#just flash. pause. parry

[dravidious]

Just spent like 18 minutes and 30 attempts dying to V2 before realizing that I can parry its tiny little shotgun pellets that are telegraphed an hour in advance to block the damage, fully heal, AND reflect it to V2 and make it explode

[moongreenlight]

Mafia!Price is NOT your fucking aesthetic. A full comprehensive list as to why.

He cooka da pizza!

He goes to church every Sunday. A massive Roman Catholic Church downtown. Ancient building with floor-to-ceiling stained glass windows depicting the life and loss of Christ. Full two hour masses that he always wears a suit to. At first it starts as some last-ditch attempt to absolve him of his guilt, but then it became habit. 

And maybe it was his wife. Her parents were devout and just about keeled over when they found out their only daughter was married by a quick ceremony in the courthouse to a man they’d never met. Her mother was the worst, though it was to be expected. Likely didn’t know John had won his new bride when her husband didn’t have the funds left to pay off his debt. Fucking miracle she hadn’t yet done the math and realized his first child was born seven months later. He’d be persecuted to no end.

There was a target on his back since the wedding. Always put him in the hot seat on Sunday evening dinners while his wife was trying to wrangle their children into eating their vegetables. Drilled into him about work and life and why he always seemed too busy to prioritize “something worthwhile” in his life. Mother sets in on him like she’d been waiting for the opening all evening.

“So, John. Remind us what you do for work.” Accusatory. Glaring over her barely touched plate of roast at him.

“Contracting. Bit of this and that.” He fights the urge to roll his eyes, if only barely. 

“Hm. And what does that entail? Can’t keep you as busy as you swear you are.” She’s unabashed. Her husband doesn’t share the sentiment. He sighs into his glass of brandy and tries to catch her eye. 

“Don’t do much hands-on these days. Project management and bookkeeping for me now. Brought on a few guys to do the grunt. You remember from when we did your bathroom, I’m sure.” He doesn’t shy away from the challenge. Principled. 

“Boys would do well to have some structure. Bet they haven’t been in a church since they were baptized.” She ignores his parry and switches to what she really wants to talk about after looking over to her daughter who is all but force-feeding them florets of broccoli. Typical.

He finally wore down after a Christmas where the only gift he got from them was a deep brown leather-wrapped bible. Used. Split down the spine, dog-eared pages.  Like they’d stolen it from the shelf in the pew for the dolts who weren’t well-mannered enough to bring their own. 

From then, it had become a welcome escape from reality. Church in the morning. 8am service, because he was up before the sun anyway. Sipping coffee in the kitchen beforehand, pouring over a heavy binder with the title ‘family finance’ scrawled in his wife’s delicate handwriting across the front.

He could hear her wrestling with their two boys in the bathroom upstairs. Their indignant screeching clueing him in that he should probably get up and help, but he always tried to steal a few more moments to himself. Calm before the storm.

The boys have sour looks on their faces when they stomp down the stairs not five minutes later, though they’re nothing in comparison to their mother who’s only a few steps behind. They get the deep furrow in their brows from him, the bitter curl of their lips from her. 

“Glad you’re enjoying your slow start, John. Really.”

He should feel worse for not helping. Tries to lay her hackles back down by snapping the binder shut and pressing a chaste kiss to her temple. She barely pauses to accept it before pushing past to pack her purse. Four bibles, his ratty one, her perfectly white one with different colored sticky notes poking out the sides, and two smaller children's bibles that she’d shove in their laps for appearance sake. Snacks for the boys, and a flash of the handle of her small handgun- safetied and then shoved into the bottom of her tote.

“Should’ve shouted f’you needed help. Can’t hear a thing down here.” The boys snicker when he winks over at them. They’re outfitted in their Sunday best. Slacks with damp finger marks on the thighs from where she’d tried to smooth out wrinkles. Buttoned-down shirts that they were already tugging at the collars of. Hair gelled back, no doubt the reason for their griping earlier. 

She doesn’t find it nearly as funny as they do. Shoots him a nasty look over her shoulder before disappearing into the spare room to grab a pair of low heels. 

“We’re already late. If we have to sit in the back again, you’ll never hear the end of it.” It’s not an empty threat. They’d missed one service and some aunt had told her mother in passing. Took three months to get her to stop bringing it up.

“S’not even half seven. Takes fifteen minutes to get there.”

It’s supposed to mollify her, but it has the adverse effect. She looks ready to throw a shoe at him when she sits on the bottom stair to tug them on. He raises his hands in surrender.

“Easy.” 

Somehow all four of them make it to the car in one piece. He sends a message to Kyle before they leave telling him to save them a space toward the front to err on the side of caution.

[ay4tou]

one more round! | gun park x reader

summary: there are times when gun can't kick ass during his days off so he resorts to gaming. he finally faces his greatest opponent that he wants to beat. you. online, of course.

author's note: i came across a prompt generator and it gave me this but i gave it a bit of a twist. thanks for all the love on my last gun fic, so here's my excuse to make another one | masterlist

The sound of buttons clicking filled the quiet room of your apartment, broken only by the occasional sounds and flashing on the TV screen. You sat cross-legged on the couch, an infuriatingly smug grin plastered on your face, while Gun leaned back casually, one hand resting on the controller like he had all the time in the world.

"You’re gonna have to try a lot harder than that.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I don’t need to try,” you shot back, dodging his counterattack with the kind of precision that made even Gun's eyebrow twitch. “I’ve already got you figured out.”

He smirked, not taking the bait. “Figured me out? That’s bold coming from someone who’s been edge-guarding like a coward for the last three games.”

“It’s called winning.”

“Is it?” He tilted his head, his tone infuriatingly calm as he perfectly parried your next attack and landed a critical hit. “Because last I checked, you’re down to one life left.”

You leaned forward, narrowing your eyes. “You're literally on one life too."

His smirk remained the same, but you could practically feel the smug aura radiating off him.

The next few moments were tense. His Lucina danced across the screen, fast and calculated, while your Donkey Kong lumbered around like a chaotic wrecking ball. But then, in a glorious turn of events, you landed a perfectly-timed grab, carried him off the edge, and spiked him into oblivion.

“Game!” the announcer declared.

Your grin stretched ear to ear as the victory screen flashed, and Gun's calm expression finally cracked. Just a little.

“Looks like I’m still the undefeated champion,” you said, leaning back and crossing your arms triumphantly.

Gun blinked at the screen, then turned to you with a nonchalant shrug. “You were just lucky.”

“Skill.” you corrected.

He gave you a slow, raise of his eyebrow. “Sure. Let’s call it that.”

You yawned, stretching dramatically, the adrenaline of your win ebbing away. “Face it, you’re good, but you’re not me good.”

He chuckled, setting his controller down and leaning back against the couch, his smugness returning full force. “You’re unbearable, you know that?” Gun blinked at the screen, then turned to you with a nonchalant shrug. “One more round.”

You raised an eyebrow, fighting back a yawn. “What, so you can lose again?”

“Or so I can prove your win was a fluke.”

You rolled your eyes but grabbed the controller. “Fine. One more. But don’t cry when I beat the shit out of you again.”

Gun wasted no time, throwing everything he had at you, clearly trying to reclaim his dignity. You fought back valiantly, but the exhaustion from your earlier victories started to creep in.

Halfway through the match, your inputs became slower, less precise. You leaned back against the couch, your head tilting slightly to the side as Gun's character darted around the screen.

When the “Game!” announcement flashed this time, Gun sat back with a satisfied smirk, raising his arms in triumph.

“Finally,” he muttered, turning to you with a smug grin. “See? Told you I-”

He paused mid-sentence, noticing your controller almost falling in your hands and your head resting against the back of the couch. You were fast asleep, your breathing soft and steady.

For a moment, he just stared, his smugness melting into quiet amusement. “Seriously?” he whispered to himself, shaking his head.

Carefully, Gun reached over to take the controller out of your hands, setting it aside. He shifted closer, draping the blanket from the back of the couch over you.

“Guess I’ll count this as a win,” he murmured, leaning back against the couch and letting his arm rest near your shoulder. He just sits there, quietly enjoying the moment as you slept soundly beside him.

Well, maybe it wasn’t so bad losing earlier.

[cer-rata]

Fic WIP: "Beware My Power"

Conrad bounced like a boxer prepping for a fight.  He seemed excited, which Tai thought was strange, considering that they were probably about to just throw nonsense at each other for a few minutes to impress their mentors. He didn’t understand what there was to get hyped up about. 

“Hey, Tai?” Conrad shouted over at him right when it felt like they should get started.

“Yeah?”

He flashed this goofy, cheesy smile. “Just so you know, I’m not gonna hold back just cause I think you’re cute.”

Now, to Tai’s credit, he clocked that as the distraction play that it was almost immediately. Unfortunately, “almost” only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades, so by the time he processed the situation, he was only barely in time to deflect the hammer that Conrad had swung at his chest after rocketing towards him at what had to be near supersonic speed. Tai didn’t expect him to move so quickly. Sure, they could, but most lanterns didn’t start out by blitzing their targets, it was unnecessary generally, and an odd use of the ring’s capabilities. And a hammer? A melee weapon, used in melee range was also a weird choice. Even Killowog tended to open up with artillery before he got in close. Guy used bats, but he used BIG bats and still tended to keep people at length. It was all so against type for what they were, weirder still for a Sapphire, and Tai couldn’t understand why that was his strategy.

But it did nearly catch him dead to rights.

Conrad spun with his momentum and went in for another swing, but Tai was ready to parry him properly with a guandao before flinging a brick wall at him, and got airborne while Conrad smashed through said wall like the Kool-Aid Man. Then Tai actually dropped the Kool-Aid Man on him and it managed to get a good hit in, partially because Conrad looked completely caught off guard. Tai smirked to himself and conjured a shower of jade meteors, raining them down on the Sapphire who had just finished shattering the trademarked monstrosity. 

