#◟༺✦༻◞ echoes of a fallen star ┊drabble.┊

[reginrokkr]

At the edge of time when all dust has settled does the Twilight Sword of old return to where it all began: Irminsul. In its presence he reminisces the hard fights that have been won: against corrupt divine, imposters to the original first gods to exist in Teyvat; against the star-devouring ailment they brought with themselves that was silenced by his hand. When all threads of fate have been re-weaved by the hand of the just and balance betwixt all creatures, short-living and carriers of longevity alike irregardless of their power —for in Teyvat there is no such thing as imbalance in power, divine or human: both are equally as important in this star's health—, a wondering mind questions the All-Knowing that has been ever present in his mind and soul since the beginning of his own existence:

Where did forbidden knowledge come from?

Irminsul always answers to his voice, yet this time it is in the form of a new variable that Dáinsleif has never encountered before. As if he was plunged into the Abyss that Khaenri'ah wished so much to conquer and explore with their own flesh and blood only to resign to resort to a fallen star from afar, everything around him is naught but a dark sky filled with stars. His eyes close once, the next time they open he finds himself before what he believes to be Irminsul at first due to its reasonable similarity, only to reject this idea as soon as he listens to this new entity's voice upon smoothing the palm of his hand over its golden-white trunk: the Imaginary Tree.

Though no connection whatsoever would be expected to remain with the Axis Mundi that belongs to a world when he's at the core of the universe, recognition is made manifest in the Imaginary Tree of a man chosen by one of its infinite extensions and so a link is established nonetheless. Wordlessly does the tree show images of other stars that fought against an energy called Honkai, others struggling against one by a different name: Stellaron. Individuals who gave it they all to defend humankind as he successfully did in Teyvat and a clear image of the last man who touched the Imaginary Tree before him, a man with alarm-inducing similarities.

From unspoken imagery does Dáinsleif come to the conclusion that this energy that once desolated Teyvat and threatened to consume it whole is no different than a stellar cancer that affects other corners of the cosmos as well. Thus a question reverberates within the confines of his mind next, ethereal:

Now that your question has been answered, what will you do? Return to your homeworld to spend the river of time peacefully of your long-lasting life? Or—?

That is true. Even if the curse has been lifted from him at the end of the crisis, his status as a long-living creature never changed. For he was never human through and through since the very beginning, despite his humane traits. He whom looks at the tree, core of everything that was birthed in this universe, he wonders: Was Phanes, who gave life to humanity in Teyvat originated from this tree too? This tree where time flows in the trunk of the Imaginary Tree and branches out into an infinity of worlds. Whose every branch is a form of civilization, while every bud is their past and present etched onto the dimension of time. Where each twig is a world line and each leaf is a bubble universe.

There is no continuation to the second option given, but Dáinsleif knows what follows. Looking back to all his life experiences, there is no more left for him in a world where he has closed one chapter. When a door closes, a window opens— or so they say. Perhaps this is the moment to say goodbye to a chapter of his life that has found its closure that welcome a new phase of his long-lasting life.

❝It has been decided.❞

A knight knows no end to his battles, neither does the Twilight Sword of old. In this battle for humanity's sake where he has the means and the strength to tip the scales in the right directions, his love for humanity will become the first step towards an unknown that doesn't frighten him.

Do it.

Through telepathic communication as per the eternal link that connects him to Irminsul's brethren in the center of the universe his answer is communicated, and so the tree that glows golden-white inundates Dáinsleif's starry vision with its light and a parting gift: he who remained a wingless seraph in soul and mind only to be displayed in his realm of consciousness has been elevated back to his celestial origins, so would Dáinsleif come to realize upon setting foot to a new world and seeing himself atop water's reflection. With his state of completion that he hasn't felt in several centuries, he now treads unknown grounds with a clear destiny in mind from the start— unlike when he was lost after everything was taken from him once.

[momojedi]

— BACTA SUPPORT pairing. hunter x gn! reader

**

type. drabble note. request from ao3  word count. 615

star wars masterlist

"Hunter? Are you here?" I hesitated when no response came back before carefully climbing up the ramp to the Havoc Marauder, the metal creaking softly under my feet. It had easily been around fifteen minutes since Hunter had excused himself from me and the rest of the Batch citing the need to tend to the blaster wound he'd sustained on our last mission so Echo sent me to check up on him, though not without giving me a mischievous grin.

It hadn't been a secret that Hunter had been the object of my affection for a while now. I mean, how could he not capture my attention? His rugged exterior concealed a tender soul, a man who prioritised the well-being and happiness of everyone around him. Seeing him with Omega always made my heart swell with so much admiration and I couldn't help but feel my cheeks flush a little whenever he gave me that warm smile, a side to him only few had the chance to meet. Needless to say, I had fallen hard for the sergeant of Clone Force 99 and for some reason, I couldn't help but hope he felt the same whenever I felt the little spark between us flicker to life.

Knocking softly on the metal of the ship as not to alarm him, I glanced around the Marauder's stomach. "I just wanted to see if you nee- oh." For a second, I had to remind myself to breathe when my eyes finally settled on him.

Hunter sat on his rack, shirtless, with a bacta patch in his hand when he looked up at me. His upper armour, along with the shirt of his body glove, were scattered on the ground. With his chest exposed, I had a perfect view on everything, each muscle and every little bit of naked skin, and suddenly, it was very hard to keep my eyes off him.

I gulped and suddenly my mouth was all dry as I kept looking for proper words, any words, to say. My face was indescribably hot and it didn't take a genius to figure out that my cheeks were likely a delicious shade of red. Hunter seemed to realise that too because suddenly, a sly grin danced on his lips. "Oh?" He repeated my words with a raised brow. I cleared my throat. "I wanted to, er, see if you needed any help, yo-you know, with your," I motioned towards the healing injury on his chest, "your wound."

Hunter chuckled, a comfortable chuckle that made me feel warmer than I'd probably like to admit. "You think I can't take care of it on my own?" My eyes widened and I gasped, immediately entangling myself in a net of excuses and corrections which just made him grin even wider. Finally, he rose his hands in a calming manner. "Relax, [name], it's all good," I let out a quiet exhale, "I would however appreciate some help with the bacta..."

My mind was racing when I settled between his knees to have better access to the wound. We'd been close before, hell, we'd even hugged or slept next to each other during missions - but this was another level of intimate. I jumped when I felt his rough hands settle on my hips. Although I fixed my gaze on the bandage in my hands, I could feel his eyes boring into me. I took a deep breath. My hands were shaking when I smeared the bacta on the injury but when I glanced up to look at Hunter, all I was met with was a loving expression. "Thank you." I smiled back at him, fully lost in his eyes.

"You're welcome."

[icywaddle]

MMMMMM GUYS I FOUND AN OLD MILGRAM DRABBLE I MADE A WHILE AGO AND IT ACTUALLY HASN’T AGED TERRIBLY

Es Warden Amalgamation AU

Es entered the room, grabbing the stack of tapes from their bedside table before sitting down on their bed. They reached across the narrow room, sliding one into the small black box on their dresser and slipping on their VR headset. Jackalope had supplied the equipment, saying it was to help them decide on their verdicts. Es had never really understood why Jackalope kept referring to them as.. well, “them.” They felt that the pronoun fit them well, but it was still.. strange.

Shaking off thoughts of Jackalope and their own identity, Es slid into bed and clicked the headset on. Their vision collapsed away into a white void. Used to it after a few trips into the headset, they surrendered to the feeling of passing out. When they regained consciousness, they stood in an endless world of sky, water rippling gently under their feet and stretching out around them for miles.

Es raised their hand and swiped at the air to pull up a menu. They scrolled through the first trial music videos, hesitating for a moment before selecting prisoner 09. Mikoto Kayano. His explosive outburst during his last interrogation intrigued Es. They decided to review both of his past MVs, see if there was anything they missed the first time.

When they clicked the button, the world around them began to disintegrate, falling away into nothingness. As they began entering the world of the MV, Es’s vision whited out again. They felt the sensation of falling, then flying, as the simulation shifted around them.

Es’s body materialized in a dark alleyway, standing beside a dumpster. They snapped their fingers, and the MV began to play. Shots of the sky, a bridge, an alley… it took a moment before Mikoto himself even made an appearance.

Mikoto paced forward in the MV, running towards an unsuspecting person before-

CRACK

The bat made contact with the blurry silhouette’s neck, a sickening crunch echoing around the alleyway walls as they collapsed. The minute the bat had snapped the person’s neck, Es had fallen to the ground, unable to pause or exit the MV as their body exploded in excruciating pain. This had never happened during their other watches of Mikoto’s video, why now-

CRACK

Again, Es felt dizzy, trembling as they felt memories rushing back to them, flowing into their mind so fast it felt as if their skull was about to burst.

