#it’s like. so much of what would make them a light warden is tied up in the need to consume aether

[impossible-rat-babies]

every day I get closer to making stuff part of eyrie’e shb lore that is Unhinged

[baldursgaysart]

Long lost!!!!

So, I finally got around to painting my Tav and Durge romancing Minthara. This took longer than expected but it’s been a long time in the making. I had my wife help write out my vision and backstory for them since I’m not very good with words. I hope you enjoy this! I was told it’s like an A24 poster 🤣

Tav and Durge Backstory:

Names:

Vierna: Light colored Tav character

Brimaia: Dark colored Evil Durge

Vierna and Brimaia are both reincarnations of one of the only truly loving and romantic relationships Minthara ever experienced after Ketheric Thorm’s trickery forced her into consuming an Illithid tadpole and altering the course of the rest of her life.

The events of Baldur’s Gate 3 are actually Minthara’s eternal Purgatory.

Vierna grew up as a noblewoman in Menzobarranzan, who was aware of the Baenre family, but had no real ties to it. She met Minthara in the goblin camp and was completely transfixed by the skill, prowess, and cruelty of the night warden. She fought alongside her as they both eradicated the once peaceful druid grove; proud of their accomplishments in the name of the Absolute.

When Vierna again found Minthara at Moonrise Towers, and beheld the terror and desperation in her eyes as she turned to meet Vierna’s gaze, she knew their bond was already so strong that they did not require an Illithid tadpole to read one another’s thoughts. It was written plainly on their faces. They needed one another.

For months the pair fought and slept together, ending the tyranny of Thorm, and allowing Minthara vindication after all she had been through. They gleefully stole away the lives of countless vile creatures, cultists, and would-be dictators, until they at last reached the Netherbrain.

Their companions were losing their life force and strength as they did their best to hold the Netherbrain back, and Vierna and Minthara realized it would be up to them to finish the job.

Just as hope seemed to be within their grasp, Minthara was hit with a near lethal blow from a Mindflayer. Vierna knew she could not allow her lover to die this way. Not to the very creatures who cursed her life in the first place. Boldly, she watched as the Mindflayer reached its tentacle out to finish Minthara off, but at the last moment she dove in front of her and took a fatal hit. Minthara had to carry on with the fight as the portal opened to her, with the knowledge that although the Absolute could never harm another again, she would be alone in the world once more.

What Minthara and the other companions were not aware of was the fact that all of this, everything they had suffered, had been a form of Purgatory. Every year they would lose consciousness as the Netherbrain careened into the Chionthar, but when they woke they would be right back on the Nautoloid, or in Minthara’s case, back in the goblin camp. Only something different occurred after the loss of Vierna. When a beautiful; dark skinned drow entered her sanctum, Minthara realized there was something different about her, but she could not quite place what it was.

Bhaal had played a cruel joke on Minthara by resurrecting her fallen lover as a monster known as the Dark Urge. It was not enough for Minthara to watch the love of her life die before her very eyes. No. Now she would have to brave Thorm and the Absolute all over again, while wondering every night whether her own beloved would take her life in a murderous blackout. Vierna, now going by the name Brimaia, however, would never lay a harmful finger upon her darling drow. She would much rather take control of the Netherbrain with Minthara at her side, and force all in Faerun to be subservient to their new queens!

[tallysgreatestfan]

Specials in the book vs the movie

Now, from the way they are described in the book, I am not sure if you could even possibly translate that into a movie, especially not with this budget, but: It is really frustrating what the movie did with the Specials.

In the movie they come across as your garden variety super soldier, but in the book they are honestly one of the coolest cyborg designs I ever saw in scifi (and scifi is my main reading and watching genre).

For starters, yes, they are much stronger and faster than the humans in the setting, but most of all, they are surged to look intimidating. They use plastic surgery to make the Pretties look beautiful, but for them the Cities huge medical advancement is used to design their faces and body type in a way that is not even necessarily visibly non-human on first glance, but the type of facial features one instinctively is afraid of. Which is such a interesting concept.

They also, and I can totally understand that this would have been incredibly hard to get right, maybe impossible, move in a way that is just slightly off. Too fast and too angular. The book describes it as elegant but almost insect-like, like cockroaches slithering across a plate. You see them for longer than a second and instinctively know that that aren't humans anymore. It's taking the uncanny valley and using it for warfare.

It is a bit visible in the way Laverne Cox plays Dr. Cable, even she plays her much more human than in the book. She does emote and she does have body language - but much lesser than most people do, and she uses the majority of it to manipulate people. She also doesn't do all these small, unconscious movements like cleaning your fingernails, bobbing your foot or scratching your face.

Third: They are disturbingly fast. The scene where they invade the Smoke is described in the book as the Specials just casually walking into the complete chaos, and it doesn't looks as if they are doing anything - except that they herd Smokies in front of them and everybody they walk past is tied up on the floor. Which is such a cool visual, but again, not sure if its possible to film that.

Its also, and this is yet another reason why I dislike the changed Peris plotline, much more complicated and disturbing than them just being mindless killing machines. To be fair, it only is explained in the later books, but it is more like an artificially induced personality disorder, carefully tweaked so that they have a sense of superiority towards Uglies and Pretties, but also notice the beauty of the natural world much more intensely than them and are ready to protect them, anger and impulse control issues, and loyalty to the City.

What makes that even more disturbing, and this is not directly canon, but it would make sense from certain events in the later books, they seem to specifically pick already neurodivergent people to mold them into that. Yes, the series has light, but there, neurodivergence themes later on. This aspect is handled surprisingly well and empowering (unlike the eating disorder and self-harm rep, but that is another topic).

There seem to be two ways to end up in Special Circumstances, and its way to easy for Peris to have this happen:

Be with the wardens (they are actually different to Special Circumstances), the firefighters or the doctors, aka the only professions in the City which don't have the lesions, and stand out in some useful way. Likely how Dr. Cable ended up with Special Circumstances.

Be self-destructive and mentally ill in a way that seems useful to be manipulated. Happens with [redacted] and [redacted]

And they actively screen the Uglies for who might a good candidate for Special Circumstances in five to ten years. The Uglies dorms are so easy to trick not by oversight, but to watch who is able to tweak the rules and who not.

They also have fangs in the books. Which would have looked so cool, but also acting with fake fangs is a pain in the ass (ask the Star Trek Discovery season 1 Klingon cast), so I can understand that they left that out.

Another thing the movie sadly dumbs down is just how invasive not just the Pretty surgery is, but the Special surgery even more. Tw for surgical gore for the rest of this.

They skin the person and replace the skin with new, more flawless skin for both operations. They also take out all teeth and replace them with ceramic teeth in both operations. What is unique to the Special operation is that they replace most muscles with cybernetic muscles, and that they replace the entire skeleton with the same much more sturdy ceramic they did the teeth with. No, I do not want to know how this logistically happens.

Also just so many other cybernetic implants. A chip in the fingertips that makes them able to put their fingers on glass and translate the vibrations into the sound happening in the room behind. Various tweaks to the eyes, or maybe they completely replace the eyes, it is unclear, but Specials can see infrared radiation. Software to calculate the time and direction just from seeing the stars.

I do like how Laverne Cox interpreted Dr. Cable, but for the other Specials I would have really liked to see more

[muwitch]

oh god I want to ask all the questions for the veilguard asks lol but can you please answer 2, 3, 16, 17, and 20? 🩷

Ayyy, no, is fine! I love answering STUFFS, send em over soijsejfo

2. most & least favorite: location

I personally and PROBABLY didn't open all of the locations (there could be smaller ones still locked under personal quests), jaoever. Locations do differ in their quality or how big they are, or how much is happening there, so it’ll be a hard pick. I think the most disappointing location for me would be Rivain, as, unlike other places, it is mostly…uninhabited? Yes, we love ourselves ruins, but even location with little npc presence still had a vibe and an atmosphere to them. All the rivaini npc’s are in the hall of glory, and honestly, I was hoping to have more peeks at the culture, especially if that comes up in Taash’s quest partially. Or there are interesting talks in the Hall of Glory, but all in all – very disconnected. My Rook has some Rivaini roots and it always had stricken me as a very culturally diverse place, so that was a letdown.

I was quite hoping to see more of Minrathos (SD play, you dig), but I’ll take what I can.

As for top picks I’d say well, it’s definitely also hard. Antiva is very beautiful, like legitimately I spent some time just doing architecture shots (the only grievance we only see a small part of it), Anderfels for the authentic Grey Warden experience and all that, followed by Grand Necropolis, bc it’s a VIBE.

3. most & least favorite: banter

This is a hard pick as well, like… I don’t like many of Taash’s banters, but I know they’re JUST LIKE THAT. Some of Lucanis banter just doesn’t make me feel anything in its delivery, sorry, if I am offending the stans, just, personally not really clicking with my Rook. He’s ok and all but just, eh.

Bellara and Neve discussing Tevinter’s light novel serialization, so much good Davrin banter, Emmrich also is quite funny and diverse depending on who he’s with. Neve too.

16. what animal would your rook be?

Surprise, surprise, but Luc has long adopted the alias of “Mongoose” as a shadow dragon! So, he’s one. Local snakes beware* (with exceptions).

17. very serious question, what type of pony would your rook be? what's their cutiemark?

He’s a mage so I gather…a unicorn? Let this hoe be normal for a moment, wait, I forgot he’s from Tevinter.

His cutiemark would be either something akin to a lightning-bolt, since he’s mainly electricity focused mage…I will avoid saying mongoose, right, but also might be something light related??? You know, his name, Lucius? And “bring light” line from Viper? Do you feel?! Light/shadow dichotomy, beloved.

20. is rook best friends with any of the companions? if yes, who?

Luc has relatively good relationship with anyone, since he’s a dumpster on fire, but I’d say Davrin? The buddy, the guy! It would seem that Luc would be more inclined to be bbf with someone from the mage part of the party (which is partially true), but honestly?

Davrin is such a fresh breath of air. They bond almost instantly on this alienation from their respective cultures (in a sense), partially healthy self-esteem, push and pull banter, admiration for Assan and later on? Survivor’s guilt? Trying to figure why the heck both are here, reflect on their choices, what do their lives mean? Being the tool with no purpose? Tis a good soup my liege.

Luc does see Davrin in a better light than himself (and he’s not wrong), in many cases Davrin’s willpower to push through and to do the right thing is the lever Luc needs (since *coughs* SD related spoilers *coughs*) to not roll back to his own devices and vices following it?

They can pull each other out of misery if needed, and all in all, I’d say it’s a friendship I didn’t expect to form initially but it is there.

[blackcatruse]

𝔣𝔯𝔬𝔪 𝔞𝔰𝔥𝔢𝔰

«prev. ❃ next» ❃ first chapter ❃ m.list ❃ ao3 pairing: r. haitani/fem!reader ↳ she/her, fem descriptors, nickname ❃ chapter synopsis: when you have too much freedom on your hands, you can only think of childhood memories. your childhood was not good. word count: 3.2k chapter cw(s): swearing, possible ooc, mentioned/implied suicide, mentioned human/sex trafficking, implied CSA, isolation, breakdown a/n: very, very sensitive content ahead. nothing explicit, but be careful with this one y'all.

