#maelstrom miasma

[worgenbreath]

Opheliaverse

MLP Next Gen

Drawing Draconequui in this style was a bit of a learning curve, but I think I managed haha

Here is the immediate family of Twilight Sparkle and Discord within the Opheliaverse in birthing order:

Ophelia Sparkle age 25 years old

Persephone Eris age 23 years old 

Hodgepodge Harmony and Maelstrom Miasma age 10 yeas old

--

I'm not sure if I want to make larger, linking family trees like I'm doing with my TLK au, I probably wont. I feel like the MLP lineage is easier to follow when compared to The Lion King, as familial links aren't as odd and headcanonny? (aside from my personal mayhem like Discord having a kid with Tree Hugger) BUT if a larger connected tree is something you'd be interested in seeing, just let me know and I'll consider doing it if it makes my MLP family trees easier to follow(:

#qatsby #mlp next gen #mlp next generation #my little pony #opheliaverse #mlp #draconequus #twilicord #twicord #twilight sparkle #discord #ophelia sparkle #persephone eris #hodgepodge harmony #maelstrom miasma #family tree #mlp fandom #mlp oc #mlp art #mlpfim

[j-c-nth]

Eyy here's another little bit I wrote to kind of flesh out the between stage when I was trying to figure out who Gojo and Yuuji would be in 2023.

ao3 user dickidsjnl left a nice review wanting to see more about this period of their lives so I thought I'd go ahead and post it here 🥰🥰🙏🙏

Disclaimer, it is just as rough as the previous little snippet but here you go. 🪦

Yuuji comes back to him in a rush of blood and torn flesh, the Prison Realm ripped wide open around him. He spills to the ground, lies motionless in the gore and rotted corpses like something stillborn for a moment that stretches endlessly, infinite.

Gojo can't make himself move, can't breathe. His heart doesn't beat. He is too late, and the reality of an existence without Yuuji unmakes him, severs his last tenuous ties to sanity. If this is the end he will take the world with him.

And then the sensations - the lights and the sounds and the reality of a whole wide world around him again and all at once - assault vulnerable senses and Yuuji sucks in a wet, choked breath and begins to scream.

Gojo drops to his knees beside him, hands hovering and mind static. He's never hesitated to touch Yuuji before but now he can't move, terrified to make whatever is happening worse. Brown eyes stare blindly up at him, shaking hands a shield between them. There's blood on Yuuji's face.

To his Six Eyes, Yuuji is a black-green miasma of foreign cursed energy, hateful and dark. He's overflowing, a tempest in a teapot, porcelain cracking under the pressure. In moments all of that energy will explode outwards with a devastating force and shatter its vessel with it.

He won't let that happen. Yuuji is returned to him. Gojo will not allow him to be taken again.

Hesitation forgotten, he gathers Yuuji into his arms and between one breath and the next they're in the sky, far over the school where nothing and no one can touch them. The air is biting cold and Yuuji clings to him and wails, overwhelmed by the sensation after such a long deprivation.

"I'm here now Yuuji," he says, voice slow and firm. "I'm here but you have to let go of the curses." Yuuji shakes his head, face hidden in Gojo's shoulder, but he’s hearing him. He's reacting to him. "Let go, Yuuji. I'm here. Just let them go. It will be okay."

He presses his lips to Yuuji’s head and closes his eyes, tries to visualize feeding Yuuji his cursed energy, imagines filling Yuuji from his toes to the ends of his hair. This is the way things are meant to be.

"Let go of it Yuuji. Let me in."

Yuuji tears the lid off of the teapot.

The cursed energy engulfs them immediately, a howling maelstrom, violent. It’s tangible enough for Gojo to feel it, to recognize the curses Yuuji had stolen it from. Patchface. Mt. Fuji-Head. Kenjaku itself.

Gojo killed them, each and every one, but they've lingered, tormenting Yuuji in his isolation for months that formed years in the same way malignant cells metastasize into cancer.

Yuuji’s tears are hot on his skin, his lips open against his throat. His cries are beginning to curve around the edges, trying to shape Gojo’s name.

All this time, Gojo has been burning, a being of rage, incandescent. The anger is deeper than his bones, molten where his marrow should be, the kind of all-consuming fury that leaves behind only ash, only madness. A devastating wildfire with a single purpose.

His cursed energy flares around him, incinerates every remaining trace of the malignant curses and then roves further, seeking any hint of a threat, any signs of life nearby. Nobody will threaten Yuuji, not ever again.

Gojo will wipe out every sentient being on the planet to keep Yuuji from harm..

His power is just beginning to brush against others, far below, when Yuuji’s voice brings him abruptly back to himself. Clarity returns in a single, decisive blow that leaves him disoriented for a moment. Yuuji says his name again.

“I’m here,” Gojo says, and it’s a reminder to himself as much as it is to Yuuji. He’s here, and Yuuji’s here. They’re together again. The people in the school beneath him helped him to save Yuuji. Those that stood against him are already long dead, no corpses left to rot. There is no threat left.

“...hurts,” Yuuji tells him, his voice small. “‘s too much.”

Gojo hums softly, more a vibration in his chest than any real sound, and adjusts the barrier of Infinity around them, warps reality until even sound waves can’t reach them. The howl of the wind dies away, leaves them in a bubble of perfect, still silence. The only sound is Yuuji’s wet, uneven breathing and the thunk thunk of their twin heartbeats.

He can hear Yuuji’s heartbeat. Nothing has ever been more beautiful.

They stay like that for a long, long time, Yuuji trembling in Gojo’s arms, gradually steadying his breathing to match Gojo’s carefully controlled breaths. He strokes his hand over Yuuji’s broad back in slow, firm strokes, feels the heat of him, the shift of powerful muscle under dirty fabric. He’s so solid, and Gojo can’t stop touching him, wouldn’t be able to if his life depended on it. He will never be able to stop touching Yuuji again.

Eventually, Yuuji lifts his head. He’s more aware now when he meets Gojo’s gaze, his eyes hazy but present. There are gouges on his face, harsh wounds at the corner of his mouth and over his brow. They’re deep, their edges ragged tears, and blood spills from them in sluggish sheets to mingle with his tears and paint his face in scarlet smears like a grotesque mask.

He is the most incredible thing Gojo has seen in all his life. He is beautiful, perfect; he is real.

“Tell me what you need,” Gojo says, voice whisper soft.

Yuuji’s lip trembles. He licks at it, doesn’t seem to notice the taste of his own blood.

“Take me home? Wanna go home.”

“Okay,” Gojo says quietly. “Okay.” He curls his hand around the back of Yuuji’s head, gently guides him forward to tuck him against Gojo’s chest again, against his heart.

He takes Yuuji home.

#so there you have it #a sort of hint of how absolutely bonkers gojo got for a bit there #and what yuuji was like when he first came back to us #shoko was the one to eventually convince them that yuuji needed therapy so 2023 yuuji is much mkre grounded #and has learned to work around the new wounds his time in the realm left on him #but those first few minutes hours days months were...rough #for everyone #ltlyc #ltlyc extras #goyuu #gojo x itadori

[ladysunamireads]

#AO3 Link #FanFiction #AO3 Wangxian #♥ #Wangxian #Jiang Cheng #Wen Qing #MDZS #⚣ #⚔️ #R:T #Time Travel #Hurt Comfort #Angst #A:HunnyB

[94566]

the fifth time he loses consciousness, he lets it wash over him.

he's stopped panicking by now. when it first happened, it was frightening. he had started to feel faint, and his surroundings had slowly faded away from his awareness. his vision dissipated into a white nothingness and a ringing sound filled his ears, taking away the usual sounds of chirping insects and birdsong. he gasped for breath, his lungs struggling to take in enough oxygen, and he'd been thoroughly convinced that his time on sornieth had reached an end.

it's a scary feeling, thinking you're dying.

but he woke up. and every time the feeling took over, he'd continue to wake up. what was happening to him? he'd wake up in new places without a single memory about how he got there. one morning he'd be foraging for bugs underneath rotted tree bark, and then next he'd be ankle deep in a rapid river, the roar of a waterfall a few meters away. he wishes it would stop, but he doesn't know how to fix it. he wants to feel grateful that he's still alive, but he wishes that whatever was happening to him wasn't. all he can do is take it in stride. as the familiar sensations start to take over, all he can do is let it happen.

let it happen. he's a maelstrom. of haze. of mist. a vortex.

a contagion. the air. is his. the body, his. up is down. down is left. he walks on weak legs. they shake with. every step.

step.

step. the miasma likes

being in control.

