#he played blackstone

[filet-o-feelings]

You guys the holiday train came through to the station right by my house and Clerel was on it! Walked down with my mom and my bestie and had the best time!

[sturnwritess]

Is it Casual now?

warnings: angst, cussing, crying, drinking, bit of smut.

pairing: mattsturniolo x femalexreader

summary: you and matt have been “friends” for a long time, to him u were just another girl that he deeply loved, and him to you was everything u wished for.

a/n: i know this song is for wlw but i wanted to use it for the story.

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10:26 pm

“fuck matt” you say, his tongue is in your walls as he’s eating you out. He looks up at you with his beautiful blue eyes, he smirks against your pussy making his ego even bigger. You’re currently in the back of your car and the windows are getting foggy. “im mh about to cum” you say breathless, “go ahead pretty girl” he says and that tips you over the edge. once you both got cleaned up, “can you drive me to a restaurant?” he asks.

“i was wondering if we could hangout?” you ask, he looks at you “i thought this was just a hookup though but i gotta get going my mom invited me to dinner” he says not looking at u playing with his hands. “oh ok which restaurant?” you ask looking at him. He looks up “uh yellowbricks on blackstone” he says.

You’re almost to the restaurant and you pull into the parking lot, “my mom also wants to see you, so can u come in?” he ask staring his eyes into yours. “uh yea ill go see your mom.” you say looking away, you got out of your car and walk into the restaurant. You and matt spot jimmy, marylou, chris and nick, you walk up to the table and say hi to everyone.

“y/n why dont you join us?” marylou asks, “she actually has to go mom” matt says looking up at you. “oh yeah i have this thing marylou im so sorry maybe another time?” you say, “of course just text me on facebook to let me know!” she says smiling. “ok. i will, nice to see everyone bye!” you say as you’re leaving. You feel like a burden to matt as you walk out, you get into your car and suddenly matt walks out.

He knocks on your window, “hey uhm i left my jacket in your backseat” he says “ oh ok the doors are unlocked.” you look at the backseat as he grabs it, tears dwelling in your eyes. He notices “hey are you ok pretty girl?” he asks “mhm” u say looking away, he grabs your chin “i hope this isnt about me saying your busy.” he looks at u with his brows furrowed.

“its not matt” you yank his hand off your chin, he furrows his brows “we agreed this was casual” he says. you nod and roll up your window, he walks away with his jacket in his hand and his grip so hard his knuckles were white. “casual” starts playing by Chappell Roan, you feel the tears trying to drip away from your eyes. you just started driving home, but all you could think of matt.

flashback

“thats the best time we’ve ever had sex and i mean it” he says looking into your iris, “whatcha thinking about pretty girl?” he asks. “oh nothing just like us what we are” you say still staring into his mesmerizing eyes, “you’re my everything y/n” he says. you giggle looking away, “you’re my everything too matt”.

end of flashback

you grip onto the steering wheel trying not to cry, but the tears escape your eyes and u cant help but let out sobs. you try not to think of how good you and matt used to be, but now you think back it was just casual. it hurts your stomach so much thinking about it, how everything happened and why. he was just a boy you banged on your couch but, damn him for making you feel like this.

day later

matthew❕

hey y/n

do you want to hangout?

i see you reading my texts

please dont leave me on read

dont be like this please

im coming over

read 10:19 am

you continue sobbing into your comforter and bury yourself, you soon hear your doorbell ring and you cant bring yourself to get up and see his face. so you just ignore the sounds but they dont stop, for a second they stopped and then got louder. you groaned not even bothering to brush your hair or wipe way the tears, you walk down the stairs and go open the door.

you open the door and his eyes soften once he sees your red eyes and tear stains on your cheek, “can you stop staring matthew?” you say looking away “yeah m’sorry”. “did you leave something or want to say something? you clear your throat saying. “cmon we agreed that no feelings attached y/n” he says, you close the door behind him.

“how was i suppose not to?” you ask, he looks away “you said i was your everything matt!” you say as anger arises inside of you “i know i know but please dont be mad because- you cut him off “no i get to be mad matt because you said we were casual but people who are casual dont say shit like that!” you scream.

“please dont say what you dont mean y/n” he says, “we should just end this whatever this is.” you say as a tear slips down your cheek. “no no please y/n i need you!” he says as his eyes dwell with tears, “no you need someone who loves you and i thought i could give that to you but i really cant because you wont give it back or say some stupid shit like this is casual matt”.

“i didnt mean it please please dont do this” hes screaming in sobs, your heart breaks at the sight but you knew this had to be done for his sake and yours. “please matt dont make this harder than it is.” you put his head into your chest as you say. hes sobbing into your chest and every time you feel his tears slipping a piece of your heart shatters.

“i really did love you matt and i mean it.” you say as you bring his head up to meet your eyes, “please i dont want to lose you please please just dont do this”. he says and with that you kiss his forehead “matthew you need to go baby please.” you say. “can you hold me one more time y/n” he asks as his eyes are practically red and tears drip down each time.

“yes matt come here” you say as you bring him to your chest, you felt as time froze around you but the reality matter more than the fantasy you pictured. “okay sweetboy its time to go.” you say removing your arms from him, “i loved you too y/n” he says as he brings your face in his hands and kisses your forehead. “do you think we could ever be soulmates in another universe?” he asks looking at you.

“god i hope so” you say looking at him as he walks out your door. you both knew that was the last time he would ever enter and leave your house. you both loved each other just maybe in another life.

———————————————————————————————————————

hey so uhm this was really short and im sorry but i didnt know what to write lol

@sturnioloshacker @sturtriple16 @mattscoquette @mattybsgroupie

[slashmagpie]

Scar has had a day.

A fun day, certainly! He would never say that he didn’t have fun. That would be a lie, and Scar is not a liar. (A schemer, a swindler, yes, but a liar? Why, he’d never!) But several hours of running Decked Out, one near-death-experience after another, has him shaking all over. He’s sweating in places he didn’t even know he could sweat, and his heart is pounding even faster against his ribcage than the dungeon’s at max clank. 

But he had fun, and he’s achieved his goal of two new cards and a victory tome, so he’s about ready to head home to Scarland for some nice relaxing time—

There is something in the hallway with him.

The hair on the back of Scar’s neck prickles, and he can feel the ravager’s breath against his skin, a sudden rush of hot air in the otherwise frozen crypts. He feels his body freeze, lungs ceasing to function without permission, and he needs to run, needs to flee, he’s going to lose—

“You got lucky at the end there. When you were leaving? There was a ravager coming at you across the thing—”

“Oh gosh!” Scar stumbles backwards, heart in his throat, looking up at Tango as he approaches Scar and his shulker deck across the hall. His words spill out of him so fast he stumbles over the sounds, and Tango stops, staring, as Scar nearly keels over backwards from fright. “Jeez, Tango, oh my gosh, I thought you were a ravager, I’m a little still paranoid, it’s been a—a captivating day—”

Scar’s back hits the blackstone rim of the door behind him, and the sudden terror he’d felt at Tango’s presence suddenly vanishes, leaving him sagging against the wall. Tango blinks owlishly, looking around the dungeon like he’s missed something. 

