#The shards are squabbling again...

[masterweaverx]

Victoria Dallon triggers a little later, and Taylor Hebert a little earlier. Now both wield strange superpowers, and have an odd fascination with each other...

Yeah, it's a Vicky/Taylor cluster fic. And also a Vicky/Taylor fic, probably. Honestly, this is just the setup.

[agirlsawalittlerose]

Silk Strings

Aegon x OFC

Aegon Targaryen wanted nothing to do with that cursed crown. So, he fled to Volantis, hoping to live the good life amidst spiced wine, exotic whores, and strange customs, all paid for with the gold he'd stolen from the throne. But when he awoke outside the Black Walls of East Volantis, with no memory of how he had ended up there, he found himself entangled in the machinations of the Triarchy’s elections. With the help of an unlikely ally, he would come to understand the true value of power.

TW: Eventual Smut, Non-Con, slavery, sexism, inaccurate lore, canon divergent

MASTERLIST

CHAPTER 1: Dragonlords, C**** & Tigers

Dila Maegyr sat by the latticed window of her high chamber within the Black Walls, watching as the first light of day bathed the city in molten gold. The Rhoyne, wide and brown and winding, slithered like some lazy beast through the heart of Volantis, dividing the sprawl of temples, markets, and hovels from the austere magnificence of the Old Blood. Beyond it all, the sea glimmered at the horizon, where sky and saltwater bled into one. She had known this view her whole life—from the house that had once belonged to her father, and her grandmother before him. A view she was meant to revere as the legacy of the first and greatest Valyrian daughter. And yet, to her, Volantis looked more and more like a gilded cage.

The glass caught her reflection, pale and sharp as a shard of old obsidian. Her features proud, the hair unmistakably Valyrian—silver brushed with gold. The blood of Old Valyria flowed through her veins as surely as it had flowed through dragons. Yet her eyes, blue and not violet, betrayed a distance—a remove vast as a continent.

Her thoughts, as they often did, drifted westward. Westeros. A land of squabbling kings and crumbling thrones. She had devoured every book she could find on its histories, its noble houses, its wars. It had not been easy. Her father had frowned each time she spoke of the world beyond the Narrow Sea. But in the end, he’d always given in, dismissing her fascinations as the fancies of a spoiled girl and indulging them just to keep her quiet.

Those lands fascinated her. Their disunity, their hunger for war, their constant need for petty titles and empty crowns—they were everything Valyria had once mocked and everything it had feared. How little those people must understand of true power. How blind they were to the legacy that once ruled fire and sky.

She had often wondered what she might have done in Maegor’s stead. Maegor, with his brute strength and laughable manhood, who died heirless. She had imagined herself astride Meraxes, as Rhaenys once had been—but she, Dila, was sure she would not have fallen. Again and again, she found herself dwelling on the question: what might a woman do, were she ever given the breadth of possibility afforded to men? And always, she returned to the same place—her grandmother’s house, her window seat, her unchanging view.

A sharp knock tore her from her reverie.

Her husband’s voice came before the door opened. “Dila. You’re needed.”

Qorlo did not wait for permission. He entered with the arrogance of a man accustomed to doors swinging wide for him. At thirty, he was every inch the Tiger’s prize: bold, ambitious, and handsome. His dark hair was oiled and pulled back, his robes rich with red and gold. The tiger of their faction was stitched proudly upon his chest.

Dila turned from the window but said nothing. She knew the rhythm well. There would be a gathering. Qorlo would make his appeals to the Tigers, prating about destiny and discipline, while she stood beside him like a jewel in a crown.

Valyrian. Untouched. The perfect relic of a bloodline thought divine.

“Of course I am,” she murmured, her tone dry as old parchment.

A vein twitched on Qorlo’s temple, the only crack in his perfect mask. His jaw clenched. Irritation, fleeting but real.

“My precious,” he said with false warmth, “you know sarcasm sets me on edge.” His jaw twitched again. “And I need peace, now more than ever. The elections draw near. I need you with me.”

Of course he did. She was Trianna’s granddaughter—the first woman to ever be elected in the Triarchy. Her bloodline, her beauty, her bearing—they all fed the illusion he needed. The Tigers sang songs of Valyrian supremacy, and she was their walking hymn. Her father had always called her the most beautiful woman of the Old Blood, as if that alone were a triumph. After twenty years of life in this gilded prison, she knew the game well. And she loathed it.

“And if not sarcasm,” she said coolly, “what would you have of me, husband? Empty silence?”

Qorlo's violet eyes darkened. “This is not one of your debates, Dila. Just be there.”

She smiled bitterly. The answer did not surprise her.

Rising from her seat with slow, practiced grace, she crossed the room. “Oh, poor me,” she drawled with mock despair. “My father spent coin and care on my education, and now I’m reduced to an ornament. Silent, obedient.” She reached for his robe, adjusting the fabric with idle precision.

“I see you as I need you to be,” Qorlo said, puffing his chest. “My wife. The perfect image of Valyrian purity.”

Her smile sharpened, sweet as poisoned wine. “And I’ve always been what you needed, haven’t I?”

He did not answer. The fight was old, and tired. Their quarrels had calcified into silence long ago. Now they played at war with narrowed eyes and sharpened words, both waiting for the other to misstep.

Qorlo was weak, like all men. Dila saw it in the way he strutted, in the fragile pride that ruled him. Worse still, the others did not even notice. The Tigers worshipped his boorish certainty, his plodding promises. He roared like a lion to the Elephants, whispered rot to his own—always with that smug confidence born of never being told no.

If only more women like her grandmother still ruled, the Triarchy would be something else entirely. But men were blind to their own idiocy. The Elephants were peace-dazed dreamers, soft-hearted to a fault. Trianna’s old faction had endured, yes, but without will, without bite. And the Tigers? Brutes without sense, like her father. Alios Maegyr had never been clever—but he had known one truth: the Old Blood must reign.

The squabbling of men had become noise to her ears. Their tantrums, their chest-puffing displays—they looked like boys comparing cocks.

She had tried to speak sense a couple of times. That had earned her ridicule and a few sharp whispers from Qorlo. She had learned. Now she moved from the shadows, behind veils and silks, and most of all, behind him.

With that thought, she stepped close, eyes locking with Qorlo’s as she placed a hand on his hip and slowly, deliberately, traced her tongue along his lower lip.

Qorlo sighed—then moaned, low in his throat.

A man unmade by the simplest touch.

She felt his cock stir through the folds of his robe, pressing against her thigh. And just as she was about to lean in and ask—politely, of course—that he spare her from another night among his dull-eyed allies, a commotion broke the moment.

Footsteps. Shouts. A door opening.

One of Qorlo’s guards entered, panting from the heat and something more. He bowed deeply to Dila before addressing his master.

“M’lord. M’lady. You’ll want to see this.”

Qorlo’s expression tightened. “What is it?”

“A stranger,” the guard said. “Found near the Black Walls. Never seen before. He… he bears Valyrian features. We believe he may have fallen from the Wall.”

Dila’s breath caught. Her heart beat faster—not with fear, but curiosity. She didn’t believe for a moment the man had fallen. A traveler, perhaps. A mystery. At least something to break the endless tedium of Tiger politics.

“Where was he found?” Qorlo asked.

“Near the gates,” the guard said. “He remembers nothing. Claims he has no name, no past.”

“Amnesia?” Dila tilted her head. Her voice was silk over steel.

“Aye, my lady,” the man replied. “His hair, his eyes… he looks like Old Blood, but none of us have seen his like before.”

Qorlo said nothing for a heartbeat, then another. Dila could see the wheels grinding behind his violet gaze. A Valyrian stranger, nameless and wandering? A trick of the gods—or a threat, come at the worst time.

“Bring him,” Qorlo said at last.

The guard bowed again and left.

Dila remained still, her lips parted ever so slightly. Her mind was already spinning, leaping ahead. A stranger in the city. A man with their face but not their name. Something new had entered their stale world.

And gods, how she loved a disruption.

*****

Aegon felt the dry heat of the Volantene sun press through the cool stone of the estate. Even indoors, it clung to him, seeping into his bones. He shifted on the low-backed chair in the great hall, aching from days of wandering. His throat was raw, his head ached with a dull, persistent throb that had stalked him since waking on the city's outskirts.

His last clear memory was barely more than fragments. The scent of jasmine. A red-haired whore whose mouth had cost him a fortune—soft lips, clever tongue, laughter like bells. Then: darkness.

When he’d come to, the world felt... shifted. The sea breeze was gone, replaced by scorched air. And in the distance, the Black Walls of Volantis loomed like the ribs of some slumbering beast. Disoriented and hungover, he’d stumbled toward the gates, until a guard found him.

Now he sat across from the estate’s master—a man called Qorlo.

He was tall, broad, with the unmistakable stamp of Old Valyria: violet eyes, the kind that saw too much. He studied Aegon not like a man greeting a guest, but like a predator unsure if its prey might bite back.

“You don’t remember how you came here?” Qorlo asked, voice mild, but eyes sharp.

Aegon hesitated, fingers curling slightly around the armrest. “I remember… flashes,” he said, evenly. “Wind. Water. Then nothing. Even my name… it escapes me.”

He glanced up through a messy fall of silver hair, expression blank, rehearsed. Just dazed enough.

Qorlo frowned, pacing like a man who smelled blood but hadn’t yet decided where to sink his teeth. “You look Valyrian, boy,” he muttered, more to himself than to Aegon. “Hair. Eyes. Blood.”

Aegon said nothing. He didn’t need to. His mind—clearer than he let on—drifted homeward. To the throne that should have been his. The war that would’ve followed. The name that choked him even in sleep. He remembered shouting at his brother before leaving: “I have no wish to rule! No taste for duty! I'm not suited!”

And so he had fled.

There was bitter irony in the way Qorlo hovered near him now, close enough to inspect the color of his eyes, to touch a lock of silver hair. The very features he’d tried to escape marked him more clearly here than in Westeros: in Volantis, blood was more important than names or fathers.

Aegon had wanted to forget who he was—to drown the name, the shame, the legacy in wine and cunt and quiet anonymity.

But blood was louder than silence.

Qorlo’s gaze had already turned calculating. Aegon recognized the expression. A man weighing whether he’d found a weapon—or a threat.

Then the door opened.

Aegon turned—and breath caught hard in his throat.

She stepped into the room like she belonged to it. Silver-gold hair cascaded down her back in shining waves, skin pale as moonlight, and her eyes—storm-sea blue—locked on him with quiet authority. She moved like a queen, no, like a goddess, her presence slicing clean through the air.

Rhaenyra might have once been the realm’s delight, but this woman—this woman was something more. She didn’t belong to a realm. She was meant to belong to the entire world.

Their eyes met. Aegon felt his mind go still. Words drained out of him—names, languages, memory—all vanished under the weight of that stare. Her gaze was appraising, cool, curious. He felt seen in a way that scraped.

She approached Qorlo, not sparing Aegon another glance. “What’s his family name?” she asked, her voice smooth, slightly amused, as if speaking about a stray animal brought in from the street.

“He claims he doesn’t remember,” Qorlo replied. “Found near the Black Walls. He’s got the look of the Old Blood, but no name.”

“I don’t remember it,” Aegon said quickly—too quickly—desperate to be acknowledged. The words hung there, awkward, pathetic. He hated how eager he sounded.

The woman’s eyes flicked back to him, studying him like a specimen. Aegon kept his face still. Just lost enough. Just uncertain enough.

“Strange,” she murmured, tilting her head. A smile ghosted across her lips.

But Aegon felt something behind the word—Strange. Not a comment. A verdict.

It was as if she saw through every lie he’d told on this journey—and maybe even some he hadn’t said aloud.

She turned to Qorlo. “We should keep him.”

Aegon blinked.

Keep him?

Did she think he was a fucking stray cat?

He almost laughed, but the shame crawled up his spine too fast. Maybe he had become one. Maybe that was safer than being a prince. Or worse, a king.

Qorlo raised an eyebrow. “Keep him?”

She nodded, still watching Aegon. “Think, husband. The ancestors send us a son of Valyria on the eve of the elections. That’s no coincidence. He has every mark—hair, eyes, bone structure. We could use him.”

Qorlo’s expression darkened with intrigue. “And what do we do with a man who has no name?”

“Names can be given,” she said simply, lips curling, lightly tracing her husband's arm with her delicate hand. “What matters is that he’s here. The people will see him. They’ll believe. The old souls send their lambs to the right shepherds.”

Qorlo considered her words. Aegon was certain that man's cock was playing the same trick on him as his own was.

Then, at last, he nodded.

“He stays. For now.”

Aegon let out a slow breath. He’d bought himself time.

But Dila’s gaze lingered, and something twisted in his gut. He could feel the weight of her mind against him, the pressure of something unseen.

He had stepped out of one cage—and straight into another.

Aegon had watched as Qorlo and his wife passed beyond the great bronze doors of the palace, the sound of their closing reverberating like a final command: stay. And stay he did, though it still struck him as absurd. Not the command—he had heard worse issued with fewer words—but that it had worked. That he’d landed here, of all places. Not a cell. Not a brothel gutter. But here.

Only hours ago, he’d been half-drunk and wholly pitiful, tunic torn at the hem, piss-stale with sweat, the pounding behind his eyes worse than any jailer’s cudgel. He’d overpaid that whore—of that he was sure—but wasn’t that the price of freedom? He might as well enjoy it.

He’d been bathed since. Fed. Dressed. Scrubbed clean of stench and shame, or most of it. And that night, he’d sleep in a bed not far from the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

Not bad.

After all, everyone knew how little the Volantenes cared for monogamy.

He leaned back and took in the splendor of Qorlo’s palace, letting a slow, crooked smile creep across his lips. Fate, for once, had decided to stop pissing in his wine. Even his worst qualities and those famed and foolish traits the Targaryens were known for, had served him. At last.

