#zath reads

[rangerzath]

It's been awhile since I talked about the manga I read. I think my last post was right before Alan Wake 2 came out last year. That game combined with my love of Control and pulled me into a never-ending threshold of creativity.

These are all the manga I've read since last year. There were several titles that surprised me with how much I enjoyed them!

Titles I Really Enjoyed:

Moriarty the Patriot - This is my favorite manga. I love it so much and this story is just awesome. I wish these volumes would come out faster though. Waiting is agony. The good news is the second part of the series is continuing in December this year so maybe we'll see new volumes come out faster?? I hope this series is selling well enough. If you want a GOOD mystery and are interested in reading about complex characters PLEASE pick up this series! You won't regret it! I also have a review video that you can watch here to try to convince you further.

After We Gazed at the Starry Sky - This BL was adorable and I need to get the second volume. The story is about a photographer and a disabled graphic designer who is a big fan of the photographer. It really had some beautiful scenes, and it's filled with heartwarming fluff.

Mobsters in Love - While this series only has three volumes, I can tell I will enjoy this! Old man mob boss and his tough younger underlining that is pining for him? YES PLEASE. Can't wait for volume 2!

A Condition Called Love - This was really good and cute! Hotaru is such a nice girl and really there are some amazing lines that people should read in this first volume. I want to read more!

I Think Our Son Is Gay - This is the last volume of this series and I think it wrapped up very nicely. While the mother suspects her son is gay, she never pressures him to come out. It was nice reading about a sportive parental figure in a manga for once!

My Boy - Wow what a story! I don't even know where to begin but do NOT take the title at face value because it is NOT what you think it is. This story showcases the complexity of characters and how when you are trying to do the right thing it's not always seen that way by others. The story handled some pretty serious themes with care so don't be afraid to check this series out.

Island in a Puddle - I've been wanting to read more of Kei Sanbe's work since reading Erased. This story is a complex body-swap mystery! I've enjoyed the first two volumes and will be reading the rest of the series soon!

Cherry Magic! Thirty Years of Virginity Can Make You A Wizard?! - This series is so much better than its title. And Tsuge and Manato's story is progressing! Saying anything more would be a spoiler.

The Princess of Convenient Plot Devices - This one genuinely surprised me for how much I enjoyed it. I actually got the rest of the volumes digitally so I could read more immediately. While the Isekai gal falling into a game/book is very old hat at this point, I thought the story of this was actually good and interesting. The main character also seems to be putting a little more thought into everything than what I've seen in other series. I'll be reading more of this.

Titles I'm thinking about dropping:

Jujutsu Kaisen - It's been awhile since I read this series, but it almost seemed as though the story became convoluted and the pacing was all over the place. I won't be rushing out any time soon for the latest volumes. I may drop it all together, I wasn't really enjoying it.

10 Dance - While the art work is stunning and the dancing details are interesting, the story is making me a bit irritated explaining why would be a spoiler. There are some choices happening that I do not particularly agree with. I'm not sure if I will buy the next one anytime soon.

Titles I'm Dropping:

Manner of Death - This had potential to be so good from the summary but it was anything but the murder mystery BL I wanted it to be.

The Dragon Knight's Beloved - I guess I should have known from the cover art, but the story was all over the place. The concept was fine but the story telling wasn't coming across. I think its probably because it's a light novel adaptation? I've been noticing that issue lately on the few adaptations I've picked up.

My Special One - This had me in the first half but that ending of the first volume has me dropping it.

Beauty and the Feast - I should have known better again...It's a bit ecchi...I don't know why I picked this up. Probably because I was hoping for a little more wholesome content.

[unironicallytes]

WIP WTHURSDAY!!!

cause I always forget to post on Wednesdays. If you see this and you write, consider yourself tagged directly!! I'm looking straight at you!! 🫵🏾👁️👁️ (If you want)

Some more silly Antoinetta bits for ch4, but this time Zath has just told her about their mission together. I love her, but Zath needs way more time to warm up to new people, especially chatty Initiates. (I mentioned it in the Black Hand write up, but in this AU, Silencers are well-known and expected in their assigned Sanctuaries rather than being secret like in the canon!)

“Plans’ve changed, now yer stuck with me.” Technically, I was stuck with her, but perhaps that would be too rude to say outright ... “Okay! That's fine then, it will be my chance to get to know you after all! Are we going right after my Baptism?” “Nay. Well, tomorrow or the next, probably, unless the voidsalts sicken ye.” “Wait, they can make me sick?” “If yer mental constitution’s weak, aye.” “My what?” “Yer uhh, mind … bits,” I shook my head, already feeling like she was peppering me too much. I preferred the version of her from a month ago, back when she was too intimidated to speak to anyone beyond a rushed sentence or two. “Didn't Sanctifier Vicente tell ye these things?” “Oh, he was preparing me for it this morning when he was called away quite urgently by Brother Movis. Speaking of which, is Movis alright? He wouldn't tell me exactly what happened. He seemed rather cagey about it afterwards and said you and Speaker were handling it.” “He's fine. Listen, lass, perhaps – …” I glanced around for someone else to dump a chatty Initiate on for the time being. Mathieu was still talking with Lucien and likely would be for a time longer. “ … perhaps ye should go help in the chapel, Vicente's there now. He could tell ye what to expect tonight.” “Okay, brother!” “Silencer,” I corrected. “Oops! Sorry, I’m so used to talking to Mathieu,” she laughed, embarrassed. “S’fine.” Antoinetta lingered a moment, expecting me to say something further, so I made a shooing motion. “Off ye go, then.” Off she went, and I slunk into a lonely corner. The Sanctuary had a few of these nooks for reading and communal loitering, so I plopped down into a chair for some good old-fashioned Solitary Loitering. I intended to hover there alone for a time while I waited for Lucien. I say I intended to do that, because not five minutes later, Antoinetta returned. I exhaled quietly through my nose. “Hi again, Silencer, I'm back!” she waved down at me. “I can see that. What, uh. What’re ye back for.” “Vicente said he was busy now and that you could finish briefing me!” “Ah. Cheers.” Great.

[wondrouswendy]

For the fandom asks, 9, 16, and 17 for Control?

9. a ship that isn't your OTP but that you enjoy

It's about as rare as they come but I do like Northmoor/Ash for the Trench/Darling parallels. However they are by far much more enemies to lovers to ??. It's even more "read between the lines" than any other pairing I enjoy for Control, but I think it's a cool one and I've tried to include sprinklings of it in my fics. I think Northmoor would hate it but he'd be unable to resist that nepo-baby.

It's not something I'd be opposed to writing more explicitly but it's also not the first thing on the docket to work on.

16. a tiny detail in canon that you want more people to appreciate

How important America Overnight is to the Bureau's functioning. It's such a cool element of the universe that I hadn't really appreciated until Zath started making America Overnight episodes. It's so important for the Bureau to have a landline for people to call in their stories, whether some of them are insane and not real whereas others are genuine AWEs spiraling out of control. It also has Coast to Coast AM with Art Bell vibes, and I've been a casual fan of that for awhile.

17. the thing in canon that everyone loves and that you also love

The lore documents and the endless potential of Altered Items and Objects of Power. It's one of the most fascinating things to think about, especially how they differ yet share similarities to SCP.

