#lakeside lightning

[garthglaz]

Pixel Weather, "October Showers Over Muskegon Beach"

I wanted that unique amber light of early October. This concept has been hanging around my studio since March. Originally comped up in Photoshop for a physical painting, the painting did not gel and never was finished. Then, the first attempt at a digital artwork stalled. Finally, I came back to it this week. It has morphed as I worked to define areas creating as much a fantasy work as a representation of the actual place.

[bingbongsupremacy]

The Lakeside Cabin Pt. 2

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Warning: Y/N Use, swearing, bullying from both Bucky and Y/N

Series Summary: You and Bucky hate each other. This time, your argument went too far. You're forced to stay together in a cabin to try to work out your differences. Will you both make it out alive?

Pt. Summary: You and Bucky spend your first 2 days in the cabin...of course, it's messy.

This doesn't really follow the movies or shows.

*Not Proof Read*

No mentions of body type, skin color, or details of reader's appearance. Reader is able-bodied.

□□□□□□□

As soon as Fury left the room, Steve was sent in to inform us we need to pack our stuff.

"First thing tomorrow I'm driving you two to the cabin." His eyes shift between the two of us.

"Steve, you have to do something about this." I urge the tall blonde. I gesture between myself and Bucky. "We will literally kill each other. 10 minutes tops. I swear."

Bucky scoffs. "With your mouth? Make it five." He shakes his head in annoyance. A strand of his brown hair falling loose in front of his eyes in the process. He is leaned back against his chair, thick arms tightly folded against his chest.

"You couldn't kill me if you tried. Brains over brawn." I snap back at the older man.

He ignores my glare, instead rolling his eyes. "Doll, let’s not fantasize. You talk like you’re a genius, but I’ve met houseplants with better critical thinking skills. At least they know which direction the sun’s coming from. Meanwhile, you still have to be told which hand is your left hand."

My blood boils. I tightly clench my fists, ready to attack Bucky. I narrow my eyes at the man, praying a lightning bolt strikes him down. Some nerve. "First of all, it was one time! I was shitfaced drunk and seeing like 50 versions of my own hand. That gets confusing. Second of all, that’s rich coming from the guy who types with one finger and calls it ‘tactical efficiency.' I know animals who type better than y-"

Steve cuts me. "Enough. Enough! This is exactly why you're being sent to this safehouse. You two are unbelievable, you know that? This is literally the reason you are going to the safehouse." He glares at us. "You're adults! It's time you start acting like it." Steve's voice is stern, like a pissed off father.

Deep down, I know he's right. Bucky and I should be able to work together without feeling the need to piss the other off. Our stupid fights got us into this situation, but unfortunately, they can't get us out.

We need to come out of this civil.

How though?

What are we supposed to do to calm the anger between us? Make friendship bracelets and have heart-to-hearts? Where do we even begin?

"I don't understand this...rivalry between the two of you." Steve folds his arms.

I avoid his gaze. A feeling of guilt begins to gnaw at the inside of my stomach. Something about Steve's disappointed dad demeanor makes me question my behaviors.

Steve continues. "You're both great at what you do. Why can't you just build each other up instead of trying to tear each other down? This is a team. We need to have each other's backs. It's not fair to the rest of us when stuff like today happens. Someone could've gotten hurt, and you wouldn't be able to help because you're so caught up in each other. Think about us. If someone had been injured while you two were bickering, I guarantee you would've come back feeling horrible. Don't let that happen."

Bucky and I are silent while the words settle in our minds.

I hate that he's right.

-------

The car ride to the safehouse is long. None of us speak as Steve continues down the highway surrounded by forest. I keep my head pressed against he passenger side window, watching as the trees speed by.

The radio crackles as we begin to get further and further from civilization before eventually turning into steady static. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Steve turn off the radio before turning his attention back to the road.

After another ten minutes of silence, Steve turns off the highway onto a smaller road. The gravel-covered road crackles as the tires of our car push against it. The car pulls into a large clearing.

Ahead sits a large cabin, a lake visible behind it. The exterior cabin is covered in brown wood that gives off the feeling of Lincoln Logs. Large windows sit on either side of the front door, both covered by curtains. The wooden door is beautifully crafted, with gentle carvings surrounding the small window at the top. The porch is nearly bare, the only things on it being two wooden rocking chairs. The second story of the cabin contains one window, also covered by a curtain on the inside. The roof is a light green color, obviously faded from the sun.

The lawn is overgrown and filled with wildflowers, which stop at the road. Rocks separate the lawn from the road, leaving a small opening for a path to the cabin door. To the far side of the cabin is a small covered car. In the distance, I can see what I think is a fire pit with chairs surrounding it.

Immediately, I spot some of the cameras Fury was talking about. A familiar red dot sits in the corner of the one facing the road we just pulled up through.

They're already watching us.

Steve parks the car, and I immediately get out, ready to stretch my legs. Little rocks from the gravel road push against the bottom of my shoes, adding pressure in weird places. I ignore it, deciding to walk around to the back of the car where my bags are.

Steve pops the trunk open, and I scan over the items. Two boxes of food and necessities are stacked on each other and tucked in the corner, under a few extra blankets. Next to the boxes are our bags and things we brought to do.

I reach into the trunk and pull out my two suitcases and travel backpack. When I turn around, I spot Bucky looking over my luggage with a raised brow.

This morning I woke up late and ended up being twenty minutes late for the car. Both guys were already inside talking when I stuffed my bags inside the trunk.

"We stayin' two weeks or are you planning on making it a year?" Bucky asks while watching me pull on my backpack.

I roll my eyes. "Some of us actually like to change our outfits, Bucky. We don't all wear the same 2 pairs of Henleys and jeans." I snap back without thinking. "It's called style. You might want to try it."

Bucky scoffs, folding his arms over his broad chest. "Style? Doll, if carrying half a department store on your back counts as style, I’ll stick with functional. At least my clothes don’t require a damn instruction manual."

"Fuck yo-"

Steve cuts me off, stepping in the middle of the two of us. "Enough." His voice is stern. He looks back and forth at us. "Remember why you're here. Behave."

Bucky is silent while he grabs his singular bag out of the trunk. He also somehow manages to grab both of the boxes and blankets.

Fucking supersoldiers.

Steve leads us up the path to the cabin entrance. He pulls out a small housekey from his pocket as soon as we get to the door. He unlocks the door and takes a step inside, us following behind.

Sunlight streams into the house from the door. Dust swarms around in the air around the light, sending a tickle up my nose.

This place definitely hasn't been used in a while.

Steve turns on the hallway light, which takes a minute to flicker on.

A deep green rug stretches across the wooden floors. The floorboards underneath groan with age.

To the left, the cabin opens up into a large living room that feels like stepping into another time. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves line the walls, overflowing with mismatched spines -some worn and cracked, others newer but wedged in haphazardly, like the collection grew too fast to be properly arranged. One of the large windows I saw outside is against the wall. A large, faded floral curtain blocks most of the light from coming in.

On the far wall is a massive stone fireplace, blackened at the mouth from decades of crackling fires. A small stack of wood sits in a woven basket nearby, and a set of iron tools leans beside the hearth, rust-spotted and clearly well-used.

Two large, weathered leather couches face one another in the center of the room, the cushions sunken from use, but still inviting. Between them rests a handmade wooden coffee table -its surface rough and nicked with character, the legs thick and carved with simple swirls. Small side tables, mismatched but cute, flank the couches. On each one sits a tiny lamp with linen shades.

In the corner, nearest the old box TV, a relic from the early 2000s, if not before, sits a lone recliner. The faded fabric is worn along the armrests, and one side sags just slightly more than the other, like it's been very well used. A thick, knitted grey blanket is folded over the back of it, clearly hand-made.

On the opposite side of the entryway is a compact office space, its doorway framed by dark wood molding. Inside, a large, worn mahogany desk sits front and center. Behind it is a battered office chair, the upholstery torn along the edges and stuffing peeking through. The desk itself is surprisingly bare -just a dusty brass lamp with a cracked green glass shade, and a chipped ceramic mug crammed full of pens and pencils.

Another fireplace nestles against the far wall, smaller than the one in the living room but just as old, framed by a simple brick mantel. Above it are several decorative items clearly arranged with a purpose.

Steve leads us past the wide wooden staircase in front of us to the kitchen where Bucky sets down the boxes and blankets on the counter.

The kitchen looks like it was last renovated sometime before color TV was invented. The floor creaks with every step, the faded linoleum peeling at the corners like it’s trying to escape. The counters are scratched-up laminate in a nauseating shade of beige, stained permanently by years of coffee spills and what you can only guess was tomato sauce… hopefully.

The cabinets are all uneven, a mismatched mix of pale wood and dull, chipped paint. One hangs slightly open. The stove is an ancient, avocado-green relic. A dented kettle sits on the back burner like it’s been there for decades, and probably has.

There’s one tiny window above the sink, foggy with age and framed by dusty curtains that might’ve once been floral. Barely any natural light gets in, casting everything in a dim, golden haze. The hum of the fridge fills my ears as soon as I get into the room —loud enough to be annoying but not loud enough to drown out the silence.

A single flickering lightbulb hangs overhead, its yellow glow casting long shadows that make the place feel smaller than it already is. There’s no dishwasher, obviously, and the sink’s faucet drips every few seconds with a metallic plink that quickly becomes infuriating.

It’s cozy in a way. Or at least, it would be -if I didn't have to share it with Bucky.

"There's more food in the pantry and down in the storage cellar." Steve gestures to a closed door. "You guys should be set for the next two weeks. There should be cable and internet, according to Tony, I don't know how well it works up here. If something happens and you need help, there's an emergency button hidden behind the painting above the fireplace in the office. There's more wood outside and an axe in the shed -Not for killing." His eyes narrow at us. "The building should have heat, AC, running water, and electricity. You are not allowed to use the boat or to leave the property unless the trip is approved by Fury. Cameras will be watching. Expect check-in calls every few days. You will also be given tasks to do together as a team. You have to do them. " Steve informs us.

"Can we swim?" I ask curiously.

"Sure. Do whatever you want as long as it leads to you two getting along and not hurting each other." Steve sighs. "Really try to get along, guys, alright? This is for your own benefit."

Doesn't feel like it.

"I've got to get back." Steve says when neither of us replies. He sets the key down on the counter top before beginning to walk towards the door but he stops a few inches shy to look at us once again. "No killing, I'm serious. Goodbye."

Bucky and I say goodbye to the blonde man. We listen to the fading creaking sounds the wood makes under his weight as he walks back to the entrance. The front door shuts with a small click and I immediately turn to Bucky.

"I call the master's suite." I say before he can open his mouth.

"Of course you do." He mutters.

"You snooze, you lose," I say unsympathetically.

"Do you always have to be such a pain in the ass?" Bucky grumbles while sending me an annoyed look.

I grin. "Only for you, Bucky. You're the one special person who brings out the worst in me."

"Aw, I’m flattered. Didn’t realize ruining your mood was my superpower. Should I add it to my resume?" Bucky mocks me.

I narrow my eyes. "A resume? Wow, look at you keeping up with the modern world. What’s next, learning how to use emojis? I mean, it only took you a year to figure out how to answer a phone without hanging up first -color me impressed."

"First of all, we had resumes in the 40s. They aren't that new of an invention. Secondly, yeah, I’m ancient. But at least I didn’t grow up thinking TikTok was a valid news source." He raises an eyebrow. "Pretty sure I’ve fought dictators with more self-awareness than you."