Conrad then raised his ring hand and…enveloped all of Tai’s meteors in his own aura, stopping them in mid air. That one caught Tai off guard. Sure, sometimes he’d cover something in light to pick it up if he didn’t feel like making an actual hand…but he’d never actually considered using it like telekinesis. Conrad shattered the meteors all at once and smiled up at Tai. 

“You’re actually sort of good at this! Wanna see a magic trick?”

Tai actually did not want to see a magic trick, and threw a minivan at him instead. It looked like a direct hit, so he didn’t expect to feel fingers poking his ribs, and a chin on his shoulder. 

“Hi.” Conrad whispered into his ear.

Tai launched himself away and spun around to face him properly. His temporary nemesis looked incredibly pleased with himself. Tai was less excited. “What, how did you--” Tai’s eyes widened as he watched Conrad disappear in a burst of light. He can teleport? They can do that?

Sure, he was surprised, but he’d seen enough action movies to know that Conrad was right behind him, and swung a polearm around to catch him…but no, Conrad wasn’t there. He looked up, and he instantly realized that was the wrong half of the 50/50 split to go for when he felt a pair of hands on his ankles and was suddenly yanked out of the sky and slammed into the lunar surface, face first. 

That one kind of made him mad, actually. Mad enough that when Conrad paused to ask if he was alright, Tai smacked him away with a giant flyswatter before picking himself up. Conrad bounced off of the ground once  before twisting in mid-air and righting himself. He wiped the corner of his mouth and smiled at Tai again, though it looked a bit more nervous than playful. 

“Alright, fair enough. Hey listen, I think it’s important that we have fun--”

Tai created his favorite Gundam directly behind Conrad, and got airborne again while he turned to dodge it. He’d decided that close combat was a bad idea, and noticed that for some reason, Conrad was just…not making ranged attacks. Which again, struck him as incredibly odd.

But he was definitely going to exploit it.

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

I’m going to die I’m going to die I’m going to die I’m going to die--

I narrowly dodge out of the way of what appears to be like, a Transformer or something, as it tries to nail me with its sword. He’s way better at making shit than I am, like waaaay better, it’s like fighting a tsunami of random bullshit. Maybe I shouldn’t have tried the cheeky play, I think I made him mad. Shit shit shit. I spin my hammer and use it to shatter an actual kitchen sink--this guy has actually thrown a kitchen sink at me. I decide that I need to get back on the offensive and spin on my heel, changing my grip on my hammer’s haft as I do. I swing and teleport into the air and behind him at the same time, and the result is me landing a nasty hit on his back and sending him crashing into one of the moon’s many craters. 

I take a moment to let out a sigh of relief, and that’s a mistake. I assume he’d be disoriented for at least a second, and so I do not expect to get hit from behind by a train.

It’s a nice train too, he’s also better at making trains than I am. By a lot!

Oh, also: Getting hit by a train sort of hurts. Having a train smash you into the surface of the moon hurts more. Face first too. Fortunately, since I'm not concentrating on any other constructs and saw it coming, I’m able to fortify my barrier enough that I’m not instantly out of the fight, but I am stunned for a sec, dizzy and with a mouth full of moondust. 

The toe of Tai’s boot taps my ribs, and I’m thankful that my mouth is too full of dirt for him to hear the embarrassing sound I make. “Yield?” He asks, and I think he sounds a little concerned. So he doesn’t hate me, that’s good. 

Actually. I can use that. 

So I do.

I spit most of the dust out, roll over onto my back and look up at him. “Ow.”

His mouth twists with what might be guilt. “Is that a yes?”

I pull my shirt up to wipe my mouth, and yeah, there it is, I can feel it. I dunno what Tai is into, but almost anyone will appreciate a decent set of abs. All I need is the smallest feeling of attraction, and I get it. I hope this doesn’t make him too mad…but I don’t want to lose my first lantern fight.

I smile at him after pulling my shirt back down. “...Like what you see?”

Tai opens his mouth to shoot me down probably, then stops. “...Wait…wait, what? Why am I--are you--”

I rocket into him and tackle him into the dirt. He catches my punch midway to his face and growls at me. “I’m actually going to beat your ass now.”

“It’s not my fault that I’m cute and you’re a little confused.”

“Trying to psych me out tells me that you know you can’t beat me.”

I make myself smile. “Or maybe I’m just a flirt. It's not my fault you get distracted so--hurk!” A giant hand plucks me hard in the side, knocking me off of him before following up by swatting me into the ground before I manage to orient myself again.

...Okay, so I might need to close this out before I piss him off too much.

[theink-stainedfolk]

Proud snippet tag

Thank you for the tag @frostedlemonwriter !

Post a snippet of something you are proud of.

---

In the dead of night, Anathimun and Darian found themselves crouched side by side behind an old stone wall, its surface chipped and cracked from years of erosion. They were hiding from a group of rogue Sitharae, drawn to a disturbance in the realm that had shattered any illusions of peace.

The glow of firelight flickered in the distance, casting a faint glow on their faces. Anathimun, ever calm and collected, was leaning against the wall, his long fingers tracing patterns in the dust absentmindedly. His eyes sparkled, not with fear but with a sly, almost mischievous anticipation.

“Are you enjoying this?” Darian hissed, his voice barely above a whisper.

Anathimun cocked an eyebrow. “Did you expect me to panic, Officer Darian?” he said, a playful smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You wound me.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Sitharae (a race of creatures like demons). I just don’t want to end up dead tonight, thanks to your superior aura of calm.”

Anathimun chuckled, low and quiet, his amusement rippling through the air between them. “Trust me, I’m far too invested in keeping you alive, if only to make sure you don’t accidentally get yourself killed on my watch.”

Darian huffed, rolling his eyes as he surveyed the area. Shadows flickered and moved in the darkness beyond, and every now and then, a rustle of leaves or the crack of a twig kept their senses on edge. The tension weighed heavily on Darian, yet he couldn't shake the faint flicker of trust growing in the back of his mind, unbidden and unwelcome.

Anathimun tapped him lightly on the shoulder, pulling him from his thoughts. “Remember, keep your stance low. These Sitharae like to hunt high; they'll look for shadows on rooftops, not in the dirt.”

The edge in his tone betrayed a rare vulnerability, a flash of genuine concern that startled Darian.

“Why do you care if they catch me?” Darian said, his voice a little softer than before.

Anathimun paused, his face inscrutable as he held Darian’s gaze. “Because, Officer, as much as you might dislike the idea, we’re in this together. And—” He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. “I promised myself that I’d get you back to the capital alive. Though you certainly make it hard.”

Darian bristled at the jab, though he couldn’t help but notice the faint warmth behind Anathimun’s words. “Well, that’s comforting,” he muttered dryly, casting a cautious glance over the wall. “Look, if we’re going to move, it has to be now.”

Anathimun followed his gaze, studying the clearing ahead with the calculating look of someone who’d spent millennia maneuvering through worse situations. The brief silence between them was heavy, charged, and for a moment, Darian caught himself feeling oddly… safe. As if the entire chaos of the night was held at bay by Anathimun’s calm.

Anathimun’s fingers brushed Darian’s sleeve, pulling him from his thoughts. “Follow me. And keep quiet. I’d rather not have to save you twice in one night.”

With a swift and silent motion, Anathimun darted across the clearing, his movements graceful and unnervingly smooth. Darian hesitated, taking a deep breath before following. His heart hammered against his chest, but he pressed forward, keeping his footsteps as light as he could.

They slipped through the forest, weaving between trees and shadows, each step taking them closer to safety—or so they thought.

Suddenly, a loud crack echoed through the trees. Darian barely had time to react before a dark figure lunged at him from the shadows. He stumbled back, drawing his blade in time to parry a vicious blow. The Sitharae snarled, his eyes wild and feral, his teeth gleaming in the dim light.

Anathimun moved in an instant, his body a blur as he struck the Sitharae, knocking him off balance. He turned to Darian, his expression dead serious for once. “Stay close.”

Darian nodded, bracing himself as more figures emerged from the shadows, their eyes gleaming with an unnatural hunger. The odds were stacked against them, yet Darian felt a surge of determination he hadn’t felt in years. He tightened his grip on his sword, meeting Anathimun’s gaze with a fierce, unspoken resolve.

Side by side, they fought, their movements strangely synchronized despite their differences. Anathimun’s blows were precise, each one calculated and efficient, while Darian’s were raw, fueled by adrenaline and grit. It was a dance of chaos and control, and for a moment, they moved as one.

After what felt like an eternity, the last of their attackers fell, and the forest returned to an uneasy silence. Darian panted, exhaustion settling in as he leaned against a tree. Anathimun, still composed as ever, gave him a once-over, his gaze lingering on a small cut above Darian’s eyebrow.

“You missed a step back there,” Anathimun remarked, his voice betraying the faintest hint of worry.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Darian replied, sarcasm dripping from his words. “Not all of us are immortal Sitharae gods with endless centuries of practice.”

Anathimun smirked, crossing his arms. “I never claimed to be a god.”

“Well, you act like one.” Darian wiped the blood from his brow, his frustration giving way to a grudging respect. “But… thanks. For having my back.”

Anathimun tilted his head, his expression softening. “Of course, Officer. What kind of ally would I be if I let you get killed so easily?”

They stood there in silence, the weight of their shared battle hanging in the air between them. Despite everything—despite their pasts, their differences, and the invisible wall between them—a bond was beginning to form, tentative but undeniable.

Darian’s voice softened. “Why are you helping me, Anathimun?”

For the first time, Anathimun hesitated. His eyes grew distant, shadows flickering across his face. “Perhaps,” he murmured, “I’m simply tired of watching this world tear itself apart. Perhaps, I’d like to see it change. And perhaps… you, Officer, remind me of someone I once knew.”

