#fun fact! i have not drawn mark in almost a year

[junebugdunes]

mark vs customer service

[sanctus-ingenium]

Do the saints in the mez setting have ye olde fanclubs. Are there folk saints of mechs. Do people sell those like sainted tokens of like scraps of paint from the mechs or something

Not so much fanclubs in a fandom sense, that's a bit of a modern invention. They would have taken their worship very seriously and one of the most common pilgrimages of the time is a tour of all the stables, where you can get iron pilgrim badges made out of old armour plates. I have drawn Mercury and Mars wearing them before ⤵️

The badges are worn as a sign of devotion but also to prove that you've visited those stables, because as the stables increase in importance, they don't just let anyone wander in to see the relics and beasts. You have to prove that you've been to other stables before, the more the better, otherwise you may not be worthy of checking out the good stuff. It is expected that every member of the laity go on a pilgrimage at least once in their lives.

Craftspeople do capitalise on this by selling small devotional items that you can take home and set up in your own shrine. I've drawn one of these, a mass produced woodcut print of Leun, but these are super common and usually not of high quality, fudging details so that they might resemble any given beast if you just squint a little. This one is on the upper end, quality wise

But the most central part of how one is expected to 'commune' with a holy beast is in their breath. huffing fumes is right there in the scripture - I mean, they are practicing engine worship, so of course they're placing huge significance on the smoky part. Grifters often sell what are essentially empty bottles, claiming that they have captured some smoke or some of the beast's breath, making it, essentially, holy air. Fun fact, when an important member of the Church is dying, he has the option to request a death by engine fumes instead of a natural death, and in a severely hypoxic state they share their final wisdom with the congregation, often in the form of a prophesy.

So, onto folk saints! They do exist - assuming you mean large mechanical creatures which have not been built by the Church. in which case yep those exist, the theocracy has sole control of the fuel supply within its own borders but there are plenty of other parts of the world. But there are also beasts that straight up don't exist but are worshipped by the laity within the theocracy. Rumours of odd sightings spread into stories of some new beast who can help you fix your gout if you pray to him. The Church considers it heresy but just like in the real world, that doesn't really stop people. Except in the case of the annexed Midean region, where people practicing "idol worship" are executed.

Oh they were having one hell of a golden age before those damn Mideans decided they wanted independence about 300 years ago, and before the dragons stopped appearing with such frequency.

The slow fall of the theocracy began with the Midean civil war/war of independence, which was a narrow win for Mez but has been a burden on them ever since. The Mezian theocracy grew by annexing surrounding nations and cementing its chokehold on fuel supply, and its colonisation of Midea was what brought it to power in the first place, long before that, especially given that Midea was the world capital of of enginesmithing at the time and an exporter of fantastic technology. So that was all great, for the Church, until the war of independence which lasted almost a century. Midea lost and did not become an independent state, but it marked a significant shift in how the population believed & behaved. That's partially why Saint Lycaon was taken from Midea, he is essentially a hostage under threat of destruction if his people don't fall in line. The constant struggle to police those areas taxes the Church of its resources and civil unrest doesn't seem to be dying down any time soon.

Before the war, the theocracy's power was absolute within its own borders. After, it has retreated to its strongholds of Salvius and Forza (where the biggest stables are) and all but abandoned the more remote regions to fall to ruin. Not so much a spoiler, but a major plot point of the story, set at the end of this age, is that the final death-prophesy of a cardinal was: unless taxes were paid by the laity [dying of plague], the Church is under no obligation to send the beasts to aid them in times of peril. During the 'golden age', this would have been an unthinkable act of miserliness, and the Church would have sent those beasts out whenever and wherever, often to random villages not being attacked, just to give people a chance to see them. The massive waste of fuel was not a big deal because there was always sooo much more waiting, and the sky was full of dragons. Now, every drop must be preserved.

[shadowofchwe]

treacherous temptation | vernon chwe

Sneaking into your enemy's room with murderous intent doesn't exactly go as planned once you hear the name leaving his lips in his sleep.

🗡️ Pairing: prince!vernon (sovereignsin!vernon) x princess!reader

🗡️ Word Count: 4.5k

🗡️ Genre: Enemies to lovers (still emphasis on the enemies), mainly pwp, smut, royal au

🗡️ Rating: 18+

🗡️ Warnings: Explicit language, mention and presence of weapons (dagger), mention of wanting to murder, overheard sex dreams, explicit sexual content, brief somnophilia, handjob, dirty talk, rough handling, oral (m receiving), hair pulling, face fucking, praise, hard degradation (uses of bitch and whore), grinding, thigh riding, making out, possessive Vernon, spit kink makes an appearance, mutual masturbation, teasing, edging, cum play, cum eating, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex (pls be safe), riding, spanking, groping, marking/biting/scratching, dagger is held against throat mid fucking (meant to be more threatening than anything), threats of violence, forcefully disarming weapon, mention of minor injury and blood being drawn, mention of conflicting feelings and fear, rough sex, restraining hands (f receiving), it's kinda soft at the end, that enemies to lovers line is getting real blurry

A/N: I'm back with more prince Silvernon! This couple is just so fun and intriguing to write and I honestly have a million ideas for them lmao. This is a follow up to sovereign sin, but I also think it can be read as a standalone too. Really wanted to post something today because it's my 1 year Vernaversary of ulting him so I hope you enjoy this if you decide to read it 🥰 As always thank you so much to everyone who reads my stuff and supports me it means more than I could ever say 💙

Masterlist

It was late. The entire castle slumbering in silence. Everyone except you, who'd been tossing and turning for hours at this point. It had become impossible to tell if you couldn't sleep because you were angry, or if you were angry because you couldn't sleep. All you knew was that right now, you were fucking furious.

It might've had something to do with the fact that that bastard, Vernon, hadn't sought you out a single time that week. The arrogant prince had barely acknowledged your existence for days. And you hated just how much his behavior had gotten under your skin. Because it had been too long since he'd been under your skin. You were aching with a desire, and a craving, that only he could satisfy. You longed to have him drag you back down into the dark with him, greedily feeding into the worst parts of each other.

You glanced at the door to your chambers, half expecting to see the silver prince slipping into your room. But the door gave nothing away, and fresh anger flared inside of you. You swung your legs out from underneath the heavy covers before planting your feet on the floor. You reached for your dagger from your bedside table, quickly strapping it against your thigh underneath your thin nightgown.

Peeking out your door revealed an empty hallway, and a dangerously tempting opportunity. You'd be lying if you said you hadn't fantasized about sneaking into the prince's room, taking your dagger, and slitting his throat while he slept. And just because it wasn't a fantasy you were planning on carrying out tonight didn't mean you couldn't still have some fun and threaten the bastard with your blade at his neck. Make sure he knew you were not one to be fucked with. The look of surprise and fear in his dark eyes…it would be enough. Enough to satisfy you for tonight.

Your knowledge of all the castle's secret passageways made it almost too easy to sneak into the prince's quarters, completely unseen and undetected. Moonlight blanketed the room, falling on the prince, peacefully asleep in his bed. You crept closer as you kept one hand against the dagger concealed under your nightgown. You stopped at the sight of Vernon's bare chest, watching it rise and fall with each deep breath.

You internally cursed him for looking so breathtaking in his sleep. You couldn't remember ever noticing how long and delicate his eyelashes were. His silver hair looked soft and slightly ruffled from his pillow. You wanted to feel it between your fingers. Tug and twist the strands to pull all those sinful sounds from him. All you had to do was reach out and- No. You shook your head in an effort to clear the lustful thoughts. Not what you were here for. Not tonight anyway.

You were standing next to his bed now, staring down at his sleeping figure as you gently lifted up your gown to expose your hidden dagger. The prince began to stir suddenly, mumbling something, and your fingers froze where you gripped the thin fabric. You held your breath, waiting to see if he was actually going to wake. Another muffled sound escaped him, and you found yourself leaning closer to try and discern what he was saying.

"Y/N."

He moaned your name sofly, and your heart began to thud violently against your rib cage.

Shit.

Now that you had heard it, it was impossible to miss the needy, breathy way your name was leaving him again and again. Your head was growing hazy again, and you could feel the arousal gathering between your thighs. Damn this prince.

Curious desire flooded your veins as you reached out to carefully pull back his covers. You hissed at the sight of his cock, hardening and straining against the fabric of his silky bottoms. Vernon said your name louder, more desperately. An entirely different type of wicked thought bloomed inside your mind. You swung yourself up onto the bed to straddle one of his thighs before you could think better of it, the prince groaning underneath you. But he still didn't wake.

Your hand hovered over the top of his pants, waiting to see if it was still you he was dreaming about.

"Fuck, Y/N." he practically growled in his sleep.

You didn't waste any more time before slipping your hand beneath the material to wrap around his length, giving him a teasing squeeze. You used your other hand to tug down his bottoms enough to expose his hard cock. The prince squirmed underneath you as you began stroking him slowly.

"Dreaming about me are we?" you taunted softly, leaning down so that he could feel your warm breath on his skin, "Naughty little prince."

You let a string of spit fall from your tongue to his tip before using your hand to coat the rest of his length, twisting the sensitive flesh. Your thumb rubbed over his slit, and Vernon suddenly jolted awake, sitting upright and trying to take in the sight before his eyes. You grinned deviously back at him as you moved your hand faster. He fisted the sheets in a death grip, "Fuck. Princess, is that really you? Am I still dreaming?"

You chuckled darkly before slowly moving your gaze up to his face, your mouth grazing the skin at the top of his thigh.

"Or maybe it's a nightmare." you whispered, trapping his flesh between your teeth.

Vernon hissed out a curse that quickly became a snarl when you licked a stripe along the underside of his cock.

"Do you want my mouth, prince?" you teased him further.

The prince's fingers were digging into your jaw a second later, and your skin burned under his touch.

"Until you're choking on me, your highness."

He used his hold on you to roughly pry your mouth open. You played along, letting the bastard think he was in control as he guided his cock past your lips.

Vernon hummed, "If only all your other suitors could see you like this, with your mouth full of me. I bet then those fools would truly know their place."

Familiar irritation stirred inside you at his smug words, and your teeth scraped against him in warning. His hand immediately left your jaw to tangle in your hair before yanking you off of him with a pop. You gasped when he gave another harsh tug to pull your head up higher to make you meet his eyes. The intensity in the prince's dark irises nearly burned a hole through you.

"Though it would seem, that you still do not know yours." Vernon growled, his nails digging into your scalp, "You vile woman. Allow me to remind you, princess."

The sadistic smirk he flashed you had you wishing you actually had bitten him. Bastard. But it was also impossible to deny the way heat flooded your core at the way he watched you like a predator stalking its prey. He had you trapped for the moment, and you both knew it.

You had just barely started to open your mouth to get in one last quip, when Vernon used his grip on your hair to shove your head down, pushing his cock all the way to the back of your throat in one go. The prince groaned in satisfaction as you gagged and spluttered around him.

"Fuck. Always let me ruin your mouth. Just like I ruin your sweet little cunt."

His hand held you down as his hips bucked against your face, reducing you to a mixture of drool and tears.

"Such an obedient little princess, shit." he grunted, and you cursed yourself for the pathetic, muffled whimper that slipped out.

Desperate for some sort of stimulation yourself, you began grinding on Vernon's thigh that you were still straddling. You nearly sobbed at the friction, and the prince hissed above you.

"Fuck. You're soaking. Rutting against my leg like a bitch in heat."

His thrusts were finally starting to lose their rhythm as you continued to choke and cough around his length. Your movements grew more frantic, your own orgasm building fast as you moaned brokenly. Vernon tugged you up by your hair once more, and his other hand stilled the motion of your hips.

Fresh tears slid down your cheeks from the loss of stimulation, and you tried to greedily suck in as much air as you could. It was pointless though because the prince gripped the back of your neck and pulled you to his mouth, his tongue diving in hungrily to taste himself on you. You groaned in response, aching for the stimulation of his thigh against your core again. His hand on your waist was unyielding though, clutching the fabric of your nightgown so tight that the material was bunched up in his fist.

His lips left your own, but you both stayed there, just panting warm air into each other's mouths.

"Remember, your highness," Vernon rasped out as his hand curved around your cheek, his thumb briefly brushing across your now swollen bottom lip, "your pleasure belongs to me."

You glared back at him fiercely, "I belong only to myself. No part of me will ever be yours. You would do well to remember that."

You hated how you sounded so much less threatening than usual since tonight's exchange had literally left you breathless. As well as burning for some sort of release. Still half dazed, you felt Vernon's fingers at your jaw again, even rougher than before. You scowled defiantly at him, refusing to back down from his challenge like always. No matter how badly you were craving the satisfaction of an orgasm.

Fire flickered in the prince's eyes, a promise to burn you alive.

"Open your mouth, whore." he snarled, using his grip to part your lips once more before angrily spitting into your mouth.

Vile bastard. Maybe you would end up killing him tonight after all. If the need trying to claw its way out of your skin didn't kill you first.

"If you want me to even think about letting you come, then I suggest you do as I say, princess. You can start by swallowing." Vernon instructed, smug grin nearly splitting his handsome face.

You seriously considered spitting back in his face just to spite him, but you simultaneously couldn't stand the thought of leaving here with nothing. So you decided to play nice, at least for now. Until the prince let his guard down again.

You made a show of swallowing, and clenched around nothing at the desire in Vernon's eyes as he watched your throat. He raised a waiting eyebrow, and it took everything in you not to lunge at the man in a violent rage.

"Show me, princess."

His condescension was grating on your last nerve, but you opened your mouth and held out your tongue to give him what he wanted.

"Good girl." he praised before unexpectedly flexing his thigh against you.

You cried out and splayed your hands over his stomach to keep yourself from toppling over. The brief rush of pleasure was gone all too soon, but the prince stalled your hips before you could chase more of that feeling. You were going to stab him.

"Now, here's what I want you to do. Take off that shift, or I can rip it off if you prefer." he teased, his fingers playing with the material.

The bastard had already ruined enough of your wardrobe, so you slipped the gown over your head before Vernon could act on his threat. His teeth dug into his lip as he drank in your moonlit figure. One hand was gripping your waist, while the other wrapped around his neglected cock as he began stroking himself. You let out a small gasp, mesmerized at the way his fist pumped his length.

"You keep fucking my leg like a dog, but you can't come before me. Think you can handle that, princess?" the prince challenged you, his tongue poking against the skin of his cheek.

"Yeah, I think I can fucking handle that." you growled in response, immediately returning to grinding against his muscular thigh.

You sighed out, your head falling back now that you were finally able to build up to a consistent rhythm, "Fuck, fuck, Vernon."

He groaned, his hand moving faster, and your hips following suit. After being denied an orgasm for so long, you knew it wouldn't take much more to push you over the edge. Vernon flexed against you again, and you almost lost it, but you forced yourself to hold back since he hadn't come yet. The prince chuckled at your efforts.

"Patience, princess." he chastised you, driving the point home when he slowed the movements of his hand around his cock.

"Fucker." you hissed before making your hips match the new pace.

Otherwise you were definitely going to lose this little game, and that just wasn't an option.

"Such colorful words for a future queen. I really do bring out the worst in you, don't I, your highness?" Vernon taunted you further, stroking himself faster again.

He was panting heavily, eyes screwing shut in pleasure. He had to be getting close, just a little more. You decided to try and help him along with your words.

"Close, prince?" you queried playfully, slowly dragging yourself over his bare skin, "Imagining it's my hand instead? Or maybe my mouth? Or are you pretending you're inside me? I bet you're just dying to feel me around you. All warm and wet. Am I right?"

"Fuck!" Vernon swore loudly, his hips bucking up as he frantically fucked his fist.

Your grin of satisfaction was short lived because his muscle tensed underneath you right against your clit, and you had to bite back a scream. You matched his desperate movements, the need to come starting to overpower the need to win.

Your furious gazes bore into each other, neither one of you willing to back down now.

"Don't you dare come." the prince warned, his tone venomous.

"Fuck you." you seethed back, fingers harshly digging into the flesh of his thigh.

Just when you were about to give in and accept your loss, Vernon's hands flew to your waist, halting the movement of your hips.

"Vernon, what the fuck?" you snapped, resisting the urge to draw the dagger still sheathed at your side.

You didn't think he'd even noticed that you'd kept it on you, stupid prince. You glared down at him in contempt, squirming in his strong grip. Like hell this bastard was going to hold your pleasure captive any longer.

"Fuck." the prince hissed, "Stay still."

