#hear me out: i don’t like bramble

[ginzuras]

happy 5am is it cringe to say i’m at work thinking about ashfur redemption au

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

1.5k / 20 / post-apocalypse au, part 1

...

You're injured but moving as fast as you can with your bow slung over your back. Soap is close behind you, giving chase, shouting your name as he does. Doesn't he learn? Doesn't he know you'll pull your bow on him again if he corners you?

He must know, but he's too stubborn to give up the chase. You don’t understand it.

He pushes on, just as graceful and twice as effective as you. You slip through the thick trees and their branches trailing whips of brambles. He shoves past them. You’re injured. He’s not. He's gaining, boots heavy in the soil.

"Watch yourself--!"

Your boot lands on leaf litter that falls out from under you--a pit trap. You’re moving barely fast enough for your momentum to save you from falling in. Your waist hits the edge of the pit. You brace yourself by your elbows, fingers digging into the dirt. The soft underside of your arms drag against something sharp underneath.

Soap grabs you by your coat and pulls you up out of the trap and to your feet before you can scramble out yourself. You're neither surprised nor mollified by his careful handling of you.

"Let me go!"

"Na. You're hurt. Stay still."

"Soap, I swear to God--"

"Shut up. I'm taking a look."

He holds your arm firmly with one large hand and, with the other, pulls your sleeve away from the bleeding gash. You grab his wrist with a pained curse. Whatever caught your arms—the rough wood and metal at the trap's edge—tore you bloody. Soap glares at the gash and then at you. He's close.

You could reach for your bow or for the dagger on your hip. But you know for a fact he's armed. With guns. A sniper rifle on his back and two sidearms at his belt. He knows how to use them, too. If you fight, he wins. But you know better than to back down quickly. The world is crueler than it used to be ever since things went to shit. People who show weakness don’t survive.

"Why are you following me?" you growl, your grip on his wrist tightening.

His grip on you loosens in turn when you speak. "You know why. I'm lookin' out for ya."

"I didn't ask for your help."

"Aye, but you still needed it."

"You're not a soldier anymore, Soap," you retort, trying to pull your wrist away. "It's every person for themselves. Stop following me."

"That's no way to live. The world may be a shithole, but there are still folk around who'll lend you a hand even though they don't need to. Soldier or no'."

You can't get out of his grip when he's determined to keep you there, and he is. As much as you'd like to give him a matching wound for being so goddamn stubborn, the rational part of your brain--the part that makes sure you survive--knows better than to expend energy struggling when it's not strictly necessary.

"Nobody lends a hand unless they want something in return," you mutter, glaring down at your wound as he bandages it. "Even if they're pretending otherwise."

He knows you speak from experience. You're a woman, and that means you're nothing but a resource to the worst of whoever’s left. He can't blame you for being guarded. Then again, you wouldn't be making such heated statements to his face if you really thought he intended to hurt you. You're just... defensive. Hiding under all that anger. That's what he tells himself. So he ignores your grumbled protests.

"That's how you'd look at it," he finally replies as he finishes dressing the wound. "Seein' as you've not met the right people. But some of us don't expect anything back."

"You don't expect it because you think you're better than asking. But you still want it."

"Might be so." His voice is soft, gravelly, but you can hear the steel in it. "But am not asking, now am I? So stop your fussin'. You're safe. Nae need to worry." He releases your bandaged arm.

"You run your hand along the wrapping, checking it. "Fine. But I'm... I'm not coming back with you."

"Can't promise you'll be safe out there. Where do ye plan to go?"

"I don't know. Wouldn't tell you if I did."

"Aye." He rubs his jaw, examining you with flint in his blue eyes. Pressing you for an answer would be pointless. Not that you seem to be lying—but you're not telling the whole truth. The short history you share with him is just enough that he can tell. But he also knows trying to change your mind would be pointless. If you won't listen, he'd have better luck bashing his head against one of these huge, mutated oaks.

"Am nae stoppin' ya. But these woods are full of treacherous paths. If ye run into trouble—when ye run into trouble--my boys and I, we know these woods well enough to dust you off and send you in the right direction. Cannae promise to find you before somethin’ else does, though."

You're fairly sure he's not lying. His boys, as he calls them—his old squad, you think—they've made their home in these woods. It's perilous living—bears, wolves, muties, and terrain just as hazardous as the wildlife. And still those men are the most dangerous things in here.

The offer is tempting. You consider it for longer than you should, looking down at your bandaged arm again. But then you step back, shaking your head slowly. "No, thanks. I have to get going."

It tears him up inside. You're making the wrong choice. If he lets you walk away, he's letting you walk to your death.

He looks at you for a moment. You can tell he's got something more to say. But he changes his mind, stepping back as well. He pulls something from his belt and holds it out. A handgun, scuffed and black, grip held toward you. You stare at it for a second before looking back up at him. He's serious?

"I'm not gonna take that--"

"You're damn well gonna take it." His voice is low and insistent. "You think I don't know you'll run into trouble out here? Don't be a fool. I have spare. Take it."

Your one rule is don't owe anybody anything. How the fuck are you about to owe this man twice?

Fine. Whatever. It's not like you have to use it. Could just barter it. Not like you’re going to see him again. You take the gun, biting back a retort.

He nods his approval. The steely look in his eyes softens, though he still looks dismayed. "Mind where you point that. And when you pull it. Biters'll hear it for a mile and come running. Survivors, too. The curious ones." He glances at your bandaged arm one more time. Then he adjusts the bag over his shoulder and turns his back, walking away from you. Back to camp. "Am expectin' you to keep yourself alive with that," he growls. "Or else it's a lot of good time and material I wasted on ya."

"I didn't ask you to waste your breath," you retort, practically snarling at his retreating back in your irritation. You watch him go until he's disappeared into the trees. You need to make sure he doesn't plan on doubling back and following you.

Then you set off on your own. You take a winding path to throw off any trackers. Never can be too cautious. The gun in your pocket is heavy against your thigh, and you try not to think of it as a comforting security.

You came here to get Roach back, and you don’t care how long you have to wander this Godforsaken forest. You’re not leaving without him.

…

Soap feels your eyes on him until you disappear.

He wants to divorce himself from this, but he’s on edge. People who strike out on their own here come to a nasty end. But he’s not going to take away your agency by deciding what's best for you. You were right about him not being a soldier, after all. He doesn’t have the authority to herd you back to his squad’s campsite. Your life is in your own hands.

He just hopes you live to do better than he believes you will.

That night, he sleeps restlessly. Which is why, when he hears a cluster of gunshots in the distance, he wakes up instantly. It's you. In trouble.

The night watch—Gaz tonight—is already there, tossing Soap's gun to him. "You were right," Gaz says.

"Course I was," Soap says with a lopsided grin. "Owe me a ten-piece in the next poker game, aye?"

...

[part 1] / part 2 / part 3

more Soap / more multi-141 and poly 141 / masterlist tag

[sagethegaywitch]

Dimensions: Diasomnia

Male reader

TW: yandere behavior, memory erasing, implied Grim death

Genre: yandere

Here's the link for my other Dimensions: Twisted Wonderland Overblots.

The story will take place in medieval France, the one from the original “Sleeping Beauty” that the Diasomnia dorm is based on.  As the overblot eats away at the characters, they start to resemble and act more like the Disney characters they are based on.  The reader will be called Y/N and Aurora/Briar Rose.

f/f = favorite food

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

The feeling of something prickling your skin forces you awake.  You groan in discomfort, trying to stretch out only to flinch in pain.  You're now wide awake and take in the black thorns piercing your skin.  A whole bush full of the sharp plant seems to surround you and you wince as you slowly move into a standing position, your shoes protecting you from the pointy thorns.  Unfortunately, the clothing you're wearing wasn't as fortunate.  The baby blue suit you're wearing with little baby pink details and a white collar is riddled with puncture holes and a few bleed a bit, staining the fabric.  You look at your surroundings, not seeing much but a foggy green sky and more brambles of black thorns.  You manage to push your way through the thorns, looking for a trail or even a building before you hear muffled voices.

“Silver, we're barely 5 minutes from the castle.  How are you tired already?” a loud voice exclaims, scaring a few crows from the trees.

Another voice mumbles but it's interrupted by a yawn so you don't quite catch what he said.

You lean forward, hoping to catch a glimpse of the two strangers, seeing a head of pastel green and a head of white.  Just your luck, your foot slipped and you stumbled, cutting your leg pretty badly on a particularly sharp thorn.  You let out a sharp cry of pain, and the two boys turn to look in your direction.  You fall to your knee, the plants digging into your skin again as you put pressure on your bleeding wound.

“Halt!  Intruder!” the loud one yells as the sound of metal clinking together and footsteps approach you.

You flinch as a cold metal gets pointed under your chin and a sharp blade threatens to cut your neck.  Just as quickly as the blade is placed there, it is retracted as they both gasp.

“Aurora!  By the Great Seven, I’m so sorry!” the green-haired male kneels beside you and wraps you into a hug.  “What are you doing out here?”

“Who are you?” you ask, trying to put some distance between yourself and the person who almost just beheaded you.

“We need to get you back to the castle, Malleus is so worried,” the green-haired boy continues, not really paying attention to what you’re saying.

“Wait, what is going on?  Who are you people?” you question a bit more loudly, pushing the boy away from you.

“Quit with your games, Aurora.  We need to get you back to safety,” the loud one seems upset now.

“Sebek, I don’t think he’s playing a game,” the white-haired boy named Silver interjects.

Sebek looks back at you, looking at your confused expression and injured body, “Do you not remember us?”

“No, I just woke up here.  I don’t remember how I got here or who you people are,” you respond, trying to determine if these two are friends or enemies.

They said your name is Aurora so they must know you and they seem very overprotective of you, maybe it is safe to go with them.  Plus you don’t really see a better option. Sebek and Silver exchange a look before looking back at you.

“My name is Sebek, and that is Silver.  We’re the royal knights of the Great Malleus Draconia,” Sebek explains to you, offering his hand as he stands up.

You take his hand, whining in pain at your leg wound, “And how do you know me?”

“You’re Malleus’ favorite human,” Silver explains.  “But you’re also one of his closest friends and most trusted advisor.”

“Interesting,” you murmur to yourself before letting out a surprised yelp as Sebek swiftly scoops you up into his arms.  “What are you doing?!”

“You’re injured and in no state to walk back, let me help,” is all Sebek says as he starts marching off with Silver in tow.

As the three of you walk back to the castle, you try to learn more about your situation and only learn that you’re apparently in a fae realm.  You notice that Sebek has pointed ears, but Silver does not, but you do not bring it up.  As you arrive at the castle, you can truly take in the magical architecture.  The structure is perched haphazardly on two mountains and there appears to be a swirling storm threatening to bring rain and thunder.  Although it’s dark and aged, you can tell that the castle used to be white-ish in color with a blue roof and golden details, but now the colors have blended together in a sad dark gray color.  You try not to look down as Sebek carries you up a very narrow staircase bridge over a large and very deep canyon.  As they approach the doors, Silver pushes them open to let the two of you in.

“Silver, Sebek, is that you two?” a voice calls out from the courtyard.

“Yes, Lilia, it is us,” Silver responds as Sebek walks toward the voice.  “And we found Aurora too.”

“Oh, my sweet darling!” the voice exclaims as a short boy flies straight toward you.

He looks young and very feminine, his black and pink hair cropped short, barely hiding his pointed ears.  He floats in the air as he starts to poke at your flesh, which snaps you out of it and flinch out of his touch.

“That’s a nasty looking scratch, but not to worry, Father Lilia is here to help,” Lilia declares as he flies away.

“What was that all about?  Who is he?” you ask as Sebek sits you down on the edge of a fountain, taking a seat beside you as he starts taking off a few pieces of his armor.

“That’s General Lilia.  He helped raise Master Malleus and me,” Silver tells you, sitting on your other side before leaning his head on your shoulder.

“But he looks so young,” you mutter, deep in thought.

“Don’t let his youthful facade fool you, Lilia is over 700 years old,” Silver answers, snuggling into the crook of your neck.

“700!  That’s pretty old,” you blurt out.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk.  How rude.  I’ll let you know that 700 is pretty young in fae years,” Lilia scolds as he reappears with a medical bag.

You quickly apologize, an embarrassed blush dusting your cheeks.  Lilia accepts your apology as he kneels in front of you, propping your leg on his knee.  He hums a catchy tune as he cleans the wound, cooing at you when you wince, before rubbing in a healing ointment and wrapping it in bandages.

