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ephemeral-phosphorescence · 11 months ago

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Goblin Stairs,

A Hunger Games fanfic.

Very much inspired by Jackie French novels and the Australian tradition of writing about time going thin and rubbing against itself too much. Basically, the fabric of time rips when Lucy Grey runs away from Snow in the woods, and she accidentally isekais herself into post-mockingjay District 12.

Wordcount is 1,668

Or going up with music On cold starry nights, To sup with the Queen Of the gay Northern Lights.

They stole little Bridget For seven years long; When she came down again Her friends were all gone.

Lucy-Grey’s mama had told her all about fairies. In songs she’d play to scare her little girl on the brightest moon-lit nights, or rhymes she’d laughingly chant as she sent the kids out to play. Fairies, she’d taught them, would take you away. You’d spend what felt like a few seconds with them and while you listened, time would grow thin. It would rub out in strange places, and you’d come back to find your family old and grey.

Of course, Lucy-Grey knew now that it was all just practical warnings. Don’t go off by yourself into the woods. Don’t talk to strangers. Especially don’t take food from strangers. And don’t go off with them, no matter how many beautiful visions they tempt you with.

God, Lucy-Grey wish she’d listened. Maybe she wouldn’t be in this situation right now if she had. Deep in the woods by herself. Running from him.

She’d thought he was a fairy, the first time she’d seen him. Standing on the dirty railway platform, in his pretty uniform and glowing golden hair. He sounded like a fairy too, speaking in that strange accent, Coriolanus Snow, every syllable crisp and sweet. And like all fairies that children found in the woods, he tempted her with a pathway home, tempting her with his trinkets. She’d thought maybe a fairy world wouldn’t be so bad, compared to where she was headed. Hoped for a fairy world even, grabbing that unnaturally perfect rose and slipping it into her mouth.

“We must not look at goblin men,

We must not buy their fruits:

Who knows upon what soil they fed

Their hungry thirsty roots?”

Lucy-Grey’s mother hadn’t believed in fairies, surely, but she’d once sounded so serious, smoothing her hair back from her face. “Don’t go off with fairies, my Lucy-Grey. You’ll not come home again if you do, not truly. Not once as it was.”

And as Lucy-Grey ran through the woods, listening to the mockingjays sing teasingly above her, trying to anticipate the direction of the bullets, she felt it. She felt time and air grow thin, like tissue paper. She felt it tear. Another rain of gunfire circled the trees, and she fell, forehead just missing the full impact of a jagged rock. Her heart beat a thousand drum falls a minute, and in a terrified last ditch attempt, she tried circling back to the path up to twelve. Feeling her boots on the soft dirt, and choking back a sob, she gathered her skirts and almost ran into the stranger.

Standing by the overgrown path, next to a blackberry bush, a basket of shimmering black fruits in her arm, she looked at Lucy-Grey with a puzzled demeanour. A coal miner, if the burn scars on her neck and hands were anything to go by, and the large leather jacket over her shoulders.

Finally. Lucy-Grey thought viciously. A real fucking person.

“You’re out far” the woman commented lightly.

“Please!” Lucy-Grey choked out all in a rush. “Please help me!”

The woman’s entire body changed, tensing up, and she poked her head around Lucy-Grey’s body. Her troubled eyes looking for the source of her distress. There was something about those eyes. Something Lucy-Grey recognised intimately.

“Bear?” She asked distractedly. Lucy-Grey heard the sound of Coryo’s boots tramping through the grass, trashing the sticks and foliage underfoot.

“No” She breathed out. “No, it’s my- my man, he went awful angry all of a sudden and he’s firing his gun and I don’t-“ she swallowed.

In what felt like a whip snap, the woman crossed the distance between them, shielding Lucy Grey behind her back. And in the same moment, had the bow across her back, loaded and aimed in the direction Lucy-Grey came from.

They waited for a second, the mockingjays chillingly quiet now.

There was an angry, anguished scream from deep in the woods and the sound of bullet fire that caused them both to flinch. The woman shook her head and grabbed Lucy-Grey’s arm roughly.

“Come on” she muttered and pulled her up the path in a rough sprint.

They ran for what felt like hours, up the trail they both seemed to know well. Flying through the trees, their feet gliding over the grasses. And once they were a few hours out from the borders of district twelve, they both allowed themselves to slow, panting heavily. Lucy-Grey fished around in her pack, and pulled out a bottle of water. After taking a long sip, she passed it to the woman, who drank it gratefully.

“You saved my life” she whispered gratefully. “Really, you did.”

“No trouble” the woman shook her head. “If you hadn’t warned me, I might have stepped into his line of fire. You’re almost a like a good luck charm.”

She felt like the furthest thing from a good-luck charm right now. She felt like a bad omen. Like she might accidentally be setting in motion a string of disastrous consequences for this woman, who’d probably just lead a simple, quiet life up until now, working in the mines and foraging on the days she had off.

The woman looked at her, with a drawn, almost unreadable expression.

“My name’s Katniss Everdeen, by the way. And I like your skirt.”

She continued up the path, motioning for the girl to follow behind her.

“I’m Lucy-Grey Baird” she responded breathlessly. “And thank-you, I sewed this one myself.”

“You’ll have to teach me how to do that” Katniss responded. “It looks very achievable.”

And before Lucy-grey had time to respond to that, Katniss had pressed her lips together and a look of frustration crossed her face.

“So, what happened” she continued brusquely. “Did you run off from Ten or somewhere?”

“No” Lucy said, puzzled at the assumption. “No, we set off from twelve just this morning.”

“You’re from Twelve? Originally, or did you just get here? I mean after the war.”

“I’m Covey” she asserted. “Not from any district, but we had to settle here after the fighting stopped. My people should just be by the meadow.”

“Wonderful” Katniss responded. “I can drop you off there on the way back.” She turned around to look at her and then stopped. “Your head is bleeding.”

Lucy-Grey put her hand up to her forehead, where she could feel a viscous liquid dripping into her eyes- true, but she’d thought it was sweat. Her fingertips came away red.

“I tripped” she explained. But Katniss had already torn a section from her shirt, and had bundled it up to press on the wound. “It’s just a scratch, really.”

“Really?” Katniss frowned. “You seeing okay? No dizziness? No nausea?”

“Not yet”

“Alright.” Katniss seemed happy with that, but made her press the fabric to the cut as they continued their way up the path.

It shouldn’t be too long now, Lucy-grey thought, and despite all the troubles that awaited her, her heart couldn’t help but flutter in relief.

“So, you went deep into the woods with your man, doing what exactly?” Katniss asked, now herding Lucy in front of her. “Hunting?”

“We were running away.”

“Ah.” And then, a second later. “Why?”

Not quite sure how to explain all of the drama, especially to what seemed like a chronic recluse, Lucy-Grey finally just muttered. “The mayor is trying to kill me.”

There was a deep moment of silence as Katniss took that in. She took a second to note a marker, that signalled they weren’t more than twenty minutes from the meadow now.

“Okay, and you took a gun into the woods?”

“No” Lucy-Grey struggled. “We found the guns in the cabin, and he went off suddenly.”

“You sure there’s no dizziness?” Katniss asked cautiously. “No, I don’t know . . . shininess?”

“I’m sure” she answered patiently.

“Look, I was just in that cabin before I ran into you. There were no guns there. And no signs anyone had been there beside me. It's like you both just appeared.”

Lucy-Grey gritted her teeth, and continued walking in silence. Katniss let her, occasionally holding branches out of her way, and helping her over creeks and the like. Finally, they’d passed the last boundaries of trees and Lucy-Grey let herself sigh a relived breath. Until . . .

There was a shininess. She deliberated on telling Katniss for a second, then deciding to it as a problem for Barb Azure. But the shininess, persisted, a web of silver stretching across the boundary. A line of fallen silver chain across the grass and a battalion of rusted poles that had certainly not been there before they left.

“What.” She murmured confusedly.

“Fence” Katniss supplied. “Almost there.”

Lucy-grey felt her feet carry her forward without permission. Up onto the meadow, which should have been a haven of grass and flowers had been turned into a massive mound of dug-up dirt. And beyond that, only darkness. Bleak, black ground only sparsely populated by half-finished constructions.

“What happened?” She almost whimpered, looking anywhere for a recognisable landmark. Katniss took her shoulders gently, looking into her eyes, looking for signs of a concussion. But she wasn’t addled. There had been something there before. Surely, surely, there had been.

“Lucy-Grey” Katniss explained evenly. “It was bombed, during the war, do you remember? Bombed to nothing?”

She twisted wildly out of the grip, refusing to hear it, desperate to understand it. Her mother’s voice came back to her, singing in a silly little tune.

They stole little Bridget

For seven years long;

When she came down again

Her friends were all gone.

They took her lightly back,

Between the night and morrow,

They thought that she was fast asleep,

But she was dead with sorrow.

They have kept her ever since

Deep within the lake,

On a bed of flag-leaves,

Watching till she wake.

Lucy-Grey turned around, and vomited neatly onto Katniss Everdeen’s boots.

#the hunger games #thg #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tbosas #hunger games fanfiction #tbosas fanfiction #tbosas movie #katniss everdeen #lucy gray baird #the hunger games books #the hunger games ballad of songbirds and snakes #the ballad of songbirds and snakes book

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blackjackkent · 6 months ago

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Ahhhh, I'm excited - time to meet Minthara properly! (And to figure out a reason not to let Rakha just finish the job of killing her. :P )

-----

"I WILL NOT BE SLANDERED!"

The words echo to the high rafters of Moonrise Towers' central chamber just as Rakha and her companions push in through the main doors.

The room itself is an extraordinary display of decayed opulence. A ragged carpet of faded velvet lines the pathway to the dais at the front, upon which is a sturdy stone throne. This central path is flanked by ornate columns and long, low benches that suggest this was once a gathering place - a meeting hall or church perhaps. All of it is draped in dust and cobwebs like a recently opened tomb.

No one is making use of the benches, though. The small crowd in the room is all clustered around the dais, where some sort of impromptu tribunal appears to be taking place.

A bearded half-elf in full plate armor is sitting on the throne. He looks almost bored; his head is leaned on one hand and he is lounged back with an attitude of utter disinterest. At his side stands a half-orc about Rakha's own height, whose eyes are narrowed in visible rage. Both of them are staring down at the prisoner under examination - a lithe, muscular elf in dark armor in a strange design of layered metal.

Rakha realizes with a sudden start that she knows all three of these people. She doesn't know how she knows the half-elf or the half-orc, but both faces ring like bells in her empty memory. And the drow...

Rakha blinks several times rapidly. I *killed* you. What are you doing here?

It is definitely Minthara, the drow commander from the goblin camp, a woman Rakha thought she killed weeks ago now. Yet here she stands, on trial before other Absolutists, fully intact. At first Rakha thinks she must be mistaken, that this must be some other drow with similar hair, similar armor...

...except that the commander is barefoot. Shadowheart is currently wearing the boots they took from Minthara's supposed corpse.

"General - you saw my reports!" Minthara cries urgently, spreading her hands towards the half-elf man in a gesture of supplication. "You know it's not my fault!"

General, Rakha thinks. Her skin prickles with sudden agitation, the arrested urge to dart forward and strike. Minthara called the man General; he is Ketheric Thorm, the leader of the Absolutists. The half-orc, then, must be the Disciple the guards spoke of - Z'Rell.

Her head aches with some half-realized vision. She knows both faces, both names, but why?

"The facts suggest otherwise," snaps Z'Rell, staring Minthara down like a predator eyeing prey. "You were ordered to retrieve the artifact. You failed to do so."

"If I had been given drow warriors instead of goblin trash--" Minthara begins. Whatever argument she was about to make is immediately drowned out by an explosion of noise - objections from the cluster of goblin prisoners standing nearby. Leftover dregs, survivors of the devastation Rakha and her companions wrought at the shattered temple, perhaps.

"ENOUGH!" Z'Rell thunders, her voice crashing through the room like a battering ram.

Narrator: A blast of mental energy washes over you, filling the room. Your tadpole squirms, urging you to obey.

Rakha doubles over with a groan of sudden pain. The impact of Z'Rell's mental force strikes her like a wave, grips her by the brain and twists. Obey, it commands, even though there is no order for her to follow. Kneel. She feels her legs buckle, and instinctively struggles against the power until it begins to ease.

"Let me make sure I understand this," Z'Rell sneers at Minthara icily. "You're claiming that General Thorm gave you the wrong soldiers?" She takes a step forward. On the throne, Thorm stirs, his eyes narrowing to slits.

"Yes--" Minthara starts to say, then realizes her mistake just as the word leaves her lips. "No!" she corrects herself hastily.

"You blame the Absolute's Chosen for your failure?" Z'Rell demands, taking another step forward.

"Of course it is not the General's fault!" Minthara is trying to maintain her composure, but her voice cracks with sudden fear.

Z'Rell is almost nose to nose with her now, staring her down with a strange sort of vicious hunger in her eyes. "WHOSE, then?" she snarls.

At Rakha's side, she hears Wyll give a low whistle under his breath. "Someone's in trouble..." he murmurs.

