#that skeleton has been standing vigil for years

[pumpkingeorge]

Tornado stole my neighbor's giant lawn skeleton

[zahri-melitor]

Newish Comics:

Taking a break from ploughing through Santa appearances for the week’s comics.

Batman & Robin #3: ahahahaha “dedicated instructors who showed me the deep knowledge of the world”.

Damian. Sweetheart. You were TEN. I have no doubt you learnt a lot of complex things but also firstly you didn’t synthesise everything and secondly you simply didn’t have the TIME to learn ‘everything’.

That done, Bruce please explain socialisation and ‘working on a civilian cover’ to Damian, so he will go to school. Remember civilian covers? And secret identities?

Ooh Man-Bats! (I’m sorry, I’m here in this book for the Bruce and Damian moments, but I don’t actually mind the concept of Shush and White Rabbit? I like that White Rabbit is leaning into the Japanese aesthetics that Damian uses for his art)

Outsiders #1: I hate to say it, but my back is already up. Luke Fox, describing Kate Kane's background as "we both trained under one of the most brilliant tactical minds to ever exist" - are we talking about Jacob Kane? Because I wouldn't call him that. And I wouldn't say that Kate trained under Bruce Wayne.

Also the wig? That was originally Jacob's choice and to help with concealing her identity. If Kate actually had issues with it she would have ditched it years ago.

Not knowing fundamental basics like this about Kate is worrying me (unless there's been some retcon I haven't read yet?)

On the other hand... JENNY SPARKS SIGHTING!!! (Well, her skeleton. Apparently) JENNY MY SWEETHEART.

...I'm going to give this a go, since it's Kate and since it's MY FAVOURITE JENNY. I'm being cautious though.

Speed Force #1: oh this however is just fun vibes. I think it's our new light-hearted Flash book, with Si Spurrier doing more complex things over in Flash proper.

The Vigil #6: Ram V landed this. I still feel like all of the characters are specific commentary on other DC characters, but watching the team pull together and Castle explain what had been missed was very satisfying in that ‘heist film’ sort of scene where they flip the board and suddenly reveal what was going on.

Wesley Dodds: The Sandman #2: as this is the first Rossmo title I've seriously read, I am appreciating his art and I think getting used to it on a title where I don't have strong feelings about the characters involved will stand me in good stead.

World's Finest: Teen Titans #5: I’ve got to say, I love that the cover is a scene only tangentially related to the plot. Classic silver age vibes. This scene does not occur.

Wally! Love your snark, kid.

Garth! Surfing on/in Wally’s speed wake!

Also Dick finally decided reveal his ID.

Warlord #26: this week in Travis Morgan's adventures... DEIMOS IS BACK! Hello, Deimos! Planning to slink around evilly, are you?

Excitingly, Travis gets to fight a two-headed snake necked dragon this issue. Unfortunately this does not result in any bondage. Missed opportunity there, Grell!

This issue we are in a hidden maze temple, where they have to break apart an amulet and fit the pieces into rock niches to illuminate the way via the light bouncing. It is a VERY gaming dungeon sort of plot. However as each piece is fitted, a vision occurs. Travis is directed in how this works by a talking parrot. (A normal one, not an anthropomorphic one)

Travis sees visions of Tara but she's blaming him for betraying her, and given she was staring into a river and sighing over how much she loved and missed him last issue I think we can safely say this is a false vision. (All the visions say nasty things that mostly are guilt nightmares)

Once the maze is complete, Travis is offered the chance to gain his 'heart's desire' by stepping into the light (which has been causing all the terrible visions)

And Travis' wants to start over...so he gets transported back in time (to what looks like Neanderthal times but this IS Skartaris, it could just be last Tuesday)

[wellthebardsdead]

Sylas: *a snow elf hiding out in an old nord barrow, been alive for only a few hundred years, icy blue skin, dark hair and blue eyes, could easily be mistaken for a Draugr at a distance despite his handsome face. Was born in the chantry of auriel before fleeing when the infected betrayed arrived and slaughtered what remained of his kin, now doing whatever he can to get by with no care for who he hurts in the process* … hm?… *glances up from his book hearing voices approaching the barrow* Ugh… again?… *sighs and quickly lays down in one of the crypt slots in the wall so his face is hidden listening closely*

Vigilant: Are you sure this is the right place? It looks like something very much alive has been dwelling here.

Vigilant 2: I’m sure it’s just the locals being paranoid but if there really is a Draugr that can summon blizzards lurking here, we need to be sure. *starts moving along the wall quietly inspecting the skeletons and the few Draugr that never woke back up* hm… they all seem pretty dead to me. *walks by sylas and stops before gently touching his very cold skin* they did a great job preserving this one. He must’ve been important.

Sylas: *gritting his teeth trying to slow his breathing* …

Vigilant: *opens the door leading into the barrow to see it completely caved in* well there’s no way anything could have emerged from further within it. And judging from the food and the bed roll, it’s probably just a hunter using this place as an outpost.

Vigilant 2: Mhm. But, we can’t risk it. If one of these guys do wake up after we’ve left well be putting the nearby villagers in danger.

Vigilant: I agree. I’ll start building a fire to burn the bodies, it’s your turn to handle them, after that last one leaked it’s fluids on me I don’t think I can stomach it again.

Vigilant 2: pffft it was just water from the leak above their resting place.

Vigilant: and it smelled disgusting. Hurry it up and move them. I’ll go gather some firewood.

Vigilant 2: *sighs and watches them go before looking back at sylas* I’m sorry my friend, forgive me for disturbing your rest- *lifts him up and freezes seeing the handsome snow elf’s face, blue eyes staring at into his soul* I-

Sylas: Haven’t you heard of knocking? *stabs him in the neck, landing on his feet as the vigilant drops him and stabbing him again in the gut*

Vigilant 2: *uses the last of his life to throw a fireball in the snow elf’s face temporarily blinding him* h-eglp! *bleeds out and drops dead on the cold stone ground*

Sylas: *screams holding his thankfully unharmed face as he staggers out of the barrow and towards the other Vigilant standing there with his weapon drawn*

Vigilant: *just sees a blue skinned figure staggering from the barrow and thinks he’s a draugr* SHIT- *grabs a flaming log throwing it at him*

Sylas: *can’t see, coughs as the log hits him square in the chest setting his shirt on fire* AGHH!!! *swiftly summons a torrent of ice to put it out only to get whacked hard over the head by the vigilants mace* Y-you’ll pay for that!!! *grabs hold of them and throws them down the hillside only to lose his footing and tumble after hitting the ground with a hard thud as he lands* Ugh-… *looks up to see how far he’d fallen, vision still blurry from the fire in his face* … *looks over to see the vigilant, laying dead from the fall* …Serves y-you bastards right… *huffs and gets to his feet* c-can’t get any p-peace- why can’t I just be l-left alone- *winces holding his side*

*SNAP!*

Sylas: *quickly turns around in time to see a flash of blue fur and an arrow flying towards him* Wha- *freezes feeling it go right through him* … *staggers back and collapses, unconscious* …

———

Sylas: *groans rubbing his eyes as the light hits them, sits up slowly realising he’s moving* hnuh?…

Ralof: hey. You, you’re finally awake.

[fabricated-misslieness]

 ♡〜could i req flirting with kaeya or childe? maybe a bit dirty jokes and just flirting/teasing (playfully) with them to try to get them flustered or something.... i love them, thats it thats the statement-anon〜♡

Kaeya Alberich x Knight of Favonius male reader

I don’t actually if that’s a corset or not.

Requested: Yes

Word Count: 962

Warnings: one moan, suggested nsfw

Over the past few months, you trained to become a Knight of Favonius. 

You were strong, confident, vigilant and polite; although you were also older, garnering more experience than others.

It was safe to say you were better than the other candidates, even surpassing the maid knight Noelle, and it was quite obvious you were to be chosen at the next recruitment.

It was no surprise when you became an official knight.

The only thing somewhat shocking about your recruitment was that Kaeya was not allowed to give his own feedback on you. You didn’t dwell on it at the moment, but you had a feeling it was because of your extensive, for lack of better terms, relationship with the Cavalry Captain.

How such information had become public - or knight knowledge, you didn’t know. Kaeya wasn’t one to run his mouth on his personal secrets.

As a consolation for not being able to praise you, something quite silly to console, but the quartermaster only wanted time with you, Kaeya was taking you out to buy your first corset.

“You see, corsets are not only for beauty.” The captain would remind you. “They provide support, if tightened properly.”

In order to convince you, he had to assure that no, the corset would not cut off your respiration or circulation; and yes, his claims were correct. After all, many knights wore corsets of their own. Doubting was normal and natural, but the amount of times he had to reassure you were countless.

The shop had provided you with a dressing room. It was a big, private, and enclosed area; you could do many things here that included the opposite of the room’s actual purpose.

“And you’re sure I’ll be fine?” You call out from behind the room divider.

“Extremely sure.” He replies confidently. “So much so, that I can tell you confidently that I fight worse without one.”

“The Cavalry Captain, Kaeya, worse without a simple item of clothing?” You laugh audibly.

He replies with a laugh of his own, “Believe it or not, they serve a purpose.”

You don’t give him a response for a couple seconds. He presumes it’s because you’re struggling with your corset, so he takes the opportunity to tease you about it.

"How hard could it be to tighten a corset?"

His jest almost gets to your head until you realize he's only trying to fluster you. "Says the person who's been wearing a corset every day for years."

"Touche. Even so, I don't recall spending hours trying."

He may not be able to see your eye roll, but he can certainly sense it. "It has not been hours."

He drops that subject, opting for another. "Even if it hasn't, would you like a bit of help?"

"You insisted I do it on my own, plus you only want to share a few kisses before leaving me to do it alone." Some other times he promised to help you dress, but the next second you were making out and slowly undressing again. He was not to be trusted in a situation like this.

"I'm offering my help now."

"No need."

It was a little hard to tighten your corset, especially since Kaeya insisted you do it without guidance as you would every consequent morning, but you’d managed. As you stepped out of the small room divider, your lover looked you up and down.

You could see a small, playful smirk on his lips and a familiar attraction in his eyes. “What do you think?”

He whistles in awe, continuing to admire your figure. “The corset’s beautiful.” He doesn’t mention the lack of shirt - perhaps ignoring it on purpose.

You roll your eyes, “This was for support, was it not?” 

Kaeya nods, standing up from the waiting chair. He makes his way over to you, closing in on you almost like prey. If it weren’t for your past intimate experiences together, it would’ve been a little intimidating.

Now in front of each other, a small distance apart, he reaches out a hand to touch your corset. However, his fingers trail down from your bicep, their destination still being the item of clothing itself. He meant to do that on purpose, you were sure, and the path his fingers followed seemed to burn your bare skin in their wake. 

The moment is over in an instant, which is slightly disappointing.

“Firm boning.” He squeezes a part of the skeleton between his grip, somehow slipping a finger on the side pressed to your body. While feeling the middle to be tight enough, you’d forgotten the upper and lower parts.

“Not tight enough, though, see?” He wiggles the finger between the corset and your body for emphasis, but all you can focus on is him. He looks up at you, catching your eyes.

“Something you’re seeing on me, recruit?”

“Just your beauty.”

The cavalry captain bites his lips, eyes suddenly half-lidded clouded with lust as they stare at your lips. “I promised myself we would buy your corset without any distractions.”

“What sort of distractions?” You had to hold back from kissing him right then and there, for the sake of flirty banter.

“I’m sure many things come to mind.” He finally looks at you, eyes intense and piercing. “Don’t they?”

“Oh, plenty of things come to mind.” You agree, hands landing on his hips and slowly moving to hook together around them. Kaeya moans quietly when a lost finger presses against his ass a little, it’s not loud enough for you but you can hear it again later. “I just want you to be more specific.”

The Cavalry Captain went on to list many, many things which he wants to do. Needless to say, you might have done a few.

[haruchiyos]

A Requiem for Lost Souls

 If this world had taught you anything, it was that tragedy did not discriminate. After fate’s cruel hands stole happiness from you, prophecy foretold that the only avenue to achieving vengeance was by means of absolute power. A journey of bloodshed, corruption, and heartache lies before you; will you emerge stronger and with your morality intact or fall victim to the corruption of your own power?

Welcome to my first series: A Requiem for Lost Souls! This is a dark fantasy au for My Hero Academia that will feature heavy angst, war themes, smut, and multiple love interests. This post will serve as the navigation for the series, as well as hosting a plethora of references for the world building, lore, and cast within this series that readers can utilize whenever need be. No spoilers will be featured here. 

Special thanks to @penallphe and @atsymu for all the love they showed toward my original series of which this project is an off shoot of. I wouldn’t have made the leap to share my world building here on tumblr if it wasn’t for the three of you. Thank you

Chapter 0

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MINORS DNI

— Geography

The Empire of Zardovia 

The Zardovian Empire is composed of five self governing kingdoms that are each dominated by a different type of life form. Every twenty years a tournament is held to determine the next ruler of the empire. Through a series of tests and battles the last triumphant warrior that is left standing becomes the ruling emperor and is given the responsibility of maintaining the peace between the five very different kingdoms within the empire. The nature of this tournament means that power is the sole governing force in the empire, only the strong will rule — their moral compass does not matter. The Forbidden City is home to the Emperor, their advisors, their consorts, their servants, as well as the Royal Army — all other citizens of the empire are prohibited from entering unless granted permission by the Emperor or their advisors.  

The Kingdom of Yestad 

This mountainous region of Zardovia is home to the most plentiful species within the realm: Highland Elves. Having once been the land of giants, copious amounts of gargantuan skeletons can be found propped against cliff faces with monstrous swords still at their sides. Being the homeland of the first Emperor — Zardor the Conqueror — Yestad’s capital is the most beautiful, extravagant, and lively city within the entire empire. Inside the capital city Vaelantis the only living members of the first emperor’s bloodline rule justly to ensure that their people are always kept satisfied and protected. With dragons guarding Vaelantis and Leshen roaming the icy forests at the edges of the kingdom, Yestad is a land rich with life and power.

The Kingdom of Draelon 

Bordering Yestad’s western mountain range is the desolate land of the Draelonian Kingdom — the land of the Necromancers. Despite the majority of its population remaining with the capital city of Yusan, Draelon is a large nation predominantly composed of expansive flatlands dubbed ‘the wastes’. The sandy soil within the plains makes it virtually impossible for any life to be sustained aside from the vigilant snake or scorpion. This void of liveliness also translates to the capital; the citizens of Draelon are the unwelcoming, cold, intellectual type with little to no interest in anything other than studying forbidden magick. Nicknamed ‘the land of the dead’ it is understandable why visitors rarely find themselves within the gothic architecture of Yusan. At its most northern tip lies The Catacombs of Selarith: a sanctuary for the most powerful Necromancers and their students. Governed by the most powerful Necromancer known as the Lich, Draelon has experienced the longest era of peace of all five kingdoms within Zardovia due to the strict nature of its social hierarchy and heavy cultural focus on obeying those who are above you.

The Kingdom of Hiral

Hiral is a chain of islands inhabited by various kinds of Shifters: lycan, serpent, feline, and avian. The island nation is a collection of small villages and towns living almost entirely independent from one another. Most citizens tend to live within towns dominated by their same race of Shifter, however the capital city Triwen is an exception to this trend. With constant conflict between the differing races the governing tribunal of elders would not be able to keep civil war from breaking out without the help of the emperor and the warriors of the crown. However, a positive byproduct of the diverse population within Hiral is that it is the best Kingdom within Zardovia to travel to and experience new walks of life and cultural practices.

