#i hand drew all that infernal script

[may12324]

Karlach Cliffgate- fire of my heart

#i love her so much! #baldur's gate 3 #karlach cliffgate #karlach #bg3 #baldurs gate #my art #baldurs gate 3 #i hand drew all that infernal script #its what her tattoos say #well i drew it in pen #but still #it looks so fancy i lvoe it

[turtlepated]

The Handbook for the Recently Married (to the Deceased)

Chapter 2: 

[TW: mild peril. It’s not explicit or graphic, but there is mention of hanging. I debated for a bit whether to keep this part brief so I could get to the next bit which I’m really looking forward to writing faster, but it feels like this is a better segue than jumping right in feet first.]

Tag list: @sapphic-florals​ , @beetlejuicebeadoll​ , @do-ya-hear-that-sound​ , @imtherain​ , @imsuchahobbit​ , @pastelnacht​ , and @tialanderrol​

-----

I discovered quickly that the disembodied noises that echoed around me in what was apparently a vast empty space containing nothing my myself, the slide, and the distant door were emanating from the living room. Whatever the cackling green-haired guy in the stripes and his teenaged cohort were getting up to, they were evidently having a blast. Every few minutes it seemed I could hear peals of laughter, screams, dull sounds of impact as of people jumping around and even dancing. I was fairly sure that strains of upbeat music drifted to me, some sort of loud and boisterous song about a beautiful sound? I kept climbing, working my way steadily up the slide toward the landing that floated disconnected from any structure and the door that stood upon it.

Over the subsequent hours as I rose incrementally higher, the formerly indistinct voices on the other side of the door sharpened enough that I caught snatches of the conversations. I had no trouble recognizing the exuberant, raspy voice of the man in the stripes, so I came to the conclusion that the teenaged girl was named “Lydia,” since he said the name several times with evident reference to her. His name was harder to pin down, since Lydia only ever seemed to refer to him with nicknames: “Beej”, “BJ”, “Bug Juice”. But they were clearly making the most of whatever strange and unusual dynamic they had going on, judging by the terrified screams that I could only imagine came from other hapless guests at the door. 

At some point I heard mention of some sort of handbook, then Lydia asking insistently, urgently about using the book to find her mother. Parts of the conversation were incomprehensible to me, but I overheard enough to pick up on the fact that Lydia was taking the book upstairs? Were there other people in the house after all? The man? demon? ghost? that she called BJ (it was very ambiguous just what he was) yelled plaintively after her and I heard his words with perfect clarity: “You’re leaving me? But what am I supposed to do?!” There was a desperation in his voice that surprised me, as though he had suddenly found himself adrift and unsure without his partner in crime even though she had only stepped out of the room. He lamented his loneliness to an unknown audience, though it was difficult to determine how much of it was genuine emotion and how much was play-acting. But on some level I understood how he professed to feel. I wasn’t a stranger to loneliness and disconnect and unfulfillment. Perhaps there was more to him than I’d given him credit for. I paused in my ascent, frowning deeply. What was that? Where had it come from? This….person had terrorized and attacked me! I should not be empathizing with him!

“After all I’ve done for her! Alone… again…” Even with his grating, sandpaper-to-the-ear-canal voice, I couldn’t ignore the hurt that seeped into his tone anymore than I could ignore the twinge it caused in my chest because, in spite of everything, at the very least I understood that hurt. I was so taken aback by this revelation that I missed the next part of his speech, a portion of which was again delivered in song form and included allusions to a “super evil plan going down.” I licked my lips and resumed my uphill battle with renewed fervor. Whatever that moment had been, whatever those feelings may have been, I was more than ready to get out of here before anything else horrible happened.

As I drew closer to the landing, things upstairs seemed to go quiet for awhile. Minutes or maybe hours later, it was hard to keep track of time in this strange empty place, I heard more hushed voices. But these were unfamiliar. One was a man, whispering loudly for Lydia. Maybe it was her parents! Maybe they could get me out of here. I started shouting for help, but it became apparent that while I could hear them, they could not hear me. At long last, I was nearing the end of my ordeal. The landing was just a few feet ahead of me, if I kept going in no time at all I’d be able to pull myself up onto flat ground for the first time in what seemed like ages. I couldn’t help the grin that split my face when I finally, finally grabbed hold of the bannister at the top of the slide and hauled myself up and onto my feet. Triumph and relief were overwhelming me and I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. But that decision could wait, it was time to get the hell out of this place!

All at once the activity in the house above me resumed with more ferocity than before: raised voices shouting things I couldn’t quite make out, a strange mechanical sound, a rumbling like thunder. Over it all I heard Lydia speaking loudly, practically screaming out some sort of rhyming verse: “Spirit nearest, hearts entwine! Love infernal, shades unbind!” The landing lurched under my feet and I staggered with a frightened gasp, grasping the door handle in one hand and the railing with the other. Everything shook, the house groaned around us as though it were trying to wrench free of its foundations. “Lydia!” “What’s going on?!” I had to agree with the sentiment, but I was more focused on getting the door open as everything around me continued to shudder as though in an earthquake. “I summon thee, lend Ceres’ breath! Devoted soul, released from death!” I twisted the knob, flung open the door, and hurled myself through.

Curiously I landed flat on my belly with a grunt, finding that I had apparently emerged from the fireplace on the opposite side of the room from the stairs to the basement. The sight that met my eyes could not have been stranger if it had been written in a script. The entire room was bathed in the ghostly bluish-purple light emanating from a squat machine placed on a plinth. Standing in the living room with their backs to me were two men and woman I hadn’t seen before. Lydia stood on the first landing of the stairs, looking down on us all. Her face looked pale and stricken in the draining violet light. A blood curdling scream made me leap to my feet. There was another couple in the room, a man in a green plaid shirt and brown khakis and a pretty blond woman in a floral printed dress. She was floating a couple feet off the floor, her eyes wide and round and unfocused as she shrieked again. “What did you do?!” demanded the man beside her, frantic, gripping her by the wrist and trying uselessly to pull her back to the floor. “I don’t know!” Lydia cried, thumbing wildly through a thick, battered book. “It was supposed to be my mom!”

The floating woman screamed again, sounding like she was in agony. The man beside her looked helplessly from one face to another of the assorted onlookers. “Somebody help! What’s happening to her?!” A familiar, gravelly voice sneered loudly from all directions, thrumming in the air, making the furnishings and décor rattle on the walls. “Exorcism: death for the dead!” There came a flash of burning red light and he appeared again, the man in the stripes. He looked different than he had when he chased me into the basement. Before, even when he was tearing his face off to scare me, there had been this playfulness about him, like it was all in good gross fun. That was gone now, his entire countenance was much more demonic. His hair, formerly bright grassy green, had turned a fiery, angry red as he pointlessly adjusted the frayed cuffs of his suit jacket.

“Hey guys! Awesome séance!” he snarled in sing-song, snapping his fingers in a whip-quick gesture that made the overhead light fixtures explode in a shower of sparks that rained down on our heads. “Lots of good, old fashioned chaos! You lose! In your faces! ‘Cause look who’s holding all the aces!” Lydia and the dark-haired man rounded on him at once, getting as close as they dared. “You did this!” the man shouted, pointing at him. With a smile that was all eye teeth, the furious demon jutted his chin at Lydia. “Nope. She did!” He then laid out his “super evil plan” for our benefit: unless Lydia would agree to marry him, Barbara, who must be the floating woman, would suffer an unspeakable fate. This was met with the expected responses of outrage and incredulity, so he promptly clarified that it was “a green-card thing.” When that still didn’t clear matters up, he snapped angrily, “I’m tired of being alone! And life is the only way out!” Once again, even though the rational side of my brain had me cowering against the wall with the others at his violent outburst, something in his voice made my heart go out to him.

Was all of this really just because he was lonely?

While I was occupied with my internal musing, Lydia agreed to his proposal, he snapped his fingers a few more times and floating Barbara lowered to the floor. Clapping and cheering happily to himself, the red-haired BJ attempted to dispose of Barbara and the man who I assumed must be her husband by sending them through a strange door that he drew on the wall with chalk. Just as it seemed things were about to start calming down, Lydia unexpectedly bolted through the door and disappeared in a green mist, followed quickly by a man in a smart suit who called after her. In the tense and stunned silence that followed, BJ let his head roll back on his neck and shouted to the ceiling, “Why does everyone keep leaving me!” Quickly composing himself, he announced that now we would all die. Todaaaaaay. In a panic I was shoved ahead of the nicely dressed Asian man who let out a shrill scream as the visibly smoking demon stalked toward us.

Even while it was still happening, I couldn’t say for sure how the minimalistic/modern living space spontaneously transformed into some sort of brightly lit studio gameshow set or why I was suddenly dressed in a silvery dress studded with rhinestones and a mermaid skirt. I was equally unsure just where the enormous board of rotating panels that loomed beside me had materialized from. Canned applause echoed from somewhere vaguely overhead when Mr. Bug Juice reappeared. He’d changed clothes again, now wearing a garish yellow blazer with pronounced lapels.  He produced a microphone from an inside pocket of his jacket and spoke loudly and cordially into it, gesturing grandly as if to a live studio audience. “Thank you all for joining us today for another exciting round of America’s favorite game: Extreme Hang Man!” Frightened whimpers above and to the right of me drew my gaze up, where the Asian man in the nice suit stood on a platform with a gallows erected behind him. A rope dangled from the arm of the gallows, ending in a noose around his neck. He caught my eyes, his own blown wide in abject terror but was apparently unable to move from the spot.

