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remembrancer-of-heresy · 3 months ago

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The Bloody Trio (Headcanons about main characters)

AU Reverse Therapy

Author's Note: In this post I decided to tell how I came up with the characters and some facts about them.

Tag List: @kit-williams, @druidwolf21, @pluvio-tea

Character: Malina

*collage pictures: 1, 2, 3, 4

Age: was kidnapped saved when she was 23

Height: 5,74 (175)

Description: dark brown eyes, dark shoulder length brown hair with bangs, olive skin.

Distinguishing features: none.

References: I love the Yellowjackets series and Lottie Matthews is my favorite character. This is exactly how I imagined Malina. One day I just rewatched one episode and thought that Malina definetly has the same Bambi eyes. + the actress also starred in Mad Max (an amazing series of films). It is not surprising that this is the image that appeared in my head.

Name: name Malina is a female name of Greek origin meaning "raspberry". By the way in some slavic names a word "malina" literally can be translated as a "raspberry". But this name is also a short version of a hebew name Magdalena (which means “tower”, “soothing” and also “raspberry”). I chose this name because Luka thought it sounded sweet and innocent. The girl is loved by the Space Marines, but it's a very dark, obsessive and unhealthy love. They gave her the name as if she were a pet. The heroine has a real name, but it was not mentioned because the girl had to get used to her new home. And for that, she had to become Malina.

Facts about character:

The girl grew up on the agri-world of Astarte in the Segmentum Obscurus sector. The planet was home to about 300,000 people. Most agri-worlds are polluted places, the sky is orange, and people are forced to work in gas masks. But most does not mean all. On Astarte, the sky is blue, and the atmosphere is not polluted. The planet's main export is fruits and berries.

During the Thirteenth Black Crusade, the Maelstrom merged with the Great Rift and the Red Corsairs have now been sighted further from their home than ever before (from Lexicanum). It was for this reason that the Red Corsairs attacked Astarte.

In fact, her uncle did not find a copy of the book about the Sister of Battle and the Imperial soldier. He was the one who wrote it for his beloved niece. It was the original, there were no copies. He always had heretical thoughts, so it is not surprising why he joined the Chaosites. He believes that his entire family perished under the rubble of the building.

Malina wears rather simple clothes, although made of good quality fabric (the space marines bring her new clothes from looting). Long skirts, shirts, and sometimes dresses of a simple cut, but with cute patterns (she doesn't know that sparkles are literally gold). And of course, she constantly throws a shawl over her shoulders. Malina generally likes to bury herself in a blanket up to her head or hide in Luka's or Virgil's shoulder.

Even after she has finally come to terms with her situation, she still reads religious books. Luke and Virgil very rarely, but still sometimes allow Saint Ignatius to come "to visit" so that Malina can pray with him. This lasts for 15 minutes at most, but that is enough for the girl. However, now she cannot say for sure whether she really believes in God-Emperor or prays because it calms her down like lullabies in childhood.

As her uncle used to say, the girl is very resourceful. She has a rather mediocre education. But considering that many inhabitants of the Imperium do not have it, she stands out significantly. She can read and likes it (especially fairy tales and romance novels). Malina has a sense of humor. And the fact that she jokes with a serious, and sometimes innocent, face makes it even funnier and cute (at least in the eyes of Luka and Virgil).

Malina loves Luka and Virgil. She forced herself to become attached to them, receiving a bit of tenderness from the Space Marines. Besides, it was better than being outside the quarters. She began to behave more freely with them, jokes and sometimes climbs up to the men for hugs. But even so, Malina is still afraid of them, because she understands that they are kind only to her. And other mortals suffer from meeting them.

Character: Luka The Angel

*Collage pictures: 1, 2, 3, 4

Age: around 30-35

Height: 6,98 (213)

Description: blue eyes, beeline honey hair, pale skin, snub nose.

Distinguishing features: has a one scar on the left eyebrow and freckles on the cheeks and nose.

Wears standard Lamenters armour, with the symbol of Chaos Undivided painted on his belt and the symbol of the Red Corsairs on his right shoulder pad.

References: I think Luka's appearance and personality appeared in my head thanks to the art of Natalia Kikicheva. Blood Angel (in the centre), and two lamenters. And I'm also sure that I was also impressed by Varial by @kit-williams and Theo by @pluvio-tea. And Luka's image was slightly influenced by such a character as Raleigh Becket from Pacific Rim.

Name: The name Luka is thought to mean “bringer of light” or “man of light”. The name Luka is derived from the Latin word “lux”, which means “light”. The same name had Luke the Evangelist. Malina sees Luka as her savior while her planet is being torn apart by heretics. He was supposed to be a beacon of hope for humanity as the Lamenter, but he ended up being a traitor.

Facts about character:

Luka had a loving family and always wanted to be a hero. He was one of the most promising Lamenters. Just 2 years after becoming a Space Marine, his first mission became his last as a Loyalist. On one of the death worlds, his small squad was abandoned by the Lamenters as they were considered dead. Due to the extreme conditions, Luka literally ate his comrades. Some of them were still alive.

Luckily for him, the Red Corsairs were passing by. Bacchus didn't even have to persuade Luka, as he said he would go with them when they met (the worst part is that he was smiling at the time, finishing off his brother's head). At first, he lived with three other Space Marines, but later ate them. Bacchus considered them trash, so he didn't care much about it. After that, Luka was handed over to Vergil, who was supposed to be the Lamenter's mentor.

Luka considers Virgil his best friend. He is much easier to talk to and he doesn't even want to eat him. The Lamenter is obviously one of Bacchus' favorites due to his obedience and incredible combat skills (and he was only a neophyte recently). Therefore, he is forgiven for a lot. In particular, because of his character. Even Eurydice can't stay angry with him for long.

One of the few Space Marines who did not change his armor. He only added a couple of insignia to distinguish him from a loyalist. However, it is warriors like him who are the best strategy for boarding. Since the Imperials who see loyalist traitors are immediately confused.

Luka suffers from cannibalistic desires. Lamenters do not suffer from the Black Rage as much as other sons of Sanguinius. However, after the death world, Luka constantly suffers from bloodlust. But it is because of this that his "failure" (if this is not an Imperial myth) disappeared and he became more successful. After he met Malina, he began to suffer from Blood Thirst even more and ate more and more mortals (he also started to eat children which makes him really sad). But thanks to such a sacrifice to the Chaos Gods, he will never be able to harm the girl and she will live with him forever.

Luka sacrifices and performs rituals to the Chaos Gods like all Red Corsairs out of necessity. He does not despise Chaos Undivided, he simply does not care.

Before, Luka was much kinder for a heretic. He constantly saved children and dragged them to the ship. Although his previous neighbors eventually abused the children, which upset him very much (that is why he eventually ate them). And also after the reverse therapy, he began to "court" girls. Or rather, kidnap them. But all his attempts turned into failures. 5 girls died by "accident" (fucked to death, drank too much blood, another space marine killed), but he tortured 3 himself because they behaved badly.

After he found Malina, he did not care about all the mortal girls. He is literally obsessed with her and worships her, which has never happened with any other mortal. Because of this, he has become even more deadly and effective on the battlefield. Now Luka himself leads the warriors to boarding and commands the squad. Luka is extremely emotional and behaves almost like a child. He can be very nice to some people. But at the same time, he is also cruel to others. Luka is unstable and extremely dangerous chaosite. And this is coupled with his angelic appearance.

NSFW Facts:

Luka always wants to see Malina's face. To watch her face twist, her eyes water. To see how she finally starts to quietly make sounds from unprecedented sensations. Not seeing her face is taboo. And he also likes her small breasts. He thinks they look charming.

That's why most often, when it comes to bed, it's the missionary position. Or she sits on his lap, resting on his chest. He just adores how she clings to him. As if he is the only person who will protect her. As if HE is her God-Emperor.

He gets an erection EVERY time Malina calls him "Angel". This is Luka's favorite nickname. But he also loves to hear Malina praise him. That he saved her, how noble and handsome he is. How she gently touches his shoulders, cheekbones and cheeks. Looks into his eyes.

And if this happens during sex, it is harder for Luka to restrain himself. The Lamenter would also like to say something to her, but he is too delighted and obsessed with her at such moments. Therefore, he only moans and growls like an animal. His pupils dilate, and drool flows from his mouth. And the whole process is really rough. The girl is always terribly scared and Luka later has to apologize to her for a long time and wipe away her tears.

But after sex, he hugs her and kisses her entire face, saying how lucky he is. How wonderful and gentle she is. How he will take care of her. Always. That he will kill for her. He is ready to drown everything in blood just to get her a beautiful dress or feed her with berries in chocolate. And yes, if he said so, then he would do it.

Character: Virgil

*collage pictures: 1, 2, 3, 4

Age: more than 650 years

Height: 7,44 (227)

Description: red eyes, bald, grey almost white skin, white eyebrows, shark-like claw teeth, long black tongue.

Distinguishing features: Has several scars on the face. The largest ones locates along the nose. And the second one on the lip to the cheek on the left side of the face.

Has a armor of Red Corsars with the sign of Flesh Tearer on the left shoulder pad. On the belt is a cut piece of human's skin. Has a three stakes with skulls behind the back.

Reference: I think Virgil's appearance came to me spontaneously. I just imagined a typical Chaos Space Marine. But when it comes to his personality or history, I remember this meme. And I think I was also partly inspired by Immortan Joe (more from Furiosa, not Fury Road). If I had thought up Malina and Luka a long time ago, then Virgil’s character and personality were finally formed while I was writing him.

Name: The character was named after the Roman poet Virgil. Or to be more precise, in his image of the guide from Dante's Divine Comedy. Only this Virgil does not embody the human mind. And he is not just a guide in Hell and Purgatory, he literally lives there. And no, in Warhammer our flesh tearer and Chapter Master of the Blood Angels did not meet.

Facts about character:

Virgil had been fighting for the Imperium for quite some time. He was a rank-and-file Flesh Tearer, no different from his brothers. Virgil was not a sociable person, always hiding in the shadows. And in truth, he defended the Imperium as if he was following a manual. He was born an orphan and decided to become a Flesh Tearer in order to become a warrior. He only cared about war.

He did not consider the Black Rage a curse of Sanguinius. More like a gift. Moreover, he suspected that the Red Thirst was a manifestation of Chaos. Virgil always had contempt for mortals. So it is not surprising that at some point he decided to join the heretics. It was a conscious decision after 150 years of service to the Imperium. In his opinion, Chaos could give him more strength and power. And then he met the Red Corsairs.

If Virgil did not stand out in the ranks of the Flesh Tearers, then after serving under the hands of Bacchus, he quickly rose through the ranks. He enjoys power, although he does not seek to take Bacchus's place. He is much happier with his current position.

Although when he was given Luka to look after, he was not at all happy about it. But in the end he got used to the puppy, even finding him funny. But he can't call him a friend, because he never had any friends. For Virgil, Luca will always be a puppy that needs to be looked after, even if he became his leader in an alternate universe. In addition, it was thanks to him that Virgil got Malina.

The Flesh Tearer did not stand on ceremony with girls, simply raping them, and sometimes killing them during the process. But Malina calms him down and Virgil unexpectedly for himself became very attached to her (although, unlike Luka, at the very beginning he saw her as just a pretty face). Now he really does care about her in a genuine way, which is still new to him.

Virgil is constantly angry and almost always irritated. Although, unlike many Space Marines, he behaves more calmly. Therefore, it is very important for him to relax. Because of this, he often uses drugs and constantly goes to apotecary Baphomet for a new injection. Since he no longer tries to control the Blood Thirst, he can now drink blood whenever he wants.

NSFW Facts:

Virgil wants his partners quietly during sex the most. But suddenly, after Malina appeared, he realized that he liked the way she slept.The way her eyelashes flutter, the way her whole face relaxes. The way her lips open just a little. They are so wet with saliva. She is so relaxed. And if he also gets her drunk or uses the right drug (but only a safe one), then her body is more like jelly.

He loves to please her. Virgil thought that the Gods of Chaos gave him such a long tongue to better feel blood and the taste of drugs. Maybe, but now he uses it to devour her pussy. And he is very skilled at it. And if Malina is on her period that day, he can do this for 2-3 rounds. And considering that he forbids Luka to lick Malina, he practically works for two.

He is very slow and careful. Virgil does not want Malina to wake up. And sometimes that is exactly what he wants. After all, Malina is a good girl, she will be quiet. She will try not to make sounds and will even try to fall asleep again. And if she cries quietly, Virgil will get even more excited and will start licking her tears. Because of them, he wants to take care of her.

After Virgil finishes, he looks at the girl for a long time. And is silent. And this process lasts quite a long time, which makes Malina feel uncomfortable. Because it looks very creepy. After that, Virgil lies down on his bed. Very rarely, he kisses the girl on the forehead goodbye.

#oc: luka the angel #oc: vergil #oc: malina #the bloody trio #my ocs

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lucaswarmhotchocolate · 2 months ago

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Andrea Mowry is literally the queen of knitting patterns tbh

Winter honey shawl :-3 don’t worry I haven’t forgotten about my sweater but oh my god stockinette… is so boring… switched my project up this afternoon. I’m using drops Alaska in 02 and a 5.0mm needle for a slightly tighter gauge than recommended. It is literally the thickest squishiest fabric I have ever made in my life

#knitting

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void-ink-studios · 1 year ago

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Gala of the Gods (Part 2)

Part two for you lovely people!

Also, I've definitely decided, I'm absolutely drawing their outfits. Scarab's outfit is heavily inspired by the idea of him reclaiming his identity, so I hope y'all like it!

And, surprise, this is actually a 3 parter, sorry. I really thought this would be two parts, but this one ballooned a bit. So, we'll have the conclusion tomorrow! Sorry...

Part 1 | Part 2 -You Are Here- | Part 3

Word Count: 3,100

Prismo needed a moment to process what he was seeing. Scarab, his beautiful Scarab... He was stunning. He was shameless.

Scarab was sleek most of the time anyway, but the long black dress only made him seem more so. It reached all the way up his neck and cascaded down his chest, with his back completely exposed. He tied a black and gold sash around his middle to highlight his natural body shape, and the edges barely touched the ground. He accessorized with thin golden chains flowing down his neck and chest, almost in a spiderweb pattern, with a scarab beetle shaped pendent in the middle of it all.

Prismo nearly missed that Scarab's secondary arms were out as well, delicately folded in front of him, holding an elegant black cane. All of his hands were styled with long, fingerless gloves, ones that showed off his talons.

His head what backed by what seemed to be his mask plates, but... modified somehow. It made his head's silhouette appear to have antenna, albeit in a stylized manner.

Draped around his shoulders and upper arms was some kind of shawl. Except... The Wishmaster looked closer and realized it was made out of... butterfly wings. Small cloth butterfly wings, with small gold detailing.

But that wasn't even the real showstopper. That would be what Scarab had done to his wings.

It was clear they weren't real, but that didn't seem to be the point. The shimmery, almost crystal-like add-ons were not there to disguise his missing wings, as where the garment ended and his real wing's remains began were pretty clear if you were paying attention. They were intricately crafted, stylized with eye and arm patterns in the threading between the pearlescent fabric he had used.

He looked like royalty. And wasn't Prismo so lucky to have that?

"S-Scarab... Holy Glob man, you... you look so..."

Scarab gave him a timid but loving smile, waiting for him to finish his thought.

"You're stunning, Lovebug. So beautiful..." Prismo reached for one of Scarab's hands, which was happily accepted.

"Thank you, Prismo... I... I was starting to doubt this the closer to the time it was... wondering if this was... too much."

"It's not too much at all, Scrabs. You look so... proud. You don't even have your mask on, out here."

Scarab made a low chirp in relief, giving Prismo a look of... confidence, he decided.