Suzaku put you on house arrest for an indefinite amount of time, per direct orders from Kirin. Your usual territories would be divided among Nezumi, probably-Hato, and Shika. Your debt was temporarily arrested and someone from Genbu’s and Seiryu’s divisions was posted on a 24/7 watch. You were going stir crazy, but at least you were finally eating something other than cup noodles. Your guard dogs brought you food because you weren’t allowed to leave under any circumstance. It was almost like you were being waited on hand and foot, but you knew better.

Aside from telling your wardens that you were hungry, the only other human interaction you got were a few text messages from Nezumi. He was actually kind of cool when you were talking to him, but you still kept anyone from Wuxing at arm’s length. You couldn’t make any ties if you wanted to truly be free from them. Though with all the free time you’d been given, you were left alone to think a lot more than you’d like. Ideas you wouldn’t even bother entertaining were creeping in your mind and you couldn’t get fresh air. You couldn’t go anywhere, not even with a guard.

It did make you curious about why the executives of Wuxing were putting such strict measures in place, but you would likely never figure out the answer. Kirin was the only one who knew everything about everyone, and you’d only ever heard his voice. It was obvious that you were important to this new cult that was arising from the shadows. You called it a cult because you weren’t sure what it was. It didn’t feel like a gang or crime syndicate because the people weren’t trying to infringe on territory or sending declarations of war. They were just targeting you and it looked like they were also messing with Rokuhara Tandai. Two of the Three Deities, but you weren’t sure if Kanto Manji was experiencing anything similar.

Next to the hypotheticals that played out in your mind, the nagging thought of, Why me? repeated endlessly. Who you were was a ghost. Who you are now was so far removed from that girl, you wouldn’t recognize yourself at all. But how did these people know you? Know your family? You tried racking your brain for memories, but nothing came to you.

Unfortunately, the digging into your own mind triggered some delightful nightmares. You would wake up in a cold sweat, gasping for air like you were drowning. Some nights you paced around your room, trying to make yourself so tired that you would pass out in a dreamless sleep. It worked about once, and then never again. The only semi-reliable way for you to get sleep was to leave the lights on, but you hated it.

Days passed by in a blur before you realized you probably needed to update the Haitanis about what was going on. Digging your private burner out from under your sink, you tried to turn it on, only to find that it was dead. You hoped it wouldn’t take long to charge, but when did anything ever go your way?

When you heard it chime, you ran into the bathroom and then back to your room. The people watching over you were less likely to hear you talking that way, and you didn’t need anyone getting suspicious. Talking to yourself sounded much different than carrying on an actual conversation. You stared at the three numbers you had in your call history. You couldn’t remember whose was whose, so you picked at random and listened to the ringing.

“Hello?”

“Shit, I thought this was Ran,” you muttered.

“I am going to hang up,” Rindou said, no emotion in his voice.

“Wait, wait,” you whispered urgently. “We’ve got a problem?”

“We?”

“Yes, we,” you spat. You sighed before going on. “I’m on house arrest.”

There was only resounding silence. You weren’t sure if you needed to go on and explain or if you needed to wait for the information to sink in. You could imagine the irritation on Rindou’s face, and normally, you’d be ecstatic. But not this time.

“What did you do?”

“Wow, okay so you think I just did something? Seriously?”

“Lotus, get to the point.”

“You know that group that’s been messing with us? They’re after me for some reason, and I don’t know why. I can’t imagine why. I’m not important in any sense of the word. But Suzaku put me on lockdown with orders from Kirin. I have members from other divisions keeping an eye on me, and I can’t go anywhere.”

“Seriously?” The suspicion in Rindou’s voice was almost offensive to you.

“Use that tiny brain in your thick skull!” you snapped. “I don’t want to be stuck like this. Why would I want to put myself in this situation?”

“So what do you want us to do about it?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “I don’t even know what’s happening anymore or how many days it’s been. I just—I don’t know if I’m going to be able to make the job.”

“You sound stressed.”

“Really? That’s all you took away from that? Fuck it, let me talk to Ran.”

“He’s out.”

“Okay, so then I’ll call him.”

“He left his phone here.”

“You’re lying.”

“I don’t care if you don’t believe me. Try it.”

You hung up and found a different number you figured was Ran’s since the third number you had had never called you. You had only spoken to the Haitanis. You dialed and swore vehemently when you heard Rindou pick up.

“Surprise,” he said flatly. “Trust me, I wouldn’t lie about Ran not being here. I don’t want to talk to you any more than you want to talk to me.”

If your anxiety and stress weren’t so high, you’d try to say something snarky. But you couldn’t collect yourself enough to do that. Tears blurred your eyesight and you quickly wiped them away. “I don’t know what to do,” you said, accepting the defeat in your tone. “I don’t know why they want anything to do with me. But I can’t sneak out like this or my life will certainly be forfeit.”

“I’ll talk to Ran. We’ll try to get in touch.” Rindou’s voice was surprisingly gentle. Maybe your mind was making things up now, hearing sympathy where there was none.

You chuckled bitterly, “Well, I’m not going anywhere.”

That night presented you with what was probably the worst nightmare you’d had so far. It started off with you walking home from school. Standard, not unusual. You approached your old apartment that you called home and yelled that you were back. But no one responded. At this point, it felt like you were watching yourself, screaming at your younger self to leave. To not go investigating. Because you knew how this went, but dream-you did not.

You watched as you opened the door to where your mother usually hid. The room was dark and your mother wasn’t sprawled out on her futon in a drunk haze as usual. You left, calling out, “Mom?” But there was no answer. It wasn’t like your mother went anywhere. Lately she’d been even more irritable and reclusive, but you had just thought she was in one of her moods. Some part of your naive heart wanted to make sure your mother was okay, so you kept searching. Fortunately, or maybe not, the apartment wasn’t very big. Instinctively, you checked the bathroom next. The door was closed and it didn’t seem like the lights were off, but when you opened the door you would never have been prepared for the sight before you.

Water had splashed on the floor, tinged orange. As your eyes scanned up they landed on your mother’s corpse. It was as horrifying in the dream as it was when you actually experienced it. The bath water was a rusty color, staining the edges of the tub. Your mother’s head was leaned over the edge, eyes empty and wet hair stringy. One arm was slung over the edge, dried blood clinging to where she had sliced into her own skin.

You screamed until the neighbors came over, disgruntled about the noise, but when they saw the scene, they immediately called the cops. During the actual incident, you remembered the cops coming and asking you questions. One of the kinder ones tried to shield you from your mother’s body, but it was too late for it to do anything. Your psyche was already damaged. You remembered that your brother came home and he was furious because the cops could find his drug stash. He waited until they were gone to take that frustration out on you. That’s how that event happened in your life.

But in the dream, you saw your mother’s limp arm twitch. There was a black spot on it, like your mind was covering something up, but you couldn’t recall anything else on your mother’s bloodied forearms. In your periphery you could see your brother’s feet, his presence hidden by the shadows that were creeping up behind you. You sat on numb legs, listening to water slosh and the muffled screams of your brother.

And then you were ripped backwards, tumbling into the darkness. What felt like hands grabbed at your body, voices dripping with ill intent whispered around you. A gentle caress and a sweet lie echoed in your ears. Touches inched higher and higher up your legs and rough hands wrapped around your neck. You couldn’t scream. You couldn’t make any sort of noise. You felt yourself cry, but only heard the angry slaps and yelling that served to discipline you.

You awoke thrashing, voice hoarse like you’d been screaming. Your heartbeat was erratic and breathing desperately ragged. The cold sweat on your skin felt restrictive, but the air of your apartment felt suffocating. You needed to leave. You needed to get out. You couldn’t stay here any more, house arrest be damned.

Running on a panicked autopilot, you threw on a pair of sweats and erupted from your apartment, not caring about the slamming door or the alarmed exclamations of people. You just kept sprinting, like you could stay ahead of your demons and memories that haunted you. The night air was cold and felt like pin pricks on your skin. You could feel the tears streaming down your cheeks and the tightness of your chest. Struggling to breathe, you kept pushing on. You had to. You didn’t know where you were going, letting your feet carry you anywhere else.

You weren’t sure how long you’d been running, but you found yourself at your secret spot. The smell of the sea centered you, and you slowly took in your surroundings. You saw the sun trying to break the horizon, lightening the sky just barely. You heard the breeze and waves and birds. You could feel the cool air and solid ground beneath you.

You had managed to calm yourself down, but it wasn’t enough. You collapsed to the ground, ignoring the pain in your knees, and you let yourself feel. You screamed. You cried. You begged.  Silence answered you, but you always knew that would be the case.

When you ran out of tears and energy, you realized that running out of your apartment was probably not the best move. But you had to get out. If you didn’t you’d probably have done something even dumber. You would let them be mad at you. You didn’t care if they were. They probably saw how frantic you were, and honestly, you were surprised they didn’t pursue you. It wasn’t like you were the fastest person around.

You watched the sun rise, the only indication that time was passing. You weren’t sure how long you’d been curled up, hours probably. But it didn’t matter. If the people after you got their hands on you, you didn’t care. You just wanted this entire mess to fucking stop.

“I figured you’d be here,” you heard a familiar voice and turned slightly, seeing Shika standing there. She didn’t look annoyed, but you couldn’t read her expression as she approached you. She took a seat next to you and spoke gently, “I come here too when I need to think.”

“So they’re looking for me? How pissed are they?”

“Livid,” Shika didn’t bother to lie to you. “I wouldn’t want to be you right now.”

You snorted, “I don’t wanna be me right now.”

“Tell me, Lotus, girl to girl, what’s going on with you?”

“How much of my sob story do you want?”

Shika shrugged. “Whatever you want to tell me. Things have been kinda crazy lately and none of the Four Symbols are saying anything. Just that you were at the center of it.”

“Do you hate me for it?”

“No,” Shika said, shaking her head. “If anything, with you out of the way, the rest of us can get decent jobs.”

You laughed mirthlessly. “I appreciate the honesty.”

“Never believed in being dishonest,” Shika told you.

“But you’re trafficking illegal goods?”

“What can I say? Gotta make ends meet somehow. Can’t earn the money I need with a standard 9 to 5.”

You took a deep breath. “I didn’t want to be a part of all of this, but my brother fucked around and I’m the one finding out.”

“What a bastard. What the hell is he doing?”

“Taking a dirt nap, or maybe swimming with the fishes. I don’t know what Wuxing did with his body.”

You didn’t know Shika that well, but she seemed pretty stoic, like nothing bothered her. You really couldn’t let a lot of things bother you in this line of work, but when you looked at her, you saw Shika’s expression of horror.

“How can you say that so plainly?”

“He sold me to Wuxing,” you said. “He was a bastard until the end. No lost love, I promise you that.”

“I’m sorry.” That was all Shika could offer, like she was lost in her own train of thought.

“It is what it is,” you said, shrugging.

“Well, it certainly explains a lot.”

You glanced at Shika from the side of your eyes. She was staring at the soft sunlight of early morning. “We were wrong about you,” she admitted. “Hato, Nezumi, and I, we hated you.”

“Yeah, I know. It never bothered me.”

“But then Nezumi told us about what you were doing for those kids, and I didn’t want to believe it. But I saw you working for them to keep them safe. I think it changed Nezumi’s image of you, and he tried to get me and Hato to at least be friendly.”

“It’s fine. I don’t want to get attached to anyone here. If I’m being honest, I hate Wuxing. I just want to pay off this insurmountable debt and just leave. Go so far away it won’t matter anymore. I would find a way to get forged documents and make up a name. Who I used to be is dead to society anyway.”