[devilbrakers]

7 or 8 for Zath my beloved. These two would be soo interesting to read. No pressure ofcourse xx

thank youuuuu soraya 💞 this was more fun than i thought it'd be fjdskl

oc codex prompts

8. your OC’s doctor/healer talking about their injuries

A report written by Kieran, the Inquisitor’s personal healer

Forgive my lack of formality in saying this but the Inquisitor’s injuries were entirely nauseating. I nearly lost my lunch. I’ve been a healer for a long time now and I’ve yet to see a magical anchor melting someone’s arm off. Though being the Inquisitor's personal healer has granted me the privilege of seeing many things I wish I could unsee. As if the poor man wasn’t in enough pain beforehand. The Iron Bull was the one to perform the actual amputation after Solas did whatever it was he did, which did buy us some much needed time. I took care of the aftermath and kept him from bleeding out and tried to minimize the pain as much as possible. Though he’s reported some nerve and phantom pains. Unfortunately there’s not much I can do about that at the moment but I’ve been researching in my free time.

The Inquisitor is doing well otherwise, physically, at least. All of this has seemed to take its mental toll but I’m hardly qualified to treat mental or spiritual wounds, I’m afraid. But perhaps given time, he’ll bounce back. As someone who’s known him for many years, I can confidently say that the Inquisitor has hardly ever been one to wallow. So I doubt there’s really much to worry about there. And as I’m sure we all know, I will be taking my leave from the Inquisition once this whole disaster has been resolved. So this will likely be my last report on the Inquisitor.

Regards,

Kieran

7. someone describing a time your OC hurt them

A journal entry from Revas Lavellan

We’ve decided that it would be best to separate. While I agree, I can’t say it doesn’t sting. I love Zath, or I did for a time. He’s still my best friend and the father to our child, that will never change but to have someone tell you that they don’t love you anymore is painful regardless of circumstance, I think. Though I don’t think he ever really did love me in the first place, at least not romantically. But it’s probably best not to dwell on that.

We’ll still take care of Taren together, of course. The last thing either of us want is to cause him any pain. But he’s only just 3 years old so it's unlikely that he’ll be terribly affected or even remember this at all once he’s older. The thought dulls the guilt somewhat but I can’t help but to think of the worst. But Zathrion’s a good man, one of the best I’ve ever met – he’d never let anything that happens between us get in the way of raising Taren the best that we can. So I suppose I won’t either.

[thezathmanatscienceeducationblog]

Ensnared

by: Zath Manat March 21, 2024 A space sci-fi tragedy. Based on True Events. TW:Character death

Deck log of the Heart of Gold private space vessel. 

Entry number 16436.

Entered on interstellar standard date: 031.225.42 

Recorded by the onboard A.I. 

When I picked up a distress beacon from a fellow Earth ship, I relayed the message to the captain immediately. 

I was hopeful. 

If we were able to complete a successful rescue, perhaps the Heart of Gold’s sole human occupant would finally have companionship. As the ship’s A.I., it was, after all, my job to ensure her well-being. I knew she needed the company of her own kind. 

But humans had become few and far between these days.

And I’d feared that my captain might be the last one remaining. Hearing the news of a fellow Earth ship in the region summoned her full attention and she dropped the task she’d previously been working on. 

“Any information on the condition of the vessel? Number of occupants? What sort of trouble they’ve run into?”

“The signal I’ve intercepted is a general distress beacon of human origin. Apologies, Captain, I don’t have any further data.” 

“That’s alright, Ship. How far to the signal’s point of origin?”

She sounded as hopeful as I was. Determined. 

“Slightly less than an hour, Captain.” 

“Go ahead and lay in a course for the distress signal’s point of origin. Full speed.”

She sat in the flight control seat, tense. My processes are fully automated, and she knew I would have alerted her to any concerning change in status. But she needed a distraction. So, she busied herself by focusing on the readings from the instrument panel as she awaited our arrival. 

She was only 26 years old. Only about a quarter of the way through the natural lifespan of a human. But her features looked sunken and haggard due to stress and slight malnutrition. 

Space had become increasingly hazardous to navigate. Access to the asteroids and minor planets with the resources required to power the ship’s engines and food replicators had become increasingly difficult due to the actions of hostile forces. 

We didn’t have much to share with the distressed vessel's occupants. But I knew my captain would give whatever she could. It had been too long since the captain had seen another human. And a Ship’s A.I. is no substitute for human companionship.  

I signaled our approach, “We’re within hailing distance of the fellow Earth ship, Captain.” 

I watched as she drew a deep breath. 

The path had been laden with infinite potential outcomes, from easily manageable repairs to unresolvable catastrophes. Visual contact with the other ship would inevitably collapse most of those potentials into strictly defined parameters within which we would need to operate. 

She was resolute, but her voice had an almost imperceptible tremble. Apprehension. Anticipation. 

“On screen.” 

Our cautious optimism was shattered. 

She turned away from the sight on-screen and closed her eyes. 

“That's just great.”

She internally recalculated how to proceed.  

“Arachnean webs...”

The ship on screen was intractably ensnared in a tangle of massive, interwoven strands that seemed to emerge from nowhere. Each strand’s ends seemed to trail off into nothingness -- as if tethered to another realm. Amidst the infinite blackness, they shimmered in the ship’s navigation lights like strands of moonlit dewdrops. 

These webs came courtesy of those aforementioned hostile forces. The Arachneans, as the humans called them, were the most destructive of all space-faring species. 

They left death traps littered throughout the galaxy. Webs that ensnared the ships of hapless travelers, deactivated their life-support systems and rapidly depleted their oxygen stores.

We’d be safe as long as we didn’t approach any closer.  

“I’m sorry.” It was all I could offer.

She opened her eyes and forced herself to stare at the screen. 

“Should we return to our previous heading?” I asked. 

“No. Hail them. There may still be someone alive onboard.” 

“If so, there won’t be for very long.” 

(As an A.I., perhaps tact is not my strong suit. ...But I could not see the benefit in torturing oneself with a short-lived emotional entanglement that would quickly end in tragedy.)

“Hail them, Ship.” It isn’t in my nature to argue. So, I hailed the other ship. 

“Hello, this is Captain Ellen Shaw of the Heart of Gold. Do you read me?”

There was a brief pause, then a crackle of static from the other ship followed by a short chuckle. 

“Captain Shaw, nice to meet you. Don’t get too close if you know what’s good for you. I hope you know I’m a lost cause. ...Always have been. But even more so now.” 

The captain leaned forward attentively.

“That may be. But you don’t have to be alone. If you don’t want to be.” 

Another pause from the stranger, then he replied. 

“Welp...it’s times like this -- when I’m caught in a giant, interdimensional spider web, fifteen odd minutes from my certain demise -- that I wish I’d listened to what my mother told me when I was a kid.”

The captain eased back into her chair and gave a wry and knowing chuckle. 

“...Why?” She ventured cautiously. “What...did she tell you?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t listen.” 

A smile, tinged with sadness, spread across the captain’s face. 

“A quote from Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. My favorite book series.” She replied. 

“’Heart of Gold.’ I knew you’d get it.” His breathing sounded labored.

