#fire extinguisher kin

[thegnomelord]

this isn’t a request but you’re the only writer i know who writes the monster!au so

dragon!reader and dragon!price are haunting my thoughts. dragons usually have to hold themselves back when sparring because they’re so much stronger than other monsters but with price & reader they don’t need to, to the point where the other members of the 141 are kinda wondering if they need to intervene.

what they do or don’t know is this is you and price courting, testing each other’s strength to assess whether you’re suitable mates. once you have decided you’re suitable it continues in the bedroom, fighting for dominance and testing each other’s stamina as price rides you or you pin price down and see if he can take all the strength behind your thrusts.

OH god I LOVE the way you think! I know @rodolfoparras also did a dragon price some time ago but I'm happy to let my monsterfucker out lol :D I'll consider this a spitball thingy but GOD DAMN did my hyperfixation hyperfixate on this :Ddd kinda rushed at the end but it's 3AM :/

CW:NSFW

What about if dragons measure not just raw strength, but all other aspects as well? They're prideful by nature and with so little of them remaining no self-respecting dragon will settle for a witless brute or a powerless scribe.

Price had lost hope in finding a mate centuries ago because he's even pickier than most of his kin; in his view, a proper one needs to be strong enough to completely pin him down, needs to be smart enough to see the insults in his honeyed words and give back as good as he does, needs to be clever enough to lead men as good as he does.

A proper mate needs to keep up with him on all levels.

And for a dragon of his age, that's an unachievable set of criteria. Oh sure, many of the dragons he's met over the years have tried to match him, but all fell short, leaving him lonely and unsatisfied.

Then he met you, a fellow Captain, a fellow dragon. Though only a few centuries younger than him, you're a wyrmling in his eyes, your scales like shining metal compared to his muddled gemstones. An arrogant wyrmling if the way you peacock for him the first time you enter the training room has anything to say about it— your wings spreading out and muscles rippling, back straightening out to make you taller, scales glinting in the artificial light; little details that anyone else can brush off as a simple stretch but to a dragon it screams of your interest in him.

His slitted eyes roam across your body, both equal parts disdain and curiosity. "Got somethin' ta say there boy?" His words are rough like sandpaper.

"No, no." You hum as you get into the ring, every little movement purposely done to showcase your hard earned musculature. "Just that you should skip out on this fight. Wouldn't want you to throw your back out old man."

"Old man huh?" His eyes blaze with the same fire at the end of his cigar, your words igniting something in his chest that had long been extinguished. "I'll show you old."

And suddenly he's in the ring, both of you trading blow for blow with the same savagery your progenitors had frightened mankind with for millennia, your claws leaving deep grooves in the concrete when you miss his side, his tail smashing a portion of the ground into dust when you avoid it, the ground between you cracking when you try to push the other away, loose scales and dust and debris littering the ground as you and Price wrestle on the ground.

Both of your teams watch from the sidelines, your team calming the other members of TF141 that this is just how dragons are, pointedly ignoring your victorious snarl when you pin Price down to the ground, your clawed hand harshly pushing his face into the concrete to the point you might break his nose as you bite the back of his neck, forcing him to submit. "I win,"

"Not fer long." He snarls back just as deep, feeling alive for the first time in who knows how long. "Best two out of three." And with that he jerks, remaining wing slamming into your side and knocking you off balance long enough for him to fling you into the wall opposite of him.

You don't know how many rounds you go before you're forced to stop by a very pissed off Laswell, who also pointedly ignores the obvious bulges in what remains of both of your pants, giving both of you a stern talking to about wrecking the damn training room.

You're ready to leave after being chastised like a child but Price is quicker, passing you with a "Good fight back there." rumbling in his throat, the soft scales of his wing brushing along your jaw. Your eyes nearly pop out of your skull when you meet his gaze, and Price has a good poker face but the smoldering look in his eyes and the low grumble in his chest makes it's obvious you've peaked his curiosity.

But that's just the start, the hard part is keeping it. While regular dragons may spend time with a potential mate conversing on scholarly subjects or having philosophical debates, you and him have a more practical way of assessing the other's intellect — Battle plans.

To your teams it sounds like a harsh argument, ideas thrown around and sharp insults tacked on top, their heads ping ponging between you and Price as you look over maps, trying to one up the other. Eventually your teammates leave you to settle this on your own.

"And I'm telling you, old man," You growl, both of you so close there's barely any space between you as you point at the map. "We can push a smaller team through the forest while we lead the frontal assault, our wip's not going to have anywhere to go then." You huff, holding your head up high to make it obvious you're proud of your idea.

Price gives you the stink eye, before he scans the map again, humming to himself. After a few seconds he lets out a scoff. "We don't have enough men for that." He says, but the sharp edge in his tone is dulled. "But—" His tail moves to brush against your own, your rough scales brushing against his smoother ones. "—It has some merit."

Price doesn't draw attention to the way your tails intertwine, wrapping together like two snakes, and neither do you. But the short purr that bubbles out of your chest says everything he needs to know, growing louder when he answers with his own, your shoulders brushing together. "Aight, back to work." He cuts your purrs short, but you can't hide the pleased look on your face as your tails remain coiled together.

Then comes the actual courting dance.

One late evening spent looking over documents in the privacy of his office, your tails once again coiled beneath the desk after successfully having proved your wit to him again, absentmindedly telling embarrassing stories of your respective teams. . . Price has a revelation. You might be it. "Hey lad."

You look up, your full attention on him. "Yeah?"

With a mumbled grunt too quiet for you to hear Price slides a hand beneath his shirt and pulls a large green scale from the meat of his shoulder blade, the wound healing before it can even bleed.

Instinctively you know what this means, for knowing how a prospective mate treats an extension of you will show how they'll treat you. But you still speak up, needing proof for your own mind that you're not insane and haven't been burning the wrong tree. "What?"

Price glares at you, "Don't play dumb," He says as he slides the large scale across the table to you. "It doesn't suit you." There's an underlayer of heat in his words, blue slitted eyes looking you over in a much more appreciative light.

You can't control the big grin that spreads across your face, "Oh, then what does suit me?" You ask as you follow his lead, yanking out one of your larger scales from your own back and sliding it to him. It makes the difference between you two obvious, his green scale muddled with age compared to your shiny one.

"Arrogant muppet." The gentle way he picks up your scale clashes with his harsh words, cradling it in his hand like it'll crack at the slightest of touches, his face reflected in the surface.

You grin, "Just confident." You feel his sharp eyes judge every minute twitch of your fingers as you pick up his scale. Price's poker face hides the way his heart melts at the loving way you brush a thumb across the surface, how it throbs when you don't immediately attempt to make it shine like some whelps once did, accepting him for how he is by putting it in your breast pocket.

God, he doesn't even know how much he'd fantasized about something like this when he was still young, vestiges of a purr escaping his throat at the tender way you treat his scale. "Right." He shakes his head and places your scale in his own breast pocket, handing you another stack of papers. "Get back to work."

You grin and do as he says, wings twitching as a sign of joy, your tail squeezing down on his and receiving a squeeze in kind.

Price feels like a horny teen when he lays awake in bed late at night with your scale held between his claws. He feels stupid for feeling so giddy at the thought of having a mate, a proper mate, yet his body thinks differently. Just holding it in his hand is enough to make him grow hot, your scent still clings to the scale and Price finds himself holding it close to his nose to familiarize himself with it and Hell his body loves it, cocks growing hard in record time and his thighs wet with slick. The poor thing doesn't even know what to relieve first, his free hand constantly going between stroking his cocks and fingering himself, mind craving the heat of another dragon that he'd been deprived of.

What Price doesn't know is that you're in the same boat, biting your arm to silence yourself as you imagine it's Price you're breeding instead of a pillow, splintering the headboard from how hard you're gripping it in an attempt to not damage the scale.

Then shit hits the fan when during a routine mission you two are ambushed, and while two dragons are no easy prey for mankind, humans have long since gone from using rocks and sticks. You catch sight of a sniper's scope glint seconds before the bullet targets Price, and in only a few seconds to think you throw yourself in the way, Price's scale in your breast pocket puts enough resistance to make you survive the bullet, but you feel it crack, and that. . . that sets you off.

