#its also a small look into what using blood magic might be like

[breelandwalker]

Hunter's Moon - October 17 2024

Grab your masks and candy buckets and trim the twigs on your best besom, witches! It’s time for the Hunter’s Moon!

Hunter’s Moon

The Hunter’s Moon is the name usually given to the full moon which appears in October, provided that the Harvest Moon has occurred in September. (Remember - the Harvest Moon is the full moon closest to the autumnal equinox and that can mean September OR October!) The Hunter’s Moon is next full moon to follow it, so it may occur in October OR November. The Harvest and Hunter’s moons are the only two moons in the calendar which are tied to a specific event in this way, while the others reflect signs of seasonal growth or animal behavior.

Like the Harvest Moon, the Hunter’s Moon rises big, bright, and early, and it may appear to be full for two or three nights in a row. The celestial peak of illumination is at 7:26am EST on October 17th, but the moon may also appear full or nearly-full on the 16th and 18th. This is also the second of this season's series of supermoons!

The name Hunter’s Moon is taken from the traditional timing for the fall hunting season, as the name implies. The fields cleared in previous months and the gradually cooling weather meant that animals fattened up from summer foraging would be roaming in open ground, making prime targets for anyone looking to put some meat in the pantry for winter. According to the Oxford English Dictionary, this may also be the origin of the other common October moniker, the Blood Moon, which has been in use in the British Isles since at least the Middle Ages.

North American indigenous names for the October moon include Falling Leaves Moon (Anishinaabe), Freezing Moon (Ojibwe), Migrating Moon (Cree), and Big Wind Moon (Zuni). In several modern pagan traditions, the October moon is called the Sanguine or Blood Moon due to its’ with the association with the hunt and with alleged sacrifices made ahead of the coming winter. (Keep in mind that any claims about What The Druids Did should be taken with a grain of salt, as they did not keep written records of their ceremonies.)

As you may know, we're also welcoming an additional natural satellite at the moment - a tiny asteroid designated 2024 PT5. This visitor comes from the Arjuna asteroid belt, which is made up of near-Earth objects that orbit the sun at a similar distance to our own cozy little planet. This temporary "mini moon" will be vacationing in and around Earth's orbit until sometime in November, at which point it will continue on its' way through our solar system. Unfortunately, it's too small and too far away to be seen with the naked eye or even with most telescopes, but you may be able to see the peak of the Orionids meteor shower between October 20th and 22nd, depending on where you live. (Check the DarkSky Placefinder to see what will be visible in your area!)

What Does It Mean For Witches?

October is a time to finish our harvests. We gather in the last of what we sowed earlier in the year and reflect on what our work has wrought and what our labor has produced. It is also a time of transition as the weather begins to shift more noticeably toward the chill of winter. Shore up whatever provisions you need for the immediate future and complete whatever preparations you’ve been making for the cold season, both magical and practical. A little weatherproofing goes a long way!

This is also the month when numerous Western cultures remember their honored dead and a time when some believe that contact with various unseen realms is more easily accomplished. If you’re seeking advice or reassurance from the greater beyond, or looking to do some planning or forecasting for the coming year, now might be the optimal time to do it.

What Witchy Things Can We Do?

Celebrate the end of the harvest season with your favorite recipes! Bust out that hearty stew or delicious pie you’ve been dying to make but kept putting off during the hot months. Use local produce to make something special and gather in the last fruits of your garden.

Get your divination game on! Many October party games include fortune-telling aspects for love or marriage or professional prospects. Choose your favorite method and see what it has to tell you about the coming year and where your current path may lead. Remember that the choices we make change the path and therefore the outcome, so try to regard the results as written in sand rather than stone.

Participate in the hunt yourself! Whether it’s an actual seasonal hunt for game (safely and responsibly done, of course) or a bit of foraging or a personal search for something you’ve been needing, this is the perfect time to connect with that drive to seek and gather. Make one more trip for wildcrafted plants before everything turns brown and brittle. Stalk the aisles of your favorite local shops for craft supplies, new decorations, or perhaps that fancy hat you’ve been dreaming of for the upcoming holiday.

Prepare for the cold months! Switch out your wardrobe, heap those blankets on the bed, change the decor to something autumnal, and make sure your home and vehicle are ready for winter. If you do any seasonal crafts or fibre arts, start pulling out your accoutrements.

Shed your metaphorical skin one more time. Examine what you carry in your heart and where your priorities lie. If there is anything left that weighs you down or no longer serves you or disrupts your life unnecessarily, prune it away and let it go. This process is not always comfortable and may leave you feeling raw, but sometimes hard decisions must be made. You are not meant to be in perpetual motion or constant production. Give yourself permission to rest.

Consider also the parts of yourself that you don’t always like. Is there value in the struggle to deny them and push them away? Is there anything that might serve you better if it was embraced rather than denied? So often we speak of letting things go and laying down burdens in order to progress. But there is also power in remembrance, in anger, in spite, in grief, in ambition. Remember that while you should forgive yourself for past mistakes and learn from them, you are not required to do the same for others. Remember also that setting boundaries is healthy and that if they are not respected, you are within your rights to remind others than actions have consequences. Protecting yourself is not always pretty and it is not always polite. And it doesn’t have to be.

Happy Hunter’s Moon, witches! 🌕🏹

Further Reading:

Additional Lunar Calendar posts

Secular Celebrations - Samhain

Hunter’s Moon: Full Supermoon in October, The Old Farmer's Almanac.

Hunters Moon 2024: The Spiritual Meaning of the October Full Moon, The Peculiar Brunette.

Orionid meteor shower 2024: All you need to know, EarthSky, Oct 18 2024.

"Earth will get another moon this month  — but not for long!," Space.com, Sept 17 2024.

Everyday Moon Magic: Spells & Rituals for Abundant Living, Dorothy Morrison, Llewellyn Publications, 2004.

Image Credit - Darkfoxelixir on Shutterstock.

(If you’re enjoying my content, please feel free to drop a little something in the tip jar or check out my published works on Amazon or in the Willow Wings Witch Shop. 😊)

[ophelia-ophelian]

Research you

Mr. Silvair x reader

AN: okay listen— i have no clue if there is fanfiction out there about Homicipher at all so, I’m still trying to figure out how to do their language within our text. I am actually brainstorming a way to fix it😼 but I digress, I love this dude he’s so cute. Also I saw the poll of keeping in game language, but since this is longer I’m doing what @/dav-ulysses suggested and mixed it. maybe shorter blurbs will be in game talking

Warning: blood/syringe, suggestive but not much, experimental writing

As you wake up, you take a look around to try and remember where you are and what you were doing. You see the tattered walls that enclose every room in this magic world and swing your legs over the bed you were resting at. You hear a giggle in front of you and see Mr. Crawling sitting near the door staring at you through his hair. 

“Leave?” He squeaked out, tilting his head.

“No, I’m just going to go explore,” you respond as you open the door and leave. As you turn around, you realize he’s going to follow you as normal. Despite him being so scary and monstrous looking, he’s been more friendly and helpful than most people you’ve met since coming here. People? You give a thought, I can’t tell if I would say people or creatures? You brush off the thought and look around to see Mr. Chopped’s head laying on the counter in the main area with Hand resting next to him. 

You hear a hum as you turn to see Mr. Silvair, “Hello. You okay?” You smile back as an affirmation as he continues, “Want research you.”

You try to reply using their sounds, “Erm…Why research me?”

“Me interested human body. Me want research you,” a pause, “Your likeness previously human. You human here, yes?”

Ah, he wants to research humans. You knew Mr. Silvair was interested in them, given the amount of tools such as syringes, scalpels, and the like whenever he mentioned his research. You also recall his small musings about helping Mr. Chopped get a body of his own, but being warned about how dangerous it would be since it might completely change him and destroy his sentience. Mr. Silvair pulls you out of this rabbit hole of thoughts by clearing his throat and ushering you back into his research room. You smile as confirmation of letting him study you and you follow him into the back of his room. He beckons you to lay, and as you do, he begins talk to you about what he’s been learning. Given the time passed you tried to keep track of, you were starting to understand the language of this world, give or take a few words that you could fill in with context.

Once he is finished his mini rant to himself, he waves his hand to get your attention, “I want to test the difference between human blood and our blood, and what could possibly be leading to the rot of your body, the longer to stay in this ‘realm’ you talk about. Can you let me take your blood?” With an affirmative, he rolls up your sleeve and wipes down your skin with some type of wet cloth and gripping your bicep to make your veins protrude more. “If you do not like watching, do not look,” and with that, you feel the prick of his syringe and the coldness of your blood draining creep in. Before you know it, however, he pulls back and gives you a bandage to cover your bleeding. Looking up at you, he mentions “Humans do not heal like us, but given your time here, you seem to be adapting. It is irregular and I want to know why.”

He pulls back and puts his syringe behind him on a desk with a number of other liquids that you could probably guess would be other creatures’ blood. Some were colored like yours, and some were darker, but most seemed as similar to yours in color than you expected. Mr. Silvair notices this and talks about the difference, but since his back is turned to you, its harder to decipher what exactly he is explaining since you can’t use the crutch of reading his lips to try and match the sounds to the vocabulary words in your dictionary – which Mr. Crawling so kindly gave an empty journal one morning when you offhandly mentioned there are so many words to learn that you are losing track of and need to write down to remember them all.

Seemingly done with his lesson, Mr. Silvair turns back to you and places his hand over your chest. You flinch backwards, questioning what he’s doing and he tilts his head, explaining that he wanted to measure heartbeats since he knows all humans have them, but they are different for some reason. You reply with your knowledge from high school biology about hearts the best that you can and he nods.

“Thank you. Can I check yours to make sure that you are healthy?”

Taken aback, you figure its from a good intention as you remember that certain creatures here have different understands of emotions. Such as Mr. Hooded doesn’t understand liking people and fun and Mr. Crawling thinks being cute is wearing human eats like a cat. You give Mr. Silvair consent to a body check and he thanks you in return. He then places a hand on your chest, the other on your back, and instructs you to breathe deeply. As you do, he seems to be humming in approval and his hands change position across your chest, applying slight pressure each time. 

He does this a few more times before furrowing his brows, “Your heartbeat is getting faster. You okay?” He hums inquisitively before tilting your head up to meet what would be his eyes if not for the fabric covering it. “Its speeding up now that I’m looking at you. Could it be that I make you nervous?” He questions. Your eyes, face suddenly feeling hot, breaks eye contact and you stare at anything other than him. You admit, he is one of the best people here given he taught you so much when you barely understood “yes” or “no,” and continuously took care of and protected you. Not only that, he cares for Mr. Chopped, who is unable to do anything unless you or Mr. Silvair carry and help him. You also admit how charming he is with his long, silver hair, and his handsome face, and–

“I see,” he continues, leaning in and moving his head to look into your eyes again. You lean back, attempting once again to look anywhere other than him. He follows and soon, he is towering over you, slyly smiling as his hand that isn’t holding your face grasps one of your own hands, bringing it up to his chest. Though faint, he does have something resembling a heartbeat, maybe because he’s more human-like than the other creatures here, he might actually have a heart. He moves your hand over his chest till it lands opposite of where a human’s heart would have been. It makes sense, their world is very different and opposite than ours. “I also happen to relate to your heart, human. I enjoy your presence more than I initially expected. Most humans succumb to the festering of their bodies here, or are killed by the hostile others. But you,” he drops your hand on his chest and holds your other hand, bringing them together, and then closer to him, so that you are now mere inches apart, “are exceptional. You are strong, you are smart, you have resisted most of the effects of the festering. You, are special. Very special. I am interested in you. Moreover, I am interested on your body. How strong is it and what would cause it to break, I wonder?”