You were trembling in his hold, both from anger and from the repetitive denial of your orgasm that you could practically taste, "Go to hell, prince."

"Do as I say, princess, or I won't let you come. Just sit there and take what I give you, and don't you fucking move." Vernon ground out, one of his hands leaving your waist to wrap back around his cock that still looked painfully hard.

Good. The bastard deserved the pain. But on the other hand, if he didn't let you come, you were going to throw the royalest of fits. You knew Vernon would never let you live it down either. Damn him.

You stayed as still as your body would allow since you couldn't get yourself to stop shaking completely. The prince looked back at you with focused arrogance as he pumped himself harder. A shiver ran through you at the shudder that escaped him right before hot spurts of cum began coating your breasts and neck. A strip even landed across your still swollen lips and Vernon moaned at the state of you.

"Fuck, princess, you are a sight. All covered in me." he remarked, voice husky and dark.

You made sure his eyes were on you as you sensuously licked him off your lips, and the prince's eyes nearly blew out.

"Shit, Y/N. You'll be the death of me yet." Vernon groaned, absentmindedly rubbing his thumb over your hip that he was still gripping.

Your heart beated erratically in your chest. Why was it that such small things fucked with your head so much? Then again, you were still feeling out of your mind from not being able to come.

"Vernon."

You said his name a single time. A question with an underlying plea. The prince smirked in understanding, "Go ahead, princess. Think you've earned your pleasure."

You were already grinding against his thigh with reckless abandon by the time the words finished leaving his mouth. This time, he helped guide you with both hands on your waist, flexing against you with each rock of your hips. The stimulation was so delicious you wanted to cry, and you could feel your release beginning to crest over you.

"Oh, fuck, Vernon." you whined as you desperately chased your pleasure.

The prince hissed, his fingers digging harder into your skin.

"Come for me now, your highness." Vernon beckoned, and you were letting out a sob as you fell to pieces a moment later.

He kept a firm grip on you to keep you upright as you rode out your high. You stared down at your hands covering Vernon's stomach, laughing slightly as you tried to catch your breath.

"Wow…that was…wow."

The prince gave you just the hint of a smile, and you felt the room spin.

"I love how articulate you are after a good orgasm, princess." Vernon teased you, and you felt yourself beginning to grow shy all of a sudden.

You reached beside you for your discarded nightgown, using it to wipe yourself clean. You would just steal some of the prince's clothes to wear to sneak back into your room. You let the garment drop to the floor, and Vernon suddenly shifted underneath you, swearing under his breath.

You thought maybe you had accidentally hurt him, but then you saw the real reason for the prince's discomfort. He was fully hard, again.

"Shit, Vernon." you whispered, and his line of sight followed your own.

"Well, can you blame me? After feeling you grind your dripping cunt all over my thigh." he voiced, his deep timbre settling in your core.

You lifted your eyes to his face, and saw the hunger still swirling in his irises. And you realized that your appetite hadn't been satiated yet either. Feeling like a woman possessed, you raised yourself from his thigh before shifting to properly straddle him with your legs on either side of his body. You held the prince's gaze as you slowly sank down onto him, both of you moaning in unison.

"Greedy bitch." Vernon hissed, one of his hands coming up to roughly palm at your breast while the other reached around you to give your ass a harsh smack.

You felt set aflame from within as you began riding him in earnest. The prince groaned and panted below you as he alternated between groping your chest and your behind.

"Think I like having you at my mercy, prince." you breathed, smirking down at him.

A growl rumbled in Vernon's throat, but whatever his reply was gonna be died on his tongue the moment you switched your focus to grinding on his cock.

"Fuuuuuuuuuck."

His eyelids fluttered as you tortuously rolled your hips, your nails scratching against the skin of the prince's chest.

"Fuck, you're gonna kill me."

"Well, you know, prince," you began softly, leaning over him to run your tongue along his infuriatingly perfect collar bones, making Vernon shiver underneath you, "that was the idea."

You marked his skin with your mouth, distracting him as you carefully slid your dagger free of its sheath. Vernon's hand twisted into your hair, pulling you up to claim your mouth. The way he practically swallowed you nearly had you dropping your blade and losing yourself.

You tightened your grip on the hilt, your fist digging into the sheets below. Your mouth disconnected from the prince's as you pushed yourself back upright, a string of saliva trailing between your lips. Irritation flashed in Vernon's eyes as his fingers pulled harder at your strands, "Get back here, princess."

You had your dagger against his throat in one quick movement, and the way his cock twitched inside of you didn't go unnoticed.

"As I said, prince, I like having you at my mercy."

"Filthy whore." he spat back at you, but his face gave away just how fucked out he was from the sudden change.

You laughed softly and gave a single roll of your hips, and the choked moan he let out betrayed the prince further.

"Careful, darling, or I might just have to cut out your tongue." you taunted, starting to feel drunk off the power you currently had over him.

Vernon had barely started to open his mouth to retaliate, when you began fucking him with renewed vigor. Each rock of your hips made your blade bite into his skin just a little bit more, but not enough to bleed. Yet, anyway.

Near animalistic snarls and growls escaped the prince, both of his hands digging into your ass hard enough to bruise as he encouraged your desperate movements.

"Now, you listen to me, prince. I am not one to be trifled with. And I will not tolerate any more of your childish games. Fuck with me again, and I'll make sure my next nightly visit to your chambers isn't quite so pleasant."

"It really, fuck, drove you that crazy to go without my attention for a few days? I think you might be growing a little sweet on me, your highness." Vernon piped up, sporting a cheeky little grin.

"Silence." you snapped, tightening your grip on your dagger, "I refuse to entertain such delusions."

In a blur of motion, Vernon's hand came up to wrap around your wrist, wrenching your arm to the side. You gasped sharply, but it wasn't in reaction to him. It was because of the red bubbling up from a cut on his neck. Your blade had barely knicked him, but distress filled you all the same.

"Drop it, princess."

The warning in his voice pulled your attention back to where he was gripping your wrist that was dangling over the side of the bed. You glanced at his neck once more before releasing your grip on your dagger and letting the weapon drop to the floor.

It was silent except for the sounds of your shared ragged breathing. The prince let go of your wrist, and your trembling fingers immediately went to the streak of crimson on his neck.

"Vernon." you whispered into the space between you.

"Please, your highness, no tears. It's only a graze." he teased you, and you just blinked down at him.

The prince chuckled softly before making you yelp as he maneuvered himself upright, bringing the two of you face to face as his strong arms encircled you.

"You act as if we haven't left worse marks on each other. Or do I need to remind you, princess?" Vernon went on, and you caught sight of his mischievous smirk just before his head dipped down, silver filling your vision.

His lips closed around your nipple, earning a sigh from you as you let your head fall back. And just like that, he had you again.

"Now that there's nothing else to distract us, I can finally fuck you properly." he murmured against your skin, his tongue flicking over your perked bud.

You rocked your hips in response, fingers threading through his hair. It suddenly scared you how intimate all of this felt, and you just hoped Vernon wouldn't be able to read it on your face. You ended up lucking out because he pulled out before handling you like a ragdoll and flipping you onto your stomach.

"What the hell do you think you're do-" you started to say, but your words were muffled when the prince grabbed you by your hair and pushed your face into the sheets.

He jerked your hips up a moment later and landed a hard slap on your ass that had you groaning underneath him. You felt him lean over you, his warm breath falling over your back, "I'm going to take you like this. And you're going to scream into those sheets. Wake up the whole fucking castle for all I care."

You bit back a curse as he buried himself inside you once again. Vernon kept one hand on your head, while the other secured your hands behind your back as he fucked you like he had something to prove. The sound of skin on skin, coupled with your quieted sobs and Vernon's stuttered breath, filled the bedroom obscenely.

He had all the control right now. All you could do was literally lay there and take it. Each bruising thrust had you feeling more and more out of your mind. Your orgasm crashed down on you without any warning, and you released a scream into the sheets before going limp underneath him. Vernon growled, using both of his hands to lift your hips back up as he continued pounding into you.

"Fuck, Y/N. You're gonna be so full of me, this little cunt of yours will be dripping for days." he grunted, the rhythm of his strokes becoming erratic.

You moaned brokenly, your body completely spent. Vernon hovered above you, pressing his chest to your back as he shuddered next to your ear. He came a moment later, and then practically collapsed on top of you.

"Is this an assassination attempt?" you asked, trying to hide your tired smile in case he could somehow see it.

Vernon laughed, and the sound vibrated against your back, warming you from the inside out.

"You did try to kill me first, remember?" the prince quipped back.

"Knowing you and what an insufferable bastard you are, I highly doubt that's the first time a woman has held a dagger to your throat. I know it certainly won't be the last."

Vernon playfully bit your shoulder, and you exclaimed before squirming out from underneath him. The two of you laid facing each other, side by side. Moonlit strands fell over his dark eyes, and you found yourself reaching out to brush them back from his face. The prince looked at you curiously, and you quickly retracted your hand, flushing furiously in the dark.

"Sorry." you mumbled as you casted your gaze towards the sheets between you.

"You know," Vernon started, and you glanced back up to meet his eyes, "if I had my way, princess, there's no way I'd ever let you leave my bed."

You were quickly brushing off his words because of how much they terrified you, "Well, with me, prince, I guarantee you'll never have your way."

You thought you saw hurt flicker across his features for a split second, but then he was sporting that signature cocky grin again.

"Good thing I love a challenge."

That may have been the case for him, but you weren't so sure that it was a challenge you were up for anymore. A different kind of flame was beginning to ignite inside of you, and it felt more threatening and more consuming than that of your blazing hate. Stronger than your furious lust. It sparked, bright and hot inside of your chest. And it promised to burn you alive.

[averagewriter-inthedark]

When It’s Cold, I’d Like To Die 🌨 | TGM Imagine- Apocalypse AU

Set in an alternate world during a zombie apocalypse

TGM masterlist

Characters & Pairings: female!reader x Dagger Squad (platonic), slight Bradley Bradshaw x female!reader (implied romance), sister!oc x female reader (platonic/sisters)

Content Warnings: MAJOR angst & MAJOR character death (read at your own risk). Profanity. Emotional, sad, light fluff at the end (sorta a happy ending), apocalypse!au, light spoilers for TLOU (one scene is loosely inspired by one from Ep.2) | female!reader (she/her) wc: 7.5k

Premise: 2019 was the last year humanity could laugh and have fun without a care in the world. Then in November the world was turned upside down when a deadly virus swept though causing humans to turn into beings they only saw in movies. Seven years after the outbreak, the Top Gun special detachment have remained a team, but in the way they predicted obviously. They’ve survived things no training from the Navy could’ve prepared them for. Now years later, they’ve wondered to Seattle with hopes of returning to California by down….but for a couple of them, it’s their last stop.

Note: I’m sorry. Again. - Bee 🐝

———————————————

Date: 30 November 2026 –7 Years, 0 Months, and 20 Days since the outbreak

It’s been 12 hours. Another 12 and my brain will be consumed by the virus making me one of the things I’ve spent years fighting. No one knows. Everything happened so fast after the ambush that I rushed to get my gloves on before anyone could notice the bite mark just below my thumb. The veins have already started to appear, my muscles aching with light spasms I try to hide when no one is looking. So far they’ve only reached my elbow…but once they reach my neck It’s rapid from there. Then the foam will leave my mouth, my pupils will dilate to the point you can barely make out the white. I guess I should start figuring out what to do before I either lose my mind or end things before it gets worse.

I fear Maverick is onto me, but maybe he fears I’m onto him. His behavior has changed just as mine, becoming drawn away from the rest as we set sights on heading south for the winter. When he thinks I’m not looking I catch him fidgeting with his pant leg. Like he’s trying to make sure it’s covering his skin…..Maybe I wasn’t the only one to be bitten—not sure if I should find comfort at the fact I may not have to go through this alone, or just as hopeless with the fact it’s Mav. Once the others discover our my secret I’m scared they’re gonna lose faith. We’re so close to the rumored safe haven—so so close that we could get there by the end of the week…..but it looks like they're gonna have to continue without me.

We’ve been together as a team for seven years—before the outbreak even happened. I still remember the smell of the ocean and the feel of the felt on the pool table against my fingertips. The taste of draft beer that I once hated almost seems nostalgic since I haven’t had it in years. I can still hear the laughter from Bradley and Javy when Jake tried chatting up a pretty blonde who turned out to be married to an admiral. I wonder what happened to her….did she survive that night? Did she last a week? A year? Is she out there now wondering about the country like us?

With my eyes closed I can still picture the news coverage. The initial confusion filling my veins followed by a rush of anxiety that what I was witnessing was real. Then the panic erupting from everyone in the bar. Some rushed out immediately, likely rushing to get to their families. All of us who stayed did our best to board up the windows and doors with whatever we could find. Those of us with weapons in our cars were all so nervous about using them for the first time. Poor Bob didn’t know how to handle his gun and Mav being the saint he is, helped Bob when chaos was happening around them. Just picturing myself that night…shooting a person that didn’t even look human trying to break through the barrier. The revolver in my hand shook by how horrified I was and when I looked at Nat she mirrored my expression. I forgot what happened to my little revolver…it lasted me a good six months into the outbreak before we snuck on base and stole everything we could.

It’s crazy how everything changed in the blink of an eye. One second we’re all celebrating the success of an impossible mission, the Navy’s best fighter pilots. The next…we’re fighting for our lives in a war we only saw in movies. For the first year as humanity attempted to adapt to the new reality, we all traveled across different areas of the country to find our families. Radio and communications were lost early, with the only relying source was to go to our homes and see if they were there. Unfortunately, we never found most of the team’s loved ones. And those we did were already turned or on the brink of. I’ll never forget Javy’s face having to put his parents out of their misery. Same with Nat to her siblings. The only people we found who were healthy and joined our expedition were Bob’s cousin, Mickey’s brothers, and my sister, Jamie. While there was joy finding them, it came with heartbreak.

We lost Omaha first, then Harvard and Yale in one night. Fritz was shortly after marking one year of the outbreak when we thought a building was clear and turned out a stray was lurking underground. Every now and then I’m surprised Rooster and Hangman haven’t killed each other. In the beginning they were always butting heads on what to do, with a knife being pulled out one time that ended with Mav threatening to send them on their own if they couldn’t get their act together.

I’m still mad about losing Hondo, Halo, Penny, and Amelia—It wasn’t even one of the bastards who got them, the damn war between the army and these militia groups has taken more lives nowadays than the virus. The large cities are where most of it happens—and unfortunately we happened to be passing Vegas during turmoil. The conflict arose in the months after the outbreak. It’s understandable really—everyone was pissed that the government failed to prepare after it was revealed they had knowledge that a possible deadly virus would be on the loose. But it’s gotten out of hand. Too out of hand.

I know Mav hasn’t been the same since Penny died. Maybe that’s why he’s not looking too panicked at the idea he could be reuniting with her by the end of the day.

Nothing good came out of that night besides stealing military armored vehicles. That’s made traveling from coast to coast easier with the new jobs we’ve taken up. Fightertown, the once home of Top Gun, is now our base of operations. We’re currently in Seattle with the plan to leave for California tonight, but I won’t be making that drive. Not when I’m already feeling the changes in my psychological well being shift. Jaime is now 16 and I want nothing more than for her to survive this damn apocalypse—to go on and actually live the life she deserves. Not waking up every morning with the fear it would be her last. She’s been traumatized enough with everything she’s seen and I know it’s going to be difficult for her without me. But she’s the strongest girl I’ve ever met. She can survive this all. And I know the squad will take care of her. They’ll keep her safe until their final breath.

That last mission I’ll keep close to me even after I’m gone. They’re my family—my only family I’ve known for the last seven years. We’ve survived so much together. And I pray that whoever stands above all will keep them safe from here on out. Maybe one day they’ll see the world how it once was. That’s my last wish for them.

To find peace.

6 Hours later

Twirling the match box in her hand, Lt. Y/n ‘Pepper’ L/n, relished in watching the sun make its descent on her final day of life. The colors were beautiful, painting the sky an array of pinks and oranges. Sunsets in the Pacific Northwest were always beautiful. She was glad she got to witness another one last time.

She was sitting on the steps of a courthouse, the others inside behind her going over plans or packing the vehicles. Jaime was tossing a ball she found with Mickey’s brothers, giggling when it accidentally hit one of them in the head. Trying to remain composed, she closed her eyes and breathed in the air. It almost felt fresh and clean. Not the polluted with lingering decomposition of human flesh scent she was accustomed to.

