#scared to death birds any kind of bird as a child

[praxidikegal]

District 13 AU (I should really stop calling it 13AU, it's a snowbaird happily ever after AU)

Limenius Pine Snow

Nickname: LP

fourth of my Snowbaird kid

Born in district 13 but grew up in the Capitol along with his older brother and sisters. He is snowbaird's forth child and was born during the 2 years war between the rebels and district 13 with the Capitol which was successful which then made his father president. He studied in the Academy and graduated in college as business major. He grew to be a business tycoon.

He is a quiet kid that sometimes gets forgotten by his parents. He is mostly to himself and in a library. He does like going to parties or being center of attention. He looks up to his older sister who had successful careers and although he gets annoyed by his older brother and younger sister, he dearly loves them. He follows his father's advice and consistently sends his mother gifts and poems.

[morose-melodies]

cold freezing night | various yandere! fatui harbingers x reader

summary: they find you on the verge of death after being attacked by a monster.

content warning: mentions of blood

CAPITANO

the captain seldom took different routes to his manor.

but, on a night like this - he wanted to enjoy the scenery which he didn't do much.

a branch cracked underneath his boot, and a bird from a nearby tree flew off. the captain paid no might to the fleeing bird, not when he heard monsters nearby, accompanied by the sound of... ragged breaths and soft cries.

the captain's hand came near the hilt of his sword.

he was cautious as he approached the sound. when he reached the sight, he saw four hilichurls and you - he had seen you around.

if he remembers right, you had once cleaned his bloodied sword for him after he returned from a mission.

he hadn't forgotten about you, he doubted he ever would.

as the captain slaughtered the hilichurls, he did so with you in mind. in his mind, he thought of paying back your kindness by wrapping you in his coat and taking you somewhere to recover.

he tucked his sword away. he walked past the carnage he had created and stopped at your side.

you were no longer crying. kneeling to your side the captain removed his coat and set it over your shoulders before lifting you into his arms.

he held you as if you were the most valuable thing to him.

on the walk home, the captain couldn't keep his eyes off of you and your trembling form. he had idly wondered if you'd accept his help without offering to pay him back. you didn't seem like the type.

perhaps he'd ask you to stay - to keep him company until you were fully recovered.

CHILDE

on days like this, childe went out looking for a fight.

not just any fight, though, a fight with a worthy opponent - an opponent that could give him a run for his money.

childe had picked fights with a few monsters, but nothing worth his while. just cryo slimes and maybe the odd hilichurl.

that was until he heard the tell-tale sound of a ruinguard stomping around in these desolate woods.

finally! a fight worth searching for.

childe's mind was fuzzy as he ran at the ruinguard - he only thought about the fight and cherished the thrill he felt in that moment!

still, he'd fought ruinguards before - he knew their weak spots so the fight wasn't exactly a fight.

childe's shoulders slumped as he watched the ruinguard drop, already defeated. "huh, no fun."

childe saw something in the snow. was it a coat left by someone? he walked over to it, nudging it with the tip of his foot. it was a human, a weak one at that.

he turned you over to lie on your back and that's when he noticed you. his crush from a few years back!

oh, he had missed you so much when you and your family left snezhnaya. you had gotten away back then, but, not this time.

picking you up and tossing you over his shoulder, ajax was taking you home - he hoped you liked it since you never got to visit his house all those years ago. you were always so scared of him, always avoiding him.

well, now was the time to make up for all the lost time, and boy, oh boy, was he going to cherish it!

DOTTORE

dottore had gone out for one thing and one thing, only.

to observe the flowers that bloomed in snezhnaya. they were different, beautiful but oh so delicate.

they couldn't survive indoors, not for even a day. this had been dottore's recent interest.

while out in the cold forest, dottore was kneeling beside one of those beautiful white flowers.

dottore plucked the flower and placed it into a bag full of snow - would this preserve it for longer?

a stick snapped.

dottore glanced over his shoulder, and saw something in a bush behind him.

he sighed, tucking the bagged flower away, and turned to approach the bush. nudging it open, hilichurl stumbled out before dropping to the ground, dead.

dottore took a step back, glaring. he nudged the hilichurl with the tip of his boot before pushing the bush open once more - firstly, there was someone unconscious but most likely dead lying in the snow, secondly, there was a cryo lawchurl.

dottore had no interest in fighting the beast but had some interest in your body. he could run some experiments on it.

he stepped through the bush and grabbed your hand, dragging your body away from the lawchurl that seemed to be feeding on a hilichurl. dottore grinned, he'd never seen something like that before.

dottore crossed his arms over his chest, looking down at you - your lips tinted blue and snow covering your eyelashes. you looked familiar.

not that it mattered, you were long gone.

crouching down, he picked the snow off of your eyelashes - you looked so familiar it was pestering him.

perhaps you were from the akademiya. (y/n), was it? you were smart, too smart even. smart enough to evade him, smart enough to escape him.

he chuckled, but not smart enough to survive a lawchurl attack...

dottore felt a weak breath come from your mouth.

oh. so you were still breathing?

how disappointing, dottore thought, before standing and lifting you from the ground. well, you were resilient; you could be of some use to him, not to mention that the two of you had much history together.

him chasing you around and you evading him, it was a shame back then.

perhaps now he could put your pretty mind to use.

PANTALONE

pantalone was never fond of the sight of blood.

so, why did he feel so drawn to the gory sight before him? right at the front gate of his manor, you were there.

gripping the gate bar, as if you were trying to escape whatever had attacked you. pantalone tilted his head at the sight.

it was a horrid sight, truly.

but, he pitied you. you shouldn't have been alone so late at night - you shouldn't have left him either.

walking towards the gate, he opened it, watching you slum further to the ground.

perhaps if you were a bit smarter, this wouldn't have happened.

pantalone kneeled to your side, rolling you over to lie on your back. he saw your chest ever so slightly rise and fall and felt relief.

"oh, (y/n), you must be in so much pain," pantalone typically wouldn't do this; he wouldn't want to risk dirtying his clothes, but for you, he would.

he lifted you into his arms, walked you back into his manor, and laid you down on the couch. gosh, your blood was everywhere.

he seated himself at your side, running a bloodied hand across your cheek.

the blood would probably never go away, it would always be there, always reminding him of this sight.

a sight that he was already desperate to forget.

[lxkeee]

I want to know more about Azrael Hfvbafhvbaefhjv 💗

I don't have any art of him (unfortunately, because I cannot draw)

Manifesting that someone will draw him omg 👀

APPEARANCE:

Azrael is a throne angel, his angel form consists of four golden rings that are filled by countless dark black eyes, his angel form is also accompanied by two pairs of black angel wings.

His semi-angel form is a male gendered body, except his head is a mini version of his actual angel form just floating above his neck.

Now to his humanoid or human body,

Azrael is tall, is 243.84 centimeters tall, has very long and slender legs and arms, skinny and slender body build (yes, he has a slutty waist), pale skin, dark black monolid eyes, long eyelashes, sharp jawline, pretty face (ethereal and out of this world, his facial features differ to the souls he's guiding. Terrifying to sinners, angelic to winners), clean and trimmed fingernails (sometimes he wears a black or gold nail polish), and his halo as dark as the abyss floats stop hiss head.

I don't know what hairstyle this is called but his hair is like this(https://pin.it/5WZCzuwcU) but his hair color is black.

He has the touch of death and he can activate and deactivate it at will. When activated, darkness crawls up from his fingertips up to his elbow, creating an ombre color of light and darkness.

Azrael Pinterest board (https://pin.it/L5weDj6X9)

PERSONALITY & BACKGROUND:

Azrael is a mystery amongst the three triads of heaven, doesn't make an appearance often amongst his kind.

Azrael has a laid back yet teasing personality; teases anyone if he has the chance to, he finds it amusing to see the person's reaction.

He always has a smirk on his face.

He has a bit of a flirty personality, he knows he has the looks and won't hesitate to use it to his advantage.

Especially asking the angels underneath his leadership to do favors for him, such as doing paperwork or doing boring tasks that he doesn't feel like doing.

Due to his laid-back personality, he sometimes doesn't take serious situations seriously and often cracks a joke during it.

He usually skips meetings unless it's a meeting that is held at the First Triad Embassy.

The First Triad Embassy is where angels who commit serious crimes are to be judged.

As the angel of death, he couldn't possibly roam the mortal realm on his own.

That is where the angels underneath his leadership come in.

Each virtue oversees their assigned angel types

He watches over the thrones and dominion angels, giving them lists of souls they needed to reap, usually souls of winners.

He wants to personally reap the souls of sinners, he wants to scare them.

When guiding a winner he just summons a portal that leads to heaven's gates.

When guiding a sinner, he just opens a portal underneath the soul's feet and drops them to hell without notice.

Azrael was born into existence when earthly creatures were created, no, humans aren't the first creatures on earth.

He was created because mortal creatures existed.

He is death, he is what awaits them after their time ends.

Yes, he also sends animal souls to heaven.

Azrael is currently seventh in rank among the seven main virtues, embodying the virtue of humility.

MISCELLANEOUS FUN FACTS:

• His favorite flower is a red spider lily.

• He is a cat person, he loves cats. His favorite are the orange ones.

• His bird form is a black swan.

• He doesn't like doing paperwork.

• He likes drinking black coffee with two cubes of sugar.

• His favorite colors are black, white, and gold.

• He wields a black scythe with golden edges.

• He gets distracted easily.

• Slightly narcissistic.

• Amongst Luke's ocs he is the favorite child.

[cherriegyuu]

Midnight | ljh

pairing: jihoon x f!reader genre: angst word count: 2.1k summary: a sudden text leads you to the place you wished you never left warnings: death is a main plot point a/n: i've been m.i.a for a while now but i'm slowly getting back on track ~ really slowly ~ managed to write this last night so i hope you like it. thank you to @ressonancee for reading it for me💓

It’s a weird thought, dying. It was the kind of thought that often crossed your mind. What it would be like to die. Was it like flushing something down the toilet or turning off a lamp? One second and it was done, forgotten. Or was there something else so it was just a second of darkness before you were led to something else so incredible that it was hard even to imagine it? 

Maybe it was just a thought that never managed to leave your mind or perhaps it was because death seemed to be the central point of your life. Not only your life but everyone else’s lives. It was hard not to think about death when you may wake up one day and have it be your last day. It's hard not to feel scared to pick up the phone and see the text there, announcing one’s imminent death. 

Some days it was easy to forget about it all together. Days when life just hit the perfect amount of good, when it was just good enough that it could be overlooked, but not good enough so one could feel the storm down the line. It had been a long time since you had one of those. 

A good day.

You used to have plenty of them. Most of them were overlooked. You spent so much time just worrying about the smallest things, every little dust that seemed to be out of place, that you failed to see the good. You had taken it all for granted until it wasn’t yours anymore. 

Unlike most nights, when you’d wait until midnight to make sure you didn’t get the text, just to make sure that you had another day to live, you fell asleep. This weird state of numbness in which sleep was the only possible course of action. Dreamless and sound sleep, a good one. 

Yet, when you finally woke up to a text on your phone, it wasn’t scary. You had always expected that getting it would feel like doomsday had finally come, at least to you. But somehow, it was just a day. The sun shone brightly outside your window, the birds were chirping, and the kids laughed on the playground. 

To you, it was your final day. To everyone else, it was just a day. A normal, bright, sunny July day like any other. 

You didn’t make phone calls or somehow announce your death to everyone you knew, though that was probably the most responsible and respectful thing you could have done. Somehow, you didn’t want anyone to know. You want to go like you had come into this world, silently. Your mother used to say that you only cried after the doctor hit you a couple of times until you finally made a sound. You were a quiet child, she said, sometimes I’d just watch you play by yourself for hours, just to make sure that you were really there. 

All you did was put on your sunny dress, the light pink one that hit just above your knees, take your ID - which you were likely to need - and leave your apartment. You took one last look around, at the green couch you had chosen despite the protests of everyone around you, at the bookshelf filled with books that you had yet to read, the little decorations you had bought over the years that were a nightmare to clean but oh so pretty to look at.

“It was a good run, thank you”

Although dying was a constant thought, what you’d do when you found out about your death wasn’t. What you would do in those last 24 hours, where would you go, who would you see? 

Your mother was a clear and obvious no. Even if you went just for a visit, she’d know. You had never been able to lie to her. A programmed text was all that you’d allow yourself to give her and your friends. It was selfish, you knew that. You should give them time to say goodbye, they were the ones who would suffer, and they would be the ones left behind. 

You knew all of that, but couldn’t bring yourself to do anything about it.

You didn’t have a clear place to go in mind, you just wanted to walk. At first, you thought that it was aimlessly. And it was until it wasn’t. Until you reached the building you were all too familiar with, one where you had spent years of your life coming to, like it was your second home, until you didn’t. 

Taking a deep breath you pushed the door open. You weren't too sure of what you expected to find, but Jihoon right in front of you wasn’t one of them. It was too early for him to be there. His days usually started after noon, and that was still early, barely ten in the morning. So why was he there? 

“Hey,” he said. 

You wanted to urge him to keep talking. Anything at all was fine. His grocery list, all the planets in the solar system, counting from 0 to a million, a scary book. Anything. You just wanted to keep hearing his voice. You missed it. Six months without it, without him. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, eyes scanning your face, your teary eyes. 

When did the lump in your throat happen?  Why were you on the verge of tears? 

