#lucky iron axe

[yinorathedragontamer]

Hiii!! Can I request early seasons sam x reader where there exhausted after a hunt so they cry together in a cute way? <3 (I hope you get the vision aha)

a/n: i totally get your vision!! i struggled a little bit writing this, but i hope you enjoy it! im really glad you requested this, because i really wanna get better at writing more things like this. i tried to make it a little bit angst to fluff, but idk if i succeeded at that

pairing: Sam Winchester x gn!reader

note: i kinda made Dean an asshole, much to my own pain, but it fits the best. i'd just like to point out that Dean does care, but in this fic he's just a dick about it, because it fit best

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you swear you didn't mean for it to go so not-according-to-plan.

you, Sam and Dean took this case, an old cabin in the woods was haunted by an old lumberjack's ghost, who wasn't very keen on human interaction when he was alive, and therefore, once he died, his body was never found, he kept his place a secret, and now he was haunting the old place, and anyone who came in ended up bloody, to say the least.

you three had made a simple plan: get in, stay quiet, find the body, and roasty toasty mr mcghosty.

but, much to nobody's surprise, the place was old, and made of wood, and apparently, wasn't as sturdy as it used to be.

Sam and Dean had made it up the stairs with minimal noise, however, much to your luck, one of the steps broke under your weight, making your leg get stuck, a piece of wood impaling your thigh, making you groan at the sudden wave of sharp pain, and ofcourse, that alerted the ghost.

it appeared, right infront of you, and swung a rather large axe at you, which you managed to avoid getting hit with by throwing your iron wrench you had with you at it, making it temporarily dissappear.

long story short, Sam helped you up, you three found the body, and burned it, end of story.

however, you had bled quite a bit, and passed out.

next thing you know, you wake up in the back of the impala, Sam sitting next to you in the backseat with a worried expression, and Dean complaining in the front.

"i told you it was a bad idea to bring them, Sammy, they're newer at this than we are, we shouldn't have brought them" you furrow your brows.

"Dean, this isn't their fault! it could've been either of us who fell through those stairs, we just got lucky, and they didn't" Sam argues back, mindlessly keeping his hand on your bandaged thigh, which you realize was probably taken care of by him.

"....sorry..." you mumble quietly, barely audible.

"you better be, you could've made this case go fully to shit" Dean snaps back. he doesn't mean it, you tell yourself, he's just worried.

you manage to stay quiet and composed the whole ride back to the shitty motel, keeping your eyes trained out the window to prevent yourself from crying, which Sam, being as caring as he is, notices.

once your back, Dean tells you both to go back inside to the motel room, and he'll get some chinese food.

you stumble back inside, Sam right behind you and locking the door behind you two.

"you okay?" he asks hesitantly. he feels like shit. he shouldn't have let you walk up those stairs third, it should've been him, he should've been the one who got hurt, not you.

you try to respond, but the words die on your tongue as you feel a lump form in your throat, and your eyes tear up.

you try to blink the tears away, though Sam has already noticed them, and crossed the room in a few strides and wrapped his arms around your waist.

trying to blink away the tears doesn't work, it just makes them fall as you start crying, wrapping your arms around Sam just as he wraps his around you, hiding your face in his chest.

he can't help but tear up aswell, both in relief that your ok and in sadness of you feeling like this and having to deal with both the scare of getting swinged at with an axe and having to deal with his brother's shit.

"its okay, you're okay, we're all okay..." he murmurs shakily, trying to reassure the both of you.

[txtmetonight]

Revelation ✆

call summary ⋆ ★ When a date gone wrong...goes right!

pairing *. * Yang Jeongin x Fem! Reader (ft. Hwang Hyunjin)

genre⋆ ★ Fluff

warnings *. Mentions of blood and violence, crude language

call duration⋆ ★ 1.9k

a/n*. * I feel bad for not working on my other works but then again I realize I'm doing this for free out of my own enjoyment so... I hope you enjoy it!! Also, look out for the little surprise at the end ><

taglist ⋆ ★ @kflixnet

Dating apps suck, everyone knows that.

Jeongin knows that too, but you find it ironic that you both found each other on a matchmaking platform but as best friends. You two had too much in common to continue anything further than friendship.

But as of right now as you stare out of the window of your car (parked in a five-star restaurant for your date) you think of it as a mistake. You know it’s a mistake.

Yet you still proceed with hiding your feelings and push past the negative overtone with dating apps (due to the whimsical horror stories that each app gains) to find your next person.

The new one that would bring feelings of elation. And usually, when you find a decent human being, they do give you sweet joy! But only for a short while until you’re back on the hunt again.

“I can’t believe you found another person that quick,” Jeongin sighs. He sits in the driver’s seat and fiddles with the radio until he finds something that he likes.

You give him a quick queasy grin and settle into your seat. Your date said that he was going to be there at six. The clock currently reads five fifty-seven.

“Well…I like to keep my options open.” He rolls his eyes at your words and places something in your pocket. When you pull it out, you notice that it is your favorite candy, the one that you keep with you on every date to help calm you down. He must've noticed that you were running out.

"I love you what the fuck"

“Yeah yeah, I know, I love you too." You give him a crinkled smile. "But be careful because one of those ‘options’ could actually an axe murderer and the next thing I know is that you’re found in a ditch. Dead. And you’re suddenly on a true crime podcast.”

You snort at his words, heart in your throat when he gives you a cheesy smile and unlocks the door so you can get out. You wish to stay, though.

“You’re being dramatic, Jeongin. Plus, this Hyunjin guy seems nice. What guy with a dog named Kkami sounds like he would kill someone?”

“You would never know.” He shrugs his shoulders and suddenly leans a little forward to wipe away at the corner of your lips and you feel your cheeks tremendously heat up.

You’re lucky that it’s getting dark to see the way that your eyes dart to his lips. When he pulls back, you try not to scamper over to his warmth; missing the touch it left on you.

“But anyways, you know the drill. Call me if he gets weird or if you’re done. I have to go pick something up, so I’ll be in the place,” Jeongin drawls as you get out of the car. He slowly rolls down the windows when you wave at him.

“Sure thing. Don’t miss me.”

He chuckles and pulls out of the parking lot, leaving you alone with a huff of your breath. And then you turn towards the towering restaurant with thoughts of regret.

You’re tired of pretending and you’re tired of going on meaningless dates. And with all honesty, deep down in your heart, you do this to make him potentially jealous. Does it work? You don’t know.

You just want to be with the one you want and get what you crave, differently

You’re right. And Jeongin is…probably, ninety-five percent wrong. Maybe your date is a killer, and you don’t know yet. But Hyunjin is a nice guy and he’s sweet as honey.

He’s sickeningly handsome too, right up your alley but he doesn’t bring that same spark that Jeongin does, so you feel bad as he pours you another drink. You still let yourself indulge in some of his flirty gestures though; they’re kind of cute–really.

“Do you have any hobbies?” He asks, cutting up his (your) lamb chops. You two are playing a classic game of twenty questions but with a twist. If you two have anything remotely similar, you both switch meals.

It’s quite fun and you’ve taken two bites of Hyunjin’s chicken piccata, not counting the one that you shovel into your mouth as his eyes glint at you.

It churns your stomach when you realize that you only see Jeongin’s twinkle in your mind. You’ve fallen bad. Horribly bad.

“Uhh,” You think, “Art. I do a lot of visual art–all kinds I suppose.”

He seems to light up at your words. “Really! Me too!” He takes a small pause. “Maybe you can show me one day.”

“For sure.” You laugh at his excitement finding it endearing. You then gesture to take back your plate. It goes slowly dwindles down; the eagerness and it becomes a little suffocating as you try to think of a question to ask the man in front of you.

Hyunjin who you see doesn’t really mind, picks up the atmosphere immediately and excuses himself to go to the bathroom. A waiter comes by in the meanwhile and fills up his drink, placing a lemon on the top.

Staring at the fruit, dazed and in thought that’s when you recognize that even though Hyunjin was a great man, maybe you should put the date to a stop and apologize.

You felt bad that it was going to be another failed date and that you were going to go home without your feelings sorted and a semi-broken heart.

Your heart aches in a familiar sense as you pull out your phone to text him to pick you up soon.

[You] heyy can you come pick me up???

[Partner in crime] sure, i’m already here. did he do something weird?

[You] nah, he’s sweet. he’s just not my type ig

[Partner in crime] mmmmm ok. does he look as good as he does in his pfp?

[You] why?? are you jealous?

[Partner in crime] …

[Partner in crime] maybe

You’re about to respond to his cryptic texts, your thumbs ready to get sore but Hyunjin suddenly sits down in his seat, and you’re forced to put down your phone.

He takes another bite of his food, finishing it off with a sip of his drink, which he quickly cringes. He quietly tells you that the lemon was too sour for his taste. Meanwhile, you try to open your mouth to say something, but he quickly beats you to it.

“This isn’t working, is it?”

Your eyes widen and your apologetically twist your lips to the side, nodding nervously. Yet he just smiles at your assent and calls for a check.

“I’m sorry. I just…I currently have someone else that I have in mind. You didn’t do anything.”

He just shakes his head. “It’s fine–really. I kind of knew from the start, it’s sort of obvious.” Hyunjin takes a winding sigh as he pays for your meals (you try to refuse but you find him stupidly stubborn).

“Who ‘s the lucky guy though?” He questions, taking your hand so he can help you up before he places a chaste, friendly kiss on the back. You flush a little at his gesture. God, you wish that you didn’t meet him. You feel terrible.

“My friend.”

“I see. How about this? If I walk you to your car right now, you’ll ask him out on a date.” He boasts and you giggle. You accept his preposition, gaining courage from Jeongin’s texts from earlier and let him open the door for you.

You spot Jeongin’s car in the deserted parking lot and point your finger at the black sedan.

On the walk there, you learn a little more about your date and his horrible pick-up confession advice. It’s so stupid that he stumbles around a little because of both of your laughter.

He pushes you when he trips over a well-seen rock like it was your fault that you placed it there and you giggle. He was probably the best date you've had from this app before (excluding Jeongin).

When you get to a respectable distance, you notice that Jeongin isn’t in the car. You suppose that it was so Hyunjin didn’t think you were going home with another man. And even if your date already knew the truth you were grateful that you could have your last words with the man.

Turning around to face him, you smile.

“I’m so sorry Hyunjin.”

His eyebrows furrow and he wobbles a little in his spot, swaying with the wind.

“You…you’ve already apologized. Why are you doing it again?”

You take a step back. “I’m sorry.”

You suppose that you half-heartedly are remorseful because Hyunjin’s an amazing person and you gave him up.

But really aren’t when Jeongin smashes into his face with a wooden bat, splashing blood onto your clothes. Hyunjin falls to the ground, and you grin back at your lover before you both drag the body into the backseat of the car. A bottle of pills in your pocket sears into your skin as you pass the sour drug back to Jeongin.

You two had too much in common; you both met with each other with the same plans unknowingly. You both shared the art of jubilation and the fascination of the dead. Too alike.

But as you stare at him you realize how much you two aren’t. He likes fried chicken. You like it spicy. Jeongin loves the cold, you like it warm.

Yet what makes your heart thrum more is that he takes care of you so charmingly it makes you sick.

He wipes the bodily fluids off you when they splatter, runs you a hot bath after your escapades, and makes sure you eat when you can’t make yourself to. You love him, you really do.

‘Another dead body discovered found off a highway just now…more reports coming to you soon’

The radio buzzes lowly in the background but you don’t pay attention. You only regard Jeongin. The lingering smell of metal wafts through the vehicle even though you already disposed of the body just moments before in a ditch.

You did it together and now you find the bravery that Hyunjin gave you earlier once again.

“Did you make sure to delete the footage?” You start off saying and he gives you a playful glare as if he was offended.

“Of course I did. I was able to get rid of a whole week of film and I even parked in a blind spot when you got him out. Just to make sure.”

You sigh and pull out your phone. It glints off the blood on your face.

“You’re really fucking amazing.”

“I know.” He speaks. You tap him on the shoulder, and he slows down the car a little to face you. Jeongin grins when you pull up your texts with each other.

“What did you mean when you said that you were jealous?”

“Exactly what you think I meant.”

Clicking your tongue, you softly push him. You try to think of what to say because the words of your confession are in your throat and they burn as you try to express your feelings coolly, but Jeongin all of a sudden stops the car and turns off the headlights.

He grabs your hand and interlocks it with his, fingers pressing into your skin, sending goosebumps up your arm.