Rakha ignores him. Her eyes are fixed on Z'Rell, on that hungry smile touching the other half-orc's expression. It is unsettling, only adding to the inexplicable feeling of familiarity the Disciple's face engenders in her. It is an expression she could imagine on her own face, the moment before a kill.

As for Thorm... Rakha's interest in Minthara's fate pales beside her interest in Ketheric's - she wants him dead. By all accounts his is the hand that has driven every terrible thing that has happened to her. She wants his blood far more deeply than she wants Minthara's.

But not here. As when she faced down Jaheira at Last Light, she is deeply aware that pushing the fight here would result only in her own death. She needs to learn Thorm's weaknesses, and find him alone.

Almost by instinct, she pushes outward with her own mental force, reaching out to his mind. Can she learn something of him? Can he be manipulated, pushed into a corner to die by her hand?

[WISDOM] Try to force your will on Ketheric - push him to declare Minthara innocent.

Narrator: Your mind extends outward and grasps at... nothing. In Ketheric's place, you feel an absence. No psionic power. No tadpole at all.

Rakha's breath jolts in her throat, as if she has tried to take a downward step that wasn't there. Her eyes open wide and she stares at Ketheric with an entirely new feeling of puzzlement - and unexpected fear. Here in the heart of the Absolute cult, a person without a tadpole feels far more unsettling than someone with one.

Minthara is still trying to plead her case. "The goblins!" she insists. "They failed me. They failed us all!"

"You lyin' little--" one of the goblins yelps, but she's cut off by Z'Rell, still cold as ice.

"And what would you do to those that have failed you?" she asks coolly.

Rakha can see the trap being laid, the blood that will follow it, but Minthara, desperate for salvation, grasps at the question eagerly.

"They are to be put to death - obviously," she says firmly.

"True," Thorm says abruptly. He stirs again and leans forward - stiffly, as if with some inexpressible weariness. "Ultimate failure must earn ultimate punishment." He lifts one hand and waves it in a dismissing gesture. "Nightwarden Minthara - your crime is incompetence and your sentence is death."

"NO!" Minthara screams - the sound a little choked off as two guards grab her by the arms and drag her backwards.

Ketheric lounges backwards in his chair again. "Make her passing slow, Disciple Z'rell," he says, a slow, disinterested drawl. "Be creative."

Again, that hungry, gleeful eagerness flashes onto Z'rell's face. Her hand rests on a dagger at her side.

And Rakha - completely without her own volition, as if voicing a script established for her long ago, speaks up. "I could make it *much* more creative," she hears herself say, and her voice is low and cold and matches that gleeful smile on Z'rell's face. "As a torturer, I am unmatched."

Wyll shoots her a sharp look, his eyes narrowing; one of his hands closes on her arm. But she doesn't even need it. She's already clamped her mouth shut, baffled by the words, by how natural they felt.

She can see Z'rell's mouth draw into a tight line, infuriated by the interruption, but Thorm merely raises an eyebrow as if he has been presented with some curiosity by an eager child.

Narrator: As the General's attention shifts to you, a memory stirs. A memory of this room, and his voice raised in anger.

"I'm surprised to see you again, True Soul," the General says. His tone is clipped, exquisitely controlled, with a sliver of barely concealed threat beneath. "You are here to assist and not to meddle, I trust. I would remind you that while in my halls, you obey me - just as you would any other Chosen." His lip curls in a disdainful smile and he leans forward again, his eyes fixed on Rakha intently. "What say you about our Minthara? It is fitting that one mad dog should judge another."

Rakha's blood feels as if it has been flooded with ice. Her body goes still; her very breath stills in her chest.

She does know him. And he knows her, just as the guard at the gate did. She doesn't know why. She has been here before, in this room - before the Nautiloid took her, before she met Lae'zel or Wyll or any of her companions.

You are here to assist and not to meddle.

While in my halls, you obey me.

Somewhere in the past, she argued with this man. She disagreed with his decisions, disrespected his authority. He shouted in her face - that memory is clear, but utterly without context.

It is fitting that one mad dog should judge another.

It's an insult. It infuriates her. She wants, more than ever, more than anything, to rip out his throat and eat it in front of his body as it bleeds out. But as always, her need for answers trumps the hunger for blood.

"You know me?" she whispers. "You know of my madness?"

Thorm smiles unpleasantly. "Better than you know yourself, it seems," he says. "But we are here to speak of Minthara, not you."

Her tongue feels frozen in her mouth. This is too much to take in - she doesn't care about Minthara's fate. She wants Thorm dead for that mocking smirk and for the tadpole in her head.

"What do you intend to do with her?" she manages to ask.

Thorm shrugs. "She will die. Eventually." He jerks his head. "Take her below."

Rakha watches, her thoughts racing, as Minthara - screaming for mercy - is dragged out of a nearby door by two of the guards.

Thorm stands slowly from the throne, stretches a kink out of his shoulder, and squints at the pint-size collection of other prisoners waiting for his attention. "Kill the goblins too," he adds dismissively.

Noises of dismay erupt from the crowd of goblins, and one of them cracks into sheer panic.

"You creaking old bag of shit!" she bellows. Hurling her full weight at a nearby guard, she manages to get ahold of his axe and - with surprising dexterity for her size - hurls it with all her might at Ketheric's chest.

Thorm slams back into the throne. The axe lodges itself through his armor and into his chest with an eruption of blood; Rakha's head snaps back, her eyes dilating, the beast rising in her head with a wave of excitement.

And then... nothing. Silence. Her hunger fades. The blood is false - it is no red tide of fading life, but something much darker, almost black, a strange ichorous mess pooling around his boots.

His eyes open. He stands, and without pain or even much evident interest, he rips the axe from his own chest.

"I'm so sorry, my lord," Z'Rell is babbling. "She's an unbeliever, outside my control--"

Thorm ignores her. In three quick strides he moves to stand directly in front of the goblin and drops the axe onto the floor in front of her with a clang.

"Try again," he says coldly.

(A/N: Fuck Ketheric, obviously, but this is such a fucking boss power move.)

The goblin swallows, bright-eyed with blank fear, and leans over and picks up the axe. Rakha can almost see the thoughts churning in her head - in for a coin, in for a coffer - and then she swings the axe again, this time a clean blow directly into Ketheric's neck.

Again Rakha watches intently, eager for that burst of satisfaction that would come with seeing Ketheric bleed properly and die... but it doesn't come. Instead, he pulls the axe from his neck, and twists his head with an uncomfortable cracking sound until it settles back into its correct position.

And without a single word, he slams both gauntleted fists down onto the goblin's head, shattering her skull.

It's a poor meal compared to the feast that Thorm's own death would have been, but at least there is proper blood. The beast purrs eagerly in Rakha's head.

"Dispose of the rest as you see fit," Thorm says absently. He seems utterly unconcerned with the mix of blood and ichor that now stains his hands, his armor, his beard. "Or better yet..." His eyes flick back to Rakha, reading the expression on her face - the involuntary eager smirk that touched her lips seeing the goblin die. "Let us take advantage of our surprising guest, and their particular creative genius. I'm sure the results will send a clear message to the troops on the importance of discipline."

Z'Rell has gone very quiet and still as well. She is looking at Rakha with unmitigated dislike - but her respect for (or perhaps fear of) the General is greater. "Of course, my lord," she mutters. "Thank you."

She takes a step down off the dais, closing with Rakha. "You heard the General. The goblins are yours - deal with them however you wish."

The beast leaps eagerly at this offer. So many ways to kill, so many ways to make them bleed and bleed and bleed...

She squeezes her eyes shut, fighting it back, trying to think clearly. Too much has happened here. She needs to take time to understand...

Contain your excitement.

Z'Rell rolls her eyes at Rakha's silence. "Here, in the seat of the Absolute's power, your authority over them is complete. They will obey any command. Report to me upstairs when you're done."

She doesn't wait for a reply, but disappears out a door in the back of the room, leaving Rakha and her companions alone with the goblins.

"Here..." one of the goblins quavers nervously. "You ain't gonna do anything drastic, are yeh? We've been nothing but loyal!"

-----

"Rakha?" Wyll says softly. "Hey. Hey-- Rakha. Come back down."

He's seen her gaze starting to go wide and wild with the promise of violence and the chaos of the last few minutes, and he's relieved to see that his voice seems to ground her a little, to draw her back.

She turns sharply away from the prisoners, squeezes the heels of her hands against her eyes.

"Did you see it?" she mutters hoarsely. "He didn't bleed. He didn't die."

"Chk. We knew he would not, already," Lae'zel points out. "The greater question - how does he know you?"

Rakha shakes her head once sharply. "I don't know. I don't--" She draws a breath, lets it out slowly between her teeth. "I have seen him before. Him and the woman both. Clashed with them, I think. But I don't remember..."

A muscle works in her jaw as she slowly calms her own agitation. Wyll can see the effort it's taking her, and he smiles just a little in pride to see it. She would not have calmed herself like this, when they first met.

"And the drow," Rakha goes on after a short pause. "We killed her."

"It seems we didn't do a good enough job," Shadowheart says dryly. "Although Thorm seems likely to finish it for us." She raises one eyebrow. "She might be a useful ally. People tend to be rather more pliant, when the alternative is death."

Rakha grunts. "Perhaps..." she says. Her thoughts are clearly elsewhere. "And the goblins..."

She expects Wyll to tell her to release them; it isn't practical but it would be kind. To her surprise, though, his jaw sets and he shrugs. "Finish them, I suppose. That will get us in good here."

Lae'zel nods curt agreement. "Yes."

Rakha draws a slow, shuddering breath and turns back to the prisoners.

The beast is full of ideas, ways to use the tadpole's command to make them tear themselves apart. But Rakha ignores it. Flame bursts up in both palms, rising into an arc before her.

"I will do this with my own hands. It always feels better."

#bjk plays bg3 durge #rakha the dark urge #well that took 431235123 hours to write lol #but ooooooooo DURGE STUFF DURGE STUFF DURGE STUFF #and DRAMA #and RAKHA INTERNAL CONFLICT #and Z'RELL HEADCANONS I JUST MADE UP TODAY #WHOOOOOOOO #more thursday :P

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justagalwhowrites · 1 year ago

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I'm so curious what is your writing process like? I'm floored by how fast you write yet the quality is always sososo high. Do you have a beta? Are you a god? What..how..😱

Please get some sleep

Ahhhh Hi Bestie!

Um you're so sweet???? This is so nice??? Thank you so much??????

TO ANSWER YOUR QUESTION

....probably don't fully approach writing like I do if you're trying to write because I approach it like a trash goblin in a human suit trying to make things BUT here's what I do!

When I get the idea for a story (fan fic, novel, screenplay, whatever) it usually comes character first. There's someone who intrigues the hell out of me whose story I want to write and then I just have to figure out what their story is. The second part usually comes pretty quick, at least one or two major story moments and the climax and the resolution at least. Then I think through how to get them there and what kind of journey is going to be the most impactful for them. Then I write that down in the form of a story map where I lay things out beat by beat (these notes are usually very vague, like 2 or 3 words per chapter, my vision is far from fully realized) and then write down some basic stuff about the main characters. Actually write it, too, I've got a real cute lil' notebook that I have my story notes and any poems I've written lately (and my D&D notes) in it and I carry it around everywhere when my brain is feeling particularly creative.

This is where the trash goblin takes over because then I just write it. The story map is pretty fluid, I don't think I've ever stuck to one entirely, it always shifts and changes depending on what I get up to narratively. Sometimes that's just story beats stretch longer than I thought so they span several chapters instead of one, sometimes I change my mind on something altogether (like in Yearling, the stable incident with Simon was originally something else entirely but I was like "wait no that doesn't make as much sense, this feels convoluted, doing something else now" and took place in a slightly different spot). When I'm writing, I kind of picture what happens in my head like I'm watching a movie. The characters have their conversations, I write those down, describe how they're feeling, what stuff looks like, etc. The downside to this is the movie of this shit is literally ALWAYS ON in my head and will NOT go away until I write it. The angst that's coming in Yearling? Been playing in my head on a loop for weeks. IT'S DRIVING ME INSANE SEND HELP.

Once I get a chapter done, I give it a quick read mostly for grammar and stuff and to make sure it flows right (and there aren't a bunch of repeated words and stuff - I was a copy editor previously in my career but copy editing your own stuff is tricky so this is a questionable process) and then I post it. No betas, no editors besides myself, generally very little rewrites (I'll rewrite a chunk of a chapter once every like 20 chapters or so, it's rare.) I just throw all these words on the page and then hurl them at y'all and you're kind enough to make super sweet comments like this!

I'm so happy you think my work is high quality and written quickly!! I think I've finally adjusted from the schedule I was keeping for Lavender so it no longer feels like I'm slacking only putting out 2-3 chapters a week but it still doesn't feel like I'm quick lol so thank you for that, too!

And as far as the sleep goes? You saw nothing, definitely not me posting at 3 a.m., don't tell my therapist, everything is fine here.

JK I'm largely just fine! I've always been a night owl and function fine as long as I get a total of 6 hours of sleep, even if that's between a nap and an overnight sleep. It's probably not the best but eh, I'm having fun.

