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nariism · 7 months

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you're mad at him.

you're mad at him and he knows it. you've been giving wriothesley the silent treatment ever since you arrived at the fortress of meropide, bandages in hand and a flurry of curses erupting nonstop from your mouth.

not a single word has been uttered between you since you sat him down in his office. despite refusing to speak to him, much less look him in the eye, you're dutifully bandaging up his raw knuckles like you remember sigewinne showing you back when she decided to go on vacation.

"it's very easy," her voice rings in your ears. you bite your tongue to prevent yourself from snarking back at her imaginary presence.

you only hoped she was enjoying herself up on the surface, accompanying neuvillette for the first time in ages. while she absolutely did deserve a vacation, you wished that she had given wriothesley a stern set of instructions to take care of himself in her absence.

if she did, maybe you wouldn't have had to come all the way down here just to witness him in such a state. your poor heart can't take this kind of worry.

the warden has come out the pankration the most unscathed, only sporting a split lip and bloody nose. his knuckles are red and cut, but it's nothing in comparison to the two inmates who had decided it was a good idea to incite a riot in what should be a controlled environment of the prison.

physically, he's fine. emotionally, he's having a complete meltdown.

he can't take this silence anymore; can't bear having you be upset with him, knowing that he should have been more careful about rushing in to stop the riot himself. the prison is crawling with guards for a reason, yet in his haste he decided it would be faster to intervene alone.

"hey," wriothesley calls out softly, timid despite his looming presence over you. "i didn't mean to worry you or–"

"why can't you be more careful?" you suddenly interrupt, voice cracking weakly. you gaze up from where you're kneeling on the floor, bandages halting in the air while you challenge him with your eyes. "don't you know how stupid and reckless that was?"

he holds your stare for a few moments, stunned by your sudden rebuttal. and then you tear your eyes away from his again, focusing back on tenderly wrapping up his hand.

"you always make me so worried staying down here day and night," you continue, voice so quiet he can barely make out your words.

"i'm sorry," he tells you earnestly.

"i know you're strong. i know it. but you're not invincible. would it kill you to cherish your life a little more?"

"i'm sorry," he says again.

you falter, a sigh escaping you as you peer up at him again. there's something softer in the way you look at him now, with all your frustration melting away into concern. you rummage through your bag for a wet wipe before standing to cradle his face.

wriothesley can't breathe when you're being so gentle with him. his hands find your waist and squeeze it to draw you even closer, until he can almost rest his head against your stomach.

"i love you," you finally tell him, and he feels the relief wash over him. "i can't stand seeing you hurt, so please be more careful."

you swipe the cloth under his nose a few times, gently dabbing at the skin and cleaning up the blood that has dried there. his steely eyes drift shut under your warm touch, allowing you to clean his face. when he only nods in response, your hand stops.

"promise me."

he looks at you again, a brow raised at your stern tone. but he would always relent to you, no matter what it is you wanted.

"i promise."

you blink down at him for a second, taking in how beautiful he is underneath his bloody nose. finally, you lean down to kiss the top of his head— a gesture of forgiveness and love that he's grown so accustomed to.

there's sunshine in your smile when you pull away from him to discard the used wipe, all previous signs of anguish gone from your expression.

his heart nearly stops at the sight.

you were right. he should cherish himself more. he can't stand seeing you fret over him even if it is a little endearing.

for now, he'll just enjoy having you take care of him. it's been so long since he returned to the surface, all he wants to do right now is bask in the light you bring down here with you.

"oh nurse," he teases, giving your hips another squeeze. "my lip got busted, too. got a remedy?"

you roll your eyes but press a kiss to his lips anyways.

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wilwheaton · 3 months

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The president of the United States, Trump told Hannity, "has to have immunity." "If you take immunity away from the president—so important—you will have a president that's not going to be able to do anything," Trump stressed. "Because when he leaves office, the opposing party—president, if it's the opposing party—will indict the president for doing something that should have been good." And by something "good," Trump presumably means something like incite a violent riot at the Capitol to interrupt the country's 200-year history of a peaceful transfer of power.

Trump's closing argument to New Hampshire: Presidents must be able to commit crimes

A vote for anyone other than Biden is a vote for this.

#A vote for anyone other than Biden is a vote for this

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livwritesstuff · 4 months

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At forty-five years old, there’s one day out of the entire calendar year that Eddie dreads like none other.

It’s not his birthday, surprising as that is, and it’s not tax day either (though only because Steve, the angel that he is, elected to take charge of their insane finances ages ago so Eddie doesn't even think about it).

No, it's parent-teacher conference day at his children's school.

Eddie wants to have a strong word with whoever's idea it was to have every meeting take place in a single day. Maybe that shit works for the freaks with only one kid, but he and Steve have three hellraisers in the elementary school, so for them it usually goes like this:

Kid 1: Please help us figure out why she is inciting riots on the playground

Kid 2: Your child is taking up class time getting into complex moral debates with the teacher’s aid

Kid 3: She's a pleasure to have in class — that being said, does she ever talk?

– all within the span of 45 minutes.

Kind of whiplash-y, in Eddie's opinion.

Steve is totally in his element for that shit though. He’s good at distinguishing between when their kid is the problem (which is……..often) and when it’s a reflection of something bigger, and when that's the case, he gets to tap into the snarky, mean-girl side of him that doesn’t come out all that often anymore..

Steve, to Hazel's teacher: I don’t know what to tell you. Hazel makes all kinds of noise at home. We’ll talk to her, but maybe this also warrants a conversation about what’s going on in the classroom that’s making her feel like she can’t when she’s here.

It's sexy as all hell in Eddie’s opinion, or so he attempts to communicate to his husband the literal second they're out of the school when he tries to shove him bodily into the backseat of their car without extracting his hands from Steve’s back pockets.

Steve, managing to push Eddie off him for half a second: Dude – no fucking chance are we having car sex in the parking lot of our daughters’ elementary school. You’re crazy.

Eddie: *pauses to think about the layout of their town*

Eddie: Bet there’s no one in the lot for the cemetery.

Steve: No.

Steve: We can’t get cursed today. I’ve got shit to do.

Eddie: What about the hiking trails?

Steve:

Steve: Yeah, okay.

#look - they only have a few more hours before robin calls and *begs* them to pick up their children #and they intend to use it #steddie #liv’s steddie dads verse #steddie dads #steve harrington #eddie munson #subtle dilf-steve bc I couldn't help myself #judgy-steve my beloved

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tkingfisher · 1 year

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This is Becky the Speckled Sussex. I do not think most chickens like to be held like babies, but Kevin had to flip her over the other day to trim her toenails—you don’t generally have to trim chicken nails, but she’s seven years old and has bad feet—and she was like “Yes, I approve of this, human. In the future, you will cuddle me this way until I allow you to stop.”

She also demands that her treats be offered to her in a human’s palm. Becky does not choose to scuffle on the ground like a peasant! Becky requires treats be brought to her as befits her station!

The roosters all think she is the sexiest thing on two legs and for awhile there she couldn’t leave the coop without inciting a riot. She had to go stay with the bantams until they settled down. (The bantam roosters view her much like Everest, and while they will occasionally try to scale those heights, it’s not something they want to do every day.)

#chicken

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anonymous-dentist · 8 months

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Okay I did some vod searching and here’s Cellbit’s pov of the prison announcement (in the form of a pretty badly clipped video lol)

A couple of things to note:

The silence

The stammer

The knife

The eyes

First, the silence, because it could be easy to miss from another pov because he was already pretty quiet before. But you can see the literal second it registers what Forever had just said because the change in the silence is palpable. He didn’t even raise his voice above the noise when he asked Forever if he was being serious.

Second, the stammer. This is a man who is very good at talking. Look at him during the presidential debates, nothing was able to keep him from talking, not even his own suicide. But then here he… can’t talk. He’s that shocked, and he’s terrified. See:

Third, the knife. Now this knife. Now this knife. It’s his emotional support murder knife. He only brings it out when he feels scared, and it’s gotta be a real deep fear for him to bring it out. It’s only been a few times, namely when he’s been triggered over his past, most notably when he and Richarlyson explored the Federation prison after Pac’s kidnapping.

And then fourth, the eyes. After he takes the knife out, Cellbit’s eyes flick back and forth between Forever the audience in what appears to be genuine confusion. Because, and this is important, Forever never told Cellbit about the prison. So between the fear and the Horrors, there’s some actual legitimate confusion in there because he didn’t know about this.

So now, after all that, let’s take a look at q!Cellbit’s character in general because I know there are people who don’t know about his very tragic backstory.

So Cellbit was in prison for… something. Probably murder tbh, but that was never confirmed. He was in prison with Pac e Mike and he was a really bad person. As in, murdering people, threatening people, ripping human ears off, stabbing, inciting riots (I think???). He killed Felps. He almost got Pac and Mike to kill each other.

And then, after being left to die alone on an island, Cellbit got some goddamn help for the first time in his life.

Before prison, he was in a war (ie the Hunger Games.) Then he was in prison, and the math is hunting towards him being incarcerated prior to his eighteenth birthday. He was 18-ish when he was in prison, and he’s 26 now, and he spent those eight years in therapy. Now he’s a better person, and he’s a very scared person.

He has many triggers, but the one that’s come up the most has been prison. He killed Abueloier that first time because they were in a prison-like cell. After hearing that Pac e Mike were arrested, he almost became another person as he interrogated Foolish (just watch that vod back, the whiplash is there.) When exploring the Federation’s prison, he was visibly on edge, clutching his emotional support murder knife and tensing when he saw all of the cells and almost stabbing Cucurucho when it appeared. Foolish asked if he could arrest him, Cellbit immediately turned him down, and he went behind his husband’s back to convince Foolish not to arrest him, either. (I’m not sure if he knows in-character about the prison cell in the new murder mystery game, but he will Not be happy if he gets put in there.)

