#FACING TEMPESTS OF DUST I WILL FIGHT UNTIL THE END

[caliblorn]

No one speaks to my soul like Son Lux and M83

#and Daughter and Muse and #ok not but these are the two big ones. #I'M THE KING OF MY OWN LAND #FACING TEMPESTS OF DUST I WILL FIGHT UNTIL THE END #CREATURES OF MY DREAMS RAISE UP AND DANCE WITH ME #I AM SWIMMING FOR THE SHORE #TO FLEE FUTURE OF MY WORLD #IT'S A BLOODY MOON IT'S A DIRTY EARTH #WE FIND OUR WAY TO THE END OF YOUTH #IT'S A WHISPERED VOICE NOW PIERCING THROUGH #IT'S A BRIGHTER WOUND #aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa #music

[yuutaok]

₊˚⊹ ☾ “Before Dawn” - Vampire! Yuuta Okkotsu

Your discomfort always welled up when Yuuta vanished. Often, he'd be absent for what seemed like an eternity, embarking on journeys to address matters he insisted were his alone to resolve, urging you not to worry. Before he left, he'd promise with a tender kiss that he would always make it back to you. "With patience," he'd say, "I'll be with you before you even have a chance to miss me."

₊˚⊹ ☾ Content Warning: 18+, MDNI (minors do not interact), afab!reader, blood, possessiveness, codependent relationship, biting, unprotected sex, riding, creampies

₊˚⊹ ☾ A/N: Truly self indulgent! I channeled every ounce of vampire media I consumed as a kid. This ended up more tame than I originally thought it would be, but it was still so fun! Happy October!

But you always did. You always missed him.

It scared you more than anything to imagine that, for some unknown reason, he might just fade away. You'd always feared that when the sun rose, he would be gone. That he would no longer be the solace you could sink into, but merely flesh and bones turning into ash and dust slipping through your fingers.

When you first met him, you recalled the night being so cold with no moonlight. A storm raged outside, heavy snow wisping through the air. You were lost, not just in that storm, but in life. Your boots crunched in the snow, each step feeling heavier and heavier. At some point, you thought that perhaps you could lay down and just let the storm consume you, a more graceful surrender than fighting tooth and nail through a tempest that threatened to engulf you. Maybe it would wash away the jet-black feeling in your heart. You were ready to accept your untimely fate until Yuuta appeared.

From that day forward, you no longer believed in God, but in him.

You often wondered if you meant as much to him as he meant to you. How much space did you occupy in his head?

He'd catch you staring at him sometimes, his eyes filled with sadness, knowing that your thoughts had drifted into those realms of uncertainty. "I cherish every moment with you," he'd say, pulling you close, "You have all of my thoughts, my heart, and my eternity."

One night, as the clock's hands ticked closer to dawn, the front door creaked open, and Yuuta stumbled into the dimly lit room, his face bloodied, his clothes torn, and his dark blue eyes filled with pain. You rushed to his side, panic overtaking you.

"Yuuta, what happened?" you asked, your voice trembling with fear.

He smiled weakly, his sharp fangs glistening under the soft light. "I ran into some trouble, my love. But I'll be alright."

You helped him to a chair, concern etched on your face as you examined his injuries. As you cleaned the blood from his face and tended to his wounds, your heart ached at the thought of losing him. It was nights like these that reminded you of the danger that always lurked in the shadows.

Yuuta leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss on your forehead. "I promise, I'll always come back to you, no matter what."

As you continued to clean Yuuta's wounds, your worry for him only grew.

With trembling hands, you asked, "Yuuta, do you need anything else? Anything I can do to help?"

He looked into your eyes, his dark blue gaze unwavering. "There is one thing, love," he whispered, his voice laced with a hint of vulnerability. "I need to feed. The injuries have drained me, I'm sorry.
"

You shook your head, "Mm- Don't be sorry. I'd do anything to help you feel better." Vampires needed blood to heal and rejuvenate. In your heart, you had always been willing to offer him anything, even your own life's essence if it meant keeping him by your side.

Without hesitation, you offered your wrist, the blood in your veins surging with the rush of anticipation. Yuuta took your offered arm gently, his touch sending shivers down your spine. His lips brushed against your skin, his fangs lightly grazing your pulse point, creating a delicious mixture of pleasure and pain. The moment his fangs pierced your flesh, an electrifying connection surged between you two, a sensation that transcended any other physical feeling.

Your breath quickened as you felt his cool lips pressing against your skin, his rhythmic feeding becoming an intoxicating dance between you and him. In the darkness of the room, time seemed to stand still, and the line between pleasure and pain blurred.

The possession Yuuta had towards you, your body, your mind, and your soul, only ever intensified when you shared your blood with him. He drank from you not only to heal but to reinforce the bond between you, to make sure you belonged to him and only him. You knew he'd never let you go, that you were now a part of him in a way that no one else could ever be.

As he fed, you couldn't help but feel a strange mixture of fear and desire, of being utterly vulnerable yet safe in his arms. In those moments, as he clung to you, you realized that this was the price of love.

When Yuuta finally withdrew, his eyes met yours, and a possessive, almost predatory hunger lingered in his gaze. He kissed the wound on your wrist gently, sealing it with a mix of reverence and possessiveness.

"I love you more than anything in this world," he murmured, his voice husky and filled with longing, "and I'll do whatever it takes to protect you."

As Yuuta pulled away from your wrist, you felt a rush of emotions flooding your senses. Your fingers, still trembling from the sensation, reached for his face, guiding it towards yours. You pressed your lips to his, tasting a mixture of your own blood on his mouth.

The kiss was fierce and hungry, worry and tension moving its way to the back of your mind as you melted into your Yuuta. You moaned softly as Yuuta's fangs brushed against the softness of your plump lips. Yuuta's hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer, and his tongue entwined with yours in a dance that made heat flood into the pit of your core.

Breaking the kiss, you looked deep into Yuuta's eyes, your voice a breathless whisper, "I'm yours, completely. Possess me, claim me, as I've claimed your heart. I love you"

A growl of desire rumbled deep in Yuuta's chest, and his hands moved over your body with a possessive urgency. His lips found your neck, and he planted hungry kisses along your skin, his fangs grazing your pulse point with a teasing edge that sent shivers down your spine.

"I've always been yours," Yuuta confessed, his voice filled with a possessive longing. "Every part of me belongs to you ,from the outermost layer of my skin to the profound depths of my very bones, it's yours."

His words only fueled your desire, and you pulled him closer, feeling the cool of his skin against yours. Your breath quickened as he began to remove your clothing, every touch filled with a fierce passion that left no room for doubt.

Yuuta carefully slipped off your panties, experienced fingers moving between the wet of your lips to toy with your sensitive clit. Your breath hitched as his digits slipped inside of your sopping, Yuuta's gaze hungry as he watched you take his digits. He worked to stretch you out, nice and wet for his cock. It had been a while since you two were intimate, and he wanted to take care that you were just perfect for him.

You moaned as you felt his digits curling and pumping inside of you, closing your eyes as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders. You rutted your hips against his hand, Yuuta chuckling at how desperate and touch-starved you were for him. The tightness in your gut grew but before you could climax Yuuta quickly pulled his hand away, much to your dismay. You whined but Yuuta hushed you, "Be good." You nodded.

Yuuta pulled you down for another dizzying kiss, moving his hands to free the hardness from his pants. His member sprung out, his slit leaky with a bead of precum rolling down his shaft. Your mouth watered as he ushered your hips over his length, his thumbs pressing bruises into your sides as his tip kissed the wetness of your cunt. You sucked in a breath as he guided you down his cock, there still being a stretch despite how much Yuuta had tried to prep you.

Your breath hitched and your toes curled as your thighs lowered into Yuuta’s lap. Your nails dug crescents into Yuuta’s shoulders until finally you sat situated on your beloved’s length.

Yuuta sighed against the crevice of your neck, using every ounce of his strength to be delicate for you. He fought against the deep insatiable desire to pound your brains out and abuse your pussy until you could scream nothing else but his name over and over again.

That, he decided, would come later.

Instead, he gently lifted you up and down, up and down, making sure his tip fully kissed deep inside of you. You two began a slow and sensual pace, bucking his hips into your cunt as you twitched and tightened around him. He felt so thick inside of you, filling you up so perfectly.

You sighed at the intimacy, happy to be in Yuuta’s arms. He was happy to be in yours, too. You two kissed, licking into each other’s mouths as you rutted down onto his length.

Yuuta groaned against your mouth, nipping his fangs on your lips as your pace became more messy, more wrecked as his cock continued to hit deep into your core. The taste of iron danced on your tongue, blood smearing across your lips.

“Fuck,” Yuuta whispers, “You are so perfect for me, my darling girl, I’ll give you the world.” He hissed as he pounded harder and faster into you, dragging your hips and making you bounce relentlessly onto his length.

You sobbed out, seeing stars as he fucked into you. Your thighs shook and your toes curled as you clung onto Yuuta, letting him fuck so deep into you. “Yuuta, Yuuta, Yuuta,” you chanted, like a prayer, “I’ll keep you forever.”

And with that you felt the tightness coil in your stomach, “O-oh I’m cumming, Yuu! Please, I’m gonna cum,” you cried. Yuuta smiled, thrusting harder into you, “My cute girl, cum for me,” and so you did.

You sobbed into Yuuta’s neck as he continued to pound into you, fucking you stupid. Your eyes rolled back as you creamed yourself on his cock. Your darling Yuu was not far behind, “-m cumming, fuck, you’re mine” he groaned. His nails dug into your skin, crimson dripping from your hips as he bucked his hips into your messy cunt. He leaned over your neck to take a final bite out of you before spilling his hot seed into you, lapping his tongue across your marked skin.

You sleepily hung on as Yuuta finished, eyes heavy and body sore from the night’s activities. Yuuta let you rest for a moment before he lifted you up and carried you to your shared bed, cleaning you gently with a warm cloth and making sure to rid you of spit, blood and cum as sleep washed over your eyelids.

As the night turned into dawn, you clung onto each other, the room bathed in the soft, silvery light of early morning. The warmth of his presence enveloped you, and you could feel the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. The world faded away as you drifted off to sleep, leaving only the two of you, entwined and inseparable.

#₊˚ 彡✩ ₊˚ writing #˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ yuuta #⋆୨♡୧⋆ jjk #yuuta okkotsu x reader #yuta okkotsu x reader #jjk x reader #jjk smut #yuuta smut

[vox-fantasma]

I love your imodna story like light in the morning (hold my hand) on ao3!! For the Touches Ask Game prompts, could I please request (and only if you feel like writing it!!), for hugs: number 6 'hugging and gently holding the other’s head', and 16 ‘not wanting to let go’ hugs. They could even be combined if you feel like :) Thank you!!

thank you! tried writing this as soon as i got the ask but life had me by the throat last week so it look a lot longer than i thought. this can be read separately or together, whichever you prefer!

1. 

By the time the airship is firmly in the sky and Bassarus a receding nightmare in the distance, Orym is exhausted. He aches from multiple open wounds over his torso, his soul still holds the lingering chill of death, and his mind echoes with the image of Will’s face, so close for a minute and then gone, yet again. That pain of loss is an old one; he is familiar with its weight, and yet today it seems to have doubled, tripled, pressing down against his shoulders and his chest until he is almost breathless with it. Too many reminders in too short a time. He looks over at his two companions and suddenly it's like he’s right back where he started, except this time the wretchedness he’d worn like an open wound is now grafted onto the face of another. 

Imogen is a seething mess, her clothes sweat-soaked and streaked with dust. There is a tear in the side of her dress that is slowly weeping red - he’ll have to check on that, later. The lightning marks that had stretched across her neck and face after the fight have mostly receded, leaving thin, silvery scars where they once were an angry red. Her hair is a tangle around her shoulders, obscuring her expression from most everyone, but Orym can see the glint of tears as the sun reflects off her clenched jaw, tears that hadn’t stopped since she’d dug up Laudna’s limp body from the rubble. Orym knew worse was coming, once they’d gotten a chance to really take a breath. Pain is easy to ignore in the rush of a fight, or in the tense moments afterwards - it’s only when things start to settle that reality comes seeping in.

Laudna - her body - is laid out beside Imogen, head resting in her lap. Her torso is still wrapped in the same sunny yellow blanket Ashton had carefully tucked around her as he carried her around the city, and if Orym didn’t know better, they might have painted a peaceful picture, at least from a distance. It’s position the two women have been known to be found in once or twice - lounging around a campfire, Laudna puppeteering Patê while Imogen looked on and provided colorful commentary, just two women taking the odd restful moment to enjoy each other’s company. 

This time, though, there is no jovial voice peaking into a squeaky laugh in between lustful jokes, no warm smiles and secretive exchanges between them. Only Imogen, cradling Laudna’s too-still body with such desperate sadness that Orym has to look away.

“I’ve cleared out the hole,” Ashton announces. His voice is angry, has been angry ever since Otohan, but he’s gentle as he rests his hand carefully on Imogen’s shoulder. “Made it as nice as it's gonna get. I think she’ll like it there.”

Imogen nods, but makes no move to get up. Her hand cards through Laudna’s lank hair, and Orym can see the minute tremors sparking up and down her arm and she continues to sit quietly. 

“Give them a moment,” he tells Ashton, and gets a short nod in return. 

The rest of the day passes in a blur, interrogating Treshi, messaging the Tempest, making plans to reach Whitestone, and by the end of it everyone retires to their rooms below deck, spent. Orym curls up around Fearne in his usual spot, glad for the faun’s consistent warmth, but as exhausted as he might be, sleep never comes. His body is screaming for rest, but his mind is still on high alert, flinching at every sound and shadow, senses sharpened to an almost unbearable degree as he waits for something else to attack them. Try as he might, he cannot let his guard down. 

The restlessness builds and builds until he can barely restrain himself from springing up at a particularly loud creak of the deck. All muscles tensed, Orym carefully rolls away from Fearne, making sure she’s still sound asleep before he sneaks out of the door and up onto the deck to get some air. 

Outside the moonlight is a gentle glow, the red moon of Ruidus thankfully tucked away behind cloud cover, and the chill of the night helps banish the haze of anxiety squeezing around his heart. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, thinking of the high peaks of Zephra, letting himself indulge in the brief fantasy of home. A dark spot on the deck catches his attention, and his hackles rise for a moment before he recognizes the familiar shape of the hole. Something draws him towards it, an irrational urge to check in on someone who is beyond his protection. 

Dropping quietly into the hole with a grace honed by years of training, Orym gives a silent thanks to his mentors for his soundless entry. Because Imogen is right there, leaning against the wall, fast asleep in the very same position he’d found them earlier this morning, curled protectively around Laudna even in slumber. 

Orym spends a few moments allowing himself to adjust to the darkness, then sets off to find a blanket within the pile of miscellaneous items haphazardly pushed to the side of the hole. He tugs one free and then slowly approaches Imogen, holding his breath and making as little sound as possible. 

This close, Orym can see the dried tear tracks on her cheeks, the way her pupils flicker behind her eyelids restlessly as she dreams. Her arms clutch Laudna’s body stubbornly to her chest, gripping as though even in sleep she is afraid of letting go. Orym gently lays the blanket over her shoulders, taking care not to cover up Laudna’s face, and tucks the corners around her drooping shoulders. He knows she’s going to have a hell of a backache in the morning, and he also knows that nothing will stop her from doing this again and again, however long it takes for them to bring Laudna back. He hopes, for her sake, that it won’t be long. 