Darian didn’t press for more. He only nodded, a quiet understanding passing between them.

“Well,” Darian said, breaking the tension with a faint smile. “Try not to get sentimental on me, Sitharae.”

Anathimun laughed, a genuine sound that surprised them both. “You have my word, Officer. Now, let’s get out of here before you end up needing me to save you again.”

Together, they walked through the forest, side by side, two warriors from different worlds bound by an unspoken promise. As they moved deeper into the shadows, Darian couldn’t help but feel that this was only the beginning—and for the first time, he welcomed the unknown path ahead.

---

I'll tag @finickyfelix @willtheweaver @leahnardo-da-veggie @illarian-rambling @winglesswriter @paeliae-occasionally @the-golden-comet @thecomfywriter @thecomfywriter @roarintheheavens @drchenquill @wyked-ao3 @the-inkwell-variable

[witchezandwonderz]

Threads of Destiny- Part Four

Ongoing, multipart series.

Part One Part Two Part Three

Masterlist

Word Count: 2,177

Pairing: Aethelstan x Reader

"Do you have fighting experience? I assumed that you would have been taught some things at least." Uhtred's loud voice called out as he busied himself, walking around the outside area and sharpening his sword as he did so. The sun had just begun to rise, causing the whole immediate area to glow with an orange tinge. It was surprisingly warm for the time of the morning.

Katye shrugged, feeling slightly embarrassed at the question. "I did when I was younger, Uhtred. But I was held like a prisoner for so long. One of my fathers friends would sneak in occasionally to teach me, but then he was killed." She admitted, attempting to give her fighting skills some credit, at least.

Uhtred paused in his pacing, the loud sound of his sword being sharpened coming to an abrupt stop. He turned to look at her, his eyes thoughtful, the only sound surrounding them being the obnoxiously loud chirping of birds.

He sighed and raised his hand, scratching the back of his messy hair. "That is better than nothing." He finally said, Katye could tell that he left words unspoken. He lowered his hand again, placing it on the hilt of his sword and resting the metal on the ground. "A daughter of Ragnar should know how to fight." He paused, a look of guilt flashing in his eyes "And when he could not teach you, I should have been there."

Katye flashed him an awkward smile. "You did not know of my existence, lord."

Uhtred's eyes softened, and his mouth opened with the intention of speaking. Katye looked at him expectantly, but he instead thought against his words and instead closed his mouth and picked his sword back up.

"No time to waste, let us see what you remember." Uhtred said, his tone displaying certainty. He picked up a second training sword and tossed it toward her. Katye caught it instinctively, the familiar weight of the weapon stirring something within her.

Uhtred advanced without warning, his blade coming down in a swift, deliberate arc. Katye reacted instantly, bringing her weapon up to block. The impact sent a jolt through her arms, but her footing held steady. Without hesitation, she sidestepped and twisted, using the momentum to push his blade away and bring her own toward his side.

Uhtred parried, a glint of surprise in his eyes. “Good,” he grunted. “Better than I expected. Again.”

This time, Katye didn’t wait for him to strike. She stepped forward with purpose, feinting a low swing before pivoting and aiming high. Uhtred barely blocked her in time, their weapons locking as they pushed against each other.

“You’ve got your father’s cunning,” Uhtred said, his voice almost amused as he broke the lock and stepped back. But Katye didn’t let up. She pressed forward, using the opening to aim a calculated thrust toward his shoulder. Uhtred deflected it, but not without effort.

“Not just cunning,” Katye replied, a spark of confidence lighting in her chest. “I remember his tactics, too.”

Uhtred’s grin widened, pride gleaming in his expression as their blades met again. Katye was relentless now, her movements fluid, her strikes deliberate. It was as if the years of captivity had been peeled away, leaving behind the instinct her father had once instilled in her. She wasn’t fighting just to survive—she was fighting to win.

Unbeknownst to them, Aethelstan approached from the edge of the yard, his footsteps slowing as his eyes locked onto Katye. He had woken and panicked when he had seen that she was not there, but then remembered that Uhtred had told her to be up early for training. He had business to discuss with Uhtred, so although also looking for her, was on his way to speak with his lord. But the sight of Katye commanding the fight held him firmly in place. He felt like a child in awe, analysing her every movement. Every moment within every day that he had known her, she seemed to do something that held his attention- she was truly remarkable.

"I thought you said you couldn't fight!" Aethelstan called out. Katye, who now stood glugging water turned her attention to him, almost dropping the flask at the sight of him. His dark curls framed his face, and the sunlight highlighted the colours in his eyes, making him even more attractive than usual, which Katye had thought impossible.

"I never said that I couldn't fight, I just said I haven't practiced for a while" Katye stammered, lowering the flask.

Aethelstan had reached the edge of the yard now, fidgeting with the hem of his tunic as though he wasn’t quite sure what to do with his hands. He hesitated for a moment before stepping closer. "well yes, but" he said, his smile sheepish, "you certainly did not tell me how good you must have been as a child." His gaze lingered on her for a beat too long, his admiration clear. "That was… incredible."

Katye felt warmth rising to her cheeks and quickly looked away, pretending to busy herself with putting the flask back on the barrel. "It was just sparring," she said, trying to sound casual.

Aethelstan laughed, placing one hand on her shoulder. "Yeah right. Give yourself some credit."

He realised that his hand had been resting on her shoulder for a moment too long, and so he very quickly took it away. Katye's eyes widened at the surprise of her body jerking from the motion.

“Sorry!” Aethelstan blurted, his face turning a deep shade of red as he awkwardly waved his hands in the air, as if trying to undo the moment. “I didn’t mean to—uh, I wasn’t trying to push you or—”

“It’s fine!” Katye interjected, her voice a pitch higher than usual as she turned to face him, shaking her head emphatically. Her own cheeks were burning now, the heat creeping up her neck. “You just startled me, that’s all.

Uhtred, ever the observer, leaned his sword against the post and crossed his arms, his grin widening. “Oh, this is good,” he said, his voice loud enough to make both Katye and Aethelstan look in his direction. “Look at you two-stumbling over your own tongues like children. It’s painful to watch.”

Aethelstan immediately began to defend himself. "I am not stumbling over my words, it was an accident." He said firmly, glaring his eyes at Uhtred who watched him with a clear expression of amusement painted on his face.

Uhtred turned his attention to Katye. "Well, I suppose you are the first woman that he has tried to court, so it is normal to be nervous." He said nonchalantly- Aethelstan looked horrified at the words. Katye, however, found it hilarious and couldn't stifle her laughter, but her cheeks were burning crimson nonetheless.

"I am not trying to court her!" He defended, offending Katye in the process. Once the words tumbled out of his mouth, he turned to her, panic in his eyes. "No, I did not mean that, I am. Or not. I don't know." He stumbled, and then firmly turned to Uhtred. "Could you please go." Aethelstan pleaded, his jaw tightening as he spoke. Uhtred burst into laughter, nodded his head and then howled again before muttering 'truly amazing' and making his way out of the clearing.

"You mustn't get so stressed, Aethelstan, I can imagine that it is not good for you." Katye said, calming herself down from her fits of giggles and using her finger to pat her eyes dry. "I apologise for laughing that was just a phenomenally ridiculous situation."

His lips curved into a smile. "ridiculous does not even begin to describe that." He moaned, raising a hand to his face and covering it briefly before rubbing his eyes and looking back up at her.

Katye stepped closer to him. "You know, you really are very handsome." She smiled, analysing his face. "Possibly the most handsome man I have ever seen, in fact."

Aethelstan's breath hitched, and his mouth opened slightly- shocked by her words. "Really?" He grinned. She smiled broadly back at him. "Why would I say that if I did not mean it?" She responded, jokingly rolling her eyes at him.

"Well. Thank you." He breathed awkwardly, his eyes flickering to the ground and then back at her. "I must say, you are possibly the most beautiful woman that I have ever seen, hence why I have been so captivated by you since the moment we met."

Katye’s eyes widened slightly at his admission, the sincerity in his voice making her heart skip a beat. For a moment, she was at a loss for words, something rare for her. She felt the heat rise to her cheeks but forced herself to keep her composure.

"Captivated?" she repeated, her lips curling into a teasing smile as she took another step closer, closing the gap between them. "That’s quite the word."

Aethelstan laughed softly, reaching forward and gently finding her hand. "I cannot explain it, it is simply a feeling." He said, the volume of his voice slightly lower.

Katye breathed a laugh and tilted her head, a playful expression on her face. "I know the feeling, you do not need to explain it." She held onto his hand, curling her fingers around his.

Something shifted in his expression at her words—relief, hope, and a spark of courage. He stepped closer, his free hand brushing against her cheek as he looked down at her. His thumb grazed her skin, and his gaze flicked to her lips before returning to her eyes.

"Just kiss me." She whispered, her voice low- almost pleading.

That was all he needed. Aethelstan leaned in, closing the remaining distance between them as his lips met hers. The kiss was tender but filled with all the unspoken feelings that had been building between them. Katye’s hand slid up the back of his neck to find his hair, her fingers tugging lightly at his curls as she kissed him back, her heart pounding in her chest.

Aethelstan hummed happily as he pulled away, pecking her on the lips a few more times before stepping back slightly.

"I know that we have not known each other for very long." He said softly. "But I have never connected with anyone in this way. And I think I may always be captivated by you." He breathed, nervously avoiding eye contact, fearing rejection despite Katye's obvious reciprocated feelings.

Katye once again, closed the gap between them, raising her hand to cup Aethelstan's face and placing a peck on his cheek. "I feel the same." She smiled. Consequently, Aethelstan's lips curved into a smile, and he let out a small sigh of assumed relief.

The two were pulled away from their distractions when a loud voice bellowed. "Aethelstan, I need to speak with you." Both Katye and Aethelstan's heads snapped towards the direction of the voice. Their eyes fixed upon Sihtric as he sprinted towards them.

