#just been edging back into painting some smaller things again

[mugentakeda]

liuju has never been more thankful to finally be back under the base after a mission.

the sun hurt more than it soothed that day, the passing voices of the city as he snuck back into the walls drove him crazy, the journey to the agrarian zone took too many steps.

"i'll be down as soon as i've finished taking care of my stuff to get your report," long feng had said, pride lining his voice. "just relax until then. bathe, get something to drink."

he hit his bed and was out in the next two blinks.

hes dreaming.

hes at the end of a long corridor in lake laogai. the end is so far away he cant see past the thick shadows. he walks, walks, walks. he can't see any part of himself and he can't feel anything. past the heavy gloom, there's a door. that's how he knows its a dream, because in the bowels of the base in which liuju calls home, the only way out is if hes escorted by an earthbender. he's made himself a dream door.

he pushes through the door. it's almost as if theres a gap, and then hes in an unfamiliar place. like a separate reality.

its another long corridor, but its all shades of muted red. its humid and the air is clean, unlike the chill must of his underground home. the floors are so clean it's like looking in a mirror. he can't get himself to look above him to the ceiling. there's tall frames adorning the wall to his left, but they're all covered in drapes. the end is so far away he can't see past the thick shadows. he walks, walks, walks.

past the thick gloom, theres a door. its towering and exquisite. liuju pushes them both open.

it's the same red hallway, but the drapes on the paintings are gone. a line of paintings with unfamiliar men in red robes. something about it makes his chest tug.

there's a door on the right side of the hallway wall further down. it's cracked open, and gentle light spills from it. he peaks inside when he approaches.

theres a bassinet with the sound of a cooing babt comes from it. its sitting by a grand and elegant bed. theres a tall, thin, shadowy figure sitting on the edge of the bed, head leaning over the bassinet.

he cant make out a single detail beyond the silhouette. he inches closer. little baby hands emerge from the bassinet and wave in the air, as if the child is wants to be held by the silhouette.

the door creaks, and the silhouettes head snaps to him suddenly. all he can see are wide eyes with angry orange irises. the figure rises like a demon rising from hell, and comes towards him suddenly. fear makes his heart hammer, but he can't get himself to move or make a sound.

it jumps at liuju so quickly he barely has any time to register it, but he can make out some details. deep brown skin, feathery hair, thin white robes, the foul stench of old blood and urine.

unbearable pain.

he wakes up in the red hallway again. the door is still there, just on the edge of his vision. he goes toward it again. when he peaks inside, the figure is gone, but the bassinet is still there.

when he pushes past the door and leans over the bassinet, the baby isn't in there.

next thing he knows, he's laying in the bed with his back leaned against the headboard. when he looks down, he can finally see himself- he's in thin white robes, but theres red stains dotting around his legs and the skirts of the robes. sweat making the robes stick to his skin. there are muffled voices around him, but it's just him in the room, and he can't make any of the words out.

he shuts his eyes as they get louder, and something deep in his gut flutters and squirms, and his skin crawls at the sensation. terror fills his heart once again.

unbearable pain.

he wakes up in the red hallway again.

there's two kids sitting right on the edge of the shadows. they're young and dressed in red. as he walks forward, he starts making out clear details. ones a girl, and shes slightly smaller. black hair pinned in a bun, with two thick strands framing her little face. the other is a boy, with a slightly taller face, all his long hair pulled into a tall ponytail. they both turn to him suddenly, as if finally acknowledging his presence, and grin.

they have sweet little grins. the girl looks a bit mischievous, like a baby fox. the boys smile is innocently excited. both have brilliant golden eyes.

he's close enough to see an imposing figure standing behind them, just beyond the shadows. it startles him enough to bring him to a total stop.

the children look at him confused now, but the figure beyond the shadows begins to inch forward. its tall and broad with shoulders that curl up sharply, and flame shaped prongs on the top of its head. it reaches for the boy first, and for the first time since this dream began, he moves.

terror fills his heart once again, and before he can stop the figure or even see what it does, hes at the beginning of the red hallway again. there's no door or children, this time. just shadows at the end.

when he tries to walk towards it, his body wont let him walk correctly. he keeps wobbling.

as he gets closer to the shadows, he tries to speed up, but his body wont let him.

as soon as he breaks through the shadows, everything is pitch dark. the red gloom from behind him is gone, and he can't make himself turn to make sure its still there.

the fluttering and squirming and skin crawling sensations from earlier is back again, but its stronger. its so strong, and it starts to hurt, and then it hurts even more, like something is splitting his body in half, and he begins to think that maybe thats whats happening and he just cant see from how dark it is, because something wet is rolling down his legs and pooling around his feet and it smells like blood and urine, and just as soon as a screech comes bubbling up his throat-

he wakes up.

the dark chill and must of lake laogai brings him back to reality.

theres crackling and light coming from across the room. a tall shadow along the wall hes facing. he turns himself over slowly. long feng is sitting across the room, writing on paper with his ink brush. the man stops and looks up, seemingly feeling his gaze. "good morning. feeling better?"

he shakes his head. his head is the only thing that really hurts, but his heart is still pounding from memories of dreams that are fading away by the second. phantom aches pang from between his legs. what was that?

"i came by earlier to see about your report, but you were knocked out. i decided to just let you sleep since i have nothing else to do today aside from paperwork."

his boss pushes a cup of still hot tea across his desk wordlessly. slowly, he drags himself off the bed and hobbles across the room. even after all these years, pushing himself out of bed is a struggle with only one arm to do it with.

"ginseng," liuju mutters. he takes a long sip. its like a warm hug after coming in from the cold.

"yeah," long feng replies with a gentle smile. "it's your favorite, isn'it it?"

"nah," he sighs, sitting down in the seat across from his desk. his bones feel too old for a body that hes pretty sure is in its late twenties. "saffron is my favorite. with lots of spices and cream. i like ginseng too, though. makes me nostalgic."

"nostalgic, huh?"

"yeah. it's weird, i know."

"it's not weird. i get nostalgia over things i don't remember, too. sometimes i even feel like i'm in a situation i've been in before, but can't remember the past experience."

liuju nods, and for a while, there's comfortable silence.

the fireplace crackles. the light sound of long fengs brush on paper.

"i had a dream. different from the usual ones."

the brush sound comes to a stop.

"dreams?"

"yeah. it was super vivid this time. usually my dreams are just... the green fire. from the corridors, i mean. flying around me like a bug. and someone talking. but i can never remember what they were telling me by the time i wake back up. the voice almost sounds like you sometimes."

"that's... odd."

"yeah. i know people like to say dreams have meanings, but that one doesn't make any sense."

long feng has no response for that aside from a hesitant shrug.

"maybe i'm sick," liuju muses.

"hm. did you catch something outside?"

the younger man leans his head back and closes his eyes. the ginseng has him so relaxed, he could fall right back asleep

"don't think so," he murmurs. "i stay away from everyone out there." his body releases the last of its tension. "'s just you."

"strange indeed," long feng grumbles.

liuju goes back to having dreams of the green fire flying around him like a bug once again. this time, he can tell the voice truly is long fengs.

#dai li lu ten #dream sequences are so weird to write because they cant actually make any sense #this time featuring no direct references to iroh. for once #the gap in the door... its a separate reality. the only me is me. are you sure the only you is you? #alicias writing stuff

[little-peril-stories]

The Queen of Lies: The Drop, Part II

Story Intro | Content Warnings | Mood Board | Vibey Song Lyrics | Ao3

Contents: lady whump, guy whump, being threatened, being chased, injury, blood, self-blame/victim-blaming

Previous | Masterlist | Next

Word count: 5500 || Approx reading time: 22 mins

The Drop, Part II

Teaser: He wasn’t alone, at least not yet. Because against all odds, Bree hadn’t bailed on him, nor had she turned him in, and perhaps most surprising of all, her crazy husband hadn’t found her and taken her away.

Silence had never been his favourite thing. Quiet, sure, peace and calm and all that—good for when his mind filled up with too many thoughts that needed somewhere to explode out of in a mess but had nowhere to go, and the soft strum of midnight in the city or the song of wind and bird calls in the trees helped to soothe the storm.

Silence, though.

Silence filled up empty spaces in a bad way. And when his mind was reeling, silence crowded up against those thoughts—shoved them around and twisted them into something worse. Like a crack in the ice on a frozen pond, silence shattered beneath your feet and pulled you into darkness, screeching into your bones and spearing right through your heart and soul until all you could think of was how heavy the world actually was, no matter how damn hard you were trying to forget.

The townhouse was silent.

He’d known it would be, and yet the confirmation crunched and snapped inside him, anyway.

Must have been at least a week since they fucked off—no, longer. Dust coated the table in a way Spider would’ve never allowed; there were no boots by the door; there wasn’t a hint of heat in the fireplace. Just ice-cold ashes and a few charred chunks of wood.

Fox gripped tightly to the edge of the table, watching his hands paint streaks in the layer of dust. He’d known it would be cold and empty and silent.

It still hurt.

He stood, drowning, long enough that he forgot entirely how long he’d been standing there at all.

Dropping the message had been easy. Perfect. Smooth. Quick. And he should have gone back to the inn. That would have been the smart thing to do.

Temptation had won out, and here he was. Temptation had led him straight to heartache. Temptation had proved to him that, for the first time ever, really, he was alone.

Except that wasn’t truly true, was it?

He released his grip on the table and stared down at his dusty fingertips and smudged palms. Ignored the way his shoulder complained at how he’d stood with his muscles so tightly wound, rigidly enough to hurt, reminding him that it wasn’t fully healed yet. His hands twitched in memory of being held by smaller, daintier ones—hands that had not shied away from his when, inarguably, they should have stayed far, far away.

He wasn’t alone, at least not yet. Because against all odds, Bree hadn’t bailed on him, nor had she turned him in, and perhaps most surprising of all, her crazy husband hadn’t found her and taken her away.

His stomach turned. She’d been so eager to help him, to drop a message for the others, all for his sake. But she was alone out there. They’d argued about it—whether to stay together or split up. Logic had won out.

Logic was a huge bitch. He was the one who’d pushed for splitting up, and that goddamn logic felt like nothing more than a savage scam now.

Heaving a sigh, Fox looked around the empty room one last time. Nothing had changed. Still cold. Still silent.

Perhaps it was time for goodbye, then. If Wolf and Spider and Hare were really gone.

In the dust on the table, he began to scrawl. Just in case. Because maybe, just maybe, there was a sliver of hope.

I’m alive.

Underneath, a series of letters.

W.

J.

C.

G.

He paused before the last one, but some compulsion drew his fingers through the dust again.

B.

***

The evening had turned unpleasantly cold—the kind of autumn night that smelled a bit like snow but didn’t have the decency to even spill any. Fox kicked at stones on the road as he walked, unable to shake a feeling of unease. Maybe he shouldn’t have gone to the townhouse. It was probably a terrible move. And leaving that message? The damn initials? Stupid. Spider would fucking kill him if she saw it.

Or she’d be glad to find out he was alive.

He shook a few hairs out of his eyes, pissed off at how they tickled uncomfortably against his eyelashes. Damn hat, shoving his hair forward so it fell in the most annoying place.

God, what had he been thinking, going back there?

What if someone had seen him? What if constables were tearing the damn place apart right now?

He came to a stop and forced himself to take a breath. The thoughts were getting out of control.

“Sounds like we got a problem here, don’t it?”

Fox frowned at the rough voice sneering somewhere around a corner. It sounded vaguely familiar. Unpleasantly familiar.

It sounded like a guy he was pretty sure he didn’t like.

“You gotta know whose turf this is,” the voice drawled. Fox’s arms prickled beneath his coat. “And I never seen no pansy little shitheads like you around here before. ’Specially not a mouthy little bastard in a fancy-ass coat like that. So, where the hell’d you come from, fella?”

Oh, he did fucking know that voice. It belonged to a guy he’d once punched in the face (and who’d punched him back, but that was beside the point). A guy who needed another knock on the head, apparently, because what was that bullshit he was spewing aboutwhose turf this was?