“Ta da!  As good as new!” Lilia cheers as he stands back up and helps you to your feet.

Your injury definitely feels better now, the ointment must have some numbing properties because you could walk around with a slight limp with little to no pain.

“Now that your injury is taken care of, it’s time to tell Malleus the good news,” the older fae says before he hooks your arm in his and starts leading you out of the courtyard.

As Lilia walks inside the castle, Sebek and Silver start to take off a few pieces of their heavy armor as they follow behind you, but they keep their swords sheathed at their hips.  Inside the castle is as gloomy as the outside, with dark stone walls, dark purple and green decorations, and black suits of armor lining the hallway.  Sebek and Silver push open the doors and hold them open as Lilia enters with you in tow.

“Malleus~,” Lilia calls out into the dimly lit throne room.  “Look who Sebek and Silver found.”

You scan the room, finding the throne elevated by a few steps shrouded in darkness.  Two gargoyle statues stand next to the throne and you notice that the shadows start to move before a dark blur rushes up from the throne and suddenly you’re being lifted up into the air.  You let out a noise of surprise before looking down to see a horned male staring up at you with a scrutinizing gaze. He’s clad in a black and purple robe, the sleeves very similar to wings, the ends of the cape tinged green with flames (Malleus is in his overblot form).  His hands grip firmly into your waist as he brings you down to eye level, looking you down with his glowing right eye before hugging you tightly.

“My Briar Rose, where did you manage to wander off to?  You had me so worried, dear,” Malleus speaks softly as he holds you securely.

“Um…I got lost?” you respond, but your answer seems more like a question.

Malleus tilts his head like a confused dog before sitting you on his hip, his hand holding you steady as he wraps your legs around his waist.  You blush at the position as the male looks over at his knights for answers.

“We found him in the brambles close to the castle, but he doesn’t remember anything,” Sebek informs Malleus as the two knights come closer but keep a respectful distance.

“Got a case of amnesia, eh?  I might have something for that,” Lilia mentions as he pokes at your temple.  “But first, let’s get some food into you.  I’ll whip up your favorite: f/f.”

You perk up at the mention of your favorite food, but the others seem to deflate and desperately shake their heads.  You only understand what they mean when you watch Lilia waltz around the kitchen, trying to cook.  You can only watch in horror as he puts in the wrong seasonings and burns a few components of it.

“Lilia, I think it would be fun if I could help you,” you tentatively suggest from your seat on the kitchen counter.

Malleus stands protectively next to you while Sebek and Silver watch from the doorway.

“Don’t worry, I know exactly what I’m doing.  Plus it’s best not to put too much pressure on your leg wound,” Lilia disregards you as whatever is in the pot lets out a small poof of colored smoke.

“Wound?  I was not aware you were injured.  Show me where,” Malleus starts as he takes your hands in his and looks at you with a worried expression.

“It’s nothing.  I just cut myself on a thorn,” you tell him, giving him a reassuring smile as he looks down at your leg.

Malleus slowly lifts up the pant leg to inspect the bandages on your leg, “I sincerely apologize for not being there to protect you Briar.”

“Malleus, it’s okay, really.  You didn’t know I would get injur - What are you doing?!” you start but quickly exclaim in surprise as Malleus kneels before you and starts kissing your injury.

“Don’t humans believe that kisses will make any injury better?” Malleus asks you innocently as he presses another kiss onto the bandages.

“No…I mean yes…but you really don’t need to do that.  Lilia already made it all better earlier,” you’re a blushing mess but eventually your words convince Malleus to stand up again.

“Dinner is almost done, boys.  Go set up the table and I’ll bring it over,” Lilia calls out as he starts to plate the food.

You don’t get a good look at it as Malleus picks you up, telling you that you shouldn’t be walking with the leg wound, and carries you to the dining room next door.  Malleus places you in the plush seat next to the one at the head of the table before taking the head seat for himself.  Sebek sits next to you and Silver sits across from him just as Lilia enters with plates piled up in his arms.  He sets a dish in front of everyone before taking the seat next to Malleus and in front of you.  You look down at the food, barely recognizing the f/f.  It looks burnt and is completely the wrong color, but you don’t want to be rude so you take a small bite of it.  Even if it doesn’t look good, it actually doesn't taste too bad.  The flavors may have been way off, but it still brought you comfort and was somewhat plateable.  Silver and Lilia both dug into the meal, but Malleus and Sebek appeared to be having a harder time getting the food down.

“Wonderful as always,” Malleus compliments, a tight and strained smile on his lips.

“It’s pretty good, tastes exactly like home,” you smile.

“I agree, this must be one of my best works yet,” Lilia laughs as he scraps his plate clean.  “Aurora, what do you think?”

Home.  Is this your home?  It feels familiar and you feel safe, but deep down you know that this isn’t your home.  But everyone is so nice to you and treats you so well, how could it not be your home.

“Does anyone have room for dessert?” Lilia asks as he collects the plates.

“No, I think I’m full,” Sebek grimaces as he stands.  “I think I’ll turn in early.”

“I agree.  We’ll save your dessert for another night,” Malleus quickly agrees as he stands as well.

You follow suit and Malleus places his hand on the small of your back as he starts to guide you out of the dining room.  Lilia disappears back into the kitchen to do the dishes and Sebek and Silver follow behind you two.

“Tonight you can sleep with me.  I would feel much better if I knew you were safe beside me,” Malleus informs you, looking down at you for approval.

“Of course, but let me reassure you that I’m not going anywhere,” you tell the taller male.

The dragon gives up a very sweet and sincere smile as he stops in front of a door at the end of the hallway.   Sebek and Silver wish you a good night before disappearing into other doors in the hallway.  Malleus opens the door, allowing you to see the four post king-sized bed resting in the middle of the room.  Curtains drape down from the top of the bed, offering some privacy and protection from the open windows.  Walking into the room you can see a wardrobe and vanity table in one corner and a spinning wheel and bookshelf on the other side of the room.

“Do you like making yarn?” you ask, approaching the spinning wheel and tracing your fingers over the wooden structure.

“Actually, you do,”  Malleus tells you as he takes your hand off the wheel.  “You also enjoy making crafts with the yarn you make.  I have chestfulls of little pieces you have gifted me.”

“I hope I can relearn how to do it all, it sounds like fun,” you smile as you move away from the spinning wheel.

You walk to stand at the window, sitting on the ledge and looking out into the courtyard and past the walls to the thorn forests.

“Is it always this dark here?” you ask, gesturing to the sky that hadn’t changed color since you awoken.

“Not always, but I’ve been in a gloomy mood,” Malleus responds, waving his hand and suddenly the clouds start to part and the sky lightens a little bit.

“Wow, pretty neat,” your smile getting a bit nervous now in front of the powerful male.  “Tell me more about yourself.  Maybe it’ll help trigger some of my memories.”

“Well, I really like gargoyles.  We used to spend hours talking about them,” Malleus speaks as he looks outside into the distance.

“Oh yeah?  Tell me about that one,” you point to one right outside your window.

The two of you spend the next few hours talking about the gargoyles decorating the castle, Malleus even taking you to a few different locations in the castle to show you his favorite ones.  Eventually the two of you find yourselves back in Malleus’ room, you cuddled up sleepily next to him as he continues to ramble on about the history of the stone creatures.  When he realizes you are no longer awake, he smiles and kisses your forehead before snuggling up next to you and falling asleep with you in his arms.

~

“Should we wake him up?” a voice rouses you from your slumber.

You groan and swat away the hand poking your cheek.

“Lilia, let him rest,” Malleus voice scolds while Lilia giggles.

“It’s already early afternoon,” Lilia continues to poke you as you sigh and open your eyes.  “You can’t hog him all day.”

“It’s already past noon?” you ask as you sit up and rub the sleep from your eyes.

“You’re just like Silver, sleeping the day away,” Lilia jokes as he sits on the edge of the bed by your side.

“It’s okay though, you had a long day yesterday,” Malleus defends you as he rubs his nose in your hair, his arms still securely around you.

“Anyways, now’s a perfect time to get the day started.  Sebek and Silver are training right now and wanted to invite you to watch,” Lilia mentions as he stands and makes his way to the wardrobe.

Lilia starts to pull out a similar outfit to the one you were wearing yesterday and you look down to find that you changed into some comfy pajamas at some point last night before passing out.  Malleus helps you out of bed and redresses your leg wound which definitely looks and feels better today.  Lilia helps you get dressed before sitting you down at the vanity, helping to style your hair and apply some light makeup.

“It is with a heavy heart that I will be unable to join you this evening with the others,” Malleus says from behind you, his hands resting on your shoulders as you make eye contact with him through the mirror.  “But as a token of my love for you, please take this.”

You turn around as Malleus kneels beside you, presenting you with a small box that holds a ring nestled on a cushion.  Malleus gently takes your hand and slips the ring onto your finger, the metal cool against your skin.  The head of the ring features a shield shape that has horns growing out of its top and thorns curling up its sides, and in the center of the shield is a feisty looking dragon.

“Thank you so much!  I love it!” you jump out of your chair to embrace Malleus, the taller male falling onto his bottom from the impact.

With your arms wrapped around his neck and you on the ground with him, he lets out a small chuckle before returning the hug.

“I leave you two alone for a few minutes and this is what you’re up to?” Lilia taunts as he returns to the room.

You hadn’t even noticed he left to begin with, but his comment brings a bright red blush onto both of your cheeks as you get off Malleus and help him stand up.

“It was nothing, Lilia,” Malleus gives the other male a pointed glance.  “Brair was simply expressing his enjoyment over my gift to him.”

“Right,” Lilia nods but speaks in such a way that makes it seem he doesn’t believe it.  “Anyways, I’ll take him off your hands for you.  Aurora, come along.”

Malleus unwillingly lets go of your hand as you follow Lilia out of the room and down a hallway.

“I’ve been meaning to ask, but why does Malleus call me Briar Rose and you guys call me Aurora?” you question as you look over at Lilia.

“Well, your name is Aurora, but Malleus first met you when you were using the fake name Briar Rose,” Lilia explains before pausing.

You wait for him to elaborate but he remains silent, “Why was I using a fake name?”

You’re caught off guard by the menacing look Lilia gives you, “It’s best that you don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to.  Besides, with your memory loss, it’s probably for the best that you forget about your past.”

The answer Lilia gives you is both menacing and confusing, and you, now more than ever, want to know who you were before.  If you can’t get answers out of Lilia, maybe you could get some from Sebek and Silver or maybe even Malleus.  The rest of the journey to the courtyard is enjoyed in awkward silence, neither you nor Lilia attempting to make conversation.  Once you reach the courtyard, the sky is still a gloomy gray, but it seems just a bit brighter than yesterday.  Sebek and Silver seem to be in the middle of a sword fight, but both pause to say hello and offer you a good afternoon.

“So what do you guys train for anyways?” you ask as you take a seat on the fountain again.

“We train to protect Malleus and you,” Sebek exclaims loudly as he looks at you in shock.  “Your safety is our utmost priority.”

“That’s nice, but what are you worried about?  I haven’t seen anything dangerous yet,” you question as Lilia walks around the two and starts fixing their postures and sword positions.

“There are many dangers past the walls, you were lucky that you didn’t bump into anything before we found you,” Silver responds, and you wait for him to elaborate but he never does.

You keep quiet as Sebek and Silver resume their mock battle with Lila floating around them offering criticism and suggestions.  Both males seem to be well trained, matching each other’s strength and passion as they swordfight.  Sebek seems to have a more powerful strike, but he tires easily, while Silver is better at conserving his energy and striking only when he has a clear opportunity.  The fight eventually ends with Sebek knocking Silver down with his last burst of energy, but Silver also manages to hit Sebek’s armored stomach in the process.

“Another stalemate,” Lilia decides.  “That’s a good thing, that means you’re both improving and can match each other’s skills.  Now, let's focus on some of your weaknesses.”

Lilia starts to help each boy individually, but the session is interrupted by a large explosion and a puff of blue flames bursting in the distance.  You can’t really see much because of the palace walls, but the other three seem to be on edge and look nervously at the smoking mess.

“See, I told you the outside world is dangerous,” Silver tells you as he gently grabs your arm and starts leading you back inside.