The Kingdom of Keston

Keston is the largest region of the Zardovian Empire by land mass and as a result has the most variety to its landscape. From ice covered mountaintops and gigantic glaciers in the north to desolate deserts and volatile volcanoes in the south, Keston’s ranging biomes are a direct reflection of the people that inhabit them. Elemental wielders of eight different types roam the expansive kingdom and live in the region most akin to the element they use. Keston’s capital city is far less extravagant than the capital cities of Yestad or Draelon; this is because its only inhabitants are the eight members of the High Council who govern Keston along with their servants and guards. At its northeastern most tip lies the Mountains of Lonara — the tallest mountain range within the entire empire — and within its most remote peaks is the Temple of the Oracles where the most powerful elemental wielder along with her disciples are imprisoned.

The Water Kingdom 

While not actually being a cohesive nation the stretch of ocean north of Hiral has been dubbed ‘The Water Kingdom’. Within the Drowned City of Illisal lies countless relics of magical power as well as national treasures guarded fiercely by sirens and various kinds of sea monsters. Because of the tempting call to steal these sacred and priceless items, factions of pirates and thieves have built a lawless sanctuary on the abandoned islands of Otabiza. The geographic location of Otabiza combined with Zardovia’s lack of Naval power means that the Kingdom of Anarchy remains active and unchallenged by the crown.  

— Species

The Highland Elves 

 A proud species with a deep connection to nature, the elves worship a goddess of life simply called “The Mother.” At birth the mother pairs an elf with a specific species of animal that the elf will be able to control and communicate with. The specific species one is paired with is entirely based on their connection to the earth and its life force: the stronger the connection the more powerful the species. The Mother gifts the most powerful with dragons, demons, and even Leshen, while the weaker are paired with deer, rabbits, and sheep. The elves are also blessed with exceptional healing powers and the ability to read the auras of those around them. 

The Necromancers 

Mortal practitioners of magick with unparalleled intellect, the Draelonian Necromancers are better kept as allies rather than foe. Outwardly they present themselves as normal human beings, their only identifiable trait are their unnaturally colored eyes which can vary from a bright bloody red to a royal purple. They worship Azrael — the goddess of death — and heed any prophecies told by the Oracle that relate to her. What Necromancers lack in fighting prowess, they more than make up for with their mastery of chaos magick. Lower level Necromancers have the ability to commune with the dead, summon familiars and cast mild spells, however the High Necromancers can raise the dead, control demons — for a price — and cast extremely powerful spells. In the same manner that a Necromancer cannot compare to the power levels of a High Necromancer, even the most powerful High Necromancer’s power pales in comparison to that of the Lich. Teeming with unrivaled magickal power, the Lich can raise — and sustain — armies of the dead and even steal life force from other mortal beings to extend their own lifespan. 

The Shifters 

The islands of Hiral are home to Zardovia’s smallest people, by population, shifters. While considered the weakest collective species in the empire, the shifters excel greatly in physical combat due to their more animalistic natures. There exists a massive variety of shifter races within Hiral, however the most common are wolf, feline (lion, panther, tiger, etc), serpent (snakes), and avian (hawks, falcons, crows, etc). A child will always be the same race as its mother, for example if a child’s father was a feline shifter while its mother was a serpent shifter, the child would also have to be a serpent shifter otherwise the mother’s body would reject the fetus.  A shifter’s power level is generally determined by race, with few exceptions; wolves and felines on average possess the greatest combat skills, however a serpent’s poison and an avian’s flight are not to be taken lightly. All shifter’s possess limited psychic ability in the form of claircognizance, if a shifter says that they have a bad feeling about someone or something, it’s best to heed their advice. 

The Elementals 

The final and most abundant people are the Kestonian Elementals. As implied by their name, these people are masters of elemental magick. At the age of ten a young Elemental will pick an elemental god to become their patron. There are eight gods in total, Aesther (light), Erebus (darkness), Oxylus (earth), Aeolus (air), Hasmal (fire), Veris (water), Astrape (lightning), and Khione (ice). If a child is then accepted by that god they will be blessed with the powers of that god’s same element (ex those that have Hasmal as their patron will wield fire). An Elemental’s power and strength comes directly from their connection to their patron, the more they please their god the more powerful they become, however that strength can be taken away without notice if their god feels so inclined. All wielders will have the ability to summon and control their specific element at will, however only the most powerful wielders of each element have the ability to regenerate.

— Major Characters

reader : Twenty year old Elemental wielder of lightning and younger sister of Shouta Aizawa. Resides with family in the capital of Yusan after her parents fled Keston with Shouta prior to her birth. 

Shouta Aizawa : Twenty-seven year old Elemental wielder of darkness and elder brother of reader. Works as a mercenary within the capital. 

Hitoshi Shinsou : Twenty year old wolf shifter and reader’s childhood best friend. 

Katsuki Bakugou : Twenty-one year old Elemental wielder of fire, his parents are close allies with reader’s parents. 

Tomura Shigaraki : The Lich and ruler of Draelon. It is unknown how old he actually is as he hasn’t aged a day in the past twenty years and has no living relatives to speak on his birth. 

Touya “Dabi” Todoroki : Twenty-four year old Highland Elf and crowned prince of Yestad. It is unknown which animal he is paired with as his father never allows him to be seen by the public eye. 

— Minor Characters 

reader’s parents : Elemental wilders of fire living and working in Yusan as blacksmiths following their escape from Keston. 

Toshinori Yagi : Forty-nine year old Elemental wilder of light and current emperor of Zardovia. 

Enji “Endeavor the Great” Todoroki : Forty-six year old Highland Elf paired with dragons, current King of Yestad. 

Shouto Todoroki : Nineteen year old Highland Elf also paired with dragons, youngest son of the Yestadian King and brother to Touya. 

Taishiro Toyomitsu : Twenty-nine year old Lion shifter and general of the Royal Army. 

Nomu : Reader’s pet chimera of an unknown age.

The Oracle : An immortal Elemental wielder confined to the temple of Lonora where she conveys the wishes and prophecies of the gods while also telling the fortunes of young elementals once they turn twenty years old. 

More to be added ...

— Creatures

Chimeras : A hybrid being created from experimentation that is comprised of the parts of two or more other creatures. 

Leshens : An extremely powerful mythical being that stands over ten feet tall with a mangled humanoid body composed of fossilized wood and the head of a buck. They roam the solitary forests of Yestad and are to be avoided at all costs. 

Demons : An umbrella term for malevolent spirits and entities. 

Wondering Spirits: Undead souls of those who did not worship or believe in a god during their mortal life.

Reapers : Wondering spirits working under Azrael that collect the souls of the dead from their mortal bodies and transport them to the afterlife. 

Wraiths : A malevolent wondering spirit trapped in the mortal realm. They are known to feed off the energy of the living so beware. 

The Undead : Soulless bodies that are reanimated by Necromancers. 

Sprites : Harmless sentient bundles of energy that present as one of the eight elements. It is considered good luck for an Elemental to have a sprite of the same power. 

Familiars : A low-level entity under the control of a Necromancer; they will usually present themselves in the form of an animal (raven, cat, crow, dog, etc).

Sirens : Dangerous creatures that inhabit the deep waters of the Drowned City. Be wary of their coaxing song, it only promises death. 

Leviathan : The underwater guardian of the magickal relics of Zardovia. 

More to be added ...

© viixens 2021. All content is my own; do not repost, modify, copy, or claim.

[aka-indulgence]

So. This was a.. detailed dream I had a week or more ago? the one I referenced in an ask... and I feel like writing out that scene because hoo... so many thoughts

--------

It was dark.

Night had fallen. It was late, most people have gone back into their humble homes and gone to sleep.

That wasn’t the case with the castle. Guards stood... well, guarded near the front gates, and near all other entrances on the ground. Not to mention, the ones making regular rounds inside the castle itself. All to keep the royals safe from anyone who wanted to get in for one reason or another. Theft, murder, sabotage....

...kidnapping...

Anyone would have a hard time just attempting to get in.

...

A raven watches from the distance, tilting its head this way and that, surveying the castle.

It flies, with its feathers as black as the night sky, no one sees it. And who would take another glance at a bird flying around?

It perches on the railing of a balcony on the second floor of the castle, looking down at the guards that stood vigilant at their stations. Inside, there was nary a soul passing by.

The raven hops down from its rest- suddenly becoming enveloped in shadows and darkness. Its form warps, and where the raven was now stood a tall imposing figure as the shadow’s creep away from him.

A grin would be first to come to attention if anyone was there to witness it. A cloak covered most of his body, apart from his hands and face, where you could see that this man was a skeleton. His hands weren’t made of flesh but instead finger-like phalanges, with “palm” made entirely of bone that resembled a human’s, with tendon-like shapes connecting the fingers to the base of the hand. His head was not a head as you knew it, but instead a skull. It wasn’t shaped in how you’d expect a skull to be either, more rounded with less edges.

But if you thought that’d make him look less scary, think again. His sockets were empty, empty of emotion. The grin he wore was nothing short of uncanny, as he approached the doors to the inside of the castle.

The door shuts with a quiet “clack” and he looks around. When he doesn’t see any guards he runs quietly from one hall to the other.

He’s silent, his footsteps not making so much as a whisper, a thud, against the floor.

Every time a guard or more comes by he slides into the corners and walls, hidden in the shadow, covered by the darkness. He smiles to himself. He could kill these guards if he wanted to, but that’d be such a mess... when others find the body, more would come, and that would make his little trip so much more difficult than it needs to be.

He bounds across the carpeted floors, where he didn’t have to be so careful about the sounds he’s making. Sliding by hallways like the wind, taking detours into various rooms whenever he needed to; a clear map of the castle in his head, heading towards his destination.

were there always so many guards walking the halls? Sans, the skeleton in black, thought to himself as he sweeps to the right, near a support. then again... i never had to worry about being spotted by them before.

Ah yes... old memories of when he still lived in this place. Even after all these years, he still remembers where everything is, just like he remembers all the little scars that litter his phalanges.

And it’s come especially useful now... as he ascends a flight of stairs, passing by unsuspecting men who were supposed to be protecting something... someone very important... he finally spots a familiar wooden door.

He doesn’t waste time, only making quick looks here and there before he darts to it from the landing, opening the door and quickly making his way inside.

He would’ve closed the door immediately if he didn’t also the one he’s been after for so long now.

The light of the torches outside, coming in through the crack of the door falls almost perfectly on your face, highlighting it. You had your hands under your cheek, your eyes shut, a small smile on your face. You seemed to be in such a peaceful sleep... your eyelids fluttered a little and your brows knitted from the sudden light of the outside.

Sans slowly, brought his hand back to find the door and quietly pushed it close, unwilling to glance away from the fair maiden his eyesockets had fallen on.

“oh... (y/n)...” He sighed lovingly, his grin turning just a little bit warmer, making his way towards your bed; his cloak brushing the floor.

He bends his knees so his chest was to your bedside- to take a closer look at you.

it’s been so long since i’ve seen you, love... He reaches out to touch your face, but thought better of it, his phalanges flinching. He might wake you up with contact... he didn’t want to alarm you.

Instead, he brought his hands down to the thick blankets that covered you. Of course, you were still so... fragile. Unlike him. You couldn’t stand the cold... not as much as him.

His turned his head, seeing how the blankets were draped over your body, he could see just a little bit of how you were shaped. His eyesockets trailed up, and settled on your hair. They reflected a bit of the moonlight that was quietly glowing through the windows. It looked somewhat shiny... like silk.

He looked down to your face. The tips of his phalanges sank a little into the bedcovers, seeing just how soft your skin looked. It’s always looked soft to him, but now? Now it looked almost ethereal under the pale light. Your brows had relaxed and with the little, innocent smile on your face... oh, it’s like he was falling in love all over again. His grin widens dreamily, and his sockets go down to your hands. They were under your head, but one had moved to the pillow, giving him a look. They looked so soft too... so soft and delicate compared to his hands of bone. So small too... he wanted to brush the tips of his fingers against the back of your hand, he wanted to kiss your knuckles, he wanted to-

...

His grin falls.

He’s... always wanted to hold your hands.

Back when he was still a proper member of this castle... when he was still one of the king’s mages, often times advising him in anything magic related. Whenever he thought of the perfect partner to spend the rest of his life with, it had always been you. He wasn’t really sure what started it. Maybe it was seeing you walk around the mezzanine so often as he was discussing with the other mages around the table below. Maybe it’s because of how sweet your smile looked. Maybe it was the way you were always so friendly to everyone, including the servants. He’s not sure. He’s always found himself staring at you whenever he saw you. Watching how your dress flows around you, the little movements your hands made when you were talking, listening to the sound of your laugh. He’s only talked to you once or twice, and he’s sure you’d forget about him...

There were plans. When the mages were looking to be betrothed, some had already known how taken he was with you (though they didn’t know to what extent). The lord had seemed interested too, as having such a powerful magic-user in the main bloodline would be ideal.

And... and then...

“YOU AREN’T WORTHY OF HER!” A voice booms through his skull, echoing from the past.

He found out how to use dark magic, and found himself to be quite skilled in it. He always thought light magic was fleeting... they had this way of slipping away from him whenever he used it. It never felt... powerful enough. But when he used dark magic... it was exhilarating. He’s never felt so much before. He knew it was taboo... he knew it was feared... but what is fear but something people don’t understand?

He saw potential in something everyone has always had an aversion to. Dark magic is dangerous if it’s let out of hand, if the user doesn’t know what to do with it. But he was learning. It came to him easier than it did with light magic. He was trying to use it to the benefit of everyone. And how did they repay him?

“Sans of Snowdin! Is it true you have been dabbling in the arts of dark magic?”

“y... yes... but! i swear to you brother! i only have the kingdom’s best interest in soul! i-i-”

“SILENCE mage! how can you say such a thing when you have been using such vile magic?””

“i... i’ve learnt how to use it, to control it! dark magic has aspects light magic doesn’t h-have, i could use it for good! i wasn’t trying to do anything treasonous!”

“That would sound honorable if we could believe you, Sans. Dark magic cannot be good. It’s in its nature. Normally we would try to purify the being corrupted by it but... you knew what it is, Sans. It is so sad to see the king’s finest mage turn out like this in the end.”

“n... no! you can’t... you can’t exi-!”

“Sans.” The lord stood. “I hereby exile you. Think of it as mercy, you could have been executed.”

The only thing on his mind was you... you were going to be his, he was so so patient... he waited for his bride, he was going to be happy with you, please...

“And to think I thought you worthy to marry my darling (Y/n)...”

“no... no!!”

They denied him your hand. They denied him you. He wasn’t trying to turn against them... he was loyal to the king..! And they cast him aside for using forbidden magic...

Your gentle hands... your warm embrace... your sweet smile...

Everything he was denied.

Tendrils of shadow danced across the ground as Sans bared his teeth to those who betrayed him. People he once called brothers... all turning against him when they found out he used dark magic in his lonesome.

