#what a shit show what a blast

[lil-kenzie]

WARIOOOOOO!!!!!

I'MA GONNA WINNNNNNNN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[bonebrokebuddy]

Ngl I kinda forgot how much I like drawing. I never really share my art so i hope y’all don’t mind the sketchdump!

@stealingyourbones i didn’t realize you graffitied my sketchbook with Philly until now u cretin

[bambiraptorx]

currently thinking about an au of Minor Interference where Donnie was the one to start breaking into Draxum's house instead of Leo. It would probably go something like this:

Donnie: wow sucks that I accidently left some of my soldering stuff at Draxum's and had to sneak into his house in the middle of the night to come get it

Donnie: ...my brothers are totally gonna make fun of me for this if they find out

Donnie: but I didn't finish my project earlier, might as well work on it here. Ooh and I'll play music while I work, that's always fun!

Donnie: *is not wearing his hearing aids* *proceeds to blast extremely loud bass heavy dubstep at a volume that shakes his bones* *it is two in the morning*

[tearlessrain]

seriously can catastrophes stop happening for five minutes my brain is already fried from the ones we're already experiencing

[cloudybrews]

headcanons

[maydayfireball]

Ya know. Wild that I got so many replies from people correcting / trying to correct things that were super minor or didn't matter on the vmd blog

BUT NO ONE POINTED OUT THAT I HAD THREE SEPARATE TAGS FOR つばきP!!!! anyway that's fixed now bc they put all their motions on their booth account to "avoid careless downloads" and it made me realize i missed a few. So the queue is very full again.

Also, my smoke detector started doing the low battery chirp wednesday morning. Unfortunately, the ceilings here are about 8 feet high? I think? so there's like no way in hell I can get to it on my own. The leasing office has a service request system that specifically lists "low battery smoke detector" as an option (bc ALL the ceilings are high, and i know a good number of elderly people live here).. STILL HAVEN'T HAD ANYONE COME OUT AND FIX IT YET.

IM BEING DRAMATIC BUT MY APARTMENT IS VERY SMALL AND ECHO-Y BC OF THE CEILING THING AND IT'S VERY LOUD AND I AM LOOSING MY MIND.

Anyway, assuming I don't end up dead from a smoke detector related casualty, I'll have something to post very soon.

[okcoolthanks]

Two rats having lunch

Two rats having lunch

The vermin

The vermin

Enthusiastically munch!

TWO RATS

ON THE GROUND

EATIN FOOD

GRILLED CHEESE AND

TOMATO SOUP

[slingbats]

Tbh despite getting canceled and having to cram its story into twelve episodes and not making good on a lot of things that were planned or probably should've happened earlier I actually don't think Gotham really declines in quality

The feeling of the atmosphere changes over time, sometimes by design, other times by changing hands, but I don't think it declines in quality

I kind of 🧍 think a lot of the writing was pretty bad/silly to begin with, it doesn't really get Worse

[florenceisfalling]

its ok the situation is long behind me and i have never experienced a bad feeling about it ever 👍 (lying)

[hellfireeddiemunson]

got so bored today i started supernatural again for the first time in Years

[todayisafridaynight]

can i remind you guys of my Masumi Is Daigo’s Upteenth Father propaganda because i think they could pretty girls together <- this sounds insane but i swear this makes sense read my tags boy

[daemonbrain]

Part 2

1.8k, cw: ghosts a pervert, smut, readers husband is piece of work, not proofread.

Simon Riley who first saw you at the butcher's shop on the phone. 

You were a pretty thing. Wearing a pink little yoga set, one arm holding your mat and the other holding your phone to your ear as you wait for the butcher to bring out your cut of meat.

Which was taking a long time

Simon would’ve had it chopped and packed to go by now. Though, he can’t complain with the view he has of your ass- you. The man was touch starved. He hadn’t been back home in a while, back-to-back deployments keeping him occupied. His only company being his calloused and scraped hands roughly jerking himself until he came, bordering on unpleasurable. Not what some could consider enjoyable, but try being in the middle of fuckin’ nowhere for weeks on end and see if you care so much about gentle.

The borderline perverted look you were blissfully unaware of was tracking down your form. He stared at the way the material tightly clung on to every bit of you in a welcoming way, a second skin. The sweat on you from your little session.

Just how flexible does yoga make a bird like you?

It was only when he heard a grating sound come from your phone that he snapped out of his trance. Even with his bad ears from all the bullets whizzing past him, bombs going off within meters of him, and the usual shit show he did for a living he could hear the voice which bled through your phone's speaker.