“What the hell Yang Jeongi–”

He kisses you. And you immediately reciprocate with your bloody hands on his cheeks, staining his skin with the ruby smears. This only pulls him closer towards you as you pull apart for air, just for him to close the gap again.

This time the kiss is sweeter, and you feel the love coursing between your veins. The rush of energy you look for is right here in your arms.

“I love you,” He whispers. Your lover nuzzles into your hands.

“Yeah? Me too.” You kiss his cheek. “But why so suddenly?”

“I didn’t like you with Hyunjin. I actually don’t like you going on dates anymore–I never have. You might leave me if you find someone better.”

You scoff, “Like I would. Don’t worry, you have all of me, Innie.” He stares at you in silence, and you can see the admiration swirling in his eyes.

“All of you?” He squeezes your arm three times and rubs at your lips, where some of the blood collects.

“Always have.”

He kisses you again.

[ijwrite]

Female orc x Female reader Part 2

Living with Hakla had been... Let's say an adjustment. You are counting yourself lucky, simply by having survived the first few days of her presence. Even after you had welcomed her into your home, she kept her guard up around you, especially when you were holding Qarak. But you couldn't really blame her. Though she did like the name you gave him. "A name of an old orc hero. Good name. He is Qarak" As she put it. The first morning she awoke in your house, was to Qarak screaming his lungs out. She sprung out of her travelling bedroll, axe ready (which you had the suspicion that she slept with). So now your morning consisted of you trying to calm not just one, but two orcs. You picked up Qarak under Haklas piercing gaze. "Whatsa matter? Why's he cryin?" She growled, ready to blame you. "Hey is just morning grumpy and wants cuddles and attention. Will you hold him for a minute?" She nodded and held out her arms. "It might be a good idea to put the axe down first?" "Ah. Right" She put down the axe and took Qarak from your arms. He slowly stopped sniffling, looking up at Hakla curiously. You turned to make some breakfast. It only took a little while, and soon there were three bowls of stewed fruits steaming on the table. You motioned for Hakla to sit, which she did. She did not put Qarak into his chair, but instead held onto him. You push a large and small bowl over to them, nodding before starting to eat yourself. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Hakla sniffing the bowls of stew suspiciously, before carefully picking up and licking the spoon you had put in. She deemed it safe and began trying to feed Qarak.

He did not agree with this, and instead decided to avoid the spoon at all costs. You could hear Hakla mumbling in orcish, trying and failing to get him to eat. You put down your own spoon. "Try acting like you're eating it yourself. Then he will know it is safe" You softly told her, receiving a glare in turn. Yet after a few more attempts at feeding him failed, she did indeed almost put the spoon into her mouth, before putting it to his lips again. This time he opened his mouth and started to eat happily. Only after he emptied his bowl did Hakla begin eating. It was all gone before you could blink twice. You handed her a handkerchief before taking the empty bowls to wash them at your indoor pump basin.

Hakla followed you around everywhere the first couple of days, adjusting to your routine of keeping animals and your fields. She was carrying Qarak, which he didn't seem to mind much. You showed her your fields and your animals. She simply followed you around, eyeing everything with suspicion. She paid attention to everything though, and the next morning you had help to take care of your animals.

You never asked Hakla about anything regarding her life before, nor how Qarak ended up here.

You found it wasn't your place. But you did wonder. Hakla seemed very insecure when taking care of Qarak, always having to rely on your advice, though she did it reluctantly. She obviously loved him, but she seemed like a fish out of water whenever she had to take care of him. It didn't bug you though, you just went about your day, content and even happy with the company. It did seem to bother Hakla though. "Why are you so good with 'im?" She asked one evening, as you were sitting on the floor, playing with Qarak. "Hm. Well, you just have to make sure that he is comfortable. He is a little person, so he needs what other people will need, just with a bit more assistance I guess" You shrugged as you tickled his stomach, eliciting a gleeful screech. Hakla sighed deeply, and you felt the little interaction was over. She still did not trust you enough to get too vulnerable around you, but you didn't mind. Things take their time, after all. One day though, you had been caught in a sudden downpour, but couldn't run for shelter immediately, since you had to make sure none of the animals or iron tools had been left out. You came back inside absolutely soaked to the bone, and it had apparently been enough to get you sick. You woke up the day after with a hammering headache, chills, and a stuffed nose. You damned the weather for a few moments, before sitting up to get out of bed. You regretted this, since your world immediately went spinning. Then, without a warning, you sneezed. And it was loud. Both Qarak and Hakla jumped awake, looking over at you. At least the axe was not out yet. "Sorry, did gnot mean to wake nyou" you sniffled and stood up. You felt Haklas eyes scrutinising you from behind before she decided to say something. "Yer sick. Go sleep again" "Cang't. Got to check the angimals, the fields angd the bees" You sounded and felt horrible, but you could not just neglect your duties. Hakla snorted. "I'll do it. Sleep" You spun around, looking at her with an eyebrow raised.

"You sure?"

"Ye" You really would like to just sleep this sickness away, and if Hakla believed she could take over for a day, then you had to trust her. Trust is mutual, after all. So you nodded and staggered back to your bed, sighing in bliss as you lay your sore head onto your pillow. It did not take long for you to fall asleep. When you woke up again, it was to Qarak booping your nose. In your delirious state, you couldn't even tell what time it was. As you lifted your head, you felt something slide from your forehead onto your pillow. A green blur filled your vision, picking up a smaller blob and carrying it away before picking up whatever fell from you face and put it back again. "Lay still. Your fever is worse" A deep voice told you, and you obeyed. The thing they put on your head felt nice and cool, staving of the headache if just for a little bit. You lifted your arm to feel what it was, but accidently smacked it against the arm of what you by now had finally realised was Hakla. You immediately became alert as you heard a small grunt of pain from her. "You're hurt?" You asked and sat slightly up. "The bees do not like me" Came the short answer. You should have known. "Qarak?" You felt for the small bumps of beestings, feeling not many, but large ones. "Didn't bring him close to the damn things" This made you smile. "See? You are a good mother. Now lemme just..." You sat up, not seeing Hakla's conflicted, yet happy expression. Staggering over to your pantry, you pulled out a clove of garlic.

"What... Are you doing?" She asked as you opened the garlic and pulled out a small knife. "Hushhhh" You said, still woozy from the sickness. Under Hakla's watchful eyes, you cut open a piece of the garlic and started pressing it against some of the beestings. When that was done, you pressed a little kiss to her arm and laid down again before catching glimpse of her bewilderment. In your sleep, you felt the cool rag be put back onto your face.

Yes, living with Hakla was an adjustment. But it might be an adjustment to something better.

[akwolfgrl]

How sweet it is to be loved by them part 10

“What are you?” Zoro found himself asking his new captain.

“I am a rubber man!” Luffy stated pourdly his leg was still lifted.

“So you can't swim?” His husband asked with sadness in his voice. The seas and everything in it was one of Sanji's favorite things in the world. That man would never willingly choose to eat a devil fruit.

“Never learned how! Soooo can't miss what cha never knew!”

Zoro could hear the marines muttering to themselves on the ground, but he paid them no mind. They were all weak and no match for any of them.

“Get a gun and kill yourselves!! I don't need useless soldiers!! That's an order!” The asshole who ruled over this town with an iron ax shouted his orders. Zoro watches in horror as the soldiers turn their guns on themselves.

“What the hell do these Marines think they're doing?!” Zoro shouted in alarm.

“Stop! It's not worth your lives!” He heard Sanji join in the alarm.

“I am the marines worst nightmare! IF YOU HAVE THE GUTS, THEN EXECUTE ME!!” Luffy yelled as he ran for Axe hand Morgan, his fist raised.

The man blocked Luffy's attacks with his ax hand. “People like you without any status have no right to oppose me! I am marine lieutenant axe-hand Morgan!” The Marine yelled.

“I'm Luffy. Nice meet you, I'm still gonna kick your ass,”

<>

Koby watched as Luffy beat up the marine Lieutenant, and Luffy was winning! They were all saved! Then he heard the click of a gun. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the other blonde omega, Helempo, pointing a gun at his head.

“Wait!” Helempo screamed as Luffy continued to beat up Axe-hand Morgan. “You idiot I told you to wait!” Luffy finally turned to look. “if you want this shrimp boy to live, then don't move a muscle! If anyone moves, I'll shoot!”

“Luffy! I…I don't want to be a burden! I don't wana get in your way…I not afraid of death!” Koby conffased to Luffy the one who had saved him, the ome who had given him the courage to stand up to Alivda. He had already been shot and lived. He wouldn't be that lucky again…would he?

“Okay..I know!” Luffy smiled at him. If that was the last this Koby ever saw, he'd die a happy man.

Everything seemed to happen at once, yet still in slow motion. Luffy readied himself to hit Hellempo just as Axe-hand Morgan made his move. Zoro headed for Morgan, all the while Hellempo screamed his ear when it all stopped. Before Luffys fist could connect, before Morgan could hurt Luffy. The married couple srung into action. Zoro had cut Morgan while Sanji had kicked Helempo in the face.

“That's for throwing a child over a wall,” Sanji kicked him again, Koby swore he heard bones break. “That's for hurting and tormenting MY husband!” Koby watched as blue petals contuied to rain down from Sanji. He was an avenging angel come to save him once again.

[kit-williams]

Cuckoo Anon

Oh you bet your Chain Axe I Do! Had to stop last night because tired but I've got pretty good ideas for some other legions reactions to getting yoinked from their original timeline.

Disclaimer: Apologies if your fav legion doesn't appear here I only know enough about so many of them.

Word Bearers - Another group that's more Aware that the warp has something to do with this, though less able to actively affect it than say the Thousand Sons. Definitely in the group that Wants to establish contact with their original timeline because there's so many souls here in need of the warp's guidance. Until they're able to do that, they spend there time pouring over the various religious texts available here. Would speak up at a theology lecture to correct the speaker about the details of certain figures that they've actually met in their original timeline. Example: Nurgle. They also enjoy yoga for its meditative quality, though its less enjoyable for even the most yoga obsessed humans. The Word Bearers pair yoga with dark ritualistic chanting. Even in Gothic the humans recognize the words are...a bit unsettling.

Rating: Suddenly finding yourself running a...more intense version of a Bible camp as your Word Bearer instructs his group on the proper alignment of ritual circles with the Stars for their next venture. You just hope none of these will ever involve blood sacrifices.

War Hounds/World Eaters - Cut from the same cloth, even stitched with the same pins. Like the Iron Warriors these guys are actually Thriving (as much as they can) in this new environment. You'd think with everything being softened and pacified by the warp they'd go raving mad. But no, because that includes their nails and bloodlust. The nails still hurt, but its like a toothache most days compared to feeling like your brain is being stabbed. And they still crave battle, but there's sparring arenas and Astarte focused gyms in practically every city and marine base here. Plus the occasional chance to Really let loose on some human killer warbands. And if a Marine is sick of their nails completely they can be Removed! The instrument of their torment can be done away with (Chronic pain and migraines remain for most of them but again, far less pain than once was). This new clarity gives them room to reflect. The empire and chaos only found them useful when they were Hurting and Angry constantly. They were never allowed to be anything else. But with the humans here, especially with bonds that can sooth the nails completely, they finally can just....be.

Rating: Laying your head across your bonded humans lap with a fire crackling on a cold night. The scars from the nails twinge for a moment, causing you to hiss. Until your human coos, brushing the hair from your forehead, and at once the pain cools to nothing. You settle, not sure if you deserve this but decide you will accept it. You lean into your humans touch. You are both content.

Space Wolves - If War Hounds are the abused pups learning to love again, Space Wolves are the...Wolves learning to trust/work with humans for the first time. Space Wolves had interactions with humans in their timeline, but only those on their own planet would treat them like normal people. Everywhere else humans saw them as the Emperors Angels. Dangerous and Untouchable. So to have these humans approach them like neither of those groups kinda throws them off. They're not Afraid of them in a broad sense, but they're also not familiar enough yet. The two are finding their footing with eachother. Having a dog gets immediate points with a Space Wolf, they love pups. All shapes and kinds but they obvious lean towards more wolf like breeds. By the same token Space Wolves don't tolerate animal abuse. Any marine type Might decide to kill an animal abuser, a Space Wolf won't hesitate. If you're lucky they'll just steal neglected animals and leave the abuser with some property damage. At worst well...you get the idea.