So. Prison.

He wants to be a better person, is the thing. Cellbit doesn’t like thinking about who he was as Cell- he canonically even avoids cellphones when he can (see: Abueloier.) But he can’t help what happens when he’s triggered: he killed Abueloier, he almost attacked Cucurucho and risked his whole new infiltration plan. He’s worried about hurting someone again, because he knows he’s capable of it. He might not be the best at pvp, but that doesn’t matter when half the server is just as bad as he is (/affectionate.)

He doesn’t want to hurt his family, and there being a big huge physical trigger all of a sudden in the form of this prison he wasn’t ever told about has clearly made him realize that, oh shit, this could be bad. Bad for himself, and thus bad for others.

#qsmp #long post #idk guys I’m just thinking here #I’m very tired hah

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ailithnight · 1 year

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A fic based on this prompt by @chaoswarfare that I had originally put in the reblogs, but decided to move to its own post since I've got some ideas to continue it. No promises on this ever being a completed fic, but I'll try.

A King in Arkham

Listless eyes trace the cracks in the ceiling; their owner blinking slowly from his place, lying nearly motionless on a thin mattress supported by a metal shelf held to the wall by thick black chains. His face is blank, not sad nor angry nor despairing like so many others in this cold and lonesome place. No, his expression is empty, as though there is simply nothing to feel.

Bruises and scratches and even a couple very deep cuts litter a small body. Were anyone watching, they'd see a new one appear as if by magic across a gaunt cheek. Even as blood begins weeping from the slash, not a single emotion flits across the face. Not even a flinch.

Tomorrow, doctors will assume the patient cut himself. They will search his cell, again, and find no weapon. They will search his body and find not so much as a fingernail capable of creating the mark. They will check the security feed and find, as always, that the moment of injury glitches; one second no cut, the next fresh blood. They will try to force the patient to admit self harm, but he will remain silent.

When the door to his cell swings open with a buzz and a clang, echoed by every other cell in the building, the blank faced boy with dull eyes doesn't move. It's the 6th time this month, and the 13th since arriving 3 months ago.

When the sounds of screams and rioting grate on sensitive ears, he merely sighs, the first hint of feeling flashing across his face in the form of a minute second of frustration before blankness returns. When a pair of escaping patients rush past, one stopping to ask if he's coming, he remains unresponsive.

"Leave him! Kid never tries to escape. He's to far gone."

The kid in question feels his eyebrow twitch. He's not 'gone' anywhere, thank you very much. There's just no point. Nowhere to go. No one to help him; to understand that he's not crazy, just haunted. At least, no one who won't turn him into a monster. A horrible, world destroying, viscious monster.

Besides, Arkham's not too bad. At least it isn't a GIW lab. And his rogues have even started showing up less and less since he was sent here! Though maybe that has less to do with Arkham or Gotham and more to do with the kid's utter refusal to even defend himself.

"Now come on before Bats start showing up and put this place on lockdown."

A black form with a red head drops from above, just barely within the kid's peripheral vision. A brief moment of recognition and even something adjacent to interest flickers in blue eyes.

"Bats like me, perchance?"

Red Hood was assisting containment with an Arkham breakout. There had been a lot of them in the last few months and Batman was getting grey hairs trying to figure out why. No one in particular was even trying to break out. No one could be pinned for the inciting incident. Just randomly, at any point in the day, the automatic locks would spazz out and everyone would be released.

So the big bad Bat had called all hands on deck, requesting at least one vigilante be at or near Arkham at all times, hoping to at least keep most of the big fish in their cages while they tried to figure out what the hell was going on. And Jason had graciously agreed to help. So here he was, at 3am on a Saturday morning; assisting guards in keep inmates corralled; keeping any eye out for any maximum security escapees.

With none spotted so far, and the people below him literally admitting that they're giving up hope when the Bats arrive, Jason figured he might as well see if a bit of scare tactic will convince them to go back to bed willingly.

"Bats like me, perchance?" The would be escapees in front of him startle and whip around.

"Red Hood?"

"The one and only." Jason shifts to not so subtlely place a hand on his weapons. "Now why don't you 2 just go on back to your rooms and we can forget this little infraction. I won't even tell the guards to write up a discipline slip." The two inmates eye him, then his guns, then each other warily. Finally, they both raise their hands in surrender and begin walking back to their cells.

Jason permits himself a quiet chuckle, much to low to be picked up by the modulator. As he turns back to grapple up to his bird's eye view in the rafters, his eyes catch sight of the inmate who apparently doesn't try to escape. For just a moment, green swamps his vision as Red Hood registers the sight in front of him.

He almost steps in to the cell before a harsh buzz sounds and cell doors clang shut again. An intercom crackles to life announcing the effective lockdown, instructing guards to begin escorting patients back to their cells, cataloging each attempted escapee for future disciplinary measures.

Batman's voice sounds out over comms.

Not a single inmate made it past the main gate. Good job Hood.

Jason seethes for moment longer in front of the cell before biting out his question on the main channel.

What the hell is a kid doing in Arkham!?

A strangled sound makes it through the feed and Nightwing responds, strained.

What?

A KID! Can't be older than 15. In cell... 26B. Looking rather roughed up, I might add. Since why does Arkham even accept minors?

Oracle responds.

Pulling records right now.

Jason eyes the kid, who seems to be entirely unfazed by Red Hood discussing his imprisonment 8 feet away from him. Actually, unfazed is the wrong word. Apathetic is better. Entirely emotionless. Green threatens Jason's vision again as he ponders the potential reasons for the look of resigned desolation on a face so young.

Looks like he was transferred over from a psych ward in Illinois 3 months ago. Ward of the State. File says self-destructive behavior. Apparently he picks up unexplainable injuries and claims ghosts gave them to him.

That still doesn't explain why they sent him to Arkham!

Batman's voice filters back in.

Hood, pull out.

Jason has to force himself to keep his voice down.

WHAT!? I'M NOT LEAVING A KID HERE!

It's almost 4am. Red Robin is on route to relieve you.

I AM NOT LEAVING A 15 YEAR OLD IN ARKHAM!

We will be investigating this further.

15! YOU KNOW, THE SAME AGE I WAS WHEN YOU LET ME DIE IN THAT FUCKING WAREHOUSE.

Jason almost regrets the statement as he here's Dick's stuttered breath. But it seems the kid might have heard him and something about the statement seems to catch his attention.

He actually turns his head to look quizzically at Jason. The expression only lasts a couple seconds before slipping back into blank neutrality as he turns back to the ceiling.

Batman's voice grinds in his ears, an edge in his tone telling Jason that if he doesn't listen, the Bat himself will come pull Jason out.

Hood, his transfer coincides with the start of these break outs. He may be involved. We will be investigating this further, very thoroughly. If he's clean, we will be getting him out of there. But for now I need you to pull out. File your report.

The tone softens.

And get some rest.

#dp x dc #Danny Phantom in Arkham Asylum #A King in Arkham #my writing #I guess I should start a tagslist #I'll try to pull some from the original post #But it would be easiest if y'all just drop tag requests in the comments

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ecoterrorist-katara · 1 month

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Katara would’ve been such a good diplomat (it’s canon)

everyone rightfully hates on the ATLA comics because the politics are baffling and the characterization is even more so…but if there’s one thing we can take away from the dumpster fire that is The Promise, it’s that Katara was BORN to be a diplomat and an international force for peace, okay? Especially since her besties, the Avatar and the Fire Lord, aren’t actually very good at this.

If you haven’t read The Promise, the Wikipedia summary is pretty good. The TL;DR is that Zuko and Kuei agree that the Fire Nation colonies need to be returned to the Earth Kingdom. The colony of Yu Dao is not happy about this because the people of the Fire Nation and the Earth Kingdom have been mixing together (under inequitable conditions) for more than a hundred years and “just kick out the Fire Nation” is not as straightforward as it seems, since there are blended families now. Zuko refuses to kick out the Fire Nation people from Yu Dao, Kuei wants to play hardball, and they almost launch another war. Oh and there’s a weird plot about Aang debating whether to put Zuko down like a rabid dog

For all that the Wiki page does a good job of summarizing the events, it forgets some key facts:

It’s Katara who first starts thinking about new solutions after witnessing the situation on the ground, and then comes up with the idea that Zuko and Kuei should meet and talk about the colonies:

It’s Katara who tells Kuei that Zuko has legitimate concerns (without saying that Zuko is right), when Aang tries to hedge and sugarcoat the truth:

And it’s Katara who says to Kuei, wait, what the hell do you mean that you have no idea what your people want, that Yu Dao is just a dot on the map for you? We’re getting you out of this stupid blimp and you’re gonna talk to people before you make a decision that affects their lives, you coward

To recap, Katara demonstrates some pretty freaking key political skills, like:

finding out what people want before making a decision for them

seeing people as people first and foremost, not as fire nation or earth kingdom

encouraging her loved ones, the Avatar and the Fire Lord, to resolve a conflict by beginning negotiations instead of brawling like a couple of drunks at a bar / kids on the playground (both analogies fit btw, 13-17 is a weird combination of ages)

realistically reporting tricky disagreements without sweeping them under the rug

kidnapping a king to the middle of a battlefield to give him a reality check about listening to the people he’s trying to rule

Anyway, Katara is hyper competent at both war AND peace! We see this in the show, with her compassion for the prisoners of the Earth Kingdom (by inciting a prison riot) and the suffering people of the Fire Nation (by committing ecoterrorism), only now that compassion is backed up not only by her fighting prowess and speeches about hope, but actual ability to manipulate the levers of power.

And have I mentioned that she has the ears of both the Avatar and the Fire Lord and her dad is Chief of the Southern Water Tribe? Even if Katara didn’t get a diplomat position based on her skills, or her status as a war hero, she could nepo baby her way in. The fact that she does not pick up a career in international diplomacy is a crime & a colossal oversight from the creators. At minimum you know Katara would’ve established Healers Without Borders or something. She deserves to be yelling at people at ATLA UN and then drafting world-changing resolutions.

