#Im still certain that its Millennia

[oflgtfol]

“But no one actually ‘looks’ through [modern telescopes]. Margaret Huggins lamented the shift from gazing at the heavens to squinting at tiny patches of light. Now we’ve gone much, much further. In today’s astronomy, photons of light from the sky, along with the celestial secrets they contain, are picked up by electronic detectors, converted into digital data and crunched through impossibly complex equations by some of the most powerful computers on the planet. In 2016, bricklayer-turned-astronomer Gary Fildes described visiting Chile’s Very Large Telescope (VLT) in his best-selling book An Astronomer’s Tale. Incorporating four mirrors, each 27 feet wide, the VLT collects visible and infrared radiation and can distinguish points in the sky separated by less than a millionth of a degree. Here, at the forefront of today’s attempts to understand the stars, Fildes was struck by the sight of scientists hard at work in control rooms, eyes glued not to their telescopes but to banks of screens: ‘They didn’t look as if they had seen the real sky for days.’”

- The Human Cosmos: Civilization and the Stars by Jo Marchant

[jessaerys]

just finished a short stay in hell by steven l peck (basically fanfiction of borges's the library of babel - a hell where you have to find a book of your life in a library containing every combination of characters possible, so, more books than there are electrons in the universe) and while i did like it and had a very good time reading it AND white it was skillfully written and very good at conveying the despair it wishes to convey, im left kind of meh... about it. there's a certain lack of creativity to it i guess?

even with the parameters set (population homogeneity: everyone is a white american, about 25, and from around the same modern century) i can imagine very many ways to find meaning, pleasure, knowledge and fun with people through the billions and billions eons. specially with the kiosks that can give you any food you want. i can imagine cultures building around the pleasures of food and arguably its equally infinite possibility of combinations. the nightly resets of the injured and the dead -- through the millennia you could go the cenobite way and find the delicacy in all forms of pain and torture. the lack of diversity seems to be part of the torture and is remarked upon over and over to the point of fetishization of the other. BUT i think even in the very small subsection of people, the knowledge accumulated + differences of experiences are still infinitely varied... specially if you develop a deep love for humanity. you could interview people and eventually come to a consensus on whether you all see the same red.

there was a small glimpse of that kind of imagination and creativity when the narrator spent a thousand years with rachel (the game of tag, the decade they decided to pretend to be dogs) but when he and rachel lose each other it's back to oh woe is me, everything is the same and so boring. why don't you fuck a man and maybe you'll realize there are still experiences to be had

[mrthenarrator]

Hi! Hi hello! So um- I may or may not be having a crisis right now. So it turns out the frozen human- IS me. I was scavenging documents and- I died and they- made an AI out of me. Now besides that point apparently Sarah knows im the reason she's in here- I mean- I saved her. If I left he be she would have died from the gas leaks which wasn't my fault! I can only digitize one person at a time and- okay she was the only one I wanted to digitize…

Okay so she didn't get lost she ran off- she's not trapped she's looking for a way out- and I don't know- I know there is a way out but- I'll be honest what happens is like what happens in your game with the button or whatever! I will be completely and utterly alone! And I put her in here for that reason and now I don't know if- I should let her go. She would be happy that way- I mean… she has kids… but it's not like they know she's alive… for all we know it's been minutes out there and millennia in here! I have no idea how time passes!

There is something wrong with me. Something very wrong with me… And now my name isn't even Natalie. That's just what Sarah called me…

And now im here telling practically a stranger about my problems! Well Stranger… but idol in a way. Who knew giving your main character choice would basically end your world.

I'm ready to burn this stupid lab to the ground… why did I ever keep this? Sarah didn't need to stay a chemist. I didn't have to make a little fake world for her. To make her happy. She didn't need other people. If I had just made a world for her and me none of this would have happened...

I don't even know why im telling you this! I guess- have you ever been scared of losing everything you've ever done in your existence?

Maybe I just want some insight… if you have any I guess its appreciated…

(I sincerely apologize for this I needed to just lore)

...Oh goodness.

I suppose I do have some insight on this.

When Oswin and I started talking a few months ago, he offered to work on finding a way for me to escape. At the time, the idea of leaving the Parable was something I never thought I could consider. Especially since we weren't sure we could bring Stanley until much later. And even then I wasn't sure he would even want to stay if he did manage to escape the Parable.

In addition, moving to the real world meant I wouldn't have my developer tools or abilities to help me do things. I would have to learn how to do everything without the games code to assist me. And that uncertainty scared me.

Having that uncertainty, plus Stanley possibly leaving made me absolutely certain on not leaving the Parable. At least until Stanley and I talked privately about the matter before finally deciding to try.

While I may not understand your situation fully myself, I do understand the fear of losing everything you've ever had. Hell, I'm still scared that somehow the Parable shuts down and Stanley, Lynne, and I cease to exist.

...I don't know if I have any advice on your situation. Since your circumstances are quite different to what I've experienced. But if you do end up finding Sarah, All I can offer is that you talk to her genuinely. About what may happen to your game, To you, as well as how she may feel and want. Honesty and communication is a rather strong tool I've learnt recently.

And hopefully, you two can find a solution to it, whether it's both of you leaving together, or... whatever you two come up with.

I do hope things turn out alright between you two. And sending my best wishes to you both.

[gyahyahyahayhahayahyahyahyahyaha]

So there was two parts to this one

watchign it from the pov of or I guess one could say that iw as just simply that woman,., an so like Theres this like show opening with this woman dancing in this like park area, and then breakdancing next to this bus loading up fulla ppl. She'd/I'd be doing all sorts of acrobatics and flips and swinging around on nearby lamp posts and slingshotting between them because Id be building up so much momentum from swinging around an all that. Eventually we'd all board the bus, start driving out and then she'd drive the bus after a point in the song for the opening and it would always like. Cut to this pov like the skyrim death cam following along as the bus would tumble and roll and slide its way down a mountain. Or like glaciers.whenever this started happening, it was framed likea comedy show with lots of sfx and like crowd cheering or booing sfx. Specifically the onesi  remember was like this audience of children cheering n clapping sfx accompanied by like a "correct" sfx when the bus stopped moving and landed upright like as if nothing happened, signifiying that every9one on board as well as the bus itself was just fine, and then gasping or booing sfx + an "incorrect buzzer" sfx, whenever the bus took some nasty hits or flipped in aparticularly violent way tha would have normally, definitely killed at least SOMEONE on board. But it never did. And it kept happening. oh yeah i was wearing like a plain pink turtleneck sweater with ab lack skirt and black leggings and some like some dark coloured boots of some kind… had a headband too. And likje two really big flower barrettes on each side of the headband… was wearing brown gloves. Not sure what kind. I can say for certain they werent fingerless. Maybe they were driving gloves. From the beginnin of the shows opening, From the dancing, then the breakdancing and other acrobatic shit in front of the bus, and then to the driving of the bus until it cut to the bus being on topa cliff face or a slope that lead to the quickest path down the mountain/glacier, it was all just. Was done in slight variations each time. then the music stops and the sfx starts as it starts, crashing, flipping, rolling, tumbling and sliding violently or slowly on its way down. And every time it would land upright atht he very bottom and the cheering and clapping sfx would play every time. Eveyoen would walk out and it'd start again. And again and again. Getting quicker and quicker in the process. However This whole processs was changing everyone on board.

It was making all of us evolve into creatures that would make this whole process go by faster? or smth lol, And so for the next like millennia or hwoever long, we kept repeating this process until we all turned into like actual whales. Like as if whales were the most efficient animal to be for this process to continue as efficiently and quickly as possible. The bus was gone by that point and it would quickly loop a few times as whales until I remember hitting this large lunar crescent shaped recess in the mountain that formed from the bus crashing and falling into this particular area so many times over such a long time period. And a large body of water had formed, connecting to the ocean or soim ereally big sea. The water was dark. like had a sludge like colour. not so sure abou thte actual consistency of the water itself tho. And it was full of tiny and neatly cubed ice less than a centimeter in size, and some other mysterious clear solid substance… the first dream ended when I landed in the pool and was like kinda sick of this cycle, and during thist ime I apparently still had a human shaped arm and hand. Which I then stuck deep into the centre of this deep dark lunar crescent shaped body of water forming at the base of the mountain and as I did, I  screamed. I felt hundreds of thousands or perhaps millions of years go by in an instant of me and the other, now at this point, whales, going thru this cycle of tumbling and rolling down this mountain/glacier go by. And as I felt it happening the body of water was like reacting almost like I could feel a consistent, thin layer of almost powdery solid particles suspended a set distance abovce the waters surface and where I drove my hand into the water, a whirlpool of sorts was forming around my hand. But instead of spiraling or anything or forming currents, it was like being absorbed by the passage of time. Or by my hand. Or both. It was like the whirlpool was forming at the bottom of my hand and the water was vibrating so quickly and strongly that it wasli ke evaporating or smth. I couldf eel like a vacuum where my hand was. But it wasn’t suckign anything up. The water was just kinda like dissapearing into where my hand was. And Holy shitt hat scream I made. it was a haunting way to wake up. Felt this weird sensation in my right arm for a while after waking up too…

[pirrha]

i want to draw kivri and malkisk being cute together i miss them sm and i want to put kivri in a spilcer dreg helmet because i like them and those are cute

[klixxy]

Genshin Fic Recs

so... i ventured into the vast world of Google looking for some good GI fic recs... only to find such a pitiful amount that i was promptly devastated. therefore, the solution is to make my own! :D

keep in mind most of these will be ChiLi or XingYun, and yes, i will try not to include smut unless it was one i really really liked. if anyone wants a separate list for just smut (though that will most likely be shorter) i can try to make one later.`

ft. my bookmark comments :)

CHILI

wrapped up in pure gold by beyondwinter

(chili; accidental marriage; chili/childe-centric; 22k words; ongoing)

"Do you understand its meaning, Childe?" He finally asks. There's a hard glint in his eyes, like he's trying to steel himself for his answer.

"Yeah." Loyalty and devotion, right? Between business partners? "I do. It's traditional, isn't it?"

Zhongli's eyes glow a warm amber in the near darkness, reflecting the soft shine of the lanterns. He studies his face with a strange intensity, as though Childe were a piece of high quality Nocticulous Jade being sold for suspiciously small sum and he's trying to find the blemishes that would explain the price. The weight of his gaze should be uncomfortable, boring into him like he can see into the very depths of his abyss-tainted soul, but Childe finds himself preening under the attention instead.

Childe accidentally proposes to Zhongli. Zhongli accepts.

The World is Water by Millereflets

(chili; smut; hurt/comfort; chili-centric; 7k words; oneshot)

Childe doesn't visit Zhongli until it's almost too late.

(my bookmarks: HOW DO YOU MAKE A SMUT SCENE SO POETIC HOLY SHITTTTT)

Set in Stone by seredemia

(chili; fake dating au; angst; some smut?; chili/chiilde-centric; 55k words; ongoing)

What do you do when you write about a certain six thousand year old consultant so much in your letters that it somehow convinces your entire family you're not only dating each other, but that you're also engaged?

In Childe's case, the answer is plain and simple: he goes along with it, of course. Absolutely nothing can go wrong if he makes a contract with the God of Contracts, vowing that the two of them will pretend to be lovers for the duration of his family's stay in Liyue. Afterwards, they'll return as normal and speak no more of this mess. No feelings or complications involved whatsoever.

Contract accepted. A fool-proof plan set in stone. Right?

Private Ledger of the Eleventh Harbinger by JuHuaTai

(chili; humor; getting together; chili/ekaterina-centric; 5k words; oneshot)

“So guess what I did next?”

Ekaterina contemplated not answering, but Harbinger Tartaglia was just… grinning and waiting. It’s honestly rather creepy the longer time passed.

In the end, she gave a long suffering sigh that seems lost on him, “You bought him the Erhu—“

“I bought him the antique, cor lapis based Erhu,”

-

When she first left her homeland for the unknown nation of Liyue, Ekaterina was ready to be many things: To be a soldier, to fell Tsaritsa’s enemies in her name, to bring glory to Snezhnaya and her leader.

Being a receptionist in a cozy bank wasn’t so bad in comparison, but she absolutely can do without the front row seat to Harbinger Tartaglia’s (expensive) love life.

i know i'm where i'm meant to go by paperclips (pastel_paperclips)

(chili; humor; fluff; chili-centric; 12k words; ongoing)

"Childe," Zhongli says suddenly. "I am enjoying myself greatly." Childe’s face breaks into a grin. "Then-" Zhongli gasps, grabbing his wrist and tugging him over to an unsuspecting peddler with a cart full of rocks. "Is that an intrusive igneous pegmatite formed in the Inazuma regions?" Childe’s grin smooths into a small, adoring smile. He has all the time in the world to figure the other man out.