Thilior, one of the household slaves assigned to him, had shown him the estate with grim precision. He was lean and fine-boned, with a shaven head and the eerie politeness of those born into bondage. He moved as though every step had been rehearsed.

"This stone," he’d said softly, pressing his palm to a wall veined in black, “is older than the Black Walls. Brought here from the isles near the Smoking Sea, before the Doom, by the Maegyrs, Lady Dila’s kin.”

Aegon had feigned interest until then. That detail made him look again.

“Lady Dila?” he asked, simply, hoping Thilior would continue.

The slave nodded—confirming both her name and the fact that the palace was hers, not her husband's.

Aegon found that… interesting. Qorlo walked with the air of a warlord, yet the house bent around her.

He wandered now, letting his feet choose their course. The palace was a shrine to Valyrian arrogance. Every column, every mosaic, spoke of dominion—of dragons and gods, of a time when men did not ask for power, only took it. Carved stone arches bore the shapes of beasts long vanished, twisted and glorious. In Westeros, they buried such pride beneath prayer and pretense. Not here. Here, wealth did not blush.

He passed beneath a colonnade Thilior had called the Blood Gallery. Painted eyes watched him from every wall, a dozen generations of Maegyrs rendered in onyx and lapis. One man, gaunt and grim, reminded Aegon of his father—not the softness, but the mouth. The mouth looked like it had never learned how to properly speak.

The floors were slick beneath his boots. Marble, polished to mirror shine. It felt unnatural, this hush. King's Landing had never been silent—every stone there plotted, and every whisper meant danger. But here, no one watched him. No one asked anything of him.

Except, of course, for his freedom.

He snorted at the thought.

The air was cool, preserved by thick walls against the sweltering breath of Volantis. Incense still clung to the rafters, remnants of a ritual held the night before. Thilior had pointed out the curled ash in the shrine room, the dark splash of wine at a goddess’s feet—one Aegon did not know.

He paused before a tapestry depicting the Doom. Dragons twisting through fire. Cities crumbling to ash. Aegon ran a finger across the woven flame.

Father would have loved this. So much for your happy ending, you dragonlord cunts.

As he drifted deeper into the halls, the grandeur only grew. Pillars wound like serpents, ceilings so high they vanished into shadow. Windows were narrow, meant to keep the sun out, not the view in. Every surface gleamed: floors of black onyx, silver fixtures, furniture inlaid with pearl.

He let his hand graze a wall of cool marble. He could pretend this was part of some plan. That he had meant to end up here, in a palace built by men greater than him. But he knew better.

Thilior, oddly, had spoken of everything except the woman. The marble and the drapery, yes. The ivy and the stones and the vines—gods, the man had listed the provenance of every plant as though it mattered. Aegon had endured it the way he had endured most things in his youth: by imagining how to escape.

Only when he asked directly had Thilior said anything at all.

“She is intelligent.”

That was all. No title. No praise. No gossip. Just the word, uttered with a strange reverence.

Intelligent.

Aegon had thought little of it at the time. But now, pacing her corridors, drifting just beyond the orbit of her world, that word felt heavier.

He wondered what she saw when she looked at him.

He decided to find out.

He found Thilior near a crescent colonnade, standing with hands folded, eyes lowered in that peculiar stillness only servants mastered. He inclined his head.

“This is the Wester Chamber,” he said, gesturing toward a narrow balcony veiled in flowering ivy. “Lord Qorlo dines here when the heat permits. He says the river winds remind him of his youth—when air was the only luxury he could afford.”

That struck Aegon as oddly poetic. He leaned on the balustrade, peering into the gardens below, now lit by bowls of flame.

“Poor?” he asked, casting a glance over his shoulder. “I’d have thought he came from old blood.”

Thilior hesitated—only slightly, but enough.

“Lord Qorlo was born to no name,” he said. “He entered the Tigers young. Fifteen, perhaps less. He rose quickly. Some say it was the favor of Rh’lorr. Others say he simply feared nothing. But it was not bloodshed that lifted him—it was the favor of Alios Maegyr.”

“Dila’s father?”

“The late Master.” Thilior’s voice took on the cadence of rote, as if repeating a litany. “He saw something in Lord Qorlo. Charm. Courage. Devotion. Some say all three. When his fortunes turned and his debts mounted, he offered his daughter’s hand. The wedding was held beneath the Shadowed Dome. A rare honor, even among the old blood.”

Aegon arched a brow. “That’s one way to marry power.”

Thilior said nothing, but there was the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth. “Lord Qorlo said, compared to his first marriage, this one felt like a dream the gods had dreamt for him.”

Thilior’s gaze dropped, though not fast enough to hide the flicker of something. Uncertainty, perhaps.

“He was wed before?” Aegon asked.

“There was another,” Thilior said softly. “From the Merchant’s Quarter. But such unions are not binding in Volantis—not when blood of the Old is offered. The Maegyr claim prevails. And the poor woman didn’t live long enough to see this palace, anyway.”

Aegon hid his grin. So the rumors were true. In Volantis, vows were worth less than coin.

He leaned back, casual. “Seems generous. Is it common here, to keep more than one wife?”

Thilior looked up. His voice held the even tone of someone long accustomed to dangerous questions.

“Volantis is old. Older than vows. Older than temples. In the days of the Freehold, men kept wives in fours and fives—if they bore strong sons or clever ones. It is rare now, among the nobility. But… affection often wanders where contracts do not.”

Affection, Aegon mused. Is that what they call it?

He thought of Dila again—silent, sharp-eyed, her beauty so soft but severe, a blade’s edge beneath velvet.

What do they call it when the wife wanders?

But he did not dare to ask. Not yet.

Instead, he exhaled and looked toward the garden, where dusk burned the sky orange and gold.

He could still feel her gaze from earlier. Measured. Dismissive. Curious, maybe. There had been something. He’d felt it.

With practiced nonchalance, he flicked imagined dust from his sleeve. “And Lady Dila?” he asked. “I’d wager a woman like her doesn’t lack admirers.”

Thilior tilted his head, but his tone remained unchanged. “None who speak of it. None who remain, if they try.”

Aegon turned slightly. “Oh?”

“Lord Qorlo does not share what is his,” Thilior said. “He holds Lady Dila in the highest regard. Their bond is… singular.”

Aegon clenched his teeth behind a smile.

Singular. Of course it is. The rich cunt’s not just powerful—he’s loyal, too.

He forced a chuckle. “Singular. In a city with temples of concubines and pleasure houses on every street, that’s rare.”

Thilior bowed his head. “Rare. But not unheard of. Lord Qorlo was not born to the customs of nobility. He chose differently.”

That’s one way to put it, Aegon thought, jaw tight.

He’d been building fantasies from the moment he saw her. And now? Qorlo was clearly obsessed. In love. The worst kind of man to cuckold.

Aegon stared beyond the palace walls, at rooftops hidden beneath the darkening sky. Somewhere beyond, Volantis moaned with its usual pleasures. But here, locked behind bloodline and stone, he was stuck.

Well, he thought bitterly, so much for seducing the most dangerous woman in the East. Should’ve stayed drunk in Lys.

He gave Thilior a sideways glance and muttered, “And here I thought Volantis was the city of freedom.”

Thilior did not answer. He didn’t need to. The silence spoke for him.

As Aegon turned to go, Thilior inclined his head with that ever-gracious, unreadable smile.

“If there’s aught you need, our dear guest, you’ve but to ask,” he said smoothly. “In Volantis, we pride ourselves on hospitality. Especially for... people of such distinction.”

He paused, just long enough to let the air thicken between them.

“Though I do hope you’ll find ways to enjoy your stay. It may be... longer than expected.”

There was no edge to the words, no threat—only silk and certainty.

Aegon managed a nod, but something in his gut had gone leaden.

Longer than expected.

He heard the words again as he stepped out into the corridor, where the air was cooler but no easier to breathe. People of such distinction. He hadn’t missed the emphasis, nor the way Thilior’s smile never reached his eyes.

He wasn’t a guest. He was a prize. A token. A gilded leash wrapped in pleasantries.

And the thought of Lady Dila was just another one of the chains. There’d be time for whores and daydreams once he knew who held the keys. For now, he needed to think. To listen.

To stop acting like a drunk with a cock and start thinking like what he was: a golden prisoner.

*****

Dila stood beside Qorlo, her husband’s hand resting lightly on the curve of her waist as they entered the grand pavilion. The Tigers had outdone themselves tonight. Silks of every hue cascaded from the pavilion beams like captured fire, stirred by the breeze off the Rhoyne. The air shimmered with the scent of myrrh and lotus, burning in golden braziers. Tables sagged beneath the weight of meats glazed in saffron, plums soaked in almond milk, and spiced fruits from as far east as Yi Ti. Everything screamed wealth, taste, power—and desperation.

Qorlo moved with the confidence expected of a man poised to win the Triarchy, but Dila could read the tension beneath the facade. His smile was courtly, his gestures deliberate, but the slight clench of his fingers on her waist told the truth. The elections loomed like a two-headed dragon: opportunity and annihilation.

“Look at them,” he murmured, nodding toward a cluster of Tigers in golden-threaded robes, the snarling beast of their faction sewn over their hearts. Necklaces of jade, rubies, and fossilized amber weighed down their throats like chains. “Each one thinks himself the savior of Volantis.”

Dila smiled thinly. She knew them too well—old men wrapped in the skins of their ancestors, clutching power with manicured fingers. Many had once toasted her father in this very hall, back when the Maegyrs had been the soul of the Tiger cause. Now they eyed her husband with velvet-coated contempt and ambition too large to stay hidden. Volantis ran on blood, legacy, and opportunism—and in this room, all three were on display like whored-out relics.

As they moved deeper into the tent, Dila let her gaze sweep across the assembly. These were the descendants of the Freehold—silver hair braided with gold thread, amethyst eyes glowing like half-doused lanterns, skin pale as bone ash. But never all three together. The Old Blood had thinned, even within the Black Walls. They wore their Valyrian heritage like a costume—exquisite, meaningless.

“Qorlo, you’ve kept us waiting,” came a booming voice ahead. Sallario Vaenaros. His fortunes had waned in recent decades—lost lands, lost sons—but his influence still lingered like perfume on a corpse. He stepped forward, arms open, teeth bared in a smile that didn’t touch his calculating eyes.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, old friend,” Qorlo replied smoothly, returning the embrace. The two men clasped arms like allies, but it felt more like predators circling one another.

Sallario turned to Dila. “And Lady Dila. Still the most beautiful jewel in the city.”

She inclined her head in cool acknowledgement, offering no smile in return “You flatter me, my lord. If I may—”

Sallario waved a hand with effortless courtesy, not unkind but wholly dismissive. “Another time, dear.”

Dila’s expression remained serene, but inwardly she seethed. He respected her legacy—he wouldn’t dare not to—but he’d brushed her aside the way they always did. As if her words couldn’t shape the future of Volantis.

As the men exchanged pleasantries, Dila tuned them out, letting her attention slip into the currents beneath the surface. The room was full of masks. Men laughed too loudly, drank too fast, and whispered too often. Every toast was a threat; every compliment, a coin wagered. The Tigers were always playing, and tonight the board was more crowded than ever.

“Come, Qorlo,” Sallario said at last, gesturing toward a curtained alcove tucked behind a column of red marble. “There are matters we must speak of.”

They followed. As they entered, Dila’s fingers slipped from Qorlo’s arm, and she moved like a shadow behind him. Her gaze instinctively swept the room—noticing the wives and concubines of the other Tigers arranged like prized ornaments, seated on cushions, their painted faces trained into polite amusement.

The alcove was quieter, but not silent—just hushed enough for secrets to be spoken. Men lounged on low couches, and almost instantly, slaves appeared with goblets of summerwine and platters of sweetmeats and smoked eel.

“You’ve been quiet, Qorlo,” purred Seriyon Draxos, lounging with one ankle crossed over his knee. His voice dripped with performative boredom. “One would think you had nothing new to offer.”

Qorlo chuckled. “On the contrary. I have something none of you will believe.”

Skepticism flared behind their eyes. These were men who had heard too many promises, sold too many lies.

Sallario folded his hands. “Let’s hear it, then.”

Qorlo leaned forward, eyes steady. “A Valyrian. A true one. Not just Old Blood—not a name or a title or a half-breed playing dress-up—but a man who bears every mark of our ancestors.”

A brief silence followed. Then laughter—quiet, indulgent, dismissive.

“There are no true Valyrians left,” Seriyon said, waving a hand. “Not outside the Black Walls. And those within are barely more than inbred ghosts.”

“But what if there was one?” Dila’s voice cut through the dismissal like a dagger dipped in honey. She let it linger in the space, soft but impossible to ignore.

They turned to her.

Qorlo turned to her sharply, his brow creasing. “Dila—”

She ignored him.

“What if,” she continued, her tone cool, almost reverent, “the gods sent us a sign? Not a fable, not a carving on a wall, but a man. A living, breathing echo of what we once were. Of what we could be again.”

Qorlo’s mouth tightened. He shot her a warning glance, but then paused—because Sallario was listening. Seriyon was listening. They all were.

Seriyon raised an eyebrow. “You speak in riddles, Lady Dila.”

She smiled now, slow and deliberate. “The Vala. The Lost Son of Valyria.”

A hush fell.

“He appeared at our gates,” she went on, “unbidden. Unclaimed. A man of firelight hair, eyes like molten amethyst, and skin so pale it reflects the moon. Not one of your drowsy cousins or bastard nephews. Something older. Purer.”

Their expressions shifted—some doubtful, others already seduced by the possibility. These were men who worshipped blood more than gods. Dila saw it taking root: not belief, not yet, but desire. That was enough.

“Why?” Sallario asked. “Why would such a man come to you?”

Dila met his gaze. “Because Qorlo is ready to lead and the gods know it. They know Volantis is rotting in its own inheritance—what better time for legend to walk again?”

