#man void lady is so cool and you know what they did with her

[kastillia]

And if you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.

w/o editing effects below

[starberry-cupcake]

I'm back! Thank you so much for your patience and your kind messages and comments ♥ you are so nice about my silly ramblings, I appreciate it a lot.

previously, on harrowsoup the ninth:

this happened

also I posted this and this as previews and this is the whole tag

currently, chapters 23-26:

"an atmosphere of greater unease had settled over the mithraeum"

aka the emperor's bolthole

btw, no kidding, harrow, I hadn't noticed the unease

so, harrow asks around about the herald situation

I have another deck with dragon heralds but I'm not gonna go on a card tangent this time (you're welcome)

everyone gives terrible and useless descriptions

emperor johnny boy says "Whenever they come I am bundled off to a sealed sanctum at the heart of the Mitrhaeum, so that their insanity can't touch me"

asshole coward awful man

harrobean is trying to ask why emperor asshat is so sure about her having to die and if there's no way she can make it

emperor johnny says yandere twin isn't that good at being a lyctor yet, even if she's surprising and that if he was still giving silly names, he'd name her "Saint of Awe"

harrow thinks "that had not quite suited Naberius"

get perpetually owned, chad

harrow also mentions not being able to remember things well

YOU THINK, HARROW?

"it was as though your brain had formed a scab over everything that had happened to you"

I don't think that scab is healing well

emperor johnny insists on the rapier

idk why they all insist on the rapier

gideon and camilla didn't like it and were the fucking best cavaliers ever

ARE, THEY ARE THE BEST CAVALIERS EVER

PRESENT TENSE

but anyway, at this point, it could very well be emperor johnbro has aesthetic demands

not like he'll explain anything

harrowbean sees not!dulcinea's door closed, which isn't usual

she second guesses a bit because she can't always trust what she sees and she remembers crux saying "you saw what you saw, Lady, and the only thing you control now is your reaction thereto"

I didn't like that old man, but that's pretty cool of him to say

harrow opens the door and sees this

alleged gideon the first aka ortus tells harrow to go away very calmly and in a way that is too nice for him, apparently

harrow is upset at the display in front of her salad and goes to complain to yandere twin

which is a terrible place to complain at because she's both into gossip and into kink

if you want someone to take this seriously, that's the last place to go to

"at least you know who's been moving her—so to speak"

this is what we get combining yandere twin and chad

I've used that gif twice for her already

I forgive her, though, because she says "god is a dickhead" and she's right

she also asks harrow to try to remember why emperor john god has given her the sword

and establishes that harrow previously did something to her jaw so that she couldn't tell her

that's going in the 3d model

CHAPTER 24

apparently people are being less mean to harrowbean because they're already mourning her

harrow says that alleged gideon the first aka ortus has the name ortus because "it was just a banal and uncomfortable coincidence, as though he'd carried the name of a dead childhood pet"

she believes that the name must have caught on in the ninth because anastasia must have like brought it in and named people after her pal

I think he's named gideon

and that our gideon is named after him because of direct relationship of some capacity, maybe to someone involved

I considered the mom, but it's uncertain

in any case, he has to die

so, harrow puts a lot of wards and safety things in her room

kind of like this

home alone styling it

but apparently alleged gideon the first aka ortus can bypass wards

much like the sleeper/waker

much like not!dulcinea

wards are basically pointless, I guess, at this point

so he goes into her bathroom when she's bathing because here in the emperor's bolthole, everyone's a disrespectful asshole

harrowbean says he's "a thanergy void" and "the ultimate nemesis of a bone adept"

he tries to kill her while she's looking like this

I want to give this child some cocoa and play a comfort movie for her, like "the bone collector"

she ended up using the teeth she lost in the fight as projectiles in his eyes and got him to leave

she ended up bloody, unmoving, wet, naked and collapsed on the ground to which yandere twin live reacted to and left

she could have given her a hand

or an arm

she decided alleged gideon had to die and ice cube barbie aka probably annabel lee agreed

when gideon was among us, there was not enough time for her to throw hands at people and here there's so many people she could be throwing hands at and she's not here to do so

camilla too, but camilla threw hands at martita in a way that was legendary enough

CHAPTER 25

harrow goes with the chisme to dr reverend professor emperor john

she says "I swear by the Locked Tomb"

to which he replies "I wouldn't swear by that in this instance"

which I sure hope doesn't mean anything nasty with my girl ice cube barbie annabel lee because I'm gonna kill this man

she might not be entirely alive (maybe she is, maybe she's just suspended or something) but she deserves better than this piece of work

then he says "well, that's unfortunate"

this man really knows how to handle a situation, huh

emperor john says that it's pretty unlikely that alleged gideon the first aka ortus was doing the dirty with not!dulcinea because he never showed interest before and is "legendarily unamorous"

that's another tshirt I need

I need that one and the witch one immediately

also, now we've got a problem

not just because my telenovela about how this man might or might not be related to our gideon got more convoluted

but also because if alleged gideon is aroace, I'm gonna have to stan

I don't make the rules over here, I have to stand by my people

I have a conflict of interest now

emperor john also says "you must think us all a depraved set of immortal criminals"

I mean yes, I do, but not because of sexy times with zombies

I'm not here to judge the sexytimes of necromancers and whatever they do in their spare time

I don't know the intricacies of consent with ghosts or whatever, I can't be imparting judgment

it's not that, emperor john

it's because you're unpleasant war criminals who are killing planets for fun

well, the war criminal part I don't have hard evidence on rn but the situation doesn't seem to be in the favor of these people

I feel like when this man talks about the overall situation I'm getting a speech from emperor palpatine

emperor reverend john asks harrow, who has been awake for 25 years, to go to sleep

yeah, sure, she should go to sleep and wait for this guy to come by and try to kill her for the millionth time

meanwhile, harrowbean keeps collecting hours without sleep like

she makes, at the request of emperor camp counselor john, soup for everyone

I don't remember if it was here or before and I forgot but, this is extremely important

they mentioned cassiopeia being the one who cooked before

cassiopeia the same one with the ceramics collection, if I'm remembering correctly

cassiopeia who was also from the sixth, I think

camilla's house

she's checking every single one of my boxes like a sniper

why isn't she here, we're stuck with the grumpy one and the senior chad

ANYWAY, at the mention of harrow cooking I thought, immediately, "that's an awesome way to kill this guy"

I was picturing more like a poison type situation, although I didn't know how that could be achieved

something like this

but I should have known poison was too subtle for harrowcita

like I established back when protozoa's head was found in her closet, subtle isn't harrow's style

so it was more like this

basically, harrow sectioned her tibia to put some in the soup and then she could necrobend it so that it attacked from the inside

if I'm getting it right

insane plan and I love it

emperor john shadyman says "ten thousand years since I've eaten human being, Harrow, and I didn't really want an encore."

were they snacking on people during the Resurrection???

did they kill people by making lunch?????

???????????????????????????????????????????

"you think we're bad because we have sexy times with ghoulies?? uwu" that's the least of my concerns johnny john man

harrow then breaks down and asks straight to his face WHY THE FUCK MUST SHE SUFFER LIKE THIS

she calls herself a nonsense

the only nonsense here is what this emperor man speaks

she tells him she hasn't slept in six days

for a sleep deprived plan, it was excellent tbh

emperor man over here asks yandere twin to take her to sleep

and then stays with mercygirl to whom he says it's insane that harrow could do what she did and how did mercygirl miss that

this is the situation, as I have previously established

augustine looks at harrow "as if he had seen the ghost of someone he did not particularly like"

alleged gideon the first aka ortus salutes her on her way out

he doesn't even have heartburn

CHAPTER 26

we're back on gideon-less canaan house because it's time for more people to die

in ways that make 0 sense at all for what we know so far

regina george twin is pushed to her death by mayonnaise uncle

sounds fake to me

like, come on

regina george twin can probably murder that feeble guy on sight

we saw her spar with gideon, she wanted to be the cav that chad ended up being

she might not be a necro but she can stand her ground in a physical fight

mayonnaise uncle without duracell bunny nephew is like a sweaty guy on an anime con complaining about girls ruining everything while buying a maid figurine

she can take him

anyway, he does that and he says to her "and somewhere out there, may all the blood of your blood suffer even a fraction of what I have suffered"

now, this is weird

is he talking about yandere twin?

he wants revenge because yandere twin obliterated him?

is yandere twin "out there"?

I'd say this might be limbo BUT CAMILLA ISN'T DEAD

harrow is going to him and he says "she has not remembered her end" "is this how it happens then?"

and then he yeeted himself into space

that's what I wanted to do with not!dulcinea all along

so, yeah, well, this canaan business is getting more complicated now that it's not just people being shot

people are throwing themselves and others into space

and the memories of harrow in the emperor's bolthole aren't completely lining up with these

and mayonnaise uncle seemed to have been more aware of things than others around here?? or maybe just more forthcoming??? in that cryptic otaku way of his

also, no camilla at all still

Things are heating up in the emperor's bolthole, hope to come back soon with another one and thanks for the patience, hope it was worth it.

[asa-do-your-thing]

Helloo, could you do a Theon Greyjoy smut were the reader is a mermaid? Ty ♡♡

Swim to me; let me enfold you

18+ MINORS DNI Theon Greyjoy x Selkie!Reader 5.8 k Warnings: P in V sex, porn w/o plot, smut, oral sex, kind of orgasm denial? soft smut, theon's a bit of a misogynist but that was to be expected, sub theon thank you for the ask, I couldn't fall asleep so I had to write this, I hope you like it <3 oh and I might've gone overboard with the sea alliterations. whoops!

Leaning against an old oak, Theon shivered and took another sip of his mead, staring off into the distant darkness on Bear Island. Lord Stark had something private to discuss with Lady Maege Mormont, leaving him to his own devices. Robb, ever the good heir, had decided to go to bed early and the Mormont ladies - if one could even call them thusly - had fun with their friends.

Sighing, he slowly walked closer to the sea, watching the dark waves crashing and gurgling menacingly against the slick, black stones of the shoreline.

The sea… Something he used to see on a daily basis but now was as strange to him as the concept of being close to Mother, talking to Asha, being on Pyke.

He kicked a small stone into the dark waters and turned, cursing Lord Stark for choosing to come to this desolate place. Why couldn't they have gone to White Harbour? There, he could have his pick of whores without any worries. But here, he had to be careful not to get picked up by one of the women and dragged into their makeshift huts.

"What a pretty boy," one had said with a wide grin and strong arms, eyeing Theon up and down at the feast. "His hair looks so soft, and I'm sure he moans just as softly."

Theon shuddered at the memory, quickly draining the last of his mead to wash away the taste of disgust that lingered in his mouth. The empty horn dangled from his fingers as he cast one last glance at the churning sea, its inky blackness now seeming to mirror the void in his chest. With a resigned sigh, he turned and made his way back to the Mormont's hall, his footsteps muffled by the damp moss beneath his feet.

The hall was mercifully quiet as he slipped inside, the earlier revelry having died down to a low murmur of conversation and the occasional clink of cups. Theon's eyes darted around, searching for any sign of the she-bears that had made him so uncomfortable earlier. Seeing none, he quickly made his way to the large oak barrel in the corner, filling his horn with fresh, golden mead that glowed warmly in the flickering firelight.

Clutching his prize, Theon hurried back outside, the cool night air a welcome respite from the stuffy interior. He paused for a moment, allowing his eyes to readjust to the darkness, before making his way back towards his earlier perch by the old oak tree. As he approached, however, he noticed a slender silhouette standing where he had been just moments before.

Drawing closer, Theon's breath caught in his throat. There, bathed in the soft silver light of the moon, stood a young woman. Her long, slick hair looked strangely damp and her skin had the same light colour as her strange cloak. Squinting, Theon could make out that it was a sealskin - what was this girl doing here with a skagosi coat?

“If I knew you would return I would have asked for a horn as well,” she whispered gently and turned around, giving Theon a small, shy smile. “I’ve never seen such a man as yourself here.”

With an overexaggerated bow, Theon offered her his horn. Gods, she was stunning - Theon did not know if he had ever seen a woman with such a natural beauty as her, even if she looked as if she just came out of a bout of rain, her plain dress clinging to her. “Take it, my Lady. I can always just get myself a second one.”

Studying her closer, he raised an eyebrow and leaned against the tree once more, his arm above her. He had not seen her during the feast, yet she looked far too gentle, too soft to be a servant or a fisherman’s wife, not to mention being a warrior. “So you’ve been watching me then, huh? Then how come I haven’t seen you?”

The woman's smile widened, revealing teeth that seemed to gleam unnaturally in the moonlight. She accepted the horn with a graceful nod, her fingers brushing against Theon's as she took it. A shiver ran through him at the touch - her skin was cool and slightly damp, like the mist rolling in from the sea.

"Perhaps you weren't looking in the right places," she replied, her voice as soft and alluring as the gentle lapping of waves against the shore. "I prefer to keep to the shadows, away from the noise and chaos of your feasts."

Theon found himself drawn in by her mysterious aura, unable to look away from her mesmerizing gaze. Her eyes were the color of the sea at twilight, deep and unfathomable. Whatever did she mean with ‘your feasts’? Surely such a lovely thing could not be low-born. She didn’t look like she was from Bear Island either. Was she a bastard? Maybe Jorah Mormont’s?

"And what brings a lovely girl such as yourself out here on a night like this?" Theon asked, his usual cocky grin spreading across his face. "Surely not just to admire the view? The winds are cold and the feast is almost over. Or are you waiting for someone…?"

The woman took a sip of mead, her eyes never leaving Theon's. "I come here often, to listen to the sea and feel the wind on my skin. It calls to me, you see."

She gestured towards the churning waters with her free hand, and Theon could have sworn he saw webbing between her fingers for just a moment before she lowered it again. Although… didn’t the Sistermen have that as well?

"But tonight," she continued, her voice dropping to a whisper, "I sensed something different. Something... foreign. I was right,” she said, giving him the horn back. “You are of the drowned islands, are you not? Your sharp face tells me so, ‘tis a handsome one. It would have been wrong of me not to find you tonight.”

Theon laughed and gratefully took a sip of mead to try and calm his beating heart and the hardness in his breeches. She spoke plenty strangely, surely, yet she was so beautiful and spoke so frankly, yet so sweetly… and it seemed like she was truly eager to spend time, if not even the night, with him.

His laugh faded as he studied the mysterious woman more closely. Her words stirred something deep within him, a longing for home he usually tried to bury beneath bravado and drink.

"Aye, I'm from the Iron Islands," he admitted, his voice rougher than he intended. "Though it's been many years since I've seen those shores."

The woman's eyes seemed to glimmer with an otherworldly light as she stepped closer to him. The scent of salt and seaweed clung to her, intoxicating and familiar.

"The sea never forgets her children," she murmured, reaching out to trace the line of his sharp jaw with cool fingers. "Even when they're taken far from her embrace."

Theon shivered at her touch, desire and an inexplicable sense of danger warring within him. "And what of you?" he asked, trying to regain his composure. "You're clearly not from Bear Island. Where do you call home?"

A sad smile played across her lips as she gazed out at the dark waters. "My home is everywhere and nowhere," she said softly. "Wherever the tides take me. Like… what do you call them… a salt wife, but I have no master. My mistress is the sea. "

She turned back to him, her hands searching his. Something about her made him so wild, he did not even know what it was. Her quiet confidence? Her Beauty? The mystery in her voice? "But tonight, I'm here with you, my Theon of the Iron Islands. Would you like to feel the sea's embrace once more? My hut is not like the Lord Bears’ big one, but it is warm and the sea is oh so near.”

Theon hesitated for a moment, his mind racing. This woman was unlike any he had ever encountered, and something about her both thrilled and unnerved him. But the mead coursing through his veins and the ache of loneliness in his chest pushed him forward.

"Lead the way, my mysterious lady," he said with a roguish grin, offering her his arm.

She smiled, a secret dancing in her eyes, and took his arm. As they walked along the rocky shore, Theon noticed that her feet seemed to barely touch the ground, moving with an otherworldly grace over the uneven terrain. The sound of the waves grew louder, drowning out the distant noises from the Mormont hall.

Soon, they came upon a small hut nestled among the rocks, so well-hidden that Theon would have missed it entirely if not for his guide. It was a simple structure, made of driftwood and covered in seaweed, looking as if it had grown organically from the shore itself.

The woman pushed open the door, revealing a cozy interior lit by the soft glow of thick, brown candles in jars. The scent of the sea was even stronger here, mixed with something else Theon couldn't quite place – something ancient and primal, but drink and fatigue made him careless, so as soon as she closed the door behind herself, he pressed her against it and kissed her hungrily.

He could feel her smiling against his kiss. "Welcome to my humble home," she said, her voice barely audible over the crashing waves just outside as she broke away. "Would you mind if I take my coat off first and light a fire? It would be a bit more… comfortable.”

Theon reluctantly pulled away, his breath coming in short gasps. "Of course, my lady," he said with a playful bow. "Allow me to start the fire for you. It's the least I can do for such gracious hospitality."

He moved to the small hearth, gathering driftwood and kindling from a neat pile nearby. As he worked to coax a flame to life, he couldn't resist stealing glances at the mysterious woman. She stood with her back to him, slowly unfastening her sealskin coat.

"So, tell me," Theon said, his voice husky with desire, "do you often lure handsome strangers to your hidden abode? Or am I a special case?"

The firelight danced across her pale skin as she carefully folded the coat and placed it on a nearby chair. Theon's breath caught in his throat as she began to unlace her simple dress, the fabric sliding off her shoulders to pool at her feet.

She laughed softly, a sound like waves lapping at the shore. "You are indeed special, Theon of the Iron Islands. It's not often I meet someone who understands the call of the sea as I do."

She turned to face him, now clad only in a thin shift that clung to her curves like sea foam on the shore. The flickering flames cast a warm glow on her features, softening the otherworldly quality that had first captivated him.

In this light, she looked more human, more real, yet no less beautiful.

Her long hair, no longer seeming damp, cascaded down her back in waves that rivaled the sea itself. Her eyes, which had appeared so dark and fathomless outside, now shone with a warm, amber hue that reminded Theon of the mead they just drank.

"And what of you?" she asked, turning to face him. "Do you often follow mysterious women into the night?"

Theon grinned, rising from his crouched position by the now-crackling fire. "Only the exceptionally beautiful ones," he quipped, “and ones that do not wish for my gold before they have even spoken to me.”

The girl laughed and stepped closer to him, untying his own cloak and unbuttoning his black doublet. “Gold means nothing to me.”

“Really? I think you are the first woman I’ve ever heard saying something like that,” Theon muttered, trying to keep his breathing calm as her hands came to the bottom buttons of his doublet, accidentally brushing over his hardness.

“Hm,” she muttered and looked up, giving him a grin that was as coy as his own as she slipped it off him with almost unnatural grace, before she stood before him once more, gently pushing him onto her bed so she stood over him, her chest dangerously close to his face.

“On the drowned islands they also do not talk of gold. They talk of iron, my Theon. Although… it seems like you know the hardness of it. So, in turn, for tonight, I shall wish for it to mean something to me. Do you think you can do that?”

Theon's breath hitched as he gazed up at the mysterious woman, her beauty almost otherworldly in the flickering firelight. His hands found her hips, pulling her closer as he leaned in to press his lips to her stomach through the thin fabric of her shift.

"I think I can manage that," he murmured against her skin, his voice low and husky with desire. "Though I warn you, my lady, I may ruin you for all other men."

She laughed softly, running her fingers through his hair. "Oh, my sweet Theon," she whispered, "I don't think you quite understand what you've gotten yourself into."

With surprising strength, she pushed him back onto the bed, straddling his hips in one fluid motion. Theon gasped as she ground against him, the friction sending sparks of pleasure through his body. He reached up to caress her face, but she caught his wrists, pinning them above his head.

"Tell me," she purred, her lips brushing against his ear, "do you know the old stories of the sea folk? The ones who lure unsuspecting sailors to their doom?"

Theon's heart raced, a mix of excitement and unease coursing through him. "Aye," he managed to say, his voice strained. "But those are just tales to frighten children."

She pulled back slightly, her eyes meeting his. In the dim light, they seemed to shift and change, one moment they were human and the other… bigger. Darker. Just like a seal’s. “At first the tales will scare you, then they will make you long for us, before you forget them. But, my dear Theon, we exist,” she whispered, grinning widely, her hand reaching down to untie the laces of his breeches.