They were Ayano Kisaragi, a businessman on his way back to see his wife and kids at home-

CRACK

They were Himeko Kageomori, the owner of a local bakery, headed to distribute her extra stock to the homeless-

CRACK

They were Koi Ouma, a rebellious teenager loitering outside their high school, smoking a cigarette and staring at the stars-

CRACK

The amalgamation of perspectives fell to the floor, clutching its head. It writhed, wracked with pain as its various lifetimes were relived and ended over and over again. Eventually, its cries subsided, leaving only the sound of soft breathing and music blasting all around. The screaming mass of memories subsided, their violent thoughts cooling and solidifying once more.

There was only one, now.

Kneeling on the ground, head pressed to the cold stone.

Es.

T H E W A R D E N O F M I L G R A M

[hcdragonwrites]

Just one night (a @journey-to-the-au Drabble)

Ok this is the part two! This is the comfort/ fluff of what happens after Six Eared Macaques previous rampage from Nightmares. I am glad I split these into two so people can pick and choose.

Mild trigger warning: Brief mentions of attempted SA (again nothing goes into detail at all but still sometimes this can still be a trigger.)

It’s over.

The nightmare is over.

Then why does it feel like i'm breathing but I can’t catch my breath?

Willow felt her heart beating too fast, her mind repeating the nightmare.

The cave still smelled of blood.

The imposter was dead. He lay there, finally revealed, a monkey of gray blue fur with a face of shadows. Nothing to be distinguishable of who, or what, his personality had been before it assumed the skin of their leader. Of her friend.

Of Wukong.

Her Wukong had come through the water of Water Curtain Cave in a flash of gold, eyes blazing red. Almost like a Heaven send. A blessing.

In that moment Willow had stepped forward, to the embrace of this nightmare she had dutifully taken as her yoke, a blur or fiery orange had smashed its way through the curtain of water.

“IMPOSTER!” He had called in challenge, his staff coming free of his ear. With a flick of the Kings wrist, the weapon grew in tremendous size.

The imposter had turned, hackles rising, bloody mouth circling back into a snarl. Wukong had roared. The imposter had screamed. Then they were upon each other. It had been a battle, long and difficult. Fur had flown, stone had shaken. At times the combatants had traversed the skies, shooting like two wayward stars from a bow through the Heavens. More blood fell.

In the midst of it, the imposter had cleaned the remnants of its meal from his mouth, making it impossible to tell the twisting and twining fighters apart. Which was which?

Willow had waited as finally, after gods and other immortals had been unable to tell who was who, Mama Courage and Wisdom stepped forward. Willow couldn’t hear the words being spoken between the celestials and Wisdom. She could only hear a ringing in her ears, a drumming of her heart.

She couldn’t catch her breath.

Willow's palms were wet with sweat and white. Whiter than porcelain. Courage took one of those hands, holding it tight. Breaking her numbness, her shock. Willow grasped the hand, holding on. The fear still coiled in her gut, a snake tightening its hold on her. But Courages hand was the anchor she clung to as her body battles within itself.

Wisdom had found him out, had picked out the real Wukong. A mother knew her child. That’s when the imposter had lost. He had felt it, probably, sensing the shift in the wind. In that moment he tried to run. The mirage of his disguise had fallen off in the fright. Wild white eyes, teeth bared of flesh. And now.

He was nothing more than a stain on the floor.

“Don’t you want to kiss me?” The words echo, still alive within Willows head.

Willow was trying to drown those words out.

She’s failing.

The storm inside her body is a rage of water, threatening to drag her down. Those blue eyes flash sharply in her head and Willow feels herself shake.

“Willow?”

She startles. She flinches, shaken from the very real echo of what had almost happened. “Reaffirm our union… Maybe more later.”

Willow looks up, kneeling on the stone floor of the cave. She doesn’t remember when she sat back down. Wukong stands before her. He blocks her view from the rest of the cave, from what the other troop members are beginning to clean up. He blocks her view from the bodies. But Willow still sees the imposter, has to see it. She has to kill the fear in her head that at any moment, any second, those ice eyes can come back and stare into her. To ask things of her that make her soul pull away and her body go cold.

“Willow?”

Wukong stands before her, eyes o so vulnerable. His voice is bleeding uncertainty, his hands fidgeting. He looks to her then looks away, confused on what to do.

Willow also doesn’t know what to do.

How do you tell your friend that someone wore their skin and killed and began to stalk her every step? Willow feels Mama Courage beside her, the hand squeezing. She looks up.

‘It’s him Willow. It’s our Stone Monkey.’ She signs and taps in her unique monkey way. It had taken a long time for Willow to learn this sign language, struggling but wanting to understand. Now, after decades of living together she had mastered this speech. ‘Go. You both need each other.’

‘What of you? He needs his mothers too.’ Willow signs back, not trusting her voice. That storm inside her throat is threatening to release, the track of her tears still wet. Mama Courage notices this and frowns in concern.

‘He needs a friend more. He needs you.’ She signs back. ‘And you need him most of all. To banish that demon, that nightmare. You are still shaking.’

It was true. Willows body still shook as if she had caught a deep bone chill. The blue eyes flash in her memory. Ice cold and drowning her from within Wukongs face. She had been chilled in a sense.

Before she could respond, Mama Courage had stepped away. She disappeared behind Wukong, going to help Wisdom with the mess and to spread the word of what had occurred. To reveal the truth.

Now it is just the two of them.

“It’s ok Willow.” Wukong spoke, gaze still averted. “I asked my Master if I could spend a night to … to fix the problems at home.” Willow watched as those hands wrung against each other. “But if - if what has happened- if my face brings you concern- makes you uncomfortable— I understand.”

Willow saw him step a bit off, unsure of what to do.

The eye of the hurricane was moving over Willow, that numb silence beginning to break.

Another half shuffle. He was moving closer to the carnage behind him, further from her reach. Further from her.

He’s just as afraid as I am that something has broken between us. The realization hits her like a slap.

The great wave within her, the one she had tampered down to keep her calm, to keep her cool as she had faced that monster covered in blood—

It broke through her.

Before Wukong could step further back, to disappear, to help, Willow had his face in her hands.

Willow braced her courage and stared into those eyes, determined to banish the fear that somehow, the monster had escaped. The Monkey King's eyes widened, gold within a sea of red. Willow pressed a kiss to his temple, a test.

If you are my sweet boy, my handsome monkey, she thought vehemently, this will prove it.

If you are that monster … I’ll see it in your eyes.

Willow waited.

Wukongs face was full of surprise. He blinked rapidly, uncomfortable about the intense eye contact. He looked away, looked to the side. Then he looked back up.

“Willow… what … what happened ?” For he could sense something beginning to churn within his friend. A tipping point of sorts and he, the cliff she balanced on.

The monster is dead.

Relief.

Willow breathed out. The air in her lungs shook.

Relief broke the iron in her spine. What little courage she had clung to swept away and she let it. In the dozens of decades she had been with Wukong, had cultivated and grown their trust and friendship, she had found and grown a safe place to be herself. Not Earth Reaching Willow of Polestar Palace, Eldest Daughter. To be her true self. To be one with the emotions she had suppressed. The feelings she had to repress as a princess unless she gave the wrong impression, put on the wrong face, among her fathers courtiers.

I want my friend. The longing was fierce and wild. It scorched her veins and pricked her eyes with fresh tears. A strangled sob passed between her teeth as she tried to stifle it with her fist.

“Willow?”

I need my friend - I need him.

She could be just Willow here, in his arms. She didn’t need to be a shield. She didn’t need to be a princess. She pressed her face into the crook of his neck, holding.

“The last thing I want is for you to go.” She whispered. And that’s when it fell. The tears came fast and hard, her body shaking with it. The hurricane was passing over here, the eye of the storm now past. The wind within her was full of the past years spent with the imitation of her friend. His watching eyes, his burning brushes against her hands. Those days when he had hinted, suggested, and plainly stated he wanted more—

Wukongs hands held her arms, cooed in her ear. “It’s ok Willow. Let it out. Breathe.”

“Don’t go…” she whispered, making a mess of tears on his shoulder.

“I’m not going anywhere. I’m here. I’m right here.”

Nightmares. She felt them all coming across her mind then, each time she lifted her face to catch a breath. The nightmares flashed into her head. But they weren’t nightmares.

“He can’t hurt you Willow. He can’t hurt anyone ever again.” Wukongs voice was fierce in that promise as he turned to press a kiss to her temple. Sealing the promise as he rubbed her arms like a mother to a babe.

They were memories. Of all the times the imposter, the Six Eared Macaque, had pressed her for touches. Had asked for kisses. Had attempted many times to get her away from the eyes of others. Earth Reaching Willow had walked the halls feeling eyes always upon her.

He had cornered her one terrible night and had reached for her. Willow had felt like a rabbit caught in a snare as his hand had caressed her face, had trailed to her lips. He had been interrupted by Rin Rin coming in to ask for bouquet suggestions, wanting to know what blossoms to pair best with what greens in preparation for a feast. Her friend had saved her that night and she didn’t even know.