It certainly wasn’t his.

This was IA territory, and no matter what his brother said about not starting shit with the other crews working the suckers in town who left their pockets unguarded, Fox was not about to let this asshole go around claiming that some other gang had somehow overtaken it.

As a high-pitched voice protested whatever that fucker was doing, Fox started forward, then paused.

His shoulder. It still ached. It probably wouldn’t take much to fuck it up again.

“Empty them nice pockets of yours, kid, and maybe we’ll let you pass through with a warning. Maybe.”

Keep walking. That was all he had to do.

“What are you doing?” their victim squeaked. “Just leave me—”

One of the nasty voices burst into a laugh, while the other said, “Fuck, what’s wrong with this guy?”

A cry that was more of a shriek.

And then—

“What the fuck?”

The cry rang in his ears, too loud and too familiar.

“Shit…” Even before the guy went on, Fox knew what he was about to say. “Shit. It’s a girl.”

He was around the corner before he’d even quite realized that he had started to move.

“Hey.”

There she was, flat against the wall where those two motherfuckers from—what were they called? Something stupid—something with an S. Stealthy…sneaky…sorry. Sorry Sixes. That’s who they ran for.

Two bastards from the Sorry Sixes had cornered her.

Those big brown eyes went straight to him, and he almost died, because she looked so scared.

But.

She also looked royally pissed.

It wasn’t like when she’d yelled at him to smarten up and stop being a vulgar, disrespectful prick while he was still in jail, or her frantic, furious tirade to Mrs. Bristow when she convinced her to let them go. It wasn’t like her trembly, worried sort of frustration from when they’d fought about splitting up to cover more ground. It wasn’t like the endless, exhausted annoyance that crossed her face every time she had to destroy another goddamn poster.

This was something new, like something had split inside her, like she had decided she was fucking sick of being pushed around.

“This little cross-dressing freak your woman?” asked the one with his knife at Bree’s throat. Blond haired, blue eyed, mean-looking as a feral dog. “Been acting all shady-like, sneaking around on Sorry Six streets. You oughta keep her a bit more under control.”

“Yeah, about that,” Fox said through gritted teeth, unable to identify which part of that little speech infuriated him the most.

“About what?” the other one asked, shaking greasy red curls away from his narrowed eyes. “Who the fuck are you, anyway?”

“This ain’t your territory,” Fox said tightly, stepping a little closer. Bree’s eyes widened.

In a tiny, subtle movement, her gaze flicking to his bad shoulder, she shook her head. As if, somehow, after only knowing him for a few weeks, she knew exactly what he was about to get himself into. And what a terrible idea it was.

The Sixes snorted. “Says who?”

“Says me.”

“Well, guess I gotta ask again,” the short one said. “Who the fuck are you?”

As Fox stepped into the gas light, the blond guy’s head tilted to the side. “Wait a minute. I know this ugly face.” He shoved Bree back against the wall—whether for dramatic effect or because she’d been trying to slip away, it was hard to tell. But she winced, and at his side, Fox’s hands clenched.

“Think I kicked your ass one time,” he said. “Doesn’t seem like it did much good. Need another go?”

“Fox,” Bree hissed.

“Oh, that’s it. Fox,” the big one mimicked. “IA, ain’t you? How’d you get outta jail? Heard you got busted like an idiot.” He grinned. “Your mug’s been all over this city. You better watch your step, or we gonna be reading a big, splashy headline ’bout you in a day or so.”

With a gruesome, taunting grimace, the ginger mimed getting hanged, tilting his head as if his neck had been snapped.

“Didn’t know you could read,” Fox said, as his blood ran hot. Bree closed her eyes.

The redhead guffawed. “Ha, ha. Hilarious, Dog Boy.”

“Dog Boy. Good one. You come up with that yourself?” He stepped a little closer; neither of them moved. “Get your fucking hands off her.”

“And if I don’t? What you gonna do about it? Your wimpy freak of a leader gonna come and wag his finger at me?” The fucker with the knife laughed. “Last I heard, IA’s dead. And…” His voice trailed off for a moment as he dragged that stare back over Bree’s face. “And they’re looking for both of you.”

Fox heard the words—heard the taunt, the refusal to leave Bree alone, and the pointed jab at his brother. They burst at him like sparks, dropping in painful pinpricks he could not ignore.

He was about to leap, bum shoulder be damned, when Bree kicked the guy holding her right in the goddamn jewels.

“Fucking shit!” Fox yelped as she tore away from the wall, gasping. “You gone crazy?”

“Maybe,” she said, grabbing his arm. “Don’t fight. Let’s g—”

Rich of her, to tell him not to fight when she was the one who had just slammed her leg right into her attacker’s nuts.

And pretty optimistic, seeing as the short one was barrelling straight toward the both of them.

“Bree, get out of here.” Fox didn’t know if she would listen—had a bad feeling, after the assault she’d just launched on the asshole with the knife, that she would not—but the command tore out of him anyway, because neither of these fuckers was going to touch her again, not if he had anything to do with it. How had she even run into them, anyway? Her drop point was blocks away.

A story he could get out of her later, because right now there was an ass that needed kicking.

“You’re going to get h—” She squealed into silence as the blond guy recovered from his howls of pain, repositioned his knife, and shot forward.

“Ah, fuck!” The short one’s fist slammed into Fox’s shoulder just as Bree somehow did what he could not—sidestep her attacker. She still cried out, her voice mingling with his cursing as pain tore through his shoulder. “Bree, for fuck’s sake, just run! I can handle—”

Granted, he would handle it better if he weren’t so busy yelling at her to get lost. The ginger caught him with a knock on his jaw. No big deal. Nothing he couldn’t get back up from.

And he had to get back up from it, because the tall motherfucker with the knife was moving again.

“This ain’t IA territory no more,” the little one hissed. “Not since you landed your sorry ass in jail and the rest of your crew fucked off.”

Fox forgot that his shoulder and his jaw hurt, and he forgot he was being stupid. He sprang forward and knocked the goddamn asshole and his hideous, taunting mouth to the ground.

He shouldn’t have looked away from Bree, though.

The big guy caught hold of her hair, and she shrieked when he yanked her toward him and snarled, “Didn’t know IA had their hands on such cute little gals. ’Specially one who also got her face plastered on every damn wall in this town.”

She gasped and tilted her head back as he kept pulling on her hair. “What are you doing? Let me go, you disgusting, wicked, horrid—”

God, it would almost be sweet, watching her trying to throw out insults like that, if it weren’t so fucking horrifying.

The knife. Back at her throat.

No no no no no no no—

“Pretty little reward for the constable’s pretty little wife,” the blond one said, and as Fox struggled to figure out exactly how he was going to get both of them out of this mess, the other Six swept his feet from under him.

“And a reward for this asshole, too.” Black spots danced before Fox’s eyes as his bad arm was pressed into his back, followed by the other. “You just nothing but talk, eh? Dog Boy’s all bark and no bite.”

Fuck. Fuck.

In the distance, a whistle blasted through the air. Deep-throated shouts. Clicking, scraping footsteps.

“Would you look at that,” said the tall one smugly. “Coppers are nearby. Won’t they be surprised to see what we found?”

“You fucking idiots,” Fox snarled. “They could just arrest you both, too.”

With a growl, the red-haired one twisted his bad arm a little tighter. Fox gasped.

“C’mon, Mrs. Constable,” the big guy said, taking the knife from Bree’s neck for just long enough to pull her arms behind her, too, and shove her to her knees. “Ain’t you lucky? Gonna see your loony of a husband again.” He grinned at his friend. “And we’re gonna get an extra payday, huh?”

His friend cackled, and Fox found Bree’s gaze as they began to call into the night for the police to come running.

The freezing cobblestone underneath him should have been what chilled him to the bone. But what he saw in Bree’s eyes stabbed right into him like ice.

“I’m not going back,” she whispered. So quiet, he was almost only reading her lips. “I’m not. I’m not. I’m—”

“What’re you saying, missus?” The blond peered into her face. “I don’t like your husband much, neither, but I’ll sure take his money.”

“I said…” Bree glared up at him. “I said I’m not going back.”

Wetness gleamed beneath her eyes now, eerie and flashing in the yellow light.

“Let g-go of m-my hands,” she said suddenly. Whimpering. Trembling. “I’ll…I’ll give you whatever I have. That’s what y-you want, right?”

The big guy twirled his knife in his free hand, laughing. “Gonna get a lot more for taking you in, Mrs. Constable. But thanks anyway.”

“Please,” she said, sobbing. “You’re hurting me.”

Her downcast eyes flicked up momentarily and met Fox’s.

“I’ll give you whatever you want,” she whimpered, the instant of silent communication gone, and she craned her neck to look up at the shithead holding onto her. “Please. I’ve got m-money—”

What? Whatever she had in her pockets, it wasn’t much.

Fucking fuck, she was running a scam.

The tall Six growled but let go, pulling her up again to brandish the knife in front of her face.

Mewling quietly to herself, Bree picked at her pockets with shaking hands, and shot Fox a look.

“On three,” she mouthed, as if he were somehow wise to whatever plan she had concocted. Down by her pocket, her fingers counted: one—two—three—

Whatever clumsy but earnest assault she launched into with a shriek, Fox missed, because he gritted his teeth and threw his body upwards, which destroyed his aching muscles and fucked-up shoulder exactly as much as he’d expected it to, but he didn’t really have much choice or much time to come up with something better, and honestly, it worked just fine, with the ginger caught off guard. Fox forced him to roll, and with his arm pretty much out of commission, landed the most forceful kick he could muster right in his potato-shaped nose.

“Come on!” He latched onto Bree’s hand the moment he was on his feet. She hadn’t done much to incapacitate the big guy, but it looked like she had managed to kick him in the shins or something, which was going to have to be good enough to give them time to run. Because as much as he wanted to pummel both of these jerks into the ground, his arm said absolutely not, and if the constables really were on their way, they needed to get gone.

“What the fuck happened back there?” he gasped when they’d made it far enough from the frustrated yowling of the Sixes and the cops that only ordinary evening-in-the-city sounds swelled around them. “How’d you even run into those pricks?”

“I got lost,” she said. “It’s a long—”

“You could’ve been hurt!”

As if she somehow hadn’t expected him to be mad, she blanched. The flicker of hurt, though, was quickly replaced by her own anger. “Me?” she retorted. “You jumped right in, knowing your shoulder is still healing! What were you thinking?”

“You kicked that guy in the nuts! What if he’d been just a little nastier, huh? You know what he could’ve done to you?”

His breath was fighting against him—struggling to get in, screeching and scratching on the way out. Fuck, he’d been in fights, and yeah, he’d been clobbered before, not that he much liked admitting it, but this feeling in his chest was new, clawing at him from the inside, tight and only growing.

“Bree, you could have died!”

What had he been thinking, for god’s sake, letting her drop a message? Letting her get involved? How stupid was he? Everyone else knew it. They’d told him time and time again. Idiot. Reckless. Foolhardy. Impulsive. Thoughtless. Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid—

“Fox, you’re hurting me,” Bree whispered, and he looked down toward the hand squeezing hers.

Shit.

“Fuck. I’m sorry.” He let go, staring at the fingers that had been about to crush hers. Stupid and ill-fucking-tempered, after all that bullshit of Bree, I’m not him and trying to be better than the soul-sucking demon she’d married and here he was, yelling at her and scaring the shit out of her and hurting her, damn it all. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

The words died.

His fingers were slick with blood.

And he was pretty goddamn sure it wasn’t his.

“Bree…”

Her eyes went from his face to his bloody hand, and she gasped softly. “Oh. What did you—”

“It’s not mine,” he said, reaching for the hand he’d been clasping, and the sight of it nearly had him hurling his guts into the street, not because he had a problem with blood, for fuck’s sake, but because of whose blood it was. And how it dripped from her fingers, flowing freely. And fast.

“Oh, my—” Her face went a little green as she realized she was the one leaving a blood trail. “I don’t even know when—”

“Shit,” he hissed, watching dark red splatter onto the stone beneath them. “That looks bad.”