For five years of your life, Jihoon was a constant. You used to float around him, adapting to him, clinging to him, loving him. Until he wasn’t. Until there was nothing left of him in your life but the memories you had made together. 

“I know… I know that I shouldn’t be here, that we agreed that we’d never seek each other out again” you pulled as much air into your lungs as you possibly could “But just for today, can you please let me stay?”

For the first time in your life, you didn’t mind how vulnerable you sounded. For once you didn’t mind using your pain to get what you wanted and needed. And you needed Jihoon like you needed him every day.

“What’s going on?”

Jihoon took a step towards you, hand raised on the same level as your face as if he would reach for you at any second. Would it be wrong to silently pray that he would? Would it be possible to wish for something so fervently? 

“Please, Jihoon, please. I need this just today. I promise I’ll never come to you again” you begged him, eyes closed when he never touched you. 

“I… yeah, okay. Just don’t…” he seemed distressed, but agreed either way. 

“Interrupt,” you said completing his sentence “I know”

Jihoon was never a bad boyfriend and you like to think that you weren’t a bad girlfriend either. People don’t stay five years together if they hate each other, or at least you thought so. You know you wouldn’t. And Jihoon wasn’t someone one could hate. He was serious and quiet, yes, of course, but he was also kind and warmhearted. He would quietly do things while thinking of you like leaving an extra hoodie in his studio in case you got cold, always having a hair elastic around his wrist because you always seemed to forget yours somewhere, like writing the words he found it difficult to say in a song and send it to you in the middle of the day – something that made you cry in your office desk. 

Like death, it was difficult to pinpoint when your relationship had ended. You were able to talk about issues, and then talking became screaming. Love songs, written most beautifully, became filled with resentment and anger. You were together and then you weren’t. 

He was yours and then he wasn’t. 

You watched the back of his head while he worked, listening to his fingers quickly tapping on the keyboard, sitting in the very same spot you used to. The extra hoodie was still neatly folded in the corner, the little box that used to be filled with your hair ties was still next to the coffee mug. When he reached for it you noticed that the back elastic was still around his wrist. 

The smoke of jealousy burned your throat, rising from the twisting pit of flames that your stomach had become. 

You shouldn’t feel bitter over it, had no right to be angry at him for moving on. Still, you allowed the feeling to sip into you, allowing the flames and smoke to take over your veins. It was your last day on earth, breathing, you should be allowed to hate the man you loved, even if it was just for a second. 

“Hey, you wake up”

You came to your senses with a gasp, eyes wide, gripping the hand on your shoulder for dear life. You wished for it to save you, to just pull you back. 

Jihoon’s eyes looked back at yours, filled with worry. His eyes too, were wide, mouth open in surprise. You relaxed your body against the couch again and took a couple of seconds to just look at him, to memorize him. 

If there was a place after this life, if there wasn’t just nothing after it, he was someone you’d want to remember. Your mother believed that the people in our lives are souls we choose to meet during the course of human life. If that was true, if you had a choice, you hoped to meet Jihoon again. 

“Sorry, I fell asleep” 

You cleared your throat, forcing your body to sit up and in the process pushing Jihoon away from you. The spot he had touched in your shoulder felt oddly warm, compared to the rest of your body. You wanted to ask him to touch you again, hold you again.

“It’s fine, you were probably tired”

Jihoon held back the desire to ask questions, to demand answers. He knew when you parted ways that he would never see you again, that if he did it would be by chance and there was no chance of you talking to him again. 

He had never seen you like that, eyes lost, sounding desperate. He didn’t have it in him to tell you to leave, he didn’t want to either. If a small moment with you, in silence, was all he had then he was more than happy to accept it.  

“Thank you for today. And, as I said, this won’t happen again”

You got up, running your hands over your dress, helplessly trying to smooth the wrinkles in your dress. He wanted to ask you to stay, invite you to dinner, ask if you were doing fine — although, if your restless sleep was a sign of anything, fine wasn’t one of them. 

“Okay” was all he managed to say before you almost fled his studio. 

Your steps were quick and you opted for the stairs instead of the elevator. It was only the second floor, you could go down a few flights of stairs.

It was already dark out when you pushed open the door, there were only a few cars in the street and only a couple of people rushing somewhere. A little bell inside your mind went off, like an alarm, like it said that you only had an hour left. 

“Wait!”

Jihoon rushed out of the building, turning his head side to side, trying to find you again. You simply stood there awkwardly, hand to sides of your body. 

“I… you… did you get the text?” 

A part of your brain told you to tell him the truth, to just cry and grieve the loss of your own life in front of him, let him hug you like you knew he would. But the other part, the one that was ego-driven, didn’t want the last image of you Jihoon ever saw to be a broken one. 

“No, no” you waved your hands in front of yourself, doing your best to smile reassuringly at him “I just had the worst night of my life and you were the only person I could think of”

“Oh” he furrowed his eyebrows at you, head slightly tilted to the side

“Sorry for just showing up, I know how much you hate that”

You smiled again, this time more naturally, a calmness settling into you. 

“You’re okay though, right?” his eyes were focused on your shaking hands when he took a step forward, and at the same time you took one back “Do you need anything? I can take you home if you want”

“No, it’s fine. I’m fine” you were quick to add

“I’ll see you around then, I guess”

Please, god, you prayed silently, let me meet Jihoon again in my next life. 

“Bye, Jihoon”

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[silaslich]

The weathers warm, he’s cold

A comic Ghost exploration

Below the cut - angst, death, mention of child abuse, allusion to SA, direct references to Ghost comic

Wc - 1.5k

There’s something so brain-meltingly numb about the ordinary.

Yet, the white noise of war continues on.

Thrumming at the base of his skull like the worst kind of headache; it thumps behind his eyes, blurs his vision till he can’t see straight. The symphony of death and destruction rings in his ears like a warning - it’s too late.

The thunderous crash of explosive shells. The bloodcurdling screams of allies and enemies alike - those would stay with him for as long as he lived.

Only, it’s not really living, is it?

This routine he has, a regime of tasks and objectives to get through the day. So precisely ordered and planned out and followed through, because it’s all he knows, it’s all he has ever known.

He clings to this like nothing else.

Ghost remembers a therapist telling him something once, long after Simon had died, a countermeasure to a question he laid awake at night thinking about over and over again.

“Why can’t I remember anything?” His voice hadn’t sounded like his own, he sounded like a boy again.

His therapist had looked up from his notebook, his pen stilling, pursing his lips as he adjusted his shoulders against the back of his armchair.

“What is it that you think you need to remember?” He tips his nose down, looks at Simon in that way that makes him bristle slightly.

He hates this, hates the way his palms and the back of his neck sweats when he sinks into the office sofa that somehow manages to swallow him almost whole. He feels out of place; completely out of his depth, he’s not in control here, he can’t predict and plan and adapt and overcome.

He’s helpless.

Much like that little boy was, the little boy that died in the bottom bunk of the bed he shared with his younger brother so many years ago. The little boy taunted with snakes and thrashed with a belt till the buckle tore away the skin on his back.

Simon swallows down the lump in his throat.

“I don’t know” He does know, he’s just too much of a coward to admit it, to admit that he wants to remember the good fragmented bits and pieces that perhaps don’t quite fit together.

If he closed his eyes and thought hard enough he might start to remember what innocence felt like; sitting on a grass verge near the street he grew up on, relishing in the feeling of the sun hitting his face and listening to the whisper of the wind and the distant call of the birds. If any of that was even real, maybe his mind had made it up, letting him attach himself to memories that aren’t his, but instead- what he wished his childhood had been filled with. Sunshine and love, warm hearty meals and parents with soothing gentle hands that comfort and console instead of fracture and bruise.

He thought he wanted revenge, to make his father feel what he had felt for so many years, but he learnt that his father couldn’t feel anything at all. A piece of shit through and through.

After eighteen months away fighting for a cause he believed in, Simon came home to his mother in an awful state. Made that way because of Tommy, his little brother, fuelled by anger and drugs - he had lashed out and hit their mother. Just because she was the only one there, the only one close enough to be at the brunt of his anger, like she always had been for their father.

His father is to blame; Simon is adamant, he seeks him out and beats on his father in the back alley of a concert hall like there’s no tomorrow - like he wishes he had been able to all those years ago. Every punch thrown is punctuated with a flashing image; split lips, the head of a snake, broken noses, his mother crying, a poor dead woman in the toilets of the concert hall, the skull mask Tommy wore to scare him at night.

It all comes flooding back. Floods his vision like the crimson floods from his fathers nose and mouth, a vibrant red smile of wonky and broken teeth that makes Simon want to shove them down his throat.

Punch after punch after punch and all his father does is laugh. Spitting blood from his cut lip as he cackles like a madman right in his son’s face.

“I’m ashamed to call you my son” he glowers.

Simon leaves. Wishing he had shouted, screamed in his fathers sorry face that he doesn’t care, he’s never cared. He’s never been a father, he’s a joke of a husband and a father- of a man too.

Simon had built his entire life on authority, exactitude and control. If those things are peeled away and broken down, crushed between a tightly clenched fist; that’s when the dark stuff begins to leak, seeping out like an infected wound.

Innocence is laughable now. Killer of killers. That little boy died years ago and then Simon did too, a piece of him buried with a deadman in Mexico; when he clawed himself out of that shallow grave with the Major’s jawbone it wasn’t the same Simon Riley who emerged from the dirt and sand.

Fragmented nightmares that feel all too real. The tepid kiss of a stranger, one of Roba’s men, a nauseating farewell as Simon lays prostrate in a dark cell, his ears catching the sound of the stranger zipping up the fly of his jeans. Another nightmare. He’s tied to a chair in an otherwise desolate room, stripped bare, there’s a naked woman pressing hot against his spine. She whispers something in his ear, in her native tongue, he likes to believe she’s trying to apologise.

Atone for the sins she’s about to commit.

All for the sake of keeping herself alive; Simon can’t blame her, but the smell of her hot skin and the feeling of sharp acrylic nails raking down his chest still make him toss and turn at night.

He blames them for the way he falls out of touch with himself. He can’t feel what he’s supposed to; he couldn’t grieve his family, he couldn’t process the sadness of losing everything he has ever known and loved.

Roba had tried to break him down until he was nothing but dust, blown away in the desert - the Major too. Sparks and Washington; victims to the fallout, brainwashed and coerced into doing what they did.

Simon killed them anyway. Killer of killers.

Despite it all, even if they were forced to do it, they still robbed Simon of his normalcy - they took away the one thing he came home for.

Then they were gone. Just like that.

He stares down at his palm, illuminated in a hue of amber and gold, standing close as the fire rips through the building in front of him. The tags he holds in his hand aren’t his own, they belonged to Sparks before Simon fired a bullet down his throat and set the whole place ablaze.

It’ll be Simon Riley’s tags they pull from the ashes, from beneath rubble of wood and brick. It’ll be ruled a murder-suicide, a troubled soldier pushed past his breaking point; killing his entire family, his physiatrist, his comrades and then himself once the news breaks to the city.

His mother, his brother, poor Beth and little Joseph, the psychiatrist, Sparks, Washington - and even his piece of shit father. All dead. Gone. It’s his fault.

A perfect end to an otherwise fucked up turn of events.

All because Simon didn’t break like the Major and Roba wanted him to.

It is a Ghost who returns to exact revenge in Mexico.

A dead man walking. Mr Death as El Gordo calls him, turns out he’s just as bad as them.

An eye for an eye, right?

No one here is innocent. They’ve all had a part to play in this, the Ghost withdraws information from a cartel member through a syringe of temazepam in the eye, and he lodges a bullet between Roba’s muddy brown eyes.

He plays his own part in all of this, it’s over, everything is done.

Through instinct alone he fights through El Gordo’s men, for what?- he doesn’t know. He faces down thirty men alone and walks away with his life, but there is nothing to him that is worth living for anymore.

You can’t kill a man who is already dead.

He leaves a trail of his blood in the wake of a fire on the hill, the tall grass sways and so do the Ghost’s steps as he limps away.

The thrum of helicopter blades fall on deaf ears and the Ghost’s trance is only broken when he stumbles to his knees and a pair of muddied boots are all he can focus his eyes on.

He gazes up, forces his eyes to meet those of the man standing over him, he faintly recognises him, yet his eyes land on the embroidered badge that sits large and proud on the left breast pocket of his neatly pressed uniform.

It reads - Task Force 141

[blues824]

What if rattrash caused the female riddle mc to overbolt?

❤️How would they deal with this hopefully it's after her dorm members arrived because otherwise they will be someone dead or dying.

🌹After her overbolt people take her side because they see how bad in a state she is after it they whoud have never imagined riddle mc not being able to help navier because her health got effected by her overbolt.

❤️What whoud navier her reaction be to learn that her handmaiden/ daughter like figure overbolted because of rattrash how would she feel seeing her suffer from the aftereffects of her overbolt seing people send her get well gifts and taking her side even sovieshit.

🌹How would kosiar react to him love interests almost dying because of rattrash and now is in a bad condition but her hears how people take riddle mc her side.

❤️Heinley being shocked about it and visiting her as Queen because she understands bird seeing the once drigt and prideful handmaiden of navier in such a bad condition.

🌹How would sovieshit react to this to the person he wants to be his concubine so bad suffering now because of his concubine rattrash and giving her house arest.

