#it's a cotton boll with eyes

[nicklloydnow]

“See the child. He is pale and thin, he wears a thin and ragged linen shirt. He stokes the scullery fire. Outside lie dark turned fields with rags of snow and darker woods beyond that harbor yet a few last wolves. His folk are known for hewers of wood and drawers of water but in truth his father has been a schoolmaster. He lies in drink, he quotes from poets whose names are now lost. The boy crouches by the fire and watches him.

Night of your birth. Thirty-three. The Leonids they were called. God how the stars did fall. I looked for blackness, holes in the heavens. The Dipper stove.

The mother dead these fourteen years did incubate in her own bosom the creature who would carry her off. The father never speaks her name, the child does not know it. He has a sister in this world that he will not see again. He watches, pale and unwashed. He can neither read nor write and in him broods already a taste for mindless violence. All history present in that visage, the child the father of the man.

At fourteen he runs away. He will not see again the freezing kitchenhouse in the predawn dark. The firewood, the washpots. He wanders west as far as Memphis, a solitary migrant upon that flat and pastoral landscape. Blacks in the fields, lank and stooped, their fingers spiderlike among the bolls of cotton. A shadowed agony in the garden. Against the sun's declining figures moving in the slower dusk across a paper skyline. A lone dark husbandman pursuing mule and harow down the rainblown bottomland toward night.

A year later he is in Saint Louis. He is taken on for New Orleans aboard a flatboat. Forty-two days on the river. At night the steamboats hoot and trudge past through the black waters all alight like cities adrift. They break up the float and sell the lumber and he walks in the streets and hears tongues he has not heard before. He lives in a room above a courtyard behind a tavern and he comes down at night like some fairybook beast to fight with the sailors. He is not big but he has big wrists, big hands. His shoulders are set close. The child's face is curiously untouched behind the scars, the eyes oddly innocent. They fight with fists, with feet, with bottles or knives. All races, all breeds. Men whose speech sounds like the grunting of apes. Men from lands so far and queer that standing over them where they lie bleeding in the mud he feels mankind itself vindicated.”

[smurphyse]

Angel | Spencer Reid

Smurph’s Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Chapter 17 of Operation: Sand Leopard

Warnings: canon typical stories, Christmas visits, crying, happy hugs fear, espionage, confessions

Summary: Spencer arrives in America and struggles to sleep. You finally tell Alijah who Angel really is.

The flight to Anacostia-Bolling air base in DC was agonizingly long, and somehow seemed longer than the flight to Iraq. 

The unit met their families at the hangar- Garrett with his four daughters and much more handsome husband than Spencer expected, Morello with his son and pregnant wife, Peanut with her mother and three younger siblings, and Barretti with his parents. 

Spencer hadn't told the BAU he was coming home. He wanted to surprise them tomorrow at Rossi’s house for their pre-Christmas dinner. 

He took a cab through familiar streets to his familiar apartment, flurries swirling around until he was standing outside the building in the December snow and gazing up at it curiously. Everything looked the same, but he knew as he stood there that he no longer was. Iraq had changed him, and with his gunny pack on one shoulder and his dog tags hanging around his neck, he was out of place. 

It was late, the entranceway dark and gloomy as the stairs loomed ominously before him. It was a journey in itself walking up them, taking a trip into the not so distant past but feeling as though he'd aged ten years. As he got to his floor he stood in front of his door, chewing on his cheek. 

He was an intruder in the night, slinking into a place he shouldn't be, a place he didn't belong. 

Sliding the key in the lock, the familiar smell of aged books and leather plumed on the other side. He opened the door and flicked on the lights, furrowing his brows at the sight. 

His old couch stood in the same place, his desk and record player in one corner. Books were scattered all around, on shelves and tables and the floor. The lamps glowed dimly in the small place, but it was much bigger than he felt comfortable with. He missed his CHU. 

Spencer sighed as he shut and locked the door behind him. He kicked a few books aside as he made his way to the bedroom, tossing his gunny pack at the foot of the bed and falling face first into the mattress. 

He didn't even take off his boots as he curled up, staring at the window through to the cityscape outside. The sounds of Bombaconda gave way to honking horns and sirens, gunfire and IEDs washed away with the far off desert. With horror, Spencer realized he missed the sounds of baselife. 

