#sparrow short story

[displayheartcode]

Your short story is out??!?! Where??!?!

so, yeah. i have a short story featured in an indie anthology! it's about a college dropout struggling to come to terms with her failures when a former classmate comes to her in need of help – before an old world evil destroys them both. jewish folklore. witchcraft in brooklyn. etc etc etc etc etc.

and i'm fighting for my life with working out this sequel.

#flyingcrowbar #sparrow short story #orig #major thanks to you jane and the workshop group you've created for putting this into shape #and also my brother for being the first reader

[spotsupstuff]

here's a neat vid, go watch it if you haven't yet

there's Some things that i don't completely agree with personally, like attributing the Third sin to Materialism rather than Connection (i'd argue that the Ancients had no big issue with being materialistic, considering their golden attires and such- and that going with Connection overall better addresses both the core of Materialism and relationships overall) and then attributing the word Dynasty specifically to asian cultures but that's more history/word definition beef more than anything djgklsjlcgjkd

oh how i'd love to have a debate with this guy about Ancients...

#spot says stuff #rw #history fact: a dynasty was present big time around the years 800-1000 (iirc) on a large territory in eu which included slovakia #at the core of it per its definition a dynasty is just ''the same family ruled over the lands throughout multiple generations'' tho so its- #-not special or anything. with that definition in mind you can see how dynasties were also european things with all the kings and stuff #its just more often used for asian countries cuz they held out longer with the family stuff probably. or all the damn royal family drama- #-that happened there........ my Gods i know only a few chinese stories but Shit man there was a lot djgklsjgld #i wonder if identifying family members in the Ancient society happened through colors... like Sparrows n her siblings are colored from- #-dark blue (Dad's og clrs before turning grey) to turquoise (Inkling) and through this color coordination are the dynasties named #that's some fun thoughts #this video is prompting some neat thoughts.. ego is the culmination of the sins in short is one of them for example #did this guy actually come into contact with shkika or smth. the 'civilization before the ones we recognize as ancients' stuff at the end- #-sounds very familiar. -makes it to the end- Ah. The RW Discord. i wonder where that thought originated n who parroted it from who #☝ personally making the conscious effort to not seep myself into the fandom Too much since i like thinking about this stuff so i dont want- #-any fan-based answers/speculations. just wanna vibe with it uninfluenced n see where that takes me. also the rw discord feels dangerous

[imflyingfish]

Honestly i dont like sculk spreading/corruption storylines theyre really boring with a few exceptions

#at least make it MEANINGFUL. OR AN ALLEGORY SURE #but a lot of thr timr its just like #augh... ohnoo... thr sculkk.. its spreading and taking me ovrr.... fukkkkk..... #and then its either like poof all better now or oops fuck everythinfs dead the end #i just dont think theyre cool unless they have a specific meaning #like cub's sculk arc? that was really boring man ur not even from that server and ir didnt like do anything #i mean its funny from a 'its cub' pov but aside from that ehhh..... nah...... #The corruption from s1 esmp was cool however but more because it served an actual function it was a good mass server event not caused by a #specific player but instead a mass storylune and players got to interact with it in interesting ways #but also there was never the threat of oh.... noo.... the entire world will become corrupted it was more WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS BIGASS PLANT #DOING HERE #and it tied into very nicely xornoth and that #esmp2 ALSO kind of had a corruption line with the fae but like.... what was that even.... i literally dint remember and i was there..... #it was boring...... #oh and also owens nlsmp corruption storyline.... sigh.... #there was so much potential for Sparrow and that storyline and i wish Owen had just gone 'okay i need people to roleplay as online for this #narrative' like Oli does #like u cant really do long term storytelling on what is a short term server if you arent ready to direct people and allow yourself to #control YOUR story the whole sculk spreading thing just seemed like a copout due to the server ending #where i think owen should have put his own content above what is technically true #its roleplay #like owen does roleplay well. but the difference is on the POW servers is that theres a set time and most people are on at the same time #but that just doesnt occur so much on youtube based smps and thats why i think until owen is able to direct more (outside of shared rp with #scott specifically) he's probably better suited towards streamed roleplay later edited #idk sculk storylines are boring basically they can work but only in an active server i feel #like with owens it was like 'oh fuck the sculk is spreading i have GOT to stop this!' meanwhile everyone else on the planet is like already #dead following his videos like idk man just didnt hit #there was also no specific defeat or true responce to the sculk either like ik there was the vault but idk #like overall. it was fine and i enjoyed it but thst doesnt mean i like sculk storylines

[annoyed-galaxy]

The Missing Painting

Got inspired randomly to write a little drabble based on an idea I have had for a drawing for a long time. Lots of headcanons in here for the reason behind the gauntlets in Fable 3 and a little bit of lore for the Fable Family. Hope you enjoy! At the bottom will also be a link to the Ao3 form because I need to post there more, but I also wanna post full writings on tumblr for later readings and such.

Also I’m just happy I wrote. It’s been a long while since I wrote something like a story for a character or world so I’m happy.

They say there is a royal portrait that was commissioned when Aelyn was a little girl, but never saw the light of day; the missing painting, as Aelyn called it. She had free roam of the castle ever since becoming queen. Logan was often out doing community service which was something Aelyn sent him to do. It felt weird to command her older brother to community service, but it was a good deed. The people started to warm up to the former tyrant. Most would never understand why Logan did the things he did, but as long as they forgave him, that's all Aelyn cared about.

    But the missing painting was a recent memory that came to Aelyn, something she wanted to solve. She was wandering the castle halls when, almost as if fate decreed, she came across a room she had never seen before. When she tried opening the doors, they stayed shut firm, locked.

    Aelyn flagged down a guard asking them about the door and they said it had been locked for years ever since Logan was king. She  demanded it unlocked for her as the new queen. The guard shrugged saying that only Logan has the key.

    "Of course he does," Aelyn muttered as she dismissed the guard. She was queen now, she had a right to know what was in her castle.

    Like a younger sibling up to antics, Aelyn traveled to her old room where Logan now slept. It was weird to have their rooms swapped, but Logan enjoyed the isolation of his new room. Gave him a break from some of the still persistent glares from servants and nobles.

    As she opened the doors and stepped inside, she found it empty, but very clean. Maybe Jasper had been inside and cleaned it up, for the bed was made neatly and Aelyn knew her brother did not make his bed. Was she being a bad sister for snooping around her brother's room? Of course not. She was being a little sister.

    Honestly she didn't know what she was looking for, but curiosity got the best of her.

    If her brother were keeping a secret from her, where would he hide the key to it all? She scanned the room, moving around the open space before her eyes landed on a chest at the base of the bed. She shrugged and knelt before it, opening the heavy lid. Inside was his old royal garments. He didn't wear them often anymore unless he appeared in court by her side. He had said he was unworthy to wear the armor of a king, but Aelyn insisted he keep it. He was still her brother and still part of the royal family and she would not hear any other answers. That's what all the community service was for: to regain his honor.

    She pulled out the breastplate and put it to the side. There was a large blanket at the bottom of the chest after she removed the rest of the royal garbs. She decided to reach in and pull out the large, velvet sheet. She hoped there was something secret underneath.

    Much to her joy, there was.

    Underneath the blanket was a very small box. She pulled it out and examined it. It was a very basic black box about the size of a book if not bigger. There were no carvings, engravings, fancy decorations, nothing. It was plain. The only thing there was was a small keyhole. Aelyn groaned. Where the hell was she supposed to find this key?

    An idea popped in her head. She decided maybe it would be best to not snoop any further. She put the small box back, keeping a note to talk to Logan down the road about it, and then put everything else back and closed the chest's lid.

    She ran down the stairs out of Logan's room and down the halls of the castle, rushing past servants who all casually stepped out the way obviously used the queen's habits of running down halls both as a full grown woman and little girl. She burst through the doors of her royal chambers and ran to her desk. She opened a drawer and pulled out a small kit given to her by Page.

    A smile crept across her face as she ran back to the locked door, which happened to be in one of the halls that connected to her room. No wonder she never noticed it before. She wasn't really in this wing of the castle often before she became queen. She knelt down before the door and pulled out the tools from the small kit.

    During the revolution, Aelyn learned the valuable skill of lock picking, having to get into places that weren't always easy to access. Walter had said he was glad she never learned this skill back in her childhood otherwise, she would have been even more of a menace.

    She smiled as she fiddled with the lock, remembering what Page had told her, how to angle the picks and to feel the tumblers. As she worked on the lock, she wondered if her mother ever did such things. Logan told her stories about their mother being up to no good in her younger days. She wished she could have known more about Queen Sparrow, but Logan had stopped talking about her after he became king and swarmed with duties. Walter offered more tales, but it was still never enough.

    The lock clicked and Aelyn tried the handle. The door opened with a creak into a small square room with no light. Aelyn stepped in, flicked her wrist and summoned a small fire with her gauntlet that lit up the room. She felt the humming vibration of magic coursing through her gauntlet and the slight tingle of Will in her blood.

    There was quite a bit in this room, old furniture mainly, most covered by white, dusty sheets. There was a table with a few things on it. She walked over and saw there were gems, scraps of metal, a couple of gauntlets similar to the ones she wore although they held no stone. Against a chair there lay a sword, dull on one side and slightly curved. Aelyn's mouth dropped as her eyes landed on the blade.

    This was the blade of her mother, a weapon called a katana from Eastern Samarkand. Aelyn had never seen one before, but knew it was the weapon her mother had carried during her earlier Hero days. Aelyn picked it up and weighed it. It felt nice in her hand, slightly heavier than her own sword, but with a few swings she got used to the weight. It was odd how only one side was sharp therefore leading to a different fighting style. She wondered if Logan knew how to use it and if he could teach her since he used a similar weapon, more elegant than the sword Aelyn was used to.

    She put the blade down. She noticed there was a layer of dust to everything suggesting this room had not been disturbed for a long, long time. She continued deeper into the small chamber, fireball lighting the way, when she noticed a discarded crossbow at the base of a large rectangular covered object. Aelyn first picked up the crossbow noticing once again it belonged to her mother. Walter had told her how her mother hated guns. She had hated the sound they made and swore she would never use one. That's why she always carried a crossbow, despite the changing age.