Thank you again for reading and for being so kind!! So happy you're here. Love you!!

#fanfic #kit answers #send asks #writing

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tobiasdrake · 10 months ago

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At long last, it's time. The siege has begun.

I'm going to bring this place crashing into the ocean. While on fire.

I hope you got everything out of your miserable unlife that you wanted, Aephorul. Because I remember exactly how I felt that day, and the blood hasn't left my eyes since.

Alright, team. This is it. You know what this is and you know what we're here to do. By the end of today, I want to be holding Aephorul's heart or the nearest desiccated organ left in his rotting skeleton of a body in my bare hand.

Erlina will be waiting for us in there. We're going straight through her and not even looking back.

Let's paint the sky red.

I shouldn't be surprised that Aephorul's idea of a locking mechanism is disgusting. I am, however, impressed with his commitment to the bit. Dude loves his fleshy shit.

Um. Hi? I don't think we've met. Yes, we are here to either liberate or butcher you. Please specify which of the two you would like to order.

One order of butchering coming right up.

*sigh*

You know, I'm starting to develop a love/hate relationship with alchemy. I love it when it's on our side and hate it when it's on theirs.

We don't have time for this.

Goodbye, some dude I've never heard of whose name is probably a Monkey Island reference.

...well. Fuck.

Sure would be nice if there was an alchemist in our midst who didn't abandon me like everyone else and could instead mix up more of that anti-psychic juice. But I guess we'll have to deal.

As tempting as your illusory robot flirtations are, I am currently fueled by far too much homicidal zeal to sleep. The adrenaline coursing through my veins won't let me.

YOU'RE NOT EVEN HERE YOU BASTARD. Shut the fuck up.

...why....

...would that ever be a thing that is happening to me....

What could possibly have occurred in my journey that would result in this taking place? That last one was pretty decent, 7/10, but this is a solid 2. You need to up your psychedelic game, Aephorul because this acid trip just got a lot less convincing.

See? Like that. You dream-vision me into the Humble Boast and send me into the kitchen to see the chef, I expect to see fucking Garl at the cookpot. That would be a potent vision. I might even be inclined to forget how obviously fake it is because I just want to see him again so badly.

Instead, you give me a mole man. Great. Because that's something that's going to win me over and make me want to forget why I came here.

This is the shittiest predatory illusion I've ever been under the influence of. Hall of Illusions, I demand to speak with your manager.

THERE YOU ARE. You better listen the fuck up and listen good because I've got about a dozen--

Hey, wait a second. Serai, isn't this that other guy you wanted us to murder? I guess he transferred departments after finishing up with Repine, and now he has a new job. That he fucking sucks at.

You should believe her. We're kind of on a streak in the blood vengeance department.

By the way, body covered in eyes? Not a great choice. You've riddled yourself with vulnerable spots. You're basically giving her a whole mess of options for what to stab.

Yeah, just like that. That's exactly what I'm talking about.

That one looks like it hurt. I didn't think a face consisting solely of a gigantic eye wouldn't be capable of pulling off the "OH GOD MY TESTES" face but there it is.

He's trying so hard to save face and not look like he's fleeing for his life while whimpering because he just got stabbed in the junk.

Oh, you've got fanboys with glowsticks now. Yep, that'll do it. Sure to keep you safe. You've definitely--

Oh no, your useless trash goblins all died unexpectedly. It is a mystery.

By the way, you probably shouldn't have kept your eyes on me because--

AGAIN! I KNOW! Man, she's really got it out for you.

This is the most fun I've ever had filing a complaint.

The "I'm going to go get my big brother to beat you up" energy going on right now is amazing. Delivered in the smuggest possible tone.

The new bodyguards are nice, they look tougher than the last, but they don't exactly protect you from....

...that. They don't exactly protect you from that.

You gonna suck it up and take your-- and he's running again.

This wasn't quite what I was expecting when I stormed in here to commit a murder but honestly, I'm so glad I was here for this.

#sea of stars #drake plays sea of stars

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goodbysunball · 2 months ago

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Illegal life forever

Sleep's hard to come by these days, but important new music is not. Really excited about all of these albums, though I think a lot more people would be into the J.R.C.G. and Weak Signal records if they heard 'em. Feels wild to be alive in a time where this much new music hits a nerve.

J.R.C.G., Grim Iconic (Sadistic Mantra) LP (Sub Pop) Second album post-Dreamdecay from Justin R. Cruz Gallego, and it's a monster step forward from Ajo Sunshine. While sonically the two albums are drowning in layers of tom-forward drumming, buzzing synths, and effects-garbled vocals, Grim Iconic (Sadistic Mantra) puts all the pieces into a coherent whole. For whatever coherence is present, this is still a deeply adventurous, genreless, psych-damaged, electronics-rich album with enough twists and left turns to hogtie any attempts to pigeonhole it. My favorite songs, "Drummy" and "World i," are lush, heavy meditations on a single theme, driven forward by Gallego's nimble drum patterns and padded with enough synths to glide smoother than a limousine, even where blasts of white noise and black metal vocals come in. Then there's "Liv," in which Happy Songs For Happy People-era Mogwai splits open to reveal a warped vision of '00s dance-punk, or "Junk Corrido," where what sounds like a Goblin track falls off a cliff into eerie ambience, complete with thin, shallow woodwind exhalations. The album can feel just as impenetrable as it is approachable, but all the pieces fit, even where they normally wouldn't, a credit to the production of Gallego and Seth Manchester. Whether you're interested in pulling the million audio-instrumental threads stuffed into Grim Iconic (Sadistic Mantra) or you, like me, just want to listen to "Party People (Heaven)" at maximum volume and never leave its luscious confines, it's one of the year's must-hear records, and one that's scarcely left my listening rotation for months.

Jim Marlowe, Mirror Green Rotor in Profile CS (Medium Sound) From way back in January, a second solo cassette release from Louisville's most active musician, he of Sapat, Equipment Pointed Ankh, Tropical Trash, and now a member of Ryan Davis' Roadhouse Band. Where Time Out on the Miracle Index (Haha Tapes, 2022) veered more toward drone and ambient, Mirror Green Rotor in Profile triangulates on the surface somewhere between Vince Guaraldi, ZNR when they let their guard down, and the oft-orchestra'd crescendos of 00's indie. The latter is woven into a decidedly psychedelic tapestry, stripped of its sometimes embarrassing vocals and melodrama, revealing the many moving parts and layers intertwined and churning beneath. Hooks seem to fall right out of Marlowe's brain and hands, augmented by tumbling drums and hammered piano and a litany of other instruments I'm doomed to misidentify. The tracks that jump out on early listens, like "Imaginate Me" and "64 Deluxe: Plank Ring," are inventive and cartoonish like the cover art, both music and art reminiscent of animation for children from the '60s and '70s. The more pensive moments ("Bud Morton's All Gone," "Pink Rotor Mist") feel no less bright and vivid, the rich, warm percussion-heavy sound stringing together the short vignettes. The noted lack of cynicism, dropped in favor of a bright, punchy sound, shows where Marlowe contributes to Equipment Pointed Ankh, and anyone who liked either or both of their albums last year ought to be right at home on MIrror Green Rotor in Profile. The rest'll find something to hang their hat on across the albums 30 minutes, as these quick, unassumingly busy tracks reward both cursory and repeat listens. My favorite cassette of the year so far.

Mordecai, Seeds From the Furthest Vine LP (Petty Bunco) Sixth LP from America's finest purveyors of lo-fi scuzzy jangly rock, and if you thought they'd clean up with age, breathe a sigh of relief. The band has regrouped to deliver their best and most enjoyable LP yet, even with its members now spread out worldwide, far from their Montana roots. Seeds From the Furthest Vine eschews any crisp production techniques, arriving instead chock full of vocals that sound as if they were recorded through an oscillating fan, cardboard box drums, and guitar solos that wriggle violently like eels out of the players' grasp. While sonic similarities to their forebears can be spotted - Rep/Shepard/Jay, early Pavement, and a splash of the Galbraith/Russell corner of the NZ underground - there simply aren't many groups left that sound like Mordecai, let alone deliver on the promise of that suite of influences. Peep how the soft jangle of "Oval Door" collides with the sharp, clattering noise of "Meat on a Stick," or how the piercing woodwind of "Seeds From the Furthest Vine Pt. II" presages the Fall-indebted blare of "Never Get Ahead." Then there's the audacious seven minutes of garbage heap clang and manic vocals on "Down In an Alley," delivered over a warm harmonium and serving as the speaker-crackling comedown on a rather brilliant album. While it can sound like the group records spontaneously, using whatever means at hand when the situation demands it, the fact that the whole record flows effortlessly belies a logic behind the album's construction. The fragments of lyrics I can make out indicate a thoughtful, poignant core, roughed up and resilient, though more often they're buried and indecipherable ("When You Know Them As"). Vocals are an instrument, too, so whether you're comfortable with that fact or not, Seeds From the Furthest Vine's a winner, capable of floating on the fringes of your consciousness as much as it is enveloping it like a rough wool blanket.

Negative Gears, Moraliser LP (Static Shock) Second record from Sydney's Negative Gears, arriving after five long years, and it couldn't be more suited to the moment. The band sits within the dark grooves laid down by Crisis, Siekiera (both mentioned by the label) or Juju, fleshing that framework out with multiple guitars, keyboards and vocals dripping with contempt. They frame the moment through a psychological lens, lending fresh eyes to all the seemingly unsolvable problems everyone acknowledges: crushing workloads, social media-begotten loneliness, and keeping up appearances that everything's fine through it all. While their sound is certainly of a contemporary Australian lineage (equal parts Total Control, Constant Mongrel and Low Life), they keep it fresh and stand out on their own by bringing wild energy to the topics at hand, eyes bulging through the swelling, driving noise on "Room With a Mirror" and "Lifestyle Damages." Moraliser's catchy as hell in spite of its lyrical evisceration of society, late-stage capitalism and themselves, which they cover right off with "Negative Gear." Despite the dour topics tackled, there's an undeniable itchiness and movement about these songs; you could probably dance to "Ants" or "Connect," and I imagine they'll be crowd favorites in no time, tightly wound construction leading to anthemic release. Even though the music might lend itself to movement, there are long, moody tails at the end of each side to drive home the real state of things, conjuring visions of empty city streets, drizzle, wet trash rolling around, the unavoidable mess humans leave when they're gone. The earth will be fine even if we won't, and it's hard not to have some optimism about younger generations' action and impact, but on days when it feels like all's lost, Moraliser is the album to lean on.

Vampire, What Seems Forever Can Be Broken LP (Televised Suicide) It's been a bumper crop year for bands on the Amebix-Rudimentary Peni sound axis, and amongst the bunch that I've heard, Vampire's What Seems Forever Can Be Broken stands tall as my favorite. Any fan of Death Church is gonna find a lot to like here: tom drums pound, the bass threads vicious lines around each hit, and the guitar’s a distorted buzz saw. Where Vampire really distinguish themselves is their vocals, placed right up front and enunciated clearly despite the rage and bile bubbling underneath. Sounds like each of the three members takes turns, but the feral gnashing and their more melodic foil are the two vocalists that make the most appearances. The best vocal performance has to be the opening verse on "Endless Chain," where it sounds like the one vocalist is chewing off and spitting out each syllable, blood dripping from the corners of their mouth. "The Letter" is another standout, a disarming takedown of shamers and abusers set to an absolutely bulldozing riff. The band keeps things trim, with most songs snuffed out after two minutes, and that extends to the lyrics, too: “We’re looking for a future/there’s nothing to hold” hits the nail. There's a respect for their anarcho forebears, but Vampire veers slightly more toward hardcore, except with audio so crisp you can feel the sweat and spit coming out of the speakers. The production allows tracks like "Human Market Capital" to hit that much harder, all tightly wound tension and release squeezed inside 90 seconds. Gotten a ton of mileage out of What Seems Forever Can Be Broken, as much of an adrenaline boost and it is an unfortunate reflection of our current moment. Apropos now, and probably forever.

Weak Signal, Fine LP (12XU) If there is one band you should hear this year, it's Weak Signal, the quietly prolific trio from NYC. Fine already feels like a future classic, the kind of record that I listen to multiple times a day and still find more time to listen to again. The trio is brutally efficient: drums hammer rudimentary patterns, locked down by the bass, and the guitar chugs along with crunchy, muted notes and chords until a solo breaks free. The band's lyrics and Bones' straight, baritone delivery cut to the quick with the bite of Denis Johnson, unpretentious sentiments that are washed and tumbled from half-a-lifetime of experience, as cynical and biting as they are heartbreaking in their economy. They can cut both ways at once, like "I only love my friends/that's why I leave them be" from "Baby," or the chorus to "Wannabe," where Bones manages to sound both at peace and deflated. They even reach for a bit of unapologetic hedonism on "Rich Junkie" and all without a whiff of condescension, a fleeting thought given space and squashed in the span of two minutes. The lyrical efforts would all be for naught if the music wasn't up to snuff, but the band has doubled down on their streamlined grunge sound, excess grime wiped clean and even given a bit of polish with acoustic guitar and mellotron accents. There are blasts of noise that open up each side of the record, rock star moves from a group that deserves to make 'em, but they're tamped down in favor of choruses and guitar lines that both stick in your craw. The combination of the music and lyrics connects in such a primal, satisfactory way that it's almost beyond words, but when the solo on "Disappearing" hits, or "A Little Hum" leaves you with a lump in your throat, you just know this is it. Feels like a big moment for a band that deserves a bit of recognition - a fact wryly acknowledged by Bones a few times on the album - and here's hoping Fine is the album that does it.