“Who were you before?”

“Just a middle schooler,” you said vaguely. “A nobody from a broken home. And I was okay with that, until I lost any hope of freedom.”

“Middle schooler?” Shika didn’t hide the shock and disgust in her voice. Most of Suzaku’s division knew you were formerly Byakko’s. Your alias gave it away anyway, and you stubbornly insisted on keeping it. You were going to take back the moniker of Lotus and make it your own. You also weren’t sure what animal Suzaku would assign you, so that’s what you fooled yourself into believing.

“Yeah,” was the only response you could come up with. “Anyway, we should be getting back, huh? I want to go face Suzaku's wrath while I’m still numb.”

Shika frowned.

“It’s okay,” you said, glancing at her. “You don’t have to pretend you care.”

The frown turned into a scowl. “Stop being so stubborn!”

“Nezumi told me something similar.”

You stood up and offered a hand to Shika. You expected someone like her to have soft, delicate hands, but they were just as rough as yours. Calluses decorating the palms and cuticles peeling. Trying not to think about it too much, you hefted Shika up and then dusted your pants off.

“Seriously, though, Lotus,” Shika said quietly. “You don’t have to go through everything alone. You trusted us for the sting operation, so trust us now too.”

You were only ever good at pushing people away. Nothing beneficial ever came from making friends, and you were never interested. You protected yourself with isolation and a facade of noisy pride. Make yourself as unlikeable as possible because you couldn’t trust anyone. The people who were supposed to fundamentally give a shit about you didn’t care about anyone but themselves. So you had to, too. It got lonely sometimes, but the only one you could depend on was you.

“You’ll have to forgive me then,” you responded, voice low and hollow. “It’s not easy for me to trust.”

Shika nodded, and the two of you headed back to the rundown apartment complex where most of Suzaku’s division dwelled. Like a disappointed parent, Suzaku was standing in front of the building. He was a new shade of red and you swore you could see the veins popping in his forehead. You didn’t expect a heartfelt reunion, in fact you were bracing yourself for an assault of fists. But Suzaku did none of that. He looked at you, voice cold and soft as he demanded, “What the fuck happened?”

“I panicked,” you said. “Had a bad nightmare. You know about what.”

Suzaku pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “I can get Miko to bring you some sedatives—”

“No drugs,” you immediately said. “Prescription or otherwise. I don’t like how they make me feel.”

“So what do you propose?”

“Well, I don’t think being alone was the best and I’d really rather not have anyone from Genbu’s or Seiryu’s divisions in my apartment. Can some of the runners just like, visit me?”

“You’ve never wanted to connect with them before. Why now?”

You didn’t blame Suzaku for being suspicious. You would be too, but you knew you couldn’t be left alone again. You had to say dumb things to someone and pretend you were okay. You had to maintain the act you tried so hard to put on.

“Someone talked to me,” you said, gesturing with your thumb to Shika behind you. “Made me think about some things.”

“Fine, but if you run again it’s directly to Byakko you go. He knows how to keep a tight leash.”

You couldn’t fight the way your spine stiffened and your heart dropped to your gut. No. You would die before you went back to Byakko. You would give yourself up to the people after you sooner than you’d return to Byakko’s brothels in Kabukicho.

Unable to find words in your dry mouth, you bowed slightly to Suzaku. He stepped aside and you walked back to your unit. Shika tried to follow you, but Suzaku stopped her briefly so she could explain what happened. You passed by the guards posted outside your door without acknowledging them. There was too much you needed to think about, and you felt gross.

The new developments were certainly going to throw a wrench in your plans. You truly believed you’d have a better time with the company of people who could tolerate you, but if you did, you were going to have a hard time sneaking out to do the job with the Haitanis. You’d figure something out. You didn’t have another choice.

Please do not reupload, translate, or steal my work! If it isn't here or on my ao3, it's not me! Likes & reblogs appreciated! <3 Dividers courtesy of @/cafekitsune & @/firefly-graphics

[writingsofwesteros]

I was thinking of Stev and Viserys and can you imagine if he married a strong woman as his second wife instead of Alicent? I had to do a little thing about it! And I’ve got no one else to show as I have no friends..

She’s strong willed, trains with all types of weapons, has the Stark height (she’s 5’10”), has the mouth of a sailor, she’s got a built stature, you can see the muscles and the time she’s put into training, she stands up for herself when it comes to men and lords who think they’re better than her, wears dresses only when necessary and prefers her pants and shirts as she often trains and hunts, she’ll wear them for court appearances though, just to please them. A lot of people look down on her and think she’s beastly and an embarrassment, well the rich South people do, in the North she’s praised for being fierce and standing up for herself, her beliefs and her rights, her father just absolutely adores her, she’s his only girl and the apple of his eye.

When she arrived at the Red Keep no one could deny her beauty as much as they despised to do so. Curled, dark black hair reaching her her mid back in braids and twists, eyes a light grey bordering on white, they immediately pulled you in, she had a dazzling smile, white teeth, beautiful nose that compliments her face, high cheekbones but a strong jaw, plush red lips that were enticing on her pale skin. They just couldn’t deny her beauty what so ever which only went to annoy the ladies more because why was this brutish lady, with the habits of a man, blessed by the gods despite her lack of manners and her unladylike habits.

Viserys heard about her hobbies and what she gets up to, he was honestly expecting a grotesque woman with a beard who belches out burps constantly, asking for more ale. He needed to keep the alliance with the North though, he can’t just hope they’ll always bend their knee to them especially when they’re the largest of the seven kingdoms. He has to keep the alliance up and it was between her and two children no older than his daughter.

She’s ethereal though, lovely and kind honestly, she treats every one the same; Lord, Ladie, animal, commoner, traveler etc… she loves animals, she’s smart and has a silver tongue that can cut through the almost stubborn of men, she runs rings around his council and always has the best ideas due to growing up helping her brother be ready to claim the Warden of the North title.

She makes it known that just because he’s king doesn’t mean she’ll bend over backwards to please him and ruin her life in the process, it’s a mutual agreement and there’ll be respect from both sides, she promises she’ll do her best to be a good wife and give help when needed but she won’t give and not get back but she’ll do her duty as she’ll be making an oath on her wedding day and she’ll be damned if she’s the first Stark to break an oath.

Viserys gets quite the shock when she speaks to him like he isn’t the king and her superior. He agrees with her words because no woman had actually stood up to him despite him being quite soft, even if he’s a king and Targaryen, she’s a proud woman and will not be subjected to a mockery of the people because her husband doesn’t respect her. He’s like a submissive puppy looking into her eyes and just agreeing to whatever she spits out as it feels quite nice not to have everything piled on his shoulders, at least he knows his second wife will be a wonder ti the seven kingdoms and a good person to him.

LOVE IT!!

I also think it works because Viserys can be so submissive most of the time. I am sure she would be able to bring him from that shell.

Your description is STUNNING! I love her already. I think it works perfectly !

[mor4llywrong]

Servants of a different kind (prologue snippet)

Male OC POV (Mythanar) Astarion's death Snippet of a way larger WIP I might consider posting at some point. content warning: grief, descriptions of murdered person WC: 969

By the time they arrived, the rain had already washed away the blood. The guard had started to get the shallow crowd of late night patrons, lured by the tragedy, under control.

And Mythanar was no stranger to death. To murder and to the grotesque fascination it tended to inspire in people. 

He had joined the church of Ilmater fairly young, after hours spent with his father in the magistrate and finding he had no patience for lies and politics. It was of no interest to him who had withheld taxes and who had smuggled some forbidden wine into the city. His strength had lain in comfort of a victim’s family.

He had a way to talk them through their grief and pain. He could offer comfort, stability and a steadiness many of the grieving people needed. One of his friends had suggested he should attend some of the Ilmater clergy’s masses. 

It had brought him into the clergy and made him walk the path he was confident in walking. While he wasn’t devoted to Ilmater, he was most often sent to alleviate the pain of those who remained. Mythanar had found his faith in helping those who did not understand death and the step it marked in every soul's personal journey. He had admired Jergal for a long time, and had read about the scribe in text that could crumble at the faintest touch. 

A shame what had become of the ancient one’s domain. Myrkul was no better than the rest of the dead three. The fear of death that had spread through the people, made so much worse by the disrespect myrkul’s followers displayed towards the dead. A vile church Myth had no intention of ever crossing paths with.

And if he did, it would not be him needing a rite.

The church of Ilmater was grateful for his presence, for his acceptance of death and willingness to perform the rites according to the dead’s belief. His respect was met in kind and rewarded by the living offering their thanks and him seeing them recover from their loss. 

Sadly, not every deceased would pass quietly and in peace. Sometimes the guard would call for someone of the clergy to oversee a crime scene, ensure the dead were taken to their temple and receive the rites. 

The runner had arrived at the clergy just minutes ago, but Myth had been the only one available, his latest consultation with a grieving widow hopefully having been helpful. 

He had grumbled into his robe as he tied his embroidered sash, marking him as Ilmater’s death warden. It had been pouring for days, keeping the people mostly off the streets, opting to instead stay inside and curl up in the shelter of their homes. 

With a huff he went outside, pulling the hood of his cloak over his head, shielding his bright hair from the gently weeping sky. His boots squelched on the ground, rivulets passing him by as he ascended the streets towards the upper city. 

What a dreary night for murder. Light had escaped the Gate’s citizens the entire day with the late autumn sun being hidden behind heavy clouds for what felt like forever and the night was even worse. Darkness fell oppressively over the city, scaring even vermin into hiding.

Myth nodded to the guard as he passed the Gate to the Upper City, their grim faces fitting into the sombré atmosphere the gloomy weather had created throughout the city in the past days. He could make out the guard from afar, their torches bright underneath the walkway. A few stood outside of the circle of light, ensuring the victim was shielded from the curiosity of passersby. 

It was Cal, an Iron Fist Myth who had gone out more than once to drink with and endearingly complain about family to, who spotted him first. Myth was already raising his hand in greeting as the guard’s grim face morphed into shock and then stuck to utter despair. Horror, so visible even Myth had rarely seen it displayed so openly. Ignoring the pit opening up in his stomach, the tightness in his throat, Myth hurried forward.

“What is it, Cal?” Myth asked. Concern lined the edge of his voice. There were few things that would rattle Cal. The half-elf  had seen the horror’s of the city. Had stared over the edge and into the abyss of darkness hiding in people. Yet, nothing had ever brought forth a reaction like he displayed now.

Cal, a brave man daring to stop an elf twice his own weight, blocked Myth from laying eyes on the body. “Go back,” Cal whispered, holding Myth by the shoulders. “Send anyone else, just not you. I mean it Myth. Don’t do this to yourself.”

Myth swallowed, dread writhing through his body. His eyes darted over Cal’s shoulders. Even 200 years later, the image of grey, wet mud on that all too familiar light hair would make Myth stop breathing.

His baby brother. The youngest of their clan. Murdered and left in the mud to die. Someone had killed his brother. 

He couldn’t remember how he ended up on his knees in the dirt, his hands buried in that stupid, stupid, black magistrate robe. But he could remember the pain. The stabbing, tearing, ripping of his heart with every beat. The pure agony of his grief, as he keened into the cracked open chest of his little brother. He could vividly recall the scent of his brother’s blood. Coppery and clinging to the red doubled mother had gifted him just a few days earlier. 

Fear still clung to the ground, to the walls of that dirty alley. Terror hung in the air, heavy and cloying, spreading from his brother’s body.