"Get me a steak this time. Nonna that nasty shit from last time!"

You hurriedly turned your volume down as it blasted in your ear, startled by the voice. Chewing on your lip you pivoted towards the counter to see if your order had been brought out; the motion to no avail as the employee continued chopping away in the back room.

It was only when your other hand came into full view from the motion he noticed the absolute rock on your finger.

"Honey, I thought the salmon was pretty good." That prick clearly firing something back as you winced away from your phone once again. Gritting your teeth as if biting back your arguments, looking around to occupy your time as the man on the phone continues to speak. "I know... I'm sorry. Don't worry, it'll be ready by 7." You placatingly cooed.

"Listen, I have to go. I love y-" You began, but the moment the words tumbled from your lips you pulled the phone fully from your cheek to see a blank screen with the time staring back on you. The asshole hung up!

What a fuckin tosser.

Simon hears the butcher finally call your name with familiarity and with a sigh you step towards the counter. 

He leaned on to the wall further as he had been the entire time. Silent. Unsettling. A stark contrast to your bright appearance in the shop, the larger man brooded in his corner waiting his turn.

“See ya’ next Friday!” You still managed a bright smile at the butcher who handed you your meat.

A mild thing like you really shouldn’t be talked to so thoughtlessly, some guys are fuckwits though. He never liked the type. Why lock a bird down with a ring if you were gonna be mean to her?

“S’cuse me sir, i’m just gonna push past you here” You asked. With widened eyes, Simon gruffly mumbled a “Yeah,” out before creating a stupidly small space.

Maybe he really did want you to push past him. Or just push up on him but oh well.

Sweeping past him, you give him a toothy smile as you had so sweetly done to the butcher, as if you hadn’t got yelled at less than five minutes ago. God you really have no common sense, beaming up at the lurker in the corner at least twice your size. A girl as pretty as you should really stick to herself.

From that interaction on, Simon found himself being guided by the memory of you back to the butcher shop the next Friday.

And the next…

And the next.

Every week progressively standing closer and closer to you as you picked up your usual order. One day you had taken the liberty of starting small talk with him after recognizing his unmistakable stature. After all, there were only so many people you had seen in this shop and none so… large.

You could not deny you found this mystery man disquieting. Always dressed in dark colours, not so much as a word coming from him. Like clockwork you would come in after hot yoga, greet the butcher, he would come in, silence would ensue as you both waited for your meat, and you would leave with a quick smile.

It was rude. He had never even said a simple hello to you! Though, you suppose that it could be due to your own curt exits. The thought of the unkindness you might’ve exhibited subconsciously sent your mind into a spiral, leading to your abrupt introduction.

After all, who were you to judge! Kindness is and should always be the response in your books.

At this kindness, Simon swore he had to take a breath in as you politely outstretched your hand and spoke your name casually. Tilting his head down to your face he raises a brow skeptically, and then firmly shakes your head.

He failed to hide the shudder which wracked his body. The way your hand effortlessly slipped into his. Soft and manicured engulfed in his.

“Simon.”

“Well it’s good to meet you Simon” With the twinkly little smile you would grace him as you hauled it out of the shop. He felt the shiver go down his spine a second time when you spoke his name for the first time.

And then- it happened.

You giggled. A soft thing, no doubt intended to be small. It wasn’t to Simon though. It reverberated throughout the room, rang so prettily in his ears. Fuck. He would remember that sound later on tonight.

“Are you cold? You keep shivering. It’s pretty harsh out there right now.”

“Nah. Not really.” His accent thick as he shrugged.

Letting out a little “mhm” you nod and look back to the counter.

“I was freezing outside! Usually I walk home-” Simon already knew that “-but today I called my husband to come grab me! Way too cold!”

That visibly made him stiffen. Of course. Perfectly normal that guy is coming to get you, he’d be an idiot to leave you walking home alone in the cold.

If you were his girl, Simon wouldn’t have let you out of his sight. Fuck sakes you practically had “come mess with me” written all over you. There were creeps all over the place nowadays, (thought the creep).

He would’ve carried everything for you, scarfed down whatever the hell you had taken the time to prepare him. That husband of yours doesn’t like your salmon? Simon would. Hell if he didn’t, he’d cram it down his throat with gratitude anyways. He doubted anything could be worse than some of the rations he’s eaten on duty. 

That train of thought is pretty redundant when he takes note of how you wouldn’t be able to leave the bed to make anything.

Maybe you’d cram something of his down your throat in gratitude.