“What is that?” you inquire, mesmerized by the oddly colored flames before the door gets closed, blocking your view

“We should get inside and notify Malleus,” Sebek offers, ignoring your question.

“Yes, let’s move as a group, we’re stronger in numbers,” Lilia mentions as the trio surround you in a protective circle.

With Lila leading the group back to the throne room, Sebek and Silver stand at either of your sides, clutching their swords in their hands as they look down each hallway they pass.  The lighting in the hallway starts to dim as the sky grows dark and stormy and the torches lining the walls blow out.

“Aurora, stay close!” Sebek tells you, but it’s easier said than done with darkness surrounding you.

Through the confusion and the blackness, you run and turn blindly down a few hallways before the torches flicker back to life.  You look around to find yourself in an unfamiliar corridor, your three friends nowhere to be seen.

“Lilia?” you call out, but get no response.  “Sebek!  Silver!”

You can hear them in the distance yelling your name so you continue to call out to them until you get interrupted by the empty suit of armor next to you rattling.  You gasp and create some distance between you and the metal armor as the head falls off and rolls to your feet.

“Human?  That’s you?” a voice comes from the fallen head.

“W-Who are you?  What are y-you?” you ask, bending down to peek into the helmet.

You’re met with glowing blue eyes as a cat-like thing comes out of its hiding spot.  It has flaming blue ears, reminding you of the blue fire in the forest.

“You!  You started the fire out there,” you connect the dots, starting to shuffle away from the creature.

“Of course I did!  I needed a distraction to get inside.  We need to go now!” the cat tells you as he walks towards you and you continue to back away from him.

“Brair!  There you are,” a relieved voice calls out as you turn around to see Malleus standing at the end of the corridor.  “I heard that Lilia lost you in the blackout, let’s get you to safety.”

“Brair?  That ain’t your name,” the creature sounds confused.  “Malleus, what have you done?”

“Brair, come to me slowly, that thing is very dangerous,” Malleus speaks to you softly, like calling out to a cornered animal.

You spare the cat one more glance, pushing away the familiarity you feel when you look into its blue eyes, before walking over to Malleus.

“Y/N, wait!  He’s tricking you, you need to come with me!” the cat exclaims in a last desperate attempt to get your attention.

You pause, halfway to Malleus already.  You momentarily blank out, your old memories flooding your mind as you suddenly remember everything.  There was a mass overblot at Night Raven College and you managed to get stuck in the Diasomnia dorm. You really should get out of here with Grim before something bad happens.  In the moment that it took you to recollect your memories, Lilia, Sebek, and Silver appeared to back up Malleus.

“Briar?  We need to get you to safety, please come to me,” Malleus brings you back to reality as he takes one step closer towards you.

Out of instinct, you take one step away from him and closer to Grim.  Your heart clenches at the hurt expression on the dragon’s face, but it quickly turns blank as you continue to approach Grim.

“So, what’s the plan?” you whisper to your familiar.

“I thought you would have one,” Grim tells you sheepishly, an embarrassed smile on his face.

You sigh and shake your head as the four Diasomnia members start to advance, telling you that you’re making a mistake and that everything will be alright if you come to them.

“I think we should run,” you tell Grim before scooping him up and making a wild dash down the hallway.

You should have paid more attention to the layout of the castle when Malleus took you on that midnight walk, but you turned blindly down the hallways, trying to throw them off your trail.  You yelp as black thorns suddenly block your way, the plants curling up the walls and breaking through the floor.  You quickly run back the way you came and narrowly avoid Silver making grab at you as you turn down another hallway, only to bump into Lilia.

“There you are, Aurora.  Such a silly little game you’re playing,” the older fae giggles as he grabs tightly at your upper arm.

You protest and try to rip your arm out of his grip, even banging on his chest as he starts to roughly drag you somewhere else.  Lilia only lets go of his hold on you when Grim bites at his wrist, causing the fae to gasp in surprise, giving you a chance to break free and bolt down another hallway.  Unfortunately, the next time you get caught, it's by Malleus with Sebek blocking off your only other way of escape.

“Brair, you can’t escape,” Sebek tells you, his sword drawn menacingly.

“Just come to me, dear.  There is nothing to be afraid of.  I can make everything better,” Malleus coaxes you towards him.

“Not a chance, Malleus.  It’s the overblot clouding your mind, I can fix that,” you try to reason with the dragon.

“No, you don’t understand.  You belong here with us,” Malleus growls as he grows impatient and starts stalking towards you.

You nervously look around, trying to find an escape, but you find nothing but an open window.  You groan, but you’re desperate enough to attempt it.  You make a run for the window, but you hadn’t been paying too much attention to where Sebek was and he manages to grab you just as you’re in the middle of throwing yourself out of the window.

“Malleus, now!” Sebek commands as he bear hugs you to his chest, not minding the fact that you’re kicking and screaming with your arms pinned to your sides.

Malleus gives you an apology with his eyes before he taps his finger to your forehead, “Sleep, darling.  Everything will be better when you wake up.”

You try to fight the sleepiness that wash over you, mumbling weak protests as you eventually give in and fall limp in Sebek’s arms, the last thing you hear is Grim screaming your name.

~

The sound of a soft lullaby being sung brings you out of your deep sleep, the beautiful melody almost lulling back to sleep if it wasn’t for the whispered argument also happening in the room.

“It’ll be best if he stays asleep, then he can’t cause any problems,” a voice that seems to have issues with volume control whisper-shouts.

“But he doesn’t deserve that.  I want him to enjoy his life, I want to see him awake and smiling again,” a somber voice murmurs.

“He’ll be waking up soon, so we need to make a choice now,” another objects before he cuts himself off with a yawn.  “Maybe we should keep him asleep for just a bit longer, just to make sure that he doesn’t remember anything.”

“Guys, he’s waking up,” the singing voice stops to tell the others.

You blink your eyes open and are greeted by four males hovering around the bed you're resting on.  A shorter boy sits at your bedside and the other three are near a spinning wheel, having paused their argument to look over at you.

“Aurora, how are you feeling?  What do you remember,” the one by your side asks.

“I’m okay, I think.  Just feeling sleepy, Lilia,” you tell him, his name rolling off your tongue.  “What happened?”

“It’s best if you don’t remember, it was a terrible thing,” the horned male tells you as he moves to sit on your bed, reaching out to hold your hands.

His skin is cold against yours as he pulls your hand to his face and nuzzles his cheek into your palm.  You smile, tangling your hand in his hair, the gesture feeling natural.

“We’re still cleaning up the aftermath, so I think it would be best if you went back to sleep,” Sebek offers as he and Silver walk and sit on the other side of your bed.

“Don’t worry, we’ll wake you up when everything is returned to the way it was before,” Silver adds as he leans his head on your shoulder.

“Is it really that bad?” you ask, feeling more awake by the second.

The others exchange a glance, having a silent conversations with their eyes.

“You shouldn’t worry your pretty little head about it,” Lilia pats your head and offers you a sweet smile before giving Malleus a pointed look.

“Let’s get you back to sleep while we finish cleaning up,” Malleus tells you as he kisses the palm of your hand before removing it from your cheek.

Before you can object, Malleus presses a soft kiss to your forehead and you start to feel sleepy again.  Someone helps you lay back down and more kisses are peppered around your face, making you feel all warm and cozy.

“We’ll see you again, once upon a dream,” is what you hear before sleep consumes you once again.

[dogs2shouldvote]

during my latest relisten of taz balance, i recorded every line i found even the slightest bit funny with zero context, not even who said it (though some are pretty obvious). here’s all my favorites!!

“i’m probably studying.. my cantrips”

“just say mastrubating, dad”

“don’t come in mom i’m studying my canteips!!”

.

“yeah you’ll do any dumb shit”

.

“it’s like a bag of holding! but for.. ass.”

.

“do we know how much damage we did to him?”

“six damage, you said it out loud with your mouth.”

.

“it should be in the player’s handbook! get your salty snack to enjoy while you play dnd”

.

“my grandpa says it’s rude to whisper. especially on a train!”

.

“i’m not going to go toe to toe with a crab while youre armed with a terrible scottish accent and travis doesn’t even have his sheild. i’m out! … did i say travis? i mean leman kessler.”

“nope! that was wrong all the way around.”

.

“i’m cosplaying taako right now, as a stupid man.”

.

“who’s just rolling dice? who is doing secret checks that i don’t know about?”

.

“i always waste my 20’s on perception checks. like i give a shit.”

.

“it’s completely conceivable he would have a name tag.”

“IN A GANG?”

.

“like a pelt??? like a bramble*pelt*?????”

.

“is there a math check? what are you talking about?”

“yeah it’s your fucking brain. you use your brain to add numbers together”

“16”

“what are you fucking doing??”

.

“griffin i love you youre my brother. but if my skill called history doesn’t literally help me with history trivia questions in a category called history what are we FUCKING doing here??”

.

“can i ask you a question? are you guys mean to everyone?”

.

“fus-ro-over dere”

.

“that one was actually a badass bernie sanders”

.

“hey thug! what’s your name? i’m about to tentacle your dick.”

.

“a d6 is like some dice ass dice. that’s some monopoly shit.”

.

“i thought you were saying merle, it’s his bread and his body, take 2d6 healing points”

.

“you two remind me of something… you remind me of the babe! and then i throw the glass sphere at them.”

.

“make a constitution saving throw to see if you can eat this fucking rock with your mouth.”

.

“dungeons and dragons is a. great game.”

.

“my name is magnus burnsides”

“marchins burchens”

.

“magnus would not say that. however, travis would.”

.

“can we please not talk about chekhov’s bush?”

.

“we’ve got a ball, a sack, and a tool!”

“everything is gross here in dnd.”

.

“only losers smoke, isaac.”

“i give isaac an hour long lecture about the dangers of smoking.”

.

“i’m just gonna put my mouth down there and go buck wild”

.

“there’s a lot of go cart tracks called the adventure zone and i’ve been working with my lawyer to shut them all down forever”

.

“does taako fish?”

“yeah taako fishes.”

.

“a rock hard-“

*justin, clint, and travis laugh*

“come ON, *really*?”

.

“taako rushes in!”

“what! magnus follows him.”

“merle’s good out here!”

“WHAT is going on?”

.

“how do you not have a d6 it comes with every board game”

“my daughter-“

“eats them for power???”

.

“uhhh how much health do you have.”

“im not gonna tell you.”

.

“let’s see… i am going to hurt jenkins. with a magical spell.”

.

“this is about to become the taako show starring taako.”

.

“BLUFF FUCKING BLUFF O’CLOCK?? WHAT IS THIS, HALF PAST PERSUASION TIME??”

.

“i’m not laughing in game” *justin fucking loses it*

.

“she’s the best at burning shit ever.”

.

“traaav griffin got to do his show for so long and now he’s gonna destroy yours.”

.

“fucking lup finds like. a gun.”

.

“for sure, keep it sleazy. we’re out, bye!”

.

“i have to believe…. i’m gonna get those fifteen dollars back from greg fucking grimaldis”

.

“based on the rules of the game, dad�� you die.”

.

“dad’s making a jerk off motion at me”

.

“don’t play the pennywise card like you ALWAYS try to”

.

“should i talk slower so that everybody who has been complaining about us not playing dnd has time to nut?”

.

“i am a wizard. my name is taako. and i am pretty well fucked.”

.

“yeah i’ve got cumin who do you think i am?”

.

“hear that, babe? we’re *legends*”

.

“i’m clint mcelroy and i played merle hightower-“

“nope”

[random-introverted-blog]

welcome back, friend.

there was a kiss meme going around in these parts. could you be persuaded to give us a little Astarion smooch?

mayhaps - #31. after a small rejection?

Alright, alright *chin stroke minimum of three (3) times* Let's see if I still have the Astarion magic in me, eh?

What You Really Meant [Spawn!Astarion x Named F!Durge]

In the shadow-soaked stillness between guilt and want, he doesn't run—and neither do you.

Intended Audience: E... For Emotional - Mature. Had you for second, right? Right...? Wait, where are you—?

Who Be Smoochin?: Astarion x Named F!Durge! In second person! Let's try it out, hm?

The Bit: You once told him he needed a friend, not a lover—and Astarion agreed, because it kept him close to you. But after another kill you can't justify and a night spent on the cusp of breaking, he finally tells you the truth. He doesn’t just want to understand your darkness. He wants you. All of you. Even the parts you're afraid to give.