He also missed you, curled up next to him and sweating in the night. It was cold and dark here, a far cry from the Iraqi heat and blazing sun. Spencer closed his eyes and tried to imagine your sticky warmth bleeding through his cargos and cotton tee, the scent of your flowery perfume and sweat, your hair tickling his nose. 

But you were six thousand, one hundred ninety eight and a half miles away, probably just waking up in your CHU and going about your day without your team. He wondered if you'd gone to the DFAC with Mercer, or if you sat alone in your trailer instead. He almost hoped you went to the DFAC. 

He was restless, tossing and turning as he struggled to get comfortable. At first he thought it was the heavy blanket, so with a grunt Spencer threw it on the floor, but it didn't work. 

The fan above Spencer's head was still, so he turned it on, but the soft hum was too quiet compared to the constant whirring of the pop vent in his CHU. Spencer even threw his pillows from the bed, but an hour later he still couldn't sleep. 

Then your voice came to the surface, tired and weary all those months ago when you muttered in the dimming light. 

It gets better. You get used to all the noises, and when you go home you'll find that's when you can't sleep. The city's too quiet, the bed's too soft, the food has too much flavor. 

Spencer hated how you were always right. 

Groaning as he sat up, Spencer ambled off the bed and got down on the carpet. Stuffing one of the errant pillows under his head, his eyes drooped as he watched the fan some more. 

Your smirk flashed before him just before he hit the dark undertow of sleep, and Spencer ended his long day the way he started it. 

Grinning like a fiend. 

You didn't sleep a wink. 

Instead, you spent all night with Mercer at the bonfire pit, letting the crackle of the flames drown out your planning and whispers in the night. 

You were exposed, and who knew how many of your team's missions were queueing up to be used against you. Your greatest fear had come true, that once more your future would slip from your grasp. 

You weren't going to let that happen. Not this time. 

"Why do you come to see me?"

You looked up from your spot on the floor, only to see Alijah watching you expectantly. Your heart swelled painfully in your chest every time you looked at her. 

Since deciding a few months ago you were going to adopt Alijah and Sivan, you'd been coming to visit again. You started slow, only coming a few times a week, and now you came every day. Your plan had changed…again. 

Instead of playing the good cop bad cop with her, you were going to earn her trust the way Teddy and Spencer had, simply by talking to her. If she was going to come home with you, she needed to see you as Teddy had presented you. As a mother, a friend, someone to lean on. 

You clicked your teeth and shrugged, "Maybe I like you, Alijah."

She squinted at you, "I said I don't like you."

You smiled, her English had improved so much because of Spencer. Pride poured through your soul, flooding you with a fierce protectiveness you were more than happy to have return. 

"That's okay."

Alijah leaned back against the wall and continued her little scrunched up squinting, "I like you a little now."

"Okay," you said quietly. 

"When will you let me see Teddy again?" she asked in a small voice, looking to you hopefully. 

You sighed and glanced down at your hands, "Alijah, you can't see Teddy again."

"Is he dead?"

When you met her dark gaze, she had her arms crossed protectively over her small chest. Feeling brave, you got up enough to move to the cot, sitting next to her and leaning against the wall yourself. 

She seemed to understand, her chin wobbling as she began to cry. Alijah dropped her head in her hands as a sob broke free, shattering your heart. You reached out slowly and wrapped your arm around her shoulders, and when she let you pull her to your chest tears of your own began to spill down your cheeks. 

Setting your jaw on her covered head, you whispered tearfully, "I'm sorry. He's not coming back."

"What happened?" Alijah burst out in Kurdish. She wept in your arms, her small desperate hands clinging to you to ground her. 

"It was an accident," you replied back in her mother tongue, your voice trembling. You lied to her. She didn't need to know. "He was a soldier. Things happen."

Alijah pulled back, her watery eyes wide. "What about Angel?"

Was it the time to tell her? Would it ever be? Sighing, you leaned over to the last Redwall book in the pile near her cot. The rest of them nearly tumbled over as you tugged it away. With shaky hands, you flipped it open to the back cover and handed it to her. 

She took it cautiously. You watched nervously as she read the words you'd written there so long ago, when all you wanted was to welcome this poor child into a happy home with you and Teddy. 

