#my hair is full of moss and spiders

[daezedglownut]

Car washed, waxed, and hoovered. Gutters also hoovered. Ornamental rugs switched around the house. Now to wash the solar panels 💀

[ilici]

arctic.

ao'nung x omaticaya!avatar.

Summary: Norm's adoptive daughter goes with the Sully's, being treated differently due to her looks.

Warnings: Mention of blood and death.

Full Story! Series may happen!

Word Count: 1547.

Norm looked down at the Na'vi in his lab, as he glanced around at everyone that looked down along with him. He and Jake shared glances, as if they were talking with their minds.

"What happened?"

Jake asked curiously and Norm could only look at him and Neytiri, before he turned around looking at the Na'vi that were dead on his lab table. The crying Na'vi was reaching out for warmth, her mother, her mother's warmth.

"I'm guessing there was an altercation with things, and it limited her color."

Norm explained, and Jake looks at him confused, as Neytiri gently picked up the baby, holding it close it instantly accepted her touch, her crying coming to a slow halt.

"English, Norm."

Jake said to Norm who looked up at Jake, and sighed.

"She's albino. She has albinism."

He summarized bluntly, and Jake looked at Neytiri and the white Na'vi in her arms, before looking back at Norm.

"Who is going to take care of her?"

Neytiri asked, and Jake looked down at her pregnant stomach, then over to Grace's pregnant stomach and shook his head.

"We already have enough on our hands."

He confirmed, and Norm cleared his throat, causing the two to look over at him as Jake was playing with the baby in Neytiri's arms.

"I can take care of her. Obviously she will sleep with you all, but I will treat her as if she were my own."

Neytiri looked over at Jake for his answer, and Jake could only nod his head slowly.

"That will work. We will train her how Na'vi's are and you can teach her about your stuff."

Jake said, and Norm smiled over at his now daughter, as Neytiri placed her back down as she rested peacefully.

"I'll name her Arctic. White as snow."

--

"Arctic! Come on!"

Kiri yelled as they all ran along the tree's that were makeshift bridges, and laughed as their steps caused the moss to light up under their weight.

"Don't yell at me! Spider is the one behind us!"

Hearing the insult thrown his way, he tugged at her tail causing her to softly slap him with her tail. Making it to their destination, they all looked around as Lo'ak pointed towards the area that was said to be the battlefield.

Looking around in amazement, Arctic's ears twitched at the sound of voices. Automatically recognizing they were speaking English. As Kiri tried to convince them to leave, Lo'ak quickly made their hidden figures noticeable to the English Avatar's.

Yelping as her hair was pulled, she winced before she saw someone come into her vision.

"Well I'll be damned. Look at this one. White as a ghost, must've scared the color out of her."

Quaritch joked, as he inspected her. Looking at her closely, he noticed how her main color was white, with slightly darker stripes and bright blue eyes. What stood out the most to him was her platinum hair.

"Leave her alone!"

Spider yelled and Arctic hissed before yelping in pain as he hair was pulled once more. Her two braids being yanked as her main braid was left untouched thankfully. Her curly hair laid along her shoulders, the Avatar that was holding her, held her braids as if they were horse reins.

Lo'ak looked over to his best friend and tried to draw the attention off of her.

"Show me your fingers."

Flipping him off, Lo'ak glared up at him, as Arctic watched Lo'ak in fear of him being hurt.

"You're his."

Closing her eyes as her hair was pulled roughly once more, she involuntary let out a whimper of pain, and this caught Quaritch's attention.

"Call for your father. Until he arrives, we'll see if your friend bleeds color."

He said laughing and walking over to Arctic who let out panicked breaths, and Lo'ak yelled trying to get him to leave her alone. Spider kicked around attempting to escape as he watched.

Letting out a short scream as her chest was slashed, and shortly her cheek was. Blood slowly dripped down, and Quaritch chuckled looking at the blood.

"Well I'll be damned. She bleeds color. Would you look at that?"

--

Norm looked at his daughter sadly, as she kept looking at her reflection, her fingers slightly trailing over the cuts.

"Dad. I don't want to leave you."

She finally broke the silence and Norm knew this would be difficult, and shook his head.

"It's final, you're going. It's the only way to keep you safe. Uncle Jake will take care of you."

He told her and she looked down at him, before softly hugging him. Norm held her, as he sighed out already knowing how much he would regret it.

--

As they landed on Awa'atlu, Arctic instantly hid behind Lo'ak and Neteyam, not wanting attention on her. She knew she'd be looked at, she looked completely different than the rest.

Being moved forward by Neytiri, she looked in front of her and noticed Neteyam and Lo'ak greet someone, so she stumbled to greet whoever they greeted.

Looking for who they greeted, she saw a Na'vi that was already looking at her. Shifting uncomfortably under his gaze, she looked away as he scanned her.

"I don't like this."

She muttered to Lo'ak who only grumbled in agreement, before his hand was jerked up. Feeling her hair being lifted, she looked over noticing it was the same that was holding Lo'ak's hand.

"They have demon in their blood!"

She said as she dropped Lo'ak's hand, and walked over to Arctic.

"Abnormal. They have abnormality in them."

She said letting her hair go, as Jake was quick to defend them, and she felt the constant stare on her from the one earlier. Being pulled by Neteyam, she followed him as she looked back catching the eye of the boy. Looking away she followed them to the Marui.

--

As she watched Tsireya, Lo'ak, Rotxo, Kiri, and Neteyam training their breathing from a distance she frowned. Moving her attention back to the two that were training her on her Ilu, she let out a nervous breath wishing one of her friends had joined her.

"Focus."

One of them spoke up, and she slowly got on the Ilu, bonding with it. Smiling at the bond, she noticed how peaceful it felt. Feeling every breath it would take, she pet it before she motioned for it to go forwards. Diving under, she smiled brightly, as they spun around and drug her hand along the surface of the water as they were upside down.

Ao'nung watched the entire interaction, and to say he was slightly annoyed at how quickly she learned was an understatement.

"Come. We train with breathing."

Removing the bond, she swam with Ao'nung, and met Neteyam as the rest left to train with Ilu's. Looking at Neteyam in relief that he stayed behind, he patted the spot beside him.

"Couldn't really get any training in. Lo'ak was stealing all the attention."

He spoke in English so the other Na'vi wouldn't understand their conversation. Laughing she patted Neteyam's chest softly.

"Don't worry. The big mighty warrior will find a moment to train."

She joked, and Ao'nung looked between the two and then over to his friend as he tried his hardest to understand what they were saying. He felt his stomach swirl in some sort of feeling, as he watched them.

"To breath like us, you will breath from here."

Ao'nung placed his hand on his stomach and chest, as he explained the process of doing so. Neteyam helped slightly when Arctic got lost.

"You got it all wrong."

Ao'nung finally spoke up as Neteyam left to practice with the Ilu's before Tsireya left.

Rolling her eyes she looked at him and crossed her arms over her chest glaring at him.

"You have said that about eight times now."

She argued to him and Ao'nung rolled his eyes as well, as he pulled her closer. As he was about to show her how, he finally noticed the cuts. His eyes examined the cuts, and looked up at her eyes.

"Who did this?"

He asked, his finger trailing over the one on her cheek. Arctic let out a shuddered breath at his touch, and looked away her ears lowering in sorrow.

"Don't worry about it."

She muttered moving away from his touch. Looking at her, he grabbed her wrist, as he held her in place.

"Why?"

He questioned and Arctic huffed out looking back at him, as he realized her eyes almost matched his. Her's were a hue lighter than his.

"They wanted to see if I bled color."

She muttered under her breath and Ao'nung's breath hitched as she explained. Placing his hand on her cheek, cupping the cheek that had the injury.

"You don't need color to be seen."

He whispered to her, and Arctic looked at him in shock, her tail swishing in bashfulness. Clearing her throat she pulled back and looked away, as he snapped out of his daze, clearing his own throat.

"Training."

She reminded and Ao'nung nodded, as he once again explained how to do it, and she followed his instructions the best she could. Ao'nung grinned as she started learning, and nodded his head once she looked at him for affirmation.

[thewisaaaaad]

HEY I JUST HAD AN IDEA!

since I cannot find the motivation or drive to DRAW my ref sheet, I can just describe them in minute detail!

SO Hypnos. this will be split into 4 ish parts because there are 4 major states to them!

Pre life, they are a ghostly sheep with pure white wool but black fur (the short hair beneath the wool, around the face and arms.). They have two short horns, the left one broken halfway up, and Their eyes are pure white. They wear the fleece of the crusader, and have the classic bell, with light brown pants that are held up with a cord belt. they are not affected by gravity, and cannot touch anything (exept in ONE specific circumstance.). they are unaffected by the red moon.

After being forced into a body, they look much the same color-wise, except that now their wool is perpetually dirty. Their left horn remains broken. Their eyes now have pupils, but are mismatched due to the right one being replaced with Leshies eye. that eye also has no eyelid, as Shamura didn't bother. (a worms eye doesn't need an eyelid because it has a protective membrane, but Hypnos now needs to rub at their eye sometimes.) Their ears are now blue, in tatters, and constantly wet due to belonging to a certain squid (the ears can no longer wriggle to express emotion, and it hurts when they feel happy.). They do not speak in their own voice, due to having Hekets throat, but they undergo voice training to try to sound like themselves again. they still croak sometimes. The biggest change, however, is their head shape. No longer shaped like a wedge, like it once was, it is now rounded, with skin having been clumsily removed from their face so that it matched the new curvature. Having Shamuras skull means that they now have a vestigial nose, as spiders do not have one, as well as divots behind their eyes where extra eyes could fit. they also have fangs. They wear the red crown, but its eye does not open, and forms no weapons for them as it tries to maintain their body. they are constantly on the verge of falling apart, Held together by purple thread in messy stiches. their stability (and stitches) greatly improve after Kalamar's care. They wear a heavy iron collar sealed with a golden diamond shaped lock, only open-able by the god of war. their cloak is a tattered, worn version they wore while incorporeal. It is infused with the same magic that binds Hypnos to the world of the living, pulling fervor out of the air and giving the lamb a means to fight. Their magic, shaped by their torment, comes in the form of lightning.

After their rebirth through the cream crown, their stitched together wounds finally heal, though the relics remain embedded in their flesh. The purple thread is gone, leaving only scars. Their wool seems cleaner, and their eyes shine brighter. They no longer wear the red crown, and instead wear the cream crown: a crown with a sideways cream colored eye (and i do mean sideways, even the pupil), the crown itself the shape of a miter hat (a bishops hat, the one that followers use at refineries). Their ruined cloak has transformed into a beautiful wool one that resembles a sunset or perhaps a sunrise on a clear day, retaining some of the powers of its previous form but now works a little differently (if they stand still and 'take a rest', their fervor charges really fast). The shackle on their neck has loosened, not quite free yet, and the lock was warped by the surge of power from an awakening god into a softer shape, resembling a cloud now.

After they have achieved redemption, they have grown into a full god. The relics are truly part of them now, and they have accepted this body as their own. Leshies eye has grown an eyelid made of moss, Kalamars ears now properly wiggle, Hekets voice is full of power, and now flowers sprout from the wool on Hypnos's head. They are much taller now, and their intact horn has grown into a rams horn, while their broken horn has spiraled upward, still broken halfway up. They now wear a cloak embroidered with the patterns of the old faith, but it is dyed to resemble the sun on the horison, with stars still twinkling above. Their wool is now lightly cream tinted at the edges, looking like a soft cloud.

They no longer wear the lock.

[aut2imagineart]

Here's my next addition to my Pangea Ultima project. Still in the mountain regions, one of the most numerous groups of predators are spiders. These are the three species I depict here.

Leopard Tarantula: an enormous spider with a leg span of over 12 in., they are active ambush predators that pursue and tackle prey slightly larger than itself thanks to its stocker build. The thick coat of hairs provide both insulation as well as camouflage for blending in to its mountainous surroundings. While it doesn't spin full webs, it uses its silk as safety tethers during hunting pursuits on more vertical landscapes.