No. Tonight it was nice. Actually comforting with the cool breeze of the wind.

“Twenty minutes we’re out,” Jake called from the doorway. “Pep, we need ya in her’.”

“Alright,” she signed, pulling herself up and putting the match box in her jacket pocket. Making sure the clothing was zipped all the way, Pepper cranked her neck to make it look like she was stretching, all while fighting the urge to twitch. Adjusting her gloves next she grabbed the canteen of water off the step and moved inside where the team were holding up. The teenagers behind her raced in after, only to receive some looks when they made a lot of noise.

When scouting the area for refuge the squad checked the surrounding proximity for any undead. Big cities were hives for them, and one loud noise such as an explosion or a simple blast of a shotgun could trigger a mob. Since they started their cargo transport ‘business’ they’ve mastered avoiding the undead when traveling to populated cities.

A moment passes, everyone glancing around for the sounds of disturbance. When nothing happened they visibly relaxed and signaled it was okay to talk.

“Sorry,” Ray, the oldest of Mickey’s two brothers, mumbled.

“It’s okay, buddy,” he told him, “Just remember to be careful next time. Okay?” The teen nodded, moving to sit next to Sammy, and Bob’s cousin Allison.

“What’s it looking like?” Nat was the first to ask, Bob coming to stand in front of the table with the large map displayed.

“The gas we have in the trucks will last us till the Oregon-California border. Portland is four hours from here, and then it’ll likely be another four or so to the border if we don’t run into any trouble. We’re gonna have to stop to refill the takes and then we can either decide to haul it to Sacramento— where I’ve already notified the base camp there we’re planning to stop so they’re getting stuff ready for us—or we can try to find a place at the border to rest.”

“I say we go to the base,” Javy said, rummaging through his pack for a snack. “I wouldn’t trust the border—could be scavengers hiding out for passerbyers.”

“Yeah, but Sacramento’s being hit with conflict,” Payback pointed out with a tired sigh.

“But if we haul for the long run tonight then it should die down by morning. You know how it is…It’s at night these things usually happen.”

“Both of you are right,” Rooster steps in, frowning down at the map with his arms crossed. “We stop at the border we could be ambushed, but if we go to Sacramento we’ll walk right into a war.”

None noticed how quiet Y/n was, fidgeting with her thumbs as they discussed. There was no need for her to give input. Not when she was gonna be likely dead within the hour.

“Well we need to decide,” Nat says sternly, the exhaustion evident in her tone. “I want us to be out of here in fifteen minutes—so either we vote, you two rock, paper, scissors it or we flip a coin.” Rooster almost considers it but then turns to the oldest member of their squadron.

“What do you think, Mav?”

The former pilot blinked several times, not realizing his name had been said and quickly recovered. Pepper’s anxiety rose…he was showing signs. “I-I yeah..I think you-we, we should go to Sacramento.”

‘Fuck,’ Y/n dropped her head in silent thought.

The others didn’t seem to notice the slip up and continued on. “Well that settles it,” Jake clapped his hands, “Let’s finish packin’ up and get the hell outta her’.” There was distress expressed by those who were worried about what lay ahead in Sacramento. For Y/n, her heart was racing by what she needed to do next.

“Jaime,” she called her sister over softly, the teen coming to stop in front of her. “How are you doing tonight?”

“Fine,” she drawled with a shrug. “Not looking forward to being cooped up in a van for the next eight plus hours…but I plan to sleep the entire time.”

“Good,” Y/n brushed some hair behind Jaime’s ear, letting her gloved hand softly liner against her cheek. It was shaking lightly, but Y/n managed to not let her sister notice. “Me too. That sounds like a good plan. I uh—,” she reached into her pants pocket, removing a small booklet. “I’ve been hanging onto this for a while and I thought you should have it. Maybe you can keep it safe since I almost lost it when we were in Denver.”

Jaime took the booklet, examining it. “What is it?”

“Open it and find out.”

Doing so, Jaime felt tears spring in her eyes when the booklet revealed Polaroid photos of not just the team from the past years, but ones of her and Y/n’s family. “W-where did you get this?”

“When we found you back at the house and after I….I won’t say,” she was referring to having to shoot their parents and brother who had turned. Jaime was hiding in the attic when they found her, malnourished and living off of rice cakes and water. “But I went through the house to find things that were sentimental. And well, I made sure to grab photos so we could always remember what they looked like.” Y/n felt a bile of emotion in her throat, swallowing it down. “It’s yours now. Take care of it.”

Jaime closes the book and wraps the thread around it to keep it together. Then her arms go around Y/n’s waist, causing her to stumble a bit, but hold her sister nonetheless. “Thank you,” she said. “I’ll keep it safe. I promise.”

The booklet was the last piece Y/n had of their family. All it contained were the photographs. Keeping their memory alive as a happy one rather than the painful last image of having to execute them to put them out of their misery. Only a few times a year Y/n would flip through the photos, and read over the handwritten notes of her mother and father she found. Now it was time to pass them to Jaime. So she could have them and also remember Y/n.

Pulling away from the hug, Y/n places her hands on Jaime’s shoulders and looks deep into her eyes. “Promise me something, kiddo.” The teen gave a short nod and Y/n took a sharp breath. “Promise me that whatever happens to me, you’ll always fight. You’ll move forward and continue to survive. Promise that you won’t give up no matter what happens okay?” Jaime appeared taken aback by the request, not liking the idea she may have to one day continue without her sister. “Promise, kiddo. I need to hear you say it.”

“Why are you asking me this now, Y/n?”

“Because It would bring me peace knowing you are going to be okay,” Y/n offers a small smile. “I want reassurance you would never give up just because I’m not there. You’re stronger than that. And I need you to promise me you will be.”

Eyes still watery, Jaime sniffs and gives her sister a nod, “I promise I’ll try.”

“That’s all I can, kiddo. For you to try,” she brings her into another hug, feeling eyes on her and looks up to see Maverick with a sympathetic expression.

He knows.

“It’s you and me against the world, right?” Y/n holds her close, resting her head on top of Jaime’s, who then repeats, “You and me against the world.”

“Go wait in the van with the others while we finish up here,” before sending her off, Y/n places a comforting kiss on Jaime's head with the soft whisper of ‘I love you.’ The teenager wanted to question her sister’s behavior, but followed the order anyway despite the feeling in her gut starting to form.

Once Jaime, Sammy, Ray, and Allison were outside, leaving just the squad, Y/n’s voice echoed against the silence, “I can’t go with you.” Everyone stopped what they were doing, Maverick off to the side with his hands on his hips and all of them waiting for the former pilot to say she was joking. Holding her hands together, she keeps her gaze on the floor.

Jake scoffed, “Now’s not the time to joke, Pep. We’re leaving in five—.”

“I’m not going,” she snaps, “I can’t go.” Her arm twitches, catching the attention of Rooster, who unconsciously takes a step forward causing her to move back. “Don’t get close to me, please,” she falls to a whisper, letting her eyes drift up to find the mixed reactions from her friends. Some were ashen—already understanding what she was trying to say while a couple appeared confused, not yet catching on.

“Y/n…” Nat’s tone becomes strained. Not wanting to accept the possibility.

“I’m sorry,” she looks at each of them, but Jake just shakes his head and demands, “Show us.” Removing the gloves first, Y/n’s hand trembles as she reaches up to unzip her jacket, shrugging it off her body to reveal the veins taking up the entire right side of her body. Her tank top showed where it was heading. They crept just halfway up her neck, meaning she was far into the infection that she only had a few hours before she fully succumbed.

“Fucking hell,” Jake turned away as Mickey and Bob immediately went distraught. Rooster and Nat simply remained frozen.

“When did this happen, Pepper?” Payback gently asked, trying to contain his reaction. All of them were already feeling the impending loss, and were all thinking the same thing: Who’s gonna be the one to do it?

“Eighteen hours ago…”

“During that ambush at the Hospital?” Javy was next to question her.

“Yeah,” she sadly replied, moving her hand a bit to show the bite. “Fucker that tackled me from the side got me as I was knifing him.”

“And you kept it from us?” Jake shouted, anger in his eyes. Y/n remained calm, knowing his reaction was justified. “This whole time you knew you were infected. And you didn’t say a word until now. Why?”

She tilted her head like it was obvious, “what the hell was I supposed to do, Jake? What would have you done? Shoot me right there?” She saw him still, making her scoff, “Forgive me for wanting a few more hours of peace with you guys and my sister before I end things.” Now that had everyone, minus Mav, eyes to go wide. Again she scoffed, “You really think I was gonna let it consume me? Or put one of y’all in the position to kill me? No,” she shakes her head, “no, I wanted you guys to be off to California before that happened. Honestly I would’ve just left hours ago with no word to spare you all, but…you probably would’ve searched for me.”

Some had to look away at that. She was right, they would have come looking for her. Even if they feared she had turned they’d at least want closure instead of wondering what happened.

“Seven years though,” she tried to laugh. “Not bad when you think about it. Would’ve hoped to make it to ten but life surprises you in mysterious ways. Now I’ll just have to root for Y’all on the side lines. I’ll kinda be pissed though if they somehow find a cure within the next month.”

No one knew how to respond. Quite frankly they didn’t want to. They were all dealing with having to adjust without Y/n going forward. Some didn’t want to accept it.

“Pep, we can try to figure something out—,” Nat tries to say, but Y/n spins to face her.

“What? figure out what, Nat?” She gestures to her arm. “I’m too far gone, okay? I have less than six hours at most—I won’t make it to Sacramento. And even if I were to….they’ll shoot me the second they see me. I’m not letting Jaime see that.” Y/n faces Rooster with a desperate look, tears threatening her eyes. “She doesn’t know,” she could see the heartbreak in his gaze.

Over the years Rooster and Pepper had grown close. At first it was just solely due to the connection they formed in the Navy which grew more at Top Gun. But when the end of the world is happening and there’s not many people in your life….things tend to happen.

They never put a label on it. At no point referring to the other as their ‘partner/significant other,’ but at night they’d bunk together. Rode in the same trucks. Had each other’s six. Sometimes they’d get involved in more intimate scenarios….. Maybe one can call it love, but they had a deep respect and admiration for each other.

“Take care of her for me,” she tells him. “Promise me you will.”

Rooster doesn’t hesitate, “I will.” Y/n swallows, nodding with thanks before adding, “She may fight you when she realizes you’re leaving without me. Sedate if you have to. Keep her from trying to come back.”

They had just gone to an abandoned hospital to retrieve supplies. It was where Y/n, and possibly Mav, got bit. In their search they got plenty of medical equipment including sedatives.

“I’ll do it,” Nat says, bringing a hand up to wipe her eyes. There were tears already escaping. The woman goes over to one of the backpacks and pulls out a bottle with a syringe to prepare it just in case she had to use it. Her hands were shaking, and before she knew it Mav was crouching beside her to take the syringe and do it himself.

“Here,” he hands it back to her, now full of the liquid. She thanks him softly before placing it in her jacket pocket.

At that moment an ugly screech fills the space, many reaching for their weapons in time to light up the undead that wandered in. Another one followed, and lastly a third, all dropping to the ground with bullets filling them. The rapid fire of the sound had Ray come rushing in to which Mickey yelled, “get back to the truck now!” They could hear faint noise in the distance, coming from the direction the three had run in from.

“There’s gonna be more. They must’ve snuck in from the sewers and came through the back,” Payback said in a rush, scanning for any more that could be lurking. “We gotta go.”

“But—,” Bob raised a hand to Y/n, who cut him off by saying, “I can hold them off. Buy you some time,” she paused a bit, looking at her shotgun and then said, “Leave the diesel.” She was referring to the large containers of diesel gasoline that had been on the streets. They didn’t know what to do with them since none of their vehicles took that type of gas. Y/n saw them and instantly thought of a plan.

“What the fuck are you on about?” Jake asked when she started to cut into the containers to let the liquid leak onto the floor.

“I’m gonna drown them in diesel,” she says sarcastically, making him glare. “I’m gonna fucking blow the place up, Jake. Do you want to sit and watch or are you gonna get your ass in that truck and make it tomorrow?”

He doesn’t answer, instead he marches up to her and pulls her into a near bone breaking hug. “I’m gonna miss you, Pep. You’re the best fucking wingman I could’ve asked for.”

Y/n’s lip quivered, hugging him back. “Don’t get sentimental on me now, Seresin,” she attempted to joke. “We both know you’ve been wanting to get rid of me for a while.” She feels him shake his head, though he chuckles.

“Never. You’ve been the glue of this team. I don’t know how we’ll get through this hell without ya, but we’ll try.”

“Thank you,” she pulls away, seeing a stray tear fall from his eyes. “Take care of each other.” He squeezes her shoulder that’s not covered in veins, patting it before stepping away.

“Let’s get a move on.” Everyone takes turns saying goodbye to Y/n and gathering their packs. There’s not a dry eye in the room, Nat holding onto her tightly and not wanting to let go.

“C’mon, Phee,” Y/n’s tone is soft, “you rise from the ashes. You’ve been doing it since I’ve known ya. You’ll get through this. I know you will.”

Nat whimpers, wiping her face as she says, “You better save me a drink up there. Because we’ll have a lot to discuss when I join you.”

“That’ll be years from now,” she assures her, pulling away from the hug, “But I’ll have your favorite ready to go when that happens.”

It was hard with each goodbye. Reuben and Javy understandably made theirs quick. Mickey said how he was gonna miss sharing the excitement with Y/n when he would find an old comic book. Sweet Bob’s face was bright red as the tears ran down his face unapologetically. “I’ll never forget you, Y/n.” She choked back a sob as she replied, “I would hope not, Bobby Boy.”

Rooster’s hug lasted longer than the others, kissing the side of her head lovely as he whispered into her ear, “Thank you for everything. I promise I won’t let anything happen to Jaime. You can count on it. And Y/n…I-I just want you to know that I lo—.”

“I know,” she cups his face, staring into the beautiful hazel eyes she adored. “I know, Roo. I’ve known for a while. And I feel the same, always have.” He wanted to kiss her one last time, but the infection had a chance of transferring through saliva and they couldn’t risk him getting it. It pained him that he couldn’t offer one last kiss to her.

Movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention, making them narrow in confusion. “Mav, what are you doing?” The question came at the sight of the older man cutting into the containers and bringing the gas further out to the hall where they could hear the approaching noise increase. They had maybe less than two minutes before they had company.

Mav threw his bag down as he pushed away the empty canister. “I’m staying.” The reaction was immediate.

“The hell you—!”

“I’m infected too,” at the gasp from Nat and stunned looks from everyone, besides Y/n, Pete bent down to pull up his pant leg. When he did the same ugly veins coated his skin. Then he lifted the end of his t-shirt, revealing more. “I don't have much time either.”

The reaction from Bradley could best be described with one word: agony.

“No,” he rubbed his face before his hands went to his hair. “No. This can’t be happening.” He wouldn’t accept it. Losing Y/n was one thing, but also losing Mav—his second father, in the same night? His entire soul was being ripped apart.

“Bradley—.”

“This can’t fucking be real!” Rooster shouted, not caring the tears were falling from his eyes. “Not you too!” The sounds from the distant hallways were getting louder, Payback and Jake rushing to close the doors of the room they were in to block them off before pushing desks and tables in front of them. It wouldn’t last much, but it’d at least buy them some seconds.

“Guys we really need to go,” Jake rushed out, pushing Coyote to the door. “Now! We can’t stay here!” It was a scene of distraught. They were now faced with the reality of losing both Y/n and their team leader. Fear of the incoming undead is what made them not break down right then and there. Nat knew once she got in the van she’d would lose it.

Rooster was already starting to break down. His face was red and riddled with tears, breathing heavily as he tried to fight back against Payback and Bob’s grip. “Don’t do this to me, Mav! N-no! Fucking dammit-I’m not leaving them! Mav! Please!”

“I’m sorry, kid,” Pete removes his dog tags and tosses them to Bradley to catch. He doesn’t know how he caught them, but the action hurts him even more. “You’re gonna be okay. I’ll see you again one day.”

“Don’t fucking tell me that! I don’t want that, Mav. C’mon—we were supposed to survive this together!”

“I know,” Mav sighs, green eyes red from crying. “I’m sorry, Bradley. But you’re gonna have to do it without me.” The former pilot releases a heartbreaking sound, making Y/n put her hand to her mouth to cover her sobs.

“Rooster, we have to go!” Reuben tells him sadly, practically shoving his friend backward. “I’m sorry, man, but it’s over.”