“they could never keep me away from you, love...” He murmured, as he stood to his full height, and reached towards you. A hand took the blanket from his side and brought it under you while the other cupped you from the other side, picking you up, cradling you. He made sure the blanket was tucked around you properly, so you wouldn’t be cold.

“my sweet beloved (y/n)...” His hands shook, as he finally allowed himself to brush your hair away from your face, shivering as he felt your skin under his fingers. “you’ve always belonged to me. always... and i’ll love you with all of me. you’ll be safe with me, love...”

It’s apparent Sans got lost in the way your body settled in his arms, the sleepy sounds you made as you got comfortable. Turning your face to the warmth, cheek against his cloak, one hand gripping onto the cloth.

Because he didn’t notice the approaching footsteps, jolting when he heard the sound of a knock.

“My lady....” came the voice of your maid. “Is there something the matter? I hear voices in your room.”

Sans didn’t know what to expect- but in hindsight he should’ve guessed the maid would open the door without your answer. You’ve always been much more open with the workers in the castle, openly casual and making friends with all of them; though he didn’t know you saw your maid as more of your caretaker, and told her to come in your room if she thought something was wrong.

The door creaked open and light flooded the room, before settling on Sans. She made a gasp and Sans could see the color drain from her face when she saw the monstrous figure cradling you in its arms.

She saw him grin, not saying a word. Nor did she, as the next thing she did was to turn around and all but scream for the guards.

Many came running- but they were too late. When they came back, with the door still ajar, no one was inside. Not a trace of the monster or the lady was left, except for the way the bedsheets were messier than usual and that it lacked blankets. All was almost too quiet, apart from the almost silent wind blowing in through the now open window, the curtains lightly waving in it.

[urbiggestdaydream]

fear street: a review

happy spooky seasons babes!!! for every week in october, i'll be posting reviews on spooky movies and tv shows inspired by this Instagram post https://www.instagram.com/p/CUN2Xeth3N4/?utm_medium=copy_link attached in case you want any ideas for a spooky night in. this first review will be on the netflix original movie, fear street. one of my best friends is OBSESSED with this trilogy so it's dedicated to her. i told her someday i would watch it and today is the day :) 

fear street is a trilogy set around 1994, 1978, and 1666 respectively. for the sake of the review, i will be watching the first one. it runs for an hour and 47 mins and is rated r. the first opening line states, “it started as a prank and ended in murder” already intriguing. it sets the stage of a rebellious teenage age that could end in an accidentally murder or an supernatural circumstances that leads to murder. either one sounds good. i’m getting a little ahead of myself. the general plot is about a group of teens from the town of shadyville that try to rectify the brutal killings that plague their town. for more insight, keep on reading. it will contain major spoilers so you have been warned. 

SPOILER the movie begins with heather (maya hawke, a queen) who is working at a book store. a relatable girl with her “not like other girls” personality, she exchanges teasing banter with her friend, ryan who works near her. as the mall begins to close (named shadyside mall which serves as a foreshadow), she encounters the killer wearing a halloween skeleton mask. they wrestle around for a little bit and she is then killed afterwards. just when i started to like her. before her death, she unveils the killer and it is revealed as her friend ryan who she was just conversing with. 

the opening scene provides an inner look into shadyside and its reputation for being a murderous town. we are then told that this is a common thing. it has a neighboring town called sunnyvale. like the name suggests, it is the complete opposite. it is safe, wealthy and comfortable. it had a record breaking year of no violence as opposed to shadyside which is cursed with murders. it is dubbed “killer capital usa”. i wonder if this is used as a social commentary on how certain towns cannot be saved and are riddled with crime. but that is a discussion for another day. we are also given motifs of a witch being executed. could this be an illusion to events to come? 

we are met with a new protagonist named deena. deena is going through a breakup with someone named sam. she is heartbroken and resentful as sam is the reason she left band. we meet her friends, simon and kate, who are there to support her throughout the whole process and with that they discuss the current standing of their town with the recent murder of heather. a possible reason for the killings is considered: shadyside creates murders. certain people lose their breaking point and take it out on unsuspecting victims. it makes people go insane.

a town left in shambles once again. a candlelit vigil is held for the victims of the mall massacre hosted in sunnyvale. it is clear that the neighboring towns have animosity towards each other. it is giving pawnee vs. eagleton (shout out to parks and rec). with the rising tensions between them, a fight ensues with the two football teams. it is also revealed that the reason for sam and deena’s breakup is sam moving to sunnyvale. deena is displeased at her decision and i would be too but at the same time, i don’t blame sam. i would have left too if my life would be in danger just by being there. but that’s besides the point. enraged, everyone goes back to their respective homes with a few football players plus sam tormenting the shadyside team. several hyped up chants later, the shadyside team retaliate by throwing a cooler directed at the car. the car begins to swerve and hits a tree harming the people inside. grasping at life, sam begins to see visions which could be due to the accident, but it is assumed as the witch. 

now at home, deena sees the killer at her home and he also comes after kate. due to the events prior, they believe it is peter (one of the football players) and they visit the hospital where sam is held. deena goes on a rampage telling sam to control her psychotic boyfriend. however, peter was in the hospital the whole time and is killed right in front of their eyes thus disproving the theory. good riddance to him. they run away from him and getting away safely but like heather, they unveil him and it is revealed as the same person as before: ryan torres. they go to the police but they are disregarded because ryan was killed by sheriff goode when he killed heather. they decide to take this into their own hands. outside the station, simon encounters this girl that tries to kill him. josh, (deena’s brother) who has done research on the various shadyside killers, identifies the girl who tried to kill simon as ruby lane. the weird part is that ruby’s killings were over 30 years ago. the witch from the opening scenes, sarah fier, was executed in the 1600s (when the first shadyside killing was reported). these massacres are somehow all connected to her and it could be how normal people are suddenly becoming murderers because she is seeking revenge by inhibiting unsuspecting bodies. sam is her next victim as the killers are attracted to her blood and she is seeing the visions. they make a plan to kill kate to wane away the bad spirits and bring her back to life with an epipen. it works in the end, but simon and kate are eliminated in the process by the demons. 

the remaining survivors (deena, kate, and josh) go to the police and talk about their experiences. because they aren’t willing to give up information (which i don’t know the reason; i might have overlooked it), the murders are planted on the now deceased kate and simon. (a mild rant). what is bothering me about deena is that she didn’t properly mourn her friends killed in the crossfire. she’s so selfishly in love with kate that she completely disregarded her friends death. life just seems to be all good for her as if nothing happened because she got back together with sam. freaking josh seemed to care more than she did. he stood up for them in his online chat but deena? where’s the energy. she seemed to care a tiny bit with the police officer (because as she claimed drug use is a perfect example to blame since the two sold drugs) but not enough to clear the air about the murders. idk that just rubbed me the wrong way. 

deena and sam are back together and living their best life good for them (i’m so petty lmao) deena gets a call from c berman (the sole survivor of one of the past massacres). she tells her its a little too late for the phone call because they could have used her advice when they still were fighting the demons. berman tells her that it never goes away and sarah always comes back. we see sarah etching sam’s name under ryan torres on a gravestone. sam is now possessed with sarah’s spirit and attacks deena. she ties up sam and tells josh that she isn’t acting like herself and they need to save her. to be continued. END SPOILER. 

final thoughts: i like this. i get why this is popular.  i’m usually not the biggest horror movie fan because they are always so typical and kinda corny. however, something about this feels fresh and new. the idea of a possessed witch is nothing new but i don’t think i have heard about a witch seeking revenge on her execution by passing on her witchcraft for generations. a woman’s scorn. plus we got some teenage drama mixed into it to add more dimension. i like knowing that the story continues on because i like the direction this is going. dare i say it i would put it up with scream as part of my favorites in the horror movie genre. someday i will watch the next two. i definitely recommend this movie for horror movie fans. i will give it a 8/10. 

[adamantiumdragonfly]

Lady Blood || Part Four

Lady Blood: Agent of War collection

Agent Enyo was a legend. A woman whose hands were always bloody and eyes filled with shadows. The reaper of the Western Front, she carried her reputation with her across the ocean to the alleys and speakeasies of Chicago. For who could fight a king of crime but a goddess herself?

But before she was a legend before she had a name, she was just Miriam Goldschmidt: a German girl far from home, trying to keep her tattered family from unraveling. The Great War brewing in Europe had pulled on the threads and challenged Miriam's loyalty: to the land of her birth or the London streets she now walked? From London to Cairo then to the Western Front in the wreckage of Belgium, Miriam proves her allegiance, fulfilling the deep thirst for recognition but being a good soldier and a good agent required sacrifice.

As the war leaves its marks on Europe and it's victims, Miriam has to make peace with the choice she made and the family she tore apart for that name and that seat in the pantheon.

She was a god but at what cost?

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November, 1919 - London, England

The streets of London had changed since Miriam had last walked them. There was less noise, a kind of hushed anticipation. As if the city wondered what else it could go through. The crowds were the same, a strange form of comfort. 

They parted for her, having nothing to do with the thick black coat pulled tight against her body, but the look on her face. Set. like a stone statue, into a glower. She could glare these people out of her way, their own faces scarred with the hardships of the war and following influenza but she couldn't scare the nerves from inside her chest.

They had fluttered at first, when she had gotten off the boat, growing in intensity until her heart pounded against her ribs, punching a beat and begging for release. She wasn't sure if her heart would explode from her chest, leaving a gaping hole to reveal just how empty Miriam was.

Two years since she had last seen Ezriel's face. Nearly five since Miriam Goldschmidt had wandered her second home, the place where her father had died and her mother lost along with him. That Miriam, at sixteen, had kept the family afloat in the sea of uncertainty but Miriam had been gone. Gone a long time and it seemed, the city wasn't the only thing that had changed.

That little house, crammed between two others of the same peeling paint, looked just as dull, just as dark. That hadn't changed. The wood was still rough beneath her knuckles as she rapped on the door. She knocked, not let herself in. She hadn't breathed this air, lived this life, in a long time. Miriam wasn't the same. And neither was the girl who pulled open the door, standing in the entrance as the dark eyes that were like Miriam's, glanced her up and down.

It was Amira. The little girl they had left behind. The scared little girl, who had lost her father, and seen her two sisters and brother leave her behind, marching off to war. Her hair was up, braided like Miriam had worn it before she had cut it all to her shoulders, and wound in a tight knot. Her mouth was drawn thin. She was only seventeen but looked much older.

Confusion clouded her eyes before Amira recognized Miriam. She did look different. The scar across her cheek, marrying the two sides of her. The smooth features of her youth and the grizzled aftermath of the war on the left side of her face. Her hair, once long and curly, hung thinly around her scarred cheeks, concealing the worst of the scars. Miriam was still healing and while she had been told they would fade, she felt sick at the sight of Amira's disgust at the wounds.

"Miri," Amira said softly. Her voice was different. No accent. They had all had a slight German accent. Sadie had fought hard to lose hers. Amira didn't have one anymore. "What are you doing here?"

"I've come to see Mother," Miriam said. "I've missed you, Ami." 

Her baby sister, who had been abandoned. She wasn't sure why she had come to this place, when the last time she had seen a family member, there was blood and shouting.

"You should have saved her!"

"Ezriel is here."

"I haven't seen him in years. How is he?"

"You don't want to come in, Miriam," Amira stepped forward, the door falling shut behind her and rejecting Miriam's request for entrance. She faltered, her heel slipping off the step and Miriam took a step back, the weightlessness jerking at her middle.

"Amira, let me in."

Amira fought her own war with herself before she relented and opened the door. The house still smelled musty but the lights were on, a lamp burning, and a little shrine placed on the side table. The only photo of their two lost. That little girl who haunted Miriam's dreams and Papa, who looked so alive there, sitting in that frame. Miriam almost expected him to take a breath, unrestrained and without a shuddering cough. Her gloved hand ran along the glass, tracing the face of her family. When she pulled away, the tip of her finger was coated in dust. Had she really been gone that long?

Mama was in the sitting room, on the rocking chair, that had been her place of vigil during the evenings when they had first arrived in London. Before Papa had died. It had been a familiar sight, to see her swaying back to front, there before the fireplace but the frail creature who sat in the chair wasn't Mama.

In the five years Miriam had been gone, she had wasted away. A skeleton of her mother's former self.

"What are you doing here?" Ezriel, a master of the shadows, had kept his knack for lurking in corners even when the teargas had cleared. He had gone unnoticed by Miriam's sharpened senses, hidden in the dark folds of the room. She should have known he would be there, waiting. She shouldn't have been hurt by the anger in his voice. They hadn't seen each other in nearly two years. He had removed himself from her, pushing her away with blood-stained hands, leaving her with the ghost, the guilt and the crooked nose. 

"I'm here for my mother," Miriam said. She didn't need to explain herself. This had been her home. This was her home. She had spent more time in these walls than her older brother and he had no right to make her feel unwelcomed.

"Miriam?" Sarah's weak muscles strained to turn her head toward her oldest daughter's voice. Her watery eyes scanned the changes that the war had left on her child. "Miriam? What happened to your face?"

"Nothing, Mama. She is fine." Ezriel said, jumping in before, Miriam could even answer. He had never been the one to care for Mama. Miriam had always done that. But here he stood, in this sitting room, in a house he had done everything to get away from, looking as if Miriam was the betrayer. Maybe she was.

"Is Sadie with you?" Sarah asked. Sadie. Named for her. The second daughter. The one who had burned through the darkest shadows that this country and this home had to offer. Had Sarah been told?

"No," Miriam was almost proud that she had kept the pain from her voice. That had been buried deep, covered with the dirt of hundreds of men's graves. Ezriel noticed that she hadn't sounded hurt. He noticed that there wasn't a trace of hurt or raw grief. He took the hurt he still carried with him, across his face and shoulders, and turned it against her. It was a sharp weapon, though not as sharp as the words he said.

"No, Mama, you remember what I told you?" Sarah said nothing, her body and mind fragile as a songbird. Ezriel pushed on, disregarding the shaking of their mother's shoulders. "She let her die."

Miriam was at a loss for words. She had never had many but she wished she could pull every fragment from her mind and throw the shrapnel at Ezriel. Maybe then he would feel how she did, the burden and the guilt, pressing tight against his flesh. Maybe then he would experience the white hot tears burning against his eyelids, never to be released. Never to spill over his, her, cheeks and bringing with it a cool relief.

Ezriel didn't feel that. Miriam couldn't do anything but watch, as he pushed on, with the ambition and drive that had gotten them all into this war in the first place. This wasn't about their futures or his ambition. This was about revenge and Miriam was his target.

"Miriam is why Sadie isn't here," He said, with almost smug glee. Amira was in the doorway, fingers trembling against her lips. Turning to Sarah, Ezriel said. "You could have us all back but Miriam didn't protect her." Sarah's body shook with wracking sobs, she buried her face in her gnarled hands, a wail rising from her mouth. The wail that had sounded when Papa had died. The wail that once again ripped through Miriam's heart, leaving an exit wound weeping with blood and unreleased tears.

Miriam glanced at Amira, begging her with her eyes to not believe him. Not to listen to the lies that he was spreading. She could have done more, convinced her little sister that she was innocent, but her voice was gone. Miriam had come home for solace and respite and had been met with more hostility and rage than she had seen during her time in the war.

Ezriel knelt beside their mother, taking her hands in his own, muttering softly. "I'm here, Mama. I'll keep you safe."