#J.R.C.G.#Sub Pop #Jim Marlowe #Mordecai #Petty Bunco #Negative Gears #Static Shock #Vampire #Weak Signal #12XU

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spiderwarden · 11 months ago

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"I will not be slandered !" Her own voice booms across the Great Hall, the fury reflected in how she advanced a single step to confront Z'rell's insults. The half orc was always resentful of Minthara's standing within the ranks of the Absolute - there was always an expression that she wore when forced to address the Chosen while Minthara stood within the ranks. When she stood at Orin's back, or when Bhaal's chosen slung her arms around her neck with her lips to her ear. The sneer was never missed on the Baenre - and now it is all but confirmed with the eagerness in her words to devalue, demean, and condemn Minthara before General Ketheric Thorm.

It was one shame to be bested in battle without their army so much as marching past the door, returning with no holy relic, and no army - but to be affronted by one such as Z'rell. Who's only worth was only in barking at those who had little room to bite back and barking loud - just as she did now. But she could not afford to mind her - not now as the voice that commanded her. Guided her. Now pulsed within her mind in terror as she looked up on the Chosen.

"General." Voice comes softer, pleading, as hands lift to reflect the gesture - the beckon of reason. "You saw my reports! You know it's not my fault!" A hand gestures to herself - if only to mask the trembling in clenching fists.

"The facts suggest otherwise!" Z'rell shot back, and had Minthara any capability to look past the unnerving expression Ketheric looked up on her. She might have drawn a dagger to strike the remaining good eye out of her skull. "You were ordered to retrieve the artefact." The Orc scowled, "You failed to do so."

"If I had been given DROW warriors!" Minthara pushes past and swiftly throws her defense forward. The very concern she has had since the very beginning, since she was brought to command RATS next to two lesser beings. Minthara - a Baenre, a commander of - vermin, pure vermin. Minthara feels that anger resurface as she addresses the stragglers behind her. "Instead of Goblin Trash!"

"Oi- what." One goblin yelled, Drenn.

"You Scragg-!" Another shouted an insult at her- Darra.

Minthara had enough time to sneer at them, the scowl on her tongue. But whatever it was she had to say was crushed the second Z'rell's own voice boomed into the hall. "Enough!" And there is a burst of energy that burst from Ketheric - or so it seemed. And it nearly knocked her back. Knees lock as the pain shoots through the front of her skull. It's all she could do but grip into her head, the tadpole squirmed and pounding itself against her. It is such a pain that her ears ring, her vision blurs, and there is only one thought between the crushing force in her mind. Obey. OBEY. Do not resist.

"Let me be sure I understand this.." Z'rell's voice shattered through the blast of energy. The words breaks through the broken vision and ringing in her ears, the pulsing pain pounding at the forefront of her skull like a blacksmith's hammer upon hot iron. Her features flinch and are briefly caught in a sneer as she tries to focus on the orc's words. "You're claiming that General Thorm gave you the wrong soldiers?"

"Yes-" Reserve is as short lived as the time it took the answer to leave her lips. Immediately her expression softens when she realizes just what she had agreed to. Just what lay in store with the hardened gaze of Ketheric on her, and Minthara's hands raise with the immediate backtrack of her words. "No!"

"You blame the Absolute's Chosen for your failure." Z'rell's words were pressing, condemning.

"Of course it is not the General's fault." Minthara's eyes turn to him in question, pleading as the Absolute's voice turned to silence. Abandonment, emptiness, dismay yet again of another God who is turning her back on her.

"Who's then?!" Z'rell shouted, and the boom of her voice almost made Minthara sneer - again, were it not for the hardened gaze of Myrkul's Chosen...

"The Goblins." She is quick to respond - she already knew the fault in the logic before her, it was only a matter to explain it.. If she had been given better warriors, if they had shown any more capabilities, if they had been a fraction smarter. She would never be in this position, she would never be begging before Z'rell of all people. Minthara points at them, wishing, no praying for their damnation - then turns her eye back to the Orc. "They failed me. They failed us all." The Drow continues, even as they Goblins sneered and cursed her name.

"And what would you do to those that have failed you?" Z'rell speaks.

"They are put to death, obviously." Minthara responds, in an attempt to convey confidence in place of unease.

"True." The General speaks for the first time and Minthara feels her heart leap into her throat - hope replacing the fear that twisted at her insides. Had she passed the trial? Her mind reached - going through all of the locations that she overlooked, every stone she might have passed not overturned in her search for the Artifact. She would find it, she would swear it. "Ultimate failure must earn ultimate punishment." Ketheric continues, "Nightwarden Minthara, your crime is incompetence and your sentence is death. Make her passing slow, Disciple Z'rell. Be creative." He threw his hand outward. "Take her below."

"NO!!" Minthara roars, gasping, looking left and right, backing up as the guards closed in on her. Jerking back as they grasp her arm. She heaves, eyes wild with the memories flooding into her mind. The reeking smell of rotting blood, rotting flesh, that filled her nose as she banged her fists bloody against the pod. Watching the gore as Drow were torn apart, flesh from bone. "No!" She screamed again, the hands like iron as they dragged her forward, away, with each gasp she sees it. The colony. Can hear the screams, can see the white gored out eyes as the thralls screeched and mewled in such grotesque manners.

"Please!" She kicks her feet as they drag her, shoves back with all of her strength as she screams at Ketheric Thorm, cries as she did the last time they dragged her away in such a similar manner to the pod that awaited her. Only this time, she knew - she knew that it would be her own red eyes hollowed out, her own voice shredded down to grotesque moans and sounds of horror. "Mercy! Please!" She tried to turn her head back - to scream at the General - and in some fashion. She felt rage boil within her chest, a hint of anger - crushed before the Absolute.

Minthara fought with all of her might down - the heels of metal shoes pushing back against any edge she could find. The skidding off the edge of doors, stone slabs loosened in the floor, the stairwell themselves as they dragged her down into the dungeon cells. "No! NO!" She sneers and kicks again - but her heels lose their footing as the trail of blood beneath their feet grows thicker and thicker. Her gasping, growling, and raging, roars growing in volume when she recognized immediately who they were taking her to, recognized how they would prepare her descent.

The Baenre had enough time to recognize each Questioner - each mage used to torment, torture, and interrogate the prisoners - the thralls.Questioner Sumera, and then Questioner Jasin - Half Drow, half Gnome. Just enough time to see their faces - and then there is a BLAST that cracked the defenses in her mind. It struck her with such a force Minthara's knees buckle and the strength gives out in her legs. The guards drag her, the guards drop her. She lands on her knees as another blast burrows into her skull, spin curling inward as she collapses completely barely catching herself on the palms of her hands.

Minthara's vision is overtaken by a storm - as the pain pounds between her ears and it is all she can do to grip into her scalp. To claw at her own skull - to fight against the blast twisting and wrenching within her head. Vision blurred as the pain shot through her nerves and lock up her joints - shivering with the agony that echoed through the nerve endings like flames dancing across her skin.

"You were adored Minthara." A voice breaks through the storm, "Brought up from the darkness, into the Absolute's light." Minthara sneers through the throbbing pulse hammering from within her head. The Drow drags her mental shields up - every armor she has focused on creating over the years in Menzobarranzan drawn up to defense in her very mind. Cannot. Hide. That defense is shattered, overcome by a powerful force, then every attempt after shattered like glass against a sword. Submit. Another blast into her. Embrace. Obey. Minthara gasps, and cries out as another voice - a real voice breaks through again.

"She cherished you. But it wasn't enough." A raspy voice, enough for her to reach out with her mind for help, a prayer for something - to come to put a stop to this torture. "You were distracted by your own desires, bloodlust, murder. Chaos. And most damning of all. An inability to follow orders."

"I obeyed to the best -" She growls, gasps, "-of my ability!!" Minthara finishes - pushing up onto her knees - sneering as she writhes under the hammers pounding at her ears. Again, another BLAST of torment that knocks her back onto her knees. Hands gripping into her head. Minthara cries out when another piece of herself cracks, another burrow of the tadpole writhing and biting to relieve it's own discomfort. She screams - in her mind, in her soul, in her body, she is not sure. There is only pain.

"And isn't that depressing?..." That voice sneered. She wants to cry out with the voices, unable to breathe in her shattering defiance - her fracturing memories broken and shattered with every continued hammer of their force. Where her very skull was the anvil.. "You. Are. Nothing." Nothing. The word shatters her last mental defense and then suddenly pieces were getting cut away. Submit. Minthara writhes, the pounding inside of her skull melts away her resolve shattering every piece of her, her memories, her ability to function, the agony inspires the extending out out of her person until ... there is a sudden reprieve?

Suddenly, the storm parts and Minthara rasps - blinking away the blurriness of her eyes. She sits up. Pain etched in her features when she senses the arrival of someone. But who? Their very presence not only washed away the storm, but the voice - the one shattering away at her mind, that had commanded her was obedience - was silent. She pushes herself from her knees with the realization- one wobbling foot at a time. Minthara finds lifts her head t looking upon the source of this silence... the Red Tiefling. The one she battled within the ruined Temple of Selune - the flame barbarian. Fitting, merciful. Perhaps she was not abandoned by the Gods after all - perhaps she will be given a swift death over the horror of the Colony.

"So it is you.." Minthara starts, vision clearing just enough through the pain to look upon her face. "-who will end me?" She shakes her head and expression falls with the tilt of her chin. Features flinching, shaking, unable to deny the defeat that was shattering her resolve. "Make it swift then.." Her voice rasped, flinching before she lifts her head again. The worm also writhed inside her- biting, clawing, and tormenting. Just as that voice broken apart her mind. "Anything to silence that thing." She gasps, the pain breaking through her final resolve. "THAT VOICE~!"

[ SOME TIME LATER ].

Since Moonrise, Karlach and company have been through hell and back. The underdark, the secret trials of Rosymorn Monastery, the Creche -- all of it had been nothing but an uphill struggle from the get go. A part of her cherishes the fighting and the difficulty as, while a means to an end, it meant she could spend a little more time ignoring the ever-looming uncertainty that comes with her current condition. Her engine roars like a lion in her ribcage and is gradually growing too difficult to ignore. It's hard to catch her breath, sometimes. Dammon has been a Godsend, yet, even his good news came with a bitter swig of reality. She has the gift of touch, now, and she is not taking it for granted.

Karlach does not expect to be met with Minthara, of all people. Most would've cut their losses and ran, but not her. She stands before Ketheric in old armour, and Karlach side eyes Astarion, who cuts a fine figure in what she stole from her. She watches as she she vehemently argues her case, throws the goblins to the wolves in a way that almost makes her feel bad for them. Almost. She carries a scar or two from that horrible nest, but even they didn't deserve that.

Her curiosity gets the better of her. Moonrise guards are surprisingly easily to intimidate, shrink away a little when she does. When Karlach follows the trail of blood into where they have dragged the Drow off to, her heartlike a stone. The Absolute's zealots are not known for the their kindness. Karlach can see it now in how they have her chained, far from the proud commander she witnessed in the Goblin camp.

You are nothing. One of them hisses. It sits wrong with her that they taunt because --- Minthara's mind blends with her own, and it feels like icy daggers poking at prodding at her brain. Minthara's mind is not what it once must've been; there is no clear message, only fragmented snippets that feel slurred like a drunkard's, indecipherable until --

Come to observe, True Soul? Amber eyes flit to the inquisitor's, and Karlach has to swallow down the bile that rises to the back of her throat.

"What are you doing to it?" Karlach tries to keep her voice steady. Even. It's calm, though the flaring anger churns and burns like acid in the pit of her stomach.

"We are erasing her," one says gleefully.

Karlach is quicker than she is.

"Yes, your authority is great. We can learn, watching you break what little remains of her mind."

No one deserves that. That complete erasure of identity. Karlach understands it more than she cares to admit, having had her heart stolen and being weaponised for Zariel's own gain. Only difference was that she had been allowed to retain her wits, because it was the only thing that kept her safe out there. Safe as can be.

Golden eyes meet red, and Karlach reaches for Minthara's own mind.

Cannot hide. Submit. Embrace.

Karlach's blood floods with ice when she realises what is truly happening here. How they are breaking her. It takes everything within her to push through the voices -- to navigate the storm to find her in the eye of it, a muddled mess of emotions that almost feels overwhelming.

There she kneels, eye to eye with her.

#infernaliscor #[ 🕷️ ] —— threads #[ 🕷️ ] —— [ act 2 ]#[ I do have thoughts but right now no brain just ... nothing ]#[ hope its good ]

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andy-clutterbuck · 3 years ago

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Nice Rack, Rick | requested by Anonymous

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singularattitudeofasafetypin · 2 years ago

Text

The Greatest Love Stories

Masterlist

Summary: Eddie has a run in with some bullies in middle school, but in the aftermath, reader helps him pick up the pieces. Little does he know, his life is about to change for the better!