Feeling the heat in your face spreading through your body, embarrassment evident now, you gasp as he pushes you further with your back on the table. “How are your reflexes, I wonder,” he softly says as he slams a hand near your head, causing you to flinch. “Interesting,” he notes, “How would you react to different types of touching? You react differently based on the individual, I’ve noticed. But I’ve never tested myself. Let’s see…” He then traces ever so light lines up and down your thigh, noting your shivers. “Fascinating,” he continues, then he uses that same hand to caress your face, using his thumb to reassure you. As you lean into it, he hums inquisitively with hints of satisfaction before completely removing himself from you and turns to his vials of blood again, jotting down notes. Stunned, you continue to stare at his back mouth agape before he waves you off saying that he has concluded most of his research and will call upon you again once he needs you. You shift your position and get off the table, quickly readjusting your clothes and heading back out into the main area, Mr. Chopped still asleep with Mr. Crawling sitting outside the room.

“You okay?” he chirps.

“Yes, I’m okay,” you respond, giving him two peace signs which he reciprocates with a giggle.

Well, that was certainly something. 

Tag list: @kiatheinsomniac

[catsvrsdogscatswin]

I've had this thought swirling in the back of my head for a while, but it's finally congealed enough that I think I can make a coherent pitch, which is: I think RWBY's problems with the more vitriolic part of its fanbase partially stems from the fact that RWBY is a deconstruction that doesn't advertise it's a deconstruction.

RWBY's status as a deconstruction is pretty textbook. It takes apart standard fantasy, shounen, and anime tropes in order to analyze them and their deeper meaning and then reassembles them in new and interesting ways for the plot/characters/series. Thing is, it never says that outright in promotional material, which can lead to later outrage in fans.

See, unless their way of discovering new shows is to close their eyes and stab their finger at random, most people tend to choose series to watch/read based on expectations. Maybe a friend said they'll like it because it has [insert thing], maybe they read the summary and were intrigued, maybe they thought the poster/cover art was cool, whatever. These small pieces of information are generally enough for people to make a snap-judgment of the style and genre of the series, which they can then gauge against their personal tastes and decide whether or not they want to try.

Most of the time, this works just fine. Well-written deconstructions also generally give the viewers some warning/buildup before they take a hard swerve. See Madoka Magica: the magical girl paradigm is shaded by the possibility of death as soon as we're introduced to it, then there's an onscreen death with blood, and then a few episodes later we eventually realize the Faustian bargain of it all. Even innocent viewers who stumbled into watching it, unaware of the show's reputation, would go "Oh, wait, this is not going in the direction magical girl shows usually go" by a third of the way through.

The thing is, with RWBY, this does not happen unless you're paying a lot of attention and/or looking for it. And neither the cover art nor the summary nor, I believe, the fanbase gives a lot of warning about the swerves ahead.

In fact, RWBY initially bills itself as a pretty standard shounen anime. The main protagonist is hinted to have Special Powers and gets into the Magic Monster-Hunting School in the first episode, and the first two-and-a-half seasons are taken up by her and her friends' superhero-esque slice-of-life shenanigans as they thwart robberies and terrorist attacks and gear up for a tournament arc against the looming background of a larger conspiracy.

Then in the last half of the third season the villains' entire Rube Goldberg machine of a scheme snaps into completion and the plot twists so hard the entire genre takes a hard right. If you're used to character analysis and common anime tropes, this is not completely a surprise -up until this point, RWBY's character arcs and plot have been subtly traveling in non-traditional directions that hint of greater flexibility in genre treatment ahead- but if you're not... well.

Thing is, people watching RWBY up until this point have signed up for pretty standard shounen and they've been getting it, but the third season's ending smashes that all to bits. From then on out in RWBY, it's like they ordered fries and suddenly got a hamburger. It might be delicious; but it's not what they asked for, what they wanted, or what they paid for, and they are, justifiably, displeased.

So when the reasonable people either adjusted their expectations or sighed, shook their heads, and clicked back out (perhaps with a grumble and a scowl), the unreasonable people dug their heels in and began insisting that everybody was Getting The Show/Character Wrong and that CRWBY is ruining it, because the fact that RWBY's method of deconstruction is to put standard tropes in a blender and then arrange what's left in deceptive patterns means that said unreasonable viewers can scan the bare surface and argue that all the stereotypical stuff is clearly still under there, somewhere.

So they're continually trying to drag RWBY back to the tracks of a typical shounen anime series (it's closest relative), which creates a dissonance between the show they're watching and the show they think they're watching. They're trying to turn the hamburger back into fries, basically, except that doesn't work and just frustrates everyone involved, because you're trying to make RWBY into something that it's not. Hence, this attitude probably starting/fueling some of the more contentious statements in the fandom, i.e.:

"Ironwood was right the whole time" (in most action movies and shounen anime, allied military leaders are trustworthy beyond reproach)

"Adam's character was wasted" (we all know how much shounen loves their powerful warrior antiheroes)

"Ruby and the others are in the wrong about [insert thing]/or for doing [insert thing], and this is bad writing!" (shounen protagonists don't usually make more than One Very Big Mistake over the course of their entire careers, which is usually fixed/overcome/redeemed via an appropriately rigorous training arc)

And to be clear, there's nothing wrong with shounen tropes or shounen anime. They're wonderful storytelling devices in their own way and their own time: but if you want standard by-the-book shounen without any new and interesting concoctions, then RWBY is definitely not the show for you. And most people don't find that out until it's too late.

[vanillabeenflower]

Here’s my 3rd guy, a plastic surgeon with WAY too many magic anthry parents (it/he)

His name is pronounced “bot-sh” but he implores people to call him “Todd” because he really hates it when people can’t pronounce his name

Todd is my answer to a question I had: "What happens if a bunch of magic anthries had a baby?"

It uses "it" more than "he" since he feels like he genuinely doesn’t feel like pronouns that humanize (anthry version) him fit, since he feels like he’s a volatile freak. He obv gets better but for now he doesn’t like being perceived. He ONLY likes being recognized for his abilities and not his appearance.

He has so much magic flowing through his blood that sometimes it comes out when expressing strong emotion. It comes out of the middle horn mostly, it can make it come out of all 5 but only when he’s like REALLY upset.

Being 1/5 ESPer means he gets a very small trace of mind reading. It can only read minds but only if it’s touching the person, and it can’t read objects or words. He can also “turn off” his mind reading but only if he’s concentrating (kinda like holding your breath for a long amount of time).

It inherited small amounts of healing powers but is forced to use them for making plastic surgeries heal faster. It makes it slightly exhausted to use it though, so it just tells them to walk it off and get used to the new surgical additions.

It wants to seek out a relationship, but it genuinely feels scared of falling in love with an enchanthry because of how much magic dna it has, and he’s scared the baby will turn out more magically volatile than him. This also means he might avoid objectum relationships since one stray thought could lead to an egg with a unicorn-dragon-ESPer-objecthry baby and he doesn’t want to wish the bullying he went through on another living creature.

It's name is pronounced "bot-sh" but no one can pronounce it right so it just asks people to call it "Todd". His middle name is pronounced how it looks.

It's obsession with perfection might be a coping mechanism since it views itself as "imperfect," so it spends its time making people the opposite of itself. It has to be its definition of perfect so it takes so many surgeries until he sees fit. It might honestly just be undiagnosed OCD

❤️ L I K E S:

Blacklights, glow-in-the-dark objects, dark and form-hiding clothing, hoodies, old clothes, nail polish, perfection, regular and non-hybrid anthries, his parents

💔 D I S L I K E S:

Wearing clothes that reveal his features (it only doesn't do it in the hospital bc of dress code), children, people that don't do their job well, magic anthries, his parents

Edit: added its full ref

[rajakaen]

Let me introduce my notRook Veilguard OC Verinius Sabelis Phalban. He goes by many names and is a byproduct of @jukkaricity's recent dive into Thedas and can usually be found alongside her also notRook OC Alectris Mercar. Jukkari gave him a voice, the game gave us the looks while I gave him his personality and so V has ended up as a full-fledged character over time. A & V are Blorbos by Proxy ❤️

TLDR Intro Version

Verinius is a brilliant, socially inept mage who exists in his own world of books, Minrathous fantasies and blood magic experiments. He has the talent of a prodigy and the social instincts of a brick, managing to alienate everyone around him except his cat, Andoralis, whom he insists is the only living creature worthy of his full attention.

He is utterly convinced that Minrathous represents the pinnacle of civilization, despite barely engaging with its people beyond what is strictly necessary. His mind moves too fast for most and when people fail to keep up, he either ignores them entirely or offends them without meaning to.

He has no regard for the legal or ethical concerns of magic, specializing in blood magic (purely for research, of course, tho his own blood is another matter entirely) and storm magic (which builds up when left unused for too long, resulting in frizzed hair and sparks discharging at inconvenient moments).

Alectris is the only person who comes close to truly understanding him, though her return to his life comes with a sharp reminder: she is not going to let him get away with talking to his cat more than actual people.

Background & Introduction (before the Veilguard)

To an unknowing observer, Verinius might appear to be the most Tevinter mage among Tevinter mages—at least slightly snobbish, accustomed to comfort and absolutely in love with Minrathous, or rather, the idea of the city he has cultivated in his imagination for years. The truth, however, is quite different. He comes from a small village near Marothius, deep within the Hundred Pillars, far from the empire’s beating heart. His family has owned an apple orchard for generations and while his magical talent may have elevated their status to Laetans, little has changed for them since he left for the Circle. Not that they mind—his parents and siblings take great pride in their work and are content with their peaceful life.

Veryl’s magic surfaced early—wild, untamed and far beyond what his family could hope to manage. With no other mages among them and little understanding of such power, they had few options when the inevitable summons arrived. A Tevinter child, especially one crackling with barely contained lightning, was never going to stay in a remote village. The decision was out of his parents' hands and by the time he was five, Verinius had already been sent to the Circle at Carastes. There, he trained for several years before being transferred to Minrathous at twelve, where his potential was deemed better suited to the capital. The move, however, came at a cost—Minrathous was far from home and distance meant that visits became rare, his connection to his family reduced to letters and memories.

And so Veryl spent most of his early life within the Circles, his world shaped not just by their walls but by what it meant to be a mage in Tevinter. Yet the structured pace of learning tested his patience; too slow, too rigid, never deep enough and constantly disrupted by the distractions of his peers. Carastes was more than happy to send him to Minrathous, where both his potential and his troublesome nature would become someone else’s concern. Lacking natural social graces, his background was working against him. While others fit in with ease, he often felt like he was speaking a language no one else understood—quite literally, in some cases, as his tendency to over-explain resulted in more than one awkward silence. It never stopped him from trying, much to everyone's dismay.

During his years in the Circles, few things had ever gotten under his skin, but meeting Alectris in his late teens proved to be an exception. Unfazed by his unpolished personality, she quickly became a constant thorn in his side—one he was surprised to find himself growing fond of. Eventually, a Magister recognized Verinius’ potential and claimed him as an apprentice. Verixsus brought him to his estate, pulling him into a far larger world. The rigid life of the Circle gave way to a more demanding, fluid apprenticeship, but with it came a privilege: four visits home each year instead of one. And no matter how much Minrathous holds his heart, it never truly dulled the pull of home—not that he ever spoke of it much.

Like him, Alectris left the Circle, though she chose the army instead. Over the years, their friendship became quieter; distance and duty dulling what had once been constant. He never quite stopped missing her, but life in Minrathous had a way of swallowing time and before he knew it, years had slipped away. He got along well with his master, but a mentor was no substitute for a best friend—Alec had been the only one who could truly keep up with him and he missed her. The void she left was filled by a stray cat he found on his master’s estate. Or rather, the cat found him and decided she would adopt him. From that day on, Andoralis became his ever-present shadow, named after the day she entered his life.

