#drabble tag tbd.

[deathdxnces]

They are never far from her mind or heart. Father perhaps most of all.

It was his forgiveness she asked for whenever her blades — the fractured pieces of their family crest — were stained with their people's blood. With how frequent it had become, the gesture was almost ritualistic; the cleansing of the blades, before sitting on her knees for prayer, an admission of her sins and request for absolution after blemishing their family's honor once again.

Always had her ancestors strived to follow Karma's teachings, but it had been father who first taught her about them. Never inflict harm on anyone, regardless of circumstance. It had been in the little things (the spider has as much right to life as any of us, he had told her once, offering his palm for the creature to climb after she had tried to kill it; Lito simply led it outside, where it could weave its web in a different part of the woodwoven house), soft teaching that sought to ensure she would grow to respect all life. And the bigger ones, too, shaped like reprimands whenever Irelia and Ohn were at each other's throats for something utterly irrelevant and soon to be forgotten (violence is never the answer, regardless of what Ohn did; your anger may be valid, but hurting another never is, much less your own brother). She used to be so pressed about it whenever lashing out felt justified; and yet, stern or gentle, father had always tried to make her understand.

At twenty-four, she had lived exactly as many years without him as she had with father in her life, and not one in which he had not been deeply missed. Next year would tip the scales (a lump in her throat at the thought, vision blurred by the tears she does not attempt to hold back). Kneeling in front of his grave, there is no one to witness it, even as silent tears turn to quiet sobs.

Everyone expects the grief to end, but no understanding of the cycle of life and its ebb and flow would ever be enough to mend those wounds. Irelia wishes only the little girl she had been with her father around had grown to be someone he would be proud of. Someone other than who she was.

#» in character — ⌜the blade dancer.⌟ #irelia gets an ever sadder one yay #unlike katarina i think she just. act Fine and breaks down quietly when she's alone #i had a hc post somewhere about how i don't even think her dad /would/ be disappointed in her #bc her bio suggests he stood up to the noxians invading their village alongside some of her brothers #but i also think irelia doesn't have an objective point of view #she wasn't there for that #she was taught non violence regardless of circumstance #she was a child when she killed for the first time #and she simply never made her peace with anything because she still thinks she's disappointing her family #father's day cw #father death cw #parental loss cw #drabble tag tbd.

[popstr]

it’s an awfully unfortunate waste, simeon thinks to himself, that this particular light suits ammon al-busiri and his emotional turpitude as well as it does. it’s remarkably early in the morning for such a strange meeting, only around 9am. even now, sim knows it was morbid curiosity alone which led him to agree to it in the first place when ammon texted him the night before - a predictably brief message with an uncommon earnestness that caught his attention, against his better judgment.

his ex-lover sits across from him now on the back patio of simeon’s malibu residence, cupping a fresh latte in his hands and leaning back in his chair as he gazes out over the beach below. ( ammon makes it look casual, but sim knows him well enough to realize he’s avoiding his gaze. ) the soft morning sun falls flatteringly across that thick brow, smooth forehead, perfect hair, the dashing cut of the other man’s jaw. beauty had never been ammon’s shortcoming - neither of their shortcomings, in truth - but it’s been so many years since sim was blinded by it, since the sight of the other man left him breathless rather than uneasy and suspicious. instead, there is a history which hangs heavily between them, serving the opposite effect of rose-colored glasses and casting a far more unflattering glow on sim's former flame than perhaps he even deserves. but what ammon deserves or not isn’t simeon’s concern or responsibility, certainly not now, not outside the silent and tacit agreement to play nice with each other now that the band is making music again.

sim wonders why it feels like this meeting has nothing to do with that invisible contract.

ammon seems uncharacteristically nervous, which takes him by surprise. it's always been simeon who can't sit still, simeon who fidgets and wiggles his knee and changes positions every minute. but the other man continuously adjusts uncomfortably, crossing one leg over the other for moments before uncrossing, sits forward in his chair and then back again - all while tapping one finger against the side of the mug.

after a minute of silence, ammon says, ❝ nice place. then again, you always had great taste in real estate. ❞

it takes sim a moment to realize that ammon has never actually been here, that he'd purchased this property well after their ill fated romance had crashed and burned. so much of his existence has always felt defined by those agonizing years - and yet he's lived so much of his life without it. without ammon. without what he had once believed to be the pinnacle of love.

sim's gaze flickers to the waves rolling upon the pale shore, to the morning sun glinting off the water. too picturesque for the minefield it felt lay between them. ❝ I have great taste across the board. but I doubt you came here to discuss my investments or my taste. ❞

❝ you didn't used to cut to the chase so quickly. ❞

❝ yeah, well, it's been a few years since we hung out and the suspense is simply killing me. ❞ sim's flat tone suggests quite the opposite ; if anything, he's impatient to move on, to go about his day, to walk away from this situation that makes him feel as though he wants to step out of his very skin. the first time they'd met after so many years, simeon had been raw, practically spilling his guts onto the table between them at that restaurant despite every effort to hold it all in. now that he's grown accustomed, now after all the rehearsals, after forcing himself to grit his teeth and bear the new normal until it became commonplace, he's replaced his mask - and he finds that it becomes less of a mask each day. in moments, he almost enjoys ammon's company in a detached sort of way, that barely breathing part of him still somehow trained to crave the other man's approval.

he comforts himself by remembering none of it is real. it feels as manufactured to him as his very public image.

❝ your sarcasm has become awfully compelling in those years. almost makes me wish you were a little meaner to me when we were going out. ❞ simeon catches the small smile ammon directs into his coffee cup as he speaks, and for some reason, it makes his blood boil, although he keeps his expression steady.

❝ your sense of humor clearly hasn't improved. listen, if you just came here to shoot the shit and reminisce about the old days, I'm not interested. ❞ sim maintains the same flat affect, although he can feel a muscle in his jaw flex on instinct.

ammon sips again from the mug in his hands. ❝ I think you know that's not why I'm here. ❞

the seriousness of his tone, the way it dips low as if trying to remain private even in a private residence, puts sim on guard. his hands tighten around his own cup and he feels his shoulders pull inward just slightly. some intuitive part of him knows what's about to be said - and yet, there's so little logic to such a conclusion that it feels crazy even to consider and he squashes such a ridiculous thought down as soon as it can enter his mind.

sim's next words tumble from his mouth like a joke, phrased as though it's the most preposterous thing he could possibly say. ❝ so, what, did you come here to confess your undying love and beg me to try again now that we've grown up after all these years? ❞

a heavy silence falls between them, somehow bloated and uncomfortable and chilly all at once. simeon's eyes narrow as they snap back to ammon, watching the way his mouth draws together, the way his nose wrinkles and the way he readjusts himself once again in his seat, silent, for once apparently unable to formulate a response.