“H-Hi? Do I…?” Tango looks down at himself, like he’s expecting to see something different, like he might suddenly be a beast with shaggy grey fur and deadly horns, and not a Tango in his frosty blue robes. A laugh wheezes its way out of Scar as the relief turns into an odd sort of dizziness. He feels a little sick. “Wow. Scar? You okay…?”

Scar pulls himself out of the corner, towards his friend, because Tango is his friend, and he’s just—he’s just Tango. Not a ravager, or any other kind of danger, just Tango, who’s spent the last thirteen months making this amazing game for all of the hermits, and who Scar is not scared of.

“Y-Y-You get heightened tension, right, when you play? It’s crazy, like—”

“You are on edge,” Tango tells him with a laugh, and Scar laughs along.

“I was on edge!” he agrees, opening his shulker once again so that he can avoid Tango’s gaze. There’s something about his eyes that are just—Scar doesn’t know. He’s not afraid of Tango. Why would he be afraid of Tango?

“Rarr,” Tango jokes, the worst ravager impression in the world, bearing his teeth and raising his hands like claws, and Scar does not jump. “And stuff.”

…Everything is fine, and normal, and Scar just needs—needs to go back to Scarland. And relax. Because his heart is beating too fast, and he’s played a lot of Decked Out, and he’s had a lot of fun, but he’s jumping at shadows, and at Tangos, and that—that simply won’t do.

(And he does not entertain the notion, not even a slightest bit, that maybe it’s not just him—that maybe there is something going on with Tango—because, really, it’s just Tango. Come on.) 

[anti-mpregfanblog]

Fanblog and fans. I want to start this by thanking all of you. This has single-handedly been one of the most positively overwhelming things I’ve done, which is saying a lot I think. I’d like to thank all who supported me and even those who didn’t. You all have made this war enjoyable and now that I’ve won I think it's fair I keep my promise. First though, i'd like to say a few things.

I like to think that the only reason I’ve had the success I have with this has simply been because you don’t know who i am. The power an identity has is strong and it becomes stronger when you hide it. I know that now first hand. I’d like to think the mask I’ve put on while I’ve played this part is well constructed. I’ve expertly been able to hide it from you all except for one person. @moss-moths-eyes-and-whimsy you are a genius. Crazy, but a genius. The dedication you put in purely to know me makes me slightly worried but alas, it's been amazing talking to you about all of this. Speaking of them actually, I have had such an amazing time helping to taunt the discord. I’m genuinely curious how far some of you have gotten in your own research, and since hearing from Moss I’ve tried to cover my tracks better based on what they’ve told me. So if your research has become a bit more difficult, blame them :)

I'd also like to take a moment to brag. The pure stress one experiences being the revolutionary who started the war is immense. On top of having 3 other fanblogs plus my original blog, I have not made a single mistake. The thing that mainly kept me going was the appreciation for my propaganda. I truly didn’t expect those to be so popular but alas, I was proven wrong. I'd also like to take a moment to thank my one friend who has been my right hand man and a damn good one at that. He has probably helped coach me through so many things that I couldn’t count them on my hands. I’m honestly proud of myself for going as far as I have with this. The final night of the poll I was up until 4 just watching it, convinced a last minute turnaround would happen. It didn’t, thankfully but that alone made me all the happier to finally have this war over.

Just because the war is over will not mean I’ll leave the throne I've built for myself. I will continue to fight the battles I need to. I will not stop even when my blades are covered in layers of blood. I will always come back to the deep Blackstone floor, tall pillars stretching above till infinity, and sit on the dark throne I made. My identity is not the end of the battles. I will not rest until the sky’s clear and everyone won't have to worry about mpreg. This is a promise. I will not stop until you are free.

As i close this speech out i'd like to thank you all one more time. I look forward to once again leading any revolution or battle. I am forever in your service and will be till the day I leave this cursed app. I’ll lastly like to say that i, the Anti Mpreg fanblog, leader of the revolution, and saint of the people, am

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The Slimecicle Fanblog :)

[gremlinmodetweeker]

Eldritch!König's Ever-Watchful Eyes

I'm writing this as I'm about to get an IUD inserted, so please pray for me here. Last time the pain was so bad I had to go to the hospital. Either way, I'm channeling my fear of pain into my fear of Summoned!König, so that's what's keeping me stable. Most likely half way through I'll be in an Uber home (or if I'm feeling extra, the bus).

Edit: I took the bus.

Story below the cut.

Tw for disturbing imagery, mental torture, insects

Under His Watch

König watched your scurrying out of the corner of one ice cold eye. He found it amusing, how you seemed so desperate to please a party that saw no worth in so much as the air that passed through your lungs. Really, Summoner, you're just another cog in a machine. You could relax a bit, if you'd like. You didn't need to spend hours assembling finger sandwiches and preparing jugs of cucumber water. If you wanted to have high tea, he could have a full table set for you in a snap of his fingers, but you always refused his help. It was starting to irritate him, actually.

"Watch the skins," he drawled as he watched the winds blow through fields of canola flowers, "Srgt. Blackstone is picky about his apples."

You didn't bother asking how he knew this, instead taking out a peeler without a word.

König raised one bushy eyebrow at your diligent obedience. You were such a good pet, weren't you? You hung on every command he gave you, but he knew this blind obedience would soon be your downfall. You needed some semblance of a spine if you wanted to climb from your current rank. Or rather, he'd need to plant one in you, whether you liked it or not.

"Don't add so much cress," König closed his weathered eyes, "it will throw off the balance."

"Will it?" you questioned, but put the sandwich aside regardless.

"It will," König confirmed.

He watched you hurry back and forth, a mindless ant playing house for a faux queen. He could squash you all with the twinge of a thumb.

In truth, König considered the entire display mindlessly absurd. You were laughably pathetic in your attempts to charm your superiors. You could spit on their boots and they'd clamber for so much as an acknowledgement from you. Didn't you realise how much power you held over them? You had him, didn't you?

You seemed so desperate to please these vermin above you. You had the most powerful summon in the entire continent, maybe even hemisphere, and yet you seemed desperate to try and gain the respect of ticks that were determined to burrow into your side. If only you knew how much power you commanded.

König snorted when you scrambled towards the knock on the door. You squeaked as you broke a glass statue in your hurry. Once you'd turned the corner, König twirled a finger and the statue was set to rights on the table.

You didn't mention the statue when you led your commanders back to the kitchen, instead focussing on keeping your eyes down to avoid angering the old ones. When they turned to look at König, they quickly averted their gaze. At the very least, they knew their place before him. They'd just need to learn that you were just as much a force as he was.

However, he could sense how fearful his mate seemed. You were so nervous, and his presence o ly seemed to amplify your anxieties. He mercifully faded into the shadows, and like all humans, out of sight out of mind. It saddened him how your shoulders relaxed when he had left your sight.

The great old ones sat at the table you set for them. You served each of them as the mindless drone you were, but they paid no attention to your desperate attempts to pacify the forces above you. Instead, they focussed on the avatar in their midst.

You sat at one end of the table, opposite from the space you'd so thoughtfully given to your commander. Now that your summon was out of sight, they focussed on honing their strength and focussing on your pitiful presence.

