#the passerby ON THE CLIFF???????

[ao3dorian-gay]

cannot stop thinking about this tweet 😭

[spacebarbarianweird]

In response to the NSFW request post.

How about some body worship? Astarion x fem!Tav? Maaaaybe some oral sex?

Synopsis: As a Half-Elf, Tiriel has serious body image issues, and Astarion knows exactly how to help her accept herself.

Thanks @tragedybunny for beta-reading!

Tags: smut, oral sex, vaginal sex, sex in front of a mirror, praise kink

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

See Yourself Like I See You

"Biri", an elven woman mutters, glancing at Tiriel as she passes by.

The words hurt like burning coals. Tiriel suppresses the desire to yell at the elf. Or hit her. Violence is always an answer but, probably, beating the shit out of the innkeeper's wife isn't a rational choice, considering you travel with a vampire, who needs shelter in the daylight.

"I speak Elven '' Tiriel says loud enough to attract the attention of the Tel'Quessira.

"Oh? Someone bothered to teach you? I didn't offend you, I just... told the truth. You are only half an elf".

"Biri means trash, not just half an elf."

The elf laughs, and her voice sounds like tiny bells. "You know, in the old times, we forbid our men to mate with... N'TelQuessira. And when it happened anyway, we murdered the children not to doom them to be stuck between two worlds."

Tiriel squeezes the hand of her ax. Her elven father was just a passerby, someone whom her mother found attractive enough to forget about the marriage vows and spend a night with. 

The elf left the village for good, and the woman ended up pregnant with a "fairy bastard," she didn't even bother to give a name.

"What surprises me, biri, is that a High Elf chooses to sleep with you. As if he couldn't find someone more worthy to share the bed with."

With those words, the elf disappears, leaving Tiriel alone. She wishes anger and rage were her companions. But it is only a weeping wound, something she buried so deep within that she thought would never return to the surface.

Tiriel rushes upstairs to the room she  rents with Astarion. The vampire is still outside somewhere, stalking the streets of the town like a shadow.

Good. She has plenty of time to return to her senses. Astarion knows her story well enough - how her family despised her, how her siblings tried to kill her but instead awoke rage in her. 

But it is nothing in comparison to what he was through, and Tiriel doesn’t want to discuss it with him. 

Tiriel places her ax on the floor. She trembles as if the elven woman had beaten her.

All her childhood Tiriel heard the same words. Ugly, unworthy, half a human. Beaten.  Harassed. Tiriel still remembers the dirty looks of the village men who dared to see a little girl as something sexual. Her stepfather cut her right ear to suppress his desires - luckily, a village healer stitched it back.

The only hope Tiriel had was that elves were different. She begged the healer’s husband, an old dwarf, to tell her the same stories over and over again - about his old Wood Elf friend and their adventures. She was sure elves would accept her as one of theirs. 

Apparently, humans are much more accepting. 

Tiriel looks in the mirror. Yesterday, Astarion had a good laugh, standing in front of it. The most useless thing to place in the room with a vampire.

Half-something.

Tiriel undresses as if the fabric of her clothes burns her  skin and studies herself in the mirror.

The more she looks, the more miserable she feels.

Her body is composed of two separate parts. The upper half is elven: narrow shoulders, small breasts. The lower part is the human: wide hips of a woman who is supposed to push kids out of her every year. Strong legs. Pale skin is covered in freckles. The ears - too pointy for a human, too short for an elf. Red hair is too difficult to brush. Scars.

One crosses her eye - a memory of the betrayal when her siblings pushed Tiriel down the cliff, hoping she would die. The other is on her back, a burn from the fight with the Elder Brain.

The tadpole suppressed the pain, but once the parasite was gone, Tiriel almost lost consciousness, feeling her skin burn. When she came to her senses, Astarion was nowhere to be seen, and she was afraid he’d died in the sunlight. She yelled at him when he finally showed up after sunset, resembling a beaten stray cat. 

“Stop screaming at me, Tiriel. I feel like I’ve started developing a degrading kink.”

The burn on her back is probably the most disgusting part of her body. Including the body hair.

"Well, that's how I definitely want to be greeted. '' Astarion chuckles, entering the room. "But I'd prefer to undress you myself. Leave at least something for my imagination."

He wears his leather trousers and a white shirt. His old one was torn apart by a bugbear about a month ago, and Tiriel got him another one, almost identical. Though he still complains it feels off.

"Does something bother you, my love?" he asks, noticing her uneasiness.

"No... Nothing. How was your night?"

Astarion chuckles and, instead, approaches Tiriel and hugs her. In the mirror, it looks like she embraces something invisible. She melts in his arms, feeling safe and protected.

"I can tell when you lie but I will be so kind I won't insist."

"It's nothing, really." Tiriel buries her nose in his chest. Astarion is taller than average elven men and she needs to tip-toe to kiss him.

Astarion pulls away looking at Tiriel with his most adorable smile.

"Gods, you are beautiful."

His words feel like a dagger stuck in a fresh wound. Why now? Why this? Tiriel bursts into tears, not able to control them.

"Tiriel, did I... Did I do something wrong?” Astarion stares at her with utter panic in his crimson eyes. 

She tries to tell him. That it's not him. But she just can't. The only word she manages to mumble is an insult.

"Biri"

The moment she says it, panic leaves Astarion’s eyes. Instead, there is anger. 

"Who said it to you?"

His voice is deceptively calm. The innkeeper’s wife must consider herself lucky she didn’t insult Tiriel in the close proximity of Astarion. 

"It's ok, not the first time I heard that. Maybe the first time I heard someone tell me you can find someone more worthy than I because I have dirty human blood"

"Do you want me to kill the bitch who told you that?"

"No. It's just true, Astarion. I am...damn look at me, I am all scars and freckles with two parts of my body taken from different races. I got used to it, I just hoped I would accept it. "

"You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. And I have seen a lot."

Tiriel shakes her head, still crying.

"I am ugly as nine hells."

"Careful, darling, you are talking about my favorite person."

She chuckles but still feels miserable.

"Tiriel, my love, look at yourself."

Astarion takes Tiriel’s chin and forces her to look in the mirror.

“See yourself.” He kisses her neck. “The hair, color of fire, sometimes I think I will burn my fingers touching it. Eyes, one is green like a dry leaf. The other is gray like the autumn sky. The hands are so thin and gentle I am afraid to break your bones.” He goes down with his lips. “Breasts I can cup with my palms. Nipple so sensitive to my touches” he pinches one of them and Tiriel moans.

He stands behind Tiriel placing his chin on her shoulder. The mirror shows only the naked woman, but not the man who whispers the words of praise. Astarion places the hand over her stomach.

“Flat but soft - the best pillow for my head” his fingers go down. “The red pubic hair, even more beautiful than what you have up there��”

Tiriel feels his erection through his trousers. Gods, is it all just enough for him? Just seeing her naked?

She notices his kisses getting stronger and more intense. Astarion doesn’t breathe, but Tiriel knows his mouth is open and eyes are closed as he caresses her skin. 

But the poisonous words still sound in her head.

"Do you trust me?" Astarion whispers in her ear.

Tiriel nods. She feels her own burning desire between her legs.

" I want you to look in the mirror. All the time"

"What?"

Before she manages to object, Astarion tugs her to the bed with him and makes her sit on his lap.

The mirror reflects only one person - and Tiriel looks weird as if floating. Astarion kisses her neck and then places his hands below her thighs and lifts her legs up, spreading them as wide as possible.

"What are you doing?" she gasps. It feels deliciously embarrassing. 

"I want you to see yourself, in every detail.”

Tiriel’s folds are open and she can see her cunt in every detail. The invisible fingers touch her  clit and Tiriel lets out a moan.

"I barely touched you and you are already so wet" Astarion murmurs, coating his fingers in her cunt juice.

Tiriel feels weird with her legs spread - she has never seen herself under such an angle. His thumb keeps drawing circles around her bud as his index finger touches her lower entrance forcing it to contract a bit. 

She feels his bulge below her hips, still hidden behind the front laces of the trousers. She moves a bit causing friction and Astarion gets even harder. 

“I want you” Tiriel mewls. “Please…”

“Be patient, my barbaric love…”

She growls with disappointment but lets him keep torturing her. Tiriel studies herself in the mirror but she still can’t decide if she likes what she sees or not.

Then, Astarion frees her and stands up. For a second, Tiriel is surprised he is still fully clothed.

Tiriel reaches out for his shirt to put it off him but Astarion stops her with his unbearable smile.

“I told you to be patient, Tiriel” Instead he unlaces his trousers, freeing the pale length of his cock.

“You have teased me with your fingers, and now your cock is just a few inches away from my mouth! Don’t speak about patience!”

“Your mouth…” he murmurs. “Yes, it will work.”

He grabs her head forcing her lips to kiss the head of his manhood.

“Don't look at me, look in the mirror!”

Tiriel takes Astarion in her hands and touches the base of his shaft with her tongue. Then she licks it, tracing the blue vein up to the head, forcing the vampire to moan.

She turns her head a bit to see the reflection. Her face is burning red, and drool drips off her mouth. Her  tongue licks something invisible. 

“You look ravishing from up here, Tiriel. Take me with these pretty lips of yours.”

Tiriel opens her mouth a bit and in a second his whole length thrusts into her. She almost gags and tears flush down her cheeks.

The burning between the legs is unbearable and Tiriel starts touching herself as Astarion buckes his hips, fucking her mouth and throat. 

“You take me so good, Tiriel. Your eyes are specifically lovely when you are aroused.” 

Then suddenly when she feels like he is going to ruin her mouth he lets her go and Tiriel gasps for air. A thin string of precum and saliva still connects them.

Astarion kisses Tiriel’s lips, tasting himself on her and then finally gets rid of his shirt and trousers. Then, he sits back on the bed. His cock looks painfully hard. By this time, Tiriel can’t think about anything but the emptiness inside her.

“You look the same when you fight. I wonder if this is because battles make you horny? Or because you see sex as a form of combat? Tell me, what do you want?”

She breathes heavily, still staring at the mirror, not at Astarion. Her body is covered in sweat. Nipples are hardened and the mouth is half-open. The woman in the reflection wants to be taken, ruined…

“I want… you…” 

The vampire grabs Tiriel’s hips and pulls her toward  him. Then, he lies on his back, putting his strong arms on her ribs. 

“And I want you to see yourself. Put me inside you.”

Tiriel squeezes his cock adjusting it to her entrance. 

“You are so beautiful, Tiriel…” Astarion murmurs from below. “So desirable… Whoever told you the opposite is a brainless moron…”

The invisible cock stretches her pussy. Astarion’s manhood is so thick that Tiriel can see herself all the way up to the cervix. 