"Do you even know what TikTok is, grandpa? Or did you just hear Sam say it once and decide to be mad about it?" I feel my heart pounding in my chest as my anger builds up. He just won't quit.

To be fair, neither will I.

Whatever.

"I don’t need to know what it is, Y/N. You think I’m wasting my time watching people dance around on the internet?" He crosses his arms, clearly annoyed. "I’ve got better things to do than-" He cuts himself off. His drawn brows slowly pull apart. "We need to stop." He takes a deep breath, obviously trying to calm himself down.

His words cut through my anger-filled mind, hitting me with a moment of clarity. He's right. We're doing exactly what we were sent here to stop doing.

"You're..." I hesitate to say the word. It physically pains me. "right." I sigh, agreeing with the man. I glance down at my bags, my fingers fidgeting at the strap of my backpack. Part of me wants to keep fighting. Part of me wants to keep digging in my heels and hating everything about this. But another part... the part that’s more exhausted than anything... doesn’t want to fight anymore. I just want to go to sleep. The stress from the past few days and the long trip really took a toll on me.

Instead of getting cocky like I expected, his brows shoot up in surprise. He wasn't expecting me to give in so easily.

"Alright...well, I'm going to go upstairs and find a room -not the master suite." He picks up his suitcase again. He glances down at the two suitcases resting at my feet. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, and I notice something in his eyes—hesitation, like he’s not sure if he should keep pushing or just... back off. "Do you...do you need help bringing up your stuff?" He asks, his voice low, like he’s not sure if I’ll snap at him for it.

It's my turn to stare at him in shock.

Bucky Barnes...helping me?

That's a first.

I blink, thrown off by the sudden offer. For a second, I just stare at him, my mind working to process what he’s saying.

I open my mouth to refuse, to shoot him down like I always do, but something holds me back. Maybe it’s the fact that carrying these damn bags up two flights of stairs doesn’t exactly sound like a fun time. Or maybe it’s the fact that, for the first time, I’m starting to think that maybe, just maybe, there's a possibility we don’t always have to be at each other’s throats.

I let out a breath, trying to steady myself. "Fine. But don’t think this means I’m suddenly your best friend."

He nods, his expression unreadable as he walks over to grab my bags without a word. He begins to carry them along with his out of the kitchen and up the stairs. I watch him for a moment, unsure of what to make of the situation.

And just like that, the argument is over. For now.

--------

The morning light is harsh through the small windows, slicing through the cabin with no regard for the awkward silence hanging in the air. I can feel the weight of two weeks settling over me as I sit up in bed. Bucky’s already awake, of course. He’s always awake early.

If we were at the compound, he'd almost be done training by now. Bucky loves his routines.

I shuffle into the kitchen, still groggy, and see Bucky standing at the counter with a coffee cup in hand. He doesn’t acknowledge me, and I’m not in the mood to acknowledge him either. The moment I reach for the coffee machine, my eyes catch a post-it note stuck to the side of it.

Do not touch the coffee until I’ve had my first cup. – Bucky.

I can feel the annoyance creeping up my neck, but I don’t say anything. Instead, I turn on the stove, making myself a quick breakfast and deciding to leave him to his rituals. His mornings are the same: precise, silent, and filled with the deep frown that seems to permanently mark his face. I don’t get him. I never will.

Spontaneity makes life fun. I like waking up and not knowing what I'm going to eat for breakfast. It's like a little surprise. I also like going throughout my day, not knowing what I'm going to do or who I'm going to see. It keeps things fun.

I’m finishing my toast when Bucky finally speaks, still not looking at me. “You’re gonna need to take your stuff out of the fridge,” he says, his voice stiff.

I glance over at the fridge, where my eggs and yogurt are squeezed in beside his protein shakes and old cans of tuna. There’s a post-it note on the door now.

Keep your food on your side. – Bucky.

My teeth grind together, and I fight the urge to snap something back.

Civil. I need to be civil.

Instead, I nod curtly. “Noted,” I mutter, picking up my food and bringing it along with me.

I retreat into the living room, eager to get some space. I can hear the sound of Bucky pouring his coffee as I settle down on the couch. There’s something comforting about the chaos of reality TV, the drama, the mindless bickering. I turn on the TV, the familiar blaring voices filling the room.

Bucky appears in the doorway, already scowling.

“Really?” he asks, crossing his arms, his eyes narrow as he watches the screen. “You’re watching this crap?”

Of course, he doesn't like reality TV. I bet the only thing he watches is nature documentaries. And he definitely needs to plan that into his day ahead of time.

I barely glance up, but I can feel his gaze burning into me. “Yeah. What’s the problem?” I reply, trying to act casual while I scroll through the options.

Every once in a while, the TV screen will distort, a sign of the horrible signal out here in the middle of nowhere.

“It’s just... ridiculous. It’s all fake. Why would you waste your time on this?”

I can’t help but smirk. “Well, I find it entertaining,” I say, popping a piece of toast into my mouth. “It’s better than, I don’t know, making everything a drill sergeant routine.”

Bucky huffs and shakes his head, obviously irritated. “You could be doing something productive.”

“Like what?” I shoot back, but I don’t care enough to engage in the same conversation again. It’s easier to just keep watching the show. At least reality TV drama doesn't involve me.

He mutters something under his breath, something I can’t quite catch. After a moment, he makes his way over to the partially sunken recliner and turns to look at the show. His entire body is stiff, like he’s holding in some rage.

I can tell he’s not going to leave until I acknowledge his discomfort, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction. I lean back on the couch, my legs stretched out in front of me on the coffee table as I continue watching.

After what feels like an eternity of him seething in silence, Bucky stands up abruptly. “I don’t know how you can watch this trash,” he grumbles, walking toward the kitchen.

We love a passive-aggressive drama queen.

I don’t even look at him, too busy enjoying the ridiculousness of the show. “You’re free to go do whatever you want, Bucky,” I call after him, my voice thick with sarcasm. “If you don’t like it, you can always head out into the woods and have a silent staring contest with the trees. They'll match your vibe perfectly: Silent and broody.”

He doesn’t answer, but I catch the faintest mutter, “Asshole,” as he storms off.

I let out a small, vindictive laugh to myself. That felt good.

Not even five minutes later, there’s a Post-it note stuck to the coffee table.

If you’re going to keep watching that crap, keep the volume down. - Bucky.

I roll my eyes but don’t respond. Instead, I grab the remote and turn up the volume just a little bit louder, letting the voices echo around the cabin.

Later in the afternoon, I’m sprawled out on the couch, now fully invested in the chaos of the show. I’m halfway through the latest episode when I see another post-it note. It’s stuck to the arm of the couch, right by my shoulder.

The noise isn’t the only thing that’s annoying. Can you clean up after yourself once in a while? - Bucky.

I glance around the living room, taking in the few crumbs from my snack and the empty cup I left on the counter. I guess this is his way of saying he doesn’t like the mess. Not that I care. He doesn’t like anything about me. And I’m pretty sure the feeling’s mutual.

I scribble a quick note on a post-it, sticking it right by his coffee mug on the counter where he’ll see it.

This is my cabin too, right? It’s not like you’re the only one who’s allowed to be here. – Y.

I sit back, satisfied, as I continue watching the reality TV show, ignoring the underlying tension that seems to be building between us.

I wake up to the smell of coffee and something… burnt. Not fire-alarm burnt. Just slightly scorched ego burnt.

Bucky’s already in the kitchen, standing like he’s guarding national secrets in front of the stove. He doesn’t look at me when I shuffle in, blanket still wrapped around my shoulders like a personal shield. But there’s a note waiting on the counter—of course there is.

It’s stuck to a plate holding two very crispy slices of toast and a sad little smear of jam.

Figured I’d make enough for two. Next time, don’t leave your crumb trail in my peanut butter. – B.

I blink at it. Then at him.

He still doesn’t glance over. Just sips his coffee and stares out the window like it personally offended him.

I grab the plate without a word and pour myself some coffee. The toast crunches like gravel when I bite into it. It’s awful. I eat it anyway.

On my way to grab a napkin, I slap a new post-it down beside the coffee pot.

Your 1943 war ration bread is a health hazard. In other words, if your toast were a contestant on Survivor, it would be voted off the island. 1/10. Jam is communal. Like manners. – Y/N

I can feel him read it, even though he doesn’t say anything. His jaw tightens like he’s either trying not to laugh… or not to strangle me.

We eat in silence. The tension is weirdly quieter than usual -not the usual storm, more like fog.

Eventually, we somehow both end up in the living room. Once again, I grab the remote and flip on my reality show, volume low but not that low. The familiar theme music plays, overly dramatic and stupid in the best way.

I don’t look at him, but I hear the faintest groan -like his soul is physically trying to leave his body.

“This again?” he mutters.

I shrug. “I don’t complain about your 5 a.m. brooding walks.”

“That’s because I don’t do them with a dramatic soundtrack and drunk contestants.”

I sip my coffee. “You’d be more fun if you picked a favorite.” A grin spreads across my face. "Ooh, we could watch The Bachelorette. See which bachelor you root for."

“I’d rather eat drywall.” He grumbles.

“You’re not as funny as you think you are.”

He doesn’t answer.

I bump the volume up by one notch.

He doesn’t leave the room.

And neither do I.

I’m halfway through an episode of my show when Bucky’s phone starts ringing -some weirdly intense ringtone that sounds like someone smashing a piano.

He looks at the screen and groans. “Of course.”

“What?” I ask, glancing at the man. He flips the phone around so I can see: Nick Fury, Incoming Call.

I sit up straighter. “Don’t answer it in here.” Panic begins to build in my chest. I look like shit. I haven't been productive. I still hate Bucky. Fury's going to kick my ass.

Or send someone to do it for him.

“Why not?”

“Because I’m in pajamas and if Fury sees this show playing, he’ll put me on a no-screen list.” My eyes are wide while I stare at Bucky pleadingly.

Too late. Bucky accepts the call. And of course it’s FaceTime.

Fury’s one good eye immediately narrows. “Barnes. Y/N.”

I wave, trying to tuck my blanket higher like it’s a disguise. “Hey, Director. What's up? What do we owe this pleasure?”

“Are you two still breathing?” he asks, deadpan, not answering my question.

I glance at Bucky. “Unfortunately.”

“Funny.” Fury’s sarcasm level is dialed to lethal. “I’d ask if there’s been progress, but judging by the tension I can literally feel through the screen, I’ll skip to the point.”

Bucky folds his arms. “Let me guess—another punishment?”

“It’s a team-building activity,” Fury says, which might be worse. “Since neither of you seems capable of existing in the same room without someone developing a migraine, you’re going to create something together.”

“Like… art?” I ask warily.

Yay. Just what I wanted to spend my afternoon doing.

Fury smirks, and I hate that look. “A birdhouse.”

I blink. “A what?” He can't be serious.

“You heard me. I just sent coordinates to the nearest supply drop location. Go pick it up. Build the damn birdhouse. Together. You’ve got six hours.”

Bucky’s jaw is tight enough to crack concrete. “And if we don’t?”

“You’re here for two weeks,” Fury says. “Every task you fail means another two days added to your stay.”

He ends the call.

Bucky turns slowly toward me. “A birdhouse?”

I raise an eyebrow. “You punch robots for a living. I think you can handle wood glue.”