Imogen mutters something intelligibly in her sleep, and her grip around Laudna tightens before relaxing once more. Orym gives them one last glance, checking them over until he is satisfied he has done all he can, then leaves as quietly as he came. His heart is heavy, but determination and hope prevent him from giving in to despair. He knows she will do anything to get her back, and that he would too. He will not allow another repeat of his loss. 

Outside, the stars are bright. 

“Just wait a little longer, Laudna.” A quiet promise. 

“We’re coming.”

2.

Once again on the Silver Sun, this time bound for Yios, Orym cracks his back wearily as the sun starts to set beyond the distant red plains of the badlands. It’s their first day of a long series to get to where they’re going, their journey once again crossing dangerously storm-swept territory, and despite the cool breeze and the comfort of the skies Orym can’t say he’s excited to be back. The Hells have been attacked every single time they’ve got on one of these things, and, judging by their collective luck so far, this trip was probably going to be no different. 

On the deck, the crew is preparing to bed down, Xandis assigning his first mate instructions to keep the course for the night, others busily battening down important cargo should a storm rapidly approach in the dark. The Bells are similarly ready to retire, bidding each other good nights as they one by one retreat down to below decks to their respective cabins. Soon it is only Orym leaning against the starboard rail of the ship, taking the opportunity of a quiet night to practice his neglected meditation, as well as Laudna and Imogen, huddled together a little ways away. The two women had spent the whole day close, hand in hand, neither willing to go too far from the other, so fresh from their reunion. 

Orym is familiar with the sentiment. 

He doesn’t mean to eavesdrop, but the air is quiet save the now familiar creaking of the ship, and it is enough for his perceptive ears to unwittingly pick up on a fragment of their whispered conversation.

“...really should go to bed, Laud, you look exhausted.”

“Oh, just a few more minutes, please? It’s such a nice night out.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Orym sees Imogen hesitate, shoulders rising as if to object - but instead of voicing her concerns, she just gives Laudna a fond - if somewhat exasperated - smile. “’Course, Laudna. Whatever you want.”

Laudna smiles back, but it barely reaches her eyes, a far cry from the almost unsettlingly wide grins Orym’s used to. Imogen’s right; she does look exhausted. Dark purple circles sit like bruises under her eyes, her grey skin even more sallow than usual, and her shoulders remain permanently hunched over, like even the weight of her own rail thin body is almost too much to bear.

It’s a long moment before anyone speaks again. Orym’s eyes flutter open as he hears Laudna’s voice sigh through the wind.

“Imogen, I... I’m not sure if I can go to sleep tonight.”

The frown is evident in Imogen’s voice.

“Why not?”

“Its silly, but I... last night camping out at the Sun Tree was wonderful, and it felt nice having you all back next to me, but I kept thinking that- that if I closed my eyes, I’d be... back. With her.”

Orym hears Imogen shuffle closer, and when he glances over, she’s placed her arm on Laudna’s shoulder, looking at her with such an expression of tender concern that an answering pang twinges in his chest. 

“That’s not silly, Laudna, that’s... terrifying.”

Laudna nods slowly. “I know you said that she was destroyed- and I believe you! I knew you’d beat her, you’re so strong and capable Imogen-” The sorcerer in question scoffs at the familiar praise, but she’s smiling- “but I just can’t get rid of this feeling. Like she’s just waiting for me to let my guard down before striking again.”

A pause.

“I’m sorry, Laudna. I’m sorry that bitch was in your mind for so long and I’m sorry that I didn’t try and do anything about it sooner. I never should have blamed you for the rock-”

“No! No, I’m sorry you had to see all that- Whitestone- oh, Imogen, I never wanted you to see any of that. And at the tree- I’m sorry I didn’t fight harder, like you asked-”

Laudna’s tremulous voice cuts off with a soft oomph, and when Orym looks, Imogen has both arms wrapped fiercely around Laudna’s back, head pressed to the other woman’s neck as she whispers something so softly even Orym’s keen ears can’t make it out. He watches as Laudna’s eyes well with black tears, and then she’s hugging Imogen back just as desperately, crumpling the back of Imogen’s shirt with the force of her grip. They rock gently back and forth, Imogen whispering a gently lilting stream of words meant for Laudna’s ears only. 

They stay like that for a long time.

Orym's heart still lies heavy, but the tension in his shoulders lifts for the first time since Otohan struck, and he closes his eyes as he lets his mind go free. 

When at last he moves to go back below deck, his head clear and his limbs heavy with fatigue, he takes one last glance back at the bow of the ship. Two figures remain locked in a gentle embrace, one a light purple and the other a dark grey, their outlines intertwined against the white light of the moon. 

.

Sleep, when it comes, is the easiest he’s had in a long time. 

#hope you like hurt/comfort anon #orym of the air ashari #imogen temult #laudna #critical role #imodna #vox-scribere

[thesorcerersapprentice]

10 People 10 Songs

Thank you to @sender-paulson for tagging me. Everyone, please go check out their fantastic original work, Little Horns: First Circle! 

THE GAME: Assign a song to 10 characters from your WIP and tag 10 people! (I think?) Well, I don’t have ten characters (yet) so I’m going to assign a couple songs per character. No-pressure tagging: @outpost51 @kellanwrites @saphoblin @rhikasa @strangerays @aquadestinyswriting @mayarab @loopyhoopywrites @meredithall @moonscribbler (If you’d like to be untagged, just let me know!)

My 10 Song Selection for 🌿 GORGONA: 🌿

🎵 GUACAMAYA (The Crown Heir/The Exile)

Me and The Devil by Soap&Skin (This is Vespertine’s relationship with her grandfather, the tyrant Sorcerer King Phosphoros in a nutshell).

Smile by Wolf Alice (”I am what I am and I'm good at it. And you don't like me? Well, that isn't fucking relevant.”)

Evil by Daya (”You can keep your wealth and privilege. All the words you're calling wisdom. But you can't stay.” This can only end in tragedy!)

Glamorous by Fergie (”First class, up in the sky, poppin' champagne, livin' my life in the fast lane. And I won't change, by the glamorous”)

You Don’t Own Me by Lesley Gore (”You don’t own me. I'm not just one of your many toys” ~Just a little warning from granddaughter to grandfather. She’s his equal, not his subordinate.)

🎵 VALERIANO (The King/The Fool)

Outro by M83 (”I'm the king of my own land. Facing tempests of dust, I'll fight until the end. Creatures of my dreams, raise up and dance with me. Now and forever, I'm your king”)

High Five by Sigrid (”Nobody dares to speak against your word So they just sit quiet. Do what you want, who cares if you get hurt? [...] And you wonder why no one’s by your side?”)

Killing For Love by Jose Gonzalez (”You've got a heart on fire. It's burning with desire. You've got a heart filled with passion. Will you let it burn for hate or compassion? What's the point if you hate, die and kill for love?”)

If I Had a Heart by Fever Ray ("I want more. More. Give me more. Give me more.”)

Futureproof by Nothing But Thieves (”You're stealing the attention, but it's a great look. Why d’you wanna do good when you can feel good?”

#writeblr community #writeblr #writeblr tag game #writeblr tag games #10 people 10 songs #or 2 people 10 songs lol #tag games #tag game #dark fantasy #thesorcerersapprentice #thesorcerersapprentice tag games #the heir #the king #writeblr tag & ask games

[activate-shadow-of-the-window]

Reading Othello hit me hard, and for procrastination reasons my brain decided to write the following mock-play versions of very crucial scenes in Among the mountains of everlong, the prequel to Cracking like a dry branch in a westward wind, and a tragedy that I didn’t know was a tragedy until I took a step back and realized that I just traumatized half the cast by putting them through actual warfare. So of course the only correct response was to write scenes from a nonexistent play about it!

A warning for spoilers (out of context) for Among the mountains of everlong (which I haven’t even bloody published yet), an unhealthy mother-daughter relationship, and a person getting mostly assassinated. He’s fine by the end of the scene.

Also they’re inspired by lyrics from the Oh Hellos because of course they are.

Scene 1: Exuent

(Enter Lynette and Katherine opposite each other)

Lynette: O daughter, dear Katherine, why dost thou seek’st

Mine council so late in this day of storms?

Don’t thou know’st that we be in such grave times

So fierce and tempest-tossed that no monsoon

Nor squall at sea would dare fight in the sky?

Katherine: O mother, dear Lynette, why dost thou ask

Such questions that thou must already have

The right crystalline answers of somewhere

Within thy head so cold and circled tight

By that which is frosty and silver there? (She gestures at the Powder Snow Torq)

Lynette: O rogue, o snake, o daughter of my love,

This war, this time, this wind-whipped land o’ mine,

Tis that which makes my nights so long and dark

And drains my light, my mind, my very self.

Tis why thine mother is so dull and grey.

To make it clear, I’ll say it thusly here:

My dear, I am a ship, a great one too

Cannon-heavy, tall and proud, bright as well,

But this here gale, this world’s great gusts,

Do send me top’lin tail o’re teakettle,

Rolling and bounding across wave and crest

Of war and peace and work and rest.

Tis why I still wear this old torq round here (She gestures at the Powder Snow Torq)

As it is what keeps this head on its neck.

Katherine: Lynette, do halt thine tongue and still thy breath.

Lynette: Why so?

Katherine: Why so? Why ask? Why prod and poke me so?

You of all the folk in this castle

Tall and proud upon the mountainside

Should know why I do speak with serpent’s tongue!

Blight me, o mother mine, if thou dost not

Know in thine stubborn heart the reason why!

(Lynette approaches Katherine, and the Powder Snow Torq glows)

Lynette: Daughter mine, thou treadst a line spindly

Thin and glasslike now. Sayest what thou

Darest.

Katherine: Do I sayest what I dare, Queen Mother?

I shall and will, and, like crystal, it shall

Be clear and flawless cut by mine sharp tongue

And teeth. Do listen close so you might hear.

(Katherine leans towards Lynette)

Katherine: I am not the fool I was when I

Was young and sweet like berries on a vine.

Thine crocodile eyes I have seen clear

And clearer still how you hunger right here.

Thine eyes you batt like ashes in the place

Of dying embers dancing ‘bout the log.

Yet thou art warm and bright and eat the branch

As swiftly as thou eats those words spat out

By mourners and the grieving few whomst thou

Allow to weep. No, Queen Mother, I trust

Thou not one grain of sand nor speck of dust.

So sayest I, right here, right now, to thou:

I turn my back for I am off to leave.

(Katherine about-faces and stomps away to her exit)

Lynette: Daughter mine? O, curse this day, o sing

Thine song for mine own sake, great Overture

At Dawn, o lord, do sound strong with trumpets

And horns of brass and pride that rage and reave

So that this storm may pass me by for once!

O once, just one time of good rest grant me

I do plead of you, o great Dawn’s ire made

In flesh and tusk and cape that flaps with wind

No mind the still and silent of the morn!

Away, o pain, o weakness in my heart,

And still mine soul, spirit within this chest.

(Lynette exits clutching the Powder Snow Torq around her neck)

Scene 2: Caesar

(Scott is kneeled and holding Montgomery’s head as the latter bleeds; looking on are Joey, Sausage, and Shubble)

Scott: Dear father mine, slip not into those hands

Of bone and rags that do grasp at thine soul!

Montgomery: Dear son, don’t fret, not now, not here, I beg.

Scott: Not yet, not yet! O Death, not yet! I pray

To you, wingéd Nocturne, do strike Midnight!

O you with feathers dark and bleak who flies

Through clouds, o’re moon and sun, and calls

Your home the stars themselves, may those keen ears

Hear this blight-strewn call from these lands beyond!

Montgomery: Plea not, my son, cry not and waste no shouts.

Scott: Song o’ Dark! Heed my prayer! Do come

Hither and guide my hands so true and sure!

I beg of thee, great wings so shadow-swept

Uproot mine thorns and knot mine brambles here

And there do root my pricks and grow my stems

So that he may breathe again and again! (His hands begin to glow)

Montgomery: Scott, dear son! I feel thee, thine spell

It works and weaves and roots down deep in me.

Stop not! Halt not! A second more, I pray! (He coughs)

Joey: O miracle, this day in June, halt not

Strong prince, weave true and thick those thornéd twigs

Of magic there round blood and flesh that cleft

So quick and viciously by that foul beast

Of Skytouch sent!

Sausage: Speak not so quickly, friend, at this time now.

We know not who might see or hear these words

Slip past our lips when shock’d and frightened are

We here today under this spell of loss.

Montgomery: Speak of me not in tense of past, Void’s sake!

I breathe still and my heart beats now in here! (He coughs)

Shubble: Fair Gilded Crown of Solis dear, rest now

And calm thine racing heart so that your son

May knit your throat and mend your voice to strength.

Another day may you yet see with luck.

(All exit, Montgomery borne on a stretcher)

Scene 3: Hieroglyphs

(Enter Skizzle, Salem, Mini, and Rebels)

(A loud booming noise is heard followed by more explosions above)

Skizzle: Hark! Hear that outside?

Salem: I hear that not.

Mini: I do hear that.

Rebel: What be it, sir?

Mini: It be the song of war.

The cannons hit those notes on high with pride,

And gatt’lers cry the parts of basses deep

While rams of trees and metal wrapped do sound

More like the sweet mel’dies of altos strong

With surety in breath and tone only

Possesséd by the birds of opera stage.

Rebel: Why do they be singing at such an hour?

Skizzle: I know not but much I can guess

From facts gleaned from notes passed between the folk

At watch upon the walls of Cistern Bay.

High there do they see much and hear as well.

Tell me they have ‘bout odds and ends, things nice

And nasty too. All things blood, steel, bones broke

And steeds maimed far beyond the edge of life.

Salem: But what use are steeds maimed, bones broke, and such?

Day by day the same you hear from those

At watch on high from walls and skies above.

Skizzle: True that, but the day before last did change

That same rhythm of war. Said they who watch

That barreled guns and cannons tall did aim

And fire shot without shot true to hit

Those ‘top the walls, to find them out by light

Of powder shine and iron gleam midair.

Salem: They attack, then, now, within this night?

Mini: Most assuredly.

Salem: Why, we must man the cannon here, and take

Up swords and bows to fight against any

Who daréd face these vali’nt Red and Gold! (She draws her cutlass and holds it high)

Up, in arms, all wings and claws, to fight!

(Salem exits, followed by Rebels)

Mini: Join her I shall, and man the comms to keep

This Bay half up and down free from talons

Borne green and sharp ‘longside that banner high.

(Mini draws his sword and exits)

Skizzle: O, my comrades, true to those colors

O’re head and clack beneath mine feet down here.

Fly high, my birds, sing strong and fight til’ death!

For even those great stars above be naught

But dust alight and gilt with light on high

Yet great and bright do they still be, and we

Be like those shapes once fought and loved and died.

(Skizzle draws his sword and exits)

#horizon to horizon au #empires au #empires fanfic #iambic pentameter #dont bloody ask how my brain works #it just decided what if fanfic tragedy was also shakespeare #and ran away with the concept off a bloody flaming cliff #this is one hell of a way to procrastinate #and i started writing among the mountains of everlong to procrastinate on give me back my heart you wingless thing

[cavaliar-art]

❅ D E A R R A B B I T ❅

Arcovet’s magic eye rolled from his oesophagus like a snake from a burrow, slithering until it peaked beyond his maw and abandoned his cadaver of a face to a disturbing - slightly waterlogged - vacancy. It sparked with the residue of evaporated gore, drawing interwoven aqua-crimson mists in it's wake. He looked ahead: Rows and rows and rows in the deluge, not a single heartbeat falling off-key. Black walls of green lights. Beyond them, a black sky, eye severed; below, a shudder; above, a tempest; and behind, a million lightless lightships bleeding a forsaking darkness.