Death Swarmer: This small, silvery white spider lives in large groups and spin massive, reinforced webs that stretch across mountain canyons. Strong enough to ensnare the largest flying organisms of the time, these webs are design to trap anything that flies into them, many of which are blown up from lower altitudes. Once prey get insnared, the Death Swarmers immediately swarm over it to immobilize it as quick as possible. Needing to deal with significantly larger prey, the Death Swarmers evolved among the most venomous bites of any spider, comparable to the modern day Brazilian Wandering spider.

Mossy Jumping Spider: These tiny spiders are small prey hunters that primarily target flies and springtails. Their coloring helps them blend in with the moss and lichens patches that dot the mountains. It's powerful legs allow Mossy Jumping Spiders to catch prey in mid-air and leap several meters to travel to new moss/lichen patches.

As always, comments and critiques are welcome.

[shannaraisles]

Reunion

“I remember you.”

Fallon rose from where she crouched by the softly flowing river, shaking the cool water from her hand even as her eyes sought the owner of that warm, earthen voice. Halsin stood, half cloaked in the shadow of the moon-touched oak, his gentle gaze settled on her with an unseen smile. 

“I wasn’t sure you would,” she said, her voice low in the darkness, unwilling to risk even a moment of the encompassing calm he always seemed to carry with himself. Even in the Underdark, chained to the bed of her former mistress, he had been an ocean of calm amid the maelstrom of a falling House. 

He pushed from his lean against the tree, stepping from the shadow into the full beam of the moon’s light. “How could I forget my little dark wolf?”

She shook her head, unable to hold his gaze under the weight of memories she had fought so hard to suppress for too long. Two hundred years of pretending that the first kindness ever shown to her had not stolen her heart long before she had ever deemed it of any use. 

“You never came back,” she whispered, the dip of her head sending waves of silver-white hair cascading in front of her face, obscuring the obsidian dark skin that marked her out for so much hatred here on the surface. 

“It was not for lack of will. I was prevented by those that had missed me.”

She felt, more than saw, his approach to her side; the strange comfort of his looming bulk dwarfing her more modest height with a protective mien that was as much a part of him as the broad muscular body that carried him. He stood close, so close; close enough she could feel the heat of his skin through the cloth of her shirt, shivering just a little in reaction to an intimacy that was not yet fully realised. 

“You are cold?” he asked, his arm lifting, hand hovering as though to clasp her shoulder, slide about her back. 

“I-I ...No, I’m just ... it’s been a strange day.”

Coward, she heard that long-forgotten, despised voice from her deep past whisper in the confines of her mind, the last echoes of a matriarch whose only grace in this world had been to fear Lolth more than she hated the child she had been given to raise in her ranks. 

“X’oriethlyn.”

The sound of her given name, unspoken for centuries, rolling from his tongue without a second thought drew a gasp from her throat, her head spinning with the sudden realisation that this druid, this man, did not lie. He did remember her; he remembered enough of her that the old name bestowed by the Spider Queen herself came as easily to him as the name she had given herself when she had first found freedom on the surface. Warmth coursed through her from the gentle press of his hand to her back as he reached for her swaying form; reached only to steady her, not to presume that she welcomed his touch. 

But welcome it she did, unable to prevent herself from turning into the unconditional warmth that opened his arms to her, allowing her to burrow into his embrace like the lost child she had been when they had first met all those long years ago. He smelled of oak and moss and rich, dark earth, of fur and fresh rain, and all those things she had never been able to put a name to until his capture by the matriarch of House Yril'Lysaen. Halsin’s arms closed around her, just as they had done back then, shielding her from the world as she clung to an anchor that she had thought she would never see again. 

How long they stood together on the shore, she could not have said, enveloped as she was in the safety of the druid’s embrace, her face pushed into the curve of his chest, his breath ruffling the fall of her moon-touched hair. 

“You have come so far, little wolf,” he murmured to her, tightening his embrace against the shudder of memory as it ripped through her, as though he could hold back the tide of whips and spiders and cruelty with just the force of his unassuming presence. And perhaps he could; if it had not been for him, tearing through the remaining ranks of guards in the chaos of the fall, she might never have escaped the Underdark herself. “I have longed to see you in the light.”

“I took your name for me,” she said, the words half-laughing, half-sobs, encouraged when she felt his lips curve into a smile against her hair. 

“I could see your strength even then,” he said, his cheek firm against her temple. “If circumstances had allowed, I would have come back for you. I would have delivered you safely to those who could have raised you better.”

“You gave me a chance no one else ever did,” Fallon whispered, finally raising her eyes to his. “You gave me freedom, Halsin. I can’t ever repay you for it.”

His smile seemed to gentle somehow further in the cool light of the moon, his head lowering until his brow touched hers, until all she could see was the druid she had loved in the secret of her soul for so many years, certain she would never see him again. 

“Your freedom was never something I expected payment for,” he murmured. “Your life is your own, Fallon X’oriethlyn. But I am glad to see you walk in the light. Your radiance is undimmed by time.”

She snorted with laughter, squeezing his waist gently before easing back, dashing the unwanted tears from her face. 

“You are still too charming for your own good,” she retorted, her smile a moonbeam of its own in the face of his chuckle.

“Or perhaps I am seeking to unlock a new memory.”

His palm touched her cheek, turning her face back to his, and for the longest moment, she thought she could see her dreams reflected in hazel eyes that flickered with something neither one of them could yet put a name to. But he was free, and so was she, at last walking beneath the same moon. 

And he remembered.

[bwobgames]

Previous First

Beebo's memories of his last case forcefully enter his mind

"I would never judge a person for hiring a detective for a cat, and I would never judge a colleague for accepting such a case, but somehow, someway, I am very much judging myself.

Are my prices too low? Or is it better that is this low? I mean, work is work, but also, what would the academy think ...?"

"Oh Sir Williamson the fifth, it's you and me against the world"

"... There's no way they call him by his full name"

"Alright, professional Beebo time! Let's review"

"People around the area said that this is an area with a lot of cats, so if Sir Williamson ran away following some friends, he's probably here"

"And what better place to hide in the meantime than a big abandoned building?"

"Yeah, no, this place has seen better days"

"It's close enough to civilization that stray cats could get in, and far away for people to not care"

"This was some sort of half house half art display if I'm not wrong, perfect for a silly kitty to play in"

"It looks a bit dangerous, but I really want to see what's inside"

"I'm curious, I'm so curious. I need to get in already"

He enters the building

Something feels

Wrong

"Yeah, no, this place is a dump"

"Uhh, any kitties here?"

"... no response. Well, it was expected"

"Seems like there's still a few art pieces hanging around. They are not in the best shape, though, or are they? This might just be how it was made"

Looking at the wall ahead, he sees a framed picture

"Oh, that's useful, let's see...

I'll just go straight ahead and turn to reach the stairs.

I should be able to see something that indicates the presence of a cat"

He goes through the door

"I dont really mind graffiti, but why break the art?

Unless this was meant to be broken to send a message about what we consider art and not??

Maybe I should've investigated more, but all I got is that this place is supposedly haunted"

"If there's any ghosts in this building, have any of you seen a little grey cat?"

...

"Once again, no response. Rude!"

"All right, straight up ahead"

A tiny corridor with ruined paintings on the wall

"For being an abandoned place, it sure doesn't have any bugs

I dont think I've seen a single spider or fly. Maybe the faint smell of painting chemicals keep them away?"

"I don't even hear rats scurrying around"

"Hello? Any rats around here?"

"... Nothing. Not a squeak or little feet running around.

Maybe they are just hiding very well"

He goes through the first door

And finds another corridor

"Artists and their corridors"

The two doors lead to bathrooms

He goes through the third one

He finds a room that resembles a kitchen. There's only small and broken furniture.

The next room resembles a living room. This must be the House part of the art installation

He goes through another door and finds some stairs. He doubts the strength of the stairs, but after a few little jumps in the wood, he finds it sturdy and goes up

"Ah, so this is the studio, very nice, I would love an office this size

Although most things are broken, i can kind of see how a bedroom could be situated in the far corner"

"Here kitty, kitty! Are you here, kitty?"

"Uh, Sir Williamson the third? Come here baby!!"

He makes kissy noises, but nothing, no cat

The whole way here, he hasn't even seen a single cat hair.

Or rat, or spider, or fly

Just some moss sometimes

"Ah, I guess my theory has been debunked. There's no kitty here. It doesn't even even smell like cat pee!"

"There's a bit more rooms left, but I'm pretty sure there is no cat"

"I'll just keep asking the houses around here"

"Man, I didn't even see a ghost. This sucks"

He traces back his steps to the room he came in

"Welp, I guess I admired some art today. That counts as doing something productive!"

He calls for the cat one last time

But there's only silence

He opens the door to go back outside

There's a corridor

[hannahssimblr]

Chapter Nine (Part 2)

He creaks open the door and as we step inside the echo of our shoes on the tile floor immediately rings through the cavernous building and bounces off every wall. I wonder in amazement how a place like this was just left to rot and crumble. Once a place of worship and community now just left to fall to pieces and be lost to time. Jude’s torch light skims over the floor, its colourful tiles cracked and sunken and littered with rubbish, fast food packaging, beer cans, and cigarettes. Clearly we’re not the only people who have found this place. The pews that are left are strewn around, some overturned and broken and others pushed up against the walls, and I see that the outside has slowly begun to creep its way in to claim back the ground it once owned. Moss has grown on the walls, and grass is pushing its way up through gaps in the floor. Old deserted birds’ nests rest in corners of the gallery, between the pipes of an old organ and right above our heads, conspiring with skeins of spider webs knitted across every ceiling and every wall. 

Jude shines his light onto a stained glass window that I hadn’t yet seen. “This is what I wanted you to see.” It’s right over the place where the altar would have been. I look up at it and it’s so beautiful that it takes my breath away. It depicts two figures, one who looks like an angel, and another kneeling at her feet, a clear glassy tear rolling down his face. I never knew that stained glass could be like this, the intricacy of it, the colours and how they shine even in torch light, I wonder how much better it would look with the full light of the sun radiating behind it. It’s like one perfect thing in the middle of the disarray, it’s amazing to me that it’s never been broken. I walk closer to it so I can see the details better, Jude on my heels with the light. 

“It’s incredible.” I say, because it is. Every tiny piece of glass, the long hands and melancholy faces of the figures depicted, it’s stirring something inspirational up inside me. 

“I thought you’d like to see it.” Jude says. “It’s a mystery to me why it’s here, or why it’s survived. I found this place years ago and I always come back again expecting it to be ruined, but it’s always in one piece.”

I turn to him. “Thanks for showing me.”

He’s still glancing up at it. “A bit emo, isn’t it?” He says. “They both look so sad.” When he looks away from it and meets my eyes, I suddenly feel like I’m caught up in them; brown framed with thick black lashes, and I have a wild stirring thought that I wish he would kiss me now. I wonder what kind of madness it would take for me to close the gap between us and press my lips against his, here in the abandoned church at midnight under this gothic window. I’m sure I’ve never met somebody like him before, or made me feel the way that I do when I’m around him. 

“Hey.” He says to me, “Do you believe in ghosts?” The next thing I know he’s flipped off the torch light and we’re plunged suddenly into heavy darkness. I shriek in fright, and the sound of it echoes around me and seems to awaken something high up in the rafters. The place is filled with the sounds of flapping wings and rustling that makes my skin crawl. “Jude!” I gasp. “Don’t do that!”

I hear him laughing. “Sorry! Are you scared?”

“Yes! And I think I’ve awoken the bats in the ceiling. Jesus Christ.”

I feel his hands reach for me through the darkness and they hold my wrists, warm and steady, my pulse jumping under his fingers. His thumb strokes my wrist almost absent mindedly. “I’ve got you,” he says easily “you’re fine.”

“That was mean.” I whimper.

“I’m sorry.” He flips the light back on, and I’m sure that I look deranged, and he points it up to the rafters to show me where the bats are retreating back into the shadows.

