#fire works bringer of death

[shadesoflsk]

MILLION DOLLAR BLOODLINE — Traición

Dealing with the case in hand, you come across with some valuable clues. Check my million dollar bloodline masterlist for general warnings.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

pairing: Vampire/Agent Leon x Fem Detective reader

warnings: Sexism (from the press again) few mentions of gore and death, fucked up government, scent (First glimpes of Leon's vampire qualities yay)

author's note: hi... I'm writing this with one eye closed... exhaustion is taking over me and it may show in this chapter. as always, if you see any mistake, you don't. don't even perceive them. thank you so much and love yall.

“Thank God a man stepped in!”

A new headline, a new story being told. It’s rather frustrating to know that no matter what, reality would be twisted to the journalists’ desire and let the only person who actually cares about the case burn in the flames of depiction and hatred just for the ‘sin’ of being a woman. 

The same shameless and brutal words are printed in a bright red that resembles the fresh blood of those leaders of the city. In many readers’ eyes and minds, they were expecting to finally see a man taking the case and bringing ‘success’ even though it’s doomed to fail.

No one grieves more than someone who has lost everything—but your right to fight is still running deep in your veins. With a grunt, you throw the newspaper on your desk, almost spilling the black coffee you were previously drinking. 

It’s been less than a day since the candidate was found dead. The cause of death? Suicide which was, in a way, surprising. From the number of politicians who have “left this cruel world,” Mr Clark's scene of the crime gave enough proof that you were facing a real self-homicide case. 

In front of you lay countless folders and confidential documents that the police department has collected from the first victim to the last one. The only obvious connection all of the victims shared was that all of them were Tier A individuals. People who wouldn’t disappear to find ‘the real meaning’ of life and would surely not kill themselves without a murder weapon. 

So, even a rookie detective could surmise that most of those crimes were the smokescreen of something way bigger brewing in the shadows of the city. A city whose beliefs and faith in the government are so cracked now that not even the most nationalist citizens could find peace in their hometown.

A sigh leaves your lips, one that shows the tiredness in your system and heart. Sometimes, the feeling of walking in circles clouds your judgment and overall sanity. In hindsight, a detective ought to be a rightful and morally white person who would walk on fire just for the sake of truth and justice. But each time your eyes land on the atrocious clues you have gathered, the desire to throw away everything gets harder to bear.

Next to the pile of documents and boxes, on your desktop, is a photo frame which shows a younger version of yourself. Beaming pearly white smile with shiny eyes that could blind the camera itself, saying that you were happy was an understatement, you were delighted.

Truthfully speaking, you were naive. You loved to tell everyone you were going to be different, the exception of the rule, the one and only, justice bringer. But in reality, the sole fact you didn’t feel sympathy for those rich people tells you that maybe you weren’t so different. 

Or were you?

Fighting between your drowsiness and the obligation to continue working on this case, you grab the envelope Leon previously gave you. A yawn gets stuck in your throat, not allowing any sign of exhaustion to show in your face right now. 

The first thing that greets you is a document you quite don’t understand at first. The black words are blurry, proof of how much you need to sleep. A body can’t function without resting but you can’t function if work is due. Soft slaps around your face and a long-needed sip of the black caffeine liquid will do for now. 

“Life Insurance…” Your lips work on their own as you read the title, written in black ink. The font style proves the authenticity of the document. Dated July 1979, the legal paper started with the log of a woman’s name and age. 

Patricia Clark Powell, 28. American, caucasian. Marital status: Married. Children: 2. Now this is something. 

Reading each word carefully, leaving no detail off the table, a rather big number got your attention. After a long overview of this woman’s life details, you come across a table that shows the life insurance payout.

The main and only beneficiary was Robert Clark, he'd inherit the absurd and grotesque amount of 5 million dollars. 

But the catch here was that the only requirement to claim the insurance was the death certificate of the insured party, meaning that Patricia had to pass away.

You set aside the document for now. Your fingers graze over the corner of the paper to turn it.

A picture, no, several pictures come into your vision. All of them are colored and clear as water. The shoot is not perfect, as if someone was hiding while taking those photos.

The camera is positioned on a table. Hence the awkward angle it shows, nonetheless the main focus is on two people sitting down. 

The table, the walls, and overall decorations are an obvious giveaway of the place they were in. An expensive and pretentious restaurant that only the rich can afford. A stroke to their damned egos knowing that they could buy and eat a whole cow if they wanted to. Not before wiping any crumbs with a one thousand-dollar check.

You squint your eyes and even lean forward to try and inspect in great detail each part of the picture—detective skills kicking in, you may say.

The man on the right has a neatly trimmed mustache, and bushy eyebrows that match his hair color, black. He's wearing a navy blue suit with a gray tie. Very office-like and rather different from his counterpart next to him who wears a hoodie and a cigarette between his lips. The angle showing the faintest details of a tattoo on his right hand, which holds the cigarette. 

Flipping through the pictures, you see many more of them but just from different positions. Yet the main highlight is the now obvious identity of the man who exposes himself to the camera's lenses. 

Robert Clark. 

The last document is a newspaper headline. “CRIMINAL FUGITIVES” it reads and shows several mugshots of criminals who escaped prison over these last five years. Under the pictures, a text box includes some characteristics of the ex-prisoners. Your attention falls on a specific name. 

The picture shows a man with brown hair and brown eyes, a stubble growing on his jaw and cheeks. Why was he convicted? Organized crime and contract killing, a hitman in other words. The text described the man as a 5’9 male with no moles and no notorious scars. 

But a tattoo on his right hand.

Before you can even process everything you have read and seen, the ring of a phone breaks the solemn silence that has set in your office. Sliding to where the phone was, you pick up the call.

And before you could even utter a word, someone started the conversation first.

“Hey there, Sherlock.” A man’s voice greets you. Deep but smooth tone, easy to distinguish. 

“Mr. Kennedy.” You reply, brushing off the nickname he just gave you. “What a timing.”

“Why is that?” Playing dumb, Leon shoots his question. 

“I just finished reading the documents you gave me.” A seed of confusion is planted in your statement as you try to make up your mind with the information you just registered. “Where did you get all of this?” You say pressing the speaker closer to your mouth, whispering the words.

“Feeling curious, aren’t we?” Mock oozes from his tone, but there is a hint of genuine playfulness in his speech, as if delighted to be the one providing the confidential information. “You know… As much as I want to tell you, I just can’t.”

“Why?”

“Oh? Am I being questioned?” If you were next to him, you’d see the smirk that has formed on his face. And if you indeed were, a slap would be planted on his cheek, for sure. 

Leon continues being a puzzle you couldn’t solve. From the first (and only) moment you met him, his odd and shared disdain for the rich baffled you. You can’t seem to break through the world inside his head.

“Does it feel like I'm questioning you?”

“Kinda.”

“Forget it.” You shrug, leaving the topic as it is. There’s no point in trying to make Leon spit the truth. At least, not now. “But this is truly a key piece to this investigation.”

“That I know,” Leon replies. “But as I told you yesterday, don’t do anything stupid.” 

Silence fills the call as you take in what Leon said, or rather, repeated. 

“Oh?” Bitterly, you retort. “So you think I’ll do something stupid? It’s funny, all of my male colleagues always told me that.”

“I didn’t mean it like tha—”

“Oh course you didn’t.” Sarcasm was dripping from your words. “Nobody does.” You add with an exhausted sigh coming out from your lips.

“No, but I truly didn’t mean it.” He finally finishes his sentence as your pause allows him to interrupt you. 

“Look, sorry… I’ve dealt with these people ever since I remember and It’s just so… fucked up.” He adds. “You’re better than those dickhead detectives. I assure you.”

Now that you think about it, you may have overreacted. But then again, it wasn’t your fault. Being surrounded by people who discriminate and minimize every hardship you face, built a hard shell no one could break through. 

Instead of sticking to the awkward topic and Leon’s reassuring words, you decide to change the direction of this exchange. 

“Why did you call, Leon?” You ask, a tear forming in your eye due to the lack of sleep and the imminent yawn that threatens to escape from your mouth. 

The polite and tactful pattern was broken as soon as his name slipped from your lips. No agent nor Mr. Kennedy. For now, he is just Leon. 

Carrying a hint of embarrassment given his previous poor choice of words, he replies to your question.

“Mr. Clark’s wife is holding a funeral for him. I was going to tell you in case you wanted to go.”

His words catch your attention, the funeral could be the perfect opportunity to secretly investigate Patricia. In hindsight, a hunch tells you she isn’t involved—at least directly— in the candidate’s death. But it could give you some clues you may have overlooked.

“Are you going?”

“I might.”

You absentmindedly nod, acknowledging his answer. 

“Got it…” You play with the phone’s cord. “I’ll see you there, I guess.”

The chapel shimmers with almost blinding lights. Even though the nature of a funeral is dull and gloomy, the contrast is obvious. The whole setting is the perfect opportunity to show off, once again, the money that was being spent on it. The air is filled with raw indifference and overall pure narcissism. 

The lack of mourning and tears throw you off, especially when you feel like an outsider, you don’t belong here. Besides the fact that, of course, no matter how much you worked you could never afford the type of brand every individual was wearing—there is this feeling you can’t brush off. 

Your eyes travel over the room, searching for the wife now a widow. It is easy to get distracted by the mingling of certain guests and hushed laughs. Time and place… you thought.

What is supposed to be a thousand agonies and a sea of sorrow turns out to be the perfect act of grief. Let God be the judge of these people who surround themselves in the miseries of others. 

Amidst your judgment of everyone in the room, your task of finding Mrs Clark comes to an abrupt stop as a figure you recognize makes its appearance. Now wearing a dark blue suit, Leon’s frame is unmistakable. 

He’s next to a woman, brunette hair that reaches her back. A black fascinator is perfectly placed on her head, a wave of cringiness washes over you for the choice of fashion she went with. That must be Patricia Clark.

Confident but subtle, the cackling sounds of your high heels mix with the hushed chit-chat of those in the room. At last, it comes to a stop as you find yourself behind the widow and Leon who had previously acknowledged your presence. 

And for a moment, your eyes lock with the agent’s who wears an expression that could only be described as an attempt to warn you about something. But for now, you drift your attention towards the task at hand.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Clark.” You extend your hand while you introduce yourself. “I’m so sorry for your loss.” 

Manners, of course. You couldn’t feel sorry, especially now that you know that besides being an empty-headed politician, Robert Clark was an almost-murderer. 

However, you regret the fact that you chose the polite way of approaching as soon as your hand reached the air instead of the brunette-haired woman’s hand. Then, you realized this wouldn’t be as easy as you had thought.

A bemused expression forms in your face but it fades rather quickly as you remember your objective here. Taken aback, you pull your hand away before bringing them both behind your back. 

Leon doesn’t seem surprised by the blatant uncordial treatment Mrs. Clark just gave you. A sneer is present in his face as if he were saying ‘I told you so.’

“Don’t take it personal, darling.” Her voice tone reeks of arrogance and a know-it-all feeling. “I’ve been here for God knows how long. My hand may as well fall off if I keep shaking hands.”

There was no reason to feel amused by the whole interaction, you have dealt with these types of people before. But, the coldness and tactlessness of her words throw you off.

“I understand.” You feign agreement as if the fact that her husband is fucking dead is merely a minor detail. “But please, allow me to share my condolences. A woman as young as yourself shouldn’t be experiencing this.”

You resort to false praise words. There’s nothing else these fuckheads love more than people licking their shoe soles and acting like they are the only people living in the world. 

“It’s indeed difficult.” The woman brings her hand to her eyes, wiping the nonexistent tears that were supposed to be there. “My husband preferred to shoot himself instead of continuing being the man of the house.”

What a bitch.

Glancing at Leon, you find him crouching down in front of an infant. Given his brown hair, he must be one of the two Mr. and Mrs. Clark's children. 

“Is that your son?” You ask. 

“Yes…” An exasperated sigh again. As if she doesn't want to be here. In a sense, it is comprehensible but her overall personality wouldn't allow you to feel an ounce of sympathy. 

“How's he dealing with everything?” And after that question, you believe Mrs. Clark will snap at you any time now.

“Like every other kid would.” She replies, sparing not even a glance toward her own child. “He prefers her nanny anyway.”

Mentally cursing the mother, your lips tug a forced smile, one that doesn't reach your eyes but symbolizes the end of this meaningless conversation.

Your eyes travel until they land on Leon and the kid. The little one's eyes seem wet with tears that he so bravely holds back. 

Talking to children and elderly people was always the most difficult part of this job. Ever since you took it, those were your soft spot and Achilles’ ankle.

Leon notices your hesitation and motions you to join him. Scooting a bit, he gives you some space for you to crouch down too.

Greetings haven't been exchanged yet, instead of a hello, Leon welcomes you with a name.

“Lucas.” He whispers as you lower yourself to be at eye level with the infant. 

You nod. 

Lucas looks no older than 5 years old. A mop of brunette curly hair adorns his head. 

“Hi Lucas…” You give the little boy a gentle and warm smile. He blinks some tears that fall from his cheeks to the ground. 

There's no response, which it's okay. Unlike his mother's behavior, you know this innocent human is actually grieving. 

You take your time as tiny hiccups and soft sobs keep Lucas from forming actual sentences. 

“Lucas, this my friend.” It was Leon’s turn to speak. His usual chatty tone was replaced by an almost fatherly voice. “You told me you like making friends, didn't you?”

You watch as the little one slowly nods and wipes away the tears that keep rolling down his face. But this time, his sobs are coming to a stop.

“Are you daddy's friend?” He finally asks. However, the question was one you didn't expect. 

“Yes.” You lie, as a detective you are used to telling white and not so white lies just for the sake of finding a bigger truth. But lying to a child wasn't something you were looking for. 

“Okay…” Lucas responds and looks at both of you and Leon. A flick of light between the living hell of those pretentious people who act like they care.

“Daddy must be proud to see how strong you're right now.” Leon speaks once again and you witness how he ruffles Lucas’ hair in an attempt to cheer him up. 

“You think so?” Lucas’ voice, for one, is higher than just a whisper. And for the first time, you notice how he's missing one of his teeth. “Daddy always told me to be as strong as him every time he went to the doctor.”

The word doctor set both of you and Leon off. According to Robert Clark's medical history, he was a healthy individual. No illness and not even allergies. 

“Doctor? Was your daddy sick?”

“Weren't you daddy's friend? You should know…” You didn't expect to be outsmarted by a kid.

“Your daddy didn't want us to worry.” Second lie on the day, you're keeping count. “That's why he never told us.”

A pause lingers in the air as you reply to the child. It takes a while before he can answer your question as if conditioned not to talk about his father's doctor visits.

“He sometimes went to the doctor,” Lucas explains after a few seconds of reluctance. “He told me not to tell mommy or nanny. Maybe he didn't want them to worry too.”

