#tectonic rage

[mmavverickk]

The children of the big three are painfully beautiful.

beautiful as poisonous flowers.

One touch and you're dead.

they are though—they’re venomous creatures, poisonous flowers, forces of nature. the world itself runs through their veins. gods treat them with caution; mere humans don’t stand a chance.

Percy is a riptide. he’s the calm of ocean, moments before its rage. he’s the sun on the beach, the warmth of the sand, the calming, constant crash of the waves. he’s the smell of the salt in the air and the cold of the water against your skin. you can swim, you think, you’ll be fine. he smiles and it’s more beautiful than a sunset over the shore. and then the pull starts. in seconds, you’re farther from shore than you’ve ever been before. trying to swim back tires you out and sees you no closer than before. in fact, now you’re even farther out. the water pulls you under, still as beautiful as it was from shore, and you can’t find your way back up.

Thalia is the eye of the hurricane. the deceitful calm at the end of the storm, luring you out from your shelter. there is nothing more peaceful, more still and tranquil. the sun peeks out from the clouds that surround you from all sides. the wind and rain have died. there’s a rainbow in the sky. the storm is over—except it isn’t. one moment is all it takes, and the hurricane is back with a vengeance. the wind tears at you, rain lashes at you, thunder shakes your bones in place. you walked too far from your shelter, and you might not be able to make your way back.

Jason is hail. the rain is beautiful. it’s a breathtaking storm: impressive thunder, streaking lightning, howling wind. the house shakes around you and the lights go out. the concussive sound of the rain on the roof is soothing, until it isn’t. until it isn’t rain, and the roof isn’t whole. now, the storm is invading your home. the hail is punching its way into everything it can reach. car alarms spring to life outside; those who were watching in awe are now fleeing in terror. it only takes one hit, after all—one lucky piece of hail—to end a life.

Nico is an earthquake. the planet is ancient; the ground was old before you were here and it will be old after you go. it’s sturdy, and supportive, provides life and food and shelter. long ago, when the ground danced, when it shook itself free and sent cities tumbling to the ground, they called it the gods’ wrath. now, it’s called plate tectonics. no matter what it is, no matter why it happens, it is lethal and dangerous and uncaring of those it affects. nowhere is safe when the world turns on you, and if it decides you and your shelter should fall, you will.

Hazel is a sinkhole. the appearance of stability, of rock-solid ground and firm foundations. nothing is wrong, will ever be wrong, she’s the rock that holds everyone up. and then that rock is gone, and you’re falling, down, down, down—your home collapsing around you, your belongings claimed by the morbidly hungry earth. there’s a light at the end of the tunnel, but is it sunlight, far, far above you? or is it magma, far far below?

#sorry it took so long to answer i forgot my password lmao #dark percy jackson #mav.ask #thalia grace #jason grace #nico di angelo #hazel levesque #children of the big three #the big three #powerful percy jackson #percy jackson headcanon #percy jackson #pjo #heroes of olympus

[0v3rcast]

Gnaw (part 1)

Contains: Body Horror, Blood, Violence

You had fallen to Teyvat some time ago, pulled down from the sky by a brilliant platinum star, the elements gently beckoning for you, all of them trying to prove their land the most suitable for your descent.

"Welcome back, Sea-shaper," Hydro murmurs, their voice the babbling of streams and the roar of the angry sea all at once. "Fontaine has such sights to show you. As you created, we have created to honor your actions. For your beauty, we have made our people beautiful. You will want for nothing-"

"COME TO US, HOLY TINDER," Pyro roars, its voice the starving crackle of flame and the churning of molten rock as volcanoes erupt. "NATLAN AWAITS YOU WITH AN OFFERING OF ENDLESS PASSION. YOU SHALL NEVER GO UNPROTECTED, UNLOVED, OR HUNGRY."

"Welcome, almighty Whirlwind of Creation," Electro purrs, speaking with the rattle-boom of echoing thunder. "Shall you grace my people with your presence?"

"Welcome home, Blessed Foundation," Geo hums, their voice the whispers of sand and the ancient growl of tectonic plates shifting. "Liyue has grown prosperous since you've last seen it. Perhaps you should come to us instead, where the riches of Teyvat could be put directly to use in pleasing you?"

"Don't listen to them, First Breath! We've waited for you the longest, like, a whole forever! We were first!" Anemo pleads, in the tones of breeze softly rustling leaves and howling tornadoes. "Even if you just stop by, that's totally fine!"

"You've finally come home, Heart of Winter? Good. We have missed you so." Cryo coos, the flurrying of snow and ancient creaking of glaciers their voice. "Snezhnaya may be a harsh land, but faith is enough to warm the bodies of my people."

"Flower of Irminsul, Root of All, please! You cannot come down! Another wears your face, please turn back if only for a few more days!" Dendro howls, desperate, voice a cacophony of falling trees and leaves rustling. "You ar-"

Dendro's voice fades as you pass the point of no return and begin to burn through the sky towards Mondstadt, Anemo ripping at the air to direct your course even as the other elements rage at them for their impudence.

As you fall, the memory of this conversation fades from your mind.

Welcome home, Maker, whispers the Abyss into the back of your mind.

Since that day, your time in Teyvat had become quite difficult. Whatever hopes you'd had for this world were soundly dashed.

Mondstadt 'welcomed' you with scorn and hostility for sharing the same face as their Heiliger Schöpfer, the Divine above Divines.

You were unsure as to why they hated you so, simply for your face- especially since that face is one that's otherwise looked kindly upon in this world.

You do your best to take in the sights, all the same. Though you are confused by the frosty reception, this place is so much more interesting than the game shows.

There are many more homes and people, you see (and pet) some stray animals, pick a particularly low philanemo mushroom after a couple seconds of jumping and stretching in an attempt to reach it, and generally just enjoy the (rather tense) locale.

Your confusion became fear when the Knights of Favonius begin to chase you. You'd done no crime, why would they hunt you like this, especially with such wrathful looks on their faces?!

The closest you get to meeting any of the allogenes on friendly terms comes when you breeze past Sucrose, yelping out a greeting to her. She just watches you go, incredibly confused, before a Knight accidentally bowls her over in his maddened rush after you.

Just as you exit the gate, the Knights just behind you, yelling curses and what you presume are threats-

P a i n.

Eula Lawrence just pushed a greatsword through your lungs and out your back. You have no clue how she got here so fast, where from, or how you didn't notice her.

You gag and choke as your blood quickly rushes into the space (and out of your body, simultaneously).

With a vicious yank, she tears it from you in a diagonal motion, nearly carving you in half.

A darkly satisfied look in her eyes is all you receive when you uselessly try to gasp for air and plead for help.