"What has happened?" Aethelstan asked, his eyes flashing with concern. Sihtric breathed heavy, clearly having run a far distance. "It is Stiorra. Brida and her people have attacked Eoferwic." He breathed, both Katye and Aethelstan's eyes widened, for they knew the negative impact that this would have.

"Brida is on a war path, Sihtric. She cannot, under any circumstance find out that I am here." Katye spoke, clearly and firmly- it was communicated as a command if anything. Sihtric nodded. "Yes, fine." Before flashing her a small smile and then turning his attention to Aethelstan once again. "Uhtred wants you to stay here, to protect both Katye and yourself." He instructed. Prior to meeting Katye, Aethelstan would have argued wanting to go with them, but in this circumstance, he was grateful. Sihtric turned to leave, walked a few steps and turn halted, and turned back around. "I forgot to say, Father Pyrlig has not been seen. Keep an eye out." before walking away, not giving him a chance to answer.

"Do you think she knows I am here?" Katye asked, panic laced throughout her words. Aethelstan turned to look at her, and saw that she had already begun pacing up and down, her brow furrowed in thought. He shook his head no, but it was wasted as she was not even looking at him. Aethelstan leant forwards and grabbed her hand, encouraging her to stop. "No, she has many grudges against Uhtred. Calm down."

Katye stopped at his touch, and looked up at him, panic still clear within her eyes. "Aethelstan, you do not understand. Brida is like a hound, she will hunt me down until she finds me."

Aethelstan nodded, surprisingly calmly. "I know, but for now she is focused in Eoferwic and we have time to discuss what we will do." His tone firm, but composed. He leaned down slightly, lightly kissing her forehead. She allowed her eyes to flutter shut briefly at the warm embrace.

"Yes, you are right." Katye breathed, attempting to calm herself down. Aethelstan put his arm around her and rubbed her shoulder, for the sun had down gone in and the temperature had once again dropped. "Come on, let's get warm and drunk."

[sebbiesolace]

*Where Sebastian is a blur of wild movement, Parker is a coiled spring, no movement left unwasted as he bobs, weaves, dives, and twists out of the way of his adversary, striking whenever Sebastian dares slow for even a minute. Every muscle in his body is tensed with manic energy.*

“What do you think I am, Seb? The Physical Embodiment of Greed and Envy, dragged away from the Vegas strip? The twisted amalgamation of the souls dead in the trenches of World War 1, turned to a spectre of death and madness?”

*His face is twisted in a mocking rictus, leering at him as he rolls underneath a wild claw.*

“No, no, no. I’m human, seb.

As human as you were. The difference is I didn’t need to get turned into a fish to kill a couple hundred people. I did that myself.”

*An overextended bite turns to a frantic dodge as a thrown knife misses Sebastian’s jugular by a hair’s width.*

“I’m not a spiritual sort, but with only my hands and my will, I have carved an indelible mark upon this earth.”

*Parker’s axe parries another swipe, stripping the polish off a claw.*

“And it is my most fervent hope-“

*A swipe with a knife, cutting a razor line across the back of Sebastian’s left wrist*

“That for the rest of our days, across every world we walk on, every life we live-“

*He slashes his own palm without flinching, grabbing onto the cut he just carved into Sebastian’s hand.*

“That We will get to do this again,

And again,

And again,

Over and over, In an eternal dance, from now-“

*Parker stares into Sebastian’s eyes, their blood melding and dripping to the floor.*

“-until the End of Time.”

*He lets go of the hand with an oddly delicate touch, then the exchange of blows begins again.*

[Sebastians movements only got more and more erratic, more frenzied, as their violent dance went on. For every swing of a hatchet, lunnge with a knife, there were snapping teeth and flashing claws meeting Parker mid-way.]

[Until he started to slow.]

[Get sloppy.]

[A line of searing fire, thats what the knife felt like. Digging into his flesh, sparks of agony slowly travelling up his ulnar nerve, as he paused a moment, staring at Parker, listening to his monolouge in horror.]

"You are ANYTHING but human-"

[He stared at the intermingling blood, adrenaline fast- fading.]

"And I am nothing BUT human-"

[Sebastian yanked his arm away, making a wide slash at Parker, claws sharp, nail polish chipped and fading.]

"You MONSTER."

[Every movement felt like he was moving through wet concrete, every strike from Parker bringing him closer, and closer, to getting hit.]

[vicmillen]

Ok, I'm looking through the folders and found something that, uh, I did not remember writing at all. Jesus, almost spit out my drink reading it.

For context this should be something in response to this post I made, although the post is made after I wrote that? This might be the first ever entry about LU I have, in fact. How the hell I forgot about it is beyond me...

Anyway, here's the... short scene, I guess. Please forgive the unfinished battle sequence, I'm still not sure how to do that fight scene.

****

Abruptly, Warriors felt like the Deity's scrutiny lifted from his body like a physical weight, Their attention shifting to the approaching champion. No, no. Why is Wild going against his order? Dread curls in the captain's chest, Why isn't he keeping away!

The Deity narrows their eyes at the new comer, and slammed their massive sword into Warrior's shield so suddenly that the captain went flying backwards. Except, what he fears the most did not happen, Wild did not instantly become a red smear on the ground. Instead, the Deity cocks their head, almost curious.

Wild sneaks a worried look at Warriors, then wordlessly stepped in front of him. For a stretched second, not a single sound is heard across the parade grounds, all the heroes watching on with bated breath.

The Deity is the first to break the silence. But what they say next sends all of the heroes into confusion.

"I sense my mark on you. Don my face, Wildling. Show your worth."

The champion hesitated for a moment, then in a familiar flash of blue, a smaller Fierce Deity stands in his place. Gasps is heard all around, but the Deity doesn't seems to notice them anymore.

"And my sword."

A pause, then another flash of blue, that iconic two toned blade appeared in the champion's hands. Two identical Fierce Deities stood face to face, albeit one is much smaller than the other.

Now that the initial shock has died down somewhat, Warriors can see the difference between the two. Not just in their build, but their aura too. That, more than anything, eased his worry a little... Right until the smaller figure charges straight at the Deity.

The heroes let out their second collective gasp,

~~~~

W: sprint attack

FD: side step & slash

W: back flip dodge & flurry rush

FD: side step mid-rush and horizontal slash

W: bolck w/sword & ragdolls

FD: beam attack aiming mid air

W: snap paraglider to halt momentum, then throws his sword into beam

FD: surprised dodge, sword stuck in grond behind FD

W: bullet time with two volleys multishot bomb arrows

FD: brief stun

W: face FD w/ no weapon

FD: forward slam

W: backflip dodge, another stun attempt with bow

FD: stun failed & immediate slash

W: empty hand perfect dodge, moves behind FD

FD: backwards stab

W: step onto blade and kicked off into backflip, bullet time electric shot at FD's chest piece, lands next to thrown sword

FD: turn with half spin slash

W: side step flurry rush, pick up sword

FD: side step the side step, upward slash

W: parry fail, went flying

FD: jump attack

W: blocked mid-air w/ sword, still slammed into ground by FD

~~~~

The dust settles around the two pale figures, then to the shock of everyone, Fierce Deity throws their head back and laughed.

"Very well, seems like there is an end in sight after all." Their voice booms. Then the deity narrowed their eyes at their split image laying beneath them, an unnerving smirk growing on their face. Without warning the Fierce Deity raised his hand and pried off their mask in one swift motion.

Leaving a disoriented Time behind to face the absolute shock of his life.

[bigsoftmarshmallow]

Oh my gosh!

I just remembered something fun that I can see happening with the Dorfs!

Like, remember Pirates of the Caribbean: At World's End? The spur of the moment wedding between Will & Elizabeth during the battle in the storm?

That. I just... I don't know why, but I very much see something like that happening to at least one of the Ganondorfs & his Darling.

It has been so long since I've watched Pirates of the Caribbean, let alone remember what scenes are in At Worlds End. I hope you don't mind allowing ChatGPT taking stage for this one-

The air was thick with the scent of salt and smoke as the sea churned angrily beneath the darkened sky. The clash of swords and the roar of cannon fire filled the air, echoing across the tempestuous waves. In the midst of the chaos, Windwaker Ganondorf stood tall, his eyes blazing with determination. His lover, a fierce and beautiful warrior, fought by his side, her movements as fluid and deadly as the storm itself.

"Darling, over here!" Ganondorf's voice cut through the din as he parried an attack and reached for her hand. She spun gracefully, dispatching an enemy with a swift strike before taking his hand. For a brief moment, their eyes met, and the world seemed to pause.

"Ganondorf, what are you doing?" she asked, breathless but smiling, her heart pounding not just from the battle but from the intensity of his gaze.

"There's something I've been meaning to ask you," he replied, a rare softness in his voice despite the chaos around them. He drew her closer, their swords still flashing as they fought side by side. "Will you marry me, here and now?"

She laughed, a sound that was pure and bright against the storm. "Now? In the middle of this madness?"

"Yes, now," he said firmly. "There's no better time. We may not have tomorrow, but we have this moment."

Her eyes shone with love and fierce joy. "Then yes, Ganondorf, I will marry you."

With a triumphant roar, he lifted his sword high. "Then by the power vested in me by the seas and the skies, I declare us bound by love and fate. Now, let's finish this battle as husband and wife!"

Their kiss was brief but electric, a spark of light in the darkness. They turned back to the fray, fighting with renewed vigor, their hearts beating as one. Together, they were unstoppable, their love a beacon of hope in the midst of the storm.

[daisychainsandbowties]

i wrote something based on this art by @wingedsilva 

basically, what if beatrice succeeded in placing the crown on ava’s head?