OR: Finding the Geo Archon is on Childe's to-do list but hanging out with Zhongli is significantly more fun.

CHILIVEN

Crumbling Stone by avtorSola

(chiliven; ANGST; PAIN; mind control; zhongli-centric; 74k words; ongoing)

When Morax unleashes his plan to test the Liyue Qixing and his adepti, he does not take into account the stirring of the Abyss Order in the north and the corruption of Dvalin - for why would he fear an organization that works in such shadows? He is secure in his power, after all, unlike his flighty ex, the absentee archon of Mondstadt who rises only when his people are in danger.

But, somehow, the Abyss Order discovers his plan. Somehow, they capitalize on it. And he, the God of Stone who cannot sicken, is struck down - taken by an order bent on destroying all of humanity as Liyue crumbles around him. For even Archons aren't immune to Durin's blood, and Morax is no exception. But then the question becomes - if even Archons may fall to the agony of this corrupting burn - how is their traveling friend Aether immune?

The answer comes from beyond the stars - an ancient malice that knows no kindness or mercy. A malice whose legacy the Abyss Order now bears, seeking to topple all the Archons and their people into the void of utter destruction. And they have begun in Liyue.

Fortunately, it takes a long time to erode stone.

(my bookmarks: IM SCREAMING AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA)

PLATONIC ZHONGVEN

left-behind city by trixstar

(platonic zhongven; angst; ANGST; venti-centric; 1k words; oneshot)

"An associate of mine has just informed me that Rex Lapis, the Geo Archon has been assassinated."

Venti blinks.

Or: Venti and how he copes with finding out he is all that remains.

i circle ten thousand years long; and i still do not know if i am a falcon, a storm, or an unfinished song by birdsofpassage

(platonic zhongven; angst; hurt/comfort; zhongven-centric; 4k words; oneshot)

Venti and Zhongli, and the vignettes of a much-needed vacation around Mondstadt.

(my bookmarks: ; - ;      ;  -  ; )

oh ye with little faith by air_fried_air

(platonic zhongven; angst; hurt/comfort; zhongven-centric; 2k words; oneshot)

Two former archons do a little tour around Mondstadt.

(my bookmarks: why are all genshin angst fics so melancholy.... i feel so empty)

the wind through the mountain tops by glassdrachma

(platonic zhongven; humor; hurt/comfort; zhongven-centric; 21k words; finished)

Boredom brings Barbatos of Mondstadt to bother a certain ex-Archon of the Earth.

(my bookmarks: venti zhongli friendship venti zhongli friendship venti zhongli friendship venti zhongli friendship venti zhongli friendship venti zhongli friendship venti zhongli friendship venti zhongli friendship venti zhongli friendship venti zhongli friendship venti zhongli friendship venti zhongli friendship venti zhongli friendship venti zhongli friendship venti zhongli friendship venti zhongli friendship venti zhongli friendship-)

XINGYUN

the art of exorcism by Agried

(xingyun; ghost au; hurt/comfort; chongyun-centric; 9k words; oneshot)

On the road back from one of his jobs, Chongyun runs into Xingqiu, the wandering swordsman. And then they keep meeting, over and over again. or, alternately; how a ghost and an exorcist learn how to love, one step at a time.

Bane of All Evil by tzitzimeme

(xingyun; humor; romance; chongyun-centric; 24k words; hiatus)

When Chongyun unintentionally offends Liyue's second most powerful adepti, he vows to mend the thorny relationship between Adeptus Xiao and human exorcists-- even though no one has succeeded in currying Xiao's favor for over a thousand years.

His best friend Xingqiu offers to come alone, mainly because he's worried about what kind of trouble Chongyun will run into. Along the way, they receive help from others: Xiangling packs them meals for their journeys, while Zhongli gives them advice on what demons to track.

Childe is just there because he thinks the whole thing is hilarious.

[On indefinite hiatus due to burnout; sorry!]

kiss me slowly (so i don't forget) by xiwangmu

(xingyun; humor; romance; light angst; xingqiu-centric; 8k words; oneshot)

Wangshu Inn Bulletin Board

Guest Message: My best friend whom I harbor affections for kissed me last night, but due to his special condition he does not recall a single moment of it. I am quite conflicted about whether to disclose these events to him or not, because that would most certainly require me to confess my feelings as well. If anyone has experience in romancing boys with excessive positive energy, this one humbly asks you to share some advice.

Reply: Our greatest apologies—although we would like to offer some words in response, we simply cannot decipher your handwriting. Perhaps you may return with a neater message next time?

time trials by idlestars

(xingyun/many ships; humor; modern au; xingyun-centric; 2k words; oneshot)

A modern social media AU.

Xingqiu Teases Demons. Chongyun Almost Cries. [The clip shows Xingqiu, lit by the sickly green of night vision, as he stares bored into a dark room. He’s alone - Chongyun left to see if Xingqiu could lure out the ghosts. Xingqiu glances at the camera, smirks, and then opens his mouth.

“Hey demons, it’s me, yah boy.”]

OTHER/GEN

woe be the wallet of the god of wealth by glassdrachma

(gen; humor; identity reveal; keqing/zhongli-centric; 12k words; finished)

Or, the story of how the Yuheng of the Qixing came to idolize, befriend, and discover the identity of the God of Geo, in that order.

(personal comments: hilarious, made me burst out into laughter multiple times, and was just a masterful piece of writing)

to dream of dust by miao_x

(guili/gen; ANGST; hurt/no comfort; zhongli-centric; 5k words; oneshot)

Some nights, Zhongli dreams.

He dreams of soft light, golden song, and a gentle breeze whispering tales of millennia past. It is warm, familiar, and comforting.

It feels like home.

And then he opens his eyes, and awakes to reality.

(my bookmarks: oh zhongli... made me cry)

To drown in your own tears by C_rin_nyan

(guili/gen; ANGST; TEARS; PAIN; zhongli-centric; 2k words; oneshot)

As Rex Lapis, he had never shed a tear, even as he slaughtered hundreds, destruction following his every step. As Zhongli, he had shed much more than he would like to admit, however.

Or, “Zhongli’s soul gave its last scream long ago, yet even now, the echo of said sound was still strong enough to reach Rex Lapis.”

[passable-talent]

listen,, im just in the mood for stih!reader. not followed-anakin-to-the-dark reader,,, just straight-up sith, subscribed to the sith, bloodlustful, power-hungry reader x anakin. whether they were a sith before him or a knight pulled to the dark at the same time but separate from him is up to you, but i just want some sexy evil reader <3

two things. one- in planning this one i came up with possibly my most interesting canon ret-con ever. 

two- sorry about the lack of this in the past, with all of my darkfics i just always end up trying to make the reader redeemable or in some ways well-meaning so that it doesnt alienate my,,, readers,,, but as you wish!

that said, i havent gotten to really indulge my absolutely sadistic side in a while and it was uhhhh fun

There was a prophecy to the Jedi, long ago, that one young Jedi would bring balance to the Force. 

And to the Sith was a prophecy that there would be a Dyad in the Force, one whose power would give rise to the power of the Sith.

Sheev Palpatine, tasked with finding an apprentice more powerful than he, who could possibly be within the Dyad, went through many apprentices in very quick succession, each destroyed by the Jedi before they could gain true power. There was only one apprentice who escaped the Jedi unscathed- a young former scrapper from a planet so unexceptional it didn’t even have a name. 

You had struggled from the moment you could walk. You had built yourself up, with no help, no guidance. From a difficult child to a violent teenager, you fashioned yourself weapons, taught yourself to fight. When others tried to lay claim to what you owned, you cut them down. 

So naturally, when he discovered you, Darth Sidious gave you a lightsaber. 

With your skill in mundane weapons came an adaptability into the divine, and you were quickly nearly as skilled with a light saber as his last three apprentices, combined. He believed that your innate skill and exorbitant midi-chlorian count meant that you must be one half of the prophesized Dyad, and with the formation of a Force bond, he could do what his master had not, and become the other half. He just needed to build your power. 

Each time he praised you, the hole in your soul grew larger, wanting more, needing it. You had come from nothing- so now, you wanted everything. You wanted to be the most skilled. You wanted to be the most powerful. You wanted to be the strongest and the fastest and the best.

So imagine your anger when you came across a little Jedi padawan who you could not defeat. 

Anakin Skywalker was the golden boy of the Jedi, and it had gone to his head. He was nineteen, and already more skilled than his master, and most of the masters on the council. Of course he would try to kill a Sith apprentice, when one crossed his path.

Imagine, two young prodigies, on opposite sides of a millennia-long war, each convinced that nothing could stand in their way. Imagine no one winning the battle, and both going home unscathed.

Imagine how it would drive them mad. 

Darth Sidious could not be seen without risking his discovery, so you often did what he needed. You wouldn’t complain- each successful mission would ease your hunger for victory and power, if only for a moment. You were cunning, and only unleashed your brutality when it was necessary, but Anakin- Anakin had the key to the cage that held your rage, and he opened it every time you saw him. 

His master, the other Jedi, those you would dispose of easily, not caring enough to kill them, just doing enough to get them out of your way, so that you could face him. Every time you failed to kill him, you got angrier, until you felt nothing but rage when you saw him. How dare he challenge your supremacy, your skill. How dare he live and breathe, proof that you weren’t unbeatable. 

In the dark side of the Force, with this conflict came uncertainty- no matter how Palpatine promised that his blood-soaked and rage-filled apprentice was the most skilled in the galaxy, he began to doubt. He began to wonder if Anakin was truly the apprentice he’d been seeking. 

In the light side of the Force, Master Yoda began to understand what Anakin’s prophecy had truly meant- Anakin was meant to be the light’s balance to the dark that you carried in your heart. 

Against the numbers of the Jedi, you were at a disadvantage, but you weren’t concerned with odds, not when you were the most talented Sith that had ever lived. All you felt that you lacked was the wisdom of the Sith who had come before you, and so you often meditated, trying to reach them. Darth Plagueis in particular guided your mind many a night. 

But something was off about your meditation, this day. You couldn’t reach your grandmaster, and a sick, disjointed sensation rolled in waves through your skin. Breaking your concentration, you opened your eyes.

And seated in front of you was Anakin Skywalker. 

“You-” you snarled, immediately calling your saber to your hand. He held his hand up, though, and something about the motion made you pause. 

“I’m not really here,” he said, then looked around. “Can you see where I am? I can’t see where you are.” You narrowed your eyes, suspicious and still angry, but now curious. You slid from your meditative sit and onto your knees, slinking toward him on your hands before reaching out to touch his shoulder. 

“You mean you didn’t reach out to me?” You asked, tilting your head, expression still distrustful.

“No, I thought you called to me.” You locked your eyes with his, reaching forward with the Force to feel him, his presence. He seemed to feel you doing so, but did not resist, and in fact did the same. Reaching deep into his heart, you found a surprising spot of cold- and latched onto it, holding it, unlocking its secrets. This, you could use.

“You don’t trust the Jedi,” you said, a smirk curling on your lips. His eyes widened briefly, which made you realize just how correct you were. Maybe it wasn’t so bad that he was so skilled- if it could be used in service of the dark. 

“The Jedi stifle me,” he conceded, and from your connection you’d forged into his soul you felt a spark of fire, that so-familiar rage. This time, the emotion wasn’t yours, but his. 

“The Sith will not,” you promised, and sat back down, much closer to him now. 

“The Sith must be destroyed,” he snarled, and you were in your element now, you were finally in control. After all this time, you were winning a victory against Anakin Skywalker.

“Why? We seek to bring order. I seek my fullest potential. Isn’t that what you’re doing? What the Jedi aren’t letting you do?”

“Shut up,” he groaned, looking away, and so you leaned closer, lifting your chin, beginning to smile. 

“We’ve fought in the past, Anakin,” you breathed, “But I promise you this- I would help you the way no Jedi would think to.” 

You felt it when his entire presence in the Force sparked, and then disappeared. It seemed that he’d grown too distracted to keep your connection. 

Speaking of that- how could you have had such a connection? 

Sure, you’d felt his presence in the Force before, but only when you fought, when your souls clashed as brightly as your sabers. This was new, very new, and in all your teachings you had heard of nothing like it. 

Nothing- nothing but a Dyad. The Dyad. 

Sidious was right, in everything he had ever told you- you were of the Dyad, you were the Sith meant to experience power like none before you had, you were the one the prophecies had spoken of. But Palpatine wasn’t the other half, the way that the Rule of Two would’ve expected it- the other half of the Dyad was instead a young Jedi.

Master Yoda felt a disturbance in the Force as you realized it- as your dark hunger pulsed out of your body, satisfaction with knowing that it was all true making you feel powerful. The destiny you had been promised, you now knew for certain, was rightfully yours. 