“Was your daddy sick?” Leon asks in the same gentle tone he has kept throughout the conversation.

“Dunno…” Lucas pouts. “Doctor was also daddy’s friend.”

The kid’s naivety is providing you with more information than his mother could give you. Of course, his guileless wouldn’t serve any purpose legally speaking. But, it can give you some insight into Mr Clark’s background and motive.

And once again, you don’t have time to process the information as the rumbling of a stomach guides your attention toward Lucas.

“Sir?” Lucas’ eyes meet Leon’s blue ones. “Mommy said she’s busy… But I’m hungry.”

Leon offers Lucas a kind smile.

“Tell you what, kiddo. There’s a coffee shop near here, I’ll buy you something to eat.”

Lucas’ eyes seem to get brighter at the prospect of eating, it leads you to think how long has it been since he last ate something. 

When you are turning your back to follow Leon out of the chapel—because there was no way would stay there for a second longer— you feel a tiny hand wrapping around your sleeve. 

“Miss.” A pause and a deep breath. “Do you think daddy’s in heaven?”

“...”

“Yes, he is.” The third and last lie.

You tag along with Leon, both of you walking down the street until you reach a coffee shop. No words are exchanged and a rather awkward silence sets between both of you. 

Your mind is somewhere else while your body works on its own. You don’t even notice when Leon asks you something, too worried about the case, too scared something bigger than you may eat you whole if you keep poking your nose where it doesn’t belong. 

However, as stubborn as you could be, justice needs to prevail. 

While biting the inside of your cheeks, Leon’s words bring you back from your trance. “Hey? I asked you if you wanted something.” 

You come to notice that you have already walked towards the cash register. Both the cashier and Leon’s eyes fall on you. 

“An Americano.”

You come up with the quickest answer you could think of. You watch Leon take out his wallet and pay with cash. 

Eventually, both of your orders plus Lucas’ are called and you decide to take a break albeit your attempt at telling Leon there was no time to lose. 

“So… any luck with Mrs. Newly Widow?” Leon asks as he takes a bite of his sandwich. 

“Nope.” You stir your coffee and blow some air. “Didn’t know she would be so difficult to deal with.”

“Well, she’s no more difficult than you.” He replies jokingly with a feeble smirk on his face. 

“Oh, you’re funny. How many times have you used that one with other people?” You retort, the sarcastic answer flying so gracefully out of your lips as if you have been ready for one of his remarks. 

“See! That’s what I’m talking about.” He gestures at you. “I’m trying to be friends with you but you push me away.”

Silence dawns upon both of you as you exhale. Although Leon has been nothing but respectful—in his own way— the fear of looking polite and weak with a colleague is still very much present. 

Dropping the act of being cold and emotionless isn’t something that you are looking for nor planning to do. Not until you could show the world that you are, in fact, as capable as any other man. 

“Look, Leon,” You speak in a calm tone. “I don’t make friends, not in this field and especially not with men.” 

As you say so, you reach for a sugar packet. No americano tastes good without sugar.

“Sorry.” You add. 

There is nothing to feel sorry about. Your feelings and boundaries shouldn’t depend on someone else. Yet, a part of you couldn’t help but regret your bold choice of words.

“Hey, nothing to apologize for.” And even though he was the one who suggested the whole friendship thing, he is also the one who is soothing the waters. “I know men in general can be a pain in the ass.”

That causes a huff to slip out of your mouth. “Trying to win points?”

“Not really.” He says while chewing on his sandwich. “Besides, you’re too smart for that.”

You chuckle, finally ripping the material of the sugar packet. “Finally we agree on something.”

Drumming his fingers against the hard wooden material both of your gaze into the distance, not adding anything else to the conversation. The aroma of coffee fills the area where you are sitting with Leon. 

“Lucas, Mr. Clark’s kid… you were good with him.” It slips off your tongue rather easily. A tinge of sincerity washes over your statement. 

And you can observe how Leon’s face went from a resting and soft expression to a stunned one. However, after your previous comments, the awkward and uneasy feeling shifted into an amiable one. 

“Was I?” Almost incredulous and even insecure. A slight trace of a vulnerable side you haven’t seen nor expected. “Thanks.”

Judging by his expression, Leon either had a soft spot for kids just like you or there’s something else you don’t know. Most agents show themselves as cold-hearted creatures who give no shit about anyone but themselves or their missions. 

But it’s none of your business.

“What Lucas told us, about the doctor. Do you think it may be related to the case?” You ask, back to your normal and professional self.

“I believe it can help us to investigate further,” Leon replies. “but I fail to see how this doctor could be of any help in this case.” 

“Maybe not on this one…” You murmur not even noticing the words that fell from your lips.

“What do you mean?” Leon notes your slight behavior change. Clearing your throat, you shake your head dismissing your previous words. 

“Nothing.” For now, the missing civilians’ case doesn’t need to be exposed. You fear the government is behind it and the one you’re currently investigating. You don’t need Leon to follow each step you take, especially given his association with the nation’s leaders.

Taking one last sip of your drink, you raise your wrist and read the time. Going back to the chapel wouldn’t bring you more information. Not when everyone seemed more focused on their conversations rather than helping.

Searching through your wallet, you pull a 10 dollar bill and place it on the table, next to your empty cup of coffee.

“What is that?”

“For my coffee.” You respond, getting up from the chair and looking back at Leon. “I don’t like owing to people.”

“You don’t have to, you know?” Leon chuckles and shakes his head. “It’s on me.”

“Well…” You reply. “Then make sure to give it back to me one day.”

Ephesians 6:10-18

Finally, be strong in the Lord and in the strength of his might. Put on the whole armor of God, that you may be able to stand against the schemes of the devil. For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers over this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places. Therefore take up the whole armor of God, that you may be able to withstand in the evil day, and having done all, to stand firm. Stand therefore, having fastened on the belt of truth, and having put on the breastplate of righteousness

Leon’s hands are clean, metaphorically speaking. But his mind is not.

He wasn’t directly involved in the numerous deaths of politicians and CEOs. He just provided the right amount of information for them to kill each other. Playing God amongst them, in a way only he could recognize and embrace.

Death has rejected him but he brings that destiny upon those who sought to destroy the peace settled in the city and therefore nation. That’s the role he accepted once the curse of immortality ran deeply in his veins. 

It all started with hints he would drop in the middle of conversations. Twisted words that would seed doubts among elitists. Alliances were broken easily, that he needn’t worry about. But some partnerships were harder to break, sly statements would get him anywhere.

So, direct accusations were made. Obviously, under a fake name or rather an anonymous identity which would prompt people to feel paranoid even in their own homes. It took less than a week for lesser pawns to be found dead or disappear under odd circumstances. Of course, those who own the city would leave no trace of their crimes—so even for him, a federal agent, it was impossible to reach them without his mission being discovered. 

So, as soon as he was assigned to help you in this mysterious case, he was delighted. He’d play his pieces right and boom, he’d wriggle his way into the elite that control the city with their tainted and bloody hands and root out the evil.

However, he wouldn’t have thought that his “eternal suffering” disease would act the first moment he saw you. 

Ever since he was transformed, the adaptation path was rough and difficult to deal with. Nonetheless, he made a promise to never act upon his instincts, no matter how unbearable they could get.  

When he first saw Mr. Clark’s body, it wasn’t surprising. He knew he would choose the path of dying instead of facing his crimes and past. They’re all like that. Cowards, good for nothing, worthless, usel—

A sugary and pleasant aroma flooded his senses which immediately put him at ease amid the gruesome scenario lying underneath his frame. 

It wasn’t coming from the dead bastard, that he knew. So what is it? The smell was getting even more prominent each second that passed. It made him dig his short fingernails into the palm of his hand, forming tiny half-moons on the thin skin. 

His senses were never that heightened nor his body was that sensible to even the softest of draughts. 

And his body worked on his own as soon as the doorknob tweaked, he turned around and acted as if his work was the only thing on his mind.

As if his eternal life wasn’t about to change forever. When forever only meant pain and sorrow, at least for Leon.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #resident evil x reader #resident evil

[reallyromealone]

I need everyone to know that Rome bullied me into requesting, thank you.

May I get a uhhh Nozel Silva (Black Clover) fluff?

Title: kingslayer

Fandom: black clover

Chapter: prologue

Pairing: Nozel x male reader

Warnings: none

Notes: and it worked

🌑🌒🌓🌔🌕🌖🌗🌘🌑🌒🌓🌔🌕🌖🌗🌘🌑

Magic.

It is an elusive and mysterious element, made of the very essence that exists in all living things, and it flows through the breeze, causing wind chimes to tinkle sweetly on the eaves of homes that sprawl across the countryside. Magic is the light that illuminates the darkness and brings hope to those who believe in it.

As (Name) walked through the old dirt path to the next village, he felt the soft earth beneath his bare feet and the gentle breeze that made his cloak sway. The spring air was refreshing after the cold winter that had passed only weeks before, and he saw wildflowers popping up across the vast field of green plains. The blades of grass whistled slightly in the wind, and the sky was clear, with not a trace of white along the endless blue above him. The sun hung high, giving him warmth that was not overbearing like the scorching summer sun.

The wanderer's clothes were tattered and worn, and his cloak had faded from wandering day after day, never staying in one place long enough. Yet, he stood out amongst many, as he possessed no Grimoire, and barely spoke a word, yet he wielded magic like no other.

(Name) hummed pleasantly as he walked, having just left the heart kingdom a few days prior. The wanderer was not detected by the heart kingdom as he left their border, and his feet hurt from walking so long. "The town's a ways away... Maybe a nap would do me good," (Name) smiled as he wandered to the field, laying on the grass and looking up at the sky. He used his old leather bag as a pillow and stared up at the sky before pulling the cloak's hood over his eyes, intending to continue his journey when he awoke.

Flickers of light and sound played in (Name)'s dreams, like eyes closed before a fire, and occasionally he saw things he wished he hadn't. Blood, the mountain leaked blood, and light burned at the top like a sword. There was screaming, crying and black horns like the devil.

Awakening, he looked at the darkness of the sky, with stars spattered across like ink stains. "Oh dear, that wasn't a nap," (Name) mused to himself. Lifting his hands, he gently used his fingers as a brush, and moved the stars themselves to look like waves. "I hope you see this..." He whispered into the night, his heart heavy.

When morning came, (Name) continued his walk and noticed people flying above him on brooms with a smile. He wondered where they could be going, maybe on an adventure of their own or to see family. Whatever it may be, he hoped they were safe on their journey. "Capital... Fifty kilometers," the old wooden sign said, and (Name) shrugged. "Wouldn't hurt to visit..." Perhaps they had good food. He had yet to see the Clover Kingdom, and its capital would be a nice start. Maybe he could grab some supplies on his way.

(Name) kept a tiny canvas and a travel paint set with him, painting his journey and every place that caught his eye. The field he was leaving was his newest addition. A day's walk took two, as the wanderer stopped to take naps or eat periodically before continuing his journey.

"That's a tall kingdom," (Name) whistled as he looked at the mountain-like kingdom in wonder. Why was it so tall? Well, the big ol' castle was tall, but why was the town on some ledge? (Name) had questions, and he wanted answers.

But first, he wanted to find an inn or hostel of sorts, tired from all his walking as he entered the city. (Name) paid no mind to the stares, as he knew he stuck out from his worn, painted cloak and his lack of shoes, or the fact that anti-birds flew away from him like he was the bringer of death. His feet were cold against the cobblestone, looking around the city curiously as he went through the lower end. Children looked curious as he smiled kindly.

"Yeah, they're all coming for the star festival," he overheard and hummed to himself. He hadn't even been to a festival in a while... Maybe he should stay in the capital for it.

#black clover x male reader #black clover x reader #black clover nozel #nozel x male reader #nozel silva x male reader #nozel silva x reader #nozel x reader #anime x male reader #anime x reader #male reader #x make reader

[chaoticbardlady99]

Lethal Woman- Chapter 3 (Astarion x GN! Reader)

Background- You are a Nightmask Death Bringer who was kidnapped by a Nautiloid Ship. Along with 6 strangers, you search Faerun for a cure for the Tadpoles in your heads- before it’s too late.

(Sorry guys, it will get more romantic)

(Also if you sent a request, I am going to do them this weekend tomorrow. Work is exhausting)

TW: Gore, death, nightmares, panic attacks, suicidal ideation, mentions of Cannibalism but like barely cause vampirism?

Chapter 3: Rowan (you!)

It has been a few days since Astarion fed on you. It wasn’t much of a bother or a nuisance for him to ask. You even gave him permission to do it again as long as he asks first. He was thrilled.

You didn’t understand why he hadn’t just said something. You literally trained under a vampire spawn-needing blood was normal. You immediately knew Astarion was a vampire spawn and who better to drink from than you- the potential vampire empathizer. You were expecting it. Statistically, you were the one who would be less likely to put a wooden stake in his chest.

What you didn’t expect, however, was Astarion’s confession regarding the experience of drinking your blood.

“I have had this condition for two centuries, but truth be told… you were my first,” he says, avoiding your eyes.

You stand and sit in your silent shock. His first? You knew and well, anyone who had a basic knowledge of vampires, knew that Vampire Spawn are much stronger with humanoid blood running through their veins. Dahlia feeds her spawn humanoid blood. Hells- she even encouraged it. You stare at him with confusion and he avoids your eyes again.

He nervously continues, “In all these years, I’ve only ever fed on beasts. Drinking the blood of thinking creatures is a different thing entirely. You were delectable and now I’m wondering how the others would taste…”

He looks at you as if to see if you’ll indulge him. You see through his facade. Although he wants you to believe he is confident in what he just said, your eyes see the fear of being judged and crucified.

You feign heartbreak and pretend to cry in agony.

“You are already looking at other necks?” you gasp, “I’m hurt!”

He gives you a toothy grin followed by an eye roll. You swear you see his eyes soften for a second as he watches you.

“Oh don’t worry darling, I don’t think they would be open to the idea anyhow. Alas, it doesn’t hurt to ponder the question though?”

“Well, give me some examples. What do you think our companions taste like?”

He taps his chin, pretending to think- like he hasn’t thought about this talking point all day.

“Take Gale for example. He strikes me as someone who’s blood is rich, refined like a well-aged brandy,” He suggests, “but the gith? What in the hells would she taste like?”

You grimace. You know exactly what a gith tastes like, but you aren’t sure if your taste buds were similar to his in regards to blood.

“I’ve tried gith blood,” you say while your mouth twists in disgust, “their blood tastes like Whalebone Spice to me, but maybe your taste buds are different.”

It took a minute for Astarion to register what you said before he let out a chuckle.

“Sometimes I forget the whole… ya know” he gestures to you, “but the real question is, if you could try anyone’s blood in camp, who would it be?”

