#And summon light arrows

[phoenixcatch7]

Love how every zelda has a special interest and that special interest saves the world.

[tragedybunny]

Something Like Love - Astarion x F!Reader

Astarion has failed to seduce you, but even so, a bond has begun to grow between the two of you. It all comes to a head when Astarion almost loses you.

You infuriated Astarion. At first it was because stopping to help every person you happened upon was delaying dealing with his problems. Now that you had been traveling together for some time, not only were these little side adventures a delay, but you didn’t seem to be careful about how much they took out of you and how tired they left you. Even your other companions didn’t seem to care, letting you agree to solve every problem that you came upon and even adding to the pile.

But not him. Astarion was always right there at your side with a glare and a snapping refusal, which you’d usually brush off, but at least he tried. The rest of them just smiled and nodded, without noticing the circles under your eyes, or how slow you moved some mornings, or how thin you’d gotten. Protector wasn’t a position he normally found himself in, but you were different, you were kind to him, without expecting anything in return, as far as he could tell anyway. The two of you hadn’t even slept together, not for lack of trying on his part. The couple times he’d tried you firmly refused, and yet somehow you stayed kind to him, even still offering him your blood. In fact you didn’t seem to want anyone in camp. That was also exasperating. How could he expect your continued kindness, and protection which he desperately needed, without repayment? And what was he better at than sex?

So he resolved he’d give you whatever small gestures he could. Whenever you tore an item of clothing, he’d mend it at first chance. When the group made camp for the night, he always made sure your tent was up first, in whatever spot you wanted, and helped you pack when it was time to move on. Every battle, he stood at the backline with you while you cast spells, aiming arrows at anyone who got too close to you, his first priority keeping you safe. And he still tried to keep you from overextending yourself, despite no one ever listening to him. Which had led to the shouting match with Halsin earlier. Well it wasn’t really a shouting match, the Druid had remained frustratingly placid in the face of Astarion’s blustering. He’d already been vocally unhappy about looking for this Thaniel or whatever, but you’d found him, and still Halsin asked more. “We need to worry about Thorm, we don’t have time to keep bothering with this!”

“Curing the land could help break Thorm’s hold. I know you all don’t owe it to me.” Gods why did he ask like that, all humble and dissembling. You would cave to that for sure,

“You’re right, we don’t.”

“But…”

“Hells, can’t you see how much all of this is taking out of her!” Astarion had exploded, voice loud enough that some of your other companions jumped.

“It’s fine Astarion,” you’d gently placed a hand on his arm, “let’s finish this.”

With a frustrated growl, he’d yanked his arm away, regretting the hurt on your face. “Fine.”

That all led to this moment, you’d fended off the creatures summoned by the corrupted spirit, and Astarion watches as you calmly approach it. Speaking softly, your words soothe it, and he could see it starting to trust you. As always, you amaze him with your ability to solve things with your words, but he feels a twinge of something else, a want for something like those kind words that fell from your lips so easily. The spirit vanishes and Astarion finally feels a bit of relief it seems over. That is until your knees give way and you collapse to the jagged paving stones beneath you.

He's at your side instantly, a scream tearing itself from his throat. “Somebody fucking help her.”

Shadowheart js the first to respond, hands peeling away the light armor you wear, revealing gashes left by one of those shadow creatures that had gotten close. Teeth bite down into his lip to hold back a sob, he hadn’t even noticed, he’d failed the one duty he had. That ire finds a new target easy enough though, as Halsin attempts to join Shadowheart in tending to you. He’s barely started to kneel next to you when Astarion lunges, hissing and fangs flashing. “No you stay the fuck away from her, this is your fault!” For a second his face falls with guilt, but Astarion is in no state for empathy, all blame now on the Druid in his mind.

Hands fight to grab hold of him, to get close enough to tear his thick throat out. A pair of strong arms wraps around his waist, pulling him back from his murderous goal. “Easy Fangs, she’ll be alright,” Karlach tries to reassure him.

He struggles against her iron hold, still flinging curses and furious words. “That’s not the point, this shouldn’t have happened. But no one wanted to listen to me, none of you selfish idiots care when you’re asking too much!”

That was it, they’d all turn on him now, especially without you aware enough to defend him. To his surprise, Karlach just holds him slightly tighter, and keeps whispering that it was going to be fine. Wyll comes over to lay a hand on his shoulder, face stoic. "Shadowheart has this.”

At least Halsin has stepped back, expression troubled. Good, let him suffer. A spell glows in Shadowheart’s hands, suturing back together your skin, and your eyes flutter open, hazy and unfocused, for a moment before closing again. Karlach wisely releases him, leaving him free to hover over you and ward off Halsin as he takes a hesitant step toward you. He’d be damned if anyone else was carrying you, the lot of them were untrustworthy. Reverently, he leans down, taking you in his arms, and lifting you from the ground. Gods, you were so small, there was almost nothing to you. How did you seem so imposing most of the time?

Silently, the group makes it’s way back to camp, Astarion holding tightly to you the whole way. When they reach the cluster of tents, he goes straight to yours to lay you down gently in your blankets. Turning back to the rest of the party he snarls in their direction. "All of you better stay the hells out of this tent until she's properly healed," he snaps the tent flap shut and wishes he had a door to slam on their faces.

Sitting down next to you, he pulls your hand into his and tried to forget about the stinging in his eyes. "You're going to be alright Darling. You have to be."

For hours he sits there, hand holding yours, waiting, watching your chest rise and fall, the reassurance he hadn’t lost you. Losing you, he can’t even fathom it. His protector, companion, he'd even go so far as to say friend. Even if you didn't notice how he was always at your side whenever you stayed up to launder your clothes, or how you never took a turn to cook alone, or how he was always walking right next to you on the road.

You sigh in your sleep and he feels a tug in that place that sometimes wonders if you could be more than friends. Which was stupid, you hadn't even wanted sex with him. Besides, what you already gave him was more than he deserved considering what he had been planning after sleeping with you.

Finally, exhausted, he drifts into meditation, still holding onto you, until your sleep heavy voice pulls him out of it. "Astarion?"

His eyes are wide immediately and without a second thought, he throws himself into your arms, nuzzling into your neck. "You're awake." Then he starts crying like an idiot; ugly, undignified sobs against your skin. "I was worried," he tries to explain leaping on you and his ridiculous tears.

"I'm sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you." You put your arms around him, accepting him without question, like always.

"You silly, silly girl, you were the one that almost died. Don't apologize to me." He's trying desperately to stop bawling uncontrollably.

"I know, but I don't like to see you upset." Ever so lightly, he can feel your hand brushing through his hair.

"Why," he's managed to get himself somewhat under control, but doesn't move from where you've let him lay. "Why are you like this? Always giving, even when it's too much for you?"

You hesitate for a moment. "Because I care about you."

"You do," he asks, unwilling to let himself believe what he's heard.

"Well, I care about everyone," of course he should've realized, "but I care about you a very great deal, Astarion."

Astarion freezes, the words leaving warmth in that secret place inside that he's been trying to keep from himself and you. "I don't understand."

"I see you. I see how hard you try and how far you've come, and how much you try to do for me." There's a smile in your voice and impossibly he thinks it has something to do with him.

"Why didn't you say anything?" His hand searches yours out and your fingers interwine.

"I didn't think you were ready to hear it. But today it was almost too late to tell you." You've placed both of your hands over your chest and he can feel your heartbeat.

"I…I don't know how I feel." Inwardly, he quails, worried that will drive you. "But this is nice."

"It's alright Astarion, there's no rush to this." Impulsively, he leans up to leave a feather light kiss on your cheek, grateful for you in ways he can't understand.

[my-heart-beat-for-anime]

The true peace (Feyd-rautha x reader x Paul Atreides)

In a spacious, dark room, two hostile families stood facing each other. The characters pierced each other with looks, and if looks could kill, it would look like after a bloody battle. Suddenly the door opened and several Bene Gesserit sisters entered, led by the Reverend Mother . The head woman stood between the two families and began to lecture in a slow, wise voice.,, I summoned you here because I visited both of your heirs recently and they both had a very disturbing vision.” “It is the vision with the girl who has a blue arrow on the head." the young Atreides heir asked with interest in his voice. On the other side, a young man with whitish skin tensed.,, What does this mean Reverend Mother." Lady Jessica spoke with concern in her voice.,, One of our sisters recently had a prophecy that the long lineage feuds would be healed by a girl from another world with an arrow on the forehead, with peace in the heart and with abilities that none of us have known.",, What's the catch, knowing all this, why this meeting, you witches have the opportunity to seek out this woman and then deliver her to whomever you like most fits." Baron Harkonnen snorted disrespectfully.,, The catch is that she is not in our world," replied the older woman.,, So what are you going to do." Duke Leto asked this time. "We found an ancient ritual that should transport them to the world where the girl is, tonight both of them will be sent to that world without delay." Angry screams from both immediately rang out in the room.,,You mad woman, do you expect me to send my heir to another world." the baron angrily retorted.,,I never thought I would agree with Harkonnen, but what you are asking is too much." agreed the duke.,, The problem is that I'm not asking this is important to the creation of the Kwisatz Haderach." Reverend Mother said coldly. But before anyone could object anything else, suprising words came from both young lords.,, I want to go." Everyone in the room shuddered at the determination in their voices. Although the families of both men continued to try to raise objections, no one could change their decision. A final farewell was said and then the two men made their way into the circle the bene gesserit sisters had formed.,, Just wait little lord as soon as we are out of this room my blade will meet your back." Feyd-rauth taunted. "You must not do that at any cost young lord, the prophecy may not be fulfilled if you do not reach that girl together." the Reverend Mother scolded the young man. Feyd-rautha just smirked and nodded, but continued to watch Paul as if he were his prey. Meanwhile, the circle of women began to sing an old song, the words of which only they understood. With those last words, a light appeared in the room, completely engulfing the two heirs. When they both managed to look around, they saw only snow and ice around them. The frost engulfed them all, completely paralyzing them. Suddenly, a woman's voice came from behind them, "Who are you and what are you doing in the White Lotus fortress."

já Doufám, že se vám bude líbit, pokud budete chtít žádost nebo nějaké informace, napište je.

[ganondoodle]

it may not look like it but this took a long time to make

heres a rough ability breakdown for the totk rewrite project (i know its hard to read in the pic so let me clear it up and add some extra info)

theres two ability wheels now, sages are not frame rate killing glitch ghosts around you but their abilities are selected through the wheel on the right (pic is rough concept, it is clearer what is selected and what isnt + it has names in final version, symbols are placeholders as well) and bound to the player, when you acitvate it an aura appears similar to the arm abilities and their ghostly form appears besides you, charging or firing when you hit A while the ability is active

SHIEKAH ARM WHEEL

ANALYZE: zelda tells you info about targeted enemy/NPC, it gives you info about it and informs you more dynamically about important things than the foto-entries do

FOTO its fotos :) zelda joins selfies tho and does silly poses with you

REWIND: functions like the time recall in canon, but this time it is a more developed version of stasis instead

AMIIBO: its ... amiibo

HOOKSHOT: grab onto anything (perhaps restricted but not yet decided), you pull yourself+zelda to heavy stuff, light weight objects are pulled to you (including light enemies like bats or small slimes) grab onto something and hold onto it, usable like a vine (think, ww grappling hook) but with limited duration (battery power?)

AUTOBUILD: like in canon but it uses luminous stones if material isnt all there (or other material you put out to so its more versatile and you are more aware of what you have, no accidental spending then)

BUILD: similar to canon, but no glue (it kinda just fuses with no extra graphic unless pehaps like a bolt or sth), you put stuff together anyway you want; build is also used for weapons (no extra ability needed), you just build a weapon on the ground and pick it up afterwards (it has to be a weapon handle part and then sth else to it, otherwise it wont turn into a weapon)

INFUSE: infuse somethign with ancient energy, useless on normal objects usually(?) but reactivates broken or deactivated tech like elevators and doors; used to dynamically access caves and especially labs (labs serve a similar function as shrines, they are old shiekah labs that broke over time, puzzles are diverse things like traversal and little quests in which you help the researcher ghosts of the people that died in these labs (by the calamity, earthquakes, accidents, or killed by the royal army when their tech was banned and they refused to give it up)

SAGE WHEEL:

WIND GUST: same as in canon

LIGHT SHIELD/LIGHT LASER: zelda uses a shield of light to protect herself in combat, it does not affect the player (or perhaps only when you happen to be within range, which is small, this is more a character thing for her than useful for you) for the player through the selection wheel; aim and tell her to shoot a light laser like rauru did in the moldora cutscene in canon totk (a bit more dynamic) it deals very high damage to anything hit but has the highest cooldown of all abilities; deals extra damage to miasma enemies

THUNDERSTRIKE: similar as in canon, it charges through you however (so the charging only gets stopped if YOU shoot an arrow or get hit)

FIRE .. BOOM THING: similar as in canon but yuno has a little animation of daruks shield around him again :)

YIGA TELEPORT/KOGA CLONES (undecided yet): A: target a location in range and koga grabs you like a naughty kitten and teleports you both to the targetted location, you spawn in a little above ground giving you time to either perform a bullet time move or a sword attack from above B: summons a bunch of koga clones that serve as a distraction for enemies and combat support, they die in one hit (reference to kogas and monk moz kyoshias similar moveset; since there are no sage ghosts around you all the time and a max of two companions (zelda always, sage in sage dungeon) it serves as a replacment for that)

WATER ...WELL(?): sidon gives you a shield of water, elemental effect is applied to weapon and lasts as long as the shield does no matter how many times you attack; if it is hit by an enemy it breaks but you dont take damage; if the shield lasts it entire duration without getting hit it it grants you a percentage of your missing health back upon dissolving (ref to mipha healing powers anyone??)

im open to constructive feedback but overall im quite happy of makign it work out like that, although there are quite a few things that need polish i think this is both realistic and works well with what else i have been writing; remember tho, this is my rewrite so im undoing the things i dont like, like riju never being there when you need her bc she runs right up to the enemy and her losing her charge bc she keeps getting knocked over + overall uselessness of minerus robot (to me)

(totk rewritten project)

[elliesbelle]

nobody compares to you

chapter 10

pairing: ellie x reader

synopsis: you're in your junior year of college and at a party, you run into the girl who broke your heart: ellie williams. despite the time it took to reset your life, will you risk a broken heart again for her?

content warnings: modern college au, cursing, angst, descriptions of alcohol, straight men eww, unwanted advances, reader is implied to be shorter than both abby and ellie (if you think you're not, let's just pretend for a line or two for the sake of storytelling lol), descriptions of sexual harassment, descriptions of physical violence, minors do not interact

word count: 5.5k

chapters: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen

series masterlist

my masterlist

i have a ko-if if you like my work so much that you feel compelled to tip me ♡︎

the "nobody compares to you" spotify playlist

featuring the equal creatures song "waiting in the wings"

Friday night came a little too quickly for your liking. After much consideration, you’d settled on a pink bomber jacket with a white corset top and black leggings for your outing at the Bow and Arrow. You contemplate wearing your usual black boots, but you decide for tonight to give your feet a rest from being covered with painful blisters. While you meticulously add finishing touches to your makeup, your phone buzzes furiously on your bathroom counter. You tap it to reveal a text from Abby.

You allow yourself a tiny smile at Abby’s banter before setting your phone back down. 

After you decide that you’re satisfied with your appearance, you spray yourself with hints of a freesia perfume Tara had gifted you for your birthday last year. Normally, you’d wear your signature lavender fragrance, but you’d figured that even tiny advances outside of your comfort zone were a good, healthy first step to moving forward with your life. You wonder silently if Abby would notice and like it. 

You spend the next couple of minutes pacing all around your living room, occasionally bouncing up and down on your tiptoes in sheer nervousness. When you hear three gentle knocks on your front door, your heart jumps out of your chest. You breathe in deeply from between pursed, painted lips, just the way your old therapist taught you, before striding over to anxiously turn the doorknob and reveal Abby waiting expectantly. 

She was wearing a brown, button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up over her muscled forearms and the top two buttons undone. Her dirty blonde hair was in her usual tight braid and fell down her back. She has her hands tucked into the front pockets of her black slacks and upon laying eyes on you, her face breaks out in a wide smile. 

“Well, good evening, pretty lady,” She greets you. “You look very nice tonight.” 

“You’re looking pretty suave yourself,” You reply, ignoring the rising heat in your cheeks. 

Abby smirks. 

“You ready to go?” She asks. 

“Mhmm,” You murmur, reaching for your purse & keys from the entryway table before closing and locking your front door behind you. “Lead the way, Miss Anderson.” 

You and Abby chat about your respective days on the way to the Bow and Arrow. You take the bus part-way, sitting next to her towards the back. It isn’t lost on you the way Abby’s hand twitches almost expectantly to hold yours, but you can’t summon enough courage in the moment to welcome the action. Though your body yearned for the physical intimacy, something else inside didn’t feel right just yet. However, you did at least allow yourself to take Abby’s hand for a few, short moments when she helped you out of your seat, and then again when she helped you hop off of the bus. 

The sun had almost entirely set by now, your shadows mainly illuminated by the lampposts and lights from the nearby shops and restaurants along the street. After several minutes of skipping next to Abby, you start to see the vague outline of the Bow and Arrow from a distance. Your fingers start to nervously fidget and you feel yourself chewing the inside of your lip in apprehensive anticipation. 

Making up an excuse to turn around and go home right now would be simple enough, though a little sudden and impolite. For the past day, you’d been trying to focus diligently on your schoolwork and classes so as not to dwell too far on what tonight could bring. However, the reality was starting to set in and your hands became clammier with every tentative step you took towards your destination. Perhaps it was a preemptively good idea not to take Abby’s hand earlier. 

You turn towards Abby, who hasn’t noticed your apparent restlessness. She looks completely at ease, confident as she always was. She oozes of enthusiasm, clearly looking forward to the night out. You sigh discreetly, resolving to at least make an effort to live it up, even just for a few hours. You make sure not to let your eyes wander too far towards the familiar, dark alleyway next to the bar. 

When reaching the entrance, you’d already pulled out your ID to flash at the bouncer, who lazily glances at it before handing it back to you and nodding you forward. The bouncer doesn’t card Abby and instead, gets up from their stool to clasp her hand and pat her back. 

“Yo, what’s up, Anderson?” The bouncer says in welcome. 

“Hey, Cam,” Abby replies. “Didn’t know you were working tonight.” 

“We’re not all doctors, man. Gotta pay those bills somehow.” 

