#here for the vibe

[kendrene]

For the angst prompts:

number 17 and 23

17. "This can only end one way."

An unexpected sort of peace descends over them in what she supposes are the wee hours of the morning. Above her, the sky is absent light, and the world a wall of solid shadow past the ring of torches they set up around camp, enchanted to burn through the night. Beatrice is hyperaware of it. The silence, obstinate in its heaviness, reminiscent of the dusty quiet of a tomb. Were their circumstances any less dire she would welcome the calm, the comfort of Shar’s presence all around them. As things are, it is the restlessness that does her head in; not that of her body, exhausted beyond the possibility of sleep. That of her mind.

The tadpole nestled somewhere near the sphenoid digs deeper, and pain steals both vision and breath away from her. Beatrice sits up. A wave of bile surges up the back of her throat; acidic tides reducing her scream to the wet gurgle of a woman in the last stages of her drowning. After a moment measured in decades the pain recedes. The tadpole slows its burrowing, and Beatrice can breathe in. The freezing touch of the night’s chill against the lining of her lungs is a welcome reminder that she’s still here. Still alive. Still herself.

“Can’t sleep either, uh?”

The first syllable of a cantrip blisters her tongue before she recognizes Camila, knelt by her bedding, a hand stilled mid-air as though she’d been about to shake her awake.

“I’m fine.” Beatrice says by rote and habit. The lie when she knows she’s anything but fine – the unhealed wound on her hand beating out the same song that drums at her temple – is the only way she can still feel in control.

“Sure.” Camila’s weight shifts from toe to heel as she settles in. She acts like they’re old friends who do this every night. Sit after the fire's been doused, gossip, trade secrets in the dark. “You’re totally fine. We all are.” Red burns deep in the centre of her pupils, and it is Beatrice’s gaze that slinks away first. “Ava said to wake her up if you’re in pain.”

“She told you to do that?”

“No.” Camila grins and a fang sticks out, momentarily caught by the meat of her lower lip. “I overheard her when she said you could. So. You should take her up on that.”

“I said I’m fine.” Pain radiates all along her forearm and, on the back of her hand, bluish-black veins writhe under taut skin trapped in the agony of it.

“Right.” Camila stretches, yawns. Her grin bears the sharp edge of a paring knife. “Like I can’t smell it on you.”

Beatrice opens her mouth. Closes it hard enough to make herself wince. She forgets sometimes what Camila is, perhaps because she is so damn good at hiding it. Part of her is tempted to ask about the other things Cam might be able to smell in her blood. She doesn’t, though. Chances are she wouldn’t like the answer.

“Alright.” She concedes, sticking her hand under the blanket still half-covering her as another spasm threatens to lock her fingers into claws. “Maybe I’m not fine. But I’m not waking her up. She deserves rest.”

“So do you.”

“I can heal myself if I need.” Beatrice counters, setting her jaw.

“Except that you’re too tired to.”

Cam’s right, Beatrice knows. The unfulfilled cantrip left her lightheaded. Nauseous. Any number of horrors could emerge scrreching from the cursed lands around them right this second, and Beatrice would be powerless to stop them.

“I’m not waking her.” She repeats more to herself than for Camila’s benefit. She wants to. Wants for Ava’s touch, for Ava’s sword-calloused hands to cradle hers and hold it like she’s been entrusted with the most sacred of tasks, the most holy of relics. But she can’t have it, can’t have Ava and the pain is all too quick to remind her of it.

“But she could-”

“In the morning.” Beatrice cuts her off before Camila can launch herself into a ten-point explanation on exactly how and why she’s being an idiot. “I promise that if I’m still in pain in the morning, I’ll ask Ava for healing.” They both know she won’t, but Camila nods once, finally willing to let the matter go.

Ava’s healing magic is not too far removed from her own. In fact, they’re based on the same principles. And Beatrice has been healed by others in many instances before - more times than she cares to count against her will.

What’s different with Ava is how the process makes her feel. The force of Ava’s faith - not in some god, but in her friends and the fine libe between what's right and wrong - threaded through the magic, warmth equal to that of a thousand suns alighting Beatrice's skin. Ava’s stubborn love for life and all that's held within as the inexhaustible engine behind it. Her “may I?” always before Ava reaches out to touch her, asking permission even in the middle of a fight, if only with her eyes. And Beatrice’s own reply: yes, always, the scariest thing of all because if Ava asked what else would Beatrice answer yes to?

She shakes her head. Thankfully, Camila’s not looking. There is only one way this will end, one shadowed path left for her to walk. She can’t ask Ava to follow.

(She doesn't know yet, as she'd never even dare hope for it, but Ava would follow her anywhere.)

[alucardsinep]

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Keyleth and Vax: Communication breakdown

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Grog:

[baihujun]

A Tim for @mlim8

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on the run

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Yeah that's really scary I would drop all my foraged mushrooms.

But hey! I would have NEVER expected to have enamel pins made of Swordfish and Hopper, the two dearest dragons of mine. What an honor! I hope you enjoy them as well, in their most ferocious heraldic forms! 👑

LINK TO PIN-PACK 🍄

[spookedbees]

thalia casting announcement means i have an excuse to redesign her!!!

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buckle up lads we're going BACK INTO THE BOOK

[happyheidi]

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Michael learns of Jeff’s pizza from FNAF Into the pit