#the closest we get is like. words flashing across the lenses of his glasses i think. but that's just straight up deduction

[zukkaoru]

[ID: a screencap of Ranpo using Ultra Deduction in the first season of Bungou Stray Dogs. edited onto it are various screenshots of tumblr tags that read: "#hes just that funny" "#it's all in his head" "#it's the autism" "#he doesn't have an ability but he's special. leave him alone" "#autism powers" "#he's just built different #have you ever seen an autistic person get really autistic about something" "#Kunikida does lights #Dazai does fog #those two were probably theatre kids in a past life" #its the autism" "#its an agency secret requirement implemented by fukuzawa #if you're ranpo's trail guide you have to pack the strobe lights" "#my theory is that #he emits a specific frequency straight from his brain everytime he thinks really hard and it induces mass hallucination of flashy lights" "#built in feature. comes with the autism" "#those are some super special glasses okay?" "#hes just like that" "#whimsy and wonder obviously now can you guys let him live" "#he has astigmatism" "#'why'd ranpo have a whole power-up sequence if he isn't gifted?' joke's on you he can just. do that" "#thats just how strong his autism is" "#dazai crouching behind him with flashlights and a fog machine" and "#personally I love the silly-mode (ie not canon but funny) hc that he does have an ability #it's just completely unrelated to the deduction skills #and he studiously ignores all the evidence suggesting he can. idk. levitate objects with his mind. #just like how he ignores the evidence that ultra deduction is maybe not a real ability" End ID]

Ah yes the greatest bsd mystery of them all:

If Ranpo indeed doesn't have an ability, where do all the flashy effects and lights come from

[thetunewillcome]

Heaven’s Grief, Hell’s Reign

Fandom: Good Omens (TV)

Relationship: Aziraphale/Crowley

Rating: M (to be on the safe side: sexual content, mentions of torture, drinking)

Tags: Crowley’s imagination, post-bookshop fire, first kiss, grief/mourning

Word Count: 1,802

Whumptober Prompt: delirium (@whumptober2019)

“I thought of angels choking on their halos.

Get them drunk on rose water, see how dirty I can get them,

Pulling out their fragile teeth and clip their tiny wings.

Anything you say can and will be held against you,

So only say my name: it will be held against you.

If Heaven's grief brings Hell's rain,

Then I'd trade all my tomorrows for just one yesterday,

(I know I'm bad news.)

For just one yesterday.

(I saved it all for you.)

I want to teach you a lesson in the worst kind of way.

Still, I'd trade all my tomorrows for just one yesterday.”

- “Just One Yesterday,” Fall Out Boy

Two bottles of Talisker, a singed book, a mountain of splinter-sharp regrets.  Pick one from the pile and hold it to the light.  Never mind how it cuts into the pad of your thumb and draws blood.  You need to look – you need to bleed – because you fucked up and now he’s gone.  The bar around you blurs at the edges, disappears.  Look.  You deserve to spend the last hours Earth has left examining each chance you had to do it differently.  To save him.

Here is one.

“That won’t happen.  You’re so clever.  How can somebody as clever as you be so stupid?”

And in his memory, he feels his hesitation, sees himself climb back into the Bentley, toss a cold lie in the angel’s direction, and speed away.

Here is what he should have done.

(Continue reading on AO3 or below.)

“That won’t happen.  You’re so clever.”  Two quick breaths.  Then, “don’t you know what you’ll lose if your lot wins?  What you’ll suffer if they don’t?”  Because he must not have.  If he had known these possibilities, he would have shared in Crowley’s panic.  He would have taken him up on his offer.  So he must not have known.

Crowley should have shown him: first one and then the other.  To show Aziraphale what he had to lose, all Crowley had to do was grab hold of his lapels and pull him forward, finally, to shatter the pristine space that had hovered in between them like a polished pane of glass for six thousand years (look, don’t touch) in a collision of lips and teeth.  He would have kissed him with the frenzied hunger of a starving man, and Aziraphale would have kissed him back: yes, he would have, after a moment’s baffled stillness.  This, he would think, a hand clutching at the side of Aziraphale’s jaw, this is what we’ll lose.

And when Aziraphale started to see it, Crowley would tear a shaking hand away from him just long enough to move them to the privacy of the bookshop.  Now for the hard part, the lesson that Crowley regretted knowing how to teach, but in this revised narrative, he would have had the courage.  Now, Aziraphale’s trust, the light that had once caused Crowley to fall for him, was blinding him to what lay waiting in the shadows.  If he did not want to lose Aziraphale, he would have to pull the brimstone darkness out from inside himself, provide the shade needed for Aziraphale to open his eyes.

Guiding with a grip that dug into Aziraphale’s hips, Crowley pushed him backward until his heels and shoulders hit the closest bookshelf.  His surprise at the collision broke the kiss, and Crowley stared into his blue eyes, thought a silent apology for what he was about to do, and began.

“They like to pull teeth,” running a thumb across Aziraphale’s lips.  “To start out.  Slowly, one by one.  Clouds your thoughts, that kind of pain does.”  Kiss those lips while the words sink in, before he has a chance to object.  Worship what they would use against him.

“I saw them, once,” he murmured, biting his way down Aziraphale’s neck, “make a demon drink holy water.”  Shivering from the tangle of terror and need, he tugged Aziraphale’s shirt free from his trousers, slid a hand up underneath to touch skin.  “You can imagine the burns, from the inside out.”

