!!! braided!!! his!!! hair!!! and no one but you is going to take it out >:) also putting flowers, barrettes, and hairclips into his hair with his permission OOOO HE'D LOOK SO PRETTY :D

- he'd also just memorize it because when the inevitable "what do you want to eat" "idk what do YOU want to eat" scenario happens, he can just go and get your favorite since it's his favorite as well now >:)

- awww yes YES he's like a puppy that needs attention AND HE DESERVES IT MWAH MWAH HE DESERVES SO MUCH AFFECTION

- this!!! :( i think he'd definitely appreciate the thought and would cut himself some slack after tasting some relaxation in a long time :D and he might just prefer working with you opposed to working alone since you make for good company ;)

thanks for your messages and hcs 🎃 nonnie!! i absolutely adored them ehehe >:)

[sasster]

Here There Be Witches

Once again, we are moving things forward! With another brief trip to the past? Hm. [doc] tw: needles, the sewing kind but piercing skin/blood is involved —

As much as the Reverend enjoyed galavanting through the halls and grounds under his thumb, reveling in the fear that wafted off of his following in droves, he also enjoyed retiring to his quarters with the blinds pulled so tight that the sun itself couldn’t penetrate their security on a cloudless morning. He perhaps played too into the role he occupied on those nights, when he soaked in the magnitude of his power in total silence, in the deep brooding dark. It never bothered him much, how on the nose his behavior ended up being.

Despite that being common knowledge among his following, it must have been that someone never received that memo, for very quickly the door to his bedroom was opened and the light made even faster work of flooding out that darkness and infringe on his peace. Accompanying the disruption was a soft voice, one he could never muster anger toward, that replaced the silence just as effectively.

“Matere,” the intruder spoke gently, and her voice quelled the irritation that bubbled up within him instantly. There was a specific sort of exasperation that carried along to the tune of her voice. His beloved crossed the room and sat on the bed before she continued. “I have been searching for you all evening. We need to speak.”

“Weaver, my love, you always have my ear.”

This much was always true, there was never a time where he would leave her to feel as though she’d been ignored. He’d also, unfortunately, never been known to respond to criticism. Weaver pursed her lips while she considered her approach.

“What troubles you?”

“I need to know what you are doing to that poor boy. What is happening to him?”

Now it was his turn to chew on his thoughts, and as he did, he shifted to place gloved hands on her shoulders. Being made to answer for himself and his actions, as rare of an instance as it was, would surely have ended differently if the inquiry had fallen from another’s lips. She knew this as well as he.

“Ailzea is fine.” He finally responded, keenly aware of how much she cared for his disappointingly passive descendant. He gave her shoulders a firm squeeze. “There is nothing to worry about regarding him.”

Weaver pulled away slightly and turned to face him, disappointment of her own painted on what little of her features that could be seen by the light of the hall. “Favion. What have you done to Faivon?”

Almost as soon as the question left her mouth, the Reverend barked out a surprised laugh. One that was born both of shock and genuine humor. There wasn’t a soul in the whole wretched city that would use the word poor as a descriptor for that beast of a yellow blood. Not the young man that spent his evenings prowling after smaller and weaker willed trolls. It would be a delusion, a mistake, to consider that boy a poor thing by any stretch of the imagination.

Matere had a list of other, much more suitable descriptions: Repulsive, disgusting, vile— To name a few.

Weaver was clearly not as humored as he, signified by the way the witch fully pulled away from her partner to instead stand by his bedside, hands balled into fists at her sides.

“Matere, this is not a laughing matter.”

“I would hardly cast pity upon Favion Lefera, animal that he is.”

She shook her head and crossed her arms over her chest, with a nasty scowl a clear indication to her mate that she well and truly meant business.

“What did you do to him? Why is he getting more aggressive? Especially if you find such animalistic behavior to be beneath you.”

Matere felt himself grin, gloved hands clapping together to get the attention of the attendant from the hall. He, of course, did not consider the aggression of his little pet project to be beneath him. He was, in fact, extremely happy with the results of tampering with the boy. He wouldn’t give it up for anything, not even the peace of his mate.

Her ambivalence would be missed, however.

“I will show you.” He said when the attendant appeared in the doorway. “Bring Favion to us, quickly,” he commanded and watched as they practically flew down the hall in compliance. “You will not like it, and I sincerely do not believe that it can be undone.”

Weaver frowned at the taunt, but the pair were both well aware that even if it could be, it would only happen over the Reverend’s dead body.

—

The Restorer was not one for rushing. He never so much as broke out into a brisk walk, regardless of what it was he was attending to. That being the case, it was a head turning spectacle when he made quick work of covering the distance between his chambers and the front doors of the church upon hearing of Weaver’s arrival. Not quite a run, but enough to get the attention of any of the followers that happened to be along his path.

It was the juxtaposition of his typical placid expression coupled with the urgency that piqued most of the curiosity.

She met him at the door, before his arrival, she was nearly a statue, his only rival in a competition for stoniest expression, but her doe-eyed apprentice more than made up for her lack of excitement. The smaller of the two purple bloods was flitting about the entrance, gaping at the high ceilings and marveling wordlessly at the stained glass.

When Weaver saw the incesed priest approach, she broke into a grin of her own. “Ailzea, please forgive me that I could not come sooner,” she offered her apology quickly and enveloped him in a hug in the same instant, stooping a bit so that the hug was not distorted by their difference in height.

“That you found the time to come at all means all the world.” He replied in his usual cadence, unchanged by his mad dash to meet her at the door. “I see you bring a friend.”

“Ah, yes. This is Spider, my apprentice. The experience will be invaluable for her.” While they spoke of her, the pair turned their gazes to the young troll to find her staring up at the priest with stars in her eyes, mouth wide open. “I hope that this is alright with you, Ailzea.”

Never one to mistreat the youth, Ailzea untangled himself from his elder and greeted the young witch with a wave. “Of course it is no trouble.”

Spider pumped a fist up in triumph, much to the amusement of her mentor.

“Please, follow me.” He instructed as he began to lead the way back to his study, “My children are already waiting on us.”

The walk back to the study was uneventful. Beyond Spider’s occasional asking after what corridors would lead to which rooms and the priest obliging her curiosity, it featured only the elder trolls catching up on their lost time. Occasionally, Spider ran ahead of them to get a better look at a stained glass piece or old painting, ghosting fingers around their edges in reverence, then waiting for the entourage to catch up.

“She has quite an eye for the arts.” The priest observed.

“It is all she talks about outside of her studies.”

When they arrived at the study, Ailzea led his guests to where they were met by his children as promised. The two young Roatus’ were seated at his work table, scrutinizing the project he’d left abandoned when Weaver was announced.

“I’m thinkin’ it’s another mantis.” Archie said after straightening up from inspecting it closely.

”It’s not always going to be a mantis,” Marrie argued, letting her fingers trail at the base of the figure.

“A man can’t dream? Need another one to display my collection.”

Marrie rolled her eyes.

“It is going to be a giraffe,” the priest announced their presence with the clarification. “I will happily make you another display piece afterwards.” He promised and Archie grinned in response.

“You spoil him, you know.” Marrie said and gave her brother a playful shove. “That’s why he’s like that.”