His master of a time-long-before had carved a pathway of emerald flame. He followed along it chirping, singing, the wet hailstorm blurry before him.

His old friends must've been nearby, because he smelled them: thick blood - cursed blood. He might've called to them, but this was the playtime of the lone wolf, a hallowed game. Tag, they called it, darting and chasing and screaming and sobbing as their limbs left them.

Thump-thump; violent beating, thousandfold - in front, underneath, to his side. He knew this song well; so many had taught him: those of the warmth; those sentinels of his cold, crushing, diamond desert; those who had beckoned to him from the depths of the Flood... and so he obliged the chorus and joined in.

Unnatural gore drowned his jaw, his eye sockets, his ear canal, spilt through the pores in his thick rawhide. He drew his black mace, cold saronite with a thick cloak of shadow-- waning, waxing, a midnight of onyx clouds heeding doom, a moon of stark blood-diamond-- with a chattering bare-boned grimace.

The runes lit into blood-red constellations peppered into symbols on a map of darkness. And then the metallic casing began to spin, growl, ground, grind. His eye returned home, perfect, through the looking-glass, firmly throned with prestige in its bloody abscess. One eye, slit, perched in the right socket like an aquamarine indented into abstract art.

His instinct-- conditioning-- took control, and there lurched a sudden lack of his lacking mind. His hindpaws splashed and crunched bone-dust as he raced forwards. His claws came upon a creature’s chest; felflame heated his hand, blurred his vision even more, its bowels severed from its chords, infernal words spewed like green rot-blood. And then he was upon the next creature- Or is this the same one, Covet?-; a felguard, and their weapons joined, growled, ground, drew apart. Every sentence was a bloodbath. Every word beckoned forth a blinking eye into the great Nether. Each letter, a new reason to reap wrath. Pauses, breaks, and breaths brought life and death one step closer together.

Fight. Rush. Flight … Hush:

'The Valley of Hearts; And it's protean God, buried, throned in bone-dust Soil, beckoning: Up-reaching it’s claw of magic architecture--one nail in particular, And the under-veins, a paradigm of fatal futures; umbriferous, beckoning: Wounds spilling wounds, wording more still? Oh. Would we work with weaklings;… Thoughts crumble so very easily, so our true thoughts sprout forth, beckoning: This foliage was telling. Life, death - usually both so reticent - interwoven in an embrace of fear, Death’s face etched onto life’s vibrant skin, scarred her, arms entangled, divaricating, beckoning: But no one looked at the trees. No- war, so often present in hearts, Closing the un-galvanised gates of supreme Kairos, rawboned and beckoning: Endings are innately laconic, malediction of brevity, stalled and they cease--’

--He took a firm blow to the muzzle. A crack sounded, muffled by the fire, flurry and flame, more bone for the soil. A twelfth of his skull, a puzzle. He continued onwards with the slaughter, unnoticing, for his mind was busy hoarding it’s supreme spoils.

The night plummeted into the darkest ocean. That was why the moon was white: frozen by the sea. He pressed jet paint to torn canvas; he dipped his hands into the black wax until he was covered, and then he spread his corpse into the mud, filled all his wounds with the blood of earth. He was the death, he was the war, he was the loss, he was the reaping, he was the pain, all overcast notions. He dragged them and held them into his lungs, and squeezed and sucked until their breath was his; the edges of their heart burst; he drew his children to his maw and swallowed them back down, the maggots to whom he had given birth.

‘--stalled, and they seize nonexistence, cold and raw, reckoning.'

He rumbled with the breathing of a hundred alien hearts nestled beneath his dead hide.

Connected with a makeshift amalgamation of a thousand bloods, his cardiac constellation exchanged fluid as violent and rapid as passing detonated grenades. Friend and foe alike could hear it's siren; thump-thump-thump-thump; endlessly ticking; thump-thump-thump-thump-; muffled; thump-thump-thump-thump-; a crescendo of puppeteered life displayed with pride.

It unnerved even this foe, so large and foreboding with its onyx horns, scaled grey skin, neon eyes shining brighter than Death, its wolf-sized blades. This one knew Deathknights. It had just said so, in fact. Arcovet had forgotten what conversation was; it didn't occur to him to reply.

The wolf rose his chin and gazed into the heights. There, high above, he saw the new alpha basking, washing the Pass with godly benevolence, so beguiling and beautiful.

The others would tell him to eat his pets. They would take them away until he forfeited, and paid his so-called ‘debts’. He always felt so sad, so cold as he brought their darkly outcome. But he loved them.

It was different now: fate's golden claw would shine upon his white-furred innocents, so benevolent and beguiling and beautiful. In the shadow of light there was more light; in the light of shadow there is more shadow. He was aegis-bound, he was dutiful.

And he had almost forgotten the fight; verse after verse after verse and you begin to lose track: but the Wrathguard was dead, grey skin made purple, horns shattered -- and now it was that death shone brighter than his once-neon eyes.

As the body withered to dust and returned to the nether, a whisper entered his mind: time to come home, Arcovet. 13 - 9 - 2019

#oc: arcovet #oc #art #poetry #personalart #surreal #writing #creative writing #deathknight #worgen

[dourpeep]

Something that I’ve been meaning to write inspired by @ellitx (contains 18+ works) as well as these songs: The Gentle Zephyr, Soldier, Poet, King and Found/Tonight.

It took a bit longer than intended because I had to take a moment to stop because I started sobbing partway through editing (':

They all Fall

Summary: Swirling around the room, you spend one last night with the one you love.

Contains: Himmel x bard!Reader, unnamed bard (Himmel), fluff, ANGST, major character death, last moments described

All around the room of the packed tavern, you see the faces of your friends. They crowd around tables, pulling chairs from others and loudly regaling tales long past and of what they want to do once tomorrow has passed. It makes the unease melt away, slipping down between the floorboards.

After all, not a single sour look passes your gaze, not when there’s so much to be excited for.

Behind you, someone speaks out loud and clear—Himmel, in his plain cape and twin braids, shoulder occupied by the very little ‘elf’ that drove him to be where he stands today. The determination he exudes only is made tenfold by his charm.

“Tonight, we celebrate! So raise your glass and drink each drop like it’s your last!”

They all cheer with bright eyes and smiles and so do you, raising your glass high and tapping it to the rim of another’s.

Never did you think that you’d be here tonight, surrounded by so many who share those views. That the seemingly far reaches of freedom would become so so close after years of only knowing stormy grey skies with razor whipped winds so violent. No longer will the people of Mond cast their eyes to gloom with little hope left—not when your numbers are strong and you’re sure that you will come out victorious.

It is the people, you think, who will finally be free.

But for now, you surrender to the itchiness of your fingers to pluck at strings.

Picking your drink from where it sits, you stand atop a table with the help of a man with fiery hair and call out.

“My friends, a toast, if I may?”

The tavern falls quiet.

“To all of us, in our merriment, and the surety of the fall of the tyrant god-king, Decarabian—” Raucous cheers break out. In the midst, you add, “And to the prosperity of our land, our home, and our country—Mondstadt!”

Your cheeks hurt with how wide your smile is, heart nearly bursting with joy and it’s clear you aren’t alone.

So, as a bard does, you bend and pick up your beloved instrument in lieu of your drink.

“For tonight, we are together, and tonight will be the last we sit shackled by his reign!”

Though the strum of your instrument melds with the voices of your people, it’s loud and clear. The perfect song—one you’d recently completed with the help of your bard friend.

A clap. Another, until you have a steady beat to go along with the nodding of your head in time.

“There will come a soldier, who carries a might sword!”

Laughter breaks out as you flex one arm, nodding back at the red-haired knight sitting below.

As the patrons start stomping their feet, the steady pounding lively and their hands clapping to urge you on as you sweep across the room, a big smile beams across your face.

Fingers pluck deft at strings and shift to change chords.

“He will tear your city down—oh lei, oh lai, oh lord!”

Voice ringing out to join the masses, you shift and hop off of your impromptu stage to mingle as you perform.

Just a few tables away, Himmel watches you in awe.

You’re so bright—bright as the sun that Barbatos has chimed to him about, brighter than the millions of stars just beyond the dense tempest of clouds. Though all eyes are on you in the spotlight, he hopes that you see the way he watches you.

Longing, soft.

It didn’t occur to him that you’d rush over between verses to take his hand—

One of your hands wraps around his and tugs him out of his seat in a rush, the life that he sees in your joy contagious.

Your instrument is left abandoned at his seat in lieu of lacing both of your hands together. It isn’t needed when the heart of the tavern buzzes with triumph.

Together, you sing, the words ingrained in your minds and hearts.

“There will come a poet—!”

You wink and Himmel’s bell-like laugh rings out as the two of you dance across the uneven wooden floors.

You trip and stumble a few times, neither of you well versed in dancing, but with how alive you feel holding his warm, warm hands—you don’t find yourself caring.

Just like that, you’re all that his stormy eyes can see. The thrill he feels in his chest being by your side is unmatched and he knows that when the time is right, he’ll tell it to you. Especially with the budding feeling that they’re returned.

But for now, he’s satisfied with the way you gaily spin and prance between the masses of tables and chairs.

When the song finally ends and you’re left breathless, grinning at your companion, he wraps his arms around you tight. Like a fresh gust of wind, he sweeps you up in his arms and you gasp in surprise.

Himmel is grinning wider than you’ve ever seen and the twinkle in his eyes makes you wonder if the sea looks as beautiful as they do now. Lips parted and flushed; he says your name.

Your eyes meet. He leans in closer—

Then your feet meet the floor as Amos and the others gather round and request another song. A duet, perhaps. You miss the way that he reaches out to you, too absorbed in the flurry of moments.

If only you weren’t already out of breath from dancing, the feeling fluttering in your chest would ensure it.

You watch as he picks up his lyre, the way that he shines makes your heart flutter in your chest.

If only these moments could last a lifetime.

And then, the day arrives.

When it happened, you were elsewhere, equal parts fighting and protecting. So absorbed in your role of ensuring the safety of your comrades in arms. The irony doesn’t escape you. It’s Barbatos who finds you first when the dust settles and all is quiet, small form zipping around with eyes wide and pleading.

He guides you past the rubble, past Amos where she lay unconscious—her hair spread out like wings and you try to tug away to go to her but your insistent companion chimes and tugs at your hair, your clothing.

Until you’re met with the sight of the knight carefully holding a figure in his arms. From here, you already can see their face. Hisface—

In his tattered cape and twin braids undone.

Himmel.

In this moment, it feels as if you were the one pierced instead.

The cry that tears from your lungs rival that of the chaos of battle, and you collapse, unable to come closer. But little Barbatos presses to your cheek. So you do.

Your fingertips dig into the debris surrounding you as you rise and weakly trudge closer.

He’s barely breathing. Wheezing.

Throat raw, you mumble his name and hold his head up, pressing your forehead to his. In your other hand, you hold both of his and squeeze. His eyes are barely open but they still see you. See the way that the sun shines above.

“It’s alright, we’ll get you patched and it’ll be fine—Just stay awake and I’ll fetch someone so don’t worry I promise I’ll—"

Himmel shakes his head and whispers your name so warm, so tender, so loving, so—

“We did it.”

Through the pain, he smiles. He smiles but you can tell by the way he barely grasps your hand back that he’s slipping.

Another mumble of your name. His head tilts up and his lips meet yours soft.

His last breath, he grants to you.

A last confession, to finally free those very emotions that have been shyly hidden.

It’s not fair.

It’s long since his heart has stopped that you let yourself finally break.

Those very same hands, so warm and fingertips calloused, are now cold. Colder than the sharp, unforgiving winds that have since died out, colder than the chill you feel from the fresh gentle breeze brushing over your skin. You rub at them in attempt to bring back their life.

Desperately, your hand cups a cheek decorated with long dried tears as you sob out the name of the one that gave up everything for a taste of freedom.

With no room to think of the ifs, your cries reach the heavens. To be robbed of the very thing you fought for, to miss it just by a mere few moments and the zip of arrows. It leaves a bittersweet taste that lingers for years to come.

Above you, the sky is blue and a bird soars through the cloudless sea.

#Himmel #Unnamed Bard #Himmel x Reader #Unnamed Bard x Reader #Genshin Impact Himmel #Genshin Impact Unnamed Bard #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact fics #genshin impact drabbles #genshin impact angst #angst #fics #I could've posted this over like uhh an hour ago if not for me weeping and also trying to decide on a better title so here we are now #I might change the title later #we shall see if I come up with something better aha

[lesetoilesfous]

Hello! For DA Drunk Writing, I'd like to request Anders in a pairing of your choosing and from your angst prompt list, "please don’t regret me." Thank you and good luck!

I went with Fenders, thank you!!!

(If you’d like me to write you a dragon age fic, send me a prompt from here!)

@dadrunkwriting

Pairing: Fenders

Characters: Fenris, Anders

Tags: deep roads angst, near death experience, established relationship, what even is a rock wraith

Rating: Teen and Up

*

The funny thing about being about to die in the Deep Roads is that it isn’t his Calling and, somehow, the commander isn’t here. This is the first thing Anders thinks, when he realises he’s the last man standing between his companions and the rock wraith - demon - forgotten-dwarven-god-thing they’d managed to piss off. He’d always sort of thought that if he was going to die down to here, it would be shoulder to shoulder with the commander and Nathaniel and the others. There were days, when he was younger, when he’d almost looked forward to it. When he’d been grateful for the opportunity to have a glorious death, instead of living until he gave in to the inevitable hopelessness of the Circle Tower.

But Anders is not a young man any more, and as he looks at Hawke and Varric and Fenris’ unconscious bodies, he realises abruptly that there is a great deal about being alive that he is going to miss. He blinks, and feels his eyes burning, and spins his staff to stand between them and the rock wraith as it readies another attack, humming with power loud enough to make Anders’ teeth ache. 

Anders stamps his staff down into the dust, feeling mana pour from his body in waves as he urges life back into his fallen friends. Slowly, they begin to stir. It won’t be fast enough. Light is beginning to flicker across the cavern like an accelerated thunderstorm. Anders feels his own power building, too, feels Justice pushing open the tear in the veil inside of him - inside of them - as his skin crackles with power.

Time slows down until every millisecond feels like treacle. Anders watches with distant awe as the shadows lengthen on the walls. He feels the blistering heat of the wraith’s power building against his skin. He sees rocks and dust scattered backward by the building force of the blast. He feels his veins burning, imagines he can sense every capillary lighting up with magic throughout his nervous system as his feet leave the ground. He feels his hair pull up around his head and the hair on the backs of his arms and neck stand on end.

He thinks, for a moment, with the fierce shared longing of his own and Justice’s love for the warden commander. They think she would be proud of them.

In the half heartbeat before the wraith explodes, Anders looks down at Fenris, whose hair is pulled back from his face by the force of the gale. He’s shouting something. Anders can’t hear it. He can still barely believe the fumbling, awkward thing they’d entered into a hundred miles below the earth, in bed rolls and careful touches. Anders thinks, with regret, that he never had a chance to realise how much it meant to him. How much Fenris means to him. He tries to smile at the elf - to share a shadow of that in his final seconds.

Then the power building inside him reaches its climax, and Anders shuts his eyes. In all the raging tempest of power around him, the last thing he remembers is the tickle of a tear on his chin.

He thinks of Fenris. Please don’t regret me.

Then Anders and the wraith explode.