“Crowley, hush,” low and breathy.  Avoiding lingering eye contact, he checked Aziraphale’s face, hoping for and finding lust and fear, substantially more of the former than the latter.  Aziraphale swallowed thickly but pressed on, picking at the buttons of Crowley’s vest with nervous fingers.  Yes, need me; know what I know; give up your stubborn, misplaced hopes and save yourself.  Come with me.  With an impatient groan, Crowley shrugged out of his jacket, ripped the vest out from under Aziraphale’s hands and tossed it on the floor, then slid Aziraphale’s coat from his shoulders.

Another kiss, hand sliding into white curls, twirling them around nimble fingers and pulling lightly.  “Before they’re even close to finished, some rip their own hair out, patch by patch,” he whispered against Aziraphale’s lips, “mad from the pain.”  Aziraphale’s hands fell still, but Crowley moved his own deftly, making quick work of the bowtie, waistcoat, dress shirt.  Crowley pressed a reassuring kiss to his lips, reminding him: I am here, and I am not them, and I hate it, but I have to do this.  You need to know this fear.  Then, he vanished his own shirt and tie.

By now, Aziraphale had caught on, accepted the words that accompanied Crowley’s eager hands.  Their time here was growing steadily shorter, and that first kiss had started something Aziraphale was desperate to finish.  

When bare skin met, Crowley slipped a little, a quiet “angel” escaping his lips in an exhale as he spread his hands on Aziraphale’s strong shoulders.  Six thousand years of wanting this, and it had to happen now and in this cruel way.  But if not now, then never at all.  If not Crowley’s hands, then theirs, and they would make good on his hollow threats.

Aziraphale’s fingers working at his belt jolted him out of his thoughts.  “I know,” Aziraphale said, voice heavy with wanting, “I know what they are capable of.  Please, you don’t need to explain.  I’ve been wanting this, wanting you, for so long, but I never…”  Crowley’s pulse thundered in his ears.  “While they’re all preoccupied, we can,” a warm hand moving under fabric, “enjoy this, now.  And if this really is the end… Crowley, I – ”

A moan climbed up Crowley’s throat, escaping through clenched teeth.  “It doesn’t have to be. If you would just, mm, listen,” he hissed, knowing Aziraphale still was not convinced.  Time for the last card in his hand.  “Wings.  Show them to me.”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened in surprise.  Until this point, the talk of torture had only mildly affected him.  Once, Aziraphale had led a platoon of angels into battle, guarded a gate of Eden.  From his time on Earth and the disconcerting attitudes of his superiors, he had developed a nervous energy in his hands, a hesitating lilt in his speech, a tendency to over-think and doubt.  He would do all he could to avoid violence, but that did not mean he feared it.  Any fear he felt up to this point had been for Crowley, thinking of how Hell would punish him for his disobedience when they finally caught up with him.

This request, however, gave him pause.  To bring out his wings was to make himself more vulnerable than he had ever been around Crowley.  Aziraphale needed time, time to process all of this, but time was exactly what they did not have.  He looked up and into Crowley’s dark lenses, silently questioning, hesitating even as Crowley’s hand moved up his back to rest between his shoulder blades.  “Angel,” Crowley warned, “now.”  Like this, so close, Crowley could sense the beating of Aziraphale’s heart, feel how much Aziraphale wanted him.  Crowley knew he was considering refusing.  If he did, this would all be gone so soon. Slowly, Aziraphale closed his eyes.

Suddenly, the air around them rushed away, finding itself displaced, bookshelves shifting back, and Crowley was enveloped in white.  Looking at the pristine feathers around him, he forced himself to focus.  To remember the day, hundreds of years ago, when he had ventured down to turn in reports and overheard the murmurs about a captured angel.  That day, choking down bitter fear, he had found the right holding cell and peered in.  He had almost collapsed from relief when he saw it was not Aziraphale, but it easily could have been, and what they were doing to brilliantly white wings just like his… Crowley forced himself to remember and search for the words.  Pull.  Tear.  Break.  Burn.  Feather by feather – he thought as he reached out and reverently touched the tip of one, Aziraphale watching him – they would destroy you.  

But the words died in his throat.  Those pale blue eyes did not flicker with fear; they shone, full of love and trust.  Fingertips hovered on the waist of Crowley’s trousers, waiting, and he was tempted to abandon everything that did not involve those fingers on his skin.  Continue.  You must, Crowley thought.  If anything good could come of his sinful existence – his suffering, his darkness – it was this, now, but only if he could finish what he had started.  

“Your wings, they,” he managed in a rough whisper, and then he looked up at them again and saw the flash of lightning, heard the clap of thunder, the patter of rain: the memory of the last time he had stood under these wings, in Eden.  Without his permission, his facade crumbled away and he pitched forward, wrapping his arms around Aziraphale and burying his face in his shoulder.  The angel did not deserve to know the horrors demons knew.  Aziraphale had not questioned and fallen and earned that darkness, and Crowley loved him far too much to cast a shadow on his gorgeous light.  He could not carry on.

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered, holding Crowley’s trembling body.  “Dear, it will…”  His voice faded, as if he knew better now than to say it will be okay, as if he knew it couldn’t be.  Not because Crowley had convinced him to give up his hope and run, but because Crowley had failed.

Even in an imagined memory, one you had control over, you failed.  Too weak to leverage all the wickedness that She cursed you with when She cast you out of Her grace.  What was the point, then, of your Fall?  The flames, the blackened feathers, the sharpened tongue, the scorched faith: all utterly useless against the inferno that torched your world and killed your best friend.

Remembering where you are, you motion for the bartender.  “Same again.”  Pick up another fragment of regret.  Stare at it so your eyes don’t linger on the empty chair across from you.  Wait for the rest of the Earth to follow suit and fall to ashes.

[that-one-fandom-vore-blog]

One Simple Act (1/?)