“It cannot be helped.”

Archie only returned her shove with a mischievous grin. “Who’sat with you, pops?” He indicated the witch and appearance with a small gesture.

“This is Weaver, an old friend that may be able to help us with Marrie’s arm.” As he spoke, he looked down to then introduce Spider, but found that she’d already made it her business to inspect his daughter with gusto.

Though she did not touch her, she openly marveled at the craftsmanship with which she was put together.

“Please forgive my curious Spider,” Weaver said softly, stern gaze on her apprentice. “She finds the magic in everything.”

Marrie only giggled. “That’s not something to apologize for! It’s a good thing. I’m Marrie, this is Archie.”

Her brother leaned back against the table, his attention now on the witch that stood near his father. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Whadya gonna do for Marrie?” His inquiry was a simple one, but he was only successful in hiding the anxiety behind it from the pair he’d just met.

“Straight to the point. He is certainly a Roatus.” Weaver could not contain her smile as she moved in closer to get a better look at Marrie and the arm that she had in a sling. “I’ve not had the pleasure of doing this on one of your father’s creations, but there is no reason it shouldn’t work — Spider, the supplies — May I?”

Spider began to dig into her messenger bag and pulled out all sorts of odds and ends that Archie eyed as she set them on the table. It was nothing that Ailzea’d never seen before, so he busied himself clearing the table to leave space for her to work.

Marrie leaned in toward Weaver and offered up her arm, Weaver delicately undid the sling.

On the table in place of the wooden figure and wood working tools, Spider placed two jars of pitch black liquids, two needles, and a spool of purple thread. Archie raised his brows at the collection, but said nothing. Weaver continued.

“It is a simple enough procedure. I will stitch life into the arm,” with a soft click, she popped it out of the socket. “Then I will sew that force into Marrie.”

“And that’ll work?”

“I should have no reason to think otherwise.”

Archie casted a worried glance to his big sister, who beamed back at him.

“Never heard of magic like that.”

“You have my word, there is nothing to worry about.”

—

The Reverend was not a patient man. Even his matesprit could not wiggle her way around the shortness of that fuse. He sighed behind her as she examined the yellow blood.

“Matere, you need not breathe over my shoulder while I work.”

When he made no indication that he’d be leaving, it was her turn to sigh, but she continued moving. First she dipped the needle into the jar of liquid before her. Then she raised it to her eyes for inspection.

The entire thing and long trail of thread tied to it glistened in the light of the Reverend’s study.

“Favion,” he addressed the boy that sat obediently in front of her with the back of his neck fully exposed. The boy responded with a grunt. “How do you feel?”

It was not genuine worry with which the Reverend asked the question, rather it was purely scientific interest.

“Dying.” Came the gruff response. “Then undying. All the time.”

Matere hummed, one that sounded closer to a purr. He had not expected the results to be what they were, but they were a delight either way.

Inside of Favion the Reverend’s decaying voodoos fought for dominance with his descendant’s life giving voodoos, both of which dampened by the boy's own nullifying psionic ability.

Neither power, much to the Reverend’s entertainment, would stop coursing through the lowblood until they finished the job. And his natural defense mechanism would see to it that this never came to be.

He eyed the blackened vein-like fissures that crackled out in all directions on the yellow blood’s neck with a smug sense of satisfaction.

“Does it hurt?”

“It throbs.”

“Matere, your hand.” Weaver interrupted, and he complied.

She wasted no time, plunging the liquid soaked needle into his exposed flesh. It began to sting and he swallowed a wince when she pulled it out the other side, coating it and the full length of the accompanying thread in a slick of his blood.

The witch waited until it started to glow before she turned her attention back to Favion.

“This will burn the entire time, and it is not a cure.”

Favion grunted.

“But it will help with the deterioration and aggression.” It took a lot of convincing for the Reverend to even allow this level of intervention. Love being as powerful as it is. “Temporarily.”

He grunted again, which she took as confirmation that he understood. With deft hands, she began to stitch along the rotting mark left behind by her lover.

—

“S’it have to be our old man?” Archie asked, watching the witch saturate the needles and their attached threads in their own jars of the unknown liquid. She mumbled something over the set, leading them to start bubbling in their containment, before responding.

“Not necessarily. It just needs to be very fresh blood, but I imagine there is something special about Roatus blood that will be better for your sister in the long run.”

He held his wrist up to her face, when her gaze traveled up to meet his, there was something of determination in his eyes.

“Let me, then.”

Weaver smiled, then she tossed a glance to Ailzea, who nodded his approval.

“You love your family a great deal, is that right Archie?”

“‘Course I do.”

“And who am I to deny a love so fierce?”

Marrie was all smiles, hand clasped in her brother’s free hand.

“Spider,” the apprentice popped up by her side. “See to Archie.” She instructed as she lifted up Marrie’s severed arm and one of the soaked needles.

Spider fist pumped once more and very carefully took the remaining needle from its solution with one hand and Archie’s exposed wrist with the other.

“You’ll feel a little pinch!” She announced.

“Lay it on me.” He replied as his sister squeezed his hand tightly.

[roetrolls]

White Bear

“You must promise me, Arkiro. Promise you will not return to that place.”

A splash of cold water hits your face. With droplets still pooling at your chin, you lift your gaze to meet your own glowing eyes in the mirror.

You made a promise.

Braced against the sink, you take a breath to steady yourself. You need to put it out of your mind. 

Marrie is safe. Your old man already has a contact who can help get the new arm in working order. It’s over.

But you can’t just let it go.

Another deep breath. You close your eyes as your lungs expand, tapping a finger against the basin––one, two, three––before exhaling. When you look, your scleras are yellow once more.

“Promise me, Arkiro.”

“Okay. I promise.”

You lean into the mirror and sweep your bangs aside, glancing over your forehead for any new signs of horn growth. Once satisfied that you are still not an early bloomer, you wipe your face on your tank top and trudge across the carpet to topple back into bed.

You got her out in time. Nothing more to do.

“Send Ailzea my regards.”

Your palms fly to your ears as the memory resurfaces, as if you expect, somehow, to squeeze that rasping voice straight out of your skull. Your jaw is clenched so tight you might as well be trying to mimic him, the tension in your neck causing your head to shake.

He deserved worse than a single stab wound.

He still does.

“You must promise me.”

You roll over in bed, lips twitching against the snarl that tries desperately to make a home upon your face. You flex a hand, emptier than you like it, and remember the thunk of metal meeting flesh.

If you’d just aimed for the head.

More restless by the second, you turn over a second time, nostrils flaring with the effort of keeping your breathing under control. 

The way he grinned at you.

The glint in his eye.

“Send Ailzea my regards.”

He knew. He knew exactly how to hurt him, how to hurt your family, and he had reveled in it.

“Promise me.”

You have never known fear to grace your father’s voice before.

Once again, you roll over, mind flicking back to that dark, dingy room. The gouges on the walls, the claw marks, those claws he used to maim your sister.

With a growl, you slam a pillow over your head and squeeze your eyes shut, trying to will away the wet, labored breathing that permeates your thoughts. Despite your efforts, however, the sound only grows louder in your ears.

