#this wasn't supposed to be this long

[mareastrorum]

if essek did it, why do you think he did? i'm at a loss as to how it would benefit him to give her a shiv. (hope my tone doesn't read hostile, i'm genuinely confused)

I haven't taken any of the asks as hostile, so no worries!

The short answer is that Essek would have benefited whether the Scourger succeeded in killing Caleb or not. Longer answer:

To begin with, let's set the stage. In episode 56, the Nein had handed over the beacon, and in 57, the Bright Queen awarded them with emblems that represented their status as heroes of the Dynasty. It was only after the Bright Queen elevated their status in front of the entire court that she assigned Essek (without asking first) to be their "steward" for the time being, including the responsibility of seeing as to their lodgings.

The Bright Queen is clever. She certainly considered that maybe this was a ploy from the Empire to insert spies into her midst, especially because only one of two beacons was returned. From her perspective, assigning her most trusted spymaster to keep an eye on these idiots is exactly what she should do. If they're plants, Essek would sort it out. If not, they were highly valuable assets that could be used against the Empire or as liaisons.

So, let's orient this from Essek's POV. This bunch of chucklefucks that don't know court decorum came into the queen's throne room, intending to ask a favor in exchange for ridding Asarius of a demon infestation. Then a rival noble calls them out for attacking him and other Kryn outside of Asarius. Just before they're arrested, the human (ginger with blue eyes, a Zemnian) pulls out a beacon of the Luxon, announces that he and his friends are not friends of the Empire, and then offers it to the Bright Queen. Now they're the queen's favored, and out of all the people at court that day, she chose Essek Thelyss, the Shadowhand, in charge of the Dungeon of Penance, to keep an eye on them.

But Essek is the one that stole the beacons. He realizes the same possibilities (spies or well-intentioned rubes), but if anyone in the Dynasty knew about the Volstrucker, it'd be Essek. There is no reason whatsoever for Essek to trust the Nein because those beacons were supposed to stay in the Empire. The reason he handed them over in the first place was that he was supposed to share in the research done by incredibly powerful wizards who did not care about the religious significance. Whether Essek knew or not that one had been lost by the Assembly, the Nein's act of returning one negatively impacted the deal he made. There's the possibilities that Ikithon and the other Assembly members betrayed Essek by lying or hiding information, or perhaps they sent the Nein to expose Essek as the traitor to remove a loose end, or perhaps the Nein really are ignorant and they could gum everything up. Regardless of which situation this is, the best outcome for Essek would be neutralizing the interlopers before they come upon, intentionally or not, his involvement in the theft of the beacons.

The problem, of course, is that the Nein are Heroes of the Dynasty, and since Essek is responsible for their care in the Dynasty, failure to safeguard them would also reflect badly upon him. That could also sabotage his position and ability to do the research he pleases. So he can't just kill them. He has to get them killed in a way that would not make him look bad, preferably in a way that scapegoats someone else for the inevitable blame at failing to protect them.

The condemned Scourger attacked Caleb in episode 77. None of the events between Essek's introduction and that point provide a reason for Essek to trust the Nein regarding his personal risk as a traitor to the Dynasty. Here are his subsequent appearances and what happened:

Episode 57: Essek lets Yeza out of his prison after the interrogation yields information on DeRogna's research of the beacons (the potions Yeza made) and that she took the beacon back two days before the attack, which was shortly before the Nein arrived in Felderwin and began heading to the Dynasty. Because of the timeline of events, Essek realizes that must be the second beacon, so now both are accounted for. This also lets him know what sort of research they did with that beacon, and since Yeza only saw one, the one the Nein returned must have been used for something else. This is great intel for Essek, but not a reason to trust the Nein--only to find them useful.

Episode 61: After the Nein report back to Professor Waccoh of their completion of her mission, Essek arrives at the Inn where he lodged the Nein and escorts them to the Thelyss estate that his den has secured for them. Notably, the work they did was not for Essek; they worked for Waccoh and were paid for the trouble. That just proved they're capable mercenaries.

Episode 62: Essek visits the Xhorhaus after the Nein have settled a bit. He's rather cold: declines offer to join for dinner, declines a drink, has to be persuaded to answer why he isn't familiar with the neighborhood, doesn't want to say where he lives, repeatedly says he wants to get back to his research, etc. It's only once Caleb starts discussing magic and how he wants to learn that Essek starts the game they play about trying to get info from the other without divulging anything useful. Essek requests something impressive for the chance he might teach Caleb something. He then asks questions when Caleb shows off his familiar and giant earthen cat paw:

Essek was flat out rude to Beau, and this was before the whole "White Xhorhasian" drink faux pas. But even with an unimpressive persuasion roll, he offers Caleb a choice of the types of spells he could learn and even lets Caleb handle and read the book himself. Again, Essek has no reason to trust the Nein at this point. This wasn't because he believed or trusted Caleb--Caleb didn't persuade Essek of shit. Essek was fishing for information. He was already going to teach Caleb something, and the persuasion roll was probably to see how many spell levels he'd get. What spells does this Zemnian that stole a beacon from the Empire want to know? Would he give into the temptation to read elsewhere in the book? Caleb chose "the bending of fate, destiny" and learned Fortune's Favor and Gift of Alaracity. Essek is slightly less rude to the Nein as he leaves, probably pleased that he learned something useful in exchange for low-level dunamancy spells, plus now Caleb owes him a favor. Favors are a great way to set up the Nein for whatever scheme he intends later.

Episode 63: Essek is present in the Bright Queen's throne room when the Nein report their findings from the Overcrow Apothecary to her. During this conversation, Caleb admits to the Bright Queen that he had received some training to become a Scourger, though he did not complete it. When Essek is asked if he believes them about the cult of the Angel of Irons, he says he does, and even says he trusts them, though he declines to join them on this quest. Essek has not had any reason to trust the Nein by this point. He flat out lied. Even Fjord commented "'Cause he's been checking on that shit," because he and the others felt Essek was likely keeping an eye on them via Scrying (since they discovered hovering orbs in the Xhorhaus). Maybe their strangeness and civility (even if a little racist) made them endearing, but that's a different issue from trust. Essek wants them to chase down this cult precisely because it is dangerous and could get them killed. All the better that they die in service of the Dynasty, because then he won't be blamed for something sanctioned by the Bright Queen herself.

Episode 65: Jester sends to Essek asking about the Arbor Exemplar in the Barbed Fields, and while she asked for more, he only provides the name, notes it's dangerous terrain, and says they're doing him proud.

Episode 70: When the Nein return to Rosohna and report to the Bright Queen, Essek is again in the throne room. Before Essek is singled out, Caleb requests from the Bright Queen more training from Essek and info on the newly captured Scourger (which they just learned about, and Caleb suspects is Astrid). The Bright Queen says that the Nein haven't quite earned that much trust yet. Once Caduceus explains that the Nein want to fast and safe travel to the Flotket Alps, Essek makes himself known and offers to take them there, again declining to do more than transport them. Essek does not accompany the Nein to see the Scourger, but considering it's his dungeon and he is a spymaster, he was probably Scrying or otherwise tracking what transpired. Of course, it turns out that she isn't Astrid. Later, Caleb returns to the Lucid Bastion and waits to speak to Essek. Caleb confirms he was not actually a Scourger, but knows some about them. Caleb also requests a chance to speak to the Scourger again, even if Essek is there, and that they not accelerate the execution. (He didn't even ask for a delay.) Essek says he'll see and leaves.

Sidebar: Essek absolutely wants intel from this Scourger. He would know they report to the Assembly, and he would not know whether they are aware of his deal with the Assembly. As a condemned captive, her word against his isn't going to mean anything anyway, so the potential of the Scourger outing Essek is practically nil. Thus, there isn't any real risk at letting the Scourger say whatever she wants to say to Caleb. If anything, observing undetected meant better intel.

Episode 71: Jester sends to Essek, who arrives with an armed guard (weird) to teleport the Nein to the Flotket Alps. Before they go, the Nein left ball bearings on the ground to see if Essek floats (he does) and then pretend to berate Dairon, their "housekeeper", for leaving them out. Essek seems to find the whole thing amusing, then teleports them. They got a mishap because of the roll, but then arrive in the mountains. Again, stuff that could be endearing, but why did Essek have an armed guard...? That's so weird.

Episode 72: The Nein poke a little fun at Essek for the mishap, but he leaves via a Teleportation Circle.

Episode 73: Caleb asks Jester to Send to Essek to ask about the status of the Scourger's execution date, but Jester instead requests a delay. Remember how Caleb didn't request a delay before? Now he's requesting a delay indirectly; he didn't even ask Essek himself. (Man, that would seem rude from Essek's POV.) Essek responds that he'll try, but notes his den has no further interest in keeping the Scourger alive. When Caleb asks Jester to pass on that he might be able to help because of his history, Essek responds the same, but cracks a joke since Jester ended with "You pooping?" Essek's trying to endear himself to Jester, but we can't conclude whether it's sincere or subterfuge. After all, if she told anyone he joked, he could easily deny it. That was specifically for her.

Episode 74: The Nein send to Essek and ask him to come to the Xhorhaus so he can teleport them and meet someone. They briefly discuss the Scourger, and while Essek managed to get an extension of 2 weeks on the execution, he needs more of a heads up for Caleb to visit the Scourger again. Caleb then says here is a formal request, and Essek says he'll deal with that arrangement then. They introduce him to Reani, he dispels an enchantment on a paper hiding some items, then he teleports them to Mythburrow. At the end of the episode, Matt notes they're racking up quite a debt to Essek.