Safe. Like Miriam had. She had made this slum of a house a haven for them. That haven had cost her an education, a childhood, and now, a family.

Her fingers trembled as she tightened them into fists. Something in Ezriel's face dared her to take a swing. Miriam would have knocked him unconscious but her mother's shuddering sobs broke any resolve.

She had hurt this family enough. Maybe this was her fault?

Amira spoke up from the doorway, her voice sharper than anything Miriam had heard from her. The Ami she had known was softer spoken, overshadowed by Sadie's bright sunshine. "Why are you here?"

"I'm going to America." A job. A promise. Someone who knew who Miriam Goldschmidt was had requested her presence. She had anticipated a warm welcome or a welcome at all upon her brief return home but the reception had solidified her decision. She was leaving.

"If you cross that ocean, you know you can never come back, right?"

"You won't be a part of this family anymore." Ezriel said, over their mother's shattering form. As if it was her fault this was happening. As if all this, the house that was falling apart and Sarah with it, could be placed solely on her. 

"We have been ripped apart already and it had nothing to do with me." Miriam said, finally finding her voice. Enyo demanded a certain level of respect. Had Ezriel not heard of her work? 

"This isn’t the time for you to place a winning blow. This is where you pray for mercy,”

[siribear]

the bolted lock slides free, and the security door swings open. there’s no further message, no additional comment. kellogg leaves them in a tense silence. he’s here. he knows they’re here. worse yet, he’s been watching them.

for all she knows, it’s a trap. she could walk through that door and be blown apart. or she could walk through that door and kill her husband’s murderer.

‘only one way to go,’ deacon says, softly. ‘i’ll take point from here.’

whisper can’t speak. can’t trust her voice. so she focuses on breathing, tightens her grip on deliverer, and falls into line behind deacon. in the next room, she swipes another two pulse grenades sitting on a desk, and waits for deacon to disarm a tension trigger on another security door. maccready reaches up and fully disarms the electrical trap in the ceiling, just in case.

in the next room, they search through lockers tucked away in an alcove. whisper fidgets, watching maccready search through pockets of army fatigues. a handful of fusion cells is all he can find, but it allows her to reload her laser rifle. she knows they need to be more careful now. knows they have to take their time. but every step brings her closer to revenge, to shaun. she can’t stop.

peering around a corner, they spot a lone turret standing guard in front a large set of metal doors. two shots leave it a smoking heap of scrap metal.

‘i almost didn’t recognize you.’ she skips a step at the sudden sound of his voice, and it’s maccready that keeps her steady. kellogg’s huff of laughter is grating. ‘honestly didn’t think you’d make it this far. thought the commonwealth would eat you alive long before you made it to my door.’

whisper puts one foot in front of the other. the line of computers marking the room as the command center pass by in a blur. the concrete fort transforms after another security door, blown off its hinges. threadbare carpet muffles their steps down another hallway with torn, red wallpaper hanging like cobwebs from the ceiling. another pair of synths attempts to stop them, failing miserably. to their left, a long wall of windows reinforced with wire lattice separates them from another room, larger room. the lights are off, obscuring their view, though she can make out the silhouettes of more computers.

‘good ole american military,’ deacon mocks in a commercial-ready voice. ‘destroying the world since 2077.’ it bristles, but she ignores it, stepping around a pillar of broken pipes and concrete in the center of the hall.

the way forward, illuminated by a glowing red exit sign, is blocked by another locked security door. kellogg doesn’t open this one for them, so they turn back down another hall. it leads them down to a barracks with skeletons still resting in their beds.

‘you’re pissed off. i get it. i do,’ kellogg says to her. he hasn’t spoken a word to her companions. ‘but whatever you hope to accomplish here? it’s not gonna happen. you can still turn around, live your life out however you please. i won’t even bother you.’

whisper shoots out an overhead laser turret, pretending its kellogg’s head.

another hallway breaks off into the mess hall, and a skeleton hanging half out of a window startles her. she hisses, reeling backward into maccready, and for the moment the tension drains from her. instead of going down another short staircase, she ducks into another maintenance tunnel, searching for any way to shut kellogg up. a bundle of wires to cut the microphone. something. instead, she finds a toolbox and a password for the armory - which works just as well.

again, kellogg laughs, and it’s ominous in their next red-lit hall. they follow humming pipes and buzzing wires down the tunnel. ‘you’re in way over your head,’ he warns, and she wonders if he’s only counting himself.

they find the armory. whisper keys in the password on the nearby terminal and the metal door swings open, revealing a bounty of supplies, years untouched. she and maccready pocket rad-x, radaway, and stimpaks while deacon unlocks a second door. there’s a load of .10mm ammo, another bundle of rifle ammo that deacon and maccready split, and -

‘that’s a f-freaking fat man, isn’t it?’

whisper flips on her pipboy light and - ‘yeah. that is.’

‘we’ll have someone come back for it,’ deacon tells her, hand on her shoulder. ‘after we get out of here.’

she nods and flips off the light, shrouding them again in near darkness. backtracking, they find themselves in a waiting area just outside an office. a dusty american flag stands vigil next to the open door. inside, they blink against the harsh light and the strangeness that is the contrast between the rotted wooden walls and the pristine desks and bed. everything that he would have had in diamond city, moved here.

with her hand on the next door, kellogg speaks to her. he sighs, and she feels it in her soul. ‘you’ve come this far. let’s talk, just you and me. your friends stay behind.’

she turns to see deacon with a frown set heavy on his face. maccready’s vehemently shaking his head. ‘no way.’

‘my synths are standing down. it’s now or never.’

‘i have to. i’m not turning back,’ she says. ‘just stay close.’

-

lights overhead flicker on, one by one, until the entire room is bathed in light. kellogg steps out of the shadows, flanked by two synths. he holds his hands up, though in one he holds a magnum, finger parallel to the trigger. perfectly civil, for a mercenary.

whisper steps forward, deliverer drawn, and it hardly breaks his casual smile. like he’s catching up with an old friend.

‘and there she is. the most resilient woman in the commonwealth.’ they’re almost face-to-face. he drops his hands, she lowers hers. ‘let’s hear it.’

she can hear the synth stepping in close behind her. ‘kellogg,’ she begins, with an evenness that surprises her. ‘where is my baby?’

he shakes his head, his smile turning up into a grimace. ‘i’m only a puppet, just like you.’ she frowns, but he continues. ‘shaun’s a good kid. though, he’s not a... baby, anymore. and he’s not here. he’s with the people pulling our strings.’

‘take me to him,’ she says, with barely contained rage. ‘right now.’

kellogg throws his head back in a laugh. ‘like i could, even if i wanted to. nobody can reach your son now. he’s safe at home. in the institute.’

she raises deliverer again, tired of it all. kellogg doesn’t even flinch. ‘so tell me how to get there and i’ll find him myself.’

he rolls his eyes with a sigh. ‘you don’t get it, do you? you don’t find the institute. the institute finds you. just like they found your family the first time.’

‘enough.’

‘i agree. we both know how this has to end.’ he rolls his shoulder. it’s him or her. only one of them is walking out of this alive. ‘are you ready?’

she smiles, sickeningly sweet. ‘in a hundred years, when i finally die, i only hope i go to hell so i can kill you all over again, you piece of shit.’

‘now!’

in half a second, the room erupts in chaos. in front of her, kellogg pulls out a stealth boy and presses a switch, his body flickering out of sight. whisper rushes forward, ducking under laser fire, and slams into kellogg before he can get away. behind her, a pulse grenade explodes where she once stood, and metal flies overhead as it takes out one of the synths and damages another.

an invisible kellogg throws her across the room, and she hits one of the computers, glass shattering against her back. she scrambles for cover with a wheeze and scans the room. deacon punches a synth in the face, knocking it off balance long enough to take it out with a quick shot. maccready catches her eye before quickly ducking under his own cover as a shot goes sailing over his head.

‘by the stairs!’

peeking around her cover, she eyes the stairs. she hears the shot before she sees it, just before it lodges itself in the wood next to her head. but - there. a shimmer in the light, the banister distorted. whisper fires twice, one hitting the wood and the other - the other hits home, red flowing from a fresh wound.

she edges closer, trusting deacon and maccready to cover her long enough for her to reach him. one of them hits him again, though it bounces off his metal arm piece, but it breaks the stealth boy long enough for her to tackle kellogg to the ground. she digs her knee into the wound she made in his thigh, grabs the hand still holding his magnum and fires directly into his wrist. it blows apart, red and ugly, the magnum falling next to them. she picks it up, batting away his other hand, and bashes it into his head. his hand wavers, slowly creeping toward her throat, but she hits him again.

and again.

and again.

his skull cracks under the butt of the gun, but it isn’t enough. she tosses it aside and punches him. she meets more resistance than bone, the flesh of her knuckles shredding against a piece of metal braced against the side of his skull.

‘you fucker.’ she punches him again, his face gone blurry and unrecognizable. ‘give me my son. give. him. back.’ each word is another punch, more blood and bone, another heaving breath. but she doesn’t wake up. the nightmare doesn’t end.

a pair of arms snake under hers, heaving her upward and off of kellogg’s corpse. she kicks it before she’s dragged too far away. ‘he’s dead, boss. he’s dead - you got him,’ maccready says, trying at soothing. ‘jesus. you really got him.’

whisper doesn’t move even though he lets her go, just stays on her knees, leaned over, and it’s then she realizes she’s crying. wordlessly, she watches deacon lean over kellogg’s body, digging through his jacket and his pockets.

‘hey,’ he says, gently. ‘it’s another password. probably for that computer over there. maybe it’s got some information we can use.’ he kneels in front of her, dropping the holotape with the password in her shaking, bloody hands.

deacon looks over her shoulder to maccready, but she doesn’t register anything else. maccready helps her to her feet, leading her to the one terminal still in one piece. she loads the holotape herself when he can’t seem to figure it out, keying in the options to access the computer. first, she opens the security doors, not looking up at the sound of them swinging open. she blinks, keying in to the access logs.

the boy, shaun, successfully delivered back to the institute. payment received.

she backs away from the terminal, smearing the rest of the keys red. seeing it in print makes it worse. makes it real. her son is gone, lost to the institute, and the one person that could have told her anything lies dead across the room, his blood on her hands.

god, the blood. she brings her hands up to inspect them. coated red. gore under her nails. what would nate think of her now?

‘oh my god,’ she says, dully.

‘let’s, uh, let’s get you out of here.’ maccready takes her by the shoulders, leading her carefully out of the room. deacon joins them from the foot of the stairs, one hand hovering just near her arm. afraid to touch her. like she’s made of glass.

an elevator takes them up to the roof where deacon disarms the row of turrets from a terminal. the sun shines high in the sky, oblivious to what’s happening below. a large cloud - or what she thinks is a cloud - passes in front of the sun, casting the roof in shadow.

people of the commonwealth -

whisper looks up to see the largest air ship she’s ever seen. it spans longer than the fort itself, the metal clad ship held aloft by a number of thrusters lined along the bottom. a pair of vertibirds fly alongside it before taking off in separate directions. the air ship turns to follow one.

do not interfere. our intentions are peaceful. we are the brotherhood of steel. the loudspeaker clicks off with a static-y echo.

the three of them watch it pass over the fort, beyond the line of trees, heading across the commonwealth.

‘would you look at that?’ deacon says in awe. and then, more grave, ‘damn.’

maccready picks his jaw off the ground. ‘what’s the goddamn brotherhood of steel doing here?’ 

if the brotherhood of steel is in the commonwealth in full force - whisper sighs. it doesn’t bode well for anyone.

[gldnsctn]

The Circular Ruins :: Jorge Luis Borges

No one saw him disembark in the unanimous night, no one saw the bamboo canoe sink into the sacred mud, but in a few days there was no one who did not know that the taciturn man came from the South and that his home had been one of those numberless villages upstream in the deeply cleft side of the mountain, where the Zend language has not been contaminated by Greek and where leprosy is infrequent. What is certain is that the grey man kissed the mud, climbed up the bank with pushing aside (probably, without feeling) the blades which were lacerating his flesh, and crawled, nauseated and bloodstained, up to the circular enclosure crowned with a stone tiger or horse, which sometimes was the color of flame and now was that of ashes. This circle was a temple which had been devoured by ancient fires, profaned by the miasmal jungle, and whose god no longer received the homage of men. The stranger stretched himself out beneath the pedestal. He was awakened by the sun high overhead. He was not astonished to find that his wounds had healed; he closed his pallid eyes and slept, not through weakness of flesh but through determination of will. He knew that this temple was the place required for his invincible intent; he knew that the incessant trees had not succeeded in strangling the ruins of another propitious temple downstream which had once belonged to gods now burned and dead; he knew that his immediate obligation was to dream. Toward midnight he was awakened by the inconsolable shriek of a bird. Tracks of bare feet, some figs and a jug warned him that the men of the region had been spying respectfully on his sleep, soliciting his protection or afraid of his magic. He felt a chill of fear, and sought out a sepulchral niche in the dilapidated wall where he concealed himself among unfamiliar leaves.

The purpose which guided him was not impossible, though supernatural. He wanted to dream a man; he wanted to dream him in minute entirety and impose him on reality. This magic project had exhausted the entire expanse of his mind; if someone had asked him his name or to relate some event of his former life, he would not have been able to give an answer. This uninhabited, ruined temple suited him, for it is contained a minimum of visible world; the proximity of the workmen also suited him, for they took it upon themselves to provide for his frugal needs. The rice and fruit they brought him were nourishment enough for his body, which was consecrated to the sole task of sleeping and dreaming.

At first, his dreams were chaotic; then in a short while they became dialectic in nature. The stranger dreamed that he was in the center of a circular amphitheater which was more or less the burnt temple; clouds of taciturn students filled the tiers of seats; the faces of the farthest ones hung at a distance of many centuries and as high as the stars, but their features were completely precise. The man lectured his pupils on anatomy, cosmography, and magic: the faces listened anxiously and tried to answer understandingly, as if they guessed the importance of that examination which would redeem one of them from his condition of empty illusion and interpolate him into the real world. Asleep or awake, the man thought over the answers of his phantoms, did not allow himself to be deceived by imposters, and in certain perplexities he sensed a growing intelligence. He was seeking a soul worthy of participating in the universe.

After nine or ten nights he understood with a certain bitterness that he could expect nothing from those pupils who accepted his doctrine passively, but that he could expect something from those who occasionally dared to oppose him. The former group, although worthy of love and affection, could not ascend to the level of individuals; the latter pre-existed to a slightly greater degree. One afternoon (now afternoons were also given over to sleep, now he was only awake for a couple hours at daybreak) he dismissed the vast illusory student body for good and kept only one pupil. He was a taciturn, sallow boy, at times intractable, and whose sharp features resembled of those of his dreamer. The brusque elimination of his fellow students did not disconcert him for long; after a few private lessons, his progress was enough to astound the teacher. Nevertheless, a catastrophe took place. One day, the man emerged from his sleep as if from a viscous desert, looked at the useless afternoon light which he immediately confused with the dawn, and understood that he had not dreamed. All that night and all day long, the intolerable lucidity of insomnia fell upon him. He tried exploring the forest, to lose his strength; among the hemlock he barely succeeded in experiencing several short snatchs of sleep, veined with fleeting, rudimentary visions that were useless. He tried to assemble the student body but scarcely had he articulated a few brief words of exhortation when it became deformed and was then erased. In his almost perpetual vigil, tears of anger burned his old eyes.