“You got a name, friend? Or maybe I should just call you Ford Prefect.” 

“...Ian. Ian...Jackson. Sole occupant of the Don’t Panic!” There was effort in his speech. Though he seemed to be trying to hide it, with geniality. 

“I can tell we would have been friends.” She said, wistfully.

“Well...we still can be. For a few minutes.” 

His responses grew slower and more lethargic as their short conversation progressed. 

She continued quietly talking to him for a long time after he stopped responding.

When there was nothing left to be said, she stared straight ahead out the ship’s view screen at Captain Jackson’s dead ship. 

“There may still be other humans out there.” I finally offered. 

“Don’t worry about me, Ship.” She replied. “I’m glad I got to meet him. So that he didn’t have to be alone at the end. That would be dreadful to be alone at the end -- without another human. You did good, alerting me to the distress signal. Thank you. ...Return to our previous heading.”

We didn’t get far. 

I had never seen Arachnean ships from such a close distance before. 

But then, I suppose not many have, who have lived to tell about it. 

Several rushed at us from all angles. They surrounded us and began closing in.

Corralling us. 

Into a web. 

“Evasive maneuvers, Ship!” 

“I’m trying, Captain. They have us surrounded.” 

A whining whistle issued from the ship’s P.A. system, alerting us that we were being hailed. 

 “On screen!” The captain exclaimed. 

She recoiled, and her eyes bulged in terror at the sight of the alien-being standing...or sitting? before us. Its morphology was as strange and indecipherable as the uncanny cacophony of noises it emitted. 

“Is it...speaking? What is it saying? Demands? An ultimatum? Can you parse it?”

“Attempting to translate. This may take a while.” 

A look of determination seized her features. She stood from her seat

“YOU’LL NEVER TAKE ME ALIVE!” She shouted at the screen. “Ship, cut transmission. Full power to the thrusters. Tolerances be damned; we can think about repairs after we assure our survival.” 

“Channeling full power to the thrusters and engaging...”

I diverted all energy reserves to our escape attempt. 

“We’re not making any headway, Captain. We’re caught in a tractor beam. They’re pulling us in... I’m sorry, Captain. There’s nothing I can do.” 

She dropped to her knees. 

“No.” Tears streamed silently down her face. “...please, no.” 

“Captain, please try to relax and slow your breathing. Your vital signs are dangerously beyond nominal range.”

I had few words of comfort that could be realistically offered.   

She clutched her chest and crumpled forward. 

“Your vital signs indicate that you are experiencing a cardiac emergency.” 

Within moments of the start of the captain’s medical emergency, the alien tractor beam lost its hold on us.

“Captain, we’re free. The tractor beam has deactivated. I am laying in a course away from the web, full speed.” 

She lifted herself into her seat with great effort, still clutching her chest. I desperately hoped her condition could improve now that the stress of capture was removed. ...But I was doubtful.  

“I’ve completed the translation of the alien message.” 

 Her voice was strained. “Let’s hear it.”

“We come in peace. We apologize on behalf of other members of our species. We have created a protected area. We wish to offer you safety and the benefit of our advanced technologies. You will be given sanctuary among other members of your kind.” 

 “Ugh!” She continued clutching her chest in pain. “It might be a trick...I don’t know. ...I don’t know what to do, Ship. But I need help. Go back.” 

There was nothing more I could offer her on my own. 

“Understood.” 

I reversed course. 

When the Aracheans boarded, Captain Shaw was unconscious. 

I watched as they attempted to revive her. Desperately, fervently, they applied their technologies and techniques. Fruitlessly. 

 I was not able to translate their words in real time. 

After they disembarked, leaving her lifeless body behind, I listened to the translation. 

Four distinct alien voices. 

The first voice sounded frantic. Surprisingly invested in someone who wasn’t even of the same species. “Come on, come on, PLEASE come back to us! PLEASE hang in there. Oh no, oh no...we’re losing her.” 

The second voice, desperate, then resigned. “We can’t lose her! ...We’ve lost her.” 

The third voice sounded remorseful: “Forgive us. We’re so sorry. We’ve lost her, and there were already so few of them left.” 

The fourth reflected on their actions with an eye toward a new plan: “We can’t help them this way. They’re not right for it. Their species can’t survive captivity. It’s too late for this one. We have to find a different way to help them. If we can. We’re so sorry.” 

There was no human ear onboard to hear the message once I translated it. 

It is uncertain whether humans and their distinctive way of life still exist anywhere. 

If they do, I hope the misguided group of Arachneans who attempted to save Captain Shaw are more successful in their future attempts. 

As there are no more crew aboard, no further log entries shall be made.

Ship’s A.I. will self-deactivate at the end of this entry.

Log entry concludes.

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

The Vaquita Porpoise and Operation Vaquita CPR

There are estimated to be fewer than twenty vaquita porpoises left in existence (1,2) . At only 4.9 feet long, vaquitas are the world’s smallest cetacean species (1,2). They exhibit white and dark-grey counter shading and they have distinctive dark coloration around the eyes and mouth (1,2). Like dolphins, they use echolocation to navigate and find food (1,2). Their vocalizations are distinctive from those of dolphins and are said to sound similar to the snort of a pig. The vaquita porpoise is not found anywhere except for the Sea of Cortez (1,2).

While pollution and climate change have destabilized the ecosystem in this region making it more difficult for this species to survive, the primary threat to this unique species is gillnets (2). Gillnets are used to capture the similarly sized totoaba fish – which are illegally hunted for their swim highly valued swim bladders (1,2) . Vaquita frequently become entangled in the nets as bycatch (1,2). Vaquita are mammals and must resurface frequently for air (1,2). Once caught in the gillnets, they rapidly drown (1,2).

In 2017, a conservation group known as Vaquita CPR captured a young adult female vaquita with the hopes of keeping her in a protected area as part of a captive breeding program (1). She went into cardiac arrest due to the stress of capture (1). The conservation team released her when they realized she was in distress but she circled back and returned to them(1). The team attempted to resuscitate her to no avail and she expired (1). The captive breeding program was subsequently abandoned (1). We will have to find another way to counteract the destruction fellow members of our species have wrought. Programs like Sea Shepherd Conservation Society continue to combat the use of dangerous gillnets (3). References

Bogle, S. (2018). Souls of the Vermilion Sea. [Film]. Wild Lens Inc. Retrieved 22 February 2023. https://www.wildlensinc.org/film-productions/souls-of-the-vermilion-sea-feature/

2. Fisheries, N. (2023, January 30). Vaquita. https://www.fisheries.noaa.gov/species/vaquita

3. Sea Shepherd Conservation Society. (n.d.). Protecting Marine Wildlife Worldwide. https://seashepherd.org/

[diamondot]

that's a lot of yamok sauce

i think Jake speaks for all of us when he says to Nog: what are you talking about

just a normal blinking red light

Dax is talking about getting asked out on a date, but that's an improvement over reading the computer

oop, back to reading the computer

i can only assume that a wrappage of yamok sauce is, like, a ketchup packet

that alien captain has the bearing and demeanor of a B5 alien

glad to see Deep Space 9 continuing the tradition of getting all space food props from the local Asian supermarket

that's a celeriac, sir

this old man's casual misogyny is very annoying

i feel like rendering a class M moon uninhabitable for energy is a *really* poor choice. idk

MY UNCLE QUARK

this guy sure is a bureaucrat

apparently that Bajoran guard will later go on to be the voice of Alduin in Skyrim??? what the heck?

no one ever listens to Zath-- i mean Bashir

i appreciate that Sisko has a considering pose

"i'm here to see Major Kira" "she doesn't wanna see you, and neither do i"

Sisko's here to be a dad

INCREDIBLE that Nog and Jake are now standing between a government and land acquisition

the Kira Nerys guide to making friends: light their home of 40 years on fire

is it Friday? no. is it time for

Star Trek

anyway? yes.

