#its been awful the last few years but i do see every year that passes with me still here as a testament to cowardice on my part

[readymades2002]

i turn 25 in almost two months. christ

[virtu4langel]

Holiday season ᯓᡣ𐭩.ᐟ ⊹

pairings; enemy!heeseung x fem!reader

genre; fluff, a bit angsty

warnings; none

The snow crunched beneath your boots as you carried your suitcase toward the familiar sight of the cozy cabin your friends had rented for the holidays. The sight of fairy lights strung along the roof and smoke curling from the chimney should’ve been comforting, but instead, your stomach churned.

“Heeseung is coming too,” Yuna had told you over the phone last week, her voice hesitant. “But it’s been years, right? I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

Years? Maybe, but it didn’t matter. The memory of Heeseung’s smug grin was forever seared into your brain. The last time you saw him, at the town’s New Year’s Eve bonfire, he’d “accidentally” spilled hot cocoa on your coat after you beat him in the annual trivia contest.

“Fine,” you muttered under your breath as you hauled your bag up the steps. “It’ll be fine.”

The door creaked open, and before you could greet anyone, a familiar voice rang out.

“Well, look who decided to show up.”

You looked up to see Lee Heeseung leaning casually against the banister, his arms crossed and that infuriating smirk tugging at his lips. He hadn’t changed much—still tall, still annoyingly handsome, and still looking at you like he knew every single way to get under your skin.

“Great,” you muttered, brushing past him. “You’re here.”

“Aw, don’t sound too excited,” he teased, following you into the living room. “I missed you too, Y/N.”

You rolled your eyes, determined to ignore him, but the warmth spreading through your chest betrayed you. No, you weren’t going to let him get to you.

The snowstorm hit that evening, cutting off any hope of escape. The roads were blocked, the power flickered, and worst of all, Heeseung was stranded with you in the same room after everyone else had claimed the best spots to sleep.

“Looks like it’s just us,” he said, throwing a blanket onto the couch. “Try not to snore.”

“Try not to breathe,” you shot back, earning a chuckle from him.

The night passed slowly, filled with awkward silences and the occasional passive-aggressive comment. But as the hours ticked by and the fire crackled softly in the background, your resolve began to falter. Heeseung, surprisingly, wasn’t as insufferable as you remembered.

“So,” he began, breaking the silence, “still mad about that snowball fight from third grade?”

You turned to glare at him, but the twinkle in his eyes made it impossible to hold your anger.

“You mean the one where you cheated?”

“I call it being strategic.”

“You stuffed rocks in your snowballs!”

“And yet, you still lost,” he said, grinning.

For the first time in years, you found yourself laughing with him instead of at him. It felt strange.

Over the next few days, the storm kept you all trapped together. Surprisingly, Heeseung proved to be… tolerable. He helped decorate the cabin, made the best hot chocolate you’d ever tasted, and even taught you how to properly aim during a snowball fight.

But it was one quiet evening, when you found yourself outside, watching the snow fall, that everything changed.

“You always hated the holidays,” Heeseung said, stepping beside you. His voice was softer than usual, lacking its usual teasing edge.

“I didn’t hate them,” you replied. “I just… hated spending them with you.”

“Ouch.” He clutched his chest dramatically, but there was something vulnerable in his eyes. “And here I thought I was your favorite person.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart betrayed you again, pounding loudly in your chest.

“I’m serious,” he said, his tone shifting. “Why do you hate me so much?”

You hesitated, the words catching in your throat. “Because…”

“Because?”

“Because you’ve always made me feel like I wasn’t good enough,” you blurted out. “Like everything was a competition, and I could never win.”

Heeseung’s expression softened, and for the first time, you saw something other than arrogance in his gaze.

“That’s not true,” he said quietly. “I only competed with you because you’re the only one who ever challenged me.”

Your breath hitched as he stepped closer, the warmth of his presence chasing away the cold.

“I’ve always admired you, Y/N,” he admitted. “Maybe too much. That’s why I was such an idiot.”

Your heart skipped a beat as he reached out, brushing a stray snowflake from your cheek.

“Maybe we could start over,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “No more competitions. Just… us.”

For once, you didn’t have a snarky reply. Instead, you closed the distance between you, letting the warmth of his lips melt away the years of rivalry.

The holidays felt different that year. The snowstorm had passed, but something far more unexpected had settled in its place: peace.

As you and Heeseung stood hand-in-hand, watching the first sunrise of the new year, you couldn’t help but smile.

Maybe the holidays with him weren’t so bad after all.

[angelshizuka]

Oooh okay okay, permission to be a little petty? This has been eating me up for a minute! On the topic of the helluva/hazbin redesigns: there are a lot of times in the critical side of this fandom where I’ll see people talking about what they would “fix” about the character designs, and like you said- some of the specifics people think they need to fix just…undermine the point of the character?? (I.e making Stolas big and burly) But it also feels like they’re ignoring that these characters look the way they do because they have to be ANIMATED. There’s been a handful of times I’ve seen people with that “fix it” attitude where they just waaaaay over complicate textures and shapes then say it’s so much better. For example some were saying Blitz’s design was bad because you can’t tell his burn scars were burn scars because the edges were too round. So they completely rendered the scars in their redesign and said they fixed it. I absolutely understand wanting to make detailed artwork. I LOVE detailing the hell out of a character in a drawing!! But to animate?? Especially with helluva where the spindle horse team doesn’t often outsource its animation?? I KNOW it’s silly but sometimes in passing I want to be like- ok. YOU animate your incredibly complicated redesign for a 20 minute animation at 24 frames per second. Then you get to handle the budget you’d need to get it finished and add in lighting/effects/etc. Then you ALSO get to handle the complaints from people who say episodes take too long to come out. Animation is a HUUUGE process! I feel like the work it takes to make it look so good is really taken for granted :,)

(I should be in bed so I hope any of this makes sense lmao I’m so sorry in advance!! Love your account your takes are so well thought out and you’re very funny <3)

Yes, thank you for your excellent point, I totally agree!

I mean, I will always defend CGI animation (I'm a firm believer all animation mediums are beautiful and valid), but I feel like it's spoiled people in how detailed a character's design can be. While part of the charm of 2D animation is how simplified lines can still get so much across.

It's been more than a decade since I studied animation and we only really did puppet animation, but even with that I quickly realized my designs could never be as detailed as when I just made a stand alone drawing (also, rip to my old animations that are lost to time, because my hard drive died a few years back...)

I'd honestly argue that for 2D animation standards the designs are really detailed. Maybe not for every character, but that's part of the beauty of it. Just like how in real life not all people dress all fancy and complicated, some people prefer simpler outfits, and they know how to make that come across in the character designs.

Especially Blitz is a prime example of being tailor made for 2D animation, that's also part of why some of the best facial expressions come from him, they know how to play around with his face shape. Regarding the scars, it's not just a 2D thing, it's the fact that imps scar differently than humans. So, again haters claiming they "fixed it" by completely ignoring lore.

(Aw, thank you! I try my best to put my thoughts into words and it helps make sense of whatever the hell is going on up there. I take a lot of pride in it, because my mother complimenting me on "knowing how to word things" was one of our last conversations before she passed.)

[hismercytomyjustice]

I will never financially recover from 600 Strike…

I just…

God it’s so fucking good… T^T

Of course the “NEXT TO MY WIFE” part, but Odysseus showing Poseidon what happens when you finally get exactly what you want…

Look what you’ve turned me into

Look what we’ve become

*incoherent screeching*

The lyrics are just SO GOOD. Like, I am awe of how Jay manages to one up himself over and over again. This song is maybe the most pivotal one as far as Odysseus’s character arc is concerned and he fucking CRUSHED IT.

I AM ADDING A CUT BECAUSE I HAVE A LOT OF FEELINGS, OKAY?! ( ༎ຶ⌑༎ຶ)

UGH. I will never get enough of this musical, I s2g. Jay does such an amazing job of portraying Odysseus’s emotions and mental state throughout. By the time we get to 600 Strike, it’s fucking heartbreaking. Odysseus has tried SO HARD for SO LONG to be a good person. He never wanted any of this! He never wanted to be ruthless! But over and over and over again he is just doomed by the gods narrative.

UUUGH. It makes No Longer You (probs my fave song of the musical) EVEN BETTER because yeah, “I see a man who gets to make it home alive, but it’s no longer you.”

The gods have forced Odysseus time and time again to be ruthless. He has fought for twenty years to retain some semblance of his innate desire for mercy only to watch it ripped away from him, piece by devastating piece.

I utterly adore the way we see him broken down until the ONLY thing he has left for any chance at happiness or normalcy is making it home to his wife and son.

He starts out this whole journey with the goal of getting himself AND his crew home only to watch them die in increasingly horrific ways because of the impossible situations they keep getting forced into.

I feel like Oddyseus’s first major breakdown happens in The Underworld. That’s where it finally all starts to be too fucking much. Where he hits his limit. Just the “All I hear are screams, every time I dare to close my eyes. I no longer dream, only nightmares of those who've died.”

And then the utterly gut wrenching scene with his mom. ( ༎ຶ⌑༎ຶ)

I feel like up to this point, yeah he’s concerned about what’s going on back at home, but this is the first time he’s straight up confronted with the fact things are changing there and there’s NOTHING he can do about it. His absolute worst fear has come true. He lost someone he loved forever because he couldn’t make it home.

How did she die? Odysseus doesn’t know. She could have died peacefully of old age or been slaughtered. Either way he wasn’t there to comfort her or protect her. She died not knowing if he would ever made it home. Even in death, she’s stuck forever wondering what happened to him and wishing she could see him again.

HE IS RIGHT THERE and she will never know because he was too late.

Like logically he knows time is passing in Ithaca too, but up to this point I feel like Ithaca is more of a concept to him than a reality. His last memories of his home are of his wife and infant son from over a decade ago. Obviously they’ve aged too, but he hasn’t seen the effects of the passage of time on them. He doesn’t know what’s become of them or his country without its king.

It makes so much sense that this is when he finally starts to consider ruthlessness over mercy. Especially after Tiresias implies he will never make it home. Like obvs we know he will and that Tiresias just means he won’t be the same person when he does, but Odysseus doesn’t know that.

Regardless, Tiresias is right. The only way Odysseus will ever make it home is to cut away at everything that makes him who he is. His morality, his desire for mercy, his loyalty to his crew, his friends...

His friends who trust him, only for him to keep leading them to horrific deaths time and time again by clinging to his desire for mercy.

God, and then there’s Mutiny. This whole time Eurylochus has been begging Odysseus to focus on the needs of the few instead of the many, to “cut their losses.” And now Odysseus finally does by sacrificing six men and Eurylochus cannot fucking believe it, even after trying to convince him to do this EXACT same thing back in Puppeteer.