“Not a doctor yet, dude.” Abby chuckles. 

“Yeah, yeah,” The bouncer waves her off nonchalantly. “You go enjoy your night.” 

You stand there and watch the interaction in both awkwardness and admiration. Abby really did know everyone around, even outside of campus. 

“Come on,” Abby motions you to follow her. “I think I see some of my friends here already.” 

You nod your head and trail after her timidly. 

Your wary eyes explore the bar, slowly taking in how it’s changed since the last time you’d visited. They’d added another TV among the line-up against one of the walls, and there were numerous amounts of low-lit string lights now hanging from the ceiling. You recognize a couple of the bartenders working tonight, in addition to a few more who seemed fairly new. They’d hung up a large version of the original rainbow Pride flag by a window in the front right next to the blue-pink-and-white transgender one. But even with these few new changes, the place looks generally the same. You secretly wish it didn’t, afraid that the daunting familiarity might trigger some unpleasant memories. 

Abby leads you towards a group of people gathered around one of the wall-mounted television screens where a Nintendo 64 was hooked up to. Three of them were engaged in an intense game of Mario Kart, all yelling at each other over both the race course music and a SZA song currently blasting through the bar’s speakers. Their spectating friends were heckling genially and cheering them on as the race ended with whichever player competing as Yoshi finishing in first place. 

“That’s how it’s done, bitches!” A guy who you recognize as Abby’s friend Jordan from the other day proclaims in triumph. 

“Whatever, asshole. You only won ‘cause I slipped on a banana peel during the second lap.” A girl wearing a black leather jacket to his left complains. 

“Excuses, excuses,” Jordan waves off, shaking his head mockingly. “Sounds like a serious skill issue to me.” 

“Leah, you better get your man right now before I beat his ass.” 

As you and Abby approach the group, one of her friends leaning against the wall looks up from the bickering to meet Abby’s gaze. 

“Yo, Abs, finally!” He says, beckoning her over. He was a tall, beefy man with his black hair tied up in a man bun and his face covered with a full beard. You knew he was one of Abby’s close friends, but you couldn’t remember which one he was. 

“You missed me that much, Alvarez?” Abby taunts, nudging him in the shoulder before grasping his outreached hand in greeting. 

“Cocky asshole,” Her friend chuckles. “Please save me from the torture of watching Jordan and Nora bitch at each other over this game all night.” 

“Why’d you even let them near this again after the last time we were here?” 

Abby and her friend jest for a moment or two before you’re eventually acknowledged. 

“So anyway, who’s this?” He asks. 

“Oh, right—” Abby says apologetically before introducing you. 

“Nice to meet you,” Her friend responds. “Manny. Have we met before?” 

“I’m not sure, honestly,” You admit. “I haven’t really been the most social or noticeable person of late.” 

“Pretty girl like you? Nah, I’m sure that’s not true.” Manny remarks boldly. 

You freeze at his unwanted flattery, which Abby doesn’t notice. You wonder internally what the hell her obviously and painfully straight guy friend was doing at this lesbian bar. 

Abby proceeds to acquaint you with the rest of her friend group: Jordan, Leah, Nora, Nick, and Jay. Jordan, Nora, and Jay were the three holding the controllers connected to the video game console, each either saying hello or nodding towards you in friendly greeting. The guy Nick who wore a black beanie raised his can of beer towards your direction when Abby introduced him before uttering a simple “wassup” to you. Next to Jordan is a girl with long black hair tied back in a low ponytail. Abby introduces her as Leah, after which she smiles sweetly at you. 

After she’s named all her friends, Abby turns towards you. 

“Wanna grab a drink?” She questions. 

“Yes, please.” You reply gratefully. 

You follow her to the semi-crowded bar where she settles on a somehow unoccupied barstool, you taking a seat on the one next to her. 

“What would you like, pretty girl?” Abby asks. 

“Umm, vodka cranberry, maybe?” You say. 

Abby smiles and nods before raising her hand to grab the attention of a bartender. After a few moments, she’s able to flag one down. 

“Can I get a vodka cranberry and a blue motorcycle?” She yells over the music, pulling out her wallet and handing over her credit card. “And start a tab?” 

“No worries, Abby,” The bartender smiles, taking her card. “Light ice on the motorcycle?” 

“Please.” 

The bartender nods as they swipe Abby’s card on the POS system before handing it back to her and walking to the side to prepare your drinks. 

“So you come here a whole lot, huh?” You remark as you both wait. 

“What makes you say that?” Abby asks, turning her body to face you better. 

“Everyone around here seems to know who you are.” 

“Nah, I’m just that cool and hot and popular that just about everyone knows my name anywhere I go.” Abby teases arrogantly. 

You laugh, rolling your eyes at her cockiness. 

“You are so full of yourself, Miss Anderson.” 

“Anything to make you laugh, pretty girl.” 

You and Abby banter for a minute or two before your respective drinks are placed in front of you, the bartender additionally handing you each a napkin. 

“Okay, so what the hell did you order?” You inquire of Abby, eyeing her turquoise-coloured beverage. 

“You’ve never had a blue motorcycle before?” 

“Hey, I’m a simple gal; I know only like, four or five different names of basic alcohol. Two of which are vodka.” 

Abby throws her head back, laughing boisterously. 

“Oh, man, are you really that much of a grandma?” She teases you. 

“Absolutely,” You joke. “I just shape-shifted for tonight to give the appearance of a 20-something-year-old college student so as not to be judged for my wild, party animal habits.” 

“God, you are so nerdy,” Abby chuckles. “Good thing you’re really cute.” 

You roll your eyes at her once more before taking a sip of your drink. 

“How’s your very basic and boring vodka cranberry?” Abby quips. 

“Oh, fuck off,” You giggle. “How’s your weird, little smurf drink?” 

“Extremely delicious, thank you so much for asking.” She responds. “Want a taste?” 

You grimace. 

“What!” Abby exclaims, chuckling. 

“I’m not exactly the most adventurous when it comes to what I put in my body.” 

“Well, there’s a first time for everything.” Abby offers, sliding over her blue drink towards your direction. 

“What the hell is even in it?” 

“Oh, just try it, you fucking wimp!” 

You whine in hesitation before bringing the cup up to your pursed lips, taking the most minuscule of sips. 

“Oh, come on!” Abby complains as you place the drink back down. “That was barely fucking anything!” 

“You wanted me to drink it, so I drank it!” 

“Chug it like a fucking man!” 

“Are you trying to get me drunk tonight, Miss Anderson?” 

“Drink it.” Abby tauntingly asserts. 

You purse your lips once more before relenting to take a much bigger gulp from the cup. As you slam the drink back down onto the bar and slide it back towards Abby, you scowl at the mixture of different flavours staining the surface of your tongue. 

“What the hell did you just fucking poison me with?” You grumble, your mouth salivating in disgust. 

“Calm down, you big baby, it’s just some basic liquor with a bit of Blue Curaçao mixed in.” Abby chuckles. “You know, rum, tequila, gin.” 

“Oh god, tequila?” You anxiously chuckle. “Well, get ready for just about anything to happen tonight.” 

“Oh?” 

“Tequila is my sworn enemy and weakness.” You admit. “Never know what’s gonna happen when I’ve got that shit in my system.” 

“Is that so?” Abby asks, placing her elbows on the bar and her chin on top of her interlocked hands. “I’m very much intrigued to know more.” 

“I’m sure you are.” You say, taking a generous sip from your own drink. 

“Any other weaknesses that you care to share with the class?” She coaxes. 

You lean in close enough for her to hear you whisper pointedly, “I guess you’ll just have to find out for yourself, Miss Anderson.” 

As the night goes by gradually and the more intoxicated you get, the more at ease you begin to feel. Abby’s friends eventually reveal that a local band was going to be playing a few songs live on the rooftop dancefloor later on, and you all liquor up in case they turn out to be an amateur disaster. 

Though they weren’t exactly your crowd, Abby’s friend group was generally amiable and sociable. She made sense amongst them, all of them having established a repartee with her and not being intimidated like a lot of people were. You didn’t care much for her guy friends, who were slightly crude & vulgar and all of whom you could easily tell were straight and who you felt had no place being in a lesbian bar. But with the rest, you generally got along well with. 

You piece together that the nice girl Leah is Jordan’s girlfriend from the way they stuck to each other’s side as much as possible. She was friendly, always including you in the conversations and acknowledging when you spoke.

Often standing beside her was Jay, who Abby at some point quietly whispers to you is her best friend. Next to Abby, she was the most outwardly lesbian-looking one in the group. She wore a sports cap backwards over her long, straight black hair and a grey hoodie underneath an old, dishevelled jean jacket. Her fingers were decorated with several silver rings, and you saw hints of tattoos whenever she would stretch her arms out and cause her sleeves to ride up slightly. Her rather short stature was dwarfed by her rambunctious character, often making you giggle at her drunken jabs at straight people. 

The girl Nora was who aroused the most curiosity from you out of the whole friend group. She was slim, athletic-looking, and very beautiful. Her dark, kinky hair was worn in a tight, high bun, apart from a few ringlets that fell effortlessly down the sides of her face. She wore a tight, black leather jacket that hugged her form nicely. From both her physical appearance and disposition, she gave off the vibe of the beautiful, mysterious love interest to the main character in a romantic indie film. She seemed to have this easy, welcoming banter with everyone, especially Abby. You wonder to yourself if there was something there between them before realizing that it was none of your business. 

You were surprised at how much of a good time you were having. Abby was by your side for most of the night, often nudging your shoulder playfully, explaining references, or whispering flirty comments in your ear. She paid for both of your drinks, to which you reprimanded her for the entire time, even up until she closed out her tab when you’d both had enough to drink. You were enjoying yourself to the point where you’d almost forgotten the significance this bar held for you. 

A little while before the promised local band were set to make their appearance, another friend of Abby’s belatedly joined the group. 

A gust of cold, autumn wind blew in unkindly from the outside when the front door of the bar opened to receive another patron. Your eyes unwittingly wander towards the movement, suddenly widening when they fall on the face of the familiar newcomer. 

Your ex-girlfriend Adriana strides into the bar, scanning the place for her friends. Your rattled and petrified state is short-lived when Jordan spots her as well and hails her over. 

“Yo! Adriana! Over here!” He calls. 

As Abby and the rest of her friends greet her and playfully berate her for her tardiness, you shrink behind the group as you attempt to compose yourself. Though it had ended amicably between you two, it had still been several years since you’d actually come face-to-face with Adriana. You’d never established a friendship with her afterwards despite it all, still feeling too much guilt for hooking up with her friend almost immediately after your breakup. 

Adriana leisurely makes her way through the group, greeting each one jovially. After she laughed at an inside joke Nora had uttered to her, you concede silently that you couldn’t avoid being seen by her any further, not without resorting to running to the bathroom and hiding for the rest of the night. You slowly step out behind Abby’s tall, burly figure, attempting not to draw attention to yourself and trying to ease back into the situation naturally. 

After a few moments, Adriana’s eyes fall on you. You see the recognition slowly setting in by the expression on her face and once you can tell that she’s realized who you were, she gives you a small smile. She doesn’t say anything to you and continues to engage in conversation with others, but you feel a little less awkwardness after you return her smile. Though your chest still feels a bit tight from the tension, you’re slightly more relieved and at ease knowing that Adriana still kept her word after all these years of having no ill will towards you. 

Several minutes after Adriana’s arrival, you saw other patrons starting to head towards the rooftop, and your group eventually followed suit. Once you reach the next floor, you see a small stage where a few instruments were already in place and a couple of band members were setting up for the show. Your group chatters amongst themselves as you all wait patiently. 

Abby taps your shoulder at one point to let you know she was heading back down to use the restroom for a second. You giggle and tell her she didn’t need to let you know, to which she rolls her eyes humorously and promises she won’t be gone for too long. As she walks away, you realize that on her other side was Adriana and that you were now stuck standing side-by-side with each other. 

“H-hey, Adriana.” You say, giving her a slightly uncomfortable smile. 

“Hey. Didn’t know I was gonna see you here tonight.” She responds lightheartedly. 

“Yeah, Abby invited me out.” You explain. 

“Oh, I see. I didn’t know that you two still talked.” 

“Honestly, we reconnected only recently.” 

“Ahh, I see.” 

There was a moment or two of silence where you were unsure of how to proceed with the conversation. Luckily, Adriana seemed comfortable enough to continue speaking. 

“So how have you been since we last saw each other?” She asks you. 

“Oh, umm,” You begin slowly. You didn’t feel the most comfortable sharing the traumatic shit show your life has been the past two years with your ex-girlfriend, so you settle for a simple “same old, same old” at the moment. 

“That’s good.” She replies. 

“How about you?” 

“Swamped as fuck with all my courses. I honestly wasn’t gonna come out tonight ‘cause I was busy as hell trying to get some work done. That’s why I was late. But my partner is actually in the band that’s performing tonight, and I wanted to be supportive.” 

“Oh, that’s really sweet of you. I’m sure they’ll appreciate you being here.” 

“Just wanna be a good and loyal girlfriend, that’s all.” 

Another lull follows. Adriana seems perfectly calm and content with the silence, but you continue to struggle internally with overdue guilt. You decide that dealing with the discomfort for the rest of the night wasn’t worth it. 

“Hey, uhh,” You start. “By the way, I’m sorry about how things went down between us. You know, how we ended and all.” 

“Hey, ancient history.” She assures. “It was honestly fun while it lasted, but I still think it was for the best.” 

“Still, I honestly do still regret how I was back then.” 

“Nah, don’t be so hard on yourself. I don’t think it would have worked out regardless.” 

“Yeah, I guess so.” You hesitantly agree. “Probably should have put in more effort on my part, though.” 

“I don’t really think that was the case,” Adriana says. “It was just sort of obvious at one point that you were just way into someone else so much more than you were into me.” 

You cringe. 

Damn. Was I that bad at hiding how much I liked Abby back then? Sorry for being such a shitty girlfriend, Adriana… 

“Was I that obvious?” You ask remorsefully, grimacing. 

“A little,” Adriana chuckles. “But it’s okay. She was obviously more your type than I was.” 

“You think?” 

“I mean, I think Ellie Williams is a lot of girls’ type, at least around here.” 

Everything around you freezes immediately as you feel your heart come to a stop. Your throat closes up at the same time that your hands grow cold and clammy. 

E-Ellie? 

Before you’re able to wrench yourself from your petrified state, Adriana speaks again. 

“Oh, I think I see my partner up there. I’m gonna move up closer, but I’ll meet up with you guys later on, okay?” 

She glances at you for half a second to give a short farewell smile before walking towards the stage where another band member with an electric guitar slung around their shoulders has joined the others. 

You remain suspended in the moment Adriana had left you behind with. The rest of Abby’s friend group was busy drunkenly conversing with one another to notice your near-comatose state. A deafening ringing resonates in your ears, the sounds of the expectant crowd and the tuning of instruments completely drowned out. 

Ellie… 

Your eyes wander towards the middle of the dancefloor that is currently occupied by unfamiliar audience members. Without warning, you’re suddenly and unwillingly ripped back into your memories. 

“Look, I’m really not interested!” You yelled over the music blaring from the DJ station on the stage. “I’m sorry!” 

“Oh, come on,” A woman at least ten years your senior griped. “We’re just dancing! Doesn’t have to mean anything!” 

You attempted to tug her hands away that were clutching your hips far too intimately, but her grip was tight and unrelenting. 

“Please, just leave me alone!” You implored the handsy stranger. 

“Don’t be like that now!” She exclaims. “Let’s just see where this takes us and—” 

Her sentence was cut short by a sudden fist in the air colliding with her face. Even over the loud bass drops, you could hear a crunch that you were almost sure was the sound of the woman’s nose being broken. 

“What the FUCK, you fucking cunt!” She screamed. 

You looked over at your saviour assailant to see an outraged Ellie. 

“You like harassing innocent girls, bitch?” Ellie spat. “Don’t know how to keep your hands to yourself? Well, it seems like I can’t either.” 

You saw Ellie winding up to attack once more, and you quickly grabbed her right arm before she could move any further. 

“Ellie! Ellie, it’s okay, I’m fine! It’s not that—” 

“This bitch thinks she can do whatever the fuck she wants to you!” Ellie hissed towards the stranger who was slowly retreating into the crowd, cowering at Ellie’s growing fury. 

“It’s okay, I’m not hurt!” 

“It’s not fucking okay!” 

“Ellie, baby, please, let’s just move—” 

The rest of your sentence was cut off when Ellie angrily marched off towards the staircase leading back down to the main floor of the bar. 

You nearly tripped over your high-heeled boots trying to run after her. 

“Ellie!” 

A firm hand on your shoulder transports you back to the present. You jump and look up to see Abby has returned, your hazy eyes meeting her blue ones. 

“You good?” Abby asks. 

“Oh, um, yeah, sorry.” You utter. “Just spaced out there for a second.” 

Abby chuckles and says, “Already lost without me even after a few minutes, pretty girl?” 

You give her flirty joke a half-hearted smile before turning towards the stage, realizing that the band is about to play. 

They start out with their own rendition of Paramore’s “All I Wanted,” and you note to yourself that they were actually quite good. But as they progress through the song, you find yourself unable to fully concentrate on their performance. 

Ellie… 

Abby and her friends cheer and yell in support as the music comes to a momentary end. You barely register the lead singer introducing their next song, an original of theirs called “Waiting in the Wings.” 

You feel Abby move closer towards you, her body radiating heat onto you. At this sudden contact, you force yourself to be more present in the moment and attempt to push all thoughts of Ellie out of your mind. 

The song begins in a minor key, starting off slow as the lead singer begins to croon. 

🎶 There’s a million people in this room who want me more than you // There’s a million people who want me more than you 

There’s no one in this world who loves you like I do // There’s no one in this world who loves you like I do 🎶 

You watch as the crowd of people nod along to the song, some already preemptively whooping. 

🎶 Alone in a crowded room, I wish I was with you // Whether I’m here or there, it doesn’t matter to you 

But you don’t know what you have ‘til it leaves you // You don’t know what you have until it leaves you 🎶 

You suddenly feel one of Abby’s arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you in closer to her. 

🎶 There’s a line of people waitin’ for this to fall through // There’s a line of people waitin’ for me to leave you 

So please, baby, love me like I love you 🎶 

You can feel Abby’s piercing blue eyes gazing at your face, expectantly and determinedly. 

🎶 Someone here wants me, they want me more than you // Someone here wants me, they want me more than you 

There’s someone here who wants me, they want me more than you // There’s someone here who wants me, they want me more than you 🎶 

Despite this aching feeling bubbling in your stomach, you will yourself to meet Abby’s stare. 

