#Converging Fury

[lessattitudemorealtitude]

Nott and Caleb talking about the others, Nott saying that she doesn’t want to use the group, that she loves them at this point...

It’s a little painful how softly Caleb says “I like them”. He’s still struggling to think about his relationship with any of these people beyond Nott as anything but transactional. Still struggling so hard to let others into his life, to let himself to have loved ones because he’s already lost all his loved ones before. And having just lost a friend, I think he regressed a bit, putting his friends back in the box of ‘useful’. That makes them safer to think about at least for a bit

#critical role #critical role rewatch #c2e27 #converging fury #caleb widogast #mighty nein #i love my sad man so muich

[talesofourworlds]

“ you’re okay! i thought you were… oh, come here! ” [eizen @ sync - i give you more because my brain will not focus for actual replies i'm so sorry]

send in “ you’re okay! i thought you were… oh, come here! ” for the sender to embrace the receiver out of sheer relief, after initially believing that they had died in a dangerous incident that has just happened.

Hugs were... not at all the sort of thing Sync was used to. Accepting them was even more unusual for him. He hadn't known what to do with himself at first when Eizen hugged his sore body close to him. In the end, though, Sync couldn't fault Eizen for the reaction or the relief he had expressed.

Eizen had warned him that his curse made bad things happen to people around him. Sync hadn't taken the warning that seriously. What was a little bad luck going to do when he was used to being a child soldier? Well, what had happened that day had been the answer to that question. It should have been simple. They'd needed to pass through a sort of mountain range on the way to their next destination, and the path they had taken had gotten much more narrow as they continued up it. On top of that, parts of the terrain had appeared weaker and eroded. Not a good combination, Sync had noted. But they'd trekked on anyway.

Eizen had been leading the way, just to make sure the path was secure (or something to that effect, as Sync couldn't read his mind), when it happened.

At first glance, it had appeared like nothing significant was happening. Eizen had moved forward first, but his steps had seemed to visibly disturb the ground beneath him. Sync had noted it and decided to tread lightly as he followed Eizen. The very moment he'd stepped where Eizen had, it was like a chain reaction had started. Sync felt the ground crumbling beneath him, and as he fell he noticed that rocks from higher up on the path had been disturbed as well. Whether by a mountain animal or by the curse itself, Sync couldn't claim to know. What he did know was that those rocks were falling right toward him as he fell from where he'd been walking.

The rest was a blur. He remembered pain from being pummeled by falling rocks and mountain debris, and he remembered falling, but after that? He must have passed out when he hit the ground. The next thing Sync recalled was hearing Eizen's voice after some time had passed. As his eyes opened, he'd registered Eizen's presence. That must have been right before Eizen realized that he wasn't dead.

Knowing that Eizen had been worried about him was odd. But also... comforting? Somehow? He couldn't explain it.

He wanted to play it off like it wasn't a big deal. After all, he was still alive in the end. It shouldn't have been a big deal because of that fact. Even so, he had known going in that Eizen had a curse. He knew it brought bad luck, but he'd stuck by Eizen's side anyway.

"Yeah... yeah, I'm okay," Sync finally managed to say. "Somehow. Didn't expect all of that to happen." How could he have expected it, though? Apart from being more observant, he couldn't think of a good answer.

#ic #Fury Like a Tempest (Sync) #Worlds Converging #Don't apologize! It's okay! #We all have days like that #Sync like: ???? Eizen cares about me??? #armxtus

[darksilvania]

PRAWNIARD [Pawniard + Prawn] Water/Fighting The Shrimp Pokemon Abilities: Moxie/Hyper Cutter - Tough Claws (HA) Dex: "They patrol the ocean floor in small gangs, comprised of several PRAWNIARDS and a single EBISHARP, very similar to its surface counterparts. Their pincers are extremely sharp, even when closed, resembling blades, but what makes them specially dangerous is the speed with wich they use them. PRAWNIARDs are know for constantly training the speed of they slashes, until they claws become faster than the eye can see.” Moveset: -Karate Chop -Jet Punch -Fury Cutter -Sword Dance

EBISHARP [Bisharp + Ebi (Shrimp in Japanese)] Water/Fighting The Pistol Shrimp Pokemon ->Evolves from PRAWNIARD after learning BOILING HOOK<- Abilities: Moxie/Hyper Cutter - Tough Claws (HA) Dex: "It leads a squad of PRAWNIARDs and controls a small territory under the command of a powerful KINGAMBA Its claws can deliver blows at speeds above the speed of sound, this punches are so fast they make the water around them boil.” Moveset: -Boiling Hook: Fighting type / pwr 90 / acc 95 / pp 10 “The user launches a punch at such a speed the water around its fist boils up.” -This might leave the opponent burn -This move power is boosted against water type pokemon or if it is raining -Razor Shell -Aqua Cutter -Soak

KINGAMBA [Kingambit + Gamba (Shrimp in Spanish)] Water/Fighting The Mantis Shrimp Pokemon ->Evolves from EBISHARP after defeating 5 wild EBISHARP using BOILING HOOK<- Abilities: Moxie/Hyper Cutter - Tough Claws (HA) Dex: "It controls a large territory under the ocean, with many EBISHARPs as its lieutenants, each one commanding a squard of PRAWNIARDs" It vibrates its claws with such speed they become searing hot. Being hit with them is said to feel as being hit with a hot branding iron. They use this burning pincers to mark its lieutenants.” Moveset: -Boiling Hook -Crab Hammer -Cross Chop -Guillotine

Finally finished my convergent Pawniard line, I think I made them at the begining of the year but Im just getting to finishing things by now

PRAWNIARD is based on a Velvet Blue Shrimp

EBISHARP is based on a Bullseye Pistol Shrimp

KINGAMBA is based on a Peacock Mantis Shrimp

#pokemon #fakemon #fake pokemon #convergent forms #convergent fakemon #pawniard #bisharp #kingamba #shrimp #pistol shrimp #mantis shrimp #water type #water fakemon #water pokemon #fighting type #fighting pokemon #fighting fakemon

[safety-pin-punk]

Punk History Resources: Vol 2

This is a compilation of resources found and recommended by various alternative bloggers, each of whom are credited for their contributions. This started because I was getting SO MANY asks about resources such as videos, books, and websites to use to learn about punk history. Admittedly, my own list wasn't that long, so I thought it was best to reach out to some others and share their knowledge with everyone. Now, I'm hoping to make this an annual occurrence, where we all share our knowledge with each other. So thank you again to everyone who helped out with this!!

Link to Volume 1

@whatamibutabutteredcroissant @unfriendlybat @ghost--in-a-machine @mushroomjar

YOUTUBE:

Part 1 of The Decline of Western Civilization (It recieved mixed reception from people in the scene) (whatamibutabutteredcroissant)

Part 3 of The Decline of Western Civilization (Focuses on the gutter-punks of 90s LA) (whatamibutabutteredcroissant)

BOOKS:

Some Wear Leather Some Wear Lace by Andi Harriman and Marloes Bontje (It's mostly goth/horror rock/post punk/deathrock but I feel like it's adjacent enough for it to merit a read) (unfriendlybat)

Spray Paint the Walls: The Story of Black Flag by Stevie Chick (whatamibutabutteredcroissant)

Kids of the Black Hole: Punk Rock in Postsuburban California by Dewar Macleod (whatamibutabutteredcroissant)

We Got the Neutron Bomb: The Untold Story of L.A. Punk by Marc Spitz and Brendan Mullen (whatamibutabutteredcroissant)

Left of The Dial: Conversations with Punk Icons by David Ensminger (whatamibutabutteredcroissant)

The Art of Darkness: The History of Goth by John Robb (A comprehensive history of Goth) (whatamibutabutteredcroissant)

Punk Zines by Eddie Piller and Steve Rowland (whatamibutabutteredcroissant)

The High Desert by James Spooner ( A graphic novel memoir of how the authro came into the scene) (ghost--in-a-machine)

Let Fury Have The Hour by Antonio D'Ambrosio (About the band The Clash) (anonymous submission)

MOVIES / DOCUMENTARIES:

Masque (A 10 minute doc about the Masque club in LA) (whatamibutabutteredcroissant)

ARTICLES:

History of Anarcho-Punk and Peace Punk (mushroomjar)

Late 80s and Early 90s Puerto Rico Hardcore Punk (mushroomjar)

The Jewish History of Punk (mushroomjar)

Japan's Impact on Punk Culture (mushroomjar)

The Forgotten Story of Pure Hell, America's First Black Punk Band (mushroomjar)

The Black Punk Pioneers Who Made Music History (mushroomjar)

Why Poly Styrene is Punk's Great Lost Icon (mushroomjar)

Alternative to Alternatives: The Black Grrrls Riot Ignored (mushroomjar)

Abandoning The Ear? Punk and Deaf Convergences Part II (mushroomjar)

Race, Anarchy, and Punk Rock: The Impact of Cultural Boundaries Within The Anarchist Movement (mushroomjar)

Street Medic Handbook (safety-pin-punk)

ZINES:

Sticking To It (safety-pin-punk)

So You Say You Want An Insurrection (safety-pin-punk)

All Power To The People (safety-pin-punk)

How to Survive a Felony Trial: Keeping Your Head up through the Worst of It (safety-pin-punk)

Collectives: Anarchy Against The Mass (safety-pin-punk)

Social War on Stolen Native Land: Anarchist Contributions (safety-pin-punk)

A Civilian's Guide to Direct Action (safety-pin-punk)

Critical Thinking as Anarchist Weapon (safety-pin-punk)

Security Culture: A Handbook for Activists (safety-pin-punk)

Betrayal: A Critical Analysis of Rape Culture in Anarchist Subcultures (safety-pin-punk)

ETC:

The Anarcho-Stencilism Subreddit (people upload stencils for others to use for free) (mushroomjar)

I would love to make a Vol. 3 post next year, so if you have resources and want to share, PLEASE message me!! (Preferably DMs)

#punk 101 #punk culture #punk history #punk #punx #punk resources #resource list

[atrueneutral]

How about Haarlep wanting some action and they keep draping themself over Raphael while the cambion is trying to work, purring, "Come play with me~" but Raphael is having none of it and doesn't even look up at Haarlep when he shoves the incubus away. Then the he hears the voice of his little mouse whispering in his ear, "Master, please, I need you..." (bonus points if this is how Raphael discovers that Haarlep even has Tav's form)

Raphael was penning his first letter at the vanity when Haarlep decided they were bored.