Let's pause there.

Each prior time the Nein went to the Dungeon of Penance, it was impromptu. They had just been announced as Heroes of the Dynasty when Essek personally took them to the dungeon to see Yeza as their first stop. The Nein were permitted to visit the Scourger unescorted as soon as they learned about her. Now there needs to be notice? It couldn't be because of the execution because the Bright Queen mentioned to begin with that the Scourger would be executed. There was no change of plan other than the extension that the Nein requested only a day prior. Why would Essek need to give anyone notice about someone visiting a condemned prisoner held in the prison that he manages?

Probably to make sure that Scourger has a fucking shiv.

Episode 75: At the beginning of the episode, before returning to Rosohna, Essek notes the Nein are ridiculous, tells them to have fun, and even calls them "friends." Again, that makes him seem endearing and less formal, but it's done out in the boonies. If any of them tried to tell someone from the Dynasty that he had done any of those things, he could probably deny it. So his reputation is safe, and it makes it seem like he likes them.

That's twice now he's been nice without any reason to trust them. Hmmm, sure seems like building some plausible deniability to me.

Episode 77: Jester summons Essek to the Xhorhaus. They discuss that the Bright Queen would like the Nein to find where the remaining beacon is in the Empire. Caleb attempts to fish for whether any particular Assembly members come to mind that Essek wants investigated, but he replies that he could list all of them if Caleb likes. Beau's insight check to see if Essek is sincere about ending the conflict fails. Caleb attempts to fish for a last known location of the beacon, and Essek gives an unhelpful answer that it must certainly be moved frequently. That's Essek being rude; they already know the beacon was last seen in Felderwin because Yeza said DeRogna took it from there 2 days before his capture by the Kryn. Essek is being intentionally and obviously obtuse. Fjord asks if others are on this quest, and Essek answers yes, but declines to give the Nein a way to identify them. Then they bring up the condemned Scourger, and Essek only recommends speaking to her soon; no specified date. Caleb asks if that day works, then Essek assents and offers to escort him.

That sure is a suspicious moment to suddenly decide to be helpful, isn't it? Sure is weird that he went back to being rude after being openly amiable and even joking with them, isn't it?

Then, when they arrive at the prison:

That is a really weird thing to say after the Nein were permitted to visit this same prisoner unescorted without notice as soon as they learned about her. Of course, then the attack happens. Matt doesn't mention whether Essek entered the cell before, during, or after Caleb starts talking to the Scourger, but Essek kills the Scourger after the attack.

Looking back at all the events that occurred leading to this point, Essek has not had any reason not to think that the Nein are somehow working for the Assembly or otherwise would expose him to the Bright Queen if they discovered what he had done. The key issue is that if the Nein placed their loyalties to either the Empire or the Dynasty over their loyalty to him, they could ruin him. That circumstance hasn't changed by this point, so the only reason to keep any of them alive is that they're cute. There's his entire life in the balance if he keeps letting them run around, especially if they search for the other beacon.

With that in mind, setting up the Scourger to be able to attack Caleb only puts his reputation at risk, and Essek has already taken steps to minimize that problem. Caleb was the one that requested a delay. Caleb was the one that wanted to speak to the Scourger. Caleb was the one that volunteered he had been training to be one. Caleb was the one that offered to fish for information useful to the Dynasty. Each was a push on the Dynasty's normal procedure and/or a personal risk to himself.

And what does Essek have to gain? It would be easy for Essek to frame this as the Assembly's pet Zemnians putting themselves at risk for small gains, and they're so devious even the best prison in the Dynasty was not enough to secure them perfectly. All the more reason to demonize the Empire and the Scourgers. It wouldn't matter if Caleb died or not; the attack was simply fuel for propaganda. Remember, Essek did not want peace. He wanted war. That bolstered his position as a spymaster, distracted the Dynasty from anything he was up to, and provided cover for the Assembly's research. In the long-term, it would just be one more incident to point to if Essek ever needed to sow dissent about Caleb's mental or emotional stability or the risk posed to the Dynasty by the Assembly.

And if Caleb died? One less member of the Nein to worry about. They'd gotten Essek some decent intel about the beacons, about DeRogna's research, and about the Scourgers. But that's it. They've done him no favors, they aren't directly useful for his research, and they're a massive liability.

Either of those outcomes specifically required violence. It wouldn't be enough for the Scourger to just rage in her chains. She needed to somehow get loose and have a weapon. Spells wouldn't have been a sufficient/sensible threat; she wouldn't have possibly been able to prepare spells from a book, and cantrips wouldn't have done much on their own against someone as strong as Caleb. But getting the Empire-trained assassin a shiv sure would have been a threat to a wizard made of soggy paper, and no matter how it played out, it only made the Empire look more monstrous.

So, yeah, I absolutely believe Essek went out of his way to make sure the Scourger would have an opportunity and weapon to attack Caleb. Risking some human's life for one more justification to prolong a war he started? That's the sort of shit I would expect from a neutral evil Shadowhand.

#my asks #essek thelyss #caleb widogast #the mighty nein #this wasn't supposed to be this long #i am juggling this and writing #i won't be sleeping tonight because i have shadowhand essek being a neutral evil schemer on the brain

[strqyr]

choice. destiny. worthiness. i'll take her. i will take... what is mine. and take... what is mine.

pyrrha asks cinder if she believes in destiny. cinder says yes. and despite everything that has happened since, she still does. the fall maiden. the maiden of choice.

"so... the destiny i chose for you has arrived." "you chose nothing. this... was a gift."

did cinder choose her own destiny, or was it chosen for her? it was not a gift—not a direct one, at least—, that was something else: "if ruby rose has learned to harness her gift, then you must take care to protect yours. there's only so much i can do to aid you."

"so i will take... what is mine..." gifts are not taken, they're given.

"you can't just be deserving, you have to be worthy!" "you're not just worthy of such power. but i am." except vernal never was the spring maiden. hm.

"you can't just be strong, you have to be smart!"—you need to be both; "you know, i've heard so many stories about you, raven. they say you're a cunning leader, that you're strong, that you're clever... it's a shame that they're wrong." they weren't so wrong, though. deserving, maybe raven doesn't think that, but... maybe she's worthy of them, still.

the maiden powers... they're a gift. something to be worthy of. two for two. can they be your destiny? or is that a foolish endeavor: it's not destiny, it would be a grave mistake to think so. every choice is ours and ours alone. this hasn't all been mapped by fate, this is the future we create.

no. destiny doesn't play a role here, i think. for cinder, it's a concept centered around getting all the maiden powers, but. cinder answers pyrrha's question after she's fully the fall maiden. a choice she made, to become the maiden of choice. a future she created for herself.

a gift. being worthy. a choice. three for three.

#rwby #or something like that idk #this wasn't supposed to be this long #it just got out of hand #stream of consciousness or something

[foryoupeko]

I saw someone asking why I labeled something as Peko/Buki even tho I'm a Kuzu/Peko shipper. Other then the fact multishippers exist, I didn't consider that as a Kuzu/Peko comic. Ibuki expressed more interest in Peko than Fuyuhiko.

Call me asexual but I don't think just because Fuyuhiko was close to Peko's hip, it should be considered explicit shipping.

So just to be clear on my stance, I am okay with you ppl labeling my art as any ship but there are some boundaries.

Don't label it with problematic ships like incest or age gap.

If the art is clearly about one couple, don't make it about another. But if it's just a group of ppl chilling then you can find whatever couple you like.

I personally hate Mahi/Peko but I know I'm gonna draw things exploring Mahiru's crush on Peko so that's on me if ppl interpret it that way. Just don't be weird, because I have no quams with never drawing Peko and Mahiru within 5 feet of each other. I've drawn Case 2 ten times and I've only drawn Mahiru once.

I made a list of Peko's relationship with others if you wanna know my stance on her ships.

Hajime -I will never let people forget Hajime has a canon crush on Peko. Besides that, Hajime is Peko's first true friend. Outside of Fuyuhiko, Hajime is the only person Peko feels comfortable confiding in her secrets. He doesn't judge and is very kind. Meanwhile Hajime goes to Peko when he needs a cool headed and rational opinion.

Chiaki - Queerplatonic, they snuggle a lot. Chiaki is chill and her games makes it easier for Peko who has no experience talking to people have things to relate to. Peko understands when Chiaki is emotionless for the most part and then burst into excitement when it's something she's passionate about. They developed their own little language in those situations.

Nagito - Nagito likes to take advantage of Peko’s kindness and clings to her. Peko doesn’t mind hanging out with Nagito but stares dagger into him when he’s being too forward with others (he doesn’t read social cues so he’s not gonna catch it). Nagito thinks of himself as a diet Fuyuhiko. As long as Peko provides support, he'll look out for her.

Teruteru - He's super turned on by Peko but gets flustered when she genuinely cares about him (turns out he does not have a mommy kink). Peko enjoys Teruteru teaching her about cooking so the two eventually bond over that.

Imposter - Peko’s best friend on the island. They both relate to not knowing who they’re supposed to be. At the same time, they don’t see each other as just victims. They’re both people trying to grow and become better. When these two are together some say they're TOO COOL (actually Ibuki is the only one that said this)

Mahiru - Mahiru has a giant crush on Peko. At first she believe she knows what’s best for her and tries to takes her away from Fuyuhiko. Once she accepts Peko doesn’t want her help, she tries to be happy for Peko and Fuyuhiko.