#fr lore #dragon share

[gameguides]

Potionomics Ingredients List

Welcome to our Potionomics Ingredients List guide. This guide will show you all the ingredients and the magimins colours ABCDE (red, green, orange, blue & purple). We know that there are people who have a hard time finishing the Potionomics game. If you are one of those who find it difficult to finish the game, let's take you to our Potionomics guide. #Potionomics

Potionomics Ingredients List

All the ingredients and the magimins colours ABCDE (red, green, orange, blue & purple)! Ingredients List & Guide These are all the ingredients, arranged alphabetically in a list with the proportions ABCDE: - Amethyst Ore 66 66 0 0 33 - Amphithere’s Shadow 44 0 44 0 0 - Antlered Jelly 30 0 0 0 0 - Arcane Quartz 84 0 0 84 42 - Arcane Truffle 0 42 42 42 42 - Avalanche Cricket 24 24 32 32 0 - Banshee’s Bloody Tongue 0 40 0 0 0 - Barghast Canine 0 30 0 0 10 - Basilisk’s Cornea 0 22 0 0 0 - Bioplasm 0 48 32 16 0 - Blackfrost Lobster 0 0 0 0 44 - Blightroach 0 42 42 42 0 - Body Snatcher’s Sloughed Skin 0 0 0 66 22 - Bog Beet 0 27 0 0 0 - Bogeyberry 30 0 0 0 0 - Bubble Ooze 9 9 12 12 0 - Celestial Ore 0 0 16 0 0 - Charredonnay 48 0 48 24 24 - Chimera Waste 0 0 64 32 0 - Cobweb Crayfish 10 0 20 0 0 - Copper Dollop 15 15 15 15 0 - Copper Dollop 15 15 15 15 0 60 95 - Cosmic Cassava 0 66 0 0 0 - Cosmic Quartz 66 33 0 66 0 - Courtier’s Orchid 8 24 24 0 0 - Crag Crab 0 0 0 0 32 - Creeping Mildew 16 0 0 0 48 - Cubic Ooze 3 3 3 0 0 - Cyclops Skull 0 0 42 42 42 - Daredevil Pepper 0 32 0 32 0 - Daydream Pomme 0 24 8 0 0 - Dazzling Mana 42 42 42 42 42 - Death’s Embrace 33 33 33 0 33 - Delirium Shroom 0 0 48 0 0 - Desert Metal 0 12 0 0 0 - Diamond Salt 33 0 0 0 11 - Djinn Blossom 24 0 0 8 0 - Dragon Dung 0 0 88 44 0 - Dragon Tear 0 33 33 11 0 - Dragonblood Tick 132 66 0 0 0 - Dragonbreath Blossom 33 0 0 11 0 - Dragonegg Citrus 0 22 0 0 66 - Dragonfire Pearl 0 0 0 44 0 - Dropspider’s Shadow 0 0 30 20 10 - Dwarf Kraken 40 0 0 0 0 - Ectoplasm 0 70 70 28 0 - Elder Being’s Tusk 0 66 0 0 22 - Electrocution Eel 10 10 10 0 0 - Ember of Mana 24 24 24 24 24 - Ember of Mana 24 24 24 24 24 120 165 - Fairy Flower Bud 12 0 0 0 0 - Fairy Flower Bulb 4 0 0 0 0 - Feyberry 6 0 0 0 0 - Figment Pomme 0 18 6 0 0 - Fire Flower 40 0 0 20 0 - Frog Leg 0 0 24 12 0 - Fulgurite Ore 0 0 0 30 0 - Geode Citrus 0 16 0 0 48 - Ghostlight Bloom 18 0 0 6 0 - Giantstool Mushroom 0 20 0 0 0 - Giantstool Mushroom 0 20 0 0 0 20 40 - Glass Ore 0 0 0 18 0 - Gold Dollop 33 33 33 33 0 - Golem’s-Eye Diamond 0 12 12 0 0 - Golemite 18 12 0 10 0 - Harpy’s Snare 24 24 24 0 24 - Harpy’s Snare 24 24 24 0 24 96 150 - Hoarite 55 55 0 22 0 - Hocus Locust 28 28 140 28 0 - Horned Jelly 18 0 0 0 0 - Hydra Vertebra 9 9 9 0 0 - Impstool Mushroom 0 4 0 0 0 - Jelly Blossom 0 0 0 0 30 - Jelly Blossom 0 0 0 0 33 33 55 - Jotunn’s Frozen Heart 22 0 0 44 0 - Kappa Pheromones 4 0 4 0 0 - Lamia’s Shed Scales 0 0 0 48 16 - Lazuli Ore 64 48 0 0 32 - Leech Snail’s Shell 12 12 0 0 0 - Lethal Injection Eel 42 42 42 0 0 - Lich’s Femur 0 0 70 70 28 - Liquid Metal Ore 0 44 88 0 0 - Lustrous Pearl 0 0 0 32 0 - Malachite Ore 30 10 0 0 20 - Mana Blaze 50 40 30 20 10 - Mana Conflagration 35 45 55 65 75 - Mana Heart 28 28 28 98 28 - Mana Maelstrom 98 28 28 28 28 - Mana Singularity 28 28 28 28 98 - Mana Vortex 28 98 28 28 28 - Mandragon Root 0 30 0 0 0 - Mandrake Root 0 6 0 0 0 - Manwyrm Root 0 18 0 0 0 - Mass Grave Enoki 56 112 112 56 0 - Medusa Spore 0 48 0 16 0 - Miasma Spore 0 18 0 6 0 - Mosquito Plant 10 0 20 0 30 - Mosquito Plant 10 0 20 0 30 60 105 - Moss Berries 0 10 0 20 0 - Mote of Mana 15 15 15 15 15 - Murkwater Pearl 0 0 0 12 0 - Naga’s Fang 0 48 0 0 16 - Nessie Pheromones 20 0 20 0 0 - Nether Ore 0 0 22 0 0 - Nightmare Pomme 0 33 11 0 0 - Nuclear Shadow 0 70 70 28 0 - Ogre’s Shadow 32 0 32 0 0 - Orchid of the Ice Princess 11 33 0 33 0 - Orchid of the Ice Princess 11 33 0 33 0 77 116 - Orchid of the Witch Queen 28 70 0 70 0 - Pandemonium Shroom 66 0 0 0 0 - Phoenix Tear 0 24 24 8 0 - Photonic Spore 0 10 0 30 0 - Pixiedust Diamond 0 4 4 0 0 - Platinum Slime 42 42 42 0 0 - Posion Quartz 64 48 0 32 0 - Puckberry 18 0 0 0 0 - Qilin’s Tri-Horn 0 0 24 0 0 - Raiju Droppings 0 0 30 10 0 - Raiju Droppings 0 0 30 10 0 40 55 - Raven’s Shadow 0 10 12 18 0 - Reef Radish 0 30 0 0 0 - River Calamari 8 0 0 0 0 - River-Pixie’s Shell 4 4 0 0 0 - Rotfly Adult 0 0 20 0 0 - Rotfly Cocoon 0 0 12 0 0 - Rotfly Larva 0 0 4 0 0 - Rottermelon 0 0 0 64 0 - Sack of Composite Slime 0 0 30 0 0 - Sack of Hive Slime 0 0 18 0 0 - Sack of Slime 0 0 6 0 0 - Salamander’s Fiery Tongue 0 24 0 0 0 - Saltwatermelon 0 0 0 40 0 - Scimitar Crab’s Shell 32 32 0 0 0 - Sea Salt 30 0 0 0 10 - Sea Salt 30 0 0 0 10 40 55 - Selkie Lice 10 20 0 0 0 - Selkie Lice 10 20 0 0 0 30 50 - Sepulcher Widow 0 0 0 0 48 - Sequined Custard 0 0 32 0 16 - Serpent’s Slippery Tongue 0 8 0 0 0 - Shadowveil Pearl 0 0 0 20 0 - Shadowveil Pearl 0 0 0 20 0 20 38 - Silver Dollop 24 24 24 24 0 - Sinfandel 80 0 80 80 40 - Slapping Turtle’s Shell 20 20 0 0 0 - Slapping Turtle’s Shell 20 20 0 0 0 40 46 - Snowflake Spore 0 66 0 22 0 - Sorcerite 70 70 0 28 0 - Sorcerite 70 70 0 28 0 168 232 - Space Nautilus’s Shell 44 44 0 0 0 - Spark of Mana 33 33 33 33 33 - Spark of Mana 33 33 33 33 33 165 215 - Sphinx Flea 12 6 0 0 0 - Spider’s-Bait Diamond 0 20 20 0 0 - Spriggan Antler 0 0 40 0 0 - Squid Vine 20 20 15 0 15 - Static Spiderling 0 0 0 0 30 - Swamp Fish 12 0 0 6 0 - Swamp Octopus 24 0 0 0 0 - Thunder Quartz 30 10 20 0 0 - Thunder Quartz 30 10 20 0 0 60 72 - Thunderbird’s Molted Feather 0 0 30 0 10 - Thunderbird’s Molted Feather 0 0 30 0 10 40 60 - Trollstool Mushroom 0 12 0 0 0 - Underworld Pomegranate 28 28 28 140 0 - Unicorn Horn 0 0 8 0 0 - Venous Witch-Trap 28 0 70 0 70 - Warg Pheromones 12 0 12 0 0 - Watchdog Daisy 0 16 0 48 0 - Weeping Metal Ore 0 32 64 0 0 - Wendigo Antler 0 0 88 0 0 - Widowmaker Pepper 0 44 0 44 0 - Witchbramble Vine 42 42 42 0 42 - Wraith Orchid 0 0 0 12 0 - Xenoplasm 0 55 55 22 0 - Xenoplasm 0 55 55 22 0 132 166 Recipes List In case you are interested we also leave you the recipes: - Potion Health 1 1 0 0 0 - Potion Mana 0 1 1 0 0 - Potion Stamina 1 0 0 0 1 - Potion Speed 0 0 1 1 0 - Potion Tolerance 0 0 0 1 1 - Tonic Fire 1 0 1 0 0 - Tonic Ice 1 0 0 1 0 - Tonic Thunder 0 1 0 1 0 - Tonic Shadow 0 1 0 0 1 - Tonic Radiation 0 0 1 0 1 - Enhancer Sight 3 4 3 0 0 - Enhancer Alertness 0 3 4 3 0 - Enhancer Insight 4 3 0 0 3 - Enhancer Dowsing 3 0 0 3 4 - Enhancer Seeking 0 0 3 4 3 - Cures Posion 2 0 1 1 0 - Cures Drowsiness 1 1 0 2 0 - Cures Petrification 1 0 2 0 1 - Cures Silence 0 2 1 0 1 - Cures Curse 0 1 1 0 2 Read the full article

[relishredshoes]

This is our third #scratchthatniche22 prompt reveal for today. It is absolutely not for everyone. This one comes with a TRIGGER WARNING (abuse, use of slur, violence) . . . . . . . . . .