Another dash of cold water might be in order. Hoping to clear your head again, you toss your blanket aside and throw your leg out to plod back to the sink, foot coming down hard against stone.

Both the chill and the sound are enough to draw your attention, and your gaze is pulled to the floor, currently illuminated by a dwindling purple glow.

“Little Roatus,” a broken voice rattles just in front of you. “Back so soon?”

A number of thoughts buzz through your head, clambering to reach the front of the crowd, but only one can get there first.

I’m in my pajamas.

Funny. It’s always the least important thing that sticks out the most at times like this.

With that storm settling, you lift your eyes to follow the haggard form before you, stoic despite the dreadful anticipation that poisons the air. Stooped beneath shoulders that don’t line up quite right, Favion curls his lip into a delighted grin and regards you with something you can only assume to be glee.

Though you can feel your rage burning a hole in your chest, you manage to keep your voice and expression light.

“Ah, shit,” you gripe playfully, snapping your fingers. “Knew I shouldn’ta taken that left turn at Thorezille.”

His smile falters slightly.

Good. He doesn’t get your anger. You refuse to give him the satisfaction. Fuming can resume once you’re safe at home, away from this freak and the threat he poses to your father’s peace of mind. 

You don’t even bother finding something cute to say as you prepare to make a hasty retreat, far more concerned with upholding your promise than with cracking wise. A small step back places some distance between yourself and Favion, and you conjure Marrie’s image into your mind.

If anyone can keep your attention enough to prevent a repeat of this little mishap, it’s your sister. 

You’re picturing your sister.

Why is nothing happening?

You can see her face in your thoughts, as clear as ever, but much to your dismay, the world around you remains as still as death. Impassive, you wave a hand in front of your face. 

No glow.

The faintest crease finds itself a home on your brow, a mild movement lasting barely a second, but it spells your bewilderment all the same.

Favion’s face splits into a grin once more, jaw clicking as his lips part to reveal a row of flat, shiny teeth. He thinks he’s seen a chip in your armor. He’ll have to think again.

You waste no time in shifting tactics, diverting your attention from where you want to be to where you are. The yellow blood in front of you. The pull of the ground. You’ll crush the bastard under his own weight.

This time, the attempt bears fruit, proven by the faint purple light that spills out across the shadowed floor. Your adversary buckles slightly, misaligned back hunching further, and he must shift his weight to account for your intrusions in his gravity.

Then he shambles towards you, expending only as much effort as one might need to traverse a modest hill.

Again, your brows knit themselves together, confusion dancing plainly across your features. You take a step back, looking the man up and down. A question sits poised upon your tongue, lips pursing minutely to contain it.

Favion takes a rasping breath and chuckles to himself, the sound harsh in his throat.

“Is that what he would have looked like?” His smile widens, claws flexing at his side. “How intoxicating.”

One large step forward sends you back two. His movements, ragged and disjointed, are a stark contrast to your own, which remain fluid and relaxed even as he backs you towards the wall. You’ve made it through countless scuffles without using your powers, often against guys this size. The lack of a proper weapon is unfortunate, but you’re far from worried.

Hell, even if he does manage to get at you, what are the odds he actually ends it? He certainly seems the type to play with his food. And you’re a garnish if anything— what he really cares about is your father.

Speaking of your father, you oughta get back to work on popping home. Between your lackluster performance in upping his gravity and the fog that obscured Marrie the last she was here, It’s not hard to piece together what’s going on. Guy’s got psionics. They’re dampening yours.

But if you made it in, you can make it out. Might just need to work a little harder. You can manage that. 

He’s still just menacing you for now, and you use the freedom that affords you to pivot before you can be cornered, sweeping your gaze around the room.

“Pause-- is this a fucking dungeon?”

Now it’s his turn to look perplexed. You survey the room again, more obviously this time.

“I mean, shit, not even a poster or anythin’? Hell’s wrong with you?”

He grinds his jaw, something popping in the process.

“No, you’re right, that was rude,” you concede, raising both hands in supplication. “S’just not my preference is all. Different strokes, I get it.”

He grits his teeth, voice coming out in a hiss. “Annoying.”

“Hey, thanks. I get that a lot. So, like I’uz sayin’--”

You hear the hit before you feel it, the force of the strike enough to send you sprawling to the floor. Ears ringing from the impact, you raise a hand to cup your cheek and allow the sting to wash over you. When you pull your palm away, you find it slick with blood.

An ecstatic laugh bubbles from your chest.

“Fuck, brother, you pack a punch!” 

Favion halts, taken aback by your strange reaction. You pause too, realizing you’re actually going to need to get off the ground. Manually. What a drag.

“So, the aesthetic,” you start again, dotting a small purple smiley face onto the tile. “Was this always your thing, or’d that part come after you became whatever you are now?”

The growl that pours from the yellowblood is beastly, which is appropriate you suppose. He leans down to reach for you, filling the room with the cracking of bone.

“That’s one hell’uva coincidence, chief. Lucky you!”

Though his talons manage to graze your chest, you roll away before he can grab you proper and spring to your feet. A glance down reveals three small holes pricked into your nightshirt, a small purple stain spreading out across the largest gash’s edge. You prod at the cut for a moment, then lick a spot of blood from your thumb.

“You’re kinda slow, anyone ever tell you that?”

The yellowblood grunts and straightens, bracing himself with one clawed hand against the wall. He grinds his jaw again, tongue pressing against the back of his teeth while he reminds himself how to use it.

“Stop. Talking.”

“Ygot summ’na say?”

Another growl rattles out of his throat. You nod thoughtfully, eyebrows raised.

“Great point.”

The jibes are second nature at this point, mouth rattling off while your head floats elsewhere. In fact, throughout this dance around Favion’s dwelling, there’s been exactly one thing on your mind.

Now, that thing is finally coming into focus.

With Marrie’s delicate features sitting neatly in your thoughts, you lift your head and flash the man a grin.

“Let’s do this again sometime, eh, big guy?”

And just like that, the room whirls into the ether, leaving you to fall unceremoniously across your big sister’s lap.

[mar04isdead]

Freaks But Family

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5

Chapter 6: Those baby making catholics

Was this title necessary, yes, yes it was. Today I'll be talking about some people, some people you may already know and some you might not know. That's to be determined here, now let's begin the shit show!

Liberator looks at the wall, not really impressed at what's in front of him. A normal alley towards the edge of Snellville, with a normal brick wall. He really doesn't believe that they're supposed to be here, but it's where the light has led them so there has to be something here.

"What am I supposed to be looking at?" Liberator looks at Thorn with utter confusion.

Thorn holds up a finger signaling him to be quiet, she points to under the wall. Liberator just glares at her, Thorn holds her hands up in defense.

"I'm not doing this, trust me." Thorn steps back from the vines as they approach both of them.

Liberator chuckles, "Sure you're not."

"I'm serious, it's kudzu. Kudzu is a parasite and I can't grow parasitic plants." Thorn reaches out with her hands, trying to stop the vines. "I can't even control it."

The vines wrap around their feet, both of them start to worry. The more they struggle, the tighter and faster the vines grow. Before they know it, they are encased in the vines and thrown around. After a while the vines start to let them go, and they fall out of the vines onto grass. They both look up, groaning in pain, to see someone who looks very similar to Maria standing in front of a gate.