❝ you're fucking joking me. this has to be a joke. right? ❞

❝ please, simeon, please, for once, don't be so trite about this. I'm serious. ❞

sim sets his mug down a little too heavily onto the saucer in front of him as he feels his temper begin to rise in his throat, to tingle in the tips of his fingers and toes so strongly that he's forced to rip his gaze away from the other man to stare again at the ocean beyond. ❝ you're really going to tell me you think you love me after everything, and you'd like to try again, and then call me trite in the same fucking breath? real nice. this feels familiar. ❞

sim watches as ammon's nose flares just slightly. ❝ sim, stop. besides, I think talking about love like that is a little premature at this point. it's just ... I never stopped caring about you, sim. I was just a kid, we were both just ... we were kids. there's a lot I would have done differently, looking back. but we're grown up now, and more and more, I wonder if we ever had a proper chance, if we could - ❞

simeon cuts him off. ❝ we couldn't. ❞

❝ just let me take you out. doesn't have to be public. just ... at least once, at least so we can talk through it. ❞ if sim didn't know better, he'd think ammon was begging.

❝ one brush with death was enough, thank you very much. ❞

❝ hey, that's not fair, sim, ❞ ammon answers a bit more firmly, his tone going momentarily gravelly. even as simeon said it, he'd known it wasn't fair, but he can't help himself. he's never been able to help himself. for as much control as he's developed over the years, for as many coping mechanisms as he uses to regulate his own emotions, so much of himself feels like a pot of hot water ready to boil over at any moment. ❝ I just ... aren't you even a little curious? if there's any chance it could work? ❞

❝ no, ❞ simeon responds immediately, unable to keep himself from crossing his arms over his chest despite knowing how much of a petulant child it must make him look. ❝ because I know it won't. I look especially pretty in the rear view, ammon. I've known that for a long time. I just never thought I'd have to be the one to talk sense into you. you don't want me! you don't even think I'm funny, for fuck's sake. ❞

ammon scoffs and the sound makes simeon bristle visibly. ❝ don't be ridiculous, of course I think you're funny. ❞

❝ bullshit. ❞ simeon almost laughs through the word, although it certainly sounds more manic than amused. ❝ bullshit! I embarrass you. even now. what, you think that gets better and more endearing if we're dating? I remember it differently. ❞

❝ we both remember a lot. but we're different people now. I think - ❞

❝ we're the same people. just older and apparently with different delusions. you don't want to go out with me, ammon, and I certainly don't want to go out with you. ❞

❝ don't tell me what I do and don't want. I'm asking you. please. ❞

another silence settles between them. simeon's gaze, like stone, fixes again on the shoreline, then into his coffee mug as he picks it up. after a moment, he drains the cup and sets it back onto its saucer, shoving his tongue into his cheek. his stomach flips nauseatingly and he can feel something growing in his chest, something perhaps a little too electrifying. it doesn't cross his mind that he's about to do something he might regret.

❝ you really think you want this? ❞ he asks finally, eyes glinting as he finally looks directly at ammon, mouth set in a thin line.

ammon doesn't hesitate. ❝ I do. ❞

simeon looks strangely serene as he nods once to himself, as if making a decision. the serenity turns to a chuckle, disbelieving and almost dark, as he rises from his seat and turns to walk back into the house without another word, his expression set in a firm and unyielding determination. he hears ammon's follow as sim snatches his wallet and keys from the pristine kitchen counter and makes his way toward the front door - but not without pausing for just a moment to remove the golf club from its wall mount in the front entryway. a prop from a film, and certainly not originally intended for this sort of work - but it would do and it seems oddly fitting.

❝ sim ... what are you doing? ❞ ammon's voice quavers just slightly ; for the first time since this encounter began, he sounds properly nervous and simeon can't deny to himself that it fills him with a delicious sensation of power that burns through his veins to each single solitary nerve of his body.

later, he's sure he'll recount to his therapist how formidable it makes him feel even now to follow his deepest and most destructive impulses from time to time.

sim doesn't answer as he pushes through the front door, pausing only briefly on his front porch to look at the new model corvette parked in his driveway next to sim's own baby blue convertible porsche. matte black. of fucking course it is. unbelievable douchebag. he chuckles roughly, sarcastically, under his breath as he shoves his wallet and keys in his back pocket and grasps the golf club with both hands on his way down the front steps.

❝ simeon, what the fuck are you - ❞ ammon isn't able to finish his panicked question before sim lifts the club and, with every bit of strength he can muster, brings it down against the driver's side rear view mirror, cleaving it from the corvette in one clean motion. unsatisfied, sim lifts the club again and smashes it into the mirror now on the concrete below, splintering the glass into pieces. ammon's yells sound like he's hearing them through water as he strides to the other side of the car, lifts the club, and repeats his destruction on the other side, giving the second mirror a few more hits for good measure before tossing the club in the back seat of his own car.

❝ just a little reminder not to look back, ❞ he shoots back, so calmly that it's almost eerie. ❝ go fuck yourself, ammon. ❞

with that, he slides into the driver's seat of his porsche, not sparing even a glance for the dumbstruck man standing stunned on his driveway, and drives away with tires squealing, leaving nothing but a cloud of dust and sand and the smell of burning rubber in his wake as he heads for the pacific coast highway without a single destination in mind.

#drabble tag tbd. #this was meant to be ... idk better? but it was therapeutic to write. #even though the writing is ... horrendous and not as vivid as i wanted. #not that i expect anyone to read this in full but big W if you get the filmography reference. #if you do read it though please tell me. i am tender and i love him. #and i miss him. and i think he deserves to damage his ex's nice car.

[exalted--zealotry]

Rain and lightning dominate the skies on this day.

Clouds darken the grass of this place, the resting grounds of royal blood long since passed; for the exalt, the royal graveyard of Ylisstol had always been a place of pride- a reminder of history, of legacy, and of his duty. It has always been a place he has gone to great effort to maintain, from the graves in which the dead lie to the mausoleums of the Hero-King and the First Exalt themselves.

And yet, here he stands, in the one spot he wished could remain forgotten.