Warning/Advisories: (We're trying clean bullet points too instead of the mass clump I used to do. Growth!)

Emotional vulnerability

Discussions of guilt and violence

Implications of past trauma

Canon-typical blood references

Dark Urge themes (mentions of compulsion, loss of control)

Angst with comfort

Intimate (non-explicit) moments (I'm no smut queen)

Astarion being painfully soft (yes, that’s a warning)

Words, all the words (count): 1,041

If you're new or just forgot—I used to do a unique little bit and countdown before transitioning into the story of each one shot.

And I said this one already, but I thought I was so cool when I did it.

Is it a calling card? Is it cheesy? Maybe. But we're indulgent as fuck right now.

Writing art and breaking hearts in 3... 2... 1

ˋˏ’✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ˋˏ’✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ˋˏ’✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ You told him once—"Maybe what you really need is a friend, not a lover."

And he smiled. Gods, he smiled like it didn’t break something in him. Like he meant it when he said, "I’ve held more people than I can count. An infinite parade of lovers. But a friend? I can’t think of a single one."

You believed it at the time. So did he. Almost.

But now? With the air choked in shadow and the trees twisted like bone?

Now, the truth comes crawling to the surface like rot under skin.

You’re sitting near the edge of camp, where the light begins to fray—where torches gutter too easily and the sky has forgotten how to be blue. There’s a heaviness in your blood tonight. Not grief. Not even guilt. Something in you feels permanently stuck in the space after remorse, like guilt is just another hunger now. Familiar. Empty.

The urge is quiet—but it’s there. It’s always there. Moving like smoke through your veins. Asking. Wanting.

Before it claws to the surface, sudden and sharp, demanding obedience.

It coils in your chest and pulses behind your teeth, telling you that you're not whole unless something breaks beneath your hands.

You killed someone again.

Not a bandit. Not a threat. Just… someone. And you buried them deep, beneath mud and bramble. The others don’t know.

But Astarion does.

You don’t hear him until he’s close—just the gentle shift of his boots over broken leaves, the soft brush of his voice against the still air.

"You always sit like that when you’re unraveling at the seams. It’s becoming one of your more tragic little habits."

You glance over your shoulder.

He’s cast in half-light—half-shadow. His hair, pale as moonlit silk, is a little tousled from the wind. It curls at the ends, feathering around pointed ears and the fine angles of his face. He looks like something sculpted from starlight and bone, too flawless to be real, too elegant to belong to anything as clumsy as nature. Skin like untouched snow.

You mutter, "You shouldn’t be here."

"I find myself saying the very same thing," he replies, stepping closer. "And yet…"

He crouches beside you, hands resting loosely on his knees. You feel the cold before he touches you—like winter pressing through your clothes.

And when his fingers brush your wrist, you flinch—not in fear, but because some part of you aches to lean into it.

"You told me once I needed a friend," he says, quieter now.

You tense. The words ring louder than they should.

"And I agreed," he continues, "because I thought... maybe that was better than nothing. That if I couldn’t have you, I could still have some part of you. Something real. Something close." His voice tilts with a hint of wryness. "And you’re not exactly the type to share easily, darling."

You finally look at him.

Astarion’s face is all clean lines and shadow. The hollows beneath his cheekbones, the grin—trademarked, polished, playful—is thinner now. Threadbare. His gaze is unreadable—deep garnet, glowing faintly in the dark. He’s watching you like you’re a page half-turned.

"But I lied, Rinessa."

Your breath hitches.

"I didn’t want just a friend. I wanted you. All of you. Even the parts you think are too ruined to want. And I told myself I could settle—could hold back everything I felt and be content with whatever pieces you were willing to give." He leans in then, not predatory, but like someone lowering his guard just enough to be wounded. "But I couldn’t. I can’t."

Your throat tightens.

"I’m not…" you start, but the words wither. "I’m not safe."

"Neither am I."

You shake your head, shame coiling tight in your chest.

"I killed again," you whisper. "I didn’t even know I was doing it—not at first. One moment I was talking to them, and the next…" You clutch your arms, nails digging into the fabric of your tunic. "I came back to myself and they were already dead. And gods, part of me—"

Your voice cracks. "Part of me felt relieved. Like something had been satisfied."

His hand reaches for yours. Cold. Steady. There’s no recoil.

"I know what it’s like," he murmurs. "To be shaped by something darker than you ever asked for. To feel that pull and mistake it for power." His thumb grazes your knuckle. "But we’re not defined by our worst moments. And you don’t have to face them alone."

You want to pull away. You don’t.

He lifts your hand, brushing his lips against your fingers. His mouth is cool—unliving—but not lifeless.

The touch sends a shiver up your arm, not from fear, but from how careful it is. Gentle, deliberate. Like he's afraid you’ll disappear if he’s too rough with you.

Then, slowly, he shifts closer. You feel the ghost of his breath near your cheek as he turns, face tilting toward yours—not rushed, not forceful, just present. Intent. The space between you narrows until there’s barely any at all.

And then he kisses you—your mouth, not your hand this time. Slow. Not seductive. Not a ploy. Just real. Measured. Earnest.

He pulls back just enough to hover there, foreheads nearly touching, his eyes half-lidded as if caught between staying and surrendering. His lips part, breath cool against yours.

"You said I needed a friend," he breathes, voice low. "But I think… we’re already something more than that. Aren’t we?"

He doesn’t define it. Doesn’t dare. But the shape of it is there—in every word, every look, every hesitation.

It's not just friendship. Not just want. It's something in between, and maybe that’s all either of you knows how to give for now.

You meet his eyes. And there it is—no flirtation, no mask. Just a flicker of something raw.

Something honest.

"So let’s stop pretending," he says. "I didn’t want your friendship because it was easier. I wanted it because it kept me close to you."

He exhales, slow and quiet.

"I’ve stopped lying to myself about what I really want." His eyes don’t leave yours—unguarded, aching. "I’m tired of reaching for you from a distance. I think—I want… something real. With you."

You don’t say yes. You don’t have to.

The way your hand tightens in his, the way your breath shakes, the way your heart quiets—it’s enough.

And for the first time in a long while, the darkness doesn’t press in to devour you.

It makes room.

ˋˏ’✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ˋˏ’✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ˋˏ’✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

...

*shyly and awkwardly peeks out from behind a really smooth and aesthetically pleasing rock* did... did my first Astarion story since I came back... was it good?

This was fun, regardless. I decided to try out a named character instead of a reader. Fingers crossed if it's any good. I think it's fine, but who knows, I'm the writer, not the reader.

Thanks @oldlight117 for the kiss prompt! It wasn't a Shadowheart one like the original ask game, but I hope it's still okay!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

A New Life 1

Warnings: non/dubcon and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: silverfox!Steve Kemp

Summary: You have an unexpected encounter in the park.

Part of the Silverfox AU

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

There’s a hint of dampness in the flow of spring air. The breeze stirs the leaves and the scent of dirt along with the sprouting leaves. The season of renewal has arrived. You hope there’s a fresh start for more than the foliage.

You sit on a bench along the winding path that leads from the nearby park. You have your journal on your leg, knee hook over the other as you sketch the thin branches of a barren bramble. You cross hatch the dulling end of the pencil, the skitter of unseen critters and winging of birds brushing around you.

Another twenty minutes and you’ll go. You can feel the rain, see it bulging in the clouds looming above. You can’t be very disappointed, at least you got out of the house. You need to do more of that.

You hear footfalls down the path. Heavy and quick. Another jogger passing through. You don’t look over, focusing on adding the patchy grass around the twigs. 

They get closer, looming as they bounce up the path, coming around the curve. This leg of the path isn’t as busy as the others. Many are deterred by the incline. You bend your neck as you raise the notebook slightly, trying to get the angle of the blades just right.

A huff as a shadow hangs over you. Someone claims the empty space next to you on the bench. You make yourself smaller as the jogger sits and bends over their lap, loudly catching their breath. You don’t own the bench, you can’t stop them, but there’s another further up the path.

“Nice day,” he comments as he raises his head, elbows on his legs as he stays hunched over his lap, “spring’s coming.”

You glance over. He’s older. His gray hair has a few lingering streaks of brown and his blue eyes meet yours briefly before you retreat back into your journal. You shrug and hum, “mhmm.”

“Good running weather, not too hot,” he remarks as he sits up, bending his elbow over the back of the bench.

You wouldn’t know. You don’t run. You’re surprised someone his age keeps up the habit.

“You’re an artist,” he points lazily with his hand to your journal.

You nod, “just doodles.”

“I can’t draw at all. Chicken scratch,” he sighs.

Your wall of silence slips into place. You don’t mean to be rude but you’re not overly fond of strangers. You hope he gets the hint.

“Sorry, hope I’m not disturbing you,” he chuckles, “you know, ever since my wife died, I just… spill all over.” He sits up and clears his throat, “like right now.”

You fidget and rest the pencil between the pages, closing the journal. “I’m sorry about your wife,” you eke out, a tremor of guilt tugging at your heart.

“That’s life, I guess,” he says, his other hand twiddling on his thigh, “can’t all be sunshine,” he looks up, “gotta rain sometime.” He stands and puts his hands on his hips, facing you, “probably soon, ya know? Wouldn’t want that pretty art to get ruined.”

“Uh, yeah,” you hug the book to your stomach, “thanks.”

“Er,” he reaches to rub his neck then drops his hand again, the front of his light zip-up straining across his shoulders, “I guess it’s been a while for me, I’m Steve.”

He offers his hand. You look at it. It isn’t the strangest encounter you’ve had but unexpected nonetheless. You left the house for some alone time. To get away from the stomping and hollering above your basement unit. Now you’re being pestered by this lonely widower.

That last thought once more fills you with guilt. You shouldn’t think like that. It’s selfish. You have your issues but you’re not mourning someone you love.

You relent and give your name as you reach for your hand. As you clutch it, you feel a strange prick against the heel of your palm. He clings to you, shifting oddly as the stabbing deepens in your hand. He holds onto you a strange sensation flows into your veins.

He lets you go as you recoil and hold up your hand. There’s a tink against the brickwork below the bench. You look down at the syringe as your journal slips out of your grasp. What the heck?

Panic erupts from your stomach and you try to scream but your voice catches in your throat. You set your feet and push yourself up, thinking only of fleeing. Who is this man? Why would he do this? What did he inject you with?

The horror courses through you the mysterious serum. Your vision hazes at the edges as you stumble on your wobbly legs, teetering back and forth. The man puts his arms out as you stagger and he brings you against him, hushing you as your head lolls back. Your eyes widen as he pets your forehead.

“Shhh, it’s okay, sweetheart,” he embraces you, “don’t fight it.”

You can only choke out a splintered moan. You hear more people. A group chattering as their footsteps echo up the path. He draws you into him, pushing your head forward to hide your face against his shoulder. He sways and coos as heaviness floods your limbs.

“Love you, baby,” he says loudly for the passing audience, kissing the top of your head.

You groan and try to fight him off. You only manage to lean harder into him. Your legs slacken as he’s the only thing holding you up. The group passes as they continue to talk about some party. You blink and your lashes stick together.

“Just breathe, it feels good once you let it happen,” he coaxes, “breathe, sweetheart.”

You take a breath, chest hammering, and let it out. Before you can expel all the air from your lungs, the world is black. You collapse into the void and the snare of this man.

[draw-you-coward]

definitely not prompted by the realization that i am more like boza at work than i am not

~*~

Roza is staring at him.

Trahearne doesn’t know what he wants. He has already surreptitiously checked his foliage (it is fine, if a little dry), and is considering sneaking a glance at the nearest reflective surface to see if there is something on his face. Perhaps Roza is waiting for him to acknowledge something? He had brought in tea when he’d come in earlier, in a surprisingly nice gesture.

“Thank you for the tea,” Trahearne repeats for the second time.

Roza gives him a miniscule nod, but otherwise does not break eye contact. Brambles. What else is there?

Trahearne clears his throat, palpably loud in the quiet office. “Er, the unit stationed at the gate bridge near Arah report that it is blocked by Risen. They want advice on how to proceed.”

Roza’s upper eyelids quiver. Trahearne thinks he has just glanced down at the map and then back up at him once more, but it is truly hard to tell. He just doesn’t… move.

“There are other pathways into the city, of course, but it would be difficult to sneak anything but a small party through. I only barely managed it by myself,” Trahearne blathers on after an uncomfortable stretch of silence.