“As always, I’m your host with the most! How about giving it up for our three contestants!” BJ crowed, waving toward three cartoonishly proportioned podiums where the blond woman, Barbara, the man in the green shirt, and the other red-haired woman were standing as more applause sounded. Written across the front of their podiums in spikey handwriting were the names, “Barbara”, “Adam”, and “Delia.” Adam leaned forward over the top of his podium, addressing the demon. “Beetlejuice, this has gone too far!” he admonished, only for Beetlejuice to gesture forcefully with an angry growl: “Put a sock it in, stiff!” Adam gagged around a rolled up pair of fetid looking tube socks that were suddenly crammed into his mouth as BJ (or Beetlejuice, apparently) ran a hand over his hair, which was once again a dark green. Clearing his throat once, he grinned at his imaginary audience with much more strained mania than I’d seen thus far. “Aaaaaaand, here we go!” he said, and I gasped when the panels in the board spun of their own accord to reveal a series of underscores. “Let’s have our first guess! Babs! Pick a letter!”

Barbara’s mouth opened and closed a few times, at a loss for words as Beetlejuice pointed to a pair of floating digital numbers that appeared out of thin air above her head. “Ten seconds on the clock, Babs, chop chop!” Stammering, Barbara called out a letter. It quickly became clear what was happening; it really was just like a game of hang man with a live man. With each wrong guess, the platform he stood on would lower incrementally as if on hydraulics, tightening the noose around his neck and drawing a petrified wail from him each time. The trio of “contestants” were doing an alright job of guessing the words and phrases Beetlejuice put to them, even though his abysmal spelling made it a bit more difficult for them.

The words and phrases themselves were all rather baffling: things like “Sandworm” and “Breathers suck” and “Why don’t you love me, Mom?” I cringed as Barbara correctly filled in the sentence “Everything is pointless”, causing Beetlejuice to let out a frustrated growl and the man on the platform a relieved sigh. The irate demon made another forceful gesture at the board, setting all the panels spinning at the same time as the next puzzle appeared. It took up the entire board and I glanced up at the man on the platform, who had blanched to a sickly gray. Beetlejuice cackled wickedly, pacing over to the three podiums. “Time for the sudden death round!” I worried my lip with my teeth, wracking my brains to come up with some sort of plan. This whole thing was getting out of hand, someone was going to get hurt. Or worse. I had to put a stop to it, but how? Clearly Beetlejuice commanded forces that I had no way to match, but there had to be something I could do. Fighting him was a no-go, I wasn’t sure I was wily enough to outwit him, which really only left me one avenue: give him what he wanted.

Well, what did he want? To be alive, it would seem, as evidenced by the many times he had said so aloud since the botched séance. And the only way to accomplish that was… The man on the platform whimpered piteously as Adam guessed a letter that was somehow not present in the ludicrously long puzzle and I steeled myself, realizing what I had to do and surprised to find that I was feeling very at peace with my decision. Beetlejuice had come to stand at the base of the scaffold, reaching out a hand to gleefully jiggle one of the rather flimsy legs and causing the whole construct to sway gently. Up on the platform the man gasped in fear.

Without preamble I stepped up to him and said point blank, “I’ll marry you.” 

------

Thanks for reading! And if you’d like to be tagged in upcoming chapters, give me a shout!

Chapter 1

Chapter 3

#beetlejuice #beetlejuice the musical #beetlejuice broadway #beetlejuice x reader #beetlejuice x self insert #at this point I think it's safe to say this is now an AU #my writing #Pate writes

[springlockedfoxy]

A more fitting end

I really didn’t like the ending to the third story in the FNaF novel series.

So... I fixed it.

Major spoilers for the third story from Into the Pit.

A More Fitting End

As Millie saw the Sword of Damocles above her, she had to reformulate her plan. The light from the small gap shone on the blade, and she recognized it as a bit of sheet metal that had been beside the bear when she’d crawled into the infernal thing.

The blade descended, peals of laughter echoing around her as the creature indulged in its private joy.

Millie braced herself, before shoving her entire body to the right of the slicing guillotine. The sheet metal lodged into the bottom of the beast, and she heard it sigh with contentment.

“Wish granted, Silly Millie,” it said, as if proud of its accomplishment.

Millie tried not to even breathe as she rested against the wall of the bear’s stomach. She did, however, shift her weight just a little, and using the new leverage found with the sheet of metal, began pushing on the door to the bear’s belly.

“Hmm?” The bear hummed, a sound that would have been in its throat... if it had had one.

Millie pushed with all of her might, bracing her shoulders against the metal, her feet planted solidly against the door, until it sprang open with a bang, and Millie wasted no time in escaping the brazen bear. She turned on it, looking at the thing she’d been trapped in, seeing its rolling eyes, and the almost startled expression.

“How...?” It asked, before the black eyebrows drew down over the angered blue eyes. “Get back here,” it growled. “I’m not through with you!”

The whole creature shuddered as it began clambering to its feet.

Millie looked around, before she huffed, and didn’t wait for it to finish its movement. She lunged for the giant electrical kill switch.

The robot gasped, reaching out to stop her, but she hauled it down with all of her might, and everything went dark.

She stood, panting in the new oppressive silence.

Until echoing laughter began ringing in her ears.

“Silly Millie,” the voice of the bear growled, the eyes suddenly appearing above her, glowing brightly, the lights overspill illuminating its mouth. “I run on batteries!”

Millie screamed, blindly running through the workshop. She banged into the door, but a heavy metal paw pressed against it, keeping it closed.

“Foolish girl, did you think you’d escape so easily?” The bear chided, before grabbing her by the arm, and began making attempts to stuff her back into its gaping belly. She screamed, again and again until she was hoarse, fingernails raking at the plastic exterior.

“What’s going on in here?” a voice Millie had never heard be so strong rang out.

A flashlight raked across Millie’s eyes and her grandfather's face swam into view. He lifted a foot and booted the bear in the face. It rocked back at the impact, sending Millie tumbling to the floor.

The old man picked up a baseball bat and pranged it across the head a few more times.

Millie watched as the bear stopped moving, and grandpa prodded it with the weapon.

“It’s dangerous in here, Millie. Back to the house.” There was nothing in his tone that brooked any kind of response except doing exactly what he said.

Millie moved back into the house, her eyes down, feeling the warmth of the home wash over her.

She had a second chance.

Her eyes stung with tears as she saw the concerned faces of her relatives swim into view in the soft candlelight.

Wait, candlelight?

After a moment, the lights flickered back on again, and there was collective elation in the home.

Grandpa came stomping back in again. “Millie threw the breaker to the house,” he said. “Something was malfunctioning in the workshop.” He nodded down to Millie, and then moved past her, leaving the remaining half of the baseball bat resting against the wall.

Slowly, Millie waded into the normalcy of the room, looking at her relatives. She smoothed her dress down, and sat on the edge of the couch, feeling very self-conscious.

“Sorry about that. It was dangerous in there,” she said quietly.

“We were just about to call your parents,” her aunt said, her tone full of that forced cheer that people have when they’re trying to recover a feeling from before. “And we’ve not yet opened presents.”

Millie nodded a little but noted a few of the gifts were wrapped in black, with delicate lace bows.

And the sticker read her name.

She tilted her head some but heard her aunt fussing with Skype.

“Hello!” came her mom's cheery voice, always as if she were excited that she woke up alive today.

Millie looked over to her mother's smiling face, with her father jockeying for position in front of the camera.

“There’s my Millie!” Her father said, smiling.

“Hi, Dad,” she said quietly. “Hi, Mom.”

“Oh, honey! You look like you’ve been crying! Are you okay?”

“She’s just been cold. She was outside earlier.” Her grandpa answered for her. “Her nose is red because of it.”

She looked up at him, a little surprised, but took the tissue he offered and delicately addressed her face.

“Now, I know you said you weren’t celebrating Christmas this year,” her mom said, putting on a faux guilty tone. “But we’d already shipped your gift.”

A rustling beneath the tree and two small hands shoved a box wrapped in black paper, with velvet spiderwebbing roped across it.

A moment or two later her youngest cousin smiled up at her. “I get to be Santa this year!” He chirped.

Millie reached down and picked up the box, looking at it in her lap. She carefully untied the grey lace ribbon, unstuck the tape and opened the box.

“It’s fake leather,” her mom said. “And hand made.”

Inside the box was a book, done in the style of the old leather-bound tomes she’d coveted at the library. There was embossing, and delicate gold leafed accents.

On the front, in flowing golden script, there was some Arabic writing.

It was absolutely gorgeous. She lifted it out of the box, surprised at how light it was.

She flipped it open, the pages were all blank and had those unfinished edges of hand made books. At the back of the book, she discovered something different, a small electronic device.

“Your father and I couldn’t figure out how to get you all of the books we wanted to. But, since most of them are available in the Gutenberg project... we figured we’d get you a kindle, and you could always have all of them close.”

“Tell her about the words!” Her father said excitedly.

“Oh! Right. The script on the front says “The story of a lifetime”.” Her mom blinked. “Right?”

“About right, it’s a good translation. We had it made because we know how much you like to journal. So, it’ll carry your kindle, and you can write in it! We found a bookbinder here and got to pick out all parts of it. Really interesting process. Really an art to handcrafted books.”

Millie closed the cover, her heart pounding in her chest.

She didn’t think her parents noticed her. Didn’t know what she read, or that she even journaled. She looked up at their faces, her family’s wide smiles of anticipation, and this time, there was no cold weather to blame the tears on.

“Thank you,” she managed after a few attempts.

“Oh, goodness. Honey! Of course. We love you, and we wish we could have come home this Christmas.”