It is, in truth, a spot like any other here- but Anri has always found it ugly; a stain that spreads its corruption, tarnishing the millennia of heroism and honour that ran in his family. It does not deserve this treatment- freshly trimmed grass, and near-pristine gravestones. Damp, royal blue hair sticks to his face, obscuring the rage in matching eyes, while his left hand clenches tightly around the neck of Falchion’s scabbard. ‘It would be so easy’, he thinks, glaring at the names on the headstone; he can hear their voices, still- every command, hushed word, reprimand. ‘It would be so easy for them to be forgotten.’

A tug at his calf returns the exalt from his thoughts, a gasp wretched from his throat and eyes widening in shock as he looks to stare down at the small hand clutching at his pants, to find bright green eyes staring back at him in concern, her long blonde hair protected from the rain by the hood of her cloak. Slowly does his head turn back to the grave- to the bouquet laid gently by the gravestone, deserving of better than to be pelted by rain, and to die forgotten in this wretched spot.

‘Why did I bring her here? She is going to catch cold.’

“Let us leave, Emmeryn,” Anri says at last, voice filling with warmth; the rage fades from royal blue eyes, a smile gracing his lips as he offers his right hand to his daughter- a promise to be a better parent for her than his own, those who stole his childhood from him. “There is nothing for you here.”

‘You deserve better from me than one sword and a world of troubles.’

#( I must attend to matters of the court... [ic.] ) #Drabble tag tbd. #tw: father's day #( Hi yes Anri's own dad was a bastard :) ) #( And his mother wasn't. Great either :) )

[necrophcge]

// ack, the desire to fight-write is getting to me again. especially since i haven't had a chance to properly test out how meddles' "feels" in battle yet. drabble incoming soon maybe 🤔

#ooc tag. #// tbd. #// this is Really just me putting off the league drabble i'm working on lmao #// but i've missed it! the shield-splintering and the spear rattling! #// the gurgling hiss of a dragon's throat as it breathes in air and exhales the inferno to reduce an army to cinders #// the trembling of the earth beneath the clashing of desperate armies whilst uncaring gods watch on as the earth becomes mud with blood #// anywho! hope the start of your week was a good one folks ^^

[acr3ss-the-cosmos]

To Catch An Aeon's Gaze

Lan, The Reignbow Arbiter, and Yaoshi, The Plagues Author.

These are the two Aeons that the children of the Xianzhou Alliance are most familiar with, as they are so intrinsically tied to the Alliance's history spanning many millennia. That was not to say that children did not learn about the other Aeons in their schooling. In fact, the history of the Aeons was a required subject: Their names, their titles, the Paths they represented, and their Emanators; mortals who were acknowledged by an Aeon and granted permission to draw power from their given Path. Needless to say, it was a subject that many school children were intrigued with.

However, a young Bai Chenhua held a rather neutral view on the Aeons.

She, being a citizen of the Xianzhou, was a follower of Lan as most of her people were, as it's relentless pursuit of the Plagues Author and it's Abominations was (and still is) a near constant factor of her life. But, she didn't spend much time dwelling on them. They were entities far beyond mortal comprehension, after all, and it wasn't like she could ever catch the gaze of such a being.

Or so she thought...

The sounds of tiny, faint mewling reached Chenhua's sensitive ears as she walked home from school on that fateful day. She looked around trying to pinpoint the noise when she heard it again, and her eyes locked onto a small gray bundle cowering in an alleyway. It was a kitten, shrinking itself away from a group of crows that had ganged up on the poor creature.

As a small Fennekian girl on the cusp of adolescence, Chenhua was not physically strong by any means, but that did not stifle her compassionate and protective spirit. Her friends and loved ones were not the only recipients of her defensive nature -- for she wished to help even the smallest of creatures. This kitten would be no different.

Chenhua did not hesitate to run into the alleyway, shouting at the birds to leave the kitten alone. The crows scattered and fled at the sound of her voice and footfalls, and the little grimalkin slowly blinked it's big blue eyes up at its protector. Smiling softly, she knelt onto the ground and reached out her hand to gently stroke underneath the kitten's chin with a finger.

"You don't have to worry anymore, kitty. You're safe now."

That's when it happened.

A sudden flash of pure white light startled Chenhua, and she squeezed her eyes shut to prevent them from damage. Several long moments passed before she dared to open her eyes again, but to her bewilderment, she was no longer in the alleyway. In it's place, however, was something that was nothing short of shocking and awe-inspiring. She let out a sharp gasp.

Towering over her like a giant stone sentry, was none other than the Firmamend Author -- the Amber Lord.

Qlipoth, the Preservation.

The entity had no real face to speak of, but Chenhua could still somehow sense that they were looking down upon her, and she felt a shiver run down her spine. It was as if a great sun had shone it's intense light upon the child's face, and yet Chenhua's eyes were not blinded. Golden, honey-colored amber glowed throughout Qlipoth's body as it raised a massive rocky arm towards her, and the sun that acted as it's face intensified in brightness until Chenhua's vision turned white. The Firmamend Author was gone as quickly as they appeared, and the girl found herself back in the alleyway, still kneeling on the ground with the tiny gray kitten purring up at her.

Chenhua's heart pounded loudly inside her ribcage as her mind reeled with what had just occurred. Why would Qlipoth turn their gaze upon her? From what she knew from her studies, they cared little about the affairs of mortals. And didn't the Aeons only turn their gazes onto strong people?; those who were powerful enough to fight against enemies or protect the ones they loved? Chenhua was nowhere near powerful.

So... why her? Why had the simple act of rescuing a kitten from a flock of crows drawn Qlipoth's gaze onto her -- a sweet, little Fennekian girl with a heart bigger than her own body could contain?

Chenhua didn't know the answer.

She didn't tell her parents what she saw in that alleyway -- something that was unlike her, as Chenhua always loved to talk about her day to them. Her mother and father were loving and understanding, but still... would they believe her if she told them she caught an Aeon's gaze?

Even now in her adulthood, Chenhua still ponders why she was chosen to tread upon the Path of Preservation. Was there some bigger purpose to it all, or maybe, despite Qlipoth's indifference to humanity, they simply deemed that single, selfless act of kind protectiveness worthy of their acknowledgement?

...Chenhua still doesn't know the answer, and perhaps it is something she'll never know the answer to. Even so, she tries her best to be a protector, a shelter, a steadfast presence to those around her. After all, it's who she is, with or without an Aeon's blessing, and that is something truly beautiful.