Price doesn't even have the time to lift his gun before you're tearing through the battlefield like a man possessed, anger burning like a volcano in your chest for trying to hurt him, elemental breath and draconic strength unleashed to it's fullest potential.

And Price? Price watches the show with that same heat burning in his belly, forced to bite his lip to silence the pleased purrs as he rubs his thighs together while you tear flesh from bone, mate flashing in his mind. Look how he protects you His mind purrs, Good mate. Perfect mate.

"I'm sorry." You whimper when you've finally calmed down, the battlefield nothing but a ruined crater and the shards of his scale held tenderly in your cupped hands. "I failed, I-"

"Come here." Price cuts you off quickly and pulls you down into a harsh and desperate kiss, all teeth and tongue and need. He parts just a fraction of an inch, "You passed." He growls and only then do you notice the sharp arousal in his scent, your animalistic hindbrain jumping for joy as you kiss back because holy shit he considers you worthy.

And now that he's found his mate? You best believe his body is going to make up for all the centuries he'd spent alone.

It doesn't even take a week for him to enter heat, waking in a daze with his twin cocks hard and his thighs glistening with slick, your scent lingering in the sheets and your side of the bed still warm. The walls almost shake from how deeply he growls when he registers that you're not next to him, just enough sense in his head to throw on a towel around his waist before angerly stomping through the halls to find you, sniffing you out like a bloodhoud.

"Bloody muppet." Price growls as he yanks you by the horns back to his room, the scent of his arousal so potent you're struck dumb, letting yourself be pushed down. Price's claws slice through your clothes, his hole so slick and eager for you he doesn't even need to stretch, just jumps onto your lap and in one fluid motion takes one of your cocks to the root. "Fuckin' finally." Price hisses, instantly setting a harsh pace of bouncing on your cock that would have had a lesser race end up with a crushed pelvis.

You grip his hips for dear life, surging up to mark his neck and shoulders with bites as he does the same, his ass clapping against your thighs. "Mate." Price moans, hole clenching around you, his cocks leaking against your stomach. "My mate." He grips your hair and pulls you into a bruising kiss, "Going to last long for me yeah?" He asks, a bit of mockery on his flushed face as he feels you cum inside him, riding you through your orgasm as the sudden onslaught of sensations frazzles the intelligent parts of your brain. "Not going to disappoint me now are you?"

Good thing dragons have really short refractory periods.

"Not a chance." You snarl and flip him over suddenly, rumbling purrs escaping your chest from the surprised sound he makes. You attempt to pin him down and he squirms out of your hold, another bout of wrestling breaking out between you that has you two tumbling off the bed and onto the ground.

"That so whelp?" Price breathes out when you manage to pin him down, your strong hand keeping his face flush with the floor. "Do you really think you can keep up?" A pleased thrill runs down his spine from the sensation of your weight bearing down on him, his knees automatically locking up to hike his ass up, tail flipping up to display his slick hole for you.

"Do you?" You counter, one hand on his head, the other pressing both of your dicks together, your two tips pressing against his ass. "You're so wet and desperate, should have just pinned you down the moment I saw you instead of courting you." With one sharp thrust you push in, a pained and elated moan tearing out of his throat at the sensation of your twin cocks spreading him wider than any toy ever could, scratching that itch he'd had for who knows how long.

The stretch and burn and pleasure muddles his mind, reduces him to low animalistic snarls and growls as he does his best to push his hips into yours. "Hurry the fuck up." Price orders, whole body shaking from the way you set a harsh pace, bashing on his prostate, your balls slapping against his own, each hard thrust pushing and pulling his face across the floor. "I'll- fuck- fall asleep."

"You sure about that?" You push your weight further on him, forcing his wing to spread out, your own partially wrapping around him, "Seems to me like-" A bit of elemental breath leaves your throat when one particularly strong thrust has his hole clamping down on you, his back arching to push his hips as close to yours as one of his cocks spews cum on the floor, "-like you're not in a place to order me around."

"You- ah-fuck-ah- wanker." His insult would be a lot more hurtful if he didn't whine like a bitch in heat, both of you devolving into primitive snarls and growls with the only thought on both of your minds being the need to fill Price with as much of your cum as you physically can.

[fragileheartbeats]

idea: What do you think about a prophecy like Aegon's prophecy for your own house?

Rhaevar I was on his deathbed staring at the ceiling with tear filled eyes. He stretched out his trembling hands towards the mirror and whispered with his eyes wide open, shining like starlight:

Listen, for the winds whisper secrets of impending doom, a tale of one hundred and ten thousand and then ten thousand more, seeds of wrath sown by the hands of malice.

Behold, those vile progeny, borne of darkness and scorn, shall descend upon my realm, bearing flags of oppression and robes blackened by the sun's cruel gaze. Their lineage obscured, their origins shrouded in the mists of deceit, they shall come with sorcery and false promises, intent on sundering the lands I, Rhaevar, have nurtured.

They defile and pollute, leaving homes and fields in ruins, transforming once vibrant lands into desolate wastelands. Joy and reverence dissipate, faith and covenant shattered, as the wicked lineage rises to power, tearing asunder the fabric of righteousness that I have woven into existence.

Cities shall crumble, wells run dry, scholars fall to ash, and the flames of knowledge shall be extinguished by their unholy touch. They shall defile the sanctity of home and hearth, turning verdant fields to desolate wastes, and my sacred flame shall be snuffed out, leaving naught but ashes in its wake.

In their wake, a wasteland shall bloom, where once grand villages stood, now naught but bones and dust remain. Joy shall flee from the hearts of children, and reverence for the elderly shall wither like leaves in autumn's chill. Their words shall ring hollow, their deeds black as the night, for they are faithless, betrayers of the Creator's covenant.

When this world approaches its end and the time of their birth is near, the days, months, and years will grow shorter, and the day and night will alternate and the sun will become more straight and hidden, they will invite the dead, and spread the dead.

In the darkest hour, they shall rise to power, pitting kin against kin in a ceaseless cycle of strife. They shall spurn righteousness and embrace wickedness, honoring their own lineage while casting mine as lowly. Birds shall be revered more than my kin, and the faithful shall be branded as heretics in their twisted creed.

And they will commit many sins, such as slavery and intimacy with unfaithful women, and they will make it common, and they will engage in idolatry and commit many vile acts.

When storms and violent winds come at their time, the rain will not fall as it should, except that it will bring pollution to the land and bring evil creatures with it. the rivers and streams will dry up, and it will not bring an increase, except that it will bring destruction with it. and the cattle, sheep, and goats will bear less and what they bear will be smaller and less skilled, and they will carry less weight and have less fur and tighter skin, and they will not yield milk, and their fat will decrease.

and the celebrations and customs of the past will change and the customs they follow will be weak and without belief.

when the time comes and their destruction is at hand, the mouth of Himelios will open and release all that they have hidden in their hearts of iron, silver, gold, copper, and jewels, the rule of this land will fall into the hands of evil and even the righteous rulers will follow the ways of those with evil deeds, and the kingship shall pass from them into the hands of bandits and rebels, and, the kingship of these evil ones shall spread, and if they kill a righteous in their stead, it will be as if killing a fly in their eyes.

And when the time comes for their destruction, these evil ones will be destroyed like a tree shedding its leaves on a cold winter night, and their destruction will be complete.

for in the hour of reckoning, the heavens shall weep tears of fire, and the earth shall open to swallow the wicked whole. The rule of kings shall crumble, and even dragons will fly away. Yet from the ashes, a child shall rise, born of my blood, destined to bring hope to a world shrouded in darkness.

his father will be of the fire lineage, and he will seek the help of winter in north, this child will come into the world when he reaches nine and will have a conversation with me. in that night, a sign will appear in the world. the stars will rain down and a new star will appear in the sky, visible to all.

And in that night, his father will die, and he will be raised by noble women.

many young people from my land will return to the ways of their ancestors and many will be killed and lost for this crime.

When Mars reaches its zenith and Venus falls, armies shall gather to claim the promised one's birthright. this promised savior shall emerge, heralding the final battle where the Shivering Sea shall run red with the blood of the righteous and the wicked alike.

And then a tear fell from his eye and he closed his eyes to the world forever.