Eight years passed before Alectris finally left the army and returned from her deployment in Seheron. She could hardly believe what she saw. Verinius had grown utterly fixated on his cat, perhaps too much for her liking—holding entire conversations with Andoralis as if expecting her to reply and acting as if her approval was of the utmost importance. Alectris had always known he was eccentric, but this was a new level of absurd. Worse, he had begun experimenting with volatile magic and had become adept at blood magic, making no effort to hide it. His methods, however, are unusual. While others wield blood without hesitation, he could never quite bear the sight of his own. If asked, he’d simply say fresh blood gives him headaches. Instead, he collects samples with eerie calm, studying ways to preserve their potency—never considering how unnerving this might be. To him, spilt blood holds no more weight than splattered ink.

Still, his time with Magister Verixsus had done him some good—his temper had evened out, he no longer openly insulted people for their lack of magical understanding as often and he carried himself with the easy confidence of someone who had long since stopped caring whether or not people found him strange. But beneath the polish, Alectris could still see flashes of her old friend—the insufferable know-it-all, the stubborn streak a mile wide, the way he lit up when talking about something that truly fascinated him. And despite years of silence, their friendship fell back into place with ease. As if no time had passed, Alectris slipped into her old role as a constant bother and Veryl, to her great satisfaction, responded exactly as he always had—overly dramatic, easily excitable and entirely unable to get rid of her.

Veryl can most often be found surrounded by books and vials, either studying magic (the less commonly available, the better—legality is not a concern) or completing his daily tasks as a scribe and Magister’s apprentice. He has an unfortunate talent for saying precisely the wrong thing at the worst possible moment, whether through tactlessness, sheer obliviousness or a total lack of concern for social norms. His magical expertise is undeniable, specializing in practical and constructive applications of blood magic, as well as a highly destructive form of storm magic for those rare moments when force becomes necessary. He can go from zero to vaporization in less than 0.3 seconds. He's eccentric and peculiar in both his interests and his mannerisms, somehow managing to offend whoever he speaks with or embarrass himself—often at the same time. The fact that his main conversation partner is Andoralis certainly does not help his predicament.

Verinius should, by all rights, be quietly buried in books somewhere, bothering no one but his cat. Instead, thanks to Alectris and a dragon with extreme renovation ideas for Minrathous, he’s now neck-deep in the Veilguard’s chaos. Meanwhile, our poor Rook (a dwarven Warden) is left juggling world-ending threats, blighted nightmares and—because the universe clearly hates him—two more walking disasters. At this rate, Wolfram Thorne will have to save Thedas by next Tuesday or risk losing the last shreds of his sanity.

For those interested in the BG, it's a paraphrase of the codex entry art on 'Dock Town Intel: The Place Itself'. It was solely created for practice and to give V and his cat a thematically fitting bg to stand on.

[rustfoxes]

Disjointed DAtVG feelings/opinions

I've played the game for a bit, I'm not too far in yet, and honestly? I hope it gets better. Spoilers & venting below as you might guess.

Everything seems to be tell, don't show. There's very, VERY little trust in the player. Characters happen upon a ruined village? "The village is ruined! There's no one here!" Yes, we can see that. Character looks upset? Text pops up on screen to tell you that IN FACT!! Character is upset. Couldn't have guessed.

Everything is explained out loud immediately, except the arguably actually important things. If I remember correctly, there's no mention of the 10 year (?) timeskip from DAI, everyone just now knows everything about elven magic and the Fade and the Veil EXCEPT FOR THE PLAYER. None of that is explained! New players are expected to just know, which in some games works, but when you throw characters into a magical forest and say it's Arlathan forest, how tf are they supposed to know what Arlathan is.

Why is Varric a brunette all of a sudden

Characterisation of returning characters is fucking wild. Fun, jokey Harding? Massive chip on her shoulder and real aggressive for some reason. Soft-spoken and measured Solas? Yelling, again, for some damn reason. Where is his iambic pentameter? And he hates blood magic all of a sudden?? Did the writers play the earlier games at all? Solas SPECIFICALLY says in DAI that blood magic has no morality to it and is merely a tool.

The game is linear to the extent that I cannot for the life of me see the point of the game asking you to wrap up unfinished business before moving forward. What unfinished business? You've locked us into a small room with 0 exits and 1 chest. There is no business.

So far there's been zero time for any of the story to breathe. There are no story beats, because the drum machine that is the pacing just keeps hammering on. The gravity of the situation has no time to set in for anyone. THE ACTUAL GODS OF MYTH HAVE BEEN BUST OUT OF GOD-JAIL. THIS IS A HUGE FUCKING PROBLEM. "Yeah, well, people would've died if Solas hadn't been stopped from tearing down the Veil." And this is preferable???? What the actual fuck. DAI Solas wanted to rebuild and to safe-guard his people. TWO of the people he wanted to PROTECT EVERYONE FROM are now out. But oh man, that Solas, he would've hurt folks. You think the wondertwins won't? Jesus fucking Christ.

The gameplay more or less just completely scraps character classes. Playing a mage rn and for some damn reason she has separate ranged attacks. What the actual fuck. What is the point of making people choose a class if a damn mage has to stand next to enemies to attack?

So far doesn't feel like an RPG at all. Starts in media res which is fine, but your character is already established as a cool hero and an important figure. Why? Why weren't we along for that ride?

Character movement is janky af, DAI was much smoother 10 damn years ago. Hopefully they'll somehow manage to fix it.

Either they needed better actors or a much better voice director, because holy shit is the dialogue awkward and halting and just... no.

Writers have clearly had shoes far too large to fill. Dialogue wants to be funny and witty and clever. It is not. Specially not with the phoned in voice acting.

Where have my Welsh/Irish elves gone? Wtf happened there? Also why wasn't there anyone around to tell the actors how to pronounce the elvhen words??

Why the fuck is the rogue our healer.

All quests so far have been walking from A to B, collecting some coins along the path, and then fighting 5 or 10 enemies. No variation at all.

Idk man, I really hope the game will find its legs as it goes on, but so far? Massively underwhelming and honestly quite disappointing. Absolutely does not feel like DA. People critisised DA2 for being rushed and DAI for a whole host of shit, but at least I felt like I was playing a Dragon Age game.

[dailyadventureprompts]

Mystery: Oh, How the Iron Coffin Hungers!

There's been a rash of graverobberies across the kingdom that have the authorities suspecting necromancy. For their part, the necromancer's guild has nothing to do with these crimes and is willing to hire your party to help clear their name. The investigation will lead you to through tombs, black markets, and haunted crossroads of the realm, as it becomes clear the culprits are seeking far more than coin or corpses at the bottom of those defiled graves.

Clues & Complications:

A missing body is usually a dead giveaway that a necromancer has been involved in a grave robbery, as most criminals only care about grabbing what valuables they can and wouldn't result to bodysnatching unless someone was going to pay them for it. How unusual then when a few of the bodies begin turning up days after they were exhumed, one in an abandoned cellar, one on the side of the road, and one in a completely different town, which may give a hint as to the culprit's movements.

Working for necromancers has its benefits, the guild is aware of the habits of the corpse trade (only in a theoretical sense, you understand, yes?) and can use their magic to extract information from the cadavers. Strangely enough it appears all the corpses bear the marks of previous magical questioning, hinting that it might be information the robbers were after, not flesh or treasure.

The bodies all belong to minor gentry or well-to-do merchants, the ideal targets for graverobbers who don't mind breaking into a tomb or fussing with a trap (both of which the party might have to do during their investigation) if it means access to better plunder. If the party press deeper however they'll notice a recurring symbol, on a ring or a tattoo or etched into the gravemarker, resembling the crudest sketch of a jawbone.

Just like it seems the party is getting answers, the corpses they've been trailing sit up and lunge for the nearest individual's throat, transformed by dark power into a rampaging ghoul. Chaos ensues as this awakening occurs not just with those corpses that have already been found, but also with those that were previously undiscovered as well as a half dozen or more random bodies scattered across the countryside. Though they seem too possessed with hunger to be capable of speech, if the party manage to restrain one of the ghouls and sate its unholy hunger, they may just get the last few clues they're looking for.

Background: In life all of the bodies belonged to a secret society known as the jawbone club, a bad pun on one of the first mystical objects they'd obtained; a crude weapon made from the skull fragment of some great beast, unearthed on one of their founder's estates by some adventurers clearing a nest of monsters.

Their association started a few generations before as a mostly innocent affair, a nameless but exclusive social lodge where those in the know could smoke and gamble and make the sort of back room deals that occupy much of the energy of the idly wealthy. Those who took an interest in the jawbone realized that whoever held it had greater luck in their personal affairs, in no small part because of the unlucky and sometimes disastrous circumstances that would befall their rivals. They became secretive, an inner circle within the lodge that took on more authority as their powers grew, understanding emerging that if they fed their blood to the jawbone it would grant them power.

Power does not spring from nowhere however, as the weapon was infact an artifact dedicated to the ghoul-saint Doresain, the avatar of a hungry and terrible demon god who was in turn feeding on the hungry ambitions of the inner circle. Unconscious impulses became whispers became visions, as the tithe of blood raised to sacrifices of flesh and fingers, because what was letting the razor teeth of some dead beast scar your body if it meant your hateful old uncle suddenly took ill just after rewriting his will to leave you his fortune.

Things came to a head with Catiro Wayte, the youngest and least favored son of a large noble family. The Wayte clan owned land and mills aplenty and were no strangers to ambition, Catrio and his siblings were practically weaned on it. So when the opportunity came to take hold of his fortune at the price of only a little pain Catrio was only too happy to pay it, and keep on paying so long as he had blood to let and skin to scar. After they'd come to understand what it could do the Jawbone Club had made rules about how often its members could make use of the artifact, fearing not only discovery but one of their number growing in power above the others. Catrio begged, bartered, and blackmailed to jump the line every time he could, hacking away a little more of himself each time, not giving his wounds time to heal up between sacrifices.

One night, when the itch of pride and avarice overwhelmed the pain in his infected flesh Catrio broke into the jawbone's sanctum. It was too late when the others found him in the morning , he'd carved open his belly looking for more of himself to cut away and had died with the artifact buried in his guts. Such heedless sacrifice opened a door for the ravenous hunger of the gnawing god, transforming Catrio's corpse into its mouthpiece, hungry and cruel. For all their resources the Jawbone club were unable to slay their former friend, instead sealing him in the lodge's basement and later an iron coffin they had constructed. They had a select number of their most trusted find a place to entomb Catrio's body (along with the bone it still clutched) in some unknown location and swore all the rest to secrecy, dissolving the jawbone club and swearing never to speak of it for the rest of their days.

The Culprit & The Consequences:

Catrio left much behind on that night he met his end, including a commonborn mistress and a daughter named Heliana only a few years old. One could theoretically source his ambition to his desire to make a place for them in the world, but that would be making things far too simple.  Unrecognized by her father’s family and cut off from Catrio’s support Heliana and her mother ended up scraping to get by, with her ending up in the gravemaking trade out of one part practicality, one part wistful desire to perhaps one day find where her father was buried.

after nearly four decades after she and her mother were forced out on the street, Heliana’s crime spree began when by chance she found the first of the Jawbone marked graves. Remembering the stories her mother had told her about the club and its excesses, It took only a little convincing to have her fellow undertakers help her unearth the body, and a few charms learned from a travelling death priest to get the cadaver talking.  After that it was just a matter of asking which corpse knew what, tracing her way through the postmortem ranks of the Jawbone club until she found out what had happened to her father and where his body lay. 