"Because... I'm tired of hiding. You... you made me feel beautiful when everyone else tried to make me think I was some... creepy little creature. But... I'm not living for them. Not anymore. I am a god, just like you and just like them, and I'm tired of letting them make me forget that. So. I'm here. With everything they thought creepy out and proud. No mask. No hiding my claws or extra arms. No pretending what they took from me never existed."

Prismo looked at him in sheer awe. The more he spoke, the taller, more confident he seemed. He held his head up high, his chest out, his elytra clicking together softly.

"I'm so happy for you, Scarab. That you've gotten to a point where you can do this... so publicly... I know it might not mean much coming from me, but I'm so, so proud of you."

Scarab smiled wide, letting out the prettiest of chirps toward the Wishmaster.

"Trust me, it means the world, coming from you."

Prismo returned the smile, offering Scarab his arm. The beetle gladly wrapped around it, as they walked together back towards their little friend group.

"Darling, you look wonderful" Life cooed, giving Scarab a soft peck on the cheek. Death gave him a nod and a thumbs up.

"Yeah man, you look amazing! I'm glad you made it" Cos added. It seems the three pointedly noticed Scarab wrapped around Prismo's arm, but none decided to comment directly.

"Thank you, all of you. You all look great as well. Cos, anymore incidents of Profiteering I should know about?"

The group laughed as Cos's feathers all flared up in an indignant squawk, all of them making their way to the main party. Prismo could barely take his eyes off the beauty hanging off his arm, taking the last little moment of quiet to softly kiss Scarab's upper arm. He felt the beetle squeeze his arm in response, mandibles clicking nervously.

What that group must've looked like walking in. Heads certainly turned as gods slowly realized what they were looking at. Everybody's pal, Prismo, with the equally feared and hated former God Auditor Scarab hanging off his arm.

The whispers began almost immediately after.

Oh my glob, is that Scarab?

Did you hear Scarab got demoted? He's been working under Prismo now, poor guy.

Should've happened a long time ago. What did Prismo do to get stuck with him?

Must be some kind of blackmail, I heard Prismo vouched for him.

Why are they so close to each other? Should we say something to get Prismo away from him?

Is that the Cosmic Owl? And Death? Why are they hanging out with him I thought they were cool?

Must be because of Prismo? Maybe Death is just used to the creepy stuff. His poor wife though...

Prismo grit his teeth as he listened. While Scarab seemed to be taking it in stride like he was used to this, Prismo was steaming. What, did he just not have his own agency? Was being manipulated the only way some of these jerks could conceive to be the reason one might hang out with Scarab?

The two of them made their way to the snack and drink table, Prismo trying to quell the bubbling anger with some Star Punch. He very rarely got to drink this stuff, so he was going to take advantage, dammit. He felt a little awkward holding the delicate glasses, but he was not going to be bested by a fancy cup. He heard Scarab's claws tap lightly against the glass. Nervous tick.

Distantly, Prismo spotted Hunson chatting with Orbo. The sight of the orb made his stomach clench.

"Prismo, dude, how's it been man!"

His attention jumped to Party God, who, like usual, had bulldozed over any social conventions to talk.

"Party God, nice to see you. I've been pretty good, actually! How about you?"

"Oh, you know, partying up in the multiverse. I miss hanging out at your crib, dawg. When are you gonna start hosting again?"

"Oh, I dunno. I just haven't really been in the mood for hosting a big crowd. I'm only here because it's nice not having to play host."

"C'mon Pris! You don't have to sugar coat it just 'cause he's here. Your his boss, it's not like he can say shit."

Prismo prickled again.

"Sugar coat what?"

"You know, that Scarab's killing the vibe? That's what Orbo's been saying at least. No offense, Scarab, but you're kind of a stick in the mud. The Time Room's like, infinite, yeah? Can't you just, like, hang out in the basement and let Prismo party in peace?"

Scarab's face hardened, but didn't break. He didn't dignify it with a response, just sipped his Star Punch.

"Look, PG, I don't know or care what Orbo's been saying. But Scarab's not the problem. I don't want to host right now. I'm tired. I just want to hang out with some friends and chill for now. I promise, if I party again, you'd be the first to know. But don't insinuate Scarab should hide in the basement of his own home."

Both Scarab and PG seemed shocked at Prismo's retaliation, who took advantage of the pause to pull Scarab away from the offending god.

"Prismo... You... You know you don't have to defend me, right? I'm used to this, you do not need to defend my honor or anything."

That just seemed to make Prismo madder.

"That's the thing, Scarab. It's not cool that you're just... used to that! It's not okay that everything thinks they can just... that they can just be cruel to you, in front of me, because they think I'm 'in on the joke.' I'm not in on it. And I'm going to call out each and every one of them that thinks that's an okay thing to say."

"B-But... Prismo, you're everybody's pal! There's no need to burn bridges for my sake, I don't care what they think anymore. I just care that you're you. And you're not a cruel god. Don't let me turn you into one..."

"I don't wanna be pals with people who're mean to you. I'm not cruel for setting boundaries. And one of my new boundaries is you. I love you, darn it, and I'm not going to set that aside for some... I dunno, meaningless friendships?"

Scarab made a shy little chirp as he processed what Prismo just said. He looked so unsure about this, but... honored.

"...Would you care to dance with me, my dear?"

"I'd like nothing more."

The pair found their way to the dancefloor, and it felt like everyone else disappeared. The whole room emptied. It was just Prismo and Scarab, locked into a gentle step with each other.

Prismo marveled at the beautiful creature in his arms. He'd always though Scarab had a sleek and dangerous elegance to him, but oh how lucky the Wishmaster was to see more sides of it. Scarab had a tender side, one that sang and wrote and painted with a gentle joy untouched by expectations. He could and would cherish every moment he had with the beetle. Especially with Scarab looking at Prismo as if he put the stars in the sky.

Soon, the room refilled as their dance ended. Scarab chirped sweetly, nuzzling Prismo's cheek.

Conversation slowly oozed into the noise around them, the whispering returning.

What is he doing?

How can anyone stand being that close to Scarab of all things?

What are those noises he's making? Is he about to snap or something?

Scarab huffed at that, but it quickly dissipated as Cos wandered over and started chatting about Card Wars with him. Prismo gave Scarab's arm a light squeeze to get his attention.

"Lovebug, I'm gonna go grab some snacks from the table. You want anything?"

"Oh, no, I'm okay, thank you Prismo."

Prismo nodded, hesitantly detaching himself from Scarab's side. He was hungry, but he didn't want to abandon his partner at a party like this. But he figured Cos would make a good enough barrier for the time it'd take him to come back.

What he did not account for was people suddenly feeling bold enough to come up to him.

"Prismo! Dude, I'm sorry about getting stuck with Scarab like that, can't imagine having to play babysitter to that freak."

"Prismo, what's with this thing Orbo's been saying that Scarab's been weirding you out?"

"Prismo, why the heck would you stick your neck out for Scarab of all people, you should've just let the hammer come down and done us all a favor."

He felt his magic simmer. While Prismo the Wishmaster was not the same as Old Man Prismo the wizard, he was still an all powerful Wishmaster. He could feel his emotions starting to boil.

"Scarab's not a problem, he's actually pretty cool if you get to know him." That's all he could manage without risk of blowing up at someone. But he swore to glob, if one more person mentioned Scarab he'd-

"Prismo. Mate. Let's talk."

He nearly shattered the fancy glass in his hands as he turned to look at Orbo. Just the god he didn't want to speak to.

"I thought our last talk made it pretty clear what I thought."

"Look, some things were said that were regretted, but I need to talk to you, 'bout your bug problem."

Deep breaths, Prismo, don't start a fight in the Judgement Hall.

"I talked to some of the higher ups and, if you give the word, we'll pull Scarab from the Time Room. Could do it right now if you wanted, wouldn't be a hassle. It's actually be my pleasure. He's changing you, mate."

"Changing me?"

"You're acting so... weird, Prismo. You're supposed to be cool, you're everybody's buddy but now? It's like he's turning you into another of him, you know? He already killed the vibe in the Time Room, I don't want him messing your whole deal up."

"I already told you, Orbo. He's not the one messing with the vibe. He's pretty cool when you get to know him. When you're not calling him a freak."

"But, like, you get that he is, right? He's just a beetle. I'm surprised he even got an invite to this, considering he's not even an Auditor anymore. But, the point is, that thing you turned into? That ain't you mate, that him poisoning the vibe. It's my fault, I shouldn't have let you that close to him. But, I can fix it, right now, if you just say the word. I'll find something else to do with him. Where he can't bother you anymore."

Prismo snapped. He couldn't take the smug look the orb had anymore.

"Okay, stop. Just stop it, Orbo. Scarab is cool. I volunteered. I'm sick of everyone acting like I made some kind of mistake or treat me like an idiot. I'm the almighty Prismo. I can make my own choices. And my choice was to come to this dance with Scarab, as my partner, and I'm gonna keep cheering him on as he's embracing his true self. The person you tore apart and tried to smother. So, you're right, it is your fault Orbo, but now in the way you think.

He didn't realize he raised his voice. But he certainly did after noticing everyone staring at him, in shocked silence. He took a heavy breath and rubbed his face from irritation.

It's at this point that Scarab, sweet Scarab decided to investigate what was taking Prismo so long.

"Prismo...? Everything okay?"

"Hey, back off mate" Orbo butted in. Scarab visibly flinched, stepping back as the orb rolled far too close to him. "I don't know what you've been saying to him, but it stops now! You've turned our buddy against us! I should've squashed you the second you turned up in the Judgement Hall."

Orbo looked like he was getting bigger, getting threateningly close to Scarab, until Life and Death stepped between them.

"That's enough, amigo. Scarab isn't your enemy. We're all coworkers, right?"

"Death? You too mate?"

"Orbo, you need to stop. You might be unsettled by bugs, but it does not deny their right to exist."

"Life? What is happening to you lot? It's Scarab. He's a beetle for Glob's sake! Bugs. Do not. Belong here."

"You're a sociopath," Cos sneered at the orb.

Orbo looked like he was about to retort, when the lights went out. A murmur of confusion fell over the party, a creeping, freezing cold spreading through the air. Originating from... Prismo?

"THAT'S ENOUGH" came a horrible, whispery growl. Dark shadows swirled around where the friendly old man used to stand. A dark figure rose from his mouth, a bright purple eye staring down at Orbo and the other party goers.

"Oh sho-Hoot..." Scarab heard Cosmic Owl whisper.

"What... is that...?"

"That's... Nightmo. You know how Prismo's a dream? Well... meet the nightmare."

Scarab looked up in horror at the jagged edges and ice cold air surrounding his soft, lovely Prismo. It hissed violently, surging forward to swipe at Orbo and the others around him.

Panic erupted throughout the hall.

"Wh-What do we do?"

"We... We have to get him to calm down. We need light! We need a light we can point!"

Scarab nodded, his hands trembling to his cane. He tapped it to the ground once, a shining crystal revealing itself at the handle. He pointed it up, a small beam of light shooting up into the sky.

"Prismo, buddy, you gotta take a breath man" Cos urged, flying around to keep Nightmo's attention.

Scarab swiped the beam across the dark figure, causing him to recoil and hiss, shrinking ever so slightly.

"Keep doing that, Scrabs! If we get it small enough, we can calm him down!"

The beetle nodded, dodging and weaving the shadows that swiped indiscriminately, taking potshots with the crystal light as he moved. He winced at the vile hisses that sounded so close to Prismo's voice, but not quite right.

But he was trained for this. He had taken down gods much scarier than this. He had killed the mouth of the void as just a beetle. He could do this.

He had to.

He managed to flash the light directly into the shadow's eyes, a shrieking yowl echoing around the room.

"Try to get closer!"

Scarab crept in closer. He saw the small shadow pouring from Prismo's mouth, writhing like a snake.

"Prismo!"

Both the body and shadow snapped to look at Scarab. The beetle winced at the empty look in Prismo's eyes, the shadow in control.

"Prismo... my dear..."

The shadow yowled, snapping and hissing as Scarab drew closer.

"Come back to me, my dear... I know you're there..."

"STAY AWAY."

"I won't, dear. I know you're there. Come back to me, love."

Scarab purred out an experimental chirp. Nightmo tipped its head at him, hissing a little quieter.

"Yes, that's right, love. Come back to me." He gave a few more chirps, finally close enough to Prismo to touch him. The shadow yowled at the contact, but Scarab shushed him.

"Shh... This is not you, Prismo. You are not cruel. You are kind. So so kind. Better than any of us deserve. You are good. Come back to us."

Nightmo whimpered, breath wheezing as it shrunk smaller.

Scarab pulled Prismo into his arms, coiling around him. He began to sing. He chirped a calm melody, one well known to the two of them. He rubbed circles into Prismo's back, squeezing him softly. He tried to warm, combat against the cold.

And the snake retreated into his burrow.

The lights returned and the cold faded. Scarab felt Prismo reach up to rub the soft underbody nestled between his wings. He purred lovingly, nuzzling into the side of the Wishmaster's head.

"There you are love. That's better."

There was a loud silence in the Judgement Hall. Almost all the gods had backed away, a five-foot radius all around. Murmurings rose up to fill the silence, none quite sure what to make of what happened, what they're seeing.

Cos approached first, casting a protective wing over the both of them.

"Are you guys okay...?"

"I think... I want to go home" Prismo whispered.

"Not. So. Fast."

The Hall fell into a harsh silence once again.

Scarab looked up from Prismo's shoulder. And saw the Organizer at the top of it all.

"I'd like you two in my office. Now."

#prohibitedwish #scarab x prismo #scarab the god auditor #prismo the wishmaster #cosmic owl #death #life #prohibitedwish fanfic #wrath of the wishmaster

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nestingtendencies · 11 months ago

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Hello, my lovelies!

For some reason I don't post here often as just... me - the person behind NestingTendencies. I'm not quite sure why this is; I guess most of my crafting needs are catered to by Ravelry, as a platform. But I do realise that I have many, many wonderful followers, who have been regularly reblogging both the patterns that have piqued my interests and my own creations. And for that I am very grateful!

So I'd like to try and be a bit more social here; get to know you a little, learn what projects you're working on, and show you what's on my own hook!

First up is the Mariposa Sweater which has been the bane of my existence sole focus of my work since January!

You see, one of my new year's resolutions was to grow as a crafter beyond shawls, which are my specialty, and make sosme sweaters and jumpers! I've been having urges for those since last autumn and by now the craving cannot be ignored any longer.

So this is my first ever crocheted sweater, right? Do I bother with a gauge swatch?

No. Gauge swatches are for the weak.

Pretty soon I realise that my crochet is much, much tighter than the author's. Do I go back and try a size bigger? Do I increase the hook size to obtain the right gauge?

No. I decide that I know better, and I understand enough about how raglan works to just wing it. The joy of making a garment yourself is that you can make it fit your personal body contours perfectly, right?

So long story short, I am now on Mariposa the Second (First one is here) and I have frogged SUBSTANTIAL NUMBERS OF ROWS (like, all of the yoke for example) - wait for it - upwards of 20 times. Yes, 20. Not an exaggeration. If I hadn't done that, I could have probably about 4 completed Mariposas by now.

But no. The Gods have cursed me with a perfectionist streak. So we live and we learn and we carry that burden with us.

The photos in this post are the latest of the most correct version of this top that I currently have. My New Hope. My baby. I'm going to be sharing more WIP photos in the future.

The only good news is that as soon as I figure this sweater out, I'm going to have meticulous notes, which will give me the exact stitch sounts for my measurements and unlock the door to other jumpers like this one, of which I want to make at least 3.

And then there are other sweater patterns. 74 of them currently in my library. At least a dozen literally burning a hole in my consciousness - I want to start them immediately right now yesterday!!! Look look!

Elara Pullover - This is want in gradient purples, like an autumnal sunset

Chevie Sweaer - This I want in greys and golden ochres. I love the stitch used.