. . . .

Casting a shadow Having grown up with Tobias for a father, Severus had learned the most terrifying part of the violence was not that it happened. Instead, it was the knowledge that it would happen again. It was the unending helplessness of it, the anticipation that kept you walking around on eggshells, never sure what small thing might precipitate it.

The storm clouds of his father’s temper had been brewing at least a day or two before the end of term break when Severus could escape his reach, so when the storm of Tobias Snape’s fury broke the evening before they left to drop him at King’s Cross, it was almost a relief.

Severus had finished placing the last of the clean dishes on the draining board and was hanging the teatowel on the front of the stove when he found himself seized by the hair. Wheeling around, he was slammed down onto the scarred and pockmarked kitchen table. His face pushed so hard into the surface he could feel the woodgrain and tasted blood from his teeth, cutting the inside of his cheek.

“Proper little housewife you are,” Tobias said. The reek of bitter ale and stale fag ends enveloped Severus like a miasma making his stomach churn and eyes sting. His ears strained, expecting to hear the familiar, tell-tale sound of his old man’s belt being drawn through its loops but instead found himself more frightened by the unexpected rasp of whetted blades moving against each other. The hand in his hair wrenched his head from the table before slamming it down again with such force that he saw stars, and try as he might, tears rose in his eyes.

“I don’t want people thinking my son is some kind of pansy,” Tobias said, twisting the hair in his grip and beginning to hack it off with the kitchen scissors clutched in his fist. Severus clutched the sides of the table in silence, just praying for the storm to pass as dark strands fell around his face like ash.

Unbidden, an image of her rose in his mind. The music of her laugh. The curve of her smile. She would care. He knew she would, but there were some things you couldn’t share with anyone.

How could he ever explain to someone who didn’t know? Tobias’ temper was a vast dark maelstrom pulling him under, and even long after the fists or belt stopped, that vortex and its implicit promise remained: you know what it is like to feel you might die.

Such feelings cannot be described impersonally, and his only comfort was in the company of one person left untouched by that spreading stain of darkness.

Fest and Registration Details at: https://bit.ly/3sOAJgx

#sshg fanfiction #sshg #snamione #sevmione

[florvinhara]

felt it ripping me apart (part 1)

summary: kira deals with the aftermath of turning

warnings for heavy angst !!!

word count: 2.2k

read on ao3 or below the cut:

Kira wakes from a nebulous, pained darkness to the memory of a familiar voice- beloved, broken- calling her name. 

At first, she wonders if she’s hungover; the lights are dimmed but too bright, and she feels sick with a hollow emptiness that tangles her stomach into knots. She sits up with a groan, and scrubs at her face with her hands until flashes of recollection start to surface from the depths of her foggy mind. They are more sensation than anything else, brief impressions of moments in time. Blood. Please. Pain. I’m sorry. Cold. Stay with me.

Blood… no, she is decidedly not hungover. She had woken up before, she recalls, feeling stiff and strange all over, and upon trying to stand up had been overcome with a tidal wave of nauseated exhaustion so strong she’d had to sit hunched on the edge of the bed holding her swimming head between her knees until she’d stopped feeling like she might pass out. Her second attempt had not been much more successful, and she had resigned herself to laying back and irritably shoving at the scratchy sheets until someone came to explain why she was once again in the Agency’s medical wing.

She had remained entirely silent while Elidor gently explained what had happened, pushing aside complicated swirls of emotion and focusing only on the concrete facts, of which there were three. In order, she’s been going through them again and again, turning them over in her mind like puzzle pieces which don’t quite fit into the rest of the picture.

One- she had been mortally wounded.

Two- they’d turned her; there had been no other option to save her life. Which means that:

Three: she is not going to die. Not now, perhaps not ever.

It’s a short list, but she repeats it religiously- one, two three, one, two three- because otherwise, her mind will start wandering. The trek from these simple isolated truths to their messier implications is a short one she can’t stand to make. Will she have to leave Wayhaven? It had been in her plans, eventually, but there’s a difference between moving and having to slowly disentangle yourself entirely from human society as an unforgivable amount of time passes you by untouched.

More pressing, how will she leave this hospital room? Because beyond this controlled environment, with its drawn shades and soundproofed walls, is a noisy, chaotic world that had already at times overwhelmed her until she couldn’t breathe.

And there is one more concern; she has pointedly not allowed her train of thought to drift in that particular direction, but the seed of fearful doubt is rapidly taking root in the back of her mind anyway, snarling around her spine and curling purposefully at her throat. After all, it is one terrifying thing to love someone knowing that your lives run on different tracks, that you must fit the vast expanses of your devotion into the span of 60 or so years. To promise your eternity to another person is another animal altogether, and she cannot ask Nate to give her that- it is a gift she doesn’t deserve, and why would he want to offer it anyway? She knows how much he misses humanity, seeks out the echoes of it wherever he can- without hers, will he recognize her, or just see the chasm where that mortal part of her used to be?

It doesn’t bear thinking about for long, the inevitable, and so she pulls her focus back to the safety of the past, the proven. She’s managed to delay whatever is going to come next so far, having asked Elidor for some time alone to rest. It had been a flimsy excuse, but he had kindly pretended to believe it and let her be, staring blankly at the wall and mentally reciting the concise points that comprised her list until sleep had claimed her.

Perhaps it had helped after all; she still feels hollowed out and numb, but the sickly dizziness is gone and the lights above her no longer leave sharp, star-like patterns in the backs of her eyes. The signs are promising enough that she decides to try standing again, shoving the blankets off and swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. This time, she does manage it, though she immediately stumbles upon making contact with the ground as a strange, shaky sensation skitters up her calves, pins and needles pressing against the soles of her feet and making her wobble like a newborn foal. She grabs at the pole where an IV bag would usually be hanging for support, wincing at the bright spark of unexpected chill where her hands make contact.

Did this get shorter? she thinks distantly, and then remembers that the pole isn’t shorter, she’s just taller now, and she wonders if that means she’ll have to buy new clothes. Which is just so stupid, so ridiculously not important a detail in the grand scheme of things, the fact that her mind jumped there first makes a laugh just left of hysterical fizzle in her throat, and it is so profoundly unlike her that it makes her feel sick. She stumbles to the adjoined washroom as she feels her chest constrict painfully in feverish panic, dragging the IV pole behind her half for balance and half for comfort, and leans over the sink, gasping for breath, until her heart stops beating against her ribs like a caged animal and she can inhale without the air stabbing knife-like at her lungs.

Slowly but surely, her breathing evens out, and she glances up at her reflection in the mirror- then freezes.

The differences are slight, so much so that at first she thinks it must be a trick of the light, but the more she casts her gaze over the face reflected back at her, the more she is sure it cannot be hers. Or, more accurately, it is hers in the way that an old picture is one’s self- similar enough to recognize but changed enough to be almost another person entirely.

It looks as though she has never lived in this body, never tested its limits by climbing that one unsteady tree branch and knocking a deep, jagged scar into her forehead for her trouble. Never pierced her own ears with a needle and ice cube in a misguided attempt at rebellion. Never stayed up through the night and marked the sleepless hours by the dark circles under her eyes. She grips the sink as she searches for familiarity in the reflection before her; the porcelain crumbles like sand beneath her shaking fingers, and this too is hideously unrecognizable, the strength and the unintentional destruction it can bring, the need to exist cautiously.

The more she looks, the more untethered from herself she feels, unmade and reformed by an architect with little regard for detail, the outline and not the shape itself. And she supposes she has been, in a way- she remembers, if nothing else, the searing agony as her bones had separated and knit themselves back together. It shouldn’t be real, it shouldn’t be possible for these traces of her life, the storms she has weathered and the consequences of her recklessness, to be wiped from her body as if they had never existed. A map unmade. A history forgotten. Even the scar she’d gotten from Murphy is vanished, a feat not accomplished even by the Agency’s healing magic. And for some reason it is this, the absence of a scar she never wanted, that finally breaks her as she sinks to the floor with a dark dismay rising in her throat like bile.

---

The linoleum floor is cold against her shins, but she welcomes the bracing shock it gives her, focuses intently on the sensation of it pressing on her legs as another swell of dread threatens to drown her. Her hands find each other, twisting anxiously until she realizes she does not recognize them either; the familiar divots of old scars and callouses are gone, as are the crooked slant where she had broken her fingers. Frantically, she wrenches them apart, despising their unfamiliarity.

Enough of this, she reprimands herself sternly, one clear thought in a swirling sea-storm of panic and confusion and what-ifs. She latches onto it desperately, presses her hands, still fluttering nervously as they seek out the comfort of a repetitive motion, flat against the cold floor and thinks it over and over again- enough, enough, enough- until the word has lost its meaning and she feels somewhat calmer again.

Her mind is still spinning in anxious circles, tying itself in knots the more she thinks. There’s only one surefire solution she knows of to ease the worried maelstrom; it’s time to remove herself from the equation, consider this from a more scientific standpoint. This doesn’t have to destroy her. Or maybe it does- after all, creation is a promise of violence, in and of itself born from destruction. Cells beget new cells by ripping themselves in two; the body is constantly sloughing off parts of itself which have outlived their usefulness. And this must still be true, even though so much is different, because stasis is death to the thousands of systems constantly at work to keep someone operating. Maybe there is some comfort there, then, that even though she cannot see it, at the smallest level, the familiar processes are continuing.

She imagines she can hear them now, blood rushing from her heart to deliver oxygen to the rest of her body, cells splitting apart and bursting as they die only to be replaced instantly, even her DNA unwinding and reforming as it encodes new strands of her genetic information. How much of it changed along with her- which genes were snipped out of existence and remade in a different, ‘better’ image?