I think Eurylochus ultimately wants Odysseus to keep leading them, even when he doesn’t agree with his decisions, because he doesn’t trust himself to make to put the lives of everyone else first. He relies so much on Odysseus as his moral compass and now that compass has been shattered into a million pieces.

This is not his captain. This IS NOT his friend. This is also the moment Eurylochus realizes Odysseus intends to get home by any means necessary and that fucking terrifies him.

He could always count on Odysseus to keep the safety of the crew first and foremost, to be their pillar of strength in the face of adversity, but now? Now he can’t.

Besides, he’s finally convinced himself that they’ll never make it home, so why should they keep fighting? Why not just try and live out the rest of their lives in peace? Why invite more suffering and pain into their lives?

Then comes Thunder Bringer, where Eurylochus’s biggest fear is realized. Odysseus openly admits he will do whatever it takes to make it home to his wife and son.

At this point, Odysseus is desperately trying to justify all of the horrors and loss they’ve been through. Hundreds of men who trusted him have died because of him. He believes he’s led them astray over and over again.

But if he doesn’t make it home, what was the point of all of this? Does he give up now for the sake of his remaining crew, or does he honor the sacrifice of those they’ve lost by finally making it home? Every single one of them has died in their attempts to get home. How can he sleep at night if he gives up on getting there now? It would mean they all died for absolutely nothing.

And like, it’s a fucked up decision but I think it’s fair to say Odysseus is running on pure PTSD and vibes at this point. He is literally staring ZEUS in the face. Zeus who pretty much made him kill a defenseless child “for the greater good.” Zeus who is asking him to make another impossible choice.

His remaining crew has already admitted they’ve given up on getting home, but Odysseus hasn’t. If no one makes it back, how will the family and friends they’ve left behind ever find closure? They’ll spend the rest of their days living and dead waiting for them to come home like his mother has. They’ll descend into the underworld never knowing what happened to them and hoping against hope that they’ll still see them again.

Hope is such a powerful thing, but it can also be devastating. Isn’t it kinder to let them know what happened than to let them die, trapped warring with grief and hope forever? Because not knowing, while it can give them hope, it’s a false hope at this point. It’s not real.

Isn’t it crueler to leave them scanning the horizon for the rest of their lives, looking for ships that will never come? Isn’t it crueler to force thousands upon thousands of voices to join his mother’s in the underworld?

Isn’t it kinder to give them closure? To let them finally be able to fully grieve?

The least he can do is tell their loved ones what happened to them, isn’t it?

And now, twenty years later, he’s finally within sight of Ithaca. Now he can justify all of his decisions, all of the pain, all of the heartache. He’s can do the one good thing left to him after all these years.

So of course that’s when Poseidon strikes in a final act of devastating cruelty. All because Odysseus blinded rather than outright killed his son. His son who planned to kill and eat him and every single one of his 600 crew members.

It’s simultaneously so cathartic and heartbreaking when Odysseus first brings the trident down on Poseidon. Especially after pleading with him one last time to stop this never ending cycle of violence and pain.

But Poseidon refuses to stop. He’s more concerned about his pride and his reputation than in admitting he’s taken things too far. This so-called god has the nerve to have killed almost every man in his crew and then tell Odysseus he hasn’t suffered enough. He’s already paid for his actions with the blood of hundreds of men. What debt could he possibly have left to pay?

Tbh I would not have blamed Odysseus for torturing Poseidon for the rest of his days. And, if he chose ruthlessness over mercy, that’s what he would have done. Poseidon would’ve gotten exactly what he wanted. Lol, just not like this.

But no. Even in the midst of all of this, of getting to hear this murderer, this god cry out and beg for the mercy he denied him so many times, Odysseus stops. Poseidon finally knows what it’s like to feel helpless and to feel unending pain.

Surprised Pikachu face! He’s not a fan!

Odysseus has pled with the gods to be merciful for over twenty years now. Zeus, Athena, Poseidon, Calypso, Circe… He’s begged them time and time again to see there are other ways than ruthlessness. He managed to get through to Circe, since she alone viscerally understood the pain and loss he’d been through. And now all the rest of them finally understand too.

Athena goes to Zeus on his behalf to convince him and a whole host of other gods to give Odysseus another chance. Calypso lets him leave her island. Zeus realizes the folly of his own pride when he nearly kills his own daughter. Poseidon agrees to call off the storm.

It’s such a fascinating story and I utterly adore Jay’s interpretation of it. Mercy is what ultimately gets Odysseus home, even if he had to be ruthless to get it.

AND AND AND all the callbacks in the songs, the bastardization of moments of joy. The reclamation of moments of horror!!! T^T

JAY WHEN I CATCH YOU.

[tiredistic]

Hey! I’m not sure if you write character x reader fics but if you do, could I request a Janis x reader one where reader wakes up sick in the morning so she skips school and doesn’t answer her texts or calls. Then after school janis just comes over to see what’s going on and takes care of reader?

Thanks sm!

"Feels good to be loved"

pairing: You x Janis imi'ike

Warnings: Description of vomiting

a/n: I don't typically write for reader, but it was worth a shot! Sorry it took like years bro I was STRUGGLING, and its not even like this is my first x reader, idk bru </3

It was early in the morning when your alarm went off notifying it was time for school- time for long hours of boring classes. Usually you were all well rested by morning and good to go, but today felt off.

Your eyelids felt oddly heavy and your head was already throbbing, The alarm only making it worse. Groaning and bringing your hand to your face, It felt warmer than usual.

Trying to sit up wasn't a challenge till you quickly regretted it when a wave of nausea hit you quicker than the bus hit Regina.

Weakly, your brought your arm to silence the blaring alarm, it finally turning off with a few failed taps.

30 minutes till school and you couldn't bring yourself to get out of bed.

Your mouth watered, weird.

Every time you swallowed, your mouth just filled up again..and that only meant one thing.

Your hand clapped your mouth in a hurry as you swinged out of bed, you perservered even though your limbs were still downed in sleep.

Your head throbbed harder with every step, making it harder to keep your stomache at eese.

By a miracle you made it to the bathroom on time, sitting In front of the toilet.

Your hands holding your hair back as your stomach emptied in the bowl.

After a while you finished, slumping on the side of the bathtub to catch your breath.

This felt awful.

You knew you couldn't stay in the bathroom forever, plus you felt like it was all out anyway.

Getting up showed little challenge, your muscles ached; an unfamiliar pain surged through your body.

You made your way back to your bed with a heavy sigh, going back under the covers.

You had 13 missed messages from Janis.

She was 100% worried, you'd never miss a day at school unless something was absolutely wrong.

By this time of day, you and Janis would be walking to your next class together. Janis was all alone.

You knew you had to tell Janis, it wasn't right for her to be in the dark. But you just couldn't.

Your phone rang abruptivly snapping you from sleep. It made your headache worse and it sucked.

The call was from Janis, the only person who'd care to call.

Of course you wanted to answer but your horrible mood was crushing. Hearing her voice would probably make your headache worse just like the ringing and the buzzing did. So you hung up. Not bothering to look twice, just shoving your face back into the pillows.

Everything was irritating, the covers, the sheets, even the stitching on your shirt.

By now, if you had went to school you'd be taking your history test. The one you and Janis studied for all week.

The phone blared and scared you from your thoughts.

You just couldn't answer it. You lied there swallowed by a pain that you wished that would just wash over.

-

Janis was just itching to get out of school she'd been worrying all day and your denial of contact only worried her further.

She sat in the back of the class, her phone was out, sending you a series of texts trying to figure out what's wrong

The teacher did notice her games and thought she was playing on her phone while in class, so it was taken.

Janis sighed and slumped into her desk. All she could do is hope to get there in time.

Even though she'd rather be optimistic, her mind wandered

The day passed rather quickly you tried to spend more time sleeping though it more than anything.

Feeling bad for ignoring Janis, you finally picked up the phone checking the notifications and various messages she left.

After the last bell she rushed out of school, completely ignoring the confused eyes and weird stares.

She rushed with great speed and in no time she got to your house, opening the door with a spare key.

She asked what was wrong, checking your forehead frantically.

"Nothing's wrong, im fine.." you managed to get out.

"Baby.. your obviously not feeling anything close to fine."

"Janis, I'm telling you I'm fine, you should go I thought you had to go to art club..?"

She huffed, "yeah, but you need help!"

"baby. I said I could take- take care of myself."

"Nuh-uh!" She huffed, she hurried to the kitchen grabbing an assortment of care things before returning, "I'll help you get though this, I love you and I wouldn't miss caring for you even it it means sacrificing a club meeting."

-

After a few hours everything was settled. Janis was napping beside you as you laid there, your mind wasn't throbbing anymore and you felt so much better since Janis was around.

Even though you were still sick, it felt good to be loved.

[ofoceansandtombsanew]

reach for the stars

cw. olnf week 2024, pre!release, step 3-4 (step 1 flashback), established!relationship

pairing. sparkling leaves

notes. day 4 of @olnfweek2024. arguably the day i was looking forward to the most because i had a very creative interpretation of the stargazing prompt. i can't believe i've written consistently 4 days in a row for an event week, that's the power of olnf i guess

“Did you know I can hold stars in my hands?” 

“Really?” Tamarack perked up at Nyla’s sudden revelation, raspberry eyes wide in amazement.

“Uh huh!” Nyla grinned, scooting closer to her best friend on the leaf-dappled ground.

It was a good day in Golden Grove. First and foremost, it was Friday, the best of all weekdays. Mrs. Murray played The Nightmare Before Christmas for the last half-hour of class and even passed out cookies. The day was only made better when Mom didn’t mind if Tamarack spent the whole weekend at their place. Until the hour drew for dinner and bedtime near, though, the two girls were content to play in the forest they called a backyard.

It had only been a few months since Nyla and her mother moved to the mountainous town in Oregon but it felt like she’d known Tamarack Baumann her entire life.

“Show me,” Tamarack whispered in awed excitement. Tamarack believed in the magic of the world as easily as she breathed, both of them did. If Nyla could do something as magical as holding stars in her hand, she wanted to see it.

“Alright,” Nyla started coyly, shifting so that she sat in front of Tamarack. “But you have to close your eyes first.”

Tamarack squeezed her eyes shut fiercely, giggling all the while. 

Nyla had met a lot of people in her 10 ーalmost 11!ー years of living.

Some of them had black hair like her and her parents. Some of them had green. Some of the people she met even had hair that was red, pink, purple or peach! But none of them ever had hair that sparkled, Tamarack was the first and only. 

It was amazing.

Nyla had plenty of questions about it ーwhere the sparkles came from, how they never fell off when Tamarack’s grandma brushed themー but Tamarack never had any good answers about it. Her hair just sparkled, that’s all there was to it. It’s something simply Tamarack. Nyla thought that was the answer she liked the most.

