#horizon of sulfur

[twisting-roads]

I FINISHED ALL THE REFS FOR LOTG!!! BRAND SPANKIN NEW STUFF HERE + TOYHOUSE PAGES :)

they'll be uploaded to the website soon w/ descs and more design notes about them ^^

TH links in readmore

OW TC SBC COM MLOC OOQT NPM HOS

[attex]

sulfur am i right (belongs to @twisting-roads)

[thisaintascenereviews]

I Was Wrong About Deathcore

Deathcore as a genre has gone through quite a transformation over the last 20 years, especially in its early years. Bands like Bring Me The Horizon, Veil Of Maya, All Shall Perish, Suicide Silence, Whitechapel, and Job For A Cowboy brought forth a style of metalcore that took death metal elements into the fold, creating a heavier and more menacing sound. Unfortunately, the metal community hated it, and deathcore was mocked incessantly by the metal community. I remember countless metal publications crapping all over the genre, like it was nothing, and many elitists would say it’s not “real metal,” which you also heard with metalcore, but look at how big both genres are now. In retrospect, those people that doubted the genre and mocked it, their comments haven’t aged well, because both of these genres are insanely huge. Deathcore, in particular, is doing well for itself, but it wasn’t always like that. You can say the same for metalcore as well, and I’ve got a piece in the works about that, but for now, let’s talk about deathcore, and where it’s been for the past decade and where it may potentially go in the future.

I’ve expressed before that I’m just not into the genre anymore, but I’ve recently spent some time with a handful of albums, both from bands I know and bands I don’t, and I’ve come to the realization that I was wrong about the quality of the genre over the last few years. That’s not to say I’m a diehard fan now, but I wanted to write this piece to explain how I went from loving the genre as a teenager to not being much of a fan in my late 20s, only to enjoy it more now at 30. It seems like things like this go full circle, because I was the same way with metalcore as well, and only up until about five or six years ago, I didn’t really listen to a lot for the longest time. I loved deathcore in high school, partially because it was the “heaviest” music I had ever heard, at least at the time. I had already been a fan of metalcore, but deathcore was even heavier. The genre reached its peak in the early 2010s with the second coming of the genre, and that included Carnifex, Whitechapel, Thy Art Is Murder, and a lot of other bands. Those bands were already around, but they only ended up getting bigger. After a certain point, however, I saw the genre start to turn to how heavy and “brutal” a band could get, instead of writing good songs.

One of my biggest issues with heavier music that I run into a lot, depending on the genre, is that bands never know how to write a cohesive song, and instead, they want to be as heavy and brutal as possible, as well as cram as many riffs and breakdowns as possible. Bonus points if the vocalist sounds like a garbage disposal as well. I see this in progressive metal a lot, too, where the bands play as intricately and technical as possible, but they can’t make a catchy or accessible song worth a damn. There was a point where I thought musicianship was more important, but I don’t think so these days. These days, I’m more into listening to catchy and accessible stuff that has something to go back to, versus something that sounds impressive. Sure, you can play your instruments well, but why should I care if I don’t have anything to go back to? Deathcore has been going in that direction recently, being that bands are starting to be more accessible and memorable, versus trying to be as heavy and brutal as possible.

Lorna Shore’s latest record, Pain Remains, is a good example of that, but at the same time, that album is a good example of being over the top and overblown. Pain Remains is at an 11 constantly with its brand of symphonic and blackened deathcore, and while the album does try to get heavy and brutal, there is a lot of variety in both the musicianship and vocals. I reviewed that album a couple of years ago, and my biggest issue with it was how intense and over the top it was, but I don’t think it bothers me as much now, because I just needed to sink my teeth more into it. I didn’t spend enough time with it, and I see the album’s importance now, but I will admit that it’s a very overwhelming album at times, because it throws a lot at you. It throws a lot of different things, though, and that’s a good thing. Relistening to that album recently made me dive back into the genre for a bit, including the new Carnifex album from last year, Necromanteum. I liked that album a lot when it came out, despite it being pretty similar to what they’ve been doing, but Carnifex is a good example of a deathcore band that has more going for them than just being brutal and heavy. They utilize symphonics as well, and black metal riffery, so there’s more or less a good amount of variety on the album.

I’ve listened to a handful of other things, including the new Drown In Sulphur album, Dark Secrets Of The Soul, and I will say that blackened deathcore has become the new trend of the genre, aside from being brutal and heavy, but it all depends on the band’s ability to execute it. Like with all trends, it’ll fade, and the next new thing will come, but it looks like bands trying to be as brutal as possible is the thing of the past and the blackened deathcore sound is what’s big, so I’m looking at the genre with some optimism again, and I’m enjoying some of what I’m hearing. Another great album I’ve been into is the debut Ov Sulfur album, The Burden Ov Faith, in which the band tackles symphonic and blackened deathcore, along with some metalcore and hard rock influence by including clean vocals on the majority of the record.

It’s not that I don’t like bands being really heavy and brutal, it’s that I don’t care for it when that itself is the gimmick. There’s nothing with merely doing that, and sounding like that, but I want there to be more at this point in time. Maybe 20 years ago, it was new and fresh, but now it’s boring and played out, so I’m happy to see a band like Lorna Shore really do something with that. Other bands are following suit, and who knows where the genre will go in the next few years, especially when this trend dies down, but if this is where the the genre is now, I could get into this. Deathcore may not reach the same heights it did ten years ago, but times change, and it’s great to see some newer bands carrying the torch for any certain style of music.

[robo-dino-puppy]

horizon forbidden west | the raintrace 3/?

[sadclowncentral]

if you had asked me as a child what colour the sky was, i would have confidently said blue and yellow. because i grew up on the baltic coast next to one of the most travelled ship routes of the world, and the unfiltered sulfur pouring out of the exhausts of nearly a hundred cargo ships every day turned into a thick layer of sickly yellow laying over the horizon. especially on sunny summer days, it settled of the sea like the cheap imitation of a sunset, out of place during the bright daylight.

then, from one summer to the next, the yellow slowly but surely faded away. because a new legislation passed - one which heavily penalised airborne ship emissions in the area. and while the silhouettes of ships across the passage never became less frequent, their backdrop was now such a pure blue that its hard to imagine that it was ever different.

i think about this everytime someone tells me that climate legislation doesn't work, everytime a new media story declaring our helplessness in the face of certain environmental doom makes the rounds. don't get me wrong - the situation we are facing in terms of climate change and environmental destruction is certainly terrifying. but everyday, people are working tirelessly to implement law and policy that could change that fact. and because of those people, a newly bright blue sky touches down over the baltic sea. and that has to count for something, i think.

[eloquent-edits]

🗡️ Analogies for the poetic

similes for describing characters and their behaviors 🗡️ character inspiration

like the sun, radiant and raging against the far horizon, a clear beacon for others to follow

like a panther in the night, patiently stalking its unsuspecting prey

like a trapped bird flitting about, calling out for any help while nipping the hands that try

like a staircase in the woods, worn away by time, building up to something—somewhere—that not even you know

like a tree felled in a creek, uprooted from your home but still holding up to those who walk over you

like the static on old TVs, ever-present and ever-moving, fading to the background

like a cabin in a snowstorm, a comforting mirage as the world clutches me to its icy heart

like the antique vanity resting in the corner, stable in the dizzying array of things that come and go

like a stained glass window, taking the light you see in others and showing them all the colors within

like the glint of a knife, only there when you look from the right perspective

like a cat lounging in a garden, at peace with watching the world pass on

like reflections in a pond, serene yet obscuring what lies below

like a wound that won’t heal, annoying and a reminder of what happened

like syrup wafting through the air, sweet with a touch of familiarity

like the air after rain, fresh with the stench of earth and dew

like my favorite song, an unmistakable tune of nostalgia and hope to dance to

like the nebulae above, a fusion of stardust and the unknown

like a miasma of sulfur and rot, oozing death and corruption wherever you step

like summer, in all it’s stormy fury and welcome firelight

[ladytabletop]

A list of outrageous pirates?

She swaggers as though the waves still toss beneath her, though you've never once seen her leave this tavern. Still, her name rouses whispers and they say the ivory-handled revolver she carries once belonged to a king she wooed and then left. Her barnacle-encrusted hat is rumored to be from a stint as Davy Jones's wife - surely that's not true? But the grit in her voice when you start to raise the question makes it crumble on your lips like seaweed made brittle in the sun.

They're more at home in the rigging than anywhere else, and though they look youthful, it's been decades since they've been a cabin boy or deckhand whose job it is to furl sails. They've nary a hair on their body, but their freckles speak to their time in the sun. What is it they are trying to see over the edge of the horizon? What sends them climbing toward the sky?

His belly laugh is the first thing you notice about him. It's a marvel it can escape the forest of his brown, tangled beard. He'll spin you a tale about a treasure so grand, you know you'd sail after him to the ends of the earth, only to reveal it a lie. You find it difficult to be angry with him though - something in his voice makes you want to be in his good graces. Get the first mate drunk enough and he'll tell you the captain's the son of a siren, but that's the drink talking, isn't it?

This twin is tattooed from toe to scalp. She carries a bandolier of blades, says shot might fail if it gets wet but a knife never will. You want to know the story of her tattoos? Tough shit.

That twin covers himself, all except the eyes. Is it because he's as tattooed as his sister? He's quick with a word and quicker with a whip. You think it a strange choice of weapon until you see him on an enemy ship, snagging ankles and sending sailors careening into one another. His sister is a blur around him, rolling off his back to slash a man's throat.

It's not just a parrot on the shoulder for them. It's a practical menagerie following at their heels. They're scarred and bruised, and their teeth are as sharp as the foxes and stray cats that follow them as they walk the deck with bare feet. You've heard they lived in the jungle as a child, and one snarl suggests the rumors are true.

He carries a two-hander that he claims was stolen from a Viking tomb. You'd say he only carried it for clout if not for his muscular arms and back, which he puts on display at every opportunity. The salt in his hair and on his skin falls like snow when he walks, but he seems unbothered by its roughness. Whether swimming or fighting, he poses an intimidating presence.

Her arm ends at the elbow. She's quick to knock you down if you say anything untoward about it. As a helmsman, she's unparalleled - she says she hears the stars whisper. When she makes a prediction, you listen. No superstition that falls from her lips is untrue.

For someone so frequently at sea, they certainly delight in fire. You'd swear the flames rolled across their fingertips when they sat on watch - but no, it must have been a trick of the light. They carry sulfur matches in their pockets, and the captain warns them away from the powder. At first you think their eyebrows are burned off, but they're nearly pure white against pale skin.

He's never without a song. You've heard him whistling while he cuts down enemies, humming while he hauls ropes, drumming on the wheel when it's his turn at the helm. He finds it impossible to be still; you've never heard a sound like the howling screeches he made when clapped in chains.

all d10 lists

[rosileeduckie]

I believe the demon Crowley invented it

Which he does, on occasion, do on purpose.

Crowley makes up something special for a certain angel someone. So season two is a thing. I made a thing about Crowley making a thing because I needed more things. I hope you like the thing! :) No spoilers for new season, no worries

SFW. Potential warnings: none. Good Omens/Ineffable Husbands tickle fic.

Word count: 6,003

~*~

It took Crowley a while to want to fly again. To be expected, really; falling, cast from the heavens and plummeting to the depths amid a cacophony of agonized screaming and terrified wailing of the damned all plunging downward into jagged rock and sizzling sulfur–it wasn’t an experience he was eager to repeat. He kept to the ground for a while. Crawling, slithering, was much calmer. But one day, he caught a breeze. Sitting on a crag, sunning himself, the downy feathers of his large dark wings felt a cool gust and began to fluff up. He stretched out the limbs, welcoming the wind, and his long gossamer flight wings began to shiver as well. The wind whistled through him, beckoning him to stretch further, to go faster, to fall. And, with a deep breath and golden eyes wide, he fell. Tucked his wings tight against his back, feeling the wind batter him, rocketing down the mountainside–and then threw them open wide, like floodgates accepting rain, like garden gates accepting fire. He caught the wind, the wind caught him, and he was no longer falling but flying. The wind, the sky, embraced him, surrounded him, whipping through his long crimson hair and tousling it a thousand directions, pinning a hysterical smile to his cheeks, drying tears before they could fall from his eyes. Flapping, swooping, diving, soaring, Crowley shrieked in whooping laughter, utterly free. He wasn’t doomed to the depths; he was up, left, right, down, and everywhere. The sky was his to ride, the earth his to explore. He was alone, and he was free. 