Don't Scrap That Raglan - Aaaah, Moss Stitch my favouritest stitch ever and I've almost improvised a sweater like this before!

Cosmopolitan Sweater - This I want in solid teal. Alpine stitch could well become my new mistress. It's also probably THE sweater I should have started with as my first project...

Peony Tee - I am in love with the funky-coloured contrasting sleeves and the raglan concept

Bridgette Ballet Neck Pullover - Ballet necks are my weakess...

Cap Sleeve Top - This I had a little romance with before, oh, about 8 years ago and it was shaping up beautifully in navy - I have all the yarn that I need for it.

Isop Sweater - I really want to learn this fair isle technique of making yokes, because I saw this pornographically beautiful set of 2 knitted sweaters in just the perfect colours and I'd like to do equvalent crochet versions, no I'm not at all trying to run before I can walk, why you ask?

Many of them much easier than Mariposa. Many of them not so tailored to the figure.

But no. Mariposa.

I have been buying up yarn in bulk again. This is how I know I'm in trouble.

But what about you guys? Do you have a Nemesis Project that has been kicking your ass for ages? Do you get overly ambitious like me? Or do you make your gauge swatches and avoid pissing off the Gods of Yarn, like sensible people?

#My Crochet #WIP #Crochet #Sweater #Handmade #Mariposa #Personal entry

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alavestineneas · 1 year ago

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King's will

pairing: Aegon II Targaryen x OFC

summary: In the game of chess, the queen has more freedom on the chessboard. In that sense, the queen is the most powerful piece. On the other hand, the king has more value. Because if you lose the king, you lose the game.

warnings: arranged marriage, medieval violence, slow burn

chapter 1 -> chapter 2 -> chapter 3 -> chapter 4 -> chapter 5

Fall of the year 123,

Bitterbridge

The neighing horses under Marcella's windows mixed with the voices of knights, making a familiar tune. The only routine thing in those small, dusty rooms. She is not sure why she is here; the bed looks like it is about to fall apart, and the only source of light is a half-burnt candle. Its dim light sways from the draft and the chilly nature of the first moon of Fall. Marcella wraps her shawl tighter around her shoulders, the fear of the unknown slowly creeping into her heart.

Her thoughts are interrupted by the almost silent knock and the hushed voice of the servant announcing a visitor. There are a few people who dared to disturb the lady at such a late hour: her sworn knight or

"Father!" Marcella exclaimed, standing up from the chair.

"Hello, my darling." Lord Fillis smiled. "Oh, how have you grown since the last time I saw you!"

Marcella rushed into her father's arms, feeling a sense of comfort and security wash over her. She had missed him dearly.

"Why are you not resting yet? We continue the road at dawn." Her father's voice was stern.

"I couldn't sleep, Father," Marcella replied, looking down at her hands. "I was too excited to see you." Lord Fillis chuckled softly, his eyes filled with warmth. "I understand, my dear. But remember, we have a long journey ahead of us. You must get some rest."

"Why are we in a rush?" Marcella asked, her curiosity piqued.

Lord Fillis sighed, his gaze turning distant. "Lord Hand assured me everything is ready," he explained cryptically. "We cannot afford to delay any longer."

Marcella nodded. She remembered the day she learned about the arrangement. That evening, she cried and cried until it made her sick. The poor servant thought she would jump off the cliff in the deep of the Sunset Sea, following her around day and night. She was young. Since then, Marcella has had enough time to accept her fate; it was her duty to her family and the gods.

"My darling," her father whispered, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "The gods have chosen you for this path. Do not let them down."

"I won't. I will honour our family and fulfil my duty," Marcella replied. If her father wants her to marry, she will. The time to repay his love and kindness has come. She couldn't bear to let him down.

Marcella was standing in an ancient white-walled hall, surrounded by a few guards. She could feel the weight of their gaze as they monitored her every move. The echo of her footsteps reverberated through the space, intensifying the sense of isolation. She heard people running around, mostly servants and cooks. Marcella wondered why they were made to wait in here and what they were waiting for, but her father stood silently, his brows furrowing in worry. He also seemed to not have the answers she longed for.

The Red Keep was truly massive, its towering walls and intricate architecture leaving Marcella in awe. She couldn't help but feel small and insignificant within its grandeur. Tyrell shivered, thinking about the endless possibilities of betrayal and dangers hiding in those large corridors. Her riding clothes were made of thick leather with subtle floral patterns, creating a beautiful ensemble. She didn't have time to change into a more appropriate gown, so she was left standing there, smelling of horses, sweat, and the road.

"Lord Filis?" A man appeared in one of the corridors. His voice echoed through the vast space, causing Marcella to jump slightly. She quickly composed herself, trying to hide her discomfort as she also turned towards the man, ready to face whatever news he had brought. "Queen Alicent awaits your daughter. You are advised to wait here."

Her father nods, visibly dissatisfied with the order. He places a hand on Marcella's back. Marcella could feel the tension in her father's touch, a mix of protectiveness and frustration. She knew he wanted to accompany her, but the protocol demanded otherwise. "Please her Majesty. Go."

Marcella nodded and took a shaky breath. She straightened her posture, determined to show strength in front of her father. Deep down, she couldn't help but feel a sense of unease. She followed a man to one of the doors, watching him knock and announce her arrival. As Marcella entered the room, she was met with a sea of unfamiliar faces, all eyes fixed on her. She sank into the deepest curtsy one could manage, her heart pounding in her chest.

"Arise," a tired voice commanded. Marcella slowly rose from her curtsy, her eyes scanning the woman in front of her. The Queen's piercing brown eyes seemed to hold a lifetime of wisdom and experience. Marcella couldn't help but feel a mix of awe and nervousness in the presence of such regal beauty. As she studied the Queen's expression, she detected a hint of curiosity and perhaps even a touch of warmth, giving her a glimmer of hope that her audience might go better than expected.

"How did you find the road, Lady Marcella?" The Queen's voice was soft yet commanding, drawing Marcella's attention back to the question at hand. It was a simple inquiry, but Marcella knew that her response held a lot of significance. She took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts before answering, "Your Majesty, the road was long, but I am grateful for the opportunity to be in your presence today."

The noblewoman looked pleased with her answer. "Good. Maester Mellos", she gestures.

Only now does Marcella notice the old man standing behind the Queen. The Grand Maester comes closer to her, his steps heavy and slow. He scarcely lifted her chin with two fingers, his short nails scratching Marcella's skin. Marcella winced slightly at the touch but maintained her composure, not wanting to show any signs of discomfort in front of the Queen. The Grand Maester inspected her face, turning it from side to side to get a better view.

"Open your mouth, child,'' he mumbled. As Marcella obediently opened her mouth, the Grand Maester peered inside, examining her teeth and tongue. His expression remained impassive, giving no indication of his thoughts on her oral health. Satisfied with his inspection, he withdrew his hand and stepped back, allowing Marcella to close her mouth once again. "Take off your clothes."

"Pardon?" Marcella's voice trembled with confusion.

"Your clothes. Is your hearing bad?" the Maester asked.

"No, no, it isn't." Marcella shook her head, catching the eye of the Queen, who seemed more interested in the state of her ears than the indecent order. Tyrell hesitated for a moment before reluctantly starting to unbutton her top. It took her some time, but she managed to get the clothes off. Now, they pooled around her feet. Marcella stood there, feeling exposed and vulnerable. The Maester's gaze lingered on her, his expression unreadable. She fought the urge to cover herself, trying to maintain her composure in front of the Queen and the Maester's prying eyes.

She felt anger slowly creeping its way from her chest to her cheeks. She wasn't some servant girl, nor was she lowborn. She was a noblewoman from one of the Great Houses of Westeros, and those people judged her like a horse at the Fall festivities. Marcella's frustration grew as she realized that her status and noble lineage seemed to hold little weight at this moment.

Finally, the Maester stopped inspecting her body with his gaze and turned to the Queen, whispering something in her ear. The woman nodded and left the room, not even bothering to look at Marcella's shivering self twice. Maester Mellos curtseyed and followed Queen Alicent on her way out.

Marcella stood there, feeling a mix of confusion and humiliation. She couldn't help but wonder what had just transpired and why she was being dismissed so abruptly. The door opened again, now letting in two servants. Marcella didn't pay them much attention; she was deep in her thoughts. They picked up the clothes from the floor and folded them.

"Wait! Those are my gowns." Marcella exclaimed, finally snapping out of her daze and realizing what was happening.

"Apologies, my lady," the servant said softly. "These gowns are to be taken for cleaning and maintenance. They will be returned to you shortly."

"Well, am I to be naked then?" Marcella asked, a hint of frustration in her voice. The servants exchanged a glance before one of them spoke up, "Not to worry, my lady. Her Majesty was kind to gift you a gown."

Marcella felt her anger settle a little. At least she won't have to show the entire castle her bare form. "Well, show me the dress."

"My lady," one of the servants said, holding a green gown in her arms. The gown was made of rich velvet and adorned with intricate embroidery.

"Oh gods," Marcella said, feeling her unease returning. The dress looked like something her mother would wear, with the long sleeves and high neckline only showing a bit of shoulder. Her heart sank as she realized that the gown was not at all what she had in mind. Despite her disappointment, Marcella forced a smile and said, "Thank you." She will not disappoint her father by throwing a fit over a dress.

When the servants were done dressing her and putting her hair in place, they escorted her back to the hall she left her father in. There he was, in the company of Lord Hand and a few men Marcella had yet to meet. The talking and chatter stopped as soon as they noticed her. Lord Filllis's eyes lit up at the sight of the colours she was wearing—the colours of the Queen. The group of men bowed their heads in respect, and Marcella finally allowed herself to smile, oblivious to a few tears gathering in her eyes. She felt her father whisper "Good job" in her ear before continuing the previous discussion.

Alicent thought of herself as a good mother. She loved her children more than anyone in the world and was prepared to sacrifice her happiness for theirs. Though now she could not get her finger on the right thing to do. Even when the thought of Aegon's marriage to Helaena sent shivers down her spine, she said nothing. It was not her place to decide. But now, since Tyrell brought his daughter to court, everything has changed.

Mayhaps it was how similar the girl was to her. Surrounded by men who thought they knew better, bearing the duty of being the sacrificed lamb in the greater game. Young, naive, and scared. It was like looking into the best-polished mirror, the one Alicent tried so long to break into the smallest pieces and hide.

Mayhaps it was the way Helaena reminded The Queen of Rhaenyra. The same silver, almost white hair of Old Valirya and piercing violet eyes. Her daughter was youthful and delicate. Wed her to Aegon, and she will shatter.

Or the way those girls reminded her of a once strong friendship. Some evenings, Alicent wished she could return to those majestic times of her girlhood when she was free to do as she pleased. This memory fades away with each passing sun, and she holds onto it as tightly as she can. Still, it slowly vanishes.

All of her children had the features of her former friend. How ironic. Her sweet Helaena, brave Aemond, and Aegon. Her firstborn, her son. Once a cheerful babe. Now he drowned himself in wine and women, making mistakes, mistakes, and mistakes. Oh, how Alicent hated that. Her duty was her burden, but his was a blessing. Yet he refused to complete it.

''Why do we need their support anyway?'' she asked, turning her head to face her father.

''Pardon me?''

They were dining together after a long day in court. The table was breaking under the weight of various foods, but the Queen lost her hunger. She sighed, pushing her plate away. The weight of her son's irresponsibility hung heavy in the air, overshadowing any enjoyment she might have found in the lavish feast.

''The Tyrells. Why them over other noble houses?''

Her father leaned back in his chair, contemplating her question. ''Money, Alicent. They are the richest house in Westeros.''

Alicent raised an eyebrow, surprised by her father's response. ''Not Lannisters?''

''Lannisters have gold, sure, but Tyrells have people and an army. They handle harvests and have a lot of authority in court. It is risky to keep them uninvolved. Because then, they might change their mind. And we can't afford to have such a powerful house turn against us.''

''The girl does not own it, though. Her older sister does, and then her son. The girl's position is too low. Marrying her off to Aegon would not bring us any significant advantage. We need a stronger alliance to secure our position.''

''The girl's low position in the house hierarchy works in our favour. There is no power for her, just money and people. Her sister will support her and her forthcoming children, Aegon's children, but she will not be the trouble.''

''And what about Helaena? Who will she marry if Aegon is betrothed to Tyrell?"

Otto took a sip from the goblet of wine before responding, " Helaena is still too young to marry. We have time to consider all possibilities. Marrying Helaena off to a powerful ally could strengthen our position even further. Perhaps we should explore potential matches within the Dornish or Ironborn houses."

Alicent thought for a moment. She didn't want to send her only daughter so far away, but time is on her side. Mayhaps, there will be matches closer than Dorne. She pondered the possibility of arranging a marriage with a noble house in the Reach or the Stormlands, which would allow Helaena to remain closer to home. ''I guess it is true. Does Viserys know?''

''Not yet. I wanted to see the girl first, just to make sure. What does Mellos think of her?''

''Mellos believes she has potential. Her health is good, and most women in her house were known to bear many children,'' Alicent replied, considering her advisor's opinion.

''And what of her temper? Her father is not the most patient man alive.''

Alicent paused for a moment, carefully choosing her words. "Her temper is yet to be seen, but she has been raised in a noble house. Besides, she seemed complaisant enough to maintain a calm demeanour during our conversation. However, it is always wise to keep an eye on such matters.''

''We should arrange the meeting then. Have Aegon ready when the sun arises, and make sure he is not as drunk as a sailor. It would be prudent to have a few trusted guards nearby as well, just in case. We cannot afford any," Otto paused, ''any obscenities.''

Alicent sighed. ''May the Seven look upon us all.'' There was a lot to be done.

''Lord Hand! I did not expect you to visit me in the gardens.'' As Marcella closed her book and stood up, a smile played on her lips. She knew that Lord Hand's visits were never mere coincidences. Just as her father, who was now looking down at them from one of the balconies.

''I will not take too long, Lady Marcella. Should we take a walk?'' Lord Hand suggested, gesturing towards the winding paths of the garden.

''That sounds delightful, Lord Hand. The gardens are particularly beautiful this time of year."

''Yes. Not as beautiful as the Highgarden's one, but still pleasant, Otto replied, his eyes scanning the vibrant blooms that adorned the garden. ''Your father always had a keen eye for creating beauty,'' he added, a hint of nostalgia in his voice. ''Was your sleep pleasant?''

''Yes, Lord Hand. I am quite pleased with the new chambers; the view of the city is magnificent at dawn.''

''You wake up at sunrise?'' Otto questioned.

''It is hard not to, my Lord; once the city is awake, there is no luck to get a few beats of rest.''

A chuckle escaped the man's mouth. Tyrell's chambers were not the most pleasant in the Red Keep.

They walked in silence for a while until a few voices were heard behind the bushes. Marcella took a breath, careful not to look too nervous in front of Lord Hand. She straightened her gown as they approached the source of the voices, mindful not to stumble over the hem.

There he was, in the company of the Queen. Prince Aegon, the second of his name. The conquer of whores and wines, the great slayer of servants and bastards. His presence commanded attention, as his silver hair and violet eyes shone in the sunlight. The rumours of his reckless behaviour seemed to be true, as did the rumours about his unique beauty, which only Targaryens possessed.

''Your Majesty, my Prince,'' Marcella curtseyed. ''It is an honour to be in your presence.''

''As it is mine, lady,'' he trailed off, sending a pointing look at his grandsire.

''Lady Marcella of House Tyrell, my Prince.''

''Right.'' He wondered how he had not noticed her before, with that pretty face and a gown of some sort of forest green hugging her flesh. It is not his preferred look, it is true, but something about those eyes (and breasts) sparked interest in him. He quickly regained his composure and continued, "I must admit, Lady Marcella, your beauty is truly captivating. My grandsire sure has an eye for women."