None of them had known.

Each time the memory popped up, Willow flinched away, trying to curl deeper into the orange fur. Trying to burrow into her friend because he was real. And she needed that reality from the wake that was her mind. It grounded her, allowed her to be scared. Willow breathed him in. The imposter had never smelled quite right, had never felt quite right, hadn’t talked quite right. At least to her.

Wukong, this Wukong- her Wukong, smelled of the world, of growing things and sunlight, of ozone and wind. Of rain upon dry stone. The Six Eared Macaque had been floral and fruity, sweet like a honeyed nectar trap, like a carnivorous flower. And she the unwitting fly.

All the things he had tried to do to lure her in had failed. Willow had survived.

Barely.

My Wukong is here. My friend, my confidant, my partner in this eternity. I do not have to be brave anymore. I don’t have to be strong. Here, I can cry.

Nothing could ever replicate the muscle memory, the familial way that Willow and Wukong both folded into each other's embrace. They had hundreds of years to build this body-deep familiarity with one another. This instinctual trust.

Not even a six eared all knowing demonic monkey could copy that.

Willows sobs were not slowing. They were gaining traction instead. All the fear of years of living with a masked monster in their midst, all the close calls that Willow was remembering now, battered her. Wukong shifted a bit and she felt more than saw Wukong grow in size. Her arms moved apart, having to move from holding his face to grab his middle.

“I’m going to move us Willow. Is that alright ?” His voice is soft, questioning.

My sweet friend, so tender in his asking.

She can’t trust her own voice but nods. Then they were up, an arm beneath her leg and another holding her back. As the sounds of the waterfall retreated, Willow felt the tightness in her chest start to loosen. Breaths she couldn’t take before, that seemed to catch in her throat, came easier.

Each step took them away from the roar of the water. With each crash of tears, Willow curled into her friend. Mama Courage had been right. She had needed him.

Wukong finally stopped moving, settling the both of them down onto the stone floor. They were in an alcove, a bit of a stone hollow off of the main passageway. Willow looked up at Wukong then as he crossed his legs. He nestled her into his lap. His tail wrapped her own lags, a warm blanket against the cold.

“Comfortable?”

“Mhm..” Willow sniffed. Her nose would be stuffed later but she didn’t care. Couldn’t care. She wiped her eyes and tried to see through them.

Wukong looked terribly sad, his face on the brink of breaking itself.

“Oh darling…” she hiccuped. Willow touched his forehead. The golden circlet was cold across her fingers. “It’s not your fault.”

She could see it hurting, eating away at her friend. A worm within an apple core, destroying all the good fruit about it.

They only had one night. One night.

Willow wished for more than just a night.

“Wu-Wukong.” Her voice came out thick. Her monkey leaned into her touch, those golden eyes warm and full of love.

“You don’t need to relive those things.” He said. “Not tonight. Not ever again if you wish. You don’t even have to trust me again. My face … it has been used for terrible things…monstrous things. I see it in all of your eyes.”

Unspilled tears pooled in his face. “I can see it in your eyes. In my mothers. In my friends. In Ba and Ma and Liu and Rin Rins eyes.”

“You all have ghosts in your eyes and I can’t banish them. Because I caused them. ”

Those sad words were spoken with such sorrow, with such rejection that Willows was moving before she could think. Willow pulled his face down to hers.

“This isn’t your fault Wukong.” Willow said.

“It is completely my fault…”

“Oh my sweet Monkey…” She said into his fur. I wish you didn’t have to go- I wish you could stay here, stay with us with me, to help chase those memories into the dark. “How I missed you.”

Wukong swiped some of her tears off her cheek, rumbling not words but noises.

“But you have a pilgrimage to be a part of. You are needed there.” Willow says.

“I’m needed here.” The guilt is eating him, swallowing him up bit by bit. The words he couldn’t say were evident in his eyes. If I had been here none of this would have happened, they said.

“You will always be needed here.”

“Maybe not as welcome.” Wukong pulled back, looking away. “ A stranger took my face and committed atrocities. That face, my face, hurt you. My mothers. My friends. My home.” His voice is shaking. From anger, from sorrow, she did not know. Wukong was powerful. He had challenged Heaven, had defeated dragons, outwitted gods. He had shapeshifted into a thousand different things, had gained a weapon that matched his own abilities. He was a warrior, a King who cared for his people.

Wukong hadn’t been able to protect them. It ate at him. Swallowed him in an endless loop of pain.

“I wasn’t here to protect you.” He whispered. Wukong had burst through the cave, seeking his doppleganger with anger. When he had seen the bloody remains of Cloud, the smiling face of his imitation covered in blood and approaching his mothers and Willow—

He had lost it.

“Wukong look at me.”

He didn’t move his head, despondent. Willow dug her fingers in deeper to the fur, twisting the large monkey about just enough to see him clearly.

She carded those fingers through Wukongs fur, half comfort for her and half comfort for him. Those fingers plucked and pulled, tugged and tended in the ways the monkey king had shown her, all those years ago when she first came to Flower Fruit Mountain.

“It’s better than brushing,” He had said. “It’s a way we say we love one another and strengthen that love. A language spoken through our hands.”

Willow spoke that silent language now. She moved the fingers through and around his face, over his ears. Willow silently kissed the tears from his cheeks as she cried her own. His pain was hers. And hers was his.

In that silent and dark place the two took shelter against the world. Willow from her own memories. Wukong from his own perceived failings.

The story of what happened fell slowly from Willows lips. She held nothing back. Wukong would either stiffen or growl, huff or pull her closer at each new unearthed memory. Willow lived them again here and now, feeling the night slip between her fingers like grains of sand. She had only one night.

One night to banish that blue-eyed monster from its association with Wukong. I won’t let that demon take him from me.

It was a fierceness that surprised Willow. It gave back some of her strength, allowing her to speak nakedly about the truth of what had happened since Wukong began his pilgrimage.

I won’t let him be poisoned to me. I won’t let my experience of a few years erase more than a lifetime of memories.

Willow would not leave that between them. She loved Wukong too much to lose him to some faceless cannibal that had been a drop in the ocean of time they had spent together.

It would take more than a night Willow knew, to repair what things had been shaken. But she would get the worst of it done. She would find a way to see him again before his journey was done. She needed him. And he needed her.

If I have to blackmail all of Heaven I will. I’ll air my fathers own dirty laundry to steal a few moments with Wukong on the road. Then once he’s home I won’t let him go till he knows he’s wanted and loved by all of us. He’s family.

Willow cried and in turn counseled her friend. Wukong simply sat at times to listen, at others times he spoke of promises and things he would do, ways he would make it up to her. Willow would shake her head.

“Just be you. Just always and forever be my lovely Monkey.”

“I promise.”

And together, in the very heart of the mountain, the two wept. Once the sun rose, Wukong brought Willow back to his mothers. He said his goodbyes. The pain and indecision on his face was at war with itself. Willow, when her turn came to say goodbye, took Wukongs hand. She wrapped her pinky around his.

“When I see you again I’ll tell you of all the things we’ve done.” Willow whispered, pressing her forehead to his. “I will tell you of the seasons change and I will tell you of the coconut toddy and sweet plumb wine we drink for you on your birthday. Of Ba and Ma’s latest stunts, of how Liu and Rin Rin act cuter than ever as they continue to court. I will tell you of all the babies born and all of the younglings who try to prove themselves to their amors.”

Willow felt Wukong shake a bit. She tightened her hold on his other hand, squeezing. “I will tell you of the new trees we plant, of the new games we invent, of the new relationships we cultivate.”

“The most important thing I will tell you though is how much we love and miss you, Wukong. How we are all eagerly awaiting you back at home. How, even now, I can’t wait for your return.”

“You … mean that?” He stared, golden sunset eyes misting over with new tears.

“Oh love. You don’t have to ask. I always miss you.” She smiled. “You are my handsome monkey. My lovely monkey. My best friend. I want you to be happy. And if ever those fellows you travel with make you guess or judge yourself harshly— then I will remind them why I chose you. Of all the beings and people of the world and Heaven, I picked you. And you picked me.”

“I don’t want to go.”

“The sooner you go.” Willow said softly. “The sooner you will come back to Flower Fruit Mountain. And the sooner I can enjoy those peaceful days with my husband.”

Wukong gave one last desperate look back, and it took all of his family’s willpower not to call him, to beg him to stay. Instead, Willow waved smiling at him. Mama Courage and Mama Wisdom both held each other, smiling at their boy.

Marshal Liu stepped closer to the smaller group, along with Ma and Ba and Beng. A silent gesture of we will take care of them, in that action.

Wukong smiled, half heartedly, and leapt through the water. Gone as quickly as he had arrived.

Willow turned then, hands clasped within their robed sleeves. She had a task to do now.

“Marshal Liu?”

“You have an idea, don’t you Mrs Willow?”