🎶 There’s a million people in this room who want me more than you // There’s a million people who want me more than you 

There’s no one in this world who loves you like I do // There’s no one in this world who loves you like I do 🎶 

Abby begins to lower her face, her lips nearly touching yours. Her breath tickles your cheeks before you suddenly pull away from her embrace. 

The crowd is distracted as the song ends, applauding and sounding off in response. As their cheering eventually dies down, you watch as Abby’s face falls a little and an expression of slight regret is painted across her features. 

“O-oh, oh my god, Abby, I’m so sorry,” You quickly explain. “I didn’t mean to pull away like that; I swear to god, you just surprised me, that’s all.” 

You knew that it was all quickly strewn lies streaming from your lips, but you didn’t want to ruin Abby’s night by making her feel guilty. You pray that she believes your feeble excuses, and it thankfully seems that she does. 

“Serves me right for trying to sneak a kiss from you out of nowhere,” She says, smirking lightly. “I’ll do better next time.” 

“It’s okay, it’s just the tequila,” You laugh shakily. “Even just a few sips of it kind of makes my emotions a wild card.” 

“Well, you did warn me earlier,” Abby remarks, smiling. “No tequila next time; got it.” 

You chuckle nervously, biting the inside of your cheek. 

Abby begins to say something when Nora suddenly grabs her attention. 

“Oh my god, Abs, that’s the girl I was telling you about before,” Nora exclaims, pointing in a vague direction where it was indistinguishable who she was referring to. “See with the long ponytail?” 

“Holy shit, where?” Abby asks distractedly, looking away from you and towards where Nora's gesturing. 

Seeing an opportunity, you place your hand lightly on Abby’s arm before saying, “Just gonna run down to the restroom for a quick second, okay?” 

Abby turns back towards you and asks, “Do you want me to come with?” 

You muster enough bravado to jokingly say, “Believe it or not, I actually know how to pee all on my own like a big girl.” 

“Alright, alright,” Abby chuckles. “Hurry back.” 

You give her a noncommittal smile before weaving your way out of the crowd and towards the staircase. 

The bar’s gender-neutral restrooms were your first choice in brief sanctuary, but that plan was immediately foiled when you see the long line leading towards it. You sigh and resort to walking out the front door of the bar to catch your breath outside instead. 

Though it was much later in the night, the weekend guaranteed plenty of college students noisily roaming the streets of the downtown area. Wanting not to be disturbed, you reluctantly turn into the dingy alleyway to the left of the Bow and Arrow. 

A couple of people pass through the dark street, but you feel safe positioning yourself underneath the closest streetlamp as none of them lingered for too long. 

Sighing as you lean against the cold, stone wall of the next-door building, you look up at the lamp post you’d chosen as your temporary companion. You place a hand on its cool, metal base, remembering the last time you stood underneath its dim luminescence. 

“Why, Ellie?” You asked her. “Why’d you take it to that extreme?” 

Ellie’s eyes bore into you, the unspoken truth threatening to overflow from the ocean green. 

“You know why.” She said softly. 

“I—” You began, your lips trembling in hesitation. 

“You do, don’t you?” Ellie whispers. 

You don’t respond. Without thought or consideration, you find your body pressed up against Ellie’s, your mouth instinctively finding that of her own. 

The moment your lips met hers, you knew you never wanted to kiss any other lips but hers again. 

Every knowing and deliberate look, every inside joke, every accidental brush of your hands led up to this exact moment. And yet nothing could have prepared you for the bliss, the euphoria of finally kissing Ellie. Her strong, muscular arms wrapped around your waist, nearly lifting you off of the ground to pull you closer. You surrendered to your body’s instinct, almost as if fate was guiding it. 

The meaning of life laid behind Ellie’s lips, and what other choice did you have but to fervently search for it? 

You didn’t remember when you’d wrapped your arms around Ellie’s neck, only realizing you had done so when you found your fingers clutching at her auburn hair so firmly that her half-bun updo threatened to come undone. The more Ellie moaned into you, the tighter your grip on her hair became. 

You’d both forgotten where you were and how you’d gotten there. You just knew that you were no longer standing in that dark alleyway next to the Bow and Arrow. You were suddenly in this completely separate universe, a vast yet secret galaxy that consisted only of you and Ellie. It belonged to nobody else but you two. Nothing else mattered anymore, only you and Ellie and your little infinity. 

But you didn’t exist there anymore. It’s two years later, and you no longer live in that bubble of romance and fantasy. 

You step away from the wall, staring up at the clear, black sky. You try but fail desperately not to find the intricate patterns of Ellie’s freckles replicated in the constellations above. 

That universe of yours and Ellie’s was no longer within your grasp. It’s a place you hadn’t allowed yourself to visit for an eternity. This present moment, lonely and nostalgic, is the closest you can find to it. It was like a narrow, cruel window that allowed only a glimpse at the heaven you once knew. 

You sigh. Reluctantly tearing your eyes away from Ellie’s celestial clones, you bid farewell to your brief, ill-lit hideout and exit back to the main sidewalk. You make your way once more towards the front door of the Bow and Arrow, knowing that you would make Abby worry if you lingered too long outside of the bar.

author’s notes:

it's here it's here, it's finally here. can y'all believe i've really written TEN whole chapters of this fucking series? the word count is literally like, 40k. what the hell!

as mentioned and linked above, i created a playlist for this series if you wanna check it out! it's all songs that are either mentioned or included in the series, in addition to songs that i feel match the vibe of the story! i will continue to add to it as we progress (and if you pay attention, i may add some songs preemptively right before publishing a chapter that may have to do with that specific chapter)

again, if you lowkey recognize the lesbian bar i very, very loosely based the bow and arrow on, no you don't

jay is lowkey inspired by my irl ex-girlfriend adriana's friends back in college who had a similar physical description and i was lowkey more attracted to than adriana herself oops

the song in this chapter is by the band called equal creatures where my very good friend laurie is the lead singer! if you love me, please check them out!

sorry to make the creep hitting on the reader in the flashback a woman, but sexual harassment is not gender exclusive and i wanted to showcase that as well.

the line "the moment your lips met hers, you knew you never wanted to kiss any other lips but hers again" is heavily inspired by valerie's speech from the "v for vendetta" movie (if you haven't seen the movie, even if you have no intentions of actually watching it, please watch this scene, it's so fucking moving and it's one of my all-time favourite scenes in cinematic history, no joke)! the line is said at the 2-minute mark!

reader and ellie's first kiss is also heavily inspired by my first kiss with my ex (it was romantic as hell, ask me one day to tell y'all how it happened)

taglist: @lonelyfooryouonly, @elliesinterlude, @sawaagyapong, @peppesgirl, @iconsoft, @maybeidohaveadhd, @ellieswifee, @valiantllamapersonpony-blog, @nil-eena, @echostinn

@uraesthete, @softbunlvr, @cherriesxinthespring, @amitycat, @thefishymissy, @yevheniiaaaa, @machetegirl109, @bertandfearnie, @ximtiredx, @efam

@elliesnumber1gf, @digit4lslut, @tayyyystan, @emothurman, @livvy-2000, @abigaillovestoread, @gold-dustwomxn, @liabadoobee, @yuckyfucky, @qtefolleunpez

@libr4sonsa, @17luv, @robinismywifee, @villainousbear, @ashlynnnnnnnn15, @scarlettadore, @vianna99, @g0n3girls, @totheblood, @embermdk

@awyunh, @kenz-ee, @marvelwomen-simp, @eleactric, @simpforellie, @omgidksblog, @anxiouso, @nyrastar, @lillysbigwilly, @hopeless-y

@elliesbabygirl, @alexpritch, @thestarsanctuary, @aethelwyneleigh27, @cass00x, @mulan-but-gay, @carmellie, @destielcore, @tfuuka, @elliewilliamsmissingfingerss

@sagestuffing, @ewwitsbella, @igoferalforelliewilliams, @miaelliesgfxoxo, @saturnvalentine, @elysiagyaru, @asteroidzzzn, @gay4jinx, @97cityy, @joliettes

@p1llowthoughtss, @ellieslegalwife, @aouiaa, @lez-zuha, @ineffablefics, @peepshake, @lil-elliesgf

[dgrailwar]

Round 3, Day 2 - ALL TEAMS (Extra Summon - Tempest)

The lone Faker stood in the midst of the storm, awaiting whoever was to challenge her.

A figure, spiraling down from the heavens and striking at the Faker. The Alter-Ego, beautiful and proud, engaged in swift close combat as her bladed legs danced against the sparking metal of the Faker's sword. They seemed to be evenly matched, as the Alter-Ego laughed.

"I don't get what all the fuss is about--! I could handle you by myself, you know?"

"Alter-Ego… I like that warrior's confidence, but it won't be enough!"

The Faker's eyes flashed, the Alter-Ego's movements slowing in a critical moment as she was struck off the chariot, only recovering fast enough to safely land on the ground to regroup. The chariot wheeled downwards, charging at the Alter-Ego before a gust of wind threw it off course, the Faker's attention turning to another Servant. The MoonCancer, hovering in the air with massive flapping elephant ears, venting to nobody in particular.

"Gh… why couldn't I have 'support-type' build? Then I could just hang back and throw out buffs while everyone else got in close with the fighting. Ahh-- whatever! If I'm a tank, then I'm a tank! Let's draw some aggro!"

With the Faker's attention drawn elsewhere, two more Servants rushed into the fray.

"The sound of lightning…!"

"Come, o' Blade of Flames!"

Two attacks, simultaneously struck at the Faker. One, a glittering roseate fencing blade thrust forward. Second, a dark saber of cursed flames slashed downward. Both attacks forced the rider of the skeletal chariot to reel, as she retaliated with her own sword, knocking them both away with a thunderous strike as they both spiraled in the air, struggling to catch themselves.

"Uwaah--! That sword… is fast…!" "Hahaha! She's a bit tougher than a standard Heroic Spirit! Good! Very good!"

On the ground, two Servants watched. One of them, a Pretender in a white cloak, held out his hands as magic sparkled outward, providing energy to the direct combatants as they fought against the Faker. The second, a Ruler wearing a heavy blue cloak against the storm, was waving her banner proudly, light shining from her body.

"You must be the Ruler, looking at how proudly you're waving that flag. I didn't take a Ruler for one to want a reward."

"I don't care for the reward, just for solving this Grail War. This battle... we'll have to work together, but by some metric one of us will be determined as 'the best'."

"An 'MVP', perhaps?" The Pretender chuckled. "So, nobody can afford to sandbag either. Everybody wants to be a winner, right? Even someone like you can't afford to lose."

She slammed down her banner, the harsh rainfall temporarily broken by golden light that pierced through like an arrow, covering all the participating Servants against the Faker-Class.

"You're right, I don't want to lose either...so, let's give it our all! Come, Faker! Let the battle begin!"

"Hahaha! Now this is what I love to see! In this bout, I shall serve as your seventh! So come, show me that warrior spirit! The greatest of you will face glory, and the cowardly will face punishment! Warriors of the Extra-Class, Mages of the modern era, distant as you may ever be-- show me your resolve, and Faker will return it in kind!"

Due to the presence of all participating Servants everyone is put on fair ground! No boosts or demerits apply, the results are what they are!

The Servant who does the most against Faker (as in, gets 1st Place) wins!

SCORING:

1st Place will receive a boost of their choosing from an assortment for their next round!

2nd Place will not receive any rewards, but evade punishment!

3rd through 5th Place will gain a -2% demerit during their next round! These demerits bypass any resistances!

Last place will gain a wound that bypasses any damage evasion passives!

[shooting-love-arrows]

I might be cringe-

How about a detective/journaliest reader entering a haunted library or mental hospital or anything? Where the yandere is actually the one who ordered reader's boss to send them there? Or just knew how to pop reader's interest

Dear @mil-vc,

It's not cringy at all. Here's my interpretation of your request. Have a nice day!

@shooting-love-arrows

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄! 𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐓 [𝐎𝐂] who lures their darling into their trap

PAIRING: 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭 [𝐎𝐂] x [JOURNALIST] reader (gender not mentioned/impled/specified) Tw. another floating red flag, obsessive/creepy behavior, possession, murder (?), rituals, supernatural activities, it takes a darker turn so yeah…

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Who became so desperate to interact with you face to face that one day, they decided to possess your idiotic boss. Their plan was carefully thought over and had a clear goal at the end of it. The way there was long, complicated and tedious. It took a lot of energy and effort since they were tied by invisible strings to the place they died. However they knew it would be worth it in the end. After all it was for you. And once they succeeded? 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭 decided to use it to its fullest. It was a once in a lifetime chance.

“I summon thee, hear me. I am in need to borrow the body of a mortal. Hear me!” After the last word left their mouth, 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭 were blinded by the light. When they opened them again, they successfully possessed the body of your boss.

Who lures you into their trap. After the possession, 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭 had no time to waste. Since they acquired quite a lot of knowledge about you. Being a journalist, they knew you treasure your job, were exceptionally good at it and you were a curious little thing too. Taking into consideration all those facts, you basically gave them a solution on the golden plate. But to you, it came as a surprise that your (possessed) boss gives you a job to investigate the supposed haunted gothic mansion.

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat. Your (possessed) boss' stare was unnerving to say the least. His beady eyes were glued to you since the moment you entered his office. You cleared your throat, cutting the awkward silence. You ‘boss’ snapped out of the trace and straightened his back. “I want you to investigate a supposed haunted mansion.” ‘he’ informed you and gave you a thin folder of documents related to the said place. “Our source said that something suspicious is taking place there.” Of course, you accepted it.

Who wants to eagerly welcome you in their 'humble' abode. Well, as much as ghosts can welcome their guests. The gothic mansion might be a bit dusty, the time of its splendor long since passed but still! It was enormous and what matters is what it can become in the future. And his welcome tactic? They like to spook you. It's all harmless tho! Shifting objects around. Imitating sounds like footspes or whispers in your ears. Playing with your flashlight. Those all are little tricks and parts of their personality from where 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭 were still alive. 

You stepped into another endless hall of the supposed haunted mansion, shining your flashlight around.  “Ah!” You jumped back when a wooden chair was tipped back and fell. Like a ripple in the water, the echo of its fall carried around the empty halls. Your heartbeat began to pick.. The longer you stayed there, the more paranoid you became. Something just wasn’t right with this place…Scratch that, everything was wrong with it. Then your flashlight started to flicker.  “Oh no, no, no.” You started to visibly panicked and began hitting your only source of light. You even turned to praying to let it work properly again. Thankfully it seemed to work because the flickering stopped.  You sighed in relief just as a violent shiver racked your body. You began to regret taking that task. Meanwhile 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭 grinned playfully and moved their fingers along your spine. 

Who decided to trap you in the said place by manipulating energy to tie to the place. It was another step of their plan.𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭 had you right where they wanted you to be and everything was prepared early. Slowly but surely, they began to lead you into the direction of a hidden chamber which was a magic room. And when you crossed its threshold, your fate was sealed.

“I hope you’ll understand what I’m about to do is for your own good. For us to be happy for all of the eternity.”

Who processes to possess you and finalize the ritual. Since they were in the place they were tied to, their powers and energy was much stronger so possessing you came more easily to them. Unfortunately, they couldn’t fully appreciate being in your body. This step was their least favorite part of their plan but it needed to be done. 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭 steered your body in the middle of the room and started muttering incantations. They reached for the ancient dagger laying by your feet and raised it to be at the same level as your beating heart. With the last words of an ancient language leaving their mouth, they drove the weapon into your heart. The ritual was completed. 

“Welcome home, love.” The news about your dissapearance ended up being on the cover of the very newspaper you worked for.

All of the published posts on this account/blog belongs to @shooting-love-arrows. I do not consent to my works being: translated, stolen, published or reposted on this and other sites. Likes, reblogs, comments are highly appreaciated. Thank you.

[blumineck]

If you could make magical arrows what kind would you want to make

Okay, there's a really clear answer for me here, but it's quite specific to my needs:

Illusory / summoned arrows: arrows that I can conjure/ banish at will without needing to carry a quiverful or worry about running out/breaking arrows.

They otherwise act exactly like normal, well-made arrows (no homing/ aim assist) that are tuned to the bow they're shot from, EXCEPT that they don't actually deal any damage. They might appear to stick into targets, and maybe even knock light objects over, but they don't make any holes.

Bonus points if there's a cool visual effect on a hit though!

That way I can do cool trick shots without worrying about risk or cost of arrows, and can safely train more or less anywhere.

If you know any artificers, hook me up 😁

[carionto]

Accurate Reenactments Based On Facts

Most cultures across the Galaxy do their utmost to preserve and remember their history, both the great achievements, and the terrible mistakes. Humans go a few dozen steps further.

They introduced us to a concept called "Historical reenactments" - accurate recreations of the situations and conditions of ancient events, usually battles, played out with prop equipment by real people. They also said they sometimes do these just for fun and don't care about being 100% accurate.

This particular reenactment was of a battle called Thermopylae. Using numerous historical records, they recreated the location, printed slightly lighter versions of the armor (well, helmets only for some) they wore, and dull weapons with embedded stun shockers that would create a kinetic "bump" upon contact to prevent actual injury by pushing the person back instead.

Once everyone was geared up the atmosphere changed, both visually as the holographic projectors did their thing, and from the Humans themselves - their demeanor became that of... wilderness. Ferocity. Deadly focus. It was quite fear inducing even from afar.

Then the defenders in red, the "Spartans", created a sort of spiky dome with their shields and spears. Then the attackers in blue, the "Persians" unleashed a terrifying volley of arrows, the sky hologram went darker, then a bright beam of light shone upon the defenders as they swept off arrows stuck to their shields in dramatic fashion before proceeding to charge towards their assaulting foes.

We noticed the "Spartans" were all much larger than the "Persians", and actually were equipped with subtle and very modern exoskeletons. Perplexed by this we asked if these Spartans had a very particular technological advantage for their time:

"Well, not as far as we can tell, but based on the materials we have, Spartans were, like, really buff and super strong compared to the average person of the time. Plus, according to the feats of strength they supposedly displayed, we suspect they became an extinct branch of Humanity at some point, so the exoskeletons are there to mimic what we think they were like. Anyway, look, this is the coolest part."

As they spoke, the artificial gravity was lowered slightly and there was a spike in the power output from the exoskeleton equipped Spartans. Now they were flinging the approaching Persians dozens of feet into the air, a single bare-chested man kicked three of them at once backwards at a whole group, knocking the wind out of them.