Rating: Opening up that animal rehab shelter you've always wanted to Not because you thought you were finally  ready...but because your Space Wolf keeps bringing home strays, and neglected animals. But hey, seeing your big guy happily laying in a swarm of pups makes it all worth it. And the time you saw him literally send an abusive owner flying into your trash can for trying to take their dog back.

Death Guard - Weird idea, but they're doing okay. It's just that most of them are feral by choice rather than the Alpha legion's situation. The warp may make their haze of rot less dangerous here, but being near one is still Alot for an average human. Also the cities don't have enough Greenery. So the ferals stick to the forests and overgrown areas. Their presence boosts the cycles of life and decay, and they actually Clean!?!? Well yes, the litter and plastic trash, anything biodegradable can stay...or gets eaten. Yep I see Death Guard as the vultures or millipedes of space marines. They can eat Anything organic, and they enjoy the more fetid pieces. Many humans have been startled to find their garbage being raided after some spoiled leftovers were thrown out. And as far as personality goes they're actually pretty gentle. They see no reason to attack humans, they're natural miasma is still imparting the gifts of Nurgle occasionally so why bother? If a Death Guard bonds to a human that bond is deep and loving. The bond also helps their human resist their smell, and makes the human stronger against the illness miasma. Its not a perfect defense, energy still gets drained, but your Death Guard will always be there to lend a hand, claw, bone growth to help when you need it.

Rating: Hiking through the forest, and suddenly catching an awful smell. Your curiosity bids you follow it, lest it be a hiker that met an ill fate. As you get closer the greenery around you seems to grow larger, and more beautiful with every step. Literally bursting with life. You come to a small open area beneath the trees. The smell is strongest here, and you see a large misshapen green body. It raises its cupped hands, that hold something you can't identify, to a branch. A flower bud slowly opens to full and....a Butterfly flits to the new bloom from his palms. You stand in awe. The shape turns as you watch from behind a tree, your eyes meet through his helmet. You just...stare at eachother. And though you don't notice at the time, the scent no longer has presence in your mind.

Alpha Legion - (Only fitting that I finish off with the legion that gave me my name.) So honestly...kinda struggling. These fellas are so used to spying, and secrecy and playing games of 12D chess (even though doing that wasn't the best choice to begin with but I digress) and now they've been dropped in a place that has...none of that?? They're separated from their spy networks, no matter what side of their Timeline they were fighting on they only really have eachother now. The other legions are Very unwilling to trust them for obvious reasons. And they have a shit time making bonds with humans. Like seriously, f their lives right up. Like at least when they were just a cog in a clusterfuck of war, alliances, battles and betrayals, they didn't have to think and reflect about how Lonely they actually are. But...on the other hand, they're free to do as they please here. Sure the other marines are wary of them, but as long as they don't outright start shit things can go on tense but peaceful. Occasionally snatching some affection while disguised is okay, but still...they want something real. And when they do get that, whether the bond is truly like their fellow marines or slightly different, they Don't let go.

Rating: You came home to an Ultramarine in your house, only it didn't really...act like an ultra marine? It took no interest when you showed it your excel documents, didn't try to organize anything, and shied away from conversing with other loyalists. He Did help you out around the house, and was exceptionally affectionate. Most marines were some flavor of touch starved (except maybe Salamanders), but this seemed excessive. Then one night you woke up, and heard hushed but intense whispering. You peaked out of your bedroom to see your Ultramarine conversing with....himself!? Your eyes did not deceive, and your ears did not lie. Same voice, same armor, down to the same scratches and battle damage...but that was impossible! Your musings were interrupted by one of them getting louder.

"It is still My turn with the mortal!"

"You expanded your timetable in the schedule. That is Unfair brother, and you know it."

"This is not up for discussion, and You cannot be here right now! Do you want us to be thrown out completely!?"

"Maybe if we were simply Honest with them we wouldn't have to worry about that, but You insisted we stick to this charade. Well I'm SICK of it!" The ultra on the right lost his composure, and his form phased and shifted. Royal blue became teal and the helmet shifted to a form more resembling an octopus. An Alpha Legion marine...but that would mean...

The one you assumed to be Your marine spoke up. "Enough! I will not tolerate your insubordination! Leave now!"

The newly shifted marine stood his ground and sneered. "Why don't you Make me brother?!"

"Or you could....Both stay?" The two marines whipped their heads to face you. You stood in your pajamas, as the two armored marines stared in stunned silence.

"I...can explain." Your marine started, but you held up your hand.

"Its okay," You assured him, crossing the distance so you could look him in the eye.  "We do need to talk things over but...I think I understand why you felt you needed to do this." You turned to his brother. " Should've let me know we were having company. I think we could all use some hot chocolate."

Your second space marine perked up. "I hope you have enough supplies for us all."

"Two space marines and a human you mean?"

"Weeeeeell...." Knock, knock, knock. You turned to the door, and your space marine let his disguise shed as he reached for the handle. The door opened to reveal...1,2,3,4...yeah you were gonna need more hot chocolate.

Love these I really do you're making me blush

[ltwilliammowett]

Can you do a short term list for us in a funny way?

Welcome my dear newcomers aboard HMS Surprise. You have been exclusively selected ( or gently beaten up and dragged here) to join us on our South America tour. I promise you excitement, sleepless nights, beautiful scenery, storms, sunburn, no water and a bloody French…. oops I mean great adventure. To help you find your way around on board, here's a short list of important terms.

Landlubber - you, if you need this list - speak a non-sailor who simply has no idea about being a sailor.

Ship - your new workplace - this wooden lady is now your everything and treat her well, she is your life insurance to get you home safely. But be careful, she is very headstrong and if you want to tell me now that she is just an object, you thought wrong. She is very much a living individual and she will make you feel that.

The rigging - that sort of spider's nest above you - is there to operate the sails. Look forward to getting to know the ropes very well.

Sails - those cloth rags hanging from the thick wooden poles. They are used for locomotion and are not blankets.

Wheel - this strange wooden wheel with spikes on it - no, it is not an instrument of torture, but is used for steering.

Anchor - heavy, made of iron and keeps our lady in place.

Compass - this strange thing that lives in a box and is constantly moving back and forth. To cut a long story short: You know which way is north and you can keep your course. You'll soon know it by heart.

Captain - Boss

1st Lieutenant - Second boss and the one who can really fuck you up if he wants to. Get in good line and please don't suck up to him. But he is the one who puts you in everything, be it ward, mess, hammock, etc.

2.nd. Lieutenant - me and I too can make you uncomfortable.

Master - knows where the sails hang and what course to set. Takes just a little more work off the boss.

Purser - is responsible for your food rations, but will also try to get you to buy something from him to make life on board a little easier. Don't do this, he's quite expensive.

Sailor - Your new colleagues, and depending on their years of service, they will know how to handle that wooden lady, how to set the sails and so on. You'll learn it too.

Old Salt - an experienced old sailor, stick with him if you want to learn and he is willing to share his knowledge.

Surgeon - the name says it all. We have a good one on board, be lucky. And if you're lucky, you'll come home with all your body parts.

Midshipmen - mini officers who still need to learn. They can be quite demanding and annoying, especially when many of them are still very young. But don't be surprised if a 12-year-old gives you orders, he's allowed to.

Mess - the place where you eat

Cannon - heavy, iron, dirty, hot and with a loud bang. Used to stop the enemy or inflict serious damage. Keep your limbs to yourself and only follow the instructions of those who know what to do with them. Otherwise you will only injure yourself unnecessarily.

Cannonball - heavy, made of stone or iron. Come into the cannon and please do not trip over it.

Admiral - comes along sometimes. Is the boss of the boss

Hammock - your bed, but don't get too comfortable in it because you won't get much sleep anyway.

Rum - elixir of life, next to coffee

Powder monkeys - yes, they are children, but they know what to do and you can learn something from them too.

Boatswain - also called Bosun, he whistles the orders and drives you to work. He is also your wake-up call.

Marine - our sea soldiers, there aren't very many of them, but the few that there are are fine. They are there for the safety on board.

Cutlasses, muskets, grenades, axes, etc. - makes autsch, hopefully not with you. You will learn to handle them.

Cook - as the name suggests, and yes, having only one leg is normal.

Quarterdeck - not your dance area, that's the officers' area, you're only allowed there if your duty requires it.

Wardroom - also not your area. This is where we officers live and have some privacy.

Great Cabin - living and working area of the captain (you remember? - boss).

Gun deck - remember those big black things that bang loudly? they live here.

Berth deck - this is where you live, sleep and eat. Don't worry, it doesn't get cold there, you share the space with about 170 men.

Well, there is more, but I think that should be enough to start with. The rest will come naturally later. Don't stress about it and I think you will enjoy next year by the sea so much that you will want to come back.

[dareactions]

Been reading your reactions on your blog and its 3 am rn but I have two requests I'll probs be sending them both in seperate asks but first one, okay so I have been playing a dwarf inquisitor for the past week or so, he's 2 handed warrior

I also had a warrior dwarf in my old DnD club before graduating but anyways, how would the companions react to a dwarf 2 handed inquisitor stareing directly into Iron Bull's eyes and with the most serious tone asking if Bull could PICK them UP and THROW THEM to the enemy, how would the other companions ESPECIALLY Bull react to just watching their inquisitor get full on YEETED into enemy lines So all they see is this short dwarf with an AXE bigger than their body coming at them at 90 MPH just a ball of rage who wouldn't be terrified?

XD this hit me after remembering in a session where my friends Orc paladin suggested throwing my character towards an archer up on a hill got a fucking NAT 20 AND IT WAS GLORIOUS

i hate to admit we've done this in my dnd group too, and i fear my players will soon too bcs i gave the kobold a fucking nuke. why did i do that? oh god everyday is stressful.

Cassandra: She stops, and she stares. For a moment she truly wonders if maybe the rage demon in front of her stops in confusion too, because its actions become stilted and slow for a second- it's the second she needs to cut it in half as she turns towards the Inquisitor. ''Are you out of your mind?'' Is the only thing her mind can conjure up as she in absolute dread watches The Iron Bull listen to them. Why did she agree to this, why did she start the Inquisition. She should've let the world end, why are they all like this. It doesn't matter how impressive it is to her deep down, she wants to retire.

Solas: Well, that is certainly not what he had expected. His eyes narrows and his mouth opens as if to say something, just to close. It could work. That's the worst part, honestly, that he could see it work and can't even find it in himself to question the tactics. There's a moment where his spellcasting is far less controlled, more lazy in hitting its targets because he is simply far too busy watching the Inquisitor go flying. He can't even laugh, he probably would if it weren't for the fact he watches them covered in blood stand back up after cleaving half of their enemies in half. For a moment he rethinks his plans. Just for a moment.

Dorian: He yells out in glee at this, it's the funniest shit he has heard for months personally. Because Dorian Pavus for some reason, doesn't think the Inquisitor and Bull will go through with it. There's no way, absolutely not, it's ridiculous for all intents and purposes! Except the Inquisitor flies past him at an alarming speed just seconds later and Dorian finds himself lucky he has the sense to not send a spell after in pure shock, staring in awe as he ignores Sera's loud cackling to his side. He probably shouldn't tell Cassandra he found that impressive, he has a feeling she won't share the sentiment- but he looks over at Bull who just grins in pride. No wonder people were horrified of them, were they all normal people they probably would be too.

Sera: She is a cackling mess, leaning against Dorian trying to gasp for breath as Cassandra goes slack jawed. It's too funny to be impressive, it really is. The Inquisitor goes flying and she can feel her stomach muscles start cramping as people drop in front of them. Was death supposed to be this funny? Is there some kind of demon for people who die horribly hilarious deaths? She isn't sure but she has to be calmed down because breathing becomes more difficult by every second she laughs. ''Do it again! Do it again right now!'' Her request isn't appreciated by Cassandra, but Sera doesn't care. She just needs to see the confusion on these things faces one more time, just once more !

Blackwall: He shares Cassandra's retirement sentiment. It's impressive, really, it is. But at the same time he has to wonder how healthy it actually is, getting launched at such an intense speed- what if an ally had gotten in the way? Even so his mouth tugs with a smile, his eyes stay focused on the remaining enemies in front of him but- maker, why did the Inquisitor have to spin? He takes a deep breath and steels himself, this is fine. It's fine. He doesn't break out laughing until after the battle is done and Cassandra starts yelling at the Inquisitor, and they have the audacity to go ''Well, it worked didn't it?'' at her. He isn't sure if he is older than Cassandra anymore because she seemingly ages in front of him from it all.