❤️How would rattrash react to her almost dying for a overbolting riddle mc and how people take riddle mc her side because she is known for being a well respected woman and people sending her get well gifts and later on hearing sovieshit gave her house arest.

Part 1 and Part 2

Sovieshu

The entire garden was destroyed, but that’s not what he’s concerned about. No, he had seen your overblot form, and the ink that was spewing all of you, and had your Heartslabyul dorm-mates not been there, he would have called in the guards. But, fortunately, Cater, Ace, Deuce, and Trey were all mages so they were able to defeat you.

Now, you were bedridden with fever. Every day, Sovieshu goes to visit you everyday in the hopes that one day you would appreciate his company, but whenever you were awake either Kosair or yourself ushered him out. He could only visit you whenever you were asleep. He had never seen you so vulnerable.

Once he had found out who was the cause of this, he found himself in a tricky situation. At this point in time, Rashta was still carrying ‘their’ child, and even though the Emperor was a clown, he had the sense to not hit a pregnant woman. But the urge to smack her across the face was very strong. How dare a concubine that came from such low origin harm his beloved Y/N like this?!

But he took a step back and reevaluated his thought process. Before he had met you, he was wholeheartedly devoted to and in love with Rashta. However, it seems that something changed in the short time he knew you. He didn’t know where this sudden aggression towards his mistress came from.

Rashta

She didn’t mean for any of this to happen… or so she says. You see, she just wanted to know what set you apart from herself and Navier’s handmaidens. So, she followed you around, much to your annoyance. The two of you weren’t on the best of terms,  so this kind of set you over the edge with rage. 

Your Heartslabyul comrades helped in defeating you, but now she felt guilty for almost causing your death. She definitely wasn’t allowed to visit you, as per Kosair’s, Navier’s, and even Sovieshu’s words, so everything she heard about you came from the servants tending to you. From what she had heard, you were sick with fever and still coughing up ink.

This stress wasn’t good for the baby. The Emperor had accused her of doing this to you on purpose, and that didn’t help her emotional state. Every night, she cried herself to sleep because she was scared. She was scared that Sovieshu would let her go and she would have to go back to the world of slavery. She was scared that she would be charged of murder if you took a turn for the worse. She was scared that she would be charged with attempted murder anyway.

Rashta knew that by making you overblot, any thought of befriending the noble families went right out the window. She really messed up, and there was no way to turn back time. Not even the High Priest had that power. So she just had to deal with the ridicule until the Emperor was divorced from the Empress.

Navier

She was also there to witness your overblot. The rose bushes that you worked so hard on were torn out of the ground and thrown at everyone, including herself and Kosair, the two most important people in your life. Luckily, your dorm-mates seemed to have experienced something similar in Twisted Wonderland, so they were well-equipped with knowledge.

However, the result was you being bedridden with fever and a cough. She was one of the people allowed to visit you, considering she was like an older sister/motherly figure to you. Plus, her brother was your fiancé, so yeah. She knew that you being on house arrest was her husband’s doing, but maybe it was better if you rested rather than worry about doing a good job of tending to her.

There were many get-well gifts on the table in your room, from both noble and common people. It’s truly magnificent to see the people uniting through their worry about you, even if you were a foreigner.  But you were still suffering. Every si file time she had to sit you up just for you to cough up ink without choking was heartbreaking for her.

But, when she found out that this was all Rashta’s doing , she was understandably angry. The self-restraint she exercised just to not yell at and slap the young mistress was incredible. But if there wasn’t tension between them before, there definitely was now. She made sure that the servants knew to not let Rashta in to visit you while you were recovering.

Heinrey

He learned about your overblot through a letter from Navier, and because you were his friend who helped him, he went to visit you in his Queen form. Her Imperial Majesty brought Queen into the room to visit, and he put his wing over your forehead just to quickly retract it because you were burning up.

When he found out that this was Mistress Rashta’s doing, he’s not at all surprised. If Navier operated by the same magic, he’s sure that she would have overblotted as well. But now he despises the young mistress even more. He visited once as a human, and you weren’t doing well at all. He came close to using his own magic to bring misfortune, but decided against it.

Since his brother wasn’t doing well either, he often got updates on your medical state from either your Heartslabyul friends or his beloved Queen. Eventually, you were well enough to write to him yourself, and he was relieved to hear that you were doing better. Plus, he could tell that the Empress was getting out of her episode of worry and depression, which was great.

However, there was one time where he flew into Her Imperial Majesty’s window, and she was pacing back and forth while talking to herself about how of course Rashta’s the issue. Had Sovieshu not brought her into the palace, you wouldn’t have overblotted. She was a mess, wearing only a nightgown and her hair in a tangled mess. Heinrey knew that this was really getting to her, and he was worried.

Kosair

He was also there to see you overblot, and he tried to get you to calm down by speaking to you. He was promptly answered by getting a rose bush thrown. However, thanks to your little band of merrymen, you were defeated. He was the one who carried you to your bedchambers to ensure that you got proper rest.

The only thing, he’s being totally hypocritical. Sure, you did need rest, but he hasn’t got a wink of sleep since your overblot. He has been by your side at almost every single moment. He didn’t want you to wake up feeling scared or alone, and he wanted to be the first to see you awake. Once he did see your eyes open, he let out a few tears of joy before placing a kiss upon the back of your hand.

Throughout the next few days, he was tending to you just like a good husband should do for his wife (looking at you, Sovieshu). He’s the one dabbing your forehead with a cold cloth, he’s the one taking your temperature, he’s the one who people have to drag out so they can properly treat you, etc. 

When he heard that Rashta was responsible for this, Navier had to call some of the guards to restrain her brother from going to murder the pregnant mistress. What really got him to stop in his tracks was you getting out of bed and slowly walking towards him while telling him that he can’t do this. Mans can’t say no to you, so you won.

[activatebutterflyshield]

Something something the album Coyote Stories by The Crane Wives is about the current objectively horrid state of the world and also a call to action on changing that.

Okay. Starting with “Keep You Safe”. Here, the singer starts out as a young adventuring child who is afraid of joining their friends in slightly dangerous games. They never joined in, too afraid to face the consequences. As they grow up, they get more and more scared of the world as they see more and more slightly dangerous things happening around them. The refrain is a mantra that “Time is not your friend / Time is not your remedy / No amount of waiting will make you, make you brave / No amount of fear will keep you / No amount of fear will keep you safe”. The singer in this song is symbolic of the current state of the world, with so many people afraid of what is to come. The fears keep on piling up, from climate change to war to so many other things, and the people stay afraid, but they never grow any safer by being afraid. Time can and will march on, and, as the song says, “Come what may”.

Going on to “The Moon Will Sing”. The singer speaks of an unfulfilling relationship, with someone or something that keeps on leading them on but never fulfilling their promises. They mindlessly follow the something, and quietly ignored their neglected heart for a time. The chorus is “The moon will sing a song for me / I loved you like the sun / Bore the shadows that you made / With no light of my own”, in which the singer is lamenting their neglected state, but is also speaking of it in the past tense. They’ve moved on now, and are recalling the unhappy past. The singer in this case still represents the state of the world, but of a slightly altered state. They used to be in a bad place, but they’ve changed for the better, reflecting how the world has started to shift for the better. We’ve caught sight of our sorry state and are trying to remedy that.

Next is “Allies or Enemies”. This one is blunt and very personal. The singer immediately references “wildfires and weeds”, as well as an “awful damn disease”, all of which are rather familiar to 21st century Homo sapiens as omnipresent news headlines in the backgrounds and foregrounds of our lives. We are intertwined with these tragedies just as the singer is intertwined with the subject of their song, to the point that neither can conceive of a world without the tragedy or the subject. Anything and everything may or may not happen, as “All is fair in love and war”, but if this dynamic keeps up, it will be “the death of me”.

“Unraveling” is mostly a heaping pile of metaphors and symbolism. The singer is lamenting their lost loves, people who seemed to care for them before disappearing without a word. Though these men were kind and seemed to help, each and every one would eventually disappear and leave the singer worse for wear. Perhaps the best line to be applied to the world’s current state is the one about the carpenter: “Sanded my rough edges, crafted new and lovely things / But now my love is gone / And I can’t help the fracturing”. The carpenter represents the groups and people who have shepherded the world into its current state, keeping the population complacent by plying them with pretty little gifts and things to distract them while profiting all they can. But as soon as the carpenter has gotten what they wanted, they leave the world to its own devices to deal with the consequences of their profiteering. These profiteers are partially the ones at fault for the current state of the world.

“Hard Sell” does, in fact, hit hard. The singer is clearly going through something rough, holding themself together through sheer will to live. They’re trying so hard to get better, but it’s so hard to improve that it seems that they’re “working with barbed wire and moth wings”. To go on a tangent, the decision to specifically say “moth wings” and not bird or fly wings evokes (in my biology-addled brain) the image of salt and pepper moths. These are moths that rapidly evolved to have darker coloration thanks to the sooty, polluted conditions of the Industrial Revolution. The singer is using the only things they have: a metal material designed to harm and keep out and the wings of an animal greatly impacted by human-spurred climate change, and they’re lamenting that it seems that everyone might be going through the same thing. And its true; we’re all facing the same consequences of the state of the world in one form or another, and the only difference is how we present ourselves to the rest of the victims out there. We’re all affected, and we all need to “stop pretending now” and get something done.

Finally made it to “Rockslide”, the song that got me down this track in the first place. It has a runaway rhythm with a singer that speaks of feeling the “wild weather” that’s “got the mountain shaking weak”, and of the “quaking” of “rocks … a’tumblin while the people are asleep”. That wild weather is all the rapid and negative changes rocking the world, or the mountain. And the rocks are the consequences crashing towards the people so ignorant they might as well be asleep. Though the singer prays that they might keep their soul and that “you”, whom they’re singing to, wants to settle down, they also acknowledge that they must run or “the devil we will meet”. The people of the world must run, or make changes, else they’ll face the horrible consequences, or the devil. The devil, or “monster”, is coming and does not care what it hits.

On to “Metaphor”. Oh boy, “Metaphor”. The singer here is someone broken, jaded, the sort of person who’s been hurt ten too many times. They are a liar, a scavenger, a (metaphorical) killer. “You can’t trust a single thing I say”, they sing, because they’ve been lied to and forced to survive in the corners and the margins of the world. They are loud, they are hurt, and by goodness do they not want to go through that again. I really shouldn’t have to say why this is all to real to so many people in this world. They’re the ugly, hard to look at truth of the world, the headline you’re afraid to finish reading, the words just a little too raw to be fake. “I’ve gotten good at making up metaphors”, they sing, because that truth is too hard to bear without at least a little bit of sugarcoating.

Now comes “The Hand That Feeds”. Do I really need to explain this one? “I’ve seen good men spoiled / Chained to their jobs like hounds / They work and sleep, and work again / In the darkest nights they howl”. The people of the world, those who by all measures should not suffer, are chained and bound, deprived of freedom beyond their desperate laments. This is the fate the singer’s father wants his child to avoid, the snare he wishes them to see and remain free of. They sing of how “He taught me that the hand that feeds / Deserves to be bitten when it beats”. No matter how good it looks, you should never take the deal. Never shake the hand of the devil, despite his honeyed words, and remain your own self. That hand only wants to drag you down deeper.

Next is “Little Soldiers”. Okay when I started writing this thing I had just finished All Quiet on the Western Front and so I had a lot of sad war metaphors about this one, but it’s been a while and most of them have vacated my brain in the meantime, so… here goes. “On the broken backs of all the words we spared” they sing, “Like little soldiers in the trenches / It was a march we made towards ruin and despair / but we held hands all the while”. The singer here is recovering from a horrible loss, of the ending of a relationship they thought was good and healthy, but in reality was false to both parties. Both the singer and their former partner are representative of the common suffering of the common people, of their past struggles and strife, and how, in the end, they banded together to fight for each other. The refrain reflects this bittersweet dynamic, switching between “I swear that I loved you” and “I swear that you loved me”. The common love was the only good thing in the lives of the partners, and is all they can look back to in the end.

Following is “Sleeping Giants”, with a return to a feel similar to that of “Rockslide”, as forces beyond mortal comprehension threaten to wake. “I feel the mountains / Shifting under me / The sleeping giants are finally waking”. The singer is hyper aware that they are in danger, and said danger is something so alien, so powerful, and as unexpected as the land itself was shifting beneath their feet. Their pulse is racing, they are in fight-or-flight as all those prophecies from the previous songs in the album begin to come true. “The moon is humming / Lovely melodies / The forest echos, the trees are crowing / Hungry, hungry harmonies”. Natural keystones as far separated as the trees on the Earth and the moon in the sky are calling out in tandem, something is wrong. Something is terribly, horribly wrong.

A rather abrupt tone shift as “Of Everlong” follows. It’s a very short song, barely more than a minute, and its poetry is perhaps the strongest. I’ll just write the whole thing here.

“Out of the ocean / Over the harbor / Lay no sons and / Lay no daughters / Among the mountains of everlong / Twas there I wrote me / A sad, sad song / And if my lover / Will not hear it / Take my voice and / Take my spirit / Leave me weakened / And dig my hole / Only my lover not I can keep my soul / Only my lover not I can keep my soul”.