I slip my hands out of his grasp and use them to smooth down my hair. “I could almost feel them clawing at my head.” I say.

“They wouldn’t.”

“They might!”

“Let’s get out of here.” I say. “I can’t stand the thought of them coming back down and… getting me.” I spin around and walk back outside, Jude in tow.

“Sorry Evie, I really didn’t mean to scare you that much, it was funnier in my head.” He says again as we hit the night air.

“It’s fine, it would have been funny if it wasn’t for them.”

“Hah. Yeah, the bats. I forgot they lived there honestly. But they don’t usually come near humans from what I know.”

“Well I swear I felt something touch me. I still feel itchy all over.”

He shrugs. “Maybe it was a ghoul.” 

“Come on, don’t say that!” 

He laughs and starts weaving through the graves towards the stone wall, beating his way through the long, overgrown weeds. “So you do believe in ghosts.”

“Maybe. I haven’t put much thought into it.” I reply as I follow him, gazing down at some of the tombstones as I pass by. They’re all so old, some of them dating as far back as the eighteen hundreds. I shiver at the thought of all the bodies lying there under the dirt for centuries, many of them probably long forgotten about. “Do you believe in them?”

“I think so.” He says. “Not that I’ve seen one, it’s just I feel like there’s things that can’t always be explained.” He makes it to a bench at the wall. I perch beside him. 

Prev // Next

[fagdykevash]

[ID: A compilation of tweets.

1. Tage Erlinger (@ TageErlinger): Haha, what a wicked and ironic comment bro. Now try saying someting true and beautiful

2. Coffee Lovers and Fans (@ tonyhawktruther): NASA just revealed a heaven-like planet where you can drink a beer at the lake. And they're calling it Earth

3. Theo Fanning (@ TheoFanning): After 50 years, Guitar Center finally makes the correct decision to stop using a guitar as a 'G' in their logo. Why it took that long is still anyone's guess. (Attached: the old and new Guitar Center logos) frog "kid Omelas" kosaric (@ yurirando) quote-tweeted: when they burned the library of Alexandria the crowd cheered in horrible joy. They understood that there was something older than wisdom, and it was fire, and something truer than words, and it was ashes

4. miss en abyme (@ saturnalreturn): Standing in front of the sun and doing shadow puppet shows on the moon

5. Linux (@ linux): When I kill God I will find the spigot from which he meters out grace and smash it permanently open

6. tania (@ boywaif): I had a french professor who once said if you just did something like going to the supermarket and experienced it fully without the goggles of habit and catégories you would go crazy with pure sense and joy. I think about it all the time. In a way this is all for him.

7. sand ghost (@ moutheaters): Me: Is the natural state of the soul quiet or chaos? Taco Bell cashier: Look buddy, it's transient, shifting like water

8. lil stinker (@ superlameballs): guys will make something called "the ultimate treat" and it's just a meatball sub it's just a meatball sub made on sub toasted garlic bread with cheese. homemade sauce, and all the love in their heart- their heart so filled to bursting with love you can taste it in the sandwich.

9. kat, your DM (@ kazzbotz): Whenever you're obsessed with stopping a prophecy you gotta ask yourself: am I enacting the prophecy's will? Is my obsession the mechanism by which the prophecy comes to pass?

10. Matthew (@ CrowsFault): People speak of hope as if it is this delicate, ephemeral thing made of whispers and spider's webs. It's not. Hope has dirt on her face, blood on her knuckles, the grit of the cobblestones in her hair, and just spat out a tooth as she rises for another go.

11. SOUL fembot (@_fembot): Its always "why did you not sleep" or "how many coffys did you have" and never "was the night dark and endless and full of promise"

12. [A thread:] John (@logicalpathos): This dog looks like my dog from my teenage years, Daisy. God I miss Daisy. aro (@ Arolexion): I miss daisy too dais (@ daisdNDconfused): It's okay… I was reincarnated into a real girl John (@ logicalpathos): Do you remember how we used to run

13. jims (@bubberdunkus): i'd tickle a fish if the wet chime of its laughter could heal us

14. lilies abounded (@petfurniture): i hope death is like being carried to your bedroom when you were a child & fell asleep on the couch during a family party. i hope you can hear the laughter from the next room

15. Linux (@ linux): We cracked open the skulls of our masters and found nothing but flesh and blood

16. [A thread:] azhar (@ emokendallroy) is there anyone even named sheldon irl? creature from the black leagoon (@ bigfatmoosepssy): my class turtle from 6th Grade :) erin m. brady (@ erinmartina): that's a turtle creature from the black leagoon (@ bigfatmoosepssy): When God sings with his creations, will a turtle not be part of the choir

17. sio (@ bestinsio): subway rat made eye contact with me and said "join us. when the train comes we slide under the tracks and feel it rumble over us like a warm thunderstorm. we live forever and we love to live" I said no thank you I am too large he turned away from me I cried

18. Not a wolf @sickofwolves: (in all caps) I hope this e-mail does not find you I hope your chair has grown over with moss I hope a pleasant but unobserved beam of light hits your desk perfectly through the collapsed ceiling I hope the silence is deafening.

End ID]

an incomplete collection of tweets i consider to be short poems

[goddammitstacey]

Here have a queer retelling of Little Red Riding Hood

The forest is magnificent. Giant yew trees reach for the sky, their leaves sending dappled sunlight down toward the moss-covered floor like a parting gift. Even Shiloh can’t deny the majesty of the place, as much as she might have preferred the wood around her a little more dead, with four legs, and holding up a tankard of beer.

But alas, good things apparently come to those who wait. And wait. Shiloh sighs, pulling her pelt more securely around her as she shifts into a warmer patch of sunlight.

“Are you almost finished?” she asks. “It’s nearing dusk, my love.”

The nearest tree is a monster. As thick around as three broad men standing in a circle, arms outstretched, fingertip to fingertip. It hides Shiloh’s wife from view. Just.

When Kae rounds the trunk of the tree, she makes it look a fraction of its years just by virtue of the contrast.

“Almost,” Kae says, broad hands smoothing over the bark like she’s soothing a spooked horse. “The bairn is sick with heart rot, the poor thing. I need to shore her up before it gets worse.”

Shiloh can’t find it in herself to be annoyed. Kae’s described heart rot enough for her to have some sympathy for the poor tree. And it doesn’t hurt that seeing her wife full of care makes a puddle out of her.

“It’s a good thing I enjoy watching you work,” Shiloh says, unable to help her soft smile. “Because it’s all you do.”

Kae looks to her, sharing the smile for a moment before her eyes snap suddenly back to her charge.

Shiloh tenses on instinct. “What?”

Kae’s alert, but not reaching for her axe. Shiloh relaxes her hold on her pelt but keeps it in hand for swift action anyway.

“There’s a girl in the forest,” Kae says. “Small. Alone. The… the trees are agitated.”

“Over a girl?” Shiloh says, confusion reflected in the look Kae sends her. “That’s a new one.”

Kae turns her attention back to her patient. “I’m almost finished here, then we can-”

“I’ll go on ahead,” Shiloh says, stretching her back out as she stands. “I’ve been sitting too long anyway, I’m going to grow moss.”

Kae doesn’t pick up the thread of the joke, looking as agitated as the trees around her must be. “I don’t…”

“I’ll be okay,” Shiloh says, stepping forward to clasp her wife’s hand between hers. “I have my pelt. I’ll even take my wrap-”

“No,” Kae says quickly, stopping Shiloh with a hand on her wrist as she reaches for their pack. “Don’t wear red.”

Shiloh raises an eyebrow. “That’s not what you said the other night, my love.”

And oh yes, now who’s wearing red? Shiloh grins as she uses her grip to pull Kae within reach, pecking her on one rosey cheek.

“It’s the trees,” Kae says, brushing a strand of Shiloh’s dark hair from her face. “They’re saying, don’t wear red.”

“How judgemental of them,” Shiloh says, but leaves her red wrap safely in their pack anyway.

Tracking the girl isn’t difficult. She smells of hay and woodsmoke, a combination that is as much out of place as her humanity this far into the woods. Shiloh hangs back, employing more caution than she would have otherwise, her wife’s worried frown at the fore of her mind.

The girl is indeed alone. Shiloh closes the distance between them until she can spy the girl’s back through the trees. Her hooded cloak is flapping around her ankles as she walks.

Her hooded red cloak.

Shiloh frowns and ups her pace, circling around the girl on soft feet until she finds a clearing up ahead with a downed tree to serve as a casual perch. The girl comes upon her bare minutes later, startling to a stop despite Shiloh’s deliberate, friendly smile and unassuming posture. Unfortunately there’s little she can do about her state of dress.

The girl can’t be older than seven summers, blonde hair tufting out of her hood as curious eyes look Shiloh over. Shiloh doesn’t blame her. She’s an unusual sight at the best of times.

Finally the girl breaks the silence. “Why are you naked?”

The bluntness of the question stirs a real smile to Shiloh’s features. “I’m not naked,” she says. “I’ve this pelt.”

The girl frowns at Shiloh’s wolf pelt, twisted about her in an approximation of a tunic. “It’s not very big.”

She’s not wrong. But then… Shiloh rises to her feet – carefully,  so as not to spook the girl further. “It doesn’t have to be.”

The little girl watches her like one might watch a particularly interesting snake on one’s path. Cautious. Cautious but curious. Shiloh knows the sort. She sees it in the mirror those mornings Kae lets them hire a real room.

“What are you doing in the woods alone, child?” Shiloh says.

The girl rises to her full height, like she’s being inspected by someone with a badge. “I’m visiting The Grandmother,” she says, practically pronouncing the capital ‘T’.

Strange. Usually the trees warn Kae of any human settlements in the woods they travel. Kae’s parentage and Shiloh’s proclivity for travelling skyclad make chance meetings with humans something to be avoided.

“And where does she live?” Shiloh asks.

The little girl points along the direction she’s been travelling, deeper into the woods. “I’m to follow the sun to her cottage,” she says.

Right. Shiloh hums as she thinks. Kae isn’t far off and almost finished her tree-doctoring by her own admittance. She will catch up when she can. “May I walk with you, child?” Shiloh asks. “I’d feel much better knowing you got there safe, is all.”

After a lengthy pause, the girl nods, which is for the best really. It’s much easier to walk by her side than track her from behind.

The girl’s name is Scarlett.

“That’s an interesting name,” Shiloh says, the red of Scarlett’s cloak growing more vivid in Shiloh’s peripheral vision.

Scarlett shrugs. “Not really. There are lots of girls named Scarlett in the village.”

“Is that right?” Shiloh says, feeling more and more like she has a handful of puzzle pieces but no interlocking edges to fit them together.

They come upon the cottage as the sun kisses the distant mountains, sending the woods into an early dusk. Shiloh’s mildly put out when she notices how perfectly normal the place looks. The gardens are well-tended and the stoop swept. There’s even a cheerful glow warming the windows.

“This looks like the place,” Shiloh says, sweeping the clearing for something to explain the slow drip of dread down her spine.

Scarlett huffs a sigh next to her. She’d taken Shiloh’s hand not long into their walk and her little palm is warm and soft in Shiloh’s own.

“I guess so,” Scarlett says.

“You guess so?” Shiloh says, eye catching on a large shadow moving within the cottage. “You’ve never visited your grandmother before?”

“The Grandmother,” Scarlett corrects her. “And no.”

She says it like it’s the most normal thing in the world, but as Shiloh looks down at her, the red of her cloak seeming to glow in the darkness, she can’t help but think the situation is the very furthest from normal they can get.

“Is that visitors I hear?” Comes a voice from within the cottage. Shiloh looks up as the shadow in the cottage window moves toward the door. It gets smaller as it goes which is a funny thing, because Shiloh could swear it’s moving toward the light source…

The shadow is bare steps from the door when Shiloh gives an exaggerated shiver.

“Are you cold?” Scarlett asks.

“Yes,” Shiloh says quickly. “I’m afraid I didn’t think ahead. Might I borrow your cloak, child?”