When Raphael began to write his second letter, Haarlep decided they wanted to quell their boredom with the only activity that ever came to mind: bedroom fun. They seductively announced their intention to strip out of their harness while they were halfway out of it, and less than a handful of seconds later, Haarlep was posed on the bed with a throbbing, veined and ridged cock on display.

At the start of a third letter, Haarlep decided their hand wasn��t anywhere as fun as fucking a certain hole, so they attempted to lure their master with a wanton plea that vividly described how they should be put to use.

By the fourth letter, Haarlep decided they had had enough of their needs being ignored. They left the bed, intent on pestering until their brat caved to their whims, and sauntered over to where their mortal appearing (and too-business-minded) master was scrawling missives.

“Master, come play with me…” Haarlep purred while standing behind the ornate and velvet upholstered stool Raphael was perched on. They glided a red, clawed hand from his shoulder down his front, but it was swiftly flung aside without a breath or word of acknowledgement - Raphael’s attention was fully engrossed in the words he was writing.

This would not do!

It was an insult to be ignored for so long!

But then Haarlep’s pout slowly morphed into a fiendish smile. 

Very well - if that was how their master wanted to play, then let the brat be insulted that he was not the first to feel, taste, and fuck his latest obsession…

Oh, what a delicious treat she was, too - the little thief!

Haarlep copied the movement Raphael had just rejected, but this time - this time new hands appeared down their master’s front after a near-silent flash of red transformed their body. Raphael did not look up from the current letter, and Haarlep was quick to bring their mouth to the shell of his ear before they could be denied again.

“Master, please…” 

Raphael became still as a statue.

“I need you…”

They won the moment their master’s gaze flicked to the image reflected in the gilded vanity mirror they were positioned in front of; Raphael’s little mouse - draped upon his shoulders wearing nothing but a lascivious expression.

Their master’s eyes were an instant storm of desire… until understanding and rage converged in depths of brown.

Raphael’s face twisted with bubbling fury, and the infernal quill snapped.

“When was she here? Why was she here?”

Haarlep’s teeth gently tugged on their master’s earlobe. “Who cares? She came, which is all that matters - more than once in the very bed we should be in right now…”

Their arms fell away when Raphael forcefully stood with a snarl. He rounded on them (with a budding erection) and Haarlep let a smug smile take over their face as Raphael took the briefest moment to appreciate their newest glamor before storming out the boudoir.

Haarlep chuckled; off their master went (letters forgotten), to pay his latest obsession a rage-fueled visit…

They strolled back over to the bed and prepared themself for fun.

What was to happen if Raphael’s confrontation included an equally flustered, moaning, orgasming little mouse!

Yes…

It was time to see what made this form tick…

[PART II]

#thanks for the prompt! #I feel like there's a second part to this with Raphael and Tav lol #bg3 #raphael bg3 #my writing #raphael x tav #raphael x tav fanfiction #haarlep #haarlep bg3 #drabble #answered #baldur's gate 3

[whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk]

Begged & Borrowed Time (xxviii, ao3)

(Chapter twenty-eight: After three days spent healing, Cassian finally wakes and finds that he has several things to say to his brother.) (Prologue // previous chapter // next chapter)

At first it was the village.

Not quite a dream, but a nightmare laced with memory as Cassian found himself standing right back in the ashes of his own  rage, watching the smoke drift, bitter and acrid, toward the sky. Blood stained the snow and seeped across grey rock, and he could have sworn, even in delirium, that screams still echoed through the mountain pass.

Broken siphons lay shattered, the shards as sharp as drawn blades, and in the dream Cassian looked down at his hands and saw Illyrian blood dripping thick from his fingers. It blurred in his mind, the deserted, desecrated camp high in the mountains looming in his memory as the nightmare sunk its claws deep into his flesh.

And then the screams shifted, a warrior’s pain morphing into something else. The blood on his hands thinned, turning dark— turning to Cauldron-water as the rock beneath his feet turned smooth, blood-stained snow replaced by polished marble.  The scene around him changed, until it wasn’t blood on his hands but water, water that needled his skin like acid as it pooled beneath him in a puddle so dark it seemed to swallow the light whole.

Pain— there was so much pain.

His, but not his.

The world began and ended with his every breath, an aching kind of cold pressing at his fingertips and spreading up through his veins as the village he had destroyed once in his fury bled into the throne room like ink, the horrors of both twining until the screams of anguish he heard echoing through the mountains weren’t his anymore but hers—

The floor of Hybern’s throne room was slick with dark water, as black as the night itself. Cassian’s hands slipped as he tried to rise, struggling to find purchase, and gods, it burned. Where the Cauldron’s water kissed his skin, Cassian felt an ice so deep it beggared belief sinking into his veins. He heard screaming, heard her screaming, felt her drowning like it was his own heart ceasing to beat, his own blood beginning to boil. He pulled away, or tried to, but the memory dragged him down, reality converging brutally with the dream, and in his chest hoarfrost gathered, beginning to crawl, and when he opened his mouth to scream—

All he tasted was medicine, a sleeping tonic thick and bitter on his tongue, keeping him chained and trapped within the nightmare until at last, blackness swallowed him… and Cassian remembered nothing at all.

***

When he opened his eyes at last, Cassian swore he could feel her.

Nesta’s scent lingered in the air, draped lightly over the sheets as though she had only just been there, sitting beside him as he lay healing. He seemed to have missed her by a hair’s breadth— by a moment or a second, a heartbeat or an hour, he wasn’t sure. The light danced across the bed, sharp in the wake of his dreams, and as Cassian breathed in the scent of his mate, slowly, slowly, he stretched out a hand, reaching for the ghost of her left behind.

But the movement sent sent a bolt of fire spearing right down his spine, drawing a livid curse from his lips as pain - unrelenting pain - shot like lightning across the broken mass of his wings.

It didn’t stop him.

Couldn’t stop him, not as he reached for the empty space on that mattress, hoping he might bring her back if his fingers could just graze the sheets that still smelled, faintly, of her.

But the space beside him was cold, and if Nesta had been there, it had been hours ago.

Cassian’s brow furrowed, fingers curling tightly in the sheets.

In his chest, something broke.

He loosed his grip on the bedsheets, drawing a gasping breath as he flexed his hand. The movement was stiff, and the siphon he wore was shining as if through fog as pain radiated from the bottom of his wings to the nape of his neck. At his back, pinned beneath him, those wings were nothing but a blistering ache, so sharp his breath got caught in his throat.

And— fuck, when he twitched them, to test how much strength they had left, they were as spindly as the legs of a newborn deer. Wrapped in so many bandages it was a wonder there was any linen left in Velaris at all, he forced his wings to shift. But a roaring pain engulfed him, a tidal wave of it he felt down to the tips of his toes.

His entire body felt hollow, bones aching like they had been snapped too, and he hissed as the pain barrelled through him, a sound of pure agony building within his throat.

It was a brutal reminder of just how close he had come to death.

He had been bleeding and broken, wings shredded, and though he was no stranger to risk or injury… it was different, this time. This time he had felt death in a way he never had before. It had cracked open an eye in the darkness and saw right through to his soul, staking a claim on him as the pain had dragged him under.

A chill coursed through him, kith to the ice still burning in his chest.

But he forced it away.

It didn’t matter.

None of it mattered.

His own pain, his own anguish, was nothing. He recalled the dreams that had haunted him in his sleep, the screams he knew would dog him for the rest of his days. His hands reached again for that space on the bed beside him, her name echoing with each beat of his broken heart.

Nesta.

He could still see her eyes, brimming with terror and rage as the king’s guards forced her into that Cauldron. Could still feel the bond, taut as a bow-string and thrumming the way it had the moment their eyes had met across that godsforsaken throne room. Absolute, inexorable need surged through him as the bond tightened, stealing his breath, and it was for Nesta that Cassian took a breath and braced both palms against the mattress. For her he ignored the barbs of pain that shot through his wings as he pushed his weight against the heel of his hands, trying to rise.

For her.

“Fuck,” he gasped, breaths turning ragged as agony knifed along his spine, spreading across his shoulders.

And across the room, from a half-hidden corner by the window that Cassian hadn’t even glanced at before now, another curse echoed his own.

“For fuck’s sake, Cass.”

Sharp footsteps sounded from the wall of windows opposite, but before Cassian could force his broken body to rise another inch, Rhys’ hand was pressed flat against Cassian’s shoulder, firm and immovable.

“Don’t even think about it,” the High Lord said, in a tone that brooked no argument.

Cassian didn’t stop for a minute to study his brother— to really note the anguish that cloaked him like a second skin. Nor did he pause to wonder how or why Rhys was the only one waiting for him to wake. His brother has been so lost in thought standing in that corner, staring listlessly out of the window, that it seemed he hadn’t even noticed Cassian opening his eyes until that whispered curse had been torn from his throat. He’d never known Rhys to be so distracted but…

No, Cassian didn’t pause. Not for a second, because he couldn’t fucking breathe.

He pushed once more against Rhys’ palm, gritting his teeth against the riot of pain working its way up and down his spine.

“Let me up,” he managed through clenched teeth.

Stitches were pulled taut in wounds not yet healed, and the new, fragile membrane of his wings threatened to tear as his arms began to tremble. His muscles ached, like keeping himself sitting upright was challenge enough, but it didn’t matter, didn’t matter, didn’t matter—

Rhys didn’t move.

“Rhys,” Cassian snarled. “Let. Me. Up.”

The High Lord said nothing, violet eyes dark and determined as he refused to relent. He kept his hand pressed against Cassian’s shoulder, and fucking hell, Cassian thought grimly, any other day he’d be able to force Rhys away without so much as blinking. But the blast that had taken out his wings had all but decimated his strength, leaving him with nothing but the sweat gleaming on his brow as he fought to stay upright.

After what felt like an age of bone-cracking agony, Cassian could do nothing more than collapse back against his pillows, staring furiously at the ceiling and cursing his sudden weakness.