The singer, a lover much like the one mentioned in “Little Soldiers”, is singing a lament that they are alone, here in the mountains of everlong, beyond all reach of other people. Here they sing of what they have lost, or perhaps never had, a tune that can only echo about those mountains and never reach beyond the ocean. They declare that they’d rather die than never see their beloved again, consigning themself to eternal loneliness rather than risk breaking their heart all over again. Theirs is a song of what was and what will never be, of a world of memories that was long taken by the mists and will never emerge from the horizon with the breaking dawn.

It stays melancholy with “Never Love an Anchor”, with a rocking rhythm like a ship in a calm sea, and a singer who laments that they were never enough for their beloved. They were unable to care for their child, their spark of light impossibly kindled in a life made of sorrow, and feel that it is all their fault. “And I tried to do the best that I could / But try as I might I couldn’t bring myself to hold you”, they cry, a gentle, quiet admittance of defeat. They knew that they could never be enough, and so gave a chance to their beloved in exchange for defying their own selfish desires. This singer acted for the good of the many rather than the good of the few, giving what hope they did have to the little one so that they may rise just a bit higher. “On some level, I think I always understood / That a ship could never really love an anchor”, they sing, an admittance of their own failings, and a declaration that their beloved will be better, will have some brighter future, some breaking dawn at the horizon to look forward to.

The final song of the album is “New Discovery”. It’s a final declaration of the singer’s hope for a brighter future, of some true and real goal that they might strive for. It may not be real, it may be a mirage, but by goodness will they bite and claw and fight for it. “I want to believe / There’s something left for me / A new discovery”. It’s a hope, a faraway paradise, an impossible pipe dream, but it’s something. And to a person at the very end of their rope, to those who might sing of their trials and tribulations and torments and tragedies, something can be everything. It doesn’t need to be grand, or golden, or even great. It just needs to be better. And that is something everyone should be able to get behind.

Hope is famously that thing with feathers, the creature at the bottom of Pandora’s box, the last feeling humanity will ever have. It will drive us on through the deep, dark night, be our guiding lantern in the shadow of the dragon, and when we see the light of the sun shatter over the eastern horizon, we’ll think, yes. One more day. One more day to live and to learn, one more chance at making things better. There will always be nights; times of death and destruction will come again and again for the foreseeable future. But the night is always followed by the day, by hope and a new chance to take another step towards a better future.

Never stop fighting to see that next dawn, to once again behold the sun declaring that a new day has risen.

Never stop working to make things better.

[angel-of-the-moons]

Nothing Is Lost

Khonshu x Fem!Reader

TW/CW: Sleep depravation, child/parent death, drowning, grief, depression, anxiety, comfort, Khonshu being a dickhead again

A/N: Yeahhh this one hurt me a bit to write because ohhh boy I can imagine the voice of Merit's mother when she hears the news. Just awful. I'm sorry if this is another hot mess, but I'm hoping to get back into the groove! (Note; I could not think of good enough names for the boys so I'm just coming up with shit as I go, bare with my historical inaccuracies on this one!) I hope this rips your heart out the way it did mine!

Taglist: @drinkingwithkhonshu @astrosphereblog

🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑

Chapter 9:

The Book Of The Dead

The goddamn old bird really didn't understand personal space.

Like, really, really didn't.

You had already run out of fingers to count on the past week how many times you awoke in the middle of the night to him sitting in the dark, looming silently.

"Honestly, will you just tell me what the dreams are?" He'd scoffed as you wiped the heavy sweat from your face.

"Will you go away forever if I do?" You sigh, flopping back down onto your bed.

"Most likely not."

"Then no." You grunt, rolling over to pull the blankets up over your shoulders. The silence stretched once more and you could feel him staring at you.

"Do I need to start charging you rent? Like, if you're not gonna help me, just go, you ginormous pigeon." You say, glaring at him over your shoulder.

His shoulders squared. Apparently, "pigeon" was an insult that ruffled his feathers (god you shouldn't have giggled at that pun) judging by how his posture stiffened.

"Not until I unravel the mystery surrounding you." He replied tersely.

"Good luck with that. You gonna be able to do that by staring at me in the dark like some kind of creeper?" You scoff, facing the wall once more.

You felt a cold chill creep into your bones, a sharp stab of anxiety filling you once again as you close your eyes, hoping beyond hope that you would have a dreamless sleep, or by some miracle that you'd simply feel rested by closing your eyes.

It wasn't even the fact you had an ancient god inhabiting your personal bubble, anymore that freaked you out. What really scared you were those fucking nightmares.

You dreaded trying to sleep every night. You got your "feeling" more and more often now, with every pang of anxiousness that filled your body. The tingling in your hands became too much to ignore at times, and it almost hurt.

After ten minutes of sleep eluding you once more, he grunted. "I know you're faking."

"It's not faking, I'm trying to sleep." You hiss, squirming beneath your blankets.

"Oh, are you now." His voice dripped with sarcasm.

"Yes!" You say, fatigue making your temper very very short. "You're a god, don't you have better shit to do than crawl up my ass?!"

"Not currently, no."

"Fuck off."

"No." He replies bluntly. "Not until I know how you were able to summon me."

"For the last time! I don't kn--" When you rolled over to glare at him, your hand flew out; and as it did, the glass of water next to your bed flew across the room and shattered against the wall.

You sat up then, slowly, looking at the remains of glassware with wide eyes. Then, you pout at the god sitting on one of your chairs as though it were a calm summer afternoon on an old rickety porch.

"Why did you do that?" You accuse.

"I didn't." Khonshu replies, tilting his head to the side.

"But, I didn't.... I didn't touch it..." You mumble softly.

"Magic, in case your brain is too slow to catch up." Khonshu sighed boredly. "It makes sense, now. You did not see the light in your palm just now?"

Your eyes blink slowly, feeling heavy as you stare at your palms in shock. Shit... was he right? Maybe... Maybe he was... No. No, no way in hell could your life get any crazier. It just wasn't possible. He was fucking with you because he was bored.

You swing your legs out from under your blankets and wipe at your face, your eyes puffy and exhausted. "I'm too tired for this. Can you clean that up?"

His head tilted again, his arms still crossed over his broad chest. "No."

"Worth a shot." You sigh, heaving yourself onto shaky feet. If you didn't get rest soon, you felt like you were going to drop dead.

But... you couldn't leave glass for your sleepy ass to rediscover in the morning. Grabbing some paper towels, and your mini broom and dustpan, you began the task of cleaning the shattered and soaking mess. You carefully carried the dustpan full of paper towels and glass remains to your trash bin and sighed as it tumbled into the bag within.

Your head began to bob as the edges of your vision darkened; your heart began to pound in your chest and you felt like it would explode.

Your breath was squeezed out of your lungs, and as you collapsed, you were vaguely aware of something warm enveloping you before it all went black.

🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑

You were pouring over your papyrus scrolls, analyzing every single word, delicate fingers inking new hieroglyphs on the blank sheet nearby.

The breeze blew idly into your room, the sweet-spicy scent of your incense being blown back onto you as you chewed your fingernail, deep in thought.

You were studying the various tales of the gods, as well as scribes' accounts on things that occured within the temples and palace; a few scrolls here and there on the current state of Egypt's economy.

Your brain was like a parched field of crops, every drop of knowledge was drank greedily as though it were water and stored within every fiber of your being. You wanted to be a scholar, you wanted to learn new things, you wanted to know as much about the gods you worshipped as possible, maybe to, one day yourself, get close to them, to be blessed enough to hear their words with your own ears.

You sighed, setting your reed pen down near your inkwell as you rubbed your temple. You felt a stiffness in your hands and neck when you lifted your gaze to peer out your window. It was likely... two hours past midday, you had to assume, judging by how far the sun had sailed.

Your parents were meeting another noble--probably to discuss a marriage between you and a male heir they possibly had--or maybe they went to the palace to speak with the Pharaoh? You were honestly worried he would propose your hand to his heir, and make you his wife or concubine. It wouldn't be ideal, but your father's wishes were that you were cared for when he and your mother passed into the afterlife.

You merely wanted to study, to learn as much as you can, and imbibe the future generations with the knowledge you accumulated as you grew.

You stood, arching your back and cracking your neck and knuckles; your eyes flitted to your bed, and for a moment you were tempted to take a short nap, having one of the servants wake you when your parents returned. Or your little brother, he was out playing with your neighbor's sons, today. He promised that he would bring you the shiniest, prettiest fish he could; proving that if anything happened to your parents, he could take care of you, because you were his big sister, the greatest big sister ever! The childlike sentiment was heart-warming, and you couldn't help but indulge your brother, reminding him to be careful of the currents before shooing him and the other boys off for their fun in the Nile.

But that was four hours ago. And you hadn't heard from them in a while...

You sighed as you looked out the window, your arms resting on the sill while your eyes were drawn to the plucked lotus you had in a clay pot in the small space. It was wilting, it would need to be dumped, soon--

"MERIT!" A young voice called for you.

It wasn't your brother. He sounded panicked--frantic. As the young body came into view, Akenmatuu hopped up and down, his eyes wide and fearful as he looked up at you, his little brother close behind, looking just as afraid.

Ahrenkare was not with them.

You leaned out your window, feeling your skin grow cold and sweat begin to bead on your brow. "Akenmatuu, what is it? Where is--"

"Ahrenkare fell in the river! We can't find him!" He interrupted.

It wasn't more than a few seconds between him shouting those words and your stuttered breathing that you ripped off your wig and ran down to the street where the boys were.

They were shorter than you, their manhood not fully grasping their bodies just yet. And it was just so painfully obvious how young they were when you saw their smeared eyeliner from their panicked tears, Akenmatuu's younger brother openly sobbing as they tried to tell the broken tale; breaking off in a run to show you where Ahrenkare had fallen into the water.

It was high today, the rains causing the water to swell above the banks. You knew the animals that lived in the river were just as dangerous as the currents and swells...

But... But Ahrenkare knew not to go into the water if it was too deep... didn't he? Oh, no... Oh..oh you hoped he didn't try to dive into the water to catch the fish he'd declared he would bring you! If anything happened to him--

Your feet carried you as though you were blessed by Geb himself, the earth beneath you pushing up to propel you along as you frantically made your way to the river, flagging down a few of the men you passed, crying out that your brother had fallen in. A few of the servants carrying out their daily chores even dropped their baskets to come aid you.

The moment your sandals squished in the mud, your dress being torn by shrubbery and reeds as you rushed towards the water's edge, screaming for your brother--hoping that you would see him rise to the surface, scanning the waves with frantic and fearful eyes as the men heaved their woven boats out to sail on the water, trying to help find your baby brother before it was too late.

You looked on the bank, spotting his sandals, having small pictures of ducks and cows on the soles painted and stitched in. You picked them up, so small in your hands, and squeezed them against you, falling to your knees and crying out for someone--anyone--to bring your brother back home to you.

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It was the most horrible pain you'd ever felt in your life. Worse than the pain that came with your monthly bleeds, worse than when you injured your ankle playing as a young girl.

It felt like your heart was ripped out out of your chest--not by Anubis, but some cruel, twisted, maniacal demon bent on your torment.

The wail your mother made as your brother's pale, limp, lifeless body was placed on the embalmers table haunted your dreams. The way she clawed at her own skin, the way she doubled over him like a feral animal and sobbed made your torn-out heart feel as though it were slowly being fed to Ammit herself; intentionally being chewed as slowly as possible to make your suffering worse.

What hurt you even more after that was your father, so bereaved and heartbroken that he could barely function, his face going blank as hot tears slowly tracked down his wrinkled cheeks, his usually immaculate eyeliner running like black rivers down his face.

"No! No, he's not--!" Your mother cried, thrashing as your father and a servant pried her away from his body.

"That's not my son! It can't be! He's not dead!"

You covered your face and sobbed as a priest approached you, his face gentle and caring. Young for his age, his eyes seemed to carry a great age of knowledge behind them. His hand rested on your shoulder.

"Lady Merit... Please. Attend to your parents." He said sweetly to you. "We will take care of your brother and prepare him for his journey. We have already sent word to the workers of your family's tomb--the Pharaoh himself has paid for more work to be put into it so it will be ready to take your brother and keep him."

"It's not..." Your eyes dragged to the tiny frail body draped in the linen sheet. He looked like he was asleep, as pale as the cloth he was wrapped in.

Your shoulders slumped and you started to tremble.

Ahrenkare was gone. You would not get to see him or hear his laughter again until you, yourself passed on and prepared for your journey into the afterlife.

"Lady Merit." The priest repeated again, his hand squeezing your shoulder in an effort to ground you, to remind you that you were still in the land of the living. "I can assure you. Your brother is in safe hands. I will say a prayer as the embalmer begins his work, I will personally insure your brother is treated with the utmost care and respect as mortally possible."

He turned you away from the haunting sight of your brother's corpse; his presence warm despite the cold that gripped your body and refused to let go. "Please." He said softly.

"Take... Take care of him, he..." You choked, your jaw tensing as you tried to bite back the sob that wanted to crawl from your very soul, instead whispering; "...he's scared of the dark."

Your head hung low as your feet dragged you out, following the disturbing echoes of your mother's cries for her son, your baby brother; who had yet to be given the chance to become a man.

The priest who tried to comfort you looked at you with pain and pity; he knew you well. You came to the temples to study. Many times bringing your brother with to help educate him when his tutors couldn't. Such an innocent ba lost too soon to the next life...

🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑

Ahrenkare had been placed in the tomb two weeks ago, and your mother's mind and body began to wither, as well as her will to live. The burden and pain of losing her only and beloved son was simply too much for her heart to carry.