Word Count: 2K

Warnings: Bullies suck, angst with a happy ending!

A/N: I really enjoyed this! I just got the idea and thought it was really cute. I hope you enjoy it!

I'm a Brit, anything I get wrong about America, that's why

Please don't copy my work!

Great hurling winds whirled around the mountain tops. Ice and snow pelted the rocky path raising drifts at least four feet high. The fellowship was frozen to the bone and even Gandalf began to wonder if they should turn back.

Eddie was consumed. It didn’t matter that he’d read the story twice before; the words on the page enthralled him in a way nothing else could. He stumbled blindly across the school yard, heading for his favourite corner to curl up and escape the world until the bell rang. Buried so deep in his book, Eddie didn’t see the gang of older boys until he crashed right into them.

‘Hey, trailer trash!’

Dazed from impact, he barely had time to register the insult before they shoved him. He hit the ground hard; his book skittered out of his grazed hands.

With a groan, his vision cleared and threw the boy glaring down at him into sharp relief. Jimmy Davis clenched his fists and sported the distinctive look of disgust his classmates reserved just for Eddie.

‘Watch where you’re going!’ he snarled.

‘Don’t say anything!’ he thought, ‘You’ll only make it worse!’ but Eddie had never been able to control his imagination. In that moment he saw the boy and his goons as orcs and goblins from his story. A glimpse of that notion must have shown in his eyes. Jimmy couldn’t have understood but he knew it wasn’t flattering. He seized him by the collar and punched him hard in the face.

Eddie tasted blood, falling back again. His lip stung and his jaw ached. He pushed himself up on his elbows and his heart dropped.

Jimmy had the precious novel in his slimy hands, waving it above his head and laughing when Eddie scrambled and jumped for it. His friends pushed him away. Eddie cried out furiously; his mouth twinged where his lip had split but it was useless.

‘Think you need a few less distractions, freak!’ Jimmy jeered.

The first page seemed to tear in slow motion. Eddie froze in horror. It felt like they were tearing his own flesh.

Then it was all too fast. He ripped page after page, letting them fall like confetti. Eddie shouted, cursed, and pleaded. Jimmy wouldn’t stop. The other boys held him back as he struggled, arm outstretched, kicking and screaming, but three against one could never be fair.

They threw him down again and pain shot through his elbow, skin breaking on stone.

Jimmy tossed the tattered book at his feet, ‘That’ll teach you, freak!’ he spat on the ground, kicking the poor ruined paperback away before he and his friends stalked away.

Eddie bit back tears. He couldn’t let them see him cry! Couldn’t show weakness! He crawled on his hands and knees, trying to ignore the dull ache in his jaw and blood staining his elbow. Clutching the broken covers close, he couldn’t stop hot, thick tears from spilling over any longer. They wet the ragged pages he gathered slowly.

Uncle Wayne had got him that book. Saw it in a yard sale, already shabby and well-loved but it was perfect. The perfect present for his first birthday living in Hawkins with his uncle. Uncle Wayne who took him in, who always told him he could be like the heroes in the story, who always said he was proud of him. Uncle Wayne who’d given him the first real thing he could call his own and now it was broken! Just like everything else!

A sob escaped him. Then another, and another until they wracked him to his core.

Blinded by grief and guilt, he didn’t notice someone else squat down next to him and begin to help pick up the pieces. He flinched when you held out a handful of pages to him with a small, sad smile. His sobs stifled to hiccups.

He just stared at you, mouth hanging open. His big brown eyes looked like they were waiting for you to make a joke. Like he was just waiting for you to throw them in his face and make fun of him too. Gently, you reached for his hand and placed the pages in it. His fingers closed around them but he didn’t say anything.

You stood up and offered a hand. He didn’t take it. He stumbled to his feet on his own, scrubbed his face on his sleeve, turned heel, and ran inside without a word.

You watched him go, hurt until you glanced over your shoulder at the group of bullies still laughing cruelly. They simpered and pointed, not an ounce of empathy between them. ‘He thought you were like them!’ you realised. One of the boys smirked at you, raising an eyebrow as if challenging whose side you were on.

There was no contest. You shot them a dirty look before running after the crying boy with brown curls.

It didn’t take long to find him. His sobs echoed from an empty classroom despite his attempts to muffle them. They were different now, angry, frustrated, and interspersed with a string of words you knew you only grownups were allowed to say.

Peering around the doorway, you saw him bent over a desk struggling with tape and scissors. His hands were shaking so much he was seconds away from accidently hurting himself.

‘Let me help,’ you offered. He froze like a deer in headlights. Not waiting for an answer, you pulled a chair over and took the tape from him, sticking it to the edge of the table. You organised the loose pages into to the right order and carefully cut strips of tape to stick them back together.

Eddie sat next to you, watching your meticulous work. You were determined to get it perfect. He sniffed and rubbed his red eyes every now and again but made no other sound.

‘I didn’t know you were allowed to write in books!’ you marvelled, in reference to the occasional tight scrawl in the margin or highlighted passage.

He shrugged but didn’t speak.

‘What do you write about?’ you tried again.

Another shrug.

‘He wasn’t being rude,’ you thought. You saw how the bigger kids picked on him. Relentless name calling and teasing were almost normal for him, and so too were the merciless threats that too often were followed through. He just didn’t trust you yet and only you could change that!

You leaned closer and, when he didn’t protest, tried to decipher the messy notes. They made you smile. Awestruck observations, critical annotations and wistful daydreams lined the pages. The highlighted sections conjured such clear images in your mind. Pictures of clifftops and mountains, shadowy mines, and elven paradises reverberated off the pages, crystal clear.

He must love this story so much!

‘There! Good as new!’ you announced, when you were done.

A little hyperbole never hurt anyone. The covers were worn to begin with and now the sharp shine of sticky tape glinted down the seams of most of the pages but it was as good as you could make it.

He took the mended book from you, gingerly flipping through the pages and tracing his fingers over the new scars it bore. To his disbelief, it was whole again.

‘Thank you!’ he whispered, Tears welled in his eyes again, but this time, tears of relief. He hugged the book tight. ‘Thank you so much!’

‘You’re welcome!’

You introduced yourself, shaking his hand warmly. ‘I’m Eddie,’ he mumbled in answer a tiny light flickered in his expression.

‘You shouldn’t listen to Jimmy and the others!’ you comforted, hoping to see the light grow brighter, ‘They’re real…’ you glanced around nervously before leaning in, ‘buttholes!’

You giggled at yourself and, to your delight, he cracked a smile.

‘Yeah,’ he agreed, with a shaky laugh. ‘Total buttholes!’

‘Is your jaw okay?’ he nodded, tersely, ‘What about your elbow?’ you eyed the small red stain on his shirt sleeve.

‘Fine,’ was all he said, shrugging you off.

Longing to get to know this boy better, and anxious to stop him slipping into shadow again, you struck up a conversation, ‘What’s your book about?’

He was surprised. No one wanted to know about the things he liked, no one except Wayne anyway. ‘Um… Elves and wizards and stuff,’ he muttered. He ducked his head, suddenly shy. ‘Super lame I know!’

‘No, it’s not! That sounds really cool!’ you countered, ‘What happens?’

He was hesitant at first, not sure if you really cared but he began to summarise the story, explaining what Hobbits were, detailing the threat of Sauron in the east, and the forming and journey of the fellowship. He wasn’t used to talking about himself because no one had ever really asked before but once he realised your interest was real, words began to gush out of him like a river running out of control. He could hardly stay in his seat, waving his hands wildly and making you laugh.

You wondered at the way he described the fantasy lands and the convictions of the characters, all perfectly serious. As though it weren’t a story. As though these were real people facing true dangers and heartaches. The light in his eyes shone like the sun. You couldn’t look away.

‘And that’s just this one, there’s like two more about these other people they meet on the quest who are like super into horses! And they go to Gondor, and Frodo and Sam have to fight this gigantic spider! And there’s a massive battle at the end! And then there’s another book, The Hobbit, well, actually it comes before all of this, and it’s about Frodo’s uncle and how he finds the ring and-!’

The bell rang, cutting his spiel short. ‘Sorry, he deflated a little. He sat back down, reality creeping back in. ‘I’m being really annoying!’

You beamed, shaking your head, ‘No you’re not!’ A small smile graced his lips but he didn’t quite believe you until-

‘Hey, can I borrow it?’

You nodded to the book, tucked safely in his arms. His eyes widened. ‘When you’re done, I mean,’ you added hastily, seeing his hands tighten instinctively.

Eddie was dumbstruck. Asking him about his book was one thing but now you wanted to read it? It felt oddly personal. This story had been his comfort for so long; he’d found so much of himself in its pages. It was strange to share that with someone else. Someone new.

He took the leap.

‘Yeah!’ He thrust the book toward you, realising he’d taken a while to answer.

‘Oh, you finish it first!’ you tried to protest, but he grinned.

‘It’s okay! I’ve read it before!’

With a grateful smile, you accepted. ‘I’ll look after it!’ you promised, holding the healed book with inexplicable reverence.

Eddie nodded, ‘I know you will!’

Little did you know how right Tolkien was. That the smallest encounters could change the course of the future.

From then on, you would be inseparable, friendship forming and growing into something deeper. And the battered copy of ‘The Fellowship of the Ring’ that brought you together was always there.

It was the same copy Eddie would read to you a few years later when you were ill over the summer and he wouldn’t leave your side. The same one you’d take turns reading by Lovers Lake during your first Spring Break in high school. It was the same edition he’d slip a note into, asking you to be his girlfriend.

The same book that he’d quote when he asked you to marry him. ‘You’re my light in dark places, when all other lights go out!’

The same one that would sit on the loaded bookshelf in your first apartment, alongside the hundreds of other novels, fantasy and otherwise you’d collected together. And the same version you’d both read to your daughter at bedtimes when she was little.

When your friends asked why you didn’t buy a new one, the two of you would only smile at the memories those faded pages had born.

You’d always say that Tolkien was responsible for some of the greatest love stories in the world.

***

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thiswasinevitableid · 3 years ago

Text

Hall of the Goblin King (Indruck)

Prompt for the 28th: Caged

“So, what’re y’all in for?” Duck slumps in the corner of his cell. They slid some bread through the slats earlier, but he’s not sold on eating it; he doesn’t know if goblins follow the “eat our food, stuck here forever” rule. They might. They’re really into rules.

“Accidentally set the old kings robe on fire.” Says the young woman in the cell on his left, “I was the court sorcerer, but I guess his clothes were more important.”

“I attempted to relieve the treasury of some items.” The older man in the cell across from him sighs, “one would think they could spare a few; they have whole mountains of gold down there.”

“I tried to map the whole labyrinth; I’m not sure whether it was the being human part or the map part that got me stuck down here.” The man in the cell to his right indicates three sets of meticulous scratches on the wall, “I’ve been here two months, Aubrey for two and a half, and Ned for three. We were all sentenced by the previous Goblin King, and I have to say I’m kind of surprised the new one sent you here.”

Duck tucks his hands inside his sweatshirt, shivering, “It’s my own damn fault. Never shoulda left the window open…”

“C’mon goofus, bedtime.” Duck clicks off the T.V

“Ugggggh fine.” Jane slides off the couch, “can’t believe mom and dad still leave you in charge. I’m sixteen! I don’t need a damn babysitter.”

“I know you don’t. But you still oughta get to bed; they find out I let you stay up until midnight they’re gonna read me the riot act.”

“Fine, but you owe me.” She sticks her tongue out at him and heads upstairs. Duck makes sure all the trash is off the kitchen counters and then follows suit. It’s only now cooled off enough to open up the house, so he opens his window and slips into Jane’s room to do the same there; the house gets damn stuffy in the summer.

He’s half changed when a shriek pierces the wall.

“AH! Get the fuck away!”

Duck’s out one door and through another, sending something flying as he bursts into the room. Jane is on the bed, whacking at what he assumes is a human until it turns on him with glowing yellow eyes. Another lunges through the window, tackling him to the floor.

“Come along child, do not be afraid, you are in no OWOW” One goblin clutches it’s head where Jane hit it with a lamp before another scoops her into it’s arms.

“Put her down! Take the fucking T.V or some shit, take whatever you want just leave her alone!”

“We must take someone to the king. This was the first house we could enter without issue.”

“Fuck you you’re not taking me anywhere.”

“We are not leaving without you.” The one holding Jane starts for the window, his sister fighting it every step but can’t get free.

“Take me.”

Ten sets of glowing eyes turn on him, curious, and one very human pair looks at him with horror.

“You said you needed someone. I’m someone. Put my sister the fuck down and take me instead.”

“Very well.”

The monsters move with incredible speed, and Duck is out the window and then falling down, down, down, like a thoroughly fucked Alice in Wonderland. His vision distorts into swirls of gold and red stays that way until his knees hit cool stone. Not, not stone. Wood. He’s staring at a vast, polished redwood floor.

“Oh mighty Goblin King, we have brought you the human.”