"You made great efforts to prepare yourself for us," the Admiral mused as his own summon sniffed the sandwich you'd prepared. Once the summon nodded, he took a tentative bite.

"You used no help from your summon to prepare for us," a commander observed.

"I didn't want to offend," you admitted weakly.

This got the attention of the old ones. You didn't want to offend them? König could smack you for being so oblivious.

"Well you have done well," the Admiral observed before narrowing his equiline eyes, "so far."

"I hope I will only continue to please," you mindlessly agreed, a fateful amen to the powers that reigned above you.

König could hear the whisperings in your commander's minds. It sickened him. If it were up to him, he'd have you pressed over this table beneath him, claiming you to prove who you were truly loyal to. The fact that they dared to picture you between their legs made him want to castrate each and every one of them. He'd teach them later, once their heads hit their pillows. Until then, he'd watch over you silently.

"A summoner as powerful as you could advance quickly,' the admiral's eyes glinted, "we certainly think you have potential, based on the results here."

"Really?" you blinked owlishly.

"There is no doubt in your abilities," the Admiral took another sandwich, cream cheese and lox, "as long as you can prove your dedication, you could easily be sitting among the people you see here within a year."

A year? The thought was so alien to you that it took you an entire minute to process it. You, an old master, in just a year? It was unheard of.

"But that's impossible..." you heard the words come forth, but your face was numb.

"Not so, summoner," the admiral's teeth gleaned in the afternoon glow, "I think we could find good use for you. How would you like to join us?"

König saw you nod your head, a good little pup. He couldn't believe what he was seeing.

"All we need are a few favours," the old master spun his web, "nothing egregious, just some things to ensure your abilities."

You perched on the edge of your seat, an alert retriever waiting for your masters command.

"We only ask one simple request," the Admiral leaned forward, "and that would be your summon."

"My summon?" you frowned. They wanted you to hand over König? Your heart clenched, and everything within you screamed in protest.

"Your first attempt to summon brought you an avatar of chaos," a general pitched in, "with more training and guidance, imagine what you could summon next?'

"You could have an army of angels at your fingertips," another added.

You could always get another summon, but give up König? Something churned within you.

"I'd have to think-"

"No."

The sunlight was snuffed out around you, leaving you in complete darkness. Tendrils crawled around your throat, loving chains binding you close.

"I am not some pet to be passed," a voice echoed by each old one present, "not a single one of you, not with your armies of summons or all the arcane knowledge in every library of earth can bind me to your command."

The Admiral screamed as a cloud of gnats bloomed from his throat.

"You are all toddlers playing with matchbooks."

A general was bound to his chair with thick, slimy tentacles as centipedes crawled from his ears and into his mouth, stifling his pleads for mercy.

"This summoner is my mate."

The other general went slack-jawed as images of maddening carnage flashed through his eyes.

"Now bow to me."

All ten old masters immediately dropped to their stomachs. Their hands were stretched up above them, small antenna reaching up to a higher power that held nothing but disdain for them. It was a wretched sight, too horrid for your little brain to comprehend.

As soon as it came, the sunlight slowly filtered in with carefree abundance. The fields grew brighter than before, the clouds outside particularly billowy in their columnus mirth.

The remnants of lunch had turned to rotten mulch on rusted trays. Insects crawled through the piles with gleeful delight. As the old masters slowly climbed up the table legs to their feet, they shook and shivered like mice in cats of oil.

The admiral's eyes met yours, then a pair of eyes behind you."

"You may leave."

They were gone in an instant.

AU Masterlist

[moonstruckmoony]

MCtober2024 - Introduce your MC!

I'm well aware I'm one week behind but this is literally the earliest I could finish this.. (moony crawling from the depths of irl problems) lol better late than never right? I'll try my best to catch up! · · ─────── ·❄ ❅ ❆· ─────── · · Winter Blackstone A 6th-year Ravenclaw, Winter Blackstone is quite the name at Hogwarts—mainly because she enrolled very late, took down a troll on her first day (as one does), and is known to mysteriously disappear between classes. Where to? Only Merlin knows. She’s also credited with helping stop Ranrok’s plans, though how big of a role she played remains a bit of a mystery to the students.

Winter’s mother, a Slytherin and skilled Curse-Breaker, tragically passed away when Winter was just 9 years old. Her father, though a Squib, is deeply knowledgeable about the wizarding world and has ensured Winter never felt out of place when it came to magic.

FAVORITE / HATED SUBJECTS? Winter’s top subjects are Potions, Ancient Runes, and Magical Theory—no surprises there for a curious Ravenclaw. But if you ask her about Arithmancy? That’s where you’ll hear a groan. While the concept and the theory behind it intrigues her, she absolutely avoids anything to do with numbers.

“I’m already so late to the world of magic, and now I’ve got to deal with numbers too? No, thank you!” she’s often heard saying. Yet, despite her complaints, Ominis constantly reminds her that she’s never scored a P, D, or T in Arithmancy—something he can’t say about his Potions work.

Her favorite professors? None other than Dinah Hecat, Aesop Sharp, and of course, the late Eleazar Fig.

SCHOOL CLUB Because of her late admission, Winter has little time for clubs—though she makes an exception for Crossed Wands. It’s the perfect way for her to sharpen her dueling skills, and she relishes every moment. PETS Winter has two cherished companions: Khione, her Barn Owl, and Snowball, her playful white golden retriever. Snowball was a gift from her father when she was 11, meant to lift her spirits after she didn’t receive her Hogwarts letter, leading her to believe she was a Squib. Little did she know, her letter would come at age 15, changing everything. Thanks to Professor Fig, she was given a nab-sack to sneak Snowball to Hogwarts, keeping him close even in her busy schedule. After a bit of help from Sirona at the Three Broomsticks following the troll attack, Snowball found a cozy spot to stay while Winter was in class. But when Professor Weasley introduced her to the Room of Requirement—well, Snowball ended up with a far more magical home within Hogwarts! Naturally, that little secret is kept under wraps. HOBBIES Winter has a passion for cooking, especially dishes from all around the world. As a child, she traveled extensively with her mother due to her mother’s unique Curse-Breaking work. Everywhere they went, Winter was enchanted by the local cuisine, jotting down recipes and experimenting when she got home. Now, in Hogwarts, she often recreates dishes like baozi, frikadeller, paella, oyakodon, and to Amit’s delight—Indian curry.

She frequently invites her friends to the Room of Requirement for her culinary experiments and is always on the lookout for rare ingredients. Thanks to her mother’s connections scattered in different parts of the world, Winter manages to have specific ingredients occasionally sent to her via owl.

[immawraffle]

Things that are easy to miss in Dragon Age: Origins, I guess:

If you talk to the soldier guarding the tower of Ishal, he tells you they found tunnels under it, so they should already know it’s compromised.

If you exhaust all dialogue with the head templar of the Lothering chantry, he’ll tell you about the right of annulment being sent for (at least if you’re a mage).

If you reject Leliana and talk to the barkeep, he tells you a bit more about her.

Honorable mention to the people who completely miss Leliana bc they never go in the tavern.

The Orzammar Palace Dragon.

The full Blackstone Irregular and Favours for Certain Interested Parties quest lines, which I missed my first couple play-throughs.