And as a bonus, Katara demonstrates her gift for diplomacy by not smacking Zuko up the head for attempting to legitimize colonization through the argument of economic progress…

…and by not smacking Aang up the head for seriously considering anti-miscegenation as a viable political solution:

This patience is a new development because show!Katara did not have this in her, but maybe this is what growing up is all about and not just yet another strike on the “comics are wildly OOC” tally

TL;DR: ATLA boys lost their brain cells post-canon. All hail Katara, Sugar Queen of international diplomacy.

#Katara #Katara deserved better #atla comics #Chief Katara of the Water Tribes #United Republic Councilwoman Katara #Ambassador Katara #I’m not picky which one she becomes I just want her to exert political power as a principled and fair and compassionate representative #She saved the world it’s only fair she gets to run it especially since unlike most nepo babies (ie monarchy) she’s qualified #pro Katara #atla #my meta

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lovelyyandereaddictionpoint · 2 years

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500 Follower Special~Twisted Wonderland

Finding Out Your a Girl~Pool Party Edition

It didn't register that you were a girl when you told them. Giving them a disclaimer whenever they changed infront of you or actively discussed the topic of sweaty balls and weird hard-ons. They happily exclaimed that you were one of the boys. Preaching that famous line of everyone being equals. In that way you are like Epel who will admit his status as a farmer but others would no sooner believe it until he's happily harvesting horse manure on a Saturday.

Kalim was having another party, inviting pretty much the whole school. Of course leave it to Ramshackle's prefect to distribute invitations on his behalf properly so that everyone of the dorm leaders actually shows up (Diasomnia and Ignihyde I'm lookin' at you!). And so it begins shirts off and briefs out, the fun is just beginning and everyone's already having a ball. Adeuce, being the loyal dolts that they are look for the cat-monster and their prefect finding them in the corner conversing with Malleus. Feeling annoyed jealous they grab a water gun and splash you and your out of place jacket inciting the competition to react. Dashing into the water for safety they turn and wait for you. Shrugging off your make-shift cover up because it's no good anymore you reveal yourself one piece, bikini, or even a tight swim suit either one everyone's eyes are on you. You probably don't notice the open-mouth gawking that everyboy at this party is doing because you are jumping in or your dipping your foot testing the water before slowly submerging.

Ace is shocked for a moment before happily recharging his water gun. If he got to see this much by simply squirting you imagine what he'll see by absolutely dousing you! And if your so willing to give everybody a show might as well make it worth everyone's while!

"You really think I'll be distracted by your rockin' bod?! No mercy, right?"

Snapping him out of his nearly drooling daze Deuce hurriedly agrees. Man, you really do have boobs...I mean you told him you did and ofcourse that doesn't mean he thought you were lying he's just glad when he got off on it later It wasn't just too many layers pushing against his side when you hugged him.

"R-right! I won't hold back either!"

He proceeded to hurriedly recharge as you had begun dragging your arms from just below the water drowning the two in a waveol of your own.

Starting back the festivities everybody continues to try and act normal as possible. Of course Riddle Rosehearts is practically as red as his hair.

"I-its just so indecent for them to be wearing something l-like that!"

"But it's literally a bathing suit..." Cater sweatdropped.

"It is quite literally the right attire for this event." Trey spoke, amused.

"W-well i-i c-can't believe that their really...uh-"

"Beautiful?"

"Unexpectedly curvy?"

"A good pillow nya?" Chen'ya popped up swiping from Riddle's forgotten plate and dicing in.

"...y-yeah..."

The dorm leader was so beside himself he couldn't begin to even articulate how startling this was for him. There were no rules that said what to do when there was female present. Should he make some? Like maybe wearing your bathing suit on Tuesdays? But only the dormleader gets to see? No way it cause a riot! It'd be insane...right?

Cater on the otherhand was debating if he should post on Magicam just how cute you were in that swimsuit. But he ultimately decided against it noting the caption: "Going to the pool with my gf!"

Trey continued to laugh as he watched his dormleader fluster over you. He couldn't deny his own interest reminding himself to cook something for you. He wouldn't mind seeing you fill up other things thanks to his sweets either.

"Now this is something I'd wake up for."

"You can say that again."

Across the pool under the shaded cabana Leona Kingscholar was awake and keeping a predatory eye on you as you giggled in attempt to escape Ace who somehow got a hold of a bucket. He was closely followed by the Hyena-boy who had just returned with not only their drinks but with quite a few wallets swiped while everyone was busy staring at you. Not to say he didn't stop to burn the image in his brain before making his rounds. Hey, when opportunity knocks!

"Please, excuse me."

Jack Howl frantically left the pool as he realized his wagging tail was splashing his Pomefiore friend. He was well aware that by definition he should expect you to be soft but his wolf side couldn't help but swoon at the sight of your feminine physique. He couldn't fight his ears immediate inclination to your squealing as you narrowly avoided the stream of Deuce's watergun. He was all too excited to closely

guard you when you tossed a watergun to him.

Floyd Leech wasn't one to pass up anything fun and he also wasn't one to hide his emotions.

"Ne~shrimpy if I can keep ya steady during the chicken fight you'll be sure to squeeze my head

real

tight?"

"F-floyd!"

"He~he~but seriously don't stop."

Azul Ashengrotto's mind was running a mile a minute. Had he known you had a body like that he would of capitalized off of it by now. Maid outfits! Cosplay days! Maid outfits! He'll have to somehow gain something over you to trap you in a deal. And of course he'd have to include a private showing. Yes he could see it now. Students on the VIP list get to see the latest peeks at what his girl was wearing. His girl hanging on his arm with every new deal he makes. His girl...his...his girl-friend?

"Azul your spilling."

"R-right. Yes. Ack!"

Jade smiled, more than entertained. At the mere release of your self Azul was spilling all over himself and his brother was quite visibly overjoyed as well. And Jade? Well Jade couldn't deny-he uncharacteristically, was willing to squeeze you and even do a whole lot more but what fun would that be if he just got everything he wanted in one go? Drinking in the red face of Azul and the joy on his brother's as he helped you fight Epel. This was the first of many entertaining moments involving you and as far as he's concerned this wouldn't be the last.

"Ha-ha Jamil!! Come join us!"

Kalim always knew you were beautiful, he thought about it everyday. He also thought it'd be great to see you having such a good time with everyone. He won't deny he felt heat rise up on his cheeks when you took off your cover up. He quickly shook his head, running over to join you and Adeuce as you two had begun calling others over to start a game called chicken fight. He really liked having fun with you and apparently Jamil did too. He couldn't wait to invite you for more fun.

Jamil Viper had recently become more pronounced in his independence so finding clever ways to deny his master, Kalim Asim, had become his new past time. But when that same master invited him into the water where the girl of his dreams was wrestling he was as obedient as can be. He found that he quite liked you when you weren't disrupting his plans. When he originally found out he noted but it never really sunk in until today. Immediately he thought of how excited the Asim family would be if they knew but for now they didn't. And if he was going to eventually separate from the name anyway how sweet would it be if he not only excelled in every aspect of school but in his loveliness too? It would be bliss. Not to say he didn't like you without the fanfare but he couldn't deny it would be so much sweeter.

Vil Shoeinheit was staring pointedly at you as you romped and rolled with your friends. He was posed gorgeously under the cabana he had set up careful to not let too much of himself be tanned by the scorching Scarabia sun. How could he have missed this?! Was your feminine charm so sullied he couldn't believe it when you complained about it?! Was everything you did so weird simply because you were trying to blend in with worthless potatoes?! Not on his watch! As the best world class model it was his job to make sure your beauty was exemplified properly! If anyone should discover and show the world your splendor it would be him! Of course as, he predicts, you'll stumble with the new fame of the entire school. No matter he'll gladly guide you and show you how to maintain your fame. First the school, next the world.

"Rook, we'll have to schedule a date with Ms. (Y/n)."

"Oui oui Roi du Poison!"

Rook Hunt was absolutely ecstatic. Too long had he watched your curves be silhouetted by the bulky uniform or the veil of those old tattered curtains. He was finally seeing you in all your glory; he couldn't be happier. When he wasn't accompanying Vil he was sure to take pictures to engrave your image in his head. Reminding himself to try drawing a nude version later. He couldn't join in until he made a snide comment about Epel's physical ability. Which was met with streams of water directed at both him and Vil.

"Oh la la! Seems like we've been challenged."

"Then as Vil Shoeinheit, dorm leader of Pomefiore dorm I will not disappoint."

Epel was astonished to see his friend was actually a girl. Like many he thought you were joking specifically directed towards him. But you were actually like a girl? Not just looking like one? He's not gonna lie he was pissed.

"YOU GET TO DO THIS FOR FUN, HUH!? WELL TAKE THIS!"

Of course he isn't too mad. I mean he gets to hold hands while trying to knock you off the freakishly tall eel-mer. Of course in reality you two are fighting but man does he love your determined face. And when it just became straight wrestling he along side you were clearly at a disadvantage. But your supposed weakness brought a shared power and both of you were were working on subduing Jack before Rook just had to speak. Reviving the water gun fight was collateral for getting even with his torturer. No one was going to question how much of a man he was today especially not in front of you!

Idia Shroud was burning up. Scarabia was hot but he wasn't about to abandon his favorite hoodie. Even if he felt like dying. He knew well enough not to let his pasty pale otaku skin see the light of day. But he felt as though he was revived or rather in the pot and out of the pan when he saw you strip. Pictures were great and all but it had nothing on the real deal. Many a time had he sent Ortho to report on 'your safety' or investigate the non-magic student of Ramshackle dorm. He was never disappointed though. Like the main girl in any reverse harem anime everything just seemed to happen to you. One situation after the other he thought he was simply a fan to watch from afar until his...STYX situation. Inserted in your chaos he just found more reasons to like you. Now his hair was burning pink and so was his face. Silently appreciating the playful splash from Ortho who finally dawned his water proof gear.