Hiyoko: Is jealous of Peko so she lashes out at her a lot. Originally it was for looking mature/sexy and gardening Mahiru’s attraction. But after she learned of Peko’s past, she’s jealous that she didn’t have her own bodyguard to protect her from the multiple assassination attacks she went through.

Ibuki: Queerplatonic, they kiss A LOT. Ibuki loves seeing Peko awkwardly cheer for her at concerts (imagine Pearl from Steven Universe type of awkward) Peko made Ibuki realize that quiet is okay. Because only when it’s quiet, she can hear Peko’s heart beat speed up. I think they would be a cute fling but these two come from two different worlds. Ibuki is a party rocking planet and Peko is a silent moon. Maybe if the stars aligned they could've made it work. But that doesn't mean you can't appreciate eclipses.

Mikan: Mikan’s ability to read micro facial expressions helps her interpret a lot of Peko’s hidden emotions. Peko likes Mikan but Mikan mistaken Peko’s quietness with secret resentment (she can read that Peko isn’t mad but sometimes mental illness makes you ignore facts). Mikan is had to get close to and Peko doesn't have the social understanding to truly know her.

Gundham: He has adopted her as his own. He feels the need to protect this person on par with his traumatic backstory. She must realize this too, that’s why she keeps flocking to him and his four dark devas. Meanwhile Peko only understands 50% of what he’s saying but she’s trying. Sonia (and Gonta in non despair AU) has to interpret sometimes. Giant Big Brother and Little Sister energy.

Sonia: Sonia is the extrovert who adopts an introvert. Sonia wants to hang out with all her classmates and one of the few who doesn't see Peko cool demeanor as disinterest. Sonia is the only one who can relate to Peko's isolation and only she knows the kind of loneliness that can come with being around others. Peko doesn't realize this on her part and it hurts Sonia. But Sonia doesn't stop trying.

Kazuichi: Scared and aroused by Peko. I head anon one time his trash picking robot accidentally took Peko’s sword and it exploded. Kazuichi was so scared to admit it to Peko but once he did - Peko was more concerned about him than her sword. He’s convinced she’s in love with him and begs Fuyuhiko to ask her out for him. Peko bluntly declines.

Nekomaru - Nekomaru passionately talks with Peko about a lot of things. At first it was Kendo, then it was training, proper diet, and it spiraled into Nekomaru talking excitably about his day. Peko is a good listener but even she can go deaf from all the yelling. Ibuki bails her out sometimes. I think Nekomaru and Sonia are the only people who know how to push Peko out of her comfort zone without overstepping. Ibuki can be too excited in getting Peko to do new things. Hajime and Chiaki doesn't see a problem with Peko doing her own thing.

Akane - The girls bond over being asexual together. No talk about love or mushy stuff. They talk with battle! At least according to Akane. Peko is hesitant to train with Akane because she believes only someone strong like Sakura could handle her blade. Akane takes that as an open challenge and tries to blindside Peko until she takes her seriously. Akane does have to learn boundaries at one point. Maybe the person who grew up in constant danger doesn't want to keep looking over her shoulders in case her classmates attack her.

Fuyuhiko - Ultimately, though everything, this blog will always be a Kuzu/Peko blog. Growing up, Fuyuhiko developed a crush on Peko but never acted on it. Only after a chance conversation with Sakura about what being in love is like, Peko realized in middle school she is in love with Fuyuhiko. By that point their relationship is strained. Fuyuhiko is constantly telling Peko he doesn't need a tool and pretend they don't know each other. Peko doesn't want to be forgotten by Fuyuhiko, this person she spent everyday with. She planned on asking him out, as equals, but then Twilight Syndrome Murder happened. There was no time for love when there was so much hate in his heart. Eventually after everything, the two realizes they need each other. Fuyuhiko only pushed Peko away because he thought she couldn't grow as a person if she was constantly worried about him. Peko realizes she can still care and protect Fuyuhiko as a fellow warrior by his side. These two understand each other so well that they don't need to talk. But this also leads to terrible miscommunications.

#danganronpa #sdr2 #peko pekoyama #i'm not tagging ever ship #this wasn't supposed to be this long #the sonia one surprised me #i was like whoa #where did that come from

[the-valiant-valkyrie]

ALSO I think that

Wigfrid and Wendy could work as a duo. Both are very eloquent in a Shakespearean way, both have some level of obsession with death (wendy's obvious, wigfrid has her death seeking behavior), both have their eloquence masking Something (there's lines where Wendy's shown to have more childish interests that she tends to hide like arts and crafts, and wigfrid i don't think i need to explain). Do you see my vision

Copycat Gumi with Wigfrid. You get it

i had a writing WIP once somewhat surrounding this subject that i wanted to tackle, but i never really got around to it. inevitably the concept was abandoned and i used the same drive for Access Denied, which- while it's old and i'm not as happy as i used to be with it anymore- i feel like fills a niche for wigfrid and wendy friendships that i don't really see anywhere else.

they both romanticize death, they both have a habit of waxing poetic. i also do think that there's an argument made for wigfrid being very similar to what we know about abigail, and what something like that might possibly do to someone like wendy.

they're both loud and boisterous and act without thinking. they're incredibly defensive of the people they hold dear, and retaliative violence is just about the first thing they'll jump to. they both often find themselves in dangerous situations without really thinking them through. abigail doesn't have a mouth anymore, so she can't really smile, but wigfrid is the only other character in the game with a gap teeth that mimic's her own.

i don't know. i think there's something to reacting to wigfrid's toothy smile with a blood chilling shudder that kind of does something to me

#ask #wigfrid dst #wendy dst #i guess i should tag abigail too #abigail dst #this wasn't supposed to be this long

[the-badger-mole]

On the Clearest Night: 1K Followers Special

So, I hit 1K followers! For a while, I really didn't think I'd get to this point, but I did it! Somehow... Do I get a trophy or a cash prize or....? In honor of this illustrious occasion, I've reached out to my 1,000th follower and asked them if they had a prompt they wanted me to and they chose Painted/Blue. Here's the result. Thanks to everyone who followed me because of some random post I made and didn't unfollow me when I didn't live up to your expectations. Thanks to @iromiak for being number 1,000! Couldn't have done it without you! And I promise I will continue providing the nonsense you expect from my blog until I get bored and leave forever.

And now! Tonight's feature presentation:

On the Clearest Night

He couldn't decide if she was truly a spirit or not. Zuko had come at his father's request to Jang Hui to investigate the explosion at the arms factory. When he arrived he was confronted by two different versions of the story. The soldiers protecting the armory gave a report of a dark-clad vigilante leading a highly organized team armed with sophisticated explosives acting during the night. The citizens on the other hand told a tale of a river spirit appearing in the form of a beautiful young woman healing the sick, clearing up the river and ridding them of the factory that had nearly destroyed their way of life for good. One side was near rabid with the desire for retribution, and the other side spoke in hushed awe about their savior.

"That's enough,' the boy's mother took his hand and nearly dragged him away from Zuko. She smiled apologetically. "He insists he saw the Painted Lady, but the truth is none of us got a good look at her face. The veil, you know."

"I did see," the boy grumbled unhappily. "Mama said I would have died if the Painted Lady hadn't returned to help us."

"Then I'm glad she was here," Zuko said sincerely.

Still, he had a job to do. His father had entrusted him to find out what had happened to one of the most important armories in the country and to bring the guilty parties to justice. To his relief, Zuko was able to clear the half-starved, ragged villagers of any wrongdoing. He made a note with his secretary to have some sort of aid set up for the village. The soldiers from the armory weren't thrilled about sharing their rations, but it would do until Zuko could get back to Caldera and make more permanent arrangements for relief. He would have to ask his father about assigning a minister to look into how a village like Jang Hui could be allowed to fall so far through the cracks and make sure there were no other such oversights. It was bad enough that he was beginning to hear rumbles of dissent about the draconian conscription laws, the Fire Nation couldn't afford crisis-level poverty, besides.

Zuko stayed in the village another two days, gathering as many clues and leads as he could. There was something strange about the first-hand accounts from the villagers that he couldn't quite place. It was as if they were being careful about saying too much. He heard all about the people who had been brought back from the brink of death by the Painted Lady, and about the stores of food that had been laid at the doorstep of the worst-off families. He'd heard about her ethereal beauty, but they all stopped just short of any truly pertinent details.

"The soldiers said that she was human," a young boy told Zuko. "That she was from outside the Fire Nation, but I saw her! Her eyes were silver and she floated on the river with no raft. "

"That's enough,' the boy's mother took his hand and nearly dragged him away from Zuko. She smiled apologetically. "He insists he saw the Painted Lady, but the truth is none of us got a good look at her face. The veil, you know."

"I did see," the boy grumbled unhappily. "Mama said I would have died if the Painted Lady hadn't returned to help us."

"Then I'm glad she was here," Zuko said sincerely.

The day Zuko was supposed to leave, there was a sudden stir in the village center. A small group had arrived from a neighboring village, having heard about the troubles in Jang Hui. They bore what scant supplies they could spare and interesting news.

"We've been visited by the Painted Lady," a middle-aged woman said as she passed out blankets and farming tools. "She cured a few that was ailin', and then she told us that you lot would need some help to finish getting back on your feet."

"You spoke to her?" Zuko asked, pushing his way forward to the newcomers. "Directly?" The woman and her companions blinked in surprise. Someone quickly let them know who he was, and they all dropped down into deep bows.