“Can you handle not talking for five minutes while I read the instructions?” He shoots back.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, did I interrupt your sulking schedule? Edward Cullen, is that you?” I gasp.

He mutters something under his breath and grabs his coat that I barely catch. "Who the fuck is Edward Cullen?"

------

The supply drop is an actual metal case hidden under a tarp by a rock outcropping. Like we’re building a tactical avian bunker. We haul it back to the cabin in silence.

Inside: wood planks, nails, a tiny hammer (which Bucky immediately scoffs at), and one bottle of glue.

Plus a packet labeled: "TEAM MISSION – Document With Photo Proof."

Bucky holds up the hammer. “You use this. I’ll break it in half.”

“You’re not allowed to break anything,” I remind him sweetly. “Or it’s another two days in hell.”

We start sorting pieces. Five minutes in, we’re already fighting over who gets to hold the blueprint.

“No, that’s upside down,” I argue while trying to snatch the blueprint from his hands.

“I know which way is up,” he snaps back, moving the paper out of my reach.

“You’ve been frozen for half your life! You barely know what the internet is!”

His glare could melt steel.

An hour later, the birdhouse is somehow standing, though it leans like it’s avoiding us on purpose. There’s glue all over my fingers and sawdust in Bucky’s hair.

“Picture time,” I say, reaching for my phone.

“We’re not taking a picture next to this thing,” Bucky says. “It looks like a war crime.”

“Then smile like you just committed one.”

He doesn’t smile.

I snap the photo anyway. Us standing stiffly on either side of the crooked birdhouse, not touching, not smiling, and practically vibrating with mutual irritation.

I text it to the number Fury gave us.

“Done,” I say, sitting back with a sigh.

Bucky grunts. “We’ve got twelve more days of this.”

I stare at the birdhouse, tilting even more now. “It’s gonna be a long two weeks.”

------

TAGLIST: @buckysdoll85 @starfly-nicole @vxllys @succulent-momma @amandato300

Pt. 3 soon

[musingsofahufflepuff]

Sunlight Through the Rain

Lorenzo Berkshire x gn!reader; fluff

summary: a lakeside date with enzo doesn’t go exactly to plan, but he always manages to be your ray of sunshine, even in the rain

a/n: tiny lil enzo blurb for ya. it’s also for hogmarch prompt 1, barely on time as always. inspired by “if we’re stuck here we might as well make the most of it”

The sun was out for the first time in months on the castle grounds; so it wasn’t much of a surprise when your boyfriend Enzo came walking up to you with a massive grin on his face after your last class of the day. Dimples on full display, he leans against the wall next to where you were talking with one of your housemates, hands wandering along your lower back until the girl leaves with a hasty goodbye. You turn to face him with a raised eyebrow at the cheeky look gracing his features.

“It’s finally not miserable out, figured we could go for an impromptu lake date? What do you say, love?” And with the excitement twinkling in his eyes, who were you to say no?

That’s how you ended up on a blanket Enzo had nicked from one of his roommates with a couple snacks you snuck from the kitchens laid out on it. There was a breeze rippling through the lake as you sat on the grass at the bottom of the stairs leading to the boathouse, leaning against Enzo’s chest.

“So…why’d you pick this spot?” You tilt your head up to look at him. He had a knack for finding rather romantic spots around the castle, but this one was one of his more unusual choices.

“Thought it’d give us some privacy. I mean, how often do you see people coming down here?”

“Fair enough,” you shiver slightly as another breeze sweeps by, “didn’t you say it was warm out?”

“I said not miserable, actually. Which it is… are you cold?” He tightens his grip around you, drawing you further into his warmth. But of course you deny it. “I’m not that cold!”

“Ah, so you just wanted an excuse to be closer. Can’t say I blame you, I am quite the catch—”

Before he can prattle on about what a catch he is any longer (and he could go on), you capture his lips in a kiss. He quickly returns it, soft lips dancing with yours barely holding back a grin. You shift in his hold as your hands cup his face, thumbs lightly caressing his cheek. Enzo’s mouth moves like he wants to devour you on the spot, fingers digging into your sides. As he’s about to press his tongue past your lips, a raindrop hits your hand.

He groans in frustration as you pull away. Rain starts to come down heavier as you grab the blanket in a rush, Enzo guiding you over the rocks into the boathouse.

“Not miserable, huh?” you laugh as he shakes his hair out, not unlike a wet dog. “Bet Mattheo’s gonna be pissed when he finds out we soaked his blanket.”

“Hey, nothing’s miserable as long as it’s with you,” that cheeky grin is back on his face as lightning flashes outside the boathouse, thunder roaring in the distance. “Well if we’re stuck here, we might as well make the most of it…now where were we?”

[parsleysagerosemarytimemachine]

Hillcleft - a game of Border Riding

This is a game about boundaries, how we mark them and who we include or exclude from them. While inspired by the Common Ridings festivals in the Scottish Borders, this game can be about any community, and take place at any time, in any setting.

--Border Riding

Played the first half of a game of Border Riding the other day, about a medieval community formed around a new university.

Year 0: We started by creating a border, and then a number of landmarks within it. There are lakeside cliffs, a giant tree overlooking an unused forest, a row of disdained gravesites, and the ruins of the Old School with the dragon who may have burnt it down. There's also a border fort to the south, an ocean temple on the cliffs, fishing shallows in the river, and a swamp where a witch might live.

The university is established to the northeast of Our lands, and we hope it will bring us prestige and prosperous visitors. Outside our borders are Them, the previous feudal rulers of this section of land, who are perhaps a bit miffed about having their domain carved up by the high lord's decree.

On the birthday of the high lord, we host a celebration and send out two riders - the Map-Maker General, and their Lieutenant Cartographer - to survey the boundaries of Our land, bringing back the updated maps and census as the Surveyor's Gift, a ceremony confirming our holdings and reach. The first Map-Maker General, year 0 of our university, is the royal lawyer Morgan, here to oversee this as an official process - along with an unofficial, but unavoidable, dragon escort. In the years before she leaves, we enlist the dragon's help to construct a blast furnace and use this to help construct better printing presses for scholastic materials.

Year 6: The community keeps its focus on the dragon, the border fort, the fishing shallows, and the sea temple. A nameless numbered priestess, #64, campaigns to be chosen as the new Map-Maker General and is successful. The Rector's Hill is marked on our maps, where the Lord Rector lives as head of the university, confirmed by the electors of the colleges. The priestess's sea magics have been used to ride out and claim the island to the north.

Year 8: The community focuses on the sea temple, the swamps, the dragon of the Old School, and the rector's hill. To everyone's surprise, the swamp witch Rosary Spite is chosen to replace the previous Map-Maker General by unanimous vote. Industrial improvements continue, as a papermill is built along the banks of the river where fish used to be caught - the swamp witch shows great interest, especially as the mill chemicals leak into the river. Border contract, due to a lack of swamp-related points of interest.

Year 10: The community focuses on the papermill (which seems to be drawing the swamp nearer, or maybe that's the witch), the giant tree, the Old School with its dragon, and the sea temple. After the swamp-witch's retirement to the mill life, the dragon Wulfrum is chosen as Map-Maker General - no one wants to tell a dragon he can't participate. We clear a festival grounds among the forest beyond the swamp, and hold viewing parties of the silver leaves that grow on the giant tree. Unfortunately for the scheming, the silver of the leaves decays back into wet vegetable matter over time, but there is a steady scam of minting this into coins to trick unsuspecting visitors. The dragon's flight has reclaimed the island to the north of the university for us.

Year 14: The community focuses on the mobile swamp, the silver tree, the sea temple, and the rector's hill. A legacy law student named Eulalie is chosen as the Map-Maker general, to reaffirm the university's control of situations. Unfortunately, They choose this time to pick a fight with us, and hire a wizard to break our border fort with lightning and seize it from Us, along with the south river territory. We draw borders with a nominal claim to the island we no longer have in reach, and abandoning southern claims.

Year 17: The community focuses on the still river-seeking swamp, the dragon Wulfrum of the Old School, the sea temple, and the now-lost border fort. The new Map-Maker General is another priestess, #52, who has made inroads with the college of Theology and wants to increase the prominence of her religion. Meanwhile, They have continued to bedevil us, charming a giant horse-dog and sending it into one of the villages that pays taxes and fealty to the university. While the beast is not particularly destructive, the community cedes control of the village, and also the forest and swamps which the sea temple has never particularly cared for.

We pause, after a generation, to consider how Hillcleft sees itself. The University is proud and growing, but They have secret and unrevealed magical powers that continue to vex us. To counter this, we will add an armed presence to the Surveyor's Gift as they ride our borders.

Year 23: The community considers the swamp-ridden papermill, the sea temple, the giant horse-dog, and the Rector's hill. Cameo the Elder, a professor of Medicine, is chosen as the new Map-Maker General; this ancient, balding martial-arts master leads groups of students out of the university to study the lands of Hillcleft and engage the world. In exchange for our care, study, and hard work, the land and the university can become inseparable. In the decade that Cameo leads these expeditions, borders are reworked into a reduced but stable situation; eventually, the professor retires by bricking themself up within their study to 'contemplate the universe.'

Year 34: The community focuses on Wulfrum the dragon, the sea temple, the silver tree, and the dog-horse that lives in our divided village. The Lord Rector hires a mercenary captain, Bolster Edelwyss of the Yellow Company, to see about reclaiming the lands of our original grant, and they are elected as Map-Maker General. They set about utilizing the peace and hard work of the community to construct defensive fortifications - a wall along our (as yet) uncontested western border, and a house to pacify the dog-horse. Then Bolster begins pushing our borders, reclaiming the north island and retaking the lands around the border fort (but not the fort itself, still infested by wizards) as well as our name-sake cleft hill to the south.

Year 40: The community focuses on the dog-horse and its house, the defensive walls built to the west and around the border tower, the wizards within the tower, and the silver tree. A new Map-Maker General has yet to be chosen....

...to be continued...

[frankendykes-monster]

@hunysckle asked for what type of music I listen to. Obviously prone to change but this what I came up with after two months or so of reacquainting myself with music as a form, given music isn't really one of my favorite things in general.

Individual Songs:

Alice Cooper - "No More Mr. Nice Guy"

Annihilator - "Alison Hell", "Schizos (Are Never Alone), Pts. I & II"

Army of The Pharaohs - "Dump the Clip"

Beastie Boys - "Brass Monkey", "Intergalactic"

Bell Biv Devoe - "Poison"

Billy Idol - "Eyes Without a Face", "Rebel Yell", "White Wedding"

Blaq Poet - "Don't Give a Fucc", "Rap Addiction"

Black Sabbath - "Paranoid"

Blitzkrieg - "Death, Poverty & Despair"

Bobby Brown - "Every Little Step", "My Prerogative"

Brian Setzer - "Go-Go Godzilla"

Can't Stop Won't Stop - "Mighty & High"

Connie - "Funky Little Beat"

Cynthia & Johnny O - "Dreamboy/Dreamgirl"

Daft Punk - "Get Lucky", "Robot Rock"

The Daughter of Eve - "Hey Lover"

Debbie Deb - "When I Hear Music"

Deep Purple - "Smoke on The Water"

Deftones - "Change (In The House of Flies)"

DMX - "Where the Hood at?"