“Are my thoughts that evident?” Willow smiled as Marshal Liu nodded. He kept pace with her. walking as Willow turned deeper into the cave.

“I need a few scrolls of parchment.” The idea had already taken shape in her mind. Wukong may be stuck within his duties to his pilgrims. But she was not. She would have to be wise, be careful. She didn’t want to turn this into a heavenly spectacle. She did have a few contacts, however, that could be trusted with the whole truth of her urgency. “I need to write a few letters to Heaven.”

“Heaven?”

“Yes. I know Liu. I don't write home often.” As the sounds of the waterfall faded again, Willow felt her heart thrum with determination. “One night is hardly enough time to heal what has been wrecked here. And I intend on calling on a few favors.” She would send her letters, seeking out sympathetic ears discreetly. She would help Sun Wukong heal just as much as he had helped her. They would do so together. Even if the distance may be great I will find a way.

[soleilnomoon]

❥ ₍⑅ᐢ..ᐢ₎ prompt(s): sweet.

350 words, gn reader (no pronouns), nsfw, 18+ mdni, angst w. a hint of smut (not rly, sort of); feat. cute stuff like, ichiji being jealous and a lil nasty, a wild yonji and niji appear being... themselves -- brothers being brothers, yk the vibes. reader might not ever escape atp, who knows. a ficlet instead of a drabble bc my long-winded ass can't keep to 100 words sometimes (ꈍᴗꈍ)♡

previous ⤸ | next ⤹

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･titled — “immanity.”

raucous laughter echoes around the expansive living room, grating his nerves; his idiot younger brothers decimate his residual patience. the brunt of his frustration has been directed towards niji all night, because he can’t forgive his younger brother for interrupting him earlier. 

the thought of you sucking on his fingers — mouth hot, tongue and lips soft — has him leaning back into the plush lounge chair. he ignores the way his cock sits heavy and stiff in his pants, his irritation spiking, prickling his skin. 

the itch is bothersome, an intrusive sensation that has him out of sorts. 

his younger brothers oscillate between drinking and arguing, while he sits back, hoping they settle down soon. but of fucking course, yonji drops his shot glass on the floor; ichiji’s frown deepens as the glass shatters into small, sharp pieces — tiny fallen stars glimmering against the dark tiled floor; unnamed and lonesome. 

he runs a hand down his face as the pair argue again, agitation boiling over.

“i don’t care whose fault it is,” ichiji says sharply, dark eyes narrowing, “get it cleaned up. now.”

and, as if his night couldn’t get any worse: you enter the room. 

you saunter leisurely and plop down on the couch, shorts riding up your thick thighs, showing off the curve of your ass. niji he leans over mischievously to whisper something to you — outlandish, very perverse.

words jumbled and incoherent as they tumble around your mouth, you’re unable to look at ichiji for longer than a second — too ashamed of how you willingly let him manhandle you.

you should be looking for a way out of there, but instead you keep wondering what would’ve happened if niji hadn’t— 

“i knew it,” niji says loudly, laughing and nudging yonji, baiting ichiji again. “pay up, pay up,” he chants offkey. 

ichiji leaves them be, focusing, instead, on grabbing you by the arm, brutally hauling you to your feet. an argument sits in the back of your throat as ichiji drags you out of the room, muttering curses under his breath, attempting to put distance between you and niji.

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

I want to echo the real star of disabled!verse being Cola request, and ask for a drabble with the real star of assistant!verse, Ace, please 💕

Alfred looked up when you let yourself in through the kitchen door and smiled a little, "Knocking off early or here on an Errand?" he asked.

"Errand," you answer, forcing yourself to smile. You've got a vicious headache and you desperately need the auras to stop. The black spots blooming in front of your vision were distracting and the pain was making you nauseous.

"Well," he said, wiping his hands, brow furrowing as he looked you over, "How can I-" And before he can ask what you've come for, you're out.

Crumpling to the floor in a heap, in a dead faint after wavering for a moment. "Oh dear," he said, moving to put you on your side and whistling softly to Call Ace out of his basket where he was patiently waiting for you to fuss over him. "Down," Alfred said, pointing to the floor behind your back.

Ace whined but lay down, snuffling against your neck and Alfred stroked his head, "Keep her still, huh?"

He stood carefully and grabbed the phone off the counter, waiting. He wasn't sure what had happened but. I you didn't come round on your own, he'd be calling an ambulance. And then Bruce to yell at him for not noticing you weren't well.

But when you stirred, whimpering and confused, Alfred exhales slowly, putting a hand on your shoulder, "Easy," he said, smiling a little when Ace pawed at you insistently. Worrying your coat with his paws. "Gave us a bit of a scare, Girlie," he scolded, "What on Earth-"

"Why am I on the floor?" you ask confused.

"You fainted," he asked, moving a small trash can closer when he noticed you turning a little green as he helped you to sit up. "Did you not eat breakfast or-"

"It's just a migraine," you manage, taking a deep breath, and stroking the massive furry head that flopped into your lap. "It's been a long time since I've passed out."

"How long?" Alfred asked, noting that you seemed to be speaking well and oriented to where you were- so not in any imminent danger. And that was good.

"College, I think," you answer, scritching the spot behind Ace's ear that made his right back foot twitch.

The butler nodded and got to his feet, holding out his hands, "Well, I'm afraid I must insist you sit with me for a while before attending to whatever Errand-"

"Just some files from his study- he said that you would know-"

"Ah yes," Alfred said, "I noticed he'd forgotten them this morning." The butler sighed and helped you to your feet. putting you in a kitchen chair. "I'll fetch those once you've had something to drink. Do you have medicine?"

"In my center console-"

And Alfred nodded, picking up your keys where they'd fallen from your hand and turning to fetch it. "Ace," he ordered, "keep an eye on her for me."

Ace whined, butting his head more insistently against your abdomen, wanting more attention and Alfred chuckled to himself. He didn't doubt that Ace was going to do exactly that.

[sungbeam]

[𝟔:𝟒𝟓𝐏𝐌] — nonidol!choi beomgyu x gn!reader

0.2k words, fluff-ish, beomgyu is cheesy lmao but still cute

a/n: no but the fact that the specific pick-up line i used prob won't make sense in context unless you know this is for my birthday event TT

"Hey! Yn, wait up!"

Your footsteps slowed slightly to allow Choi Beomgyu to fall into step beside you. A light mist of rain had fallen just as your class was dismissed for the evening, leaving the streets damp and glistening against the reflection of amber streetlights. "Hey, what's up, Gyu?"

Beomgyu slung an arm around your shoulders, his rain jacket crinkling against yours. "It must be your birthday or something."

You furrowed your brows in confusion, titling your head over to look at him. "Are you okay? My birthday's not—"

"Ah, then it must be mine," he cut in. You noticed the mischievous gleam in his eyes and you waited for the punchline. He leaned down slightly, close enough that you could feel his warm breath fan over your nose. "'Cause you're a gift."

You groaned loud, head thrown back and everything. Beomgyu's giggles of pure delight echoed against the buildings and empty street. You made a face at him, then playfully shoved his chest. "You're so bad, oh my god!"

Beomgyu's face was alight with his laughter, and he grinned at you with such happiness in his eyes that you couldn't be mad at him. You just couldn't. "You're so cute, Yn," he said offhandedly as he drew you back toward him with his arm. 

You ignored the pounding in your chest. "Glad to hear my irritation with you brings you joy."

"You bring me much more joy than you'll ever know." And when you glanced at him, he was already looking back at you with those beautiful stars in his eyes, and you couldn't doubt him, not for a second. 

txt m.list ✶ oct. drabbles m.list

permanent taglist: @im-a-big-mess @honeyhuii @crazywittysassy @seomisaho @stopeatread @enhacolor @rnjfy @jaehunnyy @kpopjackie @spiderrenjunfics @justanotherkpopstanlol @w3bqrl @super-btstrash-posts @hibernatinghamster @otchae @bigballsz @shakalakaboomboo @ashxxkook @kpop718 @ethereal-engene @kim-jvnkyu

[toastthewolfie]

Sole Survivor [ A Drabble about Whisper ]

We started this together.

I remember it like it was yesterday, how we laughed, how almost all of you had fallen asleep before the sun fell below the horizon.

How me and Zachary were the last ones up, staring at the stars. How we had an actual conversation for the first time in months.

I remember how quickly it was taken away from us.

How Azure bled out.

How Hazel was rushed when she was about to recover.

How Echo was forcefully ascended into godhood, only to fall in the battle of the heavens.

How Ezra sacrificed themself for a risky experiment that, if it succeeded, would give humanity the ability to fight back.

How Zachary was killed in an attempt to save Ezra from their twisted reality.

How none of it mattered in the end.

How in the end, all of your sacrifices meant nothing, that the end of the war was brought by a two person team unrelated to us.

We started this together but…

Why am I the only one left?