House Celestyr tag list: @emily2003alzaga @nash-dara @altaircc @heavenly1927 @omgsuperstarg @asoiafhyperfixation

[edenmemes]

the northman (2022) starters

❝ your kingdom will not last. ❞     ❝ my fate did not ready me for finding you. ❞     ❝ your strength breaks men’s bones. i have the cunning to break their minds. ❞ ❝ i thought i must always shield my heart in stone. ❞     ❝ were you lost? ❞     ❝ in the end, you’re just like your father. ❞ ❝ even now, you believe the fairy tale i told you is true? ❞ ❝ you are still a beast cloaked in man-flesh. ❞ ❝ why would you come to such a hellish place? ❞ ❝ live always without fear, for your fate is set and you cannot escape it. ❞     ❝ should i fall by the enemy’s sword, you must avenge me. ❞     ❝ i must die for the sword. i will die in honor. ❞   ❝ this ground harbors evil. ❞ ❝ hate is all i have ever known. but i wish to be free of it. ❞ ❝ my hour of grief has passed. ❞ ❝ whatever you hear, you must stay hidden. ❞ ❝ my heart knows only revenge. ❞ ❝ i knew then you had a heart of cold iron. ❞        ❝ if you lose me, will you come and look for me? will you? ❞ ❝ never enter my chambers without invitation! ❞     ❝ i have never felt close to another person. not since i was a child. ❞ ❝ could it not be that fate has spun another thread for you to follow? ❞ ❝ wherever i go, i must take you with me. ❞   ❝ you came back for me. ❞ ❝ i cannot truly believe you have extinguished your fire for vengeance. ❞ ❝ your sheep’s clothing does not disguise you. ❞ ❝ this is the last tear you will shed in weakness. ❞     ❝ you sacrificed yourself so that i could flee. ❞   ❝ hide your cunning. show the shepherd you are a sheep. ❞    ❝ you must choose between kindness for your kin, and hatred for your enemies. ❞ ❝ you found me. ❞   ❝ i will tear out their eyes, and i will tear out their tongues. ❞      ❝ look me in the eye. ❞ ❝ i will become a hailstorm of iron and steel. ❞ ❝ you know why i have come. ❞ ❝ come morning, they will hunt for me. ❞ ❝ did you find it? what you lost. ❞ ❝ you best find yourself some sleep. ❞ ❝ if you’re as untrustworthy as a wolf, i swear i’ll put you down myself. ❞ ❝ like a battle-dog returning to its master,     i’ve come to be fettered by your fair locks. ❞     ❝ ever are we bound. ❞     ❝ i will have my vengeance. and more. ❞ ❝ your mind reeks of your father. ❞ ❝ your words are poison. ❞ ❝ do as you’re told. go. ❞ ❝ please, it’s but a jest. a jest. ❞     ❝ you keep a foul tongue, yet i keep you as a deep-sworn friend. ❞     ❝ i refuse to die in sickness nor live the long life of a shameful graybeard. ❞   ❝ be not afraid. do as i do. ❞       ❝ together we will rage in the battlefield of corpses. ❞       ❝ my fate has brought me here. ❞   ❝ for now, i will haunt this place like a hungry corpse returned from the grave. ❞ ❝ can you fight? ❞ ❝ whatever happens tomorrow, be ready to run. ❞ ❝ this is not the work of my god. ❞ ❝ i should kill you and all that is dear to you. ❞

[littlegingermochipie]

zukaang | rajamandala | राजमण्डल | 羅闍曼荼羅 devdas, chigo, lengger lanang and layla-majnun inspired tale

the day zukō was born, agni bestowed him with a single eternal flame, everlastingly alight inside the gentur lamp which he would carry along with him everywhere he went. no one could extinguish and light it back at will except the one who’s destined to guide his fate, as prophesied at naloni mitoni.

after his genpuku as the successor of ōzai tennō, zukō accompanied azhura in attending durga puja and seren taun, hosted by baginda bhumi at the central port of canggu. the siblings then reunited with maiko and tài linh, who became patrons of entertainment in northern manjung.

their seventh generation of tawaifs featured the esteemed amrapali, whose swara and abhinaya effortlessly enamored kaldera royals. as she danced, not only did she take everyone's breath away, but also the life of every kindled flame in the room. then, when she lit them back with gentle sway of her hands, zukō knew that she's the one.

realizing that his son had set his eyes on a mere yìjì, ōzai warned the prince that he might be deceived by outlanders witchery, but zukō insisted that he trusted agni's sacred will. he continued to chase the tawaif in unquenchable desire to know about her more, unaware that the fate he would thread on was to become a madman, lost in utterly blind love which turned into the purest form of devotion.

because amrapali was, in fact, not merely a dancer and disciple of buddha. she was bodhisattva kannon in her avatar form－a man named āng, awakened in rana pota lake as the only living sky dweller. his kin were mercilessly wiped from existence milennium ago by zukō's ancestor, souzan tenshi, who begun the conquest of rajamandala.

āng's crimson henna, drawn by performers of tide drifters; adinda katara and kakanda saka, covered his distinguished irezumi, while his voice was trained to move even the most hardened heart by paduka běifāng and a hia haru, the stone wielders. together with his beloved shrivijayans, the avatar would liberate the victims of war under ōzai's tyrant rule.

however, it was out of āng's prior knowledge that he would possess karmic ties with the very son of his own enemy through vortex of conflicted, mortal feelings. willingly bestow thousands of blessings to zukō's thousands of prayers, he would, but even as the emanation of god, āng still could not simply pull the strings of fate as he selfishly pleased.

by the will of sang hyang widhi, āng was destined to succeed in ending the misdeeds of fire breather’s forefathers, but at the cost of his heart falling forever in unfulfilled love. for he knew, that even though zuko took the role of mirabai to krishna, their wish to be united would be granted only in death like that of layla and majnun.

for @zukaangweek third day prompt: sacred/possesive

[commander-krios]

Plssss can I get besotted for the wip tag game it’s one of my favorite words ever

I haven't worked on this one in a while, but it takes place immediately after Act 2, while Rolan and his siblings are travelling the rest of the way to BG. Rolan starts to think about his complicated feelings for Juniper, my Tav, and starts to realize he actually likes her.

Rain fell in sheets outside of his tent, the fire in the center of camp long extinguished. He shivered against the chill, the pat-pat-pat of the drops against the canvas more annoying than comforting. With an irritated sigh, he turned onto his side, eyes focusing at the small tear in the side of the tent, wondering when the hells that happened. He focused on the fraying threads, trying to bore himself into sleep finally, but there was too much on his mind since he and his siblings left the Shadow-Cursed Lands. Since he met her. His initial reaction to the tiefling that swept in to rid the Grove of goblins, the woman who put wild thoughts of heroics into Lia and Cal’s heads, was utter disdain. How dare she lecture him on kin when she had no one? None except a pair of vagabonds who clearly didn’t regard saving the caravan as a good use of their time as much as she did. But without her, Lia and Cal would be very much dead. Perhaps he’d be too. That wasn’t even the beginning of his complicated feelings for Juniper.

[mageathenaeum-hl]

Vena Amoris

A dedication to the character of Cassian Peverell, an OC created by the lovely and talented @rypnami

A child of passionless sorrow,  A seedling of void. 

I roam this Earth  Alone and cold. 

Offered not a thing in life,  Wanted not once.  Before I depart, clad in strife  Not mine to bear, but endured in endless months,  Sing for me, Oh nymphs!, of pain,  Sing for me of sorrow and futile gain. 

For salvation  I shall beg no deity or saint. 

For starvation  I shall bear no burden, great or faint. 

Wherefore does the maiden – Who before my eyes two constantly chassés,  As if she wants my conscience to awaken  – Plague and persecute me so? 

She is, surely!, a plain veela,  A daughter of fire and night.  A kiss she hopes to steal,  As if it were her right. 

And what right! What birthright!  As if such things a son decides on!  As if being born alone enough is  Of a hill he is to die on! 

Loveless child, pray tell,  Why the absence of kin causes one’s heart so in ardent fire to swell?  Why one’s mind and thoughts constantly dwell  On words which never spoken to them may be, very well? 

Leave me maiden –  Leave me be!  In me find you will not anything  Which your heart’s delight alight can maintain. 

Within me discovered can be  Only long extinguished ember,  Only quiet silver ash and no gilded amber  Which a joyous mind intrigues. 