You only had two problems, both easy to fix. The first- your Dyad partner needed to join the Sith. Only then would you be fully unstoppable, only then would no one be able to stand in your way. 

And the Second? Anakin becoming a Sith would violate the Rule of Two. Meaning that there would be three Sith where there was only room for two.

So you needed to be rid of Sidious. Such was a plan for another day. 

The Clone Wars were a Sith’s playground- Sidious’ extraneous apprentices, Dooku and Ventress, took care of most of the messy battles. Fighting clones, negotiating with the Trade Federation, such things were beneath you. Your specialty, your joy, was in the destruction of the Jedi. Every single Jedi death in the Clone Wars was at your hand. 

And though you clashed with Anakin, the roles had been reversed- now twenty-two and sure of your destiny, you fought not to kill Anakin, but to show him the power of the dark, the power you wielded. He fought the way you had as a teenager, full of rage and murderous intent. Tortured as his missions were by you, he could not escape you in meditation, nor in sleep. You walked his dreams, making him wake with not anger but want, something that he hid from everyone, even his master. In his meditation you would appear before him, promising things that he only believed because they left your mouth. 

“Anakin Skywalker is at his most powerful when he’s at my side.”

No Jedi sensed the rising darkness in Anakin Skywalker, just as you expected. Jedi are incapable of seeing past what they believe. They know that the Sith have returned, and still are blind to the power of the Dark!

The Sith, though... the Sith sensed his power. You sensed it, of course, reaching into his soul any time you could, grooming and nurturing the darkness he’d begun to share. And Sidious felt it, too. 

So he took an interest in Anakin Skywalker. 

He grew closer to Anakin through their mutual friendship with Senator Amidala. Palpatine promised Anakin balance, salvation from the worries he carried with him. 

And he began to pull away from you, which certainly did not sit well. You were the most powerful Sith in generations, more powerful than even him, and he dared think you could be replaced? Not only he thought you could be replaced, but he dared set up such a replacement as though you wouldn’t notice?

No. 

You were stronger than that. Smarter. There was three where there should be two, and if your counterpart in the Force was meant to bring balance, weren’t you meant to, as well?

So you took advantage of the age and weakness of Palpatine’s body. You poisoned him, slowly, deteriorating him, so that all that kept him alive was the Force, and he had no strength of his own. 

And then you told him everything. 

“An apprentice, when they are no longer fit for the teachings of the Sith, is replaced,” you said, your scarlet saber humming, its life and energy filling your body, like it had a thousand times. “Which is why you have grown interested in Anakin Skywalker. I have learned from you, my master, I see through your deception. You wish him to take my place.” 

Your darkness invaded your smile, an emptiness invading your stomach that the deaths of dozens of Jedi had yet to fill.

“He will,” you promised, “He will be one of the most amazing Sith there has ever been. And he will fulfill the prophecy of the Dyad, just as you suspect.” 

Sidious didn’t even have the time to ask how you knew before you buried three feet of plasma in his body. 

You didn’t remove the saber, just let it rise and fall with the laboured breathing of an old man. 

“Without your help, Sidious,” you snarled, “I have pulled Anakin Skywalker to the Dark Side. I have found the Dyad, the one spoken of in prophecy- I have felt it pull he and I together. And without your help, I will purge the Jedi from the galaxy.” You ripped the saber from his body, separating his chest from his stomach.

As Palpatine breathed his last breath, you had an unexpected visitor- a few of them, actually. Masters Kit Fisto, Agen Kolar, Saesee Tiin, and Mace Windu each entered Palpatine’s office, sabers ignited and prepared for a duel with a Sith Master. 

But they didn’t expect it to be the one that now stood before them. 

Master Mace Windu knew of you- knew of the Sith apprentice who had a hunger for power so strong that it was meant to outgrow their master. He knew that you had killed countless Jedi, and would kill countless more, if given the chance. So he wasted no time in changing his intentions for the evening. 

“In the name of the Galactic Senate of the Republic,” Windu said, igniting his saber, “You’re under arrest.” Your lightsaber still humming with the blood it had taken, you turned to him over your shoulder, canine tooth glinting from underneath a disturbing smile. 

“And what are the charges?” you asked, calm as though you could predict the exact outcome of the match. “I’ve just killed your Sith Lord. Surely that must count for something.” 

You focused the Force within you, sending it to the one person who you needed the most- and you showed him the way that four Jedi looked at you, threatened you.

“The Senate will decide your fate,” Windu threatened, and you tilted your head. 

“The Senate just lost their chancellor,” you said with a small laugh, “I don’t believe they’ll be deciding anything for a while.” 

It was all too easy to destroy them. Fisto, Kolar, Tiin, they were no challenge. Neither was Windu, but you needed him to believe he was gaining the upper hand- for Anakin was back on Coruscant, hurrying to your location, seeing through your eyes the way that Windu meant to murder you. 

Feigning weakness, you opened your chest, which Windu rewarded with a strong kick, and you fell to your back, little groans and whimpers of fear leaving you as you scrambled backwards, and you could feel it, you could feel the way Anakin was running toward you, feel his desperation to protect you, even if he tried to disguise it with democracy. 

“You are under arrest,” Windu hissed, his saber pointed to your nose. 

And then, there- the man whose presence you had once loathed, and now craved. Anakin was here, with those lovely blue eyes, that curly hair, that body that deserved to rule the galaxy by your side. 

“Anakin,” you said, chest rising and falling in panicked breaths, “Anakin, I killed Palpatine, I- I’m trying to help, I’m trying to help you!”

“You killed him to take his place,” Windu said, and your eyes narrowed. “But you have lost.” You reached out as though to call your saber back to you, but didn’t actually use the Force- which made it seem as though Windu overpowered you when he grabbed your throat and lifted you from the floor. Letting your body hang limp, you clawed at your throat, breathing ragged, and this- this was your chance. 

You turned your gaze to him.

“Anakin,” you breathed, desperation, love, in your eyes. “Anakin, please...” He’d heard you say that word before, sounding just the same, in dreams of soft touches and tangled sheets. He’d seen the way you looked at him, when he met you on the battlegrounds, and you seemed to enjoy his skill. All too familiar was the curve of your neck, the flex of your muscles, as you fought against a grip on your throat.

“Please, Anakin,” you whispered, “I love you.” 

“They are a traitor, Anakin!” Windu snarled, arm extended toward you. “Don’t listen!” You weren’t choking, not quite, but blood was being cut off, and you were starting to get woozy. You pushed the feeling through your bond to Anakin, proving to him how desperate the situation was becoming. 

“Please,” you said, mouth gaping for a moment as you struggled to breathe, eyes briefly rolling back in your head. “Don’t let him kill me.” Windu dropped you, and you crashed to the floor, coughing and sputtering, letting them both believe your limbs were too tired to hold you up. 

“I am going to end this,” Windu said, conviction in his tone, “Once and for all.” 

“You can’t,” Anakin said, and dark satisfaction pulsed deep in your chest. With those two words, you knew how this day would end. “They must stand trial.” 

“They are a Sith Lord! They're too dangerous to be left alive!” Curled up on your side, you didn’t look dangerous- you looked pitiful, coughing to regain your breath, tears rolling down your face. 

“Please don’t kill me,” you sobbed, and in Anakin’s heart you felt resolve- you knew he wouldn’t let you die. 

“It’s not the Jedi way!” Anakin said, “They must live!” You raised your eyes to Windu’s, and saw no remorse in them.

“Please, no-” you whimpered.

“I need them!” Anakin shouted, but Windu lifted his saber anyway. Anakin reacted in an instant, igniting his saber and slashing it through Windu’s arm, the distinctive purple saber now lost to the window and the streets of Coruscant below. 

You smiled.

In an instant you flipped onto your hands, swiping Windu’s legs out from under him, and he could do nothing to stop his fall. Anakin fell to his knees, shocked, and ashamed of what he’d done. 

“Anakin!” you said, rushing toward him, and finally, finally you could feel what you had in dreams, what you’d longed to- you threw your arms around him, burying your face in his neck. “Anakin, you saved me.” He hugged you back, slowly, and there was nothing else to compare to this. 

You had been prophesized to be the Jedi and Sith who would bring balance and rule, and finally, after all this time, you were together. Not on the opposite sides of a battle, not in a connection, not in a dream, but in reality, in each other’s arms. 

Together, you were more powerful than any Jedi or any Sith had ever been. You could feel it already. 

“Thank you,” you breathed, pulling away far enough to brush back his hair, but his eyes were heavy with sorrow and regret. “Ani, love, look at me-” His gaze met yours, and nothing else in the universe had ever been so beautiful. 

“I love you,” you promised again, and pressed your lips to his. The Force itself seemed to rejoice in you finally meeting, and now, all that was left to do was to ensure he stayed by your side. 

“Finally, we’re on the same side,” you breathed, and you felt the way he bristled. 

“The Jedi won’t see it that way.”

“The Jedi don’t understand- and they’re traitors, anyway, plotting to destroy the Republic, all this time. We have to rebuild the Jedi Order. We can make things the way we want them to be.” Anakin seemed to consider, so you pulled yourself closer to him, holding him just the way you remembered, in all those dreams you’d shared. 

“We don’t have to run away anymore,” he said, and you cupped his face. 

“No,” you said, “We don’t have to hide.” 

“The Jedi turned against me,” Anakin said, his voice low, and you felt that darkness in his body grow. 

“I know, love,” you breathed, brushing back his hair. “But I’m here. I’m still here.” Anakin leaned forward, holding you close by your lower back and kissed you, and you felt it- you felt hunger in his body, you tasted it on his lips. He rocked forward, laying you down on your back, even as you kept your arms around his neck. 

And as you surrendered control, you almost had to laugh- he had no idea how much power you had over him. 

-🦌 Roe

part 2 | part 3

[akachaan]

the golden-winged king [xiao]

genre: angst

warnings: death, blood

notes: pls im so proud of this writing BYE

The gentle chirps of birds graced Xiao’s ears. He recognized this as a melody of nature, the sunlight cascading a loving warmth onto his pale skin. Lush and rich grass blew in the breeze, one of the few somethings that Xiao actually appreciated from the Wind Archon. He chuckled breathlessly, a feeling of lighthearted mischief settling upon him. Xiao imagined how Venti would pout and scold him for his unbearably disrespect remarks, as he liked to call them. The grass entwined itself into his gloved hand like a silky ribbon. The light, fluffy clouds passed by, drifting away like dandelion seeds floating in the winds.

Xiao’s legs began to ache— the reason unknown —so he’d sat himself down, assuming he’d been basking in the beauty of the flower field for much too long. Ah, flowers. He’d almost forgotten just how intricately designed they were. Well, as a Guardian Yaksha, there’s only so much you can stop and admire. What were the names of these? The petals were pale blue from the bottom fading into a remarkable teal color, four pastel purple strands sprawling out from the top.

Glaze lilies, he recalled. These flowers only bloom once sung to, yes? He remembers this from a certain... human. He smiles fondly at the thought of them. “Xiao, Xiao!” A familiar and soft voice called. Speak of the devil.

Xiao turned to them, and his breath was caught in his throat. It’s like time slowed down, just for them. Just for him. He took a deep breath, his eyes softening, showing vulnerability he’d been hiding for a millennia. Your shining, soft locks framed your face, [c] eyes shining with love and purity. Xiao had seen skies like an ethereal dream, twinkling like sparklers trapped in the deep cerulean sky... But none of those galaxies and any to come would even compare to your radiant image. You were an angel sent from heaven, one to remind him what life can truly bring upon humanity; people like you.

You were like his little secret of sorts. Not a secret of the world. Anyone could meet or find [Name]. He knew anyone could come and sweep you away from him— though he doesn’t enjoy thinking of such ideas —he knew. It could happen. But, he also knew, and he trusted that you wouldn’t truly leave him, after all they’ve been through. He knew that you confined in him just as he did you, he felt like he was finally certain in his eternity of suffering and emptiness. Days that went by where he felt as if he were just existing. He was not living, he never was. Xiao was simply a guardian, assigned to protect Liyue until he drops dead from exhaustion. He was existing as The Guardian Yaksha, Conquerer of Demons.

But with you, he was not any of those. He was not just existing, watching over a nation til his last breath. Your presence alone made him feel warm. Him feeling was already an achievement in itself, after all these years as standing on the sidelines, secluded; no matter how close to Liyue he physically was, he felt so different and disconnected from his people. He’d only be remembered as tale to be told. The way that you made him feel. Not only have you made him feel, you’ve made him feel warm. A ‘warmth’ that he wishes to bask in for the rest of his existence. Warmth. Xiao knew this wasn’t the word to describe how he truly felt. By definition, yes, Xiao admits, albeit hesitantly. But he couldn’t help but feel it was so much deeper than that. You made him feel a warmth that burned his insides. The feeling had words caught in his throat, he often struggled to form a single coherent sentence when you eyes twinkled with a joy he can’t quite grasp. It made him stutter, the way you looked so blissed and euphoric in his company. He loved it. He loved how the butterflies in his stomach never seized, fluttering and flying with each second. His heart raced like a tiger running after its prey, running at miles per minute. He felt so human. So alive. So loved, and he’s finally experienced what it’s like to love. He never wanted it to end.