Iron Bull: If you ask Bull, he was born for this moment. Everything has led up to launching a small violent dwarf with a giant axe in the air through enemies, this is why he was put in this reality. He is gleeful like a child receiving gifts, excitedly screaming as the Inquisitor cuts down foes mid-air. It's fun and he feels the surge of adrenaline from pulling a stupid stunt and somehow succeeding. His hands itch and the Axe he was wielding himself gets picked back up in seconds, slicing through enemies with a new eager ferocity. He fucking loved his job. This was the best job ever, fuck everything else, he'd just launched his boss in the air to kill things!

Vivienne: It's all very barbarish, isn't it? She frowns from the back where she is carefully weaving magic to her will, really, throwing the Inquisitor? Even so she can't exactly argue with how useful it is, seeing as the long line of dead things sort of counter any argument she might have. Even so she scoffs at the blood bath, rolling her eyes at delighted yells and laughter from some of her allies- this is absolutely barbaric. No, she is not smiling to herself, absolutely not. ''Do well in not getting blood on me, dear.'' Is her only comment on the matter, as she just shakes her head and moves through the battlefield. Children, she works with children.

Varric: His first reaction is just the words ''Don't ever think I'll do that.'' to Bull who laughs heartily, clearly not understanding that Varric very much has no intention to ever become a projectile. It's funny, something straight out of his books and he is for sure putting this in one- even if nobody will ever believe him. It makes him wonder just what else is possible if you have sheer stupid will and dedication, and how the hell Hawke didn't try that trick years ago.

Cole: He stares in confusion at the spot where the Inquisitor just was, eyes narrowing at the now empty plot of grass. They were just here, and then he looks up and just sees the spinning ball of absolute carnage that is flying through the air. He lets out a tiny ''Oh.'' because what else can he do? Cole just stares for a second longer before nodding, alright. He supposes that works too, and the Inquisitor is happy, so it can't hurt.

[kikiiswashere]

Children of Zaun - Chapter 25

Pairing: Silco/Fem!OC

Rating: Explicit

Story Warnings: Canon typical violence, drug use/dealing, dark themes, smut

Chapter Summary: Vander is stressing the fuck out. Maybe a little giftie will calm his nerves. Katya dissociates like a champ.

CW: References to sexual assault, trauma responses, severe dissociation

Previous Chapter

Word Count: 5.8K

The weeks leading up to Snowdown were a complicated whirlwind for Vander.

One afternoon, Sevika had burst into the tavern, grabbed him by the sleeve and dragged him to the back of the house. She hurriedly whispered about what had happened in the mines: that Silco and Katya had gotten into a fight with Kells. Kells severely injured Silco, and Katya had pushed Kells to his death. It seemed to be undecided whether that had been an accident.

Silco confirmed the events when Vander went to see him the next day. Enyd had tubed Vander, asking if he could come sit with her son while she was out.

Of course he would.

He was not at all prepared for what he saw when he arrived.

His Brother’s appearance made Vander’s stomach drop to his steel-toed boots. Vice-like fear and anger clamped down on his heart. His silver eyes flitted around Silco’s face. The bandage across his nose, the stitches in his lip, the angry bruises and welts that covered his face . . .

Vander hoped that Kells knew – where ever his retched soul had wandered off to – how lucky he was that he was already dead. Otherwise, Vander would’ve hunted him down. Would’ve used him as the body to break his gauntlets in on.

Silco peered up at his friend from his languid position on the couch. His eyes glacier blue slits between the purple swollen folds of their lids.

“Make sure he stays still and drinks water and eats. His food may need to be mashed up a bit. Keep the apartment dark,” Enyd said as she pulled her thick sweater on. She wrapped a scarf around her head, and drew it up over her nose.

Vander nodded, but struggled to take the information in. He hadn’t realized just how badly the fight had gone.

Once Enyd left, Vander rushed to Silco’s side. He fought not to take up his Brother’s long, elegant hands. Even under the calluses and near-permanent stains of dirt, anyone could see that those hands didn’t belong wielding a pick-axe. They belonged writing policies and demands for Zaun; they belonged in big important buildings, shaking other important hands.

Vander very much wanted to hold them.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he listened as Silco told him what had happened. The whole story – from his perspective. Vander’s stomach roiled nauseatingly at hearing what Kells had been caught doing to Katya. The curdle deepened as he watched Silco’s face contort under the swelling: barely restrained rage flickering beneath. Dangerous fire.

“A couple of the Children carried me to the clinic,” Silco explained, his usually smooth voice rough and nasally. “They said they would take care of the story. There’s been no fall-out?”

Vander shook his head. “Nothin’. An’ no one’s gonna say nothin’. Kells wazza cunt who got what he deserved.” A beat, and then he asked, “How’s Katya?”

Silco melted back into the couch. The gesture felt more defeated than relieved.

“She’s . . . She didn’t seem okay when I left the clinic yesterday. When she told me to leave.” Silco’s chin dipped, “I should’ve stayed with her.”

Vander’s gut twisted. “Well, yer mum’s with her now. She’ll be okay.”

When Silco didn’t say anything, when his expression remained distant and forlorn, Vander became fidgety and added, “Don’ worry ‘bout it, Sil. Kells is gone, n’ no one’s tryin’ to make a fuss about it. Here. Just lie back. I’ll make you a cuppa, yeah?”

In the days following, it really seemed like the whole thing would blow over. That this mild wrinkle within the Children’s ranks had already been ironed out. Until one evening, about a week after Kells’s death, a small group of three older teen boys approached Vander in the early hours of The Last Drop being open.

Their timing was purposeful; only a small handful of beleaguered and elderly Zaunites were peppered around the tavern. Men and women who didn’t want to be talked with or entertained. They only wanted the momentary peace a rocks glass or tankard could offer before they had to get home, go to bed, and live another day. It was a time during working hours Vander was more available.

It was a time there were fewer witnesses.

“We need to talk,” one had said. His upper lip quivered as he took in the man-mountain before him.

Vander’s eyes narrowed, and he peered over the group. His customers appeared at ease, so he jerked his head, instructing the young men to follow him. His instincts fizzed as they trailed behind. The hair on the back of his neck pricked up, his muscles coiled and braced.

Vander slid into one side of a shadowed booth. The others toddled in awkwardly with all the grace of new whumplings fighting for space in the nest, shoulders bumping and legs twisting together.

“What’dya need?” he asked once they were settled across from him.

His eyes cut from one face to the next. He recognized them as part of the gaggle that had orbited around Kells, but knew none by name.

“You heard about what happened in the mines a couple days ago,” the one on the right said. He was wiry with curly brown hair and pale skin. Dark green eyes blinked up at Vander under thick lashes.

Had his instincts not been priming his mind and body for some kind of fight, Vander would’ve thought him pretty.

“Aye. I have.”

“Well, what’re you gonna do about it?” The middle one demanded.

Vander’s nostrils lifted. This one had limp dark-blond hair, a pug nose, and too-round cheeks that were splotched angry-red.

“I wasn’ aware there was something to be done about it.”

“Silco killed Kells!” the one on the left hissed, his dark brown skin radiating vengeful heat. Black-brown eyes blistered beneath his thick, ebony hair.

Vander’s eyes flashed quick-silver. “He didn’.”

“He was going to if the medic he’s been eyeballin’ hadn’t’ve jumped in!” the middle one said, pig-nose flaring. “They probably planned it together.”

Vander shot up from his seat, knuckles hitting the table with a crack! as he braced his arms and loomed menacingly. The three young men collectively jumped, and hunkered back into the booth. The vinyl at their backs crackled as if in warning. Gone were their indignant expressions, replaced by utter shock and fear as they beheld the behemoth lording over them. Vander’s body and wrath blocked out the little light that reached into the booth’s alcove.

“Listen up,” he hissed, his voice all growl and warning grit. He bared his teeth at them and loomed closer. “Kells died ‘cause he made a stupid, evil decision” – it wasn’t his place to speak about Katya’s assault, so he kept it firmly tucked down his throat – “n’ he got what he deserved, frankly speakin’.” He leaned closer, broad shoulders hunching up threateningly like hackles on a beast, “This conversation is over. ‘N if I catch a whiff of any of ya tryin’ to rustle up more problems, you’ll be the first bodies I test my gauntlets on. Savvy?”

After a beat, all three reluctantly nodded and crawled out of the booth, scampering for the door.

Vander stalked back behind the bar rubbing his temples, mind spinning like a top.

It was one thing to fight with Topside. It was another for it to happen amongst the Children. The burgeoning rebellion wouldn’t withstand in-fighting. Zaun would bleed out, wouldn’t make it past its infancy, and be buried by Piltover again. The Children of Zaun needed to stick together, Brothers and Sisters arm-in-arm; an impenetrable wall of scrap metal, zeal, and will.

Then the threat he’d delivered to those three yellow-bellied malcontents . . .

“‘N if I catch a whiff of any of ya . . . .”

A wince creased Vander’s face. He didn’t suppose threatening Brothers and Sisters did anything for morale or loyalty. There was the chance that he had just made things worse. He shouldn’t have done that. He needed to keep his temper in check.

That was difficult when his Brother was concerned. Vander was protective of Silco, loyal to him – perhaps even more so than he was to Zaun. Although, Vander felt they were often one in the same. Yes, they had dreamed up the idea together, small and squatted behind minecarts, but Silco latched onto Zaun like it was air. Cleaner and purer than anything in Piltover. He had always led the charge from there on out. And Vander was at his side.

“Yer as loyal as a dog to ‘im, Van,” Benzo had said one night, long before the Children of Zaun.

He had said it with a certain amount of distaste that had Vander’s brow curling questioningly.

“He’s my best mate. ‘Course I am.”

Vander’s heart and shoulders softened at the memory. But immediately tensed again when he recalled what the blond teen had said.

“He was going to if the medic he’s eyeballin’ hadn’t’ve jumped in!”

Vander’s hand dropped heavy onto the bar top, gathering empty glasses and crumpled napkins. The comment had been innocuous, and utterly meaningless. The shithead had only meant to implicate Katya. But that little throw-away barb had slid under Vander’s ribs as if expertly laced.

“Oi! Vander!”

A customer in need of a refill pulled the barkeep from his head. Landed him right back into the moment like someone dropping a melon off Old Hungry. Grateful for the distraction, Vander went back to work.

Then time flew fast and the cold season fully settled over Piltover and Zaun, like a great, chilled blanket. The Lanes became smokier than normal, Zaunites reallocating what little funds they had to purchase wood and coal for their stoves. Less food, more heat; the pendulum of necessity ever swinging.

The Children kept meeting, kept preparing. A squad was set up to track Enforcer movements; where they had been, what their routes were, who they had spoken with and what answers they were given. Another group became designated runners for the supplies that pirates, independent merchants, and other morally grey characters smuggled in, and were paid with Airship coin.

Other members volunteered their homes and businesses to house the contraband: small armaments, scrap metal that would be smelted and repurposed, bottles of liquor too strong to drink but could be lit and chucked at Enforcers for when the time came.

However, the chill and impending holiday put a firm hold on both Piltover and the Undercity, stymying plans and regular schedules. On either side of the Pilt, families and businesses prepared for Snowdown, the holiday’s sentimental pull too strong for anyone or anything to fully deviate from it.

It went unspoken, but there was a sense in the Lanes – in Zaun – that this Snowdown was more poignant than those before. The holiday was about gathering, gratitude, and looking to the promise of the new year ahead.

The promise that this coming year would be the birth of their sovereign nation. Or, at least, the true beginning of the labor process.

This would also be the first Snowdown at The Last Drop Vander ran entirely alone. He’d more or less run it the year before, but the old proprietor – sick and dying – had been back in the living quarters, able to offer instructions and advice in that deep, throaty voice of his. Vander would take the wisdom with him back to the front and resume hosting duties.

But he was dead now.

The barkeep sighed as he cleared the taps for the busy night ahead, looking around at the bedecked tavern. The decorations were meager, but festive. Annie had festooned the pillars separating booths with garlands of colorful paper, dolloped the jukebox with a tangle of tinsel, and had put fresh candles on all the tables. Beckett suddenly appeared from the back; his strong, freckled arms loaded with extra stools.

Vander was grateful for the pair’s help. In the past weeks, Benzo had finally healed up enough to get back to his own business. Cairn stayed on to help at the pawnshop, instead of returning to The Drop. Benzo needed the extra pair of hands – his injury notwithstanding – and Cairn enjoyed the trade more than busing tables.