Marcella felt heat travel to her face. ''Thank you, my Prince. House Tyrell takes great pride in our family's beauty and charm.'' She wanted to add how much she trusts his judgment since he is clearly an expert regarding women, but she held her tongue.

''Prince Aegon, why don't you show Lady Marcella more of our gardens? I am sure she would be more than glad to take a look at the fountains.''

"Me?", hesitated Aegon. Otto's eyes were now burning imaginary holes in his clothes. The Hand clearly showed that there was no backing away from this one.

''Yes. My duties await, I am afraid. Lady Marcella,'' Lord Otto nodded, ''I trust that Prince Aegon will be an excellent guide.''

Marcella was alone with him. Well, not alone; Ser Ywain was still holding guard near, eyeing Prince's every movement like a hawk.

"I guess I will," Aegon grumbled and dragged his feet down the stairs. ''There are quite a few of them, one near us. It's not the largest, although good enough.''

''I see.''

A silence settled between them.

''What do you think of Gransire's proposal?'' the Prince asked. ''To wed us, that is.''

Marcella hesitated, unsure of how to respond. She knew that her father worked hard to make this marriage possible, but the idea of marrying someone she barely knew made her sick. "You are a Prince, your Grace. Every woman in the Realm would be honoured to be your wife."

The Prince chuckled. ''Oh, yes. But I am asking you.''

Here. Her last chance of escape. Say no, and her father will have no choice but to accept defeat. Marcella looked at the windows above them. With a sigh, she replied, ''I would be more than content to marry you, my Prince.''

Her eyes met violet-purple ones for a mere second before the man turned away. ''Good.''

With that, her fate was sealed.

#hotd fanfic #house tyrell #hurt/comfort #aegon ii x oc #aegon the second #aegon ii #medieval #house of the dragon #house targaryen #fantasy #got #game of thrones #court #tyrell #targaryen #the dance of the dragons #pre asoiaf #dance of the dragons

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grumpygreenwitch · 10 months ago

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The Witches and Wizards Job 37-38

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Remember: Tumblr has no algorithm. Reblogs give me life.

1-2 + 3-4 + 5-6 + 7-8 + 9-10-11 + 12-13-14 + 15-16 + 17-18-19 + 20-21-22 + 23-24-25 + 26-27-28 + 29-30 + 31-32-33 + 34-35-36 + 37-38 + 39-40-41-42

THIRTY SEVEN

"You look old," Baba Yaga said at last into the deadly silence, her Russian musical and cold.

Koschei flinched as if she'd slapped him. Nate slipped behind the Hag and Fedorov until he stood just between them and Dresden; close enough to be seen, but no so close that either Koschei or Stone tried to stop him.

"It's not you," the Blackbird choked out. "It can't be you. I took everything from you. Everything!"

"You stole," she snapped at him. "You're always trying to take power that's not yours -"

"It's mine -"

"It's too much -"

"IT'S MINE!" he shouted, and half the lights went out. The dock was thrown into chiaroscuro patterns from the floodlights just outside it and two fluorescent lights hanging on grimly. "If you cannot hold onto power, then it belongs to those who can."

"By that measure, if I can take your power away, it's mine to keep," she replied, and there was such menace in her voice even the golem shifted minutely away.

"You can do nothing," the wizard gritted out. "A hundred years I have plotted and planned and prepared. You may be able to cast a glamour and light a few lights, but so what? You don't have your mortar, you don't have your pestle, you don't even have your shawl!"

"Neither do you," Nate said evenly in English before anyone else could speak.

"You be silent, mortal!" Koschei threw his power at Ford in a flash of green light.

But Dresden, faster than him, rolled to his feet and skid to a halt between the mastermind and their mark. Power bloomed from him, from the black feathers stitched among the feathery motif embroidered into the wrists and neck and hem of his dress shirt - the Blackbird's own feathers, snatched from him that first time at the MFA. The power crashed into a shield wrought and empowered by those feathers, and bounced off. Dresden had guessed that Koschei would be the sort of wizard that always made sure his own magic couldn't hurt him on the rebound. Surprising no one (except perhaps himself), he'd been right.

Stunned, Koschei came to a halt. Nate stepped out to stand beside Dresden, his hands laced in front of him, unfazed. He hadn't even twitched when the Blackbird had moved to attack him. "I haven't lied to you yet, have I?"

"I do. not. CARE," Koschei screamed, pale with rage, the cords of muscle along his neck standing out starkly. "Bring her! Bring a dozen gods. Bring a hundred! Can your wizard protect them all? Can he do that while protecting the Prince of Thieves, her little friend? Will he choose between you and them? Between you and the Hag? Between -"

"I don't think you understand." Ford shrugged. "Why are you shouting? You've already lost."

Koschei bared his teeth. "If that is true, then it will be my pleasure to have you all lose with me," he growled low. "Unless you believe your pet wizard can stop mister Stone from killing you all?"

"No," Ford admitted readily, then pointed at the opposite side of the docks. "That's what he's for."

Seven tons of niuhi, teeth and talons and blue striped skin on a frame made of nothing but muscle, charged through the side of the building as if it weren't there. The wereshark crashed into the golem, who barely had time to turn, shoving off Parker and Jessamine to try and put up a defense. They both went flying into and through one of the yachts and into the water with a tremendous splash.

Parker threw herself over Jess; Fedorov covered Baba Yaga with his body. Koschei clenched his hands and let out a furious, wordless yowl, magic gathering around him like a storm, hungry and deadly.

"Dresden!" Nate yelled.

The wizard shoved the mastermind against the back wall, took a step forward and pointed his wand down, shouting a single word. "Forzare!"

The dock exploded. Boards went to splinters as if a giant fist had smashed into them from on high, showering the water with hail; the last of the lights exploded into brilliant sparks. Both Dresden and Koschei plummeted into the frothing surf.

Parker dragged Jess into the boat-house proper, where Sophie, who'd never actually left the boat-house, was waiting for them; the grifter slammed the door shut behind them. "So he's a bad grifter and a sore loser," she declared archly. "Who's surprised. Are you both alright?"

"I think so." Parker was far more concerned with her friend than with herself. "Jess?"

"I'm alright," the young curator wheezed. "Did that man just blow up the dock?"

"It gets complicated," Parker replied tightly before turning to Sophie. "Eliot and Hardison?"

The hitter had just poked his head out of the other yacht, to stare in stunned disbelief at the destruction one word and one gesture from the local wizard had wrought. Then he raced along the deck of the boat and threw his hands out. "Fedorov!"

The Russian and his companion were stranded on the only side of the docks that didn't have a door, to either the outside or the boat-house. Nate, at least, had a giant shark-shaped hole he could've used. All three of them ran for Eliot. "It seems every time we meet I have to get handsy with you, Grandmother," Vanya said in Russian, his tone light in spite of the situation. "What will you think of me."

Baba Yaga, still wearing Sophie's seeming, laughed once again, short and sharp, caught by surprise. "I will think what I already did of you," she replied cheerily.

He picked her up and helped her onto the boat, to Eliot's waiting hands, while Nate jumped onboard.

The covered dock had been built against the shallow beach by digging down and reinforcing the space with rip-rap: rocks roughly the size of a man's head. The end result was a narrow area that looked deep, but wasn't. The yachts, for all their size, didn't break six feet on draft. At its deepest part the channel leading to the dock was fifteen feet, just outside the building. From there it angled up precipitously until it reached the more-or-less solid ground where the mansion's gardens began.

Which meant Dresden, who'd been closer to the artificial shore, could actually stand up abruptly from among the flotsam, choking and bedraggled like a half-drowned cat, climbing up the slope toward the hole the niuhi had left in the wall.

"Dresden!" Nate shouted a warning.

The wizard turned, thrown off-balance by his waterlogged clothing, just in time to throw his hand up and empower the feather-shield as actinic fire came boiling out at him from the water. It sloshed around the shield, making it ripple, pouring around and over it like poisonous syrup, and wherever it splashed the torn wood, drywall and plastic of the building crackled, froze and shattered.

Koschei, looking like a bird that's gone for a bath it neither planned nor wanted, rose to the surface of the churning water and stepped lightly on it. It froze where he went in awkward little waves. "I am going to make a footstool out of you, Dresden," the Blackbird hissed.

"No, thanks," Leverage's wizard replied blithely. "Not a fan of chintz."

The second yacht suddenly went stumbling sideways with an almighty crunch, crashing hard into the section of the dock that was still standing. Everyone on board stumbled. "Nate!" Eliot called out. "We're taking on water!"

A gale of wind came out of nowhere and threw Koschei back in the water. Dresden managed to scrabble onto solid ground and tried to race for the boat-house.

A massive sheet of ice erupted from the deep end of the docks and raced forward, jagged and vast, locking everything in its grip, flotsam, the sinking yacht, the ruins of its twin. Harry slipped and went down, and only one of the boat-house's walls stopped him, none too gently. The ice stopped the yacht from further going down for a moment, but then a hand punched through the ice and grabbed the aft ladder, and the boat groaned and shifted uneasily as mister Stone dragged himself partially out of the water, his fancy clothes in tatters.

Koschei passed up through the ice as if he were a ghost, power seething around him.

"Kostya!" Grandmother shouted in Russian. "Do not do this! You know how the stories always end. Let it go!"

"I have not come this far to give up now because of a fairy tale!" he spat at her before turning to Dresden and switching to English. "How dare you believe you, any of you, can stand against me."

"Reasons abound," the younger wizard wheezed. He'd managed to roll to his feet, ready to take on whatever spell the Blackbird threw at him.

But instead of attacking, Koschei drew the twisted, blackened staff out of nowhere and gestured at the ice, drawing up a mirror-perfect, thin sheet of ice the size of a door. Nate, from the boat, saw Harry's eyes go wide. A gout of fire came from the wizard, but Koschei threw up a shield as he spoke in a rough, growling tongue.

The mastermind exhaled sharply, and saw his breath come out as a plume in what should have been Boston's warm summer air, and the world slowed down to a crawl, ringing faintly against his ears. The darkness gleamed like reflections from a jewel, shattering all around him.

There would be no more comfortable lies for him. There would be no more denying. There were two wizards fighting on a plane of ice not fifty feet from him. A man that wasn't one was trying to climb onto their boat to get away from a shark that liked to walk as a man. The world was not what it seemed, it never had been, and Nathan Ford could no longer pretend that he knew all that there was to know. Leshy sprang out of the portal Koschei had summoned out of nowhere, and reality slammed back into place for the mastermind. So be it. If the world must change, he would change with it. The job still needed to be done. "Hardison, now!"

Leshy, Dresden had explained, were creatures of the Nevernever, the elusive world that paralleled Nate's own. But they were of neither. Unaffiliated fairies that only barely looked to Summer, they had no rules, but also no protection beyond their own numbers. Their behavior was defined by their nature, and their nature was that of a hare, always ready for a fight, to kick and bite - and always on the lookout for predators.

Hardison, just outside the hole in the wall, pulled out of his pocket the phone he'd gotten from the spider. In the seething maelstrom of magical energies coming from the boat-house it was the only piece of technology that was still working. He used it to remotely drive not Lucille 2.0 but the u-Haul van, the back of which was full of things he'd hardly ever thought he'd get to use, like cathode tubes and transistors the size of his fist. He had one screen, one radio transmitter, a keyboard that was so profoundly and mechanically loud he twitched at the very thought of having to use it.

And Mouse.

A black, sleek, unmarked van would have immediately pinged the awareness of the security staff at the mansion. But people are used to seeing u-Haul vans. They're used for much more than just moving, on reason of being both cheap and basically indestructible. The doors might not close, the brakes might need pumping, the gas might stick at fifty, a hundred things might be broken in it, but by golly it will get you from Point A to Point B, somehow. By the time the u-Haul van made it down the driveway and jumped the curb onto the perfectly manicured lawn, it was too late for security to stop it, and most of them were busy trying to keep the guests from leaving, anyway.

The hacker brought the van to a rattling, skidding stop next to the hole in the wall and opened a door, and the young Temple mastiff catapulted out with a snarl that brought the hackles up on every creature in the boat-house, even if they didn't have them. The leshy coming through the portal froze, every head whipping around to that sound.

Eliot took a running start and shoulder-checked Stone off the yacht. The hitter rebounded and fell on his back, stunned, his shoulder on fire, but Stone, his balance too precarious, went flying back and crashed through the sheet of ice, sinking like, well, a stone.

Mouse barked. It sounded like a gun going off. The leshy turned and tried to sprint back into the portal, but Koschei destroyed with a furious litany of curses. The fairy thugs scattered instead and the Russian wizard turned to point his staff at the dog gleefully chasing panicking rabbits all over the place. A beautiful right cross caught him on the cheek and sent him flying onto the last bit of the docks abutting the boat-house, too stunned to make a sound, unable to breathe, his staff flying out of his hands.

Vanya Fedorov, wearing the blessed silver knuckles, slipped lightly on the ice and climbed after the wizard with cold, deadly murder in his face. "I will not be sold," he said in Russian. His voice was lethally calm, his teeth gritted. Koschei made the mistake to try and get up, and Fedorov punched him again, sending him sprawling inelegantly. "I will not trust my fate to a man who sees me as a toy. I am not your pawn to be offered to your friends for favors, for power, for wealth."

"You are an ill-mannered child -" Koschei threw up a shield as he struggled to his knees.

Vanya brought up his other hand and punched right through the shimmering energy as if it were not there; the knuckles on that one were lead and iron. "This child knows how to make allies, rather than buying loyalty with fear and lies. I know that sometimes the truth is all you need. So here is some truth for you, Blackbird: stay down, or I will make you stay down."

Koschei struggled to draw one breath. "I will see you all dead for this," he gasped, turning on his back, lifting himself up on his elbows. He grinned manically up at the Russian enforcer. "You would be a hero, would you, little prince," he hissed in Russian. "Very well. Let's see what sort of a hero, you are."

The portal opened just shy of the nets that festooned the naked beams of the roof. A low, seething sound, the rasping of scales against scales, filled the air, and the chaos came to a complete halt in the blink of an eye.

A mass of shifting coils, each one as large around as a man, appeared out of nowhere and began to descend. Green and black, they glowed with an inner, vitriolic light, as if of a fire burning behind stained glass. There was no beginning or end to them.

Very clearly, in the abrupt silence, everyone heard Dresden's voice. "Oh, crap."

The leshy bolted. The dog, that eternal enemy, was suddenly not the top of their priorities. They trampled everything and everyone, including each other, in their panicked haste.

"What is it?" Nate asked of the false Sophie next to him.

"Zmei Gorynich," she replied, staring. "A Great Serpent."

Eliot didn't like the sound of that. At all. "A f- He - He called up a friggin' dragon?!"

The mass of coils began to disentangle itself, spreading out as it descended. Rippling vanes, sails stitched onto jutting, dagger-like bone, unfolded along its sides. A dry, cruel heat was beginning to radiate from it, a pervasive scent filling the air, of forests burnt to ash, homes reduced to rubble and coal.

"A young one, but yes."

Eliot didn't even know what to say to that.

"Out, now," Nate commanded. "Off the boat. We need solid ground."

"You will not ask me to help?" she asked him, curious and surprised.

"Well, we're here to rescue you," the mastermind pointed out as they all rushed to the other side of the yacht, where the ice and violence had pressed the deck of it closer to what was left of the docks. "Seems kind of rude to make you work for it."

She looked terribly amused.

"Besides, can you?"

"No. I do not have the power to singe his hair right now." She looked at the zmei. "But you do not need me anyway."

The zmei hadn't even fully uncoiled itself when Leverage's wizard shouted something out and force, invisible and irresistible, slammed it back up through the roof, canoes and kayaks, netting and roofing flying everywhere and launching the creature entirely out of sight.

