Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast
Pairings: Juno Steel/Peter Nureyev
Jet’s no genius but he knows machines. He hears the noise of pressure building, something close to combustion. “Get down!” he shouts into his comms, but he’s interrupted by a cacophony of sights and sounds.
There’s a spark of light, a burst of flame, and the metal column in the middle of the room explodes. The static of his comms malfunctioning in his ear is jarring but another sound makes his heart stop. Juno lets out a sharp noise of pain and out of the corner of his eye Jet can see the lady hit the ground hard.
read on AO3
◈ @talkawayknight said: ❛ 👀 anri??? :] ❜ // send me a 👀
A name cuts through the perpetual roar of vacuity, dredging Anri from the bleak waters of distraction.
“Creighton… Creighton is here?” How her dreamy countenance brightened at the possibility, focus sharpening features that often remained star-flung and faraway. “No. No, of course not. He wouldn’t approve, would he? No, no…”
Her noble husband was a prowling creature, shrouded in the dark of his own creation. Anri could not conjure the image of him to her mind, could scarcely discern his outline even when he stood within arm’s reach – or loomed frigid and formidable over her. Less a person, and more of a feeling. A missed step in the dark, a shadow hovering in the corner of her gaze. Haunting, hallowed.
At the thought of his horror, the Lady of Hollows tugged fretfully at her thinning fringe. Like any creature of the deep water, she is half-numb, half-blind. One eye hung like a moon in its socket, clouded over, filmy and unseeing. It had been pierced by the sword that bound them, in a marital ritual unlike any other. No rings exchanged, no solemn-spoken vows, only the tip of a blade teasing through the slit in her visor. If only she had known what would come of her surrender, if only she had been stronger. If only she had listened to Creighton, and found her worth outside of another’s skin. Perhaps then she would not live as a husk, in the painful twilight of dying dreams.
“You would know him if you laid eyes upon him. Creighton, I mean. A most beloved friend and stalwart companion. Dear Creighton…”
Memories of his coarse voice, full of character and emotion, shaped by the cleft, brought a tremulous smile to Anri’s bruised lips. There was a warmth to her friend, one that seemed to soak through his very gauntlets to stain her hands. Slender fingers, rot-kissed and blackening at the tips, twitched as they recalled his amicable touch, his fumbling fondness.
“His hair is white as a heron’s throat, a cascade of snowy waves. In my hands, it felt akin to the locks of another I loved… the same weight, the same texture…”
Horace. His name was balanced like a knife’s dull edge on her tongue, his image was now beyond her sight, steadily eroding with time and decay. The process of Hollowing slowly carved her out, reducing her to a vessel. It robbed Anri of the beauty of the men’s contrast, all swan wings and raven feathers.
“His flesh is a living tapestry, home to a most peculiar mottling. I never understood the origin of those sublime smudges, and was much too timid to ask. I would have been loath to offend him with my curiosity.”
In her regret, agitation. Tension twisted and knotted in her gentle voice until it trembled.
“His eyes are meltwater. Blue can be a frightfully cold colour, but his shade is not so. Not even his faithful mask can disguise their warmth, his tenderness…” His love came without stipulation, without demand – platonic and gentle, but nonetheless fervent. Anri shivered and sighed, fussing again with her fringe, her braids fraying, falling dull and lank to her shoulders. “You mustn’t make mention to the Lord of the Dark. It would kindle fury in his breast – ignite his ire – and you know the anvil against which he pummels his woes.”
Then it came, a moment of terrible lucidity. Anri blinked, her sightful eye shifting into full focus, drifting over the four walls that enclosed her, shadow-drenched and touched with mildew. A cage, barren save for her, for the sparse and lonely trappings of ladyhood.
Silence, of course, was her only answer.
Sorry for the gap in posting, got bogged down with life and a Fox/Quinlan fic that had to be written and posted.
The main two parts of this chapter, are Wolffe's pov of chapters 8 and 16 of Without a Light.
Warnings for mentions of Ventress injuring Wolffe and the loss of his eye.
Wolffe silently promised himself to always look out for his vod'ika, his twin, Fox. But there were two occasions when Wolffe knew he had to do better.
