#Bone Asp the Teeth

[rush-the-stars]

only

pairing: sukuna x half-curse f!reader (referred to as girl, daughter)

wc: a breezy 900 (unheard of for me)

cw: incest? it's not explicit but heavily implied. sukuna technically sired reader and she's a weird half-curse. but they're like non-human and kind of god-coded so. if that makes it better (it doesn't, you say? my bad then). use of "father" to refer to sukuna. toxic power dynamic.

a/n: um. look away. avert your eyes. etc. etc.

***

"do you think it's amusing to defy your nature? to defy me?" sukuna's voice echoes against cold stone, hanging in the air between you. sitting upon his throne, he is a god of death here, perched above the bones and rot of it all. the darkness whispers, slithering around you like phantom wings that brush your bare shoulders, your cheek. it could be the caress from a lover, the fading touch of a ghost.

"not amusing, no." you reply icily.

"do not take that tone with me, girl." he snarls, standing.

"not a girl," you reply bitterly, lifting your head, eyes glinting in the watery light. hardly human enough for that.

"don't test me." he snaps then. "and if you're going to stand at the foot of my shrine, address me properly."

"apologies, my lord."

in a blink, he is in front of you. thankfully, you are so accustomed to this, that you hardly flinch. except when he grabs your face in one, large hand. he squishes your cheeks. his claws arch around the bend of your ear, into your hair.

despite it all, you don't truly fear him.

his hold nearly shrouds your whole head and he pulls you up, closer to his dual-sided face. you lurch, scrambling to hold his massive wrist, to keep on the tips of your toes.

"that is not my title to you." his grin is feral, mean.

your eyes flash dangerously. your claws dig into his flesh—strangely you have always been able to mark him with little effort. ever since you were small, you were able to draw his blood.

"apologies, father." you spit.

(if you think about it, his own flesh rebelling, or perhaps—you, his only weakness.)

he lets you go and you drop like a stone, unceremoniously, and at his feet. you look up at him. the thin, slip of fabric you adorn swims around you in a glossy pool of ink. it falls from one of your shoulders.

"such disdain from my only daughter." he sighs, "such attitude."

his eyes—all of them—roam your form brazenly. the bare skin. the dips and curves of your body. you feel it the way a rabbit must know the feeling of teeth; sudden and frightening, and then altogether too late.

"such animalism from my only father." you hiss back like a little asp, "such—"

your voice catches.

he leers down at you, "such what?"

the word dies in your throat. you hate to name it, whatever he has for you, you hate to give it life. you hate that you can not, in such basic, human terms, encapsulate what he is to you. or you to him. you hate whatever this is. you hate what he is, or what you aren't. or could be.

you hate, hate, hate—festering with it, true to your name.

his very own little curse.

you hate most to let him win.

you turn your face away from him, chin up haughtily. "your lechery does not frighten me anymore."

"such a brave girl you've become." he laughs and suddenly all his arms are moving, reaching for you, and you've known them your whole life. he lifts you the same way he did when you were child. and now they linger, gripping the curve of your waist. the plump place of your thigh. "do you want me to praise you?"

"i thought i was here for punishment." you remind him, snippy and sharp, but careful to go lax in his grip.

when you fight and squirm, it excites him. so you play dead. you freeze like the rabbit, too.

he steadies you back on your feet. he stares at you for a long moment in a way that you cannot parse; all his eyes peering at you, prying at you, like they're trying to see under your clothes. under your skin. inside of you.

"for you, they might as well be the same thing."

he isn't even being cruel now, just honest. he's not leering at you. the frankness is worse, the honesty is damning. you lurch away from him, breaking the hold he has on you. your stomach turns. you bare your fangs at him, growling in warning, warbling like a curse.

he doesn't flinch.

"my praise of you feels like punishment to you, no?" he says lightly and you try to glare at him, but you fear horror is seeping through your expression.

he laughs again, rough. horribly fond.

"come," he says, turning away from you. he expects you to follow, "you reek of humans. you're done trying to live among them."

"you can't—"

"they'll never understand you. you will never belong to them." he says simply, and then he glowers, "and it's beneath you to try. come. i will not ask again."

he begins to walk. when you don't move, he looks over his broad shoulder, eyes darkening.

"they drove you out—they tried to exorcise you and i had to save you."

"it was only because of that six-eyes use—"

"i don't care. you should be ashamed and i should've finished the job for them since you are so weak—" he snarls.

(you—)

your head falls, chin dipping. perhaps in misery, maybe in surrender.

"now come, daughter of mine. you'll stay where you belong."

(—his only weakness.)

#not tagging this #nobody look actually #i just needed to write something sorta weird #had to get it out of my system #almost wrote smut but decided i was too tired #cw: incest #cielo's writing! #cielo writes!

[icey--stars]

You Cuddled Me

Oh no... there's only one bed at the Inn and there's two of them...

↢ 『 ☾ 』 ↣

Day 2 of @azrisweek 2023 (Favorite Tropes)

a/n: look, ya’ll, my self control went out the window when i read the prompt and saw “enemies to lovers” and “only one bed.”

WARNINGS: mentions of domestic abuse and some slight spicy talk towards the end

{ ao3 } "i want to break these bones 'till they're better" series: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

↢ 『 ☾ 』 ↣

Why did everything seem to be falling apart right now? Eris seriously needed it to stop for just a few moments so he could get his bearings back. He was walking beside the shadowsinger of the Night Court after just almost draining his magic dry to let him and Azriel escape a Bogge. For some reason, the creature was on Autumn Court lands at the worst moment possible. They’d only just barely escaped that damned creature.

If I had my father’s powers already, then I would’ve been able to kill it, he thought.

Eris had been preparing to kill his father in one week and he’d been “traveling,” according to Beron for three. He’d actually been with the Night Court. Azriel was Rhysand’s way of a compromise instead of staying in Hewn City for those three weeks.

“Why won’t you let me winnow us?” Azriel asked again.

“Because we’re not,” Eris snapped. He wouldn’t stoop so low as to let the shadowsinger from the Night Court winnow him. He had far higher standards.

“It’d be better for you to regain your strength quicker in a bed rather than hiking lost through these forests,” Azriel argued.

“We are not lost,” Eris growled. “I know these woods like the back of my hand.”

“Where are we then?” Azriel quizzed, seemingly unable to believe Eris had memorized his own court.

“Just south of the Winter Court border. We’re traveling east, toward a village we can stay at for the night,” Eris answered. “Please have more faith in me, shadowsinger.”

Azriel huffed, his shadows swirling faster. Eris rolled his eyes and turned back to the familiar Autumn Court forests.

“We’re wasting time,” Azriel said.

“We’re not,” Eris argued.

“You have to kill your damned father in a week and you just spent all your magic on that Bogge.”

“And?” Eris prompted.

“Don’t you need to save your magic?”

“Even if I saved my magic for a century I wouldn’t be able to beat him. How much magic I have makes no difference, shadowsinger.”

“Then how the hell are you killing him?”

“By being smart,” Eris growled. “Apparently, you lack the skill to do that.”

“Or you lack any saneness,” Azriel muttered, his wings briefly spreading before resettling.

“You know, there’s a reason why I didn’t tell your friendly little High Lord how I was going to kill my father,” Eris drawled, sarcasm dripping from his tone. “He’d stop me in my tracks and force me into a plan that wouldn’t even work.”

“Enlighten me in your plans then.”

Eris sighed, rubbing his eyes as he stopped dead in his tracks and turned to face the Illyrian. “Do you really want to know or do you want to complain?”

Azriel paused, hands sliding into his pockets. He would look casual if it wasn’t for the shadows coiling up over his shoulders like asps preparing to strike. “Tell me,” the shadowsinger ordered.

He was positively the worst guard that Eris had ever had.

“Fine,” Eris relented. If only to shut him the hell up, he reasoned silently.

A small smile appeared on Azriel’s face in triumph, but Eris paid it no mind as he began to explain his plan. First, he’d enact the traditional Blood Duel for the crown. 

Azriel already dared to scoff. Eris gritted his teeth to stop himself from mentioning it. He’d make this power exchange traditionally or not at all. His citizens had to respect him.

The next step, during the Blood Duel, would be to put all his magic toward a shield when his father inevitably attempted to spear him through with fire. It would most likely occur further into the duel, which he would dodge and grit his teeth against burns. However, after that, his father would be more drained, as would he be. Eris was certain that he could beat Beron in one-on-one combat without magic. Weapons or not.

Beron would be able to choose the stakes of the duel if there were weapons or not, but Eris would decide the time. Eris already had at least a hundred allies in the Forest House that reported to him. The guards, the servants, his brothers… his mother. Beron wouldn’t expect the witnesses of the Blood Duel to take his side.

He knew Beron was already preparing for the day Eris challenged him, but Eris had been planning since he was ten years old, when Beron had first laid a hand on him with that damned whip.

He didn’t mention that part to Azriel.

When he finished his explanation, Azriel hummed thoughtfully and then began to walk again. Eris wasn’t even phased by the lack of reaction. It was a lot like the shadowsinger to show nothing.

They kept walking in silence after that.

When they were about an hour away from sunset and the village, Azriel finally spoke. “I suppose your plan might work. But you’ll have to be quick to anger him into ending it, because I doubt you can survive that long, and I doubt he’d not be able to see your plan. The power surge should save you once he’s dead.”

“I know,” Eris stated. And that was that.

Eventually, the lights of the town were in sight. By then, Eris was dragging his feet and only managing to stay upright because he didn’t want to seem weak in front of the Illyrian warrior beside him.

“What, are you going to demand entry to someone’s home or something?” Azriel asked, his expression looking mocking.

Eris rolled his eyes. “We’re not barbarians like your people,” he replied. “There’s a local Inn.”

Azriel looked about ready to jump him at that comment. Eris felt strangely proud for being able to rile up the silent shadowsinger so much.

“This way,” Eris merely said, walking off without a care. He was, however, keeping close attention to the sounds of Azriel’s footsteps on the crunchy leaves. The spymaster might be able to stay silent in other terrains, but Eris was suited quite well to the leafy floors of the Autumn Court. He knew how and where to step to stay silent if he wanted to. Azriel didn’t.

The Inn was close by and with the sun falling beneath the horizon, they made it inside just in time to avoid Azriel’s time of the day. Eris might be able to beat Azriel in the day on his land but at night? It’d be close.

“General,” the keeper immediately bowed his head. “And Spymaster of Night.”

Eris put on a smile that radiated ease. “We need two rooms for the night.”

The housekeeper gulped, looking down at the papers on the desk. “Uhm…” they hesitated.

“What?” Eris asked, narrowing his eyes.

“We only have one open room tonight I’m afraid…” the keeper said.

“Two beds works just as fine,” Eris settled.

“It’s- it’s just one bed.” The housekeeper sounded nervous and quiet. Eris took a deep breath and sighed. He was too exhausted to handle much of anything else this evening.

“Fine,” Eris sighed. He slid a silver over the counter as payment. “Keep the change.” The keeper swallowed, clearly uncomfortable, before coming around the corner to lead them both up the stairs, to a sharp left, and then on the last door, he opened it.

“Here you are, sirs,” The keeper said.

Eris waved him off and instead just entered the room, holding back a groan at the sight of the measly bed in the center. He knew this town was popular, as it was near one of the bigger cities and was perfect for people to stay, especially with a visiting circus in that city, but he didn’t expect all the rooms to be full.

“Right, how are we doing this shadowsinger?” Eris asked. He shifted his gaze to the room around them. Tiny. Enclosed. There was no room on the floor and the bathroom wasn’t much better. Eris was curious if the Illyrian would even be able to fit in the bathroom properly with those huge wings attached to his back.

Azriel hummed, eyeing the bed and then the floor.

“I should’ve just winnowed us,” Azriel said.

Eris took a breath through his nose, making sure it was audible to show his waning patience. “If you keep whining, shadowsinger, maybe it’ll annoy the people in the other rooms so much they’ll give us their room.”

“Stop being so sarcastic for once,” Azriel growled.

“Stop complaining,” Eris retorted.

Azriel groaned. “Fine,” he stated. “Fuck it. We’re grown males.”

“You have wings,” Eris said with a raised brow.

“I’ll manage.”

Eris hummed before making his way to the bathroom. “I’m taking the first shower, shadowsinger.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less from the primping son of a High Lord.”

“Should I expect more from an Illyrian bastard?”

“You should’ve learned by now that insult doesn’t work on me.”

“Oh, you need a new insult?” Eris taunted. “How about Rhysand’s dog? You sit, you stay and you fetch when he asks. Even better, you attack when he says so.”

“Oh shut it and get in the damn shower.”

Eris smirked and slammed the door shut without an ounce of regret for the others in the room across from them. He unbelted his sword from his hip and went for the daggers he had next.

He bit his lip briefly when he realized he’d be going to bed weaponless, lying next to a trained Illyrian warrior. He’d just have to hope that Azriel truly was going to obey his master’s orders. He moved to get the iron armor that covered his upper chest and then the lighter leather armor under it and his boots. I really do need to get a new chest plate, he thought, remembering when he was quite literally skewered on the ice by Cassian.

Finally, he was left in some undershorts and a t-shirt, which he quickly took off and turned the shower on as hot as it would go. He undid the leather strap around his hair next and then turned to the shower.

He briefly flared his fire to heat his blood so the water wouldn’t burn him immediately, and then let it fade and let the water do the work for him. He ran a wet hand through his hair, sighing with frustration as he felt burrs and leaves stuck in them from his rolls with the Bogge.

He used the provided shampoo, conditioner, and body wash before getting out. He didn’t bother with the one towel provided and instead just dried himself off with the fire in his blood. He put his shorts and shirt on and carried his armor and weapons out of the bathroom, ignoring Azriel who seemed to be carefully scanning and counting each one. He set them down on the limited floor space just as Azriel went into the bathroom himself.