“Wonderful!” A voice chirps. Duck looks up as a figure hops from a carved wooden throne. The king is almost human, but with silver hair dusting his shoulders, gleaming red eyes, and teeth that remind Duck of a barracuda’s. His wide smile flips as he looks at Duck, “nono, this is all wrong. The rules call for a human child. This is not a child.”

“Jane’s barely one and that didn’t stop y’all from trying to take her.”

“Silence.” The king drags a podium containing a massive book over to himself, thumbs through it and points, “the rules state a human child must be taken once every hundred years.”

“That’s fucked up.”

The king furrows his brow, “Is ‘silence’ not a word humans understand?” He straightens, looks even more perturbed when all the other goblins shrink from him, “what am I supposed to do with an adult human?”

“Let me go?”

“Impossible. The rules clearly state” he flips several more pages and reads, “that any human wishing to escape my realm must outsmart me. And as I am a seer, that is rather difficult. So no, I cannot let you go. What to do…”

“Fuck the rulebook, just fucking let me go!”

Red eyes lock onto him, “I do, however, know that rude humans go in the dungeon.”

“That was that.” Duck finishes his story, shifts all the way onto his little bed, “so now I’m down here for god knows how long.”

“That was very noble of you, my dear boy. If I can, I will put in a good word for you with the king.”

“Ned, you’re stuck here with the rest of us.” Aubrey sets a hand on Duck’s shoulder through the bars, “but he’s got a point; King Indrid is pretty cool. If he can find a reason to let you out, he probably will.”

Duck nods, but he’s not going to hold his breath. They talk a little longer, whispers fading along with the torches, and soon he’s in an uneasy sleep, dreaming of red eyes under the bed. When he comes to, Joseph is in a hushed, animated conversation with the king.

“..section eight, heading four, see, just there.”

“Ah ha, excellent.” The king moves over to Aubrey, gestures for the guard to unlock her door while a , “My new advisor has just informed me of a rule that allows me to pardon you. You are once again the royal enchanter. As for you, Ned, you will be permitted a job as royal consultant, provided you stay away from the treasury.

“You have my word.”

“In case that is not worth much, I will also be adding some security.” He smirks, notices Duck, and tosses his head, “that is all.”

“Don’t worry” Aubrey calls over her shoulder, “we get you out soon!”

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

The rude human with the name of a waterfowl is still in the dungeon. It’s been three days and he cannot determine how to get him out. He doesn’t want him there, he’d prefer the dungeons remain permanently empty, but the rules do not allow a taken human to leave through means other than trickery. Indrid cannot engineer himself being tricked, or it won’t work.

He’s flipping through the section on privileges accorded the king when it comes to him. Kings are permitted amusements, with no conditions upon the term.

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

Being hauled back in to see the king doesn’t surprise him; it’s the part the guards drop him on the floor and leave him there with an order to “be amusing.”

“The fuck?”

The king crosses his legs on his throne, “You are here to amuse me.”

“Yeah? Well, I got somethin real amusin’ right here: two birds.”

King Indrid cocks his head, staring at Duck’s middle fingers, “Are they...going to turn into birds?”

Duck drops his hands, “Nope. Look, why are you doing this?”

“It was the only way to get you up here. I cannot pardon prisoners on a whim, but I can request they be made to act as entertainment.” His regal demeanor is slipping, and he sounds almost ashamed. When their eyes meet, he’s the first to look away.

“Gotta be honest your, uh, highness? I’m tired, freaked out, and grimy as hell. I ain’t gonna be much fun.”

The king taps his chin, “Grimy...oh, I know! We can freshen up together. Come along.” He bounds down the steps from the throne, pulling Duck to his feet and through a series of double doors, each a different color. When they’re through the black door he glimpses a massive bed and a floor covered in crumpled paper, only for them to skid around a corner. He’s seen pools like this in pictures of Vegas, or those all expenses paid Hawaiian vacations. It’s massive, multi-leveled, and strewn with lilies.

“Damn, this is-” Duck slaps a hand over his eyes as his host begins disrobing.

“Impressive, yes, it very much is. I have so many delightful things to show you, do humans have singing lilies? Argh, blast it all, why did my predecessor favor such tight clothing.” Indrid grumbles what sounds like a goblin expletive, then a splash echos through the room.

“Can’t you just ask for new clothes?”

“Only for private wear, it does not do to buck convention. Aren’t you coming in?”

“Nope.”

“You are here to amuse me, remember?”

Fuck it, the moment he sees Duck shirtless he’ll regret this.

“You wanna see a pudgy, hairy human? Fine.” He tosses all his clothes into a pile and canon balls into the pool. When he pops up, warm water sloughing exhaustion and dirt from his skin, Indrid is shaking droplets from his face and laughing.

“Quite the entrance. Oh” he sighs, stepping towards Duck, “oh you are very nice to look at.”

“Uh, thanks.” He looks down, annoyed with his blushing skin, “so, uh, is this a sex thing?”

“Goodness no. Communal baths are common here. Well, not here, since no one is allowed in my inner chambers.”

“Not even friends or folks like that?”

“Kings do not have friends. They have servants, advisors, guards, consorts, and amusements. Now, please wash my hair.”

Duck, increasingly perplexed, takes the bottle of pink liquid without fussing. It’s marshmellowy in both scent and texture, sticking in-between his fingers as he runs them over silver hair.

A little, low trill and Indrid’s ears flick back, “Mmm, that is lovely.”

“Glad to hear it.” Duck replies absentmindedly as he looks around the pool. The pearlescent lilies open, filling the room with strange music. Webbed feet paddle water as ducklings, grebes, and even a swan swim from the corners of the grotto. They’re mechanical, covered in metal scales instead of feathers. Curious as to how they’re not rusting, he reaches for the swan.

“OW! Agh, why’d y’all make them act like the real things?”

“It is meant to recreate the experience of swimming in a real pond. Or, ah, so I am told. I’ve never been in one.”

“There’s not a lake in this whole damn labyrinth?”

“Nono, there are plenty. I am just not allowed outside of the castle; that is always the case when one is destined to be kind.” His ears droop, then he spins, grabbing the shampoo, “but no matter, this goblin-made one is wonderful. Look, you can have water fish in it you please.” He swim-wades over to a basket on the edge of the stone. Comes back with a toy parrotfish in one hand and a bat ray in the other. As he hands the ray to Duck he says, “go on, put it in the water.”

Duck obeys, then laughs as the toy comes to life, flapping and gliding around him like the real thing. Indrid beams, sets the parrotfish loose to dart about.

“Would you like to put some others in?”

“Hell yeah.”

Soon the pool is a living rainbow, colors shimmering past Duck’s legs as Indrid proudly presents him with a vial of bubble bath. When Duck tips it into the water, they’re flooded with bubbles that smell like milk chocolate and change color whenever they encounter new temperatures.

“Oh, apologies, I have not returned the favor. Here, turn around.”

As soon as Duck does, short claws scritch his scalp and gently free the knots from his hair. It should be worrying, having a guy with sharp teeth and the ability to yeet him back into the dungeon this close to him. But it’s getting harder and harder to see Indrid as much of a threat. It might be the chirping and purring.

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-two.”

“Then we are relatively the same age. You are about to comment that I am young for a king, and you are correct. I am...lucky the rules are so clear.”

“Clear and rigid are two separate things. Seems to me what y’all got down here is an awful lot of ‘because I said so.’”

A chime rings, the tone changing the longer it sounds,

“So late already? I need to show you to your bed.” He climbs out of the pool, Duck not fast enough to avoid a glimpse at a flat but very cute ass. Indrid brings him a towel, which he keeps on for their trek into the bedroom. There’s a human-sized pillow at the foot of the giant bed, with a plethora of smaller cushions circling it. Deep green pajamas that have been carefully laid out suggest this is where he’s meant to sleep.

Just as he’s wondering if pointing out how demeaning it feels will fuck up his tenuous friendship with the kind, Indrid groans, “Every night I lower it, and every day the blasted thing raises itself up.”

A wave of his hand collapses the bedframe into the floor, rendering it no more than a mound of pillows and blankets. He tosses his towel down a hole in the wooden wall, grumbles as he slips on a grey-green robe, “even the room is set to the habits of the old king.”

Duck climbs onto his bed, finds that Indrid adjusts himself so they’re face to face like friends at a sleepover. The lights above them dim slowly, mimicking the sunset and twilight. As the glow of his eyes increases, Indrid whispers, “thank you for keeping me company.”

“Thanks for lettin me outta the dungeon.”

Indrid lays his cheek on a pillow, smile flickering, “It was the least I could do.”

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

“So what do you do for fun?” Duck sips from a smooth, wooden cup as Indrid spreads swirls of purple and gold jam on his toast.

The king gestures to the crumpled drawings, then towards the halls leading to the throne room.

“Only one of those seems fun. And according to you those drawings are to help you see the future.”

“I draw for pleasure as well. And I read. But you are right that, ever since I became king, my days are rather dull.” His ears prick up as a knock comes from the outermost door, “it seems my duties begin early.”

Duck stays in bed as Indrid piles on shimmering fabric and pants that are tight even on his narrow legs. He pulls half his hair back in a crown, tells Duck that the rooms are his to explore, and slips out the pitch black door.

He finds more clothes in his size laid out by a fireplace that crackles with blue and yellow light; Indrid must have gotten them for him. The king awoke sometime in the early morning with a cry of alarm--a bad dream, he said--and bustled about the room until Duck told him to get back in bed before he collapsed. He obeyed on the condition Duck held his hand. They woke up with their fingers still intertwined.

The books in the room don’t offer much in the way of entertainment, as he can’t read a damn word. He finds a balcony overlooking a private garden, climbs a winding stair up and up until he can see across the roof of the castle to the labyrinth stretching beyond. It sucked to be carried off, but it’d suck way more to be a human stuck out there with god knows what.

After a few hours he flops back into bed. Last night the ceiling showed stars, right now it shows a parade of fluffy, white clouds. He wonders if Indrid gets this bored and lonely.

The cushions across from him begin rising as the bed frame appears from the floor.

“Uh uh, you know he don’t want things that way.”

The room falls into affronted silence. Then the bed sinks back to the ground.

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

“Show ‘em.”

“Three yews”

“I got triple willows. Which means, uh,” Duck searches for the diagram Indrid drew of the rules for Old Growth.

“You win this hand, so your piece advances.” Indrid tilts his head to where a small, pewter beetle animates and skitters three spaces, putting Duck only two spots from winning. Which would be a first. Even though Indrid doesn’t use his visions, having played this most of his life gives him an edge.

The amount they enjoy their evenings together makes up for the grumbling that follows Indrid around the court; it seems a king having an amusement who’s friends with several of his advisors, who he trusts to attend court meetings, and who falls asleep with his head in the kings lap because they won’t give him a chair and the sessions are so fucking boring is unprecedented.

Aubrey says she hasn’t seen Indrid this cheerful since he was informed his coronation was fast approaching.

They each draw a new hand and Indrid snickers.

“I do not need foresight to tell me you are about to win.” He flips the cards to show three saplings, “that is the lowest hand one can get.”

Duck’s turns over his own hand, and the pewter beetle races to the final square. It’s body immediately changes to neon pink and it sprouts wings for a victory flight around the room before returning to the game box. The board blinks pink and purple and Indrid flaps his hands with delight.

“It does something different for each player who wins, isn’t that neat?”

“Man, I oughta take you to play pinball sometime. You’d get a kick out of it. Here, lemme show you.” He hops up from the table and retrieves a crystal ball from the mantle, Indrid moving the game and the bowl of honeyberries they’ve been sharing--they’re Duck’s favorite fruit in the kingdom--to the floor to make room.

“See, this is an arcade; this one is just in the Kepler Bowling Alley so it ain’t that fancy, but there are ones that are the size of city blocks.”

“Fascinating. Bowling is like nine pins, right?”

“Basically, yeah. Holy fuck” he leans closer, “there’s Juno.”

The image of his friend laughs, leaning against the James Bond pinball machine. Duck can practically smell the cheap pizza and shoe polish, see his car in the parking lot waiting to take him home.

As the crystal goes dark, a cool hand rests atop his own.

“You will see them all again some day. I promise. And I...I am sorry it is taking so long.”

Weeks ago, Duck would have scoffed. Now, after hours and hours of watching his friend try to claw his way through the bureaucracy, bend the rules, do literally anything outside of the words in that fucking book and being unable to every time, he knows the truth.

“Would you, ah, like to walk in the gardens? The radiant camellias are finally blooming.” It’s an offering and apology rolled into one.

Duck links their hands and helps Indrid to his feet, “Yeah, I really would.”

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

“This is absurd! There is no rule that says a king cannot bring an amusement to the ball, but because there isn’t one that says it is permitted, they are refusing to allow you to attend with me.” Indrid crosses his arms and legs as Duck joins him on the bed. They’re in their pajamas, the thick, silky fabric keeping the chilly air at bay. Indrid has a headache from the clamor of the days meetings, so they’ve opted for floating candles over the harsher lamp light.

“What if you gave me some kind of, uh, promotion?”