The two times Wolffe knew he let Fox down.
i am cruel, i am gentle, i can make you laugh
aka i listen to cop car by mitski a little too much and think about jon’s original corruption arc (i’m so glad it isn’t canon, but it is fun to think about sometimes)
(yes i know the bg is an unfortunate choice of lyrics but shhh)
Subject: Irene Mend/Granny Mend
Art: Lizard @whatlizardry
Writing: Dev @littlebreadroll
[ID: A page titled ‘Irene Mend’ and ‘Granny Mend.’ An illustration of a wide, void-black eye is labeled ‘Ethereal Eye.’ In the upper-right corner of the page is a sketch of an old woman with light cast over half her face and the rest of her in shadow. The eye in the light is closed, and the one in shadow is open and staring at the viewer. The eye is alarmingly sharp against the softness of the drawing. She wears a simple, old-fashioned black dress with a white collar, and has her hair pulled back and severely parted. In the lower-left corner of the page is a ghostly illustration of an old woman from the waist up, eerily shaded against a halo of shadow that deepens towards the bottom of the drawing. She wears a shawl and an old-fashioned bonnet that shadows her face, leaving only the lower half of her face and the handle of a knife clearly visible. She holds an embroidery hoop she is stitching on, and her hands are stuck with dozens of needles. In red ink, the note “Can be summoned by saying her name three (double underlined) times in a mirror” is added, and in different handwriting, “scary but nice?”
The second page is written in blocky, all-caps handwriting on paper with scraps of thread and cloth fibers stuck to it. It is titled ‘Irene Mend (See: Granny Mend)’ and is followed by the below text:
Sentient? Full sentience--can be reasoned with
Encounter location: Mend Mansion
Description: An older woman with only one eye; seems to be getting on in years. She’s aged well, but moves slowly. Arthritis? Just age? Unsure. She wears a leather apron when she works, and light clothes or evening wear otherwise. Always carrying a silver bell and silver scissors. Enjoys a good dinner, and treats the Mendies well. Gave them funny names and has them help with housework (see: Mendies, connections). They seem to be happy, or not mind serving her. Seems a lovely woman aside from the revenant hobby. House was empty last time I came through, moved out or moved on? (crossed out) Killed by the Instrumentalist, after which he stole her bell and the Mendies. (A note in red adds, “Pins says she was good.”)
Abilities: Creates revenants through unknown magic runes? Never did figure it out. Only used bodies, never killed to make her Mendies. Keeps them clean and preserved, filled with cotton and sawdust, and tied to a silver bell. (A note in red adds, “The bell’s been hidden and buried.”)
Connections: The Mendies, Townshend Rhodes, Huntington Waites, Cookery Potts, Leyland Blooms, Floris Scrubbs, Stitchery Pins)
The third page is titled ‘Granny Mend,’ and continues:
Sentient? Partial sentience--rudimentary communication
Irene Mend was a living human, Granny Mend seems limited in sentience or language
Encounter location: Haven’t seen her myself, but she’s supposed to appear in mirrors? Say Granny Mend three times.
Description: An old woman that sits in a rocking chair in the corner of your room and wears a bonnet pulled low over her face while she works on embroidery. When she hums her lullaby and tucks you into bed, you cannot move even if you want to, and are dragged into sleep. Supposed to be that her hands are pierced with needles, though not sure I believe she exists at all. (A note in red adds, “Diggory saw her, says she has a dinner knife through her eye socket under the bonnet. Diggory says she didn’t answer their questions or stop singing except to tell them they were special and kiss their forehead.”)
Abilities: puts people to sleep with her lullaby when they suffer from insomnia.
Connections: Diggory Graves /end ID]
[continue under the cut!]
Monkey’s Paw pages 94-97 ( START HERE || ao3 || previous || next )
AU after episode 62. The Omega Dads try a more desperate gambit, but careful what you wish for. Our dads find alternate versions of themselves in a strange dreamscape. Do you trust yourself?
[does a boogie] whudddup
3 guesses and the second two don’t count: what was the lie and what was the truth
I got some glitch brushes and maybe went a bit overboard, we’ll figure it out. NEGA-GLENN’S NICK IS OKAY. Traumatized? Of def, he went to hell. and hell went... Bad :) But he’s okay. Figured I’d clarify now cause honestly you’re not gonna hear about him again for like... a while. And suspense about Nick is not suspense that needs to be relied on for this plot