The Two-Body Problem  

the thorns slip into her skull like a tongue slips into a mouth

(beatrice knows what this feels like but she doesn’t. she never will)

ava is speaking to her and beatrice finds that she is watching her mouth and her mind, out of the clear blue, conjures up an excuse for it. 

something about how she is afraid of what might linger in the whites of ava’s eyes, now, when they are terribly, terribly close to the end.

it is, she thinks, in the nature of the ground to draw things closer to itself. in primary school, once, her teacher sat down next to her during quiet reading time - a 40-minute stretch on Wednesday mornings that the other children used to whisper and bicker and which beatrice used for reading - and she said

‘what’s the book about?’

and because it was quiet reading time beatrice flipped the book in her hands to show a slippery, laminated cover depicting the solar system in unrealistic terms. the distances between planets were all wrong and the earth was too large.

‘oh! go on then; tell me a fact about space’

‘why?’

‘because i’m interested’

beatrice thought that was weird.

adults were not, generally speaking, interested in anything. they said hush or made abortive motions with their hands or talked over your voice as though it did not exist. but this teacher was a substitute, and young, so maybe she didn’t know, yet, that she would not be interested in whatever beatrice had to say.

carefully, beatrice ran her finger over the thin, raised lines marking the ellipticals of planetary orbits.

‘i have a fact.’ she decided. beatrice, in truth, had so very many facts, all of them clustered up underneath her tongue.

she paused. it’s not about space. ‘i mean, almost everything is, but it’s… my fact is… it’s specifically about mars.’

‘i can live with that.’

‘i’m not very good at sarcasm.’ beatrice told her, just to be clear. 

she put both palms over the cover of the book, sitting straight-backed and ladylike. ‘do you really want to know?’

‘yes.’

beatrice looked hard into her eyes. they were bluish grey - like an upset ocean - ringed with thick, dark eyelashes.

in her experience eyes were traitorous things. you had to understand whether or not a smile had reached them, and beatrice could not do that.

she treated them the same as the sun, flickering her pupils away. observing faces out of the corner of her eye.

peripheral vision was better for seeing movement than actual images; poor at making memories but excellent at reacting.

beatrice had a theory that if anger flashed inside of an eye she would be better off seeing it peripherally - to react in time. in aikido she was usually fast enough to respond to the twitch of a muscle or the light shift of weight on the back foot, but that was only aikido. intercepting a physical blow was easy.

only verbal ones frequently escaped her attempts at parrying.

‘okay,’ beatrice said eventually. ‘according to this book’ - she said this because she knew that even books could, occasionally, be wrong - ‘the gravity on mars is only 38% as strong as gravity on earth. that means on mars you and i would be much lighter. we would weigh less.’

‘that’s interesting, beatrice.’ the woman said, but she shifted, rocking back on her crossed legs and turning her head up towards the ceiling as though trying to make space for the thoughts in her head.

after a moment she spoke, ‘you know that it’s okay to take up space, though? it’s okay to have mass.’

beatrice only looked at her silently. that was not necessarily true. in her book she had also read about stars and how they were so massive that they generated gravity sufficient to crush them. only the heat of the their nuclear hearts stopped them from collapsing.

when that power ran out, the star’s own gravity would crush it.

all she said that day, however, was, ‘the space we occupy is negligible.’

and received a strange, indecipherable stare

sometimes when people looked at her for too long, beatrice got the feeling that all her thoughts might pop out of her skin like a wineglass gripped too tightly inside of a hand.

with ava is has always been easier.

they have lain together in bed with the sunlight putting its fingers through the gaps in the curtains, casting lines of light across them. ava, telling her about the exact balance of lime and coke that should go into a virgin cuba libre – ‘it’s chemistry, beatrice. oh, don’t look at me like that.’

‘like what?’

beatrice had, in fact, only been looking at her. feeling revolutionary about it. full to bursting with it.

but ava didn’t tell her what was wrong with the look. (beatrice knew already. it was exasperated fondness. it was an attentiveness you are only supposed to give to oncoming traffic and works of art)

ava merely put her chin on her hands and said, ‘i’ll make one for you. i think you’d like it less citrusy than you want people to think. two lime wedges, maaaybe three.’

some mornings beatrice read to her, instead. turning on the bedside lamp even though it wasted electricity, because the sunlight would remind both of them that they existed and that, perhaps, there was something strange about a girl and a nun lying in bed together each morning.

beatrice kept the books next to the bed. not by accident.

on their second day in town ava had dragged her down to the local library and made her check out a small stack of books.

‘half of these are in French, ava.’

‘so? you can still read them to me.’

beatrice sought her eyes, then. they were endlessly surprising. multitudinous.

it was slightly baffling to beatrice that the girl who burned spaghetti onto the bottom of the pan their first night in the apartment was the same girl who looked at her, then, with a naked kind of grief.

carefully, beatrice tucked the books underneath one arm. they stood in the stacks and it was late afternoon, light this time spilling through the shelves where some of the books did not quite touch the top.

‘why do you want me to read to read them to you?’

it was the sort of thing she might not have questioned, once, knowing that knowing would be too much. but her mother’s lessons – the sit up straight and don’t fidget and personal space, beatrice – were fading from her body the way that scars did, sometimes, though usually only if the original wound had not been ragged, or deep.

the memory of her mother was not a mild injury.

ava sighed, ‘this will sound stupid, but i used to listen to the tv to fall asleep. i can’t… sometimes it’s hard to fall asleep now. if it’s too quiet.’ she made to turn away, ‘it’s stupid. obviously you don’t have to read to me if you don’t-‘

‘ava.’

‘honestly bea, it’s cool.’

beatrice froze. this diminutive of her name was new. it emerged, the first time, on the train to switzerland, when ava – who was exhausted, and feverish from using the halo – subsided onto beatrice’s lap and slept there.

she didn’t blush when she woke up, because ava didn’t think like that. surely.

she did not entertain what had been at the back of beatrice’s mind, feeling the weight and warmth in her lap. no amount of pressing her head back into the seat and reciting prayers had kept those languageless thoughts from their slow, decaying orbit.

ava woke and said ‘hi, bea.’

there, in the library, beatrice reached out and grabbed ava’s elbow as she made to turn away. it was almost exactly the way that she touched her the first time, in arq-tech. but this time she had no tranquiliser gun. just her blunt and unsuitable mouth.

‘i don’t mind.’ she blurted.

surprise. ava’s eyes hid nothing.

she felt as though she’d lost something when she took her hand away from ava’s arm.

beatrice cleared her throat, ‘some of these are – uh – very interesting.’

it was a lifeline. neither of them were capable of having the conversation behind their conversation. not on the second day.

ava reached out and pulled one of the books from under beatrice’s arm. ‘i see you’ve picked up a maths textbook.’

‘it’s Euclid. you know, geometry.’

‘i do not know geometry, in fact.’

offhandedly, reaching out to take the book from her, beatrice said, ‘i can teach you.’

and, before she could react, she was thrown back into the bookshelf behind her. it rattled and coughed a book down onto the ground and beatrice almost flipped ava over her hip but ava had, against reason, wrapped both her arms around beatrice. her head was buried in the soft dip of her shoulder.

‘thanks, bea.’

in classical mechanics there is something called the two-body problem. it tries to predict the motion of two objects – planets, for example, though the only real stipulation is that they must be massive. inside the boundaries of the problem it is assumed that the two objects only interact with each other. all other objects should be discounted.

all other bodies ignored.

it is in the nature of the ground to draw things down, but that is only gravity. the same force that draws bodies close based on their mass. and if you are the only two bodies in the equation, then even the ground becomes obsolete.

beatrice understands, the moment that ava stops in front of the gentle, golden glow of that cross in that cathedral. there is a shift in her and beatrice just knows.

she knows this girl and she knows her like the ground.

she stops and turns and beatrice is struck – again – by the magnitude of her. this girl who has slept with her head in beatrice’s lap, who has run on water, who has slipped through walls as if though a doorway. who has died and lived again. who has died and lived and learned geometry in their bedroom.

beatrice is struck a second time by how many parts of her life she can – and must – refer to as ours. mine and ava’s.

books left on the bedside table with a grocery receipt stuck between the pages. a pot with one stubborn piece of spaghetti still glued to the base – beatrice scrubbed it for hours but the pasta left a fossil version of itself on the metal and refused to come away.

ava speaks and beatrice tries not to look into her eyes – she looks, instead, at her eyelashes. the curve of the sockets. places she has longed to touch. ached to, in truth. what is left now but the hideous truth?

this is the two-body problem. it is a way to predict what will happen if, and only if, nothing else matters.

the crown is in her fist. beatrice has spent her life turning her body into a weapon and spent two months being taught that it is more, too.

it is a body that can drift – weightless in the water, or close enough -  holding ava underneath her arms in a public swimming pool, guiding her gently through the water, saying ‘i have you. i’ve got you.’

watching her do lengths after two days, slicing effortlessly through the water.

beatrice turns her body on ava like a knife.

ava reacts beautifully but beatrice sees the grab coming before it lands. it is the simplest deflection, pulling beatrice’s body sideways so that her off-hand is neutralised. it opens up her ribs and her kidneys for a retaliatory blow.

but ava does not want to hurt her. she grabs and wrenches and beatrice always warned her that the only thing a person could reasonably do in this position is keep turning into the deflection and lash out with a spinning hammer blow.

beatrice spins. she whips her elbow up and then down, hard, knowing that ava has pulled her body into the perfect position. the blow cracks into ava’s nose and she cries out, recoiling from the pain. buckling.

they have fought before. sparring bare-knuckled by the lake in switzerland. but this is not like that. there is such an important difference between fighting someone you love and fighting to save someone you love. 

beatrice does both.

ava tries to roll away from the blow – to give herself space and a split second to just think – but beatrice hooks her leg underneath ava’s, dragging her centre of gravity in a new direction so that she cannot follow her momentum to the floor.

it is a simple thing to hammer a knuckle into ava’s bicep and loosen the grip on the hand holding the crown.