“Because it is you who never truly existed in the first place.”

Note: the last two sentences are what inspired this Drabble, feel free to use the idea if you want?

[darkmatter-nebula]

Colli gets a water gun

Hello! Thank you for the request!

This takes place shortly before Echoes of the Past.

Drabble: The Water Gun

It was a quiet afternoon on the Boiling Isles as a certain small starboy with a heart as pure as freshly fallen snow and otherwordly fluffy lavender hair and found something interesting in the basement of the Owl House. A water gun, to be specific.

Apparently, it ended up in the Demon Realm some time ago. "Mom, what is that?" Colli asked, a curious expression on his adorable multi-colored face. "A toy from the Human Realm, Little Star. It's called water gun." Eda explained.

"What is it for?" Colli tilted his head innocently. "You fill it with water, and then you shoot it at people." The Owl Lady said. "Doesn't it hurt?" The kindhearted eternal little boy was a pacifist through and through. Eda couldn't help but smile.

"No, Colli. It's fun, actually." Eda decided to demonstrate it. Colli's smile was shining as brightly as a diamond as his mother used the water gun on him. The immortal celestial boy was relieved that the human toy wasn't used to hurt people.

The End

[voidartisan]

Welcome to the blog.

Make yourself at home

(Fic masterlist and spoiler tag policy below the cut)

🔹She/her, arospec ace

🔹I go by AJ, or Void, if that feels more natural to you

🔹Psychology student with a fine arts minor

🔹Member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints

🔹Usually screaming about Star Wars (mostly the prequels, or, let’s be honest, anything with Obi-Wan Kenobi in it for more than .05 seconds)

🔹Also a fan of lots of other media, including but not limited to: Tolkien's Legendarium, The Queen's Thief series, Howl's Moving Castle, Pride and Prejudice, Parks and Recreation, Pirates of the Caribbean, The Princess Bride, Wooden Overcoats, Avatar: The Last Airbender, The Lunar Chronicles, and some of my beloved childhood fandoms

🔹Occasional artist (read: doodler), slightly more frequent writer

🔹I have one sideblog, @arafinweanappreciation, for Tolkien content

🔹I really REALLY like answering asks so don't be afraid to inbox me random questions if you ever want to

🔹I try to be diligent about organizational tagging for characters and fandoms so things will be easy to find, as well as spoilers for blocking purposes

🔹On that note, I usually only tag spoilers for ongoing content (i.e. I’ve never tagged spoilers for rebels or tcw), and stop tagging spoilers 4-6 weeks after a finale drops. If you’re currently watching a Star Wars show that finished its most recent season more than a month ago, scroll at your own risk

🔹 #void doodles - my art tag

🔹#talking into the void - mostly me rambling about irl stuff. feel free to block it if you're here for fandom stuff tbh. doesn't hurt my feelings

🔹 #aj writes - my fanfic and related posting

Currently reading: Guards! Guards! by Terry Pratchett

Fic Masterlist

Obi-Wan and Ahsoka:

against the dying of the light: Sometimes your master's master has more influence on your training than you think. And sometimes they send you a physical reminder.

i saw waves lifting the sea: queer grandmaster-grandpadawan bonding. that's it. that's the fic.

softly in the gloom they heard the birds: you know that meme where the two characters are both trying take a bullet for the other??? yeah.

it's cold on the floor: very short one-shot that i wrote entirely for the joke at the end. potentially the only thing i've written that doesn't contain any angst

Obi-Wan and Anakin:

i owe it to my brothers: an anthology of obi-wan and anakin snippets, currently very short

Disaster Lineage:

fallen sentries: A post-Lawless Arc story focusing on Obi-Wan's particular method of grieving, and how Ahsoka and Anakin have to figure out how to deal with it.

resemblances: Ahsoka looks back on her masters and her training during her time in the Rebellion

come by it honestly: a snippet of Obi-Wan and Ahsoka dealing with Anakin's nonsense, even (especially) when he's not around.

you cried when you cut your hair: exploring lineage dynamics through padawan braids

The Bad Batch:

the final standing domino: Omega gets curious about some old holos Echo is looking at. Angst ensues.

the sincerest form of flattery: omega is growing up a little too fast for hunter's taste, and not fast enough for hers (fluffier than it sounds)

Post-S2 finale drabble: written in the wait between S2 and S3, critically acclaimed (critics being hunter stans in the notes)

Post-S3 finale double drabble: written in the throes of tbb update withdrawals and the wake of [SPOILERS REDACTED]

Cody and Obi-Wan:

ori'vode: Cody is (unintentionally) emotionally assaulted by a preteen [i had to make this summary humorous because i DID cry while writing it. multiple times]

scars: Obi-Wan and Cody snippet from the early Clone Wars, feat. Cody acting his (physical) age for approx. 2 min.

AWOL: an angsty one-shot written in honor of cody's first awol-iversary

Clan Kryze:

aay'han: Korkie snippets, mostly relating to Satine, her legacy, and their relationship

Satine Week 2024: What is says on the tin, a collection of Satine-centric one-shots inspired by the Satine Week prompts.

Modern AU:

and we don't notice any time pass: the main body of the modern au. constructed almost entirely of song lyrics, nostalgia, and and found family tropes. the clone wars but make it napoleon dynamite. sort of

Other/Multi:

ahsoka tano gets her man: the fluff filler episode of clone wars i always wanted but never got, feat. obitine, korkie and ahsoka friendship, and obi-wan and ahsoka bonding.

to catch a tooka: it is a truth universally acknowledged that all stray cats must be in want of a teenage girl to adopt them

sabacc face: trapped in an escape pod? nothing to do? consider card games and accidentally digging up old family drama/trauma

it's every breath that comes before: short qui-gon death fic. his pov for the theed generator fight in tpm. i made myself sad

Obi-Wan and Luke minific: look. Obi-Wan and the twins---

[scribsbg3hell]

Here, have a drabble.

***

The sound of her laugher echoed through the camp, joyous and clear as a bell that rung through the quiet night. 

Lucian couldn't help the way his ears twitched at the sound, almost straining as it begins to fade to the dark. It's easy enough to find the source, the dainty tiefling wrapped in soft cloth grinning with an almost childlike delight as Wyll twirled her with the practiced ease of a noble, the two of them light enough on their toes that they almost float. Wyll, of course, was enraptured by her, grinning like some lovesick fool as they danced and spun, as if the world around them had fallen away. Blood and death and terror were just mere concepts, the parasites In their brains keeping them at the edge of oblivion reduced to simple nightmares easily forgotten. Instead, everything was as it should be, a small bubble of a dream where everything was good and safe and kind. A reverie.

The name suited her so well.

And yet, all dreams must end. As the dance between them ends, Reverie bows her head and pulls away from Wyll instead of falling into his arms like he so desperately wished she would. Their hands linger together for a moment, and then she is gone, reality shattering the daydream. It takes a great amount of effort for Lucian not to laugh at the way Wyll's face falls, heartbroken for just an instant before he collects himself, watching the tiefling retreat to her tent with the same look of longing affection that seemed to plague everyone in camp. It is foolish, really, to hope. Reverie was kindness, devotion, a ray of sunlight cutting through the dark, and yet she was fleeting. She would never stay, no matter how much she or anyone else might wish her to. It just wasn't in her nature. 

As Reverie’s tent flap falls shut behind her, the sounds of the camp resume almost abruptly, the rest of their companions freed suddenly from the spell of her presence. Lucian feels his lips twitch at the way everyone furiously busies themselves, as if they hadn't been just as enthralled as poor Wyll. Gale returns to his cooking, Astarion to his books, and Shadowheart to her armor. Laezel glares out at the dark as if it had offended her, and Karlach seems content to turn her gaze to the stars. 

Lucian returns to his blade, cleaning it of blood and grime, testing its edge for sharpness. It is familiar, though he has no particular attachment to this specific hunk of steel. It was a tool, a means to an end, yet his body craves a specific weight, a specter of a memory that he couldn't begin to remember anymore. He does his best to focus on his work, yet he cannot stop how his mind inevitably wanders. Wanders to blood shed and lives taken, and the deliciousness of the screams of those he cut down. He tries to shoves those thoughts away, but they linger at the edge of his mind anyway, much like the dread Urge that he is forced to contend with. 

When he feels himself start to spiral, Lucian puts the blade down at his side, hand still on the hilt, leaning back on his palm with a huff. His head hurt and his body ached, burned with denial, refusal.

It is just a thought. 

Reverie's voice is clear in his head, when she had taken it upon herself to burden him with her kindness, so empathetic and gentle when his nightmares had tore at him, as if she could understand the horrors that plagued his sleep.  Lucian keeps his face neutral, through he can feel eyes on him from a short distance away, predatory, inquisitive. He chooses to ignore them, rising to his feet and sauntering off to his own tent, trying to mask how tightly he gripped the sword in his hand. 