Your vision begins to fade, but before you can die of blood loss her boot comes down.

(Your nascent godhood activates the moment you die, and it plots a new trajectory: your misery will shape you until such a time comes that you will never feel this suffering again.)

You wake screaming in the woods, hands coming to clutch at your chest.

A massive golden scar lies just between your xiphoid process and sternum, perfectly horizontal in a way that only comes with practice.

Your clothes are covered in the brownish rusty red of old dried blood, and quite badly torn from where you were sliced nearly in two.

Breathing feels... easier, somehow. Like your lungs didn't just heal from immense trauma.

Your stomach aches badly and your mouth feels like it's full of sand. How long have you been laying here beneath the sun?

Your attempts to rise from this resting place are fruitless. You're so exhausted you can barely move your fingers.

Darkness slowly weighs your eyelids down and you fall asleep, even though you know you should not.

---

Elsewhere in the world, a being wearing your face stares up at a statue to themselves, noting with some alarm the golden scar across its chest.

The only recent news they had about an imposter was the Lawrence outcast running one through.

Now they'll have to find some way to replicate your scar and keep up the ruse.

"The original has truly descended, then... fine." They hiss, words venomous, glaring at the face of the statue. "If I can't have this place as my playground, then they won't get to have you."

---

The next time you wake, it is night, and the hunger in your belly is gnawing at you with such fervor that you feel lightheaded.

When you stand, your head twinges with pain as if to protest even this miniscule expenditure of energy.

Your body stumbles at first, briefly overcome by vertigo, but quickly adjusts.

Your mind changes its tune completely upon seeing a plump, ripe Sunsettia growing on its branch.

You desperately scramble over to pull the Sunsettia from the tree- only for it to drop into your waiting hands as soon as you reach up.

The 'how' of this doesn't quite matter to you in the moment. You bite into the ripe fruit and moan in bliss at the tart taste of the flesh and the sweetness of the juices. Within twenty seconds, you've reduced this fruit to a nubby pit, almost like a peach has.

That's kinda neat, actually. You distantly wonder what you have to crossbreed with a peach to make Sunsettias.

You pat the tree as if to thank it, not noticing that it suddenly stands a bit straighter or how its leaves are just a tiny bit greener, and go to find a nice place to put down this future Sunsettia tree.

You eventually get bored of looking for a good place and just poke a hole into the ground with a fallen branch, then stuff the remains of your first Sunsettia into the hole.

You wander off into the woods in hopes of finding a road, unaware of the golden-leaved sapling slowly growing behind you.

With a new source of energy in your system, you feel the urge to get moving- might as well make the most of this while you have it.

Your stamina is better than before, it feels like. Distances that previously felt difficult feel easier on your legs- and definitely on your lungs.

Perhaps this has something to do with your demise?

...what's that weird whistling soun-

You fall, dead, an Anemo-enriched arrow punching through the back of your head.

For a brief moment, you dream of a place deep beneath the surface of Teyvat, and a ruined statue oozing corruption into infinite darkness.

You wake with a small headache, very hungry, and more than a little pissed. Won't people just leave you the fuck alone?

Somehow, you feel sturdier. Less breakable. As nice as that is, you don't particularly feel up to testing it.

You stand.

Perhaps you should avoid civilization from now on.

#genshin sagau #sagau gnaw #reader has a terrible time #sagau impostor au #aint my best work but i cant think of what else i need to add to it #next part to come out whenever it starts haunting my brain

[calice-malice]

Z-Moves Ask Game! <3 (a bunch of random questions!)

Breakneck Blitz - Do you like things to be hectic or calm?

All-Out Pummeling - Do you enjoy battling? If so, what is the most fun part?

Supersonic Skystrike - Do you think that you should be allowed to fly on your pokémon's back? Why?

Acid Downpour - Have you ever eaten something you shouldn't have?

Tectonic Rage - Do you and your pokémon like the indoors or outdoors more?

Continental Crush - Have you ever gone hiking?

Savage Spin-Out - Do your pokémon have any accessories?

Never-Ending Nightmare - Do you dislike anyone specific? Why?

Corkscrew Crash - Do you enjoy the Sinistea rides at amusement parks?

Inferno Overdrive - Do you and your pokémon like the heat?

Hydro Vortex - Do you and your pokémon like the rain?

Bloom Doom - Have you grown a plant yourself before? DId it go well?

Gigavolt Havoc - Say about yourself or your pokémon that others usually find surprising!

Shattered Psyche - What is the worst take you've heard?

Subzero Slammer - Do you and your pokémon like the cold?

Devastating Drake - Are you empathetic?

Black Hole Eclipse - What is the weirdest rumour you've heard recently?

Twinkle Tackle - Did you have a favourite toy as a child, or do you have a favourite toy now?

Catastropika - Do you enjoy contests? If so, what is the most fun part?

Sinister Arrow Raid - Are you afraid of anything?

Malicious Moonsault - Do you think you're naturally malicious?

Oceanic Operetta - Do you like music? What is your favourite genre?

Guardian of Alola - Do you have anything you'd protect?

Soul-Stealing 7-Star Strike - Have you ever gotten into a physical fight?

Stoked Sparksurfer - Have you ever done or considered doing Mantine Surfing?

Pulverizing Pancake - What is your favourite and least favourite food? Why?

Extreme Evoboost - Can you adapt well in most situations?

Genesis Supernova - What legends do you believe in?

10,000,000 Volt Thunderbolt - Do you like things to be more flashy or less flashy?

Clangorous Soulblaze - Do you like loud music, or do you prefer it to be calm?

Splintered Stormshards - Have you ever broken something intentionally?

Searing Sunraze Smash - Do you and your pokémon like the day?

Menacing Moonraze Maelstrom - Do you and your pokémon like the night?

Light That Burns the Sky - What legends do you like the most? Which ones the least?

Let's Snuggle Forever - Share a positive experience you've had recently!

#pkmn irl #pokemon #pkmn ask game #cassieposting

[goodboyaudios]

I'm kinda curious on what the demons were exactly doing during the Tectonic War, other than tangling and messing the Earth.

Like, were demons dividing themselves into small groups across continents? Were they killing/torturing/toying with the humans? Was there a "higher demon" or "lower demon" kind of thing?

Maybe even give an example on Kravatas and Cataclysm, kinda curious about them during the war. How were they like and everything?

The demons were doing all manner of things during the Tectonic War.

The most notable, as you could probably guess, was moving all the tectonic plates so that all the countries would become one giant supercontinent, also known as super pangea.

The demons caused any number of natural disasters while also stirring fears and inciting panic of the end times.