“Tada!” Tamarack opened her eyes and excitement turned into surprise as she took in how close their faces were.

“Where are the stars?” Tamarack blinked up at the taller girl.

“I’m holding onto them already,” Nyla beamed, heart fluttering as she held gamboge waves in her hand. They sparkled like a million precious jewels. It’s hard to breathe as Tamarack’s berry-red eyes look up at her, just as shiny as the sparkling hair that frames them. Tamarack Baumann is the prettiest girl in the world, Nyla knew this was the truth in its purest form. No one came close, not even Brittany Taylor who kids like Adrian Woodward swore was the prettiest girl in school. Nyla wiggled her fingers, marveling at every individual speckle that glinted in the process. “I’m holding stars in my hands.”

“That’s my hair, Nyla,” Tamarack giggled, shaking her head gently so as to not snag her hair on Nyla’s fingers. In spite of her protest, Tamarack’s cheeks were flushed. “That’s not a star.”

“Nope,” Nyla emphasized the ‘p’ stubbornly but mirthfully, brushing her thumbs across Tamarack’s fluffy locks. She felt as pink as Tamarack’s cheeks, both of them smiling widely despite their differing views. “I’m holding stars.”

Nyla chuckles lightly at the memory as her thumb and index finger toy with a lock of her girlfriend’s hair. Sitting in the living room of Tamarack’s childhood home, watching the Cinderella movie Brandy and Whitney Houston with Tamarack is a far cry from the young girls they once were running amok through the forest. Back then, their responsibilities were few and far in between. Presently, they were simply housesitting for the Baumann elders as they went on a trip to Long Beach to celebrate their 50th anniversary.

I was obsessed with Tam’s hair back then. Watching the soft golden speckles glint in the dim glow of the television, Nyla’s lips curl into a lazy smile. They’re laying in a comfortable position on the convertible couch mattress, Tamarack resting her head on Nyla’s chest. Not much has changed, I guess.

One cool day in autumn, Nyla moved to Golden Grove and was struck with a paper airplane that changed the trajectory of her life forever.

But considering how we were neighbors, we would’ve met eventually. Plus we had school the next day too. Logic is pushed aside for the magic that was their first meeting. Fate had been at work that particular day Tamarack caught sight of a bright-eyed fellow new kid looking for something to throw herself into. Nyla wouldn’t have their first meeting go any other way.

Girls like Tamarack should be met in the forest.

Looking at the soft, sparkling crown that grows from her head, however, Nyla thinks girls like Tamarack can be met under the light of the moon too.

But with how she carries the stars with her wherever she goes, my girl can go wherever she wants. Nyla presses a firm kiss atop Tamarack’s head and her girlfriend giggles, arms squeezing just a firmer. She may have lost a portion of her enthusiastic squeeze but Tamarack still gives the best hugs Nyla’s ever received.

Tamarack shifts so that she is able to look at Nyla properly, a serene smile adorning her face. “Hey you,” she murmurs softly against the sound of Prince Christopher’s parents fussing over the party preparations for his birthday.

“Hey,” Nyla’s fingers run through Tamarack’s chin-length hair without shame.

Tamarack’s eyes squint with a gentle but playful gleam, “you’re not paying attention to the movie are you?”

Nyla doesn’t argue against the observation, “oops,” she says despite sounding not particularly bothered she’s been caught. “Looks like you caught me. Guilty as charged.” We’ve seen this movie a million times anyway. Nyla is sure she could quote it in her sleep. Could sing the songs in perfect harmony, mostly perfect. She only gets to look at Tamarack in this specific moment once and she is going to cherish each and every second.

“And what’s got your mind so preoccupied,” Tamarack inquires dreamily.

“Just stargazing,” Nyla murmurs before pressing their lips together.

not enough people wax poetic about the fact tamarack's hair sparkles, so i decided to go full throttle

[alexilulu]

Books I Read in 2024, #6: Runequest: Roleplaying in Glorantha (Greg Stafford Steve Perrin Jeff Richard Jason Durall and friends, Chaosium Inc., 2019)

A bronze age-styled fantasy epic setting originally published in 1975 (as White Bear and Red Moon), Glorantha is one of the founding touchstones of fantasy storytelling in the RPG space that draws upon historiography and a firm integration of magic and mysticism into the firmament of its setting.

My first experience with Glorantha, like a great deal of others, was King of Dragon Pass. I don't remember exactly where I first heard about it. It's either on SA in the LP subforum back in the early 2010s or Tumblr in the same era; if it's the latter, Jared is entirely to blame for this, and probably because of him telling me stories about it in my car over the years.

King of Dragon Pass is a management game in which you play the tribal leader of a Heortling group exiled from their homeland in the wake of Belintar's accession to the throne in the Holy Country of Esrolia, forced to travel to the forbidden land of Dragon Pass where centuries ago the Dragonkill War wiped the land clean of all human presence. For you see, the Dragonkill War was named not for what we did to the dragons, but what dragons did to humanity.

Glorantha is like that.

Glorantha sticks in my mind easily, to be honest. It draws such a stark picture of itself so quickly you can't help but feel arrested by how committed it is to being itself. The Gods are so real that reenacting their greatest deeds invests you with their awe-inspiring power, and the Runes they wield are so bound into the fundament that embodying and studying them allows you to manipulate reality directly yourself.

The game itself is straightforward; every skill is rated from 0 to 100, and you roll 2d10 to roll under your skill rating, which you can further influence by channeling your passions or the Runes that represent you. Its character creation is delightfully baroque and fitting with the focus on historiography: you roll to generate the general lifepath of your parents and your own history in the last 21 years of Dragon Pass' history, during an eventful lead-up to the Hero Wars starting in 1625 when the world will enter a true tumult as empires face off.

I really just love the little things about the world here. Glorantha is detailed in the way that only a seasoned reader of history would be, with a light touch to give you plenty of room to imagine your own tribes in the region, the foibles of each village that give it real texture. The book grounds you in the idea of being from each ethnic group, the stereotypes others hold for them and the realities of their lives.

More than once it states that the Orlanthi recognize 6 gender roles and 7 forms of marriage, which is both a refreshing acknowledgement and also just a good reminder that societies for centuries have seen things in ways that would be foreign to the modern reader, and that you have to think of these societies in the context they've been shaped by.

The various pantheons of the world rule. I could evangelize about Orlanth, the god of storms all day, but it rules that the chief god of the largest and best-known pantheon, the Lightbringers, is the god of the season of utter disaster where life becomes cheap and dangerous, which i suppose makes sense as far as who you would beg to for survival during.

It's combat is dangerously swingy, in a way that kind of rules, in that you can plan for a lot of bad things to happen but you really can't stop that 5% roll from putting a javelin through your soft palate. This is your granddaddy's RPG, there's no luck recovery methods. You die, you beg the local priest for a resurrection and pay him handsomely for the privilege and don't do that shit again.

It just sticks in the mind for me. Very few other RPGs take the sort of careful, historically and culturally-focused bent on producing and placing a world in the way that Glorantha does. It feels lived in and loved, with a clear idea of itself and what it wants to be. I wish I could say the same for more games in the space.

[seresinsbabe]

The Fallen - Prologue

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x fem!reader

Synopsis: Your sister went missing two years ago but because of her past no one is looking into it despite your insistence that she didn't run off. Enter rookie detective Bradley Bradshaw. For whatever reason he believes you. Only he realizes there is more than meets the eye with this case.

Warnings: True Crime centered so if it's not your cup of tea don't read. Mentions of addiction and prostitution.

Word Count: 0.6k

THIS BLOG AND ITS WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI!

I do not consent to having any of my work shared on any other platform. If you see any rendition of my works on another site know that it has been posted without my permission.

Masterlist | Next Chapter

Three weeks. That’s how long it's been since you’ve seen or heard from your sister. A few days, sometimes even over a week was normal. But three weeks? Not even at the height of your sister’s addiction had she gone three weeks with no contact. Even if most of the contact revolved around her asking for money to get her next fix under the guise of needing food or clothes. You always knew she used it for drugs. And you hated giving her the money and essentially enabling her, but you did it in the hopes that maybe just once she would actually buy the food or the clothes. She never did.

As much as you hated the path your sister had gone down, you couldn’t exactly blame her. The things you’d both been through – were fucking awful. Drugs were your sister’s way of coping. You’d managed better. You went to college, you got a degree, you started therapy. Of course you felt bad that while your sister had been barely surviving, if you could even really call it that, you were on the other end of the survival spectrum. Starting to really thrive.

You did what you could to help her, though. Countless times you let her crash in your home, fed her, found a way to get her into rehab. Each time it never lasted. Except this last time.

There was a visible difference in Christine. She had started to put on weight, life was returning to eyes, she was smiling again. This time you really thought she was going to make it. Until she disappeared. Your heart sank when that first week passed, because you were sure you knew what it meant. It wasn’t until the beginning of the third week that you really had started to worry. So much so that you wound up at the police station.

“Listen, sweetheart, we all know your sister and she’s probably just on a bender.” You were on the verge of tears, both out of worry for Christine and frustration at the officer’s defiance. Yes, your sister had a troubled past. But this wasn’t like her. She didn’t just disappear like this, at least not for this long. 

“I don’t care what her past is, this isn’t like her! You have to do something, please.” The cry for help felt weak, because you were exhausted. Running on minimal sleep because you’d been up for hours trying to find her. Every time you called her phone it went straight to voicemail. Leading you to believe it was either dead or shut off. Stupidly you had gone to her old stomping grounds, a palace you didn’t want to be but you didn’t know what else to do or where else to look. Unfortunately it hadn’t led to her.

You knew it wasn’t going to be easy to convince the police something was really wrong with her. How many times had you picked her up from this exact jail after she got busted for possession or prostitution? Everyone who worked here knew your sister and ultimately knew you. And each time you walked through the doors you were met with looks of pity. Looks you had grown tired of getting, but by this point were numb to. You’d gotten them your whole life, so much that at this point you just stopped wondering if they would ever stop. 

“Please…I just-I know something is wrong.” The female officer looked at you, again with pity, but she relented.

“Alright,” she sighed and pulled out some papers from a drawer. “Fill out a missing person’s report and we’ll go from there.” You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding in. With everything you had in you, you hoped nothing was wrong, but that sinking feeling was getting deeper and deeper.

No matter what, you weren’t going to give up until you found your sister. Dead or alive.

@lt-bradshaw@sarahsmi13s@luvingdreams@adoringsebstan@americaarse@dakotakazansky@bluebirdhangingonawheepingtree@lt-sporkk@Yelenasfloppyhand@sass-masterkittenmama@noz4a2@avengersfan25@canarysposts@Lanadelrey3@thelonelyumbrella@mommyneytiri@endofdays56@princess76179@bradshawsweetheart@flrboyd@bradshawseresinbabe

[brownald]

Thought I’d repost the first Halo fanfic I wrote since it’s still one of my favorite things I’ve written and I want to look back on it every so often. I never finished part 2 but I’ll do it one of these days I guess.