“Do not fear, though… I won’t bite. Not unless you ask me to, at least,” she mumbled, pushing them down, freeing his hard member, on which she sat down with a wicked grin, rubbing her moist slit gently against him, sighing contentedly. “You are of the sea - you are sweet. I will not hurt you, no, you’re too pretty for that.”

Theon's mind reeled, torn between desire and a growing sense of unease. The woman atop him was unlike any he had ever known, her beauty both alluring and terrifying. As she moved against him, he felt as if he were being pulled into the depths of the sea itself, helpless against the tide of pleasure threatening to overwhelm him.

"What... what are you?" he gasped, his hips involuntarily bucking upwards, seeking more contact, seeking to enter her, yet he was under her, he was trapped.

She leaned down, her lips brushing against his as she spoke. "I am the foam on the waves, the salt in the air, the call of the deep that echoes in your blood," she whispered. "I am what your people call a selkie."

With nimble fingers, the selkie tugged at Theon's breeches, sliding them down his legs and tossing them aside. Her eyes roamed over his body, drinking in every detail as if committing him to memory. Theon shivered, feeling exposed and vulnerable under her intense gaze.

"Beautiful," she murmured, her voice like the whisper of waves on sand. "You are a true son of the sea."

She rose gracefully, her movements fluid and hypnotic. Slowly, deliberately, she pulled her shift over her head, revealing skin as pale and smooth as polished seashells. Moonlight from the small window danced across her curves, casting her in an otherworldly glow.

Theon's breath caught in his throat as she crawled between his legs, her hair cascading around her shoulders like a waterfall of dark silk. Her cool fingers wrapped around his shaft, stroking him with a touch both gentle and confident. He gasped, his hips lifting involuntarily off the bed.

"So responsive," she purred, her eyes gleaming with approval. "Your body remembers the sea's embrace, even if your mind has forgotten."

Her thumb circled the tip of his manhood, spreading the moisture gathered there. Theon moaned, torn between the pleasure of her touch and the lingering fear of the unknown. The selkie continued her ministrations, alternating between long, languid strokes and quick, teasing caresses.

"You're even more desperate than I am,” she muttered, glancing up at him before slowly, almost shyly, licking a stripe over his cock, taking it carefully in her wonderfully soft, warm mouth.

Theon gasped as her mouth enveloped him, warm and wet like the sea itself. His fingers tangled in her hair, silky strands slipping through his grasp like water. The selkie's tongue swirled around his length, teasing and exploring with an expertise that left him breathless.

"Gods," he groaned, his head falling back against the pillow. The pleasure was intense, almost overwhelming, yet there was something else - a strange tingling sensation that spread from where her lips met his skin, flowing through his veins like the tide.

She hummed in response, the vibrations sending shocks of pleasure up his spine. Her hands caressed his thighs, nails lightly scraping against his skin. Theon's hips bucked involuntarily, driving himself deeper into her mouth.

The selkie pulled back slightly, releasing him with a soft pop. Her eyes, dark and fathomless as the deep sea, met his. "Patience, my iron prince," she murmured, her voice husky with desire. "The night is young, and I wish to see if you understand."

She crawled up his body, her skin cool and slightly damp against his. Theon reached for her, pulling her close and capturing her lips in a passionate kiss. He could taste salt on her tongue, along with his own musk.

As they kissed, she laid down next to him, evidently waiting for his next move. But what was he he to do with a girl, a woman, a being like her? Whores usually quickly satified his needs but with her… he just couldn’t bring himself to use her in such a way.

Theon hesitated, his hands hovering uncertainly over the selkie's body. She was unlike any woman he had ever been with, and he found himself at a loss. Her otherworldly beauty and mysterious nature both thrilled and intimidated him.

"What's wrong, my iron prince?" she asked, her voice a soft whisper that seemed to caress his skin. "Are you not used to a woman who knows what she wants?"

Theon swallowed hard, his pride stung by her words. "I... I've been with plenty of women," he said, trying to sound confident. "But you're different. I don't know what you want from me."

The selkie's laugh was like the tinkling of sea glass in the surf. She took his hand in hers, guiding it to her breast. Her skin was cool and smooth, like polished stone worn by the sea.

"I want you to touch me," she murmured, her eyes locked on his. "I want you to explore me as if I were uncharted waters. Can you do that, Theon of the Iron Islands?"

Her words ignited something within him, a mixture of desire and curiosity that overwhelmed his hesitation. Slowly, reverently, he began to caress her body, marveling at the way her skin seemed to shimmer in the dim light.

His fingers traced the curve of her hip, the dip of her waist, the swell of her breast. She sighed contentedly, smilig into the dimness of the hut. “More, Theon, I will not break… Show me your strength…,” she whispered.

Emboldened by her words, Theon's touch became more confident. He cupped her breast, feeling the weight of it in his palm, his thumb brushing over her nipple. The selkie arched into his touch, a soft moan escaping her lips.

Theon leaned in, pressing his lips to the curve of her neck. He could taste salt on her skin, reminding him of sea spray on a windy day. His kisses trailed lower, across her collarbone and down to her breast. He took her nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the hardened peak.

The selkie's fingers tangled in his hair, holding him close. "Yes," she breathed, her voice husky with desire. "Just like that."

Encouraged by her response, Theon's hand slid lower, tracing the curve of her hip and thigh. He hesitated for a moment before dipping between her legs, finding her already slick with desire. The selkie gasped as he explored her folds, her hips rolling against his hand.

"You're so wet," Theon murmured against her skin, his fingers circling her most sensitive spot.

"I am of the sea," she reminded him, her voice breathy. "Always ready to embrace those who seek me."

Theon groaned at her words, his own desire mounting. He kissed his way down her body, pausing to nip at the soft skin of her inner thigh, before he parted her soft curls with his fingers, settling between her thighs just as she had done before.

Her scent - gods - he had not even fully tasted her, yet he did not wish to part with her already, his tongue slowly touching her cunny.

The selkie gasped as Theon's tongue made contact with her most intimate place. Her fingers tightened in his hair, urging him closer. Theon obliged, his tongue exploring her folds with growing enthusiasm.

She tasted of the sea - salt and brine mingled with her own unique flavor. It was intoxicating, and Theon found himself lost in the act, his world narrowing to the sound of her soft moans and the feel of her beneath his lips and tongue.

His hands gripped her thighs, holding her steady as he worked. He traced patterns with his tongue, alternating between broad strokes and focused attention on her most sensitive spots. The selkie's hips rolled against his face.

"Oh, Theon," she breathed, her voice thick with pleasure. "You truly are a son of the sea. You know just how to please me."

Her words sent a thrill through him, spurring him on. He redoubled his efforts, sucking gently on her pearl while his fingers teased her entrance. The selkie cried out, her back arching off the bed.

Theon could feel her trembling beneath him, teetering on the edge of release. He quickly sat up, kissing her like a starved man, before pushing himself into her.

The selkie's eyes flashed with a mixture of pleasure and frustration as Theon entered her. In one fluid motion, she hooked her leg around his waist and flipped him onto his back, pinning him beneath her with surprising strength.

"Tsk, tsk," she chided, her voice a low, dangerous purr. "So eager, my iron prince. Did you forget that the sea demands patience?"

Theon gasped, overwhelmed by the sensation of being sheathed within her. Her inner walls pulsed around him, cool and slick like the embrace of the tide. He tried to thrust upward, seeking more friction, but the selkie held him firmly in place.

"I... I'm sorry," he managed to stammer, his hands instinctively moving to her hips.

The selkie caught his wrists, pinning them above his head with surprising strength. "Oh, you will be," she whispered, a wicked gleam in her eye. "The sea is patient, Theon of the Iron Islands. And so am I."

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, she began to move. Her hips rolled in a hypnotic rhythm, rising and falling like the swell of waves. Theon groaned, his hands grasping at her hips, trying to urge her to move faster. But the selkie was unyielding, setting her own pace.

She rode him with the patience of the eternal sea, each movement precise and deliberate. Her skin gleamed with a faint, otherworldly luminescence in the dim light, like moonlight on water. Theon watched, mesmerized, as droplets of moisture beaded on her skin, rolling down her body like rivulets of seawater. He longed to taste them, to run his tongue along the curves of her body, but she kept him pinned beneath her, at her mercy.

"Please," Theon gasped, his voice hoarse with need. "I need... I need..."

The selkie smiled, a predatory gleam in her eyes. "What do you need, my iron prince? Tell me."

"More," he groaned. "Faster. I need to feel you."

She leaned down, her lips brushing against his ear. "The sea gives and takes as she pleases," she whispered. "And tonight, I am the sea."

With those words, she began to move faster, her hips undulating in a rhythm that matched the crashing waves outside. Theon moaned, lost in the sensation of her around him, the cool silk of her skin against his, the intoxicating scent of salt and sex that filled the air.

The selkie's movements grew more frenzied, her breath coming in short gasps. She released Theon's wrists, bracing herself against his chest as she rode him. Freed from her grip, Theon's hands roamed her body, caressing her breasts, her hips, her thighs.

"Yes," she hissed, her head thrown back in ecstasy. "Touch me, Theon."

Theon's hands roamed the selkie's body feverishly, tracing the curves and dips of her otherworldly form. Her skin seemed to ripple beneath his touch, as if tiny waves were coursing just beneath the surface. He could feel the power of the sea thrumming through her, wild and untamed.

The selkie's movements grew more frenzied, her hips rolling and crashing against his like storm-tossed waves. Theon felt himself being pulled under, drowning in sensation. His entire world narrowed to the feel of her around him, the salt-sweet taste of her skin, the sound of her gasps and moans mingling with the distant roar of the sea.

He was close, so close. The pressure built within him like a tide ready to break. His fingers dug into her hips, pulling her down harder onto him. The selkie's inner walls clenched around him, pulsing with a rhythm that seemed to match the beating of his heart.

"Oh gods," Theon groaned, his back arching off the bed. "I'm going to-"

Suddenly, the selkie stilled. In one fluid motion, she lifted herself off him, leaving Theon gasping and desperate. He reached for her, but she evaded his grasp with a teasing smile, instead laying down on her stomach with a wicked little smile.

"Now you know what it feels like," she purred, her voice low and husky. "I am not done and neither are you."

Theon groaned in frustration, his body aching with unfulfilled desire. The selkie's eyes glimmered with mischief as she looked back at him over her shoulder, her hair cascading down her back like dark seaweed.

"Come, my iron prince," she cooed, arching her back invitingly, wiggling her full buttocks. "Show me the strength of the storm."

Theon didn't need to be told twice. He moved behind her, his hands caressing the smooth curve of her hips. The selkie sighed contentedly as he positioned himself, teasing her entrance with the tip of his manhood.

"Don't make me wait," she breathed, pushing back against him.

With a low growl, Theon thrust into her, burying himself to the hilt. The selkie cried out in pleasure, her fingers gripping the furs beneath them. Theon set a punishing pace, driven by his earlier denied release and the intoxicating power of the creature beneath him.

The sound of flesh meeting flesh mingled with their gasps and moans, creating a primal rhythm that seemed to echo the crashing waves outside. Theon's hands roamed her body, caressing her breasts, her stomach, her thighs. Every touch sent sparks of pleasure through him, as if her very skin conducted the raw energy of the sea.

The selkie met him thrust for thrust, her body undulating like the tide. She turned her head, capturing his lips in a fierce kiss. Theon kissed her back hungrily, tasting salt and desire on her lips. His hands tangled in her hair, pulling her closer as he continued to drive into her. The selkie moaned into his mouth, her body trembling beneath him.

Breaking the kiss, she gasped, "Yes, Theon. Just like that. Be good for me, please… give me… just like…."

Her words ignited something primal within him. Theon's thrusts became more forceful, more desperate. He could feel the pressure building again, a tidal wave of pleasure threatening to overwhelm him.

The selkie's inner walls clenched around him, her body shuddering with each thrust. She buried her face in the furs, muffling her cries of ecstasy. Theon could feel her climax approaching, her muscles tensing beneath his hands.

"Look at me," he growled, surprising himself with the command in his voice. "I want to see your face when you come undone."

The selkie turned her head, her eyes meeting his. In that moment, Theon saw the vastness of the sea in her gaze - deep, mysterious, and utterly wild. It was terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

With a final, powerful thrust, Theon felt himself tipping over the edge. The selkie cried out, her body arching beneath him as her own release crashed over her. Theon groaned, burying himself deep inside her as wave after wave of pleasure washed over him. It felt like he was being pulled into the depths of the sea itself, drowning in ecstasy.

As the intensity of their shared climax began to ebb, Theon collapsed onto the selkie's back, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He could feel her heart racing beneath him, her skin cool and slightly damp against his chest. For a long moment, they lay there, intertwined and breathless.

Slowly, carefully, Theon rolled off her, falling onto his back beside her on the narrow bed. The selkie turned to face him, her eyes now soft and warm like the sea on a calm summer day. She reached out, tracing the line of his jaw with gentle fingers.

"You have pleased me well, my iron prince," she murmured, her voice rich with satisfaction. "The sea will remember you fondly."

Theon chuckled weakly, still trying to catch his breath. "I don't think I'll ever forget this night," he said, turning his head to meet her gaze. "Or you."

The selkie smiled, a hint of sadness in her eyes. "Perhaps," she said softly. "But the memories of men are often as fleeting as seafoam on the shore."

She leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips before rising from the bed. Theon watched, mesmerized, as she moved about the small hut, her body glowing faintly in the dim light. She retrieved her cloak, fastening it around her shoulders, and gave him a sad, sorrowful little smile. “Go back to the bears now, my kraken. I’m sure you are missed.”

“But… can you not just… stay here? For a while at least?”, Theon asked, quickly gathering up his own clothing. Normally he would’ve left just as quickly as she was about to, yet she was no Ros, no Wintertown whore.

The selkie paused, her hand on the door. She turned back to Theon, her eyes softening with a mixture of fondness and regret.

"Oh, my sweet iron prince," she said softly. "Your words warm my heart, but I cannot stay. The sea calls to me, as it always has and always will."

Theon felt a pang in his chest, a longing he couldn't quite name. He stood, still naked, and took a step towards her. "Then let me come with you," he said impulsively. "Just for a while. I... I miss the sea."

The selkie's smile was sad and knowing. She reached out, cupping his cheek in her cool hand. "You are not ready for my world, Theon of the Iron Islands. Your path lies elsewhere, at least for now."

She leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. Theon could taste the salt of the sea on her breath, feel the pull of the tide in her touch. When she pulled away, her eyes seemed to shimmer with unshed tears.

"But know this," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the crashing waves outside. "The sea never forgets her children. When the time comes, if you truly wish it, you may find your way back to us."

With those words, she slipped out the door and into the night. Theon rushed after her, but as he stepped outside, he saw only the empty beach and the vast, freezing waters, the selkie’s figure retreating into the waves.

Theon stood on the shore, the cool night air raising goosebumps on his bare skin. He watched the waves crash against the rocky beach, searching for any sign of the mysterious selkie, but she had vanished as completely as if she had never existed. The only evidence of their encounter was the lingering taste of salt on his lips and the slight ache in his muscles.

With a heavy sigh, Theon turned back to the small hut. The interior still smelled of sea and sex, and for a moment, he wondered if he had dreamed the entire encounter. But no, his clothes were strewn about the floor, and he could still feel the ghost of her touch on his skin.

Slowly, he began to dress himself. His fingers fumbled with the laces of his breeches, his mind still clouded with the intoxicating memory of the selkie. As he pulled on his tunic, he noticed it smelled faintly of seaweed and brine. He wondered idly if Lord Stark would notice, then dismissed the thought. The old wolf rarely paid him much attention anyway.

Theon retrieved his cloak from where it had fallen, shaking out the sand before fastening it around his shoulders. He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to tame the wild locks that the selkie had so eagerly mussed. As he did so, he felt something caught in the strands – a single, iridescent scale that gleamed in the dim light. He stared at it and reverently tucked it into his satchel.

Stepping out of the hut, Theon took one last look at the sea. The moon hung low on the horizon, its reflection shimmering on the dark waters. For a moment, he thought he saw a seal's head bobbing in the waves, watching him with knowing eyes. But when he blinked, it was gone. The sea had claimed him, he thought, and he would honour it.

[evilminji]

Back on my DpxNaruto ideas cause there's room for SHENANIGANS~!

You ever go on a BIT of a road trip? To a Really Good Restaurant you've heard exsists waaaaay that away? And it's far... but not Unreasonably Far(TM)? You could make it a day trip! Maybe check out the surrounding area! Buy some other stuff or see the sights.

You got a long weekend.

And you heard it's REAL good.

Imagine~! If you will! Broke ass, scruffy, Built Like His Father, Feral Like His Mother, "just here for the snacks, man" type College Student type Danny! A GIANT. Perpetually reeks of engineering oils and the unplace-able yet universally familiar scent of Ectoplasm. And? Probably whatever high-end self care products Sam's mom sends her, since Tucker can't use um.

He eats like a bottomless VOID because somehow he's STILL growing. Will be for centuries. Long after his HUMAN half stops? His ghost half is gonna keep going.

Sucks, man. :/

He hungy.

But he already SPENT his monthly budget on that part he desperately needed. And cheap ramen sucks after the fifth meal in a row. And it's not like he can go fishing or anything. So what to do???

Visit... lunch lady? Maybe? He considers?

He figures "Why Not?". Makes a portal and lazily floats towards the Box-Lady Lair. But? So deep in though is he? He doesn't look where he's GOING and *gentle bonk* oop! Oh man! He's so sorry!

Some giant dude in armor with a HUGE mane of hair. The guy just laughs good naturedly, says it's fine. And turns out? They're going the same way! He's part of Lunch Lady's Cooking Club. Oh, sweet! Danny's heard she started one of those...

But wait! If he's heading over? Is the club NOW?

No, no! He's assured. The guy also watchs Lunch Box for them. He's good with kids, comes with being part of a big clan.

They get talking. Danny fascinated. Ninjas, huh? Cool. And that's when? The guy drops, with no small amount of pride, the little tidbit.... that oh by the way~ no big DEAL~☆

But WE produced some of the BEST cooks in the ENTIRE known world.

:O

Okay now he HAS to try this food. This guy is waxing poetic about it. Descriptions that make him actively drool. Mentioning how this aunt ran THIS stall and that nephew was learning at THAT restaurant. And Danny just? W... Where did you say this was?

Hell yeah! Direction? Achieved!

Danny gonna get him some FANCY BBQ! \( ^ - ^ )/

Smash cut to him making a day of it. Finding the right area. Asking around. Trading some stuff from the Speeder to a dude for not only the location body but permission to take his wallet. Guy says he can have it in return for a travel chess set and a proper grave. Nice!

So he locks up the Speeder, squeezes past the weird "Summon Realms" bubbles, dodges the SUPER cranky Shinigami, aaaaand? We're in! BBQ here we come! It's takes like? Basically nothing to find the guy's body. He's supposed to burn it, put it in an urn, and deliver it to one of some Deer clan near the BBQ shop. Along with his stuff.

Hope they don't mind ice urns.

Just? Imagine A Void. Like Vanta Black. A hole in the world in the shape of where a man SHOULD be. Where ANYTHING should be. You can see through it, the color of simple existence fighting to make your eyes overlook What Is Not. Were it 2D, you know you would be able to see it clearly, but in the presence of a third dimension?

It's Not There.

You are LOOKING at it... and everything it is, is Empty. Void. A perfect Nothing.

Not hot or cold, neither light nor dark, just... Not There. With Chakra being present in all life. Air, the soil beneath you, all of it. This is? A perfect shadow upon the world. No suppressed Chakra, no hidden bloodline trick.

It's like the Patron Spirit(s) of the Ino-Shika-Cho decided to come and visit.

Or, more accurately, the SON of one such spirit decided to sneak off and visit. He has the height, the hunger, and the gregarious nature. The perfect shadow, the black hair, and the incredible intelligence. And those blue eyes? The ability to dive into bodies and take them over? (He wanted to see if he could do it WHILE his "new friend" was doing it to someone)

Most terrifying, though? APPARENTLY his mother? Was some Uzumaki Spirit. Red hair, purple eyes, his dad fell in love with her at first ass-kicking defeat. Terrifying women and Nara's, man. Good to know it even transcends biology. Even their GAURDIAN SPIRITS fall to it.

Now the question?

What sort is THIS one? And can they, POLITELY, make it leave?