Originally, all Heliana had wanted to do was give her father a proper burial alongside her some years dead mother, as she was told was always his wish. Plans changed when her father began to speak to her within the iron coffin after she’d unearthed it from its secret hiding space. Through the magic of the ghoul-saint he knew her, knew of her hungry years, and of the long dormant pride and ambition he’d handed down to her along with his blood: a desire to be recognized no matter the cost. He whispered a plan into her mind, a way for him to return to life and use the artifact he still carried to make everything as it should be. Naturally when they caught her agreeing with the corpse, most of Heliana’s muscle deserted her, and might give your party a much needed lead in their tall tales.

The animation of the other jawbone club members as ghouls was only a warning sign, a byproduct of Heliana breaking through the outermost layer of the iron coffin’s wards in preparation of something far more calamitous. Her father’s plan (or rather, the thing wearing her father like a mask) is to have Heliana burn the iron coffin along with her mother's bones in a ritual pyre at the heart of the Wayte estate. Catrio’s spirit will be free, devour the grounds (and his unwelcoming family) and use the power of the jawbone artifact to remake them all as they should be, with him as lord of the manor, united with his lover and child.  While she’s more than willing to even the score with the people who denied her birth and threw her mother out on the street, why Heliana doesn't suspect is the horde of flesh eating undead and other malign spirits that will be unleashed should the ritual be allowed to finish.  

Art 1 Art 2

[dragon-queen21]

im sorry i wanted to submit this earlier, but i really wanted to at least do it on halloween since, well, its my birthday! listen man i get to brag and talk about this once a year, its my favorite holiday!!!!

but in honor of halloween, hereesss hmmm what do we have here? how about regressor sanji with the crew on halloween!!!

- luffy would LOVE halloween he woukd love the idea of dressing up and getting candy? dude are you serious i can smell luffy from a mile away, he would get the crew to dress up, especially if sanji (or anyone else) is small, its mandatory you see.

-OMG SMALL SANJI WEARING A SHEET WITH HOLES IN IT AND SAYING HES A GHOST

[ “m a ghost! ‘ook! ‘ook! m a ghost!”

“youre a ghost? ooh! so scary!” ]

- baby sanji loves brook during halloween, hes literally a skeleton! so spooky, brook knows this. i dont think he’d find it offensive or anything, i think hed be more happy someone finds joy in his new form during the season

- so. much. candy. sanji really doesnt have much of a sweet tooth, but when hes little, paired with halloween and luffy, usopp, and chopper in your ear about candy, sanji ends up eating so much of it that nami/robin end up having to deal with a very much sugar crashed sanji.

- zoro ends up scaring sanji somehow because he thinks its gonna be funny, but he ends up making their baby cry (he ends up bribing sanji with candy to stop crying before nami or robin comes) (it works)

- unrelated but i like the idea of franky being giving a halloween costume by nami or something and it ends uo being like a bunny. THATS SO FUNNY a huge robot man dressing up as a fluffy bunny makes me actually giggle

- sanji would love to carve pumpkins and then help someone make pumpkin pie with the remains or something. idk how to make pumpkin pie filling but i imagine its with pumpkin

- robin would tell great scary stories, but just age appropriate enough to where she doesnt make sanji cry ☹️

^ usopp too!! hed be much more of an animated storyteller then robin, doing crafts with usopp:) oh my goodness!!!

OKAYIN DONE BECAUSE IN DO TIRED AND I NEED TO POST FOR BIRTHDAY STUDFS EEEEEEK

📷

Oh my gosh! Happy happy birthday!!!!! Sendings you so many treats! Birthday and spooky ones!

~Brook would dress like a pirate, mostly because he would want to get a plastic skeleton bird and put it on his shoulder

~Luffy would also eat way to much candy while out trick or treating, and even if he’s stopped they get back to the ship and he eats it all there

~Also Sanji is literally me. I was handing out candy and just munching on chocolates the while time. Being half regressed means baby brain does not understand self control when there is just a pile of sweets in front of you. Kind of sugar crashed now as I am writing this bleh…

~Zoro with fake blood or with one of those headband pieces that looks like an axe or and arrow went theough his head, and Sanji just sobs, until Zoro takes off the headband and in a rush explains that it’s all fake

“Zoro mean.”

“Shi- I mean umm, look you want my candy? If you stop crying you can have as much as you want”

(Starts now crying because he eats too much and has a belly ache)

~I can imagine it makes Robin laugh which is enough to sell Franky on the idea when before he only put it on to be polite

~I believe it’s using the white part of the rind, the flesh I believe it’s called. Cooking it first like how you might do with an acorn squash. Then you boil it to cook it down more and then add umm…. I forgot what you add next umm something that I can’t remember umm… ✨magic ✨ yup mhm that was it :3

It is a very tedious process that my mom has done when I was super young exactly one time. Robin might have the patience to set it up and then have the little help her make the pie crust and pour into the pan.

~See Robin is more of a child’s story book reader (Sanji would love the book Ten Timid Ghosts) and Usopp is a ‘come up with a ghost story on the fly’

Bye friend! Hope you had an amazing birthday!!!! I am going to go watch spooky cartoons now and eat more candy >:3

[cissa-calls]

Foreword to Agatha All Along

After years of waiting, tomorrow witches, marks the anticipated start to Agatha All Along! But, before the first two episodes stream, it's time to take one last crack at discussing some possible theories (and hopes) for the series:

Akin to how Wandavision was an exploration of American Television sitcoms, this series is partially an exploration of depictions of witchcraft and referential to horror in pop culture (the Witched Witch and Glinda from the Wizard of Oz).

Is Rio dead? How does she seem to emerge from the ground on the side of the witches road? Did she and Agatha try to walk it long ago, and Rio perished, thus she is now trapped there forever?

At some point, Agatha will end up alone. She will be walking alone because either everyone has died, or those remaining leave. This however will not be indefinite.

Conversely, it could also recall the beginning when it was just her and the teen, but just the two of them make it out.

I keep thinking of that scene with her and the teen in the metal room, where they both appear to be in patient gowns. Are they in facilities at S.W.O.R.D.? Is the teen crying because Agatha is making him walk through memories and realize his identity?

Agatha's knowledge of the road is either from the Darkhold or what Evanora taught (or rather tried to keep from her daughter).

As a green witch, Rio is connected to plants. Her costume quite literally looks like vines and roots growing are forming the bodice. Are plants relevant in the sense of bloom and regeneration? Or rather decay and withering?

Using, dismantling, subverting, or cannonizing of symbols or tools of witchcraft. From kitschy to terrifying.

The hooded figures who appear in front of the teen, is there one for each member of the coven? Is it a haunted form of themselves, or a twisted appartion assigned to capture each?

Part of this story is found family, and Agatha's fear of comraderie. Built off a lifetime of distrust, backstabbing, and taking, Agatha has to learn to trust. In a similar vein, Agatha has no sense of comfort or home.

The scene where Agatha's face is covered in small cuts or splatters of blood. Either that is the cataylst to a glorifying rise near the end of the show, or a horrifying turn of seemingly irredemtion.

Rio was once Agatha's companion, her only companion. A betrayal between the two sent Agatha into permanent solitude.

I sincerely hope this show explores horror and gives into the darkness that Multiverse of Madness teased. Comic relief is a needed presence, but the tone is overall geared towards darker themes and storylines

Speaking of darkness - night! The majority of this series will take place at night! At least the juicy and important scenes.

DOES AGATHA POSSESS THE DARKHOLD AGAIN OR WAS ITS APPEARANCE IN A FLASHBACK

When Agatha was young and on the run, she was targeted for possessing the Darkhold.

Rio and Agatha...history may call them the best of friends.

The Ballad of the Witche's Road might be sung in several versions/genre's (we've already heard two)

More lyrics of the ballad will be revealed and sung as the story progresses.

The Witches Road may be terrible, but it is a unifying force as it welcomes everyone. Remember the lyrics: "Seekest thou the road, all that's foul and fair," the road is a living thing, inviting everyone but casting judgement on those who can achieve

I will cry at some point. I am certain this will break me just as Wandavision broke me.

The glowing tree in the middle of the Witch's Road has something hidden beneath and growing within the roots. (Is it the heart of the Road, because it is a living legend?)

Each of the witches will have to confront their greatest fears manifested as scenes, memories, or landscapes of their personal hells. Only when they begin to trust each other or confront/admit their weakness can their proceed. Agatha would obviously have the final and hardest challenge.

Without her magic, such a core tenant of her identity and confidence, Agatha will be even more combatative and threatening (borne entirely out of insecurity).

Agatha's cameo, and the lock of hair in it, is a reminder of her humanity and connection.

At some point, Agatha will break, spilling out centuries worth of every held back, messy emotion (and Kathryn Hahn will SERVE).

Perhaps it is based on the obvious Eve allegory, but there will be more biblical allegories or subversions. Is Agatha being born anew?

Teen and Señor Scratchy bond. It is likely a trauma bond. (The rabbit may also gain a more horrifying form or eat an entire monster/adversary)

Elaborate outfit reveal. ELABORATE FINALE COSTUME OUTFIT REVEAL! AGATHA ACHIEVES ENLIGHTMENT AND HER MOST POWERFUL FORM WHEN SHE FINALLY RECLAIMS HER MAGIC...possibly foiling Wanda when she became the Scarlet Witch.

This is not an exhaustive list, but it will be interesting to compare these ideas to how the show actually plays out. In all of this excitement, there is still a touch of trepidation. After pouring so much love into counting down the days to release and yielding art, writing, research, and costumes for this character, Agatha has remained a fun force of exploration and expression for me. However, the excitement over seeing where Kathryn Hahn takes the character next assuages any and all fears, as we finally will confront who exactly Agatha was all along.

Get ready witches, it's time to walk the road.

[paingoes]

Destroyer - Golem

(Masterlist)

cooked this up on the fly its 3am here. this is at some unspecified point in the timeline

(Content: living weapon whumpee, magical exhaustion, painful powers, blood, alcohol mention, overexertion, dehumanization, implied physical abuse)

=======================

It was going to be a bloodbath. Paris slid down the volume on the earpiece, trying to listen in to the real chaos around him. He was reminded why he hated to get this close to the action. The dead and injured laid everywhere, melting in the heat. He was on the ridge, at least. He couldn’t say the same for most of his men. They were in the valley, totally cornered. All he could do was watch.

It wasn’t immediately clear what had trapped them in. At first it seemed like a normal rock mound that blocked off their exit. No big deal. They had demolitions for a reason.

Then the rocks began to swivel upwards, revealing the steel rods that connected them, the barely-humanoid shape. Golem.

Paris called it in on the radio; even then, he knew it was too late. The early stone demos had already burned their names in the imperial history — the Bane of St.James, Western Scourge, Titania. This one was a new model, one they’d been given time to perfect. This battle was going to be the sea change. Paris resisted the urge to close his eyes as the giant’s mace emerged out of the earth. It was the coward’s way out. He resolved to watch the violence unfold, to see the whole planetary operation blow up in his face. It wouldn’t be the first time. 

The golem assembled entirely. Its feet were still planted in the pit of the valley, but its head stretched up to where Paris is perched on the ridge. For just a second, it turned its empty sockets to look at him. His heart beat out of his chest.

And just like that, it was gone. The air filled with dust and electricity, then just dust.

“Target eliminated,” Dr.Martino’s voice rang over the radio. He sounded smug. For good reason, maybe. There were less than thirty seconds in between Paris making the warning call and the total obliteration of the threat. He felt dizzy. The particle debris clouded his visor.

Paris rounded back to the mountain base. It was only a fifteen minute climb. The war room was stashed safely within the stone enclave; it was reserved for only the highest ranking officials. It was also where they’d stashed Delta. Paris honest-to-god had not planned on using him for this mission; he’d just needed the insurance. His dizziness was not going away. He punched the code into the padlock, forcing himself to stabilize before he could enter.

The mood there was celebratory, obviously. Pinching a golem was a feat they make badges for. His ears perked up at the mention of champagne, but something else had caught his eye first.