Halo: Swords of Sangheilios

Sanghelios.

A dry, scathing world.

A world with ancient ruins covering scars from battles long ago.

A world with such vicious fauna that it was a wonder that so many species ravaged its surface.

To a human eye, Sanghelios was inhospitable, best left to the pirates and scum of the galaxy.

But to the noble Sangheili, it was home.

One such Sangheili stood at the helm of the Shadow of Intent now, his pearly white armor reflecting the reddish glow of his homeworld below. He stared down upon the seemingly peaceful planet underneath his warship's hull. To his side, his crew tapped upon their data pads, keeping the ship orbiting the planet out of sight of the populace below.

A door slid open at the back of the room, a lone Elite making his way to the front of the room where his commander stood, unwavering. He nervously nodded his head and spoke, his voice gravelly and rough, yet highly strung in awe of the war hero before him.

“Shipmaster?”

“You may speak, major. What news does the Arbiter bring me?” His voice was smooth, despite his missing mandibles on the left side of his face. He spoke with an air of superiority, yet if any malice was in his words, his voice did not betray it.

“The Arbiter informs me that our allies on Sanghelios have finished preparing for our arrival. We may begin our landing at Bdaoro City at once.”

“Is that all?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then return to the Arbiter and tell him this: I will land at Bdaoro City tonight, and I expect Usze and N’tho to be there with him.”

“Right away, shipmaster.”

“Thank you, Major.”

With that, the messenger turned away to inform the Arbiter of the shipmaster’s wishes. As he left, the shipmaster returned his gaze to the world below, and considered the effect that the return of order to Sanghelios might have upon the people. They had been without rule for almost a month now, and he feared that the clans had fallen into anarchy, or worse had ceased to exist. It was a worrying thought, one that the old shipmaster feared would never come to pass. That was the least of his fears, however. He knew that the path to a unified Sanghelios would be a long, difficult one, and that despite his numerous campaigns against foes both large and small, he’d never feared like this.

However he knew that this was too important a job to be left to the bureaucrats. The Elites had experienced such a rule for thousands of years, and only months ago it had threatened to kill every last Sangheili until nothing was left of their species but dust and echoes. He had an opportunity to send his kind on the best possible path, and it was an opportunity that he could not afford to let float away.

It was an odd change of pace for Lord ‘Vadum. But it was one he welcomed with caution.

__________

The messenger slowly entered the Arbiter’s chambers, taking a moment to check if the Arbiter was in the mood to be disturbed by listening for the music Thel ‘Vadam was known to play when in moments of personal crisis. Hearing only silence, he stepped forward into his commander’s suite, the lavish ornaments covering the walls taken from Thel’s various conquests throughout the galaxy. A shard of glass from Reach, an inoperable sentinel beam from the first Halo ring, and one of Sesa ‘Refumee’s holo-drones were mounted on the wall, projecting a timeline through the Arbiter’s exploits. Beyond these few mementos though, little else served to fill the room, save for basic furniture and a sink in the corner. Thel had ordered his quarters to be rid of all luxuries, to appear closer to the warriors under his command. Yet he had insisted on his relics to remain on the wall, for all to see as they entered his quarters. For what purpose the messenger did not know, but then again it was not his job to ask.

He found the Arbiter kneeling in front of a shrine in his meditation chamber, clad only in his ceremonial robe. Seeming to sense the messenger’s presence before the door was opened, he got up and turned to face his visitor. As the messenger looked upon his commander, he took care to avoid gazing at the Mark of Shame branded on him so long ago, he’d heard it was still a sore spot for the Arbiter, in more ways than one.

“Does the Shipmaster bring news from the bridge?” Thel inquired, his voice restrained and somber.

“Yes, my lord, he says that preparations are complete for our landing at Bdaoro, but I also bring news from Lord ‘Taham. He requests that you meet with him in the Blademaster’s Yard as soon as time permits. He says he’d like to debate with you.

‘Vadam sighed, the aging warrior within him resigning his anger to where it could be saved for this disrespectful act of dissent.

“Usze ‘Taham merely wishes to complain of our alliance with humanity once again. His hubris stifles any hope of our race returning to our former glory. Stil, I shudder to think what his bladesmen could do to our cause if I do not heed his request. Tell him I will be there.”

“Yes, sir. Is there any other message you would like to deliver?”

Thel did not reply, instead stepping to the window on the farside of the room, staring at the orange world below. From so high, the cavernous canyons and its blazing temperatures made it seem far too harsh for any life to survive there, let alone a spacefaring people. But the Arbiter saw not the cracked, rough texture of the planet’s surface, nor did he see the field of debris the past month of war had created. He saw a planet with cities the forerunners could only dream of, a race stretching onward into the cosmos. He saw a people joining hands and marching together into the beyond. But his dream was far off, and only a miracle could bring it to reality.

In that case,it was fortunate that Thel was once considered the will of the Gods.

He continued to stare at the planet below, now intent on asking his messenger a query he found most important.

“Tell me, major. Have you a name?”

The messenger looked taken aback for a moment, shocked that a warrior of such status would bother to familiarize himself with his underlings. Nevertheless, he recovered quickly and replied.

“Loro ‘Chamanee, my lord.”

“You ally yourself with me yet you still bear a name bestowed upon you by those who would do our species harm?” Thel’s voice was layered with confusion, baffled as to why this messenger would do such a thing. To keep the -ee at the end of a name was considered worse than the killing of a comrade in battle, to many it was considered a great dishonor.

“Yes. I’ve found my devotion to the old ways is much more rigorous than that of my peers.” Loro’s voice was now full of stubborn determination, standing up to his superior with an almost arrogant tone of voice.

“Fascinating. That will be all.” Thel’s voice was now flat, uninterested in his servant’s words.

Loro departed the quarters quickly, leaving his commander alone with his thoughts. Thel sighed and turned to face the shrine in the center of the room.

It was easily the most lavish thing on the ship. Thel had tried to remove it with the rest of his luxuries, but his warriors refused, fearing its removal would anger the Gods. Despite their newfound freedom, the Sangheili still fervently upheld the religion of the Covenant, even to a fault. Thel cleared his mind with a sigh and continued to stare at the shrine. Gold inlay complemented the platinum ring that had been engraved to resemble a Halo array, with precious gemstones where the generators would otherwise be. A hologram of the “Sacred Icon”, known to Thel as the activation index, hovered in the center of the ring, reminding all who saw it the priorities that the Covenant placed on all its citizens.

Those priorities were still fresh in the minds of the Sangheili, placing them in a state of desperate nostalgia for the days of the Prophets. They had yet to accept that the Hiererarchs were gone and they were free to act as they wished.

“A problem for when we land.”, Thel thought, now gathering his resolve in order to meet with Usze Taham. Thel’s vision of Sangheilios required the aid of Humanity, and so long as Taham continued to dispute with him that aid would never come. Thel mentally prepared himself for a vicious debate, but one he knew he needed to win.

Thel sighed and left the meditation chamber, the door sliding closed behind him. He entered his main hall and stepped over to a combination lock hidden behind a model of a flood infector that had terrorized High Charity during the Great Schism. Entering a series of digits into the pad, he stepped back as his wall began to hiss and emit steam as two panels lifted forward and pulled off to the side, casting a bright white glow across the room. Thel stared as his armor from the Covenant floated forward on a stand, waiting for him to don the holy metal. With slight hesitation, Thel began to put on the undersuit, then the leg armor and the chest, before applying the plates to his arm and looking at himself in the reflection casted by the window overlooking Sangheilios. Seeing that everything was fitted correctly, he lifted the helmet off its plinth and stared at it with resolve, the bright light reflecting off of it nearly blinding him. He flipped it around and placed it upon his head, returning the armor stand to the wall from whence he came. Now donning his iconic Armor of the Arbiter, Thel stepped out of his quarters determined.

Usze would have his debate.

_________

Thel arrived at the Blademaster’s Yard after curfew, the darkened halls stretching out in a line save for one illuminated dueling ring in front of him, a lone Elite practicing inside. He stepped to the entrance, pausing in front of the door to watch.

The Elite stood alone against several training bots at once, standing his ground as they approached him, spindly arms brandishing energy swords and lances pointed at his neck, unmoving as they readied their blades.

As one bot swung a lance with little warning, the sizzling edge met only air as the lone warrior slipped under it with an elegant slide, carving his own blade into the bot’s violet metal chassis with a crackle. Auto-locking on their adversary with mechanical precision, the remaining two androids commenced their own attacks simultaneously, trying to pince their foe between their weapons.

But they never got the chance. The Elite sliced off the hand of the first bot, leaving it defenseless before grabbing the pole of the second’s lance and yanking it towards him with a tug. Sent off balance by its foe's tactic, the robot was pulled forward, leaving its back exposed for an impaling by the blade of one Usze ‘Taham.

Usze stood motionless, surrounded by the husks of his fallen foes, seemingly in a trance. His concentration was so far removed from him that the Arbiter’s entrance went unnoticed, at least until the Arbiter cleared his throat.

“Ah, Arbiter! I did not hear you enter!” Usze shouted with surprise, turning around with a jump.

“That much is apparent.”, Thel replied with barely concealed disgust. “You wanted to meet here, yet I find you preoccupied with your toys?”

“My apologies, Arbiter. I feared the message had not been delivered. Had I been warned of your approach you would have found me much more prepared.”

“I can only hope so. You mentioned a debate of some sort?”

Usze smiled.

“I did. I was hoping we could debate over a duel, if that could be arranged. I find I speak better with a blade to my neck.”

Thel stared back, emotionless.

“It would be my honor, Lord ‘Taham.”

The two took up positions at opposite ends of the dueling ring. After bows were exchanged and blades were ignited, the duel began.

“I’d like to ask you about your alliance with humanity, if I may.”

“Go ahead.” Thel said, keeping his eyes on his opponent.

“Will you share with them our technology?” Usze’s voice was cold, forceful. What little pleasantries he’d exchanged with the Arbiter had been extinguished when he activated his sword.

Thel waited for a moment before responding. “Of course, they are our allies.”

With a bellow, Usze lowered his torso and charged at the Arbiter, sword at the ready. Raising his own blade, the Arbiter began to stomp toward his foe, calm and collected as ever. As the Arbiter sprinted closer, he lept into the air, blade ready for a skyward blow. ‘Taham, thinking quickly, ducked under Thel’s legs, sliding under his attack with an elegant slide.