“I’m…I’m sure it’s…” For a moment, he could just see it: her eyelids fluttering closed, her limp body falling to the stone, him having to carry her in his arms while hoping she wouldn’t bleed out then and there…

And then she fumbled for a handkerchief, pressing it against the jagged slice that bastard had left on her forearm, right up to her wrist.

“It’s going to be fine,” she said firmly, even though she was pale.

He watched the starched cotton blossom with wet, seeping darkness, then pulled off his scarf. “Use this.” His hands shook as he pressed the wool to her arm, wrapping it with clumsy fingers.

How long till they got to the inn? Too long. Maybe the scarf would help staunch the blood. But it needed a real bandage. And she probably needed to not be running through the streets in a panic.

“I’m sorry,” he said hoarsely. “I wasn’t trying to scare you.”

She didn’t move her hands from where they held the makeshift bandage to her arm. But her gaze tilted upwards. “You don’t scare me.”

He swallowed.

“Tell me if you start to feel real bad, okay?” He itched to take her hand in his, so strongly it was almost making him twitch. But she needed to keep pressure on that goddamn cut. “We gotta keep moving. But we’re almost there.”

“Are you sure?” she asked, looking around nervously, a shiver wracking her body. “I don’t know where we are.” 

“We’re not going back to the inn. Not with your arm looking like that.” Her eyes widened, but after a moment, she seemed to realize that he was, for once in his life, following a sensible impulse and not a harebrained one.

“Okay,” she said softly. “I trust you.”

Fox was struck by how fiercely he wanted to just scoop her into his arms and carry her all the way—how much she looked like she needed it. But she stayed on her own two feet, and even though she winced with each jarring step, as the night fell colder and deeper around them, she did not complain. He had to force himself to stay far, far away from the question of why she handled her pain so stoically.

“Just a minute,” he said when they got there, as he pried a loose board from the steps and fished around in the dark, trying to find the key. “Fuck! Where is it?” He’d just dropped it back there an hour ago at most. Where the hell could it have gone?

He heard her soft intake of breath, startled and nervous, and he ordered himself to calm the fuck down.

“Sorry,” he muttered, finally grasping the key and shoving the board back into place. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t find…”

“It’s all right.” Was he imagining it, or was her voice growing faint?

Getting the goddamn key into the lock was even more of an ordeal. He was on the verge of just breaking down the door and facing the consequences later when the lock clicked and the door swung open.

“Got bandages somewhere,” he said, helping her through the entryway—he knew every uneven floorboard, every sharp corner, but she didn’t. “I just—I mean—I—fuck—” Where was he supposed to start? “Water. Right? Wash it. Needs to be…”

“Fox…”

“It’s usually me with the stupid injuries,” he said as he guided her toward the kitchen, “the dumb, idiot, clumsy, dumb fuck who’s hurt, and everyone else is running around finding me bandages, not the other way around, so I don’t really—”

“Just—”

“But I think—I gotta boil water, right? So it’s clean? Or whatever? Does that sound right?”

Stupid, stupid, stupid. The word danced around his head, taunting him, unwilling to let him forget for even an instant how foolish it had been to let Bree get anywhere close to IA life.

So what had he done?

Brought her to its headquarters.

Its empty, abandoned headquarters—but IA’s former stronghold, nonetheless.

He tore through the cupboards. God, the others were so damn organized, far more than he was, so you’d think he be able to find a single fucking bandage somewhere.

“Got it,” he said, leaving the cupboard door wide open and turning back toward Bree

“Fox!”

The scarf hit the floor more heavily than it should have.

“You’re panicking,” she said. Her handkerchief stuck to her skin; even in the dim light, he could see how wrong it was. The wrong colour, pasted and slick against her arm.

“No, I’m not.” Fuck, her fingers were cold. They found his as he pressed the new bandage to her cut.

“Yes, you are.”

“I’m not—”

“I’m okay.” Weak light, moon and lamp glows mingled, drifted in, just enough to see that her cheeks were wet and her lip was trembling. “I’m okay.”

“Fuck that,” he said, forgetting who he was talking to for a moment. Until she flinched. “You’re crying.”

“Y-yes,” she said. “I think—I think it’s—it’s catching up with me now.” She drew a shuddering breath. “I was scared. I was scared. I was so scared.” She took a step closer. “When I saw you, when you came around the corner, I felt—I was—I was so—I felt safer, but then—when I thought they might hurt you, and then when they were going to turn us in, and the thought of you—” She gasped, and then she pressed against him, her head to his chest. “Of Baden hurting you again—”

That made him sputter. “Of him hurting me again?” She was shaking. From cold? Leftover terror? Blood loss? Wracking sobs? “You serious?”

“He almost killed you.”

“God, Bree, what d’you think he’d do to you?” His voice cracked. “For being the one to help me? You think I could—you think I could handle that? Him getting his hands on you? So he could…he could…”

Before he even quite realized what he was doing, he had wrapped his arms around her, embracing that fragile form as if his body could shield her from the horrors of her past.

“Those constables,” Bree whispered, leaning into him. “They were after me.”

“After you?”

“I ran into my friends,” she said. “They recognized me. Taking down the posters. I—Alice, I think she would have looked the other way, but—but Marguerite, she… She looked… She thought I had gone…” A choking gasp. “She yelled for the police, so I ran. That’s why I was lost. And how I ended up there.”

“It’s okay,” he said, holding tighter. “They didn’t catch you.”

“But if they’d caught you, it would have been all my fault.”

He pulled away then. “No. It wouldn’t have.”

“And that boy hurt your arm,” she said shakily. “Because I—I made them angry—I wasn’t trying to—”

“Not your fault either,” he said. “They’re both shitheads. Plain and simple.”

She laughed, weepy but genuine, and it was beautiful. It brought him back from that fuzzy, floating realm of rage that seemed to exist outside of time and space, that turned the world white and red and black and made his thoughts go hazy and made him just want to scream and lash out and make the pain and the people causing it go away. That laugh, even thick and choked with tears, grounded him. Reminded him of why he’d been so pissed off in the first place. Who he’d been so desperate to protect.

He pressed one hand to her cheek. She didn’t startle, didn’t flinch. When he slid it down to the tip of her chin, and with the gentlest, barest force he could muster, tilted it up so he could look into her eyes, she didn’t pull away.

“None of it was your fault,” he said. “I’m sorry I yelled at you. I’m sorry for making you think…” His mouth had gone dry. “I was scared, too.”

Scared of what, exactly?

Bree brushed away the tears that still glittered on her cheeks. “I’m worried I’m getting blood on your coat.”

Blood. “Shit!” He was supposed to be boiling water. Apologizing and explaining and cuddling were all great, but they weren’t going to do much to help her sliced-open arm. “Let me—god, I’m sorry, I’m really terrible at this whole thing—”

He bolted for the door. When you lived in an old-ass townhouse, you got the pleasure of using the old-ass well down the road instead of the fancy-ass running water the rich folk got. And if no one had been in the house for weeks, there sure as hell wasn’t any water inside. “Sit down, okay? I’m coming back. I’ll—I’m just going for water—I’ll be right there!”

He fled before she could comment on what a piss-poor medic he made, or on the fact that he still had to get a goddamn fire going before he could even think about boiling water.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. At least the inn would have had hot, clean water ready to use.

But it was farther away.

But it was safer.

But she’d have kept bleeding into the street.

Water in tow, he skidded back inside and went straight for the oven, flinging open the cast-iron door and throwing in the first flammable things he could find. He really had to concentrate, to focus his energy on lighting the kindling and making sure the logs took to flame, because his mind was racing again, too fast and too loud. If Bree said anything, he didn’t hear.

When he finally turned around, water heating and candles lit so they could actually see, her head lay on her good arm—her body slumped over the table.

“Shit! You okay?” He flew to her side. Landed on his knees.

Her eyes fluttered open immediately. “Yes. I’m just resting.” Slowly, she sat up. “You were here already.”

“Huh?”

She pointed to the message he’d written in dust earlier that day—such a short time ago, yet it felt like decades. “What does it mean?”

“What do you mean, what does it mean?” He stood up again, embarrassed that he’d panicked when she’d merely closed her eyes in exhaustion. An inspection of her arm showed that no new blood had soaked through the bandage she still held against it. “It says I’m alive.”

“Not that,” she said. He tried to catch any resentment in her voice. But she didn’t sound surprised that he’d been to the house already. “The other part. The letters.”

He looked again at the initials. It was so obvious to him—but of course, to her, it meant nothing.

“You really wanna know?”

His heart was still racing, but as he looked over the letters, his mind calmed once more, and his limbs moved without frenzy—one hand to stroke her cheek, an unconscious movement he couldn’t have resisted even if he wanted to, and the other to take her unbandaged arm.

“Of course.” Her eyes were on him. When he moved her hand, though, she looked to the table, to the letter B, and what he was writing there with the tip of her finger.

Bree.

She frowned, confused, until he did it again. Guided her finger to form the rest of the letters that were missing behind the W.

Silence draped over them, but it wasn’t the boggy, drowning, thought-twisting kind. It was the kind that made him forget why the house was so silent. It was the kind that dripped with sweetness and with promise, that inhabited the space between strangers and not, between fear and loyalty, between the past and the future.

“Will,” she breathed. “Your name is Will.”

No doubt. No mistrust. Not even a question; it was as if, by some magic, she had always known, and the revelation was no surprise. The sound of his name coming from those lips was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard, like birdsong after a storm or the crunch of boots on a fresh, white crust of snow.

“My name is Will,” he echoed.

Bree was silent again, gazing at him with wide, shining eyes. In unison, they drew closer, and Will’s entire body tingled with every possibility contained in the moments between them, in their shivering breaths that seemed to go in and out as one, and in the crackling air that seemed now to connect rather than separate.

And then she was the one with her arms around him, those bird’s wings enveloping him as if they might never let go, and her lips were pressed to his. Her kiss was warm, as soft as air, almost, and just as life-giving. It tasted the way he imagined starlight would: sweet and bright and colourful, like strawberries in summer, like apples in autumn, like cinnamon and sugar and just-brewed tea.

With his pounding heart rattling every inch of his body, Will Wardrew kissed Bree Scarlett back, and even though their world was in shambles and maybe always had been, there was a moment where everything—everything—was right.

Previous | Masterlist | Next

Taglist (please let me know if you’d like to be added/removed!)