He did a lot of flying after that. Still walked often, sure; humans and their antics were much easier to see from the ground. But his heart pounded loudest and brightest up in the atmosphere.

Speaking of heart pounding.

One day, as Crowley flew, he spotted a large white shape in a tree below him. He couldn’t say offhand where he was–it wasn’t like he often flew with a destination; as much of the world as there was, humans hadn’t filled it with all the fun stuff they would one day–but he could see plenty of empty open desert to catch him when he landed. So, he angled his flight downward, and, just for fun, somersaulted into the dry scrubland, loving the feeling of sand freckling his grinning cheeks and grass adorning his mussed hair. A hop, skip, and a jump, and he’d crossed the distance to the curious tree and was perched on a branch beside its familiar inhabitant.

“Hey, angel.”

“Hello, Crawly,” said Aziraphale. Prim and polite as ever, albeit looking painfully bored. The angel’s eyes were wandering the fuzzy desert horizon, hands folded in the lap of his obscenely white robes which billowed gently around his crossed ankles, which swayed subconsciously back and forth. His wings were folded at his back, appearing tight and stiff from disuse. Crowley counted back in his head how long it had been since their paths had crossed and wondered how much of that time Aziraphale had been made to spend as a tree ornament.

“Crowley,” the demon corrected, feeling antsy just watching Aziraphale sit so still and so standing up on his branch, which creaked protestingly against the first real new movement in a while, and reaching up to ruffle the foliage with his fingers.

“Right,” Aziraphale said, furrowing his brow and shaking his head with an embarrassed smile. “Crowley. I wasn’t expecting to see you. What brings you here?”

Crowley’s fingers found purchase on a higher branch, and he gripped it tight, using it to swing himself up and around and hang upside down from the taller vantage point by his knees. His long curls hung down like a red willow, but his own black robes hugged dutifully to his corporal form. (Even if he didn’t have the human habit of shame, he wasn’t keen to let gravity have his clothes; the wind could get cold even in the desert). The blood rushing to his head made Aziraphale’s question not quite register right away, and Crowley blinked. What had brought him? He stretched out his onyx wings and flexed them demonstratively.

“Ah,” Aziraphale chuckled. “I mean, what are you doing?”

The demon stuck out his lower lip thoughtfully and narrowed his eyes. “Nothing?”

The angel tipped his head, brow furrowed. “What do you mean, nothing?”

“Just that, I guess. Flying quite a bit, having fun. Not like demons really have anything we’re meant to be doing, so.” Crowley curled forward, reaching up to his hanging branch and pulling himself upright before laying down on his stomach, resting his head on his arms to look down at the angel. “Yeah, whatever I want. Nothing.”

Aziraphale sputtered, and Crowley chuckled.

“’We have no time to waste, the Almighty has much work for us to do,’” said the demon in so impressive an impression of the head archangel that Aziraphale held a hand to his lips when a titter startled him by escaping. Crowley grinned. “Even if I’m not on God’s payroll anymore, time’s hardly wasted for us, is it? We’re not mortal; we don’t have a limited amount of time to get done all the things we should.” Crowley closed his eyes with a deep sigh. “So I’m doing none of them. Too much earth to enjoy to get busy with work.”

When Crowley slowly opened one eye, he saw Aziraphale turning his ring over on his little finger, white wings twitching and puffing out, subconsciously agitated.

"Could show you, if you want. Come fly with me, I'll take you on a tour."

"What!" In an instant, Aziraphale's wings went from anxiously fidgeting to defensively spread, puffed up and rigid and making him look much bigger and more threatening. Or, it would have, if he hadn't whipped his head around to look at Crowley with the biggest eyes and flapping mouth and reddening cheeks. He looked positively scandalized.

Crowley couldn't help it--he laughed, a hissing snickering sound that he buried in his arms. He noted Aziraphale's flush looked even darker when he lifted his head, but the thought didn't even occur that it could have been from something other than the words from his mouth.

"I- I- I-! I couldn't possibly--!!"

Couldn't possibly, Crowley sighed, hiding the way his smile began to fade by pressing his cheek into his forearm. Couldn't possibly be seen flittering about with a demon!

Aziraphale settled himself, clearing his throat and smoothing his ruffled feathers. "Couldn't possibly. Far too busy."

"With what?" Crowley scoffed, smiling again when Aziraphale's blush rebloomed. "Looked to me like you were doing as much nothing as I was." He pushed himself up, looking through the verdure to an empty desert. "Unless I'm mistaken, not much of a garden here for you to guard."

"Precisely, there isn't," said Aziraphale, visibly brightening, more confident, when Crowley furrowed his brow and opened his mouth in confusion. "Humans are free to roam about wherever they like now," Aziraphale explained, "even if they're harder to keep track of. And angels are tasked to give them inspiration and blessings."

"Yeah, but," Crowley said, reluctant to disagree when the angel had given so content and cute a wiggle in his seat, "doesn't look like there's many humans around for inspiring or blessing."

"No," Aziraphale relented, casting his gaze downward and fidgeting with his fingers. "Actually, there aren't many yet at all, certainly not enough for all us angels to keep busy, so I- I'm waiting for them to do their whole--" he scrunched up his nose and flapped his hands in front of him, “’go forth and multiply’ing… thing…”

“Uh-huh.” Crowley leaned to once side and then the other before tipping off his branch, catching himself one the perch with one elbow and swinging one leg up to hang from his knee. “And, while you’re waiting for that,” he said, tipping his head back to look at Aziraphale, “you could come fly with me to–”

“I most certainly could not.”

“You should,” Crowley countered. “If for nothing else, because you’ll get stiff just sitting there.”

Aziraphale gave his head a quick and resolute shake. “But I won’t.”

Crowley narrowed his eyes and raised an eyebrow. “You won’t get stiff?”

“No,” Aziraphale huffed with an exasperated smile, “I won’t go flittering about. Angels aren’t meant to…” He trailed off, brow furrowed as he sought for words. Instead, he gave a shaky wave with his hands, as though that gesture wasn’t equally vague.

“Fly?” Crowley guessed.

Aziraphale gave another huff, part impatient and part amused. “Obviously. We, no, um… There’s a certain level of professionalism to…” He’d run out of words again. Crowley wondered if the Lord’s precious humans would be so kind as to one day make up a way for someone to communicate with their hands for beings like poor Aziraphale. (Probably would, clever things.) As it was, the angel said no more, but his inability to articulate in concert with his anxious hands and wide eyes spoke bounds.

Professionalism, hm? Ah. Crowley guessed again, words slow and eyebrows rising. “You’re not meant to have fun?”

At that, Aziraphale nodded, the tension in his shoulders and wings dropping, and a relieved smile gracing his cheeks. An answer, even one delivered so astonishedly as Crowley’s had been, evidently was enough to settle him. “Yes. Far too busy.”

“Let me get this straight.” Crowley unbent the two limbs suspending him from his branch, languidly loosing them so he could drop down sit beside Aziraphale on his lower branch. “Lord of all light and goodness,” he wiggled his fingers upward, “made all this world for you to serve and forbade you to enjoy any of it?”

“Not forbade, but serving does come first” Aziraphale replied, seeming only have just realized Crowley was now beside him. He cleared his throat and clasped his hands in his lap. Crowley cocked his head curiously; no more hand-flapping or chin-wagging, then. The angel had let himself out of his box enough for one day.

“Well,” said Crowley, clapping his palms to his thighs and pushing off until he tipped backwards and into freefall. His wings caught him with practiced ease just beneath the tree’s canopy, but he definitely delighted in the angel’s startled jolting and almost reaching to try and catch him. “Have fun sitting in your nest.” He gave the angel a salute, then touched a finger to his head. “Or don’t have fun, I guess, whichever. I’ll be up there.” Crowley pointed upward, then snorted. “I mean, ‘up there’ like the sky, not ‘up there’ like– you know what I mean.”

The last he saw of Aziraphale before flying off was cherub cheeks glowing an embarrassed pink and hands all but anchored to his robed lap. Crowley’s wings beat fast and hard, arms thrown wide, and soon he was back amongst the cloud. Which way he’d been intending to go, he had no idea, so he hailed the first wind gale and let himself float along it. His thoughts, which usually wandered just as aimlessly as the winds, were stubbornly pointed downward and behind him.

Oh, an angel didn’t want to have fun, what a shocker. Let him sit in his tree, bored, all he wanted. Angel didn’t know what he was missing.

Crowley’s wind carried him to an ocean that would one day be called the Red Sea, passing him off to an air distinctly cooler and tasting of salt. Beneath him, the blue vastness stretched on toward the horizon, in no time at all swallowing up the desert he’d come from until he was flying over only sea. Ocean above, ocean below, even from so high up, he could see no end to either. Beautiful. Peaceful. Lonely.

The sighed Crowley exhaled was ocean-deep. Angel didn’t know what he was missing.

Banking hard, Crowley dove under and out of his wind current, flying lower and closer to the sea as he trekked back toward land. A spray-laden breeze spurred him on, carrying him like a leaf riding the rolling waves.

He couldn’t just pull the angel from his tree. Well. He could, of course, literally. But he couldn’t pull him from where he’d metaphorically rooted himself. Maybe there was a figurative middle ground at which to meet him.

Literal ground came into view, and Crowley slowed until he’d lighted on a beach. He stood there a moment, hands on his hips and lips pursed and wings stretching, thinking. Stewing. Any other angel, Crowley probably wouldn’t have been so stuck on. But Aziraphale wasn’t any other angel. He had a little devil in him, or he wouldn’t have talked with a devil in the first place. An angel’s stuffiness didn’t suit him; even if he was prim, it wasn’t like he’d had much chance to be anything else. To try anything else. He wanted to have fun; Crowley knew he did. Crowley watched the waves tumble onto the sands with thunderous yawns, listened to the gulls’ distant disgruntled cries as they squabbled over dinner. The ocean was just as vast from below. If only he could have Aziraphale standing next to him, get him to see all there was to see.

Something scuttled over his foot, and he brought his gaze down. A small crab, no bigger than his thumb, had elected that the risk of invading a demon’s personal space was worth the few seconds it’d safe on its journey. Crowley stepped back–obligingly, not because the creature had startled him; he was far scarier than a crab, thank you–and crouched down to watch the crab scurry on. The sand beneath them both was warm and deep, too, shifting beneath Crowley’s feet in miniscule landslides of grains too many to count. Crowley snickered; some poor angel had to have been saddled with the task to count sand and pour it out on the earth, he was sure. There were shells atop the sandy scape, too, and stones already being smoothed down from the waves’ crashing. Crowley picked up one of each, a pretty little brown spiral and a slate rock hewn quite flat. After a second of consideration, he reeled back his arm and tossed the stone out across the ocean, grinning when it jumped four times across the surface before sinking into the water. Like it was skipping. Snickering proudly, he scooped up another such stone and tucked it safely alongside the shell into one of the many folds of his robe. (Like gravity, the robe was willing to ignore space and mass to allow Crowley to carry more things. Very considerate.) He walked a few paces further, gathering up a small piece of driftwood, another rock with an interesting texture, and, deciding the risk of getting pinched was worth it, the crab. Then, back into the air, he went.

Time was still funny. After the big seven days at the beginning had been counted, the calendar had gotten a little messy. Humans would probably benefit from it, get a few more weeks or years or centuries in change from days not counted for the sun having forgotten to have been set. Maybe some angel would be appointed to sort that out eventually and keep time organized. As it was, Crowley didn’t know how long he’d been gone from Aziraphale’s tree. A few hours? A few days? It was easy to get lost up in the air and up in one’s thoughts. What he did know was that it had been long enough for Aziraphale to fall asleep.

Angels didn’t need to sleep. It had been a design feature. Too much to do. But, as Crowley clambered into the tree once more, he saw a blonde head tipped back, eyes closed and jaw relaxed.