Delta was totally collapsed by the viewport. There was small puddle of blood by his head. This was…not an uncommon sight. Delta’s powers took a lot out of him. It manifested as bleeding from the nose and mouth more than anything else — sometimes the eyes, if it was really bad. But he wasn’t supposed to be alone during it. It was dangerous. Paris knelt down beside him, feeling for a pulse. Not only was he alive, he was conscious. Paris felt him flinch away from the touch, taking ragged, shallow breaths.

The doctor — the one Paris paid to look after him — was engrossed in a story with the general. He gesticulated wildly, spilling some of his drink over onto the floor. They were all the way across the room. Paris had to shout to get their attention.

“Hello, you? What the fuck?” Paris called out, gesturing to the crumpled form of the psychic. 

Dr.Martino turned away from his conversation. There was a twinge of annoyance written into his features. 

“What? He overexerted himself. Leave him alone.” He said it like it was the most casual thing in the world. Paris hesitated, because it might have been. He’s seen Delta out like this before. He was usually fine after a couple hours. Besides, it didn’t seem like he was even able to be moved right then. Reluctantly, Paris stepped away.

The call for ceasefire came in a few minutes later. It got a big laugh out of everyone. Paris was relieved. It meant he’d get to go home for a few days, at the minimum. He didn’t like this planet. On a personal level, he didn’t care if it was left to the vultures. Of course, official policy was a different story.

“We’re leaving,” Paris crossed the room to Martino. It wasn’t a request. The doctor sighed, putting the cup down. He looked back to the general in mock apology, so sorry to be pulled away from the riveting conversation.

Delta still hadn’t moved. He didn’t stir until Martino approached. The doctor snapped his fingers.

“Get up.”

Incredibly, Delta sat up. He wiped the blood off his face with the sleeve of his shirt. Not all of it, but enough that it wasn’t actively spilling on him whenever he moved. He started to stand, but didn’t quite make it upright. He landed on his hands and knees, just catching his head from hitting the ground.

“Delta.” There was a warning edge in the doctor’s voice. Delta stood up, stumbled a few steps, and immediately collapsed again. 

Dr.Martino began to move towards him.

“Oh, I don’t fucking have time for this,” Paris snapped. It was the tone he took that made people start listening. He had a gift for that. The room around him quieted. Martino stopped.

Paris scooped Delta up from the floor. It wasn’t hard. The boy was short in comparison and he weighed less than Paris’s own rucksack. Delta was too out of it to have any real reaction to the sudden movement, just a small wince. His head lolled weakly against Paris’s shoulder.

“We’re leaving.” Paris repeated. He really hated this planet.

[adrealucia]

New Beginnings

tags: post Blood Brothers ending, Sean Diaz x Reader, might contain smut in future chapters, lots of fluff, romantic fluff, overall just fucking wholesome, obviously mentions Daniel quite often, sfw in the beginning, maybe nsfw in the future idk, definitely slow burn

chapter summary: the morning after the storm, Mrs. Perez and Spanish lessons. also, I used lots of Spanish dialogue, but I made sure to translate everything! hope this doesn't bother you :)

Chapter four

The morning light filters through the windows, casting a soft, golden glow over the living room. The storm has passed, leaving a serene, almost magical stillness in its wake. You wake up to the gentle sound of birds chirping, a stark contrast to the thunderous roar of the night before.

You stretch and blink, taking in your surroundings. Sean is still asleep, his arm draped protectively over Daniel, who is curled up between the two of you. The sight brings a warm smile to your face, but there’s also a flicker of uncertainty. You’re in the home of near strangers, even if they’ve been nothing but kind to you.

Carefully, you slip out from under the blanket, trying not to wake the brothers. You tiptoe to the kitchen, deciding to make breakfast as a small gesture of gratitude for their hospitality. You find some eggs, tortillas, and a few vegetables in the fridge, and you set to work making breakfast burritos.

The sizzle of the frying pan and the aroma of cooking food eventually rouse Sean. He stretches, yawning widely, and looks around, momentarily disoriented. When he sees you in the kitchen, a smile spreads across his face.

“Morning,” he says, his voice still rough with sleep. “You didn’t have to do that.”

You turn, spatula in hand, and smile back. “Morning. I figured it was the least I could do after you guys let me crash here. How do you like your eggs?”

“Scrambled is fine,” Sean replies, getting up and gently nudging Daniel awake. “Hey, bud. Breakfast is almost ready.”

Daniel stirs, rubbing his eyes and yawning. “Morning,” he mumbles sleepily. “Did the storm stop?”

“Yeah, it’s over,” Sean assures him. “Come on, let’s eat.”

The three of you sit around the small kitchen table, enjoying the breakfast you’ve prepared. The atmosphere is light and relaxed, the previous night’s tension a distant memory.

“This is really good,” Sean says between bites. “Thanks for making breakfast.”

You smile, feeling a sense of contentment mixed with a touch of apprehension. “It’s my pleasure. I’m just glad we all made it through the storm okay.”

After breakfast, you all pitch in to clean up. The power is still out, but the morning sun provides plenty of light. Sean and Daniel take care of the dishes while you tidy up the living room, folding blankets and fluffing the couch cushions.

As you work, you can’t help but feel a bit unsure about your place here. Sean and Daniel are clearly close, their bond palpable. You’re grateful for their kindness, but you’re still an outsider, a stranger who happened to be caught in a storm.

“So, what’s the plan for today?” you ask, looking at Sean.

He glances outside at the clear, blue sky. “First, we need to check the garage and make sure everything’s okay there. Then, we should see if anyone in town needs help. Storms like that can cause a lot of damage.”

Daniel nods enthusiastically. “I can help, too!”

You smile at his eagerness, feeling a bit more at ease. “Sounds like a good plan. Let’s get to it.”

The three of you head to the garage, stepping over puddles and debris left by the storm. The garage itself seems to have held up well, thanks to your combined efforts the night before. There’s some minor water damage, but nothing that can’t be fixed with a bit of work.

Sean inspects the tools and equipment, making a mental note of what needs attention. “We did a good job last night. This could have been a lot worse.”

You nod in agreement. “Definitely. Let’s get started on the repairs. The sooner we’re done here, the sooner we can help the town.”

By mid-morning, the garage is in order, and you all head into town. The streets are muddy, and some buildings show signs of damage, but there’s a sense of community as everyone pitches in to help each other.

One of the stops you make is at the tiny restaurant owned by Mrs. Perez, the sweet elderly woman who you met a couple of days ago. The restaurant has suffered some damage: a few broken windows, a flooded storeroom, and debris scattered around. Mrs. Perez is clearly distressed.

“Sean! Daniel!” Mrs. Perez exclaims when she sees them, relief washing over her face. She switches to rapid Spanish, her words filled with warmth and gratitude. “¡Gracias a Dios! Necesito ayuda con todo este desastre.”

“¡Claro, señora Perez! Estamos aquí para ayudar,” Sean replies with a smile. He turns to you and translates, “She needs help with the mess.”

You nod, rolling up your sleeves. “Let’s get to it.”

The three of you work quickly and efficiently. Sean and Daniel handle the heavy lifting and repairs, while you help Mrs. Perez clean the flooded storeroom and clear debris. She chatters away in Spanish, occasionally pausing to give you a kind smile or a word of encouragement, despite the language barrier.

“¿Cómo puedo ayudar más?”(how can I help more?) you ask, your Spanish still shaky but improving.

Mrs. Perez smiles warmly. “Estás haciendo un buen trabajo. Gracias, mi niña.” (You are doing a good job. Thank you my girl.)

As you scrub the floors and organize the storeroom, you feel a growing sense of connection to this place and its people. Mrs. Perez’s kindness and the easy camaraderie with Sean and Daniel make the hard work feel rewarding.

By the time you’ve finished, the restaurant looks much better. Mrs. Perez is visibly relieved and grateful. “Muchas gracias, mis niños,” she says, her eyes shining with gratitude. “Por favor, quédense a almorzar. Es lo menos que puedo hacer.”

“She wants us to stay for lunch,” Sean translates, smiling. “She insists.”

You smile back, feeling a bit more at home. “I’d love that.”

Mrs. Perez bustles around the kitchen, whipping up a delicious meal. The aroma of fresh tortillas, beans, and sizzling meat fills the air, making your stomach rumble. She sets the table with care, placing a generous spread before you.

“¡A comer!” she says, gesturing for you all to sit.

As you eat, the conversation flows easily. Sean and Daniel talk with Mrs. Perez in Spanish, and she occasionally looks at you, speaking slower and with a kind smile, trying to include you.

“¿Te gusta la comida?” (Do you like the food?)  she asks, her eyes twinkling.

You look at Sean for a translation, but you have a feeling you understand. “Sí, me gusta mucho,” (Yes, I like it a lot.)  you reply, hoping your pronunciation is passable.

Mrs. Perez beams at you. “¡Muy bien! Ahora necesitas aprender más español.”

Sean laughs. “She says you need to learn more Spanish.”

You laugh too, feeling a warm sense of camaraderie. “I’d like that.”

The rest of the meal is filled with light-hearted conversation and laughter. Sean and Daniel teach you a few more phrases, and Mrs. Perez corrects your pronunciation with gentle patience. You start to feel more comfortable, the initial uncertainty giving way to a growing sense of belonging.

After lunch, Mrs. Perez insists on giving you all a bag of freshly made tamales to take home. “Para más tarde,” (This is for later)  she says with a wink.

“Gracias, señora Perez,” you say, your Spanish improving with each interaction.

As you leave the restaurant, the sun is high in the sky, and the town is buzzing with activity as everyone works together to recover from the storm. The sense of community is palpable, and you feel grateful to be a part of it, even if just for a little while.

Back at the Diaz house, you help Sean and Daniel unpack the tamales and clean up from the day’s work. The house feels warmer, and more familiar now. You’re still getting to know Sean and Daniel, but the kindness and hospitality they’ve shown you make you feel hopeful about the future.

“Thanks for sticking around and helping out,” Sean says as you all settle back into the living room. “It means a lot.”

You smile, feeling a deep sense of belonging mixed with lingering uncertainty. “I’m glad I could help. You guys have made me feel like I am part of your family.”

Daniel nods, his eyes bright. “You are part of the family now.”

Sean wraps an arm around his brother, pulling him close. “Yeah, you are. And that means we’re here for you, too.”

The three of you sit together, the events of the past day and night bringing you closer. As the first stars appear in the sky, you know that no matter what storms may come in the future, you’ll face them together. But you also remind yourself to take things one step at a time, allowing trust and friendship to grow naturally, grateful for this newfound bond and the sense of hope it brings.

The following morning, you wake up in your own place, feeling a sense of anticipation for the day ahead. After a quick breakfast, you gather your business plans and head over to the Diaz house, excited to start bringing your ideas to life.

When you arrive, Sean is already in the garage, tinkering with a car engine. He looks up and grins as you approach. "Morning, sunshine. Ready to get down to business?"

"Always," you reply with a playful wink. "Got a lot of ideas to share. Hope you’re ready."

Sean chuckles, wiping his hands on a rag. "Bring it on. Let’s see what you’ve got."

You both settle at a makeshift desk in the garage, spreading out your notes and sketches. As you discuss the expansion plans, Sean’s enthusiasm matches your own. His insights are practical and detailed, complementing your more strategic ideas.

"What if we add a small waiting area for customers?" you suggest. "Someplace they can relax with a coffee while their car gets fixed."

"Good idea," Sean agrees. "And maybe a display for car accessories. Could be a nice upsell."

As you continue brainstorming, the conversation flows easily, punctuated by moments of light-hearted banter.

"So, any chance you’re secretly a car expert, too?" Sean teases, leaning in slightly.

You laugh, shaking your head. "Not quite. But I’m a quick learner. You might just have to teach me a thing or two."