@starlit-hopes-and-dreams

@clairelsonao3

@gala1981

@pleasestaywithmedarling

@kixngiggles

✨

#lps the queen of lies #tqol thiefcam #whump #whump story #whump writing #original writing #original story #original content #lady whump #guy whump #romance #angst #tw threatened #tw chased #injury #blood #self-blame #tw victim-blaming

[arleniansdoodles]

can you gives another sneak-peak of you gow fanfic? this time on jotunheim? Pretty please T-T

Sure thing! Here's a short-ish snippet of Atreus and Calliope arriving in Ironwood, and meeting Angrboda (and best boi Fenrir loll). Keep reading under the cut if you don't mind spoilers ;)

Also, quick note, I've decided to start posting the fic this Sunday, Nov 5! I'd say it's close enough to Ragnarok's release date loll And since it's also my birthday, I'll release the first two chapters together so y'all don't have to wait for Atreus and Calliope's first meeting XDD After that, I'm not sure whether to post once or twice a week, so feel free to let me know what you guys would like!

~~~~~

The warm breeze and golden sun of Jötunheim greeted Atreus like an old friend. He breathed in deeply of Ironwood’s pleasantly sweet and earthy smell. He was home for the second time today!

Angrboda’s treehouse lay before them. Excitement pooled in Atreus’ stomach at the sight. “We’re here! Welcome to Ironwood, sis.”

Before she could say anything, the comfortable quiet of the afternoon was broken by a sudden, familiar howl. Brother-cub! Fenrir called, carefully trotting over to them despite his instincts to run and leap with excitement. Ever since Atreus placed Fenrir’s soul in Garm’s body, his dear wolf had to be mindful of his size when moving among the smaller Giants.

Atreus laughed and rubbed Fenrir’s large nose. “Aww, Fen! It’s so good to see you! Hey, Calliope? It’s okay, come on out! Fenrir’s my third wolf, and a very good boy. See?”

Calliope peeked out from behind Atreus, staring at the wolf with wide eyes. Fenrir blinked at her. New cub?

“That’s right, she’s your new Sister-cub!” Atreus gently took Calliope’s hand and placed it on Fenrir’s nose. Slowly, she began to pet it.

“Hello,” she said quietly to Fenrir. “I’m Calliope of Sparta.”

New cub, Fenrir rumbled, snuffling the front of her dress as he took in her scent.

Calliope gradually relaxed. “You have Giant wolves too?” she asked Atreus.

“Aside from Fen, there’s just Sköll and Hati, I think. He used to be normal-sized like Speki and Svanna, but … Well, it’s a long story. But he lived with me and Father.”

Welcome, Sister-cub, Fenrir said happily. His tail thumped once on the ground with a muffled boom. Calliope jumped, but soon went back to petting Fenrir’s snout.

“Is Angrboda around, boy?” Atreus asked.

“Right here, Loki,” came that warm, welcome voice. Angrboda stepped out from behind Fenrir, a playful smile on her face.

Something bright and bubbly burst in Atreus’ stomach, spreading through his chest and tingling up to his scalp. He moved forward as if in a dream, and their fingers entwined. And then they were hugging, his nose buried in her dark locks as he breathed in the faintly floral, Ironwood-y scent mixed with the herbal tints of her paints. Her cheek was soft against his. She pressed closer to him; her breath gusted over his ear and neck, and his knees trembled.

When she pulled back, Atreus leaned forward before she could and kissed the edge of her mouth. Oh – damn it, he’d been aiming for her cheek! At least he wasn’t the only one blushing now.

Angrboda squeezed his hands and kissed his temple. “I’m so happy to see you, Loki. Safe and soundly, too.”

“Thanks, Boda. It’s great to see you, too. How is everyone?”

“They’re all doing good! I’m sure they’ll know that you’re here, thanks to Fenrir’s howl.” Angrboda glanced around Atreus. “Uh, so where’s that sister you were talking about? Oh!”

Calliope was once again hiding behind Atreus. Fenrir sniffed at her curiously, completely giving her away. Atreus chuckled to himself and drew Calliope to his side. “Hey, sis? Remember me telling you about Angrboda? Well, here she is! Boda, this is Calliope.”

Angrboda crouched down so that she was eye-level with Calliope, and beamed at her. “Hi there! Your brother has told me quite a bit about you. You like music?”

Calliope nodded shyly. “I like the flute.”

“That’s lovely! We have some musicians here, and artists, and others besides. But what do you say to getting settled, first? I made up a little bed for you, right above mine.”

Calliope nodded again. “Thank you.”

Angrboda stood and held out her hand. To Atreus’ delight, Calliope took it, and the three of them went to Angrboda’s treehouse.

#writing #my writing #fanfiction #my fanfiction #god of war #god of war ragnarok #au #atreus #calliope #angrboda #ironwood #jotunheim #fenrir

[dragonmuse]

Smut ask! Would Lucius ever use a Bluetooth vibrating plug with izzy (like the phone controlled ones)? Try to take him out somewhere?

(got one more, but it's late here,so I'll takcle it tomorrow. Enjoy this one that took some discreet googling first!)

It had taken so much negotiation, but Lucius decided it was absolutely worth it the first time he was across the room and touched the discreet button. Fifteen feet away, Izzy visibly flinched and a faint pink crawled up the back of his neck. 

They’d had a lot of back and forth about where this could reasonably be carried out and against all outside logic, the smaller art museum that they both enjoyed had won out. The abundance of bathrooms in case something went very wrong or very right was a win. It was also fairly close to Izzy’s apartment. They were highly unlikely to run into someone either of them knew and there were benches in every gallery in case sitting down was necessitated.  

“And you can say no at any time,” Lucius said seriously. 

“All right,” Izzy muttered, instead of his usual eye roll or sarcastic retort. Lucius would never stop reminding him regardless, but he was doubly glad he did on days when Izzy replied like that. Like he needed it to be okay to go forward.  

All that careful ground work and now Lucius got to play. 

Izzy had been in front of a very abstract painting. A usual favorite of his with cascading cubes, but right now he was clearly no seeing it at all. Lucius thumbed over the button again, turning it off entirely. Izzy’s shoulders came back down an inch. After a hesitant second, he started moving again, onto the next painting. 

Lucius rotated too, always keeping Izzy within his line of sight without being in Izzy’s. The first few times he kept it short and on the lowest intensity. Just to ease Izzy into it a little. It was only when they got into a bigger, louder room that would cover things a little more, that Lucius rocketed up the intensity two notches. Izzy full-body twitched, then folded his arms over his chest, when a woman glanced over at him. 

His usually ramrod posture looked electrified and Lucius could only imagine what he was feeling. Steady pulses that would rock the plug in him fractionally, brushing up against his prostate. 

With a smile that Lucius hid behind a coffee cup, he hit the next setting. Irregular pulses from the gentle to the near bone shaking. Then he trailed behind Izzy and watched him try to act normal. It was adorable and sexy as fuck. A secret strung between them, making the air thick with anticipation and want. 

Then Lucius clicked it off again, the agreed upon time having elapsing. He came alongside Izzy to look at a pretty floral scene. 

“I was thinking of getting a snack on the way home,” he mused. Izzy tensed at his side. “Sit down outside, enjoy the sun. Take a load off. No rush to get home is there?” 

Izzy mutely shook his head and Lucius knew his smile was far too sharp for the location, but no one had ever been thrown out a museum for smiling wrong to his knowledge. 

They exited the museum and Izzy kept his usual clipped pace at Lucius’ side and if there was a slight hitch in his giddyup, no one that didn’t know him well would notice. The full body shudder as he sat down at the table Lucius pointed to was probably far more observable. Lucius went inside the cafe to get them both bottles of water and himself an indulgent muffin. Not that he was really thinking about blueberries. He was re-opening the app and watching Izzy through the window as he turned on regular, medium pluses. Like a staccato fuck. 

One hand gripped the edge of the table, the other flexed uselessly against his knee. Lucius was practically singing as he gathered his order and brought it outside. The rush of power and control making him nearly lightheaded. 

“Here,” Lucius gave Izzy his bottle of water. “Hold onto that, hm?” 

Izzy clutched at it, eyes just barely managed to stay open. 

“Yes, pup,” he said so low that Lucius nearly missed it. 

“We’re only three blocks away. I know you can do this,” Lucius said conversationally, taking a bit of his muffin. “You’re doing very well.” 

Izzy pressed the bottle of water to the back of his neck without another word. Lucius picked up his phone and Izzy reflexively curled in on himself a little. Poor man. Lucius considered mercy. 

He upped the vibration intensity. 

“Jesus fuck,” Izzy’s eyes did close, but only for a second. He took a breath and righted himself. Aside from a few splotches of color that could be chalked up to the increasingly sunny day, no one would know anything was amiss. 

Lucius took his time eating his muffin, occasionally lessening things. Once turning it off entirely for an entire three minutes, then flicking it back on to its highest setting. The longer he messed around, the calmer Izzy was able to project. 

“Such quick learner,” he praised as he washed down the last bite of food, making sure to swish a few times to knock away any crumbs. Nothing he ate should set Izzy off, but he’d gotten into the habit and figured it was a good one to keep up. “Ready to go home.” 

“Yes, pup,” Izzy braced himself a little to stand, but made it up. 

Lucius turned it off for the walk, wanting to get home a little more urgently himself. As soon as they were in the elevator though, he set it to purring again, the undulating pulses with no gaps between soft to hard to soft to hard. Without witnesses, Izzy slumped against the wall, riding it out. His pants were loose, but Lucius could still make out the erection pressing feverishly against their week constraints. 

At the door, Izzy fumbled the keys for a moment, but the door finally opened and Lucius was quick to slam it behind them, locking it. 

“That was gorgeous,” Lucius pulled Izzy hard against him, reaching down to press the heel of his hand against Izzy’s ass. He could feel the vibrations. His other hand cupped the heated iron bar of Izzy’s cock. “I bet I could make you come right now just like this, couldn’t I?” 

“Yes, pup.” Izzy groaned. 

“But that would be such a waste. Got you all open and worked up for me. Shoes, pants, underwear, then bend over the arm of the couch. Put your t-shirt down over it first, no need to make a mess. 

Izzy hustled to obey. Leisurely, Lucius unbuckled his belt and undid his fly. He didn’t want to yield to the vulnerability of nudity when he felt like this. He was in charge with an iron fist today, not even wrapped in velvet. 

What a picture Izzy made, stripped down and legs spread wide, the thick black flare of the plug stark against the pale, dark-furred globes of his ass. Lucius considered and with great care ladi down a single smack across both cheeks that would doubtless jar the plug hard. 

Izzy groaned, head dropping another inch.  Lucius reached down and gave the plug an experimental tug, watching a half-inch slide out then pressing it back in. 

“I got you the second smallest,” Lucius told him. “Wouldn’t want to stretch you out too much. I know how much you like the burn. Do you want it now?” 

“Please,” Izzy all, but whimpered. “I want it, please...” 

“I know you do,” Lucius leaned down to kiss the back of Izzy’s neck. “You’re doing very very well. You can have it.” 

Not before Lucius slicked himself with lube though. Then he turned the plug off and eased it out of Izzy with care, putting it down carefully. Then he thumbed Izzy open, examining him carefully. 

“Mmm, little open for me,” he smoothed more lube over Izzy’s hole as if to soothe. “I might have to try that thing. Would you like that? Get to play with me for once? I’d let you fuck me after too.” 

Izzy was beyond responding, but that was fine. Lucius was ready to hammer nails with his cock and words deserted him at last. He just lined himself up, grabbed Izzy’s hips and pulled him closed. The glorious punched out sound Izzy made only fed the beast. 

There was nothing left in Lucius to be coy or cute, he just went at it, giving Izzy one of his hands to rut against. It was over in less than a minute, both of them coming with unusual speed. Lucius was pretty sure someone hand yanked his spine out along with most of his orgasm as he barely held himself up from squashing Izzy awkwardly over the arm of the couch. 

“That was so...fucking...hot,” he declared, taking a step back and hauling Izzy up with him. He pet izzy’s chest, his stomach as he kissed his neck and shoulder. “You good?” 

“Mmphh.” 

“Goblin?” 

“Mmm.” 

“You alive in there?” 

Izzy’s head lolled against Lucius’ shoulder, he took a few more seconds, then one eye cracked open, “I don’t know if I could survive doing that too often.” 

“Yeah, no, special occasions only,” Lucius laughed and wrapped both arms solidly around him. “You were amazing, seriously. I don’t think I could’ve held it together for like thirty seconds of that, let alone forty-five minutes.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah, Iz, seriously. That was impressive. Come on, let’s get into the shower, then you should eat something.” 