On the foothills of the Vimmark mountains, a flock of birds burst up from the underbrush in sudden, inexplicable panic, startling the hunters chasing them.

*

“- Mage. Mage! Venhedis magum, reversus est ad me.* Kaffas. Fasta Vass.” There’s the dull, sudden impact of a fist on the stone beside his head. Anders feels raindrops hit his his cheeks. But that doesn’t - above him, there’s a great, heaving sob. Anders’ heart lurches. Not rain, then.

“Anders.” Fenris’ voice breaks when he speaks, and two stiffly gauntleted hands cradle his head, lifting it off the ground as one arm slides down to his back, pulling Anders’ torso into Fenris’ lap. Another sob wrenches out of Fenris’ chest, and impatiently Anders fights through the sticking black fog of his own mind and into reality.

He almost regrets it. Everything hurts, and when he tries to breathe he can’t stop himself from choking in great, hacking, coppery coughs that spit blood onto the stone. Anders shudders, and gasps, and tries to ignore the fact that his body feels like it’s on fire, even as Justice slides through his veins, cool and icy as fresh springwater, ushering magic into his injuries. 

Then there are hands on him, turning him over, and suddenly Anders is looking up into the bruised, bleeding, soot-smeared face of an elf. And then Fenris is kissing him.

*

“You know the last thing I thought, before I passed out? When I thought I was going to -” Anders stops. Fenris is holding his hand so tightly it almost hurts, but Anders hasn’t tried to pull away. He’s not sure which of them needs it more. 

They’re sitting together, on the grassy foothills of the Vimmarks, under a clear blue night sky at the edge of a deep and sweeping forest. A little way off, Hawke and Varric have set up camp. Copper sparks drift up against the midnight blue of the heavens, under the silver wink of half a moon. 

Fenris’ voice is rough and hoarse when he replies. “What?”

Anders shuts his eyes, and feels the wind caress his face, and thinks, as he has a hundred thousand times since he left Kinloch Hold. I will never stop being grateful for this.

Then he looks at Fenris, and feels his mouth pull into half a smile that’s more of a defence mechanism than anything. “I hoped that you wouldn’t regret me.”

Fenris chest shudders, then, in a sudden hiccough of breath. He blinks, and his green eyes are bright in the dark. He squeezes Anders hand so tightly Anders half imagines he’ll never lose the imprint of him on his skin. He isn’t sure he’d mind.

When Fenris speaks, he does so with a quiet fervour that Anders imagines echoing through the bones of the mountains themselves, like a lover’s promise in a fairytale. “Never.” Fenris looks at Anders, and his eyes are as green and deep as the forest below them. “Not once.”

Despite himself, Anders believes him.

* magum, reversus est ad me: mage, come back to me

#dadwc #da2 #fenders #fenris #anders #my fic #anonymous

[lykaokrios]

Perfectly Fine - M!De Sardet x Vasco

Fandom: Greedfall

Paring: Captain Vasco x M!De Sardet

Word Count: 1,658

Description:  Vasco is battling with feelings he most certainly doesn't have for De Sardet, until it all comes spilling out.

Warnings: Mild swearing

My AO3

Vasco wasn’t a man prone to rash emotion. Usually able to keep his head steady in most situations; else he’d make a poor captain. Annoyed? Yes. Miffed? Of course.  But angry? Very rarely.

But anger had seemed to slither into his veins the longer he was on land. It was the land’s doing of course. Being too far from sea. It had nothing to do with the handsome noble he found himself following.

It was never anger AT De Sardet. But anger at situations and people around him. The more he… became friendly with the man the more things that seemed to tick him off.

And it most certainly didn’t have anything to do with the way said man made his heart quicken. With the way he looked at him. With the feelings he refused to acknowledge as anything more than mere attraction. A battle he was sorely losing.

The idea of being in love with a noble seemed crazy. Being in love with the nephew of a Prince however, seemed absolutely insane. Even if he was willing to accept his own feelings, which he wasn’t, there was no way De Sardet would reciprocate. And even if he did, which he wouldn’t, it wasn’t like he was in any position to be with him. He was the Legate of the Congregation, nephew of the prince, cousin of the governor, and he was in line for the fucking throne. As if he could be with a Naut even if he wished to be.

But no. Those thoughts certainly never bothered him. They rarely crossed his mind. And never had he taken that anger out on the next battle they fell into or looked to the bottom of a bottle of whiskey for the answer to this problem.

If he just wasn’t so… caring. If he just didn’t look at him so.. fondly. Vasco concludes that must be it. While the Nauts are a close family, you were set to your own devices to figure things out fairly early. They said that’s how you grow, how you show who you’re going to be. There was no motherly or fatherly roles, just mentors. They cared in their own ways. But never anything outright.

But De Sardet. He often wore his heart on his sleeve. A trait Vasco first saw as a weakness. Caring for too many people. Trying to help too many people, all out of sense of doing the right thing. But over time he found himself enamored with the ideals of the man. The way he tried to maintain peace with everyone. How he wanted to think the best of all parties. The way he took everyone’s voice into account.

The way he easily built friendships as their little crew expanded. How he’d drop everything to help one of them. The day Vasco had asked for his help, he immediately started planning, and had the file to him within 24 hours. It was an odd feeling, having someone in his life that would risk their life and reputation just to make him feel more whole.

The Nauts had long told them that who they were before didn’t matter. To just forget it. But it mattered to Vasco. And because it mattered to him, De Sardet decided it mattered to him as well.

The day Vasco went down in battle, De Sardet was to him in moments, standing over him warding off the attackers with a fierceness he’d never seen. After a pile of corpses lay before them, he swiftly turned to Vasco to check on him. Calloused hands moving impossibly soft across his face, blue-green eyes full of worry staring into his soul.

De Sardet had the eyes of the ocean. Their color reminded Vasco of the waters surrounding the Naut island. The water he grew up splashing in with the other children, swimming in and training in as he grew, and the water he returned to happily each time he made it back. A beautiful blue-green. The storm that seemed to wage in them when he was angry, the calmness in them when he was happy. The captain felt like he could happily get lost in them every time they were trained on his own golden eyes.

Not that his other features were easy to ignore. It would take a blind man to not notice how handsome the legate was. A rugged rough masculine build. Strong jaw, strong frame, a dusting of facial hair. A smile that made him weak in the knees each time it was directed at him. Unfortunately, Vasco wasn’t the only one that noticed.

He knew there would be nothing between himself and the legate, as he continued to remind himself. Others enjoying his features, flirting with him, or attempting to seduce him wasn’t to be of Vasco’s concern. The man could do as he liked.

Not that those people didn’t infuriate the captain to no end. He often just scoffed at their attempts, or focused on maintaining as neutral of an expression as he could manage. A task he didn’t seem to be that good at, if Kurt’s reactions were anything to go by.

“You looked as if you were ready to kill that man,” Kurt states simply as the two of them follow behind the legate as they leave the half Brothel half gambling ring basement of San Matheus.

“No clue what you are on about,” Vasco responds sternly, fighting down the anger still flowing through his veins.

“Either you have a history with that prostitute and you don’t like him, or you don’t like how he talked to De Sardet I’d wager by that reaction,” Kurt pushes.

“I’m perfectly fine,” Vasco still insists, clenching his hands as they walk, his eyes trained on the design on the back of De Sardet’s cape.

“Man was just doin’ his job. Green-blood seemed interested anyway,” Kurt teases.

“He did not!” Vasco hisses, whipping around to face Kurt. His fists clenched and his chest heaving. “The man should be able to see he is an important diplomat doing a job, and fucking watched his mouth. He didn’t immediately need to try to climb him like the fucking mast.”

“Vasco?” De Sardet stops walking to turn back to his companions, his expression confused. “Is everything alright with you two?”

“Perfectly fine,” Vasco responds back through gritted teeth.

Looking unconvinced, the legate’s gaze turns to his old weapons-master, “Kurt?”

Kurt lets out a laugh before reaching out to grab the Naut on the shoulder, a move Vasco refutes, shaking his hand off of him. “I’m just havin’ a bit of fun with him, and he took it seriously.”

Crossing the distance between them, De Sardet approaches Vasco, noticing the obvious tension in his body.

“Kurt, please give us a moment to speak,” he says, placing a hand to Vasco’s chest as he backs the man into an a nearby empty alleyway. “What happened?”

In that moment, the dirt road suddenly got far more interesting for the Naut captain. His eyes trained to one specific boot print in the dirt as he tries to mumble a lame response.

“Vasco.”

“He was just… teasing me a bit, nothing more nothing less,” he insists.

“What did he say that got you that riled up? I’ve never seen you this agitated. Then again… you were agitated before this. What is going on?”

Vasco remains silent, just kicking his own boot in the dirt. His body still tensed, but now he’s not sure if it’s previous anger or how close he now found himself to the other man.

After a few moments of silence, De Sardet grabs ahold of both sides of Vasco’s uniform and shoves him back into the brick wall behind, causing the Naut to immediately look up into his eyes in shock. “Vasco.”

Before he can formulate an answer, he finds himself crashing his lips to the legate’s. De Sardet jumps at the the initial contact, but quickly deepens the kiss between them. Vasco’s arms wrap around him, his hands gripping his cape as a growl escapes his throat.

De Sardet knocks his hat off as his hands go to the Naut’s hair, quickly freeing it from its tie. His hands sink in his long brunette hair as they pull each other impossibly closer.

And seemingly as quick as it began, they’re pulling back gasping for a breath. A chuckle from De Sardet as Vasco’s eyes desperately search his.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for months,” the legate admits softly. “But was that just to distract me from my questions or…?”

“Or,” Vasco responds immediately, cursing himself at the dumb response as he earns another chuckle. He can feel his cheeks flushed, and his mind feels scrambled.

“What were you angry about?”

At this point, Vasco decides it’s time to just answer truthfully. If there was any chance… “He was teasing me about my anger from the interrogation.”

“He was teasing you for being angry in the brothel? You seemed angry, but I assumed you just didn’t like how unhelpful he was being.”

“I was… aggravated… at his advances,” he admits. “At you.”

“You were upset that the worker tried to seduce me?”

“Aye.”

Another chuckle. And with that Vasco can feel his cheeks heating ever further, “Sea and love both share a bitter bite… the sea seizes. Love seizes. Love scalds us, and the seas scalds us. For neither are free from tempest might.”

De Sardet looks back at him curiously, the sea in his eyes calm as he finds himself staring into them.

“A poem?”

“Yes… uh.. a poem I read and which I was trying to remember. It makes me think of you… of us,” he admits. “I- would you… want to spend some time alone together?”

A gentle smile spreads across De Sardet’s face, his hand moving to Vasco’s cheek as he strokes it gently, “I thought you’d never ask.”

#captain vasco #vasco #greedfall #greedfall vasco #de sardet #de sardet x vasco #fanfiction #fanfic #greedfall fanfic

[grailfinders]

Fate and Phantasms #115: Sakata Kintoki (Rider)

This time on “Fate and Phantasms”: We’re always trying to make the best build possible. Little do we know that we’re about to face our greatest challenge yet: building a goddamn motorcycle. Join us as we build: Sakata Kintoki (Rider)!

(As usual, his build breakdown is below the cut, or you can check out his character sheet over here!)

Next up: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z8WvSGNEV24

Race and Background

Yes, we’re still doing that bit from the first time. This means Kintoki’s still a Golden Dragonborn, gaining +2 Strength and +1 Charisma. This also gives you a fiery Breath Weapon once per short rest and Fire Resistance. That’s not very in character, but you’re gold, and that’s good enough!

As a motorcycle delinquent/Kamen Rider expy, you’re a Folk Hero, giving you proficiency with Animal Handling and Survival. You can literally talk to animals. Handling them shouldn’t be an issue.

Ability Scores

You’re pretty strong, which is probably why your Strength should be as high as possible. Your preferred method of fighting is crashing into people with your motorcycle, so your Constitution should be pretty high as well. Third is Charisma- bad boys are in these days. Your wisdom isn’t that bad, we’ll need it for multiclassing and also you know animals well enough to speak to them. Your Dexterity isn’t great; despite wearing leather armor, your main defense is your bike being faster than the enemies. Finally, we’re dumping Intelligence. Changing classes didn’t turn you into a professor.

Class Levels

1. Fighter 1: Getting your ride is our top priority, but that’ll take a couple levels. In the meantime we should make sure you’re at least a bit competent off the bike. Your fighting style is Unarmed Fighting, giving your unarmed strikes more power and letting you deal damage by grappling. I’d think grappling someone and running your bike would already deal damage, but now it’s RAW. You can also use your bonus action to gain a Second Wind for a smoke break.

You also get proficiency with Strength and Constitution saves, as well as Intimidation and Athletics. Bikers are scary, man.

2. Bard 1: Okay, now we can get that bike. If you want justification for the class, you did mistake the Rider class for Kamen Rider, so there you go. You’re powered by Saturday morning kid’s shows.

Becoming a bard gives you one skill proficiency of your choice- I’m gonna say Insight. You look like you can read the room pretty well. You can also cast Spells using your Charisma, and you can give Bardic Inspiration to another creature as a bonus action a number of times per long rest equal to your charisma modifier. This is a d6 that the creature can add to an attack roll, skill check, or saving throw within the next ten minutes. You’re a nice guy like that.

This Kintoki’s a bit more thunder than lightning, so for your spells grab Thunderclap and Thunderwave to stay on brand, Friends and Animal Friendship to talk to squirrels, and Heroism and Longstrider to protect your wheels and give them a nitro boost.

3. Bard 2: Second level bards are Jacks of All Trades, giving you half your proficiency bonus on any skill check you’re not proficient in. This includes initiative, so even with your +0 dexterity modifier you can be a bit faster out the gate. You also gain a Song of Rest for extra healing over short rests if you like that sort of thing.

Also you can Speak with Animals now, so they can tell you how much faster you are than them.

4. Bard 3: Time to make some golden creations! As a Creation bard, you’ll find your inspiration dice are a bit more golden thanks to your Note of Potential, gaining extra effects. If used on an ability check they can roll twice and take the higher number, on an attack roll they force an constitution save (DC 8 plus your proficiency plus your charisma modifier) or creatures around them take thunder damage, and if used on a saving throw the creature gains a bit of temporary HP. 

The bigger draw this level, however, is the Performance of Creation. As an action, you can create a medium or smaller item worth less than 20 times your bard level in GP. It lasts a number of hours equal to your proficiency bonus, and you can use this once per long rest, or by burning a second level spell slot to use it again. It’s not enough to make a motorcycle just yet, but you can at least make that cool belt buckle.

Finally, you get Expertise in two skills, doubling your proficiency bonus. I’d go with Athletics and Animal Handling. You’ll need some lower body strength to hang onto your bike while fighting.

You can also cast second level spells now, like Enhance Ability to give a creature advantage on a kind of skill check. Give yourself a constitution boost to help with those Thousand Mile Drives.

5. Bard 4: Use your first Ability Score Improvement to round out your Strength and bring your Wisdom up to multiclassing minimums.

You can also cast Mending for another way to fix up your bike, or Shatter to break everything else.

6. Bard 5: At fifth level your inspiration becomes d8s, and you become a Font of Inspiration. This means you regain inspiration dice on short rests as well as long ones.

To celebrate, you learn how to put on a proper tokukatsu Motivational Speech from Acquisitions Incorporated, giving up to five creatures temporary hit points, advantage on wisdom saves, and advantage on its next attacks after its hit. The spell ends on a creature once the hit points are removed, otherwise it lasts for an hour.