(i taught you this. i taught you and i am sorry, but this time i need to win)

the thorns slip into her skull like a tongue slips into a mouth

blood erupts out of her scalp and her body folds, gracelessly, and beatrice cannot help herself. at the last moment she meets ava’s eyes.

there is nothing like them in all the universe. beatrice thinks that it is because ava has always depended so much on her eyes to show emotion. everything that passed through her – for years – had to find its outlet on her tongue or in her eyes.

and beatrice does not trust eyes, but she trusts ava.

they slip closed and before they do she sees something larger and more unwieldly than words.

in her more foolish moments – in switzerland where everything felt temporary. where everything felt as though it could not possibly end – she found herself thinking of the poems she wrote when she was eleven. poems about another girl.

in those poems she compared eyes to familiar things. windows and mirrors, passages and corridors. places you could become lost.

but beatrice was not lost. not in the swiss alps with an apartment and groceries and brief, giddy arguments about who got to shower first.

there, in their shared space, she compared ava’s eyes to the things – the permanent and undying things – that human beings have always used for navigation. it felt weak and cliché to think of a girl as a star, but beatrice did it anyway.

later, in madrid, she realised that ava was a star.

something gravity wishes desperately to crush. something held up by a source of power hidden under its bright surface.

and when that internal engine fails, the star collapses. goes supernova.

this is the word for the death of a star.

the light of a supernova is astonishingly bright and brief.

the discovery of supernovas was also a pivotal proof against aristotle’s theory that, beyond the moon, the universe stood still.

astronomers observed the sudden, intense glow of a supernova and realised that the universe moves. eppur si muove.

the death of a star is relatively brief, though the fierce bloom of its life can reverberate for weeks or months, eventually it fades. but that observation – of light out in the dark like a single eye opening and closing - was proof that the universe moved. it quaked and collapsed and lived.

(i have found a star but i have found it dying)

beatrice does not listen to Yasmine as she bends and permits ava to fall into her arms. she does not listen as she stands, and turns, and walks away.

it comes from the Latin nova, meaning new. and the super part just means that it is really, really bright. so incredibly bright that it needs a prefix to make it clear, to anyone, that this thing is so goddamn bright.

(don’t look into the sun, beatrice! you’ll go blind)

she wishes she could say it, lean a little too close to ava – in a place nothing like this. between the shelves in a library. at home in their (our) bed - and say that’s you.

knowing that ava would listen to the paragraph necessary to make the point. she would listen to all of it.

but beatrice could never say it. with what words? how to say, aloud, you came into my life and reminded me that the universe moves beyond the battlefield.

how to say, i came to think of myself as a knife. perhaps i am a knife; maybe there is no unsharpening a body once it has been honed.

but you use me to take the skin off of apples. you use me to conjure sweetness more often than draw blood.

there is one supernova - or rather, the remains of one. a corpse of light in the night sky, visible in clear conditions with binoculars.

it is called the Crab Nebula and it is important because its brightness allows physicists to study other celestial bodies that occult it. things visible only because of the light shining at their backs.

(she thinks of how, sometimes, she can almost see ava’s skeleton and her beating heart inside the corona of the halo’s light)

when she first read it she thought it was a beautiful world. occult. went to sleep whispering it three nights in a row before discovering a slightly better sound in obstreperous. it did not, at all, bring her a sick sense of satisfaction, knowing that her mother did not particularly like either of those words.

(but you sent me away. so you cannot stop me from saying them to the curtains and this empty room)

at some point, in boarding school, beatrice picked up that habit: of thinking that any room with just her inside of it was empty.

her Sisters tried to change her mind. lilith peering into the library at Cat’s Cradle and calling over her shoulder to shannon and mary, ‘see. i told you she’d be in here.’

now beatrice has found a star, but the thing about stars is that they die, like anything. they become supernovas.

the thing about supernovas is that they do not last long.

beatrice carries ava out of the cathedral. blood has fallen like a veil down over her face so she looks like christ on the cross, but, also, she is the cross, being carried.

ava will not forgive her, and that’s alright.

this is what love looks like. it has never been neat, and it has never been bloodless.

[sadb0yhourz]

Hello, Nimo!!~ I've brought flowers for all the sad boys! <3 (I wonder who will know about the meanings and who won't, hehe. uwu I listed the flowers' meanings just for you~) Yamamoto: Evening Primrose (eternal love, sweet memories)

Gokudera: Alstroemeria (powerful bond)

Dino: Hepatica (confidence, constancy, trust) 

Reborn: Parry’s Dwarf-Sunflower (adoration, your devout admirer) 

Hibari: Peony (prosperity, bashfulness, romance)

Enma: Myrtle (heartfelt love, good deeds, peace)

Byakuran: White Cape Jasmine (Healing, purification, secret love)

Dreamie mun: Thank you so much, huuno!! This is such an adorable ask awwww.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

Yamamoto Takeshi

❝Wow!❞ Takeshi was surprised to be handed a yellow flower, ❝ahaha, thanks!❞ He grinned. He hadn't been given a flower in so long, probably since elementary...? He wasn't the most well versed in flowers but this was pretty and he liked how yellow it was. With his grin still in place he placed it in his hair. ❝Ahaha, how do I look?❞

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

Gokudera Hayato

❝Hah?!❞ Hayato found himself both bristling and flustered at the flowers given to him. ❝What's that about!?❞ He knew what those flowers meant! He had been studying up on them because he wasn't going to let someone like Byakuran send sneaky messages that he wasn't aware of. ❝Where do you get off giving me this!?❞ What did she mean by ❛powerful bond.❜ With who!?

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

Dino Cavallone

Receiving flowers wasn't out of the ordinary for the Cavallone don, however it was always a kind and welcomed gesture. In spite of this being a usual occurrence, Dino wasn't much of a flower guy and thus didn't know the meaning of the flowers. He had a guy for that!

Dino smiled at the giver, ❝thank you, miss. I appreciate this.❞ He flashed her a smile before playing the flowers on top of his head, a boyish grin on his face. ❝Well? Does it suit me?❞ He asked, laughing.

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Reborn

❝Grazie signora!❞ The cursed version of Reborn responded, giving her a small bow as he took his fedora off. He then straightened up, put his fedora back on and then placed the flowers in his hat, making sure to also decorate Leon with them. ❝We appreciate this.❞ He said, gentlemanly. Reborn knew what the flowers represented and wasn't surprised to receive them. It was often he was given flowers that stated such heartfelt messages, even though he himself didn't reciprocate.

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Hibari Kyoya

Kyoya stared at the flowers given to him, his expression unchanged. ❝Hn.❞ He was going to walk off, without the flowers or responding however he saw that Hibird had gotten to the flowers and seemed to enjoy them. For that reason and that alone, Kyoya picked the flowers up along with Hibird. He didn't thank the giver but he accepted them.

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Kozato Enma

Enma paused, watching the giver who gave him these white flowers. His expression remained morose and uncertain. Enma wasn't lucky nor was he likable so to someone to hand him flowers made him wonder if it was a trap. Was this poisonous? The flowers are white...did this person wish his death? Enma was going to refuse but then a thought came to mind, a memory forgotten. His little sister giving him flowers with a big smile on his face. For that reason and that reason only did Enma accept the flowers, ❝...Thank you.❞ Came the quiet reply, he then ran off. He didn't want this moment stained but he also didn't like the feelings that erupted in his heart.

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Byakuran

Byakuran gazed down on the flowers, immediately knowing what the flowers represented. It made him chuckle. ❝Fufu, is that how you see me?❞ He asked, raising the flowers to his hair and placing them inside. ❝Fufu, or is this a confession?❞

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Dreamie mun: this was fun! Thank you again! Hope you like these little icons, hahaha.

[queenofdragons12]

Ultimate Spider-Man: Shadow of the Force

The days since Spider-Man and Power Man had found you had felt like a gilded dream, laced with both chaos and belonging. Settling into Peter Parker’s modest Queens home, you’d been met with a kindness that could only be described as royal in its simplicity. Aunt May had welcomed you like family, her warm smile and gentle wit wrapping around you like a comforting cloak. The air in the house was always sweet with the scent of her baking, her old-fashioned wisdom punctuating your evenings like pearls of advice strung along your new life.

The team had embraced you, too. Nova’s flirtation, as inevitable as a sunbeam breaking through stormy clouds, had been easy to brush off, though it brought a grin to your face. His sparkling bravado was infectious, even if shallow. Spider-Man—Peter—had been the opposite: grounded, steady, his nervous kindness a steady thread that tethered you to this new reality. He was the one who had suggested the lightsaber training, an idea so absurd yet thrilling that you hadn’t been able to say no. The glow of the blades lit up the darkened evenings like something out of a myth, each swing and parry feeling as if you were carving a new chapter of your story into the air itself.

School had been a revelation. Harry Osborn’s easy charm and MJ’s sharp wit made them fast allies, and they had drawn you into their circle with the ease of royals admitting a favored knight into their court. The other students, especially the girls, had been slower to warm up to you—your arrival had been like a comet streaking across their sky, blinding and awe-inspiring. But soon, even their tentative smiles had turned genuine. After all, how could they not? You carried yourself with the kind of confidence that seemed otherworldly. Your presence turned heads in the hallways, your voice commanding attention with an unintentional authority. You looked like you belonged on a throne carved from the stars themselves, a celestial being among mortals.

The days were filled with a heady mix of ordinary routines and extraordinary moments. Walking to school felt like parading down a cobblestone boulevard in some ancient city, each step echoing with purpose. In class, your answers came sharp and clear, like a blade striking true. At lunch, laughter rang out like silver bells as you shared quips with Peter’s friends, their warmth seeping into the corners of your heart. Even Flash Thompson, the self-proclaimed king of Midtown High, seemed more bemused than antagonistic when it came to you.