Izzy went where Lucius led. The iron fist had retreated, but the easy control settled in its place. The kind sort that Lucius wore almost every day with pleasure. But on days like today, it felt even better. He could be cruel, and Izzy would attend his every step. And then he could be sweet, and Izzy would still be there, but his smile would come more readily and his words would flow. By the time they were dressed again, Izzy was telling him about a case at work and a photo he’d taken. Lucius listened, watching him with equal intensity as just an hour ago. Maybe more. 

Maybe he was always watching just like this. A bottomless hunger that he never wanted entirely sated.

#leda house and the kraken verse #ficlet #goblin king and the pup #izzy hands #lucius black

[viewscraftroom]

It’s been a hot minute since I posted any progress made on Ingrid’s Greywarden outfit so here’s a rundown of what I’ve done:

After finishing the chest piece I moved onto making the cropped jacket thing. Above is the first pass. I used 3D fabric paint to mimic the studs typically seen on this particular garment. As you can see it’s a tad too big.

Because I’m lazy and didn’t want to hand stitch the fabric edges I used fabric glue and folded them down. This messed with the shape of the edges, making them curved rather than strait. And of course stiff. Because you know. Glue.

I also didn’t make the hump thing while making the sleeve pattern so once the sleeves were attached the whole garment didn’t lay on the body well.

So I did some tweaking to the pattern and tried again.

The jacket fits much more snug to the point where her hands need to be removed to put it on but that’s fiiiine. I hand stitched all the fabric edges this time around and it looks so much better. Also sewed on a collar and front clasp

As for the studs I decided not to have them run down the sleeves so I can add bracers without there being too much going on on the arms. This is a smaller scale doll after all so less is more in this case. Once the fabric paint was dry I covered each stud with silver paint using a toothpick.

With the jacket done I can pay more attention to the tunic/poncho thing that will be worn under the armour. To give the illusion of scaled plating striping the front and back I made chain stitches using metallic embroidery floss. It was a bitch to use and in hindsight I should have made guidelines on the fabric to keep the stitches straight. Ah well

To prevent the fabric from curling in on itself and to cover up the backing of the chain stitches (or is it chain knots? I can’t remember), I pinned some extra fabric to the back and used a blanket stitch all the way around. The image above is during that blanket stitching process.

You will also notice that I added jewelry hoops every couple stitches to the bottom hem. I did this on both sides and just wanted a fun little detail. Would they be practical for a rogue? Maybe not a lot, but I like how it looks and it’s not as if dragon age armour is realistically practical all the time anyway.

Here is what it looks like thus far:

Where I left off was blanket stitching the upper portion around the shoulders to clean up the fabric edges. I’ll likely do some sort of stitch around the neckline as well.

Then I’ll move onto either bracers or boots next. I’m not sure yet. Because she’s a Fereldan warden I had the thought of using the extra brushed out yarn I have to possibly use as fur lining. Stay tuned!

#artists on tumblr #custom dolls #ooak doll #handmade #diy #dragon age origins #warden brosca #ingrid brosca

[hedgiwithapen]

Prompt for Dammit Hedgi Day: Paradox Pack circus AU, with or without powers (yes this is bc I rec'd you The Circus Infinite)

Outside of set up or tear down, Clubs never set foot on stage. From the moment he'd turned up, dripping from the rain outside Jenna "The Nightingale" Clarke's trailer, that much was clear. He'd be up with the sunrise, loading or unloading whatever needed to be moved, but by the time crowds started to gather, he'd find some task to do well out of sight. 

It worked out well enough. The Paradox Pack was a small enough crew, reusing what it had to to fill out the stage and the time. With Sungdog's dazzling light show juxtaposed as a bookend against Darkling's sleights of hand (and body), they only needed a few other acts. Butterfly's ribbon acrobatics and dancing was always as much a showstopper as Dynamo's lightning juggling or Nightingale's trapeze and aerial silks act. They all pitched in for smaller things between the big acts. It kept the lights on, both in the trailers and on the stage.

They never asked who he was hiding from, but it was clear he was hiding.  It was nothing new to any of them. 

He could always run.

It was Nightingale who coaxed him backstage, one night of the performances. "Just to watch," she said. "Get some ideas for if you ever want to try something."

"I could get you a mask," Butterfly said. Her sister took care of all the costumes, from Darkling's black cloak to the dazzling blue leotard Nightingale wore, perfectly matched to her silks, or the blue shapes she made with light to glimmer alongside her. When they dropped by Halcyon City, adjustments were made, and the rest of the time Butterfly made sure everything was in shape for the show. "Or Dynamo could do something with the lighting so no one could see your face..."

"Thanks, Clubs said, nervously checking that his blond hair curled behind his ear. Dynamo's gift with electricity  lent itself well to making the stage appear different for every act, with nothing more than some cheaply painted backdrops and a couple of color filters. "I'd rather just... watch, for now."

He did love what he saw, even just when he watched the practices. There was real beauty in the way they used their abilities, elegant and composed. He'd said as much, and nearly offended Butterfly, the lone powerless member of the pack. He stammered out that he didn't mean just their powers, but their skills and their joy in using them, and they'd gone back to watching Sundog fill the stage with a miniature star, bursting it into a fanfare of fireworks. Butterfly had left him standing at the curtain to make her own entrance amidst the glitter.

He didn't tell her that she was the one he was most jealous of.

November nights were cold in Halcyon. The patchy frost on the rooftops had been expected, normal, even if it clearly put Nightingale on edge. 

"After this show, we'll head south again," Dynamo promised, to Clubs's very obvious relief, and fainter relief from Nightingale and Darkling. Butterfly had flashed a thumbs up, promising to work things out with her sister for the newest costumes. The Show had gone on.

In the middle of one of Nightingale's acts, singing from a high platform with blue light trailing behind her like wings, someone without a ticket burst in, a hunter who'd finally caught up to prey.

Ice spread from the supervillain Shiver's hands, down the aisle and through the audience to the stage.  From where he stood in the wings, Clubs could see the way the platform, which already swayed, trembled as frost weakened the rivets.  Clubs could see the way the woman's stare froze Nightingale on her perch. 

He could see that she would fall. 

He could run. He had before. He could now. 

There were too many people in the audience to hide from them all, but in the moment that the platform gave way, none of that mattered. He ran. 

And jumped.

And caught her. 

#dammit hedgi day 2023 #Paradox Pack #Clubs the Bull #my masks game my beloved :)

[lady-of-pain]

Hi

If it's not too much to ask, how did you manage to paint the gold on your Malenia cosplay that well?

With the ER boardgame coming out soon, I've been rather dreading the tree sentinel that comes with it as I often struggle with golds

hi!! ty for the ask! I’m not the greatest at teaching but I can try and explain what I did the best I can! And thank you so much!

I’ll use the helmet as an example. All of the armor is painted this way save for the white parts of the legs.

So I started with a Vallejo airbrush base coat gold.

I then went in and did a little dry brushing with black acrylic/black acrylic diluted with a little water to add some basic shadows. I used a combination of soft brushes and a natural sponge to help blend it out.

Next I sprayed the whole helmet at this point with a matte spray varnish to protect the paint so I could go in with water mixable oil washes in black and brown to make a dark brown grimy color. I did a few passes of the oil wash and let it sit for a few seconds before wiping it away with a paper towel. It mutes the shiny pristine gold really well and adds that extra layer of dimension to the piece, while also helping the shadows to look a little less uniform. In different areas I layered the wash more heavily to get a little more variation.

If you’re painting minis I would recommend an army painter or citadel brand wash for this part rather than water mixable oils, I think it’ll be way easier to control on a smaller scale! But here’s what it looked like after a few wash passes:

Then, I blended the shadows out further with more gold acrylic (mixed with a little black to make a nice darker gold color) using the same dry brushing/sponge method. To get that flecked gold texture over the dark spots, I just used my sponge with just the tiniest amount of paint on it and pressed it gently onto the surface in a couple areas. Again using a natural sponge will yield a better result. It looks like this after it’s all done:

I then added highlights with a lighter/less yellowy gold, but I went REALLY light on them. You really only want to hit the high spots here - for example the crest/point on the top of the helmet, the edges of the wings/wing details, etc. it REALLY helps pull the gold back from all of the shadows and weathering.

After that I sealed the whole thing in matte spray varnish one more time and the helmet was all finished!

Essentially it just involves carefully planning out how to layer your paints. I def recommend doing some tests if you can.

I know painting armor is a lot different than painting minis but I hope I was able to help at all! Good luck with your project, I’m sure it’ll turn out badass!!!

#asks #anonymous #cosplay #elden ring #elden ring cosplay #malenia #malenia blade of miquella

[spacedoutman]

【𝕻𝖞𝖌𝖒𝖆𝖑𝖎𝖔𝖓 | 𝕬 𝖐𝖎𝖘𝖘 𝖆𝖚】

(𝕻𝖆𝖗𝖙 7)

Description: Kiss was the perfect name for the infamous bank robbers who kissed everything goodbye to go out in a blaze of glory. Wreaking havoc on 1930s America, what happens when the chase ends?

♥ Paul Stanley x Reader

Notes: uahdiugbiuwqeypnwqiamjalnf

Warnings: anxiety attack

𝕽𝖊𝖆𝖉 𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖙 8 / 𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖙 6 / 𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖙 1 / 𝖆𝖔3

The deep green mountains rolled smoothly into each other, rising to little jagged points but coming so low they could never touch the sky—from where you sat, anyway. The road whistled quietly in your ear. You leaned against the passenger’s side door, watching the mountains behind the first row. They clung to the ground, painted blue by the distance.

You sighed. The road went on, right? Just like life. A field packed with shining sunflowers hid behind the thick row of trees edging close to the highway. The greyish-blue sky stared. The clouds crawled like smoke over the mountain tops.

“The police are probably on our asses by now.” Gene groaned, shoving his face into his hands.

You peeled yourself up, turning to face him. Your back ached. “If we’re going to be running from the police, we’re going to need a faster car.” You groaned, rubbing your temple. “There’s no way we’re getting anywhere in a model T ford.” You couldn’t help but to chuckle. You closed your eyes for a minute. Your brain slept.

You looked at Paul. His eyes sat ungodly wide. His heart stuck in his clenched throat. You looked ahead. A distant look grew on your face as a little pang hit your heart. “It’s not dawned on me yet.” You chuckled a bit. “It feels like we’re in a movie—like.. like it’s not real.”

“Yeah.. I get you.” Paul was still shaken up. distant. Your gaze sharpened.

A thought popped up.

“You know, we lost everything, right?” You said through the tightest smile imaginable. Your eyes sat wide. Your throat tightened-

Paul’s hand on your shoulder eased things a bit. Tears stung your eyes. ‘Lost everything.’ The words crowded your brain, big as a bill board. You gasped. ‘Police.’ Your jaw clenched. Your hands trembled. It felt like everything around you exploded into flames like a volcano and you were spiraling from the gates of heaven. You could even feel the wind in your hair!

You wiped a tear away as it rolled down your cheek. “I-I should’ve.. at least been able to say goodbye.” You sniffled.

“I’m so.. so sorry.” Paul’s voice was smaller than he was. “I.. it was my fault. Gene tried to stop me.”

“We’ve got no-”

“W-we’ve got money.” Gene said through a breaking voice. He quickly wiped the tears from his eyes. A little horror still devoured his otherwise dull voice. “It’s in the back. I.. I…”

“You robbed the station.” Paul’s lips parted in terror, his brows drew together. Hard. “We.. We robbed.. this is a stolen car.”

Gene shot to compose himself. “You just now realized that?” He snapped—his eyes landed on his own in the mirror. His pupils sat pin-pricked. His eyes sank like the dry end of a dam. He fell into his own hands.

“Yeah. I just now realized the weight of it.” Paul clutched the wheel. His voice sharpened like a blade.

“We’ll figure something out.” You crossed your arms tight over your chest, looking back out.

Their stares were piercing. You shrunk. Who? The trees. Your gaze retreated to your feet. At least the floors were spotless! The silence jabbed you like a pen against a balloon. You grit your teeth. Tensing. “I h-hate to say it, but I think we’re going to have to rob.. again.” You mumbled. “Maybe.. just maybe, we could get out.”