He sighed, tightening his hair into a bun to avoid as much touching with Azriel as he could. He sat down on the bed, sighing with brief frustration. It was just a night sleeping in the same bed as Azriel. He would be fine. Perfectly fine-

Azriel opened the door again, still wet and shirtless.

Eris blinked and turned back to face the opposite wall to hide his blush.

When did the Illyrian get so damn attractive? Seriously, that muscle looked unreal.

Eris had slept with a few males before. There were enough experiments he’d had that gave him something else to hide from his father. If Beron ever caught wind of the knowledge he preferred males in bed over females… he’d be strung up by a spear through his heart.

He shook his head clear of those thoughts and turned back toward Azriel with more confidence.

Azriel, however, must’ve noticed, because he was smirking like a fiend.

“I would’ve never guessed the heir of Autumn was attracted to males,” Azriel drawled. “Do you see something you like, little Eris?”

“I’m not little,” Eris snapped, and grit his teeth when he realized the potential double meaning behind his words. Damn the shadowsinger for seeing his weakness and exploiting it.

Azriel looked entirely too happy at the moment, adjusting his shorts lower on one side as he scratched at his hip.

“I don’t sleep with a shirt,” Azriel said. “Too annoying with the wings.”

Of course, he didn’t. Eris internally was telling himself to keep a straight face.

“How interesting that you’ve kept this little bit of yourself hidden,” Azriel continued as Eris attempted to ignore the hip bone and muscles on the Illyrian’s figure.

“Shut it,” Eris snapped.

“Why doesn’t anyone else know?”

Eris heard just a little bit of curiosity in the shadowsinger’s voice. He was honestly asking.

“The Autumn Court isn’t exactly friendly towards people like me,” Eris said. “In fact, people regularly laugh at Helion and Thesan for their preferences. Openly mocking at worst.”

“Damn this place is fucked up,” Azriel sighed, sitting on the bed, causing it to dip in his direction.

“Just shut up,” Eris growled. “You’ll be leaving soon anyway.”

“Unless you die,” Azriel mused. “Then I’ll be spying some more here.”

Eris rolled his eyes. “As if you don’t already do that.”

Azriel shot him a little smirk which told him that Azriel spied on the Autumn Court quite regularly.

“Of course,” Azriel drawled. “Perhaps I was expecting too much from the people who left Mor with a metal spike in her stomach.”

Eris’s fists closed tightly and he took a deep breath. Calm down, he scolded himself. “You would never understand the forces at play then, shadowsinger,” Eris retorted.

“Tell me then,” Azriel growled back.

“You wouldn’t believe me, so get under the damn covers and go to bed.”

“You first.”

Eris rolled his eyes and proceeded to slide under the covers, looking over at Azriel expectantly.

“I’ll turn off the lights,” Azriel muttered.

“Don’t bother,” Eris said. “They’re flames, I’ll extinguish them off when you manage to get comfortable.”

“Don’t you use faelights? And aren’t you out of magic?” Azriel asked, hesitantly getting under the covers.

“I’m not out. Just weaker. And we do,” Eris said. “But flame makes it so much easier for the High Fae around here.”

“Of course it does,” Azriel muttered under his breath and slid so the pillow was under his head. He was turned toward Eris’s side of the bed, his wings hanging partially over the edge so he didn’t have to get on Eris’s side of the bed. Eris sighed and slid down, the covers going under his arm and the other going under the pillow with a strategically placed dagger just in case.

He winked out the flame lights in the room then and waited in tense silence, listening to Azriel’s breaths.

Eris sighed and tried to focus on his thoughts– not the killer behind him.

He had to quell that attraction to Azriel quickly, he told himself. Azriel hated him. He had to control himself as well. He must be losing his edge if he was blushing at the sight of Azriel without a shirt. It was just another male, he scolded himself, he didn’t need to react so strongly. He’s only the hottest male you’ve ever seen.

Internally, he growled at himself for that comment.

Soon enough, he found his mind’s wandering beginning to fall into nothing. Azriel’s breaths were slowed behind him and with that, he fell asleep.

-----

The first thought that occurred to him when he awoke to the sun’s light in his eyes, was that he was eternally grateful that he didn’t have a nightmare.

The next was that there was a muscled, naked chest in front of him and arms wrapped over his body, and his own arms wrapped around the waist of the male as well. What’s even worse is that he felt so safe like this.

The soft breathing above him was so peaceful.

The final thought that he had was the most jarring. He was fucking cuddling with Azriel. In bed. Cauldron boil him alive, when in the night had they wrapped themselves around each other? When had the lapse in his control occurred?

He took a deep breath, shifting slightly. The other male also moved, his hold on Eris briefly tightening before relaxing when Eris stopped moving.

Fucking hell, he swore silently. He had to get up now. He had to stop them both from being so embarrassed they couldn’t even look at each other without blushing.

He prepared himself internally for the argument he was about to start before pushing at Azriel’s chest with a snarl that was only partially for play.

“Damned brute,” he growled as Azriel startled awake. Eris continued, “Couldn’t stop yourself from wrapping around the only warmth in the bed, could you?”

Azriel sat up immediately, blushing bright red.

Well, I failed that part, Eris thought.

Azriel schooled his face after a moment into cold-hearted fury. “More like you searching for something to wrap your arms around. I bet you still sleep with stuffed animals.”

He did. Sometimes. He’d forced himself into hugging pillows or his dogs instead, but on occasion, he still took out that little stuffed fox his mother got him when he was young. But nobody would ever know that. Definitely not Azriel.

“More like you do,” Eris retorted, standing from the bed. “You were definitely the first to do it.”

Azriel scowled. “As if. You kept ogling my muscles last night, so you were definitely the first.”

Eris leaped on the bed again, attempting to pin Azriel to the mattress. Alas, when you try to pin the Illyrian warrior who weighs more than you with your hair unbound, you normally find yourself pinned.

Azriel pressed a knee into the small of his back, yanking his head back by his hair. Eris let out a small yelp, straining against the weight on his back with his arms to try and turn. The dagger he’d put under his pillow was on the ground with the leather strap for his hair. Damn it, wonderful, he thought.

“I bet you bottom for all those males you’ve been with,” Azriel growled into his ear while yanking his head back more. Eris snarled, attempting to turn around and punch the male on top of him.

“Get the fuck off of me,” Eris growled.

“What a brat,” Azriel chuckled, and released him. Eris immediately turned and tried to leap at the Illyrian. Azriel grabbed both of his forearms to pin him on his back now.

“You’re annoying,” Azriel mused. “Can’t you just relax?”

“You’re the one who cuddled me in your sleep!” Eris accused.

Azriel rolled his eyes. “We cuddled with each other, get over it. Or have you managed that little contact with others that cuddling is a foreign concept?”

“As if the spymaster of the Night Court is any better,” Eris grit out, attempting to get his knee up to get Azriel between his legs. A dirty trick, but he needed the male off of him before he did something very impulsive.

“I’ll have you know, I have managed to find people to warm my bed. Unlike you apparently. Are you that poor at flirting?”

He most definitely was not. He just didn’t want his damned father to get any stupid ideas from the rumors.

“Tell me,” Azriel said with a deep tone sending a flicker of arousal up his spine. “Are you the one getting flirted on?”

“No,” Eris growled.

Azriel smirked. “You’re cute.”

Eris blinked in surprise. Even the shadowsinger himself seemed surprised by the words that’d escaped him. He swallowed, suddenly feeling the hands holding his forearms a bit too much and the muscled body holding him down. He gritted his teeth to try and control himself and his scent.

Azriel’s face widened into a smirk. “You’re a pretty little liar aren’t you?”

“Shut the fuck up and let me up,” Eris snarled. “Or I’ll burn you.” He let a little fire flare at his fingertips.

Azriel regarded the flame with a bit of nervousness before looking at Eris. “I’m afraid that’d be failing the little bargain you have with the Night Court. You kill me, you can’t kill your dear old father.”

“I most certainly can-”

“Just shut up,” Azriel growled. “I can smell you, you know.”

Eris blanched, his face becoming an even lighter shade than it was.

“You know,” Azriel hummed, “It might not be known, but I’m quite into males myself.”

Eris’s lips thinned as he stared up at Azriel.

Something in the air seemed to snap and Azriel leaned down, pushing his lips onto Eris’s forcefully.

Eris didn’t fight it and instead relaxed, closing his eyes as he groaned into the kiss.

Fucking hell, he thought. What an interesting beginning of the day.

Azriel brushed his tongue along the seam of Eris’s lips and he readily opened them.

Azriel pulled away with a wide smirk. And that smile was the end of Eris’s impulse control.

↢ 『 ☾ 』 ↣

TAGLIST (see post for getting added)

Tagged in all ACOTAR Stories: @bunnymallowo, @officiallyunofficialperson, @margssstuff, @rebloggiest-reblogger, @inpraizeof, @graciereads, @eos-princess,

Tagged in all Azriel Stories: @ladylokilaufeyson5, @marina468,

(please let me know if you'd rather not be tagged in Azris Week or if you'd like to be tagged!!)

also, day 3 will be skipped due to the fact it hated being written :)

#azrisweek2023 #azris supremacy #azris #azriel #eris vanserra #azriel x eris #eris x azriel #eris acotar #azriel shadowsinger #acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar fanfic

[fangirlshrewt97]

Smoke Curling Around Us

@burningsheepcrown is a hazard, but we love her anyways. Here is another Dhruya fic prompted by her doodle, which you can find here. 

Also I wrote this on my phone, I hope there aren’t any glaring typos I missed.

///

Dhruya hissed in relief as the acrid burn of tobacco hit his lungs, a small relief to the migraine that was building in the back of his skull. The new IG had called for a meeting of the heads of all the divisions as well as some of the local heads of the smaller departments. And then proceeded to yell about them all being collectively incompetent.

Dhruva knew there were political machinations at play here that he was unaware of, but hearing the man lecturing them about not doing any work properly really made him want to scream. Not doing any work, as if Dhruva hadn't spent nearly a decade at this job, giving everything to it. Everything.

"I'm surprised you still smoke."

Dhruva stiffened at the sound of the voice that still made a regular appearance in his dreams. He resolutely stayed staring ahead as another body came to stand beside him. A flash of fire lit up his peripheral vision as Daya lit up his own cigarette and took a puff.

He took in another inhale of the cigarette. "Its only on rare occasions. These things will likely kill us anyways though."

Daya hummed. "Considering you apparently still work yourself to the bone, I still have my bet on you being your own cause of death."

Dhruva scoffed. "Did you sleep through that whole lecture we were just subjected to? Apparently we are useless and lazy."

"You know me Banga-" Daya started jovially.

"Don't." Dhruva cut in sharply, turning his head to glare at Daya.

The years had done wonders to the man, standing in front of him in a suit that made his shoulders seem incredibly broad. He had shaved some of the hair at his sides, and there were even a few flecks of white Dhruva could pick out. His eyes still took up half his face though. And the glasses, new, suited him. In fact they seemed to magnify his eyes.

Daya's smile dropped at Dhruva's interruption. "You don't get to be angry ASP garu. Oh, I'm sorry, I meant DSP garu."

Dhruva gave him another withering glance and marched to his office. He ran a hand through his hair, taking another big puff from his cigarette. He wished the burn extended to his heart too, it would lessen the pain.

But before he could get to his chair, a hand grabbed his arm, spinning him on his heel until he was pressed up against the wall of his office, hidden from view of anyone walking by the hallway. A convenient blind spot. Of course the bastard spotted it immediately.

"Stop walking away from me Dhruva." Daya growled, and it was only the second time Dhruva had ever seen him so clearly angry but holding it in. He still looked so damn beautiful.

"It was for the best Daya. We agreed-" Dhruva tried to protest before Daya got in his face. The lingering cigarette smoke was starting to irritate Dhruva's eyes. Daya grabbed a hold of his tie, tightening the fabric in his hand. It didn't even cross Dhruva's mind to push him away, not when his body felt like a live wire just from the close proximity.

"We didn't agree to shit. You unilaterally made the decision you thought would be best for us, and I let you walk away because I was scared too. But it's been five years, and I know. I know neither of us have found anything that came close to what we had." Daya growled, pulling the cigarette away from his mouth to quench it against the wall and dropped it on the carpet. He did the same to Dhruva's. The younger man couldn't see past the redness of Daya's lower lip.

"So? Are you going to say you leaving was still the right choice?" Daya asked, eyes hard.

If there was one thing Dhruva had learned in the past five years, it was that he wasn't as strong a man as he pretended to be. He grabbed at Daya's head and hauled him in for a kiss, a messy thing more noses and teeth clashing. Daya's glasses were biting into the skin of his nose. But they fixed themselves quickly, this rhythm familiar to their bodies even if their hearts and minds were out of practice.

Shit, they had to go back to the meeting with the IG in a few minutes. Dhruva moaned as Daya grabbed at his thigh, pulling it to wrap around his waist so he could grind their hips together.

"Dhruva..." Daya growled, and Dhruva whimpered. How many times had he heard that exact sound in his dreams in the past five years. Fuck he would let this man do anything to him.

Daya ducked down to suck on Dhruva's neck, and the younger man clutched at Daya's hair as he tilted his head to give him better access. Dhruva rolled his hips once, making Daya snarl against his skin as he slammed Dhruva's hips with his own.

And then suddenly Daya was an arms length away and Dhruva was left half collapsing against the wall. Daya looked deranged, lips shiny with spit as his pupils were dilated so large only a tiny ring of chocolate could be seen.

"Daya ..." Dhruva pleaded, but the other man stayed away.

"Here's what going to happen," Daya said, and god when had they become this way. But then again hadn't Daya always been the braver if the two when it came to matters of the heart? "You are going to clean yourself up, we are going to suffer through the rest of the stupid meeting, and then you are going to take me to your house."