Scarlett looks torn. “I was told not to-”

“Only for a minute or two,” Shiloh says, over the creak of the door. “I promise.”

“Okay…”

Shiloh whips the cloak from Scarlett’s shoulders and about her own just in time to face the figure in the doorway who-

Is a little, old woman.

Shiloh balks at the sight, eyes warring with every other instinct telling her to run, fight, hide. Shift.

The Grandmother smiles. Her face is like a weathered peach and her hands look frail as spider’s silk. They clasp and unclasp in front of her, the only tell that she too feels the tension that’s fallen on the clearing like a woollen blanket.

“Where are you, my child?” The Grandmother asks, peering across the clearing. “Come closer, I’m afraid my eyes aren’t what they used to be.”

Scarlett is stepping forward before Shiloh can move to stop her, small hand leaving only a warm imprint on Shiloh’s palm as she lets go.

“Ah, there you are,” The Grandmother says, with a smile warm like home. “I see you now.”

Only she doesn’t. As Scarlett walks toward The Grandmother, the old woman’s eyes, suddenly sharp and shrewd, remain fixed on Shiloh. No, she thinks as she steps forward and the cloak flares out. Her eyes are on the cloak.

Don’t wear red.

“Scarlett,” Shiloh calls, pulling the cloak from her shoulders. The Grandmother’s eyes follow it’s rustle like a hawk as the fabric hits the grass.

Scarlett stops and turns back. And The Grandmother’s shadow starts to grow.

“Scarlett, run!”

Shiloh doesn’t wait for the girl to obey, simply grabs for her pelt, reaches down deep and pulls. Scarlett screams and tumbles backward as Shiloh flies at her which makes leaping the girl an easy feat. She’s only half shifted when she hits The Grandmother’s charge but it’ll do. She’s got her teeth at least.

The Grandmother is easily the breadth of Kae’s yew patient and growing, but her skin, turning green and sickly by the minute, is easy enough to tear through. She bleeds. That’s the important thing.

Anything that bleeds can die, in Shiloh’s experience.

She’s fully shifted by the time The Grandmother hauls her back by her scruff and rakes jagged claws across her furred ribs. Lucky, Shiloh thinks as she hits the ground. She doesn’t think she’d have survived it in her human form.

Shiloh rolls to her feet and snarls. Her mouth tastes of copper and she can feel something sticky on her flank but the fight is a singing, beautiful thing in her blood. She might go down but she’ll give Scarlett enough time to put distance between herself and this… whatever this is.

The Grandmother’s skin seems to boil, lending her silhouette against the rising moon an air of gut-churning horror. Which is nothing to the sight of Scarlett behind the monster, branch raised like a club. Like she’s going to fell the beast with a stick.

Scarlett lets out a warrior’s roar as she brings the branch down and-

Nothing. It breaks on The Grandmother’s writhing back like so much driftwood. Scarlett goes from heroic to trembling in a bare moment and then The Grandmother is turning. Shiloh’s paws dig large grooves in the earth as she launches herself forward – she’s never moved so fast.

The axe moves faster.

Likely because it was hurled by a half-giantess.

The Grandmother’s skull cleaves like a ripe melon and Shiloh uses her forward momentum to barrel Scarlett out of the path of the monster’s falling carcass.

And then, silence.

Shiloh uncurls with a wince to find Scarlett unhurt if a bit squished under her bulk. She wasn’t kidding when she said her pelt needn’t be big. She’s a hulking wolf no matter the size of her talisman.

“Damn you, wife! You’d best not be dead!”

Scarlett’s eyes are round as the moon rising over them, flicking panicked from Shiloh’s less-than-reassuring countenance to the giantess bearing down on them. Shiloh can’t help but snort a laugh as she shifts back to her human form, pulling herself off the child as she goes.

“It’s okay, Scarlett,” she says. “This is my wife, Kae.”

“This is your widow more like!” Kae says, picking Shiloh up with one big hand to set about inspecting her wounds. “Because I’m going to kill you for that fright you just gave me!”

Shiloh endures the inspection, mostly because she’s had a lot of practice. “My love, you’re frightening the child.”

Scarlett seems to take that as a challenge, climbing rapidly to her feet. “I ain’t frightened!”

Shiloh kisses Kae’s palm on its way to pawing at her scalp to check for head wounds and sighs. “Yes, I could see that. What part of ‘run’ didn’t you understand?”

“The part where you were in trouble,” Scarlett says, chin jutting out stubbornly.

“Oh I like her,” Kae says, seemingly having satisfied herself that Shiloh isn’t going to keel over dead any time soon.

Shiloh rolls her eyes. “Of course you do.”

Silence falls on the three of them once more as their attention turns to the hulking corpse of The Grandmother.

Scarlett breaks it. “They sent me here to get et, didn’t they?”

Shiloh, who was behind the door when the Gods handed out artifice, says, “Yes, my girl, I think they did.”

Scarlett takes this news with the sort of stoicism that’s likely going to require a lot of crying at some point later. “I’d like to not go back,” she says, finally.

Shiloh doesn’t say anything, simply exchanges a long look with her wife. And then she holds out her hand.

One year later, the village drapes another little girl named Scarlett in red and sends her into the woods. Four hours later, she comes back.

FIN

Patreon | Goddammitstacey.com

[pillage-and-lute]

I’m always a slut for fae or dragon jaskier! Just this incredibly powerful immortal being that’s full on obsessed by this stinky Witcher that has all the social abilities of a feral cat.

Nonny! I love this!

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

Geralt ran through the woods, Ciri was barely keeping up so he hoisted her into his arms and sprinted towards a clearing. One giant spider was one thing, but he’d stumbled into a nest. He could do it, but not while protecting Ciri too.

The clearing held a ring of standing stones, three times the height of a man. A large flat rock in the middle was perhaps a meter off the ground. Geralt leapt onto it, hoping higher ground would help.

He turned to fight, pushing Ciri behind him on the stone, but the spiders had stopped at the edge of the clearing. They were chattering unhappily, backing away uneasily.

Then they fled. 

The fine summer day was suddenly overcome with swirling clouds. Shadow figures, each ten feet tall or more leached from the stones and advanced. A horrible roaring, not heard through conventional means but appearing in the ears fully formed throbbed in his eardrums. The shadows came closer and the noise blended slowly. It wasn’t words, but the meaning was clear.

Ours. The shadows cried, getting more solid as they stepped forward. Horns and glowing eyes. Some had more than two eyes, some only one large one. One of them had three sets of horns. 

Ours. They roared. Ours. Our stones. Our people. Stay. Ours.

Ciri shrunk into Geralt’s side and shoved her face into his chest.

Jaskier appeared behind them.

MINE

He roared in the unseelie tongue. Geralt didn’t need to turn around, he’d seen this before, but he looked anyway.

Ten feet tall and made of flowing shadow and pieces of black stone. Mildewing moss, almost black with decay in patches across his body. Jaskier stretched out one long thin arm in front, palm outward. The other arm curled around Geralt and Ciri, crouching to do so. Long fingers with sharp, black nails latched onto Geralt’s shoulder. He looked up at the face, which was looking outward.

MINE

Jaskier called again. His eyes glowed brighter. They weren’t eyes like eyeballs and lashes. It was as if someone had torn three eye-shaped slashes in reality and whatever was beyond was glowing. Jaskier opened his mouth. It hadn’t existed a moment ago but the skin, for want of a better word, split open, sharp teeth of the same shadow black were silhouetted against an open mouth filled with glowing nothing.

Jaskier snapped open his wings, a fifty foot wingspan of living shadow blocked out the sun.

THEY ARE MINE

Jaskier screamed. Parts of Geralt wanted to liquify under the feeling but that wasn’t intended for him so thankfully, he didn’t. The fae fled. 

Daylight returned and Jaskier folded his wings back in. 

“Dandelion” Ciri said, flinging her arms around his shadow neck and clinging. “Thank you, perfect timing!”

of course my dear 

appeared in their ears.

“Perhaps your seelie form?” Geralt suggested. “If you aren’t feeling quite up to looking human yet.”

fine

There was a pout in the not-voice. Jaskier shrunk down to only about six and a half feet tall and mostly his normal look. THe added height stretched him a little, rather than keeping preportions, so he looked sort of willowy, and his skin was a little paler, with grey-green tints were humans might be pink. Black lips and raven’s wings and curling black ram’s horns adorned his head. There was also some parts that were a covered in bark and moss, and there was a ring of red and white toadstools, growing from his hair like a flower crown.

Thankfully, his eyes were back to two and their normal color, although they glowed slightly.

“Really Geralt,” he said. “I’ve told you about standing stones, haven’t I?”

“Yes dear,” Geralt said, giving him a kiss. It tasted only a very small bit like mushrooms. “But I chose between you rescuing us or the spiders.”

“What would have happened if they got us?” asked Ciri.

Jaskier sat and pulled her into his lap. “They would have taken you away to the court, and been fed from your soul. You would stay there a year and a day and they’d let you go.”

“That isn’t very long.”

“When you came back home it would have been a hundred years or more, time flows differently there, and you would be a very old woman, probably close to death.”

“Oh,” Ciri said. Jaskier kissed the back of her head. 

“It’ll never happen,” he said, leaning in as Geralt put an arm around his shoulders. “Every fae knows that the ones in this world have dibs. I’ve got claim to you to feed from and they can’t take you. Even if they tried they couldn’t get you through to our world.”

“What do you feed on?” Ciri said, reaching up and stroking her finger along one curling horn. 

“Love,” Jaskier said, leaning his head down so she could feel better. “It’s always better if whatever we feed on is freely given, makes us stronger, that’s why I can stay here and turn human. Just people liking my music is usually enough.” Here he grinned, it was a little sharper than usual. “But you both love me so much, I might be the most powerful fae this side of the veil.”

He slid off the stone, a ring of mushrooms erupting when his feet hit the ground, and he set Ciri carefully on the ground. Geralt jumped down next to him, then blinked, and Jaskier looked human. Geralt held a hand with lute callouses and no claws as they walked off, and Ciri brushed a bit of moss off Jaskier’s doublet.

“What happens,” Geralt said. “If the love runs out?”

“Are you going to stop loving me anytime soon?” Jaskier asked, smiling up at him in the sunshine.

“Never,” Geralt said, and kissed him.

[boxboysandotherwhump]

Ready or not, here they come!

Taglist: @salamancialilypad @whumpfigure @albino-whumpee @comfy-whumpee @ashintheairlikesnow @haro-whumps @vickytokio @yet-another-heathen @orchidscript @finder-of-rings

Chapter 11

The polished surface of Kaida‘s prosthetic fist shimmered silver in the early morning sun, suspended mere centimeters from Gideon‘s face. A bead of sweat trickled down Gideon‘s cheekbone as he froze in his halfhearted attempt to block her punch. His eyes were fixed on the entrance gate to their training field instead of her, and Kaida‘s expression crumbled into a disappointed pout.

“Forgot your reflexes in bed today?“ She dropped her fist and shook her head in disbelief. Wisps of black hair stuck to her sweaty forehead. “C‘mon Gideon, what‘s up with you this week?“

Gideon didn‘t respond. He was too focused on the tuft of brown hair that appeared on the top of the staircase, where everyone who wished to enter the academy grounds had to ascend. The giant gate framing the entrance dwarfed Sahar as he lingered next to one of its red painted wooden pillars, unsure if he should cross the threshold onto the training field. His large eyes scouted the area, hopping over their teacher and the other students, most of them already in the midst of exchanging punches or jabbing the air with their spears, until they found Gideon.

Sahar‘s lips played around a hesitant smile as he mouthed a silent hello, while his fingers tapped a symphony of nerves over his pant leg. Gideon watched their gentle movement, the contrast of soft olive brown skin brushing over black linen. There was no trace of Sahar‘s mutation to be found. The only hint of what had happened in the woods was the flash of white bandages that poked out from under his shirt sleeve.