“Don’t make us have to sedate you, Bradshaw,” Jake threatens with an unreadable tone. He hated doing so, but if they didn’t leave in the next ten seconds they were about to be sitting ducks for a mob of undead.

“Mav!” Bradley screams as they finally get him out the door and out from their sights. Y/n is having to catch her breath from how hard she was crying. Seeing the man she loved in such a state did absolute destruction to her heart.

“Give these to Jaime,” she removes her own dog tags that were around her neck. She passes them to Natasha, who was the last in the building and fighting back the urge to collapse. “I love you guys so much.”

“We love you too,” Nat sobs, glancing between Pepper and Mav. “Both of you. I-I’m so sorry. This shouldn’t—this shouldn't have happened.”

Y/n just sighs, trying to smile at her friend, “It was an honor serving with you, Nat.” She sees the woman let out a shaky breath, nodding before turning on her heel and racing out of the building. When the trucks started she felt some relief, feeling more of it when the sound of them driving off could be heard.

Now it was just her and Pete.

“When did you figure it out?” She hesitated to ask, finally looking up from the ground she had been staring at for a good five seconds.

“When I noticed you were quieter than usual,” he replied, then asked, “What about you?”

“When you kept messing with your pants and checking if someone noticed.”

“Yeah,” he cracked his neck, then said, “I take it you got something to light this place up?” Instead of answering, Y/n removes the match box from her pocket.

Together they pull two chairs into the middle of the floor, facing the doors the undead were currently running for. A loud bang indicated they breached whatever obstacle in their path. It would be maybe thirty seconds before they arrived. Sitting down, Y/n opened the match box to find two cigatters hidden with only one match.

“How fucking ironic,” she chuckled, removing one to place between her lips before offering one to Maverick. Though he didn’t smoke, the occasion called for it so he took the tobacco and allowed her to light it with the last match before doing the same to hers.

Leaning forward in her chair, Y/n inhaled deeply before releasing the smoke, “What do you think we’ll find?”

“Hopefully…peace,” he breathes out, smoke filling the air. “But I hope to find my parents, maybe Ice and Goose. Hondo. Penny and Amelia,” his voice turns softer at the last couple names. “But mostly I hope to find peace. You?”

“The same,” she gives a small smile, leaning back in the chair as the noise gets louder. Fifteen seconds. “I sorta hope to find The Hard Deck. Maybe that’s where everyone is waiting for us.”

“That would be nice,” Mav agrees. Ten seconds.

Y/n gulps, “Mav?” The growls and moans were closing in.

“Yeah,” he says calmly. Five seconds.

“It’s been an honor serving with you.” He takes her hand in his. Three.

“The honor is mine, Pepper.” Two.

The cigarette bud flicked from her hand at the same moment the doors busted open. One.

Nothing could describe the flooding of anxiety that filled Jaime L/n when she heard the commotion from inside the courthouse, followed by the guys practically dragging Rooster out. Javy, Jake, and Mickey hopped into the armored van in front of the one she was in where Mickey’s brothers were. Meanwhile Bob, Payback and Nat were coming to the one she and Allison were in, hauling Rooster who was in evident distraught.

“What’s happening?” She said aloud, receiving no answer as Bob and Payback threw Bradley into the back seat, with Nat hopping in after them. Payback immediately got into the driver's seat with Bob in the passenger. Turning around to the courthouse, Jaime awaited Y/n to run out with Maverick. But neither came and she realized Payback was starting up the vehicle. “Where’s Y/n? And Maverick?” When none answered, only hearing the light cries from the former pilots.

This time with her blood running cold, she asked in a more demanding tone, “Where’s my sister? Wha—what are you doing!” She shouted when the van started to move, following behind Jake and the others. “Wait!” She turned in her seat, still no sight of the two. “No! What are you doing!? Stop—my sister’s still in there!” When Jaime turned back to scream at Payback to stop the van, she was met with the heartbreaking eyes of Natasha, who simply extended her hand over the seat to hand over something. Snatching it, Jaime felt her entire world collapsed seeing it was Y/n’s dog tags.

“N-no,” she croaked, lifting her gaze to Nat to find she was shaking her head. “No…”

“I’m sorry, Jaime. She was bit—.”

“NO!!” Jaime screamed, turning to look at the courthouse in hopes it was a joke and Y/n would run after the van. “You’re lying! She would’ve said something.”

“Honey, she didn’t want you to know—s-she was gonna have to leave us eventually.”

The teenager wailed at the news. Not wanting to believe her sister would send her off without saying. Not without a goodbye. Now it made sense why she was asking her to promise her all those. It was because she knew it would be the last time they saw each other. Jaime cried at the realization.

She slapped the seat, “Go back! Go back now! I won’t fucking leave her there! Ple-ease!” She hiccuped, beginning to crawl over the seats so she could get to the doors. Immediately Rooster was taking a hold of her, causing her to thrash. “No-fuck you! Let me go! That’s m-my sister! Please, Rooster—we have to go-oo back!”

“I’m sorry, kiddo,” he shot Nat a look when she removed the syringe, mouthing, ‘not yet.’

“No-no-no-no-no-nooo,” she cried, fighting against him but to no avail. “Please! Don’t leave her—go back!

They were some distance away, but still in sight of the courthouse when an explosion rattled the ground. Jaime got enough away from Rooster’s grip to look up and see the building was on fire. “NOOO!!!!” She broke down in despair, falling against the man who just held onto her as his own tears rolled down. Everyone in the van was in the same state, Payback was gripping the steering wheel so tight and Bob had his head in his hands.

Jaime just kept screaming and crying, occasionally fighting against Rooster and at one point her panic attack became too much that Nat had to sedate her when she actually threw a punch at him. He wasn’t angry or upset of course. He understood exactly what she was going through.

Both of them just lost the only family they had.

It would be an image that would haunt them forever. The ablazed courthouse where their friends layed. They didn’t want to picture what they looked like, instead focusing on their final days. Where Y/n was dancing with Mickey to an old song that came on the radio. Where Maverick was showing the teenagers how to change a tire in case the vans were to break down. The nights by the fires reminiscing on what it was like before the outbreak. Shooting pool and darts at the Hard Deck, before it became a graveyard to the undead.

Those things are what they would remember. The feeling of warmth and nostalgia from reliving those memories would help them in their grief. They were in denial at first, then angry, followed by bargaining as they asked, “it should’ve been me.” The depression lasted a long time. Mostly for Rooster and Jaime who had trouble adjusting to life without their loved ones. The nightmares were horrible, keeping them from getting sleep. Jaime went from an optimistic, bright, teenager to cold and detached. It took some time before she reached the final stage of grief: acceptance.

It was roughly two years after Y/n died that she understood why her sister didn’t tell her during that final conversation. Why she made sure she was out in the van before she realized Y/n was staying behind. It was so Jaime could remember her in a healthy, happy, light. So she wasn’t faced with the devastation of seeing her become undead.

Everyday she wore her dog tags, fiddling with them whenever she became anxious. The days she felt lonely and depressed she’d glance through the booklet with all the photographs Y/n had gifted her. Shortly after the incident Jaime discovered Y/n’s notebook with all her entries starting from the day after the outbreak, to the most recent being the one six hours before she died. Jaime felt her heart break and repair each time she read an entry. She cried a lot at the one detailing the day the squad found her, where Y/n spoke of how she had to execute their infected parents and brother. There were entries that made her laugh, some made her angry—especially one talking about the night they lost Halo, Hondo, Penny, and Amelia. It was so unfair how it happened. The team was just trying to get through Vegas and bombs were going off due to the conflict between the army and rebelled militia groups.

The last entry, Jaime trailed her fingertips over Y/n’s handwriting, hoping she would feel closer to her sister. Feel her warmth again, hear her laugh, see her smile. She wasn’t the only one. Every now and then Jaime would catch Rooster looking at his own Polaroids with Y/n and Mav.

Years passed. Summers turned to fall and then winter and spring. The tenth anniversary of the outbreak came and went, with their group losing Javy, Ray, Bob, and Allison along the way. Jake died around the fifteenth, with Mickey not too far behind due to an injury to his leg. They finally decided to stop their ‘transport’ business when that happened, no longer able to do the work they once were able to as Bradley, Nat, and Rueben were all approaching their fifties. Jaime was now in her thirties and had met a nice man on their travels, falling in love when she never thought it was possible.

She wasn’t the only one to find love. Nat married, so did Payback though neither had children. Rooster was the only one to not do so. Even when it was obvious men and women they met in their travels expressed attraction to him, Bradley denied their advances. When asked he simply said, “I had my love. There wasn’t anyone like her and my heart won’t belong to someone else. She took it with her when she left.”

Rumors started to spread around the twentieth year that the new generation of children being born were immune to the virus. Pregnant, Jaime felt a mix of fear and hope at the thought her baby was immune. Hope that maybe a cure could be discovered, but fear at what the government planned to do with the children. Surely they were ripping them from their families to be taken to testing locations. Immediately Jaimie, her husband and the remaining squad members with their loved ones they found and created all went into hiding in Fightertown.

Humanity began to rebuild in the 25th year. An announcement was made just shortly after the outbreak anniversary that countries working together were able to create an effective vaccine. It was to be distributed immediately, with no human being denied the access to be cured. Jaime had just had her second child when they got it. Within six months every remaining human had received the vaccination.

Finally, after 25 years. They could breathe a sigh of relief.

The team remained in contact despite going their separate ways. Rooster traveled back to Virginia where his parents rested, sending a vintage postcard to Jaime when he arrived. Nat and her husband remained in San Diego, Reuben and his wife traveled to Colorado. Jaime, having seen every inch of the country, ended up landing in Washington state. She didn’t go to Seattle, it was still too painful, but she went close to the Canadian border.

The reason: the sunsets.

“Look at how the sky just lights up. So many colors—a beautiful array of orange and pinks,” she heard Y/n’s voice when she closed her eyes the first time she sat on the porch steps of her new home, the sun descending on the horizon. “I’ve seen many sunsets in my days, kiddo. But nothing compares to the ones on the PNW. They by far are the most mesmerizing to look at.”

Breathing in the fresh air, the most refreshing she’d ever inhaled now that she was away from most of civilization as the cities were being rebuilt, Jaime felt the weight finally lift from her shoulders. “You and me against the world, right kiddo?”

“You and me against the world.”

Acceptance. It was finally here. Jaime thought she had accepted her sister’s death ages ago, but really she had pushed it to the back burner to focus on other things. Never did she truly accept Y/n’s death, she just adapted to it like everything else.

Being able to come back to Washington, the place she lost her sister, and watching the sunsets she knew Y/n loved is what really brought Jaime peace.

She finally reached the final stage of grief.

40 years later

The bright welcomed Jaime with warmth spreading throughout her body. Gasping, she opened her eyes and glanced down to find she was no longer sleeping in her bed with her children holding onto her hands. Instead she was wearing an old flannel she remembered she loved as a teenager, with light wash jeans and converse. Her hands were no longer wrinkled and rail, she felt like she was back in the body of her young self.

Ocean waves filled her ears, and when she turned around she found the sea ahead with a familiar building she only knew by the memories her sister would tell her.

The Hard Deck.

All around was a hue she couldn’t explain. It was bright, almost luminescent with the sun’s rays beating down. Something in the building was calling to her.

“Go,” a voice said. She didn’t recognize it, but it was telling her to go inside. “They’re waiting for you.”

Her feet carried her across the parking lot. No cars were there which made it unusual for a bar that read ‘open’ on its glowing sign. Still Jaime approached the door, hearing the faint sounds of conversation and music. When she pushed the door open, the music stopped and she was frozen at the sight before her.

The whole Dagger Squad were dressed in their service khakis looking the same as they did the night of the outbreak. Penny and Amelia were behind the bar, where Mav was seated with Hondo, Warlock, and Cyclone. Ray, Sammy, and Allison were by the jukebox, beaming at Jaime and her heart picked up at the sight of her husband of nearly 50 years beside them. The Dagger Squad were smiling. Especially Rooster who looked young and handsome again, throwing Jaime a wink as if to say, ‘about time you showed up. We’ve been waiting ages.’

Heart beating, she felt the emotion surge in her causing tears to prick in eyes. Jaime’s eyes drifted over, bringing a hand to her mouth when they landed on her parents and brother seated in a booth, her father standing from his seat.

She wanted to rush over to them but something was stopping her. Almost like she needed to see one last person before she could.

And there was only one missing.

Before the name could leave her lips, Jaime heard her voice. After years of wondering if she had found peace, the answer came with a simple greeting of, “Hey, kiddo.”

……………………….

TGM Tag List: @avaleineandafryingpan, @caitsymichelle13, @poppyalice2001, @cutelittlepotatofry, @luckyladycreator2, @americaarse, @elenavampire21, @back-tooo-black

[ciaossu-imagines]

For day 16 of the event, I used the word ‘green’ from prompt 1 for Tetsu from Servamp! I love this kid so much, he has my entire heart, and these were so fun to consider and write up for him, so I hope you gorgeous constant readers enjoy reading these as much as I enjoyed writing them 😊

Green: Eight facts about appearance

So, as canonically stated, Tetsu dyes his hair blond. I like to think his family help him do it, and his grandfather is actually the best at it. He gets it redyed about every six weeks, when the dark roots are really showing through.

Tetsu isn’t someone who’s heavily into fashion. He wouldn’t know the latest styles and trends by any means. He cares a lot more about how comfortable and functional his clothes are.

Because of this, Tetsu has very little problems wearing things that others might consider embarrassing, including splashing logo’s for his families business on a lot of the things he wears. To him, he’s just supporting his family business and advertising, while a lot of others his age might cringe and say it’s embarrassing to wear things like that.

Tetsu is drawn mostly to very natural colours when it comes to the clothes he wears. He prefers nature-inspired colors like blues and greens and simple tones like white and black.

Tetsu has a hard time buying pants because of his height and the way his body is shaped. Normally, pants that fit really well around his waist and hips tend to be made for bodies that are shorter than his. Finding pants long enough is a struggle for him. His pant size is normally a 32 to 34 waist and a 34 to 36 inseam, depending on the make and brand of the pants.

Tetsu wears clips in his hair because he finds it really annoying to have his hair in his eyes. However, he doesn’t like to cut his hair shorter than it is, because he feels it makes him look much older when he does.

Tetsu definitely does have some scars on his body, and he has distinct stretch marks from experiencing a massive growth spurt in his preteen years, where he shot up almost a foot in height in under a year. He’s not too ashamed or self-conscious about either thing.

Tetsu’s favourite physical feature of his is his hair. He has naturally soft hair that doesn’t frizz or have any co-licks and it’s relatively thick and full. Even with it getting dyed every so frequently, his hair manages to stay healthy and shiny.

[cinemaocd]

Jenny's ongoing list of films watched 2024

February

January list, here.

Inland Empire (2006)*** It took three attempts to get through this long, confusing film. Like Mulholland Drive or the Season Three of Twin Peaks, Lynch films improve on repeat viewings even if meaning remains elusive. That is part of the joy-- sometimes you just vibe with it.