Daya whimpered as he nodded clumsily. Daya's stare pinned him as well as his hands had. He reached forward to lightly caress Dhruva's cheek with the back of his hand. The gentleness of the action was in direct contrast to his rough behavior, and Dhruva felt some tears burn at the edge of his eyes. When he opened his eyes, Daya was standing close again. "You are going to take me to your bed, and I'm going to show you exactly why you were wrong. Understood?"

Dhruva felt a tear fall, but it didn't get far as Daya grabbed his chin and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Enough breaking each other's hearts Bangaram."

And then he was gone before Dhruva could force his eyes open again. His chest was heaving as he struggled to breathe. His hands were shaking, and he desperately wanted another cigarette. But Daya had given him orders, and orders were one thing he was really good at following.

Taking a fortifying breath, he tried to fix his tie. He only had 2 minutes to make himself presentable.

///

Forgive me for the title, I had no idea what to call this thing. 

Feedback is appreciated!!

Tagging (Please please work, Tumblr I beg you):  @rambheem-is-real @budugu @bromance-minus-the-b @junebugyeahhh​ @hissterical-nyaan @obsessedtoafault @hufhkbgg @yehsahihai​ @rorapostsbl​ @bluesolace1​ @fadedscarlets​ @alikokinav​ @chaotic-moonlight​ @rambheemisgoated​ @rambheemlove​ @jaganmaya​ @burningsheepcrown​ @lovingperfectionwonderland​ @rosayounan​ @iam-siriuslysher-lokid​ @thewinchestergirl1208​ @dumdaradumdaradum​ @ronaldofandom​ @jjwolfesworld​ @percikawantstoread​ @kashpaymentsonly​ @jeonmahi1864​ @zackcrazyvalentine​ @stanleykubricks​ @m3gs1mps4a​ @tulodiscord​ @teddybat24​ @sally-for-sally​

#rrr #dhruya #dhruva x daya #dhruva #dhruva film #daya #temper #temper film #my fic #my writing #dhruya fanfic

[bone-asp-the-teeth]

Hey there, I'm H (they/them) and this is my side blog focusing on food! My main is homo-adaptionem.

My YouTube channel is H. adaptionem. I have an on-going series called Bone Asp the Teeth that's all about food and recipes.

You can see all of my playlists at h-adaptionem.tumblr.com/boneasptheteethytpl.

disabled, LGBT, an adult

NOT vegan or vegetarian, but uses a lot of vegan and vegetarian recipes

NOT an animal rights activist, but concerned about animal welfare

ethical omnivorous flexitarian & locavore

EXCESSIVE TAGGER; most trigger tags have "CW" before them; tags all slurs

doesn't mind like/reblog spam

doesn't check mentions or replies; send an ask if you need to get my attention

Stay safe and stay weird!

#H. adaptionem #Homo adaptionem #Bone Asp the Teeth #🦴🐍🦷

[ethical-omnivore-h]

About

Hey there, I'm H (they/them) and this is my side blog focusing on ethical/humane omnivorism, locavorism, animal welfare, worker's welfare and rights, anti macro farm / intensive farming, land stewardship, and environmentalism. There's some content relating to: foraging, healthy recipes, cultivation and harvesting, bushcraft, and hunting/fishing.

My main is homo-adaptionem. My youTube channel is H. adaptionem. My cooking tumblr is bone-asp-the-teeth.

DISCLAIMERS: ethical-omnivore-h.tumblr.com/disclaimers

ETHICALLY EATING OUT MASTER LIST: ethical-omnivore-h.tumblr.com/ethicaleatingoutlist

FAQ: ethical-omnivore-h.tumblr.com/faq

Blog info below; I recommend reading before you view the rest of the blog; definitely read before following. Enter at your own risk.

TL;DR:

disabled, LGBT, an adult

with, home cook, novice herbalist, novice forager, newbie ethical omnivore, newbie locavore

EXCESSIVE TAGGER; most trigger tags have "CW" before them; tags all slurs

doesn't mind like/reblog spam

doesn't check mentions or replies; send an ask if you need to get my attention

anti macro farm / intensive farming

pro animal welfare, pro worker's welfare & rights

NOT an ARA or activist of any kind

I'm a witch, a home cook, a novice herbalist, a novice forager, and a newbie ethical onmivorous flexitarian locavore. I haven't yet started applying ethical consumption to other products; I'm starting with food. Once I get a better hang of it, I'll continue with clothing, hygiene products, household products, etc. I am NOT an activist, just a dipshit with opinions! I share information and resources for other ethical omivores! I'm NOT here to convert or convince anyone! The info/resources I post are free for anyone to reblog! I WILL NOT debate anyone about anything. This isn't a debate blog. This isn't an activism blog. It's an info/resource (& sometimes vent) blog. I'm NOT a vegan or vegetarian, and I'm NOT an ARA. I'm NOT a part of the Ethical Omnivore Movement® and I don't share all of their views. Yes, I know there's no ethical consumption under capitalism; bite me.

Eating Ethically Resource Dump 1 Eating Ethically Resource Dump 2: Vegan Stuff

OG tags: Answered - asks I've answered Face of H - pics of me ethical-omnivore-h - refers to this blog H. adaptionem - refers to my YT channel of the same name Homo adaptionem - all og posts

Like/reblog spamming is fine, I don't mind at all.

If you want my attention, you have a better shot if you shoot me an ask, as I rarely check my mentions/replies. I have a shit ton of stuff blacklisted, so I may not see your asks/mentions/posts if they include slurs, content triggering to me, etc. It's not that I'm ignoring you, I'm just trying to take better care of my mental health, Y'know? Gotta police my own intake of content, etc. etc.

Most things are tagged, so block what you need to using tumblr's own blocking function, Xkit, or Tumblr Savior. Slurs and triggering content usually have a CW before them, even if the OP doesn't consider the content triggering. I tag excessively, deal with it.

DNIs/DNFs are useless and performative; I just block (& report if needed) who I dislike/etc, and I block liberally, for any reason. I respect most other people's DNIs, if they're accessible. If I can't read it, I won't bother. Don't like me? Block me.

Stay safe and stay weird!

#H. adaptionem #ethical-omnivore-h Homo adaptionem #About #Before you Follow #Pinned Post #Please Read #OP's Pronouns are They-Them #OP is an Adult #Ye Be Warned #Viewer Discretion is Advised #Ethical Omnivore #Locavore #Flexitarian #Foraging #Environmentalism #Soapbox Sadie

[h-a-reference-research-resources]

About

Hey there, I'm H (they/them) and this is my tumblr blog for references, research, and resources.

My main blog is homo-adaptionem.

My YouTube channel is H. adaptionem. This blog exists to compile sources, references, and other research materials.

You can see all of my playlists at h-adaptionem.tumblr.com/ytplaylists.

Stuff I'm researching: h-a-reference-research-resources.tumblr.com/researchlist.

disabled, LGBT, an adult

EXCESSIVE TAGGER; most trigger tags have "CW" before them; tags all slurs

doesn't mind like/reblog spam

doesn't check mentions or replies; send an ask if you need to get my attention

Original Tags: Answered - asks I've answered Face of H - pics of me H. adaptionem - refers to my YT channel of the same name h-a-reference-research-resources - refers to this blog Homo adaptionem - all og posts H's Bookstore Hauls - bookstore hauls H's Library Hauls - library hauls H's Thrift Hauls - thrift store hauls H's Vids - my Youtube videos H's Writing - my writing & related stuff

Series Tags: Asking Questions Behind the Creepypasta Bone Asp the Teeth Bugs (Series) Creepy-Cool Art Critters (Series) The Hauntingly GORE-geous Work of… LGBT History (Series) Lost Media (Series) Pokemon (Series) Tragic Reality Trying to Find (Series) tumblore Urban Legends Weird Reality Witch Wednesday

Everything else is tagged appropriately.

Stay safe and stay weird!

#H. adaptionem #Homo adaptionem #h-a-reference-research-resources #About #Before You Follow #Pinned Post #Please Read #OP's Pronouns are They-Them #OP is an Adult #Ye Be Warned #Viewer Discretion is Advised

[h-adaptionem]

Hey there, I'm H (they/them) and this is my tumblr blog for my YouTube channel.

My YouTube channel is H. adaptionem; I post roughly the same kinda stuff there, except you have to look at my face and hear my voice

My main blog is homo-adaptionem. My research blog for my YT is h-a-reference-research-resources. You can see all of my playlists at h-adaptionem.tumblr.com/ytplaylists You can see my backlog of videos at h-adaptionem.tumblr.com/videobacklog Read the FAQ here: h-adaptionem.tumblr.com/faq I have an Instagram, theadaptinghuman, but I mainly use it for looking at other's stuff rather than posting my own.

H. adaptionem stands for "Homo adaptionem", which means "the adapting human", because I felt "sapien" was a bit too generous for a dumbass like me. Sadly, YouTube would penalize me if my channel name included "homo" in it, so we get H. adaptionem instead. I made this blog so I could link to my tumblr without getting penalized for my descriptions containing "homo".

DISCLAIMER: My videos are not intended for children. They contain crude humor, foul language, and adult topics. Yes, even those that focus on toys, cartoons, and other "childish" things. I'm not a babysitter and I should not be expected to cater to children or their useless parents/guardians.

REMEMBER TO TURN ON ADBLOCKER AND KEEP IT ON! I do not run ads on my videos and I don't make any money off of them! ANY ADS YOU SEE ARE THOSE YOUTUBE IS PLACING SO THEY MAKE MONEY OFF OF MY CONTENT! Fuck ads, fuck capitalism, fuck corporations! Use that sexy, sexy adblock!!! 🖤

My favorite YouTubers include blameitonjorge, Brutal Moose, TheGamerFromMars, Jenna Marbles, Justin Whang, Reignbot, ScareTheater, SomeOrdinaryGamers, and xCanadensis, among MANY others. Those are the vibes I want for this channel: a person talking about, doing, and sharing things they enjoy. This channel is a hobby, so I post according to my schedule and my life.

Some recurring series (some not yet posted; all planned; some currently filming)

"Bone Asp the Teeth" (🦴🐍🦷) a cooking and food focused series

"Tragic Reality" where I talk about true historical tragic events (hopefully respectfully and tastefully)

"Urban Legends" where I talk about urban legends, creepypasta, folklore, mythology, and cryptids

"Weird Reality" where I talk about strange true stuff

"Witch Wednesday" a series that includes workings, recipes, and discussions about witchcraft

I try to release Bone Asp the Teeth on Tuesdays (Chewsday), and Witch Wednesday on… well, Wednesday. Other than that, there's no real schedule. I film what I want, edit when I want, and post when I want.

Anyway, thanks for reading, and stay safe and stay weird.

#H. adaptionem #Homo adaptionem #homo-adaptionem #h-adaptionem #About #Before You Follow #Please Read #Pinned Post #YouTube Hobbyist

[homo-adaptionem]

About

Hey there, I'm H (they/them) and this is my tumblr blog.

"Homo adaptionem" means "the adapting human", because I felt "sapien" was a bit too generous for a dumbass like me.

Blog info below; I recommend reading before you view the rest of the blog; definitely read before following. Enter at your own risk.

My YouTube channel is H. adaptionem. I post roughly the same kinda stuff there, except you have to look at my face and hear my voice. You can see all of my playlists at h-adaptionem.tumblr.com/ytplaylists.

I have an Instagram, theadaptinghuman, but I mainly use it for looking at other's stuff rather than posting my own.

TL;DR:

disabled, LGBT, an adult, witch, Weirdo™

personal interest blog w/ some potentially upsetting content like discourse, politics, nsfw, & gore (minors & squicked beware)

EXCESSIVE TAGGER; most trigger tags have "CW" before them; tags all slurs

doesn't mind like/reblog spam

doesn't check mentions or replies; send an ask if you need to get my attention

disclaimers: homo-adaptionem.tumblr.com/disclaimers

faq: homo-adaptionem.tumblr.com/faq

Side Blogs: (WIPs)

bone-asp-the-teeth, for food & recipes 🍕🍔🌯🥧☕📜

ethical-omnivore-h, for ethical omnivorism, locavorism, flexitarianism, animal welfare, etc. ☮♥🍽🐔🐮🐷🐝🌎

grotesque-grimoire, for witchcraft stuff 🧹🧿🕯💀 (solitary, eclectic, & non-Wiccan)

h-adaptionem, for my YouTube channel stuff specifically 🎬

h-a-reference-research-resources, for research stuff and source collecting 📝🔍

practical-herbalist, for herbalism stuff 🌿

stabbed-myself-with-a-safety-pin, for DIY & kandi shit 🧷✂🧵

Expect:

Hauls (library, bookstore, thrift, dollar store, & sometimes dumpster dives; usually fashion, decor, & collectables)

Alt fashion (stuff that resembles goth [trad/romantic/mall/casual/nu/pastel/90s/2000s], emo, punk, etc.) & decor

The Worst™ music taste you've ever seen 🎵

Some fandumb shit; those Pokeman creatures, Monster High, Danny Phantom, Elder Scrolls, Beetlejuice TAS, and more

Creepy crawlies 🕷🦂🐛🦋🦟🐜🦗🐝🐞

Mycology, fungi, plants, & gardening 🍄🦠🌵🌻

Occultism, cryptids, urban legends, creepypasta, etc. 👻👽🧛‍♀️🧜‍♀️🧚‍♀️🧟‍♂️

Struggle & poverty tips ☠🏴‍☠️💸

Bisexual pride 🏳‍🌈 💖💜💙 ♾

Nonbinary pride, duosex/nullsex pride, & transsexual pride 🏳‍🌈 💛🤍💜🖤 🏳️‍⚧️ 💖💙🤍💙💖

Hermaph pride 🦪👤🍌

Disability stuff, mainly relating to psychosis, mental health, allergies (mainly food), accessibility issues, resources, etc.

Body neutrality (🤷‍♂️ w/e corporeality) & Ugly Pride

Ethical omnivorism, flexitarianism, & locavorism 🐝

The occasional Discourse™ (beware of 'pinions you may not agree with and potentially problematic content!)