    It was a beautiful brass crossbow and resembled a few guns Aelyn had seen journeying across Albion. The bulk of the crossbow had six chambers where bolts could be housed - currently empty - and when Aelyn pulled the trigger, the chamber spun, supposedly locking a new bolt down to be fired rapidly. She didn't know how effective it would be nowadays, but back then during her mother's time, maybe it was still a viable weapon.

    She put the crossbow aside and then finally looked at the rectangular object that leaned against the wall. She pulled the sheet up and gasped when she saw it.

    A painted small child's face with a poof of white hair was revealed, sitting in the lap of painted younger boy with shoulder length black hair. She did not remember ever sitting for this painting, but she did remember how Logan used to look as a kid, telling its age. She pulled the sheet farther up, revealing more of the painting...

    "Aelyn!"

    Aelyn shrieked and dropped the sheet, spinning around quickly to see the source of the voice. Standing in the doorway with his basic clothes and hair tied into a small ponytail was her brother. The fire from her gauntlet revealed his scowling face.

    "What are you doing in here?" he asked, his voice low and demanding.

    Aelyn motioned to the old room. "I've never seen this room before and was curious. Lots of Mom's stuff in here."

    Logan frowned even more. "You're not allowed in here."

    "Says who?" Aelyn asked, putting one hand on her hip. "I'm the queen of Albion and this is my castle. I am allowed to go wherever I please."

    Logan sighed and rolled his eyes then crossed his arms. "Not this room."

    "What? It's just a dusty old storage room. I'm assuming this is where all of Mom's stuff was sent after she died?" Aelyn raised an eyebrow. "I don't understand why this is a big secret or something."

    "Just get out," Logan commanded, stepping aside and motioning for her to leave. His voice was deep and stern, similar to how it sounded many times before as king. The hint of brotherly affection gone and replaced with something... Else.

    Aelyn crossed her free arm. “No.” She turned back around, blatantly ignoring her brother’s growing frown and pulled at the sheet again. Her mother was revealed, standing behind Logan with a hand on his shoulder and a small smile on her old face. There was another person in the picture; Aelyn saw the shoulder of the last person, but the sheet was still covering it.

    A hand grabbed her wrist and pulled her away from the painting. Aelyn cried out as she stumbled back and Logan pulled the sheet over the painting. “What the fuck, Logan?” she hissed, looking at him with glaring eyes.

    “Get out of this room Aelyn. You’re not meant to see any of this stuff.”

    Aelyn threw her hands up, the fireball extinguishing in the air. “And why the fuck not? This is all Mom’s stuff. And is that the damn painting that was never seen? Who is the other person in the painting?”

    Logan had not turned around and was still holding the sheet, covering up the missing painting, his head lowered. “Because it’s not time for you to see any of this,” Logan said after a moment, then turned around. “I was going to show you when you were older and more mature.”

    Aelyn scoffed. “Well I think I’m pretty fucking mature being queen and all. Also saving the goddamn world.” Her face started to heat up from anger.

    Logan sighed. “This is something that needs to wait even longer than that.”

    “Oh, so what? I can fight the fucking Crawler, kill one of my best friends, but you won’t let me see a stupid painting or tell me about Mom? What the hell are you hiding Logan? I thought we promised no more secrets between us?”

    Logan glanced back at the painting, his frown now dissolved and replaced with a sad look. “I know, but this...” He sighed, unable to finish the sentence. He closed his eyes then stood straight. He moved forward and then wrapped his arm around Aelyn’s neck, pulling her out of the room. “I guess there’s no use in hiding it anymore so let’s go.”

    Aelyn struggled against her brother for a bit, not wanting to leave the memories of her mother, but he held her firm and led her outside then back up to his room. When they were in the chamber, he let go of her and then knelt before the chest she had rummaged through just half an hour ago. He followed the motions she had performed pulling out his royal garments, the velvet sheet, and then the black box.

    He stood up and turned towards her. “Mom gave this to me on her deathbed. She told me to look at it once she passed to learn about her biggest secret. Said I shouldn’t tell you until you got older, until you could understand what it all meant.” He put his hand in his shirt and then pulled out a key that was strung around his neck. He put the key into the box and it clicked open. He pulled out a fairly sized book with old pages sticking out. “This is Mom’s journal. It took me years to fully read the damn thing because her handwriting was horrible,” he chuckled. “But this is a telling of her journey all the way to her death.”

    Aelyn moved forward, reaching towards the book. Logan passed it to her and she opened the ancient text. She squinted as she tried reading some of the words within the pages, but couldn’t make any sense of the horrible spelling and handwriting. “I didn’t know Mom was so shit at writing.”

    Logan chuckled sadly. “She couldn’t read growing up, Aelyn. She learned to write when she was in her thirties. I’ll read it to you at a later date, but I wanted to show you this before I show you the full painting.” Aelyn looked up with a raised eyebrow and Logan simply motioned with his head for her to follow him back to the storage room. As they walked, Logan told her, “You were right. After Mom died, I had all of her things moved into that room. I wanted her memory close to me and I often went into that room reminiscing the times she and I shared together late at night, talking about her adventures, learning the secrets of the Hero blood, and me helping her transcribe royal decrees and such.”

    Logan smiled as they reentered the room. He looked around for a minute before he saw a small orange stone covered in dust laying on the table. “You know Mom made your gauntlets right? She was experimenting with magic, wondering if there was a way non-Heroes could use Will. She never quite got the recipe right, but she did find a way to invoke the Will within your blood specifically without hurting you.” He turned to her, turning the stone in his hands, the light from the doorway making it shine slightly. “With your special condition, she wanted to find a way for you to use magic without hurting yourself. It’s why she spent the rest of her years experimenting. As a result she made these.” He held the stone up, which looked like a rougher version of the one that rested in the gauntlet on Aelyn’s hand. “Will solidified. Still only usable by those with Hero blood however.” Logan looked around for a small lantern and put it on the table. He held the stone in his right hand and then with his left, snapped his fingers. A small flame burst at the tip of his fingers and he shot it into the lamp, lighting up the room.

    “Woah,” Aelyn whispered.

    Logan chuckled. “Mom was teaching me how to use magic before her condition worsened. I hoped one day I could teach you, but...well you know what happened.”

    “Wait...You’ve been able to use magic this whole time?” Aelyn gasped, absolutely amazed.

    Logan shrugged. “Basic things. Not to your extent. Then again, you have the gauntlets helping you. They are focuses for your Will and they are attuned to very specific things like fire, lighting, blades.” Logan put the stone down next to the lantern then picked it up. “Mom was really intelligent and I sat with her many a night writing away in a book of all her notes. It’s why I know so much about Heroes and the way Will works. It’s a fascinating thing, magic. I’ll tell you more about it later.” He then walked to the back of the room where the painting remained covered. His smile dropped and his shoulders fell. “This,” he began as Aelyn stood next to him, “is the secret I have been dreading to tell you for a long time. Especially now.”

    There was a moment of quiet before Logan finally reached out and grabbed the sheet. He took a deep breath and pulled the sheet off completely. He held the lantern up, illuminating the painting.

    Aelyn studied the painting, the childish smile on her face as Logan held her on his lap. Sparrow stood behind them, a hand on Logan’s shoulder and a small smile on her old face. Her other arm was wrapped around the waist of another person whose arm was around her shoulder. It took Aelyn a moment to scan the face before she recognized with absolutely disgust who the person was.

    The square jaw, heart-shaped mole, and ruffled hair belonged to a man she despised. Belonged to a man who had his filthy arm wrapped around her beloved mother’s shoulder in this painting. “Is that fucking Reaver?” Aelyn knew the answer because who else could it be? That face was so recognizable to her even in a painting that was clearly from almost twenty years ago. Although, it didn’t even look like he aged. He was painted as he looked now.

    Logan slowly nodded. “Reaver was Mother’s closest advisor, just like he was mine.”

    Aelyn scoffed. “I know why he was yours, for business and shit, but why the hell was he Mom’s?”

    “Well...he’s the reason Mom became a queen, Aelyn. Reaver is the reason for a lot of things in our family...Including...you and I.” Silence filled the small room as Logan’s words hung in the air.

    Aelyn turned to him slowly. “What do you mean by that?” she narrowed her eyes. Logan looked down at her.

    “Aelyn.” A breath. “Reaver is our father.”

Ao3 link

#fable #fable 2 #fable 3 #spreaver #logan fable #hero of brightwall #sparrow #reaver #hero of bowerstone #reaver fable #OC: Aelyn #G-W76 #writing #short story

[theaskew]

"Bring Me Your Love", a 1983 short story by Charles Bukowski, illustrated by Robert Crumb, pages 12 and 13.

#fiction #short stories #poetry #comics #graphic novels #American #literature #Charles Bukowski #Robert Crumb #Black Sparrow Press #book excerpt #story excerpt #illustration #graphic novel

[nitetime-moon]

Fighting Art Block Pt 2

Inspiration under the cut!

All the images come from Pinterest. Besides that, I don't know, this was just for fun.

#my art #my ocs #my oc art #this has been rotting in my gallery long enough it's time to post it #i love how the only woman in this is also the only one wearing pants #that wasn't intentional #anyway... from left to right we have Akira... Sparrow... Eirian... and Koray #akira is my oc that i got from a danganronpa game prompt generator #he is the ultimate chemist #sparrow is another chemist oc i've made but he's from a short story i wrote once #and if you've been on my blog b4 you know eirian and koray already #they are showing off their silver sun and golden moon motifs here #koray has his scar but in this au he probably got it from a less serious situation and is therefore not depressed and traumatized :)

[erstwhilesparrow]

any book or tv show recommendations mayhaps?

oh! hello! (had a second of "WHO ARE YOU AND HOW DID YOU FIND ME" and then i checked your blog and was like, "ah, okay, never mind, you are entirely aware i am in the midst of being really pretentious about mcyt right now." welcome!)

under a cut for I Talk A Lot crimes:

hm. okay, tv shows first because i know that'll be short:

NBC's Hannibal (2013) - Huge massive content warning for cannibalism and gore but also the prettiest murders you've ever seen. Feels weird recommending this one because it feels so widely known, but I do love it and I don't watch a lot of other TV. Borrowed from Wikipedia: "FBI profiler Will Graham is recruited by Jack Crawford, [...] to help investigate a serial killer in Minnesota. With the investigation weighing heavily on Graham, Crawford decides to have him supervised by forensic psychiatrist Dr. Hannibal Lecter." Things only get worse for him from there.