The girl has black hair in a pixie cut, a red fade at the tips, the same glasses as Maria too. In the light they can also see she has an eyebrow and lip piercings. Olive skin with dark freckles dotting her skin, and two weird black and red tattoos, one on her bicep and the other on her forearm, both on her right arm.

"So, you're the ones who sent the light?" The girl walks around them, sizing them up. "I'll admit, you don't look like much." She crouches down in front of them and looks them in the eye. "You're not even Aztec, so who are you?"

Favion sits up and looks the girl up and down, "How did you even do that? Do you have abilities?"

Thorn hits him on the side of the head, "No, she's a sorceress. Unlike me, who was born with abilities, she had to learn so she has magic."

The girl stands up and grins, "Correct, very impressive Thorn. As for you Liberator," She gives a sour face. "You have much to learn." She waves her hand, and the vines help them both up. "Follow me, you need to work for what you need."

Thorn and Liberator share a look before following the girl through the gate and into a maze. The flowers and bushes start to reach out, the girl just hovers her hand over them to calm them down. Some flowers on the ground start to bloom, letting out some fireflies that were in them.

Thorn looks at a rose bush, "Is this your garden?" She asks while stroking a rose.

The girl looks back and nods, "Yes, it was a gift from my dad though. My mom and older brother have kept it hidden from me. It was supposed to be a wedding gift but I'm glad they gave it to me early."

"Looks straight out of a fairy tale." Liberator giggles as a tulip brushes up against his leg.

The girl laughs, "This isn't a fairy tale." They stop at a wall of bushes, the girl raises her arms and the bushes move aside. "This is real life."

They follow her through the bushes, mesmerized. They enter a circular clearing, in the center is a bird fountain with flowers and dandelions surrounding it at the base. The girl walks up to the fountain, looking at Thorn.

"So, what flower do you need?" She asks, leaning down and picking up a large ceramic vase of water.

Thorn walks up to her, "The blood rose flower."

The girl's eyes widen, "You sure, is her condition that bad?"

Thorn nods, the girl smiles in understanding. She pours the water in the vase into the fountain and sets the vase down. Then she makes flowers appear out of thin air, hydrangeas, forget-me-nots, violets, and oddly enough a very small corpse flower. She raises them above her head and then makes her hands into fist, making the flowers start to wither, dry, and crush themselves. Once they are all a fine dust, she sprinkles them into the fountain.

She looks at Thorn with a smile, "Be a dear and help me for this part." She puts her hands in the water.

Thorn puts her hands in the water too, "What do I need to do?"

"This chant is in Aztec, I'll help you through it." The girl nods to reassure Thorn.

"Rose that smell sweet, and crimson red blood. They join together, and they waste away." The girl chants. "Now follow my lead."

Thorn sucks in a deep breath before following the girl with the chant, "Rose that smell sweet, and crimson red blood. They join together and they waste away."

They repeat it over and over as the fountain starts to glow a dark red, Liberator steps back as the flowers around the fountain start to hide. Both girls' eyes start to glow yellow, they both lift their hands up to the sky and out of the water floats an odd red flower. It's petals curled outwards, the middle of the petals with black markings that look like weeping faces. The black and red stem has thorns and the green leaves are all jagged and spikey.

"There it is." The girl's eyes go back to normal and Thorn plucks the flower from midair.

Liberator looks at the flower with amazement, "Why are you helping us?"

The girl shakes her head with a snicker, "Because I'm related to the person that this flower is for, can't just let my family die now can I?"

"She did mention she has a lot of cousins, but I thought I already met all of them." Thorn carefully wraps the flower in a cloth before putting it in the bag she carries.

"Oh no, there are hundreds more of us." The girl calmly brushes off, when seeing the look on their faces she laughs. "The generation before us were Catholic."

Liberator nods, "Those baby making Catholics."

"I know, right?" The girl pulls a match from her jeans pocket. "You best be going to get everything else you need. Give me the staff."

She reaches a hand out to Thorn, and Thorn hands her Madness' staff. She lights the match against the fountain before throwing it and the staff in the air.

"There's your next location, just follow the light." She waves her hand and the kudzu starts to encase Thorn and Liberator again. "Please tell her, Melissa misses her." She closes them in before the kudzu starts to toss and throw them around again.

The land outside of the brick wall where they started, they look at each other, and then up at the sky to see a red light. They nod before following the light to their next ingredient.

"How much you wanna bet they're stereotypical white people?" Thorn asks Liberator while they both hide behind a bush.

Liberator grins at her, "I'm not gonna make that bet because it's probably true. And you do know I'm half white, right?"

"I'm white too, but this screams people that will kill us if we try anything." Thorn looks over the bush.

"What are we saying about white people?" Someone behind them asks.

They both turn around and scream, only for someone to scream back. The next thing they know, they're engulfed in flames.

"Shit how are we not dead?" Thorn yells.

"I don't fucking know!" Liberator yells back.

"Why are we yelling?" The third person whispers.

Once Liberator and Thorn calm down, they look at the person in front of them and their first thought is, "You're a kid!"

The person looks at them with offense, their blue eyes gleaming, "Excuse you, but I'm older than both of you."

They both take a moment to look at the person closer, blond hair, pale blue eyes, olive skin and dark freckles. Same glasses as Maria and Melissa, and the same tattoo on the right bicep. The right side of their head is shaved, the other goes down to their chin.

"The name is Max, related to the last person you went to and the person you are trying to save." They step back from the two and gesture to what is around them

"Are... are we in a mechanic's garage?" Thorn asks looking around.

Max nods, "Yep, my granddad built me this little place when I was just a kid. I studied my magic here."

It's really not much, large open space, tall shelves to the sides filled with tools and boxes. In the center are two cars, one with the hood popped open and the other dangling from the ceiling, looking like it's being rebuilt.

"So," Liberator looks at the sharp objects hanging off the wall worriedly. "What is your magic?"

"Fire!" Max raises their arms and they burst into flames.

Both Thorn and Liberator back away in fright. Max notices and extinguishes the flames.

"Sorry, anyways what is it you need from me?" Max pulls a lever from behind the shelves, and up rises a cauldron.

Thorn looks at the paper she brought, "Lava from the hellfire."

Max starts laughing, after a while they look up to see Thorn's face. "Wait, you're serious? Lava from the hellfire!" They shout.

Thorn nods, Max groans. They go to the shelves, scan them from up to down, and grab a box, they bring it into the cauldron and open it. Inside are precious gems, diamonds, rubies, pearls, emeralds, quartz, and other gems. They pour all of the gems into the cauldron, and throw the box to the side. They put their hands into the cauldron, their hands start to glow, and the gems start to melt.

Max looks up at Liberator, "Pretty boy, get your ass over here."

Liberator walks up to the cauldron and puts his hands in and they start to glow too. They follow as Max brings their hands out of the molten metal, and they move their hands in circles.

"Just repeat this Aztec chant after me and this will be fine." Max smiles to reassure him.

"Liquid fire from a place of pain, become whole again. Pain and fire unite to cause chaos." Max nods to Liberator. "Now just repeat after me three times."