7. Bard 6: Now we’re cooking! Now you can finally use an Animating Performance to make your motorcycle, a large Dancing Item. The item stays dancing for an hour, and you can use your bonus action to command it. You can animate an object once per long rest, or by burning a 3rd level spell slot to do it again. Plus, your Performance of Creation can make large items now, so a motorcycle is totally on the table!

The movement speed on a dancing item’s only 30′ which isn’t ideal, but on the plus side your bike can fly, so... I’d say it balances out the cool factor.

Sadly bards don’t get Haste, but if we can’t speed up your bike, at least we can Slow down your enemies.

Oh yeah, you also get Countercharm, spend an action to give allies advantage against being charmed or frightened, not really great but you can always use it for an “I know you’re in there” fight.

8. Fighter 2: Now that that detour’s out of the way, we can get back to fighting. Second level fighters get an Action Surge, tacking an extra action onto your turn once per short rest. Cast two spells, multitask with healing and hitting, or just hit people over and over again. It’s pretty versatile.

9. Fighter 3: Cavaliers get an extra skill proficiency, and Performance will really help you sell your Kintoki action figures. You’re also Born to the Seat, giving you advantage against falling off your mount and mounting/dismounting your cycle only costs 5′ of movement.

As a hero of justice, you can also apply an Unwavering Mark to a creature when you hit them that lasts until the end of your next turn. If the marked creature is within 5′, it will have trouble hitting other creatures, and if it still does you can make a special attack against the creature next turn as a bonus action. The attack has advantage, and deals extra damage as well. You can make these attacks a number of times per long rest equal to your strength modifier.

10. Fighter 4: Speaking of advantage and being good at riding things, use this ASI to become a Mounted Combatant, giving you advantage on attacks against creatures smaller than your mount, the ability to redirect attacks to you instead of your mount, and giving your mount evasion, meaning it takes half damage on a failed dexterity save and no damage on a success.

11. Fighter 5: Fifth level fighters get an extra attack each attack action. It’s not very complicated, but it is very useful.

12. Cleric 1: Your dad’s a god, you get more thunder powers. As a cleric, you can cast and prepare spells using your Wisdom. As a Tempest Cleric, you can channel the Wrath of the Storm. When a creature within melee range hits you with an attack, you can react to blast lightning or thunder back at them with a dexterity save attached. You can use this a number of times per long rest equal to your Wisdom modifier. (So if you’re using the standard array, once.)

You can also cast Thaumaturgy for more dramatic entrances, Resistance so you’ll wipe out less often, and Light because every motorcycle needs a headlight. You can also kick up some dust with your domain spells, Fog Cloud and Thunderwave. You already have a better thunderwave from your bard levels, but hey why not be redundant. 

13. Cleric 2: Second level clerics can Channel Divinity in two ways. You can either Turn Undead to make walking corpses into running... away from you... corpses... (not my best work), or you can channel it into Destructive Wrath, allowing you to deal maximum damage when you deal lightning or thunder damage. Your spells are pretty low level, so the extra efficiency is appreciated. You can use this once per short rest, or you can burn your channel divinity use to Harness Divine Power, refilling a spell slot that’s less than half your proficiency modifier as a bonus action.

14. Fighter 6: Use your next ASI to boost your Charisma for stronger spells and more inspiration.

15. Fighter 7: As a more seasoned cavalier, you could react to add a bonus to a nearby allie’s AC when they’re being attacked a number of times per long rest equal to your Constitution modifier. You could, but unfortunately Warding Maneuver requires a melee weapon or shield, and you do things barehanded.

16. Fighter 8: If your hands are going to cause you this much trouble, they’d better be good at their job. Use this ASI to max out your Strength so they’re great at their job.

17. Fighter 9: Ninth level fighters are Indomitable, letting you re-roll a failed save once per long rest. You probably shouldn’t use this on your intelligence saves, you’re not making those either way.

18. Fighter 10: Tenth level cavaliers actually get something we can use, the ability to Hold the Line. This means your opportunity attacks can activate on a creature moving within your reach, and they also reduce the target’s speed to 0 on hit. A good hero keeps the villains focused on them.

19. Fighter 11: We’re almost done, but first you get another Extra Attack for even more punching goodness.

20. Fighter 12: Use your capstone ASI for more Constitution to get more HP and better concentration. You only have so many spells, you’ve got to make the most of them.

Pros:

Thanks to Animating Performance, you can literally make your motorcycle out of anything, as long as its large enough to ride. It also means you’ve got a flying bike, though if you want to keep it closer to canon you could flavor it as having the ability to ride up walls.

You can deal very consistent damage thanks to your high number of attacks and free advantage from mounting your bike. You’re also able to make your limited spell slots count, maximizing their damage with channel divinity.

Your skills as a cavalier make you good at getting enemies’ attention and keeping it away from squishier party members. Mix in a bit of healing from your cleric levels, and you can be a surprisingly good tank in a pinch.

Cons: 

You like to ride on things, and you also use a lot of spells with indiscriminate damage. That’s not a good combination, especially since your bike is a construct.

Having, at best, a leather jacket and a +0 to dexterity means your AC is pretty low. Your best defense is not being near the enemy when they get a chance to hit back.

Having to command your bike eats up all your bonus actions, meaning you’ll have to chose between using your unwavering mark or riding.

#Fate Grand Order #FGO #D&D 5e #Kintoki rider #Fate and Phantasms #Cleric #Fighter #Bard

[fallenfurther]

Babysitting - Part 4

Finally got round to typing this up on my week off and finally got the WIP finished! Although the last chapter became two, so here is the how @selene-tempest kept her nephew busy for in the morning. Part 1 , 2 and 3. Enjoy!

*******

Her nephew’s wardrobe was a marvel to behold. Selene knew every inhabitant of the island so could tell exactly who had contributed what to the pile. The boy pulled out a white polo shirt with deep red stripes on the collar and dropped it on the floor before doing the same to a black top with a photo of a galaxy on it. Selene had grabbed a pair of dark jeans that she swore were just a miniature version of Scott’s favourite pair, and pulled the boy onto her lap so she could wrangle them onto him. There was some moaning from the struggling boy, but she won the fight. She even managed to slip on a pair of socks, which she hoped were clean, before he crawled away.

“Okay, pick your top then.”

Another three shirts ended up on the floor before her nephew turned around with a garish Hawaiian one grasped in his fists. It was a mix of yellow and green with white flowers which she had never seen on the child before. Selene was certain Scott had mentioned throwing out an awful flowery shirt before, so she couldn’t understand why the child was currently beaming at her like he’d won the lottery. He offered it to her.

“You really want to wear this one?” She questioned, holding it between her fingertips.

“Yes!”

The child raised his hands in the air ready to receive the garment. Selene rolled her eyes and did as she was told, though she quickly grabbed her phone and snapped a picture. Her nephew gave the camera a giant dimpled smile, and Selene posted it in the family chat with the caption “He’s so proud of his choices”. Grabbing a pair of the boy’s trainers, Selene beckoned the boy to the room she and John shared. Grabbing a clean pair of jogging bottoms and large comfy top, she changed as quickly as she could. She grabbed the brush she kept in the bathroom and ran it through her hair under the watchful eye of her nephew. Her phone buzzed and a few taps brought up the chat.

Scott: I thought I’d disposed of that one.

Scott: At least brush his hair.

Selene: I’m getting to it

She rolled her eyes. She hadn’t forgotten. Kneeling in front of the child, she gently ran the brush through his soft brown locks. He screwed up his eyes a few times when she caught the larger tangles, but she worked them out before sweeping the hair into its usual style; not that it would stay neat for long. Snapping a picture, she posted into the chat.

Selene: Done.

Scott: Thank you, Selene

Placing the phone on the side, Selene unscrewed the lid on her sunscreen moisturizer and started rubbing it into her face, placing the pot on the edge of the sink. Out the corner of her eye a small hand reached up for the pot. A little finger got in before she could stop it. She screwed on the lid and put the pot out of reach. The child became incredibly curious about the white cream on his finger and Selene hoped it wouldn’t end up in his mouth.

“Rub it on your face, sweetie.”

Those blue eyes peered up with sparkling curiosity, and the finger was presented to her. Gently, she took his hand and guided it to his cheek where she helped him rub it in. Once it was all rubbed in, she left the boy to stroke his cheek. After she'd finished creaming her face, she grabbed John’s Factor 50 from the side. Squirting a dollop into her hand, she rubbed it all over her nephew’s face, grabbing his arm as he squirmed. Another generous squeeze and she rubbed the thick cream over the rest of his exposed skin. Her nephew huffed as she washed her hands. Grabbing her lip balm and a hairband from the jeans John had worn yesterday, she tied her hair back before rubbing the salve over her lips. A glance in the mirror confirmed she was all set to face the windy beach. She turned back to her sulking nephew.

“Go grab your shoes so we can go fly your kite.”

“Kite!”

Selene sat down on the floor and helped the boy into his trainers, before reaching out and grabbing her trainers. Lacing them up was made difficult by her nephew wrapping his arms around her neck in and giving her an awkward hug from behind. The excited giggles in her ear warmed her heart, and once done, she twisted and pulled the child into a big tight squeeze which he returned. Warmth filled her as he buzzed with youthful energy. Releasing him, she stood and offered him her hand.

“Let’s go have some fun.”

*****

Those deep blue eyes stared straight into her and pleaded with her soul. The quivering lip and watery eyes were a stark contrast to the large smile plastered on the kite in his hands. The small kite, with its picture of Thunderbird One, had flown well in the breeze. Her nephew had spent a good amount of time flying it, running across the sand and through the surf with glee as it chased him. However, that just wasn’t enough for him and he wanted to fly the big kite. ‘John’s kite’ as he called it. Technically it was Gordon’s kite, which had been dug out of the attic of the ranch, but her nephew saw it as John’s because he was the one that had introduced it to him. This kite required more force than the breeze was currently willing to give. Selene had tried to encourage it into the air, having already thrown it up multiple times only to jump back so it didn’t hit her when it crashed back down to earth. She had stuck her finger in the air to work out the best wind direction and where to stand the boy. She had even jogged beside him as he ran with it, encouraging him to go as fast as his little legs could go, but the damn thing refused to take to the air. It’s bright yellow smiling face mocked her as her nephew continued to plead with her. John had said it was kite flying weather, so it should be good kite flying weather! Did he take it with him? Closing her eyes, Selene inhaled the fresh salty air, summing up as much energy as she could.

“I’ll run with it, but only there and back.”

His eyes lit up as he thrust the kite at her. Reluctantly she took it, turning it so she could hold it by the crossed poles. She stared down the beach and held it high, waiting for a good gust of wind. Feeling a light pull, Selene ran down the wet sand as fast as she could. She hated running. The kite filled with air and she released it from her grip. It paused, almost like it was deciding whether to fly or not. A tug on the string forced it up and it stayed in the air, much to her nephew’s delight. Squeals of joy followed her down the beach until she slowed to a stop, her body already complaining about the effort. The kite hit the ground as Selene took deep breaths.

“Again, Selene. Again.”

Those sparkling eyes gazed into hers and she started to prepare herself for what was going to happen later. The surf washed at her bare feet, trying to sink her into the sand. Picking up the kite, she held it out yet again before running back down the beach. Her nephew’s giggles let her know he was behind her. She slowed to a stop when she got back to where they had started. Her lungs inhaled deeply, as her legs complained of not having been warmed up before activity.

“Again, Selene.”

“No more. I only promised there and back.”

Those eyes turned on her again, trying their hardest to change her mind and failing. She could be swayed on a lot of things, but voluntarily running up and down a beach was not one of them. Still holding the line, she made her way back to the blanket she’d spread out earlier, with the bag in the middle surrounded by a few toys. Selene collapsed on it and slipped her hand into the bag and retrieved a water bottle. She glugged it as her nephew pottered up the beach with the kite. He stood before her. She knew exactly what was coming.

“Fly kite, Selene.”

His voice was soft as he pleaded, but Selene shook her head. It was not happening. She stretched out her legs as the boy came up close and put his arm around her back. His cheek pressed into her shoulder while one of the kites corners poked her chest. With her left hand guiding the kite away from her body, she scooped him onto her lap with her right and gave him a one armed hug. Using her leg as leverage she managed to slip the rods from the fabric, though he also saw the second part of the manoeuvre.

“No!”

“It’s not windy enough for this kite. You can play with the little one.”

“No. Selene, no.”

“The big one is going away.”

The child burst into tears and wailed. Selene knew this was going to happen, she’d seen the signs. Her nephew threw his arms around her and buried his face into her chest. Dropping the kite, she consoled the sobbing boy, rubbing his back. She could feel her top getting damp.

“Come on, sweetie. No need to cry, everything is okay.”

She continued to soothe the child until his tears started to slow. A few snivels came from him as he turned to wipe his face with his hand. Selene knew this was about more than the kite. Picking up her water bottle, she popped the top and offered the remains to her nephew. Eventually his small hands slowly reached out and took it, before drinking it greedily. The tears had stopped, though his eyes were still red and his cheeks rosy. Grabbing a packet of raisins from the snack stash, she offered it to him. Eyes widened and an exchange was made. His fingers happily pulled the fruit from the box one by one. He kindly offered one to her and she sucked it from his slimy fingers. It put a smile back on his face. Selene brushed her hand through his now windswept hair, before pressing a tissue to his running nose. He blew reluctantly, before finishing off the raisins.

Now fed, her nephew happily grabbed the smaller kite and ran off with it trailing behind him. Dusting off the sand he’d thrown up with his departure, Selene smiled as she rolled up a towel and placed it beneath her head. She kept her eyes on the boy as the sun warmed her skin and the breeze blew the odd purple strand across her vision. It was almost relaxing. Almost.

“Selene!”

She guessed she’d gotten ten minutes of peace before he’d called. The child was staring down at something on the floor, the kite slowly fluttering down behind him.

“Selene, squishy thing.”

Selene bolted upright, having spent enough time around Gordon to know that squishy could be dangerous. She hastened over to the child and breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of an old plastic bag that had washed ashore. She grabbed his hand before he could touch it though, not knowing if it could contain something that wasn’t so mundane.

“Let’s not touch it. It’s just a bit of rubbish, nothing fun.”

Her nephew deflated before turning back to his kite which was floating in the wash.

“Uh oh.”

Her nephew brought a smile to her face as he hurried over and picked up the dripping diamond. She could see Scott rolling his eyes at the thought of Thunderbird One taking an unscheduled dip in the sea. Heading back to the blanket, she grabbed a fresh nappy bag and used it to scoop up the plastic bag before it was dragged back to sea, knowing Gordon would be furious if she let it happen. He had gone off on so many tirades about sea pollution and marine conservation over the years that she couldn’t take another. Doing her environmental deed for the day, she joined her nephew in the wash, where the kite had been discarded in preference of stones and shells. The water lapped at their feet, bringing sporadic giggles from the toddler, as they made their way down the beach. Selene’s hands slowly filled with her nephew’s ‘treasures’, which were made up of his favourite broken shells, stones and occasional piece of smoothed glass, from goodness knows where. As the sun took its place high in the sky, Selene’s stomach growled.

“Let’s head back now and get some lunch.”