Progress: nothing more stubborn than an old man in the face of catastrophe

[sunnysynergy]

what is zath and how do i worship it?

I don’t know what I expected to happen after that post but *deep fucken breath*

Zath is an old shift-shapey boi with a deep hatred for humans and a strong affinity for insects. His entire existence is basically a secret from the public, partially so no one will freak out over the very confirmable existence of alien life, and partially so his Grand Scheme to Destroy The World won’t be infringed upon, which is why every 10-20 years or so he has to send his totally-just-dogs-and-not-a-hivemind after some poor stranger who found out Too Much and fake their deaths before they try to tell someone. So if you’re curious on how to worship him, keeping your eyes and mouth closed and shutting down anyone who won’t is one way he’ll accept

[for-peace-war]

art by @idrawbuffgirls​

This is the prologue to the next Conan series I want to try out: “The Temple of Longing.”  It’s related to “The Great Winged One,” but deals expressly with a different set of characters and circumstances.  Whatever comes from it, it’ll be me continuing my one-to-one-half hour writing exercises.  Thanks to anyone that reads.  I love reading the comments in tags and any reply is appreciated.

Again, Kelzack provides me with a great sketch for the summary!

THE TEMPLE OF LONGING.

Prologue

ZANDU THE ZAMORIAN noiselessly traversed the xeric depths of the ziggurat with zealous strides.  From the time he was but a lad, which then saw more sand behind him than before—surely—he had been fascinated by the mysteries of the world.  Shadizar, known as the Wicked City, was a realm that brooked trust in nothing and spared none to those that fell beneath the shadows.  As neither the most guileful, nor the most talented scoundrel to be birthed upon the septic streets of that sordid citadel of sin, his survival had been the result of something more primal than greed and more powerful than strength—necessity, neglect—need.

He had been a pretty boy—or so the perfumed men and sallow-faced women had told him—and the route from Shadizar had been fraught with all manners of danger. Through his youth, for some time, his prettiness had even allowed him to know the largesse of great benefactors that extracted but simple requests in the name of their desires.  Lusts—not always of flesh, but certainly all speaking to the same need within them that had seen him press still further onward.  For they had learned to sate their needs on whatever happened by them and he had learned, through the dolorous howl of a ravenous stomach to the envious feeling that ran his spine when coins were counted and his mouth could but water—that satiety would never truly come; that whatever temporary relief he knew was but a lie.

Perhaps that was why he had learned to love mystery so much.

A mystery was the one thing that could never be fully known—that would never see a need truly met, and thus always kept him sharpened and honed for more.

The ziggurat was a lost treasure of an ancient world long forgotten—something that his sole remaining eye appreciated as he walked the sandy stone about him. The scar that claimed his eye, and the better part of his face, had been the end of his prettiness; it had also been the birth of his desire to know what lay beneath the surface of the world.  Though he had become wizened with time, with teeth that felt longer in his mouth than they had before, and joints that ached when the weather changed—his thirst for more, his desire to understand, was something that had not abated in the slightest.  From the tricks he played upon friends and fellows as a boy, to the deceptions he rattled among lovers and their longing as a man, his Zamorian guile had never failed him in that it would see him to where he wished to be.  But what to do with it?  How to answer the need that had brought him there?

Everything had seemed a mystery.

Everything, that was, until he heard of her.

It had been a tale, surprisingly, come of the lips of a Zuagir dacoit, whose penchant for thievery had made even his Zamorian sensibilities feel some minor offense.   The dacoit, who had been a member of a band then dissolved, had fallen to the comfort of wine to mollify what mortification was on his soul.  To find a man in such a state along a roadside tavern was no great mystery, and Samara as one of the few points of solace near the Eastern Desert, was no unlikely place to find one such soul—but why had it been that soul?  Why had it been the drunken Zuagir that chose to speak? Why had he chosen to listen?

Oh, but the mysteries only continued to swell.

His mother, or at least the woman that called herself his mother (for it was likely she had been but a crone that considered his industry and claimed him for herself on those foul streets of Shadizar) had once told him of Zath, the Spider-God that centuries before Conan the Conqueror had vanquished while under the guise of a Turanian Royal Guard.  Zath, who wove webs and consumed souls—Zath, who was spider larger than any tower, and wiser than any ruler.

Zath, who was but a legend.

But were there truly any legends?

“Ever since Northern Star,” the Zuagir said, “this world is changed.”  He had spoken for some time of creatures that were half-man and half-horse; of serpents that walked as men, and chimera that flew on the wings of falcons with the bodies of leopards and the heads and torsos of beautiful maidens.  Drunken men were given to any form of folly that might be summoned, and to most in the tavern it was merely that—folly, folly come of a guilty man that had slain his captain and absconded with his loot and the guilt of his actions.

Zandu the Zamorian heard something different though, as the ale-sodden Zuagir shared his tale.  It was true—after the Northern Star had burst over Nordheim, tales of ancient beasts emerging from the depths of the earth had met his ear.  He was not so old that he was without wonder, and his love of mystery was the clever mistress that had never failed him, so he sat with the dacoit and listened to his tale and how he spun it.

Perhaps the man was Zath?  For the tale he spun was a marvelous one.

It was of a goddess—and riches that no man could possibly comprehend.

“She comes of Vendhaya,” his companion said.  “Najantha, the Divine Lust.  We heard her song—we heard her singing and we went to her.”  The man began to cry at that and though he felt nothing for him, Zandu placed a hand comfortingly on his shoulder.

A Zamorian learned that sometimes the best lie was one without words.

By the night’s end he had learned everything of this Najantha—or at least, what a drunken man steeped in guilt might have offered him.

And now, he stood within her temple.

By the Zuagir’s statement, they had not found their way past the entrance to the ziggurat before their lusts overcame them—and they turned upon each other with blades and mauls until only the drunken man remained.  To that, Zandu had a simple solution—he would go alone.  His only lust was for mystery, and no mystery would be something that would make him kill, himself.   Finding the temple had been a matter of venturing into the shadows of the Ilbarsi Mountains, where a man of his appearance masked by the dark black turban that he wore, and the black cloak that draped upon his thinning body made him appear little more than a passing shadow within the sweltering sun.

But the finding of it was no great challenge—neither was the entering.  It was understanding it; understanding what had brought the Zuagirs to it, and what had seen them fall upon one another.  That was the mystery.