This sort of extreme violence continued for several minutes.

Suddenly, an incredibly large Persian man on a throne was carried to what was effectively the center stage. Him and a heavily bearded Spartan exchanged a dramatic dialogue, the Spartan threw his spear at the Persian, who dodged it with a single turn of his head, then proceeded to summon a massive horde of small Persians who quickly began to overrun the Spartans.

There were bodies and shields and spears and pieces of armor flying everywhere, but gradually all the red became engulfed by the blue, and only one remaining Spartan managed to wriggle his way out of the carnage and make a run for it back to their city in the distance.

Seemingly satisfied after plucking out the bearded Spartan from the pile, the giant Persian roared in triumph and this is when the reenactment ended and everyone gathered for a feast.

So this is how ancient Human Battles went, huh.

"Well, not all of them. Usually it's between more equal forces in large open fields, or prolonged sieges, which can be a bit boring to recreate.

You should come back next month, we'll be doing an old naval battle between the British Empire and Independent Pirates Lords. It ends with a really sweet whirlpool showdown. Man, what are the odds of that happening, eh?"

[rel124c41]

PSILOCYBIN AND HONEYCOMB. jade leech

There is something terribly wrong with the queen bee. Gentle and kind. Out of her mind. inspired by @merakiui dabbles and @pathosprit asks about god!floyd/cultist!reader

tags: alternative universe - cults, implied/referenced drug use, old gods, falling in love, blood and gore, beekeeping, fluff and smut, unhealthy relationships, thought projection, gentleness, inspired by psilocybin and honeycomb by harley poe, murder

word count: 11,895

When you are ten, round-faced and small, you watch the Reverend heat up the branding iron. He twirls it in the fire like it is a marshmallow, making sure the iron is covered evenly with a brilliant scarlet red. Gold dances over the thick, ebony gloves that the Reverend wears and shadows jump across the stone creases of his aged face. You watch the sigil rotate in numerous circles. 

A foreign hand pulls up your dress, exposing your stomach and underwear. You keep watching the circle of iron and fire; as the speed of the Reverend's hands pick up, the two materials blend together in a racing whirlpool of a red and gold comet. Beautiful. 

“It won’t hurt will it, Mom?” Your small voice is full of terror; your wrists tremble in the hold of the two adults pinning you down to the table.

“No sweetie, no it won’t.” Your mother, the unmarried woman who got pregnant, presses a kiss to your forehead.

When the Reverend presses the branding iron down on the skin on your hypogastric skin, right under your belly-button, it is the last time you know fear. 

By the stream, God – The Odd One – calls and beckons and sings.

Hands fall idle in surprise. You were not expecting a summon from Him today. Raising your head from your task, you listen closely. It could have just been the snapping branch under a rabbit’s foot or the breeze blowing too roughful in a bush. You wait patiently for that divine melody to resume itself. 

In the pregnant pause, a white dress rustles through the current of the stream. Its arms wave helpless. Under the water, the fabric mimics a dead gray hue. 

There is no secondary call or beckoning. Holding your breath long enough, you fall back into your task. 

White dress in hand, you scrub it with a mixture of mammal fat and lye. The cleansing agent bubbles and carries down the stream. If the heart of your God resides anywhere on land, it is here, your favorite place; in His heart, you do your laundry, domestic. 

The Reverend would be appalled at that thought. You think with a smile. Water collapses from the dress as you wring it out. But it is an entirely true thought. The deeper you venture in the forest, the more you can hear Him. It is only when you reach for the robin egg blue dress does He come back, voice oscillating through nature. 

A testing call? Dropping the garment, you listen intently, waiting to see where you can jump into the melody. After a beat, you find your place in the song. The construction of the deut sounds like this:

A stream sweeping in a downward incline, splashing in playful, petite waves as it tickles lower. It is bordered by plentiful grass. Like boats caught in a fierce storm, a handful of pine-cones freckled in the water move across the stream. Rocks break apart the smoothness of the water. The song emphasizes that the rocks give it a fresh uniqueness rather than damage the serenity of the stream. 

The chorus is a bumble bee landing on a black dahlia. Silk, ebony petals curl off the center like a hundred thumbnails in a bouquet. In the light of nature, the black of the flower shines a red-violet. Nestled in the middle like an arrow in a bullseye, the bumble bee robs and rapes the center of the black dahlia, stabbing at the nectar with their needle-thin legs. 

Carrying your voice higher, you sing about the breeze. The breeze puppets the leaves to give a graceful, continuous wave to the visitors of the forest. The bridge focuses on an earthworm. It is alone, red with speckles of earth. You take your voice past its limit when you find yourself singing about a forest fire. The ballad continues under two watchful, olive-brown eyes.

Unnoticed, the son of the village’s livestock handler watches you break your vocal limit for God. So devoted to him. Piety works itself over the tendons of your throat, pushing and pressing too hard, like a violin’s bow. As the unknown, dueting voice, Jade watches and listens to your consecrating voice, peeved.

Around you, Jade finds that his inhibition has been escaping. 

He has been alive for numerous generations, witnessing patterns of human speech, human practices, and most importantly human fears. Fear is older than Jade. Older than the sediment on the ground that you sing to. Thus, innate fears often stay with generations – the fear of death, thanatophobia, is a prominent recurrence. 

As the God of nature, Jade knew. He had felt men press their heads into the crust of the earth, begging for the other men chasing him to let him live. Felt people rack up dirt with fingers, feverishly pleading for the resurrection of a sick son or sick daughter. Felt fists pound the trees in frustration for the souls he collected and ate. 

Even still, they worshiped him. Thinking they would be allowed into a paradise, ignorant that the old door death opened was a door made of teeth and tongues. Even with the false promise of paradise, thanatophobia reigned supreme and trumped all other fears in humans. In all humans except you. 

You. How strange you are, altering the rules of humanity, since your tenth birthday. 

You focus on nature; he focuses on you. 

As you two sing together, he feels that familiar retreat of inhibition. All of it dissolves into the color and shape of nature like a technicolor sea, blending together. Everything he thought he knew about humans changes with a tiny paint splosh, ruining the masterpiece he made.

“Oh, look at you. All alone,” a voice breaks the song. 

Rounding around, you glare at the intruder as God falls silent. You look at Jade as if you two were hunters and he had just scared off a deer you had been tracking. God galloping away off on hooves. Vexation like a gleam in your eyes. 

“What do you want, Jade?”

Jade Leech is perhaps the most annoying villager in your town, sticking to you like his surname suggests. He had shown up with his mother and father about three years ago when you were twelve. Usually, outsiders did not join the congregation, but the Reverend spoke positively of them. You trusted your Father’s judgment until the boy proved to hold great interest in you and all the things you did. 

“I was just checking up on my dear friend, (Name).”

He is not even respectable about your status. The village calls you ‘One’ for Chosen One. At ten years old, you lose your name like one loses a sock. Not Jade; he likes to call you by the name your mother picked.

“How kind of you,” sarcasm drips from your throat, sore with singing.

“You’re most welcome. You’ve taken to changing the spot where you wash your clothes.”

“Yes, I was hoping someone wouldn’t find me here.”

“It is very nicely secluded so I am sure that they won’t be able to locate it.” 

I thought so too, your inner thoughts mourn.

“Though it might be a bit dangerous. So far off from the ocean and village. Why, who knows what kind of coyotes or animals could be wandering around in the thicket.”

“I assure you, I’m quite alright in the wilderness.” 

It is a true statement. You were particularly blessed when it came down to manners of the environment and the animals which it housed. Call it divine intervention, call it confidence. Whatever it is named, you are spared a lot of trouble that could potentially come from inhuman footprints. 

“Who knows? That unwanted company might seize the opportunity and attack.” Jade’s olive-brown eyes watch your back. Your shoulders move with the pattern of your scrubbing. Sweat latches tight to the curvatures of your visible skin. “Like right now, going for your jugular.”

“Try it, Jade,” you challenge, smiling – not in a friendly way.

Accepting the challenge, Jade stands back and watches your shoulder fall still. The smile on his face is not shark-toothed but it beams with the animosity of such a creature. You have other teeth to worry over. Fangs full of venom, a water snake has wrapped itself around your arm, sneaking up from its hiding spot under the dress and soap.

A copperhead snake twines itself up your forearm like an orange-brown vine. Immediate, your hand falls comatose, not waiting to disturb it. Here. Here is where the human pattern of thanatophobia should come into play. Jade waits eagerly for a shriek; copperheads are venomous, he is certain you know this.

You do not tremble with your actions. You do not tremble with your voice. Irking Jade further, you reach a finger from your opposing arm over the copperhead’s head. The snake does not acknowledge your stroke, continuing to squeeze, as you move down and grasp the tail.

“Jade.”

“Hm?”

“You should step back. This is dangerous.”

A fire of anger ignities on Jade’s shoulders. Cheek twitching, he glares at the back of you. You were concerned for his safety? There is a venomous snake acting friendly with the veins in your arm, yet you told him to stand back. So caught up in disbelief, he misses you successfully unwrapping the copperhead from yourself.

Which you proceed to throw in a bush, just a foot or two away from Jade is standing. “Bravo,” Jade says, unflinching. He stalks towards you. 

“Told you to move.” You pull your clean dress out of the water, wringing it out.

“I do not see how you can be so composed in the grip of death. It is perplexing.”

“Death is always at our sides.” In the water, Jade’s shadow oscillates like a match’s sparkling flame. A quarter of it folds over your shoulder. “Why would I have any reason to be afraid of it?”

“You are the sacrifice of this village.” Jade puts a hand to his heart, leering expression painting itself on his face. Waits patiently for you to get frustrated with him. “I think it is natural that you would think about it more often.”

You look up at Jade, trying to decipher why the thought causes him qualms. Into your wicker basket, you lay the slightly damp dress. Task finished, you bring the basket to your hip as you stand up from the stream.  

“I have no qualms over it.” Then the conversation dies as you walk off, nobody’s buttercup.

The stream babbles as you walk alongside it. Like a puppy barking at your heels, you two move in sync. Somewhere in the bush, you think you can hear the sound of the copperhead rustling. A person disinclined towards the very thought of death, that is who you are. Embracing it, you jump upon the fallen, precarious log that hovers over the stream. 

You glance at Jade who watches you. Then, wicker basket in hand, you step with a note on your tongue. Walking down the log to the other side, you say with each footfall, “do re mi fa sol la ti do.” Your voice goes higher as your steps evolve into stomps. 

You crash onto the other side, leaves crunching, as Jade asks, “What was that?”

“Something I’ve been orchestrating.” You challenge him with a look, separated by running water. “You should try it. You never sing at any of the entheogens.” 

Before the village drinks the holy wine mixed with the holy mushroom of God, the entheogens ceremonies call for everyone to sing. You have never seen Jade’s mouth so much as twitch. Though, surprisingly, no one ever makes a fuss about it. The village turns it back on any of the blasphemous actions of Jade Leech. 

“Unless you sing like a croaking toad … ah, then I suppose it all makes sense. It would be a disgrace to your parents if you sang. Unfortunate.”

Jade’s brows furrow. Got him. As he walks down the log, forgoing the stomping you did, he sings the rising scale, “do re mi fa sol la ti do.” He lands by your side, hopping off the behemoth log. There is a golden firecracker of satisfaction in his olive-brown eyes. 

“I did not know you could sing like that.” 

The firecracker sizzles out as Jade’s brows shoot up. He feels a light pink start to tiptoe up to his cheeks.

Your voice is soft like honey, full of awe. Your reticent inhibition around Jade melts at that moment. Like snow on spring ground, you warm up eternally – just a bit! – to the invading pest that is Jade Leech. Someone who has been like a mite in your otherwise well kept paradise. You take him in a different light: cropped black hair, slim face, and olive-brown eyes just a bit less obnoxious. You had only heard such a singing voice from –

“Come. Let us go unless that someone you want to avoid finds this spot.”

The thought disappears. Blinking, you watch Jade stalk off. When you regain yourself, basket in hand, you walk just a bit behind him. Like the stubborn child you are, you bite the inside of your cheek, thinking:

Jade sounds good when he sings. 

You two continue silently back to the village, Jade leading. It is a content walk, not even many rocks or lifted ground to trouble the path. Nature sings around the two in a musique concrete of twigs, leaves, and dirt. It is only when you feel a small tug that you wander off.

Jade watches with knowing, incorrectly colored eyes. 

Your eyes sparkle upon a holy sight. More than a dozen light brown and ivory white jellyfish caps stand up straight in grass off the path. Like toads in mud, they break through the dehydrated grass in poor camouflage. Psilocybin mushrooms. The mushrooms that your congregation holds in high regard; a mushroom on piety par with a cross or a clerical collar. 

Like the winner of an Easter egg hunt, you go to collect the mushrooms. Prizes God had hidden from you so you could search and prove yourself. Carefully, you start to put them in your wicker basket, sprinkles of dirt landing on the top dress. 

Shadow folding over you, Jade inquires, breaking the silent retreat, “How many more days until you die, (Name)?”

No one should ever smile at such an inquiry. Yet, here you do, proud of the psilocybin mushrooms in hand, you answer with a big grin, “1,746 days.”

“Jade Leech, you little thief! Get back here right now!”

You look up upon hearing those words. Four buildings away, you watch as a towel crack on the back of Jade’s spine as he walks out of the bakery. The head chef seems to be the one caterwauling at him, twisted towel weaponized like a claymore. A sly smile is plastered on Jade’s face despite the hit.

Idiot; no one steals from her and leaves without a tussle. She, the head chef, is caterwauling like a soaked cat. A smile still emerges on your face despite your previous trouble. Speaking of those troubles – 

You turn back to your work. There are not many jobs for you to take in the village. As the ritual’s sacrifice, labor is something you do not need to concern yourself with as the Reverend says. Attending prayer services, purifying yourself, and connecting with nature are your top priorities. You stretched out the limitations on the last priority and managed to convince that soft-hearted Reverend to let you start beekeeping with two village elders. 

If our God is in every mushroom, every flower, every faucet of nature, it must be alright for me to care for His holy insects too? : that pathos and ethos argument won you the rights to take up beekeeping. 

Right now, you are troubled by your job. Hairy white sections are on the lower burr comb and cells. It festers on a block of the hive where the queen is. A sign of another pest within the hive. However, none of the other signs were present upon last inspection. Of course, the sign of incursion would be near the queen – the most sensitive and paramount part of the hive.

The queen bee eludes your gaze right now, worker bees swarming around. You go to see if you can get a few to walk on your hand when something breaks your line of sight. Your hand stills. Held out to you is a half-ripped piece of bread. 

Not taking it, you look up at the smiling face of Jade. Far away, surprisingly not giving chase, the head chef shouts: “Little devil child! You pest!” The grin on Jade’s face widens, teeth flashing at you. 

“If only she knew the half of it. Here.” Jade holds up the bread, trying to appear generous in his motives. “Freshly baked.”

“Freshly stolen,” you correct. You take it either way. Stealing is frowned upon by the congregation but you have no fear left to worry about consequences. A tiny bite leaves you pleasantly surprised. Sourdough. You go back in for a bigger bite.

Jade sits down beside you, eating his own share and looking into the broods. Glancing up from your piece, you say, “You did that on purpose.” 

“Stealing is often a motivated task.”

“No. You got caught on purpose; you’re slippery enough to steal and not get noticed.”

“I assure you that I was trying my hardest to not get caught.”

“Ah I see,” you say, wholly unconvinced. 

“Your mind is not at ease. Usually you smile more when attending to your bees.” 

Like a chipmunk, you stuff your cheeks with sourdough to avoid answering. “It is unlike a person of your standing,” Jade continues. Your standing: your life’s merit as a sacrifice. The reason that everyone calls you One instead of (Name). The Chosen One connected to the Odd One through nature and, thus, nature’s creatures.

“Sumtin’ s ‘rong wit the quee.”

“Pardon?”

You swallow, “Something’s wrong with the queen.” You spear a crescent into the bread’s crust with your nail. Despondent, you explain, “There are signs of an infestation near her section. I also noticed the capped cells were full of holes and overall seemed frail. That’s a sign of Varroa but I haven’t seen a single mite or deformed wings.” 

“Always the queen isn’t it?”

“I don’t understand why I can never raise a healthy queen. The cell caps of hers always appear healthy, but halfway through, she suffers from signs of unknown invasion.” Quarantining your bees is the most viable option but you would rather solve this matter before taking a drastic measure. If only you could locate her –

You jump when Jade presses his hand close to the honeycomb structures. “Hey, be careful! You need gloves!”

“You do not wear gloves.”

“That’s different!”

“Hush.”

At that word, you happily wait for him to get strung. With his inexperience, it should only take a short amount of time. Sourdough in hand, you sit back to watch the show. Bees crawl like pouring vinegar over his pallid hand, curious, and you huff at his gentleness. Any moment now. Any moment comes but it comes with Jade pulling hand away with the queen bee on his forefinger.

“How did you –”

“What, like it’s hard?”

“I hate you.”

Jade smiles wide at that. The queen on his finger flicks her wings as he moves his hand to hover between you two. She seems fairly healthy despite all the disturbance around her. “Trying to steal my job, Jade,” you ask when he passes her to you. 

“Do not even entertain the thought. I do not particularly enjoy insects. They may be entertaining for an hour or so, but I am content with the thought of their entire colony going up in flames one day.”

“Monster.”

Jade smiles in his you-don’t-know-the-half-of-it way. 

Jade stares up at the statue of himself, contemplative. 

For five out of thousands of years, Jade has passed time wearing fake human skin. Fake pallid hands find themselves stroking his neck for gills no longer there. Those hands hesitate over touching his ears, feeling thick muscle and bone instead of a thin membrane of skin. His trepidation around looking-glasses has eroded over the half decade. But, Jade still finds himself not entirely accepting parts of the body he puppets.

Walking around in the wrong skin is like wearing clothes too small. It squeezes over him like latex, tightening when he moves a certain way and constricting when he looks at it too long. 

His hands especially are wrong, lacking webbed structure and the correct hues. How his fingernails flush purple and his fingers red when it is cold … it disgusts him. How his veins are blue under sand toned skin … it is a sickening sight. The human body wrapped around his working brain and working heart, it is the most grotesque part of this trail. Sometimes, he wants nothing more to shed it off an amphibian. 