❗ DISTURBING CONTENT SUCH AS: sex/kink/hornyposting, artistic nudity, gore, true crime, historical events, medical stuff, the aforementioned Discourse™, etc.

CRINGE (ye be warned; don't come to the circus and bitch when you see clowns)

Whatever the hell else I like lmao this is my house, you're a guest here

Like/reblog spamming is fine, I don't mind at all.

If you want my attention, you have a better shot if you shoot me an ask, as I rarely check my mentions/replies. I have a shit ton of stuff blacklisted, so I may not see your asks/mentions/posts if they include slurs, content triggering to me, etc. It's not that I'm ignoring you, I'm just trying to take better care of my mental health, y'know? Gotta police my own intake of content, etc. etc.

Most things are tagged, so block what you need to using tumblr's own blocking function, Xkit, or Tumblr Savior. Slurs and triggering content usually have a CW before them, even if the OP doesn't consider the content triggering. I tag excessively, deal with it. Tags relating to my OG content can be found at /ogtags.

DNIs/DNFs are useless and performative; I just block (& report if needed) who I dislike/etc, and I block liberally, for any reason. I respect most other people's DNIs, if they're accessible. If I can't read it, I won't bother. Don't like me? Block me.

Stay safe and stay weird!

🏳️‍🌈💖💜💙🏳️‍⚧️💛🤍💜🖤🏴‍☠️🧿📓💀👻🦇🦂🕷️🐛

VARIOUS IMAGES BELOWWWWWW:

#H. adaptionem #Homo adaptionem #About #Before You Follow #Pinned Post #Please Read #CW Q Slur #CW T Slur #OP is Nonbinary #OP is Transsexual #OP's Pronouns are They-Them #OP is an Adult #OP is Bisexual #OP is Hermaph #Ye Be Warned #Viewer Discretion is Advised

[1111jenx]

Astrology Notes

💎Magnetism Edition💎

part 1

part 2 is up!

Hey guys I'm back with another post! I'm so grateful for your support the past week for my blog! This is for all you guys who have been with me since the first day!

I often see a lot of people discuss magnetism to only a few signs such as Scorpio, Leo, Libra,etc yet I believe that there are great charms behind every sign:)In this post we'll get right into it💋

🖤Sex Appeal:

Pluto aspects to Sun/Moon/Mars/Venus/ASC – Scorpio/Plutonian energy – Scorpio Rising/Venus/Mars/Moon: no secret to people how mesmerizing Pluto energy is. sex, pain,death,power,money - what Pluto empowers can seem so raw and real, there is a "no bs" energy to these people. they mean business. extremely charming and cunning. Pluto fixed sensuality lingers and haunts. intimidating. the og gothics. people with harsh aspects are prone to self-destructive. the kind of beauty others acknowledge as someone who's been there done that. little do they know at night, plutonians people eyes can sparkle and a more childish version or them reside very deep down their hidden hallways of self. so real. domineering yet sensual.

8H ruler harsh aspects personal planets: same effects as Pluto but more sex related. People will literally blush upon their gazes. Controlling aura. Makes people want to win them over somehow. Ride or die. Exudes sexual pride. 8H ruler asp Mars literally gives off that Wattpad's mafia vibes, seems like no one can "save" them. beautiful fallen angels who see sex as a pleasure and hobby.(harmonious only as harder aspects may use sex as emotional outlet)

Cancer Sun/Rising/Moon — Moon influence/ Moon to Mars/ Moon to ASC: the sex appeal you get here is nothing similar to the one above. these people seem untouchable, as if they're hiding some kind of secrets(Moon). they radiate a vibrant glow to them. watery eyes. natural rosy cheeks. thick, beautiful and kissable lips. curves. soft skin. they're the one that people would put on a pedestal, the true "goddess". their beauty is so moody, its relatable yet so striking. their stares will make you soft.

Aries Rising/Mars energy/ Mars to ASC/ 1H dominant: beauty that you're scared to look at. similar to Pluto energy but more aggressive and less sensual. their eyes are so beautiful yet forever burns with their fiery energy. Athletic bodies. Abs sculpted like art. Smiles that brighten the room. They own the place and they know that. cut throat aura. GORGEOUS when talking about things they're passionate about. smirks. arrogant aura that people can't help but love. one thing others don't realize about them: they come off as assertive yet no one really knows them. mysterious like pluto.

✨Regal energy, classical charmers:

Leo Rising/ Sun-ASC ascpects/ Sun dominant/ 5H ruler to ASC/Mars/Moon/Venus: shocking beauty. people who radiate like they're born to be a star. stands out. effortless. the way their lips curve is intoxicating. in-your-face beauty. unexplained beauty. golden aura that illuminates. sexy without trying. theres this glow of confidence about them, this main character energy that ppl are drawn to. white teeth. healthy hair. gorgeous build. true royals.

Capricorn Venus, Mars, Rising/Saturn to Venus/Mars/ASC, 10H dominant/ 10H ruler in 1st: bone structures that can cut. beauty in simplicity. cold gazes. long eyelashes. paler sometimes. these people act like a puzzle. they know they're too good for anyone. not as showy with their sexuality as Pluto or Mars, they're just comfortable in it. addictive smiles. they move so graciously and carry so much pride with them.

Taurus Sun, Moon,Mars,Venus, Asc/2H ruler to ASC: captivating. they can literally wake up and look beautiful. soft and smooth skin. velvet lips. gorgeous legs and curves. once learnt to be comfortable in their bodies they make the best models. photogenic. full cheeks. GORGEOUS LIPS. literally can be mistaken for Leo/Sun dominant if not for their more timid nature.

love,

saint jenx💋

For more post like this, check out my masterlist.

#astrology observations #astro notes #astrojenx #astrology #libra rising #astrology notes #leo venus #libra sun #moon in scorpio #astrotips #taurus venus #sex appeal

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Fully Completely 1

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape (series), attempted violence, mutual irritation.

This is dark!Loki x reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Series Synopsis: There’s a new face in Birch and he’s come to haunt your door.

Sister series to Smalltown Bringdown, When the Weight Comes Down, and Little Bones

Note: I did not plan to get the first part done so soon. I will probably be setting time aside as I write this to also work on some original stuff. When it comes to that, I’d love if y’all might let me know what you think would be a better medium to release it? Kindle, Patreon, etc. I’m really not sure but if it was Patreon it would like be two series running at once with a chapter of each a month + Q&A and maybe some bonus materials? I am a noob at this shit and it wouldn’t be for a while yet.

Anyways, I’m rambling...

Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Chapter 1: She simply slammed the door

💀💀💀

The garage smelled like oil and snow. The cold air seeped under the closed metal door as you sat on the low stool and affixed the new headlight to the propped up Harley. It was only the start of an impractical rebuild; your brother wanted everything metal replaced with chrome. You thought it was obnoxious but the parts were paid for and you could never complain for money.

You were funded exclusively by the town’s club, your garage not far from The Asp where the members hung out and revved the engines you found yourself looking at more often than you liked. You were good at what you did though and privileged for it. You had the protection of the club without having to devote yourself truly to its bounds.

You checked the wiring and rolled away from the bike to change the station as the radio crackled. The snow kept setting the speaker to static and the noise was driving you mad. You flipped the switch to play the cassette stuck in the drawer, the old stereo beaten up and filthy. Springsteen’s gristled tones filled the shop and you wheeled back to your brother’s ride.

With the storm would no doubt come more work. Your fingerless gloves itched more than they kept you warm. Your fingertips were numb as you touched the frigid metal and the sweat of your palms made the fabric uncomfortable. You were used to it, rather tolerant as your task kept you distracted.

You were interrupted as you bent to look under the tank and get a good look at the exhaust and the rest of the beast’s entrails. You had the new pieces still wrapped and didn’t intend to do it all at once. Jerome could wait for his tacky redesign.

A loud banging came at the metal door and you glanced over in irritation. Anyone in Birch knew to come in the painted door to the left and not hit the large one. You huffed and stood with a groan, your hips sore from the low stool. 

You fixed the front of your fleece-lined denim jacket and pulled the tail of your plaid shirt from inside your jean pocket. You’d been hunched over so long you were all wrinkled. You went past the large door and into the small entryway off the left of the garage and opened it with a tinkle of the rusty old bell above.

You stuck your head out into the gales as the snow continued to fall and squinted at the man in his thin jacket. He stood beside the long luxury car as another man with wild orange hair remained in the driver’s seat and blew into his hands. They were out of place in the small town and you could tell by the way the man scowled at the door that he knew it.

“Hey,” you called to them, “there’s a place down the street. I don’t do walk-ins.”

“Oh, hello, Miss…” he let his voice trail off as he neared and you stared at him rather than provide your name. His accent, his attire, the curl of his lip, it was clear what he thought of you and the bodunk town, “actually I was referred by an acquaintance. One, James Barnes.”

“Bucky?” you furrowed your brow.

“Mm, yes, that one,” he said, “my car will need detailing. We had some difficulties on the motorway.”

“Right,” you tried not to scowl, “well, if he sent you, I guess I can help.”

You left him and the door clattered behind you. He followed a few steps after as you went to the switch and pushed it to raise the wide door of the garage. You waved in the driver of the car and he carefully pulled in beside your brother’s bike. 

He got out and you were surprised by his size, he was taller even then his companion and wider; neither could be described as short. You lowered the door as the thinner man walked along the shelves and the long table along the other side of the garage. The bigger man stood by the car and tucked his hands in his pockets.

“Not much better in here than out there,” the dark-haired man turned back to you, “you have heat in here?”

“You need a better coat,” you said as you rounded the back of the car, “and some boots.”

You glanced pointedly at his leather shoes and bent to reach under the table. You pulled out the space heater and plugged it in as you set on the wood. You cranked it up and smiled at him tritely.

“So, what’s the damage?” you asked as you looked to the other man.

“Headlight, maybe,” he said in a peculiar accent, “some scratches. We had a bit off a run-in.”

You neared and bent to examine the front of the car. You sighed as you tilted your head and clicked your tongue. It was easy enough to beat out the dents and buff out the scratches with a quick refinish. The headlight would need to be replaced and you knew they didn’t carry anything for that model in town. No one there was pretentious enough to drive it.

“If you want the headlight done before you leave town, it’ll take some time to get the replacement,” you warned.

“Oh, and how do you know I’m leaving?” he taunted coyly.

“Well, I know you’re definitely not sticking around,” you scoffed.

“Why wouldn’t I? A quaint place like this, I’m sure there is so much to explore,” he said dryly.

You had no delusions of what Birch was but it wasn’t the part of outsiders to deride the dead end. You stood straight and put your hands on your hips.

“You can go back to your castle, my lord, but you will have to wait out the storm,” you sneered. “Two days for the scratches. If you want to take it back after that and wait for the headlight to arrive, that’s fine with me.”

“Two days for the scratches? Surely you could do it before the morning,” the black-haired man insisted.

“I could but I have other work to do,” you replied, “so you can be patient and take your turn in line after all the hicks who live here.”

You went back to the table and grabbed your phone from where you tossed it earlier. You unlocked it and searched the model of his car and scrolled through the parts list. 

“You’re Bucky’s guest so I’ll send the bill to him?” you asked, “though you do look to be able to afford it yourself.”

“You can invoice him directly,” he assured, “so you’re one of them?”

“One of them?” you repeated as you focused on checking out. The damn internet kept cutting in and out.

“My brother, those men in this town, I never knew a woman--”

“I’m not a biker. My brother is in the club,” you assured him, “so that big blond dope, he’s your brother?”

“Regrettably, yes,” he slithered, “Loki Odinson,” he introduced himself as he rubbed together his hands, the leather gloves doing little to protect his fingers, “my driver is Korg, and you’ve yet to tell me with whom I am trusting my property.”

“Again, there is a shop down the street. Prices aren’t bad,” you finished up your purchase and tucked your phone in your jacket pocket.

He met your eyes as you turned to him and he looked down his nose. You kept on and brushed past him as you went back around the car and sat by your brother’s bike.

“Sorry about the boss,” the other man, Korg, intoned, “he can be a bit--”

“Don’t apologise for me,” Loki snipped, “I needn’t atone to her.”

You rolled your eyes and wheeled around the side of the bike, “if that’s everything, you two can head back out. I’ll let you know when the car’s ready.”

“We might wait for the snow to calm,” Loki suggested.

“I close in an hour, you’re not staying here all night,” you sniffed.

“Trust me, I have no special desire to spend more time with you than necessary,” he retorted, “I don’t think I’ve ever met a woman so volatile as you, dear, and I’ve only just met you. I never expected you people to have very many manners but perhaps what I did presume was too much.”

You bared your teeth but kept at your work. You would worry about kicking him out when you finished the wiring.

“To be fair, had you not spoken first, I might’ve assumed you were a man,” he added.

You paused and glanced down at the open tool box. You weren’t unused to the comments, you weren’t girly in any way but it wasn’t like you were trying to be a man. You wore what was comfortable and in your work, practicality prevailed over aesthetic. Yet, your years of ridicule as a kid made you less tolerant of the comments and those had stopped long ago because you made sure they did.

“Oh, darling, have I upset you?”

“Don’t call me that,” you said as you reached into the toolbox.

“Well, you’ve not given your name and I’d hate call you what I truly think of you--”

The wrench flew from your hand as you stood and spun to him. It barely missed his head and bounced off the wall and plunked onto the table beside the heater. His eyes rounded and the other man looked at him. There was a thick silence as you glared at him.

“If you weren’t a friend of Bucky’s, I wouldn’t’ve missed,” you hissed, “now I will kindly, before I reach for a bigger wrench, ask you to leave.”

He pushed his shoulders back and tilted his head as his lips thinned dangerously. He swallowed and beckoned the other man with two fingers. His cheek twitched as if he would grin and he nodded subtly.

“Well, darling, how amusing you are. These brutes must adore you,” he snarled, “the exterior does indeed say it all.”