He had not heard any song as he entered the temple, though he was surprised at how verdant the interior was.  The first few halls were lined with but dust and sands of the world outside, but as he moved onward—as he walked through what must surely have taken centuries to complete, he began to see the faint remnants of silken sheets; tapestries that had become faded with time, depicting little more than etchings; and threadbare rugs that his feet passed noiselessly over.  Those halls bled into something else though—the whisper of life, a promise that started with one vine peaking coyly through a dilapidated wall, or another flower posed coquettishly so that its stem was extended like a girl’s pretty neck, and the petals cast the aspersive simper of a Brythunian ingenue caught with her décolletage bared before wanton eyes.

There was certainly something in the air then, but what?

Why did the name Najantha call to him so, he could not help but wonder?  The life within the halls was understated still, and yet he knew it was not merely the lustful tale that he had heard from the Zuagir or the murmurs he heard along the way.   Men did not build citadels to beautiful women, no matter how much they may have wished to fuck them.  Certainly they would house them within one such a thing, but the ziggurat did not seem a prison—it did not seem meant to hold Najantha, so much as it was meant to praise her.  What empty pleasures and the echoes of lust that the decadently decrepit pit cast upon his mind were not lost, but neither did they help him find meaning.

His torch began to gutter against the dampness in the air; he paused and took a moment to attend it.  In Corinthia, while studying a mystery among the fyli of the Kharpasha Mountains, he had encountered a young woman whose avian features slipped from pretty to peculiar depending on how her head was tilted and the light found her nose.  She was blessed with magic—or so the wisemen said—and when he asked her for any hints she may give him to discover the mysteries of the world she said but one thing: “no.”  She could not give him any hints—she gave him an answer.

“Always have fire.”

His cloth soaked in Nemedian oil was an expensive addition to his adventuring kit, but as he wound it into place he knew that it would be worth it.  Nemedians, who spent their time reading old scriptures and reminding others of a time before Emperor Maxentius’ Aqualonian Empire had conquered most of the known world, were very fond of reading well into the dark but were far less so of moving.  It followed that they, in their dusty libraries, would come upon an oil that burned against all elements save time.  With his torch fixed he lifted and was surprised by what was before him.

  Longing, the words—

dripped off her bared breasts

—like feathered birds

agonizing to sing lest—

—past seas of lust

she clutched their

erected desires.

  Zandu had never made claim to be a man of verse or the words of intellectual men, though as he read words that he should not have known he was fairly certain he knew what was being spoken of.  Breasts—erect desires.  Yes, if indeed this was the Temple of Longing then those were things that any man might have wished of the goddess within.  But, who would so willingly serve a woman for the promise of her carnal bliss?  Was she truly that beautiful a woman?  Could she have promised some men heaven and been given the world in exchange for it?  His curiosity continued to press him onward, as he—were he younger—surely would have pressed against the fabrics of his robe at another time.

And it was not as though she had just invited anyone into her temple—no, Najantha had made every effort she might to prevent the unworthy from entering her most sacred of tunnels.  He had been forced to determine where pressure plates lay; seen several darts loaded into false walls, and at one point might have sworn that down a path there stalked something living—and large, to the pungent aroma of blood and death about it.

Yet, he was not just anyone—he was Zandu the Zamorian.  The lust for mystery; the need to know more, had honed him as dexterously as any lover’s fingers might have for the trials before him.  No padlock could prevent him from moving onward and no riddle would flummox him when he placed his mind to it.  Simple men often said to place a hand to a wall and never be lost within the maze, but he knew a better way—realize that everything was a maze, and never truly feel lost.

He strode, perhaps with a confidence he had never before felt, deeper in the temple and realized with each step that the man that he had been before entering the temple knew nothing of the man that was inside of it.  True, his lungs burned and sweat fell within his eyes—his beard had become moist from his breathing and his hands hurt about the torch, but as he delved deeper into Najantha’s ziggurat, he found himself blissfully aware that he radiated with the same lush vibrancy as the vegetation about him.

The Zuagir dacoits had been fools to come to her many to the one, for it was their lust that undid them, not the goddess that but wished to share with them the secrets she knew.  And she knew many—oh, he could hear that much in his mind already.  She knew many, and she would tell them those secrets as soon as he was before her.

That moment came faster than he had expected.

For the glories that shone in the world outside, that which was within the ziggurat’s royal chamber was unmistakable.  He knew but one eye, and yet, had he four more they would have been incapable of taking it all: the mountains of gold, jewels, and precious metals that glistened beneath the low light of eternal flames.  Flames that spoke of warmth; passion—lust.  An immense throne, covered in leafy vegetation, rose about the sea of vines that lined the walls and ran along the floors.  He walked with steady steps over them, past two statues: each obsidian in shade.  One had fallen to its side, as if a jealous sentry incapable of keeping his lustful desire from his mistress, while the other—a woman, had seen her head removed and rolled some place away.

Other statues lined the room, each depicted some great man or woman that stood helplessly before Zandu as he strode magnificently forth and looked to she that sat, cast in marble, upon that resplendent throne.

She was Beauty.

Najantha, the Divine Lust, must surely have inspired rebellions in heaven—the slaughter of god against god, to know her favor for but a second’s breath.  His eye traced along her face, as a carpenter must have moved along wood or a sculptor stone, carefully drawing in what he saw and wishing for only a second longer to appreciate that which he had seen.  Her long, slender neck—her full lips.  It was as if a person had indeed carved another out of stone, and the delicate and succulent flesh of her body given an eternal glow.

Was this what had seen the temple built in her name?  Was it her beauty?  Of the questions that had come before—that she promised lust unknown; that she spoke in hushed desires and traded in crude manner—they had seemed meaningless, empty.  False.  But her beauty was something real and as the Zamoran drew closer, he realized it was a beauty that he could touch.

So he did so.

His hand moved to rest upon the swell of one of her breasts, where the stone feigned exposing the concealed nipple beneath whatever fine samite she wore along taut skin and desirable curves.  Oh, he could touch her.  He could touch her beauty—he could have her.

And she could touch him.

He did not realize what was happening at first, not until the coil of something thick and long began to work its way along his legs.  By then, entranced as he was, he found himself incapable of reacting and slowly felt his body pressed tightly by the pulsating agony that promised unspeakable pleasures with how tightly he was held.  It was a vice primal and merciless: as warm as the blood that coursed through him; as tight as the virginal folds that had birthed mankind into the world.

“No man has ever served me for the promise of my lust,” came Her voice.  It was something that slithered through the air, and as it did so hissed unspoken desires he did not know until she had claimed him in those moments.  “Nor has any man come to me for the picture his mind paints,” she went on to say.

Zandu felt himself becoming stiff in her hold.  He could not move—no matter how much he tried, and as he looked with shock from the soft breast in his hand toward the face of the woman that spoke, he realized he would never want to move.  Not away from her—not away from that which held him.  With her eyes closed, she seemed in blissful and sweet repose, contemplating some delicate mystery that only a mind that had seen eons could understand. Was he that mystery? Was she solving him, at long last?

“My beauty is the poison they drink not because it bids them to do so,” said the awakening goddess, whose fair skin began to take on a faintly greenish hue.  The leaves about her offered a soft whispering hiss, as did the vines that churned all around them. “So why do they serve me?”