Vander certainly couldn’t blame him for that, and felt no ill-will toward the young man. Besides, now he had Annie to help. And while she was spacy, loud, and intense, she was good at her job and the customers loved her. Beckett was an added bonus; because where ever the dark bluenette went, he followed dutifully.

“Just put ‘em anywhere, Van?” Beckett asked, craning his head over the seats he carried.

“Yeah. Jus’ pepper ‘em ‘round the walls if ya would.”

As Beckett nodded and hauled the stools off, Annie burst through the swinging doors that led to the kitchen, her thin arms laden with more candles. Great, fat pillars this time. Vander sighed, although the woeful sound did not impede the young woman’s trajectory toward the booths.

“Annie. I think we’ve enough candles.”

She began stacking them artfully on the booth tables. “Nuh-uh. Never. They create ambience.”

“Ambience and drunk people don’ mix,” Vander said, a hand rubbing at his forehead.

“It’ll be fiiiiiiiiine.”

“I’ll keep an eye on it, Van,” Beckett hushed as he carried the remaining stools over to the other side of the tavern.

Vander sighed, let it be, and continued prepping the bar’s stock.

A few hours later, The Last Drop was packed. Revelers young, old, and in-between stuffed the tavern to its gills. Most were members of the Children. Those that weren’t mingled with hope on their faces, intrigue glittering in their eyes like stars. The jukebox played on repeat, a long string of plucky, jovial tunes interspersed with the eager and happy chatter of the patrons. Ale and liquor flowed with abandon. Annie’s candles glowed and flickered invitingly. Vander had to admit that they did look beautiful. The soft, buttery glow of the flames brought a holy quality to the space. It inspired a bone-deep hope to flower in his chest.

Benzo and Cairn showed up about an hour after the bar opened for the night. The room burst into raucous cheers as Benzo threw up his meaty arms and greeted loudly, “BLESSED SNOWDOWN!”

Close behind the pair was Tolder and his brood, Sevika bringing up the end of the line. Once her younger siblings were inside, she whisked to the bar.

“Is Nasha here?”

“Haven’ seen her,” Vander answered filling a glass with caramel colored ale and handing it to a customer. “Bu’ she may be here n’ I haven’ noticed. Bit busy.”

“Yeah, just a bit,” she muttered, throwing her head around in search of the other girl. She smacked her palm against the bar top twice. “I’ll be back.”

Then she strode into the crowd, her head swiveling, eyes searching. A small smile crinkled the corners of Vander’s eyes as he watched her go. Then an empty tankard skittered across the bar and he fell back into work.

Sometime later, the crowd erupted again. Not as loud as when Benzo entered The Drop, but the swell of noise caused Vander to look up. His first full smile of the night spread across his face. Silco wove between tables, chairs, and customers, greeting people as he went with a small nod, or reserved wave.

“No Enyd?” Vander asked as Silco finally made it to the bar top.

His Brother’s lips thinned into a rueful, forced grin. He shook his head, dark hair fluttering about his face like curled shadows.

“No. She’s tired.”

The subtext of the message flicked at Vander’s heart with a mighty twang. Like it had been snapped with a rubber band.

She’s tired.

Her cough is especially bad. Has been bad. Is getting worse.

“What can I get ya?” Vander asked, hoping to distract Silco.

“Hmm? What?” Silco’s head – which had turned and was surveying the crowd – snapped back to Vander’s face. “Oh. Whisky. Please.”

Vander grinned and nodded. It was simple and quick, but preparing the two fingers of burnt amber liquor pleased him more than all the tankards of ale he had filled and refilled thus far. As he placed the glass in front of Silco, he was surprised to see a long, thin package on the counter between them.

“What’s this?”

“A Snowdown gift.”

Hot blush bloomed across Vander’s face. His heart swelled to the point of bursting. Then, honey-sweet hope once again dared to spread under his skin.

“Ya didn’ have to get me anything, Sil.”

Silco smirked and shrugged. “I wanted to.”

The blush on the back of Vander’s neck turned beet red as he sheepishly reached for the gift. It was wrapped in brown paper that had been crumpled and reused to the point of softness. Like thin suede.

Slowly, he peeled the wrapping away. A slender knife was settled in the worn curls and wrinkles of paper, its blade long with a gentle curve. There were a couple nicks in the metal that could be consider defects, but the worn appearance felt distinctly Zaun-ish to him. The handle was nearly half the length of the blade, wrapped in soft taupe-colored leather. The pommel was embossed with artful swoops.

Vander’s eyes roved over the knife, throat squeezing tight.

Then his gaze caught another detail: below the guard, on the first pleat of hide, the letter ‘V’ had been carved. The tightness gripping his throat intensified. Firelight wings beat and tickled his stomach to the point that Vander thought he might be sick with joy. Never before had he fought so hard to not reach for Silco, and draw him in close. To grab for his collar and pull him in for a kiss.

He refrained, though. Once again convincing himself that this wasn’t the time or place.

A small, love-hungry voice from deep inside cried out: “When will be the right time?!”

Not now.

Soon.

Hopefully.

Please.

Carefully tempering his expression in to one of bridled gratitude, Vander looked back up at Silco. His Brother eyed him with that smarmy, cocky half-grin and lifted eyebrow. Vander’s finger pads dug into the bar top to keep his hands from reaching out and grabbing for him. Everyday, it got harder and harder to do that.

Instead, he reached for the package and drew it closer.

“Ya didn’ hafta do that, Sil,” he murmured appreciatively.

“For when your fists get tired of beating Enforcers.”

An amused huff blew from Vander’s nose. “Thank you. I love it.”

Silco inclined his head, and lifted his glass to Vander. “Happy Snowdown, Brother. Next year may we be celebrating in a free nation.”

The weeks leading up to Snowdown were a heart-straining, soul-sickening series of days for Katya.

The third day after her assault, another gut-wrenching meltdown pulled her under. She couldn’t decide, in retrospect, if she had been grateful that Enyd was there, or if she wished she could’ve crumpled in private.

She had been standing at the kitchen sink, washing a cup. Enyd was gathering their lunch dishes from the table. Suddenly, Katya’s mind played an incredibly cruel prank on her: a phantom pressure at the crux of her thighs. Where Kells had groped her. She started with a gasp; eyes peeled wide. The cup fell from her hands as her legs buckled, and she tumbled to the cracked linoleum floor.

Blood rushed in her ears.

It kept her from hearing the wail that ripped from her throat.

At once, Enyd was at her side, drawing her close. Despite being so petite, she enveloped the young woman in a way only a mother could, all love and comfort. She spoke, lips and jaw moving against Katya’s temple, but the sound couldn’t penetrate the rush of blood in her ears. Nor the pummeling realization that ghostly sensation had brought her.

“I killed him. I killed him. I killed him – “

“Shhhh . . . Breathe, Katya. Breathe – “

“I killed . . . I killed him. I didn’t mean – “

A wail ripped itself from the base of Katya’s throat. She hadn’t meant to kill Kells; just to get him off of Silco. She didn’t know if her memory was playing tricks on her, but now the scene that played in her head contorted Kells’s face into one of abject fear as he tumbled over the turbine’s edge, limbs scrabbling for help.

But she hadn’t helped.

She had pushed.

Then watched.

Despite how vilely he had treated her, she had been unprepared to punish him with such finality. Dread and shame cemented in her arms and legs. The weight making it impossible to escape from the scenario playing over and over again in her head.

Sevika had said he had had no family. That there would be no trouble for her.

No trouble from the outside world, perhaps. But her insides roiled with it. Tentacles of humiliation slithering in her veins. Regret stabbing at her like claws.

“Katya. Katya. Look at me.”

With more force than the mother probably wanted to use, Enyd gripped Katya’s jaw between her fingers, jerking her head to the side so their eyes could connect. Spit, snot, and tears dripped over Enyd’s strong hold.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Katya. It was an accident. None of it was your fault. Do you hear me?”

Katya sniffled and trembled between the claw-grip. Her lips blubbered, an attempt to insist Enyd was wrong on the tip of her sob-thickened tongue.

Whip-fast, Enyd’s hand curled around the back of Katya’s head and tucked the young woman in closer.

“I will tell you as many times as you need to hear it. It’s not your fault. None of it.”

Katya did not know how long they stayed, curled up on the floor. She didn’t remember moving, but when her conscious mind turned back on, she found herself back on the couch, blanket tucked around her. Enyd sat at the far end, a sewing project in her lap.

Katya’s insides felt like sludge. Her throat burning from having been screamed raw. She turned her head against the couch cushion, eyes falling onto the accordion-style laundry rack Enyd had hauled with her that day. It was broken – one side’s legs having to be placed very carefully, as the bracing brackets had broken off – but it worked. Just like Enyd had promised.

She closed her eyes. At some point the couch shifted as Enyd rose. Then there was the soft press of lips to her temple, a loving murmur in her ear. When next Katya opened her eyes, Enyd was gone.

She went back to work the next day. Unwilling to keep eating up Enyd’s time. Hoping that the monotonous tasks of the clinic would dull the edges of the past few days.

Will pestered her when she appeared. Asked if she was okay. What had happened. Said that he was going to put in a formal complaint against Silco.

“Don’t do that,” Katya snapped harshly. “He didn’t do anything. It wasn’t him. I will be fine. Leave it.”

Will’s shoulders slumped, but he made the wise choice to not argue with her further.

As he wrapped his ratty coat around him, he said, “I finished stocking the supplies. I didn’t know why you had put some off to the side, but I put them with the rest of the inventory. Hope that’s okay.”

Katya stilled.

Right. Before she had gone to Fissure 27 – she swallowed down the bile gathering at the base of her throat – she had put a few items aside to stock for the Children and Enyd. She’d forgotten about it.

“Yes. That is fine. Thank you, Will.”

As that first day back slogged along, Katya kept looking at the clinic door. She didn’t know if she was wishing Silco would step through, or not. Part of her hoped he was still home.

She saw him next when she dropped off a bottle of medicine for Enyd.

Her heart made a home in her throat as she approached their apartment. The same mighty war raged within her as she knocked on the door: she craved to see Silco, then inexplicable shame would swoop in and fell that desire.

She shouldn’t expect his company, his companionship. She couldn’t pay the cost. Didn’t deserve it. Regardless of how much she may want it.

Agonizing relief sluiced over her bones when Enyd answered.

“Medicine,” Katya whispered by way of greeting. Reaching into her coat, she produced the larger bottle of decongestant. “Use the dropper from the smaller bottle. You could start taking an extra dose in the morning right now, since the cold weather makes your symptoms worse – “

“Katya,” Enyd crooned, taking the bottle and bringing a hand up to the young woman’s cheek. There was a pause, and she said, “Why don’t you come in?”

Katya shook her head, taking a step back. She flashed what she hoped was a grateful, but apologetic, smile.

“I cannot, unfortunately. I’m on my way to pick up Viktor – “

“Mum? Who’s at the door?”

Katya choked as her heart beat wildly in her throat. Her muscles tensed as they tried to decide whether bolting or freezing was the best option.

Then Silco appeared behind Enyd’s shoulder. He looked better than he had on her exam table. Bruising and swelling still puffed and discolored his eyelids and cheekbones, but it had since gone down. The bandage on his nose was gone, but the stitching on his lip stayed in place.

Katya’s throat wound tight. She was so happy, so relieved to see him. His presence a soothing balm to her scraped up heart and psyche. Yet, her boots remained rooted.

“Kat,” Silco said in a tone that danced between relief and excitement.

“I was just dropping off medicine for Enyd. I can’t stay. I need to pick up Viktor,” she robotically repeated.

The thick soles of her shoes shuffled against the floorboards, preparing her exit. Despite her leg’s attempts to walk away, her head and shoulders stayed facing the doorway. Her eyes glued to Silco’s.

She wanted to stay.

Wanted to talk with him.

Wanted to be with him.

Wanted him.

But she couldn’t. Shouldn’t. For reasons her trauma-addled brain couldn’t supply. Despite their lack of discernible motives, those thoughts won out.

“I need to go,” she said, and finally allowed her legs to carry her away. “See you both later.”

Like most of her movements of late, Katya didn’t remember getting to Piltover. The weight of the rucksack in her hand was the only thing that pulled her back online for a moment. She blinked. Her eyes fell on the worn canvas handle in her palm. She blinked, and then her eyes looked over and found Viktor. He looked back, open worry and confusion covering his face.