Death of Stalin (2017)**** One of my favorite films of the last two decades. A harried farce with the bloody-mindedness of Macbeth. Like the Scottish Play, we know how its going to come out, but the fun is in watching the articulate villain, played with delicious malice by Simon Russell Beale being outdone by a team of bumbling, petty bureaucrats and one very bad ass soldier. The Boyfriend (1970)*** Ken Russell's surreal tribute to the burlesque musical genre makes the most of its setting in the 1920s by putting his star Twiggy in iconic psychadelic reiterations of the flapper dress. If you opine the fact that drop waist dresses come back into style every 15 years or so, then this movie is as much to blame as anything. Poor Things (2023)*** Emma Stone gives a wild and convincing physical performance as Bella, a baby's brain in the body of her dead mother and Mark Ruffalo as typical 19th Century Rake Getting His Comeupance iscasting I didn't know I needed. I loved the yearning Godwin (Willem Defoe in truly amazing Frankenstein's monster makeup) and though I haven't read the book, I was drawn into the grotesque, ai generated world of the film. The aesthetics of this movie are as engrossing as the story and characters. Adventures of a Dentist (1965)** The Soviet version of the live action Disney comedies of the 70s, where a humble person is given magical power. Here a dentist is given extraordinary, almost magical abilities to perform dentistry without pain. He becomes a celebrity and his fall from grace involves him giving in to the decadent trappings of being a popular dentist. The humor has a darker edge than Disney though I wouldn't go so far as to call it a black comedy. Adolf Hitler: My Part in His Downfall (1973)** This Spike Milligan film plays like a double episode of Dad's Army, not least because of the presence of Arthur Lowe who plays practically the same character here as he does on the tv show. That is not the end of the world however and this is easy to like farce with Milligan's ascerbic, anti-authoritarian bent that is grittier than anything on the sitcom. The Master (2012)** I had high hopes for this, one of Phillip Seymour Hoffman's final films and his last collaboration with director Paul Thomas Anderson is loosely based on the origin story of Scientology. Joaquin Phoenix plays a shell shocked veteran who drifts into the path of the cult leader played by Hoffman. Amy Adams gives a chilling performance as his much younger, controlling wife who is the real power behind the cult. I think I would have an easier time with this film if Anderson hadn't gone around giving interviews saying that Scientology and it's founder L. Ron Hubbard had "helped a lot of people." Of course, this is PTA and Phoenix's character isn't helped at all and he makes the cult worse by being a violent enforcer for the leader's enemies. The levels of whitewashing involved in making a deeply misogynistic cult into a secret matriarchy is just...ugh. However, the homoerotic tension between Hoffman and Phoenix makes the film worth looking out. Murder of Quality (1991)** Made for TV adaptation of John Le Carre's second novel. Denholm Elliott plays Smiley as more doddering and anti-social than Alec Guinness' iconic version of the character. This early Smiley story is more a traditional English village murder mystery, ala Miss Marple, with Glenda Jackson playing Ailsa, Smiley's war buddy that runs a women's magazine. Christian Bale plays one of the students at an elite prep school that forms the economic backbone of the town. Le Carre is merciless in his portrayal of the toxic, petty characters, the wealthy and wannabe wealthy swamp dwellers who run rings around the local constabulary until Smilley steps in and withstands their slings and arrows long enough to solve the case.

The Private Life of Sherlock Holmes (1970)*** Sometimes you sit down to watch a movie with such low expectations that you are pleasantly surprised that it doesn't totally suck. The excitement of things not being as bad as you feared can blot out some of a movie's excesses. At the end of the day this is Billy Wilder, physically incapable of creating a boring movie throwing the whole bag of tricks at this faux biography of Holmes starring Robert Stephens and Colin Blakely. There's farce and physical comedy, verbal gymnastics and exotic locations. Holmes' possible homosexuality is tastefully hinted at and attempts to create a sensationalist account of his drug use, amount to little before the mystery gets rolling. One of the big delights is Christopher Lee as Mycroft whose scenes with Robert Stephens are bitchy queen pissing contests. Genevieve Page does a turn as a would be damsel in distress who turns out to be a worthy opponent to Holmes similar to Irene Adler.

Irma La Duce (1963)*** For some reason between this and Poor Things I ended up watching two movies about Parisian brothels this month. Billy Wilder based this pastiche of 1950s travelogue adventure films like To Catch a Thief and Charade on a French stage play. A strange attempt to weld the success of the Apartment with Some Like it Hot, reconfiguring a Marilyn Monroe vehicle as a reunion of Jack Lemmon and Shirley MacLaine. Like the Apartment, Irma LaDuce is tinged with melancholy while avoiding a lot of the cliches about sex work that wind up dating so many films on this topic. The main complaint I have about Irma LaDuce s that it's about 45 minutes too long, a common complaint about many films of this period. (Damn Lawrence of Arabia and all who sail in her).

Witness for the Prosecution (1982)*** A made for tv adaptation of the classic courtroom drama, which credits Billy Wilder's screenplay of his film version. Ralph Richardson and Deborah Kerr star in this remake and honestly their chemistry is just off the charts and we're left to wonder how they never managed to make a film together before. Wendy Hiller, Diana Rigg and Beau Bridges round out the amazing cast. Lacks the tension and edge of Wilder's film but I'm having too much fun with Ralph to care.

The Major and the Minor (1942)**: Billy Wilder's first film as writer and director has some of the hallmarks of his later, greater works: farce, trains, mistaken identity, and queer themes in the form of a lesbian coded sister of Ginger Roger's romantic rival. That all the fuss is about fairly bland Ray Milland is easy enough to overlook as Wilder makes the film about toying with Rogers image as sophisticated, sexy, dancer. Typical Wilder inside jokes about the film industry abound, such as a craze for Veronica Lake hairdos among the tween set and swipes at Hollywood actors like Charles Boyer Rogers' childish masquerade to avoid paying full adult fare is preceded by a series of calamities where she's pursued and objectified by a lot of nasty older men. Hoping to escape their advances as well as the ignominity of turnstyle jumping, she maintains the charade through a long weekend with a lot of handsy tween boys until Milland's fiancee is discredited as a controlling social climber. There is a bizarre side track into her home town where Rogers also impersonates her mother before revealing her grown adult self to Milland. No one ever accused Billy Wilder of being restrained I guess.

The Children's Hour (1961)**** This classic of queer cinema was necessarily a scorched earth tragedy at the time of its release. William Wyler's dreamy, restless camera drags you into the warm, cozy life of this female partnership between Shirley Maclaine and Audrey Hepburn that seemingly has the potential to be a romantic partnership. When nasty gossips and spoiled children start a rumor that they are a couple, the scandal destroys their business and standing in the community. Terrorized by the homophobic townspeople, they are eventually "cleared" of the crime of being gay for each other, just when Maclaine's character comes to the brutal realization that she really is in love with Audrey Hepburn's character. It's hard to watch her grief and shame as she admits that the bullies have discovered a truth about her that she didn't know herself. A fact so many queer people can find relatable. The film is based on a play by Lilian Hellman which used the topic of homosexuality to expose the cruelty of female narcissists who bully their way into power. There is much in common with Hellman's The Little Foxes in that way, but the film, perhaps owing to Wyler's inherent romanticism has more of a Romeo and Juliet quality than the play. One feels that Audrey Hepburn has perhaps realized the truth in the lie, just a few moments too late.

Sweet Charity (1969)*** Directed by Bob Fosse, starring Shirley MacLaine and Sammy Davis Jr and Chita Rivera this classic musical combines the best of Fossee's signature choreography, sixties pop show tunes and the psychadelic aesthetics of the late 60s. This and the Boyfriend have a lot in common, though I think the music in Sweet Charity is more solid and the contemporary setting makes it a tad edgier. MacLaine plays yet another flavor of sex worker, a dancehall hostess and paid companion who seeks to be elevated out of her life into respectability through marriage. The fiancee here is uptight and lacking in appeal and when he finally just flakes out in the final reel it's no great loss to the film.

Thief (1981)** Atypical heist film starring James Caan and Jim Belushi, directed by Miama Vice creator Michael Mann. You can see the beginnings of that iconic 80s TV show, in this movie which favors long scenes of action being edited to music with sparse dialog. Caan squares off against Tom Signorelli a local mob boss who dares to threaten Caan's wife played by Tuesday Weld.

[askcamilenull]

Beginning Part 1 (and Rules/Boundaries)

If not for the simple fact that he could literally feel the poison atmosphere in his lungs, Jack would have suspected the informants information to be faulty at best. he had chosen this city to lay low in for a reason after all. Anything that was likely to be after his head at this time wasn't likely to be able to breathe in this atmosphere at the same time. 

Or at least not anything that had been alive here in the past 10,000 years or so.

 so why Did it look like a girl fresh out of a college party had passed out on this rotting apartment couch? 

It was hard to tell if she was dead or simply sleeping by just looking at her. it didn't look like her chest was rising or falling anyways. Even if she was dead then it looked like she died yesterday. this wasn't the kind of atmosphere that would have preserved a dead body either, not from everything he'd seen so far. 

 and her face, well, it was beyond preserved. it was… well it wasn't hard to look at. She looked at peace and youthful with short, almost fluffy, blue hair. And her clothing was unmistakably Earthling attire. He couldn't even begin to imagine how she gotten here.

His hand twitched at his side. Should he… should he see if he could find a pulse?

He reached out a hand slowly to her, reaching for her own hand. part of him hoped she would wake up just from this contact but no such luck.

Her hand was cold.

 He swallowed but willed himself to focus, feeling her wrist.

 Nothing.

 Sighing, he got back up abandoning her hand, albeit gently.

 It was a shame, as much as he wanted to lay low, he admitted he could have used the company. 

He wandered into the kitchen to give himself some space from the girl, when he stopped up short. marking the entrance to what was left of the kitchen was a pile of wood that he supposed to be a counter, riddled with holes.

But that wasn't what stopped him.

Rather it was what was on top of it

Unmarked by time was a light blue cup, filled with a clear, bubbling liquid and covered completely on the outside by condensation.

Forget the girl's appearance, this was fresh, there was no doubt about it.

He reached out towards it to confirm he wasn’t hallucinating. He even gave the liquid a sniff. It smelled like some off-brand soda, but ordinary nonetheless

Before he could even form any theories, footsteps cracked up from behind him, and he turned to see the girl upright and rubbing at one of her eyes like she had just been crashing at a friend's apartment for the weekend. 

They stared at each other for a few moments before she winked.

“Heya, handsome! Ya mind handing me my drink?”

Then her eye fell out.

Rules/boundaries

Warning: This will contain body horror and dismemberment of a kind as you've seen in the introduction... Camile has a hard time... holding herself together. If that's something that will bother you, I completely understand.

For now, there will be no drawn responses, due to hand pain and other similar problems :/

No pr*shipping or NSFW requests

No hate, bullying, ect.

Please do not use this blog to vent.

Fan content is welcome as long as it doesn't violate the other rules :DDDDDDDDD

Crossovers and rps are extremely welcome as long as it doesn't violate the other rules. :333333333

There will be lore because yes :333333

Admittedly, I haven't yet had the chance to watch Torchwood yet, but I plan on changing that soon. (It's also been a minute since I've watched good old DW.) As such, this won't really follow the lore of the show anytime soon. Even when I watch it, I'll probably take liberties for fun especially since that's what this blog is for.

Well, I think that covers it for now, so ask away.

[thiswasinevitableid]

Fall Fun (Indruck)

The runner up of the spooky creatures poll was "person indebted to a pumpkin demon."

Thanks to @bellafarallones2 for playing in this space on discord. This ended up being SFW, but if you need your horny pumpkin demon fix, I got you covered. And you can find even more plant demons here

Indrid Cold sits on the bedroom floor of his tiny studio apartment. The one that’s not up to code and he’s paying for under the table. The one he has just drawn green chalk markings all across the floor of. 

In retrospect, it was always going to come to this. 

Last year, the instant he turned 18, he moved out of his father’s huge, historic house and as far as his limited funds would carry him. Which turned out to be the other side of town. For awhile the combination from his pay at the Dollar General and commissions for his art were enough to keep him afloat. But now someone, he’s almost positive it’s his father, has bought the building he’s living in and jacking up the rent.

Indrid doesn’t have as many tools at his disposal as he’d like. But he’s got a strange  book he found at a thrift store and a willingness to get weird, and that will have to do for now. 

He finishes drawing the circles and lights the candles–orange–and reads the incantation. As the last word leaves his lips, the markings turn to vines, sprouting across the floorboards until he’s sitting in the middle of a pumpkin patch. A massive, orange pumpkin rises from the ground, nearly hits the ceiling before opening with a wet crack. 

A figure steps from within, and for a moment Indrid thinks he’s in a Washington Irving story; the man’s body is topped with a green pumpkin head, its eyes flickering with fire, and he’s clad in a green cape and riding clothes. 

The demon stares down at Indrid, then looks at his own feet. 

“Aw fuck, thought this spell’d been wiped from the books.”

“...excuse me?”

The demon picks pumpkin guts from his sleeves, “This entrance is messy as all get out. Wrote a new one where I just kinda poof into place. Guess you must’ve found a real old book.  Whelp, no point in dwellin’ on it; what can I do for you?”

Indrid cannot decide if the friendly demeanor or the southern accent is more wrong-footing, but he clears his throat and says, “I wish to make a pact, great and terrible one.”

“Okay, shoot.” The demon sets his gloved hands on his hips. 

“I…I want you to make it so that no one owns this building, but that no one makes me own it and, I don’t know, pay taxes on it or something. I just want to live here and be left alone.”

The demon looks around, then makes his way to the door and flips the light switch, leaving Indrid squinting under the bare bulbs.

“Hate to say it, slim, but it kinda looks like no one owns it now.”

“Yes, it does give that impression. But right now it costs me $800 a month with the promise of climbing more.”

The demon whistles, an odd, low tone, “Damn. Yeah, I can do that. But you gotta…uh, one sec” He pulls a faded, green book from his pocket and quickly scans the pages, “lemme see…looks like the best I can do is that favor in exchange for a year's worth of service to me. Bit steep, but we got brackets for this stuff that we gotta follow.”

“Done.” It’ll take him that long to save up for a move anyway. 

The demon holds out a hand, and when Indrid shakes it he feels vines and wood beneath, not skin. As carved eyes flash green flame, he’s glad he didn’t ask for more. 

“Deal’s in place. I’ll be around in a day or two. Gotta figure out how to put you to work.” He winks, then sinks into the floor with a “see you around, slim.”

—-------------------------------------------------------------------

“You gonna come hang out tonight?” Barclay slips an extra cookie into Indrids’ bag as he picks up his order.

“No, I don’t think so. Thank you for offering but I will be busy.” 

His friend looks worried enough that Indrid almost feels bad for the fact that what he’ll be busy doing is staring at the wall and wondering what the point of it all is. 

“Well if you change your mind, you know where to find me. Aubrey helped Ned clear out some Saturday Night Dead videos, so who knows what she’ll bring to watch.”

Indrid promises to think about it, then trudges home in the chilly air to a chillier apartment. Then it feels as if he’s in a late summer garden, and when he turns the demon is watching him. 

“Got a job for you.”

“Alright.” Indrid tries not to flinch as the creature raises his hand. A snap like breaking branches produces nothing but a cluster of new groceries on his counter. 

“You want me to bake for you?” Indrid picks up the box of pumpkin spice cake mix.

“Not quite. See, what’s gonna happen is you’re gonna make those, put ‘em all in this” a pumpkin shaped cake carrier appears “and go to your buddy’s house. You’re also gonna stop by your neighbor on the way, the nice guy with the funky metal goat statue in his yard.”

Indrid turns, can of cream cheese frosting in hand, “Apologies, dark one, but I’m not sure I see the point of this.”

The demon crosses his arms, “These last few days have been normal, right? How your days usually go?”

“Yes…”

“Yeah, see, you keep up like this, you’re just gonna shrivel up like a sapling in the sun.” The green coat rustles as he steps forward, “you’re lonely, slim. Don’t take demon powers to see that. Or that there are folks who don’t want you to feel that way. So” the demon tosses him an apron with a Death's Head Moth printed on the front, “get that oven on. And quit callin’ me ‘dark one’ and shit like that. You can just call me Duck; it’s a nickname.”

Indrid has a multitude of questions, but decides it’s better not to pester an entity that can turn his veins to vines. 

For some reason, Duck hangs around while he bakes, creaking and gliding from one end of the studio to the other, not speaking but not making Indrid feel as if he has to fill the silence. When he notices that he’s running out of time before movie night, the demon returns and perchings on the kitchen table as vines emerge to help Indrid frost the cupcakes. 

The demon dissipates as soon as he touches the front door. Indrid leaves a smaller container of cupcakes for his neighbor across the way, and the small burn he got from the oven is worth it a hundred times over when Barclay practically rips the door off its hinges letting him in. 

It’s only when he returns home, tired and happy, that he notices the stained, white paint of the bathroom is now a light, homey orange. Like candlelight in a window. 

It makes him smile. 

—---------------------------------------------------------

“Duck, can I ask you something?”

“Sure”  The green Jack’O Lantern by his chair replies, soft enough that only he can hear. 

“Why have me do this?” He gestures to the library's fall fair, where he’s currently under a pop-up tent next to a table of face-painting supplies. The children's librarian had been very excited when he’d volunteered his services; apparently none of the other volunteers felt confident in their artistic talents. 

“Are you not havin’ fun?”

“No. Nono, it’s actually rather nice. I was worried it would be overwhelming but it being outside has kept me from feeling trapped. And it’s fun to make the kids happy. I just don’t see how this benefits you.”

“It don’t. Not directly anyway. I was the god of harvest festivals once upon a time. Never cared much for the worship and such; I just liked watching people get all these little moments of joy outta things like pumpkins or turnips. Hell, even leaves. So I try’n do things to encourage that these days, too. Other demons might get all high on the fact they got power, but that’s never been my style. I’m a simple being.”