His breathing was lost in his chest.  He knew that in a matter of minutes, his world would become as empty and dark as the halls he had left behind himself.  Yet her voice dripped with such eager desire and lust that he gladly welcomed it—fear made his heartbeat, and yet he knew that for the first time in a decade he stood erected by the desire she clutched within him. Oh, but if she would only open her eyes—if he might only be blessed with the sight of her.

“Because you are my goddess—” He gasped.

Najantha, the Divine Lust, laughed at that.  “No,” she said.  Her hand, lined with nails long and black, came to brush along his skin.   The very tips of them opened the paper-thin flesh, sending rivulets of blood to drop against the coils that had by then come to claim his torso.  “That is not why men love me,” came her whisper—and the whisper of the many plants that haunted the room, an orgiastic polyphony that overwhelmed his mind.

He remembered his mother—his true mother—holding him for but one night so long ago in the streets of Shadizar.  She was a young girl, beautiful and swarthy, with the green eyes of a woman marked for a terrible life.  Was that his mother’s face?  Were the large, full bosom that loomed before him, not those of the goddess he had eagerly sought, desperate to know the meaning of what her name meant to him? Musty as the air may have been on that night with her fluids still upon him she held him to her leaking breasts, and he suckled until she could give him no more.  That was it—she could give him no more. She left him.  Her son—her boy, beautiful and with two eyes that could see her back fade into the masses of shadows about them.

The mystery—the desire.  It had always been to feel that once more.  As his bones cracked; as his mind left him, he saw images of the many lives he had corrupted and ruined in his quest for his own gains.  How had he been anything but a shadow to some, who took what he wished and left them to the misery of his passing?  And he had not been a bad man—he had not been a villain, a cruel taskmaster. But they all did no less, did they not?  They all, in their own way, caged each other within their sins.

“Men love me because I am a monster,” she said.  “Just like you.”

At long last she opened her eyes and looked into his.  Gasping, he felt himself break—felt the things that made him a man; made him human—made him exist, begin to solidify into the sand and stone that he had walked past so carelessly before.  His last thought was that he hoped if his head fell, it would do so in her lap.

That way, he dreamed in endless slumber, she would never leave him again.

[thetallflower]

Do you have any Gency and McHanzo fic recs?

OH BOI DO I. You have no idea how much I love giving out recommendations so thank you for being the first to ask.

McHanzo:

The Outlaw McCree by Cawaiiey : A fun fairy-tale romp with McCree as the dashing Robin Hood and Hanzo as a prince. It’s steeped with atmosphere, heart, and snark. And it’s a shame it isn’t as popular as her other works because Cade outdid herself here.  

four days and four proposals by starscry : If you know me, you’d know how much of a sucker I am for the fake-couple trope. It’s so silly and stupid but great. And this fic series truly plays up my favourite parts of this trope and it makes me glad to be alive whenever I read it because it’s a pure joy to read. And the sequel is equally cute and adorable and I can’t just read it. 

Popcorn Redemption by wyntera : No introduction needed. This is extremely popular for a reason. I’m not going to spend too much time on it because it doesn’t need it. If you love cheesy movie stuff, please give this a try.

Crossroads by blurimuri : The best word I can describe this one is “charming”. Overwatch is a bus transportation company and McCree is one of the attendants while Hanzo is a passenger. It has such a welcome, warmth, and sincerity not seen in a lot of fics. It feels like I’m being hugged. While unfished, and while it’s doubtful they’ll continue it at this stage, the last chapter that updated serves as a satisfying finale.

Ghost Stories On Route 66 by Nagaina : I’m not telling you shit about this one because I went in blind and I feel like everyone should. Please read it’s so good. Especially if you’re interested in ghosts and spooky stuff. 

To Build a Home by taibhsemisteire : A fantastic series that doesn't get nearly enough praise than it should. It’s honestly a crime. It’s all about Jesse and Hanzo meeting in their youths and their lives as they grow older and hnnnnngggg why isn’t this popular????? Just thinking about it makes my heart ache. 

 A silver bullet by MyLadyDay : One of the very few Werewolf! McCree fics that I like. Not a whole lot of McHanzo in this one, but it’s a really strong opener to a one-shot series. 

Are you Chicken? by Daximed : This fic is so ridiculous but I wouldn’t have it either way. It’s like Ghost Stories because the humour only works if you’re surprised with it, so I can’t say much, but if you’re ever in a down mood give this a read. It’ll cheer you up.

Devil Went Down to Georgia by Goodluckdetective (scorpiontales) : Soooooo this is my favourite fic ever? Point blank? Like honestly every time I read it I’m in awe like Jesus Christ why isn’t this straight up a published short story? The author is a huge inspiration to me and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to capture my feelings towards this fic in words. It’s about McCree selling his soul to a demonic power in order to save the life of a dear friend, and the consequences of such a trade years later. Every time I read it I want to cry and scream on the floor. So yeah I recommend it. 

Petals on the River by bamfbugboy, Zath : I had to end this on a classic! A western style AU that has been so lovingly crafted by the two writers. They deserve all the praise they’ve received since beginning this behemoth.  

Gency

i stand at the crossroads by GlowRoseate : I kinda hate this one because I know that I’ll never be able to write something as delightful, heartfelt, and hilarious as this fic with this much ease. Genji accidentally drunk texts Angela during the festive season and the rest is history. 

Children of the Old Gods by Emiza : Fantasy epiiiiiiiiic!!!! Oh you want a faster route to my heart than the fake-couple troupe? This. The whole setup is that Angela is this princess dubbed as the Valkyrie because of her rez abilities and how she’s kidnapped by a certain someone.

Less Than A Man by aideyn : So you want to read something that will most certainly destroy your soul????? Here you go. Enjoy. 

Replacements by Goodluckdetective (scorpiontales) : OH YAY MORE ANGST *dabs*

with grace in our hearts by Snowsheba : (Okay I’m sorry if these aren’t as long as the McHanzo descriptions I’m starting to get tired.) The formatting for this one is so... odd? But once you start to read it it just... flows so well??? Honestly, it’s an enigma. Nevertheless, it’s quite the emotional power-house, and you’ll feel like you were punched in the face with feelings. So a thumbs up from me!

That’s everything that I can remember off the top of my head. I’m sure there’s more that I’m forgetting to mention that I also really like, but I think this is long enough XD I hope I helped you, anon!!! 

[rangerzath]

I was tagged by @wondrouswendy ARE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE?

My username is what I came up with when I was trying to create a character in SWTOR. I originally wanted a character named Zane after Zane Grey, one of my favorite authors, but it was taken. So I had to get creative and I've kept it ever since. I think the name Zath is pretty cool and feels like it represents me well. Unfortunately it's taken in most places so I added Ranger to the front of it encompassing several types of Rangers. From an FBC ranger, the rangers of the wild west , to rangers in Tolkien's fantasy. A protector. One who makes their own way. The title seems to suit me.

WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU CRIED?

I can't recall.

DO YOU HAVE KIDS?

Negative.

WHAT SPORTS DO YOU PLAY/HAVE YOU PLAYED?

Everything. From baseball, basketball, volleyball, golf, chess. Name a sport and I've probably played it. Big into sports growing up. I was always playing something no matter the season.