Kaida‘s eyebrows raised in surprise as she followed Gideon‘s gaze. “Isn‘t that the farm-boy? What was his name again?“

“Sahar,“ Gideon breathed, disbelief prickling down his legs like an agitated ant swarm. He stomped past his classmates, dodging still sheathed spear heads and ignoring Kaida‘s exasperated protest. What the hell was Sahar thinking, coming here during training hours? If a stray spear jab or accidental punch hit his still wounded arm hard enough to make him mutate again, all the secrecy and sacrifice would have been for nothing.

“The hell are you doing here?“ The words came out harsher than intended, and Gideon winced at the sharpness of his own tongue.

Sahar‘s tentative smile fell and his green eyes grew impossibly larger but held Gideon‘s gaze with an almost defiant kind of determination. “A a a a applying. As, as a scout.“

“You- Have you lost your mind?“

“You didn‘t strike me as someone scared of competition.“

Both boys jumped at the familiar voice sparkling with teasing self-assurance. Gideon‘s heart plummeted somewhere to his knees.

Sahar‘s smile returned ten fold. All sparkling sincerity.

“Charlotte.“

A gust of morning breeze chilled Gideon‘s sweat damp skin as he faced Charlotte fully. Some of his classmates had stopped their warm-ups, curiosity written large across their faces while they turned to them. Even the teacher glanced over as he placed the wooden basket with slingshots and practice ammunition next to the target posts he had been setting up.

“I‘m no snitch. Didn‘t tell anything to anyone-“ Gideon hissed, whisper silent.

“Calm down.“ Charlotte chuckled, blue eyes glittering amused. “I‘m here to enroll as a student myself.“

He bristled. “What?“

Gideon‘s jaw tightened, thoughts working a mile a minute, as he tried to see through her intention. There was no way she would enlist just to make sure he kept his mouth shut. “The semester has just begun. You guys know that, right? Next registration is five months from now.“

Charlotte's lips twitched around a wry grin. “He who doesn‘t fight has already lost. But-“ White teeth nipped at pink lips and left small indentations in the wake of her uncertainty. “Sahar are you sure you want to do this? If you get hurt and-“ Blue eyes wandered to his right arm, lingered, flitted back up to his face. “...-the entire village could find out.“

“I- I I I-“ Sahar inhaled deeply, fingers fisting in the fabric of his shorts. “I‘m tired of hiding. You just, just said it. He who doesn‘t fight- I don‘t want to to to to lose the life I could have because I, I‘m,- because I‘m too scared to to to to go and live it.“

Determination burned under Sahar‘s gentleness, like fire hidden in a tree-trunk, simmering just underneath the surface. Gideon‘s heart hammered against his ribs. He felt hot, burned under the same determined gaze his brother had worn on the day of his death. The shadow of a ghost flickering to life in someone else‘s eyes.

The long sleeves of Sahar‘s moss green shirt covered the scar the spider's tooth must have carved deep inside his flesh, and Gideon‘s stomach flipped at the memory. It had taken forever to wash Sahar‘s blood from his skin, out of his clothes.Warm crimson red was still smeared on the inner walls of his head like a cave painting, illustrating his own future in violent shades of doubt and hope.

“Who do you think you are?“ Dillan‘s sharp voice cut through the breeze and Gideon’s thoughts snapped back like a rubber band. Dillan‘s pale blue eyes narrowed as he marched across the training ground, blond hair flopping over his wide forehead and narrow shoulders squared. “Wanting to apply in the middle of term? There are rules here!“

“Who do we think we are?“ Charlotte‘s lips curled. “Let me shoot that question right back at you-“ Cold blue eyes dropped to the red stripes embroidered to the sleeves of every first year‘s uniform. “Neophyte.“

Dillan reminded Gideon of a particularly offended fish with his wide watery eyes and small mouth, opening and closing to gulp in air.

Sahar glanced at Charlotte, full of disbelief as he said exactly what Gideon was thinking. “Cha, Charlotte we, we, we aren‘t even students-“

“But-“ she cut him off, voice gentling a fraction, before her tone sharpened once more. “We grew up here. This village is our home and we nearly died protecting it. I won‘t let a little incomer from the city lecture me about how things work in my own village.“

The color of Dillan‘s face resembled a fire bug more than human skin and neither Gideon nor Sahar could hold back their grins. If you could call the soft bashful twitch of Sahar‘s lips that.

Just as Dillan got ready to retaliate, brows drawn tight and hands balled into tight fists, their teacher strode over. Gravel crunched under the man's heavy steps until he came to a halt just behind Dillan, casting his student in the shadow of his wide shoulders. His black beard shifted with the quirk of his lips. Dark eyes twinkled, bemused.

“We teachers were already wondering if you two troublemakers would end up here. Well, I guess I owe Sybil dinner now.“

Gideon‘s brows raised nearly to his hairline. “What‘s that supposed to mean?“

“I would like to know that as well, Mister Bassam.“ Dillan protested.

“Well,“ Bassam chuckled, relishing the confused faces all around him. “C‘mon guys, did you really think we wouldn‘t talk about you three saving a bunch of children and fighting off a spider. Even if you said you weren‘t the ones to strike it down, that's still a huge feat. You should be proud of yourselves. Especially you, young man.“

Bassam‘s large hand clapped Sahar on his right shoulder and made all three of them wince. Sahar‘s fingers began to frantically tap his thigh, but nothing else happened. If Bassam had noticed anything he graciously ignored Sahar‘s display of nerves.

“Jumping that monster with nothing but an old firewood axe. The kids won‘t shut up about it down at the tea house, let me tell you.“

“Oh oh oh, yeah?“ Sahar flushed.

Charlotte sighed. “And I told them to keep it down.“

“Well, be glad they didn‘t, or we wouldn‘t consider giving two penniless orphans the chance to join nearly a month late into term.“

“Wait.“ Gideon burst out, gesturing wildly at Sahar and Charlotte. A cocktail of worry and apprehension pumped through his veins. “You mean they‘re in? Just like that?“

“No, no. Not quite. You two still have to pass our entrance exam. We do have standards here, after all.“ Bassam, whose hand still rested on Sahar‘s shoulder, began to gently push him forward. “C‘mon you two. We‘ll talk in detail in the principal's office. And the rest of you, five rounds around the field. Hade, hade, there is never too much warm up.“

Everyone groaned in frustration except for Kaida who jogged towards Gideon with a wide grin, black bowl cut shining in the sun. He turned around and started running.

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Old Bones Aflame (Part 14)

Sorry if this one is lackluster. I typed this one while carrying out a conversation at a family reunion lol. So I was a bit distracted. This one is more of a bridge chapter anyhow. 

It is nice to feel sunlight on her face after so many days of being cooped up in Hama’s little shack. To feel a breeze in her hair, especially knowing that she almost wouldn’t have felt it ever again. She wanders her way through the tall grass, feeling it brush against her bare calves and between her toes. 

She inhales, taking in a fresh and earthy perfume of clover and dewy grass. Beads of water are still sparkling upon them. 

“This way.” Hama beckons. 

“Can I put my shoes on?”

Hama shakes her head. “I want you to get a feeling for the jungle, learn to walk around it without shoes so that you can do it if you ever have to live without them later.”

“That sounds…ridiculous.” She mutters. 

“You’ll find that it is actually quite invigorating.” She pauses. “It could be good for you.”

She supposes that, with the security of knowledgeable company, there is something soothing about the feeling of earth beneath her feet. Something about the jungle air that takes the tension from her shoulders and the stress from her mind. 

She trails her fingers along the surface of trees, brushing them against the mosses until Hama’s fingers come to claps around her wrist. She jerks it away from the tree with a startling abruptness. 

“Lesson number one; pay attention. Just because you aren’t on a battlefield doesn’t mean that you should let your guard down.”

“My guard is plenty up, I assure you.” Azula grumbles.

“Perhaps with me it is. But with the jungle–even after everything–you trust it too much.” she clears her throat and begins again. “Lesson one, pay attention to your surroundings. Snakes and spiders like the trees. They slink across the ground.” She pauses. “Poison ivy likes the trees as well.” She gestures to a tangle of leaves that thinly cloaks the tree. A tangle of leaves that is just shy of Azula’s fingertips.

Azula retracts her hand abruptly and cringes. 

"You see." Hama says smugly. “That is why you have to pay attention to where you let your fingers wander.

Azula’s cheeks flush. “Right, of course.” She stiffens. They have only been walking for some thirty minutes and she is already displaying her ignorance and incompetence. She can’t fathom why Hama is bringing her along for this. She is only keeping her from what could be a relaxing hobby. 

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Do what?” 

“Get all stiff like that. The jungle is a calming place, just keep in mind that you can’t get careless.” 

“Right.”

“I suppose that it will take some getting used to. Eventually you’ll relax.” 

She can’t imagine that Hama will put up with her long enough for that to happen. 

“You’re an intuitive girl–I’m sure that the jungle won’t be a problem for you after you let me teach you about it.” She pauses, bringing their walk to a full halt. “You do know that, right?”

Azula furrows her brows. She has always thought herself to a person of sensibility and clever but lately she has been feeling anything but. Lately she has been questioning intellect. Only a fool could manage the feat she has accomplished; taking an inconsequential infection and turning it into a life-altering tragedy. 

“You can’t expect yourself to know what’s what if you’ve never been taught. I don’t know what is said in the Fire Nation but I do believe that ignorance and idiocy aren’t the same.”

“Yes.” She agrees. “You can make something of ignorance.”

Hama flashes her a grin.  

“Only an idiot would run off into the jungle when there are other options–and with an oozing infection no less.” Only someone like Zuzu. Only someone like her, apparently. 

“Anger isn’t exactly rational.” 

But she has never let anger take her like that before. “It was foolishness, plain and simple.”

“Sit.” Hama points to a stump. “Or stand if you’d like, I’m going to sit.”

Azula furrows her brows. “We’re not going to get to find any bones if you keep stalling.” Azula finds herself a spot on the stump regardless.

“Before we collect bones we need to have a discussion.”

“Another?” Azula stares down at her feet, they are cringe inducingly muddy and she finds herself suppressing a shudder. She feels gross and dirty. A far cry from the civilized, well mannered princess she had been. It is no wonder she is losing her grip and her composure. Her intellect. 

“We are going to be having lots of discussions.”

Lots of uncomfortable lectures that make her stomach lurch. 

“We need to talk about how you talk.”

Azula furrows her brows.

“The things that you say about yourself.”

“I don’t say much about myself.” 

Hama arches a skeptical brow but plays along. “Which is why it’s so astounding that I’ve heard so many degrading remarks.” She sighs. “You throw your titles around but do they even mean anything to you? Or do you only drop them when you can think of any skills to mention.”

Azula’s tummy flutters. 

“I don’t think that you would have been so quick to run off if you didn’t feel the need to prove something.”

She clenches her teeth.

.oOo.

“I don’t suppose that I helped any.” Hama confesses. “I made you feel incapable.” 

“You were ri–”

Hama holds a hand up. “I wasn’t right. You have what it takes. I can tell. You’ve got plenty of natural skill. The mistakes you made were mostly common, beginner mistakes. Things that many Caldera City dwellers make. Unfortunately little mistakes in places like these can end terribly. And a series of them…” She gestures to Azula’s arm. “I shouldn’t have let you just go out there. You lasted the night, figured out how to set up a shelter and start a fire despite the rash and the infection.” 

“And it didn’t matter. In the end it never does. I can work hard, I can do everything…almost everything right and…” She trails off. “Nevermind.” 

“If you’re going to get through this, you’re going to have to be gentle with yourself.” She draws a sizable sphere of water from the ground. “Leave room for error, flexible and fluid.” She gives the water an easy and lazy flick. “You’re a rigid person.”

“I’m adaptable.” Azula insists. “I haven’t broken yet.” But there is a hitch in her voice. The faintest little hitch that she only recognizes from decades of hearing it around her and inducing it. 

“You’ve got a lot to adapt to.” She reaches for Azula’s left arm but the firebender jerks it away. “And you’re going to have to give yourself room for error while you do.”