“Not yet,” Rhys said mildly as he removed his hand at last. “Give it another day— give it until tomorrow.”

Cassian slammed a fist against his sickbed. “Another day? How long has it been already?”

His voice was cold, but Rhys didn’t flinch.

“Three days.”

Cassian swore the world began to tilt beneath him, the balance suddenly off-kilter.

“Three days,” he echoed, deadpan.

“And a half,” Rhys added, turning to the window at his back, as if tracking the movement of the sun. “It’s almost noon.”

As if Cassian gave a fuck about what time it was.

“Where is she.”

The demand came out rough, like gravel, and his voice seemed to quake beneath the weight of the temper he was only barely keeping in check. Deep within, something primal and primordial began to howl.

Rhys only rolled his eyes. Under his breath he muttered something that sounded a lot like ‘both the fucking same,’ and Cassian’s brow lowered over narrowed eyes as he began to wonder if Rhys had faced similar questioning from Nesta herself. But then— why wasn’t she here? Where was she? And Mother save him, how was she?

They were the only questions worth asking, the only things that seemed to matter.

“She’s here,” Rhys said after a pause, waving a hand in a gesture so casual it made Cassian clench his jaw. “And she’s awake, which is more than I can say for Elain.”

“Elain isn’t awake?”

“No.”

Cassian glowered. “So Nesta’s been on her own for three fucking days then,” he countered darkly, running a hand over his ribs to make sure those, at least, were still intact. Feeling nothing broken he shifted, more than ready to try and rise again regardless of the pain, but Rhys stopped him with a glare so glacial it made chasms of his eyes.

“Not alone,” Rhys said bluntly. “I checked on her, and Mor took her some clothes.”

Cassian was silent. His eyes seemed to burn as he looked pointedly at his brother and waited for him to continue— because if Rhys thought that was explanation enough, then he was so severely mistaken that Cassian might have started to wonder if the High Lord had hit his head on the way out of Hybern’s throne room. As it was, his brother sighed heavily before running a hand through his already-mussed hair.

“The Cauldron took its toll,” he explained. “Neither Nesta nor Elain were fully conscious when we made it back to Velaris, and after Mor and I winnowed them up here… they were out of it for a little while. Nesta woke after a few hours, but Elain is still drifting in and out.” When Cassian’s gaze turned sharp, bladed with concern, Rhys added, “There’s no injury. Physically, they both seem fine.”

A note of caution entered his voice, one that had all of Cassian’s instincts sharpening like a blade against a whetstone.

“Mor brought Nesta clothes,” the Lord continued flatly, violet eyes devoid of stars. “But she didn’t even bother to look at them before casting them off. Mor wasn’t exactly happy—“

Cassian snarled again, a sound of abject consternation so abrasive it was a wonder it didn’t rake claws down his throat.

“What the fuck,” he asked, in a voice so rough it was little more than a growl, “were you thinking?”

The glare he gave Rhys was one that so rarely crossed his face these days— one that even battle-hardened warriors had run from in the past. But he didn’t bother to temper it. Of course Nesta would refuse whatever it was that Mor had offered. Night Court fashion was a world away from what they were used to below the wall, and though Mor had shaken off the shackles of her upbringing, it was plain as fucking day that Nesta hadn’t.

As well-intentioned as it was, was it any wonder it had brought out Nesta’s claws?

Rhys didn’t answer, only pressed his lips thin.

“Get her something else,” Cassian said sharply.

“I tried,” Rhys retorted, pinching the bridge of his nose. “She doesn’t want anything else.”

“Then I’ll fucking do it,” he huffed, his hands curling once more into fists so tight his knuckles began to ache.

“You can’t get up,” Rhys hissed. “It’s a fucking miracle you’re even alive. It wasn’t just your wings, you know. Whatever was in that blast— you’ve had a temperature for days that even the healers can’t understand. Like you were burning from the inside out.”

Cassian stilled. The dream came back to him in a rush, an echo of that burning heat thrumming distant in his veins. Like it wasn’t him burning at all.

The bond twining around his ribs trembled, and in the silence that followed Cassian shoved it all away and clenched his jaw before demanding roughly,

“Tell me what happened.”

Rhys looked uncomfortable with the question, his shadowed face stony. “I haven’t been able to glean much. All I know is that Hybern broke in whilst they were sleeping. Killed the servants—“

“And the Illyrians?” Cassian felt his anger harden, cool into something far more difficult to break. “Where the fuck were they? I swear, if they—“

“They’re dead, Cass.”

It took Cassian a moment to understand. For the words to sink in. And when they did, there was a ringing in his ears so sharp he had to shake his head to clear it.

Fuck.

“Ash arrows were found in the grounds,” Rhys continued darkly. “And the other four men you sent to the Mandray house never saw Nesta. By the time they arrived she had already gone to stay with Elain. They didn’t know she wasn’t inside.”

It was like being dragged into a riptide.

The waves kept coming, kept pulling and pushing and holding him under, each new kernel of information Rhys offered one that made Cassian feel like his lungs were taking on water. Four men dead— men who had families, friends, loved ones. Cassian had personally picked the ones to go below the wall. He hadn’t been about to put Nesta and Elain’s safety in the hands of any of the more… conservative Illyrians, especially when Devlon had been so reluctant to let them go at all. No, these had been soldiers who respected him, who had only barely grumbled about being stationed so far from home.

Dead.

He’d have to tell their families, have to visit them personally.

And the servants. Gods— who would tell their families? Or Nesta’s father? Cassian didn’t have an overwhelming amount of respect for the man, but still. Would he return to an empty house, dilapidated and dark, a ruin filled with nothing but shattered glass and the echo of violence?

Each thought made his head spin, and yet it was nothing - absolutely fucking nothing - to the weight in his chest, the crushing heaviness where his heart should be.

Because the sharpest undercurrent of all was…

He’d known.

He’d known something was wrong. That night, after Hybern’s attack, he had been so consumed with worry it had almost eaten him alive. He had felt it, as certain as anything.

If only he’d sent a shadow to the Archeron estate that night too. If only he’d known Nesta wasn’t with her husband at all, but with her sister. If only he’d insisted Azriel somehow find the strength to command two shadows across the wall, or better yet, if he himself had flown there despite his exhaustion…

If only, if only, if only.

His eyes closed.

“So when Az sent that shadow…” he began, hoarse. “Nesta wasn’t even at home that night. She was with Elain the whole time.”

His heart felt as brittle as cracked glass, his eyes stinging. Somewhere inside him was a pendulum, one that swung wildly between spikes of terrifying fury, and deep valleys carved of guilt and grief.

He could have saved her.

Could have stopped her being taken in the night, bound and gagged and thrown into that Cauldron. All of it could have been avoided had he only been looking in the right place that night, when the bond in his chest had been so damned insistent that something was wrong.

He should’ve listened. Should have paid more attention.

How many lives would have been saved? How many grieving mothers would have been spared a loss? Most importantly to Cassian, how much pain could he have kept Nesta from? How much agony might have been avoided?

When he slid his eyes open again, he saw Rhys nod.

“That’s all I’ve been able to gather. Nesta hasn’t exactly been… forthcoming with the details.”

Cassian blinked slowly, eyes darkening. “Can you blame her?”

Rhys sighed, taking a step closer. Slowly, carefully, he added, “There’s something… up with her, Cass.”

“Up with her,” Cassian echoed, in a voice as that was cold and flat, as desolate as a Winter Court snow plain. He could have sworn his brother cringed.

“I can sense something,” Rhys continued. “I don’t know what, exactly. She won’t tell me what happened inside the Cauldron—“

“Rhys,” he warned, “back off, would you?”

The dream lurched once more in his memory— the cold, the aching in his bones. That distant feeling of ice searing him right through, stealing his breath with its ferocity. It lingered, even now, like it had been fucking real. Cassian suppressed a shudder.

“It’s her eyes, Cass. There’s something there, some kind of power she won’t speak of—“

“Rhys.”

Cassian fixed his brother with the kind of glare reserved usually for soldiers out of line— the kind that made his entire face harden. He didn’t give a single shit about what Nesta may or may not have emerged from that Cauldron with. It wouldn’t be enough to change anything— to stop him loving her with everything he had left.

“Let her work it out in her own time,” he added gruffly, his tone one that threatened retribution if not flat-out violence.

“We might not have time,” Rhys countered dryly.

Cassian snarled. “I said back off.”

For a second Rhys looked prepared to argue his point, a scowl twisting the corners of his mouth, but Cassian snarled again softly, little more than a growl of patience lost, and Rhys’ scowl vanished. He exhaled heavily and raised a hand in surrender, giving his brother a small nod.

“Alright,” he said tightly. “Alright.”

Cassian nodded once too, brisk, and settled back against the pillows, careful not to disturb the mass of bandages and scar tissue that was his wings.

There was a beat— where Cassian felt the ache deep in his bones collide with the weariness that gnawed, ravenous, at his edges. He sighed, and let himself relent. For now— just for now.

“And Az?” he asked after a moment, forcing himself away from the memory of Azriel’s blood slicking his hands in that throne room.

“The healers are still keeping him under. The poison… it had almost reached his heart.” Rhys shuddered. “It’s the same poison that tipped the arrows I was hit with, only in a far more concentrated dose. If Feyre were here, she could probably heal him just as quickly as she healed me, but…”

The High Lord stumbled over his mate’s name, like it pained him to speak of her. He trailed off, eyes darting back to the window he’d been staring out of before Cassian had opened his eyes, like he was trying to follow the bond and see all the way to the south, to wherever Feyre was now.

“She’s in Spring,” Cassian breathed, not quite a question.

In the dimness of his memory he recalled the way Feyre had drifted back to Tamlin’s side in that throne room, the way Rhys had fallen to his knees. Cassian didn’t remember much— couldn’t remember words or put it all together in any kind of narrative that made sense, and he’d been dragged into unconsciousness soon after his brother had screamed in pain. But he remembered the way Tamlin reached for Feyre, a wary kind of relief igniting in his green eyes and mingling with the reflected candlelight until they were an evergreen forest consumed by flame.