#about; (LITTLE FOX) #drabble tag tbd #((heehoo lemme just drop off this new chenhua lore for you all)) #((truth be told I've been mulling over this idea for quite some time)) #((and it partially came from when I first came up with chenhua's concept that if she were playable she'd be a preservation character)) #((I wanted to incorporate that into her story and now I think it suits her really well)) #((this took me like.. . 2 days to draft up bc I really wanted to make sure I got the proper words out)) #((but I'm still kind of nervous ashfgds)) #((but YEEEEE preservation chenny))

[unmeisenshi]

Noel had gotten a chance to get some air after being cooped up in Avett's hospital. A large scar ran across her eyes, scarring them shut. She was getting re-acclimated to using her aura sight as her vision again, and she barely noticed three figures approaching her.

"Oh hey Audie... Kiske... And..." Her voice trailed off as she looked down. A bipedal Eevee stood between the two. She couldn't see it, but this Eevee's fur was white and red, and the tip of this Eevee's tail resembled a flame. "Wait... Is this..."

Audie smiled. "Noel... This is Kitajoh... Our daughter. She prefers Kita. Say hi to your aunt, Kita."

Noel knelt down, and offered a paw to the Eevee. "Hi hiii!" Kita said energetically. Though her head would tilt. "What happened to your eyes, auntie? Are you okay?"

Noel nodded. "Don't you worry your little head off. I'm fine." She stood back up, resting a paw on her katana. The look on her face spoke a different story to Kiske.

"Audie... Catch up with Noel. I'll take Kita home so you two can talk." Kiske gave a small kiss to Audie's cheek before they picked Kita up and continued home.

Audie looked at Noel's scar. "What happened? Did this happen during a mission?"

The Lucario sighed. "Yeah. There's some kind of virus affecting our Gods. Me, Remi, Uncle Morello and Nobuo went to fight Deoxys - it was in a rage. During that fight Deoxys whipped me across the face. Avett says it's too dangerous to try to open my eyes through surgery, so I'm blind once again."

Audie leaned forward, embracing Noel. "I'm sorry, big sis." The Espeon lightly rubbed her back. "How are you holding up? And how are the others?"

Noel returned the hug. She was taken back by Audie referring to her as big sis. "I'm doing fine. Rem is still in the hospital. She almost bled out during the fight. Morello and Nobuo are fine, and Avett is working on a vaccine."

Audie broke off the hug, and motioned for Noel to follow him home. "Fill me in."

Noel would turn and begin following Audie, before...

"Noel..."

She turned around, looking all around her. "Dad? Where are you?"

"The sword..." Noel looked down to see the handle of her blade glowing. "Allow me to help guide you..."

"Noel? You alright?"

The Lucario snapped back to reality. "Uh... Yeah, coming!" She ran up to Audie and began explaining the situation. All the while, Noel could see clearer with her aura sight than she ever could before. She didn't know what was going on, but she kept it to herself for the time being.

#mirror of the world: noel #sturmvogel: audie #one x: kiske #kita tag tbd #drabble

[gerudospiriit]

follow up to this ask

Nabooru paced the length of her desk, twisting a crimson strand of hair around her fingers. With how long she strode the same path waiting for Aveil, she could have carved a a path into the the deepest depths of the desert. She purposefully kept her gaze from roving to her desk, the pile of ash sitting atop it. She could still see it in her periphery. Feel the heat radiating through her body. The flames of the torches rising and roaring around her...

When the door finally opened, her second striding in with the least amount of urgency possible, it took considerable control not to scold her for taking so long. She purposefully neglected to request the guard hurry or inform Aveil of an emergency to keep from alarming the young woman or her second. At least not until she could speak with the latter face to face.

"You called?"

Nabooru paused her pacing, and, judging by the way Aveil's brow wrinkled and she frowned, she didn't hide her frazzled state as well as she hoped. "Yes, we need to talk."

"You're not breaking up with me, are you?" she teased, trying to lighten the mood. Her specialty under more...normal circumstances. "What's eating you Nabs? I haven't seen you this out of sorts since you were dealing with Ganondorf."

"I'd rather be dealing with him," she muttered, resting against the desk. She folded her arms. "That dignitary from Hyrule wrote us back. He basically said there was nothing they could do, and that all of our concerns were unfounded. He dismissed us, as usual. they won't help and the won't investigate further."

She laughed bitterly and added, "Oh, but we're invited to attend the princess's coronation. Said they would be honored to have us."

The Gerudo second in command's visage darkened. "I can't say I'm surprised, but I'm disgusted. We presented evidence for all of it, but they refuse to investigate?" she hissed, hands curled into fists at her sides. "We can't let this stand. They'll keep doing this to our people and pretend they had nothing to do with it. We have to do something."

"I know," Nabooru agreed, the words of the letter tumbling through her consciousness again. Boiling her blood again. She sucked in a breath to calm herself. Her high emotion seemed to trigger...whatever happened to her before. "As much as I respect the princess for trying to ease the the tensions between our peoples, her efforts are in vain, apparently. The damage from the war, from Ganondorf...it's too much for the fools to put behind them and realize we're just trying to live our lives. They won't be content until we're gone, it seems."

Aveil mirrored Nabooru, arms folding over her chest. "We can't just attack them. The fight would be over before it could start once the Goron and Zora come to Hyrule's aid. And we can't just leave either. We've just started building the town, and we weren't exactly making it big enough for everyone to move into."

"We'll have to be smart about it, but I think our only choice is brute force." She inhaled, the scent of burning paper lingering in the room. "Really plan things out and ensure we don't make a single mistake. Do our research and give ourselves any advantage we can. Find allies, maybe..."

"Allies where?" Aveil questioned, eyebrow raised. "The Kokiri aren't exactly fighters, and those bird people from the north, the Rito...if they weren't interested in the squabbles of the rest of Hyrule before, I don't see why they'd be keen on helping us now."

"I don't know. Beyond the desert? We can travel more now. There might be more out there..." In another realm...

Despite her attempt at putting a positive spin on her suggestion, it still sounded unconvincing in her own ears. They needed a solution, and they needed it quick. Traipsing the desert, speaking and making deals with other tribes or kingdoms if they ever found them...would Hyrule's hate for them allow them that kind of time?

She couldn't get desperate. Desperation bred mistakes, missteps they couldn't afford. She couldn't lose herself. Not like he did.