Damn. Not even two minutes later and she’s already cycled back to her horror at the transformation, visible and invisible- perhaps this won’t destroy her after all, she’ll just do it herself fixating on the sharp, shattered pieces of the dissonance between the self she recognizes and the one she sees reflected in the mirror.

A worried voice cuts through the thick miasma of dismay choking her like poison- Elidor, knocking at the door and asking if she’s alright. Is she? No, she thinks, even as she calls out, “Yeah, just a minute,” and feels so much sudden relief to hear her voice, unchanged, that she nearly blacks out. Slowly, and with much aid from the IV pole, she pulls herself to her feet and chances another glance at the mirror. Immediately, she feels an overwhelming urge to punch it, to shatter the glass until her reflection is torn apart by the spiderwebbing shards, but she shoves it down forcefully, searches for resolve in the eyes looking back at her. She finds nothing there, but knows Elidor is waiting outside and opens the door, resigned.

“I was wondering where that pole had run off to,” he says with a teasing smile that falters the moment they make eye contact. Well, that was a short-lived act. “Kira, what’s wrong?”

Nothing that can be fixed, nothing that she doesn’t just have to get over and deal with. She starts to tell him as much, but her throat is so tight that her voice grates painfully as she speaks and she gives up halfway through the sentence, ending with a dismissive wave that falls too far flat of insouciant to be convincing.

Elidor’s brow furrows in concern. “I’ll get the rest of the team, and-”

“No!” she cuts in, flinging a hand out to stop him. If there’s one thing she’s absolutely sure of, it’s that she cannot be around them right now, can’t let them see that she can’t handle this, can’t deal with their thoughts or feelings or opinions when her own are still such a confused mess. And she especially cannot see Nate, not when she knows what’s going to happen; of course, he is going to be perfectly kind, even as he tells her this can’t work, she’s too different now that she is divorced from her humanity, he had never intended for this relationship to last centuries.

His gentleness will cut deeper than the words themselves, and if she could, she would do it herself, end it for him quickly and impersonally so she can spare them both the pain. But she is too unmoored right now, too frustratingly unsure of herself, to face a reality that has fundamentally shifted. “No, please, just- can you tell them I’m not awake yet? Or- just, anything?” Some small, unchanged part of her mind rebels violently at that, hates her for the cowardice, but it is too easily drowned out by the tumult of dazed doubts and worries shadowing her to be heard.

It takes about ten minutes of pleading for Elidor to uneasily agree to give her more time; eventually, he concedes, and leaves the room with a concerned glance over his shoulder. The door closes behind him, and she lets herself sink to the ground once more, curled over like she could belatedly shield herself from the injury which necessitated all this, until she drags herself back into the bed and seeks relief in unconsciousness.

#well ... Here it is! #lowkey i am Concerned so Please lmk if there is anything else i should tag this with for warnings!!! #anyway magnum opus / mirror fic part 1! part 2 coming... sometime ksjdfk #twc #twc fic #zephwriting

[noxnthea]

you asked for a prompt. maybe the classic 'there was only one bed'. the avengers quinjet breaks down. they are in a town in the middle of nowhere. the motel only had like, 3 spare rooms. clint ends up having to share with bucky, who's more the soldier than bucky. there's only one bed. clint's not keen on hanging around a robot. bucky insists on sleeping on the floor.

clint takes the bed, but he prefers the floor. after waking up from a nightmare, they curl up on the floor together.

this is very detailed so feel free to...not

So my first instinct was 'ah, no, not nightmares!' And then a few hours later, my brain was like 'okay but what if you did the aftermath of all of this?' So that's what we've got here -- let's just pretend your prompt is the first half of the story, and here's the next morning.

~~~

Clint opened his eyes, and found a storm staring back at him.

Blue grey and sharp, a swirling miasma of concern; for what, Clint couldn’t say. A questioning swoop in the corners, clouds that hinted at confusion and rough weather for months to come. Long-lashed lethargy, rife with worry and shot through with spikes of shame that surged and swelled along a levy that threatened to break and spill over. Caution and fragile, fearful hope clamored for purchase in deep waves, kicking towards a surface that fought with all it had to keep them down.

How could Clint have ever thought Bucky was anything less than utterly human?

Clint shifted, the scratchy top blanket from the end of the motel bed sliding down his chest, pooling at his hips.

Bucky reacted instinctively; a shoulder rolled away, a hand released its unsteady grasp from Clint’s hip.

“Don’t.”

Bucky stilled, winter waters frozen in waiting.

“I’m sorry.”

Bucky shook his head, eyes cutting to the side, away from the challenge of conversation, from the difficulty of acceptance.

Clint swallowed, reached out a hand. He saw as Bucky registered the movement, saw it in the way his body, still clothed in mission gear, tensed and tightened. Clint’s hand hung in the air between them and he wondered at the difference between a lack of consent and a trained inability to accept the compassion your soul cried out for. It wasn’t a question he wanted to answer.

He let his hand hover; waited for Bucky’s eyes to return to him, a breeze of gentling unease and reluctant acceptance cleared his way for landing.

His hand drifted down to Bucky’s upper arm, alighting softly, smoothed his palm, willed Bucky to feel the care and empathy spreading from his fingertips.

“I’m sorry, and — and thank you.”

Soft spring sunshine slanted in along the edges of the curtain, slivers of cool gold that sent reminders of a world outside the one they’d found here in this snow globe maelstrom of a motel room. Their sides pressed deep into the thin carpet, one back tight to the wall, the other pushed tight against the side of the bed, legs still tangled in sleep induced forgetfulness; a hidden, defensible comfort found in close quarters that neither realized they’d still feel when forced to share it together.

One of their phones was bound to ring soon, alert of a repaired Quinjet snapping them from this moment. A teammate would come calling at their door, summons for a group meeting pulling them from this trance. The ever-present burn of hunger would make its unhappiness known through a rumble in one of their bodies; the spell was going to end.

They didn’t have much time left.

Bucky didn’t move but to blink, once, slowly, exposing calmer waters that swirled and spun and tempted Clint closer. It was a pretty movement, a suggestion of a break in the storm, if only Clint would take hold of the opportunity in front of him. It was a whirlpool of promise that Clint found, suddenly, he wouldn’t mind getting swept up in.

He smiled.

“Thank you,” he said again, and wondered if Bucky knew the weight of his words, if he could feel the depths to which his gratitude dove.

Thank you, he said, for the night before, when Bucky held him close in the aftermath of a nightmare.

Thank you, he said, for the coverage yesterday, for the silent sniper shot over his unprotected shoulder that saved him from certain death.

Thank you, he said, for giving him a chance, for putting up with him and all his false bravado at the Tower and in the field.

Thank you, he said, for waking up every day, when he knew now that Bucky’s demons were just as horrific and brutal and omnipresent as his own.

Thank you, he said, for trying.

For continuing on.

For fighting against the storms that raged against him on all sides, against the one that sought to tear him down from the inside out.

“Thank you,” Clint repeated. The rest of his words stayed deep in his chest, tamped down by his own tempests of insecurity and doubt.

Outside the motel, the sun broke over the horizon, a burning yellow that leapt forward over rooftops, free and uninhibited. The air conditioner kicked on under the window. The curtains fluttered.

Warmth spread across the room.

A hazy glow bronzed the planes of Bucky’s face like the realization of a prayer answered, and the storm in his eyes quieted.

He smiled.

“You’re welcome,” he said.

Clint felt the warmth of the sun, smooth like honey, diffusing around him. It unfolded in his chest, fragile and fresh, extended throughout the room, unstoppable, reflected back at him in Bucky’s eyes, catching and holding strong.

There would be more storms.

That’s how it worked with weather, how it worked with trauma, how Clint knew it would work with them.

But for the moment, he stretched, smiled, and let the sun shine through.

~~~~~~~~~

thank you for the wonderful prompt, even if I took it in a totally different direction. I CAN'T RESIST THE PULL OF SUNSHINE CLINT OKAY??

#no YOU stop writing clint as sunshine #i never will #i am one year old in fic land #prompt me! #my fic #ficlet #clint barton #bucky barnes #winterhawk #ALSO HI THANK YOU FOR GIVING ME A MOTEL TO WORK WITH I AM IN YOUR DEBT #nox writes two things: sunshine clint and winterhawk in motels

[essays-for-breakfast]

Final Push

Melizabethweek Day 4: Broken (no salvation here)

This piece includes not so subtle mentions of blood and death. This is your warning to turn somewhere else.

The dice had been rolled, fate decided, and all Meliodas had hoped for had revealed its true nature: an elusive hope. Intangible. Never real in the first place. The hope of a younger, more naïve man who had believed that two people could turn the tides of war. Could end the reign of the Demon King.

Now little more than smoke and ruins remained.

Blazing fires still smoldered in heaps across the forest. The acerbic stench of ashen plant life bit into Meliodas’ nose, a taste that would haunt his nightmares in the centuries to come. The herald of the end.

The alliance had failed. Stigma, this brittle bond between Goddesses, Fairies, and Giants, was no more. Drole and Gloxinia had joined the enemy, Mael’s blood stained the earth of some far away battlefield, and the Ten Commandments had sown gory vengeance for the Demons Ludociel had executed. The casualties surpassed the hundreds. More if one counted the Stigma members killed by Rou and the human traitors.

Meliodas had arrived too late. Severed limps and shredded wings, some feathered, the others transparent like dragonflies – those were the fruits of their efforts. The grandiose Stigma alliance wiped out by a handful of humans.

The moans of the survivors had followed Meliodas into his dreams for the past restless nights. When he closed his eyes, the sickly-sweet iron taste in the air around Stigma’s destroyed headquarter resurfaced until it suffocated all other thoughts under a thick blanket.