She moves her hips feeling his amazing length inside.

“My woman. Mine. Only… mine”, he grunts.

Her perky tits sway following the rhythm of the moving bodies. Tiriel’s mind is empty and her mouth just makes whimpering sounds.

Astarion tightens his grip around her as his own release gets closer. Tiriel doesn’t feel her legs as the orgasm takes over her. Powerful contractions tear through her body as his cum fills her to the brim.

Tiriel elbows up to see her entrance better. The cock much softer than it was seconds ago is taken away from her pussy and the cum leaks out.

“Look at yourself," Astarion says. “You are completely ruined.”

He tugs Tiriel with his arm and once their faces are in front of each other he starts kissing her cheeks and lips.

“Speak ill about yourself once again, and I am going to fuck you into a state of unconsciousness.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time!”

Astarion laughs and Tiriel finally manages to free herself and lay beside him. He immediately wraps his hands around her.

“But I mean it. I know why you think bad of yourself. But it isn’t true. There is no such thing as an ugly half-elf. And you are… something even in comparison with them. Among the elves, you would be a fucking goddess of war, with your red hair and strong legs. All these talks about dirty blood are nothing, but the frustration of elves who aren’t worthy of anything. Tiriel, promise me, if you feel bad you tell me.”

“I just don’t want you… you know…”

“I am not made of glass, Tiriel. I need you and not only when I have nightmares. But you also need me. That’s the deal, isn’t it? Be there for each other.”

“It’s weird to compare my struggles with yours,” Tiriel admits. 

Astarion gently touches her cheek with his finger. “Struggles are struggles. No one has a right to abuse a little child and call her a freak for what she is. No one has a right to tell a complete stranger she is nothing but trash below the “true people's” feet. Besides, we can always kill people we don’t like.”

Tiriel giggles and buries her nose in the crook of his neck. She feels too sleepy for a bath or any sort of aftercare and allows herself to relax. 

**

Tiriel is sound asleep and she doesn’t wake up even when Astarion cleans her skin of sweat and cum. He studies her body, noticing the fresh bruises and old scars. Then, Astarion lies beside her covering them both with a blanket.

He doesn’t need to sleep but he can spend his hours of reverie right now. 

It still troubles Astarion - the very point of the elven trance is to relive the moments of their long lives to remember, to carve them in memory. But he doesn’t want to remember anything before he became free. Before he met Tiriel. 

Memories flood him and he hopes he will have enough willpower to not see anything nightmarish.

The meadow bathes in moonlight. Astarion stays there, waiting. Waiting for this half-elven warrior to seduce and sleep with. To make sure she protects him, helps. Well, it will probably require some talk, some sweet words - but she will be his. 

“You are an idiot”, Astarion says to himself from the past. “Your simple plan will end up with you not being able to think about anything else but Tiriel.”

“Hello, Astarion.”

He turns around and sees her, the fierce leader of their small group.

Absolutely naked. 

Tiriel looks at him with no fear. With a challenge. He can’t take his eyes off her. Probably, Vandria, the Elven Goddess of War, looks like that without her divine armor. 

Astarion concentrates. He wants to remember the first time he saw Tiriel like that, the first time he had her, even though his intentions were pathetic to the very least.

“And what do you want, Astarion?” she asks, getting closer to him.

The question strikes him. What does he want? He doesn’t remember anyone asking him that. He wants… What? This woman? Revenge? Freedom? He doesn’t know.

Tiriel is so close he can hear her heartbeat. She kisses him. With passion, with desire. 

For the first time. It is the first time she kisses him. 

Astarion embraces the memory. He didn’t know at that moment - but that was when he fell.

The reverie slowly lets him go, and the woman he’s dreamt about is still by his side. 

--

@tugoslovenka@marcynomercyy @wintersiree @vixstarriarria @not-so-lost-after-allafter-all @ashiro20 @theearthsfinalconfession @herstxrgirl @starlight-ipomoea@micropoe10 @astarion-imagine-archive @veillsar @elora-the-slutty-songstress @fayeriess @lumienyx @astarion-belovedd @tallymonsterter @caitlincat-95cat-95 @tragedybunnyy @valepratirati @lynnlovesthestarshestars @marina-and-the-diam0nds-bloge-memes @waking-electricectric

[nomie-11]

Chapter 2 - Into the Storm*

<- previous part | masterlist | series masterlist | next part ->

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Genevieve’s grandmother had always called her an outdoor girl. Despite being born with skin as pale as snow and hair as white as clouds, for as long as Genevieve could remember, she spent every waking minute she could outside. The sun, it seemed, had never taken a liking to her, though. Not for lack of trying on her part–her skin would blush an angry crimson beneath its rays, her arms prickling and shoulders peeling after hours under the relentless sky. Yet, she never minded. The nine year old girl loved the fields of her grandmother’s manor more than the sun could ever hate her. 

Her mother had called her a child of stars, recalling a condition that few kids are born with, causing their hair to be white and their eyes to be a pale purple like hers were. Her grandmother used to take her long, soft hair into her hands and braid it into what she called a Tyrrish crown, and hum, telling Genevieve that she was to be remarkable. 

To her grandmother, it was destined. Genevieve was born different, and because of that, she would be different. 

To Genevieve, it never mattered. 

In the two days she had before Basgiath, she spent her time near a secluded river near the cliffs leading up to the Parapet. She relished in the feeling of being surrounded once more by trees and the open sky, but the sky was cloudy. After five minutes of being outside, the sky grayed, and Genevieve’s mood dimmed. 

She cleaned herself up enough, getting the grime and dirt from her hair, and managing to steal a set of clothes from an unsuspecting passerby, but it was still… off. Her hair was too long. The loose strands that fell over her shoulders like silken threads would have been pulled back by now had her grandmother been here, and her clothes were ill-fitting. She looked different from how she wanted to portray herself—as a warrior, ready for the challenges of Basgiath, not a girl clinging to the memories of her childhood. 

Sighing, she knelt by the river, the cool water reflecting a rippled reflection of a stranger, a pale visage of who she is now. She cupped her hands, splashing her face to chase away the lingering remnants of childhood. As the water dripped from her fingers, she saw the now grown version of herself. The striking contrast of her white hair against the dark, turbulent waters was haunting. With a frown, she plunged her hands deeper, letting the water soak into her now clean hair, the sensation both soothing and invigorating. 

Her grandmother’s words echoed in her mind: “you are different, my child, and that is your strength.” But as she looked into the swirling depths, the strength she felt was fleeting. The challenges ahead of her were daunting. What would it mean to be remarkable in a world filled with dragons and warriors, when all she felt was the weight of expectations and the scars of her past? 

She grabbed a dagger that she had managed to snag from another passerby who seemed terrified of the ghastly girl who hid among the trees. The reflection’s eyes–her eyes–stared back, pale and fierce, daring her to do it. She held the dagger underneath her ear, hair drawn taught over the braid. With each passing moment, she grew tenser and tenser, until she made the sharp motion, her hair falling back in a jagged line, not much longer than her ears. 

With each ragged cut, her hair fell into the river, silver-white strands floating like wisps of mist on the current. She worked quickly, without hesitation, severing the grown out locks that had been a part of her for so long. When she was done, her hair grazed the bottom tips of her ears, uneven but free. 

The wind caught the shorter strands, and for the first time in days, she felt lighter. The sky remained cloudy, but there was clarity in the air, as if nature was giving her the space she needed to breathe. She touched her hair, the rough edges soft against her fingertips, and smiled. 

She wasn’t her grandmother’s outdoor girl anymore, nor her mother’s child of stars. With a final splash of water, she rose and stepped away from the riverbank. Grabbing her single dagger and empty bag, she joined the other hopefuls on the path to Basgiath. 

—----------------------------------------------------

Genevieve blended into the crowd of first-year cadets trudging up the steep, winding path to Basgiath as best as she could. Her new, choppier haircut felt foreign, the breeze tugging at the uneven edges as she adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder. There was a hum of nervous energy in the air, every person filled with dread or anticipation–or both. The daunting, 250 step climb loomed above, the Parapet still shrouded in mist. 

Making her way up the path, her legs burned from the climb, and she hated that the weight of the blade strapped to her thigh didn’t feel as comforting as it should. She kept her head down, observing everyone else. There were murmurs of who would make it, and who wouldn’t live to see the sunrise over the citadel of Basgiath. Genevieve’s lips pressed into a thin line. She had survived worse than some cursed stone walkway. 

As she neared a particularly narrow bend in the path, the crowd slowed, pushing tighter against the cliff. She felt the push of stone on her side, the open air on the other, her discomfort rising as the slope grew steeper. Her foot slipped on the loose dirt, and her knee grazed the rocky ground, sending a sharp sting up her leg. A hand caught her arm, steadying her before she could fall any further. 

“Careful there” a voice said, warm with humor. “Wouldn’t want to take a tumble this early.”

Genevieve straightened, her pale gaze met the eyes of the boy beside her. He was tall, with shaggy blond hair and blue eyes, his dimpled grin made it seem like he was never not smiling. His eyes, a deep ocean blue, studied her with a mixture of amusement and concern. 

“I was fine,” she muttered, pulling her arm free, though she could still feel the warmth of his grip. 

“Of course,” he replied, undeterred. “But a little help never hurts, right?” 

He fell into step beside her, adjusting the strap of his own bag. The ease with which he walked up the path, his balance seemingly unaffected by the incline in comparison to her still slightly disoriented stance, irritated her more than she cared to admit. She didn’t need help. Not from him, not from anyone. 

“I’m Liam,” he said after a moment, his smile widening as if he hadn’t noticed her annoyance. Or maybe he just didn’t care. “Liam Mairi.” 

Son of Colonel Mairi, Genevieve’s mind filled in the blank. Our families knew each other. 

“Genevieve Hale,” she responded shortly, focusing on the path ahead. She wasn;t interested in making friends. Not now. 

“Well, Genevieve, I hope you’ve got a good head for heights. Parapet’s going to test more than just your balance.” He winked, and she had to resist the urge to roll her eyes. 

She brushed her hair back—a habit from when it had been longer, through now there was nothing left to pull away. Liam’s eye flickered from her bandaged wrists to her hair, then back to her face, but he didn't comment. Instead, he gave a once-over, his gaze lingering on the blade at her side. 

“Nice dagger,” he remarked. “You only brought one?”

Genevieve’s eyes flickered to Liam, catching the trace of amusement in his deep blue gaze. He had a way of speaking, casual and confident, that was grating on her nerves. It wasn’t his fault—he was only trying to help—but she had spent too long relying on herself to feel comfortable accepting anyone's assistance. Especially not here, not on the treacherous path to Basgiath that seemed to enjoy reminding her that she hadn’t climbed more than twenty steps in the last 400 days. 