“They wouldn’t let you be a guard, and I hate the thought of you being seen as my servant. I know amusement is not a dignified term, but there are fewer expectations attached to it; you become my steward or some such and suddenly you will not be permitted in here with me.”

Duck scoots closer, “There’s, uh, one more option.”

Indrid raises his eyebrows, “Duck, if you wish to share my bed, we could just pull those pillows over next to mine. You do not need to volunteer to be my consort. I know it is not a desirable position.” He smiles sadly, the soft light rendering his face dreamlike and captivating, “the previous king had beings of all kinds throwing themselves at him.”

“What’s a consort have to do? Besides the obvious.” Duck winks and Indrid blushes up to the tips of his ears.

“Be charming to look at, interesting to speak to, and willing to give themselves to the king. If you are doing this just so we can sneak you into the ball I don’t think you are-”

Duck kisses him, light and chaste in case he needs to change course in a hurry. Then he’s nearly knocked backwards as the king clambers into his lap, chirps buzzing against his lips as he digs his fingers into Duck’s hair. He cups angular cheeks, holding them tenderly as Indrid nips and licks at his mouth. When they part, all he can think about is shoving his fingers between those sharp teeth and ordering the king to be a good boy and not bite while he absolutely wrecks him.

“What was that about not being willin’?”

“It seems I was mistaken. You, there were no futures where you did that.”

“Decided now was the right moment at, uh, at the moment it happened.”

“Such a clever creature. Shall we--oh, oh dear.” He clutches the front of his shirt, “you outsmarted me. Look.”

Duck glances down and finds himself shimmering. The bed beneath him, the lights around him, everything is fading from his senses. Including Indrid.

“Fuck, what the fuck is with these fuckin magical rules? Do I not get a say in when I go?”

“It appears not.” Indrid is still in his lap sniffling, “goodbye, dearest. I am glad you will finally see your home.”

“But you’re still gonna be trapped here! That ain’t fair.”

“No. But those are the rules.”

“Fuck that.” Duck throws his arms around him, “seems to me you need a change of scene.”

“Please.” Indrid whispers as the room disappears and they fall up, up, and up before landing on grey carpet that Duck never thought he could miss.

“We’re home.”

He stands up, wobbles, and so sits on the bed to keep from knocking his head on the dresser. Indrid groans, climbing up next to him just as the door opens.

“Duck, you okay, I heard a thud?” Jane pokes her head in, then grins, “so that’s why you wanted me to go to bed. Mom and dad are gonna be pissed if they find out you snuck a date in while they were at poker night.”

“You don’t tell ‘em about this, I won’t tell ‘em about the you know what’s I found in the glovebox.”

“Fine.” Jane flips him off with a smile, “night big bro.”

“Night, goofus.”

“She’s learned well from you.” Indrid rubs his forehead, “should I sleep in that tree or somewhere else so you do not get in trouble.”

“Nah, you’re stayin right in this bed. I’ll tell my folks you ran away from home; that usually softens ‘em up.” He flops back and Indrid crawls into his arms, “you wanna go on a date to the arcade tomorrow?”

A soft purr as Indrid rests his head on his chest, “Absolutely.”

#indruck #promptober #indrid cold/duck newton #duck x indrid #terato #monster boyfriend

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my-soul-sings · 4 years ago

Text

His Flower

Fandom: Wannabe Challenge Characters: Taehee/Reader

A/N: Three hundred years later, Taehee’s greatest wish came true.

Veeeeery mild spoilers for Taehee’s Story.

***

“Will you marry me?”

It was the moment he had always dreamed of for years: to put the flower crown atop her head, watch her break into that smile that was far sweeter and more lovely than any flower could be, and say yes to his proposal. He would hold her in a tight embrace, rest his nose in her hair and feel her warmth spread to his body and seep into his bones. And perhaps he might have cried while whispering promises of love and eternity to her, and she might have giggled at how emotional he was being compared to her, while shedding a few of her own and letting them disappear into his sleeve.

He thought about it often—too often for his heart to bear at times. On some days he would find himself wondering how that precious moment might have been like if his proposal had gone as planned, and on other days he would find himself lying awake in the middle of the night missing her terribly, whispering her name into his pillow as countless, silent tears slid down his face.

Fate had a strange way of working, however. After three hundred years of wandering as a goblin, cursed to live forever while haunted by the memory of his past and his loss, he met her again. His beloved flower whom he had lost so long ago, the person he had longed to meet so dearly that it made him yearn for death, if only it meant that he could be with her once more.

She was the same as her past self in many ways. She loved flowers but was allergic to them, she found things about him silly even when he didn’t plan on making her laugh, and she still disliked drinking the herbal soups that he brewed for her.

But she was also a little different now—or maybe he just never got to see these sides of her back then. She liked to drink beer and she tended to drink more than her body could handle. She tended to blush and get embarrassed more than before when he flirted with her. She worked a different job now as a model and took a great deal of pride and joy in it, as he did when he watched her at work.

He thought the differences would mean things would change between them. That maybe she wouldn’t come to love him like she did in the past, or maybe that he would be forced to realise that his lover had really died, and that no reincarnation of her could ever bring her back to him.

But every time he noted a difference, it crumbled away into dust when he with her: when he saw the smile on her face, heard her call his name, and when she held his hand in her smaller one.

Nothing mattered—because why should it? Three hundred years later he had fallen in love with her again, and she with him, and that was really all he needed to slowly heal.

It was all he needed to know that she was the only person he wanted to spend the rest of his life with—the only person who made time worth running again.

So here he was, in the middle of the blooming buckwheat field where they had first met, down on one knee in front of her and asking the single question that he had longed to ask her for the past three hundred years,

“Will you marry me?”

His heart beat heavily in his chest, each pounding of it painful against his chest as he waited for her response. Emotion flickered in her eyes, surprise echoing silently in her parted, quivering lips. The hesitation and time she was taking to bask in this moment was starting to worry him. He couldn’t tell if the surprise was the good or bad sort.

“I was wondering when you’d ask,” came her voice when she finally breathed again, and her voice flowed like honey in his ears. It made his heart soar. Her lips had stretched into a grin shining as bright as the sun itself, and she looked like she was glowing from the light rush of colour to her face.

She extended her hand to his. “Yes,” she said. “I’ll marry you.”

Taehee thought that perhaps he was controlling himself well; his eyes only moistened slightly as he slid the ring he’d taken months to choose onto her finger, and he released a shaky exhale when he found that it fit her perfectly.

But then they hugged, and he felt her tears seeping into his shoulder, her arms that were wrapped tightly around him, her body that was pressed so close to his that he could feel her beating heart on his chest.

And a tear slipped out. Then another. And another.

He had to pull away from her to collect himself and keep from bawling right after he had proposed to her. That wouldn’t make for a nice selfie that she was definitely going to take to remember this moment by. Besides, he wasn’t done yet; there was on more thing he had to give her.

He reached into his bag and pulled out the flower crown that he had promised her back then. Compared to when he was first bestowed with it, the crown now looked weathered, its flowers dulled slightly in colour. He couldn’t help the small smile that his lips curved into as he gazed at the paper flowers adorning it.

It was almost bittersweet how things had turned out. He had lost her, and then he had found her again. Between all that was eternity itself, this flower crown, and its flowers that would never die. Flowers that represented his undying love for her—love that had survived death itself in order to find her and be with her once more.

“Isn’t that your flower crown?” she asked him, eyeing the peculiar item in his hands. It was surely strange considering how old this was, and how differently they were dressed now.

“It was always meant to be yours,” he said, a smile touching his lips as he gazed at her. “May I?”

She nodded, and he carefully put it atop her head, trying to balance it right so it wouldn’t fall off seeing as it wasn’t exactly the right size.

The flowers of the crown were still in full bloom as they had been the first day he received them, and now the crown was finally where it truly belonged. It had taken a long time, but he finally fulfilled his promise to her.

Looking at her like this now, he couldn’t help the choked sob welling up in his throat, or the tears that began to blur his vision entirely.

“D-Do I look that bad?” he heard her ask. “You’re crying.”

It was hard to find the words. Or the ability to speak without completely losing it. His body was trembling with emotion, and he could feel her warm hands on his cheeks, gently brushing his tears away with her thumbs.

“Sorry, it’s just-” he cut himself off as another sob escaped him. “I... I’ve imagined this happening for the longest time—”

“Shh... It’s okay.”

“—and I should have known that you’d look absolutely ridiculous in the crown.”

-THE END-

(of the story and also their engagement maybe?)

***

A/N: yes. I wrote this fic just to trash this. And also to piss my friend off bc she’s a huge taehee stan @lilydally 🤪🤪🤪 was it worth the hour spent pouring my heart out into the first part of this fic? HELL. YEA.

oh and the title of this fic is actually ‘Flower Clown’, all credits to ly for the name. :))

#wannabe challenge #wannabe challenge fanfiction #wannabe challenge fanfic #taehee fanfiction #kim taehee #taehee #my writing #please read until the very end #:)

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catspinach · 4 years ago

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list of ways i have made my life 1000x easier (as a mentally ill dumbass lmfao hi)

these are probably mostly very obvious and u might have a lot of them buuuuut these are recent accommodations for me and they made me able to function so i thought id share. i just bought a new used monitor on marketplace so thats what prompted this lol

nobodys gonna read this lmfao

2 trash cans in my bedroom! 1 by my bed for when I’m sitting in bed, 1 by my desk for when I’m working at my desk (optional 3rd near door just in case)- this stopped me from just throwing trash on my floor when I cant bring myself to pick my shit up lol

2 laundry baskets! one for worn clothes that aren’t quite dirty yet, one for dirty clothes (both of them easily accessible with no opening closet doors/barriers)- I’ve pretty much stopped throwing all my clothes on the floor and now i’m physically capable of doing my laundry

an extra monitor! I have a larger monitor I just hooked up to my laptop to use dual screens- I just did this and I’m super pumped!! very easy to set up and u can use basically any cheap monitor/tv/etc as long as u have the right cords. Now I can have my online textbooks on my larger monitor (to accommodate to my shit vision lol) while still having assignments open on my laptop. man i wish i did this sooner its rly baller, just for school this is super nice bc online textbooks are so much cheaper than paper but theyre just so fucking annoying to deal w switching tabs

beeper thing idfk. Key finder? stick that shit to your phone, keys, water bottle, remote, whatever u lose often, place the beepers part somewhere in plain sight where u wont touch it (like a hook by your door)- its literally impossible to lose my keys, i am never 20min late to work anymore due to desperately trying to find my gd keys

hooks by ur door! this ones obvious and common but i put hooks on my bedroom wall and put my glasses/beeper thing whatever/keys on it immediately as i enter my room- the beeper thing is mostly as a backup for my keys bc i rly have an issue with those but I haven’t lost my glasses in so fucking long!! easy/cheap 3M hooks 10/10 recommend

lamp!! already have a ceiling light? put a lamp in ur room too, directly next to ur bed- i would be too lazy to turn off my light before bed so id literally sit on my phone for fucking hours despite being exhausted. now i keep my ceiling light off in the evening and just turn on the lamp and I dont even have to get up its so nice ahhh

alarm clock! (not on your phone) keep it by your workspace, use the alarm for timing tasks- Once i touch my phone i cant get off of it, its really a problem. Also once i start a task i dont stop and thats also sometimes a problem if i have a ton of other shit to work on as well. set alarms to interrupt hyperfocusing on tasks without having to look at your phone and completely stop being productive

shower chair! i dont have one and I dont have a physical disability but i want one so fucking bad- sometimes standing in the shower is hard, especially after a long work day or if ur hungover lmfao. now u dont have to sit on the cold floor like a fucking goblin while u shower, plus it makes washing ur feet easier lol and if anything happens where u actually genuinely need it it’s right there!

a billion water bowls for your pets! of all sizes, just put them all over- ngl i kinda suck at remembering to refill my cats water, but one of them is bound to be filled at a given time. plus it like enriches them or smth bc they have ~options~

a bin for dishes! put that shit in ur bedroom and take it downstairs once a week or so- no more dishes scattered around every surface in ur room! theyre all conveniently in one spot for u to bring to your kitchen when the bin is full

more stuff that doesnt rly fit the format idk im getting tired:

dump the tea u let get cold/water/plant-safe beverages in ur plants soil and now they have ~nutrishune~ also then u can just put ur cup in the bin i mentioned earlier without liquid spilling everywhere and possibly molding

have incense- sometimes my room is smelly bc sometimes im smelly im sorry im disgusting but smoke masks up odors rly well so nobody notices haha epic pogs

get a text to speech extension for ur browser to make it easier to read articles and actually comprehend what ur reading

have a billion pillows. pillows are nice.

have several sets of bedsheets/pillow cases so u dont have to sleep on a bare mattress if u forget to do laundry lol- also if u have a period keep it dark/patterned, and if u have pets keep it a similar color to their shed so its less noticeable

man just buy disposable masks theyre so much easier if u have glasses, ik theyre not ideal for the environment but im not abt to suffer with foggy lenses all day. i take a mask or 2 to bring home every time i see free ones at store entrances so i dont even buy them. plus u dont have to wash them u can just chuck em after a few uses

basically what im getting at is don’t conform to societies standards of living if there's other options that work better for you

#long post #shut up roach #uhhhh idk what to tag this #life hacks #neurodivergent #tips #hmm #idk even if ur neurotypical these rly slap imo

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bluecrusadearcade · 4 years ago

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@fanficparker this is for u 💗

My favourite moments from your series 'Faking, falling' that made me feel things, Part 1

" Fake it, till you make— it was just a small phase with an unknown source, no available citations, no shreds of evidence available of how effective it was, yet so overrated. Maybe that was the prime reason why you accepted it as a mantra. A mantra that would solve a specific problem in your life, a problem that goes by the name of Harrison Osterfield."