Alijah,

I wish I could have gone on this journey with you. Maybe by the time you finish these books you'll already be home with me, and we'll have finished them together. I've spent years reading and rereading these words, countless hours hunched over the paper and drinking in each sweet line. These books showed me the wonder of the world, that while destiny is important… We make our own ways in life. 

You're going to do great things. My sweet girl, I cannot wait to hold you in my arms and know that you're safe with me. I love you already. I always will. 

Xoxo, Y/N

Aka Angel <3

You'd drawn a heart next to your name in a last ditch flourish to come across as a mother. In truth, you'd been so nervous to be one, but the closer it came the more you'd solidified it in your mind. You would have done anything for Alijah. You still would. 

She looked up slowly from the book, a flurry of emotions raging behind her dark eyes. Tears stained my cheeks as you watched her back. Regret coursed through your veins. 

"I came back to Iraq for you," you whispered, your voice shaking. "After Teddy died… I didn’t want to love you anymore, but I did. I do. This is the only way I knew how to protect you.

"When I found out about Sivan, I knew I needed to get to her before bringing you home," you finished tearfully, struggling to continue to look her in the eyes. But you kept strong. "I'm going to get you home. I'm sorry I had to keep you here, Alijah. I'm so sorry that I did this to you."

Alijah closed the book, holding it on her lap. Her jaw worked as she thought long and hard about this revelation. Her eyes searched the charged air between us as she followed her train of thought. Finally, she opened her mouth. 

"I don't think I will ever forgive you."

Your heart shattered into a million pieces, but you understood. You nodded slowly, "I'm still going to take you home. I will make sure you're safe, but…"

You trailed off with your mind churning. Taking a deep breath, you closed your eyes to calm the shaking deep in your bones. When you opened them, you knew they blazed, as Alijah seemed taken aback by the fire there. 

"I have a plan, and I need your help. If it works, we'll get the funding to go find Sivan and bring you to the States. As much as you don't like me, I need you to trust me. To trust Spencer. It all hinges on you and him."

Her own gaze turned fierce. When her hand rubbed over her empty belly, a thunderous crack burst through your core in grief. 

"I trust Spencer. Tell me what I need to do."

Spencer finally woke about ten hours later, struggling to remember where he was. Grunting in pain after sleeping on a hard floor in his forties, he squirmed onto his belly until he could see the alarm clock. 

6:56 p.m.

He was running late. Dinner started at Rossi's at seven. Scrambling to his feet, Spencer kicked off his boots, shucked his clothes, and hopped in the shower. The hot water had much better pressure than his CHU, and he closed his eyes and reveled in the feeling of it beating his muscles until they eased up. 

When he opened them, he spotted his old shampoo and conditioner bottles, his body wash from four months ago still sitting in the same spot he'd left them the morning he left for Iraq. It was such a strange feeling, familiar but off. Like he didn't belong here and was showering at some strangers. 

He popped one open and sniffed it, flinching at the harsh scent of cinnamon. He'd only brought along his cologne to Iraq as they frowned on outside products except for a few. Making a face, Spencer stepped out of the shower and tossed it in the bin and went for his gunny pack for the scentless ones he'd bought at the post exchange and went back in. 

When he was finished, he got out and stood in a towel in front of his closet. Four months ago, his soft silks and expensive blend clothing had soothed his raging mind as he got often overwhelmed with clothing tags and scratchy fabrics. Now, when he touched them, they were too soft. He felt naked with them, so he opted for a pair of cargo pants and a black tee, and a coat for the DC winter. 

Spencer had at least the forethought to charge his long dead cell phone, knowing you had his number and wanted to call. He stuffed it in one of his thousand pockets, grabbing his Homeland badge, then his gun. 

He was almost at the door before he put it safely back in the nightstand. He wouldn't be needing it here. 

The city was alive with people making last minute trips to shops as his cab ambled along through the night. Lamplight flooded the streets, washing them all in a white yellow glow. He found himself missing the bright harsh lights of the base, as these didn't let him see too far into the night. 

Spencer paid the cabbie and walked up Rossi's front walkway. His hand touched the doorknob, spotting everyone's cars in the driveway. He knew this mansion by heart now, the way it sprawled along Rossi's expansive land, but he felt so out of place. 

Should he knock? Knowing the team they might be offended if he showed such little familiarity, so he softly turned it and stepped inside. Voices echoed along the marble as he came in like an intruder in the night, his anxiety only growing under his skin. 