Elizabeth squeezed his hand. But the encouragement she wanted to transmit never reached the blue of her eyes. The tears from yesterday and the day before had dried up, but the well of sorrow still held another wave. Once realization would hit her, truly sink its teeth into her, her walls of composure would topple. Meliodas had given up the construction of walls like these. They had little point to them with how little time was left.

Beyond the forest’s borders, beyond the tapestry of light and shadow cast in deep green hues, the plains of northern Britannia stretched to the horizon. The slender grass blades danced in a wind filled with blissful ignorance of the fires yet to come. War would soon consume the peaceful scenery, its bloodstained fingers stretched towards these hills already. Towers of clouds, dark from the smoke rising into the air, filled the sky, and the sun remained hidden behind the tall walls.

Meliodas stole one final look over his shoulders. From here, the leaves of the Fairy King’s Forest looked almost untouched. Only a tiny layer of ash covered the green here and there. If he had cared to listen when there had still been someone to listen to, Meliodas could have associated names to the individual trees, to the shape of their leaves or the contours of their bark. But he had paid the trees no mind. And as he did now, blankness filled his mind instead of their names.

Gloxinia had shared his passion for the tiniest plants so often. Yet it seemed Meliodas was forgetting already.

From the shadows of the last outer tree, two Fairies and a Giant followed Meliodas and Elizabeth with their eyes as they departed. The last embers of Stigma. They bared the expression of the hopeless. Their loss and their injuries had stolen the energy from their posture, and the younger Fairy stared at Meliodas as though these eyes alone could pull him back.

And for a moment, Meliodas hesitated. He imagined to turn around and hide in the forest and pretend the world was intact, pretend the hammer blow of war hadn’t struck already.

But the moment of weakness passed when he remembered Elizabeth’s hand in his own. They had agreed to fight their parents and win the war. Even if one of them died. Holding onto this promise was the only directive Meliodas had left to follow.

He fastened the grip around his sword and called forth his wings. The obsidian manifestations of his Demon magic swallowed what little light had been left. With a last look of confirmation at Elizabeth, Meliodas kicked from the ground and pivoted into the high heavens above. Hand in hand, Meliodas and Elizabeth rushed towards the cloud fortress where the last battle would take place.

Thunder growled. A bolt of lightning flashed across the sky. Heaven and hell collided and combined their forces into an unstoppable maelstrom in which the only escape routes read victory and death. 

The Demon King and the Supreme Deity awaited the return of their children. Awaited their surrender.

Or one last stand born from the desperation of defeat.

Meliodas had made his decision long ago. And judging from the bright light of the Goddess triskelion in her eyes, so had Elizabeth.

Even if one of them died.

They were about to find out how far this vow alone would take them.

 Light and darkness rained upon the sky island. Each blow shook the stone, the cracks grew, and more and more boulders broke from the very ground Meliodas was standing on. Or, rather than standing, he was barely holding on.

With one hand clawed around the bloody hilt of his sword, Meliodas glared at the towering shape of his father through the fog of near-death. The Demon King had waved aside any and all of Meliodas’ attacks like humans did with flies, unworthy of his effort. A mere turn of the massive hand sent a black tidal wave towards Elizabeth.

The white orb of her Arc looked laughably brittle by comparison.

She deflected just as a volley of divine light spears bolted towards Meliodas. One of them pierced his leg. He lost sight of Elizabeth.

Blood clogged his throat, roared in his ears, and rushed through his seven hearts; each of them struggled to keep going and defy the power of gods.

To no effect.

White feathers drifted into his shrinking field of view; Elizabeth had taken a brutal hit. She trembled, barely stood upright, and crimson discolored her hair. But the resolve in her eyes burned on.

They had sworn to fight. For the friends they had lost and those who still struggled against the flames of the Holy War. For Merlin, for Gowther, for Dahlia and Gerheade, for Jenna and Zaneri, and everyone else on the forsaken ground of Britannia below, for them they would fight and maybe even win.

Even if one of them died.

Meliodas stumbled to Elizabeth’s side and they joined hands. Despite the thunderstorm around them, she sent him an encouraging smile. He would go to any lengths for this smile. And although he stood on death’s door, his own mortality seemed like a matter of secondary concern, little more than the life of a butterfly on some nameless hill.

If he faced the end, at least it would be with her.

He squeezed her hand, and she returned the favor. How very selfish of them to drag the other into this hell.

“Do you regret it?” Meliodas asked between haggard breaths.

Elizabeth shook her head. “Not one bit. All this gave me the chance to meet you.”

“I love you.”

“And for this sin you both shall pay. For all eternity,” the combined voices of the Demon King and the Supreme Deity roared, a sound like organs and bronze bells in a twisted heavenly orchestra.

Another tremor rocked the floating island and pebbles flew high into the tortured sky. To the right, a miasma of darkness swirled around the Demon King’s claw. To the left, a blinding light escaped the Supreme Deity’s fingertips.

After all the slaughter, heaven and hell had united for a shared goal. The irony could almost make Meliodas laugh.

The air crackled with energy, and the heat from the magic forces at display scorched the skin of Meliodas’ bruised forearms. But he stood his ground, side by side with Elizabeth. And if his final moment was with her, could he really call himself misfortunate?

The last thing he felt before the combined forces of their parents struck them down was the softness of Elizabeth’s slender hand in his.

He would later wish to have died that day.

#melizabethweek #melizabeth #nnt fanfiction #nanatsu no taizai #meliodas #goddess elizabeth #holy war #my writing #sorry #this comes out so late! #my excuse? #uhm #... Xenoblade Chronicles stole all my free time

[stinkfacestories]

Sons of the Sky and Sea

The sky was angry. Distant thunder rumbled like the stomach of an angry dragon.None of that mattered though. You were safe inside, with your PS4, a head set, and four liters of gamer fuel.

A you booted up your play-station you swear you heard a knock on the door. It must have been the wind though. No one would be out in this weather. You ignored it. It wrapped again. And again. On the fourth time the door blew down. There, in all his haggard glory was Thor Odinson, King of Asgard, Founding Member of the Avengers, or as you had called him online recently- “A washed up sack of shit who should go kill himself”, and then made some comments about his mother.

“420Brodex69 I presume?” He said, his voice booming. With each step he took towards you a gout of lightning shot from his muscular fat frame. “Remember how I told you that I would find you” He was towering over you on the couch now. “How I said when I did I would take your scrawny little head and shove it up my arse?” The power flickered. You were cowered. You couldn't run. You were too scared. “Well take one more breath of fresh air because you have earned yourself a one way ticket to Ass-ahiem” he turned to the side and gave his rotund ass a slap.

Thor held you down on your couch with his thick arm. He may have been fat, but he was as strong as ever. You watch as he lifts his beefy leg up and over as he presses his ass down on your face. He takes great care to make sure your nose was wedged deep in his crack, while keeping your eyes free. He wanted to beagle to look at you while he made you suffer. “Welcome to Ass-aheim.” he said. You don’t want to breathe, but your options are limited: breath in through your mouth and taste the sweat that was soaking through his rough hewn pants, or breath in through your nose and smell Thor’s thunder. He reached over and grabbed your plate of nachos. “Ah, a Midgard delicacy I have learned to love. They need a bit of spicing up though” From his pocket he pulled a mason jar filled with brown sludge. He poured it over the chips ”I make this myself. My take on chilli. I’ve learned that anything you can eat just tastes better with chili poured over it” He rubbed his gut, wiping off the excess chili. “Gives me something of a maelstrom in the guts though”. He looked down, staring you in the eyes. “Have you sniffed yet? I did let rip with a juicy one before I broke down you’re door. It was a satisfyingly moist one. Can you still smell it?” You hesitantly breathed in. Maybe if you did it slow it wouldn't be so bad. You were wrong. Thors ass smelled like a barnyard outhouse. You could feel the heat infiltrating your nostrils. Your eyes rolled back in your head a little.

Thor laughed a deep and thunderous laugh. The couch shook “Ohoho there you go. And think, that was but ten or so minutes ago” He growled rubbing his gut and grinding his ass on your face. “A fresh and mighty one is brewing that shall be birthed on your whiney little face”. He munched down a mouthful of nachos, spilling a fair amount of meat and cheese on his uncombed beard. You groaned in agony. He had to be at least 370lbs. He was being generous though. He was leaned to one side so that the bulk of his heft was on the couch and not your face.

"What's that I hear? Do I hear an apology for what you said about my mum?" He placed a hand to his ear and bent down to listen. You screamed into his cheeks as loud as you could. Your words were sucked into his flab. He shrugged. "I could not make it out but I think you said 'Please Thor, let rip with the foulest and awesome of farts on my feeble face as penance" he laughed again. He crushed your bottle of Gamer Fuel in one gulp and tossed it aside. He let loose a belch that shook the walls. ”Well if that's what you want.” He cocked to one side and pressed his stomach with his hand. ”Oh this may be bad. I think the sour cream I used in this chilli may have gone bad” He grunted. He strained hard. You could feel his great pillow cheeks quiver around your face. ”Come on Thor..you got this..youre...wor...thee” Thors ass sputtered and blew like a rusty lawn mower. It was the roar of some foul beast. It drilled into your face, forcing its way up your nose. You tried not to breath in but you were fighting a hurricane. Your eyes were burning, your ears deafened, and your nose obliterated. “Worthy. Still worthy!” Thor pumped his arm in victory as his truly godly fart ended. He smelled the miasma around him and recoiled  “Ugh, that smells like dumpster. Or like a flaming garbage heap.” He sniffed again. ”One time while adventuring in Muspelheim I stepped in a large pile left by this nasty lizard, and it was half as bad as this.” He looked down at you. Your eyes were crossed. You were at ground zero. “What do you say? Flaming garbage heap, or fetid pile of fresh Carnorasas’ Dung?” You moaned weekly. This was beyond cruel. Suddenly there was another pounding on the wall. This was more violent. Arthur Curry, the Aquaman burst through the wall. He was shirtless-as he always was- and glistening ripped and tattooed. “Brodex69 I'm coming for your ass!”