He wonders absently, as the ducks into his tent, what expression Reverie would wear if he crawled into her tent sunk a dagger in her chest. He already knows how it feels to press a blade into her skin, having come upon her in the woods alone one night, breathless and shaky as she tried to cut out an infection that refused to heal. Her flesh parted so easily for the knife as she clung to him, swallowing down her screams as he cut and cut and cut until the air reeked of blood and purification. She didn't make a sound, save for a few gasps, though her face twisted in agony. But then it was over, the wound cauterized then magicked over the next morning, and neither spoke of it. 

If he killed her, pressed that dagger slow between her ribs, twisted, would she scream? Fight and claw and bare her teeth until she choked on her own blood, life fading from her with a tired whine? Or would she grab at his arm, hold him steady until the blade was buried to the hilt, grief and agony and understanding in her eyes so beautiful as they both weep? It could be beautiful, watching her light dim. It could be euphoric, divine even. It could be--

It is just a thought.

Bile rises up in Lucian's throat, bitter and acrid, and his head throbs again as he tries to shove the images from his mind. He lets the sword in his hand drop near his bedroll, all but throwing himself upon the pile of furs and cloth he had accumulated over the past few weeks. It is only when the motion causes some unexpected discomfort that he realizes that he's half hard from the bloodied fantasy, and a wave of disgust washes through him. 

He ignores it, turning onto his side and resting his head on his arms, horns bumping a little on the hard ground beneath the fur. Reverie's laughter echos through his mind, another memory to fill his empty head, and he wonders how it must feel like to laugh so easily, so joyfully and at ease. He thinks, briefly, that he would like to as well. Perhaps when blood and death did not cling to him like a second skin, coming to him as easy as breathing. He might like to laugh, and dance, and savor those small moments of happiness. One day. 

For now, though, Lucian resigns himself to his isolation, the dark, and waits for the nightmares to come.

***

[momojedi]

Why I am hated in the Star Wars fandom

**

type. drabble note. based on this ... I'll apologise. warnings. violence, gore, murder, mentions of death word count. 407

star wars masterlist || pinned post

Crimson streams traced a path down his battered face, each droplet a testament to the violence inflicted upon him. His body, a canvas of purple and black bruises, struggled for breath, clinging desperately to the fragile thread of existence. In the midst of it, his eyes remained on Omega, the sole motivation to ward off the approaching darkness.

Omega's senses dulled to the chaos around her, her focus laser-sharp on the fallen figure of Hunter, battered and on the brink of oblivion. Lingering effects of the stormtrooper's taser coursed through her veins, leaving her disoriented and numb.

"Hunter," her voice cracked, tears welling in her eyes, "please, get up." His response was but a faint flicker, his gaze, once warm, now broken and exhausted. Omega's heart shattered. This wasn't the Hunter she cherished, not the man, the father, she wanted to remember. "Hunter, fucking get up!"

But he remained unmoved. Omega's desperation swelled within her, a primal scream trapped in her throat, unable to break free.

Tech-no, not Tech. The figure clad in black armor was a stranger, a twisted echo of her brother. It wasn't Tech who inflicted this agony upon them, who pursued Crosshair and nearly drowned him in the process, who tore her from the safety of her brothers' embrace during the Empire's raid on Pabu. And it wasn't Tech now, aiming the blaster at Hunter's vulnerable form.

It was CX-2.

"Please stop," she pleaded, her voice finding strength amidst the turmoil. "Please, don't do this!" As CX-2 turned to meet her gaze, Omega's resolve wavered. The face she once trusted, who used to spend night after night explaining the Batch’s battle plans and strategies to her until she fell asleep against his shoulder, now twisted by a blind loyalty to a cruel cause, sent fissures through her resolve.

Omega knew her words alone were futile. With a final, desperate cry, she repeated, "Hunter, please, get up!"

For a fleeting moment, their eyes locked, a glimmer of hope igniting within Omega's body. But when his lips curved into a familiar smile, she faltered and suddenly, tears blurred her vision. She recognized that smile.

"It will be okay," it whispered, echoing in her mind. "You'll manage, you always have. I love you. Goodbye."

A single shot shattered the silence, ripping Hunter from their midst. In his place stood Tech's hollow shell, smoke curling from the barrel of his blaster. Omega's anguished scream pierced the air.

[ailendolin]

⚡️ with Mary and Robin for the emoji drabbles please :) and congrats on 500 followers!

Thank you for the congratulations and this wonderful prompt! It took quite a surprising turn and I really hope you'll enjoy the ficlet I wrote for it! 💙

Next up:

🤝🏽 Hand holding - Ian & Gabriel

🎶 Dancing - Dissectus & Voltari

💞 Post-nightmare cuddles - Thomas

Ask Game for the 500 followers celebration can be found here.

Filled prompts are here & here on AO3.

————

The Storm

⚡ Scared of thunderstorms (Mary & Robin)

“Weres you ever scared?” Mary asked softly. She nodded at the storm raging on outside the window. “Back when you’s been alive?”

Robin’s first instinct was to laugh. Him, scared of a little thunderstorm? Things far more dangerous than that had existed back in his time – things with teeth and claws that no cave, no matter how large or small, had offered any protection against. Only fire had, as long as it didn’t go out in the night. That’s what Robin had been scared of back then: the fire dying. Not scared like Thomas was of loud noises; scared in a quiet, worrying way that wouldn’t allow him to fall into a deep sleep, wouldn’t allow him to feel safe.

He never had to worry when thunder rolled over the grassy plains at night. Thunder brought lightning and lightning brought fire – the very thing that kept the wolves, hyenas, cats and bears at bay.

“I always felt safe during storms,” he said quietly as lightning flashed across the sky, briefly illuminating the grounds below them. He got a glimpse of Kitty dashing across the driveway, and when she reached down to pick up something by the fountain, Robin could almost hear her say, “There you are, Humphrey! What are you doing out here in this ghastly weather?”

“Safe?” Mary asked as Kitty ran back inside with Humphrey tucked safely under her arm and her shoulders hunched as if she still felt the rain and cold.

Robin nodded. “Storms carried fire.”

“Ah,” Mary said in understanding before she wrapped her arms around her chest. “I don’t likes it much when trees and such get hits by lightning.”

She tried not to show it but her eyes were haunted by the past as she gazed outside the window. Lightning and thunder cracked together across the sky, making her flinch.

“Is okay,” Robin murmured, patting her shoulder to comfort her.  

Mary reached up to hold his hand and flashed him a trembling but grateful smile. She didn’t let go and Robin didn’t pull away. They did this sometimes – sitting together and holding hands in comfortable silence. It meant both nothing and everything, and in moments like this Robin wondered how he was supposed to brush off the loss when Mary’s time to go would inevitably come.

He hoped that fateful day was still many, many Moonahs away.

“Have you ever liked them?” he asked into the silence that had fallen between them. “The storms? Before?”

For a moment, the fear cleared from Mary’s eyes and they grew distant with memories. “As a child, I woulds often sneak outside and dance in the rain. Gave my mother quite a fright, I dids.”

She chuckled to herself and Robin felt a smile pulling at his own lips as he remembered a different girl with wild brown hair and stars in her eyes, long gone now. “My daughter used to do the same.”

Mary glanced at him, all signs of amusement gone from her face. “Do you miss her?”

“After all this time?” Robin heaved a sigh. “Not as much as I should.”

“I gets it,” Mary whispered and gave his hand a squeeze. “Even in life, I coulds not bear to mourn and miss my children every day. ‘Twas too much pain for the heart to carry.”

Their eyes met in the dark and when another bolt of lightning flashed across the sky, Robin saw his own sorrow reflected in Mary’s eyes. “Still is,” he whispered heavily. He turned back towards the window, and the sound of long-forgotten laughter and small feet splashing in the rain echoed in his memories.

[veskomisch]

December 2023 Writing Prompts to Help Keep You Inspired This Winter

I usually make a list of prompts for November to celebrate NaNoWriMo but this year was hectic so I made some for December! Use these for exploring AUs, developing existing OCs, creating new characters, writing drabbles, character studies, or whatever you want. Some of these I've found strewn across the internet, some of them I came up with myself. No credit necessary! If you want to add some extra fun, you could try spinning a wheel I created or letting Google randomize the prompts for you!

Spin a wheel.

Random Number

‎Google Doc Version of Prompts Prompts below the cut. ‎

[ 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐄𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 ] Write a piece using three elements.

01. A pair of eyeglasses, a piece of rotted fruit, jazz music

02. A vault door, the scent of jasmine, wet carpet

03. A chess board, dawn, matches

04. A thunderstorm, a piece of pie, midnight

05. Broken glass, paper flowers, a secret door

06. A campfire, a secret diary, peppermints

07. Freshly fallen snow, a tool shed, love notes

08. The color blue, the echo of footsteps, a shooting star

[ 𝐒𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐬 & 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐃𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐩𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 ]

09. Write a scene where a character uncovers a secret

010. Write a scene or create a character based on the last song you hard

011. Write about the origin of a character’s nickname

012. Write a scene interviewing a character about their life

013. Write a scene that ends with a character having an epiphany

014. Write a scene or create a character based on a photo

015. Write a scene where your character wakes up in a version of their life where a significant life event never happened.