“I didn’t exactly have time to shop for more,” She replied, her voice sharper than intended. She adjusted the dagger at her side, fingers tightening on the hilt, the only thing that felt like hers despite being taken as well. The rest of her gear—stolen or ‘borrowed’---hung awkwardly off of her frame. The ill-fitting clothes, the worn boots, even the cut of her hair made her feel raw, exposed in a way she hadn’t anticipated. But this dagger, the one thing she had been deliberate in taking, gave her a sense of control. “I’ll make do.” 

Liam’s grin didn’t falter. “Fair enough. A single blade can be enough, as long as you know how to use it.” He gestured toward the Parapet, now visible through the mist as they broke the cloudline. “And I’m guessing you do. Wouldn’t be here otherwise.” 

Geneiveve didn't respond. She didn’t need his validation. She knew what she was capable of. But something about the way Liam moved beside her, easy and confident, made her hyper-aware of how much harder this climb was for her than it seemed for him. She couldn’t help but feel out of place here among these other recruits. Thank gods I practiced sparring down there. 

The rounded another bend in the path, the crowd pressing tighter as the cliff’s edge loomed uncomfortably close. She glanced down at the rocky drop below and immediately regretted it. Heights had never bothered her before, but this was different than before. 

Liam, sensing her discomfort, spoke again. “Scared of heights?” 

“No,” Genevieve said smoothly, but her rigid stance proved the discomfort in her words. 

“Could’ve fooled me,” he said with a chuckle. “You won’t fall. And once you’re up there it’s all about keeping your focus.” 

Genevieve bristled at his tone. She wasn’t scared. At least, not of the Parapet. She was scared of failing. Of not living up to her grandmother’s expectations, of proving that maybe she wasn’t so remarkable after all. But she would never admit that out loud. 

“Thanks for the advice,” she said tersely, quickening her pace to move up the line. The wind whipped at her uneven hair, and for a brief moment, she missed the feeling of her tight braid, the way it used to ground her, the way her grandmother used to use it as a comfort. 

But that part of her life is over now. 

Liam easily matched her stride, unfazed by her obvious attempt to distance herself. “You’ve got the spirit, I’ll give you that. But there’s no harm in accepting a bit of help. We’re all in this together, you know.” 

Genevieve’s eyes narrowed. “Are we? Because last I checked, it’s every rider for themselves once we’re up there.” 

He shrugged, unbothered. “True. But you need a friend and I need a friend, and the children of disgraced political leaders should stick together. It’s a long year ahead, and I’ve got a feeling we’re going to see a lot of each other, and my instincts are always right.” 

Genevieve clenched her jaw, resisting the urge to tell him to leave her alone. But she knew better than to push away potential allies, especially this early. As much as she hated to admit it, she might need someone like Liam far down the line. 

For now, she focused on the path, the Parapet going closer and closer with each step. The mist and dark clouds surrounded them, obscuring the edges of the cliff and the narrow stone bridge ahead. It loomed like a shadow, a narrow walkway stretching between life and death. 

Were the clouds darker, or was that her imagination? 

“Your turn next,” the tall man in front of Genevieve nearly barks as she reaches the top of the tower, Liam in tow behind her. She watches a flash of recognition and relief cross the taller man’s face as he sees Liam, but the expression is quickly masked. “Name?”

His eyes were dark, with flecks of gold swirling around like a dark storm, his hair was equally as dark and his skin tan. Good gods, that man is attractive. 

“Genevieve Hale” she responds, despite her swimming thoughts, she focuses on the bridge in front of her. They gesture for her to start, and she steps onto the straight stone bridge, the river raging beneath her. 

Genevieve’s heart pounds as she steps on the bridge, the turmoil in her own stomach was the fault of her own last name. The tall man’s gaze lingers on her briefly before shifting to the task at hand, his presence unsettling in more ways than one. Her own racing thoughts mirror the storm brewing around her, the intensity of the moment heightened by the onslaught of wind. It’s as if the sky itself has come alive to challenge her. 

The first raindrop feels like a memory, the coolness shocking her skin as if waking her from a deep sleep. She stands there, frozen, not by fear but by the sheer strangeness of it all. Rain? It’s been years since she felt it, and for a moment, she’s no longer on the parapet, but back in Aretia, running through the endless fields with her sister’s laughter chasing after her. 

Her heart clenches at the memory, bittersweet and far too fleeting. But her body remembers the movement, the joy of running free under the rain. Before she can even register the thought, her feet carry her forward, the world narrowing to just the stones beneath her and the storm above. The roar of the river below fades as the rain envelopes her senses, the wind catching her soaked hair and flinging it across her face. Her breath quickens, not from panic, but from something else–adrenaline, maybe, or a long-forgotten thrill. 

Her steps quicke, each more sure than the last, the fear of falling forgotten. The steady rhythm of her heartbeat pulses in time with the drumming of the rain on stone. One more step. One more step. She pushes forward, the bridge narrowing as the winds whip around her, but she feels no hesitation. Each footfall is a declaration against the storm, against the odds stacked high, against the months of being told what she couldn’t do. The storm becomes her dance partner, pushing and pulling but never breaking her stride. 

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knows how dangerous this is—how one misstep could mean the end—but the knowledge is distant, buried beneath the raw exhilaration coursing through her. She blinks through the rain, eyes stinging, she’s halfway across the parapet. Her pulse thunders in her ears, and the river rages below in harmony with the beat of her own heart, but she’s not afraid. There’s no room for fear in his moment, only the rush of life flooding through her veins. 

Her breath shudders as the end of the parapet draws near, the final few steps ahead. She should be exhausted, shaken by the elements tearing at her, but she isn’t. There’s a strange, fierce joy in the struggle, in the feeling of pushing through when everything else wants her to stop. She presses on, heart steadying, and she knows that she’s already won something here. 

Stepping off the Parapet, she comes to a stop right in front of the roll keeper. 

“Name?” The man with the scroll asks, and she’s slightly short of breath, but she’s elated. 

“Genevieve Hale,” She breathes out, a smile painted on her face. 

“Hale?” The rider asks, his voice raising, and she quirks her brow. 

“Yes, Hale,” Her eyes narrow on his. “Is that a problem?”

“No, not at all,” He says. “Just wait in the main area, maybe you’ll find more people like… you.” 

And with that she was all alone, walking blind for a few moments. But in reality, it was the effects of adrenaline leaving her body. It ran its course, leaving her tired and empty, wandering the field around her. And while it was full of cadets, she was alone. 

“Hey! Hale!” Liam was already behind her, catching up with a grin that was entirely too bright for someone who had just crossed the Parapet. 

“See? Told you, no big deal.” He said, clapping her on the shoulder like they had been friends for years. 

Genevieve stiffened under his touch, but forced a small nod. “Yeah, no big deal,” She echoed, though her heart was still pounding in her ears. She couldn’t tell if it was the adrenaline from the Parapet or the excitement from Basgiath, but the rush was not fading. 

Liam walked beside her, unfazed. “You know, I was serious about what I said earlier. About needing allies. We’ll all be in the same fight soon enough, so it doesn’t hurt to make a few connections early on.” 

Genevieve exhaled slowly, eyeing the rest of the cadets gathering in the main courtyard ahead. The thought of relying on others grated at her—she’d learned the hard way not to trust anyone but herself. But Liam wasn’t entirely wrong. She could see the clusters forming, groups of cadets gravitating toward each other for safety, strength, or maybe just out of fear. 

“I don’t need alliances,” she said, though the weight of her words felt thinner than before. She glanced up at the towering spires of Basgiath ahead, and the uneasy knot in her stomach tightened. Graduation was still a long way off. The trails, the challenges—none of them would be fought alone. 

Liam gave a nonchalant shrug, clearly not offended by her coolness. “Maybe not yet. But don’t be surprised if you change your mind down the line.” 

He waved her a quick behind, flashing an easy grin at her while she watched him go, her arms wrapping around herself in the cooling air. She hated how easy he made everything seem. The confidence, the casual charm—it was as if Liam had been born into this world, while she was a stranger. 

The air was thick with anticipation, the murmurs of the crowd quieting as a commanding voice boomed from the front. 

“Three hundred and two of you have survived the parapet and have become cadets today,” Commandant Panchek’s voice rang out, smooth but laced with an unsettling edge. “Good job. Sixty-seven of you didn’t.”

A brief, unintended hush fell over the crowd—a fleeting moment of silence for the fallen, though the Commandant’s tone suggested he saw it more as a statistic than a loss. Death was part of the game, and Panchek was keen to remind them of that. 

“But as the Codex states,” Panchek’s voice rose again, sharp and commanding. “Now begins the crucible!” His words cut through the crowd like a blade, the excitement and fear of those around Genevieve palpable. “You will be tested by your superiors, hunted by your peers, and guided by your instincts. All the way to Threshing, where if you are chosen, you will become riders. We will see just how many of you make it to graduation.”

Genevieve scanned the sea of faces around her—confidence gleamed in some eyes, arrogance in others. Smirky, cocky grins, and the swagger of the untested. But Genevieve knew better. She didn’t come this far by being naive. She knew why so many cadets didn’t survive. The world they were stepping into wasn’t just dangerous—it was designed to break them. 

Panchek’s voice dropped to a final note of mock encouragement. “Good luck to you all. You are now in the hands of your Wingleaders.” 

With that, he turned on his heel, the rest of the staff falling in line behind him as they exited the stage. All that remained now was a brunette woman at the front, looking barely older than Genevieve. Her posture radiated authority despite her youth. 

“My name is Nyra,” the woman’s voice rang clear, cutting through the buzzing crowd. “I’m the senior Wingleader of this quadrant and the head of First Wing. Section leaders and Squad leaders, take your positions.” 

A flurry of movement rippled through the crowd as squad leaders moved to the front, joining Nyra and the other Wing leaders. Genevieve’s heart quickened, eyes darting to assess who was who, already mapping out the next phase of survival. She wasn;t stupid—there was no margin for error in this place. Every decision, every step, could mean the difference between life and death. 

Nyra’s voice called out the squads, her tone brisk and efficient. “First Squad, Claw Section, First Wing!” A tall man raised his hand, marking the squad’s position at the front. Genevieve watched as cadets began falling into line, tension mounting as names were called. She barely registered when Liam’s name when he was assigned to Second Squad, Tail Section, Fourth Wing. But then–

“Second Squad, Flame Section, Second Wing!” Nyra’s voice carried over the crowd, commanding attention. “Ridoc Gamlyn, Rhiannon Matthias, Violet Sorrengail…”

Genevieve’s heart lurched at the sound of that name. Violet Sorrengail. Her eyes narrowed, instincts flaring. 