“The man from Aqua!” Said Thor cheerfully through a handful of nachos. “So good to see you! We should do battle again. I have put on some weight, you may win this time” “Thor?” Aquaman said. “My man, what are you--” He took one step forward then reeled back, his hand to his nose. “Whats the small. Ugh.”

“That was me” Thor said.

“That’s you?”

“Well not me per say. You came in right after I birthed a thunder cloud if you know what I mean” “Bro, this was one of your farts? It smells like low tide in jersey. What did you eat to be so nasty?” Thor held up the near empty jar of brown sludge. “My own recipe”

“Damn”. Aquaman braved getting close to Thor. “Where’s Brodex. Little shit said he was going to feed some turtles plastic bags after I beat him in Smash.” “Ah, he is right here” Thor leaned to the side to let you look up. You were still stunned from being at ground zero of his fart. You looked up and saw Aquaman and you knew there was no chance that things were gonna get better. You tried to move but Thor was still sitting on your legs. “Wicked. I was just gonna beat his ass, but that's far worse.” He said Thor waved his hand at your head “Would you care to join me for a game or two, there is room on this couch for two?” Aquaman looked at you, then Thor, then back to you. He grinned ear to ear. “My man” He hovered his titanic muscular ass over your face. The light was eclipsed. You prepared for the end, but he stopped and stood up. “Ah man, I cant do it like this” Your heart fluttered. You watched as Aquaman removed his pants and set them over the couch.  He reached back and grabbed the fabric of his briefs and pulled them apart. With a swift rip his hairy ass fell out. “There we go, now I can do it” He sat. Full weight on your face. Unlike Thor he was not so forgiving. You were pressed deep into the couch, and even deeper into his sweaty valley of flesh. He held his hand out and fist bumped Thor before picking up a controller and some nachos. “You wanna smash?”

#Thor #Stinkface #Aquaman #Farting #Unwilling

[worgenbreath]

Opheliaverse

Name: Careless By Nature

Parents: Discord & Tree Hugger / Bulk Biceps 

Siblings: Glam Slam, Ophelia, Persephone, Hodgepodge Harmony, and Maelstrom Miasma 

Species: Female Draconequus

Special Ability: Botany 

Occupation: Spa Receptionist / Masseuse 

Voice Claim: Hila Klein 

About

Careless By Nature is the firstborn daughter of both Discord and Tree Hugger. Though Discord was around for a large portion of her childhood, he was not her main father figure, Bulk Biceps was. Under his rearing and the occasional parental butting in of Discord, Careless grew up in both Tree Hugger's household, as well as the Sparkle's. Because of this, Twilight very much asserted herself in her raising. Thankfully this didn't bother Tree Hugger, as she appreciated the scientific approach of learning that Twi provided for her daughter in comparison to her more natural / meditative one. 

The most surprising thing when it comes to Careless is that she is completely barren of any magic or magical talent (as far as anypony knows of). Most believed she would grow into her magic, but now with her reaching the age of 30, it is accepted that she does not have the ability. 

When it comes to siblings, Careless would certainly be considered quite rich! Her closest sisterly bond lies within her little sister Ophelia, as she spent a lot of time growing up alongside her before disappearing for quite some time once Ophelia and Persephone reached their teenage years. Because of her absence, Careless has completely missed the birth of her younger siblings Hodgepodge and Maelstrom. Now that she has returned to Ponyville she is trying her best to get to know the latest additions to her family, as well as try to get on better terms with Persephone. 

Personality-wise Careless is a bit of a recluse. She spends most of her free time hidden away from the ponies of Ponyville deep within the Everfree Forest alone within her cozy cottage. Rumor around town is that she puts forth an obscene amount of energy toward the worship of the God Aphrodite and even preforms sacrificial rituals of love. Not many know much about Carless, or even really want to pursue a relationship status past acquaintance with her. She's promptly hidden within the shadows of her siblings as well as the Everfree Forest... Just the way she prefers. 

#qatsby #mlp next gen #mlp next generation #my little pony #opheliaverse #careless by nature #discord x tree hugger #treecord #discohugger #my art #illustration #mlp #draconequus #mlp oc #mlpfim #mlp fandom

[kellachfromthewoods]

In This Dreaming Typhoon,

There was no help coming.

Everyone had been exhausted, floored through a maelstrom of combat and ancient magics enough to obliterate men ten times greater.

Kellach hadn't fallen, he had to endure. There was something wrong. A casual glance showed him that he was in the guise of Sabotender Ciclope. The mask protected him from the worst of the auracite's miasma. He felt lighter than ever before. His hands were covered in internal force. His footsteps outright ignored the gravitational crushing surrounding him.

Lies upon lies, as he stands there as a mere gladiator, who had staunchly refused the top ranks for pitiful reasons.

Ancient magics they may be, but he could bob and weave through the very aether itself. Even with the instability of the gravitational force threatening to rip his tendons from his muscles, he made his way forward, somehow parrying and countering the very fabrics of magic itself.

He sees his chance. The one responsible isn't paying attention to the ground. Graceful steps brings him closer and closer. He would finish this in one blow.

As he leaps, liquefied auracite grabs hold of his leg and stabs him right through the heart.

And he wakes up.

#Kellach Woods #IC Dreams #FFXIV RP

[enigmaticlordkilpatrick]

Diosa

I dwell in darkness

My time spent in the lonely recesses of my mind

Where the horizon stretches on unbroken until the end of all things

No thought

No dreams

The weight of a thousand regrets pressing down

An infinite miasma that will not lift

And then a sound

Your words reverberate through space time

Cracks of light break across the night sky line

Like the sun itself shattering the dark mirror hanging in my heart

My twilight giving way to ethereal rays 

Your feelings streak across this dimension 

And reality is rewritten

I can’t take it all in 

Your glorious form in all it’s loveliness

Your kindness interlaced with my sorrow

A maelstrom of emotion dancing on the edge of the universe

As if heaven and hell were fused into a kaleidoscope

It’s all rushing back to me

That pesky soul that I revoked

I called it growth, but in truth

I burned all my roots

A baptism of fire

To numb the heartache

An act that would split me

More than a man

Less than a human

I decided to starve myself 

But my appetite never went away

A perpetual state of hunger

Always yearning

Always burning

But you saw it

You came to my aid

And as my nightmare vison fades

The landscape changes shape

Surrounded by the light of you

An ocean of the whitest blue

And the flames of my self hate are doused

As the waters of kindness seep into my wounds

An elixer that soothes the pain

Washes the self-doubt away

I’m trembling now

Tears of my heart burst forth

You give me what I fear most

Sustenance for the soul

The gifts of love and hope

#twcprose #twcpoetry #poetryportal #poetry portal #literature #spilled ink #Deep thoughts #spilled poetry #spilled thoughts #black poetry #black poems #loveyourself #writingislove #goddess #love #self esteem #hope #re-bumbleblossoms #re-bumbleblossom #savage-words #Savage Words #writers creed #writers on tumblr #blackwriters #writers of tumblr #poetrycommunity #tumblr writing community #writers #creative writing #poet

[thehoardofthegreatdragon]

Can you please feed me with some Hotwings fluff (because you just broke my heart with your first prompt). I don't care what, just some tooth-rotting fluff. I NEED TO HEAL GODDAMNIT!

The things I do for you, Bro

Hawks’ wings rustled across his back, the motion gargantuan and soothing, the weight comforting with a lifetime of training. Wind brushed over the feathers, loving and familiar as a mother’s touch. A maelstrom was contained in the stretch of his crimson wings— with a thought, Hawks could unleash it.

Now it was tamed, kept timid and meek as a house cat. He stood with his great wings folded origami-small, leashed to his back but no less gryphonic. The message was clear— I am not a threat.

Still, Dabi was edging back, crystalline-blue eyes narrowed into something wary. Hawks did his best not to laugh, but wry amusement crept over his lips.

The big bad villain— scourge of the Hero Committee and treasured general in the League of Villains— scared of heights.

“Come on, Dabi, it’s no big deal.” Hawks took a step forward, hands outstretched like he was calming a great beast. “I’ll hold you the whole time, you don’t have to be scared.”

“I am not scared.” Dabi said, the words hissing out of a sutured mouth like miasma. Were Hawks a weaker man— with less speed lurking in his feathers and more fear— he would have retreated from that look. Dabi was a thing of patchwork-fury and sickly venom— no hero stood a chance before his anger.

Were Hawks a strongerman, he would have left. But he had tasted the fire lurking in Dabi’s lips, felt the fever-bright touch of his fingers, held that cracked apart man in his arms.

Hawks couldn’t leave now— he was caught in the web of blue-fire lurking in Dabi’s eyes.

“Hey, it’s just a small flight— nothing will happen, trust me.” With the words, Hawks sent out three deadly feathers to pull Dabi closer. They were primaries— strong and broad with a falcon’s precision. Nothing less could hope to contain Dabi.

Still, Hawks half expected blue fire to burst from the seams in Dabi’s skin, burn his feathers to so much ash. He didn’t care— Hawks would always reach forward until all of himself was given and nothing but hollow bones remained.

He had gifted his heart to the blue-eyed demon with a heart of glass. He had no regrets.

Gaze burning-bright, Dabi let the crimson feathers twine in his shirt sleeves, draw him close enough to touch.