Donna Summer - "Hot Stuff", "Last Dance"

Dr. Dre - "Deep Cover (ft. Snoop Dogg)"

Duran Duran - "Notorious"

Earth, Wind & Fire - "Dance Dance Dance", "Jupiter"

Eagles - "Witchy Woman"

Echosmith - "Cool Kids"

Eikichi Yazawa - "The Trouble Man"

Exodus - "Verbal Razors", "Toxic Waltz"

Expose - "Come Go With Me", "Point of No Return"

Faith No More - "Be Aggressive"

Flamingosis X Yung Bae - "Groovin"

Flo Milli - "Beef FloMix"

A Flock of Seagulls - "I Ran"

Freddie Dredd - "All Alone", "Cha Cha"

Ghostemane - "Andromeda", "John Dee", "Mercury: Retrograde", "My Tommy Don't"

Gloria Estefan - "Conga"

Gorillaz - "DARE", "Doncamatic (ft. Daley)", "Empire Ants (Miami Horror remix", "Stylo"

Grim Reaper - "See You in Hell"

Heatwave - "Boogie Nights"

Ice Cube - "Natural Born Killaz (ft. Dr. Dre", "No Vaseline"

INXS - "What You Need"

Iron Butterfly - "In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida"

Janet Jackson - "What Have You Done for Me Lately", "Nasty"

Justin Timberlake - "Suit & Tie (ft. Jay-Z)"

Kazumi Watanabe - "Fu Bu Ki"

KC & The Sunshine Band - "I'm Your Boogie Man"

Lakeside - "Fantastic Voyage"

Latto - "It's Givin"

Living Colour - "Cult of Personality"

LL Cool J - "Momma Said Knock You Out"

Loverboy - "Working for The Weekend"

Madonna - "Holiday", "Into The Groove", "Like a Virgin", "Lucky Star"

The Mamas & The Papas - "California Dreamin'"

Masayoshi Takanaka - "Dancing to Cat Guitar", "Summertime Blues"

MC Skat Cat - "Skat Strut"

Metallica - "For Whom The Bell Tolls"

MF Doom - "Coffin Nails/Rap Snitches", "I Hear Voices"

Michael Gray - "The Weekend"

Michael Jackson - "Another Part of Me", "Baby Be Mine", "Bad", "Beat It", "Billie Jean", "Blame It On The Boogie", "Off The Wall", "P.Y.T.", "Rock With You", "Smooth Criminal", "Thriller", "Wanna Be Startin' Somethin'", "Working Day and Night"

Modjo - "Lady Hear Me Tonight"

Motörhead - "Ace of Spades", "The Game"

Mystery Skulls - "Freaking Out", "Magic"

Nino Ferrer - Looking For You"

N.W.A. - "Gangsta Gangsta", "Parental Discretion is Advised", "Straight Outta Compton"

ORiMOH - "OVULADY (ft. Lindsay Lucas)"

Ozzy Osbourne - "I Don't Wanna Stop"

Parliament - "Flashlight"

Pat Benatar - "Heartbreaker"

Philip Bailey, Phil Collins - "Easy Lover"

Pink - "Get The Party Started"

Plasmatics - "Lightning Breaks", "Mistress in Taboo", "Country Fairs"

Prefab Sprout - "Moving the River"

PTP - "Show Me Your Spine"

Puzzle - "Loose Cannon"

Rick James - "Give it To Me Baby"

Rob Zombie - "Blitzkrieg Bop", "Dead City Radio", "More Human Than Human", "Never Gonna Stop", "Pussy Liquor", "We're an American Band"

Rockell - "In a Dream"

Romantics - "Talking in Your Sleep"

Sanctuary - "Future Tense"

Savatage - "Hall of The Mountain King", "Prelude to Madness"

Scorpions - "Rock You Like a Hurricane"

Shannon - "Let The Music Play"

Sheila E. - "The Glamorous Life"

Skinny Puppy - "Assimilate"

Spice 1 - "Born II Die"

Sweet Sensation - "Hooked on You"

Symphony X - "Absence of Light"

Tame Impala - "Let it Happen"

Thomas Dolby - "She Blinded Me with Science"

TiaCorrine - "Lotto"

Testament - "Absence of Light", "Malpractice", "Troubled Dreams"

Tommy Richman - "Million Dollar Baby"

Van Halen - "Hot For Teacher"

Vicious Rumors - "Don't Wait For Me"

Wham! - "Everything She Wants", "Ray of Sunshine"

The Whispers - "Tonight"

Full Albums:

Armored Saint - "March of The Saint"

Casiopea - "Make Up City", "Mint Jams", "Thunder Live"

Electric Light Orchestra - "Time"

Front Line Assembly - "Caustic Grip", "Millennium", "Tactical Neural Implant"

Masayoshi Takanaka - "Alone", "Can I Sing?", "Seychelles"

Metallica - "Seek and Destroy"

Mort Garson - "Ataraxia: The Unexplained"

Mr. Bungle - "OU818" (demo)/"[self-titled]"

Nyx Fears - "Lovepop"

Rob Zombie - "Hillbilly Deluxe"

Toshiki Kodamatsu - "After 5 Crash"

[jazzmckay]

happy thedasweekend jazzzzz uwu okay, so! i propose: inky anders au, anders/fenris, and the artifacts of thedas prompt of: Templar armor, marked by lightning. hope it's fun! 💖

let me tell you, man, i went through like 4 versions of this in my head before settling on one. there are so many options!! and even this could easily be just one scene within a larger work. damnit! 😂 i love inky anders sm, ty

2.2k for @thedasweekend

The village of Haven is alight with singing, dancing, and laughter. Bonfires chase away the southern chill, the glow adding further warmth to the festivities and merriment. Anders stands on the incline towards the chantry with Cassandra at his side, surveying it all with a dual sense of disbelief and hope; perhaps the longer he watches the freed mages revelling in their victory, the easier it will be to internalize that they made it. They’re alive, they’re free, and that cannot be taken away from them anymore.

Then, the moment shatters.

Clanging splits through the night, drowning out all else. The signal bells. While icy dread creeps up Anders’ spine, the ringing reverberates in his ears. Between one moment and the next, the village of Haven turns from celebration to mayhem and panic, the soldiers and mages taking arms while civilians flee from an unknown threat.

Anders gazes up at the mountain ranges to the north-east with wide eyes, his staff already in hand. Little spots of light from carried torches are all that stand out against darkness and endless snow, but the beat of marching forces drawing nearer is unmistakeable.

It couldn’t be so easy, of course. The Breach is closed, but the fight isn’t over.

Cassandra, her sword unsheathed, is already flying down the steps towards the lakeside gates of Haven. Anders hurries after her, passing through the whirlwind of everyone rushing in all directions, the cries of fear lifting into the night air. Justice simmers beneath the surface of his mind, on edge, preparing to defend.

They find the trio of advisors by the gate, Cassandra seeking more information while Anders tries to make out any distinctive features of the force descending the mountain pass in the distance.

From beyond the gate, he hears a scuffle; several pairs of boots in the snow, the clash of metal, a yell—

Something slams into the doors hard enough to rattle it on its great hinges. Blue light flashes beneath it. Another bang, then silence.

“We can’t come in unless you open!” a voice calls from the other side.

Anders has no clue what to make of it, but he rushes towards the doors all the same; whatever is going on, they need answers. The soldier on guard obligingly pushes the gate open for him, allowing him to dart through.

Bodies lie on the blood-splattered snow, each of them donning a suit of templar armour. In the middle of them stands yet another templar, their thick cuirass emblazoned with the flaming sword and their helm obscuring all personal features, forming one of the faceless, impenetrable jailors that Anders has spent most of his life running from.

Rage flaring through his veins, Anders swings his staff around and slams it into the ground, sending a strike of lightning upon the templar. Even here, he thinks with a blend of irritation, resignation, and despair, he is not free from being hunted. A Seeker may believe he was sent by Andraste, but that doesn’t mean the rest agree with her.

The templar grunts as the lightning crackles across the heavy armour, spreading paralyzing sparks. Satisfaction soothes Anders’ nerves when the templar’s grip on their greatsword goes slack and they stagger, one knee slamming into the disturbed snow.

“Wait!” that same voice from before cries.

Anders startles at the appearance of another from behind the templar, revealed as the bulky armour no longer blocks him from view. This one is no templar—he’s in patchwork linens and leathers, his deathly-pale face almost entirely obscured by a wide-brimmed hat.

“Explain yourself!” Anders orders as he brandishes his staff again, ready to bring more lightning down if he must. No templar will get the better of him again.

“My name is Cole,” the slighter figure says. He steps forward, hands raised and palms out in surrender.

The templar drops the sword into the snow, then lifts their hands to their helmet.

Anders bares his teeth, his grip tightening on his staff. He isn’t sure which of them to focus on; the threat of a templar is obvious, while the other—Cole—is too much of an unknown, leaving both Anders and Justice wary.

“We came to warn you. There are people trying to kill you. You probably already know that,” Cole continues.

“We?” Anders repeats.

The templar wrenches the helmet off, tossing it away, and Anders goes stock still, eyes widening.

Stark white hair grown longer than when Anders last saw it, now swept back into a braid revealing a trio of lyrium dots against dark skin that used to be obscured by bangs. Familiar green eyes meet Anders’ for the first time since that calamitous night in Kirkwall. Eyes that glared at him with fury, derision, and hurt.

Fenris looks at him with less reproach now, but no gentleness has replaced it; his gaze is flat, guarded. Anders can only stare at him, stunned, unsure.

Cole strides forward again, saying something about the Elder One and the templars. The Commander appears at Anders’ side, making Anders bristle, finally rousing him from watching Fenris in disbelief.

While Cole and Cullen speak, Anders takes a tentative step forward, returning his attention to Fenris. He looks down at the blazing sword upon Fenris’ chest, a new surge of anger coursing through him. “You became a templar?” he asks. “After everything, after… you…”

He clutches his staff, torn between guilt for unknowingly striking Fenris and wanting to strike him again for this new betrayal.

“No,” Fenris says, speaking for the first time. The sound of his deep voice makes Anders’ chest twist. “The armour was only a means to an end. It was how Cole and I escaped.”

“Escaped?” Anders echoes, his tone becoming embarrassingly shrill.

“We don’t have time to discuss it,” Fenris says. He grasps his sword again—and now that Anders takes the time to focus on it, he recognizes it as a Sword of Mercy—using it to push himself back onto his feet. He stumbles even with the crutch, still shaking off the lightning.

Despite himself, Anders darts forward to catch him, one hand still holding his staff while the other goes around Fenris’ waist.

Fenris exhales softly, like relief. He wraps an arm around Anders’ back. “I was coming to find you,” he says, barely above a whisper, like he’s sharing a secret.

Anders’ breath catches in his throat.

After Kirkwall, Anders thought the only way he’d ever see Fenris again would be as the warrior’s prey, just like the templars, like Vael. What he and Fenris used to have, the peace they’d managed to carve out for themselves—Anders understood that his actions shattered it just as thoroughly as he brought the Kirkwall chantry to ruin. Anders had expected it, had tried to prepare himself for it, but that hadn’t dulled the pain in the slightest when the inevitable came to pass.

He’d shown Fenris a different side to mages, and then—

But Fenris’ tone does not suggest that he was coming to kill Anders. Quite the opposite. There’s an aching regret in his voice that Anders never dared to hope for.