@babbling-babull @lolottes @ailithnight @nerdpoe @hdgnj @hypewinter @mutable-manifestation @the-witchhunter

[joviepog]

Okay, I’m finally (kinda) back! I wrote a little siren x reader story based on a song! Hope you enjoy!

-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ

People I don’t like

Warnings: Cursing, Arson, mention of people checking each other out, fire, mentions of screams, alcohol

Who: Siren x Reader

Pronouns: She / they

Word count: 1,137

Tag list: @gaytoadwithapopsicle @corner-of-void @danny-yagami @loversj0y @ax-y10 @lanaxoxoxoxoxox @haunted-headset @phxntomsdusk

Anything else: It’s been a while since I’ve written! Please excuse any errors and bad spelling! I will try to write as much as possible during this Christmas Break! :D

This story is NOT proofread.

Listen to this as you read!

“Hello. It’s so good to see you!”

You hear a cheery yet smug voice behind you as you smoke a cigarette. Great. You get partnered with him out of all people? Like seriously, siren out of all people?

“We’ve met before but nice to meet you.”

You say with a fake smile as he walks in front of you. He’s wearing his masquerade mask which is a dark blue. Similar to his regular villain costume. He wears a black suit and his hair is slick back, a new look.

“Yeah, i dont really wanna be here.”He says with a sigh

You nodded and suddenly launch at him to knock him out. If you can, you can get all the money. But as soon as you got close you him, he grabbed your hand and pinned you to the wall.

He smirks as he looks down at you which only made you roll your eyes. “What’s my name? Do you remember?”

You scoff and give him an innocent smile, “I’m pretty sure you have my number.”

He backs off, “So let’s pretend we like each other.”

The two of you walk in to a big room made of what seems like gold. There are big windows that open to multiple balconies, there is one large door that opens to an outside area. The roof is high and there are chandeliers everywhere you look. People with fancy dresses and suits fill the area.

“This room is so suffocating.” You whisper to Siren. He tightens his tight on his suit and shrugs. “Walking on ice, but nobody breaks it.” He winks at you before walking off to talk to people. You follow suit and walk uncomfortably with your big dress to the bar area. This oldish man comes up to you, complimenting your body and outfit. You hated it but kept your cool. You were stuck in this one way conversation.

‘Guess i’ll be here for a while.’ You thought.

He starts talking about his paycheck, blowing smoke in your face.

You take a shot with a fake smile as you look at him, excusing yourself before taking another round.

You talk to a couple more people, making friendly banter. The only goal you had was to get everyone on your side and to distract people from the vault. Your coworkers are working to steal as much money as possible. You let out a sigh as you tune out the lady’s words.

‘Everybody in the party’s fucking fake. I really wish i could say it to this lady’s face. But i wont. So…’ you think before talking to someone new.

“Hello it’s so good to see you!” You say to a man

“It’s nice to meet you!” You say to another man only 10 minutes later.

“What’s my name? Do you remember?” You say with a smile to the first guy you talked to at the bar.

“I’m pretty sure you have my number.” You say with a wink to a random man.

‘Let’s pretend we like each other.’ You think at almost the people you’ve talked to.

You wonder if Sireb is doing well with the lady’s . You stole a couple things from the men you had talked to for yourself to sell.

You come up to a woman and compliment her shoes. Then only a minute later you ask to know more about another lady.

Your job was hard, but you loved to act like you cared when really you dont give any shits.

As you talk to another man you see Siren flirt with a girl, having her pinned up to a wall. You scoff in disgust before looking away. Why did it make your heart pound? The lady your talking to is going in and on about herself. You keep on a smile but you scoff at her.

‘Can’t you bother someone else?’ You think.

Only 2 hours in and you’ve made a large amount of progress. You now have a group of people around you. They were interested in you.

You make a quick toast, “Raise a glads if you like me!” They all cheer and raise their glasses. You smile and take a sip of your drink, everyone joins in. Siren comes up behind you and you smirk, you could smell the alcohol off him from a mile away. “You’re getting trashed ‘cause you can’t leave?” You look at him in your seat, he’s standing behind you. You felt like a queen

“Guess we’re in this together.” He says as he looks down at you.

“Makes my head hurt.”

You get up and excuse yourself from the crowd, now walking with him. He might be drunk but he still looks composed and he’s still doing his job. He just randomly blurts things out..

“Everybody in this party’s fucking fake.”

You smirk, “And so am i, but we just go here so we gotta show some face.” You give him a laugh and he laughs along. You both walk away from each other before finding someone else to talk to.

“Hello it’s so good to see you.”

“We’ve met before but nice to meet you.”

“What’s my name? do you remember?”

“I’m pretty sure you have my number.”

“Let’s pretend we like each other.”

Suddenly you and Siren get a message from your ear piece that they got everything. You excuse yourself in last time before running away with Siren.

“Finally, We’re done.” He says with an exhausted sigh. “Not me.” You shrug

His eyes widen and he looks at you. “Wait, what?”

You wink at him before running away. It only takes you about 5 minutes to set gasoline around some of the building. Suddenly your coworkers show up.

“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!?”

“YOU’RE GONNA RUIN THE PLAN!”

You shrug and give them a smirk. “Oh well.”

You grab the lighter from my pocket and set the place on fire.

“Cya.” You run off, taking off the fancy dress and wearing your costume from underneath. As you run you see smoke and fire in the distance. Screams filling your ears. You smirk as you run away. Hopefully that gives the villains a distraction so that you could escape.

That doesn’t matter though.

You know they’re weak.

Once you get to an alley way you open your pocket to see that everything you stole was gone.

“Wait. What the heck?” You start to look all around you before you hear a voice.

“Looking for these?” Siren. He dangled the watched, necklaces, and bracelets that you had stolen.

He walks up to you, grabs your hand, and opens it. He places the stolen items in your hand before walking away.

“Next time Darling, be more careful with the things you steal.” He looks you up and down. “Also, be more mindful of the chance that people can follow you.”

He smiles at you before running off.

And you’re left there, furious.

And yet you’re blushing.

Why were you blushing?!?

If you don’t want to be tagged please private message me!

[solaneceae]

float like a feather, sting like sharp talons

Philza drops by Étoiles' brand new dojo for a friendly sparring session, and ends up getting quite a lot more. Namely existential dread, the thrill of a good hunt, and the comfort of shared trust. @apthotiosis this is a commissioned fic! read on ao3

He whistles, eyes lingering along the thick, wooden support beams and rice paper walls surrounding him. It’s a surprising sight, tucked away in a corner of what he can only describe as a mess of a base, mostly empty, the walls still a rough (and frankly ugly) mix of dirt and cobblestone that hasn’t been cleared out even after six months. “So. That is your dojo.”

Étoiles nods at his side, a big stupid grin on his face. “Do you like it, Phil?” he asks, eager as a pup as little Pomme zooms around the cave in an improv game of tag with Tallulah — ever mindful of how her lag (sorry, asthma) sometimes stalls her in her tracks. He glances at them fondly, silly, eggs, babies. “I do,” he hums, because it is pretty. Especially if you ignore the rest of the cave outside because God, it’s fugly as shit and Étoiles knows it. The plant hybrid smiles, all teeth and gums, and squints with star-filled eyes that always seem to glow despite not working like they used to. Phil still doesn’t get why what was originally a completely harmless veggie plant has evolved to bear such predatory teeth, but he can’t say it doesn’t suit his friend. “He likes it! Let’s gooo, big win for me, big win. I can die happy now.”

“Oh my god, stop. Kristin’s married, you know.”

Étoiles gives him a mock-shove that is more of a real one, because Étoiles never holds back, especially not with Phil. “Oh! Oh, so I can’t be nice to Lady Death? I can’t just visit her because she’s cool and she likes me also? I am married to the grind, Phil, you know me!”

Phil shakes his head, exasperated and fond. “You’re a nerd is what you are. Did you know she calls you her tech support?” Étoiles makes a confused noise. Tallulah peeps in the background, mimicked by Pomme, a chorus of play and yesyes, because all the eggs have picked up on that one by now. (Mimicry is a powerful thing, and the eggs are highly social creatures who thrive on it.)

Phil elaborates, circling the build to assess its structure better. “Because of the sweeping edge bug thing, and Richas’ cancelled death last week. You find the kinks and loopholes in death mechanics better than anyone she knows.”

Étoile beams at that. “That’s so cool. I’m Death tech support!”

“You certainly are. Do you think it’s because you picked Death? In the entity rooms?”

The green-skinned man shrugs, then gasps and takes off running after Pomme to stop her from setting up waterframes everywhere to display obscure anime edits for Tallulah because her internet, her lag Pomme, you’re going to make her void! Phil glances at them (safe, no danger, good) then back at the dojo, running his palm down a beam to feel its grain. It’s smooth, recently stripped of its bark. “Huh,” he says.

He doesn’t understand why his friend chose to build this underground when dojos are usually suited for wind-swept plains or mysterious forests. Then again, Étoiles has never been much for coherent aesthetics. That, and he probably thought it would be more mysterious to hide it under the ground, knowing him. “It’s. Well, very dojo-like,” he walks through dark support beams and onto clean, recently-oiled planks, coming to poke at one of the wooden sticks idly rotating above an altar to send it spinning in the opposite direction. Étoiles trots back to him with an egg under each arm (Play, dad, Pomme warbles. Play, silly, Tallulah beeps from within her cracked shell.) and lets out a guttural noise, visibly bothered by the sticks being out of sync, and it makes Phil snort. Silly. Silly. “Did you build it all by yourself?”

“Yeeaaaah.”

“You’re lying.”

A dramatic gasp. The warrior puts both eggs down to throw his hands in the air. “I’m not lying! Pomme, ma légende, dis-lui.”

Bomp. [me and richas did it. papa helped, very much :DDD]

Étoiles comes to brush his fingers against the red sign, letting the device tucked into his ear translate the written words into spoken ones. He whines, puts a hand over his heart as his ears droop. “Ahhh, trahison. Disgrâce. Tu m’détestes en fait Pomme, c’est ça ? You want me to dig down to bedrock and die forever? Or it’s because I can’t see, so you think I’m shit?”

Bomp. [papa…] Bomp. [t’a pas besoin d’être aveugle pour avoir des goûts douteux en déco :X]

“Okay, okay. I go die in fire then, goodnight.” Then Étoiles pours lava into the cobble floor and stands in it with a huge smile. His body catches on fire immediately, skin quickly shrivelling up and blackening under the heat. Pomme peeps at him loudly and hits him with her scythe, then douses him in water and healing potions — which immediately prompts Étoiles into sparring mode, laughing and hyping his egg up with a string of ‘oh she knows, she knows the play’ and ‘strafing, comboing, keep at it’ as his body heals up. Philza watches the display for a few seconds before getting bored, choosing to walk past the layer of light wood circling the dojo to take a look inside.

It’s even prettier than the outside, with all the paper lanterns and little fountains and bamboo shoots. His geta clack against the wood, then go silent on the woven straw flooring at the center. “Why’re all the posters in Japanese?” he remarks when his friend comes back from his little mock-tantrum with his daughter in tow, squinting at a crude montage explaining the belts system. Philza can gather that it’s based on how much HP the dojo master has left after a duel, because Étoiles has been yapping about making a dojo with that exact system for months now. (Is that a jar of mayo at the top? The hell?) Guess the eggs returning has been the push in motivation he needed to actually commit to that build, despite his insistence that he is very much a builder now, thank you very much, look at all the wool I have.

Étoiles perks up, grins in a way that lets Phil know he’s about to do a bit. “Oh, you don’t know? You don’t know that I’m literally Japanese, Philza?” he chirps, picking up one of the sticks on display before running circles around the other man, poking at his legs playfully. His boots are off, Phil notices. “Speaking of! Shoes off Phil, come on, come on!”

“You literally told me you grew in a field, mate,” Phil laughs, airy and wheezy and light as he evades the attacks. “The little legume who could! In rural France! Where does Japan come into play here?”

“Aaaah, Philza, Philza,” the warrior shakes his head, hitting the other on the shoulder to push him back out and onto the cold cobble floor. “Shoes off I said, it’s a rule. I don’t want shit on my tatami, I already had to clean it up sooo many times with the whole server fucking around in it yesterday. And Japan lives in my warrior’s soul. It’s all that matters.”

“F’course it does,” Phil complies regardless, shimming out of his geta before walking to the little shoe rack in the corner to tuck them inside. “There. Happy?”

“Very. Also, trivia time, culture time: did you know that cucumbers aren’t legumes? They are fruits, Phil! And vegetables don’t actually exist, they’re all either fruits or roots or leaves or flowers...”

Phil stares at him. “...You don’t get to stand there and tell me my avocados are fruits, Étoiles. What the fuck.”

“Umm, they are berries, actually—”

“Oh fuck off and come kill me already.”

“With pleasure, my bro.”

 

Armors come off next, quickly magicked back into inventories. Phil walks up to the altars to pick up his own stick (unenchanted, as plain as it gets) and spots Étoiles off to the side, rolling up his sleeve to check on his insulin levels before rolling it back down. “We eat one gapple each, yes? My sugar is low,” he explains as they both get into position on both ends of the tatami.

“Sounds good. You got yours?”

Étoiles laughs, summoning a golden fruit from his inventory and spinning it over his finger like the insufferable showoff he is. “Always. Autofeed off Phil, no cheating.”

“Alright, you little shit,” Phil summons his own gapple and bites into it with purpose, feeling the warm tingle of magic-saturation in his stomach as the rest of the apple vanishes into thin air with a few golden sparkles. He turns to the eggs, settled on top of diamond blocks they’ve just placed. “Tallulah, do a countdown for us please?”

Signs are placed, one by one, as Pomme hypes them up with Megalovania, perfectly timed with the Pigstep now blasting out of a music box. Bomp, three. Bomp, two. Bomp, one…

Bomp. [GO PAPA PHIL :D]

Étoiles shoots off towards him as soon as the letters show up on the wood, jumping up and swinging his stick down for a crit. Phil dashes to the side, the blow just grazing his shoulder. “Nice cock, Phil!” Étoiles gasps, all sharp teeth and waggling eyebrows, and it takes the avian back enough for the other to get a few hits in. “Motherfucker!” Phil laughs, breaking the combo and pushing the cucumber back with a few crits of his own, adrenaline starting to flood his brain and paint the world in sharp edges and colors. “You little shit! Stop doing that!”

“Do what, Philza? I’m just bantering, just chilling.”

Étoiles’ combat style hasn’t changed despite the blindness, Phil finds — he’s insanely precise and quick on his feet, which is a problem. He decides he won’t be able to outrun or out-speed him, so he elects to block most of his strikes with his own stick instead, relying more on instinct than observation. “He’s blocking, he’s blocking,” the warrior’s voice chants through the flurry of swings and the clack of wood against wood. “Strafing, strafing, he’s the best, he’s the GOAT. Hit me, Phil! Don’t just defend, hit me!”

And dammit, Phil tries pretty hard — but Étoiles is insane and he’s just a little too fast even without speedbridging, just a little too smart with his feints. Phil goes down after two minutes, the last hit clocking him across the temple and sending him to the (thankfully a little soft) floor, ears ringing and white stars dancing across his darkening vision. He wonders if it’s a little like how Étoiles sees the world now. Probably not. “Four hearts, Phil,” Étoiles announces, laying his hands on Phil’s side — the pain fades, the world comes back into focus, and his brain rattles with the doom-doom of revival. He hears fireworks going off, probably Pomme’s. “That’s good, very good. That’s a brown belt! I think you can kill me soon, easy. Again?” the cucumber chirps, offering his hand, and Phil thinks that if Étoiles had his tail it would probably be wagging right now.

He groans in agreement, grasps his friend’s hand and is pulled back on his feet. “Yes. Again.”

Round two goes similarly. “Again.” So does round three. “One more.” After his fourth consequential victory, Étoiles looks pensive, and Phil is getting a tad frustrated — he’s muted his comm for this, as he often does, but he can usher a guess at what Global chat looks like, spammed with his half-death messages and maybe a brief bout of concern from whoever else is online at the moment. “Fuck, man,” he rubs at his neck where a particularly vicious strike has left the skin an angry red, molted with purple. He’ll feel that in the morning, if he doesn’t get a respawn. “I don’t think I can do it. No black belt for me.”

“No, no, you can,” Étoiles insists, circling him — dull, greyed out eyes scanning for something. “I think…”

“Looking for something, king? How’s nebula-me looking?”

“Like the GOAT, you know that. But since you ask, you’re more blue today. With some red.”

“Cool. Wish I could see like you do, for a day.”

“You don’t. It’s pretty, but annoying. It’s harder to make out details inside the, ah…” he mumbles something in barely-legible French. “Je sais pas comment on dit. Les contours. The lines at the limits of a drawing.”

“Outlines?”

“Yes. I see the outlines well, but everything inside is messy. To me everything is just, shapes. And the bigger a thing is, the harder it is for me to understand it. Eggs are easy, because they are small and simple. People are harder.” He waves towards Phil. “Like, I can’t know if you’re smiling or frowning, I have to listen to how your voice sounds.”

“Huh. That’s interesting.”

Étoiles hums, stops at his side. Cocks his head like an attentive dog. “Ah. You should take your backpack off, Phil. It’s slowing you down.”

Oh. Philza shifts, hesitant. “I wear it all the time, it doesn’t nerf me that much.”

“No, I think it can make a difference. Let’s try it?”

Mh. He hadn’t planned on doing this today. Showing his kids had felt right, natural. Showing Fit had required a few deep breaths, but not much else. Étoiles… is a trickier case.

He does want to show him — the french warrior is one of his most trusted friends, and someone he knows he can rely on in a pinch. The guy is loyal to a fault, always looking at Phil like all it would take for him to lay down his life before him was a single word. It’s a bit scary, in a way, and always makes his hindbrain buzz pleasantly. But Phil held things like mutual trust in high regard, and Étoiles had broken that on the first day of Purgatory.

They had talked since then, and it’s clear to Phil now that it had been an honest mistake, a temporary lapse in judgement. Plus, it’s not as if Phil hadn’t lost his own mind within the first twenty-four hours in that red hellscape. Still, even though he has forgiven Étoiles, the cracks don’t feel completely healed just yet. “I don’t know, mate,” he pulls at one of the straps of his backpack self-consciously, feeling its weight pressing his wings tightly against his back. “I can’t get you under four hearts, I doubt taking it off will give me that much more.”

“Phil. Phiiiiil. Trust me?”

Tall order, Phil almost jokes, but refrains. “I do trust you.”

“Then trust what I’m saying. I know my shit, you’re being slowed down, you can’t spin as fast or jump as high with this thing, it’s basic physics. I want you to have all the chance on your side.”

Philza purses his lips, glances to where Tallulah sits off to the side. She jumps to her little feet and places down a sign, while Pomme rummages through her backpack next to her. He can’t help but coo when the bright ‘<3’ shows up in stark white against the magenta wood. “Right. Okay.”

Étoiles can’t see, not normally. So maybe he won’t be able to make them out, bound tightly against his back as they are. And if he does, then that is fine. No need to make a fuss of it. So Philza walks up to Tallulah and drops the black pack next to her, giving her a little headpat in passing. “Watch over that for me, okay?” he smiles at her, and she peeps at him with purpose, jumping on top of it and doing the egg equivalent of puffing up her chest. Pomme is in her own red backpack now, little legs kicking the air as she reaches as deep as she can. silly, egg, baby, egg, he croons. “I’ll be right back. Got a green ass to kick.”

 

“He is back,” Étoiles whoops when he steps onto the tatami. “Oh, he is ready, so ready. Are you full hearts?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. We go on three, one, two, th—”

Phil takes off at the first syllable, and oh, yeah, the lack of weight on his back means he can lean forward more without gravity winning, and that means he reaches Étoiles right as he reaches the end of his three. He thrusts his stick forward, the blunt tip digging itself right into the other’s abdomen with enough force to make him stumble back, winded and sputtering. “Argh—”

Phil doesn’t let him recover, getting a few good hits in before his opponent parries and attempts an upward swing that he barely evades by sending his body backwards, dangerously far. The weapon grazes his chin, and his wings try to open to regain balance but they’re still bound against him. “Shit—” he steps back quickly, arms pinwheeling, and it looks a little silly but it works, and he does not crash onto his back like an idiot.