Shaking his head subtly, he hears the bells of the store door opening. He watched your face fall as you step away from him and it’s when he sees your husband's look of complete irritation he understands why.

You had grabbed your order swiftly and with a quick wave goodbye you were on your way back to your husband. Simon could only register your husband's whisper-yell as he disapprovingly glared his way. “The fuck are you doin talking to him?”. And with that you were hurriedly ushered out.

You deigned it necessary to continue greeting Simon, have little chats about the weather, any plans he had for the weekend. Tossing in your stupid jokes that he would laugh at. You interpreted it as something closer to a breathy snort-hopefully positive- and it went on as such for weeks

And every time he returned home Friday night, he came home with only one thought after. You.

As he laid in bed the same thought persisted as he slipped his cock out of his boxers, red and weeping for some sort of stimulation. He took to his usual harsh pace. You’d be so much softer.

You’d be so nice to him wouldn’t you? Coo some compliment as he lets you tug at him. Fuck he wouldn’t know what to take first.

Would you give him a blowie or a hand job? 

No. You wouldn’t be on your knees- not yet. If you’d let him have you, you’d be on your back in an instant. He’d rip the stitches of those leggings right down the middle, your panties next.

“Fuuuuuck” he moaned into the quiet of his room. He’d stick it in slow, he’d try. It would be torture not to ram himself right up to the hilt, but he’d do it for such a good girl.

That’s what you were, weren’t you? Always a nice word for someone? What would you say to him when he began to rut into you like a madman. When you would feel the pummeling intrusion, his head knocking into the deepest parts of you.

He’d be able bend you into so many different positions that you’d better hope that yoga has taught you well. Split your legs open to accommodate his imposing body size as he’d take purchase between them. Then you better hope your cunny can accommodate his other size when he spears you open on his cock.

Would you take it smiling? Would your tears roll down your cheeks, the prodding bordering too much? You’d take it either way, he knew you could. He’d rub at your clit with such tenderness he never afforded himself (as gentle as he could anyway). He’d make sure you begged to stay on his cock forever, fuck himself so deep you would be too stupid to pull away unknowing of where he ended and you started. Not that you’d have to care.

He’d flip you on to all fours and rip away your clothes entirely, pounding you from the back and instead of just his own labored breaths, the sound of skin slapping together would ring out.

In silent stoicism, he feels his balls tighten up at the thought of your perfect face stuffed into the pillows screaming your thank you’s. You probably were just as nice with someone stuffing themselves into your pussy.

At both his ruthless ministrations and boundless imagination, his release spurted all over his hand with a breathy sigh. When you were here he’d make sure to slam his hips to yours and keep them flush against you, coat your insides in hot cum better than your limp-dick husband ever could. That man wouldn’t be able to fuck you the way Simon knew he could. You deserve someone who could make you go stupid on his dick, not cry of frustration like you probably did everytime that knob who thinks himself a man rolled over after finishing himself off.

Not that you’ll have to worry about that soon

…

He wouldn’t be around for much longer anyways.

[sallykie]

Tags by @izzythebananaqueen

#the bad composition of the la version is actually symbolic about how httyd film franchise went on #they stopped treating hiccup and toothless’ relationship as them being equals and started treating them as “a boy and his dog” #/j obviously but one can’t help but feel that way

also can i just talk more about how awful the cinematography/shot composition is in a lot of the live action httyd stuff we've seen so far. idk maybe i'm just missing something - i don't have any sort of formal education in filmmaking or anything like that - but a lot of the shots so far seem to be a straight downgrade from the original film. like it honestly seems like they don't know what they're doing. it's truly baffling

^ e.g., one of my favorite shots from forbidden friendship. in the original, both toothless and hiccup are positioned close to the center of the frame. there's a gap between them, which may seem like a small detail but it's one that means a lot i think. the gorgeous pink sky is behind them, while the surrounding cliffs and trees frame them. toothless' perked ear plates are fully visible, allowing the audience to get a better idea of the curiosity he's feeling. his wings are also cleverly hidden/tucked away behind his back, giving him an incredibly strong silhouette.

compare that to the live action version. hiccup is centered, with toothless close beside him - parts of his left wing and leg are literally behind hiccup. instead of them being against the sky with the cliffs and trees framing them, the cliffs/trees are directly behind them. the entire thing is more zoomed in, leading to things like toothless' ear plates being mostly out of the frame. toothless' silhouette also isn't as strong with his wings visible like that.

idk. it just looks bad. and don't even get me started on what they've done to the downed dragon lmao