Anders wants to be angry—part of him still is angry—but it has been four years, the last couple months have changed everything, and he just misses Fenris so incredibly much. If Fenris heard about the Conclave and took up the opportunity to finally close the distance he put between them… that’s enough for Anders to clutch him a little tighter, even with the terrible templar armour stuck between them.

Neither of them gets the chance to say anything else. The Elder One’s army is upon them. Corypheus’ army. The blighted magister that should already be dead.

As they all hurry back through the gates into the village, Fenris straightens up, able to move under his own power, but he doesn’t pull away from Anders’ side.

“Sorry about the lightning,” Anders says.

Expression grim, Fenris says, “I understand.”

“Can you still fight?”

Now, Fenris scoffs as if offended. “You know me better than that.”

A small smile forms on Anders’ face. He does know Fenris’ abilities well. The two of them are matched in resilience. The kind of resilience born of always looking over one’s shoulder, needing to be ready to fight for freedom at any moment.

The group of people Anders has been travelling with since first being named the Herald of Andraste are waiting for them.

Anders glances at Fenris, then at the others. “Solas and Sera, with us. The rest of you, protect the villagers.”

They spread out, Anders leading his team to the north trebuchet. The templars are on them almost instantly, breaching the walls and storming towards them. With a sickened lurch in Anders’ stomach, he notices that unlike Fenris’ pristine armour, these templars are corrupted, infected: growths of red lyrium spike through the plates, emerging from the flesh beneath. Some of them glow an ominous red, like a sharp counterpoint to Justice’s pure blue aura.

Fenris contrasts them as well, his familiar ethereal tone feeling right when Anders catches sight of him phasing through the battlefield, cutting down templars with deadly efficiency. Fighting alongside each other again brings Anders a sense of home, even as the differences around them remain jarring.

Together with Solas and Sera, they cut through the onslaught, then proceed to the south trebuchet, preparing it for launch when there’s a second to breathe. Their efforts are rewarded when they bury a swath of the templars in an avalanche.

But their victory is short-lived when the night is split with the deafening roar of a dragon, its wingbeats growing louder as it emerges from the mountains, bearing down on them. Corypheus didn’t have a dragon last time.

There’s nothing to do but retreat.

As they hurry through the village, helping the stragglers along the way, Fenris remains close to Anders, the two of them naturally guarding each other’s flanks. For brief moments through the fight, Anders can feel like nothing ever broke between them.

When they make it into the relative safety of the chantry and convene with the Commander and Cole, it quickly becomes clear that the only way for everyone to escape through the passage Roderick reveals to them is with a miracle or a very significant distraction.

Anders’ eyes go unseeing as he processes, still breathing hard from the fight. He knows what must be done.

It is the right thing to do, Justice agrees.

Anders would have liked to do more before his end, but that he’s still standing after Kirkwall is already more than he bargained for. That he got to offer the mage rebellion safety and support is already more than he dreamed of back when the most he could grasp at was a catalyst for change.

And the Calling is upon him. His time is limited, whether it comes now or in a month. Better to die under the open skies than suffocated within the Deep Roads.

“If Corypheus is here for me, I’ll make him fight for it,” Anders says.

Cullen narrows his eyes at Anders, ever suspicious even after Anders has dutifully played the role of Herald just like the advisors want. “And when the mountain falls? What about you?”

“Oh, don’t pretend you’ll mourn me,” Anders snaps.

“Anders.” Fenris grasps Anders’ arm, drawing his attention away from the Commander. With Fenris, it’s clear he does care what happens to Anders. His brow is pinched, his lips pressed into a firm line.

Anders forces a smile. “I’ve survived worse odds.”

The words only make Fenris’ expression tighten further, a flicker of pain in his eyes. “Then I will go with you.”

Anders’ chest clenches. “Fenris…”

“I will not abandon you a second time.”

Emotion lodges in Anders’ throat; the back of his eyes prickle. One phrase, spoken with Fenris’ strong, unyielding determination, and Anders is ready to crumple into his arms, to melt into him and forget all the time they spent apart, the hurt and grief washed away.

Unable to hold back, Anders leans into Fenris, dipping his head down as he reaches to cup the back of Fenris’ head with his free hand. His fingers slide over the soft strands of Fenris’ braided hair as they meet, Fenris pressing just as close to share their first kiss since the Kirkwall chantry fell.

Anders doesn’t care about their audience. He doesn’t care that they hardly have time to spare. He doesn’t care that they might both die in the coming minutes. He wants to commit the feeling of Fenris’ lips against his own to memory, for as long as that memory may last.

Still, they must break apart before long, but when they do so, Anders feels bolstered and full of fire. “Let’s go see if we can kill that bastard. Again,” he says.

Fenris smirks, eagerness crossing his features.

They turn for the great doors of the chantry together. Solas and Sera wordlessly fall back into step with them, warming Anders’ chest further.

The odds are bleak, but as Anders pushes through the doors into the snowy night and their last stand, he dares to believe they’ll make it through this one alive.

[corner-stories]

ice dance with somebody

Mikasa Ackerman. Jean Kirschtein. Dance Studios. Partnering. Off-Season Preparations. Figure Skating AU. 2016 words. (ao3.)

It's at this point of their career that they can both recognize and acknowledge their shortcomings. If their twizzles are out of sync, then Jean will take the blame. If one of them looks bored during the program while the other is utterly entranced by the music, then it's Mikasa who falls short. 

Because as much as she tries, she knows she is not as expressive as she could be. Whether the music be a bouncy bit of 80s pop, a classical movement that demands the kind of balletic grace only seen on the most prestigious of stages, or an eloquently composed orchestral suite, more often than not Mikasa’s face will be locked in a look of utter focus. 

Which is not bad in itself, as the desire to skate cleanly should take priority over everything else. But when she and Jean move across the ice hand-in-hand — carefully navigating their twizzles, step sequences, and lifts — her habit of being laser-focused on each element has the undesired effect of making her look indifferent, no matter what story is being told through the music and choreography.

So on an average day in the lives of two overworked ice dancers, Mikasa is more conscious of her face than usual. 

The third floor dance studio is already hotter than she would like it, the cracked window and the fan in the corner doing little to ease the beads of sweat forming on her forehead. Outside it's a mid-September day, the warmth of summer having yet to fade into autumn. To some it's a reminder that the days of fireworks, lightning bugs, and lakeside hangouts are over, but to her it's just another sign that the competitive season is about to start. 

As they practice the elements of their free dance, Mikasa leans towards her partner and Jean brings into his arms like he's been doing so for the last few years, handling her like she's made of glass until they get into position for their straight line lift. Soon she's practically sitting on his shoulder, her legs placed in a way that helps stabilize herself against his torso, like she's affixed to him. As she braces her core, she tries to adjust her facial expression like it's another part of her body. 

Their music of choice plays through the studio's speaker, atmospheric strings painting an image of a coastal castle on a cliff's edge, ocean waves lapping at the rocky shore below, and the grey clouds above making the sky look endless. Even though they're not on the ice, Mikasa closes her eyes and imagines the way the wind will whip at her hair when they’re moving for real, like a widow yearning for a love that is lost. She lets herself slip into character, even if for a moment. 

Then once it's over she opens her eyes and returns to her reality. 

She and Jean transition to their rotational lift, an act that involves practically dropping herself into his arms and letting him catch her with all the care in the world. Jean holds her bridal style as he begins to turn, the soles of his sneakers rapidly tapping on the floor as he does his best to simulate the feeling of spinning on ice.

Once he lets her down and she's on the ground, they progress into their choreographic sequence, in which they move across all ends of the dance studio, either hand-in-hand or with their arms around the other’s shoulders. It's the part of the program where Mikasa can let herself revel in the joy of each movement. She and Jean are good at navigating the characteristics of each step, knowing which to keep balletically beautiful, which to make it seem like Jean’s the marionette and Mikasa’s the puppeteer, and which to enjoy like it’s their last hour as humans before the spell wears off.

Their eyes lock again, and as per the dramatic swelling of the score, Jean reaches to her and his fingertips graze her cheek ever so gently. Through their years of skating she's grown accustomed to the gesture, so much so that she tends to expect that every time Jean would gently stroke her face, he would do so with a loving look in his eyes no matter what the character of the piece may be — like she’s something precious, something to behold.

So the fact that Jean looks disinterested leaves her confused.

But Mikasa doesn’t let herself linger on it, because it's certainly not the strangest thing that's happened to them during a program — besides, she still has nightmares about the great wardrobe malfunction from their first Junior Worlds.

She watches Jean turn around, obscuring his bored look as they go into the next move. She steps close to him, then once she feels his arm snaking around her waist in just the right place she leans back and kicks her leg into the air, letting Jean carry her the rest of the way. The move is reminiscent of a backflip, except is technically classified as a choreo assisted jump and is thus perfectly legal and actually worth putting in their programs.

The jump is over as soon as it begins and Mikasa is on the ground again. The music of their program continues to play. On the rink they are meant to move into their sequential twizzles, an element they have done so many times over the years that they can tell when they’re in sync based on the sound of the blade on the ice. 

But the limitations of the dance studio lead to Mikasa and Jean simply stopping in place, their eyes remaining connected despite him not being as expressive as he usually is.

“How’d that feel?” she asks. 

Jean shrugs, tired. “Okay.” 

She nods along. She’s not sure which event of their day had already drained his energy — the early morning ice session, their hour of physio, or the fact that they’re trying to squeeze in some studio time before spending the rest of their day in the gym. If anything, he's clearly not sleeping as much as he claims to be. 

With that in mind, Mikasa says — “I think we should break for lunch.” 

Jean looks relieved, exhaling with a smile on his face. “Good idea.” He wipes some sweat off his forehead as he walks towards the edge of the studio. 

As Mikasa catches her breath and tries to ignore soreness in her muscles, her eyes are drawn to the other side of the room, where a window shows not a view of Toronto, but a view of the ice rink below. Driven by her curiosity, she walks to the glass to see who's currently having a session. 

From above she watches Armin train, a process that involves cleaning up his few quads before the season starts. His lutz is executed and landed competently, but knowing Armin, Mikasa has a feeling that he won't rest until it's as clean as his toe and salchow. As Mikasa watches her old friend glide across the ice, she grows thankful that both he and her (and Jean) have been given Junior Grand Prix assignments at the same competitions. Seeing Armin perform his quads in the wild will certainly be a treat. 

On the other side of the rink, Mikasa spots another male singles skater that she's fairly close to. With the help of Coach Zeke and a harness, Eren refines his own quadruple combo. But as fascinating as it is to watch someone with his larger frame launch himself into the air, the sight of Eren eating shit on the ice has unfortunately become a common occurrence. 

As Mikasa watches Eren attempt and fumble what's supposed to be a quad toe-double toe, she wonders if he regrets his refusal to be her ice dance partner all those years ago. 

When Mikasa hears footsteps coming her way, she turns her aside to see Jean approaching her. For a very brief moment he’s bare-chested, the slightest sheen of sweat visible on his skin. His hands are busy unfurling a cleaner shirt, a garment that had undoubtedly been stuffed to the bottom of his skating bag for god knows how long. She tries to look respectfully as Jean pulls on his clothing, yet her eyes linger on the breadth of his shoulders and chest for just a second, maybe two. He’s always been on the tall, lankier side, but as she looks at him now she notices that parts of him are more defined than she last remembers.