THIRTY EIGHT

I had honestly thought that, even for Koschei, the Golden Bear was it. The limit. I could barely wrap my head around a wizard being able to summon what is basically a sort of, kind of, almost demi-god from the Nevernever.

I hadn't expected him to be able to summon two.

My first gut response was to try and throw the dragon back through the portal that had brought it in, but Koschei had already closed it. I saw Fedorov flatten the wizard one last time, but it was too late. The dragon was here, and it was here to stay. Unconscious or not, the Blackbird had cut a deal with it, and I very much doubted anyone there had a counteroffer it would be willing to consider.

I wasn't sure if the dragon of Russian fairy tales was an actual dragon. The name translates to a sort of serpent, Bob had explained to me. They're treacherous, cunning, greedy. Unlike the Golden Bear, which can be impressed into joining the good guys occasionally, the Great Serpent doesn't care to serve any interests but its own. They can spit fire, poison or ice, sometimes weirder things, like lightning or a combination of elements. Their scales can only be pierced by magic or by their own power, mirrored back at them, which was how they were defeated in most stories.

You know, typical fairy-tale dragon bullshit.

We were, once again, as outgunned as we'd been at the museum.

Mouse rushed to my side, staring up at the hole along with me. The dragon escaped my blast and came arrowing down, hissing like an angry teakettle. It wasn't fast, I noted distractedly. Agile, yes, it could turn on a dime. But it wasn't particularly quick when it flew, and I would have bet money it was because in mid-air it couldn't get proper traction. It touched down on the ice and it melted instantly. As it looked down in surprise, lifting up once again, I gestured at it with my bad hand. "Frigitas."

Ice closed in on it, the water freezing once again, trapping the gleaming coils. I didn't have my staff, and I'm much better with fire, but I didn't need a fine touch at the moment. I needed to hit hard, hit fast, and hit anything I could. I was counting on Boston to help me along, to maybe slow it down some.

I wasn't counting on the North Atlantic to pitch in.

I'd felt it the moment I'd fallen in the water. I'm used to the Lake; like I'd told Leverage, it's good for grounding magic, for getting your bearings, throwing off excess energy, that kind of thing. I'd tapped a storm once, felt the power of it coursing through me and I'd known then that it could kill me if I so much as blinked. You don't mess with Mother Nature unless you're willing to take your licks. But this was the ocean, the planet for all intents and purposes. We humans like to think that the dirt we stand on is the ruling principle of the world, just like we like to believe we're the ruling species. We're wrong on both counts. True power was the seething tide trapped beneath the ice just under my feet. Even Boston,with its neverending trickle of energy, was nothing compared to it. The storm had given me a chance; the North Atlantic wouldn't even notice snuffing me out.

Ice rose in jagged teeth, raced over the zmei, caught its coils and blew up in clouds of overheated steam, water sublimating, going directly from solid to gas. The serpent whistled in fury and pain, thrashing, sending chunks of ice flying in every direction. It turned on me; its eyes were a goat's, and somehow that made them even more unreasonably unpleasant on that long reptilian muzzle. Gills opened along its neck, and I threw my shield up, going down on one knee to try and brace myself. If the thing breathed poison I, and everyone else there, would be flat out of luck; no shield would stop that.

Instead, lightning crashed into my shield and sent me skidding back, sprays of sparks bursting out of the bracelet. The zmei paused after a moment, when it realized it was not getting through, head cocked and sails fluttering lightly. Electricity was crackling all over it, occasionally reaching a jagged line to touch the beams above, the boat-house, the walls - wherever metal or, more likely, the electrical systems in the structures nearby called to it.

"Koldun," it whispered, its voice a low, barely audible breeze.

"That's me," I admitted.

It blew another blast at me. My shield was still holding, but the bracelet was getting awfully warm.

The zmei stopped, this time in answer to movement out of the corner of its eye, where it had just seen the three people hiding behind the second yacht. Before it could get any ideas, I took the chance to give my shield a break, threw my hand up and called up the power thrumming just under my feet. "Aestus!

Water roared upward in a broad column, filled with blocks of ice as my improvised attack further shattered the sheet of ice Koschei had created. The zmei got thrown hard against the beams of the ceiling, and then crashed down onto the water when I let go of my spell. It launched itself a me, moving through the air like a snake moves through water. Its mouth was a nightmare of way too many teeth. I put my shield up and it bowled me over, into Mouse, who leapt aside and snarled at it, distracting it just long enough for me to call up a gale. I battered it with every piece of debris I could snatch up; it didn't hurt it, but it did distract it. I couldn't see Fedorov or Koschei, I could only hope they'd gone inside the house. I knew Hardison was behind me unless he, too, had gone around and into the boat-house. And I had no idea if Eliot, Ford and Grandmother were still hiding behind the other boat.

Teeth like filleting knives skid over my shield, leaving energy afterimages on it. I hadn't come prepared to take on a dragon, and even if I had, Koschei had taken most of my tools. All I had was what Parker had given me back and what Stone's people hadn't found when they frisked me: my pendant, the pin, my wand and my shield-bracelet. I was throwing magic by the seat of my pants, and while Boston could empower me, there was a limit to what even the city could do. My biggest source of power was also the most dangerous, lapping at my feet in rumpled little waves.

The zmei recoiled back and breathed lightning on me again. If I'd had my other bracelet, the one I'd improvised, I could have probably thrown at least some of that power back at it. And then I realized: I couldn't redirect that power, but I could ground it.

I was going to need a fine touch, though. When it stopped for a breath I threw a gout of fire in its face, just to make it recoil. "Mouse, find me a stick." My dog gave me such a look. "A staff! Something I can use as a staff!"

He ran off, scrabbling through the wreck I'd made of the area. I threw another shield up when the zmei came at me, dug into the power Boston was giving me and peeled off several of the big stones that lined the area, throwing them at its mouth, its eyes. I kept up a steady whirlwind loaded with shrapnel to tear at the sails on its sides; it was flying by magic, I knew that, but that magic had to be focused somewhere, and it was a little too protective of its 'wings' for me not to go for the obvious target.

It twisted and writhed, it turned into a knot and unraveled in mid-air, coming at me from every direction, its breath looking for any slip-up in my attention, growing angrier and angrier the longer I balked it. Behind it, I saw a tidal surge coming in our direction; something in my expression must have given it away, because it too turned to look and rose up for the safety of the ceiling.

The wave crested still a ways off and I saw Stone at the apex of it, struggling against something that wouldn't let him go. Nick rammed through what was left of the ice and docks; they didn't slow him down. He crashed, golem leading, into the ground, swamping the area minutely. I felt the impact through the soles of my feet. It was powerful enough that both golem and niuhi ended up partially out on the ground.

Moused whacked gently at my shin. He'd found part of an oar, the broad end gone. Tail wagging, he offered it to me.

"Good boy. Get out of here, go find Parker." A plan had come together in my head. It was a horrible plan so, you know. My usual. But I was pretty sure it was going to work. I may not be awake, or alive, at the end of it, but I was also used to that.

First things first, though. I pointed the staff at the churning water. "Aestus venitus!"

The sea answered; geysers of water rose up, hunting for the zmei. It blasted one with its breath, twisted out of the way of another. It was too busy dancing to notice I'd grabbed for my pendant, the one piece of metal I was wearing that I knew better than my own bones, and that didn't have a dedicated enchantment on it to get in the way of what I was trying to do. Through it I reached out to the first step of my plan.

All ships above a certain size need an anchor. When they get big enough, they need that anchor even when they're moored, but the yachts were small, as things go, maybe thirty, forty feet long. I didn't know if they'd been anchored to begin with, but I did know that at least in one case, it didn't matter, and that was enough. I reached out with my will to the metal of that chain, that anchor, among the wreck of the sunken yacht and somewhere in the guts of the other one.

Anchor chains are one of those things that you make out of metal both to show off and because anything else is going to get sliced through. I found them both exactly where I thought they would be.

The zmei lunged at me from the shadows of the ceiling, illuminated by its own burning inner fire. I brought my staff up and pointed it at the dragon. "Enough."

The chains came uncoiling out like vipers, one out of the water and the other blasting through the hull of the yacht, sending it further listing to that side. They darted and lunged at the zmei like living things, empowered by my will and my emotions. It tried, unsurprisingly, to breathe lightning at one of them, but the metal didn't care. The loose end punched the zmei in the face, shattered several fangs, and wound about its body like a constrictor, while its twin did the same in the opposite direction.

The dragon whistled and hissed in fury, writhing, coiling, uncoiling in every direction. I pointed my staff at the second yacht and yanked the anchor out of it, sending it tumbling into the water. When the zmei tried to breathe lightning, it instead went into the chains and into the water, where the ocean absolutely didn't care how many temper tantrums the creature threw.

The yacht was beginning to sink at an alarming rate, though, and from behind it I heard an irate "Dammit, Harry!"

"Sorry!" I yelled back at Eliot, belatedly realizing I had forgotten one key part of the plan which very much involved the yacht, namely the portrait currently stashed in it. The zmei, however, meant that plans were, unfortunately, secondary to dealing with it. The chains were holding, but the heat was rising, and I knew what that meant. Eventually the metal would simply melt, or grow soft enough for it to break its bindings. I had to get to the second half of my plan, fast. "Ford, can you hear me?" I said, hoping the little shard of enchanted mirror embedded on the pin at my throat still worked.

"Yeah!" Another shout from behind the yacht.

"Good. Get out. Now. Stone!"

The golem was trying to hold back the jaws of the niuhi as they bore down on him, Nick on all fours and pressing him down relentlessly. His clothing was mostly gone, revealing the seamless, flawless body underneath, literally. He had no wrinkles, no scars, no freckles, nothing. Not even nipples. "Wizard," the golem replied, his voice strained.

"Koschei's not your original employer, is he?"

"No. Mister Act was."

"I know a man who can make you a better offer than both of them put together."

Nick drove the golem a few inches into the shale and ground, but still couldn't get close enough to put another bite into him, taloned hands and feet digging furrows as he tried.

"Your price?"

"Walk away."

"Somewhat impossible at the moment."

"Nick, let him go."

The niuhi stepped back. It was so sudden that Stone actually nearly went down and had to catch himself on one hand. The wereshark chuckled, and it came out a horrible gargling sound. His black eyes never left the golem.

"Define walk away, wizard."

"I mean, stay if you want." I had been wearing really expensive black shoes to the party; I kicked them off and stepped barefoot into the churning water. It was shockingly cold but, beyond that, it was like touching the surface of the sun. There was so much power, so much energy, not dormant, merely untouched, answering to far more primal and basic principles than a single skinny wizard's will. I drew in as much as I dared, and then a little more. I felt as if I were coming undone, going to nothing, becoming part of that vast primordial soup, a little bit of life made to go to and fro with the pull of wind and moon and gravity. It took everything I had just to hang onto me, onto my sense of self.

I pushed.

The tide began to recede. The second yacht sank down, its hull grinding against the stones. The remains of the dock collapsed. The sounds of the surf faded.

Stone turned and ran. Nick turned, saw what I was doing and threw his arms out, laughing wildly, a deeply inhuman sound. The zmei fought wildly against its bounds.

It wasn't hard to do; that surprised me. The water, once pushed, wanted to push back. What was hard was not letting the wave become as big as it wanted to be. I pushed it back while holding onto the sides of it, trying to keep it contained, but I was a wisp of breath in a cyclone. I was not even a drop of water in the vast belly of the monster I'd awakened. Every bit of power I pulled on to try and keep control whispered at me to let go. To stop being. There would be no sorrow if I let go, no anger. There would only be the tide and the wind and the moon, the currents, the sunny shallows, the black abyssal depths. There would be no me to hurt anymore, no more loss, no more loneliness.

As offers go, I honestly can't think of many that have been so damn tempting.

But then I could push no more. The press of the water was too great, and I let go and fell back on myself. "Nick, you there?"

"Yes. I am glad to be here, wizard. To see what you have done." I felt one hand pick me up, the first awareness I had that I'd gone down on my knees. There was a low roar slowly building up all around us. The air, which the zmei had overheated, was swiftly growing cold, and a rising wind was blowing the steam of its power clear of the area.

"I'd like to remind you I need to breathe. Air. I need to breathe air."

Nick laughed cheerfully. He'd gone back to being a human, naked and tattooed and scarred. "I will not let you drown, wizard. You are far too much fun to have around." He picked me straight up in a bridal carry and ran right at the tidal wave I'd summoned. The last thing I heard was the panicked whistling of the zmei as its doom bore down on it.

#my writing #fanfiction #crossover #the dresden files #leverage #harry dresden #nathan ford #sophie deveraux #parker #alec hardison #eliot spencer #urban fantasy

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nochi-quinn · 1 year ago

Text

candela obscura chapter 3 episode 2: h2WOAH that was fun (lie)

I love aabria's necklace

gotta go for the head

mermaid scales on gina?

I would think that would be more disorienting than anything

"ptsd time's over, get back to work"

god, having to piece stories back together out of what other people remember

too real dial it back

is this a weird time to point out that this might be the first time sam has actually looked his height at the table

he slouches, I don't know what to tell you

ashly's little look down and away at "what elsie did"

"I don't have any right to be angry. but I am so here we go"

sam oscar brent riegel I'm gonna mcfucking fight you

Who Wants To Live Forever

samuel

as noshir tries very hard not to corpse

these two are gonna kill me and I swear it's not because of HZD shipping

"you're awfully quiet madame glask" "what the FUCK do I say to that"

ykw between that and the pattern on the shawl I'm calling it, mermaid glask

me: lowkey zoned out aabria: backrooms me: wh

Unabridged??

Sexy Nun Propoganda

who's flashing the old man

"how old is he" "old as balls"

oh it's whatsherface from the old guard

see I called it he beats people with the chain

already homebrewing shit out of their own system

whups

"electric event" excuse

"sorry I killed the million-year-old man do you hate me"

SIR

"ewwwwwwwwww" "nice touch"

aabria that was an UNNECESSARY addition

"I'm acting like a cop, so I'm just acting real dumb"

not the la cucaracha

oscar wears red crocs, it's canon

"my immersion!"

"fluttering your eyelashes at the GM after you roll like shit" is always one of my favorite things

lmao liam's accent drop

"you sound exactly like ttrpg star Liam O'Brien!" "that hack?"

sea glask

I have been fully zoned out, which is not the show's fault, I'm just so tired

I have very little idea of what's going on but I think glask just adopted a god-child

WELP I'm awake now thanks aabria

rajan passenger princess confirmed

liam: hold up gotta make it sad

sam: hold up gotta make it sad

candela obscura: secure, contain, protect

this game just beat the fuck out of glask huh

"just leave it"

no more scene, I need sleep. I needed sleep an hour and a half ago

"in the hammerspace of whoever grabbed it"

#critical role #spoilers #crititag #liveblog #reaction post #candelatag

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khaire-traveler · 2 years ago

Note

Returning the favor- I’d like to know how you see the gods, too :3 Same guidelines or whatever ig lmao

Hey, Noah, thanks for the ask! @opatofazquack asked the same question, so I'm tagging them here.

I'll also answer will all...however many of my gods. This will include gods I don't actively worship if I have visualized them (23 in total). I'll just name them in a list and add a cut, for those who'd like to read. Warning: I may get poetic about it. 😂

Disclaimer: How I visualize the gods does not and should not invalidate how others visualize them. I'm just sharing my personal experiences, and if someone happens to have a different experience, that is more than ok. ☺️🧡

Greek Gods

Selene - Like the moon, her appearance varies quite a bit for me. Even now, I can't quite get a clear image of her. The only consistent thing I can pin down for her is an aura of bright, white light that surrounds her.