Roza gives another small nod. Well, it is an acknowledgment, at least.

“We could try the sewers. The water would at least mask them somewhat.”

Roza’s left eyebrow furrows slightly. Is that his ‘that is an idiotic idea’ look, or something else?

Trahearne hears whistling from outside the door, and practically trips over himself to open it. “Laranthir! Could you please come in here a moment?”

The Grand Warmaster pauses, looks at both of them, and pokes his head in. “Is there something I can assist you with? Commander, is all well?”

Roza nods at him, and perhaps the sterile air and desperation both are playing tricks on Trahearne’s mind, but he swears that is his most emotive movement yet. He beckons Laranthir in hurriedly, hope surging when he lays a hearty clap on Roza’s shoulder and the commander doesn’t so much as flinch. They must have worked together in the past, right? Perhaps even closely. Hopefully closely, by Mother’s grace.

“We were—that is, I was just reviewing the situation with the unit at the gate bridge with the commander,” Trahearne elaborates in what he hopes is not too pleading a tone. “Did you, ah… perhaps have any input?”

Laranthir frowns thoughtfully, tracking his eyes across the map. “The… gate bridge? I’m afraid I don’t quite know…”

His gaze meets Trahearne, who tries to mentally convey please help me with him as accurately as he possibly can without words. Roza has at least switched his staring target now, which is a small mercy.

Perhaps the Dream can finally work telepathically, because Laranthir brightens and says, “Ah!” He taps Roza on the back in a frighteningly familiar gesture and asks, “Roza, how do you think they should proceed? Considering all the variables of the situation.”

“They shouldn’t proceed,” Roza says.

“Elaborate?” Laranthir continues easily, as if he has not just pulled a rabbit out of an empty bud.

“It would be suicide. Idiotic. Have them retreat, send in the Pale Reavers by the stealthy route to exterminate resistance. Why would you want a survey team to go into a threat level eight area in the first place?”

The sudden barrage of opinions is almost overwhelming after his prolonged silence. “I, erm,” Trahearne says, not expecting so unequivocal a resistance. Threat level eight? On what scale? “Well… I managed fine.”

Roza gives him a withering stare.

“You can speak freely,” Laranthir adds, a little too helpfully.

“If you would like to go in their place, then of course, what you are suggesting makes perfect sense.” Rarely has sarcasm sounded so snide. “But unless you wish to give our civilian researchers twenty odd years of training in how to infiltrate a zombie-infested wasteland, I would suggest pulling them back.”

Laranthir squeezes his shoulder and winks at Trahearne. “There you go. You just need to ask him. And, ah, be prepared.”

He salutes, then walks out neatly, whistling once more. Trahearne is once again left alone with his commander, who is looking largely unimpressed.

“Shall I pack your things and wish you well?” he snipes. “Don’t forget to bring a bathing suit for the sewers.”

Trahearne is beginning to see his point. He ducks his head. “Alright, fine. Er, how do you suggest we extract them? We can send in a chopper.”

Roza stares into his soul. “You wish to dispatch a loud airborne vehicle to the team of people who could barely pass mandatory defense training and are reliant on camouflage for their survival?”

Trahearne doesn’t know. He walked, for Nightmare’s sake. “I—no! Of course not. What, um, do you suggest?”

“Submarine,” Roza says easily. “We can fit in a small one.”

“Where in Tyria are we going to find a submarine?”

For the first time all day, and to be frank probably all month, Roza smiles. “That, Marshal, is where I come in.”

[fatallyabirder]

I know that it’s basically the meaning of the song so sorry that I don’t have any new interpretations for Wooden, but I wanted to still share I guess. anyways this is my perspective of Wooden as a young queer/trans person I think.

“A truth or two got lost,

Nary a tooth got flossed.”

I’m a bit stupid so maybe I’m wrong, but the “A truth or two got lost” and a few lines above it made me think of details and the truth being lost about people who bigots pick on. 

“But how can I do that, 

When I have no habitat?” 

People always say to be myself to matter what others think, but what happens when being myself involves losing my habitat I guess? What happens when being myself puts me in danger? How can I be myself when I have no habitat in doing so? 

“When they shoot you down to prove that you exist,

Hold your ground and passively resist.” 

This line feels pretty explanatory about holding your ground and resisting, even in smaller ways. Might be a stretch but “When they shoot you down to prove that you exist” feels like people trying to find any way to make you out as a monster, or trying to prove that they're right and in the process harming you. Sometimes (most of the time) they do it on purpose (you gotta be aiming most of the time to shoot). I feel like there also is something here about the difference between the people shooting and the target, one passively existing/resisting and the other directly targeting and making direct action. 

“Why me?

Always bleeding in the brambles,

Isn’t there someone else I can be?” 

I’m not sure if it’s “You can be” or “I can be” but both work for me. “Why me” for me goes back to me just wanting fascists and bigots to leave me alone. Why pick on me for something I can’t control? Why make me out as a monster? Why me? “Isn’t there someone else I can be” feels like whenever I’m wishing I could be anyone else, someone that would maybe be more well liked. Someone who could blend in and survive without drawing attention to myself for simply existing. (Even though bigots will always find a reason to hate). If the lyric is “You can be” then it feels like asking people why can’t they find something else to do other than threatening me for being myself. Might be a stretch again but “Bleeding in the brambles” to me feels like your own habitat (or the people around you) harming you, even though it’s supposed to help and be for you. 

“You can spend your whole life 

Planting annuals dutifully year after year 

But by no small marigold patch will

An ivory-billed woodpecker appear.” 

Again, maybe I’m stupid but this line to me represents that even after all the hate people spread- some people try to foster safe environments and be kind, but after everything it becomes hard to trust people with who you are, y’know? How can I be myself with people even after all the stuff that’s happened and still is happening? 

Anyway sorry if this is stupid and wrong. I'm running on no sleep rn and just got back from my classes.

might come back and update this when I have new thoughts

anyways going to go cry over this beautiful song aaaa. I know that this song is probably one that is going to mean a lot to me. It feels so comforting and warm, like sitting next to a fireplace and telling stories, or birdwatching or just being yourself. Thanks Sparkbird for letting us hear it, I really needed a song like this right now:)

[ms0milk]

no cw so self indulgent, farmhand nanami showed up from nowhere like he was made in a lab to bewitch you <1k

He would look better on horseback this morning, cantering through fog falling cold from the mountains. Nanami is a handsome rider and he’s strong enough to do it well. His hips roll like they should in a saddle and his hair was always meant to be mussed by a breeze. Reins fit nicely in his golden hands. Regal might be a word you use as you bundle up in your doorway, watching the man emerge from a quickly-overgrowing gate at dawn. A word you might use if Nanami was actually on horseback and not leading your horse on foot, clearly mired with bramble thorns from waist to boot.

He’s wearing your hat. Nanami draws it low to hide his face and your sweet horse nips at his hand as they walk together; their gaits are both heavy with sleep. He’s never once looked disheveled but this morning his clothes hang quite well over his jeans where he’s usually so careful to tuck them in and in all he embodies the farmhand’s equivalent for wearing odd shoes to carry groceries inside.

A canvas coat that is clearly much too small on his broad shoulders, is thrown over a dress shirt– possibly two– you’ve never seen before and he couldn’t even manage to button one closed. His undershirt glows obnoxiously underneath as it hugs the shapes of his firm body. It’s a blessing to watch, a thought you will keep to yourself, and you open your door a bit wider in invitation.

“Early ride?”

He peers out under his brim at the sound of a voice and tips the hat off his head with a quickness when he sees you. He tightens his sleepy posture. Your pretty cream gelding is returned to his stall for breakfast before Nanami answers your question.

The only thing between the back stalls and your front door is moss. The earth this farm belongs to is wet with life. A thousand horseshoes have flatted the walkway like pressed powder and still the dandelions grow, pollen falls, petals fall, rain falls, snow falls freezes and melts and still your stables are warm and your dusty clearings grow grasses. You tighten your shawl around your shoulders. The morning fields are all mist and the sun can’t be bothered to warm you.

If you surprised him, it doesn’t show. Dewed pebbles crunch under Nanami’s boots as he crosses the clearing to reach you, you standing chilly in your sleepshirt with coffee brewing in the kitchen. You’d like to know why he’s wearing half the bramble patch as pants.

“M’sorry miss,” he rasps like he hasn’t spoken yet today and a quick twitch of his brows is the only thing that hints at embarrassment. Man of few words. English doesn’t seem to be his first language but he won’t tell anyone a thing about himself past what you all can observe. He works well, he works quietly. The animals love him and he doesn’t mind a bit of dirt. Nanami showed up in town a few months ago and the old boss hired him outright when she saw him in a full suit at sunday market. Horndog. She knew how good he’d look in chaps.

“Excuse my thieving” he murmurs this time to keep his voice soft and hangs your hat on the horn beside your door.

“Don’t call me miss, Mr. Nanami.”

“Excuse that too.”

Your hat hugged him too tight and his hair suffers for it, blond bits stuck flat to his head like a teenager with bedhead. He has to hang his head low to look at you for how much taller he is and you haven’t decided whether his dedication to eye contact is chivalry or flirtation. He’ll look through you to the bone with those sharp brown eyes, even if you’ve only just whistled good morning. Something inside him can’t help but call you miss.

“I’d love to hear this story,” you yawn slightly and gesture to his outfit, “I put a pot on.”

Nanami’s head tilts so slightly as he considers all the ways he might decline such an imposing offer but when you bump the door open a touch and bitter, bread, and jam roll out into the morning air you know you’ve got him. After all, what cowboy can resist coffee?

farmhand nanami tag <3

[ayotofu]

✂️✂️✂️✂️✂️✂️✂️✂️✂️✂️✂️✂️✂️✂️✂️✂️💰💰💰💰💰💰💰💰💰💰💰💰💰💰💰💰

Enjoy!

yayayay!!!!!

48 for leverage/911

The man—Gerrard, according to his nametag and to the way that everyone looks like there’s a rotten fish under their noses—walks in front of them, steps slow and deliberate. He berates one firefighter with a dark brown moustache for not rolling the hoses fast enough and, in the same breath, badgers another man with a bruise-like birthmark for rolling them too fast. He implies that Chimney in particular ought to be more deferential and that their client, Hen Wilson, can only keep up with the men because she’s black.

Eliot has spent time under actual torture that was less painful than this.

Finally, Gerrard stops in front of Eliot. “So you’re the new recruit.”

Eliot says nothing, inclining his head just enough that the man knows he heard him.

“Logan Mars, eh? Joining us from such dangerous areas as Tulsa, Oklahoma. Tell me, how often did you get calls about escaped cattle?”

“Tulsa’s a city. No cows.”

“I’m sure. Well, things are a little different here. Little higher paced. So I demand quality from my men. That’s why they put me in charge here, see. This station needed shaping up, and I’m the man for the job.”

“Why do blowhards always have to tell you how great they are when you didn’t even ask?” Hardison says over the earpiece. Which Eliot had turned off, by the way. Hardison does that sometimes: turns his earpiece back on remotely just to make sure Eliot hears his little quips.

(At least, that’s what he said when Eliot asked him about it. It didn’t use to be something he could do remotely, though. Hardison only made the change a few months ago, when Eliot had turned his comm off before Hardison could warn him that he was walking into a trap. He made it out with three cracked ribs and a new version of the earbuds was waiting for him a week later.)

“Is that so?” Eliot says.

“It is.”

“You know, people who are good at their jobs don’t usually have to make a big production about it.” Eliot crossed his arms. “Sir.”

The firefighters to his left leaned over to stare at him in concert. The one with the birthmark looked thrilled, eyes bright and a smile dancing around his lips.

Gerrard’s face turns red, then purple, but he doesn’t quite yell when he speaks again. “Well, then, you can be an example. Go clean the bathrooms and do so silently. Your work should speak for itself, right?”

As he says so, the alarm sounds. Firefighters rush to the engine, but Gerrard holds a hand out to Eliot.

“You’re man behind today,” he says. “I wanna be able to eat off the bathroom floor when I’m back.”

“That is just nasty,” Hardison says. “Who does this man think he is?”

The firefighters give him sympathetic looks as they leave. Chimney even mouths sorry before climbing into the engine.

Once they leave, sirens blaring, Eliot drops his shoulders. “I know this isn’t our primary goal, but we better fuck this guy up, too.”

“Get me hooked up to his computer and I’ll steal all his data and give him a virus that plays non-stop gay porn.”