Indrid smirks, “That grazing board you made me spend three hours assembling yesterday begs to differ. I never should have let you know about Pinterest.”

“Was it or was it not the right thing to eat while watchin’ every single Halloween movie?”

“Oh it definitely was.” He raises one of his brushes, “but maybe I should paint you as a bunny or something, just to keep you humble.”

A vine sneaks through the back of the chair and playfully pinches him, “Careful, slim, hate to have to get handsy in front of all these people.”

Indrid stifles a laugh, “Alright, alright, fair enough.”

“....If you wanted to paint flames on me that’d be sick as hell.”

He dips his brush in the yellow paint, “Your wish is my command.”

—------------------------------------------------------------

Duck’s never been accidentally summoned before. Usually he always has time to at least toss on the robe and make himself look like he wasn’t just in the garden or petting his cat when they called. But tonight, he’s just come in from checking on his fall beds, still in his t-shirt and tattered jeans,  when he’s yanked upward and around into the human world. 

He can by smell alone that he’s in Indrid’s place, and as he wobbles he spots the bags of Halloween candy the man bought the night before (“it’s still a few days from now, but I like to make sure I have the good stuff to give away”). What he doesn’t see is his human. 

“‘Drid? You home?”

A ragged gasp comes from the mattress in the far corner of the room, and a face peeks out from  what he assumed was just a pile of blankets. 

“Duck? What” Indrid sniffs and wipes his eyes, “what are you doing here?”

“No fuckin’ clue.” He kneels by the bed, “but I got a hunch that it’s got to do with you hiding away like a bulb waiting for spring.”

Worryingly, Indrid whimpers at that and retreats most of the way back into the blanket. Duck rests a hand on his forehead, petting his silver hair. Without his gloves, it’s obvious how much of his form is plant matter masquerading as a man. But Indrid doesn’t flinch, and so Duck uses the ends of his fingers to gently scritch his scalp. 

“What happened?”

“I, my, my father turned up at the Lodge where Barclay works. A-aubrey and some of my other friends were there too and he yelled at all of them for helping me. He even threatened Barclay to his face, he, I think he was trying to goad him into a fight so he could call the cops on him. Mama threw him out but I, when Barclay called me I could tell how upset and scared he was and it, it’s all my fault.” His face scrunches up and he burrows, without hesitation, against Duck, trying not to cry. 

Duck knows he’s never known a human who he thought looked cute even when he was crying, but now is not the time to bring that up. Instead he wraps his arms around him and adds some vines for extra security. 

“Hey, hey slim it’s okay. It ain’t your fault.”

“But it is. He wouldn’t have done that if it weren’t for me”

“For all we know he would have because he’s a huge fuckin asshole.”

“I just…I’m bad luck. I’m always causing my friends trouble, they’d be, be better off not knowing me.” He’s clinging to Duck’s shirt, and there’s now dirt on his cheek from where it’s been pressed to him. 

“That ain’t true. Know I’m better having you in my life, and I bet they feel the same.”

A final, shuddery sob leaves the human. Then he says, flatly, “I would like to go to bed now.”

“Okay” Duck releases him, “you want me to tuck you in. These are great for that.” The vines wiggle but Indrid just blinks at them. 

“No. Thank you. I will see you soon.”

Duck cups his cheek and wishes him goodnight. Then he stays in the shadows, imperceptible, until he’s certain his human is sound asleep. 

—--------------------------------------------------------------

Indrid is drunk on pumpkin spice BuzzBalls and practically passed out on a tombstone. 

Still not the worst birthday he’s had. 

Barclay had suggested he come over once trick or treating was done and join everyone for a Halloween/birthday party. He declined. It’s safer for them if he celebrates out here alone. 

He’s drunk enough that it feels like the ground is floating away. And like the world smells like the singed innards of a Jack’O Lantern.

Wait

“Duck?”

“Yep. Came by to bring you some special glow in the dark pumpkins and got kinda worried when I couldn’t find you.” The demon’s voice is blossom-soft as he lowers Indrid into his bed. He didn’t know Duck could teleport him as well. 

“M’fine, I promise.”

“‘Drid, it’s not even 7 pm and you’re falling down.” There’s a wooden buzz, then Duck says, “wait, it’s your birthday?”

Indrid sits up, finds the demon looking at the phone he left on the table.

“Yes. It has never been much fun to celebrate.”

There’s a flurry of vines and leaves, a burst of life, then Indrid’s apartment is full of lit pumpkins and halloween lights, making the walls orange and purple. Duck holds out a small, brown box. Indrid opens it. Inside are gauges for his ears; they’re burnished and beautifully organic looking, as if Duck made them of petrified pumpkin shell. 

“Figure I can do my part to change that.”

Indrid holds the box, looking up at Duck’s strange face. If someone like Duck cares about him, wants him to be happy, even when he’s seen him so pathetic…

“I…I want to go see my friends. I don’t want to celebrate alone.”

“I can help with that.” Duck kneels, rests the cool surface of his forehead against Indrid’s own. After a moment, he feels far more sober. And much braver.

“I don’t suppose there’s a way you could come with me? I like you so much and I want the others to get to know you too…”

“Gimme one sec. Uh, this might be kinda weird.” Duck sets his fingers into his eyes and mouth and pulls. There’s a hollow crunch and crack, and then the pumpkin splits and falls away. In its place is a round, human face with dark hair, a crooked smile, and beautiful, green eyes. 

“Oh” Indrid gasps. 

Duck smiles, “Don’t get too used to it, slim. Takes a lot of power to do this, so I can only pull it off now and then.” He looks down at his hands and the overalls he appeared in, “guess we’ll just tell ‘em my costume was a scarecrow or something. But, uh, how do we explain how we know each other?”

Indrid cautiously leans forward and kisses him. There’s a faint taste of smoke when the demon smiles into the kiss and slips his fingers into Indrid’s hair. 

“Perhaps we could introduce you as my boyfriend?”

Vines hug him close as Duck kisses him again and whispers, “Yeah, slim, let’s do that.”

[tacomanarrows]

Decided I want to post this big project I did back in late May/early June! This was made to celebrate the 5 year anniversary of the release of Owl City's album Cinematic, on June 1st! It'll be a long post, so just be aware of that lmao

Since I started listening to Owl City again earlier this year, Cinematic has become my favorite album of his and one of my all time favs in general alongside Abandoned Pools’ Humanistic and Beat Crusaders’ EPop Making!

So with that, I wanted to draw something based around each song! With 15 songs on the album (not counting alt versions), they all translated nicely into pieces for this project! I also included a film border around each piece to tie them together, as well as due to the fact that on the album itself, each song is about a different experience or memory Adam Young has had throughout his life. He's said that he felt like writing these songs was like watching scenes from a movie, hence the name Cinematic!

As a sidenote, 4 of my characters (Shep, PBnJ, Rye and Pumpernickel) are in a cover band together called Let's Get Back!, and in addition to just celebrating Cinematic, this would also sort of be a cover album by them, hence why it says "Let's Get Back! presents" on the banner :] I'll post more abt Let's Get Back! down the line, but if you'd like to read about them now, you can check out their info hub! These pieces are almost all just Shep, despite Let’s Get Back! being a 4 member group. But since Owl City is just Adam Young, having most of these just be Shep made more sense haha

Piece by piece/song by song breakdown below the cut :]

Track 1: Fiji Water!

A song about jumping into something new and going wherever the ride takes you, since it was about Adam’s experience with signing onto a record label. The water slide vibe just felt rlly fitting here and was really fun to work with!

Track 2: The 5th of July!

Considering I was born in January rather than July like Adam was, I wanted to make this one as young Shep enjoying the fireworks, as they’ve always been something that’s fascinated me :]

Track 3: All My Friends!

My second favorite song on the album!! It’s so joyous and fun I love it so much! Of course, had to draw Shep with all his friends! This piece by far took me the longest out of all of these at more than two days lmao. It features (from left to right): Starburst, Rye, Luau, Shep, PBnJ, Pumpernickel and Wilkołak!

Track 4: House Wren!

Another joyous song about looking for a new house and having a song to sing while doing so. Just Shep listening to the house wren sing it’s happy song, simple yet effective :]

Track 5: Not All Heroes Wear Capes!

A really sweet song Adam wrote about his dad. To capture that sort of innocent admiration, I drew something Shep would have drawn for his dad at 8 years old and I think it came out super sweet <33

Track 6: Montana

I love the feeling of grandeur in this song, with lyrics about how enchanting and spectacular the landscape of Montana is! I’ve never been there myself, but I’ve seen pictures and yeah, it’s definitely amazing! So Shep is out there enjoying the amazing scenery

Track 7: Lucid Dream!

A much more abstract song to balance out the others, I wanted to capture the very, floaty starry vibe of this song for lack of a better term haha. I really like the simplicity of it! I also love the line in the song about being a light sleeper, but a heavy dreamer

Track 8: Always!

This is the one song on the album that doesn’t quite hit the mark for me, and that’s because it’s a song centered around faith. There’s nothing wrong with that of course, I’m just not a religious person. So I decided to interpret the meaning as always having a person you can love and count on to always be by your side, hence why I did it with Shep and PB, who in addition to being bandmates, are also bfs hehe :]

Track 9: Cloud Nine!

Another one of my favs, this is such a PBnShep song <3 What I went for here was a look like they’re outside stargazing and Shep is telling PB how much he cares about him while pointing out some of the amazing things in space

Track 10: Winners Never Quit!

A nice and cheerful song about never giving up and keeping on! I love the message of this one and it’s sort of retro chiptune vibe. Pretty straightforward here, just Shep with a big checkered flag for reaching your personal finish lines!

Track 11: Madeline Island!

My personal favorite out of the three travel related songs on the album (this, Montana and New York City), this one has the same feeling of grandeur that Montana does, but even more so! I also love the story of a camping trip to this island in Lake Superior, so I decided to do that! I also stylized it a bit with colored lineart for the landscape and I rlly like how that came out! Another piece that's up there as one of my favs from this project hehe

Track 12: Be Brave!

A song about the night Adam met his girlfriend at the movie theater, this is another very sweet song with a message about believing in yourself and well, being brave! Shep tends to get flustered and nervous sometimes when meeting up with PB, especially early on, so this song fits him well

Track 13: New York City!

The boys take a trip to NYC and look up at the spectacular Empire State Building! Having grown up about an hour outside of NYC my whole life, I don’t quite have the same ethereal view about it that others might, but I won’t deny it’s impressive! The Empire State Building especially is one of my all time favorite buildings :]

Track 14: Firebird!

A song about growing up, this is another one I really love. I feel like a staple of childhood is sitting with your friends outside at a wall or something similar and just talking abt life and enjoying each other’s company, so that’s what I went for. It’s another simple piece that I really enjoyed making as well as the final result!

Track 15: Cinematic!

And the grand finale!! Cinematic is my favorite song from the album and my second favorite Owl City song overall, just behind Rainbow Veins!! After all of these songs that Adam wrote from his experiences, this song feels like a magnificent culmination of that and a passing of the torch to us to go and be the stars of our own movies and lives! It’s such an amazing song with a fantastic message and I can’t get enough of it! I also used some new brushes to make the film strip and I’m actually super happy with it!

So all in all, Cinematic is my favorite Owl City album and one of my all time favorites in general. Every song is unique and brings a great message and story. This project, although very time consuming, was an absolute blast to work on and brainstorm around. This album means so much to me and I really hope I was able to showcase some of that here. Please go give it a listen if you’ve never heard it before, or even if you have and it’s been awhile! I know there’s a lot of people who don’t like Owl City’s newer stuff, but give this one a fair shake! (Coco Moon is a fantastic follow up too btw hehe) So overall, thank you Adam for making such fantastic music for so long now and I can’t wait to see the show in Indianapolis later this year!!

[captainjonnitkessler]

I finally spotted and marked the new queen that’s been giving me so much trouble! This is the first time I’ve ever found and marked a new queen on my own, so I’m feeling very accomplished!

Also, fun fact: Queens are marked with a colored dot to make them easier to spot and identify, and the color of the dot corresponds to the year she was born! Less fun fact: Years ending in 2 are yellow. You know what else is yellow? EVERYTHING ELSE IN THE BEEHIVE.

Overall I’m super happy about how well this hive bounced back from the split! Other highlights of today’s inspection:

The bees have finally stopped cross-combing the frames together in favor of just gluing them together with propolis. This is technically an improvement, so I can’t complain.

Fuckers were trying to raise a new queen! I found a queen cell with a larva inside, they might be preparing to swarm.

Last time I inspected them their whole top box was almost entirely empty foundation. Today, it was full of comb - they’ve drawn out a TON! I’ll be adding a super tomorrow.

[chaoticgeminate]

Just thinking about certain wolf pack!

Love you my Kelligraphy!💚

Oh Hazel, I'm thinking about them too (in fact they're the next update planed for Iridescence) and I love that you love them so much!! I also love you my Harvest Witch Hazel 💙

Have a gift in the form of a little blurb for the pack 😘

Frankie couldn't help but smile as he lounged on the sand, it was far too cold for the usual beach fun but watching Benny and Will wrestle in their half-changed forms was entertaining on its own. Santi was currently refereeing the spar, since they had all broken off from their own packs they relied on practicing against each other to keep themselves sharp.

Out in the waves he noticed the spotted seal head breach the surface, your bond to the ocean made it harder for you to leave to head inner city for long periods so Frankie couldn't imagine the relief you were going through, and you dove back under the waves moments after. The Grand Hunt wasn't exactly a short event, every wherewolf pack in Se'Kevia in attendance, and a whole month out in the woods had left you feeling stretched thin.

But you had not only toughed it out for him -the same way Tom and the kids had- you'd even proven yourself when a rather large bull moose had drawn close to the tents where any of the family members who weren't werewolves had been staying. You had managed to use the very basic water magic Saraya had been teaching you to protect the others, long enough for the hunters to return and handle the threat.

Even though it was almost unfounded the entire collective of werewolves agreed you deserved the Mark of The Guardian. It was more of an honorary thing nowadays but it was still a big honor in general and especially for one who wasn't a werewolf.

"Still can't believe she took on a fucking bull moose."

Benny say down looking smug in his victory, out of them all he utilized his half-change form the most and was better with combat while in it, but Will was already changing opponents to Tom now that he'd arrived.

"I can, she chose to leave her Pod on her own, she's incredibly brave."

"God you're such a sap."

Frankie shoved his packmate and looked up as you rode the wave onto shore, round spotted body and all just lounging on the sand, and he got up to walk down to the wet sand and sit beside you after half-changing so he could stay warm. Beside him you let out a soft 'mooph' of a greeting and rolled slightly, letting him wrap his much larger body around yours, and Frankie couldn't help but marvel that your natural scent was so potent even with the salty stinging the air and in the fur of your coat.

He pressed his nose to yours, a wolfy chuckle escaping him when you made the sharp smooching sound, and you let him push your head back closer to your body to squish you up into a rounder shape before he was drawing back to rest his head on your now extended neck. Santi growled as Will stepped out and Tom stayed in, the next match would be Frankie in against the other dark haired wolf, but it was mostly easy to ignore them.

He began to sign to you, the easiest form to communicate when you were wearing your seal skin, wanting to know if you would like to meet his pup. You knew about Adelia, had since the beginning, but the two of you had struggled with everything that led up to you starting to accept his courtship officially so he hsdnct ever wanted to put the burden of being in his daughter's life on you before you were ready.

When you confirmed yes with a single exhaled sound he felt his heart swell, hoping that this year was the last Christmas he would have to spend wishing for someone to hold while the guys argued over who got.the girls the best presents.

[fertbutt]

artfight's coming up and i wanna participate so i drew a bunch of OC reference pages!! I'm actually really proud of these and its great to finally have their designs all ironed out/put to stone for the most part. some were definitely easier to design than others cough cough veridian and flurry.