“Do you truly believe it?” Seriyon asked, but the challenge had dulled.

“I believe,” Dila said simply, “that once you look into his eyes, you will.”

Qorlo nodded, seizing the moment. “Come and see for yourselves. Look upon him, and tell me if you do not feel the stirrings of our ancestors in your blood. The gods have spoken, and they have sent us a sign.”

Murmurs rose around the alcove. A slow shift in gravity. Interest coiling into ambition.

Dila reclined against the cushions, her face serene, but her pulse thrummed with victory.

Now the seeds were sown.

All that remained was to see if they would take root.

[demon-dm-22]

It's #khocweek! And here are my (adopted)siblings for day one.

Art of Kin-kin Takehanta by @leekiings

Art of Korey Takehanta and Sol by @idiot-caricigarette

Kin-kin is a Xehanort clone who's dna was mixed up with Subject X. Her "uncle" found her, panicked and split her heart into 7 pieces as an infant. He then gave her to Kin-kins adopted father and threw the pieces far into the split realm of light.

Two of these holders, Emerald and Damien Hallow (I'll post them soon) followed the small child and gave their pieces back.

Kin-kin knows she's adopted. She knows she's missing pieces but she's unaware of her origins at the start of her TTRPG. Her "sister" is a piece of her heart encompassing Bravery, Nikki whom I'm sure some of you have seen with Vanitas.

Kinkin likes playing drums in a band with her brother. Her favorite animals are reptiles and amphibious creatures. Her world, Dawnbreaker Mountain is very much inspired by Gravity falls complete with woods, mountains and lakes.

She's outgoing and respectful but a little odd and quirky. She's sensitive and hates fighting unless it means helping others. She is very empathetic with those who have been affected by Darkness and tends to feel soft towards heartless and nobodies. She's about 19 when she starts her journey to find her shards with Korey and three new friends.

Korey (seen here with his friend Sol-an Oc of @queen-with-the-quill on the other hand is about 16. A rainbow baby, he was born a few years after their parents adopted Kin-kin. He's a showboat. Outgoing, spectacular but tends to favor himself in regaling stories. He has a strange spell cast on him that prevents his damaging magic from working and can only heal.

He likes pizza, sports, music and just being a punky teenager. He's obsessed with cryptids and mythical creatures, especially dragons.

He works two jobs to earn munny and still can help his parents bakery. He's extremely polite until he gets to know people then tends to be a bit mischievous.

He wants to explore worlds so much that he unknowingly can transport himself through the dark corridors with the protection of one of Kin-Kin's pieces. He's afraid of Darkness and a bit if who he really is.

He loves Kin-kin a lot but they definitely are still siblings and squabble often. The two know sign language together and have silent arguments with one another.

Korey adopted a Cornish Rex, tuxedo pattern they named Mozzarella.

Here's some fun posts of some art of them!

Im so excited to share these dorks with you! For @khoc-week !

My ttrpg with my friends starts in 3 weeks! I'll be sure to share notes as it goes along. Thanks again <3

Looking forward to seeing all the fun OCs this week!

[moonfall-wreckage]

Frosty Reunion Part 2

Part 1

Jay had forgotten how cold Crystal liked it. It may have been a chilly day out, autumn turning to winter as he'd been a prisoner to his sister, but her base was kept somewhere around sixty degrees Fahrenheit. Memories of bickering over the thermostat surfaced. Jay shivered, his injured side aching, as he picked at his food, glancing up at Crys as often as he dared. He wanted to dissect every similarity and change from the last six years.

The dining hall was vast, designed to accommodate a lot more guests than just him. The marble flooring was a pale blue ribboned with purple and silver. The walls and room accents were dark expensive wood. Huge colored glass windows sent kaleidescopes of pale color--a watercolor mix of purple, blue, and pink hues--scattering across the floor. Drapes and tapestries hung heavy on the walls, startingly white with lots of lace and beading. They had to be hand-sewn. Crystal had always loved interior design.

The banquet table could've fit at least fifty people. Crystal had positioned him two seats down from her right hand, ankles shackled to the chair but arms free. He wasn't certain how much he should read into the fact that it was his traditional seat from their family table growing up.

It was weird being alone with Crystal, well, Frost now. The only sounds between them light clinking of cutlery and the shifting sounds of the papers Crystal was going through.

"Food not sitting well with you?" Crystal asked disinterestedly, eyes fixed on her work.

Jay shrugged. "It's good. I don't feel much like eating." The words were easy to get out, at odds with the knots in his stomach. He didn't know what to do in the silence but he felt even less equipped to handle small talk with Frost.

"You know, you never mentioned what your powers are." She said it as nonchalant as a comment on the weather.

"I have intuition or, like, a sixth sense." He slipped into his explanation like he was helping her with homework. Trivial, easy, comfortable. "It gives me an edge in a fight and telling if someone is lying but in the grand scheme of powered individuals it's not that impressive."

"Huh," she muttered, noncommittal. "Explains some ancient squabbles." There was the smallest trace of a smile in her voice.

Something was wrong. Why had he just blurted that out with no filter whatsoever. "What--"

"So, can you still put away chili dogs like you're a competitive eater at the fair?"

The question was painful in the same way just looking at his sister was painful. Looking for Crystal but seeing only Frost, reality splintered by lost time. "Yeah." It spilled out, regardless of the unease tightening in his chest.

"I'll have to put a special request in to my kitchen staff. They don't often get to widen their horizons from gourmet and delicacies. They'll have fun with the change of pace. Where is your team base?"

"Under the Salt Springs building." His gut squeezed, anxiety cutting him like broken shards of glass. "Why can't I--"

"What's Crimson Plague afraid of?"

"They hate..." He ground his jaw shut, jabbing a fork into the back of his hand for good measure, focusing on the pain so he would shut up.

A concerned light flickered across Frost's face, there and gone in a heartbeat. "No, no, none of that. What would mom say?"

"If mom even noticed, she'd tell me I'm not on the menu and to think about my little sister." His hands started shaking.

"Yes, she would. Terrible example, as ever. Crimson Plague's fears?" Frost prompted again.

Jay stuffed his mouth full of bread but he couldn't stem the words. He ended up choking, coughing up the food and the answers that Frost wanted at the same time. "They're claustrophobic. And they hate needles."

There was a lull. Jay met Frost's eyes over the table. She gestured vaguely to his glass. "Drink."

Without a second thought, his hand shot out to take the glass, another hijacking of his will. The water did soothe his throat and he was able to stop coughing. "Please don't do this, Crystal. My friends--" Tears lingered on his face, not just from his coughing fit.

"Hm, Crimson Plague's civillian identity?"

Frost continued to throw questions at him, the answers spewing out, honest and unhindered. Every time she spoke, words were tugged from him, compelled forth like he was a puppet on her strings.

Crystal dropped the pretense of eating or working and focused solely on him. Her glassy pale eyes roamed over him, taking in every twitch and tic as he spilled his guts to her, betraying everything he believed in, everyone he cared about.

It went on for hours, the food long since gone cold and dry in front of them. Jay gave Frost his whole team's profiles of weaknesses, fears, secrets, loved ones, anything and everything Frost thought to ask or even just imply.

"What a good boy you are." She walked over to him to pat his shoulder consolingly. "See you tomorrow. Family dinner is an important ritual, after all." She kissed his cheek and her footsteps started to recede.

"Wait! Crys--Frost," he corrected himself bitterly, "what are you going to do?"

Her light laugh tinkled through the empty cavernous hall. "Still underestimating me. Maybe next time, think twice before you eat up truth serum offered on a silver platter. Literally." He could feel her roll her eyes, the edge in her voice sharp enough to slice him open.

He was left alone, chained to his seat, his betrayal echoing endlessly around the hall. He grabbed every piece of china he could reach and threw it mercilessly to the floor. By the time Frost's man showed up to move him back to his cell there was a pile of dusted glass, porcelain shards, and silverware. A physical representation of the mess he'd made.

Family dinner had never felt so hollow.

[aidsyouinthinking]

Poem: our ever dissorded thoughts

My brain stews,

With don'ts 'an dos;

Chewing on those half truths.

Feeling gone; all goes but blues,

A Jackinthebox for my personal news:

Wind and wind the music play,

To creep, and irk, an otherwise plesant day.

Wind and wind behind at bay;

I weep- they lurk, mocking wise words

That They won't say...

But I feel them, and know them,

But me Knowing they condemn.

I have to claw at my throat,

Tear tendon till on blood I float,

And rench with my caloused hand

Out past their placed gasteic band.

Or if they wish to throw me a bone,

They'll just past it me whilst I'm alone,

Perhaps they find me ever squabbling

to that silver thread oh so amusing

maybe they are really really trying

so hard to help but forever failing

but now?

But now I know, either way...

well, another step anyway;

For if they are a They at all,

Or other questions that befall:

Introspective and monumental,

Is when to knees I fall to forever bawl,

And crawl into ball and drawl and brawl;

For for me you see

I do not emote the same as you

Or perhaps you do~

Please talk to me

Achem...

But to me it's distant like it's taking the mick

It's called being alexithymic~

And burst goes the bubble and the weasle too

As now to light something new, and too; me anew

Yes with every

Revelation

A new me

Self-Revolution

A carousel goes up and down

But it also turns around

From face to face some a frown

We shift and switch it's a bitc-

...

Fuck.

We again and a shudder to boot!..

If emotions are too strong,

we sing song and strum lute

Muscles follow root to where they belong

It's never perfect, often a mess,

but we do get to what we must address

Where were we?

We weren't!

We we we, don't you see!?

Well rather you don't!

Do not personify the fog,

Or the faluty machinations;

Breath no life into our backlog:

Chastising bastardisations:

Canvas colours swapped with lapdog;

It's just sensations arbitrary relations!

We're segmented dissonant wires, not shards!

But look at you, you idiot,

you're saying our and we

Oh, so so clearly

Some part of you can agree

Own the dread

Cuz you said

We...

And we.

We are sick and tired

Of always being fired

To gallows every day

With nought even a say

...

Where we're we?

I'm so lost

So lost

This vast empty breathless void seeps everywhere

I wish we were okay...

Just do it... be okay...

But we'll never know what to say

And no one else is coming to help today

Or tomorrow

Or the day after

I'm always fixing things, it's only me, oh so loney.

But at least... I have me? Frankly, not very...

Good company...

We didn't even get to the bit about how I can't talk feelings in drama cuz It's a place I used to mask, and changing my behaviour now feels like it did then

A burdend.

Oh Guess I did it :p

Back to "I" again... aye? Hmmm alr... fair...

[hermesserpent-stuff]

Hi!! wrote a scene in the future of transmutation of the soul involving gods. so many gods.

Tyr quietly watches the mirror with Vidar. They watch their charges with worried eyes. Hiccup is currently sleeping off his pain from his takedown of the evil Queen that had so long plagued Berk. Dagur paces and is pinned by a worried Haelan. Vidar reaches out and presses his hand against the reflection of Hiccup. But there is only so much they can do as gods who have nothing to do with healing. Tyr knows that Vadir is lending strength for resilience, but Hiccup may not wake for a long time. And the little mortal’s mind is now beyond their reach. While still holding dominion over most of Hiccup’s soul, a part of it belongs to another set of gods. The gods of dragons. What they want, neither Norse god knows.

Tyr sighs and rises from the table grabbing his spear. He begins to move through practice forms. He breathes slowly with his modified movements, letting his spear twirl around his body. He jabs and slices, dancing around his body. Having one hand did not limit the strength and control of his movements, not after having so much time to practice. 

He tries to think of a solution for their devotees. Something to get the hunters to stop hunting and realize that the boys are still alive and still need them. They had come so close! But now there are so many complications including the dragons. Not that the Night Fury or Thornridge were bad, just that it made it harder to get the hunters to see beyond what they observe. 

He twists and then jabs out as he hears the cascading tune of panpipes. A man with winged sandals and a tunic floats in the air with a vibrant smile. He puts tanned hands on the tip of the spear and gently pushes it down.

“Now is that any way to greet a messenger?”

The man chirps and flips away honey-brown hair that had escaped his winged helmet. Tyr twirls the spear away and his face settles into controlled neutrality. Vidar stands silently at his side, his hands moving.

“-Mercury of Rome.-”

Vidar introduces.

“What is a Roman messenger doing here? Is Jupiter prepping for war?”

Tyr hopes not even as he asks. The Vikings have enough going on without the empire pressing their borders again. Mercury laughs merrily and shakes his head as he floats backward a bit.

“Oh no, Juno and him are too deep in another squabble for the gods to be bored enough to push for expansion for a while. But!~ If you do something for me, I’ll make sure you're the first to know if the Emporer or any of the gods in Rome’s pantheon get a bee in their bonnet about going to war with you and yours.”

Tyr taps the ground with his spear, frowning deeply.

“And that favor would be?”

Mercury leans back the air and clicks his tongue against his teeth. 

“Well, I should give the message before I ask for favors, shouldn't I? I do fear that the carriage has gone before the horse.”

He chirps and Tyr huffs in irritation. 

“Choose one and spit it out.”

“Aww, the Norse gods, succinct and blunt. Less time wasted than the Romans, I suppose.”

He shrugs and sits on the air, rummaging through his side satchel. 

“I'll give the message first. Now! Seeing as your messenger gods and beings are busy and the dragons don't have one that has the gift of tongues like me~!” 

He pulls out a handful of flames, earth, and ice shards, twisting it a bit.

“-You mean the dragons sent a message? They never send messages.-”

Vadir’s hands move rapidly and Mercury croons.

“Now they do! Not that I fully understand the message, I’m just here to deliver it. So they say, loosely translated of course, that Hiccup’s soul partially is theirs due to his crowning and killing of evil. He is now a nest queen with a lot of the benefits and responsibilities thereof. Therefore they want to work with you to help Dagur and Hiccup join with the Grimborns.”

Mercury snaps his free hand and the ice, fire, and earth vanish, replaced with two amulets. 