"Consider it a deal," Sean says with a playful glint in his eye.

The hours fly by, and by lunchtime, you’ve made significant progress on the business plans. Just as you’re about to suggest a break, Mrs. Perez arrives, carrying a basket filled with delicious-smelling food.

“¡Hola, mis niños!” she greets, her smile as warm as the sun. “He traído algo para almorzar.” (I brought something for lunch.)

“Hola, señora Perez,” Sean says, his face lighting up. “Perfect timing. We were just about to take a break.”

You help Mrs. Perez set up the lunch spread, the aroma of freshly made tortillas and roasted chicken making your stomach rumble. She chats animatedly in Spanish, occasionally switching to slower, simpler sentences for your benefit.

“¿Cómo va el negocio?”(How is business going?)  she asks, looking at your notes with interest.

“Va bien,” you reply, proud of your progress. “Tenemos muchas ideas nuevas.” (We have many new Ideas)

Mrs. Perez beams at you, clearly pleased. “¡Muy bien! Estoy segura de que tendrán mucho éxito.” (Very good, I am sure you guys will be successful.)

As you eat, the conversation is lively and filled with laughter. Mrs. Perez teaches you a few new Spanish phrases, and her patience and encouragement make the learning process enjoyable.

“Repeat after me,” she says, smiling. “La comida está deliciosa.” (the food is delicious)

“La comida está deliciosa,” you repeat, hoping your pronunciation is correct.

Mrs. Perez claps her hands. “¡Perfecto! Muy bien.”

Sean grins at you. “Not bad. Pretty soon, you’ll be fluent.”

You roll your eyes playfully. “Yeah, right. But I’m trying.”

After lunch, you return to the garage, where Sean has already started working on a customer’s car. He glances up as you approach, a playful smile on his face.

“Ready to get your hands dirty?” he asks, handing you a pair of gloves.

“Absolutely,” you reply, slipping them on. “Show me what to do, boss.”

Sean raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Boss, huh? I could get used to that.”

You laugh, nudging him lightly. “Don’t let it go to your head. Now, what’s next?”

As the afternoon progresses, you work side by side with Sean, learning the basics of car repair. He’s a patient teacher, and his explanations are clear and easy to follow. You can’t help but admire his skill and dedication, and the way his eyes light up when he talks about his work.

By the end of the day, you’ve made significant progress both on the business plans and in your newfound mechanical skills. You’re sweaty and tired, but there’s a sense of accomplishment that makes it all worthwhile.

“Thanks for today,” you say as you pack up your things. “I had a lot of fun. And I learned a lot, too.”

“Anytime,” Sean replies, his smile warm and genuine. “You’re a quick learner. Maybe we’ll make a mechanic out of you yet.”

You laugh, feeling a flutter of excitement at the prospect. “I’m looking forward to it.”

The next few days follow a similar pattern. You spend your mornings working on the business plans and helping out in the garage, and your afternoons practicing Spanish with Mrs. Perez. The easy camaraderie with Sean and Daniel continues to grow, and you find yourself looking forward to each day with a sense of anticipation.

One afternoon, after a particularly productive session at the garage, you head over to Mrs. Perez’s restaurant. She greets you with her usual warmth, immediately launching into another Spanish lesson.

“Hoy vamos a aprender sobre los ingredientes de la cocina,” (Today we are going to learn about cooking ingredients.)  she says, pointing to various items in the kitchen. “Repite después de mí: tomate.”

“Tomate,” you repeat, enjoying the rhythmic flow of the words.

Mrs. Perez smiles approvingly. “Muy bien. Ahora, cebolla.” (very good, now onion)

As the lesson continues, you feel more confident in your Spanish skills, the words coming more easily with each repetition. Mrs. Perez’s patient guidance makes all the difference, and you’re grateful for her kindness.

Later, as you help her prepare a batch of tamales, Sean arrives to check on your progress. He leans against the doorframe, watching with a bemused smile.

“Looks like you’re getting the hang of it,” he says, his eyes twinkling.

You grin, feeling a sense of pride. “Yeah, thanks to Mrs. Perez. She’s a great teacher.”

Mrs. Perez chuckles, patting your shoulder. “Eres una buena estudiante. Y Sean, deberías estar orgulloso de ella.” (You are a good student and Sean, you should be proud of her.) 

“I am,” Sean replies, his gaze lingering on you. “Very proud.”

As you finish up in the kitchen, the three of you share a meal, the atmosphere warm and relaxed. The flirty banter between you and Sean becomes more natural, the playful exchanges adding a spark to your interactions.

“So,” Sean says, leaning closer, “how do you say ‘You’re doing a great job’ in Spanish?”

You smile, meeting his gaze. “Estás haciendo un gran trabajo.”

“Estás haciendo un gran trabajo,” Sean repeats, his voice low and sincere. “You really are.”

Your heart skips a beat at the intensity in his eyes. “Thanks, Sean. That means a lot.”

authors note: as always I hope you liked this chapter! I am sorry if any of the Spanish phrases are wrong, I do not speak a word of Spanish :) I hope you like Mrs. Perez as much as I do. Btw Sean and the reader are now getting a little bit more flirty (still sfw tho) just to let you know <3

[kradogsrats]

so I started a whole thing for the "Blue Roses" Kpp'Ar and Rayla prompt from @dragonprincedrabbles but then was like "tumblr user raayllum is going to do this way better and also I want to write my crack ship while no one can stop me," so Kpp'Ar/Lujanne nonsense

—

The dark mage—former dark mage—has barely been returned to the living world for a single day when Lujanne catches him menacing her rosebushes.

At least, that's what it initially seems—he skulks in the shadow of an overgrown column, leaning on the gnarled stick the young Earthblood elf coaxed into the shape of a cane for him. His fingers pinch around the slender stem of one perfect blue flower, preparing to tear it free.

She steps forward, ready to admonish him for everything from his ill manners as a guest in her home to his claiming a redemption he has not earned—then stops, watching as he gently bends the rose toward him, leaning closer to inhale its sweet, almond-like fragrance. Some change in the shadows on his face softens his expression, the slight downturn of his lips shifting from cold to sorrowful. Beneath the severe angle of his brows, his eyes are closed, dark lashes stark against his pale face.

He breathes in the rose's scent again, lingering over it before carefully returning the flower to its place.

Her indignation cooled, Lujanne coughs lightly to announce her presence before approaching. He doesn't acknowledge her, but neither does he move away when she stands at his side.

"You should be resting," she says. "It takes more than one night to recover from a a week of what you endured, much less twelve years."

"I plan to," he replies absently, brushing the backs of his fingers over the petals of another blossom, "but I found myself compelled to stop and admire your roses. I saw their like, once—a long time ago."

The delicate blue roses grow nowhere else but deep within Xadia, cultivated primarily in her people's sacred spaces. A small part of her wants to ask which shrine he'd defiled with his presence. The rest, lapsed into irreverence well over a century ago, is more curious as to how he'd escaped the consequences of such a trespass.

"You're well-traveled," she says, indulging neither.

"I rarely had any appreciation for the places I visited. The folly of youth and ambition, to think there will always be another time." His quiet sigh is heavy with emotion—sorrow and shame and regret, embraced in a slow swell of contemplative acceptance. "I didn't stop for the roses, the time I saw them."

"I can't imagine how you would have, with at least a half-dozen rangers on your heels." She meets his sharp glance with a wry smile, waving a hand to encompass the river of roses that lines the temple path. "By all means—take your time, now."

"A second chance I don't intend to waste," he says, equally wry. His expression is inscrutable, but the way he dips his head in a cursory bow manages to straddle a charming line between gentlemanly and sardonic.

They watch in silence as the evening breeze ripples over the roses, the flickering motion of petals like glimmering water in the fading light. The same current stirs his hair, black and white shifting like moonlight glimpsed through a tree's shadowy branches.

"It's funny, in a way," he murmurs.

"What is?"

"Even if I had stopped, I don't think I would have seen them. Not truly." He looks down at the roses, his eyes shadowed. "When I chose to cease practicing dark magic, I could still have told you a dozen uses for Xadian blue roses—their petals, their thorns, their roots, the fruits that carry their seeds. Before that, in my youth, I might have gone on to invent a dozen more."

Lujanne raises an eyebrow. Her own eyes, her horns, her bones and blood are all commodities for a dark mage's craft. Most of his kind would see an elf as more alike to the rosebush than to themselves, nothing more than a collection of parts with varying levels of usefulness and value.

"And now?" she prompts lightly.

"Now, all of that—it doesn't matter, anymore. The roses are beautiful." He turns to her, a smile blossoming on his face. "It's all beautiful, and I can finally see it."

His eyes are so dark as to be almost black, but it's not the cold, empty blackness of dark magic's endless hunger. It's the darkness of a new moon, luminous with promise that, even if it's only sliver by sliver, the light will return.

She likes the way they crinkle at the corners. She likes that his smile is wide enough for them to do so.

The moon rises, a sharp, winking crescent in the iridescence of the purpling twilight sky.

"They are," she says, feeling her own smile bloom. Her eyes crinkle at the corners. "It is."

[lilacella]

Non-magical AU, cop!James Potter, mafia!Sirius Black

Safehouse

A man of honor never associates with a cop. But a man of honor was also not supposed to break the code of silence - which was exactly why he was here. So he might as well scratch two off the list at once...

Part I

(read on ao3)

Next

A bead of sweat made its way down James' forehead, trickling down his face. A loud bang caused him to duck and he felt the bullet pass closely over his head. He grabbed the man by his side tighter.

"We need to make a run for the car," he said quietly, his heart hammering in his chest. Nothing could happen to him.

"That's stupid they will shoot us. Just give me the gun..."

"No! I am here to protect you and you will do as I say. Now, on my mark..."

James peered cautiously around the corner of the container they were hiding behind. Maybe this was in fact stupid. But he would not let Sirius know that. He inhaled deeply and then leaned out to fire a couple shots, 2, 3, 4, they had all hopefully ducked now.

"Now!" He pulled at Sirius' arm and they both started running towards the bulletproof car that was just a few meters away. A few meters without any cover. They were to slow. When they had made it about half the way, James could see one of the mafiosi pop back up, immediately opening fire.

Instinctively James threw himself in front of Sirius, tackling them both down. He could feel something hitting his side. An incredible pain shot through his body. He heard himself scream. Then more shots. But none of them hit him. Suddenly everything was very quiet. He lifted his head and saw Sirius cowering over him with a concerned look on his face. James barely registered that he was holding his gun. Then everything went dark.

**

Three weeks prior

"And this is supposed to be safe?" Sirius examined the interior of the black car with doubt. His contact from the witness protection program had said that the officers would pick him up with a bullet proof vehicle, but after one look inside he was certain that the only thing bullet proof about this car was the forged security certificate. The windowpanes were too thin and the doors clearly hadn't been enforced, judging by the hollow noise they had made when he'd gotten in. He also didn't like that he was accompanied by only two police officers, one of them young - about his age -, with these small, useless police pistols. If his family would decide to attack, they would all be dead, he was sure.

But he really didn't have much of an option. He had already packed his bags in the middle of the night, climbed out of the window of his family villa, snuck past the armed guards and had entered this accursed deathtrap.

Sirius knew he was doing the right thing. After pondering it for years, last month he had finally decided that he had to act. He had to get out of this family. Sirius was the oldest son of Orion Black, the current leader of the Black clan. Growing up in the mafia had meant that Sirius had learned quickly that the word family could be used in many different contexts.

"Family" meant blood bound. Not necessarily related, but fiercely loyal. It meant doing everything for each other. It meant being a unity, against everyone else. It meant that if you messed up, if you "dissapointed" your family, you'd loose everything. Potentially even your life. And yet he was about to do just that.