Darkened emerald, frigid waters deep,  Whirlwinds, snow, and clear ice steep –  That is my home.  A bog of calm anxiety! 

A place that is not you belong to,  And so follow me there not. 

As I am sent away,  Both groomed and abandoned. 

As I am sent astray,  In this vast bleakness forever to wander. 

Bite into this flesh of mine,  Just like the cold winter.  Leave a trace of a promise hollow –  An imprint of teeth in place of a ring to linger. 

A serpent coiled around my finger –  Vena Amoris.  An obligation, a vow  Carried over in my blood, straight through my soul to plow. 

Into eternity.

[sapphicdesiress]

Elf and human. Elves live forever and humans don't so you have that aspect where one will grow old and die and the other won't but the choose to enjoy what time they have with eachother. It could be the first time in centuries the elf has felt alive and learns to live from her human lover, so yes their time is limited but it's good while it lasts. Even centuries later the elf remembers her and keeps something of hers to remember her and to remember to truly live

“She was my greatest love,” the elf said, her voice as soft as fresh snow. “And my briefest.” 

The young woman beside her offered a shallow nod. She granted the elf the small mercy of not looking at the grief that echoed behind the soft glow of her eyes. Instead, she leaned forward, stoking the fire. 

“We met when I had long since lost the wonder that all mortal creatures possess. Their lives are but a breath in my memories, but she,” the elf let out a soft sigh, “she had a way of looking at the world that made it feel new again. She wasn’t overly optimistic. Quite the opposite, actually. That woman had a tongue meant for lashings.” The barest of smiles crossed over her thin lips. “Never have I met anyone as fierce or witty as her. She knew how to break down every barrier I’d constructed around myself until she could see me at my core. You can imagine how unnerving that was for me. 

“She was so strong. So independent. I convinced myself she wasn’t like the fragile humans I knew.” The smile on her lips faded. “I was wrong.” The soft iridescent hues of her gaze passed over to the woman beside her—the woman who bore her lover’s face. “They took her from me before it was her time and I have been trying to bring her back for centuries.”

The woman who had a voice that belonged to her dearest love shook her head. “I’m not her.”

“No.” The elf let her gaze drift to the fire. “I perfected her form in every way, but her spirit is beyond my reach. For her body to survive, it must host an entity.” “So you chose me?” 

“In a way, yes. In another, it was you who accepted my summoning.” She crossed one leg over the other and gently rubbed along the soreness residing in her forearm. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you did. When I reach her spirit, I will make you another form. Should you wish to have one.��

The woman frowned and twisted to face her. “And if we never do?” 

Silence fell between them. The elf only stared into the flames—flames akin to the ones that had writhed up her lover’s body, consuming her for a sin she’d never committed. Those who had caused her dearest’s death had met a similar fate, as did their kin. One by one, she’d hunted them down. Some were allowed to reproduce like vermin before their lives were extinguished by her inferno. For the rest of eternity, their line would pay for the grief and anguish their fathers and mothers had wrought upon her. Only her lover’s return would quell her wrath. Only then would she forgive them for what they’d done. 

[silverhandj]

Robert Linder,

There was a time when he was young and stupid, and too many die hard fans of his time would chalk it up to his big break. Johnny likes to think of it as paying his dues, a sound off to those he lost in the war no one ever fucking heard of, or how Johnny was the guy who traded in his life for Robert's and has had to live for two dogtags instead of just one. He owes it to Kerry for providing him something he can have many live for, even if it's never sat right in his soul.

Second Central American War,

[The Second Central American War, also known as the Second South American War or "New Vietnam", was a conflict from 2003-2010 in which the US invaded Colombia, Ecuador, Peru, and Venezuela. The war resulted in a disaster that cost thousands of American lives and left thousands of veterans that struggled back home.]

Robert[Johnny] enlisted in the military as a teenager after lying about his real age, and it didn't take long for him to see action.[9] He was sent to Nicaragua to participate in the Second Central American War of 2003. While in in the war, John's life was purportedly saved by a friend who died protecting him.

Robert John Linder was born in College Station, Texas, raised in a military family that bled blue and reportedly fell apart when his father had died in a raid which led to Robert spiralling and breaking the rest of his family apart. There are no records on file for his next of kin, and there has never been any mention of his mother since.

He enlisted right after the incident.

It's worth noting that with the lack of military laws on a lawless land led him to become a pilot of a Lockheed C-200 Universe.  While he primarily did the groundwork,  he tasked himself with what he viewed as fast,  efficient work instead.  The adrenaline of being in the air,  being both emotionally stable and mentally alert, constantly,  was something Johnny prided himself on being.

The Universe, while not the largest airplane in the world (scramjet cargo-lifters are twice its size), is the largest STOL (Short Take-Off and Landing) jet in the world. Because of this, it is one of the most popular fast cargo-lifters in military service, and is used around the globe.[1]Special Equipment: Ejection seats for crew, environment control, fire extinguisher, chaff and flare launchers, military radio, satellite uplink, auto-pliot and navigation system, radar, military radar detector.

Reports from Militech, Arasaka, and NUSA have stated that the war was used as a testing grounds for experimental weapon testing, genetics testing, and flight testing without knowledge or consent from their soldiers until after the fact.

The bionic arm of Johnny Silverhand is the only one in existence, a reparation for the arm lost in battle courtesy of Arasaka. This would be a contained study of their technology and kickstart the cyberpsychosis of Robert Linder.

The effects from the war include, but are not limited to, radiation poisoning, genetic defects, as well as experimental drug testing issued from Biotech as vitamins for those in the front lines.

Perpetrated by a corrupt and manipulative US Government, the conflict was devastating. When the government's secrets were exposed, many of the American soldiers dropped their banners and fought back by deserting the military. In response, however, the government used its influence to launch a powerful propaganda campaign against these former soldiers and convinced the American public to despise them as deserters.

The desertion was concentrated and Robert was lucky enough to leave with his brothers in arms for the long march home when all support was taken back. This did not stop the bounty hunters contracted by the NUSA to hunt down the survivors relentlessly.

This pivotal moment led to the death of his best friend, Johnny, who died when Robert should have died.

Robert would wear two sets of dogtags instead of one, and be the last man standing.

During the war, the understaffed military had hired hundreds of thousands of civilian contractors, most of them skilled but unemployed before the conflict began. By the end of the war, over half a million of them were on site in Panama City and other military bases in Panama and Colombia. Unfortunately, severe budget cuts by the new Congress curtailed the amount of money available for the withdrawal to the U.S., and the decision was made to abandon the civilians in Panama, terminating their employment and leaving them high and dry while the rest of the regular military left. The result was the infamous Nomad March of 2010-11, which had a higher casualty count than the war, and culminated in the formation of numerous Mexican Nomad gangs and coastal pirates.

Robert Linder would make it back to Night City where he would check into Hotel Pistis Sophia for a whole month without leaving.

There would no longer be Robert Linder when he finally left the hotel, choosing to wear the name Johnny Silverhand instead.

[dragons-bones]

FFXIV Write Entry #28: The Last

Prompt: vainglory || Master Post || On AO3

What creature could stand before the might of a dragon? They are children of wind and flame and aether, fierce and mighty, the unchallenged rulers of all they survey. Dragonsong rings from every corner of the land.

The metal beings, machines, that descend from the heavens, flatting mountains and felling forests to build their bases and factories of black iron, at first seem as ants despite their own abilities. Claw and fang and fire end them. But they learn, these things, and perhaps worse: they reproduce quickly, quicker than dragons. The spindly drones are replaced by heavy, many-limbed soldiers, by hulking cyclops, by great beetles that outfly the swiftest of flying dragonkin.

For every omicron that falls, five more take its place.

Dragons cannot beget eggs so quickly, nor can their hatchlings grow so fast.

Dragons are mighty. Dragons are fleet of foot and wing, and clever of mind. Dragons are proud.

But dragons die.

And dragons are dying faster than machines, and the star dies with them, swallowed by black iron, skies polluted and waters poisoned, the dragonsong fading from the heavens.