“...Genevieve Hale.”

Fuck. 

So this is how it would go. She’d been expecting it—dreading it. Of course, they’d put her in the same squad as Violet. Fate had a twisted sense of humor. 

The thought shot through her mind like lightning. Her hands clenched at her sides, knuckles white. She’d been able to avoid even knowing that Violet Sorrengail existed for this long, but now? Now she was stuck. They’d be fighting side by side. She’d have to look Violet in the eyes every day. And worst of all, she knew one rule in the codex: she couldn’t kill a squadmate. 

Reluctantly, Genevieve made her way to the front of the squad, her gaze locking on Violet as he fell into line beside her. The tension was immediate, thick in the air between them. Violet turned to her, her expression unreadable but her concern clear in her voice.

“Are you okay?” Violet asked, her question soft, even tentative. Despite everything, Violet’s intentions seemed genuine, her worry over Genevieve’s well-being evident. No relic adorned Genevieve’s arm, signaling to everyone she hadn’t been targeted for retaliation. But the look in Violet’s eyes suggested to everyone that she knew the danger hadn’t passed. 

Genevieve’s smile was cold, a mockery of warmth. It didn’t reach her eyes, and the simmering rage behind her stare was impossible to miss. “No,” she said, voice low but sharp as a blade. “I’m not okay, because now that we’re in the same squad…” she leaned in slightly, her grin darkening. “I can’t kill you.”

—————————————

The summer sun blazed overhead, its relentless heat turning Genevieve’s pale skin even more vulnerable. After being confined for so long, the harsh light felt like fire on her skin. 

Xaden Riorson, who Genevieve now knew to be the wingleader of Fourth Wing, stood before them, speaking with authority, but Genevieve barely registered his words. Her mind drifted until the sound of her squad shuffling into motion snapped her back to reality. Dain Aetos and his squad, her squad, were being reassigned. She blinked in surprise. Now she was part of the Fourth Wing. With Xaden Riorson. How convenient. 

A quick glance at him showed an indifferent expression, while Liam looked genuinely thrilled that Genevieve was in his wing. But Genevieve’s stomach twisted. She had been so close to Violet Sorrengail. Tomorrow’s challenges would have given her the perfect opportunity to end the girl’s life, to take revenge, swiftly and cleanly. But no. Now, she had to wait. Three long years. She had to hope that Violet would survive long enough for her to finally strike. 

Riorson’s voice broke through her thoughts, booming with the weight of command. “You’re all cadets now,” he declared. “Look at your squad. These are the only people the Codex guarantees won’t kill you. But just because they can’t doesn’t mean others won’t. You want a dragon? Earn it.” 

Genevieve caught Violet’s eyes on hers, and her fists clenched. Some cadets cheered, but she remained silent. 

Riorson wasn’t finished. “I bet you feel pretty invincible right now, don’t you?” he goaded, sparking more cheers from the crowd. “Surviving the parapet, you think you’re untouchable! On your way to becoming elite. The few! The chosen!” His words whipped the crowd into a frenzy, but it was the sudden roar of wings that stole their attention. 

A riot of dragons descended, casting enormous shadows over the courtyard. The air vibrated with their power, and Genevieve’s breath caught in her throat. Gods, they’re magnificent, she thought, her heart aching with both awe and longing. She had only ever heard the sound of their wings echoing above her prison, distant and unattainable. But now, they are here, real and close. One day, if she survived, one of them might choose her. 

The dragons roared, and the world erupted into chaos. Screams filled the air as some cadets bolted, only to be incinerated by streams of fire. The stench of sulfur stung her nostrils. The red dragon was the first to strike, but the others followed, their jaws gleaming in the sunlight. Around her, the other cadets recoiled, panic spreading like wildfire, but Genevieve stood rooted to the spot, unflinching. She was terrified, but this wasn’t fear—it was beauty. 

How could anyone run from something so powerful, so divine. 

Xaden Riorson’s voice cut through her reverie. “Anyone else feel like backing out?” His gaze swept over the  crowd, what seemed to be his blue dragon looming behind him. “No? Excellent.” 

The rest of his speech faded into the background for Genevieve. It was all the same: You’ll die, you’ll struggle, you’re not special. She had heard it all before. 

Her entire focus was on the dragons. 

—--------------------------------------

Later, in the first-year dorms, Genevieve wandered alone. The large, empty hall felt stifling. Liam was three floors up with some brute named Jack Barlowe, who Violet had been complaining about earlier. She had no idea where to settle down until the girl standing besideViolet caught her eye and waved her over. 

“Hey! I’m Rhiannon Matthias,” the girl greeted her warmly, extending a hand. The girl was tall, with beautiful brown skin and neatly braided hair that cascaded down her back.. Her smile was inviting and gentle, as she waited for Genevieve to answer. “We’re in the same squad now. We should stick together.”

Genevieve glanced between Rhiannon and the empty bed beside her before setting down her mostly empty bag. She hesitated, torn between the friendly girl in front of her and the sour presence of Violet nearby. The tension twisted in her gut. 

“I’m Genevieve,” she finally responded, shaking Rhiannon’s hand with a small, tentative smile. “Genevieve Hale.” 

At the sound of her name, Violet’s gaze locked on her with a sharp intensity. Genevieve could feel the recognition settling over her like venom, burning through her skin. How Violet had missed her name when they were calling out squads was beyond her. 

“You’re Genevieve Hale,” Violet whispered, the weight of her words dripping with meaning. 

Genevieve’s mood darkened in an instant. “And what of it?” she snapped, her voice cold and cutting. Whatever pleasantness she had shown a moment ago vanished. 

Rhiannon, sensing the tension, placed a coming hand on Genevieve’s shoulder. “We’re all in the same squad now,” she said firmly. “The least we can do is be civil. Don’t you think so?” Her tone left little room for argument. “Now, Violet, introduce yourself.”

“I’m Violet—”

“Sorrengail. I know.” Genevieve’s voice was sharp, her words venomous. “Your mother is responsible for the death of my father. I’m not becoming your friend.” 

Rhiannon’s eyes widened at the words, clearly not expecting them. “So, you’re—”

“A rebellion kid?” Genevieve interrupted, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “No relic, see?” She yanked up her sleeve, showing her bare arm. “No, no, I’m something far worse.” 

Without hesitation, she pulled her shirt over her head, revealing the ratty sports bra and chest bindings she had managed to fashion from scraps. Across her back, a swirling, inky black mark twisted from her collarbones down to her waist, its dark tendrils crawling across her skin like a curse. At its center was an empty circle, a void of power that made her feel hideous. The scars on her back stood raised, a testament to the trials she suffered in becoming a weapon for her squadmate’s mother. 

“I’m the daughter of the disgraced General Philip Hale. Sister to the fallen riderQuinn Hale,” Genevieve hissed, her gaze locking onto Violet’s wide, horrified eyes. “My father was a traitor. But I’m not here for redemption. I’m here for justice. And you, Violet Sorrengail, are the key to making your mother pay.” 

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

Hey guys! I'm not really doing a strict upload schedule for this, just uploading when I have chapters ready, so heres chapter 2! I'm procrastinating doing my supplemental essays for my college applications by writing this, so there will be a lot more chapters coming soon. I hope you enjoy!

[sugar-omi]

Hello ! I was mentally torturing myself and I thought that I could share my heart wrenching thoughts. (No I'm not utterly traumatized, in a good way I promise, by the cheating on Cove with Baxter fic.)

Buuut... in step 3, if we like Cove and didn't confess he does. It's an adorable moment however, Cliff's reaction about our new baby couple left me wondering. He says that MC and Cove's relationship will either end up with the breakup of a lifetime or a marriage. Even if, it is meant to be a lighearted comment, it says a lot. So don't you think that MC's could feel pressured (by their family) to date Cove, even if they like him ? MC could be in love while also being so confuse about their feelings for him and being unable to say if they're just trying to fulfill their families wishes.

That was a lot, so feel free to answer or not. Sorry for my English and have a good day ! :p

no bc i think about this a lot, but in the way of how would i act if this was actually my life? n i also think about loving cove so much, it feels like an obsession, loving him so much that it chokes you up.. i just get this so much n im really glad you brought this up bc i wasn't sure how to bring it up myself!!!

tags : Angst / Hurt/Comfort, ramble. a very big ramble.

synopsis : MC is very overwhelmed by their feelings for cove, and the expectations of others.

your whole life has been this small town, this sleepy street out of an even sleepier town. the most excitement and life you get is from your neighbor, someone who has always been there since life began to matter.

and even if you have a bunch of friends from school, there's a big difference between them and someone you see every morning and before bed.

you have to find opportunities to see them, to see derek, to see lee, but seeing cove tomorrow is always guaranteed.

so it's obvious you'll catch feelings for him, and if those feelings turn to love, it's such a strong feeling for someone so young. it's a feeling that'll drown you, choke you up, it keeps you up at night and you feel like you could cry because everything about cove is so perfect, he's so lovely and kind and he turns what could be a nightmare into a dream.

but it's such a fragile feeling, and it takes something so small to break it.

even if it's obvious, so obvious that cove loves you back, especially when he asks you on a date. but just like he's worried about, what if this feeling between you is just because of how small this town is, and the even smaller distance between you and him.

and that your families are only so close because your parents have been conspiring on you two since before you even knew of each others existence.

and that you have only had this many opportunities to fall in love because his dad bribed you to be his son's friend, your parents urging you to be kind to the new neighbor, your sisters insistent teasing about your 'baby boyfriend', lee asking about the obvious tension between you when you're 13 and can't even breathe the same air without blushing.

even derek asking if you like anyone, and you can't forget baxter asking how long you and cove have been living together...

there's no way that the nosy neighbors and passerby's haven't made comments about you and cove. i won't even bring up your school mates, who are probably relentless about how close you are.

someone definitely tells you that cove likes you. and tells cove that you like him.

as if you didn't know, as if it wasn't so obvious there was something.

so many people dangling this tension in front of your face, teasing you, prodding you. so many people, especially the older folk, anticipating the obvious. or what they think is an obvious ending to the story of two neighbors.

it's scary. because what if this feeling is just anxiety? what if this feeling is just built off all the nights you fantasized about him? built off all the times your sister visualized your wedding to cove over dinner.

what if the heat in your cheeks is just because your classmates are yelling across the hall about you liking cove, or cove liking you.

what if it's just because the teacher is telling you two to "get a room" or "you can makeout later, get to class!"

and god the way cove looks at you. the way he acts around you, the things he does for you.. it just makes your heart flutter more. so much more

but it also scares you. what if you disappoint him? ruin what you have? it terrifies you. and your feelings terrify you even more.

you're so in love with him you feel like you could fly. you would give him the world, sun, moon, and stars. you'd hand it all over to him on a silver platter, and still give him more.

it's all scary.

such intense feelings, and so many expectations. all that combined with your overthinking, your fears that eat you up in the night.

you can't be at fault for not confessing, or rejecting cove. but why does it hurt so much?

it haunts you for a long time, the guilt, the look on cove's face, trying to avoid why there's awkward tension between you... but i hope you get over it. even if you don't, i hope you realize why you did it

it was easier to dissect your emotions from everything else once you've had a chance to grow and experience life outside sunset bird.

and your and cove's worries about your relationship and feelings only being true and sturdy because of all the adults around you urging you together, is easily found false (to an extent, everyone still brags about setting up certain events to get you two close) when you two are still a thick as thieves

so if you or cove confess in between step 3-4, or you or him confess in step 4, i hope you feel comfortable accepting it now that you don't feel as much pressure having a happy ending with cove

and even if you do, you're the only one cove will want, so take your time, and maybe this time, you can get through your fears with a little communication this time?...