"Liquid fire from a place of pain, become whole again. Pain and fire unite to cause chaos." They repeat the chant three times, their eyes glow red, and the cauldron starts to bubble. They pick their hands out of the cauldron and move them side to side.

"Hold it." Max instructs.

They run off to a shelf and come back with a ceramic jar. They open the jar and set it on the floor, they position their fingers like finger guns. They have Liberator step back before motioning the lava to flow out of the cauldron and into the jar. Max pics it up, makes a small blue flame with their index finger, and welds the top shut before handing it to Thorn.

"Thanks, now that I think about it you're a Mexican mechanic with fire magic." Thorn smiles.

Max smiles, "What about it?"

"Literally reminded me of Leo Valdez." She puts the jar in her bag.

Max gasps and smiles, "Finally a person with taste!"

Liberator looks at Max questioningly, "You're Mexican, but you're blond."

Max puts their arms around Thorn and Liberator's shoulders. "I'm half white, white on my dad's side and Mexican on my papa's side."

"But how, how's that possible?" Liberator becomes more confused.

"Now I need to get you two out of here." They are all surrounded in flames again. "And one more thing."

Max takes the staff from Thorn and walks to the side of the house. They quickly come back with a lightbulb, they set it on fire and throw it along with the staff in the air.

"Follow the blue light, I recommend you don't leave any metal exposed." Max winks before disappearing in fire.

The middle of the woods, they really thought they were going to get kidnapped. They had no idea what on Earth could possibly make this safe, they took the hint from Max that this person has electricity magic. Just looking at the cottage made both Liberator and Thorn a bit paranoid, not knowing if it's abandoned or not.

"You knock on the door." Liberator lightly pushes Thorn towards the cottage.

Thorn glares at him, "Such a gentleman, I can see why that Maria girl doesn't like you."

Liberator glares back, "How'd you know about her?"

"Madness, she's an excellent mind reader." Thorn smirks.

Liberator is about to say something witty as a response when a tree blows up next to him, he screams and rushes to Thorn. Both he and Thorn get in defensive positions, only to see a little girl walk out from behind where the tree was. Dark skin like chocolate, dark mocha eyes, two little braids that fall down her shoulders, the most adorable blue dress and pink flats.

"Dida, I missed." The little girl turns around and complains into the shadows.

Someone comes out from the shadows and scoops the girl into their arms, "Don't worry hun, you'll get it next time."

The person is just like the rest, black short hair, olive skin, covered in freckles, brown eyes, glasses, and a tattoo on the right bicep. Only difference is that they are actually pretty tall, and they have more tattoos.

"Speaking of, what are you two doing here? When Harley told me there was someone in the woods I just thought she was tired and seeing things. Then she blasted and we heard you scream, so explain yourselves." The person holding Harley glares at the two teenagers.

Thorn digs through her bag, pulling out the paper and handing it to the person. The person looks at the paper suspiciously, sighs before reaching for the paper, unfolding it, and reading it.

"Really, the life of the sky is what you need?" The person hands the paper back, and adjusts Harley on their hip.

Thorn nods, "We hope it's not much of a bother, but we need it. We've been gathering the other ingredients all night, and after here is one last stop."

"They need help, dida." Harley messes with the person's hair.

The person nods, "I know darling, let's just be glad deda isn't here so you can use your magic." The person puts Harley down before turning to the teens. "I'm Micha, follow me."

They follow Micha and Harley to the cottage, they go around to the back to where there is a giant greenhouse. They enter the greenhouse, filled with plants and herbs, there is no roof so the sky is open and clear to see.

Micha turns to their daughter, "Harley, get the book and I'll get the jar." Micha points to a corner.

Harley smiles and goes to get the book in one of the corners and brings it over to Micha, while Micha grabs a jar hidden in the plants. They both meet in the middle of the greenhouse and they sit down. Harley takes the jar and Micha opens the book, they set both objects between them.

"If you two have any metal, piercing's, braces, anything like that, step out while you still can." Micha and Harley raise their hands to the sky.

"The spirit of the ancient heavens, a sign of the gods. It brings destruction and life to those it may touch." They both chant over and over, and above them storm clouds start to gather. Lighting can be seen starting to form in the clouds, it stretches across the sky like a spiderweb. Harley seems to struggle with keeping her hands up but Micha smiles at her to let her know things will be okay. Both of them have their eyes start to glow blue and they bring their hands down across their chest.

"You guy's may want to step out for this." Micha motions for Thorn and Liberator to step out of the greenhouse.

Liberator and Thorn decide to take Micha's advice and head out of the greenhouse. They turn away, knowing what lightning can do to them. They hear a loud bang, and wait a few seconds before turning back around. They see Micha and Harley closing the jar, Micha standing up, leaving the jar on the ground, and scooping Harley into their arms. Micha motions for them to come back into the greenhouse.

"Mind holding her?" Micha extends a sleeping Harley to Liberator.

Liberator takes Harley, Micha picks up the jar and hands it to Thorn. Micha takes the staff from Thorn, twirls it in their hand for a minute before throwing it up in the air. A white light spreads through the sky, leading them not far. Micha smiles up at the sky before taking Harley back from Liberator.

Micha smiles down at their daughter, "She's not used to doing big magic, she was only doing simple stuff until today. Took a lot of convincing for her other parent to let me teach her magic." Micha kisses Harley's forehead.

Thorn smirks, "You're married?"

Micha nods, "Yeah, they're a teacher like me. Their concert band is out of state for competition." They nod towards Harley in their arms. "This one still has preschool and I still have to teach." Micha looks back at the sky, "Speaking of school, it's the weekend so if you want to get sleep for whatever punishment your teachers have, get the last ingredient and make that potion."

Liberator and Thorn both thank Micha before leaving for the last ingredient.

"Why does this night keep getting creepier and creepier?" Liberator hits his head on the closest empty cage.

"Keep doing that, you'll be doing the world a favor." Thorn points to the cage.

They both are now standing in front of a circus big top, trailers, cages, and RVs parked around it and only one large light coming out from the flaps. It smells like popcorn and cotton candy. Some posters for acts are on the outside of the tent, promoting all sorts of odd things.

"Is anyone even inside?" Thorn steps closer to the tent.

Liberator shakes his head, "It's three in the morning, I don't think anyone's in here."

Slowly and weirdly, the tent flaps open, and they hear music coming from inside the tent. There is a small voice, inviting them inside. They look at each other, silently arguing who's going first. Then there is a gust of wind, pushing them forward to the tent. It's much bigger on the inside, circles of chairs surrounding the center ring, large thick metal poles that are keeping the tent up, wires, ropes, and silks hanging from the ceiling, a large net just a few feet above the ground, two large platforms near the top of the poles, and large lights that all shine on someone in the center of the ring.

"Evening, or should I say early morning? Welcome to the LaRue-Gonzalez Circus of Wonders!" The girl in the center announces with a booming voice, as if it's something she has done her whole life. "I am the Mariposa LaRue-Gonzalez, daughter of the ring leaders, knife thrower, contortionist, aerialist, and dancer! But tonight I am your sorceress, how may I help you?" Mariposa extends a hand out gracefully.