Mars Red - Deeply cerebral anime about vampires. Full of theatre references, musings on life and time and death and what it means to sit on the edge / outside that as a vampire. Very very pretty. Plot-wise, it's about a group of not-particularly-connected vampires in 1920s Japan who've been recruited to a special military unit working to protect humans from other vampires.

Revolutionary Girl Utena - It's free on YouTube both dubbed and subbed. So much is happening. I am nowhere near done unravelling it and I may well be casting longing glances toward the project of unravelling it for the rest of my life. Utena Tenjou is a student at Ohtori Academy with dreams of being a prince straight out of a fairytale. She is drawn into a mysterious duelling tournament with Ohtori Academy's Student Council for the hand of the Rose Bride.

books:

Piranesi by Susanna Clarke - Utterly enchanting. A man called Piranesi wanders the House, a functionally infinite building so enormous its upper levels are filled with clouds and its lower levels are flooded and have tides. There is a plot, but most of my love of this book comes from how we as readers get to explore and luxuriate in the House alongside Piranesi. I've seen this called 'anti-horror' because it takes a premise that would be really easy to do as horror (forever lost in an enormous impossible structure with almost no human contact) and makes it something looked with wonder and joy.

Gingerbread by Helen Oyeyemi - Fun! Funny? Playful for sure. Almost a fairy tale. It feels distinctly like sometimes the narrator is winking at you. A woman from a country that doesn't seem to exist on any map attempts to tell her daughter about where she came from, and about their family's history with gingerbread.

The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson - A fairly significant part of the reason for my obsession with architectural / spatial horror. What if the thing that made a house haunted was not any particular ghost, but simply that something had gone wrong in the house itself? Eleanor Vance is invited to stay at the eponymous house while it is being investigated for supernatural occurrences, and attempts to navigate connecting with the other inhabitants of the house and escaping from the demands of caring for her mother.

My Own Devices by Dessa - I love Dessa's writing in whatever form it takes. I've seen plenty of writing described as 'sharp' or 'smart' but Dessa's one of the few people for whom I feel this is truly an apt description of her work. Her writing sounds like she talks fast, is terrifically smart, and knows what she's doing, and most terrifying of all, I think that impression is right. This is a series of essays, or it is, as the subtitle suggests, "True Stories from the Road on Music, Science, and Senseless Love". It's delicious to read.

How A Poem Moves by Adam Sol - I love poetry; I am so bad at reading and talking about it. This is a way into reading / talking about poetry better! It's a series of mini-essays by a professor at the University of Toronto who teaches poetry! He takes a fairly varied collection of contemporary poems and talks about a few things that each poem does particularly well. It's designed to be accessible and even inviting to people who do not read much poetry. For a taste of his work, his blog here.

When Fox Is A Thousand by Larissa Lai - A retelling of a Chinese folktale. A fox spirit haunts a young woman living in (roughly) contemporary Vancouver and a poet of the T’ang Dynasty. I remember reading this, going, "Oh, that was Good," and never figuring out how to say why.

The Secret History by Donna Tartt - Six deeply isolated classics students at a liberal arts college in New England murder one of their friends. Apparently a pretty big part of popularizing dark academia. I think it would be fair to describe this as gripping / compelling / convincing. I can't quite figure out what else to say, though I loved it while I was reading it.

On A Sunbeam by Tillie Walden - Graphic novel. Makes me ache in a way that reminds me of summer. I described it to a friend once as "full of that feeling of having to do something very frightening, and being reassured by the thought that you will be able to return to people you love for hugs and snacks afterward." A young woman named Mia joins the crew of a ship in charge of restoring ruins in outer space, while also searching for the girl she fell in love with years ago at boarding school. Available online free here, though physical copies do exist and can be bought.

#chattering sparrow #if there's like. a more specific vibe you want. feel free to ask again #i am. a little bit more likely to be able to curate for a specific vibe if we're allowing for short stories and poetry and #Strange Online Experiences though #looking at my list of books and going 'oh boy. i do not have a good track record of finishing books.' #some of these summaries are. bad. this is because i have a habit of going 'i have no idea what just happened but i loved it!'

[leafatlaw]

going to be a hater in the tags ;P

#sparrow speaks #aghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh #ive been reading a series of REALLY good fics recently - #like in character intersting stories well written ect ect #and its making me so upset becayse #sure these are good because im getting them from my beloved gf who has great taste #but like #theyll be fandoms where people write really in charcater fics and #fucking lif3 s3ries is not one of them #its probably cause im not reading r3nchanting stufff but oh my goddddd its miserable out here #short of smut fics its all ooc #AGH #its times like this that i wonder if maybe im the problem #maybe everyone else is writing them in character and IM the one horribly mischaracterizing them #who knows #bleh just complaining #alot of the d3s3rt duo stuff is fine #im mostly complaining about flower husbnds #sigh them

[writing-ceiling]

Summer 2023 Shorts #1

Neo Shorts #1

Title: Loki Has A Couple Of Uncharacteristically Philosophical Realizations

POV: Loki

Context: This short takes place somewhere between Loki joining the crew and them rescuing Maiju

Loki was in the back of the jeep (as per usual; this crew certainly spent a lot of time in their jeep. To be fair, though, it was a good jeep). He was leaning against the window and the door, which vibrated against him, but he’d learned to get used to it. Besides, what was he going to do, not lean against the door? He certainly didn’t have good enough posture for that. 

Pixel sat next to him, behind Ron in the driver’s seat. Beacon was in front of him, in the passenger’s seat. It struck him then: the silence. It wasn’t like the silences he normally knew, the tension that normally permeated what he knew as silence was notably absent. Instead, there was a calmness, like an anesthetic kicking in, or sunset on the beach of an abandoned planet. There was a serenity, a comfort that he didn’t know if he recognized. 

He contemplated it for a minute, which was difficult, because Loki wasn’t very good at contemplating, but it seemed to pay off, because after that minute, he realized what it was about the silence that seemed so unfamiliar. This crew, these people… they were different from everyone he’d met at the Federation: everyone always trying to scale their way bare-handed to the top, or knock it down from the bottom like a goddamn lumberjack. No, these people were certainly different. Neogalactic Vagrant Crew 47-K were at home with each other. They knew a peace so rare Loki could probably sell it on the black market for more money than he needed to make this plan work out (which was saying a lot, because that was a lot of money.) Still, even if he could bottle up this extraordinary interpersonal peace, find some way to quantify and distribute it, he didn’t think that he would. This crew was something special. They’d built what they had: whether intentionally or not, and Loki had a feeling that it had something to do with Maiju: the crew member he’d never met, but probably knew the most about. 

Her impact was profound, and Loki found himself in awe. 

As he observed the serenity, he found himself wanting, for the first time in his life, more than just the lofty goal of taking down the Federation and changing the world for the good. No matter how off-puttingly bratty and selfish he came off as, this was the first time that he truly wanted for himself. 

Which was probably why he found himself doing what he did next more easily, less hindered. An object in motion will stay in motion unless acted upon by an outside force, and Loki was living on a frictionless plane. He pulled out his phone from his pocket, and texted the girl. 

Hey. 

She responded in a few minutes. Supposedly she was leaning against her own door in her own new crew’s car (which certainly couldn’t be better than this jeep.), and supposedly, she didn’t give a shit about him. But also, supposedly, she gave enough of a shit about him to send him threatening text messages when all he wanted to do was get close to her. 

They had been close before, but Loki didn’t know what had happened. She’d turned cold (well, she’d always been cold, but she’d turned cold towards him, too). There was a time when they had been a dynamic duo, inseparable and always acing every assignment. He annoyed the hell out of her, he knew, but there was a part of her that loved him, too, he trusted. But one day, it was like that part of her had evaporated, and she left him in the dust. Her devotion to the Federation had become less being-manipulated-by-a-huge-government-like-corporation-into-doing-their-bidding-because-she-was-vulnerable-and-they-took-her-in-to-make-her-basically-a-child-soldier and more this-was-a-cult-and-she-was-trying-to-be-God’s-loyalest-disciple-for-some-sort-of-cosmic-gold-star-sticker. 

And no matter how bad she got, she was still Loki’s first real friend, and he wasn’t the kind of person who let go of things like that. He wanted her back, and that probably wasn’t smart, because she would rip him to shreds (definitely metaphorically, and maybe also literally), but he wanted her back anyway. He wanted to build what this crew had, but with her. 

In short, he was down bad (but, like, platonically. (Probably)).

But apparently, Thorn either didn’t understand that or didn’t care, and she was definitely mad at him about the whole helping-the-people-who-wanted-to-get-back-their-crewmate-who-murdered-a-federation-officer thing, because her text back was disturbingly threatening. 

You don’t seem to realize this yet

But I will find you 

sooner or later

and when I do, it won’t be pretty.

Author’s Note: I used this quote from pinterest as inspiration, which I had saved on my Thornki board:

(Yes, it also applies to that one snail)

#sparrow's stories: neo #sparrow's shorts #writeblr #writers on tumblr #writing #my writing #creative writing #sparrow's characters: loki feyrer #sparrow's characters: thorn ninomae

[displayheartcode]

They were called witches, miracle-workers, and tzadikim. Their practices had followed them out of the Old Country, spells passed down from parent to child even as they settled into crumbling brownstones where they chopped off parts of their names like limbs as they continued their work in secret.

sparrow made from darkness (x, x)

#orig #pic #sparrow short story #okay so this happened but I’m being quiet about it #I pitched it as Rebecca Podos meets Alice Hoffman #do you like sad witches? burned out golden boys? meet cute via supernatural trauma? blatantly jewish characters?

[sparrowse]

Gotta love the names I give my wip documents :)

#the first is just short excerpts from what will (hopefully) be a longform fic project #that i honestly don't know if i will ever complete because i have to like. actually think and plan and i don't like that! #but i also really want this story to exist so. maybe. #if i finish it i'm going to print it out and bind it into a book and goddamnit that might be the only thing motivating me here #the second doc is like. a oneshot situation? like... three general sections. very straightforward #if i force myself to sit down and write it i could get it done in a couple days. #sparrow's chirping

[loaksky]

i don’t celebrate thanksgiving, but could you guys imagine college!ellie taking roommate!reader home to jackson because she’d be alone for the holiday? short lil oneshot to get back into the groove of writing. do i hate this? yes.

recommended songs: alabama haint — penny and sparrow + what once was — her’s

warnings: language, a few brief mentions of family issues, suggestive content (kissing among other things) + mild sexual content, a lil misunderstanding and angst bc who am i if i don’t ??, CONFESSIONS because i’m a sloot for them. i think that’s it? not proofread ofc heh

it’s the weekend before thanksgiving, sunday to be exact, and ellie’s packing her backpack for joel’s. the energy in the the room’s a little off despite the fact that you’re normally reserved, and even though the two of you have only met this year, ellie’s learned to read you pretty well.