Étoiles stares at him from the other side, breathing hard, eyes wide, a palm against his diaphragm. Then he smiles. “Oh. Ohohooo. Okay, now we’re talking. Let’s go.”

Moving more freely doesn’t make the fight easier, not by a long shot, because Étoiles adapts quickly — but it does make it more fun, and that’s already an improvement in Phil’s eyes. He gets less crits in, because jumping up leaves him too exposed to revenge strikes, but he gets more light hits in between sidesteps and mad dashes. “He is so fast!” Étoiles cheers, ducking to dodge a vicious strike to the head. “Oh, he is so good, go Phil go!”

Run, dodge, strike, strafe, dash. Every muscle in Phil’s body strains to keep up as he pushes it past its limits, arm aching from the repeated shocks against the stick, but he barely feels it thanks to the adrenaline flooding his system. A hit to the back of his knee makes him stumble, but he recovers into a roll and trips Étoiles with his stick in retaliation. The cucumber groans, scrambles to get up, and Phil sees an opening right there on his foes’ unprotected throat. He zeroes in on it, takes the first step, raises his weapon and—

 

There’s a jagged shape in his peripheral vision.

 

He falters. Tries not to look at it, tries to keep his eyes on target, target that’s about to get back up, quick, quick, do it. 

 

There’s a purple shape in his peripheral vision.

 

He fails. Sharp angles and eerie glow, that shade he’s come to dread. The amethyst crystals hum out their ethereal song, taunting him. He doesn’t see Étoiles anymore, and his world is drowning in high-pitched static.

 

Purple. Purple everywhere. The room is too dark, too dark, darker yet darker.

Time slows down. No. The edges of his vision are fraying, dark tendrils creeping in. He feels himself falter, adrenaline making way for cortisol and making his hindbrain, no, fly, fly, run, nonono. He’s losing his footing, his grip around the stick growing slack, palms getting clammy. No, no, not now, please. His breathing picks up, faster than it’s been at any point of this duel. The amethysts glow an eerie violet, jagged shapes growing out of the thick, wooden beams around him, and he swears the room has gotten even darker. “Tallu—” He doesn’t make it to the end of the name, because then something smacks him in the back with unrestrained force.

Right on his left ulnare, the wingbone left exposed with no fat or muscle to cushion the blow.

Pain explodes throughout his left wing, the shock propagating all the way into his back and making him yell out, a gasp-screech that is very not human. Tallulah peeps loudly somewhere at the edge of his awareness, papa, no, bad! as he falls to his hands and knees, panic spiking, bad, bad, hurts, getoutgetout—

“Oh merde! Phil, ça va ?” He hears glass breaking, smells melon and gunpowder and something both earthy and spicy — Nether wart. Étoiles is healing him, putting a stop to their duel, and the realisation drags him out of that weird fugue state. “You never made that sound before, I think it’s bad. Are you okay?”

“Amethyst,” the older man growls between clenched teeth, letting the potion effects refill his health bar — fuck. Pain signals were always limited during PvP, but this had somehow broken through the server’s capping function. Étoiles makes a noise of incomprehension, his hands just hovering over Phil’s shoulder, not quite touching. “What?” he says, and Phil hears the patter of little feet rapidly coming closer. Pomme and Lullah.

“Please, just... Can you see the amethyst?”

He doesn’t know why he’s asking, of course his friend can’t see it, because that shit isn’t real. Or at least not to anyone but him. Through the haze he can feel Tallulah’s warm shell bump against his arm, hear her little worried chitters. He doesn’t trust himself to tell her he’s fine.

But then, Étoiles raises an eyebrow and turns his head towards the wall, blinks. A frustrated noise. “Euuuh Pomme, je t’adore hein, mais ça va pas trop avec le reste en fait. Tu peux les retirer steuplait ?” Pomme crouches, one-two, then summons a pickaxe and walks towards the crystals, and proceeds to casually break all of them.

Oh. Her backpack, all her rummaging. She’d been trying to decorate the dojo while they were busy sparring. 

Philza lets out an uneven breath, runs a hand through his hair — his forehead is damp with cold sweat, and it sucks. Okay. Okay. Real, then. Just a really, really bad coincidence. Bad timing. Bad everything. He lets out a breath, the tight coil in his chest slowly loosening. “I’m sorry Pomme,” he gives the little egg a smile that he hopes to the Gods isn’t shaky. “Got distracted by the shiny, you know how it goes. Crow brain go brrrrr.”

Pomme falls dramatically on the floor at that, places a red sign that reads [sorry ;_;] “You’re good, you’re good, don’t worry.” Tallulah places a flower next to Pomme, bomp, [RIP manzanita]. Phil chuckles at their antics, heartbeat slowing down to a more normal pace. Jesus Christ. “You like shiny things, Phil?” Étoiles asks. “Did not know that.” He looks around, scans the dojo for any stray shine. “Mmmh. All good, I think. Sorry about Pomme, she likes amethyst stuff.” Then, quieter, “I think it reminds her of Baghera. She has an amethyst farm in her castle.”

Oh. Phil glances at Pomme, who thankfully seems fully absorbed in a sign-based conversation with Tallulah. “That makes sense. She must miss her a lot.”

(Dad, are you proud of me? I just killed a silverfish.)

“Can I see your wings, Phil?”

And, there it is. The other shoe. Phil lets out a heavy sigh, wincing when the movement makes his joint twinge in lingering pain — he’s pretty sure nothing’s actually broken or sprained, at least not any worse than before, but it still hurts. “So you saw them.”

“No no, I can’t. But I know they are there, somewhere. I’m sorry I hit them, I can’t tell where they are if you don’t have them out. Told you it was annoying.”

Ah. That makes more sense. He doubts Étoiles would voluntarily target them. Still… “How do you know about them? And, why?

“Philza, you need to understand something. And the thing is, I’m really dumb. I want to see them because maybe I can help, if I hurt them. I fix.”

“No you’re not, stop that. And you didn’t do any permanent damage, you’re fine.”

“No, wait. I’m stupid with lore, but I have eyes and ears. Jaiden showed she had wings, pretty sure Baghera has some but she hides them, I assumed you were the same.” Ah. Fair enough. Phil hasn’t been as subtle lately, and the crow jokes could only go for so long before people started to pick up on how literal they were. “Also, Kristin told me.”

Wait, what. “Wait, what?”

“Ye ye. First day of Purgatory, I died a lot.  She said she wanted to exchange fofoca, so I told her about things, and she told me about you because she likes me. Did you know, I asked her if I could get wings too? It made her laugh. I guess tech support is not a high enough position to get flying benefits, sad times for me.”

Mother fucker. It’s hard to be upset when everything that spews out of Étoiles’ chattermouth is so consistently funny. “Well. I would’ve told you sooner than later, anyway. S’fine.”

“So you let me help.”

“Fine, fine. I’ll let you take a look, if that’ll make you feel better about it.”

“Let’s goooo, we got trust. Sit down please?”

Phil snorts and complies. He spots Tallulah running back towards him to climb onto his lap with a quiet warbe. good? Phil warbles back, good, yesyes, and rests his chin on top of his egg’s soft locks of hair. He hears Pomme hitting her dad behind him. “Ouais Pomme ?” Bomp, a short silence. “Badboy est là ? Ah ouaaais. Il veut encore t’exploiter pour ses boutons de l’enfer là ? POV, tu aides le fou du QSMP avec son escape game pour pas qu’il te tue.” More hits, Pomme’s little click-chirps. Étoiles laughs. “Okay, okay, t’inquiètes. Va l’aider, moi et Phil on va parler de trucs chiants de toute façon. Je te vois plus tard ?” The sound of a warpstone going off. “Saluuut.”

“Is Pomme leaving?”

“Yeah, she wants to build stuff with Badboy.”

“Oh god. Please tell me it’s not another find-the-button map.”

“Yeah. I’m gonna spend ten hours finding those fucking things again soon, let’s gooooo. So your wings, who else knows? I bet Fit knows. And your eggs.” Tallulah nods in Phil’s hold.

Étoiles’ lack of big reaction feels nice, but he supposes he should have expected it — the guy never makes a big deal out of anything. Except when it’s about banned materials. Or the Nether. And finding buttons, new trigger unlocked. “Add in pretty much everyone in the original Bolas, king,” he huffs as Étoiles settles behind him. His unseen presence makes a brief shiver of danger, danger go up Phil’s spine. It’s fine. It’s fine, he soothes himself, idly rubbing at the scar at the center of his chest through his robe. “I lost my shit with them around. Stopped caring as much. They saw them on day one.”

“Isn’t that a good thing? Half the people on this shit island are like, creatures. Not humans. Nobody cares. I’m literally a fruit, Phil.”

Phil chokes on his own spit. “Jesus Christ, you have no idea how funny what you just said was.” Tallulah chirps and wiggles in his hold, places a sign. [*side-eyes u*] it says, and that’s somehow even funnier than if she had actual eyes to side-eye people with instead of the blank expanse of her brown-spotted shell.

Étoiles blinks. He cocks his head to the side, in that specific way he does whenever he’s listening to what he calls the ‘voices of the stars’. (Something akin to his crows, from what the older man has been able to gather.) “Oooh. Oh, is it a gay joke Phil? That doesn’t work man, we are on Gay Island, everyone is gay here, or they don’t date at all. And you are incorrect, because I am in the second group, héhé.”

“Didn’t Antoine call you his boyfriend once?”

“He calls me a lot of things.” Étoiles shrugs. ”He’s also an asshole and my DJ partner and my friend and I love him very much, but no, it’s not like that. And I am married to dark metal and dungeons anyway. Now I’m going to unbind your wings and move them around, okay?”

“Mh. Go for it, king.”

To his credit, Étoiles is methodic in his approach — unknotting the binds and carefully tracing the upper edges of his left wing while the other spreads out with difficulty, a few black feathers coming loose. Étoiles lets out a surprised oh, gently grabs the other to help it unfurl, and Phil feels him poking at the bottom of his regrowing primaries — right where the white ones, usually hidden beneath the outer layer unless he spreads them wide, grow in diamond-like spots. “I know this pattern, right there. You have Elytrian code too, Phil? I thought it was just crow.”

“Ah, so Kristin didn’t tell you everything then.”

“No. And she didn’t like, out you, you know. She only told me because she knew I knew, she only confirmed it. People with wings have like, a way they move? I can’t explain it, I just see it.”

“Body language expert Étoiles, ey? Have you known a lot of avians before?”

Étoiles stays quiet for a second. When he speaks again, he sounds perplexed. “Huh. I don’t know. I guess I knew Baghera? Memory stuff, it’s annoying.”

Phil frowns. Right. “You told me a little about your childhood, though. The village, the farmers?”

“Yeah, that’s a thing that came back quickly after the crash. But everything after that, I don’t remember.”

“Man, fuck this island. I’m sorry.”

Étoiles hums. His fingers start combing through his bottom feathers, lingering among the white ones. “I think. I think I went to the End before, Phil.” His voice has gone softer, airy, like he’s not quite anchored in the present. “I think… maybe, I’ve seen Elytrians before.”

“You have?”

“Mmh. I think I killed one. Yeah. And I took its elytra. It was a good fight.”

The revelation doesn’t shock him — Elytrian hunting is a common activity for those who reach the End, and elytras are a highly sought-after item in most worlds. (Philza would know.) “Were you a hunter? Before the island.”

“I don’t think so. I don’t like hunters.” And Phil can’t see Étoile’s face from his position on the floor, but his words are dripping with contempt. “Hunting for yourself is one thing. Making money off it, it feels wrong. And they don’t even fight, they make traps. I don’t like that. If you’re too shit at fighting to win fairly against something, you don’t deserve the loot. Bâtards de merde.”

And Phil laughs, because this he understands. “Ever the honorable warrior, aren’t you Étoiles.”

“Dude, I have so much honor. I told you, I’m literally Japanese.”

“Right.”

“And like I said, I am your arms. I am your sword, Philza Minecraft.”

Phil’s wings fluff up slightly, a croon of ownership-claim threatening to spill out of his chest. Mine. “Étoiles…”

“I am, it’s not a bad thing! Purgatory sucked. I didn’t like it. But it was better at the end, when you were telling me what to do. Who to kill for you.”

Phil croons, leaning back into Étoiles’ careful hands. “I see. You never called me dad though.”

“Fuck that!” Étoiles laughs, bark-like and airy. “That cult leader shit was weird. You’re Philza.” And there’s a quality to the way he says it, something that feels both casual and reverent. “First of his name, GOAT of PvP, Avoider of Lore, greatest man alive—”

“Woah there—”

“—husband and Angel of Lady Death, and father of dragon eggs. You’re not my dad. Why everyone has daddy issues on this shit island?”

Phil snorts. “I don’t know, mate. But I won’t judge. I think it’s fine if seeing me as a father figure brought them comfort. It was literally hell out there.”

Étoiles hums. “Maybe. Also, you didn’t answer my question.” Phil lets out a confused huh. “Earlier, when I asked why you were hiding that you had wings.”

…Shit. Curse Étoiles’ one-track mind, his deflection tactic had been foiled. “It’s not— shit like prejudice I was afraid of, Étoiles,” he admits, quiet and somber. The other man stops his ministrations, fingers dug deep in his primary coverts. “I know this island is a goddamn circus show. Mousey screams she’s a demon to whoever will listen and nobody gives two shits, I don’t know why Bad even bothers pretending he’s not. That’s not the problem. It’s just…” He sighs. ”The Federation has eyes everywhere, man. I feel like if I show them off too much, they’ll fuck them up again. Maybe even worse than last time.”

Étoiles is silent. His motions resume, slower, more careful and deliberate. “The first time, you say,” he eventually hums. There’s something dangerous in his voice. “So it’s because of them, that they are like this? Your wings.”

“Pretty much. Woke up on the train, boom, clipped. No more flying for me. I don’t know why they didn’t do the same to Jaiden, she said she didn’t want to fly, or didn’t know how? I can’t remember too well, but maybe that’s why. Less of a threat. Honestly, I’m just glad they didn’t do it to her. She’s family now.” Even though her loyalties are a point of concern, he couldn’t help it. She is Bolas, she is flock. And he had held her as she screamed out the temporary loss of her shiny blue wings, that first night in Purgatory. “No avian deserves that shit.”

“You don’t either, Phil.”

“I know that.”

“I’m just saying it because you have the voice! The one you use when you think bad things.”

A wry smile. “How dare you call yourself dumb, man. How fucking dare you.”

“It’s what I do! I kill things, I see people’s true souls, and I shit on myself.”

They stay quiet after that. Étoiles stretches out his wings, flexing the joints one at a time, muttering quick apologies when Phil hisses a little too loud. “Sorry, sorry.”

“You’re good. Keep going.” So he does, until Phil no longer feels the pins and needles of blood flooding back into his wings, until the joints no longer feel like rusted cogs. He even gets a little preening in, dislodging matted down and crooked secondaries, and it feels nice. Tallulah is dozing off in his hold, warm and safe. His egg, his baby, his hatchling. “Thanks mate,” Phil hums, a little out of it by the end, hindbrain thrumming pleasantly. Flock, good, yesyes. “You’ve done that before, I can tell.”

“If I have, I don’t remember. Okay, now stand— sorry Tallulah, were you sleeping? Sorry, your dad has to stand so we can see. Yes, nice. Now try them.”

Phil chitters quietly, furling and unfurling his wings experimentally — the constant pain is still there, but minimal, very bearable, and they do feel less stuffy. Lighter. “It actually does, yeah.” Tallulah does a little dance at his side, twirling and playing a few cheery notes on her flute. “Good job, seriously.”

“No probleeeem, Phil, my bro. Last round?”

This guy, I swear. “I’m a little tired,” Phil groans, cracking his neck as he stands, stretches his wings out as far as he can — it still aches, but feels miles better. “But okay. I’m going to put Tallulah to bed real quick, she’s eepy.” Tallulah nods in confirmation, takes out her warpstone right as her papa does. “Then let’s fight, one more time. After that I’m going home and conking the fuck out.”

Étoiles makes a sound that probably means something like ‘holy shit say less king’. “Okay!”

Five minutes later, and he’s warping back to Étoiles’ cave like a man on a mission. And in a way, he is. “Welcome back, worthy challenger,” the cucumber greets him, crossed-legged in the middle of the dojo, and Phil snorts because the music box is blasting Smash Bros music now. “You’re such a fucking nerd, oh my God.”

“It gives me strength, Phil. It’s my final form.” Étoiles gets up, stick already in hand, bouncing on his heels with anticipation. “Autofeed still off?”

“Yup. How’s your sugar?” Étoiles checks his monitor quickly, gives a thumbs up. “Good. No holding back?”

“I never hold back, Phil. Let’s go.”

There is no countdown this time — both opponents slip into quiet assessment, circling each other slowly, slowly. Étoiles does a strange head-tilt, ears flicking to track Phil’s footsteps, the sounds of feathers ruffling. Phil’s eyes do not stray from him, hardened and focused, picking up on the change in the air. Étoiles wants him to go all out. So he will. And he has a plan.

(The bigger a thing is, the harder it is for me to understand it.)

Time to put that to the test, then.

Étoiles charges first this time, quick-footed, swerving at random moments to keep himself a hard-to-track target. Phil almost bursts into incredulous laughter because holy shit, he’s Naruto-running, what the fuck— but manages to keep his focus, waiting until the very last moment to thrust his wings downward with enough force to send him soaring abovehis opponent. Then, right as his feet touch the tatami and right as Étoiles screeches to a stop to spin back towards him

he spreads his wings

wide, wider

casting huge shadows on the four walls of the dojo

and lets his powers roll off of him like a dark mist, sparking with magic and wither-decay.

(The bigger a thing is, the harder it is for me to understand it.)

It’s a gamble, a costly one that saps his Feds-capped magic like crazy — but it pays off, because Étoiles staggers back, confusion etched across his features. His head subtly snaps in all directions, like he doesn’t know where to look, his ears swivelling to try and pinpoint him. Bingo. Phil has made his nebula-self big, toobig for Étoiles, rendering the warrior effectively blind. Well, double-blind.

Phil doesn’t wait for the other to find a counter to this, curls his wings forward then snaps them back — they launch him forward at breakneck speed and create a gust of wind that makes the paper lanterns swing on their hooks, and then Phil is slamming into Étoiles like a literal hurricane.

The plant hybrid gasps, fingers slackening from the sheer strength of the impact — his weapon slips out of his grasp to clatter against the ground and roll out of bounds. His body describes a perfect curve and hits the wooden floor with a loud thud. He barely has the time to blink the dizziness away before something presses against the side of his neck, and he freezes completely. “Gotcha,” Phil preens, looming above him. The end of his stick is right against Étoiles’ pulse point, the threat crystal clear, and he’s a writhing mass of burning stars and cosmic fury.

The energy rolling off of him washes over Étoiles in waves, makes his skin tingle, and he recognizes it as withering. Withering coming from Philza himself, whose outlines are impossible to pinpoint, lost in the cloud of magic and giant Angel wings.

...Okay, this is sick as hell, Étoiles thinks, and he can feel somethingwithin him grow, a presence rejoicing in the back of his mind. Ink bleeds into his eyes, then under it, twin lines of darkness going down his cheeks and neck. (Flashes of a white spiral on a dark expanse, of whispers and stolen Time.) He feels cold, but he feels good about it, and he’s not scared at all — this is fine, more than fine. Withering is harmless for Death-touched things. Things like him and Phil. He laughs, loud and ecstatic, this is fun, so fun! “Aaah. Clever bird, clever Phil, I like. Okay.”

Then something wraps around Phil’s ankle and pulls it forward, breaking his balance and making him hit the ground ass-first with a startled caw. He grits his teeth, shoots a glare towards his leg to see—

—blinks at the sight of a green vine wrapped around his ankle. His eyes trace along its length. He’s seen this before, but only once, months ago. Right after harvesting a freshly-regrown Étoiles out of the ground, a week after his Code-related demise. “Oh,” Philza says, and Étoiles smirks in return.

His tail is long, as long as he is tall, and covered in large, healthy green leaves. It swishes against the tatami in a serpentine motion, the leaves rustling quietly, and Phil notices a half-star-shaped kink at the end of it. It’s... well, it’s pretty adorable actually, but something tells him Étoiles wouldn’t like that descriptor. “You kept it,” he says instead, fight-darkened eyes sparkling with something like kinship-euphoria. “You grew it out.”

“I did, I listened to you. I keep it wrapped around my waist, it works.”