Jade takes his vexed gaze off his hands and returns to staring at the monument. Cleaners are put on rotation to polish and scrub down the entirety of him, forbidding moss or dirt to lay upon him. They are quite meticulous about it too. Meticulous like how a mother bathes her child. They scrub behind his ears, over the ridges of his dorsal fin, under the extended points of his claws. He has seen real, palpable joy on the faces of those given the job.

The sculptor … died about 2,050 years ago if Jade’s memory is right. 

Withstanding the test of time, here the effigy of his true form lies, propped up on a block of marble chiseled to look like a sweeping wave. His face is sculpted in a polite mien with the slightest hint of malice. Smiling with teeth yet not with all his teeth. Just the top row. In stone, his tail dips in backwards J and is hooked upward like the frozen neck of a screaming horse on a carousel. 

If asked, Jade thinks he misses his tail most right alongside his hands. The only change that he does not mind is his hair. Living on a warm island with long hair would have been bothersome, especially on his neck. The cropped style is nice; his real hair would have made him sweat. 

Then, staring down the effigy of himself, Jade realizes he made a mistake earlier. He knows he misses swimming the most. His tails and hands: they are mere tools to propel him when in the sea, so deep in his plunge that it feels like he is moving universe to universe with each wide stroke. 

Only less than three years remain until your death. 819 days if his memory serves correct. And this time it does; he is as certain as stone is hard. But such a long time in fake skin feels like the lifespan of a human, dragging day by day. Each inhale of the sun and exhale of the moon feeds the bugs crawling on his skin, uncomfortable in this fake skin.

Jade wonders, scratching his forearm, if he should speed this sacrificial ritual as he watches you race across the field towards him. He glances down at your nude human feet. Quadriceps, sinew tendons, and bone propelling you forward until you skid to a stop in front of him – with a jar in your hands? 

“Look what I have!” There is a big, prideful grin on your face. With a flourish, you raise up said jar. And Jade responses –

“Wow. A jar. How marvelous.”

Your expression flattens at that. As if retreating, you pull the jar to your ribcage, protective arms around it. “It’s not just any jar. It’s my – Itchy? I think we have some medicine in –” 

Jade pauses his scratching to interrupt. “No, I’m quite alright.” The marks running up his skin are angry and red, yet miraculously not bleeding. “So,” leaning in, he grins with all his teeth and says, “what’s in the jar? Must be revolutionary with how fast you ran over here.”

“It is!” Pride relights your body. You unscrew the jar with flying fingers. Then, you hold out the open mouth of the jar towards Jade, waiting for praise.

“Ah, honey.”

“Not just any honey; it is the last flow of honey.”

“I see. There is no more honey after that. So we will eat pancakes without honey soon, correct?”

“You’re not getting it, are you?”

“Afraid not.”

“Hmph.” You bring the jar back to your chest as Jade ponders on why humans are so sensitive. “The best months to harvest honey are from July to mid-September, right? And it is mid-September, right?” Jade nods at both your inane questions. Still not getting it. “Honey is the sweetest and best when you collect the last honey flow. The nectar flow from this is the one they make in the summer! It is going to taste Godly!” 

“Careful what words you use, (Name).”

You two glance up at the company you keep. Though his gray left eye and yellow right eye are the same hue of stone, they seem to shine. Something fierce and glowing breaking through inert expression. You smile mischievously. “I’ll make it up to him when I’m dead. Now. Taste this.”

With a roll of olive-brown eyes, Jade leans in to observe the jar which you are once more offering him. Inside, the yellow honey tilts like a slow avalanche with the degree you hold it at. Gold gleams like the surface of the ocean under sunlight, almost sparkling. I almost miss home, Jade thinks as he dips his index finger in. 

Oh.

Finger in mouth, Jade does not want to admit it but you are right. This is perhaps the best honey he has sampled before. The nectar slides down his tongue, touches his throat, and slugs down to his stomach. It is almost an addictive taste. 

It is an uncleaned sweetness that melts down his throat. Like blasphemous scripture. 

Jade really should not show you his enthusiasm for it; your pride will only increase knowing he enjoys it and you will grow more annoying. Yet, as if pulled by strings, he sticks his finger back into the jar. Before tasting, he asks, “What did you say the difference with this flow is?”

“It is the last flow of the season. With the bees hibernating soon, you can maximize the honey you are collecting by being patient. But there’s really an entire system to it, making sure you don’t strike too early or late.”

“Would it not be the sweetest during summer when the bees are most active?”

“Nope. Patience is the key; beekeeping is a waiting game.” 

A waiting game? He watches you stick your own finger in, feasting on the rewards of your patience. The later harvest yields a richer taste. How splendid of his sacrifice to say just the words he needs to hear to understand himself and motives. 

Eventually, almost telepathically as if both of you know what your companion is thinking, you and Jade stare up at the statue. Your saliva-coated finger and dry fingers place the cap back on the jar, leaving it unscrewed yet lidded. Jade waits until you are enraptured with the sculpture before he turns his attention to you. 

You stare, contemplative. The sun is three hours off from its peak. Thus piscine shadows of the statue fall onto awaiting blades of grass. The silhouette of his dorsal fin like a knife and the silhouette of his hunched shoulders, leaning in like he is going to burst to life any moment. He has this hardly contained enmity is his expression, upturned eyes too sharp and smile too tiny. 

“Can’t you just see me and him, together in paradise?”

“You two will make a lovely couple.”

“Heh, that’s what they all say.”

Jade studies your profile. There is just a tiny droplet of animosity in your worshiping eyes that he is desperate to uncover the truth about. You are bitter about something. However, whenever Jade tries to peek into that hate circuit rivering itself through your cortex, he gets nothing. 

He supposed he could ask; if he is going to bid his time in other realms, he has more time to analyze the ecosystem of your brain. You startle when he speaks. “(Name). If you were not the chosen one, what would you do with the rest of your life?”

The expression you give Jade is easy to read: confusion. “If I wasn’t the – why, I couldn’t imagine my life any other way.”

“But try to. Try to imagine your twenty-first birthday.”

“Stop being ridiculous, Jade.”

“I am as serious as death.”

You shake your head furiously. “There is no other choice to make, but I am using my choice and have chosen to be there. As the chosen one.”

Jade, with all his immortal life wisdom goes huh? at your verbal affirmation. 

“Such a boy,” you mourn, frowning up at his statue. You shuffle your bare toes on the ground, feeling the dirt cling onto them and tune into the radio of nature for a bit. After a contemplative moment, you say, “I am nobody’s buttercup. But I must do something so I will do that.”

“I see.” 

Taking your words as a challenge, Jade leans in. Your nose scrunches, thinking he is going to do something odious and ruin this perfect, honey-coated day. If you were built in the image of your God, you would want his teeth so you could snap at Jade’s nose. The sentiment grows when Jade flicks the lid off the jar — it frisbees through the air — and scoops up a handful of honey. Some of it doesn’t even make it into his mouth!

“Hey! No stealing from the chosen one!”

“You never said there was a time limit on the honey you offered.”

“Well, there is one now! We have to make this last until next September! I have only two Septembers left!”

Jade laughs, licking the honey off his wrist. He makes another grab at the jar as you rush away from him, trying to retrieve the lid. “Back! Back, you heathen!” And the smile Jade makes as he chases you around the field is a perfect copy of the expression that is carved into stone. 

Time passes like it always does. Life is a constant stream that connects in the ocean of death, making itself the estuary of mortality. 

Those two Septembers pass and twice more you successfully harvest the perfect honey flow. Even when Jade jokes all sinister that you should enjoy these last moments of good food, dipping sourdough into honey, you never even shake. At the apiary, all the jars are empty, trails of gold stubbornly clinging onto the glassware. You and Jade make the effort to scrub all the ones you used clean until they shine. 

“You’re not afraid at all,” Jade asks, watching you scrub the remains of your presence from the world. All you are: congealing honey on a rag which you will dip into the nearby stream, which will carry you away to a water funeral. 

“Not at all.” It must be true. Because under the winter’s sun, your hands are steady and determined. Because when Jade asks how many days are left, you respond with an unshakable voice. Because Jade thinks with some sort of thrill unlike any he has known, you have been waiting as patiently as he has. 

It is only when the number of days decrease and shrink down to the number seven does Jade’s patience break. 

There is no sunshine shining down on you but you are still as bright as ever. Under the silver moonlight, you twirl and run and even cartwheel in the open field. You have been forgoing any sort of sleep, utilizing all the hours in a twenty-four hour day until you pass out from exhaustion, nature as your mattress. No one in the village disapproves of it, seeing it as you embracing your God. Jade wishes someone would though. He has unfortunately been dragged out for the past seven nights by you, wanting his company.

And I still have seven more to go, Jade thinks, leaning against his statue. He never thought he would grow tired but even a human body has limits. Sleep addles Jade’s brain as his neck bends as if he is caught in prayer. 

He snaps back up when you shout. “Jade! Jade look!”

Seeing that you have his attention, you launch right into it. You take a running start, hands up in the air. Cartwheel, cartwheel, cartwheel, ending with a front flip. Supernaturally energetic, you raise your arms up in your success, dress billowing around you, ready to accept the claps. 

Jade manages a few light ones and says, “Well done, (Name).”

You smile happily. “Praise me more; this is the last week I’ll be alive to hear any sort of praise.” You twirl and watch the white of your summer dress puff up in a jellyfish shell. “Make sure they do not neglect to make mention of how good I was at cartwheels in the legends and stories.”

“I won’t, (Name).”

You fall back into it. Among the tall grass, you do a wide variety of different exercises and a variety of different dances. You move with the ease of an autumn leaf, trusting the wind. To the unheard and unsung song of nature and God, you gyrate around. Like God’s personal instrument, you bend yourself to the symphony that no one in your village has ever heard. 

I’ll miss dirt, you think just as you blindly twirl into a patch of fireflies. 

Fireflies explode around you like a firework. Wide-eyed and gasping, you pause with your hands raised up. Buzzing and rapid, the tiny comets of gold lift up from the flora and paint the night with tinier stars. Gripping the train of your dress, you rotate yourself to make room for the fireflies launching up to the west, laughing all the while. 

Eventually, they dissolve into the sky, leaving your eyes chasing after them. They dissolve in dying breaths and dying heartbeats. You watch the last of them flicker out, finding a new patch to lie on or traveling too far for you to see them. 

Oddly, an invisible bruise on your chest starts to ache. 

Dirt encrusted feet carry your body before you comprehend what you are doing. Wildly, like something monstrous is at your heels, you run into the nearby thicket of trees, determined to reach the deepest part of the forest which surrounds the village.

“(Name)?” Jade squints at your fast-retreating form. “(Name)!” He picks himself off the statue as you rush into the forest, almost like you are in a panic. 

“Catch me!” 

The chase prematurely begins. 

Jade dives into the forest after you. Pushing branches out of his way and jumping over protruding vegetation. Hundred elements of nature flicker across his vision as he runs and runs. Shadows elongate and distort under the occluding moon. He elbows his weight on a tree so it pushes him faster. Blanketed under nebulous black, the world beats with a thousand different songs. 

All the while you are hollering and screaming. Screams evolve into frantic giggles and hollering matures into singing. Do Re Me Fa Sol La Ti Do, your feet race down the cliff slide in the pattern of the musical scale. 

Your body is an instrument, Jade. Listen to it and you will be closer to God. Narcotic words you once said, deranged out of your mind. Narcotic words that you said while certain that patches of grass were growing from the planes of your skin. Narcotic words he had not paid much mind to. Closer to God, hm?

The crunch of leaves as you two run are like lyrics, right? Yet, the soles of his feet are like the percussion too? Guitar strings tendons pull with different frets and notes. Piano key fingers reach out and crush the branches in his way. His most powerful instrument is acting strangely though. His voice. That particular instrument is doing something it has never done before: laughing. 

Is this what being human is, always running? He thinks this might be the faintest sniff of what it means to be a human: always running away from time. The epiphany is not about being human through sweet acceptance or love. His first taste of humanity is in the sweat of running and running while chasing. 

Closer to God. Closer to humans. 

At times, your aptitude is unreadable to Jade … that aptitude that guides you to never fear death. He wonders why there is such a wide gap between you and others when it comes to the terms of death. Closing in, he thinks: This Is The One. His fingers reach out, A0 from C8 scale running across phalanges. He could push you. With the momentum doubled with the rocks –

Still running, you turn to laugh at Jade. The pure joy on your face is blinding, hands up your shoulders and dress swaying. Your smiling face brightens at the sight of him (one close-eyed, titanic grin directed at him) before it winks away, flickering behind a tree. Jade watches as he loses you as you gather speed and sprint harder. Miraculously, you disappear from his sight, breaking the distance Jade had attempted to close.

God and human, you two run frantically through the forest. You throw out insults about his speed and he throws out his laughter in your duet. When the ground starts to decline, Jade finally figures out where you are heading to. He pumps his legs faster as the thickness of nature decreases gradually. 

He breaks into the clearing by the stream, hoping to beat you, only to be confronted with the sight of you crouched by the water, twirling something between your fingers. 

“Th-The forest is teething. I can feel it.” You pant like a dog. Jade watches the process of deflate and inflate; with each behemoth breath you take, exhausted and spent, your shoulder and ribs move with the hard work of your lungs. “It –” You choke around the salvia in your mouth, breathless. “It is the start of something here.”

“Teething?”

“Yes. Like babies do.”

I’m teething, Jade contemplates, unsure of what that word really entails. He knows little of human babies. It is only until you show Jade what is in your hand that he thinks he gets it. 

“Look at this.” 

From your hand, you present a black dahlia flower with a bright sunny center to him. The sunny center squeezes into a tiny circle then widens out in the average size. It is like a nostril, flickering and changing shape with each inhale and exhale. It is trying to breathe but as a flower it does not understand how to do that with a lineage of photosynthesis written in its body.

That flickering feeling of the beginning is so thick in the air. The start of something is here. It permeates in your bones. All through your skin, it permeates.

“It is certainly …” Jade trails off, not really used to seeing this side of himself. 

“Beautiful,” you supply. There is a warmth in the space as Jade sits down besides you. The space between you is bright despite the midnight. “Can I tell you something? And you must keep it a secret.”

“Go ahead. I am as quiet as a church mouse.”

“I had this vision during the last entheogen.” 

You still remember it. Swallowing the wine and, from within, bringing out the divine. Psilocybin on your tongue, you laid in a technicolor sea, holding up the receiver of your brain and waiting for that connection with God. You had a vision about the sacrament that is less than a week away. You look up to the sky as you speak. The moon is past the peak of midnight noon.

“I was at the ceremony. The sky was completely cloudless so you could feel the warmth of the sun. I was walking down to the slab bed. Dressed and ready.

“But when the Reverend told me to say my final prayers, I couldn’t.”

The black dahlia gives a sneezing breath at that. “Why couldn’t you?”

“My mouth was full of bees. I opened my mouth.” You look at Jade and decide to demonstrate. A fist moves up to your face before stretching fingers out like you are cupping a ball. “And blaaah, a hundred or so bees flew from my mouth.”

“The singer’s last ballad.”

“Odd, isn’t it?”

“Perhaps it is your mind rationalizing with the fear of your impending death.” 

“Do not make me laugh.” 

You are smiling, secondary to laughter. Returning attention to the black dahlia, you see the breaths have dwindled down to delicate stutters. It only stops breathing when you set it into the stream, watching it float and spin once. A dance in water, the revelation makes you grin softer. Your little theater show is only interrupted by Jade. 

“What are your opinions on the ceremony? Now that it is so close, realer almost.”

You contemplate for a moment on the navel of the world, or as others call it ceremony. “I’m quite content with it.”

A picture paints itself: the stone rock, the slab bed, the omphalos alone in a field of psilocybin mushrooms, devoid of life beyond yourself. It is a bed you will eventually rest down upon and let the Father of your religion cut out the heart in your chest. 

“I’m not going to die,” you whisper. Rejuvenate with that fact, you shuffle your body until your knees are tilted towards Jade. You lean in with flame eyes, a whirlpool of heat in them. Your next words cause the black dahlia in the stream to go breathless in surprise. “I’m going to find out if I’m really alive.” 

“Th –” Jades breathes out a tiny laugh. “That is quite contradictory, (Name). Such an event would not inspire such a thought.”

“Well, it’s true so you have to deal with it.”

“I will burden myself with knowing it and trying to understand it.” He puts a hand to his heart in promise.

“Good. Agonize over it.”

You take to putting your feet in the stream as you reposition yourself. Spreading out your legs, you draw up your dress to your thighs. Dirt floats up and follows the path the black dahlia is being pushed away to as water cleanses your soles. The percussion of your heart beats through your toes as you wiggle them, trying to gather warmth under cold water. 

You look like a high renaissance painting: ideal and perfect in Jade’s eyes. You blink your own eyes when your body is slowly moved. “I waited.” Before you question Jade’s harsh words, his hand on your chin, the start of something new blossoms and the forest sings. 

You pull away from the kiss first. Eyelashes butterflying open, you gaze upon Jade with a fondness he has never seen. “How do I taste?”

If Jade will be your only kiss, he thinks it makes sense that you want to know what you taste like. He will not allow you to kiss another in the next six days. Considering it, his focus narrows to his mouth. Your bacterial corpse rests on his taste-buds, measuring and remembering the taste of you. Floral notes are encrusted with a sort of raw grime. 

“Earthy and sweet.”

Giggling, you dive back in for another kiss. 

You think this has been a long time coming which is why you can fall into it so easily. Your amygdala – once a ripe grape – is dried up like a sun-kissed raisin. 

Cupping Jade’s face, you feel no indication that is the wrong course of action. Grass and dirt tickles your flesh, teasingly happy. Nature reaches slippery hands into your brain, infecting you with dopamine. This all feels so unnaturally right. 

It takes about seven kisses in total before Jade’s hand starts to run itself up and down your thigh. Across a field of goosebumps, he draws his hand from the ankle freckled with water to the midpoint of your upper thigh. It is only when he moves up to the barricade of where you placed your dress that you grab his wrist. Partially in his lap, you squeeze the bones of his wrist. 

“You’re not here for too long so what could go wrong,” Jade, eyes closed, asks the question towards your hesitation. 

“Only two things are required of me in six days,” you kiss Jade to appease and because you want to. “That I die in six days on my twentieth birthday and that I remain a virgin.” 

“Surely we can negate one of these constricting restrictions. I say that God is being a bit selfish.” Jade seethers inside, hiding it well with his returning saccharine kiss. Hoping to persuade and because he wants to. There is no possible way that his own rules are going to leave him with a painful stiff, is there? 