The lines on Tamlin’s face had smoothed as he placed a hand on Feyre’s wrist. No matter that Cassian’s vision had been growing dark, or that Azriel’s life hung by a thread. No matter that Elain trembled in a puddle of Cauldron-spilled water, or that Nesta scrambled towards her sister even as her eyes remained fixed on Cassian.

None of that had mattered to the High Lord of Spring.

A sharp, terse nod was Rhys’ only response.

“There’s something else you should know too,” Rhys said, his voice made heavy by the bitterest sort of irony. He turned back to the bed and looked Cassian in the eye, lifting his chin with all the bearing of a High Lord. “Before we went to Hybern, I made Feyre High Lady.”

For a moment, Cassian forgot the pain in his wings.

He thought he must have misheard, must have been hallucinating from all the tonics the healers had been giving him—

“Mor and Amren were told as soon as we got back,” Rhys said, “but with you and Az unconscious…”

“You fucking what?” Cassian spat, scrambling on his hands to raise himself from the bed. His wings protested again as his muscles shifted, stitches close to tearing, and once more Rhys stepped forward with ease and halted him with a palm flat against his shoulder.

“Don’t start. I’ve already had all this from Mor and Amren.”

Cassian hissed. “And if you think you’re not going to get it from me too then you’re sorely mistaken. You didn’t think we deserved to know that we weren’t just taking the Lady of the Night Court into Hybern, but the High Lady? Have you lost your fucking mind?”

A dark laugh bubbled in his chest, one that ached in his throat. Suddenly all those feelings he thought’d he’d buried, the ones left over from when Rhys went Under the Mountain… they came screaming back, every ounce of inadequacy and failure returning in a wave as he realised that once again he’d been left out of Rhys’ scheming. That the High Lord had left his General in the dark.

He knew how it looked— how it seemed. Every sensible part of him clung desperately to the knowledge that Rhys trusted him implicitly, that theirs was a bond forged of blood and sweat and tears that could not be broken idly…

And yet.

“You didn’t think we needed to know?” Cassian asked again, blunt as an axe. “That we deserved to know?”

Rhys took a breath. “It’s not about that. It was never about that.”

“We were unprepared,” Cassian snapped. “We never would have—”

Rhys drew back, as surely as if Cassian had slapped him.

Everything in the High Lord appeared to crumble. His eyes, dark before, seemed abyssal now. The tension in his shoulders evaporated, the harsh lines at his mouth and his brow vanishing as the fight seemed to leave him entirely. He looked up to the ceiling, the shadows beneath his eyes seeming darker and more prominent than before. A pang of remorse echoed through Cassian’s chest as his words died in his throat and Rhys lifted a hand, not in surrender this time, but something like supplication.

“Enough. It’s done, Cass,” he said, his tone just a touch too resigned to be considered sharp. He sighed again, maudlin. “It’s done.”

Cassian took a breath, willing the waves of his anger to subside. That twinge of remorse in his chest surged as he looked to the windows, where Rhys had been gazing so forlornly. Gods, had he been any better when it was Nesta so far away? How many times had he stared out at that same horizon, wishing miles were inches?

Nesta.

Just the thought of her had everything else fading.

“Tell me something else,” Cassian said, breaking the heavy silence, remembering what was important. “Tell me about Nesta. How was she— when she woke?”

The question lingered, and Rhys… hesitated.

The sure and certain High Lord, who had an answer for everything, hesitated. The silence that followed spoke louder than anything Rhys might have said, and as Cassian’s eyes narrowed, he gave his brother a look of warning that said he’d better come up with an answer, and a good one, fast.

“Rhys,” he said slowly, his voice sharpening. “You were there. Right? Tell me you didn’t let her wake up alone.”

Silence.

The ruby siphon on his hand began to pulse in time with his raging, racing heart, flaring as his temper spiked. His hand curled into a fist so tight his fingertips began to feel numb, and behind his ribs the bond strained so tightly it stole his breath, like a blade had pierced his lungs.

Rhys only scowled, plucking at a piece of fucking lint.

“We’ve been preparing for war,” he said flatly, lifting his chin. “And in case it escaped your notice, I’ve been down a commander and a spymaster. Mor and Amren and I have just about managed to hold this court together, so forgive me for not sitting idle by your sweetheart’s bedside while the world around us goes to shit.”

Cassian growled, a rumble in his chest so deep his entire body seemed to thrum.

“My sweetheart,” he echoed with a low, dangerous laugh. “You’re a fucking cunt sometimes, Rhys, you know that?” His brother was quiet, and Cassian felt the reins of his temper slip through his fingers as he uncurled his hands, leaning forwards as if he was only a breath away from rising from that bed and closing those hands around his brother’s fucking throat. “Never mind that you’ve clearly been sitting idle by my bedside. Never mind that she’s your mate’s sister.”

His lips curled back over his teeth, something feral and unrestrained howling inside, hammering against his chest, begging to be set loose. His siphons flickered.

“She’s so much more than my fucking sweetheart and you damn well know it,” he seethed. “Give her the respect she deserves.”

The voice that left him sounded foreign even to his own ears. It was sharp and bladed and angry— he hadn’t felt like this since that day in that village in the mountains, when he’d slaughtered so many of the men who had sneered when he’d asked where his mother was. Rhys didn’t balk in the face of that anger; his brother stood stoic and firm, letting Cassian’s rage wash over him in a wave.

Cassian took a breath, clenching his fists as he tried to find the moment where everything had gone wrong these past few weeks. It seemed like only yesterday Nesta was in his arms by the water, watching the stars fall from the sky. Only yesterday that Rhys had told him to go and get her, to bring her to Velaris for the night.

And now— somehow they had ended up here. With Rhys separated from his mate as the entire continent faced Hybern’s threat, and Nesta no doubt in more pain than she’d ever been before, no matter how fine Rhys thought she was.

He loosed a single breath, forced the thrumming in his veins to steady.

“I get it,” Cassian bit out as the waves of anger receded just enough to let him breathe again. “Feyre’s not here and you’re losing your mind. But that doesn’t mean you can be a prick to the ones of us left behind with you.” His jaw grew tight, his voice dipping low. “After all, maybe now you’ll understand how we felt all those years you were Under the Mountain.”

Rhys snapped his gaze back to Cassian’s, starless violet meeting furious hazel. His lips parted, as if ready to argue, but something Cassian had said must have resonated because he quickly looked away, back to the windows. Regret flickered in those dark eyes as he ran a fist through his hair, turning his face away.

“You’re right,” Rhys said quietly, like it pained him to admit it. A heavy sigh rattled through his chest. “I’m sorry, Cass.”

Cassian sighed too, the atmosphere shifting as he sat back. Their heated words died in the silence, anger melting and giving way to something else, the kind of acceptance and acquiescence only found in the wake of a blistering argument between those who loved one another as family.

“As soon as I can get out of this bed,” Cassian said darkly, “I’m going to hit you so fucking hard you’ll see stars for a week.”

A tentative smirk pulled at Rhys’ lips.

“Fair,” he answered with a shrug.

And with that, all of the resentment was gone— just like that. Cassian let himself fall back agains the pillows, the burning in his wings easing as they lay flat once more. Looking up at the ceiling, he felt his heart pound as his mind wandered, a different kind of guilt pulling at him, fraying his edges until he was half afraid there would be nothing of himself left by the time it was done.

I’ll find a way to keep you safe. I swear it.

Who could have guessed it would turn out to be such pointless vow, a hollow promise?

“I made her a promise,” Cassian said quietly now, his voice too close to breaking. He spoke more to himself than to Rhys, but still his brother was there to listen. “I swore to protect her and I didn’t.”

“How could you have stopped it?” Rhys asked mildly. “You were in no position to—“

“I could have done something,” Cassian interjected hotly. “I should have done something.”

Gods— the guilt would eat him alive. Would destroy him, and he couldn’t quite tell whether he wanted to run to her or hide from her forever. His entire soul, every tiny facet of his being, longed to find her— but could he bear the betrayal in her eyes, knowing he was the reason she’d been dragged into that throne room? Knowing his failings had cost her her life?

And after all hadn’t he thought, once, that he’d give anything for Nesta to be fae?

Like a fucking fool, he’d once dreamed of her living above the wall, living forever… and for his stunning hubris, his stupid fucking arrogance, the Mother had granted his wish.

He turned his head, eyes catching on the sheets beside him that still carried that lingering trace of her. She’d been sitting there— right beside him. Maybe that meant she didn’t hate him after all.

But maybe she should.

Maybe someone ought to.

He closed his eyes, feeling wave after wave of anguish swallow him whole.

“She still doesn’t know, does she?” Rhys asked gently. “About the bond?”

Cassian shook his head, hardly able to speak. He felt sick.

Rhys let out a dry laugh. “The way you snarled in that throne room… how could she not have realised?”

Cassian didn’t want to think of it, didn’t want to be taken back to that expansive stone room, thick with the scent of spilled blood. But he couldn’t help but recall Lucien and the three little words that had burst from his mouth, like he hadn’t physically been capable of keeping them inside.

You’re my mate.

Gods, the Autumn prince had made it look so fucking easy. Part of Cassian wondered now why he hadn’t just done the same weeks ago, torn off the bandage and made it quick.

Fuck.

Given how badly Nesta had reacted to Lucien’s little outburst… well, Cassian could hardly tell her now, could he? She’d made it clear with the way she’d scrambled to Elain’s side, horror written all over her face, that the last thing in the world she needed - wanted - was a mate.

He’d thought he needed to give her time. To let her adjust to the idea of a mating bond before he sprung one on her, but now…

“Gods,” Cassian groaned, “it’s all so fucked, Rhys.”

Rhys snorted his agreement. “Yeah,” he said dryly, glancing down at his hands. “Yeah, it is.”

The High Lord glanced at the sky again, the sun high in the centre. He looked back to the bed, eyes softening.

“I told Amren I’d meet with her after noon,” he said, brushing a hand down his black shirt. “I should go. There’s still work to be done, and someone needs to keep an eye on those queens. Especially in the wake of….” He waved a hand, gesturing broadly at the chaos that surrounded them. “…All this.”

Cassian started. “You can’t mean to go yourself.”

“Someone needs to, and Az is hardly up to it.”

“You’re a fool, Rhys.”

“I am capable of looking after myself, you know.”