You bent and reached for another tool blindly. He blinked and quickly dodged as you flung the next wrench and he followed his henchman to the entryway. Your temper was a match for many men. It kept you safe.

“Barnes did not say his mechanic was a madwoman,” Loki called back as the bell rang.

“What, are you going to tattle on me?” You stormed towards the doorway, “you precious little princess?”

“Princess?” he met you in the doorway as Korg behind him held the door open and the snow blustered in, “I know Barnes will do me no other favours, but do you think he’ll do you any?”

“Get out,” you spat and shoved him, “I don’t need men to take care of me and I have no problem in proving that.”

He bit the inside of his lip in a crooked smirk and winked before he turned away and strutted out into the snow, shielding his face from the wild winds. Korg trailed behind him and the door sprang back into the frame. You crossed your arms and glared at the peeling paint. 

You were tempted to tow his car out and let it weather the storm but you were smarter than that. If he was doing business with Bucky, you would be a fool to get in the way of it. 

💀

The snow dwindled to a lazy dusting, the ground thick and treacherous. That day, you started early and around noon, you headed across the street to the diner for your usual lunch of a club sandwich and black coffee. You didn’t have to order as all the waitresses knew what to expect. You weren’t unfriendly but your association made many standoffish.

You tapped on the lip of your mug with your thumb, fingers hooked through the handle. The sleepy town felt dead in the winter. You were used to the dullness of Birch but tolerance was hardly happiness. It was home, where you’d grown up and you had no certain desire to get out, but you wouldn’t mind a little more than what was expected.

You yawned and gulped down the last of your coffee. It was bitter and left a few grounds on your tongue. You leaned back and grabbed the monthly newsletter from between the salt and pepper shakers. You read through the fun facts which weren’t very fun or even new. They were copy and pasted out Guinness and Reader’s Digest.

You looked up as you sensed someone approach your table but it wasn’t the waitress. The man from the day before slid coolly onto the seat across from you at the booth and smirked over the table. You raised the newsletter again and folded it backwards to read about the weekly knitting circle down at the rec center that was also the library.

“Good afternoon to you too,” Loki said, “it must be fortune I ran into you, I was hoping to inquire after my car--”

“I told you, two days,” you said tersely as you continued onto your horoscope …‘a new force will bring change’... You hated this tripe. You swore, every month they just switched the blurbs under each sign and hit print.

“So be it,” he cleared his throat and you lowered the paper as he shrugged out of his jacket.

“What are you doing? I eat my lunch alone,” you said.

“Well, to be frank, I was pointed here on the promise of some famous cabbage soup,” he explained as he folded his jacket over the seat next to him, “you looked like you needed company.”

“I don’t,” you assured him.

Kimmie came over and set down your sandwich. She greeted Loki and you saw the way she eyed his tailored suit. He stuck out in the town of flannels and denim.

“Hello, sir, can I get you something to drink?” she asked.

“Tea, English breakfast,” he ordered smoothly.

“Oh, sorry, we only have um, um, sorry, peppermint, earl grey, ginger lemon, and green,” she listed off as she tried to remember them all.

“Earl grey,” he sighed, “and a menu.”

“No, no menu,” you insisted, “and you can take his tea to another table.”

“And when we’re through, I’ll take the cheque,” he ignored you and snickered under his breath.

“Kimmie, can I get a to go box?” you asked as you shimmied off the seat and snatched up your coat, “I have to get back to work.” You took out your wallet and counted out the usual amount plus a tip, “thanks.”

“Of course,” she smiled awkwardly and glanced between you and Loki.

She scooped your sandwich back up and scurried away with it. You felt him watching you as you walked away and went to stand by the till as you watched Nora flit into the kitchen. She packed up your food and returned with the box. You took it and headed for the door, ignoring the arrogant out-of-towner on your way.

“Wait,” Kimmie called out your name and you turned back as she held up your keys, “you dropped these.”

You met her halfway and took them from her with a mutter. Again, he was watching you… or still watching you. She spun and promised she’d have his tea shortly.

“Hmm,” he hummed and you head to the door again, “interesting, I never would have put the name to the face.”

You pushed out into the snow and gritted your teeth. You thought of getting the work on his car out of the way quickly so he would leave you alone but your spite made you want to put it off entirely. Whatever. He’d be gone soon enough.

#loki #dark loki #dark!loki #loki x reader #birch #fully completely #series #sequel #dark fic #fic #dark!fic #thor #mcu #marvel #au #biker!au #biker au #biker boys of birch #bucky barnes #korg

[fight-surrender]

Thanks to @penpanoply​ for the beautiful cover art and to @carryonsimoncarryonbaz​ for the beta read. I haven’t posted this fic to Tumblr in awhile because. Mental Health. But I’m in a better place now, so. Read if you want & don’t if you don’t want. That’s fine too.

Read on AO3

Chapter 9: A Proper Date?

Word Count: 1453

Summary: Simon and Baz have been dating for close to a month now. They're a couple of horny, in love seventeen-year-olds? What do you think they'd get up to? (I don't write actual smut, though, it's just implied. I’ll leave the smut to the experts. Sorry. )The boys enjoy their new relationship. Simon suggests a romantic adventure. 

*****

Baz:

Dating Simon Snow is exactly the erotic grope fest I’d always imagined.

He’s currently on top of me, in his bed this time and working his way down my neck with lips and tongue and sometimes teeth. I’m hoping there isn’t some kind of world happiness quota because at this point, I’ve far exceeded it and should be getting struck by lightning or otherwise smote by the universe at any moment. In bed with Snow has become my favorite place to be. So far, we’ve kept our relationship for the most part secret. I mean, we’ve always been obsessed with one another, so that hasn’t changed. The fact that our physical altercations have become more amorous than violent is something we’re holding for ourselves. For now, at least. This is for us.

Because I can’t leave well enough alone, “We should at least tell Bunce,” I say as Snow is exploring the intricacies of my collar bone.

“Please don’t talk about Penny right now,” Snow murmurs, kissing the hollow at the base of my throat. Then he licks a trail of fire around my nipple and I decide I definitely don’t need to talk about Bunce right now.

***

Snow has fallen asleep again, his head resting on my chest. I’m idly playing with his hair while thinking about all the things that can go wrong now that we’re boyfriends.  It’s too good to be true, all of this. I Don’t deserve any of it. Sooner or later, Snow will come to his senses and this dream will come to its inevitable end.

Not today, though. Today is Saturday, we’re having a lie in…well a lie in punctuated with periods of…activity. Simon’s cheeks are still flushed, and his hair is just sweaty enough to accentuate his bronze curls.  He’s huffing softly. I count his eyelashes. Then his freckles. Then his moles. I trace the ones on his back with my finger.        

These last few weeks have been like an alternate reality fifth year, when Simon was following me around like a lost dog. Lurking outside my classes, glaring at me from afar. Only now, instead of picking a fight, he pulls me into assorted nooks and classrooms for a snog. Not that I’m complaining, I’m a more than willing participant, but perhaps I should set some boundaries before this affects my grades. I’ll be drawn and quartered before I let my romantic life cause Bunce to pass me up for first in class.

Bunce. She’s on to us. I know Snow has been avoiding her, I’m still not sure why. I think she believes I have Simon in a thrall. (Do I? Maybe that’s why Simon developed feelings for me. Not my good looks and charm after all, just another side effect of my vampirism. Perhaps I should focus on un-thralling him, to be safe. Maybe not.) Anyway, every time I turn around, Bunce is there, staring daggers at me. I’m used to her scorn, but this time it isn’t even my fault. Well, not entirely.

“Stop.”

“What?” I ask.

“Whatever you’re thinking, stop.” Simon says, rising onto his elbows. “You smell like intensity and Earl Grey and you’re going to get a wrinkle right there between your brows.” He taps between my eyes for emphasis. “Stop thinking.”

“Darling, I—” It slips out of my mouth before I even realize I’ve said it.

“Ohmygod,” Simon blurts, “You did not just call me darling.” He moves to straddle me, pinning my hands by my head. He’s grinning like a madman.

“You are an insufferable twit.” I squirm, but he’s got me pinned, and frankly I’m not sure which of us is stronger, given his were strength.

“It takes a proclamation from the Queen for you to call me Simon, but a good shag and I’m your darling.” Simon is laughing. “Say it again,” his voice is low in my ear, his breath hot.

“Absolutely not, you knob, you’ve ruined the mood,” I try to snarl, but he kisses me then and my brain shorts out. Because it’s so good, every time.

“Now, darling,” Snow says, dragging out the ‘r’ and still grinning like a fiend over me. “I know what we’re going to do today.”

“What?” I’m trying not to sound petulant. “I thought this was what we were doing all day.”

“Well, we can do this for part of the day, but I’ve got plans for later.” Snow leans in. Thick bronze stubble blooms across his jaw like velvet.

“You need a shave,” I say.

“Mmm, I always need a shave,” he laughs, rubbing his face into mine.

“Get off me, you mongrel.” I push him away, but not far. Simon Snow is beautiful. He always has been, but now, with his condition, he has a wildness about him. A ruggedness. Not an ounce of wasted flesh, every muscle and sinew defined and vital.

Snow kisses me again, long and deep, then pushes away and off the bed. “Come on now, you lazy sod. Get up. We’re going camping.”

“Pardon?” I say, propping myself on my elbows. I feel Simon’s absence from the bed like a phantom limb.

“Camping,” Snow chirps, like he’s being perfectly rational. He’s shuffling around the room, putting on a pair of jeans. “Wear layers, it’s chilly outside.”

“Are you insane?” I sputter, sitting up. “It’s winter.” There are about a hundred thousand reasons this is ludicrous; I settle on the most obvious.

“We’re mages,” Simon says, rifling through his wardrobe. He pulls out some kind of knapsack. “Weatherization spells exist.”

“Furnaces exist,” I reply. “Indoors, where there are beds, and toilets.”

“Come on, Baz.” Snow throws a plaid shirt at my head, thick flannel. It smells like him, Marlboro and cut grass. “Where’s your sense of adventure, get dressed, let’s go.”

“I’m a vampire, dating a werewolf. My life is adventurous enough.” I pick up the shirt, holding it in the air with two fingers. “Am I supposed to wear this? I’m not a lumberjack.”

“I don’t imagine you’ll be wanting to get your posh togs dirty.” Simon is rifling through his bag. He pulls out a knife roughly the size of a machete.

“What the hell is that, Snow? This isn’t the Amazon.” I’m growing alarmed.

“It’s leftover from one of my missions. Asp-sassins, I think,” Simon replies thoughtfully, scratching his chin. He tosses the blade back into his bag. “Can’t be too prepared I suppose.”

“Prepared for what?” I stammer, “Grizzly bears?”

“Come on,” Snow urges, “Let’s get out of here. Consider it a proper date. We haven’t been on one yet.”

“Proper dates involve things like restaurants, cars, and theatres, Snow. Places with climate control.”  I slowly drag myself out of bed and sulk to my wardrobe. I commence shuffling for something to wear in addition to Snow’s lumberjack shirt. (I’m totally wearing his shirt.)

Simon slides behind me and wraps his arms around my waist. “Think about it, Baz. You. Me. Under the stars. I want to see the firelight dancing in your eyes.” He turns me around so I’m facing him. “It’ll be romantic.”

Snow is looking up at me. His eyes are soft and he’s currently biting his lower lip. He’s being sincere. I think my heart has melted all over my feet. I sigh. “Fine. At least we’ll freeze to death together.”

Snow’s smile is radiant. “I won’t let you freeze, you wanker.” He gives me a gentle shove. “Now get dressed.”

***

“Baz…,” Snow’s eyes are wide, his mouth hanging open. (Mouth breather) (My mouth breather)

I’ve just emerged from the ensuite, drying my hair with a towel. Not much use for product on this little adventure. “Yes?”

“You’re—you’re wearing jeans.”

I look down, then back up at him, “I am. Is that a problem?”

“What?” Simon stammers. “No—just, ah,” he hassles his curls, looking at me sideways, lips curling into a smile, roses blooming on his cheeks, “Well, you look really good in them, yeah?”

“Oh—thanks.” I say, quietly, trying not to grin like a fool. I’m so in love I could die.  

“Yeah, so—” he stands up, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “First stop, kitchen.”

“Of course, it is.” I shrug on a thick, weatherproof jacket and wool cap (Apparently Simon has a stash of all-weather gear for his missions.) “Can’t start an expedition without provisions.”

“That’s right,” Simon proclaims, jabbing his index finger into the air for emphasis as he heads for the door. “Off we go on our wild romance excursion.”

“Oh my god, you insane sap.” I grumble as I fall into step behind him.

“You love it.” Snow says as he skips down the stairs.

I love it.

#howlin forever #simon snow #baz pitch #werewolf fic #my fic #snowbaz #snowbaz fanfiction #werewolf simon

[wrathbites]

Freeze

She'd known the risk the moment she realised the Accursed walked the streets of Altissia with Noctis already housed in the city. She'd known introducing them could flip the prophecy on its head and doom them all to certain death, the world to a hastened end, but a gamble isn't a gamble without the potential of everything going to hell.

Still, she hadn't expected the Scourge to change hosts, or for Noct's screams to rouse the Tidemother in such a fury, or for Ardyn to be rendered utterly useless by the sudden departure of the daemonic influence plaguing him for millennia. As much as she wishes otherwise, she is only an Oracle and her power only stretches so far, barrier magic flickering wildly with every water asp Leviathan hurls at her, slowly but surely pushing her back until she has no choice but to stand her ground. Plant her feet and jam the Trident as far into the ground as she can and brace with it, or stumble beyond where Noctis has fallen and leave him to a vengeful Astral's notable lack of mercy.

Another lashing, and a spray of brine hits her in the face. Only the Chosen can stand against a god and it isn't her, but she has to try. She has to. At least until the others reach them and pull Noctis to safety. If she can just buy them some time.

"Leviathan!"

"The King of Light inflicts the touch of Scourge. He is weak, corrupt, and his life is forfeit! You dare defend him? You will die with him!"