[snekdood]

broly could totally kick slendermans ass

[isaacathom]

actually uyeah im bored im gonna run it down. what specific Thing does naielle have with (pretty much) every member of her family that has her fucking wracke with guilt or smth

At a very basic level, a context - naielle comes from an elf napoleonic france, with some specific details that the usual max lifespan is closer to 500, and that the emperor has no heir and is like. 450. i wrote it down somewhere. doesn't matter. So naielle, being exiled from elf france, very early on made the assumption that she could Wait Out the collapse of it. That the emperor would die in, yknow, 50 years, the power vacuum would be contested by every general and cousin and random former nobleman, and the country would be ripped apart, nullifying her exile by technicality. this established,

Saroel - Naielle's grandmother, 495.

Naielle loves her grandmother. She's this wise and cunning lady, who survived the turmoil of Bonaparte's rise to power by making deals and using the family's noble fortune to buy favour. Her husband died in the post-rise period, and Saroel didn't. She bought the life of her and her children when her husband was accused of treason. She's clever.

Naielle has her engagement ring, a gold band designed to snugly fit under a wedding ring, a piece of jewellery older than the empire itself. Naielle used it as a blueprint to craft a pair to it, and matching wedding rings, with which to propose to her girlfriend Xistina.

If Naielle waits out the empire's demise, she'll never see her grandmother again. Never be able to tell her she was right when she told Naielle to be careful about her historical research, or show her the now complete wedding ring. She'll never get to hug her one last time and be enveloped in a stiff embrace that smells of old pines and old times, like the oils of the paintings and brass of the sculptures that make up the universities museums, of the motar that keeps its bricks together.

Laucian - Naielle's father, 333

Naielle is a daddy's girl. She's her father's son, without question or ambiguity. She's got his square chin, his broad nose, his golden eyes, his curly hair (albeit lighter than his - her mother got lucky with that). She's got his passion for history and all that came before, for the nebulous space of was and may have been.

For Naielle's 100th birthday, Laucian gave her a red ribbon. He's not from a noble background, rising from the peasantry with a father in the military and a mother a nursemaid. He has no heirlooms to grant. But the red ribbon, Naielle thinks, is just as meaningful as the engagement ring, because it's a connection to that paternal grandmother, Shana. She was a hard worker, stern with her charges and utterly doting on her own children, sneaking small things from the noble houses she served to give them. She wore her hair in intricate braids, which she taught Laucian and his brother how to do, and she tied them, always, with red ribbon. It was her favourite colour, she'd say.

Shana died when Laucian was only 24. A child, in elf terms. He's worn a red ribbon ever since, 300 years, for longer than Shana was even alive, in her memory. And he hands this down to his daughter, who takes after him so strongly, and in whose smile he can undoubtedly see his mother's.

Naielle adores her father. She fears, down to the bone, that she has disappointed him. That in her exile she has perverted the passion they share for history, turned it into a reminder of the crushing weight of the empire. That she's ruined something.

She still wears the ribbon in honour of a woman she never met. She never learnt her braids.

Oriphira - Naielle's mother, 321

She didn't inherit any particular gift from her mother - Saroel's engagement ring was a joint gift, a blessing for such an item to skip a generation to find itself on Naielle's finger.

They haven't always been close. Oriphira inherited her own mother's preservative streak, an understanding that the family exists at a knife edge between imperial eradication and flourishing, and a single wrong move could damn them. She grew up in that tumultuous era. She would have watched her father die, or march to die, dragged from their home by imperial troops. She would have seen the pathetic graves for him and his brother, her beloved uncle, and known they should not lie there. That a family mauseleum lay open and expecting, and would recieve naught. That they were disgraced. That it was only Saroel's cunning which saved the life of her and her younger sibling.

Oriphira has seen her family's birthright, such that nobility can claim it, ripped from their grasping hands. She's clawed for every inch back. She's fought for the university Saroel used to buy their freedom. She's fought for the healers and medical practicioners to return to her town in the post-revolutionary period, as she watched her own child die of a preventable childhood infection, watched her sibling die of a stomach left to fester and rot without aid. She's seen the gods abandon that town, and she's filled that void.

She's a tough woman, and she is tough to love. Naielle does all the same. She may not have understood it then, the depths of the sacrifices her mother had made for them all, the agony she must have gone through with every child thereafter. The ingrained fear of heights, inherited in most of her children, after another fell from the roof.

But Naielle gets it now. Now that she fights in a war in a different land for its very existence, she finds that common ground. The two fight a war for their continued existence.