I wasnt putting much thought into fonts and accessibilities for people with dyslexia and such when i was making these, sorry. if you need me to type out something for you or maybe even just write all the text out separately in a normal font lmk

On ages: /generally/ speaking for /most/ species of dragon, 5 years old is equivalent to ~13, so like technically sexually mature and capable of taking care of yourself but definitely not an adult and requiring supervision for the most part. 10 years is about equivalent to 20 years for us, definitely a young adult and independent at this point. Veridian, Gale, and Ukame are ~18; Soot and Crag are ~16; Flurry is ~13.

some miscellaneous fun facts:

- veridian is omnivorous but he strongly prefers fruits n veggies

- gale doesn't like physical contact very much but theyre also like huge so they often hunch over/keep their limbs close to their body and have rlly bad posture

- gale and ukame are bestiesss after both getting caught by human dragon nappers and taken to this human fortress and put in a colosseum thing

- flurry is very interested in humans but theres like almost none around so

- flurry also really likes puzzles n riddles and enjoys predicting the future as like a little game

- ukame is actually mostly an antagonist but shes also like a really good leader

- before he starts breathing fire soot is super sensitive to the cold so during the winters in the mountains flurry would have to help him keep warm

- theres no homophobia or transphobia but crag is somehow still extremely repressed

- veridian smells fruity, gale smells like seaspray, crag smells like dirt, flurry smells like sugar spice and everything nice and ukame smells like sweat. soot smells like brimstone obvs

- flurry has antlers that shed and grow every year but theyre still small cause snows fairly young

- soot's ref is drawn a bit different because i drew him first and then based everyone else off him with some alterations to proportions. crag ended up being the most similar to his body type, just with a longer body and shorter tail and obviously more muscle.

- ukame's dark red markings are supposed to be reminiscent of blood stains/splatters. pretty frightening for soot when he first meets her

- crags original design was just a boring brown/orange before but i decided to give him green accents like copper and i think it looks a lot better

[daily-tma-avatar-ideas]

So, I have an OC named Henry Elliotte Ainsworth (age 45) and he’s the Curator. So, this man is a little unhinged. If he was a sphinx, he would come up with “riddles” like, “What is the square root of an onion?” or “If Friday is at the end of a work week, what is at the end of Friday?” 

He’s been an eye avatar for like 18, almost 19 years and he has fun abilities like knowledge insertion/sharing which he does when he feels like he is speaking too slow about something he is excited about or to show someone a funny image he saw on the internet in a remote fashion. He has a Ph.D in anthropology, and Bachelor’s in Art History. 

I love this man.

Other powers of his: Knowing languages (including animals), Knowing/Understanding (touching an object is the most effective way), resistance to fear entities relating to artifacts (so he can touch said objects), inhuman healing Also, fun fact, he has minor prosopagnosia (face blindness) due to being marked by the Stranger in his youth. His parents were in a cult. 

Another fun fact: He’s American from around Salem, Massachusetts. (A bit more north tho. He was livin’ in them swamps/marshes.) I wish I could post art of him, but the only thing I’ve drawn of him was as a joke and idk if it’s allowed on Tumblr. His ass is covered, but still. 

[milkybonezz]

hey if you’re still shipping w/ the bowers gang i kinda want one :)

im 5’3, and i have dirty blonde hair that almost reaches my shoulders, thats wavy and always messy. i have green eyes and pale skin, and faint freckles across the bridge of my nose. i cant see for shit, so i wear big brown framed glasses. i have a triangle body type, with extra chub around my thighs and lower belly.

i like wearing ripped baggy jeans and crop tops, or i like wearing big shirts/hoodies with shorts or sweatpants. i have a designated pair of brown converse (they used to be blablack) that ive drawn and painted on. i like big earrings, and theres a key necklace that i wear almost everyday. i like rock and alt music, like arctic monkeys and mitski.

im pretty quiet around adults and people i don’t know, but around my friends im basically a 12 year old boy. im pretty angry all the time, stubborn as hell and a short fuse. im very sarcastic, and im fluent in ’fuck all yall’

i rlly like your work and thank you if you see this.

heyyy! So I put you with Mr Hockstetter

⛧ He's a pretty tall dude, so Pat absolutely loves that you're so teeny tiny

⛧ This actually doesn't bode too well for you because he's a teasing piece of shit and really likes to drive home the fact that you're shorter than him by inconveniencing you

⛧ Like putting your purse of bag or even your underwear up in high, annoying places like on top of cupboards. It means you have to depend on him which he fucking loves

⛧ The extra height also allows perfect access to your face and hair which he frequently destroys just for the hell of it

⛧ Yanks your glasses off your face and laughs as you fumble around blindly like a mole trying to retrieve them

⛧ Will not give you them back, but rather prefers to toss them away and let you try find them, hope you've got a spare pair!

⛧ Unfortunately, he will comment on your weight pretty negatively, but he actually really loves it. The comments will hurt but from what you've told me, you've got thick skin

⛧ Loves PDA, loves it so much its not even funny. The hugs he gives you in public are a lot more possessive than the ones he gives you in private., but there's not a lot of difference

⛧ You're his now, duh!

⛧ He likes the way you dress because he can give you his clothes pretty easily, another great way for him to mark his territory. However he would adore seeing more skin from you, although he wouldn't be able to keep his hands off... your choice

⛧Always makes fun of you for beings so antsy around adults, always telling you to "fucking grow a pair" and other stuff like that , doesn't really get that fear of yours

⛧ He's notorious for starting arguments as well as physical fights within his own friend group, so adding you to the mix just makes it all better

⛧ Don't start getting all stubborn with Patty dear though unless you really dig the idea of being split between tupperware boxes in a fridge

[autumnalwalker]

Empty Names - 2 - Back From The Looking Glass

Author's Note: The second chapter rough draft and second core cast intro for Empty Names. The previous chapter can be found here. Masterpost with table of contents here. Word Count: 3,043 Content Warnings: Violence/combat in the form of a wizard duel. What might qualify as mild body horror as a part of said wizard duel. Frostbite. Probably nothing in here that would be worse than a PG-13 rating. Once again, if anyone reads this and sees something that I should have included a content warning for, let me know and I'll go back and add it. Here goes my first attempt at writing a fight scene.

<-Previous Chapter Masterpost Next Chapter->

“I hate anime,” Ashan grumbles to himself for the second time that day.  

No, that was not quite fair.  He had some vague recollection of enjoying some show or another as a child.  What was it called again?  Something with magic cards and a girl on roller skates.  An interesting concept for quick casting of spells, but unlikely to be practical with its reliance on bound spirits.  There was also the one with the talking hamsters.  That one had been fun.

Perhaps it is not so much anime itself as anime conventions that bother him.  Even after being back on the world of his birth for a few years now, he is still not used to the sheer density of the crowds.  And the novelty of convention goers stopping to ask him who he is supposed to be wears thin quickly.  Even worse are the ones who mistake him for a favorite character and ask for a picture.  And while he is used to being mistaken for a woman - and even finds amusement in it so long as the mistake is not repeated after correction - the well-intended compliments mistaking his white robes for a dress are beginning to test his patience.  

All that is secondary though to the fact that such concentrated escapism and suspension of disbelief makes for a Masquerade breach waiting to happen.  Coupled with the sheer number of cosplayers making it easy for outsiders to blend in, it was no wonder that there is nearly always an incident at these events.  

An incident like one in one hundred event pamphlets listing an event in a room that the other ninety-nine in one hundred mark as not being in use.

At last, he finally extracts himself from yet another group wanting a photo - this one with costumes unsettlingly similar to his own raiment - and waves them off with a practiced smile.  Almost always best to play along and blend in.  Alone in the crowd once more, he double-checks the pamphlet.

Room 322.  2:00pm. Get Isekai’d!: An interactive panel to kickstart your magical journey to another world (without being hit by a truck).

Just around the corner and several minutes to spare yet.  

Turning said corner feels like stepping into a new building.  Empty and unadorned, save for two doors flanking the terminus of a dead end hallway.  Through some quirk of acoustics the constant background noise of the crowd fades to a distant murmur after only a few steps down the hall.  Even the lighting is perceptibly dimmer without the floor-to-ceiling windows of the main concourse.  Room 322 has no sign outside to proclaim the event yet the door remains cracked open enough to catch a glimpse of the small audience already seated inside.  

After a quick glance to verify no one else is coming down the hall, Ashan stretches to touch a finger to the top of the doorframe and begins tracing esoteric symbols.  Wherever he touches, the surface takes on a glassy sheen.

Tapping the center of his work a final time, his breath mists in the air as he makes a quick chant with no literal translation.  The drawn symbols shimmer in response then fade, now invisible to the untrained eye.  

He blinks, observes his ward, finds it satisfactory, and rubs some warmth back into his hands before stepping into the room.  

The room is a small one by convention standards.  Only a few dozen plastic chairs lined up facing a small stage set against the far wall.  Less than half the chairs are occupied, making for a lower attendance than Ashan had feared.  Good.  Fewer people to worry about getting hurt.  

Up on stage a tall man in a turtleneck that strains against his bodybuilder proportions paces in front of a freestanding wooden door with a polished white stone inset into the top of its frame.  The stage rattles with the weight of his every step.  As Ashan takes a seat near the front the presenter checks his phone then walks over to a podium with a laptop.  A projector comes to life and throws the title of the panel across a screen next to the stage.  

As the presentation begins, Ashan only halfway pays attention to the words being said or the slides on the screen.  Watching for signs of hostile spells and workings takes up too much of his focus for that.  And besides, the history and greatest hits of a genre about normal people going on adventures in other worlds can only hold so much interest for one who has actually lived it.  Although in his experience the real thing involved significantly fewer women of dubious proportions in impractical and revealing outfits.  

Twenty minutes into the scheduled hour-long panel, Ashan begins to wonder if this is simply a case of a magically-inclined nerd using his abilities to skip out on paying the panel booking fees.  True, the presenter’s body is obviously modified, but it would hardly be the first time a new mage transmuted himself in an ill-conceived attempt at “improvement,” and he has not really done anything incriminating yet.  Still, the “interactive” portion of the panel’s title is worrisome and the door’s function remains forebodingly elusive.  

“Show of hands: who here wishes you could get away from this life and start over as a hero in a new world?”

The sight and sound of a score of hands going up around him jolts Ashan’s focus back to the speaker’s words.  

“Well then, do I have the chance of a lifetime in store for all of you.”  The presenter saunters over to the door in the center of the stage and leans on the frame.  A murmur of anticipation goes through the crowd.  With a theatrical flourish, the presenter knocks four times and the door swings inward.  

The door does not come out from the backside of the frame.

On the other side of the doorway everyone in the audience can see a trail coming out of a forest and meandering over rolling grassy hills.  A castle can be seen in the far distance, white walls gleaming in the sunlight.  A breeze blows into the room carrying the scent of flowers.

Several people gasp.  Others start whispering, asking what is going on.  Someone starts clapping at what they think to be a clever trick.

“Yes, yes, it’s amazing, I know,” the presenter says.  “And to answer the question I’m sure you’re all asking yourselves right now,” he steps in front of the door and begins walking backwards, “this is very real.”  To drive the point home he steps to the right, disappearing out of sight entirely before coming back into view from the left before coming back through the door and walking a circle around it on stage.

“So, who wants to go first?” he asks with a smug grin.

Hands shoot up.  Chairs get pushed back as audience members jump to their feet.  The questions of what is going on get louder.  A couple of people with stronger survival instincts start edging toward the door.

Ashan sighs, gets to his feet, and calmly climbs onto stage before any of the over-eager fools can beat him to it.

“Now that’s what I like to see!” the presenter says as Ashan approaches the door.  “Can I have your name miss…ter?”

“My name is mine to keep,” he replies, “but perhaps you would not mind answering a few questions?  I imagine it would set the rest of the audience at ease to know more precisely what awaits them.”

“I’d be delighted.  Although I assure you all that this is perfectly safe.”

“As we saw with your demonstration, I am sure.”  Threshold wards rarely affect their casters.  “But what about language?  Will we be able to understand the people we meet on the other side?”

“Obviously.  The portal auto-magically applies the standard multiversal translator spell used by all  travelers.  Would you believe I’m not even speaking English right now?”

“Fascinating.”  Ashan mentally runs through the signs of the seven different translation practices common in this local cluster that he can recall off the top of his head.  This man is showing none of them.  “And what of the Autogenesis Principle?  Do you have any advice for those here wanting to escape their failures from physically manifesting their own internalized inadequacies?”

The presenter’s smirk falters.  “I’m not sure what fandom you’re roleplaying at right now, but that’s not anything anyone here needs to worry about.  So either go on through or get out of the way so everyone else can get their adventure underway.”

“Just one more question, if you would kindly humor me.”  Ashan places a hand on the doorframe and closes his eyes for a moment.  He opens them and asks “Does this essence siphon function on infernal or necromantic principles?”

The presenter’s smile disappears altogether.  “How did you - ”

“Necromantic then.  I cannot imagine a patron willing to aid a novice who would fail to even recognize another mage in this blunder of a Masquerade breach.”

The necromancer regains his composure and shrugs.  “Okay, you got me.  But hey,” he snaps his fingers and spikes of bone erupt from the floor, barring the mundane exit from the room, “it’s not a Masquerade breach if the witnesses are all dead.  So what do you say we split the haul seventy-thirty and you look the other way.”

The room goes silent for a moment before the dawning realization of the situation finally breaks and the audience starts shouting and rushing the barred exit, trying in vain to escape.  Except, of course, for the handful of stubborn skeptics mocking them for freaking out.  

Ashan looks at the crowd pressing themselves into the bars of bone and makes a tsk sound.  He should have noticed that on his way in.  Returning his gaze to the necromancer he says “I shall never understand people like you.”

“Fine, sixty-forty and that’s the best you’re getting unless you wanna help me herd the sheep in here.”

“I shall never understand those who believe the possession of knowledge and power makes the lives of those without expendable.”

The necromancer begins to back up.  “So that’s how it is, huh?  Fancy yourself some kind of hero?”

“No one has yet been hurt.  I shall give you one chance to leave now and never try this again.”

“How very generous of you,” the necromancer replies.  The words drip with sarcasm and venom.  “With an offer like that I can only say…” he reaches the edge of the stage.  “Get boned!”

The surface of the stage splinters and cracks.  With a flick of the wrist Ashan has his pearlescent wand in hand.  An ivory spear hurtles up at him from below.  A quick looping motion with the wand and a transparent shield appears in the air.  The spear is deflected through the portal.  As are the next three after.  Ashan follows up with drawing another, larger shield over the door.  It would not do to fall in himself.

That precaution proves timely as the necromancer lets out a bellow of pain and rage and his right arm explodes into a tendril of muscle and bony spikes that darts across the stage before slamming into Ashan’s side.  He manages to get his free hand up, palm out, in time to keep the tendril from making direct contact but now finds himself squeezed between two of his own barriers.  Stabbing the wand into the barrier holding back the tendril he wills his conjuration away and up.  The tendril swings away from him and out over the heads of the audience before retracting back into a semblance of an arm.

The audience is screaming now.  Even the most skeptical have been made believers.  The bars on the door still hold.  Ashan’s breath mists in the air grown cold around him.

The necromancer wastes no words as he charges the wizard.  As he runs, his other arm shreds its sleeve as it bulks up and grows talons over its fingers.  A morbid parody of dance ensues back and forth across the stage.  The necromancer rains down crushing blows and Ashan casually deflects them with shields that flicker in and out of existence.  More spikes erupt from below and Ashan gracefully sidesteps.  The necromancer’s face twists in rage and Ashan’s remains placid.

Eventually, the necromancer grows frustrated with this game and changes tactics.  He extends the tendril of his right arm once more, sending it plunging toward the one audience member still seated.  Ashan makes a slashing motion with the wand followed by an upward flick and a wall of what looks like glass rises to cut the stage off from the rest of the room.  The tendril crumples on itself as it slams into the newmade wall.  

The fact that the seated man in the yellow vest did not so much as flinch at nearly being impaled distracts Ashan enough that the followup swipe from the left claw manages to graze his cheek.  Enough playing around to wear the brute down then.

Wielding his wand like a brush, Ashan visualizes the chains running from the floor to the necromancer’s limbs and then paints them into being.  The next blow comes to a rattling halt midair.  The necromancer has just enough time to look at his wrist in surprise before Ashan makes another gesture and the chains pull him down, forcing him to his knees.

“You have lost,” Ashan says in an even tone.  He is no longer the only person in the room whose breath is condensing into mist.  Every surface in the room now bears dewdrops from the rapid drop in temperature over the past few minutes.  Ashan resists the urge to shiver before continuing.  “And still, no one has been hurt.  Come along quietly and I imagine you can still negotiate a lighter sentence than you deserve.”

“Who the hell are you?  Some kind of cop?” The necromancer pants heavily, pausing for breath between sentences.  “How did you even know I was here?  And why is it so damn cold in here?”