"Please, you don't need to do that," Zuko insisted, somewhat impatiently. "I just want to know if you got a good look at her. Is she a spirit or is she human?" The villagers of Jang Hui stilled and seemed to hold their breath. Zuko tried not to notice.

"I can't say any of us got a good look at her, your highness," the woman said hesitantly. "There was a heavy fog, and she was covered from head to toe in a long, flowing robe. All any of us who were there could see was something glowing in her hands when she touched the sick, and the red markings along her arms. Then she was gone as if she'd never been there." Someone behind Zuko let out a breath that sounded like a relieved sigh. His mouth pulled down slightly at the corners. It seemed he had gotten as much information out of Jang Hui as he was likely to get. He asked the newcomers where they'd come from, and he ordered his men to prepare to follow that trail at dawn the next day.

That night, Zuko's men went to bed early in preparation, but Zuko couldn't turn in quite yet. He made his way to the edge of the river. He'd been told that up until a few days before, it had been thick and dark with the sludge from the factory. It was unfishable, undrinkable, and useless for anything except disposing of waste, but it was the lifeline of the village. Tonight the water was still murky, though Zuko could make out the riverbed in the shallow water. In a few days more, it would run clear again. Zuko frowned. Had his father known that this factory had almost killed a village?

A rustling in the bushes behind him startled Zuko. He had spun around into a defensive crouch before he really registered what he'd heard. An elderly man, who Zuko had seen lurking near the edges of his conversations with the villagers, approached. He was frail-looking, all bent and leathery with his skin stretched tightly across knobby, arthritic bones. Zuko didn't think he was a threat, but he didn't let his guard down either.

"Do you need something?" he asked uncertainly.

"I wanted a chance to speak to you," the old man said. "I didn't think I'd get to before you left in the morning, but I think perhaps I'm meant to after all." Zuko stared at him in confusion for a moment.

"What do you need from me?" he asked, not impolitely.

"I just wanted to say that in all the years we'd been begging for help from Caldera, this was the first time we'd felt we'd been heard."

"Oh," Zuko dropped his fists and shifted uncomfortably on his feet. "I...I just wish we could have done more. When I get home, I'll look into a longer-term solution-"

"I am certain you will," the man cut him off. "And we would be grateful, but that's not what I meant. When the Painted Lady arrived, we were in the middle of dying, your highness. She found several of us breathing our last, and she saved us. Then she got rid of the source of our ills and gave us a second chance to perhaps thrive once again. As I'm sure you can imagine, we're a bit protective of our protector." Zuko's shoulders slumped. He was suddenly exhausted. All he wanted was to go home to his own bed and forget all about Jang Hui. He was certain this old man had much the same wish.

"I have to know who she is," Zuko said, almost apologetically. "If she's a spirit, I have to let the Fire Lord know so we can send the sages to look into this and figure out how to keep her happy. And if she's human...I know she was trying to help, but this," Zuko gestured to the looming husk of the factory. "I can't let her- or them- get away with this. I'll argue for leniency, but this was a crime."

"I understand," the old man said, shaking his head sadly.

"Do you know what she was?" Zuko pressed.

"I'm afraid I have no answer for you." The old man shrugged. "I don't know any human who could heal the dying, though."

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

The next few days were spent chasing rumors and picking up cold trails. It was just like old times, Zuko thought ruefully. Then he promptly shoved that thought away. It was a coincidence. Nothing more.

The Painted Lady had been spotted only once more since the visitors to Jang Hui told their story. Zuko thought he'd come close to an answer in a bustling town where he'd heard about two prisoners escaping a strangely built cell- wood, of all things in the Fire Nation- but there was even less information to be gathered than in the last two sightings. It was enough, though, to make Zuko suspect that perhaps they weren't chasing another ghost.

In another town, Zuko heard rumors of a spirit that only came out during the full moon and took the unwary in the woods. Zuko thought about investigating, but he soon caught word of another struggling town not too far away. It seemed a likely place for the Painted Lady to appear next. Besides, kidnapping people in the woods was the wrong MO. It was probably animals that snatched up careless wanderers (though perhaps, Zuko thought, it wouldn't be a bad idea to send someone to investigate soon).

The town that Zuko and his men arrived in was in terrible shape. It was in worse shape than he'd left Jang Hui in. Despite being a farming town in a year with a plentiful harvest, the people were starving. Starvation had been compounded with a wasting sickness that had already claimed what was estimated to be about a third of the population. That was the sanitized version that Zuko and his men had been given, but the young prince suspected that there was more to the story and that knowing more would make the situation look bleaker. But as with Jang Hui, the villagers were tight-lipped and unwilling to give anything up. It was frustrating to Zuko. After all, how could he help if he didn't know the whole of the problem? Still, he'd gathered enough to know that the Painted Lady hadn't been through yet, and he suspected it was only a matter of time before she did. It was time to send in someone who might have better luck on reconnaissance.

Zuko had a conversation with the captain of his guard that night. It had been a long journey, he acknowledged. Longer than he anticipated, and he knew that the men were getting anxious. The captain tried to assure Zuko that the men were fine, but Zuko insisted that they needed a break. Just a small one for the evening, and then they could pick up again tomorrow. The men caught a small wooly mountain elk and prepared it for a feast that evening. Someone even brought out a few bottles of strong arrack and passed them around. The feast flared up and fizzled quickly after the first few rounds of drinks, like a firework. Soon the men began to drop off around the camp. Some made it back to their cots and others just lay down where they were and fell into a deep sleep.

Zuko looked over them with a small tinge of guilt as he pulled on the Blue Spirit mask he'd smuggled in his bags. He didn't spike the bottles with anything harmful, but they would have a hard time waking the next morning. Zuko would be back by then.

The men had made impressive work of that evening's feast, but there was still a haunch and several smaller cuts of meat left. These Zuko bundled as best he could and carried it off towards the village. Finding the Painted Lady was his main goal, but he was glad to be able to be of use to his people, too.

The food Zuko deposited at the door of the woman who seemed to be the unofficial mayor of the town to be distributed by her the next day. Once that was done, Zuko found a roof and settled in to wait.

It didn't take long. Zuko had barely settled in his spot when a sudden, heavy bank of fog rolled in. At first, Zuko could see nothing, but he heard someone shuffling along through the mists. His heart caught in his throat when he saw the figure emerging. The light of the half-moon penetrated the fog enough to cast her in a silvery glow. Zuko could see the outline of the flowing robes she wore, and the droplets clinging to her gossamer veil caught the moonlight and made it appear as if she wore diamonds or stars to hide her face. And she was heading right for the house Zuko was on.

She entered quietly, and a moment later, Zuko saw a bluish, silver glow coming through the window. He crept to the edge of the roof and lowered his head and shoulders so he could see. It was just as he'd heard. The glow was coming from the Painted Lady's hands. She had them pressed to the chest of a young boy who was struggling to breathe. Zuko watched in terrified awe as a long, thin string of phlegm was drawn through the boy's mouth and discarded in the hearth of the nearby fireplace. When she was done, the boy was breathing easier already. She pressed her hands to his head next, and the boy sighed with relief before falling into a deeper, more restful sleep.

Her task done, the Painted Lady stood and headed back to the door. Zuko scrambled back onto the roof as quickly and as quietly as he could. He kicked a loose tile, causing it to skitter across the roof, but it feel into some bushes below, to his relief. He made back to his original hiding spot mere moments before the Painted Lady reemerged. He waited to see what she would do next. Move onto the next house, he thought, but she stopped suddenly and turned to the exact spot he'd been hiding.

"I know you're there." Zuko froze at her voice. He knew that voice. Why did he know that voice?

"You may as well come out," she continued. "I mean no one in the town harm, but if you refuse to show yourself, I'll have to assume you mean harm." The air grew colder suddenly, and Zuko saw vicious-looking shards appearing in the fog. Reluctantly, he stepped out of the shadows and stood at his full height. The Painted Lady looked up at him, and in the moonlight, he could see the red patterns painted on her bronze skin and a slight frown on her crimson lips. Mostly, though, his attention was caught by her startling eyes. He could just see them past her veil, glowing silver in the moon's rays.

"I know you," she gasped in surprise. "You're the Blue Spirit."

#atla #zutara #painted blue #1k followers special #1000th follower request #thanks for 1k! #let's do this again for 1500! #😁✌🏾 #leave a comment! #like! #reblog! #i live off attention #this wasn't supposed to be this long #but lol! what can ya do? #i hope you enjoyed it!

[jacky-rubou]

HOW DID I WRITE 10K WORDS FOR THIS FIC ALREADY AAAAAAAAAAAAA

#gosh i am an avid writer #this wasn't supposed to be this LONG #it was supposed to be short #but i guess i am a fool for thinking that would be a realistic outcome lol #all my fics end up longer than expected #i hope it doesn't get too long

[mazegays]

that nalby hc 😭😭😭😭 (from the tags of that other post which im too lazy to copy sjdjsj)

the post, for those curious

yes bc like!! the "He's in charge when I'm not around" "good thing you're always around then" bit from the movies--it's always read more as teasing than Newt, like, actually caring about leading.

And in the books, sure, Alby is the 'on-paper' offical leader, but we know he's not been doing it long, and Newt is clearly more experienced with Greenies. (If you haven't read Fever Code and don't want spoilers, skip this next part. If you don't care, then continue on. Also, Newt’s suicide attempt is discussed, both here and a little later.) It’s revealed in Fever Code that Newt’s suicide attempt is not too long before Thomas enters the Maze--only about 6 months, compared to the time Newt has been there.