And Naielle imperilled it, didn't she? By raising imperial ire, a century after they last turned their baleful gaze Odelia-ward. By reminding that families like theirs, descendant from noble excess, can still be a threat.

She doesn't know what lengths her mother went to in order to keep them all safe after she left. She supposes the military service of her siblings may have shielded the family. But she knows her mother calculated the loss, and weighs that debt on Naielle's soul.

She wishes she could tell her she gets it, or thinks she does. That she understands the responsibility her mother is unjustly laden with. The blood on both their hands.

Aedelie - Naielle's older sister, 201

Naielle and Aedelie have almost a century in age between them, and its a very different dynamic than to any of their other siblings. Aedelie has to carry that torch, borne by Saroel and Oriphira, of being the responsible one. Being measured, and careful, and keeping everyone safe.

And Naielle always felt very safe. Her older sister was gentle and kind, a bulwark against anything that might hurt her. No monster under the bed would dare lay a finger on her when they knew Aedelie was never far, and even when Aedelie enlisted in the army she left her strength with them.

Aedelie's married, you know. She married a human man around 5 years ago, a fellow soldier in her cavalry unit. They have a little elf daughter, cherubic and giggly, just 2 years old with a wide toothy grin. Or so Naielle's been told.

If she waits out the collapse, she might never even meet her brother-in-law, a kind and soft-spoken man with a reflexes of an acrobat and hair like beach sand. She might never meet the man who makes her stern sister smile softly, with eyes that sparkle. A man whose duty, such that it is, is to protect Aedelie's life with his own.

Naielle is terrified for them both. War wages, and the Empire swings the proverbial club high overhead and demands blood, and her sister and brother-in-law must provide. None of them might see the two of them again. Forget the mortality of a human, anyone is mortal in the line of fire. And Naielle happens to know of a weapon, currently travelling by sea towards that firing line, and she fears what will happen when it goes off.

Quenaris - Naielle's older twin brother, 122

What can you say about a twin that isn't obvious? Peas in a pod, identical up until their mid 30s when he shot up like a stalk and left her a few inches shorter. The two know each other better than anyone else, Naielle is certain. She knew his adult name long before he told anyone, and he hers. She is him, and he is her, and they're two halves of a great whole.

Quenaris knew something was wrong, didn't he? That Naielle was lying when she said she had everything under control. That Naielle was hiding something, sparking like a fire in a cave, desperately being smothered. He saw the glitter in her eyes and knew it wasn't emotion that shone through, even if he couldn't identify the source.

She told him everything was fine. She didn't apologise for lying when it became clear it wasn't. That the situation had spiralled out of her control, that her warlock pact - a grave illegality as it stood - had shown her things she shouldn't see, and sent a beacon to the empire to observe.

He knew she lied. And she couldn't apologise, because to stay and do so would have seen her treason identified and laid bare before the Empire's vast apparatus. It would see her killed. She had to flee.

It ate her alive, it truly did. She didn't know how much he knew, how much he held against her.

She was lucky enough to see him, for only a few minutes. To hold him tight, as though by a hug they might be one and whole, and to cry, and tell him she was sorry. That he accepted her hug, and shed tears of his own, is enough for her.

It would still hurt if she never saw him again. Less, maybe, now that she knows he misses her too. Or more, to have given him a glimmer of hope that things might be normal in the future. She's scared of facing his ghost centuries from now.

Mariela - Naielle's younger sister, 110

Where do you even start?

These sisters have never been close. Each claims the other is irresponsible, too easily distracted, too something. There's always something wrong. Naielle isn't patriotic enough, Mariela is too patriotic. Naielle is too wrapped up in her books and shit that happened centuries ago, and Mariela is too concerned with her magic and the things that will happened soon, months and years in the future.

They're similar, and very different.

Naielle had no particular feeling towards her sister when she was forced to flee. To never see her again would hurt, but not as much as with others, a feeling tempered by the knowledge that Mariela would have some snide remark or another on her return. She lied to Mariela, but Mariela wouldn't care, would she? Naielle can't fathom the idea that Mariela cared either way, beyond that Naielle had embarrassed them.

Then Naielle came back, briefly, briefly, just to marry her fiance, and got roped into capturing Mariela.

What's Mariela been doing? Well, she'd taken what remained of Naielle's notes, on old histories and the magic so thusly entwined, and turned it into a weapon. A different weapon entirely, one worse than most others, and which Mariela saw simply as a tool. Naielle was a fool, she said, to focus on the historical implications of her research, and not to use its practical benefits. Look what lies in our grasp - the power to unravel reality!