[whitecatindisguise]

Sails and Mangey shenanigans? 👀

Okay, so this one is the least developed, but let me see what I can cook up on the spot.

When Tails says you can't leave Sails and Mangey alone, he really means you can't leave Sails and Mangey alone.

If they're separately, the two are quite easy to manage. All there's needed are some trees (for Mangey to climb) or a tv programme about pirates (for Sails to watch and point out every single mistake and inconsistency).

But together? An unsupervised? Chaos forbid!

Last time, they somehow managed to reverse-engineer a fridge into a cannon (!) and used it to shoot themselves from the cliff, making a contest of "which one can fly further and longer before using his tails to catch himself".

And before that, it was a deadly obstacle course, running all through the Mystic Ruins, the jungle and ending by the workshop. It wouldn't be half-as-bad if they were the only ones doing it. But the obstacles were hidden, so that any unfortunate passerby, Big and Sonic included, could trigger the mechanisms and be for a nasty surprise.

There are more examples, but you get a drift. Sails alone - cool. Mangey alone - manageable. Sails AND Mangey alone?

So when one day Tails can't find neither of the two foxes, of course he gets worried. He knows they both are around. He's seen them arrive, not at the same time but neither left. Now, neither is around and Tails can already feel the headache coming from what they might be up to this time.

He picks up his Miles Electric and dials a number. It's time to call the reinforcements.

"Hey, Nine," he says as soon as the call goes through. "Up for some fox hunting?"

Don't worry, they're all fine afterwards. Sails and Mangey just have one braincell that says "build fun stuff" but the braincell doesn't tell them "fun" can be also "dangerous". I imagine they don't have much experience with tinkering and all, so when they have the opportunity, they just go wild (nothing new for Mangey fjdmndnd).

Anyway, I think this could go into kinda "hunters and hunted" game with Prime bros, the teams being Sails+Mangey Vs Tails+Nine, with possible collateral damage of at least Sonic. Might be fun to explore and I'll defo do some research on pirate speech to write Sails properly.

[narcoticwriter]

Previous

>Tell her that she doesn't need to apologize

You tell her (like you've told her more times than you can recall) that she really doesn't need to apologize for doing nothing wrong.

Kachina doesn't look convinced of this and the pang of guilt thrums through you at the look on her face, but at least you said your piece. With a light pat on Kachina's head, you leave without another word.

However, you're starting to actually feel fatigued and there are a number of things that could occur when you are as such. You manage to fight it off for now, but things could get fairly perilous if not alleviated soon.

Now, you are on the prowl for the perfect tree to nap in and you have three core characteristics that you rely on as markers of your choice:

Sufficient shade, to both block the sun and the visibility of any passerby

Familiarity, as you've been in the area before and know what goes on

Easy enough for you to climb, but difficult enough for anyone else to climb

There are a few locations that come to mind, each with their own pros and cons.

[t4tgempearl]

Okay this is so fun-

🐱 headcanon about animals

💔 angsty headcanon

👻 headcanon about what scares them

🎵 headcanon about music

These for anyone in empires season 1 :D

😺 An animal related headcanon

Not sure if this fully counts, but Lizzie, being an axolotl, allows her to regenerate limbs and organs like real axolotls

💔 angsty headcanon

Since Joel died of a broken heart, while Lizzie only turned back to human, She spent weeks searching for someone. Someone her heart loved yet her mind couldn't remember. Some say she's still looking for him to this day.

👻 headcanon about what scares them

This is basically canon, but Shrub is terrified of water after getting stuck in a lake at one point, and since gnomes can't swim that was the closest she got to death before

🎵 headcanon about music

If you spend enough time in the crystal cliffs you'll start hearing it. Soft chiming flowing through the air, humming sweet melodies into passerby's ears.

It's unclear whether it's the sound of air rushing between hills and mountains, birds and critters chirping and whistling, or the sound of magic itself flowing in the wind.

[sacredwrath]

P1. You

Revenge, whumper turned whumpee, caretaker turned whumper, violence, slightly graphic description of throat cutting, death wish, very vauge suicidal ideation/ attempt?, implied future violence

Rain beats down on the roof of Logan's car, making it difficult to see the road ahead of him. The inconspicuous road to their home isn't lit, but usually, that isn't much of a problem. Even at night, they all know the road well enough to navigate it in the dark. Just use the headlights and drive painfully slow. Tonight though, with rain pouring all around, Logan wishes he had installed something to at least illuminate the cliff edge.

He crawls along, hardly touching the gas irritated at the delay. In the passenger seat a box of takeout grows colder by the second.

He rounds a bend and sees something lying in the road. It looks like a log, or maybe an unlucky deer, but as he gets closer he can clearly see a hand poking from the mess of fabric.

"Fuck" He exhales, slamming the brakes. No one on earth knows about this driveway except him and his team. Why would someone have come so far from the main road? And without any sign of a vehicle? Was it a hit and run? None of his team would've just left a random person laying in the road.

He jumps from the car, rain immediately soaking him through. Thunder rolls above him, and in the brief flash of light, he can see the body clearly.

The person must be freezing. They're not dressed for this weather. A thin, mud caked coat clings to them, heavy with rain.

A flash of misgiving shoots through him. He's seen this before. An injured person laying in the road, a trusting passerby jumping out to help them only to be ambushed. Highway robberies are more common now than they ever were before the collapse.

He freezes in his tracks, scanning the trees around him. Nothing.

He can't just leave the person lying in the road, plus if this was a robbery, why come all the way out here to do it? Surely, they'd have more luck on a busy highway.

Unless it's a trap spesifically for him or someone on his team.

"Hey" He shouts, but his voice is dampened by the rain. If the figure hears him, they don't show it.

Cautiously he takes a few steps closer and nudges the figure with the toe of his boot. Still nothing.

Crouching, he shakes their shoulder.

"Hey, buddy?"

The body rolls onto its back, head flopping over to reveal their face. Logan gasps, leaping to his feet like he's been burned.

It's Morgan. Intelligence specialist Adrian Morgan, the putrid filth of a man who spent six weeks torturing Jesse. What the fuck is he doing here? On their hidden road laying in the mud and rain, half dead at Logan's feet.

He growls, trying to keep from breaking his teeth on his sudden fury.

Why the hell would Morgan come here? How did he even find this place? Is this a trap from AQUA? He doesn't care.

He kicks the man awake. Morgan’s eyelids flutter open. He groans, eyes rolling back repeatedly as he fails to focus on Logan's face.

Logan presses his boot into the man's cheek, grinding his face hard into the mud.

"You" Logan growls, voice cold and low. It sounds somehow unfamiliar to him. His ears are ringing, or maybe it's his whole head.

"Me" Morgan grunts. Logan wants to feel his skull snap beneath his boot. He releases him.

Morgan struggles to rise, but collapses in a peal of thunder. He shudders, head falling back with a small splash, eyes drifting shut. Raindrops pool in his eye sockets, dripping down his face like tears. Logan's lips twist into a sneer.

The man doesn't seem afraid. Logan wants him afraid.

Rage builds hotter in Logan's gut, he feels sick with it. He lunges, grabbing Morgan’s shirt collar and pulling him right up close. The man doesn't fight back.

"Why the fuck are you here? You piece of shit." He spits through gritted teeth. "Come to terrorize my family?... Again." He shakes him, fighting the urge to throw him back to the mud.

Morgan says nothing, and the ringing grows louder in Logan's ears. Vaguely, he realizes he's tearing the mans shirt, nearly strangling him. He clenches his fist harder.

Logan pulls a knife from his belt and presses it hard into the soft skin of Morgan’s neck. His adam's apple bobs, knicking against the blade, but he makes no move to pull away. Red rimmed eyes fixate on Logan's own, boring into him with equal intensity.

"Do it." He snarls. "You know how bad you fucking want it." He jerks his head forward pressing his throat into the blade. "Think how good it'll feel-"

Logan draws the knife slowly across his throat, feeling Morgan's body jerk against him. He fights the rage, fights the urge to dig the blade in deeper, the urge to feel its edge catch against the delicate bones of his neck.

Instead, he opens a shallow gash across the man's windpipe, only narrowly avoiding his carotid artery. Hot blood spills over his hands, pouring down the front of Morgan’s shirt, mixing with the ice cold rain.

"Coward," Morgan hisses, raising a hand to his throat.

Logan releases him and the man collapses back to the ground.

"You don't deserve it." He spits. "As badly as I want to kill you right now, a quick death is too good for a monster like you." He kicks the man again before hauling him up to deliver a punch to the side of his head. Morgan goes limp in his arms, and Logan drags him to the car.

Prev | masterpost | next

Taglist: @whumpacabra

[thegreatsurvey]

The Ridge Tunnel Complex. Though vast and featuring outlooks throughout the Essek ridge, a few small windows and manicured towers are all that reveal the existence of the Ridge Tunnel Complex to the uninformed passerby. With entrances hidden amongst the valleys and cliffs, disguised by boulders and mainly unmarked, the tunnel complex was always meant to be a somewhat secret outpost for the desert militia. While it's become a moderately popular destination amongst spelunkers since it was abandoned after the Essek Campaign of Forscur almost eight decades ago, the vast majority of entrances remain hidden and the windows high in the cliffs, making entry a daunting task even for the experienced caver.

[everlaneptune]

Third official post! Yay! Also hi! I apologize for the wait. Like my second post, I've been experiencing severe writer's block. Writing these takes a while, too.

Allow me to place where credit is due. Thank you to Hoyoverse for providing the silk flower for my custom-made Tumble header, which I made myself!