“you goin’ home for thanksgiving?” ellie asks absently, trying to make small talk as she rolls a sleep shirt and some pajamas haphazardly to stuff at the top of her bag.

there’s a pause that makes her brain itch before she sees the way you shake your head from where you’re hunched over a textbook at your desk.

“my family’s all over the place right now,” you answer honestly.

and ellie doesn’t know if you mean that figuratively or literally, but the lack of emotion in your voice tells her that maybe she shouldn’t pry. she can’t help it, though. because you’re her sweet and quiet roommate who’d been serious (and maybe a little scary) at first, but turned out to be a goofball with a little bit of prodding.

so seeing you like this, checked out and maybe a little stressed, ellie treads cautiously.

“so you’re gonna stay here?” she asks.

you don’t even spare her a glance.

“yeah.” your shoulders shrug. “no point in dropping so much money for a plane ticket if i’m going to be sitting home alone anyways.”

ellie makes a noise in the back of her throat and you throw look over your shoulder.

“sorry,” you offer softly, smile sheepish. “that was a little depressing.”

ellie shakes her head.

“no, i get it,” she assures you. “my family’s not really...”

you blink at her as she trails off.

“conventional? i guess?”

another quiet blankets the two of you and ellie’s speaking before she can even filter through the repercussions of her next words.

“you’re always welcome to...y’know...come with,” she says, scratching the back of her neck. “it’s not even a two hour drive.”

you hope ellie can’t tell that your cheeks are burning.

“you don’t have to, of course,” ellie blabbers. “but joel’s cool, so’s my uncle and his wife. it’d be nice, i think. and jackson’s pretty fun around this time of year...”

“i don’t wanna imp—”

ellie breathes a laugh.

“don’t,” she warns you, tips of her ears burning. “you’re more than welcome, seriously.”

it’s how you end up in the passenger seat of ellie’s old 4runner, heater on blast while sublime plays on the radio.

the car ride had consisted of ellie munching on cold fries the two of you had picked up from mcdonald’s before the interstate and you finally opening up about how your parents are divorced and how the holidays are a lot more stressful than they are pleasant.

ellie really feels for you, definitely knows the feeling losing her mom at a pretty young age and being adopted in middle school by a single, bereaved father. she tells you that they’d found each other when they needed the other the most.

and you don’t particularly know why you’re so nervous when ellie finally takes the exit off the interstate and you guys make your way through the suburbs. perhaps it’s the domesticity of meeting her family, or that you’re over a hundred miles away from familiarity, but your fingers are trembling when she turns into the neighbourhood and cozy brick homes line the frost-laden streets.

she’s pulling up and parking on the curb in front of a warm two-story that has a blue pickup truck and a gold SUV in the driveway when she notices.

“hey, hey,” she whispers, noticing the way you’re wringing your hands to stop the shaking. “you okay?”

her hands are warm when they close over yours and her thumbs is brushing over your skin soothingly.

“i’m being dumb,” you admit.

ellie’s eyes are crystal clear under the setting sun.

“don’t say that,” she says softly. “you wanna take a second?”

you swallow and shake your head.

“no, we can go,” you assure her.

she’s searching your face for any tell, but when you offer her a soft smile, she’s leaning back in her seat and nodding. before she completely pulls away, you’re stopping her.

“thanks, ellie,” you say gently. “this was really kind of you.”

she flashes you an easy smile, squeezes your hand a final time before climbing out of the car and rounding the front to help you out.

and truthfully, you realize you were nervous for nothing. because when the door swings open to reveal an older man aged with smile lines and greying hair, ellie seemingly softens infinitely.

“hey, kiddo,” he greets, crushing her in a hug so tight, she’s spluttering out a laugh.

“joel, i can’t breathe,” she wheezes.

you’re standing there awkwardly, backpack slung over your shoulder when joel finally loosens his hold on ellie and glances over her head.

“who’s this?” he asks, but the smile he wears is knowing.

“________, my roommate,” she introduces quickly, cheeks warming an awful shade of red as she begs every force above that joel won’t blow her cover.

because, okay, maybe ellie’s talked about you on the phone way more times than she’d care to admit out loud. talked about how intimidating you were at first, then graduated to talking about how you were actually so cool. and maybe she’d brought up the fact that she thought you were pretty. like...super pretty. and that maybe she was crushing a teensy bit.

“nice to meet you,” joel replies simply, sparing ellie this time around.

you let go of the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding onto, offering a smile that makes ellie wonder if she’ll survive the week with you in such a new proximity.

“nice to meet you, too,” you almost whisper, relaxing as he reaches for the backpack slung over your shoulder.

“here, let me take this for you,” he says.

and it doesn’t take you long to realize where ellie gets it from. her kind spirit and fierce yet gentle heart. joel is soft-spoken, a little rough around the edges, but a warm energy that radiates through the home he’s made for himself and ellie.

it makes infinitely more sense enter tommy and maria, her uncle and aunt who tell you the silliest stories about the starry-eyed girl in her youth over dinner. who bring out her boisterous laughter when they sing old 80’s music over dishes and evening TV.

“your family’s so cool,” you say in awe, wrapped in one of her coats she’d dug out of the closet under the stairs.

you’re nursing a mug of hot chocolate that steams in the icy air of jackson on her back porch.

ellie breathes out a little laugh.

“they’re something,” she jokes, watching you over the rim of her mug.

you make her heart thud hard in her chest as she takes you in, bundled in pieces of her that make her think that she wouldn’t mind making you hers.

“i miss times like these,” you whisper.

ellie shifts closer, catching you by surprise when her thumb swipes over the curve of your top lip.

“sorry,” she hums quietly. “you had...uh...”

you let out a hollow laugh and shake your head, tell her that it’s fine as a silence blankets the two of you.

“i’m glad you like them,” ellie admits softly. “sometimes i get a little self-conscious because, y’know, everyone expects a nuclear family and...”

“i’d take this any day,” you assure her, and the true implication of your words is latent, but something hopeful pricks her tummy.

i’d take this any day...with you.

and locking eyes with you usually scares her, usually makes her queasy with nerves because there’s always something searing in your gaze, but it’s like you see each other for the first time, no barriers.

ellie’s so close she can feel the warmth of your body coiling and drawing her in. her breath’s caught in her throat as she chances a glance at your mouth and her own lips begin to tingle.

she’s on the brink of asking if she can kiss you, but the back door is sliding open and two familiar faces are surfacing.

“williams!”

ellie’s daze melts away as she shifts to put distance between the two of you at the arrival of her friends.

“jess!” she calls. “dina!”

the moment clings heavy, but ellie writes it off. maybe she’s jumping the gun, reading too much into tender moments. it’s colored on your face, though, as she stands to meet her friends halfway, that the two of you are tethered and you feel it too.

ellie’s friends are another reflection of her character. they take you under their wings in the days leading up to the holiday with jesse teaching you to ride his minibike and dina telling you stories of their childhood while excitedly painting your nails pretty shades of autumnal colors because both jesse and ellie vehemently decline.

joel graciously relinquishes his kitchen to the four of you the day before thanksgiving. lets you guys gather around and bake an array of different desserts for tomorrow’s dinner over a few beers and winecoolers.

perhaps ellie’s a lightweight, you come to find, when she’s a lot more giggly and rosy-cheeked than she’d ever let anyone see. she’s feeling a little bubbly and you definitely don’t help the fact when you gaze upon her so fondly as you smear away the streaks of flour across her cheek.

jesse and dina are merely observers, watching with knowing grins as ellie practically melts against your touch.

and as the desserts cool on the kitchen island and the two of see jesse and dina out, ellie can’t keep her hazy eyes off of you. the two of you vote on a movie and she’s taking her usual seat in the right corner of the couch. it starts out with the two of you on opposite ends, but as the film plays, the space between you and ellie diminishes and she swears you can hear the way her heart’s pounding behind her ribcage with your ear pressed to her chest.

it’s uncharted territory considering ellie’s never been big on physical touch and she can’t even be sure that there's anything there, but you have to know. ellie’d mentioned past girlfriends, wasn’t really subtle when it came to wandering eyes on campus, hell, she’d even—

suddenly your arm’s tightening around the narrow of her waist and you’re nestling impossibly closer and christ, ellie can’t help herself when the coarse pads of her fingertips brush your jaw to catch your attention.

your gaze is illuminated by pixels and there’s a hitch in your breathing as you search her features for any hesitation. it’s long gone, you find, when ellie’s mouth is slotting yours, lips warm and tongue still flavored with sparkling wine.

ellie kisses like you’re air and she needs you to breathe. it’s almost embarrassing, way her body reacts to your proximity, how hot she us under the collar and achey as you move to straddle her. her fingertips are skimming down your spine, past the small of your back to take a—

your teeth sinking in the plump of her bottom lip and the way your soft palms find purchase against the rigid expanse of her tattooed abdomen is sobering. has her bony fingers cupping the flesh of your jaw.

“wait, wait,” she whispers, chest heaving and breaths shallow as she looks up at you.

the dust is starting to settle and you take in ellie’s kiss-bitten lips, swollen and slick. her pupils are blown wide, sweater riding up to reveal reddened flesh like you’ve branded her. you lean back.

“fuck,” you whisper. “fuck, i’m so sorry.”

ellie’s mouth is drying.

“why are you sorry?” she whispers.

you seem to chew on your words, eyes teary and expression scared.

“why are you sorry?” ellie repeats, not caring enough to mask the hitch in her voice as she pries.

“you’re always so fucking good to me, ellie,” you whimper. “you’re a great roommate and an even better friend and—”

ellie blows out a deep sigh, falls slack against the cushions as she levels you with an indiscernible look in her eye.

“don’t do that,” she breathes.

“ellie.”

“c’mon, you know me better than that,” she says, tone tinged with annoyance. “you don’t have to let me down easy. you can be honest.”

and color you confused because how couldn’t she fathom that you’ve fallen and head first at that? she’s reading it all wrong, you realize, when defeat shutters over her pretty face.