Walking quietly so his heavy boots didn't thump along the hardwood, Spencer made his way through the kitchen and to the dining room. The voices grew louder, and he adjusted his pack nervously on his shoulder. He turned the corner to see a welcome sight before him. 

JJ, Will, and the kids sat on one end of the room with Garcia and Luke, who were of course nearly draped across one another. Emily and Tara laughed into their wine glasses before a mountain of food and ham. Matt, his wife and kids sat near JJ's family. Even Morgan was there with Savannah and Hank. Rossi sat with his back to him, but none seemed to notice him. 

He knocked lightly on the doorframe, "Room for one more?"

Silence fell over the room as they finally spotted him with jaws dropped. Then a chorus of cheers broke out through the room.

"Oh my god!" Garcia burst finally, jumping up from her chair. In an instant, everyone seemed to launch from their spots and surround him, and he was in a group hug he hadn't had in a long, long time. 

He tried not to let it overwhelm him, as he hadn't been touched this much in a while. There were a lot of tears and happy laughs, and soon enough he was deposited in a chair next to Rossi and Emily. JJ piled a lot of food on a plate in her maternal fashion, pushed a fork and knife in his hands and ordered him to eat. 

Your words came back to him again as he took his first bite of ham, the food has too much flavor. Spencer choked it down with a forced smile, but it was almost too much. 

"How long are you back?" Garcia nearly demanded, her eyes alight with worry. Everyone's eyes were trained on him, and it was all he had not to wilt under the weight. 

"I'm leaving the twenty-seventh."

"You're going back?" JJ asked quietly. Hurt washed over her, but he just nodded. 

"I'm doing good work over there. Plus, I actually like it," he replied softly, but with conviction. He didn't need them trying to convince him to stay. 

Morgan came up behind him and set a heavy pair of hands on his shoulders, "I can't believe it. Pretty boy became a soldier, and look at this hair!"

He ruffled Spencer's long locks, which he admitted to himself were getting too far past his shoulders. Spencer decided to throw JJ a bone since she used to cut his hair for him as he didn't like strangers touching him. "Speaking of which, could you give me a trim before I go?"

"Didn't want a flat top?" Luke smirked. He leaned back in his chair with his arm around Penelope's. "The barber shops on base don't give the best cuts."

"Yeah, the last thing I wanted was to look like Garrett," he told them sheepishly. "Guy wears that thing like a badge of honor."

"What all have you been doing over there?" Tara asked lightly. Thankfully, she hadn't bombarded him with too many hugs and kisses. Tara was always good about respecting his boundaries. 

"I can't talk about much, but I've seen a lot. Speaking of which, I got you all something!" Spencer excitedly remembered. He hadn't shipped his Christmas presents since he wanted his visit to be a surprise. 

They eventually moved to the parlor, opening presents and chatting idly. Emily gave him some sparkling grape juice that the kids drank since he didn't drink alcohol, and JJ clung tightly to his side, never letting him too far out of her sight as though he may disappear. 

Spencer told them a bit about base life, which Luke backed him up on, taking the sting out of some of the harsher realities of it when Spencer accidentally let something slip. He talked about the villages and merchant streets he'd been to, the mountains he'd seen. He even lamented about having to go to the bathroom outside and how grateful he was for Barreti and his spare teepee. 

He talked about the unit. He talked about you. He couldn't talk about Alijah, so he didn't. He told them how hard you were on him, pushing him to be better and stronger, that you never let up. You had high expectations, and even though it had been difficult to meet them, he would never stop trying to exceed them. 

Eventually he found himself in one of the rooms with just Derek, Rossi, Luke and Will. Savannah and JJ had taken the kids to bed for the night, but Matt and his family had to travel out of state so they'd left early while the rest of them expected to stay at Rossi's overnight. 

"I'll tell you what, kid," Rossi mumbled into his scotch. They'd all been drinking pretty heavily for the last few hours, and it was nearing midnight. "They didn't have bases like that when I was in the Corps. The desert? We were in the jungle mostly. It's a whole new world out there."

"It's not so bad," Spencer replied with a soft smile. He was the only sober one there, and he kept anxiously checking his phone for your call. 