She was often bedridden, now, but occasionally you would awaken to the sounds of her crying, kneeling in what had once been Ahrenkare's room--now bare of his belongings as his burial chamber in your family tomb was loaded with his things--clutching one of the only things she had left him.

A small toy, carved from wood; it was that of a warrior, built similarly to how your father looked, a symbol of the man he used to be before he was injured in battle and couldn't fight anymore. Ahrenkare looked up to him like he was Ra himself, wanting to be just as brave and as strong as your father was.

But your mother...

Your mother was dying.

You and your father could tell. She refused to eat, now; she barely drank. All she would do was stare out at the Nile, her eyes dull and lost as she looked at the sparkling waves, ignorant of the wonderful life they had taken. Oh, it wasn't anyone's fault, she knew, but... She wanted nothing more than one chance to hold him, again, to feel his cheek as she squished him against her for a kiss; to hear his laughter as she tickled his sides in play...

It was as if her ba was preparing her body for its departure itself.

You couldn't handle seeing her like that--you spent more and more time locked in your room, consuming scroll after scroll, drowning your grief in knowledge the same way the Nile had drowned your brother.

When you weren't studying, you were in the temples, leaving offerings and begging for help from one of the gods. Maybe seeking to lift your mother's ailment, or sending a prayer to Nut to ensure your brother's ba sailed safely through the night sky.

You'd left generous offerings to Anubis, maybe as a way of trying to ensure your brother's ba was not devoured by Ammit.

Right now, you were in a small temple, but one you visited often. It was the Temple of Khonshu; and you prayed excessively as of late, in hopes that maybe he would heal your mother, to lift her pain from her so she could begin to recover.

But nothing you did ever helped. And when your mother finally passed on, you were numb-struck. Still feeling from the loss of your brother, you now had to bury your mother alongside him. The comforting words of your father assuring you the gods took her to reunite her with Ahrenkare did little to balm your wounded heart.

And so, here you were. Collapsed on an altar, sobbing into an empty room, the statue of Khonshu imposing and large as it looked over you, the open roof of the temple allowing the moon to shine down onto you.

Your chest heaved as your body was wracked with sobs, your nails digging into your own skin as you buried your face in your arms.

Despite your disheveled appearance, a warm hand found its way to your head, caressing your smooth scalp in a gentle, comforting way.

"I know it hurts." The voice belonging to the hand said to you. "But I promise, they are no longer in pain. They are together, and are waiting for you, and your father."

"But why? Why now?" You whimpered, curling in on yourself, afraid to look at the kind stranger in fear of breaking down worse in the face of someone's pity.

"Nobody can say. Perhaps it was their time, perhaps there is another divine reasoning behind their passings." He told you. "But rest assured... their souls were not evil. Anubis has no reason to judge them harshly."

"It... it hurts." You sniffled.

"Yes... It will. It will hurt." He told you, his thumb caressing your skin gently. "But you just ask yourself... will you give in to the same affliction that ailed your mother's heart--or will you continue to live, and carry their memories with you? You must find out and see if you will join them sooner, rather than later."

As his hand retracted, you lifted your gaze and turned to see who the man was.

And where he was standing, was a man. A man dressed in all white, long robes flowing around him, Khonshu's blessed symbol emblazoned on his chest as he looked down at you, his face covered by a featureless mask, leaving only glowing sockets where his eyes would be.

He held his hand out to you, expecting you to take it.

"Who are you?" You ask softly. "Are you... a... a priest of Khonshu?"

"In a sense." He chuckles gently to you, his hand encapsulating yours as he brings you to your feet with care, steadying your weary body with a hand to the curve of your back.

"Though, many would consider me his Fist."

🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑

Chapter 10: Link

[lifesupreme-if]

sorry if this is intrusive but what’s this crossover that keeps getting mentioned with your girlfriend? is it something you can talk about or it supposed to be private? sorry again if this is too much have a nice day

brigid and i screamed, high fived, and started jumping around in their room and yelling about this ask thank you so much

the crossover is between lost birds (@if-lostbirds), my favorite western dystopian post-apocalyptic-and-also-on-the-verge-of-the-apocalypse sci-fi game, and a life supreme! the cast of a life supreme remains in their original universe and positions while the lost birds cast crosses over into the world of cyberpunk 2077.

find brigid's take on it here

dylan remains a fixer but the merc who takes the place of The Merc and stands by her side most prominently is the gunslinger/eli sharpe, born the child of some arasaka executives and run away. they are Disgustingly in love and obsessed with each other because they both are characters with an insane sense of devotion and loyalty. sharpe would kill for her, has, would throw themself into certain death for her — and dylan, in all of her love for them, would pull them back from it: her greatest merc is also her greatest weakness.

(shoutout to the AU within an AU where the two of them stayed at arasaka and fall headfirst into the most toxic, loyal, blood-bound relationship that will kill them both)

stéphanie interacts most prominently with the ghost and the traitor/william rhys, both of which she's brought into her home without a second thought for stranger danger.

ghost is still an odd thing that doesn't talk and can throw a grown man over their head, but they look like a lost and hungry child and so stéph is keeping them and feeding them. they are polite and quiet and helpful, working in the kitchen with stéph and owning all of her heart.

william washed up on the shores of pacifica and though he's skittish, clumsy, and awkward, stéph's taken him in and thrown him to work front of house for the diner. when he wakes screaming in the middle of the night, she offers kindness, a listening ear, and a warm mug at her table. (they're only a year apart in age and naturally they are developing the biggest crushes on one another.)

dorothea is of the roving band of nomads that snuck the ghost into the city after picking them up from a desolate area of the NUSA.

[locked] is assigned the hunter as a corporate bodyguard. only one fleshy limb between the two of them, and both with reputations with teeth, they open their soft sides to each other. contractually speaking, she owns them. in practice, however, she's wrapped around their finger, happy to find a friend, and in love with them—they dig up old vids from the hunter's baseball playing past and watch them together.

while aspects of the crossover mimic the plot of A Life Supreme to get the ball rolling, the merc is not there to connect everyone together, and so it does not follow the same storyline. the ranger/swann and the archangel take on an antagonistic role that targets eli sharpe and features them amongst their grandest plans. dylan, for fear of the sway archangel has, has no choice but to send sharpe on the jobs given from them.

little tidbits under the cut because i will take ANY opportunity to talk about this crossover thank you so much!!!!!!

• dylan and sharpe both work on getting sober together.

• they also do things like stare at each other uncomfortably and kiss with tongue in public. the mox have been trying to find a way to kick them out of lizzie's for months.

• sharpe is widely known as dylan riley's attack dog: they are aware of this. they revel in this. they do scare off other mercs, sometimes.

• rhys watched vids on chivalry to learn how to treat stéphanie in a relationship, and also he is. a foot and a half taller than her. stéphanie is THRIVING.

• ghost, stéphanie, and rhys all sleep in the same bed together at night: rhys is too tall for the bed, stéph starfishes over him, and ghost curls up like a cat on top of them both.

• [locked] and the hunter look frightening in public and then go home and infodump about old movies together.

• the hunter cherishes the feeling of [locked]'s human hand against their skin. they hold it to their face in tender moments.

[tomionefinds]

Hello! Do you guys have any fics where Tom hurts Hermione and then feels really guilty about it later on? Thank you!

Hey Anon:

This one stumped us. Perhaps these two. -Haus

Please Save Me by Winterblume

M | Complete | 325k

AU Tomione. No time travel no time turners. - 'Are you not scared of him? Tom Riddle has got a rather peculiar reputation. But I'm sure it's all stupid talk. He's Head Boy after all.' - 'What kind of a reputation' - 'Er… he's… well, he seems kinda dark.'

Birds of a Feather by Babylonsheep

M | WIP | 530k

In 1935, Hermione Granger meets a boy in an orphanage who despises fairy stories, liars, and mediocrity. He offers her a deal of mutual convenience, and soon a tentative friendship forms between them—if Tom would ever lower himself to call anyone a "friend". But whatever they have, it's something special, and if there's anyone who can appreciate Specialness, it's Tom Riddle. 1930's-40's Childhood Friends AU.

Edit for reccs from the Tomione Discord:

Veal and Venison by Patagonian

Its Either E or M | Complete | ?? Word count

In the language of literature, there exists a seemingly-concrete, antonymous relationship between good and evil, light and dark, hero and monster. And yet, we often disregard the transition from one to another, in which the 'bad guy' becomes 'good.' Perhaps it was the cruel mistreatment of Tom Marvolo Riddle as a child, or maybe it was the bloodline of Slytherin's heir himself that made the boy into the 'monster' who cannot be named. Or, perhaps it was simply because he did not know that his heart would beat in such a frenzy, that his cheeks would redden like a crimson rose, and that his normally-calm facade would melt under the simple gaze of the time-travelling heroine. If I were to bet, I'd say it's the latter. But it matters not why Voldemort could not love, for this is not a story about Voldemort.

This is the story of Tom Marvolo Riddle, and how he came into direct conflict and company with the 'brightest witch of her age' ... fifty-years ahead. This is the story of love's recognition, in which the force does not suddenly develop between two people, but a poignant emotion, different for each individual, is uniquely described to be 'love.' Maybe Tom Riddle never loved, much like that of Voldemort. However, as one chooses to stubbornly believe, love existed for Tom Marvolo Riddle as long as he chose to believe that he loved Hermione Jean Granger.

Eternalism by HogwartsRiddle

T | Complete | 135k

Dumbledore is dead and Hogwarts is on lock-down as the ever-present threat of Voldemort and his Death Eaters grows closer by the day. Hermione is trying to remain positive in the face of crisis, but tensions are running high among the Gryffindors and they're all starting to lose hope. That is, until a strange scroll left by Dumbledore opens up a new path to salvation…

[ellecdc]

200 Questions

these are the 200 questions from my 2k celebratory picnic! feel free to use these for whatever!

1 - How important are friends to you?

2 - What do you want less of?

3 - Do you step on pavement cracks?

4 - What's your favourite colour?

5 - How many countries have you visited?

6 - In your dream life, how often would you travel?

7 - If you were a flower, what kind would you be?

8 - Are witches all female?

9 - Do you think we are alone in the universe?

10 - What's your happiest memory?

11 - What do you wish you were good at?

12 - What's the nicest thing a neighbour has done for you?

13 - What's the worst injury you've ever had?

14 - Did you keep a diary as a kid?

15 - What are the top five items on your bucket list?

16 - Do you like routine?

17 - What is worse - trying and failing or never trying?

18 - Would you rather have a holiday in the mountains or at the beach?

19 - Would you like to hang-glide?

20 - What's your least favourite colour?

21 - What do you most value about yourself?

22 - Do you prefer to cuddle or be cuddled?

23 - How old do you feel?

24 - Does your family have any famous recipes?

25 - Have you ever self sabotaged?

26 - What single thing must you do before you die?

27 - If you suddenly had a free afternoon, what would you do?

28 - Have you ever fainted?

29 - What's the most beautiful sight you've ever seen?

30 - Do you tell the truth at a restaurant if the food is bad?

31 - Is there a product you love so much you'd volunteer to be a spokesperson?

32 - What is better about today than yesterday?

33 - Is happiness something to strive for?

34 - Do you like to people-watch?

35 - Do you prefer people or animals?

36 - Do you remember your first kiss?

37 - If something is forbidden do you want it more or less?

38 - Have you ever disciplined someone else's child?

39 - If you could have a Marvel-style superpower, which would you choose?

40 - Have you ever had therapy?

41 - Who would you want as your Amazing Race partner?

42 - Are you a good neighbour?

43 - Do you know any jokes by heart?

44 - Do you keep a journal?

45 - Have you ever received an anonymous gift or act of kindness?

46 - Do you arrive early or late?

47 - When did you give up on something bad?

48 - What are some things you do with your pets?

49 - What beverage could you not live without?

50 - What is under your bed?

51 - How tall would you like to be, if you could choose?

52 - If you could visit any planet, where would you go and why?

53 - Do you like your voice?

54 - Are you scared of spiders?

55 - Do you know the Indigenous name of the Country you live in?

56 - What was the last disagreement you had with your siblings about?

57 - Are you usually the person who cares the most or the least in your group?

58 - Do you enjoy dating?

59 - If you were the Prime Minister and needed three people to assist you, who would you pick and why?

60 - If you could design the ultimate treehouse. What would it look like?

61 - Where would your dream school trip be and what would you do there?

62 - Would you rather ace school or be average in school and master skills for the outside world?

63 - Do you like the place where you grew up?

64 - How would you describe yourself in five words or fewer?

65 - Do you think the world would be a better place without the internet?

66 - If you were a bird what kind would you be?

67 - What's been on your mind most lately?

68 - Would you rather be the oldest child or the youngest child?

69 - Would you rather wash your body with shampoo or your hair with soap?

70 - What was the last sweet text you screenshotted and saved?

71 - If you had an envelope with your death date inside, would you open it?

72 - Would you rather eat your favourite meal every day or never eat it again?

73 - What do you consider the most beautiful thing about your personality?

74 - What are some of your best childhood memories with cousins?

75 - How would you explain 'love' to someone without using the word?

76 - When at the movies, what is your favourite snack food?

77 - What's the best teen party you've been to and why?

78 - What is your favourite flavour of chips? 

79 - What is your strangest phobia? 

80 - If you could design a national flag what would it be like? 

81 - What type of animal do you feel most connection with? 