She had a savage retort on her tongue, but the memory of that bear’s laugh, and the glinting of the gold leaf against her fingers, she killed it before she took a breath to voice it.

“It would be great to see you,” she said, smiling as much as she could at them. “I love you too.” She still resented their leaving, but the fire in her heart wasn’t as hot.

She clutched the book to her chest, holding it as it it were a lifeline. She sat quietly, on the periphery of the holiday cheer, thinking over the past few hours.

The family eventually said goodbye to Millie's parents and settled into eating some of the leftovers, giving Millie a chance to try the tofurkey roast her grandfather had prepared. It had a strange texture and was a little overdone. She didn’t like meat because of the texture, and the flavor, and would have been fine without the fake meat, but, she ... appreciated her grandfather going out of his way to try something new, so she would too.

The family packed up, rounding up everyone into their individual vans or cars. A round of good wishes, and near hugs, Millie wasn’t quite there yet, and the house was silent again.

Millie breathed a sigh of relief as the howling pack was gone.

“Millie?” Her grandfather called from the dining room.

He probably wanted help cleaning up.

She sighed, and walked into the room, still clutching her book.

Grandpa had already cleaned the table, and on it were two small boxes.

“I know you said -“

“I want to this year,” she said, cutting him off. “I... that thing in the garage...”

“Won’t be a problem.”

She pressed her lips into a line, then nodded.

“I... got these for you.”

Her grandpa gestured to the two boxes. “Happy Holidays, Millie.” His smile was soft and somewhat sad. Melancholy, Millie’s thoughts supplied.

She looked up at him and approached, reaching out for the bigger box first.

“I didn’t want you to open these with your nephews around. They’re very fragile.”

She looked up at him, and then back down again, and carefully opened the box.

Inside was a glass dome. She reached in and pulled it free by the base.

To say two hummingbirds sat on branches would be doing a disservice to the art of the piece. A taxidermy hummingbird floated beside a flower, suspended by a shining silver wire beside a lily it had been carefully designed to look as if it had just selected just that one. And it was caught in a moment in time. Its feathers shone like gems in the light of the dining room. Beside it, the delicate skeleton of another tilted its head, as if watching the one above it.

“I... wasn’t sure what you’d think. But don’t worry, both of them died of natural causes.” Her grandpa said. “I know... you read a lot about the beauty... uh, the beauty in death. So, I tried to find something that.. you know, captured that.”

Her breath was taken away. Sure, the bobcat in the front hall was a little creepy, but this was something different.

“It’s gorgeous,” she said quietly. Remembering the tales of Victorian homes with their small gem birds on display. Had her grandfather really taken the time to find out what she was interested in? Had he really listened to her beyond the angry words she’d flung at him, and sorted through to find out the perfect gift? “I’m... speechless.” She said with a breathy laugh.

The old man smiled, his smile still a little sad.

“And, this one.”

He gently slid the small box forward.

She carefully picked up the small box and opened it.

Inside was a small locket, with a basket weave pattern under glass.

Her heart began to pound in her ears as she looked up at her grandfather, and back down again. The basketweave pattern came in two colors. The vertical weave was one that was jet black on the left, fading to peppery silver and finally white on the right, while the horizontal was a warm chocolate brown.

She popped the locket open ever so carefully, peering at the picture inside.

She was greeted by her grandmother's smiling face, and a much younger version of her grandfather kissing her cheek.

Her grandfather sat beside her, quiet as she processed what she had just been given.

“It’s a memento mori,” she said, as soon as she recovered her breath.

Her grandfather nodded. “It’s not custom to add a living person’s hair, but, I ain’t gonna be around forever. And I wanted to be with her in your thoughts.”

She gently closed the locket again, and looked up at him.

She felt like the world as she’d seen it lay shattered before her. That whatever dark glasses she’d been wearing had been ripped away, and she was left staring into this brilliance that wasn’t criticizing her but was trying to learn who she was, and okay they made mistakes along the way, but these people cared for her. They didn’t try to talk her away from what she spent her creative pursuits on.

And they got to know her, got to know who she was, so they could offer her something that catered to her. Something she would enjoy.

And she had not made it easy on any of them.

The weight of the locket settled comfortably against the hollow of her throat, but as her grandfather finished clasping it and let it rest, she felt the weight of the past year resting there as well. She touched the locket, the memento mori, not some strangers memento, but that of her own family, and felt she was able to breathe again.

She was cared for. She was loved.

She recognized her nastiness and the hard closing of doors between herself and others had been a way to protect herself from those she felt wouldn’t understand. But that protective shell had become a tomb in which she hadn’t let anyone in, for fear of being hurt, she had hurt those around her, who had just wanted to know who she was, who had wanted to share her interests.

And then she’d been upset that no one had understood.

She looked at the gifts, every one of them thoughtful and perfect.

And she had nearly lost all of this. Had her body bisected by a freaky robot bear.

She got up and gently wrapped her arms around the old man's shoulders.

“New Years is coming up soon,” she said. “I can’t promise anything, but... I want to be more mindful. And... more thankful.” She said, as he patted her arm gently. “I’ve ... really been kind of a brat, haven’t I?”

The old man shrugged. “You’re 14. You’re smart as a whip and twice as quick. You’re sorting out a lot of emotions, and life isn’t easy for you. I expect a little difficulty.” He said, smiling.

She nodded. “Thank you.”

He shrugged before he nodded again. “Let’s try starting with being more honest?” He asked.

Millie nodded her head. “I’ll try.”

“And maybe a little more grateful.”

Millie felt her cheeks flush, embarrassment at her prior behavior. “I think I can do that.”

The old man smiled. “And maybe doing your homework without a battle.”

“I’ve been doing that!” Millie said, smiling, sitting down again.

“I know. I just wanted to complain.”

“Speaking of complaints,” she said hesitantly. “I know I don’t have much room to ask. But, could we maybe make my room a little more... mine?”

Her grandfather tilted his head some.

“It doesn’t feel like I... fit in. I feel like I’ve just sort of been stuffed into grandmas old sewing room. Could we maybe move some of those things into storage, and let me reclaim the space?”

He looked at her, before he nodded. “I do understand that. And I think that’s something we can do.”

Millie smiled a little more. “Maybe put some new wallpaper up?”

“Don’t push your luck, girlie,” he chided gently.

Spring came in its usual way, and Millie was dressed in the most unlike her outfit she had ever worn. Overalls and a Tshirt.

“You hardly look like yourself,” Dillon said, draping some plastic over her bed.

“I feel so out of place!” Millie whined.

“Oh it’s not that bad,” Brooke said, helping Dillon spread the plastic out so it covered all parts of the bed they’d decided to just leave in the room. “You look cute. Not something I’d go to school in, but perfect for what we’re doing?”

She’d talked to Dillon, and a long conversation had melted the ice between them. The following weekend, they’d all gone to the tea house together, Dillon bringing Brooke along, and Millie had been pleasantly surprised to learn that Brooke’s mother was the taxidermist who had done the hummingbird display. Her mother worked with dead animals, which made Brooke want to learn how to keep them alive. She also had a wickedly dark sense of humor.

Brookes mother had also agreed to begin teaching Millie how to perform taxidermy so that she could bring death to life, and craft her own macabre creations.

A friendship had grown from the ice, and before long, the three of them were close friends.

Millie frowned. “As soon as we’re done here, I’m changing out of these.”

Brooke smiled and looked to the door as Grandpa hefted the bucket of wallpaper paste into the room. “You kids think this is going to be a one day deal?” He asked. “You’re in for a world of disappointment.”

He passed a scraper to each teen.

“Don’t dig into the plaster, were just scraping the paper off so we can put the new stuff up.”

The three teens looked at each other and nodded. “Goth princess room, here we come!” Brooke said, smiling brightly, thrusting her scraper into the air.

Millie smiled, watching as her new friends attacked the wallpaper.

It was symbolic, in a way, the thought, as she joined in. Peeling away layers to put something new, something where she fit. With the help of those who had helped her, by making room, so that she fit with them.

She reached up and touched the locket, smiling to the others, listening to Brooke excitedly exclaim how she’d found just the perfect starting point and grandpa fussing over the plaster.

Dillon smiled at her too, and she smiled back. She’d found her friends, and while her interests hadn’t changed, she still loved the concept of death and darkness, she had a whole new appreciation for life.

#into the pit spoilers #spoilers #into the pit #fnaf into the pit spoilers #Five nights at freddy's into the pit spoilers #five nights at freddys #fnaf

[turtlessuggest]

Draelon the Pale

Just for kicks and giggles I rolled up stats and a background for the sort of Tortle character I’d want to play given a chance.

Draelon the Pale

Tortle Wizard (School of Divination)

Background: Cloistered Scholar

Ability Scores:

Strength: 18 Dexterity: 7 Constitution: 16 Intelligence: 18 Wisdom: 7 Charisma: 16

Languages: Common, Aquan, Infernal, Celestial

Skill Proficiencies: Survival, History, Arcana

History: Draelon, as many Tortle do, began his life on a stretch of beach, surrounded by high makeshift walls and two loving, elderly parents and a clutch of brothers and sisters. Unlike most Tortles, however, Draelon was born with pristine white skin, with only a few patches of earthen brown on his shell (picture for reference).

This quickly drew worries from his parents. With such coloration, especially at a young age, he would be an incredibly easy target for those who would wish to do him harm. He would be like a beacon of vulnerability no matter where he roamed. His parents agreed that of any place, the city might be best for him, the larger and more eclectic the better. At least there, he might be simply one of many strange faces as opposed to a lone one wandering the wilds.