You laid yourself onto the luxuriant meadow of nature, the blades of green tickling at your cheek. The sun caressed your skin like a mother would her child, giving you an angelic-like glow. Your eyes had drew closed as you listened to what was around you. Distant animals chirping and buzzing filled your ears along with the synchronized breathing of you and the boy next to you. You smiled, your heart thumping against your chest as savored the peace of this moment.

Xiao turned his head to admire the gift the Archons had given him. He saw how amicable this whole ordeal was and how much you were enjoying it. It wasn’t everyday the two of you had the time to lay down and appreciate each other and what the Earth truly had to offer, though I’m sure that’s been made clear. The soft whisper of his name felt like a melody being sang to him, and he couldn’t help but smile.

Another sweet murmur of his name was called. And another. And another. Xiao grew worried. With every purr of his name, he could hear desperation and panic in your tone. That alone had him sick to his stomach. He sat up, his eyes now greeted with an all-too-familiar setting.

The sky was dark with stormy clouds, rain thundering heavily onto the bloodstained ground. The air was no longer crisp and clean but instead reeked of the metallic scent of blood and sweat. He could almost taste the blood on his lips. Xiao looked at his hands, dirtied and course with dried ichor. What was once his peaceful escape of serendipity was now a horrid sight of what he used to be. The murderous machine of what he promised himself to cast away since The Archon War. Screams of retreat, pain, defeat and victory mixed in his head, which was now throbbing from the sudden change in scenery. Why was he here?

More importantly, where were you?

“Xiao... Thank god you’re alive.” Your broken voice chuckled, growing dryer in the passing seconds. His head snapped to you, who was laying on the floor, absolutely beaten up. His heart ached at the sight, and he reached to gently cup your face, as if one wrong move could completely shatter you. You gasped for air before continuing, “I knew you would survive. There’s,” You paused to cough harshly, your body crumbling as the cough was let out, “no way the Xiao I know would loose to anyone.” He pulled you closer to his lap, panic and adrenaline coursing through his veins. He knew there was nothing he could do. But he still tried. He still tried to grasp onto what little hope he had left; it was all happening too quickly.

“Hang on. I’ve got you, okay?” He choked out after the initial shock. The time you have left and the time he would be able to get you proper medical attention were so obviously not in his favor. He picked you up, carrying you on his back. And he just ran. His legs moved like he was going to die if he didn’t hurry. Quite frankly, he would most definitely die emotionally. Xiao couldn’t loose you. Not now, not ever. He wanted to live with you until your died of old age, peacefully where you could’ve smiled on your deathbed. He remembers how you used to get mad at him for carrying you like this. The way your cheeks heated up and you buried your face into his neck always got a goofy smile on his face. But now, you were clinging onto his back as best you could— though it was a loose grip, you used what energy you had left in you to let him know you were still there with him.

But soon, too soon, you wouldn’t be, and you both knew it. “Xiao,” you called weakly.

“I said hang on. I’ll get you medical help soon. Please, keep your eyes open. You still have time.”

“Xiao...”

“You can’t leave me like this. I swore to hold you and protect you and love you for the rest of my life. Out of the many promise I’ve broken I can’t... I can’t break this one.”

“Xiao, listen...” The utter amount of suffering in your voice tore him apart more than the searing pains in his limbs. He knew he wouldn’t be able to make it in time no matter how fast he ran. So he obliged to your request and set you in his lap once again. He stared at your face, covered in dirt and scars. Yet you still looked at beautiful as ever.

“Please. Don’t go. I won’t know what to do without you.”

“I’m always here with you even if...” You trailed off, both from the lack of oxygen you had and the discomfort of finishing your own sentence. You felt tears brimming in your eyes, as you saw Xiao in such a vulnerable and tormented state. “Xiao...”

He caressed your face like a mother would her child. The sting of his heart drowned any physical injuries he had. Nothing would hurt more than the thought of losing you. The grass scratched at your cheek, and you winced at the feeling. Xiao tucked a hair strand behind your ear. As he leaned down to press his forehead against yours.

“Xiao... You are and forever will be my Golden-Winged King.”

And that was when the tears spilled. Your body went cold and limp in his own very hands, your eyes that shone with love and purity where now dark and lifeless. The smile that lit up his world was gone; replaced with a face of sorrow eternally etched onto your features. Xiao wondered. Death was a pitiful punishment, yet somehow so enchanting. You still looked as heavenly as ever. It was only then the pain of truly losing you settled in. You were never going to grace his ears with your melodic voice. You were never going to grace his eyes with your smile. You were never going to grace his senses with your adoring hugs.

You were never to grace his life again.

The Golden-Winged King had a fall from grace, just as you did in his own very arms.

[diavolosthots]

Hi! I saw that your requests were open! Could you do something where Mc comforts Mammon or Asmo when they are feeling particularly bad about themselves? Kinda angsty and fluffy? Love your writing!

I'm feeling this right now so it's time to tackle this mess. Mammon is a fan favorite but I thought Asmodeus might be more interesting

Warning: angst, a lot of self doubt.

Sometimes You isn't Enough ( ASMODEUS X GN!READER )

You had never seen him like this. So secluded. So gloomy. So introverted. It's kind of sad, really. The usual bubbly demon was turned into nothing more than a glob of sadness and the worst part is, no one knew why. He didn't try to openly show it. He still made jokes and looked cute, but when he thought people looked away, even just for a second, his facade immediately dropped and it was hard to be picked up again. Like a mask that was sitting too heavily on his face.

Satan had said that he's probably depressed because someone won a beauty contest and that someone wasnt him. But really, you couldnt just brush it off as that. Asmodeus' feelings cant just be hurt from things like that. You're certain there was something else behind it. Something more. Bigger. Unexpected. But of course he would never openly talk about these things. As long as he put on a smile, the world was fine and no one needs to worry. Thats what he always says. Or at least thinks. To an extent, you understood that mindset, and you knew all too well the urge to bury it deep inside and never speak of it; the urge to be silent and deal with it yourself. But it's hard. And at some point, anyone bursts.

"Asmo?" You knocked on his door, determined to get it out of him. To get him to open up, because as much as you wouldn't want to bother anyone, you also know that you cant keep it inside forever because it kills, slowly, but surely. "Darling!" He seemed way too happy opening the door but you quickly noticed his grin didn't reach his eyes. You gave a quick smile and brushed past him, not bothering with formalities or beating around the bush. "Asmodeus. Talk to me." He looked at you, raising an eyebrow and slowly closing the door, "I'm always willing to talk to you, you know that." "do I know that?" You flopped down on his bed, patting the space next to you, "come sit with me." "Just sit?" He winked at you and for a moment, things seemed normal; they seemed easy.

"Just sit and talk." You turned to him, trying to take him in. He didn't carry himself as well as he usually did and his posture was actually kind of slumped over instead of the elegance he usually carried. "Asmo... You don--" "I know." He was still smiling, taking your hand in his, "I know what youre thinking. I dont look or act the same. I'm not, but I'll be fine. Dont worry." You frowned in response, knowing damn well that he's far from fine and that it will take longer than a night to sleep it off, or whatever.

"No." Now he was frowning. "What?" You pulled your hand back, crossing your arms over your chest, "I said no. Youre not fine and you probably wont be for a while. This has been going on for weeks, Asmodeus. Do you really think no one notices? You're not fine and i wont accept you brushing me off like that." It was silent after that, both of you just staring at each other although you noticed his eyes getting sadder and sadder. He quickly wrapped his arms around you and threw you back on the bed, burying his face in your neck, "A-Asmo!! This is not the tim--!" "I cant tell you. Or anyone. You'll think I'm silly, or dumb, or its unjustified. You'll think I'm another Levi with body and personality issues. I cant tell you, especially you (Y/N), because I don't want you to see how much I'm crumbling inside. " he took a deep breath, pushing his face closer against your skin, which was starting to heat up from the close proximity of him against you.

"I dont... Feel good. About myself. I haven't for a while now. At first i thought I just needed a wardrobe change, you know? Some cute new clothes, some sexy lingerie to spice things up..." He laughs quietly at himself, feeling the years start to form, "b-but... It's not that. I dont feel good in my soul. Funny thing to say, huh? A demon and his soul... I dont look in the mirror and get impressed. I look in the mirror and compare. I look at Beelzebub's body and get jealous of how he looks, or Satan's intelligence and realize how truly dumb I am. I look at all of my brothers, doing these amazing things, and realize I'm falling short.... What do I have? A plastic personality with a narcissistic disorder..."

You heard him get quiet, clinging tightly to you as he hid the tears that started falling in your hair. Slowly, you wrapped your arms around him, pushing him closer against you. "I'm nobody, (Y/N).... I dont have what they have... Im useless to my family, to you... To myself..." You squeezed him tighter at that, stroking over his back and feeling him start to shake.

"You're not--" "i dont want you to tell me I'm not... I just want you to... Hold me..." You nodded silently, staring up at his ceiling while you caressed over his back. You get it. Its not always words that you need and you know all to well that the people that held you were far more precious than any words you ever heard. So you held him, your mind racing with things to say because you needed him to know, and believe, that hes so much more than that. He wasnt okay and he most likely hasnt been for a long time. All these things build up inside of him over millennia and you could only imagine how much pain it has caused him. He's not okay. But you hoped he will be.

[vecna-official]

hmm

bardlock

1. see my post on the bardificer, they're both creative types and can absolutely draw inspiration from things beyond sanity

2. see the song "The Devil Went Down to Georgia" or the movie "The Crossroads" in which people trade/bet their soul for musical talent

3. actual answer because im lazy but these are still fun

[NAME] had a song stuck in their head since they were little. No one else knew of the song, and they were certain it wasn't of their own design. They took to the study of music, learning to perform and compose and improvise, and played their beloved song beautifully, but never dared to take credit for this unheard-of song. Instead, they sought its origin. A decade of study revealed nothing, and in desperation, they turned to the greatest known repository of knowledge: an arch-lich, old when the kingdom was young, known to have mastered every skill and spell in their millennia of life. Desperate for the entertainment [NAME]'s life might bring, the arch-lich taught [NAME] countless songs forgotten by the world, not asking anything but that [NAME] make them famous again, so that such beauty might not die out of the world, as it almost had in the past.

[wayhvn]

twelve minutes

summary | jude could have imagined that playing chess with a vampire might have been difficult. they did not imagine that it would be quite this exhaustive.

or

 detective jude cain plays a particularly difficult game of chess with commanding agent ava du mortain 

pairing | mason x  jude cain (nb detective), the beginnings of / implications of ava x Jude, which could also be interpreted as a very close or caring friendship. mason ava love triangle route... jk. haha unless...???

word count | ~1.6k

rating | t for language to be safe! jude swears lmao.

tags | i am just going to tag some of my followers /mutuals if that is okay??? i do not know the etiquette for this kind of thing hahah so tell me if you do not want to be tagged I won’t be offended!! @raleighcarrera @agentfreckles @s-ewell @natehsewell @brightpinkpeppercorn 

authors note | WOW I AM NERVOUS this is my first time posting a piece of writing here!! im a huge fan of chess and i have always imagined that ava would be too. this was very fun for me. that being said, this is rough and a little unedited but i just wanted to stop putting it off and post it already!! 

Jude could have imagined that playing chess with a vampire might have been difficult. They did not imagine that it would be quite this exhaustive.

Though it was nearly the middle of the summer, the fireplace was roaring. The only source of light in the library, the orange flicker cast gold shadows across Ava’s cheekbones, her lips a tight unyielding line, straight above her chin. Her features, normally pallid in the light, were warmer now, controlled as ever before. She sat across from them, left ankle crossed over her right knee, the line of her body carefully folded taught, her brow furrowed. She hadn’t moved in nearly fifteen minutes. 

It was incredible, to her see her this still. Distracting, welcomed. Unit Bravo, the assembly that Jude had subconsciously categorized as their vampires, so permanently full of life, fluid in their movements and their expressions, rarely bothered to act as anything but human. Jude had forgotten how still any one of them could be, if only they would will it. Jude found themselves often forgetting the Unit’s capabilities. Nate, Ava, Farah, Mason- each could do any number of things unimaginable to Jude, if only they would will it. Jude hadn’t thought about it that way before. They wondered if this was a bad thing. 

So Ava sat, a fortress of her own making, made of blood and bone and particles that had been of this earth for nearly a thousand years. A millennium. 