In a few weeks he would testify against them as a key witness. Laying it all out on the table. It wasn't because he had been caught and was in need of a deal. No. He had just decided he would no longer be watching. Not after what had happened on Christmas, four months ago. Even if it meant that he could die. It wasn't like he had anything to lose anyway.

"I assure you, this is perfectly safe," the older officer said with a reassuring smile that made Sirius' vigilant. He glanced over to the youger officer sitting next to him on the backseat, who gave him a nod. He had his hand on his gun and seemed quite tense. At least one person that understood the gravity of the situation.

"Let's just drive." Sirius tried to hide his suspicion. He relaxed into his seat and tried to stay as far out of the window as possible. They would be followed. It was unlikely that they would just get away like that.

They had been driving for two hours and Sirius started to think that maybe he did just get really lucky. Even the officer next to him, Potter, according to his introduction, seemed to have relaxed a bit. The other officer pulled up at an unfinished building. Ah, that was clever. They were going to hide him in a house that looked like it was still under construction, surrounded by high hoardings. This way you could smuggle him out easily if necessary and food or other supplies in without raising suspicion. The officer parked the car and got out. Sirius wanted to follow him, when officer Potter put a hand on his shoulder.

"Wait. Let me get out first. It is safer."

Sirius raised an eyebrow. What did he even want to do if they were ambushed? He'd simply get shot. But he complied. The police had told him to not take any weapons with him and Sirius had actually listend. Well, he didn't carry any on himself that was. So these two guys and their sad looking guns were the only thing between him and the eternal slumber.

He waited until Potter had opened the door for him and got out, Potter sticking to him like a shower curtain. Sirius thought this was a little ridiculous and the older officer seemed to agree.

"Sorry about my colleague," he said. "He is taking his job very seriously." Sirius was about to find out what that meant.

Potter had been assigned as his personal protection officer and would stay with him on the premises. Sirius took the upstairs bedroom while Potter slept on the couch, or rather laid on it, staring worriedly at the entrance door.

"Are you not going home at all? Aren't they swapping you out sometime?" Sirius asked, while opening a can of soda. Potter had been here for the last four days and he was starting to get a little concerened about the working conditions at the local police station.

Potter shook his head. "There is noone else. I mean, noone else who would do it. I wasn't supposed to either, but...I can't just leave an important witness all alone. It isn't right!"

Sirius frowned.

"So...You don't have an order to stay here?"

Potter shook his head again.

"I volunteered. I took vacation days."

"You what?!" Sirius hadn't been this perplexed in his life. Here was a young man, using up valuable vacation days to babysit him? Why on earth would he do that? This was so unnecessary. But also quite flattering, somehow.

"When you called, noone wanted to take on the witness protection. They are all afraid of your family."

"As they should be. Are you not afraid?"

"I am. But I also think you are."

Sirius took a sip and tried to appear unphased.

"Why would you think that?"

"You asked for witness protection. Why would you do that if you weren't concerned? And you are nervous. I heard your pacing at night."

Sirius laughed.

"Well...I'm not saying you are wrong." He walked around the kitchen island and plopped down next to the officer on the couch.

"What's your name?"

The man looked puzzled.

"You know my name. Potter."

"Yes but I feel after you've spent more than three days with someone it's high time for first names." He extended his hand. "I'm Sirius."

"James." The officer shook his hand, frowning a little. Sirius stretched out his arm on the backrest, turning towards James.

"James. Don't you have a family, James?"

"I'm not married, if that's what you're asking."

Sirius chuckled.

"Well, it's good to know. So don't you have parents? Siblings? Cousins..."

"Of course I have parents. Everyone has them."

"But you don't talk to them."

"I do."

"But they wouldn't care if you died."

"They would!"

"Then what are you doing here?" Sirius caught the mans warm brown eyes. "You should go home. Spend your vacation doing something nice. You can't protect me. If my family finds us here, I will die. And if you stay, you'll die with me. So don't waste your time and your life. Go home, James."

James stared at him for a few seconds, before shaking his head decidedly.

"Your chances of survival are higher if I stay. When I became a police officer, I swore to do everything in my power to do good and protect the people..."

Sirius interrupted him with a harsh laugh. This guy was filled to the brim with naive idealism. He had to be new.

"How long have you been a cop?"

"Twelve years."

Sirius stared in surprise. Twelve years? And he was still like this? He could hardly believe it. Then, an idea crossed his mind and the adrenaline rushed trough his body like an avalanche. His eyes immediately flickered to Potters gun on the coffee table.

"They bribed you didn't they? You're a plant. Supposed to make me feel safe so you can easily dispose of me. How much did they pay you?"

"What?"

"How much?"

"I don't take bribes! I never have and I never will!" James seemed genuinely offended. Either he was an oscar worthy actor or he was really one of the "good" cops. One that hadn't gotten spoiled yet by corruption and misunderstood corps loyalty. After twelve years... Sirius had to admit, he was impressed. And that made hin want to get James out of here even more.

He sighed deeply.

"Then you really need to go. I don't want you to get hurt."

James laughed dryly.

"Hey. I am the one protecting you. And I am way more capable than you might think. I will stay. And I will make sure nothing happens to you until the trial."

**

Sirius was awoken by a scratching noise at one of the plastered windows. A bird, maybe or a marten. No. He knew that sound. Someone was trying to pry the window open from the outside. Fuck, they had found him.

He was suddenly wide awake. Immediately, he rolled himself off the bed and crawled towards the door. He didn't know when the hitman would get the window open, so he needed to remain hidden. He cursed himself for not bringing his mini revolver up here. It was still somewhere in his bag, no chance to find it quickly in the darkness. Maybe he had started to feel a little too safe with James around. He shook his head at the thought. Ridiculous. The man couldn't do anything to help him. Exactly why he needed to get to him, quickly.

Sirius reached the door to the hallway and hurried down the stairs as fast and quiet as possible.

"James!" He hissed in a whisper.

James' touseled head popped up between a pile of blankets on the couch. His glasses were askew. He looked kind of cute like that...Not the right time!

"Someone is breaking into my window, we need to hit it!"

James shot up, readjusted his glasses and grabbed his gun. Within a split second his eyes shifted from sleepy blurriness to hard determination.

"Get behind me." He aimed at the stairs.

"What? No, we need to go! Maybe we can get out through the downstairs bathroom."

"The window is barred."

"I loosened the screws."

"What? Why would you do that?"

"So I can escape when someone breaks in upstairs!"

"But you are making it easier to break in from the fucking outside!"

Their bickering was interrupted by a loud crack and a thump from upstairs. He was in. Or she. Hopefully not Bella. No, Bella wouldn't have taken so long.

"Give me your gun," Sirius said.

James ripped his arms out of his reach.

"No! Bloody hell get back Sirius. Hide behind the counter," he whispered sharply. Sirius glared at him for a second but when he heard steps coming from the bedroom he complied. He grabbed a large knife and a heavy steel pan. No match for a gun, but effective enough on short distance.

A man appeared at the end of the stairs. A loud shot sounded, followed by a scream. James cursed. Had he been hit? Sirius popped up behind the counter, but James was still standing, though he was lowering his weapon. He gestured at Sirius to go back down, which he reluctantly did.

He heard James approaching the stairs before pulling out his phone.

"Yes, Potter here. We had an incident at the house. Yes, I am... No... Yes... Copied... Over." He hung up. Sirius peered around the edge of the counter but couldn't really see what was going on.

It turned out that the person who broke into Sirius' window had in fact not been sent by his family to assassinate him, but was rather a homeless man looking for shelter during a rainy night. He had expected the house to still be unoccupied and reckoned it a good place to sleep. Now, the poor man was brought to a hospital after being shot in the right arm. James hadn't hesitated, when his shadow had appeared and fired a shot, with intention to disarm the attacker. Surprisingly unerring, Sirius thought.

James closed the front door with a sigh. The last officers had vanished.

"Let's just hope noone saw you," he said to Sirius, who was climbing out of his hiding space in the pantry. "I will talk to my superiors about changing locations. It is too risky to stay here."

"I'll go back upstairs," Sirius said tiredly. A homeless person...James was right, maybe he was a bit jumpy at the moment. He felt a little embarrassed if he was honest.

"I'll come with you."

Sirius shot James a questioning look.

"After what happened I should stay close. What if it had actually been an attacker and he'd surprised you in your sleep? I couldn't have done anything to protect you."

Sirius rolled his eyes. James was overdoing it with his protectiveness. But some - quiet - part of him, found that he really didn't mind.

So he allowed James to follow him upstairs and dropped back into his bed. They had managed to close the broken window, but Sirius didn't feel particularly good about it. Having James here with him wouldn't be so bad...

James proceeded to sit down on a chair in the corner of the room. Sirius gave him a look.

"What are you doing?"

"I'll just be over here, don't mind me."

"You can't sit there."

"Why not?"

"Because it is fucking strange. I don't want you to watch me while I sleep!" He patted the mattress next to him. "Just lay down, for fucks sake!"

James hesitated, but finally lowered himself akwardly next to Sirius. Fully clothed, with his gun on his chest, laying stiff like a corpse.

Sirius groaned in annoyance. What was wrong with that guy? He propped himself up on his arm and picked James' glasses from his nose, before snatching his gun, putting both of them on the nightstand. James protested, but Sirius simply ignored him and instead proceeded to pull the blanket over the stubborn man.

"Stop acting ridiculous and sleep. If someone comes in, we either both wake up, or we die. That's just how it is."

Sirius curled up, facing away from James and closed his eyes.

But he couldn't sleep. He knew that James was there, laying only inches away. It made him nervous, but not necessarily in a bad way. After a couple minutes he gave in to the urge and turned around. James had his eyes closed, but Sirius wasn't sure if he was actually sleeping. Still, he used the opportunity to take a good look at him. He really looked good. His skin was brown, a bit darker than Sirius' own, strong jawline but his features still had a certain softness to them. His dark short hair seemed to be always a little messed up and his shoulders... God, his fucking shoulders. Sirius had noticed them before, broad and muscular, their shape faintly visible through his tight t-shirt. All of James' t-shirts were tight. Sirius wondered whether he knew what kind of effect that had. With his strong arms exposed, the fabric hugging his well built torso...

Sirius felt his mouth water and quickly turned back to the wall, squeezing his eyes shut, trying to get rid of the images that were flashing up in his mind. He needed to sleep.

Sleeping next to James was an odd experience. Sirius hadn't slept next to someone in a while and James...James was different somehow. He made him feel things he usually didn't. Like wanting to curl up in his arms, being held, secure and protected...Absurd! Sirius didn't need anyone to protect him. He was very capable of doing that himself, he always had and he knew that if it came to it, James probably wouldn't even be able to actually keep him safe, but still...He was almost yearing for it. He hated it. And with every day that they spend together, waiting for the transfer to a new safehouse, with James never leaving his side, it got worse.

"I don't know why this is taking so long," murmured James while absentmindedly rubbing his stubbly chin. Sirius tried his best not to stare, but it was hard. He wondered what it felt like to run his own hand over it...

James looked up from his phone.

"How's the crossword going?"

Sirius froze, caught, quickly turning back to the newspaper in front of him.

"Oh, it's finished. I moved on to the Sudoku section." He fidgeted with the button on his shirt, feeling James' gaze upon him. Why did this make him nervous? He wasn't a fucking schoolgirl! And James was a cop! A man of honor never associates with a cop. But a man of honor was also not supposed to break the code of silence - which was exactly why he was here. So he might as well scratch two off the list at once...

Sirius raised his head again and found that James was still looking at him. His eyes flickered away, when Sirius met them. Things clearly had changed between them since the break in. Sirius eyes grazed over James' face, down his neck, getting stuck at the outlines of his pecs under his navy blue t-shirt. He bit his lip, but letting it go again immediately, startled by his own reaction. This needed to stop! He was being childish and stupid and he should know better.