Italicized paragraphs is Xiao's inner monologue, also provided by official Hoyoverse lore. Although, it's not as extensive of Part 1. Speaking of! This is Part 2 of "Qingxin and the Golden Eyes." Go read Part 1 if you haven't done so!

Now, please enjoy!

WARNINGS: Gore (blood, severe injury), character death.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.

•°•

Petals of the Lingering Memories

Xiao

Moonlight beams down onto the stone pillars of Jueyun Karst. Herons peer down from the high cliffs, beaks grooming at their feathers. Birds along the cobblestone pathways peck at the ground in search for food. Amber on Mount Hulao glistens beneath the moon’s smile. A Dihua flute echoes through the valley, performing a song all recognize to be ‘Lover’s Oath.’

Shadows flee while the sun rises. Demons retreat at the sound of the Dihua flute. A vigilant yaksha pursues the mellifluous tune. He navigates the stone spires efficiently, footsteps featherlight as he traverse one stone to the next. Luminescent eyes of molten gold search for the source of the Dihua flute. His gaze concentrates on a maiden perched on top of the highest pillar, qingxin surrounding her lonely form.

Crouching one last time, he leaps into the air and flies to her location. He lands gracefully on his feet like a cat. Shock courses through him before it disappears from existence. The yaksha kneels before her, his head bowed in a display of respect.

The melody stops briefly. A gentle laugh escapes the maiden.

“Welcome back, Xiao,” she greets him. “Have you completed your chores for the night?”

He answers. “The demons near Qingce have been terminated. Entities tainted by karma will not be able to detect a trace. Passerby will not suspect anything is amiss.”

“As expected of the Conqueror of Demons,” she titters softly. “And how are you feeling?”

A pause. Xiao analyzes himself for any physical injuries. The blood on his person belongs to the demons, not him. He proceeds to examine his mind, which remains untouched by his karmic debt. It’s a normal occurrence nowadays since she plays the Dihua flute while he slays demons. Once he confirms nothing seems out of the ordinary, he replies.

“I’m fine.”

The maiden before him turns, her soft pink hair swaying with her movement. Her gentle, mint eyes gaze at him so tenderly. She gazes at him as if he’s the only person who matters during these warring times. Yet, he wishes that he could hide away from her gaze.

That gaze should be directed at someone else who deserves it, not him.

Lady Qingxin has always been his saving grace, but he doesn’t consider himself to be special. She treats everyone with respect, treating them like how she would like to be treated. Alas, she is tentative to the yaksha’s needs. When his karmic debt overwhelms him, the nullifying tune of the Dihua flute relieves him of the pain. She aids him in the battle against the gods’ anger, relieving everyone from karma and demons plaguing this land by cleansing it with song.

Even though the corruption has stopped spreading long ago, she continues to play to ensure his safety. She does not want him to succumb to his karmic debt.

A flick on his forehead pulls him out of his thoughts.

Xiao stumbles away, his hand lifting to shield his forehead. He notices that the group of qingxin drifts alone in the wind. Now, Qingxin has left her spot on the cliff and kneels before him, her arms resting on her knees.

“You’re doing it again,” she says. “Retreating into the deep recesses of your mind. ‘I am unworthy of such praises,’ or ‘I do not deserve such tenderness.’” She rests her chin on her hand. “Something along those lines, yes?”

Xiao gazes at her. Then he shakes his head.

“No,” he answers. “I am thankful for your praises, Lady Qingxin.”

If he responds with the truth, the Dihua flute will be beaten against his head. Yet…

THUNK!

Xiao grimaces when the wooden instrument strikes his head.

“Liar.”

Qingxin sighs. She rises from the ground, yet he remains kneeling. He knows better than to stand at the same time. When her foot taps his knee, the yaksha stands.

Warm arms envelop him suddenly. Xiao tenses, the sensation foreign to him, yet he melts shortly after. He reciprocates the embrace, his head burying into her shoulder.

“Welcome back, Xiao,” Qingxin repeats. “You must be exhausted. Shall we go to Wangshuu Inn and have almond tofu?”

“The offer sounds tempting, my lady,” he replies. “But I would like to remain here for a moment more. It’s… peaceful.”

She laughs softly. “I knew you’d say that.”

The maiden guides him over to the cliffside. Xiao complies with her request to lay down, remaining mindful of the qingxin around them. He situates himself, his head coming to rest on her lap. Qingxin cards her fingers through his wild mane, untangling knots and rat’s nests. The soothing touch tempts him to close his eyes and enjoy the sensation.

“What would you like for me to play?” she asks him. The girl readies her flute, her fingertips covering their respective holes.

“The ‘Nameless Song,’” Xiao replies. “Or whatever you call it.”

“Wu Ji?” Qingxin titters quietly. “Of course.”

She checks her instrument by executing random notes.  Once she deems her

She plays a few random notes to check the condition of her flute. Once the instrument passes the test, a harmonious sound floats into the night. A gentle breeze drifts past them, and Xiao knows Barbatos carries it across Liyue. From Minlin to its neighboring regions: Bishui Plain and Lisha. From the plains, the Qiongji Estuary. From Lisha, the Sea of Clouds.

He knows because he often hears her music from miles away.

Xiao enjoys the tranquility of the moment. He listens closely to the harmony that she plays. His hands rest on top of his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

Ba-dump… Ba-dump… Ba-dump…

The image shatters when he recognizes the warmth of blood.

Xiao jumps to his feet.

Instead of laying on the stone pillar at Jueyun Karst, he stands in a field not far from Wangshuu Inn. Demonic corpses lay on the ground, and crimson stains the gravel. The reeds have been sliced to ribbons from the brutal blows of his polearm. Demons surround him, cackling to each other. He pays no mind to the creatures surrounding him.

His only desire is to find the source of the blood.

That’s right.

He pivots on his foot to find Qingxin standing there, her arms spread wide. A demon stumbles away in fear. The yaksha swiftly catches the maiden before she falls onto the ground. His eyes widen upon spotting blood staining her gown, turning white silk into a deep maroon.

He examines the wound. Several layers of bodily tissue have been cut. It spans from her right shoulder down to her left hip. He sees a bone peaking out between the muscle and tissue. It’s deep… Too deep.

For the first time, Xiao experiences a mundane emotion.

Fear.

“Qingxin?” he calls out quietly. “Moondrop, can you hear me?”

Why does he treat her so gently? It seems out of character for him. Xiao has never shown such tenderness towards someone. He is fearful of displaying his vulnerability, afraid of what Qingxin might think of him.

At that moment, he forgoes his fear. The stone walls around his heart collapse.

“Xiao?”

A soft and gentle voice calls out to him. Xiao almost cries out in relief upon hearing that voice. Almost.

“I’m here. I’m here,” he answers. The yaksha holds her close. His eyes sting, and he sheds a tear when he blinks. “Please, hold on. I’ll get you somewhere safe, I promise. Just hold on, okay?”

“Xiao,” Qingxin says again. “I need you to do me a favor.”

Dawn approaches, and so does the inevitability of death as it encroaches.

It’s too soon.

“I will do whatever you ask of me,” Xiao whispers. “I will terminate these demons and take you to Wangshuu Inn. I will ensure that-”

“Swear to me that you will live a fulfilling life.”

What?

“Do not dwell on my death. Instead, fight for the people of Liyue.”

“You’re speaking nonsense,” he hisses through gritted teeth. “You’re not going to die here! Not if I have anything to-”

“Adeptus Alatus!” Qingxin interrupts. She coughs out the blood congealing in her lungs. “As the Goddess of Song, I order this of thee!”

Xiao attempts to resist her command, his body and mind combatting his instinct to obey. Qingxin notices that resistance, as she always does. She makes the process less painful, the tender caress of her hand momentarily distracting him.

Chains of obedience bind to his wrists and lock around his neck. Her order forces onto him the instinct to protect mankind. Most important of all, Xiao replies to his name bestowed onto him by the Archon of Geo.

Reluctantly, the yaksha lowers her onto the ground. His mind screams not to abandon him, clashing with this newfound instinct to protect humanity. Her gentle smile reassures him that her sacrifice is necessary. She lowers her hand from his cheek onto her abdomen.

“As… As you wish,” Xiao forces out.

Her smile never fades. Qingxin closes her eyes, breathing her last breath.

Xiao rises from the ground, the familiar weight of his polearm appearing in his hand. The demons surrounding him draw near. When the first beam of sunshine peaks over the horizon, illuminating Qingxin’s pale complexion, the yaksha strikes.

Anger devours him completely and drives him to eliminate every foe. Xiao refuses to forgive the fallen gods who have taken her life, his beloved Moondrop, neither will he forgive himself. He doesn’t care for the flesh blood staining his clothes.

He doesn’t mind how everything hurts: how his muscles ache from swinging his polearm so fiercely, or how his energy drains from utilizing Barbatos’s gift.

Instead of collapsing, Xiao supports himself with his weapon. The yaksha turns to Qingxin, ready to pick her up and carry her back to Jueyun Karst. Where she laid now has qingxin.

The yaksha turns to her body only to spot a patch of qingxin. Without a second thought, he picks them as delicately as he can. At the end, he cradles a bouquet of twelve qingxin with care.

Archons, how his heart aches.

“Twelve is a remarkable number,” Qingxin has told him. “A bouquet of twelve roses stands for love and passion. Their stems communicate the perfection or completeness that one feels. The number itself is associated with an entire year, the twelve hours of a day, and the twelve signs of the zodiac. Quite fascinating, don’t you think?”

He stumbles back to Jueyun Karst.

Stumbling back to Jueyun Karst, he intends to inform Morax about his daughter’s death. Alas, the sound of a Dihua flute distracts him and lifts the karma plaguing him. Knowing that the cleansing is necessary, he trudges into the direction of the mellifluous tune, never surrendering the qingxin.

… 

How long has it been?

Xiao slows to a halt. He lifts his gaze to the lanterns strewn across the pathways of Liyue Harbor, signifying the return of Lantern Rite. Bustling streets arouse a sense of claustrophobia in the yaksha, but he pays them no mind for the traveler’s sake.

He remembers that Aether excused himself a while back. Morax - Er, Zhongli has dragged him off somewhere and failed to tell him. At least Xiao doesn’t have to listen to Paimon during this chaotic, yet joyous, time.

Xiao can always disappear from these streets, and the traveler will never know of his absence.

At the same time, the yaksha has a feeling that he cannot shake.

“Qingxin!”

A name. Her name. It floats into the air amidst the public.