He is the greatest of his kin, his mane of fire a war banner and declaration. He has clashed and clashed again with the greatest of the omicron, their Omega, but Omega cannot be truly slain, merely defeated, and so more and more often their battles are for the purpose of distraction. To take the field is to draw Omega’s attention, and it allows his siblings and cousins to retreat, to evacuate hatchlings, to do whatever is needed to try and live one more day.

They cannot fight forever. They are dying.

Some go to sleep and do not wake up again. Some let apathy take them while waking, and they whither. Some throw themselves at the omnicrons, their goal only to take as many with them as possible.

Some do the unspeakable to their own hatchlings, unwilling to let the omicrons or the diseased star take them first.

He is a warrior. He is expected to fight until the last.

But there are seven eggs carefully tucked into his nest. And he will not do to them what some of kin say he should.

Dragons are dying, and he will not be the last.

Their last stronghold is falling. Even as destruction rains down on the last bastion of dragonkind, he carefully gathers his precious eggs in his clawed forelegs, tucking them close to his chest.

His sister, the last of his nestmates, finds him as he prepares to leave their accursed world. She stares at him for long moments, but offers no condemnation, and instead reaches forward to touch her muzzle to his. For a moment, they allow themselves the luxury to breathe in one another’s scents for a final time.

Go, she says. Live.

Omega bursts through the smoke and smog, and his sister throws herself at the machine with a roar even as he throws himself skyward. Not all of their fellows have yet fallen, and their warsongs name him craven. But her song is instead a dirge, for herself and for her kin and for her star, but entwined in that too is her hope that the memory of them all will not fade entirely. The echo of it follows him into the black of the void, until nothing but silence remains.

He wraps his aether tightly around himself, strongest around his precious cargo. Distantly, he can sense his great enemy giving chase, but his sister gave her life to ensure he had opportunity, and opportunity he does not waste.

He flies for a long, long time.

There are many stars he passes. The first ones crawl with omicrons. Others are dead, others in the process of dying. Many have songs infected by a strange, awful note of discordance twining through their aether.

He sings to himself, and to his eggs. He forgets the name his dam granted him, but he finds he cannot bring himself to mourn it. He forgets the name of his sister, and that brings him grief. But he sings, and at least the language of dragons shall endure in some manner.

The fire of his mane has long been extinguished when he comes to a new star in the void. Its song is piecemeal, as if it is missing key harmonies, and there is a newness to its people despite the age of the core that speaks of past tragedy. But there is a spark here, of potential, its song ringing with something he barely recognizes at first.

The star’s heart flies out to meet him.

Her Light is a balm after so long in darkness, and She reaches out to gently cradle his weary head in Her hands.

Well met, winged wanderer, She whispers. Thou hast traveled far from thy home. What trials have brought thee hence?

War, and death, he says. Mine home is lost and I am all that remains to sing its memory. But for the chance to see mine children hatched and grown, I have flown across infinity, pursued by a relentless foe. I beg of thee succor, that we may not be the last of the dragons.

Succor I grant to thee, Father of Dragons, the star’s heart replies. But in return, I must ask of thee a boon.

Once, a very long time ago, he would have bristled at such a demand, even from a goddess. A boon, from a dragon? From him, greatest of them all?

But his pride is gone, and for his children he will do whatever is necessary to give them a future.

Name it, Divine Light.

PREVIOUS PROMPT || NEXT PROMPT

[theoncomingdoo-dah]

Episode 1.5 World War 3

just suffered through Deadname of The Doctor with my partner so I'm treating myself with some GOOD nuwho

terrible effects? yes. terrible writing? absolutely fucking NOT

God the old intro is so good. I mean the series 7 one is alright but I miss the old one

I MISS NINE SO MUCH he's so sassy and goofy

"That's never gonna work, is it?" "No." *dashes off* Iconic.

Nine always looks so giddy when he's got guns pointed at him. Its too much.

"...don't stand them against the lift!" 😄

Sir if you don't stop smiling like that I'm kissing you on the mouth

oh god the elevator exchange is so awkward xD

Nine coming in clutch with a fucking fire extinguisher (not a gun!)

Also introductions between him and Harriet. Very polite!

And it just keeps getting better! They like each other. ^^

The banter between Harriet, Rose and Nine is amazing.

Nine going from cocky to "Ah." Will get me everytime. Kin.

The fart jokes. Who's idea was it. I need to know.

I really like the exchanges between Mickey and Jackie. It comes off very organic, and like they've known each other for awhile.

The thing that the Doctor sometimes does with names and the dead. Asking peoples names. Giving them honor in someway. I miss that.

IM NOT TALKING ABOUT THE DOCTORS NAME. FUCK THAT.

Rose joking about the compression field and Harriet calling her out on it is a small moment but an important one. Rose has become accustomed to death, enough that it doesn't bother her as much.

"You're a very violent young woman."

NINE GIVING ACTUAL COMPLIMENTS TO HARRIET. ITS SO GOOD

"Is she alright though? Don't put her on, just tell me." Oh god that is ME WITH MY MOM.

Rose's smile when Nine has to ask Mickey The Idiot for help. 🙂

"Mickey you were born in the dark." SIR CHILL

I noticed in the whole "is my daughter safe?" exchange, Rose isn't really given the ability to voice how she feels. Her mom talks over her, even when she says that she fine. Maybe it's because she's young, I don't know.

"ITS THE SLICKEEN" JACKIE I LOVE YOU

I love the "narrows it down" scene.

RAXACORICOFALLAPATORIUS!

"You kiss this man?" STOP IT

Nine gagging at the taste of the alcohol is such a small moment but I adore it

I find it interesting that the Slitheen actually care about each other. Maybe because they're mentally connected?

Nine is fucking pissed.

Nines face when Rose tells him "Do it." Before he's even explained the plan. Like 'you trust me that much?' Breaks my heart, honest.

"I could save the world but lose you." DONT TOUCH ME.

I love how it was Rose's idea to hide in the cupboard!

"I'm not infatuated!" Okay Rose. 😏

Jackie inviting the Doctor for dinner and him declining. Awe. Won't be that way for too long.

"My mother's cooking." "Good. Put her on a slow heat and let her simmer." PLEASE.

Oh he's trying so hard to be suave and cool. Like "pssh, you don't have to come if you don't want. I'll just have cool adventures without you." But it's more like "Please come. Please. 🥺"

I feel sorry for Jackie. She can't do anything to stop her daughter, her only daughter, from leaving. No matter how badly she wants her to stay.

"There's a scientific explanation for that. YOURE THICK."

NINE ACTUALLY OFFERING TO TAKE MICKEY WITH THEM BECAUSE HE CARES. 🥺🥺🥺

"You're stuck with me. Ahaa."

the fact that Jackie actually counts the 10 seconds...my heart...

Conclusion:

This two parter is still amazing. And the way it actually deals with the consequences of Rose leaving her old life behind is great.

[willtheweaver]

The Heath Hen: extinguished

(Cough, cough)

Hel…o …any…body?

The pain…the pain

So fierce, so furious

Can barely speak

But speak I must (cough)

For time is brief

And to you I must

Tell our story full.

From forest and field

And sagebrush prairie

The family tree spread

Like a crown in the north.

On eastern reaches by the sea

Was where you’d find the home of my kin

Song and dance among the lek

And the wind blown heath was for the nests.

In tranquility bliss

Life’s flame burned bright

But like so many sadly

The peaceful years proved all too brief

As year upon year

Our numbers shrank

Exploitation beyond what could be handled

As the song died

And our ancestral grounds

Fell silent.

Centuries went by

And nearly out, our flame was.

But one last hope

Remained still

For years before

The last on the mainland

Flown over to

An island offshore

Our last refuge.

And for some time

Our numbers grew

Our spirits rekindled

With cries of joy.

But the bells fell quiet

Rebirth of our kind

Proved not to be.

Dark clouds gathered

One bolt it took

One spark

To send it all up

In flames.

Roaring beasts, towering inferno

Galloping, spreading

Across the hills.

Many unable to

Outrun the blaze

Still others unwilling

To leave the nests

Wings spread out

In vain attempts to shield

The generation to come.

Now all is ash

Burnt bones and feathers singed

All lay dead

Or dying in agony

Agony greater still

For no others remained

Outside this

Solitary outpost.

So now please (cough) take lesson from this

Though too late for us

May still yet be time

For others on the brink.