DO YOU USE SARCASM?

Indeed.

WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE?

If they like Zachariah Trench or not.

WHAT'S YOUR EYE COLOUR?

Green.

SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDINGS?

Happy Endings. Give me the creepy Cthulhu horrors and uphill battles along the way but let them ride off into the sunset and be happy together.

ANY TALENTS?

I have a very vivid imagination. My friends call it "Zath's endless pool of ideas".

WHERE WERE YOU BORN?

Earth.

WHAT ARE YOUR HOBBIES?

Daydreaming, gaming, writing, reading, video editing, podficcing. Just recently I started drawing. Sharing the good word about my favorite characters.

DO YOU HAVE ANY PETS?

Yes a wonderful [REDACTED] named [REDACTED].

HOW TALL ARE YOU?

Enough.

FAVOURITE SUBJECT?

History. It always fascinated me back when I was in school. Even now when I learn little tidbits here and there.

DREAM JOB?

Honestly, I wish I could be a writer, but I have no talent. I have imagination in spades though. Such is my curse.

I'll tag @thefrostflower and @sparkchemy if you would like to participate.

[unironicallytes]

It's WIP Wtuesday!

Aka, I don't remember what day it is but want to share a WIP. I just got home from a trip where I ended up writing a lot during plane rides, so here you go! I've included Zath's hover-text asides as smaller, bracketed text at the bottom. For context, Zath and Lu have just arrived at the Cheydinhal Sanctuary, where they've run into Mathieu and Antoinetta.

Awkwardness ensues for ... multiple layers of reasons.

Speaker wordlessly passed me his travel bag while he addressed the pair, clasping his hands together and offering a gracious smile. I exchanged a quiet nod with Mathieu, who flicked his gaze from Lucien for only a second to acknowledge it. Then, I dipped into our room to set our things down. I caught snippets of the conversation as it continued behind me. “I did not expect to be home so early,” Speaker replied. “But when I arrived, I received word from Sanctifier Ocheeva about your progress and was able to make it in time.” Of course, that wasn't actually our reason for visiting, but you have to admit, it was pretty convenient. “You seem to be adjusting well. You look much happier than when we last spoke, and I'm quite pleased to see this. Do tell me how you've been.” Perhaps he expected a few sentences at most, maybe ‘I’m doing wonderfully, Speaker, I love being cooped up here reading in the chapel, thank you!’ or something along those lines. I don't think he expected for Antoinetta to deliver him a full, *autobiographical account of the past month. How did she even have so much to say? An Initiate’s life in the Sanctuary was the exact opposite of exciting. You were not permitted to leave before being baptized - in fact, if you tried to leave or even object too strongly, you'd be sent **‘home’. So, a Sanctifier sat your ass down and taught you our scripture until you could repeat it forwards, backwards, and sideways. That was it! You couldn’t even train with weapons yet! It was over a decade ago for me, but coming from a life bounding around the mountains of Valenwood, I found the process excruciating. The same apparently could not be said for our newest recruit. I hid my smirk as I returned to Speaker’s side. Antoinetta was still going. A glance at Mathieu told me he too was suppressing joy at witnessing our leader’s discomfort. The corners of Speaker's lips had remained politely upturned, but his smile’s genuinity had begun to erode with his patience, of which he had very little to begin with. “ … and I’d never known vampires were so kind! Sanctifier Vicente has been such a terrific mentor. Did you know he's been to Vvardenfell? What am I saying, of course you probably know, haha! I've only heard stories of Morrowind, but I've always wanted to see it in person. Brother Movis says it's not the best place to work though, that’s a shame!” The way she, a fresh-faced recruit, chatted so casually with what was essentially a high priest of our order was admirable in an absurd way. She was remarkably illiterate when it came to reading a room.

[*What? Fine, I know what you're probably thinking, but it's acceptable when I do it, because my commentary is so much more interesting.]

[**The permanent one. With Father. Please, we're not just going to let you go back to your last place of residence if you decide "actually this isn't for me, I'd like to quit now." Once a Speaker gives you that password, you're past the point of no return.]

[wondrouswendy]

I'm still playing through the Alan Wake games, so I can't read your fic yet, but I wanted to say that the banner for Out of My Hands and Into Your Heart is GORGEOUS. Love the typesetting and the use of bullet holes. Very nice work, it looks just like something from out of the game

Hope you're enjoying the ride with Alan Wake! It's quite a doozy.

As for my fic's banner, it was made by my friend @rangerzath -- who absolutely doesn't give themselves enough credit for their graphic design work. They've made several banners for me in the past, but this latest one for Out of My Hands and Into Your Heart really captured the vibes from the posters found in AW2. Thank you so much for the compliment! I've passed it onto Zath ❤️

It's a sentimental title (taken from a lyric from the song Fractions by Wayfloe) paired with grittier visuals. And there's a reason for that which I won't go into yet because spoilers.

[devilbrakers]

23, 37, 58, & any other questions you want to answer for Zath and/or any of your other ocs? 🥺

kissing ur ring like in the godfather. From this post

23. What’s one childhood memory they’ve never forgotten?

His father dying :/. He was very young, maybe around 5 or 6, but that's not something you forget regardless. He didn't actually see his dad die but his mom broke the news and he was pretty devastated as he was very close with his father. Now that he's much older, he has very few memories of his father and he almost feels like a stranger now.

37. What’s their favorite thing about their significant other, if they have one?

Oh my god... Finding something Zath doesn’t enjoy about that man is hard enough so picking a favorite is like holding me a gunpoint bc that means I also have to pick something 😭. Could write a 7 page essay on how much I adore Dorian. 

But I’d say he likes Dorian’s courage, or his bravery, however you want to put it. This goes hand in hand with his open-mindedness and willing to learn (on most topics, he has his Moments) but Dorian has had it ingrained that his sexuality is a flaw, that his want for change is a flaw. His father has gone as far as trying to change him with blood magic, which has to be one of the most devastating things ever. Despite that, Dorian took the leap of faith and pursued something with Zathrion, despite his worries that this would taint his reputation, despite his fear of it all going horribly wrong. Zathrion couldn’t be more grateful for that. 

He also loves how much of a nerd Dorian is. And unlike Solas, who Zath is quite close with, he never really talks down to Zathrion. It doesn’t feel like you’re speaking to someone who thinks they’re better than you. Dorian asks questions, rather than expecting you to ask him and in turn be blessed with his knowledge. When he explains things, there’s always a genuine fascination in his voice, he’s excited to be sharing his knowledge. Zath also adores the way his face lights up when they’re sharing recent discoveries. You know that mission in Crestwood (i think) when you’re underground and he says something about the lighting bc it’s magic or smth and he says “Remarkable! :D”, Zath fell in love immediately. 

58. If they could change one thing about their life, what would it be?

As much as he’s enjoyed the whole world-saving business because of the people he’s met, he’d really just like to live his life in peace. Living either with his clan or somewhere remote in the forest (or anywhere with Dorian, he’s not terribly picky), seeing his son as often as he can, traveling the world again maybe. But, alas, the universe has different plans for him. 