(If you skipped you're good now)

Newt was a Runner, right? But obviously something changed, and he can’t run very well with a limp, something that's noted more than once by Thomas. So Newt becomes a jack-of-all-trade (starts Thomas each day with his trial runs, helps the medjacks with Ben, etc), learns the ins and outs of the Glade, helps out with Greenies where he can. He gives the motivational/you're-here-so-make-the-best-of-it speech where Alby only gets angry, at which point Newt pulls him back so he doesn't scare Thomas (the first Greenie since the last leader, Nick, died. Yes, I have the book open rn. I have some of it memorized but I want to be thorough lol. probably more so than I need to be). Alby doesn't have his footing as a leader yet--Gally doesn't like Thomas, so all of their interactions are colored negatively anyway, but he also seems not to exactly respect Alby as a leader. Minho affords Alby some respect but also just... doesn't really care about the chain of command. We don't know if the Keepers voted, but Newt is both well-liked and clearly has a handle on running the Glade. Why wouldn’t he be picked, in such a scenario?

Unless he took himself from the running because he realized that yes, he can lead, but being well-liked and being respected are different things, and his authority seem to come mostly from the Gladers listening to him because they like him.

That's where Alby comes in. Presumably a Keeper (though what he did is never made clear), and probably worked with Nick-- maybe even as his second-in-command--before his death, but not handling the Glade in the way Newt does.

Newt suggests he becomes the leader, takes himself out of the running, and they listen to Newt and make Alby leader.

Newt, who knows the ins and outs of everything, who is good at talking boys down and bouncing around where he's needed, gets to keep doing that.

And Alby is really thrown into overseeing everything; Greenies, the Box requests, what needs to be built and repaired more urgently, all of that stuff. He would have known it was done, but actually making the decisions is very different from just knowing about them.

But they start dating long before Thomas comes to the Glade, right?

Yeah. They do. Alby is the one who drags Newt of the Maze, they were already close. But working together doesn't always work out. Now working more closely after Newt’s attempt, they start butting heads more, and their whole relationship seems to fall apart, until they realize they're trying to do the same job, and one of them is just better suited for it than the other.

Don't get me wrong, Alby is great. He’s an asshole, yes, but they all are, really. Especially compared to Newt, though, people don't seem to be his strong suit. So they work it out that Alby mostly does logistics stuff, and Newt deals with people.

They're both leaders, and they work so well together because they're different types of leaders. Once they stop fighting-as-flirting arguing over everything, they figure out a system and slowly realize there are Feelings there. (Newt makes the first move, and this surprises no one.)

By the time Thomas reaches the Glade, hell, by the time Chuck gets there their relationship is an open secret. They're not very affectionate publicly as to keep the appearance of neutrality, but everyone knows anyway. They were on the edge of 'are we friends or are we dating' before this, anyway, but it was working together that pushed it over the edge.

tl;dr: Newt and Alby are both leaders in very different ways, Newt on the people side and Alby on the logistics side. They figured this out after Newt’s suicide attempt and clashed for a while before things finally clicked into place. After that, they eventually started dating sometime before Chuck was sent into the Maze.

#newt #alby #nalby #never thought I'd write a nalby thinkpiece but ig i have more thoughts on them than i realized #thomas #minho #chuck #tea #nalby relationship development #this wasn't supposed to be this long #but it is! so like #enjoy it! #ask box #suicide cw #newt's suicide attempt #tmr

[shadyelizabeth]

8.01. SUNGLASSES

Draco loved sunglasses. He thought they might have been the best thing Muggles had ever invented–assuming they were a Muggle invention. He honestly didn’t care enough to do the research to find out, but if he ever met the person who invented them, Draco would shower them with high praise.

He loved that they protected his pale eyes from the sun.

Draco had never been one for being in the sun for too long anyway. His delicate skin would burn like paper to a flame after mere minutes of exposure. He limited his time outside as much as possible, but being a functioning member of society meant seeing the light of day for longer than five minutes at a time.  

He loved that a big enough pair and a hat could lend him anonymity.

Though the war had been over for close to five years now and Draco had been acquitted and completed his probation without any offenses, some people would always see him as a Death Eater. He didn’t blame them or get angry or try to persuade them that he’d only been following orders, that he was nowhere near the same person he’d been under his father’s vile thumb. Instead, he made it easier and hid in plain sight.

But what he loved most about sunglasses is that, when he was out in public, he could people watch from behind them without anyone knowing. 

On this particular occasion, he’d allowed Pansy to drag him to some outdoor charity event being held on the Quidditch Pitch at Hogwarts. After making the expected rounds and saying the obligatory “Hellos” and “How are yous”, Draco found a nice, shaded corner and parked himself there. He hadn’t been back to school since he’d finished his eighth year. At the time, there’d been many who would have rather seen him dead than graduate. As soon as he’d received his certification, he’d made himself scarce.

Old habits, sometimes, died hard. 

Part of what had gotten him into people-watching in the first place was the loneliness and isolation he’d felt. Seeing colleagues meet for a business lunch or a couple out on a date made him feel, in a weird way, connected. Maybe he wasn’t part of the conversation, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t create his own. Draco would often make up backstories and dialogue based on their clothes and the expressions they made when they talked.

Was it creepy? Maybe, but everyone copes differently.

There were a few people he’d become highly invested in. At the coffee shop he frequented, there was a witch who came in every morning at 9AM sharp, like clockwork. She wore a variation of the same suit every day–a blazer buttoned right over her belly button, a matching pencil skirt, with kitten heels–just in different colors. She would order a large black coffee in a to-go cup and then sit at the high-top bar affixed to the front window. Within ten to fifteen minutes of her arrival, someone–as far as Draco had seen, it was always a different person–would enter the shop and approach her. They would talk for a few minutes more; the person would hand her a parcel wrapped in heavy brown paper and then leave.

He imagined the packages she received were manuscripts and that the woman was part of some elusive, underground publishing group. The parcels were always delivered by different carriers, so no one ever figured out what each parcel consisted of, and they were wrapped to protect against bias. He knew that if he, a former Death Eater, tried to tell his side of the story through a memoir, it would’ve probably been thrown in the bin before seeing a publisher’s desk.

Sunday mornings, before going to the market to shop for the week, Draco would stop at a local patisserie for a late breakfast, and every Sunday, for about two months, by the time he arrived, two wizards would be sitting at one of the outside tables, under a large dandelion yellow umbrella about halfway through their meal.

From the outside, they were about as diametrically different as they come. One of them could have been a long-lost Weasley with his thick red hair and smattering of freckles. If he hadn’t been intimately familiar with the whole Weasley clan, he would have offered to make introductions. The other wizard was African American with dreadlocks piled on top of his head and eyes as dark as night. At first glance, anyone might’ve assumed they were friends out catching a bite to eat. Their relaxed postures and the ease of their conversation suggested unspoken affection.

Draco initially pegged them as two old friends who, after years apart, were making up for lost time, but the more he watched, the more he realized their relationship went deeper than that. On one occasion, a gust of wind blew the long tablecloth to the side, and he caught their feet entangled together, big smiles still on their faces. On another, when walking past their table, he saw the redhead pull his fingers back from where they’d been touching the tips of his companions.

That moment had left him with mixed emotions. His heart warmed at the sight of this couple, so completely enamored with each other, sitting in the sun, enjoying a sweet treat and time together, but he hated that they still lived in a world where they didn’t feel comfortable enough to express their love openly. It made him mourn the possibility of ever being able to openly love another man himself. 

Though, it wasn’t as if he had many prospects. The only person who knew he was gay was Pansy, and the one person he wanted (and loved to watch the most) was the one person he could never have. 

It probably wouldn’t come as a surprise to anyone that Draco was obsessed with Harry Potter and had been since before the day they’d met.

The way the wizarding world had so famously and admirably talked about “The Boy Who Lived”, he couldn’t help but think that the boy who had defeated the Dark Lord while only a baby would make an exceptional ally. That was until Harry had snubbed him on their first day outside the Great Hall.

Everything had been all downhill from there. The mocking and the sneers, the fighting and the opposition. He was a Slytherin, and Harry a Gryffindor. There could be no peace, but that was okay with Draco. While it might not have been the attention he wanted from Harry, anything that got those green eyes looking at him was a win in his book.

But the impending war meant things couldn’t remain as simple as antagonizing each other in the corridors. Sides were taken and lines were drawn. Harry went on the run, and as much as he was supposed to hate the other boy and what he stood for, Draco found himself more worried than anything. It was then that Draco began to realize that the animosity he’d felt for Harry might not have been animosity at all. Seeing Harry dead had only confirmed it.

Once the war had ended, Draco hadn’t known what the future would look like for him. In the end, he’d chosen the wrong side, and in the aftermath of the Dark Lord’s terror, there was so much physical and emotional debris to be dealt with. He’d been preparing to be locked away in Azkaban with his parents, but much to his surprise (and delight), Harry had, once again, swooped in and saved the day, which only intensified Draco’s obsession.

To say he stalked Harry would not have been a false claim. During his house arrest, he read any and every article he could get his hands on that mentioned him. When they returned for their eighth year, Draco may have been happier than most that all eighth years were housed together rather than split back up into houses, and in the years that followed, maybe Draco made it a habit to frequent the same places Harry and his friends did, close enough to see the range of emotions flicker over his beautiful face but far enough away not to be recognized, sunglasses perched high on his nose. 