I second that, Harrison Osterfield is a problem. Also why does that opening paragraph sound like like something Anthony Mackie would say in context to Tom Holland 😂😂😂😂

"You were falling for him and he was faking it from the very beginning."

What a pompous arsehole. Alexa delete my feelings.

“Sorry, darling but I don’t do feelings. And anyways you are not my type of girl.”

Mr. ' I dOnt dO feEliNgs bEcaUse iM sO cOol ' . God I hate people who say those words so fucking much. You don't like me? FINE, YOUR LOSS.

"You gasped and opened your eyes, seeing him back up, completely dry while his friends were standing on top of the staircase with a now empty bucket laughing like a maniac and right then Harrison Osterfield started laughing too. He laughed hysterically while you watched him with your hairs dripping from alcohol, clothes spoiled, fists clenched and vision already blurred with tears."

Surgery for my legs because I can't STAND THESE HOES

"Truly a magic boy who knew nothing but cheap tricks."

"Is that all you've got? A cheap trick and a cheesy one-liner?" "Sweetheart, that could be the name of my autobiography." IS THIS A REFERENCE TO IRON MAN 3? PLEASE TELL ME IT IS

“I guess it’s time for getting another eye checkup, specky.”

Bold words coming from another specky👀☕☕

Seriously Y/n, out of everyone you chose to have a crush on him?

me, after I get over every single crush I ever had. This is the most relatable line in this whole series. And I'm not even kidding. Men are trash. "buT noT aLl meN" and you know what? You're right, Peter Parker could NEVER.

“You okay?” Harrison moved closer to you, studying your finger.

why the snik snak tik tak Frick crack do you care you abominable shit goblin?

"Ting"

why did this made me laugh I'm soRRY-

" "Sorry babe, I was thirsty," she simply said, "

SURE YOU WERE😏

"He nodded ignoring the beautiful girl whose presence was mentally strangling him."

I love how all writers come up with variations for " I dislike x person". The other day I read somewhere that, " His voice made my brain go through a cheese grater." Like that's GENIUS 🎉

" But he didn't want to look disrespectful or create any scene. "

WHALE WHALE WHALE MR. OSTERFIELD, TOO LATE FOR T H A T

"Sometimes he asked himself why he was even considering them friends. They weren't anything like Tom or Tuwaine or the twins. But the latter were now no more his friends."

so no one told you life was gonna be this way 👏👏👏👏👏

"Shelly..."

she sells sea shells on the shore - try saying that 5 times faster lmaoooo

" "It's two and a half hours past six. The photographers were really pissed. It's dangerous for my reputation. How am I supposed to face them again? Should I shut this project?" George slid into the chair, hands on his face."

BIIIIIIG REPUTATION, BIIIIIIG REPUTATION, OOOOH YOU AND ME WE GOT A BIG REPUTATION AAAA- ok ok Imma stop

""I mean I would really help Harrison with his punctured car if I was there. I got out of the home after 8 myself and found him speeding. I have no idea. And basically, Cath drives via highway and is still on time, I don't know how Harrison got stuck in the traffic. Is it so Harrison?""

WE LOVE DOING TIT FOR TAT YES, GO YOU PETTY QUEEN

""It affected my self-esteem." He said quietly which made you look at him. "Like you cared for mine at Rick's party. I didn't ask you to lie, to pretend as if... as if you like me. And how did you treat me?""

I can't tell you how much I laughed sinisterly at this (my sister thought I was going insane) , love when someone gets a taste of their own medicine 😂😂😂😂

"There's isn't just any article available on the internet to teach you how to hate someone."

Yup bros, turns out adulting is just googling the stuff you don't know how to do.

#fanficparker #Harrison Osterfield #Faking Falling #Harrison Osterfield × Reader #enemies to lovers #quotes from the series #Haz #Haz Osterfield

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foreverfangirlalways · 4 years ago

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The Astronomer and The Florist (Chapter 17)

Chapter 17 Title: Surprise...

Summery: Logan and Virgil have a date, a thing happens, and then some o t h e r thing happens

Ships: Analogical & Royality

Warning: Strong language, fluff, kissing, foreshadowing, this warning would spoil-but I’ll tag it

-let me know if I need to add more warnings-

(To all who guessed correctly, good job! Don’t hate me...)

*I have never looked at a star through a telescope, so I have no idea what I’m describing*

= @antiredhuman and @star-crossed-shipper help make the end better, so please send them some love!!!=

—-

Today is the one year anniversary of the first time Logan and Virgil went on a date. One year since the first stargazing date, and Logan has a busy day.

Currently, he is sitting on Patton and Roman’s couch, trying to think of the best way to phrase his question.

“So Logan, what is so important that you had to wake us up at 6 in the damn morning?” Roman asked, grumpy from being woke up by a pounding on his door so early.

He was currently burring his face in Patton’s neck, because his husband calms him and is 100% a morning person.

“Well,” Logan said, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “As I’m sure you both know, today is mine and Virgil’s one year anniversary. I was wanting to do something really special...”

Patton help up his hand, and Logan stopped. Smiling, Patton asked, “So what do you need help with? Do you have a plan?”

Logan chuckles to himself sarcastically. “Oh, I definitely have a plan. And I don’t really need your help per say, I need your permission.”

The husbands clasp hands and Logan takes a deep breath.

“Can I have both of your, especially Patton’s, permission to ask Virgil to marry me?”

The married couple exchanged a look, and then turn back to Logan. Patton goes, “You’ll never my blessing till the day I die.”

Then Roman continues with, “Tough luck my friend, but the answer is no.”

Logan thinks of how poorly this could have been taken if Patton and Roman weren’t bouncing, smiling, and singing the words.

He raises an eyebrow at the two of them, then sighs when they nod.

“Why do you have to be so rude?”

Patton and Roman cheer, ecstatic that Logan played along.

“I’m gonna marry him anyways.” Logan added on, smirking.

Roman got up and hugged Logan. “Honestly, it’s about damn time. Anyone who even looks at the two of you can see that you were both made for eachother.”

Roman pulled away, and Patton walked forwards. ‘This is the one I’m worried about...’

“I agree with Roman. But always keep in mind, Virgil is my best friend. He is my dark strange son, my kiddo, and if you ever hurt him, you will be my knew favorite fertilizer.” Patton said that in a light tone with a smile on his face, which was understandably unnerving. Logan shuddered.

Patton then started bouncing up and down and hugging Logan. “Of course you have my blessing! You are very wise to have asked, and I’m so happy for Virgil!”

Roman rolled his eyes fondly. “Sure, that’s what your happy about.” He said while trying to discreetly but a 20 dollar bill in Patton’s hand.

“Oh, I give permission too! The little emo nightmare will be so happy, I can’t wait!”

They all group hugged, and Logan mentally checked ‘Get Permission’ off his list. Now the only big thing was actually asking...

-_-_-_-

Logan drove Virgil up to the meadow, and after 25 minutes, he convinced Virgil to let Logan lead him to the surprise while blindfolded.

“Logan, where are we going? We’ve been walking for ten minutes!”

Logan just chuckled. “Don’t worry Starlight, it’s just ahead. I hope you think it will be worth the walk.”

Virgil assured Logan that he would, and Logan told Virgil to take off the blindfold.

Virgil took it off and opened his eyes to see a picnic blanket, in the same way as the first date. Virgil gasped happily, and looked quizzically at the telescope.

Virgil wraps his arms around Logan and smiles. “Thank you, you’re right, it was so worth the walk! But, what’s the telescope for?”

Logan kissed Virgil’s forehead. “Why don’t you look in it and describe to me what you see?”

“It’s gorgeous! It’s looks like a star made of swirling blue and purple. Exactly how one would picture the galaxy to look.”

Virgil looks over at Logan and sees his wide smile. He smiled back.

“It’s amazing, but why that star?” Virgil asks, looking back through the telescope.

Logan walks closer to Virgil and starts saying his speech.

“You said you wanted someplace to call our own, our own little mark on the universe. That star you see? Thats the star ‘Analogical’. It’s ours.”

Virgil looked away from the telescope and stars at Logan. “You... you bought us a star?”

Logan nodded. “Yes. I want to give you the world. Or, in this case, one of your own. Because it’s what you want.”

Virgil smiles slightly while blushing and looks back up at the sky. At their star.

Logan continues talking to a so far oblivious Virgil. “I want to give you everything you want. If it makes you happy, I’d tell people 2+2 equals 15. While factually inaccurate, it would make you smile, and that is worth everything.”

Virgil was laughing an shaking his head at Logan. He knows how much Logan hates the 2+2 question, and anything factually inaccurate.

Logan chuckled, and continued. “You changed my life for the better in so many ways, and I‘m hoping you’ll be willing to help me change it one more time.”

Virgil was confused by that, until Logan got down on one knee and took his hand, making Virgil face him and gasp. Virgils other hand went up to cover his mouth, which was hanging wide open.

Logan pulled a black ring with a purple star stone in the middle, and a purple flower on either side out of his pocket.

“Virgil Illious Storm, will you marry me?”

It was quite of a while, Virgil computing everything that just happened. Logan’s smile started to slip.

"Holy shit!" Virgil whisper yelled. Logan immediately thought the worst "Oh, you don't like it. I'm sorry I shouldn't have-"

"NONONONO I WANNA MARRY YOU!" and then Virgil launched himself at Logan.

“YES! FUCKING OBVIOUSLY, YES! Roman’s gonna be pissed he couldn’t record the proposal though!”

Logan was basically cradling Virgil in his arms, smiling so wide he felt like his face was about to split in half.

Putting the ring on Virgil’s hand, Logan nodded towards the telescope. “Actually, what did you think the GoPro on top of the telescope was for?”

Virgil huffed out a laugh then kissed Logan passionately, ecstatic for the future that now lies ahead.

Logan was high off serotonin, and then his phone alerted him of an incoming FaceTime call.

“That’s Roman and Patton, they are very eager to hear your answer.”

Virgil shook his head and sighed, smirking. “I’ll go get another blanket out of the car, you can tell them.”

Virgil kissed Logan on the cheek, and ran of laughing, leaving a sputtering, love sick Logan behind to deal with two hopeless romantics.

—-

Virgil was on Cloud 9. All he could think about was the dates they’ve been on, the dinners at Thomas’s, the game nights at Patton and Roman’s, basically every wonderful thing that has happened since the attractive astronomer walked into his life.

Virgil was so distracted by thinking of Logan and staring at his ring that he didn’t notice the sound of footsteps coming towards him.

Right when he made it to the car and held the keys up to the door, a pair of arms wrapped around him.

“Well well well, if it isn’t the robots little boy toy.” Michael said.

“Tell me, does this smell like chloroform to you?”

Michael laughed while pressing a rag against a struggling Virgil’s face. Virgil kicks a shoe off, and then he headbutts Michael.

“FUCK!” Michael swears, and Virgil feels a sharp pain against the back of his head.

Virgil's eyes fill with tears, both out of pain and from fear as he thinks about all the hope he had been feeling, ripped away.

He had to get free. He had to warn Logan. He wants to marry Logan, he has to get free!

Wait... what if Logan never looks for him? What if Logan thinks he ran away? Virgil was struggling to keep from breathing in the rag, but he was starting to get light headed.

It’s Michael doing this. There are so many things that he could and probably will do if Virgil doesn’t get free. And He will most likely do them all.

Virgil was trying so hard to get free, but lack of oxygen was making his vision darken. He new he wouldn’t last much longer, and in a last ditch effort, he slammed down and Michael’s foot.

It wasn’t enough. All it did was piss Michael off.

Virgil hears, “You’re gonna regret that. You’re gonna regret a lot of things. We’ll see how much Logan wants you after I’m done.”

And then his vision goes black...

---

Taglist-

@dragonwithproblems

@five-falseh00ds-ph0nated

@thefingergunsgirl

@kawaiikat54

@sanders-sides-with-quinn

@007ardra

@yikesdodson

@nerdycupcake559

@softestvirgil

@teacupfulofstarshine

@impatentpending

@star-crossed-shipper

@ravenivy2079

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@mushroom-dance-mushroom-dance

@resident-trash-goblin

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@pattoncake-and-eyeshadow

@drewwwbydoobydoo

@sure-i-exist

@sophiexteresa

@glitched-cookie

@wellhellothere09

@seraphlies

@decadentscissorsapricotdeputy

#The Astronomer and The Florist #Analogical #Royality #Logan #Virgil #Patton #Roman #Proposal #kidnapping #Michael #dont hate me #i was told i cant write angst #so ha #angst #attempted kidnapping #cursing

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