Circus performer definitely explains her look, dull red leotard with long sleeves, tiny golden rhinestones at the ruffled cuffs, a short red tutu, bright red eyeshadow and lipstick, golden snake bites and septum ring and odd golden lace up boots with no heel or toe. Her hair in a long braid with golden flowers decorating it, and from the translucent sleeves, one can see a tattoo on her right bicep.

Liberator is the first to break the silence, "You definitely look like you belong in a circus." Earning him a glare and punch on the shoulder from Thorn.

"I apologize for my associate." Mariposa raises an eyebrow at Thorn. "He doesn't have much experience talking to women." Thorn hits Liberator in the head for good measure.

Mariposa laughs, "I can tell, now I assume you are looking for an ingredient from me?" She twirls her index finger in the air, causing the paper in Thorn's bag to fly to her.

Liberator tilts his head to the side, "Is telekinesis your magic?" He wonders.

Mariposa shakes her head, "Air, damn this feels like some Avatar shit. Each one of us has a magic, and Madness controls all of them and more! This is some Avatar shit!" Mariposa jumps up and down with happiness.

Thorn smiles, "Okay that aside, we need the breath of the spirits."

At that Mariposa stands still, "At that I wish I had fallen too." Mariposa stands straight, arms at her side, and as she closes her eyes she slowly starts to rise and rise until she reaches one of the platforms. "Come up here, just be real careful if you're scared of heights."

Thorn merely shrugs and stomps her foot on the ground, the ground shakes before a giant sunflower sprouts beneath them and helps them rise up to the platform. Liberator holds on to some of the petals, Thorn simply stands with her arms crossed.

Mariposa just laughs at their antics, "Now contrary to what you may think, I don't need to summon the dead for this." She has some long silk in her hands that reaches the ground from the ceiling. "There's a jar right where you two are, be careful with it I'm gonna need it."

Mariposa wraps the silk around her legs several times, before taking a few steps back on the platform, running forward, and jumping off the platform. She holds onto the silk with her hands too as she starts to swing in large circles, picking up the pace with each time she passes Liberator and Thorn. Soon she's just a blur of red and gold, Thorn and Liberator and feel something pulling them towards the edge of the platform.

A sort of tornado forms from where Mariposa keeps spinning, until she slows down and unwraps herself fully from the silk. She falls straight down onto the net, the jar coming down with her. She lifts the jar up and Thorn and Liberator watch as it fills with the air she spun, she closes the jar before making herself rise back up to her platform. She sits down with an arm out and the jar resting on her palm, closing her eyes as the jar floats away from her and rests in the space in between her and the other platform.

"What is used to live, what is used to breath. What flows around us, what causes change." Just like everyone else, Mariposa repeats her chant until her eyes glow white. The jar glows too and starts to shake a bit, one can see the winds in it start to swirl and move. Once her eyes stop glowing, she has the jar float over to Thorn and Liberator.

"I know it's not exactly what you were thinking, but my magic hasn't been what it used to be." Mariposa shrugs awkwardly.

Thorn looks confused, "What happened?"

Mariposa looks straight down to the net, "I almost fell from up here, lost someone, been kind of scared of heights since." She looks back up, "Today was actually my first time back up here doing my act in four months." She smiles.

"You're getting over it, and that's good. Keep doing what you're doing and soon your fear will be a thing of the past." Liberator flashes Mariposa a smile.

"Yeah, that's what my dads have been saying." Mariposa stands up and starts to twirl her hand around causing both Thorn and Liberator to slowly rise into the air. "Have fun making that potion, tell my cousin I say hi." She twitches her hand upwards, and Thorn and liberator fly through the sky back to where they started.

"I've been waiting, and is this the idiot who is supposed to help us save Madness." Esme asks, she's wearing all black and a mask that covers the lower half of her face.

Thorn rubs the back of her neck, "Yeah, sorry it took us so long, Emory." Thorn knows better than to use Esme's real name in front of Liberator.

Emory shakes her head, "I have the book and the other materials. Give him the ingredients and we can get this over with. And we need to hurry because we have a situation with Madness' abilities."

Thorn drags Liberator over to the cauldron full of water, she gives Liberator the bag of ingredients, "Just listen to everything Emory tells you and this will be fine."

Emory opens the book and sticks her hand out like a claw, all the things in the bag float out and take positions around Liberator. "Open the jar of spirit's breath upside down so it goes into the water." She instructs.

Liberator plucks the jar out of the air and turns it upside down, he takes the lid off and jumps a bit when it almost falls out of his hands. He keeps it steady as the wind in it rushes out into the water, turning the water a pale white. When the jar is empty, he can hear voices whispering something.

"Don't worry, it happens." Emory looks back at the book. "The blood rose flower must be burned and it's ashes dusted in." She points to the flower.

Liberator takes the flower and crumbles it in his hands, he closes his eyes as he wills his hands to burst into flames. He struggles a bit to keep the fire to just his hands, but he manages and once he has the ashes, he puts them into the mix.

Emory looks at the white water with specks of black, "Okay, now you have to freeze it solid, but there's a specific way to do it." She puts one finger on the rim of the cauldron and drags her finger around it in a circle. "Just this, simple."

He nods and steadies his shaking hands, and places his finger on the rim of the cauldron. He circles the rim again and again until the mix is fully frozen. Once it's frozen the mix is now black, it looks weird but Emory assures him that it's supposed to be this way.

"Now, the lava from the hell fire, but it has to be an 'X' in the middle." Emory makes an 'X' in the air with her finger, "I know it's weird but it's what's in the book."

Liberator just shrugs and opens the hot jar of lava. He slowly tilts the jar on it's side and the liquid fire pours out he makes the lines cross to form the 'X' in the middle. He puts the empty jar aside and watches as the lava burns through the ice.

Emory reads more from the book, "Now, just add the life of the sky and this will be done."

Liberator takes the jar of electricity with shaking hands, watching as the electricity spreads like webs as it touches the glass. He opens the jar, only for the electricity to fly out and up into the sky. Just as he loses hope that he might not be able to get the electricity back, it comes running back down and strikes the cauldron.

"Wow, that was something." Emory and Thorn join Liberator in looking at the potion, now a bright blue with swirls of red.

"Looks like ice cream." Thorn tries to poke at the potion but Emory slaps her hand.

Emory glares at Thorn, "No, unless you want your insides to burn."

At that Thorn backs away, "Okay, then let's get it to Madness then."

Emory nods, closing the book and sticking her hand out, lifting Liberator into the air. "Sorry kid, but the rest of this is a secret. You tell Dr. Gomez what happened here tonight, you're dead." She snaps her fingers, and Liberator wakes up as Favion, in his room by morning.

yEsme watches Maria as she plays around with her cousins, acting as if nothing has happened. Sure she now has bandages around her abdomen, shifting really did a number on her, but she acts as if it's all okay. She's refused to use her abilities too, no one can talk to her about it and it’s been a month.

"You think she'll ever come back from this, I mean she was practically dying." Rose remembers how shadows were practically consuming everything around them. "I mean I keep trying to trick her to use her abilities, but she sees right through it."

Esme shrugs, "I don't know what we're going to do but we have to find a solution. She is the only one that can help Mike and his ability so she has to use hers eventually."