Cassian was about to argue, but as the sun slanted across Rhys’ midnight hair, he looked at his brother— really looked, for the first time since he’d woken. Stress was carved so deeply in his face that every plane of it seemed strained, and his eyes were flat and empty, like the stars there had simply given up hope of shining. He looked like every single drop of anguish Cassian felt had scarred him too, and Cassian’s own eyes softened as he shook his head.

“I’m not going to be the one to tell Feyre when you get yourself hurt,” he said archly.

Rhys laughed, bitter. “Let’s worry about that when she’s home, shall we?”

Cassian rolled his eyes, absently lifting a hand to his chest. It was something subconscious, something innate, that had his fingers splaying across his ribs, right above where he felt that bond tying him so resolutely to Nesta. It was brighter now, more alive, like her being turned fae had amplified it. Rhys tracked the movement and blinked, nodding in understanding. His own fingers twitched, like he’d reach for Feyre if only he could.

“I’ll come back later,” he said gently, nodding to the bedside table where several small glass vials were laid out. “If the pain gets too much, take three drops from the green bottle. Six drops for sleep.”

Cassian nodded, even though he had no intention of sleeping any time soon. He’d spent three days sleeping— it was more than enough. There were more important things now than sleep, more pressing things than pain.

Rhys glanced pointedly at the bottles once more before raising an eyebrow and fixing Cassian with a knowing stare.

“You really should stay in bed for a little longer,” he said, stepping forward to clap him lightly on the shoulder. His voice was weary, but the resignation in his tone said he knew that, short of tying Cassian to the bed, there was absolutely nothing he could do to stop him.

Cassian raised an eyebrow. “And you really should have told us before making Feyre High Lady.”

Rhys rolled his eyes, drawing back. “Alright, alright,” he conceded. After a minute he loosed a long breath, shaking his head in surrender. “Swear to me you’ll be careful.”

“I’m not the one going to spy on the same queens that sold us down the river to Hybern,” Cassian pointed out flatly, a scowl settling above his brows. Rhys grimaced.

“No, but I’m not the one who almost died from blood loss.”

Cassian waved a hand, like it was nothing. Like he didn’t still remember the way his fingers had slipped in pools of his own blood, staining his skin crimson.

“I promise I’ll be careful if you will,” he offered instead, and this time Rhys rolled his eyes, resting his hand on Cassian’s shoulder once more.

“I promise,” the High Lord said, dipping his head. And then he drew back, his steps almost silent as he pulled away. He looked to the door, straightening his spine and plucking at his sleeves before adding a soft, “I’ll see you later, brother.”

It was the only farewell he offered, and even though Cassian muttered a quiet see you later in return, Rhys didn’t say anything more before sweeping from that bedroom, leaving only silence in his wake.

Cassian waited for one breath— then two, three. Just enough to ensure Rhys wasn’t about to come storming back.

And then, arduously, he began to rise.

Every nerve he possessed protested as he forced himself upright. His bones barked beneath the pressure, the bottoms of both wings burning beneath the bandages, like someone had just taken a match to them. He felt every single one of the small, intricate muscles straining as he straightened his spine, pulling so painfully that darkness gathered once more at the corners of his eyes.

But he refused to black out this time.

Cassian gritted his teeth, biting back the groan that rose to his lips.

He eyed the bottles on the side, wondering if he ought to take those three drops after all.

But he pushed— pushed and pushed and pushed, his body screaming.

With effort, he managed to swing his legs off the bed. Somehow, he made it to the door, pulled it open.

In his mind was a singular focus, a sole purpose that kept him going as he staggered down the hallway, each step a labour. He dragged one hand along the wall as he went, using it as a support. And then he was at the stairs, swallowing as pain bloomed in every part of him, as he looked at the downward spiral of steps and knew that the effort might just make him faint.

But for Nesta, Cassian knew he needed to make it down those stairs— come hell or high water.

He was sweating by the time he made it to the landing a floor below. The guest corridor stretched out before him, seemingly endless, and his heart thundered as he made his way down its length. He had guessed this was where Rhys would have housed the sisters, and even though he’d never gotten confirmation, the bond in his chest was thrumming with his every step, like it was leading him right to her. Cassian didn’t know what room Nesta was in, but that thrumming grew louder and louder until he found himself standing in front of a closed door.

Instinctively, he knew this was it.

Already he could hear her heart.

If he wasn’t already so desperate, Cassian thought he might really have collapsed then. If his body could have handled it, he thought he might have sank to his knees.

His mind went blank; his heart pounding against his ribs.

And Cassian didn’t think— didn’t knock.

Like a man starved, he pushed open that door and all but stumbled over the threshold. Instantly he was met with her scent, and with a gasp his mate turned her head, silver eyes glinting across the distance between them that suddenly seemed vast enough to wound.

But as Cassian looked upon Nesta for the first time in days…

Every single thought eddied from his head.

Every single word he knew was forgotten save one.

Nesta.

Her name. Just her name— the only thing in the world that still held meaning.

It bubbled to his lips, his strength failing him as he grasped at the doorframe and felt his knees go weak. He couldn’t pretend arrogance, couldn’t find it in him to flirt. As she lingered, still, on the other side of the room, Cassian felt himself growing brittle as, at last, he found it in him to rasp a single, aching,

“Nesta.”

Taglist: @hiimheresworld @highladyofillyria @wannawriteyouabook @infiremetotakeachonce @melphss @hereforthenessian @c-e-d-dreamer @lady-winter-sunrise @the-lost-changeling @valkyriesupremacy @that-little-red-head @sv0430

#nessian #nessian fic #begged & borrowed time

[metanarrates]

the adversary is such an interesting route because through most of the game routes, most actions you can take are not locked behind specific dialogue options, and the actions usually don't need to be "repeated" to achieve a specific path through the route. for example, the path to freeing the specter only requires that you tell her you want to free her, let her possess you, and that you not stab yourself with the knife, in order to achieve that.

but the adversary has a few unique and somewhat non-intuitive actions you can take with her (flipping her the bird and even having her allow you to stab her in order to prove she can't die) that are locked behind dialogue options, and those dialogue options don't even clearly point to you being able to unlock those actions. additionally, you have to repeatedly choose to fight her in the exact way she wants if you don't want her to evolve into the fury or the eye of the needle.

i guess it fits to have the route most defined by stubbornness and rivalry requring you to pick a course of action and stick to it, but the amount of unique actions allowed within this route (even leaving her in the basement can trigger some unique scenes!) makes me wonder if it was the first developed. most routes in video games have "convergence" points with very few subvariations in order to cut down on having to develop too many distinct outcomes. while it's true that slay the princess has an unusual amount of distinct variations in each route, it's still also got a lot of convergence points that reuse the same art pieces with just slightly different dialogue. it feels significant to me that the adversary has a lot of unique scenes and art compared to some of the other princesses

#narrates #slay the princess #do note that EVERY SINGLE ROUTE however has a lot of hidden and interesting stuff going on with each option you can take. #it just feels like an early artifact of development that you can DISCOVER REALLY FREAKY LORE ABOUT HOW THE PRINCESS WORKS #locked behind a set of kind of nonintuitive dialogue options that occur while actively fighting her #it's a good scene though. recommended. #also HUGE shoutout to being able to SCARE the adversary by fighting her unarmed and getting up repeatedly #after she's literally beat us into pulp #great way to do a horror turn ONTO a being who has always been the source of horror in the past #haha we're the zombie creature now! #slay the princess is great I think everyone who likes horror games should give it a shot :)

[rookthorne]

⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ 𝐋𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐫𝐲𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐞

It was inherently a dangerous way to live the life of a Nomad Dragon Rider — an outcast. And those very dangers would be what would tear you apart, and what would separate you from the one you trusted, the one you loved.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 ☽☾ Dragon Rider!Bucky Barnes x Dragon Rider!F!Reader

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 ☽☾ 1.3k

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 ☽☾ Angst, whump, gore, established relationship, cliffhanger (because I am cruel)

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆 ☽☾ I am back in my whump era, chaos kittens, and I am not sorry.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒔 ☽☾ Akkadian Empire by Audiomachine ☽☾ Guardians At the Gate by Audiomachine ☽☾ Lachrimae by Audiomachine

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔 ☽☾ @buckybarnesevents Into an Alternate June-iverse 𝗖𝟰 — Fantasy AU — Masterlist ☽☾ @allcapsbingo 𝗜𝟯 — Whump — Masterlist ☽☾ @anyfandomaubingo 𝗡𝟯 — Dragon AU — Masterlist ☽☾ @anyfandomdarkbingo 𝗚𝟮 — Unhappy Ending — Masterlist

𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐊𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐄'𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

The life of a wanderer was dangerous – full of tumultuous battles for territory, for blood lust, and for the right to call yourself a Legend. 

It was no different that night. Patrolling the border of your territory while the wings of the powerful beast you rode beat the night air in a steady rhythm; the gold and ivory scales shining brightly under the luminant full moon. 

Your second, a man that you had come to trust with your life, flew behind you, a formation that displayed you as the leader. Bucky followed you, sitting just off your flank to your right, atop his shadowed hell flyer – the symphonies of beating wings and heavy breaths filling the silence and eerie stillness of the night air. 

There was a slight, almost indistinguishable movement amongst the cliff face ahead, and you hauled your dragon to a stop, the beast complying through the invisible bond ensnaring you together; making you as one. “Movement,” you said simply, narrowing your eyes as you scanned the rocks for another sign. 

Bucky fell in beside you, his left hand moving to the many weapons he had saddled on his mount. “I see it,” he replied lowly. “Move in? Or should we get out of here?”

“No…” The movement happened again, and your dragon huffed, a snarl lingering on her sharp, angular mouth. “Easy, Sig–Buck, we need to-”

You never managed to finish your command. 

Flame and ice converged over your path, and Sig started, a loud roar echoing off the rocks, and she swerved to miss a barrage of flying boulders. Bucky’s yell of fury sounded amongst the chaos, and you watched his dragon scrabble against the cliff face, a twisted, demented snarl of anger to show rows and rows of sharp teeth. 

“Move!” you shouted at him, gripping Sig’s saddle and bowing low against her neck. “Go, get out of there!” Sig bellowed at the approaching darkened shapes in the sky, and for a single, split second, you thought it was done, your life was finished as you knew it. “Hel, no, no! Sig, fly!”