"T-thanks Ortho! I was sure I would have melted at this point."

Ortho was so excited! All their friends were in one place! Having fun through a strength building activity like swimming. Plus the new development of the water games was sure to make healthy use of the growing teenage stamina! All while strengthening bonds with each other! This was great! He was noting everything for his own research.

"Wow so this the energy expected of water-themed parties? What fun!"

While Ortho was still learning about humans and the different stages of their life he had been informing himself with some tabloids. All about a teens 'hot' love life and he was sure his brother was living it right now. What an exciting endeavor! Seeing his brother heat up and fidget everytime he sees you aligns perfectly with what the material describes as a crush! And the crush is you? How perfect! He'll have to make sure his brother was presentable around you from now on. I mean he would love to have a sister!

Malleus Draconia was thrilled to have been invited by his favorite child of man. So excited to be invited he may have neglected the weight of the invitation. Fully aware of your female status he may have had an outdated reference (thanks Lilia) about what you'd be wearing. So when the prince witnessed you so casually reveal your supple silhouette to all these boys competitors he was beside himself. So beside himself he blanked; just staring at you silently as you proceeded to have fun. It wasn't until he felt the brush of his caretaker running past him to join in the fun did he snap out of it. Waterballoons were flying and slapping into anyone and everyone who wasn't already apart of the fun. Finally joining in he is easily dodging left and right while dishing out his own hits. One slip up had him splashing a particularly large water balloon in your face. He stopped worried he may have incurred your wrath to end whatever feelings of friendship

or love

you two have. Instead of disgust you broke out in your infectious laughter as you reached for your own weapon of choice firing multiple water balloons into his chest. Snapping up to return the favor he finds you carried off by none other than Lilia who is followed closely by Silver.

"Don't think hiding behind him will save you my child of man!"

Lilia Vanrouge was having a ball. As the acting guardian of the prince of thorns himself everything that was to be, had to be overseen by him. So the fact that a female was in attendance of Night Raven College was a point of extreme interest. At first the possibility of a human queen of course was considered but he couldn't deny his own intrigue in you as a character. The fun thing about humans especially you was that if all went well you wouldn't be here forever. Which just made this all the more entertaining. A time limit, the competition of a whole school, and the flightlessness of youth-it was like the perfect stage for the best drama of all time! At first he told himself he'd only meddle a little but soon that evolved to his own heart being tickled at your presence. While it always was fun to get on his son's and Malleus' nerves he in all seriousness was willing to pursue you. Who better to satisfy your needs than a fae who's been around the block before? So of course he'd jump at the chance to show everyone how likely it was that he could steal your heart by stealing you.

"Awww are you upset I have a darling sitting so comfortably in my arms?"

"Lilia?!" Registering it was he who was dashing you around the party at such speeds with such ease.

"Fa-you won't have her for long!"

"Oh! Are you mad I get to squeeze her like this?"

"Grrr!"

Silver was peeved. I mean he cherished you for the softness everyone seemed to lack. Not only physically but personality wise whether you're quiet or abrasively loud you always seem to check on everyone or specifically him. Letting him rest on you was something that left him snoozing with a smile. He didn't feel the need to compete with you. I mean obviously you couldn't measure up but you spurred a feeling he was willing to fight for. Even if it was against his father. Plus in his opinion if there's anywhere he could beat his father it'd be in his love life with a fellow human.

"THAT IS ABSOLUTELY INTOLERABLE I WILL NOT ALLOW SUCH INDECENT BEHAVIOR TO GO-ACK!! WHO-?"

Your mischievous giggle answered Sebek as he wiped his face of the water and rubber blocking his view. At the recognition of your voice he couldn't help a crimson blush blooming on his face. Gorgeousness embodied in a mere human was on Lilia Vanrouge's back aiming at everyone who was still not wet. It was only you who could make him react in such a way and for diverging his duty from Malleus he hated you for it. But that didn't mean he wasn't watch eagerly as you abandoned your coverup. He turned to save face but only after burning that image in his head. And for him to want someone that his prince was set on was wrong...but if all he was doing was diverging the throne from a clueless human than maybe this was most beneficial.

"Y-Y-OU W-WILL R-REGRET THAT! MS.(Y/N)!"

Far away in the preciously closed down potions class Divus Crewel, Dire Crowley, and Ashton Vargas sat around watching intensely at the moving image of Kalim's party focused mostly on you.

With a labored sigh Crowley held the bridge of his masks beak.

"My kindness has backfired! All this free time and all she has done is share her secret! Now no one can rest easily!"

"Everyone already knew it wasn't much of a secret."

"Still its gone terribly now I'll receive copious amounts of transfers to the Ramshackle dorm!"

"I doubt anyone is going to willingly transfer to live in that dump."

Crewel growled as he witnessed the thirsty stare of another student.

"Those strays are acting like wild animals! Come Monday I'm whipping them all with 100 question quizzes!"

"Multiple choice?"

"Your right Vargas! I'll make them long answer!"

The coach sighed pitiful of his students before another image popped up within the cauldron.

"Man, everyone seems to move a lot faster when (Y/n)'s included...hmmm."

He dared not finish his thought with Mommy Crewel in earshot and silently proposed using you to get his less athletic students involved.

"Oh Cater-san posted something! 'Having fun at the party my bae's such a baddie!' (Y/n)'s dating him?"

"WHaT?!"

Crewel practically knocked the cauldron over trying to look at the post on Crowleys phone. Vargas and Crowley both trying wrench the phone out of his gloved hands as he turned as red as his tie in absolute anger. In the corner of the room Lucius, the cat, listens intently while grooming himself being sure to inform his owner ,Mozus Trein , later on of his students transgressions. Fully expecting some fish for himself and a lengthy essay for the boys he sat contented. Still grooming himself he thought, 'how can I word this without giving Mozus a heart attack?' While it was true he had 3 other daughters that didn't mean it was any easier to see them being pined for so heavily. "CURSE THAT SAM! FOR EvEn GiVing hEr THaT sUIt!" In the middle of organizing his shop he sneezed; then began knocking on wood in hopes that whoever uttered his name in good fortune. Noticing a notification on his phone and opening it he smirked as he looked at the posted pictures on Cater's magicam. "I've done it again. Good luck (Y/n)!"

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acourtofwhatthefuck · 1 year

Text

Coming Home (Part Ten)

Azriel x Reader

Hey, it's me again! I felt a bit bad for that last cliffhanger so I thought I’d give you another part 🤣 this part gets a bit heavy…and I don’t know if I like how it’s written but I hope you enjoy it all the same! ❤️

Warnings: Minor child injury detail, some ANGST!

⧪

“Tell me where we’re going.”

Azriel’s face was a sheet of pure, unflinching steel as the skies zipped past you. He’d barely spoken a word; had just scooped you up in his strong arms and shot into the air with little more than a grunt. You couldn’t tell if the sickness unfurling inside of you was born of being flown with alcohol still in your system, or the anxiety that had begun to prick at you.

Something was seriously, seriously wrong. You could see it in his eyes – the fury.

“Azriel.” You snapped, pounding a fist against his chest. “Tell me what’s going on! Has something happened to Rhys?”

He glanced at you, then – as if surprised that your brother was your first thought. “Not Rhys.” He said quietly.

And then they came into view beneath you – the cold, harsh Illyrian mountains. The brush of forestry that bordered the war camp. Like an ugly blot of ink on a pristine page, the hell that was your former home glared up at you, reached out to you.

“No.” You bucked in Azriel’s arms, and his hold on you tightened as if he’d anticipated it. “No! Put me down!”

You’d sworn – you’d sworn you’d never set a foot back in that soulless place you’d grown up in. That you’d never again allow it to sink its claws into you. The things you’d endured there–

“I’m sorry.” Az’s jaw set. “I wouldn’t bring you here if it wasn’t absolutely necessary…I wouldn’t come here if it wasn’t absolutely necessary. We – we need the help.”

You couldn’t breathe. You were going to faint, or vomit, or…something. The blissful effects of the alcohol were long gone, replaced by a sickening soberness. Azriel was unfazed by your thrashing against him as he banked, hard, and landed within a copse of trees.

Setting you on the ground did nothing to keep you upright. Your legs buckled beneath you, and he caught you beneath the arms, steadying you. Already, the smells of burning campfires, of mud and metal, were stuffing themselves up your nose. That oppressive, suffocating feeling…you couldn’t–

“Look at me.” Az’s face appeared before yours, palms cupping your cheeks. The warmth of him was pleasant against your icy skin; soothing you the tiniest bit. “I need you to concentrate for me, Y/N. We need you.”

You hadn’t realised you were crying until a tear spilled over, dropping onto Azriel’s hand. You could have sworn the winds carried the bite of your late father’s voice, the vicious words he’d spoken that had tainted this very place beyond repair. You tried and tried – to stare back at Azriel. To focus. To block it out.

“The girls have been attacked.” He said, his voice gruff.

Nothing was making sense. You frowned, blinking against your tears. “Girls?”

“After Under the Mountain,” He breathed, “Rhys did everything he could to change things around here – to make sure the young girls had equal opportunity to the boys. That they’d be educated and trained just the same. There was some pushback from the males, from the girls’ father’s...so Rhys sectioned a part of the camp off for the girls and had dormitories built…somewhere they could be guarded and trained safely.” He sucked in a deep breath. “Their fathers and some other males have retaliated – incited a riot. The girls weren’t guarded. They went in there and started picking them off, one by one. Clipping their wings.”

The shock of it was so icy cold, chilling you from the inside, that your emotions, your fear, became nothing more than background noise. Such a grotesque, evil practice – to clip anyone’s wings. To destroy their lives. Your ears were ringing.