Helios - I see him as a black man with shoulder-length hair done back in dreads. His eyes are a deep brown but get light as honey towards the pupil. He has super cute freckles, too, and his face is kind and strong. His features are a bit sharper, and his nose is more of a hooked nose. He is VERY tall and toned - more of a slim muscular build. He usually has no shirt but has an ancient-looking cloth around his waist that goes down to his mid-thigh like a skirt, kind of. He does have a necklace, but doesn't wear much jewelry. He does have A LOT of cool ass tattoos, though! The shapes of the tats are hard to describe, but I believe one of them - on his shoulder or hand, can't remember which - is in the shape of a sun.

Leto - I can't get the clearest picture of Leto, but usually she has wavy medium brown hair, light tan skin, and beautiful white/silver eyes. She's usually a little chubby and gives off strong mom vibes. She has crows feet and smile lines, and it's clear she has lived a good life. Her smile is very sweet. Her features are more rounded, but her nose is more hooked. She typically wears a long white chiton dress with a purple patterned shawl draped over her shoulders. Can't see her shoes under her dress.

Hestia - She's definitely very tall for me lol. She has a plumper frame with rosy cheeks and a calm smile always on her face. Her skin is a deep olive color. She has a sharper face, though the rest of her features are rounded. Her eyes are a bright, glowing orange, like the flames of a fire, and they become more yellow as the color gets closer to the pupil. Her hair is long and wavy - a crisp dark brown - and she usually wears a long, off-white chiton dress of sorts with a bright orange shawl that has gold accents. She always has on pretty earrings and usually wears at least one gold bracelet. You can see the tips of her sandals poke out from underneath her dress, and they're usually gold colored.

Hera - For me, Hera is a tall, slender woman with a very regal air to her. She is usually paler than the other gods with wavy, dark brown hair and a hooked nose. Her features are sharp and angular. High cheek bones. She's usually standing in a very elegant position, although she does this comfortably, not out of formality. She wears a white chiton that has a top half that's been dyed purple. She has a gold shawl around her - looks to be fleece? Her dress is long and flows out behind her; you can barely see her feet underneath. She usually wears a lot of gold and crystal jewelry. The most common crystal I think I know the name of is an amethyst-like one - something that is a very vibrant purple. It matches her top! She also has her hair always done in an up-do of some kind and is wearing a very dainty, beautiful crown on her head.

Demeter - Honestly, Demeter changes a lot for me, but she usually has hair the color of golden wheat. Her features are a mix of sharp and round, and she has a kind face but definitely the energy of someone who knows her worth and power. She is a bit shorter and usually wears a light yellow and green chiton of sorts with either sandals or no shoes. She's got sun-kissed skin and light-colored eyes, though what that color is is up for debate lol.

Zeus - A very large man with the most epic beard you've ever seen in your life. All of his hair is white with a streak of grey the runs from his long, curly hair into his long, curly beard. He is very broad-shouldered and a bit heavier set but still very muscular. Kind of reminds me of a teddy bear, if that helps. He has smile lines and more of a rounded face with wrinkles placed here and there. His hands are very big, which I just think is cool lol. He's also very tall but shorter than a couple of the gods (to me, he's shorter than Hades). He has a big nose that's a little more hooked and piercing blue eyes that sometimes appear to have clouds of grey passing through them, as if the sky is contained in his eyes. He wears a purple and white chiton that has accents of gold as well as a pair of golden sandals woven with braids.

Poseidon - A taller slim man with a muscular build. He's shorter than Hades but taller than Zeus by, like, an inch lol. Dark olive skin with some wrinkles on his face. He always has a confident smile on his face. I swear his hair is always wet. It's long, jet black, and ends up looking straight, but idk if it's actually straight since it's often soaking wet. He wears this badass blue and silver armor with fish scales embedded into it; it's extremely difficult to describe. Sometimes he has a blue or gold cape. He also sometimes wears a silver crown with a few jewels on it. He usually has his trident with him, and my god is it cool. Idk, Poseidon definitely goes out of his way to look like a badass, and it works splendidly for him. Also, he sometimes has a beard and sometimes doesn't.

Hades - VERY tall (he may be the tallest), slender, and a bit lanky. His skin is almost grey in complexion and his hair is long, straight, and black. He has long and slender features with a hooked nose. His eyes have dark circles around them and are a very kind dark brown color, almost appearing black. His outfits change too often for me to mention any specific one, but he wears a mix of both modern and ancient clothing, which he's the only one of my deities who does that, besides Aphrodite. Sometimes he wears a dark suits, sometimes he's chilling in a bath robe, other times he's in a grey chiton - it varies greatly on his mood. No beard.

Persephone - Her appearance changes, but the one I am most familiar with is a medium height woman with wavy dark brown hair and a fair complexion. She has rounded features and a kind face with beautiful dark brown eyes. She usually has her hair done in some pretty way and typically has little flowers placed throughout her hair. It adds a lot of pretty color! Her outfits change a lot, too, but I typically see her in a shorter pale yellow chiton with flowers sewn into the rims. It's almost like a cute sun-dress type of thing. She is almost always barefoot in the outfit. She does also have a flower crown and sometimes a flower necklace, but other than that, she doesn't usually wear a lot of jewelry for me.

Apollon - Interestingly, he changes, but the changes are usually very small and difficult to describes - changes that you'd only notice if you were looking at him very closely, so I won't mention them. Mostly, he is an olive-skinned man with a fairly built body - muscular but not overly so. He has chiseled features, sharp and pointed, with a straight nose. He has this beautiful, shiny, long blond hair (golden as the rays of the sun) that's usually pretty wavy. And his eyes, damn... They're baby blue - blue as the sky - with speckles of gold sprinkled throughout them. There is a rim of gold around his pupil, too; it looks super cool. Clothing-wise, he usually wears what looks to be fashioned around the ancient Greeks...it's a cloth around his waist that's usually either blue or purple and is kept up using a golden pin. There are pretty beads and golden chains that accompany this cloth, also around his waste. He also wears a lot of golden jewelry (anklets, bracelets, piercings, etc.), and his hair is almost always in some sort of style, be it a hair bow, a braid, or even a man bun. He doesn't usually wear shoes.

Artemis - She's a little shorter than Apollo but just as cool lol. She has curly dark brown hair which she usually keeps in a bun, most likely for convenience. She has a pair of antlers attached to a fitness band sort of thing. She's got a rather toned, muscular build and is still pretty slim. Usually, she has this mud-colored paint on her face, specifically in a block around her eyes and stripes down her cheeks and arms. She also has a dark green paint that accents the mud-colored one, using it with stripes down her cheeks and arms. Her eyes are a very dark brown with specks of vibrant green in them, and her darker tanned skin matches them very beautifully. She's always wearing a short sleeve of some kind and wears what I'd call a short chiton, but I think it's a different type of clothing entirely; I just don't know the name for it. Something ancient. Whatever it is, it's usually colored green and brown, like the forest I assume she hunts in. She doesn't usually wear shoes, but when she does, they're very dark brown sandals. No jewelry for her. She also always carries her bow and arrow with her.

Aphrodite - I literally cannot pin down one specific appearance for her, but the best I can do is chubby woman with pale skin and rosy cheeks and very curly, strawberry blonde hair. Very pink lips. She usually shows up naked for me, but sometimes she was a light pink chiton with gold accents on it. She always wears pretty jewelry, usually pearl earrings with a pretty pearl necklace and anklet. No shoes. She does look super majestic to me, though, like seeing a unicorn in an enchanted forest.

Ares - Ares is very hard to describe. He is usually very tall and very muscular. A large man who still gives off heavy dad vibes. He has dark olive skin with curly black hair, though the color sometimes changes. His hair goes to his shoulders. He has blocky features with a chiseled jawline and a prominent hooked nose. His eyes are a vibrant red mixed with a cool crimson - difficult to describe. He usually has some stubble on his face, though no beard. He has a very stoic expression mostly, but it's not intentionally intimidating. Very thick eyebrows, btw. He usually wears gold or bronze colored ancient armor with his helmet resting atop his head. He used to not wear the helmet, but after certain events occurred...he started to. His armor is dyed the same red as his eyes on his chest plate, as well as other places that I can't remember right now. Sometimes he has a spear with him, sometimes he doesn't. Sometimes he has a shield with him, sometimes he doesn't. It really depends. Overall, though, that's how he looks.

Eros - Honestly, his image is pretty blurry to me, and I haven't had enough interactions to give a concrete appearance for him. From what I've seen, he has very curly, shaggy, strawberry blond hair and tends to be on the paler side. His face is more rounded and child-like, although he isn't a child. His eyes are a brilliant blue with pink accents and long eyelashes. He wears golden sandals that go up to his knees and that's about all I've got on him. I can't make out his other clothes, though he always has his bow and arrow with him.

Dionysus - His appearance changes but only his body type. Sometimes he's kind of scrawny, and others he's overweight - it typically shifts between these two. Otherwise, though, he stays the same. His eyes are his most striking feature, being wild and green like a jungle vine. Very vibrant green, too - unnatural by human standards. His hair is black, very curly, and long, typically going past his shoulders. His skin is a darker tan, and he always has cool ear piercings. It somewhat varies in terms of what he wears, but he ALWAYS has a leopard pelt sash across his chest. Usually, he wears more ancient-looking clothing, but it's hard to tell what he specifically wears underneath the pelt. Shoes are non-existent, most of the time, but when he wears them, they're ancient sandals. Also, he's big on gold jewelry - lots of bangle bracelets, amongst other things.

Athena - Athena has looked the same pretty much since the first time I "saw" her. She has long, dark brown hair that's straight and has a half-ponytail in the back. She has dark olive skin and kind grey eyes with specks of violin-brown in them. Her features are more rounded, but her eyes are very sharp and attentive. She always has a helmet resting atop her head and is wearing some sort of epic ancient Greek armor. It's usually either gold or bronze armor, but there are always bit of colorful fabric placed here and there. She sometimes carries a spear with her, but usually, she's without it.

Hermes - Ah, yes, the man of the hour lol. Hermes has an appearance that feels like it changes often, but in reality, he always looks the same for me. It's a weird feeling; idk how to describe it. Anyway, he has short, ultra curly hair. The color always changes but is usually either dirty blond or medium brown. His eyes are fucking cool, being blue and green mixed together. Very difficult to describe; they're almost multi-colored. He has freckles and is almost always smirking. His build is thin, toned, and shorter than all of the gods, but definitely still taller than me lol. He wears ancient clothing - helmet (more of a big, floppy, winged hat), sandals, even carries his caduceus with him or in a brown satchel he carries on his hip. He's usually wearing a hip-length, off-white chlamys with a gold and black rim on it. I can't usually make out details of his clothes under the chlamys. He ALWAYS has these golden wrist braces on, too, and sometimes wears golden earrings!

Thanatos - Like Selene, I don't get much when it comes to looks for Thanatos. He expressed himself much more through presence. Unfortunately, I have nothing to really say about his appearance. 😕

Hypnos - Very little has been given to me about Hypnos as well, but he does consistently have short, very curly hair and a big, sleepy smile. That's about all I've got for now.

Norse Gods

Sigyn - Golden blonde hair with a very fair complexion and rounded features. Gives off protective mom vibes. Typically, she's in an old dress - viking era - that has light pink fabric with white and gold accents. Sometimes she wears a dress that's darker in color, but I don't know what color it is exactly. It's hard to describe. Her eyes are light, but I can never pin any one color to them. She has a soft smile and very pretty figure. Very short, especially in comparison to Loki, who is a literal giant lol. I haven't seen her wear jewelry, but it's been a while since I've envisioned her, so idk.

Loki - BIG, POOFY, WILD red hair! Like Ida from The Owl House. Cool single braid with some beads tying it off. Very angular and sharp features with a long nose and point ears. Vibrant green eyes that sometimes have cat slits in them. He usually wears an old-timey dark green shirt with an old-timey leather braided vest over it. There are tufts of fur on the shoulders of the vests. He wears old-timey brown pants and these really weird but cool looking boots that I don't know how to describe lol. He has earrings on usually but otherwise isn't big on jewelry. Oh, also, he's probably the tallest god I worship; he is very tall! And lanky, too.

Odin - I've only ever really seen his face. Older man with a cool black eye path over one eye and thin, long white hair. Long but thin white beard. His features are more rounded, and he tends to have a lot of wrinkles. His eye is a dark blue color, reminding me of the deepest depths of the ocean - as limitless as the depths of his knowledge, I'd imagine. I also remember him being muscular and wearing armor, but that's about all I can recall.

Hope you liked this answer! Enjoy! Sorry in advance for typos lol.

#asks #answered asks #helpol #personal experiences #norpag #upg

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oldsalempost-blog · 2 years ago

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The Old Salem Post

Our Local Tamassee-Salem SC Area News each Monday except holidays Contact: [email protected] Distributed to local businesses, town hall, library. Volume 7 Issue 18 Week of May 1, 2023 https://www.tumblr.com/settings/blog/oldsalempost-blog Lynne Martin Publishing

EDITOR: Life holds many mysteries and expands our perspective. Ecclesiastes 3:1 says “To everything there is a season for every activity under heaven.” Ecclesiastes gives us comfort to help understand that the hills and valleys of life are normal and part of God's plan. We must keep an eternal perspective even when we don’t have the answers. LRMartin

Town of SALEM: Don’t miss the First Cruise-in this Saturday, May 13th at 5pm. We will have Cloggers, Fire Department BBQ, Classic vehicles and more. * The next Town Council meeting is Tuesday, May 16 at 6pm. More information call 864-944-2819

SALEM LIBRARY: Open Monday 10am-6pm– Tuesday-Friday 9am-5pm. 864-944-0912 Movie Suggestion and My Review: The Good House is an adult movie with an underlying theme that money does not buy happiness. Materialism, alcoholism, and pretension are prominent and accepted in the New England setting of a once small town, now being overtaken by development and exploitation. In a world where “looks” prevail, one can easily overlook where true happiness lies. * *Check out the movie selections at our local library! Remember you can request books too. * Check out the many programs offered! LRM

Jottings from Jeannie: The Importance of Hugs A prestigious university researched the relationship between touch and well-being. The profs concluded that humans need at least four hugs a day to survive. However, during Covid lock-down, people struck out in the hug department. Other strategies that fulfilled the need for gentle touch were evident in all of the pet adoptions. Sherill Carothers, our Bible Study instructor, distributed colorful hugging shawls fashioned from the softest flannel. Ohh! mine feels so good when I am cold or lonely! Thank the Lord for creative and caring neighbors abiding in Oconee County! Hugs to you! You Energetic Individuals along Highway Eleven! You Strong Souls of Salem! Miz Jeannie

JOCASSEE VALLEY BREWING COMPANY,(JVBC) & COFFEE SHOP 13412 N Hwy 11 Open HAPPY BIRTHDAY Week at JVBC! Wed–Sat-Sat 8am-9pm. Sun 2pm-7pm. Events this week: WING Wed: Blue Grass Jam at 6:30pm. Thurs Conservation Theory picking Fri– FOOD JUST A SMILE Music: CRANK DOGS at 6:30pm. Sat–Music: Jennifer Gregory at 3:30pm Arnold Hill at 6:30pm Food: IRON PIG Sunday Luke Deuce at 4pm Food Mac ATTACK 2pm-6pm. Featuring Pisgah Coffee Roasters and Dough-Dough pastries.