The space felt cavernous in its silence, devoid of any other member of the unit, devoid of activity. It was easy for Jude to imagine that perhaps they were the only two in the Warehouse at all, that the entire building had cleared itself for just the both of them. 

“Are you very familiar with chess, detective?”

Jude swallowed, and slowly, nodded. “My mother taught me. I played in high school.”

“Was this before you were nearly expelled for your truancy, or after?”

They managed a laugh, something bare, and short. “You have jokes now, I see. Before, Agent Du Mortain. Before. Now are you going to make your move?”

“I have played chess with your mother for nearly a decade,” Ava mused. “She is much more patient an opponent.”

“Was she very good?”

Ava hesitated, before relenting. “I have had my losses to Rebecca, yes. She reinvigorated my enjoyment of the sport of it all.”

The fire cracked loudly, and Jude diverted their gaze to its growth. They licked their lips, shifting their shoulders.

“I forgot that you’ve known each other for so long.”

Ava’s lips twitched, before her face settled again. “I have not forgotten a single match against her.”

“You seem to not forget many things.”

“Of course not. It is nearly impossible.”

Jude did not know what to say. 

It was Ava, who broke the still. Her voice was quieter now, assured. 

“I did not, for instance, forget the state in which you came here.”

Jude resisted the urge to sigh. To scoff. To roll their eyes. To do anything but admit some form of defeat, at the hands of a friend that Ava had had for over one hundred years. They did not imagine that Ava would bring it up. In fact, she had asked Jude to play chess rather callously, disregarding the tears, the panic. It had been instrumental in helping them reacquire a sense of calm. 

Unforgiving in her persistence, she continued. “Mason has caused something of a mess,” Ava pursed her lips, and Jude could see that her teeth were clenched. “I imagined he would.”

Jude was certain that they would stand, resist the onslaught. “I don’t want to-“

Ava raised an eyebrow, an interruption in itself. “I received a concerned text from Nate. Who had a concerning conversation with the man in question.”

Jude felt their jaw sit tight, and they hunched their shoulders. They imagined to Ava’s specimen, they were about as intimidating as a fearful kitten. “I don’t want to know about it.”

This was not Ava giving up, and Jude knew that. But she did not respond, and it was a place of solace which Jude would accept. 

For now. 

“Are you familiar with Louis Paulsen’s 1857 match against Paul Morphy?”

Jude blinked, and straightened. Near a millennia, indeed. “No.”

Ava hummed. Jude blinked, and in the fraction of a second it had taken them to open their eyes, Ava’s position had completely changed. She was leaning forward now, shoulders horizontally parallel to her knees, her head resting in her hands. It was as though somebody had replaced a photograph with another photograph. She did not look as though she had moved, and yet, here she was, her entire body completely shifted. The firelight gave her eyes a dark cast, reminiscent of the sea. Her voice continued, languid, slow. “Morphy was an American, in a losing position. His structure was catastrophic, and Paulsen’s queen was about to demolish completely what strategy he had left.”

Ava raised her gaze, then, and Jude felt powerless to do anything but meet it. 

“Morphy took twelve minutes before making his next move,” Ava, perhaps unknowingly, let her tongue sweep across the bottom row of her teeth. Her lips were parted in what might hint at the very beginnings of a smile. “Twelve whole minutes. He had to assure himself that every possible combination afterwards was sound. Was safe, even knowing that chess is never safe, not truly. But he had to ensure, losses be damned, that he had a forced win, in every variation. Do you know what move he made, Detective Cain?”

Jude did not know why, but their heart was pounding, quickly, horribly, in their chest, as if uncertain it belonged in this confine of muscle at all. 

Their voice was raspy, dry, unsettled. “A sacrifice.”

Ava’s gaze was steady, terrible, unfaltering. The flames seemed to exist from inside of her, and nowhere else. Ava was a leader, unforgiving, tactical. Her voice was that of her title now, no trace of uncertainty or mutiny possible. Ava could not be wrong. Ava would be heard, and her demands would be met. This was Commanding Agent Du Mortain. A pantheon of her own assembly. This was the voice that war might render. “A queen sacrifice, Detective Cain. A loss of the most powerful piece on the board. Aimed to destroy the entire pawn structure of the side of the king.” 

Jude felt as though they could not breathe. They felt feverish, incapable. For a moment, the board in front of them made no sense, was a puzzle that had no complete answer. Jude was going to lose this game. The certainty of this, as insignificant as it might be, seemed overwhelming and inescapable. Ava had likely memorized as many of the hundreds of thousands of millions of billions of possible outcomes of every possible game. What else would a tactical commander do in her hundreds of years of spare time, with a mind endlessly more capable than that of a human’s? 

The chill, despite the summer breeze, as Jude had left the bakery. 

The confirmation of fear, wrapping their jacket tight around their midsection. The certainty of rejection. The certainly of solitude. 

The mounting of an internalized pressure system.

“Detective Cain,” Ava’s voice, grounded in something that was certain to be eternal, cut through the space that Jude had so effortlessly placed between them. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” Jude’s response was instant, automatic. 

An unstable chemical reaction. 

“Do not forget that I am perfectly capable of hearing your heart.”

An explosion. 

Jude knew that there were no pretenses here. Perhaps they had been wrong in assuming that Ava would play along. In hoping that it was all Ava would bother to do. 

In an action which Jude could not control, they were pushed to their feet. In one fell swoop, Jude’s arm had swept across the chess board, destroying their loss, destroying the evidence of their loss, ending the game in terms which made sense. Their voice was a hiss, a yell, something verging on a scream. Rage, unbridled, packaged so that it could not be recognized as fear.

“We weren’t even fucking! Because I didn’t want to fuck around for nothing, Ava! And now, fucking Haley thinks we were, and the whole fucking town thinks we were, and I look like a fucking idiot who was getting played with by their fucking coworker!”

Ava’s gaze had risen with Jude’s body, and she regarded the dismantled game in front of them with something that could only be equated to impatience. 

Ava had not lifted her chin from her hands. 

Jude waited, and when nothing happened, when nobody moved, Jude, shoulders heaving, took the first steps past the shelves that surrounded the couches. The door, outlined in that harsh, fluorescent light of the Warehouse, beckoned like a song. 

“Jude.”

Ava’s voice. Imploring. Undemanding. Forgiving. Pliant, and close. Without a whisper of a sound, Ava had stood, moved, and positioned herself directly behind Jude. If Jude wanted, they could stretch their hand back. Their fingers would touch her. Jude could touch her.

Jude stiffened. Jude stopped. Jude did not turn around. Jude did not touch her.

Ava spoke again.

“The greatest threat has been removed from the board. Mason cannot make a move like this again.”

Jude exhaled. It was a shudder. It was the beginning of something that Jude would not admit to. Speaking of this in terms of a game made it easier. Jude could distance from it. It was likely that Ava knew that. 

“I guess I just don’t know if I’ve lost yet.”

Ava did not say anything else. Or maybe she did. Jude didn’t know. 

Jude left the library.

[tomsandal]

The one where Tom went "can I just make stuff up?" and didn't wait for an answer

a/n: incredibly terrible title brought to you by you yes you who couldn't give me better one heart

characters: červená kapota, tom sandál

warnings: teensy weensy cosmic horror/death depiction at the start (because i am a moron and a fool and forgot what genre im writing), alcohol mention

words: 1,8k

To truly start at the story’s beginning, we’ll need to go many pages back in history books.

It was millennia ago, when something very strange took place and changed the world from how it was known.

It so happened that, for some mysterious reason, a meteorite crashed down on earth and landed in a crater in some frankly unnoteworthy forest.

This incident did not go without notice of course, and not too long after it had fallen were there already parties of plenty that were eager to find out what strangeness took place the night before. Many ventured into the forest, allured by the mystery or driven by their responsibility to protect their village, but not a single one of those brave souls has ever made the journey back. And so the number of volunteers and explorers thinned over time, for the prospect of being lost to those woods without a seeming trace was enough to ward off even the bravest of the brave.

However all those who did go, did not disappear in an equal way.

Some of those who ventured started to feel effects of a mysterious force soon after the start of their journey. Those ones met their end lying down on the forest floor, feverish and plagued by visions indescribable. No man’s willpower to follow common sense and go back home could win over the pull of the compelling presence.

But some of them pulled through. The strongest and greatest of them all did get to see what their end goal was this whole time.

There in the clearing lay the mystery. Patches of brilliant blue were shining among the dark stone, twinkling not unlike the stars that hung above them.

And standing there, in this crushing magical presence, humans did what humans tend to do and moved to touch the shiny stone.

It was no easy feat, bracing against the sheer force of the meteorite this close to the source of all this madness, but some of them managed to do so.

Finally, with their goal at their literal fingertips, they laid their hands at the glittering surface. And their hands melted right off.

The lucky ones died from the immediate shock from the pain. The rest bled out among the grass, suffocating in the stone’s heavy aura.

And some of them leaned even closer... for the call had won over.

For some time has the stone been left undisturbed, lying unmoved while its surroundings changed as the years went by. No wise enough soul dared to enter the haunted forest. And so the years passed in hundreds and the celestial body had started to merge with the surrounding environment. Many years has it been since then, when it was finally fully covered and sunken deep into the ground and its power dimmed to a hum.

If you were to walk by that place at that moment, you wouldn't think there to be anything out of the ordinary. And so didn't the people that had settled there.

Who might know why they chose this secluded woodland place for their settlement but they did and surprisingly prospered without any casualties.

The stone's powers have dulled over the centuries but they were still there nonetheless, even if only in a shadow of its former self, and the construction and disturbance of the ground was bound to wake it up.

And so the energy started seeping out, warping the unaware residence in the process. With each generation grew the changes more profound, until the place was almost unrecognizable. Plants grew wild and high, displaying colours very uncommon to vegetation anywhere, the roaming animals wouldn't be recognized even by the highest of scholars, trees grew twisted with leaves of gold and humans were born with features never seen before. Their hair was bright and shining in arrays of blues, purples and greens, just like the lights in the sky that could be seen from time to time. But since no negative effect seemed to take place, this magical village of star-touched people lived in-

“Star-touched...really.”

“Yes and no interruptions please.”

-lived in peace. But time was not kind to them.

The year was 1610, the witchcraft craze was at its peak and it didn’t take long until the hunt was brought to them as well. Their clearly otherworldly appearance couldn't be excused and many fell on the trials, under the hands of men driven by fear and hatred. The rest left their homeland, which ended promptly burned to the ground. From then on, they lived as hermits far, far from the human eye.

They lay in hiding for long, until their time has finally come, when people started walking among themselves with wild bright coloured hair and-

“wait, wait what about the magical wolves”

“That is tied to my own personal upbringing and no, was not in fact universal for everyone, stop messing up the timeline”

“oh I am messing up the timeline and not you making something different every ti-”

“As i was saying-” “and when do the glow squids come in” “My glow squid ancestry is clearly the reason for my eyes not the hair ”

“yes, of course, the eyes that are obviously not coloured contacts”

“Keep that tone to yourself and shush.”

///

It was a pleasant summer night, the air was crisp and the streets were quiet. And there, in a certain bar, sat two peculiar people.

Kapota sighed and let her friend-but not friend-associate from work-but not wanting to kill each other right now-buddy ramble on as she took a sip from her glass. She had ordered something called the Hanky Panky Cocktail Supreme and deemed it as decent enough, if a bit overpriced for a glorified gin and fernet.

Still, she would rather be holding a pint of good old fashioned beer, but finding a place around these parts with a half decent beer is near impossible. She will not be drinking that dishwater no thank you.

Good thing that she’s a skilled fancy drinker. A life skill which she picked up from her business bar outings, such as now, which maybe wasn't actually the most objective of examples since most of those were with Tom.

Not that the aforementioned was any help in the drink picking department, that maniac of a man just sashays to the bar and orders a literal colour and when no further explanation is given the bemused barkeep has to pick themselves from their array of colourful drinks.

Seems that they picked well today, because the current “pink” already sat empty before Tom.

She continued to mull over this and that, all the while enjoying the bar’s comfortable atmosphere, when something caught her attention.

“wait wait roll that back”

“Why, could it be that you weren’t paying attention?”

“Yes I was, but what were you saying about pointed ears?”

“Oh, just that the star-touched had pointy ears alongside the wild hair.”

“well, please do pray tell me Sandál dearest how could it be that your ears are rounded”

“As I said, a long time ago in the times most desperate, riddled with fear, pain and terror, food was scarce and from the terrible hunger they gnawed on their ears until they were completely rounded and from then on this feature was lost to them.”

“ok see now i know you're just making fun of me because thats just from that dumb movie you like”

“should have been listening.