“i—”

the floorboards outside the den creak and ellie’s pushing you off just as the door squeaks open to reveal joel’s aging face.

he reads the room a moment, decides to blow by the sheen in your eyes and ellie’s rigid posture.

“tommy and maria are leaving, kiddo,” he says. “if you wanna say bye.”

ellie nods, stands and leaves you in the television-illuminated room.

you realize she won’t come back for you when the telltale sound of the front door closes and the stairs seem to groan under her weight.

it’s half past two in the morning when you slip from the den, glass of water condensating on a coaster as you try to collect yourself on the screened-in deck out back.

the icy chill stings your lungs, makes you gulp in breath after breath. the night’s starting to dawn you, the gravity of the situation overwhelming you enough to choke.

“fuck,” you whisper, that familiar feeling of dread squeezing your chest.

meanwhile, ellie can’t sleep. has been staring at the ceiling of her childhood bedroom for the past two and a half hours. you’re all she can think of. pliant curves of your body settling over hers to fit like you two were made for each other, the smell of your subtle perfume, the taste of your mouth.

and she wants to be annoyed, angry at the fact, but she’d brought you all the way here, extricated you from your comfort zone and showed you parts of her she wouldn’t dream of revealing to anyone else.

she recalls the resignation in your tone on the drive up, how you’d divulged the dysfunction of your family and the troubles you carried with you as a result. it’d be your first holiday with someone other than yourself for a while and she’d be damned if it soured because she couldn’t push her feelings aside.

the tv’s off and the blanket’s folded when she musters up enough courage to enter the den again, heart sinking to her ass when she slides back into the kitchen and finds that the sliding door to the back deck is cracked ever so slightly.

she’s seen you in a lot of ways these past eleven-odd months she’s known you, but she’s never seen you like this, hands over your heart and chest heaving like you’re trying to ground yourself.

when your watery gaze swings to her, ellie’s melting, cushion sinking as she settles next to you.

“sorry,” you whisper shakily. “i don’t—”

ellie’s shifting to face you, arms winding around your shoulders as one hand comes up to cradle the back of your head.

“let’s talk about it later,” ellie offers softly. “we can just go to bed for now and—”

“i really, really like you, ellie,” you say in one breath, and it has her body locking up, the audible catch of her inhale sounding near your ear.

“but?”

“no buts,” you admit. “just that i don’t want you to think that i kissed you because you’re being nice to me. well, i guess you’re always nice to me. it’s one of the reasons why i…”

and ellie doesn’t mean to tune you out, but you’re so fucking cute and so sweet and she shouldn’t have doubted you or herself because you’re hiccuping and shivering and—

you taste better the second time around. now ellie’s a little less unsure, still a little nervous because you’re the first girl to make her feel like this and she doesn’t want the bubble she’s built around the two of you in this corner of her little world to burst, but kissing you feels so right.

she’s dragging you back inside, past the den and up the stairs, and maybe the two of you do things you shouldn’t in her twin size bed in her childhood room when her dad’s only a few walls away, but she can’t help herself. not when you’ve always been an arm’s length away and she can finally have you.

it isn’t until the two of you lay under the dim glimmer of the glow-in-the dark stars pasted to her ceiling, her face pressed in your neck, that she says it.

“i really, really like you, too,” she whispers. “i realized i didn’t say it back.”

but it’s not like she needs to. you knew that already.

neng ©️2023

#ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams fic #ellie williams #ellie williams au #ellie williams tlou2

[emiliosandozsequence]

even my discord writer bot wants to make me crazy

#i cannot escape the sparrow no matter what i am at the bottom of this pit and i have brought my pickaze #*pickaxe #emilio.txt #i might tho write that as a short story of some sort #probably inspired by the star by arthur c. clarke

[serpenlupus]

About Wyll and his horns (and what they mean)

Let's say I was writing a part of my Tav's story with Wyll directly connected to the dialogue he has during the tiefling party, and while struggling with this bit, I've realized there's quite a few misconceptions floating around. I felt compelled to add information to the table that might clear them, so here we go.

First, what exactly happens to Wyll when he disobeys Mizora in act one? Well, he doesn't get turned into a devil, he certainly doesn't get turned into a tiefling, he's not a half fiend, not a demon, none of that. Wyll stays human, but he has horns and red eyes (and other features we can't see on his model as of now).

(Everyone has their race listed, Wyll's remains "Human")

This is because when a warlock fails to uphold some part of their contract they can suffer a certain number of consequences, Wylls is “The character grows horns, a tail, or some other devilish features that can't be removed by any means short of divine intervention. As long as these marks persist the character detects as a fiend when subjected to Detect Evil and Good spells or similar magic.” ( from Baldur's Gate: Descent into Avernus, page 214)

And I’ve come across some people that think it wasn’t so bad of a punishment, that he was being racist towards the tieflings, or just not being justified in being upset after having his body forcibly changed against his will. I think they are missunderstanding just how insidious Mizora’s actions were, and here I just want to give some context to maybe bring a better understanding to the situation. Your conclusions are up to you.

Gonna start by using a not exact analogy, but I think it’s going to make the explanation easier. Stick with me for a minute.

Remember Jack Sparrow in Pirates of the Caribbean? He had a branded “P” on his arm that marked him as a pirate. A murderer, robber, criminal, etc. in the eyes of the society he was a part of. What did Jack do to earn the branding? (if you don’t know this I suggest you look up the “people aren’t cargo mate” scene) He refused to transport slaves and later freed them, and Beckett had him marked as punishment.

Then, in the first movie, he saves Elizabeth, a woman he didn’t know, from drowning. Right after however, when Norrington sees he has a branded “P”, he’s like “alright, off to jail with you, and then hanging”, no other option crosses his mind. Again, Jack doesn’t know Elizabeth, isn’t indicated to think he is going to be rewarded for helping her, he just sees a drowning person, sees that no one else is going to help, and chooses to save them. That is a pretty selfless/good aligned thing to do, for no other reason that he was the one able to do it, yet the branding in his arm overrides any good action he could ever do, marking him as a criminal for execution and no further thought.

In a way, that’s what Mizora did to Wyll; she forever visibly branded him as someone that has made deals with devils, and that in the world of DnD is a VERY BAD THING. Personally I really like the mod that gives him more devilish features, but at the same time I think there was something clever about choosing to leave him looking more human. He can’t be confused with a tiefling, he doesn’t have the ears, the claws, the tail, all those features that characterize them. He looks kind of uncanny, and that would be like a red flag for anyone in that world. (Beyond the already existing hate for tieflings that I’m not gonna tackle on here because it’s a complicated thing that deserves its own post). And Wyll wants to do good, he wants to help people, to be a positive force in the world so, so badly. This dude got abducted by a nautiloid, got tadpole’d, and the first thing he did right after that was come across the Tiefling refugees and be like “Oh you need help? No worries let me teach you self defense. Oh you being attacked by goblins? Let me blast them real quick”. His way of saying fuck you to all the awful things that have happened to him is being aggressively good and kind. Mizora knows this very well, wants to see him suffer for her amusement, wants to remind him he can't escape her claws, so her choice of punishment was to forever taint his future interactions with mistrust and suspicion. Some people can go real fast from “oh thank God they saved me” to “oh no, are they gonna rob me, are they trying to trick me, are they in cahoots with the ones that attacked me first?” just because of outward appearances. Especially in DnD world. And that deserves its own conversation, but we're focusing on Wyll here.

(Mizora, when I catch you Mizora)

“Well, maybe he shouldn’t have made a deal in the first plac- - “ He was seventeen, alone, preyed upon by Mizora and put in an impossible situation. Please PAY ATTENTION to the story you’re witnesing.

Anyway.

About the tieflings. I know it’s easy to think his words can be derisive towards them, but it’s less about the horns and more about his body being changed against his will. Imagine instead that he got half his face burned, or something that disfigured him. I think his feelings at the moment were closer to that, and yeah they are pretty insensitive words to say to someone with a similar condition (horns or disfiguration), but when feelings are fresh and raw like that it’s easy to say insensitive things. Not saying it was ok for him to say them, but there was no malice in his words. I’ve also seen some people share that they think Mizora wanted to change him more to make him unrecognizable to his original self, the Wyll Ravenguard kid, and I think there is some truth to that too. She wants to make sure that Wyll remembers that he belongs to her, there's no question to that.

(MIZORA, WHEN I CATCH YOU MIZORA)

Whether the Tieflings refugees would feel unsettled by Wyll or not? Yes. In a way, they would. From reasons aside from the ones I explained above, remember that these specific tieflings come from Elturel. If you didn’t pass the History check or don’t remember, Elturel is a city that was literally ripped from the land and dragged to Avernus, First layer of hell (it left a hole on the ground and everything) because their mayor made a deal with the Archdevil Zariel some decades back in the timeline. He sold the souls of all its citizens and the city itself.

This was probably one of the worst times of their lives. Some even got captured and forced to participate in the blood War, like Dammon as a mechanic. And after Elturel got returned to the surface, the tieflings lost their homes because they reminded the other citizens of the literal Hell they’d just gone through, and they kicked them out. And remember, they met and saw Wyll as a human, and then saw him with horns. It’s not unreasonable to think that by looking at him they would be reminded of all the events that led them to the awful situation they’re in. Because of someone that was making deals with devils, just like Wyll. Even if his situation is completely different. And Wyll knows that, that’s why he tells you the tieflings are unsettled by him and chooses to stay away during the party.

It was never just about the horns.

And I know Wyll calls himself a devil but I think it’s because it’s the closest thing he looks as; devils are a whole different race with their own intricacies, although humans can be turned into devils ONCE their souls go to Avernus and they start climbing the power hierarchy there (Mizora and Raphael are cambions/ half-devils btw, which is a different thing,  there are plenty of videos exploring those details more in depth).

Do I think Larian should have made some of this information clearer/easier to access? Maybe? but to be fair, it's a game focused and dedicated to a crowd that was already somewhat familiar with the source material, that blew up waay out of what they originally expected to reach. Hopefully they’ll add some clarifications like they did to other quests. 

Anyway these are my two cents to the conversation, have a nice day, and don't hesitate to add your two cents if you feel like it!