Don’t put all your eggs

In a single basket

Instead spread them out

In all safe places

So no single event

Fire, famine, disease

May take all lives

And snuff out (cough)

The last (cough)… chance

For all those…you’ve endangered

Teetering…now…

Staring (cough)…death… in… the face…

[madonnamadeofasphalt]

Home

She's stirring something in her cauldron. The wrinkled skin of her hands looks like the bark of a linden tree. The shadows almost seem to conciously arrange themselves in such a way that you can't get a clear look at her face. The air smells like garlic, ginger and smoked fish, and something else, an earthy smell that feels weirdly familiar, even though you don't remember ever encountering it before. You sit there in silence, save for the quiet bubbling of her mixture and the purring of her cat - just a bit too large to be a normal housecat, dejectedly napping near the fireplace, as black as the sky over your distant hometown, where the cold and unfeeling stars were extinguished by the comforting brightness of the streetlamps. You know she's carefully considering your request, but in this moment, she almost seems like she's forgotten you're here.

Worry not, this will make you feel better.

She has a little giggle at your obvious unease, draws from the cauldron and hands you a bowl. It is a simple, wooden thing, nothing like the fancy appliances of glass and ceramics you're used to. She must have carved it herself, perhaps with one of the unsettling number of knives that are hanging from the ceiling like a grotesque Christmas ornament, each one in a different shape; each one, undoubtedly, serving a different purpose. You take a cautious sniff. Wherever the hut's ambient smell is coming from, the cauldron can't be its source. The mixture smells of root spices and herbs, of fresh milk and wild honey, of peace and quiet. It smells like home. Not specifically like your home, a one-bedroom appartment you're renting back in the city, though you could swear you can recognize a vague hint of your favourite brand of coffee, a suggestion of your grandpa's pipe tobacco, just a memory of your mom's cinnamon biscuits - the ones she only bakes once a year. The mixture smells like home in a broad, general sense, like every place anyone has ever called home, like every place anyone has ever felt safe in. You hesitate for just a second before drinking it whole. The blessed warmth that fills your body finally makes your heartbeat slow down. The polished rat skulls on the windowsill are no longer a grim reminder of your own mortality. They look at you with approval, like you've just passed a difficult exam. The drink makes you calm, but not at all drowsy or dazed. On the contrary, all of your senses feel sharper, your focus stronger than ever. Only then, she starts talking. Her voice sounds young, though you know she's anything but.

I have seen a wide array of fools traveling through my woods. Some of them arrogant and self-assured, believing they can conquer and exploit what is not theirs, with maps and plans in their hands, with untold riches on their minds. Some of them terrified and humbled, gradually realizing they are not welcome here, with all the ignorance of their ancestors but none of their skills, with nothing to shield them from my kin, except some plastic tents. And then there are some who come here to worship, those who claim the old faiths they do not comprehend, who call this place a holy land, a sacred grove blessed by the Wild Herself. They call me Her servant, a mighty goddess of the woods, and they beg me to answer their call, to come to the maypole and the fire, to reveal my face to them. They are my favourites. Sometimes, when the hunger strikes, I do as they ask.

She cackles so loudly she wakes the cat, who lets out a deeply annoyed grunt. You get the feeling they live in some kind of a love-hate relationship, she and him. You briefly allow yourself to wonder which one of them is the owner and which one is the pet. But you know there is no point in such deliberations, and anyway, you have a sneaking suspicion that there is no proper word for their bond in any of the languages you know. The cat goes back to sleep, and your host, still audibly amused, continues.

People these days are forgetting who the Wild is, you know. She is beautiful at a distance, so majestic and full of life. And this is not a deception, She is indeed incredible, almost too bright to look at! It is when they see Her as a kind and loving Mother, when they fall in love with Her name, when they yearn to come back to Her bosom, that is when they get lost. And the other ones, those who go in the other direction, those who completely forget that She is a living thing - well, these fools were lost from the start.

Some wolves, or maybe feral dogs, howl outside, as if cheerfully agreeing with the harshness of her little speech.

She is indeed a Mother, you know, though a heartless and violent one. You have moved out, and so you glamorize your naive youth, blinded by nostalgia. But I stayed by Her side, I have tended to Her wounds, I have been living in Her kingdom all this time. We have been apart so long you have almost forgotten me, and my children, and my kin, and even Her. Almost, but not completely, since now you have come to me, speaking the words that had been unspoken since I was young.

You know she's lying, of course. The words were unspoken for a long time, but not nearly long enough for her to had been anywhere close to "young". And she's lying about staying with the Wild, too. She's been closer to Her than you and yours, obviously, but there's a reason she only voluntarily leaves her own home once a year. There's a reason she sneaks around, gathering her herbs and her charms like a thief, with her broom always by her side, with her spells shielding her from harm. Even her house has legs, and it is always ready to run.

And of course, you know better than to call her out on her lies. After all, whatever else she might be, she is also a lonely, old woman. She acts annoyed you've tricked your way into her demesne, but she doesn't often get to speak to one who knows her true name. Her payment is to be listened to, and the privilege it buys is the right to listen. You feign a smile and you nod politely, waiting for her to go on. She pours herself a drink from the cauldron and she downs it like an old alcoholic downs a glass of vodka.

I do feel spiteful sometimes that you have hidden yourselves away in your cities, preferring the demons of History to be your neighbors over me, and mine, and Her. But you know this is an illusion, do you not? Your wise ones still tremble before her vengeance as she threatens you with the fate of Atlantis. Your leaders speak of the Living God, and of a liberation from the Eternal Cycle, and of the power of Science, but their actions betray them. You are still beasts and monsters, living by Her laws, just like me and mine. The fit survive and the weak are doomed to perish. The dragon sits on his hoard, and he shall breathe fire on any who take a single coin. The Golden Duck is hiding in the depths of your iron holds, and she feasts on your misery. The Regulus commands a legion grander than he ever did in the days of old. You have asked for my wisdom? This is it, be thankful.

She's provoking you, or perhaps testing you. It was wise to remain silent so far, but now you're being forced to speak. You think about what answer might be honest, and then about what answer is desired. You remember the songs of your teachers, and the night you first understood the name of the Wild. You remember that forest devil you've met, the one with a Germanic accent, and his friend, the angry Slavic one. They were the ones who taught you the rules of her riddles, though the way they did it was a riddle itself. Their kin loves riddles, they love deep-sounding nonsense and banal-sounding truths, they strive in confusion, they flourish in the dark. It has been your job to make sense of it all for decades now, and sometimes you despise it more than anything. Quite frankly, they're worse than the fairies - those at least don't pretend to be forthright. You sigh bitterly and you start talking, carefully choosing the words that you think she wants to hear.

You are right, Granny, that we're not truly separated from the might of your Mother. How could we be? We came from Her, and she follows us like a shadow, or like a reflection. Our laws exist as a direct act of rebellion against Her laws, for better or for worse, and through that they reflect them in turn. We run away from Her, but She keeps following us, and unlike us, She never grows tired. But you know as well as I do, Granny, that we were shaped by Her to defy Her. The Sacred Law, which is the very reason you haven't eaten me an hour ago, is the greatest illustration of that fact. It's the foundation of everything we've ever accomplished, the reason we've survived even though we're weak. It comes from Her, and it goes against everything She stands for. You are Her most faithful daughter, Granny, and even you and your kin would never consider violating it. And so I ask you once again, as your guest, as your disciple, and to be perfectly honest, as your biggest fan. Give me your wisdom so I can act according to my will.

She smiles with her whole neck, and her many, many teeth glimmer in the dim light with a metallic sheen.

So be it.

And she reveals her face.

[commander-krios]

>:3 for the wip game, Rolan pining, Act 3? I see Rolan, I LEAP <33

I realized I had a single sentence written so wrote up a bit more to answer this lmao here ya go!

Rain fell in sheets outside of his tent, the fire in the center of camp long extinguished. He shivered against the chill, the pat-pat-pat of the drops against the canvas more annoying than comforting. With an irritated sigh, he turned onto his side, eyes focusing at the small tear in the side of the tent, wondering when the hells that happened. He focused on the fraying threads, trying to bore himself into sleep finally, but there was too much on his mind since he and his siblings left the Shadow-Cursed Lands. Since he met her. His initial reaction to the tiefling that swept in to rid the Grove of goblins, the woman who put wild thoughts of heroics into Lia and Cal’s heads, was utter disdain. How dare she lecture him on kin when she had no one? None except a pair of vagabonds who clearly didn’t regard saving the caravan as a good use of their time as much as she did. But without her, Lia and Cal would be very much dead. Perhaps he’d be too. That wasn’t even the beginning of his complicated feelings for Juniper.