“I think the man can handle one lapse of judgment from His prized singer. He knows you well. Say ‘oh dear God’” He vocalizes a facade of your frightful feminine voice, nipping at your ear. You giggle at the foreign sensation. “‘There is this awful, stealing, odious man down there and I. Fell. From. Grace.” Jade punctuates each word with a kiss. He moves down the musician’s scale of your throat, returning to his own deep timbre. 

You shiver and, against better judgment, relax the hold on his wrist. “I do not fear the wrath of any man or God.”

The tune of acceptance, Jade thinks as he kisses down to your breasts. When he cultivated from the ceremony, it was only the human hearts he ate. This meal will be a new experience for both you and him. “Good. If you started being frightened, I would find you weak.”

“Is that so? I thought you were always veering for me to be more,” you gasp, toes frozen in the stream, as Jade cups over your sex. He lies his hand over it but does nothing more. “-- Veering for me to fear death?”

“Is this your death?”

“It could certainly be close to that.”

“Well, let this be the sweetest death you could ever know.”

With skillful fingers, he unties the back of your dress with only one hand. Though it comes undone quite quickly as if he has taken scissors to it. Strange. You do not focus on it long as tiny knives fall over your shoulder, removing the sleeves of your summer dress. Treading a hair through short black hair, you keen under his gentle, attentive touch. Jade sucks hard on your right breast. 

The sensation sends a ripple of goosebumps along your arms. It feels sweetly blasphemous, all the attentive kisses pepper to your breasts. A taste of something new and at its peak. You twitch when you feel Jade’s blunt nails move from cupping your sex to trailing a finger over the space where hip and thigh meet. 

“Wait,” you stop Jade. His mouth falls away, teeth sharpening a bit with annoyance. He looks up at you, big olive- brown eyes gleaming. “I’m – Well –” You glance down at his hand that is swallowed under your dress. “It’s not a pretty scar,” you whisper. 

“I’m sure it’s beautiful like the rest of you.” Before you can protest, the rest of your dress is pulled over your head. He leaves you in only your panties, sitting in the dirt by the stream. Your eyes widen.

“Don’t,” Jade grabs the hand that goes to block his sigil. It has never looked so appetizing on a sacrifice until you. He licks his lips. “It’s gorgeous.”

“It’s still a scar.”

“Not to me,” Jade says, pressing his body against you so you lay down. 

Delirious, like you are floating off a substance, you go to unbutton his long sleeve, wrestling your hand from him. Your skull is cushioned by your dress, bundled into a ball. The sharp point of sticks hit your skin. Wet sediment, a mixture of sand and dirt, clings onto you. 

Under the ground, a foreign heartbeat drums. It hammers in a rhythm over your spine, bottom, shoulders, and soles. It is a mimic of the heart resting in your chest, syncing with nature in some incomprehensible way just like black dahlia managed to breathe. Chary thoughts dissolve from your head when Jade moves down to press a kiss to the sigil. 

You manage to wrestle the shirt off Jade, using it as a rope to pull him, meeting in a kiss of tongue and teeth. Let go of your inhibitions, the forest beckons. Treading a hair through short black hair, you keen under his gentle, attentive touch. You float with the floating pine-cones as Jade presses himself against you. 

“God,” you moan, breaking away from the kiss.

“Come now, you know my name.” Jade teases. He works himself out of his pants, patient in his motions. “Can’t you say it?” The head of his penis kisses the wet spot of your panties. His grin is so familiar like you've seen it somewhere else before .

“Jade.”

That is all it takes, panties torn by claws. A dozen frenzied thoughts crash into your mind when he pushes himself into you. You cling feebly to him like a caterpillar to a leaf. He thrusts in, starting slow and then fortissimo-ing the act. The sound increases, skin on skin, along with the speed, inch by deeper inch. It feels like your insides are being ripped out of you. I think I’m dying is your most prominent thought. Then, you cum, singing in moans. 

It is, in all senses of sensations, la petite mort. 

“Aaah — mmmmph my God aah!”

You push your hands against the trunk of a tree. On trembling, fawn legs, you stand with arms outstretched in a tight caress of the pine. Behind you, down the long arch of your spine, Jade presses kiss to each golf-ball indent of bone. Heat spreads like a virus to your shoulders, smoldering, as you feel his length lightly trace down the curvature of your bottom. 

Butterflying eyelashes glance up at pine. Your head feels heavy like a whirlpool heat courses through it, scarlet and yellow. Salvia holds itself heavy in your mouth; stimulation – if pushed any further – will have you drooling from your blissed out state. Even disoriented, you recognize nature and the creatures it keeps. 

Jade stills when he sees you moving your right hand off the tree. There is something on the tip of your finger. “Keep your hands there. You will need to keep yourself balanced.” He kisses your last vertebrae, eyes glowing, as you ignore his words. 

“Cen-Centipede,” you manage to say, breathing heavily. 

You hold out your finger to him. On your index, the orange legs of the arthropod flow like oil down your knuckles. With deep fondness, you watch it move. The same fondness is found in Jade’s eyes. He stills you look strangely beautiful: two leaves threaded in your hair, the streaks of dirt that birthed themselves on you when Jade plowed into you, and admiring a centipede in the middle of your third sex position change. 

“Yes. I see.” 

Jade says, resting his chin on your shoulder. Leaning over you, his length makes a pointed reminder of existing when the warmed blood of it hits and throbs on the center of your ass. “Pretty thing, isn’t it?” You nod before moving your arm down, letting it crawl off into the ground. Over your shoulder, you drag Jade back into another kiss. “Earthy and sweet,” he says, feasting on a taste he will have the pleasure of knowing for eternity. 

Around you, the forest sings happily. Surrendering to that wonderful melody of nature, you put your hands back to the pine, using them to keep yourself upright. A slug of drool falls off your bottom lip as a soundless gasp exits you. You and Jade met; he presses himself into your cunt, two harvests of cum soaping and sucking him in easily.

The taste of you is entirely sweet like a honeycomb. The sensation of him is hallucinogenic like psilocybin. Earthy and sweet. 

“S-Ssso deep.”

Your left leg twitches when Jade starts to move, experimenting with his speed. He was insatiable the first two rounds; he thinks he will test that beekeeping patience of yours. Yet, at only the first thrusts, Jade finds it a futile effort. 

Your hand twitches on the pine at a foreign sensation. Where Jade’s hands rest on your hips, there is a difference in texture. There is silk between his fingers like some type of webbing. You startle at the odd sensation. Going to look behind you, you ask breathless, “Jade?”

“Cl – ugh – Close your eyes. Listen to … fuck … Listen to the forest.”

The thought of that strange texture of his hands is punched out when he finds a finger to your clit, rubbing in circles.

Fucked dumbed and drolling, you manage a “Fuck Jade!” before all your vocabulary burns itself from your brain.

“You have kept me up for the past week … (Na-Name) – uuk! –” Skin slaps in a thundering clap. Subconsciously, you tighten and moan. Summoning his breath, Jade leans in towards your ears, “I hope you can judge my next words fairly: I won’t stop until dawn. It will be a sleepless night for us.” 

The night fills itself with the song of your moans. 

“Men only think about the past right before their death as if they were searching frantically for proof they were alive.”

Like a bisque doll, you are washed by the village nuns. Two flank you on each side, one designated for your arm and the other for your leg. Assiduous, they move soapy towels down the length of your spidery limbs. Bisque dolls are beings without autonomy. You certainly do feel quite similar, disjointly watching a foreign hand lift your arm, twisting and rubbing soap on each finger with care. 

Joints and skin do not belong to you anymore. A sterile hand lifts your left leg higher. Heart, not your possession. 

Split into fourths like a filet, you try to remember who said those words: “Men only think about the past right before their death as if they were searching frantically for proof they were alive.” As you are being stewed and cooked into a gallimaufry, you find that the past is not what you think about.

You are thinking about the cloudless skies outside. You are thinking about what it will be like under real warmth, not the warmth of bath water. You are thinking about whether tomorrow it will rain or remain sunny. 

“Is something wrong, One?”

The image of skies dissolves in your mind. You blink in surprise. Head off in the cloud, you do not know which of the four nuns spoke. Between all the pallid moon faces cloaked in black, you choose to look at the one cleansing your left arm. You two met curious eyes.

“Your face was scrunching up. I was wondering if you were feeling any discomfort, One.” Your right arm talks to you. 

“I’m quite alright. Thank you.”

Your left leg chimes in, soapy brine slathered on it. “If you feel any sort of stress, please let us know.”

Now that silence has been broken, your right leg says, “I cannot imagine being stressed on such a wonderful day. Ah, I’m so terribly envious.”

“I am quite at peace on this holy day,” you smile as to appease the fear all your limbs display. Moon faces hum their agreement, tranquility only broken when you say softly, “but –”.  You gaze at the bathhouse’s windows, glass blocking off where nature carols. “How much longer? I long to be outside.”

You glare at the shoes on your feet. 

Flanking both your sides, the congregation sits in the village’s woodsmith-made chairs. Beyond you, the stone slab lies; behind you, the statue of your God. Yet, what is most vexingly is in front of you: the sight of shoes on your feet.

Each birthday, you were dressed in the ceremony clothes and made to practice. Each birthday, you gave no fuss over the attire. Letting them dress the bisque doll, you resigned to putting on the empire dress with the square cut to display your iron branding on your stomach. Down to the fiber of your being, now, you wish you could take off the blasted shoes. 

Your pointless glaring only stops when a voice approaches, asking, “Did I ever tell you about your grandfather?” You turn to the Reverend with a smile. The ceremony is commencing. 

With a soft voice, you answer. “Not often enough.”

The Reverend always walks the sacrifice down the aisle. You suppose this might be a bit more sentimental, considering who you are to him, which is why he talks to you. Gently, you two find yourself joined at the bend of your elbow. 

“He was a religious man. Devoted in a way the others around him were not.

“He would go out in forests people were too scared to venture into. The villagers would find him, sketching things they could not see in nature. It frightened and delighted them too, his sketches. He would polish that very statue like each day it would bring him luck. Each day before he went out in the forests, that was his routine. 

“When he died … he died saying it was all for vain.” Your lips press together tightly. “A man so devoted and so close to God, shaming it. It was perhaps the worst day of his sons and daughters lives. On his deathbed, he brought upon such … shame to his family. Men only think about the past right before their death as if they were searching frantically for proof they were alive.” 

Ah, that is where you heard it. You remember finally, you had heard it in the future which is now the present. That was why you could not remember the speaker because he had not spoken those words yet. You did not think you would find the future in the entheogens; how curious. 

You two start towards the stone slab. As nobody's buttercup, you keep your eyes straight and refuse to yield towards distractions. Devote unlike your grandfather. Devote unlike your unsourced father who knocked up your mother exactly twenty years and nine months ago.

“I tell you this because I am incredibly proud of you. I have witnessed such growth from you. Piety flows in your bones as if God has smiled upon you Himself. My child –”

You look towards the Reverend, curious. 

“You have been good.”

Nature stirs. At least, this time, the queen bee in my honeycombs is healthy. I leave behind something good.

When you reach the sacrificial table, you part like droplets rolling off a leaf in opposite directions. You press your hands on the omphalos, kneeling down and bowing your head. Eyes closed, you listen to the words you have heard since your tenth birthday. 

You cannot help it – your mind wanders back to the past. Not searching for the merit of life, simply remembering how you became the Chosen One. A decade ago … such a long yet short time, such a juxtaposition. 

The ritual involves the ocean. The ocean in which that faithful stream bleeds into. Every twenty or so years, just after the sacrifice predating them dies, everyone below the age of ten is made to stay underwater. The one who remains the longest is regarded as the Chosen One. Time slipped from your fingers like sand, underwater. A minute is an hour, an hour is a minute. 

When you walked out of the ocean, your mother ran to embrace and to collapse to the ground crying. You had been underwater for a full twenty-four. The villagers thought you got swept up a riptide and died like some three year olds and two year olds of the past. Blue-lipped and shivering, you told them you thought you were the first one out. 

There is no way you should have survived and felt as fine as you did. 

Since then, nature talks to you like a baby conversing with an adult. You can make some syllables, understand the babbles that make up baba mean dada, and read the unconcealed emotions clearly. Now, it sings along with the Reverend, soft and gentle … somniferous almost.

You know you shouldn’t but –

You glance, barely moving your head, at Jade. He is staring right at you. His eyes are different, tiger eyes of flaming black and flaming gold. Somniferous eyes stare at your soul. Promptly, you pass out.

You wake up. 

Your feet are encrusted with dirt. A multitude of trees enter your eyesight and the sound of a running stream worms into your ears. You are standing by the river where you washed clothes as a young teenager; the place where you and Jade had sex seven days ago; the place where you broke God’s trust. 

Yet, no fear is present. Chest unusually light, you stare at the familiar pattern of trees dotted across the opposing side of the river. To your limited knowledge, this is you facing divine judgment. Retribution must be collected for your only sin. 

You can accept that. 

Curious eyes fall across the wilderness as your vision clears. You can not really tell what song nature is singing; there is a disconnect between you and the world. Blocked from the majority besides a single instrument: buzzing. You hear the harmony of humble bees buzzing, which you search for the source of. When you find it, a gasp breaks apart your lips.

Spread across the planes of your two arms are a thousand octagonal holes. Skin drenched in a mixture of golden honey and scarlet blood, the only breakage is pitch black, tiny honeycomb structures dug in your flesh. The concave pits freckle the entirety of both arms. 

From the inner elbow and wrist of your left arm, two bees emerge from two separate holes. From the radius of your right arm, another bee. The rest of the colony is inside your skin, tickling your nausea. 

That is not all that summons that high-pitched gasp. Clenched in the Swiss cheese flesh of your hands is a knife covered in blood. 

You watch as the once cement knife starts to vibrate back and forth the longer you stare at it. Whole body shivers rape your bones and the shining red knife trembles with the movement.

For reasons unknown, your parted lips spill out one last rhythmic note, “J-Jade?” The world goes black.

You wake up. 

Black, directionless water swallows you. There is no end or no beginning, so you float in the abdomen of the universal ocean, body tilted and head heavy. No calamity stirs your buoyant bones. Quite peaceful, you exist like a free-roaming satellite, untethered and left to bounce alone in directionless galaxies. No light, pitch black.

This is what you have always wanted from death. No God paradise, just a nebulous space to drift. This is the ideal death. Body propelled and caressed by unsourced waves that rock you peacefully to infinite sleep. No stars, pitch black.

It stops being peaceful when you need to take a breath. Water instead of air travels in. You have no mouth or nose. Body manipulated, water goes in the waiting nostrils of the seven pairs of holes in your abdomen and the three pairs of holes in your thorax. And, suddenly, that tranquil black gains a blinding hue of pain. 

Depressing, the water does not float around you but pushes onto you. It clings like you are a magnet. The tiny caves in your thorax and abdomen flicker with agony, gathering more water. It clings to you like spandex. You throw an arm and leg into the atmosphere, and the absence of everything (beginning and end) is no longer a comfort. It clings like a leech, suctioning itself to you and filling the spiracles. 

Mouthless, your heart throws out an unheard scream. The world goes blinding gold. 

You wake up. 

The first texture you feel is the cold granite on your cheek. It is a welcome balm until the granite grinds painfully on your pelvic bone and the skin of your breasts. Disorientate, you push yourself away from the surface. The granite rumbles under your hands … no, the granite is soundless but there is a rumbling. Still sitting on the ceremony’s sacrificial slab, you open your eyes. 

The village is on fire. There is no building left intact. Flames rumble and tremble, fueling their physical form with all that a house has to offer. Red and gold climb upon the outer walls and black climbs out from the pumpkin innards of each house. 

Snip-snap-woosh-woosh. The conflagration’s volume drowns out any and all sounds of nature. Beyond the roar of fire, you hear absolutely nothing. 

Irrational, you turn your head in the direction of where you know the bee colonies are. You cannot see them through the thick plumes of smoke, separated from you by several burning buildings. You knew you would not be able to see them; why even look in their direction? Regardless, you squint even more to try to catch a glimpse. 

If the queen moves, they would too. Survival instinct would make them take flight, right?

On the verge of tears, you start to squirm on the slab, taking your hand behind yourself and moving it by your thighs, angling your body so you can lean closer and squint at the flaming barricade, one of your legs slides off the slab, perhaps there is time –

“(Name).”

You look behind and down at Jade Leech. He rests with his arms folded on the slab, knees in the dirt. On his index is the queen bee, walking around and around in circles on his nail. 

Your heart falls in despair. “She’s sick … She has a parasite.” Even when vocalizing the issue, you do not want to accept your own words.

“She does; she has had it for a while.”

“Is there anything I can do for her?”

“I’m afraid not. Soon the egg in her stomach will hatch. And the pupae will break out of her throat and head. It is truly odd. Usually, when bees have parasites like these, the bees throw them out of the hive. They kept her though. Even when there was something glaringly wrong with her.”

“Because she’s the queen.”

“Precisely.”

You and Jade watch on in a moment of silence. The queen rotates on twitching legs. Zombie-like, her tiny legs will give out momentarily and she tilts on the perch of Jade’s finger before getting back up again relentlessly. Circle turning into an octagon as she stutters in her steps. 

Your hand drags across your face, flustered. The single, heavy as an anvil tear spreads thinly on your cheek. You blink the rest away.

Jade glances up from the parasite-raped bee. “Are you afraid?”

“No … I’m sad.”

Jade considers that. Mourning is a human process when death happens; mourning is like kintsugi to the heart, repairing it layer by layer. In the face of death, one sheds a predictable tear. The queen bee twitches, losing her strength. Jade mourns that he might never see true fright on your face, like missing a piece in a chocolate heart-shaped box. 

He falls out of his pondering when you gently press your finger to him. Under the light of dozens of suns, gold and red flickering over, you are ethereal. His eyes fall helplessly to his sigil. He allows you to move him at your heavenly will. 

“What happened to the ceremony,” you ask, taking the queen from him. You cup her like she is the tiniest pearl or the fragilest shard of sea glass. “Do we still have time to complete it?”

You do not receive a verbal answer. Instead, Jade gently pinches your chin in his hand, pulling your focus away from the insect. A warm smile settles on his face, olive-brown eyes soft with admiration. Then, grip steady on your mandible, he turns your focus to the open field, on the opposing side of the burning buildings. 

When his hand falls away, your mouth falls open with the loss of stability. 

The attending nuns and villagers are dead. A deep cavern is cut like a mouth across their throats, blooming a million liquid roses that stain their white garments. In their chairs, their heads are tilted back to display the rings of muscles in their body. Dead eyes face up the heavens, ignorant of their God who is venturing on land and swimming in the oceans of Earth. 