Still, it was the nights that shone the brightest. Under the silver gaze of the moon, you and Peter sparred on rooftops, the city a sprawling kingdom beneath your feet. You had never felt more alive, your movements fluid and precise as your lightsaber hummed through the air, meeting Peter’s web-slinging agility with a grace that felt predestined. Each session left you breathless, but the smile that lingered on Peter’s face made every aching muscle worth it.

Though you had found yourself drenched in these royal details of camaraderie and routine, a small, guarded part of you couldn’t help but wonder: What lay ahead for someone like you, who looked like a god yet felt so human among them?

The cafeteria buzzed with the hum of conversation and clattering trays, but Harry’s question cut through the noise as sharp as the edge of a blade.

“Hey, do you wanna go out afterward?” he asked, his tone casual, but his green eyes flickered with an undercurrent of hope.

You paused mid-bite, your sandwich hovering inches from your mouth. A slight smirk tugged at the corner of your lips as you considered his invitation. There was no malice in your response, just a straightforwardness that seemed to define you.

“Can’t, got homework,” you said, your shrug dismissive but not unkind. Then, as if to soften the blow, you nudged him lightly with your elbow. “But tomorrow? Sure.”

Harry’s expression faltered for just a heartbeat, a flicker of disappointment crossing his face before he masked it with his usual charm. “Alright,” he said, forcing a grin as if he’d already started planning tomorrow’s adventure in his head.

The lunch table settled into its usual rhythm, and soon enough, you and Peter were walking home. The streets of Queens stretched out before you like a well-worn map, their familiarity a comfort after the chaos of the last few weeks. You kicked at a stray pebble, your conversation with Peter light and easy, weaving between topics with the kind of camaraderie that felt natural now.

But neither of you noticed the figure cloaked in shadow, their gaze like cold fire as they watched your every move. Their white eyes, devoid of warmth, followed your form with an eerie precision, lingering on you as though they were memorizing every detail: the way your shoulders moved, the faint golden glow of your hair under the fading sun, the confident stride that marked you as someone special. Someone dangerous.

Home greeted you like an old friend, Aunt May’s soft humming filtering from the kitchen as you and Peter stepped through the door. You exchanged pleasantries briefly, your mind already drifting to the next task. Without much thought, you headed for the bathroom, eager to rinse the day off and ease the tension in your muscles.

The hot water streamed down your back, soothing and relentless, as your fingers combed through your short blonde hair. The strands gleamed in the misty light, catching the dim glow of the bathroom bulb. You sighed, letting the water cascade over you, erasing the grime of the day.

And then, your fingers brushed against the scar—a long, jagged line that ran over your left eye. It was a silent reminder, etched into your skin like a prophecy. Your touch lingered there, tracing the raised skin as memories you’d rather not think about tried to claw their way to the surface.

For a moment, the bathroom seemed quieter, the steady rhythm of the water fading into a hollow echo. You exhaled, shaking off the thought as you tilted your face upward, letting the water carry away the weight that clung to you.

But somewhere, in the depths of the city, the figure with the dark white eyes had not stopped watching. Their plans for you were already in motion, and the scar over your eye might have been the least of your worries.

The underwater lab hummed with an otherworldly rhythm, the soft glow of green and blue bioluminescent lights reflecting off the steel walls. The water outside cast shifting, rippling shadows across the room, giving the place an ethereal, almost haunting ambiance. Amidst the faint whirring of machinery and the occasional hiss of steam, Dr. Otto Octavius moved with purpose, his eight mechanical arms twisting and turning as if they had minds of their own. Tubes of unknown liquids bubbled behind him, casting eerie, pulsating lights onto his weary face.

The sound of the door hissing open broke the rhythmic chaos. In walked a man whose presence was as sharp and deliberate as a knife. His auburn hair was slicked back perfectly, and his tailored suit and tie spoke of wealth and influence. He carried himself with the ease of someone who was used to power—expected it, even. His polished shoes clicked against the metallic floor, echoing softly as he approached Octavius.

“Octavius, you got the formula we need?” he asked, his voice low and controlled, yet carrying an edge that demanded results.

Octavius didn’t turn immediately, his shoulders slumping under the weight of his frustration. His natural hands paused their work, but his mechanical arms continued, their claws deftly manipulating tools and vials with eerie precision. Finally, he sighed, his tone carrying a mix of resignation and irritation.

“I still need Spider-Man’s DNA,” Octavius said, glancing over his shoulder. His voice had an academic sharpness to it, as though the weight of his genius was both a gift and a curse. “The last specimen ran out, and I’ve been unable to obtain another. The city is a maze, and that infernal wall-crawler doesn’t stay still long enough for me to—”

“Excuses,” the man in the suit interrupted, his frown deepening as he stepped closer. His hazel eyes, hard and calculating, bored into Octavius like twin drills. “I don’t care about the logistics, Otto. What I care about is results. We’ve come too far for delays, and I don’t want that thing going wrong.” His words hung heavy in the air, underscored by the subtle but unmistakable threat in his tone.

Octavius turned fully now, his face shadowed by the dim, flickering light of the lab. His mechanical arms shifted restlessly, one of them slamming onto the desk with a metallic clang that echoed through the room. “You think I don’t know the stakes?” he growled, his voice rising slightly. “That ‘thing’ is a masterpiece, a culmination of decades of research! But without the DNA to stabilize it, it’s useless. Do you have any idea—”

“I’m not interested in your tirades,” the man cut him off again, his voice cold as ice. “Just see that you get it done. And fast.”

He adjusted his tie with a smooth, practiced motion, his polished exterior never cracking. But as he turned to leave, his parting words were laced with a venom that sent a chill through the room.

“This Skywalker girl,” he said, almost musing aloud, “the new friend of my son... she’ll be trouble, I’m sure of it.” His lips curled into a faint smirk, the kind that spoke of plans within plans. “Maybe we’ll need to keep a closer eye on her. Who knows? She might prove useful.”

As the door hissed shut behind him, Octavius returned to his work with a grim determination, his mechanical arms now moving faster, almost frantic. The hum of the lab seemed to grow darker, more insidious, as the pieces of a dangerous game began to fall into place.

[girlballs]

also it feels like i'm just about done with Lords of The Fallen and. the way they've animated bosses and common enemies is seriously wearing me down. without exaggeration, *literally* every enemy and boss does the "attack windup starts, Extremely Long Pause, swing" thing for their attacks. it makes group encounters extremely annoying to deal with because you can't really rely on your peripheral vision to dodge enemies you're not locked on to, since most attacks need you to memorize the awkward pause before you dodge instead of, y'know, being a normal looking swing

the other big issue with both enemy *and* player attacks is that everything has SO much forward movement (except the 1h greatsword heavy attack, for some reason). some enemies will literally travel 6-10 feet forward in a half second or less during their actual attack hitbox, and combat when you're not locked on is a nightmare because you're sliding all over the fucking place.

there's also not a lot of good feedback for attack "types", for lack of a better term. there's some attacks that hit through block/parry, which are indicated with a Very subtle gold flash, but there's other attacks that can be parried but will hella stagger you if you block them (and usually guarantee whatever the enemy follows up with), and they're completely indistinguishable from regular attacks. you just have to fuck up parrying them to learn that they're pseudo-guardbreak attacks.

[the-many-soul-speaks]

CEDARCLAN: Moon 2

Nothing interesting happened this moon…

⇢ Alderstar & Faithspore - Suspicious pawprints; rogue. 1 - 1 = 1.  Cat 1 is plotting to kill Cat 2; the plot was discovered. MANGLED TAIL (Faithspore)

Faithspore has always been a troubled one. Alderstar often feels older than him, despite the moons between them, his vicious childishness making him good with kits, but less popular with adults. She had asked, once in her youth, what had made him turn so angry— there had been no answer for that but his name. Faith; the only remaining kit, left in StarClan’s paws. 

It hadn’t seem like a terribly good excuse, but Alderstar was not one to judge. 

Until, at least, it came to be a problem. She’d thought, after Stumpymoth had approached her with the tale of the lost kittypet, that it was about time to address things. She is not Patchoulistar. She’d said as much, her best response to the young tom, and felt the fact of it weigh heavy between them. 

The softest breath of air, and Alderstar turns, catching Faithspore’s outstretched claws and batting them aside. “I am not Patchoulistar. Whether you like it or not.” The wild look remains in the tom’s eyes, and Alderstar leaps, pinning him even as he struggles. “I will not follow his legacy, and neither will I make his mistakes. I will not condemn you, Faithspore,” her eyes flash, “but neither will I tolerate your attempts on my lives.” 

A hiss is his answer, and Alderstar’s paw presses harder. Faithspore writhes, and then falls still, glaring up at his leader. “I know you are a good warrior, Faithspore.” His lips peel back from his teeth. “What makes you so sure of that? You hardly know me.” “And with that attitude, no one ever will. I’m giving you a chance, Faithspore. To prove yourself.” Her eyes narrow, face drawing closer. “So make it worthwhile. For both of us. For your daughter.” She releases the tom, and he rises slowly, eyeing up the black she-cat. Then, quick as a snake, he lunges again. Even quicker, Alderstar parries, darting along his flank and seizing his tail in her mouth. Enough. The tom’s shriek cuts the open air, and she lets him yank it free, the snap she hears between her teeth reverberating in her head. 

Cowed, Faithspore huddles with his broken tail curled under him. “Let that be a lesson,” Alderstar tells him, chest heaving, and once more turns her back on him. 

This time, there is no breath of air as she leaves. 