[ravenclaw-craftsgirl]

Ok so: A bit shorter but the idea I had was a bit strange to write. Especially since there was no actual boggart in this story.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xIidSn5-1ic&t=12s Listened to this while writing, so as to get a more ‘dark guardian’ vibe going. Dunno if I did it, but hey theses are for fun.  This one is for @hphm-jeniferltheman Eventually i’ll write that Wolf Queen/Forgotten Witch story

The contestants lined up at the entrance to the maze. Jeniferl was excited, thought the blindfold was more than a little... Annoying.  The trick, she heard, was to just follow right walls until you got where you needed to go. The time started, and a few of the other competitors immediately rushed forward to complete the challenge as quickly as possible.  Whatever, let them rush and make mistakes. Jeniferl would just be consistent. She had nothing to be afraid of. The torch would always be lit, no matter how deep she went into the maze.

Continuing deeper into the maze, she noticed her vision getting blurry and indistinct. Remembering the blindfold, her heart started to quicken and memories of that night started to flood into her head. Jeniferl’s breathing quickened, tears forming in her eyes as the last of the torchlight finally snuffed out. The ever present blue glow now extinguished, Jeniferl knelt down, hugging her knees crying.  How could she be this stupid? Let’s face it, she’d only gotten this far because of sheer dumb luck. That’s all she’d ever been good for. She hadn’t even wanted to join this stupid competition. It’d been a dare from one of her housemates.  Jeniferl openly wept, tears soaking through the blindfold until she couldn’t cry anymore. She wept until all that was left was a numbness inside. Then she saw a small light. A blue light, growing in front of her.  “What’s the point? It’ll just snuff out again.”  “Only if you let it, O’ kin of mine.” Jeniferl slowly looked up to see a beautiful woman standing before her. Hair as blue as the ocean with eyes like sapphires twinkling in the night. She looked up, and all she could feel was awe. And despite her desire to show it, her heart couldn’t muster the emotions needed to properly respect the woman. “Save your tears, young Theman. The nights are always darkest before the dawn. So we light fires, to see the path no matter when.”  The woman gently held Jeniferl’s cheeks, gently caressing her face. Before she knew it, she was once more crying as this woman hugged her.  “You and I, are so much alike that it hurts. When I see you cry, all I feel is how I felt when I was young and alone. Afraid and vulnerable. I won’t let them harm you, blood of my blood. I will protect you as my own, my family.”  Jeniferl couldn’t help but be soothed by the soft words of the blue witch. Despite everything, she simply wanted to belong. Here, in this tournament; here, in Hogwarts; Here, as a person. Jeniferl wiped away her tears, looking up to see the hallway filled with butterflies, each alit with blue flame, flapping their tiny ethereal wings towards an objective.  “Trust in them, the flames that make you strong. Trust them, and you shall never fear their biting tongue.” The voice said, as Jeniferl instinctively flinched away from one of the butterflies.  Continuing down the corridors, following the trail of butterflies, Jeniferl soon found herself in front of her chest. A small, ornate box with a butterfly carved atop of it.  “Remember, There are many gifts you possess. You need only ask if you wish to learn, like me.”  Jeniferl stared at the box, but all she could feel was a hollow victory as the shadow of her ancestor faded from the room.  “Just... like you?” She asked, a tremble in her voice.

[ginazmemeoir]

Garuda Destroys The Heavens and gets The Amrit

Amaravati lay in ruins. The deva army had been defeated by Garuda, a giant man-eagle who had arrived as suddenly as a swarm of locusts descend on a farm. At first, the devas appeared to have the winning hand, attacking him as a singular unit. Soon however, the tide turned. With his wings, he summoned a dust storm, obscuring the devas’ vision. He then trampled them under his feet and picked them up in his hand and threw them away like weeds. By the time Vayu and Indra could clear the dust away, the damage had been done. Bleeding, and twisted at odd angles, the devas lay in a heap of bodies. Garuda, giving a fearful screech, once again took to the sky in his search for Amrit.

High up above swarga, he could now clearly survey the wreckage. And right in the centre of swarga, surrounded by a wall of fire, was Amrit. Garuda flew towards it as swiftly as he could, but even he had to stop a few yojanas before it. The fire burned brighter than the sun, and seemed intent on gobbling the sky. The contraption protecting the Amrit had been crafted by Vishwakarma himself, the divine engineer and god of the crafts. The fire, the first obstacle, had been formed by mixing a fraction of the energy of the Adi Lingam, the eternal pillar of fire which had legendarily tested Lord Vishnu and Lord Brahma, along with a part of Lord Surya’s energy. Garuda stood perplexed before it. He couldn’t fly above it, or he would be roasted. He couldn’t perform his dive manoeuvre either, for he didn’t know what lay beyond. Scratching his head, he wracked his brain for an answer.

‘Water. Water should douse fire.’ It doused normal fire, so shouldn’t it be able to douse this too? Searching around, Garuda found his solution – the akasha ganga, or the Ganga that flew in the skies. It stretched limitlessly, its one bank lying in swarga and the other stretching to infinity, flowing through all the worlds. However, carrying it pot by pot wasn’t the answer, for that would take him a thousand cycle of yugas.

“Wait, I am an Indra right? That means I should be able to control water!”

Reasoning thus, Garuda sat on the divine river’s bank and meditated, focusing his mind and concentrating his powers on the water ahead of him. Soon enough, it called to him. The water rose, beckoned by its new master, the new Indra.

Giving a shout of joy, Garuda grew to his largest size, and flapped his wings, driving the water towards the fire. It seemed like pralaya had come upon swarga, that moment in time when water would swallow the world, goaded by Shiva’s dance of destruction. With all its fury, the water descended on the ring of fire, and extinguished it forever, itself being reduced to steam. A thick layer of mist now lay on swarga. Garuda, beating his wings, steered the mist away from the gardens, only to find the next hurdle – spinning blades.

Large chakras, larger than Garuda’s wingspan, revolved around the Amrit. They were tipped with blades, and moved faster than light. Should one get close enough, they wouldn’t even find their remains. To this though, he had a simple solution. Garuda reduced himself to the size of a fly, in fact even smaller than one, and ducked underneath the blades. He walked at a leisurely pace, shielded under their shade and the blades of grass which were now taller than him. The moment he surpassed them, he once again grew back to his regular size.

There was the Amrit, that wondrous potion of immortality, over which the cosmic ocean had been churned and devas and asuras had fought each other, lying inconspicuously under the shade of the Kalpavriksha, the wish fulfilling tree. As he was about to approach it, Garuda felt the ground move. Before he could react, two serpents rushed forth from behind the kalash. Gargantuan in size, and definitely unrelated to his kin, the serpents were the last line of defence for the Amrit. They were in fact physical manifestations of Greed or Lobha, and Envy or Eershya. The serpents thus determined who could be worthy of the Amrit, and gobbled up those they defeated. Garuda remained unfazed; in fact, the dam holding in his anger finally released. Once again, here as well, there were snakes. At each step in his life, since he had opened his eyes, these damned snakes had been a nuisance for him. But not anymore.

Garuda roared and assumed his greatest form, diving and attacking the snakes, dodging their venom and their flicking tails. He gouged out their eyes and scratched at their faces, inflicting deep gashing wounds. Finally, he crushed one under his foot and picked up the other by his hand, and tore off its head using his beak, flinging its lifeless body on the ground. Covered in blood and snake bits and sweat, Garuda gazed upon the Amrit, glowing. Remembering Kashyap’s advice, he calmed his mind, thinking about his mother, the purpose of his journey, and his intended plan. Wiping his hands off on his dhoti, he approached the Amrit, bathed in its heavenly glow… and lifted it from its pedestal. Giving a shout of joy, Garuda once again took to the skies, ready to finally escape with his mother from the nagas.