NEWS: Burnt Tanyard Bridge —Two weeks ago the Burnt Tanyard Road closed to through traffic due to the bridge being unsafe. It is not expected to reopen until Dec of 2025. Repairs will be contracted. LRM

POTHOLES and DEBRIS: I have found it pays to report problems and be a part of the solution. These numbers for repairs are in my phone. The State Road Maintenance number is 864-647-0798. The Oconee County Road Maintenance 864-886-1072. If I am not sure the road is a state road or a county road I just call one of those numbers. Believe me, they will educate you on the roads. :>) They are always helpful. Within a short amount of time, the road is repaired. LRM

CONSERVATION CORNER: Neighboring landowners with collective 50 acres connected can get together and claim self zoning to preserve land rights, agriculture and way of life. Preservation can be your choice rather than some one make it for you. Neighbors who have similar land values with 50 acres touching should research the opportunities of self zoning.. LRM

The Great Smoky Mountains Firefly Viewing Lottery ends today May 1 for an opportunity to view Synchronous fireflies ( Photinus carolinus ) that live in Great Smoky Mountains National Park. This species is know to synchronize their flash patterns. Optimal viewing is provided to the lucky winners in the lottery due to limited parking spaces and the enthusiasm to gaze at the wonder of creation. Pure and natural fireworks brought to us by God, our Creator. Look up and gaze at the celestial beauties. The gift is priceless and bears no footprint on the environment unlike man-made fireworks.

ASHTON RECALLS:

DAR SCHOOL STUDENT FROM 1942-46 RECALLS EXPERIENCES (Seventh Installment of Pauline Kelley Cannon's memoir) - Our third year at Tamassee DAR School, Maggie and I were separated. She was assigned to go live at New Jersey Cottage to keep house and cook for the Cains, and I was to be supervisor for 10 girls in the South Carolina Building. So we only saw each other at school. . .Maggie had a boyfriend in the Air Force, Leroy Winchester. He rarely came home. Just before Maggie was sent to work for the Cains she injured her hand and couldn't write, so I wrote her letters for her. Leroy always told me I could write interesting letters. . .Shortly after Maggie moved to New Jersey Cottage to live, Lyrlene came home from New York. One day she was upstairs practicing her opera and Maggie asked Mrs. Cain, "Who is that hollering?" Mrs. Cain told her, "That is Eenie practicing her opera." That was very embarrassing to Maggie. . .I played basketball the rest of the time I was there. I also went out for track and won several medals, but due to the war we were told we would get them later. We never did get them, however. . .We also had Girl Scouts, with Miss Murdock as our scoutmaster. We had four different troops and we named them after generals in the service. I was in the George S. Patton Troop. We learned lots of things in scouts such as tying different kinds of knots. Another thing we did was to cook a bean hole hen. That was hard to do but we enjoyed anything difficult.--Continued next week

EAGLES NEST ART CENTER , 501c3, 4 Eagle Lane, Salem

GET YOUR TICKETS: OCONEE MOUNTAIN OPRY: May 20, 2023 at 7pm. Enjoy the unique local flavor of a mix of Old and New Music by Local and Regional musicians. Get a good dose of laughter with our Family friendly comedy. Tickets are $10 available at Salem Town Hall and on Ticketleap or call 864-280-1258. Doors open at 6pm to mingle in the halls, visit the alumni room, concessions and shop for Treasures. Rentals for birthday parties and class reunions. $100 for 4 hours rental minimum for the commons area. Seat Naming Opportunity at the ENAC: We have opened the opportunity for the community to place your name on a seat. A single name is 200 and a couple or family is 250. This makes a wonderful Mother’s Day or Father’s Day gift and helps support your local Eagles Nest Art Center. Call Darlene at 710-8758 or email [email protected] for more information.

**The T-S Class of 1978 is planning their 45th Class Reunion. More details and confirmations to follow. JVB Book Club meeting Wednesday, May 17 at 10am to discuss Meet Mr Mulliner by P.G. Wodehouse.

HEALTH CORNER: Bananas are rich in Vit K and fiber. In a skillet, cut up bananas and cook in butter on the stove top. Add some Walnuts and dashes of Cinnamon. Spritz with a little Lemon juice. Drizzle with Honey. Use immediately or Pack in a mason jar for later and refrigerate. Serve on top of Greek yogurt which has 21 G protein for a healthy dessert or snack. I found this recipe on Channel 16 with Peggy Denny at 1pm. Popped corn is another great healthy fiber filled snack!

Please Share: Send your church news or a story you like to share to [email protected]

Prayers for: Anna, Syd and family. Patricia and family. Debbie. Shirley. Jane. Donna. O Lord, hear our prayers!

Be kind. You will love it! LRM

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strampunch · 4 years ago

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“Labours of Love”

Summer Holmestice 2021 for “Ghostbees”

After my giftee ( @ghostbees ) mentioned "scrapbooking" and "English paper piecing" I went down a rabbithole of research and learnt about this wonderful quilting technique.

From the EQS website: "English Paper Piecing is a method of quilting that involves using a paper shape, most commonly a hexagon, to add stability to the quilt. The quilt is hand stitched with pieces of fabric cut a ¼ inch bigger than the paper shape. The fabric is basted to the paper shapes before the shapes are sewn together. Once the quilt top is completed the papers are removed." The technique dates from 1770s and was popular during the early 1800s in the UK, then in the mid 19th century in the US and it made a comeback during the Great Depression of the 1930s, when the pattern was called in the sewing magazines "Grandma's Flower Garden", but before that it was simply known as hexagonal pattern or (you guessed it) honeycomb pattern. The paper used for these quilts were usually recycled from newspapers or scrapped letters, and the fabric used to come from old garments that had seen better days, and since a lot of the times the paper was simply left in these quilts are marvelous time capsules that contain a wealth of information about the person who made them and their environment. I encourage you to look up English paper piecing (EPP) quilts from the early Victorian decades, they're fascinating!

So this little series of illustrations shows Watson dealing with Holmes still indulging in scrapbooking, and how the doctor picks up the discarded pieces and their old 221B era clothes to make something entirely new and uniquely theirs.

1. I keep seeing lovely examples of Victorian silk braces with floral embroidery and I couldn’t resist giving the boys some fancy ones. Also I know that a bright pink and blue shirt is probably not too historically accurate 1910s but screw it, trans flag shirt colours!

2. I both hate and love drawing furniture. Footstools/ottomans are cute, though.

3. “My dear fellow, if you didn’t spend all morning in bed instead of reading the newspaper as soon it arrives all of this could be avoided.” Also Holmes is wearing a silk piano shawl because what are gender norms?

4. Holmes not only uses newspaper clippings for scrapbooking, but per Ghostbees’ suggestion I looked briefly into the Victorian hobby of pressing and collecting seaweed and I think it would be a fantastic subject for Holmes to branch out to (especially if there’s any poisonous types).

5. Old dressing gowns and blankets that have seen better days. The moths got ahold of them but I’m pretty sure the constant chemical experiments back at 221B claimed more than one victim.

6. I got a bit carried away with the ink and gouache here. But it was fascinating to see the first published patterns in magazines making their appearance, especially in publications aimed at women that contained a wide range of home-related subjects.

7. Someone in the Dreamwidth website pointed out that both Holmes and Watson are working on beehives and that warmed my heart. One interesting bit about EPP is that the paper can be left inside the quilt, so historians have been able to gather very detailed information about the person who crafted these pieces and their life.

8. Oh god so many hexagons. Here’s an example of one of those magazines with patterns and instructions.

9. I had too much fun giving them embroidered slippers. It’s a shame I overdid the watercolours and turned out quite muddy, but I would love to draw their clothes in more detail in the future.

10. Smooch! (Also the paisley trim is my favourite part)

11. Initially I wanted this story to end in a picnic at Beachy Head, until I was told that quilts aren’t picnic blankets and are more appropriate for domestic use only. You still get to see some of the cliffs at least!

12. Another accidental discovery during my research: pickle and marmalade jars! I could draw a hundred of them and not get tired. That little spoon! Ugh!

13. I will never not cry about these two old fools in love.

14. Cross stitching and lettering isn’t my forte, nor is Watson’s, but I saw several quilts had names sewn into one panel, almost like a painter signing their canvas, or dedicating the piece to a loved one. So you know I had to add this little detail, plus some green carnations for extra queerness, a forget-me-not flower and a plump bee because I have to be extra.

Looking back this is one of the things I’m the most proud of that I have made this year, or even longer. I work digitally for my job and I miss the feel of traditional materials, so this was a project that let me flex those watercolour muscles and try gouache for the first time. All while drawing incredibly indulgent things, so thank you Basil for giving me an excuse to have some fun.

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radiowrites · 3 years ago

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First Lines Tag

Thanks for the tag, @talesofsorrowandofruin!

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line, then tag some of your fellow authors!

I did a similar game to this a long time ago! It’ll be interesting to see if my opening style has changed any.

These are all fanfictions that can be found on my AO3. They were written from 2021 to 2017 are listed starting with the newest.

Some observations I found:

16 of the 20 are under 15 words long.

1 out of the 20 is in first person (but 3 of them could be, if just from the opening line.)

17 of the 20 introduce a character by name.

3 of the 20 open with dialogue.

My favorite? Probably from Rebel Just for Kicks.

Tagging!

@writercorianarose @thedemoninthecorner @dreams-of-kalopsia @radio-chatter @csakuras @scribblesandsorcery and anyone else that has first lines they want to share! Tag me!

At first, Seon Mi didn’t give the last words of Jin Jae Gyu any weight.

- House of Memories, Memorist

It was the weekend.

- Call You Mine, Ghost Hunt

Masako Hara paused at the street corner.

- Waste It On Me, Ghost Hunt

Yeon was right, he had taken her to wherever.

- Why Can’t This Night Go On Forever, Tale of the Nine Tailed

“Pull over here,” Rang said. “I’m driving home.”

- Unchained Melody, Tale of the Nine Tailed

Try as she might, Luella was never able to be an early Christmas shopper, which found her at her favorite department store a few days before Christmas.

- The Big Heart, Ghost Hunt

The steps beneath Yu Ri’s feet were so, so cold.

- the duller the knife, the deeper the scars, Tale of the Nine Tailed

Oliver pulled at his shirt collar as he followed the nurse.

- Peace, Ghost Hunt

It was early, just before dawn.

- Hired, Ghost Hunt

10.

The woman swept into the lab—which was nothing more than a small room with a table and four chairs—with the grandiose presence Oliver had learned to expect with her kind.

- The Last of the Real Ones, Ghost Hunt

11.

“Joker!” My voice sounded too weak to be called a shout.

- Eyes Closed, Black Butler

12.

Thirteen-year-old Talcott made a small whoop and pumped his fist.

- Infinite Night, Final Fantasy XV

13.

Ayako knew when she was being judged.

- Knock Three Times, Ghost Hunt

14.

The moment Cindy drove that monstrosity out of the garage, Ignis just knew the day would be unproductive.

- Rebel Just for Kicks, Final Fantasy XV

15.

Masako was woken up by pleasant smells of breakfast cooking.

- Miso Soup and Breadcrumbs, Ghost Hunt

16.

At first Iris thought some new horror was emerging when the sky started to change.

- Farewell to Kings, Final Fantasy XV

17.

Shin took her hand and pulled her through the doors which lead out of the airport… … and Eun-tak found herself walking through the doorway to the same hotel room she had left in Quebec.

- Finding You, Goblin / Guardian: The Great and Lonely God

18.

“Wake up,” a voice whispered in his ear, as a finger tapped his shoulder.

12 a.m., Ghost Hunt

19.

The wind ripped at Masako’s shawl again and she shuddered, pulling it tight around her.

- Winter Bird, Ghost Hunt

20.

Oliver’s clothes had yet to dry from the thorough soaking they had received earlier.

- Never Say Die, Ghost Hunt

#ghost hunt #memorist #final fantasy XV #tale of the nine tailed #first lines tag game #fanfiction #raisedonradio #radiowrites #writing

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whatdoesshedotothem · 2 years ago

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Thursday 18 July 1839

7 35/..

11 25/..

fine morning breakfast at 9 ¼ - then had the laquais de place and busy about Swedish money – sent him to Henricus and changed five Dutch gold Williams at 7 thalers 2 marks per William and Gross being present said H- had given me 1 mark more per William than Mr. Hennebert had just before given Gross! – address of the laquais de Place (the one that was to have gone with me to Hamburg in 1833 had I not had Lord Hillsborough) Wilhelm Roed, Hotel Royal, à Copenhagen busy till 12 – then had to wait for the horses – old Hennebergs’ mistake – he is deaf and does not easily understand French one medium of communication – but we have been very well here, and charged fairly – moderately – our dinner yesterday rather meagre, but nothing else to complain of – off from Copenhagen, Hotel Royal, Hennebert, at 12 48/.. pm having

SH:7/ML/E/23/0085

waited impatiently the last ¾ hour for the horses – 4 and one postillion – good road quite level, but go very slowly – the general face of the country much improved – good crops of wheat, barley, oats, and rye, potatoes and grass – very fine day and fine air – stop at 2 20/.. (1/2 way) for ¼ hour – the smell of the Red clover very strong all along – at 3 10/.. Roeskilde [Roskilde] cathedral in sight – at 3 55/.. alight there at the Prindsen (Prince) hotel – fancied I saw Lady Harriet Hagemann peep out from a window upstairs – ran up – no! not arrived – another Inn – sent Gross to inquire – In the meantime a civil Dane from Copenhagen staying here with his wife and 2 daughters came and explained in French and shewed us into his sitting room – I shewed my letter from Count Blucher – it was to the landlord of the Prince – settled ourselves – the house full – a ball – fiddling and dancing – at 4 ½ set off to the cathedral – 2 dollars to see the cathedral – 1 dollar to hear the organ played the best in Denmark and 1 mark to the bellows-blower, and 2 marks to the cathedral door keeper! rather small a cathedral good church – nave and 2 side-aisles – the latter 2 stories of arches of not very unequal height – the upper forming a large gallery over the whole aisle – the whole interior white-washed the ceilings painted (fresco) in a gay pattern with a good deal of sky blue – saw all the costly, much-besilvered coffins of the kings, and a few fine marble royal monuments some sculptured by Italian artists, and one by Stanley (English) to the memory of Louisa daughter of our Charles 2nd cost said the man 60,000 thalers – 4 private chapels at the west end of the nave and side aisles belonging to the families of Yale (Hahn i.e. Cock) Krabbe and another – no crypt originally – the present vaults modern or made by Xtian iv. and later? the 6 children of the present king 2 boys and 4 girls a melancholy row of little coffins – these are likewise 3 or 4 children of prince Xtians’ – the organ played 25 minutes – our God save the king and the Danish national anthem – fine instrument done up in 1833 and well played – the Oboe stop very good – we had just seen all the sights when Lady Harriet H- and Alba (aet. 15) came – had been arrived about ¼ hour or more – mutually glad to meet – Lady H- looking much as usual and Alba not so tall as mamma and stout and well – all returned to the Inn – one 2 small hot rooms rather smoothing – Dined, and then had tea immediately for Lady H- gave her the Outram shawl (same as the one given to Comtesse Blucher) and the last Debretts’ peerage (1 large vol. 8vo. 28/.) – sat talking till after 8 – then took a few minutes walk for fresh air, and at 8 ¾ they drove off on their return to Madame Rosenkranz – it would take 2 hours – Madame de R- old, and weak and nervous – Lady H- nervous – taking medicine – seems more nervous than formerly – but not a grey hair to be seen – said I had turned grey in one night – A- and I walked perhaps ½ hour – nothing particular to be seen – Roeskilde [Roskilde] merely a neat little Danish town – began to undress at 10 – annoyed that I had inadvertently let my chronometer stand – fancied I had wound it up at 9 this morning – no! not since 11 or at noon 12 yesterday – it had stopped at 2 55/.. – wound it up and set it at 10 10/.. according to Lady H-‘s time – and just ¾ hour forwarder than it would have been had it not stopt at all – very fine day – F71° now at 10 25/.. pm

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chiwhorei · 4 years ago

Text

who prays for the headsman?

paring: k. kyoutani x fem!reader

genre: angst, smut, 18+ minors dni

word count: 3.2k

warnings: size kink, crying, oral (f. receiving), major character death, pseudo-incest, stepcest, violence (not a gorey depiction), stabbing, a mention of blood, medieval beheading, angst okay this is sad you have been warned

a/n: Hello! HQHQ monthly collab time, sinners! I’m super excited to share this with you all, it was truly a work of love. All of the other amazing fantasy collab pieces can be found here!

hymns: murder song (5, 4, 3, 2, 1) - AURORA, the judge - twenty one pilots

“The girl’s mother and I are to be wed with haste,” Kyoutani Kentarou’s father pats his small head, smoothing down the blond locks, “Be sure to make y/n feel comfortable. She isn’t your blood, but she’s your family now, son.”