"If you kill Noctis now you will doom us all! He might yet succeed!"

"You think think I care for humanity? The little insects scuttling around on their islands and poisoning my waters? Your festering rot will leave this world one way or another and I care not for when it happens!"

There's no asps this time, but Leviathan herself, and as Luna blinks water from her eyes and swipes a hand across her face there she is, a great shadow cast over them, looming from the waters toiling 'round her, reacting to her, jaws gaping wide with wicked teeth of ivory and death. A shriek of protest through Luna's bones when Leviathan strikes and those teeth come down on her barrier, agony lancing through her skull as her magic buckles, weakens, whines in her blood even as she sets her jaw and locks her knees and fights. She must hold. She must. She cannot falter now.

"You will not hurt him, I won't allow it!"

"You cannot stop me, o Oracle of Prophecy and Ruin."

A whip on her arm, white-hot blaze across her nerves, so much pressure demanding she kneel, submit, grinding down against the armour plating her magic forms as Levithan tightens her jaws, breath rancid and wet settling on her as foul as any Malboro's. She closes her eyes, hunkers down, and holds. She will not break, she will not, Leviathan will have to fight for every inch.

Tend to Noctis, a whisper in her mind, one she has not heard since she was a child, tearing a gasp from her throat and she dares a glance, just one -

Gentiana, in the eye of Leviathan's storm, a gentle breeze playing with hair and clothes alike as she lifts her arm, fingers splaying wide as frost dashes across the skin Luna can see, ice crystals forming and Luna shivers in the bitter cold overtaking the air.

Begone, Tidemother. Your rage is not welcome here.

"You -!"

Gentiana's hand closes in a fist and Leviathan shrieks in outrage, a ghastly sound no mortal should hear, rearing back and tearing Luna's magic asunder as she does. No protection left, not a single shred of the barrier left standing, they're defenceless except for the spectre of Shiva before them now, advancing as Leviathan retreats, gracefully stepping over Noctis and Luna tucks down beside him, gathers him close, ready to shield him with her own body if she has to. No longer cold but as if she's caught in a blizzard, the sea creaking as ice overtakes it, Gentiana's to command and hers alone.

Begone, Tidemother! She says again, and flings her hand out, fingers unfurling all at once, accusation and damnation as she hurls her might against a fellow Astral and in this there is no fair fight. Water bends to her will now as it has before and always will, catching Leviathan in her snare and splintering through her, vicious spike after vicious spike, spraying her blood, the asps she sent after Luna. Begone! And Leviathan rages, oh how she rages, thrashing and snarling and the sea tries to answer, rising up and falling back and freezing over as Gentiana stomps her foot. Begone!

She falls. She doesn't submit, seething and vicious and Luna trembles as that ancient awareness sweeps over her one last time, but she cannot take hold, cannot best Gentiana. Gentiana, who snaps her fingers just once, and Leviathan... shatters into pieces, hundreds and thousands of them, glittering shards of ice and blood and gore exploding in one massive cloud, falling to the sea and scattering across its frozen surface. Vanishing to the depths below when Gentiana finally lowers her hand and slowly turns to face Luna, a smile on her painted lips, and her eyes are open and gleaming, like sun on fresh snow. It's over. It's over.

Come, child. I will carry Noctis.

So Luna leads the way back the way they'd come, stopping only to shake Ardyn awake when she reaches him, help him to his feet and steady him when he stumbles, words trapped between the common tongue and those long forgotten. And Gentiana, slight woman that she is, spectre of Shiva and embodiment of an Astral's power, carries Noctis as one might a child, unharmed by the Scourge black and pulsing through his veins.

#Lunafreya Nox Fleuret #Gentiana #Leviathan #FFXV fanfiction #FFXV fictober 2019 #Wrathwrites #I know I skipped the 3rd prompt of bait but shh I'm working on that one and combining it with a soulmate prompt

[sidpah]

Glory!

“Royal families, listen! Destitute soldiers! Listen! Listen to me, my sisters and brothers!” Demented cries bellow from the pulpit of what’s now Greene Street. In front of a boarded up ex-liquor store I’m transfixed by the sermonizing of a one-legged African-American-Sidpahan man known only by the locals as Jerry. He’s propped on a cane of some light-hued hardwood, the handle carved into a striking asp. Preaching to a crowd with his bastardized southern American drawl, inciting praise to his powerful transplanted gods.

I pause my running from nowhere to nowhere to listen, bag once more clutched protectively to my chest. Immensely glad and entirely astounded that no one plucked it from me while I slept. There are still some good people here, surely…

“Glory! Glory! Tell the root-high children to seek their fame! Tell them to swarm the hills with golden royal violence! The journey has been sanctified! It’s far but the effort is justified! They’re lewd as the brothels of Sodom to the Antigens.” With every punctuation mark he projects a crooked finger toward a different member of the crowd, impaling them on his accusation.

“The bomb in your chest will beep incessantly – clicking – ticking – a reminder of smokestacks and time-clocks you are avenging. Dark brown broth will splash the feet of the weary. But don’t be dismayed! Don’t be dismayed… Don’t be dissuaded from the path of your glory! Glory, ah, Righteous Glory – Ah! We sing under our inked cloaks, smoking Xeroxed doctrines of perpetual change. Our lungs may blister. Our teeth may fill our throats, gums raining radiation-poisoned bone, all the while the bomb is beeping…”

Superimposed across his face I see monochromatic images of nuclear weapons tests, two-dimensional facades swept away by shadows and dust clouds. Nuclear tornadoes shredding suburbia. A few grains of blowing sand get caught in my nose –

I sneeze.

Jerry doesn’t seem to notice.

Why would he? His eyes are raging to the heavens, his free hand shuddering upward.

“Don’t be distracted by sunlight, by bikinis, by cold intoxicating drink! Seasons change, my friends. Seasons always change! And you must not be caught off guard… Summer, summer, bringing its rumors of a fruitful future – Bare loins, wet lips… One child thought something radical and was lost! Blinded, his lot was hidden beneath the craterous clay. Feel that giddiness of adolescence, but focus its fire! Even if you can’t pinpoint exactly what that adolescent fire felt like… Remember possibility, hopefulness, the feeling that your efforts are all aimed at that fruitful boundless Future that promises you the fulfillment of every desperate wet dream – seventy virgins and all the booze your ghostly liver can handle. Remain diligent and grounded, yes, for you can beware, my friends and children, be aware that without any formal ceremony, all those delusions, twenty-some years of them, will crumble the day you find, with a cold detached bluntness only this godless realm can provide, that you’re there. You’ve arrived. And that the Future proves to be nothing at all like the brochure. Someone’s transformed it into the simple drudgery of an endlessly repetitious present with no time off for good behavior and no window from which to watch the Sun plunge herself hopelessly into the ocean. And those seventy virgins have likewise been melted down and congealed into one gargantuan craggy, flabby old housefrau with runny pendulous tits and uncontrollable flatulence who lords herself over you and crushes your nuts twice as hard every time you feel so bold as to ask her for a sip of her cheap screwtop port wine… Let that image ground your feet to the earth where they can be utilized for the good of humanity while they can still leap and run!”

“Age don’t mean shit!” a young man yells at him, a red plastic cup of frothy beer in his hand. “Guerillas got guns and capitalists got money and power. All’s you got is words!”

“Never underestimate the power of words! Words are the beginning and the end. Words are sound and sound began the universe like sound’ll destroy the universe! Don’t tell me you can’t make a difference! You’re one man, you’re one woman… You’re all god! Do you see? You are all god! Only you can make a difference! Don’t be fooled. The mugshots are overflowing with young men staying cool shot by hot gunpowder flashes while the bomb ticks. Tell me, how hard is it to fool a fool? Stay still. Eeeaaase into the insurgency. Don’t smile. Suck in your gut. Sneer a little. Pooch out your lips. Sniff in those nose hairs, (sniff!) no, no, on second thought, blow them out. Tangle that mop – let’s not continue the charade that you are civil… and human. You are a wild beast god! You are a warrior god! You are a vengeful god! And you can make all the difference! Differences are just a matter of opinion… Opinions are a matter of disparate states of ignorance… You’re a god whose awareness is clothed in the trendy garments of your generation. It’s hidden beneath oversized basketball jerseys with someone else’s name on the back. It’s hidden beneath Saris and batik dresses and overalls with a confederate flag on a red trucker’s cap. It’s there underneath tunics and black berets, balaclavas and vestments with satin crosses running vertical pillars beside the grey tufts of hair in your ears. You are what you wear and whose name you rent. So rent a good one for today! Rent a good one! Chernov, Bookchin, Gibran, Chavez, Crowley, Ashoka, King, Ghandi, Gautama, whichever one resonates your bones, whichever one will move you to action! For the name will be your armor! The name will be your will! You will conjoin the name and flesh as one and reconcile collapsed dynasties of promising risk to the present stifled by this potential-refracting smog!”

I applaud with the crowd and look to the slick old Rat Pack reject next to me who seems not to hear a word Jerry’s said. He’s a tourist in the worst way…

“It costs fifty goddamn cents to tune a note up a single half step these days; you know as well as I do someone’s getting rich on the deal,” he croons to the woman next to him… He’s an old crooner from the Vitalis school… He’s just sightseeing. His paradigm’s been rusted in place for decades… He grinds out his flower cigar in the hair of a tiny Mexican boy in front of him… The boy winces but makes not a peep… He knows how to earn his pay… And the hair may grow through the scar tissue someday, he consoles himself through the pain. And if not, he already has the head of a monk, so maybe it’s a sign from the dios…

“What’re you selling?” a pretty young girl with dirty hair chides Jerry. “I ain’t got nothin’ to do with your revolution.”

“You have everything to do with it. For it is your revolution. Can’t you see it? Can’t you see it?”

“See what, that you’re a raving crackpot?”

“That smog filth creeping up blue windowpanes as if its fingers were pulling its body of decay face to face with little eyes contemplating Saturdays eternal,” Jerry continues to the mostly enraptured crowd. It doesn’t matter what he says when it’s projected with such vim and tenor. “Well those eyes will be lucky to see week’s end! Those thin grey gauzy straw fingers scale the slick glass. And we’re stuck! Trapped! What can we do? Bending slick rubber spines, conforming to the bulldozer force against our bodies, we dirty things, soft things, rubbery things bend in acceptance; what else can be done if we can’t first accept? The world must first be the world it is for it is with us as we are – It is as it is it just is! We are as we are as we always were! Oppression ferments our miserable weakness into fuuuel for expansion, fuuuel from the incineration of our carcasses, trees and fauna immolated to produce scores of glowing numbers on a screen – Something sick’s crawling mold up the outside wall – Don’t nobody open that window! Don’t nobody even think of opening it up and lettin’ that mean-hearted bastard in here! What trains pass by with ignore-angst and great pillars of concrete hum into the world is the mating song of that decrepit fiend...”

I’m now not so much listening as swaying, my body scooping and rising in waves with the loops of each phrase, and I’m fighting the heavy urge to run up and grab him by the arm. I must speak to him after his sermon is finished…

“Meanwhile, right here, the Mass’s Fragile Hope makes her pillow of unsheathed straw while smokestacks burn halos of oil and lead around all the bowed heads singing her praises while pissing on her gravestone – their cronies making their fortunes by burying her dead in these distant lands – Look up! Look all around you at these iron girders miles high, each one proclaiming itself a shiny monument to frame her beauty, while their mirrored glass reflects the steady demise of a glorious culture in angry spiteful children eyes… Can’t you see why this is your revolution? All around you this quaint village’s roofs are all in cinders. Never mind the culprits and heroes bound together by fear, all running chaos as cedar smoke recedes, buckets of water splashing the cobblestones so there’s none left by the time they try to throw it on the burnt-out hulls of their homes – Guarantees mean little in a village of burning houses... On veldt and stones, a bright sun turns… She sleeps among the weeds and moss… reeds are her tangled arms – And we all eye her sweetly yearning for those things she brings us, those things we had once back when we were living in the garden, back when we were inchoate and dust and dreamskin clad…”

Sometime in the meantime, I must’ve been mesmerized by the rhetorical arrows slung by his amped-up jaw bow streaking manic implications that made everyone watching him see a second good leg supporting his torso of angry beaming bricks of light. But damned if I didn’t get struck upside the head by one of those darts missed its target and I tumbled… Or maybe I got cold-cocked by some fratboy’s beer-leaden fist. Either way, down I went, listening to his warning admonitions singing a paranoid lullaby…

 Fragrant holy spirals off her eyes rain down over my glistening melt tongue… A cloud rolls her tongue making roof glisten with tiny ice eyes… Melt on fragrant crystals in tiny spirals, holy and glistening…

 Sprawled across sidewalk… a gaping hole above my ear… How far I’d slid since the demiurgic healing of that strange blond delicacy in Kalday’s mud-walled hovel… I’m so far distant smelling gin or urine, smelling roasted goat limbs over flaming spit, smelling the dead leather shoes of bright fashionistas complaining about meals three weeks since digested to bored mannequins in distant cities… I’m mindful of the patterns being woven by that nightmare-spirit casting my shadow on his own behalf... And as I sidle away from this decaying body already having lost the earth, water, heat and breath, wavering through currents of black chi, I’m pulled. Left shipwrecked on bed with a diseased stranger… Calling a number I wrote on palm to breathe heavy and cum in my pants… Curled under blankets soaked with dejection. I’ve already got what I need, I mumble in my twilight sleep…

#fiction #revolution #anarchism #dreams

[barbecuedphoenix]

Could you make jealous eldarya boys headcanon ? With leiftan and ashkore too if possible ???

Nothing wrong with a classicHC. ^_^

Though this request could be a bit more specific: what’s the situation that’s sparking a jealous reaction? Are they in a relationship with the Guardian, or otherwise? Is there a specific character they’re jealous of, and why?  