As Thel skidded to a halt, he turned around to see ‘Taham already off the ground, blade already lifted above his head. Without thinking, Thel lifted his own blade into his opponents’, causing a blinding light to explode out of a shower of sparks, dazzling both duelists and sending them stepping back. Despite Usze’s skill at fighting, it was Thel who recovered first.

Thel swung his blade violently at his foe, however Usze’s impaired vision had not impacted his reflexes and he lept back before Thel’s blade could touch his armor. Pacing back and forth once again, he began to mock the Arbiter’s alliance with Humanity.

“You would sacrifice our mellenia of knowledge and discoveries for a deal with savages who would not do the same for us?” Usze shouted, anger permeating every word he spoke.

“Our knowledge was granted to us by the Prophets, and they are lost to us. If we want the Sangheili to thrive, we must allow others to do the same.” Thel’s voice was emotionless, a stark contrast to Usze’s incurable rage.

What little rationality was left in Usze’s mind evaporated, a primal roar emanating from his maw as he lept a nearly impossible amount of distance, ready to deliver the final blow.

But he never got the chance. Thel stepped to the side as ‘Taham landed bewildered, unaware of the trap he’d just sprung. Still fueled by rage, he swung a final lunge at the Arbiter, aiming for the head. However, with an outstretched hand Thel grabbed Usze’s sword arm, halting the attack, then followed it up with a headbut before kicking ‘Taham’s knee, knocking him to the floor.

Defeated, Usze looked up to see Thel standing above him with a sword pointed at his neck.

“Speak.”

Usze hesitated for a moment before replying, “What little advantage we gain from the humans will be outweighed by assimilation the humans will force us into. One does not cure a broken finger by severing the arm.”

Thel pondered Usze’s words for a moment. “Tell me, Lord ‘Taham,” he asked. “If we were to find ourselves in a civil war, would I find you by my side, or your knife in my back?”

“I would not dream of betraying you, my lord.”

“Good.”

With that, Thel reached his arm out for Usze to grasp. Usze did so, and the two pulled him up off the ground. Thel pulled him close and whispered in his ear.

“You have made the right choice, Lord ‘Taham. Be grateful I do not kill you where you stand.”

And with that, the Arbiter silently left the dueling hall to return to his chambers. Left alone with his thoughts, Usze thought about how humanity had acted during the war, and how their methods left scars on the Sangheili to this day. Usze had beared witness to the effects of human weaponry, and the savagery they inflicted on their foes.

One memory from Harvest stood out to him, all the way when the war had started. Standing among the ruins of a human structure, he’d come across a lance of Unggoy that had been ambushed by a human flamethrower. Despite their lives being taken the moment the flames coated their body, their hides were still crackling from the intense heat, their flesh melted at points revealing the cooked insides of the unfortunate Grunts. One still crawled on the ground, barely alive but still clinging to life, suffering with every movement of its limbs.

It was more of a mercy kill than anything else.

Snapping back to reality, Usze found himself with new resolve. The Arbiter had not seen what Usze had seen. As Usze saw humanity’s brutality first hand, Thel had sat high above in his warships, oblivious to the fighting below. Usze had no doubt in his mind that the Arbiter’s vision for the Sangheili would only lead to ruin. He had to stop him before Sangheilios found itself engulfed in a civil war.

But how to start? Without the support of the Arbiter’s allies such an ideological revolution was impossible. And among the loudest of Thel ’Vadam’s supporters was N’tho S’raom. However, since N’tho was more of the scholarly type rather than a warrior, Usze was certain that it would be easy to show him the error of his ways. ‘Taham left the dueling ring at last, marching toward N’tho’s study with righteous purpose.

__________

His determination led him there quickly and without delay, the sliding doors locked to prevent anyone from accessing the knowledge inside without Lord S’raom’s permission. Taking a nervous breath in, Usze raised a fist and cautiously rapped twice on the metal doors. For a moment, the doors remained steadfast, unmoving. After a deafening silence however, they slid open with a pleasant chime, allowing Usze access to the secrets held within.

Stepping inside, the stifilingly close walls of the room astounded him. Bookshelves covered the walls, some nearly empty with their contents spewed across the floor. A massive window made up the far side of the room, overlooking Sanghelios below, illuminating the room with the help of a desk lamp on a reading desk to the left of the window. Facing it was a pair of couches on either side of a small table with a glass of liquor resting upon it. Usze was still gazing around the room when from some unseen entryway emerged N’tho S’raom, book in hand.

“Ah, Lord ‘Taham! Had I known you were visiting I would have tidied up a bit!” His voice was boisterous, carefree.

“It is no concern of mine. I hope I have not interrupted your studies?”

“Not at all! I needed a break anyway, Jiralhanae war poetry begins to grow weary on the soul.”

Usze felt a pang of anger at this supposed academic’s referral to the Brutes as Jiralhanae. To address one by their proper name was a sign of respect, why then did N’tho refer to the Sangheili’s sworn enemies by their respected name? Usze forced his anger elsewhere. It would have to wait.

“That sounds…”, he muttered through gritted teeth. “Enthralling.” He was lying of course, but he did not want to risk aggravating his host by insulting his interests.

“I assure you, it is not. Please, take a seat.” N’ tho gestured to the sofa facing the window, to which Usze obliged. N’tho sat upon the couch opposite him, pouring himself a drink from the bottle on the table.

“Would you like some, Lord ‘Taham?”

“No, thank you. I would like to discuss the current Arbiter with you, if I may.”

“Of course. What is it you wish to discuss?”

“Many things, but his alliance with humanity in particular.”

“Go ahead then.”

“As you know, the Arbiter and I have butted heads over his proposed strengthening of ties with humanity. He has advocated for an alliance, while I am more isolationist in my views.”

N’tho scoffed. “A grave understatement, but yes.”

“I’ve noticed you often take his side. May I ask why?”

“But of course. Over the past weeks I’ve studied humanity’s history closely, and one common thread I’ve seen is that after a war their economy prospers. If we help them recover, they may do the same to us.”

Usze was taken aback, widening his eyes in surprise. “Is that all?”He asked. “You wish to ally with the humans for their money?”

N’tho answered. “Not entirely, no. The humans have proven themselves to be capable fighters, as well as forgiving ones. We glassed so many of their worlds during the war, yet they stood by us when the Prophet’s treachery was realized.”

“We were the enemy of their enemy. Our alliance was based on circumstances and nothing more.”

“Perhaps, but why then have they not attacked us in our weakened state? Surely such a weakened foe would make easy prey.”

“That is because they are as weak as us, Lord S’raom. Another war would cause only death.”

“And thus we circle back to their upcoming economic prosperity. Though they are weak now, in but a year they will have quickly recovered from their wounds. We will stand little chance after that.”

“Yes, exactly!”

“Unless of course, we have an alliance. They would not betray us then, and perhaps they would loan us some of their wealth.”

Usze angrily stood up. “You assume the best of those savages.” He growled.

“Well yes, that is the job of a diplomat.” N’tho nonchalantly muttered.

“Then do not come whining to me when Sunaion is reduced to rubble by a single human bomb.”

“Let us worry about Bdaoro first. Ah, that reminds me: Lord ‘Vadum has asked for us

both to be alongside the Arbiter when he lands at Bdaoro tonight. What an honor.”

Usze stared down at N’tho with hatred in his eyes.

“You’d best get moving. I doubt our hosts would like to see you so enraged.”

Usze stomped out of the room. “This is not the last conversation we will have about this, Lord N’tho”

“I know.” S’raom replied as the door slammed shut.

“I am counting on it.”

[nectardaddy]

Thirteen Years [Porco Galliard x reader] Epilogue

** Thank you all to have read this in its entirety and thoroughly enjoyed reading it as much as I loved writing it.

Much love, Dodger <3

Creative liberties have been taken for the sake of the ending, the main plot remains the same.

--

It didn't hurt when he took his final breath, didn't hurt whentheboy he once knew cracked his boneswith an ear piercing snap, nor did it hurt when all he saw was an inky blackness. A darkness he fully allowed himself into, and greeted like an old friend. The sensation wasn't dizzying, not confusing in the slightest as he welcomed his death willingly. A sacrifice woefully taken as means to an end he hoped those still alivecould capture. He wasn't scared when his eyes flickered open once again, not in the slightest. As he was greeted with an overwhelming joy that freedom had to offer - true freedom. Not a freedom that was tested and had restrictions, a freedom he could feel in every fiber of his body. A freedom that held no bounds.

The air around the man was warm and inviting, filling his senses to the brim every time he inhaled. The lush grass underneath of him smelled earthy and stuck to his clothes as he looked up at the dark sky with a smile. Hazel eyes darting across the midnight sky, taking in every ball of light there was to offer. A chuckle passing his lips from he and his comrades conversation, he looked over at the brunette with a loving, cheeky smile. "I actually convinced them to marry me too, Marcy" he mused, and the brunette bolted up from his laying position.

"Are you serious?!" Marcel asked rhetorically with a laugh, "and you never believed me when I said you two assholes were perfect for each other!"

Rolling his eyes, Porco nudged his brother with a laugh. "You don't have to tell me 'I told you so' even in death."

"Apparently I do," he spoke with a laugh, nudging Porco back all the same. "I'm sorry you had to leave them so soon," he said thoughtfully. "Death certainly has a way in finding the worst moments - believe me."

Porco paused a moment from his brother's words and let a sigh pass his lips. "Yeah," he said simply, "it does." Though his sacrifice was given willingly, he did so with a heavy heart. Whatever way his chose, he knew his death was imminent in those last few moments he had, figuring he might as well make it a heroic last stand. Sitting up to join his brother, he glanced away at the ground and sighed deeply, "at least they out lived me. That's all I wanted."

Porco felt another nudge against his arm from his brother, but neglected to look up to see his soft smile. "They'll be here soon enough," he reassured. "Then you both can annoy me for all of eternity."

Dying was such a terrifying concept to you that you didn't take to it willingly. Screaming, gnashing, and trying to claw your way from the dark chasm of your own demise. You hadn't felt the crunch, hadn't heard your sickly snapping and breaking as you were crushed; it happened suddenly and without warning. Dizzy and confused from a sensation completely unknown to you, you were scared and utterly alone. A sensation that you opened your mouth to scream from, but not a decibel of sound leaving your throat. You wanted to cry, but no tears came. All you could think was your own fear - until you suddenly didn't. Almost giving you whiplash the way your emotions jerked to a stop, you felt calm. You felt at peace.

Your eyes fluttered open to a deep, night sky; an awe inspiring darkness speckled with stars that hung in the air graciously. This didn't feel like death, it felt more like a dream as you opened your eyes to such beautiful surroundings. You were laid in a grass field, waking up under the stars like you had just taken a nap and woke up from a nightmare. It felt normal, but it felt safe - a serenity that was suspended in the air that you felt as if you could reach out and grab it.