Eliot ran up the stairs to the Captain’s office. “Seriously?”

“And one that blares rap music. You know the man hates hip hop.”

--

and another 48 for breakdown fic

With the whirlwind around Maddie's kidnapping and injuries and Chimney's near death ("At least it wasn't rebar," Hen says, but she's crying, too), other things fall by the wayside.

Eddie gets it.

So he waits. He waits a full three days after Maddie gets out of the hospital, when Danny finally starts leaving her alone to go out to his favorite cafe to edit the latest episode of their podcast.

("I've always hated working at home," he told Eddie the one time he asked why he worked in cafes. "Now, though, I'm basically self-employed. I gotta take every chance I got to go out and see the world.")

The Bramble is nice enough, Eddie supposes as he steps inside. The bell over the door tinkles a greeting, the seating looks comfortable, with plenty of outlets. Potted plants are all over the place, bright green against the muted tones of the walls. Soft jazz pipes over the speakers, quiet enough not to be distracting.

It's expensive as shit, though. Six bucks for a medium coffee? Even for LA, that's ridiculous.

Danny's in the corner, headphones on, typing something on his computer. He doesn't look up as Eddie comes over, even as Eddie sits down across from him. It takes Eddie waving his hand in front of the screen for Danny to even notice he's there.

"Eddie?" Danny says with a frown, pulling off his headphones and tilting the screen of his laptop down. "Is—Is something wrong?"

"No, no. Well, kind of." Danny's frowned deepens and Eddie scrubs a hand down his face. "I mean, not something new or anything. And I'm not even here about the problem, but actually the solution, anyway."

Fuck, he sounds like Buck, stumbling all over his words like that.

"Okay… maybe start from the beginning."

Eddie takes a deep breath, and the bell over the door tinkles again. Eddie turns to look—it's a reflex, from years in the army, one he'll probably never be able to shake—and there's Bobby, scanning the cafe before spotting them both and ambling over.

"The coffee here is exorbitantly expensive," he says, sitting down next to Eddie.

"Yeah, but they have free refills, which is worth it if you're sitting here for ten hours editing a podcast." Danny looks between the two of them. "Uh, is this like… an intervention? Or something?"

"I suspect Eddie and I are here for the same reason," Bobby says. "Not for an intervention. Unless… you need one?"

"I don't think so?" Danny looks, if anything, more confused.

"Bobby, you don't need to be here," Eddie says. "I can do this."

"You are maybe the worst possible choice for this aside from Hen. You have a son—"

"You have Athena and the entire 118. Not to mention Buck!"

"Oh and you don't have Buck?"

"What are you two talking about?"

A man two tables over gives them a side eye. He sits like someone who's trying not to look like he's eavesdropping.

[banisheed]

TIMING: Current LOCATION: The Pines PARTIES: Cairn (@cairnivore) & Siobhan (@banisheed) SUMMARY: Cairn takes Siobhan to one of the mysterious tents. CONTENT WARNING: N/A!

The crisp morning air clung to her skin, the sky a lightening shade of deep blue as Cairn moved through the forest. She had made note of a few entry points - paths that someone unfamiliar with the forest might find without too much trouble. She understood not everyone could read nature as she did. She was still figuring out the language of this forest as well.

So, this rusted, worn down abandoned bus stop was perfect for strangers to locate as they came down the winding road. The bench was sun-bleached and weather-worn, its metal frame rusted through in places. The old sign above it, faded and dented, bore a scrawl in black marker: “stop to hell.”

Cairn arrived as the sky fully lightened; the world was still quiet. No birds. No breeze. She crouched in the underbrush, low, back to the forest, waiting for any sign of anyone coming up - a car, a person. Anything. Time passed.

Then. Movement she could finally hear.

Still, she didn’t move. Not until… finally. She could see the person. Might not have been the one she spoke to but Cairn paused, and upon not hearing any other footsteps, figured she was alone. She moved from the brambles without sound, the leaves whispered against her but no branch snapped, no dirt betrayed her weight. She stepped out and into view as if exhaled by the forest itself.

“I’m here. No need to look around.”

⛺️⛺️⛺️

Deciphering the pain-in-the-arse’s messages had been easy, though Siobhan didn't appreciate how suddenly they transported her back home. Fae loved their cryptic words; Siobhan less so when they were directed at her. She knew that they meant the old bus stop, she didn’t know where the fuck the bus stop was, exactly. She’d seen it a dozen times but where? Wandering around with increasing frustration Siobhan groaned when she noticed it was beside the road. Of course. Where else would one find a bus stop? The tents were getting to her. 

“Fuck!” Siobhan reflexively drew out a switchblade and flicked it open. “Where the fuck did you—I didn’t bloody hear anything—Fate, don’t do that again.” She tried to calm her heart; she hadn’t had a scare like that since she was a child. The tents really were getting to her. She flipped her knife shut and stuffed it back into her pocket. She pulled on the lapels of her leather jacket. “It’s rude to scare a woman,” she said. “Give me a second.” She breathed in, she breathed out. Her heartbeat was steady, her mind was empty, but something was still wrong. 

It felt wrong the way a rotten smell did in the pit of her stomach; a queasy unease that had nowhere to go and no source. The air was clean; her breakfast was beer and an apple which was healthy by her usual standards. Siobhan raised a brow, raking her gaze over the…child? Online, the cryptic words painted a more elderly image. Who exactly was this person? “I’m Siobhan,” she said. “So you have something to call me, at least. Lead on, leanbh.” 

⛺️⛺️⛺️

Cairn didn’t flinch. She never did. The knife reflected the morning light for a second and then it was gone again. Her eyes followed it only once, just enough to mark the shape, which pocket, and the way the woman moved. The words came sharp and fast, strange like something from a different place. Instead of making her observation noted out loud, she mentally stored it. Another time, another place it may be of importance. Not now.

“…Siobhan,” she echoed quietly, like a test. She didn’t offer her own name. If the woman called, she wouldn’t come and Cairn didn’t need her name shouted to call her to attention. 

She let a pause settle between them before turning back toward the woods and beginning to walk further in. She didn’t tell the woman to follow, but she walked slower than usual. Her boots moved silent over the leaf covered ground, the morning dew having dampened the leaves enough to quiet them. She didn’t look back.

Not because she trusted the woman. But Cairn would hear it if Siobhan moved wrong. A shift in weight. A breath pulled in too tight. The scrape of a boot over bark. People thought they were silent in the woods, but they weren’t. Not really.

After a while, Cairn paused mid-step, her head tilting slightly, as if catching the edge of a sound. Or lack thereof. A long silence passed. The forest held its breath. Then, a clear, fluted bird song cut through the quiet. The forest exhaled. Cairn shifted. Permission. She moved again, deeper into the trees, as if the bird had said yes.

“Almost there.”

⛺️⛺️⛺️

Was the child a murderer? Siobhan grumbled at the clichéd setup: lead a poor, sexy woman into the woods with the promise of tents and then stab her. Oldest trick in the big book of murder scenarios her grandmother had started and never finished. She said there were too many murder scenarios. An infinite number, by Siobhan’s safe estimation. Still, somehow, this one was a cliché but it was better to think about that than the unbearable not-stink. She pinched her nose only to remember that it wasn’t a smell at all; she held her breath and still the unease chewed at her stomach. She screwed up her face as if she could scare the sensation away but it followed them just as Siobhan followed behind the child. 

It stole her attention. She would be watching the child—the way they seemed to listen to the forest—and then she would think about the sensation again. The child was every nymph’s dream, Siobhan thought, and then it was right back to the accursed feeling. It was so distracting that she didn’t notice the rock. Her toe hit it and she stumbled forward and smashed into a tree. 

“How much further?” she asked, as if the child had put the rock back there and then the tree here. Her nose stung. “Some of us…” she closed her eyes, trying to become the wind in that way her grandmother had taught her. Her old wisdom was: “Think o’ the wind in the worm’s hair.”. It wasn’t helping. 

Siobhan continued through gritted teeth, “some of us…don’t get along with the forest like you do.” 

⛺️⛺️⛺️

Cairn turned at the shift in sound just in time to see the woman stumble and collide into a tree. She watched in all, the stumble, the smash, the adjustment. That must have been painful but Cairn wasn’t one to ask a question she already knew the answer to. The woman was agitated, Cairn could discern that much.

“A few more steps,” she answered. “Might be more if you stumble again.” Not to criticize but just to remind the woman to be careful. “Stay close, I won't mislead you.”

She waits for the woman to catch up, eye briefly scanning her gait, checking for any sign of injury. Whether or not she found one, Cairn slowed her pace. 

“And I don’t get along with the forest.” She remarked as Siobhan neared. “I just haven’t made it mad yet.” Cairn didn’t get along with the forest. Not the way the woman had meant it at least. She just knew how to listen, how to not upset it. 

“What will you do if the tent isn’t there?” The woman seemed irritated enough, what would happen if the tent had gone and the trip seemingly for nothing? 

⛺️⛺️⛺️

Siobhan did a poor job of suppressing the long, pulled-from-her-agitated-depths groan; it came out as a crackling garble. “I know some people in Ireland that would love you.” She rolled her eyes. Knew, she thought. She needed to acclimatize herself to the past tense. “And since you’re such a sweet—” Siobhan stabbed the word out, spitting. She smiled thinly. “—human, they might even let you keep your head.” Just as they hadn’t let Siobhan keep her wings. She shivered. She didn’t like people that were better than her, she hated it more when those people were human. By all metrics, the stranger should be inherently inferior and yet, she was the one navigating the forest with ease, in conversation with nature, fearless and sure. 

Siobhan picked a chip of bark off her dress. “Stab you, probably. Or would a tree smite me on the spot if I tried?” The sensation of wrong hadn’t passed, but the longer she stayed inside of it, the easier it was to ignore. Or perhaps, it was simply one of those things that an angry distraction could override. “You’d better hope the tent is there. I don’t like being out here. It’s too…” Siobhan sighed, trying to think of the way someone like the stranger would say it. In the end, all she could offer was honesty. “I’m a fish that’s forgotten how to use its gills. Does that make sense? The forest rejected me.”

⛺️⛺️⛺️

Cairn stopped walking, not abruptly, just enough for silence to settle between them. She let the woman’s words sink in. Bitter, angry, and for reasons Cairn didn’t understand. But there was something raw in her voice that didn’t quite match the sharpness of her words. Cairn had every reason to just walk away, leave this woman in the forest alone. Maybe she would have, if the tent hadn’t pulled at her curiosity. If she’d felt fear. But she wasn’t angry. She wasn’t threatened. So, she stayed. Turned. She looked at Siobhan. Really looked at her. Not scanning for danger, but seeing her. The tired shape of her, the tension sitting in her shoulders, the way upon second glance, her bitterness clung to her, weighed her down. 

When Cairn spoke again, her voice carried something else. Something that didn’t come from her, but from the one who raised her with gentler truths. “Have you ever seen a fish caught in the wrong stream?” She asked but didn’t give a pause for a response. “Don’t mean it’s broken. Just not where it’s supposed to be.”

A fish that forgot how to use its gills wasn’t dead. Just disoriented. The gills were still there. It could still learn to swim again. Learn to breathe. Maybe… someone just needed to show her how to remember. Cairn turned and kept walking. She didn’t look back. But she was listening. There was something sharp in Siobhan’s voice, something that didn’t come from right now. Cairn didn’t understand it. Not really. Her own experience with loss had been quiet. Her pama had loved her the whole way through. What was gone had once been good. Whatever Siobhan lost, it sounded different. It sounded like being torn out of something that once held her. Like being told she didn’t belong anymore. Cairn didn’t know what that felt like. But she knew how to listen. 

And that would have to be enough.

“Up ahead,” Cairn instructed gently, catching sight of the tent’s color through the trees. She stopped a few feet away. It didn’t look the way it had before. It looked like it had been ransacked. Stripped. Whatever had been in there, was there no longer.

⛺️

Siobhan could feel the stranger’s gaze—though where others tunneled into her, this was more of a washing down, like rain. It pricked her skin all the same. She thought about turning around and challenging the stare, but she couldn’t; she didn’t want to see. Whatever the stranger was discovering about her, she knew that it wasn’t what she wanted her to. Whatever she would find in the stranger, it would spur an envy she couldn’t swallow. Siobhan made a show of watching the ground: the dead leaves, the dirt, the twisted roots leading back to their homes. She caught one with her gaze and tried to follow it back to the tree it belonged to but was lost in grass and insects. The root vanished as soon as her attention left and she couldn’t find it again. Then the stranger spoke and she was glad for it—she hated silence. 