They also spread rumors that incited wars and caused mass hysteria, quite similar to how it was on New Tennessee. ~wonder if that's a coin cidence~ By the will of the demons, the human race turned on each other, blindly lashing out at each other to the point where they didn't know anything else but hatred. They were zombies, hating anything that moved. The only difference was that these zombies had nuclear. Codes.

Not everyone was affected by this hazy rage that swept across the world. There were survivors whose only interest was staying alive. They bunkered down and stuck together, creating underground communities under the scorched earth above.

And while the demons did their absolute worst to this group, they could never truly be squashed. And then, 500 years later, the demons vanished, and the humans returned to the surface with hope in their hearts and a mission to never EVER...go to war with each other again.

#good boy audios #goodboyaudios #youtube #asmr roleplay #asmr boyfriend

[masterqwertster]

Noticing trauma prompts - oh boy, you'll be getting a couple of these from me!

First up: #23 with Ashton and Imogen or another member of Bell's Hells of your choice.

23 "Don't focus on them. Just focus on me." Honestly, a great pick for Imogen and Ashton given their respective brain magic deals. Prompt

"Hey, no no no. Don't focus on them. Just focus on me."

Which, probably isn't the best advice in the world, given their whole crazy chaos-magic-in-the-brain thing. But better their mildly-known brand of bullshit than whatever the fuck these creepy fuckers have going on in their heads that is freaking Imogen the fuck out.

Ashton grabs Imogen's face and makes sure the only thing her unfocused eyes have to look at is his face. The last thing she needs once she's back here with him is a reminder that they're in a fucking shitty situation.

"Come on," Ashton pleads, giving her cheek some gentle pats. "Get your mind out of whatever fucking gutter they live in. Think in. Fuck."

This would be going so much better if Laudna were here, what with the way Imogen's practically addicted to the spook's thought music or whatever. It'd probably be better with any of the other Hells here, since their minds aren't potential psychic bombs like his. But it's just Ashton and Imogen caught by these ghosty red motherfuckers.

Finally, they feel that hard to describe but familiar sensation of her mind brushing against their own. Ashton tries to make their mind feel welcoming, safe. They don't have a fucking clue if they can do that, don't know how. But, they have to fucking try.

It must work, some-fucking-how, because Ashton can sense her mind settling against his own, gently tangling at the edges. Imogen's presence feels weaker, thinner, more wrung out, than he's used to. And fuck, it's instinct to wrap her into a protective embrace, psychically and (maybe?) mentally, when she's looking so rough. They're not particularly close among the members of Bells Hells, but Imogen is still part of that family, one of his people. And Ashton takes care of his people.

"There you go. You're safe with me," Ashton mumbles the soft encouragements into her hair.

____________________________________________________________

Imogen takes a shuddering breath, inhaling the scent of leather and stone.

Ashton?

"I'm right here. I've got you."

The sound vibrates against her forehead. The swell of thought just as rumbling and steady and calm.

She burrows in deeper. To the solid mass gently wrapped around her sitting form. To the mind of rumbling sand and gravel and stone and crystal-

Imogen pulls back from the tinkling sound of vibrating crystal. That way lies the dangerous infinity of Ashton-but-not-Ashton.

She skirts around the clattering gravel whose shards threaten to cut and hurt. Sometimes pain is grounding, but she hurts enough already.

The sand, though. The sand is nice. Gentle sursurs from a breeze blowing it from one spot to the next, a soft crunch underfoot. It's a little uncomfortable grittiness, but that's just it's nature, a warning not to stir things up into a storm.

Not that Ashton's mind really storms. Not in her experience. Their rage is tectonic. Loud and cracking and crashing and crunching and roaring and threatening to entomb you in unforgiving rock.

But Ashton isn't raging right now (it's always a low rumble beneath the surface, ready to truly quake the world, written into the bedstone of Ashton). Instead they're trying to be soft, to be sand. Or at least keep her in the gentle sands and away from the noisy, prickling gravel and the deep rumble of crushing stone and the echoing crystalline infinity.

Imogen appreciates it, coiling a little more snugly into the space she's been provided.

Thank you.

"You're welcome," rumbles through all of her contact with Ashton.

She lets out a content little sigh, happy to hide here from the danger they're in as long as she can.

#MQ&A #MQfic #critical role #ashton greymoore #imogen temult #noticing trauma prompt

[dujour13]

Owlcatober 10. Stars

Still ignoring date order with impunity. An epilogue to The Prodigal Tiefling. Also on AO3

---

It might have caused quite a commotion if anyone noticed the Knight-Commander had climbed out onto the roof of the Citadel watchtower, the highest point in Drezen, and perched perilously close to the edge of the steeply sloped tiles with his legs dangling over the city and a baby havoc dragon curled up in his lap.

It was past midnight. A cloak would have been a hazard, so he sat shivering in only his jerkin and shirtsleeves, but the stars out on this crystal night were worth catching a chill for.

He tipped his chin up as if drinking in their light.

“I would say thank you, but divine intervention is the opposite of luck, isn’t it?”

Cynosure twinkled.

“There’s something about having him back that makes all the difference. My courage was failing.” As he said it, his voice failed too. Absently he stroked the silky scales on Aivu’s snoring flank.

When he found his voice again he went on, “For a while there I admit I started to doubt my vision of a Free Crusade. It’s true, recruiting any and all, and offering forgiveness and redemption on nothing but good faith leaves us wide open to traitors. The price has been terrible.”

He paused, breathing ghosts into the frigid air.

All those lives lost.

“I was beginning to think I was deluding myself, talking to the stars.

“But I’m not.”

“Nope,” mumbled Aivu without opening an eye.

At that the wound complained, a shearing pain in his sternum, or deeper yet—like tectonic plates pulling apart and sending aching ripples through his body. Like bile rage lay at the back of his throat but soothing starlight washed it away and buoyed his spirit.

“Because it doesn’t matter if you’re listening. All I can do is trust my heart is leading me in the right direction, and with Cynosure as my guide I’ll make my own luck.

“Like he did, lost in the Worldwound. Like we did, stumbling across him.”

Siavash smiled at the stars like he was confiding in an old friend; which, in a way, he was. “I owe you. I know I’m terrible at keeping promises, so I won’t make any, but from now on I won’t forget that I followed my heart, I trusted you, and it worked out.”

“What worked out?” Aivu asked sleepily, raising her head and blinking.

“One small thing, but that’s all I need. I’m doubling down on this Free Crusade idea.”

“Woo hoo!” Her dragonfly wings began to buzz with excitement. “I knew you weren’t boring! Does that mean we get cookie rations? I get to decorate the barracks yard? The soldiers have to do a little dance when they join? Ooh! I know! Every crusader should have a big, purple feather on their helmet and—wait, what small thing?”