Hello! Quick note before we begin, this fic contains heavy vore themes as well as G/t. Yes, I���m serious. No, this isn’t a crack fic. All I ask is that you proceed with caution!

Eddie couldn't believe it.

He couldn't. Fucking. Believe it. 

His ankle throbbed as he darted beneath the door of the boy's bathroom, his throat beginning to close as he did so. He could taste blood. His stomach was a tight, hot ball of nerves as he curled up on the tiles, drawing his knees to his chest and pressing his back against the closest wall. His sneakers— covered in dirt and grime— barely toed the edge of the tile he was sitting on. 

He could feel something hot— blood, his own— leaking from his nose and choked on a sob as it rose in his chest. Red stained the collar of his shirt, dry in some patches, a deep, brown color that matched the scabs decorating his knees. He rocked back and forth, his eyes firmly screwed shut, the bruises all over his body throbbing in time with his frantic heartbeat. 

Stupid, Eddie.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

He should have known better— he did know better— than to have been out in broad daylight. What, was he trying to get himself killed? And of course— of course— a human saw him. God, a fucking— a human! He'd seen the human's eyes— dark, lit with a sort of gleam that made him want to bolt— along with his wicked sneer that had made Eddie's whole body freeze in place. 

It was only when the human's fingers closed around his waist that he realized he was in trouble. 

It was only when he was thrown around like a toy that the tears started to fall. He curled up tighter, his whole body shaking like a leaf in a hurricane as he heard footsteps-- big ones-- coming his way. A whimper caught in his throat. His thoughts began to spiral out of control, his breathing becoming more and more ragged with every thud of sneakers on the ground. 

Running's pointless. 

If they want to catch me, they will.

I'm--

I'm probably not going to survive.

That last thought caused his heartbeat to double in speed. 

If the human wants me dead, I'm as good as--

“Holy motherfucking shit." 

Eddie jerked upright, heart in his throat. He didn't dare open his eyes. He could feel breath-- not his own-- ghosting across his face and choked on a whimper. It smelled like whoever it was had brushed their teeth. 

There was a brush of something-- a finger against his shoulder. "Shit, dude, you're bleeding." 

Eddie gathered his courage. "Go away." He hissed, inwardly cursing the way his voice wobbled. 

He heard another shift from the other person-- the other male-- and slowly let his eyes flicker open a crack. 

What he got was an eyeful of so many things at once. Chunky, coke-bottle glasses took up most of his vision, a pair of huge, chocolate brown eyes looking at him almost pitifully from behind the thick lenses. He could see freckles too, and wonky buck-teeth along with lips that looked as though they'd been chewed on one too many times. Wisps of wild curls fell across his face as he tilted his head slightly to the left. "What the fuck happened to you?" 

Eddie curled up tighter, trying to ignore the way the other boy's brow quirked at his actions. "Doesn't matter."

The boy across from him snorted and leaned in closer. 

Doesn't he give a shit that he's sprawled across the bathroom floor?

Evidently, he didn't. He didn't seem too phased by the germs that were most likely swarming all over his bruised skin.  "Uh, yeah, it does. What happened?" The human asked with a frown, one of his hands shifting a fraction of an inch closer to Eddie. 

Eddie flinched, his heartbeat speeding up involuntarily at the movement. It was nothing, not the human's fault, that his hand alone was bigger than Eddie's entire body. 

He could kill me right now. 

Pictures of human hands-- far less clumsy looking than these-- flashed through his head. Hands that had grabbed him. Hands that had thrown him. Hands that had pulled at his shaking limbs until he thought they would tear off. 

"Hey, I need you to talk to me." The human murmured, one of his hands raising to his face to push up his awkwardly large glasses. 

Eddie glared at him as well as he could through the tears drying on his face. "No, actually, you don't." He managed to get out. 

He just wants an easy snack. 

That's all I am to him.

The human dropped his hand a little nearer to Eddie and crept closer on the cracked tile floor, his band-aid clad knees scraping across the ground as he scooted toward the other boy. "Okay. Fine. We don't-- we don't need to talk." He let out in a huff. Irritation threaded itself through his words, but the amused undertone was more than present. "Smoke signals?" He suggested.

Eddie's glare turned into a full-blown scowl. "Do you see a tiny lighter on me?" He bit, trying his best to ignore the fact that the human was getting closer. His heart leapt into his throat. 

He's--

A bit taller than the last one.

The human's eyes flicked across his small frame. "Well, sunshine, you've got a fanny pack." He pointed out. "Could be full of surprises, 'ya never know." 

The way the other boy waggled his eyebrows on the word 'surprises' made Eddie cringe. "Look, I appreciate that you're trying to help," He growled, his words returning to him as he looked up once more, taking in the other boy's half-smile. "But I-I'm fine." The other boy opened his mouth as if to speak, but Eddie continued, disregarding the flicker of what looked almost like hurt across the taller's face. "I've just gotta get out of here."

The taller boy took a breath in and fixed his glasses on the bridge of his nose. Eddie watched, petrified, as the human slowly let his hand fall, the huge fingers mere inches from him now. The tall boy left his hand on the grit-caked floor, palm-up in an almost questioning fashion. "Then let me help." He said, his voice taking on an accent that made Eddie's lips twitch into what could have been mistaken for a smile. 

It disappeared in an instant. 

He's a human!

A voice in his head screamed. 

He'll hurt you!

He'll--

The noise of a door creaking open behind the bespectacled boy caused them both to freeze in place. 

"TOZIER!" 

The tall boy-- Tozier-- acted before Eddie could even cry out. 