This close, Hawks could feel the fever-heat leaking from his skin, soaking into the air. He wanted to feel that heat beneath his wings one day, driving him up, up, up, with the heat of a super-nova.

He had no regrets.

Slow and steady, Hawks wrapped a hand around a slender waist, felt the familiar weight settle into his arms. A deep contentment took root in his bones, filling that hollow space with fire-warmth. It felt like the first winds of summer had come to sweep him away, like the updrafts of early morning fluttering at his wings.

It felt like coming home.

Hawks let a grin— bright and cheery in a way he knew Dabi found annoying— creep over his face, wrinkle the corner of predator-sharp eyes. “Come on, let me take you up.”

Silence held the space between them for a breath, two slow and happy beats of Hawks’ heart, one curl of his fingers over the bones of Dabi’s hips.

A sigh— long suffering and star-bright, heavy with judgement and the coals of banked fury— gusted across Hawks’ lips. Still, the muscles of Dabi’s shoulders were tight with worry, tense in a way Hawks disliked. His fingers rubbed soothing circles across Dabi’s scarred skin, pulling the pieced-together man further into the span of his wings.

In the face of a fear like that, there was nowhere to go but up.

“Fine. Make it quick, bird.”

With a smile hidden in the crook of Dabi’s shoulder, with a happiness bubbling through him like a living thing, Hawks spread his wings and flew.

Want me to write a thing? Send me a prompt!

#flluuuuff for bro! #<3 #writing #prompt #elofrommars #aka: Hawks Bro #dabihawks #hotwings #bnha #dabi is a todoroki #hawks #bnha hawks #dabi #dabi x hawks

[estelwenadia]

Return to Gusu with Me

Chapter 1: Episode 15 - Beautiful Tranquillity

It was a foolish notion from the start.

The combined efforts of the GusuLan Sect and the YunmengJiang Sect proved futile against the terrible, overwhelming might of the Wen.

They had put up an impressive offense, but it was still useless in the end.

What were they thinking - trying to defeat the sun?

Even on his knees, Lan Wangji refused to look cowed. Beside him, Jiang Wanyin radiated pure hatred and anger at their current predicament.

They would fight till the last drop of their blood. They would not be captured alive.

In a split moment of despair, Lan Wangji closed his eyes.

I am sorry, Wei Ying.

He had failed to avenge Wei Ying, but at least, he would die trying.

A single, shrill note pierced through the night.

Lan Wangji's head snapped up in shock.

Flute?

So much power in that single note and yet...

Lan Wangji could not suppress a shiver.

So much malice.

So much darkness.

So sinister.

The raging fires around them flickered green orange green orange, before they finally settled on an eerie green.

Murders of crows erupted into the sky, adding to the ghastly scene unfolding before their very eyes. 

As they watched in petrified horror, slain Wen cultivators rose from the ground like puppets on strings, heeding the call of the flute song.

Lan Wangji and Jiang Wanyin staggered to their feet.

Whatever it was, they would not meet their deaths kneeling down.

But it wasn't what they had expected at all. The freshly awakened feral Wen corpses rushed for their living counterparts, blithely cutting them down like farmers to wheat, curiously ignoring the befuddled cultivators from other clans.

"These feral zombies only kill the damned Wen dogs," Jiang Wanyin remarked, echoing exactly what Lan Wangji was thinking. 

He glanced up at the figure who stood backlit against the moon and raging green inferno, a dark silhouette with fluttering robes and trailing hair.

Lan Wangji followed his gaze.

"One flute controlling all corpses. All ghosts heeding his commands. Just where does this person come from?"

Lan Wangji frowned. "This person practices the dark arts. His techniques are sinister but..."

His brows narrowed with confusion. "He seems to be a friend instead of a foe."

But what was this feeling that somehow, their unknown saviour, was someone familiar?

Jiang Wanyin laughed. It was a sound as dark and as sinister as the song from the flute. "No matter what means he employs, as long as he kills the damned Wen dogs, he's our ally!"

When Wen Zhuliu stood protectively in front of Wen Chao, it was only then the figure stopped playing the flute.

All the zombies stood still, as if showing respect for their master, or because of the stopped music, no one could really tell.

The ever present dark miasma enshrouding their mysterious ally gently lifted him off the roof and descended him safely to the ground.

The zombies seemed to be lowering their heads in respect as he walked amongst them, towards the two surviving Wen members.

Something about the young man still seemed familiar, even though there was nothing familiar about him.

Not his robes adorned in grey, black and red, or his flowing black hair, or the dark flute with blood red tassels and a jade ring as green as the green fire around them.

Lan Wangji couldn't ascertain the man's identity, not with his hair obscuring his face from his view.

The man stopped a few feet in front of Wen Zhuliu and Wen Chao.

"Wen Chao," he said softly lifting his hand to toy with the dark aura fleeting around his fingers, "We meet again. I told you, that I will come back for you."

Jiang Wanyin let out a startled gasp, his eyes widening. "His voice..."

Lan Wangji still could not recognise that man. He had never heard such a voice before. A voice filled with contempt and darkness.

Lan Wangji glanced at Jiang Wanyin, but the other man stood staring at the stranger, speechless with shock.

Wen Chao blubbered his fear, but the demonic arts practitioner paid him no need. Instead he coldly addressed Wen Zhuliu.

"Core-Melting Hand... Do really you think... You can save his pathetic life... from me?"

"Better die trying!"

Hand flaring with tendrils of red, the bodyguard dashed towards the enemy, and Lan Wangji caught hints of glowing coal red eyes and a sadistic smirk before Wen Zhuliu was effortlessly batted away by a rush of fearsome power.

Raising his flute, he held Wen Zhuliu suspended in the air, aura of resentful energy coiling and tightening around him with unseen bone-cracking strength.

"What a loyal dog."

Through breathless gasps of pain, Wen Zhuliu choked out his reply, "The debt of gratitude I owed to the Clan Leader for his recognition... must be repaid!"

"Your debt?"

Tendrils of black miasma erupted and flared from the ground beneath him, and the man was enshrouded in even more resentful energy as his fury and hatred intensified.

"Why is that your debt has to be repaid at expense of others?!"

As Lan Wangji watched grimly, the man seemed to be summoning dark energy from the surrounding feral zombies, swirling around him like a maelstrom before gathering on his palm.

"Core-Melting Hand!" the man hissed, closing his fist.

Wen Zhuliu screamed as his arm bent and twisted in impossible angles again and again, like how a piece of wet towel was wrung out to dry.

He fell to his knees, blood dripping from his mouth, but the man wasn't done.

He stepped forward, right in front of the kneeling, wounded man, regarding Wen Zhuliu with eyes smouldering with burning hatred.

Lan Wangji wondered what Wen Zhuliu had done, to be the subject of such malicious intent.

As Lan Wangji watched, Wen Zhuliu was lifted into the air once more, and, faster than his eyes could blink, the man suddenly vanished and then reappeared behind Wen Zhuliu in a flash of crimson lightning.

The man turned slightly to reveal something held in his hand - a golden core.

It's impossible. Lan Wangji had never heard or seen golden cores being forcibly ripped out in such a way.

Coughing out blood, Wen Zhuliu fell to his knees once more, glancing at his smoking chest in horrified disbelief.

"My... golden... core..."

He collapsed bonelessly to the ground.

Vast amount of resentful energy was absorbed into the golden core, before the man holding it captive shattered it effortlessly with his thumb and forefinger.

Wen Chao's eyes went wide. "You... Who on Earth are you?!"

The man calmly walked past the fallen Wen Zhuliu towards Wen Chao.

He raised his head, and for a moment, the dark miasma surrounded him receded just enough to reveal a face Lan Wangji thought he would never see again, despite the glowing crimson eyes and a sharp smirk on his features.

"Wei... Ying..."

 - After Wen Chao met his tragic end -

Lan Wangji carefully approached Wei Ying, still unable to overcome the nightmarish scene that had transpired minutes ago.

"Wei... Ying."

It showed in his voice.

Wei Ying turned to glance at him. "Hmm, Lan Zhan?"

There was no warmth in his eyes. No smiles or laughter in his voice. Not a hint of the Wei Ying that he once knew.

It was unnerving.

But he was still Wei Ying, and Wei Ying was here and whole and alive.

"It was you who killed the Wens along the way?"

Wei Ying looked away. "Of course."

"The evil-summoning talismans?"

Another disinterested hmph. "I did that."

Lan Wangji could not suppress the sorrow in his voice. "Wei Ying, there is a price to pay for cultivating the heretic path. There has been no exceptions."

From where Lan Wangji was standing, he could see an arrogant smirk on Wei Ying's obscured face. "Whatever the price, I can afford it."

Lan Wangji clenched his hands into fists at his sides. "The path harms the physical body, and it is even more damaging to one's heart."

Wei Ying's smirk sharpened into an annoyed scowl. "I know what I am doing."

At that Lan Wangji finally snapped. It was unbecoming of him, but he didn't care anymore. "There are things that you cannot control!"

Wei Ying turned towards him again. "I certainly can control. As for my heart... What does it have to do with others? Why do you care?!"

What does it have to do with others?

Why did he care? 

Didn't Wei Ying know how much others had been worrying about him?

Jiang Wanyin.

Jiang Yanli.

Him.

Of course Wei Ying didn't know.

"Wei Wuxian!"

"Lan Wangji!"

Wei Ying clenched the flute tighter in his hand, summoning the resentful energy again. "Do you have to get in my way? As for sinister," he raised his flute, wisps of darkness emitting from it, "What could be more sinister than the damned Wens? Didn't they deserve a fate worse than death?!"

As if responding to his hatred, miasma of resentful energy flared up once more, swirling around him.