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #wyll #bg3 wyll #wyll ravengard #wyll bg3 #mizora #lore #baldurs gate #bg3 discourse #bg3 discussion #elturel #bg3 companions #tieflings #I hate mizora so much oh my god #fully headcanon that when my Tav went to Avernus with Kalach and Wyll they destroyed her #he canonically goes after her in one of the endings #so wtf not #and don't get me started on Ulder Ravengard #I'll rip him a new one on another post #just you wait #tw slavery #tw mentions of slavery

[brightoakgame]

Halloween Short #4 - Patti

Patti’s ghost story is a little different, as I used an urban legend scenario for the base, rather than a specific written work. So for fun, I framed this short as the episode transcript of a misfit ghost-hunting podcast-- and in the process roped in the rest of the cast. Figures “Mayor” Patti would be the one to bring the town together, even if the brief was too silly for her tastes. 

As ever, editing and art credit to the wonderful Remnantation​

Notes: some minor swearing, references to alcohol, terrible jokes, and rampant silliness. Proceed at your own risk. 

(theme music plays)

JOHN: Hello, and welcome to Nice to Meet Boo, the friendliest ghost-hunting podcast around! If you’re a first-time listener, the way it works here is that you submit your tales mysterious and strange, and then we trot off and attempt to answer the important question: is the source normal--or paranormal?

MARYBETH: Spoiler: it’s not ghosts.

JASPER: Apart from when it is ghosts, of course.

JOHN: Ah, thank you both for speaking up! For our investigations, we have assembled a--er--balanced team of experts: on the side of skepticism, we are lucky enough to include my sister here, Dr. Marybeth Forster. 

MARYBETH: I am a temp. I am not part of this team.

JOHN: Ah, right. Sorry, Sister Mine, allow me to try again: this is our temporary skeptic, Dr. Marybeth Forster, who is with us because she is presently otherwise unemployed and has nothin’ better to do.

JASPER: (laughs quietly)

MARYBETH: Go to hell.

JOHN: On the other side of the spectrum, we’ve got here Dr. Jasper Lee, who’s a medium!

JASPER: Metaphysicist.

MARYBETH: What exactly are you a doctor of? Y’know, since metaphysics is not a real science.

JASPER: (sighs) While technically a philosophy, Aristotle founded it as a way of addressing that which natural sciences and mathematics cannot--

MARYBETH: Oh, so you’re comparing yourself to Aristotle now? Ooh, or are you channeling his ghost? Can you speak ancient Greek?

JASPER: ἕκαστος δὲ κρίνει καλῶς ἃ γινώσκει, καὶ τούτων ἐστὶν ἀγαθὸς κριτής. 

JOHN: And our last, uh, ‘silent’ partner, if you will, is Sparrow, who handles all our gadgetry and gizmos and whatsits, from the microphones and cameras and flashlights, to the crystals and candles and whatever the hell else Jasper--

JASPER: Doctor.

JOHN: --Doctor Jasper thinks’ll help us connect with anybody or, uh, anything on the other side. Unfortunately for you listeners, Sparrow seems to think podcasts are public speaking, so you won’t hear much on that end, but hey! Say hello, Sparrow!

Sparrow: …

JOHN: Eh, always worth a shot. Can’t actually hear you waving, but points for effort--and um, thankfully nobody can hear that other gesture you’re making, either, so you can just go back to doing whatever it was you were doing, then. 

MARYBETH: Or alternately, you can take that finger and--

JOHN: So there we have it, folks! A skeptic, a medi--a meta--metaphystist--damn, just can’t get my mouth around that one!--our trusty support, and me! I’m John Forster, and I like to keep an open mind.

JASPER: More like an open bottle.

MARYBETH: (snorts) Now placing bets that the only one drifting blindly into walls tonight is John. 

(theme music cuts in)

JOHN: Wait’ll you hear what we’ve got in store tonight, because it’s a doozy of a tale, comin’ to us from listener Kit! But first, real quick: Marybeth, why do ghosts like elevators?

MARYBETH: I told you, I’m not going to--

JOHN: Because they lift their spirits!

JASPER: Ανόητος.

MARYBETH: Still channeling Aristotle, are you?

JOHN: Well, Sparrow laughed. Unless you wanna speak up and contradict me? Ha, thought not! Kit wrote us--well, if you’ll do the honors, Jasper? 

JASPER: (sighs) Doctor, Doctor Jasper Lee. But fine. Kit submits the following account:

Dear Nice to Meet Boo Team,

I stumbled on your podcast and thought you might be interested in a strange experience I had a few weeks ago. While traveling, I was forced to take a detour on a small mountain backroad. The area is beautiful, but very remote, and it had been well over an hour since I’d last seen any other cars or signs of human life. So I was curious when I noticed a structure ahead, just off the roadside. As I got closer, it became clear that it was an old, mid-century diner--and I could tell even from a distance it was long abandoned. I mean, who was around to go there? 

MARYBETH: Not ghosts! 

JASPER: (sighs again) I can’t tell anymore if you don’t believe, or are simply afraid to.

JOHN: Right, we can get to investigating all that in a minute, if you’ll just continue?

JASPER: I slowed the car a bit as I got closer, so I could get a good look at it--and then just when I was in front of the entrance, the car engine died! Which was scary not because of anything to do with the old diner, but because of how far I was from any kind of help. I’d been out of cell phone service for miles and miles at that point. 

Getting out of the car, though, I was surprised to hear voices. I couldn’t tell what was said, but they were clear, and for a moment I wondered if the diner was operating after all, or if it was maybe one of those abandoned places that get tourists coming through and taking pictures? I didn’t see any other cars around, but walked up to the door and tried to peer inside. 

There was a woman standing behind the counter. I was surprised, but the inside looked much better kept than the outside suggested, so I opened the door--which was unlocked, and even still had one of those little bells on it that chimes when it opens or closes--but before I’d even set foot inside, she was gone. The interior now looked completely different, too, and obviously hadn’t been used for decades. 

MARYBETH: Ugh. I hate these stories.

JOHN: Why? They’re great!

JASPER: I ran back to the car, jumped in--and it started up again without any issue. I drove on, and never looked back.

JOHN: I like this one! Thanks for sending it in, Kit! Hey Jas--Doctor J: why are ghosts terrible liars?

JASPER: What? I don’t find them to be markedly worse than--oh. (sighs irritably) 

JOHN: Because you can--

JASPER: --see right through them, yes, fine, let’s move on. Kit very kindly included enough information on the location of this diner for us to track it down with a little research.

JOHN: We found it, and now we’re here on location! Right at sunset, too, which is terrific ghost-hunting time, I think.

MARYBETH: Speak for yourself. It’s going to get cold, and I’ll bet it’s dark inside already. We could establish the lack of ghosts just as easily by daylight.

JOHN: Now where’s the fun in that? Wouldn’t be half as scary. Let’s get started!

(theme music plays)

(sound of a car door closing, footsteps)

JOHN: Here we are, strollin’ up to this empty husk of a building that looks like it’s probably held together by nothin’ but rust and asbestos and--

JASPER: It’s locked. 

(spooky music cue)

JOHN: It’s locked! Our very first event: Kit quite clearly stated the diner door was unlocked.

MARYBETH: Woo. Guess that confirms it was ghosts all along, and we can go home now. (hissing and a loud popping sound in the background) What the f*** Jasper, are we breaking and entering now?!

JASPER: Yes. Are you coming?

JOHN: The door is now unlocked! (a bell chimes faintly) Soon the secrets of the ghosts will be ours!

(spooky music plays over echoing footsteps)

JOHN: Smaller than I thought’d be. 

MARYBETH: What, did you think it’d be bigger on the inside?

JOHN: Maybe. Say, anybody hearin’ voices, or seein’ anyone behind the bar? 

JASPER: Ye--

MARYBETH: No, and you’re always seeing things anyway, Jasper. Normal people can’t see or hear anything, because there isn’t anything to see or hear. (a clunking sound, followed by mechanical whirring) What the hell is that, John?

JOHN: Glad you asked! I thought it was unfair that Doctor J gets to have all the fun communicating with those beyond the veil, and so I brought some equipment of my own this time!

JASPER & MARYBETH: (in unison) Oh no.

JOHN: You can just put that box over there. Thanks for your support, Sparrow! Okay, so this doodad creates a kinda radio static, and ghosts can sometimes speak through the static because--I don’t recall why. But let’s try it! 

JASPER: I don’t think--

(loud buzzing and static plays; at one point, it is disrupted by what may be a voice, and then immediately cuts off)

JOHN: What’d you go and turn it off for, right when things were gettin’ good?

MARYBETH: It’s giving me a headache.

JOHN: But you heard it, didn’t you? The ghost spoke!

MARYBETH: I heard a lot of static. 

JOHN: But the voice at the end! You heard it, right? Sounded like it said--

MARYBETH: …noisy. 

JOHN: Noisy! That’s what I heard, too!

JASPER: Shocking.

MARYBETH: But it’s just the human predisposition towards pattern-seeking. It wasn’t actually a voice. It was only--

JOHN: Fine, we’ll call it inconclusive. Next one, then! I got a flashlight.

MARYBETH: All of us have flashlights.

JOHN: Nah, this is one of the twisty-ones. I’m gonna set it over here on the counter, where Kit saw the lady standing, and I am gonna twist it so it’s almost on, but not quite, and we can ask her questions, and she can answer by turning it on or off!

JASPER: I really--

JOHN: Okay, let’s get this turned--wait. 

MARYBETH: What now? 

JOHN: Sparrow, you put batteries in this earlier, right? (inaudible) It won’t turn on. Got any extras? (some rustling)

(spooky music cue)

JOHN: We’ve got our second event! The flashlight won’t turn on, even with fresh batteries!

JASPER: Truly, a mystery for the ages.

MARYBETH: Yeah. John, I admit it freely: I’ve been wrong all this time, ghosts are real, they made your flashlight not work--right when it’s getting dark, I notice--so let’s wrap this up and leave.

JASPER: Leave? Already? But you can’t think Forster’s nonsense actually counts as--

JOHN: I got one more! Sparrow, bring in the--yeah, that thing.

JASPER: What now…?

JOHN: I don’t remember what this one is called, but the lights’ll change colors when a ghost gets close to it.

MARYBETH: Really John, haven’t we had enough of--ahhh!

JOHN: See? See? It changed color! Hey, Miss Ghost, could you get a little closer to the-- 

(a heavy crash, gasping, footsteps, and the bell chime all in quick succession)

(cue spooky music)

JASPER: Well. I feel we’ve now established that the ghost doesn’t like your nonsense, Forster. Knock it off.