“Madja is already here.” Azriel was already pulling you along, your boots scuffing against the forest floor. “And a couple of other healers. But we need all the help we can get, Y/N…the carnage…”

With shaking hands, you wiped your tears away, fixing a mask of cool calm onto your face. This was your job; what you were trained to do. You couldn’t let your feelings get in the way and put anyone’s lives at risk.

“Were any girls able to get to safety?” Your voice shook as you followed, trying to keep with Azriel’s pace.

“Some.” He nodded gravely. “Some ran to the cottages. Some hid. Some weren’t so lucky. Rhys and Cassian hunted every single one of the males down. They’re dealing with them now.”

Dealing with them. Whatever they were doing, you hoped it was slow. And painful.

Azriel pulled you through the trees, leading you to an unassuming brick building, surrounded by makeshift sparring rings and sparse racks barely stocked with weapons.

The sounds hit you immediately – crying. Screaming.

You wondered if you’d turned as pale as the Shadowsinger had.

⧪

Carnage was the right word.

The metallic sting of blood tinged the air. The dormitories were packed full with the pained cries of young girls and the frantic voices of the other healers as they shouted instructions to one another. Some girls, otherwise unharmed, merely cowered together in corners, trembling in fright. There were bowls of water carried back and forth, a spread of medical instruments and supplies, beds and sheets and pieces of ripped fabric tossed all over the place.

Where these girls usually ate and slept had been turned into an improvised infirmary.

Azriel pulled you along in great, hurried strides. Out of nowhere, Madja appeared in the hallway, falling to a stop before you.

“Thank the Gods.” She breathed. “You need to go – now. The room at the back there – the girl needs seeing immediately. There aren’t enough of us here.”

“I’ll help.” Azriel continued on. “Tell me how to help, and I’ll do it.”

Madja had already bustled through the door to what seemed to be some sort of dining room; the bulk of the chaos appeared to lay in there, with beds shoved side-by-side on which the injured girls lay, their cries mixing in with one another’s.

You pushed through the door Madja had directed you to, Azriel hot on your heels.

Only one girl lay in this room – perhaps the youngest you’d seen. Her blonde curls splayed out around her as she lay face-down, her body periodically twitching and jerking as she shook..

She looked…tiny. Too small, even, to stand upright with a heavy pair of wings to send her toppling over. And the damage to her back…

You knew immediately there was no salvaging those small, barely-formed wings. Torn and shredded beyond repair…your only choice was to treat the damage before what remained healed awkwardly, poorly, and the poor little girl was left with painful nerve and muscle damage for life.

You communicated all of this to Az with just a glance. No matter how much you wanted to buckle beneath the horror of the situation…to cry and cry until you were hoarse…an injured child needed you more than you needed yourself.

“Tell me what to do.” Az pleaded quietly, not once tearing his eyes from the little girl.

And so you did.

⧪

Her name was Thea, and she was six.

You did everything you could to ease her pain while you worked. Madja had been able to briefly drop by and help, but with so many other girls to see to, you were more or less on your own.

Aside from Azriel of course. Azriel was a lifeline.

If you asked him to do something, he did it. If you told him you needed him to get something, he got it. And when there was nothing he could physically do while you worked your magic on fixing as much damage as you could, he sat by Thea’s side and soothed her quietly. Held her tiny hand in his own. Kept her calm enough for you to do what needed to be done.

It felt like hours and hours of soaking your hands with blood. Stitching gashes and tears and bandaging her back. But even with all your effort and expertise, a sickening truth hung starkly in the air.

That little girl would never fly. Never know the song of the skies or the feel of the wind in her mass of blonde curls. A sick, vile coward had taken that from her. Sealed that fate forever.

You wondered if Rhys and Cassian had killed them yet. You hoped so.

Dawn was breaking by the time every girl had been seen to. Some would heal completely. Some had damage as severe as Thea’s. All of them would no doubt be left with the mental scars of what had been done.

An eerie silence had settled over the dormitories. With nothing more you could do for Thea than to let her rest and heal, you’d given her a sleeping draft; a chance for her small body to truly fall asleep and have some relief from the pain. Only when you were sure she was sleeping deeply on her front did you set about helping the other healers clean up the carnage. Draining away the bloodied water and setting a fire to burn the medical waste. It was a relief to not hear the cries of pain anymore – but the heavy emptiness left in their wake wasn’t much better.

The only thing you could cling to was that no lives had been lost. All girls would live.

Azriel didn’t leave Thea’s side for a long, long while, and you didn’t push him to. You could see the haunted shadows that had gathered in his eyes, the utter rage on his face. If it helped him to be a calming presence to a little girl who had suffered such horrors, you would leave him to be exactly that.

After a while, you had begun to think that maybe he’d fallen asleep in the chair beside Thea’s bed. You were just making your way back down the hall when he stepped out of the room, looking as exhausted and battered as you felt. He raked a hand through his hair, his wings seeming limp and tired behind him.

“You look dead on your feet.” His voice was rough, gritty.

That just about summed up how you felt. You knew the enormity of the situation would hit you at some point…the true weight and emotions of the horror. You pressed a hand against the wall, your head spinning. When was the last time you ate? It seemed like so long ago that you were stumbling into your bedroom with that nameless male.

“Come on.” Azriel made a grab for you, steadying you. “You need to sleep.”

“I’m not sure I can face the flight home–”

“Neither can I.” He still lifted you into his arms, though. “I’m taking you to your mother’s cottage. You can sleep there.”

Your eyes shuttered as Az carried you. Right – somehow, you’d forgotten you were even in Windhaven. There had been no room for your own trauma while trying to save the girls from theirs. Part of you wanted to face the flight after all – to get the hell out of there. Madja and two of the other healers were holding the fort, staying behind to keep an eye on the girls; you could return to Velaris if you truly wanted to.

But maybe you needed to show some of the bravery and strength that those children had. That Thea had.

And the Mother knew, Az looked in just as dire need of sleep as you were.

So you allowed him to carry you across the camp. Blocked out the noise and the sickening presence of the Illyrians you hated so much. They laughed and chatted around flickering fires as though a travesty hadn’t occurred mere yards from them.

You hid your face in Az’s leathers, and you didn’t argue as he carried you into your mother’s cottage.

⧪

“Here.”

You looked up, heavy eyes fixing on the rising tendrils of steam from the mug Azriel held out to you. He placed his own down on the small coffee table and joined you on the settee. He seemed far too big for it now.

Tired as you both were, you were too wired to sleep. Too many things to think about, to work through. So the two of you sat in silence with your own thoughts, only the crackle of the fire accompanying you.

Your eyes roved around the tiny open-plan space. It was strange…being back there. Like stepping into a past life. Walking in the steps of a ghost. Your mother had been dead a long time, now, and yet her presence was still very felt there. If you closed your eyes, you could swear you still smelt the bread she would bake, still hear the songs she would hum to you until you fell asleep.

You glanced at the table, a fond, muted smile tugging at your lips. That Gods-damn table – the same one your younger self used to sit across from Azriel at, gazing at him whilst Cassian teased you and Rhys tested you on what things you’d learned that day. Cas had once coaxed you into carving a crude word into the wood until your mother had noticed and sent you to bed early.

Far, far simpler times. Far, far out of reach.

Were you any bit the person you’d expected your younger self to grow up into?

No. You weren’t.

“Talk to me…”

You jumped, even though Azriel’s voice was barely above a whisper. You turned to face him, taking a long sip of the tea he’d made you. “What do you want to talk about?”

“You saved that little girl’s life tonight.”

Your gaze dipped. “Not her wings, though.” You murmured. “I couldn’t save her wings.”

A fact you knew would haunt you forever, even if nothing could have been done about it. You closed your eyes, savouring the feel of the steam rising from the cup and fanning your face. Until the cup was taken from your hands.

Az placed it down on the coffee table, beside his. He scooted closer to you, angling his body towards you. You watched, your heart fluttering slightly as he cupped your face in his hands. Rested his forehead against yours.

It was…close. Intimate. The closest you’d been since the kiss in your bedroom. And you wanted nothing more than to lean into it, to not let go of his touch.

But you behaved yourself. Didn’t move a muscle as his fingers stroked your cheeks, his breath brushing your lips.

“She will be okay,” He murmured, “Because of you.”

“How can she possibly be okay, Az? What they did–”

“Was barbaric. Evil. But she will be alright. Just like you’re alright, despite all of the horrid things you suffered here.”

You barked a curt, humourless laugh, pushing out of his hold. “I’m hardly alright.”

Az said nothing. You knew he was staring at you, trying to read you. But you needed to move your restless legs, to shout or scream or just do something. To finally get rid of the thoughts that had hammered you constantly for the past three weeks. Maybe longer. You stood up, pacing the floor before him.

“Y/N—”

“I,” You snapped, “am a mess, Azriel. A stupid, reckless mess.”

“You’re wrong.”

“I make one bad choice after another. I run away from my problems rather than face them. I act without thinking about who I might hurt, or what shame I might bring down upon everyone—”

“Bullshit.” Azriel spat. “What Rhys said to you was utter bullshit. You have to know that.”

But you didn’t know it. You weren’t even listening. As if the events of the last few weeks had just begun to creep up on you, the horrors you’d just faced weighing heavily on you, a laugh bubbled from your lips in near-hysteria.

“Do you know the worst thing about it?” You spun on your feet, laughing again as your eyes met Az’s. “I think I do all of those things because I’m scared of who I am without them. I’m so scared of being that nobody my father said I was, that I would rather be a complete fuck-up than nothing at all.”

Azriel’s eyes were dangerous as he stood, his jaw visibly clenching. “Stop it.”

“Look at all the shit that has happened since I came back. The trouble with Rhys and Lucien and Elain and you. Especially you.” You were pacing again, unaware of him moving closer. “I shouldn’t have come back. I should have stayed away.”