And so, Draelon’s parents impressed on him since the time he could understand the spoken word to make for the largest city he could as soon as they weren’t with him anymore. Thankfully, Draelon had a natural curiosity about him, and hearing tales of great buildings filled with knowledge from across the world which his parents called “libraries” fascinated him to no end. Once his parents finally passed and his siblings began to scatter, he had an intense desire to travel to one of the great holds of stone and mortar his parents spoke of.

Of course, he had to get there first. While his siblings scattered off into the wilds, Draelon took to the main roads, a roughly sketched map clutched in his pale claws. It was not an easy journey: Draelon’s tiny feet could only take him so far every day, and while his natural Tortle survival instincts helped him to gather food and construct shelters, he wasn’t exactly the most coordinated young Tortle. Through some stroke of biological unluckyness, his legs often betrayed him, tangling beneath him and sending him hurtling towards the ground along with any supplies he might have been carrying. It also didn’t help that, more often than not, he found himself lost in thought, wrapped in his own little world as he contemplated the world around him. While this tended to help in planning, it also meant he tended to ignore the surrounding physical world, which more than once meant dangers tended to get far closer to him than he would have liked.

In a rare stroke of luck, thankfully, Draelon was briefly picked up by a wandering band of adventurers, who styled themselves the Last Light Brigade. Taking pity on the little pale Tortle after finding him stuck in a tangle of brambles, the party briefly adopted him as they escorted him to one of the larger nearby cities. It was on this journey that the party’s wizard, a bright Fire Genasi named Caldera, noticed that not only did Draelon possess a keen mind, he had a natural aptitude for the arcane arts. Thus, when they finally arrived at the city and braced themselves for a tearful goodbye, they pulled every string they possibly could to get the young Draelon apprenticed to one of the local archwizards that oversaw arcane dealings within the city. Though Draelon did indeed shed many a tear when it came time for the Last Light Brigade to leave him, he forever held their influence to get him apprenticed as the kindest act he’d ever known.

The wizard Draelon was apprenticed to, the halfling Hugh Starcrest, was as many wizards are, perhaps a bit more focused on getting through his own studies than attempting a thorough education with his apprentice. In the early days Draelon was mostly used to ferry large books back and forth, aided by the Tortle’s surprisingly prodigious strength... though often hindered when his poor coordination sent those books scattered across the ground. Hugh did, though perhaps a little reluctantly, school the young Tortle on the ways of magic, and often prefaced Draelon’s errands with lessons on why a particular book, scroll, or instrument was needed. It was a very practical education, and Draelon soaked it all up like a dry sponge dropped in a puddle. 

As Draelon got older and advanced in his studies, he found himself fascinated by divination magic, especially by scripts discussing the nature of fate, probability, and eventuality, specifically those that divorced such concepts from strictly divine sources. The gods had their whims, of course, but surely not every single event, every causality, every blade of grass shifting randomly in the wind, needed to be tied to them, did it? He grew fascinated with the metaphysics of it all, and quickly grew frustrated with the lack of written material in the libraries of the city. 

So it was that a fully grown Draelon, perhaps earlier than even his homebody instructor might have liked, certainly sooner than the Last Light Brigade could have imagined, set himself on a course for adventure and learning. He was determined to uncover the cogs and springs of the universe, and he was certainly no longer a scared little hatchling. Now he was a wizard. He was Draelon the Pale.

Draelon is generally very good-natured, and surprisingly optimistic given the lot he’d been dealt at birth and through the years. While he realizes that bad things do happen in the world, that bad things indeed happen to those who do not deserve such fates, he tends to believe in the broader picture that the world and people who dwell in it will right themselves eventually. He does his best to reciprocate the kindness he was shown by Caldera, the rest of the Last Light Brigade, and even his grumpy teacher Hugh Starcrest, and is quick to help strangers. Unfortunately this does sometimes come back to bite him, as he often has trouble reading people and takes them only at their word. In his own words, “I am far better at reading books than people”. He’s still clumsy and he still gets lost in his own little world a lot, but at least now he has the power of magic to aid him.

As a full grown Tortle, Draelon is fairly stocky, with powerful arms forged from carrying extremely weighty tomes from libraries to the study of his old master augmented by his natural Tortle physiology. His skin and scales have not colored at all with age, remaining the same bright white as it had when he first poked out of the egg. His shell has gotten a little bit more color, with the almost flower-petal looking patches of brown being ringed by bits of black, but aside from that it has largely remained the same color. His eyes are soft and a deep, earthy shade of brown. The tips of his claws are as pale as his skin, but the bases of them are tinged with a bit of the brown of his shell.

When travelling, Draelon tends to do his best to hide his appearance, as it still acts as a beacon for danger to this day. He often has a deep green cloak (tailored for a Tortle’s body) with a tall hood to conceal most of his form, though his hands and beak do poke through from time to time. Interestingly enough, when people learn of his appearance and his fascination with fate, they assume he wishes to alter history at some point to change his looks, that he is ashamed of the way he was born. Draelon is quick to slap down such assumptions: “I have no problem with my looks” he often chides. “I think I look rather nice. Its the way other people and things react to my appearance that I try to guard against. If I didn’t have to worry about others looking at me like an ornament or easy prey, I wouldn’t wear this cloak.”

Aside from his cloak, Draelon usually carries a solid oak quarterstaff, more used to give vermin a solid whack or clearing brush than to aid in any spellcraft. The large pack strapped to the back of his shell seems to have as many books and scrolls as necessary travelling supplies. often spilling out the sides. 

Draelon tends to see magic as a wonder or object of study, and loathes having to use it for combat. He much prefers spells that gather information or enchant other parts of reality, seeing evocation as something of a cudgel. However, when the situation calls for it, he tends to prefer the power of cold and electricity, a result of witnessing the power of storms at sea as a hatchling.

#tortle #d&d #dungeons and dragons #turtle

[thejazzdesign]

how about multiples of 4 for Blue?

4: What would your character wear to a formal gathering such as a dance, a wedding, or a funeral?

Hmm, other than the classic all white shendyt skirts or one of these awesome robes, I would think he would wear something similar to a nice formal dashiki? I think that would look cool.  

8: If your character attended school, did they have a favorite or best subject?

Blue was raised in a barracks that monitored a trade road, so he mainly learned domestic tasks and how to be a soldier. His mothers made sure he had a good grasp of Mulhorandi history and religion, though. Blue loves history! He thinks it’s fascinating. His mothers also made him learn to read and write, so he can easily read and write low and high Mulhorandi script. He likes writing, but he’s left handed, so his handwriting is Not Great. 

12: Does your character have any addictions, allergies, diseases, illnesses, disorders, or disabilities? How does this affect their life?

Not really?? Blue is a tiefling, which comes with some odd quirks. He speaks in infernal when he sleeps, and animals and most people are naturally distrustful of him. (His warrior mothers always kept anyone from starting any shit, until Blue was old enough and big enough for no one to WANT to start any shit!) Idk, he’s scared of large birds? And he was raised hearing horror stories about the evil wizards of Thay, so he’s also low-key afraid of wizards. 

16: What’s one memory that your character will always be fond of?

Blue has lots of happy memories from his childhood and his teen years. His best memories are probably “Graduating” from boyhood and being considered a proper cadet and an actual member of the barracks! Before that he was just the collective son of all the women in the barracks, but afterwards he was an actual soldier! He still had to do the same chores and duties, but he got his own sword and he got to go on patrol with everyone else! Yay!

20: Describe any AUs you have for your character/s.

Well I’m trying to work him into my Lemon Princess fairytale retelling, but it’s…messy. The story is already complicated and adding a bright blue half-demon swordsman to this mix is A Lot. He may exist in that world, but I don’t know if he fits well into the story. But as far as AU’s go, one of the players in my game drew our party as modern day people and she said Blue just works construction and wears lots of red flannel. X’D

#dungeons and dragons #D&D #ocs #tiefling #Blue #formal dashikis look SO NICE #1980sspaceman

[our-elven-lady-of-chaos]

You are my Home Ch 4

The days quickly fell into a somewhat normal routine.  Wake up.  Light breakfast. Quick warm-up, then weapons practice with the Lady Lysandra.  Lunch.  A brief nap, or some quiet time to read in peace, whichever the day called for.  Seider practice, with Lysandra again.  Dinner was usually just him, Lys, and his brother, although at least once a week they made a point to sit down together as a team.

Once dinner was over, sometimes he discussed books with Lys, both magical texts and fictional works,  and sometimes they just sat and watched shows on the big glowing screen the mortals referred to as a ‘television’.  So far his favorite show was the one about a sarcastic, ornery doctor with a limp, who liked solving puzzles.  

Loki took much joy in solving life’s mysteries as well.  Mostly he was adjusting well to the Midgardian way of life, although there were a few minor hiccups along the way, like the time when he dumped a whole bottle of Dawn into the dishwasher and the entire kitchen became a magical wonderland of soapy bubbles and inconspicuous tripping hazards, the infamous microwave incident, for which there were tally marks on the wall for how many times both he and his brother had caused the small appliance to explode (Thor was at three to Loki’s one), or his general disregard of normal clothing in favor of expensive designer suits or whatever he brought with him from Asgard.  Most of the time they allowed him this small comfort of home; as long as he wasn’t wandering the streets looking like he belonged in a renaissance faire, the team tended not to question it.