“It’s all gonna’ be like some sick chain.” Paul’s voice was as tense as he was. He furrowed his brows tightly. His gaze flitted down for a second. “We won’t have enough money then.. and then we’ll have to come back and hopelessly… try to find work.”

Your brain… snapped? A slew of memories smacked you. You clenched Paul’s arm. “Paul. You’re not going back.”

“Yeah, we’ll be somewhere new.” He shrugged dryly. Your feverish eyes darted to Gene, who cried quietly into his hands. Your finger twitched.

“I mean you’re not going back to that.” You stated harshly. “Neither is Gene.”

Your eyes narrowed. You glared at the floor.

“If we get new names, new faces, I’m sure it’ll be alright.” Paul scoffed. “—besides, if we continue this life-”

“We’ll have income. We’ll actually have income.” Your eyes widened as your gaze rose. You gasped sharply. “You’ll both actually have income!”

Your voice.. brightened? You whipped back to Gene, who drug his gaze to vaguely look at you. You—grinned?? Your hands shook wildly. “Y/N, I think you’re in denial.” Gene squeezed lightheartedness into his voice. His eyes were so glassy he could’ve been dead.

“That’s a whole lotta’ money we’d see but never use.” Paul added.

“So you two would rather rot?”

Paul and Gene lowered their heads.

“We’ve got to go somewhere.” You sighed, leaning against your seat and rubbing your cheek.

Your eyes gleamed. Snap! “Gene!” You grabbed the edge of the seat, spinning to face him. “Can’t we go to Joanna? Doesn’t she know a thing or two?”

“.. God.” Gene groaned, crumpling even more in on himself. His shoulders tucked away his chest. Any closer and his head would hit his knees. “Not yet. We need to sort out what the hell we’re going to do-”

You took a deep breath.

“Paul.” You said simply, taking him by the shoulder. “I don’t ever want to see you suffer like you did again. If you don’t stick with this, I’m gonna’.”

Paul looked at you as if you were insane. You held him a bit tighter.

“And you’re gonna’ get every dime and nickel I scrape up.” Your low voice turned stern... almost venomous.

Paul slowly turned back to the road. “I guess that leaves me with no choice.” His light voice trembled with nervousness. His shoulders jolted. You turned back. “Gene?”

Gene sighed, long and slow.

“Sure.”

#Oooh oooh gonna do something else gotta run hehhee #fanfic #kissblr #kiss band #x yn #alternate universe #1930s au #gangsters #gene simmons #paul stanley #kiss fanfiction

[crystalninjaphoenix]

MerMay 2023 Day Four Graduation

Marvin poked his head out of the water, glancing around at the surface of the lake. It was a clear, sunny day, and the water was a perfect shade of deep blue. Humans loved weather like this. But there were none out on the lake today. At least, not anymore.

He ducked back under and dived down, down, down, to the deepest part of the lake where he and Jameson made their home. Jameson was just outside the open building where they lived, lying on the ground with his tail curled up. He saw Marvin coming and immediately locked eyes with him. Is it clear? he asked.

“It’s all clear,” Marvin promised. “Nobody is out there. Just fish swimming around.

Jameson nodded. Good. Good. He looked down at the ground. In front of him were several pieces of smooth sea glass, as well as a chisel, a brush, a jar of ink thick enough to not float into the water, and some rocks of various sizes. Everything was laid out neatly.

“Are you ready to start?” Marvin asked.

Again, Jameson nodded.

“You don’t seem ready.”

I’m still thinking about boats, Jameson said.

Marvin sighed. “Okay. I’ll go check again.” He started to swim upwards again. “But there was absolutely nothing in sight.”

No no no, you don’t need to! Jameson reached up and grabbed the edge of Marvin’s cape. I’m not worried about that anymore. It’s just... He paused. I’m a bit of a fool, aren’t I? I was doing so well getting used to them again, but I’ve been more nervous than ever in the past few weeks.

Marvin sank back to the ground. “It’s not your fault. I think the thing with TridentCorp has really set us all on edge.” Though there hadn’t been any TridentCorp boats in their lake, Chase, Jackie, and Jack had reported several sightings of humans in places they shouldn’t be. A few of which had indeed bore the TridentCorp logo somewhere on their boats or clothing.

Jameson sighed, gills fluttering. His tail uncurled and flicked through the water. I just have to get over it.

“I doubt you can ‘get over it’ just like that. Through sheer force of will. If people could control their feelings like that, feelings would never cause any problems, and we all know that’s not true.”

I suppose you’re right. Jameson smiled at him. That does make me feel a bit better.

“That’s what I do,” Marvin said proudly.

Jameson turned his attention to the tools and material on the ground. He picked up the brush and jar of ink, opening it up. The ink was more like a gel than a liquid, but it still stuck to the brush easily enough. Marvin watched silently as Jameson began painting a line of symbols on one of the rocks. Once he was done, the symbols glowed blue, and the rock began to shake. Dust rose from it, causing the two merms to swim away or risk breathing in the cloud. Once it cleared, the rock was smaller, smoother. Now shaped more like a cylinder.

“What had you decided on for your talisman?” Marvin asked. “Clearly it wasn’t a mask.”

No, I thought that would be too difficult. Jameson swam forward again, inspecting the new rock cylinder. I was thinking some sort of... compact. You know, like humans have with the mirrors inside. Only, there will be sea glass inside.

Marvin raised an eyebrow. “And making something with a hinge was easier than making a mask?”

Well, I also don’t want to wear it. Not directly, at least.. I was thinking we could find some sort of chain and thread it through a loop. It would be less heavy that way.

“I feel like you’re insulting my mask,” Marvin said slowly.

Jameson grinned at him. I never said anything. It was all you. He picked up the brush and began painting again.

“You know, you don’t have to finish it in one day,” Marvin said. “You’ll drain all your magical energy.”

I want it to be done before the life friend ceremony, Jameson explained, putting down the brush again to speak with his hands. We can both wear our talismans. It’ll be... significant.

“I can see that.” Marvin nodded. “Just don’t push yourself.”

Stay here and make sure I don’t, Jameson said, half-jokingly.

“Alright, you ass, I will.” Marvin settled down onto the lake floor.

Jameson chuckled silently, then picked up the brush again and began to work. The thought of boats didn’t cross his mind again.

#jacksepticeye #jacksepticeye fanfiction #jacksepticegos #septic egos #septic egos au #jacksepticeye au #marvin the magnificent #jameson jackson #brigid writes fanfiction #mermay snippets

[ilex-manor]

General WIP update - 21 Nov 2023

I've been having trouble lately focusing on what I want to work on. I'm trying to stay productive, so I'm bouncing between multiple projects, day by day, doing something on a project I can focus on that day. The above pictures are from the three major things I've done some work on in recent weeks. Porting Lara Croft to SFM, improving the female headparts from Skyrim, and the start of a Fledgling replacer for VTMB.

Big ol' wall of text after the cut.

Porting Lara's Casual Explorer outfit from TR:U to SFM:

I had an idea for a poster with Lara and Rayne nearly a year ago. The SFM port of Rayne I used before is poor, but I had no idea how poor it is until I popped it into Blender to clean it up. I decided to port the model myself, and also this outfit of Lara's, I just took this long to get around to it. Anyway, the major hiccup with Lara's model is that her clothing has some digital wizardry going on with the shaders, and I can't use that data in SFM because the Source engine doesn't have a shader like that.

Short version, the cloth and leather parts of Lara's outfits have multiple bumpmaps. A main bumpmap, and then smaller bumpmaps containing detail for the weave of the cloth and the texture of the leather. To get this data into SFM I had to combine things into a single texture, which sadly meant losing some of that fine detail. That work is done, so now I have to do the cleanup and technical work to get her into SFM. The one thing that will take longer is bringing her weight painting within Source's limitations.

Improved Female HeadParts for Skyrim:

I actually did another pass on the topology before I updated VV's model, I just didn't post about it because I wanted to have more to show. Going back to the project now, I immediately ran into problems when I went to update the shapes of the different races. I couldn't get the shape of the Redguard face to match the original mesh. Wondered/worried about it while doing other things, and then it clicked - certain vertices and edges form a sharper edge of a part of her face, and I'll have to keep these vertices and edges the same (or at least very close) as they were on the original mesh.

With that in mind I did another thorough pass on the topology. The above picture is the result. (Left is original, right is updated). The critical edges were the top of her cheekbones, and her chin. Combining this retopo with the original shapes from the .tri files looks very promising. Much better than my previous passes.

Fledling replacer for VTMB:

Despite the frustations the Malk replacer caused me, I feel a strong urge to make another one. I don't plan on working on her any time soon, other than building her base body. The last two pictures above are the female Tremere's second outfit, and a reference body I built in MakeHuman. Same as the Malk, I'll build her completely out of exsiting VTMB assets. I'm planning to use a face none of the fledlings use, I'm only putting her on the Tremere skeleton because I need the bones in her hair. She won't be a replacer for a specific clan. The plan is to take a mesh from VTMB and rebuild it over this reference, matching the shape and topology.

The reason I'm building the base now is because I'm hoping to learn from it. I'm still having a lot of trouble with topology around the joints, particularly the hip- and shoulder sockets, and hopefully studying/referencing/re-creating the topology from the MakeHuman mesh will help me with that. I'll take whatever I learn from this and use it to update VV and Heather's SFM ports (again), as well as update all the female Malk models. Will also apply it to the multiple other VTMB models I still want to port to SFM, as well as any custom models I put together.

Patreon

#tomb raider #lara croft #skyrim #vtmb #source filmmaker #wip

[cinnamoncoffees]

Hi ✨ I really like your writing 💕 could you maybe do ❛ i’m not giving up on you. ❜ 🥺

I’m home, time for more!

Part 1, part 2, part 3

Simon put his phone down, and frowned, which made his mud mask crack. He went into the bathroom to wash his face, thinking.

They’d text occasionally before this - but the last couple of weeks there had definitely been more. Simon knew Wille had sent him their silly group photo because he’d been invited to the gathering, but the last message had been something else. Something Simon felt them edging towards again, and honestly he didn’t want to stop it.

It didn’t mean he didn’t regret flirting right back. It was complicated.

The next morning, Wille text him to say he had been asked about them, and that he’d been honest. Which, in itself, didn’t change anything, not really. Simon could have been mad about it, honestly, but instead he couldn’t help feeling a little proud. It felt like something had shifted.

The next week, Felice, true to form, invited a few of them to hang out again, and offered to paint nails while they put a bad romcom on in the background.

Simon spent some time going through Felice and Maddie’s quite astounding collection of nail polishes, listening to the chatter around him but not really contributing. Wille was complaining with Maddie about some homework task, but kept looking at him. It was very distracting.

He finally picked one, and by the time Felice was done with him, he was instructed to sit and not move until his nails were dry. The glossy navy colour was turning matte as it dried, and Simon kept looking at it, feeling like he’d made a good choice.

Simon’s thoughts were interrupted some time later, and he lifted his head from where he’d been leaning against Maddie’s bed and not really watching the movie.

“That colour looks good on you,” Wille said quietly.

“Thanks.”

“Can I—?” He gestured next to Simon, and Simon nodded.

Wille sat down on the floor next to him, not quite touching but near enough to be familiar. Simon sat up straighter, shifting his legs as he did, and his knee touched Wille’s thigh. Wille looked down, then up at Simon’s face, but Simon didn’t move again. He tried to keep his expression neutral.

“Can I see yours?”

Wille held out his hand, and Simon took Wille’s fingertips in his, just for a moment. Wille’s nails were a pale, mint green.

“Pretty.”

“We’re going to start a trend.”

“You’re going to start a trend. They’re going to think I’m in a grunge band or something.”

“You should be.”

“Oh?”

“I’m just saying, you could pull off that whole leather-and-eyeliner thing, no problem.” Wille grinned. “And when you’re famous you can let me have your autograph.”

“Oh, OK. Yeah, let’s do it.”

“Can’t wait.”

It was nice to hang out like this, actually feeling relaxed with friends instead of constantly stressed about school, or work, or rich idiots. The days of these particular rich idiots (the nice ones) being awkward around Wille were long gone too, and it was good to see him like this, just chilled out and normal.

He text as much to Wille later, after he’d had to go home before it got too late.

S: It was good to hang out tonight.

W: I’m so glad you were there