“Told you it could come in handy.”

“You did. You’re always right about things, Philza.” Étoiles steps into a fighting stance, hands curled into fists, tail lashing left and right like a whip. Phil understands, lets out a quiet chuckle as he sends his own weapon flying out of the arena. So they’re doing it this way, huh. More than fine with him. “Nothing’s off the table then,” he hums, hands curling like claws at his sides, sharpening talons glinting ominously in the light of paper lanterns. His friend hums approvingly, and it’s all Phil needs to pounce.

They no longer try to evade, instead crashing into each other to cause as much damage as quickly as possible. Étoiles throws a jab, Phil retaliates with a smack of his wing to destabilise the other before slashing at his chest, tearing at his shirt and drawing the first blood. Because yes, Étoiles bleeds, deep cuts marring his dark green skin, chlorophyll sticking to Phil’s hands. Étoiles hisses, gets behind him and wraps his tail around Phil’s throat to choke him. Phil gasps, coughs, briefly flails before smacking the other with his wings until the tail goes slack. Phil rips it off him and whirls around to pull at it sharply — Étoiles falls, but not before grabbing onto Phil’s robes to pull him down with him.

Things get messy after that — a flurry of feathers and leaves and punches and kicks, one that clocks Phil in the jaw and makes him taste blood, one at the side of his head that makes him see stars. He hisses, screeches, swipes, again and again, and Étoiles blocks some of them with his arms, arms that gain more and more tiger-stripe cuts, but many go through and eat at his health, heart after heart. The warrior retaliates with a headbutt that makes the Angel’s world darken for a second, burning blood getting into his eyes and half-blinding him. Maybe it’s more fair this way, not that it slows him down at all.

They punch, claw, snap their teeth at each other like rabid dogs — chipping at each other’s health with no care, no limits. Dark red and greenish white smear against the straw tatami, but that’s fine, that’s okay, they are playing, they are having fun, and Philza feels alive, alive, alive!

(The whole time, Étoiles never touches his wings. Which goes against the whole ‘nothing off the table’ thing, yet Philza is grateful for it. He’s also grateful none of the eggs are here to see this.)

Philza has no idea how long this lasts, lost in the thrill of a fight the likes of which he hasn’t experienced in decades. But eventually the doom of someone getting downed makes every muscle in his body lock up, and he’s still standing. Or, kneeling over Étoiles with his talons right above his jugular, the other hand pinning the warrior’s hands above his head to keep him from hitting back. Semantics.

Étoiles has gone limp, heaving, his body a canvas of bruises and bloody cuts. “I win,” Phil realizes, wings quivering, all fluffed up in a show of victory. “I… won.”

“Well played, well played,” his warrior wheezes out in response, and Phil’s never seen anyone so happy about getting their shit kicked. Except maybe one person. But he won, Phil won, Étoiles is down and he himself still has… yes, two hearts to spare. He has won. They can stop. Right here. Right now.

But then. Étoiles, stupid and crazy and wonderful Étoiles, tilts his head back to offer him his throat, his binary-scarred face twisted in a feral grin. Philza gasps and leans back a little, eyes wide “Take your win, my bro,” he chirps, happy as can be, tail thumping against the tatami like an overpet cat. Tap, tap, tap, the countdown to his demise if Phil doesn’t up him soon. “Do it. You won’t. No balls, no bolas.”

And those words are the last push Phil needs for his Elytrian code to take over. He bares his teeth, eyes darkening to a pitch black that eats up his entire sclera, until the white of Étoiles’ teeth gets reflected back at him — not that he can see it. 

Phil’s wings spread out behind him, huge and dark and awe-inspiring even in their frayed state, and the withering aura that exudes from them paints Étoiles’ eternal night in bursts of star-speckled purples and reds and blues.

It’s beautiful. And it’s terrifying. Étoiles is about to get killed by an Angel of Death, and he’s never been so goddamn scared and excited in his life.

 

Phil feels insane. He’s going feral, going sicko mode, or whatever other colloquialism that means his mind is drowning in the thrill of hunt, hunt, prey, yesyes. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Étoiles scared before, but there’s no mistaking those too-wide eyes, that subtle tremor in his friend’s wrists as Phil’s hand tightens around them. He can smell it too, like cut grass left to decay in the hot sun, and it’s making the End’s superpredator in him go zoomies inside his skull.

He growls, low and bone-deep and dangerous, his talons pushing harder against the paling, sweat-damp skin of Étoiles’ neck. prey? flock. prey. prey? kill, eat, yesyes. Étoiles isn’t human, but he has something close to a heart, and he bleeds like one — greenish white chlorophyll that smells strong and tastes awful, bitter.

(Phil knows that, because Purgatory happened. More specifically, Bolas happened, gas masks and ritual sacrifices and fresh blood always lingering at the corner of their mouths. He misses his flock — misses all the ones that are still gone, carving cookie-cutter negative shapes in his heart — everything else about that hellscape, not so much anymore. Maybe he’s healing, just a little.)

 

His talons are just a hair away from perforating Étoiles’ jugular, so close to making not-quite-blood pour out like a fountain. But then he freezes, going silent, because the part of him that is still sane recognizes that this is a terrible idea.

It’s a terrible idea because Étoiles is bad at knowing when to stop, bad at spotting the line between what challenges him and what hurts him. And Philza understands that this, this is a bad. The cucumber hybrid is a creature of instants — fugue moments, rash decisions, the kind you would look back on later and go oh, yeah, that was dumb and maybe not worth it. Hence Philza has to be the responsible one, has to ignore his base instincts screeching at him to hunt, kill, kill, lest this ends badly. Like Étoiles getting mauled to death by what is supposed to be his most trusted friend. Again. (They don’t talk about that time. Just like they don’t talk about Étoiles’ betrayal, neither want to reminisce over Phil’s teeth tearing his throat out in the middle of a Hunger disaster. Not-so-fun fact: Étoiles doesn’t taste like cucumber at all.)

“Enabler,” the avian warbles, talons slowly lifting off the hollow of Étoiles’ throat. “M’not killing you.” And Étoiles, like the little shit that he is, has the gallto pout at him. “Why not?”

“Because then I’ll have to regrow your ass in my potato field for a week, you twat.” Also I think it’s not good for you, and my sanity is at an all-time low so I don’t need cold-blooded murder to push me over the edge, he adds in petto.

Étoiles blinks. Huffs out a laugh, something a little unhinged, but also a little relieved. “Ah, yeah! I forgot, because I respawned normally in Purgatory. Okay, you win.” The warrior’s smile softens to something more like him,  and just like that, the tension vanishes, the buzz of fear and aggression replaced by something light and playful. Étoiles baps his hands against his chest, grabbing at his robe to tug him down into a hug.

And Philza’s hindbrain floods the rest of him with happy, happy, yesyes, because Étoiles isn’t really a touchy-feely person and neither is Phil, but this feels right. “GGs,” the crow says back, warbling and chirping like crazy, the black in his eyes receding. yesyes, mine, mine, yesyes, yesyes! And to his surprise, Étoiles responds, not with a crude imitation of his own bird sounds, but with something… different. And Phil’s not sure any word in his vocab could ever describe it accurately — but something deep within him knows that if starlight was a sound, this would certainly be it. “Oh, oh, he is so good. The GOAT, the actual GOAT, best man on the planet Philza Minecraft,” Étoiles mock-sobs against him. “He wakes up in the morning casually being the best, and he takes care of two eggs and says fuck to the president’s office from the wall, and he finally beats me. My legend, Felipe, Felipe!”

Phil shakes from the force of his hilarity — a regular occurrence whenever he hangs around his favourite pickle man for long enough. silly, he warbles between fits of belly-aching, hiccup-inducing laughter, and he leans down to nuzzle against his friend’s mess of dark green hair (leaves?). silly. silly. flock. “I do see Forever wave at me from his office sometimes,” he hums, once he’s calmed down enough to speak again. “He makes kissy faces at me through the glass, so I flip him off.”

Étoiles hums in acceptance, finally pushes Phil back to shimmy out from under him with a small héhé to lay on his back, starfish-style. Phil rolls onto his own back, and they both stare at the interlacing wooden beams of the dojo roof for a little while, basking in the fuzz of a fading adrenaline rush.

(Phil hasn’t seen his favourite Brazilian as much lately. Silly, sun, friend-protector. He probably has his hands full, what with returning to his political duties after so long. Still, Philza worries — he thinks of black tar clinging to sun-kissed skin and tired sienna eyes, above a smile that just doesn’t shine as bright as it used to.) “I kinda like it, though. It’s like our good morning. Never tell him I said that.”

“I wooooon’t, I promise.”

“Thank you. For the fights.” Philza closes his eyes. He is here, he is real, everything about this moment is so real. It’s comforting, a balm on his fraying psyche. “It was fun.”

“It was so fun. Please fight with me again like this sometime, no sticks, yes? You have to come back so I give you your black belt anyway.”

“Maybe. We’ll see.”

“I can hear you smiling, Phil. You want to, I knowww.”

“M’not smiling at all, dumbass.”

Étoiles does that high-pitched hum of his that means he’s not buying it, reaches towards his friend — his leader, his wielder, his death-touched Angel. Cool fingers, untouched by code, playfully trace over each of Philza’s features, feeling out the dimples and the crow’s feet at the corner of his eyes — pun very much intended. “You’re so bad at lying, Philza,” he sing-songs, playful and content. “I know you too well. Maybe I can’t see you, but I can see you.”

And goddammit, Philza actually does feel seen in this moment, anxieties melting away for now. How does he do it. How does this reckless, thrill-seeking cucumber man with a limited (albeit pretty good, and improving) grasp on English so consistently drop the most gut-punching lines in this entire server. Étoiles is something else. “...Yeah. I see you too, mate,” Phil breathes out, and the rough texture of the tatami is starting to dig criss-cross patterns into his back, but he wants to stay like this. Just a little longer.

 

(Philza is damaged goods. But so is Étoiles, and so is everyone he knows. But maybe they can both pretend, for a little while.)

[olderthannetfic]

I don't know how many people kept up with this, but if you're on the internet you probably know about it, but there's a new Sam Levinson TV series that has been bothering a lot of people. It's called The Idol, and features Johnny Depp's daughter and The Weeknd, the former being this super popular singer and the latter as the cult leader who brainwashes Lily Rose into doing humiliating sex stuff with him with the excuse that it'll make her better at her job.

Now… the existence of this show bothers me a lot, and I know I'm not the only one, but while I can't attest to what others think regarding fiction, I know that I'm absolutely not one of those people who think that any depiction of sexual assault should be banned, or that kink has no place on TV, or that all sex scenes must advance the plot.

There's just something, in how those shows and movies are set up, that makes it all feel so exploitative and horrible in a way that, in fics, never seems to be.

Like... I'm a huge fan of Miss_Lv, who is definitely a "dead dove" author, and yet there's just something that makes me want to throw up at the idea that Sam Levinson shot a scene in which a bunch of guys (or maybe it was just The Weeknd, idk) come on Lily Rose's face and The Weeknd posts a pic of it on Twitter and makes it go viral with the tag #humancumsock.

I guess it's because it's acted out by real people, and there's a huge difference between "I'm imagining all of these characters doing these things in my head" and "These characters are played by actual people," but the amount of disgust the idea of seeing The Weeknd push an egg in Lily Rose's vagina and tell her that, if she cracks/drops it, he's not going to rape her is almost inexpressible while, if a fandom friend pitched me with this idea, I would simply reply with "That stuff makes no sense, but ok, I guess. Just good luck finding the tag for it."

My other best idea, as to why this whole series disgusts me so much, is that PR made Lily Rose go around interviews saying that she felt so empowered by the series, which is the usual crap that is pasted and copied from woman to woman whenever they act in a series in which their role is that of personality void human flashlight and doesn't really mean anything at all. It's that, and the fact that the series was supposed to be a feminist view on the world of celebritydom and Hollywood, but then the female director was fired in favor of hiring Levinson because The Weeknd threw a tantrum about the show being too focused on the female aspect of the question, rather than putting the spotlight on him.

I don't know, I feel like I'm the only one who's been conflicted about this series (which I have no intention of watching legally nor by pirating it, because it disgusts me to the bone) and wanted to know if someone else thought the same, or if there was no moral/interior conflict upon reading all the articles written by the exploitation of the female cast and how rape is depicted.

--

I hadn't even heard about it. I guess I haven't been watching much TV lately.

I think a lot of sexually transgressive media is made by people who, frankly, don't know how to execute something like that in a safe or self-aware way. You definitely do see examples where the actors say they were cool with it and I believe them, but the ones I can recall have mostly been indie movies or stuff from Europe with very different production dynamics.

I met a lady in L.A. who works as a... man, I can't even remember the term, but she's the person on set who works with the actors before a sex scene to figure out their limits and be a buffer between them and the director. For indie films, the usual procedure is to kick 99% of the crew off the set so the actors only have to deal with each other, the director, and the camera person.

I think live action media about weird sex stuff is harder to do safely and ethically than a written work is, but it can be done. That doesn't mean they did a good job in this case though.

[justalilpearlie]

Introduction/Fun Pearlie Facts

Was abt time I did one of these.

Hello everyone, my name is Pearl, Pearlie or Sam/Sammy if you're feeling like it. Friends also call me Martini sometimes.

I am a minor, my labels... we dont talk about them (fem presenting ftm gay/mlm + trying out gendervoid and verinix + bigender??) uhmm and I go by He/She, tho mostly He/Him by strangers- I can She/Her myself and close friends/mutuals are allowed! (I also go by neos: Void/Moon/Sweet/It/Fluff/Love/Fizz/Paw)

I'm from Argentina, born and raised, never moved. Speak fluent english and spanish.

I got the 'tism and the adhd, aswell as BPD and a few other things I wont list right now! But yeah I'm psychotic (ooo scary word.. lmao)

- -🌄-📀-🌙- -💚- -💛- -✨-🌄-✨- -💛- -💚- -🌙-📀-🌄- -

I'm an IRL of many, mainly c!Pearl (mcyt), Samuel Emily (fnaf [games canon]) and Shin Tsukimi (yttd). If you don't like it you can leave, block me, or whatever, cause you aint gonna change my life or how I am. I'm in therapy, which unlike random hate and harrassment online, does help me :)

I like to roleplay, draw, sometimes make playlists or moodboards.. And my biggest interests right now are Life Series (+ evo + new life), Empires1(+ a bit of e2) and FNaF! (i dont rlly like the books tho lol..)

I use kin tags for reach cause I'd love interaction from any fellow lifers or empires ppl, hermits aswell!! Tho I havent finished s8 or s9 yet...

Fictionkins, therians and traumagenic systems all welcome!

- -💥-🐺-🌙- -❤️- -💛- -✨-💥-✨- -💛- -❤️- -🌙-🐺-💥- -

DNI prefferably:

- Basic DNI criteria (proshippers, homophobes, transphobes, racists, TERFs, ableist, etc)

- Endos/non-traumagenic "systems" DNI. block me if u want, i wont argue abt it in the comments/reblogs. or interact if u want but im not gonna follow u back or anythin shrugs.

- reality checkers or anti-IRLs DNI. I aint "romanticizing" shit, I'm existing and living my life, if thats a problem to you too bad cause my psychologist aproves of what I'm doing, since I aint harming anyone and I myself am doing dandy.

- anti-kin also DNI cause most of my friends are fictionkins and if you talk shit abt my fellas idk i wouldnt like having u around much

CCs interact at your own risk. This is my domain, cyan man & moon lady. /hj

- -🪸-🐸-🌙- -💙- -🩵- -✨-🪸-✨- -🩵- -💙- -🌙-🐸-🪸- -

"Disclaimer"

- I talk about MajorMoon (Scott x Pearl) a LOT, if u didnt notice by the acc theme. These are my romantic memories, its a gay ship, not woman/gay man, so if it makes u uncomfortable or u hate it or whatever then ur probably not gonna like my content lmao. COUGH, consider joining us if you do like what you see... /nf We're a small comunity of supporters.. just me.. and a few of my peeps... that was a joke, sir. /ref

- This isn't roleplay, its my main acc where im ""unapologetically"" myself, but if u do wanna rp life series/empires u can always shoot me a dm and maybe I'll give u my discord.

- I talk about myself (c!Pearl) using 3rd person in many posts tagged with main fandom tags. This is to cause less confusion to casual fans slash ""normies"" (lhj) that well.. don't know what IRLs are! Also that way I feel safer and don't have to worry as much abt getting harassed and such for my identity.

- -🌸-⛰️-🌙- -💚- -💙- -✨-🌸-✨- -💙- -💚- -🌙-⛰️-🌸- -

Special People Mentions!! fps = * (1 or more.. wouldnt say in a priority sorta order but. more or less yea)

Family! <3 🌼@pehpurr* SISTER!! super duper cool, her art is great and you should check it out!! YOU. You're the brightest little girl (i say like ur not older than me) I'VE EVER MET ACTUALLY! You're so passionate and loving I freaking adore you!! I love you so much Scar, you're one of the best things to ever happen to me, Kanny &lt;3 ⚙️@gentlexmadman DAD!! you are my daaaad, you're my dad! woogie woogie woogie! ANOTHER amazing artist! mr "I know that guy-", very funny, Henry "Autism" Emily... the copper king, my father. Speaking to you is always comforting. Love you so much papa, you're amazing :)

Simply special <3 ☕@insomniac-coffeehouse** You're all simply so very special to me. I love spending time with you guys and playing stuff together, you mean a lot to me and I'm so glad I met you. I hope we're still close for this year and many more! You're incredibly talented, not only at art, at everything you do. You spark joy in my brain and my heart <3 From the bottom of my heart, I'm in love with the hope you bring to this world. 🍊Jack***, oh my dear Jacky, where do I even begin, sport... you really are my other half. Mi media naranja if you will. haha.. I love every second we spend together, I love your voice, I love your eyes, I love your smile, your laughter. I love your use of words, the way you speak, your humor, your seriousness and goofiness. You stiff fuck, you were made for me and I was made for you, and I wouldn't have it any other way. You're my everything, mi vida, mi luz, mi estrella. Mi amor, mi mundo. <3

New friends! 🍓@strawberrystarfield I know we met fairly recently but you're all incredibly fun to talk to, your art is also amazing, your accent is real pretty (cough for a bri-💥), you're real sweet and I love reading all your thoughts and critiques about things :} (love ya Aspen /gen) 🏜️@fagdykegtws My right hand man! I know we just met through the rarepair server but oh my god we're in the same brainwave!!! You're so fun to vc and chat with and you got the best ideas ever fr fr, love ya Chewy, you're real sweet even w how lil i know you ;)

That's it folks, love yall and see you around!

[mcl-mia]

//so... i have (finally) began trudging my way through the routes of wh again (done every route prior to rembrant's, sans klaus 2 because i am petty and still think it shouldn't have existed), and i've finally gotten to nox's route. just finished rembrandt's. and like... man do i have Thoughts. so i'm going to compile them and scream into the void. many of them will probably be on rembrandt's route, but that's because.... you know. the one i just finished.

first of all. narrative wise, i ADORE the continuation. i love how they are all in one connected timeline, it really brings such a finality to season 2 and it does, despite having its own issues, fixes what one of my biggest problems with the s1 routes (i.e. self contained story lines that don't connect anywhere). they introduce like, 80% of the cast that you're going to be interacting with and dating for the forseeable future and it makes it feel like a proper overarching storyline actually EXISTS!!! AND THERE IS ONE!!! AND IT WILL SOMETIMES REFERENCE S1 STUFF!!! IT'S SO GOOD. SO GOOD.