“Don’t,” Azriel snapped, “you fucking dare.”

“You—“

“I was fucking miserable while you were away. All those Gods-damned years, waking every day and wondering if that would be the day you turned back up on the doorstep. All the Starfalls and Solstices that you weren’t there to keep me sane amid all the chaos. All that time wondering if you were safe, if you were happy — I even kept the fucking note from the last Solstice gift you gave me, just so I had some part of you with me.” Finally, he inhaled a slow, deep breath; an attempt to quell his temper.. “So don’t ever say you should have stayed away, when you leaving destroyed me in the first fucking place.”

You’d gone cold.

So uncomfortably cold. And still. Rigid.

What exactly he was saying, insinuating — you weren’t sure. But you were stunned by the sudden urge to cry as you stared at him.

“…Then why?” You whispered, furiously blinking away tears. “Why tell me to keep my distance from you?”

You hated how small you sounded and felt. But with how much you were trembling, trying to win a useless fight against your tears, there was no strength to muster. Nothing you could do.

Azriel’s eyes shuttered. “Because I’m trying to do right by everyone. But I’m not sure I can.”

No, he couldn’t — you knew that. There was no possible way to please everyone…and you wouldn’t ever let him break his back trying to do so. But maybe…maybe you were being unfair. Maybe you’d asked too much of him in the first place.

Maybe you could…could settle. The thought alone made you wince, but surely you’d grow used to it—

“I don’t expect anything of you, Az.” You said quietly. “Just…having you in my life is enough. I don’t want to keep my distance from you.”

Those deep, stunning eyes of his opened. Fixed on you. There were a thousand indiscernible thoughts written on his face. So many things you wanted to ask about, delve into. But maybe you needed to learn not to do so.

Maybe some things were just…better left alone. Your feelings in particular.

“I don’t want to keep my distance from you, either.” Az said.

You inhaled a slow, deep breath. “So don’t. We can be…friends. Right?”

“…Right.” He studied your face. “Friends.”

You nodded, because that was all you could do. And even though you wanted to break, to cry until you could cry no more, you squared your shoulders and brushed past Azriel.

“I’m going to bed.” You told him softly. “Goodnight.”

Az nodded stiffly. “Goodnight.”

You climbed the narrow, creaking staircase, your heart heavy in your chest. Walking away from him felt so, so wrong, but it was time for you to have some semblance of control. Of restraint.

But still – you couldn’t help wondering what may have been left unsaid.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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sea-salted-wolverine · 9 months

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Not to bash on anyone's interests, but could we shut up about Barbie and Good Omens for 30 seconds and appreciate the fact that Trump got indicted for the January 6th riots.

I read the indictment, It's glorious. Briefly paraphrased, it goes something like this.

"Trump ran for president. He lost. He knew he lost, everyone knew he lost. He proceeded to be a whining bitch about it for 2 months and lie about it over and over again. Hes allowed to do that, btw, free speech and all that. However, the intimidation and attempted fraud are crimes. And inciting riot. That's a crime. Have we mentioned he very much knew he lost? And even his buddies thought his plan was full of shit? Yeah, fuck that guy."

Alright. We may now return to our regularly scheduled fandom funtimes.

#trump indictment

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lazywitchling · 1 month

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Alright, here we go. My review for The Dabbler's Guide to Witchcraft by Fire Lyte

Final rating: ??/10 - it broke my numbers system.

TL;DR - I like the book. I'm angry at the author. It's great for new practitioners. If you're going to get it, please get it from the Spiral House Shop, get Alex Wrekk's two witchcraft zines to go with it, and go look at/reblog/contribute to the original Dabbler's Week project.

(Also I think this is the longest review I've written yet. I'm sorry.)

This book is very good. I'm mad about that. The author is an excellent writer. I'm mad about that. I want to dislike this book but I can't, and I'm mad about that.

So let's get into the breakdown of why.

First up, a housekeeping thing: "Fire Lyte" is a pen name that I don't believe the author uses anymore, so I will be referring to him as Don Martin, the name he is using on his current projects. I know he's on TikTok, formerly of Inciting a Riot podcast, now of Head on Fire podcast.

Second, some links relevant to the review-which-is-actually-just-a-rant:

The breakdown of things I found that were taken uncredited from Tumblr

I COULD be making this up and reading it in bad faith, but this bit about 'heteronormative marriage' has my alarm bells ringing

Why I hate the title of this book

The original Dabbler's Week project links

Anyway.

I picked this book up specifically because of the title. It's been 3 years since it was published, so it took me a while, but I remember looking at that title when it was first out and thinking "Hey... the timing of this... did this person just wholesale lift the 'Dabbler' idea from Tumblr?"

The answer is: Yes, probably!

(He also summarized the Malachite Dick post from February 2020, but he actually credited Tumblr along with relevant usernames, so that's good and also made me laugh.)

But... yeah. The fact that he's crediting Tumblr from something that specifically happened in February 2020, when the original Dabbler's Week was from late January 2020 and seems to have inspired his whole book? Don, would it have killed you to mention ANYTHING about that project and the people involved?

He's very big on talking about following trails of information, listening to podcasts, listening to the podcasts of people talked about on those podcasts, reading books talked about on those podcast, and so on. But if he doesn't start off by saying "Dabbler's Week was a project issued by asksecularwitch on Tumblr", then how is anyone supposed to follow THAT chain of information, hmm? If his whole advice on finding good witchcraft resources is to follow the chain of people who are sharing information from each other, but he makes no mention of where he got the whole idea for his book, then what?

Side rant: I'm real tired of how Tumblr information is simultaneously treated as too shitty to ever bother reading or mentioning, but good enough to screenshot, repost on other sites, recite word-for-word on tiktok, and apparently write a book about.

ANYWAY. I'm angry about it. I'm gonna be angry about it. Here, please look at these links to the shenanigans that began the original Dabbler's Week, because Don certainly won't tell you about this part.

Anyway.

Some bad things:

I mean, the plagiarism. I keep hesitating to use the word 'plagiarism', because to me that seems like wholesale lifting entire works and slapping your name on them, when all Don did was fail to credit a few Tumblr users he quoted. But then again, if I did that on a research paper in college, it would be called plagiarism, so.

This book is in fact not a great guide for 'dabblers'. The point of Dabbler's Week was that if someone didn't know if they wanted to commit to witchcraft but wanted to fuck around with casting some spells for a week to try it out, there were week-long guides on things someone could do to try that. This book is not for fucking around with magic, it's for people who are already sure that they want to make this a thing in their lives. It handles some heavier topics (e.g. vetting mentors and not getting sucked into a cult) that are very very important for someone who is BEGINNING, but may be too much for someone who just says one day "lol I think I'll cast a spell for fun". A far more accurate title would have been "The Beginner's Guide to Witchcraft", but then he'd lose that punchy and marketable and googleable term 'dabbler'. (Yes, I'm going to be petty about this.)

"Wow Jes, it sounds like you really hated this book."

NO I DIDN'T, AND I'M SO MAD ABOUT THAT!

Some good things:

The author has a writing style that I enjoyed very much. This is a personal preference, but I like when books are either written so that the author is fully invisible (Bree Landwalker's books do this wonderfully), or the author is fully visible, like they're sitting at the table having a conversation with you (Kelly-Ann Maddox's 'Rebel Witch' comes to mind, as does Alex Wrekk's 'Brainscan 33: DIY Witchery'). Don Martin is the table conversation kind. That makes this book very easy to read, while also getting information across in an easily-understood sort of way.

This book fills a very necessary gap in modern witching books. It talks about the online community of witches, and a lot of the pitfalls that have come along with the bonuses of having so much witchcraft available at our social-media connected fingertips.

He gets very in depth with things like cultural appropriation. That's something that you can find in a lot of modern witch books, but Don actually spends the time breaking the concept down and explaining WHY it's harmful, HOW it affects people, and quotes people from the affected minority groups. I have seen the appropriation topic come up in a lot of the witch books I've read, but Don is the one who has covered the topic the best, imo.

He spends time on topics that I myself would have been dismissive of. The example that comes to mind is the chapter 'Can I Make Sh*t Up?' My knee jerk reaction was "Yes, you can make your own spells, you don't need to get someone else's permission. Next question." But Don goes through the full breakdown of yes you can make up your own spells, yes you can make your own correspondences, but no that doesn't mean you can just throw a water soluble crystal in your water bottle because you think it's good for cleansing.

Actually on that topic, he covers a lot of the why not just the what. It's not just 'appropriation is bad', it's 'and here's why'. It's not just 'research your herbs', it's 'here's some examples of things that can and have gone wrong.'

SPELL CANVASES! There are 11 'spell canvases' in this book, and they're pretty much all just kids/teens science experiments (e.g. dissolving an egg shell in vinegar, lighting a tea bag on fire so it flies, and using food dye to color a white flower). He does not give intentions for these spells, but gives a spell technique and then some examples of how you could apply your own purpose/intention to it as needed. It's actually pretty smart, and now I wish there was more stuff like this.

He actually explains what UPG means. Man, 'UPG' is one of those things that I keep seeing as a 'I don't know what that means and I'm to afraid to ask' blog post. When someone pops into the witchy social media circles, we can throw the term 'UPG' around as if everyone knows what it means, and forget to actually explain that it's Unverified Personal Gnosis and what that means. Don's got us covered. Good on you, Don.

The one throwaway line about why you don't have to buy fancy witch things. Tucked away in chapter 12 is this almost nothing-sentence mentioning why you shouldn't be "going broke hoping to buy your way into 'effective' magic" (pg. 161). I have seen, reblogged, probably written posts about 'No you don't need the fancy tools! You can just use whatever! But you CAN buy them if you want, you just don't NEED them.' And we've all seen those around, right? But damn, if Don didn't just get to the heart of it. You can't buy your way into skill. YES, Don, THAT!! THANK YOU.