“Lunch is on me today,” she says before she can stare for too long. “What are you feeling?” 

Jean adjusts his shirt sleeves as he shrugs. “I could really go for some tacos right now.” 

“Sounds good.” Mikasa nods and walks past him, only briefly noticing the girth of his forearms before refocusing her thoughts on something more appropriate.

The two ice dancers gather up their belongings and leave the sweaty dance studio. The chill of the hallway cools their skin the second they step into it. Mikasa checks her watch and notes that they barely have two hours before they are to head to the rink’s gym. The more she thinks about it, the more she sighs and internally dreads the session. Weight room time has never been her favorite part of her craft, but at least Coach Mike is nice when he asks them to perform some kind of strange, awkward unilateral stabilization exercise.

As Mikasa and Jean walk, another duo of skaters enter the hallway from the other end. Pieck Finger and Porco Galliard, also known as the rink’s top pairs team, strut through the space like they own it. In contrast to the ice dancers who just spent the last hour practising their complicated lifts, Pieck and Porco look rather chipper, a telltale sign that they probably don’t have a conditioning session scheduled today. 

As the pairs and ice dance teams pass each other in the hallway, Mikasa notices Jean and Porco’s gazes meet like two beacons across the sea. If there’s anything these snarky bastards have in common, it’s the color of their hair, similar shades of hazel eyes, and a tendency to exchange barbs the second they see each other. 

“Hey, Kirschtein!” Porco says, utilizing his unique ability to make every word he says sound like an insult. “You bulking or what?” 

“A little bit.” Jean smirks as he passes his rinkmate by, the teams now walking away from each other and towards opposite ends of the hallway. 

But before the ice dancers can slip out of sight, Jean turns around and raises his arm up, making sure that his flexed bicep is visible for Porco’s viewing pleasure. “Creatine helps.” 

Porco chuckles as Pieck rolls her eyes, a typical reaction from the two of them. Mikasa takes after her female rinkmate slightly, though has the sense to look away and make sure her partner doesn’t notice her response to his gym bro antics. 

Soon the pairs team and the ice dancers leave the hallway, off to attend their own misadventures in figure skating for the rest of the day. 

Mikasa remains at Jean’s side as they descend the stairs and arrive at the rink’s concourse, another space that proves to be much cooler than the studio. As they step across the checkered floor tiles and past the overpriced vending machines, Mikasa turns to her partner and speaks.

“No one ever asks me that,” she says in the voice she uses when it's only him and her.

Jean raises an eyebrow. “Ask you what?”

“If I’m bulking… or cutting,” she tells him. To spare herself her own internal musings about how her body looks during the season, she keeps talking. “Whatever you call it. Everyone talks about how you’re getting leaner... or bigger... or shredded... but never me.”

“Idiots,” Jean declares, not wasting a single second. He doesn’t hesitate to step towards his partner and put his arm over her shoulder, a gesture he’s only begun doing recently yet Mikasa has never found a reason to complain. “Let’s eat.” 

[ncrthernl1ghts-a]

" ARE YOU NUTS, sweetheart? " wind howls as stanley approaches the woman by the lakeside, practically shouting over the gusts as the sky darkens, " can't you see that storm coming in? you don't want to be here when the lightning starts. " normally, he wouldn't bother, but the kids in his backseat & their big sad eyes convinced him to intervene. even now, he can perfectly picture dipper & mabel pressed against the back windows, eyes wide, brows knitted.

@intothewildsea // s.c. // stan pines

[clemswalkietalkie]

My late submission for @tes-summer-fest ! August 6th-beloved or and ritual

My Last Dragonborn, Faustina, lays by the campfire with her wife, (butch!)Brynjolf while on the way home to Lakeside Manor after checking in on the Thieves Guild in Riften. The journey is long, but they’ve grown accustomed to it, so they’ve learned the best places to set up camp for the night. On warm nights at home, they will also sleep outside with a campfire to hear the trees rustling and watch the lightning bugs flicker. Rest is easy like this.

[gravityfallsweirdgirl]

DARKWING IN: LA Llorona

In Darkwing's hideout, shrouded in shadows. The air is tense. Darkwing and Gosalyn face each other, the atmosphere thick with conflict.

"Gosalyn, this has to stop. You can't keep putting yourself in danger" darkwing says.

Gosalyn's voice was trembling with emotions, "I'm not a kid, Darkwing! I can help you. I want to help you!"

"It's not about what you want! I can't focus if I'm worried about you getting hurt"

"So, what? You're sending me away?"

"Yes. It's for your own good. You need to be safe" darkwing sighs heavily, looking away.

"I don't belong in an orphanage! I belong with you!" Gosayln says furiously.

"Not anymore" Darkwing was cold.

At the orphanage. The walls seem to close in, oppressive and unwelcoming. Mrs. Crumple, the cruel caregiver, a Cassowary glares at Gosalyn as she enters.

"Welcome to back, troublemaker. Follow the rules, and you might survive"

"I won't stay here long"

She was leaning in, her breath cold, "We'll see about that"

Over the past few days, after Drake aka Darkwing abandoned Gosalyn, she sneaks out of the orphanage, running through the dark forest.

She reaches a secluded lake, collapsing at the water's edge, sobbing.

"How could he do this to me?" Gosayln sobbed.

The water ripples, and a mist rises. But a A ghostly legend, figure shadow appears dark eyes staring from the reflection of the lake. A woman in a white dress.

a figure from Latin American folklore. According to legend, she is a ghostly apparition of a woman who roams near bodies of water, weeping for her lost children. The myth of a weeping women.

The legendary La Llorona, she emerges, her eyes filled with sorrow, she saw pain in gosayln

She slowly pulls out of the lake, her boney cold fingers touched gosayln shoulder.

"AH!" She gets startled, but too upset to care when she looks up at La Llorona who whispered to her.

"Who... who are you?"

La Llorona kneeling beside her, whispering, "what's wrong? My hero... he sent me away. He thinks I'm a burden. I thought he cared enough to adopt me but I guess I was wrong"

La Llorona gently brushes gosayln hair back whispering.

Gosayln smiles at her, "thank you for listening to me...what's that? You know what it's like...you had children of your own? What happened to them?....they died...oh I'm so sorry how did they died?....they were drowned, just be hard, you know I lost my grandfather to a bad man"

Over several more days, gosayln would always head back to The lakeside, to visit her new friend and mother figure.

After several nights later. Gosalyn sits by the water, speaking animatedly to La Llorona, who listens intently.

"And then I said, "You call that a trap? I've seen better from kindergarteners!.....I wish Darkwing could see that. Maybe then he wouldn't have sent me away. Thanks, La Llorona. You're the best friend I've had in a long time. What's that? I'm the daughter you wish you could have had. That's so sweet, well I guess I should get back now before Ms crumple gets mad and punished me again I swear she needs to stop being so mean, I wish someone would teach her a lesson"

But La Llorona is a dangerous ghost when it comes to children, at The orphanage. Mrs. Crumple is harsher than ever, berating Gosalyn as she scrubs the floor.

"You're not working fast enough, girl! Do you want to skip dinner again?"

"I'm going as fast as I can!"

Mrs. Crumple grabbing Gosalyn's arm roughly, "Don't you talk back to me! You'll learn your place soon enough"

It was raining outside when La Llorona saw how gosayln was being treated, she gets furious.

Later that night, by the lake. La Llorona steps out of the lake and heads to the orphanage when she sees Gosalyn.

As everyone heads to their room, gosayln saw La Llorona.

"La Llorona!" She whispered and hugs the ghost, "I'm so glad you're here, She's so mean, La Llorona. I don't know how much more I can take"

The next night, A dark, stormy night. The orphanage sits ominously against the backdrop of rolling thunder and flashes of lightning. Inside, Gosalyn lies in her bed, staring at the ceiling, the oppressive silence broken only by the occasional drip of rainwater through a crack in the roof.

"I can't stay here anymore... I have to leave"

Suddenly, a cold breeze sweeps through the room, extinguishing the single flickering candle by her bedside. The room plunges into darkness, and the temperature drops sharply. Gosalyn pulls her blanket tighter, eyes wide with fear.

La Llorona's Voice softly, echoing, "Gosalyn... niña..." Gosalyn sits up abruptly, heart pounding.

"La Llorona? Is that you?"

A misty figure materializes at the foot of her bed, La Llorona's sorrowful eyes glowing faintly in the dark.

The hallway outside Gosalyn's room. Mrs. Crumple walks down the darkened corridor, muttering to herself about the troublemaker she has to deal with. She hears a distant, haunting wail echoing through the halls.

"What now? Who's making that racket?"

The wail grows louder, more intense, reverberating off the walls. The air grows colder with each step she takes.

Then A gust of icy wind blasts through the corridor, knocking Mrs. Crumple off her feet. She scrambles to get up, panic setting in as she realizes she is not alone.

"Who's there? Show yourself!"

Darkwing's hideout. He's looking at news footage of the recent attack he thwarted, realizing Gosalyn's warnings were accurate.

"She was right. I've made a terrible mistake. I have to make things right" darkwing says to himself.

In Gosalyn's room. La Llorona stands beside Gosalyn, her spectral form now more defined, her expression one of determined anger.

The hallway. Mrs. Crumple stumbles to her feet, her breath visible in the cold air. Shadows move along the walls, and the wailing grows unbearably loud. Suddenly, La Llorona appears before her, her eyes burning with fury.

"What are you? Stay away from me!"

La Llorona raises her hand, and the shadows around Mrs. Crumple come to life, wrapping around her limbs, holding her in place. She struggles, but the grip tightens, making her scream in terror.

"Let me go! Please!" Ms crumple cried.

Gosayln hears Mrs. Crumple's screams echoing through the halls, fear gripping her heart. She stands at the door, hesitating.

"La Llorona, what are you doing?" Gosayln watched.

The shadows lift Mrs. Crumple into the air, her screams piercing the night. La Llorona steps closer, her face inches from Mrs. Crumple's.

A sudden explosion of force sends Mrs. Crumple crashing into a gas lamp, which topples over, igniting the curtains. Flames quickly spread through the hall, the heat intensifying.

The orphanage, now ablaze. Darkwing arrives, seeing the flames engulfing the building.

seeing the building engulfed in flames. He rushes in, calling out for Gosalyn.

"Gosalyn! Where are you?"

"Gosalyn! I'm coming!"

In Gosalyn's room. Smoke begins to fill the room, and Gosalyn coughs, trying to stay low. She gets scared and she hears Darkwing's voice faintly over the roar of the flames.

"Darkwing!"

"Gosayln!"

"DARKWING!"

He finally finds her but the building started to collapse splitting apart.

"Gosayln come on grab my hand" he reachers out for her but then....

Gosayln looks back as if someone was calling her, "gosayln what are doing come on"

But she leaves, "gosayln don't"

He jumps and he sees her looking up at someone, he ran and as some debris collapsed.

"Gosayln! I'm coming" desperately. He pushes through and He finds Gosalyn unconscious on the floor, the fire closing in around her. He grabs her and carries her out just as the building starts to collapse.

"Hold on, Gosalyn. I've got you"

Outside the orphanage. Darkwing carries Gosalyn out just as the building starts to collapse. They tumble onto the grass, gasping for air. Gosalyn loses consciousness as Darkwing holds her, tears streaming down his face.

The hospital. Drake sits by Gosalyn's bed, guilt and worry etched on his face.