You can extend the quick bar by dragging it.

Feel free to add your own to the list.

[glennk56]

Donovan Workun (part 2)

Donovan Workun was in vampire film Truckstop Bloodsuckers in 2012.

Donovan played a coroner in an episode of Blackstone in 2013.

Donovan was in an episode of Canadian series Tiny Plastic Men in 2012.

Donovan Workun was part of this Grand Scale Mitsubishi Ad Campaign in 2015.

Donovan Workun appeared in Forsaken, a film featuring Donald and Keifer Sutherland in 2015.

Donovan was an emcee for a televised charity event in 2016.

In 2017 he was in the film It's Not My Fault and I Don't Care Anyway starring Alan Thicke.

He was also in the short film The Moustache in 2017.

[capesch-arts]

Really love the Lore Accurate KiY au!! Wanted to ask, what is the end goal of KiY in this au? Is he the main bad guy instead of Kayne? With his complicated relationship with Arthur, what is his relationship with Faroe and Jane?

1) For the KiY, his main problem is Carcosa and its inhabitants dying, and so his main goal is to restore Carcosa back to its glory, aside from making himself whole again. There are many ways he could restore it, but first he needs to take care of the "dying inhabitants" problem. But, after that, he just needs to do a bit of "renovation" and bring new people to Carcosa.

2) Yes, he does replace Kayne, but unlike him, he has no interest in the Blackstone. Kayne in OG malev wanted it because, what I assume, to not die like Shub did and be completely free to "play the keys" on the piano. The King doesn't really want to do all that.

He does, eventually lead Faroe and Jane to The Order of The Fallen Star but for completely different reasons.

3) His relationship with Faroe and Jane, I would feel like he does hate her, in a way, but he's more so curious about their development. (Especially Jane). Sure, he hates the woman who stole a part of him and changed said part so that they can't go back with him, but if there's a chance to see if a god, or perhaps a fragment of a god can divert from it's original function, would it not be worth it to see how things go?

[ant1quarian]

A Fragmented Mind

Part 2 - A Crow's Encounter

Beginning | Next

CW's: Self-harm mentioned by tugging on his hair, Philza is having one hell of a time (/neg), Ender King mention, he is Scared, and also panic attack.

His voice sounds alien even to himself, echoing throughout the darkness-wreathed surroundings. Blackstone, he dully noticed, was what was so firm beneath his hands. The stone was warm but cold at the same time. How? He wasn’t sure.

“You’re not meant to be here yet.” The voice repeated. His head finally snapped up, pupils shrinking as his gaze flitted over the elegant architecture, still mostly hidden. He forced himself to breathe. He couldn’t remember when he stopped.

The feeling in the air was familiar. Dangerously so. The same type of familiar that reminded him of a world he resided in prior— the same feeling that came over him before he hurt Lullah. Before he… ran…

Oh. Oh no.

“Ender King?” He can hear his voice crack. He hates it. Philza has never been a helpless man. He’s always given everything a middle finger and rebelled however he could. But here he feels so, so small.

“I guess we feel familiar, huh? Nah, mate, not quite.” He can feel a presence in front of him. He can’t see it. It’s all shadows. A clawed hand lightly touches his shoulder and he has to suppress the urge to jolt away.

That voice sounds like his own. Maybe a little fancier, words better enunciated, maybe a little lighter. Is the being amused? It sounds sympathetic. Concerned, almost, but morbidly entertained.

“Who are you?” He finds himself rasping, suddenly feeling as if he hasn’t drunk for several days.

“... You can call me Crow.” The voice responds after a thoughtful pause. He can feel the shadows gradually clearing and the first thing he sees are crystal blue eyes flecked with crying obsidian purple. He doesn’t stop himself from jolting back this time.

His breath catches in his throat as more is revealed. Thick, black wings lined with an iridescent, purple-blue shimmer and white diamonds adorning the largest of feathers. The similar dusty coal black plumage gracing his mirror image’s face and ears. He looks softer and sharper at the same time. Like a blade slid into a beautifully embroidered sheath.

Why does Crow share his face? His wings?

“I— What—”

“You’re not meant to be here yet.” Crow repeats for the third time, sitting down on the blackstone. He looks almost amused. It makes Philza’s skin crawl. He can feel the phantom wings on his back ruffling, as if they, too, really existed. Did any of this exist? What kind of god was playing with him now?

“What does that mean?” He feels a hint of his resolve returning but he’d be a fool to deny how his voice shook.

“Eh,” Crow shrugs, as if they were having a conversation about the weather, and not like Philza was struggling to breathe through the feeling of his chest being compressed, the shackles squeezing around his limbs, “you’re just not ready, mate. You weren’t… hm. You don’t usually… turn up like this. You can’t handle it.”

“What the fuck can’t I handle?” He finds himself snapping, eyes narrowing into a bladed glare. He’s glad to have that anger. He needs it to keep himself together. Crow only shoots him a lopsided grin.

“Well, that’s the secret, isn’t it?” He returns with a small drawl, as if he, too, is contemplating the question. He snaps out of it relatively quickly, “well, it seems like our time is up anyhow. Goodbye, Philza. Please, don’t try to return soon.”

Philza nearly shouts at the way his brain seems to split into jars, fog encompassing him once more, before a haze lifts from his eyes.

It takes him a second to get his bearings, breathing ragged as terror forces him to his knees. Something that was previously in his hand falls to the ground with a thud. He feels bark meet his forehead as his hands clench into his hair. The strands are smooth, but all he can focus on is the small tinge of pain. He doesn’t spare a glance at the way his bucket hat topples to the ground behind him.

It takes him a few minutes, thoughts horribly blank as his consciousness returns to him and he calms, before he really registers what’s going on around him. His heart still beats rapidly in his chest but at the very least, he doesn’t feel like his mind is getting torn to shreds. His limbs feel fizzy. The phantom wings have vanished.

He was carrying Woodsbane. It’s on the dirt now. He’s in the tree farm. Dark Oak sits in his inventory, along with golden apples staring at him. More than there should be. More than there were. He’s not in bed, either. He remembers falling asleep there.

He slowly untangles his hands from his hair, staring silently at the silky strands he’d torn out. They were damp. His hair was damp. It hadn’t been raining. It didn’t smell of petrichor. The mycelium wasn’t wet. He hadn’t touched water since yesterday afternoon. His hair had dried before he’d fallen asleep.

“What the fuck.” He feels himself whisper. There’s something in him that feels so Wrong. He can’t describe it, not really, but it’s like a horrible sense of reverse Déjà vu.

“What. The. FUCK.”

[circus-milk]

Currently working on one big ref sheet for everyone

Info abt the au(shortened for everyone's sake):

I'm not yet decided if it Takes place after Intermezzo don't agree to find the black stone or where Arthur and John agree to the terms but fail to find it.