“Hey, angel!” Crowley crowed and jabbed a finger into Aziraphale’s side, already grinning.

Aziraphale’s eyes snapped open, and he jolted forward with a yelp, floundering with his wings to get his balance back while one hand gripped his branch and the other was pressed affrontedly to his heaving chest. When was no longer in danger of falling, Aziraphale’s focus shifted squarely to Crowley, all dagger-glares and flushed cheeks. Crowley couldn’t help laughing, which, he realized, was all too easy to do around Aziraphale. “Crowley! That was–! You startled me!”

With a shrug and lingering snickers, Crowley moved to Aziraphale’s perch, sitting down beside him. “Just helping you out, angel. You were working so hard before; would hate to see your higher-ups find you dozing.”

Whatever retort or further scolding Aziraphale had intended to give fizzled away in his flapping mouth. He pressed his lips tight together and turned his pink face away slightly, and Crowley wondered if he was trying to keep himself from coming up with an excuse or, God forbid, breathing a lie.

With a chuckle, Crowley reached into his robes, elbowing Aziraphale’s side as he did. “I’m just teasing. I wouldn’t want to see your higher-ups at all.” At that, the line of Aziraphale’s lip wobbled, the muscle of his cheek twitching like it ached to pull upward. Crowley’s grin was unabashed. “Anyway, hopefully this will make up for it.”

Aziraphale jumped when he found himself with hands full of small silly objects. “What’s this?” he asked, juggling them for a moment before laying the treasures in his lap. The offended crab stayed determinedly pinched to the hem of his sleeve, but the other trinkets spread out nicely upon the fabric his white robe in a flattering little display.

“Figured,” explained Crowley, holding a hand out to catch the crab when it eventually tired, “since angels are allergic to having fun and going to new places, it’d be a shame for you to not even see things from those places.” Moreso, it was its own temptation, but nothing Crowley had been instructed to do. He hoped that, if Aziraphale saw pretty little things from somewhere else, maybe he’d want to go there more than he’d want to do his nothing job. Maybe want to do nothing together. Maybe.

“Oh.” The angel’s gaze hadn’t left the little exhibit. His eyes wandered between the objects, and, slowly, he let his hand–the one not currently being clambered up by a crustacean–trail over them, tentative and featherlight. Gentle. Reverent. Crowley tore his own gaze from Aziraphale’s hands back to his face. The flustered blush had faded, and his eyes were as bright as Crowley had ever seen them, positively shining. “Thank you. I suppose.”

The verbal response was so detached from the visual one that Crowley snorted. Right, so, angels didn’t know how to receive gifts (albeit, admittedly, they were as new to the concept as any other earthling). Maybe that was enough of an excuse to give him more gifts.

"No one's ever given me-- ow." Aziraphale looked up from his treasures to the crab that had scaled his sleeve and delivered a disgruntled pinch to his arm. He smiled, regarding the little creature with eyes still bright. "No one's ever given me a crab. Excuse me, my fine little fellow?"

"Well, I wasn't planning repeats anyway, but definitely no crabs next time." Crowley jabbed at the crab with his finger. "Oi."

The crab promptly let go of Aziraphale to brandish both pincers at Crowley.

"Ow," he said when the crab latched onto his nail. "Fine, read you loud and clear, I'll give you a lift home." He tucked the little devil into his pockets and looked back to Aziraphale, who'd gone red again. "Don't look so terrified, angel. He's safe in there, you're safe out here."

Aziraphale's response was quiet. "Next time?"

"'Next--'?" Crowley's eyebrows furrowed, then rose to his hairline. 'Next time' that he brought the angel a gift. Well, he hadn't meant to speak that implication into the universe. Whoops. "Ahm, s-- so. You want to come with me to escort the little thing home?"

"I can't," Aziraphale sighed, but he was cradling the smooth stone and tracing it with his fingertips.

"Busy, right." Crowley scooted forward and off the branch, into the air. "Well, sleep tight."

Maybe not the best time to tease when the angel had a stone in his hand, but Crowley could get used to seeing Aziraphale blush before flying off.

He was still seeing red, and is was just as adorable, while he lay on his belly on the warm beach sand, fending off the little crab from pinching his nose with one hand.

"You were no help back there," Crowley told his tiny bloodthirsty foe, parrying away a jab with his index finger. Only after delivering a few nasty blows to Crowley’s knuckles and fingertips was the vengeful crab, at last, satisfied, scuttling off into the surf. Crowley mussed his hair with both hands before letting his head loll forward, resting his forehead on the sand and mindlessly scratching lines into the sand with his fingers.

Not a total failure of a plan, but not a complete success, either, with or without the aid of Captain Stabby. He hadn’t gotten the angel out of his nest, but at least he now had something to keep from being bored to sleep. Crowley wasn’t usually averse to giving up, but he could be pretty stubborn. And maybe he had a pretty big crush. But that wasn’t the point! Aziraphale was perhaps the only angel to speak to, let alone be kind to Crowley after his fall. He was too sweet a soul to deserve being benched from all of Earth’s joys for a few centuries just because he didn’t technically have work to do. Crowley couldn’t let him be stuck like that.

Resolved, Crowley lifted his head and determined to come up with another plan. Watching the waves crash and turn over, so he shuffled through the thoughts and ideas in his mind. Giving Aziraphale things hadn’t swayed him enough to move from his perch, even if those things had obviously delighted him. (More than obviously, but Crowley didn’t yet know how Aziraphale had carefully tucked all of the little beach treasures safely into his own pockets.) Perhaps, instead of showing the angel how much fun could be had somewhere else by collecting things from that somewhere, Crowley could make him feel that right where he was. Hard to replicate the feeling of being on a warm beach, soaking in the sun and listening to the sea, while in reality sitting in a gnarled old tree. A different feeling, perhaps. A different place. Crowley’s most favorite place was the sky; as an angel, Aziraphale would be well acquainted with how good flying could be. But how to make him feel that way from the ground? It wasn’t like he could collect bits of cloud and wind.

Crowley looked up at the clouds, following the bright white hilltops and grey flat plains with his eyes. No angel designed them or upkept them; the wind pulled and pushed and shaped them, taking them and making them to its whim. Like it took Crowley. From in their midst, clouds looked mostly like great pale curtains. From below, Crowley could almost see fluffy sheep and snowy mountaintops in their formless shapes. Chaos, random chance, channeled to make something substantial. Collecting hadn’t work to replicate feelings; why wouldn’t making something?

Demons loved making stuff. Creativity had been made to be a human trait, but demons, by principal, had the bad habit of doing things they weren’t supposed to. It was fun in so many ways. To come up with and then make something overcomplicated, accidentally brilliant, or absolute bullshit nonsense–and then to see what humans did with it. It was invigorating, cathartic, and hilarious.

What, what, what could Crowley make for his angel? It actually wasn’t too hard yet, to think up something unique, occupying such an early chapter of history. Still, he wanted it to be special. Moving. Figuratively and literally. What did he feel when flying, and how could he make that happen down here? How to ruffle an angel’s feathers without wind?

Crowley looked at the squiggling furrows his fingers had left in the sand. They had been made without intention, for the satisfying scraping sounds and gritty shifting texture as he thought. But, now, they gave him an idea. Hands could ruffle feathers, sure. He looked over his shoulder and reached back to give his own feathers an experimental ruffle. Yup, that could work. Like the waves crashing over one another, Crowley’s thoughts started to race, spurred as he looked backward. Hands ruffling feathers, fingers buried in sand, feet bare in soft grass. He thought of one human he’d seen poke another in the side and how the second had recoiled with a smile before they’d both gone back to fishing. He thought of how it felt when an itchy leave wriggled its way down his robe. He thought of how it felt when an angry little crab scittered across his skin. He thought of an angel’s beaming smile and bright eyes. He had many thoughts, but he had one idea. One idea for something absolutely nonsensical and extremely silly, and, when he eventually workshopped a name for it, he’d call it tickling.

But, one unnamed idea in hand, Crowley flew up from his sandy sunning spot and back in the direction of a now very familiar tree.

“I saw you coming this time,” Aziraphale declared when Crowley all but crashed into the tree with how fast he’d been flying.

Crowley scoffed, picking twigs from his crimson hair. “I would hope so, between how many eyes you have and how much noise I was made landing.”

Aziraphale set his eyes heavenward, as close as he seemed to get to rolling them.

“Why?” Crowley said as he sat down next to the angel. “Were you watching for me?”

“I wasn’t sure you’d come again,” Aziraphale admitted, cheeks going rosy and fingers worrying a small brown shell.

For a moment, Crowley’s heart beat loud and eager in his ears. He kept it. No time to be swept up in that thought, though; he was far too busy with the task at hand. Crowley cleared his throat and shrugged, moving to sit close enough to Aziraphale that their knees touched. “Had to. I had another gift for you.”

“Oh?” The angel’s eyes lit up excitedly, even as he tried to look professional. “From where this time?”

“From me. I made it up. For you.” Crowley stuck out his tongue and cursed his own ears for burning. “Ngk– I’ll show you.”

Before the angel could offer any turnabout teasing for Crowley being the one flushed and at a loss for words (because, Crowley just knew, there was enough devil in Aziraphale to absolutely turn the tables given the opportunity), Crowley thrust his hands beneath Aziraphale’s folded wings, wiggling his fingers to muss the feathers and scribble at the muscle beneath.

“Ah–!” Aziraphale yelped, his wings swinging out wide to escape the surely strange feeling. Crowley only targeted the space closer to Aziraphale’s shoulders instead. “What are you–?” Aziraphale tried to ask through laughter that seemed to be building and bubbling quite irresistibly from his chest, “What are you doing?”

“I’m tickling you,” Crowley explained, crawling his wiggling fingers from Aziraphale’s wings, down his shoulder blades and under his arms. “Not sure about the name yet, but I figured vessel nerves usual react for preservation. Why not make them react to something fun?”

Perhaps for preservation against this new attack, Aziraphale tried to lean back and away from Crowley, flapping his wings and batting at his hands. The tickling under his arms, though, had him curling up and laughing enough to mostly rob him of words once again. “This isn’t–!”

“This isn’t fun?” Crowley guessed, puffing out his lower lip. “Now, is that because it’s actually not fun, or because you, as an angel, could not possibly be having fun?”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale squealed, and Crowley grinned, downright devilish.

“I mean, if it’s not fun, why are you laughing? Laughing means you’re happy, yeah?” he teased, slipping his hands from under Aziraphale’s arms to set his dancing fingers loose upon his stomach.

Aziraphale was nearly horizontal, leaned so far away from Crowley and wings and hands flapping weakly. When Crowley’s next attack targeted his stomach, Aziraphale loosed a merry wail before tumbling into bright laughter that made the lines by his eyes crinkle happily and the breath in his throat catch wheezily. And oh, his laugh was perfect. All the pristine stuffy angel was gone, drowned out by the loud, head-thrown-back, wrinkled nose, toothy, shoulder-scrunching, belly-shaking laughter. It suited him.

Crowley had some mercy, switching from digging and scratching to poking and wiggling. “It is supposed to mean you’re happy, right?” he asked, for a moment concerned he might accidentally kill the angel. He certainly looked happy, and he hadn’t been doing much to push Crowley away, but… “I came up with tickling, but I’m not yet fully clear on…”

A still-giggling Aziraphale blinked through laughter-induced tears–tears were sad; had he become so happy, he was sad?–to look at Crowley, his gaze an odd but warm mix of fond and sympathetic and sweet and teasing and just losing the edge of hysterical. Just that look nearly bowled Crowley onto his back.

“Oh well!” Crowley exclaimed, a little too loudly. “I’ve got to perfect my new little game for you. And you,” he grinned as Aziraphale grew all the redder and scrunched his neck, “you just stop laughing if you stop being happy.”

Aziraphale didn’t stop laughing, but he didn’t stop squirming either. In fact, when Crowley set out to practice until perfect by testing other techniques to see what would tickle and started squeezing the soft spots of Aziraphale’s stomach and sides, the angel thrashed so exuberantly that he rolled right off the branch. Crowley followed, and, in a mess of feathers and flapping wings, the two tumbled from the tree and into the desert scrub grass.