Her mind reeled back to the letter, the pile of ask she left it in. She licked her lips. "There's...something else."

"Please tell me it's good news."

Nabooru circled to the other side of the desk. "That letter...I..." She trailed off and dipped her index and middle fingers into the ash, dragging them along the wood and leaving two sooty lines in their wake. "I burned it."

Aveil stared, unimpressed. "Is that a bad thing? I think I would have done the same."

"No...no I mean I burned it. With...with..." she held up her hands, half expecting them to glow. "With I don't know what. Magic? My sage powers don't deal with fire though, so...I don't know what happened. The torches went crazy, too. I was reading it, getting angry and..."

She trailed off, pulse quickening. Magic. Forced to carry the legacy and power of the Sage of Spirit irked her enough, and now...now something else awakened in her. What did it mean? Where did it come from? If she lost control of it...

Nabooru swallowed, finally glancing up to find her second in command staring at her in disbelief. "Like, fire magic?" she asked. "You've never practiced magic though. Did Ganondorf teach you something?"

"No, I wouldn't let him even if he offered." She wiped her hand on her pants. "I need to figure it out though. I...if I lose control...I don't want to hurt another Gerudo or destroy the fortress."

Aveil tapped her finger against her cheek. "That's a good point...Though if you lost control in Hyrule Castle..."

"Better there than here, sure, but I'd rather not," Nabooru sniffed.

"Just a thought," she defended, the hint of a cheeky grin on her lips. "My only suggestion would be to talk to one of the priestesses. They're the ones that would likely have any knowledge of magic or...weird magic suddenly manifesting in people?"

Sinking into her seat, she rubbed her temples. "Yes...I guess you're right." The thought of speaking to any of them about this already threatened to split her head with a migraine. "I'll go find them in a bit. Keep this to yourself for now. I'll see what's going on with these powers, and maybe we can do some research on lands outside of here. We'll talk to the rest of the Elite in a few days."

Aveil nodded. "Let me know if you need anything. Go take a relaxing bath or something first. Calm yourself down."

Nabooru waved her off and watched her leave, but seriously considered her suggestion. Stress relief would do her some good. Keep people from suspecting the worst in seeing their chief stressed out more than usual. She stood again, chair legs scraping against sandstone, and headed back to her room to take Aveil's advice.

#drabble tag tbd #idk just a little drabble i've been thinking about #after that one ask and other conversations

[irxnmaiden]

#this week will be v slow activity wise #my job hunt is Officially Beginning and im scared shitless #but w the hourglass flipped? fear is not a factor lmao #might work on drabbles or asks and clean these godawful drafts out bc it has gotten BAD #which i don't rly like bc i try to post things in a sequence?? its hard to explain exactly #basically i am that 65yo woman w plastic on the furniture thats essentially it #it is what it is my queue tag is '[ Q ]' if u would prefer to block those #they won't exceed three a day i promise but we need to houseclean fr #by the time jasmine's galar and orre arcs end i'd like this whole blog revamped tbh #drop theme resources in the dms if u have any!! my faves have all d/a #tbd #::🧚 ooc.

[orphanedwolfandfriends]

Verse: Cowboy Bebop Character(s): Cayla (who has no name in this verse), Baron (labeled as the doctor) Content warning: Mental child abuse. Please don’t read further if you’re not able to handle it. Ily, muah.

“D...dog...caaat...” The little one points to the pictures of the aforementioned animals to practice on her speech. For being close to the age of six or seven, she had about as much knowledge on how to talk as a toddler did. She wasn’t diagnosed with any disabilities, it’s just the fault of her ‘teacher’, who would toss her into a dark and isolated room whenever she did something he didn’t like. The doctor himself was assigned to teach her how to function like a human, despite the animal features she’s been sporting since birth. But rather than do that, he was doing what he found to be more important than being her teacher.

She had no parents that she could no remember. Not even pictures to show what they looked like. As far as she knew, she just poofed into existence like magic. And besides these one word sentences, she could barely talk. “Mm...moowwse.” She said, pointing to a picture of the mouse. She then got bored...and wanted to doodle on paper. Taking a black and gray crayon, she scribbled something that only she could identify at first glance. That awful ‘punishment’ room...nothing would be in there but pure, suffocating silence, and sometimes monsters that her own brain would conjure up, some taking shape of the man assigned to teach her.

Suddenly, the gloved hand of the man slumped to the table, catching her attention as he picked up the drawing with narrowing eyes. Had the girl not looked afraid and try to reach up for the drawing, he wouldn’t have pieced together what it was. He then crumpled it up in his hands. “Just who do you think is gonna lose his job if his subordinates find this, hmm...?”  He asks softly, such a question bringing chills to the girl’s spine. She twiddled her thumbs, trying to apologize, but the fear was making her choke up. The doctor shook his head with a ‘tsk.’ “You don’t think, do you? You thoughtless little girl...” He said, before grabbing her on the arm. She pulled back with noticeable strain in her voice, and before she knew it, she was tossed back in to the room, the only light illuminating from the hallway before it slammed shut. Small hands banging on the door in demand to be let out, before sitting to her knees. She shook and covered her eyes as she sat down, her tail around her knees and soft sobs escaping her. Like all the other times she’d be thrown in here, she had no idea how much time has passed, nor what kind of chaos would come next.

The door would suddenly come open, and an arm would take the girl by the back of her cardigan before giving her any time to react. Everything around the two was fire, and smoke coming from different rooms, some of them exploding. Everything seemed to be a terrifying blur color and smoke, not to mention the other staff members of the facility scrambling to get out. Her ‘teacher’ would carry her in one arm like baggage and leave his colleagues to their doom. However...the only other thing he needed before leaving? She couldn’t make out what it was, but it could’ve been important. To his outrage, there was no way for him to get to his own office, so with nothing else to stay in for, he bailed out of the building, unnamed child in tow. Once they were out, there was even fire and burnt debris around them, but not without an open path. He dropped the girl, and dropped to his knees. The girl coughed for the smoke to not linger in her breath, and put in a surgical mask she always kept around for when others got sick. The man screamed out at the sky in a fit of rage, and punched the burnt soil beneath him.