After a month or so of Loki gradually settling in amongst Midgard’s Greatest Heroes, he was surprised to find that it was the Man of Iron, of all people, who was the first to warm up to him.  It all started when Stark had asked him to give him a hand in the lab with something or other on one of the days where Lys was out taking care of business elsewhere, much too busy to babysit the wayward god.  Much to his surprise, Loki was actually pretty useful to have around, or at least when he was given enough mental stimulation to not lose interest and resort to what Thor referred to as “Small Mischiefs” around the tower.  When that happened, Loki generally got to everyone but Bruce, Nat, and Lysandra.  Bruce, because the god was still (mildly) fearful of the green rage monster, after his previous trip to Midgard, but mostly they got along and just gave one another a large berthe.  Natasha he had formed some strange sort of truce with based almost entirely on respect, and the knowledge that she would totally kick his ass if he set so much as his pinky toe in her room.  And Lysandra...Lys was a different story altogether.  It could have been the fact that his mother had brought him up to be more respectful to women than that,  the fact that he knew very well that he wasn’t the only seider wielder in the tower and a fight between the two of them could end badly, or perhaps it was because he was slowly developing...feelings for her, perhaps?  Or was it just the sort of caring that came from being friends?  He couldn’t say.

It was some time shortly after this that Stark had agreed that Loki had earned his first supervised trip out of the tower.  Lys had received a note on a rolled up piece of parchment, delivered by a cat, of all things.  It was a large black cat with a single white splotch on its chest, tenderly dubbed “Smudge”.  He wasn’t quite sure how the cat had gotten into the tower in the first place, with both Jarvis and the massive elevator system clearly being obstacles for the portly feline, but he merely looked on as Lysandra gave him a good sized hunk of cooked chicken breast from the refrigerator, then deftly penned a new note for him in some odd dialect of the fae tongue and sent him on his way.  And then the cat just up and disappeared.  Just. Like. That!

Loki’s mouth hung open in shock.  Even in Asgard, which was a much more magical realm than most of Midgard ever had been even centuries ago, they did not have cats that could do that.  Or any mundane ground-dwelling beast that had some underlying seider abilities, especially one that was typically seen as a common housepet.

“Umm...Lysandra?  What just happened?”  Loki finally managed to sputter out.  “I know the people of Midgard used to rely on birds as a method of relaying messages, but a magical disappearing cat?”

Lysandra looked up after scanning the note once more.  “The fae still rely on cats, much like the goddess Freya, yes?”

“Well yes but...are there really still traces of the fae here?  I thought my fa….Odin and King Oberon agreed to lock them up in Faerie, in the Nevernever centuries ago.”

“As I’ve told you before, there is a thriving underground magical community, but most of them are probably half breeds or cast-offs at best nowadays.  The pathways were closed long ago, so the bloodlines got pretty diluted, you know?”

Loki nodded, stroking his chin absentmindedly as he pondered a thought.  Norns, how he wished he was still at his full strength so that he could dive head first into this mystery, but he was wise enough to know that the fae were fickle creatures at best, and on his own he would get nowhere. Or worse, in a world of pain.  Trouble he could handle, hell it was something he took great joy in instigating.   He was practically the god of it, for Odin’s sake!  But the fae were a dangerous lot, even for the silver tongued liesmith himself.

Lys gave him a small smile, seemingly reading his mind.  “I know you’re just itching to get out of here.  Come on, Tony already gave the OK for you to come with me today while I run a few errands.”

He looked taken aback for a moment, but this was soon overtaken by glee once he overcame the initial shock.  Not quite the typical malicious glee that most probably (mistakenly) associated with him, but more akin to that of a housecat finally being released into the yard to terrorize the local wildlife, or a dog stealing a cheeseburger from an unsuspecting hand and devouring it in one bite.  Loki was a creature of chaos, and thusly had to exercise that muscle every so often, for the good of everyone else in the tower.

She led him through the bustling streets, pausing momentarily to wave at the spider-kid Tony had recently “adopted”.  Loki had trouble keeping up between the unfamiliar miasma that came with such an overcrowded city and even stranger architecture, but was more than pleased when Lys finally relented and grabbed his hand as to not get separated from him.  While he wasn’t pleased to have been forced into more “plebeian” midgardian attire - dark jeans and a t-shirt that would have been much more suited to Stark’s closet, at least the sunglasses and leather jacket weren’t half bad.  The infernal device around his wrist, however….

Eventually the pair reached a darker corner of the city that gave off an eerie aura.  Well, eerie to any non-magic user, but it was really just one huge confusion spell meant to keep the mortals from sticking their noses into places they didn’t belong.  Lysandra produced a bag of piskie dust from somewhere in her bag, which she used to draw a series of runes on the wall to open the dimensional gate.  Upon finishing, she wiped the excess dust off on her jeans, then touched the amethyst stone on her ring to the center of the circle created by the glowing fae script.  The doorway suddenly lit up, etched in a pure white light.

“This way,” she instructed, reaching out to take his hand to cement their connection as was necessary with a non-magical companion, but she drew it back when she remembered who she was with.  Loki grabbed hold of it anyways.  “I take no offense,” he said with his signature smirk.

Loki’s eyes immediately widened once they were on the other side.  For starters, the space the underground market occupied was huge, and although he had somewhat anticipated that, it was still a bit of a shock once he actually saw it.  It was much like the outdoor markets on Asgard, except the patrons were decidedly less humanoid in appearance, and magic was everywhere.  Girls with green skin and leaves in their hair sold tonics, salves, and herbs with magical properties.  Dwarves boasted about the strength and durability of their wares, and haggled for precious elvish silver.  Piskies flitted about, chattering noisily in the ears of anyone who would listen, much like mosquitos.  

“Hurry up, slowpoke!”  Lys bade him with a laugh.  “We’ll have time to shop later, I have to meet up with a friend first, and I can’t just leave you here unattended.”

Loki huffed in annoyance.  “I’m not a child.  I’m over a thousand years old, I’ll have you know.”

“Yes, yes, you’re older than me by two centuries or so,”  Lys remarked.  “But, as a rule, I trust most of the fae here less than you, and that’s saying something, Mister God-of-Lies.”

Loki wore a broad grin on his face as they traipsed the rest of the way to the stall she was looking for.  He was slightly confused as to why so many of them bowed or curtsied as they passed by - sure he was a prince and all, but of a completely different realm, and there were few who knew of his presence or status even in these parts.  He’d have to ask Lys about it later, or perhaps her friend, as he didn’t think she’d give him a straight answer on the matter.  She was rather secretive of her past, although she had let down enough of her glamour to reveal a pair of perfectly pointed ears and sharper facial features.

“Are we being followed?,” he asked Lys at one point.

Lysandra merely shrugged at the thought.  “Nah, if anything it’s just the piskies.  If they get too close to your hair, just swat them away.”

Loki nodded mutely.  

“We are the two most powerful magical beings this side of the divide.  Trust me, no one’s gonna be stupid enough to mess with us, unless they have a death wish.  We literally radiate power - the fae can sense that.”

While he had assumed it would be a stall they were looking for, much like the other vendors, of course her mysterious contact would have enough wealth to have an actual building to conduct whatever sort of business happened in New York’s underbelly.  

The bell on the door jingled when she opened it, alerting its occupants to their arrival.  Lys gave an approving nod to Smudge, who had taken his place on a shelf that gave him a good vantage point to guard the door.  Loki quickly noted that there were nearly a dozen other cats in various shapes and colors lounging in different corners of the room - no surface was off limits.  And, what’s more, a good bit of the furniture seemed almost child sized, perhaps to suit the differing size in fae clientele?

“Hey Soren!  I hope you don’t mind that I brought a friend along this time,” Lysandra called out by means of greeting.

A massive stack of books walked towards them.  Well, in comparison to the one who was carrying them, at least.

“You bring that overly muscular prince again?” it spoke.  “You’re responsible for whatever he breaks.”

Loki laughed.  “That does sound like Thor.”

Soren set his stack down on a low lying coffee table to get a better look at the new visitor, wiping off his monocle with one paw before replacing it over one eye.  While he most closely resembled a Maine Coon, he stood a little over three feet tall on two legs, and wore a pair of leather boots and a bowtie in addition to the eyepiece.  His long twisted whiskers and thick coat made him look old and wise, although his age was a guess as with most of the fae.

Loki squinted to make sure he was seeing everything correctly, before turning to Lysandra, gaping like a fish.  Surely cats could not walk and talk, unless…

Soren chuckled.  “I’m a cait sith, my dear boy.”

I hope this was well worth the wait!  Please let me know how I’m doing, if you want a link to my AO3 page if you like that format better for comments, ect.  I don’t bite.