Her nephew ran to her grinning, hands outstretched for his ‘treasures’. Selene gladly dumped the damp pile into his hands, drying them against her bottoms. Shaking out the blanket, she packed their things knowing most of it would be doing straight into the laundry basket. The walk back to the villa started off slow, with her nephew slowly picking through his ‘treasures’ and throwing the ones now deemed unworthy away. Once happy with his selection, he held them up to her, just as he did to his father, so they could be kept safe. Two smoothed out glass fragments, one green, one white, and a small intact spiral shell were dropped into her hand, which she slipped into her pocket. They would be put in the boy’s treasure box, which Scott kept in his room. Selene had seen both Scott and Gordon go through the items with the boy. The more interesting items in the box were normally suggestions from said uncle, having been found during one of their rock pooling expeditions. Her nephew took her free hand, his little fingers wrapping round hers, and gave her a content dimpled smile that melted her heart. The kid was so much like his father. Having his hand in hers was great but didn’t last long. He was off again, running ahead to explore the foliage that surrounded the path. Selene sighed as flowers were poked, leaves grasped and sometimes pulled off. Thankfully the leaf he decided to wave around was picked up from the floor and not yanked from the plant. He danced around Selene with it, flapping it around and above his head until it too became boring as was discarded on the path. She would not mention this to Virgil, who had tried on various occasions to teach the curious tornado to be gentle with the plants, and given Scott a death glare in the process.

Upon reaching the villa, Selene grabbed the child’s arm and guided him down the side of the house to the pool’s changing rooms. Removing his now sandy shoes, she dumped her nephew in the large metal basin used for washing Sherbet. Soap and warm water turned it into a foot bath that resulted in some joyous splashing from her nephew. Scott seemed to stash clean clothes everywhere, and having found some in a nearby cupboard, Selene dried and redressed the boy. He was now in blue shorts and a red check shirt that screamed Virgil. Selene rolled her eyes. After giving her own feet a quick wash down, they headed to the elevator so he could put his ‘treasures’ in the box. The moment the doors opened her nephew was off.

“Daddy! Daddy!”

Selene swallowed as she hurried after him, knowing Scott wasn’t due back until late that evening. The board meeting he and Jeff were required to attend meant he had to be away for two days and as much as Scott wanted to come back to the island to see his son, it made no sense as the boy would be asleep. This was the longest the child had been on the island without his Dad being with him.

“Daddy?”

Selene knelt in the middle of Scott’s room as the boy’s lip trembled and pulled him into a hug.

“He’ll be home later, when the sky is dark.”

Scooping him up into her arms, she grabbed the box and opened it for her nephew. He sniffled as he dropped his treasures in.

“You can show Daddy tomorrow.”

He nodded, wrapping his arms around her neck. Selene’s stomach rumbled, reminding her of their intended destination. Carrying the boy downstairs, she headed through the living room, receiving a brief wave from a busy Sally as they passed by.

“Grammie.”

Her nephew’s voice was soft and sad in her ear.

“Grandma is busy, but we can make her some food to help.”

He started playing with her hair, brushing the deep purple strands along her neck. Selene shifted him as she collected up the things she needed, her arm already aching from carrying him so far. Ultimately she had to put him down. Thankful he hadn’t complained too much as she let him cling to her leg instead, allowing her to make some sandwiches. Sweeping them, crisps, juice and some bananas onto a tray, she coaxed her nephew upstairs. A plate was slid before Sally, who smiled gratefully while taking a bite. Selene curled up on the sofa with her nephew, where they ate their lunch listening to the comm line. The boys voices filled the room, on a delay as EOS filtered out anything young ears shouldn’t hear. Her nephew relaxed to the chorus of his uncle’s voices, and eventually drifted off to sleep in Selene’s arms. Putting him to bed with a kiss, she tapped on the monitor and headed back to the couch where she collapsed. As if on cue, John floated before her, seated in Thunderbird One’s cockpit with a bottle of water. There was dirt on his uniform, breaking up the sensor lines that traversed his frame. His eyes were half distracted, obviously reading something on the display before him.

“How’s it going back on the island?”

Her heart fluttered at his voice. Damn, it never got old hearing him.

“Tiring, he’s got so much energy. You were wrong about the wind, the kite wouldn’t fly.”

John’s brow creased as his emerald eyes met hers.

“Really? EOS was certain the wind speed would be ideal for kites.”

“Well, she was wrong. That yellow monstrosity wouldn’t fly.”

“Hey! It’s not a monstrosity!” Gordon piped in, suddenly floating next to John, though he was clearly in a pod. “That’s the happiest kite in the world and always flies great.”

John rolled his eyes, making Selene bite her lip.

“So that’s why you threw a tantrum and hid it away in the attic? Because it flew too well?”

Gordon’s glare was adorable.

“Boys,” Grandma’s stern voice echoed around the room, “pay attention to what you’re doing. John, there’s a family not far from your location in need of evacuation."

“FAB, grandma.”

John gave Selene a parting grin, while Gordon stuck out his tongue. Selene slipped out her phone, allowing herself to catch up on her emails, sorting through her clients requests so she could tackle them tomorrow. Lying back, she relaxed into the sofa, knowing she only had a few hours to herself.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds fanfiction #selene tempest #scott's son #babysitting #baby tracy #beach #flying kites #treasures #cuteness #thunderfluff #fluff #worlds greatest aunt

[astraeagreengrass]

exile [the woods part 1]

When you wake up in the floor of your apartment, you have no idea of how much the world has changed

Word Count: 2.708

Warnings: angst, mentions of death and death-related themes, PTSD, brief allusion to a panic attack.

A/N: A month ago, Taylor Swift released her eight studio album folklore and, unsurprisingly, it took over my life. The stories Taylor beautifully narrates in her songs inspired me to write something of my own: the woods is a four-part, post-Endgame story, with some slight changes to the canon, featuring Steve Rogers. Updates will be every Friday. Thank you to @xbuchananbarnes for proof-reading this and @thegetawaywriter for encouraging me to write. The banner picture was found here. Dividers are from @writeyourmindaway. Here is exile. I hope you like it ♡

i think i've seen this film before and i didn't like the ending you're not my homeland anymore so what am i defending now? you were my town, now i'm in exile, seein' you out i think i've seen this film before so i'm leavin' out the side door

Being pieced back together was like a hangover.

Like drinking too much wine one evening and then waking up on a foreign bed, not knowing how you got there. It was a pounding headache, a churning stomach, a dry throat. The back of your teeth were sensitive and the sound of sirens rung too loudly on your ears.

In the aftermath of your intoxication, the city is deafening.

You groaned at the light - you must’ve been so wasted if you’d forgotten the blinds. Every breath took a toll of your lungs, stretching your muscles beyond their strength, creaking your joints as you exhaled.

Someone gasped, startling you.

The familiar floorboards of your apartment greeted you when your eyes opened. Timeworn almond timber, the New York staple. Craning your neck, you saw a foot. Shit. You weren't one to bring one night stands home, or actually have them in the first place. Little ol' you was a little too square, a little too cautious, struggling to keep her trust issues from spilling out of her hands. Definitely not the best candidate for loose-stringed affairs, but your grandma always told you there was a first time for everything.

The foot’s owner nudged you, and you groaned again.

“Miss?” they said. “Are you alive?”

I don’t know.

Your gaze focused and you noticed the person was a boy of eleven or twelve, with a beautiful dark mop of curls and soft brown eyes. What the...

“Who are you?” you managed to croak. There was an ashy taste in your mouth, as if you’d swallowed dust.

The boy looked up and across, and you noticed that, on your left side, his father was crouching beside your body. He looked just like the kid, except a couple of decades older, so you assumed he was the father.

“My name is Cal,” the man said, spacely, as if he’d might frighten you if he spoke normally. “This is my son Daniel. We’re not going to hurt you.”

"Nice to know the invaders won't hurt me," you tried to say, but it came out a jumbled, messy current of words, like a baby first learning to communicate.

"Invaders?" the boy exclaimed, insulted. "We live here!"

"Daniel!" his father chided. "Miss, what is the last thing you remember?"

You pressed a palm to the ground, trying to lay your weight on it so you could stand up. You weren't about to answer an unknown man's questions while laying face-down on your own apartment floor. You might be hungover, but you had more dignity than that. When your body crumpled like a twig under a boot, Cal held you up, helping you to a seating position facing the window.

Craning your neck to shield your eyes from the sun, you noticed it.

Golden brown leaves.

Golden brown leaves that shouldn't exist in May.

You clearly remember opening the windows yesterday to green, lively foliage. New York was many things - loud, chaotic, more often than not dangerous - but it’s seasons were consistent, enduring. Through the tempests and disturbances, nature persevered in her year-long cycle, living and dying and living again.

These particular leaves belonged to October, perhaps even early November, never May.

Something was terribly wrong.

“What day is it?” you whispered, wide eyes going from the window to the man aiding you.

Cal grimaced. His boy was suddenly very quiet.

When you were a child, you used to have nightmares: a ghost in the attic, a wolf haunting the woods outside your house, an IED blowing up your father's convoy in Iraq. They'd trap your consciousness, suffocating your mind with fear and panic, and no night light or teddy bear could stifle the onslaught of relentless screams that rattled the walls and hallways of your childhood home, until your frantic grandmother shook you awake. The reality that greeted you on the floor of your apartment was that Twilight Zone all over again.

“Please,” you pleaded, perhaps to the man, perhaps to yourself.

Cal sighed.

“Today is October 17th, 2023,” he said and you learned that the only thing scarier than a nightmare is life itself. “You’ve been dead for the past five years.”

“We could go to the house in the woods,” you mumbled to the warmth of Steve’s chest.

He tightened his hold around your body, pressing a feather-light kiss to the crown of your head.

“Whatever you want,” he said. “You’ve got me for the weekend.”

“The whole weekend?” you smiled at him, finding the reassurance you needed in his indigo gaze.

Steve kissed you again, a fierce press of lips this time. Mouths and tongues and teeth intertwined, your hand finding hip, his hand finding you thigh.

“The whole weekend,” he breathed in the shell of your ear, right before the two of you became nothing more than a mess of pillows and sheets, drowning in love and want and lust. “And then forever.”

When the world ended, several hospital units closed down due to lack of patients.

When the Avengers managed to reverse the effects of the Snap - no one knew how they did it, but everyone knew it was them because of course it was - the mayor of New York declared the interruption of all kinds of activities in the city in order to help those returning. It was in a campaign hospital in Bryant Park that Steve Rogers found you, sitting up cross-legged and wrapped up in a grey blanket, having your temperature checked by one of the volunteers.

Wearing dark clothes and a cap, Steve was nothing more than a shadow behind the woman's shoulder. A lesser-trained gaze would glide past his figure in a quarter of a second, but not you. Never you. You'd recognize him in a sea of people, as if the blood that sustained you and the bones that built you knew exactly where to find him.

Steve had the decency to wait until the woman was done to approach you. With slow, clearly measured steps, he came closer, taking a seat at the foot of your stretcher. If he reached out his arm, he'd touch you, but he refrained and you were glad he did. In your mind, you saw him days ago, but reality told you differently. The calendar at the nurse's station, the newspaper you got a hold on, the constant broadcast of news: all of them mocked you, tormented you. Five years had gone by - more time than you’d ever had with the man across from you. And if there was ever any lingering doubt in your mind that this was some elaborate trick to fool you, they faded when you noticed the modest signs of aging that nothing but time and grief could inflict on a Super Soldier.

Again, a lesser-trained gaze probably wouldn’t catch them, but that would never be you when it came to Steve Rogers.

The two of you stayed in silence for minutes, watching a CNN report of a family reuniting in Idaho. The mother snapped right after the birth of her daughter - now a little girl with ginger pigtails, hugging her legs and kissing her hands. Everyday since you woke up on the floor of your apartment, there'd been thousands of stories such as this: parents finding children, husbands finding wives. The fallen - that's what the press called people like you, the dead that weren't really dead - all had the same lost look in their eyes. You supposed that's what happened when your clock was five years too late.

“What happened?” you finally asked when the broadcast changed to twin brothers reconvening in Hawaii. “What went wrong?”

Steve didn’t look at you, instead he kept pulling at a loose thread on the hem of his shirt.

“He was too strong,” he sighed. “And I thought I could fight him without Tony, but…”

You nodded.

“One of the nurses said he was badly wounded in the battle upstate,” you mentioned.

“Yeah,” Steve agreed. “But he’ll recover. Banner is looking after him. He’s got a kid now, you know? Tony. Her name’s Morgan.”

“Wow,” you smiled genuinely. “That sounds unbelievable and incredible at the same time.

“She’s a good girl,” Steve said. “Keeps Tony on his toes.”

On the TV, the two brothers embraced with a beautiful sunset as background.

“What about Sam and Nat?” you wondered.

Steve's fidgety hands stilled. With the left one he rubbed his mouth and chin until his skin was reddish.

"Sam was like you," he muttered and the implicit words hurt more in his voice than anyone else's. "Natasha… She didn't make it."

She didn't make it.

Natasha Romanoff. Natalia. Your mentor, your friend. The strongest woman you'd ever met. She didn't make it.

"What?" you gasped. "What do you mean 'she didn't make it'? Didn't she come back?"

Like Sam and the mother in Idaho and the twins in Hawaii. Like you.

Steve shook his head.

"It wasn't like that," he said. "She survived the Snap. Spent years trying to find something, anything, even the smallest possibility of getting everyone back and when we finally did… She sacrificed herself so we could have the Soul Stone."

"Sacrificed herself? For a stone?" you were extremely agitated now, the grey blanked falling from your shoulders as you looked at Steve searching for any sign of emotion. "Steven, look at me!"

 His eyes were glazed, a big blue sea threatening to spill over in waves of sadness.

"It wasn't a simple stone, Y/N. I'd rather not explain to you here, people can't know about this," he whispered, looking over his shoulder for anyone that could be listening.

"You mean they can't know why they disappeared and were brought back together like broken toys?" you exclaimed. "Toys that the Avengers can grab and then toss aside however they please? I'm not your toy, Steve!"

You knew you could be cruel. Ruthless. A child yelling ferociously at the top of her lungs until she got what she wanted. An angry teenager. An intelligence officer with obscure morals. But even when he left you without a goodbye, you'd always kept your forked tongue away from Steve Rogers.

Until now.

"Please," Steve pleaded. "Let's go home. I'll explain everything to you when we get there."

"I have no home," you spat. "I had a home three days ago when you came in saying something bad would happen, only to leave me again. Now I have nothing!”

Your tears were hot when they streamed down your face.

“I don't even know myself anymore,” you admitted and somehow that was worse than knowing you were alone in a world you didn't recognize. "All I know is dust. My bones were dust and now they're not. My heart was dust and now it's not. Everyone keeps telling me that I'm safe and that 'it's all over', but what is?"

You gasped, trying to breathe in some tranquility and breathe out some of the agony twisting your insides, but all that came out was a distressing wheeze.

"How do I know that I will not disappear again?" you cried and there was no more Steve, just a curtain of water contorting his figure, like one of those paintings he loved and you never understood the meaning.

The stretcher creaked when Steve pulled you to him, rubbing your arms back as he whispered your name.

"Breathe, Y/N. Breathe."

But you were so scared of breathing. So scared that you'd taste ash again and your lungs would collapse in dust, leaving not a shred of the person you were for people to remember you by. So scared of losing a game you didn't even know you were playing.

"Steve..." You weeped, gripping his shirt tightly.

"I'm here, my love. Just breathe."

You weren't expecting him.

After two years, the hope that kept you up at night waiting for him grew tired, dwindling until it was mere utopia. So you shut the windows, changed the locks and turned off the bedside lamp. Perhaps that's what brought him to your door, you thought. Maybe, wherever he was in the world, he felt your devotion waning, so he returned to haunt you.

You had to admit, though, that of all the ways you imagined Steve Rogers coming back to you, him ringing your doorbell at midnight wasn't one of them.