You hadn’t actually put much thought into that. You peer around at your companions. Gale has a giant bomb in him- so no. Lae’zel you already know is a no. Karlach would literally light you on fire the minute you sunk your teeth in her and Wyll? You were already on his shit list for messing with him too much and you were attempting to patch that relationship up. So that leaves either Astarion or Shadowheart and you certainly were not going to feed Astarion’s ego any further.

“Hmm Shadowheart. I think she’d taste like Honey wine.”

“Oh that sounds very appealing. I’m almost convinced.”

You narrow your eyes with a playful grin on your face, “All hypothetical still, yes?”

“Absolutely,” he smiles back, “a mere thought experiment.”

After, he leaves to go hunting. You watch him saunter off into the woods- a part of you wanting to go along.

It wasn’t that you didn’t like your other companions- in fact everyone (minus Wyll) had really taken to you.

Gale was constantly coming up to you, showing off different magic tricks, and asking questions about your… condition. Shadowheart enjoys drinking a glass of wine with you after a particularly shitty day and Lae’zel enjoys picking your brain about different fighting styles- teaching each other new moves and advantages/disadvantages to use against enemies.

Karlach had taken the title of “Honorary Best Friend” because well, she is. You were beyond grateful for Karlach and her goofiness- she humbles you, makes you feel less serious about yourself.

She’s also….. Safe. Safe. A feeling you haven’t felt in a very long time.

Then there was Astarion.

That beautiful fucking bastard. You have come across plenty of handsome men in your travels, but not one of them held a candle to Astarion. You found yourself enjoying parts of him that you usually wouldn’t notice or maybe find attractive.

You enjoy his quick wit, shameless flirting, and a lack of overall seriousness about life. You figure it’s a ruse, but for now, you let both of you enjoy not being under the thumb of a Master Vampire for once. You also find him to be very funny- frequently having to stifle laughter so you don’t sound like a school girl. Oh and his lock picking skills? A rogue could only dream.

Karlach teased you ruthlessly after your first week at camp.

“I see why you wear the mask now.”

“What do you mean?”

Karlach snickered, “Oh pleaseeeeeeee- you look at Fangs with puppy eyes. It’s adorable!”

You scoffed, “There are no puppy eyes.”

“Whatever,” Karlach giggled like a schoolgirl, “Astarion and Rowan sitting in a tree-”

“KARLACH!”

Maybe you are a bit smitten, but you know he would never give you a second glance if you hadn’t both fell out of the sky with tadpoles in your head.

Besides, it was better to keep him and everyone at arm’s length. Tessa’s murder had broken you. If something happened to any of your companions because of you… you didn’t know what would happen. You just hope you don’t ever have to find out.

You had been attempting to stay away from Astarion, but he certainly wasn’t allowing you any space away from him. As you travel, he keeps pace with you in the back. He showers you with honeyed words, but he does ask genuine questions about you here and there.

When you are fighting, he is often near you and follows the way you move. It made fights feel like a bloody, gorey ballroom dance- except you lead and he follows. You both typically loot rooms together as well. So if anything- you are realizing you are basically fucked and your emotions probably aren’t going anywhere anytime soon.

Sometimes he just wants to understand how you became a Deathbringer and your assortment of abilities.

He frequently asked if it was the same process as becoming a spawn, who would win in an arm wrestle match (you think it would be you and secretly he does too), can you see in the dark, can blood sustain you without you ever eating food, etc, etc.

You told him you weren’t close enough to share ‘your mutual rising from the undead stories yet.” He snickered at that and left the conversation alone. You did answer his questions regarding your physical feats.

All the while you soak in how beautiful he is and take in his playful, mischievous disposition. You know he will break your heart and you don’t know if you are worried enough to care.

My Gods! Rowan FOCUS! No more pup-

You feel a hard slap on your shoulder, interrupting your train of thought. Gale offers a smile and asks if you would like to enjoy some wine with him around the campfire. You accept. You might as well take the time to relax and get to know your companions.

Tomorrow you were heading out to discover what Kagha is up to and her plans for the Grove- much to Astarion’s dismay. Astarion was not happy with you accepting Zevlor’s request for aid, but he insisted on going tomorrow anyway.

You had taken the role of leader because you were the only one who was neutral enough to delegate solutions, find problems in people’s biased solutions, and then make a decision based on what would ultimately be best for the group. It’s exhausting.

You are no hero. You never wanted to be and you certainly never claimed to be. You just want to get back home-to Baldur’s gate, to work, to peace and quiet. Before you are forced to stay in Westgate for Gods only knows how long. The Faceless always has something waiting for you.

You and Gale sat around the fire drinking a bottle of wine and getting to know each other. You also make plans to meet Tara after all this is over.

The first bottle of wine being finished led to the unfortunate second bottle of wine.

You aren’t upset at how your head feels like it’s swimming and your limbs are floating in space. You feel free for the very first time in a while. Being out under the stars, drinking wine with a new companion, and nowhere near the crime riddled city of Westgate.

“Soooooooo,” Gale slurs, “I can’t imagine you grew up wishing to be a Deathbringer, hmm?”

Ah, you thought, of course the wizard decided to get me drunk and ask me personal questions.

You narrow your eyes at him, searching his face for signs of manipulation or hidden intentions, but all you see is- curiosity? Gale was sitting with himself leaning towards you, making direct eye contact, and a look of utter fascination- a need for knowledge.

“Uh well-”

“Oh and what in the hells is going on here?”

Astarion comes up to you both- tiny splatters of blood on his shirt. He pouts as he looks at you.

“You drank a bottle of wine and started another one!? Without me!?” He puts the back of his hand to his forehead like a damsel in distress, “darling, I must insist that you repay me by letting me join this little social gathering.”

You hear Gale’s huff of frustration as you shrug.

“Makes sense.”

Astarion smiles widely, sitting himself right next to you on the makeshift log- you miss the shit eating grin he flashes Gale.

Karlach appears out of thin air, grabbing the bottle out of your hands. She smiles at you as she plops down next to Gale.

“A party and you didn’t even invite me,” Karlach shakes her head, “for shame.”

Karlach takes a swig of the wine before handing it to you. You fill your cup up and fastly drink the terrible (and probably very cheap) wine. Astarion scrunches his face in disgust as he takes his first sip.

He sighs, “Beggars can’t be choosers I guess.”

“Anyyyywayyy,” Gale says with annoyance in his voice, “did you always want to be a Deathbringer?”

All six eyes look at you with anticipation as you stare into the fire- contemplating what you are going to say.

Did you always want to be a Deathbringer? No- you didn’t want to at all. In fact, in your earlier years, you had wanted to remain in the village and become a healer.

Even now you didn’t want to be a Deathbringer. You had hoped you would be free of this life with Tessa. You had a plan-you would leave the night before the rite and you would flee with her to Baldur’s Gate. You had talked about buying a town home in Baldur’s Gate.

When you had enough money, you bought a town home. Still empty besides a bed and occasionally food.

You begin slowly, “No actually. When I lived with my parents in our small town, I wanted to become a great healer. I guess all I wanted was to survive Westgate once I got there. Then I met Dahlia and it was no longer about what I wanted. Well until I became a Deathbringer under the Faceless.”

You look up at your companions as they all look at you with varying expressions. Gale looks like he is exploding trying not to ask for more details. Karlach also looks at you as if you are on the verge of telling the greatest stories alive and then there was Astarion. Astarion’s face was unreadable.

“There really isn’t that much more to it,” you slur, “and anyway. It’s probably about time I hit the hay!”

Despite how inebriated you are, you manage to make it to your tent and close yourself in. You feel tears fall down your eyes.

Gods!

You definitely said too much and that’s why you booked it. In your previous life, Dahlia would have chastised and beaten you for your disdain over becoming what you are. You were always meant to be the next best Deathbringer- her favorite weapon of choice. Not to be loved. Not to be given the mercy of kindness. No matter how much you feel like you deserve it.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

You slowly creep into the sewer holding your breath in anticipation. Looking for the Mercenary that was hired to kill a powerful ally of the Faceless was no easy task. Dahlia had vouched for you at the meeting with the Faceless. Her eagerness to show you off won. Now here you are, looking for some douchebag Mercenary who probably wasn’t even that big of a threat to some Duke anyway, but having an easy fight with a mercenary was more preferable to the beating Dahlia would give you if you refused. You were going to be the next Deathbringer. She would make sure of it.

As you walk through the cave, the smell of rotting hits your nose. Something has been dead here for a moment. Possibly not very long considering the Gods awful heatwave you had been having in Westgate.

You continue your slow trek down the sewer when you hear her scream. You shoot straight up on your feet turning in the direction of the voice and you run. You run like fucking hells. Your head screams her name. Tessa. Tessa. Tessa.

Her screams became substantially more blood curdling as you hurled your way down the tunnel, but it’s too late. Her insides were sprawled across the sewer like a disgusting sculpture. Her face was lifeless and bloodied- the right side of it completely destroyed. You feel sick.

*Tear*

You turn slowly towards the direction of the horrific, wet noise.

A man in plain clothes and bright crimson red eyes looks at you. Her heart in his hand as he takes a bite out of it like an apple.

The scream rips through you as you rush forward and-

You wake from your sleep with a painful gasp. Your stomach is turning. You sit up and immediately turn to the side and nearly vomit. You manage to take a few deep breaths and get on your feet.

You push through your tent flaps and hastily rush in the direction of a lake you had found earlier that day.

When you are certain none of your companions have seen you, you begin to run.

The tears sting your face as you go racing through the forest. Your lungs are killing you- barely getting enough air to calm down-let alone run the way you are.

Your mind is swimming with thoughts of her. The way she laughed, her smile, her lips against yours, everytime she healed you when you snuck into her dorm.

When she came to your aide when you were left for dead- how she brought hope back into your heart.

Your body hits the cold water before your brain can register it. You lose the rest of the air in your lungs as the cold shocks your body. You push yourself back up to the surface, gasping for air. Your eyes are blurry from the water.

“You know darling,” you spin yourself around in horror as his voice cuts through the air, “I have had people try to get my attention before in a lot of ways, but this? This is a new one.”

Astarion is smirking at you in the water with his head cocked to the side. You scowl.

“I wasn’t trying to get your attention I was trying to-” you stop yourself, “no. Nevermind.”

You pull yourself to shore and begin to angrily charge away from Astarion. Except you don’t get very far when he grasps your wrist.

“Wait,” he says softly, “it was a joke… I’m not very good at asking people about why they are running like a maniac in the woods. I never thought I would need to… well, have that particular skill set.”

You smile despite yourself before giving him a gentle push. Your nightmare still sits heavily in your stomach, but his smile makes your broken heart feel only warmth and laughter.

#baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate astarion #astarion x you #astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #bg3 #astarion romance #bg3 spoilers #karlach

[bonefall]

BB!Firestar

[ID: Firestar from Warrior Cats with his tail on fire. The text reads, "Ssoen kafyar-ul ulnyams ssarshefpa," which is "Fire Alone will save the Clans" in Clanmew]

The man, the myth, the legend. Bringer of change, righter of ancient wrongs, ancestral patron of fire and of breaking bad habits.

Clanmew Name: Kafyarbabi, Kafyarshai [Wildfire + Heartbeating = Behaves like a wildfire.]

Alignment: ThunderClan

Relationships: Mates (platonic) - Sandstorm, Onestar (ex) Family - Squirrelflight, Leafpool, Cloudtail (nephew), Princess, Jayfeather, Lionblaze, Hollyleaf Mentors - Bluestar, Spottedleaf, Yellowfang Friends - EVERYONE. Graystripe, Deerfoot, Iceheart (Scourge), Brokenstar (post-death), Longtail, Cinderpelt

Chelford cats do not track paternity. It's not known who Firestar's father is, and it's probably not Jake anyway.

Firestar is aromantic. He is platonic co-parents with Sandstorm. He did not realize he was aromatic when he was seeing Onewhisker.

Other Clans consider him nosy. He's always trying to help out others, even when their sense of pride makes them hesitate to accept it.

Incorrigible. If he thinks he's right, you can't stop him. He also thinks it's important to make sure his Clan is well cared-for and doesn't give in to fear.

His personality is very passionate and outgoing.

Bonefall TPB:

To begin with, Rusty had to learn a new language to join the Clans. Clanmew and Townmew are sister languages but there was still a learning curve.

Spottedleaf was a big sister figure to him, she taught him how to connect with StarClan, what the rules are, and how to break them.

Bluestar left a deep impact on him as his mentor, she was the inventor of the mercy and grace which comes to define Fire Alone.

Like canon, he opposes Tigerclaw at every step once he realizes the cruelty within him.

Unlike canon, Better Bones is about having a strong anti-authoritarian stance, and to do that there's even MORE allies that Firestar connects with.

Oakfur, Stumptail, and Deerfoot in ShadowClan, and Mosspelt and Dawnflower in RiverClan are all cats who work directly with Fireheart, and were at times his Aftergathering buddies.

The end of Bonefall TPB is the battle with BloodClan, where he spares Scourge by defeating him honorably, ripping his collar off and forcing him to call a retreat.

The thesis of the arc is that Fire Alone can save the Clans because it's a radical change to the xenophobic, authoritarian culture of the Forest Four.

He lost a life in the process, from a huge slash across his chest and shoulder. It's meant to look like a mayoral sash, of sorts. His first deputy was Whitestorm, and after his death, his second was Longtail.

After the battle, he went a step further by bringing the collar back to Scourge as a gift of goodwill. He offered to uphold whatever he could of Tigerstar's Impossible Deal, and was shocked at the simple solution. BloodClan simply wanted things they couldn't get in Chelford; timber, glue, flowers, new types of foods they'd never tasted before.

Together, they forged a trade route that promised a bright future. During the destruction of the forest, Scourge eventually decided to lend his strength to the Clans for their Journey, eventually deciding to retire with them.

Scourge was eventually given the name Iceheart, so that he may live out his days with them in quiet peace.

Firestar's Quietus:

Brokenstar is the guardian spirit of the 5th tree of Fourtrees, which blighted and died after SkyClan's exile

His spirit cannot rest until SkyClan is safe. Firestar gets freakish dreams, Runningnose contacts him, and brings him to the Moonstone to figure this out.

It's there that he learns about Brokenstar trying to break into StarClan to make them do something. On learning that they just let an entire Clan get exiled, Firestar tells them to shove it and agrees to help.

Runningnose gives him a very emotional and significant acorn necklace which channels Brokenstar-- this item becomes important many arcs later.

Broken and Fire go back and forth a lot on what SkyClan should look like, what it needs, and how they should rebuild. The lesson learned is that SkyClan needed help, but can handle its own destiny.

Leafstar and the Warriors of SkyClan are not a Clan like the Forest Four. They will do things their own way, and that is a beautiful thing.