“What is wrong?” Viktor whispered to her when they took their seat in the conveyor car.

Katya pulled her lips into a reassuring smile. “Nothing. I am just tired. Long week, and I think I’m coming down with a small cold.”

The weekend past. On Monday, Katya took Viktor back to school.

The week past, too. A sludgy slog of colors and events that bled one into the next. Silco tried visiting Katya in the clinic, but she busied herself when he did. He stood dutifully near her during the Children’s meeting. His arms wrapped tight across his chest; fingers firmly tucked underneath his biceps.

Perhaps he was cross with her.

He should be, she figured.

Katya didn’t recall the meeting. Something about new supplies and updates on Enforcer activity.

She was, however, aware of the glances shot her way. The bitter, suspicious glares of Kells’s group of peers. Vander’s empathetic stare. He added a nod to it when she finally glanced in his direction.

Unwilling to linger, she slipped out just before the meeting ended; her bootheels a quick, snappy tap on the cobblestones.

“Kat.”

She froze, shoulders pitched up to her ears. This wasn’t the dream, but that call sparked the memory of it. Silco had called her then. Silco called for her now.

Slowly, Katya spun around, forcibly lowering her shoulders as she went. He wasn’t smiling like he had been in the dream. His face – which had become clearer in the passing days – was etched in an expression of deep concern.

In the dream, he had joyfully approached her. Now, he cautiously stepped forward. Like she was a wounded animal he didn’t want to spook.

She saw in his eyes that he wanted to say something.

“Can I walk you home?”

Yes. Yes, please.

“No, thank you. I can manage.” She gave him the same grin she’d given her brother, and turned on her heel.

“Kat.”

She stopped again. An unseen fist squeezing at her heart.

In the dream, the second time he had called, he’d come close. Close enough to touch. Close enough to kiss. Now, Katya turned and watched him take a couple more steps.

“It is fine, Silco. Really.”

His footsteps stopped, the toes of his boots awkwardly scraping against the street. She heard the gulp he took, watched the way his hands flexed.

“Alright then. Get home safe.”

“Of course.”

Her legs carried her away. Something inside her wailed and begged to go back. It was promptly swallowed up by that beast that couldn’t stand the risk.

The weekend arrived, and Viktor came home. It past, and he went back to school.

Silco stood on Katya’s periphery all week. He would still stop by the clinic to check on her. He stood by her during meetings. But said very little, and Katya became acutely aware of how much she loved his voice.

Another weekend.

Another week.

Now, Katya sat on her couch. Her blanket cocooned her, as it had these past weeks. A great, fluffy shell that wrapped around her shoulders and haloed her head. The apartment’s light was dim. The air was quiet – save for the occasional clanks and hisses of the radiator. Despite it being the eve of Snowdown, she heard no celebrating outside her windows or door. There never was this deep in the Sump.

This year, the holiday had fallen in the middle of the week. Viktor was across the river. No doubt as lonely as she was.

She knew The Last Drop hosted a gathering for the holiday. It had for years. Even when her Papa had been a boy. Anyone who traipsed through the door was invited. She knew the Children would be there: Sevika and her siblings, Nasha, Benzo, Cairn, Annie, Beckett. Silco.

A vicious ache clanged through her. A yawning, angry emptiness that begged to be addressed.

But like when Silco had come after her that night to walk her home, the yearning was quickly gnashed between the pointed teeth of that same oily beast. Powerful, but slippery. Like it didn’t want to be looked at too closely. It simply wanted to swoop in, gobble up ridiculous things like desire, and retreat back to the shadows with little examination.

Just as the beast was about to recoil back into the vacuous recesses of Katya’s chest cavity, the yearning gave a mad thrash between its jaws. A powerful snap that threatened to crack the teeth that held it.

Katya’s heart swelled and lurched at the sensation. Sitting up straighter, she put a hand to her chest and pressed, as if that would dissuade any further tantruming from within.

The yearning jerked again, alive and insistent against the hold of its captor.

‘Go,’ it seemed to say as it attempted to pull itself from the serrated mouth that held it. ‘Go.’

A watery gasp blew from Katya’s mouth, and one of her feet dropped from the couch onto the floor. The movement, while not purposeful, finally caused the shadowy monster to scramble for a better hold. It braced itself against the cage of her ribs.

‘Don’t go,’ it hissed through a clenched jaw. ‘Don’t go.’

Katya blinked. Her shoulders dropped, as did her other foot.

Fear. That was the desire-eating thing. She knew it well. It had dictated most of her life until recently. Had kept her in-line until recently. Since her time with the Children – of feeling like she belonged to something, of feeling like she wanted something more – it had been skirted to the sidelines. Present, but not commanding. Kells, and what he had done to her had pushed it back onto the field, its stamina and intensity renewed from the break it had received.

Katya scooted to the edge of the couch, blanket dropping from her shoulders and gathering at her hips like soft folds of cumulus clouds.

That isn’t what she wanted. To let her desires decay and blow away in the wind. To let fear, Piltover, or anything else stomp out the inherent, wild value she had just begun to believe in.

The silvery slip of Desire caught in Fear’s jaws wriggled and thrashed excitedly. Fear strained, its claws losing purchase on her rib bones.

She wanted, she decided. She wanted to believe in her value, her worthiness.

Desire surged forward, most of its amorphous body slipping from Fear’s too-rigid teeth.

She wanted to trust in Zaun’s ability to pull itself out of the proverbial hole Piltover had made it dig for itself.

Desire whipped and twisted. Fear’s bite began to tire and give.

Katya stood and the blanket drooped to the floor. She wanted the same for herself.

With a final snap of its slender body, Desire broke free and gushed forward; just like how Katya’s feet strode for the door. Fear whimpered, empty jaws chattering, as it recoiled back.

Katya shoved her feet into her boots, grabbed her coat from its peg, and burst out the door.

Her legs moved so swiftly that it felt like she was gliding, flying through the Sump and up into the Entresol. She wove around Snowdown revelers and underneath twinkling chem-bulbs single-mindedly, quick and swift as a canary.

It didn’t take long for The Last Drop to erupt in front of her, all merriment, togetherness, and neon green lights. Her heart thundered, and Desire serpentined inside her belly. Fists squeezing in her coat pockets, Katya surged forward.

As she anticipated, The Drop was packed, the patrons – Children and others alike – wonderfully happy in each other’s company. A few people raised glasses to her as she stepped inside, and she offered them careful smiles.

Over in a booth decorated with a ridiculous number of candles, Sevika beamed at her, and threw an arm up in greeting. Nasha was slung over her lap, preventing her from getting up. She gave Katya her own wave, and returned her attention back to twirling Sevika’s hair between her fingers.

Katya craned her head over the crowd as she shuffled closer toward the bar. Vander’s massive form flitted behind the countertop with grace that belied his stature. His face was ruddy with happiness as he addressed his customers.

Her eyes traveled down the long bar.

Looking.

Searching.

Her heart stuttered at the sight of Silco. Desire sang a song she’d never heard before.

He held a drink in his hand, his gaze cool and aloof as it traveled around the tavern. Then, like a homing missile, his eyes finally found hers.

Blue met gold.

Notes: AHHHHH!!!!!! Guys. Guys. THINGS are gonna happen in the next chapter. This slow burn is gonna pay off! EEEEE! I hope you enjoyed this piney-pining chapter!

Thank you for reading! I'd love to hear yout thoughts in the comments or reblogs ❤️

Coming Up Next: Katya asks Silco to show her Zaun again.

Next Chapter

Taglist: @pinkrose1422 @dreamyonahill @sand-sea-and-fable @truthandadare @altered-delta

[rocking-space-dragon]

It's a quiet night. Waves lap gently at the shores of the beach, the wind rustling the leaves of the trees nearby, sand shifting beneath the feet of the four figures sitting quietly.

They're sat around the table, one man and 4 children - an old warrior and his charges. His brow is furrowed as he looks between the 3; it's been a long night already.

"So you don't remember anything? About where you came from, about-"

Suddenly, movement - the sound of wings on the wind, a shadow against the moon. He knows that sound, knows it all too well.

In an instant it's upon them - a moment of hesitation and it's sword is clashing against that of his son. He reacts on instinct; first with his fist, slammed into the glitchy, shifting form, connecting with something in the mass of ones and zeroes, enough to knock it back - enough to give him time to draw his axe, clashing against it as it tries to cut down his son.

Soon, he's the one crossing blades - axe against sword, catching and blocking, their weapons meeting in a shower of sparks that lights up in the darkness - but he's being forced back, dug into the sand.

Gunshots ring out - bullets hitting his opponent, staggering them long enough for him to grab his communicator.

"HELP! NOW!"

With the message sent, his attention turns, facing their foe once more, hearing the sound of blades clashing mixed with the echoing ring of gunshots. A deadly blow sends him back, blood splattering the sands - but there's no hesitation when he bites down into the golden, glowing fruit, leaping back into the fray to catch their blade with his own.

The battle only lasts a few moments more - the figure's wings spreading wide before it takes off, disappearing into the night.

The warrior collapses back into the sands, clutching his chest with one hand, iron grip around his axe with the other. Adrenaline pumps through his veins as the sound of his heart pounding rings in his ears, and he barely registers the calls of his companions as they run to their children and the scene of the fight.

His child's arms around him are what manage to finally snap him out of his stupor; squeezing him tight in a hug and letting out a shaky sigh of relief.

Their children were safe, for now - but this had been a warning, no doubt. A warning not to ask too many questions, not to push the boundaries of the home they had been trapped in. They had fought off the figure, and nobody had been hurt.

But not all children would be that lucky.

That night, the parents watch their children a little closer, tuck them in a little tighter. That night, they were sent a message.

Do not attempt to leave the island.

[stupidgtblog]

Trying writing

just a disclaimer that I have never written before - EVER! so don't expect this to be some life-changing top-tier literature. It's mostly self-indulgent, about 1.6k words, got a bit of cursing, and elements of fear, but that's about it. I don't really have a title hope u like it pls give criticism but b nice abt it <3

...

Mira had always found stories and folktales interesting. She liked humming the tunes, thinking about the morals they taught. She'd even (much to her parent's dismay,) decided to pursue a career in cultural studies, opting to focus less on the gift of her magic. Her parents always told her that magic was something that gave her endless possibilities, and she was lucky to have a supportive family, and not one that decided they'd rather burn her at the stake. She'd learned to ride a broom to cut on cost-of-travel, and a bit of minor healing spells for first-aid, but, her training had stopped there.

Her interest had been piqued by a new character popping up in some folklore in some mining regions. These places weren't the best to witches, so she'd be going a bit undercover. She'd come in, write as much of the oral stories as she could, translate, and then publish them for the general public, so more people could experience the stories. That was her mission.

She hadn't known much about the character yet, but descriptions had been inconsistent to say the least. Some swore by the figure being a cruel, powerful witch, others claimed the figure was clearly a horrible, evil wizard.

the only snippet of undisputed lore was a poem called “Titan of Ore”, that went as follows:

Skin of Bronze,

Hair of Silver,

Eyes of Gold,,

Axe of Iron,

Heart of Stone.

Mira was interested in such a character, popping up in only the last 5 years or so in the culture, with so much mystery surrounding it. In Mira's own experience, cases like these would just end up being stories around a new species of animal, or even weather phenomena. (Mira had gotten her hopes up in a previous case of a giant, twirling lady, just to find out they were talking about some dust storms that had been recently passing the area.)

Mira knew it was stupid, but one day, just once, she wanted these folktales to lead to something. She wanted - at least once, for them to be real.

Mira's travel plan was to fly as far as she could, then rent a horse for the cheapest she could to go the rest of the way. Sure, it'd be annoying, but far less annoying than being burnt alive. After she'd taken down everything, she'd fly as far away from those witch-roasters as her broom would take her.

...

The town was very quiet. Nothing really happening, just people doing their errands, buying goods, coughing (a lot), and going about their day.

Mira didn't really know where to start, But found a hopeful lead as a group of children gathered around, hearing a story from a woman standing in the middle. It was a nice thing to see.

As Mira sat a little farther and listened, after she wrote down as much as she could, she tried to ask the woman some questions.

She started to introduce herself.

“Hi! Hello- I'm Mira, I study culture, folklore, y'know, the stories? I noticed you were-”

“Where are you from?” The woman didn't let her finish. Rude, but Mira didn't want to give a bad first impression.