“Woljif.”

“He is a small thing. What worked out? Did he give back something he snitched?”

“I asked Desna to save him.”

“And she did?”

“Not exactly.” In the darkness his disembodied grin reflected starlight. “It was sheer luck.”

#pathfinder: wrath of the righteous #wotr commander #siavash #aivu #azata #my writing #pwotr pals #owlcatober 2023

[lorei-writes]

now last one: 1, yves and fluff for uhhh... me? pretty please, with a cherry on top

Ding, ding, ding! First request to align with an idea from my stash >:) A bit of Eevie with kisses, partially inspired by that International-server-exclusive story sale from a while back...

»All the things we choose to share«

Yves x Reader Fluff Content Warnings: none

Adorned

Foamy clouds linger over the surface of violet sea, fragrant currents forcing lavender debris to abide by their whims. Helpless, it lets itself be carried over bath salt reefs, ever-careful not to infringe on shallows, although one may argue it is already too late for that. It shivers, remembering that it was once whole… And yet, it cannot fathom how it’d be to fear, the hands that have stripped it from its stem being far too gentle, too elegant, to inspire this sort of sentiment.

Rosemary joins mint over placid waves, lingers in gulfs around the flushed ivory islands. It seems to huddle closer to the warmed flesh, perhaps awaiting something – doomed be lavender and its sorry state. Too gullible, it remains blind to the most obvious of signs, omen-ripples escaping its sight.

Water stirs.

The world shifts, old order crumbling as lands collapse for other to emerge from the depths, the very first six days of the whole universe being re-enacted within the borders of a bath. Caged elements rage, oils boil despite lack of heat as floral debris sinks, tectonic plates of human body rearranging their position; Yves settles once again in the tub. His eyes open wide at the door that shields him not, despite its duty to. He does not reach to cover himself, however, nor does he seem to feel threatened by your inquiring stares. The air of his room has reached him and cooled down the steam, temporary crystals adorning his eyelashes while remaining indifferent towards his swept-back hair. His lips part, little different from a rose caught in a mizzle. But only quiet ensues. Yves closes his mouth, opens it, closes it again – nothing changes, nothing follows, as if somebody cast a mute spell.

“I –” you try to say something, anything, but your tongue does not seem to obey you either. Malicious magic must it be to affect you as well – or a curse, perhaps, although Yves banishes the thought. He shakes his head, shaking himself free of surprise and any budding resentment directed at himself. You’ve broken his shackles once, your presence is enough to free him again. He wills his throat into submission.

“Has something happened?” His voice comes out more unsure than he’d wish for it to. Nevertheless, it still is enough.

“I called you, but you haven’t replied. I did knock, and you still said nothing, and… Well. Clavis did kidnap you today,” you force out, words dripping from your lips to then become a flood, spilling from you until understanding lights up his eyes. Yves blinks.

“It’s nothing, it was just some flour! Not even eggs,” he blurts out, his voice waning as he becomes aware of the force he has put into the words. He hushes himself down to a murmur, his voice marching on the border between embarrassment and sourness. “I was just a little lost in thoughts.”

A little? Just a little lost, just now? You dare question whether that truly is what he feels, and perhaps you let some of your true thoughts slip. Yves’ cheeks flush.

“Yves?”

“Y-yes?!” he replies, voice hitching again, becoming a little too loud.

You step forward. The tiles are wetted with artificial dew, cold pricking your toes as you approach your love soundlessly, studiously examining his face. “Did Clavis use honey too?”

“Wha – Don’t tell me I haven’t got it out of my hair yet?” His arms lift in despair, water bubbling out a judgement on his brother’s misdeeds. You, however, seem far too pleased with yourself.

“No, I can’t see any there. Would you look at me?”

Blue eyes meet yours, now framed in an even lovelier jewellery than the gems from before; minute crinkles form around them, and you do know Yves is not aware of that much. It is purely instinctual, each crease a pool of his adoration and love.

You cup his cheeks.

Your lips brush against his. Briefly, delicately, as if a butterfly kissed him with its wings. However, a butterfly would not return, would not deepen the caress, would not steal his breath nor would it have its breath stolen – it would not allow itself to be held by wet hands, and neither would it have hair that could get soaked, or any clinging, binding, clothes for that matter. It would not get lost in the act of relishing the rose bloom lips, it would not seek what is past them to satiate its hunger for nectar… And lastly, it would most definitely leave.

But you?

You are not a butterfly.

--

Tag list: @lancelotscloak @violettduchess @pathogenic @fang-and-feather @tele86 @rinaririr @keithsandwich @cheese-ception

Tell me if you'd like to be added to my tag list :)

#answered #cheese-ception #yves kloss #ikepri yves #ikemen prince yves #ikepri #ikemen prince #ikemen series

[zkaixry]

　 　 Haechan, being The Love, was a cruel creature. He made people fall in love with those they can't have; he shot with one bullet three people; he shot crowds en masse, but never gave a shot to the one those people ended up in love with. And then he watched, amused, how hearts got broken, how lives got shattered, how people steeply turned their fate towards immeasurable danger just because of these neverending, raging, piercing feelings.

　 　

　 　 But today he was especially bored. Sitting on the roof of the bus, he absentmindedly watched people running about their business... Until he spotted that one guy. Haechan remembered him: shy and gentle data engineer with round eyes and sharp cheekbones. And he remembered the feisty artist, short both in height and temper. That was brilliant two-handed shooting: clean and quick. These two would be just the perfect pair of lovebirds that everyone envied.

　 　 If only he wasn't bored today.

　 　 So he made himself visible for a fleeting moment only to that one data engineer, slowly raised the revolver, locked the eyes with the guy, and shot him right in the head.

　 　

　 　 Mark noticed the boy on the roof of the bus and frowned. What was he doing there and why no one didn't notice him? What...

　 　 Oh. 𝑶𝒉.

　 　 Something shifted deep inside him, and the shift was tectonic, earth-shattering. But in the blink of an eye the boy disappeared as if he had never been there. Mark stopped in his tracks there, dumbfounded, in the middle of a busy road, and put a palm on his chest. What was that? Blip of imagination? Early signs of heart failure?

　 　

　 　 A car honked deafeningly, making Mark jump and hurry to the other side of the road. But wait, where was he going? Ah, yes, to see Renjun. The date. He rubbed his forehead, frowned once more and decided not to pay any mind to what had just happened,

　 　 not knowing that the image of the feisty artist soon will be replaced by sweet smile and caramel cheeks, and twinkling eyes, and soft curls, shining coppery in the rays of the full sun.