Fingers with chipped nails closed around his waist as the tall boy lifted him close against a Hawaiian print shirt, clumsily depositing him in a breast pocket. "Sorry," Tozier whispered. 

Eddie looked up, and for a moment, staring into Tozier's huge, scared eyes, he almost believed it. 

And then-- the pocket closed around him, and he was cast into darkness with nothing to keep him company but his own heartbeat, muted in comparison to Tozier's. 

"Where the fuck is he, four eyes?" Snarled an all-too-familiar voice. Eddie couldn't help but tremble, his fingers falling involuntarily to the heavy wound on his shoulder, the feeling of dried blood against his hand making him gag.

Tozier's heartbeat quickened. Eddie could feel it against his back; feel it pulsing against his skin. 

"Where's... who exactly?" 

The pocket jolted around him and Tozier let out a sharp noise of surprise. Shoved him.

Eddie realized as he was pushed against Tozier's chest. 

Mullet-wearing dickbag shoved him. 

"Stop fucking around!" Barked the other boy. "Where's my snack?" 

Eddie's heart skipped a beat.   

Tozier swallowed hard, the noise causing Eddie to curl up tighter in the pocket surrounding him. "Henry, I told you, I ain't letting you suck my--" 

Another shove. 

Harder this time. 

He curled up as he heard a low growl of a voice addressing Tozier once more. "The tiny, dipshit! The fucking tiny!" 

Tozier took a deep breath, the whooshing noise causing Eddie to shudder. "If you're looking for something tiny, maybe you should check your pant--"

This time, Tozier managed to avoid the hit. Eddie lett out a sharp yelp as his space was suddenly folded in half, the pocket folding with Tozier's movements. He only realized his error when he felt Tozier's heartbeat start thundering even harder against him and the outline of a hand press against his trembling body. 

He could see Henry-- god, fucking Henry-- in his mind's eye, glowering at the boy with the too-thick glasses and the dorky buck-teeth. "What was that, Tozier?"

The hand pressing against him pushed him closer to the boy's chest, the thundering sound of Tozier's heartbeat in his ears making him shake even harder. "What was what, Henry?" The crack in Tozier's voice was what gave him away. 

Eddie could practically feel Henry's eyes on him through the thin fabric of Tozier's pocket as he curled up against the tall boy's skin.  "Your pocket, smartass. Show me what's in it," Tozier inhaled sharply, his whole frame wobbling as something-- presumably, Henry's hand-- slammed into his shoulder, "and I won't skin you."  

"Oh," Tozier croaked, the single, broken syllable causing Eddie's heart to stop in his chest. "Did you mean..." 

D-Don't.

Please, please, PLEASE do not show him--

Careful fingers closed around the back of his shirt and he let out a yelp as he was pulled from the relative safety of Tozier's pocket. "This?"

He swung wildly in the tall boy's grip, his knees rising to his chest instinctively as he tried to distance himself from the ground below him, his whole body shaking like a leaf as the boy's other hand was brought to rest beneath his feet. He tried to kick it. 

His gaze jerked upward at the rough sound of Henry laughing. The bully's eyes-- dark, predatory, animalistic-- drilled into his own. "That's him," Henry said between laughs, stopping to clap Tozier on the back, perhaps a little too hard. "Well," He was already reaching for Eddie as he spoke, ignoring the scream his actions earned, "hand him over, and I--"

"No." The word was quiet as it escaped the human's lips. 

Henry's eyes narrowed. Eddie tried to turn around in Tozier's grip, watching as the human's throat bobbed with a nervous swallow. 

"What," The bully gritted, "was that?" 

Tozier wrapped his fingers tighter around Eddie's ribcage, the feeling causing Eddie to cry out. "You're choking m--" His words turned into a gasp as Tozier loosened his grip in the slightest, cupping his other hand gently beneath Eddie's feet. 

For a second, just a second, he thought that he was going to get away. Maybe-- Maybe Tozier wasn't bad, and-- and the human wouldn't kill him. 

"Well, I said no." Tozier's words came out too fast as Henry stepped forward, making to shove the scrawny boy again. "Because,” Tozier’s eyes fell shut, the rest of his words coming out in a rush, “I was going to eat him!" 

Eddie's heart stopped.

He--

Henry laughed, his words muted compared to the ringing in Eddie's ears. "You? C'mon, you couldn't eat a tiny if it jumped into your mouth." 

Tozier swallowed hard as Eddie began squirming in his grip, gagging at the sweat-- sweat that wasn't even his-- seeping through his shirt. "Yeah, I could, and I was gonna take this little shit out back and just knock him back." 

Henry's eyes narrowed. His gaze shifted from Tozier, down to Eddie, and back up to Tozier again. "Well, do it then."

Tozier's breath hitched. "I beg your--"

"I don't have all day, Dick." Henry snarled, getting a little closer than Eddie would've liked. 

The hand cupping his legs began to loosen its grip, the other moving to pinch the back of his shirt. "Fine, okay, jeez..."

It was then that he found his voice. "HEY, WAIT, DON'T I GET A SAY?" He pleaded, his words melting into a yelp as he was jerked by the back of his shirt up to Tozier's lips. His eyes-- wide and terrified-- connected with a pair framed by thick glasses. He could've sworn he saw something in Tozier's gaze. Pity, maybe. 

"Well?" Henry prompted. 

Tozier winced. 

"Please don't." Eddie choked out, giving another pitiful squirm. The slick noise of Tozier's mouth opening caused him to flail wildly, kicking, squirming, screaming to be let down. 

He couldn't tear his eyes away from the gaping maw that awaited him. Saliva pooled in a sticky puddle on Tozier's tongue, the slimy muscle shifting from side to side in anticipation. 

No!