016. Write a scene about a character who gets lost in a strange city.

[ 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 ] Write a piece inspired by a word.

017. Obsession

018. Rebellion

019. Velvet

020. December

021. Whisper

022. Mistletoe

023. Hot chocolate

024. Memories

025. Delight

026. Treasure

027. Candles

028. Chocolate

029. Scissors

[ 𝐃𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞 ] Write a piece with dialogue as a starter, or a piece consisting of only dialgue.

030. “Stop looking at me like that and go get some more firewood.”

031. “I heard everything, there is no use in lying about it now.”

032. “I’m so sick of all this gloom and doom. Why can’t people be happy?”

033. “You first.”

034. “I told you we shouldn’t have done it.”

035. “We’re not alone.”

036. “Check back later.”

037. “Wait for me.”

038. “It's below freezing.”

039. “Prove it.”

040. “We are monsters, you know.”

[lunarscaled]

drabble scene: The Twilight Assembly, post-tournament

Lyric arrives at the Assembly doors in handcuffs. Not alone, of course—who would let someone walk around in handcuffs unattended?—but escorted by two tall, silver armored guards, one with long elvish ears and the other with speckled brown primary feathers protruding from an open space in his bracer. Each one keeps a hand on their thick biceps with thumbs pressed into the muscle uncomfortably, and every twist of their arm or roll of their shoulder is met with a hard pull of the limb back to their side. They can’t even raise a hand to push the one errant curl of dark hair hanging between their eyes out of their face. If they twist their neck, they can see their haggard reflection in the polished metal of the bracers on either side of them: unkempt brunette curls fallen over their shoulders and down their back; the purple mottled skin under their eyes which reeked of exhaustion and pronounced their orange stare; clusters of opalescent white scales on their olive skin, growing more and more numerous every day whether they wanted them to or not. 

They had never been the type of person to dress up for appearances, but a bath would have been nice before being dragged here.

The closed door before them is at least a story tall, built from marble and embossed pewter and blends in perfectly with the surrounding monument; Lyric had only glimpsed a fraction of its towering exterior very briefly during their escort through its halls, surrounded for miles by empty, blue ocean. Pale dawn light filters through arched windowpanes and throws glares in their eyes as the doors open with a weighted clack and scrape, their heft parting sluggishly to bare the amphitheater of the Twilight Assembly to them. It is constructed from the same white stone and metal decor as its doors are, but in place of true walls and a roof are many towering, fluted columns holding aloft a dome with an open skylight in the center. Though the sun has not yet risen enough to bring about the full effect, Lyric follows the imaginary line from the hole down to the tiled floor that is inlaid with chips of lapis lazuli in the shapes of constellations. A star chart, surrounded by an outer ring which shows the phases of the moon, the blank spot for a new moon furthest from the door. They feel the great rumble and scrape of the doors closing slowly behind them vibrating painfully through their feet.

The half-circle interior of rising seats is filled with representatives Lyric has only heard of in myths, clustered in groups of their peers. Faeries dressed in the colors of their seasons, at least one for each court; Seraphim and Cherubim with their many wings folded tightly to their backs; Devas and Yashkas adorned in gold and colored silks seated beside a sharp-eyed man dressed in red robes, his hair cascading into patterns of feathers like a golden pheasant—the Vermillion Bird. From divine beasts to homely fae, all who represent their kind seem to have come to the spectacle, right down to the first half ring of seating closest to Lyric.

"The audacity of you to refuse my call and to injure my escorts is unprecedented." Ao Guang speaks in the quiet, the echo of his voice ringing with the authority of one who has always been listened to by his lessers. He raises one pale eyebrow as he stares down at them from his raised position in the stands, "You bit them?"

"You expected me not to?" Lyric replies, bending their arms at the elbows to rest their restraints only to be pulled straight again. "Do you usually expect people you kidnap to go without a fight?"

The elder dragon straightens his posture and raises his head to look down his nose at them; his presence gives weight to what they already suspected, eyes creeping from one first-row occupant to the next, all of them bearing a variety of colored and textured scales—they were in the presence of the Dragon Archons, a position they thought had grown obsolete in the modern age. It made sense if they thought about it: the suffocating aura each of them possessed, the pervasive feeling of being stared down by an apex predator, how their skin goosebumps and hair stands on end when Lyric raises their eyes to meet Ao Guang's gaze. Their pride as a fellow dragon won't let them back away, but their instinct bids them to sink lower, be more meek. They are in the presence of someone far more powerful than they could ever hope to be.

"I expect you to come when you are called, hatchling."

The diminutive grates on their clenched teeth. He raises a slender hand.

"Release them. They can do nothing here." Ao Guang lowers his hand as Lyric's jaw tightens, their stare narrowing. Where spans of his skin are not protected by his long, layered blue hanfu, Lyric can see azure scales winking in the open air. Even several meters away they can tell the clear color of his eyes, light like blue lace agates. "I assume you are beyond the age where you feel a need to throw tantrums?"

"That depends." they say, hands coming to rub their wrists as the guards each remove one thick metal cuff with a key and back away towards the closed doors, "Am I going to have a reason to throw one?"

Again he glares down at them, displeased with their flagrant pushback against his questions as titters arise behind him. Lyric watches a muscle in his jaw bulge outward before relaxing as he produces a fan of yellow and green feathers from his sleeve and hides his mouth behind it, now interested in the decorum of keeping his composure. Lyric’s free arms fall to their sides, sore from bindings while their fingers tapping anxiously against their legs as they try to keep their facial expression in check; no sneering teeth or curled lips or outward anger. There is a clearing of someone’s throat.

“You have not been summoned before us without reason. A matter of grave importance requires both our attention and yours—I assume you know what the title of Dragon Archon means?” Ao Guang gives space for their answer, but Lyric fumbles to find one. They knew of the Archons in the same way people might know of a popular urban myth, but they knew nothing of detail or how they came to be. The Dragon King of the East Sea had not become such because he was an Archon, and likewise an Archon would not be crowned a king solely based upon the former title, but that was where their knowledge ended.

Their eye contact falters and drops to the floor. Before the azure dragon can continue, he is interrupted by a sharp guffaw to his right, which was Lyric’s left, and both of their heads turn to see a large, dark scaled man in layers of wool coats leaning his weight forward onto one elbow against the wall of the seating area. He stares down Lyric with six yellow eyes crowding out his face and sharp incisors that flash when he grins.

”You can’t be serious. Look at them! No more than a babe as it is!” He gestures to them with a calloused palm that ends in thick nails like hooked claws, his boisterous voice only worsened by how his Slavic accent smears some consonants into each other. It must be the Black Dragon Archon, if his scales were anything to go by. “They could not fight for their life! How would they defend such a title!”

His tone is uninhibited by Lyric’s souring expression or the side-eye he receives from Ao Guang, who Lyric assumes has been the de facto head of all dragons for some time. Why else would he be so irritated? Lyric takes a moment to account the many dragons in the front row one by one with a careful eye, all of different silhouettes and impressions, no two outfits similar; three dragons to the left of the circle and one to the right—in the middle is Ao Guang, who they would have to be blind to think is anyone but the long-reigning Blue Dragon Archon. They knew dragons and their shapes extended the world over, but that individuality was easily missed if you never left the region you worked in.

“That isn't your choice, Chernobog," the green dragon speaks in a voice that is even but not soft, keeps his hands in his lap out of sight in a manner that makes Lyric suspicious and does not seem to regard them at all despite standing in front of him. He is wrapped in a checkered gho with folded back cuffs up to his elbows, scales so thick they can scarcely see his skin beneath and whose horns are wobbled and long like willow branches. "Or your place to speak."

"This isn't a school. We don't need to raise our hands and take turns." Chernobog rumbles, wearing a heavy wool coat over ruby-dyed, embroidered linen, whose pattern they could not clearly see at this angle or distance. He jabs a clawed finger in Lyrics direction, two of his eyes squinting. "You. Have you ever fought for a title in your life? Can you even control that magic in you?"

"I…" their tongue feels heavy as a hand clasps over one wrist and their thumb pushes against the joint as a sickening wave of anxiety rises up over them. Could they see it? Could they all see it? They were fine right now, but if their emotions escalated—if they got even the slightest bit too upset it would tear through them and their surroundings like tissue paper. Their skin was already covered in the pink scars of one-too-many ice spikes speared through, how could they hold their own in any kind of combat that didn't end up with their body run through like a pincushion with only themselves to blame? They had barely lived through their nigh-explosive outburst at the guild tourney and still lost their match. Who were they to be standing here before dragons of myth and curling their lips at being called weak "I’m trying.”