"Okay speaking of Maria, where is she?" Rose points to where Maria used to be, playing in the grass with Imelda but now she's gone.

Esme looks around, "Can you check inside, I'll ask the kids if they saw where she went."

Rose heads inside and searches the whole house, and eventually she finds Maria in the attic, playing with the spider plush she got on Christmas. "Hey, is everything okay?"

Maria just looks at her, "Not really, when I was asleep just saw some memories. Memories I really want to get rid of." She buries her face in the toy.

Rose sits down next to Maria, "Talk to me about it, I've seen that memory, but you never want to explain it." Rose tries to put an arm around Maria only for Maria to move away.

"Not really in the mood to talk about it." Maria turns away from Rose.

Rose groans, "Okay, baby I'm getting tired of this. I know you hate it, I hate talking about my memories too, but I do talk about them." She wraps her arms around herself. "Sometimes I wonder if you're just hiding crap."

At that Maria reacts, "I'm not hiding anything, I just don't want to talk about it." She scoots away further, "Just drop it, and I never exactly asked you to share your memories."

"But I let you see them, I even talked about them when you asked. I felt a lot better afterwards, so why don't you tell me," Rose pulls at her hair a bit. "For once tell me what is bothering you?"

"Nothing!" Maria shouts, objects around her flying around violently.

She starts sobbing and screaming into her plush. She keeps shaking harshly and keeps moving, Rose just sighs and starts to rake her hand through Maria's hair. Maria flinches at the touch, but slowly eases up. She lets herself lean into Rose's touch and keeps crying, she lets go of the plush to let herself be held by Rose.

"They... they just prayed that it would change." Maria shakes and gasps for breath. "I begged, I begged all they had to say about it was talking to some idiot man who doesn't even exist!" She stands up in a rush and paces the floor. "They believed in a book that is filled with lie after lie over their own kid!" She looks at Rose with her eyes red and tears running down her cheeks. "They choose to believe someone where there was no more proof existed, over the only proof left of our ancestors!" She hugs herself tightly, "They choose to forget me, to forget us."

Maria finishes her rant by dropping on her knees to the floor, the objects around her doing the same. Rose quickly walks over to Maria, and Maria throws herself into her girlfriend's arms. Rose just holds Maria tightly, and watches as around them some flowers start to bloom, purple hyacinth.

"At least you can't remember what happened to you." Maria mumbles, into Rose's neck where she's hiding her face.

Rose kisses Maria's hair, "I know you want to forget, but all I can do is help you through it."

"It wasn't just my heritage they prayed to change!" The flowers grow faster. "There was this girl, and I liked her a lot. They yelled at me when they thought she was the reason I was turning against them. Then they sent me away." She wipes her tears away before continuing. "I guess they thought that center was for conversion therapy, they were talking about it before sending me away. Would explain why they didn't send me straight here."

The flowers stop blooming and Maria's breath starts to even out. Rose just keeps running her hand through her hair to keep her calm. She places her other hand on Maria's waist where the bandages are, and rubs small circles with her thumb.

"Does this hurt?" Rose asks while softly rubbing at the bandages.

Maria nods, "A bit, no one will tell me what the hell happened." She wipes her eyes again.

"You used two opposite abilities and I guess since they don't go together they refused to work in your body." Rose places more kisses on Maria's head. "You passed out and we had to make a potion to wake you up."

Maria pulls away from Rose in confusion, "Wait a potion?" Rose nods. "I'm the only one who can make the potions. I mean yeah, the sorceresses can too, but certain ones no. What potion was it?" She questions, thoughts racing through her head.

Rose taps her head trying to remember, "Ancient revival, we had to get Favion for it."

Maria stands up and runs out of the attic, Rose quickly follows her. Yet again Rose finds Maria in the basement, but arguing with Esme, Clarisse, Liam, and Sam. Pointing at the old book in Sam's hands, and at the monitor, which has the formulas about mixing Maria's blood with someone else's.

"Maria, the abilities would be artificial." Esme turns her back to Maria. "And since they are artificial they are temporary." She starts to walk away.

Maria groans in frustration, “Two months, what do you have to say about two months?" She growls, her fangs starting to grow through her gums.

Esme stops in her tracks, "Now, that, is where I should worry." She turns back to Maria. "It should only be a week, less even."

"Yeah, now you want to start thinking about that?" Maria watches as Esme and the others start to work.

Sam looks from where she is scanning scrolls, "That's not possible, yes a chief or chieftess can give someone abilities with their blood. But in what we have recorded it has never lasted more than a week." She keeps pulling scrolls off of the book shelves and reads them all.

Rose decides to intervene, "Keep in mind you guys have never had a chieftess, or a leader with snake and spider shifting." She puts an arm around her girlfriend's waist. "This stuff has never been seen before, so of course how can you guys be prepared for that?"

"Great-grandmother's book is all we have though." Liam says from his spot in front of the monitor. "She was the only one with any recent recordings of our history, we would be able to get something from that."

Maria scratches at one of her discolored patches of skin, "Yeah but most are in code, so the only things we have are the things in Aztec. She was one smart lady." She removes Rose's hand from her waist, and walks away.

Rose notices how all the shadows leave the room and follow her, so she follows too. Following Maria and the shadows, Rose sees them end up in front of the shed in the backyard. Maria is already inside, spray painting something on the floor, lighting candles, and reading out of a book.

Rose avoids the flying candles as she steps into the shed, "What exactly are you planning here?"

"If I can't get the information from the books, then I'll get them from the source." Maria closes the book before sitting in the middle of the skull she drew.

Rose's eyes go wide, "No, babe don't do it. You know what happened last time."

Maria just laughs, the candles setting down and the flames start to go crazy. Maria's patches of vitiligo start to glow, she winks before disappearing in flames and light.

Rose looks at where her girlfriend used to be, "How do I explain this to the others?"

So, yet again with the chaos. Where is Mara going, who knows! All we can do is hope she doesn't die where she's going, It's a possibility. Oh well, come back next time to see what happens. Don't be late!

[robertsmilejones2432]