Far away, Indra watched Garuda take off with the Amrit from his location. The Amrit, though it promised immortality, did not promise invincibility, and so the gods had taken shelter in a cave outside swarga, their wounds being tended to by an army of medics headed by the Ashwini Kumaras, the twin healer gods. Indra’s face clouded with worry and fury at seeing the nectar of immortality, scared about the future of the gods now that the Amrit was probably lost once again.

In a last effort to save the Amrit, Indra summoned the Vajra again. It was one of the most powerful weapons in existence, crafted from diamond, Sage Dhadhichi’s skeleton, sea foam, and the sun’s energy. It had slain Vritra, and would be used again in the future on a little monkey intent on eating the sun, where it would strike true. Indra hurled the Vajra towards Garuda with all his might, and it arced towards him in a terrifying blaze of lightning. On reaching him however, the Vajra suddenly became lifeless, as if its power was leached away. Catching it in his beak, Garuda flew towards Indra.

“It seems like you lost this one.” He said, dropping it beside Indra’s feet.

Indra now stood in awe of this creature. The Vajra was undefeatable, and yet bowed to him. The Amrit came only to those it deemed worthy, and here was Garuda clutching it in his arms. In a hushed voice, he asked, “Who are you?”

“Garuda, son of Vinata.”

“Become my ally,” Indra proposed, extending his hand forward, “and I will give you a part of swarga. You can even keep the Amrit.”

“I’m afraid that’s impossible Devaraja. You are already allies with the nagas, my sworn enemies, and I have frankly no use for the Amrit. I’m just bringing it to the nagas to fulfil a deal, which would result in my mother and I being freed from slavery.” He said, shrugging.

Indra was shocked at the nagas’ betrayal. How dare those glowing, scaly, gem encrusted worms try to betray him? He was the reason they were so powerful, and yet they tried to steal the Amrit?

“Listen to me Garuda, the nagas absolutely cannot…”

“Yeah, I know. And I know what to do about it. I just need someone you trust to bring it into action.”

“My son Jayanta will assist you.” Indra said, bringing his son forth. Called halfway from his journey to aid his brethren, Jayanta was the prince of the gods and headed the devas’ spy army, and was the most  handsome man in existence. Even the apsaras and gandharvas despaired over themselves, aching to see just a glimpse of his face, and faithful companions could be brought to question their ideals in his presence; on Garuda however he had no effect.

“Alright. Come with me, but stay hidden. I’ll tell you when to come forth.”

“You don’t have to tell me that.” Jayanta said, and promptly changed his shape to that of a tick and hopped onto Garuda’s back.

With the support of the king of gods too, Garuda once again started his journey to Ramaniyaka when he was stopped again.

“Halt Garuda!” a voice boomed, commanding yet soft.

“How does someone exit this infernal abomination of a place?!” Garuda shouted, annoyed by the constant interruptions in his journey and turned around… face to face with Lord Vishnu, the Protector. With skin the colour of thunderclouds, wielding a conch shell, lotus, mace, and his fabled Sudarshan Chakra in his four arms, and a small smile on his enchanting face, the god was floating in air beside Garuda.

“Narayana!” Garuda exclaimed, and placing the Amrit on his head bowed before him, the tick hidden in his wings too following.

“You have the Amrit with you, and yet haven’t even touched a drop to your tongue. I am impressed with your selflessness and bravado Vainateya.”

“You embarrass me lord. Wait, were you the one who had deflected the Vajra back there?”

Vishnu, choosing silence, just smiled.

“I wish to make you my vahana, my vehicle. I will need the help of someone like you to protect the world.”

Garuda had just been offered a job that millions would kill for. Being with him forever, and that too as his vahana, was the highest honour. However, it was not what he wished for.

“Forgive me my lord, but I have to refuse. There’s nothing I want right now except to go down to earth and rescue my mother from the clutches of her sister.”

“How about after?” Vishnu asked, adamant on having Garuda’s company.

Contemplating the offer, Garuda replied, “What will I get in return?”

“Whatever you wish for.”

Garuda leapt at the opportunity. He already had the Amrit and he was sure of his capabilities. All he wanted now was retribution. “I want me, and the rest of my kind, to be immune to venom and all snakes and reptiles. In fact, I wish for them to be our natural prey, so that we may check their numbers and balance the world.”

Vishnu was particularly perturbed at the request, weird and a little violent in its phrasing, but he granted it anyway. Shesha would understand, right?

“Oh and further, if you want me to be your vahana, that means you will be sitting on me forever. I however, have been used as a vahana and a lot more throughout my life, so you will have to find a way to keep me above you as well.” He said, throwing a challenge to the god.

Vishnu’s eyes twinkled, and he chuckled. “Fine. Now go and fulfil your destiny. We will meet again.”

Bowing once again, Garuda swooped down towards earth, the Amrit clutched safely in his hands. It was time for the reckoning.

[exiled-eyes]

HALT

Meme Source X

For once, Cecco had decided to actually wear their boots while out and about. It was a foreign feeling, to hear how branches snapped beneath the worn down rubber soles, and yet to feel nothing. No stinging tension greeting calloused flesh, void of any scratching sensation from the peeling bark. Something they never thought they would miss until it was withheld from them. But to walk alongside such a dignified young lady, barefoot, well it would be unsightly at best. Though, should the pair have to run, she might very well have the upper hand. Blasted heels would simply shift the dirt around, rather than pushing off of the earth.

Curls bounced with each step, a passionate fire burning beyond umber hues as they drank in words that were written upon their dossier, ink that held a world of their own. A recounting of what life had been like before this island. Before the Righteous Harpy burned, back when life seemed normal. Page upon page, filled with glorious tales of adventure and whimsical swashbuckling. Treasures recounted with pride, the funerals that had been held for their brethren lost at sea. It had been something Cecco had intended to give to one of the two women within their life that had secured a very special place within their heart. Anna, their longest living kin thus far. Someone Cecco would run themself through for, the only remnant from the past that they could offer a better life. The only one they could save. She was like a sister to them, someone who deserved to know the truths of their past. It would be a memento for her. Something to remember them by. The only part of them that the island couldn’t destroy and turn to ash.

Though the young woman beside them was also considered for receiving the book as a gift, something to fuel the fires for her stories. To ensure the raging hunger within her to create captivating worlds and haunting adventures, was never extinguished. Something that perhaps, should she ever find a way to escape the shores, would allow her to remember a lost soul upon cursed shores. If ever she found her way back to London, then perhaps there, Cecco could prove to be helpful one last time, pushing her towards that dream of being an author she had spoken so dearly of.  Something that, rather selfishly, allowed Cecco to live on beyond these waters. Was it wise, to gift a child so close to Pan something so valuable? Something that revealed what weaknesses could be used against them? A book that so easily could be misplaced or stolen by sticky, shadowed fingers.

There was no doubt within Cecco’s mind that to gift Wendy this piece of their history, would surely spell out their demise. Though there were few they trusted more to give hold over such a death sentence to. For this would place a loaded gun within her hands, leaving them at her mercy. A gracious executioner. But it was not yet time to pass such a heavy burden, a curse, on to either woman’s shoulders. There were still a few good, fighting breaths within the quartermasters lungs, and until they were gasping, desperately clinging to what little life was left within them, this book would remain hidden away on the Jolly Roger. Until they were willing to part with it. Pulled away from their thoughts by the gentle force pulling against the cotton material of their frock coat, one that urged them not to move so much as an inch forwards, Cecco turned their gaze away from the book, closing it before any thieving eyes could steal what secrets laid within tattered bindings.

Had they gotten so caught up that they had nearly left the poor girl alone, paces behind them? A wave of guilt resonated within the darkest parts of them. Here they had offered to walk the girl a distance back towards the main land, to ensure her safety, and they very well had become so caught up in their own matters, that they had nearly left her behind. Chapped lips revealed a saddened smile, guilty, silently asking Wendy for her forgiveness as Cecco tucked the book away within their coat.

“Piccola luce-” They paused, so much wished to come forward. To be put out in to the open air where it could all be sorted freely. Where it would no longer weigh quite as heavily on their shoulders. Quiet laughter escaped from them, a subconscious way to shake the thoughts from their head. “I’m sorry, I forget that you’ve got these small legs sometimes!” A warm smirk haunted the corners of their lips, a hand reaching up to ruffle her hair.