“And is this not where I’m supposed to be?” Siobhan laughed. Fae were creatures of the natural world and banshees were no different. Many creation stories were put forth and debated, but Siobhan liked the myth her family held: that the first banshee was molded by Death from the dirt. Her bones were sediment, her lungs were ant burrows and her hair was the white webs of a spider. Death named her Fate and bid her to call souls to the Last Embrace. “I was born here,” Siobhan said. “Well, not here—I was born in Ireland. You get the point.” 

The trees parted and there was the torn blue tent. Shreds of fabric were strewn about and the inside was hollow. Siobhan rubbed the polyester under her fingers. You can’t have a funeral for a tent. “Thank you,” she said, turning to the stranger. “For showing me. You’ve done me a great service today.” Her sharpness was gone and her memories of wanting to stab the child went with it. She turned and began breaking the tent, snapping its metal frame. “Can’t…” she huffed, “…leave this here. It’s bad for…the…grass…” She groaned and hissed and in the end, the metal pinged at her and remained in tent-shape—a fluorescent stain against nature. 

“I don’t understand what I’m doing wrong,” she said. “How do you? Why does Nature want you and not me? It should want me. It made me. Why doesn’t it..” Why didn’t anyone want her? Siobhan clenched her jaw. This stranger, who had some sort of metaphysical stink, was more fae than her. This stranger. That child. Them. Her. It. “Go on, laugh. I know you want to. Yes, it’s my damned tent. Yes, I don’t know how to fish or call a bird or…” She gestured around them. “Listen to a fucking tree. But you’re a child of the forest—you see, you hear, you listen. I get it. Very funny. Laugh now.” 

⛺️

Cairn didn’t laugh. She watched Siobhan break the tent down with more fury than strength, her gestures wild and brittle. Cairn’s eyes lowered, not out of pity, but recognition. “I remained,” she said, her voice quiet and even. It wasn’t pride. It wasn’t proof that the forest had chosen her. It hadn’t. She remembered the cold nights where the bark wouldn’t peel, the storms that didn’t care how small she was, the roots that tripped her, the animals that didn’t look twice. She remembered being hungry and trying to mimic bird calls just to hear something answer back, and nothing ever did. The forest gave her no kindness. But she stayed. Not alone at first, but still, she stayed, finding a home in it.

Over time, Cairn had learned either from experience or her pama, where to sleep without waking up soaked, what leaves not to touch, which paths didn’t try to lose you. She figured out how to survive its silence. She stopped asking it to hold her and instead learned how to press herself into the dirt like she belonged there. If it didn’t want her, it didn’t matter–she’d learned how to read its refusals like lullabies. She’d made its cold shoulder feel like shelter. “I don’t think the forest wants me,” she added, eyes steady. “I just think it got tired of trying to push me out.”

She didn’t say it cruelly. There was no accusation in her voice, no weight. Just the simple truth of someone who’d long stopped waiting for an invitation and chose, instead, to endure. “You’re still here too,” she added after a moment, finally looking at Siobhan. “That means something.” Cairn didn’t touch her. Didn’t offer any kindness beyond the quiet of standing beside her. But her presence didn’t carry mockery. Only truth. Only stillness.

Cairn said little, her voice low and steady. “You don’t have to be the forest’s favorite or its friend anymore. You just have to keep moving through it. That’s enough.” She looked at the torn tent, then back at Siobhan. The loss in the woman’s voice was something Cairn could recognize, not the cold distance she was used to, but a sharp, aching absence. It wasn’t just being unwanted. It was losing a place she once belonged to.

At that moment, Cairn thought about what that must feel like. The fear of being cast out, the anger of having roots ripped free. It was unfamiliar, she usually kept such things locked away, emotions were a tool for survival, not for understanding others. Still, beneath the sharp edges and bitter words, she sensed something fragile hanging there. A hope buried under the weight of grief. Cairn didn’t know how to reach it. She only knew she had to keep moving, through the forest, through the pain, through whatever came next. Maybe that was enough.

⛺️

Siobhan scoffed, but the laughter never came and soon, her bitterness had to be laid down. As the child spoke, Siobhan stood beside them silently, her head bowed. What the stranger gave was a greater kindness than anything given to Siobhan in some time. She was reminded—terribly, but warmly, like the distant rumble of thunder and the sudden lick of humidity in the air—of her great-great-grandmother. Her gravel-filled voice, her untamed red hair. Her listening, her hearing, her words—which were never much—and the gentle way she offered them. The child wasn’t the same in every way—she lacked Rónnait’s wild-dog laugh—but it was enough for her, in that moment, to remember a woman she loved. 

She’d told Siobhan once that the heart was a forest, it cultivated whatever entered it. Siobhan had made her saplings, and they’d grown tall, and she was no lumberjack. “I used to love a river. Something about the flow of it, all those smooth gray rocks; so much life in one place, rushing, and so much stillness too. And you sit down and then you’re a part of the grass and then the animals come and they go.” Siobhan smiled. “I’m not sure I want to move through it. I miss when it moved through me. I miss when it was a home. I miss home.” 

Siobhan stepped around the child, careful to avoid the twigs strewn around, seeing the twigs strewn around. “Come on then, I’m sure there’s some water around here somewhere. We can stare at it for an hour before I get bored and try to push you inside. And then we can go our separate ways and never mention tents again.” 

[usmsgutterson]

Contented- K.B x fem! reader

This one was requested by @levis-dilutedbleach​! I don’t think I’ve written something of this sort in the two years I’ve been writing for Kaz and if I have, it has been a very long time since I last wrote something of this sort, so thank you for sending it in and I hope you enjoy!

Fic type- this is very fluffy

Warnings- none

Yours and Kaz’s relationship was anything but typical, but it did have it’s typical moments. Moments like the one where, after you’d hit the one year mark, you asked if he’d like to attend dinner with you and your parents, and he had said yes. 

You were the daughter of a wealthy merch that lived in the financial district and you had an apartment in the area, and that fact alone was enough to put Kaz on edge. Dealing with merchants was typically easy though certainly a rare enough occurrence in his life, and still. The fact that your father was a merchant and the fact that he was your father was enough to make him just a bit jittery. 

It was something he’d schooled out of his expression and daily mannerisms with a practiced carefulness that some would’ve found impressive, but it was still something you had noticed. 

You commented on it as the two of you walked up the steps to the front door, hand ghosting over his arm in what would’ve been a comforting gesture but never touching it to respect Kaz’s touch aversion. 

“Don’t be nervous,” you said. “My mother has very low expectations given that she knows your status in the Barrel, so as long as you don’t act much like you do when we’re in the Slat and you’re running a mean streak, all will be well. My father is...well, he’s my father. He takes a bit of getting used to.” 

You knocked on the door, once, twice, and one of the staff answered, greeting you with a smile. You went in, took off your coats and your shoes. Kaz glanced at his gloves daringly for a moment before shaking his head at himself. 

As the two of you proceeded down the hallway that lead to the dining room, Kaz straightened his tie and ran a self conscious hand over his dark hair in the last second before the two of you spotted a woman who might’ve been you but thirty years older. Kaz had a split second to do so, but he managed to smile and hoped it came off as warm. 

“The refined Kaz Brekker, I assume?” She asked. Kaz nodded and registered a man who must’ve been your father approaching.

“Barrel businessman,” your father intoned. “Criminal, really. Shameful business model.” 

“I run my clubs as fairly and efficiently as possible,” Kaz responded, already sensing a dislike from your father. “There is no conning in my clubs, and when there is, it is dealt with accordingly. I thank you for the businessman comment, though, so few recognize me as more than Barrel trash.” 

Barrel trash that was a force to be reckoned with, of course, but he forced himself to bite his tongue. The aim of the meeting was to get your parents to like him, not to argue with your father over the expensive wine or the taste of the cheese on the charcuterie board. 

“Kaz Brekker,” your father greeted. “It is...well, it is something indeed, to finally be able to make your acquaintance.”

Your mother took you by the hands and gave Kaz a kind smile. “You two have most certainly arrived on time! Dinner is to be served any minute, and the table is set!” 

Kaz followed you and your mother to the table set for four, took a seat on your right and across from your father. 

“Do tell us more of your clubs, Mr. Brekker,” your father said. “I do hear that they’re all the rage among the tourists.” 

“The Crow Club is largely a gambling hall,” Kaz said. “Makkers Wheel, Three Man Bramble, games mostly. There’s a bar for those who aren’t interested in gambling and a lot of seating for those looking to dine at the establishment. The Silver Six is more of the same, and I would like to think it’s a step up from what it used to be.” 

“Oh yes! I’ve gambled at the Kaelish Prince during a few meets with my coworkers--that Pekka Rollins who ran it was bloody awful. Lots of those games were rigged and the liquor sometimes tasted quite odd.” 

You glanced at Kaz. 

“Had a few squabbles with Rollins myself,” Kaz said. “Dregs business and irrelevant, though. Glad he’s gone.” 

“Glad you took it over,” your father said. “I think I’ll visit the Silver Six, get a taste for what it’s like to gamble in a place owned by my daughters most beloved.” 

“I do hope you’ll enjoy, then,” Kaz said. “Tell me what day you and your lot come down--I’ll man a couple of games at the tables.” 

“He’s excellent,” you said. “I won’t say he’ll ensure you win the pot of money that you and your work friends will put down because he likes a fair game, but he’s really excellent with cards. When he mans a game, it’s in his hands the whole time. Mesmerizing to watch.” 

Kaz shot you a thankful smile, and the dinner continued as such. Kaz’s father attempting to a throw a curveball at him, Kaz catching the ball and tossing it back into your fathers yard. Eventually, when your father grew tired of the games and decided he liked Kaz well enough, you both noticed it, and you watched Kaz’s shoulders deflate along with his nerves bit by bit throughout the rest of the night.

A couple hours in, Kaz was making your father laugh and relishing in the way you laughed when your mother took your hands and told you that Kaz must’ve been the one, that they were sorry for how they’d judged him without knowing him so well. 

Kaz could relax. He’d impressed both of your parents with only a few glasses of wine, a twelve course meal that took you all quite some time to eat because you were so busy talking, and the beginnings of a lemon meringue pie for dessert. 

By the time that you were leaving, your mother was hugging you and your father was shaking Kaz’s gloved hand--he’d asked first, the rumors of the touch aversion lingering in every corner of Ketterdam no matter the district--and Kaz was hoping that the waters would not rise while simultaneously hoping that your father was impressed by it.

Kaz walked you to your apartment and chose to stay the night in the end, the two of you sleeping far enough away from one another that you didn’t risk waking up to find your bodies entangled and triggering Kaz’s touch aversion.

As he drifted, Kaz couldn’t help but feel a sense of accomplishment. Your parents liked him. He had won their approval. It was enough to keep him contented through to the next morning, your presence enough to keep him contented forever. 

[esta-elavaris]

Prologue [771 words]

Jane Eyre inspired Aemond Targaryen fic (except there's no wife in the attic - only Vizzy T and his miniatures) -- I've been meaning to write this for ages and now with the new season around the corner my brain said it is time.

It's not on AO3 for now but I do have a whole load of other fics over there!

Let me know if you wanna be tagged when I update this 💜

Brambles tore through her sleeves, and then her arms, as Jeyne tumbled to the ground. The shadow above took an impossibly long while to pass – but Vhagar was the largest dragon living, and the fear that seized her drew out the seconds into eternities. Was it that same fear, she wondered, that had her thinking she could even hear her name, cried out into the wind? It had to be. He had no cause to call for her that way…nor at all. The last time he’d spoken to her – the last time she knew for a fact that she’d heard his voice – he made that more than clear.

“What did you expect? That we’d marry? That you’d carry my heirs? You? A servant? One of your birth would hardly be fit to have my bastards, should I have been so foolish as to spawn any.”

He hadn’t looked at her, as he said it. No, his eye had been fixed steadily – coldly – on the wall behind her head. That fact had given her the strength to ask what she did.

“Why are you saying this? Why are you talking like this, Aemond? I thought…you said…you don’t mean-”

At that, he had looked at her, violet eye steely, wide with outrage that she would dare disagree with him.