MARYBETH: I don’t like the ghost. Nope, nope, nope. Ouch! Who pinched me? John, I swear--

JOHN: A major event this time! Sorry, ma’am! We’ll get that mess cleared up and--wait, where’s Sparrow?

JASPER: Sparrow has just now decided to wait in the van, I believe.

MARYBETH: So much for our support.

JOHN: Just when we’ve made contact, too. Poor Sparrow is gonna miss out. Well, what’ve you got, Doctor J?

JASPER: Thanks to your fumbling around, this may take a--(a breath) Oh. She’s here. She’s…not pleased by us being here.

(a pause)

JOHN: What’s she look like?

JASPER: Tall. Quite beautiful. She’s in a white dress, and has dark hair and eyes. 

JOHN: Does she like jokes?

MARYBETH: I’m no psychic, but I feel absolutely certain the answer is No. 

JOHN: Worth a shot. Uh, sorry about the bad manners, Miss Ghost.

JASPER: That helped. She’s very elegant, and I get the sense etiquette is important to her.

JOHN: Ah! In that case, allow me to introduce myself. I’m John Forster.

JASPER: I’m Doctor Jasper Lee.

(a long pause)

MARYBETH: I am not doing this. 

JOHN: And this is my sister, Doctor Marybeth Forster. This is, uh, quite an establishment you have here, Miss Ghost. Can you tell me, are you aware that you’re--

MARYBETH: Dead and not supposed to be here?

JASPER: Shut up.

MARYBETH: (laughs nervously) Oh, a rude ghost!

JASPER: No, that was me. She’s well aware she’s a ghost.

JOHN: What has you lingering on, then?

JASPER: It’s her diner.

JOHN: Right. So, a special attachment to the place? 

JASPER: It is her place, why should she not be in it? Of course there is an attachment. It is mine.

MARYBETH: Ooh, I really don’t like it when you do that. Stop it.

JOHN: Clearly you ain’t just some kinda recording of history, then. What’re your aims? 

JASPER: Ah--hm--peace? Peace.

JOHN: As in, you come in peace?

MARYBETH: Why don’t you rest in peace, then?

JASPER: I would like to be left in peace, por favor. 

JOHN: ‘Por favor’? She’s speaking to--er, through--you in Spanish, then?

JASPER: She’s bilingual, and what I perceive are better classed as impressions of her thoughts, so it is a mix. 

JOHN: Hmm… You ain’t that La Llorona character, goin’ around stealing children, are you? 

JASPER: She says, absolutely not. The question is quite absurd. What should I want with children? She does not want children, she wants peace and quiet. And John, that’s a terribly rude question--it’s on par on asking a stranger with a British dialect if they’re Winston Churchill.

MARYBETH: You’d really put that past him?

JASPER: Not every ghost or spirit is a celebrity. 

JOHN: Fair ‘nough. What about adults? 

JASPER: (sighs heavily) What about adults? I have said I do not want children, why should I want adults, or anyone at all? I want to be left alone.

JOHN: Gotta ask, because we heard from someone that was passing by and happened to see--

JASPER: Ah, them. They looked lost, I wondered if they needed directions.

JOHN: Got it. So you’re not the Weeping Woman?

JASPER: (laughs, uncharacteristically brightly) Only when I am sad. What, are you the Noisy Man, because you do not stop talking?

MARYBETH: Pfft!

JASPER: You should not laugh. You are just as noisy, and less polite. 

MARYBETH: Shut up, Jasper.

JASPER: It wasn’t me that time. Though I agree with her.

MARYBETH: Ugh. 

JOHN: Just plain John’ll do fine. Can I ask your name, then, Miss Ghost?

JASPER: Claro que sí! I cannot seem to stop you from asking all kinds of questions. Her name is…Patti. Wait, no--Miss Patti? Apologies.

JOHN: Miss Patti, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. (a long pause) You still in there?

JASPER: She’s still here, she’s just torn between good manners and--well, I don’t think I need to repeat precisely what she just said. She wants us to leave, and is struggling not to say it outright. No, I have said it, again and again, quite politely, but you are not listening, and I am beginning to grow angry.

(gasps, a stifled shriek, something being dropped)

JASPER: Oh, okay. No more flashlights, understood. Um, we should go. Soon. 

MARYBETH: Don’t need to tell me twice. I’ll be in the van with Sparrow. (rapid footsteps; the bell chimes) Come on, John!

JOHN: All right, thank you for your time, Miss Patti. If I may, though, can I ask you just one more question? (a click) Oh! You turned the flashlight back on! Does that mean yes?

JASPER: I cannot seem to say No in a way you understand. Fine. Ask your question, but then leave, and take this nosy--oh, you mean me? Apologies, I didn’t--

JOHN: Last question, then we’ll go, scout’s honor: (a dramatic pause) Why didn’t the ghost dance at the party?

JASPER: Forster, for the--

JOHN: He had no body to dance with! Hahaha--ooookay, let’s go.

(rapid footsteps, the bell chimes, a door slams)

(panting breaths)

JOHN: You saw her too, right?

JASPER: I saw her the whole time, you damned--

JOHN: Dunno what I expected, but she looked nice, I thought!

JASPER: She looked furious!

JOHN: I’m pretty sure she laughed.

JASPER: I’m pretty sure you’re drunk.

MARYBETH: John! Thank god. You’re okay?

JASPER: He told Miss Patti a joke.

MARYBETH: S***, we’re going to be haunted for sure.

JASPER: I doubt it. She was quite ready to be rid of us. You believe in ghosts now though, correct?

MARYBETH: Well, I at least believe you and my brother are creeps who very well may have set up this whole--

JASPER: How? For what purpose?

MARYBETH: To scare me, of course!

JOHN: Oh! That would’ve been good, if I’d thought of it.

MARYBETH: I quit.

JOHN: Well, I’d’ve gone to Miss Patti’s diner, if it were still open. Sparrow! Glad to see you! Can you go back in to fetch our--oh, ah, that’s a no, I take it? Fine. Guess the next folks to visit can have it.

JASPER: It may be out on the front steps by morning. Miss Patti is an exceptionally… active ghost when it comes to protecting her space, it would seem.

JOHN: Well, maybe I’ll try and come by to fetch it then! Really feel there’s a lot of potential for--

JASPER: There’s a good chance she'll have permanently shorted all your ridiculous equipment. She really didn’t like it. 

MARYBETH: I didn’t, either, and if you try bringing more next time, I will break it myself. (a pause) I’m still quitting, though.

JOHN: To each their own. Well, Kit, I hope that this helps confirm matters for you: your diner is the place to eat, drink, and be scary! It’s definitely haunted by a real pretty ghost by the name of Miss Patti, and she’s in a bad mood. (cue theme music) Which leaves just one remaining question open in our investigation here, before we can conclude matters and head out to the next adventure: when does a ghost drink their coffee?

(groaning, a van door slams)

JOHN: In the moaning! (silence) Yeah, I--(an engine starts) Wait, dammit--Uh, thanks for listening, and we’ll boo back next week with more--now, hold up! Hold up, dammit, I--

(a bell chimes, faint laughter)

(cue theme music outro)

#bright oak #halloween shorts #urban legends #ghost stories #la llorona #weeping woman #noisy man #patti gutierrez #sheriff john forster #dr marybeth forster #sparrow #dr jasper lee #spooky season #short fiction #short story #visual novel #interactive fiction #oelvn

[rookieloveskashi]

How Could You? —Chapter 1—

Part of the For Your Own Good Series Prev Work → Next Chapter

Relationship: Hatake Kakashi x fem!Reader

Rating: General

Warnings: mostly just fluff so far, a little canon angst, POV Kakashi. canon rewrite. self-ship coded; please see author's note on series page if you are unfamiliar with plot-significant characteristics of reader.

Word Count: 2.6k

Work Summary: After waking from Itachi's Mangekyo Sharingan attack, Kakashi finds there is still a lot of work to do; in rebuilding the village, restoring trust within his team, and in being honest with you. But will his efforts strengthen those bonds, or will everything only get worse?

Read on AO3

“Let's see…what else did you miss?”

You sat beside Kakashi on his bed, your head resting on his shoulder and your hand tracing gentle patterns along his palm. It had only been a few hours since Lady Tsunade had returned to the village and fixed him up, and she had barely left before word somehow got to you that he was awake and healthy.

When Tsunade had explained to Kakashi how long he’d been unconscious since Itachi’s attack, he felt ashamed. All that time, wasted. He should have avoided getting caught in that jutsu. But he was thankful his comrades and students were safe, despite feeling like he’d done nothing to help.

And when he saw you, every feeling was replaced with guilt for how worried you’d been.

But everything had been forgiven in a flutter of kisses, his hands and mouth both more eager than his recovering muscles could keep up with. Eventually, kisses morphed into conversation; you excitedly filling him in on everything that had happened throughout the village while he’d been asleep. Truthfully, it was probably more information than he was concerned with. But Kakashi was more than happy to spend time with you in any way. Even if it involved listening to stories of people he wasn’t even sure he’d ever met, he’d still take it.

His muscles ached from the lack of use. He was just about to ask if you wanted to continue this conversation on a walk when you were suddenly distracted. A tiny sparrow tapped on the window, drawing your attention. “Awww,” you cooed, “look at that little bird.”

“Hmmm,” Kakashi sighed, recognizing the signal. “Another mission already.”

“Wait, so soon? But you’ve barely recovered!”

“Well, we lost so many shinobi to Orochimaru’s attack. Those of us left just have to work harder to make up for it.”

“That explains why Iruka has been so hard to get a hold of lately. I guess he’ll be busy with missions for a while, at least until we get the Academy rebuilt.”

“We?” he asked, working on securing the wraps around his ankles. “I thought you said you were working on getting Ichiraku up and running.”

“I am. But the volunteers fixing up the Academy needed help, so if I split my time and work one shift in the morning and one—”

He leaned in to kiss your temple. “Don’t overwork yourself.”

“I could say the same to you, you know.”

“I’ll be fine,” he promised with a soft kiss on the corner of your mouth. “I hate to cut this short, but I’d better head out.”

“Right.” You kissed his mouth, delaying him for as long as you dared before pulling away. “I love you. Please be careful.”

“I will.”

And I love you too.