-100 points for having the rest of the s1 cast being almost fucking absent though. i understand that like. narratively they wouldn't always need to be there. however. i miss my boys. also -10000000 points for practically no amelia. where's my fucking wingman.

i 👏 love 👏 the 👏 night 👏 class 👏 boys. 👏👏👏 they feel like an actual friend group and shit like this makes me soooooo fucking emotional:

literally this makes me so feral. like, these people are liz's best fucking friends and it SHOOOWWWWSSS. the unconditional love here makes my heart want to burst.

i am eating so much good food lore wise. geography from bith hisoka and rembrandt's routes have me eating so good.

i like the time travel aspect well enough, though i do wish they did a smidge more with it? i'm not done with the rest of the routes yet obv but i'm curious to see if liz gets to keep her time powers. the end of rembrandt's route seems to imply that she lost them because the goddess crystal shattered, though?? status is currently unclear.

this line from mischa destroyed me:

like seriously. what the fuck. this is such a good line. and it reminds me that hugo, vain, and mischa have seen so many possible timelines that exist, and yet there IS one where hugo decides to take his shot. i know they basically have everybody be in love with liz but i think it's especially cute but very cruel for hugo, who almost certainly falls in love with her every time he meets her in a different timeline. just something to think about.

speaking of mischa. i think it's fucking adorable how chica and mischa are pen pals. besties. refined ladies. we love them. idk why tumblr doesn't want me to upload the screenshot but it's really cute.

so. routes. hugo's and hisoka's felt like..... nothing? like sure, they had some Big Picture Plot relevance, hugo's moreso for obvious reasons, but hisoka's felt like a beach episode. really weird.

hisoka's especially felt like nothing. like, cool that they introduce beastmen and , subsequently,the not so cool furry racism (wow i love fe9/fe10). but like. what else did it do besides have rembrandt take his watch back. and some geography. it was a nice change of pace, but the stakes felt so incredibly low compared to the two other routes its sandwiched between. don't get me wrong, i love the ending that came out from it. i LOVE the market idea and i love how it was walter fucking goldstein that sponsors hisoka. i just wish that, like..... there was bigger things going on in it. cute route overall, but just felt a little out of place. also hachi is a 10/10 familiar. would give so many pets.

ok. so rembrandt. i love, like, a LOT of how this route is written, to an extent. it is SO full of lore and dragonkin biology. i also like the overt head-smashing symbolism of rembrandt's magic being called "twilight" - not quite day, not quite night. if i were any dumber i'd call it clever.

so. to go back to the bad. because i think, very ironically, rembrandt is the worst part of his own fucking route. it's not that i don't find rembrandt exceedingly pretty, because he is, and his characterization is kinda... good? but he's just not the rest of the cast. literally the rest of the s2 squad consistently make me smile and giggle like a child, while i'm giving the "romance" a 1000 yard stare.

like, seriously. this small convo with lucious is just fucking great and better than any dialogue liz and rembrandt have ever had:

lucious calling his friends virgins is so funny. you go you funky little dude. never change, baby boy. but this is just soooo GOOD.

there's a lot of instances where they make it a point to show that the s2 cast really cares for liz, and that they are so comfortable around her. there's SO much good interaction and it's so cute... and then rembrandt is just. there. in the corner. losing his religion.

ok but seriously. let's talk about rembrandt himself for a sec. because like, rembrandt is fine. i appreciate that they don't beat around the bush that he is literally going to outlive liz. i also appreciate that everybody else is like, "do not fucking trust him, he is literally the enemy". unfortunate that due to the nature of the route liz is like "nuh uh" which makes everyone else be like "fym nuh uh". overall though i feel like he's just. too bland. which is WILD considering that he was a prison of war for like 1000 years. i know it's moreso that in his route he has (because of liz) finally started to trust humans again, but i wanted hesitation, i wanted DRAMA, a more romeo and juliet type beat!!! that came kinda close to it, but rembrandt being there and basically turning himself in is.... lame. very lame. sigh.

and then we have the incorporation of rembrandt into the main group. like, i love the night class boys SO much. and like, it bothered me a lot when liz would be like "oh don't worry rembrandt, we're your friends and you're part of the group now!" when rembrandt would do basically nothing but exist there. like, he barely interacted with them??? he felt very out of place, especially when the rest of the boys were still unsure about rembrandt. at least make fun of zeus like the rest of us, old man.

also. the plot point where rembrandt met liz when she was a kid, and she changed his whole outlook on humans..... uuuugggghhhhh. felt very unnecessary imo. it's like they just wanted to slap in another romance trope to make up for the fact that there wasn't a lot of romance to begin with. uuuuugggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

this was funny:

thank you for your services caesar o7

oh! and nox's outfit as nightmare is dumb. i know wh probably wasn't getting the greatest budget in the world but like... could have made it, like, so much better. i'll do a separate post for that in a min.

uhhhhhh i think that's all i got for now. i have . more but y'know. more to come.

[razzle-zazzle]

Whumptober Day 18: i tend to deflect when i'm feeling threatened

Tortured for Information + "Hit them harder."

3554 Words; Pearl & Seaglass

TW for kidnapping, torture, blood, injury

AO3 ver

Lizzie came to slowly.

Lizzie came to to the sound of wood creaking, a vague sense of nausea filling her throat before she registered anything else. Her head ached, some unseen force squeezing it like a vice. She tasted bile in the back of her mouth.

The last thing she remembered was the dance in the plaza, Gisu and Dion staring at each other with so much sap that Lizzie feared they might get stuck on it. Which, yeah, Lizzie was happy that her friend had someone who’d look at her like she hung the moon and stars, but it didn’t explain how Lizzie got here.

Here being… well, Lizzie couldn’t be certain, but it felt like a ship. The subtle rock of the room, the smell of the sea seeping in from somewhere behind her, the soft sound of waves against the hull if she strained her ears past the sound of footsteps above her—

Yeah, Lizzie was on a ship. Hopefully it wasn’t out over open water, but Lizzie doubted she’d be that lucky. She still didn’t know how she’d gone from lingering at the edge of a crowd on dry land to being tied to a chair on a seafaring vessel—which was probably what worried her most, that lack of knowledge. Not knowing the who or why put her at a severe disadvantage. Couple that with the vulnerability of being tied to a chair and missing most of her charms—she could no longer feel the protective enchantments she’d worked so hard to gather—and Lizzie was more worried than she’d like to admit.

The ship itself was well-built, she could tell that much. The room she was in had a heavy wooden door—this ship likely had multiple rooms, which meant it was big. And the big boats belonged to the powerful people.

It likely wasn’t an Explorer Corps ship, either—the Zanottos’ company didn’t randomly kidnap people. And the room was void of any of their usual iconography.

That only left a few possibilities. Either Lizzie had been drafted for the Navy in the weirdest way possible, or it was one of the few people rich enough to own a large ship like this.

Lizzie was still testing her bonds—her hands were bound behind her, but she could move her fingers, so if she could just get enough leverage—when footsteps outside the door caught her attention. She heard the lock slowly turn and click, and then the door swung open slowly.

Three different people walked in—

All of Lizzie’s thoughts came to a halt as she recognized the sharply dressed man in the middle of the group. Oh, she had never met him personally, but his face was everywhere—as was his caviar and roe business, which had been trying to buy the Explorer Corps’ ships for the past several months. Lizzie couldn’t not recognize the weasel of a man before her, in his gaudy tailcoat and captain’s hat, shrewd eyes staring her down.

It was still a surprise, though. Why was she tied up on a ship belonging to Gristol Malik, of all people?

The other two people were unknown to Lizzie—she recognized the person on the right as a mage, though, the embroidery on their robe a web of protective sigils. Lizzie thought to her own missing charms and a twinge of jealousy flashed through her.

But the person on the left…

Lizzie had never seen an Inquisitor in person, but the pin on their coat was unmistakable. This wasn’t good. This really wasn’t good.

Okay, Lizzie, you got this, she told herself. Play it cool. Whatever they ask, you don’t know anything. She could do this. She could do this.

Gristol regarded her primly, hands folded behind his back. “Young lady,” He started, and oh, Lizzie did not like that form of address, “Do you know why you’re here?”

Lizzie shrugged. Play it cool. She could do that. “No.” She could guess, but she didn’t feel like playing any games.

Gristol huffed. “You have information that I want.” He groused, “And I’m going to get my answers one way or another.”

Lizzie stared him down. Gristol’s rivalry with Truman was well-known—Gristol’s attempts to buy out the Explorer Corps had been going on long enough to become part of the local gossip. Whatever Gristol wanted to know about the Explorer Corps, whatever information he thought he could get from her—he wasn’t getting it. Lizzie would rather die than betray the Explorer Corps like that. Especially with an Inquisitor involved—though this one was likely on private contract.

At Lizzie’s continued silence, Gristol frowned. He turned to the mage and muttered something about translation spells.

Lizzie continued to stare at him. She wasn’t stupid—and she wasn’t going to squeal, either.

The mage muttered back, shifting nervously. After a few moments of whispered conversation, they stepped forwards, pulling out a scroll.

A spell scroll! An actual spell scroll! Oh, what Lizzie wouldn’t give to get her hands on an honest-to-gods spell scroll. Actually learning spells was far superior, sure, but it wasn’t about the spells—spell scrolls were only available to accomplished mages, not witches in training who still got treated like little girls by the guild. Not that Lizzie was bitter, or anything.

The mage read the text, and the scroll burst into flame. Light glowed around Lizzie for a moment, luminous silver that left a cool feeling in her throat. She was almost offended at the waste of a good spell scroll.

“Now then,” Gristol began, “Let’s begin properly.” He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a small object. Lizzie regarded the item in Gristol’s hands suspiciously. He held it out in front of her—

Lizzie’s eyes widened. That was—

Gristol smirked. “Ah, good, you recognize this. Can you tell me what it is?”

It was a shell, Lizzie knew that much. A shimmery spiral shell about as big as her palm, with blue bands all along the spiral. There was something carved at the opening, a set of symbols that Lizzie didn’t recognize. It had shown up on her desk the morning prior, with no explanation.

That was all Lizzie knew, though. And she wasn’t going to say anything, anyway.

“This,” Gristol continued, seemingly unbothered by Lizzie’s continued silence, “Is a boon. Boons come in a variety of forms, as I’m sure you’re aware.” He turned the shell over in his hands. “But this is no regular boon.” Gristol tilted the shell so that the symbols carved into the opening caught the light of the oil lamp. “This boon was made by mermaids.” He spoke like it was some dramatic revelation—and on some level, Lizzie supposed it was. But she kept her expression as neutral as she could, even as her mind began to race.

“You got this from someone.” Gristol said. “And I want to know who.”

Lizzie glared at him. “No.”

Gristol sniffed, turning his nose up haughtily. He gestured to the Inquisitor. “Make her talk.” He ordered, stepping back.

The Inquisitor pulled a small dagger out of her jacket. Lizzie had only a moment to register a flame-shaped pommel and red-dyed leather around the hilt before the tip of the blade touched the exposed skin of her collarbone—

Pain!

Fire lanced through her veins until the blade was withdrawn. Lizzie’s chest heaved, the ropes digging into her from her thrashing. She’d avoided screaming, barely, but ow.

Lizzie hissed. Ugh, enchanted blades always seemed so cool until she was at the sharp end.

“Now that you see what being obstinate gets you, are you ready to cooperate?” Gristol’s voice was as slimy as the caviar his company sold. Lizzie wished she could punch him.

Lizzie wheezed, waiting until her chest stopped heaving to speak. “Nope.” Her voice came out strained, but spite was powering her now—she’d drag this out until the cows came home if she had to.

Gristol’s face turned to the color of puce. He turned to the mage. “Do something.” He urged, in what was technically a whisper but was audible to Lizzie all the same.

The mage floundered. “What do you want me to do?” They whispered back, still perfectly audible to Lizzie.

“What about a truth spell?” Gristol whispered. “Why didn’t we start with that?”

“I don’t have the ingredients for that, sir.” the mage responded, “And while it might compel her to speak, and would certainly force her to be honest, she could still remain silent with enough force of will.”

“Then what do I pay you for?” Gristol whisper-shouted. “Can’t you be useful?”

Lizzie struggled not to laugh. What a joke. The Inquisitor was doing a good job of ignoring the whisper-argument happening next to her, her expression betraying nothing. So she was the real deal. That’d be pretty cool if it wasn’t Lizzie who was being interrogated. And if Inquisitors weren’t primarily agents of the powerful bourgeoisie or the government.

The enchanted blade was sick as hell, though. Even though it was a torture instrument.

Eventually, Gristol huffed. “Go stand in the corner and be useless, then.” He hissed, before turning back to Lizzie.

“You have two options.” He said, folding his hands behind his back once again. “Either you tell me where you got that boon, and I reward you for your compliance, or—” His eyes narrowed, his voice dropping into an ominous tone, “if you continue to defy me, then I will simply rip the answers out of you.” He grinned, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “I get what I want either way, girl, so I would suggest you become more agreeable.”

Lizzie snorted. Yeah, right. If that shell had come from a mer, then that was all the more reason to not tell Gristol anything—not that Lizzie would sell out anyone to this man. Not even her worst enemy.

Gristol scowled at her continued silence. He nodded to the Inquisitor—

Lizzie’s breath cut off as the knife dug into her skin, fire cutting through her like a million burning knives. She struggled to breathe past the pain, past the burning burning burning crawling under her skin.

The knife withdrew. A warm trickle of blood dripped down Lizzie’s chest.

Spots danced behind her eyes, her head pounding. She glared Gristol down, her mouth clenched shut. He could have her stabbed as many times as he wanted, she was not talking. Not to him.

“Again.” Gristol ordered, as a fresh wave of burning shot through Lizzie. “As many times as it takes.” He added.

Lizzie thrashed against her restraints, trying her best to keep her cool. The Inquisitor attacked her shoulder, now, pressing the flat of the blade against the skin until the smell of burnt flesh filled Lizzie’s nose. Still, Lizzie refused to scream.

“Keep at it.” Gristol decided. He turned to the mage. “Figure out what you need for a truth spell, and don’t come back until you have one.” They wasted no time in leaving the room, and Gristol made his way to the now-open door. He turned to Lizzie one last time. “I pray you’re in a better mood when I return.”

The door slammed shut behind him, leaving Lizzie alone with the Inquisitor. She regarded Lizzie carefully, squeezing the hilt of her dagger.

Lizzie glared back.

“If simple pain won’t do the trick,” the Inquisitor mused, “Then I will simply have to wear you down.” The Inquisitor grabbed Lizzie’s face in a gloved hand, squeezing hard enough to bruise. Her grip was iron. “Hold still.”

Lizzie squirmed. The Inquisitor tsked, shifted her grip ever-so-slightly, and gently drew the tip of the blade down Lizzie’s cheek, just beside her thumb.

Lizzie gasped at the pain, her eyes widening. But she didn’t scream.

“This would be easier if you weren’t tied to a chair,” The Inquisitor groused. “But I dislike easy.” She tipped Lizzie’s face back, forcing Lizzie to look at the ceiling. The heat of the blade disappeared from her face, then, and Lizzie struggled to free herself from the Inquisitor’s grip to follow it—

The blade stabbed into her thigh. Pain burning hot scorching pain pain pain exploded in Lizzie’s leg, and her breath hitched. She breathed out a strained hiss, but she didn’t scream. She wouldn’t.

The blade swiped over her thigh, cutting through both her pants and her skin. Lizzie gasped, but she didn’t scream.

Another cut. Another swallowed scream.

The Inquisitor growled, letting go of Lizzie’s face. Lizzie struggled to breathe around the pain, her face smarting and her leg aching. There was dried blood on her collarbone. When she looked down at her leg, she could see three shallow cuts, and one deep wound. Blood was starting to trickle down her leg.

Another cut, made while the Inquisitor rifled through her pockets with her other hand. Lizzie panted, exhaustion starting to creep into her edges. But she didn’t scream.

The Inquisitor pulled out a vial, the glass shimmering in the lamplight. She popped the cork out with her thumb, and tilted to vial over Lizzie’s cuts—

Lizzie screamed.

+=+=+=+=+

Gristol returned with the mage in tow.

The truth spell didn’t take long to cast, and Lizzie didn’t have the components for a counterspell. She didn’t even have the energy—the acid in her cuts had sapped most of her strength.

Still, she grit her teeth. She couldn’t tell Gristol anything if she didn’t speak at all.

The room was starting to spin when Gristol next held up the shell. “Where did you get this? Who did you get it from?”

Lizzie glared. Words gathered in her throat. She swallowed them down—though not without effort.

The blade pressed against her thigh, and Lizzie yelped.

“I don’t know!” She blurted out, much to her own horror. No no no—don’t talk, don’t talk, stop talking.

Gristol became puce once again. “What do you mean, you don’t know?” He demanded, his voice coming out in a screech.

Lizzie stared him down, even as the answer bubbled to the surface in her mind. She didn’t know—she wasn’t even sure that mer were real. Oh, sure, she’d heard legends, and the shell certainly seemed real, but she’d never met one—not to her knowledge.

Gristol took a breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. “The things I do for good caviar…” He muttered. Lizzie felt her hatred for him rise another notch.

“Think, girl.” Gristol urged. “Surely you at least suspect where this boon came from.” He leaned in closer, and Lizzie fought to keep her head through the dizziness. “Someone had to have given it to you, and that someone must think very highly of you.” He leaned back, tapping his chin contemplatively. “Perhaps some friend of yours? One who does not live here, but who still passes through?” He turned and paced a little bit. “Someone accomplished in magic—they’d have to be, to be a mer in disguise.” He looked at Lizzie, his face seeming to melt into the slow spin of the room around her. “Who gave you this boon?”

Lizzie didn’t know. The only people she was close enough to were Morris, who had lived in this town longer than Lizzie had; Norma, her literal sister; Sam, who was certainly an anomaly but whose family lived further inland than Lizzie’s; and—

Realization hit Lizzie like a horse had kicked her. There was only one person she could have gotten the mysterious shell from—no, there were two.

It made so much sense. Too much sense. No wonder Gisu always had rare ingredients from the ocean—she lived there. Lizzie had always thought that Gisu was a good diver, that the reason she came and went by ship—though that was probably a lie, now that Lizzie thought about it—was so that she could get her hands on the sea’s bounties. But no, Gisu had those things, those rare spells that Lizzie had never heard of before, that knowledge of the ocean because she was a mer.

And if Gisu was a mer…

Gisu was careful about what she told Lizzie. Never gave away too much. So it didn’t seem likely for her to just leave a dead giveaway like the boon—not without an explanation, at least. Which meant that it could have only come from one person.

The sting of magic pricked at Lizzie’s brain. Oh, fuck.

“I’ve got a face.” The mage said, the magic fading from their hands.

Gristol beamed. “Excellent!” He turned to the Inquisitor, pulling out a small bag. “Your payment.” He tossed the bag to her. It was a clear dismissal; the Inquisitor left without another word.

With that, Gristol turned back to the door, pocketing the shell once again. “Prepare a counterspell for transformations,” he ordered, as the mage hurried to follow behind him. Before the door closed, Lizzie heard Gristol’s ecstatic “I’m getting a mer!” as he skipped down the hall and out of view.

The door slammed shut. Lizzie trembled, her head spinning.

Gisu was a mer. Gisu lived in the ocean and probably had the entire time that Lizzie had known her. Gisu had been lying to her—

No. No, that was stupid. Of course Gisu never told her, the girl had trust issues a mile wide. And it didn’t matter where Gisu was from or what she was—she was Lizzie’s friend. Gills and fins wouldn’t change that.

And if Gisu was a mer, then that meant that Dion probably was, too. That would explain the general… everything about him, honestly. From the anxiety to the unfamiliarity with everyday conventions. Lizzie had attributed it to him being a foreign prince—and in a way, Lizzie supposed he probably was—he was just from a more aquatic kingdom than she was thinking.

Lizzie needed to get out of here. She needed to get out of here so she could get to Gisu and Dion because she needed to warn them—

Getting out of here was easier said than done, though. Lizzie had been left to her own devices, sure, but she was still tied to this chair.

The ropes were loose in some places, though, and Lizzie could faintly smell the scent of burned rope. If her whole body didn’t feel like overcooked meat, then maybe she could wriggle free. But exhaustion weighed her down, the sting of her cuts making her arms heavy.

Right. Only one thing to do, then.

Quietly, trying not to alert anyone who might be outside the door, Lizzie spoke. It was a spell that Gisu had taught her, back when they had first met—and more importantly, all it required was a fuel source. The blood trickling from Lizzie’s cuts would be enough.

“Vanish.” Lizzie urged. She felt the burn of magic on her arms—

The world complied. The ropes around her disappeared—so did the chair, bursting into dust.

Lizzie fell to the floor with a thunk. Ooookay, maybe she overdid it. But nothing else appeared to be missing, so now all she had to do was get out of here unseen. She rose to her feet on less-than-steady legs—fuck, she’d need to do something about those wounds if she wanted to get anywhere.

She had none of her protective charms. All of the healing spells she knew required ingredients she didn’t have.