a

I WONT BE DOING ARTICLES IN STANDARD ENGLISH REQUIREMENTS HOW 🏫 AND JOBS WONT THEM TO ENTER (VERY 😠 RIGHT NOW BECAUSE THE TEXT GOT DELETED) YEAH THE TEXT THAT I ROBERT JONES IS TYPING 💬 WITH 1 HAND ✋🏿 MY 🫲 AND I DO NOT WRITE ✍🏿 OUT MY TEXT MY ARTICLES I DO SOMETIMES SO I LISTED ALL SITES I HAVE PUBLISHED TO THE WEB ON MY MAIN WEBSITE I ADDED A FAVION TO MY NEWEST SITE I MOVED THE SOCIAL MEDIA LINKS TO THE MIDSECTION I GAVE A SMALL SEO LINK I AM IN THE PROCESS REVISING MY PREVIOUS ARTICLES TO ALL CAPITALIZATION THE REASON FOR ME DOING THIS IS SIMPLE IF YOU CAN UNDERSTAND THIS UPDATE ALONG WITH AN ARTICLE TITLE “BLOOD 🩸 CELLS” AND WITH ANOTHER ARTICLE TITLE “FRESHMAN APPLICANT” ON MY OTHER SITE ALONG WITH MANY OTHER THINGS AND I REALLY DO NOT ENJOY 😉 MY JOB NEITHER AM I LOOKING FOR A RELATIONSHIP IN A WORLD 🌎 FULL OF MONEY 💵 THAT EVENTUALLY LEADS TO DEATH 💀 I ALSO CAN NOT HAVE A RELATIONSHIP BESIDES THE GUESS HAS TO SHOW SOME TYPE OF HOTEL 🏨 🪪 AND ONLY STAY FOR 3 NIGHTS I CAN NOT EVEN HAVE A HOUSE 🏡 PET THAT WALKS ON ALL 4 LEGS TO WALK ALONE I DO ENJOY 😉 TRYING TO WAKE PEOPLE ⬆️ UNTIL I AM BACK 🏡 A PLACE WITH NO 💀 YES 👍🏿 I CAN EXPRESS MY SELF BUT WHY SHOULD I TO A WORLD 🌎 FULL OF LIARS THAT ONLY UNDERSTAND MONEY 💵 OBVIOUSLY 🙄 I AM NOT LOOKING FOR A PAYING JOB FROM THE TEXT SIZE ANYWAY THIS SYMBOL IN PARENTHESES (!) MEANS TO TALK IN A LOUD VOICE ALL CAPITALIZATION DOES NOT MEAN 😢 THAT REAL MEN HAVE DICKS SOMETHING A WOMEN DOES NOT HAVE WE ALSO THAT ARE AWARE KNOW THAT EVERY PERSON THAT DRESS 👗 WITH SHEETS FROM THE MIDDLE EAST ARE WOMEN EVEN THE SO CALL MEN FROM OVER THEIR I ALREADY EXPLAIN THAT IN AN ARTICLE YEAH I LEFT OUT THE COMMAS SEMICOLONS AND PERIODS ON PURPOSE DO YOU KNOW WHY?

[444names]

languages + musical instruments + mythical humanoids + the entire article on gujarat titans from wikipedia in hungarian

Adianukra Adobiga Adoph Adosís Afarig Ahmani Ahmania Ahmegyere Ahmes Ahort Ajnotunden Ajánlapan Akoztv Alapardert Amszínes Anték Argotune Aritan Ariurn Arpsaxish Artkorás Asszins Asztőkno Azatv Aztés Banukers Basaxott Basold Baswar Bejel Bejele Benaun Bench Bencikese Bentébent Berehuan Berinaur Berés Bogyet Bolve Bonno Buguitot Bustelehor Bádiantsun Cannethan Capta Celip Chalkapat Charpy Chatean Cheba Cheelinspe Chiba Chivei Chivekéne Chpitle Clumpugons Cordiányok Coreelte Coreszíne Credmén Crimpeoph Cromtan Croyanago Csabanie Csapirs Czertubsz Czeztalati Dakockst Deccorn Deccubil Decorwed Dente Detős Devült Domad Draja Drania Draniummy Drashetölt Dudzőjük Dusapod Dwaiian Ebrumot Edaka Edzsay Egmal Egyoman Ekezol Elett Elhani Elhisznált Elkaandt Elvat Elvégigon Elyelhird Elyázat Előző Emistan Emobo Enlódó Ennal Erecanian Erectre Erját Eroar Eryan Erészetess Essian Expordiant Expore Exprani Exprichobb Ezols Faralay Favions Feban Febian Feleass Felest Felyázols Finew Finyiklubo Fióhord Flubszinai Fluta Fornett Forntest Fortkorn Foullis Friciawik Friumhor Garpe Gaugrában Giangassd Gianian Giawaid Gilenyik Grenyek Greresz Grásinfor Gudutet Hairya Hangeish Harturn Harába Hasok Hastan Haszóciáro Hasás Hatares Hatite Heles Helmi Hindiár Hinnauhár Hishise Histan Hivatkos Hiveng Hoblene Horcengan Hozabagud Huani Hubian Hyderül Hyenai Hánavilap Háropes Húszése Inchogy Indelőző Inyes Ishis Jelső Jelvénese Joggazak Jukat Jukere Jánclophon Jöténthoni Jötéte Kapcsament Kapital Kappat Kapstal Kapstengs Katinok Kenautonai Kerták Kerül Keybogre Kezte Khardelebi Kihisz Kimpune Kipess Kiple Kitozóciók Klubalin Klubas Kludak Kludző Knevégel Knevénes Kochpitan Koress Kosís Kosítán Kozak Kozutok Kozáfért Kozás Kéntes Ködőkés Köntés Köntős Körtén Közre Közreset Közrestak Lapanglipe Lapató Lapít Latal Latmorc Laxoph Laxophish Leadábád Leccores Lechalaki Lehozás Lencan Lench Lennid Lenyok Lepra Lieltos Lindyalkül Linno Liseanték Lisztől Lockság Lovan Lutch Lutosa Lyadd Lyclap Lyilap Lyázakhaz Lyázatik Lámhon Létket Media Megyan Melvet Mialsőbb Mianes Mobgobid Molishinte Monaiga Monpolan Moran Motur Mutált Májan Márornt Működés Működől Műközül Nagpie Namedző Naviba Nehogi Nemcsaban Nererge Neveg Nunehetén Nuárd Nyelhar Nyelie Nyelkyre Nyenn Nyillam Nyillarp Nyipito Nyipl Nyommy Nélek Nézer Ockeybolda Ogórian Orrásba Otang Otuno Ouperiurki Paris Patmons Pedzsa Pelhin Pinetione Piple Pipédia Pithon Pixiett Podiolap Polorn Pommon Pores Pornt Powere Prine Pálharmal Pálhozzás Pálomadon Pályan Pályájándt Pálási Ramszövei Remlinak Rigan Roarpsarp Romszezd Rosítán Rrentet Rriccolf Rrigációs Rájust Ráját Rásban Rásird Ráság Réset Részék Rúpian Salály Sapin Sapita Sargelsó Sarmorc Sarpsarf Sarpy Saxie Scombok Seston Siairyani Sinalochar Slomrauris Slopl Sodblatte Sokkozáfér Soream Soroar Sorwersid Souriantés Sphorn Spoli Spraurian Stitsés Stosal Succorn Suckens Sunchis Szatyremp Szery Szezolap Sználtes Szövert Teartán Teszt Thman Thran Ticanten Ticcanok Ticcoló Tinan Titanish Tovag Trabaswai Trese Trest Trichi Tritok Troartét Trostiki Tubiggat Tudul Tudzszó Tugloman Tugudelt Turise Tussflub Tízsak Tízsal Tízsaxise Törturie Törtán Tősége Ugante Ugellrok Utoktó Utozatan Uzbempl Vakor Vamegnak Vantényvás Vianuka Viketén Vilak Vilattholf Villapato Villians Violat Váltishish Vályázai Várost Védight Végük Vízcsa Vízcsommy Vízsa Vízszó Weget Wericiált Werick Werül Wheele Wikijaniki Wikipes Wolkapa Woodig Xylebi Xylengle Yelhaunjap Ályrechai Álátiseat Ámhor Élkyr Élétri Énevie Ényok Éseek Úgyei Ütőkés