#mahae #markhyuck #nct #nct fanart #nct dream #mark lee #haechan

[thisisnotthenerd]

in possibility

Rage: In battle, you fight with primal ferocity. On your turn, you can enter a rage as a bonus action.

While raging, you gain the following benefits if you aren't wearing heavy armor:

You have advantage on Strength checks and Strength saving throws.

When you make a melee weapon attack using Strength, you gain a +2 bonus to the damage roll. This bonus increases as you level.

You have resistance to bludgeoning, piercing, and slashing damage.

If you are able to cast spells, you can't cast them or concentrate on them while raging.

Your rage lasts for 1 minute. It ends early if you are knocked unconscious or if your turn ends and you haven't attacked a hostile creature since your last turn or taken damage since then. You can also end your rage on your turn as a bonus action.

There is not a moment in any given day where Ashton is not in pain. Conflict rages in their head, on their skin, in their blood, in their bones.

The blood of a primordial titan beats in his ears with the ring of deep caverns, with the shifting of tectonic plates, with the growth of mountains, with the erosion of millennia. The bubbling of lava and the touch of Bells Hall’s fade from thought.

Ashton walks to the edge of a lake of fire, surrounded in arcane runes and divine blessings, knowing that this is where they are meant to be.

Fly: You touch a willing creature. The target gains a flying speed of 60 feet for the duration. When the spell ends, the target falls if it is still aloft, unless it can stop the fall.

The words of Evontra’vir, the thread of fate that has brought him here, in the belly of a volcano, are enough for him to rise into the air and plunge into the lava. The time for waiting has passed.

This pain sears. It is not the bone deep ache, the sharp flare upon contact, but a sear that engulfs their stone skin, pressing into the edges of gold-ridden cracks and burning away at years of agony.

It is not the kind of pain that could stop him from reaching out, reaching through molten stone with grasping hands and rage in his heart. No amount of pain could stop this.

There is something there.

Ring of Volcanic Flesh: a magical ring that gives the attuned wearer improved protection, as well as the ability to resist fire damage and push away attackers.

While attuned to this ring, the wearer gains +1 to their Armor Class. In addition, the ring has three charges. When the wearer takes fire damage, they may expend a charge to reduce the damage by 2d6. When the wearer is hit with a melee attack, they may expend a charge from the ring to deal 1d8 fire damage to the attacker and push them 10 feet directly away from the wearer. The wearer regains all charges after completing a long rest.

It is less a decision and more an impulse as Fearne surrounds herself in cold flame and plunges into the bubbling lava. She holds the hope that the shield of flame will protect her, will protect those she cares for from the molten stone.

Lava is different from the flames she has always known; slow and constant, leaving behind new stone as it passes, unlike the wildfires that burn away and leave no trace. The wildfires of nature, of ancient druids, of spirits, burn until they have exhausted all fuel, all that lays in their path

There is no flickering flame here, only an endless union of magma and heat that scorches her hair, her fur, her skin. There is no promise of an end, no promise of protection, no promise of renewal.

And yet, as she reaches Ashton in the depths, she has no fear; only a gentle touch of wildfire carried with her.

There is something that must be done.

Fire Shield: Thin and wispy flames wreathe your body for the duration, shedding bright light in a 10-foot radius and dim light for an additional 10 feet. You can end the spell early by using an action to dismiss it.

The flames provide you with a warm shield or a chill shield, as you choose. The warm shield grants you resistance to cold damage, and the chill shield grants you resistance to fire damage.

In addition, whenever a creature within 5 feet of you hits you with a melee attack, the shield erupts with flame. The attacker takes 2d8 fire damage from a warm shield, or 2d8 cold damage from a cold shield.

Endless flame.

Partners united in purpose.

At once, binding.

An eternity, bound to pain and rage and betrayal.

A promise of freedom, of power, of release.

Destruction, not pure, not cleansing, but utterly rending.

Cleaved apart, a single shard escaping banishment beyond this plane.

An unmaking.

Torn from each other, torn asunder by arcane threads of Exandria, by the magic and hubris of every broken promise of mortals and immortals alike.

Another eternity, alone and trapped, giving and taking life with every passing moment.

There is no relief.

Her fiery spirit holds tight to the shard, drawing it loose from an eternity of stone rebirth.

He pulls, enraged and broken and desperate enough to know that this is what must be done.

And this, the last shard of the ancient emperor Rau’shan, breaks from the base of the mountain that kept it safe for millennia.

Clawed hands surround stone hands surround fire given form as they rise through a lake of flame, emperor and empress reunited in a burst of chaos.

You were both meant to be here in this moment.

In the weave of fate strands go where they must; yet there is always possibility.

In possibility, there is hope.

In possibility there is fear.

In possibility, there is change, and worth, and life, and death, and the infinite permutations of an inevitable universe.

#critical role #cr spoilers #ashton greymoore #fearne calloway #cr ashton #cr fearne #cr fic #divinity in the face of calamity

[dustedmagazine]

Divide and Dissolve — Systemic (Invada)

Photo by Su Cassiano

Divide and Dissolve continues to provoke, even if some of the questions are becoming a bit familiar: Can instrumental music express a politics? Is there anything intrinsically subversive in the fact of women of color making heavy music? Is doom metal the right (sub)cultural space for indigenous-identified women wishing to promulgate a socially conscious, anti-colonial agenda? Systemic doesn’t provide any evidence or assertions that will settle those issues, even as the band’s public-facing discourse and promotional chatter strike ever more righteous rhetorical stances. This reviewer is down for the politics. The music is a more complicated proposition.

Doom metal is conventionally possessed of feeling tones that seem suited to Divide and Dissolve’s project: misery on tectonic scales, anger that smolders and simmers and then erupts into sudden conflagration. Other bands have coupled that tonal range with left-leaning socio-political messaging; for recent examples, see Forlesen’s ecologically minded folky doom, or Mordom’s application of glacially paced bum-out music to the problematics of dope addiction. Even more relevant are many of the records released by the Body over the last fifteen years — see especially No One Deserves Happiness (2016) or many of the cover songs compiled on Anthology (2011). Somehow the political content of the Body’s music is both more and less didactic than what Divide and Dissolve has succeeded in articulating, and certainly it’s a lot more compelling, aesthetically and ideologically. 

That’s not so damning a criticism, given the Body’s excellence, which is tough for any band to compete with. But it’s worth noting. Divide and Dissolve gets most didactic on Systemic with “Kingdom of Fear,” which includes a spoken word performance from poet Minori Sanchez-Fung. Over the band’s cool drone and occasional stirs of noise that evoke Earth’s more recent work, Sanchez-Fung intones, “In the kingdom of fear, a shadow hovers over my cover of leaves and violets,” and later, “I have pleaded to consult the chorus of night, to hold the strands of moon that tether me to beauty and let me rest.” The language isn’t straightforward enough to stir politicized passions, and while the images sustain a reading that underscores women’s productive powers, they collapse into an earth-mother symbolics that feels dated and a little soft, when a more militant response seems necessary to confront the injustices attending our current conjuncture. 