He looked handsome, with shaggy blonde hair curling at his ears and a beard, and it hurt like a punch to the stomach.

It's hard when the one that hurts the most you looks so unfazed, meanwhile you're just a shell of what you used to be.

"You've lost weight," was the first thing he said, as if he'd left to grab groceries instead of becoming an international criminal.

"What are you doing here?" you replied, ignoring his greeting. If that could even be a greeting.

He sighed, mentioning with his head to the hallway behind you.

“Can I come in?”

You stepped aside, letting him walk through. You didn’t bother turning the key because if anyone really wanted to get to him they wouldn’t be worried about leaving your door in one piece. Steve stood in the middle of the living room, his hands on his waist. An onlooker would never guess that he once belonged there.

“Did you hear about Tony?” He asked when you sat down at the armchair next to the window. The one you bought together in Ikea and Steve insisted he could assemble on his own.

“Yes,” you said. Tony Stark went missing after an alien ship appeared in Midtown. It was exactly the kind of disaster that would bring Steve Rogers to New York. “Have you found him?”

“No,” he replied. “But the same aliens that took Tony attacked Vision in Edinburgh. We managed to stop them from killing him, but he’s badly wounded. When he heard about Tony we flew to the Compound.”

You nodded. It was strange how you could feel so detached from these people- Vision, Wanda, even Tony in a way. They were once your friends, your colleagues. Now they just felt like characters in Steve’s tale - no longer part of your life, only his.

“And why are you here?” you asked.

Why did you come to the home we used to share? you meant to say. Did you miss it? Did you miss me?

He shrugged.

“I thought maybe you could’ve found something on Tony and…”

“If you went to the compound it means you saw Rhodey and Rhodey has most definitely told you that I quit my job when the Avengers split,” you interrupted him. “I have no tech, no machinery, no means whatsoever to find Tony here, nothing that Rhodey has at his disposal Upstate. So why are you really here?”

He was a stranger. Cold and detached, like the house that once trapped him. There was no tenderness in the blue of his eyes.

“Something bad is coming, Y/N,” he said. “I’m not sure what it is yet, but I… I wanted to see you. I wanted to know that you were safe.”

You thought Steve Rogers was done breaking your heart. You thought that when you stopped expecting his return you’d go back to who you were before him, even if you couldn’t find that girl amongst the mess he made of you. You thought you’d be safe from love, and trust and kind soldiers with blue eyes, but you’d never be safe from him - your fellow and your foe.

“Is that all you wanted to say?” you croaked, holding back the tears swimming in your throat with a cough.

Steve fisted his hands, and for a moment you swore that he was stopping himself from holding you. But he just hung his head, tearing his gaze from where you were sitting by the window.

“Just stay home, ok?” he stated. “Try not to leave the house until this situation is resolved.”

Then he turned around and left again.

#steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x you #captain america fanfiction #steve rogers fanfic #marvel fanfiction #marvel fan fiction #marvel fanfic series #my writing #corneliabarnes #the woods

[otheenglishsetters]

WIP (AKA, I never published my work on Tumblr before and I am TERRIFIED)

Hello! I finally gave in and splurged on a Xbox this year, which may have also coincided with my rising anxiety and boredom since I’ve decided to take a year off of college (my senior year to be exact). Luckily, my boyfriend and friends, knowing how I tend to throw myself into fictional worlds when I am stressed had recommended to me this sweet little game series. It was filled with space and wonder and characters so wonderful that they will make your heart hurt.

That, dear readers, was Mass Effect. 

I had already played a little of the first game of the original trilogy at the very beginning of 2020 at my boyfriend’s house, long before all of my post-college plans came crashing down (as did the world too!) 

So I finally invested my time (and money) into Mass Effect Andromeda in November of 2020. Let me tell you, after loosing control over everything else in my life [laying panicked in bed, constantly praying that the pandemic would not claim the life of my middle aged father after already losing my mother to lung cancer just two years prior], it was unbelievably refreshing to be able to have some resemblance of control in this fictional world (And yes, I realize that this is a video game and of course I have control). And the fact that what Bioware was doing was...pretty freaking great.

So, I apologize if this is coming off a pity-party, I promise, it isn’t supposed to be. It’s more like I had just finished my first playthrough of my first videogame ever and I am filled with feelings and emotions. I never post original content on Tumblr, and that’s mostly because I got scared off posting my work after receiving mean-spirited reviews when I posted my fanfiction on Fanfiction.com years and years ago (which is fair, because looking back my work wasn’t that great, but holy crap I was 14 guys!) I have not written creatively since my high school creative writing class in senior year, but this game and this winter, I thought I would try? And hopefully get to connect with other fans? Let me know what you guys think; I’m planning to add more chapters/content soon. Okay, I’ll quit rambling...

He notices that she tends to have a lazy eye. He’s not sure when exactly he notices this, but it’s becoming more and more apparent.

Which is not a problem, absolutely not. In fact, he thinks it’s adorable in a way, especially when she’s tucked into a pillow and loudly craving sushi. 

“I wondered if she was mocking me,” Keema notes one day. Out of all the Angara Reyes has had the pleasure to meet, she still seems one of the few who can truly read humans in a non-lateral sense. Her favorite so far was when she discovered the music genres of both EDM and metal in the same day, “it wasn’t until I was approving shipping orders from the docks the other day I realized why. The Pathfinder needs glasses.”

She also loses control of her lazy eye, it seems, mostly at night, usually by 2300 hours standard time. 

“I’ve been reading studies about team bonding.”

He hums as he rubs her back. Sara, despite commenting on the numerous things she’s done throughout her day, seems wired and intent on rambling. He’s okay with that. More than okay, it’s been years practically since either of them has had a free moment to even been able to just relax in bed and daydream. They probably both haven’t been able to enjoy this luxury since they were…teens? Finishing school and about to launch themselves into the military? For him, he figures it was before that, probably when he decided to work for that florist at 12. Sara gives bits and pieces of her life in the Milky Way but he thinks she was definitely a kid who tried to ‘help��� C-Sec with their cases, constantly looking for ways to help people in any way she can. He smiles. It’s probably a never-ending itch for her. 

And now? He’s just content that he convinced her to come down to Kadara to ‘inspect Ditaeon’, or whatever bullshit she told Tann. Luckily, it seems that life is, slower? No, that’s not it, people are more than excited to create themselves anew here. Stores and trading posts are popping up everywhere and another hospital has just been built in Prodromos. There’s practically a whole shopping district in Kadara now, with outdoor venues and a movie theater that plays cinema classics every night. It’s more like they both are finally properly settled into their positions, like when a CEO is situated in a new company. Sure, the CEO may face numerous problems at first, especially if it’s during a recession or the company is about to go bankrupt. The CEO may even have to intimidate secondary managers and fight to gain respect; however, once the dust settles, whilst there may be everyday problems, it’s nothing compared to what it used to be. Usually, these problems are solved by lunchtime, mid-morning if either of them are lucky.

In the old days, when she appeared to be this amped up, Reyes would subtly (or not so subtle, it depends on how you look at it), swoon her until they had sex. It probably didn’t feel that way at the time, but sometimes Reyes cringes when he thinks of how rushed their attempts at romance used to be. Back then, they didn’t know how long she would be in the area and they would race to make the most of the evening. Now he wonders how much he used to unconsciously push aside the thought that either one of them could be dead the next day. 

Errrr. Negative bedtime thoughts. Not good for sleepytime. 

“Darling?”

“Yes?”

“Are you listening?”

“You were just telling me how you were reading various theses on social exchange theory but then you were already anxious about the thing that you have yet to tell me so you decided to read something familiar like one of the works by Dr. Brené Brown,” he pauses to give a quick glance at the data pad in his right hand. “Mi cielo, I have been informed to tell you that your contacts have been delivered as they were just sent in, along with the rest of the Tempest’s supplies, this morning.” 

He liked to think he was a good boyfriend.

“I hate when you do that.”

“What?” Listen? Dearest, it’s part of the job description as your lover. Speaking of, remind me to pick up toilet paper tomorrow.”

“No, multitask.”

He sighs and reaches up into the upper center of her back. Oof, she really is tense there. “You do it too.”

“Not at nighttime!” She scowls and rubs her eyebrow. “Ew, when did I become an old prune as soon as it gets dark?”

He starts tenderizing the hard muscle. Mentally, he makes a note to remind her later when she’s not grumpy to do her prescribed yoga. “We’re all getting older dear. I’m thirty-one and the other day I heard my knees crack.” 

She was silent. Any other fool would think that she was lost in thought while others would be jealous of the close bond she shares with her AI. Honestly, Reyes is just grateful she spends any of her time with him, let alone his bed. And if she occupies a part of it in a mental showdown with SAM, who is he to complain. 

“SAM thinks you should get an appointment. Even if Dr. Nakamoto is busy, there’s plenty of others who are just as qualified. Also, I think Peebee and Jaal are sleeping with each other.” 

  Both he and Sara know the in(s) and the outs of their jobs so well by now, that he can probably predict easily what his men will ask for even before the message is downloaded on his office’ terminal. However right now, as Reyes stops reading a report on corn being grown on Havarl that he already skimmed over this morning over his huevos rancheros, all he can think about before checking to see if he is correct is how her left non-dominant eye is floating far out to the side. 

Hmmm, who knew fraternization would be cutting into his beauty sleep? 

*************************************************

If you made it this far, thanks so much for checking this out! I apologize for any grammar mistakes. If you’re confused, this is set to take place three years after the Hyperion first makes contact with the Nexus in the Andromeda Galaxy. I was just so intrigued by the dialogue between Jaal and Peebee. And then, after the initial curiosity, I was about to forget about it when I came across some interesting dialogue while driving the Nomad...

Jaal: Vetra, I catch Peebee looking at me. Frequently.

Vetra: Peebee likes new shiny things. Uhh… and why not? You’re genuinely interesting.

#

Jaal: Vetra, remember when I told you that Peebee was looking at me? Frequently?

Vetra: Yeah? Is it getting annoying? Want me to say something?

Jaal: No, no, no. It’s… just that… lately, I find myself… looking back. 

Vetra: Huh.

**

So of course I had to dig into that! And what better way to do so than by using my new favorite ship: Reyes and Sara? (Domestic times!)

Anyways friends, hopefully my writing isn’t awful and you enjoyed yourselves. I may wake up in the morning and delete this. Who knows. 

Have a great day guys!

#Sara Ryder x Reyes Vidal #Pathfinder Sara Ryder #Ryder x Reyes #Ryder x Vidal #Reyes Vidal #keema dohrgun #peebee #peebee b'sayle #pelessaria b'sayle #background peebee x jaal #jaal ama darav #when asari and angarans have fun #Poor Pathfinder #drabble #please be nice to me #domestic Reyes x Ryder #domestic Ryder x Reyes #domestic and happy Sara Ryder x Reyes #Reyes Vidal and Sara Ryder #mass effect andromeda #me:a #fanfiction

[the-murphyshow]

Atlas // A Bellamy Blake Playlist

King - Laure Aquilina ‘’Rid of the monsters inside your head, Put all your faults to bed, You can be King again // You lost your mind in the sound, There's so much more, you can reclaim your crown.’’

What you wanted - OneRepublic ‘’The only thing left in your life, I would kill for you, that’s right // I'll put your poison in my veins, They say the best love is insane, I'll light your fire till my last day, I'll let your fields burn around me // If that's what you wanted.’’

Flares - the script ‘’Did you see the sparks filled with hope? You are not alone, Cause someone's out there, sending out flares.’’

Mt. Washington - Local natives ‘’Lazy summer goddess, You can tell our whole empire // I don't have to see you right now, I don't have to see you right now.’’

Sound the bugle - Bryan Adams ‘’Now I can't go on, I can't even start I've got nothing left, just an empty heart // I'm a soldier: wounded so I must give up the fight, There's nothing more for me, lead me away, Or leave me lying here.’’

The mortal boy king - the paper kites ‘’Sometimes it ends too soon, And I don't want to sleep // And maybe if I hold you now, would you hold me now?’’

Outro - M83 ‘’Facing tempests of dust, I'll fight until the end, Creatures of my dreams, raise up and dance with me. Now and forever, I'm your king’’

747 (we ran out of time) - Kent ‘’You're such a killer, So shoot me down again, It won’t hurt when the killing is done by a friend // Maybe this time it won’t heal, Maybe this time it will bleed till I’m free.’’

#the 100 #the 100 playlist #Bellamy Blake #bellamy blake playlist #song list #song lyrics #bellarke #my post #atlas playlist

[claude-frollo-archives]

Imposed Fate

Imposed Fate A Count Duckula Story

Chapter 1. Prelude of a Nightmare

       One fateful date, Tuesday 7 April 1870, Richter Von Gosling, a student of the arts of healing, decided to visit Transylvania in order to shed light upon a mysterious and disquieting subject, which was a case of vampirism. Legends and stories about the undead had the young scholar read before, yet he remained  sceptical, until his colleague and confidant Reinfelt witnessed an attack by one of those creatures, and not an ordinary one but Count Duckula himself, a feudal Lord supposed to be dead centuries ago. Despite of the absurdity of the notion, Richter was not to doubt his friend; therefore, he had to investigate in more detail about this terrible menace and put it to rest.

   The evening of Gosling's arrival, a thunderstorm loomed above the village, the weather cold and windy but rain was not to fall yet. Not a soul could be found wandering on the streets, there was a sense of quietude, a preface of the storm that soon would be unleashed over the town. Despite the feeling of impeding peril, inside the public house 'Ye Tooth and the Jugular' the mood appeared to be festive, with the regular crowd assembled for a pint or two, regardless the tragedies of life. In this place, the scholar found refuge as well as some more information concerning the malevolent aristocrat provided by the innkeeper and the parishioners. Gosling thought the recently gained knowledge would be enough to prepare a scheme to destroy the vampire.

    During the following days, the scientist worked in the development of a mechanism designed to shoot a wooden stake but cleverly set inside a camera. When the contraption was completed, the gander headed towards Castle Duckula, an ominous fortress that oversaw the village from atop a hill. Presenting himself as a photographer from a newspaper, Gosling attempted to gain access to the castle and destroy the Count; these actions would end the suffering of the villagers and bring peace to Transylvania. No time was wasted once he entered the Castle. Introductions were quick, the battle between Count Duckula and Von Gosling finished as quickly as it started and not even Igor -faithful manservant of the undead Count- was able to interfere. However, due the thrilling sensation of triumph, the scientist returned to the town without realizing that the stake managed to harm Duckula, but it failed to stab through the Count's heart.

    "Got him, the vampire is destroyed! ..." Exclaimed the deluded scholar as he rushed his way back to the village bellow, eager to tell what he assumed to be good news. "... The beast is no more!"

     Meanwhile, the Count lied motionless on the stone ground. Igor knelt beside his defeated master, lifting the wounded vampire on both his arms. "... Master, Master! ..." The old vulture sobbed in anguish, fearing this to be the last hour.

   "... Is all right, Igor! …" Duckula replied as he rose to his feet, dusting and straightening his suit jacket. Praised the Abyss, his Lordship was not slaughter, much to Igor's relief. "It was just a mere scratch …" The Count added with anger on his raspy voice. "... But he shall pay for this ... he shall pay!" He growled and proceeded to concentrate his energy in order to cast a spell. "... Come here, to my aid, oh winds of north, I summon your powers---…"

   "Milord... if I may be so bold to provide advice... I must remind his Lordship that the appropriate way to conjure for the assistance of this element, Sire, would be quite simpler: ‘come gust of wind and be wild’… Brief but no less effective, of course" Igor admonished his Master on the proper casting of dark incantations.