The Reverend though – he lies in the middle of the walkway. He is headless, body supine and incomplete at the shoulders. All that remains of an indication he had a head is red splattered upon the grass. This butchery is inevitable. A priest of your religion is not allowed to impregnate women, under your God’s vow of celibacy. 

“Oh.”

Is this punishment? Life snuffed out from your devoted village, leaving you and Jade who had broken the rules. You look down at your dying companion; she is halfway through a rotation, legs trembling on a trembling hand. Nature feels disconnected from you and yet, simultaneously, you feel like nature nestles herself in you. 

“Oh, look at you. All alone.” Jade purrs, almost singing. 

“I – I’m assuming you did this. Or God did this.”

“You are correct on both parts.”

“Do not toy with your words, Jade.”

“I'm as serious as death. Here, let me show you.”

Raising his hands, Jade presses palms to mouth. As he tilts his head back as far as possible, he follows along with his hands, running them up and over. Upturned olive-brown eyes quell with the pressure. Cropped black hair trembles with the motion. And when his hands finally return to the granite slab, Jade stares at you with a new right eye that shines a honey gold. His hair is considerably different.

Different, not unfamiliar. Far from unfamiliar. You have seen that style of teal hair with a single black strand since birth. In paintings on your mother’s nightstand, in books shelved away in the school, and carved into a towering stone effigy.

You think you have always known, looking so intently into nature thus looking so intently into Jade as well.

The queen bee on your finger grinds to a halt and dies. Crushing down in enclosing fists, the ceremony narrows; all the world is lost to you besides God’s/Jade’s voice. Nature beckons. He beckons. The fists you make are a comforting caress. 

“Are you afraid of me?”

“Never.”

“Prove it to me.”

“How?”

“Sing for me.”

Swallowing thick saliva, your chest puffs with air peppered with ash. You two stare at each other. Then … you sing. 

Tongue volatile, you sing. It is not a melody that follows along with the rhythm of a river or the instrumental of an insect. You sing out your heart, sending it out on delicate honey bee wings. 

[malereadermaniac]

Cupid ~ Bakugo x Male Reader

Fic inspired by 'the archer' - Taylor Swift

A quirk like yours not only guaranteed you a spot in class 3-A, but it also guaranteed you social importance

For the past 2 years at UA, you had helped many of your friends with their romantic endeavours

Such as giving Denki the courage he needed to finally ask out Sero

Your quirk was loved by everyone, except yourself

Basically, your quirk turned you into cupid

You can summon a bow & arrow and wings, a physical manifestation of your emotions that present as different colours of light

You can use these offensively and emotionally, so UA scouts were desperate to have you join the school back when you were in middle-school

However, the reason your quirk was popular was because of the fact that you could make 'love arrows', and everyone wanted your help when it came to romance

However, like every quirk, yours has a downside

And that's the reason you hate it - you can't use the arrows on yourself or for your own gain

Essentially, you're invisible to people when they're affected by your arrows

You saw yourself as hopeless, because for the past 2 years with your class, everyone else had gotten into relationships except you...

And while everyone loved you platonically, no-one did romantically

Or at least that's what you thought

Because a certain hot-headed blonde in your class did

A year ago, Kirishima approached you, asking for you to shoot him with a confidence arrow

He wanted to ask out Katsuki

If you were completely honest, you would of said no - because you had liked the blonde since the first day of UA

But you agreed after the red-head shed a tear or two

You did really try, shooting Kiri with a golden, yellow arrow

Immediately he smiled, thanking you and running to find the blonde

You were upset for a few days after that, however when Mina told you that Kirishima was rejected you perked up again

Did you still like the blonde? Definitely.

But you would never act on it, afraid of rejection and ruining the small friendship the two of you have

You were the only one that couldn't see that Katsuki liked you

Well... no-one knew he liked you, they just saw how much nicer he was to you than to everyone else

How he looked at you with a soft look rather than a glare

And how Bakugo always said good morning back to you rather than the small grunt the rest of the "baku-squad" get

Bakugo also was worried to tell you he had feelings for you

He struggled to express himself and was scared he'd say something wrong

He also couldn't handle being rejected by you - you're the only person who he's been this fond of

It was like he felt a primal need to keep you happy and safe

During training, every grunt and groan of pain you would make would force his eyes to you

During every LoV attack he's stuck with you "by coincidence"

Today was no different...

They attacked again

The class was on a trip to mountains for training in the wild, and the LoV attacked full force

You were able to get high-ground due to your wings, but when you noticed Bakugo, your heart stopped

Due to his explosions, the rocks around him became unstable

One was ready to fall directly on him

You rush to him, not even thinking, and push him from under the rock

All was fine until Dabi attacked the second the rock fell via a sneak attack

You screamed, loudly.

Your skin now covered in burns as you struggle to draw an arrow to protect yourself

Dabi continuing with brutal, scortching attacks on you

Katsuki's heart shattered when he heard and saw you

"(Y/n)!" He shouted

He ran in, taking a hit from Dabi and jumping on the stapled Villain

Your tears stream down your face from the pain of the burns, but you push through and draw and arrow

An arrow of sadness

And shoot it directly on Dabi, followed by an arrow of fatigue

And then you collapse, along with Dabi, whose energy was almost fully drained from your arrows

"FUCK! (Y/n)!" Katsuki screams, running to your unconscious form

"For fucks sake, Dabi..." Shigiraki shouts, ordering everyone to retreat snd save Dabi

Next thing you know, you're awake in the nurses office

Bandages covering your skin and a certain blonde hunched over in a chair next to your bed

"Katsuki?" You murmmer, voice still weak

"Y-You're awake!" Katsuki's head lifts immediately at the sound of your voice

You notice the tears in his eyes and down his face

"Yeah... I guess haha" you laugh weakly

"Don't laugh... YOU COULD OF DIED OUT THERE!" Bakugo shouts, startling you

"Hey... what the hell Katsuki" you say, your head hurting from the noise

"Why would you do that?! I had it under control! You didn't have to!" He continues, a little quieter as to not hurt your head

"You were about to be crushed! I didn't see that cunt sneaking up on us! Why do you care so much anyway?!?" You shout back, mad at Katsuki for being upset you saved his ass

" 'Cause... oh fuck off (Y/n)!"

"Go on! Why do you care so much that I got hurt?" You badger the blonde

"Cause I fucking like you, dumb (h/c)ette" He mummbles

Your eyes widen in shock but then go back to their usual dullness

"Yeah right..." you mumble back

"What? Don't believe me? Want some proof?" Bakugo says, a smirk on his face as the initial fear of confessing is lost

"Fuck off Bakugo, I'm practically invisible - I'm the matchmaker not the matched... why would you like me?!?!" Your mumbles turn back into shouts, in your 18 years of living no-one had ever liked you like that, so why would one of the top students of UA like you?

"Cause you're nice! You care about people, (Y/n), you pay attention to small things and you comfort people when they need it! Plus you're hot so that comes as a bonus..." the blonde explains

"Proove it" you say, a small smile on your face as you roll your eyes away from your long-time crush

"Fine. I'm sure you won't mind"

Katsuki stood up and loomed over you, an attractive smirk on his face

You closed your eyes, knowing what's coming next but not believing it

Once you feel hid warm lips on yours, you let out a sigh of relief

The kiss is comforting, not hot or by any means a make out, however a prolonged, sweet kiss

"There, I like you (Y/n) - I might even love you... Dumbass"

The smell of sweet caramel and cologne filled your nose and a smile spread on your face

"I like you too, Katsuki"

The rest of your time in the nurses room was spent with the blonde, talking about a lot of things, and even confessing your feelings from the first day

It was warm and comfortable, his body against yours - you wished the bandages on your body weren't preventing more skin to skin

However Katsuki said he'd make up for it in kisses

And he sure did...

[iwant-fuitgummi]

i wanna talk about visions. specifically, kaeya's vision.

this will contain spoilers for the caribert archon quest, as well as spoilers for kaeya's backstory.

(VERY short summary at the bottom btw)

people get visions for different reasons, though it's all based on ambition. there are subcategories for each element, which makes each character of a specific element different.

anemo is for those who have lost someone close to them (like barbatos).

geo is given to people who are strong-willed or hardheaded (like morax).

electro is given to those who are different/cast out [like beelzebul (she was much different than baal)].

I think dendro is given to people who are dedicated to perfecting their skills? I'm not sure on this one but it seems right looking at dendro characters.

hydro is given to people with a strong belief system.

pyro is typically given to people with fiery passion.

and cryo is given to people who have faced conflict. mainly internal conflict (ex. self-hatred, self-deprecation, etc.). it is also given to people who have been isolated or cast out (like ayaka).

but I think that their visions work in different ways for those reasons, too. for example, yoimiya wanted a vision to light fireworks, and her vision gave her the ability to imbue her arrows with pyro energy (allowing her to light them safely from a distance). sucrose was experimenting with anemo energy when she got hers, and she can now freely throw around anemo energy whenever and wherever she wants (she probably uses it most in the lab). beidou got hers after fighting haishan (a deadly sea monster) and she can now parry powerful attacks with ease (something you'd want when fighting huge monsters).

but then there's kaeya. he definitely fits the internal conflict aspect of getting a cryo vision. he (very obviously) hates himself, and he was indeed cast out from his own family. he got his vision when fighting his own brother, and he was literally on the brink of death. if he hadn't gotten his vision in that moment, there would be no kaeya.

let's talk about what his vision does in particular, and why it does those things.

first off, it all seems very, very simple. his skill shoots out a burst of frost, and his burst makes a few icicles.

burst first: they are an obvious reference to the abyss. when cryo abyss mages are reforming their shields, there are icicles flying around them. this is a reference to kaeya's heritage as a descendant of chlotar alberich, the founder of the abyss order.

now, his elemental skill: it shoots out a burst of ice, almost like it's meant to stop an oncoming blast of fire...sound familiar? (*COUGH* DILUC'S BURST *COUGH*) but that's not all it does. his passive, cold-blooded strike, makes his skill heal kaeya. nobody else, just kaeya. hm...i wonder why he'd need to self-heal? (*COUGH* DILUC *COUGH* SELF-HATRED *COUGH*) but wait, there's more! kaeya's c4 (which I recently got) makes him SUMMON A SHIELD when his hp gets below a certain percent...and it only shields him. if you switch characters, the shield disappears until kaeya is back on the field. hm...why would kaeya need a shield when his health gets so low... it's almost like his vision was suited to the EXACT circumstances as when he got it. self-healing and self-shielding. his vision is catered to his fight with diluc.

now that begs the question: why did kaeya, a KHAENRI'AHN, get a vision? the gods hate khaenri'ahns, and celestia eradicated them. and here's the thing: im not sure who exactly gives out visions. it could be celestia, or it could be the archons themselves. so, it's either:

the cryo archon saw potential, or

celestia wants to use him to eradicate the abyss

it's pretty much common knowledge that kaeya's vision is different, and you can't say it's because he's khaenri'ahn. scaramouche was born in inazuma, but has a sumeru vision. this means that the vision case denotes the nation the vision was received in. that's why kaeya has a mond-style case. but why two wings instead of one?

i think it's a marker. so that when celestia decides to finally start yet another war, they know which mond citizen is their little pawn. they know which khaenri'ahn not to kill. they want to use him, to show them that their founder's descendant has learned to live (semi) happily in teyvat.

but hey it's just a theory and this was all done with like. zero research, just my general knowledge on kaeya and his backstory (i love kaeya so general knowledge is. a lot.). i repeat: it's all just theoretical. don't take this as fact I just love kae so so so much and think about him all the time <3

anyways to summarize, kaeya's vision acts the way it does because it's a self-defense mechanism from when diluc almost killed him. and I think it looks different because celestia wants to use him.

ok thanks goodnight

[thatswhatsushesaid]

I mean this politely but why do you like Su She? Maybe it’s because I’ve only read the books/seen the donghua but he seems like such a non-character. Does he play more of a role in the live action adaptation or something?

hey, no worries at all! my biggest su she confession is that when i first read the book and watched the show, i straight up forgot who he was until his death in the guanyin temple confrontation. in cql, his death really is kind of a nothingburger moment for me; it happens very suddenly, he doesn't have much agency in how it all unfolds, and aside from jgy's genuinely crushed expression when he dies (the way he says "minshan!" in that moment while reaching out to him still hurts 🥺), it isn't a character death that held my attention that much.

it wasn't until i read the novel and reached his death scene there that i had a "whoa, this is su she? su 'i don't have control enough over my power to summon my sword from the bottom of a lake or avoid shooting wei wuxian in the arm' minshan?"

As expected, gurgles came from within Nie MingJue’s throat. His body turned away from the empty coffin as well. At once, he realized whom the person lying on Su She’s back was. Wei WuXian’s whistles could no longer stop him either. Like a gust of wind, Nie MingJue rushed over, his palm flying towards Jin GuangYao’s head.

Su She dodged to the side with force. With the tip of his foot he picked up the sword that had fallen to the ground and conjured up all of his spiritual energy in one thrust at Nie MingJue’s heart. Perhaps because of the dire situation, the attack was abnormally swift and ruthless. Brimming with spiritual energy, the blade glowed brightly, enveloped by swirling radiance. It was so much better than all of the previous seemingly-elegant attacks that even Wei WuXian wanted to praise its excellence. Nie MingJue was forced a step back by the explosion of an attack as well. As the light dimmed somewhat, Nie MingJue went forth again, clawing at Jin GuangYao unstoppably. Su She threw Jin GuangYao at Lan XiChen with his left hand, while with his right he sliced at Nie MingJue’s throat.

Nie MingJue’s entire body was as impenetrable as fine steel, but not the thread that stitched his neck together!

...

If the neck attack succeeded, even if it wouldn’t defeat Nie MingJue entirely, it’d still be able to save them some time. However, the sword had been infused with so much spiritual energy, due to Su She’s sudden explosion, that it could no longer withstand it. Halfway through the lunge, it broke into pieces with a crack. On the other hand, Nie MingJue’s punch landed right in the center of Su She’s chest. Su She’s splendor left as quickly as it came. He couldn’t even spit out a mouthful of blood or say a few last words, no matter with dignity or cruelty, before the life in his eyes went out.

Collapsed beside Lan XiChen, Jin GuangYao saw this scene as well. Whether because the bleeding and the pain intensified at his arm and stomach or from some other reason, the glisten of tears could be seen in his eyes.

- EXR translation pgs 1001-1002

so for me, it was reading his death sequence and realizing just how dramatically he had changed from that fumbling, mediocre, and quite frankly cowardly cultivator we meet in the first half of the novel--the guy who can't summon his sword from the bottom of a lake, who wants to sacrifice mianmian to save his own skin, who can't even fire an arrow straight--to this capable, powerful cultivator who is throwing himself in harm's way without hesitation to protect jgy, that made me want to take a second look at him. like... he's not charismatic, he's deeply resentful and bitter, the chip on his shoulder is following him straight to his grave. but he dies bravely and incandescently because he thought jgy was someone worth dying for, and that just hit me right in the gut, honestly.

anyway after that i went a little nuts revisiting almost every scene he's in in both the book and in cql, and i've blogged about my thoughts already!! if you feel like trawling through my "emotional support henchman" tag, that's where you'll find some of my other unhinged sms gushing. this is just the non-tl;dr version of why i like him, so i hope this answers your question 👍

[pherelesytsia]

Who did this to you...? 2

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x female/Reader

Summary: Bruised and broken, Y/N, trapped in a loveless marriage, arrives at her best friend's house, desperately hoping someone will help her, aware she cannot return to the estate of her husband.

Warning: fear, anxiety, angst, violence

Word Count: 2.3k

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4

Silver brightened the sinister sky, breaking the dense blanket of clouds, yet did not clash like a ripple of hundreds of poisoned arrows down on the wicked foes. The rain pattered heartlessly, bouncing off the dark blue umbrella. Smoke emerged out of the exhaust pipe, soared upwards, and then faded away. The branches of the lonely trees swayed back and forth in the wind, howling like a wolf summoning the gleaming moon shrouded by travelling clouds.

Light streamed mutedly through the wide and narrow windows and barely touched the paved path leading to the front door flanked by two pots sheltering flowers, tulips. Clenching her hands into fists, Peggy braced herself to face the very worst. Wet spots sprawled on the long coat reaching her knees. The curls had lost shape and although she did not wear lipstick, her lips were red as oozing crimson. No weapon was at her side, hidden well from curious gazes, and no guilt welled within her soul. A low prayer escaped her lips, was certain no harm could come to Y/N, sure no one would attempt to force their way into the house she called her home, had locked the door and drawn the curtains. No love dominated her gaze, felt nothing except utter hatred, and it deepened with every step.

The majestic estate seemed lonely and deserted. Peggy laughed low. Peals of laughter punctured the silence and informed Peggy, standing in the shelter of the umbrella, that many people were beyond the thick walls with eyes capable of seeing the unseen and ears able to perceive that a voice was absent.

The hatred seething in her heart dispelled the cold breaking through the cloak. Fearless, Peggy faced the den of the dragon, had heard countless of stories about the Shelby family, the one sounding absurd and ridiculous yet the desire to know the truth was too great, ignored the wisdom, all she had heard about the dreaded family.

Stopping Peggy´s right hand reached for the wood but she hesitated for a moment as words resounded and she listened carefully but the sounds made absolutely no sense and as laughter silenced the guests, Peggy knew they were all delighted and untroubled. Winter ruled in her gaze. She knocked on the door, loud enough to know everyone in the house must have heard her, even those at the other end, behind thick doors and heavy blankets. Fear didn't flood her eyes, didn’t regret the journey across the town and heard the heavy steps drawing near the door. Focusing her gaze over her shoulder, Peggy witnessed the deepening dusk entering the yard in front of the mansion, but she did not turn and stayed motionless in the pouring rain.

Peggy believed in the good in people, even if it was a Shelby, couldn't imagine sitting at the table and not noticing that someone was missing, that Thomas didn't notice that his wife wasn't seated by his side, not holding her hand and telling her how beautiful and lovely she is. Hatred welled and clouded her mind, unable to understand how someone could be so ignorant, how someone could forget the existence of a woman so loving and kind, but Peggy knew Y/N was right, that she was not exaggerating, telling a story, a wicked tale to receive attention.