The record is better when the music does the talking, as it usually does for Divide and Dissolve. “Indignation” commences with a couple minutes of woodwinds, interlaced and gesturing toward symphonic textures, performed by Takiaya Reed. The inevitable, deafening entrance of Reed’s guitar sounds simultaneously like explosion and collapse, which is not easily done, and which is a fitting sonic complement to indignation: the emotion moves toward the world with aggressive rage, and also back into the person feeling indignant, who insists on the overriding validity of her feeling, her ideas, her sense of fairness. That’s the sort of interest that Divide and Dissolve is capable of generating. 

Of course, none of that relative complexity controls what a listener might tend to feel indignant about. Tune into the various permanently outraged talking heads on The Daily Wire, for instance, and you’ll hear a whole lot of indignation: Matt Walsh’s moronic (and always creepy) reactionary chatter about the status of the noun “woman,” or Candace Owens’ latest bit of semi-coherent clickbait (this reviewer was particularly grossed out by her defense of the cause of the American Confederacy on putative social class terms). Perhaps doom metal would not be the first choice to soundtrack those bits of rightwing bilge — but I can hear Moonsorrow’s insipid, Viking-obsessed, musical muscle-flexing whenever Walsh or Josh Hawley start yip-yapping about masculinity. 

But that’s me. Music’s nonrepresentational access to feeling may be its most distinct and its most powerful aesthetic property. In that aforementioned promotional chatter, much is made of Divide and Dissolve’s investment in the unifying power of non-verbal communication, and the undervalued extent of that non-verbal communication’s presence in our lives and experiences. But the non-verbal is still socially constructed and patently representational. See the recent transformation of the thumb-to-forefinger “OK” sign into an emblem for white power, which occurred through the functionality of social media-driven symbolics. Divide and Dissolve make heavy music, and these are indeed heavy times. To intervene effectively, the heaviness may need the iterative and representational power of the verbal. And when it’s invoked, that language may need to be political, focused and forceful. 

Jonathan Shaw

#divide and dissolve #systemic #invada #jonathan shaw #albumreview #dusted magazine #doom metal

[iamthekaijuking]

The God Children of Ana Chapter 11: Mortem Obire

The Locolichi king decided to try for one last god child before both the revolution and Ana’s war fleet reached the capital of the Locolichi homeworld; a massive skyscraper he called his home.

Only allowing his most loyal employees to follow him to minimize risk of assassination, he and his followers reached the space station. This last attempt didn’t use Ana’s egg as the king hoped that if it was only his gametes that touched the formaerem chunk then he’d finally get a proper god child without weak Keshali genetics interfering. And so he sent one last scientist on a suicide mission to the moon, and then the king retreated back to his home where he ordered all god children to meet at the capital for a debrief on what to do against the war fleet and revolution.

While the king hoped beyond hope that this final god child looked like a Locolichi, the Keshali moon finally gave in under the last formaerem infusion event. Shattering into pieces that begin to orbit closer and closer to the Keshali homeworld, disrupting tides and tectonic movement to apocalyptic levels and kicking up so much ash that almost all light from the sun would be blocked. Within nearly one year Queen Ana and her people wouldn’t have a habitable planet to return to.

When the infusion finished the final god child was directed back to the Locolichi homeworld to meet with their siblings, which they reached just before the arrival of the war fleet and revolutionary army. The Locolichi king saw his final child portal into the meeting just before the inevitable conflict.

They did not look like a Locolichi.

The final god child, who was given the name Poreskoro by their siblings, was the largest god child. A massive hairy tubular being with eight clawed limbs running down their body. Their face was a massive eight lobed maw, with half the lobes resembling the craniums of earthen dogs and the other half those of cats. On their back right behind their cavernous maw head was a small antenna that looked like a twisted snake whose fangs formed horns.

Their appearance broke the king. Between the failed attempts to create a proper god-like progeny, the entirety of his planet calling for his head, and an entire fleet of the “inferior” Keshali looming in the sky, he snapped and directed all his rage at the only outlet he had then.

His children.

The resulting verbal abuse was something to behold. Digging into any insecurities his children had and destroying any hope they held of their father possibly loving them. The emotions inflicted by the berating and their lifelong abuse bubbled to the surface and all nine children of Ana underwent what all guardians go through when experiencing substantial enough emotional turmoil; a literal meltdown.

Their bodies began to immolate and their mental states spiraled. They lost themselves to their anguish and began attacking their surroundings and each other, their bodies melting and exploding while regenerating imperfectly as an entire city skyline was set alight and partially melted. Their infinity organs kicked into overdrive as they began producing and expelling ungodly amounts of energy. All their abilities ramped up to eleven and entire blocks were flooded with acid, pus, and venom while the sky was set alight by fire, lasers, and lightning. Their diseases became the deadliest they’d ever been. By the time they had expended all their energy, nine infinity organs sat in nine craters. All of them in energy comas and only occasionally beating, gradually stockpiling enough power to regenerate their entire bodies.

The Locolichi king did not survive this and died as karmic hubris for playing with formaerem, a lifeform powerful beyond his comprehension and something he fundamentally didn’t understand, and for being a genocidal tyrant. He paid with his own life and unfortunately the lives of innocent people.

First chapter, Previous chapter, FINAL CHAPTER

———————————

That’s the last god child down, but there’s still one more chapter!

I would have gotten this one out sooner but by the time I got to the linework I wasn’t satisfied with it and started all over. Here’s the previous sketch.