He couldn’t help but look down the human’s throat as it pulsed ahead of him, the sight of the dark, slippery tunnel making him scream until he thought his throat would bleed. 

Fight, damn it!

But the more he fought, the more he pleaded, it seemed that Tozier lowered him faster. 

"PLEASE DON'T--" 

He broke into a scream when Tozier dropped him.

[necromatador]

Couriers Campaign: The Comet

When last we left off, we’d made it to the hidden island temple where the Star Of Nantzintli (the legendary gemstone said to have fallen from the sky) supposedly could be found.  After sending up a flare to tell the other search parties where it was, we settled uncomfortably around a campfire and waited.  Slowly the other two search parties arrived, both scuffed up from encounters with raptors as well.  Jab had gotten his leg broken, and Belmont was half covered in blood having only just escaped having his arm bitten off by the shortsword Aeron had let him borrow earlier.  We start setting up, Belmont watching for the comet in the darkening sky while the rest of the crew tried to figure out how to put the lenses on the pillars to unlock the temple.

Each one had a moon shape on it, and we eventually figured out thanks to a small mosaic on the side of one of the pillars that it was supposed to go something like Red > Yellow > Blue > Green > Orange from the closest to the farthest pillar.  We placed them all correctly and then sat back.  

Eventually the comet showed up.  A massive streak across the sky, radiating an iridescent tail.  Everyone was stunned for several minutes before Kelvayla called us all back to sense in order to start searching around for the entrance, since the legend said with the lenses in place and the comet in the sky, it should be open.

Hours pass.  Nothing.  Well, not nothing, but Xel’bal noticing that the designs on the overgrown stone road we’d followed in were all names wasn’t exactly getting us anywhere.  Everyone was getting more and more frustrated.  Aeron noticed, as Kelvayla was making increasingly annoyed rounds around the ziggurat, Vendus was walking around to each member of the crew.  Aeron went up to Nimh and warned them that Vendus was putting his mutiny plans into motion, and Nimh told Aeron to inform Keyleth and Kaicis while they went to go talk to Walker.  Aeron explains things quietly to Keyleth and Kaicis, telling them not to get involved with the mutiny, not to be surprised and startled when it happens AND not to take sides.  Nimh takes Walker off into the surrounding jungle a little and mentions to him that none of this mission feels right, it feels like graverobbing and they’re not finding anything anyway, and the crew isn’t happy, Walker sighing and admitting he knows.

Vendus confronts Kelvayla.  Bringing up all of the crew that have died in the pursuit of the star, and how without the party being here, even more would’ve.  Walker and Nimh come back at the sound of the confrontation.  The crew expresses their grievances, and with a comment of “the woman I signed up to serve went into her cabin one day with a letter and a piece of glass and never came back out again”, Walker tries to reason with Kelvayla.  She doesn’t listen, but backs down and allows the crew to leave behind Vendus.  The party and Walker are left behind briefly with her, and Walker tells them all that he won’t let them leave on the Seahawk without them.  Nimh tells Aeron, Keyleth, and Kaicis to go back to the ship, but they want to talk with Kelvayla.  Reluctantly, they agree and head off.

As the trio head back to the ship there’s an increasingly thick fog rolling in.  Almost pea soup by the time we get to the beach.  The party is understandably nervous about this.  Keyleth asks nervously if Drakkar ever showed to be able to control fog.  Aeron responds “I wouldn’t put it past him, the dramatic bastard.”  And lo and behold, looming behind the Seahawk, emerging out of the fog, is Drakkar’s massive galleon.  Keyleth drags Aeron and Kaicis back into the shrubbery of the jungle, and we hear Drakkar’s voice boom out in thunder: “WHERE IS THE STAR?  KELVAYLA.  YOU HAVE UNTIL NIGHTFALL TO BRING ME THE STAR, OR THE HEARTS OF YOUR CREW ARE FORFEIT TO ME!”  We turn tail and run back into the jungle to the ziggurat.

Still at the ziggurat, Nimh has been watching Kelvayla have a small tantrum.  They start questioning her about why she’s doing all this in the first place.  Is it because you want to prove something?  You certainly care about your crew, so wtf are you doing?  Except much better worded than that.  Then there’s a distant rumble of thunder, and they notice the fog and the localized storm clouds over by the ship.  Worried, they start heading towards the beach.

As the two groups just about reconvene, the comet passes in front of the rising sun.  There is a massive flash of rainbow light that we all have to cover our eyes from, and then it focuses down the lenses on the pillars.  Once we all regain the ability to see, we see each other and then notice that the focused light from the lenses has literally melted a doorway into the ziggurat.  Then the trio explained to Kelvayla and Nimh what happened, with Aeron mimicking Drakkar’s ultimatum.

With a look back towards the storm clouds, Kelvayla growls “well what are we waiting for?” and we head into the ziggurat.

[theprodigypenguin]

Hush

Pairings: Jeith/Jaith (James Griffin and Keith Kogane)

Day two of @jamesandkeith week: Dreams/Nightmares/Fantasies 

Notes: I don’t like how this came out :/ I definitely want to expand more on James, his own PTSD (because don’t make the mistake of thinking he doesn’t suffer from something), and the nightmares he can get because of intense guilt and fear, but I just didn’t have enough time to add what I wanted, so here we go. I might write a 2.0 version of this, longer, later on, because I love the concept, but for now I really hope ya’ll don’t hate this. 

Day One / Day Two / Day Three / Day Four / Day Five / Day Six / Day Seven / Day Eight

Ratings/Warnings: angst, whump

Read it on Ao3 as well!