"I'm so sorry, Gosalyn. I should have never sent you away"

Gosalyn stirs, her eyes opening slowly. But something is different. She stares blankly at Darkwing, not speaking.

"She's conscious, but... she seems different. We'll need to monitor her closely"

"I'll take care of her. I'm not leaving her side again"

"Gosalyn, I'm here for you. I'm going to adopt you officially. We're going to get through this together"

Gosalyn doesn't respond, her gaze unchanging. Darkwing embraces her, vowing to be the protector and father she needs, despite the eerie silence that now surrounds her.

The lakeside. La Llorona watches from the shadows as Darkwing finalizes the adoption process. Her ghostly form flickers with rage.

"He thinks he can take you from me? No. You are mine, niña. I will get you back, no matter the cost"

In that hospital room, later that night. Gosalyn lies in bed, her eyes flickering with a ghostly light. La Llorona's voice echoes faintly in the room.

Gosalyn's expression remains blank, but a single tear falls, hinting at the internal struggle within her. Darkwing watches over her, unaware of the spirit that now resides within his daughter.

[link-posting]

A Beetle for Beedle

Beetle’s footsteps fell heavy under the weight of his beetle pack. The pack was large, packed full of Hylia-knows-what. It was anyone’s guess how he was able to carry it, let alone how he could fit everything in it. But, he was a beloved traveling merchant so most people simply didn’t question it. Some of the less-frequent stable visitors sent him odd looks now and then, but those who frequented the stable network were used to his… peculiarities.

Among them, one particular stable-goer was particularly good friends with him: a certain young, blonde-haired Hylian. Their paths crossed constantly- each one curious as to how the other reached the other stables so quickly. Oh well, everyone had their secrets.

Said young Hylian was currently jogging down the road towards the merchant, one hand clutched to his chest, the other waving over his head. He had a bright smile, looking excited to see his friend. He called out his name just as Beedle turned toward the entrance of Lakeside Stable. It was still early in the night, not quite 10pm, but most of the patrons of the stable had already headed inside for the night. Beedle paused where he stood, waving to the other.

“Hello, Link!” he called back, wondering what he was holding to his chest.

Link jogged up, bouncing a little on his feet as he stopped in front of Beedle. “I brought you something!” he said, absolutely beaming. Before Beedle could ask what, he held out his hand, carefully uncurling his fingers just enough for Beedle to see what he was holding.

Beedle gasped and let out an excited “Yahoo!”, his eyes lighting up. “An energetic rhino beetle! You don’t see those very often!” he spilled out, reaching out for the insect.

Link passed it over to him, careful not to hurt the small creature or accidentally let him loose. Beedle pulled out a small jar to put it in, capping it off with a cork. Beedle thanked him again, offering to trade an elixir for it, but Link shook his head. “It’s okay! I don’t need anything in return,” he insisted.

The pair walked into Lakeside Stable together, Link waving a hello to the stablemaster, Anly. Just as he was about to offer to cook for the patrons and stable workers, a loud crack filled the air. Link could feel the electricity in the air just before lightning struck outside the stable. Oh well, such was life in the rainforest. Instead, Link headed toward the back of the stable and plopped down on the ground beside the quirky merchant he called his friend.

[mtg-punk-chronicles]

The Starting Point

Punk CUBE as of 7/8/25 - 105 cards

1 Feed the Cauldron (WOE) 91 1 Shoot the Sheriff (OTJ) 106 1 Rising Populace (WAR) 29 1 Squad Captain (CMR) 51 1 Sunspire Griffin (RTR) 25 1 Angelic Gift (AFC) 64 1 Dromad Purebred (RAV) 15 1 Doomed Traveler (CLU) 59 1 Helica Glider (IKO) 15 1 Runewing (RTR) 48 1 Prying Eyes (CMR) 86 1 Tolarian Scholar (M19) 80 1 Stingerback Terror (OTJ) 147 1 Doomed Dissenter (M19) 93 1 Summit Prowler (DTK) 160 1 Falkenrath Perforator (MID) 136 1 Conifer Strider (DTK) 179 1 Attended Socialite (SNC) 133 1 Feral Krushok (FRF) 128 1 Fabrication Module (KLD) 211 1 Arid Archway (OTJ) 252 1 Six-Sided Die (UNF) 92 1 Betrayal at the Vault (OTJ) 155 1 Failed Fording (OTJ) 47 1 Rooftop Assassin (OTJ) 103 1 Omenport Vigilante (OTJ) 21 1 Beanstalk Giant // Fertile Footsteps (ELD) 295 1 Charmed Sleep (ELD) 40 1 Fierce Witchstalker (ELD) 154 1 Frenzied Raptor (XLN) 146 1 Eye Collector (ELD) 86 1 Prized Griffin (ELD) 24 1 Charming Prince (ELD) 8 1 Thriving Ibex (KLD) 31 1 Tangle Mantis (MBS) 91 1 Carnivorous Moss-Beast (M15) 170 1 Woodborn Behemoth (E01) 79 1 Scalding Cauldron (ELD) 229 1 Tall as a Beanstalk (ELD) 178 1 Outmuscle (ELD) 170 1 Crackling Drake (GRN) 163 1 Otherworldly Outburst (EMN) 138 1 Bloodthirsty Aerialist (C21) 136 1 Triton Shorestalker (OTC) 121 1 Turn to Frog (M15) 81 1 Moat Piranhas (M20) 67 1 Plummet (M20) 188 1 Appetite for the Unnatural (KLD) 141 1 Embodiment of Spring (KTK) 39 1 Suit Up (NEO) 81 1 Quaketusk Boar (BLB) 146 1 Sunshower Druid (BLB) 195 1 Peerless Recycling (BLB) 188 1 Council of Echoes (LCI) 51 1 Disturbed Slumber (LCI) 182 1 Burning Sun Cavalry (LCI) 138 1 Abrade (LCI) 131 1 Bat Whisperer (MID) 86 1 Contortionist Troupe (MID) 178 1 Inordinate Rage (ZNR) 144 1 Glowspore Shaman (RVR) 184 1 Unlucky Witness (SNC) 128 1 Geyser Drake (OTJ) 51 1 Lakeside Shack (DSK) 262 1 Murky Sewer (DSK) 263 1 Unsettling Twins (DSK) 38 1 Possessed Goat (DSK) 25 1 Trapped in the Screen (DSK) 36 1 Mortivore (10E) 161 1 Dreg Reaver (ALA) 73 1 Steelclad Serpent (ALA) 59 1 Sanctum Gargoyle (ALA) 24 1 Quillspike (EVE) 126 1 Broodmate Dragon (ALA) 160 1 Rip-Clan Crasher (ALA) 189 1 Castigate (GPT) 106 1 Frostweb Spider (CSP) 109 1 Tilling Treefolk (EVE) 78 1 Resounding Roar (ALA) 144 1 Ronom Unicorn (CSP) 16 1 Lumengrid Warden (10E) 89 1 Incurable Ogre (ALA) 105 1 Ankle Biter (OTJ) 153 1 Lightning Strike (DMU) 137 1 Backup Agent (SNC) 2 1 Cactarantula (OTJ) 158 1 Colossal Dreadmaw (M21) 176 1 Deadeye Duelist (OTJ) 119 1 Friendly Teddy (DSK) 247 1 Impale (RIX) 76 1 Kill Shot (SNC) 19 1 Mind Drill Assailant (BLB) 225 1 Murder (OTP) 16 1 Reef Worm (MH3) 271 1 Rust-Shield Rampager (BLB) 190 1 Sleep with the Fishes (SNC) 61 1 Sterling Keykeeper (OTJ) 32 1 Sugar Coat (BLB) 76 1 Thunder Salvo (OTJ) 150 1 Tormenting Voice (M19) 164 1 Turn the Tables (DST) 18 1 Wake the Reflections (MM3) 28 1 War Squeak (BLB) 160 1 Broken Wings (DMU) 157 1 Quick Study (WOE) 65

[talesfromthegameff14]

Linn Story: Glitch in the Membrane

[ Inspo music: The Weeknd - Blinding Lights (Lyrics)] [Content Warning: Violence, some bloody bits.]

Painkillers, an unfamiliar bed, sea air, and a sewn up hole in your leg made one hell of a combination for restlessness.  Even as the medicine helped keep him locked in sleep, his brain and body shifted and twitched under the light sheet he crawled under hours earlier.  Nothing was comfortable even though by all reckoning he should be cozy and deeply asleep.

Alas, memory had other plans for him. The gunshot went off, pain lanced through his leg.  The scent of blood and crushed grass was strong in his nose, eyes watering as he tucked his head into Melody’s shoulder to muffle the pained cry that followed. 

The grass was hard under him, blue and red and slick with his blood.  Boots thunked on the metallic floor, drawing closer and closer.  Metal and boots?  No... Everything went jagged and staticky, the edges of the nightmare tearing into pixels that flew off into the darkness.  Grass grew up again to fill the void in memory, the kiss was warm and sweet, the gunshot electric this time though.  A kerzap of energy that hit his shoulder and spun him...  Another tear in the dreamscape that grass sprung up through to cover the electrope crafted floor that his body laid upon as it steadily bled out.  It was just a hole in his leg, that wasn’t right?  Was i... The sun was warm and the sky bright blue with white, fluffy clouds passing above his head.  It was a perfect day like he’d read about in books or his Ma had told him existed in stories from her home.  Her home and his were the same, but different, somehow.   Linn didn’t understand then, but he did now, thoughts mesmerized by a cloud that looked like a ronneek grazing at pasture.  Sharp and deeply purple, lightning skittered through the sky with particular menace, shattering the serene skyline and turning it dark and deadly.  Once the sky was broken the lightning found his body, connecting him to ground and sky all at once.  It was pain that was too sublime to describe, like his mind and body were open to all of creation in that one, agonizing final moment that seemed to never end. Not until he too was purple and full of static, trapped within a circuit that gave him no peace.  All he felt was a debilitating need to be seen, to be heard, to be perceived and understood.  But no matter how his tail flicked or his eyes pleaded, nothing could cross the barrier of electrope to form words.  There was impulse and despair in an infinite space that was too small to tolerate. But tolerate it he did as grass prickled his belly until it turned as sharp as a fist in his gut that forced his body to double over before slumping upon the cold, hard floor.  Kisses?  Where did the kisses go?  This wasn’t right! Sweat soaked the sheets that twisted around the shetona’s body, trapping him literally as memory rose and broke over and over within the confines of dream turned nightmare.  He struggled to break free, the need strong enough to get him pulling at the tangled bedding as if it held the key to wakefulness.  The Garlean’s gun sounded again, electric and displaced by the lakeside camp.  Unfamiliar voices coming up behind him to hold on as he tried to hold onto the grass that kept slipping through his fingers like bones tearing free from the constraints of flesh.  “Hold on!”, came the feminine voice, urgent and concerned as part of two sets of feet pounding along the metallic ground.  One was light, almost dainty, and a stark contrast to the far more solid footfalls of whomever accompanied her.  Aether flexed and something terrifyingly fast swirled past him, the white fanged moogle crashing into the soldier that turned on the populace that it was created to protect.  A scream tore from his throat then, or it meant to be, coming out as a wet gurgle as blood mingled with the air in his lungs to burble up from within and bubble around his lips.  NO! The spell of sleep was broken then, the denial shouted into the air as Linn finally woke up.  Pain briefly stabbed through his side, the phantom fading away while he struggled to catch his breath and rein in his wildly racing thoughts.  Shivering despite the warmth of the seaside morning, Linn wasn’t aware of the tears that ran down his face or how his thrashing had set his wound bleeding again.  All he could remember was the crack of the gun in the.. field.  He was outside with Melody when he was shot.  That’s what happened.  Nothing more. 