#GUARDIANverse #children of ana #god children of ana #the god children of ana #Poreskoro

[kingofcaptura]

Atlas/ Prime Poetry

Eight foot giant in all of the ground in the making Careening back and forth like a globe for taking The tectonic rubble that rub against the surface They're the antidote that'll rebuild the interface Put that faith in our planet Earth's soil as it is So peculiar blooms sprout at the crit hit stasis As if these fresh meat bags tryna make sense They ain't making sense with their smell of scents Those flowers growing out of their poor essence My boulders will wreck those bodies in suspense Their arms will switch bones to different sockets Let em jab their face and throw them like rockets Just like the Acceltra they despise at their feet The day they cross my eyes is the day we'll meet And we'll see who shakes up the very continent Where their feet take refuge I leave no sentiment

I'm the man who moves the rock solid mountains My chest flexes like a gorilla behind the curtains The tallest titan here that wears no boxing glove Ready to brawl round after round at what I love I like to call this move the Landslide my brethren Every blow is fierce, I see the fear in a Reverend Made me wonder if I'm that dangerous in leveling Maybe I am cuz my boxing stance is shivering Like I'm supposed to quiver against these loons And their Kela De Thaym eyes lookin ass buffoons I knock the shit out of them I'm a real champion Nobody can face my jabs except the butt stallion Powerful left hook then a right hook up the ass I see their body flying, getting back up for a pass With overextended on me I take a dunk on them That's how I boost my little knuckle self esteem

Im a brawler that can shatter all kinds of thugs But that's just a taste of my muscular dirt buds These arms are my baby, they're rocky studs Word has it all enemies love spilling their guts They refer themselves as corrupted bombards Wait till they see my Tectonic wall Bulwark One summon will end their entry fee to a ballpark Im telling you no heavy gunner wants this smoke I'll turn them to literal shit and watch them choke This Petrify gaze brings out the medusa in me If every frozen pill ignites the duration I'll be free

Did you think this titan was alone in his battle? I take measurements for every dimensional rattle When my blind rage is heavy I quickly summon As I slam the ground and prance my hands on I awaken my Rumblers, my boulders, my sons Together we break the forefront of all the guns We take liberty in clearing tile sets for the loot To make sure they empty their pocket and lose More than just the treasure as I breathe alas That my iconic self made it here I am Atlas.

#warframe #atlas #poetry #rap #writing #creative writing #freddycaps #earth #atlas prime #strong #freddcapspoetry

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

(Art: Photograph of Juliette Gréco by Robert Doisneau)

* * * *

The knack of our species lies in our capacity to transmit our accumulated knowledge down the generations. The slowest among us can, in a few hours, pick up ideas that it took a few rare geniuses a lifetime to acquire. Yet what is distinctive is just how selective we are about the topics we deem it possible to educate ourselves in. Our energies are overwhelmingly directed toward material, scientific, and technical subjects and away from psychological and emotional ones. Much anxiety surrounds the question of how good the next generation will be at math; very little around their abilities at marriage or kindness. We devote inordinate hours to learning about tectonic plates and cloud formations, and relatively few fathoming shame and rage.

The assumption is that emotional insight might be either unnecessary or in essence unteachable, lying beyond reason or method, an unreproducible phenomenon best abandoned to individual instinct and intuition. We are left to find our own path around our unfeasibly complicated minds — a move as striking (and as wise) as suggesting that each generation should rediscover the laws of physics by themselves.

 ~Alain de Botton (Book: The School of Life: An Emotional Education)

[Philo Thoughts]

#Alain de Botton #The School of Life: An Emotional Education #Philo thoughts #Robert Doisneau #quotes #psychological #emotional

[ronearoundblindly]

The Dignity of His Choice (15)

Image, Part Three (see previous or series)

Steve Rogers x wife!Reader from Fools Rush In Saga

Summary: As the song goes, it's a game of give and take.

Warnings: angst, language, verbal fighting, illusions to past trauma, more alternate Endgame universe tidbits

[I am aware I have no chill and am posting this anyway.]

One step forward. Two steps back.

Steve isn’t in bed when you wake up, and after a few minutes (thinking he’s gone to the bathroom or to get water), you realize there’s no one moving in the apartment. He’s not supposed to leave, so you panic and jump out of bed, scrambling into the living room…

…where Steve’s asleep on the couch again. But why?

It’s not a hard and fast rule in this house, but even when you fight, Steve is never exiled to the couch. You’ve always hated the notion of ‘being in the doghouse.’ You also never thought Steve would do something worth punishing in that way, so you understood him coming out here a few days ago, but now?

You thought it was going well, that you were getting back on the same page, that you both were relearning to trust each other. This is wrong. He hasn’t come out to sketch or sit awake or something. He’s just sleeping out here while you sleep in there. Like an asshole.

With your sea of sorrow evaporating since his return, you’re left with nothing to quell a tectonic shift in white-hot, molten rage. That is it. This is your limit.

“WHAT THE FUCK,” you shout, confused and furious.

Steve shoots up and swings his feet down to the floor, ready for anything while tangled in tartan, but by god, he is not ready for what’s brewing inside you.

“Stop leaving me, Steve!”

“I just—“ he stands and holds up his hands “—I was thinking about what—“

“Did you have a nightmare?” It wouldn’t be an excuse though.

His eyes are squeezed shut. “Of sorts, I just—“

“Do I not help you when you have nightmares anymore?”

“Honey, no—“

“I’m not comforting to you anymore?”

“What? No,” he mumbles, scrubbing his palms down his face, “you said something last night that—“

“Last night?! I said something, HOURS AGO, that made you abandon me in bed, and you’re just now telling me?”

“It’s not like that. I couldn’t tell you.” Steve shakes his head and tries reaching for you.

Fuck that.

“WHY?”

His eyes won’t meet yours while he stammers for the words. “Because…it has to do with…a thing, an event, a time that…isn’t for me to...“

“Right. Classified. It’s all fucking classified, isn’t it? Love that ol’ chestnut, don’t we?”

“No. I mean, yes, but that’s not—it’s something I asked Tony about—“

“Starks are not excuses for your bad behavior,” you scream. “You made a decision. A SHITTY DECISION. And you may think that this ‘I’ll wallow in a corner’ act is making up for anything, but all you’re really doing is isolating me again. This time, you’re doing it while right fucking here. You avoid me. You don’t explain. You assume things—A LOT OF THINGS, STEVE—and don’t bother to check with me if they’re true. I’m back in the dollhouse where I’m just a display piece to you. I’m a trophy wife that no one else likes but you—no!”

You throw your hand out to shut him up so fast.

“NO. Don’t you dare try to tell me I’m wrong or I don’t understand because whose fault might that be?! I’m working with the information you gave me. All of the information. Which is exactly zero information. That’s THE BEST you can expect from me, so you’ll get what you get and you’ll—”

“She told me” Steve roars. You’ve never heard him yell like that. “She warned me my best wouldn’t be enough, and I didn’t listen. I just did it again.” His body shakes like his insides are fighting to get out, and his face darkens red.

“Who, Steve? Who told you and what the fuck did you do ‘again?’”

“The Ancient One.” He’s quiet as a church mouse now, shrinking and afraid. Afraid of what though? A memory?

Still shaking and beet red, He collapses back onto the couch. “I was told I would fail. She told me I’d fail you, basically, but I didn’t know it was about you. It was before we met.”

“When?” As excited as you are for him to talk to you about this, you can’t understand. He’s not getting clearer.