"It's called Bombaconda, Reid," Morgan pointed out, angling his beer bottle toward him. "Weren't you scared out there?"

Spencer and Luke shared a knowing look as he'd been there before joining the FBI. Spencer nodded, "At first, but with the unit I was fine. I got into a fight my first week with that jackass Mercer who took me to the DoD meetings and his team, and they backed me up even though they barely knew me."

"You got into a fight?" Luke asked, clearly impressed. 

Spencer chuckled, "I didn't throw the first punch, but I dislocated my nose. Agent Y/N put it back for me after chewing them all out."

"Since then, it's just been us all working together. I feel like we all bonded a lot after all we've gone through. I trust them with my life."

"You have to in a place like that. If you can't trust your team, who can you trust?" Rossi agreed. "There's very few bonds as strong as a unit's. I still talk with mine from Vietnam."

"Do you know when you're coming back for good?" Morgan asked. "Everyone misses you."

Spencer felt caught suddenly, because he didn't even really want to come back. He wanted to stay with you and the unit for as long as it took. He clicked his teeth and sighed, "I don't know… Y/N and I are working on something big. When it's finished, she's retiring. I'm not coming home until we're done."

"She's real pretty," Rossi chuckled, and Luke made a face like he did over video calls each time someone called you hot, like you were his sister. "You like this girl?"

Heat rushed to his cheeks, but he was powerless to hide the smile that cracked open on his sunburned face. Spencer nodded, "I do actually. It's… new, but we talked and when we get back we want to try being together. I don't know if it'll work out, but I really hope it does."

He didn't tell them he loved you. He didn't want a lecture. 

Eventually, they all turned in for the night. Spencer was growing worried, as you still hadn't called. It would be mid morning for you by the time he nestled into his spot on Rossi's couch, giving everyone else their own rooms with their partners and kids. 

But sleep wanted to take him, and he couldn't stop it. The exhaustion of the last days and months caught up to him now that he was home with his family, but his dreams were filled with you and Alijah, of Sivan and his image of her from the locket. 

He dreamed of a future, a life.

Together. 

Notes: *GASP*What do you think reader's plan is???

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[southern-god1]

*There is a crackle of ozone and light as a shimmering portal opens up in downtown Richmond*

…interesting.

First on the scene was Richmond PD, soon followed by a force from the Virginia Home Guard: a ring of armored personnel carriers and Home Guard troops surrounded the portal on all sides.

The Southern Avengers mobilized quickly. Through the military and police cordon came three men who had arrived by a modified Hughes helicopter. One of them was tall and muscular, wearing a military uniform and hefting a large shield, somewhat pointed - enabling it to be used as a weapon - with a stylized battle flag on it. He was scruffy and had a large pistol on his hip; he was instantly recognizable as an icon of Dixie: Captain Confederate. He drew his pistol and held his shield aloft, ready for anything.

Another was thinner, less muscular. He wore a pair of dark jeans, a simple t-shirt and a leather jacket with an intricate design on the back which blended the beloved Confederate flag with occult symbols and imagery. He reached into pocket for a cigarette, which he lit with a snap of his fingers. This was not just a smoke for him; the cigarette held a trapped Yankee soul, to be used in whatever magic was required of The Pale Rider.

The third was a hulking figure, a tall, muscular, beefy man in an outfit resembling a cross between a set of football gear and a military uniform: he wore no helmet, showing his handsome scruffy face. Stonewall took point, standing protectively in front of the teammates.

Three more figures emerged from the sky. One landed with a thud, slightly indenting the pavement. He was an enormous figure, bearded and with a suit of armor which mostly covered his chest, leaving his muscular arms free. Complex designs decorated the armor, blending the interlaced animal designs and runic script of the Norse with southern crosses and cotton bolls, intricately weaving together to reflect his dual heritage of the Son of Odin and a Son of Dixie. Thor’s eyes glowed and lightning arced up and down his arms as he faced the portal.

Another figure landed, a pair of boots touching the pavement and smoothly walking as though he’d just stepped down from a truck rather than land from the sky. He wore a simple set of brown work boots, jeans, a t-shirt, and camo ball cap, the shirt and cap sporting the battle flag. He was scruffy, ruggedly handsome, and while he had large muscles, they were less pronounced than his colleagues. Even so, The MAN was one of the strongest team members. He simply stood there, pulled out a can of dip, and stuffed some dip in his lip.