Ashan cocks his head at finally hearing a question from the novice mage he might deign to answer.  “Tis but a slight twisting of thermodynamics.  Absent a local concept for ambient energy such as aether or mana, one must needs improvise.  Only the inexperienced and the foolhardy draw from their own metabolism,” Ashan nods toward his shaking opponent, “as you seem to be.”

“Oh really…”

“Indeed.  Although I would not advise such a technique to the untrained.”

“Cocky bastard, bragging about your secret techniques when you think you’ve won.”  Frost begins to form on the stage around the necromancer.

“It is hardly a secret.  And really, you should not attempt it.  Especially in your current state.”

“You know.”

The spikes of bone scattered about the stage begin to shake.

“Where you.”

The necromancer begins shivering violently.

“Can take your advice.”

The spikes rise into the air.

“And shove it?”

The spikes all turn to face Ashan.

“‘Cause I’m about to show you!”

The spikes begin to move in on Ashan, gathering speed.

The necromancer falls over with a thud and the spikes clatter harmlessly to the stage.  Ashan walks over to him and notes the white and blue patches of frostbite covering the fallen man’s skin.  He bends down and checks for a pulse.  He finds one.  Unconscious, but alive.  Beginner’s luck.

Ashan stands back up, exhales, lets his remaining conjurations dissipate, and allows himself to shiver.

A slow clap from the sole remaining audience member disrupts his reverie.

Wait.  Sole remaining?  When did the screaming stop?  Where did everyone go?  He whips around to see the man in the yellow vest leaning against the wall next to the exit door.  The bars of bone now lay shattered on the ground.

“You certainly live up to your reputation, Ashan Glassheart.”  The man stops clapping and looks around the ruined stage.  “Well, maybe a little more collateral damage than I expected, but credit where credit is due, the rookie knew what he was doing with stashing unenchanted raw material for his trap.”  He pauses to stroke his goatee in consideration.  “Or maybe just dumb luck on his part.”

“Do I know you?”  Ashan asks.

“I should hope not,” the man replies.  “I try to keep out of the spotlight.  The name’s Sullivan Bridgewood.  At my service.”  He gives a flourishing bow as makes the introduction.

“I thought the sorceress Bridgewood was a woman.”

“That would be my dearly departed wife, Void rest her soul.”

“My condolences, but that still does not explain what you want with me.”

Bridgewood puts a hand to his chest and feigns an offended gasp.  “So suspicious.  And after I helped and set all the normies free while you were giving your lecture.  Nice job on the amnestic ward by the way.  Always fun to watch them go from running for their lives to milling about confused.”

“You are avoiding the question.”

“Oh, lighten up will you, I’m getting to that.”  He walks over to the stage and leans an elbow on it, looking up at Ashan.  “Have you ever heard of the individual known as Road?”

Ashan arches an eyebrow in surprise.  “The guy who runs around in purple armor fighting subway dragons and saving goth kids from vampire cults?”

“Among other things, yes.”

“From what I have heard they are a noble fool who just happens to be skilled and lucky enough to back up their reckless actions.  But a fool whose heart is in the right place.  Supposedly they used to be a big deal before disappearing several years ago.”  Ashan stops himself and gets back to the still unanswered question.  “Why?”

Bridgewood chuckles.  “Because,” he drags out the word, “said noble fool just so happens to be an old friend of mine and recently got back to town.  They’re looking to put a team together and could use a proper spellslinger.”  He smiles just a little too widely and reaches up a hand.  “So, interested?”

Ashan feels a shiver go down his back that is only partially related to the cold.

“Help me clean up in here and get this villain to the authorities in Crossherd and I shall consider it.”

<-Previous Chapter Masterpost Next Chapter->

[light-of-the-damned-stars]

https://ficbook.net/readfic/6544987

An air near to a lake was filled with heat, birds’ voices, and children’s laugh. However, fun became the fight soon. It became clear from changing sounds from the coast.

There were thoughts, which meant “Where is the nanny looking? Why she isn’t separating babies? They can suffer”. But that thoughts were marked by only long-drawn groan “Woo woo”. Then old woman, who wasn’t even forty solar years, followed the noise limping and scrubbing swollen knees.

— Woooo!

The almost completely gray-haired woman’s voice was still loud and could even rein in some youth, who knew their sins. So, saying to them “Woooo!” made be ashamed and ask for forgiveness. The most offensive thing for children and youth was the fact that despite of twisted knobby joints clingy old woman could suddenly hit. Her heavy hands were like a big man’s, so her hits were very painful. In addition, she was completely incorruptible: she had never accepted gifts and treats and allowed others to caress her. By the way, she always stood over them until they returned to what they had been before.

— Woooo! WOOOO WOOO!

Strong knotted bent fingers squeeze the stick, which was usually used to run or kill uninvited guests in dugouts or huts: rats, hedgehogs, foxes, badgers, and snakes.

— Aaaah! — children screeched to different voices. They told each other that it was time to hide to avoid reconciling and playing quietly under the care of the angry granny.

A tall smiling younger woman, who babysit walking boys and girls, shrugged here shoulders guiltily, but didn’t allow granny to come to her wards. She bore a child recently. So, she covered her chest by the rabbit skins, because wind was the insidious enemy of nursing mothers. The nanny speaking something patted the main fighter with the matted wavy hair. That was demonstration that the boy didn’t have lice. It meant the boy was taken care of well and there was no reason to make woo-sound. Everything was under control!

The old woman threatening with her stick, straighten lynx fur on the hips and groaning, walked back to the hut. It had been built by her husband, who died in an ice hole during fishing some winters ago. His brother and grandson had been able to get out there, but they died of the flu soon.

— Nya-nya-nya! — the nanny started to babble, gathering around her children again. — Mya-mya-mya!

Children sniggered, clapped their hands.

— Give! — baby with plaited hair cried pointing the blossoming branch of the shrub. — Gi-i-i-i-i-ive!

— No-no, — the nanny wagged a finger, older children repeated that gesture. — Nom!

The woman explained by one word that there was prohibited to pick these flowers because they would become edible fruits soon. She started to show how to weave toys from spikelets and blades of grass. Most children became interested in it and set to work: some were good at, other weren’t, some made it for themselves, other as a gift, some repeated after the nanny, other tried to make it by themselves. And there were some children, who weren’t interested in it. They became bored and started to fight again looking at the granny’s hut.

— Wooooooo! — the nanny mumbled as a joke. Her wards burst out laughing and forgot about crafts and tinkering.

— Baby! Baby! — the sound came from the dugout near to the turn of the flowing stream.

All mothers called children that way, but every child knew his mother’s voice and answered only to that. Three children dropped their woven grasses and ran to the call. The older girl took younger brothers’ crafts and brought them to her mother as a gift. Other children continued playing and waiting for call to eat.

***

The tribe had long since stopped being one family. Hunters and gatherers couldn’t bring food for all anymore. It had become impossible because of growing population. Families started to be divided, and some strong and healthy men with their parents, children and grandchildren went out in the woods. People, who stayed near to the lake, called themselves “We”, and leaving people – “They”. Leaving persons disappeared from life of tribe. “We” either forgot leaving people or talked about them sadly. People near to the lake explained to children that “They” lived in the endless scary forest, that here (where “We” were) is safely, and “They” left, so “They” disappeared.

“We are here, They are there”. And that was all.

— We-we-we-we-we-e-e! — shouts came from the trees. It sounded like howl or song meaning successful finish of hunting and love for the native tribe.

Women and children picked up funny mood seeing brothers, fathers and sons came back. “We-we-e-e” sounded from all sides.

A fire for cooking was made by The Keepers of the fire. There were four people. Only one of them was young guy. Others were three old men, who were a little more years old than incorruptible granny. Their health deteriorated rapidly so every one of them was ready to die and chose the hillock for burial. Because if the tribe didn’t commit their bodies to the ground, the corpses would smell terrible. And every one of these old men looked for a successor. It was a very responsible task to keep a fire in the tribe: to find a fire was very hard quest and it was impossible to make it! So, it couldn’t be allowed flame to go out.

People, of course, didn’t remember how they had seen forest fires at first time, when almost all plants of era of stars had died because of the new daylight. And then deadwood started to burn. All the living things ran away from the fire in fear. However, at the edge of the burning forest it was warm on the coldest autumn nights. But not every human dared to go near to trees dying in the fire. So, there were those who thought of bringing flame in their dugouts.

No one remembered and could transmit to descendants the story about two young men. They fought over a girl, who weaved the most beautiful wreaths in the summer. Men rushed to fire. Others were scared to run and stayed in the cold and dampness, warming up by heat of each other. They were sure that the crazy brave men were dead.

Men went away together, but only one came back. And, of course, he couldn’t talk about other’s fate, even he wanted it.

But the hero didn’t want to.

Being brought by him flame went out soon. The hero had to go again. Branch became ach and it needed to sacrifice dried wreaths of the fiancée to save fire. The girl cried burning her wreaths. However, it really became warmer in the dugout, but for a moment. Then, brave man went for a long time and came back with a whole bundle of sticks. He showed other people that it wasn’t scary to gather sticks for fire. And others understood that even children could handle it.

Since then, there always were fires in houses.

People also didn’t remember that one day their ancestors had lost fire. Forest fire had already gone out. So, people froze again. They weren’t able to do all things they had studied due to fire: cooking, making durable cookware of clay and cauterizing wounds. The tribe walked in thickets and looked for flame desperately. Until one day, during storm, lightening hit a tree.

Perceiving that event as something divine people often started to address the sky as it was living being. They asked for help in different situations and quite often noted answers to prayer.

***

It was extremely difficult to teach each other and to transfer the experience and knowledge without ability to say right words. The accidentally obtained skill of drawing changed everything for a little bit better.

Children often fooled around drawing traces of birds with their fingers or sticks on the sand. The smartest one drew simple pictures, how large birds hunted smaller birds. There were big marks crossing tiny marks. But then people with imagination started to notice on the river pebbles, cortex and moss simplified schematic pictures remotely similar to surrounding objects. They redrew it on the ground with cane. And there were those who wanted to capture whole stories, redrawing everything that caught their eyes. It turned out, coals could paint walls of dugouts, and grass – even fur and skin! Juice of berries made picture more interesting, in addition it would smell nice. They were getting really good at recreating green grass, black hair and red fire on clothes, stones, and cortex. And sometimes they managed to find stones, which painted white for drawing faces and snow.

Maia Arien, understood that she couldn’t communicate with people as easy as with elves from Valinor. However, she told the second of the Children of Ilúvatar, how to draw subject more similar to original: If people contoured shadow at the right time, proportion would remain in almost. In that way they even could cut out clothes! Moreover, people quickly noticed, how sharp broken bones could be, how easy it could cut flesh, so people started use it as an instrument. It meant, animal leather wouldn’t be problem, as soon as they would realize, how and where they should cut.

People learned step by step to draw stories, site plans and educational pictures. So, The Keepers of fire managed somehow to transfer and to save their knowledge, which as fire shouldn’t be entrusted to everyone unfortunately. Because it could be used against the own fellow tribesman!

The fire flared up; clay pot was on poles. People placed handful of logs next to fire. It started to burn.

***

People of the tribe called “We” didn’t think a lot about starting a family: If you liked each other, you would come together. If you were lucky, you would have a baby. If you weren’t, so it meant you didn’t need to. You already had enough work: cooking, cleaning, gathering, and stocking food, making clothes from skins, preparing wood, exploring new fertile plains and rivers, making new instruments of labor, taking care of sick and old people and children. And you should have time to rest.

It could have continued to be so, if only at the moment, when the second pot had boiled, crowd of strangers didn’t emerge from forest with loud cry. из

— “We!” — big man cried with impressive large club puffing his hairy chest, which was covered by scars. — Me! — he pointed himself, — My! — put his finger on the nearest hulk. — My! My! — counted his brethren, who were much more than fingers on all four limbs. — Mine! — he pointed all around armed tribe, giving a sign that all of them were his sons or grandsons. — “We”!

— “We”? — the eldest lakeside inhabitant protested. He understood that these people were counterparts, who had left sometime and that now they wanted to dominate her, — “We” are we! — old man pointed his tribe explaining “us and them” system. — You are… — he waged a furled finger at audacious bruiser, — … not “We”! You are “They”! There! — old man indicated the direction in which “They” should go.

— “We” are we! — armed crowed argued.

Despite tiredness returned hunters stepped forward.

— «We» are we and you, — the best fox and bear hunter proposed “in an amicable way” to unite. He explained in gestures that lakeside inhabitants didn’t want conflict, but the leader wouldn’t be changed.

— No-no! — stranger objected giving a sign that he used to manage.

— Nanny, baby, granny? — old man asked former brethren to show their women and children. He wanted to know if there was any danger to his own family: If weak members of the tribe looked like trapped beaten animal, their leader should be driven by all means.

The stranger categorically refused to, demonstrating adult sons again.

People understood that it was impossible to have so many descendants about the same age with only one wife, despite people hadn’t thought about it earlier.

— Me is “We”! — happy father of many children said again. The most respected men of the tribe reflected and accepted all the terms.

After all, lakeside inhabitants decided to avoid risk of fighting with so aggressive strangers. Maybe they would get more food or would prepare more wood.

Though, having drawn their own conclusions, the tribe decided to prevent invasion of new “They” in advance and parents started to marry their sons and to marry off their daughters even against their children’s will.

***

Lucky hunter watched his favorite one of wives brushed adult daughter’s hair and disassembled mats by skillful hands. Man smiled from ear to ear and wanted to have one more child. However, there was another wish to help his spouse and to make a surprise for her somehow.

In recent times it was possible to have several wives for some men of the tribe: leader’s family and the best in the business hunters, masters, fishermen, or healers. Craftsmanship as right to a large family was not inherited. Masters tried to explain their own and other children all information at once. And children decided what they wanted to learn. In general, it was occupation, which was the most pleasure and the easiest to do. Of course, there were idlers, but there were also those who punished laziness the most.

The hunter thought what he should do at the beginning: to make a surprise for wife or to make one more baby. Man chose the second variant. And then he went to master, who made instruments of bone and stone, for advice.

Hunter explained by gestures and characteristic motions of lower body, what his wife impressed him so. And then man stared at master with hope:

— Waaaah?

— Mm-hmm, — the interlocutor nodded.

After a short time, the master made the first comb of bone, which looked like open palm. The favorite hunter’s wife didn’t understand at first, but then she was surprised, really excited, and quickly agreed to make more children. And daughter getting the new comb run to boast of the strange new thing to tribesmen.

— Oh! Ooooh! Ah! — children and adults wondered. Nanny took the strange thing and pulled a hairspring from this thing. Though, it didn’t slip off, but it tore making melodic quiet sound. It was hardly heard, but when the woman called children to come closer and repeated unexpected focus, everybody had fun. So, every child started to pull out their hair, to tie to the comb and to pull it. Then they used blades of grass, spikelets, twisted stems. Children quickly remembered that forest animals had whiskers, which also could be used for playing. They just needed to ask hunters to give them whiskers after hunting. And soon masters had significantly more work with creating combs and connecting it with whiskers or some hairspring. Sometimes it was weaved to strengthen the construction. After some time, bony basis was changed to wooden ones, because there was no need to make strong things for playing. Besides, even child could decorate a new toy now carving into it something, which only he understood.

To chant the name of the tribe become possible by not only different voices with whistle and stamping but also with accompaniment.

***

Getting on the track of an animal, hunters looked forward it for a long time. Though in the end they found hole. That was crop year, so forest was full of birds, fish, and animals. Having killed she-wolf men looked at her wolf cubs with question: what’s the point of killing them? There was not much meat, the same was fur, their teeth were too bad for jewelry, and their bones were very small.

— Ooh! — one of men waved his hands in the air suddenly, explaining that he had idea.

Hunters had brought hares from the forest recently for children’s fun. So, hares had grown up and bred. And now people could have dinner without going to hunt. The main thing was to keep animals from scattering. By the way, people could just break back legs of hares.

— Oh! Yeah! — his brother agreed to.

If wolf cubs grew up, they would have more meat and fur. People could feed them with hares or rats, who keep messing everywhere. Why didn’t they try? It was good year, there was enough food for everyone.

At that moment people didn’t know yet that they wouldn’t have to brake back legs of wolves that grew up with the people. That beasts would be devoted to their masters enough.

Full text https://ficbook.net/readfic/6544987/23284115#part_content

Thanks for translation https://vk.com/id575217694

Art by @art.saidova