He understood that modeling the incoherent and vertiginous matter of which dreams are composed was the most difficult task that a man could undertake, even though he should penetrate all the enigmas of a superior and inferior order; much more difficult than weaving a rope out of sand or coining the faceless wind. He swore he would forget the enormous hallucination which had thrown him off at first, and he sought another method of work. Before putting it into execution, he spent a month recovering his strength, which had been squandered by his delirium. He abandoned all premeditation of dreaming and almost immediately succeeded in sleeping a reasonable part of each day. The few times that he had dreams during this period, he paid no attention to them. Before resuming his task, he waited until the moon's disk was perfect. Then, in the afternoon, he purified himself in the waters of the river, worshiped the planetary gods, pronounced the prescribed syllables of a mighty name, and went to sleep. He dreamed almost immediately, with his heart throbbing.

He dreamed that it was warm, secret, about the size of a clenched fist, and of a garnet color within the penumbra of a human body as yet without face or sex; during fourteen lucid nights he dreampt of it with meticulous love. Every night he perceived it more clearly. He did not touch it; he only permitted himself to witness it, to observe it, and occasionally to rectify it with a glance. He perceived it and lived it from all angles and distances. On the fourteenth night he lightly touched the pulmonary artery with his index finger, then the whole heart, outside and inside. He was satisfied with the examination. He deliberately did not dream for a night; he took up the heart again, invoked the name of a planet, and undertook the vision of another of the principle organs. Within a year he had come to the skeleton and the eyelids. The innumerable hair was perhaps the most difficult task. He dreamed an entire man--a young man, but who did not sit up or talk, who was unable to open his eyes. Night after night, the man dreamt him asleep.

In the Gnostic cosmosgonies, demiurges fashion a red Adam who cannot stand; as a clumsy, crude and elemental as this Adam of dust was the Adam of dreams forged by the wizard's nights. One afternoon, the man almost destroyed his entire work, but then changed his mind. (It would have been better had he destroyed it.) When he had exhausted all supplications to the deities of earth, he threw himself at the feet of the effigy which was perhaps a tiger or perhaps a colt and implored its unknown help. That evening, at twilight, he dreamt of the statue. He dreamt it was alive, tremulous: it was not an atrocious bastard of a tiger and a colt, but at the same time these two firey creatures and also a bull, a rose, and a storm. This multiple god revealed to him that his earthly name was Fire, and that in this circular temple (and in others like it) people had once made sacrifices to him and worshiped him, and that he would magically animate the dreamed phantom, in such a way that all creatures, except Fire itself and the dreamer, would believe to be a man of flesh and blood. He commanded that once this man had been instructed in all the rites, he should be sent to the other ruined temple whose pyramids were still standing downstream, so that some voice would glorify him in that deserted ediface. In the dream of the man that dreamed, the dreamed one awoke.

The wizard carried out the orders he had been given. He devoted a certain length of time (which finally proved to be two years) to instructing him in the mysteries of the universe and the cult of fire. Secretly, he was pained at the idea of being seperated from him. On the pretext of pedagogical necessity, each day he increased the number of hours dedicated to dreaming. He also remade the right shoulder, which was somewhat defective. At times, he was disturbed by the impression that all this had already happened . . . In general, his days were happy; when he closed his eyes, he thought: Now I will be with my son. Or, more rarely: The son I have engendered is waiting for me and will not exist if I do not go to him.

Gradually, he began accustoming him to reality. Once he ordered him to place a flag on a faraway peak. The next day the flag was fluttering on the peak. He tried other analogous experiments, each time more audacious. With a certain bitterness, he understood that his son was ready to be born--and perhaps impatient. That night he kissed him for the first time and sent him off to the other temple whose remains were turning white downstream, across many miles of inextricable jungle and marshes. Before doing this (and so that his son should never know that he was a phantom, so that he should think himself a man like any other) he destroyed in him all memory of his years of apprenticeship.

His victory and peace became blurred with boredom. In the twilight times of dusk and dawn, he would prostrate himself before the stone figure, perhaps imagining his unreal son carrying out identical rites in other circular ruins downstream; at night he no longer dreamed, or dreamed as any man does. His perceptions of the sounds and forms of the universe became somewhat pallid: his absent son was being nourished by these diminution of his soul. The purpose of his life had been fulfilled; the man remained in a kind of ecstasy. After a certain time, which some chronicles prefer to compute in years and others in decades, two oarsmen awoke him at midnight; he could not see their faces, but they spoke to him of a charmed man in a temple of the North, capable of walking on fire without burning himself. The wizard suddenly remembered the words of the god. He remembered that of all the creatures that people the earth, Fire was the only one who knew his son to be a phantom. This memory, which at first calmed him, ended by tormenting him. He feared lest his son should meditate on this abnormal privilege and by some means find out he was a mere simulacrum. Not to be a man, to be a projection of another man's dreams--what an incomparable humiliation, what madness! Any father is interested in the sons he has procreated (or permitted) out of the mere confusion of happiness; it was natural that the wizard should fear for the future of that son whom he had thought out entrail by entrail, feature by feature, in a thousand and one secret nights.

His misgivings ended abruptly, but not without certain forewarnings. First (after a long drought) a remote cloud, as light as a bird, appeared on a hill; then, toward the South, the sky took on the rose color of leopard's gums; then came clouds of smoke which rusted the metal of the nights; afterwards came the panic-stricken flight of wild animals. For what had happened many centuries before was repeating itself. The ruins of the sanctuary of the god of Fire was destroyed by fire. In a dawn without birds, the wizard saw the concentric fire licking the walls. For a moment, he thought of taking refuge in the water, but then he understood that death was coming to crown his old age and absolve him from his labors. He walked toward the sheets of flame. They did not bite his flesh, they caressed him and flooded him without heat or combustion. With relief, with humiliation, with terror, he understood that he also was an illusion, that someone else was dreaming him.

[lindoig5]

1 & 2 March    Days 25 & 25    Back in a little patch of Oz again, if only for a couple of days

Sunday       We had yet another very rough night with little sleep but when we arose, it was Autumn already - where has the year gone?

All night, the ship was either bucking so we had to hold on to the sides of our bunks to avoid being tossed on to the floor or rolling and causing us to slide from one end of the bunk to the other.  An extra pillow avoided us bumping our heads too severely on the headboard, but next second it felt that we were standing up as all our weight was rocketed down to the footboard and we had to straighten our legs out again.  Life on board can certainly be hard work in rough weather. Just moving around the ship was challenging as we ran downhill down the passage only to find ourselves climbing the next few steps or actually going backwards as the ship rose and fell.  The passageways all had handrails, but it was still pretty difficult being thrown from side to side if we were carrying anything - like hot coffee!  (Despite having some Americans on board, I avoided referring to Autumn as Fall - we had already had quite enough falls!)

We had a late breakfast in much calmer conditions once we managed to get into the lee of Macquarie Island - a little bit of Australia after more than five thousand kilometres in New Zealand.  (Only 2137km from Home Sweet Home – almost exactly the distance from Melbourne to Invercargill where we started our Odyssey.) We had a little bit of rain and hail during the day (not a lot), but it was still one of the more enjoyable days.  We Zodiac-cruised in three different parts of the Island, but couldn’t land anywhere on the day - there were still coronavirus issues that meant we couldn’t visit the Aussie base there, but we sailed to within a few hundred metres of it so at least we have a few photos.

Our zodiacs took us along stretches of beach with many thousands of King and Royal Penguins, along with a few Chinstraps and Gentoos.  There were also many large seabirds, both at sea and ashore.  The Skuas and Great Petrels were the vultures on land but I particularly loved the wonderful albatrosses that floated effortlessly past on even the lightest of breezes at sea.  There were several species of albatross, but the Southern Royals are simply magnificent.  We saw a big raft of busy seabirds in one place and went to explore.  They were taking advantage of food stirred up by a large male Orca that was feeding close by.  It surfaced quite close to our zodiac a few times, but never close enough for good photos.  Even so, it gave us a bit of a thrill to share the water with an animal that could swallow half our zodiac in one gulp.

Monday      What a magic morning we had!  We landed at Sandy Bay to be met by a couple of enthusiastic Aussie rangers who had hiked down from the Research Station the previous day and stayed overnight in a hut to greet us in the morning, all coronavirus-free!

The beach was crowded with several thousand King Penguins, all as curious about us as we were about them.  They came up to us either singly or in small groups and stared inquisitively at us from a metre or less away and posed nicely for photos.  There were a few Gentoos there too and they were almost as curious as the Kings.

After a short briefing by the head ranger, we were free to range at will over the nearby hillside and a kilometre or more of beach that also contained maybe 30-odd elephant seals – ‘odd’ being the operative word: huge slugs of blubber up to 5 or 6 metres long and as far around the girth.  A few males were practising their fighting techniques, rearing up and slamming into their sparring partner, making the whole beach vibrate.  Most of the time they just lay on the beach ignoring us completely, but once one decides to shift position, you had better make room.  I saw a small one, probably no more than 4 or 5 tonnes, galumphing up the beach behind Heather - and to see all that blubber in motion, both rippling across its massive skeleton and charging for a rest spot further up the beach, you just make way for it because it won’t go around you.  It will simply go over you without even noticing the bump.  Heather took my urgent advice and moved out of its path - with alacrity!

We walked south along the beach through hordes of penguins to a creek where a narrow boardwalk started and we took that up the hill to a large breeding colony of King Penguins. There were quite a few Great Petrels and Albatrosses soaring around looking for a feed but the penguins were being protective and the predators, as vigilant as they were, weren’t getting a look in.

Returning to the beach, we walked north to a huge Royal Penguin colony, even bigger than the King Penguin one.  We weren’t allowed into the colony because there were quite a few fluffy brown chicks still there, but plenty of birds came out to see us instead. They are so inquisitive and they waddle straight up to you and stare right at you – but we were reciprocating too.

I was quite thrilled to see a few redpolls flying around - the only place they can be seen in Australia.  They are cute little European birds that were introduced to Macca as it is called (Macquarie Island) in the very early days of sealing and whaling and have survived and thrived, completely isolated from the rest of the world down here.  They are the only land bird on any of the very southerly islands and I saw about 10 of them flitting around, perhaps a few more.

The weather has been amazing throughout the voyage and continued to be throughout the entire trip.  We certainly had plenty of gale force winds and quite a bit of snow, but very little rain or hail and almost all our off-ship activities were blessed with good conditions and lots of sunny periods - apparently better than any other voyage for quite a few years.

Back on board though, the afternoon became very rough again with high seas and violent buffeting as we headed north along the coast, past the Australian Base again and out into the wild open sea.

One of our colleagues on board spent most of his time on the Bridge and monitored what was going on.  He struck up an association with most of the Russian crew and they explained a lot of technical stuff to him.  He said that the inclinometer showed the very worst of the ship’s violent rolling at 42 degrees in each direction - hard to believe, but it was certainly wild.

Irrespective of the actual figure, I was tucked up securely in my bunk, reading and napping all afternoon.

[rimurutempestslime]

Jura Tempest Federation

Also known as: Monster Country Tempest

Founder/Ruler: Rimuru Tempest

City/States:

- Capital City Rimuru ("Tempest" in the Web Novel)

- Satellite Town Labyrinth City

- Mining City of the Orcs

- Water City of the Lizardmen

- Small villages of other monsters

Layout:

Rimuru had his dwelling built near the cave, at the seat of honor. From there, the houses of the clan lords, followed by that of the commoners were built.

As Rimuru wanted to get it right, the initial map was drawn with utmost precision. Drawing across, with large roads running through the city, this plan is best for overseeing the denizens’ behavior.

There is a special building in the center of town, where all the administrative duties are carried out in this building.

The city's magic circle, to the Sealed Cave, was set up near the gates. At the vacant lot near the guardhouse, to be precise. So in a one in a million chance monsters do pass through the circle, they can quickly deal with them. Bester, however, insists that it is impossible. That is since one needs to recite an incantation to transfer, it is impossible for monsters to use it.

Bester's research lab was built inside the Cave of the Seal. Bester set up a magic circle to the city from the cave, in the place, Rimuru defeated the Black Snake. A transportation magic system circle, to be precise. If one writes two identical circles, one can move between them. Bester then drew a circle inside his house and another inside the cave. And thus, he solved the transportation problem. Bester then proceeded to teach Rimuru, Gabil, and the rest. They were able to move easily between the city and the cave.

Since they were often having banquets a banquet hall was built. It's about the size of a gymnasium and is dome-shaped. The inside has wooden floors with a tatami-floored seat of honor. In the worst-case scenario, since this building can house so many people, it can be used for evacuation purposes. The building is quite large so it had to be built sturdy. The skeleton of it was reinforced with steel, but they are planning on changing that to demon steel eventually.

An entrance to the Dwelling of the Spirit was set up in Tempest. It was originally intended to be in the middle of the city, however, Ramiris abandoned the Dwelling of the Spirit. She wanted to occupy the tunnels Rimuru built to counter the Templars. She's planned on claiming the demon steel used to build it and connecting the tunnel into the labyrinth, she was discovered by Geld.

Rimuru agreed to Ramiris creating a labyrinth where she was to act as the +-manager. And thus the Labyrinth City of Tempest was formed where Rimuru would have the labyrinth generate some profit. Ramiris will live there, and he would get some pocket change from adventurers trying to defeat its forces. Ramiris would receive 20% of the profits. Rimuru had a road from the city laid there. It's a trip that doesn't even take half a day. It is located on the outer perimeter of the city, about 10 km away.

A stable was built nearby. Rimuru wanted to lay rails to transport people and baggage from there, since letting horses and magical beasts into the city would lead to new hygienic problems. Since it's relatively close to the city, an inn here would unlikely to bring many customers. So, they decided to build a motel instead. But if they built a labyrinth there, then an inn would be in order. If they wanted to truly relax, they could always come back to the Capital City of Tempest.

Sanitation:

At first, to lay the plumbing, they had avoided building any houses. For the waterway, they redirected the water from the river. A building was constructed for water pipe control. There, the water is purified and distributed to every household. As for drainage, it is directed into underground sewage. As it is made from wood, they decided to preserve it by hardening it in cement. And, leading away from the city, it will end at a facility where it will be reprocessed into manure.

They have a system for drawing water, a well in every house, so it is a pretty advanced city. They have flushing toilets, there is a need to carry the pumped out water to the toilet in a bucket, but strong monsters don't particularly mind.

There are also those who don't excrete, though.

As one would expect, the forest is full bugs. Since one can't protect oneself against them, there's a chance of catching diseases they carry. Hence, Rimuru built window screens using spider threads, as an insect repellent.

Trade:

Tempest has been steadily trying to become the center of this world's commerce.

Tempest sells their magic potions to the merchant Garde-Myourmiles at 22 silver coins each. And the retail price set there is 25 silver coins. The selling price in Tempest is 20 silver coins. In addition, due to the matter of assisting adventurers, it was decided that the selling price to adventurers in Tempest is also 22 silver coins.