And amid all of it, the tiniest bit of hope.

[water-pokemon-appreciator]

( @taraka-at-naranjauva Long Post Warning)

Since people are giving gifts now, here is what we all have got for you. Just remember to not neglect your needs after this, ok? Ok, here’s the gift.

It’s a package…nay, a present, labeled “For: Sidon” and “From: Taraka, Arezu, Haze, Lora, Floren, Cossie, and Indigo”. It’s quite hefty, and seems to have a lot packed into it. Inside, Sidon would find…many things.

First, wrapped in a fluffy white cloth, is a light blue crystal, one unmistakably from Area Zero, with a note attached by a a string around it, saying “I did get permission from the Paldea Leauge to get this for you. Signed, Taraka. P.S. The cloth it was in is actually a Frubble-themed Blanket. Enjoy!”…wait, there’s also a blanket?

Second, in a less themed cloth is…a wooden bangle. Wait…it looks Hisuian, yet depict is a Greninja…then the note (also tied on via string around it) explains what’s up: “I was informed that Greninja are important to you, so I opted to replicate the bangles Wardens like I had and give one dedicated to Greninja to you.“, followed by what appears to be Hisuian Writing…Arezu clearly sent this.

Third, there is a set of Lure Balls, a total of 10, with a note on the package. “You would not believe how many auctions I went through to find these. However, at this point, I felt I could do nothing less, especially for a friend as good as you. Sincerely, Floren.” Dedication much?

Fourth, rolled up are three star charts, showing constellations. One appears to be of a Manaphy conjuring water (Aquarius), another of two Basculegion swimming in a circle (Pisces), and finally a Gardevoir holding an olive branch (Virgo), the last of which marked as “Your Galarian Zodiac”. There is a note with them as well…”Hi Sidon! I found these signs, and thought you’d like seeing them. Love, Cossie!”. The note is definitely written by a 6-7 year old.

Fifth, a box filled with two kinds of trinkets. Namely, charms and talismans. The charms are all of an endearing appearance, and the talismans seem to represent various good fortunes. There is another note with them, too, with half of it in (actually readable, somehow) cursive and the other in a less elegant but still pleasant font. “Hello Sidon. I do hope that the talismans I was able to create and that you can see before you are able to bring good fortune to you and your family. Sincerely, Haze.” “Hey there Sidon! I hope you like the charms I made for you. Maybe they’ll even bring some good luck when you need it most! Signed, Lora.”

Finally, there seems to be…a grappling hook. One that looks custom made but comes with a manual, which mentions being more effective with frubbles…this would probably seem very specific, but then the note explained all: “Sup Sidon? Thanks for the unknowing input. Allowed me to make this even better for you. All three of it’s heads will work better with frubbles for when you need extra grip and power. Hope you like it. Signed, Indigo.” This note also looks like a 6-7 year old made it.

A final thing at the bottom of the box, a photo of everyone who sent something in this box posing with a banner that says “HAPPY BIRTHDAY, SIDON!”…they really went all out for this, didn’t they?

oh shit you have me crying

gimme a sec

[scribbledquillz]

Lilouuuu I am both loving and biting you for sharing this hOW DID YOU KNOW I WAS READY TO BE A NOSY BITCH ABOUT YOUR GIRL???? I'm going to slam 7, 14, 20, 23, and 24 on the table-- politely, of course, I don't want to alarm or offend with these loud and hasty movements-- for your kind consideration AND! As I did in my last ask, if you there's a question you're dying for someone to ask and it wasn't covered, consider it asked babay!! Have a gorgeous day you cool banana! :D :D :D

Edgy/misc OC ask meme ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

Plant my love, you are always and forever welcome to be as nosy as your heart desires about my silly little idiots living in my head. I adore that you adore them so much. <333

7. What's one way your OC has changed since you first came up with them?

If it's possible to consider, Revka is far, FAR more approachable than she used to be. If she's at an 8 from 1-10 on the standoffish and curt chart now, when I first was writing her she was sitting solidly at a 13. 16 on a bad day, lol. Ceral surviving long enough to see his magic come in and being taken to the Circle rather than killed as he originally was plays a huge part in it all. With him still in her life and her avoiding the worst the the shit I put her through at first she manages to stay softer as a person. Where before she was cold and shut off and quick to violence because she believed there was no sense of true, selfless kindness in the world, only survival and those who would take advantage of a "weak" heart, now she is far easier to befriend - if proud and hesitant to show weakness because she's grown accustomed to being the one to make the hard choices and act as the rock for everyone else around her.

14. How does your OC want to be seen by other characters?

Answered here! :3

20. Does your OC have a tendency to get jealous? If so, how does this manifest?

Also answered riiiiight over here! :3

23. What emotion is the hardest for your OC to process? How about express?

Hands down, it's her grief. When their parents pass Revka shoves all the feelings of loss - sadness, anger, fear, despair etc - down and out of her mind. Not because she wants to (though that does have a hand in it) but mostly because it's the only way she's able to pull herself together quickly enough to keep her and Ceral together. The elders in the alienage were talking about sending Ceral to live with another family, questioning her ability to care for a young boy when she was still basically a child herself at sixteen. If she didn't get her shit together, keep herself going to prove she could take charge and manage both the house and her brother's care, she was going to lose the last living family member she had. She couldn't let that happen, so she shut herself down, emotionally.

Grief was a luxury she couldn't afford, so it got packed away to gather dust until she was hit over the head with it when returning to Denerim during the Blight. During all her time traveling then, she'd been in denial about having to leave her home permanently. Yes, she had to stick with the Wardens, but once the Blight was over if she was still alive, she could go home! Things could be sort of normal again, maybe she'd even manage to bring Ceral back with her. But there's a moment where she slips away from the group and Zevran finds her a few hours later, tracking her back to the home she used to live in with her family. And he sees her in this moment of sheer defeat.

"Thought it would feel right, coming back here. Thought - I don't bloody know. That it'd still feel like home. But it... it doesn't. 'S nothing left here any longer. Only dust and ghosts."

As for express, I'd say love and affection are tied for first. Not because she can't show it - she finds her ways with touch, acts of service, gifts, those sort of things. But asking her to put words to these feelings... it's like asking a Mabari to recite the chant of light. The feeling is there, but the words just aren't. It's too big to make fit into something so limiting.

24. What is an alternative life path your OC might have gone down? How different would their life be if they'd made those decisions?

If she had been braver, if she hadn't had the ties to the alienage in her family to keep her rooted, Revka would have absolutely taken her ex-girlfriend Arden up on the proposition she made to her when they were fifteen. Arden wanted more than anything to get out of the alienage, out of her drunkard father's reach and to see the rest of Ferelden and Thedas. She wanted to explore places no one knew the names of, and had this big vision of a grand adventure full of riches and beautiful places with Revka at her side.

Most likely if the two had gone through with the idea, they would have been hit hard and fast with tough realities of life on the road as two young, naive elven girls. But Arden is passionate and Revka is stubborn and loyal, and between the two of them I think they'd have eventually fallen into a comfortable way of life as travelers / petty thieves. I could see them eventually making their way up to Rivain and settling in quite nicely, though never in the same place for too terribly long.

BONUS ROUND! (thank you for enabling this ehehehe)

9. Do you have a specific lyric or quote which you associate with your OC?

TOO MANY. But for the sake of brevity I'll go with what I really feel is the most Revka song I've managed to come across to date.

Towards the Sun - Rihanna

Got lost in a promise of a love I'd never know Shadows chased me far from home I remember when my heart was filled with gold And you know I've been burned, I've been burned, I've been burned You've seen me lose control It's not worth, it's not worth, it's not worth my soul Turn your face towards the sun Let the shadows fall behind you Don't look back, just carry on And the shadows will never find you

[needleandstory]

Insect legs, berry light, the crushing suffocating weight of soil.

Nat jolted upright in bed, nails clawing at their own arms as their breath came quick through gritted teeth. A nightmare. It was only a nightmare. Slowly, they lowered their hands to their lap. They could see skin caught in the crescents of their fingers, but their flesh still crawled. It took a force of will to not keep scratching. Instead, they worked their jaw and focused on their breathing, trying to relax.

They were starting to hate this place. They had always had dreams, but lately, the nightmares were endless. They dreaded going to bed, but no matter how hard they resisted, exhaustion pulled at them and their latest record for 'longest time awake' was a measly six hours. The doctor still didn't have an answer for them, whenever he bothered to say hello. Then there was the matter of their cast, hanging off their useless leg and rooting them to the ground. No windows. No light. No flight. It was a cage made special for them, stalked by a warden they had hoped they'd never see again.

They hated how easy it had been for them to identify his near-silent footfalls. They had become a ghost around him, perpetually dancing just out of view, while he stalked about, a minotaur in their labyrinth.

Balling their fists, they buried their face in their hands. They wanted to go home. Instead, the door clicked open. They straightened up quickly, smoothing out their face and sheets, but the smile they prepared for Fenn vanished when they saw Rowan instead. He looked nearly as surprised to see them as they were to see him. They rallied that smile back. "Aw, is our game of hide and seek over already?"

Something flickered behind his eyes that they couldn't quite recognize, but they could see the tension winding through his body, making him stiff as he shut the door behind him and walked to their bedside. "Too bad, so sad."

He hadn't changed much. They spied a few new scars, pale and shining under the florescent light, but other than that, he had the same heavy boots, stepping lightly in spite of them; the same sort of clothes--dressed like a warning sign--and the same knife-sharp eyes. He opened his mouth to speak. They readied themself for a torrent of hatred.

"I'm sorry."

The words crashed like steel beams between them. When Nat remembered their time with Rowan, they remembered his cutting tongue. They remembered his bitter disappointment, his harsh criticism, his belittlement. Don't be an idiot. Why would you think that's a good idea? Get over it. Rowan kept talking.

"I've had a lot of time to think, lately, about what happened last time I saw you. In retrospect, it's real fuckin' obvious. You were breaking down, and I was too focused on the next score to give a shit. I didn't hold up my end of our deal, and I made that your problem."

Rowan couldn't look at them, gaze fixed on the corner of their bed. For several moments, Nat could only stare. But then, laughter began bubbling up through Nat's throat, the sound all feathers and wings. They laughed, and laughed harder, even as Rowan's face turned bright red. His expression twisted with rage, and they got ahold of themself just enough to say, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I was so sure you hated me. What have we been doing? What do you want me to say?" They rubbed a hand across their face. "I never thought I'd see you again, and I was happy about that."

"I hated you for years."

"What changed?" A realization--and potential answer--clicked into place. "Where's Sofi and Garrot?"

"Sof's on the straight and narrow these days. Garrot's with her."

"And you're here."

"I'm here."

Nat rubbed their arm. Memories returned, unbidden: Rowan cajoling a furious Sofi into keying a car together. Rowan tossing back drinks with Garrot. Rowan with them in the dark, kissing each one of their burning, blistered fingers. An abrupt ache for that comfort seized their chest, yet they remained repulsed by it. The thought of being tied down again, to Rowan no less, made them sick to their stomach.

As if he read their mind, he continued, "This is something I decided to do a long time ago."

"Then what took you so long?"

"This was the last place I expected to see you. What the fuck is going on with you?"

"Hasn't anyone told you? I'm a medical marvel." They didn't entirely succeed in making it into a joke.