“You...” He said in a dark tone, grabbing the girl again by her cardigan. “If I didn’t have to be STUCK babysitting you, I would’ve gotten to those documents! My research, everything I worked for, GONE!” He yelled at her, the girl whimpering and trying to get away before he shoved her to the ground, hand still gripping tightly on her clothing. Presumably, none of his colleagues would’ve known how badly he treated this child, but it’s not like it mattered to him anymore. “You defiant little..-!” He would’ve continued, but suddenly he was having difficulty breathing. He let her go, and coughed harshly. She took this as an opportunity to run away, but despite him practically dying, he grabbed her by the leg. “What the hell...what the hell’s going on-!?” He said, his coughs becoming more guttural. She kicked her leg to free herself from his grasp. Whatever was effecting him, he was being mighty stubborn to let it kill him, even when the smoke from the fire was no help for his immune system in the slightest. A foot came down hard on the back of the doctor’s skull, and the girl’s leg was free. She covered her eyes, only hearing the shuffling and frantic thuds against the burnt soil as the doctor suffocated and died shortly after. Besides the crackles of fire, and debris toppling over itself, there was silence. And the small girl, with her animal ears and tail, stared up at the figure who, quite literally, made this unlucky doctor eat dirt right in front of her.

#cece's dribble drabble #With this Heart I hold I was on my own {Cayla} #Cowboy Bebop verse tag TBD #:3c

[tocontinue]

  —Is next year the one?

  It’s an idea he hasn’t humored in so many years. De-weaponization. The chance to finally shed the mantle of Mega Man and return to his roots, his purpose, his function, as Rock. The lab assistant Doctor Light wanted in his second foray into the Robot Master.

  The idea was attempted before, to some extent. If they had followed through with it, it may have cost countless people their lives. Rock would never consider a Robot Master attack to be a blessing, but... well, thank goodness Cossack hadn’t delayed his uprising any further. If he had to be re-weaponized, the delay... well, he tries not to linger on the what-if.

  It’s selfish, but he can’t help but particularly wish it on himself this time. Wily’s last attack hadn’t just seen him donning the blue armor once more; Rock was weaponized even further, outfitted with the Double Gear System of Wily’s own design. Sure, there was technically nothing inherently... weapon-y about it, and Rock had found plenty of other uses for it in the aftermath of that attack. But that was why it was installed into his systems. To fight. To stop Wily.

  It had been a long time since the last attack. Maybe, just maybe, Wily was down for good this time. Run off to some hidden bunker to waste away, ensuring everlasting peace. And yet...

  ‘Remember this! Doctor Wily always strikes again!’

  ...There were too many risks. It was unlikely Rock would ever be able to retire the title in his lifetime.

  A door opens behind him. In that moment, Rock becomes acutely aware of how sad he must look, gazing out of the window of Light Labs so... well, sad-looking. He turns to greet Doctor Light with a smile, but it’s painfully clear to both of them how forced the gesture is. The facade is abandoned almost immediately, with blue eyes turning to the ground below instead.

  “You know, Rock,” he begins, pulling up a stool and sitting across from him. “...you would be terrible at poker.”

  The comment catches him off-guard. He turns his gaze back to Light, a curious frown replacing the forlorn expression there a moment prior.

  “I’m... not sure I understand.”

  “You really haven’t heard of a poker face?” The realization earns a chuckle from Light. “Poker is a game of lies, above all else. Knowing when to hide your look of disgust, or your joy upon seeing a good hand, is all part of the basics of the game... hence the term.”

  A slow nod of understanding follows, though Rock doesn’t look happy about it. He supposes he’d rather be bad at a game all about lying, all things considered... still, he can’t help but feel like he’s failing something. Even if it is really as simple as not hiding his emotions well.

  ...Proving his father right, it’s clear that Light takes notice of it.

  “Now, I never said it was a flaw.” Light tries again, leaning forward and placing a hand on Rock’s shoulder. He can’t help but find some comfort in the action, and visibly relaxes, if only a little.

  “Most men would have crumbled under the weight of your responsibilities. To stand up, time and time again, to stare danger in the face...” Light shakes his head. “Honestly, Rock, I struggle to keep my head up sometimes, and I’m not even the one to face Wily each time.”

  “But I’m not keeping my head up.” Rock interrupts, shaking his head as well. “I’m... sad. I’m always sad. I wish... I wish it would all be over already.”

  There’s a pause in the conversation. If Rock were to look again, he’d see his father thinking his next words over very carefully.

  “...It’s true, you may be sad now. And I can clearly see that you are.” He adds with a chuckle. “But your emotions are not just limited to despair, and I can see that as well.”

  Rock shakes his head yet again... but doesn’t interrupt, instead looking up at Light once more.

  “I designed you as a son. A child, meant to experience the world with the same sense of wonder a human child would.” He stops briefly to clear his throat... it’s clear he’s getting a little emotional, too. “With each time Wily comes back, I... worry you may lose that.”

  A pause, as Light takes a deep breath.

  “Yet, after over a dozen times of saving the world from destruction... you haven’t changed, my boy.” There’s the faintest threat of tears welling up in his eyes, but the smile below them is warm and genuine. “When you help me in making new Robot Masters, or when you go out to help your brothers... even when you spend time with Roll, it’s clear to me that you’re having fun, Rock. The same fun a child like you should have.”

  Another lull in the conversation, but this one falls on Rock. He sits there for a moment, mulling his father’s words over. Thinking back to exactly what Light described... helping him make the new Robot Masters of tomorrow, or showing up to a work site to use his Copy Chip to double manpower on a Robot Master’s project. Even just helping Auto with the reconstruction of the 11s...!

  A laugh actually slips out. The sound even catches Rock himself off guard. Light can’t help but laugh as well.

  “I don’t fault you for wanting this war to end. We all wish it had ended a long time ago.” Light says with a pat on the shoulder. “But you are more than just this war. You’re a beacon to the world in so many more ways than you realize.”

  Rock nods his head with the smallest smile on his face. Thanks to that awful poker face of his, it’s easy to tell this one’s actually genuine. It only takes a moment for the boy to jump off of his stool and run in for the hug.

  “...I do this all the time, huh?”

  “All part of that terrible poker face of yours.” Light says with a chuckle and a ruffling of Rock’s hair. After only a moment, though, his tone becomes genuine once again. “There’s no need to stress over how you feel. We’ll always be here to help you.”

  Rock nods again, then pulls himself out of the hug. His joyful expression has returned in full!

  ...And it vanishes almost immediately to a look of panic.

  “The fireworks.” He looks to the door, then back to Light. “I’m not late, am I?”

  “What? No, that’s not for another...”