Today’s charity event was no different. His eyes expertly scanned his surroundings until they landed on the former boy wonder. His shaggy hair, which usually fell forward into his eyes, was held back from his face with a thin headband. He wore a white short sleeve button-up that hugged the curves of his biceps and navy blue trousers that Draco knew probably made his butt look amazing. 

Harry had gotten proper fit over the years, and while Draco would have preferred to be up close and personal, the view from afar was still very nice.

As usual, he was flanked by Ron and Hermione, but Luna floated gracefully beside him, hands waving and eyes wide as spoke, her long blonde hair trailing behind her. They stopped at a booth specializing in tinctures, giving their undivided attention to the witch behind the table. 

“You know–”

He jumped. The voice spoke right into his ear. Pansy slid into the chair next to him, a glass of lemonade in her hand. 

“You’re not fooling anyone.”

“Excuse me?” he said, not taking his eyes off Harry.

“You”–she fluttered her hand arbitrarily–“sitting here, alone, trying to be all cool and assuming. Your eyes might be covered, but your head is always angled his way. If you’re trying to be discreet, you’re gonna wanna try harder,” she said, taking a long sip of her drink.

He could feel heat rise in his cheeks and knew it had nothing to do with the warm weather.

Turning to look at her, he said, “I was just–”

“What? Pining over Harry frickin Potter?! I know! If the bloody git were more observant, he’d know too! You’re not exactly subtle, Draco.

“When do you think you’ll chalk up the nerve to talk to him?”

He scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous, Pansy. I couldn’t. I can’t. He’s–he’s him, and I’m me.”

“Brilliant argument, Draco,” Pansy deadpanned. “So brilliant, in fact”–her face quickly morphed into a smirk–“that we should test it. See if you two are still so truly incompatible.”

“What does that–”

Before he could finish asking, Pansy was on her feet, yelling, “Oh, Harry!”

Instinctively, Draco ducked. If he’d thought quick enough, he would have apparated away, but Harry’s eyes turned toward them at the sound of his name.

“Pansy, what in the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?!” he said through clenched teeth.

Ignoring his question, she said, in the fakest saccharine tone, “When you’re finished, would you mind coming over here for a moment? We just need a minute of your time!”

“Pansy!”

Harry turned back to his friend group, assumedly excusing himself, before he started making his way over.

Pansy’s hazel eyes cut to Draco; her ruby red lips turned up in a wicked grin. “Don’t say I never did anything for you, Draco.”

“I’m going to kill you,” he said, looking for an escape route. There was nowhere for him to go that wouldn’t make it blatantly obvious that he was running away.

Harry was about halfway to them.

“Fuck the Killing Curse. I’m going to do it the Muggle way. Slow and excruciatingly painful, removing body parts piece by piece.”

“You’ll thank me later.”

Harry was about ten meters away. 

Resigned to his fate, he said just low enough for Pansy to hear, “If this somehow does work out, I’ll make sure to give your corpse a proper burial instead of throwing it in the dumpster where you belong.”

Pansy’s eyes were bright with delight just as Harry approached their table. Draco straightened in his seat, hoping his silk shirt hadn’t wrinkled.

Harry’s eyes bounce back and forth between the two of them. With a nod, he said, “Pansy. Draco. What can I do for ya?”

“Potter!” Pansy said with a bit too much enthusiasm. “How are you? How have you been? Would you care to take a seat?”

Draco began to think of all the ways he was going to make Pansy suffer–ripping each fingernail out one by one, disembowelment, electrocution, and more. 

He looked like he wanted to protest, but instead, pulled out the chair across from them, and sat.

“I’m doing well, thanks for asking. How are you?” He faced Draco directly. “And you, Draco? I feel like I haven’t seen you around lately.”

Draco thought Harry’s voice softened when he spoke to him. 

“I’m–”

“I’m great! Draco’s great! Everything is great!” Pansy cut him off before he could answer. “I asked you over here because Draco and I were having a little disagreement, and we thought, who better to settle it than Harry Potter himself.”

“Uhh.” He chuckled, scratching the side of his head. The muscles in his arms bulged with the movement. “Okay. What’s the question?” 

“Draco, here: hot or not?”

Draco’s mouth dropped wide open. Out of all the reckless things Pansy could have said, that was the last thing he was expecting. She’d always had a tendency to be inconsiderate, but this was taking it a step too far.

“You’re dead. Your body will be unrecognizable by the time I’m done with you.”

“Pish posh.” She waved him away with a dismissive hand. “Let the man answer the question.”

“Harry, you don’t–you don’t have to answer that.” He was more than thankful for this the sunglasses and the shade, barely able to look in Harry’s direction. He hoped his face wasn’t as hot as his body felt because he wanted to melt into the shadows and slither away. “Pansy is just being an arse.”

“That’s what friends are for, right?”

Harry’s tone was jovial, and, of course, he was making light of the situation. What else was he supposed to do when having just been asked if he thought his former foe was hot? It wasn’t like this was anything other than a joke to him. It wasn’t like he’d been waiting for an opening to express his feelings.

“I don’t think I can accurately answer the question, though, without being able to see your full face. Would you mind taking off your glasses, Draco?”

Wordlessly, Draco removed his sunglasses from his face, blinking to let his eyes adjust to the afternoon sun.

Harry’s gaze trailed slowly upward from his feet. Draco tried not to fidget or squirm under his stare, as if his eyes were lightly caressing his skin. Harry took a long look over his torso, biting his lip along the way, causing Draco to, momentarily, forget how to breathe. 

When their eyes finally met, a small smile flitted at the corner of Harry’s lips. “Stunning is more like it.”

From that day forward, Draco only wore sunglasses when absolutely necessary.

AUGUST MASTERPOST

#august 2022 #august writing prompts #harry potter #draco malfoy #drarry #this wasn't supposed to be this long #*shrugs* #off to a weird start #word prompt: sunglasses #drarry fanfic #hp fanfic #harry x draco #draco x harry

[aeniqmata]

12.on a scar, alfyn @ therion!! || @asterisque​ || touch prompts

Another battle. Another batch of wounds that their healers were trying to take care of when they’d returned to their inn rooms. Therion was the last to be looked at, though it wasn’t because his were less severe. He refused to be seen along with everyone else, shutting himself in his room until only one person arrived with a quiet knock and a call of his nickname.

Alfyn was the only one he’d let treat him. It didn’t matter what skills the others picked up, he didn’t trust them enough to lay on a bed with his back to them while they rubbed a poultice into a wound or begged Aelfric to fix something. 

This also meant Alfyn was the only one ( that he knew of ) that had seen all of the scars on his body. He knew the stories behind all of them, why they didn’t get treated in time and ended up words on the tapestry that was his skin. So when he heard the apothecary suck in a breath when he finally got a look, he knew he was in for a lecture.

This was another routine, one that he was sure would end up pushing the other too far one day. But for now all he got was a very cold finger pressed to a large scar between his shoulder blades, pulling a colorful swear from the thief. And where normally that is where the lecture would start, instead the finger was replaced by something very warm. When he went to see what exactly the other was doing, he found it impossible to roll over, Alfyn’s forehead pressed to the scar he’d touched a moment ago.

It was one of their scarier moments as a group. Alfyn, too focused on trying to help someone, hadn’t noticed on of the bandits that had ambushed the group. For that matter, no one else had either, the group’s smallest member the only one who’d seen the man run out of the bush with a dagger in hand, aimed squarely for Alfyn’s neck where he was stooped over an injured Tressa.

He hadn’t thought, moving purely on instinct to protect his groupmates, discarding daggers for the sword that he carried. But he was still going to be too slow to block it with a weapon. Instead he threw himself on top of his apothecary just in time for the weapon to find it’s mark in his back.

Therion didn’t remember anything else, waking up on his stomach nearly three weeks later to his seven very loud teammates. From there he got part of an explanation, that everything had stopped in that moment as they watched him fall deathly still to the ground. 

Olberic explained how one moment Alfyn had been tending to Tressa, axe on the ground beside him, and the next the apothecary had made damned well sure that the bandit wasn’t going to be standing again. That Olberic, the Unbending Blade himself, was wary about approaching a frantic Alfyn while he did everything in his power to help his fading friend, before Ophilia arrived and lent whatever strength she had to the cause.

He’d been forbade from fighting for two months, Alfyn’s tone when he announced this enough that not even Therion argued with him.

That was the scar Alfyn’s forehead was touching, a small grounding motion for the two of them. A quiet plea from Alfyn to never do anything like that again. Of all the deadly injuries they got, most were something they could fight through for a short while, but that had been one of three that stopped their group’s unending march across the continent.

“ I’m ok, Alf. I’m still here ‘cause of you. Come on, fix up these new ones so I don’t add any more marks to the collection. I know you hate looking at them. “ With careful movements, he managed to get one hand out from under himself and into Alfyn’s hair without disturbing the other too much, ruffling the man’s untied hair. 