Their transported to an alternate universe, where Tau (that universes arthur) joined a circus for some extra cash during bella's pregnancy.Though in Arthur and John coming to that universe their forced to kill tua and take his place. Kayne wanting to keep a closer eye on the pair goes to the universe with him just under the guise he's a human ringmaster. Ofc with it being so early on in this timeline some things are bound to happen like Bellas passing where despite Arthur making an effort to not forget that day & making a commitment to be there that day, he relives the same exact day as the last time she passed (akin to an outer body expirence, where both he and John know what's happening but have no control over the body or what's said that day) smth simular happens for faroes death in that universe where when he's composing music for the circus, he's told by the babysitter to go check up on faroe soon and when the baby sitter leaves the room Arthur finds himself unable to get up and unable to stop playing being forced to sit there. When finally meeting with these universes friends/ppl (ex: Oscar, noel, etc) he can't tell them he's from somewhere else, the only ppl who have memory's of the original universe are Arthur, John, yellow, and kayne. Arthur and John will do short acts before leaving at night to go search for the blackstone. The circus is to distract ppl from what's rlly going on.

I don't feel like kayne would tolerate Larson after ep 40 so I imagine Yellow is bound to a humanoid puppet body.

Some of Roles/acts:

Dou Illusion act- yellow and John

Ring leader- kayne (pupateer)

Hail bail rides- Kellin Holeman

Petting zoo- Faroe (pre death), Oscar

Animal trainer/game stands- Noel

Seamstress- Bella (predeath)

Food stands&pig races-Butcher

Stunt preformer - Arthur

[mcyt-builds-contest]

Foolish's Dragon

Builder : Foolish

Series : QSMP

Propaganda : Foolish built it very early on, before he had diamond tools and armour. That's an astounding amount of blackstone to mine with iron tools. | Foolish began building the dragon statue on the second day of the server. He lives there with his child Leonarda. Since this picture was taken, a circular stone pathway was built at waterlevel along with a bridge to the shore. The circular pathway also functions as walls for an aquarium containing various sea creatures. The dragon has been subject to several griefings/pranks, including: a giant tophat on the dragon's head, an entire dungeon moved on top of the central tower using Create mod, and a horde of dogs (played by admins) building entire structures out of blocks resembling poo. The pranks were always cleaned up.

Endlantis

Builder : Philza

Series : Philza's Hardcore Series S4

Propaganda : The end is now a fishbowl, there was an accidental dragon fight here, canonically the enderman king tried to teleport an ocean monument and failed (L), enderman ear check my beloved (listen to them scream), very pretty, bird man keeps making Big Projects that he can fish at

Taglist!

@10piecechickenmcnugget @biro-slay @betweenlands

[setacin]

Asphodel

A k!pyro send-off, and an alternate ending to his s3ep4. What if instead of being able to rest, he was forced to reckon with his actions? warning for major character death (2025 words)

“No more,” Pyro swung his glaive to fend off Rae and Clown.

“It’s all led to this,” he backed away from them, inching ever closer to the pillar, and farther away from anything that could get between him and his goal. 

“Why did you have to make things be this way? Why did you have to ruin it all?”

“This is the only way that things can truly end.”

As he ran towards the floating gem holding up the nether and tackled it to the ground, the whole nether began to shake. 

The whispers surrounding him grew louder. The voices overlapped with one another, muttering about the end of the nether, about the souls that were sure to result from their actions, about how Pyro was doing exactly what he was meant to be doing. 

He had always lived life with his head held high, his pride as a Wastewalker driving him forward. But something had changed, hadn’t it? He had felt the gentle caress of death as he lay on the ground in that cave. He knew what it felt like to want to die. He had faced his honorable defeat as a warrior and yet something had prevented him from moving on. 

Pyro’s hands began to shake, though he was unsure if it was due to the ground, the withers, or simply the gratification of the perfect execution of his plan. Those that he had used to consider his allies, his enemies, his friends, all reduced to nothing more than ants beneath him, scurrying towards the sweet taste of survival. He would crush them all. Finally taking his revenge on Clown for humiliating him not so long ago. He would take everything from him, even if it meant that he lost himself in the process. 

He hadn’t known that the actions he had so thoughtlessly performed at only 15 would have set him on this path. That killing that wither and taking its head for a trophy would impact him even now. That even with all that he had done in the last few years, his fate was already sealed.

Even if he could go back and warn his younger self of the consequences of slaying that wither, would it have changed the course of history? Or would he have charged in just the same, believing that he was above the warning of the withered specter that he had yet to become. 

He took a step forward.

“At last, this realm’s misery will finally end.” 

Pieces of the ceiling fell down, crashing into the lava below. The walls began to crumble, clouds of dust and debris rising over the blackstone floor. The pillar had been toppled- the nether roof no longer had any supports. The nether would be crushed by the ceiling, and now there was no one left to stop it. The sense of something looming behind him grew stronger than ever before.

One of his glaives fell to the floor, the sharp sound of metal hitting the floor drowned out by the low rumble of falling stone. 

“No more wars, no more suffering, no more death.”

He could just barely see a flash of black and bright blue out of the corner of his eye. The faint rattling of bones joined the chorus of whispers, all chattering in anticipation of the nether’s imminent destruction. 

How could the other Wastewalkers not see the grand plans laid so easily at their feet, the obvious solution for the problems that had been plaguing the nether since the dawn of civilization? 

“Every living soul finally released.”

He barely noticed his other glaive joining the first on the floor, staring up instead at the last moments of the temple. The glow from the wither’s eyes was almost blinding, the voices now deafening as they reveled in the power flooding towards them from those that had already been killed by the collapsing roof. 

“Finally, we’re free.”

Even as his world crashed down around him, it felt like a weight had finally been lifted from his shoulders. No longer would he need to lead those around him- he had played his part and he had played it well. No longer would Clown be able to rule the nether and exploit its citizens. No longer would he have to look into his allies’ eyes and see reflected in them all the ways that he had failed. 

“I’m… free.”

He took a final gasping breath as he was crushed under the weight of the world. A fitting fate for any legend, to be immortalized in stone. 

His eyes closed, and all was silent. 

—

It was just like last time. He felt the strength leave his body, an almost painful coldness setting in to all of his limbs. There was no more fighting anymore. However, unlike last time there were no voices, no tether to the material world to drag him back from the brink. The wither was gone. The pressure of the roof no longer weighed on him, the netherian smell of metal, fire, and smoke faded away along with his warmth. 

His consciousness drifted. Was this all that awaited wastewalkers after death? A dark, cold nothingness? 

Maybe he was no longer a Wastewalker to the world. He had forsaken their creed, their oath, their bond as Wastewalkers. And for what? A twisted sense of revenge? The desire to single-handedly make any sort of impact on the world? 

Some legacy this would be, not the savior of the nether but its executioner. 

For the first time since he had been saved from the brink of death, his mind was empty of the wither’s murmuring voice in his ears. He had gotten so used to its suggestions, to the information that it provided him during his 6 months in the void that he had almost forgotten what this felt like. With his mind fully to himself for once, he began to regret. 

Had it really been worth it, the cleansing of Clown’s influence at the cost of the innocent people of the nether? He had fed the voices that cried for revenge, only for the wither to be crushed just the same as everyone else. The rest of the Wastewalkers had died for their sense of justice, but Pyro couldn’t say the same about himself. 