Naielle was furious. She took Mariela as a prisoner of war.

And then her patron took her as a warlock.

It was not willing - Mariela made no deal, was offered no bargain she could stomach. Her will was superseded, Naielle's consent to the idea assumed, and her body made to channel magic it rejected.

Naielle did this. She did not know it would happen, had not even considered the possibility, wanted none of it. Mariela will probably never believe her.

It doesn't matter what Naielle thinks of Mariela's original ideas, her plans to turn utter destruction into a military tactic. It doesn't matter the differences of their personalities, that the two don't get along. Naielle did this. She forced this on her sister, intentionally or not, and she intends to make it right.

She expects she'll never right her initial mistake, the pact that brought her into exile in the first place. She fears she'll not right this. But it's in her power to do so, and whether Mariela wants her there or not, Naielle will fix it. Naielle would betray almost anyone to fix what she's done, burn most any bridge, because it almost isn't about Mariela anymore. It's a proxy for every mistake she's ever made, every harm she's brought, a way to try and make up for the life she ruined for herself by ever doing this.

If all goes well, Mariela will go home. Naielle can only hope she understands how much that means.

Yivien - Naielle's younger brother, 104

Probably the person for whom Naielle has the least consideration, a fact that would invariably infuriate the poor boy. The two have somewhat less in common than Naielle to Mariela, but do have one key thing - their academic focus. While Naielle is a historian, Yivien is an architect, and spent much of his youth fighting for their father's attention, to little success. Naielle was his daughter, following in his footsteps - Yivien's achievements weren't as important.

If Naielle was honest, and looked critically at herself, she would concede that Yivien is the smarter sibling. His grades are better, his grasp of abstract fundamentals stronger, he's quicker on the draw. It isn't fair, she reckons, that she was given that attention. The boy earned it, or ought have done.

She would struggle to tell him that. She doesn't think its pride - she never said she was the smartest sibling. What she struggles with is the idea that she needs to correct it, when surely, that burden lies with her parents for not acknowledging him better when she was around. Did she hog their attention? She isn't sure.

But as days grow darker, and doom grows nearer, she wonders if she should have said it anyway. Care or not, guilty or otherwise, he deserved their attention, and it was denied him. And she's responsible, in some capacity. Shouldn't she have tried to fix it? To say she was sorry?

The longer it goes, the more she thinks maybe she means it sincerely this time.

Xistina - Naielle's wife, 135

God, what could she say to her that she hasn't said already? Her most dearly beloved, a part of her soul, the keeper of her heart in turmoil. They've known each other nearly a century, and Naielle can only hope for centuries more.

Xistina wasn't in the country when Naielle went into exile. She was on business, sailing the sea, plying wares and doing trade under the gleaming sun. She would not hear news for months, till she landed in a bustling port and spotted no beaming face amidst the crowd, no-one all but ready to leap aboard before a gangplank was ever lowered. Naielle didn't know what she'd heard. She wished, dearly, that Xistina could have heard it from her.

She doesn't know what Xistina knew. She doesn't know if her fiancee saw the stars in her eyes and saw the meaning behind them. She spent years in dread. At least her siblings, her family, heard of the matter directly, that she'd had a feeble chance to defend herself in the hours before she fled. Xistina knew naught, and could learn less, and Naielle could not reach out for fear of potential consequence. Her fiance could not be party to treason. Her distance would keep her safe.

Her fiancee knew more than she thought, had an ear to the ground and the sea, and loved her still. She wore Saroel's ring proudly as a token of their love, and kept it in care over the decades.

Xistina knows it all, now. Naielle travelled across the planes to see her, to know her truly, all secrets bared on both sides. Pirate and Warlock, Traitor and Traitor. Let the empire declare their treason in love if they wish, for she has it.

And it scares her to think she might let it go. That, having come so close, having even successfully married her after decades apart, that they might lose it all. And that it will be Naielle's fault in totality. Her fault for her treason, her fault for leaving for the distant lands, and her fault for not staying when she had the chance. Who better could have ferried a wanter criminal than a rebel corsair? Where else could Naielle find that kind of safety? And yet she left, for she felt a duty to a war that still wages, and she knows there's a chance she will never return. That she will have given her wife - her wife! - false hope of a future together, of merry centuries in a free Sylvian land, or aboard a ship in the glittering sky, where no mortal government dared tread.

She fears she's given her wife a lie, and did not know it when she spoke.