Wings beat and Sig’s claws thrashed through the air as she whipped around, dodging more boulders. 

The attack only worsened – flashes of flame and ice continued to clash and spread over the rocks and the sea below, and Bucky with his hell flyer had vanished and was nowhere to be seen. Your heart seized amongst the chaos, the thought of him falling to his demise in the sea below froze you to your core. 

“Bucky! James! Where are you?” you screamed. “Buck! Please, where–?”

A loud roar echoed above you and you braced for an impact you never saw coming, only, nothing happened. 

Instead, an almighty crash of scales and leather and metal shook the world with the force of the collision, and you watched, horrorstruck, as Bucky and his dragon collided full force into an approaching attacker. The navy and crimson of the attacker’s dragon blurred and shifted as it was knocked off balance and out of the air to plummet down to the sea below. 

The shadowy form of Bucky’s dragon falling right behind them. 

Cursing to high Hel, you cried out in shock – a call of grief that even made the attackers pause in their attacks. 

Your feet found the stirrup switch and you pulled the reins. Sig followed your command and swiftly turned in the air, her wings beating swiftly as she roared loudly from the grief flowing between the bond. “Dive,” you barked, squeezing your knees, and Sig did so – folding her ivory wings and streamlining her ginormous form. 

Wind whipped through your hair and your armour, but you still did not let up. No matter how fast Sig dived, it was not fast enough – not quick enough to stop Bucky from plummeting down to the raging ocean. 

You forced a feeling of calm through the bond, and leant even closer to Sig’s neck, one hand on the reins, the other gripping the saddle. “Breathe,” you called through the bond, unable to open your mouth. “Swim.”

The feeling of Sig’s chest expanding under your knees grounded you, and you braced for impact. Sea salt stung your eyes as you neared and neared, and you watched Bucky land against the rocks, his unconscious form slipping into the sea, and his dragon caused a craterous splash of water around them both.

Ice enveloped your whole body as you breached the surface of the raging sea, the force of the impact burning your skin. Frantically, you searched for the darkened form of Bucky’s dragon, for the sight of Bucky’s limp body. A cloud of darkness shrouded something from view, and it took all of your will to not scream underwater – it was Bucky, a cloud of blood around his floating body. 

“Go!” you pushed through the bond. Sig turned and rushed through the water to James, her tail pushing her faster and faster until her giant clawed foot wrapped around his middle, and pulled. 

Sig’s head breached the raging waves and she propelled herself onto land, placing James on the rocks. The sight stole what air you had left in your lungs, and you fell off her back and onto your knees with a scream of grief, but before you could reach for your saddlebag, Sig turned and dived once more into the sea. 

Bucky’s left arm… it was gone – torn and bloody rags left in its wake.

The rocks were cold beneath your knees, and you sobbed while reaching for his unconscious body, desperate to feel him. Your hands met his chest and you felt it rise and fall shallowly. “Bucky! Please, please wake up!” 

A loud splash and a grunting bellow sounded behind you, followed by a solid thud of a heavy, scaly body landing on the rocks – Bucky’s dragon. You turned and saw the black mass of scales unmoving, but his chest was rising and falling at a much higher rate than his companion. 

“Sig, here,” you rushed, gesturing for her to move closer. The dragon complied while watching her mate lay motionless, and you dug through the saddlebag for your healer’s kit. “Buck, do not die on me,” you sobbed, groping for a potion vial. A small noise of victory pulled from your throat when you felt cold glass on your fingers, and you latched onto the vial, pulling it free. “I have to do this, I’m sorry.”

You forced Bucky’s mouth open and poured the potion down his throat, just as a white and blue dragon landed a stride away, mouth open and teeth bared. “Hands off,” a voice yelled, and you looked up to find a loaded crossbow aimed right between your eyes. “Back away.”

“Fuck you,” you spat venomously. “Like Hel will I back off!” your hands, now shaking from adrenaline, flew to Bucky’s arm and you tore a strip of the bloody fabric off with a grunt. “Who do you think you are!”

The crimson fabric in your hands stained your palms, but you continued to act swiftly – a tourniquet would stop him from bleeding out, you prayed, hoped. 

Sig suddenly roared behind you, and you whipped around to watch her fall to the rocky outcrop, unconscious, with a blood red dragon ridden by a masked woman looming over her limp body. Pure panic flooded you. You were outnumbered – with both Sig, and Bucky’s dragon down, you couldn’t fight them off. 

“What do you–” A loud splash cut you off, and another dragon rose from the sea. The same one that Bucky had collided with. 

The last thing you saw before the world faded to black, was that dragon stepping closer and a blond man dismounting, his glare stony and face set as he aimed a crossbow at your thigh, and fired.

⠈⠂⠄ 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱 | 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 | 𝐚𝐨𝟑  ⠄⠂⠁

⠈⠂⠄𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 ⠄⠂⠁

#bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x female reader #bucky x f!reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes whump #alternate juneiverse 2023 #rookthorne's works #Lachrymose

[dreamonseems]

Can you make protective Camavinga like “don’t worry everything is gonna be okay” “get behind me” when readers is in danger so he wants to protect her please?

Protector

Eduardo Camavinga X Female Reader

Summary: Reader and Eduardo are having a date night when some guys attack them.

Sorry this took a life time life's been super crazy lately, but I promise many more to come!

On a blissful date night with Eduardo, you found yourselves at one of your favorite restaurants, the air abuzz with the promise of a memorable evening. It was salsa night, a chance to indulge in a passion you both shared while reveling in each other's company. The weight of busy schedules and his absence due to matches melted away, replaced by the joy of being together once more.

As you entered the restaurant, the vibrant sounds of Latin music greeted you, filling the air with infectious rhythms. The aroma of delectable food hung tantalizingly in the air, whetting your appetite for the flavors that awaited. The ambiance was lively, couples and friends mingling, their laughter intermingling with the melodies that beckoned them to the dance floor.

Seated at a cozy table, Eduardo's hand enveloped yours, a warm reassurance that echoed the love and excitement that thrived between you. Conversations flowed effortlessly, weaving through the topics you both had missed during his absence. Laughter punctuated the moments of tender connection, painting the evening with hues of joy.

As plates of delicious food were placed before you, you savored each bite, the flavors dancing upon your taste buds in perfect harmony with the pulsating music. The energy of the room was infectious, drawing you both to the dance floor, where bodies intertwined, surrendering to the intoxicating rhythms.

Lost in the enchantment of the moment, you felt the gaze of onlookers upon you and Eduardo. Glancing towards the bar, you noticed a group of men, their eyes fixated on the two of you. Assuming they were admirers of Eduardo's football career, you dismissed it, focusing instead on the handsome man in your arms, his presence filling your heart with warmth.

The night progressed, the hour growing late, and you made the decision to call it a night. Standing outside, waiting for your Uber, you realized you had left your cardigan inside the restaurant. "Oh, I forgot my cardigan inside," you mentioned to Eduardo, a hint of disappointment tingeing your voice.

Without hesitation, Eduardo leaned in to plant a quick kiss on your lips before offering, "It's okay, baby. I'll go get it for you." His genuine concern and willingness to help melted away any lingering frustration, reaffirming the strength of your connection.

As you waited for him, a sudden jolt interrupted your thoughts. Someone had rudely bumped into you, uttering derogatory words under their breath. Looking up, you recognized the face of one of the men who had been staring at you and Eduardo earlier. Choosing to rise above the provocation, you turned away and began walking in the opposite direction.

Before you could take more than a few steps, a vice-like grip seized your arm, trapping you. A surge of fear coursed through you as the man sneered, his words dripping with malice, "Where do you think you're going, bitch? Where's your little bitch-ass boyfriend?"

Desperation took hold as you struggled to free yourself from his grasp, ultimately resorting to delivering a resounding slap across his cheek. Yet, the situation escalated, as two more men converged upon you, their intentions apparent.

Just as panic threatened to consume you, Eduardo appeared, emerging from the restaurant like a guardian angel. A mixture of fury and protectiveness radiated from his every pore as he sprang into action, fending off the assailants with a remarkable display of strength and determination. "Get behind me, baby," he commanded, his voice resonating with authority and unwavering love.

A tense standoff ensued as Eduardo confronted the aggressors, demanding an explanation for their actions. Their words dripped with bitterness and misplaced anger, blaming Eduardo's team for their perceived injustice.

Their insults echoed through the night, but Eduardo stood tall, resolute in his defense of you and his unwavering belief in his team's worthiness.

Despite the odds stacked against him, Eduardo fought valiantly, his fists a blur as he battled against the four men. Yet, as the struggle intensified, a glimmer of concern surfaced within you. Fearful for both his safety and the escalating violence, you rushed back into the restaurant, frantically calling for help.

Moments later, security personnel arrived, their authoritative presence quelling the chaos that had ensued. They swiftly intervened, separating the warring parties and ensuring that the authorities were alerted to the disturbance.

As the chaos subsided, Eduardo's attention turned solely to you. Concern etched on his face, he gently checked your body, ensuring you were unharmed. Tears welled in your eyes as the magnitude of the moment sank in, overwhelmed by the fear that had momentarily gripped your heart.

Taking you into his arms, Eduardo reassured you, holding you tightly as you sought solace in his embrace. "It's okay, baby. I'm here," he whispered, his voice a soothing balm to your rattled spirit. In that moment, you felt the profound love and protection he offered, his presence offering comfort and security.

"I'm so sorry, baby," Eduardo murmured, his voice laced with remorse. "I never wanted any of this to happen." His eyes bore into yours, seeking reassurance and forgiveness.

You cupped his face in your hands, the weight of the night's events heavy upon you both. "It's not your fault, Eduardo," you whispered, your voice filled with love and understanding. "We'll get through this together."

In the aftermath of the incident, the night was marred by the shadows of what had transpired, but your bond remained unbreakable. United by love and fortified by resilience, you held each other close, knowing that together, you could weather any storm that came your way.