Alright. I'm running out of words. This isn't a review, it's a rant. Holy shit. Let me shut up with a TL;DR

Almost without doubt, Don liked Tumblr's idea enough to write a book about it, but failed to give credit. But he's an excellent writer and covers a lot of topics that are not often written about in printed books, and to get those blogosphere-ideas onto bookshelves is invaluable. This is a good book for beginners starting out in witchcraft, but not for dabblers who just want to screw around with some spells. Do the pros outweigh the cons? Is it ethical to buy a book when the author gets royalties but the bloggers he got the idea from do not? I don't know. I can't tell you that. You'll have to weigh all this against your own moral compass and decide for yourself. My recommendation is that if you're going to buy it, please buy it from the Spiral House Shop, because if Don Martin's going to get paid for this book, Alex Wrekk should too. Buy Alex's zines. Reblog Sec's posts. Links are up at the top.

#jes vs witch books #drama in your llama #navigation: reviews

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gustavgiles · 4 months

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Here's a little Vikdecai fic that I hope you enjoy! It's a Viktor-focused story that I wrote 'cus I wanted to see them make up and kiss. Planning a Mordecai-focused followup that may or may not be spicy!

Some Interesting Viktor Facts/Theories that got into my brain doing a Viktor-focused read of the comic while writing this:

Lackadaisy Anodyne provides a wealth of information about Viktor's family:

He gets letters from his daughter, but *only* his daughter, not from his wife. My read on this is that his wife broke things off with him, rather than the other way around (like Viktor telling them to leave because he wanted them safe or something); that seems like the more likely situation if she's no-contact with Viktor.

His daughter sends him 1-2 letters a year; assuming that she started writing him when he split up with his wife, then that places the breakup at just before 1921 or 1922, depending on what year you think the half-hidden postcard is from.

The Palmer Raid precipitating the riot where Viktor lost his eye, then was arrested and bailed out by Atlas happened January 1920, which about lines up with the time he split up with his wife. I think Viktor going to prison and falling in with Atlas was the inciting incident for Viktor's wife leaving him; my headcanon is she didn't feel like he was able to provide for his family anymore, and was dragging them into a dangerous criminal element.

VIKTOR HAS A CONFIRMED THIRD UNKNOWN PERSON IN HIS PAST THAT I NEVER SEE ANYBODY TALK ABOUT! Alena (his daughter)'s 1926 letter to him reads: "Dear Father, Hello! This is my photo from the start of the school year. I wear my hair much shorter now, and so I wanted to show you. I can't believe it's already the holiday season! Will you write back? You don't have to write in English if you don't like to. I can ask Mama or Tala to translate. Merry Christmas, Alena" WHO THE HELL IS TALA?? Did Viktor's wife re-marry? Did Viktor emigrate with someone else? Is it just some random person in the Slovak community that Alena knows? QUESTIONS. (also this implies that Alena doesn't speak Slovak. I wonder if that hurts Viktor a little.)

Viktor HASN'T OPENED ANY OF ALENA'S LETTERS UNTIL NOW. Why? Does it hurt too much? Can he not find the time? It can't be that he doesn't care about his daughter because he saves the picture of her. STOP PUSHING PEOPLE AWAY VIKTOR, LET OTHER PEOPLE MAKE YOU HAPPY

Viktor's wearing what appeared to be Allied gear in Lackadaisy Scrapbook. Slovakians would have been part of the Central Powers, so it seems that Viktor emigrated (with his wife?) to America far before the events of Lackadaisy, and went to war against his own country. He probably had a more difficult time in the war than most people.

Viktor's birthday is Apr. 16, also from Lackadaisy Scrapbook. Maybe some day in the future Mordecai will look up his birthday via his arrest records and make him a little cake???

Tracey describes younger Viktor as "robust and amorous" in an old Q&A which certainly does not describe the current Viktor. He must've been happy and carefree at some point :(.

Tracey also talks a little about how she sees Viktor in another Q&A: "sometimes, drawing snarly Viktor expressions is my favorite thing because I’m thinking of Viktor’s superficially powerful, animal anger and how it only ever ricochets back, making him smaller by increments…" Which is a description that just really resonates with me. He wasn't *always* this sad and angry and lonely, the world's just chipped away at him over the years until he's a raw bundle of nerves. CAN YOU TELL I'M OBSESSED WITH VIKTOR I CAN FIX HIM

#vikdecai #viktor vasko #lackadaisy

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thetauntinghydra · 23 days

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King Abispa's Folley (TotSS/Wings of Fire Fic)

Based on a challenge for the WoF RP server I run.

Chapter 1

The Nightwing’s talons felt cold, surely, pressed up against the hard stone like that. Flattening to the wall, he recoils like a creeping vine, all too desperate to shrink away. His claws, now sore, scratch against the coarse grains as he inches further, chipping the keratin of his only lingering weapons. No one could imagine he had much fight left within him, after all, not after the show in the Mirror Gardens. This, of course, only emboldened the hissing guardsmen, who seemed to fill whatever vacuum the escapee proposed. The twilight’s dreary helios barely lapped the sunken wall, illuminated moreso by the desperate fires– now mostly put out– than by the echoes of day. In this, the dark-scaled dragon watched his reflection in the pearly Hivewing spears, only catching a glimpse whenever a new cloud of sparks wafted overhead.

It all seemed so calm now, despite everything. The ash could meander over as it pleased, drizzling through the space like dying fireflies. Yet Beholder was still forced here, pinned to watch as the Hivewings quickly reverse his frantic bid for revolution. ‘Sanctuary,’ he remembers thinking, ‘what a joke.’ It was in that moment, too, where the ‘savior’ finally reared himself. Abispa, and his gnat of a sidekick glimmered in the dim firelight. Lasius, talons coaxing tighter against her dagger’s heel, seemed to bore into his very being- sharp and sure. Beholder couldn’t help but try and avoid her glare, his eyes dashing instead to the still-bleeding gash on the King’s scarlet neck. Ironic, it was, as he stared into the dribbling sore, how a single lesion would likely be the only lasting wound in his rally for change. “Finally caught up with him?” Abispa starts, his signature lofted tone quite a bit more breathless than usual, “Good. Damned Animus nearly burned down half of Borer. Put a muzzle on his snout before he starts spitting spells again.”

A pair of guards had already been holding one, of course, only ever chomping at the bit. They buzz their wings anxiously- scoffing something in the Hivewing’s nonverbal language, no doubt. They take a few tentative steps, testing the metaphorical waters, and watch how he only ducks away further. Sneering now, they lunge on him, the shrill metal and rough leather caging in around Beholder’s maw even as he stretches away. His teeth flattened painfully against his gums, squeezed against the binds. His only lasting autonomy was his eyes now and his racing thoughts, which raged against the very concept of Abispa’s creation. “Perfect”, the King sighs, a cruel smile twisting across his face, “You won’t be able to mutter a single syllable now, thank you very much. Music to my ears, honestly. Well, save for that awful crackling.” The Hive King huffs to himself, tail lashing. His tone, save for his hint of furious inflictions, was more akin to scolding a dragonet than facing down an escaped prisoner. “A necessary evil, I suppose. All forseen. Better to work out the kinks of the Armada now, before your kin try anything fancier. Inciting a riot, my word, Beholder, how unoriginal.” It's then that Abispa slinks closer, shoving his face mere inches from the cowering Nightwing. His black teeth gnash violently, barely containing the rampant grin across his sniveling features. “You’re all just a single drop in the basket, Nightwing. One… stupid star in my constellation of perfection. Soon you will see… soon everyone will see- the true power of an Animus Army at my very talontips.” He recoils harshly, the cold air filling Abispa’s wake. “A shame I won’t see you on the front lines, but then you were never quite remarkable anyway.” Taking a breath, he stares down the failed attempt before him. Beholder: the firstborn of Shatteredmind, the second animus of the Hive, the third to rebel. Eye twitching in it’s socket, he shoots a poisoned glare to his deputy, spitting his final order. “Lasius, remove the muzzle from the mutt. I want to see if this valiant martyr has any last words for his King.”

The gray Hivewing wastes no time in fulfilling Abispa’s order, skulking forward to slip the leather mask off of Beholder. Almost instinctively, he takes a greedy breath, barely noticing the choked-out smell of smoke. There was little pity in her doings, ghosting along the floor as he'd pant. Her expression wasn't prideful like Abispa's, but cool and calm, her ambition simmering deep within. Stepping back, she only glowers at the Nightwing, eyes narrowing to dangerous slits.

“Speak,” Lasius commands, “Do not let your final breaths fall silent.”

Beholder, his chest heaving, stares down his insectoid pursuers, matching Lasius’s glare with dying ferocity. The stale air buzzed with false anticipation, eyes shifting and staring.

Licking his drying gums, he forces a sigh.

“Your army will never work, Abispa,” rasps Beholder, “Everyone outside your stupid hive knows it.”

He heaves his wings, bracing them back against his scabbing shoulders. The deputy raises a dangerous eyebrow, tapping a message to Abispa on the floor. It takes such effort to step forward, but the look on the Hivewing guard’s faces was all worth it.

“It.. it won’t be long until the others know it, too,” Scowls, the night dragon, hatred burbling in his core, “Moons… most of them already do. You think I did all this myself? That I’d throw my life away for my own sake? Nah… that's foolish, and you're a fool, too, if you think I’m the only one. The animi are waking up, Abispa, they're learning what you want to do.”

Another step forth, another tightened grasp on the spears.

“Even now they're watching… listening… learning from my mistakes. Next time you piss us off there won’t be just smolders… but bodies… bodies of you and your soldiers…” His gums flash pale… he knows he doesn’t have much time left-

“But I need to buy my dragons time. Abispa, you wretched nymph, I enchant you to disappear— to dissolve to a time where magic no longer exists! Go there– now– where you can’t harm another animus ever again–!”