“Oh, damn it all.” Lizzie yanked off her jacket and pulled off her shirt. She threw the jacket back on, grabbed her shirt, and tore. She didn’t have the resources for any healing spells, but, as she whispered reinforcement into the strips of fabric—she could still brace herself against the pain.

Her legs were still unsteady when she was done, but at least she’d be able to walk without limping (much).

Gristol had left the door unlocked. Lizzie pushed it open slowly, keeping an ear out for passing footsteps.

The hall was empty.

Carefully, one hand braced against the wall, Lizzie made her way towards the stairs. She could hear people moving about on the deck above her—someone came down the stairs, and Lizzie just barely managed to duck into a side room in time.

“Captain says we gotta get the nets ready.” They said. Lizzie didn’t hear the response, both sets of steps disappearing down the hall.

Fuck.

How the hell was she going to get off this ship at this rate? She couldn’t just walk across the deck in broad daylight.

Or… morninglight, actually, looking at the porthole across the room. The sun had cleared the horizon, but not by a whole lot.

Wait.

Lizzie crept past the bunks in the room and examined the porthole. It was just big enough to fit through, and the latch wasn’t hard to figure out. She pushed it open.

Carefully, Lizzie poked her head outside, glancing around.

The water below was dark, reflecting the light of the rising sun. The ship she was on was still moored in the harbor—Lizzie could see the docks towards the bow—so Lizzie wouldn’t have far to swim. Hopefully.

The water was going to be cold. Lizzie didn’t have her charms to protect her—but she knew how to swim, and she was good at it, too.

(Would she still be good with injured legs? With exhaustion clinging to her bones?)

There was no other choice. Lizzie needed to get out of here, and get to Gisu. She needed to warn her friend.

Lizzie inhaled, steeled herself, and took the plunge.

[deusexlachina]

Antisocial DAO Part 10 (Deep Roads): Meet my evil kindred spirit

In which I finally get my perfect army: one that requires no social skills to command.

In the Deep Roads, I meet Ruck, who has the same disease I had. He is the only merchant in these tunnels, so he's very useful. But he fears you, so you have to pass a social check.

Hm. No merchant for me, right? But I still remember the lesson I learned from Ser Carroll: tenacity is a substitute for social graces. I leave the conversation, then come back, by which time (seconds later) he has grown used to me, and very quickly he calls me a friend. Aw.

I can't convince him to go back to the surface, but I can at least take a look at his stock. He's got some nice stuff - a magic belt, infinite deep mushrooms...

I lick my elven lips. The Dalish love deep mushrooms as much as elfroots. They make our people stronger. Like Popeye. This is not as good a deal as the elfroots, but I Am A Grey Warden with stuff to do, so I can't backtrack to the Dalish camp. Now it's mushroom time, and I buy them by the thousand. Despite his sickness, Ruck has cornered the deep mushroom market and has, by the time he's done with me, become one of the richest people in Thedas.

After numerous pitched battles, I finally meet Branka, who is sick of politics and maneuvering and wants to defeat the darkspawn by finding a superweapon, the Anvil of the Void. Her tolerance for social graces is fairly limited. A woman after my own heart.

She seals me inside, forcing me to fight my way through layers of ancient magical defences to access the Anvil. Since this directly contributes to my mandate, she could have just asked, but She Is Socially Inept.

When I reach the Anvil, it is guarded by its creator, Caridin. He explains that it turns people into enormous badass immortal robots [bad]. It all seemed so harmless - he never expected he'd be turned into a robot!

But I've suffered the taint, seen the suffering of the world's greatest mushroom merchant, and watched good men like Soldier and Tower Guard senselessly slaughtered. Hell, on the way here I had to kill a lady who ate her own husband's face and turned into a huge monster. Such fates await any number of people if the Blight is not stopped - and are they any better than being a cool as hell robot? Branka doesn't think so, and, honestly, she's a kindred spirit. I couldn't possibly kill her.

Leliana tells me this goes against everything she knows to be right, which means I lose 10 approval before she stabs the shit out of Caridin. What Leliana sometimes lacks in strength of conviction, she more than makes up for with sheer loyalty. What a great girlfriend to have.

Incidentally, 10 approval is exactly as much as you can get by gifting her an adorable "subterranean bunny-pig," so we're good. She fawns over her new pet right after killing a man in cold blood, which seems very jarring but, if you've played Inquisition, this checks out completely.

Branka offers me a favour, so I ask her to get right to work turning people into cool robots. Actually, your husband did quite a lot to help you in your quest. I think it's fair that he be first on the production line.

Of course, Branka says no to this. Not because she likes her husband, mind you, but she doesn't yet know how to turn people into robots (a minor flaw in her plan to obtain the device that turns people into robots). She suggests "we go with the crown for now," but she definitely likes what I'm putting out.

Oghren disapproves of you even suggesting this, even though he just approved of me helping Branka to use the anvil in general. He never expected he'd be turned into a robot!

[defiantbird]

Sweeney Todd Revival on Broadway!

Saw it over the weekend and have had some time to marinate on it. As a former theatre (or tech) kid I have to throw my thoughts into the void. I'm serious, this is a long and wordy babble, you are not gonna read it all, I'm really just thought-dumping.

Cast:

We were told as we were entering that Josh Groban, the big draw for most folks, would not be in to play Sweeney. Sweeney was instead played by the guy who usually plays Pirelli. I don't know much about Groban, but I do hear he has a great voice, so I am a little bummed I didn't get to see it.

Still, other guy (Nicholas Christopher per the slip) was...obviously talented-- everyone in the show is extremely talented, it's Broadway. Tremendous voice on him. He had an excellent growl and did my favorite thing (in Epiphany, he went UP on "nor a hundred can assuage me" and it was so STRONG and RAW and AAAGH I love it. Here at 2:22 if you wanna know what I mean. George Hearn is my fave Sweeney.). That said, his Sweeney wasn't my cup of tea. George Hearn ruined all other Sweeneys for me (hyperbole tho). This fellow was a bit stiff...like, he has the sound of the rage but not enough expression of it to get me, if that makes sense. He was explosive but it often didn't feel like a passionate rage, just a loud one.

Certainly a very different Mrs. Lovett (Annaleigh Ashford) than I'm used to. She wasn't my ideal Lovett (again, spoiled by Angela Lansbury), but I can recognize that she was still an excellent one. Gorgeous voice with impressive range, super animated. What was different about her, I think, is that she played her more self-aware than I'm used to. It was a little more "this lady is funny and she knows it" rather than "this lady is fucking weird and it's delightful". But, again, just because that's my preference doesn't mean this was any less good. Very slapstick, way hornier, but ultimately very much understood the character at her core.

The kid who plays Dustin in Stanger Things (Gaten Matarazzo) played Toby! It's clear some people were there just for him. He has a strong singing voice and is just super charming. Truly a treat that I got to see him in this role, I think he fit it really well.

Such! An! Interesting! Johanna! This girl (Maria Bilbao) had a really unique take that I kind of loved. She played her like a bird-- twitchy, always on the verge of panic-- which is such a great choice given the symbolism around the character. I want to scream how much I love this: it ties her to the "Beggar Woman"! Lucy was also very twitchy and jerky, what with the being crazy and all, and it was such a smart way to subtly show that these two are related without the audience being able to realize the connection until the reveal.

Pirelli (Daniel Torres), my beloved. I've never seen a single bad Pirelli.

The guy (John Rapson) playing Beadle Bamford was SO hammy and it was SO good. Super flamboyant, expertly annoying and able to switch so quickly to smarmy and cruel. His timing and tone in Parlor Songs was so fucking funny.

Judge Turpin (Jamie Jackson) honestly kind of took me out of it whenever he was around. He played Turpin as sort of a creepy but ultimately frail geezer. To me, Turpin is usually meant to be like large and intimidating and overbearing. He's an enormous shadow that swallows people. This one to me was just sort of...a grandpa. I didn't feel the evil enough.

Anthony (Jordan Fisher), also my beloved. This guy had, IMO, the most beautiful voice of them all. Like, so beautiful that the sound itself, not the subject matter, made me teary at times., especially during Johanna. Had just the sweetest face and most charming demeanor- didn't feel put on at all. So earnest and naïve and passionate. In general just "have you ever heard a voice and seen a man so beautiful that you cried".

Not much to say about Lucy (Ruthie Ann Miles), and not in a bad way. She had a beautiful voice and played the role well.

Set:

So cool! The show starts in London, with just Sweeney and Anthony standing in front of a bridge. The bridge then becomes the upper room: the flashback for Poor Thing, the upper parlor, Johanna's window. It was abstract for some scenes, like Johanna's window, but it felt very natural. Like there was literally no window, just her looking out between the rails, but you got that it was a window. What was, if I remember correctly, a crane on the side rotated to become the stairs leading down to the cellar, with the "meat hatch" on the back. Again, not sure I'm remembering correctly-- the set is very dark at times and purposely makes you think you're looking at something entirely different-- but I believe the same part had this little niche that became the asylum. Also, of course, the chair. I don't think I have a single complaint about the set. It was clever and wonderful.

A/V:

In the beginning, in his first few lines in The Ballad of Sweeney Todd, Sweeney's mic wasn't working. I hissed internally. It was only a few seconds but I felt the "NOOOO" inside of me that I guess comes from having spent a lot of time hanging with the guys in the A/V booth in high school productions.

I really liked the lighting for the most part. What struck me most was when the ensemble sang. The fog rolled around their feet, the stage entirely dark but for them. At the end Ballad when they were all lined up at the very front of the stage ("Isn't that Sweeney there beside you?" "There! There!"), the light shone up under their feet and gave them this gargoyle-ish look, so stark and deliciously unnerving. My only complaint was this like bright white flashing during City on Fire, but tbh I don't really love that scene anyway, I think it's kind of out of place, so whatevs.

Another petty thing that's less me saying "this was bad" and more me going "nooooooo"- Johanna shooting Fogg...her action didn't quite match up with the bang. Oof ouch.

Choreography/scenes/songs/general thoughts:

The flashback sequence of Poor Thing seems to be done differently every time I see it, but it's always good. This one was really abstract but incredibly striking. Todd and Lovett were lit up below in the shop, and above them it was all silhouettes on the bridge. Lucy moved like Johanna (again, aaah such a good choice), twitchy and nervous. The scenes weren't direct portrayals as it usually is (i.e. Lucy cradling the baby, Beadle and Turpin calling to her, Turpin descending on her at the party) - it was more like interpretive dance and it was very compelling.

Ngl, I didn't enjoy A Little Priest as much as I normally do, although the audience clearly loved it so, y'know. Art is subjective. But Lovett was a little too over-the-top (at one point she collapses laughing on the floor and propels herself around in a little circle), and I didn't get a real sense of mirth from Sweeney.

There is this point in the show, in general, that I love because of the audience. The play is funny. It's really, laugh-out-loud funny. Some scenes are just absolutely ridiculous and it WORKS. But there is a point-- it sort of starts during Not When I'm Around but really kicks in after Parlor Songs, which is like the last funny moment. You spend the whole play going back and forth between Sweeney's intense brooding and Lovett's looniness, and it kind of lures you into lightheartedness despite some of what you're seeing and hearing. It all gets SHARPLY cut off (no pun intended I swear) when Sweeney kills Turpin. The audience goes totally silent and stays that way 'til the end. It's SO well done, it just makes your stomach drop, it takes your face in its hands and says "now here's the real shit". The silence pulls you in and it feels like everyone is holding their breath.

Hehehhehehe I love catching reactions of people who haven't seen the show before. I saw at least one person with their hands over their mouth when they realized the beggar was Lucy.

There was some really great new little things I loved with Sweeney and Lovett. At the end of A Little Priest, instead of the two of them standing there triumphantly, they both slam a butcher knife and a rolling pin down on the table in time with the final note and then the stage goes totally dark.

In the same vein as the above- at the end, usually Sweeney and Lovett kind of look at each other from opposite sides of the stage and then it goes dark. Sometimes there's a door slam. In this one, they turn their backs to the audience and walk through the fog toward the back of the stage. In the very final moment, they clasp hands and jump together into an unseen pit. Like they literally walked hand-and-hand into hell. Internally, I'm making high-pitched sounds over how much I love that.

The ensemble was fascinating. Lots of jerky, kind of interpretive movements. In the beginning Ballad they do this thing where they all simultaneously start drifting to the side and then they suddenly stumble. In God, That's Good! they just sort of slowly lay Toby down on the table and then drag him off. It was weird, but a very intriguing kind of weird. It really unsettled you, which I think the ensemble as "the people of London" is supposed to do. They are meant to be unpredictable, dreamy, listless, and at other times wild. Neato.

I'm sure there's more I can say but I can't think of it right now so let's just stop me here because I've been writing for over an hour. Overall: Really enjoyed it, would recommend. I do wish I knew what Josh Groban Sweeney was like though.

If you actually read all this: Did you see it? Tell me what you thought! I truly really would love to hear about it.

[svetavorshevsky]

Audition Para.

Nobody stole from The Vorshevsky's. They wouldn't dare.

Until they did.

"What hand did you use to steal our money with?" Svetlana spoke criminally, softly. It could've almost sounded kind if it weren't for the laced daggers hidden within. She sat there, nails tapping against the cold metal of the silver desk, beneath an unknown building in the middle of nowhere, Russia.

Screams would do Denis no good here.

"Excuse me?" Denis spluttered, that tremble in his voice enough to awaken something akin to delight in her stomach. He acted as if he didn't know what he did wrong. Fear only drove her to greater heights, and the infamy that it brought to Russia meant one thing.

It'd spread. Fear allowed them to mold people.

"Which hand plucked into our safe and took the money that you left with? Come now, I never took you for the type to play dumb." She paused, examining her nails as if he were nothing but a slight inconvenience. No, it was much more than that. If one thought they could steal, others would.

So it was down to them to make sure it was a one-time offense.

To squash that idea from their minds for good.

"I didn't — " Denis began, once again, but Svetlana shook her head slowly, those piercing blue eyes now trained on him as if he were a sniper target, and she was in position. She'd learned that look from her mother. His face paled, as if he was finally getting the picture.

His head began bouncing around the room, taking in his surroundings. The dim lighting made the blood that had crusted atop his head from where he'd been knocked out, glimmer. "Where the fuck am I?" He spat, yanking against his restraints.

Your resting place.

"That's not information you need to know. The lady asked you a question," a voice growled. Vitaly stepped out of the shadows, face void of emotion, and she was glad for his presence. Pavel would be close by, monitoring things.

His presence was an ever-soothing palm against her chaotic fire.

"Please, — " But those words died on his lips, a whimper breaking free, his fate sealed, with each passing second. "Left," he whispered.

"Sorry, what was that? I didn't quite hear you." Svetlana leaned closer, lips twisting into a cruel snarl. The confirmation had been for her to show him that there was no way out. This hole he'd dug for himself. And she left no snakes alive.

"M-My left hand." Denis quaked, visibly shaking now. He was a handsome man if she'd been able to look past the long hair and scruffy clothes. Pouting animately, she reached forward and tapped his left hand almost lovingly.

"There, there." Svetlana cooed. "You did good. See, all you had to do was answer a simple question, and you made me very, very happy." Denis finally found the courage to meet her gaze, but he didn't find comfort in those eyes.

Denis glimpsed the devil, and she was hungry.

"And at least right is your dominant hand, hm?" Svetlana chirped, bright and airy, offset against her usual cool dominance. "Vitaly, if you'll do the honors, take everything from the mid-forearm."

Svetlana said it with such nonchalance. She might as well have been dismissing a personal assistant for her daily errands. Pushing from the table where she sat, she lingered once glance at him and turned on her heel, stalking towards the exit.

"You stupid fuckin' bitch." Denis snarled, gone was the sniffling, regretful man. In place was the fucker who'd stolen their money. Ah, she knew he was hiding in there somewhere. Snakes had many faces. "Can't do it yourself? Girls like you play with power, you have no fucking idea how to wield it."

"Vitaly would've been much nicer, but if you insist..."

And once again, gone was the bravado, his chest heaving irregularly as she plucked the hatchet from Vitaly's hands and prowled over with a sway of her hips, exaggeration, prolonging. It was entertainment, a fucking show. "What do you say, each fingernail, then each finger, and then — " She dragged the sharp metal over the skin of his forearm, head tilting to the side menacingly.

"Yeah, I like the sound of that," Svetlana replied to herself.

It took two hours to exact the kind of pain she wanted, to cut into tendons, like she was an artist with a paintbrush. Pulling, slicing, and hacking until the man's head slumped forward unnaturally, bobbing with each movement.

No one crossed the Vorshevsky's.

And this was a light punishment. This was a warning.

London had no idea who was coming, and to wield the shadows might benefit them in the long run. So she'd wait, she'd stalk, and she'd exact the vengeance that they all deserved.

[fizzyeggg]

i should really actually post my art on this site either way i'll still answer this lol

1. ms paint, used to use it before i moved to aseprite, paint.net kinda counts but i do use it sometimes because the magic wand tool in it is cool

2. left or right is equally easy for me, but forward? hhGRGAAAAAAAAA

3. i like to remaster a lot of really really old drawings i made on ms paint (because i got a computer wayyyy too early), only one i can think of off the top of my head is the mushroom guys

4. humans are just bitches to draw in general. hate those things

5. i keep literally all of it to myself

6. adventure time's art style tends to creep into some of my stuff, also eyes are a weird motif in a lot of my art that i just kinda throw in because it's the first cool pattern i can think of

7. sculpting man... HOW do they do that?? i've tried it before but i can't touch clay without proceeding to just squish and knead it for an hour instead of making anything of value

8. oh i got a ton of those. deltarune missing link (the discarded vessel having spooky shenanigans in the void), a deltarune swap AU i came up with where papyrus switches with susie, rouxls switches with ralsei and other stuff, deltascryption (deltarune/inscryption crossover spritecomic) so mostly deltarune stuff. sorry deltarune

9. batshit insane. i crawl to my computer like a dying rat and sift through hundreds of files titled shit like "743567hgrgh", "cheese" and "glumbo go glumbo go glumbo go" only to find the one i was looking for, titled "scrunk table" which is just a bunch of pvz fanart

10. i hate drawing clothes, but overalls are fun i guess

11. usually my playlist filled with STRANGE and EVIL music, but this board game podcast my dad listens to (called ludology) is also nice

12. most of the human body sucks but can i choose bug body parts?? a thorax or abdomen perchance?? pretty please?

13. this is hard to answer since most creators i admire are My Thing so instead i'll say My Thing is absolutely whatever the hell bep/anne and squimpus mcgrimpus' vibe is, their art is the goofiest coolest shit and i love it so so much

14. EYES EYES EYES EYES EYES EYES

15. in my cave, on the puter

16. i don't really know tbh, my motivation for anything is because it's fun

17. i mean if i happen to have food there yeah. which i usually do, and it's usually dried fruit, nuts and/or cheese because i have the diet of a pet rat

18. HAH!! GET A LOAD OF THIS GUY!!! THINKS A DIGITAL ARTIST CAN "BREAK THEIR ART SUPPLIES" HAH!!!! (i have accidentally snapped a drawing tablet in half once please don't ask)

19. impossible triangles man... i care them

20. BUGS BUGS BUGS BUGS BUGS BUGS BUGS

21. as a pixel artist i really like people who can pull off 1 bit / two colour stuff and i do want to try it at some point

22. NONE!!! (my dyspraxia grows worse by the second)

23. i have artist friends who draw normal, sane digital art and cry as they realise they've drawn on layer #7769 instead of layer #5443. they work on a new inch of their drawing and open up another layer, catapulting the total into the millions. as their tired eyes look upon me, they ask "hey how many layers do you use" my face contorts into an evil smirk "ONE" they cower and scream at my raw power

24. yeah, i probably don't notice though

25. okay... d-dwarf fortress?? it's all CHARACTERS what do they MEAN by this

26. okay so i was drawing my evil lesbian lady "Dr. E. Vile" and she has a bunch of arms with cartoon gloves on them i have no idea how five separate friends of mine said "I like her chef hat" THEY ARE GLOVES WHERE DID IT ALL GO SO WROOOONGG

27. my warm up drawings tend to be me going "time to draw the Thing", and immediately creating the most wretched abomination known to man, so abhorrent in its anatomy that i have to start over entirely

28. nope. too much pressure man WAIT I WAS IN A RAIN WORLD THING https://youtu.be/jBu7gOwtYSY?t=1628 LOOK MA I'M ON TV

29. this is a weird way to answer the question, but i DESPARATELY want to draw in a similar weird and 'unfinished' type of style that stuff like yume nikki, ENA and INTERFACE have it's just that i have no idea how to actually emulate it, like how to create that specific uncanny/eccentric vibe well

30. hahahahahahahahaha (they all are)

Weirdly Specific Artist Ask Game

Didn't see a lot of artist ask games, wanted to make a silly one.