   "Thank you Igor, I had almost failed to remember that part … Anyway, you had already cast the spell, so you have heard it wind, obey our demand and be wild!" With that, the Count cackled with cruel glee, an aura appeared to surround his frame and a red spark was ignited on both his eyes, like flames of fire as he began to transform, while outside the fortress, gust of heavy wind gathered to form a dreadful tempest.

   Oblivious of the dangers ahead, Gosling stormed into the tavern. "… Is done!--- The vampire--- destroyed! ..." The gander addressed the landlord, though he was out of breath and could barely articulate a word.

    "What do you mean, young man?" The perplexed innkeeper questioned, while three peasants seated on a corner enjoying their last drink of the night, just had to listen and stare with curiosity.

    "… ... What I am trying to say is that the vampire fiend is no more!---..." Gosling recomposed before resuming his speech in a serious tone. "... The Count now rests in peace, finally there would be no more suffering ... is over." He softly stated, honestly believing that evil was successfully vanquished.

   A tense silence filled the inn until one of the peasants reacted. "... That is impossible!" He muttered in disbelief. "… Count Duckula defeated, requiring no effort?!" Added the landlord in dismay. "Yes, on the times past, I know the tale, the vampire was destroyed... but he was cornered by a group of vampire slayers! When we talked about the Count, I never thought you would attempt something so stupid, what have you done, lad?!"

   Gosling was completely appalled, realising something must have gone wrong and to learn that the Count was previously overcame, then who was this Duckula he had just met?! However, before the scholar was able to find his voice, the farmer seated near the window screamed in fear. "He is leaving the Castle! ..." Every fowl residing at the hostelry turned to the window. They saw the rainstorm and a giant bat flying from the castle in direction of the village. In matter of few minutes, chaos settled on the town: the wind destroyed some of the houses, demolishing the roofs of the buildings. Duckula on his bat form attacked people running outside in a futile attempt to seek shelter from the storm; others tried to escape the wooden debris carried by the whirlwind, people cried in panic, the peaceful slumber of the village residents turned into a nightmare.

   "Where are you, my dear Gosling?! Not so brave to defeat me?! ..." The evil laugh from the Count could be heard amid the commotion. "... Come, come out to play, do not make me wait!"

    "I am afraid he is calling for you!" Exclaimed the innkeeper’s wife who stood on top of the staircase, from there she threw Gosling’s luggage; the two suitcases landed loudly at his feet. "If you have any respect for anything sacred, get out of my house! ..." She ordered furiously, pointing to the main door of the hostel. "... Away with you!"

   "Wait, please!--- I don't understand! …" Gosling stammered. "My intentions were honourable; I was only trying to be of aid!”

    "Yeah, thank you for your help, you just made everything worse for our village!" Retorted an angry peasant. "Why did you have to mess with the Count?! Now his wrath is unstoppable, he would go on rampage until sunrise and is all your fault!"

   "I did try to do something, while you appear to accept this fate without resistance, why you don't fight back? For what reason you would even stay in a place like this?!" Although the scientist's response came out with a hint of defiance, in truth there was guilt within his heart.

   "Because this is our home, foolish lad! …" Replied the proprietress without hesitation. "We shall not abandon our land! If someone has to leave, that would be you!”

   "Very well said, Madam! Now you, go away!" A peasant urged Gosling to walk out the inn. "Hope he eats you, better you than us!"

   "Came on folks…" The landlord interceded. "… Don’t be cruel with the outsider, he couldn't know any better, after all he is only a boy."

   "… Oh nein, I am not! I will show you, I … I shall stop that fiend at once!"

    "No, if you go out he will kill you!---..." The innkeeper warned but he was unheard. Von Gosling stepped out the tavern and the sight of destruction and the monstrous vampire bat, rendered him to freeze in fright. However, the landlord had followed him and he placed the travel cases on Gosling's hands. "Come on, son … I wish I never told you about the Count." He said with regret and grabbing the young doctor by the arm, he led him to the back door of the tavern despite protest of the parishioners but some of them were to agree on the fact that at the present it would be for the best to escape.

    "I don't care if this is the land where I was born!--- The stranger was right--- I don't want to die!" Despaired one of the farmers as he hurried out to prepare a cart and soon enough, several of the town's people had joined him. Before Gosling was able to object, the innkeeper pushed him inside the stagecoach. From above, Duckula witnessed these actions and he was utterly amused. The giant bat could deliver an attack directly towards the doctor, given how easy was to detect him due his antiquated attire and the camera he was carrying; still, he interfered not for he had mused a greater plan since the instant he laid his eyes on Von Gosling. "That mortal had come to face me--- he failed no doubt, but he arrived on his own choice ... or maybe was it a design of fate? ..." The creature growled quietly. "... Nevertheless, I detected on him no greed for a reward or a desire of fame, not even a wish for vengeance ... What a disgusting attitude! However ... Could it be?---.... ... I wonder... ..."

   In the meantime, the doctor was still unable to fathom the burden he would be carrying now that the threads of fate had been tampered with. ".... Sir., oh please I---... I thank you ..." Gosling at last found his voice to express gratitude to the innkeeper. "... I will be praying Gott for your souls until I am able to come back---..."

   "Prayers?! ... Don't trouble yourself, it would be of no use" Said one of the villagers, quietly and embittered. "... God have forgotten about us."

   "That cannot be true! I shall pray for you all, our Lord will never forget His children!" Gosling stated firmly as the cart began to move.

   "Well, then I pray God I will never see your face again … may He bless and keep you!" Von Gosling frowned in sadness, lowering his head upon hearing those last words from the proprietor of 'Ye Tooth and the Jugular', the man who had just saved his life.

   As the stagecoach departed from the village, Gosling silently stared at the silver cross pendant he had on his hands, a gift from his mother that now held a much more profound significance. "… So, they believe our Lord has forgotten, ja? ..." He lamented in shame and remorse; no matter his efforts or his courageous discourse, in the end he was left trembling with fear in times help was most needed, it was an absolute disgrace. "… … I am to return, this is not over yet--- this awful mistake must be corrected … I will be back; that fiend shall be destroyed, I am going to save all those souls ... is a promise!"

           Later, at the break of dawn, the Count had enough leisure time and his thirst was quenched, so he returned to his fortress. As expected, Igor was patiently waiting for his master's arrival. "Did you find that miserable mortal, Master?" Greeted the sinister butler.

    "Ah, I let him go …" Duckula replied calmly, tonelessly even, like if the latest episode were of no relevance.

   The vulture raised a brow with suspicion at the Count’s answer; after such an eventful evening, this behaviour from the master was something unforeseen. "… I am not sure, Sire … you should have taken the life of that wretched miscreant ... or perhaps brought him here to me, I could have offered that Gosling a most proper … … care."

   "Worry not, dear Igor." The Count spoke, a grin crept onto his beak. "... Amongst all the pleasant visitors we have received through these the years, this one had proven to be the most interesting opponent".

    "Oh indeed, Milord, Indeed! There is no use on finishing the fun so early …" Igor rubbed his hands in pleased anticipation of the delightfully wicked punishments he would be able to inflict over that insolent gander.

    "That is right; you got the idea, my Igor!" The Count chuckled darkly. "… He is coming back, I assure you, and I will be waiting …" Then, the vampire grabbed Igor by the necktie, pulling his head down to meet his gaze. "After all … ..." Duckula continued, lowering his voice into a threatening though gleeful snarl. "… We have plenty of time ... … … don’t we, Igor?!"

________________

This is the first chapter from an old fanfiction of mine I am re-writing (began in 2009, is 2020 not completed yet, only three chapters are ready), is an attempt to set a prequel for the Count Duckula series, based on the Dear Diary and The Rest is History episodes, a particular scene that appears on the show's intro, the Castlevania games and last but certainly not least, Dracula the novel. Posting it here now as an experiment given I have no idea how it would look like on Tumblr, and so happy to see fans of the series!

Count Duckula and the characters on this chapter belong to Cosgrove Hall.

#duckula #count duckula

[elisende]

Songs in the Night (1/?)

Characters: Halsin/OMC, Astarion, Wyll, Gale

Rating: M (will change in later chapters)

Words: 1262

Warnings: Violence

Summary: Only the desperate would choose to descend to the Underdark. But Halsin, Langoth, and his companions are desperate--and out of alternatives. For Halsin, the Underdark contains memories more dangerous than any monster. Revenants of a dark past waiting to reclaim him from his lover's arms. The danger is no less for Langoth and his comrades, who will confront their own nightmares in the depths beneath.

Author’s Note: Well met! Here's the thing: as I write this, we're at the end of BG 3 Early Access and can only make an informed guess about what comes next - so this is a kinda hybrid post-canon, eventually canon-divergent series. That being said, some upcoming plot points will be informed by datamined information about Ketheric Thorm and the Nightsong.  Proceed with caution if you want to remain unspoiled. I'll add another A/N to the chapters with spoiler-y content, likely not until the latter part of the series. 

This will be a multichapter adventure (huzzah!) becoming darker/angsty around the middle (gulp!) and ending on a positive note (yay!).

While though the tempest loudly roars,

I hear the truth, it liveth.

And though the darkness ‘round me close,

Songs in the night it giveth.

Traditional

Halsin experienced a familiar dread as they descended from the ruined temple into the Underdark.  Born of the stale air, the way the bare rock hollowed the echoes of their footsteps and hushed words.  Memories rose like revenants, unbidden.  He steadied himself with a glance at his beloved.

Astarion, ever sensitive to the undercurrents, said, “Has someone died?  Are we going to be grim and silent the whole way down?”

Wyll snorted.  “No, mate, we’ll be stopping in a bit to have another party.  We invited the tieflings back for another round, didn’t you hear?”

The ranger was outwardly composed; only his eyes betrayed any disquiet.  

“Well, we all know Langoth isn’t much one for parties,” Astarion said, baring his fangs in a sort of hybrid of smile and snarl.  The vampire spawn was stubborn with his grudges, Halsin had noted.  Eager to cling to past slights.  He was certain there was reason for that beyond mere jealousy but the chances of getting close enough to him to learn those reasons were slim.

“Children, children,” Gale said, raising his hands in placation.  “Don’t argue, you’ll wake the duergar.”

“What no one tells you about adventuring is that it’s ninety percent boredom and ten percent raining entrails,” Astarion grumbled with a woeful sigh that said you can’t even make a joke around here.

“Gale is right,” Halsin said.  “Things long dormant reside in the Underdark.  Best not to disturb them.”

Astarion’s eye roll was so dramatic it couldn’t be missed even in the gloom of the dank stair.  But he said no more and each was left alone with his own thoughts.  Halsin ran through his regrets like a long-remembered prayer, unable to escape their compelling call.  It was enough to make him wish Astarion would start prattling again.

The stair spilled onto ruins thick with desiccated corpses at least a century old.  Skulls riven by ax blades, chests bristling with black arrows.  The silence beyond was somehow watchful.

“What is this place?” Langoth’s soft voice seemed to be absorbed into the unending darkness around them.  Halsin suppressed a shudder.

“The dwarf said something of an ancient fort,” he said.  “These are Selune’s faithful, if I had to guess.”  

Wyll held his torch aloft to inspect one of the skeletons, illuminating a silver emblem that bore the goddess’s mark.  “Think you might be onto something, Halsin.”

“So--sorry, are we talking now?” Astarion said with an ironic smile.  “Let’s just look around for anything useful and move on.  This place is… creepy, whatever it is.  And not in a good way.”

“For once, I find myself in agreement with the vampire spawn,” Gale said.  “There is some dark magic here.  Let’s get whatever we need and go forth.”

Langoth squinted into the distance, where a shaft of light beamed down from some unseen source.  “Very well.  A quick sweep.”

There was little to be found; a few decaying log books that confirmed their suspicions about the fort’s defenders, some rusty weapons and moldering provisions.  The center courtyard was warded by a magnificent statue of Selune holding aloft a magicked gem; they all stared at it, transfixed by its power.  “Strange,” Langoth said, his voice tight with apprehension.

They turned as one at the sound of quiet snorting outside the black iron gate.  Halsin’s blood chilled in his veins.  He had never seen a minotaur so close--few who did ever lived to tell of it.  

It stamped and brayed, enraged by their mere presence.

Langoth’s face went bloodless with terror.  He drew his sword and held it aloft as he started spitting out commands.  “Gale, above the gate.  Wyll, stand back on the rear stair--”

But his next orders were cut off as the minotaur charged the gate, throwing it down as though it were made of willow branches rather than wrought iron.  It howled again, knocking them back with the force of its assault.

What followed could only be described as carnage.  

Gale went down in the first attack, his chest partly caved in by the minotaur’s horn, darkening the front of his robes with blood.  Halsin ran to his side, whispering healing words to restore some life to the wizard’s broken body.  He held his breath as the spells did their work and Gale staggered to his feet with a moan.

He turned back to the fight to see Astarion sinking his dagger deep into the minotaur’s side; its bellow resounded in the dark like a thunderclap in the night.  Wyll blasted it with an infernal cantrip.  Halsin felt a ripple of hope, a lightness in his heart--perhaps they would survive this encounter.

Then a second minotaur came screaming from the darkness beyond the fort and his hope curdled into dread.  

The flagged floor was painted red with their blood within minutes.  Time lost meaning as Halsin ran from one man to the next, healing gashes and broken bones and bleeding organs and landing a blow on the minotaurs where he could.  But he might have been swinging his club at the stone pillars for all the good it did.  

Astarion’s scream shook the timbers of the ancient fort as he was caught between the two minotaurs, unable to escape.  They had succeeded in pinning him down.  Overwhelmed by battle rage and fear, Halsin felt the bear claim him.  

His fury was easier in this form: less complex, more satisfying to wield.  He loped over to the minotaurs, parting them with a vicious attack that finally drew blood.  The bear savored its taste, barely noticing that the vampire spawn took the opening to slip away.  One minotaur followed and the bear cornered the other, standing on his hind legs to roar before launching another furious onslaught against the monster.

The bear did not hear the exclamations behind him, the companions shouting his name, begging the druid’s aid.  It wasn’t the first time his rage had rendered him deaf and blind with tragic consequences.  He finally turned away from the corpse of the first minotaur to see Langoth lying face down in a pool of blood, his body broken beneath the triumphant howl of the second beast.

The shock was enough to call him back, gasping, to his druid form.  The monster leapt away to harry Gale again and Halsin staggered over to Langoth’s ruined body, senselessly shouting his name.  

But his lover was far beyond hearing: he was dead.

*

When Langoth opened his eyes, he thought he’d awoken in one of the strange illithid dreams that had tormented him, where a being with the druid’s face tried to tempt him with empty promises.  It had the same peculiar light, the same airless quality.

But there was no dim facsimile of Halsin here.  There was nothing at all, other than colorless earth beneath his feet and the grey smudge of a horizon.

Where am I?  he asked aloud.  But there was no noise when he spoke.  Nor was there a smell to the soil, to the air.  Desperation rising, he tried to scream.  But once again, there was no sound.

As if in answer to Langoth’s silent cry, Halsin’s voice rang out, distant but clear.  He was calling Langoth’s name, despair inscribed in each syllable.

That was when Langoth realized he was dead.  He was in the Fugue Plane now, the waypoint between the mortal world and what lay beyond.  He fell to his knees.  

All was dust.

#halsin #bg3 Halsin #fanfiction #fanfic #langoth #halsin/omc #songs in the night #astarion #wyll #baldur's gate gale #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 fanfic #bg 3