Sitting up slowly, you cast your gaze to yourself and looked yourself over. Inspecting your hands and other limbs like they were almost foreign, gazing at them to see not a inkling of a scratch or scar. The callouses of your hands, made from years of chopping wood for your parents, were gone. You no longer had the urge to scrub your hands raw, thinking that would somehow erase the blood that was once on them. You felt a peace wash over you that you had never experienced before, the sudden emotion of absolutely nothing.

Your ears perked at the sudden voices in the distance, a murmur but within the silence it was clear as day. You couldn't tell how many, or who, only that you were not alone. But you felt strangely alright with the notion. Your head turned in the direction of the low chatter, to find yourself at the bottom of a grassy hill. A subtle incline that looked as if it went on forever, while you rested at the bottom. Your curiosity peaked to where you found yourself rising from your sitting position, and watched as you slowly trekked your way up the hill.

It was an easy walk, but one that had your mind suddenly buzzing with the thought of who on earth was at the top. "Porco?" You whispered quietly to yourself, hearing the murmurs shift to audible conversation as you climbed. You were able to make out two distinct voices, both sounding similar in regard to tone and sound. One was lower, and had a bit more bite, while the other matched the tone but talked slower and nonchalantly. "But that means that he's-"

But your own quiet musings were cut off by a loud laugh from the top. Your climb was almost complete, as you could see the end but not over it. The laugh in itself made your heart strings pull with an eagerness from familiarity, shifting your pace from a meager walk to a full out run. Stumbling from the incline, but not caring at all as you finally stopped at the top with smile. "Pock!"

You watched as his eyes snapped towards you, and his features drain to confusion. Hazel eyes looking you over a moment before looking to his brother then returning back to you; looking to Marcel to see if he had gone completely mad or he was genuinely seeing you. But his brother wore the same expression, until his gaze shifted to his brother with a large smile. "Get up, you dumbass!" Marcel yelled with a laugh, "don't just sit there and stare at them!"

Scrambling would be an absolute understatement to what the man did, watching him fall before completely yanking himself up with a laugh. The rush of making his way over to you was mind numbing, feeling his arms wrap around you fiercely and nearly take you to the ground. "(Y/n)-" he whispered into your neck as he held you. His eyes squeezed shut to savor every second of bliss that sent shockwaves through him, "you're here."

Wrapping your arms around the man with a chuckle, you closed your eyes in content. "You're here," you repeated to him in contrast. "I never thought I'd see you again, Pock. . ." Your voice was nearly a whisper, an afterthought, as you leaned into his embrace, a strong hold you never thought you'd ever feel again. You knew death was imminent, a dark caverness abyss that no one could dream of escaping, but you didn't know what was held beyond the realm of the living. A biggest fear often being you would forget life entirely, and never know the man you loved a moment longer. "You're actually here with me," you mused with a smile.

He lifted his head from the crook of your neck with a silly smile. "You're never going to get rid of me," his words gentle but whimsical as he chuckled at the tail end. Capturing your lips with his own before you had a chance to reply, you felt your melt at the action. The sensation was enthralling, a cocktail of emotions stirring within you that felt like fireworks. You never imagined death, of all things, could be so perfectly blissful. Never thinking you would see the man again, nevertheless kiss him like nothing else mattered at all anymore.

But you let yourself pull away and your eyes reopen as you realized you weren't alone, shifting your gaze from your lover to the young man who still laid out upon the hill. "Wait-" you began, wracking your brain to whom Porco would be with beyond the veil of life. Realization hitting you point blank and you sucked in a breath, "holy shit," you whispered. "That's your fucking brother Porco," you spoke aloud in awe. "Marcel?"

You watched the man's lips pull into a bigger smile, his eyes drinking in the scene in front of him. Feeling Porco pull away and take your hand within his own, you heard him laugh at your shock. "You should've seen my face when I saw his stupid ass," he mused.

"It's good to see you again, (Y/n)," the brunette spoke as he pulled himself to his feet. "Thanks for taking care of him for me."

There was no need for words anymore, no need for drabble as you now had all of eternity. Your heart felt full at last, bursting at the seams with such an outrageous amount of love and affection you carried for the blonde who held your hand. The blonde that was with you in death, and still held your hand like there wasn't a single moment to lose with you. The blonde that looked to his eldest brother with a cheeky grin before looking back at you - his eternity.

It no longer mattered what war raged on beyond the limits of life, the bloodshed you had placed yourself into a time before, nor the man's place within it. You had no grief about the world beyond, as your world was with the man beside you. Now blessed beyond measure as thirteen years turned into the rest of time itself.

[astranite]

Still Here Hanging On

Having a pretty mleh day so I wrote this because it's what I needed to and maybe its what someone else needs to read too.

Some hurt/comfort and Scott being there for Virgil and hugs, because would it really be Astra fic without hugs.

I think Earth and Sky might actually be my favourite to write.

Warning for depression, but it doesn't go too dark.

------

The overcast sky made the world flat and dull. The clouds pulled the life and light out of it, as if a tube of grey paint had been mixed with the usually bright palette, dampening the colours.

Virgil breathed out heavily, resting his elbows on his knees. Grey was about the colour of his mood right now. 

Nothing was wrong, per se. Just the usual: exhaustion from rescues, he hadn't slept right the last few nights, his knees ached because he managed to fuck up a landing jumping from a low wall in his exosuit and twisted his left enough that it hurt when he put weight through it weird, in addition to the other which was just messed up normally. 

He’d had a good day though. Or at least he should have. He enjoyed spending time with Gordon and Alan, and he’d finally had a chance to work on Two’s extra maintenance upgrades which he’d been looking forward to for a while. Not that he got much done anyway. 

Was just one of those days. He was in a low mood and it sucked, and it would pass, he knew that, but in the middle of it that never seemed like it could happen.

Little things got to him more. He’d tried to practise some of his new piece at the piano, but nothing seemed to work. The timings were off and his fingers wouldn't cooperate, and he stuffed up every second note in discordant clashes, even of the parts he did know. Then he discovered he’d somehow been doing it in the wrong key all along. 

He gave up when he was worse than he’d started with. For the time being, not entirely. It was an off day and he wasn't feeling it and he knew he was allowed to have bad days. But dragging himself out of them, out of his spiralling thoughts, over and over was exhausting, in a bone-deep, mind numbing way. 

Virgil hated it. 

It was better than the gaping, desolate hole that had been an open wound in the centre of his chest years ago.

But it was awful when echos of that feeling, that lack of feeling still hit him. 

He scuffed his foot across the pool deck concrete, then winced as his knee clicked. He slammed his fist into his thigh in frustration, then took a deep breath and rubbed at the spot. 

The sky was still grey when he stared up at it until his eyes blurred. Not even Gordon was out here. He was inside playing video games with Alan and Kayo, but Virgil had wandered off. 

Ending up on one of the steps where they went down to the pool beat sitting in his room, drowning in it. And some sunlight and fresh air might make him feel a bit better, or at least he could be miserable just as well outside as inside. 

He heard scuffing footsteps behind him and didn't have to turn to recognise them. Scott, carefully making his steps loud enough he wouldn’t scare Virgil by sneaking up on him.

Virgil didn't react, except to slump further. He didn't have it in him to pull up the smile, the facade of okay, of fine, and he didn't need to with Scott anyway.

Scott sat down next to him and bumped their shoulders together. Virgil leant into the contact, keeping his gaze firmly fixed on the ocean horizon.

“Hey, you doing okay?” Scott asked. 

Virgil swallowed. Scott was always there for him, no questions asked. Through the highs and lows, no matter if it was a bad rescue or nerves before a gallery exhibit. Virgil could let Scott see him as not steadfast and steady, when the cracks were becoming too much to bear. He’d be there through all of his doubts and insecurities.

Tears stung as they welled up in his eyes. Virgil turned and wrapped his arms around Scott, burying his face in his chest. 

Scott hugged him tight. He rubbed a hand over Virgil’s back as his shoulders shook. 

The tears didn't last long. They never did when he was like this. The numb, awful feeling slammed back into him and he couldn't even cry it out and he was just clinging to Scott. 

Virgil made a quiet noise that wasn't a sob because he wasn't crying, but was just as miserable, tugged out of his throat with jagged edges. 

Scott held him closer.

He was barely hanging on, everything was pulling him under, and he just had to keep fighting and fighting because he had no other choice. He just wanted a fucking break but that wasn't going to happen. Because it was his own head that was doing this to him and he couldn't escape that.

It was exhausting. And lonely and miserable.

Where he still had days where he felt helpless and useless and grey. Where nothing could cheer him up and he couldn't always pull himself out of it. He doubted his skills and abilities, as Two’s pilot, as an artist and musician. As a brother. 

Where he just wasn't enough.

But Scott still held him. Where he couldn't be strong enough on his own, he could lean against Scott. 

Because Scott believed in him, always and unflinchingly, not out of the hero worship of Alan and sometimes even Gordon did, but in Virgil, in his skills and his self. In what he could do with all their tech at his disposal, in what he could do without his gear or backup. But ultimately, Scott believed in who he was. Scott buillt him up, he had his back and absolutely trusted in him.

His big brother loved him. Whether he was triumphant or struggling. Just as much when he was drowning under the weight of everything as when he was on top of the world. All his family did, unconditionally, with no strings attached. They cared about him. 

Scott’s fingers carded gently through his hair. Virgil shuffled so he could tuck his head into the crook of Scott’s shoulder and just rest there for a while. He could feel each deep breath Scott took as his chest expanded against Virgil’s own. 

Virgil hands were wound in Scott’s hoodie, the navy one with paint splatters from an incident involving a falling canvas, that they all borrowed from time to time. The ocean waves met the shore with their comforting shushing sounds, and the clouds were over the sun blocking it out, and Virgil still felt greyed out but he could keeping hanging on. 

He pulled back to press his forehead to Scott’s and closed his eyes.

“I’m— I’m not doing okay,” he said, “But I’m hanging in here.” 

“Alright. I’m here for you,” Scott replied. 

Virgil opened his eyes to blue ones crinkled at the edges and Scott’s soft smile. 

“You always catch me when I need it, and I’ve got you when you do,” Scott added. 

Then, “Virge?”

Virgil hummed, not letting go for a second.

“I love you.” 

“Love you too, Scotty.” Virgil leant into their hug. 

It wasn't all better. This wasn't something even all of Scott’s determination and his own stubborn could fix. But Virgil wasn't alone when the skies lost their colour and music its melody, when everything ached and his body weighed him down.

His family were here for him, Scott believed in him and he could keep hanging on.

[the-wardens-torch]

FFXIVwrite2024: On Cloud Nine

Prompt #23, Entry #9 (hah!)