With how much of a reaction squeezing had gotten, Crowley continued doing it, chasing Aziraphale’s laughter down along his thighs and behind his knees. With more ground on which to metaphorically stand, Aziraphale did put up a bit more of a fight, and Crowley was sure no one who pictured wrestling an angel would conjure that image. Of the angel with a wide smile beaming like the sun, of the demon getting the upper hand by jamming his thumbs into the angel’s hips until the later collapsed backward with a snorting cackle, of the adoration in the demon’s eyes as he tickled the angel apart piece by piece. Crowley rounded back, at last able to get one of Aziraphale’s wings pinned under his knee and burrowing the fingers of one hand into the wing pit and the fingers of the other into the soft stomach and vibrating both sets until the angel was wheezing.

Crowley had had about a dozen other ideas for this tickling thing once Aziraphale had actually been under his hands, but he had actually succeeded in getting Aziraphale from his tree, and he didn’t want to overwhelm with too much of his brilliant new idea. He pulled his hands back to a featherlight crawl, tracing the fair hair of Aziraphale’s forearms with the tips of his fingers and the tops of his feet with the tips of his black wings. The angel, thoroughly spent and thoroughly happy, lay giggling and content, hands twitching and stomach jumping but otherwise still. Eventually, all Crowley’s movement stopped as well, transfixed by the sight beneath him.

Here lay Aziraphale, opalescent wings thrown wide and with feathers mussed, perfect curled hair a tousled mess, hysterically happy smile stuck to his cheeks, tears drying on his cheeks, chest heaving from a belly full of screaming laughter. Crowley fell from on top of him, laying beside Aziraphale with a smile of his own. Perfect.

“That was fun,” Aziraphale said, eyes closed and smiling so gently that Crowley simply couldn’t bear to gloat just then. (He would eventually gloat. A lot. But not just then.)

“Yeah, it was.” Crowley lay beside Aziraphale, reveling in the validation of a successful plan and good idea, as well as the echoing angelic laughter still gracing his ears. He turned his head when Aziraphale pushed himself to sit up.

“Well, it will be a bit before humans fully populate the earth anyway.” Aziraphale stood, brushing off a bit of sand from his robes and producing the shell and a rock from them to make sure they had survived the fall, and holding out a hand to Crowley. “You can lead the way to that ocean you were so keen about, and you can tell me more about your creation. I haven’t ever laughed like that, have you?”

Crowley took Aziraphale’s hand and stood, shaking his head. “Just when I catch a really good breeze, but even then…”

“Ah. Well, I liked your gifts. Can I share this one?”

The demon was struck with the absurd image of angels dropping like flies around the old garden under the menace that would be Aziraphale the tickle angel. He snorted. “Sure, if you want.”

“Thank you.” Aziraphale wiggled his shoulders happily and stretched out his wings. “I’d like to tickle you then, so you can laugh like that, and I can see it.”

Something in Crowley’s mind popped. Full of ideas as it had been minutes earlier, it was amazingly empty at Aziraphale’s proposal. With all the excitement the demon had had coming up with the idea and developing it, he had not once considered it being turned against him. Regifted. He was struck with another image, this time of himself, pinned under Aziraphale, at his mercy, laughing like flying. That image actually struck him as quite lovely, but it did also make his ears burn like hellfire. “Well!” Crowley said, kicking up off the ground and hovering a few feet above it. “One fun thing at a time. Ocean?”

Aziraphale nodded, smiled, and shot up into the air like a feathery stone shot by a sling. “Race you!”

“Hey!” Crowley laughed, chasing after him.

~*~

Crowley had come up with it, but Aziraphale had made it his own. And had inspired Crowley to coin the term ‘tickle monster.’

Such inspiration came to Crowley in an instance much like the one he found himself in at present: head tipped back against the cottage bedroom door, cheeks and chest aching from laughing, knees wobbly, so high and happy that the only thing keeping him from floating away was Aziraphale holding him (quite nicely after so evilly pinning him there earlier), stroking his fingertips along Crowley’s hips and sides, slow, featherlight, gentle, reverent.

“This may have been the best gift ever given,” Aziraphale chuckled, pressing a kiss to Crowley’s neck and leaning back with a proud wiggle.

Crowley lifted his arms, still a bit jelly-like, to wrap around Aziraphale’s shoulders, holding him close and keeping himself upright. “And it got me a hefty promotion way back when.”

Aziraphale laughed, “What?!”

“Yeah,” Crowley grinned, crooked and dizzy. “’Oh, Crowley, what an ingenious torture method, all the fun of hysteria with no marks left behind!’”

He let his head fall onto Aziraphale’s shoulder, giggling, as Aziraphale smothered his own laughter in his hand.

“But,” Crowley said, lifting his head but still too boneless to actually hold it up and so letting it thump back against the door, “you are by far more evil with it, so I may have taken credit where I was not due.”

“How rude,” Aziraphale tutted, giving Crowley a little scratch to one hip that had him crumpling sideways and squeaking. The angel caught him easily, supporting him around the waist and gently tickling his back to get him to purr and slump further into Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Well, whatever the offices took it for, I am very grateful.” He pressed a kiss to Crowley’s forehead and smiled. “Very happy with it.”

“Good,” Crowley mumbled, “because I didn’t keep the receipt.”

[sgt-farron]

just thinking about how it makes perfect sense for team AOL to be so demoralized compared to team Uthodurn and it HURTS. im having too many feelings.

Team Uthodurn had:

A familiar location. Not just any familiar location, but one that one of them was from! Chet may have been on the lam from his past, but that was small potatoes. They got to learn very quickly the extent of what was going on with magic - but was assured that the world was still spinning. Very grounding.

Three PCs with sending!! Again, made very clear that while it was very distressing to not be able to reach their friends and know for a fact they were okay, it was triple assured that magic is weird right now, so that can help arrest the panic.

Two PCs who were also from there who could assure them, again, the world was still spinning.

Three party members who are typically very good at rolling with the punches and are pretty unflappable when the unexpected occurs.

Both ruidusborn members of the party alive! and in one piece! no worse for wear despite the red energy that was being siphoned off of them during the ritual.

This is doubled down because they had Imogen! If anyone was going to be effected by that and, as the other team (especially laudna) is concerned about, could have been taken or killed by that ritual it would have been her. But they had her, so the worst didn't happen. And if Imogen was okay, then surely the others are just as okay as them, right?

All four of them were standing before Ludinus, witnessing the impossibility of fighting him first hand. They can rationalized that in that moment, there was nothing more they could have done.

Team AOL had:

Appeared suddenly in the pitch dark on the edge of a sharp cliff to the abyss (as far as they could see), feeling steam and smelling sulfur - very apocalyptic. Two thirds of the party did not have darkvison, making this all the more disorienting!

They could see ruidus tethered on the horizon. Immediate confirmation that they failed. Adds to the immediate disorienting effect that maybe the world really did end.

Received no sending from their friends who they know would try if they could. (if they were alive - dont think about it, dont think about it, compartmentalized). Also, no way to try themselves to discover that that magic is just weird right now.

Oops! no fearne or imogen. No way to know if they were vaporized or shunted into space!!! no way to know at all!! (and no sending - dont think about it, dont think about it).

Two PCs who were directly, up to the last minute, doing the only thing that could have maybe stopped this in their eyes. They were trying to destroy the batteries that would power the damn thing. So when it all went sideways, all they can think is we could have done more. We could have maybe stopped it. We were not enough. We failed.

One PC witnessed the leader of their people, undeniably one of the strongest people in the world, who they love and admire absolutely bodied and very possibly (from what Orym could see in that moment) killed by Ludinus and Otohan after walking into an unavoidable trap.

Eventually they realize that of all the places in the world they ended up it was Issylra - a world away from anywhere any of them have ever been. Including the three equally displaced PCs who were shunted at random who have no clue what is going on beside one who was deputized the day before to try to get information on what the effects of the apogee solstice has been. But she has also never been in a fight before.

[aspitefulwriter]

OUT OF TOUCH [Ch. 1]

(Poe Dameron x AFAB!reader)

Summary:

First Order pilots are trained from childhood to deal with crash landings, equipped with the means to survive until retrieval and tasked to eliminate enemies on sight. When you crash on an uncharted planet just behind a Resistance pilot, your training comes to the test as you’re thrown into a new environment, forced to make choices you weren’t taught to deal with.

What’s more interesting is that you also find yourself facing the humanity that you previously thought was deeply hidden within, bringing trouble with it in ways you never fathomed.

includes (eventually): enemies to friends to lovers, angst, pining, slow burn, eventual smut, casualties of war

author’s note: i post on ao3 first!!

word count: ~6.5k

Series Masterlist

“Kriff!” You slam your hands on the console of your fighter as alarms and warnings continue to flash and fill the cockpit. Blurs of red and green fly past you, adding to the cocktail that colors your face and pumps a steady flow of adrenaline through each limb. A hard jolt and shake rocks you in your seat, your ship clinging to life and succumbing to the pull of the planet that sits below you. 

You grit your teeth and pull in a breath to center yourself. This wasn’t what you were anticipating when you were pulled from your sleep 5 hours ago, the stress and shakes adding to the headache that’s been building since you opened your eyes. Hitting a button on your console, you bring up a map of the sector that glitches with each shudder and groan of your ship. A quick flit of your eyes across the projection shows you and the planet that’s actively trying to capture you, which you click on for details. It takes a moment to pop up, and the stress you’re under mounts when you see there aren’t any details about it; a huge ‘unknown’ titling many others below it. What if there isn’t any enough oxygen available and it’s a sulfur-based planet or phosphorus? There’s not enough oxygen on board to hold you over for however long it would take the Order retrieval ships to get you–their hands were full. At the thought, your eyebrows pull together slightly in concern.

Your index flicks to your headset, “This is Canis Leader. Mayday. Mayday. I’ve been hit. Does anyone copy?” A frown creases the corner of your lips when static is the only response.

“Mayday. Does anyone copy?” You repeat, your frown deepening as still no response is given. You have half the mind to panic, but this is only one occurrence of the few you’ve been through recently. It’s fine. You’re fine. Taking another deep breath to relax, you start to power your ship down to where you no longer fight against the pull of the planet’s gravity. The fight isn’t worth it, you need to keep your ship in a repairable condition. When the last button is hit, your ship offers one last grueling shake before the clatterings and warning lights cease.

“So dramatic…” You mumble to yourself, gripping the controls and settling into your chair as you’re drug into the unknown atmosphere. With the cease of lights, it’s difficult to keep your mind off of the fact you’re gliding into the unknown, one that you now see is shrouded by clouds with an atmosphere that once again rocks your ship. But every concern is quickly quelled when you breach the wall, a sea of blues and greens of vegetation and water filling your vision.

You sit up and out of your seat to peer over your console, eager to have your feet touch steady ground, and as you’re surveying the horizon, you see a plume of black smoke billowing into the sky and breaking the blue-green horizon. A more hopeful part of yourself wishes it’s a crashed ship with an alive First Order pilot rather than an enemy or a planet’s inhabitant much more suited to take you down, but a realistic part of yourself that knows your luck surmises it’s likely an enemy. 

As you get closer to hitting the surface, you try to crank up your engine to release your landing gear and propulsion systems, but all it gives you is a weak whimper before simpering out. Damned thing. In a show of your growing irritability, you rattle the controls violently. “Kriff!” You scream, your voice ricocheting off of the tiny cabin. By the time your lungs run out of air, you’re heaving and have a mood that reaches far down below you and into the depths of the mantle of this planet.

You take a glance out of the window and see you’re likely soon to be crashing into trees that guard the ground you’re so desperate to get to. You mumble to yourself as you get ready for ejection, so much for wanting to keep the ship repairable. You check your pockets, making sure you have your weapons on you before hitting the button that rockets you out of your cockpit. A low gasp leaves your mouth at the force you’re launched into the air with, making you close your eyes and grip the bars that line your seat with almost the same force you were subjected to. You’re suspended in the air for what feels like eternity before you feel the sudden drop, your stomach immediately tying into knots at the pull. 

Within seconds, the jets to your seat kick in, stopping the quick drop. You let loose the breath you didn’t know you were holding, opening your eyes to survey where your ship is deciding to crash itself. Maybe in the best stroke of luck you’ll have all day, you’ve opened your eyes just before the ship goes crashing into the tree line, a straight shot from where you were ejected. Your grip on the bars slacks.