“Annnndddd due to a favor they gave to me, I swiped the ingredients to make these. They let you transform into ravens that can easily enter the mortal realm. Aside from that, there isn't really any more message. I guess you'll have to figure out the rest on your own.”

He laughs merrily and holds out the amulets. Tyr hesitantly takes the amulets, neither Vidar nor he fully trusting a foreign god. 

“I see. And the favor you wanted to ask of us outside the message?”

Mercury pauses and his feet touch the ground, revealing that the Roman is shorter than the two of them. His silver eyes grow heavy as he places his hands together. They come apart with silvery threads of magic connecting the two. A woman appears in the circle and it seems to be a peek into the mortal realm. Tyr recognizes her as the oatcake seller from the Northern Markets who was kind to the boys, secretly giving them discounts whenever they dropped by.

“Look out for her. She is one of my most loyal followers, and… she is so distant from where my base of power is, so it is hard to answer all her calls. Not that she seems to truly mind, but I would rather she had local guardians when Jupiter asks me to save his latest fling from Juno.”

Tyr nods handing his spear to Vidar.

“It is done, we will do what we can for her.”

He holds out his arm to Mercury. Mercury grins and takes the forearm of the god of war. 

“Thanks my friend~! I'll be back sometime soon~”

He sings and giggles, floating a bit as the fings on his shoes flap. Pan pipes ring out and Mercury vanishes in a cloud of silver sparks.

“-Strange.-”

“Agreed.” 

But now they can go to the mortal realm easily. 

[screamintoad]

Lost Souls

Chapter Seven

Riverbank

  A bright light shot out of the water where Iris and Karissa disappeared. Wynter and Émeric covered their eyes as the light increased in intensity, yet after a few moments it dimmed and there stood Iris and Karissa. She swayed and fell into Iris as she went unconscious. Iris gave the two ghouls a hard look, they were rubbing their eyes from the pain of looking right at the light. “Boys!” She called, “Come make yourselves useful.” Wynter walked over first while Émeric groaned and lumbered behind. “She appears to have lost consciousness.” Iris stated. “Again?!” Émeric exclaimed. Wynter sighed and picked Karissa up from Iris’ grasp. He held her with one arm on her shoulders and the other under her knees. “It is probably for the best.” Iris commented. Émeric looked between Karissa and Iris. 

“It is your responsibility now. And hers.” 

“What?! We never agreed to-“  

“Time is running out.” She sneered, “It is already awake. It is only a matter of time before it finds the last two shards. You know this, Émeric, Wynter.” The latter pursed his lips, “So are you leaving? Just like that?” He criticized. “Your supplies In Émeric’s mirror should last until you get to Arianrdom.” Émeric scoffed, “You’re not even leaving a mount-“ “You know why.” Iris hissed, “Stop being difficult and do as you’re told.” The two young men looked at each other, one looking considerably more frustrated than the other. “Keep her alive and out of evils hands. Until someone else can do it for you. Protect one soul reaper. Does this seem like a task you can see through?” Iris’ voice held exasperation. Émeric grit his teeth. “…Yes.” Wynter replied. Iris nodded, “Brilliant.” Blue markings began glowing all over her body, “And, Émeric, remember…” her eyes went shock white, “keep your restraint.” In a flash of light she was gone.

*****

  “What was that?” A man with a dark complexion and dark hair questioned as him and a few others watched the bright beam of light dim and dissipate. “Trouble.” Kade replied and took a puff of his cigar. “Did you bring it over, Kade?” The first man, his brother Garnet, wondered. Kade rolled his eyes, “Oh, shut up.” A girl who looked like she was in her late teens sighed as she watched the two squabble, “It doesn’t matter. Whatever it was, it was nearby. We need to be prepared to move.” “The roads are active again, Luca.” Kade stated.

“We should lay low for a while. It might get ugly.” Kade advised.

“It already IS ugly! We’ve had to relocate seven times since you went on your little vacation.” Garnet scoffed.

Kade’s eye twitched, “‘Vacation’? I was trapped in a city with a dark mage! I kept in touch!”

“Then you should know that we’d better keep moving!”

  Luca shook her head at her father and uncle arguing. Her complexion matched her father’s but, she had patches of lighter skin, vitiligo, and her eyes were two different colors. One blue and one brown. She turned to the tall young man beside her. His hair was a dark gray with darker streaks along the front fringe, his eyes were a dark yellow. He wore a long blue-gray tunic with brown pants. But the most striking part about him, were his wings. He was an arial with large gray wings. The man stood straight but he felt awkward. His face twisted in confusion, “Should I leave?” He asked. Luca shook her head, “Just ignore them.” “…Okay.” He mumbled. He shifted on his feet before he asked, “Are there anymore supplies that I need to take or am I free to return to Arianrdom?” Luca shrugged, “I think that’s everything, Zyrian. But you should probably wait before moving on.” She turned her head to look at a hooded woman sitting on a log by the tree line, “I think somebody has something to report.” She walked past Zyrian. He looked between her and the men arguing before deciding to follow her. They walked through the makeshift camp, Zyrian watched people sharpening weapons, some were by the lake washing clothes, and others were merely sitting around enjoying the warm weather. “You’re a shard tribe. Do you still hunt?” He asked, Luca nodded, “When we can, and when the roads aren’t active.” Zyrian hummed in acknowledgment. Luca picked up a dagger, “Do you want to see some fun weapons while the old guys argue? We even have a couple firearms.” Her face held a small smirk. Zyrian breathed out a laugh, “Sure, I’m fine with looking but not so much using.” He quickly caught up to her.

  Minutes passed as the two men continued to argue. Suddenly, the hooded woman stood up and approached them. “Did you at least get anything from Grimsby?” Garnet inquired. “The place’s a ruin already. But the guardian is still up…I think-“ Kade second guessed himself. “By the river.” The woman interjected. The two looked at her with questioning looks, “They’re by the river now. Two of them, and a soul reaper.” She stated. “Them? Great.” Kade groaned. “I’ll get the rangers on it.” Garnet said before he whistled and multiple people gathered around. 

*****

  Émeric grumbled as he carried Karissa on his back, “‘Just take the shard’ she said. ‘Just go to Arianrdom’ she said.” He mocked Iris’ voice, “Lariat is a liar.” He mumbled. Wynter chuckled at his antics, “I don’t think she predicted this all happening.” He tried to he,p the tension. Émeric merely glared at him, “The oracle could’ve.” He retorted. Wynter rolled his eyes, “Well, the oracle wasn’t there. If she was I don’t think she would’ve told us anyways just so she could get a laugh in.” Émeric scoffed, “I hate that you’re right.” Wynter nodded in feigned pity, “I know.” He pat Émeric’s shoulder which earned a groan in return.

  An hour passed. Now, the trio was sat next to a bridge under a few large trees to get away from the overbearing sun. Karissa took a bite of the bread that she was given, “Where did you get this?” She asked in between bites. “Does it matter? It’s just bread.” Émeric replied with a rude tone. Wynter kicked at his feet from where he sat on a rock, “Be nice, it was an innocent question.” Wynter pointed to the circle shaped glass strapped to Émeric’s belt, “That there, is a type of portal. It’s linked to a chamber that only I, Émeric, or…Iris can access. Lady Iris made it for us when we first started doing missions. It’s where your bread came from.” He explained. “Ohh…” Karissa nodded, “I also wanted to ask about when you were fighting that other person.” Wynter and Émeric stayed quiet awaiting the question, “What was that bow and arrow that Émeric used? He doesn’t carry weapons so I’m confused as to where they came from.” Wynter got up from his original spot and plopped down next to her, he rolled up his sleeve to unveil intricate sigils etched out on his inner forearm. “Me and Émeric both have these sigils on our arms. They allow us to use our ghoul abilities without having to hurt ourselves. I am able to produce a catalyst like substance from my blood that allows me to be able to hurt and even kill those who are otherwise immune to normal weapons. Like dark mages, monsters of the void, and beings made from the poison.” He pointed at Émeric, “His ability allows him to make weapons out of his blood. Far more simple.” He finished his explanation. Karissa’s eyes widened in amazement, “That’s so cool!” She exclaimed. Émeric finally walked over to sit by the two, “There are a few things you should know about the Life Weaver since it’s likely we’ll run into it now.” He clenched the portal in his hands. “It’s possessing the queen once more, and since it is…it can now walk the mortal realm again. The Life Weaver is an ancient god that wants to reclaim the world for itself to rule. To do so, it needs all the shards. It can create or destroy matter. Doesn’t matter what it is. It doesn’t just command its army; it owns them. Arianrdom is shielded against it, if you happen to see it outside of its borders you need to run. Same with anyone you see with its insignia. Understood?” 

  Karissa blinked, “Understood but…how do I know what its insignia looks like?” Émeric sighed and Wynter smiled awkwardly, “Right…just stay with us unless we tell you to run.” He advised. Wynter stood up and stretched, “We should get to Arianrdom by foot in a few days. It sits on the border of Ru’an. I think you’ll enjoy seeing it in person.” Karissa finished her bread and stood up as well, “And I’ll trust you both unless I’m given a reason not to.” Émeric shrugged at Karissa’s words, “Sure. Save that energy for when we arrive at Arianrdom. The people there will love to see it.” He dragged himself up to his feet as he lead the way. 

  The moon was hung high now as the trio made their way through a forest.

  “Are you okay to keep going through the night?” Émeric asked Karissa.

  “I’ve slept enough. I think.” She replied.

  “If you collapse again I swear to-“ Émeric was cut off as he heard rustling in the bushes. His head whipped around towards where the noise came from. Wynter looked around as well, Karissa heard the latter counting under his breath. “1,2,3…” he whispered. “What’s wrong?” She asked, “We have company.” Wynter replied. “What kind of-“ Karissa was cut off by the sound of growling behind her. She attempted to turn around but jumped when a stern voice rang out, “Don’t move.” A woman ordered. The group turned to her. She wore a clay colored hood and she was currently pointing a crossbow at them. “There’s five of us against three of you. We have instructions to bring you all back alive.” The dogs growls grew louder now that they were closer. Wynter and Émeric looked around at the rangers surrounding them, “Five people and two hounds.” Wynter sighed, “Not worth it. We shouldn’t fight if we can.” He advised. Émeric nodded slowly, “I didn’t expect problems so soon.” “You have five seconds to put your claws up, leeches.” The woman demanded. “Guys…” Karissa mumbled, ”It’s okay. They’re not with the Life Weaver.” Wynter reassured her. Émeric held up his hands, “Very well,” he announced, “we’ll go with you.” His gaze sharpened, “But don’t you dare lay hands on the other two.” The woman approached them, “You’re in no position to make demands. But that can be arranged.”

[justahopelessaromantic]

Close in Comfort

Fandom: Be More Chill Ships: Arson Bros (Richjake) Summary: Then Rich came into his life. And everything went to shit.

Jake didn't know when it started.

Maybe it stemmed from the example his parent’s violent and illegal lifestyle set. Maybe something happened when he was a kid. He vaguely recalled rubbing his eyes and yawning as he crept down the stairs to ask his parents if he could sleep with them that night after a particularly bad dream when he was 3 before ending up with a black eye and a cracked skull from the fight in the living room, resulting in his parents fretting over him for over a week and vowing to never bring work home again (Ironic, seeing that baby Jake didn't mind and, as a matter of fact, thought sporting the scar and bruise look made him hella badass.) Maybe the hit did damage to his brain and that did it. Maybe he was born with it. Maybe it’s Maybelline. Maybe it was the overwhelming ache that confronted him every morning and insisted on lingering with him almost every day, telling him that something desperate to his worthwhile survival (though he could never tell what) was missing. Maybe that was a symptom and not the cause.

What he did know what that he’d always been different from the other kids. And, yeah, he knew how incredibly cliché that sounded, but it was true! Sure, stuff like taking in interest in more violent hobbies as a child, such as tackle football, plucking the legs off of bugs whenever he spotted one, and roughhousing with the neighbors’ kids seemed normal enough, but a people person like him found it obvious that most toddlers weren't too thrilled by sneaking into their baba’s room and bingeing gory horror movies until his dad scooped him up and playfully dumped him into his bed, not even bothering to scold the giggling child for staying up so late or his viewing material.

That paled in comparison to the darker stuff he would get up to later though.

Throwing rocks at his neighbor's windows, subconsciously hoping the glass shards would cut them as they walked past it. Swinging his bat at the other team’s members when he lost a game and doing a disturbingly major amount of damage. Biting the kids on his block if they got under his skin. All of it concerned the adults in his life (save for his parents who only insisted it was simply a sign of the phenomenal criminal he would grow up to be) and himself. He developed a base sense that none of it was normal, despite in how right and natural it all felt.

Over time, his peers began avoiding him and his teachers began reprimanding him before his parents had the chance to blackmail them not to, so, to remedy the sting of his loneliness and harsh criticism, he bottled up those impulses deep down and made an effort to behave the best he could, gaining praise and popularity in the process. After the image of resident good boi Jake had been cemented, he figured he could handle it. That he could be a normal kid.

Then Rich came into his life.

And everything went to shit. 

He didn’t pay much mind to Mrs. Mell’s announcement of a new student. At best, he’d have a new friend, which didn’t mean much, considering his surplux of friendships at the time. At worse, there’d be another kid copying off his tests in class. Yet, as he leaned against the playground’s fence pouring water on an ant farm and gossiping with Jenna while a particularly rowdy squabble spilled out of the courtyard and into the sand box, Jake took the time to squint and tilt his head to get a better view of the fight. And their he was. The new kid, drenched in bruises and fat tears spilling down his face, wildly swinging and clawing at his aggressors in a pathetically vain attempt to feign them off.

And yet, somehow, in his chaotic state, he still came off as the most gorgeous person Jake had seen. It was as if, suddenly, everything had clicked into place and the empty hole inside himself was filled instantly as waves of tranquility washing over him the more he stared at him. Like everything was right with the world and nothing else mattered as long as this kid was ok.