The third figure to emerge from the sky arrived through artificial means: a figure in full power armor landed, thrusters in the boots kicking up eddies of dust as he landed. The armor was made from a complex self-repairing alloy, augmented with nanites, and could absorb large amounts of energy and redirect it to weapons. It was in a somewhat understated, abstractly patriotic design, more Art Deco lines and colors than huge battle flags. He was already scanning the portal, and readied his repulsors: machine guns popped up from the wrists as well. Iron Rebel was fascinated but prepared for combat.

Up on a rooftop, the seventh team member was hidden, wearing a complex semi-powered stealth suit in matte black, capable of turning invisible at will. The suit hugged his pecs, but was also highly protective. A .50 cal sniper rifle was at the ready, with various exotic ammo types set out in case the typical round failed to do the job: special armor-piercing, incendiary, explosive, and even a course-correcting gyrojet round that could correct its own path if the enemy moved. The Reaper was ready for anything, his scope trained on the portal.

…I have no idea what will come out of this. Feel free to send different things though, this could be interesting. Even if nothing happens, at least I’ve got a good description of the Southern Avengers I can reuse.

[speciosuspoematis]

@frigusignis || DRABBLE. || Stephanivien && Cyvel Content Warnings for mentions of abuse.

The purest of gentleness guides the motion of his hand, a sterile cotton wool boll pinched softly betwixt fingers used to dab gingerly at bruising and scuffs in which had been struck into skin. Focus was all Cyvel could grip to, knowing that his aid - though limited - would, at least, prevent further pain and discomfort but his hand trembled lightly through the force of fear and anger held within.

There was no forgiveness for such treatment, not when it was a father to his grown son: the poet had first hand experience, kept such tales tucked to his breast where no other would pry, but he knew maltreatment when he saw it - - and just as he offered no forgiveness nor understanding to his own sire, he would not to Stephan's either.

He has to allow his hand to briefly drop, heart hitting the very pits of his stomach once again as he observed the others resigned, distant expression - evidently barely taking much notice of what was now going on in the silence of the manufactory. Just the two of them, with Stephanivien sat upon the desk and Cyvel stood before him, tending the wound to his cheek and the bruising surrounding a cheekbone.

It hurt - - to see such a bright, happy individual to stunted by such an arrogant and vulgar person; familiar reasons, of one could call them such, echoing within ones ears.

Three or four times now had Cyvel made attempts to rouse Stephan from his current process: be it in deep thought or lost to the feelings that came with the abuse received, he didn't know, but he knew that gentleness was paramount and thus, only a moment further passed before he slipped off his own jacket and wrapped it around the other. It was beginning to get cold, with the machinery off and the fire dying down, they had but only the candles to see and the late hour offered naught but the promise of blizzards.

"Stephan -?" He tries once more, this time while dabbing some ointment unto the beginnings of dark bruising. A balm, ever soft, came upward to rest upon the males other cheek, one that was not speckled with pink and purple, allowing the light brushing of his thumb to hopefully offer a less vibrant rouse from whatever was gripping his mind so forcefully.

Another moment of no response, until eyes of the most beauteous blue turned to him and with a sorrowful smile did the poet lean over, with the aid of tip toes, to press only the lightest of kisses unto bruising. It was but the very first time in which his lips had touched Stephan's skin and while he would have much rathered an occasion akin to a romance novel, he thought their current moment begged for it more. Close contact, trust, comfort - - everything Cyvel had always wished he had from a young boy, he offered now to Stephan without a modicul of hesitance.

"Come home with me, this eve? I cannot bare the thought of you attempting to rest here." No, and he would make certain that he didn't: even if his offer was rejected, he would sooner see him into an inn room than 'pon that floor. "Let me be your freedom, let daylight dry your tears; I'm here with you beside you, to guard you and to guide you."

A shuddered breath draw inward, hopeful eyes so filled to the brim with fear and uncertainty fixated upon his most dear companion - - hanging on, waiting for an answer. And oh, how he hoped he would be able to guide him back to the newly renovated family home where he could tuck him away from the harshness of the world and love him, quietly. Hoping - - so much - - that he could perhaps soothe and comfort well enough to brave the dawning of the next day.