A good amount of your stress melts away, at least somewhat comforted by the fact that although you can hear the sound of your fighter crashing, there still isn’t an explosion and the plume of smoke that comes from it isn’t as dark as the other one you saw.

Your grip tightens again. Oh. Right.

___

After your seat lands, you throw off your helmet feeling a metallic twang filling your mouth as saliva pools under your tongue. You lean, settling your palms on your knees as you dry heave, the force from the chair’s propulsion catching up to you. You stay like that for a moment, nothing coming out, but your stomach is still in a state of unrest. 

With a breath through your nose, you stand up, wiping the back of your hand across your mouth to get any spit off of your face (just in case). It wasn’t the hardest landing you’ve ever had, by a long shot, however recently it had been hard to deal with the problems that had been coming your way. Odd things were happening, and you didn’t feel like facing it right now. So with a look around, you pull out the tracking device you have that’s connected to your fighter, trusting its directions given the huge trees of the forest are clouding your perception. You rub off the sheen of condensation that forms on the tracker when it meets with the humidity in the air. Based on the calculations, the jet didn’t land awfully far away, maybe a 30-minute walk. A smile starts to build on your face. That’s good, walking in this humidity seems like a worse punishment than flight school was…and that was rough. 

However, once it passes 20 minutes and more than half of your armor has joined the decomposing leaves of this Maker-forsaken planet, that smile has long since wiped off of your face. No wonder this place hasn’t been uncovered. This humidity is absolutely brutal. Sweat pools in each pore and drips down your arm as if it’s a waterfall. Your mouth is dryer than Tattooine even though the moisture in the air is already choking you with each breath.  

Dehydration sets in and the headache that you forgot about kicks into overdrive, your vision pounding. You need to stop and rest, so you do. Closing your eyes, you hang your head back and take almost gasping breaths, setting your hands on your hips to get some semblance of a breeze to reach every crevice of your body and cool you down. You stand in silence like that, listening for the sounds of the wilderness which did echo off of the trees not ago, however, there’s not much to listen to. Strange.

Opening your eyes, you pull out the tracker to see how close you are, needing its steady and rhythmic blinking to remind you you’re not doing this for nothing. Underneath your feet, the terrain shakes, breaking you out of your thoughts. You look around and shove your tracker back in your pocket, replacing it with your tiny blaster hooked to your waistband. Crashing soon accompanies the tremor of the ground, as well as gasps for breath past a small treeline to your right, which you turn to and point the blaster at. 

Just as your finger reaches the trigger, someone crashes head-first onto the ground, grappling at the leaves to launch himself back to a run. Your finger slips and a shot simmers some leaves right in front of the tree line. A droid soon rolls over where you shot, and before you know it, you’re being grabbed and dragged along while a ferocious roar rattles all the vegetation around you.  

“Wha–” You stammer out, scrambling with the man to catch your footing, your feet not quite catching up with the urgency he has. The sound of something big breaking through a wall of brush causes you to look back, eyes with hardly the vision wide enough to get all of the beast that meets them. It stands nearly the length of half of the towering trees above you, its skin covered in a mossy substance with a bright yellow liquid flowing from what looks to be a wound on its lower right. It roars again, its mouth a bizarre and vibrant blue that in no way distracts from the very large and very sharp teeth that are lined in rows. 

Now you get it and now your legs want to work. All three of you, the round droid included that is non-stop blabbering, topple over rocks, fallen trees, and anything else to get away from certain death. 

Scrapes are starting to litter your body as the forest grips you, almost like it wants to make you the meal of the beast that is admittedly kind of slow compared to its size.You look for escape, eyes eagerly trying to find something where you can safely hide. As you guys slide down a small, yet steep rock facing, you see a cave hidden by a narrow opening to what looks like a sizeable cave. You grab and pull the guy’s arm, pointing to it. He stops and quickly looks at it before looking around him and then back at you.

“Are you sure?” He lowers his voice, face etched with concern as his droid beeps almost sarcastically. 

“Have you seen any better options?” You grit your teeth, not wanting to argue about what is clearly the best choice right now. At his hesitation, you let go of his arm and head to the cave, his droid following you.

You look over your shoulder at the droid who’s talking and then back up at him, a scowl on his face. “Clearly your droid has more sense than you.” At your words, he looks up at the rocks you just slid down from, some tinier ones dropping as the beast approaches. 

“Okay, okay.” He says, jogging over to the hole where you stand. You slide in and help him with getting the droid in. Just as the bigger rocks start to slide down the rock facing, he slides in and puts a finger over his lips while he looks at the droid that beeps. The beast jumps down, rocking the cave, and you look down to see the droid almost drawing into itself and rolling as far back as he can from the entrance. You follow suit, grabbing the guy’s arm and leading the two of you to where your backs hit the wall of the cave. 

It approaches, following your scents before a screech from another animal causes it to snap its head up into the air, a growl coming from deep into its throat as it stalks off. A breath of relief escapes from the two of you while the droid goes back to its former posture. You step away and look up out of the cave, seeing if it’s clear. The sounds of the forest have even returned to what they were a few minutes after you landed. Now that you’re relaxed, you turn back to the man and the droid, realization dawning on you that you’re with a Resistance pilot. 

On instinct, your hands draw your blaster up, which grabs the attention of the droid that was just before talking to the man. 

“Woaaaaah,” it says, its human counterpart now seeing what is happening as he brings his hands up to his head in surrender. 

“Wait, hey, I just saved your life. If you do this, this is a huge mark on your conscience.” Even though you have a blaster aimed straight at his face, he looks calm–like he’s talking a child into putting something they shouldn’t have down. You give him a perplexed look.

“Conscience? You have no idea.” Your finger is just about to put weight onto the trigger when you feel a huge wave of electricity slam into your body, causing your finger to lock down and shoot a bullet. The man ducks down in time, effectively cheating death and scrambling away. When the voltage stops, you drop the blaster and groan out in pain, the wind knocked out of you. You grasp at your chest, trying to gasp in air when the guy grabs the blaster, pointing it at you now.

“Way to go, bud. Couldn’t have done it sooner.” He says sarcastically, rolling his eyes down to the droid who chirps at him. 

“You–” you start, a scowl starting to wrinkle your face before you’re interrupted.

“Now seriously, why would you do that?” He stares at you in confusion, “What is it about you First Order that just have to go and ruin a good thing? I saved your life!” He exclaims, shaking the blaster in his hand a little.

You’re leaning down, hands on your knees and still feeling like you’re not getting enough air as your mouth hangs open.

“Protocol,” you shrug, wiping the sweat off of your brow and standing up.

“Well if you thought past that for a second, you’d realize we could help each other.” He says, signaling in a circle to include all three of us in the cave.

“How would that help me? One less of you to shoot down in the long run.” He studies you for a moment.

“Who has the blaster and the droid that electrocutes things?” He asks, almost as if he can’t believe he’s asking, his eyes shooting between your face and the blaster he’s still pointing at you.

You’re silent for a moment. Although he’s right, there’d be no way that something like this wouldn’t be discovered. If you’re found to have teamed up with the enemy, you’d effectively be serving yourself to a life of torture. But right now, you think you want to live. It’d be humiliating to be bested and killed by a member of a group that’s so disadvantaged. You breathe out, rolling your eyes shut and holding your hands up in surrender.

“I guess you have a point.” You open your eyes again and see he’s lowered the blaster, a pleased smile on his face. 

“Great, well I’m keeping this.” He pats the blaster he’s now attached to his belt loop.

“What, can’t trust me?” You mock pout as the man snickers. 

“Trust you to kill me, yes.” He nods and joins you at the entrance of the cave, looking around. 

“Do you think we should stick here or go back to our ships?” 

You think about it for a moment, about to say that you should stay here before you feel how dry your mouth is again and the aches covering your body from crashing through the forest. 

“We should at least get emergency gear from the ships. Mine has first aid and provisions that’d be helpful given there’s nothing known about this place.” He nods, pondering the situation himself. 

“When I crashed, the cockpit was fine. My emergency provisions should be okay too.”

“Split and meet back here?” You question, looking at him as he’s spaced out in thought. His eyes snap to you.

“Split? After what we just experienced? There’s no telling what’s out there and I’m not dealing with anything alone after all the trouble of getting you.” He stresses the last word, eyebrows lifting up and creasing together. The droid beeps and the man looks at him, his features softening.

“Okay, well I mean another human, BB.” He rubs his head and brings his attention back to you when you open your mouth to talk. 

“We’re going to have to go to mine first then. I’m closer.”

“Sounds like a plan.” He smiles, and bends down to push the droid out of the hole. You go to help him even though you harbor a little hatred for the thing now that it electrocuted you. But you guess you understand…you were about to kill its master. The man pulls himself out of the hole and you follow. When you stand up, you get your tracker out of your pocket and see it has a single crack breaking its screen in a jagged half. You purse your lips, a little frustrated. 

“Is that an emergency device?” The man asks, a twinge of worry wavering his tone. You snort out an airy laugh. 

“No, it’s a tracker to get to my ship. Unfortunately, I don’t have any emergency calls on this thing.” He laughs dryly.

“Unfortunate? That’s possibly the best thing I’ve heard.” He thinks for a moment, “Well maybe one of the best things.”

Your eyebrows pull together, a little concerned about what that means as you hit the device in your palm, hoping something comes across the screen. You turn it to its back and hit the reset button, checking the screen again where you see that the blip comes back onto the screen. You’re happy momentarily before you see you’ve added another 45-minute walk to the ship based on the run you’ve done.

“Good news, the tracker’s working. Bad is that it’s a bit of a walk based on the humidity of this place and the sun falling pretty quickly.” He looks up at the sky, seeing it is getting a little darker by the second. 

“We can get to my ship tomorrow,” He shrugs, starting to walk in the direction you are. You stare at him for a moment, perplexed at his trusting behavior. 

“You Resistance are so naive.” You laugh, shaking your head.

“We’re both in the same boat. Neither of us have our ships and you don’t have any emergency contact routes, so why would it not be better to stay with you around your ship?” He says, explaining his thoughts to you while talking with his arms. You stare at him in amusement.

“I didn’t say I didn’t have emergency contact, I just said I didn’t have it on this device.” You lightly shake the tracker in your hand.

He opens his mouth like he’s about to respond but he stops. His mouth hangs open for a second. “Good point.” He nervously chuckles. “I’ll just stay somewhere else in secret then.”

“Then how would we be safe?” You tease, referencing his previous arguments that you should stick together. BB beeps and the man sends him a hurtful look.

“You’re supposed to be on my side.” BB sends a few beeps in succession in response. 

“Okay, maybe you do make several good points and I’m so glad you’re having a good time mocking me.” He looks at the small smile that turns the corners of your lips up. You quickly take it off, subbing it for a frown instead and looking ahead. “However, it’s just in everyone’s best interest to not do anything crazy.”

“Fair enough,” You say, pursing your lips and nodding to his words. 

___

The walk had mostly been in silence. The man would respond to anything that BB said while you would only listen to the interaction. You didn’t know the language of the droids, most of the ones on board your bases spoke basic so there wasn’t a need. You weren’t really interested. 

Close to your ship, your dehydration started peaking a little and your vision was getting blurry while you walking. You pinch your eyes closed, shaking your head side to side a few times to will it away. He notices your behavior, watching you with concern. 

“Hey, are you alright?”

“Fine.” You mumble, pulling your tracker out of your pocket to give you something else to look at. He hums, not believing you. He especially doesn’t believe you when you stumble due to the vertigo you’re getting. Stepping closer to you, he goes to grab you when you flinch away. 

“Seriously, I’m fine.” He holds his hand in the air and steps away, exchanging glances with BB before looking back at you and at the ground to watch his step.

“Sooo…” He draws out the vowels, “My name’s Poe.” At your silence, he looks at you and huffs a laugh.

“This is usually where the typical person tells the other their name.” He teases, but you’re not amused.

“I’m nobody.” You respond, opting to keep your anonymity the best you can for the sake of your future. 