82 - What is your favourite snack to eat? 

83 - What song could you listen to on repeat for the rest of your life? 

84 - What vegetable is your least favourite and why?

85 - If you could be any object which would you be and why? 

86 - What do you like in a sandwich? 

87 - What movie absolutely scarred you?

88 - What's your favourite constellation? 

89 - What is your favourite sport to watch? 

90 - Which TV or movie character would you be friends with in real life? 

91 - Are you scared of the ocean? 

92 - Which emojis do you use the most? 

93 - Would you rather be a surgeon or a pilot? 

94 - If you had to move to another country tomorrow where would you go? 

95 - What old person tendencies do you have? 

96 - Do you prefer sunset or sunrise? 

97 - What is your comfort movie or TV show? 

98 - Would you rather give up peanut butter or Nutella? 

99 - If you had to curate the soundtrack to your life what songs would be on there? 

100 - What do you collect and why? 

101 - What is a quote you really like from a song, movie or book? 

102 - What animal represents you the best? 

103 - What's your favourite flower? 

104 - If you could learn the answer to one of history's greatest mysteries, which would it be? 

105 - What is your favourite fruit? 

106 - If you could have lunch with a Disney character, who would you choose? 

107 - Who is your favourite character from a book? 

108 - Would you rather watch your dreams or control them? 

109 - Do you think you could survive in prison? 

110 - Would you rather be a princess or a mermaid? 

111 - If you could have a celeb as your BFF who would it be? 

112 - Do you own any crystals? 

113 - Would you rather see any one day in the future or read minds for a day? 

114 - Do you prefer to go out for hamburgers or pizza? 

115 - Would you rather work in a bakery or an ice cream shop? 

116 - What three items would you take to a deserted island? 

117 - What is your favourite ice cream flavour? 

118 - Would you rather attend Hogwarts or be a Pokemon trainer? 

119 - What's your favourite line from a movie? 

120 - Who's your ultimate celeb crush? 

121 - When you were younger, what did you want to be when you grew up? 

122 - Are you a warm weather or cold weather person? 

123 - Are you a morning person or a night person?

124 - Which element (earth, water, fire, air) best describes you? 

125 - Would you prefer to live on a boat or a remote island? 

126 - Who is your favourite superhero? 

127 - What colour do you think your aura is? 

128 - Who is your favourite author right now? 

129 - What's the strangest thing you're afraid of? 

130 - Would you rather have a pet dragon or a pet unicorn? 

131 - If you could pick three animals to put together and create a new animal, which animals would you pick? 

132 - What's the weirdest fact you know? 

133 - What period in history would you like to live in? 

134 - Do you believe in the Supernatural? 

135 - Do you play video games? If so, which ones? 

136 - What's your favourite subject to research and explore? 

137 - If money wasn't a concept what would your dream job be? 

138 - Would you rather eat dinner in a castle or breakfast in a hot air balloon? 

139 - What character do you identify with most personality wise? 

140 - What's your favourite dessert? 

141 - Are mermaids real? 

142 - What colour are your eyes? 

143 - If you could turn into any animal which would you choose? 

144 - What's your Chinese zodiac? 

145 - If you could meet anyone dead or alive who would it be? 

146 - What's a superstition that you have?

147 - What’s your favourite way to celebrate something?

148 - What does your perfect day look like?

149 - What is your go-to karaoke song?

150 - If you could design a video game about anything, what topic would you choose?

151 - Would you rather be in a cartoon or have an artist paint your picture?

152 - Would you rather be a musician or a movie star?

153 - What’s your dream car?

154 - Who was your first celebrity crush?

155 - What’s one thing you’ve always wanted to learn?

156 - Do you like haunted houses?

157 - What weird smell do you really enjoy?

158 - What is your attachment style?

159 - Which of the four seasons is your favourite?

160 - What is your favourite piece of advice?

161 - How would you spend $50,000?

162 - What is a taboo you think shouldn’t be taboo?

163 - What’s your favourite meme?

164 - According to you, what is the most monotonous sport to watch?

165 - If you could meet anyone in history, who would it be and why?

166 - What’s your favorite happy hour drink?

167 - Why did your parents give you your name?

168 - Hardcover, paperback, or ebook?

169 - What would you have a personal assistant do if you could have someone follow you around all the time?

170 - The zombie apocalypse is coming. Who are three people you want on your team?

171 - Would you rather live in the ocean or in deep outer space?

172 - If you could be any supernatural being, which would it be?

173 - What was your first email address or screen name?

174 - If you were a potato product, what would you be?

175 - Would you rather be loved by someone special (but hated by everyone else) or liked by everyone (but never loved)?

176 - What is your very first memory?

177 - Teleportation or flying?

178 - Would you go with aliens if they beamed down to Earth?

179 - What was one new experience you tried that was completely unknown or uncomfortable to you at the time you tried it?

180 - What is something your mother or father often does that you find yourself doing?

181 - What are the three scents you like?

182 - What’s your favorite board game?

183 - What is the most absurd thing you've been tricked into doing or believing?

184 - Have you ever thought of what your future baby will be named?

185 - What are those things you're too old to do but you still enjoy?

186 - Which of the two smells better, fresh-cut grass or bread baking in the oven?

187 - What are the songs that make you sing along whenever you hear them?

188 - What is something your brain wants to convince you to do but you have to fight it?

189 - What would you name your yacht if you had one?

190 - Who is your favourite YouTube vlogger?

191 - What are the two things you’d like to ask your pet?

192 - What has been the most flattering compliment you've ever received?

193 - What three things did your past relationship teach you?

194 - What song would make the best theme music for you?

195 - What is the wackiest thing you ever did to help a friend?

196 - What is the most bizarre wrong number text or phone call you ever received?

197 - What is the best commercial you have ever seen?

198 - If people suddenly got paid for bad behavior, what habit would make you a fortune?

199 - If you had an unlimited budget, what epic prank would you pull?

200 - What’s the best piece of workplace drama you’ve ever heard?

[immoralimmortals]

A Song With Ten Names

Chapter 6: Yes, to Err is Human, So Don't Be One (1)

Chapter 1 ☆ Next chapter

Summary of chapter: It’s like she’s in a haunted house, seeing his face, his eyes. She eventually runs outside, and it only gets worse.

Author's Note: This song was MADE for Zetsu. ...Ok yes it's a character song for a podcast that has vampire imagery but STILL! Hopefully I'm not stretching the verses out too much. Like with Hidan's chapter, Misanthrapolagist, I plan on more with this title for Zetsu. The song is Yes, to Err is Human, So Don't Be One by Will Wood. Also I have SO many song associations and playlists for these characters, I will hyperfixate you to death if you ask (lovingly)

CW for talk of cannibalism. Because of Zetsu. Existing.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

I could drink your blood if you let me, baby

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The hisses of wind only grow sharper as the gusts blunder past the cracks of the brick house. Was weather here always prone to this?! It didn’t so much as drizzle in the months she’s been around! The caged bird believes no omen, but hell if the anxieties don’t multiply one another.

She grips her shoulders through the thin blue sweater; it’s nearly useless to this kind of storm. In her gritting teeth she can feel a racing heartbeat, her stomach tipping upside-down like a trashcan in a tornado. It’s been five-something fucking hours since her comrades left at the break of twilight, five-something fucking hours in what’s become practically a haunted house. Fearing the roof cave in after one more groan of the ceiling, the woman finally tears herself from the glue trap of fright and figures there must be a better way to take shelter, just in case.

Her lip is bit till it turns stark white. If her Kakuzu and Hidan were here, they wouldn’t leave her like this, right? She’d be protected again. No fear of kidnappers, handsy patrons, nor a maelstrom such as this. They never spoke nice but they always were nice, somehow, when it mattered.

How desperate is she to think they really had such sentiment, she scolds herself. No, regardless of this deal with a god she’s been left alone again. Her eyes feel like they’re being squeezed in their sockets, since they’ve no more tears to give tonight.

“I’m so scared…” she murmurs, holding herself. Her eyes pinch shut but with a crack of lightning, they burst open and she can only scream. A stoic face with candlelight-yellow eyes stares at her from the wall, lifeless, and it disappears in the dark once the bolt’s glow decays. Feet scramble underneath each other till she trips out the door and into the hall.

The hallway itself feels like a rickety bridge overtop ten stories of mountain air, dizzying altitude making it hard to stand up straight or breathe. Like a newborn deer she staggers up, limping through vertigo-induced twists and turns. Just as she regains some sense of control, approaching the first stair down, lightning strikes again and the specter returns in a picture frame. Another cry and she pushes forward, panic yanking her down the staircase so she runs with any body part but her legs, pounding, pounding, poundingtill the last thud is more mute. Shaky arms raise herself up yet again, and the ache in her bones causes the woman to forget the course of her ship.

A growl in the throat of the storm brings another vision of him: massive green, jagged teeth around a split face in the corner of her eye, and the only thing she knows how to do is run.

Is she any good at it?

Grazing the sides of dusty furniture scrape her skin, knickknacks shoved from their shelves in a pop, pop, pop like grenades, shattering porcelain. The head of a doll rolls until it catches on the lapse of two floorboards, one eyeball caved in and rosy lips pursed in emotionless death. The woman’s arms fling open the door of the cage, and it feels like a mile in the few seconds it takes for her to turn and look back.

The wind plays with the back porch gate as a restless child would, square edges stark in shape against the sea of thick, foggy gray in the sky. The leaves cling to the branches around for dear life, and the space in the doorway where the creature should be is empty. The woman inches a few steps backward, unsure, disoriented, as she finds herself outside.

And nature takes her, as while the leaves don’t fly away in early summer, the branches still can.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Hang from your rafters, patchwork & paisley

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The wind coos like an owl, deep and songful. It plays with her hair, cold weaving up the strands till it hits her scalp. Then slowly, but surely, his fingers do too, cupping the side of her head as she lays on his lap- in his arms. Zetsu, of course, can only ponder this: her eyes are shut, refusing to see him. The sight of him made her flee. And yet she grips now, to his familiar cloak, with her life depending on it.

Humans are such silly things.

Yellow irises take in the amputated limb ahead, the branch that almost fell on her. Its bark is healthy, its inside green at the edges where bisected. Quite the gust to rip that off, half of him muses. It’s time to take shelter, the other minds. They’re in agreement as the phantom plucks her from the earth and returns her to the haunted house.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

I could suck you dry on the rocks with a twist

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It’s funny. The woman always thought the iconography of ghosts to be enamoring, you know? From little round sheets with holes for eyes, to wisps of foxfire and gossamer, to visceral mutilations of what a person used to be-- they’re all fascinating, representing different aspects of longing and lingering and leaving this plane. It makes sense, a woman nearly obsessed with death and perspectives of afterlife to find attachment to their personifications. As she is placed gently as a feather atop a bed unused for years and years, does she see her ghost, ahead in the vanity mirror? And as that face returns, is that what he is?

Weariness of a long night must overcast prior instincts, as now she merely flutters her eyes in surprise. “Oh,” she speaks too simply, “It’s you…!” The woman recognizes him now, once she stops burying her face in red clouds. The scent of pollen fades off of him like a perfume as distance increases. The man is a mirror of himself, plain as can be, and even as she stares, she can’t figure out how his face works. The complete eye of Zetsu’s becomes hooded now she's properly rescued and subdued; she becomes flushed.

“A-apologies.” A formal tone is necessary, not only after being so erratic but as she doesn’t know him at all. But the expression of his isn’t short like she first thought; he begins to smile.

“You almost killed yourself.”

Never mind, he’s probably mad.

“Sorry.” Her head bows. “The wind, the thunder—”

One eye blinks. “...It scared you?”

She can’t even nod to that; the woman knows how childish it is. “...A tree fell into my room. When I was little.” It’s so hard trying to relax her shoulders after being tense so long. “I get anxious when it’s windy like this.”

Zetsu’s sweeter voice exhales an “oh,” calculations running in his head. “...It makes sense. Forces of nature like this kill all the time. It’s only a matter of time until you—”

A sharp pang rings through his skull, one communicating the other to for the love of god shut up. Great. As White Zetsu refocuses, he sees that she’s fixated on the storm again, a still intact glass arch in the wall framing a branch that swings up and down like a kid carrying a teddy bear by the paw.

Why do you care if she’s upset?

Pain-sama’s intentions are clear.

But being attentive doesn’t mean babying.

Look at her.

And he does. The woman is withered, drained and meek to the imagination of forces smashing her down like a bug. She’s small. In this big, big world, she is still so very small. Zetsu sighs.

“There's no threat,” he assures, truthfully. For his soft voice, it’s so confident. “This building has stood for years. It won’t fall tonight,” the other voice adds. The fear-paled lady in her white dress now finally nods in agreement, eager for some logic to stand onto.

“You’re right...You’re right.”

The gaze falls from the window to the broken mirror some meters away, seeing herself in it- propped up against the headboard with hands folded on her lap- and the creature looming on the bedside. Forces of nature, huh...?

“...Are you like them?” she inquires. The black cloth can only bring such questions. “Do you kill, too?” Though the exact nature of the Akatsuki- the execution of Pain's peace- eludes her, the bounties and (to an extent) the rituals of her entourage did not.

The monster of a man doesn’t shake his head, nor says a proper no. “I’m not a fighter,” he explains. “I’m not suited for such work.” A tiny bit of relief enters her heart, but it still holds worries.

“...May I ask what you do?”