Envy isn’t a single-reactionbutton that exists on everybody’s mental dashboard. Specificity always helps,dear. :)

But I’ll give this a shot. Let’ssay that the Guardian is at least a recurring date for our protagonists. But a friendly night-out with the gang suddenly goes sour… 

Nevra

What will set off his radar: A new favorite

Nevra’s ego is vast enoughthat it’s difficult for him to feel jealous of any particular man, no matterhis accomplishments. It takes all kinds to make up this world… and frankly,only one of him. He knows that heoffers a quality experience as he is.

So only two things canpossibly stoke his jealousy. Option One: a doppelganger (aka another Nevra) who’smore successful than him in many common fields from completing high-riskmissions to solving social crises, taming Gallytrots without losing eyes,wearing black, and so on. (The odds of this happening though is next to nil;Nevra has a very distinct body of accomplishments in El.)

Which leaves us with Option Two:a newcomer who has magnetized the attention of someone he’s truly invested in. Becauseas much as he hates to admit it, Nevra knows he has no direct say in wherepeople’s hearts go. That’s why he labors as hard as he does to win peopleover. And if that interloper can snag his darling’s heart in a fraction ofthe time that he’s been courting them… well then. The gloves are coming off.

How he’ll intervene:

It won’t be easy to snatch theGuardian from right under his nose; if Nevra is invested in them– if notalready their full-fledged s/o–, then he’s inclined to keep at their side allnight. Until he has to look for a sink to give his scarf an emergency rinseafter someone spills wine on itagain. And gets waylaid on his way back by some determined admirers who refuse tobe deterred by how he’s not (really) single any longer. Then things might getcomplicated once he returns to his table, and discovers that he hasinadvertently given a certain schmuck ten precious minutes to speak to hisdarling.    

The moment he spies theGuardian blushing like the sunset while chatting with the other man– nowunleashing his charm in his absence–, Nevra’s practiced smile will drop to hisboots. That is not supposed to happen:how can his date look the other way tonight? And at that two-cent shyster, of all people? Don’t they care about him, orhas he imagined everything between them so far? For a moment, disbelief willtransfix him where he stands, the sting of hurt puncturing his confidence likea well-aimed needle. Until grim anger burns through his bones. What theGuardian truly thinks about this man… he’ll have to confirm later. But nobody putsone toe into his inner circle withouthim saying anything about it.

Still, he’s savvy enough toknow not to break them apart like launched cannonball; this isn’t a schoolyardanymore. And he’ll never live it down if people remember him after tonightas that petulant divo. So instead, Nevra will apply his legendary hearingto eavesdrop from a distance, gauge the direction of the conversation, gnashhis teeth at what he’s hearing, and then smoothly reinsert himself into thediscussion like a grinning cobra, seamlessly answering for one of theparticipants. His arm will drape oh-so-casually over the Guardian’s shoulders, andbefore his rival can answer back, he’ll interrupt himself to press a determinedkiss to his darling’s hand, cheek, or hairline, apologizing affectionately forhis absence and– for the first time– making no mention at all of the fans whoblindsided him. While privately quelling that sting of betrayal he felt fromwatching them across the tavern. But he firmly tells himself: ‘later’. He’lltalk to his date later.

For now, he’ll deliberately ratchetup his charisma, confidence, and generosity to court the Guardian all overagain: reclaiming their attention, denying the interloper more chances to applytheir own brand of charm, and driving home to dirtbag that this is his turf; his partner (even if they’ve only just begun dating). And hedoesn’t share. Through it all, Nevra will tactically ignore the other man,freezing him out from the conversation that he’ll drive in a direction toinclude only himself and the bemused Guardian (and perhaps one other impartialparty). All punctuated with flagrant displays of affection; if he can, he will find a way to pet or kiss theGuardian every five minutes. In fact, the only times Nevra will acknowledge theincreasingly-awkward interloper is to throw a brief, airy jibe in hisdirection, smiling like a prince with permafrost clouding his good eye,before reeling his date’s attention back to himself until either the nightcomes to an end, the Guardian scolds him for being rude, or the now-isolatedparty leaves early.  

The common opinion in theGuard is that Nevra is a classy, generous man once you get to know him. Butonce you enter his blacklist, he’s just as generous in taking the time toneedle you. Slowly.

Ezarel

What will set off his radar: A better comedian

If there’s one man in El whocan contend with Nevra in average ego-size, it’s a certain aristocratic elf whowears too many layers in his clothing. And who staunchly believes that he’s thesharpest wit in this corner of Eldarya. Please:youngest head of the Absynthe Guard in generations, expert fencer, andunanimously voted ‘the Asp-Tongue ofEl’, ‘the Maddest Alchemist’, and ‘The Worst Man to Choke In-Front-Of at thePodium’… if brainy is the new sexy, then he knowshe’s gorgeous. Despite what his ample critics say.

So what’ll hit Ezarel like asack of bricks is witnessing firsthand that there’s another snappy wit at workin El… who’s getting a better reception than him across the board. Especiallyfrom his band of friends and his sort-of s/o, whom he takes pride in being ableto send into a giggling fit (and/or an exasperated groan) within fifteenseconds. Worse yet, if this new wise-aleck goes toe-to-toe with Ezarel in apublic debate or a lightning-round exchange of wisecracks, and makes him sound redundant… then thepersistent little boy in Ezarel will finally open his mouth to scream: who let this bastard into HQ?

How he’ll intervene:

Most of the time, Nevra or Valkyonwill step in to prevent a verbal duel between Ezarel and X-person fromescalating into an exchange of mortar shells made to wound egos. But suppose aseries of unfortunate events has Nevra backed into the far corner of the tavernby his fans, and Valkyon laid up in the infirmary from a mission gone awry. Leavingonly Ezarel siting at the bar with the Guardian and his new rival, struck dumb andreeling inside at how the other man so suavely stole another joke from him and earned another appreciative laughfrom his (sort-of) date. All right, he can let another man land a few good punchlinesfor variety’s sake; on a good night, he might actually applaud him and buy him afew more drinks. But not when there’s a flirty trill in theGuardian’s laugh, and a hint of blush on their lips. He’ll bet both his kidneysthat they are not from the drinkstonight.

At the end of the day, Ezarelisn’t great at controlling his own emotions. So at seeing his date blush forthe benefit of his rival, he feels his expression drop to subzero temperatures.Something paradoxically white-hot pinches his shoulder blades together, pullinghis back ramrod straight, and his mouth opens to launch his invective beforehis brain issues the order to stop. Andin the next two seconds, as their corner of the bar falls silent, Ezarelregisters that he didn’t deliver a counter-joke, but a flat-out insult at hisrival. When the Guardian moves to mediate, his tongue lashes out again againsthis will. This time at them for… beingoversensitive. Unless, of course, he interrupted their journey into the otherman’s pants. At which case, he wishes his rival the best of luck; this Guardian has probably shaved offtwo precious years of his life by being a raw idiot. It’s about time he compensateshimself.

And when the bar descends intostunned silence, guilt and mortification finally catch up with his tongue tobridle it. But the problem with the spoken word is that once it’s released,there’s no taking it back. So as they continue to stare at him, Ezarel pushesaway his half-finished hydromel, and mutters a barely-audible apology into hiscollar, the tips of his ears burning. Still avoiding their eyes, he declares tonelesslythat he’s had enough to drink tonight, and an early start tomorrow. He hopesthey won’t mind if he takes off early.

The paradox behind Ezarel’sreputation as El’s Premier Wit is that four times out of five, he doesn’t really think before he speaks.Which is why he can retaliate with lightning speed and no guilt whatsoever. Butone out of five times, when emotions are bubbling at high pressure, he lets hisown heart slip. And unfortunately, it doesn’t have a sense of humor yet.  

Valkyon

What will set off his radar: A more popularmeatshield replacement  

The law of ego-size beingproportional to the breadth of a territorial streak still holds in Valkyon’scase. Because he has all the ego of a robot, it’s virtually impossible for himto feel threatened by newcomers into his social circle, much less gain the urgeto eject them from the party. Even if they do chat up his s/o. Look, they’re alladults; it’s their choice and their responsibility whom to talk to. And as faras he’s concerned… he can trust the Guardian to return to him at the end of thenight. Because if he’s already involved with them, then that means he’sready to trust them to operate on his ribcage on the field.

Now what would gut Valkyon is being considered ‘redundant’ in his day job…andby extension, a deadweight in his limited social circle that extends from it. Heidentifies himself first and foremost by his occupation, so if somebody who’s capable,personable, and dependable takes over his duties and becomes the new ballastthat his comrades, friends, and s/o rely on, he’ll finally grow acquainted withthat curious feeling in his chest called emptiness envy. It’s never easyto return to the outskirts.

How he’ll intervene:

Somebody swooping in toreplace the Obsidian Guard’s one-man-army isn’t likely to happen… until Valkyongets mangled badly enough on the field that he needs to spend weeks in theinfirmary for back-to-back operations. And even after being released, he faces amonth of that uncomfortable limbo outside of active duty, thanks to Miiko andEwelein’s joint orders. Jamon has locked him out of the forge, and even hiscorporals won’t let him into the training hall to recondition himself; how dothey seriously expect him to recover if he’s lying in bed sketching Floppy allday?

But it’s not until Valkyon isfinally coaxed out of his post-operation shell by the Guardian and a fewfriends, limping reluctantly into a barbecue, that he finally learns what‘awkward’ truly means: his replacement is also there, the man he personallypromoted in-field to acting captain, and who has been filling in for him duringhis recovery. Now everyone is turning to himfor help, listening to his professional anecdotes, seeking his advice, andlaughing at his pithy one-liners as he wheedles more drinks for the party fromKaruto.    

After the first excruciatinghalf hour on the sidelines, watching his s/o work with his replacement inturning that once-a-year roast, their cheeks pink from laughter and the closelick of flames, it takes all of Valkyon’s willpower not to get up and limp out ofthe garden. But if he leaves now ahead of the main course, everyone willrealize something is wrong, and hound him the next day. For the first time,being a wallflower hurts. And what gnaws at him is that he can do nothing aboutit. Redirecting the speeding, multi-way traffic of conversation to focus themaround himself is beyond the scope ofhis abilities (and tastes). But more importantly, Valkyon firmly believes thatit’s his friends’, colleagues’, and lover’s prerogative to choose whom to chatup, rely on, and take a liking to. If it’s not him tonight, or for past month…then that’s their call. He knows he’s far from the best shape, or the bestmood; in fact, he’s perfectly useless at the moment, so he can’t fault theirdecision. He’ll probably avoid himself too, in their shoes.

So Valkyon will spend the restof the evening brooding in silence from his corner of the garden, downing a fewmore tankards of beer than usual with a gloomy thundercloud gathering over hishead. All the while, he’ll avoid what conversation passes his way, especiallyif it’s from the ‘acting-captain’. Until Nevra or the Guardian finally catchthe whiff of metaphorical ozone and escort him out of the party early,respecting (or at least surrendering to) his ironclad silence.  

Valkyon’s mental programmingrefuses to let him punch a rival outside of a professional spar. Ifanything, he’ll find some way to punch himself for losing a loved one’sattention. And then pretend that nothing happened.

Leiftan

What will set off hisradar: Another shoulder tocry on  

People don’t normallyassociate the word ‘ego’ with ‘Leiftan’… which is the way he likes it. Thoughthis graceful lorialet or so he says does have a solidopinion of himself underneath the polish, and can pat himself on the back for consolidatinga wide network of colleagues and contacts who trust him implicitly in thecitadel without revealing too many unseemly details about his past…he’s not carrying himself as ‘The White Knight of El’ out of pride. That’s onlyhis day-job, and given the discrepancy between his technical occupation andwhat he actually wants, it’s no surprise that he likes to shrug off his goodreputation when others pick up on it… and gets very lonely when the day comesto a close.  

So in this strangedouble-life he leads, even secondhand love is something worth cherishing. And Leiftan’slegendary cool will crack if he discovers that his private sweetheart has foundsomeone else to lean on emotionally… and don’t seem to miss him all that muchthanks to a certain opportunist.

Among the manypersistent demons in Leiftan’s daily life, one of them is his work schedule: hehas few, if any, opportunities to build a deep relationship with the peoplehe’s softest for. So if he discovers that someone has taken advantage of hisfrequent absences to snatch another source of comfort from him… well. Heprobably should be used to unpleasant surprises by now. But for all his angelicreputation, he’s definitely not going to bend like a reed for this one.

How he’ll intervene:

Leiftan is far from anidiot; he’s aware of the conflict between his professional and personal lives,so he makes the most out of every five seconds that he can spare for theGuardian: always charming, assuring, and advising them. Swooping in like a Sowige right whenthey’re in the midst of a crisis also helps.

But suppose he takeslonger than usual in returning from a mission abroad. And crosses from HQ’sgates to the Guardian’s door to discover something unsettling: they’ve withdrawnfrom him when they talk. And then, after listening to the localgrapevine, he sneaks into the gardens later that evening to confirm a moreunsettling rumor: there’s his technical sweetheart, talking away animatedly,even emotionally, to another man on the park bench that used to betheirs.

Leiftan is a master ofsublimating his stronger emotions; how else has he survived asMiiko’s right hand in a Guard full of similar misfits? So he allows himself two, maybe threemoments of staring aghast from a distance, his voice evaporating, somethingdark, ugly, and distinctly Amaya-like snarling from under his ribcage. A fewweeks of neglect, and this little parasite has snuck in to lay a paw on theGuardian’s heart. And the way they’re leaning in does not lookinnocent. But soon Leiftan orders his eyes shut, takes a breath, and verydeliberately turns on his heel to place healthy distance between himself andthe cozy couple, willing himself to focus on his breath and the sensations ofthe present. And not on the image of himself very slowly walking a grownJeanylotte over that man’s spine. Because lashing out is not going to helpanyone here, himself least of all; in this delicate period, he can ill-affordto get embroiled in a petty feud at HQ. He has to find another way.  