He had nothing to say to that. When he spoke again, it came with a sense of finality, "I said what I came here to say."

With that, he turned and left. When the door shut, it took a layer of Nat's skin with it: they felt red, raw, and exposed. Their heart ached, and they resented the feeling. They were alone in this pit, with no one to even complain to. Really, they only had one option.

[TXT] Fenn! [TXT] I wanna talk more about my druid. 🥺

[imagine-silk]

Days Recovering: Day 21; I hate the tubes

“When can I get this stupid tube out of my nose?” Daylen asked, pinching the bridge of his nose in discomfort. It felt like his nose led to his brain and the tube made the lightness worse.

Sten didn’t lift his gaze from the book he was reading. “When the doctors decide your lungs won’t collapse.”

“I feel fine.” Daylen let go and wiggled his nose with a sharp breath promptly followed by a cough.

“You sound fine.” Sten’s sarcasm was usually hard to spot, usually. “Just lay back and let the medicine run its course.”

About two days ago Sten let up on asking Daylen to use the pen and paper. Daylen was nothing if not brazen. The man would rather drink seven cups of water an hour and make the trek to the bathroom than slowly write out his message to save his raspy voice. He knew Daylen felt embarrassed when he dropped the pen, repeatedly. He knew it was uncomfortable for him to not use his throat for anything but coughing. His voice was still raspy no matter how much water he drank. But if speaking would ease the time spent here he would afford it to him.

“I know, I know.” Daylen said, defeated he plopped back on the pillows. “Read it to me.”

“I can’t read pictures.”

“What are you reading?”

“I will tell you when it is important.”

Daylen stared at him to assert his insistence but Sten didn’t look up. He knew Sten knew he was staring at him, it was just a matter of will, something they both had in spades. But Daylen never liked pushing him for too long. “Okay, but I’m going to hold you to that.”

“I know you will.”

-

“You know, I thought being married would involve a lot more.” Daylen said. He was building a house of cards, focusing intensely.

“I wouldn’t know.”

The cards fell and Daylen huffed, “I guess I wouldn’t know either.”

“Why not? It is a tradition in your country.”

Daylen pointed at the paper cup out of his reach and Sten handed it to him. He takes a drink and just looks into the cup. “Mages weren’t allowed to get married and grey wardens are supposed to abandon all ties and spend their lives fighting, our lives. That was the idea anyway. I guess I could now but…” He trailed off before looking up at Sten flashing his award winning smile. It was bright like the morning sun waking you up. “It wasn’t expected for people like me at all. In the circle, the only books we had were to study. So sometimes someone would sneak in fiction books and we’d all hide them. Jowan loved the comic books. He told me he wanted to be a superhero and I told him he already had superpowers.” 

He didn’t know why he was saying all of this. It was something he never spoke about. But Maker, now that he started he didn’t know how to stop it. It fell from his mind onto his tongue. “But me, I loved the romance ones. I would dream about living outside and meeting someone. That I could- that I could have that.”

He didn’t let his face drop. No matter how bad the tears built up in his eyes he wouldn’t let them drop, even if he couldn’t see. He knew it must have looked weird, smiling while almost crying, about something Sten probably didn’t understand. But he handled it. 

Until he tipped his water too far and it spilled in his lap. 

The cool sensation startled him and his facade shattered. In his panic he tried to grab the water and fumbled it. A gray hand swiped for the cup but it fell all the same, soaking the blanket. Daylen scrambled, trying to move away from the water. The sound of beeping and flailing contributed to the agitation, especially when the beeping sped up.

“Stop.” Sten tried to hold Daylen still but he continued to move. “Stop it. You’re going to hurt yourself.” 

Sten could only get a hold of him by pulling him against his stomach, a weird angle but it got Daylen to stop. But in the absence of movement came noise. A phrase repeated over and over. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

He does nothing to feed the chanting. When he’s sure he won’t move he undoes the cords tangled from Daylen’s flailing. And when he’s done he doesn’t let go.

-

The doctor since then has not uttered a word about their confrontation. Daylen seemed to not know about the whole affair and as far as Sten was concerned he didn’t need to know. He still referred to Sten exclusively as ‘your husband’ in front of Daylen. Sten could only assume it was to make him uncomfortable or just to tease, however he didn’t care.

“Are outbursts a side effect of the medicine he is taking?” Sten made it a habit to check in with Dr. Mullins away from Daylen.

“Not that I am aware of. What is he experiencing?”

“His mood is fickle and quickly subject to change. It sometimes ends in him panicking.”

“Okay. And is this not normal for him?”

Thoughts of being on the front lines with strangers, one deciding action and never faltering against pressure. No matter how bloodied and broken he was he moved forward. How he would lure enemies in with his sloppy fighting only to unleash force he had never seen. An unyielding sentinel. “No.”

“Well, it can be many things. It could be the change of environment. It could be creeping PTSD. It could be the medicine handling his blood differently. Hell, it could be he’s finally relaxing for once. Not something you can diagnose but work as long as I have and it’s something you’ll have to know.”

“Nothing can be done?”

“We’ll keep an eye on him but to be honest I haven’t seen what you mean. I think it would be best if you documented these outbursts because he hasn’t done it with us.”

[clawsextended]

@anthromimicry asked: much to misao's own dismay, her hunger was starting to get bad again; and that was something concerning because her diet was definitely not that of your typical person's. this was because, at the threat of losing the funding of one of their most prominent benefactors if they didn't start 'cleaning up their act,' that the warden of arkham asylum suddenly seemed very gung-ho about protecting the patients. as if he ever cared much about that — even before misao came along and started to eat the patients of hers whom she found very unlikable, to say the least.

and as a consequence of this, she saw it fit to break out the outfit she'd used for a time when she first moved to gotham to feed. it wasn't anything ostentatious unlike what a lot of the other villains there were wearing nowadays; it consisting of just a dark purple parka, black pants, and a surgical mask. but surprisingly enough, someone seemed to remember seeing her one night misao had went out quote unquote 'hunting.' a sigh slipped through her lips as they told her the story of the murder they'd witnessed of hers as a kid.

not killing children was one of the few rules that misao went by while she was out, after all, so of course it had come back to bite her in the ass one day. she had no qualms with killing adults however and would've done so if they hadn't shown up with a friend of theirs whom had actually managed to sneak up on her. misao would've been impressed if she wasn't so damn angry at being hit over the head hard, which caused her to fall to the ground, dazed and her head bleeding. she let out a groan of frustration as she tried to clear her vision at first but failed. misao was only able to partially do it just as the guy had cocked his gun at her, prepared to shoot, only for it to go flying out of nowhere.

there was someone else here. that was all she was could glean from this situation at the moment, as the sound of fighting broke out before her. misao used this as an opportunity to begin getting up from the ground. and when her vision finally cleared completely… she saw that the person who had helped her was none other than a woman in a vaguely cat-like get-up. if her head wasn't throbbing something awful, misao might've found some irony in the fact that catwoman, someone who was a 'good guy' in her eyes had saved her. but she merely gaped at her as she wiped away some of the blood from the cut on her forehead.

❝ you didn't have to step in and help me, but you did, ❞ misao began as she pulled down the surgical mask she wore and examined her more closely. with the neon lights of the bar next to them shining upon selina's face, she couldn't help but think she looked pretty like that. ❝ and i appreciate that. a lot, actually. ❞ misao shot her a truly grateful smile albeit a slightly strained one, ❝ i guess i owe you one now. i know offering you food will probably not even begin to make up for you saving me, but i was actually just heading to get some food. that is... if you'd maybe like to come along? ❞

the cat’s just doing her rounds on the average night. she’s taken out a couple drug dealers and left them tied up and real life not simulation waterboarded, motherfucker, she would drown you for real. just swaying gracelessly beneath the docks, precisely close enough by selina’s rope calculations. she’s been certain it would be just enough to cause a mind-numbing panic and a sense of inevitable fatality. just enough to get the tips of their hair wet in the famous gotham river weeping and pleading and thrashing.

that’s probably cruel, isn’t it? oh well. she flippantly places the night’s antics from her mind. the bat will do the cleanup— whichever bird or bat is the flavor of the evening, she can usually pin down her kiddo’s patrols but sometimes she’s not keeping meticulous count. one of them will happen along the screaming and the shouting and catwoman’s aquatic saw trap should draw them in. easy enough — loop an idiot’s foot and watch him go down.

there’s a deeply sadistic joy that rips through her when she hears the rope pull taut. she can’t stifle the bark of a laugh that bleeds into a quiet cackle that resonates as those ropes sway and jerk uncomfortably, heaving with muddy wet as it sprays off the river. the gallows she creates delights her quietly, a tableaux she watches briefly as it disturbs choppy waves. she’s gratified with the sight, the chaotic thrashing that will eventually die down to a silence tight as a wire.

the cat’s brimming with adrenaline when she starts moving, drops the bat a ping and cartwheels out of sight before a whip cracks out and attaches to wrap around a railing. she slingshots herself with exceptional force, flying into the blue of the night with an efficient speed like a cannonball. it makes no such sound when she tears through the dark. and then her goggles ping. click. the ai informs her wordlessly that a gunshot’s detected a few feet below her — and she’s swinging aside suddenly, flying through the air with such rapid force — man, this is gonna suck for this guy. her heel hits the gun and his wrist with a sickening crack masked by the metal clanking noisily to the floor. whip cracks forward, a sharp warning. a quick shower of sparks erupt from where it hits brick, a party trick meant only to scare away an idiot stupid enough to buy the pyrotechnics.

“mm, isn’t it just like a man to take advantage of a woman’s vulnerability. dark alley. really?

—walk away and you can keep your face.”

his hand is already cracked awkwardly aside, a grotesque imitation of anatomy. fingers bend back, hang uselessly and dangle, nails beginning to purple. her eyes narrow, and she casually flicks her head aside. shnkk. claws come out when the young man staggers to his feet. he hobbles toward her in an attempt, swinging an inert hand back to strike her with it like a hammer. knee up, smashes hard into a chest, and then claws sink into a shirt and the cat hurls the target of her violence aside to crash loudly into a pile of garbage cans. the commotion dies down, and she retracts claws as the figure retreats, shrinking until he disappears.

and so the cat turns to attend immediately. and suddenly she… laughs. she fucking laughs. the sound of a hard bark that she swallows without shame but with self-consciousness.

“no. i— would much rather go take a look at that nasty fucking gash on you.”

she raises a hand to touch fingertips ever so lightly to that particular spot, taking it back. she’s careful when she grazes, hardly touches at all. perhaps only touches in theory. it’s the suggestion of touch, and yet physical in and of itself — schrodinger’s caress, maybe.

“come on. i have a place nearby i know. —uh. and it has a kitchen. and neither of us are getting arrested.”

[peterpanfromlemonland]

Don't Hyde From Me (ch 3. Ain't It Fun?)

CW/TW: mentions of alcohol, drugs, murder, depictions of murder, attempted rape, slightly possessive Tyler, Tyler and his mommy issues.

(part 1, part 2)

Tyler sat on his side of the room on his bed, watching as Hoa as she typed away at her paper. She was still a mystery to him, he would make sure to make her death a slow and painful one that he could savor; she sighed in relief as she finally finished that paper she started hours ago. Her joints cracked and popped as she stretched in her seat, waiting for the damn paper to print. She could feel Tyler’s eyes on her, watching her every damn move. From her bored fidgeting to her constantly checking the clock; 4:35PM. It was almost time for her date. The boy didn’t know why seeing his warden holding hands with another boy made him so angry, made him want to kill; rage bubbled in the pit of his stomach as he watched her prance around the room gathering the items for her outfit, gathering the makeup, humming to herself.