Maybe that explains why he felt such an intense, burning desire to protect him.

Tuning out his friend’s cries of confusion and throwing himself into the fray, Jake managed to scar each bully either mentally or physically, sending them running and/or crying. Swiping up the sky blue glasses on the ground, he slowly bent down and gingerly placed them back on the new student’s head, wide brown eyes hiding behind now slightly cracked frames locked with his in a way that made him feel things he couldn’t put into words even if he tried as he offered a soft smile and brushed a few tears away.

“Hi! My name’s Jake. What’s yours?”

“...Richard.” He muttered, shrinking back into himself and picking at a scratch one of the other kids left. Guess he wasn’t much of a conversationalist. Oh well, he could work with that.

“You got a really pretty name, Richard. It fits ‘cause you’re a really pretty guy.” He held out his hand and helped the now red-faced kid back up, almost falling down himself from the sheer shock of holding hands before tugging on his sleeve. “C’mon, I’ll show you where the nurse’s office is!” Fiercely shaking his head, Rich stumbled back as he...trembled? What was that about?

“Nuh-uh, can’t!”

“Why not?”

“‘Cause than they’ll see the scars and then they’ll get mad at my Daddy and take him away again and it’ll be all my fault!” He cried as he furiously scrubbed away tear streaks and dug his nails into his arm, unintentionally drawing blood from a fresh cut. Acting on impulse, Jake swept up his new friend in a tight hug and explained that he swore he wouldn’t let that happen, added how they couldn’t do that anyway ‘cause Rich getting hurt “is, like...illegal or something!”

“Promise?” He sniffed.

“Promise.”

And with that, the two were off, running back to their classroom and leaving a pack of jerks and one immensely confused Jenna behind them.

[faofinn]

No. 22 "They never saw us coming, 'til they hit the floor."

@whumptober-archive

Glass Shard | Vehicular Accident | "Watch out!"

As the family got bigger and time got more precious, it had become tradition that they’d all spend a week camping together, to spend time as a big group, over the summer when the kids could all play together and entertain themselves, and their parents could relax and spend time with each other, when the school holidays were hectic as ever. 

It was a wonder they were able to do it, half the hospital’s staff on leave at the same time, but they managed it. Fao, Ely and their kids, Finn, Jess and Amelia, Tai, Hars and their trio, the dogs, and often the grandparents too. Steve particularly relished it, taking every opportunity to join them, spend time with his grandchildren and their cousins, as well as his son. 

They’d had the most amazing time in Cornwall, the weather just perfect, sunny and warm without being too hot, and they’d spent time walking, playing on the beach, and of course visiting various castles and historical landmarks, Fao and Finn unable to kick the tradition of a lifetime. Both Fao and Finn had had to pack up the day before, unable to get any more time off work, but Hars and Tai had been able to get the extra day, along with Steve, and they’d chosen to stay and make the most of the time. Eventually though,  they’d had to pack up and go, though, and it was a shame to finally be driving home (although Tai’s back was looking forward to his proper mattress after a week on an airbed, something that Harrison had teased him about relentlessly.) 

It was a long drive back, with Tai taking the first half of the drive before they stopped, and Hars agreeing to take the second half. The kids were exhausted, which meant they were squabbling, and Tai twisted around in his seat for what felt like the hundredth time in five minutes. 

“Alfie! For the love of god, stop antagonising your brother! Kieran, don’t hit him. I know you’re tired, but that’s no excuse for violence.”

“He was being stupid!” Kieran protested, folding his arms over his chest. 

“Ah, no. I don’t want to hear that sort of language, please. Nobody’s stupid. If you can’t get on, don’t talk to each other. Read, or do something else that doesn’t involve winding each other up. We’re nearly home now.”

“But-“

“I don’t want to hear it, Alfie.” He said, turning back. “Behave, the pair of you. We’ve had such a nice time, don’t ruin it now.”

"Come on, boys." Harrison said softly. "Why don't we play I-spy?"

"That's boring." Alfie huffed. 

"Alright. Tai, you gonna go first?" Harrison asked, ignoring Alfie's protest. 

"Sure. Uh, I spy with my little eye, something beginning with…T!"

As much as Alfie wasn’t interested, he joined in the guessing, and Harrison relaxed again. He glanced in the rear view, checking where his dad had got to, making sure he was still okay. Steve was only a few cars behind them, but that meant he was still on the right road, so he returned his attention to the road in front.

It all seemed to happen in both an instant and for eternity. There was a flurry of horns and the scream of breaks in front of him, a lorry crossing the central reservation and veering out of control - and heading straight for them. Harrison swore, instinctively swerving as much out of the way as he could; at least if the cab just hit his bit, the rest of them might be okay. There was a flash of pain, of metal grinding and bending, the bodywork biting into flesh, and then, nothing. 

There wasn’t a part of Harrison that didn't hurt. Each breath was a struggle, and the first few had him unconscious again. His ears were ringing, his kids were screaming, and as much as he tried to stay awake, to help them, it was no use. He groaned with each exhale, the overwhelming feeling of drowning only worsening with each breath. Despite his efforts, he couldn't piece together a coherent thought, but as a hand slipped into his, the thought was clear: Tai. He managed a squeeze back, barely there, so, so weak, and gone before he could do anything else. 

It happened so suddenly, one minute everything was fine, the next Harrison was swerving and everything exploded with pain. Tai had seen the lorry a split second later than Harrison, hadn’t clocked what was happening until too late. It was overwhelming and yet distant, and Tai’s only thought was Harrison, his ears ringing. He reached out for him, finding his hand. It seemed like an eternity before he felt Harrison squeeze back, the tiniest hint of movement. It was far too hard to stay conscious and Tai found himself slipping again, and whilst the panic rose it was too late - he was out, slipping into comforting blackness. 

Both twins had hit their heads against something, their thoughts sluggish and thick. But the car was suddenly not doing what it was supposed to, and neither parent was responding. Blood dripped from Kieran's nose, and there was a cut across Alfie's forehead that was oozing steadily. His throat was raw from screaming, begging his dads to talk to him, but there was nothing. Kieran's expression of panic matched his own, and the pair reached out to hold the other's hand, gripping onto Levi's in the middle.

A few cars behind, Steve had watched the whole thing unfold, watched the lorry suddenly veer, watched his son’s car swerve to avoid it, watched it unfold as the two collided in a horrible twist of metal. As he slammed on his brakes, and the traffic around him did the same, he felt sick to his stomach, grabbing his phone and immediately dialling the emergency services, waiting just a split second more before he leapt from the car, aware what he was doing was so, so dangerous and not caring. That was his son, his family. There was no way he was standing by and not doing anything. Not again. He’d do whatever he could to save them. 

Harrison was stubbornly unconscious as Steve got close, head resting against the door's window frame. Glass shards had torn his skin, the lazy trails of blood mixing with the steady stream from his nose and lips.

Other people headed towards the wreck too, a mix of wanting to help and morbid curiosity; after all, the state of the car screamed a fatality, or at the very least a life threatening injury. 

As Alfie caught sight of Steve, he hammered against the remaining glass. "Grandad!"

He was relieved to see his grandson, even frantic in his panic. He’d already tried what was left of Harrison’s door, and no dice, that wasn’t opening. He tried the back, desperate to help. “I’m here, I’m here. You’re going to be okay.” He reassured, though it felt cheap. 

"Dads aren't talking to us." Kieran's lip wobbled. "Are they dead?"

"Are we going to die?" Alfie added, eyes wide with fear.

"You're gonna be just fine, okay? I'm here." 

Ambulance, is the patient breathing?

"I, uh, I don’t know. We're on the m25, just after junction 9. My son, his kids, they've got in a crash. I can't get to him, I can't see if he's breathing. There's three kids. They're breathing, they're awake. I'm here, don't worry, I've got you." Steve did his best to relay through the panic. "There's two ten year olds, they've both got head injuries but they're talking. Levi, he's five, he's crying. You're doing so well, you're so brave, it's okay. Tai was the passenger, he's got a head injury, he's not conscious. Fuck, he's got an open fracture femur, yeah, he's breathing. Hey, easy, easy. No, no, he just got agitated but he's out again. I think Harrison's trapped, he's my son, he was driving. There was a lorry and it swerved across and hit them. Please hurry, I can't lose them. Harrison's got a pulse but his breathing is shit. I can't get to them, the car's all mangled. You're being so brave, Bug. I know, I know, it's scary, but you're gonna be okay. You're gonna be sick? That's okay, Kit, try and relax, breathe through it.

Harrison's had a liver transplant, he lost his leg in Afghanistan. Tai's a type 1, as is Kieran. Alfie has epi pens, he's got a few allergies, no, not to medications. Levi's got asthma, and problems with his lungs. Are you nearly here? You've got to be, please tell me they are." 

“That help is being arranged for you now, we’re coming as quickly as we can. Stay on the line with us until the crew is there, okay?”

He turned away, grief and worry overwhelming him. "I can't lose these too, not like this."

The dog barking pulled Steve from his spiralling thoughts of worst case scenarios. Scout. He was in the back, of course he was. He rushed round, pulling at the boot, trying to get it to open. It finally opened, much to his relief, and his hands shook as he tried to check if the dog was okay. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay.” He reassured. “Good boy, Scout.”

Scout continued to wriggle around Steve before jumping against the car. He yelped as the metal scraped his paw pads, but continued trying to get to his family, panic clear in his whines.

“Careful, careful. It’s okay, we’ll get them out.” Steve tried to soothe the dog, as the sirens cut through the air. Finally. 

Alfie stretched a hand towards his grandfather, ignoring how the glass bit at his skin. Blood mixed with dirt as he desperately tried to seek comfort, not caring about anything else but his family. 

Steve reached out to take his hand. “It’s okay, you’re going to be okay.” He reassured him. “It’s all going to be okay.” 

He gripped into Steve’s hand, holding it as tight as he could. His lip trembled as he searched Steve's face, but he was too overwhelmed and in shock to cry. 

"My leg hurts." He said softly. "And my toes are all tingly." 

Steve sighed, but tried to keep his face neutral. “It’s okay, the ambulance is nearly here.”

"Kieran's nose is bleeding and he's been sick and Levi hasn't stopped crying." He took a shaky breath. "And dad's aren't awake."

“It’s alright. Just breathe, just breathe. The ambulance is coming, your dads aren’t waking up just yet but they’re going to get help. They’re going to get you out as soon as they can, and Scout’s okay. I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere.”

"Why can't you get us out? Can't you fix it?"

“I can’t get the doors open, Bug.” He said gently. “And the paramedics need to have a look at you first, yeah?”

"Please, grandad. Please."

“I know, Alfie. If I helped you out now I could hurt you more, and I don’t want to hurt you. I need you to stay put, okay? Stay put and they’ll help you out as soon as you can. I need you to be brave. Can you be brave for me?”

"You won't hurt me."

“I know, I know.” 

Harrison groaned from the front seat, the pain overwhelming but cutting through the haze. 

"Kit? Bug? Leaf?" He slurred, trying to turn to check on them. The pain doubled and he groaned again, his head falling back against the headrest. 

“I’m going to go speak to your dad, okay Bug? You stay there for me, you’re being so so brave.” Steve said, moving to Harrison. “Harrison, Hars. You’re okay, don’t move, just breathe for me.”

Kieran, on the other hand, didn't listen, reaching forward for his dad desperately. 

“Kieran? Stay still for me kid, your dad just needs space, alright? I’m with him, I’m looking after him.”

He whined, tears falling immediately as he grabbed at his stomach. "It hurts!"

The sound of his son crying had broken through to Harrison, and he struggled against everything to try and move. He couldn't move his legs, and he wasn’t sure if it was because they were trapped, or worse. He couldn't feel his left leg, and there was a flare of embarrassment as he realised the seat was wet, though his fingers were red as he moved them away.

“Harrison!” Steve’s voice was sharp. “You need to stay still, okay? I’m here, I’m looking out for the kids. I need you to focus on you, alright? Talk to him, but don’t move.”

Everything was blurry and out of focus, and he could feel himself slipping again. "Kit's 'urt."

“Help is coming.” Steve reassured.

"They're not here."

“They will be.” He could still hear the sirens, fighting their way through the traffic. 

Harrison groaned once more, nausea flaring out of nowhere. He couldn't help but vomit, the retching sending a stab of pain lancing through his abdomen. It was all too much, and he finally slipped under again, eyes rolling. 

Steve hated every minute of this. He couldn’t do anything, he had no kit, he was completely useless and out of control. The only thing he could do was reassure his grandchildren, who were scared out of their mind. He couldn’t do this again, he couldn’t lose them like this. What Harrison had brought up looked to be pure blood, though with the amount of blood everywhere, it was almost hard to tell. He went back to reassuring the kids, the only thing he could do, Scout still barking and unsettled and making life a hundred times worse.