For the rest of theday– and whenever he meets the Guardian over the next week–, Leiftan will seemwithdrawn, preoccupied, and distant. Gracious as ever, but not very inclined tosmile. Until he suddenly flags them down with a shocking announcement: he hasnegotiated with Miiko for a brief vacation. Nothing much: just a day and anight’s worth of rest. But it’ll give them both ample time to catchup… what do they say? And this, here and now, is Leiftan’s gentle test: if theGuardian refuses to take advantage of this hard-won free time, then it means hehas already lost his place in their affections. Which would also prove thathe does have a weakness for fickle pets. And if so, well… he’ll just have toresign himself to watching over them from afar. Perhaps he might even learn torespect that new ‘friend’ of theirs.  

It’s only a pity thathe has already promoted him in the Guard. And sent him on a long, long reconmission in the Northlands. Dead center in hostile Yeti territory. Just becausehe’s the polite type doesn’t mean he doesn’t know how to kick back. Veryefficiently.  

Ashkore

What will set off his radar: A new public enemy

If there’s one thing Ashkorecan be proud of, it’s how he and his rebellion have become the single biggestthorn in the Guard’s side in this generation. That fact alone has given him asizable ego (and a warm feeling in his chest to pull through all those nights ofcamping in freezing rain; living as a guerilla is no tea party).

So what will spark murder inAshkore’s heart beyond a personal encounter with Miiko is beingforgotten. In fact, nothing will kill this committed rebel faster than beingconsidered ‘insignificant’ by the order he has sworn to destroy, and a ‘minornuisance’ by even the Guardian. And should that happen, he’ll be tempted totake even more drastic steps than usual to restore the general order ofthings… that leaves only him asPublic Enemy/Mysterious Rogue Number One.  

How he’ll intervene:

It’s fairly unlikely thatAshkore will ever be downgraded as a public threat; shattering the GrandCrystal isn’t a feat anyone could ever forget, even a year or two on. But when hismole at HQ timorously delivers the bad news that he’s no longer at the top of El’s ‘Most Wanted’ list, that theGuardian in fact is dancing like a puppet to the tune of another insurgent, and they remind him that it’s bad karma to carve up the messenger… Ashkore will feel a murderous twitch rise under his eye.But he’s a practical man: he won’t waste any time throwing a tantrum. Instead,he’ll start sharpening his blade for another excursion. Yes, it’s to HQ’sdoorstep again. But not for the reasons they think.

This time, he’ll only leave atactful letter at both Miiko’s and the Guardian’s doors. Volunteering hisservice and his information network if they ever need assistance in huntingdown the new miscreants plaguing El. For the Guardian in particular, he’ll adda postscript warning them not to trustthis new group. Take it from him– they’rebad news.

Even if neither of them accepthis offer, Ashkore will ‘help’ regardless. Usually by leaving a burned-downenemy stronghold for El’s officers to find. Or a bound, gagged, and terrified enemyagent dangling upside-down by their heels from a convenient tree. With themark of a dragon cut stylishly into their cheek.

If there’s one lesson thatpeople need to borrow from the Guard of El, it’s this: you don’t want Ashkoreas your enemy. And if you start manipulating his sweetfaced ace-in-the-hole foryour own agenda, supplanting him as the figurative devil on their shoulder… don’texpect to get any sleep. Because you’ll have to keep peering over your shoulder for this dragon-maskedrenegade, armed with his purloined kitchen utensils and an unstoppable resolveto use them on you.

You’re not likely to last sixmonths.

Hmm… this 5-piece headcanon is starting to read more like a 5-piece scenario. Sorry about that; I’m still rusty with the HCs. >_>

Also, I might have delved into purehumor for Ashkore’s reaction. ^_^’ It’s because there’s still so little knownabout this sociopathic master of snark; I can’t *quite* get an angle onhim at this point. More apologies to all Ashkore fans.

Either way, I hope this satisfies, @ritsou-san. My inbox is always open for feedback. :)  

#request #scenario #Eldarya #Ashkore #Ezarel #Leiftan #Nevra #Valkyon

[pinoyscientists]

Meet Matthew Go, Forensic Anthropologist

1) What do you do?

I am a forensic anthropologist-- I use knowledge of human skeletal anatomy and variation to answer questions and issues of medico-legal significance. These issues can involve identification of bones and teeth themselves (e.g., fragments, human vs. non-human, bone vs. other material), determination of the biological profile of an unidentified individual (e.g., age-at-death, sex, stature, ancestry), interpretation of any traumatic injuries and taphonomic processes, and estimation of time since death. 

Forensic anthropology has implications, not only in individual criminal cases (like on TV shows such as CSI and Bones), but also in natural disaster victim identification and mass graves investigation from human atrocities, among other situations.

2) Where do you work?

I am currently a doctoral candidate at the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign, and affiliate scholar at the Archaeological Studies Program (ASP), University of the Philippines Diliman. 

My research is primarily conducted in Manila through the recently formed Forensic Anthropology Research Laboratory (FARLAB) at the ASP. I have also studied skeletal remains from Peru, China, Canada, and the United States.

3) Tell us about the photos!

[Left:] This is my incredibly capable 2017 research team! We spent two months cleaning, analyzing, and curating the skeletons you see behind us. These skeletons form part of a research collection that is now available for interested scientists from all over the world to study. (From left to right: Giswinne van de Wijdeven, Annie Valera, Jana Santos, Nikki Vesagas, and myself.)

[Right:] I wish I could say I maintain a work-life balance, but work often wins. On a rare occasion of downtime, I visited Sagada in Mountain Province and it has to be my favorite place in the Philippines so far!

4) Tell us about your academic career path so far.

I finished high school in San Juan, Metro Manila before having the great opportunity to pursue my bachelor’s degree in Canada. I received my bachelor’s in archaeology with a minor in biological sciences and a certificate in forensic studies from Simon Fraser University in British Columbia. 

I then moved to the United States for graduate school, where I earned my master’s in anthropology from the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign. I continue to work on my doctorate from the same institution under the renowned mentorship of Dr. Lyle Konigsberg. 

My work is supported in part by a multi-year doctoral fellowship from the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada.

5) Anything else you’d like to share?

Closure, reconciliation, and justice are not luxuries, but basic human rights of both the dead and their loved ones. I started in anthropology motivated by this belief, and with the desire to be an instrument of truth and repatriation in the wake of death natural and manmade. 

Forensic sciences in the Philippines has so much room to grow, especially given the country’s history of disaster and violence. Being a part of that growth and being a voice for the dead is my honor and privilege.

#forensic anthropology #forensic science #anthropology #archeology

[idiot-spy-boyfriend]

So I wrote this for the Elite: Dangerous writing contest about the characters I RP as in-game. I have my CMDR name as ‘Vesh’ and then a Cobra Mark III for Sola and an Imperial Courier for Theodore. 

Sola would have been more amenable to a discussion with her brother if he wasn’t standing so rigidly, so much like their father. It was often the talk of the high-class socialites that Theodore Vesh was alike to Hadrian in almost every respect, and Sola wished that she could say differently – that there was still a part of her twin that hadn’t been completely turned into a carbon copy of the man. But, the way he held himself now reminded her far too well of the aloof aristocrat whose only contact with his children was through family functions.

When they were young, Theodore’s resentment of his father almost equalled Sola’s. The twins hated how he was never there for them while their mother paraded them around like some sort of trophy before pawning them off to the servants rather than care for them herself. But, as they grew older, their father grew weary, and began to realise his own mortality. And so, he began to spend more time with Theodore, grooming him to be the perfect heir to the family business. All while Sola was left in the background; to be married off when it was most convenient.

The ultimate betrayal came on the day Sola had left that life. She and Theodore had often spoken of stealing away in one of their family’s shuttles and making their own way through the universe. It was early morning, and Sola had slipped into her brother’s room so that he may escape with her. Instead of agreeing to go with her, however, he had locked her in his room. Ignoring her angry yells, he fled to find their father in a desperate attempt to keep her there. In his haste, however, he had not thought to lock the window and Sola had made her escape by leaping out of it. It was not a terribly high window, but she had landed on the hard ground and had suffered several fractured bones and a dislocated shoulder. She spent the rest of the day hidden away in the shadows, tears running down her face from both the pain of her injuries and her brother’s betrayal. Once the cover of darkness had enveloped the estate, she stole away on a shuttle, as was her plan, and vowed to never rely on another person again.

Theodore had changed during the past five years, much like she had herself. He was taller, although only a few inches more than she. His rich brown hair which had once fallen freely to his shoulders had been cut short and styled to spike up in a more ‘masculine’ manner. His eyes were a steely grey that, if Sola weren’t so accustomed to the gaze, would seem to pierce right through her. He wore a tailored jacket which sported the colours of their family – white and gold – along with plain black slacks and an equally dark shirt. Sola was unwilling to break her tense gaze with her brother but, if she did, she was sure that she could find her reflection in his boots; his whole look was that polished.

Sola’s own hair was a similar shade of brown, but fell past her shoulders and was, more often than not, tied up to keep it out of her face. One eye was the same steel grey as her brothers’, but the other was brightly lit by the implants held inside. The pattern of the iris almost resembled that of a circuit board; from the white lines jaggedly running through the grey which connected to her pupil - framed by a circle of the same light. The clothes she wore were unassuming; a simple, sleek black flight suit with no heraldry of any kind. She aligned herself with no one, and would never wear the colours of the people she had denounced. She looked up at her twin with her arms crossed, a fierce stubbornness in her eyes.

“Theodore.” She managed to spit out.

“Solanna.” He nodded in return. The tense eye contact remained for several more moments, neither of them willing to be the first to submit; Theodore due to his superior attitude and Sola merely out of spite. But Sola had places to be and she wouldn’t allow her prick of a brother to get in the way of them.

“Well this has been fun, but I have better things to do than get in a staring contest with you.” She turned on her heel, fully intending to walk out of his life forever – or at least for as long as she could manage. But he spoke up once more.

“Anna.” She halted her steps, not expecting him to use his nickname for her during childhood. The way he said it gave her a painful reminder of how things used to be between them. Only he was ever allowed to call her Anna. To everyone else, it was either her full name or Sola – ‘The Vesh Girl’ was also a common one from the gentry. As she stood frozen, contemplating this, Theodore continued to speak, “Come home.” She gritted her teeth and clenched her fists, swivelling around to glare at him.

“Home? What home, Theo?” She spat, only feeling slightly guilty at the way he flinched at the nickname. “Do you think you can just say you’re sorry and I’ll come running right back to play happy families?” He sighed, dropping his gaze for a moment.

“I will not pretend that I didn’t make my share of mistakes in the past, Anna, but a matter has arisen and I would appreciate it if you were there.” She scoffed,

“Yeah, right. What kind of ‘matter’ could you possibly need my help with?”

“Father’s funeral.”

The words were so unexpected that Sola couldn’t seem to form a reply. She opened her mouth several times as if to say something, but was unable to form any kind of coherent sentence in her mind except for,

“How…?” Theodore seemed to catch her meaning, and Sola wondered if he could still read her just as well as he could five years ago; or if the time apart had dulled his senses.

“It was relatively peaceful. He knew that his time was rapidly approaching, but I cannot say he was fully prepared for it.” Sola caught on to a single word and raised an eyebrow,

“Relatively?” Theodore sighed and stepped closer, looking around cautiously before replying in a much lower tone.

“I don’t believe that father’s death was an accident, is all.” He admitted, “There was an unidentifiable substance in his evening scotch. I was hoping that you with your… various knowledge of prohibited goods may be able to identify it. Or at least point us to someone who could.”

Sola snorted, “So, essentially, you need the expertise of a no-good criminal like me?”

Theodore closed his eyes before pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. “I didn’t say that.” He sighed.

“You were thinking it, though.” Had she been an outsider to this conversation, Sola believed that she would have found it comical how they were bickering – just as regular siblings do.

Just then, the hairs on the back of her neck stood upright as a sense of foreboding came over her. She held up a hand, motioning for Theodore to be quiet. He seemed a little put off by the action but relented nevertheless. Sola scanned the room warily, stopping in her tracks once she saw the tiniest flash of movement from behind a stack of crates. Slowly, she reached down to her hip and pulled her gun out of its holster, the click it made sounding almost deafening in the silent room.

“Theo,” she whispered, “When I give the signal, run through the door on your left. My ship’s docked through there.” Then, ever so slowly, she took several steps forward towards the source of the movement. Before she could reach the crates, however, a man in a dark uniform stood up and raised his own gun, pulling the trigger. Sola ducked, rolling out of the way and yelling for her brother to make a run for it. He hesitated for a moment before deciding it was better to follow her orders this time. Sola almost laughed at the situation. Never would she have believed that she’d be covering for her twin ever again. Several more shots flew past her ear and she cursed, ducking behind cover while raining down cover fire to keep her assailant at bay. She heard a cry of pain and looked up to see him holding his shoulder, a charred hole where one of her shots had hit home. Seeing her enemy disposed for the moment, Sola grinned and dashed for the exit, shooting the controls for the door behind her as she went. Meeting Theodore at her ship, she dragged him inside and threw herself into the cockpit, preparing for take-off.

“Solanna, what is going on?” Her brother demanded. She waved him away with one hands while the other flew over the controls.

“We can talk about this later. Right now, I want to get as far away from this station as possible.” The Cobra Mark III began to shake as it lifted off the ground, and Sola barely remembered to pull up the landing gear as she tore out of the station as fast as her ship could manage. Several ships began to race after them – an Asp and two Pythons. Letting out a string of curses and ignoring Theodore’s scandalised look, she switched all the power to the engines and boosted forward. A siren began to wail as the three ships opened fire, steadily whittling away at the hull. She watched as the numbers on the display in front of her count down far too slowly until finally – finally – she was far enough away. Slamming down on the supercruise, the station and the three ships pursuing them became distant specks behind them.

#writing stuffs #elite dangerous #sola vesh #theodore vesh #disaster twins