Masterpost

((takes place pre - 6.0, after last year's FFXIVwrite stuff ))

"Summoning has been around since the Allagan empire, and its undergoing its biggest popularity surge since emperor Xande's days and no one's gotten hurt. We've got the power of a fucking *dragon* now, my man. You should be on cloud nine! I know I am!"

"Dragons don't even perceive reality or time the same way we do. You're giving anthropomorphic emotions to something that's more a force of nature than flesh."

"Why should you care? Even the rest of the dragons don't care. They never care about mortals unless we piss them off anyway."

"This is a savage world. Regular folks like us have to hedge our bets. And if that means borrowing a bit of power from an entity that would see us dead as soon as look at us, so be it."

"No one cares about Ifrit or Titan or Garuda's feelings. Why, because they don't have any! They're primals! All they know is destruction and conquest and anyone or anything who cares about them is just under their thrall. Why should Bahamut be any different?"

The words of other Summoners echoed through his head. He'd questioned perhaps a dozen in the past few months, and the answer was always the same - not to think about it. The same answer his father had given him. All had sounded disturbingly like the nameless, faceless scientists he had dreamed about. Like Amon. Whom he had seen pierce Bahamut's eyes with iron hooks and rend his flesh with barbed and electrified devices he couldn't begin to understand. The dreams hadn't left, ever since he'd learned the Dreadwyrm Trance on the now empty fields of Carteneau. Felt that stolen rage and anguish flow through his own blood. And behind it all, a crippling, catastrophic sadness. Summoners were supposed to revel in their power, to drink it in and be nourished by it. But he felt like he was being poisoned - like every ghostly borrowed flare was a spray of his own lifesblood. But why did he even care?

His father had unwittingly given him all the information he needed to get to where he needed to go, but it was Reonora's cards that had finally spurred him into action. After that first dream, she had done a three-card reading for him from her Lenormand deck, and of all the diviners he'd met, she was perhaps the only one he trusted. And she had drawn The Coffin, The Lily, and The Bouquet. Death, loving remembrance, and a final gift. Of Who better to help him understand the tragedy of Bahamut than the living being who had known and loved him best? Who mourned him most? Who could gift him with understanding?

Tiamat - brood sister and mate to Bahamut.

Tiamat's longtime home of Azys Lla had only been accessible since the end of the Dragonsong war, and most everyone was already blase about it. Aside from the odd miner, monster hunter or antiquities researcher, it remained mostly deserted. Except for her. The ongoing cascade of chaos that had started with Bahamut's resurrection and ended with the near destruction of Eorzea had all begun with her. If anyone knew why Bahamut was haunting him, it was Tiamat.

The borrowed manacutter's controls were simple enough, and the weak air currents ensured that it remained steady as he passed over the ominously name Quarantine Block. Below him, a bank of smoky yellow clouds obscured all view beyond a malm or so. But he didn't need to see the ground to be reminded of just how high up he was… He already come to terms with there being flying islands, thanks to his amiable avian acquaintances the Vanu Vanu, and the fact that heights had never bothered him. But Azys Lla was hardly Ok'Vanu. there was no basking in soft, clear sunlight and a gentle breeze, no windswept grass underfoot, and no drinking in a breathtaking view of a deep blue sky and puffy clouds. No, this was breathtaking in a different way… As in the way he kept holding his breath because he was afraid something awful was about to happen.

He moved the wisps of hair away from his face with the back of his hand for the umpteenth time. There were so many loose hairs now that wondered if there was even any hair still left in the tight ponytail he'd tied just moments ago. The air itself had a feel here, a sort of oily, suffocating pall, or maybe it was just his nerves, or the fact that he was sweating. His grip was tight on the manacutter's levers, which thankfully weren't sensitive enough to read the trembling of his hands as input.

He could just stop… right? He didn't really even like adventuring most of the time and he could support himself with his leatherwork and music gigs. Just never use that power again and hope the dreams and the crushing sense of… sadness would end given enough time.

As he neared the ominously named island of Antithesis, he was pulled out of his thoughts by the appearance of angular but strangely undulating shapes on the horizon. They were the first thing he'd recognized since coming here, and for the worst reason. Plumes of crystallized, corrupted aether nearly identical to Dalamud's Talons or the shards at The Burning Wall. Evidence that something very wrong had happened there. More and more of them revealed themselves the closer he got, and as he began to swoop in low for a closer look, he noticed more of those ubiquitous chains… But he couldn't be sure what they were linked to.

That is, until he saw the wings.

((These then flow into the established "arc" of Fal gradually befriending Tiamat over the next few years. Reonora belongs to @adeat too. I know most of what I write doesn't make a lot of sense in isolation like this but I am SO HAPPY to be linking my old stuff together. It needs cleaning up but I'm eeby.))

[99liv3s]

Hello there

I was wondering if I could submit a character for the birth clinic?

Name: Alexandra

Pronouns: She/Her

Eyes: Blue

Hair: Brown shoulder length hair

Body: Siberian Husky Anthro, 5’2”, C-Cups, Average Hips, Grey/White Fur

Personality: 30, first time mom who loves to game and stream, and eager for the impending birth of her first litter of pups. She’s excited yet scared, her family has a history of very heavy and painful labors that makes her a bit nervous about it.

Though anthros were not very common patients here at the birth clinic, there had been enough of them in the past that the clinic staff knew what they were doing. Therefore, when the 30 year old blue eyed, grey and white siberian husky anthro with shoulder length brown hair came waddling into the clinic, clearly in labor, she was welcomed in with no questions asked.

After a few hours had passed, the laboring husky, whose name was Alexandra, was found in a birthing suite near the clinic entrance, literally howling in pain as the heavy labor pains gripped her one after another. She was definitely ready to get this over with. Doctors had come by and checked her every hour, but her dilation had been frustratingly slow. Alexandra tried to focus on her breathing exercises as she sat on the bed, but the pounding pressure on her cervix was agony, and she roared in pain as the contractions attacked her over and over without ceasing.

"Ok, ready to have a baby?" The doctor asked cheerfully over Alexandra's heavy pants another hour later. The laboring husky was now fully dilated, and she nodded rapidly as an assisting midwife helped her lie back onto the bed. Immediately, Alexandra felt the urge to push, and let out a howl as she felt the pup squeeze into her birth canal. Clawing at her baby bump, the laboring mother grimaced and shouted as the baby moved through her. She pushed, and with each push, the pressure in her lower body increased and worsened. "Oooh, get it out," she cried, as her legs trembled, and the attending doctor smiled. "Don't worry, you are definitely doing that all by yourself," he said cheerfully. "I can already see the head, and the baby's fur is the same gray as yours!" This made Alexandra smile despite the pain she was in. The smile lasted until her vagina seemed to catch fire. The burning was awful as the head crowned, and Alexandra had to stop and pant, catching her breath for more hard pushing. She howled her agony to the heavens as the head stretched her open, and gave another hard push.

20 agonizing minutes later, the baby slid out of her, letting out a little but loud howl of its own. It was a boy, with light gray fur, brown hair, and blue eyes. Alexandra smiled happily at her newborn puppy as the doctor cut the cord and placed him in her arms, wherein he stopped crying immediately. Exhausted, the new mother uttered a grateful thanks to the doctor, who then left the room, allowing the two huskies to rest.

(Your character rolled a 2 = single baby birth)

[panandinpain0]

I’m being an anon here bc I been here too much 😔 anyway HAHAHAHA I WASSSS thinkinggggg about idkkkk Harry x Male McGonagall Reader where he’s McGonagall’s grand nephew (her sibling’s grandchild) because I just think it would be funny 💀 but also since u mentioned a huffie puffie girl any gender would be cool ✨ ok bye bye friendo bendo

Badger in Distress

OH MY GOD- I just might. And by I just might I mean I am.

I'm making it a Fem!Reader just to keep the plot consistent, but I'm thinking... what if she had a twin ✨

I just need to think of who this twin's love interest will be-

@@@

Requested by: Anon

Harry Potter x Female!Hufflepuff!McGonagall!Reader

(The Ron x Male!Ravenclaw!Granger!Reader is mentioned as "Granger"- but Hermione calls him "Peanut" because I definitely think she would call him that growing up, and Y/N is already taken in this series.)

---

It was Harry's sixth year and it was all the same, some imminent threat looming over his head, people staring at him, and Malfoy being a bully.

Sitting in Herbology, Harry groaned quietly as Professor Sprout said they were to be paired with someone from the opposite house, in this case Hufflepuff.

Ron gave him a sympathetic look and walked away, Hermione just shrugging at him. Suddenly, someone from behind him cleared their throat.

"Hello, I'm (Y/N) McGonagall. What's your name?" (Y/N) held out her hand with a confident smile as she waited for him to take it.

Harry was taken aback, shaking her hand anyways. "You don't know my name?"

"I do know your name, but I thought a formal introduction would be nice."

"Oh. I'm Harry Potter."

"Would you like to be partners, Potter?" She looked at him expectantly.

He nodded, not trusting his words, as she turned to the plant on the table, dropping her bag on the floor next to her stool.

"Your last name is McGonagall?" Harry asked, sitting hesitantly in his seat and facing her.

"She's my great aunt. And speaking of her, she actually sent me with a message for you," (Y/N) revealed, facing him.

"Oh," Harry was a bit disappointed, finding out this beautiful Hufflepuff was told to talk to him and that she didn't do it of her own volition.

"She just says she wants to see you after lunch, has something important to tell you, etcetera etcetera-" (Y/N) shrugged and turned back to the plant, inspecting its leaves.

She didn't need to partner up with him just to say that, but she had wanted to. (Y/N) hadn't gotten the chance to meet the great Harry Potter and she'd been going to school with him for 6 years now.

He's not as awe-striking as everyone was making it seem. He was just a teenage boy like all the others.

"Alright, Potter, let's see if you live up to your name. Let's try to pot this plant."

Harry was hooked. He was in love, actually. Not only had she not made a big deal about his name (cliché but still appreciated), but she'd also made a pun about it that had nothing to do with Voldemort.

Cue the pursuit of love Harry was quickly chasing.

They were partnered together for the next few weeks in herbology, so he got to spend time with her there- but now that he'd spoken with her he was seeing her everywhere.

They took opposite paths to most of their classes, passing each other in the corridors almost every period. Their friend groups all hung out in the courtyard most days, and she came to every quidditch game (Harry found this out after getting hit with a bludger after staring at her too long).

Staring at her from across the courtyard, Harry watched her laugh with her friends. He had yet to speak to her outside of herbology and the staring was getting creepy, or at least that's what Hermione said.

Ron didn't know what was going on because he was too wrapped up in Hermione's brother anyways, who was heading this way now.

They had a conversation and Harry barely tuned in to hear Ron talking about love.

"Love is so stupid," Hermione scoffed.

"I don't know, it could be kind of fun!" Ron had objected.