[apollovp]

Artfight's back, and so am I! Trying my hand with it again this year. This is Green Diamond, a Diamond from a SU AU me and a friend have made together over a few years where everything is different and very little is the same. The core diamonds, Cyan, Magenta, Yellow, and Prism (CMYK vibes) ruled together in relative harmony for millennia, united against a common foe; the Metal Council, essentially the metallic counterpart to the gems. The MC are primarily defensive, trying to keep their homes and colonies safe against the ever-expanding wrath of the Diamond Authority. One day, Magenta meets Gold on the battlefield. They hit it off, and sneak away; the rest is, as they say, history... Until Magenta's tryst is caught, and she is shattered for her treason by the eldest sister, Prism. Magenta's shards spend years worn as a grotesque crown and warning against further betrayal by Prism, until a new project is undertaken by the three remaining Diamond sisters. After all- Magenta had left many of the more menial Diamond chores abandoned. Three projects are undertaken, first by Cyan and Yellow alone in trying to bring their lost sister back. Magenta's shards are combined with new Diamond seeds in two different ways. The first, so many shards fitted together like stained glass, brings Blood Diamond to the playing field. She comes out grotesque, empty, soulless- clearly broken. The next is Slag, made of the lions share of melted remnants of Magenta and choice shavings from Cyan and Yellow. He comes out big, hulking, strong; but wrong, utterly incorrect in the eyes of the Diamonds, who search for the return of Magenta, or at least an adequate replacement. In the squabbling that encompasses the Trio of Authority Diamonds after the first two emergences, Slag manages to take the empty form of Blood and flee through the Galaxy Warp Pad to an old warfront. There, the empty body of Blood invites in the wrath of hundreds of thousands of shattered Gems, and a new, conglomerate soul is born into the body of a malformed Diamond... Together with Slag, a new Uprising forms on a distant planet. Back with the diamonds, the final new Diamond is yet to emerge. This third is an effort of all three remaining authority Diamonds, after Prism discovered the efforts of her sisters and sought to prove them inefficient without her aid. Planted in a copper-rich vein, following the precise instructions laid out by Prism, Green Diamond is the final of the newest trio of Diamonds to emerge. They expect similar issues, but.. She comes out Perfect. Well shaped, designed exactly as they intended- with all the frills and lace of Magenta, the softness they had sought to replace. Green comes, appearing exactly as they wished her to be. And Green would not stand for it. She was not a gem of play and submission. Acid-green, sharp and efficient, she is quick to put the preconceptions pressed upon her aside, and get right to work with what little she has been provided with. She will not beg and plea to Prism for her colonies or her court, as her erstwhile sisters before her had; she will work for them, tearing every shred of knowledge, every shard of skill, and collecting every stray Gem she can in order to grow and expand. It's what she was made for, after all.

[alfvaen]

Heavy Novel

August was a heavy month. Bob Geldof said so, and it's hard to disagree. I read some books in an attempt to lighten the mood.

Potential spoilers within for Jo Clayton's diadem series, Tade Thompson's Rosewater/Wormwood series, Kim Harrison's Rachel Morgan series, and of course Lois McMaster Bujold's Vorkosigan Saga.

R.A. Salvatore: The Crystal Shard, completed August 5

Once again it was time to try a new author…a male author, and not one of the complete unknowns relegated to the pool table. I was ready for another epic fantasy, and for a while I was considering Broken Blade by Kelly McCullough, but then I was on Tumblr and saw a bunch of posts about Drizzt do'Urden and remembered that I had this book on the shelf as well. I've been hearing things about R.A. Salvatore for a while now, but I confess that I never got too deeply into D&D novels the way I did (at some point) into Star Trek. I did read the Dragonlance books pretty slavishly for a while, but to diminishing returns (I gave up after the first Richard Knaak one, I recall); I tried the first Forgotten Realms one, Azure Bonds, and was kind of meh. And at first what I heard about Drizzt (my fingers keep wanting to type "Drizzy", lol) sounded kind of cringe to my newly-sophisticated palate. (Heavy irony there--I was still reading Piers Anthony and Jack L. Chalker for years, and I now find them both relatively cringe.)

I elected to start with the first published book, rather than the first chronologically. This is not a simple decision; I've gone back and forth on this over the years. For instance, back when I was first trying out the Darkover series, I found a chronological list in one of the books and thus decided to start with Darkover Landfall, which was a bad call; I recall it as being so heavily infected with prequelitis as to be practically incomprehensible on its own. (Readers of Dragonsdawn will find this a familiar experience.) I also read the Deryni books starting with Camber rather than Kelson (though on reread the first Kelson trilogy was noticeably worse writing, so maybe I dodged a bullet there). But when I read the Vorkosigan series for the first time, I read in strict publication order, which I guess is not the worst way to read them but I certainly don't do it that way any more.

So with the Drizzt books, I did some research. It seemed like in this book, and its Icewind Dale trilogy, Drizzt was part of an ensemble cast, as opposed to the prequel trilogy where he was the main character. In the end I went for this one on the publication-order theory. Also apparently there are a total of 39(!) Drizzt books.

For the most part the book is…about what I would expect for a D&D book. Characters mostly seem pretty flat, combats are done decently well, evil is evil, plot is mostly pretty predictable but with occasional twists. It wasn't bad, and I read it all the way through to the end, but I might have enjoyed it more when I was 17. (Or younger, but I would have been 17 when it came out, so…) The book does not pass the Bechdel test, because I believe we only get two named female characters if you include Gwenhwyfar the panther, and I don't think Catti-Brie ever talks to her. (Nor does she even get a whole hell of a lot to do--even her potential romantic subplot is vestigial.) The setting is not bad--Icewind Dale and its Ten-Towns region, whose leaders tend to squabble a lot over petty grievances and fishing rights, practically rings the truest of anything.

So now I'm reconsidering my starting point and may actually want to try the prequel trilogy to see if they're any good, because Drizzt did seem the closest to being an actual character. Even if the renegade Dark Elf who turned against his evil race/culture toward the light is a cliché, it feels like Drizzt might be the reason it's a cliché. Not sure if I'm going to buying any more of the books right away, but it turns out my brother-in-law has the whole series and so maybe I'll just arrange to borrow some from him.

Jo Clayton: Shadowplay, completed August 9

Back to a female author next, probably not epic fantasy because of the Drizzt book, and it felt too soon for another urban fantasy as well, which usually means going to science fiction, or occasionally mainstream or something. When I don't have a strong indication of what to read next, I will often sort my to-read shelf chronologically, with the books that have been there longest at the top, and see what leaps out at me. This time I apparently settled on Jo Clayton.

Jo Clayton's books were big mass-market books from the 1980s, and I saw them around all the time…through rarely in the right order. Like I'd look on the library paperback racks and see Changer's Moon (third in its trilogy) and Blue Magic (second in its trilogy). In her case I never tried to read them out of order, so sometimes it was a long time before I got to start them. But I did finish her Diadem series, nine books in all. In those books, we follow a woman named Aleytys who gets a mysterious diadem (high-tech because this is SF and totally not magical at all) and then gets sold into slavery or something? (It's been a while, so some of the details are vague.) After a few books she frees herself and joins the Star Hunters and then goes looking for justice (possibly against her mother, who may have been the one to sell her into slavery). The diadem contains the mental patterns of three other people, including Swardheld and Shadith, who have been trapped in there for decades or even centuries, and provide her aid and advice in her travels. Later in the series (spoilers!) she figures out how to extricate her helpers into physical bodies. Shadith ends up in the body of a teenage girl. And Shadowplay is the first book in her series.

Shadith is on her way to a university education (fitting for her young body, anyway) but in trying to evade a creepy and lecherous security guard at a transfer station, she ends up interrupting a kidnapping in progress and getting dragged along by the also-somewhat-creepy-but-at-least-not-lecherous leader of the kidnappers to a mysterious planet that seems to be in the middle of a period of unrest. It turns out the kidnapper is some sort of high-level snuff artist, who likes to instigate horrible events on innocent planets, film them with his tiny drone cameras, and then sell the footage to certain wealthy and jaded clients. Shadith and her fellow abductees are dropped in to play the roles of avatars of a particular trio of folklore figures from the planetary culture that turn up from time to time and trigger unrest. Luckily, Shadith and/or her current body have psionic abilities to to read and control the thoughts of others…though mostly she can't use it on sentients, so she limits it to animals, where it still frequently comes in handy.

It sounds interesting enough, but I don't think Clayton actually pulls it off. Shadith and her fellow "avatars", a hunter with two large cats and a falcon, and a reptilian fellow with some mind-clouding mental abilities of his own, keep trying to get off the planet without getting involved with the natives…which means that, as a reader, I didn't feel the need to get invested in the on-planet struggles until most of the way through the book. And I had trouble with the character and culture names, which may be a skill issue, but it was like they kept getting introduced in such a way that I didn't realize they'd be important later. Our trio keep escaping and getting recaptured, escaping and getting recaptured, until it feels less like try-fails to advance the plot and more like futile efforts to extricate themselves from it. And then, at the end, Aleytys shows up and rescues them, literally using the phrase "dea ex machina". Okay, it's true that Shadith had tried to contact her earlier and was hoping that she'd show up, but still, it felt like a bit of a cheat. Shadith does do some work to help in her own rescue, but it doesn't feel like enough.

At the end, our snuff-film director escapes, so presumably the rest of the trilogy is Shadith trying to hunt him down. I haven't quite given up on the series yet, but it'll probably be a while before I get around to reading Shadowspeer, the second book. (Hmmm…is that "shadow-speer", or "shadow's peer"? I'd always assume the former, whatever a "speer" was, but now I'm wondering. Echoes of Andrew Offutt's "Shadowspawn"…)

Naomi Novik: A Deadly Education, completed August 12

After the Jo Clayton I wanted something a little newer…but perhaps not an entirely new author. And there was this Naomi Novik book sitting there. I sometimes read books a little slower than other members of my family (which is still faster than most people, I imagine), and my wife and my eldest son at the very least, if not my younger son too, had already read this one. I took a little longer to finish the Temeraire series, which I thought was pretty good if not amazing, and then I decided to go through her two fairy-tale-esque standalones, Uprooted and Spinning Silver, which were both really good. This is the first book in the Scholomance series, which I keep conflating in my head with Tamsyn Muir's Locked Tomb series, which I also hadn't read yet, because my mind does that sometimes. (At least I'm pretty sure now that the Locked Tomb series is not written by Alix Harrow, though I have to look up the actual author every time still.)

I suspect that it would be accurate to say that this, a book about teenage wizards learning magic in a big magic school, might be vaguely Harry Potter-inspired. But if so, it's Harry Potter where Hogwarts has no actual professors, only spells that try to provide you with learning material and presumably somehow assess the assignments you submit. Oh, and there are "maleficaria", a.k.a. evil magic beasties, constantly trying to kill you if you let your guard down for even a second…and also you have to fight your way through a horde of them to graduate. Many wizards come from "enclaves", basically gated wizard communities intended to be defensible against maleficaria, though not all do; our protagonist, Galadriel, was raised by her mother in a commune after a "mal" killed her father, and she is apparently the subject of some prophecies that she will become a powerful force for evil. And she does have a talent for using "malia", which, unlike "mana" (which can be gained from a number of activites such as exercise, crocheting and other effortful exertions), is acquired by draining the life-force of other people, and is somewhat frowned upon.

Galadriel is in her junior year at the start of the book, trying her hardest not to give in to the ease of using malia, but she's an outsider in a place where being alone is a good way to get yourself killed by mals. And then New York enclave prodigy Orion Lake, who has the rare talent that he can gain mana by killing mals, bursts into her room to save her from a mal that she was planning to kill anyway, and keeps hanging around her because he's convinced she's going to turn evil. The whole thing annoys her, but she's not above using the perception that she and Orion are dating or something to weasel her way into some highly transactional relationships. Galadriel (or "El" as she prefers people call her) has built up quite a hard shell over the years, though, from a lot of childhood traumas that have taught her she can't rely on other people, particularly enclaves.

The book is a lot of fun, and really didn't make me think of Hogwarts all that much while I was reading; it is too much its own thing. Characters die, but overall the progression is towards hope. Highly looking forward to reading the other two books in the series. (The next book is called The Last Graduate and I'm already speculating as to what that might mean…)

Lois McMaster Bujold: CryoBurn, completed August 16

Almost done the Vorkosigan reread, and into the part that feels more like a slog, because this is probably one of my least favourite books in the series. I mean, most of the book is just meh, and the best part is really the post-denouement twist that hits with the last line of the book proper, and is then dealt with in a short epilogue. After maybe the first few pages Miles rarely feels like he's in jeopardy, and the tension just ratchets down throughout the book.

Probably what she is doing here is an attempt to explore some of the ramifications of cryofreezing the way she did many of the implications of the uterine replicator, so we go to a planet, New Hope a.k.a. Kibou-Daini, where people routinely get themselves frozen if they're ill or old, or feel like they might become ill or old in the future. The worst part of the whole setup is the fact that people who are frozen are allowed to assign a proxy to vote for them (since they're technically not dead), which ends up being the corporation who has custody of their frozen body. And with corporate mergers, those voting blocs have become intensely concentrated. Sure, that's fine. But I just couldn't get too invested in the plot.

Miles is on Kibou-Daini investigating a company that's trying to set up this scheme on Komarr, and through one of those series of coincidences that I don't care for, ends up meeting a runaway boy named Jin whose mother was frozen to stop her blowing the whistle on a particularly egregious corporate failure. The only part which is not an implausible coincidence is that it's a different company than the Komarr one. We get POV from Miles, Jin, and also Roic, and we get guest appearances from Mark, Kareen Koudelka, and Raven Durona. It has its moments, but it's very lightweight.

And then, yeah, there's a painful event at the very end and an epilogue in the form of five drabbles. (I'm not sure whether to give it away here or not, given what a gutpunch it was on first read, but it's also entirely the basis for the plot of Gentleman Jole And The Red Queen, so I won't be able to talk about that book without giving it away… I guess it can wait until I get there, though. Which will, by this point, be next month.)

Tade Thompson: The Rosewater Redemption, completed August 21

As I've mentioned before, I seem to have a harder time finding male authors for my diversity slot than I do female ones. Tade Thompson's Rosewater trilogy (well, Wormwood Trilogy, technically, but they all have "Rosewater" in the title) is something that would otherwise have been on the bubble, but I've kept going on it because of this particular scarcity, mostly from the library. For whatever reason (perhaps because I'm currently following Tade Thompson on Bluesky) I decided to go with this one, given that the book was available at the library and I requested it with enough lead time for it to come in promptly.