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"Stay close to me, we don't know what to expect," the words in James' throat felt weird, weighed down, as he crouched down in the dirt outside the hulking and eerily accented black and purple Galra facility, looking over his shoulder towards is three teammates. They were all armed, the lines in their faces set in determination and concentration.

This was supposed to be an easy mission, simple, but the air smelt heavily of iron and rot, metal and oil, and it had James raising an arm above his mouth and nose, squinting his watering eyes as he rose to his feet and moved forward. There was a clock ticking away in his head as he strode forward in stale confidence, knowing that his team would follow. They trusted him after all, he'd never strayed them wrong before, and he'd spent hours, days prior to the mission, planning every last insignificant detail until it made him sick.

It would be an easy go, he knew that, but he was left in complete shock when the facility doors swished open and his vision blacked out. The noise in his ears was muffled, and he tightened his grip on the gun in his hands as he swung back and forth with wide eyes, trying to see the interior of the facility. He couldn't see a damn thing, though, so he felt himself panic, calling out to his team.

"Rizavi! Kinkade! Leif! Regroup and retreat!" he didn't get the responses that he wanted, no sass snapped at him from Nadia or Ina coaxing him into continuing the mission with a fact on why he'd gone blind and why it was fine, or the confirmation of comprehension in the form of a grunt from Ryan.

He got nothing, and suddenly he was blinded by a flash of white light, coiling in on himself and pulling an arm up to shield his face, peeling his eyes open after a moment to find himself outside, back at the Garrison, the sun beating down on him, gun still in his hands. There were rows and rows of seats set up, laced with black ribbon and red spider lilies, and the stage at the front was weighed down with three portraits wreathed with lilies, gladioli, and hydrangeas.

The gun in his hands was suddenly heavy, and he uncurled his fingers to let it fall to the ground, the object hitting the dirt with a wet splash that had him tensing, shoulders trembling as he curled his hands into fists, slowly, fearfully turning his head to cast his gaze to his feet. His stomach lurched up into his throat and caught on the startled scream as he staggered backwards, arms flailing to grab onto the chairs to one side of the aisle.

Dirt and sand and dust was stained crimson with splashes and puddles of thick blood. James' breathing quickened as he looked around frantically, pushing away from the chair and lifting his hands in front of his face, his panic increasing when his eyes caught the sight of dried blood beneath his nails and smeared across his fingers, set into the lines in his palms.

"James," the voice that addressed him was unearthly, gravely, and instinct dragged him away from its source, staggering over the blood slicked ground and towards the stage at the front of the rowed seats, stumbling as he reached it and dragging himself onto it, nails digging into the wood and cracking as he hauled himself up, before getting to his feet, freezing when he realized what exactly the set up was for.

A memorial service, and the three officers they were honoring were... his. His team. Ina, Ryan, Nadia, their faces immortalized within stained frames and pressed beneath glass. James' head spun as he stepped up to the closest stand and photograph, touching the surface with blood stained fingers and smearing red across Ryan's brow before jerking his hand back.

"James," that voice again, and his back went rigid as he started to turn, choking when he managed to face the front.

Each seat was occupied with Garrison cadets and officers, some he recognized, some he didn't, with their heads lifted and eyes locked on him. There were no expressions, just dead eyes and pale skin, and James staggered back as a deep voice rumbled.

"A mission gone wrong, complications arose," he turned his head sharply to see Iverson standing at the microphone, hands on the stand, "Our hearts will not soon forget this pain, and we will honor these fallen pilots with every breath we take. It's only right we continue to live in order to respect them, but I can't help but wonder," his head turned, a glassy eye met James', "Why there aren't four memorials up here, instead of just three."

"What did you do, Officer Griffin?"

He jerked around to see Sam Holt standing on the stage, and opened his mouth to whisper, "What? I didn't... do anything. No, there's no way, no way I would let my team die! Not like this! I planned for days before the mission, I had everything set out!"

"Plans go astray sometimes," that voice broke him more than Sam's had, and he turned a weary head in Keith's direction to see him standing at the edge of the stage, "You're always so uptight, James. Look at what you did," James dropped his eyes to his stained hands, they still seemed heavy, the blood still hot and wet, fingers trembling as he gaped at Keith again.

"I would never do this, please. I didn't mean to. This is a joke, where's my team?" Keith just shut his eyes, and James took a few threatening steps towards him, "Where the hell is my team?!"

Keith's eyes opened and James jerked back at the blood red sclera, thick red tears pooling before cutting down his face, lips parting to release a rush of blood that stained his chin and neck, dampening the front of his shirt in seconds before his knees buckled.

"Keith!" James lunged forward to wrap his arms around Keith before he could hit the ground, craddling him awkwardly as he lowered himself to his knees, which soaked through from blood he couldn't even see, "No, don't do this. Stop, come back, I'm sorry!"

"James...," Nadia's voice had him jerking his head up, once again in the Galra facility, violet lights flickering and broken sentries scattered around the floor.

His three teammates were lying on the ground in front of them, close to one another, as if they didn't want to die alone, blood staining their clothes and pooling around their unmoving bodies, rips and tears in their uniforms. Ina looked so small curled up with her head against Ryan's ribs, hair shielding her face, pale color making the stains of blood far too striking. Nadia's face was turned in his direction, the lenses of her glasses cracked to distort her eyes, which were open, against the gray and yellow of her skin and the blood crusting the corners of her mouth, which moved as if her jaw needed to be oiled.

"Help us... please... it hurts...."

"Nadia," James whispered, looking down to find Keith still in his arms, unresponsive, placid; all forms of dead, "No, no, no."

"He-help... please... James..."