  Wrong answer, apparently. Rock bolts through the door without waiting for Light to finish, his voice echoing through the halls of Light Labs.

  “Rush! C’mon, boy, we’ve gotta hurry!”

  “Uh, Mega Buddy? I dunno how to tell ya this, but set-up isn’t for another--”

  Ruff, ruff!

  “Alright, finally! Let’s go, boy!”

  The sound of the door opening and slamming shut, and Roll’s complaints about the noise ringing through the halls a moment later...

  “Please, never change, Rock.”

#► Drabble Tag TBD #//-Yeah I dunno where this one came from #//-Hi it's 1:30 AM Vio I hate myself for doing this rn #//-But FUCK it was fun so who cares KAJSBCKASXA #//-Hi next day Vio proofreading this #//-I love writing again. This rocks AKSBCKSX

[deathdxnces]

The first thought she has is that he does not look as frightening as she remembers. Not as tall, either. The admiral is taller than she is, and clad in dark iron he cuts the impressive figure of a dangerous foe — but not as dangerous as the one who had haunted her nightmares for years, robbing her of peace at any moment of possible rest. He had always seemed insurmountably large, a shadow behind the soldiers he ordered to do his dirty work. Now he looks less a monster and more a man; a scared one at that.

She looks at him and sees the last name on her personal list; her family's murderer. What does he see when meeting her gaze? Death, Irelia would wager from his frightened looks; his near future and the fact nothing lay beyond it. The thought fills her with some sort of vicious pleasure, the delight of the hunted turned hunter.

Dig another grave and get rid of her. His voice is what she remembers more clearly, the words as clear in her mind as the day she heard them. Even that doesn't sound quite the same. He had been barking orders and threats, but there is a shake to it now, an uneasiness. He is afraid and she lingers on it, dwells longer than she ought to, savors the taste of satisfaction she will only get once. He will die afraid. It's not enough, but it is still the best form of justice she can offer to those she lost.

"I know who you are, girl," Irelia can see recognition in his gaze, and for a moment that too pleases her, before his words make clear where it stems from. "The one from the Placidium — the one who cut off Swain's arm." Of course. He has yet to realize the little girl from a small village in Navori is the same now in front of him, the same who had fought his High Command in the Placidium, the same who would now take his life. Maybe he doesn't even remember that happened, she considers, frown deepening at the thought. Why would he? It had been just a little girl, just another family killed and buried in their own gardens. How many others had he killed? How many Ionians had met their end due to the orders of this man, who didn't even have the decency to wield the blade himself?

"We don't have to be enemies — under Noxus' banner, Ionia would have the strength to defend itself from anyone — and you! You're strong, a natural leader. The empire values such talents. The Hand himself hails from one of the annexed territories. If you join us —"

"You disgust me." She understands his words (learned to, as most Ionians did, out of need); her retort is viciously spoken in her mother tongue, nonetheless, dripping with venom and bitterness. "After all this, to think I would join you?" A scoff, blue eyes as sharp as the steel she is armed with. "Pathetic."

A fluid hand motion and he reaches for his sword, though the man still does not use it. Her blades, hovering in the air between them, return to their original shape, her family crest reformed.

"You said you know who I am, but you don't, Admiral Duqal. Do you recognize that crest?" He does not reply; instead, the noxian finally leaps to action, an attempt at attacking her that is as predictable as it is simple to dance around. Irelia spins away from his edge, the careful formation of her blades undone as they flow into action. As she twirls, so do the weapons match her rhythmically, meeting their target not in her opponent's weapon but his flesh. The dancer needs not to block a blow she can easily dodge; instead her blades replicate a blow she had become famous for, the man's arm severed while he screams. At sixteen, the sight is far from unusual. She had seen enough battle that severed limbs were nothing anymore. She had cut off enough of them that even the sight of her blades wet with blood makes her feel nothing.

Well, not nothing. That isn't entirely sincere. There is an ugly satisfaction to it, dark and shameful; he is in pain, suffering, and she is the cause. This should be a grim task, but it isn't. She likes that it was her brutal blow that left him like this.

They would be ashamed of her, Irelia is certain. If they had answered his violence in kind they would still be here, a part of her retorts bitterly. But they are dead and she is not and outside thousands of people look up to her to lead them — to save them. She can't do it if not by fighting back. She wouldn't want to do it without fighting back.

Noxus deserves no mercy. That is for beings with hearts and souls and spirits. The monsters deserve nothing.

"I asked if you recognize the crest, Duqal." The inquiry is repeated sharply, the form of her blades now stained with the man's blood. His face is pale; whether from the blood loss or fear she is uncertain. The noxian replies with a shake of the head, confirming what she suspected. To her, it had been years of fear and nightmares, years of dreaming of revenge; to him, it had been nothing. Her family died because of him. How could that be nothing? How could it be so insignificant it eluded his memory entirely?

"You killed the family who bore that crest — all of them, from an elderly woman to a boy of not even four. All of them but one. The girl who stole this back from the hands of your soldiers survived. The one you would have killed for her defiance," She watches horror and realization bloom upon his face, knowing full well where this leads. "The one who will kill you now."

There is no time for a reply; a single swift motion and his throat is slit, despite a pathetic last effort to raise his arms to shield himself from her blades. For a long moment, Irelia stares at the man's fallen form, the blood pooling beneath him. She wonders if it would be enough, if this night she would not have to fight troubled sleep, if her family would rest more easily now.

It won't bring them back; the ache of grief and loss unmoved, no matter who she killed. And yet few things could have left her more satisfied. No, this would not bring them back — but it still felt good.

#idk #something something words i wanted to write this is bad but i'm making myself post it bc i wanted to write irelia stuff #tuxedo mask vc: my job here is done #all of you: but you didn't do anything #» in character — ⌜the blade dancer.⌟ #drabble tag tbd.

[wingingthenight]

|| i spent most of today gripped by a headache bc the universe is out to get me, but i'm heading to sleep early and hoping to make some tea and crack through a good chunk of my drafts/inbox/starters to get my queue filled out! and probably also write up a few more hc posts because every day i have too many thoughts about my little guys.

#;ooc #pls know im holding and cherishing everything in my drafts and inbox like genuinely im so excited about all of it #my brain is simply Not being cooperative this week #damn you corporate burnout #tbd #might also?? fuck around and write some drabbles to put in queue too #we'll see #still kinda figuring out how i wanna run my blog #trying not to take things too serious and also just actually get some of my thoughts out into the universe #okay enough tag rambling it's bedtime lol #i'll still be lurking on disco and playing some games for a bit but signing off here for tonight!!