#loki x reader #loki x oc #loki (marvel) #loki fanfic #reader is a faerie #fae #fairies #fanfiction #you are my home

[eddycurrents]

For the week of 6 August 2018

Quick Bits:

Black Badge #1 is a wonderful start to this new series from the team behind Grass Kings. Matt Kindt, Tyler & Hilary Jenkins set up a new story featuring a troop of kids engaging in black ops operations as a pretty neat premise. The characters so far are somewhat unlikable, but that seems partially to be the point.

| Published by BOOM! Studios

Bloodshot Salvation #12 closes out this series and with it Jeff Lemire’s tenure with the characters. Amidst all of the crazy government organizations, experiments, and far-flung future assassinations, this has at heart been a story about family and the lengths people will go to in order to protect their own and there’s a wonderful sense of closure at the end here. We know it won’t last as Bloodshot: Rising Spirit is coming, but it’s still nice while it lasts. Also some very nice art from Doug Braithwaite and Jordie Bellaire.

| Published by Valiant

Clankillers #2 is pretty much made by the art from Antonio Fuso and Stefano Simeone. That’s not to take away from the story of family, betrayal, and Irish mythology with Sean Lewis, which is excellent, but Fuso’s art is just so perfectly suited to this. His style reminds me a lot of early Sean Phillips and a bit of Duncan Fegredo.

| Published by AfterShock

Daredevil #606 begins the next chapter for the series and it is ridiculously good. Interspersed with a main narrative of Daredevil tackling a band robbery by Hammerhead, Charles Soule and Phil Noto build up the pieces for the next stage in taking down Kingpin, bringing back two-thirds of Daredevil’s task force from Hunt for Wolverine. They’re a weird group, but it’s obvious that Soule likes writing these characters. Also, the art from Noto is just phenomenal.

| Published by Marvel

Death or Glory #4 is just more brilliance from Rick Remender and Bengal. The art is seriously god tier. The car chase this issue alone is incredible, not to mention the tension of Glory and her charges attempting to escape the abattoir. This is just astoundingly great comics.

| Published by Image / Giant Generator

Exiles #6 takes a little bit of downtime to figure out the new direction for the team to take before immediately dumping them in a new alternate reality. The artwork from Rod Reis is absolutely gorgeous and I really like how Saladin Ahmed seems to be building the team more as a family.

| Published by Marvel

Fantastic Four #1 is a very welcome and long overdue return, but thankfully this is a great issue. Sure, the team technically isn’t back yet, but in the main feature Dan Slott, Sara Pichelli, Elisabetta D’Amico, and Marte Gracia focus on one of the core tenets of these characters: family. And when combined with a sweet and funny flashback of the Four trying to find their way home, this is a good start, with beautiful artwork. That goes also for the back-up Doom story from Slott, Simone Bianchi, and Marco Russo, that gives us a more primal Doom. One that reminds me a bit of the Doom who was trapped on the Heroes Reborn counter-Earth. After his turn as Iron Man, I don’t want to see Doom slide back into outright villainy, but what comes next remains to be seen. Overall, I loved this, and am anxious to see what’s around the corner.

| Published by Marvel

Farmhand #2 is as good as the first issue, as Rob Guillory begins to flesh out the Jenkins family and hint that more strange shenanigans are going on in the town and at the family farm. Great art from Guillory and Taylor Wells.

| Published by Image

Her Infernal Descent #4 takes a few more interesting turns as Lynn takes a walk through “heaven” and then we get the ultimate cliffhanger. This entire series so far has shown a lot of inventiveness from the entire creative team, with Lonnie Nadler, Zac Thompson, Kyle Charles, and Dee Cunniffe all delivering some impressive work. This one kind of ups that with the depiction of Circle H and the angels constructing the condos. Also, the wood of suicides with Hunter S. Thompson is brilliant.

| Published by AfterShock

Hot Lunch Special #1 is a very solid debut for this crime drama from Eliot Rahal and Jorge Fornés. Comparisons to Fargo will probably abound, due to location, but this is much more serious in tone and execution, with some very evocative art from Fornés.

| Published by AfterShock

Hunt for Wolverine: The Adamantium Agenda #4 concludes the second of these minis, where the end result is seemingly all going to be “We didn’t find Logan, but we all found the true Wolverine that resides in our hearts.” I poke fun, but these have been enjoyable, especially this one from Tom Taylor, RB Silva, Adriano di Benedetto, and Guru eFX. Nice humour throughout as Taylor shows he really gets Spider-Man, Luke Cage, and Jessica Jones, leading me to hope that somewhere down the line he gets a New Avengers title going. Also some really big revelations that should have both personal and broad implications for the X-Men.

| Published by Marvel

Maestros #7 concludes what has been a funny, irreverent take on magic and fantasy from Steve Skroce and Dave Stewart. For a series that has had some interesting setbacks for our lead, this one’s actually pretty straight-forward, even as it gives us a sympathetic flashback for Mardok’s story.

| Published by Image

Medieval Spawn & Witchblade #4 is a decent conclusion to the series. I’ve liked the story that Brian Holguin and Brian Haberlin have been telling, even as the Spawn’s backstory does indeed reveal itself a take on the Arthurian myth. I’ve really enjoyed the art from Haberlin and Geirrod Van Dyke.

| Published by Image

Nancy Drew #3 has some really nice character moments as the crew tries to put the pieces together of Pete’s mother’s murder and some shady history. The art from Jenn St-Onge and Triona Farrell is perfect for the story.

| Published by Dynamite

Oblivion Song #6 claims to be an end to a story arc, but this book doesn’t really seem to work like that, instead with each issue being a series of transitions in a larger serial narrative. Changes occur and questions abound, but there’s no definitive conclusion to anything, just more story. And it works, because what Robert Kirkman, Lorenzo de Felici, and Annalisa Leoni are creating here is very compelling.

| Published by Image / Skybound

Optimus Prime #22 begins its tie-in to the Unicron event and the march to the end of IDW’s Hasbroverse. Like pretty much all IDW crossovers, it’s woefully out of sync with the event as a whole due to lateness, but it is still entertaining. This gives some of the much-needed back story for how the pieces got to where they were in the early parts of Transformers: Unicron and fleshes out more of the political machinations going on behind the scenes. Great art from Sara Pitre-Durocher and Josh Burcham. 

| Published by IDW

Outpost Zero #2 is not really at all the direction I expected this series to take, but it’s very good. Sean McKeever, Alexandre Tefenkgi, and Jean-Francois Beaulieu have some interesting teen drama on their hands here and a nice mystery to boot.

| Published by Image / Skybound

Port of Earth #8 concludes the second arc, with some fairly frightening implications and revelations that we’ve kind of suspected since the first issue. Zack Kaplan, Andrea Mutti, and Vladimir Popov are telling a very interesting story here.

| Published by Image / Top Cow

Predator: Hunters II #1 begins a second series of these new Predator Hunters from Chris Warner, capturing a similar tone and approach as the original Predator film. Nice art from Agustin Padilla and Neeraj Menon.

| Published by Dark Horse

Relay #2 spotlights the dark side of the Relay and what they’re doing to the universe. Some very interesting moral and ethical issues are raised this issue by Zac Thompson and it looks like more to come between the team. Beautiful artwork from Andy Clarke and José Villarrubia. 

| Published by AfterShock

Shadow Roads #2 is another captivating instalment of this series. I love that Cullen Bunn and Brian Hurtt are back exploring the world of the Sixth Gun and expanding on the weird aspects of that world, with some very impressive artwork from AC Zamudio and Carlos N Zamudio.

| Published by Oni Press

She Could Fly #2 is more strangeness, even as the story comes together in some very interesting ways. I absolutely love the artwork from Martín Morazzo and Miroslav Mrva.

| Published by Dark Horse / Berger Books

Transformers: Lost Light #22 is another issue to do your head in as James Roberts crashes together the threads from the past several years of More Than Meets the Eye and Lost Light. It’s fairly impressive how all of this is coming together and still maintaining the wonderful humour that is always included in the scripts.

| Published by IDW

Transformers: Unicron #3 begins fleshing out some of the Transformers mythology and tying it together with some of the expanded Hasbroverse. It’s nice to see John Barber putting some of the pieces together here even as it heralds the end. Also, this is some of the best art of Alex Milne’s career, really stepping it up a notch, beautifully coloured by Sebastian Cheng and David Garcia Cruz.

| Published by IDW

X-Men Blue #33 explores the future that Magneto was transported to in order to escape Bastion and the Mothervine mutants. Great art from Marcus To and Matt Milla as it really feels like Cullen Bunn is working towards his Magneto endgame.

| Published by Marvel

Other Highlights: Accell #13, Amazing Spider-Man #3, Amazing Spider-Man: Renew Your Vows #22, Animosity: Evolution #7, The Beauty #22, Champions #23, Charlie’s Angels #3, The Dead Hand #5, Dejah Thoris #7, Dissonance #4, Domino #5, Dungeons & Dragons: Evil at Baldur’s Gate #4, Eternal Empire #10, Invader Zim #33, Lumberjanes: A Midsummer Night’s Scheme #1, Mech Cadet Yu #11, Nancy Drew #3, Old Man Logan #45, Quicksilver: No Surrender #4, Spider-Man Annual #1, Spider-Man vs. Deadpool #37, Star Wars: Darth Vader #19, Strangers in Paradise XXV #5, TMNT: Bebop & Rocksteady Hit the Road #2, Tomb Raider: Inferno #3, The Unbeatable Squirrel Girl #35, Unnatural #2, World of Tanks: Citadel #4, Xena: Warrior Princess #7

Recommended Collections: Champions - Volume 3: Champion for a Day, Outcast - Volume 6, Spider-Man: Kraven’s Last Hunt, Star Trek: Discovery - The Light of Kahless, Star Wars - Volume 8: Mutiny at Mon Cala, Thicker Than Blood, Vs. - Volume 1

d. emerson eddy is wondering why there isn’t an even larger size cup of coffee. It should also come in jugs. Mugs and jugs.

#This Week in Comics

[stormcrow-whispers]

Letter to Ronan #1

Originally when she’d splintered off from the group to say goodbye to Ronan, Kallista had expected to be greeted by his scowl and some sort of snide remark when she came to his door. However, as she stood in his empty apartment, scone in hand, bags packed with all her things, she was greeted instead by a pang of sadness and loneliness. He’d probably gone off to work, forgetting she’d asked to see him again before she left town. Figures.