“Hm, interesting. You’re one of the many nobodies I’ve met before. A pretty common name.” You’re silent, scaling a rock slower than you would if you weren’t seeing two of everything right now. Poe pushes BB up the small rock hill.

“So why are you in the First Order?” He asks, breathing a little heavy from the exertion of pushing the droid up. 

“Why are you in the Resistance?” You ask immediately, not even thinking of another response. Going into your life story with him would not do anyone any favors. And digging everything up is not at the top of your to-do list.

He scowls, “Don’t change the subject.”

“I’m not changing the subject, I just asked you the same question you asked me.”

“Because it’s what’s right and it’s just a role I was born into. Now you go.” His tone has more edge to it than it did when he first started talking.

“Same here.”

Poe scoffs, “You can’t really believe that what the First Order is doing is right?”

“So what if I do? You don’t know me and I definitely don’t have to explain myself to someone like you.” You shake your head, wiping sweat from your face as the movement causes droplets to slide down. 

“I don’t see how you can get into a ship and not think about the countless lives you ruin by enabling the terror the First Order brings.” 

Your face turns into a deep scowl, “Like I just said, you do not know me.”

“Yeah, but I know enough that you don’t–”

“Drop it,” you grit out, “Getting into an argument because you’re too curious for your own good is just going to make our situation worse.” He huffs and turns his head away defiantly, the only sounds around you know being BB rolling, you two walking, and the creatures of the woods.

Soon, but not soon enough, you break past some vines and see your ship sitting in all of her glory, a steady (yet small) stream of smoke billowing out of the engine. You stumble over vines hidden beneath piles of leaves and Poe’s hands go out to catch you but you catch yourself.

“It’s fine,” you snap, continuing your pace. His eyebrows pull together again in displeasure.

“That’s your favorite word.” He grumbles.

You climb up the steps to reach the manual hatch for entering the cockpit, the crash slamming the roof back over it after your expulsion. “What are you even talking about?” You say, somewhat distressed he keeps picking fights. 

“Your favorite word is fine.” Poe says, “I’m fine, it’s fine, everything’s fine. Well, it’s okay to accept help when you need it. You don’t have to do everything alone.” You stop what you’re doing and stare at him, seeing an anger that has molded his face with valleys, darkens his eyes, and pulls his lips into a kind of frown that seems unfamiliar to him. Letting your eyes travel him further, you become amused with the way his leg is kicked out and his hands sit on his waist. 

“You’re projecting.” You say calmly before going back to getting your pack of provisions out. 

“You lie to yourself.” You pull the pack out and throw it to the ground, right in front of Poe before pulling yourself out.

“Doesn’t everyone?” You muse while walking to the pack and opening it for a hydration packet that you down as quick as you can. Poe watches every movement you take, and he’s taken aback when you offer one to him. He’s guarded when it takes it from you, which you think is a little ridiculous given you’ve agreed you’ll do what’s best for all of you for the time being. You take a seat next to your pack, legs screaming at you for taking as long as you did to rehydrate them. Rubbing out your calf that’s having a tantrum in the form of cramps, you look up at Poe. 

“Are you done brooding or are you going to sit down?” With your free hand, you signal to the free space on the other side of the pack. He sighs and nods, taking a seat and surveying around your crash site.

He signals to your fighter with his head, “A TIE silencer, huh? I thought you said you were nobody.” You stop your massage on yourself and change your position to lean back on your hands set behind you.

“I am.”

He gives a dry laugh, “Right, because the First Order is going to give a silencer to just anybody.” You shrug in response. He doesn’t need to know who you are or what you do. Frankly, you could’ve gone without finding out his name. He shakes his head with your silence and you stand up, brushing the various things that stuck to you off. 

“It will be in our best interest to find a safe place to camp.” You hold your hand out to Poe to get him up, BB looking between the two of you as it’s practically sat in the middle. 

He grabs it and you pull him up with a grunt, then reach down to grab the pack. Poe beats you to it and slings it over his shoulder. 

“Wow, color me surprised. You were just biting my head off a few minutes ago and now look at you.” At your tease, a red wave blots his skin, climbing up his neck. You have to turn around to block a growing smile from his sight, pointing and saying, “We should look over here.” 

It doesn’t take long to find a new cave to replace the one you left miles ago. You stand up from where you were peeking your head into the cave. It’s relatively shallow, promising an absence of something crawling from its depths and eating the two of you alive. BB might survive. The thought kind of amuses you.

You dust off your hands, “I think this will work. It’s not too deep, but it’s big enough for all of us to fit comfortably. Plus, we’ve got this vine patch to act like a kind of curtain to keep anything from seeing in and stalking us.” He nods, appraising it and all of its quirks before throwing the bag in.

“BB-8 and I can search for some wood to make a fire.” You throw a suspicious glance over your shoulder as you get down into the cave and he sighs.

“My ship’s a while out, it’d be hard for me to go all the way there and back with people before dark falls. Trust me. I’m not risking it.” His eyes are wide while all the kinds of ways he could die flash in his mind. 

“I’m timing you then.” You say, sliding all of yourself into the cave entirely and shutting the vines.

Poe looks to BB, “Was she joking?” If a droid could shrug, he probably did.

—-

By the time he gets back, the sounds in the cave are quiet and he slides the vines to the side to see you’ve set up a makeshift bed out of the emergency tarp from your pack. You’re lying on your back with your hands crossed across your middle, a blanket rolled under your neck acting like a pillow. He breathes out a small laugh at how quickly you fell asleep, the corner of his mouth tilting up. He sets the pile of wood he collected by the entrance, signaling for BB to come over before he gets down into the cave and opens his arms to help him in. BB launches himself into his arms and Poe grunts, putting him down as fast as he can for the sake of his back. Poe looks over at you and sees your eyes are now open, causing his skin to nearly launch itself off of him. A smile pulls at your lips and you sit up as he clutches his chest where his heart is racing. 

“I think that almost scared me as much as that big…thing showed up out of nowhere.” He jokes, now moving the curtain of vines to pull the firewood in. He crouches down and stacks them in a way it would be easy to put firestarter in the middle. 

You think back to the creature and the wound you saw, “Were you the one that wounded it?” He shakes his head briefly before he stops, “Uhhh maybe.” You look at him questioningly. 

“I might’ve hurt it when I crashed. It’s possible something got knocked off and stabbed it or it impaled itself on a broken piece.”

“I probably would’ve been fine if I stayed where I was then, it seems like it had a vendetta just against you.” He snorted, looking through the pack for the firestarter, and grabbing it.

“Probably.”

You look at BB, nestled in the corner as if it wants to sleep. “How did the droid survive the crash then? It sounds pretty bad. The smoke I saw coming from it looked bad too.” The fire catches, illuminating the cave and its inhabitants in a warm glow.

He looks behind him to the droid and smiles weakly, “I wouldn’t let anything happen to him. He’s probably one of the best friends I have.” You look between the two of them, predominately the way the light highlights the dark circles under Poe’s eyes and the rough stubble that’s making its own shadow.

“You don’t have friends of your own species?” He turns his head to look at the blazing fire.

“No, I do. It’s just different when we’re pretty much involved in each other’s survival on a daily basis, not just when we’re flying. Today is an example.” He chuckles after his last sentence. “What about you? You can’t ask all of these things about me without thinking I’d ask my own.” He teases.

You stare into the fire too, your eyes unfocusing as you think of all that are on the base. You can’t count any of them as your friends. Those you did were gone. “No. Friendships are…complicated.” 

He nods slowly, digesting your words. 

“Well, you can count me as one.” He gives you the same weak, tender smile he gave his droid only moments ago. You couldn’t take it. You stare at him before sliding back down into a sleeping position on your side, eyes wide open as you stare at the section of the wall in front of you where rock meets dirt. 

Poe’s eyes blink in quick succession, kind of surprised at your response. He really doesn’t get you. One moment you’re open to joking and teasing, but the next moment you shut down, acting exactly like a stereotype of the typical First Order soldier. You were confusing, more so than anyone that he had ever met. Granted, you were what appeared to be a high-ranking member of the Order, and you have to be far from normal to get that far. But he studies you with perplexion, your feet pointed to him and yet your face obscured from his sight, and he thinks about how you behave when a wall isn’t completely blocking the two of you. You seem…normal. Someone with interesting stories to tell, ones that are good and others that are bad. And he wanted to hear you talk about them. Probably more than he should.

With a sigh, he lays down too, arm behind his head acting as his own pillow as he stares at the ceiling of the cave. For now, he’ll just chalk it up to a healthy curiosity of a person involved in an organization that kills without thought. 

The next day, you awake with a start, the fire in the middle long sizzled out. Your shirt clings to you, the humidity back with a force now that the sun has risen. You look over to Poe, seeing he’s knocked out cold, his mouth slightly agape to let out tiny snores. BB turns his eye? to you, releasing a small beep now that he sees you’re awake, sliding a little closer to his friend. 

You signal with your hand to him that you couldn’t give a damn about Poe and you walk with your knees over to your pack, grabbing a meal bar and opening it with a frown. You know that beggars shouldn’t be choosers, but you have never liked these things, It’s like a mix of sand and mud wrapped up in a vacuum package meant to punish you for ever needing to use it. They gave it to the cadets in flight school, and being an impressionable child meant these, along with other things, left a scar on you.

You finish it up, less than pleased with the experience. Getting up, you see from the corner of your eye that BB follows you with his gaze and you ignore him, pulling yourself out of the cave to go get more firewood.

Poe’s awake once you’re back, the tell-tale sign that he ate the bar on his face as you slide yourself back in. 

“It’s terrible, isn’t it?” You say, stacking the firewood you got in the same way Poe did last night.

“I’ve definitely had better.” He chuckles. You nod in understanding, not willing to continue the conversation. 

The rest of the day goes by slower, the excitement not quite building like it was yesterday. The three of you went to Poe’s ship and you saw just how ruined the thing was. Honestly, it surprised you to truly how bad it was. You didn’t even know how he was alive. The lack of conversation dulled the day more, and in some way you felt guilty for not reciprocating the energy he often showed. As hours ticked by on this planet, you confused yourself more and more. Why did you feel guilty you weren’t talking to him? You didn’t owe him anything other than his life. It didn’t matter to you how he carried it out unless he wasn’t actively trying to take you down. 

You’re taken out of your thoughts by the rumble of the ground, one very reminiscent of the one you experienced not even a day’s cycle ago. Getting up from where you leaned against the cool cave wall, you shush Poe and BB playing with a small rock and peek past the vine curtains. 

Standing only a few paces away, a creature similar to the one yesterday, yet smaller, has its head to the forest floor, strongly sniffing for a trace of whatever it’s searching for. It stalks slow, lightly lifting each foot, and you wonder to yourself why you felt the rumble of steps when you no longer can. It takes its movements closer to the cave, causing you to let go of the vines and fall back to where you were originally. Poe looks at you in confusion and you lift your finger to your mouth as you try not to have your scent carry by the breaths you let out. 

 Moments pass and nothing happens, but you don’t risk the off chance the creature is waiting for something to trigger movement before it snaps. You and Poe sit in silence until night falls, continuing the trend until Poe lights the fire and falls asleep.

Sleep doesn’t come easy to you that night. You’re left thinking about everything he’s said to you. About the evils of the Order…the evils you’ve done. And the memories of those evils haunt you until eventually you fall asleep, envisioning you’re back on base.

What feels like only minutes, but realistically you know has been hours based on the remnants of the fire, you’re woken by the sound of a low-flying jet. As fast as you can without waking the others, you get to the entrance and look to the sky, seeing the lights of a carrier flying in the direction of your ship. With a last look at the sleeping forms of Poe and BB-8, pull yourself out of the entrance and creep away from the camp, using the light of the various moons peeking through the canopy to see where you’re going.

You pick up your place the closer you get to your ship, nearly running by the time you get to the line that obscures your ship from everything around it. You stop there and try to control your breathing, not wanting to give away your position. Moving away a big leaf to see, you catch three soldiers surveying the wreckage, their garbled voices bouncing off of the enclosed area. Those are your soldiers.

You take a step out of the brush, “Did you enjoy your vacation? Or was there another reason it took 2 days to reach me?” The lights on the blasters of your soldiers snap to you all at once, blinding you from the sudden change of dark to light.