The words were on the tip of his tongue. He wanted to say them. He was ready to say them. He realized he had loved you this entire time, and he wanted to tell you. He just needed to move his jaw, vibrate his vocal cords, and say the words.

But then you stood up, and made your way to the bedroom door. And his chance was gone.

“Walk me out?”

“Of course.”

He stayed by your side as you walked to the front door of his apartment, wishing he had more time to spend with you before being sent out again. But this was the life he’d chosen, and people were counting on him.

“See you when you’re back.”

And with that, you gave him one last sweet smile before walking out. His heart tugged in his chest as he watched you leave. But he just needed to focus on this mission, and then he could come home and spend some time with you.

First, though, he needed to check on his students. Tsunade had told him all about what happened between Naruto and Kabuto in Tanzaku Town, and Sakura was sure to be worried about Sasuke’s health. Kakashi knew that Tsunade had healed Sasuke before making the house call to his apartment for both treatment and a lecture. But Sasuke would probably still be recovering in the hospital. At least Naruto wasn’t hurt.

When Kakashi arrived at the hospital, the medic-nins directed him to Sasuke’s room. He could tell that something was wrong before he even made it to the doorway. The room was empty, and when he went in to investigate, all he found was an abandoned bed and a few apple slices browning on the floor. Judging by the color, they couldn’t have been there long.

Kakashi closed his eye and focused on the smells and sounds surrounding him. He picked up Naruto’s scent, along with Sakura and Sasuke’s. He knew the room was in disarray, and he couldn’t imagine Sakura doing that, so it must have been Naruto and Sasuke fighting, yet again.

But where did they go? Had they been kicked out? Sasuke hadn’t been discharged yet, and the staff seemed to think he was still here. The roof.

He was up there in the blink of an eye, finding Naruto and Sasuke charging at each other with dangerous amounts of chakra, Sakura shouting for them to stop and running right for them. Sasuke was aiming a huge amount of Chidori, and Naruto—

Is that…

He grabbed each boy by the wrist and spun around, flinging them into the water reservoirs on the roof. It may not have been the most gentle choice he could have made, but if the two of them had made contact, who knows what could have happened. And Sakura would have been right in the middle of it. Gentle wouldn't have cut it, today.

“What are you two doing up here?!”

Sakura ran up to her sensei while her two male teammates groaned and pulled themselves away from the large tanks. Seeing the fear in her eyes nearly made Kakashi’s patience snap. This was the furthest thing from teamwork he’d ever seen.

But that jutsu…no doubt about it. The Rasengan. How is Naruto using that jutsu?

Sasuke stood, offering only a glance and a smirk in Naruto’s direction. While his student was distracted, Kakashi used the body flicker jutsu to jump on top the reservoir looming over Sasuke’s head.

“What do you think you’re doing, Sasuke?”

The boy startled and looked up at him, his expression quickly darkening from surprise to annoyance and anger.

“That Chidori wasn’t the size you’d aim at a comrade from the Leaf Village,” Kakashi continued. “Were you actually trying to kill Naruto?”

Sakura and Naruto both waited tensely for Sasuke’s explanation, but the boy’s answering silence was all the jōnin needed in order to understand. He must have taken that reunion with Itachi harder than anyone realized.

Instead of offering his teammates a word, Sasuke gruffly leapt off the roof, avoiding the situation all together, leaving Naruto looking betrayed and Sakura sobbing into her fists. Kakashi hung his head and tried to make sense of how Team 7 reached this low point, and how he could turn them back to the right path.

Suddenly, Kakashi felt a different yet familiar chakra signature. Jiraiya. I should have known.

“So, it was you who taught Naruto that jutsu?” he asked. “Don’t you think he’s a little young?”

“Look who’s talking,” Jiraiya responded. “That Chidori was pretty powerful too.”

Yeah. Got me there.

“Although,” Jiraiya continued, sounding a bit more serious, “I didn’t think he would throw it at a friend. Did I miss something between those two?”

“It’s complicated…” Kakashi began. “You of all people know how rivalries can be.”

Jiraiya hummed in understanding. “Jealousy is not a good sign. Maybe I should talk to him.”

“Then I’ll trust Naruto to you. I have to get on with a mission, but I’d better deal with Sasuke too.”

“Right.”

“Ka—” Sakura sniffled. “Kakashi-sensei…”

Kakashi jumped down from the tank and approached his female student with a smile on his face and confidence in this voice, hoping she couldn’t see how fragile both really were.

“Don’t worry. We’ll have the old Sasuke back in no time.”

Kakashi found Sasuke sitting on a high branch in one of the oldest trees in the village. At least he found some interesting places to brood every once in a while. But despite the time he’d had to cool off, the genin looked ready to lash out at the first person he saw.

It was obvious enough; Sasuke had recognized how much Naruto had grown, and it had been a tough pill for the Uchiha to swallow. Their rivalry had reached a dangerous tipping point.

Seems I’ll have to fit in some mentoring today, after all.

He silently unspooled a generous length of wire and attached a shuriken to the end. Then, when he threw the shuriken to loop around the tree, the wire held Sasuke to the trunk. Kakashi quickly jumped onto the branch, showing his student that he wasn’t truly in any danger. Despite that, Sasuke had an enraged look in his eyes as he looked up.

“What’s this all about?” Sasuke snarled.

“If I didn’t do it, you’d run.” The jōnin sensei kept his tone level. “You must admit, you're not the type to take a lecture willingly.” Not unlike I used to be.

Kakashi sighed. After what he’d just watched Sasuke do, he needed to get through to him. He didn’t want to reopen his own old wounds, but if he didn’t connect with his student, Sasuke would only see what Orochimaru told him to see.

Better get right to the point. “Sasuke, forget about getting revenge.”

The boy was only angrier upon hearing this advice, and Kakashi wished he’d been more surprised at the reaction. “Although,” he continued, “in my line of work, I've seen a lot of kids like you.” He had been tempted himself; looking for someone or something to blame throughout the toughest times of his life. More often than not, he found the blame belonged to himself.

But how do you seek out vengeance from yourself?

“The fate of those who seek revenge is never good. It’s quite tragic, actually. You’ll only end up hurting and suffering more than you are now. Even if your revenge is a success, all that will come of it is emptiness.”

His lonely years in the ANBU. The desperate fights he wished to lose. Having no one, for fear of losing them too.

“What do you know?!” Sasuke spat. “You think you’re a genius?”

Kakashi pulled on the wire. “Calm down.”

Sasuke chuckled, looking up at his Sensei with a worrisome look in his eye. “I could kill all the people most precious to you,” he growled. “Then you’d know just how wrong you are about me.”

Obito. Rin. Sensei.

As vivid as in his nightmares, images of his old team’s deaths flashed before his eyes. He couldn’t protect any of them. Those failures were his greatest shame as a shinobi. Kakashi had avoided talking about his past with his students so they wouldn’t know just how worthless their sensei really was. But it was something Sasuke needed to know, so he swallowed his pride and steeled himself.

“Well, I suppose you could…” His aching heart provided the answer that had been his undeniable truth for so long. “But unfortunately, I don’t have anyone special left. The ones most precious to me have already been killed.”

Sasuke’s face morphed into a mix of confusion and anger.

“I’ve lived longer than you. Times were tough back in my day. I know the pain of losing somebody more than I’d like to.”

“But—”

“Neither you nor I can be called lucky, that’s for sure. But we’re not the most unfortunate, either. You and I have both found precious friends, haven’t we?”

Sasuke was quiet for a minute, and Kakashi hoped he was thinking of his classmates. His teammates. Sakura and Naruto. Kakashi knew firsthand how much someone who was originally considered an annoyance could become a dear friend; one of the most important people in a person’s life. “You realize it after you lose them.”

Kakashi flicked his wrist to loosen the wire, seeing that a lot of the fight had drained from Sasuke’s eyes. “Chidori was a power I gave you because you found something important. That power is not to be aimed at a friend or used for revenge. You ought to know what that power should be used for.”

Protecting a person who is precious to you. Someone you love.

Instantly, he wasn’t thinking of Gai anymore. Or Sensei, or Obito or Rin. He could only think of you. The person most precious to him. The person he loved, yet for some reason—some irrelevant, nonsensical reason—he hadn’t told you.

And now he couldn’t wait another second.

“Think about whether what I said hit the mark or not.”

He rushed to your apartment, hoping you hadn’t needed to go anywhere else after you’d left his place.

People could be taken away at any time—Kakashi knew that better than anyone. Yet he’d been stubborn and closed off, refusing to let himself admit to you everything you meant to him, based on fears that he didn’t even remember.

He peeked in the window and saw you lounging on the sofa, reading a book. The girl I love.

“Y/N.”

You jumped, whipping toward the window with your hand over your chest. As soon as you registered him, your eyes softened and you let out a breath. “Kakashi?” You pushed the window open and allowed him in. “What are you doing back so soon? Is something wrong?”

He lowered his mask and crashed his lips into yours the second the obstacle was removed. You stayed still; shocked and surprised. But then you wrapped your arms around him and answered his kiss. When he broke away, he kept his lips over yours, so they would brush against you as he finally said what he should have said weeks ago.

“I love you.”

You gasped, inhaling the words into your lungs. Kakashi thought he could hear the rhythm of your heart go a little haywire as you leaned back with a giddy smile. Then you let out a chuckle, something between elation and apprehension. He understood how this probably seemed to be coming out of nowhere.

“I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to tell you,” he said. “I just had to…get out of my head.”

“Kashi, I…are you sure?” you whispered. “You don’t have t—"

“I’m sure, Y/N,” he promised. “I've been sure for a while, but I was just afraid of…well, a lot, honestly. But, I love you.”

That gorgeous smile stretched across your face. “I love you too.”

His smile matched yours before he kissed you again. “Okay. I’d better get out of here before my tardiness gets me in trouble.”

You giggled. “Mmmm, bye Kashi.”

He stole one last peck before covering his face again and climbing onto your windowsill. “I should only be a couple of days,” he said, crouching to be ready to spring up on the roof for quicker travel. But then he looked at you, and he couldn’t resist telling you one more time. “I love you, Y/N.”

A fresh coat of pink ripened your cheeks. “I love you, Kakashi.”

He could stay here all day repeating it back to you, but he forced himself to go. The last thing he wanted right now was to start a cycle of back-to-back missions, but it was for the good of the village. To protect you. To protect the woman he loved, and who loved him.

It was the happiest he’d been in a long time, and he couldn’t wait to come back.

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