#fanfiction #fanfic #eduardo camavinga x you #eduardo camavinga #eduardo camavinga x reader #eduardo #camavinga #real madrid #footballer #football #soccer #love fanfic #love #fluff #fluff fanfic #eduardo camavinga fluff #eduardo camavinga image #fanfic imagine

[obsidiangx]

So I finally went searching and found all the archive entries in Armored Core VI, and celebrated by combing through some text logs for fun little stories in the classic Armored Core medium. Naturally, there'll be extensive spoilers here, so enter with that mind. I'm gonna talk about Iguazu.

I hope it isn't controversial to say that Prof. Nagai's logs not only tell history of the Fires of Ibis, but of Walter and Carla. Walter's father became obsessed with Coral and invented human augmentation, estranging himself from those around him. Nagai, someone who the boy hated, tried to do right by enlisting Carla to look after him. If you parallel Walter's knowledge and Carla's philosophies with how they're mentioned in these logs, I don't think it's really up for debate who these people are.

In the video log of the Fires of Ibis, Nagai says he's going to send the boy to Jupiter. This is a fun and mostly unique little piece of worldbuilding. Jupiter doesn't really come up at all in the story, so it just feels like flavor. But actually, there's one more mention of Jupiter I can find. It isn't directly connected, and you could easily just dismiss it as convergent lore. But if we don't read it as coincidence, everything gets really funny and really sad really fast.

In G5 Iguazu's arena entry, it says

Iguazu's recalcitrant nature was such that one day he even picked a fight with the Hero of Jupiter, who retaliated with such a fury that Iguazu never quite looked the same afterward.

Hero of Jupiter? We have NO strong indication who that is. Unless, of course, it's subtle foreshadowing to the soft reveal that Walter is a skilled and terrifying AC pilot. He has selflessly dedicated his whole life to a cause he believes will keep humanity safe, so it wouldn't be surprising if some people called him a hero. But, then, that means,

Iguazu, a man who became a 4th generation augmented human to pay off his debt just the same as you, met Walter before he was a handler. Walter didn't just beat him. Walter traumatized him forever. He never quite looked the same afterward.

How ironic. How tragic. How sad and funny then that Walter's hound humiliates him over and over again. Twists the knife, reminds him again after all this time that he just isn't good enough. Not compared to you, the gen-4 who had it all.

he just wanted walter headpat

#armored core #ac6 #iguazu #handler walter

[irelandking]

modern/other worlds au fic recs

bucky barnes x reader

❤️ = fluff 😔 = angst 🔥 = smut

one shots:

pièce de résistance - @viollettes

You get creative after you forget to get a Christmas gift for your best friend. ❤️

so money - @viollettes

Bucky, an associate at the Law Offices of Fury, Hill, and Stark, must deal with an annoying Rumlow. It certainly doesn’t help that Rumlow thinks he can get any girl in the office, including a certain junior partner Bucky has a crush on. ❤️

strangers in the night - @redgillan

You’re on a date, but things aren’t going well. You find refuge in the restroom where you meet a man who’s also having a bad night. Together, you make an escape plan ❤️

ball, chain & satin - @redgillan

“Can you write a one shot where Bucky and Reader are getting married, but Bucky is scared. Angst or fluff, it’s up to you. Thanks!” Requested by Anonymous. ❤️

protecting what's his - @jobean12-blog

Bucky has been your bodyguard for some time now and it's been hard to deny how badly you want him to be more than that ❤️

keeping score - @all1e23

After hearing you begging Steve to pretend to be your fake boyfriend to keep your family off your back, Bucky quickly jumps at the chance to play your boyfriend even though you’re a hundred percent sure he hates you. What could possibly go wrong? ❤️

warm - @teamatsumu

“The fire alarm in our building went off and you rushed out without a coat. Wanna share my blanket?” ❤️

leave me weak - @moonbeambucky

Donating blood was the last thing you wanted to do but you find that something else leaves you weak. Paramedic!Bucky ❤️

bookmark my heart - @moonbeambucky

A handsome single dad catches your eye at the library. Is he the one or will your love be shelved? ❤️

what's on the inside - @teamatsumu

The reader’s car breaks down and has to be taken to an auto repair shop to be fixed. The mechanic there is a huge, intimidating man, but with a heart of gold that immediately piques her interest. mechanic!bucky ❤️

convergence of the twain - @sinner-as-saint

Y/n always had a crush on her English Lit professor, Mr. Stan. She planned on keeping her one sided love a secret, however fate decided otherwise. ❤️🔥😔

redamancy - @renxzs

 Roommate AU - Maybe it was a bit naive to think moving in with your best friend and long-time crush, Bucky Barnes, was going to be some smooth road that led to an admittance of mutual feelings for one another and a happily-ever-after ending, wrapped up nicely in a bow. Naive indeed; especially when you have to consider the fact that Bucky is the biggest womanizer you know. ❤️😔

soft - @softlyspector

Bucky and the reader have been together for a few months. She wants him to stay the night with her, but he’s reluctant. Modern!AU. Tattoo Artist!AU ❤️🔥

let me love you - @sinner-as-saint

Things happened between you and your boss over a weekend recently; while on a business trip. Boundaries were crossed, lines were blurred – rather salaciously. Following this; you decide to resign from your dream job because you couldn’t handle the guilt of having been so unethical. So vulnerable and open. Neither could you handle his burning stare at work, nor the craving of being under him each time you looked at him. So you decide to leave before you ruin your own career and further. But then, your boss shows up at your doorstep – determined to make you realize that this isn’t so bad after all… ❤️🔥

the karens of the world - @espinosaurusrexex

Aunt Karen is possibly the worst person you know. So when her annual Independence Day party arrives, you try to give her as little reason to pick on you as possible. Not being single for once should cover most of the topics she complains about. So you ask your friend Bucky to play pretend ❤️

in a moment - @world-of-aus

Five instances when Bucky Barnes promises to give you the world, and one time he actually does ❤️

the forever third wheels - @witchywithwhiskey

it's the weekend of your town's annual valentine's day carnival and you go with your group of friends, though you can't help but be sad you don't have someone special in your life. your friend, and fellow third wheel, bucky barnes makes it his mission to give you a valentine's day you won't soon forget—and show you how special you are to him.❤️

no more losers - @witchywithwhiskey

your obnoxious roommate bucky barnes interjects himself in a conversation about your sex life, and things take a turn you didn't expect. 🔥

personal sessions - @angrythingstarlight

your new gym comes with a few perks. heated swimming pool, sauna, and your very own personal trainer. bucky barnes. and he has the best way of making sure you work up a sweat 🔥

aroma - @navybrat817

florist!bucky barnes x reader - bucky adores domestic moments with you ❤️

cry baby - @buckymorelikefuckme

i want to be fucked so good that i cry, just—completely reduced to tears. is that too much to ask? 🔥

pizza and a movie - @navybrat817

mechanic roommate bucky - you never make it through a movie with bucky 🔥

anatomy - @navybrat817

mechanic roommate bucky - you help bucky relieve some stress after a long day 🔥

sleeping arrangements - @navybrat817

roommate bucky - you insist on sleeping in your own room, but bucky likes a challenge 🔥

starting gate - @navybrat817

motorcross!bucky - you attract the attention of your coworkers friend who just happens to be a handsome racer who plays for keeps ❤️

closer - @tom-holland-parker

You’d never felt like this before, it was like some primal instinct deep down inside of you. You just needed to be close to him. The only problem was that you were already wrapped in his arms and it still didn’t feel close enough 🔥

unexpected - @pellucid-constellations

 With all of his rough edges and impassive glances, Bucky Barnes looked to be the last person you’d find at an elementary school bake sale. Too bad Steve couldn’t make it, and dealing with a class hopped up on sugar wasn’t a feat you could manage alone.  ❤️

if it were summer - @pellucid-constellations

You met Bucky in Italy—a summer abroad with sweet gelato and even sweeter words. You never thought you’d see him again, and you were right. Because the Bucky at this frat party, the one with the smirk and the wandering eyes, was nothing like the one you knew. That didn’t mean he wasn’t still completely in love with you 😔

crossing the line - @jadedvibes

after you friends set you up on a blind date with your sworn enemy, you both drunkenly decide to mess with them by making a bet to see who can pretend to be a happy couple the longest ❤️😔🔥

hearsay - @jadedvibes

your colleague makes you an interesting proposition after he overhears you talking about a bad hookup, beefy lawyer!bucky x lawyer!reader 🔥❤️

freak in the sheets - @buckycuddlebuddy

hearing the man you’ve been fantasizing about had similar feelings for you had to be a dream. a best kind of dream. you never wanted to wake up. pairing ─ dilf!bucky barnes x babysitter!reader 🔥

sharing is caring - @theidiotwhowritesthings

Bucky doesn’t share food. No exceptions. Well, one exception. ❤️

on his knees - @sweetsweetnuit

even the king of the underworld has his weaknesses. bucky’s just happens to be a mortal woman he can’t get enough of. 🔥

stranded - @bucksfucks

 when your car breaks down on the side of the road and your dad can’t come rescue you, he sends the next best thing. 🔥

cock warming - @sweeterthanthis

Explicit language, hints of soft dom Bucky, slight daddy kink, and cock warming. Obviously 🔥

no script - @teamatsumu

Sebastian practices all his roles with you. This one is a romantic scene, and you don’t know how to conceal your feelings as just acting when they are so much more. sebastian stan x reader ❤️

sink or swim - @moonbeambucky

The feelings you harbor for your best friend comes to light after a breakup but will you lose everything once he learns the truth? roommate!bucky ❤️😔

the sins of the father - @sunmoonandeddie

You were nothing more than the Siren, the She-Demon of the Seas.  At least, that’s what you thought. ❤️🔥😔

awakening a beast - @rookthorne

There was an unspoken habit of yours that you seemed to continuously exploit at Bucky’s expense – at least this time, it ended in something that would have you squeezing your thighs together at the very memory. mechanic!bucky 🔥

not so forbidden - @vanillanaps

You were upset after a mishap that happened so your favorite bodyguard came to comfort you with good news. presidents daughter x bodyguard au ❤️

well oiled machine - @vxntagedior

you can’t seem to face bucky after crashing one of his cars mechanic!bucky ❤️😔

#bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes smut #modern au

[talesofourworlds]

[ COAT ]:     sender removes their jacket and drapes it around the shoulders of the trembling receiver. [Eizen comforting Sync]

Rapid, shallow breaths escaped Sync as the last of the daemons he'd fought vanished. He could feel his heart racing even as he stood there, collecting himself and trying to return to a normal state. Eizen had said not long after they'd met that Sync wouldn't need to fight anymore. That hadn't wound up being the case, though, and a part of Sync was glad for that much. He still was at least useful in so far as fighting went. It was one of the few things he felt like he had some talent in. After all, Van had made sure that he'd had those skills drilled into him for a reason.