“Special orders, ma’am.” They say in unison. 

“Of course.” You mumble, pushing past them and up into the carrier, seeing the other members of your group. Passing them, you head into the passenger seat of the cockpit, stiffly sitting down. It was likely Ren who told them to stay on base for no retrieval. The thought causes the familiar rise of anger to form in your chest, tightening your throat. You ignore when everyone boards the jet and settles into their places, staring out past the window and the natural canopy, not hearing the question you were asked.

“What?” You say, attention brought back.

“Did you encounter any contact on the planet?” With a twist of your stomach, you’re reminded of the two hidden away in the cave. 

“Nothing except for the creatures half as tall as the trees that surround us.” You say, looking toward Canis 2 sitting in the passenger seat. They give a single nod, turning back to the controls.

”Now let’s get back to base, shall we?” 

“Yes, Commander.” 

author’s note: hi! i hope you enjoyed—this is my first attempt at a fanfiction. i just felt some type of way with oscar issac in orange lol.

also, let me know if there are any discrepancies! this isn’t beta read. i’m always on the look out for (nice) constructive criticism

[twisting-roads]

I forgot to put the gradient map on this one ahhhhhhh anyways. wanted to render some cloth

[dailyadventureprompts]

Dungeon: The Fleetbreaker’s Bones

“More than three hundred years dead and rotting and it’s still going to kill us all. That’s dedication right there.”

-Tousu, hapless deckhand moments before a wreck

The remnants of this great kaiju turned fossil-reef has been swallowing up ships for centuries, a habit it’s not managed to break despite a great hero spearing it to a volcanic atoll and founding a prosperous kingdom over the territory it never would have ceded in life. Underwater lava flows create boiling mists and unstable weather patterns making sailing anywhere near the island a gamble. Ships lost in storms throughout the region seem invariably pulled towards the reef, leading many in villages along the coast to speculate that not even death can sate the great beast’s hunger.

In more recent years a ramshackle band of corsairs has decided to make the Reef their home, having suffered a disastrous defeat while raiding the mainland and needing somewhere, no matter how inhospitable, to regroup.  The Fleetbreaker ironically provided the perfect safe harbour, close enough to the trading lanes to raid, far enough out of anyone’s way and into unfriendly waters that reprisal was unlikely. They’ve had such success that they’ve been able to cobble together dwellings and fortifications across the reef, as well as a knocked together shipyard in the sheltered caverns that were one the kaiju’s belly.

Adventure Hooks:

The Fleetbreaker Pirates have managed to chart the rhythm of the atoll’s seemingly unpredictable weather, following in the wake of storms like scavengers after a bloodthirsty predator. With the party’s vessel having barely survived the night battling a sulfurous smelling gale, they’ll have to act quickly as first light and the hope that comes with it is dashed by the appearance of enemy vessels on the horizon.

Captured at sea (or perhaps after having one too many rounds of grog while in port) the party find themselves clapped in irons, stripped of their gear, and locked in a series of muggy stone cells. The Fleetbreakers deal in slaves as well as plundered goods, and it’s only a matter of weeks or maybe even days before their buyer shows up to trade in flesh. They have to escape, but how? Sneak out just their friends and disguise themselves on an enemy ship? Break out the other innocents and risk detection?

There are many sections of the great fossil reef where the pirates do not go, tidal warrens inhabited by skittering things made monstrous by generations of feeding off kaiju flesh, boiling caverns where lava vents glow just beneith the surface of the water and odd shapes move in the mineral vapour, lofty and winding passages leading to the lonlely spinal cliffs where the sound of strange birds causes hallucinations. Somewhere among all of this is the hero’s spear, a divinely invested artifact that has the power to found, and perhaps destroy kingdoms. The party may unwittingly stumble across this artifact while escaping captivity, or find it in a dramatic moment as they pursue the last of the pirate captains into the caverns in their final push to oust the corsairs once and for all. What they do with it after that is all up to them.

[a-forest-in-her-bones]

Ok, I’ve sat on this for too long…

We’ve got Team Wildemount who we’ve been following for the last few weeks, and I know everyone (including myself) is anxious to know what’s become of Ashton, Laudna, and Orym. First thing, I think the extended stay with Team Wildemount is partly due to Christian and Aabriya’s schedules, but also because of Creator Clash. We may be hopping over to (what people have been calling) Team Marquet soon, now that the pre-recorded episodes have caught up post-Creator Clash, but we’ll see. And that brings me to my second and main point:

I don’t think they’re in Marquet.

I think they’re in Tal’Dorei, specifically at the Pools of Wittebak. Check out Matt’s description of where Team No Healers ended up at the end of episode 51:

“you see yourself kind of sitting on the edge of a rocky cliff almost. The smell that hits your nostrils is kind of sulfurous and acrid, acidic almost... and you look around you and there are these pools of strange colored liquid… you both see this almost chasm like space below you. You can see these little bits of natural geysers kind of *poof poof poof poof* poofing steamy water… as you scan the horizon, in some distance you see, just above the cloud line, the red moon Ruidus standing, and a singular red beam that just vanishes below some far off mountain line… you are in some sort of odd valley-like chasm.”

Now check out the Pools of Wittebak page in the Critical Role Wiki:

“The Pools of Wittebak are located in the Cliffkeep Mountains, between 100 and 120 miles east of Terrah… The pools are a series of large, mineral-rich geothermic puddles across the mountainside…”

So I’m not saying… I’m just saying…Geothermic puddles… near (ish) Terrah, where spooky Earth Elemental Plane portal stuff is apparently happening. And may perhaps be related to a certain Punk Rock’s backstory…

[misguidedasgardian]

The White Dragon (44)

44. The Great Council

MASTERLIST

Summary: you gather a council to decide the fate of the Seven Kingdoms

Pairings: main Harwin Strong x Fem!Targaryen reader

Warnings: cursing, medieval and A song of ice and Fire AU customs, injury, burns, dragon fire, death, violence, armies, death, war and all that comes with it. Might miss some warnings but you know what this is about :) 

+18, MINORS DNI

Wordcount: 3.333 words like WHATTTT

Notes: UUFFFF THIS IS IT PEOPLE, THE LAST ONE, I MEAN THIS ONE AND THEN THE EPILOGUE! CAN’T WAIT FOR YOU TO READ IT

You let yourself move at the rhythm of the maid washing you with a rough sponge, the water of the tub had already had to be changes thrice for becoming black with the remains of the dragon blood in your body

The boiling dragon blood that bathed you as your dragon slayed Aegon

The maids took the good part of an hour and the help of members of Rhaenyra’s Queensguard to remove the melted armor from your body, and then the pieces of leather that melted into your skin

But you were unharmed and your skin untarnished

While you were inside the tub, your gaze was setted in some point on the wall, trying to fit into your head everything that went down in the last 12 hours…

You watching the capital being conquered by Aegon from above

“Please raise your arms your grace”, whispered the maid and you did, she scrapped the rests of melted fabrics from under them

The adrenaline that took a hold on your body when you fought for your life

You flinched when she pulled a piece of leather from your skin, the water again was black, dark black, the smell of smoke and sulfur almost making you dizzy

Finding soldiers and civilians alike dead in the steps to the Dragonpit

The maid signaled for you to reach with your leg out of the tub, your skin still smudged with dried dragon blood

Rhaenyra was dead, and Aegon was well

That made you stand up, and wait there for them to replace the filthy water for more clean one, they were quick in their labor and you didn’t have to wait more than five minutes, to sink again in the boiling water 

Finding out that Jacaerys and Joffrey were too

Another maid washed your hair, you watched as the dried blood melted back with the water, tainting it black once more

So much darkness

Oils with scents were placed in the waters this time, the last bath this was, after other four, finally you would get dress and abandon your chambers

The toll of all the deaths in your finally make you want to sink in the bathtub

As the sweet maids cleaned the last smudged from your body, you finally felt like you could breathe again, it hurt, but you could, and that was improvement, you believed, you wanted to believe 

You didn’t know what to do now, how to proceed, you had never taken a city before, you had never witnessed the death of two monarchs in front of your eyes, you had never witnessed the deaths of so many members of your family before

What now?

But for a second you forgot about all the people in the keep, in the capital, in the Realms, from the servants to the Heads of the most important families, everyone around you

They did now what to do

As you gazed upon the outfit the maids had chosen for you to wear

it was a dark black outfit, a loose skirt boots for underneath, and a leather vest over it, the sleeves seemed to be made of scales, and the details in black leather, and a red cape fixed to the suit in a silver chain with a head of the dragon to be placed in the right side of your chest 

An outfit to mourn, to rule, to conquer

They dressed you, they braided your hair in magnificent braids, and finally you were ready

And you were ready, as the sun fell over the horizon, also did the reigns of Rhaenyra Targaryen, and Aegon the Usurper

Steffon was right outside your chamber, guarding you like he always did

For a second you thought you were sixteen again…

Only for a second

He smiled softly at you, he found another white armor, that tricked you for a second

“Aren’t you tired?”, you asked him as you began your walk back to the throne room

“A bit”, he whispered, “I bet you are”, you barely smiled, “lord Cregan Stark had taken many prisoners, from the houses that supported Aegon”, he started filling you in, “the ones that won’t bend the knee to you”, you raised your eyes to his in concern

You stakes a claim to the throne, and you had won

“Where are my nephews?”, you asked, and he knew what you meant

He took you there, to the hall at the side of the throne room 

You didn’t notice when you stormed the city, but Aegon’s damage was worse than you thought

A tear fell from your eye as you saw the silent sisters preparing Jacaerys and Joffrey’s bodies

Jacaerys was slain by Aegon’s treacherous guards,as he tried to fight back to defend Rhaenyra, and Joffrey had tried to take flight on Syrax to save his mother, and the golden beast shook him off of her mid flight, he fell to his death in the streets of King’s Landing. And in another table, you didn’t even dare to look, were the remains of your sister, an arm and part of the chest… 

This was the consequences of war 

Harwin was already there, by Jace’s side, you didn’t say anything, neither did him, but you stood by his side guarding the princes’ bodies for an unknown amount of time. Until Cregan came 

“They are ready for you”, whispered Cregan sadly by your side, you turned to look at him and barely nodded, wiping the tears off your eyes

They were your nephews

Harwin stayed in the chamber, mourning the loss of his first born child, you touched his shoulder as you passed by him, he barely nodded

You are going to let him mourn, but you have a Kingdom to rule now, or rather, see who was left to rule it…

A great council has been assembled to put in order who was going to rule the Seven Kingdoms, although you had claimed it when you decided to take the city, you still did not want to impose your rule on reluctant subjects, that was going to lead to nothing

Representatives of the great families, (the ones who were not incarcerated for treason) gathered in a huge table in the throne room, as well as Rhaenyra’s acting council and those most loyal to yours

They all stood when you walked in, and you nodded acknowledging them all

“We have been discussing the line of succession, your grace”, muttered one, and his title to refer to you meant nothing, everyone in the royal House were regarded as such

“Please continue, I would like to hear what your thoughts are”, you muttered, they nodded and resumed their discussions, you took seat in the head of the table 

“Rhaenyra was the true heir”, he sentenced, you nodded, knowing this, “we, as Tyrells, the Tullys, Starks, and Arryns sentence the Rule of Aegon as null and void, and is to be known as the Usurper, your eyes went to the representatives of the Lannisters, Baratheon and Hightowers, their eyes were on the table, ashamed, but nodded nonetheless.