The Wormwood books are set in Nigeria, where a gigantic alien entity named Wormwood (hence the series title) has relocated after its initial appearance in London. It starts healing people who come to it, leading to the formation of a shanty town outside its boundaries called Rosewater (ironic name based on the fact that it stinks) (hence the book titles). The first book, Rosewater, is all from the POV of a man named Kaaro, who has some psychic abilities based on alien biotechnology; the second book, The Rosewater Insurrection, is a multi-POV book about Rosewater's growth as a power and its struggles against the Nigerian government, and Wormwood's real goals. This book also seems to be multi-POV, but one of them gets to be first-person, and is the mysterious "Bicycle Girl" who showed up in earlier books and whose backstory is now delved into.

Sadly, the plot of this one is a bit scattered; with all of the characters from the previous two books, it feels like we're just visiting them in random order, and few of them get much shrift. There is a resolution of sorts, in the end, but it's slow to manifest and frankly I'm not sure if anyone gets "redeemed" per se. As series conclusions go, I've seen worse (cough The Sacred Band cough), but it still doesn't pack the punch of eiher of the first two books.

Garth Nix: Sabriel, completed August 25

I picked this one up next mostly because it came up when my wife was helping me organize my to-read shelf. This is not just a virtual shelf on Goodreads, and it's not a single shelf of books. It's not even a single bookshelf. No, it's two small bookshelves and a overflow shelf. At some point I did just keep the books I was planning to read on the shelves with the rest of them, but at some point, probably when I was transitioning from "read books in a strict sequence" to "pick the next book from a shortlist" mode. Currently it is organized by gender (since that informs my current reading schedule), then more or less by genre, and then by title. But besides the physical shelf I do maintain a Goodreads shelf, and a spreadsheet where I can keep track of things like when the book was acquired and the like. And sometimes they get out of sync, so I was sitting in front of the spreadsheet while my wife was going over the physical shelves. She found some on the shelf that weren't in the spreadsheet, I found some that were in the spreadsheet but not on the shelf, and we reconciled them. But she quibbled with the placement of Sabriel with the adult epic fantasy novels rather than the YA novels, so I decided I'd read it soon and settle the matter to my satisfaction.

I have read Garth Nix before, but mostly his middle-grade ones; I got them for my oldest son, starting with Mister Monday from the "Keys To The Kingdom" series, and he liked them, but I only got up to Sir Thursday before deciding I was tired of them. I had also read A Confusion of Princes, which had an interesting promotional campaign consistent of a Facebook game called "Imperial Galaxy" where you were an officer in a fleet ship. I was actually in Nix's own fleet, though my immediate commander was Arthur Slade; I enjoyed the game, but everyone else I tried to recruit to play it apparently didn't because I ended up with a bunch of inactive players in my fleet as dead weight. (Ah, Facebook games. They were their own particular thing.) Anyway, I had picked up Sabriel at some point, and I thought it was adult fantasy, so I decided to try it next.

But I guess perhaps it is actually young adult; at least, the main character is. The titular character is a girl whose mother died when she was born, and she herself was only saved from death when the mysterious Abhorsen (her father, apparently) showed up and ventured into the land of death to retrieve her. As a result of this experience, she is excessively pale and has a natural talent for necromancy. Oddly, this world is divided into the magic-laden Old Kingdom and the magic-poor Ancelstierre, and Sabriel grows up in a boarding school in a land of cars and guns (though no computers yet that I've seen), but close enough to the border wall that there is still some magic available for her to learn. When, in her Year Six, she receives a message that her father has gone missing, she has to leave school and return to the Old Kingdom to try to rescue him from the land of the dead.

It's a really good book, with some breakneck oh-my-god-please-let-her-rest sequences in it, a talking cat who is more than they seem, a nail-biting finale, intriguing worldbuilding, and barely a word wasted. One scene where she's listening to the people in the next room having sex makes it a little doubtful for YA but who knows, these days. And a little bit of head-hopping in one important scene, but it's probably fine. Apparently there are like five more books in the series? (And here I thought it was just a trilogy…) Apparently there's a reasonable-priced four-volume ebook omnibus available so probably we'll just do that. (Yes, my wife has read it now too, and my son probably will soon.)

Kim Harrison: Every Which Way But Dead, completed August 31

Between the YA-ish fantasy and the upcoming Vorkosigan reread, it seemed like the next book should probably be urban fantasy, with a female author. As I probably mentioned a little while ago when talking about the Faith Hunter series, I have started a lot of these series and have mostly not gotten super invested in any one of them to give it priority over the rest. Maybe the Tobey Daye (Seanan McGuire) and Kate Daniels (Ilona Andrew) are picking up a little, but mostly I can take or leave them. So I ended up just picking the "oldest" one of them which, now that I read a little further in the Faith Hunter series, is Kim Harrison's "Rachel Morgan/The Hollows" series.

Since I do read these books fairly well spaced apart, I do like a good recap game to remind me what happened previously. This book is mostly doing a decent job, though we start right out of the gate with a high-stress situation, Rachel having to confront the demon she made a bad deal with in the previous book to save people's lives and take a bag guy down. But we are quickly reacquainted with her vampire housemate and professional partner Ivy and other recurring characters.

The plot of the book seems to wander a lot, though. ("Every which way", like the title, perhaps?) Dealing with the demon's castoff, getting a contract from a famous musician for concert security, going on a date (with another vampire) which ends badly, meeting some of Ivy's family… She keeps shooting herself in the foot and endangering herself through sheer thoughtless stupidity. By halfway through the book it's not clear where it's going. And by the end, there have been some exciting scenes, but it feels like there's not much of a through-line. One job that Rachel was hired for didn't even happen in the book but was mentioned in the denouement like an afterthought.

I haven't quite given up on the series, but I am not inspired to speed up my reading pace.

So kind of a mixed month, with two great books and a handful of meh ones. Sometimes it do be that way.

I also finished the Dan Gardner Risk book. I quite appreciate what it has to say about how we fail to assess potential risks accurately. I feel more informed for reading it, which is to say that I'm probably in the state of thinking that I assess risks more accurately when I'm actually just as likely to make inaccurate estimates despite all my awareness of logical fallacies. I'd like to see an updated version of the book, or at least a discussion in the same vein, that deals with things like Covid-19, and whether the author still thinks of school shootings as an overblown risk.

I got An Immense World by Ed Yong as a birthday present, but I haven't started yet. Trying to read another month of comics on Marvel Unlimited instead (April 1994), though I spend a lot of time with the Simon Tatham's Puzzles app.

[revmeg]

"Shards" by Aviya Kushner

Babylon has fallen, fallen-- and all her idols have collapsed, in delicate detail, in precise shards. So says the messenger, so he reports, but I want to know about those shards, the little pieces, the clay survivors of destruction, broken and sinning and once-colorful. Tell me, once split, once shamed, what did they do next? Isaiah, you don't say, and the commentators, my old friends, the squabbling men of medieval desks, of Aramaic-speaking classrooms, you don't care either. You want to know about the messenger, you're busy imagining Habbukuk and Koresh or the angel of God, you want to know whether fallen, said twice, means Babylon is doomed to fall again-- We all are. All doomed, all poised to fall. But I want the details, I want the identities of the little shards, their exact addresses and conditions, I want to visit what once was a god and became pottery, became shard.

[kneecapandribcageinverter]

Thing I love about this is why this happens. This whole situation is all Narinder's fault.

He's the one who got himself chained, resulting in the extinction of Lambkind and the sacrifice of Lambert.

He's the one who demanded the Lamb's death in the gateway, causing the fight that split the crown.

He's the one whose petty squabbles with Lamb prevented the two halves of the crown from working together, preventing Lamb from coming back.

He may even have been the one to kill the Lamb, in the end. And he got everything he wanted from it. The crown was made whole and his again.

And he hates it. He's probably jubilant at first, but as time wears on, his pride wears thin. His siblings, should they somehow remain un-deleted by Narinder, consider him an enemy. He can seek no solace with them. He can show no weakness to them. The mortals in his cult are fodder, nothing more. Even if he were to wish for compan from them, even if he were to debase himself and prove the lamb right by cting as familiar with the cult as they had, he will inevitably outlive everyone there.

There's only one person who wouldn't leave him. One person who chose to stay with him, one who only fought him so that they might have stayed with him a little longer. One person who returned to him, time and time again when they were driven away. One who hunted him down whn he ran away. One who kept him company in his prison.

If they were still here, seeing what has become of him, they'd laugh at him for crying. Or, at least, the one in his dreams laughs. Maybe the real lamb would be different. But they're not here anymore. Why aren't they here?

This isn't fair. The Lamb insisted on staying alive when Narinder wanted them dead, and now they stubbornly stay dead when all he wants is for them to come back.

So he will have to bring them back himself. He scours the afterlife, sifts through the sands of time for any shred of soul that might have once been theirs.

Every bone in the afterlife is sorted. There are countless lamb souls. Narinder brings them back. Not out of mercy, or dut, or because the Lamb would have wanted it, of course, but simply to empty the pile. The fewer Lamb souls are nin the afterlife, the fewer he has to sift through.

The fog of the afterlife is sent through a seive, meant to catch any stray particles of soul that may cling to them. After the fog passes through unimpeded, the ocean of black ichor that spilled from where the biting chains tore Narinder's flesh is drained way to see if something may be found in the depths. Then the soil is overturned, the heavens and hells uprooted and toppled as the god of death tears through the land, searching and sorting, calling names.

He slaughters countless to claim their souls, in case some shard of the lamb reincarnated in a new form, and yes, that would mean he's killing them all over again but they're used to it by now, they'll be fine, they'll be okay as long as he can get all the pieces. Every lead turns out to be false. That frog with the familiar twinkle in her eye, that octopus who had the same laugh as the lamb, a bird born on the lamb's birthday, a lizard who wore a bell around her neck, a dog named after Saint Lambert. Slain, their souls picked apart for anything Narinder recognizes. And he finds nothing. These souls are not the Lamb. They don't have even the tiniest drop of lamb in them.

Fate. Fate, perhaps. Fate may guide any hand, even those stilled by Death. The Lamb came in chains. The lamb came when he was in chains. The lamb visited him when he could not escape them. The lamb freed him from shackles. Perhaps if he were shackled again, if he were tied down, they would hear the rattling chains and run to him to cut him loose.

He just needs to stay here until the Lamb comes back.

He just needs to Wait.

Woukd you be willing to expand on a TROD bad end au bc my brain is chewing on the concept so hard

In The Rehabilitation of Death, we're using the game's extra hard mode with perma death enabled aka dying erases your save. Due to the crown's power being split and them not being on the same page in terms of emotions, death is permanent. One of them dies, they're getting erased.

In bad end, Lamb gets erased. Narinder gets all of his power returned to him, but goes insane trying to figure out how to get them back.

[mageofspacemultiverse]

Children of Solstice Ch. 2 - Out Of Mind

Summary: A close encounter spawns endless squabbling between the two outlaws, but Casitt and Hyanna's journey eventually shows them a golden opportunity.

Word Count: 1,611

Hyanna Kekkel belongs to @memurfevur

Casitt Resshi belongs to me! B)

“Aaoow! Hey, easy, easy!!”

         “Oh my Gog, stop whining and hold still already...”

         Casitt stifled another whine as Hyanna examined his leg without much of a delicate touch. The remnants of the smashed drone were disarrayed next to them, clobbered to pieces. Some small bits of shrapnel had embedded in the skin just above his knee, with one noticeable sliver sticking a bit deeper than the rest.

         “Remind me again why I put up with this?” He hissed and growled, staring as blood sputtered around the shard’s edge. “Everything was-“

         “It was your idea! You’re lucky it didn’t turn you into pupa food.” She gestured with a foot to the razed patch of smoking dirt a few feet away where one of the drones blasts had aimed for.

         “You had to cannonball it, Hyanna? You almost hit me!!”

         “I didn’t almost hit you-”

         “Bullshit, I could feel the wind!”

         “-Hmm. If you keep talking I might actually, though.”

         “Look I was handling it, okay? I was learning how it worked, and besides it wasn’t like we could just leave it zoomin’ around, broadcasting where we are to Sightdog or whatever other- hgggh!”

         His air was frizzier than normal with sweat, and as Hyanna flicked at the embedded metal he stiffened his jaw, thumbing the dull points of his pendant to help ignore the feeling. “You didn’ ha- GHHHH, okay, okay, j-just, rip a fuckin’ piece of my pants off first!” When her face flushed, he couldn’t help but groan and rub his forehead even as the pain made his body tremble. “Stop being a weirdo to the injured. A small strip on the leg, just...tear it off slowly, I’ll use it as a bandage.”

         “This is so getting infected, you know that right?”

         “I’ve dealt with worse, but I- egh- can’t walk around getting freak-metal poisoning.”

         It was clear Hyanna was a bit resilient to tending to his wounds, and he bled bright lime as she worked. Barnum and Bailey panted from a near distance, their muzzles slobbering at the bloody mess, but were still a bit unnerved by the drone’s appearance to try offering their medical expertise.

         “I’m mad at you for wasting the soap too, by the way. Hehehe, I wanted to take a bath when we got to the coast.” She teased after pulling one of the smaller pieces out with a pair of rusty tweezers. The supplies they’d gotten from the last villagers they’d stayed with were scarcely enough – old hardened bars of soap with concerning blue spots and a small urn of dried curative herbs. A pacifistic diamond pair had offered sanctuary, though they’d accepted to Hyanna’s chagrin. It was a nice arrangement for a day or so ‘til some royal Indigo-blood had to come rolling in before they could really get settled, trying to hunt some heads; when she lost her head, they had to get going again.

         “I’m sure they’ll have fuckin’ soap wherever we’re going.” Casitt pouted, swathing his knee in the poor excuse for a wrap before standing with some effort. “It’s been four days of nothin’, but we should be there soon, right?”

"Yeah, map says so."

         None of their maps had panned out to much besides getting far enough away from Sightdog. Charity hives were a no-go, as was anything that needed to be bought. They’d been getting by on dine-and-dashes for the most part, alienating the vast majority of trolls they met along the way. It was an odd lifestyle that they somehow managed to make work, even despite their daily disagreement on just how they should be making it work.