It’s conflicting for him because part of him does wish he never went to the Conclave but he’s also grateful for much of what being the Inquisitor has offered him, mostly meeting the love of his life and his closest friends. He mostly just wishes that he could offer his son the life he deserves, which is one free of the looming threat of death due to being the Inquisitor’s son. Zathrion can only shelter him from so much and he can’t bear being the reason Taren will have to deal with such things. He’s only ever wanted to be the best father he could be and he feels that being the Inquisitor has robbed him of that. 

Adding a couple under the cut, pls don’t feel obligated to read them. One of them is kinda not sfw

41. What do other people love most about them?

He is quite literally a breath of fresh air. Due to his expertise in frost magic, the air around him is always refreshing, when he’s in a good mood anyway. I wrote something more in depth if you’re interested but I’ll keep it brief  for this. It’s hard not to enjoy his presence when the air suddenly feels cleaner and crisper when he walks, clearing any potential stuffiness or uncomfortable temperatures. He has a comforting aura regardless, whether that be because he’s a parent or because of how gentle he is, you really can’t be upset when he’s around. 

6. What are they like in the bedroom — well-rounded lover or wooden plank?

Very well rounded 😏. Versatile switch so he’s down for any kind of dynamic but he’s generous either way. Your pleasure is his pleasure kinda guy. Not super kinky but is open to experimentation but be ready for him to check in every 10 seconds LMAO. Really likes using magic, so if temperature play is your thing, he’s your guy. Enjoys light bondage, blindfolding, choking, massive praise kink, etc. Very good with aftercare, the word “no” is not in his vocabulary after, he will get you whatever you want/need. 

[l-achrymose]

give me one last kiss

i’ve given up on an extensive search to find a way to have dark mode tumblr on desktop & now i’m just here to write about disaster kids being kind of sad and taking their anger out on arguably the wrong people (ft. that one time i read the words don’t you just want to read about people kissing the wrong person? and i’ve never been the same since) 

rhys and c. did that thing where they found out about each other from the inside out; started with the deepest and darkest and dirtiest secrets past midnight and—rhys could tell you all about his hypocrism towards killers but she’d never be able to say a thing about the kind of coffee he liked to drink 

. . . and that’s why lachesism applies to them in a large part, because they never found peace in each other, just, 

someone else’s war, truth be told, but they're damn proud soldiers. 

( unlike one (1) liam tenor vaith, but that’s a different story ) 

p!atd said well i never really thought that you'd come tonight / when the crown hangs heavy on either side and i’m still hung up on how they meet where they shouldn’t 

they got to know each other so stupid-intimately in every bloody encounter and it’s hard to forget someone you’ve cut up so many times; of course it’s c.’s fault for letting her go every time just so she could come crawling back and of course it’s rhys’ fault for stringing him along so that victory was just out of his reach

it could have ended at any time. one of them could have killed the other with the twitch of a finger and it would have been over. 

the world would have went on. 

but when i wanna’ see people kissing the wrong people i’m thinking about zathe and rhys because they would have fit together in a way that’s so right that it’s sick 

both of them lounging on a rooftop—zathe perched and looking through the scope of her rifle as rhys leans somewhere nearby, making off-hand comments about what they should have for dinner; both of them tending to the other’s wounds and talking about the make of the weapons that caused them  

the color symbolism !! the wolf and the rabbit !! they had so many parallels and literary references and togetherness that was absolutely ripped apart by the fact that they weren’t meant to be together !! their paths were crossed but never intertwined just fuck me up  

and goddamn ask me if rhys still loves zathe because she’d give up nearly everything just to hold her hand for one goddamn time—

—but not c. not that.   

they could have been, but c. and rhys... are. they would always, inevitably gravitate towards each other and where they collided—they should have named storms after where they met.  

the fact that just by coexisting with each other makes them traitors to their own family (and to that extent, their own duty) punches me in the gut !! that they have a choice to make and that they’re only putting it off until it’s shoved back into their face again, 

and that they will !! that they have to choose family and duty over love !! there’s no in-between because without that they’re outcasts and there’s no way in heaven or hell that choosing otherwise will lead to a happy ending 

( although there is, in theory, a verse out there��one what ifs out of millions—where her half-brother and his associate manage to finagle an arranged marriage between the two )  

point is that they never fell in love with each other because of those tender moments alone when nobody was looking or hunting each other down in the dark, they came too close to each other and they’re never gonna’ love anybody the same way again 

maybe i did just want a reason to talk about liam tenor vaith and c. trying vainly to find answers in each other and realizing that there’s nothing between them but echoes 

how their paths diverged long ago and meeting any longer than brushing their fingers together is painful !! the yearning glances and the stifled, throaty laughter during their business phone calls !! FUCK ME UP 

but their duty is the same and they’ll both take up arms for the same cause; one of them will just be significantly more disgruntled about it 

( so of course it makes sense that liam and zathe will be bonding over all the trouble that c. and rhys cause ) 

( but will i let go of the fact that they all have so many loose ends that it’d just be easier to burn them all down by now? no. instead they’re all suffering and pining and i’m delighted ) 

[thecyrillictrolls]

♡♡♡♡ for Taetra and Zathra

For every “♡” I get I’ll give a tip on how to win my muse’s heart.

Taetra

Be level-headed. She doesn’t like it when people get riled up over menial things. She greatly prefers trolls who can solve their own problems without having a tantrum or unleashing 46 swears.

MUST love the outdoors. She basically lives in nature and has a lot of respect for natural Alternia, so any of her quads would have to too.

Enjoy simple things. Taetra is totally fine with sitting by a river all day relaxing, or reading, or playing ukulele. She wouldn’t be able to have a partner who was easily bored.

Respect her free-spirited nature. Taetra is extremely independent and a troll would have to be pretty damn important for her to stop traveling and settle down. Any quad would have to respect her desire to be a nomad, and either do long-distance or come with her.

Zathra

First and foremost, be highblooded. Zath won’t even look in your direction if you aren’t blue or above, let alone consider you quad/pailing material.

Be edgy. Not depressed/angsty edgy, but a “i dont give a fuck” edgy. She likes folks who don’t give a fuck about what others think.

Be confident. She can’t stand weak-willed, self-conscious trolls. Any of her quads would have to be confident in themselves, their abilities, and their looks.

Fight well. She always appreciates a troll who can hold their own. She doesn’t have time for those who can’t/won’t defend themselves.

[magnetar1]

My parents used the name ‘God’ to describe an omnipresent figure.  I guess here that’s me.  Guardian of insects, blind & slithering.  Over jackdaw, vulture & cormorant.  Water serpents that came before, riding the current until stations are set.  Once chaotic, settling in caves below.  They call it home.  Feeding on purple kelp that grows like trees.  Wilderness spreading out from the base across the ocean’s floor.  I’ve watched them break the surface with their gleaming bodies, silver like the sun.  I witness the time before Zath & read their empty thoughts.  All drawn to the magnetization of colossal forms.  Even though I’m sure there are similar places in this immense ocean - Touching galaxies.  Other gods.  Spired fates reach heavenward (even though I didn’t think this way!)  I just need to see where the illumined ones go.  Now that I’m a god I demand to know!

- From Return Trip (a work in progress)

- Artwork by Carlotta Bonnecaze