Now, it wasn’t just seeing her with another man that made him so angry but her having to take him along. He knows that he had to be monitored 24/7, but it felt like she brought him along to every date just to push his buttons. Like she wanted him to kill her. Tyler sighed and rolled his eyes as the vampire blasted a mixture of old classic rock and modern rock, dancing and hopping about the room. Her smile could light up a train station during a power outage. 

Ain’t It Fun?

She dramatically lip synced to Paramore as she sprayed her strawberry perfume on her body, a sickly sweet scent that irritated Tyler yet brought him some sense of peace. As much as she annoyed him, he’d rather be subjected to her antics than torture and murder any day. 

Don’t go cryin’ to your mama.

If his mother were still alive, she would’ve taken a liking to her. Even though his mother passed away when he was very young he still had fond memories of her, she loved dancing to music and doing her makeup. His heart would flutter as he would dance with her, laughter filling the room whenever he did. Hoa reminded him of her, he did his best to hide a tear- luckily Hoa was too busy doing her hair to notice. Was this her plan? Was Hoa just toying with him? Was she just as sick and psychopathic as he was? He wanted to know more, see more, feel more. 

“You know,” Hoa grumbled as she tied her hair into twin buns, “They say that it lasts longer if you take a picture.”

Cuz you’re on your own.

“What?” Tyler scoffed back, “Not gonna harvest my emerald green eyes are you?” When their eyes met- her shade covered eyes and his shiny emerald eyes- he flashed her a smirk.

“I don’t have time to deal with you right now.” She groaned as she yanked on the curtain dividing the room to give herself some privacy. Tyler knew he had to look away but watching her silhouette move against the thin fabric separating the two of them, seeing the curves and edges of her body, maybe he’ll have his way with her before he kills her. It would be exhilarating to see the fear in her eyes, unsure of what he’d do to her, he closed his eyes and moaned softly at the thoughts of her underneath him.

“He’ll be here in 5 minutes.” Hoa pushed the curtain back, revealing her black and red outfit; plain blood red t-shirt covered by a faded black leather jacket, ripped black jeans covering her knees, “Behave yourself.” She pointed a stern finger at him as she walked to the bathroom to do her makeup, her long hair bouncing as she sauntered off. Tyler groaned as he rested his back against the wall by his bed, what did she even see in this boy? He was a delinquent, sure Tyler did kill a few people but besides being a murderer Tyler was a sweet and loving person.

So what are you gonna do when the world don’t open up around you?

“Sure,” he sighed, frustrated and not knowing what he wanted, “Don’t let me get in the way of your love making Ms. Warden.”

So what are you gonna do when nobody wants to fool with you?

“Ain’t it fun?” She teased him, pushing his buttons even further.

“At least I’m not a cheap whore like you.” 

“I’m only a whore to prepare myself for a badass death.” Tyler had forgotten about the girl’s death wish, she had made it clear to him that she would go out of her way to get a chance to tango with the grim reaper himself. The boy couldn’t help but scoff at the remark, glancing up at the girl as she waltzed out of the bathroom- tonight’s makeup color scheme was black. Hoa adjusted her glasses, showing off her makeup, an aura of success exuding from her. To say she was beautiful would be an understatement, Tyler opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by 3 swift knocks at the door. It was him.

Ain’t it fun, living in the real world?

Hoa rushed to the door and opened it, greeted by a siren with a smug grin on his face. David Matthews. Tyler tried to hide his seething anger as he watched the young man wrap his arm around Hoa’s waist and pull her closer to him, the girl squeaked and giggled before playfully smacking the siren on the cheek. David nodded a reluctant greeting to the chained up hyde before closing the door behind him. Tyler didn’t like this boy for a multitude of reasons, one being the fact that he was manipulating her. The second, he was using her. The third, he was lying up front to her and she couldn’t see through his little charade. 

“Is he gonna be a problem?” David gestured in the curly haired boy’s direction, receiving an unfriendly snarl from Tyler, “Don’t want him to hyde out and ruin that pretty makeup of yours before I do.” If Tyler hated anything more than Hoa, it was David. He hated how that boy brought out the worst in Hoa, she could’ve done so much better than a parasite like him.

“Don’t mind him.” Hoa led him to her bed, “We’ll just be watching Disney movies is all.” She grinned as David’s face fell, she was serious. When they were discussing their date plans on the phone he thought that they’d be doing something other than Disney, but he still had his hopes up. Tyler could sense the malice behind that fake kindness of his, he wanted to warn Hoa but she would never believe him- how could she? Tyler sighed and closed his eyes as he lay down in his bed, wishing that she could see the trouble she was in before it was too late.

Ain’t it fun?

David knew Tyler was onto him and aware of his motives, he knew Tyler couldn’t do or say anything because no one would believe a monster. Hoa set up the first movie, she was waiting patiently to be able to do something she wanted on a date; in the past it was always whatever David wanted. Parties, drugs, booze, he would always flirt with other women and both him and Hoa would get into a fight after every date. Every night her heart would break but every morning after he would bring her flowers to apologize. She knew he was toxic but she just wanted to pretend, to pretend that there was a sliver of hope there. That he was a good guy deep down inside. Tyler rolled to his side, back turned towards the couple, he wanted to be the one with his arm around her waist but that just won’t happen. Not now, not any time soon, not ever. Ain’t it fun? He closed his eyes and dozed off…

The next thing he knew was that it was 5 minutes after the clock had struck 5PM, he could hear the sounds of screaming and struggling from Hoa’s side of the room. Tyler turned over to see what the commotion was only to feel sick to his stomach. Hoa was struggling against David, the boy had her pinned and was covering her mouth to muffle her screams- tears stained her bruised littered face, black purple and blue painted her body. David was trying to take advantage of her, Tyler sensed the anger steeping in the pit of David’s stomach as Hoa made it difficult for him to do what he wanted.

“Come on baby,” David grunted, “Make this easy for me. You always did what you were told before. Let me fuck you.” Hoa wriggled and writhed, David lost his patience and slammed his fist against the side of her face leaving a trail of blood running down her nose. Tyler’s blood boiled, he slowly rolled off his bed and started making his way towards the two, rage and bloodlust clouded his thoughts. All he wanted was David dead. He didn’t think before he acted, the next thing that he heard were the frightened screams from David’s sinister mouth.

Tyler’s eyes widened as he saw the blood oozing on his hands, what had he done?

“You’re a fucking bitch!” David cried as he stumbled out of the room, slamming the door behind him, his frantic footsteps echoed through the empty halls. Tyler wanted to storm off after him but hearing her faint sobs caused his heart to shatter to pieces, the boy knelt by the side of her bed- at a loss for words seeing her bloodied and bruised. What the fuck is wrong with him? What happened to wanting to make her bleed and suffer?

“Hoa?” His voice shaky as he tried to reach out for her, his head yelling at him to stop.

“Just-” the girl hiccupped, “I need space.” She stumbled to her phone sitting on her desk. She didn’t even look at him. Tyler didn’t know what to do other than stand there flabbergasted and mouth hanging open like a fish gasping for air, he watched as Hoa’s tough and cold hearted demeanor crumbled. Underneath all that sarcasm and stubbornness was a scared little girl, she was vulnerable. A knock at the door caused her to jump before answering.

“Co sao khong?” A young man similar looking to Hoa made his way in, “Sis, who did this to you?” He quickly directed his attention to Tyler, ready to break his knees.

“Don’t want to talk about it.” Hoa made her way to the open window, snaking her leg out onto the balcony, wiping the blood off her face.

“You want me to shift?” The man asked, gaining a swift nod from Hoa before she disappeared. The man sighed and plopped himself at the girl’s desk, his form and figure quickly changing to imitate the image of Hoa. This man was a shifter. Tyler had a thousand questions flying around his head at a thousand miles, where does he start? How did Hoa know this man?

“You have questions for me,” The unknown man spoke, “I can see it written on your stupid face.” Great, this man was just like her.

“First off,” Tyler got to his feet, “Who are you?” His brows furrowed quizzically. The man sighed and took off his sunglasses, he was Hoa’s twin. Her brother, her ‘womb mate’ as he liked to call it. Tyler never knew about Hoa’s family, he didn’t even think to ask, but knowing her… Her brother was no different. His name was Quan, part vampire and part shifter. Born seconds after his sister, the two of them were almost inseparable. After giving Tyler a brief introduction he pulled out his phone to track his sister’s location.

“You stalk your sister often?” Tyler scoffed, “Talk about incest much?”

“For your information,” Quan hissed, “I want to make sure my sister is safe.” Quan had an odd way of keeping tabs on his sister, the entire Duong family was an enigma to Tyler. He wanted to know more. His second question was regarding the fact why Hoa never mentioned him or had any family photos. Quan refused to answer, dodging it by pretending not to hear the boy. Like brother, like sister. Tyler sighed and made his way to the bathroom to wash the blood from his hands. He feared the worst, the death penalty. He then made his bed, knowing the conversation would go nowhere. 

“Thank you,” Quan spoke after moments of silence, “For kicking that douchebag’s ass back there.” Tyler was too stunned to speak. Any normal person would cower in fear.

“You’re not angry that I hurt someone?” Tyler tilted his head curiously.

“Well,” Quan smirked, “I’m fine if pain is given to those who deserve it. I’ve been trying to warn my sis about that guy for months.” Why was Quan thanking him? Tyler was the ‘monster’ in this situation, was Quan just as crazy as his sister? Before any of them could say a word the sound of the window closing and clanking of glass caught their attention, she was back.

Ain’t it good to be on your own.

The clock struck 6PM, Hoa stumbled across the room, she looked like a mess. A greeting left her lips, words slurred together as she nearly tripped over her own feet, the smell of alcohol and weed was strong enough to intoxicate an elephant. Cheap whiskey and wine mixed with smoke filled the room, it was unbearable that Tyler had to open the window. Hoa fell into her brother’s arms with a hiccup, a look of disgust and disappointment painted his pale face.

“Are you drunk?” He interrogated her angrily.

“Stoned too!” She grinned, “Want some little brother?” She pulled out a bottle of whiskey from the shopping bag she had with her, Quan took it from her hands only to realize that the bottle was empty. He sighed before plopping his sister on her bed, he hated when she got like this- he couldn’t blame her though, he only had his father to blame for her behavior. The young man straightened his uniform as he shifted back to his original form, adjusting his glasses he turned to face Tyler.

“Take care of her for me, will you?” Quan smiled as he made his way to the door. Tyler blinked, an odd request to ask of a monster who wants your sister dead, but Tyler agreed without question. He sat on the floor next to Hoa’s bed, unsure of what to do or say. It broke him to see her like this, he just wished she would snap at him with some snarky remark about him and his emerald eyes but she didn’t.

“I hate you.” Hoa giggled, she was now in front of her mirror and pointing at her reflection, “You’re a piece of shit, you know that?”

“Hey,” Tyler got up and cautiously hovered his arms around her, afraid she would stumble and hurt herself even more, “How about you get some rest, yeah?”