         But their marathons and navigating said they should be coming to some sort of coastal port soon. Casitt had never been to any seafaring locale, but if these water-traveling ships were legitimate, maybe they could sail somewhere else, free from that influence. It was a long shot, but at this point so was everything.

         Hyanna helped him to his feet, and he wobbled and nearly buckled but managed to find some balance. “Oh well. One of these days you’ll listen to me. And when that day comes, maybe I’ll trust you to not get yourself killed, how’s that?”

         “Fine...point taken, no more drone duels.”

Even with his wounds, he tried to hobble back to their cart around the back of a grouping of boulders. Hyanna entertained his pride for a moment, but with a huff of frustration Casitt quickly found himself picked up off the ground by the back of his collar. “Hey! What-“

         “That was too painful to watch, I’m sorry.”

         “Fuck your pain, put me down!” He seethed, which only served to make Hyanna chuckle. “I can walk! I’m not your...bag of beans!”

         “Bag of be- I just dressed your wounds, you’re gonna make them worse, idiot.”

         “Shut! Up! Don’t patronize me chuckle nuts!”

         “Your threats are cute, hehehe. What’re you going to do?”

         “I will bite you," Cassit dangled and he flushed with embarrassment. "I will bite. So hard!!”

         “Heh, fine, you want down?”

         “Yes, I- EHAA??”

         His collision into the back of the cart after she hurled him was certainly disorienting. Too bruised and battered from the fight, Casitt just lay there as Hyanna collected the remains of the drone and brought them to their cart, before the party of four continued on the rocky trail.

         =========

         The afternoon...did not get much better.

         “We seriously followed the wrong map? Are you...kidding me?” Casitt rested his elbow against a thick wooden stick now they used to play ‘fetch’ with the twin hounds. The pain had mostly subsided, but the fatigue had killed everything from his tone except for despair. Hyanna was looking at the piece of paper in question, puzzling through images while he sulked by the stony mouth of some sort of cave network.

         Denial dragged into silence as she deciphered and he grimaced, but eventually even Hyanna’s patience broke and she flung the folded map to the ground. “Hell...I mean...no, we got the right one, but we were looking at the wrong half of it. They weren’t kidding when they said it was five-in-one.”

         “This is why I asked to be our guide, you know-“

         “Please!” She snapped, teething pressing against her lower lips. “We were going backwards towards the Carnival again with you leading. I had a panic attack dude?”

         Casitt rubbed the back of his head. “And again, I’m sorry, but I mean-“

         “But nothing. I trust you a lot, but you’re either a liar or an alien, and you’re definitely stupid.”

         “And you’re a shut-in with no life experience, it’s all even.” Casitt reacted unhelpfully. A fire smoked behind Hyanna’s expression, but uncharacteristically he was quick to acquiesce. “But okay...I take it back. I’m sorry.”

         The Carnival...he could see she was trying to not blink back tears, and it tugged at his heart. Sightdog’d had her by the neck when he stormed into that room, covered in purple blood from head to toe. Tried to blackmail him, and Casitt had seen the pain and defeat in her eyes. Years of abuse, years of...nothing but blood on her hands...he was crestfallen now sure, but he couldn’t help feeling guilty about even scaring her slightly at the thought of being back there.

Adjusting his position and crossing his arms, he glanced again to the cave. “So...do you know where we are, though?”

         “Not really. Map says there’s some ghost towns north and southwest of here. Exxogino and Kirithra. Old mining towns.”

         “Sure looks like the hole they crawled out of,” Casitt mumbled to himself, before he caught Hyanna staring for an explanation and he just shrugged. “Sorry, mumbling. So this is some...unmapped giant hole-“

         “I HEAR YE-{! WHOSE OUT THERE TRYNA TAKE A CUT -{?? COME OUT-{!”

         The dogs began to bark, and Hyanna got to her feet as two tall, burly trolls emerged from the darkness like comets in the night sky, both wearing head-lamps and juggling two large backs on both shoulders. The one who spoke, spittle flying onto the rocks he clambered over, was garbed in bright violet overalls adorned with some telltale symbol and enough piercings in his face to make a bracelet out of that took the attention of his garish multicolour mohawk. The other man looked to be olive of some sort, with an extra eye on the side of his neck and a club strapped to his back.

         Casitt, though, was drawn to the sight of something far more intimidating, far more captivating. A glimmer, an opalescent twinkle in the bulging pocket of both of them. Small crystals of cerulean blue embedded into a pocket of grey stone. He didn’t know the exact type, but he’d been ever fascinated by the prospect of holding them in his hands. Gemstones...there were gemstones in this mine?

         “Are you...are you seeing what I’m seeing, H?”

         “...I am, Cass.” He smirked despite himself, knowing the conflict on her face without looking. The two quickly zipped in the direction of the dogs, behind cover of another boulder.

         “And...are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

         “Hmhm...I don't know. Your leg’s still banged up, maybe we can try talking to them? Negotiating? Kind of getting sick of every encounter getting violent.”

         “Aren’t sea-dwellers like...all pompous pricks? Thought that’s what you said? C’mon, we need the money, and they have weapons!” The barking of the dogs and the sounds of some aggravated yells and whines escalated the feeling. “C’mon...Mutt and Other Mutt are gonna need us.”

         “Please, they aren’t touching our boys. Now, just listen to me for once and rest your freakin’ leg! I’ll take care of ‘em-”

         “Nah, not a chance.”

         She sighed. “...Yeah. I know...hehehe, well, don’t be too slow then.”

         Hyanna obligingly grinned, and in sync they raced over the stones towards the continued sounds of panicked shouts. Sure, they hadn’t found any ocean, but there were still thrills to be had. For better or for worse, they’d find a way.

[dawnrider]

Canon: Kagome introduces (character of your choice) to Magic 8 Balls

So much for a "short drabble" @superpixie42 but it came out to be 1000 words exactly, so there's that.

There was an unexpected clunk in the bottom of the bag when she popped the first aid kit back in. Kagome frowned, pulling the neck of the bag wide so she could get a better look. She pushed her spare set of clothes aside, making a face when she saw what it was. "What's wrong?" Inuyasha grumbled, still shifting and rolling his shoulders to get used to the bandages she had wrapped around his ribs and upper back.

"Nothing. I just… don't know why this is in here."

That caught his attention more fully and he turned to peek over her shoulder. She was holding a round black object, shiny but scuffed. There was a white circle with a black symbol on top. "What the hell is it?" It gave off no discernible scent, no sounds he could hear. Kagome rolled her wrist, flipping it over, and he noticed the bottom was flat.

"It's a magic eight ball." Inuyasha squinted as a triangle appeared in the flat space, words he couldn't decipher at first in bright white.

"Should you be carrying around some magic thing with the jewel shards right there?" he asked, highly skeptical. He thought Kagome knew better than to pick up random – possibly dangerous – items by now.

To his frustration, Kagome started to giggle.

His scowl must have caught her attention, because she smothered it and coughed. She scooted closer to him, her side pressing against his arm. "It's not actually magic, Inuyasha. It's a toy." She explained that it had fluid inside and the triangle was actually a multi-sided block floating around. "The idea is that you ask it a yes or no question and it tells you the future."

"The future?"

Kagome shrugged. "Most of the answers are vague enough aside from yes or no that you can interpret it how you want, really." She showed him how it worked by flipping it right side up and asking if Miroku would ask a woman to bear his child in the village they were staying in. When she rolled it over You may rely on it appeared in the window. "Not really a fair question…"

Both their heads popped up when an indignant screech was followed by a resounding slap.

"Definitely not fair." Inuyasha peered at it more closely. "Try something else."

"Hmmm… Will I make it back in time for my English test next week?" Better not tell you now. "Not promising," Kagome sighed with a wry smile.

The sound of children squabbling rose outside the hut they were borrowing and Kagome rolled her eyes when they heard Shippou's voice ringing above the others. His tone was decidedly haughty and it was clear he was about to get himself into some trouble. The young miko groaned as she rolled to her feet, dropping the eight ball into Inuyasha's startled hands.

"Your turn!"

"Keh." Inuyasha watched her duck out of the doorway, calling for the runt as she went. He rolled the ball between his hands for a moment in thought. It was just a toy, she said, it didn't really predict anything. "Will I ever be a full youkai?" he finally whispered to it. He hesitated before flipping it over quickly. It took a moment for the block to settle in place. Reply hazy, try again. "This stupid thing." But he couldn't help repeating the question… and got the same answer. 

Which made him curious. Was this thing more than it appeared? 

He sniffed it again, turning it over and looking carefully for any sign of tampering. There was nothing. "Will we defeat Naraku?" Signs point to yes. Well! That was some good news! Inuyasha's chest puffed with pride until his ribs twinged and he was reminded of why he was sitting in a strange hut in a strange village, ribs and chest wrapped in gauze. "Keh."

Kagome took good care of him, whether he liked it or not. He shook his head with a smirk. She'd gotten much better at this first aid stuff too. Efficient. Which was sad in a way, because it meant she was doing it more often.

"Will Kagome always be safe?" he murmured to himself. The sphere in his hand felt heavier for a moment. My sources say no the little triangle read. His face fell. "Will Kagome… will she stay with me like she said?" Cannot predict now. Inuyasha fought the very strong urge to hurl the thing across the room. He had to ask one last thing, his curiosity too much to ignore. "D-Does she love me?" he barely breathed aloud.

So focused, he had missed the sound of Kagome's footsteps as she returned to the hut. She was steamed about Shippou's antics and his propensity for mischief. She froze when she realized he was staring at her. Seeing the eight ball still in his hand, her brow furrowed when he still said nothing. "What's wrong?" she asked, dropping to her knees in front of him. Her hands fluttered over his torso to check that he wasn't suddenly bleeding out or something. When there was nothing obviously dire, her gaze went to the ball. She lightly took his wrist and looked at the response still floating there. "It is decidedly so, huh? What did you ask?" Her scent and expression were a mix of curious and concerned. Inuyasha finally took a breath.

"J-Just if we had ramen for dinner. I'm starved." He quickly plopped the ball in her hand and stretched out on the futon. "You want me to rest or not, woman?" he snapped when she kept watching him carefully. Kagome only rolled her eyes at his blustering before getting up to put water on to boil. When her back was turned, humming under her breath as she worked, Inuyasha allowed himself a little smile.

It might be a toy, but it made him a little more hopeful for the future. Hope was something they could all use a bit more of these days. 

[silvcrignis]

Claude Frollo Out of Context Sentence Starters || Part I/?

I have a divine mission to spread the Our Claude > Canon Frollo propaganda. What better way to do so than by making various quotes of his a sentence meme?

Clowning

 “What the FUCK is Bible Study & Chill?!”

 “Do you lot think the Booberry ghost is blue because he died by strangulation???

“I was absolutely high as shit last night. The Warwick Davis leprechaun himself could have started playing knick knack on my lung & I likely would not have noticed.”

 “HOW MANY OF YOU FUCKERS SAW ME EVERYDAY & KNEW I WAS GAY & DID NOT FUCKING SAY ANYTHING?!”

 “MA’M/SIR THAT IS FOUR MILLION DOLLAR MERCHANDISE DO NOT BREAK WHAT YOU CANNOT BUY!” 

 “...Why do you smell like Nesquik Strawberry Milk?” 

“The asshole you are trying to reach is not available. Please disconnect the call & do not try again.”

“Also the day you catch me living in a shack is the day to lock me up because that would mean I finally went clinical, pal."

“Quit talking about shoving things in my ass, you perverted old man/woman!” 

 “Well. You are BORING me right now. I cannot relate to your poor person problems.”

“If I could physically meet myself I would beat the shit out of him.” 

“…I am not sweet, __. Slander me again & I will take legal action.” 

“Her vagina could probably host a fucking bounce house for all of them.”

“Na fam. Delete it right now.”

“Nearly every single time you speak you bring this family great dishonour.”

 “There is only so much suffering I can endure.”

 “I FOUND A CAT!

 “You would end up being spilt worse than my firewood.

“You cannot do coke, that is illegal!

 “Down to fucking kill myself.”

 “If you are so insistent on sucking my cock this often you ought get some knee pads.”

“I like snow. It is a good way to hit your enemies with glass shards before they realise what is happening.”

 “Do you want bullshit or the truth?”

 “I am seconds away from a brain aneurysm, son.”

 “You would be a wonderful addition to someone’s mantle. In an urn!”

 “Shut the fuck up, old man!”

 “I do not use Faebook. Faebook is for losers & old people.”

 *sarcastically* “I went out to the woods. Pretended to be a forest nymph for a few hours.”

“That is… Not my problem.”

 “Did the vibrating make it better or worse, son?”

“New Jersey’s state fruit is blueberry, you fucking crackhead.”

“No no. Continue squabbling, bottoms.”

“Like what the fuck like I can say hoe if I want to! I am a hoe, I have the pass!” 

“I want no part in your cockles, __.”

“That is too many babies, Miss/Mister.”

“Ugh no.”

“Pull up then, Fuckboy.”

“Actually I was thinking about that one medieval meme about the leggings.” 

“You cannot cancel me. I am a bad bitch.” 

Being Fucking For Real

“… Unless… Oh fuck… I must be having another psychotic break.

“Would not be the first goddamn time I had a hallucination…”

“Those were the last words I ever said to my own son’s face… Then I never saw him again.”

“... Tell me you love me again? Please?”

“What the hell was I supposed to say to you that would not sound fucking weird & desperate?”

“You know, wills to read & a little brother to parent…”

“… It was always you but… You deserve someone normal.”

“I will be perfectly fine alone, the way I always am.”

*wryly* “Ah yes, because everyone keeps their promises, __.”

“I am going to beat his ass. The next time. I see him.”

“God, I know I do not deserve it but I love you so fucking much.”