Azula bites her lower lip. “If I give myself room for error then that leaves room for complete failure.” Her fingers close around the end of her left arm. 

“You also leave room for growth.” Hama insists. And Raava, she hopes that the girl will. She can see it, her mind is just open enough to open the old woman’s own mind. She slaps her knees and gets to her feet. “Well…that wasn’t the best talk–”

“We’ve certainly had better.” The girl mumbles. 

“But I think that it’s time to scavenge some bones and pick some flowers. I’ve got a lot to show you; different herbs and what they are good for. I’d like to teach you to identify bones–just something that I find fascinating.” 

Azula nods. “I would like to learn about bones.”

Hama gets the impression that she simply likes to learn in general. She has an inquisitive nature, a curious one. The kind of nature that tends to put old beliefs and new beliefs at odds. So she will take the girl out to the farther bone field, she will take her to forage and pick herbs, and with any luck old prejudices will fall away on their own. Her lust for learning will drive them out. With any luck, security and confidence will take root with each root she plucks. And perhaps it will all fall into place. 

Perhaps Hama will let go of her own grievances.

[millers-planet]

Can I get a Cal fic with prompts 2 and 4? Or just 4? If you can't do both Please?

oh so youre ASKING for me to cry, gotcha. thanks for the request!

Prompts: “Please don’t cry. I can’t stand to see you cry” and “Walk out that door and we’re through”

Warnings: Angsty, sappy

POV: Reader (no reader pronoun usage)

Exit Stage Left - Cal Kestis x GN!Reader

When comparing how Cal and I were raised, in who to trust, his was much clearer. Raised with Jedi, taught like a Jedi, and even remembers how to be a Jedi. While I’m not saying he’s had it great, because he hasn’t, the clearness of it all isn’t as foggy as mine. Cal was raised in... mist. Not entirely clear, sometimes rearing off the path but the general picture of it all is always there.

I was raised in clouds, in thick fog. I originally was raised in Naboo, told that the Republic is the way to go. Once Order 66 happened, I was taught that the Empire was the way to live, this form of thought was what sticked around the longest. I was told that democracy was the way to corruption and extinction, while the Empire was the key to prosperity and security, to justice and to freedom. 

Once Naboo was liberated, this teaching had to be undone, which was hard to do since it was all I knew. I was able to overcome the brainwashing of the Empire, but the effects still reflect into the way I behave today. Joining Greez and Cere when they stopped at Naboo was the best decision I could’ve made, not only because it got me away from my troubled past, but because it brought me to Cal.

At first, him and I went on the missions together where Cere and Greez stayed on the ship. These moments were when our relationship blossomed into what it was now, dating. How sweet he was with me was intoxicating, it was an addiction that grew so quickly it was scary. Unfortunately, this didn’t last forever. 

On out first visit to Kashyyk, I was cocky, to say the least. For some reason, I let courage take over me and ignored rational, taking dangerous paths that forced Cal to follow me to see through that I didn’t die. While this wasn’t terrible, the thing that threw him over the edge and damaged the trust he had in me was when I wandered into a cave alone, nearly killing myself.

Unbeknownst to me, this cave was infested with those giant spiders, Wyyyschokks. I was able to fight one of by myself, Cal standing angrily on the sidelines as I yelled at him to let me handle it, armed with just a heavy-weapon blaster. Next thing I know, two spiders jump from the sky (or, cave ceiling) at once, attacking me. I tried to run to Cal, but one of the legs with it’s thick, needle-like hairs, got me in the back, making me fall. It almost impaled me if he didn’t step in.

Ever since then, Cal has never let me join him on a mission. I can’t entirely say that I blame him, because I don’t entirely trust myself anymore. Because of the Empire and extensive treatment I had to go through to rid myself of the toxic thinking style I once had, I also lost my sense of rationale. I didn’t think my actions through fully, and I still don’t, because I connect thinking things through with siding with the Empire, as my instincts still lie with them.

We had to return to Kashyyk, as the rebel forces needed our help once more... or, Cal’s help. I wanted to go with him, I promised him that I would behave and not lash out, but of course he didn’t let me. “You need to let me make up for my mistakes, Cal. I know what I did was wrong but you are treating me like a child!”

He stood up and walked to his workbench, fixing a few screws and not even looking at me. “Because, Y/N, you have been thinking like a child, you have been acting like a child.” His words were sharp, digging scars into me and ripping as they went through. “Maybe next time, we have to go back to Zeffo after this, anyways.”

“You said that three missions ago,” I replied quickly, pointing out his patterns in lies.

He finally turned back around to me, his eyebrows furrowed in anger. “Because you pull this, every time.”

“Because you say no every time!” I planted my feet, anger festering inside me, boiling over as tears in my eyes. “Seriously, Cal, what do you expect from me when you don’t give me a chance to make up for my actions?” He tried to speak up, I only interrupted him, “no, you never forgive me for anything. Do you want me to apologize more? Do you want me to prove to you I can think rationally? Oh wait, I can’t, because you don’t trust me off the Mantis.”

His expressions softened as I realized I was now full-on crying, hot tears streaming down my face. I wasn’t sad, I was pissed off. “Please don’t cry. I can’t stand to see you cry,” he gently spoke.

I sniffled and wiped my face dry, “and I can’t stand to be treated like an irresponsible child.” I sat down on his bed and put my face in my hands. “I don’t know what you want me to do.”

“Y/N, I need to be able to trust you, for that I need you to trust me that I’m doing the right thing.” He sat down next to me, our legs touching as he wrapped his arm around me, planting a kiss to the side of my head. 

I pulled my face out and looked at him, trying to take control of my quivering lip. “Doing the right thing for who? You or me? Because I’m telling you now, Cal, keeping me here is not the way for me to trust you.” I tried to keep my voice soft, but nothing stopped the underlying snappy tones from spewing out. 

“For both of us,” his voice still was gentle, trying to calm me down as his words were slow in comparison to mine. 

The Mantis landed with a halt, landing and the engines cutting out, those were the only noises keeping Cere and Greez from hearing Cal and I’s argument. “Cal, it feels like you don’t want me anymore. The way you keep me away from you is destroying me, I can’t do it anymore.” I realized that this conversation was most likely leading to the Beginning of the End, which I honestly didn’t want, but I can’t keep doing this, I need him to change.

I stood up and walked into the main lobby of the Mantis, watching the door to the forest-y planet open and noticing the X-wing on the landing pad. It looked in good condition, aside from the new moss growing, making me believe that while it hadn’t been sitting for long, no one is coming back for it. “Y/N, what are you saying?” Cal spoke as he followed me out.

“I’m saying that I’m coming with you or I’m going by myself, I won’t be kept here like a pet any longer,” my voice was firm. Not argumentative, not spiteful, but firm enough to show that I’m standing my ground.

I saw his face drop into fear, into worry. “I-” My feet moved me towards the door, I stopped myself right before leaving. “Wait, please, we can talk this through,” I moved a few inches forward, almost on the ramp. “Walk out that door and we’re through,” his voice copied the firmness of mine.

I stopped, considering walking right back to him and actually talking this out. But, we’ve talked enough. “Goodbye, Cal.” I pushed myself out of the Mantis and walked to the X-Wing, my eyes never leaving it, not looking behind me. It made my stomach dropped when I realized that the last look I’ll have of Cal is of his scared face. I ignored this and pushed through it, pulling the ladder off the ground and putting it against the ship.

I forced the top open and climbed inside, powering it on and realizing I had just enough fuel to get me back to Naboo, maybe reunite with my family and join the Resistance. “Where are you going?” Cal called, following me off the ship. 

I looked at him and kept my face neutral, despite my stomach rolling and chest aching. “You don’t have to worry about me anymore, Cal.” With those final words, I sealed the top and ignited the engines, preparing for take off. Slowly, the ship pulled off the ground and exited the planet. Jumping into hyperspace I considered for a fraction of a second, maybe the Empire was right about the Jedi.

part two

tags:  @blondekel77 @mysticdeerpolice

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[jflashandclash]

Tales from Mount Othrys

Jack: Silenced III

 That was how they spent the days: composing songs, learning instruments (he the harp and she the guitar), splashing in the ocean and the freshwater lake, lazing in the warmth of the beach, composing ballads about the clouds—he would sing one verse, then she; the next, until they had a full heavenly court composed of fluffy monsters.

Jack assured that he would stay to heal for three days and nights, but time in Ogygia didn’t move right. He counted. He’d stayed out the second night, watching the stars and the silver slit of a moon. There was an epoch he’d written for Flynn (she hadn’t heard it yet) that lasted thirty minutes when sung at the correct tempo. It was designed to cycle between Mandarin and English, so it would take an hour in total. Calypso came to join him in the garden.

The stars and moon never moved throughout the song.

Time does not have the same meaning here.

Did Calypso have any control over it? Was Jack experiencing more per second or did Ogygia have a different sun, ticking away on its own orbit exterior to the rest of the world? Would he leave in three days and Flynn be old? He didn’t mind her being old, but it broke his heart to think her worrying over him for or their time together stolen by old age.

Memo to self: find way to spend entity with Flynn. Jack reasoned they could, whether or not the war was won. Either they’d end up in Elysium together if they won or the Fields of Punishment if they lost. That’s where Greeks went when they died, right? Jack didn’t mind either way, as long as he had Flynn.

 ***

Jack found the body on the morning of the third day.

Calypso went to bath. Jack learned not to be easily stumbled upon when she bathed, so she had plenty of space or time to find items she may have forgotten—combs, jewelry, soap, shampoo, clothing.

The morning was pleasant, though everything had been pleasant, like the weather itself didn’t want to leave an impression that could indicate the passage of time.

Jack hadn’t explored the island yet. He had wanted to spend as much time working on Calypso’s feelings for Odysseus, but she avoided the topic. The Greek hero must have hurt her bad. She asked uncomfortable questions about Flynn—ones that grew more uncomfortable once she discovered that Flynn’s face was scarred. Jack loved her scars. Calypso had used a word he didn’t like: disfigured. Disfigured and barren, she mused. As though Flynn wasn’t beautiful because she had marks from living life. Jack had never known Flynn without those markings. There was no figuring to disfigure. It was just part of Flynn.

That was their talk over breakfast, then she’d gone to bathe. He just hadn’t wanted to be easily found, but not wanting to be easily found quickly turned to the realization that he could continue out of the hiding spot.

At Camp Othrys, there was always someone to make sure he was in the right place, at the right time. Someone checked to make sure he did his voice exercises before breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Someone walked him to his monster meditation sessions, his band practice, his room. Life was a continuous carousal of Flynn’s, Luke’s, his boys’, and the titans’ faces. Before that, the riders had been switched out for his family, teachers, pastors, and youth directors.

When was the last time he’d been alone?

Stepping alongside the cave, gliding his fingers along the rough, chilly exterior as a guide, he jittered with terrified delight. Hollowness fogged him for the first step: he missed band practice; singing with Calypso made him nostalgic for it. He missed Phil and the other monsters; recounting stories to Calypso conjured up their memories. But…

Everything was sharper here. Maybe he was allowed to explore.

There was no schedule. There was no “someone.” He had some time before Calypso would come looking for him—whether if she paused half way through a bath to come find something or finished off completely.

There seemed no badness on this island. No monsters. No death. He didn’t need to fear the walls screaming nor the ocean coming to eat him. This world felt less dangerous. Emptier. Sadder. Ethereal at times. But less dangerous.

With the excitement of calculated fear, Jack traced his fingers along the exterior of the cave.

 ***

He did not expect to find a groove in the façade and a second three feet after: a doorway tucked tightly behind aspen trees and foliage. When he sang to it, mimicking the gentle trill of Calypso’s voice when she called her invisible servants, he did not expect the stone to give way to a passageway. Peering inside, he didn’t expect to find a naturally-lit cavern, a mirror image to the one he’d been enjoying.

Winged creatures—birds?—exploded upwards from the hideaway, into some unseen escape above.