(I wrote this while sick out of my mind last year and it's been collecting dust in my drafts, I might as well let it run free) 1. Art programs you have but don't use

2. Is it easier to draw someone facing left or right (or forward even)

3. What ideas come from when you were little

4. Fav character/subject that's a bitch to draw

5. Estimate of how much of your art you post online vs. the art you keep for yourself

6. Anything that might inspire you subconsciously (i.e. this horse wasn't supposed to look like the Last Unicorn but I see it)

7. A medium of art you don't work in but appreciate

8. What's an old project idea that you've lost interest in

9. What are your file name conventions

10. Favorite piece of clothing to draw

11. Do you listen to anything while drawing? If so, what

12. Easiest part of body to draw

13. A creator who you admire but whose work isn't your thing

14. Any favorite motifs

15. *Where* do you draw (don't drop your ip address this just means do you doodle at a park or smth)

16. Something you are good at but don't really have fun doing

17. Do you eat/drink when drawing? if so, what

18. An estimate of how much art supplies you've broken

19. Favorite inanimate objects to draw (food, nature, etc.)

20. Something everyone else finds hard to draw but you enjoy

21. Art styles nothing like your own but you like anyways

22. What physical exercises do you do before drawing, if any

23. Do you use different layer modes

24. Do your references include stock images

25. Something your art has been compared to that you were NOT inspired by

26. What's a piece that got a wildly different interpretation from what you intended

27. Do you warm up before getting to the good stuff? If so, what is it you draw to warm up with

28. Any art events you have participated in the past (like zines)

29. Media you love, but doesn't inspire you artistically

30. What piece of yours do you think is underrated

[ultramagicalternate]

ULTRAMagic Chaos Chapter 13

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Master Post - Patreon

Delphine’s realm was a bewitching sight beyond comprehension. Everything except the water and air were made out of crystal or similar stones and minerals. The sky was a rich twilight and the realm was lit by towers with great flames atop them. In the distance was a gargantuan palace, standing tall above all. Any average individual would have been utterly enthralled, but not Razor. In fact, he was walking in the opposite direction.

“Nope, nope, so much nope!” he stated as he marched away.

Tusk went over and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt. “Razor, we haven’t even set foot into the realm yet.”

“Don’t need to to tell that place is all levels of wrong…”

“I’m not thrilled about all the fire, but we have to finish this. Don’t panic, Delphine’s subjects are too busy mining and refining gems to actually fight.”

“You’re sure about that?”

“Ehh… mostly.”

Razor groaned. “That’s not exactly filling me with confidence…”

Tusk exhaled through his nose. “Tell you what: Stay by my side and if things get too hairy, Dragutin will take you back to Droomopolis? Sounds good?”

“Hum, I guess so…”

“There you go,” Tusk said with a few pats on the back. “Like I said to your dad, the arbiters have our backs.”

He nodded, then looked back towards the realm. “Where did Mizuki and the others go?”

Taking a second to look around, Tusk could not find them. “Hey! What the flip!?”

A moment later, Dragutin touched down beside them. “Adelheid appeared to grow impatient and pressed onwards. Would you like me to fly you to them?”

“No, we’ll walk,” Tusk replied. “I’m sure Raisa hasn’t allowed them to get far…”

“Tusk?”

“Yes, Razor?”

“Uh…”

“Uh what?” It then dawned on him. “She’s right behind me, isn’t she?” Razor and Dragutin nodded.

“Hi there!”

Tusk jumped back. “Jeez! Since when is Delphine’s domain stealth?”

“What are you up to, Ms. Frankenstein?” Dragutin inquired as his head moved towards her. Normally he would have fanned out his wings to ready himself for combat, but Raisa being cordial had caught his intrigue.

“You know my last name?”

“I’ve done some research.”

“Whoa… Mr. Willfort! Delphine says you’ve been here before, so she says welcome back.”

Razor was not sure what to make of that, as per usual. “Tusk?”

He nodded. “On accident, yes.”

“Ah. So Raisa, you realize Adelheid is on her way to Delphine, right?”

She laughed. “Yeah, but I put some of our sick in front of her. Aunt Delphine said she’d be too duty bound not to help them.”

Dragutin could not help but also laugh. “Well, at least they’re being treated.”

Tusk chuckled. “Well that’s a little underhanded. Alright, what’s up? There’s got to be a reason for the parley here.”

Raisa put her hands together and twiddled her thumbs. “Well aside from wanting to learn all that cool stuff you know, I think I discovered something I shouldn’t.”

The unnerved feeling Ultimatum had given Tusk was churning in his stomach again. “Ah, lovely. Well, spill the beans then…”

She looked around nervously. “I think Karnage started all of this.” Tusk looked uneasy and Razor appeared very concerned.

“I’ll believe you, but on what grounds do you make this accusation?” Dragutin questioned.

“Well on a trip to Uncle Wulfric’s realm, I went out exploring with Hannibal Skull Thrasher, one of the leaders of the Void Orcs. We saw three strangers go into Karnage’s tower. They were a German man, some arrogant lady, and this demented looking jester. Hannibal took me back to the Void Orc domain where he said he’s going to figure out how to deal with this.”

Dragutin felt his blood heat up as he coughed up sparks and embers. “If Skull Thrasher isn’t charging in all guns blazing, we should all be concerned. I’m heading back to tell Ealdhelm. Raisa, do you want to come with me? I can assure you that the arbiters will keep you safe.”

Raisa thought about it for a moment. “Let’s play things out normally, so Karnage thinks everything’s fine. Besides, I’m pretty sure Aunt Delphine will kill him if he even looks at me wrong.”

“Fair enough. Still, do not hesitate to call for help if things go south.” Dragutin took off, heading back to the city as quickly as possible.

“So now what do we do?” Razor wondered. 

“Well we do what Raisa said” Tusk pointed out. “Though, Raisa, aren’t you 6th dimensional?”

“Karnage is 7D…”

“I see. That puts you on par with some of the arbiters, but I can see why you’d be a little hesitant.”

Razor put his hand on Raisa’s shoulder. “Is she really that outmatched, Tusk?”

“Yes and no,” he answered. “Once you get to 5D, you can really start contending with the higher dimensionals. It’s not like 3D or 4D where you’ll get instantly erased from existence. Still, there is quite the gap between 6D and 7D.”

That resonated with Razor. “Wow. Can the arbiters even stand up to the Discordant Gods?”

Tusk gave Razor an unamused look and shook his head. “Razor, each arbiter is at least 6D, with Waltheof and Osbeorn being 7D, and Ealdhelm being 8D. Wulfric is also 8D, Delphine and Driskoll are 7D, and Kleitos is 6D. You tell me…”

“Good point, Tusk.” Razor felt embarrassed.

“So do you two want to go see what your friends are up to?” Raisa asked.

“Yeah,” Tusk answered. “How do you want to do this?”

Raisa giggled and pulled out a black blob from her gut. She then stretched it out like she was opening a sack. “Like this!”

Tusk and Razor were engulfed. Once inside, their eyes appeared on the outside of the sack. Raisa then slung it over her shoulder like a money bag. This was how she initially planned to handle anyone that got separated. All of it seemed to be working perfectly as cover for what she was up to, or so she thought. With her two “captives” secure, she raced off to find Adelheid.

Meanwhile, Adelheid was finishing up with the ill that Raisa had pointed out. “There, you’ll be right as rain in no time” she remarked as she gave the last patient their medicine.

Maxima was waiting outside the home as Adelheid stepped outside. “You realize you just helped your ‘enemy,’ right?”

Adelheid stuck her nose up. “As the Discordant God of Blood, I shall not let any sickness go untreated… even if it is Delphine.”

“That’s very honorable of you, Adelheid,” Mizuki complimented.

“Thank you. Now let’s press onwards.”

Before they could continue, Raisa appeared before them… shaking her rear at Adelheid. “Hey, god of Bloody Mary! Aunt Delphine says your two shakes away from being a waitress at a waffle restaurant!”

Maxima was snickering at the absurdity, but Adelheid was not having it. She held her fingers up and started shooting red lasers. Raisa dodged them with ease, teasing all the way.

“Nana nana nah-nah! Come on, Bloody Mary! You can do better than that!” Raisa taunted.

As Adelheid gritted her teeth, Mizuki noticed something odd about the sack Raisa was carrying. “Wait, is that Tusk and Razor?!”

Maxima blinked in disbelief. “What in the… Tusk, Razor? Are you two okay in there?”

“An infuriating distraction!” Adelheid declared before rising into the sky. “DELPHINE!” Adelheid shouted as she flew towards the palace.

“Adelheid!” Maxima protested as she started to follow. She then stopped. “Wait, Mizuki, let’s take care of Raisa first!”

Raisa responded by grabbing Maxima with an enlarged hand and tossing her into the air. “Nah, don’t worry about it! Mizuki and I will have a tea party!”

Maxima was confused by this, but quickly realized something was bothering Raisa. “Oh, um, sure. Are you okay, sweetie?”

“Yes, just go!” With that, Maxima flew off. Raisa turned to face Mizuki only to have a blade inches away from her nose.

“Explain. Now.”

Raisa calmly lowered the blade with her fingers, despite sweating bullets. “That’s a strange blade you have there…”

“Ame-No-Murakumo-No-Tsurugi. Now what are you up to?”

She took a breath to settle her nerves. “I need you guys to get Aunt Delphine to go to Uncle Wulfric’s realm. There’s some weird people she needs to see…”

Mizuki sheathed her sword. “What’s with the sack then?”

Raisa looked around again. “I need to keep a low profile, as I know things I shouldn’t…”

“Do you have an alibi?”

Tusk stuck his head out of the blob. “She’s on the level, Mizuki.”

Razor also stuck his head out. “Dragutin even went back to tell Ealdhelm.”

“What’s wrong then?” Mizuki asked as she took her mask off.

Raisa leaned in. “I think Karnage caused the entire conflict…” The residents of the village were stunned and began to whisper amongst themselves.

Before anything else could be said, something made the village panic. Three, ghastly, skeletal horse riders came storming into the village. Their horses neighed fiercely as they were brought to a sudden stop. The riders were black as coal, with their eyes and interiors glowing like fire. These were Karnage’s men and they were not welcome in Delphine’s realm.

“General Raisa, you are ordered to come with us or else!” the leader of the three commanded.

Mizuki readied her sword. “Who are they!?”

Raisa grabbed the oni and put her in the sack. “Karnage’s Death Riders, his elite soldiers!”

Thinking fast, Raisa had a wreckless plan. First she snapped her fingers, sending the village somewhere else. The riders were approaching, so Raisa opened her mouth, causing it to unhinge in the process. A torrent of smoke billowed out of her, beginning to glow as her body heated up. Once she was ready, she cocked her head up as a devastating laser shot out of her mouth. Raisa moved her head back and forth as the riders scrambled to get out of the path of the destruction.

Razor was stunned at the mayhem that had been caused. “Raisa, are you sure you couldn’t take on Karnage with that!?”

“I’m still working on that technique!” she replied as she fumbled for the sack and booked it out of there.

“Wait, shouldn’t Delphine know about this already?!” Mizuki questioned.

“Aunt Delphine is tolerating them due to the conflict!” Raisa answered as she ran. She then leapt up into the air to create some distance between her and the riders, who were beginning to pursue her.

“Then we definitely need to tell Delphine!” Mizuki exclaimed.

“You don’t need to tell me twice!” Raisa then got out what looked like a flip phone and dialed a number. “Hannibal, I’M IN TROUBLE!”

The Death Riders had fully recovered from Raisa’s attack and were hot on her tail. They were getting close, with others joining in on the chase. Just as Raisa heard the hoof beats catch up with her, something caught the riders off guard. A cacophony of engines roared behind them and they were gaining fast.

It was the Void Orcs, specifically an attack squadron led by Hannibal Skull Thrasher. The Void Orcs were hulking, muscular warriors with crimson skin and decked out in cobbled together armor. Their fortified vehicles rattled and shook as they rocketed across the crystal plains, but held together as flames erupted from their exhaust pipes. The Death Riders had not expected the Void Orcs and were barely able to respond to the spiked clubs and gunshots they were assaulted with.

One vehicle that appeared to be a chariot mixed with a monster truck was looking for Raisa amongst the chaos. On look out was Hannibal, a Void Orc of great musculature, a strong jaw, and the best armor out of all of his men. Driving was his wife, Brunehilde. She was fairly muscular herself with her tied back and her own armor tailored to her sensibilities.

“There she is, Brunehilde! At 12 o’clock!” Hannibal pointed out.

“I see her! Get ready, honey!”

Hannibal got out a huge, double barreled shotgun and pointed it right at the rider that was about to catch Raisa. He pulled the trigger, causing the bullets to shoot towards the rider. The pursuer stood no chance as he exploded into a mess of bones that was quickly run over by another vehicle. With that taken care of, Hannibal reached and called out to Raisa. She took his hand and was hefted into the flat bed, with Tusk and the others popping out of the sack.

“Floor it, Brunehilde!” Hannibal called out.

She happily slammed her foot on the gas pedal. “Loud and clear, dear!”

“How are you doing, kid?” Hannibal asked Raisa. “They didn’t hurt you, did they?”

“Nah, they didn’t get a chance” Raisa answered as she collected her bearings.

“I am so confused right now!” Razor complained.

Tusk laughed. “Same. This is on par with when I met Vlastimir!”

“Hey, is that Tusk Willfort back here?!” Hannibal inquired.

“I take it my reputation precedes me?”

“Well of course it does! The whole bloody realm knows how you saved the Cosmos from that bolt-brained Lich. Pleasure to meet you!” He said as they shook hands.

Mizuki took a look at the battle raging behind them. The Void Orcs and Death Riders were fighting brutally, a spectacle truly beyond belief. “Goodness, just wait until Master Susanoo hears about this…”

Next: Chapter 14

ULTRAMagic Alternate © 2022 William Ford II (ChaoticTempleKnight)

[fe-fictions]

Hey ! Do you have the fic where Byleth heard what the noblewomen were saying about her, so she was obviously S A D and there was Dimitri so yeah I hope u see what I mean cuz I haven't explained it quite well ;v;

(I do have the story abt noble loser ladies tryna steal yo man ;0)

He was speaking to them, again. A hoard of noblewomen flocked around Dimitri with bright smiles pasted on their faces. They laughed at every little thing he said, humorous or not. You watched them with a frown.

It was early in the morning, so the king had barely stepped out of your quarters before he was swarmed. You thought you’d try to sleep in a little longer, but the high-pitched squawking of pretentious women made your blood boil.

So you watched from the doorway, and hoped Dimitri was turning them away. He seemed stiff, and uncomfortable...but he addressed them politely, nonetheless.

Hurt twisted in your chest, knowing there were plenty of laws in place that would allow him to take one (or several) of them as a concubine. The very thought made your heart wrench. It wasn’t a very pleasant feeling.

Dimitri wouldn’t want them, though. He assured you that his heart beat only for you, that you were everything to him, and you’d been through far too much to ever consider loving anyone else. You knew that much to be true, and so you trusted him.

It just wasn’t easy.

Your gaze jumped to the women when they shrieked a terrible fit of giggles. Your lips turned further downward. He seemed to be genuinely entertaining them.

You were drawn out of your thoughts when you realized someone was knocking on the door you were currently standing behind, and you looked up to see Annette looking at you, an understanding expression hidden behind her smile.

“Good morning, Archbishop Byleth!” She said in far too loud a voice, and you immediately felt the eyes of your husband and some of the women on you.

At least the flirting stopped.

“How do you do, Annette?” You replied as smoothly as you could. She dipped her head in a brief curtsy before pulling the door completely open.

“I am fine, thank you!” She replied cheerfully, “Would you like to come out and speak with His Majesty? I’m sure he’d love your company.”

“I guess, but…” Your gaze flitted to the envious looks of the women, “I don’t think they would.”

Dimitri’s gaze lingered on you when you followed after Annette.

You seemed a bit upset, and that concerned him. Carefully excusing himself from the now void conversation, he made his way to the bedroom.

The women seemed a touch upset that he was abandoning them, but they weren’t the one on his mind.

It took a moment for you to acknowledge him, but your expression remained as cool as ever when you did.

“Dima...I thought you had duties to attend to.”

He nodded, “I was planning to, however I ran into a few...obstructions in my path.” He replied simply. You did your best to maintain.

“Well, now that you’ve escaped, is there something you need…?” You asked softly, and he nodded again, walking towards you.

“You seem a bit off-color this morning, Byleth.” He mentioned, standing in front of you. The concern was flickering deep in those beautiful red eyes.

You sighed and shook your head, careful not to say anything about the women. After all, they were nobility. One doesn’t speak ill of the nobility.

“It’s nothing, I promise. I just...had a bad dream.”

“You were fine before I left.” He pointed out, making you shrug. “You aren’t lying to me, are you?”

“No!” You denied, the tone of your voice giving you away without even realizing it. He quirked an eyebrow, turning your nerves into indignance. “I...didn’t want to worry you with it, is all.”

“Oh, really?” He leaned closer a hand coming to trace the dip between your neck and shoulder. “Well, consider me worried. Dare I ask what this alleged nightmare was about?”

You huffed, chewing the inside of your cheek as you searched for a scapegoat. “It was just...those women. There are so many of them.” You finally said, making his brow furrow. “All swarming around you like a bunch of vultures. It was frightening.”

“Beloved...are you jealous?”

“J-jealous? Of what, those awful women? No,” You give a forced laugh, “I’d never be jealous of people like them.”

“Yet you seem distressed. Come, Byleth. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong, and I’m not jealous.” You fired at him, pulling away from his hand and crossing your arms over your chest. “I’m just...worried.” “Worried?” He repeated, brow furrowing. “Whatever could you be worried about?”

You heard him sigh, and felt his hands on both shoulders. Gently he turned you to face him, his gloveless hands warm against your skin.

“If you’re worried about me thinking less of you for some reason, you needn’t be.” He stated in a quiet voice, making you look up at him. “You are my one and only Beloved. No one else compares.”

“But there could always be someone who piques your interest in different ways, right? I’ve heard that’s why rulers will take many concubines, in addition to a queen...to satisfy all their desires.” You pointed out, making his fingers tense.

“Byleth…”

“I’ve learned a lot about what royalty can and cannot do, and among that are all the rules that come with choosing a concubine. A queen must hold her place politically, but you can take on as many women as you want in addition to me. I could be cast aside without another thought, and-”

Well, you hadn’t meant to say all that. The words spilled out of you without warning, blurting out all the insecurities that had been silently building up over time.

The hurt that flashed in his eyes made your mistake evident.

It wasn’t like Dimitri had done anything to foster those fears to begin with. He seemed to be talented when it came to turning those women away, yet those whispers of doubt successfully took over your mind.

Dimitri could see that, and he wouldn’t have it any longer.

“You could, but you won’t be.” He said firmly, giving your arms a squeeze. “I would never replace you, regardless of whether it was my right or not.”

He watched as your face transformed from hurt to hope. It made a small smile cross his lips, and he took your hands in his.

“You are my queen, and you alone. I don’t need another, and I never will. Any purpose for a concubine has already been fulfilled by you, Beloved.” He explained, his lips tapping your forehead. “Although I wouldn’t want one, anyway.”

“Dimitri...I-I...I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for. There are many rules and laws in place that are ridiculous and uncomfortable. I should be apologizing for allowing you to feel so anxious without realizing what was going on.”

You squeezed his hands. “Thank you for being patient with me. I-I do trust you. I just...need to practice.”

“I have all the patience in the world and more for you, my love. Take all the time you need to get adjusted to this life. I’ll gladly wait for you.” He smiled at you, “Now come, we’ve some matters to attend to. I would rather avoid being stopped by the…‘noble’ women, this time.”

You bit back a grin. “Don’t let them hear you say it like that. They’ll know you’re unimpressed.”

“I don’t intend to.” He replied again, escorting you down the hall alongside him. You followed with a bit of a skip in your step, practically glowing with the knowledge your husband was actually a far better man than any that came before him.

The jealous glares that burned into your back just made the realization even sweeter.