"Please, Stephan... Come home with me? That's all I ask of you."

[almightyhamslice]

Insektober day 12: Mystery!

Kaboche tries to read Sherlock Holmes to Kretinus, but he passes out after a few chapters. Unity, however, is eager to hear the end of the story even though she's read it 10 times before!

If you remember, Unity is the former librarian of Krud City and a ghost inhabiting it in the present day. She talks to Kruds who care for the library and make offerings to her! Most Kruds are so careless with the books and shelves, but Kaboche is at least decently respectful. He likes to visit the library during his lunch break and even keeps a mini fridge in there for snacks of his. He offers them to Unity, but she can't actually eat them since she's a ghost and it'd go right through her! But she is flattered by the gesture.

I dunno if Kretinus can see her, but I'm sure Unity's happy to see her nephew again regardless! I think he would like to try to talk to her but often doesn't have the time... today's failed book club session not withstanding LOL. Related, Synapse and Kurkulie can't see Unity either!

Also I slightly revised Unity's design since the last time you saw her! I switched her color scheme around so now her face is darker and her eyes have brighter highlights to better reflect actual Boll weevils. I'm also RLLY tempted to draw her with pompoms on her shoes to match her eyelashes (which are meant to resemble cotton balls cuz boll weevils eat cotton) but I honestly worry it'll make her look too much like a clown LOL. Maybe I should just lean into it at this point smh... Boll Weevils are pretty funny. they have their own monument and everything!!

I dont think Kretinus likes Sherlock Holmes much. Maybe they should introduce him to BBC's version of the story... LOL! just kidding I never watched that shit lmao

[thescions]

“ i got you. “ // ( Reassurance Starters ) Estinien to Krile!

Assorted Dialogue Prompts || Accepting!

"I --" Krile didn't quite know where she was. Not yet. It was clear she was with the other Scions, and she recalled Hydaelyn saying as much before taking over her body as a temporary vessel.

They were -- outside? Yet she could have sworn Her intent had been to follow them into the Tower of Babil. Regardless, she would surely be informed.

She leaned against Estinien's forearm and squeezed her eyes shut as she tried to regain her bearings. She could hear Alphinaud saying something to the others in an urgent tone, but his words felt muffled. It was as though someone had stuffed both her ears full of cotton bolls.

She inhaled slowly, deeply, and attempted to rediscover the world beneath her feet. When she felt a bit better, she straightened herself so that she was no longer leaning on Estinien.

"Thank you, but you -- you must go. Help the others," she muttered, voice still thick and disoriented. "I'm only dizzy -- I can stay here until others come back for me."

[cuckoo-among-beasts]

@xiianxias (yīng jiā) sent: "aiya --- did you see this one ?" yīng jiā is standing beneath a tree, pointing up at something up high in its branches; upon closer inspection, it's a beautiful, brightly-colored songbird. yīng jiā's eyes are sparkling. "mn ... isn't it pretty ? do you know what it's called ? i've never seen such a bird !"

Huaisang has been sent on a diplomatic meeting, to a kingdom called Ān Lán. Apparently it was thought that he'd be the best option. He was nervous at first, but he had quickly taken to the prince, who was a very charming young man and so far he had enjoyed his time with him, and the prince in turn didn't seem to mind that Huaisang wasn't the warrior his clan was known for.

"No, I didn't." Fanning himself lightly, he walks over to the tree and looks up at its branches. His eyes immediately start to glimmer, a happy smile on his lips. "It's very pretty! It's a male huā cǎi què yīng, it's normally not seen in this area." The little bird might look average at first sight, but once you look closer, you can see its iridescent plumage. Like a rainbow cotton boll. "I used to have one in my aviary." Huaisang had many different kinds of birds in his aviary. Some stayed for longer times, others he caught to study and then released. The huā cǎi què yīng had been one of those he released after having drawn and painted it from several angles.

[vancouverkitchenrenovation]

What Color Towels Should I Buy?

Whether you’re in the market for new towels or you’re just looking to refresh your home decor, you may be wondering, “What color towels should I buy?” There are several factors to consider when choosing a color. In general, dark-colored towels are easier to clean and less likely to stain than lighter-colored ones. You may also want to consider patterned towels. These towels can be a great way to accessorize your bathroom decor.