“ If you don’t hurry, they’ll think we’re shacking up, and H’annit will send Linde to interrupt us. “

#asterisque #therion: ic #therion: ask #therion: drabble #this wasn't supposed to be this long #god i hope this actually reads well #god knows i drop words like grains of sand

[neoputo]

& it's 3am & it's 4am & it's 5am & you're still here

do you ever lay plain sad on your bed at 3am, waiting for something, maybe a text or a sign, anything that could tell you someone cares about you, yet it just won't arrive? and you know it won't, but still you wait & wait & you can't go to sleep. you feel like something's missing, like there's a void you need to fill —a void inside of you that you need somebody else to fill. & yet you keep trying to fill the void yourself, by staring at all sorts of colors through the glass screen of your phone. but it isn't enough, it isn't what you need, it isn't what you long for. so you just lie awake, coming up with different excuses as to avoid closing your eyes. & you think & think & think. your head is always so loud, so full of voices you barely recognize. even under the daylight. & then there's the buzz, the everlasting buzz that won't leave you alone. at times it gets quieter, at times it gets louder. nonetheless, it's always there. then it's 4am. it's 4am until it isn't. minutes run faster than the blood in your veins. you lose track of time so easily. one moment you're brushing your teeth & throwing into your pajamas, & the next one you're listening to the birds chirping by the window. you're not sure how you got there, not sure when you got there. you just are there. & that's all you know. & the world feels so unreal for a second. you feel like you're floating inside a black and endless vacuum. & in a way, you are, for all the lights in your bedroom are turned off & the darkness is so deep, so matte, you don't know where the walls start & where they end. it's like you're trapped inside an (redundantly) infinite black hole. & so you feel so light, so fluid, yet your surroundings feel so heavy, so dense. & just like an astronaut taking his helmet off in outer space, your head is about to explode. & you just can't help it, a soul as fragile as glass, you're a poet at heart, you're a poet at mind. & as a poet, you feel too much, you feel too closely, you feel too violently. it's devastating & still you enjoy it. you've always gotten a taste for the sorrowful. you've always been drawn to watching the blood spill out of your wounds, feeling the ache without any intention of stopping it. you're a bleeder. you're a masochist. you're a punch in the wall. there's no use changing, you've already tried. & you always fall back into the same old pit. what are you chasing, partner? what is it that you crave? i'm sure there's something hidden in all these bloody bruises & all these lost teeth that captures your eye. there must be meaning behind all this suffering you endure & embrace. so, what is it? what does your soul ache for? what makes you so scared of closing your eyes at night? what keeps you from healing all these scars? tell me, partner, what is the reason, the justification, for such an unusual response? all questions remain unanswered. you're a mystery that's left behind not one single clue. you're a secret that's never been spoken, not even whispered through any pair of lips. you're like the ocean, so familiar & still so deceitful. you don't trust anyone & so how could anyone ever trust you? you hide behind a mirror, a reflection of what other's want to see. never truly yourself, never truly somebody at all. what a lonely existence! i hope one day you're found & someone discovers what lies behind the glass. i hope you don't shatter in pieces & cut yourself & everyone around you. i hope i'm early enough to prevent you from turning into glassy dust. i hope it's not too late for you to have a happy ending. then it's 5am & all you've done was pray for something that will never belong to you. better close your eyes before you vanish like you've never set foot on this earth.

#this wasn't supposed to be this long #late night rambles

[inkskinned]

you have to be sexy but you have to be sexy in a way that's kind of bloody. you learn this early because you are wearing a ruffled skirt and the snow around your ankles kicks little sand particles against your calves. baby's first catcall. welcome to sexiness! welcome to the eyesore of your own body!

you have to be sexy like high heels. like sculpted eyebrows. like lean stomach and highly treated hair. you have to be sexy like youth is sexy, which means you have to be sexy like boxtox and plastic. a 30 year old can be sexy but she's not going to be bloody, and they like the bloodiness of it. a 30 year old is sexy when she is a whiskey glass and a wooden desk.

but you need to be sexy like an open mouth. you need to be sexy like a bitten apple. like plucked skin and white-knuckling the waxing kit.

so sex is a performance, not an enjoyment. for a while, you just assumed everyone else was also in on the joke - nobody actually likes sex that much, right? like, some men probably do, but why would you? it is like a gender - your gender is sexy. your gender is the performance of sex. you are thigh highs and garter belts. which, to be fair, do make you feel sexy.

part of what does make sex good is that you can tell that other people want you, which means the performance of sexiness is both bloody and wanted, which is good, which means you are winning at having a body. being wanted is the prize. being wanted is the thing you are searching for, not hope. you think you are looking for a soft grave in easy loam, but that is bloody but not sexy. to be sexy you must be bloody like a red open sign. bloody like a handprint. this will make you wanted.

any wanted or unwanted body is subject to supply and demand, which is to say that the more demand, the better you are valued. you must be highly demanded to be valued. this is stated in matter-of-fact by some men. sometimes it is a priest that says it, and sometimes it is a podcaster, and sometimes it is the 45th president of the united states of america.

(if you do not have any experience with being told your value, i want you to grab the nearest bird to you and i want you to crush it into a thin paste in your hand. spit into the center, and then hold your fingers closed tight around it for days and days, long after the rot has set in. feel bones itch inside of your fist. this is only a fraction of what it actually feels like, but it will suffice for a moment.)

good sex feels like you have earned their desperation. you have earned your own value. for a while you operated under the understanding that everyone knew about the power structure, even him. that their desire to take you - the violence of it - means that you must desire to be caught. little prince, guardian fox - you would rather have cut your own arm off. you liked the secret, cunning little voice you keep tucked into a box. you think you are fucking me. i am not even here right now. you are fucking what i conned you into perceiving. this is a painting, not a person. dominion over the body before all things.

so you bend your body like a wheat shaft and learn the steps so perfectly that it almost seems graceful. (if you do not have experience faking your own connection to your body and sexuality, cut each of your articles of clothing just a little bit incorrectly. pour fishbones into each of your meals. this way, you will experience the average noon on a tuesday.)

you have to be sexy like light spilled over a desk, but not desperate. not a noose. you can't be sexy like an electric guitar, you are the acoustic. you have to be on top of the bull but you can't have control over the animal.

okay, okay. the little rabbit of your heart went to sleep so long ago that winter has ravaged your concept of the human soul. there's something very-bad inside you, something that has taken over, a little fetid and rabid animal, angry and hurting and willing to bite first.

oh but even that's a pain that's sexy. open your mouth. be careful not to let the canines show.

#spilled ink #writeblr #warm up #the reason i tag warm up on so much is bc often i write them between me doing other things so im mostly telling myself to come back and edi #bc i rarely have time to check for typos lol #this is partially about compulsory heterosexuality btw #and why it took me so long to realize im a lesbian #i just assumed sex wasn't really supposed to be that good #been reading feminist lit and u can always tell

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Lan Wangji Goes To Lotus Pier AU: Part 4.5: Morning Period.

(Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4)

#poorly drawn mdzs #mdzs #lan wangji #wei wuxian #jiang cheng #mdzs au #Yunmeng Jiang training arc AU #This is 4.5 because it was originally all supposed to be part of the same comic #This part wasn't as punchy and I was close to scrapping it but I figured I'd at least give it a chance. #Despite the fact I already had it in pencils...cleaning it up took a very long time. Still hate it. Sunken cost fallacy enacted: It lives. #Okay quick commentary (I'm very late to post today) #While this is supposed to be a 'snapshot' of routine - Wei Wuxian slept in. Normally he is up earlier. #Meaning he delayed the dueling part of the day. Hence LWJ's hand gesture. #I also imagine that LWJ and JC have a bit more of a friendship in this AU since they spend a few hours in the morning sans WWX #I always enjoyed how JC and LWJ on paper seem like they would get along but Do Not in canon. Let me have a world where they do.

[caffichai]

@praxinas warlock Harlow, for the very last day of Artfight 2023!

I love the Eliksni armor from Season of Splicer and the aesthetic, just in general

#I love this piece of armor for warlock but apparently can't draw it to save my life :P #This last week was straight from the long week factory so I wasn't able to get all her details right but I tried! #Hope you enjoy! #destiny 2 #It's supposed to be the big servitor from season of Splicer! Tried to photobash it together but it was rough lol #others oc #Pixel art #Pixel #Digital art #oc #artists on tumblr #cyberpunk #Eliksni #Servitor #Warlock

[cosmicstarlatte]

i love all your monster fucker posts. size kink makes my head go BRRRRRRR

so ok ok ok. hear me out,,,

i’ve seen some monster lucifer fan art and just ,,, HIM

monster luci pumping you full with such a huge load your belly gets all distended…. all proud and smug seeing it leaking back out

LORT HAVE MERCY IM BOUT TO BUST

lucifer is already a big dude, but like, the thought of him like 3/4/5 times my size. bruh

sorry to drop in randomly. just wanted to share these thoughts with somebody that wouldn’t think i’m weird about it LMAO

nsfw 18+ // size difference, cum, belly bulge

*crawls from out the sewer* did you say MONSTER LUCIFER???

monster lucifer that lays back in bed & sits you on top of his mouth, holding your legs wide open & listening to your soft moans as he ravishes your hole with his tongue getting you prepped. your poor hands are barely able to hold onto his horns as he makes you come rather quickly.

monster lucifer that wraps his large hands around your waist & easily lifts you off his face as you let out a small whine, he places your sloppy hole directly over the tip of his leaking cock, rubbing his slick against you before finally squeezing his tip in, breathing out a small sigh of relief.

monster lucifer that can't believe how tiny you are compared to him; proud of his little human for being able to take as much of his demon cock into that tiny body. he grunts as he feels you clench around him... always so greedy.

monster lucifer that helps his little human bounce onto his fat demon cock, falling in love harder every time he watches half of it disappear between your legs, being able to see the bulge within you. his thrusts get rougher, faster, as he tries to reach that blissful high. thinking about how much he wants to fill you to the brim.