And what of those that he had left behind? Of Rae, who he had watched over for years; of Kae, who was just now learning how to heal; of Ash, who had only just discovered himself? He thought he might have seen them get out alive at least. Hopefully his death will hurt less than how they saw him twist and warp under the wither’s influence in life. Hopefully Sushi and Nirox could find it in themselves to forgive him for pulling them back from beyond the grave. 

There was something grating at the edge of his consciousness though, a faint sound of rustling, like wind through a wheat field. Distracting him from his reflection, the sound drew him in, quickly joined by a sweet floral smell that he couldn’t quite place. 

It seemed to be getting closer, louder, and-

—

Pyro opened his eyes. 

All that met him was a world in various shades of dull grey, the sky a shifting haze devoid of color. As he lay on the ground, the feeling returned to his limbs, though the piercing cold never left. He moved one of his fingers ever so slowly, working his way through the rest of his body until managed to sit up. 

 His hand shook as he lifted two fingers to his neck to check his pulse. Nothing. He let out a sigh. 

Slowly rising to his feet, Pyro took inventory of his surroundings. A field of white flowers stretched as far as the eye could see, a faint breeze blowing a few of the petals around. His whole body ached. 

The stalks of the white flowers varied in height, with most reaching to around his shoulders, with others coming up only to his knees, or stretching up a few inches above the top of his head. 

The sharp grey stones that seemed to make up the ground crunched underfoot as Pyro stepped towards the closest plant, one of the smaller ones. As he knelt down, he held his breath, hand stretching out to touch the flower, fingers lightly making contact.

“Mom, I’m scared,” a faint voice whispered through the breeze. “I don’t want to die.”

Pyro stumbled backwards, the rocks on the ground digging into his hands as he looked around for the source of the voice. Fear washed over him, an emotion not entirely his own. Who was this person?

He reached out to one of the other nearby plants with trembling hands. 

“We could have had a life together,” the flower cried to him, like a confession. 

Something clenched in Pyro’s chest as the feeling of longing threatened to overwhelm him. He choked out a sob as he looked at the vast expanse of white flowers that stretched out in every direction. 

He sat there for a few minutes, losing himself in the memories that were being shared with him. His hand laid gently upon one of the flowers, as this person’s last moments flashed out before him. A sound like rolling thunder interrupting their work, a massive boulder crashing through one of the walls of their commune, the sound of screams as more stone began to fall. Their lover rushing towards them only to fall victim to the crumbling of the nether. They still had their whole life ahead of them, until they didn’t. 

These were the souls of the people killed when the nether roof fell. 

His breathing ragged, and face streaked with tears, Pyro gritted his teeth together and picked himself back up off the ground. 

He made his way, one foot after the other, into the fields, running his hands along the flower stalks on either side of him. 

“This way! It’s safer over here!” They told him.

“I’ll protect you, don’t worry,” came the voice of a father. 

“Our home…” another cried.

Their dying moments, their final wishes, their final words. All spoken to him without the knowledge that he was the one that had put them here. He had caused this. It was up to him to remember them all; he was Atlas, and this was his new burden to bear. 

The fields seemed to stretch on forever, Pyro attempting to snap himself back to attention every time the cries started to blend into each other, becoming a tapestry of sound, an elegy to what could have been. 

“Watch out!” came a desperate voice. 

“Mom, Dad, I’m sorry,” a young soldier mumbled under their breath, an unwilling soldier in Clown’s army.

“Katie! Katie, where are you!” called a mother. 

A wave of exhaustion set over Pyro as he heard story after story, soaked in their grief, their anger, their despair. All while the sickly sweet scent of the flowers floated through the air. He needed to keep going though, to push through and atone to these people for his actions. Despite how the wither had managed to cloud his judgement, it was still his hands to blame. 

He paused for a second, and looked behind him. The path that he had traveled was indistinguishable from any other direction. He was dwarfed by the sheer scale of the fields of flowers before him. Funny, how a man who had spent his last moments regarding himself as greater than those around him was reduced to nothing more than the ant that he had envisioned the others to be. 

He would keep walking, keep listening. As long as it took to get through the field, he would do it. 

The white flowers rustled in the breeze, as if acknowledging that vow. Breathing in, he finally placed that sweet smell that pervaded the air around him. 

Asphodel. That’s what the flowers were. Maybe one day he would be allowed to join them, too, to finally be able to rest. He was a Wastewalker, he was Pyroscythe. And for once, he needed to bring honor to that name. 

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Charles P. Pierce: Hard after Thursday night’s television debacle, the Supreme Court leaped in to destroy the separation of powers and, as Elie Mystal pointed out on Xwitter, to engage in the biggest power grab since Marbury v. Madison. Through the now-customary 6–3 vote delivered by the carefully manufactured conservative majority, the precedent of Chevron v. Natural Resources Defense Council, aka the Chevron deference, is now as dead as Julius Caesar. And thus forty years of administrative law comes to a rude and abrupt end. The decision further illustrates that the dedication of the carefully manufactured conservative majority to corporate oligarchy is utterly unshakable, expertise—scientific and otherwise—be damned. Don’t believe me? Ask Chief Justice John Roberts, who wrote the majority opinion.

“Perhaps most fundamentally, Chevron’s presumption is misguided because agencies have no special competence in resolving statutory ambiguities. Courts do.”

So instead of career scientists deciding that the E. coli convention in your pork loin makes it inadvisable to eat, some twenty-two-year old law clerk fresh out of Regent University School of Law will. Bon appétit!

Getting rid of Chevron was one of the golden dreams of the country’s oligarchs and the judges and lawyers in their pay. Along with Roe v. Wade, it was number one on the conservative hit parade. But Justice Neil Gorsuch, whose concurrence is chock-full of the kind of tinhorn erudition so beloved by the carefully manufactured conservative majority, has perhaps a special reason to dance on Chevron’s grave. His mother, Anne Gorsuch, was hired by the Reagan administration to run the EPA—into the ground, apparently. From The Washington Post:

Anne Gorsuch—like Reagan then and President Trump today—was a firm believer that the federal government was too big, too powerful and too eager to issue regulations that restricted businesses. As a result, she slashed the EPA’s budget by nearly a quarter and, according to a Washington Post story at the time, boasted that she had reduced the thickness of the book of clean water regulations from six inches to a half inch. She filled various departments at EPA with subordinates recruited from the very industries the agency was supposed to be regulating.

By the end of her stint at EPA, Anne Gorsuch was under siege. A half dozen congressional committees were looking into allegations of mismanagement of the Superfund program, which was designed to clean up abandoned toxic waste sites around the country. The House voted to cite Gorsuch for contempt of Congress for failing to turn over subpoenaed records.

In addition to its dollar-store history, Gorsuch’s concurrence pretty much turns the concept of stare decisis into Silly Putty. Return with us now to those thrilling days of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, Justice Neil Gorsuch, your host.

"Other consequences followed for the role precedent played in future judicial proceedings. Because past decisions represented something “less than a Law,” they did not bind future judges....At the same time, as Matthew Hale put it, a future judge could give a past decision “Weight” as “evidence” of the law....Expressing the same idea, William Blackstone conceived of judicial precedents as “evidence” of “the common law.” And much like other forms of evidence, precedents at common law were thought to vary in the weight due them."