He startles a few passersby when he leaps into the direction of the voice. His heartbeat thunders like an echoing gong within his ears. Xiao navigates the turquoise rooftops with surprising efficiency, even though he doesn’t travel around the harbor often. He stops occasionally to listen for the voice. He darts into that direction when he hears it again.

He stumbles upon Heyu Tea House where Tea Master Liu Su stands. The yaksha recalls Zhongli mentioning him in the past. The mortal describes a familiar story that Xiao recognizes immediately. It reminds him of those painful memories about that evening. 

What am I wrestling with? The tactful answer would be old grudges, unfilled dreams, the lamentations of the vanquished.

Xiao cares not for what Liu Su says. It doesn’t surprise him when the tea master mentions his millennia-long suffering known as ‘Bane of All Evil.’

A familiar, gentle voice speaks up, and the yaksha’s heart skips a beat.

“Why is that his millennia-long suffering is referred to as the ‘Bane of All Evil?’”

He peers down at the tea master’s audience, and he nearly collapses at the sight of her.

She sits at a table by a young boy. Her pink hair lays in a braid behind her, the end grazing the floor. Her minty orbs peer at Liu Su curiously. She adorns clothing similar to that of Zhongli, but the only difference between them is the color. He wears black, earthy brown, and gold while she wears black, forest green, and white.

One key feature gives her identity away, and that is the hair clip that he gifted her years ago. It is an artificial qingxin with two leaves and red beads.

A question arises deep within his mind.

Why take her away from me only to bring her back, Celestia?

“That’s where our story ends, ladies and gentlemen!”

He almost falls off the roof when Liu Su’s voice booms throughout the quiet area. The audience applauds him, and the sound pains his sensitive ears. Xiao wonders why the traveler invites him to lantern right when Aether knows that he doesn’t like going into public places.

Realization hits him like Morax’s boulder.

Qingxin.

The yaksha peers down to see her spot vacant. He leaps down and leaves Heyu Tea House. With a sniff in the air, he detects a faint trace of glaze lilies. Xiao pursues that soft fragrance, walking swiftly to avoid making a scene.

He refuses to let this opportunity slip from him!

“Wasn't that amazing, Qingxin?” The young boy’s voice says again. “I never heard a story like that before! This version is better than the original!”

“It was amazing.” He hears Qingxin reply. “But we have to hurry home, or else Mom and Dad will start to worry.”

Mom and Dad?

Xiao slows. He doesn’t recall her having a family.

He reminds himself that she’s a potential reincarnation of the goddess.

Keep it together!

Qingxin descends a ruby stairwell leading up to the tea house. She holds the young boy’s hand and guides him through the crowd. The girl’s back faces him, and Xiao knows better than to sneak up on her.

He sprints towards her, his hand reaching out and latching onto her wrist.

“Qingxin?” he calls out her name faster than he realizes.

The bustling streets of Liyue Harbor fades into the background. Turning to him, she studies him for a moment. No recognition sparkles in her eyes.

She retains none of her memories.

As it should be expected from someone who underwent reincarnation.

She goes to speak, but he interrupts.

“I have mistaken you from someone else.” He releases her hand. He steps away to create distance between them. “Excuse me.”

Agony embraces his heart, the mundane emotion overwhelming the yaksha. He disregards the tears forming in his eyes. Xiao flees, but the pain doesn’t stop him from looking back.

He watches Qingxin hurry over to the young boy. Once their hands intertwine, she peers back at him. Their gazes meet for a moment before the young boy drags her away. Her brother, he finally assumes.

He doesn’t entertain the possibility of meeting her again. A life of solidarity is a difficult one. The last things he needs is a mortal Qingxin becoming part of it.

Xiao meanders to the back entrance of Liyue Harbor. He leaps down to cross the wooden bridge that will take him to Lisha. From Lisha, to Minlin. He wants to venture to the stone pillar where Qingxin once played. He starts his patrol there and forces himself to remember the fading song of the Dihua flute.

When he reaches the stone arch of Lisha, a voice calls out.

“Wait! Wait, stranger!”

Xiao faces her, surprised to find her sprinting towards him. The distance closes between them, and Qingxin hunches over to catch her breath. He watches her, having no clue what to say. She does, however. She speaks for them.

“At least tell me your name before you leave!” she says. “And where to find you! I know that you’re the voice in my head! The one who told the story alongside Tea Master Liu Su!”

He’s shocked.

When has he spoken to her? If so, he hadn’t done it intentionally!

The yaksha averts his gaze. He shared his story unconsciously with her, and he admits that it’s his mistake. He had no idea that he had that ability!

How selfish could he be?

“Adeptus Xiao,” he replies. He ignores how his heart leaps with joy. “You will find me at Wangshuu Inn.”

With that, he disappears into the night. His heart rejoices at the reunion between two lovers.

Xiao wonders if it has a mind of its own.

. . .

© everlaneptune 2024

[whitherwanderer]

21 // grave

[ A little bit of an expansion on a WONDERFUL wolqotd that @ahollowgrave posted a while back (whom the prompt "grave" was tailor made for). Ty for the inspiration, my friend. 💛 ]

It needn’t be anything overwrought. Nothing terribly sad and weighty and cumbersome as a headstone, if anything at all. She doubted even a burial would be necessary. A couple of cairns, maybe, or a mark on a tree for the observant passerby to note, oi, you’re steppin’ on someone’s hereafter. Make sure you say hello. If anything, it was the place that mattered more than the marker, and Sif had put more thought into that than anything else.

There was home, Ala Ghiri, to be interred in the catacombs by local customs. (Did they even practice them, still? So much had changed since the occupation.) But it felt ill-fitting. She hadn’t lived there for over twenty summers and she had to admit that referring to it as “home” rang a bit hollow. Dugald would complain about the scenery, too, as he often did. “Dirt, dirt, and more dirt.”

What about a place they agreed more on then, in La Noscea? They both liked the windswept beaches and stormy cliffs of the western coast—even talked about settling down there one day. One day, but never that day. Even if they often found themselves breathing in sea breeze and digging their heels into the chalky La Noscean roads, it never felt final. It never felt like rest.

There was a contender in Mor Dhona, on that little hilltop where the brush and crystal spires gave way to a sad lean-to that they never completed. If anything, that felt too final. Choosing that place to rest eternal was akin to giving up even before their time. The thought of the pyreflies (or “plasmoids”, or whatever clinical name the naturalists gave) buzzing around their heads as if sensing their ends' approach made her hesitant to go back at all.

In truth, she most often thought of the Fringes. Of the many small, painted mountains though which snaked the Velodyna. The foothills of the Spine as it ran through the verdant forest of the East End. Pleasant views in any direction at any time of day, mild seasons, well-tended roads, but…

Wherever it was, she’d be setting up the first marker herself. Beyond a shadow of a doubt, she knew this, and the thought was heavy enough for her to cast off and kick further down the road each time it crept up on her. Then, eventually, someone would have to take the time to make sure a second one was put up with it. She was sure she had a friend crazy or sentimental enough to do it, but that still meant deciding on the place.

There would be time to think about that, though, right?

Right?

[lasudio]

StrangeSpot, Round Twenty Nine: Knowe

Dewey is a teen and he looks so much like his dad, with a dash of goofiness from also being raised by his aunt. Good thing too, because the neighbourhood has officially lost its comic relief with Ida Juana catching the mysterious disease. Dewey's got big shoes to fill - but there's still time for him to be approached in a shady alley and offered a role in a bank heist yet!

Hugh and Sara are too busy being turned into werewolves by their old friend Cliff Notes to despair over the family loss. They continue to busy themselves by sharing the gift with their son, and turning some random passerbys into werewolves as well. Helen Wheels wears her new fur gracefully (like she does most things) but DJ Verse is distraught. She didn't come to Strangetown to become weird!

[lcarricart]

ahogada exististe, tras tanta luz presenciar

entre agua y torrentes, catastrófico tu alzar

desbordando un abismo, flotando te vi

eras cisne, ave de alas sin uso

un espejo de todos nosotros

Once you fell into a cliff so deep no one could see you, and drowned you existed with such a field to recall.

Rainstorms, floods and torrents of water violently crushed but raised you up, and you did so high that bewildered a passerby.

Was it a swan holding wings in disuse, or merely our reflection hanged to desire.

[monsterritory]

Ok I am a passerby so you don’t have to listen but like, I love your au so I’m gonna try my hand.

Ok so, Tommy gets in massive trouble. As in he gets himself into a big situation where maybe he’s cornered by something (or someONE, if your feeling particularly angsty), like the equivalent of him falling off a cliff and clinging on for dear life.

And who is the person he ends up calling for? The name he ends up desperately screaming? Dream, yeah it’s Dream, everyone knows it was gonna be Dream.

Anyway yeah I saw your au and was suddenly feeling fancy and inspired :D

Aww, knowing that something I've made inspired someone is one of the best things an artist can hope to achieve!

I need some names for you and the other anon though. For now you're AU Anon and the Passerby Anon but you two should totally get yourselves some cool secret agent names.

As for the prompt… (This is separate from the Main AU unless the original AU Anon reads this and decides to roll with it as well).

Tommy doesn't yell Dream's name. He screams for Sam, for Phil, he just screams "dad", he may have even called for Wilbur somewhere in there. When he calls for Dream, it's his absolutely last resort. He doesn't even believe it's going to work. And there's a certain sense of betrayal in it. Being married, politically or not, implies that there's at least a little bit of care between them. Dream was the one to propose it too. So where is he when he's needed the most?

Tommy doesn't know. But before he looses consciousness from the loss of blood he's having, he whispers Dream's name one more time.

Maybe it worked. Maybe he summoned him, like a demon. Or maybe Dream was already there, he just didn't notice.

The matter of fact is Dream is right there, between the Danger and Tommy. And if danger wants to go past him - it can do so over his cold dead body.

It doesn't happen. The danger is the one to go cold first after Dream's sword pierces its heart.

Tommy falls unconscious somewhere in between being carried by Dream and waking up in a cozy looking wooden hut in the middle of nowhere, all patched up on a soft double bed. There's warm soup on the bedstand by his side.

Dream is nearby. He tells Tommy to eat because he's been out for a while, and needs his energy. Tommy refuses to eat unless Dream stays and talks to him.

Dream thinks to himself, "He's so weak, yet he'll even use his lack of strength just to get me to talk to him. That's ridiculous. That's silly."

Tommy can't see that he's smiling under his mask.

Dream stays. He spoon feeds the soup to the boy. Every turn is won over by a question and an answer.

"Why haven't you been around since we got married?"

"Didn't want to get in your way."

🍲🥄

"What did you even marry me for?"

"For L'Manberg's independence, duh. Feel like I've made that obvious."