"How would you know?" Harry laughed, patting Ron's foot that was near him.

"Oh, what do you know about love, Harry?" Ron shot back.

"Not enough..." Harry said glumly, looking back across the yard to see (Y/N) still talking with her friends.

He got lost in his thoughts again, trying to figure out how to talk to her, or impress her. Try to get her to notice him, which hadn't been a problem with anybody else thus far, so it was proving a challenge.

She then packed up her things and left, and Harry frowned. He looked around the courtyard and saw Draco laughing with his group of lackies and stood up, turning to Hermione's little brother.

"Granger, you're really good at transfiguration, right?"

"What isn't he good at?" Ron asked, not expecting an answer.

"McGonagall loves you."

He was trying to distract himself by pranking Draco, but part of him thought that it might impress (Y/N).

...

Later that day they met under the staircase and Harry gave the younger Granger the spell to figure out, before Hermione whispered to him, "Harry, look."

(Y/N) was walking quickly across the stairs, looking behind herself at Draco. He seemed to be following her, and she didn't seem to like it if the uncomfortable look on her face and stiff posture said anything.

Harry quickly ran up the stairs, Hermione following.

"Just leave me alone, Malfoy," (Y/N) dismissed, still walking.

Draco jumped in front of her, blocking her path.

"Oh come on, you don't want to go to Hogsmeade with me?" Draco's sly smirk made its way onto his face,

"She said to leave her alone!" Harry shouted from behind (Y/N), causing them both to whip their heads around.

"Ugh, why are you here, Potter?" Draco sneered, looking Harry up and down.

"Leave her alone, Malfoy," Harry repeated, poison dripping off each word. He stepped in front of (Y/N), blocking her view of Draco.

"Or what, Potter?"

"You'll find out soon enough."

Draco just scoffed and started walking away. "If you change your mind, you know where to find me," he shouted to (Y/N).

"Don't count on it," she shouted back, rolling her eyes.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked once he was gone, turning around to face her.

"What in Merlin's left ball sack was that?" (Y/N) asked heatedly, glaring up at Harry.

Flabbergasted, Harry blinked and shook his head. "What do you mean?" he stuttered out.

"I can fight my own battles, Harry. Stepping in front of me like that not only undermined my power in the situation, but also let Draco know that he's welcome to bother me if you're not around."

Harry let the information sink and he nodded, somewhat dumbly.

"I'm sorry, I thought I was helping..." he trailed off unsurely.

(Y/N) sighed, "I can't forgive you quite yet, I'm still angry- but you cannot do that again. If you wanted to help you could have stood by my side, not in front of me. Partnership and teamwork is more powerful against harassment than just butting heads," she gently tried to explain.

"I'm not a damsel in distress or some princess you need to save, so please don't try to unless I ask you to."

She started walking away and Harry just watched her go, Hermione approaching from behind.

"She has a point, Harry. I know you and Malfoy have this whole 'enemies' thing going on, but stepping in front of her was not the right move," Hermione reiterated, pulling him by the arm.

"Come on, Peanut and Ron are waiting."

---

I enjoyed writing this so I hope I can keep this motivation to write it- I hope you guys liked it!

-Author Max <3

[ljh-writing-blog]

New Fic - WW Protege - Need Feedback - YJ Universe or Batboys Universe

    Elina had heard the story of her birth, so to speak, many a time. She had many nicknames among the Amazonian women who helped care for her, the most prominent being "The Miracle Child." When she was a tot it was a story that amazed her, as a young adult she only had questions.

    Elina had been sculpted from clay much like her mother, Princess Diana of Themiscrya. She had pleaded to the gods for a child. Not only a warrior to pass her wisdom too but a child to nurture into a beautiful young woman with a pure heart. Someone to take her place in man's world when she is gone. For days she sat by the shore, sculpting the image of the daughter she wanted more than anything in dark clay resembling her sister Nubia's skin. Unbeknownst to Diana, the gods deliberated amongst the clouds whilst she lay with the small child made from clay.

*Olympus 15 Years Ago*

    The pantheon was full with gods and goddesses alike discussing the Amazon’s request. Many were on the fence, the Amazonians had already been gifted Diana. Some thought it pompous of them to ask for another blessing from the gods. Some thought it was a great idea, their explanation- "Diana's presence has increased the number of worshippers we have, another blessing could bring the whole world to believe in the ways of the Greeks."  The decision would ultimately be up to Hades and 'The Big Twelve': Zeus, Hera, Poseidon, Demeter, Athena, Apollo, Artemis, Aries, Aphrodite, Hephaestus, Hermes, and Hestia. Hades had even made a trip to Olympus for the discussion. Most of them were on the same page, the gods leaning in favor of Diana's request. Man's world had new dangers every day, some that had been a threat for the gods, they need more individuals capable of keeping the threats at bay. "Silence!" Zeus bellowed loud enough for all Olympians to hear, the noise ceased at his demands.  "We have heard your logic and reasoning, this matter will be put to a vote of the gods. I, Zeus, believe we should bless the Amazons once more." Responding as they saw fit responses spilled from their lips. With only two dissenting, Hera and Aries, the decision had been made. Diana's dream would come to fruition.

    The child would receive the same blessings bestowed upon Diana: from Athena she was given wisdom, from Artemis she received eyes of the hunter and unity with all beasts, from Aphrodite she received immense beauty, from Hermes she was granted speed and flight, from Hestia she gained sisterhood with fire and the ability to discern the truth, and from Demeter immense strength. A few of the gods wanted to give the child their own blessing, after seeing what a success Diana is they wanted to give her all the tools to succeed as well. Aphrodite and Poseidon give her the ability to breathe and perform underwater as she normally would. Hermes gave her the ability to learn any language with just a kiss, partnering with Athena to give her great knowledge. Hephaestus gifted her with enchanted armor and a weapon to match, the armor would be too big for her for a while but the weapon would be a great tool to train her with. Not looking much like a weapon in its base form the magic happened when it was touched, all one needed to do was think of the weapon they needed at the time. The enchanted metal would form itself into said weapon, with the ability to change at a moment's notice with the user's thoughts. The last two blessings were a bit of a shock for the others, not expecting either god to be so generous. Hades presented the gift of a helmet of invisibility, conveniently changing the color of the metal at the last minute to match the enchanted armor from before. Last but not least was Zeus, from behind his back he took a lightning bolt. Many looked on in awe as he quietly enchanted the bolt to replenish itself when needed, placing it upon the stone table with the rest of the blessings he turned towards the others. "Should we contact the Amazons?"

*End of Olympus Scene*

Diana divulged to Elina that as she waited by the shore with her sculpted form Zeus came to her in a vision, telling her that she would be blessed with her child. Conditionally with the blessing of her child she is to teach her the ways of Diana's heart, to give her the same ideals that make her Wonder Woman. Diana would raise her to be a warrior the gods would be proud of, with their blessings and gifts she would be a hero. She had to be.

A/N: Trying to decide if I should write this in the Young Justice universe or a Batboys universe so help me decide? Would you read? Who would you ship with? Sorry not sorry about the tense changes. Any feedback is appreciated. 

[deltastorm101]

Alan Wake dies.

In this essay I will-

... actually try my hand at a relatively objective examination of and discussion about why Alan Wake 2 ending with Alan's death would, and would not, make sense. I even used proper capitalization for once to emphasize how serious I am /hj. This has been kickstarted by this post by @stuckinthedarkplace; lately I've been thinking a lot about how AW2 could possibly end, and I feel like this possibility should be talked about. So. Let's not pad this out any further.

Pro #1: Alan’s death would make for an excellent tragedy and/or further reinforce the concept of him dying a martyr if they make his death vital to defeat the antagonist for good (who- or whatever it might be). After a years-long torturous fight, the hero sacrifices himself in unwavering bravery to do one last thing for the greater good. A selfless act, ensuring that even if he can’t make it, his loved ones will. Something like that. Plus, I imagine the majority of us players would like to see him walk away from it all alive; taking this away from us might elicit a rather emotional response, which is what every storyteller wants, right?

Contra #1: All these aforementioned years might feel like they have been for nothing. The lengths Alan went to to fight, to persevere, to endure, to survive, for more than a decade – in vain, pointless. Remedy themselves have stated that Alan has “wished he had died many times” – but all this time he held on, not letting go of the fickle hope that he can come back, come home, to Alice, Barry, Sarah. Remedy making an effort to explain what Alan was up to, in Night Springs during the events of American Nightmare and during the setup and unfolding of AWE, and them securing all the rights to the IP for good back in 2019; Alan as a character seems a bit too big, too important to just kill.

Pro #2: Him dying would leave few loose ends. Alice has lived under the presumption that he died for a few years anyway, probably until Mr. Scratch showed up at her doorstep at least, but if we assume that he’ll be taken care of over the course of the game while Alan does not escape, then him biting the dust would be the next most logical option. Saga and Alex either finish their mission knowing they failed to take him in alive, or even be forced to abort it, maybe because of unforeseen complications or lack of results. Alan has been living in hell for so long, by dying he’d finally escape it. It would be over, and if other characters could be made aware of his definitive passing maybe they too could move on, find peace, be done with the nightmare.

Contra #2: Alan is Sam Lake’s baby. Would he really kill him off for good? I certainly don’t think it’s beyond him, at this point I think he could write anything and it would somehow fit, but... Alan is Sam’s baby. Sam has been fighting to bring him back for this entire time. Somehow I have my doubts he’d throw that away, throw him away. (cf. Contra #1.)

Pro #3: Alan has killed Casey in The Sudden Stop. If Sam killed Alan, his story would directly mirror Alan’s and Casey’s; this would add another excellent meta layer on top. Kill your darlings or something. Let’s hope Sam doesn’t get writer’s block and plan to travel to some cabin on a lake anytime soon.

Contra #3: It might feel cheap and unimaginative. It’s an ancient trope, almost older than It-Was-All-Just-A-Dream. Can’t figure out an ending? Don’t know where to take the story next? Looking for a straightforward way out? Kill the protagonist. Better yet, just kill everyone. Boom, job done. I’m exaggerating of course, but I speak from experience. Don’t look for my old fics.

Pro #4: The story of AW1 was, at its heart, about the creative process and a lot of the feelings and mental mechanisms behind it. Stories end, lives end. Death feels final. Inevitable. A dead writer at the end of the story... there’s a ring to it. (contradicts Contra #3.)

Contra #4: Remedy would make it harder for themselves to expand further on their connected universe, which they have said was their goal for the next project(s). At this point I imagine AW is a very precious asset for them. Granted, I’m sure they’d always find a way to expand anyway, this is Sam Lake we’re talking about but... I still doubt that it would feel quite right. I mean, hell, they used to call AW2 “project big fish”. That’s gotta count for something, right?

So. Which side are you on?