“Oh- I'm from Willowstead, It's pretty far, but - I came to study some particularly interesting stories that've-”

“You come all the way from Willowstead, for children's stories?” OK, that's just mean.

“Well, uh, you could say that, but to me, they're just so much more than that- They're magical, they're wonderful-”

The woman cut her off, “Witch!”

Was she seriously only talking to her to accuse her of witchcraft? Ok. These people might've had interesting folktales, but unfortunately, they were also crazy.

“What? Why would you say that about me?”

Turns out this wasn't too good of an idea. Turns out the townspeople were very keen of accusing her of witchcraft. (They weren't really wrong, but, y'know.)

“Listen, listen, hear me out, I'm just here to listen to your folklore! I've done nothing wrong!”

“Quiet!” Now they were getting mad.

“But- What did I even do?!”

Mira felt someone grip her hand, tight. Maybe she was actually about to get burned at the stake. For real.

“No! NO! Let me go, let me go right now!”

“You can't do this to me! I didn't do anything!”

...

They'd put her in the jail. It was a cold, single cell, with nothing but brick walls and a cold, dirty floor. She had not but one conversation in this town, and they already wanted to kill her. The walls were covered in all types of written curses, some names.

“MINERVA DIED GRACEFUL” was scratched into the corner wall.

“KIMARI, FOREVER SERVANT OF THE DARK” was written with some ink-like substance Mira didn't want to touch.

“BELARA WUZ BBQ'D HERE SEE U IN HELL” was funny at first, but then made realized that the message was addressed to her. And that all these people were real deal witches, and they were all dead.

Mira considered writing, but what would she even put down?

She took a rock and scrawled

“I WAS ONLY HERE FOR A DAY!”

It was funny for a second, but then reality hit her. She was going to be killed. Really. Killed. Dead. Would her parents ever know? She told an acquaintance where she was going... but would they remember? It was too much for her.

What was she going to do? She couldn't do anything! Was she supposed to just sit here and die? She didn't want to die!

She started to cry. She cried for a pretty long time, until she got tired and, somehow, slept.

...

It was a couple hours later. She'd woken up, been paraded through town, dark, save for bright, hot torches, some held by children. Jeering and chanting were loud in her ears all the way. Maybe this was where they got their entertainment, not their stories.

They'd bound her up tight to half of a log, and placed that log on top of a bunch of firewood. She was half-expecting them to let her down, But then, a torch was thrown, and the whole thing started to go alight. With Mira still on it.

“Haah... Oh my god. No, nonono!”

It was agony already. Just watching the flames creep up menacingly, heat rising, heart sinking...

“Wait... wait! I'm only 19! I'm still in school! I don't even use my magic! I didn't do anything!”

It was getting to the point where this started to hurt. The flames danced at her ankles, And the smoke was already getting to her head.

The flames grew more gradually, Like a wall of fire had been built all around her, closing in, slowly.

“No! I, my family! I need to talk to them!” It's like everything had gone quiet, but the roaring of the flames.

“I can't breathe!”

She could hear her heart beating in her ears, drowning out everything -

It was almost like the ground was shaking beneath her...

Was she dying?

*WOOOOSH!*

In an instant, she felt the strongest wind she'd ever felt ruffle through her hair, the only thing stopping her from being blown away herself was the formerly-on-fire log. She was back to feeling the cold, night air. It was like someone blew her out like a big birthday candle. She was actually really, really cold.

“...huh?”

She looked down at the once-cheering mob all looking utterly horrified, eyes staring up, At something Mira couldn't see. It was night, but Mira could tell a very, VERY long shadow was being cast behind her... and two, bright golden spotlights shone on the crowd.

Eyes of Gold...

Oh god, If she thought burning to death was bad, what was this thing going to do? This was the worst day EVER-

She felt a rope *snap* behind her. Her hands were still bound, but she was off the pyre.

She tried to move, but she wasn't coordinated enough, shivering and bound, and fell forward. But almost instantly, something closed all around her, firm, but comfortable. Warm. A hand. She was being held in one, huge hand. Moving until she was put up into something. Something almost leathery to the touch, close to the chest.

Whatever this thing was, it was holding her in it's pocket. And, to Mira's shock, it spoke - to defend her.

“I've warned you idiots far more times than you've deserved.”

The voice was deep and rough, but not necessarily masculine or feminine. Its defining trait is that it was angry.

Their apologies were almost inaudible through the fabric - muffled, but desperate. The response was furious and immediate. They clearly didn't want to hear it.

"SHUT UP! If I ever see you fucking weirdos do any of this sadist shit again, I will curse you all to death!”

Mira was scared. Scared of everything. They were true. They were real. Everything was extremely confusing, and she had no idea what this person wanted. She shook like a leaf, she couldn't tell if it was because she was cold, scared, or both.

They must've noticed how shaken she was, because they pulled her out of the pocket, into what could only be described as a big, big hug.

“You're gonna be alright.”

—

The girl was so horribly cold. She'd almost just burnt to death, and now she was freezing. Just wonderful.

Taking her back to the house seemed like a good idea, but she guessed she'd be scared half to death - but wasn't she already?

Well, didn't matter now. They'd started on the path already.

...shit. Is she crying? Yeah - she's definitely crying.

“Hey, calm down, you're alright, ok? I'm just gonna take you inside.”

”I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.”

“Don't apologize. You haven't done anything.”

”I was really stupid.”

“If you're stupid, I'm a complete idiot.”

That made her laugh. It was cute.

She liked her.

“You have a name?”

”Mira.”

“...Mira.”

What a sweet name.~

I actually found writing this pretty fun even though it's not the best I think it's still cool beans radical pls give me all ur criticism pls and thx

[web-spinning]

Continuation of this

Tw. past abuse, slight jealousy, torture and death implied, hurt/comfort.

The next morning, Astarion's eyes fluttered open. He didn't remember anything other than the heaviness of his eyelids and the weird smell of oak on his clothes...oh.

He sat up, seeing how messy his blanket was. Clutching on his sheets, he hoped Halsin left before anyone could see them.

It felt pathetic. Embarrassing. But Astarion couldn't help but long for the touch of the bigger man. His strong hands, covered in hair and cuts, so gentle with each touch.

After a moment of contemplation, the spawn finally stood up. He stretched, yawning. Walking back to the other companions' tents, he noticed how only a few of them were left.

Karlach was putting on her armor as Wyll watched her do it.

The man walked over to them.

"Good morning, sleepyhead! You're lucky that spell of sleep worked so hard, I would've dragged you out on a mission hours ago!" The tiefling exclaimed.

"Where are the others?" Astarion asked, furrowing his eyebrows.

"Went on a mission. Halsin wanted to help Gale find something for his condition. The girls tagged along because Lae'zel wanted a new dagger" Wyll explained.

"Oh" The spawn nodded, his eyes still unfocused and tired. They said something more to him, but he wasn't listening. He thought about what Wyll said.

'Halsin wanted to help Gale'. So he wasn't just kind to the vampire, huh? That night meant nothing...he would do the same thing for that clumsy, little-

A gulp formed in Astarion's throat. He felt uneasy. Weird. Jealous?

Shrugging it off, he left to put some everyday clothes on.

Hours later, the party came back.

Halsin put down the huge back on the ground. It was full of elixirs and new armor pieces.

"Thanks" Gale said, walking right behind the man. "My limps can't handle anything heavier than a cat".

He chuckled, and Halsin smiled at him.

"Oh, I bet" Astarion snickered, walking over to them. He eyed the wizard, his face in a frown.

"Hello to you too?" Gale said. Normal conversations confused him, but the slight anger in the vampire's voice made him even more confused. He looked over at Halsin for a clue.

"I think you should go and tell Karlach we bought her a new axe" Halsin suggested, and the wizard just walked off, leaving the two man.

The pale spawn eyed the druid, his gaze softened as soon as he realized what the man was holding in his hands.

"Is that..."

"You told me you always wanted one. It was at a nice price too. Don't think the seller knew the real value" He said, handing the smaller man a nice dagger with something written over the handle.

"Real infernal iron...thank you".

Some silence followed as the other party members came back to the bag, looking at the newly bought stuff.

"Could we go to the forest, Astarion? I wanted to talk. Alone" Halsin said, looking at the man. The spawn thoughts for a moment, then nodded.

Hiding the dagger in his pockets, he followed the druid into the forest.

Minutes passed in silence. They walked between bushes and trees.

Halsin took in the sighs of nature; the birds chirping, insects buzzing. Astarion on the other hand felt his thoughts race.

He was scared of what the man wanted to say.

His face looked so beautiful in the slowly fading sun. His scar making him even more handsome, his elfish ears covered by his brown hair...

Astarion was in awe of the man. But the more he looked, the more he felt his guts twist.

What was he? A worm-infected bloodsucker, carved up to be Cazador's personal toy. He was ill, dirty. His thoughts weren't right.

The thing he felt when he heard of Gale- now, far from camp, he felt embarrassed. He wasn't jealous. He was just...scared.

Scared Halsin would just forget about that night. That Astarion would never feel those gentle hands again. Those reassuring whispers.

Finally, both man stopped before a small lake. The druid sat down on the ground, the spawn followed suit.

After a moment of silence, Halsin looked at the smaller man.

"Are you alright? You look distant".

"I'm okay" Astarion said, looking at the water. Why did he feel so small?

"If you ever need anything, I'm open to talk. Now, what I wanted to talk about is just..." Halsin stopped for a moment. "I'm not sure if you remember what happened last night, but-"

"I remember" The spawn interrupted.

"Well, right before you fell asleep, you said you love me".

At those words Astarion's heart dropped. He said that? He really did?

"I do appreciate it, but I feel like we shouldn't use the big words right away. If you want to, we can take it slow. I would love to get to know you better" Halsin explained, smiling at the man.

"Know me better?" He said, looking up, hope in his eyes.

"You know what I'm talking about. You deserve to be cared for, you know".

Those words were like daggers to the vampire. He didn't know what he really wanted.

To jump on the bigger man right there? To kiss him gently and fall asleep in his arms again? To stand up and leave?

Instead, he just nodded.

"I would love that. But I'm no romantic. Cazador used me as a bait to lure people to his palace. I've never been in a relationship. Every single person I loved I just...I killed them. I took them right to Cazador. And he...he was cruel with his victims" Astarion's voice shivered, remembering those scenes.

"There was once a man called Sebastian. Oh, how sweet he was...our night together was so passionate and tender..."He stared at the water, his voice began to crack. Halsin slowly moved closer to the man.

"But then I had to return to the castle. I had to bring him with me. I don't remember anything more, other than the next night. Cazador made sure I could hear Sebastian's cries and pleas from my room".

Astarion was now in tears. He shivered slightly. He didn't share this story to anyone yet. He felt pathetic again, so small, but he couldn't help but sob. It was his fault. He killed Sebastian. He tortured him. He has blood on his hands.

"Astarion? Fangs, can I touch you?" Halsin asked sweetly. He didn't receive a worded reply but a small nod.

Suddenly, big arms wrapped around the spawn. Astarion placed his head on Halsin's chest, sobbing. The druid embraced the man, resting his head on him.

"It's not your fault. Cazador is an awful man. You didn't deserve any of this" He explained. "Shhhh..."

He began rocking the smaller man gently.

Astarion's sobs slowly calmed down.

"Are you sure you'd wanna be with a person like that?" The spawn asked, looking up at Halsin.

"Yes. Yes, I would. Do you really think you're undeserving of being loved just because you've got problems? Not everything will be perfect. Sometimes you're gonna cry into my shoulders, sometimes I'll cry into yours".

Astarion didn't answer, just cuddled up to the man.

"Can we stay like this for a moment?"

"Of course. Take your time, Fangs".

The sun fully settled, and the moon shined down onto the lake.

"I think we could. Get to know each other more. I would love to...be with you" The vampire carefully worded himself.

"Then that will be it" Halsin replied, a big smile on his face. Perhaps even a slight blush."Thanks Silvanus. You don't even know how good of a cuddler you are".

They both chuckled.

"Can I say it now?"

"Go ahead".

"I think I'm in love with you".

"I think so too".

[cerebricarchives]

///// ext, fancy shamancy poolside the size of a yard, alien looking bodies floating on the underground pool as /////

Sorry I'm late, the traffic held up for miles and-oh you're kidding me. -grabs a pool net and starts poking the bodies- yeah great and they're dead too.