Originally it was possible to get to Tempest on horseback, the same was not true for carriages. They hadn't cleared any trees in the direction of the highway. They didn't want to stand out at the time, but that was before the earlier Orc incident. When the forest calmed down a trade route was created.

Highways were built that connected Tempest to the Brumund Kingdom and Dwargon. When the highway that connected Tempest and Brumund was completed, the merchants of Brumund would have no need to go through the Farmas Kingdom to reach the Dwarf Kingdom. Due to Farmas blocking the flow of goods from Dwargon to Brumund, Tempest is becoming the new center of trade routes.

Kaijin, Bester, Shuna, and Kurobee developed a barrier inscribed on top of demon steel. It uses artificial demon crystals as a fuel source. It's shaped like a cube with a volume of 1 meter. The thickness of the barrier is 50 cm. Thus, it's pretty heavy and hard to carry. But, once one starts it, it will naturally absorb magical energy from the surrounding and continue functioning indefinitely. So when they place this simple magic circle, named “Barrier-kun,” into operation along the 10 km long road securing security along the route.

Steel was discovered in some of the mountain's districts, and they buy it off the high orcs. So Kurobee and Kaijin are using it as a base to create weapons.

Alcohol is one of Tempest's specialties. Thus their alcohol diversity has also increased. They import the wine and produce the beer, along with potato and barley shochu.

Technological Advancements:

According to Gazelle Dwargo with Kaijin and Bester here, the city will become the center of technological development. Due to Rimuru's knowledge from his previous life he is able to give new ideas for technology, such as aqueducts and neatly paved roads.

Customs:

Rimuru established three rules for the inhabitants of the city:

1. Do not attack a human.

2. Do not attack your own.

3. Do not look down on the other races.

The Tempest Resurrection Festival is celebrated once a year.

The Hobgoblins are already quite close to humans, even engaging in business while speaking the human language. That's not all, there are also High Orcs, with knowledge and technique of organizing work corps to establish and maintain roads.

In his free time Rimuru tried baking a handcrafted bowl out of clay, and the children, who saw him, decided to imitate him. As a result, every house now uses such bowls made by children. Moreover, the bowls have gotten rather pretty. There vividly colored, whether using medical herbs or some other dubious method and appear truly grand. A lot of experimentation went into making them.

Foreign Relations:

- Blumund

Blumund wanted to form a cooperative relationship with Tempest. They propose to cooperate to support adventurers on their quest and assist them when they're having problems facing powerful monsters.

Blumund is a small country without much national power, their counter-measures against monsters are insufficient. They somehow cooperated with the Freedom Association, but the association can't be their only means of defense against monsters. Fortunately, there weren't any major damages caused by monsters to date, but in preparation for the future, they wished to form bilateral relations with Tempest. In order for the adventurers to succeed, and to reduce the threat the forest poses, Tempest would need to provide necessities such as beds and supplies for those working in the forest.

In turn, Blumund would try to guarantee certain benefits there and legitimize their identity as a nation. In other words, Brumund promised to recognize Tempest as a legitimate nation of monsters.

In addition, they would mutually stay vigilant about monsters and help each other in times of emergencies. Rimuru saw this as either way, they are supposed to be on guard, but with this, they would not have to worry about Blumund. They will notify and help each other when faced with assaults by powerful monsters.

In the event Blumund had to move a force through the forest, they would be counting on Tempest's cooperation. However, this wasn't something related to monsters. Because, they are to cooperate during emergencies, that also includes when the nation is being attacked. From Blumund's side, they now have a reason to get Tempest to cooperate even without their consent. Blumund feared the Eastern Empire would invade through the forest. In preparation for if that were to happen, they wanted Tempest to become the buffer state. However, if Tempest had a crisis, they would receive aid. Even if the empire ignored Tempest, they would have to send in reinforcements to Blumund.

- Dwargon

Gazelle, The king of Dwargon ventured to Tempest to officially seek to form a non-aggression treaty with Tempest. Also as an under the table deal, he wanted to form a mutual technology research treaty, to share technological advancements. Essentially, Dwargon was recognizing Tempest as an official state, a country with sovereign rights.

It was decided, the country shall be known as the Monsters’ City “Tempest.” They had intended to call it Rimuru, but that was too embarrassing so he forbid it. They compromised down to Tempest.

- Socerer’s Dynasty Sarion

The Sorcerer's Dynasty Sarion has established diplomatic ties with Tempest. In addition, the trade route was built by Tempest. The path also connects them to Dwargon. For the products passing by, there's also the merit of direct import. However, the most important fact is, various technologies such as magic engineering and spirit engineering that flow into Tempest.

- Farmenas Kingdom

A nonaggression treaty was bestowed upon the Youmu by the Demon Lord Rimuru Tempest. In the end, this treaty was used as a pretext as securing postwar investments and indemnity in support of Youmu. The signing of the nonaggression pact between the Rimuru and Youmu signified the end of a war that brought terror to the peoples of the kingdom. While it wasn't spoken, this pact also served to establish the legitimacy of the young hero-king.

- Western Saints Church

After the war with the Knights Templar, Tempest's entire population was admitted as Demi-Human status, allowing them the same treatment as the Dwarves.

The hierarchy of the church accepted and recognize the current status of Tempest's citizens. This was accompanied by us being informed that the Knights Templar would be performing a regular cultural in place of regular compensation.

For the sake of an emergency contact, allowing either party to instantly contact the other, several people were left behind. However, monitoring them is no longer their purpose there.

Above everything else, as additional compensation, they were given a failed experiment of theirs. Basically a set of experimental equipment that they weren't able to complete. As for Hinata's broken sword, they were given that as well, and the few pieces of the spiritual armor that weren't completely destroyed. Analyzing them was fairly simple. At any rate, Rimuru passed over a duplicated sword to Hinata to replace her sword since she was pretty much defenseless. To note, the analysis of the Spirit Armor was actually a major development. Rimuru also had the chance to analyze the Spirit Equipment the knights used.

- Tengu

The Tengu chose to recognize Rimuru's rule over the forest, however, they would not tolerate it if he meddled in their affairs. They chose not to send any assistance to them either. They agreed on a nonintervention pact with each other. However, the privilege of the High Orcs that settles down upon the mountain was acknowledged. They agreed to it seeing as the mountain's blessings were not within their right to claim. For things like mineral ores, it is practical things that are useless for them. So the High Orcs would just be left alone.

Departments:

- Construction and Manufacturing

The construction and manufacturing departments are completely left to Kaijin. He normally specializes in smithing, but after Kurobee joined, he ended up in a managerial position. Kaijin has been completely separated from his field of expertise. However, he had entrusted it all to Kurobee. According to Kaijin, they are still busy with establishing the smithy, but once things calm down, he'll devote himself fully to production.

- War

Tempest follows the volunteer system for their military. Every monster in the city received a gift for Rimuru's evolution. Those specialized in combat acquired individual skills and squad unity skills. Though they are not even ten thousand strong, they can easily crush larger armies. Their only weakness is their small numbers. Since they can't easily increase their numbers, that may cause problems down the line.

- Intelligence

Souei has been installed as Rimuru's Shadow and Tempest's Spymaster. To assist with this effort, Rimuru has afforded him the use of members of the Black Corps and The Moderate Clown Troupe as well as his own Shadow Squad to carry out this directive. Techniques that involve espionage, torture, assassination, piracy, and any other necessary evil for the safety of Tempest has been authorized for this department.

Rimuru has also authorized the inventors (Vesta, Kaijin, and Kurobee) to develop and create items and devices that are useful in this responsibility. The observation room in the Labyrinth, cameras, listening devices, recording devices as well as a single steel thread that constantly connects through interdimensional space, Souei with Rimuru for communication and location purposes in case of an emergency.

A game has been introduced to the executives of Tempest. Whenever contraband is acquired as spoils of war, the executives will bid on it for personal use with the proceeds going to Rimuru as he doesn't receive a salary and has to beg Myourmiles for spending money. Various war machines have been retooled to be used as racing vessels and is now the hottest hobby in Tempest. Ironically, this went unnoticed by both Souei, the Spymaster and Diablo, the Viceroy.

- Defense

The department of defense regulates hunting.

- Bussiness

Five individuals, Myormiles saw great potential in, chose to follow him to Tempest.

- Publicizing

They are in charge of publicizing items sold by Tempest. They are also in charge of publicizing events (tournament, touring, etc).

Garde-Myourmiles - He is the leader of Publicizing in Tempest. Rimuru often relies on him for publicizing strategies. He is the minister of finance in Tempest. He is also in charge of commerce and public relations.

[tomjopson]

For the kissing prompts: #40 for Jopson/Little, please??

#40: A gentle kiss that quickly descends into passion,with little regard for what’s going on around them. Oh my, yes! I had so many ideas for this one, so sorry that it took me this long to make up my mind. :)

Thomas is on his hands and knees, scrubbing at the darkstain on the carpet beside the table where it leans heavily on the ropes thatkeep it suspended. The captain is finally asleep, tucked into his berth,mumbling deliriously through the sick-drenched dreams, and Thomas is using thebrief respite from his vigil at the captain’s bedside to erase the poor man’sattempt at reaching the seat of ease on his own.

Even in his sleep-deprived stupor and through the layers ofwool on his legs, Thomas can feel his joints ache from his position on the hardfloor. The water for the rag is barely warmer than ice, and Thomas’s knucklesare cracked and raw from dipping into the basin and rinsing out the cloth. Heblinks quickly as he feels his bloodshot eyes start to water, but when he sitsup to rub at them with the back of his wrist, he winces as the itching burnonly worsens.

There is a shuffling at the door to the great cabin, andThomas’s back pinches from where he swivels to see who is there. When thefamiliar snout of Neptune slides the door open enough for the dog to push hishead through the gap, Thomas sags and presses hand against the knot in hislower back.

“Hello, boy,” he says with a weary smile that wavers on hisface for a short second before it fades.

Neptune sniffs at Thomas’s sleeve. His tail wags slowly,even cautiously, but he doesn’t move when Thomas drops his rag into the basinof water so that he can bury his face in the side of Neptune’s scruff. The dogspants, his tail wagging faster, as he lets Thomas hug him loosely. Thomasexhales into the dog’s fur, and he feels some of  the day’s tension seep out of his bones atlast.

Distracted as he is by Neptune, Thomas does not hear anyoneelse enter the great cabin until the door slides shut with a quiet thud againstits frame. Thomas jerks his head up, his eyes wide, to see Edward standingbefore him. His face is red from the cold, bits of frost flecked through hiswhiskers.

Thomas stands quickly, Neptune lumbering out of the way.

“It’s not a good time, sir,” Thomas says in a hurriedstream, “The captain’s only now fallen asleep.”

Edward raises a conciliatory hand. “At ease, Jopson. I don’tplan to intrude on the captain.” He pauses, his mouth grimacing as glances atthe closed door to the captain’s personal space. “How is he?”

Thomas finds he has to search for the proper words. Heresists brushing his hand along the fringe of his hair. “Better. His fever islower. But he was delirious for most of today.”

Edward sidesteps what remains of the spot on the carpet ashe moves close to Thomas and places his hands over the elbows of Thomas’sjumper. Thomas’s breath catches, and he spares an apprehensive glance at theclosed door of the cabin before meeting Edward’s gaze.

“And you?” Edward asks, his voice a whisper.

Thomas’s lips start to tug into a frown, but with a clenchof his jaw, he forces a small smile. “I’m fine, sir. No doubt caring for thecaptain isn’t any more difficult than what lies on your shoulders.”

Edward sees through Thomas’s bravado, but he doesn’t commenton it. There are shadows under his eyes, and a perpetual crease in his browthat Thomas wishes he could wipe away. It has been months since he has seen thetension gone from Edward’s face, and over a year since he has seen him laugh; trulylaugh, not a brief chuckle, but a full-bodied laugh from his belly while hisface brightens in a wide, toothy grin and his eyes crinkle with mirth. Thomasknows that there is not much to laugh at these days.

When Edward starts to sway on his feet, his eyes growingdistant and his grip on Thomas’s arms slackening, Thomas beckons the man closerand guides his head to rest on his shoulder.

“How goes the preparations for Carnivale?” he asks, noise tofill the room and their minds, distractions profoundly needed by both of them.

Edward’s voice is muffled by his waistcoat. “They pitchedthe tent today. They’ll start moving furniture tomorrow.”

Thomas hums and turns his face so that his nose presses intoEdward’s soft hair curling over the shell of his ear. Edward’s hands move fromThomas’s arms to his back. Thomas’s skin prickles from where he can feel theweight of Edward’s fingers pressing into his lower back.

“Have you decided on a costume?”

Edward groans. “Do I need one?”

Thomas smiles, more genuine than before. He slides his handsto the back of Edward’s neck, lightly massaging the skin. “Well, it is a Carnivale. Wouldn’t you feel sillywithout one?”

Edward grumbles, and this time, Thomas laughs, under hisbreath, his shoulders quaking. Emboldened by his humor and their closeproximity – his judgment clouded by fatigue – Thomas slides the edge of hisfingers under Edward’s jaw so that he can lift his head. Edward has closed hiseyes, but they flutter open when Thomas runs his thumb through the hair of hiswhiskers, wiping away what remains of the melting snow. Edward’s eyes search hisface even as Thomas can stare only at his thumb where it traces along Edward’sjaw toward his chin, stopping right under his bottom lip. When Edward’s lipspart, a question poising at the tip of his tongue, Thomas tilts his head up andkisses him.

The kiss is light, their lips barely touching. Their nosesbump as both men are too tired to properly angle into the kiss, but Edward keenssoftly into the kiss to which Thomas responds by bringing his second hand toEdward’s face. His fingers slide through Edward’s whiskers to curl at the napeof his neck.

Edward’s eyes are heavy-lidded when Thomas pulls away, andthe steward is about to suggest that he get some rest when Edward hooks a handalong the buttons of his waistcoat and yanks him back. Their teeth knocktogether as Edward kisses Thomas with a desperate hunger, born of out of thiswindow of opportunity, their brief minutes of solitude, a rarity during theselong years in the ice.

Thomas kisses back with an equal fervor, parting his lipswider and sliding his tongue against Edward’s. He stumbles backward as Edward nudgesone his thighs between Thomas’s legs. Thomas grunts when he collides with thetable, half-sitting on the surface where it hit his backside. Edward uses theleverage to push his thigh up against Thomas’s stiffening length. Heat sluicesdown Thomas’s spine and coils in his groin, and a choked, animal sound escapesThomas, the noise raw enough that Thomas did not recognize his own voice.

As Edward’s tongue swipes against the line of his teeth,Thomas gasps, panting hard as he pulls away. He turns his head when Edwardsurges forward, kissing and tonguing the sensitive skin along the tendons ofhis neck. Thomas watches the door to the great cabin, always conscious of thenoise of Terror’s skeleton crew as itechoes down the hall of officer country, always anxious of how easily someonecould open the door and find them in such a damning, compromising state. Hiseyes slip shut again with a sharp hiss and a whimper when Edward skims the flatof his palm against his clothed prick.

Still, he tries to temper his want, no matter how wildly he desiresthe lieutenant to keep prodding and prying, to lay him on the table, theirshirts untucked and trousers unbuttoned, just enough that Edward can mount himand rub their pricks together until Thomas weeps from the pleasure and spillsonto his stomach from the delicious, hot friction.

“Edward, Edward,” he pleads.