Matthew Hale died in 1676. He was a notorious witch hunter and once argued that the existence of laws against witchcraft proved that witches existed. What the hell he has to do with PFAS pollution or workplace safety in a chicken plant is beyond me. But we live in his universe now, and Neil Gorsuch got his own back for his mom.

https://www.esquire.com/.../supreme-court-chevron.../...

[simplepotatofarmer]

the admin

a commission for @kiuda who asked for my take on admin c!dream

The server was humming.

Dream could feel it beneath his feet even through the soles of his boots. Everything was vibrant and alive. The air smelled fresh, clean. It was new and wide open and waiting for them to make it their own. The humming sounded like words, like a greeting, and Dream understood the meaning implicitly.

This was his word, soft and warm and simple, and it was waiting for him.

He stopped and turned, shading his eyes with his hand. George and Sapnap were two dots on the horizon but he could feel their footsteps the same way he could feel his own heart beating.

“George! Sapnap!” He waved an arm as he called out. “Hurry up, idiots!”

The whole world was waiting.

Dream never used to get tired.

There had been a time, in the beginning, when he hadn’t slept. It had been as if the lifeblood of the server was flowing through him. It had been alive and whole and had so Dream had been alive and whole.

But the server was fractured now and he was tired.

He could feel it like he could feel a broken bone.

This was still his world but now it was hard and cold and complicated and he was hard and cold and complicated. He didn’t know which had come first. It weighed on him. All he wanted was it to be the way it had been, at the start.

The sun was shinning and Dream could feel it like a distant memory, like he could still feel the server’s life flowing, even though he was standing in the shadow on the blackstone wall.

Dream shivered and the world shuddered.

˚ · • . ° .˚ · • . ° .˚ · • . ° .˚ · • . ° .˚ · • . ° .˚ · • . ° .˚ · • . ° .˚ · • . ° .˚ · • . ° .

There was a hole in the world.

Dream felt it as if someone had reached their hand into his chest, ribs cracking, and yanked out his insides. He felt it the same way he had felt everything else but deeper somehow; his was his own doing, he had torn the world asunder. His world.

Not that it mattered.

It had stopped hurting some time ago.

He was numb. The tiredness went down to his bones. To bedrock. The obsidian grid beneath his feet ached and all Dream could do was laugh.

This was his world and his plan and maybe it would work.

Maybe it was all a game and he would wake up and be able to start over.

The world was tense, as if it knew what was coming next.

Dream knew what was coming next.

His stage was waiting.

It was time to play.

˚ · • . ° .˚ · • . ° .˚ · • . ° .˚ · • . ° .˚ · • . ° .˚ · • . ° .˚ · • . ° .˚ · • . ° .˚ · • . ° .

The prison was like drowning.

It was like slowly dying.

The obsidian under his bare feet hummed but it spoke a different language and Dream didn’t understand. It made his skin itch. He felt wrong. Like a fish plucked from the ocean and tossed on land. Like a bird whose wings had been severed.

And he was tired.

“You alright there, man?”

Dream was so very tired.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said, glancing over at Techno.

There was worry deep in the lines of his face.

“You sure?”

Dream snorted.

“I was tortured, Techno,” he snapped. “I’m—I’m in prison.”

Techno scooted a little closer and Dream wanted to move but it felt good to be close to someone. Like there was a breeze wafting from Techno and Dream was gasping for air. Without thinking, he moved closer himself. Techno was a tether and Dream was clinging to any connection he could.

“Yeah, speaking of, how does that work?”

“What?”

“It’s your server, right? Can’t you just… admin your way out of here?” asked Techno, head tilted to the side.

Dream looked away.

“It doesn’t work like that.”

“How does it work?”

It worked like breathing, like blood pumping through veins.

It worked like Dream was a part of this world in a way that was more than anyone else, in a way that meant he felt everything, that the world was living and he was living and he wasn’t sure where one started and the other began.

And that ever since the prison, he had lost that connection. He was tired. He didn’t know when the sun was in the sky anymore just by instinct alone. His skin was pale and his eyes were dull, the obsidian walls closing in around him.

He thought maybe it had started before the prison, back when lands and borders began scarring his world, but his memory was as fuzzy as his connection to his world was now.

“I don’t know. I can’t remember.”

Techno wrapped his cloak around Dream’s shoulders.

“It’s alright, Dream,” he said. “It’s alright.”

The cloak was warm and smelled like pine sap and dog fur and smoke and milk, like the whole world distilled into one piece of red fabric. Dream pulled it around himself and closed his eyes.

˚ · • . ° .˚ · • . ° .˚ · • . ° .˚ · • . ° .˚ · • . ° .˚ · • . ° .˚ · • . ° .˚ · • . ° .˚ · • . ° .

There was still a hole in the world but life was growing inside it, slowly but surely.

There was still a hole inside Dream’s chest.

But the sky was bright and blue overhead and the air was fresh and clean, the smell of sulfur beginning to fade as the horse’s hooves pounded across the ground.

Dream felt that like he felt his heart beating in his chest.

He felt it.

He felt the pains and aches, in his bones and mind and in the world itself. It would take time to heal. Dream wasn’t sure that he ever would, that the world would ever be the same. It was broken and scarred.

But there were trees and sunlight and he could feel it once more.

The world was still alive and he was alive and he could feel it.

There was more to be done.

The server hummed.

[arinanightlight]

"In the name of love?"

This was my post in one role-play group chats for getting the role of Grian.

{This Grian's behavior is... unusual. I already see how this needs a lot of explanation of the rp lore. But I'm ready to give you some answers. If you're interested in this, feel free to ask, I'll be happy to give ya an infodamp about the lore.}

and oh yeah it contains the lyrics of the song "In the Name of Love" by Martin Garrix & Bebe Rexha so it's partly a songfic yeahh- i love songs-

If an ordinary traveler between worlds had ever happened to be in this dimension, he would have been only unpleasantly surprised by what he saw. Usually, interworlders and planeswalkers look for places like their homeland: cities, forests, fields, islands in the middle of the ocean, but not dilapidated crazy ruins, where it is worth making at least one extra move — and you will either fall into the abyss, disappearing into it forever without a trace, or you will lose your footing, pushing off too much from a dry cracked stone soaring into the air due to the abnormal lack of gravity and remaining there to slowly die, seeing only frozen fragments of basalt, blackstone, cobblestones and an endless expanse of dust clouds in front of him. Therefore, any sane planeswalker, as soon as he looked out of the portal and noticed the eternally purple sky with lilac streaks, would immediately hide back and never look into this world again.

But how surprised would he be to see how a human figure, wrapped in a dark purple cloak embroidered with gold threads, approaches the stones covered with cracks and cracks and touches an inconspicuous sign of enchantments on one of them, and how this touch makes the signal symbol glow and the letters embossed in a square around the unknown, hidden in the interlacing cracks of the old ones chorus bricks, and stones fall in front of the unknown within the boundaries of the magic square, turning into steps and opening a passage into a dark underground corridor. And if he followed the figure, he would quickly get lost in the countless branches and get entangled in the unexpected turns of other corridors.. And no one would help him, because only a small handful of the population of the universes is allowed to enter this place. A handful of those who created everything. And only they understand where to go in this maze, so as not to fall into the gaps or fall exhausted, and reach their room, library, planetarium of the Universe… Or to the meeting room, which, by the way, is unexpectedly crowded.