Shaken by this new Wei Ying, Lan Wangji felt grief rising within him. "Wei Ying... Return to Gusu with me..."

Wei Ying paused in his rage. "Return to Gusu?"

For a moment the crimson coals in his eyes faded away to their natural grey at the confusion of Lan Wangji's request, and then they returned, glowing fiercer than ever.

The aura of resentful energy intensified around them as Wei Ying realized the implications of Lan Wangji's request.

"I see. Afterall, your GusuLan Clan detests demonic cultivators like me."

It was only logical that Wei Ying would come to such conclusion. Lan Wangji should have known better.

"It is not for denouncing you." Lan Wangji tried to explain. 

"Then what for?!" Wei Ying roared, "Make me cultivate my mind? Or destroy my cultivation base?! Who do you think you are?! What do you think your Gusu Lan Clan is?!"

With a swing of his flute, Wei Ying dispelled the resentful energy, and with it, the control he had over the waiting feral corpses.

One by one, they fell to the ground like sacks of wet sand. When the last of them hit the ground, the flames around them kept flickering from green to orange.

Lan Wangji didn't want to lose Wei Ying again. He didn't want to experience such emptiness, loneliness and despair all over again. It was horrible when he did not know where Wei Ying had disappeared to, whether he was still alive or not, but it was even worse when Wei Ying was right here and yet he was going to slip from his grasp again.

"I like you, Wei Ying," Lan Wangji confessed softly.

He would do whatever it takes, even if it meant laying his soul bare, for Wei Ying to come back with him. 

"What?" It was as if Wei Ying hadn't heard properly.

He probably wasn't. Like Wei Ying, Lan Wangji had changed too, and it was because of Wei Ying. 

The flames flickered green one last time, then it finally reverted to orange, and this time, it stayed orange. 

Lan Wangji raised his eyes, to lock with Wei Ying's. His voice was firm and strong. 

"I like you, Wei Ying, so please return to Gusu with me!"

Chapter 2

#mdzs #mo dao zu shi #the grandmaster of demonic cultivation #wei wuxian #mdzs donghua #wei ying #lan wangji #lan zhan #estelwenadiafics #not beta'd #not beta read

[lindwur-fr]

Sands of time: Part one

Rubrik receives a strange vision from an equally strange dragon...

---

Rubrik hadn’t had a vision in ages.

It has been many years since the Tidelord’s disappearance. His heart ached for his deity, but at this point he had grown used to the Light Flight’s prophecies. How different they were from the Tidelord’s... But he managed to convey them just fine.

Until, one fateful dawn, a vision came to him. A vision that had every trait of one of the Tidelord’s visions.

He drifted in and out of consciousness as he barely slept. His mate, Ignacia, curled around him. Her heart thundered near his head- a comforting sound, to be sure, but as Rubrik started to sink into a dream, the rhythmic beating slowly shifted its tone.

Ba-dum. Bash-shaa. Shhha. Hhh-shhaaa...

The sound of waves lapping at the shore slowly filled Rubrik’s brain, and he blinked his eyes open to find himself standing on the edge of a rocky beach. The sky was grey, a few rays of light seeping through.

This cannot be. The Tidelord is still absent... Rubrik thought as he glanced around the strange terrain. It didn’t look like the Sea of a Thousand Currents. Similar, to be sure, but not exact. The waves were choppy, the ocean dark and alien, very similar in colour to Rubrik himself. Grey, dark blue, dusky.

The aged Skydancer took a step forward, and then hopped up onto a large piece of driftwood, standing on his hind legs to get a vantage point.

What is this place? This is not my home.

He scanned the horizon. The distant swirl of the Twisting Crescendo darkened the skies to the southwest. The fires of the volcanoes of the Fire Flight spat ash and coals into the air. The Plague Flight’s miasma hovered in the distance on their rotten shores.

This was the Sea of a Thousand Currents. But it was not the same. Behind Rubrik were the cliffs that housed his Clan- barren, jagged... Devoid of any Clan life.

Rubrik turned slowly to face the cliff. But as he did so, the driftwood he perched upon gave way slightly, making him waver. Striking his wings out, Rubrik flapped away from the wood as it fell onto its side. Huffing in frustration, Rubrik turned back to the driftwood.

He paused a long moment, looking at the grey-ish branches now. How oddly symmetrical they were- both arcing high, curled inwards to form a frame of sorts.

Like horns.

As the thought passed through Rubrik’s head, the driftwood shifted again, and rose from the ground, pebbles clattering off of its surface.

Rubrik’s breath hitched and he stepped backwards, watching in awe and horror as a large, squarish head rose from the pebbles. Its fur was long, briny from the ocean waves. Though through the grit, Rubrik could see the colours of Vagrilux on this Dragon’s fur. Orange and blue... Like Ignacia had been when they first formed their Clan.

The strange dragon rose from the pebbles, stretching her uselessly small wings out. They looked more like hands, than anything. The driftwood-like branches of her horns gave her an imposing figure. Her claws were twisted and long, wickedly sharp.

In fact, that would be how Rubrik described this dragon in all- wicked. Very un-dragon, as far as he knew the term

The dragon- who looked shockingly like a Tundra, turned her head to Rubrik now. She dwarfed him in every sense- and though Rubrik knew this was a dream, his instincts screamed to fly away. But he remained steadfast, wanting to take in every detail of this prophetic dream.

Her eyes... They’re blue! She’s a Water Flight dragon...!

Indeed I am, my friend. The soft voice echoed in Rubrik’s head. No doubt the dragon before him was speaking telepathically, though the voice hardly befit her imposing stature. I am a Gaoler. I came here many seasons ago, born in the Tidelord’s Flight. Tasked from birth to protect the Clan who requested my presence here.

“Please, tell me more.” Rubrik spoke out loud.

I was summoned here by Vagrilux.

Rubrik’s heart leaped. Vagrilux? The Dragon of whom his Clan was named after?

Vagrilux was a stunning dragon. Though their origins were shrouded in mystery, they were a Water-Flight Dragon who moved their Clan to the cliffs of the Light Flight. A paragon of justice and protection for all those under their wings... And this strange creature came to the ancient Clan Vagrilux at the namesakes’ behest?

“Vagilux themselves summoned you?” Rubrik asked breathlessly. The strange dragon nodded.

They knew my kind’s power, our ability to assist in any Clan’s defense. How efficient we were. Vagrilux was a powerful, thoughtful Dragon. One of the few back then who would accept Dragons of other birthrights into his Clan. They knew that unity was powerful- that many elements living together meant safety. And thus, they requested a Gaoler to live with them. The dragon replied. My parents were reluctant. But they birthed me in the Tidelord’s domain in secret.

“What happened...?” Rubruk asked slowly. “Why... Why are you coming to me now, in this dream? Is this your doing?”

It is. The Gaoler replied. I was born with the ability of prophecy. I speak through dreams. The Gaoler raised her claw, closing it as much as her long talons would allow. I... I failed my people. Her face twisted in agony at the words, as if they peeled open her very flesh. I was set on by The Shade. The creatures tainted by the foul entity attacked me on my trek here. I was dragged into the ocean, and in desperation, I cast a spell. I destroyed the entity that attacked me, but I magically exhausted myself. I fell into a coma, and my body was buried in the sands of time. I am intact- but I am not awake yet. My coma keeps me safe, keeps me from drowning or suffocating in this sand.

“We can find you.” Rubrik said hastily. “My Clan- we are Clan Vagrilux. We live here- in this place you’ve constructed in this dream.”

The Gaoler’s eyes lit up. Truly, new breed? Are you of Vagrilux themselves?

Rubrik shook his head. “No. First-born of the Tidelord of the modern age.” He replied. “But we carry Vagrilux’s name- we can help you.”

Perhaps I have not failed after all... The Gaoler thought, casting her eyes down. New breed, the Gaoler’s eyes snapped back up. I lay buried at the water’s edge. My horns are uncovered- driftwood. Perhaps covered in brine and creatures from the years, but I am here. I implore you- find me. I wish to serve you, so that I have not failed my bloodline and kin.

Rubrik nodded, still breathless. “I will find you. We will find you.” He promised. “I swear on the Tidelord’s words, we’ll find you.”

The Gaoler’s body relaxed, her wings sagging slightly as if from exhaustion. Thank you, Dragon of Vagrilux. Thank you...

The Gaoler’s body collapsed in a heap, and the dream disintegrated into a rush of oceanwater. Rubrik was swept out of the dream, back to the waking world. It felt like he was swirling in a maelstrom, the waves battering his body. When his back slammed into the rocky face of the Light Flight’s cliffs, he awoke, finding himself pressed against Ignacia. His heart was racing, his brain alive with the prophetic Dragon’s words.

He turned over and shook Ignacia’s head frantically to wake the large Ridgeback. “My heart- my love!” Rubrik spoke frantically. “Wake up- we need to get Ming and Horus and Poe!”

Ignacia blinked her deep blue eyes open and lifted her head sharply, sensing the urgency. “What is it, love?” She asked, gathering herself and pushing herself to a stand.

Rubrik was already standing, running his beak through his feathers to prepare for flight.

“A prophecy, love- one of the Water Flight.”

Ignacia gaped. “The Tidelord...?”

Rubrik shook his head. “No, not the tidelord. Though someone ancient. Someone who knew Vagrilux spoke to me, told me she was buried in the sands at the shore, near the base of the cliff. Her horns are like driftwood, Ignacia, we must have walked past her a thousand times and never noticed! We must find her!”

Rubrik didn’t care that Ignacia gave him a strange look. She must’ve thought him mad, finally broken from the absence of the Tidelord. But Rubrik would not let this dragon- this Gaoler- down. 

He had to find her. 

#Flight Rising #fr #Clan Vagrilux #Vagrilux Lore