[merryfortune]

Beloved Wife

Ficwip Discord’s November 1000 Words Event

Title: Beloved Wife

Ship: Rocksaltshipping | Kureha/Spectre

Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh! Vrains

Word Count: 1,000

Rating: T

Warning: Canonical Character Death

Tags: Alternate Universe - Lisa Frankenstein (Movie), Poetry, Fluff & Angst

   “O Mary dear, that you were here, with your brown eyes bright and clear. And your sweet voice, like a bird, singing love to its lone mate…” Spectre read aloud.

   The crisp autumn breeze of November played with Kureha’s hair just as much as Spectre did.

   Together, they were on a picnic. A plaid, brown blanket was spread out underneath them and was adorned with tassels. As well as quite the hearty spread of foods. Spectre was quite fond of cucumber and tuna sandwiches these days, anything on wholegrain and cake, too. As well as drinks and other goodies hidden away in a woven cane basket tarped with fabric that matched the blanket.

   The lovey-dovey scene was utterly idyllic. The sun was shining, there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. The birds were singing. Together, the lovely couple could want for nothing in a little piece of paradise in the parklands, on the lakeside where the water shimmered in the distance.

   “Voice the sweetest ever heard! And your brow more...Than the ... sky of this azure Italy.” Spectre continued.

   Kureha rested her head in Spectre’s lap. She was tired. It had been a big day but she was soothed by the sound of Spectre’s voice. He was reading aloud the poems of Percy Shelley, his diction was excellent and his speech impeccable. He continued to read the next part of the poem and had Kureha in awe of how he breathed new life into the centuries old poetry with vibrancy and… love.

   He loved Kureha so very much.

   One hand wielded his book and the other, played with what he could of Kureha’s fluffy locks - or what remained, or wasn’t otherwise exposed by the bandages that she was wrapped head to toe with. She looked so sick and ill in her current form. She had taken quite a bit of damage from the electric coffin known as a tanning bed.

   But it was worth it.

   A goodbye to her old life which would lead into a brighter, illuminated future with her one true love.

   She burned it all down so she could start anew, rise from the ashes. Though her body and her heart still ached with grief, with pain, Spectre’s gentle companionship more than made up for it as he absolutely doted on her. 

   Oh how the roles reversed.

   Spectre’s grave had been struck by lightning, as though directed by the heavens themselves to find Kureha and the rosary that she had gifted him. From such circumstances, buried six feet under, he cracked through a rotten wooden coffin and emerged from the dirt. All in search of her, the one who had shown him kindness despite the circumstances of him being dead.

   As a gentleman from the past, Spectre had been dug up from something even deader than he was as far as the eras went and was now embedded in the groovy future of the 1980’s. A time where women had right now, for a start and their treatments for hysteria had become household items with things called batteries inside of them.To say nothing of his shambling state wherein he couldn’t get a word out. His body rotted, caked with muck and dirt but he managed. 

   He got there in the end and navigated quite the learning curve but Spectre took to it with an axe. He was graceful and he was bloody, all so no one would dare come between him and Kureha. 

   Up until his body had been fully restored, his right hand, his left ear, and even his penis below, he had been in Kureha’s care. She had put him back together again as though he were Humpty Dumpty, without asking for anything in return and so, Spectre became besotted with her. They exchanged a marital vow on the sugary ring of a fizzy peach sour. 

   They slow-danced in that little shed. Their music was the blaring of sirens, of assorted emergency vehicles. The shed lit up, as though the passion and the ecstasy of the love that Kureha and Spectre shared was just too much for its little structure to bear.

   Or, more likely, because Kureha cranked up the power to dangerous levels so that before she even entered the tanning bed, there were sparks and embers as it sputtered under such duress. She grinned and kissed Spectre sweet goodbye. She would be back though. She would, indeed, be back, when the rosary caught the glint of lightning once more and Spectre waited patiently for such an event to occur.

   To think, just the night before, it had been biblical weather. Thunder and lightning. A storm heavy enough to cause blackouts through the town and now mud was strewn through the streets - as well as the corridors of the gravestones in the cemetery.

   A place that would not be Kureha’s final resting place. No, she had somewhere better to lay down her body. She had Spectre.

   Kureha rested. Perhaps uneasy because she knew her family and their friends were mourning her but she took comfort in knowing she was in good hands. After all, she was a beloved wife now. Spectre would take good care of her, that was his oath and vow as husband.

   “Here now, darling, have a sip of water.” Spectre said.

   “Mmhm.” Kureha replied weakly.

   Spectre coaxed her head forward so she could safely sip some water via a straw. It was cool and turned her chapped lips dewy. Spectre smiled to himself and leaned forward, over himself so he could kiss Kureha’s forehead. The bandages she was swaddled in were coarse to his lips and he could not press too hard, either due to her burns. The poor dear… He would have to find a way to help her soon.

   For now, she was content with these little gestures.

   “I love that poem.” Kureha said with a hint of a giggle.

   “I’m glad, my beloved wife.” Spectre replied and he flicked to the next page of his book.

[radiantmorningstar]

Tomb: the Chronicle of Sirius and Prin 1

Rules Used:

Main rule set: Tomb: Small Form Adventure Gaming by Perplexing Ruins (https://perplexingruins.itch.io/tomb).

Solo Oracles and Tables: Scarlet Heroes by Kevin Crawford (https://www.drivethrurpg.com/en/product/127180/scarlet-heroes).

Dungeon Generation: Dungeons & Dragons DMG 5e (2014), “Appendix A: Random Dungeons.” (https://archive.org/details/dungeon-masters-guide/Dungeon%20Master%27s%20Guide/).

Additional material and inspiration from Scarlet Heroes, Dragonslayer by Greg Gillespie, and Shadowdark by Kelsey Dionne.

“The Veiled Crypt of the Witch.”

Year 297 AC of the Deer, Highday 14th of the Month of Close

Sirius and Prin, two apprentices in the Adventurers Guild in Redianteris, are dispatched to the town of Veldmark to assist with flood relief in a bad storm season. However, Veldmark is still over ten leagues away (about 22 miles) when the storm turns the plains south of Council Mountain to impassable sludge.

The Wraith River, which flows south from Wraith Lake (near the wooden fortress town of Lakeside), has flowed over its banks and turned Lake Forest into a veritable swamp. And the rain shows no sign of stopping.

The flooding is so intense that Sirius and Prin, traveling on foot, witness an entire horse and wagon (and rider) overturned by the rushing water. Unfortunately, the rider drowned before they could pull him out of the wreck. Then the lightning and thunder began and the two apprentices had to run for shelter in the ruin of an old fort atop a low hill.

They enter through an alcove, barely recognizable as such through the rain and fallen stones. The lightning casts weird shadows throughout the ruin and they wisely avoid trying to light a fire; though it means a miserable, cold, wet night. In the morning, there is hardly any light. They eat dry rations, huddling together away from the storm (ration check -no change for either of them), and then depart toward what seems like the north, wading thigh-deep in the rolling sheets of water swirling over the plain.  

To be continued.

[restingarea]

Relaxing Waterfall & Cozy Campfire Tent Night: Rain Sounds For Deeper Sleep! | Resting Area

Relaxing Waterfall & Cozy Campfire Tent Night: Rain Sounds For Deeper Sleep! | Resting Area https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=277vOl4yU58 Relax and unwind with the soothing rain sounds for sleeping by a campfire and tent. This video features a peaceful waterfall and lake ambiance, perfect for creating a calming atmosphere for sleep, study, or meditation. Listen to the gentle rain and crackling campfire, and let the day's stress disappear. For more relaxing nature videos, like, comment on, and subscribe. The video has information on Rain Sounds For Sleeping By A Campfire: Relaxing Waterfall & Lake Ambience. But it also tries to cover the following topics: Waterfall Sleep Sounds Campfire Relaxation Rain And Nature Sounds Video Title: Relaxing Waterfall & Cozy Campfire Tent Night: Rain Sounds For Deeper Sleep! | Resting Area ✅ Stay Connected To Me. 🔔 Join Resting Area to watch more peaceful music videos and find a relaxing atmosphere with our cozy fireplace ambiance videos: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCc3VseoHU-esexAdpCMpjIA?sub_confirmation=1 ============================= ✅ Recommended Playlists: 👉 Fireplace and Campfire Ambience: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLje4HL3x-dBgRvNiWH5hWiYaVqf2MEe86 👉 Winter Ambience: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLje4HL3x-dBggvKSAyZ7FzpAA5lvWVBCS 👉 Rain Ambience: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLje4HL3x-dBjKJmDdVH-PJ0-0hr3jB_ik 👉 Thunderstorm Ambience: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLje4HL3x-dBhmD_4qerR1-uTNDeu85Xad 👉 Spring Ambience: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLje4HL3x-dBg7kzSg5wNLjwyQ5YsTzxQ_ ✅ Other Videos You Might Be Interested In Watching: 👉 Beautiful Spring Relaxation: Cozy Cabin with Fireplace Ambience and Nature Sounds | Resting Area https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R2lC7wDjuCQ 👉 Relaxing Lakeside Campfire & Starry Night: Water Sounds for Sleep and Meditation | Resting Area https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ulgaceqxRF0 👉 8 Hours Stormy Night in Cozy Cabin: Relax with Thunder, Lightning, Rain & Fire Sounds | Resting Area https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aiTr_Az8cwk 👉 Relaxing Fireplace Sounds on a Starry Night: 8 Hrs Crackling Fire & Mountain Serenity | Resting Area https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C544yf6VX40&t=61s 👉 Beautiful Snowy Evening - Calm by the Fireplace & Relaxed Whispers of the Wind | Resting Area https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A2_yFpBuZak ================================ ✅ About Resting Area: Welcome to my channel dedicated to the soothing sounds of nature! Here, I create videos with the soft sounds of crackling fireplaces, rain, storms, and the gentle breeze to create an oasis of calm and relaxation. My main aim is to provide a restful retreat for people struggling with sleep problems, stress or a hectic lifestyle. These videos create a calming environment and are perfect for creating a cozy atmosphere, whether for focused study, meditation or simply relaxing after a long day. Escape the stresses of everyday life with me and immerse yourself in a world of calmness and serenity. I hope you experience a time of comfort and inner peace here. 🔥🌩️🌙🌧️❄️ 🔔 Hit that subscribe button for relaxation, peace, and soothing ambiance!: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCc3VseoHU-esexAdpCMpjIA?sub_confirmation=1 ================================= #nature #camping #rain #waterfall #relaxation #sounds Disclaimer: I do not accept any liability for any loss or damage incurred by you acting or not acting as a result of watching any of my publications. You acknowledge that you use the information I provide at your own risk. Do your research. Copyright Notice: This video and my YouTube channel contain dialogue, music, and images that are the property of the Resting Area. You are authorized to share the video link and channel and embed this video in your website or others as long as a link back to my YouTube channel is provided. © Resting Area via Resting Area https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCc3VseoHU-esexAdpCMpjIA August 17, 2024 at 06:00AM