Honestly why do i even bother, I am so generously sharing the long lost history of my kind and yet this audience is so ungrateful”

“noo i like your lore, don’t worry it's much more entertaining than ‘I went to the aisle 12 in Kaufland and picked the gaudiest shade of purple they had’”

Tom just grumbled to that and moved to take a demonstrative swig of his drink, but then he realized he didn't have any left anymore so he instead picked up the little paper umbrella and pointed it accusatively at Kapota.

“Never, have I been more disrespected, as I am right now.” He complained, while accentuating every word with a swish of the tiny umbrella.

“It's nothing personal pal, but you can’t exactly expect people to believe you with a name like yours.”

“Oh that's rich coming from you!”

“I'll let you know that the Kapota name is very ancient and regal, thank you very much. Passed down only by the generations of the clan McKap”

“Absolutely not.”

“It’s true look it up”

“Not happening, if i did that you would just laugh at me that i fell for it.”

“Well in that case I guess you’ll never know”

“oh shut up!”

“you shut up!”

…

It was a pleasant summer night, the air was crisp and the streets were quiet. And there, in a certain bar, bickered two peculiar people.

///

All in all Tom would consider this a successful night. He left the bar on his own two feet, had all his belongings still with him, including both of his important trademark sandals still on, and head somewhat clear.

About ten minutes back, they had been politely ushered out of the bar, because it was apparently closing. The shiny sign with the numbers 24 and 7 would beg to differ but sure.

Yeah, ‘always open’ my arse, people can't even trust bars these days.

He wasn’t really upset though, couldn’t blame the poor bloke either, because anyone who had to listen to their nonsense for the past -who knows how long- had all the right to kick them out. It didn’t matter anyway, tonight really was quite nice.

So now they were just lounging together on the sidewalk, enjoying the chilly air.

A lone car sped by somewhere in the distance.

Tom gently thunked his head on the wall behind him and let out a content sigh, next to him Kapota finally broke the silence.

“So...who’s the designated driver, hahh”

A good question indeed, since neither of them even closely qualify to anything akin to sober. Not that it would have changed much, given the fact that Tom does not in fact have a driving licence anyway. His most beloved, bless their heart, is incredibly awesome and does have one of those and drives him around in times of need. This would seem like a time of need and it wouldn't even be the first time Kap would hitch a ride with them, but this hour, other than time of need, is also time commonly known as ‘very late’.

“I guess I can try to give Tobi a call, but I dunno it's pretty late...”

“Nah, let ‘em sleep”

“So whats the battle plan Kaptn’? ”

“Where's the uhhh friggin closest bus stop.”

“Few damn blocks away at least that's for sure”

“Awesome... lets go its field trip time”

And so they went onto the grand adventure of getting safely home.

Some would deem it highly unwise to blunder around dark alleyways in the middle of the night, but honestly, unfortunate are those street rats who shall foolheartedly decide to pick those two fools as their next victims.

[saintbandaid]

Promise - Sally Face/Larry

Just boys being bros

Larry was lazily strumming his guitar, strewn across Sal’s floor waiting for him to return from the kitchen with lukewarm beers and a package of chips. Larry couldn’t help but stare out the window at the way the trees shook with the windy rain that was pouring out over the apartments. The tree house was visible, almost, through the downpour. The soft thudding of feet came rumbling from down the hall. Larry’s gut turned, he didn’t know if it was a trauma response or general excitement to see his friend again. 

Sal walked into the room, carefully shutting the door behind him as if there was anyone in the house to bother. 

“What.”

“Nothing, you just look cute.”

“Shut up. I’m wearing a mask.”

“Yeah but it’s cool,” Larry laughed.

“Then tell me I look cool.”

“Ice cold baby.”

“I’ll literally fucking kill you.” Sal sighed, behind his mask he felt his lip begin inching its way towards a smile.

“Only if you promise.”

Sal sat down beside Larry on the ground, picking up the guitar. He strummed softly, it sounded as if someone was brutally murdering a banjo, but it was soft in a way only Sal could do.

“Let me teach you to play.”

“No. I play fine.”

“Sal if you make me listen to your drunk chimpanzee attack on my guitar again I will literally shit on your floor.”

“Hot.”

Larry sat up from his lounging position, scooting over to sit closer to Sal. He reached down and repositioned the guitar in the other man's lap. “Now put your right hand at the top, left at the bottom.”

“Ok.”

“Now press down with your middle finger, and on this string with your other.”

Sal strummed the guitar after his fingers found their way to the right position, it sounded nice, Sal sighed a defeated sigh. “Fine, teach me.”

“I’m gonna gym teacher you.”

“Excuse me?”

“Sit in my lap.”

Sal stared at Larry for a moment, in total silence. The rain kept trickling down, licking the windows in long laps. Sal sighed again, he got up and scooted to a position with Larry’s legs around him. Sal has confined himself to this moment of defeat. Once he was sitting the room remained quiet, Larry’s chest was pressed against Sal’s back so close he could feel the deep indent in Larry’s chest. 

Larry rested his head on Sal’s shoulder so he could see the guitar strings. He took a moment to smell Sal’s hair, the aroma of sweat and strawberry shampoo. Larry picked up Sal’s hand and began pressing his fingers against different chords. This carried on for a second, or moments, for centuries or millennia. Long enough for Sal to shake away Larry’s hand and begin pressing the chords on his own. Listening to the choppy strumming Sal was producing, Larry reached over and opened one of the beers. He chugged it quick, escaping the idea that it was probably time to scoot away from Sal and let him explore the guitar. 

Larry sighed, beginning to push away from Sal. “Stop.”

Larry looked over Sal’s shoulder, trying to make eye contact. 

“Just,” Sal paused, “Keep showing me.”

Larry swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat, and suddenly the dreary rain filled apartment felt hot. “Ok.”

Sal reached over Larry’s thigh and grabbed one of the beers, popping it open and chugging it like his life depended on it. The two sat in awkward silence for a moment before returning to the guitar. 

Sal kept moving, shifting in his sitting position. 

“Are you okay?”

Sal turned his head to look at Larry, his eyes were piercing and serious. After a few moments he looked away, grabbed another beer, and treated it like a glass of apple juice. 

“Teach me on the bed.”

“What?”

“Teach. Me. On. The. Bed.”

“Hot.”

“If you talk again I will kill you.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Larry smiled and pushed himself off the floor, each of his joint cracking on the way up. Sal stayed sitting for a moment while Larry got comfortable on the bed. Larry wasn’t sure why, but he wanted to be drunker. “Can we drink something else?” Larry asked, rolling his head to look at Sal. 

Sal reached under his bed and revealed what appeared to be gasoline in a plastic water bottle. “It’s like six different alcohols… whiskey, rum, whatever I could find.”

Larry smiled, “Damn.”

Sal got on the bed and gave him the water bottle, “I have two, we can drink this one all if you want.” 

This caught Larry off guard, typically his blue haired counterpart was more certain. Offering an option was different than the typical conversation styles. The two drank, leaving the guitar on the floor. The boys laughed at the noises from different apartments and they way they echoed through the floors. They guessed who was talking, even guessing people that weren’t there anymore. 

Sal got quiet, his skin was prickled with goose bumps but he had never felt more warm. 

“You’ll catch a cold baby blue.”

“What did you just call me?”

“Baby blue.” Larry smiled and winked.

“Do it again.”

“Okay,” Larry suddently couldn’t make eye contact anymore, “Baby blue.”

“Look at me.”

Larry was getting frustrated and he wasn't sure why, as if he was caught in a lie.

“Baby blue.”

Sal sat there, he did nothing, just sat. Larry’s ears began to heat up, something was caught in his throat.

“Why do you want me to call you that.”

“No one calls me that.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No.”

Sal reached down and took another swig from the water bottle. He leaned over and got close to Larry’s face. 

“When do you call me that?”

“Just leave it alone Sal, I’m sorry if you're mad.”

“I’m not, I just know a secret.”

“Oh?” Larry’s voice cracked, there was no playing cool when Sal’s blue eyes pierced into his brown ones. Dirt and mud mixing but this was like a mudslide. 

“I’ve heard you.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’ve heard you, singing, you wrote a song and you say baby blue.”

“It’s a colour.”

“Yeah. It’s a colour. But you called me that.”

Larry reached over and grabbed the water bottle, taking a deep gulp. “And?”

Sal leaned over, pressing his forehead against Larrys. Larry could hear his breath, laboured but not the typical difficulty breathing that Larry knows. 

“Touch me.” Sal whispered. 

Larry couldn’t move, suddenly forgetting how his hands worked. Nothing made sense right now. Larry jerked away, “Woah.”

Sal sat back quickly. “Im drunk.”

The pit in Larry’s stomach felt deeper than the marianas trench. 

“No.”

Sal squinted his eyes, “What?”

“No.”

Larry leaned back over, his hands on either side of Sal’s thighs. He used one hand to yank on Sal’s piggy tail, “I can touch you.”

Larry has in fact, zero idea what he was doing, but he liked it whatever it was. Sal shook his head, moving Larry’s hand away. He didn’t let go, he grabbed tighter and pressed Larry’s palm against the straps on his mask.

Larry knew what was happening, and it was happening faster by the second. Warp speed ahead. He unclipped the mask, it fell onto Sal’s lap. Before Sal could say something bossy Larry had his lips on Sal’s. It was rough, tactless and very boosey. Larry smiled into the kiss, this is exactly what he wanted as his first kiss. 

Sal didn’t do much, as if by magic he no longer had instructions for Larry. This was uncharted territory and Sal was lost and going through the motions. 

Larry pulled away, “I’m so sorry.” Larry’s stomach felt like it was going to turn, worried that he had fallen for a joke and taken it too far. “I’m just drunk.”

Sal’s blue eye appeared to be watering, something Larry had never seen. 

“Sorry for what.”

“Kissing you, you were joking right? I went too far. I shouldn't have don-” Larry was cut off mid pitiful apology by Sal’s finger. 

“Don’t apologize.” Sal’s finger began to trail down Larry’s chin, brushing against the stubble developing. He carried down Larry’s neck and to his chest, drawing circles on his descent. The room was quiet, Larry was holding in his breath in anticipation on how far Sal was going to go. Sal paused above the belt, and Larry watched the way Sal’s breath was hitching too. 

“I thought I was supposed to touch you.” Larry laughed, grabbing Sal’s arm tightly. His courage was coming back, and he was ready to be a present player in this mixed up game of repression and graveyard alcohol. Larry grabbed Sal’s other arm too and pushed him against the bed. 

Sal’s brain was mush, “Hit me.”

“Excuse me?”

“Slap me or something.”

Larry began laughing, “Why?”

“Need to feel real.”

Larry leaned down, squeezing Sal’s arms tightly and pressed a kiss into his forehead. “Make me.”

Sal squinted, establishing control through eye contact. Sal began to squirm, his back arching to make contact with Larry. He began to moan, never stopping eye contact with Larry.

Larry couldn’t breathe, everything he had read in the porno rag he found in the woods did not compare to this moment. 

“Okay, Baby Blue, okay.”

Larry leaned back, still straddling Sal, and slapped him across the face. Sal moaned, arching further. “Okay?” Larry asked.

“Okay.” Sal whined. 

Larry leaned down and kissed Sal again, biting his lower lip to get inside. As their mouths moved together Larry began to get lost. Almost forgetting where he was, almost. 

“I want you to kill me.” Sal sighed.

“Excuse me?” Larry laughed.

“I want you to choke me to death, hide my body in the tree house, and fuck it until I rot.”

“Sal.” Larry paused, “You’re kind of fucked up.”

“Yes.”

“I promise, but not today.”

“Promise.”

Larry gave Sal a look, “Say not today.”

Sal stole a quick kiss, “Not today.”

“Good boy, you follow direction too.”

Larry rolled off of Sal, laying beside him. 

“Am I your boyfriend?” Larry asked nervously, his body still felt like fire. 

“Why?”

“Because we kissed, and I promised to hide and fuck your corpse.”

“Ok.”

“Okay? You’re my boyfriend?”

“Sure.”

“Will your corpse also be my boyfriend?”

“Shut up or I’ll kill you.”

[bigskydreaming]

How did you come up w/ the worldbuilding of By Lost Ways? Cause going by chapter 1 and your posts on the deck, it's fascinating and super well thought out!

LOL thanks! And yes I will be getting back to that now that I can like....actually enjoy feedback/comments from stuff I post instead of just posting and two seconds later be in crisis mode and completely forgetting I even just did that lol.

But in answer to your question, you know how there are novels like Fifty Shades of Grey and City of Bones that are basically fanfic with the serial numbers filed off, as some people call that? This is basically just the exact opposite. It was an original novel that was part of a bigger shared fantasy universe of mine called the Citadel, that I ended up not doing anything with because it had too many (superficial) similarities to another novel of mine, even though the latter was a sci-fi project. They actually werent that similar, just used a lot of the same aesthetics and tropes, like both had airships, etc, it was one of those things where they just FELT too similar when writing them, and that was causing complications in doing anything further with them so I decided to just let one go, and it happened to be the fantasy one, since I had a bunch of other projects in that same universe that I could shepherd various characters and elements over into.