“How about you shove it,” a cold smirk found its home on her lips, “Barista Boy?” God, out of all times she chose now to push his buttons. She got up in his face, Tyler almost passing out as the smell of whiskey and weed hit him. His chained hands instinctively pulled her close, what was he doing? Her eyes laced with intoxication and bad decisions, he could easily snap her neck right then and there. Her black lipstick smudged along with her eye makeup, he wanted her.

“You’re drunk.” He mumbled.

“And you’re a monster.” She cooed, “A cute, harmless monster.” Tyler felt his face warm up at her comment. A part of him knew she didn’t mean it- the girl was wasted and stoned out of her mind, she probably didn’t even know what she was saying- but another part of him wanted to believe her. He wanted her to mean it. He reminded her that if it weren’t for the chains holding him, he would break every bone in her body over and over until she was a mangled mess.

“Is that so?” She cocked a brow, “Is the big scary monster gonna kill me?” She mocked him, using a tone you’d use with an infant.

“Maybe you should sit down-”

“Maybe I should take these chains off of you.” She held up the key that could give him the freedom he so desperately wanted. Tyler’s breath caught in his throat, his chest heaving as he came close to finally getting what he wanted- what he needed. He felt his cock twitch from the sheer sight of the key that she twirled in her fingers, she could see the want in his eyes as she leaned in closer. They fell into each other’s orbit, unable to take their eyes off the other.

“You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into, baby.” He huffed, forehead resting against hers. The cold chains resting upon her back as his hands trailed her sides, just as he leaned down to plant a kiss on her lips she quickly escaped his grasps and darted towards the bathroom. Kneeling besides the toilet as she heaved and vomited her insides. 

Ain’t it fun?

[cdroloisms]

haha your snippit abt the dispenser got me thinking.

Dream gets let out of prison and he talks constantly, whatever is on his mind. And he's positive all the time. To a fault where people walk over him. And it doesn't make sense because he was tortured right???? But after an incident they find out it's because he hates the sound of silence and needs constant reminders that other people are there. Also he was punished for any negative emotions in the prison so his default is happy now,,,

hi anon !! this concept makes me SO goddamn sad ,, the idea that he Has to be happy bc anything else would mean punishment im so *punches the walls*

this ,, ficlet is honestly. pretty ooc, not really related to the ask at all, and mostly an excuse for me to cry abt c!dream and c!punz for an excessive amount of time (technically the vote on twitter was supposed to have this as c!sapnap pov, but i just wrote one for him so i went for c!punz instead. mostly bc i wanted to write him LMAO). hopefully someone enjoys it despite *gestures vaguely* all of that mess

tw: trauma, disordered eating, implied torture/abuse, blood, injuries, unhealthy coping mechanisms, emotional distress, thoughts of murder/mercy killing, mentioned animal death, dark content

In the end, it’s all rather anticlimactic, the complete opposite of Dream’s vault and the whole fiasco of adrenaline and theatrics that had made up that day. Quackity ended up having one too many drinks, bragged about the wrong thing to the wrong person - Punz doesn’t know the specifics, only knows that one thing has led to another and suddenly Sapnap was screaming at his ex-fiancé, sword pointed at his chest and tears streaming down his eyes in the middle of the Community House floor, everyone else stood around and watching. A look into Quackity’s office said everything he didn’t - the chests and chests of used and new tools, shiny and sharpened and completely rusted over with blood and everything in between. There’s been a balled up shirt in the wastebasket, completely unsalvageable from how saturated it was with blood, more red than white, and perhaps most chilling of all the calendar, marked with X after X in red pen, going back months and speaking to their utter failure to see what had been happening all but right in front of them.

With Quackity down, Sam caved not too long after, and with his input getting into the prison was no challenge at all. The only thing holding them back were bad memories and the tense, worried edge to Sam’s jaw as he led the small group of them - himself and Sapnap, actually entering the facility, Bad and Puffy waiting outside - carrying them through winding corridor after winding corridor and lava pit after lava pit, until they’d come to stand before a chasm filled with flowing lava, slowly draining before the main cell.

“I- I have to warn you,” Sam had muttered, uncharacteristically hesitant, “it looks…pretty bad,” and Punz would’ve questioned him further, but the lava had fallen far enough to reveal the topmost edge of the cell, so they let Sapnap hound the Warden for information as they directed their full attention on the cell itself and holy shit.

Nothing Sam said could’ve possibly have prepared them for the sight - it was a complete fucking bloodbath, crimson painting the walls and smeared over the floor and splattered over every visible surface like some abstract art experiment gone wrong. The stench of iron and burning flesh and viscera was awful, even over the gap marked by the still-draining lava. Punz strained his eyes; at the very back of the cell, huddled, unmoving, was a similarly bloodstained shape that must’ve been Dream. They remember the crack of Sapnap’s knuckles meeting Sam’s face and breaking his nose, remember themselves chucking a pearl and feeling along Dream’s neck desperately for a pulse - everything beyond that became a swirl of voices and panic and crying that makes their head hurt to think about, so they don’t.

Recovery is…messy. The physical side had been bad enough - pulling Dream out of the cell, barely breathing, limp in his arms and far too light, all Punz could think about was a sheep he’d found a year ago, frail and struggling to breathe, one he’d ended up killing - quick and painless - with a sword through the skull because it seemed kinder than letting it suffer. Watching Dream struggle on the bed, laid up in Bad’s mansion because none of them knew if he’d survive going any further, body resisting the potions they’d slowly forced down his throat after being so over-saturated on them, temperature spiking and heat baking into his skin like the lava from the prison had been imprinted onto his body, Punz feels the same strange mixture of pity and unease, wonders if it’d be a hell of a lot kinder if they just put him out of his fucking misery.

Still, because Dream is a stubborn bastard, against all odds, he ends up surviving - his fever breaks, the potions begin taking effect, and a few tireless, aching days later his eyes flutter open, lucid for the first time in a week. Punz isn’t even in the room when he wakes, only knows that it happens because the too-quiet room suddenly erupts in noise and activity, muffled thumps and sounds of a struggle undercutting Bad’s frantic calls for someone to help, anyone, and they run into the room to find Dream thrashing on the bed, wounds reopened and blood dripping onto the sheets, eyes wild and wide as his head whips from side to side so hard Punz is half-afraid that he’ll straight up break his neck. Somehow, worst of all, not a single scream falls from his lips, nothing but muffled whines squeezing past his mouth, clenched shut, and for a singular, awful second they wonder how long it took before he realized that screaming was useless.

Fortunately enough for them, or unfortunately, it’s not like he can tell the fucking difference anymore, the panic and strain end up with Dream passing out altogether, and they trade uneasy glances with Bad before going to clean off the worst of his wounds. If everything they’re doing feels hopeless, dressing up wounds that’ll be torn open hours later when Dream is awake enough to feel fear but not much else because he’s forgotten what it’s like to not be afraid - well, that’s for them to think and everyone else to pretend not to agree with.

Weeks pass along the same vein - Dream wakes up, panics; they try to calm him down, fails; he falls back into unconsciousness, and they move on and pretend that they’re cleaning up wounds from battle and not from someone that’s literally been tortured for months on end. People stop by, occasionally; Puffy spends more time than not inside the mansion, but hardly ever enters the door into Dream’s room, Sapnap and George drop by occasionally with potion brewing supplies that the rest of them can’t go out to get; once, he’d gone out to the front door to find a chest with an enchanted golden apple, sender nowhere in sight. He knows that the server is busy; Quackity’s admission had brought more than a few secrets to light, and from what they understand, the political fallout has been pretty damn messy. Still, he stays in the mansion, and watches.

He doesn’t exactly know why he stays. They’re not a stellar healer, not beyond what they know to dress their own wounds, and spend most of their time doing odd-and-ends tasks for Bad, who looks more tired than ever. Maybe it’s because he’s seen Dream at his worst more than the rest of them, had been there through his entire fall from grace, watched as his eyes became clouded with anger and madness and a single, desperate hope that he’d chased at the cost of his world and himself. Maybe it’s because they have no ties to the rest of the server - not to Las Nevadas, falling apart under the scrutiny of the eyes that now fall upon it, not Snowchester, caught up in the chaos, not the Badlands, half-dissolved after the fiasco of the Egg and with Sam’s actions having just come to light. Maybe it’s because above everything else, he feels guilty.

They’d thought the prison was the answer. It’d seemed too simple, back in that Vault - a perfect answer, because everyone else was perfectly happy to watch Dream die another time and some part of them had clenched painfully at the thought even thought they knew it was for the best. The prison meant that he’d be alive, if angry, and at some point when he had the time or the nerve or the guts he could go and visit, and they would talk, and Dream would be angry but with time maybe he could even understand.

They hadn’t wanted this. He can’t imagine anyone wanting this.

“Punz?” They don’t jump at the voice at their back, they don’t, but Bad still has a tiny, tight-lipped smile when they turn around anyway, eyes creased in the corners and still not as bright as they’d been before the Egg. Bad looks at him knowingly, setting a bowl of soup into his hands. “For Dream, if you can get him to eat.” He shifts a pointed gaze towards the door. “Maybe you two could talk.”

“About what?” The words come out harsher than they intend, and they take a moment to bite back the mostly self-directed anger that Bad doesn’t deserve to receive the brunt of. “I just-” he waves his hand in the air, trying to articulate the mess that is his relationship with Dream without the words to explain it. “I don’t know, man.”

“You don’t have to talk about everything,” Bad says, calm as always, eyes flicking down to the bowl of soup in his hands. “Just start with the soup.”

Punz sighs. “I’ll try.”

He enters the room in a single, fluid motion, mostly because he knows that if he were to stop at the door then he’d never actually make his way in. Dream flinches back when they enter, eyes going wide and stance going rigid, and the familiarity doesn’t make the sight any easier to bear as they wait, as always, for Dream’s eyes to clear enough for him to realize he’s in the mansion and not stuck in that same obsidian hellhole.

“I brought soup,” they say, finally, when Dream looks up. Dream’s lips twitch up in what he probably means as a smile; between the still-healing gashes on his face and the fear that flashes over his expression, still, it comes out as more of a grimace.

“Thanks.” Dream looks away. “I’ll eat it later.”

Liar, Punz thinks tiredly, moving closer to set the bowl down on the nightstand by the bed. They frown as Dream’s expression goes slack and distanced, again, eyes fixed to stare blankly at the wall once again.

“You should have some now,” he tries, careful to keep his words even. “You need the calories.”

“I’m good,” Dream says, automatic, just shy of sincere. “Thank you.”

“Dream,” they don’t quite succeed at keeping a displeased sigh from falling from their lungs, and bite back a curse at themselves when Dream pulls back with a silent flinch. It’s so goddamn hard, to talk to this version of Dream, both of them feeling around the edges of their relationship like walking on goddamn eggshells. A few months ago, he would’ve straight up called Dream out on his bullshit, get it through his thick skull that the whole ‘I’m fine and don’t need anyone’ act was stupid and completely failing to convince him. Here, they bite back another sigh, look forlornly at the bowl of the soup on the nightstand, sure to go uneaten once again, and force themselves to sound completely neutral when they speak again. “Alright. You’ll have to eat at some point, though.”

“Mmhm,” Dream hums noncommittally, once again staring at the wall. Punz stares at his hands. This is so fucking pointless.

“So,” they say after a few seconds, Bad’s words echoing in their head - they can try to make an effort to talk, sure. It’s just that Dream’s not going to cooperate. “How are you, man?”

The words come out stilted, awkward. He looks up to watch Dream’s expression, as the other man begins to gnaw on the inside of his cheek.