Many figures in the same hoods sat at a huge round table, most of which was covered by a holographic projection of two large settlements, surrounded by one thick purple, and the other pale pink numerous trees, and one small, borderline; the rest of the table was occupied by unique "playing" cards spread out in front of each, instead of the usual suits marked with either a pink sakura flower, or an open eye contour turned to one side, or a yellow spiral, or a broken lilac rectangle, and initials were instead of letters… The initials of the inhabitants of this world.

For a while, a muffled whisper permeated the damp air of the room knocked out inside the rock, no one paid even the slightest attention when a new little girlish figure walked into the hall and sat down in an empty seat. The sounds began to fade only when one of the group threw all his cards on the table and clenched his fists. Silence hung around him, but so far not everyone noticed the strangeness, only those who were sitting closest. "No…" Suddenly, one of the audience spoke softly, but at the same time firmly, and all the others turned to him in silence. The short but slender figure of a young man with a hooded face, like everyone else's, straightened up and quickly stood up, knocking over an oak chair darkened by time and worn by beetles.

"No!" He repeated almost furiously and slammed both palms on the table deafeningly. Some of those present flinched at the harsh sound, but the rest remained calm even after the guy in anger pulled off his cape of heavy purple fabric and threw it on the floor, remaining in the same crimson-red jumper and worn gray jeans. "I refuse to go back there just to cause them more pain and amuse you with tragedies and dramas. Timmy, Scar, the guys from that particular server — they've all had enough of life." he said firmly, and then added with hatred: "And unlike you, many of them did not deserve what fell on them. Timmy didn't deserve to be the first to die every time at Life Games or in any other world!"

Deathly silence. No one moved around. "Ari has already suffered so much that only you don't feel sorry for her!" Someone present fidgeted nervously, but stopped all movement under the gaze of many glowing eyes under the hoods. "Scar is too wonderful to break his kind, gentle and loving heart every time at your whim!!" finally, Grian shouted either to them or to himself at the top of his voice, but from the pain of his soul he broke down, broke down, the young man coughed softly, strangled. And his hand, the thin hand of an artist in the calluses of a builder, involuntarily reached out to his chest and squeezed the jumper, pulled back the soft knitted fabric, as if it constrained him like ropes, prevented him from breathing. The silence of others pressed on him from all sides, crushed him like a fist on a thin piece of paper… But if you are careless, you can accidentally even cut yourself on paper.

And the architect's head, lowered under the emotionless yoke of the Watchers, rose sharply, and he, with an unexpectedly sharp glance, slashed at the faces of those around him, half-hidden under the cabins, straightened up with great effort. "I will go back there, but only to make them all happier. And I…" The young man swallowed nervously, but still resolutely finished. "I don't care what you think about this."

Grian realized with shame that he should have stopped being afraid of them long ago… After all, someone, even without divine powers, was able to protect loved ones almost always, and he should also try. So the young man scooped up several of his cards from the table, turned abruptly and walked away from the conference table in silence, hardly paying attention to the anxious girl sitting at the table with a small crescent moon and stars hovering over her, nor to the bright guy with a worried frown with Ifrit rods hovering around his head, nor to an angry blond man with a coral wreath in his hair. In his thoughts, in time with the bright colors of the crystals on his way, only a quiet song rang:

If I told you This was only gonna hurt If I warned you That the fire's gonna burn Would you walk in? Would you let me do it first? Do it all in the name of love…

And why does Grian remember the games of life at the same time? Oh, yes, he and Scar had never been able to achieve long-term, sustainable happiness in a relationship. They never got rid of burns due to mistakes, and under the pressure of Watchers the fire of the feathered one's love did not warm the vex, but burned, caused pain for several seasons… Which Grian never wanted. And on that unusual server, which served as a crossroads and at the same time a refuge, a home for some planeswalkers, the Scar he met used the words "buddy", "best friend" and so on in relation to his husband, sometimes not really understanding what was going on, and sometimes as if taking it out on the bird for everything that happened between them earlier or laughing at him for daring to love him…

Those appeals were a brand on his soul for the former head of the Order, they burned his heart every second, but he remained by his side almost always… He stayed until Scar left. Scar… His image of a cunning and at the same time simple-minded long-haired elf is still fresh in my memory, sometimes he still stands before my eyes… Just like now… Although this one is a little different, it is still beautiful and shining. Grian blinked in puzzlement and realized that it did not seem to him and in front of him there really was a well-known and unfamiliar fess glowing at the same time with happiness and just like that. But this one didn't look like the one Avian knew and remembered. In his dark eyes, in his soft gaze, love, kindness and devotion warmed. The man held out his hand, covered with many old and new scars, and asked in a singsong voice:

Would you let me lead you Even when you're blind? In the darkness, in the middle of the night, In the silence, when there's no one by your side, Would you call in the name of love?.

This part of the song took away Grian's speech and breath. His heart began to beat very fast when he began to realize that this Scar would not leave him… But still he asked again with a quietly blossoming hope:

In the name of love? … Name of love?..

Vex laughed and assured him:

In the name of love, Name of love…

Then he turned quietly to Avian, still holding out his hand: "Let's go home, Poppy, Cupid, Poultry Man, Buttercup, my love… They've been waiting for you there."

The wings behind Avian's pointed ears fluttered, he himself rushed to the shining image and, trusting him, firmly grabbed his hand with his small palm and did not let go, even when it seemed everything around began to disintegrate with the sound of tearing matter, and instead of darkness, he was blinded by white emptiness, and the words of the remaining song began to drown out the wind, whistling past his ears. And, as suddenly as it began, everything changed. The whiteness was replaced by an endless cosmos with nebulae and it seemed that galaxies were flying very close by, reminding Grian of one of the time traveler's maps he had seen, then as if someone had splashed white paint all around again, and then allowed it to bloom with greenery, covering the entire distant surface with emerald, light green and grassy-green watercolor streaks with multicolored splashes of colors and soon gathered into leaves on trees and grass with hidden flowers peeking out of it on the ground.

The young man fell into the grass with a surprised exclamation and did not immediately jump up. It wasn't because of the pain or the fact that he hurt something, no, no. Just touching the grass here was so calm, so pleasant, that he began to laugh loudly and joyfully… He finally felt more free here, on an unusual server, the former ⎅⍀⟒⏃⋔ ⌇⋔⌿. But, also feeling and understanding that he should go on and look for the real Scar, his real friends from here, he quietly got up in the end and trudged along the path for a long time, overgrown with long, long-mowed grass, until finally the wind began to carry the delicate petals of sakura to him. Then he went faster and more energetically, and then he ran at all, opened his wings and soared over the settlement that had become even a little native, raced past a garden of cherry trees and quickly glided onto the roof of the common house of the Order. In his haste, he almost slipped down the pinkish-red tiles, clung to the chimney with his hands and looked around. His gaze fell on the crowd that quickly gathered around the building, and Avian, laughing merrily and mischievously, waved his hand to everyone.

"Glad to see you again guys! And here nothing has changed noticeably, as I see it…"