Brokenstar's final action is possessing Firestar's body (establishing the rules of possession for TBC later) to eradicate the rats; which were the earthbound, tormented souls of SkyClan's ancestors.

That's how Brokenstar and Firestar become the saviors of SkyClan

Bonefall Po3, Cruel Season, and Bonefall OotS:

In the episodic revamp of Po3, Firestar is aiding the other Clans through their struggles with the new environment, and helping to raise his grandchildren to be honorable cats.

So, his role is essentially as both the Clan's leader, and as Grandpaw Firestar.

His deputy is Brackenfur, who was promoted after Firestar and Brambleclaw agree that he isn't ready for deputyship yet after his lapse of judgement with Hawkfrost.

Brackenfur is killed towards the end of Po3 in the Battle of the False Eclipse, a trick from Sol, God of Chaos, a preview of the night that is to come where the dead can walk the earth.

Brambleclaw succeeds him.

The Fire Scene is in the in-between book between Po3 and OotS; Cruel Season.

It was started by Whiskernose of WindClan, aided and abetted by Thornclaw and Breezepelt, as an intentional distraction so they could get Firestar alone to kill him on the Dark Forest's orders.

He has one last big scene after his death; coming down from Silverpelt when Jayfeather summons StarClan warriors to fight the Dark Forest.

After winning a rematch with Scourge, Tigerstar finally gets the battle he's always wanted, and Firestar deals with him once and for all.

His Legacy:

He becomes known as the Patron of Fire and Breaking Bad Habits. He's invoked frequently during wet days when it's hard to start a cooking fire.

Firekin are renowned as a family of heroes, something that can cause a lot of pressure for its youngest members.

Fire Alone and Traditionalism are the competing ideologies by the modern era, with support of Thistle Law being kept very quiet.

#BB!Firestar #Better Bones AU #wc au #Bonefall Po3 #Bonefall TPB #Bonefall OotS #Bonefall Cruel Season #art #sketch requests #Clanmew #character summary

[carnationworld-writings]

The first time I saw you I knew love at first sight must be true (Ardeth Bay x reader)

To read my other works, check my MASTERLIST !

Paring: Ardeth Bay x reader

Universe: The Mummy (1999) / The Mummy Returns (2001)

Word Count: 1243

Requested: No

Warnings: mention of guns, blood and death of characters - just “The Mummy” plot

If I forgot about anything feel free to write to me. Your wellbeing is important to me!

Summary: The one where two parts of the soul found each other after thousands of years. 

They felt like all the air was taken from their lungs, and everything they heard was the beating of their own heart. Her eyes couldn’t leave the silhouette of the man standing before them. They only saw his dark eyes, and even if they saw them for the first time, they felt like they knew them better than anything. They watched how he raised his tattooed hand and uncovered his face, and they couldn’t help the small smile that came into their face. Masked people could start shooting every second, but at that moment, they could die as a happy person - they just saw the most handsome man on this planet. They saw it for the first time when they were awake but knew it was a face they had seen in their dreams. At the sound of his raspy voice, their heart lost a beat. The warrior moved closer, walking behind his people when Rick behind them said:  “I already told you I got him”. The Egyptian looked at them and felt silent for a moment. They could see a surprise in his eyes - as some memories had come to him. Both of them felt like everything was on the right track. It didn’t matter that the creature was alive - two parts of one soul found each other. They never wanted to believe in love at first sight, but when he stood before them, they couldn’t stop their heart from longing for him. Ardeth made himself raise his eyes at the American.“Know this, this creature is the bringer of death. He will never eat, he will never sleep, and he will never stop.” He moved his eyes at the women between them. “If you want to survive, leave this place.” At this moment, they could only watch his dark eyes, and then they nodded.“We will.” They hated how weak their voice sounded at that moment, but they could swear that the corner of his mouth rose just for a second, like he’d stop himself from smiling. They looked at each other before he turned and walked after his people. They didn’t turn their eyes, watching his silhouette disappear in the darkness. They couldn’t stop thinking about him the whole ride to Cairo. They tried to be helpful when Rick and Evelyn argued - they helped to patch up poor Mr Burns and rested a little before they’d tried to help Evy find a solution. They heard the woman screaming that it was their obligation since they woke up the monster, and they couldn’t agree more. When they were washing their hands, the water turned into blood, and they couldn’t stop a scream from their mouth. They were terrified when the fire started falling from the sky. It was a shock to see the man from the Hamunaptra in the museum. They exchanged a few looks, and it was enough for them to find a little peace in this madness, and for the first time in days, they felt safe. Madiaj told them the story of Imhotep and they started to get hope that they really could find a way to come out of this alive. When they finally agreed on what everybody needed to do and started walking to the car, they looked back at him one more time and smiled when they realised that he was watching them. “Miss/Mister…” he came closer to them, and they knew that Evy and Rick slowed a little while waiting for them, “Are you hurt?” At their surprised look, he moved his hand to point to a bloody stain on their clothes.“Oh, no... I’m not hurt. I was washing my hands when the water turned into blood...Thank you for asking. It’s very kind of you, Mr…” They smiled gently and noticed that the corners of his lips moved a little, just like he was close to smiling. “Ardeth Bay.” Her smile grew wider when they told him their name. The longing of their heart for him was surprising, just like how their body responded to even the smallest smirk. They wanted to know him better, even if they already felt that strange similarity in his presence.“I hope that all of your people are alright.” They wrapped their arms around themself to stop themself from trying to touch him. “They are.” They breathed with relief, nodding. “But they won’t hesitate to die if it will stop this creature.” Ardeth saw that pain came into their face hearing this sentence. He wanted to take it away from them, to hold them and keep them safe. He didn’t understand why he felt so attracted to them, but it was a nice feeling. They were like a breath of fresh air in the heat of the desert, and he wanted, no, he needed to feel it again. “I hope it won’t be necessary.” They heard Rick calling their name, and they turned to look at him. They knew that it was the moment that they should go. With every minute, Imhotep was closer to winning. They nodded at him and moved their eyes to the Egyptian. “Mr Bay, please be careful. I… I hope we meet again.” They gently touched his arm and moved to join Rick and Evy. Before they left the room, they looked again at Ardeth and smiled, and they could swear that for a few seconds, he did the same. Not everything worked in their favour. Egyptologist and Henderson were dead, Imhotep was nearly regenerated, and the only idea to beat him was only a legend. They anxiously walked after Rick and the rest of the team. Twisting their fingers, they watched how Evy tried to find the location of the Book of Amun-Ra. They were so lost in their mind that they didn’t notice Ardeth coming closer to them. He gently touched their elbow, making them jump. He looked at them apologetically, and they smiled nervously. “We met again.” He smiled at them, and they couldn’t help but laugh quietly. “We did. However, I hoped it could happen in a little calmer situation.” They looked straight into his eyes and felt like their heart had stopped for a moment. “I… I know it will sound weird if anything in that situation could be normal. I feel like I know you. Not from now, but like… like my soul finally was whole just by meeting you. It’s probably a wrong time to say it, but I felt like I had to do it.” They looked down at their shoes, feeling ashamed. They were afraid of his reaction, but who knows how long they would live. However, they didn’t see the smile forming on his face. He gently touched their chin and made them look at him again. “I know this feeling. Of everything being completed and in peace only because… you are here, next to me. I don’t understand it wholly, but maybe it also was destined in ancient times.” “Maybe that is the answer.” They smiled and touched his hand. Not caring about decency, they rose on their tiptoes and connected their lips. They felt his other hand fall on their hip, and their heart started beating faster. They found him, and they knew that whatever waits for them in future will end up happily. Two souls destined to stop the evil from ancient times found each other again. Like many times ago, they find a way to win.

Author’s note: Thank you  so much for reading! If it’s not too much trouble, I would love to hear your thoughts about it. Any feedback is greatly appreciated and motivate me to work.

I am sorry about every grammar mistake and misspellings. English is not my first language.

Klaudia  💜

Taglists are always open! If you want to be added fill this up or send me an ask!

#ardeth bay x reader #ardeth bay x fem!reader #ardeth bay fanfic #ardeth bay imagine #ardeth bay #ardeth bay fic #ardeth bay fanfiction #the mummy #the mummy fanfiction #the mummy imagine #Rick O'Connell #evelyn carnahan #evelyn o'connell

[dk-wren]

I haven't seen anyone talk about this yet, but it's something I caught/thought about while watching ep. 11. (If someone has already pointed this out and provided a more in-depth and eloquent explanation, then my apologies).

This is one of the first times Kazuki is shown fighting with a gun in the main timeline. I might be wrong, but the only other time Kazuki is shown fighting with a gun is in ep. 7's flashback to the night Yuzuko was killed.

Kazuki has been shown handling a gun in promotional art and technically used a gun in the prologue of ep. 1. (While you might disagree, I'm not really counting that moment since, at least for me, it's still unclear as to where the prologue falls into the overall BD timeline and there wasn't much of a fight leading up to Kazuki firing it). With this in mind, ep. 11 is the first time we really see him in action with a gun.

For one thing, as Rei talks about in this episode, Kazuki is the "brains" of the duo. So, when they work together, Kazuki does most of the recon, scouting, and distracting (Exp: their assigment from ep. 2 or Rei mentioning how the scout missions Kyu gave them in ep. 5 matches more with Kazuki's typical work). Since this series has more or less revolved around Kazuki and Rei as a team, we've only really seen Kazuki on missions with Rei, who is likely the better-trained or more accurate shooter/gunsman. Therefore, Kazuki takes on the more info gatherer role. Also, as an assassin, I highly doubt Kazuki is that inept at using a gun. Instead, he's just normally not in a role that requires him to use one.

I like to think Kazuki hasn't used or fought with a gun since Yuzuko's death. This could potentially be because he links her death to the necessity of fighting with a gun or after her death, Kyu did not believe Kazuki was mentally in a space to handle a gun or a mission that might require him to use one. Or perhaps, Kazuki was always more interested in and better at his scouting assignments, so once he was paired with Rei, he no longer felt the need to have to continue fighting in this way (or refusing missions that required him to use a gun).

Regardless, I think it would be so interesting that Kazuki's concern over Miri's safety is what pulls him out of this fear or refusal to fight with a gun. Someone, or rather Ogino (again), is threatening his family, so Kazuki's gonna do whatever it takes to protect them.

Given his line of work, I think Kazuki has a deep understanding of how guns can destroy and can protect. In Yuzuko's case, Kazuki witnessed the destructive and deadly side of the gun. After spending years reflecting on this, and recently giving himself the permission to change as a person, when it comes to Miri and Misaki, Kazuki now understands how he can use this weapon of death to protect the ones he loves. Yes, it is still a bringer of death, but this time Kazuki is gonna try everything in his power to not allow it to be for his family.

While Misaki did not survive, Kazuki was able to protect Miri. I don't think "inspired" is the right word, but something about Miri being in life-threatening danger is what caused Kazuki to just rush into the Unasaka's apartment, ready to fight whoever was threatening his little Miri. Kazuki fighting in a way that is unlike his normal style on assignments and being so willing to run into battle with little preparation was just one of the many things that stuck out to me from this episode. Essentially, Miri was in danger and Kazuki was gonna stop at nothing to protect her, perhaps that's why he opted for a gun this time. Kazuki was gonna use the weapon he associates and has first hand experience with, in terms of its ability to cause death, to take out any threat that would try to harm Miri.

#buddy daddies #buddy daddies spoilers #kazuki kurusu #bd ep 11 #bd ep 11 spoliers #headcanonish? #sorry for the low quality pics

[frangipanilove]

More Pharmakon: Why Alcohol/Ethanol Is Sirius Symbolism

This time illustrated by Denise and the Danville Bridge Whiskey in TWD 6x14 Twice As Far

We learned about "pharmakon" in TOWL 1x3 Bye, when Major General Beale explained how it was an ancient Greek word, meaning "a poison and a cure". We saw cans of ethanol in the back of Richonne's yellow escape car in TOWL 1x4 What We, and I've since explored, in a series of posts, the connections between pharmakon, ethanol/alcohol and fire, and how they all tie into the Sirius symbolism we've seen around Beth and Rick for years.

Read about how FTWD season 4 established the ethanol=cure symbolism here. Read the "Fighting Fire With Fire" posts on how the ethanol, fire and pharmakon symbolism all ties together here, here and here.

We learned in TWD 4x12 Still, that Beth would come to be deeply connected to the symbolism around alcohol/ethanol. And we learned as far back as in 1x6 TS-19 that Daryl wasn't exactly opposed to it either.

Resurrection symbolism in TWDU is about "fire", and Beth has always been all about fire, she's a fire starter, she’s quite literally an arsonist, she’s a Light Bringer:

As we remember from Still, Beth established a direct connection between alcohol/ethanol and the eh... issues relating to eye sight. And in 6x14 Twice As Far, we watched Denise become intextricably linked to the same symbolism, when she was killed by Dwight, who shot an arrow through her eye:

The issues surrounding eye sight are of course tied to the Sirius symbolism from 4x13 Alone, when Beth and Daryl were visited by a "celestial being", a one-eyed dog, representing Sirius the Dog Star, or in the words of poet Robert Frost, the "heavenly beast with a star in its eye":

As I explained in the "Fighting Fire With Fire" posts, fire/Sirius symbolism is connected to the alcohol/ethanol symbolism.

In 6x13 Twice As Far, we saw this connection illustrated by the tragic death of Denise. She was shot through the eye with an arrow, marking her as a Sirius character in a nod to the one-eyed dog from Alone, which is ultimately a clue to Sirius the Dog Star.

Denise's death affected Daryl deeply, and in what to me is one of the most heartbreaking scenes of the entire franchise, we saw Daryl, numb with pain, bury Denise, his angel wings laying on the grass next to him.

A few notes on this tragic tableau: the angel wings on Daryl's vest represent the bird symbolism (wings=birds because, well, birds have wings, for the most part). The Danville Bridge Whiskey is a reference to the notion of bridges, elevators, ladders and stairwells as metaphorical "passages" through which the characters can pass between “the realms”.

I wrote about this symbolism after TOWL 1x4 What We.

Of course, for TD, the most notable exemples of the bird symbolism came in the form of a painting, the Blue Heron, seen around both Beth and Rick:

I've written many posts on bird symbolism, here's a selection: (X) (X) (X) (X)

And just as a reminder, after TWD 10x11 Morningstar, one of the wings on Daryl's vest is now blue, further cementing the wings as blue bird symbolism:

We also saw Daryl empty a miniature bottle of Danville Bridge Whiskey, which they had found earlier that day:

It might be worth remembering that Denise had specifically rejected Rosita’s offer to drink the whiskey, claiming alcohol was her parents thing, which is why it wasn’t hers:

While that’s an admirable position in real life, one can suspect the symbolism of TWDU works according to a different logic. It might seem as though Denise's refusal to drink the Danville Bridge Whiskey is what, at least on a symbolic level, sealed her fate.