But one thing I couldn’t ever really relocate was the idea of the Regents’ Deck, which was always a fave concept of mine, and then awhile back it occurred to me that the Batfam was actually really really easy to structure into the already existing framework of the Regents’ Deck and the overall world I’d built around it, and so I was like hey, Im not doing anything else with it, why not just make it a Batfam fanfic. So the story that resulted was a new thing, its not like I just swapped the names around, the plot of Hypotheticals of Being just didn’t work for a Batfam fic, at least not in any way that really engaged me, but it kinda just.....it was almost more like writing a crossover fusion of two fandoms, just one of them happened to be wholly of my own making, lolol. But basically like, the actual fanfic was just sorta like me writing another story in this same setting/lore that I’d already written one novel in, just with the Batfam characters instead.

As for the worldbuilding itself, in the initial form, like, worldbuilding is literally my favorite thing in the world lol, and also I happen to view as probably my biggest strength as a writer, so if there’s interest, I’d be down to do a post walking through kinda my whole ‘process’ there or whatever. Since I do have a certain approach I apply to pretty much everything I write, from fanfic to original projects, its just so ingrained its hard to kinda break it down into clear steps. But give me three things to use as a start point, and I’d be happy to kinda like, do a post ‘showing my work’ as I worldbuild around them.

The three things thing is kinda key for me, as I dont know entirely where it comes from or why I started doing it, I just noticed somewhere along the line that every fully formed project or world I create that I’m actually happy with, like....can always be traced back to three initial ideas I threw together. I’m not exactly sure why three is the magic number for me, it just kinda is.

For example, the world and initial story for this one grew out of these three seeds: Mother Sky, a Tarot Deck, and airships. Those were the three elements that popped into my head as wanting to do something with, and that I combined to come up with this world. (Mother Sky being like.....so I was thinking about all the various takes we have on Mother Earth, and I was wondering what would a world look like that viewed the Sky in the same way, like potentially if it was a fantasy sky-set civilization instead of land-bound).

So the basics of the world all grew out of just those three ideas, and then it was easy enough to flesh out by leaning on a lot of already existing worldbuilding for my broader Citadel mythology, to create the exact specifics of the plot/conflict. Not really relevant to the fanfic version now, as the focus on that stuff is most of what was cut when adapting it to Batfam, since I still have lots of Citadel stuff not related to this one particular project.

Like the basic idea behind the Citadel is that in this fantasy universe, the universe itself has a kind of rudimentary sentience, that constantly seeks out a kind of partner or symbiosis with sentient beings to kinda...drive its power. Like, its aware enough to know that it wants to grow and change and evolve, but relies on the imagination and creativity of sentient beings to do that. So it centralizes its powers of creation in a form that appears to most sentient beings as a kind of fortress or citadel, a seat of power, and anyone who enters it and assumes control over it, in effect becomes god. Able to reshape the universe and create anew according to their whims. And sometimes there’s just one person who stumbles across the Citadel, sometimes a pair or a trio, sometimes a full pantheon, with various individuals assuming sovereignty over set Rooms within the Citadel, and the forces those Rooms command (like gaining the Armory makes one a god of war, the Library a god of knowledge, etc, etc). 

But for all their power, the various residents of the Citadel rarely ever glean on to the fact that the Citadel is kinda ‘alive’ in and of itself, and the true power behind all the power they wield. And the one thing the Citadel detests is stagnancy. So whenever a god or gods or pantheon becomes complacent, stops USING the power of the Citadel as a force for change, stop driving the engines of creation to beget something new and instead just become content to kinda enjoy what they’ve made or reshaped things INTO.....that’s when the Citadel basically takes back its power and reappears as a temptation on the horizon for new seekers to find and ascend to godhood.

Anyway, the point being there’s been an endless cycle of the Citadel changing hands and everything that comes with it, up until what’s basically the beginning of this broader universe.....the ‘last’ residents of the Citadel are a full-fledged pantheon who were so destructive in their attempts to seize more and more control of the Citadel for just themselves or their allies, that they were basically destroying their entire world without any single one of them having control of enough of the Citadel that they could prevent this. Until one of them, Seshan, finally gained control of the Throne Room, the heart of creation, and using its power she basically locked all the other gods in their respective Rooms and broke the entire Citadel into pieces, flinging the others away into the void of uncreation. So for the thousands upon thousands of years since then, the various other gods have been able to create using just the power of their own Rooms, and move between each others’ various worlds, but are denied access to the Throne Room or the world it rests on, the world of their own creation.....and without it, none of them can put the Citadel back together and assume full control of it.

Or, y’know, restart the cycle of creation and destruction. Something the Citadel itself, unbeknowst to any of them, is really not happy about.

So you’ve got some gods who are content with things the way they are and happy being the only god in town in their respective worlds, you have others who are trying to use their worlds to one by one conquer the others’ and thus gain control of their Rooms, trying to gather enough power to kinda just force their way back through the locked doors to the Throne Room, and then you’ve got others who basically have been using eternity to settle old scores and grudges.

The latter happened to be the backstory for the setting for what became By Lost Ways - hence why it wasn’t too hard to pull these particular elements out and shift them to other settings. The original Mother Sky, the creator of this world, is in the Citadel-verse named Eriu, and she’s the supreme nature goddess of earth, sea and sky, being one of the most powerful of the deities with control of three separate Rooms. She used the Aviary to make this particular world, hence its magic being connected to and stemming from feathers, etc. The Dark One, the original Joker of the Regents’ Deck, is Dian, who controls the Pit and the Locked Room, and as such is the God of Temptation and Emptiness, Hunger and Corruption.

(Dian’s machinations back during the Holy Wars basically shattered the mind of Eriu’s lover, Indech, as Dian tried to manipulate him into gaining control of one of the most dangerous Rooms in the Citadel and use him as a proxy without risking himself. It half worked, as Indech gained control of the Room that made him the new God of Chaos, but in the process turned from the somewhat naive, gullible scholar Dian had been counting on him being, to someone just completely detached from anything other than his own interests - which were now fueled by the primal powers of chaos and his new worldview/conviction that nothing he did mattered and thus he could do anything free of consequence. Indech’s as distant and unreachable to Eriu as anyone else, and she’s had a vendetta against Dian ever since....which often takes the form of a merciless nature goddess rampaging through the worlds of Dian’s creation, heedless of the damage she leaves in her wake, as the more millennia pass, the more disassociated the gods become from their own origins. Some have even bought into their own hype and forgotten that they aren’t the only gods out there or even the first).

But anyway, that’s the story of how the worldbuilding for By Lost Ways came to be, lol, though for specifics on like, the actual process as opposed to the big picture stuff, just send me three things and I’ll walk through things from the start to whatever results.

For the record, I want to make clear I’ve been writing stuff in my Citadel ‘verse since I was fifteen, so any similarities to Brandon Sanderson’s shared universe are not incidental, but they’re also not me ripping him off - rather, I’m fairly certain we were both influenced in our worldbuilding/big picture stuff by the same novels when we were growing up. Like, its not that I’m above ripping other people off, its just that I want credit to go where its due. I ripped off Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman and a little Michael Moorcock and some Zelazny. LOLOL.

[fatehbaz]

Im so sorry Im dumb and not understanding the desert post even though I read it a couple times. Could you resay it? Its ok if you don't want to... sorry

Thanks for the question, and please don’t feel like you have apologize to me! Firstly, I appreciate the interaction. But also, this is a really meaningful and interesting subject to discuss. Disclaimer: I’m long-winded, so I’m sorry in advance for the length of this post.I hope I don’t make the point of the quote even more confusing.

So, the title of the post we’re talking about was: ‘Even in contrast to notorious military testing and land degradation from cattle rangeland, depictions of deserts of the American Southwest as “pure, pristine, wild” can also strongly reinforce imperial/colonial/nationalist myths.’

What did it mean? So, a short answer: The author is essentially saying that the regional folklore we have, and how we think about the qualities of local ecosystems and landscapes - even when we mean well, and want to preserve them - can actually be kind of dangerous or racist, by feeding into imperialist or racist justifications for invading and colonizing lands. Even in the seemingly benign scenarios where the US government “sustainably manages lands” for “conservation,” this situation is only possible because the US has taken the land from Indigenous peoples. When well-meaning, “kind of woke,” or “liberal” conservationists want to protect this landscape and they describe the deserts of the American Southwest as “wild” or “wilderness,” this assumption actually helps to feed the idea that the land is devoid of people - erasing Indigenous peoples - and therefore the land is available for US control. So, even if a conservationist or environmental activist says they totally oppose, say, corporations or oil drilling or fracking or something, and this hypothetical conservationist truly wants to protect local ecology, they still might be supporting US imperialism by (accidentally?) feeding the idea that the US “owns” the land.

An example of Southwestern desert folklore that, in a certain way, kind of supports US imperialism: The quasi-mythological depiction of the Southwest’s deserts as a home of “alien crash sites” and “scary organized, criminal, smuggling operations hiding out in the desert” might kind of come across as innocuous folklore, but this lore can be read to imply not only that the desert is “dangerous,” but it can also be read to imply that things might be better if the US government moved-in and established “law and order,” like a “civilizing” force. The “criminals hiding in the desert” trope, in the Southwest, might be used to subtly imply that it is specifically Latin American criminals that should be feared, potentially invoking racism and in turn implying that a stronger US cultural/military presence would pacify the danger. Thinking of the desert as “barren” might be used by colonial advocates to imply that US industries should impose agriculture and irrigation and civilization, y’know? I’m a big fan of regional folklore (which I hope is obvious?), but sometimes folklore can be twisted or co-opted to reinforce dangerous nationalist mythologies.

Folklore can be really fun, but modern US lore about the desert sometimes has problematic implications.

The article as a whole is really interesting (especially if you love deserts!), and it’s mostly about how Americans perceive their own presence in the Southwest by applying fantasies, myths, or folklore to the deserts - including things like aliens, ghosts, military experiments, etc. The article also explores how most of these myths - even when well-meaning - still reinforce colonialism and were an important part of crafting how the United States still colonizes the desert to this day. You can read it here!

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To answer your question with some more detail, specifically referencing the quote I shared, the author is basically saying that there are generally 2 ways that many or most Americans think about the deserts of the Southwest, and both are based on the assumption that deserts are essentially “a wilderness” - a no-man’s land, empty, free for the taking - which erases the history and autonomy of Indigenous peoples who currently live and have lived there for thousands of years.

In the post you asked about, the author was discussing the 2 most popular ways that people in the US think about deserts: (1) The colonial/imperial view sees the desert as “wild and kind of empty” and their interest in the desert, their priority, is making money. This is a perspective enacted by industrialists, entrepreneurs, resource extraction corporations, cattle barons, etc. Since the deserts can’t easily be turned into agricultural land, you should extract mineral/oil wealth where you can and use any of the other empty land for cattle rangeland or military bases, developing it as much as possible given its limitations. And then there’s (2) the more stereotypical “liberal” or environmentalist-y view which also sees the desert as “wild and kind of empty” but their interest in the desert, their priority, is conserving it. But their interest is in conserving the Southwestern deserts for the intrinsic value of keeping plants and animals alive, or the aesthetic value, so that artists and aesthetes can “contemplate the wilderness” or recreationists can hike or go bird-watching, etc.

So the important point made in the quote/post I shared was:

Even though one of these perspectives - the environmentalist approach to “conserving the desert” - means well, it’s application in the US mostly still plays into the mythology of American empire/nationalism by assuming that not only is the desert a “wild” place, but also assuming that the US government has a right to manage the deserts of the Southwest, especially without letting Indigenous peoples lead land management decisions. The myth of the American Southwest’s deserts being utter “wilderness” assumes that there aren’t any local people there that live on and manage the land (erasing Indigenous presence) and therefore the land is available for US-sanctioned conservation management, operates on the assumption that the US “owns” that land. So, by extension, by implying that the US “owns” the desert, conservationist agencies/orgs can and often often do inadvertently play into the more-overt colonial/imperial national mythology.

So instead, the author suggests a third and more “woke” perspective, which is to consider that deserts are not empty and that Indigenous peoples have lived autonomously within that landscape for a long time.

The woke view recognizes the desert for the complex ecological and cultural landscape it is, and recognizes that deserts of the American Southwest aren’t ecologically empty because they host many unique plant and animal communities. This is kind of consistent with how conservationists think of the desert. But in an improvement over the typical American way of thinking about conservation, this woke view also recognizes that deserts of the American Southwest are not culturally empty because Indigenous peoples have lived there for thousands of years.