The representatives were now the new heads of their house, being third of fourth sons, or far off cousins from the main string of the family, but those were the ones who were going to bend the knee, and that is all that matters now 

“I’m glad to hear it”, you said firmly

“Now, we follow the line of the succession from there”, continued the same Lord, from the House Bar Emmon, from the crownlands, serving master of laws for your sister, “sadly, King consort Daemon had perished, as well as her true born heirs, Aegon and Viserys”, you nodded, “there is only Prince Lucerys left”

“We can say it freely, Rhaenyra’s three first children are bastards, her legitimate children are gone”, said another Lord, and they all hummed accordingly. Lucerys was no true son of the late Ser Laenor Velaryon, but Corlys considered him as much, and that must have counted for something 

And you voiced that outloud

“Lord Corlys had named Lucerys his heir”, you said

“The boy as well as lord Corlys are on their way here”, said Cregan

“I will offer Driftmark to him”, you whispered, “he will want to say a last goodbye to his family”

Difficult days were upon you, but they supported what you just said 

“So, Queen Rhaenyra had left this world without issue to succeed her, then, is you”, said Cregan, “you are the second born daughter of the King Viserys Taragryen and Queen Aemma Arryn”, he continued

“Hear hear!”, said a lord, and all followed

“through the line of succession, and the right of conquest, the throne is your your grace”, said the old maester

“Right of conquest? And what is that?”, you asked out loud

“You made alliances, you took the city under your yoke, it is yours, My Queen”, said the maester, and everyone again agreed

“There is one more thing left to discuss”, said Lord Lannister, always having to have some sort of control on the situation, it came with blood you thought 

“And what would that be?”, you asked, already tired of him

“When and where would you like the coronation to take place?”, he asked with a sardonic smile

And then it hit you

You were now Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

You dressed in black, with red capes all week

In mourning, and in representation of your house

Your children followed your lead, but as when they were children, Maekar dressed with a Green cape, Rhaegar with a blue one, and Aemma with a red, and walked together, signaling their father’s house

You buried your families under the stones of the great sept, one day, your sister Rhaenyra, and her sons Jace and Joffrey, and the next you held court for the first time

The first one brought to you was Queen Alicent

Aemond was standing by the foot of the throne with your children, but he walked towards her and held her while she presented herself in front of you

She asked for your forgiveness, for betraying your sister, and trying to put her son on the throne, even though Rhaenyra had forgiven her, you were the one that told Aemond to release her from her golden chains

“You were the love of my father that stood by his side trough his worst and his decease, and gave him sons and a beautiful daughter, you were my friend when we ruled together as protectors of the realm, and you gave me my half siblings, you are forgiven, and I will ask of you to remain in court, or go as you please, you are here free to do as you please”, she smiled, as she held onto Aemond, and Helaena that joined you when the city was secured

The next ones to appear where Corlys, Rhaenys and Lucerys, who had reached the capital for the funeral rites, but where now presenting his respects to you

They called you their Queen, and bowed, bending the knee to you, as Rhaenys smiled warmly at you 

Lord Corlys rejected your proposition, but Rhaenys didn’t, now she was the master of ships 

The next day, you let your family, Aemond, Helaena, her children, and Alicent, to have the funeral rites for Aegon, you did not participate, but send guard to held mourning and protect them, that mourn their son, brother and father, in the sept of the Red Keep, and later buried him under it

Like it or not he was your half brother.

Your daughter accompanied her husband, and brought them moral support

And you had decisions to make

You didn’t even wanted to decide where, when and how you were going to get crowned, but rather, you had to select your small council, you had to anoint your Queensguard

They were so many things yet to do

It was overwhelming

You constantly had supper with your family and lord who were still in the capital, and then sneaked into the library to read tomes about King Aegon and King Jahaerys, the decisions they made, the way they cared for their subjects…

It was too much

Harwin had come many times to collect you as you had fallen asleep in the library over the books

And carried you to your rooms

The rooms of a princess

The chambers of the King and Queen had been used by so many people in your family, that you felt strange sleeping in them.

But Steffon, besides finding men to be a part of the Queenguard, was organizing the redecoration of the chambers, to adapt them to you

it was going to be funny, but you were to take the chambers of the King and Harwin the ones of the Queen, or vice versa

But Harwin protested and said you had been sleeping together for 20 years and he was not going to start sleeping apart now, you had to agree

Now, the council

You named Cregan your hand, who promised who was going to stay in the capital for two years, as you named Sara, his bastard sister, legitimate and as so was acting as Lady of Winterfell.

Harwin was the commander of the city watch, as he was many years ago

Rhaenys was your master of ships

Tyland Lannister came back to court, and you named him master of coins

You named the maester from Dragonstone as Grand Maester Munkun

You named lord Bar Emmon as master of laws

Of course Lord Steffon was commander of the Queensguard 

You were lacking a master of whispers, but it was not mandatory to have one. But you thought it was necessary 

The first thing you had to do was unite back the Kingdoms, so you took the vows of all the Lords, and that took whole months

Lords of all the far corners of the Kingdom were to make the journey to the capital, and all of them, may of them

asked you the same question

Who was going to succeed you?

You had many children, but it was whispered in court that the next King or Queen had to be a full blooded Targaryen, to continue the stability to the realm.

Or that is what you thought 

Many advised you to name Maekar as your heir, so one day, after you were fairly settled, you called in your three eldest children

“I don’t want to be King”, Maekar said surely, “i want to be lord of Harrenhal… that was my fate”

“I’d argue that maybe fate is for you to be King one day”, you whispered, but he shook his head

“I’ll mary Helaena, her children are the ones of Aegon, I think is best for me to step down”, you then looked at Rhaegar, who shook his head

“my duty is to my wife, and winterfell now”, he said, taking her hand, they were soon to fly to Winterfell and wed under the eyes of the Old Gods, so then you looked at Aemond and Aemma, who had their hands intertwined, and looked at each other

It was settled 

Your children were Strong and even though they could change their name, there was someone else, a Targaryen, loyal to you, and worthy of the throne…

Aemond, and Aemma, they were going to rule together, they had the strength, you knew it. 

So you asked them to go and live in Dragonstone, as Prince and Princess of Dragonstone.

The coronation day was set, the day was approaching, you wanted to wait for the people to forget and for the capital to thrive after the horrible events that occurred, but it was necessary for you to make proclamations as Queen 

IN the meantime, it was Cregan who incarcerated all the traitors, and judged them accordingly, acting as your hand

Many called it “the hour of the wolf”

The first one to go, was the man from House Royce, who had rebelled against your cousin, the lady of the Vale

His head rolled first, and many followed, even Larys Strong

you Harwin dishonored him, didn’t even buried him with his family, he let them be buried in a common ditch

You understood him, he had murdered your father in law, and effectively helped the green took the throne

Even though Rhaenyra had cleaned the court of many of the traitors, happily for you who didn't want to bathe the Keep with blood

Even Tyland, acting master of coins, was put on trial, but was spared, as he had bent the knee to you. 

Lucerys was named heir to Driftmark, and future Lord of the tides and was set to marry the Lady Rhaena Targaryen, as accorded 

And it came, the day of the coronation was tomorrow, and you found yourself sipping wine in the balcony of the chambers of the King

Harwin hugged you, kissing your shoulder softly

“My Queen” 

“My King consort”, you giggled, “what have I done?”, you asked out loud, looking at the horizon

“You are to be Queen, it was your destiny”

“Perhaps I forced it, perhaps if I had made different decisions…”

“But you didn’t”, he said firmly, “it happened what it had to happen”, you only nodded, “you are tomorrow to be named Queen, and you succeeded, you won this war”

“Daeron is still at large”

“the war is over”, he whispered, “he is on his way, Stark told me this evening”, you barely nodded, “now let's get you crowned before our oldest children bare sons and daughters out of wedlock”, you giggled 

“That’s true”, you whispered

“Let’s name you Queen”, he whispered, “but first, let me have my wife”

You giggled as he grunted, grabbed you roughly and threw you to the bed. You giggled, enjoying this side of him, and he climbed up your body, discarding your night shirt and dropping kisses everywhere he could find.

it was good to know some things may ever stay the same 

. . .

You didn’t let anybody see you that morning, not your council, nor your children, nor your husband, only Aemma and serving girls were allowed in 

thye bathed you and prepared you, Aemond smiled dreamily as she helped you get dressed. It was the most magnificent dress you had ever seen, with a black background and intricate designs in rubies and gold designs over.

And you decided to wear your hair loose, for the crown to be placed over your head with only a single braid to hold it.

“You are ready mother”, Aemma whispered as she pinned the white dragon on your dress, the one you gifted your father after your travels, the sight made you smiled

“Let’s take my crown”

It was like a dream, the throne room was decorated in its entirety for white flowers, giving it a feeling like you were in the heavens 

“I present to you, Queen (y/n), of House Targaryen, the White dragon, Queen of the Andals, the Roynar and the First men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms, and protector of the realm”

Said Lord Steffon out loud, you walked slowly towards the throne as he claimed all your titles, and you said when he spoke the last one.

In the throne room you recognized all the members of your family, and all the most important lords of the realms

“I crown you with the crown of King Jahaerys the conciliator, hoping it will give you wisdom”, you looked ahead as he placed the golden crown in your head

“I give you the crown of the conqueror, to give you strength to unite back the seven Kingdoms under one rule”, he said then, placing the black, heavy crown on your lap, “and the Sword Blackfyre, to give you the power to protect the realm”, he said then, taking the sword front he maester and giving it to you, you placed it by your side

“HAIL THE QUEEN!”, they chanted all, and it ricocheted all over the room, and all over the capital. 

Taglist! ❤️

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[toskarintoast]

toast. with anchovy butter. and soft boiled eggs. it’s not in the picture. but i cracked some black pepper over the eggs before eating. there’s some minced garlic. in the anchovy butter as well.

where to start? the first toast was. underwhelming. the second. was euphoric. the height of cuisine. the third. was just a little sickening. it is. so incredibly oily. the oil from. the anchovies. an oily fish. preserved in olive oil. mixed with butter. it was. genuinely decadent.

“for a moment. there was hope.”

eventually. a mounting sickness. peaked over the horizon. as if dionysus. came down from mount olympus. to tell me. that i’d flown. too close to the sun. and that a vague lethargy. and horrible breath. would be the punishment. for my hubris. it’s a pungent experience. between the gentle sulfur smell. of the boiled eggs. and the astringent anchovies. i made a wario potion. eating this toast. makes you feel like wario.

i think. that my lack of skill. compared to nee-san. contributed to this in some way. i would have to give the first toast. a 5/10. the second toast. an 8/10. and the third toast. a 5/10 again. overall. maybe a 6/10. or maybe less. bluh.

[jadegretz]

Cammy's Fierce Pride by Jade Gretz

The crimson sun dipped towards the horizon, painting the cobblestone plaza of Acheron's Gate in hues of bruised flesh and simmering dread. Neon signs, warped by otherworldly glyphs, flickered promises of oblivion above taverns reeking of sulfur and brimstone. In this nexus of shadows, where reality frayed at the edges, stood Cammy White, her scarlet beret a defiant beacon against the encroaching twilight.

Whispers of an underground tournament, the Harbinger's Gauntlet, had lured her to this forsaken corner of the world. A chance to test her mettle against the galaxy's elite, they had promised, a crucible to forge legend anew. But the air, acrid with unseen things, hummed with a dissonance that prickled the Delta Red operative's instincts. This was no ordinary spectacle; it was a dance with madness, a waltz with the abyss.

As the obsidian moon bled onto the sky, the plaza pulsated with a spectral luminescence. From the swirling shadows coalesced the combatants – a grotesque menagerie of flesh and artifice. A cyclopean behemoth with skin like cracked granite rumbled a guttural challenge. A woman, her alabaster limbs woven from moonlight, flicked a razor-sharp bone dagger. Even the air writhed, taking the form of a sentient storm, its whispers promising oblivion in a thousand voices.

Cammy's senses, honed by years of Delta Red training, screamed of wrongness. These weren't mere fighters; they were echoes of nightmare, nightmares given flesh and fury by the malignant energies that seeped from the very stones of Acheron's Gate. Yet, fear was a luxury she couldn't afford. She was Cammy White, Queen Bee of Delta Red, and she wouldn't back down from a challenge, even one that reeked of cosmic pestilence.

The first clash was a symphony of the uncanny. The cyclopean brute swung a fist capable of crushing mountains, but Cammy, anticipating the blow with preternatural grace, danced past the impact, her Spiral Arrow finding its mark on the behemoth's obsidian eye. The creature roared, a sound that shattered eardrums and cracked cobblestones, but its rage only fueled Cammy's precision.

The alabaster …(see the rest of the story at deviantart.com/jadegretzAI). For more supergirl, chun li, batgirl, tifa, lara croft, wonder woman, rogue and much more, please visit my page at www.deviantart.com/jadegretzai - Thanks for your support :)