If FTWD season 4 is to be believed, drinking alcohol/ethanol is the "antidote" to "death" in TWDU, it represents the "cure", the pharmakon:

And we saw that theme revisited in TOWL 1x4 What We, when Rick and Michonne escaped in an electric/bio-ethanol hybrid truck, with cans of ethanol in the back seat:

Sadly, it seems like Denise, by refusing the offer of a drink, set herself up for a tragic outcome in 6x14 Twice As Far.

Beth, on the other hand, spent the entire episode of 4x12 Still searching for booze:

In Denise’s case, there was therefore no “resurrection” involved. The arrow pierced her brain stem, and she was sadly dead, in the most permanent sense.

In contrast, we’ve seen how this symbolism has allowed Rick to recently “resurrect” in TOWL. The symbolism doesn't guarantee resurrection, but it allows for it. Remember, death and resurrection are two sides to the same story. Resurrection symbolism will be found around both "deaths" and "resurrections". The metaphorical "passages" between the realms are ever present, regardless of whether a character "chooses" to utilize them or not.

Rick “died” on a bridge, and he “resurrected” in TOWL, in an episode where we saw him choose life with Michonne and his family, over remaining “dead” in the CRM.

And as @bethgreeneprevails pointed out here, “echelon” as in the "echelon briefing", refers to "the rung of a ladder", indicating that the echelon briefing we kept hearing about in TOWL, would eventually be heavily tied up in resurrection symbolism. That's a post for another day, but it's a super interesting observation worth mentioning.

In episode TWD 8x2, the episode that had been foreshadowed by Noah's T-shirt with the stylized heron, we saw the Blue Heron painting around Rick. It was the same painting we had seen behind Beth in Still, and the bird symbolism of the heron foreshadowed his resurrection.

In the same episode, we also saw Rick and Daryl climb through elevator shafts, illustrating the presence of the aforementioned metaphorical "passages", allowing characters such as Rick (and Beth) to move "between the realms", from the "realm of the living" to the "realm of the dead". And sometimes, such as in Rick's case, they allow him to go back again, to "return" to the realm of the living, as we recently saw in TOWL.

For TD, this is of course interesting because we saw an elevator shaft feature prominently in TWD 5x4 Slabtown:

Again, we see that Beth is consistently surrounded by the same type of resurrection symbolism we see around Rick, a man who has now "died" and "resurrected" twice.

I also recently wrote about the bridge/elevator/ladder/stairwell symbolism in relation to Alicia from FTWD, who, as the first person ever in TWDU, was "cured" from the infection and subsequent fever she suffered following her walker bite in season 6. Her "transition" from someone with one foot in the grave, to someone who was competely healed, happened in a stairwell, one of these metaphorical "passages" between the realms.

In Denise’s case, there wasn't ever going to be a resurrection. Maybe drinking the Danville Bridge Whiskey instead of rejecting it could have changed that. But we see from the symbolism present at her burial that the ritual of “death” and burial in TWDU is always accompanied by an abundance of resurrection symbolism. Death and resurrection are two sides to the same story. The presence of the whiskey tells us that resurrection symbolism is always afoot in TWDU, but in this case, the character in question rejected it. It serves as a counterpoint to Beth’s intense hunt for alcohol/ethanol back in 4x12 Still, an episode named after the apparatus used in the production of alcohol/ethanol.

The "bridge" in Danville Bridge Whiskey refers to the "death and resurrection" symbolism we saw around Rick's "death" in TWD 9x5 The Bridge. It’s the same symbolism that has allowed him to die and resurrect twice now. It represents one of the metaphorical “passages” through which selected characters can travel between the “realms”, along with elevators, ladders and stairwells.

The “whiskey” in Danville Bridge Whiskey is an ethanol reference, which in turn plays into the symbolism around pharmakon and "fighting fire with fire".

And fire symbolism is Sirius symbolism. It refers to Sirius the Dog Star, the brightest star on the night sky, that returns one morning before dawn, after having been gone for some time. The word "Sirius" comes from Greek and translates to "glowing, scorching".

In other words, fire!

Fire born from ethanol/alcohol, as illustrated below by Beth and Daryl in 4x12 Still:

Beth has been at the center of this symbolism ever since the one-eyed dog visited in 4x13 Alone.

And as Denise was buried as a one-eyed Sirius character, the Danville Bridge Whiskey was there to remind us that "death" in TWDU is never far removed from "resurrection”.

#team delusional #bethyl #daryl dixon #beth greene #the walking dead #twd #twd towl #twd the ones who live #ftwd #beth x daryl #daryl x beth #team defiance

[mayg0espostal]

Okay, Postal Dude headcanons time

[These are mostly for P2 but aply them to any postal dude you want]

He has no idea what he's doing most of the time.

He barely showers, if even at all. At least like, once a week or something. Or like once a month, if he even bothers.

He really likes eating junk food because it calms him down, pizza being his favorite comfort food. He also has a really fast metabolism so he can eat a lot and not gain any weight.

He's a HUGE geek, unironically enjoys anime and manga but if anyone asks him he'll say like "Me? Liking anime? Sure. In your fucking dreams." or something like that lol.

He has a really difficult time expressing empathy, even when he really feels like something he said/did is wrong, he can't admit it.

Jokes and remarks are a defense mechanism to him, using catchphrases and random one liners so he can feel under control.

He wishes that his life wasn't so shitty, maybe being rich or something like that, but he has accepted that it's basically impossible.

He's also a hopeless romantic, but tries to keep all that "mushy shit" on the backline. Probably had a lot of partners during his younger years but couldn't keep them for the life of him. Also kills his partners when they don't work out.

Strangely into cospiracy theories? Like 5G causes cancer and COVID-19 type shit. He wasn't very well educated as a child as he was home schooled by his mom so a bit of bigotry passed to him. A slightly homophobic bi? sounds like someone i knew

QUICK FIRE TIME

Big sadomasochist. Doesn't really need explanation.

He can't swim, never learned how to swim.

Totally a furry, 100% has a fursona that's like DEATH BRINGER THE WOLF or something lol.

He's a really shitty driver. Robbed a car once and immediately destroyed it.

Has NPD but extreme self-esteem issues.

Wets himself while sleeping way too constantly. (Pee/Wet dreams)

Speaking of pee he totally has a piss kink. and extremely dehydrated

i think that's all. if there's more will be added in reblogs

#postal #postal dude #postal 2 #headcanons #my headcanons #headcanon

[gemandthescotts]

WCSMP FAE AU

After the death of the queen of the fae realm the 8 nobel families who rule the 8 kingdoms of the fae realm must fight, negotiate, and discuss who is next in line.

Lord Scott Smajor the rotten, his name brings fear to those who know of him commonly not being spoken out of fear. Legends say that he killed his elder brother to become heir, but why is he so ruthless? Why does he do this? No one has been brave enough to ask.

Lady Cleo the perplexing, unlike the others she doesn't quite have a kingdom per say rather she is one of the 4 time fae controlling how time works in the fae wild. Presumably she is some kind of leader although it is said that the 4 share equal power, so why her? People have asked and gotten various answers.

Lady Shelby the cloud bringer, the true royal living in a large family being the eldest of her siblings, her kingdom is notorious of being rather distant from the world below. Not much is known about her for that reason, so what does she have to gain? What does she have to lose?

Lady Eloise the coniving, her story is tragic her parents dying young with her being the only heir people watched her intently. She is known for her mischievous side more then anything, but why is she here? Perhaps it's just for fun, or maybe she wants to honor her parents memory?

Lord Joey the banished, banished from the winter court due to his fire magic he built a life for himself and dispite his banishment and disownment somehow he was still sought after. He was a nobody and still specifically wanted, why?

Lady Prismarina the dark, dispite water magic being a very neutral seelie magic there was something inherently unseelie, something dark within her calling out to all those who meet her. She always seems to know what is going on and this presence makes her seem arrogant. Why is she here? What is going on with her?

Lady Cupquake the blossom, choose by mother nature herself to be the heir of the spring court, she isn't familiar with royal customs. Not much is known about her with that non royal background, so perhaps she's a threat. Why was she chosen? What are her plans?

Lady Lauren the legend, she is from the totally real sand kingdom, a very closed off kingdom which is why you probably thought that place was fake. She totally isn't something they just found in the desert. Why is she here? If she's such a totally experienced royal then why does she act so improper?

Thought I would share! If you have questions I would be happy to share more about this au!!! These characters have a lot more complexity then these small descriptions show, I would love to get asks for this au please!!!

#wcsmp #witchcraft smp #scott smajor #shubble #zombiecleo #soupforeloise #prismarina #ihascupquake #laurenzside #joey graceffa #fae au #faerie #wcsmp fae au #dangthatsalongname #shelby grace #zombie cleo #smajor1995

[snarky-art]

Quick Daphne Mythix concept I came up with a few days ago + quick work sketches

The Great Dragon itself, specifically war and wrath

Decided to make her gem purple in the end to signify her no longer holding a barrier between herself and The Flame, which although by the time of her death there hadn’t been one of separation technically as she was the full blown Holder, she always held a great respect for the decorum and structure of ruling towards her parents, specifically her mother (the previous Holder), and was so proud of her title as heir that she greatly enjoyed keeping her blue gemmed ornament. In this transformation though, she would be pissed and tired and selfish and full of rage and sick of it, so,, yeah lol. She’s basically saying “fuck it, I should’ve taken advantage of what I could’ve when I had everything. It was mine after all.”

Alrighty! So!! Referred to this as the Daphne’s Fucking Pissed transformation when talking to @maea-megs

I feel like this would be during her “I’m pissed im alive again and I just want to hurt someone” phase since Mythix came later and this would be the closest she has to her old power

She doesn’t want to be alive again because she doesn’t want to deal with everything. She’s tired and she’s angry and Bloom can’t do what she could. She can’t wield The Flame like Daphne could, can’t conjure great power like it’s nothing, like its as easy as breathing, like it’s what she was made to do (she wasn’t, after all. She wasn’t the first born. She was barely even born at all when Domino fell. She was a desperate last attempt, Daphne tells herself with spite and venom).

Bloom is gracious and merciful, but Daphne finds that hilarious. Bloom has no need to be merciful because she can do nothing that would make anyone ask for it. Daphne though? Daphne could’ve destroyed worlds if she wanted to, whole planets and civilizations. She could’ve gone to war and been the only soldier and she would’ve won.

She had done things that some could consider drastic less times than could be counted on one hand with The Flame in her time before The Fall, but it was in the name of balance and order for all who were involved as a last attempt after all other options had been exhausted, and even then she had exercised such great restraint. She had always exercised restraint. She knew what would happen if she didn’t because she was that good, but maybe that was a mistake. She never truly allowed herself to indulge in anything now that she’s had time to ruminate, to really think back on everything. Almost everything she did she wanted to do, yes, (at least she thinks so. She’s still not sure the more time she’s had to think about it, but that’s a discussion for a later date she thinks) but what about the things she hadn’t done?

She knew their history, she would be a fool not to (Bloom didn’t know. She didn’t really know anything though, still so new to magic itself). There was a reason the words Ash Bringers, Fire Devils, and Daemons among other terms full of disgust and fear were seethed by some still even over 1000 years after Domino’s demise. Sacking and raiding was what they had been good at, their planet and it’s power given to them specifically, no one else. Surely that meant assimilation was what was needed, for who could live in such a way that was equal to them if they hadn’t been blessed with such divine light? Where was there that could not be made better if Dominions were to bless it with their knowledge and power? If that had to be done by force, then so be it. And if that force was not enough? Then they were not going to be adding anything of worth to The Magical World as is, so it would be better if they returned to The Great Dragon. Their energy could be breathed into new beings who weren’t stupid enough to thing resistance would work or be worth it. The Great Dragon gave life, and logically, that meant it should be the one to end it too, and end it, it would.

It is a shameful part of their past, a large part of it too. Only in more recent generations had Dominions finally begun to look upon it properly, with a critical and damning eye that called for condemnation and reparations. Daphne agreed, of course. It was wrong what they had done, and that was why she was so aware of how careful she had to be. She knew the blood that had been spilled so easily and so carelessly with The Power she was blessed to hold, how many cultures had been subjected to what was called Divine Wrath by oppressors who thought they had the right to control anything and anyone just because they could and that it was just because it was in the name of their god.

It was a power that left fields black and lifeless, permanently so, nothing able to grow ever again no matter how much time passed. It was a magic that called forth the stench of acrid flesh and bone dust and rocks stained black for all of eternity if The Holder wanted it to do so.

She knew how it felt, to have it thrumming and vibrating through her whole being, properly integrated into her core, acting as an extension of her own life force, the smallest misstep being the last barrier between her surroundings continuing to live and breath as they are or be decimated in an instant, no proof of anything having ever existed there at all. Just another random dead rock that one would pass by later that same day and assume it nothing more than a long deceased moon (if there was enough rubble left held together for it to even be called that, for it to be identified as anything at all).

She would be lying if she said she hadn’t thought about what it would feel like to feel that power as her ancestors once had, not in the name of imperialism and genocide like they had, but just to see what it was like. She would never let those thoughts linger for too long though. It was nothing more than an intrusive thought, a dangerous “what if”, perhaps influenced by the ghosts of those very ancestors who haunted their lineage and position in The Magical Realm all the way up to present day. But now, now Daphne didn’t have The Flame. She remembers though (she thinks she does anyway. She knows at least that she remembers more than what she has now). Most likely, this is the closest she’ll ever get to what she once had. And she had been so good before, what harm could come that she couldn’t fix if she just let herself be submerged just once in the closest thing she’ll ever get to her old abilities?

She would finally let go of all restraint she ever had and finally indulge in letting the power that has the ability to decimate worlds and cultures with a simple flick of the wrist do it’s thing.

So, basically:

Daphne, floating in a void of empty dead space, dissociative as hell: 🔥🔥🔥🔥👁️👄👁️🔥🔥🔥🔥

Everyone else: ….is she good????

Bloom: I think she just needs alone time:)

#winx club #winx #mythix #transformation #transformations #daphne winx club #winx daphne #daphne winx #winx club redesign #winx club redo #winx club rewrite #lore #worldbuilding #winx club reboot

[violethowler]

My Thoughts On Light Bringer (Spoilers)

The wait for Light Bringer has been so long that I as soon as I learned that my physical copy wouldn’t be getting delivered until after release day, I immediately went and pre-ordered the ebook version so I could start as soon as it became available. I started reading around midnight my time and I literally only got three hours of sleep before I finished the book. And holy bloodydamn shit was it worth waiting all these years for.