-alien screeching as one of these squid creatures breaks through a window and lands into the pool. Splashing Green Thunder-

Oh come on! Hey who ever did that is just lucky this suit stopped conducting energy! Now come on out, this is now official TOJ business.

-a burly figure jumps out the broken window, dousted in green slime over his shiny sapphire armor, silver iron viking helmet and bright goggles, yelling Nordic chants as throws one final squid larval into the pool-

Great. I'm assuming you're a professor Caleb something, researching in advanced evolution in insects and-

The man was dead before I even got here. Slaughtered by the Ancient's scourge to humanity's hubris. Toying with the mortals like they are pawns in chess, and I am Luke's wall.

Oh geez fine. So you tried to save the guy before you could save them from getting eaten by his own creations, whatever. Is this situation at least you know handled?

I'm afraid you don't understand. These were not of the professor's creations. They were not of this Earth, nor of this realm. And your little guild of knights are playing with tools without permission.

Well it makes you feel any better I'm not with the Trinity too I'm just for cover up but like okay what's going on here I'm mostly assuming you didn't pick up from their radio signal did you?

I am the combined son of Odin and Zeus, as chosen by the true heirs of the ancients, the creators of this realm. The very lone protector from the unspeakable cosmic natures that come to torment us for the coming of The Master, as I wield my brighten shining ax bound to my blood and soul! I am Thy Neon Viking. The chosen one.

Great I'm with a nutty. All right listen, I don't know what kind of crack job you got going on here pal. But right now we have a lot of dead alien bodies, an MIA professor and sometime by now an agent of the Trinity of Justice is going to come by here to reconnaissance or whatever. You at least have any idea where the professor is?

-thy neon viking points his glowing ax to the pile of alien larval drowned in the pool, with full bellies. green thunder sighs-

Well if he's not cooking up bug experiments out of his college work, what the hell are these things?

Star Spawn.

The fuck?

Mother nature finds her way to be very beautiful with meteor showers and Aurora Borealis. All distractions from the falling stars, sprinkling these abominations that mankind cannot comprehend.

Looks like the XenoQueen had some time with the Eraserhead baby. Well you know when it grew up to the age of consent or - gah nevermind joke flew over.

Jokes are for the ones who only have something to hide and fear. You must be brave and powerful like a mighty warrior, as Thy Neon Viking has witnessed how much of occurrence of the ancients doings. This is none of your business. Please leave.

And you kind of sound like you want to stick around and make sure you didn't miss any spawners back there am I right? Or was that a 40-in plasma that you got in the back of that station wagon blocking the garage?

Oh no it was uh broken, during the scuffle between the star spawns and the battle I decided... Hey you know the professor liked to recycle electronics.

Buddy... That's some shitty reefer you got on your skin.

///// Neon Viking tosses a punch to green thunder's stomach, running away with a lawn chair as GT falls down on fetal position /////

[puddlesl1me]

The Mending Enchantment in Minecraft

I've had this thought for a while now, and I figured it'd be good to share it with the endless void to see if it gets picked up anywhere. Here are my thoughts on how to fix mending in Minecraft. Be warned, this post is VERY long.

TL;DR: Add mending to the enchanting table, add an option to refresh the enchantments in the enchanting table without having to use the grindstone, and potentially add a way to increase odds of getting a specific enchantment.

Imagine this scenario: you've just gotten diamond tools, you're super excited to use them, and you do. It's great. They're faster than iron, and don't break as quickly. But, they do eventually break. They're now on their last legs, only 13 durability on the pickaxe and 22 on the axe. You've switched back to iron for the time being, but want to use diamond tools again. How do you fix this situation?

There are 4 main options:

- Repair them in an anvil with diamonds

- Just make more tools

- Buy new tools from toolsmith villagers

- Get mending books to repair them

Repairing them is fine, especially if you don't anticipate playing for much longer (eg. you're about to beat the Ender Dragon), but otherwise is a bit wasteful. It also gets more and more expensive in terms of xp as you repair more. And good luck repairing netherite tools like this.

Making more tools can be even more wasteful, especially if your old tools are enchanted. You have to go through the process of getting the tools all over again.

Buying them from toolsmith villagers means having access to villagers, and being able to level up at least one toolsmith villager to the required level. That's a pain.

Mending is the most enticing. Keep your current tools, and have a infinitely renewable way to repair them. It's the best solution. However, mending is also awful to get.

It's a treasure enchantment, which means you can't get it with an enchanting table. Loot tables such as structure chests and fishing can be good, but are incredibly unreliable. They contain every other enchanted book as well, so you'd have to get lucky to get a mending book specifically. Villagers are a renewable way to get the books, and are usually the least painful.

Despite being the least painful, however, they still manage to make the experience incredibly dull. Assuming you have villagers, you sit there with one nearby, destroying and replacing a lectern to hopefully find a mending book in their trades. This can take 10 minutes, or 2 hours. That's not even taking into account getting the emeralds to buy the books, which also takes a long time and usually involves a second villager at the very least. Past this, if you want to get different enchantments guaranteed, or other things, a villager trading hall is a necessity. You're now spending many hours on this project, that most likely will be repeated in every world that you get to this point.

Suffice to say, villagers are in no way the ideal method to get mending books. But because villagers are so useful, and mending books so necessary for long playthroughs, this process is the most common way, by far, to get mending books.

This is all because mending books are a treasure enchantment.

If mending books were available via the enchanting table, this wouldn't be nearly as much of a problem. It's still RNG-based (which I'll get to later), but provides an alternative viable method to get mending books. In particular, it allows casual players to get mending without needing to go through the villager process. There's still the problem of needing to make an xp farm, but most players need to do this anyways to get enchantments onto equipment (also it takes less time).

Like I mentioned, the RNG of the enchantment table is still a problem. If mending was moved to the enchanting table, this would still be a major improvement. But I'd also like to suggest some improvements to enchanting while I'm here.

First, for a small change, add an option to refresh the enchantments without enchanting an item. One of the bigger issues with enchanting is that there's a lot of time waste from having to refresh the enchantments over and over, then exiting the menu to use a grindstone on all the enchanted items so you can do it all over again. It's a large waste of time, and is one of the worst parts of enchanting. Adding an option to refresh the enchantments that's built into the table would be very beneficial. 1 xp level and 1 lapis, to match the first enchanting level requirements, and it completely refreshes the enchantments. More resource conservative players can still use the old way to save some xp by using the grindstone, but it provides an easier option for more casual players.

For a much bigger, and more complex change, I suggest allowing modification for the probabilities of certain enchantments through what I'm calling catalysts.

These would be items that, when placed in a certain slot in the enchanting menu, increase (or potentially decrease) the odds of getting certain enchantments. As an example, ice would increase the odds of fire protection and frost walker (assuming that's also removed from the treasure pool), but decrease the chance of fire aspect. Gold increases the chance for efficiency, but decreases the chance for unbreaking. Obsidian increases blast protection and protection, cactus increases thorns, etc. There could be many items to increase or decrease many different enchantments, but the point is that there's a way to alter the probabilities for enchantments.

This is important because, as enchanting table use grows, players will continue to complain about spending hours at their mob farm, trying to get all the enchantments they need for their gear. Giving a method for adjusting the probabilities would appease the players, at least a little.

An additional change for this, although not nearly as necessary, would be to allow for bookshelves to be imbued with these catalysts. It would give the nearby enchanting table the corresponding permanent bonus, albeit at a reduced effect. Or better yet, make a new endgame item that does this, but only one of this item can affect an enchanting table (I'm thinking something above the enchanting table, using a spore blossom and other items that make it endgame. The catalyst would be in the crafting recipe, so you have to make more if you want to have access to different bonuses). This single endgame item would provide the full bonus, since it's an endgame item and there can only be one affecting the probabilities.

Now, how does this work with mending? Surely with a powerful enchantment, it would make sense to either not improve the enchantment odds at all, or have a very endgame item increase the odds. And I would agree, to a point. Mending is very useful in the beginning of the game, and getting it before beating the ender dragon is common. Having it be locked in the end dimension wouldn't be very useful, and wouldn't solve the issue. Rather, I believe the solution is to give it a normal enchantment probability, but when an enchanted item gets more than one enchantment.

To be a little bit more clear, let's say you enchant a sword with a level 30 enchantment. It says sharpness 4, cool, that's what you want. You enchant it, and you get the added bonus of knockback 2, or unbreaking, or something else. Mending would be in this pool of enchantments, but not in the regular pool. This would mean that it isn't visible when looking at the available enchantments for the item you're enchanting, but is available as a potential additional enchantment.

This guarantees that all players are able to get the enchantment, but it's still difficult. Still based on RNG, but a little RNG is fine. A potential option to allow it to appear as it's own enchantment would be to use dragon's breath as the catalyst. Why? Because dragon's breath is kinda useless honestly, and I think it should get more use. Xp bottles may be more appropriate, but they're difficult to get without villagers (which we're trying to avoid).

I realize this isn't without problems, but, in my opinion, this would be a better alternative to using villagers. People who like villagers can still use them, and they're still better for getting what you want. But those who dislike villagers, or are tired of repeating the same task every playthrough, are given a different method to obtain a near-necessary item.

Thanks for reading, and I'm sorry this was so long. Please let me know any ideas you have regarding this, and/or how I could have improved this post (i have no idea what im doing on tumblr)

[crazytime9]

WARNING! Don't read if sensitive! Ironically, I was warned about the man-eating lions in the area. "Don't sleep in a tent" and "Don't be out at night". 18 years ago, I was travelling from the North Cape of Europe to Cape Town in South Africa on a bicycle. On this particular date, I was passing through the south eastern parts of Tanzania, headed for Mozambique. The area is known for man eating lions, but it was four men who tried to kill me. As I was pedalling along a gravel road, they surprised me and one of them swung a machete, full force, at my neck. I barely had any time to react, but hunkering down slightly on the bike made them miss the throat. Instead, the machete split my jawbone in two. Luckily, I didn't fall off my bicycle and managed to cycle away from them. It is too long of a story to tell here, but in the end I managed to get help and travelled home to have a surgery. The doctor said I was lucky. The wound was inflicted with such a force that he would have guessed they used an axe. He also said that if the machete would have hit me anywhere else but my chin, in the region from my neck up to the forehead, that would have been it, I wouldn't be sitting here now. That's why I consider this day my second birthday. Guess I'm turning 18 today 😉. Having worked with lion research for five years, with wild lions in the Serengeti, often being very close to them, I never felt that I was in a life threatening situation. I also want to point out that the vast majority of the people in Tanzania are very nice and would never do anything like this. Things like this could happen in any country. So why did they do it? I don't know, but I had six packed bags on my bicycle. I assume that they wanted what was in the bags. This photo was taken in Serengeti, Tanzania.

[animationadventures]

Maybe I’m alone, maybe I’m not, but this is something I’ve come to accept for myself: With TGAMM’s future looking bleak, I count myself lucky for not getting too attached to it despite loving it dearly. It’s just happened to me too much more than I can count with shows that I’ve loved yet got sadly canned. Wander Over Yonder, Milo Murphy’s Law, Rise of the TMNT, Inside Job, Harvey Beaks, Welcome to the Wayne, Final Space, and so on. It’s a lesson I’ve decided to learn: Unless a show has an iron clad, written in stone good future, I won’t develop a 100% emotional attachment to it. It makes it a lot easier to accept the loss of said show if its future isn’t good. I know this might sound sad, but I personally can’t handle the sadness of something I love get the ax anymore. It’s happened too much for me already. I hope all of this is understandable.

I totally get it.

I fell hard for The Owl House when it premiered, and it absolutely crushed me when it got cancelled the way it did. After that, it's been difficult for me to get attached to a new show, knowing that they can be cancelled just as badly.

I also have lost many shows I loved like Danny Phantom, Steven Universe, DuckTales, Infinity Train, and most recently, The Owl House.

[pickled-dice]

I’ve become obsessed with the idea of giving my world, Iron medieval, dieselpunk and modern technology all at once. Standard issue might be some light armour meant to stop pistol and maybe some intermediate calibers, and maybe a helmet meant for shrapnel if you’re lucky. But any soldier who lives to see their first paycheck will invest a good amount into their kit.

You’ll see soldiers wearing bulletproof armets. Steel spaulders. Soldiers wielding bearded axes as a secondary option. Hell you might find someone with a fuckin sword and shield charging the enemy trenches.

When you’ve got war going on everywhere, grooming standards and bdu standards are pretty lax. At least they are in this world.

So join the fight and become a gun-toting viking.