“Does it matter if they’re strong or not?” Gold, with two sets of curving horns decorated in rings that matched those on his fingers, dressed in a loose draped sleeve and fitted vest, leaned against his palm with his elbow on his knee. His accent is the only one they recognize, like their grandparents on their mother’s side from Lamia, and they are reminded of both legend and name in quick succession: Cadmus, prince of Phoenicia, dragon slayer turned serpent for slaying the Ismenian Dragon sacred to Ares. How old did that make him? 3,000 years? 4,000? How old were the rest of them? How vast the gap of power and age, and yet still having brought them here for a purpose they barely knew. “Not a single other white-scale has come to claim their seat in all this time. They may as well succeed it; they’re the only child Zargincerinth ever claimed, as damning a fate as that is.”

“An Archon has never passed down their position! It has always been fought for! That bastard dragged the dead body of the White before him into the assembly hall before he got his seat!” Chernobog brings a heavy fist down against the stone that cracks the wall on impact, quiet surprise rippling through the rest of the hall. There are many more eyes on them than just those of dragons, some delightedly watching the squabble over a single, human-born child, some sneering that they are even allowed to be here. “An insult to the legacy of the Assembly! It’d be foolish to even suggest it!”

“This is not a matter of strength, Chernobog. Don’t be so single-minded.” Further down the semi-circle to their right sits a dark skinned woman with brilliant red scales, hair braided tightly to her head in rows and decorated with beads. Her clothes are vibrant patterns of greens, golds, blues and whites, embellished with beads and braided threads; they start from her neck and extend outward like a large necklace, but sit separate from a skirt and belt in the same style. She rests her chin on her interlaced fingers and contemplates the little one before her. Of all the looks they have received, only the Red Dragon’s has been anything close to kind, but when they look up to meet her stare they find only pyrope depths with no answers for them. “This is about the Beasts’ Seal.”

Another ripple of murmuring runs through the amphitheater. The seal… they whisper. Oh yes, the seal! The summer court exclaims. Is this it? Will they finally undo it? Lyric feels a cold sweat breaking out on the back of their neck, left wringing their own wrists in the center of gossiping. It will be quite the ruckus. We’ll all have to prepare.

“Thákane is right. This is not because we feel you should suddenly rise to take this seat,” Ao Guang addresses them directly now, having lowered his open fan now that his irritation has ebbed, “It is because it is only the White Dragon Archon who can release the Leviathan and Behemoth from their slumber.”

“I don’t know anything about a seal.” Lyric professes, their voice subdued. They barely speak and yet it seems to echo in the domed space against their will; goosebumps run up their arms. “I don’t—I’m not special. If there’s someone you’re looking for it isn’t me.”

“It is.” the green dragon speaks, his arms crossed tight over his chest, “You reek of that same magic. If that is not enough, you look just the same as your predecessor from more than a millenia ago.” A pause. His pinning stare softens. “—you struggle as they did, too. The magic of a primordial dragon is too much for a human body to bear.”

Lyric looks down at their calloused hands where scar tissue has given way to rising clusters of scales and curls their fingers into their palms. Their nails are sharper than they remember, longer and faintly curved, they nick themselves sometimes when they scratch as the soft skin of their cheeks. Their teeth, too, felt as though they did not fit properly in their mouth anymore; really, nothing had felt right since the tourney. Every irritable inch of them ached, their skin seemed to split open new wounds all the time, some days it felt as though their bones were going to grow right out of their skin and they could do nothing to stop it. Was that why? Some old dragon’s blood they never asked for; some pact they never agreed to? And what did that speak of them? What did they exist for? (to go to war in someone else’s stead. to become an enemy of themselves.)

“Druk is right. The timeliness of this matter is imperative to both you and the Assembly; you must assume responsibility for the White Dragon Archon’s title, and for the unsealing of the beasts.” Ao Guang says. Lyric’s shoulders raise as their body hunches just enough to tuck their arms protectively around their ribcage, a frown deeply creasing their face.

“What happens when they’re unsealed?”

“Order.” Cadmus says, bearing a bored expression, “The natural randomness of the world returns; floods, droughts, rising winds, the expanding of forests. How things should be.”

Lyric’s mouth curls up at the edges, their teeth showing in their grimace as they feel a low-burning anger in them. “That’s not order, that’s chaos! You’re describing natural disasters! People will die!”

“Humans will die.” a kijin interjects from the back of the auditorium, its massive size barely fitting over several rows of seats as it uses its sword as an armrest, “That is no great loss. Humans die alllll the time”

“You only fear this because you are young.” Chernobog says, an elbow on his knee as the other gestures towards them. He seems to be the type to talk with his hands. “Your life will extend long past theirs. You must think of what is best for the future of the world, not the present.”

“But that doesn’t mean you can just let people get hurt! And there are more than just humans at stake—what about all the species and lives that exist codependently? What about the cities, or crops, or the colonies that will be harmed?” They can see their breath unfurling when they speak and feel the cold creeping over their hands, leaving a fine layer of frost on the skin as their emotions rise, “What about my friends?”

“Do you really have time to be worrying about such trivial matters as that?” Ao Guang’s stare drifts downwards towards their hidden hands, “If you do nothing, this problem will continue to fester.”

“The “normality” of your world is little better than an illusion.” Druk says in his perfectly even tone, “What is normal for the spider is chaos for the fly.”

“They’re not flies.” Lyric hisses. Beneath their eyes they can feel the pinpricks of accumulating ice, little snowflakes overlapping on their skin. “They’re alive, like me. Like you.”

Ao Guang sighs, lifting his fan to hide his irritation behind feathers again. “How disobedient children are these days…I wish I could say you weren’t always like this, but your type is so incorrigible as it is…”

“---I’m not a kid, you know.” It seems petty to pick at now, but they have little other ground to stand on. They’re clawing for any kind of leverage to raise their pride on and be listened to. “I’m 19.”

And he scoffs. A hard huff that cuts off a laugh at their incredulity, his eyes hardening until the scrutiny of his look makes them feel like an insect, held in place by pushpins on a corkboard. He wears a humanoid facade now, but they’re sure in his true form he could swallow them whole in one bite.

“You will take your place as the White Dragon Archon, and Zarcingerinth’s successor. We will manage your condition and prepare you to release the seal properly, so that the natural order may be restored.”

Lyric, despite how their palms tremble, stares back. “And if I refuse?”

The Blue Dragon Archon snaps his fan shut in a snap motion. When he opens his mouth, they can see the long fangs of an apex predator.

“Then your magic will overwhelm you, and you will die.”

[milliestars4]

The gift of death

Azriel X Eris Vanserra one shot (Drabble)

Eris looked at the male he loved and, for the first time, was afraid of him.

Azriel was no longer a gentle soul but one of pure, menacing darkness. A crack formed in Eris’ chest each time his mate heaved a heavy, wheezing breath. He couldn’t help him; the shadows had finally taken him over. And Az stood there now, hunched over, growling like some evil sentient.

Eris supposed that was who Azriel was now.

The world started to blur and Eris swayed on unsteady legs, their trembles a feeble echo of the grief engulfing his every pore - Azriel was the only Fae in Prythian that Eries knew to have only good morals. A good heart.

Eris supposed this was how the mother worked: a torturer to those who never deserved it.

An image of his mate planting an observatory facade of icy rage and ruthlessness that kept Azriel alive during war and training and constant letdown flashed through his mind. The eleven-year-old screaming for change in the back of their fragile mind was swallowed by orchestrated and inflicted numbness. Az became his freedom: he became the darkness that alleviated his loneliness; soothed his agonising cries for gentle affection.

Eris supposed it was a scream to deaf ears.

A broken cry broke Eris from his stupor, and he watched in slow motion as his mate fell to his knees, clutching his head as he sobbed a cry of unbridled agony.

There wasn’t even time for a breeze in a distant land to sway a tree before Eris winnowed to Az and held him close. Eris buried Azriel,s head against his chest, holding the back of his head; raven unruly curls slipped through his fingers like a silk midnight river.

“I’m here,” Eris’ choked out, his voice rising an octave as he swallowed back traitorous tears.

There wasn’t anything to be done, Az’s body was no longer his own. It was a thought swirling at the back of Eris’ mind as he fought and fought for something to do to help his love.

But there was nothing to do.

Perhaps it was selfish, but Eris wanted to be the one to grant Az an eternal quietude. To gift him that gift of painlessness.

“It’s okay, Azriel,” he whispered, repeating the words like a mantra as the flames started to appear. “It’s okay.” The tears we free falling now.

A cascade of golden embers surrounded the fallen mates, Eris hid Az from the sparks completely, clutching him against his body. “You can let go now. You can be free.” Eris closed his eyes and the light from a million glimmering stars encompassed them completely, before gently releasing the pain-ridden shadow singer from the clutch of this world, and into one of light and peace. And Eris was left alone in this world.