"NO! No, I'm sorry!" James screamed, he broke, he carried Keith unceremoniously over to the rest of his team and fell back to his knees, curling over the unresponsive paladin and pinching his eyes closed tight, keeping one arm curled beneath Keith's shoulders as he reached out the other, attempting to hold all of them, cling to their clothes, ending with himself draped over them, mouth open in a scream.

An apology came tumbling from his lips as he sobbed and shook, begging for his team to come back, begging them not to be dead, his body heavy with guilt and his head nothing but slush as he screamed in distress. Not even the hands that grabbed his shoulders could shake him from his pain.

It wasn't until the floor fell from beneath him, his grasp on his team, his family, failing as they disappeared from his arms and he fell that he jerked upright with a short cry. His body felt cold and heavy with sweat, hair hanging in his eyes and obscuring his already blurred vision. His hands raised to slap onto his face, digging the heel of both palms into his eyes as he sucked in deep, long breathes, relieving the burn in his chest so he could sigh out, shoulders trembling in sudden intervals, breath catching on a hiccup every so often while large, lazy tears continued to heat his cheeks.

"James?" the voice that called him was soft yet cautious, as was the hand that settled onto his shoulder.

He flinched, but slowly let himself relax as he grew more conscious and aware of where he was. At the Garrison, in his dorm room, in his bed, after a hard days work with his team, who were all safe. God he hoped they were safe. Keith was kneeling beside the bed, concern heavy in the set furrow of his brow. He was still half dressed in his paladin armor, though the chest and gauntlets had been removed, showing he'd been in the process of dressing down for bed before James had somehow interrupted him.

"Keith... what time is it?"

"Past midnight," Keith answered, squeezing James' shoulder and leaning back on his heels, "Are you okay?"

"I-yea. I'm fine," James lied, and Keith's frown seemed to deepen as he stood up to remove the rest of his armor, leaving him in only the black undersuit, "You're, uh... getting back late."

"Training ran past due," Keith explained, "The simulation mom programmed kicked our asses and she wouldn't let us leave until we'd beat it at least once."

"Oh..."

"Here," Keith tossed a clean shirt onto the bed as he reached for the zip on the back of his neck to undo the black suit, "Change. You could get sick sleeping in your own sweat."

"Ah," James cringed and picked at the front of his nightshirt, which was heavy and damp.

Honestly he wanted to take a shower, but he was exhausted, so relented to simply stripping the ruined shirt and changing. He balled the old one up and threw it into the hamper beside the door, then looked over at Keith, who was setting his helmet on the desk before turning, fully clothed in sleepwear and joining James on the bed.

James laid back down and scooted towards the wall so Keith had enough room to slide beneath the covers next to him, and for a moment they laid in silence. James just stared at the ceiling with his arms folded over his stomach and his hands clenched in the sheets there, until Keith shifted around and rolled onto his side to face him.

"Have you calmed down a bit more?"

"Huh?"

"You know you're awake? Safe? In our room?" James choked a little, tensing, and Keith eased closer, head falling against James' shoulder, "It's okay. Tell me what happened."

"Just... a bad dream."

"What kind of bad dream? Memory?"

"No, just...," James trailed off, trying to find the right words to explain everything.

Nightmares weren't uncommon between the two of them. Keith had them more often than James did, and they were bad enough that the first time James tried to help, he'd struck out and busted the pilot's lip. It took them both a bit of personal research to understand that when your partner was having a nightmare wrought by PTSD, you had to let them wake up and calm down on their own.

If they were lucky, they'd fall asleep immediately after their breathing had regulated, and wouldn't even remember their nightmare in the morning, but there were times, like this one, where they couldn't get back to sleep.

Normally when James had his nightmares, he didn't remember them. He was the one who woke himself up in a panic before flopping back and passing out almost immediately. Keith was more often than not the one who woke from his nightmares and paced because he couldn't wind back down. Situations like that, James would just hold Keith tightly so he felt safe and secure, and usually that helped.

He rolled onto his side, a shiver running down his spine, and Keith held his arms out, letting James wrap his arms around his waist and hide against Keith's shoulder with a huff, "I'm worried. We managed to make it through three years of war, but so many times I could have messed up and lost my team. I can't do it, Keith. What if I'm not as good a leader as I like to think I am? If I ever lead my team into a situation where they were hurt, or worse-."

"Easy, striker, do you really think you'd ever get them hurt?" Keith lifted a hand to card his fingers somewhat roughly through the back of James' hair, "Look, accidents will happen, and there are casualties in war, but don't ever think that makes you a bad leader. Your team adores you, they trust you with their lives, and even if they did get hurt on a mission, they would probably blame themselves before even thinking of blaming you," he hugged James tighter, "Saying that probably won't help much, you'll still beat yourself up over nothing and have guilt fueled nightmares, but you're not alone, okay? I'm afraid of the same things."

James just sighed and shut his eyes again, "Right. Thanks. Can I maybe stay like this?"

"Yea," Keith hand lessened to rough petting into a gentle caress through his hair, "You've helped me through plenty of nightmares before, it's only fair I let you do the same. Sleep."

James hummed, rubbing his face against Keith's chest, "Thanks, babe. I was probably just missing this, that's why I had a nightmare."

"Sure, whatever you say."

"I'm trying to trick you into not working late."

"Bullshit, if you can cop out of sleeping early because of mission plans and paperwork, I can for paladin simulations and training. Now shut up before I decide to draw on your face as soon as you fall asleep."

"Prick."

"Bitch."

[noodlerooster]

Rwby Au - The Fallen Maiden Au; Beacon’s Fall

Just a phone blurb of a AU for Rwby

[Beacon Tower] 

Pyrrha and cinders fight is the same, but Ruby shows up on time and lands a near fatal blow on Cinder. In shock Cinder tries to recover, Pyrrha uses this opportunity to also land a blow but leaves herself open to an unseen attack from Cinder. An arrow from behind forming from thin air.