"That's not-" 🍲🥄 "Bleh. That's not all, is it? You could have asked for my discs instead, or something." Tommy pauses before adding. "Do you care about me, Dream?"

Dream holds on to the spoonful of soup.

[jacquirebriggs]

Mortal Kombat Armageddon All-Stars is over

I should have said it last year. But yeah. It’s over and canceled.

One reason includes College has taken over me and I have a ton of work to do. That’s life and now I’m nearly 24, I couldn’t bear myself to continue that monstrosity I’ve started in high school. Look at the earlier episodes, my teenage self doesn’t know how to write a story and it has so many inconsistencies that are planned to rewritten in the future. With so many characters, it’s super overwhelming to get every pre-11 Kombatnt in one slide.

Another reason is I’ve moved on to other interests. I’ve cared so less about Mortal Kombat since 11 is nearing its zenith. I’ve watched MK1 videos but nothing is pulling me back. Not helping much is the game itself is a waste of money.

Third reason is I have little time to work on PowerPoint stories. Mass burnout. No longer interested in working on it. My ban from the Crystal Story server just lessens to motivation of me making more PowerPoint stories. Not helped by said college and I’m working on a game.

The next update would have been a double-episode drop with Episode 32B featuring the challenge fillin up loose ends of this lousy plot. The challenge is race up to the cliff to steal an egg from the Mechacrow Shang Tsung owns and then race back down to avoid getting vaporized by it. Chameleon was eliminated due to a rule they added.

Episode 35, a challenge where they cooperate to create the best monster and compete with others to destroy others. Kung Lao or someone irrelevant would have been eliminated.

I’m sorry to announce these news and I would love to finish the whole thing because I have real ideas for future episodes. But life and burnouts caught up to me and I have no more time.

I’m sorry.

I hope you can check out my stuff in the future despite broken promises…

Discord: heartofthedragoon

[baastetscribbles]

Saving the Priestess

The sun had just begun to bathe the land with its light when Velyn Alfyr stabbed an ornate gold and silver blade into the ground at the edge of a cliff overlooking Greenguard Forest. They pulled a jar full of ashes from their pack and smiled sadly down at it.

“See, dad? You knew we’d make it back to this spot.” They said quietly to themself as they pulled the lid off before dumping the ashes off the cliff. Almost as if on cue a heavy gust of wind came from behind Velyn, catching the ashes and taking them swiftly over the trees. As Velyn pulled the sword from the ground a shadow fell over them. Before they had a chance to look up, something large seemingly crashed into the ground at bottom of the cliff. Velyn held the sword toward the foe, hand held steady only thanks to years of training. A full grown red dragon slowly leveled its gaze on the human before lowering its head and revealing the two riding on its back. A small red Moglin, an almost catlike creature that stood like a person, and a woman wearing an ornate white and gold robe with a hood that obscured her features kneeling next to it. The moglin leapt from the dragon to the cliff with little effort, offering Velyn a nod.

“Hiyas,” he spoke before turning back to the woman, “The path is clear, Priestess!”

The woman stood, carrying an odd black box with her that Velyn hadn’t noticed before. 

“Pardon us, we’re just passing through.” She said as she walked after the Moglin, whom had begun to walk further into the trees, away from the cliff. 

Velyn stood blinking for a moment as they processed everything that had happened over the last twenty seconds. The dragon lifted its head slowly and stared at the human once more before it spread its wings and launched itself into the sky once more. 

After another minute of stunned silence, Velyn turned and began to lightly jog after the priestess. They had only gone thirty feet or so when the moglin came flying through the air back at Velyn, as if it had been thrown or kicked. Velyn threw the sword aside so they could catch the creature, almost being knocked off their feet for the effort.

“You okay?” They asked as they set the moglin down.

He seemed to gather himself before responding in a shaky voice, “No but I thank you for catching me. We were attacked by a gorillaphant, the priestess needs help!” He then began to sprint in the direction that he had just come flying from. Velyn scrambled to grab their sword before sprinting after the creature. Without thinking they ran at the large gray creature, barely registering the priestess standing off to the left. With a yell they swung the sword wildly around in an odd display that made them look larger to the gorillaphant but to any passerby would make Velyn look a little unhinged. The beast snorted then charged at the would-be hero, forcing Velyn to leap to the right. The beast crashed through the trees behind Velyn and continued onward, likely in search of easier prey. 

The Priestess turned to Velyn and spoke, “Thank you for saving us. May I know your name?”

Before Velyn could respond however, the moglin spoke up, “But Priestess, I thought you said their name was Velyn and that they’re the one destine-”

The Priestess cut the moglin off with a loud sigh, “Twilly..” She gave him an irritated look before turning back to Velyn, “Alas, we’re out of time. I must ask an important favor of thee. Would you please let Captain Rolith know that we're taking the shortcut? He's just ahead in Oaklore Keep,” she gestured in the direction she spoke of, “and worry not hero, I am certain we shall cross paths again.” 

“Especially since they’re is going to take that Black Dragon Box and-” Twilly began.

But with another heavy sigh and a much snappier tone, the Priestess cut him off again. “Twilly! We must be going now.”

With that, the two began heading deeper into the woods once more. Velyn stood a moment blinking and wondering what they were supposedly destined to do. With a shake of their head, they began to head in the direction the priestess had pointed out.

The first thing Velyn saw as they finally broke through the trees was the large brown dragon standing next to the main entry gate of the keep. Down by the dragons feet stood a man with a long black beard wearing some dark gray armor that gave him the odd appearance of being partially dragon himself. The keep itself was surrounded by a large stone wall, but the center of it looked as if the original builders used a very large tree as the foundation. As Velyn approached, a knight in silver armor waved them over.

“Hold, friend,” the knight said, “state your business in Oaklore Keep.”

“Oh, uh, sure, this lady in a white robe said to find Captain…Rith?” Velyn said, keeping an eye on the dragon.

“You must be talking about the Priestess. You’ll find Rolith just inside.” The knight said, a smile in his voice. “Open the gate!”

The large wooden gate began to rise, lifting just high enough for Velyn to enter before it began to lower once more. Just inside the gate was a courtyard with a large set of double doors leading into the base of the tree that the fort was built in and around, while to the left and right there were additional knights and doors. Standing just off to the right of the large doors was a man in shining grey plate armor, a large ornate silver and gold hammer sat head down by his feet. He looked over at Velyn with an heir of authority that led Velyn to believe he was the captain they were searching for. 

“Excuse me, sir,” Velyn began, but the other man cut them off.

“Captain Rolith at your service citizen, what do you need?” He gave a friendly smile as he spoke, though Velyn noted that he did shift his grip on the handle of his weapon in case he needed to swing it from its position on the ground.

“Ah, perfect, this Priestess in a white robe said-” But Velyn was once more cut off mid sentence.

“What!? You saw the Priestess?! Where is she?!” Captain Rolith was shouting so loudly that a couple of the other knights around drew their weapons and began to look for whatever the threat may be.

“I, uh, yeah, she said she was cutting through the shortcut to get to Falcronreach,” Velyn said.

“She’s in grave danger, we need to go after her,” Rolith said in a panic, “the forest is crawling with bandits that are looking for her!” 

Velyn nodded and turned around to leave through the gate as Rolith shouted for it to once more be raised. Captain Rolith charged forward into the trees, Velyn scrambling to keep up with him in his mad dash to reach the Priestess.

After a few minutes Rolith slowed, talking to Velyn quietly as he did so. 

“You go left, I’ll go right. Our mission is to protect the Priestess no matter what.”

And with that Rolith began to rush in his chosen direction, leaving Velyn to run the opposite way. After what felt like years but could have been only a few minutes, Velyn came across the Priestess standing with her back against a tree in a small clearing. The moglin Twilly stood between her and a group of bandits, his small staff raised defensively. Velyn hid quickly before peeking their head around the tree to get a more accurate read on the enemy. Three bandits stood across from the Priestess, two of them were in leather armor with hoods obscuring their features while the third wore a purple cape and an iron helmet that resembled a crown sat atop his dark hair. After a second Velyn realized the man was in the middle of speaking.

“Give us the box, Priestess,” he said with a sneer, “and we’ll kill you quickly.”

Without a second thought Velyn launched forward with a shout, drawing their blade as they moved.

“Velyn!” The Priestess shouted, “we must protect the black dragon box at all costs!”

“Leave them to me!” Velyn shouted back, “I don't know who you are or why you want that box, but you’d better-”

The bandit leader blocks Velyn’s blade, shouting, “My name is Drakath! I am the leader of the Darkwolf Bandits and the rightful ruler of this land! That box is the key to my throne, and there's no way that I'm letting a peasant like you keep it from me.”

Before anybody else could react, Rolith came crashing through the trees like an enraged gorillaphant while screaming “Priestess!”

He charged at the two remaining bandits, swinging his hammer with the same precision you’d expect of a sword user. The distraction of his arrival gives Velyn a chance to push their own attack against Drakath, slamming him with blow after blow of their blade.  Velyn’s blade slice at Drakath’s cheek, causing the man to leap back and snarl, “You got lucky this time, soldier!”

Velyn smirked, “Luck had nothing to do with it, and the name is Velyn. Remember it!”

Drakath glared as he continued to back into the trees while saying, “Oh, I will. You can count on that.” 

The two remaining bandits fled from Rolith, one dropping his dagger as he ran through the trees to escape. Velyn moved over to Twilly and the Priestess, keeping their head on a swivel as in case the enemies running away had been some sort of trap. 

“Are you two okay?” Velyn asked as they looked the others over.

“You arrived just in time, thank you,” the Priestess spoke, “However I must ask, would you accompany us to Falconreach Velyn? I would feel better knowing we had an escort what just happened.”

“Of course Priestess, I’d be happy to help.”

The Priestess seems to pause a second before smiling, “Ah my apologies, it seems I’ve neglected to introduce myself. I am Lady Celestia, of Sunbreeze Grove and this is my traveling companion, Twilly the Moglin.”

Velyn gives a smile and a nod of their head, “I’m Velyn Alfyr, though I believe you already knew that based on what Twilly said when we first met.”

Celestia nodded but didn’t respond as Rolith returned from his chase for the bandits.

“I couldn’t catch them Priestess,” he said, breathing heavily, “apologies.”

“It is okay Rolith,” She smiled at the captain, “you’ve brought me an escort to town. You’ve done more than enough to help.”

“Oh!” Rolith said, looking between her and Velyn, “well in that case, I’ll be returning to my post in Oaklore. Please send me a letter once you’ve reached town.” 

“Of course, captain,” Celestia said with another smile before turning to pick up the box, then to begin walking in the direction of the town. Velyn and Twilly followed behind her, the former holding their blade ready for anything.