“I’m good,” he says, words deliberately light. “You?”

“Dream…”

“I’m fine.” Dream’s voice sharpens suddenly, breath hitching, before he shakes his head and turns his head away. “I’m fine.”

Punz looks at him incredulously. “Are you serious? Do we need to get into exactly how not-fine you are?” They wave a hand in his direction, jaw clenching when he rears back. “Do ‘fine’ people lose their minds from someone waving at them, now?”

“I-” For a second, Dream glares at him, eyes burning with a familiar, irritated fire that Punz knows all-too-well from having it directed at him a few too many times, before it suddenly dies and Dream is swinging his head back to the bedsheets, hands tightening on the cloth as he stammers. “I- What do you want?”

Punz breathes a soft sigh, regret blooming in the center of their chest. “Sorry,” he mumbles, careful to keep their gestures overly-telegraphed and away from the other man’s face. “I’m just- you’re not okay, man. No one’s expecting you to be okay after...all of that.”

“But why?”

Dream’s voice is small, nearly a sob, and Punz directs wide, alarmed eyes to where he’s hunched in over himself, knees pulled to his chest, hands staring at the sheets pulled over them. “Why?” he says, again, quieter, lip trembling slightly.

“Because you were tortured,” Punz begins, words slow as they watch Dream’s expression, trying to pull out the thoughts behind his averted eyes, “Because the cell was inhumane, and nobody deserves to be treated like that. Because you were hurt very, very badly because of what we did, and none of us are expecting you to be fine right after going through months of trauma.” He pauses. “You know that, right?”

“But I’m out,” Dream says, quiet, disbelieving, instead of answering their question. “I’m out of there. It’s over. It’s- everything’s good,” he whispers, more to himself than to them, hands curling into fists and then uncurling. “I’m- they said I would never get out. And I’m outside, and it’s not- not the cell, and I get real food, and Quackity doesn’t visit anymore,” he shakes his head, eyes squeezing shut as his breath catches in his throat. “I’m happy- I should be happy. Right?”

“Oh Dream,” the other man flinches back, breath quickening, and Punz’s hand stops short from where he’d almost let it fall onto the other’s shoulder. “You don’t have to be happy, man. Not- not after all of that. Not if you’re not ready yet.” Dream’s eyes, wide and wet, rise to look at their own, and they feel more than hear the soft, wounded noise that leaves their lips. “It’s ok to be hurt. It’s ok to be scared. No one’s blaming you, alright? No one’s gonna hurt you anymore.”

This, more than anything, seems to be the breaking point, because Dream collapses forward, hands flying up to pull at his tangled hair before Punz manages to ease them away and into his own hands, watching as he grips onto them until his knuckles go white. His breathing shudders, quiet, even his sobs muffled as to make as little noise as possible, and they murmur meaningless croons and hums as he cries into their chest.

“I wanna- I wanna be okay,” he hiccups, and Punz smooths his hair back behind their hand.

“I know,” he swallows around the lump that has risen in his own throat. “I’m sorry.”

[thegreatobsesso]

Find the word tag game: example, explain, exit, excite, extreme, exalt

Thank you for the tag, @sleepyowlwrites, this was so much fun to gather and I had all the words, even the bonus ones. :D :D :D

example

Riley POV

Louis McKinnon funds all of this - the facility, the equipment, the staff - and Riley considers how far they’ve exceeded her expectations as the elevator slows to a stop and the doors slide open noiselessly, letting in a rush of colorless light. She could almost see herself having a career here, but just because the Guiding Preservers have a well-organized base doesn’t mean they have well-organized intentions.

First off, they’re too fanatical for scientists, the ones that work down here. The lab tech they gave her is a perfect example: an eager and tightly wound girl named Clara who Riley swore never blinked, took too much glee in the experiments. She never voiced it, but Riley saw the twitch at the corner of her mouth the first time she watched her tying a tourniquet around a subject’s arm, pupils blown wide in her too-still eyes.

explain

Callie POV

“Adrian’s asked me to give you a tour,” Trudy stated, articulating every syllable like a machine they taught to speak English. “He’d like you to see how things are done at Lyonall School of the Arcane, should it please you.”

Oh, so suddenly he was worried about pleasing her, was he?

The truth was, Adrian Prentice was able to trigger an embarrassing, girlish impulse inside her that told her run, hide, cry and she hated herself for it, and hated him, too, and the way he smiled about it and called her sweetheart. Better this rigid automaton than him.

“Sure,” she said to the woman. “Why the hell not?”

She let Trudy lead her around the castle, and asked about the symbols that glowed above the thorny archways and in serpent trails through the floor.

“Incantations of purpose and protection in a hand invented by Nauxial himself,” she explained.

Christ, more Nauxial? These people were obsessed. “Enchanted,” she pressed. “Is the language itself magic or are they just carvings loaded up with Infusion work?”

“The latter,” she said. “I understand Delaney has its wards; these serve the same purpose here.”

exit

Simon POV

“Put your hands up.”

“What?”

“Now, put your hands up, show them you don’t mean any-”

He didn’t have the chance to explain. He caught it too late. An officer exited the car, his gun raised and pointed at Callie. She threw up her hands, her eyes wide with surprise, but a second one was already on her. Pain shot down Simon’s side as a third, fourth, fifth piled in, and he called Callie’s name in panic as she seized and fell, her eyes rolling back in her head.

The first one stood, holstering his taser. More flooded in around him as he struggled to stand and he felt their intention all too clearly - they weren’t here to talk, but to drag her back to Downing Bay, now.

“It’s endlessly interesting,” said a pleasant voice. A bald head loomed over him, a tall form in a tweed suit. “Hurt her and you feel it too.”

Warden Prescott smiled warmly and offered him a hand.

Callie panted, facedown in the dirt with ten men at her back locking waretamium cuffs around her wrists, ankles and neck.  

excite

Grace POV

Grace’d shared rooms with other kids her whole life.

Sometimes with lots of ‘em at once, and she never minded. So when she found out she’d be sharing a room with a randomly chosen kid she’d never met, she was unfazed; certain they’d get along fine, but also excited to meet the hundreds other kids in the school, all of them magicians just like her, and eager to make so many friends.

So what were the odds that the one they picked to live in her room would end up her first and only best friend?

Probably something like one in a bajillion.

Angela shivered in bed, some of the bad stuff still lingering in her body two days later. They wouldn’t give her gloves back, so Angela couldn’t touch anybody and had to make sure no one touched her. She had to wear rubber shoes all the time, even to bed, and especially in the bath. They stopped the classes which taught her how to control it, and she had been doing just as good in that class as she had in all her others.

And worse than all of that, they’d upset her. Her power was always more unstable when she was upset and that whole day had been so scary. That’s what these nasty people didn’t get, or maybe they did get it and they just didn’t care: if they’d have just let her be, none of this would have happened.

And all this made Grace feel very, very not okay. Because Angela was her best friend and she was hurt.

extreme

Simon POV

“But this is the question,” Perrine said, “what did they teach you about it at Delaney?”

“How to control it.”

“But this presupposes your power must be controlled,” she argued. “That it is, in its very nature, a thing to be tamed.”

Ash bristled. “It is, because the power should lie in the magician, not the magic. Learning control doesn’t imply fear, it gives the wielder the personal agency to do with the magic as they choose.”

“But I hear Madame Perrine’s point,” Lucinda said, “if you go in with control, control, control, that sends a message, that what we are can’t be left unchecked, and if you ask me, it can get dangerously close to Guiding Preserver rhetoric.”

“Oh, please,” Wayland said. “I don’t think anybody’s saying we should write it into our join mission statement to squash the will out of our kids.”

Janan finally spoke after watching the exchange serenely. “I agree with Wayland. Some of you are pushing both sides to the most extreme conclusion, which none of us are calling for. We’re supposed to be searching for a middle ground.”

“That requires us to know where we all stand in the first place,” Adrian said, still leaning back, his chin held high.

“Everyone knows where you stand,” Ash snapped, staring daggers. Adrian raised an eyebrow, but didn’t otherwise reply.

exalt

Callie POV

It went on with a ton more psychobabble like that. Some of her fans came right out with their magic supremacy but this guy, man, he thought the walls had ears. He never said what he meant and seemed to think she was doing the same. Did he seriously think she was speaking in code when she said I never wanted to hurt anybody on national TV and really meant Look to the sky for my bat signal, the end is nigh?

This was what happened when millions of people know you, she reckoned - a small contingent is always gonna be fucked. She considered writing back, egging him on.

Dear disciple, she’d say. I am honored to know I will have your allegiance when the time has come. I’m just gonna lay low for now, as the other three horsemen are stuck in traffic. But once we’re all here together, prepare to be summoned and exalted. PS: I need the Mona Lisa. Please get it for me. xoxo, Callie.

She giggled as she scripted it, but decided maybe for once, she’d refrain from playing with fire.

Tagging @avrablake, @authorlaurawinter, @pandawriterstuff, @the-orangeauthor and @pertinax--loculos with the new words free, freeze, friend, front and frame :)

[trans-ruffboi]

Entry for zevwarden week,

Zevran/Male Surana

Day 4: Alternate Universe (daemon au)

It Was Almost Like Dancing

457 words

They never knew what to expect, when Asseya came out to play. No doubt anyone who knew they were the Wardens had at least heard about her, but nobody was ever really prepared for when the elven mage was the one that came charging at them with a griffon.

The seeming head assassin with the coyote recovered most quickly, leaping away from the first lightning bolt and mostly dodging it. As Alistair and Heather ran in, the large dog barking, Renlin followed. Let Leliana and Morrigan hang back at the long-range with their birds, he was going in.

Fighting the blond elf was less like fighting than it was dancing, not that he had done much dancing to compare it to. The man weaved around Cones of Cold and jumped over Paralyzing Glyphswith a rhythm, though also never really landing a strong hit of his own. His daemon was the same, darting around Asseya's greater bulk and nipping at her heels, dodging slashes of claws and strikes from her powerful beak.

Renlin found he was enjoying himself, in spite of being in a fight to the death, and as the man dodged another staff strike that would have knocked him unconscious, he barked out a laugh. Compassion swirled around him as the assassin laughed back, drawing his attention to where Alistair was flagging slightly and he shot a burst of healing to the warrior, the bright green light making the man he was fighting look so fresh and alive, and he was sad that he'd likely have to kill him.

But while he had been slightly distracted, the assassin had gotten in close, sidestepping Asseya's clawstrike and finally getting a solid hit in.

And stepping right into a Glyph of Paralysis.

They stared at each other, faces close enough to share breath; the assassin's dagger buried in Renlin’s shoulder, Renlin’s magic holding him paralyzed. He grinned, "Gotcha. Now let's take a nap why don't we?" and set the assassin to Sleep.

The coyote was handled in a similar manner, and he turned to discover that the rest of his companions had slain the various other combatants.

They'd tied the man and daemon up, and after a brief interrogation that only slightly felt more like flirting, he recruited this 'Zevran' and his daemon to their merry little band of cast-offs, with only mild complaining from his companions.

Renlin reached down to pull Zevran up, after untying his suspiciously already-loosened bonds.

"I give you my oath, until such a time you would no longer have me. We are yours, this we swear."

Renlin’s hand was still in Zevran's, and he smirked upon releasing it. "Welcome aboard Zevran, I'm pleased to have you."

"And I am sure I will be pleased to be had, Warden."