“Twenty-three, or well, technically twenty-twelve—“

Oh, you’re fucking lost now.

“—and I didn’t understand what she meant until after—“ his hand forcibly rubs the back of his neck, pulling harshly on his own hair “—until after I already hurt you.”

You care what the answers are. You care, but he makes no sense. You care, but you’ve been listening with open ears for days, months, years, and right now you just want him to feel how you feel. He needs to know the frustration of screaming into the void.

You’ve done your best, taken on as much burden as possible, not complained, not pushed, and it bought you nothing. If he felt that, if he understood how empty it feels to be left out, he could never do this to you again.

Except that’s what he’s saying. Steve’s telling you that he’s done his best and he failed. Maybe it was the wrong decision. Maybe it was a decision made without all the information. Maybe it was the right decision but somewhere along the line other people involved made the wrong one. It’s all a web of choices, and you can’t find the thread that leads to fault. Everyone is a little guilty; everyone has done their best.

They’ve all still fucked up. It’s all fucked up and set in stone now.

Even if it’s not just Steve’s fault, even if it was his best, you’re hurt. You are wounded. You have been wounded by him, and he would rather punish himself than stay with you to heal together. He would rather be in pain than feel loved. Pain is easier to accept for Steve than love is. Dickhead.

You spin on your heel and march to your closet, shrieking while you search for clothes.

“Can’t for the life of you ask for help, huh? Even after all that therapy shit. Doesn’t apply to you. Not Steven Grant Rogers, no. He couldn’t possibly need someone. He couldn’t possibly make a mistake, let alone multiple mistakes, over and over again.”

You march over to the door and pull your boots on hap-hazardously.

“You think you’re being so fucking stoic, don’t you? Oh, yeah. You’re over there thinking ‘I’ll suffer alone.’ Guess what? You’re wrong, Steve, because you know what happens when you do something alone? I’m alone, too. I suffer, too.”

Steve’s been following you around with bedhead and a kicked puppy dog look.

“Please don’t,” he whines, “I was only trying to do the right—“

The laces aren’t even tied, but you’re done.

“Here. Here’s how it feels.” You mock a deep voice. “Sweetheart, where are you going? Oh, gosh, darn it, hun. Can’t tell ya. IT’S CLASSIFIED.”

Shoving your hat down over your ears, you take a deep breath and walk out the door without another word. He cannot follow you. You’re not sure he would.

The bluster of righteousness cools in the icy winter air skating across the campus lawn. You thought you’d be sticking it to ‘the man,’ but you don’t actually like going on the hike without him.

You want to do things with him again. You want to talk. You want to know and feel that he’s home, but being trapped inside those walls only seems to lock you both tighter into your misery. The source of both your miseries is gone; why don’t you feel better?

What’s that therapy term? Valid? Yes, his choice was valid and so is his regret. Your feelings are valid, too. Everyone is valid in all things. Feel your feelings. Sit in a circle and validate the whole lot. Yay! You’re cured.

Fuck, you hated therapy. It’s like Schrodinger’s feelings are trapped inside your home: legitimate and skewed by trauma, simultaneously and (what might be) forever.

He’s home. It’s done. You love him, and even his horrendous stupidity doesn’t change that. He’s still the love of your life, and the bastard seems resigned to sever what few tendrils of hope weren’t broken before. You’re struggling to trust him because he didn’t trust you in the first place. You thought he could--thought he knew that he could--and you were wrong.

You are so smart but such a fucking idiot.

You yelled at him, and you’re glad you did. Why though? Because it felt good? Doesn’t feel good now, does it?

You kick a nearby tree trunk, exasperated and overwhelmed. Your soul is tired, your body amped up. You keep walking deeper into the woods.

Everything you see is something Steve would like. Bitterness over that fact dissolves as you remember how you know he’d like it. Most of your first dates were in these very woods. He thought your hat was cute. He tested how thick your jacket was by trying to tickle you through the fabric. He saved you from hypothermia (allegedly). Everything looks a little rosier when you think about him being here.

You pull your phone out and start taking pictures if for no other reason than Steve may pout a little less if he can experience a little more. Once or twice, you turn the camera to take a selfie with stuff in the background, including a doe and her fawn. Your face is so excited in that one.

Then it starts to become little videos, and since you’re not sending them, who cares what you say. A memory here and there.

Remember that time when…

Do you think those flowers will grow back here…

What colors were your favorites…

Soon the videos evolve into little confessionals. How cliche you felt when you noticed that you just didn’t enjoy certain things anymore, knowing he was gone. How you thought that the press might be nicer to you since you ate so little at first that you lost weight. How you couldn’t win with them even in his absence; they just made shit up about you and that Italian douchebag what’s-his-face.

How he probably doesn’t know this, but Steve has a sound, too. You make a happy sigh when the hug is perfect. He makes this super tiny chirp, one that hardly makes it past the back of his throat. You can only hear it when your ear is pressed to his chest. That and he scratches at your side where his hand lands, no nails, two pulses. Scratch, scratch. Every time. He hasn’t done either since he came home.

You say out loud to no one that Steve doesn’t do now what Happy-Steve did before. You admit that you can’t force him to be happy again.

And finally, you mutter into the safety and security of a video file that you don’t have to share and Steve never has to see that you miss feeling welcome to tell him all of this because he’s not just your husband; he’s your best friend.

You tap the little red button off, your fingers numb even in thick gloves, and decide it’s time to go home. Even if you yell. Even if he’s not happy. Even if you both fail. You want to go home to him.

Your breath billows out like a steam engine plume.

Onward.

[Next Part]

@im-a-slut-for-fluff @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @fangirl-swagg @georgeweaslysgirl @austynparksandpizza @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads @fallinallinmendes

#fools rush in #steve rogers #fanfic #steve x reader #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fanfiction #steve x you #series #steve rogers angst #angst #angst with a happy ending #captain america x reader #captain america fanfiction #captain america x you #eventual smut #eventual happy ending

[mtg-cards-hourly]

Tectonic Fiend

The barbarians of Pardia are long dead, but its mountains still smolder with rage.

Artist: Mark Tedin TCG Player Link Scryfall Link EDHREC Link

#mtg #magic the gathering #tcg #$0.10 #mark tedin #tectonic fiend #time spiral #creature #elemental

[draconic-artisan]

If you already got this before then feel free to ignore ^^

For the ask game; Tectonic Rage aka #5

Tectonic Rage - Do you and your pokémon like the indoors or outdoors more?

I vastly prefer the outdoors to staying inside! So many things to draw inspiration from, after all!

I know Honeycrisp prefers sunbathing inside though, but the others also seem to enjoy the outside more.

#Ask #Anonymous #Dragon Talks #pokemon irl