A curious one. Best she be careful.

“...Watch. Learn. Listen," he provides. "The roots take me where I need, pass information that needs to be known.” He’s the reason the other Akatsuki know she exists, why she’s here now, sitting next to him in wait for the next pair.

“It sounds...more peaceful,” she admits, admiration creeping in her weary tone. She envisions herself as he must be, weaving in and out of oak and birch as smooth as watercolor brushes on paper. Her head sticking out on the very tippy top of the woodlands, the smell of magnolia or plum blossom surrounding as an aura. She’s above the world, anything that could crush her--

“Oh yes. It can be meditative,” he agrees pleasantly, “...Especially the meals.”

She blinks again. “Meals?”

“The bodies,” Zetsu says. “Consumption of them renews my chakra. I presume it’s much like how you must enjoy sleep or a bath.”

“...Bodies? Of…?!” The woman regrets it as soon as she asks.

“Corpses,” he elaborates. “My most vital duty is to dispose of our dead.”

It is suddenly so very nauseating imagining herself so high up.

“Mm?” The man cocks his head, though the woman isn’t even using the mirror to look at him anymore; indeed, her eyes aren’t seeing anything that’s actually in front of her. He chides once again.

Damn...so sensitive…how annoying...

Then don’t make it worse! Fix it!

“...You needn’t think about that. I only eat you if you die.”

That is NOT AT ALL what she was thinking about, thank you very much!!!

Predictable as a jack in the box, fear encapsulates her again, shivers making her bolt straight up in bed. A hand searches blindly desperately across the blanket till it palms a pillow to shove into her face. A brow curls in confusion as he watches her muted scream, and then just as quickly, she stops, setting it back where it was. That helps a little. Unified, he and her exhale in release of stress, lest the remaining time get even longer than it already will be.

“You'll just be brought back again if you leave, you know…”

“I do, I do…Just.” She swallows, forcing herself to take in his visage in the mirror once more. The way his coat wraps around the plant structure causes the collar to taper off, sort of like a vampire's cape. “Never heard that one before.” ...No, she hasn’t heard that one before. Eating the dead... And she’s so morbidly curious--

--No. No, she’s not going to ask what they taste like!!! She needs the sky to stop spinning before that box can be unwrapped. God. Oh god...! She mouths a quick "bleh!" and vigorously shakes her brain free of the idea. Zetsu allows himself to smirk again, questions of her filling his own fascinated mind. A woman that may be of another world, perhaps across time and space...she's a weird one, indeed, but not in the way one would expect. Before he caught a whiff of it, the traveler had already put herself in the good graces of the Akatsuki's arguably most unstable members-- a talent of some sort, surely, amount of magic (or jutsu) involved still unknown. As much as one can ask how many of her fairy tales are real, how much of her self is one?

“Must be quite a few things you’ll experience for the first time.”

You strange thing, he ponders, what secrets do you keep...?

The infinite is in the wind, across the fluttering leaves and in the waves of grass. Ghosts and ghouls and Frankenstein’s monsters. The two aliens share this space as the other carries a whole other universe- way of existing- upon their back, both grotesque and incomprehensible. Another flash of lightning, and electricity fills the air with possibilities grand and grave. As she rests upon the bed, though eyelids beg to close, the exhausted woman finds herself staring at his split reflection in wonder. The flytrap tilts its torso forward till he can see his own face in the cracked glass, and he tries to see what she sees.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

But just like a vampire, I don't exist

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

[straightlightyagami]

uhh poasting first chapter of the death note fic here I guess? (next chapter)

I have never written fanfiction before, but I wrote this by popular demand (aka 2 mutuals). I have basically not written any fiction in years, and I’ve never shared any of my fiction writing. Most of my writing experience is mathematical proofs, tumblr posts, and academic essays. I have no idea what I am doing, especially in terms of writing style. kind of scared of poasting it. Please be niceys but also I am open to feedback. 

This fic is basically just "Light is a leftist au." It will obviously contain political content. it's a "modern au" (as in, set in the 2020s) for technology reasons. Also somewhat ooc but on purpose (Light is a bit more… compassionate and social justice-oriented. But he is still his murder-y self). Light is trans bc trans rights and wrongs and it makes sense for some things but I'm not sure how major it will be in the story (lmk if you have a preference for how you want it to be treated). If I continue this, I am planning to focus more on all of the murder and politics and such, there will most likely be no ships or romantic content. I have a rough idea of where I want it to go, but please share any ideas you have, or what sort of stuff you'd be interested to see, etc.

Light Yagami was more than just what one would call a straight-A student. A better description would perhaps be a precocious child, a genius, a prodigy, any number of synonyms. He had been told as much ever since he could remember, reinforcing what he had always known to be true, that him being different from others was simply a matter of superiority. Any way he was different, then, must have been simply confirmation of the fact.

Bored out of his mind in classes he could have aced five years earlier, most of the contents of which he could recite if shaken awake at three in the morning, he often found his gaze drifting outside, to the world beyond the windows. Days blending together, seasons drifting by before his eyes, flowers blooming and wilting, a backdrop to his internal monologue. And so, on that afternoon in late November, an afternoon that could have been any other, Light tuned out the droning of the teacher and the gossiping of his classmates and absently surveyed the school courtyard, thinking about everything and also nothing in particular. Everything in the world was so wrong. There was nothing he could do about it. He was getting hungry. Class would be over in five minutes.

There was nothing to look at in the courtyard, really. All of the students were in class and it was deserted, save for the occasional bird perched on a bush. It was in this atmosphere of almost painful mundanity that a strange view caught his sight, of some kind of object falling through the boundary of the golden sunlight above and the shadow of the building and landing in the grass. Squinting, he saw it was a book. Could someone have dropped it from a window? But there was no way for it to have followed that trajectory then… Perhaps it fell from an airplane?

***

The school day was over, and he turned to head home when he noticed the book lying in the grass like a black shadow. He felt a strange relief at the fact that nobody had taken it, and headed to pick it up.

“Death Note? The human whose name is written in this note shall die…”

Like one of those chain letters that claim to foretell your death. A stupid prank, that’s all it was. Too stupid for a smart boy like him. But a free notebook is a free notebook. Besides the ominous instructions, all the pages were blank. Surely its owner saw no value in it if they threw it out. What harm could it do to take it, if no one would reclaim it anyway? He tucked it into his bag.

After saying goodbye to a few classmates, he walked unhurriedly from his school to the train station, watching cars pass below the overpass and shielding his eyes from the sunshine of late autumn, the kind that shines bright but does not warm much. He entertained himself by thinking, if such a book really was real and he could kill anyone with it, what would he do? Most people would probably judge him for even thinking about it, but they didn’t need to know. A thought experiment never hurt anyone.

Everything he had been thinking for years, how the greed of those in power leads to the deaths of thousands of innocents. War, poverty, violent crime… These problems could be eradicated if he could strike fear into the hearts of the right people. A power like that could even be used to influence government policy, to create a more just society. Perhaps the people would even take it as a signal that a higher power wants them to free themselves of their capitalist overlords, maybe then people would be brave enough to resist injustice of their own accord. It was a nice vision, but not a realistic one. There was no way to fix the world so easily.

Sighing, he opened the door of his house, greeted his mother, and grabbed a bag of potato chips before ascending the stairs to his room. He set his school bag on the floor beside his desk and stood by the window as he ate his chips. Then he sat at his desk and took the mystery notebook out, rereading the instructions once again. A name and face and the victim is dead? Clearly, it was a fake and he was the idiot to get duped into picking it up. He lay down on his bed to rest for a bit before going to evening prep classes.

But… What if it was real? A curious person by nature, Light knew he would not be able to stop thinking about it until he tested it and confirmed it could not kill anyone. It could not possibly work, so it would not hurt to try.

Feeling he had lost to whoever the prankster was, he sat down at his desk again and took out a pen. The main criteria for whoever he tested it on were that it was someone deserving of death, in case it actually worked, and that he would be able to find out right away if it worked. He turned on the news and saw that there was a live broadcast from an active hostage situation where a man who was a known criminal was holding some kids at gunpoint in a school. This was the perfect test subject. If the notebook worked, he would save eight people (of course, the suspect could have been identified incorrectly, but it was out of his control to do better than that). If it didn’t… Well, that was the expected outcome. Kurou Otoharada, read the name next to the picture of the suspect on the screen. He wrote it down, visualizing the man’s face. Then, he sat back and waited.

Forty seconds passed. Nothing happened. The notebook’s power was not real, and his boredom and dissatisfaction with the state of the world were leading him to indulge in some messed-up prank. He berated himself for allowing himself to develop such a propensity for magical thinking.

But as he stood to turn off the television and get ready to go to class, something appeared to happen on screen. The hostages were coming out. The newscaster was reporting that the criminal had collapsed dead. 

He killed a person. He saved eight. It must have been a coincidence. He would have to test it again, just to be sure. With a specified cause of death this time.

***

It worked! There was certainly no doubt now. The probability that this man had been hit by a truck, as he had specified in the Death Note, by sheer coincidence was near zero. Again, he felt a strange relief. So he hadn’t made a mockery of his own intelligence by trying it (there was no harm in trying). But he was now a murderer. He leaned against the wall and threw up. 

The full gravity of what he had done only hit him then. He had not killed out of malice, but that changed nothing. Intention did not matter.

The reflections of the city in the rain mixed into his tears until all he could see was shining light. Somehow, he found his way back home. He took a minute to compose himself, then entered, gave his practice test scores into his mother’s outstretched hands, and calmly excused himself, saying he was tired and wanted to sleep early.

***

He wrapped the blankets around himself and burrowed his face into the pillow to stifle his sobs. There was no doubt in his mind that what he had done was right. No doubt that continuing to do it would be the only right thing to do. Could he do it? It would be impossible to kill and remain the same. Doing the right thing would mean sacrificing parts of himself. 

On the other hand, what was the other option? Doing anything else would be turning his back on pain and suffering that he was fully capable of preventing. He would be complicit in the evils he did not prevent because of his own selfish motives. Besides, who knew where the notebook came from? For all he knew, it could belong to some otherworldly creature that would appear at any moment and kill him for using a power that did not belong to him. He could not afford to waste time moping around.

[emmytooth]

thinking about an au where rani is the doctor, and adi john doe.

warnings for: sweet tooth-typical treatment of children (dehumanization, murder, etc)

rani, at first — is far more willing to overlook what it takes to keep her husband alive, even when she has to take over making the antidote. after all, it's not like she has to hunt the children herself. she keeps her assumption, willingly, that the hybrids are just mindless shells. they can't speak, can't feel. of course they can't. because if they could, what would that mean for adi? and what would that make her?

none of their neighbours have any reason to be suspicious of them. after all, adi has a constant stream of the antidote, despite his protests. (i will do whatever it takes to keep you safe, she'd said, once. she meant it.) he doesn't spread The Sick to anyone else.

but rani is tired of relying on an unpredictable, ever-changing antidote. she wants something permanent.

so, when general abbot and his last men come, try to rip gladys's research — rani's research, from her, rani makes a deal.

you need a scientist, and i need supplies. we both need a cure. leave my husband out of it, and i swear on his life, whatever it takes i will find one.

abbot, of course, does not leave her husband out of it. he pulls the same bird stunt he did in canon, and while rani is reasonably furious, there's not much she can do except work even harder on finding the cure.

a lot would happen from there.

i think rani and adi would have the same 'it's not too late to back out / there is no going back' dynamic as in canon, though a bit more muddled. since adi didn't have much part in all the cruelty, and rani's whole willingness in... y'know, the whole child murder thing kind of hinges on her willful ignorance of their sentience. when she meets gus, any of the hybrids, really — i imagine her world would come crashing down coming face to face with the undeniable evidence that they are very much people.

i think roy would still die here, since his death comes fairly early. it Takes a bit to comprehend everything rani is realizing, and dissociation is a hell of a drug. but i don't think peter would. maybe rani even rationalizes roy's murder by thinking, look at him. he's so... animal. surely he's not like the rest of them. he can't be.

and yet, when peter comes around, just as hybrid and even more violent, this time rani can't see anything but a scared boy, trying to survive.

i don't know. i've always liked role-swap aus, especially between functional opposites haha. i like the aspect of trying to keep the spirit/purpose of the character alive, while keeping in mind the differences that would naturally come

[another-heroine]

Handmade Heaven

A/N: Another week, another oneshot, and another mooties' oc. This time is about Kadira, @spyridonya's Knight Commander. After I've leaned more about her, I'd truly like to wrap her in a blanket and give a cup of hot tea.

Also, this story was inspired by Handmade Heaven by Marina. The Art Trade's theme for the week was Nature x Luxury, and in my humble opinion is natural for alike souls walk (or fly) together sooner or later.

War was really strange.

People were getting sick due to poisoning water and starving to death, but somehow the Clergy found it important to burn not only books, but a whole publishing house. Before they started the fire, the Master Inquisitor proclaimed th99e building’s indictment; “Incitement of fear over people in these trying times”.

From afar, Kadira felt her throat constrict, and she held her Gramps’ hand tighter. Did they ever see their effect over the people as well? What would a publishing house have to do about it? The girl read some novels from there, most of them were fiction about unknown kingdoms and Mendevian History.

What was wrong with the adults those days?

When the blazes were high, people began to spread away. The smoke filled every corner of the quarter, and it turned the sky darker than ever. Kadira felt the urge to scream, but she was too perplexed for that.