[acr3ss-the-cosmos]

June 11th

Lieutenant Yanqing came by the Artisanship Commission today looking to buy a new sword for his collection, a fairly common sight for me and my coworkers. This time he had asked us if we had a sword capable of emitting lightning, much like how his own sword can emit ice crystals to freeze enemies.

As it happened, we're in the middle of developing such a sword, but it's still very much in the early testing phases, so I told him that we'd let him know as soon as the final version of the blade was finished so he could purchase it, and he became very excited at the prospect, thanking us happily. He's actually very sweet, that boy, always respectful towards us even with his seemingly boundless enthusiasm for the sword. I wouldn't be surprised if he's paying for half my salary with all the weapons he buys from us.

Chenhua smiled to herself as she wrote on.

I can see that he has a very bright future ahead, especially with General Jing Yuan guiding him. I can only imagine how proud he must be of his pupil.

#starlight; (IC) #morning flower; (CHENHUA) #drabble tag tbd #((slightly changed the wording based on info willow told me)) #((hi willow ty for reminding me about your jy hcs ashgdfak)) #((but yes I hope to write more of these journal type entries from chenhua to get into her mind more!))

[ofcrossrcads]

time seemed to have done little to soothe karlach's ire at her, and her own attempts to make peace ? were better left unmentioned. little had changed aside from the backdrop of where they made camp each night. on some level she understood the resentment, of course, who wouldn't ? it didn't lessen her own annoyance, though at not having been afforded the chance to earn that ire herself.

it didn't help that she'd found herself growing rather FOND of the tiefling, despite, or perhaps even because of the creative hostility she showed. she'd made her offers, pled her case, and was soundly rebuffed each time. despite the constant, rather loud, yearning, it seemed any touch BUT hers would do.

and if that rejection had started to sting more, as of late? as her affection grew and her hopes shrank, none would be the wiser.

there was no sense in breaking herself upon an immovable object. if she was to be hated for being a devil, well, then she may as well have made use of her station.

it was in her mortal guise that she approached the tiefling, the skin she was most comfortable wearing, raising her hands, palms out in a sign that she came in peace. “ while i do look forward to hearing what you've come up with for me today -- hear me out first, please. ”

even with permission, she knew better than to belabor the point, and so, she both moved and spoke swiftly. pulling one of karlach's hands to both of hers, the devil pressed a ring to her palm. “ this isn't a bargain, a favor, or a deal of any sort. i give this to you of my own will, seeking nothing in return. ” it was best to head off as many complaints as she could before they were given voice -- once karlach cut in, she knew her chance to speak was as good as gone.

“ a show of goodwill, that's all --- the ring bears within it the fiery aura of avernus. so long as you wear it. . . ” trailing off, she reached up, touching karlach's cheek lightly, prepared to face whatever consequence may come. “ just because you don't want my touch, doesn't mean you should be forced to suffer without. ”

#infernaliscor #( tbt ) #( tbd later. ) #// drabble? oneshot? possible starter? #// idk how to tag this #// source: it came to me in a dream

[voxuli]

Song that fits my muse, cause I was obsessing over this song while writing a drabble last night: YOU.LOOK.SO.FUNNY by Changeline

Thank u for giving me music!!

Gasoline by Apashe (feat. Raga)

#That drabble was also sick. We love to see a powerful angel #Notes on the Script | OOC #memes tag tbd #For some reason when I listened to YOU.LOOK.SO.FUNNY I just had an itch in my head that I had to pick Gasoline #No contest really

[silksworn]

❛  how can you just go to sleep like nothing happened?  ❜

Iraestra nears slumber — or as near as her kind may come to it — when Wyll's sotto voice reaches her. She stirs, turning so that she may hear him a bit clearer. He whispers the wretched words quietly, almost as if he doesn't quite mean for her to hear. Soft syllables nearly taken by the wind, strangely hollowed of any inflection.

The coolness of the night air soothes her, the concert held by crickets and the murmurs of guest downstairs a lullaby. Long minutes now she has spent quite hypnotized by the dancing curtains, sheer enough to allow pools of moonlight to creep into the room. Everything is beautiful and kinder away from the garish touch of the sun. Even the unsheathed rapier set on Wyll's lap glows softly like a unicorn's horn torn cleanly from the skull. A gruesome treasure of bleached bone, testament of pain and suffering.

Blood still darkens his hands and the hilt. Wyll has not cleaned himself. He still sits where she has left him at the vanity, staring mutely into the mirror's deceptive surface. He looks at her form on the bed, but he also looks beyond her. What demons he must see at the edge of his vision! Ghouls who will not give up their haunting no matter how tightly he shuts his eyes.

She considers pretending she did not hear him. To leave Wyll to his own ruminations; he is not a babe she need coddle. It is possible he will sort himself out by the morning. Maybe he will feel sated after he goes out and kills something else. Perhaps Iraestra will wake up to the kiss of steel against her throat, a spill of blood pouring from the black lips of opened skin. An end to this farce for the both of them.

A caress of her mind against his own. She enters the maelstrom with care, only brushing the surface of them before retreating as gently as she came. Granting him a glimpse at her calmness, her comfort. Iraestra rises to follow the touch with a physical one, hand coming up to tenderly cup the back of his head. She stands behind him, attempting to meet his gaze in the reflection. With her other hand she traces the great spiral of a horn, finger following the wicked ridge down the entire length.

"Rest would never find me if I allowed every horror visited upon us to disturb me," she matches his tone. Soothing the dog with weary, hungry eyes and gaping maw. "How much can you carry upon your shoulders? You take every burden and name it your own, then wonder why you are so weary. Velve," truly, she pities him. Too kind of a heart is a poison. One day he will choke upon all that he swallows down. "Allow yourself this mercy: stow away that which does not serve you. You are no use to the people of the Gate if you are mad with sleeplessness."

He is of little use to her if he allows himself to be guided more by his guilt than by reason. She will steer Wyll right if she must. A velvet lead he only need follow the tug of. "Would you like me to help you forget?" she offers, traipsing the tips of her nails down his ear, to his jaw, his neck. Iraestra names the bones in her head as she touches each. She would know him in every way.

forty random questions / @limpfisted

#how about a little gaslight gatekeep girlbossing eh? eh???? #limpfisted #drabble tag tbd