--✧--

⇢ Peakdapple, Pondfern, & Oakpaw - Dog chasing a cat. 4 - 3 = 1. Apprentice has seen something a warrior didn’t want anyone to know. CLAW WOUND (Oakpaw)

Oakpaw shudders. He knew enough about Faithspore’s legacy, from Heatherbubble, but he’d never thought— He just hadn’t expected— He hadn’t even really meant to follow, and what he’d seen—

Backing away, his rear paw hits a twig, snapping like a boom of thunder and snapping Faithspore’s eyes to him. 

“Please—” 

But Faithspore is already on him, claws lashing. Oakpaw shivers, cowering beneath the tom’s paws, but no death blow comes. “Keep,” Faithspore hisses, “quiet. This is between me and Alderstar.” His piercing blue eyes narrow. “Understand?”

Oakpaw nodds fervently. 

“Good.” 

And with that, Faithspore whisks away, leaving Oakpaw quite glad that all he has to show for it are a few claw marks in his pelt.

——

Of course he can’t stay quiet. He shivers all the way home, all the way back to his den. Forgoing the herbalist, certain that his scratches will only serve to betray him. When Pondfern pokes her head in, he’s curled in a ball, back to the den entrance. 

“Hey, I saw you come in. Everything alright?” The concern in her voice is warm, cheerful, and Oakpaw only shivers harder. 

“Yeah. M’fine.”

“Want me to get Heatherbubble to look at ya? I can get some herbs, if it’s a stomach ache.” 

He shakes his head, and then realizes she can’t see it. “No…” A pause, and then, in a tiny voice, he mews, “Can you get Peakdapple for me?”

“Sure?” He can hear puzzlement in Pondfern’s voice, but she doesn’t press, backing out, her pawsteps pitter-pattering away. When she returns, he can hear Peakdapple’s even voice with her. 

“Oakpaw. Is everything alright?”

He knows it will only get him in trouble. That it could even endanger his life, the sting of Faithspore’s claws still stinging his hide. But when he looks up, Peakdapple’s eyes are gentle, reliable, as if to say, you don’t have to tell me anything.

He tells her everything.

--✧--

⇢ Heatherbubble & Stumpymoth - Message from StarClan. 2 - 3 = 1. The medicine cat has received a message from StarClan that requires drastic action.

In her many moons, Heatherbubble has seen more carnage and tragedy than she would ever have asked for. Watching the rise of Patchoulistar alone had brought her nightmares— Not all of them from StarClan. 

But through the seasons, she has come to believe that things happened for a reason. Not all of them good reasons, but reasons nonetheless. StarClan certainly held no paw in Patchoulistar’s reign, but it brought them where they are now, with the young and brave Alderstar as leader. Oh, she can still see that final battle in her mind’s eye now, the terror of it all…

Heatherbubble sighs. No, this one was not good news. This omen is just as bad as they come, and it’s a shame to have it happen so early on in Alderstar’s leadership. 

“Something wrong, Heatherbubble?” A voice chirps from the entrance. Stumpymoth, his words muffled slightly by the herbs he carries, enters and sets his bundle down. “Starling for your thoughts?”

Heatherbubble laughs, though to her own ears it sounds almost sad. “No, not this time, dear. I need you to do me a favor instead.”

His head tilts. “Sure, Heatherbubble, anything you need.” “I need you to fetch me Alderstar. And tell her it is of the… utmost importance.”

“I need you to fetch me Alderstar. And tell her it is of the… utmost importance.”

[saturn7162]

I'm Gonna Win

This song isnt mine, neither is steven universe (yes another steven universe fic my bad...)

I also made the gems bleed just to add more texture to the story, so beware. Anyway hope you like tihs (ao3 coming soon if they get back to me)

He sighed as he slid down the wall taking to sitting on the cold stone floors. He began humming a small tune as he fiddled with the accessories on his clothes. 

“My life is a constant entrapment of tunnels, which tangle and wind and beguile.” He then paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. 

“And regardless of where I may tumble or funnel, I wonder what’s really worthwhile…” He hummed the song louder, getting to his feet and grabbed a large ax from the wall. 

“Sometimes it can seem like a merciless dream and I'm falling with nothing to hold.” He walked over to another wall which donned his armor and he slipped it on carefully. 

“Sometimes I get flustered and beaten and blistered, abandoned outside in the cold.” He stepped out onto the grass of the battlefield, readying his ax.

“But I’m gonna win! I’m gonna try!” He yelled and ran on, swinging his ax at the homeworld gems. 

“I’ll never lose! I’ll never dieeeeee!!” He swung his ax down on the back of a gems head causing blood to erupt from the wound, covering his face and chest. Their physical form disappeared and their gem fell to the grass. 

“You’ve seen me before~” He leaped to the left, avoiding the swing of a sword. He jumped to his feet quickly and parried their next attack. 

“You’ll see me again~” He grinned and swung his ax into their chest. He shook off their blood as it spilt onto his front armor. 

“I’ll never give up!” He swung his ax at more and more gems, hacking them in half and spilling their blood. 

“I’ll never give innnnn~!” He smiled again as he hooked his claws into an enemy's throat, tearing their gem out as they screamed. 

“Till I’m bloody and bruised” He tore another gem open from their naval up to their chin and threw them into another gem. 

“Till I’ve broken my bones!” He slammed his forehead into a gem, cracking it and covering it in his blood. 

“Till I won’t be abused!” Claws met the flesh of an Amethyst’s face, sinking deep into them as blood soaked the grass below.

“Till I’m laughing alone!” He thrusted the handle of his ax into the abdomen of a Quartz, red shiny blood splashing out of them. They fell to their knees with a weak groan and they poofed. 

He shook himself again, trying to rid himself of how soaked he was. He brought an arm up to his face and wiped the blood from his eyes. 

“It’s hard to be charming, and smart and disarming, it’s hard to pretend you’re the best..” He winced in pain as the sharp side of a blade cut through his arm. He whipped around quickly and swung his ax at his attacker, hacking a large gash into their face. Splashes of red flashed across his line of sight and fell to the floor with the body they came from. They groaned in pain one last time before they poofed. 

“It’s hard to fulfill everyone’s expectations, it's hard to keep up with the rest” He ran behind his team, swinging at any gem who dared come  close. 

“But I’m gonna win! I’m gonna try!” Holding his ax high in the air, he let out a battle cry before slaughtering more and more. 

“I’ll never lose! I’ll never die!” He kicked someone back, digging the metal heel of his boot into their chest.

“You’ve seen me before…..” He snatched a gem up from their collar and opened his mouth wide before quickly clasping it around their throat. A sickening squelching crunch was heard as he bit down. Blood gushed into their mouth as they screamed in anguish. Their yells were watery as blood pooled spurted from their mouth, producing a gurgle sound. He spat out the blood that rushed into his mouth as best he could, scowling as warm crimson splashed onto his face and clouded his vision. 

“You’ll see me again” He opened his jaw and let the gem fall, trying his best to spit out the metallic taste. 

“I’ll never give up! I’ll never give in!” Jumping off of the grass, he swung his ax down on the head of a gem who was fighting one of his teammates. 

“Till I’m bloody and bruised..” Blood filled eyes widened in anger as a dagger jabbed into his hip. Eyes twitched as claws were raised and brought down onto their chest, creaking the gem. 

“Till I’ve broken my bones…” He gripped onto a gem by the arm and snapped it over his knee. A loud crunch then a scream filled the starry skies. 

“Till I won’t be abused!” He swung them around and into the firm stone of a jagged hill, snapping their back. They poofed as soon as they hit the grass, their gem resting in their blood. He walked over and saw the large spot of dark red that dripped from the stone. 

“Till I’m laughing alone!”  He snickered and reeled his ax back, teetering on one foot before stepping forward and throwing it at a jasper, knocking her to the ground with a thud. 

“How do you feel?” He asked himself, peering down at his shaky bloodied hands. 

“You’ve been concealing your worries from the world, but you can reveal them to me…” He closed his eyes and balled his hands into fists tightly. 

“I wouldn't know… I’ll go on even though…” His eyes snapped open and he grasped his ax quickly, blood dripping from the surface. 

“I’ll be bloodied and bruised!” He swung his ax into the neck of a quartz soldier, completely severing their head from their body. The head fell first, landing with a thud as both it and the body gushed blood that gleamed under the moonlight. 

“I’ll be breaking my bones!” He sang before yelling out in agony as the sword of a Carnelian struck his face, leaving a deep red gash from his right brow to the back of his left eye.

“I’ll be paying my dues..” His vision was blurred and red as the iron filled liquid ran down his face. The rusty scent flooded his nostrils and was quickly huffed out. He gasped loudly, taking to breathing from his mouth fast. 

His chest heaved as he kneeled and spat out the blood that rushed into his mouth. He looked up just as the blade crashed down again, leaving a newer, deeper gash from his forehead to his lip. He roared in pain as his face was split open, the new wound overlapping the first. Though he still laughed, reaching for his ax with a trembling hand. 

“I’ll be laughing alone!” he laughed maniacally and swung down with all his might. A loud crack rang out across the field as the head of the weapon smashed against the gem, shattering it completely. 

[taffydragonblog]

Ok... taking a break from Master King since my hands get tired before the rest of me does

Paused on starting Wyvern with 315-ish rings

Some notes:

Don't wait too late to use Quick Cyloop, if a Titan is already defeated while it's bound then you have to wait for it to unbind, which eats rings

If you fail a parry more than twice, just... start over XD srsly

For Wyvern, you can tell a missile's about to hit you when it's tip flashes black and white. When you see it, PARRY

When you bind Wyvern, sometimes it's homing target moves offscreen, and that's just a sonofabitch

Grand Slamming actually pauses the ring count for a second, so... feel free to keep doing that

Do not! Keep! Hitting the Knight's shield! Wait until it drops the shield, then wail on it! You do not want to get stuck riding the shield, that is a timewaster!!!

Spamming combos on Knight appear to keep it from moving around so damn much