“Come, girl,” Gramps called with a tired snort.

She followed him instinctively, but Kadira couldn’t help to stop looking back. All those books lost…

“Why…,” she asked quietly.

Gramps glanced at her, and rubbed her shoulder in solidarity. He could only imagine how shocking that scene was for her. If he knew that their afternoon walking would end like that, he wouldn’t bring them around the former publishing house.

“Fear, child. It devours everything like a hungry wolf,” he replied, even if she didn’t finish her question.

“But it doesn’t make sense!” Kadira shook her head under the hood. “Those books were about valiant knights, fearless princesses, cursed princes. Why would they be scared of it?”

Gramps’ lips became a thin line. He hesitated to tell her the real meaning of that: stories, fictionals or not, were a way to keep your head above water, and when it was taken away from who most needed it, the helplessness could grow and turn its victims into simple puppets.

But Kadira was still a child, a little girl, and he delegated to himself to protect her from that grim world the best that he could. Even when death was in the air, ripping souls every day, and leaving a decay scent wherever it touched.

A flock of birds flew over the street, catching their attention. Suddenly, Kadira’s eyes lit up, forgetting the flames for a while. Although she was with her head covered, the old man noticed her thrill for the scene, the corners of her lips curving up and showing a bit of her fangs.

Gramps grinned; despite the struggles, there was that familiar spark of hope in her blue eyes. If she could ever know how important she was to him and his wife. He could only pray that one day more people would value her kind heart, and she never felt alone anymore...

…

It was obvious that Ekaterina was up to something. That aasimar was worse than Woljif when it was about pretending she was not scheming anything ever. First, because she couldn’t stop walking back and forth in the greenhouse. And second, like it wasn’t enough, even her halo was subtly flickering.

Kadira tried to ignore that, pushing her focus on her actual drawing. That odd Fly Trap had bloomed at last, and its small flower buds were fun to sketch. Her coal stash was running out, and nobody had any idea when a new shipment would arrive in Drezen, so she had to use what was on hand wisely.

But Katya and her uneasiness was luring the tiefling's curiosity. Keeping her eyes on the work in progress, Kadira asked, “Is something wrong?”

She could spot the moment when Ekaterina stopped abruptly and turned in her direction. “Sorry?”

“You are nervous. What’s on your mind?”

Kadira left the sketchbook by her side, and stretched her hooves. Dearest Shelyn, she was unaware how she needed it until that moment. The woman often lost track of the time when she was at the greenhouse. That place was a kind of haven for her, especially when outside was awfully cold.

Before the aasimar could react, they heard the door being opened.

“We’re back!” Yelena announced. The blue-skinned tiefling opened her arms theatric, while her brother came behind, carrying heavy packages.

“Where have you headed?” Ekaterina frowned. “Here, Bjorn, let me help you…”

“I’m… fine…,” he panted.

Kadira leaned her weight over a hip side and observed them. It was interesting how different they were, and yet had a sibling bond like anybody else.

It must be a sibling thing, she mused. She would never know, anyway. She was the only child in her family. At least she was until… everything had changed.

Kadira shook her head, and looked at her progress on paper. Those lines were beginning to look like a Fly Trap. Her hands were stained with coal, and she needed to wipe that out before going on, otherwise she would spoil everything.

The little group next to her was giggling. Kadira glanced at them, and saw Yelena giving a weak punch on Bjorn’s arm, although both of them were laughing, while Katya was waving her hand to them, asking for something. When the sorceress approached, they stopped and looked at her.

“Hey Kadee.” Bjorn nodded. “How’s work? I mean, your drawing!”

“Oh, it’s going well, I guess.” She smiled coyly. “But I’m afraid that I got carried away. What time is it?”

“We are getting hungry, then I suppose it’s about dinner time!” He brushed a lock of blonde hair from his face.

“Do you have plans for tonight?” Yelena went straight to the point, her blackish scleras being more intimidating than she probably intended to.

Out of Kadira’s eyesight, Ekaterina bit her lips. Smooth like a moose.

“Oh, I…,” The red one gasped. “Actually, I have, yes. Sorry. I mean, why?”

Yelena and Bjorn exchanged glances for a moment, but quickly the first one grinned. “Oh, no problem. But we would like to invite you to dinner with us later, if you change your mind.”

“Oh, don’t worry about me, I will be fine,” Kadira assured, feeling her cheeks stinging. “I think I’m already abusing your goodwill, letting me walk around here while many people are working on…”

Ekaterina tilted her head. “But you do a lot of work, too.”

Kadira wanted to bury her head into the first plant pot that she could find. Why was she like that when people were kind to her? And they weren’t strangers at all, since Katya’s family arrived in Drezen a long time ago, after they got rid of that White Witch.

She didn’t know what to say, then only shrugged and smiled oddly. “Well… I… I must go.”

While she was taking her belongings as fast as she could, Bjorn tried to calm her down, “Wait, it’s ok. Do you need any help?”

“No, I’m just… late. Sorry.” She couldn’t look into anybody’s eyes. Kadira darted from the greenhouse, and didn’t mind about leaving coal on everything, she would clean that mess later.

The Irriseni siblings looked at each other and, in the end, Ekaterina and Bjorn judged Yelena with their glances.

“What?” The tiefling grimaced. “I was following the plan!”

...

Instead of heading to her quarters and hiding from the world until the next morning — after punishing herself for being awkwardly social —, her hooves guided Kadira to the woods. The trees there weren’t green like in other places for being touched by the demoniac blight, but at least there were no monstrosities lurking behind every forest element. It was reasonably safe for sitting down and venting alone.

Kadira hid between large roots of an old oak.

“Ugh, you should have only said ‘no’,” she thought out loud, twisting a hair lock on her index. “Now they are going to think that I’m weird.”

And they would be right. She was weird. A rootless Sarkorian, a goat-legged demon, a cursed child. She wasn’t called by many ruthless names for nothing, besides the people’s prejudice and cruelty.

She was weird, and being a tiefling was just the ice on the cake.

Kadira heard a chirping. She looked up and saw a family of bluebirds building a nest. They were putting all their effort into their new home, and she kept her neck stretched, until Ekaterina called, “Kadee?”

She stuttered and pulled herself to the farthest possible from the surface. But her attempts were useless; birds and squirrels revealed her position. She couldn’t understand any noises, but she was sure that Ekaterina could do very well, with them hopping and chirping and screeching.

“Are you wedged?” The druid was concerned.

“No, I’m fine.” Kadira frowned, embarrassed.

Ekaterina held a smile and stretched a hand. “You don’t look comfortable.”

Kadira got out from the makeshift hideout, and kept her eyes low.

“How…,” She cleaned her throat. “How did you know where I was? I mean, the hooves?”

“Actually, the hooves and the coal trail.” The aasimar pointed to the ground. “I think you stepped on some halfway.”

Kadira left a heavy breath escape. Indeed, there were coal remains under her feet. Maybe she let some drawing supplies fall from her pack.

“There you are!” Bjorn arrived. “Are you ok?”

Yelena followed his trail in silence. With them reunited, Kadira was honest, “I didn’t mean to worry you, I just…”

They won’t hurt you, it’s alright…

“I’m just grateful for your kindness. And I don’t know how to react ever. I’m sorry.”

Yelena glanced at Bjorn. Ekaterina smiled warmly.

“You don’t have to apologize for it, ok? And… Well, we have something for you. That’s one of the reasons for the dinner invitation…”

Kadira blinked, confused. “What is it?”

Yelena revealed a small package that she was holding behind her. “It’s yours. Mother who made it.”

She opened the gift and got mesmerized. Kadira looked at the piece and at Ekaterina. “I… I can’t…”

“Oh, you will!” Bjorn mocked.

She unfolded the long scarf and wrapped it around her neck. It was very warm and fuzzy. Somehow, it reminded her of her Gramma’s knitting works.

Ekaterina crossed her arms with satisfaction. “Mother said that she couldn’t bear anymore watching you outside for long hours without appropriate clothes.”

Yelena winked. “Or a hot soup.”

Bjorn rolled his eyes, impatience. “C’mon, the food is getting cold. And you don’t want to see me hungry.”

“Yeah, yeah, you get more insufferable. If it’s really possible.” Ekaterina gave her arm to Kadira leans on. “Let’s get back.”

Kadira nodded, feeling not only her neck and torso warmer, but also her heart.

Gramps' soul could rest in peace. She found her flock.

[geminiiviolets]

Caspian Lycoris

༉‧₊˚✧ BASIC INFORMATION Age: 500+

Gender: Unknown (they/them pronouns)

Sexuality: Bi

Birthday: February 26 (Pisces)

Species: Fae

Homeland: Briar Valley

Twisted from the Grim Reaper

༉‧₊˚✧ APPEARANCE

Height: 200 cm (6’7’’)

Eye color: White

Hair color: White with streaks of black

Distinctive traits: White marble-like horns, pointed ears

Additional notes/characteristics: Their skin is always very cold to the touch

༉‧₊˚✧ PERSONALITY & BACKSTORY

Description: There are many names that people seem to have for Caspian, but none are their own. “The Cursed One”, “The Blind Horror”, or just simply “that one fae from Terrovania that scares the shit out of me”. But whether they fit any of these labels is up for debate by everyone but themself. In reality, Caspian just wants some friends. Like please give this poor fae some friends, they’re not gonna leech your soul right out of you…or if they do, they’ll give it back.

Flaws: Keeps to themself too much, can be too morbid at times

Fears: The loss of freedom, the loss of hope

Talents: Casting spells, being patient, playing the piano

Family: Father, step-mother, two younger half-siblings

Backstory: Born in Briar Valley to two loving parents, the fae that would later be known as Caspian lived their childhood in relative happiness and stability. However, this was all interrupted one day when a guest arrived, claiming to be a “friend” of their mother. Unbeknownst to Caspian, their mother was once a powerful witch, and this “friend” felt threatened by this power. The guest attempted to put a curse on Caspian’s mother but they missed and accidentally cursed young Caspian instead. This would alter the course of Caspian’s fate for the rest of eternity.

Now this curse was not a regular one, conjured from the depths of Tartarus, Hell, or some other dark dimension, with the intent to drain a person of all of their livelihood and render them unable to be around others. This curse has no specific name but is said to be a “fate worse than death”. However, depending on the person, the curse can mutate and change because it is so powerful, thus also very unpredictable. In Caspian’s case, the curse gave them large horns that look similar to marble, milky white eyes, and drained their skin of color. Corpse-like, one could call it. The curse also gave them a condition called “draining”, which would soon become Caspian’s unique magic.

Caspian’s mother tried to do everything in her power to reverse this and cure her child, but nothing seemed to work. She eventually left on a long journey in attempt to find something that was rumored to cure any ailment, including magical ones, but she never returned. Caspian was left with their father, who was dumbfounded as to what he should do and how to continue raising Caspian. Years flew by and Caspian’s father remarried and had Caspian’s half-siblings. The family slowly grew more and more distant from Caspian, while the rest of the world seemed to do the same thing. Whether it be because of their ghostly appearance, or the rumors that seemed to lurk in every corner about them, Caspian was left quite alone.

༉‧₊˚✧ SCHOOL INFORMATION

Dorm: Terrovania (@terrovaniadorm)

Class: 2-A

Best subject: Ancient Curses

Worst subject: Animal Languages

Club: Not a part of any

༉‧₊˚✧ MISCELLANEOUS

Likes: Genuinely kind people, rainy weather, good handwriting

Dislikes: Greed, fireworks, the smell of roses

Favorite food: Bagels

Least favorite foods: Poultry, lollipops

Hobbies: Sewing, bird-watching, playing the piano

༉‧₊˚✧ THOUGHTS ON OTHER CHARACTERS

Alice (@starry-night-rose): “She’s like the older sister I never had. I really like being around her, and am happy that she’s there for me when I need it.”

Maria (@windbornearchon): “She’s a bit self-centered, but like Alice, she’s been very kind to me in the past. However, if I didn’t know that she drinks non-alcoholic beverages I would have thought she would have died from alcohol poisoning by now”

Vin (@authoruio): “I don’t care if he’s nice on the outside, there’s something about him that makes a chill go up my spine. He doesn’t intimidate me much though, he’s too short for that. Also what is with the trend of people in this dorm drinking so much?”

Idia: “First time I met him was when I accidentally ran into him in the hallway. He said something quickly about a “jumpscare IRL” and then ran away. What that was supposed to me is beyond me.”

Malleus: “I respect him enough, him being the crown prince of my homeland. I have not met him personally, however.”

༉‧₊˚✧ UNIQUE MAGIC

“Empty Your Mind, Drain Thy Soul”

The user of this spell slowly consumes the soul of a living creature, leaving the creature unconscious and in some cases, magicless. The soul can be returned by the user, if they so desire.

Caspian, being a fairly gentle being, has rarely used this spell, only in certain emergencies or when they feel highly threatened. They have almost always returned the soul back.

༉‧₊˚✧ TRIVIA

• Caspian’s name is not their given name, but instead a nickname that came about from their white eyes and horns, because Caspian means “white” and of course people from Briar Valley have to be extra when it comes to nicknames. They liked the nickname better than their actual name, so they adopted it many years ago. They can barely remember their original name now.

• Their height surprisingly was not a side effect of the curse, but just them having the tall genes.

• Their voice is surprisingly quite deep and isn’t as light and airy as some people may imagine it to be