The uproar was immediate, but not immediate enough. In the flash of spears and tongues and scales, The Hive King snaps his jaws in a desperate bid for retort— but his words fall flat. In fact, his whole being does, his essence condensing and warping, flung through existence and time.

Chapter 2

Tides are the sand’s best friend, which swoons against the lagoon’s flattening dunes. Lazily lapping, it provides the perfect ambiance to the Summer Palace’s lunching ambassadors. Across its lofty decks, Silkwings, Leafwings, and Seawings snacked above windswept maps. Curling in the breeze, dappled lines and dotted points adorned the scrawled-out LeafSilk Kingdom, its borders’ ink still damp. Few eyes seemed to be upon them, however. Instead, the dazzling indulgence of the midday meal distracted both sight and stomach. Huge platters adorned the nacre laminate, stacked high with aromatic delicacies. Smoked webfoot octopus, stewed softshells, algae poppers, and chia pudding endowed the salty air with enticement.

To Sundew, who sprawled across one of the driftwood chairs, it was all a bit too salty for her taste, despite her mother, Belladonna’s, ravings. She poked at a serving of shark tartare with a half-thought talon, choosing instead to trace her glances around the smooth oval table.

Ears pinning up towards her horns, she mayed herself in the conversations of chattier dragons. A small cohort of Silkwings seemed to drone on with a dappled Seawing prince, their words swinging between topics as varied as their scale colorations. Others, like her mother’s, never seemed to deviate much from the topic of their new home to the point where even Sundew was starting to bore.

The clatter of tongues, teeth, and talons, however, only added to the otherwise still atmosphere. That was, of course, until a matt of scales skids across the table. Abispa seemed to collapse from the sheer sky, slipping on his very wings and crashing against the plates. The cacophony sounded through his pinned ears, mirroring the uproar mere seconds before. His lungs seemed to wail against the salt-saturated air, begging for the breath that was knocked from him.

His tail slides across his newfound pedestal of platters, trying to shake the coconut cake from his scales. His eyelids squeeze with a wince, auditory senses returning to the shuffling of dragons. Yet, he wasn’t the first to react, not until the familiar scale-feel of steel slid against his bruising jugular. “The Hivewings sent spies!” cries a grizzled voice, forcing Abispa’s eyes alert. Shuddering from the blinding radiance of Noon, a blur of dark green and gleaming grey forces his head against the table. Blinking fiercely, what could only be described as a Leafwing bores down upon him, albeit slimmer– leaner– meaner. Soon, she wasn’t the only one, her fervor matched by the gang of unusually plump Seawings.

His thoughts were cresting upon him only once he was completely surrounded, a dire turn of events that brought Beholder’s words to the very forefront of his mind. “R-remove your talons at once!” hisses the Hive King sharply, attempting to rise but slipping on seafood, “I am Abispa you fools! Profound Hivewing royalty!” His demands hover in the space a moment, but are only met with the guards' growls and puzzlement from the council before him. Glares flicker between them towards the Hivewing and each other, before turning from Abispa entirely– much to his dismay. “He must be one of the Ladies’ husbands,” announces a paperwhite Silkwing who, to the King, looked rather misshapen and worn, “Look at the jewels… Bloodworm’s perhaps?”

“I am nobody’s husband-” recoils the King, “How DARE you reduce me to such a trophy–” “Who are you, then,” a broad-shouldered Seawing demands, “Hivewings aren’t welcome at this conference. Well, besides Treehopper– but that's not the point–! Introduce yourself. Now.”

“I am King Abispa, you fools!” he roars, “By the moons- Asterope would be broiling by now. Oarfish, even. Now, I DEMAND you remove your claws from my face before my dragons–” He pauses, voice caught in his throat. No one else had fallen with him… no one else had been enchanted by Beholder. “Damned Nightwing-” he jeers curtly, reluctant to finish his threat, “B-but my demand still stands. I am King Abispa of the Hivewings, you WILL unhand me.” Once again, the shout only lofts through the room, hanging in the breeze like a stale vapor. The Leafwings’s jaws clench, and the Seawing’s grips tighten, their eyes falling upon Abispa with deep uncertainty. “You never mentioned a ‘King Abispa’, Belladonna,” the Seawing growls, boring into the King with a startling lour. “There isn’t one,” replies this ‘Belladonna’, “He’s trying to ruse us, Princess. Wasp’s supporters must’ve sent him– I’m sure of it– and this oaf thinks pulling the royal treatment will garner him some sympathy.” “What do you recommend, then, Tsunami?” The paperwhite Silkwing returns to the side of the others– missing her harness– yet gaining a knowing glare, “Do you have somewhere here we can keep him? Question him, maybe? If there's one spy, there might be others.” “I am not some– insolent spy–” huffs Abispa again, rolling his neck in indignity, “If you listen to me, I am simply here by accident– an accident I will QUICKLY remedy once I return to my hive.” Gaining fervor now, he takes a try on his binds– roiling against the Leafwing’s grip, but only met by a flurry of spears. “Stay still,” Belladonna bristles, “You aren’t returning anywhere. Tau, alert your Silkwings, we may be staying longer than anticipated.” “You will do no such thing!” He gasps, jerking again, “I. Am. King. Abispa. The leader and monarch of Borer, the Hive King, the Gilded Throne! I am warranted respect!” With an indignant snarl, he lunges forth, blitzing his wings and slipping the spearhead from his scales. His face curls into a darkened snarl as he frees his head, ebony teeth gnashing. Despite the sudden flashes of silver, he doesn’t relent, racing all the way up to his feet.

Salt wasn’t the only thing stinging the staredown dragons, tension thickened the air like dribbling ichor. Where once sat a council now stood a bracket of warriors. Whatever sort of sick trick that Nightwing played was starting to lose steam, and Abispa- now surrounded by spears, felt the venom seep out of his and the Leafwing’s conjoined stare. These dragons weren’t going to let him go– the prospect swirls in Abispa’s mind as he slices the sight with his stare. Yet, even now, the room itself seemed to favor the King. In the open adornment, he could fling himself out of one of the many balconies, catch himself on the breeze, and fly westward. Even if he was in a different time, as Beholder enchanted, surely he could find a Hivewing willing to help their historic King. ‘Yes-’ his brain hisses, ‘Seawings… Silkwings… Leafwings… they aren’t very good fliers, are they? Slip out the window and lose them in the clouds… then find your subjects…’ The plan seemed simple, the only thing left was to be fought over with talons and teeth. Ambush. Be swift.

Abispa rears, baring his fangs in a braggart roar, clawing down on the Leafwing with a searing strike. The smell of hot crimson stings the senses, but the Hivewing doesn’t care, following quickly into another snapping bite. One– two– his teeth gnash breathlessly against the emerald frill, tainting their vivid color with liquid pain. He swirls around sharply, feeling the hot breath of a Seawing soldier against his nape. He jerks his claws against their gills, thrashing through violently. He was about to strike another blow when Abispa got his own, the blade tip of Tsunami’s spear shone through his membrane- forcing a diving swirl from the King. He snaps at the wood of it, snapping the grain between his teeth and– Crunch crunch

A Silkwing’s dagger digs into bone before Abispa has a chance to think. The pain sears the dire strain straight to the Hivewing’s skull– before another wound opens, and another–! Whoever had a spear, sword, or dagger at that moment was using it– every sharpened blade and coaxed brand trained on Abispa’s form. He lets out a vile hiss- a rapturous howl dripping ire. Soon, it wasn’t his enemy’s blood in the majority, but his own, his very footsteps leaving scarlet wakes. This was bad– what vigor left he had to use to flee– quickly–! This possession of will was wilting from the King, replaced by the hollow of his wounds. Maybe it was blood loss that tore him, maybe it was another shrieking stab, but in that instant, Abispa felt once again as if he was falling– falling and falling and falling– until the scent of flame engulfed him once again.

Chapter 3

“Tap tap taaap, click tap tip tap, bzzzzzt”“Sliiiiiiither– stomp, tap tap bzzzzt, chk chk!”“Chk tap tap chk! Bzzt dmmm sliiithering now… Lasius– there's another one here– one under his wing, too.”“I've got it. ‘I enchant this wound to close like the others… I enchant this wound to close, too.’ Any others, Louse?”“Not that I can see… that's seven countings... Oh– wait, wait a second– Sir? Sir– Your Majesty, can you hear me?”It's rare for a Hivewing to be unable to understand their nonverbal language, but expressing trauma– like nearly bleeding out– would usually be considered atypical circumstances. Even now, as Abispa lays against the familiar– yet different cold floor, he revels silently in the smell of salt dissipating from his nostrils. “I can hear you… yes,” he wheezes, barely gaining consciousness of his own breath, “Where… where am I now–?” “Borer, sir,” the one named Louse replies, “I.. we don’t know where Be– the prisoner– took you… but he's been disposed of. Lasius took care of it.” “How did I return-?” continues the King, weakly peering now. “That was Lasius too, my liege. It took a minute to deconstruct the spell, but Lasius was able to undo it in time. W-we’re sorry it took so long– sir– I understand if… erm, my station lies elsewhere now–” “No…” mutters Absipa, “That isn’t necessary…” The hot basin Absipa lays in quickly dries, magically so, and the scent of his own blood quickly banishes itself from his senses. His wounds, where once searing, now stood still, his tendons and bones barely bruised.

The brain fog of bloodlessness didn’t help, of course, but in that moment– surrounded by his soldiers– Belladonna, Tsunami, Tau… they all felt like figments in a dream, dematerializing to the memories of a dreary midnight gaunt. Better this way, Absipa considered it, even as he adjusted his chin against the cold ground and spread his woundless wings. He can consider the prospects of it all later. For now, he just wanted to rest.

#wings of fire #wings of fire rp #wof #wof oc #oc story #oc lore #writing #wrestling #writers on tumblr #writers and poets #dragon story #fanfic

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