For a heartbeat, Jack wondered if Calypso had been wrong: maybe he did need his medication on Ogygia. This felt too fairy tale, too much like a demented stumble into a rabbit’s hole. This cave eerily reflected Calypso. Here, the harp was abandoned in the corner, wood warped and strings broken. The ingredients and herbs in the shelf looked rotted to black dust. Mold and moths crumbled the white linens of the bed into a green moss. The crystalline ceiling caved to allow gentle, pleasant sunrays to golden the center of the room, where Jack saw the unmistakable shape of a skeleton.  

He froze, staring. Sometimes, if he looked long enough, things would go away. Sometimes, they were a trick of the light. His therapists and counselor told him to wait before panicking.

His chest hurt. Had he been holding his breath? Jack leaned forward, his hands still trailing the wall. There were more grooves, these much closer, much more systematic.

Upon checking the markings on the wall, Jack’s stomach dropped. There were numbers. The same kind some of the titans and monsters used: ancient Greek. They were carved into the walls—all of the walls. They twisted around the room, growing into longer numerical values. All of it was disrupted by one massive word, something that someone must have written in desperation or obsession:

       Πηνελόπη

 Jack knew enough Greek to read it.

PENELOPE

He took another step in.

More birds fluttered up through the hole in the ceiling. Jack flinched. No matter how many times he looked away, no matter how many steps he crept closer, the skeleton didn’t disappear. Jack knelt on the grassy mattress to inspect it. Judging from the size, he guessed it was a child or a very small person. There was a hole in the top back of the cranium, sending spidery fractures around it like rims of embroidery. It could have been broken when the roof caved in or maybe it was a death infliction—Jack didn’t have the coroner background to say.

Someone inhaled behind him.

Jack shrieked. He jumped, almost stumbling onto the skeleton. Instead, his legs buckled on a nearby box—a funerary box.

Calypso stood in the passageway. Her hair was damp, tinted to a deep brown. Its ends brushed her white dress, making sections semi-translucent. Wetness clung to her cheeks, but he doubted that came from her bath. Despite her eyes being shadowed, they were too wide.

Unless Jack sprouted wings to sore with the startled birds, she was in the way of his only exit.

Her voice was thick with emotion. “All ancient versions of the story have Odysseus leaving me with a child. Did new variations forget to mention that?”

Jack swallowed, horrified. He hadn’t found a mirror world of their little relaxing paradise; he’d found Odysseus’. His prison and his child’s tomb.

“You made it sound like the stories lied about you keeping him here against his will.” Jack scrambled off the funerary box, glad it hadn’t crumbled into a heap of rotted children’s toys. His skull hurt—he was tugging at his hair too tightly. He removed one hand to gesture at the walls. “Are these—are these markings about how many days he was here?”

She laughed: bitter, dark, heartbroken. “It’s not my fault he couldn’t keep track of how much time passes on Ogygia,” she whispered, “I gave him everything. Was kind and gentle. I offered him everything…” The wetness spread down her cheeks to drip into the increasing dampness of her dress.

Jack’s hand trembled. He forced himself not to curl into a ball, to rock, to banish the reality of the situation with thoughts that Flynn would come to save him. “B-but, he had a wife to go home to—”

“He had a terrible fate to bear!” she snarled.

“But he didn’t! After he left you, the Phaecians crafted him a marvelous boat, and sure, Poseidon destroyed it, but he fights off all of Penelope’s suitors, and he—and they—you—you kept Odysseus prisoner from his wife for seven years for no reason! You are an evil witch! A ‘terrible fate…’” Jack’s mockery died to horror. He took another step back, so the waterfall of sunlight and the child’s skeleton lay between their two spaces of shadow. Jack pressed against the cavern wall, feeling Odysseus’ scrawling, the numbers of days he’d desperately clawed out before he was allowed to return to his love. “‘A terrible fate…’” His memory whirled in the alarm. “That’s what you said about me… Oh titans—Oh Flynn! How long have I been here?!” He racked his fingers across the grooves in the wall, as though Odysseus’ ghost had kept a record in Jack’s absentmindedness.

How many other caves did Calypso have hidden? Ones with corpses of other lover’s children and other lover’s imprisonments.

“Jack…” Calypso’s voice chipped with emotion. She opened her hands towards him, as though for an embrace. “Come here. Let’s get away from this tomb. Let’s go sing on the beach or collect fruits and vegetables for breakfast…”

Something made Jack’s skin tingle. Hands, gentle but firm, clamped around his arms and dragged him forward, towards her. Her invisible servants.

         Jack squirmed and fought, but each heartbeat glided him past and away from the dead child, from where Odysseus carved his days and the name of his love, and towards the outstretched arms of a spider in a woman’s skin.

         The invisible hands released him at the edge of her fingertips. The warm, soft skin graced his neck.

         Jack wrenched back. He ducked under her arm and out the tomb. Tree branches and foliage lashed his face and arms as he stumbled outside. The ground felt warm against his bare feet, the ocean breeze as soothing as a tranquilizer. His heartbeat pounded in cacophony to the easing whisper of the incoming tide. He kept running until he found the beach.

         “Jack… you can’t leave.”

         Her words came directly behind him, steady, with no indication that she’d run to catch up.

         He whirled to find her standing there: perfect braid still dampening her dress, frown dripping with tears, face something he would find on a stained-glass window instead of before him in the planes of reality.

         Water lapped up against his ankle. He swallowed down the salty air to quiet his stomach and the panic screaming in his head. “They’ll come for me,” he said, taking another step backwards. The rush of water hit his calf.

         She shook her head. “They can’t.”

         “I’ll—I’ll try every day!” Something sharp—maybe a shell—split Jack’s heel, but he refused to look away. If he blinked, she might grab him again. “I’ll swim as far as I can swim until I can’t swim anymore.”

         Her throat bobbed with a sob. “I will not let you kill yourself in such a way! Besides…” She stared off into the distance, the dawn’s glimmer reflecting off her almond eyes. “Don’t you think Odysseus tried that? Where do you think he ended up as soon as he lost consciousness?”

         Jack’s jaw dropped. He shook his head and stomped a foot into the surf. “No—no—there must be a way—”

         “Jack, you can’t get away.” All the mirth and sweetness left her voice reduced to a clogged drone. “There is no leaving this place. No matter where you go—”

         “No—”

         “—all roads lead back to me. And—”

         “Shut up!”

         “—I’m tired of being alone.”

         “I said shut up!” the words vibrated painfully in his throat.

         Her lip quivered. “Why must you be so cruel, brave one?”

         “Cruel? Cruel?!” Jack laughed until his voice felt hoarse. “What’s cruel is keeping me away from my home—”

         “I get you for at least seven years!” It was her turn to ball her fists in a fit of temper, like the pastor’s daughter caught taking ice cream money out of the donation box. “If you stay, you’ll have immorality. You’ll have agelessness. You’ll have your sanity!”

         “I don’t want any of those things! All I want is my family—”

         “I can be your family—unlike that barren, disfigured whore who refuses to be your wife.”

         Jack’s terror and panic twisted tightly in his stomach. Blood thumped against his ears. His fingers trembled as he clutched at the guitar string braided around his wrist. “You can’t assume every person that washes ashore will fall in love with you, you presumptuous—”

         “But, that’s how it works. That’s how it always works. You will love me.” That fragile, kindly veneer chipped.

         Jack thought about the notches Odysseus carved into the wall, about the other dead children probably hidden in caverns throughout the island. How many times had Calypso been abandoned over the years? He may have pitied her if it hadn’t broken her mind and warped her into the exact, spoiled goddess Camp Othrys sought to destroy.  

         Sanity. She offered me sanity. Jack didn’t want this ability to reason. Life made sense here and the sense it made was cold, dark, and absurd.

“Ms. Calypso,” he whispered, “I know you’re too old to be acquainted with this, but, Stockholm syndrome isn’t love. It’s exhaustion, compliance, and distorted empathy. Forcing someone to love you by wearing them down isn’t love at all—it’s perversion, it’s defilement—” He scowled, locking his jaw. “Take back what you said about Flynn.”

Calypso’s beauty soured with anger. The island itself seemed to thicken with fog. “I don’t want to hear anymore about Flynn.”

“Why? Because what Odysseus said about Penelope doesn’t apply here?” Jack demanded, reviewing the verses of the epic. Odysseus had complimented Calypso, caved to her, if nothing else than out of fear of a wrathful goddess. Jack snorted, “’I know that my wise Penelope, when a man looks at her, is far beneath you in form and stature.’ You’re not better than Flynn. She doesn’t base her worth off needing a man’s romantic love, you delusional, archaic bitch. And I’m never going to stop trying to get back to her. And if you think you won’t let me go…” Jack’s nails dug into the metal of his guitar chord. “I’m going to make you.”

Calypso’s eyes blazed with rage. The air went static, breeze abruptly dying, and the tide seemed to smother its unending whisper. As Jack had experienced some of the times Luke lost his temper to Kronos, Jack realized he was in the presence of a goddess—an immortal being with powers he could not fathom. And he was about to fight her to go home.

“I’m going to make you sick.” Jack laughed. This wasn’t the overpowering need to quiet his siblings. This was a much more calculated hatred. “And if you still won’t let me leave, I’ll make you sicker. I’ll give you leprosy to rot off your nose and show you what superficial love gives you!”

She may have been a goddess that cornered Odysseus, but he was Jak-Jak the Plague Bringer, the Scourge of New Rome, the Shame of Apollo and he was ready to sing.

“Darling, all night

I have been flickering—”[1]

Calypso’s anger melted back to sadness. She raised a hand, and Jack wondered if here, already, was a sign of defeat.

The collar of Jack’s shirt constricted. The strings—so carefully spun on Calypso’s loom—obediently stretched up his neck. Folds of cloth twisted into his open mouth. The song died. He choked on the gag.

Jack fumbled with the material. He clawed where the ridges dug into his cheeks. As soon as his forearms came up, the front of his tunic fused to his shirt sleeves. The material tightened, binding him until he was stuck in the position of Van Gogh’s Scream.

Something tugged at his feet. Jack frantically searched down. Strands unwound from the end of his pants, crisscrossing and weaving. He managed one step backwards before it cinched his feet together.

His choked screams clogged to whimpers. Jack collapsed into the water, thrashing. Salt water splashed into his eyes, mixing with his tears. The material soaked up what had once been a refreshing coastline.

Flynn! He wanted to shriek. Oh, titans, please—Flynn! As Calypso’s wet dress sashayed closer, the pounding in his head increased, encasing him like the full body straight jacket she’d hidden in his clothing.

Calypso’s dress winkled with the layering of stratocumulus clouds. The soothing lull of water resumed, a mocking cacophony to his clashing heartbeat. He wished the ocean would overtake him, that the waves would encircle him like this binding and drag him into its uncaring depths, away from her caring embrace.

Fingers graced his cheek. They were warm to the touch in the iciness of the island. Jack sobbed, thinking about kissing after Flynn’s fingers in the morning, about never getting to feel her calluses again.

These fingers, Calypso’s fingers, were silky, salacious, and knew the methodical patience of a spider feeling its web vibrate. “No, Jack,” she cooed, lifting his head from the sand and water. “No, you won’t. You’re going to stay here.” She curled the strands of his hair off his forehead. Her dress—more suffocating material—pressed into his cheek as she lay his head in her lap. “And we’ll be happy together forever.” Or for seven years. Or at least until a god came to save him.

They sat on the edge of the beach, staring off into an eternal sunrise with the sound of her hums and Jack’s whimpers in euphony with the tide.

Seven years. Or until a god saved him.

Jack had forsaken all gods and time didn’t pass in Ogygia.

 ***

Author’s Note: Thank you so much for reading! and thank all of you for your patience at this time and your continued interest despite my hiatus! I hope you enjoyed!

 Footnote:

[1] Silvia Plath.

[anarkissm]

ubcs​.

    “I used to work here.”

    “No shit?”