The light was blinding, but she saw clearly, sharp as a polished dagger, knew exactly what she had to do, what had to be done. Bracing herself Peggy prepared herself for everything, for shame and screams, guns and pain, accusations, beatings, everything once escaping the throat of fearful humans. She forced a weak smile, and the voices grew clearer. The smell of alcohol lingered in the air. Greeting, Peggy repositioned the umbrella and faced the man framed by vibrant yellowish light.

            "Good evening." the voice was cold as the night but did not send a shiver down her spine.

Narrowing her eyes Peggy recognised the man two steps away. Peering into the house, Peggy looked past the man taller than her by a few inches and witnessed children in the ranks of adults and she smiled at the boy in a greyish suit who had come to a halt with a smile on his sharp yet gentle features.

John cleared his throat but Peggy was unimpressed, had hoped to face Thomas Shelby.

            "Good evening, I suppose Thomas Shelby is here?", "You should make an appointment. You can call in the morning, the secretary will give you an appointment as soon as possible." spoke the blond man Peggy had seen a few times around town.

Flashing a smile Peggy realised John wanted to close the door, that he wanted to send her away, but she refused to be shaken off and stepped fearlessly closer to the young man.

            "No, it's of huge important, I need to speak to him." Peggy spoke sternly.

John heard the urgency in the young woman's voice. Laughing low, he leaned against the frame of the wooden door, settled his hand on the doorknob and half-heartedly listened to the words his brothers were uttering, the jokes mingling with roaring laughter.

            "I hear they're having a party, a very lavish one." she broke the silence.

Peggy didn't know where to begin, what to tell him, but she had already heard everything she needed to hear.

            “Yes, the family is celebrating.” John responded.

Again, Peggy laughed, clenched her hands into fists, ignoring the stabbing sensation spreading through her chest as she remembered Y/N sleeping in the tattered dress on her sofa and refusing to take it off, and Peggy could only guess what the beaten woman was trying to hide. Peggy wrinkled her nose in disgust. A wave of hot air hit her like skimming waves colliding with the emotionless face of the rocks piercing the ruthless ocean. The stench of smoke and alcohol was prominent in the air, but it did not dull her senses.

            "Are you missing anybody in your ranks?" Peggy probed, losing patience.

John grinned and shook his head in response.

            "Not that I know of, but if you'd like, I could check? Are you looking for your husband? I can guarantee that he is definitely not present, it's a family gathering." responded John, guessing what might be the cause of the lady's arrival, not seeming she had come to murder the family.

Nodding, Peggy tried to calm her mind. Moistening her lip with the tip of her tongue, she absently nodded and glanced into distance and noticed a girl had joined the young boy. Firmly, she bit down on her tongue. She wished to curse and scream like a banshee, to invade the building like an army of millions of soldiers and inform them all of what terrible creatures they were. Peggy had hoped to encounter sallow faced people who had sent everyone and everything out on the streets of the town to find the missing woman, but they were feasting, drowning in a sea of whiskey and rum, in old stories. Soundlessly, Peggy chuckled and backed away.

            "If you believe no one is missing, then I shall be on my way. Have a lovely day, Mr Shelby. I'm dreadfully sorry to have bothered you and your family. I bid you farewell." Peggy said goodbye.

She tried to stay strong, remembered what Y/N had said, that she shouldn't be surprised if no one noticed, if no one was looking for her and fearing for her safety.

Bewildered, John, dressed in a greyish suit, stared after Peggy following the long path, walked directly towards the vehicle parked far away from the others belonging to the members of the family.

Slowly, Peggy mingled with the darkness of the deep night.

Questions rested on his lips, understood nothing, and the words the stranger had spoken resounded in his mind. The door creaked, sang out loud, and John shook his head in confusion and brushed through his damp hair, walking deeper into the house without noticing. The laughter turned louder and John smiled at the children, exchanging questioning glances.

            “Everything is okay, go upstairs and play.” Johns assured and the children listened.

Facing his brothers on the sofas bearing the same joyful expression, sipping on the glasses and talking in delight, the worries faded for a brief moment into oblivion.

Thomas laughed and Arthur patted his brother's right shoulder and agreed. No one asked questions, failing to notice how John slowed to a standstill with his hands tucked into the pockets of his trousers in the midst of the room. The light of the chandelier touched the faces. John let his eyes slide from one person to the other, from Ada to Arthur, and turned to the others. The strangers' words echoed in his head, chased him like a loyal hound.

His thoughts raced like a racehorse trotting in great haste across fields and meadows. The sound of the gramophone was driving him mad, tried to understand, to make sense of it all, but nothing made sense anymore, nothing, and John was convinced no one was missing.

Glasses bearing whiskey and rum rose to the sky. The brothers laughed and Arthur rose and stood by the rising flames of the fireplace with his arms folded in front of his chest, dressed in a dark suit, and Ada was close by his side. Polly poured herself a glass of wine and listened to the words the brothers exchanged.

The children were safe, John kept counting all of them, but no relief filled his heart and soul, feeling in every fibre of his body that something was wrong, but he found no flaw nor mistake. For a split moment John wondered if the lady had merely arrived to distract the family, if she was searching for her husband, but then John remembered the expression adorning the woman's face and it caused his heart to ache. Deep in thoughts John strolled to his family.

Pairs of eyes harbouring questions settled on John but not uttering a word. His eyes widened and looked at the ticking clock and realised how late it was. The frown on his smooth features deepened. His skin paled, turned almost sickly, and noticed shocked Y/N was missing. Swiftly, John turned and ran back to the door. Fear clouded his mind. Harshly the stiff wind collided with his flesh, tore it open. John whispered a prayer. He hoped the woman was still there, that she was in the vehicle or standing in front of the door, but a faint travelling light was drawing close to the town. John swept the wetness from his skin and felt the cold rain soaking through his suit. An icy shiver roamed across his whole body. He turned around, still hopeful, but the last spark of optimism was smothered. He swore, not able to accept the situation.

There was a commotion. Questions escaped, demanding answers, needing to know what had occurred, who had knocked on the door. The door slammed shut, John stormed into the building, wheezing. He spoke in the tongue of sailors, thought where the young woman could be, where Y/N was, who had taken her, feared for his brother's wife and turned wide-eyed to them, trying to figure out what had occurred.

            "John?!" someone shrieked, a woman.

John did not answer, couldn’t. His shaking hands ran though his unmade hair, failing to grasp what had happened and realising that Y/N was not present, that she was not playing in the shelter of the warming flames with the children, that she was not seated on the sofa and realising she was not sitting at the generously set table at dinner. There was ice between Y/N and all of them, but John liked her, found it adorable how she played with the children, and even though it didn't seem so at first glance, he enjoyed her presence.

            "Where is Y/N/N?" John asked.

The faces drained of colour. The silence was horrible. Tumult arose and children whispered. All at once they glanced around, noted Y/N was absent, and suddenly discovered she hadn't arrived from work. A glass shattered into thousands of pieces. Eyes settled on Thomas, gazing speechlessly into the distance. The smooth golden ring burned into his flesh. Hastily, Thomas stood up. His legs threatened to give up under the heaviness, under the weight of the world. He cursed.

Lips no longer touched, and nearly asked who was supposed to pick up his dear wife, wanted murder the person but, horrified, Thomas realised it was him who had to pick her up from work, remembered the promise he had made to wait at sharp five in front of the factory.

Thoughtlessly, Thomas advanced, feeling the burden grow beyond measure. Tears blurred his vision. Gulping, he stared at the bouquet of beautiful flowers in a light blueish vase on the coffee table, her favourites, had purchased them in the early hours of the day. Thomas Shelby uttered a prayer as a wrenching pain settled in his chest, had broken the promise he had given his wife on the wedding day.

TagList:

witchymoonbabe secretdreamlandmentality mysticalpandora kittiowolf210 muhahaha303 dreamy-caramel elinalfrida violet-19999 niyah834 watersquirtpewpewboomm piceous21 elliaze heidimoreton literishdegree99 globetrotter28 thecrazytealady regulusblacksimpsblog torresbarnes nightgirl250 sweet-angely05

[apoemaday]

Jobs for the Weekend

by Oki Sogumi

Nymph, the curly garlic clove Boating in the bean pot The drumming of plums and striped Beetle’s disease or jumping worm Pepper plants can branch horizontal But arrows always down In the domestic garden I still have a job And the catbird yells but follows me For 200 days I’ve summoned this Language, the meow of the frenemy Sleaving the gray Particle from light

[malleux]

freedom. | quest for tyr [IV]

[main page] | [t.o.c] | [spellbook] | [ << | >> ]

young adult!atreus x reader

-> synopsis: The only times you had ever experienced adventure was through your books. It was hard to live an exciting life while trapped in Alfheim.

You know you're meant for something greater than wasting away underground.

[loosely based on the events of Gow: Ragnarok]

-> chapter warnings: all chapters contain spoilers, cursing, anxiety, fighting, fight scene not accurate to canon, blood

-> a/n: sorry for the much, much shorter update. this is literally half of what I normally write, but the "quest for tyr" section of the story is over and it's time for "old friends". please enjoy!

You were sick of it. 

Atreus and Kratos, very obviously, had a strained relationship at the moment. It was typical of every parent-child duo to butt heads at times, but couldn't they have done it in private? 

You nor Mimir wanted to hear constant bickering. Atreus wouldn't listen and Kratos wouldn't hear him out. In your opinion, who cares? 

The deeper into the mine you got, the more your eye twitched in annoyance as they argued. It was typical for a parent and their kid to disagree— Hel, you and your father argued often— but this extent was maddening. 

Did you hear that, brothers? I don't think we're alone." Even Mimir had butt in a few times to make them stop, deciding to comment on the weird noises he heard that Kratos and Atreus were definitely speaking over. 

"Ears open. Eyes up." Kratos responded. 

"It came from over here. There's a passage leading out." 

Atreus headed to the other side of the room where the entrance to a small crawl-space was embedded in the wall. You made a face, once more despising the confined space as you watched Atreus crouch down and shuffle inside. 

"Atreus. Do my words irritate you?" 

"It's fine. I get it." Atreus's tone was obviously annoyed. 

"Brothers— wait, is that light up ahead there?" Mimir cut his own sentence off. 

You came out of the crawl-space into another very open area. Laying a hand on your spear, you looked around. Stalactites hung dangerously low from the ceiling, building up from years and years of existence. Across the room was a door, a large lock across the front of it. 

"The door is barred." You commented. "There has to be a reason." 

"You don't lock a door like that to secure spare bedclothes." Mimir agreed. 

Atreus pulled out his bow and aimed it at a lower corner of the door frame, yelling out his spell and releasing the arrow into the weak spot. It cracked, the old wood beginning to crumble around it. He did the same with the next corner, and the next, until the door was loose enough to open. 

Kratos followed after him, walking up to the large latch and grabbing it, readying himself to heave the wood up and unlock the door. 

As he was doing so, however, a loud yell rang across the cavern. You didn't recognize its words, but the thought was quickly pushed away as two large beings jumped down from another entrance in the room. You wanted to kick yourself for not seeing it and securing it earlier. 

They raised their weapons and ran forward, one choosing to clash with Kratos as the other went straight for you. You didn't have time to summon a shield with the enemy's speed, instead choosing to use the pole of your spear to counter his swing instead. 

"Mimir!" You called, "What the Hel are these things?" 

"Einherjar, lass!" He yelled back, as if you were just expected to know what those were. "Be careful, they can use the Bifrost and could get a brutal hit on ya!" 

You heeded Mimir's words just in time as the Einherjar's staff began to glow a bright purple. He swung it towards you again and you dodged, rolling out of the way and standing up behind him. You stabbed the spearhead into his back. The Einherjar yelled out in pain, thrashing to get un-pierced, but the damage was done. 

"Skjálfa!" 

Turquoise light emitted from the tip of the spearhead and illuminated the inside of the Einherjar, its power sending shocks through his body. He slumped to the ground. 

Atreus and Kratos took on the second Einherjar, Atreus continuing his strategy of staying in the background for long-distance shots while Kratos used his little fire-blade-chain-things. The fight didn't last long-- obviously a god, a demigod, and a half-elf were no match for the Einherjar-- and you were able to take a moment to catch your breath. 

Between the constant magic use and the fact that you were just out of practice from not using your spear in so long, this journey was definitely starting to wear on you. You were beginning to think you had asthma-- did they make a healing spell for that? 

"Clearly they don't want us in there. This has to be it." Atreus, ever the energetic one, was ready to push forward. 

You held a hand up, chest still slightly heaving. "Let's-- can we talk about this? What are we going to do if it is? Just unleash a god of war into the Realms?"

"N-no!" Atreus glanced at his father. You knew Kratos wasn't a big fan of Atreus's plan anyways, so you figured your words might have made Atreus anxious about another argument. "I'm hoping we can talk to him. Explain what's going on with Fimbulwinter and everything. Maybe he can help."

"Help with... the end of the world?"

"Yes, exactly." Atreus reached forward and took your wrist into his grasp. His fingers were rough and calloused, no doubt from years of using his bow. They were warm as well, heating up your entire body. Or, maybe that was the exhaustion from all the exercise. "Let's go."

Kratos approached the large wooden door and inspected it. Obviously, it wasn't able to be opened through normal means. Instead, he dug his blades into the wood and turned around, pulling at the chains over his back. He yelled out in effort and eventually, the door flew off its hinges and splintered across the room. You covered your face to protect it from the wood debris and dust that flew up around you all. By the time you could open your eyes to look around, Atreus was already running towards the entryway.

"Tyr!" 

Inside the smaller room sat a man. A very dirty, very sad man. HIs head hung low, eyes trained on the dirt floor even as Atreus knelt before him. Kratos was not far behind. You chose to stay a bit further back, still holding your spear just in case. Not that you would want to fight a god, but you would if that's what it came down to. 

The man shook his head. "What trickery is this, Odin...?" When he looked up, you felt your heart lurch. His eyes were a glowing white, piercing through the dust and darkness of the room and burning through everything he looked at. Bifrost eyes-- similar to Mimir's. "What game do you play with me now?"

"We're not with Odin." Atreus began, "We're the good guys."

Kratos stalked behind Tyr, just as vigilant as you were, and snatched the thick noose that was tied around Tyr's neck. He sliced it easily, but Tyr made no motions to move. He still sat-- hunched over, face turned to the ground. 

"This is the god of war?" Kratos questioned.

"Those blades..." Tyr eyed the blades in Kratos's hands-- the metal still glowing with heat. "I know you. Godkiller... Have you come for me now?"

God-huh?

You had questions. 

The only time Tyr made any major movements came next, after Kratos sheathed his blades and stepped towards him. He held his hand out, offering help, but Tyr frantically scooted away from him. "Stay away!"

Just how scary was Kratos?

"Brother, let me try." Kratos lifted up Mimir's head to the now-hyperventilating god. "Tyr-- Tyr! Look, you know me, don't you?"

"You-- you killed Mimir!"

"No, no, no, no--"

"We brought him right back!" Atreus butted in.

"Stay away from me, you monsters!" 

Tyr jumped up, pushing his way away from Kratos, Mimir, and Atreus. He rushed past you, attempting to escape, but not before you stood in front of him. You had put your spear away, realizing that having your weapon drawn would only scare him more. 

"Tyr, we're not here to hurt you--" 

"And you kidnapped the half-elf! What more can you do?" Tyr cried out, going around you and running through a different tunnel. He smashed through the wooden planks blocking it, more debris flying everywhere. 

"Kidnapped--"

"We need him!" Atreus yelled, ignoring Kratos's calls to wait and chasing after Tyr. 

Before you both could follow, several more Einherjar jumped down. They must have sensed your presences-- or heard Tyr yelling. You drew your weapons and quickly defeated them, following after Atreus through the tunnel. 

Many Einherjar stopped you along the way and you were only guided by the echos of Atreus's voice as he pled for Tyr to listen. Eventually, you were able to back the god into a corner. Tyr was still begging to be let go-- to be shown mercy, as if he was expecting Odin himself to rain hellfire upon the mines. 

Atreus threw his hands up as you and Kratos approached, as if asking 'What now'?

"This is my father, and this is Y/N. We help people." Atreus tried once more. 

"I don't belong out here. Please. It's worse when he's angry."

Kratos suddenly grabbed Tyr off of the floor with superhuman strength, pinning him to the wall. "Are you not a soldier? Are you not a leader of men? Answer me! Master yourself. My son brought us here to this place for you. Look at him."

Tyr's gaze flickered to Atreus, who was trying to subtly use puppy-dog eyes. You bit back a laugh. 

"You...? Why? You don't know me."

"We know of your past endeavors." You shrugged, "You did good. You helped the Giants. We're just... returning the favor."

"We...?"

"We are leaving. Are you coming with us?" Kratos waited for Tyr to nod before releasing him back to the ground. 

Tyr took a breath and stood, finally reaching his full height. You craned your neck up to look at him, and then made eye contact with Atreus. You raised your eyebrows to convey "I'm surprised this worked".  He returned the sentiment. The look didn't last long as Atreus fumbled around for a second, unhooking a spear from his back and holding it out to Tyr. 

"Here. Your statue in the lake had a spear, so I figured you might want a--"

"Walking stick? Oh, a kind thought, but no thank you." 

Another look was shared-- this time, confusion. 

Tyr crouched down to Atreus's height, laying one hand on his shoulder. "I ran earlier because I don't always know what's real. Sometimes, there's a... uh..."

"There's no shame in that, brother. We live in strange times." Mimir tried to comfort. 

"Everyone hears him talk?"

Kratos ignored it. "We must return home."

He began leading your little group further, probably feeling a wind or something that could lead to an exit. It was a bit awkward-- having a new giant god join the group, but it was still comfortable. Tyr was still wary, but nobody could blame him. 

"Are there names by which I should call you?" He broke the silence. 

"I'm Atreus. You already know Mimir. That's my father, Kratos, and then there's Y/N." Atreus looked at you and smiled reassuringly. "You're not the newbie anymore, Y/N."

You huffed out a laugh. "Considering I've only been here a few days, I still think I'm new."

"A few days? Had I not known any better, I would assume you were apart of the family."

You knew Tyr didn't mean anything by it, but the wording still stung. It was a reminder that you really weren't apart of any family. "Uh, no. What-- um, what all do you know?" 

You were nervous to ask, considering you never even went into detail when explaining everything over dinner those days ago. 

"I know that there was a half-elf being housed in Alfheim for many years. There wasn't much word once the fighting began, but goodness did you cause a ruckus when you left. Dark elf soldiers being dispatched left and right to find you and bring you home."

"They--they're looking for me?" 

"Why wouldn't they? You're not supposed to exist."