S: You seemed happy 😊

W: I had good company ☺️

S: Yeah, Henry’s always a laugh

W: You know that’s not what I mean

S: Maddie, then. I’d say Stella but maybe in smaller doses.

W: Simon

W: Please shut up. But also

W: I’m not giving up on you.

S: I know. X

Simon hadn’t wanted to go home. He was glad he’d decided to start hanging out, feeling like he was finally making friends and part of a group. It was just: Wille. This lingering doubting something whenever they were together. Trying to squash down the part of him that enjoyed their time together a little too much. And that wished Wille had invited him to stay the night. He will next time, a traitorous voice in his head insisted. You’d like that.

The voice wasn’t wrong. Simon just wasn’t sure how long he could let this go on before the inevitable happened and he slipped up. If this had been any other boy, it would be so easy, he thought.

I’m not giving up on you.

Back in his own room, Simon studied his blue nails, remembering the touch of Wille’s fingers in his own.

Writing prompts

#yr drabble #young royals fanfic #writer prompts #🌈 wilmon #Young royals #Kathryn’s writing a thing

[mallowofmuses]

The net has been draped over Oz's locker as though it was intended to capture it but missed its mark.

The door has been wrenched open to do so, metal crumpled in on itself like a discarded tissue, paint chipped and peeling at the corners that have been bent creased as though they were nothing but a construction paper card created by a child. Long silver scars of exposed metal race over the top and the formerly immaculate sides, seemingly scored by nothing other than the edges of the locker door itself, rather than claws or some kind of implement. Almost like its been crushed and tried to spring back up on itself, though still bearing the wrinkles prior. Nothing's been touched inside, though the exterior has likewise also been slightly crumpled, bent inwards and out as though it was just wet and sagging, instead of the same solid, cool metal as always.

The net, in comparison, is almost too innocent. It's not heavy enough to do this, and there's no sharp edges, no glint of uncanny ability from it. It's large, larger than most nets surely, maybe several square yards, but this by itself suggests nothing other than the amount of material needed to make it. It does seem like it might be expensive — the weave is not plastic nor cotton nor rope at all, not really. It's somewhat tacky to the touch, a strange sensation, but it's clearly some kind of tempered leather strands, woven around on themselves in a braid to make a length, and those lengths woven further into an intricate, sturdy diamond-shaped net pattern. The holes are smaller than usual too, suggesting clear mastery of whoever made this, yes, but also suggesting a smaller, sleeker target. It doesn't look like the type of net that might be thrown over someone, but rather the type of net to be thrown over something.

Furthermore, it is still heavy. The edges are weighted, with every six inches or so along the outermost edge of the net interrupted by some kind of curling metal weight. They look a little like shells, actually. There's the inward spiral of a snail's shell, starting small and getting wider, suggesting a pattern of growth, and indeed there are hollow spaces within, where Oz might be able to stick a finger if so wished.

However, they also are, still, absolutely, metal. Some kind of black, dense metal, not easily identifiable, cold to the touch and slightly pitted here and there. No animal has a shell like this, but it's not clear how they were even made in the first place. There's no seam, and furthermore, this level is detail is just not possible when working with metal. The only idea that keeps being arrived at with any conviction is the theory that this was made from an animal, many animals who grew many shells, but again, there is no animal with which this would fit the profile. It's too specific, too intentional, too purposeful.

The last piece is somehow the least concerning, because it at least is the most directly concerning. There's a red substance on one corner of the net, thick and sticky, the kind of ruddy color so deep and so dark that it appears black beneath the right light and stains fingers that touch it. Clumps of it appear along the net and its strange leather bindings, pale pink and gummy, veined over with the darker red.

Oddly, despite the evidence to the contrary, there's none of the red semi-liquid on the locker, or what remains of it. Perhaps Oz just managed to get lucky, and it's one less thing to clean.

Between the awful minutes of awakening from a deep slumber, this was a rarity, the feeling of avoiding school today. Yet, he needed to force himself to get up from the weight of his physical and mental exhaustion.

All he wished is to stay at home and pet his dog, forgetting the outside world that awaits him. However, there was a nagging feeling to at least 'try' and proceed to this unshakable dread of missing school.

The hallways felt never-ending, walking in it almost forever with monsters passing by like they're shadows from his peripherical vision.

To witness his locker in such a state, it didn't have an effect on him to muster up an ounce of irritation. Whoever did this, it was either a prank or a way to show some sort of appreciation? He can make a deduction as to who it was, but didn't want to be absolutely certain of the culprit. If one thing for sure, he's not going to touch the substance that is staining his locker and potentially his belongings inside.

Thus, he went on away, hoping to find the Princess nearby.

"Hey, Oz, good morning there!" One of the students greeted as he passed by them.

"I'm sorry, not now." Oz responded with an empty tone of voice.

#Ask Meme #royalreef

[attano]

#8 — shed.

trigger warnings: mentions of suicide

"We can't beat him."

Sorqaq'tani dares to break the pregnant pause with words that sink Radnashiri's heart like lead. Two years prior, she would not have dared to stand up to them the way she is now, docile and small as she was, but their trials had hardened her into a fierce opponent. If only she were still that meek thing now.

"He nearly killed both of us at our strongest. And you've warred with him for centuries, and you still—,"

Radnashiri wheels around on their heel, fury twisting their face. "You know nothing of my struggle."

Sorqaq'tani stares, incredulous. "I know one thing," she says, using all fifty-six ilms of her height. "I know you've not once won."

Aether flickers around Radnashiri like a gathering storm. Their face is controlled, taut, yet beneath the surface lies thousands of years of rage begging to be released upon their insolent companion. Sorqaq'tani sees it, too, eyes glancing down to their twitching tail before again meeting their gaze.

"There's only one way." Her voice trembles, but she does not falter. She grabs Radnashiri's hand and they do not flinch. "You have to give yourself up to me, like Ardbert."

Rage quickly gives way to a deep horror. They snatch their hand away like they've touched something boiling.

"No." Their voice is tight, gripped with anguish. "I am not killing myself."

"Separately, we might be too weak." In the wake of Radnashiri's growing dread, Sorqaq'tani continues to muse. "But maybe if all our souls were combined into one being... Maybe I should ask Urianger...,"

"I said no." This time, their denial sends an aetheric shockwave across their shared Pendants room. Not a big one, but enough to knock over some smaller items—and to make Sorqaq'tani momentarily return to her small, timid self. Radnashiri selfishly wishes it was a permanent reversion. "After thousands upon thousands of years, I am not laying my body at your feet just so you can get what you want." Their sharp Xaela teeth bare; their claws curl at their sides. "I am not throwing all of that away. All my sacrifice—all my loss—it will not be all for naught."

Sorqaq'tani had drawn her hands to her chest, shrinking into herself, something she used to often in the face of great terror. Radnashiri stares her down and thinks they've won.

"You sound just like him."

Their breath catches in their throat. All threat and intimidation melt helplessly off their frame as the words sink deep into their heart, mingling with the despair and the anger and the sick, sick loneliness.

Radnashiri leaves the room without another word.

-

They sit at the edge of the Thirstless Shore and wait.

"You can just do it, you know." That infuriating, lilting voice at last reaches their horns. "Sink beneath the waves, never come back up. She's begging you to, anyway."

Radnashiri does not even open their eyes. "If I won't do it to save the Star, what makes you think I will just because?"

"It was worth a try." Emet-Selch squats besides them and still they do nothing physically to acknowledge his presence. "The way your mind works is as infuriating as it is inscrutable."

They snort, amused. When Emet-Selch asks what's so funny, they do not deign to answer. Instead, they ask, "Why are you here?"

"I can't pay a visit to an old friend?"

This time, they do turn to look at him, offering a cold stare that lets him know they're thinking he's full of shit.

He sighs and rolls his eyes. "Fine. I was hoping to emotionally manipulate you into committing suicide. Happy?"

"You must be truly desperate to resort to a method so low."

"You've been a thorn in my side for millennia." His tone changes ever so slightly, a threatening undercurrent painting the words. "Of course I'd do anything to be rid of you."

At this, Radnashiri glances at him out of the corner of their eye. "Anything?"

"Yes, anything. Why? What do you want?"

Carefully, they gauge his expression. Impenetrable as always. When next they speak, they don't break their gaze.

"Make me an Ascian, Emet-Selch."

It is Emet-Selch's turn to scoff, an action which quickly evolves into full laughter. "You? An Ascian? After all these centuries you've spent trying to kill me, you expect me to accept you with open arms and welcome you into my ranks?"

Radnashiri closes their eyes, the darkness centering them. “I’m tired,” they say. “I’m tired of this burden. This ache. I’m tired of... not being understood.”

Emet-Selch balks. “Understood?”

"Don't play dumb with me, Emet-Selch." Their tone is more severe than they'd intended. "You saw my confrontation with Tani. You know exactly what I mean."

His expression is calm, but not kind. "Surely you are not implying what I think you are."

"That you and I are more alike than we are different?" To say it disgusts them. They are who they are because of his kind bringing destruction to the Thirteenth. And yet...

They imagine their words as a claw, gripping tight around Emet-Selch's throat. "I am."

Emet-Selch narrows his eyes. "To insinuate we have anything in common is an insult to even the lowest creatures that roamed Etheirys."

"Perhaps." Radnashiri will concede this. They will not let slip the reins of the conversation. "And yet we do, don’t we? Six thousand years have I been alive, after losing my home, my friends, my face… my name." They bore holes into Emet-Selch’s face, who sneers. "You cannot say our experiences do not parallel."

For once, the man is silent. They are gaining ground.

"Regardless," Emet-Selch says at last, composing himself. Dodging the truth entirely rather than facing it. Radnashiri wonders how he might respond to being killed. "You've made your stance clear these past thousands of years. I struggle to believe you’d ask me for forgiveness."

"I'm not," they say. "I don’t want forgiveness. I want acceptance."

A scoff. "Your friends don’t accept you?"

"They’re not my friends." The response is quick and sharp. Sharper, even, than they’d like. Is it true? Does it matter? "They never were."

"And I am?"

"No. But you understand, don’t you?"

Emet-Selch’s jaw tightens.

Radnashiri looks away at the still waters of the Source. "What was that name you called me," they say, voice faraway, "two or three lifetimes ago? You saw my aether and let it slip."

"You don't recall your own name, or any of the others you've had since, yet you remember that?" Emet-Selch's words are spit through clenched teeth. At the cost of Radnashiri's own sanity, slowly, he unravels.

"You of all should know that memory is fickle."

"Memory," he echos, voice dripping with mockery. "Don't you speak to me of memory."

It feels less like a deflection and more like a stuck nerve. Radnashiri eyes him carefully. Both of them are cornered animals, waiting for the other to pounce first. They can feel his predatory eyes on them, and he mumbles something.

They hazard a guess, and instead of saying what, they say, "Yes?"

"Mnemosyne. You remembered after all." For just a moment—a fleeting, wistful moment—a spark of longing falls across his face.

"It's a lovely name," they say. Each breath they take is shallower than the last; they are inching ever closer. "It would be nice to return to it."

Emet-Selch snaps out of any reverie that might have taken him, his voice a blade. "I never said I would acquiesce."

They drudge one last scrap of muddled memory to the surface of their addled mind; for all their struggling to recall anything about themselves or their home, this tiny shred has burned itself into every corner of their mind. Fickle indeed. Perhaps their subconscious knew they would someday need it.

"Please, Hades."

The Ascian sigil flashes on Emet-Selch’s face for the briefest of moments, but flash it does. "You are not worthy to use that name!"

"Then make me worthy." Radnashiri matches him in passion, voice soaring over the waveless Source. They face him fully, their larger body cutting an imposing figure, aether sparks haloing them in a display of raw desperation. "Make me worthy of it. Restore my memories. Make me Azem!"

Emet-Selch stares at them, and, if Radnashiri knew no better, they might say that for just a moment, he looked vulnerable.