    Carlos lifted his head,  mimicking her by taking in the view of the modern ruins.  Mist shimmering in his hair,  atop the ballistic nylons packed full with,  doubtless,  even more hidden means for violence.  He had heard about her employment here,  heard as much as they would divulge,  which was little.  The important part was this:   they would not be getting very far here without the knowledge trapped inside her mind.  

    During the debrief at the compound,  there was conversation among the mercenaries selected for the job that maintained a general reluctance at playing bodyguard for a civilian,  there were even abrasive suggestions to extract the necessary information themselves.  Cut out the weak link,  and like-that.  This knowledge that Carlos harbored like thorns,  tangled in secret in the dark,  to keep it from pricking anyone else.

      It was not their call to make.  Their biotech overlords demanded her presence,  so that was that.

     A thumb scrubbed at his bearded chin,  tipping his upper body in a jaunty lean to get a full scope of the area.  He whistled into the black arm of the headset so covertly hidden beneath his curls,  a finger pressed down near his ear.   “Jax,  man!  Quit playing shy in there and bring out the bags.”

     There’s rustling from the driver side, the door creaks open and another operative joins the group’s restless congregation.   A large duffel sags on his shoulder,  the folds of a black gaiter hiding the bottom half of a sour expression.

      “Quick intros then?”   There was a preponderance of silence and headshakes.  "Fuck,  let’s not all speak up at once.  I’ll do it then.  Name’s Carlos.  That’s Ivan,  Jax,  and Murphy.“  From left to right:  Ivan nodded,  a cigarette pack’s corner poking up out of his flak vest.  Jax gave an "mm”.   The gangly man,   tallest by far,  was hunched over a cache box with blueprints spread out,  pressing Umbrella-tipped pins into the paper;  he answered to Murphy,  standing up straighter while smoothing a ribbed beanie down over his head.

     Plans came in rapid fire snips of discussion shortly thereafter,  supported by her information.  Jax and Murph,  as Carlos kept affectionately calling him,  were going to look for the generators and assess if they had “shit the bed”;  Ivan,  Carlos and their noncombatant would scout the ground floor to check the status of the stairs,  with a special goal tasked of her to  "keep the spiders off my ass, then!“

   They split up accordingly.  A breadcrumb trail of transportable halogen lights bringing the charred travesty into high definition in opposite directions inside.  Not a few yards in,  the ground became soft with moss,  muting the sounds of their steps,  letting the ambient noise have its dominance.  A neglected ceiling’s weeping heard in pitters and patters within.  Far away conversation from the separate group,  growing fainter. 

     Stale water smell lingered through razed offices, all blotted with hazards of overturned objects (desks,  lamp posts,  a secretary’s  computer),  all junk on unstable pathways.  Beneath Carlos’ boots,  a sudden and a sharp crack of glass.  He lifted away cautiously,  revealing a photo frame nearly consumed by that earthy green to a remorseful …woops.

    It was no surprise that the closest staircase had crumbled half a flight down. But, surprised or not,  it brought frustrations.   Ivan let his bag drop to the ground with a startling thud,  a flurry of dust and spores twinkling in their shoulder mounted lights.  He rummaged around,  retrieving carabiners and ropes,  anchors and slings.   Carlos asks what Ivan insinuates:

     "Of course.  Nothing’s ever that easy.  Looks like we’ll need to rappel down to get to the first floor.”  The talkative mercenary looked over the last stair,  then her.  “Do you happen to know how?  If not,   you’re coming down with me.”  A harness is tossed his way by Ivan,  and is clipped around the thighs.  When Carlos rights,  he gave a pair of resounding smacks to his own bicep.  "Don’t be jealous,  Ivan.  You got dibs on hanging onto these bad boys next time.“

mist rises from the blast-blown earth, a thin fog made thicker in the  rainfall. claudette does not register the cool, humid air. the soldiers shift their weights between their boots, a wall of physicality and prerogatives. she feels like the runt of the litter. feels the underlying tension like a familiar touch. a tight grip. this feeling has persisted since receiving the phone call from her former employers,  the transport helicopter touching down on the snow-capped yard of her  research cabin and flying her out to ubcs headquarters — to be fitted with a bullet-proof vest and escorted into a military vehicle, with strangers, an hour later.

wringing her hands around the strap of her briefcase, claudette memorizes their details, not their faces; her gaze follows carlos' voice as he introduces the other men.  she uncurls her fist and acknowledges the introductions with an awkward  wave of her hand, staring at their bootlaces.

the beginning of a strategy is coordinated around the group. she answers their questions  when they ask them. stays out of their way. as they mobilize into  separate teams,  claudette gravitates to carlos' side like a lost  duckling. forces herself to ignore the offices, the morbid nostalgia  that creeps up her spine, as she lets her legs carry her forward by muscle memory. she observes the damage visible from their flashlights,  the way nature lays over it like a bandage, vegetation bleeding out of  the ruined halls. the stairwell. the pitch-blackness beyond that.

a hole above them. a hole below them. claudette tries to process the sheer destruction, peering over the steep drop, the layers of concrete and drywall that it cuts through like a puncture wound.

“...if not, you’re coming down with me,”  carlos is speaking to her, now.

belatedly, claudette registers parts of the question, the answering scoff of russian expletives from ivan, muttering as he sets up the tier-one rappelling equipment. her eyes helplessly bounces between the two men as they fasten their harnesses onto themselves. sheepish, as she admits, to the tone of an apology, "no, i've never—  no."

but her inexperience is an exercise in humility that she is willing to learn.  claudette knows that this operation is too important (to her), refuses to let paranoia interfere with her resolve. she carefully clips the attachable straps to her waist, conceding to the soft quips of encouragement, the minor corrections as carlos patiently guides her through the process.

ivan withdraws a flare stick from a pocket on his flak vest, and stands over the remains of the staircase, pointedly dropping it into the darkness. claudette watches on as it illuminates the hole, hits the bottom with a burst of red sparks and billowing smoke. taking point, the russian mercenary positions himself with the free-hanging rope, adjusting the automatic-pneumatic belay device; he offers a casual salute, quickly jumping off and descending with the gesture.

his body spins steadily in a controlled descent, the bright light carving shadows across the padding of vines and foliage coating every surface. in seconds, ivan’s boots hit the mossy tiles.

“i didn’t realize the bombs went this far,” she speaks into the silence like a shameful confession. “you... we should be careful. the sublevels have biohazards.”

[h2bakugou]

hey, i wasn't sure if you were taking requests, so if you aren't, it's ok to ignore this !!! i was thinking about a bakugou one, where his crush or s/o has a quirk like akutagawa's rashomon (stray dogs). since it's dark and offensive, people may be scared of her, so she's constantly hiding her true self and whole capacity thinking she can prove herself as hero like that. maybe her realization can come in a battle? it was too long, I'm sorry !!! have a nice day ☃️ anon

a/n: hi love! i love this request!! i started bungo stray dogs but never got the chance to finish it, i should get back on that, it was really good lol. i’m using the wiki a bit to help out with the quirk!

summary: with a quirk that seems villainous to others, you’re worried your career as a hero might be doomed unless you keep it all hidden. bakugou’s yet to see you at your full strength, but he will soon.

key: (y/n) - your name / (f/n) - first name / (l/n) - last name / (e/c) - eye color / (h/c) - hair color / Rashōmon - your quirk

warnings: fluff, swearing, a bit of angst

wordcount: 1k

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You’d hid the full power of your quirk for as long as you could remember. Every hope and dream of becoming a hero with ‘a quirk like yours’ had crumbled. Yet here you were, a single thread of passion filled inside your heart to be a hero.

To at least prove to those who doubted you, that you could do it. That you could be a hero and save people.

Bakugou had noticed from the start that you were strong. Your otherwise weak performance was clearly a front for something. You were hiding something. Your true ability, the extent of your power. But why?

He couldn’t figure out why you hid your true strength. Someone like you, who seemed to excel in class and do well in all the fields, yet when it came to training, you were standoffish and shy. You’d much rather train by yourself than with the class.

And you were reserved when it came to one on one sparring. Bakugou had seen this first hand.

You were, by no means, using your quirk at full capacity. He was able to take you down in no time, yet you’d managed to score pretty high in the entrance exams. So how on Earth were you so bad at fighting?

It wasn’t until the entire class was being threatened by villains. 

Class 1-A had a knack for finding themselves in the wrong place at the wrong time constantly. Whether it be plain ol’ bad luck, or maybe a curse bestowed upon them by one of the villains, they never got a break.

Bakugou was busy holding off a few of the stronger guys, but his eyes would wander over to you. He could tell you were holding back, and it was making him angrier by the second.

Once he’d finished off the group attacking him, he darted over to you, landing an explosive punch on the man attacking you.

“You really think you can be a hero if all you do if half-ass everything?” Bakugou yelled, his crimson eyes burning holes into you.

“What?” You groaned, wiping sweat from your forehead.

"Stop fucking around. You’re stronger than you let on, and we’re fixing to get fucking killed if you don’t start taking this serious.” Bakugou sent out another explosion toward an approaching villain.

“I am taking this seriously-”

“No the fuck you’re not!” Bakugou yelled.

You stood still, your eyes widening. His words penetrated through the wall you had built up for years. Trying to protect yourself, to protect those around you.

The walls that you now saw. And the more you looked at them, the more you could see how you hadn’t put them up at all. In fact, you’d say those walls had been up long before the walls you had managed to put up. The grey-colored bricks stacked in front of you only made it about halfway up your body while there stood a towering wall in front of it.

Moss covered, cracked bricks stared back at you.

A large crack shot across the center of the wall, dust and debris falling around it, the wall tumbling down before you. It felt so surreal.

And in that moment, you stopped holding back. You let out the full strength of your quirk, unleashing the power you’d been holding back for the sake of the people who had deemed you villainous.

You charged at full speed toward the leader of the villain group that was attacking your class.

“Rashōmon!” You shouted, calling upon your quirk, unleashing an attack that would shield you from the various attacks they were throwing at you.

In another attack, you waved your right arm, causing spikes to come up from the ground, impaling a few members in the legs, causing them to stop, it was brutal, but not near enough to kill them. They’d definitely feel it in the morning though.

And for your final attack, you went in, straight for the leader, dozens of spider-web like strings, seemingly razor sharp, came charging toward the leader, cutting into his skin and capturing him.

“Holy shit.” Bakugou muttered, the rest of the class watching as you took the villain down.

It didn’t take long for the police and reinforcements to show up, and then it was escorting everyone injured or not to the hospital to get checked up.

“I didn’t know she could do that!”

“Yeah, that was totally unexpected.” 

Kaminari and Mina chatted among their friends, waiting for the news on how you were doing. You had startled Mr. Aizawa, so there was a reason for him to want to talk to you privately and make sure you were okay.

But what your classmates didn’t expect was for you to run out of your room right into the arms of Bakugou.

Even he was surprised.

“Thank you.” You hugged him tightly, his arms wrapped around you while his cheeks flushed from embarrassment. Pushing away his pride for just a few seconds, he embraced you.

Pulling you into an empty room, he shut the door behind him and stared at you.

“We’re training from now on.”

“W-what why?” You looked up at the blonde as he glared out of the hospital room window.

"Because, you’re strong, and I think you’ve got what it takes to take me on in a fight.”

You stood silently, a new feeling bubbling inside of you. The feeling of worth, of need. A feeling for more of Bakugou. It was rushed, but something you’d wanted to do for a while now.

Tugging him down to your height, you gripped at the fabric of his shirt, pressing his lips to yours, connecting the two of you in a kiss.

Bakugou’s lips were rough compared to your soft ones. But the difference made it that much better. Your grip released on his shirt as you relaxed into the kiss, Bakugou’s hand holding the small of your back as he leaned into it.

He was a stranger to affection, and would’ve denied any feelings before he came to terms with them. But here he was, kissing the girl he’d developed a crush on.

“I’ll work with you on one condition.” You pulled away, his breath ghosting over your lips.

“You have to be my boyfriend.”

“Deal.”

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