From the moment his father brought you and your mother home, still wrapped in thick mourning veils and tears, his cross to bare was you.

You needed barely an introduction before melting into the comfort of Kentarou. Wrapping your small hands around his middle and burying your face against his neck. Your stiff black dress crinkles against him. The contact was a magnetic, instantaneous spell. Like moth meeting flame, and Kyoutani would burn for it until the next lifetime. The bubbling, itching hellfire marring his tanned skin for two decades.

It’s easier to see the resulting moments in pieces. Shiny, silver blade raised high and gleaming in the light, a sharp swipe of the weapon through the stale air, and finally a thump of weight against the ground below. Still, quiet, and absolute. There’s no escaping the headman’s blade.

The virgin light of dawn rouses Kyoutani from a fitful night of sleep, he stretches his arm out to find your form and only catches the empty shell of blankets you’ve left behind. You’re always awake to greet the cresting rays of light as if they need your permission before ascending to greet the rest of the townspeople. You are the end and beginning of each day.

He finds you sat by the stone fireplace, nightdress hanging off of your shoulders and shawl wrapped tightly to keep the winter’s air at bay. You’ve always preferred the springtime. Even so, the smile that turns at the ends of your lips warms his body like the pouring of melted honey. He basks in you for a moment from afar, as close as he ever feels worthy of being.

“How did you sleep?” Your hand reaches out as he moves farther into the cottage’s main room, touching the warmth of his bare chest. Kyoutani pulls you into him, pressing a kiss to your temple and folding your head against the crook of his neck. Your question goes unanswered, as you both already know: there’s never much rest gifted to the headsman.

A tall wisteria tree sits just outside of town. It’s branches are long and decaying. No flowers bloom on a tree the gods have forgotten. But that doesn't deter you from airy footsteps carrying you to it’s base.

“There’s nothing you can do, y/n,” Kyoutani presses, reaching his arms out to ensure you don’t fall, “there’s no fixing rotten roots.”

You scoff, bunching up your skirt at the ends and kneeling at the large trunk.

Where you bound forward without care, your Kentarou is always there to catch you. As you stoop down by the lifeless tree, his stern eyes narrow. You lay your hands against the rough bark, rubbing upwards and back down. All you need is the notion of life. Your eyes shut in concentration, fingers dancing along the coarse texture. It’s there, deep inside, waiting for you to tug at and rouse back to life. You can see it just behind your eyelids, purples and long flora hanging down, surrounding you in it’s beauty.

“H-how did you do that, y/n?” Kyoutani is cemented in shock behind you, where naked, ghoulish limbs once sat are now filled with swaying, violet life.

“I dunno, I get a tingling feeling in my hands. Here,” You pull him down to sit on the ground, pressing your palms to his cheeks. Your touch is like balm on a wound, he closes his eyes and leans in further. His forehead presses against your own. Your hands cradle the sides of his face, thumbs tracing over the soft skin in soothing patterns.

This is wrong, even as a boy no taller than prairie grass; he knows how wrong this feeling is.

“Do you feel it, Kenta?”

Kyoutani’s job isn’t to decide a person's fate, but the blood still soaks his hands all the same. His walk home is always to the beat of heavy, warning footsteps. His figure is looming, shrouded in thick leather and chain medal. The faulted axe hangs by his side, gripped tightly and weighed down with the heavy smell of iron. He counts his sins every night, prays for absolution but still scrubs the blood of strangers off of his arms and wraps you up in them.

“You fucking bastard,” a strangers voice sounds behind Kyoutani like a siren. He hears the rustling of critics followed by the feeling of a stone thrown against his back.

“You murdered my brother. He was a good man and you killed him.” Kyoutani sighs deeply, he knows the blame will fall on him with every swing his blade makes, so any retort is swallowed. There’s never much reason to quabble, as word travels in a small town like water through a sieve.

“I know who you are, Kyoutani Kentarou. Your father was a good man, and your sweet little sister grew up to be quite the-” All reason shatters under Kyoutani’s boot in an instant, feet carrying him in his hecklers’ direction. His clenched fist meeting the man’s eye socket with deadly force, vision blurring and reason fleeting. He shouldn’t be handing out home brewed justice, but there’s no rationale exercised when your name passes through a strangers mouth.

Kyoutani is a strong man, but fighting three against one would be a losing battle no matter what. No matter how noble his intent is, a sharp knife to the stomach is impossible to ignore. The stranger twists the dagger, bringing his face to Kyouatani’s ear.

“Say hi to your dear ole’ dad for me, eh?”

He hears the man’s snide voice against the pounding in his head. He feels cold and far away, falling down a tunnel with no bottom.

“They’ll be coming for you, y/n,” Your lover's voice lilts against your back, but you don’t turn to meet his eyes just yet. Your hands busy themselves against the familiar grooves of bark. The wisteria’s flowers create a sanctuary from the cruelty of the outside world. It’s a sanctuary, but this spot is one of original sin. The first brush of lips sealed fate years ago that will be actualized by daybreak.

“I know, Kenta-” Your soft voice usually calms the blonde man in front of you, but under the plague of circumstance, your words are sharp spikes against his heart.

“Why did you do it then? How could you be so careless? The mark of a witch means only one thing.” Kyoutani’s stern voice cuts you off, holding you in place, “You never think about the consequences of your reckless heart. Look at me, woman.” His body towers over you, broad chest against your back. His hand finds your jaw, pulling it harshly to force eye contact. Darkened brown eyes fall upon your watery ones and his angry facade shatters like pottery in the small space between your two bodies. You sniffle in his hold, fat tears run down your cheeks as you stutter a response.

“I couldn’t let you die, you’re the only family I have left. I- I love you, Kenta.” A sob rips through you, the declaration isn’t a new one, but it’s context is uniquely heartbreaking. Kyoutani pulls you into him immediately, wrapping strong, scarred arms around your shoulders. You cling to him, a piece of history repeating itself as it likes to do, wrapped in each other and the royal purples of wisteria.

Your lips quiver an inch away from his, stained with salty tears. Kyoutani feels the warmth of plush skin dangled in front of him, there’s an urgency rushing through him where he’s usually hesitant. There isn’t much more time. Without consulting the angel on his right shoulder, two large hands cup your face and pull your lips against his own.

Your cries are muffled by the sloppy pull of your own tongue into Kyoutani’s mouth. As his traces over yours with a chorus of nips and licks, his hands fall to your waist to bunch up the fabric against your hips. The action causes your body to press flush to his crotch.

“We have one more night together, Kenta. Please.” Your words don’t need much appraisal, you could ask Kyoutani to pull the skies down with his bare hands and he would tear the blankets off of any gods above without a second thought. One more night.

Kyoutani unwraps himself from around your form to sit down on the spongy grass below. The terrain is soft and forgiving despite its location in the dense forest. He watches you above him, angelically outlined in the soft moonlight. The personification of virtue and goodness glimmering off of you like an aura. The purest beauty to ever exist, and he’s at the helm of it’s destruction.

The sound of your dress pooling at your feet pulls him from mulling over his past transgressions. His eyes follow a line up from said garment to where your bare cunt is nestled between hip bones. His gaze climbs farther, lacerating the memory of every dip and curve so they scar against his heart. He needs to remember everything.

You join him on the soft grass, knees swung on either side of his large thighs. His hands find your hips again, pressing into the flesh as you begin to rock lightly against him. Your movement is disastrous to his resolve, the tension in his body delivers harsh oval bruises against the skin of your ass.

“I love you. I love you. I love you.” Your confessions are accented by kisses against Kyoutani’s cheeks and lips. Your soul, your heart, your everything are each other’s; and tonight is the final assemblage.

Kyoutani’s touch is like scarlet fever against your body, burning in its journey to grope any flesh he could reach. His fingers have to cement this feeling into his fingerprints, after tonight only the phantom pains of you will remain.

“You feel so good Kenta. S-So right.” Your mewls rattle around against his skull, as one palm comes down to meet your heated pussy. The most morally abject sin he’s committed- even counting the heads that roll by his feat every day- is you. But still; he can’t argue the morality of your body writhing naked above him when his cock is already straining angrily against the leather of his pants. His fingers trace down from the hip bone to where your puffy lips sit. It’s amazing how sweet, how soft you are. Where Kyoutani is calloused and harsh, you are smooth and silken. Perfection. Depravity.

As one thick finger proads against your hole, your hips buck with new resolve. You crave more than just fleeting touches and stolen glances. You want him to let go completely, something he’s only done a handful of times. You need him to.

“I’m not made of ceramic Kyoutani. You treat me like a child, but I’m stronger than you seem to believe.” You use your family name for punctuation, but the sentence comes out melted on the edges when he sticks another digit in to join the first.

“Don’t you think I know that, y/n. Fuck. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever known,” a resounding slap meets your ass, jolting you farther against his fingers, “but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t protect you. That’s my job, damnit.” His thumb finds your swollen clit with ease even within his flustered state and presses down, “I failed you.”

You don’t trust your own voice to answer, you know nothing you could say would ease his heart. All you can do is push forward in hopes that one night can make up for the life he’ll have to live without you. Your hands move down to loosen his suffocating pants, wobbly knees digging against the ground as he eases the leather down his legs.

Your hand grabs a hold of his hard cock, stroking from his thick base to reddened tip. The touch is familiar. Something that wracks him with guilt but fills his soul with warmth. It’s always been your touch. Similar to the sparks rendered from striking flint, your touch lights up his every nerve

Kentarou’s fingers move back to work you open for him, your head falls back, causing the fat of your tits to bounce against his chest. His other rough hand comes up to palm your breasts, pinching your hardened nipple and pulling down. You cry out in pleasure at the attention, senses overwhelmed by your lover’s ministrations.

“Please, please do something.” Your voice is desperate against the shell of his ear, pleading for more. More of Kentarou, and naively, for more time.

With a swift, practiced movement, the blonde moves you to lay against the grass. He removes the blood-stained shirt from his chest and kicks off his pants. His body eclipses yours, shielding you from view. You’re surrounded by him, the heady scent of sweat, the sound of the racing heart against his ribcage like a trapped songbird. It’s all Kyoutani, it always has been; your home, your confessional, the safest reprieve and your most vile secret.

Kyoutani’s cock is freed from its confines to slap deftly against his stomach. Your mouth tries to swallow as if filled with dried tea leaves, his size isn’t always the most accommodating. Even so, you lift up on one elbow to curl your fingers around his shaft and groan once again when your pointer finger and thumb don’t meet. Kyoutani opens his mouth to speak but you answer before the words fall.

“Don’t be gentle, Kentarou, ” your dwarfed hand tugs him towards you, creating a dizzying pressure, “I can take it.”

There’s no room for argument in your words, so he dips down to kiss your lips once again. “Let me taste you, y/n. Just one more time.” His eyes hold flames but regard you as softly as possible. You nod in agreement. His lips running down from your neck to your hips, you feel the chapped skin against your own. With each peck, a path of tears follow in tandem. His shaky cries are hidden behind the moans being pulled from your lungs. You don’t acknowledge it, for doing so would just make the wracking pain even worse.

There’s no use speaking of your combined suffering, it’s already dug it’s blade into Kyoutani’s vertebrae.

Once his mouth reaches your wet pussy, there’s nothing left of his conscious. Where guilt usually lies, madness replaces. The first swipe of his tongue is painfully slow, he has to savor this taste, your taste. Your soft, swollen lips are the gods’ manna and he’s been given one last chance to indulge. Kyoutani’s tongue finds your clit and flicks upward, just the way that’s always made you squeal. You’re coating his chin in slick, and nothing else will ever quench his thirst like this again. He could stay in between your legs for the next century, but rips himself away from your dripping cunt.

Your mouth is captured in his again, tongue and cheeks coated in your own arousal. The feeling distracting you from the reddened tip prodding at your tight hole. You suck in a sharp breath as you’re worked open. Every vein and ridge tugs against your snug walls. It hurts, it always does, but there’s nothing that’s ever felt better either. You bite his collarbone in a feeble attempt to keep quiet, nails cresting small shapes against his back as he slides farther and farther in.

“My pretty girl, so perfect for me.” Kyoutani’s hips meet your ass, giving you a moment to acclimate. You’re pulled taut around him, cock dragging against you as he pulls back. He remembers your previous words. I can take it.

His hips slam against you with ferocity. Every expanse of fat on you bounces. Thighs, tits, ass- all moving with the pace he sets. His cock is begging for release with every union of his tip to your cervix. A litany of cries and pleas fill the surrounding air, lilting around to bounce against the drooping flowers.

“Please Kenta, I’m- I’m going to.” Your sentence breaks off at the end but he puts them back together. He coos you, “I know, little one. Let go for me.” He presses two fingers against your clit once more to rub tight circles.

Your toes curl against the grass below you, body locking up as the blood running through your veins is replaced with gooey syrup. Years of tension and shame pull tightly against your body and snap in an instant.

Kyoutani can’t hold off his own orgasm any longer, not with the vice grip you have on him.

Not with the sound of the constable's horses drawing closer to the old wisteria tree.

It’s easier to see the resulting moments in pieces.

Kyoutani’s blade is sharpened meticulously. “A dull axe is worlds more painful.” Even as his heart is being torn from under his breast bone, webs of muscle and tendon snapping like sewing floss the closer he walks to your kneeling form, he remembers his father’s words.

The ringing in his ear drowns out the sound of your sentence being passed, it’s better he doesn't hear the official crimes you are posed with, lest he swings his weapon against the priest instead. He wants to reach out, to untie you and run away, to find a new world. A world where he hears the pattering of little footsteps and sees chubby hands clinging against your apron. A world where he wakes up to your wrinkled cheeks and graying hair.

Shiny, silver blade raised high and gleaming in the light, a sharp swipe of the weapon through the stale air, and finally a thump of weight against the ground below. Still, quiet, and absolute.

There’s no escaping the headman’s blade.

The wisteria tree is the beginning and end. Long, purple flowers sealing fate. Kyoutani pulls reluctant feet to the tree's base, his forehead pressing against the bark. He turns around and slides down to sit against the trunk. His hands roam against the texture of the grass beneath him. He remembers the spindly branches and decaying wood from years ago when he closes his eyes, he remembers your hands clawing back it’s life from the lowest level of hell.

When his eyes open again, they are met with yours. Soft, beautiful, and achingly familiar. You smile, lips turning upwards and teeth peaking out slightly. Your hand reaches out to cup his face, a dull crackle of warmth reaches his skin where forest fires use to smolder. It’s not the same, but it’s you. He knows it’s you somehow. Whether it be a cruel trick from the gods or his brain succumbing to madness. It’s still you. Your warmth is surrounding him again, and it feels almost right.

“Do you feel it, Kenta?” Your voice is warped and echoes like a hollow drum, he can’t help the tears falling in thick streams. It’s you. He reaches out to touch you, but his hands remain empty and cold. You disappear in a second, your face vanishing from where he swore he could almost feel your lips against his own.

You leave him once again and take the bright flowers of wisteria with you.

#kyoutani x reader #kyoutani smut #kyoutani kentarou x reader #haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader #kyoutani kentarou #kyoutani kentarou smut #hqhq server collab #tw: stepcest #tw: death #tw: pseudo-incest #tw: violence #tw: blood #tw: stabbing

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