"Fine," he spits, and pulls them in roughly at the waist. His other hand appears flush against their face, nose to palm, the tips of his gloved fingers pressing into their scaled flesh. "This will hurt."

And there, on the Thirstless Shore, do the memories come rushing forth.

#ffxivwrite2023 #this one got kinda outta hand. but i reallyyyy wanted to write radna so #i would tag this em/etwol but i don't want to be accused of false advertising

[ask-aurachnid]

Payback Time

Part 1: Tricks and Illusions Part 2: Proceed With Caution Part 3: Enter, Punisher Part 4: Back to Earth

[TW: Violence, non-con drug use] Word Count: 1.5k

◇─◇──◇─────◇──◇─◇

Three days after Frankie learns the truth and gets a face full of psychedelics for their trouble, they get a lead on Mysterio. They probably could have gotten one sooner, but they were preoccupied with detoxing from the aforementioned psychedelics. Even three days after being dosed, they still feel jumpy and paranoid, their spider-sense reacting to the slightest things.

Nicky and Castle don't think Frankie's ready to put the suit back on and, to be honest, they're probably right. Even if the worst of the symptoms have passed, they still just experienced a massive trauma. It's probably not a good idea to confront Beck right now, but they'll deal with it like they always do: by compartmentalizing to hell and back. They can't afford to be down for the count any longer. She's had a three-day head start to terrorize New York and plan her next move, and Frankie refuses to give her a fourth.

So, they suit up, with the addition of the most effective compact rebreather-respirator combo that money can buy, ordered straight from Gotham (and painted to match the suit, of course).

They track Beck to a warehouse on the edge of Hell's Kitchen. There's been an uptick in noise complaints and domestic disturbance reports in the surrounding buildings. It's not much, to be honest, but it's enough to catch Frankie's attention. Given what Beck's "Fear Toxin" did to them, it follows that smaller doses might result in screaming or people cranking up their music to drown out the voices.

Frankie crawls in through the window and finds Beck surrounded by lab equipment and piles of capsule-shaped canisters. She stands before a huge murder board, in full costume, scrutinizing what looks like a plan to dose Harlem with Fear Toxin.

"Do you seriously just hang around in your wizard costume all the time? There's no way that's comfortable," Frankie quips, in lieu of a real greeting.

Mysterio startles, spinning around to face them. Then her shoulders go tense and she bolts in the opposite direction, knocking equipment to the floor as Aurachnid gives chase. She slows only once they're out on the street, drones forming rank behind her and projecting holographic mannequins on every side.

"I was watching, you know," Mysterio says, with the same tone as someone remarking on the weather. "I had my drones record everything."

Frankie's heart drops. Does she know?

"It's a shame they lost track of you. Tell me, how long did the hallucinations last? With a metabolism like yours, it could go either way."

Frankie's relief is immediately overshadowed by red-hot anger. "Watch it--"

"How lucky am I? The first to reduce the city's beloved spider to a cowering child. What did you see, Aurachnid? The people you love abandoning you? Telling you what a failure you are? The truth hurts, doesn't it?"

Frankie's fists clench, blood roaring in their ears. "You don't know a gods damned thing about me," they growl.

Mysterio's head tilts to one side, like Frankie's some curious thing under a microscope.

"You're angry," she observes. "How fascinating."

"Oh, I'm more than angry," Frankie spits, stalking forward, every line of their body coiled tight. The mannequins try to close rank, but Frankie is faster, ripping the bulky computer from Mysterio's arm and crushing it in their grip. The projections glitch out of existence and the drones fall to the ground.

Mysterio tries to escape again, but Frankie yanks her to the ground by her cape, fist clenched in her collar so they're mask to mask. "I'm fucking furious."

There's a hiss of gas as Beck releases another canister, a foolishly stupid attempt to make Frankie let her go. Their new mask sits securely over their nose and mouth as sickly green fog fills the space around them. Frankie barely twitches, batting Beck's hands away as she attempts to dislodge it.

"It's because of you that I'm afraid to touch my own girlfriend!" they snarl. "It's because of you that I have to call my family three times a day to check that they still love me!"

Frankie lets go of Beck's cape and pushes her backward with enough force that she overbalances. Her helmet hits the ground with a hollow chiming noise, and Frankie follows, wrapping one hand around the collar of her armor.

"So, yeah. I'm fucking pissed. Congratulations."

Mysterio just laughs, not even trying to fight or get away.

Frankie clenches their fingers tighter around the edge of her breastplate, the metal warping easily under their enhanced strength. They reel their other fist back with a snarl.

"Are you happy now!? Have you gotten enough fucking data, Beck!?" Frankie demands.

"You're a scientist just like me, Aurachnid. You know there's no such thing as "enough data,"" she says. Frankie can hear the smirk in her voice even though her face is obscured by fog.

Frankie's fist slams into the glass, cracks forming a jagged starburst. Reinforced, but not reinforced enough.

"I am nothing like you!" they snap. Pain sparks across their knuckles, skin splitting under the suit. More cracks form in the glass. "You're a monster, torturing people to satisfy your own sick curiosity!"

"And what do you call this, then?" There's an edge to her voice now, anxious.

Frankie yanks her halfway upright so they're practically nose to nose, big white lenses glaring into the fog-filled glass as they hiss their answer. "Karma."

Mysterio's helmet slams back into the asphalt as Frankie reels their fist back again. Finally, Beck seems to realize the trouble she's in, raising her hands up in a placating gesture.

"Wait! Wait!" she stutters.

Frankie ignores her, their own blood smearing across the splintering glass. The fog inside has begun to flicker revealing Beck's alarmed expression.

[ID in alt]

"Stay the fuck out of my head!" Frankie yells, raising their fist before bringing it down for the final time, the glass shattering under the blow.

When the globe shatters, so does Beck's protection from her own toxins. Frankie watches in real time as it makes its way through her bloodstream. The way Beck's pupils dilate near-completely and lose focus, catching on things that aren't there. The way her breathing picks up, pulling more of the toxin into her lungs.

For a moment, Frankie feels proud. Happy that Beck is literally getting a taste of her own medicine. Relishing the terrified cries of 'no, no, no!' that fall from the villain's lips.

Just as quickly, they feel horrified. The guilt tastes like bile on their tongue as they stare at Beck, writhing against invisible demons, terrified out of her mind and still breathing more toxin. Frankie wouldn't wish that fear on anyone, and yet--

You lost control, again.

Frankie lets go of Beck like they've been burned, stumbling back and shaking their head. The guilt won't help anyone, and they need to do something.

They take a deep breath through the tightness of their respirator before stepping back toward Beck's trembling form. She thrashes in terror as Frankie pulls her off the ground, forcing them to restrain her in webbing so they can lift her over their shoulder, and start swinging away from the thick cloud of Fear Gas.

"JUDOS, call 9-1-1."

"9-1-1. What is your emergency?"

"This is Aurachnid. I'm traveling north on Tenth Avenue past West Fifty-Second Street," Frankie says, barely keeping their voice calm. "I have an adult female who's been dosed with an experimental psychedelic. She's experiencing symptoms of psychosis."

"I have an ambulance waiting to meet you on the corner of tenth and fifty-fourth. Can you tell me what her symptoms are?"

Two blocks? Frankie can manage that, even if Beck's doing her best to jump to her death. "From personal experience? Visual, auditory, and tactile hallucinations. Paranoia, delusions. It's meant to trigger a fear response. I had to restrain her."

"Okay. Do you know the dosage?"

"No. It was a gas. There will probably be a lot of calls coming from the corner of fifty-first. Police can find live samples at the warehouse there."

Frankie spots the ambulance half a block away, and nearly sags in relief. The EMTs are waiting, ready with a gurney to meet them.

"I see the ambulance. Thank you, dispatch."

"Anytime, Aurachnid."

The EMTs barely stutter as they see who Frankie's carrying, pulling the broken globe off of her head and securing an oxygen mask over her face. Frankie's gut churns at Beck's expression twisted up in terror with tears dripping down her face. Frankie did this. They knew what that fear felt like and they did this anyway.

Another EMT takes the canister of solvent from Frankie's numb fingers, and then the gurney is being loaded into the back, the doors closing and the sirens blaring to life. The entire time, Frankie just stands there, watching the flashing lights as the ambulance zooms off toward the nearest hospital.

What have you done?

#story post #mysterio arc #april 2021

[dragonmuse]

It might be weird timeline wise, but could we see Stede and/or Eddy teaching Alma how to do makeup?

(got this ask long enough ago that the timeline has changed, so there are plenty of place to put it now! This starts when Alma is 14, just before I'll Share Your Load) 

“Smooth as you can.” Stede painted eyeliner over the back of his hand to show her. “You can always take it off if you make a mistake, but I always do mine after shadow and it can make a mess if you have to wipe too much off.” 

“Okay.” Alma watched then took up her own felt tip. She moved it slowly over the lid. 

“Good,” he praised. “Going a little faster will help, you won’t get so many hesitation marks, but it looks nice already.” 

“Hey, look at that,” Eddy came down the stairs. “How come I wasn’t called for lessons?” 

“You were sleeping,” Stede smiled at them. “You’re welcome to join us. It’s mascara next.” 

“Surprisingly less pointy than you’d think,” Eddy offered and wrapped her arms around Stede’s shoulders. He was sitting in a kitchen chair so Alma could sit at the vanity with its lighted mirror. 

“How can I do that thing you do?” Alma asked, carefully doing her other eye. “With the sharp angle part at the edges?” 

“Wings,” Eddy nodded. “They’re tricky bastards, but you’ve got a steady hand. Bet you can do it without the training wheels.” 

“Eddy started with tape,” Stede explained. “Which there’s nothing wrong with. Gives a very crisp line.” 

“Freehand it now. Wound being less messy.” 

Stede got her through mascara and the eyebrows, then turned over his seat to Eddy for the face. 

“You’ve got such a nice touch with highlighter. I’ll get dinner ordered while you two manage. Charlie, do you want  to go with me to pick up Indian again?” 

“Yes, please!” He called from his room. 

“All right,” Eddy rubbed her hands together. You pick stuff out yet?” 

“Dad gave me some choices that go okay with our skin tone, he said.” 

“Yeah, you’re about the same shade.” Eddy plucked up the blush palette. “So you’ve already got some pink in your cheeks. Gotta just decide if you want to have a natural look or a fuck you I’m wearing makeup look.” 

Alma caught Eddy’s eyes in the mirror, and gave her a very ‘duh’ look.  

“Want to get weird then?” Eddy offered with a laugh. 

The pale blue blush gave her a delightfully corpse-ish look that they dusted over with an icy  highlighter. Eddy had to go dig in her own kit to produce the navy blue lipstick. Alma knew the general application method there, so Eddy let her at it. 

“Can you teach me how to make the beauty mark?” She asked, looking at herself critically in the mirror. 

“Oh yeah, it’s not hard. Get the eyeliner again.” 

It was a little difficult trying to explain without snatching it up to do herself. Alma picked it up though.  And when they were done, she added two more smaller stars trailing up towards her eye. 

“Yeah, that’s great!” Eddy decided. “Galactic.” 

“Sometimes comets are made of ice,” Alma told her, studying herself in the mirror. “Ice and dirt.”

“Why do they look like they’re on fire then?” 

“Burn up once they hit our atmosphere,” she explained. 

“Ice and fire, good stuff,” Eddy decided and spritzed her with setting spray. “There we go.” 

“Too bad I don’t have anywhere to go,” Alma laughed, eyes squeezing shut against the spray. 

“We’ll get ice cream after dinner. Ice cream parlors are a place.” 

It had been a bit of fun really, showing Alma a few things. Neither Eddy or Stede predicted how she would take to it and how many video chats they’d have over it. Until she was confident enough that they just got pictures. 

“I think she might be better than us,” Eddy muttered, staring down at her phone. 

“I know she is,” Stede laughed. “It’s fine. She’s got young skin and all of YouTube.” 

“Can’t believe I’m going to ask a fifteen year old for tips. I can’t get my eyeshadow to blend like that.” 

“We can learn from anyone.” Stede rested his chin on her shoulder. “But if she starts taking dance classes, I think we can ban her from the club until we’re ready to retire.”

“Nah, we’ll just have her teach Buttons choreography, that’d keep her busy until we’re ready to pass the baton.” 

It was the first time they joked about Alma inheriting the bar, but it wouldn’t be the last.

#leda house and the kraken verse #ficlet #babygirl and goldenboy #eddy teach bonnet #stede teach bonnet #alma bonnet