Something in his voice gives Edward pause, and as he pullsback to examine Thomas’s face, there is a clatter under their feet that joltsboth men out of their sensuous haze. They separate, throwing distance betweenthemselves as they right their clothes and hair. Edward glances uneasily overhis shoulder at the door, and Thomas holds a hand over his chest, willing hisheart to slow its frantic rhythm.

At their feet, Neptune circles restlessly, the source of thenoise when the dog nearly tipped over the basin. Weaving between steward andlieutenant, the dog noses the door to the great cabin, scratching at the woodand whining.

There is a laugh, near hysterical, bubbling in the back ofThomas’s throat, but relief washes over him now that he knows his time withEdward is not about to be invaded by another officer. Thomas waits for Edwardto let Neptune out, and when he closes the door behind the dog, Thomas crossesthe space between them. He presses a quick, chaste kiss on the lieutenant’slips. Edward’s eyes are closed and his lips still pursed when Thomas pullsaway, and with an indulgent smile, Thomas strokes his hand down the side ofEdward’s neck.

“You look exhausted. No one would be the wiser should you retireto your cabin for a short while,” Thomas says with a twinge of sympathy.

Edward stares at him, frowning but not arguing the point.The tips of his fingers ghost along the hem of Thomas’s waistcoat before he straightensand forces his arms to lie lax against his side.

“I should like to continue this later, Mr. Jopson,” Edward manages,his dark eyes boring into Thomas’s.

“Of course, sir,” he complies, looking at Edward through hiseyelashes, fully aware of the effect his feigned innocence has on the lieutenant.“Shall I stop by your cabin this evening?”

“Yes, you shall,”Edward rumbles, anguished impatience lacing his words.

They kiss one final time before Edward exits the cabin. Leftto his own fancies, Thomas finds it difficult to return his attention tocleaning or caring for the captain. Anticipation drags through his loins like araging fire. There was promise brimming in Edward’s eyes before the lieutenantleft: of what is to come once they have the added illusion of solitude in Edward’scabin where they will share their warmth, tucked together in the narrow berth.

Thomas sighs to himself as he retrieves the basin from thefloor. The night cannot come quickly enough.

[popatochisssp]

how do u hc each pair of bros relationships? have they ever fought, seriously, before? does anything like feeling overprotected or condescended to happen?

Hoo boy, lots of thoughts on this, I hashed all this out a long time ago, how I personally see/characterize the relationships, and there’s a lot of it so it’s going straight under a cut!

Undertale Bros

They’rebest bros, of course!

Sans is a little like that parent who’s got fifty thousandpictures and stories about his awesome honor roll athlete kid who’s just so talented…!

Papyrus may be the kid in this situation, but it’s also a ‘who’sparenting who?’ scenario. He’s the kind of ‘kid’ that’s been more mature thanhis scatterbrained semi-irresponsible parent for awhile now and he helps himkeep his shit together and on track.

Oneof their favorite things to do is prank the absolute hell out of each other andthey’ve had a prank war that’s been steadily escalating for at least a coupleyears—Sans literally bends time and space these days just to screw withPapyrus, but Sans doesn’t get off easy just because Papyrus doesn’t have all thesame abilities.

They’re actually just about even because Papyrus is willing toput in a lot more effort to set up a prank, and then a few contingency pranksfor the ones he thinks Sans might see through so he’s guaranteed at least onesuccess.

In spite of all that theyscrew with each other, though, and even fondly talk shit about their brother to anyonewho stands still long enough to listen, they both love their sibling to bitsand would happily do anything to keep them happy.

…But therein comes the darker sideof their relationship— they lie to each other and keep secrets a lot.

Papyrus often acts a little younger and more naïve than he really is when Sansis around to hear him, and it’s common knowledge that Sans never tells anybodyanything if it’s important, and that includes Papyrus.

It’s purely intentionedon both sides, with Sans wanting to spare his little brother from dark orpainful topics that might damage his optimism and Papyrus knowing a lot morethan Sans thinks and not letting on about it because he doesn’t want to stressSans out when he knows he’s already dealing with a lot of heavy stuff (even ifhe isn’t sure of all the details).

They’d both probably be a little hurt tofind out what they’re keeping from each other, but their primary concern isloving and supporting one another and it’s not like they wouldn’t understandwhere the lies were coming from: it wouldn’t be anything a serious talk and ahug-it-out session couldn’t fix.

At the end of the day, they’re brothers and there’snothing more important to them than family.

Underswap Bros

They’re alsothe best of bros!

Sky is basically a soccer mom whose kid turned out tobe a nonathletic book nerd: he doesn’t always get Paps and it’s a mystery tohim why he’d rather stay inside and read than go be sporty and social withfriends.

Sky actually tried to encourage that a little more when Paps was akid, signing him up for activities and arranging playdates so something mightstick, but he figured out pretty fast that it wasn’t working and just made Papsfeel awkward and upset so he stopped pushing so hard.

There was pretty much immediateimprovement in their relationship when Sky changed tracks and startedsupporting Paps’ nerdier interests in spite of not always understanding theappeal.

Paps recognizes that he and his brother are very different people andreally appreciates that effort Sky went through to make their home a safe spacefor him to figure out his passions and his selfhood at his own (admittedlyslow) pace, so he’s got a lot of appreciation and respect for Sky that carriedon into adulthood.

After everything, Sky sees that Paps is still a littleawkward and introverted, but for the most part he’s become a confident, well-roundedskeleton that Sky is so proud to call his brother!

They communicate prettyopenly, habitual from Sky instituting a (metaphorical) open door policy whentheir relationship was more parental than fraternal, so whenever there’s anissue or something to be talked out, it usually actually gets addressed sooneror later.

Their preferred activities don’t have too much overlap but Papssometimes likes to follow after Sky when he’s off doing something to hang outand watch and generally just be his cheerleader—he’s got a really cool bigbrother and it makes him feel happy to return some of the support he got fromhim growing up.

At home, Sky is vigilant against Paps destroying his body whilehe’s reading or working on his own writing and gives him space to work, but also checks inevery couple hours to see if he needs some water or a food, and while he’s atit, turn on another light and sit up straight, your posture is abominable! Papstends to roll his eyes and says, “thanks mom,” but the reminders are reallyhelpful, actually.

Sky also likes pulling Paps into the kitchen to taste-testall kinds of pastry experiments he’s working on—Sky’s a decent, albeit budding baker—and Paps’ sweet tooth means henever says no. If a connoisseur of Muffet’s thinks it’s good, Sky knows itis. If it’s bad, well, Paps will usually be a jerk about it and choke andpretend to die and Sky is free to dump the leftover icing on his annoyinglittle brother’s skull before starting over.

They have a pretty goodrelationship.

Underfell Bros

Their relationship is fiercely loving…but it’s alsoextremely tense.

They would die for each other in a heartbeat and are ready tothrow down bones and blasters at anybody who has an aggressive word or threatto their sibling, but when it comes to just being brothers to each other theydon’t really… know how anymore?

Jasper’s given up so much of himself for Pyre’ssake: his childhood, his independence, and even his ego. He spent the firstdecade or so of his conscious life killing and risking his own safety to makesure his little brother survived to adulthood, and then the next decade-plushas been getting pushed aside, treated like dirt, and ordered around like apersonal minion.

Jasper knows it’s performative, Pyre acting like theirrelationship is convenience instead of real, familial affection to at leastsort of reduce the number of monsters who might want to take advantage—it wasJasper’s idea in the first place!— but literal years of it builds up and noteven knowing it’s fake makes it feel any better to be talked down to by thebrother he sacrificed his whole life for every time they’re out in public.

Atthe same time, it’s not like Pyre hasn’t given up just as much: when he took onthe role Jasper and their lives demanded of him, he was forced to give up hisidealism, any semblance of a social life, and any expression of softer emotion.He used to have so much hope for people but it’s been squashed out of him byseeing first-hand how nasty and unredeemable they can really be; seeingmonsters fire bullets at two children because they were weak and probablycouldn’t fight back and it was practically free EXP.

Jasper spent so longdefying expectations in defense of his brother and lashing out far moresavagely than a child should’ve been able to… When Pyre was finallyold enough to fight he threw himself into training and becoming stronger. He had to, he couldn’t leave protecting them both on only Jasper’s shoulders, itwouldn’t be fair.

When he turned out to be an incredibly tough and sturdyskeleton unlike his physically weak brother and Jasper first suggested theiract, Pyre agreed without hesitation. He crafted the perfect intimidatingpersona, The Powerful and Merciless Papyrus who dusts monsters with terrifyingprecision and cares for no one—not even his own brother!

For the most part, itworked: Pyre’s reputation and Jasper’s deference to him made most monstershesitate to mess with either of them, to the point that they’ve both been ableto go whole days without being attacked and tested. It’s the safest outcome forthem…but stars, it’s hard on Pyre.

He’s so isolated, by necessity but he’sbeing crushed under the weight of all his responsibilities and with absolutelyno emotional support from anyone. Fierce soldiers don’t have feelings or friends, that’s too much of a weakness and he can’t even lean on Jasper at homewhen they’re alone because of the rift between them, unplanned bleed-over fromtheir con for the public.

Pyre is stressed and lonely, Jasper’s bitter and tired, and neither of them is happy.

There’s a lot of misunderstandingsbetween them as they frequently take something the other said in an unintendedway or read more into something than there really was, and it leads to a lot ofrepressed anger and resentment that they’re both trying desperately not todirect at each other.

Their situation has been toxic for awhile and they’reboth suffering for it, neither knowing how to admit to the other that they’restruggling and just want this relationship to be easier.

Honestly, they need somekind of counseling to relearn how to communicate with each other and a safespace to do it in and the Surface world is probably their best shot. In spite of how bad of a time they’re both having, they’re still equallystubborn so it’ll take a really serious breakdown or a very forceful push fromsomebody on the outside of the relationship to get them to see some kind of therapy as necessary enoughto agree to it.

After learning some better talking strategies to use with eachother and hashing most of their stuff out, they try to find things to dotogether to emotionally reconnect at their therapist’s suggestion. It’s been solong since they’ve just been brothers and they’re not sure anymore whatinterests they have in common.

They try out a couple things and eventuallydiscover they both really love road-trips. Every couple of weeks they’ll hop inthe car and go see some kind of natural attraction or tourist trap while justspending casual, brotherly time together along the way, taking turns driving,sharing crappy motel rooms, and buying snacks at gas stations that they thenbicker about (Jasper doesn’t need to buy such sugary, salty, greasy junk, they have water and trail mix, it’s right there!).

It’s probably the closest they’vefelt to each other since Pyre was five.

Swapfell Bros

Very loving and considerably more functional than the other‘fell brothers… but not really healthy either.

Mal did his best raising Rus buthis bro had a lot of issues with anxiety and self-esteem (some inborn, a lot relatedto their shitty, violent environment) and Mal was at a loss for how to properlydeal with it.

He tried to boost Rus’ ego the same way he does his own, withlots of complimenting and boasting, but it was obvious from the beginning thatit wasn’t working and actually made it worse by putting pressure andexpectations on Rus that he felt he was never going to live up to.

It reallywasn’t his fault but Mal blames himself for not being a good enough parentalfigure and sometime around Rus’ preteen years he sat him down and said theequivalent of, “Look, I know it’s terrible down here and I know you hate havingto live like this and do these things, so just follow me and do what I tell you and we’ll getthrough this, I’ll take care of everything,” and Rus agreed in a heartbeat.

Malgets to be in charge all the time, which satisfies his general need to be incontrol of a situation, and he knows that calling the shots helps Rus relax alittle and that’s a balm for him, feeling like he’s being a better big brothernow than he was before.

Rus, meanwhile, got some space to breathe and not havethe weight of all these decisions and expectations on his shoulders, and he’sso grateful to Mal for taking that burden from him. If Mal is going to take onanything resembling a real responsibility in their lives, he’s happy to obeyorders and run errands when it means he can more or less sit around and donothing the rest of the time.

It works fine as far as they’re both concernedbut… it’s not perfect.

Mal is under a lot of pressure all the time, keepingtrack and taking care of everything going on in his life and his brother’s—he’s basically a single helicopter mom, except his ‘child’ is his grownskeleton of a brother that he’s…honestly, probably still doing laundry and making Adult PhoneCalls for.

At least Rus can generally get food for himself and bring in anincome, but it’s still a lot that’s on Mal’s plate and as satisfied as handlingit all makes him feel, it’s exhausting and stressful and that takes a toll.

OnRus’ end, there’s a lot of guilt that he tries not to think about because hedoes see that Mal is getting worn down sometimes and he knows his role in thematter but he’s not really sure what to do about it. He feels like a burden a lot and just…tries really hard to do the things Mal tells him to, to make things a little easier on his overworked big bro.

They could go on as they are for a very long time, it’s a moresustainable situation than it seems, but really they could both benefit fromsome therapy as well for their codependence issues, maybe even a trialseparation— nothing severe, just baby steps like maybe Rus getting his ownplace close by, or taking some adulting classes to learn more life-skills.

Outside of that, though, they have a very sarcasm/sass-driven relationship and trade barbs with the full understanding that they’re affectionate, they almost never actually fight. They pulled together where the Underfell bros added distance and misunderstandings are few and far between for them.

At any given time, both Mal and Rus are able to accurately predict what their brother is going to do in response to something down to the nuance and they’re scary accurate about it, but why wouldn’t they be? They’ve been attached at the metaphorical hip for most of their lives and there’s really not much they can’t guess about each other.

They’re good bros, but could be better.

Horrortale Bros:

These guys are a weird example of healthy codependence: they’reboth very reliant on each other, but in a symbiotic way instead of unequal ortoxic.

Surviving underground through the famine and the reign of Queen Undynepushed them closer than they’d ever been— they were good and loving brothersprior but with separate lives and their own stuff going on— but with so much atstake and no one they could unequivocally rely on but each other, they really hadto close ranks and learn how to work together in the most efficient wayspossible so they could survive.

It worked very well and together they’re awell-oiled machine, operating together almost like they’re one skeleton when itcomes to cohabitating or things that need to get done. They both know andcompensate for each other’s weaknesses: Papy keeps track of anything that Slatemight not be able to retain, and Slate is Papy’s rock, providing all the stability and emotional support/reassurance that Papy could ever need.

They’re very opencommunicators (can’t have secrets when you could starve to death at any moment), so any real grievances orstruggles they have are aired and dealt with quickly and their relationship stays healthyand positive.

They both feel like they’d probably be okay functioning withoutthe other if they had to, but they don’t really want to. After everything thathappened, it just makes them really happy to see their brother healthy and alive, especially once they finally get up to the surface, so they like to spend a lot of time together and just sort of…bask in thefeeling of how totally okay things are now.

They watch a lot of cooking showstogether on TV and send each other cool recipes they want to try. Papy’s the better chef, but has some, uh…kitchen-related triggers, so Slate’s been taking over for the parts that he can’t do. In return, Papy tries to keep an eye-socket out for any cool rocks he finds in his garden or while out for a jog that Slate can add to his collection.

They’re both doing a lot better now!

[afewmarvelousthoughts]

Only For A Moment Ch. 2

Chapter 1

Pairing: Bucky X Reader

Summary: For most of your life you’d been able to keep your abilities a secret, that is until Hydra got wind of you. After years of being in their clutches, you break out when The Avengers expose SHIELD/Hydra. Since then, you’ve been on the run. Things are going as well as you could hope when you see a familiar face... Could the Winter Soldier really be in Bucharest too?