The title of this novel felt incredibly fitting not simply as a reference to any one character, but because after the chaos and death and violence of Dark Age, this book was a ray of light and hope, validating what I said back when Dark Age came out and filling me with such optimism and excitement for what comes next. Even after Cassius’ death, I cried tears of joy when I finished reading the book because with everything in the world being on fire – from the rise in censorship and anti-LGBTQ laws in the US to the various crises caused by climate change, to the ongoing labor issues like the writers’ and actors’ strikes – this book reminded me how to have hope for the future and to recognize that with enough time and enough people fighting back, things can get better. To appreciate the smaller, less-publicized steps forward when I’m feeling overwhelmed by all the big headlines making all the bad things seem worse.

And on top of all that, it was just straight up fun. I love Dark Age and Iron Gold, and their seriousness is important to their themes. But one of the things that I loved about the original trilogy was the capacity of its writing to spark joy and put a smile on my face. Long have I missed a new action sequence that made me cackle like mad as I realized that the tables had turned on the villains, like the escape from Venus or Darrow’s emergence from the leviathan did. Or the powerful, raw moments like Deanna’s pre-battle benediction in Lykos. Or the quiet moments like Lyria and Cassius bonding, or Darrow and Sevro’s gradual reconciliation. These are just some of the many ways that Light Bringer feels like a return to the series’ roots.

The journey Darrow went on felt perfectly timed for the series, and every character grew phenomenally in this book. Some in positive ways, like Diomedes and Lyria. And others in negative ways, like a certain hypocritical, genocidal, fascist wannabe dictator.

Despite my burning desire for Lysander’s enrollment in the Head-In-A-Box club, his POV was masterfully written, allowing us a deeper glimpse into the inner workings of the Society Remnant that we didn’t properly get in previous books, while at the same time showing us at every turn that he is ultimately no different than Atlas and Atalantia. Given Cicero’s reaction to the burning of Demeter’s Garter, I feel like it’s only a matter of time before many of his allies realize that and turn on him.

And speaking of turning, I feel so vindicated that the alliance between the Rim Dominion and the Society Remnant ultimately shattered by the end of the book. But while I didn’t anticipate how it happened, I think it’s better that it happened this way. Firstly, Lysander is the whole reason the alliance exists, so it feels poetic that he’s the one who destroyed it. Secondly, it gives closure to the conflict between Darrow and the Rim over his actions in Morning Star, and that is so much more satisfying than my prediction of the Society being mad at them for Cassius being alive.

I’m similarly impressed with how the Obsidian storyline was handled, and how Lyria’s connection with Volga played into that. In hindsight, the storyline of getting the Obsidians turned away from Volsung Fa was the one plot set up in Dark Age that I could never really think of any theories of how it could be pulled off like I could for things like Sevro’s rescue or the breaking of the Rim-Core alliance. But Lyria being able to use her connections to get to Volga and make the first crack in her armor after Volsung Fa spent eight months manipulating her into following his rhetoric was a sight to behold, and I cannot imagine any other way it could or should have played out. It feels so incredibly fitting that if I hadn’t known Pierce had scrapped his first draft of the book, I would’ve assumed that scenario was planned from the beginning.

Which is really a testament to Pierce’s writing that even if I didn’t always like the choices made in this book (i.e. the lack of Virginia chapters compared to the POVs, the clone plot on Luna being left hanging, etc.), the choices still made sense to me and fit perfectly with the story that Pierce is trying to tell.

After almost 4 years of waiting, Light Bringer defied my expectations in the best way, and I’m even more excited than ever to see Pierce bring it all home in Red God.

#red rising saga #light bringer spoilers #red rising spoilers #light bringer review

[museqmeg]

Reporter’s Notes - Epilogue

A vashmeryl fic

————————————————————————————————————

Meryl stared down at the newly printed Bernardelli issue. The heat from the press still warming her hands, seeping into her skin, and stoking the fire within her. That boiling-hot anger at what she read made her face flush. Her eyes scanned the words, not her own, but her’s and Roberto’s information wholly taken out of context…

“HUMANOID TYPHOON TURNED ANGEL OF DEATH DESTROYS JULAI

A team of investigative journalists from Bernardelli witnessed the destruction and death of JuLai firsthand. They traveled with the Humanoid Typhoon for two months, starting with the disaster at Jeneora Rock until the devastating loss of JuLai. Unfortunately, one of our long-time senior reporters, Roberto de Niro, was caught in the Typhoon and lost to us. (His career highlights and obituary can be found on page 4.)

How could someone kill one of his traveling companions? He is clearly a devil, a bringer of death, with no value for human life. Officials and rescue parties at the site of what is left of JuLai have found few survivors and no trace of the monster known as Vash the Stampede.”

Meryl couldn’t continue reading the article. Her rage at the damning words they used to describe Vash and the untruth written before her made it difficult for her eyes to focus. They had it all wrong. It wasn’t fair. This wasn’t Vash at all…

She looked at the photo they used for him. One of the only things they took from her to include in the story. It was also completely out of context. She remembered that day, they had stopped to camp for the evening and Vash expressed the need to exert himself and stretch after being in the truck for hours. He had taken off his coat and glasses, stretching his body and warming it up before snapping into a flow of combat movements, his gun out and part of his body…

—------------------------------------

Meryl walked over to Vash’s practice area, finding a rock to perch on and watch. She always considered him graceful in his movements, if not a little silly sometimes. It was probably his tall frame and long limbs. Whenever she saw him in combat or practice, she felt like she was peeking into something she shouldn’t be looking at. She couldn’t look away, the lines he created with himself were mesmerizing. It was rare when she caught him without his coat and in combat mode. While she knew his true nature, she couldn’t help but think how intimidating and dangerous he looked. His tall, broad-shouldered, and muscular body was on full display. His movements with his gun always perplexed her. He wasn’t using it as a gun. He swung it around, spinning it in his hand. Most times, it was in a strange position flush against his forearm as he wielded it. She couldn’t understand his use of the weapon and her voice spoke out before she could think.

“Hey, Vash?”

He stopped mid-lunge, turning to face her as he lightly panted and his face glistened with sweat. “Yeah, Meryl?” He locked eyes with her, his gaze was intense from the mental state he must have been in as he worked himself through his motions.

Meryl gulped. He looked so intimidating and the teal cerulean of his eyes were piercing her without his glasses. She realized that the round lenses really softened his face. “Why do you use your gun like that?” She pointed to it as it hung loose at his side, still angled up his forearm.

He looked down at it before looking back to her and softening his gaze. “Because it’s better than me shooting someone.” A little half-smile came across his face as he angled his head.

Meryl nodded, that made sense with his character, “Yes, but why do you use it like that? The way you handle it is strange…”

His eyes brightened as he realized the true meaning of her question, “Oh! I use it as a tonfa.”

“A what?” She tilted her head, confused.

“A tonfa… it’s a type of weapon used in martial arts. Like a baton.” He gave her an encouraging smile.

“Oh, okay… Where did you learn that?” Her voice was curious.

He shrugged, “Years ago… I wanted the option to disarm someone that didn’t require me to really hurt them if I could prevent it.”

Meryl nodded but then stopped, realization dawning on her… He was always actively holding back. She looked at him, thinking about how he presented himself and treated others. He knew he was dangerous and had to actively keep it quelled. He repressed that part of himself unless he was forced to use it. These little exertions were a way he kept himself in check and precise. While the thought made her a little uneasy, she smiled back at him, nodding that she was done asking him questions and he could continue.

He smiled at her before spinning on a heel, lowering himself as he went back into a lunge. She continued watching him flow through his movements when an idea struck her. Her hands went to her camera resting on her hip, the strap over her left shoulder. She checked the lens and adjusted the settings to a faster shutter speed to capture his movements.

With her eyes in the lens and zoomed in, she was too focused on keeping him in frame until she heard the crunch of his boots in the rocks and sand directly in front of her. He must have heard the clicks of her shutter. She lifted her head from the camera and found his face in front of her, teal gaze intense, his body still in combat form but directed at her. She gulped, accidentally snapping that photo of him, unable to move or look away as he slowly brought his fisted prosthetic forward, lightly bumping her stomach.

His face split into a wide grin as he said, “Gotcha!” Throwing himself into a fit of giggles at his prank.

Meryl spluttered, air whooshing from her lungs now that she could release the tension he had caused. “Vash! That wasn’t funny!” She glowered at him.

He continued laughing as he tucked his gun in its holster before plopping himself next to her on the rock. He wrapped his prosthetic around her waist, squeezing her against his body. His other hand grabbed the camera from her as he brought his face down to her level, pressing her cheek against his sweaty one, and turned the lens to face them. He grinned wide as he snapped a photo, Meryl’s face surprised and eyes wide.

He was still chuckling when he handed the camera back to her and stood up. “Make sure to give me a copy of that one when you develop the film!”

She watched as he walked away, her face beet red and still in shock at his antics. He collected his red coat and amber glasses from where he left them. She could still see his shoulders shaking from his laughter as he walked over to Roberto and Wolfwood sitting at the campfire.

—------------------------------------

She felt like a failure. She had promised that she would clear his name. She looked down at the photo Bernardelli printed with the article. It was the one before he had accosted her camera and snapped a photo of them both. The Vash in that photo was the real Vash, not the deadly intense one looking at her now. At least not the version of himself he liked to present. She should have never taken any of those pictures of him in combat, practice or not. She felt guilt and shame for doing it. Especially when that innocent moment was being used to drag his reputation and memory through the mud.

When she returned to December and the Bernardelli headquarters months after losing Vash and Roberto, she was determined to write Vash’s story and share his sunshine with the world. Angry tears welled up at the memory of her boss telling her that story wouldn’t sell papers and that they had the December government breathing down their neck. With JuLai gone, December was now the largest of the six cities. December’s government quickly made an address to blame Vash and upped his bounty to sixty billion double dollars, dead or alive. Had Meryl not seen him plummet and hit JuLai herself, the pain and fear at his new wanted poster even asking for him “dead,” still made her chest seize with pain. In a small way, it was a mercy that he had died at JuLai. Meryl couldn’t bear the thought of how much more difficult his on-the-run life would have been when the humans he loved so much now hated him enough to want him dead. Life had been unspeakably cruel to Vash. He didn’t deserve any of it. A voice tore Meryl out of her thoughts. It was her boss.

“Meryl, would you come to my office please?”

She wiped her eyes before turning to face him, “Sure.” She followed, ignoring the looks from her coworkers. They had all read her draft of the Vash the Stampede story, of what really happened in JuLai, yet they quickly believed the story they concocted together off her words. She crinkled and fisted the article in her hand. Lies…

They entered his office and she sat in the seat in front of his desk, looking down at the floor.

He sat down in his chair before speaking to her, “Meryl… I know you’re angry about the Humanoid Typhoon story, but we needed to partner with December’s government. They have just been hit with the burden of what the JuLai government shouldered… This was the best way to give the people who lost so much from the incident a chance at peace.”

Meryl’s head shot up, “Peace? Adding kindling to their flames of contempt and revenge is peace?”

Her boss grimaced back, trying to be gentle with her, “Meryl, he’s dead. He’s not around to feel the contempt and hate. December needs someone to blame and… Vash the Stampede was already a familiar face. No one knows this “Millions Knives” you wrote about. Not to mention, your story around him was too humanizing.

December needs a villain. Humanity needs a villain. The loss of JuLai wasn’t just about the people that died there… Humanity lost thousands of plants. Our survival is now more precarious than ever.”

Meryl clenched her fists resting on her thighs, knowing in some way, Vash would accept this blame put on him. Even welcome it. He was so self-sacrificing and he loved humans that much. It broke her heart… How Vash always sought to see the best in others. Even though she didn’t truly know Knives and he had tried to kill her, Vash still tried to save him. Vash had still loved his brother. She had believed and trusted in Vash. As hard as it was, she believed in both of them, for Vash’s sake. Even if Knives was so wrong in how he went about his convictions. It was the right way to honor him.

She looked up, “So what now? What will you have me do?”

He gave her a small smile, “We’d like to make it up to you… for twisting your story. When you joined us, you mentioned wanting to be at the news desk. We’d be happy to offer that to you.”

She shook her head, “No… I want to continue to be an investigative journalist. I want to continue Roberto’s legacy. I also want the truck and trailer that was assigned to us.”

He nodded, understanding, “Consider it done. Meryl, please know that I’m deeply sorry for how all of this played out.”

“I am too.” She stood, leaving his office and ending the conversation.

—————————————

Vash walked.

The desert sand under his boots gave way to his weight and unsteady gait. His only hand clutched his broken ribs as each step sent pain coursing through him.

He remembered how angry he was that his body awoke and healed parts of itself. He really had hoped that the darkness that consumed him would finally be eternal, complete oblivion. The pain of living on after what had happened was more than he could bear.

He had made himself get up. Not wanting someone to find him, take pity on him, and help him. He didn’t deserve it. He didn’t want it. It was moments like this that made him hate what he was as a plant. His powers not allowing the human parts of his body to simply die. It was miserable, being this. A long life and a healing body were not the dream humans talked about when they referred to the “fountain of youth.” It was a curse. It was pain. It was suffering.

Now his only hope was that he stayed conscious long enough to walk the energy and life out of his body. It was taking everything he had to hold the plant abilities at bay. He pushed it down, cursing it to stop healing him.

He reached up to his face, ripping off his cracked glasses and throwing them in the sand. It wasn’t like he could use them anymore. Peace Bringer was gone, absorbed into that demonic arm of his with the cube and the violet hue was all wrong for shooting. Not like he would raise a gun again. He had taken too many lives, caused too much pain.

Vash also took off his earring, it reminded him of her. Thinking of her hurt too much. He was going to throw it, but it felt like a betrayal. He would never throw her away. Instead he clumsily opened his inner breast pocket with one hand, tucking it into his pocket holding her reporter’s notes and violet geranium. He continued walking as he slowly felt his body start to break down. Could this finally be it? Could the pain finally go away? He took another step as his legs crumbled beneath him. He landed face first in the sand, unable to get up as a heavy darkness blanketed him.

——————————————

Eriks walked behind Lina, watching the young girl bounce and bob as she animatedly chattered about the meals they were going to make with the food they both carried. They were on their way home to her grandmother’s from their little errand in town. He was half listening when his teal eyes stopped at a news stand, a familiar name calling out to him. He froze, unbelieving, as his breathing stopped. He took a cautious step closer, not daring to allow the hope to rise in his chest.

Lina turned when she didn’t hear his footsteps behind her. “Eriks?” Her eyes found him at the news stand, staring. She approached him, “Did you want to read that?”

He nodded without thinking. He never asked them for anything… but that was the problem when it came to her. He was incredibly selfish.

Lina brightened, excited that he wanted something for himself. It had been a year since they found him in the sand and he had never been assuming or wanting of anything. She was only twelve, but she could see that he went out of his way to not bother anyone and always did what was asked around the house, never complaining. Honestly, it annoyed her sometimes and made her feel guilty when she rebelled against her grandmother. He was too much a goody-two-shoes. She loved him dearly though. He was so kind to her and her grandmother. His thoughtful words to her filled a hole in her heart. She had always wanted siblings, but since her parents died and her grandmother took care of her, that would never be. That is, until she found him.