Not that that meant much now, but the point still stood. He'd felt right at home in fighting alongside Eizen to deal with the sudden surge of daemons they'd encountered. It wasn't all that different from what he was used to.

The adrenaline rush wasn't unfamiliar to Sync, either. It did, however, leave his arms and legs trembling visibly as he continued to fight to reclaim his normal breathing. Nothing out of the ordinary. He would recover in no time. Adrenaline rushes just were par for the course when it came to fighting the way he did.

All of a sudden, he felt something being draped over him. Sync tensed, jerking his head around to get a better look, then saw what had happened. A familiar black coat was draped over his shoulders. Eizen's coat.

For a long moment, the only sound to escape Sync was the sound of his rapid breaths. Why was Eizen giving him his coat? Didn't he need it? It wasn't all that cold, not really, but still.

"Th... thanks," Sync finally managed. His arms and legs hadn't stopped shaking yet, but he chalked that up to the adrenaline rush still lingering. It had to fade sooner or later. He was used to fighting. What was different about fighting in this world as opposed to fighting in Auldrant? He wasn't that weak physically, not like the seventh Ion replica had been, but it seemed like it was taking a bit longer to come back to a normal state.

Is it because this world doesn't have the seventh fonon?

"That looked like the last of them," Sync commented in an effort to try and divert attention away from himself. "I figured those things were all over the place, but they seemed to have gathered a lot more here."

#ic #Fury Like a Tempest (Sync) #Worlds Converging #armxtus

[justalittlebluetiefling]

The Mighty Nein: Episode Summaries Episode 27: Converging Fury

#critical role #the mighty nein #nila #beauregard lionett #caleb widogast #keg #nott the brave #every m9 episode series #cr2e27 #mygifs #do i make gifs better when i'm sick don't be honest

[shaydh]

I’m about to make an embarrassing old art post, but...wanna see some of my comics throughout the years?

Hell Hath No Fury (2008), a thing I started doodling in sharpie and continued for all of 8 pages. Notable only in that it lead me to make a smackjeeves, and then I started drawing...

Ganked (2009) the MMO comic which lasted 13 pages.

From My Black Heart (2009-2010), urban fantasy BL. I think at this point I finally got a tablet and started drawing digitally. Also, this one made it to the second chapter, ooo

Convergence, a Dragon Age fancomic (2011-2014)

Then in 2015 I got really into Baldur’s Gate and drew a handful of fancomics (2015 - 2019)

And then I played VTMB. I actually had a little fancomic with Vandal (2019) before I started Awash in Blood comics.

And The Streets Awash in Blood (2021, ongoing)

Anyway, I realized most of these are no longer on the internet and got nostalgic lol

#shaydh blathers #long post #come gather round hear my old man stories #shaydh doodle

[mareenavee]

WIP Whenever~

Oh Hello it's ON TIME AGAIN!?

Hey. Anyway time tag ya'll! Are we writing like the wind this week? @paraparadigm, @changelingsandothernonsense, @thequeenofthewinter, @thana-topsy, @kookaburra1701, @oblivions-dawn, @throughtrialbyfire, @polypolymorph, @archangelsunited, @miraakulous-cloud-district, @dirty-bosmer, @gilgamish, @elfinismsarts, @saltymaplesyrup, @inquisition-dragonborn, @snippetsrus, @expended-sleeper, @wildhexe, @rainpebble3, @nuwanders, @sylvienerevarine, @demonablack83, @viss-and-pinegar, @late-nite-scholar, @greyborn2, @skyrim-forever, @rhiannon1199 and YOU yes you if I've forgotten your tag, it's actually HERE, you just can't see it. Tag me back :> Do the thing. Write the words!

So for this week, we have finished the Raven Rock arc and moved on to chapter 31 (of The World on Our Shoulders) and our favorite bean is back getting into a Situation~

More fresh-from-the-braincells content below the cut! Some overlap with Arc things, but some new words, too :>

6th of Sun’s Dawn 4E 202

Athis dodged out of the way as a glass greatsword came crashing down from out of the darkness. He jumped forward and stabbed into the weak spot between plates of glass armor. The Thalmor shrieked and pulled a Heal spell into his hands, greatsword clattering to the ground. Both sounds echoed down the stone passageways. In the distance, Avulstein was shouting something incomprehensible, answered by the shrill death throes of yet another Altmer. He had to move. There was no time to faff around with theatrics. The rest of these n’waah would be converging on them like draugr any second from now.

With a sickening crunch, Athis withdrew his sword. The Thalmor scrambled to press the magic into the wound, to no avail. Blood bubbled up out of his mouth as the light left his eyes, guts pooling inside his armor. Athis frowned and flicked the blood off of his sword as the man slumped forward into the mess of his own viscera. A terrible, inhuman howl answered Thalmor screams, which sent a shiver down his spine. Such was the way it had to be, apparently. So much for sneaking.

If Thorald was still alive, he’d be in the dungeons. That would be below ground, the best Athis could wager. Northwatch keep seemed to spiral in a purposefully confusing pattern, not unlike a Nordic tomb, built backwards and lopsided, prone to collapse. He wondered if that was on purpose, perhaps to keep the doomed from ever finding a way out again. With a quick glance around at the cells, it seemed that was the case here, at least. So many corpses, shattered limbs dangling at odd angles, stored in cells. For what, he didn’t want to know. The Thalmor liked to look proper on the outside, but all he’d ever known of them was darkness.

They’d driven his wife away, after all. Even if that wasn’t the full truth, it was enough for him to focus his fury at them. He’d said it before. He’d strangle the life out of every single one of these bastards with his bare hands if it meant making Skyrim safe for her again. He glanced up at the ceiling once the flash of anger passed, the sound of dragon wings still haunting his waking thoughts. As safe as it could ever be, anyway.

He adjusted his cloak, annoyed at the stains blooming over the fabric. He checked his armor — none of the blood was his, thankfully. He was too fast for them on their best days. He tightened his grip on the Skyforged sword, knit his brow and marched on. The roars and and shrieks above him hinted at exactly the kind of fate these Thalmor had brought down upon themselves when they decided to take Thorald.

Athis would have preferred to get in here and get out without drawing so much attention to themselves, or without bringing the ire of the entire faction onto their shoulders before Thorald was safe. The fights could have come later when they were more prepared and not as outnumbered. But Farkas, being who he was, had shifted with the Moons and the low-burning rage he’d been holding inside for weeks. Aela and Fralia had told him to wait before trying to figure out exactly what had happened — in the end, it was more Civil War stupidity.

The increase in Thalmor activity lately had troubled Athis incessantly. He thought about how odd their encounter on the road home had been before Nyenna had run off. Jarl Balgruuf did his best to keep the roads of Whiterun Hold clear of them, but they crawled now like insects, swarming where they shouldn’t. All this after Tullius had made a point of encroaching on some fort or another. Athis hadn’t paid that much attention. After that, the chaos had started to get more and more uncanny, like inroads were being paved for these bastards.

#MareenaWrites #WIP Whenever #WIP Wednesday #The World on Our Shoulders #Dragonborn and Far-Star Marked #Athis #LDB/Athis #Farkas #Avulstein #Thorald #Skyrim #Skyrim fic #tes #tesblr #elder scrolls #fanficblr #writeblr #writblr #Nyenna

[estarion]

You are still searching for me in every woman.

Endless pursuit, perpetual denial. She’s right. But he’ll never concede. His head tosses back, laughter reverberating through the throne room; a calculated strike, aimed squarely for the courage it took for her to journey all the way here. The streets were not kind, especially as one neared his domain. Thought of her bouncing off alley walls, engaging with his killers (undoubtedly decimating a tragic number of them) has him hunching suddenly forward, bellowing even louder. “—I’ve no use for partners.” He swipes at his eyes, momentarily recovering from the amusement. But it simmers. Threatens to jerk his shoulders and crack his mouth open again at any second. “Not anymore. Not now that I have everything I ever wanted.” Posture regained, torso puffed, his smile is wicked and wide enough to swallow her whole. He longs to. The sheer audacity of this woman, speaking to him as though love’s frailty and its distortions ever held any rightful place in his midst. None belong, save beneath him—serving him.

Truly regrettable. He once thought her an intelligent creature, worthy, capable. How wrong he was. How his crimson stare blazes with all the suppressed fury of a resurgent, aching heart; every extremity throbbing with raw adrenaline as he views her in this fallen, piteous state that she’s decided to come crawling back to him in. A vagabond, swathed in both literal and figurative tatters. Tch. He knew their paths would converge again. Knew she’d return seeking something. He just never imagined it would be like this—though that it has is nothing less than gratifying. Motivating. This was her choice; a life devoid of him, his influence, his potential. Look at her now, begging for attention, trying to worm her way back under his skin.

She has nothing. Is nothing. Yet her pride holds, jaw clenched around it. Astarion chides at the silence, nonchalantly tracing the tips of silver-ringed fingers along the plunging neck of his silken lounge attire, tugging it further open, warm, revealed skin meant as a reminder of what she has lost. What she will never hold claim to again. “I presume you came here with a purpose—beyond enduring my disdain.” He, the previously idle, indolent, wine-guzzling Lord of the palace, and his retinue. They encircle her menacingly, poised to strike at his command. One false move and she will be naught but a slippery stain upon these pristine marble floors. “… speak swiftly, woman. Is it money? I bet it’s money.” Merely look at her. She is copperless. Some things—and people—never seem to change. “Those crow’s feet are looking more prominent than ever. Is that dirt? When was the last time you bathed, darling?”

#fallesto #(v)—head like a hole. #x_x #[ mean boy tw ] #??? #[ i have no idea what is going on or why but whatever X) ] #.inquiry