Just when he wanted to get up to leave the room and go literally anywhere else, James got up from his spot on the couch and dropped himself on the barstool next to Sirius, leaning his elbow on the marble countertop. His muscular forearm flexed slightly as he dragged the newspaper towards him. Sirius cheeks were burning and he prayed that he wasn't getting red.

"Is there anything in the news about you yet?"

Sirius shook his head.

"I suppose my family wants to keep it internal. But I am sure they have noticed..."

"Do you think they know why you left? What you will do?" James looked at him intently and Sirius couldn't help but get captivated by his eyes. Warm brown with a faint hint of green around the edges. He was so gorgeous... Sirius cleared his throat.

"They aren't stupid. So I suppose they will suspect it. But I could have just left, because I've had enough. It's not like it was all sunshines and rainbows before. At any rate, they'll be looking for me." Sirius was hit by a wave of anxiety, coupled with the urge to move closer to James.

"I won't let anything happen to you," James said as if he had read his mind. "I know that you think that I am rather useless, but I will make sure you are safe. I promise."

Fuck. Why did he have to say it like that? In that bloody tone. While looking at him like that. Sirius felt like his whole body was being drawn towards the other man, wanting to kiss him, to touch him, to be touched.

"I don't think you're useless," he brought out. His mouth was dry. He hoped fervently that James wouldn't notice his composure crumbling. "I just think that you are putting yourself in unnecessary danger."

"I'm a cop, that's part of the job."

Sirius laughed.

"You are an idealist, James. Cops don't put themselves in danger, they mostly do that to other people."

"Is that what your family taught you?"

Sirius flinched angrily. How dare he?

"I'm not supid, Potter," he snapped, James flinched a little at the last name. "I've seen enough to shape my own opinions. And I tell you, I've never met a cop that you couldn't buy." He crossed his arms and leaned back into the small backrest of the barstool.

"I can't be bought," James replied defiantly. Sirius smirked suggestively.

"I'm sure you also have your weak spots..."

James stared at him for a second, lips slightly parted as if he wanted to say something but being to stunned to speak. Then he quickly got up.

"I'm gonna take a shower," he mumbled and vanished towards the bathroom.

Sirius thoughtfully took a sip of his coffee, smiling to himself. Maybe he wasn't the only one with a questionable infatuation...

[teachingmycattoread]

Things We've Yelled About This Episode #4.2.5

Once again we spent most of a Discworld episode quoting the book, so all the quotations get their own post! The page numbers are from the 1990 Corgi Books edition.

"'[Duke Felmet] said he died of natural causes.'

'Well, being assassinated is natural causes, for a king," said Granny. 'I don't see why he's so sheepish about it'". p. 53

"The Fool jingled miserably across the floor." p.56

"'Witches just aren't like that,' said Magrat. 'We live in harmony with the great cycles of Nature, and do no harm to anyone, and it's wicked of them to say we don't. We ought to fill their bones with hot lead.'" p. 219

"The storm was really giving it everything it had. This was its big chance. it had spent years hanging around the provinces, putting in some useful work as a squall, building up experience, making contacts, occasionally leaping out on unsuspecting shepherds or blasting quite small oak trees. Now an opening in the weather had given it the opportunity to strut its hour, and it was building up its role in the hope of being spotted by one of the big climates.

It was a good storm. There was quite effective projection and passion there, and critics agreed that if it would only learn to control its thunder it would be, in years to come, a storm to watch." p. 6

"As the cauldron bubbled an eldritch voice shrieked: 'When shall we three meet again?'

There was a pause.

Finally another voice said, in far more ordinary tones: 'Well, I can do next Tuesday.'" p. 5

"'I hate cats.'

Death's face became a little stiffer, if that were possible. The blue glow in his eye sockets flickered red for an instant.

I SEE. he said. The tone suggested that death was too good for cat-haters. YOU LIKE GREAT BIG DOGS, I IMAGINE.' p.12

"He rubbed his dagger hand, although the word was becoming inappropriate." p. 133

"'It's the witches,' whispered the duke, to no-one in particular. 'We must tell the world about the witches. They're evil. They make it come back, the blood. Even sandpaper doesn't work.'" p. 67

"[The voice] apparently belonged to a large fat man who had been badly savaged by a moustache. Pink veins made a map of quite a large city on his cheeks; his nose could have hidden successfully in a bowl of strawberries." p. 32

"'Mrs Vitoller,' [Granny Weatherwax] said eventually, 'may I make so bold as to ask if your union has been blessed with fruit?'

The couple looked blank.

'She means-' Nanny Ogg began.

'No, I see,' said Mrs Vitoller, quietly. 'No. We had a little girl once.'" p. 36

"Witches are not by nature gregarious, at least with other witches, and they certainly don't have leaders.

Granny Weatherwax was the most highly-regarded of the leaders they didn't have." p. 7

"The calendar of the Theocracy of Muntab counts down, not up. No-one knows why, but it might not be a good idea to hang around and find out." p. 190

"...he was also one of those rare individuals who are totally focused in time.

Most people aren't. They live their lives as a sort of temporal blur around the point where their body actually is - anticipating the future, or holding on to the past. They're usually so busy thinking about what happens next that the only time they ever find out what is happening now is when they come to look back on it. Most people are like this." p. 10

"Like most people, witches are unfocused in time. The difference is that they dimly realise it, and make use of it. They cherish the past because part of them is still living there, and they can see the shadows the future casts before it.

Granny could feel the shape of the future, and it had knives in it." p. 42

"Granny Weatherwax didn't hold with looking at the future, but now she could feel the future looking at her.

She didn't like its expression at all." p. 17

"'Goodie Whemper did a recipe,' she confessed. It's quite easy. What you do is, you get some lead, and you -'" p. 219

"'A magic sword is important', said Magrat. 'You've got to have one. We could make him one,' she added wistfully. 'Out of thunderbolt iron. I've got a spell for that. You take some thunderbolt iron,' she said uncertainly, 'and then you make a sword out of it.'" p. 188

"Totally mad, the Fool thought. Several bricks short of a bundle. So far round the twist you could use him to open wine bottles." p. 65

"'What I'm saying is,' said Granny firmly, 'that we've got a king who is no worse than most and better than many and who's got his head screwed on right - '

'Even if it is against the thread,' said Nanny." p. 250

"When the giant growled, and turned around, an arm like a couple of broom handles strung together with elastic and covered with red fur unfolded itself in a complicated motion and smacked him across the jaw so hard that he rose several inches in the air and landed on a table." pp. 166-167.

[littjara-mirrorlake]

If Blood Magic exists, Do you think Phyrexians can cast Oil Magic? What would that even look like? I know we have at least a card that references oil divination but is that it?

Ichor magic is a huge part of Phyrexian arcana and culture! That tends to be what Phyrexian mana represents—drawing on your own life force to power spells. This could be related to the deeply magical properties of Phyrexian oil and the fact that it apparently contains millions of tiny powerstones, not to mention millennia of ancestral memory and experience.

It really fits with the Phyrexian idea that everything is a resource up to and including your own blood, which also powers megastructures and industrial machinery. Phyrexian empire literally runs on the blood of its people. From a less oppressive standpoint, ichor magic could also be seen as pouring the essence of yourself into your magical work, literally the stuff of memory and heredity.

We don't have a whole lot of detail about what ichor magic is actually done, however. What we do know that ichor scrying can be done actively while awake, but that Phyrexians also tend to receive dreams about the past or future, probably less voluntarily. Ichor divination is an introspective process, as all the information to be sought is already contained and hidden in one's own body. Notably, Phyrexians tend to send flying bloodsuckers after their enemies, and the extracted oil from targets might be used to scry on them. Divination definitely seems like the primary focus, but other disciplines could include necromancy, combat magic, and even healing of other Phyrexians.

Headcanon: I think that though every compleat Phyrexian has the potential to harness basic ichor magic, it's also a deeply specialized discipline that a small number of mages spend their entire lives unraveling. Ichormages are extremely valuable but unsettle even other Phyrexians with the way they seem to see straight through people into their veins, and also tend to burn out their lives channeling spells after too short a time.

Kraynox, the Deep Thane, is likely the most powerful of these mages on New Phyrexia.

As for what it looks like? Again, very few canonical references, but I imagine a mage crackling with power as their eyes and open wounds seep with ichor, which swirls into a maelstrom around their increasingly broken form as they chant loudly in Phyrexian.

Weirdly enough, Silverquill has been my best reference when I do art of ichormages at work.

That's how I imagine ichor magic at its peak. An utterly breathtaking aerial display of glistening oil, with a trembling, exhausted mage draining their own life force at the center of it all, spending all of themself for a moment of epic power.

[dark-twist-fairytales]

(Maybe because Clayton was very insistent on getting into that hunters cabinet, but hey! This time it pays off because his daughter now has a weapon to defend herself. (Idk why but I hc that Claras family are all very good hunters, them having amassed their wealth like that. Emmys grandpa, Claras dad, probably taught her how to shoot when they visited))

The second Clayton notices shes injured he's fretting immediately, this might actually be the first time the others that arent Shep and Vic see his truer personality, not a stoic man but a concerned father.

Also, yeah, Emmy immitating her dads routines even if she gets nothing out of it is adorable.

Emmy would be tired from death house, being a child and all, so she falls asleep on the beds almost the second Clayton finishes dressing her knee ("No, Sarnax, your fire won't be...necessary).

He's conflicted about leaving her alone in the bedroom, since they did say they would speak with Ismark, but he doesnt want to move her in case she wakes up. He tells the others to go on without him as he takes several minutes to cast alarm and make sure that all the windows are locked.

After that he carefully closes the door, locking it so no one can reach his child. They go down and speak with Ismark, he examines the pastry and they do still indulge (later when the truth is revealed he's so grateful that Emmy fell asleep before they ate them)

They find out about Ireena and still do agree to help Ismark. Clayton only takes a sip of the alcohol but stops there "I don't believe its wise to indulge when I have a child I must care for."

The group goes to bed (Shep even more drunk since he drank the professors pints as well), he'd gently move some hair out of Emmys face before taking some spare pillows and making himself comfortable on the floor next to the bed. Now they have a goal, help Ismark and Ireena.

(That man can sleep sitting, standing or whichever way his body decides)

If I'm remembering from that episode, he casted alarm on the room with Victoria and Kana in the room while Shepherd and Sarnax went downstairs, having even more of a reason to do so now, before they joined them downstairs. And yeah, Emmy being asleep while him and Kana eat the dream pastries is a blessing in disguise.

It would be funny if Emmy woke up before them and dug around in the case for a better suited outfit than a bustling dress (she can make do, but she has the resources, she would rather not), and suddenly the cross bow has a place on her back, the bolts on her hip, and better protection than thin fabric.

It doesn't look fancy, like someone would expect from Breeg, but instead it looks rough, used, a small bit baggy. She knows how to hunt, she remembers what her grandfather has taught her. And if they wake up to her dad's case open and her cleaning the crossbow, making sure that it was up to par, they say nothing. And if Clayton only asks how her knee's feeling while tying her hair back to keep it from being tangled, it's just another morning in the Azran expedition.

(Mechanically, I think she would either dual-class as a ranger/wizard, or go full ranger (different than Shepherd) with some a magic feature of some kind.)

Shepherd is still a wildly better ranger than her (having been alive longer than her), but she can casts a good amount of damaging spells, if she ever runs out of bolts/needs to in a pinch.

Oh, I just realized, Sarnax would still be so confused about Clayton's father-like tendencies. Asking something like "Is it normal for.. Humans to fret over their young this much?" And Shepherd responding back with "Yeah, most humanoids in general fret over their children like that, 'specially after nearly dyin'. Clayton ain't no different. Hells, if anythin' were to happen to that child, I'll murder in cold blood."