Her grandmother was frustrated and worried when she and a group of men hauled Eriks into their home. She had brought home sick puppies and kittens before that her grandmother wouldn’t let her keep. Lina was so happy when her grandmother took one look at him and rushed to help. They nursed him back to health and learned that he had no memory of what happened to him. Over time, they both saw how caring and compassionate he was, even if was sullen and sad. They settled into a routine together and became a family. Lina was overjoyed to keep him finally have a big brother. He was so much better than a lost puppy.

Her heart filled with warmth at that memory as she said, “I’ll buy that for you if you want. It’s only two double dollars.”

He nodded again and she excitedly got into her coin purse, so happy to finally get the opportunity to gift him something.

Eriks spoke softly, “Do you think we can get a subscription to this publication?” He was pointing at the paper with the name, “Bernardelli” at the top.

Lina’s eyes brightened at his request. Even though it was such a small ask for a yearly newspaper subscription, it was most he ever requested from them. She felt like he was finally opening himself up a little.

She eagerly reached for the bills in her purse, walking up to the stand to purchase the paper and register their household to its subscription. She turned to Eriks when she was done, plucking the paper from the and handing it to him. “For you!” She smiled brightly at him, her grin so wide it made her eyes squint and close. Lina felt his only arm wrap around her, hugging her to him and the low rumble of his tenor against her as he softly said, “Thank you.”

She hugged his tall frame around his waist, burning her face into his front as she nodded. It made her so happy to give him something he wanted.

——————————-

Ericks was back in his room at Lina’s and her grandmother’s home, clutching the newspaper to his chest. He had excused himself from dinner and shut his door behind him. He held it out in front of him and let his eyes fall onto her name… Meryl Strife. His eyes scanned down to her photo above the article she had written. She had his earrings on. Their silver bars and hoops glinting from the camera flash. His breath caught and his legs gave out. She was alive… he didn’t kill her. He hugged the paper to him as if he was clutching her, little choked sobs coming out of him. He kneeled and cried softly like that for a long time, relief and joy consuming his body for the first time since he saw Wolfwood rescue her from her fall in JuLai. Wolfwood had gotten them both out. They both were alive…. Did Roberto get out too? He held the paper out in front of himself, looking at her again. She was still so beautiful, the kindness still in her eyes.

He read her article, a little story about a small town struggling with their plant and having to resort to wind power to lighten the load on his sister. It was a success and their plant was able to recover. He chuckled, smiling through the tears. Meryl had stayed in that town until the issue was resolved. A little happy sob came out of him, knowing she probably helped too. She was still an investigative reporter and using her little bit of influence to help others. He was so full of love and pride at seeing her and reading her story.

He stood up and walked to his dresser, pulling out a pair of scissors to carefully cut out her article with his one hand. He kneeled down to his bed, crouching to reach the box he had stored underneath. His hair was shaggier now, his undercut scruffy like his teenage years and his lighter, blonde waves falling in front of his eyes as he pulled out the box.

He opened it after a year of tucking the box away. Inside was his Project SEEDS coat, still black and violet from JuLai, but he kept it to hold his precious memories of her. He pulled the box to himself, bowing his head down to the left breast pocket where her notes and geranium lay. Another happy sob escaped him. This coat was no longer a grave for her. He sat up, pulling the coat to himself and hugging it closely. She was alive. He sniffled, setting the coat back down to open the pocket and place her article inside with his other treasures of her. His right hand palmed over the pocket, bracing his body with his arm as he curled over it, crying with relief.

He was still guilty for what happened in JuLai, for killing everyone else and his brother. But he was selfish, he allowed himself to be happy that her life was spared. He would never be able to thank Wolfwood enough. Not that he’d ever allow himself to see either of them again. He didn’t deserve to after what he had done. He still felt terrible about lying to Lina, her grandmother, and this town about who he was and what he didn’t remember. He was just a coward. He remembered. He chose to lie about his past and who he was.

Now, he was just trying to atone by doing whatever he could for this small family. They had saved him and loved him, he owed them anything they needed from him.

He loved them too. That was also the reason he lied. It was always his selfish need for love, but he was the most selfish when it came to Meryl. He longed for her touch, her comfort, but knew he didn’t deserve it. He would only allow himself his memories of her with him, what lay in his coat, and the articles that would be coming each week with Lina’s gift.

He hugged the coat to himself again, silent tears falling as he thought of Meryl living and breathing, her heart still beating like his was now.

—————————————

Meryl drove, leaving her memorial of Vash and Roberto behind in JuLai. While she was excited to get her own “newbie,” being back there had dampened her mood. Yes, two years had passed since losing them both, but it still hurt. She still grieved. She sighed, feeling some tears well up and slowed the truck down to a stop. She rested her forehead on the steering wheel, her hands gripping it above her head, letting the silent tears fall.

Zazie’s words didn’t help matters, reminding her of the villain humanity painted onto Vash. It’s what her main focus was as an investigative journalist, her promise to clear Vash’s name. She followed leads and claims of sightings of “Vash the Stampede,” driving out to each location. Most of the time it was outlaws using his name to their benefit. Whether it was to steal or kill, the mention of the Humanoid Typhoon had a powerful effect, especially after JuLai. She had to work so hard to debunk those claims and unveil the truth… but slowly, with each town and person she met, she was able to share the real Vash with the humans he had loved. That’s how she honored his memory… by following through on her promise. She always took it step further and did her best to convince people to believe in him as she had, turning the unrequited love he had for them into reciprocation. It was very few who bought into her story, but with each person that openly listened to her, she felt like she was doing her best to carry out his hopes and dreams. The ones he had shouldered from his mother, Rem. She would do that for him until she no longer lived.

She sat up from the steering wheel, reaching over into the seat next to her to grab a thick envelope. She always kept it close, especially for moments like these. Her tears were done and she breathed, opening it to pull the memories of those impactful two months. Meryl smiled down at them, cherishing each moment in those snapshots…

—————————————————————————————————————

Thank you all so much for reading my little vashmeryl fic! Donuts to all of you who made it to the end!

It would mean a lot to me, now that it is finished, to hear your favorite moments from Reporter’s Notes and Sheets. ❤️

I have some special news to share….

I am writing a filler fic to this filler fic, that will be titled, “Snapshots” - see what I did there? (Check out the last word of the fic.) I still have some fluffy vashmeryl moments I have tucked away in my pocket that can be inserted into Tristamp, but they’ll be quite light and won’t have as much weight as the chapters I wrote in Reporter’s Notes.

Also! I am currently illustrating ALL of the chapters in Reporter’s Notes and Sheets. I will post on my Twitter and Tumblr accounts when those chapters are updated with art. You can follow me on either @museqmeg to get the updates.

Once Snapshots and all the illustrations are done, I will be releasing Reporter’s Notes as a comprehensive fic via eBook to download for FREE.

Again, thank you all! This was the first fanfic I ever published and your support was so heartwarming!

#vashmeryl #vashmeryl fic #vash x meryl #vash the stampede #meryl strife #trigun stampede #trigun

[scribbiesan]

Gotta love this blocky life

Just wanted to share some more Herobrine blurbs. This funky little dude just won’t get out of my head. Don’t mind the scratchiness, was in the mood to make something rough and just drop it off here.

I’m basing some of these ideas off the From the Fog mod, mainly the tamed wolves growling at Herobrine when he’s stalking the player, and how everything else ignores him. Herobrine being able to trade with Villagers is my own thing tho, as well as cats liking him.

I also have this idea that when Hero teleports around and shit, either bc of boredom or bc he has specific places around the World that are important or interesting to him, he makes the chances of a Zombie Siege much higher than normal. Like, if the normal chance of a Siege happening is 10% a week, then him teleporting from a Village or near one bumps it up to a 30% chance. The more he teleports to and from an area, the higher it rises, until it’s a guarantee that a Siege will occur that night in that Village. It’s caused some… issues during his existence when trying to socialize.

To make friends.

Not many Villagers know that Herobrine has something to do with more Sieges occuring to Villages, but those who survive and find their way to a new Village to recover? They remember him showing up, messing around and pulling pranks, before vanishing without a trace. To a Villager, Herobrine is an outsider, a traveler with no place to call his own. And his appearance and subsequent disappearance, and a Zombie Siege happening shortly after? Many begin to see Herobrine as a dark omen, bad luck, a Bringer of Death in a way. The survivors travel, and so does word of a strange man in bright clothes, with white, glowing eyes and odd behaviors. Who shows up to cause mischief, only to lead death to their doorsteps.

Hero doesn’t mean for these things to happen. Doesn’t even realize he’s the one causing them. He’s not Mortal, he’s not Human. His understanding of passive and hostile Mobs is heavily skewed bc most ignore him. He believes the Villagers he’s pranked and traded with are safe and sound (as much as they can be with Pillagers skulking around), and he’s just bringing some harmless fun to these grouchy, tired, overly stressed people. He didn’t know…..

If he comes across a Village who has survivors from Sieges he’s accidentally caused, and is seen by them, he’s run out of the Village. With fire and blade and pitchfork, sometimes an Iron Golem or two if the Village is wealthy/large enough to afford some. Since he doesn’t interact with Humans much, he’ll panic and run. Why are they being so mean? What did I do?

I just wanted to play…

Anywho, hope y’all enjoy this little mess. I’ve got more shit to work on, so hopefully that’ll be out eventually.

Toodles~!

#fan art #sfw #minecraft fanart #minecraft herobrine #minecraft villager #minecraft mobs #Minecraft worldbuilding #trash bin art #trash bin post #digital art #quackalacka ding dong #I’m not good at putting my thoughts and ideas for things into words #but i hope i got it across #Herobrine just wants to have fun #not his fault he’s a gremlin #herobrine fanart #idfk #im just vibing #not a late night post for once #sorta anyway

[kivaember]

ac6 drabble: abort

last one before i go to bed (i was planning on doing more but work wiped me out today sorry...) but i have to do @steelhazeortus a solid and give them the iguazu/volta that they clearly crave (their prompt being "adding to my last unhinged reply: Volta lives but make it gay (I’m obsessed. Sorry)").

here ya go buddy

abort

Iguazu had his hand on the eject lever the moment the first round from that Juggernaut bitch had slammed into the ground less than a 100m away from him, the blastwave powerful enough it made even HEAD BRINGER's frame shudder with the force of it.

He'd looked out across the battlefield, across the hundreds and hundreds of metres of kill zones that lay between him and the Wall. MTs with rocket launchers, at least twenty long-range cannons twitchy enough to shoot a fly out of the sky, the fucking JUGGERNAUT raining hellfire on any poor fuck who was stupid enough to amble into its crosshairs, and the GODDAMN GATLING GUNS SCREAMING ROUNDS DOWN RANGE LIKE IT WAS GOING OUT OF STYLE-

you've gotta be shitting me, he had thought, in a light-headed, near hysterical sort of way, you have to be absolutely shitting me.

The supporting squad of suicidally loyal MTs were already getting shredded into scrap metal, yelling at making Michigan proud even as they died to bullet fire. Volta, the fucking IDIOT, was gunning full steam ahead, clearly trying to build the momentum for an assault boost over the defensive trench - Iguazu could make the tactical leaps to understand what he was aiming for: get behind the gatling guns, past the smaller rocket launchers, use the solid tower blocks as cover-

Iguazu was a survivor through and through. He took one look at that battlefield, realised the futility of it all in a split second, and thought fuck this shit i'm out.

His hand was on the eject lever. He even pulled on it a little, until it felt resistance. One more tug, and he'd be launched out of HEAD BRINGER and be walking back to the emergency rendevouz point. He'd rather take Michigan bawling into his face for being a cowardly little runt than heroically becoming an ashy smear on the floor to gain the Redguns absolutely jackshit.

His hand was on the eject lever.

But.

Later, Iguazu wouldn't really be able to explain why he didn't pull it the second he touched down. It defied common sense and his own selfish nature. But his gaze had been fixed on Volta stupidly charging ahead, as he always did, obnoxiously confident in his AC's manouverability and thick-plated armour to see him through anything. Iguazu had watched him charging forwards, acknowledged his tactical decision, and just thought the moron's gonna die.

That's fine. Volta was free to go to his grave feeling like he'd accomplished something when in fact it was just a pointless death for a bunch of old windbags who didn't give one flying fuck about the Redguns entirely, so long as they achieved their bottom line. Iguazu wasn't going to go the same way, though. He was getting out of Rubicon, one way or another. He wasn't dying here.

But.

...

His hand...

...

He let go of the eject lever.

"I must be outta my mind...!" Iguazu hissed under his breath, sending HEAD BRINGER forwards into a charge after Volta, the whistle-whine of overhead tank rounds and missiles making his pulse rate hit the fucking goddamn stratosphere.

YOU'RE GOING TO DIE! his survival instinct screamed at him, WHAT ARE YOU DOING YOU STUPID FUCKING IDIOT?!?!

He ignored it. He just followed Volta - followed him over the trench, narrowly avoiding getting blown out of the sky when the Juggernaut adjusted its aiming slightly to try and pre-empty his leap. He landed heavily, whispering "shit shit shit" under his breath like he was praying to Jesus Christ himself to reach down and pluck him from this situation that was entirely of his own making. He didn't, of course. No god gave a shit about Iguazu.

But it turned out he gave some shit about Volta, because the moron didn't use the apartment blocks as cover - he veered to the left, to try and use the open ground to try and do a suicidal charge. Iguazu finally remembered the button for his comms.

"VOLTA! FUCKING IDIOT- GET BEHIND THIS BUILDING!" he roared at him, even as he shot down some enterprising MT trying to lob a missile at him from atop of said building. "VOLTA!"

"I'M COMING! God, fucking hell, Iguazu, blow out my eardrums why don't you!"

Volta came trundling back behind the building, though, smoke and debris peppering his figurative heels, until they were both huddled behind an apartment block, every Rubiconian dipshit throwing everything they had at the fucking building and making him feel like he was standing in one of those shitty, old war films where a bunch of stupid idiots were sittingin a trench grim-faced and preparing themselves to charge into no man's land.

Like hell. Iguazu was going the opposite way, to- to man's land. Whatever. AWAY FROM THE EXPLOSIONS AND MISSILES.

"This mission's a fucking mess, Volta," Iguazu said. "Let's just get outta here."

"You mean ditch the mission?"

"No, I mean we'll do a tactical withdrawal to reconsider our options- OF COURSE I MEAN FUCKING DITCH!" Iguazu yelled, and even reached over to bonk Volta's AC over the head with his rifle. "YOU THINK WE'RE GONNA MAKE THAT?! WITH EVERY GODDAMN FUCKING COKED UP REBEL CUNT CARRYING TEN MILLION MISSILES EACH AND WANTING TO RAM EVERY. SINGLE. ONE. UP OUR ASS?!?! WE'D BE FUCKING SCRAP BEFORE WE CLEAR FIFTY METRES YOU DUMB FUCK!"