So, basically, the point was:

Conservation/preservation of the Southwest’s desert is good; respecting the intrinsic value of ecosystems, plants, and animals of the desert is good. But thinking of the desert as a “wild place” is also problematic; we need to acknowledge that Indigenous people have lived there and managed the land for millennia. Also, thinking of the desert as “barren” is problematic because it implies the US can or should impose agriculture or irrigation, disrupting local ecosystems. And thinking of the desert as “chaotic” or “lawless” or “the frontier” can also feed imperialism, since it implies that the US stands in an authoritative position to impose law and order and civilization.

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Thanks again for the question. :)

[plounce]

god ik its a wm au but I would Love to hear more about beauyasha in this au.. also like what has yasha been up to on earth? how does she interact with beau and caleb before molly arrives? 💜🕊

>:)))! i can absolutely do so!!

so in the first two or so seasons before all the heaven/apocalypse stuff, beau and caleb met yasha in an episode. she never SAID she was a valkyrie but that’s what they assumed she was, since she had a lot of viking stuff on her and the accent and she sort of implied that. it’s what made sense at the time, especially because they had no signs that angels are a real thing.

then molly happens, and then when yasha shows back up again they recognize each other and WHAT! YASHA’S AN ANGEL ACTUALLY?? crazy.

basically what happened is that at around 200 bce or so, yasha fell in love. i’m gonna say that zuala was another angel in her garrison, and angels aren’t supposed to fall in love. they’re supposed to be conforming divine warriors who don’t have all the flaws (or strengths, or texture, or spark) that humans do.

zuala was painted as the main culprit in this transgression. rather than making her Fall (les mis voice) as lucifer fell (because by that point they didn’t want to add any more True demons to hell’s side) for punishment, they decide to just obliterate her a la the hellfire in the last scene of the good omens tv show. it isn’t pretty. yasha is made to watch. she screams, and it makes the sun flare.

the rest of the angels are going to have their memories wiped of her - including yasha - but she learns of this in time and breaks through the floor of heaven and plummets to earth. molly helps her escape, but manages to avoid getting caught doing so.

molly was in the same garrison as them, and his memory of zuala was wiped with the rest of them. he remembers yasha, remembers being fond of her, remembers that she left heaven voluntarily and that he helped her, but there’s so many blank spots. they have him move garrisons to the tomb-takers after that, who are very elite and militant, and he becomes a demon-killing expert. it’s meant to drown out all that. and it kind of works; molly remembers more of yasha when he sees her again on earth.

yasha falls and falls and her angel blade slips from her hand as she dematerializes. it plummets and falls deep into some wilderness. a glint streaking down from the shooting star in the sky that night.

what happens next is the thing that happened with anna - yasha has no vessel lined up and she wasn’t given permission to leave, and is swiftly getting her grace cut off by heaven, and her being is transformed into a human baby. she is born, and grows up in a little scandinavian village a little bit strange. her parents tell her how there was a huge shooting star the night she was born, how they think it’s a good omen form the gods, and she has a sense that she’s different - special. she’s strong and naturally gifted with the club and the axe and especially the sword - anything they put in her hands.

when she’s old enough, she’s chosen to go on their clan’s raids. she excels at getting the resources her village needs from the southern peoples. she’s a terror, and everyone knows that she’s blessed from above.

then one year, she gets separated from the raiding party and is making her way through the forest trying to make it back to the coast so she can find their boat. and out of the corner of her eye she sees a strange glint, and something in her pulls her to go to it. it’s a strange sword embedded in the rock, and she puts her hand on it, and pulls –

and memories and power flood into her. memories of zuala, of creation, of molly, of heaven’s gleaming pathways, of zuala, of the first things that crawled on land, of zuala, of the face of god, of zuala, zuala, zuala. smiling, flying, fighting, touching, burning. she screams. her howl echoes through the woods.

her people have been waiting for her back at the boat, because they can’t leave their best warrior behind. when she strides out of the woods, she’s different. she walks different, and has this power radiating from her. she climbs on the boat, tells them to go. she’s almost glowing a little bit. they row away, and yasha spends the entire journey staring up at the sky, out at the horizon.

after that day she’s different. even quieter. everyone assumes she had a holy experience that day, and she doesn’t disagree, because, well. after that day she’s keenly aware of the norse gods’ presences, and doesn’t age. when she realizes that everyone is moving forward towards death without her (humans seem so small now - she loves her human parents, she does, but remembering what the sun looked like in its infancy changes a viking), she leaves, and goes to asgard, and pledges herself to the ranks of valkyries. she’s not nearly as strong as she once was, but she’s strong enough to fit in with her new people, so she finds herself a place there among the aesir.

(side note im keeping my distance from how this world interacts with non-abrahamic religions - thats SO not my business - just know theyve got their own power and their own places that aren’t like. Beneath that of abrahamic god. because iirc spn was terrible about that) (also i say abrahamic bc iirc islam has a lot of angels and demonology in its culture but thats all im gonna say bc again: i am not a theology major, and this au is much more about the surface fun of it all rather than making any statements or assertions about ACTUAL religions (past or present) obviously) (also i’m never gonna mention jesus or the antichrist or whatever)

the angel blade is tied to her grace. her grace still exists up in heaven, locked away in the archives, so the blade still has its source. it also contains her love for zuala and molly and - and all that she loved before she was torn apart - and that fuels it, connects it to her. gives her access to its power. she’s mostly just sort of supernaturally stronger and can take more of a beating than a normal human, and on certain days/times of year she can fly short distances. days that were holy to her. she carves norse runes on her blade, because it’s hers now. she can’t age or die of old age, but she still does have human needs - food, water, sleep. she’s tough, but if she’s unlucky then she can be killed. luckily, she’s very good at fighting.

her wings… they’re not like they once were. being with the valkyries makes humans see them like other valkyries’, but the aesir can see them for what they are - decayed, fragile, skeletal things, with what remaining feathers there are barely hanging on. like her feathers in cr proper.

after ragnarok, when the surviving aesir meet in the fields of asgard, yasha thanks them for their hospitality, and returns to midgard. she wanders for a while, mostly by herself. she helps when she sees people who need her help, but mostly she just keeps herself alive and moving. quiet, contemplative. loving god’s creation even though heaven hurt her deeply. she spends years not speaking to anyone. what happened to the aesir was traumatizing to her, and she’s secure enough that she doesn’t need what they gave her when she was “younger.”

at some point she makes her way to north america. she wanders, builds cabins, and when she stumbles upon the opportunity she watches over what she once watched over. she’s aware of Hunters but is uninterested in them - they’re not hunting for food and while they help widows and the grieving that’s not their Business. not her business.

flash forward to early season 2. we know beau and caleb by this point and the basic premise of the show and the world. on a hunt in montana beau and caleb take shelter in a cabin during a snowstorm, and in the middle of the night the door opens. beau is taking watch and shoves a gun up in the intruder’s face - but it’s just yasha, holding a deer carcass and looking distinctly unimpressed. “you’re in my house.”

beau stutters an apology, caught entirely off guard by the 6′5″ mountain of a woman, and yasha shoulders past her to the table to stoke the fire and clean her kill. it’s her dinner for next month, yasha gruffly explains when beau asks what she’s doing. don’t like supermarkets.

caleb wakes up to beau helping yasha cut away the entrails. he is very frightened and confused, but when beau gives the all-clear he calms down a little. not entirely, because he knows this woman is beau’s type, and they’re still on a hunt.

they explain what they’re up to to yasha, who nods. says she’s noticed things have been strange. and beau helped her, so. she’ll help them. she’s also bored, and has a good feeling about these two.

so she helps out with the hunt, and throughout the episode beau clumsily flirts with her and yasha never turns her down but also never Flirts back. there’s a tension that’s mostly powered by beau but isn’t shut down by yasha (yasha thinks beau’s sweet and attractive, and she’s taken some human lovers over the last two millennia, but is still devoted to the memory of zuala. the audience doesn’t know that thought). she and caleb connect on a We Are Both Quiet Introverts level, like they do in actual cr (reminiscent of the shaving scene after bowlgate).

it isn’t until the end that caleb and beau think she’s anything but a mountain lady. then she pulls out a HUGE GLOWING SWORD carved with RUNES and THERE’S SOMETHING BEHIND HER THAT LOOKS LIKE WINGS? and then she nods, says goodbye, and walks away into the woods before caleb and beau can pepper her with questions about what the fuck just happened.

they run after her, but can’t find her or the cabin again. in the car ride back to civilization, caleb theorizes that she might be a valkyrie, and beau’s like yeah that sounds appropriately sexy.

yasha is a fan favorite. she had a whole focus episode and she was so mysterious and cool! the audience clamors for her to be brought back, and are sad when she doesn’t show up for the rest of season 2. beau and caleb mention her a couple times, so it’s made plain that she isn’t TOTALLY a one-off, but… hm!

beaujester shippers already existed by this point (jester was in season 1 and again in season 2), and beauyasha gains some popularity. beau having attractions to both of them is present in the show, but she isn’t dating either of them. there’s significance to both of them - they’re both people beau thinks of when she thinks of having Somebody.

a lot of fic about yasha is written between seasons 2 and 4, theorizing about her life as a valkyrie and what her and beau meeting up would be like… which is all then jossed when angels happen in season 4.

caleb gets taken to hell at the end of season 3 because of ikithon and for beau. during his last couple days on earth, he begs beau to find jester. or hell, yasha. don’t be alone, please. live and be happy. go get - go get powerlifted by one or both of them. i heard you sleeptalk enough about that. and beau tells him to shut up, don’t talk like that, i’ll - i’ll find a way to bring you back. and then you can see me get gay married or whatever it is you want me to do. because i’m gonna get you out of there. and caleb smiles, and his eyes say we both know you won’t.

there’s a whole genre of fic about jester or yasha (or both) comforting beau and settling into hunting/domesticity with her or helping her rescue caleb after caleb gets dragged away btw. idk why im making up fake fic about this au but you know what. i deserve this.

yasha is sort of put out of mind in the heaven excitement of season 4 and the arrival of molly as a third companion, turning their duo into a trio half the time. the apocalypse stuff isn’t quite happening yet btw (this is where i start diverging from the seasonal structure of spn), it’s just angels being real and caleb and beau being mysteriously important to them.

there is one point where during the beginning of an episode about halfway through the season where they’re regaling molly with a story of one of their hunts - beau is trying to embarrass caleb with a time he got enthralled by a siren, and caleb bats back with well, at least i didn’t let a giant woman with a dead deer push my gun aside so she could skin the thing with no enchantments on me at all. and beau’s like AW CMON DUDE DONT BRING YASH INTO THIS.

then there’s a shot where their bickering dialogue continues but the camera is focused on molly, who tilts his head a little, considering, then takes a sip of his orange juice (he hates coffee - too bitter! if he’s going to consume something to keep up the idea that he’s human, it’ll be something that tastes good!). then it cuts to the car.

it’s intentionally ambiguous if that’s about caleb getting seduced by a siren, beau being embarrassed, or whatever - it’s just an odd little moment. which is significant when they’re up north again, four episodes later, in a little restaurant off the highway, and they’ve just finished their meal and talk about the season plotline is happening when the door SLAMS open, and booted feet stomp across the dirty tile, strong legs in worn jeans, a huge backpack - beau’s eyes widen - and there’s yasha, striding directly to their table with a look of utmost focus and determination.

beau goes to stand, caleb’s brow furrows - yasha, what are you doing here - what’s going on - when, before they can act, molly stands up, causing the table to rock and their cups to slosh over. yashael! he exclaims, his face split in incredulous delight. you’re alive! you survived! you’re okay - it’s been millennia! what are you doing here?! oh, i don’t care, get over here. and he goes to her, and she hugs him, and beau and caleb are standing there, slack-jawed, as stony stoic yasha cracks a wide smile and hugs molly and lifts him off the ground.

did… did mollymauk just say ‘yashael?’ caleb says, stunned. molly is cradling yasha’s face in his hands, and her cheeks are round with joy. beau’s imagination could never have given her this smile, and she’s jealous a little bit, but also in awe, but mostly also trying to process the two puzzle pieces that just locked themselves together that she thought were totally separate from each other.

(relevant posts to their reunion: art, text, text)

from then on yasha is part of their group, at least for that season. there’s a lot of caleb and beau commiserating over their attraction to two LITERAL ANGELS - especially when the truth of yasha’s fall is revealed. beau is torn up inside about all of it - an ANGEL, for the first part, and her dead angel lover (how could beau ever compete with an ANGEL) and, oh christ, molly’s odd humoring of her crush on yasha is cast in a new light now.

and then jester comes back and… well, now beau’s torn between two hot girls who are both important in the grand scheme of things! yipes!

it takes a long time and there’s probably also some romantic drama in that triangle etc, but beauyaster is endgame. because i have a huge fucking brain.