Weakened And enraged Cinder only thinks of Pyrrha and killing her for her plan. “SHE MUST DIE, HER,HER,HER. THIS ONE. PYRRHA NIKOS!” Her arrow plunged into her chest , but now it’s slowly inching further in her body. The pain grows stronger and surges through her body, pain never felt before, almost burning pain. Ruby watches on, eyes overflowing with white tears that resemble star light. Cinder not realizing the wave of energy coming towards her screams: “what?!”

A flash overcomes them, Pyrrha and Cinder now engulfed fall to the ground. Beacon tower stops, everything around it stops, the crumbling tower is no longer falling but suspended in the air. Any Grimm in range trapped, no longer living nor dead. In a state of frenzy Ruby takes one step towards the two, eyes set on Cinder, but unaware of the immense power she too falls to the ground passing out.

—

[Back in town]

Students of all years are mixed with the screams of townsfolk and soldiers. Amongst the crowd there’s one body that is still, unmoved, he’s staring at the tower where the light now glows white. “Juane!” A hand grabs him awake, and turns him around. “Come on! We have to help these people! Who knows how many Grimm there are!” She readies her grenade launcher just in case of a preemptive attack. “Team RWBY is MIA, And the other schools are spreading their teams all over town! Get yer’ head in the game!” Ren stands in his vision, and places a hand on his shoulder, a calm washes over Jaune and he takes a deep breath. “Juane. People need us right now, we took an oath as team members and students of Beacon to help those in need, and as our leader we need you more than ever.” Jaune open his eyes and looks at Ren. His most closest friend in the team and one of very few words, and if he talks you know he means every word. He’s was right, what would Ozpin be thinking if he saw him like this, a coward? No. He was a leader, a fighter, a huntsman. Amongst the screams a loud gutting roar is heard, almost deafening. Grimm flood in like a black wave, their air putrid with fear and hate.

The team readies their weapons and step into the running rows of people heading away from the danger.

——

[Mid-Town]

Ironwood’s robots are strewn across the streets, mangled bodies and parts fizzing.

Remnants of Grimm disappear in the air in black strands black as the creatures it comes from.

Cardin kicks something metal, an arm away from his walking path. This side of town is oddly quiet, no surprise though this was a dropping sight for big Grimm and an Ursa flood.

Ugh Ursa.

Memories flooded in from that day like an electric surge. He flinched the gigantic Ursa stood in front of him again, his body towering over him casting a shadow. Cardin reached for his weapon instinctively, but his fingers reached for nothing, fumbling for the hilt he heard a clang of heat pressed metal crash on the ground. Cursing his body he didn’t loose sight of the hell beast as he scrambled for his weapon. Where is it dammit? The beast lunged towards him claws shining in the moonlight. Ready for the impact he dared not close his eyes in fear.

Nothing.

There was no beast, just shadow.

His eyes still not blinking transfixed on the shadow, his body refused to listen. He’s was safe, at least for this moment. A cold slow chill creeped in his body, first from his chest and slowly down his limbs to his finger tips. His heart pounding now a soft beat as he took a shaky breath. He looked at the ground where his weapon lay, only a step behind his foot.

Idiot.

Why? It was like this the first time. But the first time that blonde was there, and he froze weaponless, a damn coward.

Lost in thought Cardin patted for his phone. Did he lose it? No it was right here, cracked but still functioning.

He called out to his team, not remembering last he saw them or if they were even ready to fight. No one did, this was a surprise attack, an ambush.

Ringing....

Ringing......

Ringing.......

Click.

Noise, jumbled frequency and nonsense.

Sky’s out. Possibly dropped the damn thing again.

Next in the team chat: Dove.

Of all of them at least he’d keep his scroll in tact.

One ring and he hears him.

“Cardin?” It’s Dove.

The voice sounds tired and alert, noises behind him almost drowning out the call.

“Dove! Sound off where are you?”

Crackling a skipped reply.

“Can’t ..... nothing.... again.....Boss...”

“Sound off!”

“Dove! Sky! Russel MIA! Sir!”

Crystal clear. Cardin heard every word.

Russel’s missing. Before he can let his mind wander he snapped back.

“Get your asses here now sending a echo finder and a flare.”

Cardin lifted his mace, from it’s red dust crystal a puff of ember and smoke rose in the air.

“Your orders?” Dove switched to a camera view, Sky was visible on the screen both worn and tired. On their belts a green metal hung, it flashed in the nearby flames. Cardin looked away from them and surveyed their surroundings. They were near the housing districts and shopping center. Cardin couldn’t think fast, before he knew it a slender hand grabbed the scroll.

“Your’s is working good.”

Glynda fixed her glasses, a crack in the lenses. Behind her Cardin’s savior of the day: Ironwood. His chest exposed showing off his metal armaments.

“You boys need to meet us here, the Grimm have diluted and are manageable, any civilians and stray students you see. Bring. Them. Here. This is an order. Relay this info to everyone you see. Be safe team, prove yourself worthy of the Beacon name.” Ironwood coughed after his speech. The dust around the area tampered with his breathing.

The two boys stand straight, readying themselves for the mission. The flare floated in the sky, glowing red and shown no signs of stopping.

Glynda chimes in: “maintain communication and-“ cut off. The scroll went dead. “Stay alive” She whispered in the screen now reflecting her image.

{End}

(Idk I worked on this months ago give me criticism and thoughts I’m still tying to find time to draw this comic when I get free time)