Volta didn't say anything for a long moment.

"Why'd you follow me, then?" he finally asked, sounding genuinely flummoxed.

Iguazu didn't have an answer for him.

"I'm fucking going, and you're coming with me," Iguazu said instead, refusing to let his insane dive into missile hell be for nothing. "C'mon, we're jumping the trench."

"Ugh..."

For one moment, Iguazu thought Volta was going to say no, and honestly, Iguazu didn't have a plan for that scenario, but fortunately Volta angled his bulky tank body back towards blessed freedom and muttered: "Fine, but I'm blaming you when Michigan asks why we ran away."

"Sure, whatever fine, he was gonna yell at me anyway."

They heroically got the fuck out of there, with the only sign of their toe dipping into hell being chipped paint, a few scratches, and Iguazu deeply confused about his own incomprehensible actions.

#armored core 6 #armored core #g5 iguazu #g4 volta #fanfic #drabble

[story-weavr]

A Study in Astrology:

Arising from its ability to indicate the seasons and their respective natural activities, astrology has played a massive part in human cultures.

The importance of them even goes as far as to indicate what a person is like when they are born.

Rather than the stars being determinators of a person’s character, I believe astrology is a tool that God gave us to be more introspective of ourselves.

To honestly look inside ourselves and see who we truly are and what we need, whether it’s to enhance our strengths or address our flaws.

Below is how I interpret the planets and the stars. I highly encourage the reader to use this as a tool for their own interpretation of or investigation into astrology.

Planets:

I am only considering those planets that would have been visible to the naked eye as they would be the ones that would indicate events. I will also include which Babylonian god rules them.

The first three are what is considered the inner world of a human

Sun ☀️ _the ego, consciousness _ Shamash

Moon 🌙 _ Emotion, unconsciousness _ Sin or Selardi

Rising/ Ascendant/ 1st House ⭐️ _ expression _ as it the constellation that is rising from the horizon at one’s birth

The following are how one interacts with the world

Mercury ✍️ _ communication, logic _ Nabu

Venus ♥️_ expression of love _ Ishtar

Mars 🔥 _ passion, drive_ Nergal

The next two planets are both about growth as indicated by their brightness & must always be considered together.

Jupiter 💼_ ambition, “to reach” _ Marduk

Saturn 🧙‍♂️_ wisdom, experience_ Ninurta

Descendant/7th House/House of Balance_ the shadow self, the part of a person one doesn’t realize that they have_ the star sign which setting on the horizon at the time of one’s birth

Stars

Each constellation and their symbols are tired very closely with the mythology of different ancient cultures: Babylonian, Egyptian, and Greek just to name a few.

They will be listed according the Babylonian New Year, which began in March-April

Aries ♈️ _ Babylon_ Agrarian worker -> ram due to association with Dumuzid, god shepherds & agriculture, 1st husband of Inanna, -> Canaanite = Adon -> Greek Adonis

Dumuzid spends half the year in the underworld and the other half above with his wife -> his yearly death brings hot dry summers

Egypt_ Amun-Ra = ram, fertility, creativity; Greek _ the ram who saved innocent children; Chinese _ cattle sacrifice, harvest

Bringer of plenty, self-sacrificing, adaptive to changing situations

Taurus ♉️ _ bull, related to “Seven Maidens”; spring equinox;

Heavenly Bull_ Sumerian-Inanna (divine wrath) & Egypt (sacrifice for sake of spring)

if provoked frightening

Gemini ♊️ _ the twins,

Babylon- minor gods guarding doorways or specifically Underworld or representations of major god Nergal, plague and pestilence & King of Underworld (warlike but necessary for protection of the peace)

opposing traits (peace & war, life & death) working in conjunction

Cancer ♋️ _ Greek-Hera’s crab, Egypt-Scarab (immortality/rebirth -Sirius), Babylon- snapping turtle (death, passage to underworld) + Enki,

initiate summer solstice

basically will justifiably bite a bitch; literally what turtle does to get rid of Nergal and summer; shell protects inner soft bits

Leo ♌️ _ lion, Egypt-Sekhmet or Sumer’s Inana

- protection, regality, Sun

- fierce hunter, passion, aggressive

Virgo ♍️ _ female (maiden or mother)

Demeter &numerous Greek maidens

Egypt = beginning of harvest

Babylon-Shala war of grain

Libra ♎️ _ Greek- Scales (Themis-justice); Babylon-claws of scorpion & the balance/ scales (Shamash- Sun, truth, justice)

Scorpio ♏️ _ Babylon = the Scorpion with Libra as its claws = scary guardians, serve higher beings

Sagittarius ♐️ _ centaur firing a bow & arrow

Babylon_ Nergal the chimera-centaur; Sumerian _ Pabilsag, elder/Chief & warrior/hunter; Greek _ centaur or satyr

The cunning intelligence of man and wild instinct of animal

Goal oriented, fierce

Capricorn ♑️ _ sea goat, Babylon- Enki = water+earth, fertility, hope

- stability, creativity

- high expectations, ambitions, standards

- sensitive and emotional;

- wary and kind(nurture in others/ survival)

Aquarius ♒️ _ water carrier, Babylon-Ea or Sumerian-Enki,

flood of water- positive or negative depending on region

Pisces ♓️ _ Greek - 2 fish, Babylon - 2 constellations: “the great swallow”(dove?) & “the lady of heaven” (Inanna?), Egypt - great fish who saved Isis

plentiful bounty _ the sun, wisdom, helpful

I hope this guides you on your journey of introspection, both of yourself and those around you. 🌌 🔮

If you want to find you’re birth chart, use the following site:

#my work #astrology #planets #zodiac #western astrology #egypt #ancient egypt #babylonian #mythology and folklore #greek mythology #star signs #philosophy #anthropology #history #spirituality #introspection #introspective #god #goddess

[wellpresseddaisy]

But with the Dawn, a New Day is Born pt 1

I have 0 self control when it comes to a new AU. The title comes from the 1931 song Goodnight Sweetheart. I recommend the Bing Crosby version (and also his version of P.S. I love you from a similar vintage).

I probably wouldn't have written this without some enabling from @sneverussape so thank you, friend. Now we all get Harry being Very Confused by a Tom Riddle who mostly isn't a homicidal dick and a Ron who is going to do his level best to make Dumbledore regret taking up teaching. Hermione is going to enjoy the hell out of the library and not having to only research things to save people's lives.

Harry startled as Ron and Hermione melted out of the trees to stand on either side of him. They weren’t shades of themselves, they were solid…and he’d dropped the stone already, anyway. They were real and breathing and they were with him.

“What are you doing?” His voice shook.

“Dumbledore may be convinced that you’re the one he needs to kill, but we aren’t letting you do it alone.” Ron set his jaw in a way Harry knew. Argument was pointless.

“We’ve done everything together.” Hermione continued, her own voice shaking. “And we aren’t…well, three is a magical number too, isn’t it?”

“But you have families.” Harry insisted. Hermione, in his other side, mumbled something he only caught snatches of.

Steadfast in this fateful hour

I place my magic with all its power,

And the sun with its brightness,

And the snow with its whiteness,

And fire with all the strength it hath,

“Think my mum knows.” Ron tried to smile, but it twisted. “She sent her love, you know, for all of us. Said she’d make them understand.”

“Your mum?” Harry couldn’t finish.

And lightning with its rapid wrath,

And the winds with their swiftness along their path,

And Black Lake with its deepness,

“Yeah. She doesn’t want to…after her brothers…I reckon she knows us all pretty well at this point. Anyway, she loves us.”

And the hills with their steepness,

And the moors with their starkness:

      All these I place,

      With my friends help and grace

Between this world and the bringer of darkness.

They’d reached the clearing.

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

After…after Voldemort accepted their triple sacrifice, after the green glow enveloped them, they tumbled together on the floor of Kings Cross, only it was much neater than Harry ever remembered it. So terribly white, really, from the lights to the tiles.

“I didn’t think there’d be an after.” Ron croaked.

“Neither did I.” Hermione’s voice quavered. “I hoped…”

Harry coughed, spat up something foul, and rolled to his feet. “What was that you were saying, Hermione?”

His voice sounded as raspy as his throat felt. Whatever he’d hacked up and spat on the floor pulsed there, thick and black and wet. Instinctively, he herded the other two away from it.

“A version of St. Patrick’s Rune.” Hermione admitted, flushing a bit. “I found it in the library at Grimmauld, tucked away in something ancient. Someone marked it as ‘for absolute life or death emergencies’ so I memorized it. I didn’t know if it would work for me. I’m not sure if it was meant to do…this.” She gestured at their surroundings.

He couldn’t say anything. There weren’t words enough in the world to say anything to Hermione and Ron, who loved him enough to walk with him into death. He launched himself at Ron with all the coordination of a drunk Niffler. Ron caught him, pulled him close, and Hermione crowded in from his other side. They stood for a moment, just breathing, just holding on.

“Thank you. Thank you thank you thank you.” Harry tried to tamp down on the ridiculous urge to cry as he mumbled into Ron’s chest .

(Even in the after…after he couldn’t be as tall as he wanted, which was a crock in Harry’s opinion.)

“As if we would do anything else.” Hermione huffed. “We’ve walked with you every step of the way and we aren’t abandoning you now.”

‘You’d probably muck up your…after by feeling guilty without us.” Ron pointed out, patting his back. “D’you think we’re waiting for a train?”

“The three of you,” a voice that reminded him of an annoyed Dumbledore came from behind them. “Are not supposed to be anywhere together.”

They turned as one, Ron trying to shove Harry and Hermione behind him. Harry decided that actually, Ron could take this one.

“I am meant to be meeting Mr. Potter to discuss his options.” It was Dumbledore, if you’d known him in the 1930s. Harry remembered the pictures.

“Huh, no wonder old Grindy went for him.” Ron mused.

Harry tried to muffle the semi-hysterical giggles that threatened.

Hermione thumped her head against his back. “Do not tell him what you think of his plans. Do not tell him what you think of his plans.” She whispered.

“But, as we seem to have had a change of plans, Mr. Potter’s options are no longer what they once were. You will no doubt be happy to know that Mr. Longbottom ended Nagini right before the three of you created a magical backlash that took out the Death Eater encampment and the Acromantula colony.” He spoke as sternly as Dumbledore ever did.

“Good on Nev.” Ron cheered. “You said something about options?”

Death, Ron discovered, took away pretty much all the terror of Dumbledore being upset with him. What was he going to do, dock points? Could people in the waiting room, if that’s what this was, have high blood pressure? Had anyone ever tried?

“I am no longer allowed to discuss options. That has been decided by…others. While I am not pleased with this disruption in a delicate plan, I am proud of your loyalty to one another and to the world you lived in.”

“Well we weren’t daft enough to let Harry walk off to his death. Figured we had the best chance of joining him and it wouldn’t be the same if we weren’t together.” Ron shrugged. “So, we just hopped on that next big adventure.”

Dumbledore opened his mouth, shut it with a snap, and then turned on his heel and stalked off, muttering something under his breath about the sanctity of life after death being lost on Weasleys.

“I hope he has to spend all his time with Great Grand Aunt Wilhelmina and Great Grand Uncle Bilius. They were in his class at Hogwarts and it would serve him right.” Ron muttered, making both Harry and Hermione snicker.

“I suppose now we wait?” Harry asked. “I wonder if a train will come.”

No train came and no one was quite sure how long they waited after Dumbledore stomped off in a huff. Pocket watches didn’t work, wherever they were. It was sort of pleasant, though, not having anywhere to be. Hermione still had her beaded bag, and after a little while she produced a non-magical deck of cards.

“Anyone for rummy?”

They played fourteen hands of rummy and three of hearts before they were interrupted again, which was just as well because Hermione and Ron were bickering over Hermione counting cards. Harry worked on ‘improving’ his own hand from the deck while they were occupied. They never noticed, not when they really got going.

“Beg pardon?”

They whipped around, staring at the young woman just stepping out of a doorway that didn’t used to exist.

“Are you here to take us with you?” Harry asked unsteadily.

“That…it isn’t an option yet. What you three did…well, you upset any number of those much higher up than me.” The woman chuckled. “In any case, they’ve decided to send you…sideways a bit. Finish your unfinished business.”

“What does that mean?” Hermione asked.

“You’re going to be sent…elsewhere. It’ll be 1941, and…it gets a bit complicated here, I’m afraid.” She sighed. “There’s only so much we can do when we get an, er…special delivery like you three. How to explain this? Well, you’ll keep your current memories because there are limits and we aren’t interested in playing dolls with people. You’ll have an…overlay, I suppose, of your 1941-current memories. I’m afraid before Hogwarts won’t be much fun, but we have to explain the twitchiness since we aren’t in the business of wiping people’s personalities away. You’re going back as firsties. That was a non-negotiable. As I said, you made quite a few people upset.”

“Will we be ourselves?” Hermione seemed to be absorbing everything they were told.

“You and Mr. Potter will be Harry and Hermione Perhalion. Mr. Weasley will be Galahad Weasley.”

“Why don’t I get to keep my name?” Ron looked disgusted at the thought of being Galahad.

“Because we can only change the essential nature of a Weasley so much, we aren’t making any of you have new faces, and the Weasley family isn’t slated to have a Ronald for a few generations yet.” The woman answered sternly. “We do try not to meddle too much, unlike certain teenagers.”

“You said we had unfinished business?” Harry picked up where Hermione left off.

“None of you finished school or did any of the things you might have done. And you, Mr. Potter, are actually going to feel the feelings you bottled up on your last go-round.” She poked him in the chest. “No more hiding behind anger. No stuffing everything into the feelings barn.”

“I…what?” Harry stared.

“Do any of you read the…bugger but that one’s in the future. Never mind that. It was from the New Yorker.”

“Oh, my parents like the long-form journalism.” Hermione said brightly.

“Yes,” the woman replied slowly. “They would.”

“Is my unfinished business now a quest to change my name?” Ron asked acidly, clearly trying to change the subject.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” The woman snapped.

“My name is now Galahad. I can’t help it.”

The woman raised her hand and snapped and all Harry knew was darkness.

#hp society/the ton #hp the season au #hp the season/the ton au #but with the dawn a new day is born #harry potter #hermione granger #ron weasley #Hermione and ron are 1000% done with Dumbledore's plans #like they would allow harry to go off to his death in a forest without them #dumbledore can go boil his head for all hermione cares right now about his opinion #Hermione is probably going to help ron make Dumbledore regret taking up teaching #because institutional bias starts at the top and she's quite frankly sick of it