Warnings: PTSD, thievery, death (implied).

A/N: Hello rabbit hole. How the fuck did I go from, “I’m going to write a smutty ass fic,” to well there’s a whole story, with lot’s of background, and pain, and feelings in like NO time?! There will be smut but there’s apparently gonna be some fluff, some emotional shit, and some touch starved/let’s help each other heal shit too. Who am I?

Word Count: 1381

Tags are open!

You want nothing more than to disappear into your scarf, just fall into your shell like a turtle. But you know you have to keep your head up, look normal, be vigilant. The museum rises up in front of you, it’s stunning facade somehow comforting. Beautiful buildings always inspired Y/N. But she was gone. ‘We can have similar interests,’ you think pushing away the ghost of your former self.

It’s Friday and the museum has just opened but there are enough people to make you feel at ease with your plan. Some tourists and two groups of rowdy school kids. ‘Perfect.’ You slide near a gathering of fourteen tourists who, from the sound of it, are Danish.

The cheery museum worker hands you a headset without a second thought, smiling brightly, and, gives you an appreciative once-over. ‘Girl must have a thing for vagabond-chic.’ She seems young and you hope she’s got a good friend to help her polish her taste in men.

You follow the group a few paces behind, observe where the men’s wallets are, what women have purses without zippers and plan your strategy. Bucharest is done, but you need funds to get out and tourists always have cash and in places like museums, a false sense of security.

As you pass the incredible skeletons your mind wanders to the Soldier. You’d caught wind that he’d vanished after the incident. Given his rap sheet, you have no doubt he has more than Hydra on his ass if that’s the case. But he was their star, the crown jewel of their murderous menagerie, you can’t imagine why he’d go rogue. Though there was that time-

A young woman slips on the tile and careens into you bringing you back to the task at hand. “Undskyld! Undskyld! (Sorry! Sorry!)”

“It’s ok,” you respond in Danish brandishing a smile. Knowing almost every language in modern usage may be the one good thing to come out of this nightmare.

“Oh,” she smiles awkwardly as you hand her tote back. You knew she’d assumed you were a man, that responding in a distinctly feminine voice would throw her even more than her slip. You also know that this is all the distraction you need to pull her wallet up, out, and under your jacket. Weaponizing gender norms, Nix would be proud. “Thank you!” Without a second thought, she strolls back to her friends, not wanting to linger.

You continue the museum tour for a bit without lifting anything else, not wanting to push it. The woman running into you was, despite your previous thoughts on the subject, lucky. Biding your time is best. 

In the marine life exhibit the hall is narrow and dim, everything awash in blue light. You’re bummed to be leaving this city, this museum alone with it’s winding corridors is a gold mine.

One of the Danish men pulls his phone out of his pocket, his money clip peeks up for just a moment and wouldn’t you know it just falls out and silently into your hand. A British man who’s group was already in the hall lost his wallet, shit luck that. Spoils in tow it’s easy enough to slip away unnoticed and duck into the men’s restroom.

A decent enough haul, about $300 Romanian Leu and $250 Euro. You’d certainly done worse. The money clip also seems to be gold so you hold onto it. The Brits wallet you let fall to the bathroom floor and as you casually stroll back past the mastodon on your way out you let the woman’s wallet float silently near where you’d collided. You may be a thief but you know getting around a foreign country without your ID is difficult and don’t want to cause them anymore issues. You’ll take any good karma you can eek out.

The thought of leaving the museum makes your mouth go dry. Romania seemed unassuming enough. After Berlin, you thought the typical European locals were too risky but you needed to be in a city where a stranger could go unnoticed. Was there really no place safe from Hydra… was running worth it?

Steeling yourself you step into the crisp day. Kiseleff Park is right by the museum and it seems as good a choice as any. You go far enough away as to not be seen by the tourists when they exit but not so far as to be away from public view and lounge on a bench. If they wanted you dead they could probably hit you here but if they want to take you in, this is too public. It wouldn’t be impossible of course but given the bind Hydra’s in it would certainly be too inconvenient.

You let your sixth sense slither down the legs of the bench. The screws securing it to the concrete are rusty but you’re pretty certain you can weaponize it if necessary. Down the bench, to the sidewalk, you feel out the cracks in the concrete surrounding you, easy enough to break it up and hurl it. The trash can to your back left is metal, the posts that make up the barrel can be pulled apart and used as projectiles. Even the lamppost about six feet away would be useful in a pinch.

‘What a good attack dog you will be,’ that voice slithers from the recesses of this morning’s dream. They were so impressed at your ability to think on your feet, to get out of a bind even if they were the bind…

You stop yourself. Don’t want to give him power in your waking hours, he has enough of that when your body demands sleep like the traitor it is. You fish your shattered phone from your pocket and give the surrounding area one last look over before trying to plot your next course.

The money from today would be more than enough to get you to the coastal city of Constanta, but from there you’d be partially surrounded by water. While living the rest of your days on a boat sounds kind of perfect you aren’t exactly a sea fairing woman and considering that the Black Sea is bordered by some pretty unstable regions, it’s best to not. You’ve got about $700 Leu between today and what’s in your squat, that may be enough to get a shitty car, or you could steal one. Maybe drive to Croatia.

The thought sends a pain shooting through your chest. The last Friendsgiving you had with them you’d convinced everyone that Croatia belonged on your group travel list, showing them photos you’d pinned and talking about how enchanting it looked when Anthony Bourdain went. You’d even priced hotels and flights just to show how y’all could make it work.

A single tear catches between your sunglasses and cheekbone and you quickly brush it away before you map the distance. Fourteen hours. You could do that without stopping. Ditch the car on some back road and walk to the city of your choice. You swallow the sob bubbling up your throat. There’s no point in tears now. You’re going on for them. They are gone because of you. It would be selfish to throw away the life you have, no matter how shitty it is when they don’t get to live theirs anymore. You can weep for them in the ocean they never got to see but not here on this fucking bench.

You slump over, take one ragged breath, then another. Dig your fingers into your thighs. Try to ground yourself in your body. And look up.

He’s across the street. Openly staring at you with no cover whatsoever. ‘Pretty shitty for an assassin,’ you think and you’re once again hit with the feeling of difference about him. He seems almost wilted. That doesn’t matter. Hydra will do anything to get at you. What better than to position someone like him here to get close, make you think you’re on the same struggle. An excellent way to break you down.

Suddenly you’re ready. If they want to play you’ll play. You take your glasses off and hook them on the neck of your shirt. Slowly you lift your face and meet those eyes. Unblinking you stand and walk away. You know he’ll follow.

________________________

I know, I know. So much world building. But I guess you just write the fic you like right? Bucky and the Reader meet next and honestly... I’m way too into it. 

[hellospunkiebrewster]

Triggers - Portraits of In-Between

Author’s note: The angst is back, holy crap is it back. I had a couple weeks of fun and fluff and then this hit me like a truck. Liam has been through so incredibly much. The murder of his mother, the abdication of his brother, the assassination attempt in his late-teens or early twenties, and now the attack on the palace. That has to stick with you in some way. Liam has such a tendency to hide himself away from others in order to appear kingly that it wouldn’t shock me if he was genuinely trying to quietly deal with some sort of PTSD without talking about it. Previous Portraits here:

Ivory (Liam x Hana) - Football (Drake x MC) - Apple Pie (Maxwell x Drake) - Tabletops (Liam x Olivia) - NoHo (Maxwell x Hana) - The Beginning (Maxwell x MC) - Commiserable (Drake x Olivia)

The characters in this story belong to and were created by Pixelberry. 

Warnings: Talks of gun violence, assassination attempts, and panic attacks.

Summary: Following the attack on the Homecoming Ball, Liam is trapped not only in a safe house but also his own mind.

Perma-tags: @madaraism, @mfackenthal, @never-ending-choices, @pbchoicesobsessed, @blackcatkita, @darley1101, @flyawayblue56

Tags: @butindeed, @crayziimaginations

Being alone was the last thing Liam needed right now, stuck in the quiet, in his thoughts. The room was darkened simply because he hadn’t felt the need to turn on the lights in his confinement. Maxwell’s nervous laughter filters through the walls as he sits in the living room, working his hardest to defuse this bomb of a situation. When Maxwell stops, Liam is pulled back into his own mind, running over the worse possible scenarios. He feels strangled, like he can barely breathe as the images of the barrel of a handgun pointed at him flood back. It felt so raw and so painful even though it had been nearly ten years ago. He can still hear the crack of the gun, echoing in his brain, feeling as if his eardrums might burst. Sweat rises to his forehead and his mouth runs dry. He tries to swallow, to draw out some moisture but can’t manage over the asteroid sized lump in his throat. This was all his fault.

Bastien told him she was safe, in another house with Drake, also safe. Another victim, nearly another body, simply because he was his friend. They were lucky tonight, but no one should feel fear like this because of him. He wasn’t worthy of it.

He feels himself begin to shake from his core to the outside as flashes of gun fire burn against the backs of his eyelids. He was watching it all in slow motion, again. He’d lost count how many times he recalled her terrified face searching for him in the crowd. It was an image that would haunt him forever, just as that gun pointed straight at him had all those years ago. He didn’t have many skeletons, but what he did have were ghosts. A past haunting him, the actions of his father and grandfather cursing him.

Liam opens his eyes and looks at himself in the mirror. He looks so small and insignificant across the room from the mirror seated on the king sized bed. He hadn’t felt this small in ten years. Bruises cover his torso and he runs his fingers over them, applying pressure as they find them. A reminder for himself that he can still feel something outside of this engulfing hopelessness.

He closes his eyes again and shudders when Riley’s panic-stricken face comes into view again. It was his fault. He should know better than to put her in this situation. His fingers run over a bruise on his chest and he presses harder than before. Tears pull at the backs of his eyes as he remembers her calls, terror seeping in them as she frantically yelled his name around the ballroom. She didn’t even realize he was the cause of all this. His heart starts to thunder, harder and faster, and he can feel the assassin grabbing him from behind, the thrust of a fist into his stomach as Liam is thrown to the ground by him. He remembers what it felt like to have the air forced from his body. His heart pounds, quick and forcefully.

Liam opens his eyes and reaches for the shirt on the bed beside him. Crisp. Clean. As if nothing had happened. It seems that is how he’s supposed to feel. Ever brave in the face of this roaring turmoil inside of him. The need to be always vigilant was exhausting and it destroyed him a little every day, jumping at every sound and analyzing every shadow. He slips the shirt over his still shower-softened skin and pulls his arms through. He stands, his legs weak, as he moves to the mirror and begins to button his shirt. As he travels lower, the bruises and abrasions hide from sight and he could almost forget they were even there. He presses his fingers into a spot he knows a bruise exists, on his abdomen, under his shirt. The ache brings him back from a world where his heartbeat is the only thing that exists within the walls of this safe house. He can make out Maxwell’s voice from the other room, chatting with Hana, filling the silence with stories and laughter to keep them all from falling. Just as Liam was right now.

The barrel of the gun stared him down as his eyes fluttered closed while he started to tuck in his shirt. There wasn’t a day in the last ten years that he hadn’t seen it. Recently, it hadn’t come to him as often. Brief, fleeting seconds each day before her beautiful voice swam into his ears, drawing him from this place of trauma and terror. She didn’t know she did this to him. Riley didn’t realize she threw him a lifesaver daily. He hadn’t shared this with her. It was too hard, too much pressure to add to the already astronomical weight he was asking her to carry. He needed her voice now, her scent, to feel her skin under his touch. He wanted her to run her hands over his bruises, drawing away with them the memories of the men who had attacked them.

She wasn’t here and it was taking a toll on him.

Suddenly, he becomes so incredibly aware that she had lived his nightmare. She would close her eyes and see that gun pointed at her. She would feel that overwhelming fear and hopelessness everyday with him. It broke him. She was such a ray of light and he was so undeserving. His hands grip and grasp at his bruises under his shirt, wrinkling the pristine surface. The aching roars to pain and he holds his hands in place, feeling his heartbeat slow only minorly.

He inhales deeply before he opens his eyes and looks at himself in the mirror. He didn’t recognize the man in front of him, haggard and unnerved. Not a king. A king wouldn’t be this afraid. His eyes wander his own face, the dark circles, the puffy lids, the lips turned down in a frown. He closes his eyes. Her face, her beautiful terrified face fills his vision. Her screams roar in his ears. Then there’s the gun, the barrel of the gun staring him down, staring them both down.

His chest constricts and all he can hear is the thundering of his heartbeat. The nervous chatter of the other room fades away as he’s transported to the ballroom then to the public appearance on the library steps. It was supposed to be a happy occasion: naming Riley as the newest Duchess, naming a children’s wing in the library for his mother. That damn gun. He feels choked, strangled, and he can’t breathe. His hands grip at the shirt on his chest and he looks around the room frantically searching for something, anything to bring him back. His heart roars, his ears ring, and he opens his mouth to call out but nothing comes. His voice is caught in his throat, hiding from the barrel of that gun. Liam feels his legs buckle and his knees hit the floor with a loud thud. His vision blurs and tunnels before he sees Maxwell before him, frantic but reassuring.

“Hey, Liam. Liam, buddy. I’m right here.”

Liam blinks away the haze that has overtaken his eyes and looks at Maxwell.

“Hey it’s okay, we’re safe Liam. She’s safe. Everyone is accounted for.”

He helps Liam to his feet and walks with him to the bed. Liam stares numbly at his hands for sometime as he feels his breathing regulate and his heart slow. Maxwell doesn’t say anything, although Liam can tell he wants to.

“I’m sorry.”

Liam looks at Maxwell, not saying anything else.

“Liam, this isn’t your fault. You didn’t ask them to come, you didn’t ask them to attack the palace. You can’t blame yourself for this.”

“I understand that every time someone tells me. Every therapist, every friend. They say the same thing. I know it isn’t my fault, but as I watch this happen over and over to the people around me: my mother, my friends, my fiancé. I can’t help but feel I’m not at least partially to blame.” He looks back at his hands.

Maxwell nods. He brings his hand to Liam’s back, running up and down. Firm and reassuring.

Liam draws in a long breath. “I wish every day I could leave these events in my past, but I can’t. They’re in my everyday. Every hour, minute, and moment is filled with it. The past refuses to let go of me.”

“When you feel like that, you know you can always come to me. I’ll be there to listen, to talk, to whatever you need to help you.” Maxwell pauses, pulling in a long breath and releasing it. “You’re not alone.”

Hana delicately pipes up from the door, tears glisten in her eyes as she watches the two of them. She was wordless until now.

“I’m here for you too. Riley is. Drake is. In her own way, Olivia is.” A small smile perks her cheeks and tears pop free from her eyes in the motion. They roll down her face, darkening her dress where they hit her chest. Hana steps tentatively in to the room with the two of them.

In that moment, everything boiled over in Liam. The depression. The anxiety. Love and grief. Tears fill his eyes as he looks and smiles the smallest of smiles at the two of them. This is what everyone needed, the true acceptance and support of the people closest to them. Even a king needed this. If his mind insisted on repainting the events of his past and his heart refused to forget, at least he had them.