With a sad sigh she sat down at a his kitchen table, resolving to write him a note to let him know where she’d gone. She doubted the group would be willing to wait around for her to find him, they were all so anxious to leave. And as much as it pained her to think, the chances of finding him before they left, even with her almost encyclopedic knowledge of the city’s layout, were slim to none. Kallista dug into her bag and pulled a couple of blank sheets of paper out of one of her sketchbooks and a pen. Before writing her message, she cast illusory script on the page. While the majority of her message was personal in nature and really wasn’t worth hiding, she still cast the spell out of habit. One could never be too careful, and she certainly didn’t need anyone but Ronan reading what was sure to be an emotionally charged letter. Once the spell was cast and she’d designated him as the recipient, she began to write in Infernal, in very flowery script.

Dear Dad,

I came over to say goodbye, but I GUESS that isn’t going to happen. Why are you still such an early bird? I told you I wanted to see you again before the group and I left town, but you just had to up and go to work early like the workaholic you are, sheesh. Some things never change I guess. But anyway.

 The group made up in record time, I’m honestly surprised it went as well as it did. These people tend to hold grudges for days, sometimes weeks at a time, so the fact that things went so well, especially after the huge blow up we had, is incredible. Personally, I didn’t really do anything other than object to being tied to this religious bullshit, but I agreed to play nice to appease them. They were all staring at me like I was at fault for something other than standing around and watching their daily drama unfold, it was ridiculous. 

You were right by the way. I learned a few things during the little group heart to heart that are pretty...interesting. I’ve filed them away for you in the usual spot. If you could pass it along for me that would be great. Sorry in advance. I hope he doesn’t sit backwards in his chair again for your sanity’s sake.

Oh. Also. Idris came by this morning to talk to Eilerris about her quest. Now I doubly want you to burn my place down. Well, not really, but you know what I mean. It went fine all things considered, they didn’t stay for very long, but I am certainly not comfortable with the whole situation at all, and I certainly wasn’t asked if it was okay to use my home as a meeting space. But of course, the way things have been going while we’ve been in town, no one seems to care if I feel comfortable doing things or not. They just assume, just like they assumed my place is up for grabs since I just so happened to let them crash with me to save them money. Bloody nobles.

 I grabbed most of my more important drawings off the shelves and have taken them with me, as well as some of my other jewelry. If you could just grab the rest of my trinkets and clothes and put them in my room here for now that would be great. The rest you can trash or do what you will with it. I can always buy more gear to restock my spare room when I get back. Unless you and Lawrence are into some kinky shit, in which case have at it! I’m kidding. Or AM I? Ok seriously, I’m kidding, please don’t disown me. If you don’t mind too much, I’d love to take you up on that offer to crash with you for a while when I get back. Although you do have good taste, so if you find a new place you think I’d like then I guess you can just move all my shit over there instead.

Please write to me, old man. I know I irritate the hell out of you, but I’d really love to hear from you. I know it sounds sappy, but you’re all I’ve got, and I missed being around you a lot more than I’d originally anticipated. It didn’t really hit me just how much until you hugged me in the market the other day. It was so so nice to see you again so soon and to be able to fall into our usual routine, although I wish it could’ve been for longer. You’ve been a constant fixture in my life for almost 20 years now, and being with these strangers and away from home and from you has been...odd. I’m anxious for this all to be over and for things to go back to the way they were. I miss gossiping over bottles of wine and working together. I even miss this shitty city, but that might just be because you’re here to be honest.

Please stay safe, or as safe as you can be. Losing you would be...I’m not sure I could take that. And in turn I swear I’ll do my best to stay out of harm’s way as well. Last time I tried to play hero, it didn’t turn out so well for me, and as much as these scars are starting to grow on me, I value my life more than this business.

 If we end up coming back to town, you’ll be the first to know. Whether it’s by letter or me showing up out of the blue and trying to punch you in the face again (sorry about that, I couldn’t resist trying to get the jump on you, the thought I might be able to beat you for once was too tempting). Sorry I didn’t give you more warning about our visit. Figured we’d get here way before the letter made it anyway. You know how unreliable the post can be. If you know a better way to keep in touch, please let me know. This letter writing thing isn’t something I’m used to and it seems a very clumsy business. We’re traveling with a caravan towards Ormskirk, but we’re going to be making pit stops in Malay and Tupelo along the way, if that helps at all as far as sending things goes.

 ...Seriously though. Please write to me. I know I’m going to sound paranoid, but leaving like this, leaving without saying goodbye in person, showing up to an empty house...it doesn’t sit well with me. It makes me nervous, makes me assume the worst. I know it’s silly, especially since you’re more than capable of taking care of yourself. But you know I have plenty good reason to feel this way, even when it comes to a cranky old asshole like you. I mean, I’m sure you’re going to throw a huge party once I’m gone and out of your hair, but please don’t forget about me.

 I wish I could have said this all in person and could’ve given you a hug, but here we are. Guess it’s good I gave you one yesterday, huh?

 I love you dad. Don’t have too much fun without me, alright? And start mentally preparing yourself for a future wine and vent session, because knowing this group, I’m going to have stories for days.

 Lots of love,

 Kallista

 She drew a big heart next to her name with a bit of a flourish, then placed the scone down next to the letter on a plate. As promised, she stashed away the new information she’d learned in the hidden lockbox in her old room. She lingered for a few moments, taking one final look at her room, at his home, at the place she’d grown up, a sad smile crossing her face, before she left, locking the door tightly behind her.

 As they began their departure from the city, Kallista looked around, hoping to spot him in the crowd like she had the week before, hoping he was watching from some rooftop or alleyway out of sight from the masses. When she failed to find him, she sighed sadly and clutched at her bandana, following the group somewhat sullenly. Although her face was drawn in a mask of disinterest like usual, on the inside she was panicked, worried the day before had been the last time she’d ever see him. It scared the hell out of her. But she knew she had to do this, knew she had to finish this job, even if every fiber of her being was screaming at her to just stay, that this job wasn’t worth the mental distress.

She hoped he’d write back to her, and hoped that this whole mess would be over with soon.

#writings #kallista writes a letter #wow i hope this is ok bc i wrote it in like no time at all and it usually takes me 50 years to write things #does it even count as a letter bc she left it in his dang house lol #she's!!! not!!! happy!!! about leaving!!! like this!!!! #but she cant do shit about it lol #the campaign

[callingmrsbarnes]

A/N: I know you’ve been through a rough patch lately. I wish there’s more that I can do to help, but I just want you to know that I’m always here for you and will always support you. Here’s to the dreamers, I hope you like it <3 

-

Moving to Los Angeles, you expected loud nights with the drumbeat thumping at your heart, but there were two things that the city gave that left you breathless. The first was the horrid traffic on the 405 Freeway; you had your fair share of traffic and reckless drivers back home in New York, but never in the dry heat that encapsulated the city in the basin you resided in. Sitting in your car with sweat trickling down the back of your neck, you considered multiple times to scroll down the window to allow some air in, but you would have been bombarded with the smoke exhaust leaking from the cars around you and the notorious brown LA smog, so you decided against it and started reading from the script that you picked up a few weeks ago.

The second thing? Running into Tony Stark on said freeway, honking from behind and earning a glare and middle finger from you. You thought it would be the last you ever saw of him, but you were so wrong.

After leaving the club with your friends and finding your car towed away, you grit your teeth and walked up the hill in your infernal heels, swearing at your cracking joints the entire time, but your breath was taken by the soft jazz music illuminating from the bar at the street corner. Curious and entranced by the melody, you walked through the curtains and stopped.

There he was again, playing at the piano, his eyes closed as his fingers flew across the black and white keys. It seemed that all the lights were focused on him, that the two of you were the only ones in the bar as the rest of the world faded from view. A lump formed in your throat and you swallowed it down, blinking rapidly as the song drew to its end.

You wanted to clap, to applause, but his song deserved much more than that. Instead, you squared your shoulders back and walked towards him with your chin held high.

“I just wanted to say– I saw your playing, and I–”

His shoulder collided against your smaller frame and threw you off balance. You regained your footing and turned to attempt to talk to him again, but he was already out the door.

…

Months later, you’re standing in the LA sun in one of your favorite dresses, squeezing your way through a crowd of dancing and sweaty bodies on your way to the band playing on the other side of the swimming pool. Holding your breath to not inhale the stench of grimy sweat and chlorine, you stumbled out of the crowd and into the open space in front of the band.

There he was, Mr. Tony Stark, the man who honked at you on the freeway, dressed in a lame and rushed firefighter costume at the keyboard, his sunglasses on the verge of falling off the bridge of his nose, his mouth wide open and his brows arched.

The song came to an end, earning a light round of applause from the partygoers. “Alright, one more for y’all before we break. Do I hear any requests?”

You keep your eyes set on Tony, your arms folded across your chest and your lips curved into a devious smirk. “‘I Ran.’”

His dark eyes never leave yours, but they remain wide. Your smirk widened as you canted your head towards him while he began to play the first few notes. I win.

Ten minutes later, he found you drinking in the shade by the pool, his lips pressed into a thin line.

“Okay, I remember you,” he said as he approached, nearly breathless either from walking to you or from trying to swallow his pride. “And I’m sorry if I was curt that night.”

You raised a brow, your arms folded across your chest. “Curt?”

He sighed, his eyes fluttering shut as he took in a deep breath. “Okay, I was an asshole, I can admit that.”

“You’re damn right that you were.”

Tony rolled his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, but you said nothing as you observed him. You’ve heard of him; it was impossible for anyone to not know who he was. Son of the enigmatic inventor Howard Stark, you’ve seen his face in the media and in newspapers multiple times growing up. Known as a child genius and brilliant inventor and scientist, Tony Stark was the talk of any academia you faced throughout your childhood and education. When his parents died, the billionaire playboy Tony Stark ran the company for a couple years before dropping off the face of the Earth.