monster lucifer that groans knowing he won't be able to take much longer of your sinfully tight hole. he continues rocking your hips onto his cock & finally let's out a low moan as he reaches his peak, his eyes stay open just enough to see his cum filling you up, your tummy expanding from the sheer amount of it. he drains his balls completely before sliding out, watching the excess spill & the little small triumphant smile on your tired face.

monster lucifer that smirks & dips his fingers between your legs, trying to shove his seed back into your completely stuffed hole, "my little lamb, what did i tell you about wasting?" ♡

#MOODYYY TYSM & TOTALLY NOT WEIRD ALSKSNKGDL MONSTERS & SIZE KINK YES PLS TY!!! #sobs this wasn't suppose to be this long...but it's LUCIFER??♡ #obey me #obey me lucifer #obey me smut #obey me headcanons #obey me lucifer smut #obey me lucifer headcanons #obey me lucifer x reader #obey me lucifer x you #obey me lucifer x mc #◇˖・ﾟ— › cosmic obey me . ⊹ #✩ — the star: moody! #monsterfucker #monster fucker

[atlaswav]

FIRESIDE ✦

INFO: atla jet x gn! reader drabble, 1.4k words...... (bad writing i'm not proud💀) SYNOPSIS: you're the damsel in distress that falls for your saving grace. or: delusion WARNINGS: tiny bit of blood AUTHOR'S NOTE: not proof read (it wasn't supposed to be this long), I wrote this post without making it a proper fic to make up for the lack of jet fanfictions anywhere please take my contribution 😞 listen to fireside by the arctic monkeys 👍

You're a travelling merchant dealing in handmade weapons. Your craft is passed down in your family, and you recently left your hometown on your own for the first time to travel to Ba Sing Se to make a living there.

The day you two first met, you'd been on your horse all day, dragging behind you a creaky stand containing your life’s worth of materials and weapons (rattling with each step – it was beginning to grate on your nerves) with no signs of the glaring sun easing on your weary limbs. So when the forest suddenly falls far too silent for your liking, you don’t even notice in your heat stricken malady.

It’s only when a group of bandits abruptly seizes the reins of your horse, sawing loose your saddle straps when you realise you’re under attack. But by then, they’re already beginning to rifle through your belongings as you fall unceremoniously onto the hard dirt path, wincing as a bandit grabs you by the shoulders, pulling you up. 

You reach for the sword at your belt – the one that you crafted yourself under the guidance of your father once he’d deemed you skilled enough – but you didn’t even need to draw it before a bird call sounded amidst the cacophonous riot.

Emerging from the thick treeline, a band of – kids? Jumped out, wielding perilously sharp and comically large weapons for their ages and sizes. The bandits scoffed at their appearance, brandishing their vicious looking blades at the children who charged at them. 

Then the vice-like grip on your shoulders eased, and a hand appeared in the peripherals of your vision.

As you took the hand being offered – calloused and rough, yet warm – your saviour gave you a cursory glance, checking you for injury. When he finally met your gaze, you both froze in place.

Warm eyes, tanned skin, dark, unruly hair that loosely framed his face. In his other hand he held two long, hooked swords that gleamed in the harsh light. 

Jet couldn’t tell whether you were simply shocked or there was something wrong – either way, there was a fight surging around you, and there was no time for greetings and formalities.

(if you looked for any longer, you’d have seen the slight blush dusting his cheeks)

“Behind,” You had no time to process his meaning before he stepped in front of you, meeting the serrated blade of the bandit with his own weapons in a deafening clash of steel. You quickly drew your sword and slashed at the arm of another bandit whose club soared a high arc above Jet’s head, eliciting a howl of pain as they dropped the club onto the ground and scrambled for the trees.

You two seemed to make a pretty good pair. 

After the dust had settled, he offered you his flask of water, chest heaving, hair clinging to his forehead with perspiration, with a grin playing across his face.

“Thank you.” You take it, drinking your fill before capping the container. “But who are you?”

“We’re the freedom fighters.” His companions wave at you as they attempt to salvage the wreckage of your goods (which you supposed you should’ve also been doing, but you’d had a long day).

“And you?”

“They call me Jet.” he smiles, a glint in his eyes. “But you can call me whatever you want.”

I hate myself for writing that line but I can’t think of another thing for him to say

Anyway time skip a little, he showed you to the freedom fighter’s hideout, and you decide to pay them back for saving you by giving their weapons a little maintenance

They offer you further kindness by inviting you to stay for dinner, to which you accept – what choice did you have after the bandits spoiled most of your food on the ground?

You sharpen some swords, polish some daggers, and share a meal with the ragtag freedom fighters around the fire, laughing along with crude jokes shared about clumsy bandits. 

Then Jet comes up to you with his hooked swords hanging loosely from his grip – offering them to you for maintenance – and your curiosity gets the better of you.

“I’ve never seen anything like this before,” You observe the craftsmanship of his swords, testing their balance, running your finger along the blade’s hooked ends.

“Pretty neat, huh? They’re Tiger Blades. Traditional weapon.”

“Where’d you get them?”

“Stole it from a firebending soldier.”

You raised your eyebrows skeptically. “You fight off firebending soldiers regularly?”

A grin. “When the job calls for it.”

“That’s not… dangerous?”

“You’ve seen me fight, haven’t you?”

In the firelight, his eyes are alight with molten gold. 

“So your job isn’t just saving random people from bandits?”

He laughs, and the sound fills the air between you with warmth. 

“I wouldn’t say you’re a random person,” you look up, but his gaze is cast into the fire, unreadable. 

When he doesn’t say anything further, you sustain the silence, only rummaging through your bags to find another stone to sharpen his blade with before the thought occurs to you. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Ah, I’d rather not try to sharpen this blade. I don’t know how.” you attempt to hand it back, but he stops you.

“I can show you,” he leaves the unspoken question hanging in the air, watching you with a certain hopefulness in his eyes.

You nod wordlessly, and you hand him the stone, watching him tie his hair up. His brows furrow as he angles the blade, quickly running the stone along its edge. But you can’t focus on the blade – not really – as the firelight illuminates his features, basking them in a soft glow. 

“It’s not that hard – well it won’t be, for someone as experienced as you.” 

You’re grateful for the dim light, or he would’ve seen the blush highlighting your cheeks. 

“You just guide the stone along the edge as usual,” he absently says under his breath, “and use more force here.”

You nod blankly as he turns back to you, handing you the blade and the stone. 

“There you go.” 

You move to grab the handle of the blade, but your finger catches on its edge, drawing blood.

“Shit,” you lick the blood off your finger, wincing slightly as it rapidly flows out. 

“Sorry, I –”

“No, it’s not your fault. I wasn’t careful.” you shake your hand, grimacing at the throbbing pain. 

“Smellerbee, could you fetch the bandages?”

“What? Why me?”

“Just – do it. Please.”

Smellerbee grumbles something under his breath as he leaves.

You nurse your injured finger as it pulsates, face drawn in pain.

“You have a little something –” 

“Huh?” your gaze flickers between him and your finger, unsure of what he means. 

“Here,” his fingers graze your chin as he wipes off blood from your face – from the initial injury, when you tried to lick up the blood from your wound. 

Your face heats up as his touch lingers, skimming across your chin to your cheek. 

He’s utterly captivated, it seems. 

“Am I interrupting something?”

He snatches his hand away with a look of guilt, and you turn away. “Ah. Smellerbee.”

“...I’ll leave the bandages here.”

“Thanks.”

“.........Don’t mention it.”

He bandages your finger with deft movements. Neither of you speak a word, but nothing needs to be said. The tension between you is electric, and any onlooker can tell with a mere glance (especially after Smellerbee went and groaned about the two of you to Pipsqueak and Longshot).

After he bandages your finger, he gets up from his place at the fire. 

“You’re staying the night, right?” 

You nod.

“Smellerbee will show you to your tent.” your disappointment must be visible on your face, because he huffs a laugh. “I’m sorry I can’t. I have duties to attend to. But you’ll be here for breakfast, right?”

You nod. He seemed to have that speechless effect on you.

“Right then, uh, goodnight.” he smiles, appearing to hesitate for a moment before walking off. 

“You guys are gross.” Smellerbee mutters from beside you. 

“What?”

“Gross. Look at what you do to him. And don’t you give me that clueless look or I swear.”

Neither of you could sleep that night.

(but when you woke up there was a bright basket of fresh berries arranged with little flowers throughout it at the door of your tent. You can only wonder who sent it, and why there was a note reading “sorry about your finger, please let me make it up to you.”)

written by @atlaswav, published 3rd of March 2024

#atla #avatar the last airbender #atla live action #avatar the last airbender live action #jet atla #atla jet #jet x reader #jet drabble #it wasn't supposed to be this long #sebastian amoruso #sebastian amoruso is so MMHMETJAFK #jet #☁️. writing

[bora-panda]

The Dark King and his lieutenant 👑⚔️

I read the Dark Rise books and they're taking over my entire brain - so I had to draw Sarcean and Anharion

#Dark Heir's ending had me so distraught #I was SOBBING actually #and this is how I cope #I'll explode if the next book doesn't come out soon TT #I was originally gonna draw Will and James but how was I supposed to pass up on drawing the LONG HAIR #also the collar hehehe #i'm laughing like that wasn't the most traumatizing thing ever #Dark Rise #Dark Heir #sarcean #anharion #will kempen #james st clair #boraboop