“You forget yourself,” he’d sneered. “Along with how one of your birth should refer to a prince.”

And there had been such disdain in his face, so much that it seeped into his voice, that her blood ran cold and she felt sick to her stomach, blinking hard against the tears that stung her eyes. That look left her without doubt as to what she was hearing. Most of all, it left her mortified that she was even surprised.

Jeyne had not been able to feel her legs as she sank into a curtsey and managed to force out a strained, reedy forgive me, your grace, her eyes downcast.

“You’re dismissed. I’m sure my sister can find some use for you – I myself cannot.”

That was it. Those were the last words Prince Aemond Targaryen had spoken to her. The last ones he would ever speak to her. Nothing within them could leave any room for misunderstanding, even had Jeyne been the fool he’d treated her as. And while she was much – obscure, plain, and little, all at once – she was no halfwit. A halfwit would have remained in the Red Keep thereafter.

No, by now the Princess Helaena would have found her parting letter, and if any were looking for her, they’d look to the Kingsroad – northwards, where she’d come from, long before she was called to King’s Landing. Not among the brambles, aimless through a wilderness that would lead to either the Reach, or to death. She cared not which. But it had been days, now, with water only when luck graced her, and food not at all. It was becoming clear what possibility was the more likely.

Senses heightened by hunger, the cold of the evening bit at her fingers as she dug them into the dirt as if clinging to the ground would help her further escape notice. It gave her something, anything, to cling to, at least. And Vhagar was as like to spot a mouse as she was to spot her, all the way up there.

I myself cannot…

You forget yourself…

What did you expect?

The three parts that had hurt the most to hear – the ones that drove the blade deeper and deeper into her chest until it threatened to pierce through to her back – were the ones that she replayed in her head, over and over. It was a willing exercise, not quite because she hoped that repeating them would remove their edge, but because he’d been right. What had she expected? To anticipate it ending any way other than precisely how it had ended was the height of stupidity.

Perhaps she was a halfwit, after all.

A long while had passed, and the rush of Vhagar’s wings was well out of earshot, when it even occurred to her that she should move. She could no longer feel the cold – a fact that she dully acknowledged was dangerous in the back of her mind, but could find little energy to care about.

She would move in a moment. A few minutes. She just needed to collect herself first –  and to be sure that he was truly gone. That tactic made the most sense. No doubt the feeling would soon return to her limbs, and she could continue.

By the time she heard footfalls drawing near, it didn’t even occur to her to open her eyes.

[catboymoments]

hello!! out of curiousity, do u have any voice headcanons for the nextgen kids?

OKAY SO last time this question was asked I didn’t have answers but now I have a few!!! It’s been a bit of a struggle to find voices for some of my guys but I do have ideas on their voice profiles so I’m open to suggestions on who would be good…

Azura- I’ve really fallen in love with the concept of AJ Michalka (Stevonnie, Catra spop) being her voice- I think Azura would have a scrappy cute voice that’s still unique to her that fits in with her family, and it would be very cute to have a VA who’s iconic for voicing queer cartoon characters be the voice for the kid of two of the biggest history makers in Disney…. Shes so cute

Bronwyn- Bronwyn at her core is a musician and her struggles with anxiety and panic disorders are a huge part of her character- I feel like her voice would be that of someone who could connect with her and play a soft voiced “mature” girl with a passion for singing and songwriting, so I settled on her being voiced by Mitski, the singer we all know and love. I think she would be able to bring a lot of life to her.

Juno- Juno being a trans girl is very important to her character and I would want a transfem to voice her, but when there’s transfem characters in media they’re almost always portrayed with higher “passable” voices from what I’ve seen. I want her voice to be a little deeper to represent girls who have those voices, and I think her sense of style and humor would come through well with iamblizzymcguire/blizzabella, A transfem nyc based comedian and model who I love. She’s so unique and sillay and I adore her

Now!!! Voice profiles for the guys I don’t have specific ideas for!

Hyacinth- at first I thought of him being voiced by Alex Lawther who plays younger Philip in canon, but he’s 1) British and 2) his voice is a bit more mature than I would like. Part of Hyacinth and how he differs from Philip is that he’s a lot smaller, and while I wanna have a voice for him that’s still in that “tenor range head voice that’s very in the nose and has a soft cadence,” I don’t think Lawther could do that. I would want someone similar and who isn’t British so I could imagine it better…

Mittens- I think mittens would have a tiny voice that’s also more masc, not so much scratchy and raspy but like. Little guy. Y feel me

Calcifer- honestly I’m not sure how to describe what I hear for them- they give me a vibe of a very cute and polite little kid who’s able to get Sillay???? They’re excitable and they tend to infodump………

Bramble- at first I thought I had a voice for him- that voice being Andrew Kishino who voices the character his design is based off of (Kevin from Steven universe) but Kish’s voice is way too mature for an angsty 14 year old trans boy. I do want his voice to be on the deeper and softer side with a good amount of sass though.

Briar- I don’t really know what to do for her since she’s still kinda new ….

[milliedjeorge2]

Over the years, Clint Barton has grown on me. I love his sarcastic humor, his rough edges, and how he feels more human than the flashier Avengers. Below is a list of my favorite fanfics featuring him->

try to love the things you took by Lise: G, no pairings

Clint's been a bodyguard before. This is a little different, not just because his boss seems intent on driving himself into the ground and Clint's pretty sure he needs to do something about it.

Deaf-initely Congested by astrokingly: G, no pairings

When Clint catches a cold, his hearing is worse than usual.

Make it Be by sunryder: T, no pairings

The girl busing up a tray of dirty dishes at the next table was young. Too young to have one boy stick out his tongue in concentration as he scribbled with his blunt crayons and his brother turned a wary eye on every stranger who roamed past their booth. He couldn’t blame the kid for being paranoid, since his baby brother’s cheek was covered in their mama’s too-dark foundation, trying to hide the mottled purple of a bruise.

the ripple effect by kangeiko: T, Clint/Laura

Middle of the night phonecalls rarely bring good news. This one is no different.

Cut From The Same Cloth by fandomstakeoveryourlife: T, Clint/Phil

For a guy who had literally been nicknamed "The Devil of Hell's Kitchen" the guy seemed surprisingly accommodating. Well, if you forgave the usual vigilante I-work-alone attitude.

Right Into the Great Unknown by enigma731: T, Clint/Natasha, Clint/Laura/Natasha

"We went to prison for you. We’re fugitives because of you. And yeah, you broke us out, but for what? So we can spend the rest of our lives on the run, waiting to go back there?” asks Clint, sliding off the cot and getting to his feet, anger a hot snarl of brambles between his ribs again. “Like I said,” Steve begins, “I don’t have--” “I know,” Clint interrupts. “I know, all you’ve got is more of your same old idealistic bullshit. Well that’s not gonna help us now.” Post-Civil War, Clint is angry at everyone and everything, but especially himself and his uncertain future.

klondike by deniigiq: M, Clint/Matt

Nelson tolerated Clint as folks tolerate road cones. They were there. They were inconvenient. They were annoying. But ultimately, they weren’t doing any overt harm. Page, on the other hand, Clint thought, was in the process of hiring someone to kill him. (Clint falls hard for his lawyer's partner, but nothing can be easy for him (until it can be).)

Five Times Clint Saw His Teammates, and One Time They Saw Him by rohanrider3: T, Clint/Natasha

Everyone runs on something. Clint is better than most at seeing at what that is. And people--especially the Avengers--are full of surprises. Or, don't underestimate the "least powerful" team member just because he fights evil with snark and a weapon from the paleolithic era.

Backcountry Soundtrack by harcourt: Unrated, no pairings

In which Deadpool kidnaps Clint off a battlefield and takes him on a roadtrip. A shooting roadtrip. OK, fine. A shooting people roadtrip. Don't be so cranky about it.

Amateur Theatrics by galaxysoup: T, no pairings

In which Thor’s primary problem-solving method (a mighty blow from Mjolnir) fails to have the desired effect on a magical artifact, and his secondary method (a mightier blow from Mjolnir) proves to be actively disastrous.

[velgroverp]

SOL GRAVES, do you believe that the grove will hide your secrets?

It's best to think again. The grove can only do so much for you. You've lived amongst it's protection for 21 YEARS as one of the town's FARMHAND & TAVERN OWNER. Do you think the grove owes you? At 31 YEARS OLD, there's no guarantee what you'll experience here in velgrove. You may be KIND and RELIABLE, but the grove knows you're also STUBBORN and RESERVED. Maybe you are like a POCKET WATCH WITH CRACKED GLASS. Will that change by the time the grove is through with you?

residence: fields, farmer's barn

FROM THE ARCHIVE OF THE VELGROVE POLICE DEPARTMENT

OFFICER: There, the tape is rolling. Today is the 123rd day of the 123rd Ripening Season, it is… 10:57pm. I am here with Shin Yeongsu to take his statement in regards to the discovery of former missing person Sol Graves, née Kim Sol. Okay, Mr. Shin. You may start again.

SHIN YEONGSU: [unintelligible muttering]

OFFICER: I already apologized, sir. Now, please, start again.

SHIN YEONGSU: [sighs] Shit, kid. Give me a light and I will.

OFFICER: For the record, I am lighting Shin Yeongsu’s pipe.

[rustling, the click of a lighter]

SHIN YEONGSU: Like I said, It’s the end of the goddamn hunting season. I was in Thistle Forest like I am every year. I… [unintelligible] and thought I heard someone scream. In the north. Sounded kind of like a woman but you know how the woods get ‘round now.

OFFICER: Of course. So, you went to investigate?

SHIN YEONGSU: [laughs] ‘Course not. You fuckin’ stupid? You kids ain’t got a lick of sense. You find yourself in the woods and hear something like that? You go a different way.

OFFICER: And that’s what you did?

SHIN YEONGSU: Yep. Went west, towards the cliffs. Danbi found the poor bastard passed out between some brambles.

OFFICER: Danbi is your dog?

SHIN YEONGSU: [hums in agreement] Best dog in town. She was licking his hand and whining. Tried to call her off before I saw the blood. [pause] Thought he was dead, honestly. [clears throat] Turns out he wasn’t so I carried him far as I could. Left him with the doc.

OFFICER: Why?

SHIN YEONGSU: Pardon?

OFFICER: Why did you choose to carry him out instead of going and getting help?

SHIN YEONGSU: What fucking kind of question is that? Kid was in bad shape.

OFFICER: And?

SHIN YEONGSU: [silence]

OFFICER: You mentioned something when you first came in. We need you to repeat it for the record.

SHIN YEONGSU: I wasn’t thinkin’ straight kid. It was nothin’.

OFFICER: Still. Please repeat what you said.

SHIN YEONGSU: [sighs loudly] I said, “The trees were trying to eat him.” Happy?

OFFICER: Very.

FROM THE PRIVATE CORRESPONDENCE OF DR. EDWIN PARK AND HIS WIFE PATRICE

—can’t believe I had to work in that backwater town during my vacation. The Graves case wasn’t even hard but it’s the principle of it. He fell into a bramble bush and hit his head. I don’t care how many times the old man says at least one of his arms was broken, it wasn’t broken when I examined him. He had a bunch of cuts and bruises and that nasty knot at the side of his head. Maybe he was hit and then he fell, but there was nothing else to see. Even his coma and memory loss were in alignment with his head injury. That rumor he was missing for ten years or not, he was in good health before his injury and would easily recover in the care of the local doctor. You know I wouldn’t leave unless I was sure my patient would be able to recover without me. I know in my last letter I mentioned how nice the beaches were but we’re never vacationing in Velgrove, honey. I’d rather take you and the kids to the islands and get stung by ten jellyfish again than go back.

A CRUMPLED PIECE OF PAPER RIPPED FROM THE PRIVATE JOURNALS OF SOL GRAVES

Yes:

Some friends and neighbors: Sumyeong, Lady Jinsu, Mr. Shin, Chickadee, Madam Min,

Best sunrise and sunset place

Radish

How to swim (and walk and talk and move all appendage right way)

B-C schedule

Which birds sing in the morning

How to unlock f. safe

Sis’s song

The route to where my family lived from anywhere in Velgrove

NO FROM LIBRARY — Try different weather?

  No:

Ocean

Where/Why/How

If got to btm

Names

Faces

10 years???

Hate shellfish (did not before)

Where mom kept s. salt

How to make repellent

  Try Jinsu’s meditation technique tomorrow.

@velxgraves