Who would have thought that the zealous Tony Stark was playing music in the corners of Los Angeles on the other side of his former home, struggling to keep his head above water? The man was full of surprises, but so were you.

You introduced yourself, hoping that you would never cross paths with him again. Fate had a sick way of obeying your wishes.

Your paths crossed once again as the two of you left the party scene, walking down the hill as you searched for your car that was somehow lost amongst the sea of monochromatic Priuses.

“Strange that we keep running into each other,” you commented as you aimed your key and clicked. No beat.

Tony sidelined you, his hands in his pockets, the ghost of a smirk tickling his lips. “Maybe it means something. I don’t mind seeing your beautiful face from time to time.”

You rolled your eyes. Typical playboys. “I doubt it.”

The two of you continued on your way, passing by the view of the rest of Los Angeles skyline glimmering below. You paused, taking in the sight of the velvet sky painted in ribbons of gold, emerald, and violet, a blanket of stars sparkling as the last of the sun began to fade. It was not much different from New York, save for the infamous skyscrapers that you were accustomed to blocking your view of the sky, but standing on the hill, you could not help but stop and admire the view, but the hairs on the back of your neck were standing on end, as if something was burning your flesh.

You dared a quick glance at the taller man beside you, only to catch him to whistle lowly and turn away.

Brushing a stray lock of your hair behind your ear, you whispered. “What a waste of a lovely night.”

Or so you dared.

Tony found you a few days later on your break at the coffeeshop, the side of your white shirt stained a light brown and your hair thrown back into a makeshift ponytail. A few loose strands framed your face and clung to your forehead, but you hardly cared about how you looked. You hated working as a barista, anyways, but it was either that or living in the streets.

He approached you as you placed your apron somewhere behind the counter. “We probably have ten minutes before some of the studio guys found out I snuck on the lot.”

You raised a brow, your lips pursed. You weren’t surprised, but agreed to walk with him through the lot just to give him the benefit of the doubt.

The two of you weaved through the different sets, talking about your reasons for coming to LA. You aspired to become an actress and auditioned for several roles that were available throughout the city. He wished to become a jazz artist and leave his past behind; no one remembered him back in New York and Stark Industries was much better without him.

He attempted to hit on you with provocative innuendos and flirtatious smirks, but you countered him with your sharp wit. Tony only laughed. This infuriated you more, causing your blood to boil at his audacity. You wanted to slap him, but for some reason, you couldn’t.

Behind his deep brown eyes, a shadow lurked, his face haunted by black bags and his hair streaked with strands of silver hair. You were never one to pry, but from his hunched shoulders, his lazy humor and the lack of light in his eyes, you knew better.

It was almost like looking at a mirror.

The sound of your beeping phone pulled you out of your thoughts. You excused yourself for a moment to answer the call.

You almost dropped your phone and bit your lip from screaming.

“What happened? You look like you’re about to cry.”

You jumped up and down, shrieking in delight. “You know the show I was talking to you about, the one that’s like Rebel Without a Cause? I got a call-back!”

He smiled. “That’s amazing! I got the bullets!”

You forced a nod and smile, but his smile settled into a low scowl, his brows knitted together into a small ‘v’ across his forehead.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me. You haven’t seen it.”

You lowered your head and tugged at the edge of your coffee-stained shirt. Smooth, Y/N.

Tony shook his head and placed his hands on his hips. “All right, listen. It’s a crime that you haven’t seen the movie when you’re the movie person. I’m gonna correct that. The theater near me is playing it and I can take you out to see it.”

You turned to him.

He paused, then said, “for research.”

You considered his offer for a moment, eyeing him warily. He was a playboy- getting too close to him would only end in catastrophe. You guarded your heart heavily and wouldn’t dare allow another to break through your walls so easily.

But as he said, for research.

“Fine. But it’s not a date, Stark.”

“10PM Monday at the Rialto, for research,” he repeated.

You nodded. “See you then, Stark.”

…

As fate would have it, you had plans that night.

You sat in your chair, staring into space as the people around you chattered mindlessly about politics and other matters you had no interest in. You’ve been out on dates here and there, but nothing seemed to spark between you and your date. Sure, they were kind and intelligent - they were amazing guys - but there were no fireworks. You saw them as nothing more than friends and it was fortunate they felt the same, but a hollowness sat in the center of your chest on each date you went. There was nothing.

You picked at the loose thread from your napkin as Natasha went on about her students at the ballet studio. Her date - Clint, you think his name was - laughed and nodded as he leaned towards her as your date sat opposite of you, sipping at his wine and shooting hopeful glances that you would talk to him.

You didn’t.

Instead, your mind wandered, your hands restless as you pictured a pacing Tony Stark waiting for you at the Rialto. And as your mind wandered, your thoughts fell upon the distant piano playing in the background, the soft notes, the soothing feeling that stretched from your head to your toes. You began to drum your fingers against your thigh under the table as if you were playing the piano, humming softly under your breath.

And you saw Tony Stark flash across your mind, playing the piano at the bar, standing in front of the Rialto.

“Y/N?”

You jerked your head upwards. All of their eyes were on you, worry etched in your friend’s green eyes as she stared at you.

“Y/N?” Natasha asked again, her voice light. “Everything okay? You’ve been quiet.”

Your eyes flickered from Nat to Clint and to your date across from you, a hopeful look on his face. You bit your lip and shook your head. 

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

Before they could question you, you grabbed your clutch and ran out of the restaurant without looking back.

You took off your heels and ran barefoot across the uneven pavement, ignoring the sparks of pain prickling under your feet from the pebbles that littered the cracked roads of the city. The Rialto was a few blocks from where you were and if you were fast enough, you could make it before the show.

You stumbled into the theater fifteen minutes later, right as the opening credits filled the screen. You stood at the front, right underneath the lights as your eyes washed over the thin crowd, the light slightly blinding your vision. Squinting, you placed a hand over your eyes and stepped forward, your lips forming his name until you saw a figure in the back rise from their seat.

“Y/N.”

Tony smiled and you reciprocated the action as you loosed a relieved sigh. Slipping back into your heels, you made your way towards the back and sat beside him.

“You look beautiful tonight,” Tony whispered as the movie began to play.

Heat rose to your cheeks, but you shook your head and reminded yourself that this was not a date, but an evening of research.

“I ditched my date; he was a bore,” you answered.

He chuckled beside you, a low laugh as he shook his head. “Didn’t know you had it in you.”

“Shut it, Stark.”

Tony laughed again, but quieted his laughter as the movie began to play. Surprisingly, the two of you kept quiet throughout the film, neither one of you saying a word as you watched the film unfold before you. You had to admit, you wondered how you could not have seen the movie before. It was definitely a classic and surely, it was something your parents (or grandparents) must have watched back in their day. You finally understood the hype over James Dean; he was a bit of a looker.

You fidgeted in your seat, crossing your legs and resting your twitching fingers on your thigh. You rested your arm on the armrest and pulled at the bottom of your dress, but stopped when you caught his hand resting beside yours. Sucking in a gasp, you stole a glance at the man beside you.

He was fixated on the screen, but his hand slowly inched closer. Whether consciously or unconsciously, you didn’t know.

Your heart began to flutter in your chest, the butterflies soaring in your stomach as you stared at your outstretched hands, just one breath from reach.

Closing your eyes, you leaned back and wrapped your pinky around his. A moment later, your cold hand was wrapped in the radiating heat of his callused palm against your skin.

You turned to him again and caught him smiling softly at you. Your heart continued to thrash, your breath caught in your throat as you both leaned towards each other. Your eyes closed once more as you felt his breath fan across your lips-

Suddenly, the light filled the theater. Stunned, you pulled away. The crowd stood and began to leave the theater, leaving the two of you alone in your seats.

Tony cleared his throat awkwardly and leaned back, stretching his arm above his head. Before he could say anything else, you smiled and grabbed his hand.

“I have an idea.”

…

“I never thought you would be the one for spontaneity, Y/N.”

You tugged on his hand as the two of you walked up the steps, your footsteps echoing loudly in the vacant hall. “The observatory usually closes late and we still got time. It’s better when the crowd isn’t here.”

Tony arched a brow, a smirk playing across his features. “Are you trying to get me alone so you can jump at me?”

You snorted as you walked past the Tesla Coil. “In your dreams, Tony.”

“Hey! That’s the first time you called me by my first name!”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile on your face betrayed you. “Have you been in the planetarium?”

“Countless times.”

The two of you entered the planetarium, your eyes greeted by the inky sky filled with shining stars singing above your heads. You smiled.

“City of Stars,” Tony whispered, his free hand trailing down your arm. “Are you shining just for me?”

Your breath caught in your throat as he faced you, a serene smile lighting his face. His hand rested on your waist and you stepped closer to him, your chests pressed against each other so close, the thump of his heart beat in rhythm with yours.

You grinned and followed his lead in your dance.

You and Tony floated across the sky with the stars shining at your hands and feet. He twirled you in his arms and you followed, taking in the softening creases on his face, his dark brown eyes as he gazed at you. Your frantic hearts beat in tandem with one another as you danced across the skies, you were nearly breathless.

You leaned against him as your dance began to slow and descend to earth. Once your feet land on the soft carpet, you looked up at him, tangling your fingers through his hair.

And kissed him.

You pulled away, your lips inches apart as he smiled against you.

“City of stars,” you whispered, “you never shined so brightly.“

BELLE YOU DID NOT! This was so sweet and I love it. <3

#I have the best friends #scarlets-wanda #love love love #personal #fanfiction #submission #la la land