White towels are a staple

Whether you’re shopping for a new bathroom or are simply looking for a cheap way to brighten up your home, white towels are a great choice. They’re versatile, durable, and go with just about any bathroom decor.

The good news is that white towels are less likely to fade than colored ones. The bad news is that colored towels can be more difficult to clean. If you’re not careful, they can even become a hotbed for germs. Thankfully, you can keep your white towels looking their best by following a few simple guidelines.

The best way to clean a white towel is to wash it in hot water. This is not only easy on the towels, but it kills germs.

Dark-colored towels are easier to clean

Choosing the color of your towel can be a great way to set the mood in your bathroom. It can also tie in your bathroom design theme. But you need to be careful. A light colored towel can discolor a darker one, and vice versa. So if you want to be on the safe side, you should always go for light colors.

There are three main types of towels. These include 100% cotton, which are absorbent; synthetic, which are not; and ring-spun cotton, which are more durable. Towels with decorative fabrics may require a special dry cycle.

Most new towels are coated with silicone, or other finishes. This coating blocks absorbency, making the towels less absorbent than they were originally.

Patterned towels are a great option to accessorize your bathroom decor

Whether you have a minimalist bathroom or a boho bathroom, pattern towels can help you accessorize your space. Patterned towels are easy on the eyes, and come in a variety of colors.

You can find towels at most major home goods stores, and online. Purchasing a towel set can save you money, and will add an element of style to your bathroom. But it’s important to choose towels that will fit your bathroom’s decor.

The best towels are made of organic materials. You can find organic towels at Pottery Barn, Parachute, and Frontgate. You can also find towels made of bamboo, which is an eco-friendly option. You can also find organic towels at Boll & Branch.

If you don’t want your towels to fade, try to pick ones with a neutral color scheme. You don’t want to draw too much attention away from your decor. Using a light color is also helpful.

Bath sheets and hand towels are ideal for people who prefer more towel coverage after a shower

Whether you’re searching for a towel for your own bathroom or one for your guests, bath sheets and hand towels are a great way to get more towel coverage. They come in all different sizes and can be used to dry hands, face, and hair.

Bath sheets and hand towels are typically made from cotton or linen. They’re designed to be absorbent and flexible. They’re also usually very soft. They can be found in a variety of colors and textures. They make a great gift or decorative display.

Bath sheets and hand towels are a great way for you to turn your daily bathing routine into a spa experience. They’re soft, absorbent, and easy to care for. They can also be used for wrapping up after a workout or for drying off your hair.

Turkish cotton towels offer a good blend of these factors

Whether you are looking for a travel bath towel, a sarong, or a towel for the beach, Turkish towels are an excellent choice. The fabric is extremely absorbent, lightweight, and durable. These towels are easy to wash and dry.

Turkish cotton towels are made from a high quality raw material that is known worldwide for its durability and absorbency. The strands are extra long, giving Turkish towels a unique feel. Turkish towels are woven with fewer joins, which makes them stronger. The threads are also thin, creating a towel with a larger surface area.

Turkish towels are available in a variety of colors, patterns, and sizes. Some towels are light weight, making them easy to pack and store. These towels are also durable, and make a great beach blanket or picnic blanket. They also have a unique weave, making them soft and comfortable. They are also easy to use as a shawl, scarf, or cover-up for swimming suits.

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Whether planning a bathroom renovation or simply looking to update your existing space, Vancouver Kitchen Renovation is the place to turn. We’re Vancouver’s premier bathroom design and renovation specialists, and we pride ourselves on being able to create spaces that fit perfectly within your budget. Whether you’re renovating a small guest room or transforming a whole house, we’ll guide you through each step so you can enjoy your finished product for years to come. As a locally owned and operated business, we know what it takes to build lasting relationships with our clients. We’re committed to providing quality products and services and strive to exceed expectations every time.

We understand that to be successful is to stay ahead of the curve. That means staying current with the latest technology and design trends. We always want to improve our products or services without breaking the bank. That’s why we stay connected to the latest technologies of NKBA, National Kitchen and Bath Association. In addition, at Vancouver Kitchen renovation, our primary focus is providing sustainable bathroom design and renovation packages, and we believe in sustainable living. Sustainable living is a way of life in harmony with nature. It is a lifestyle which focuses on the preservation of our environment. Sustainable living is a philosophy emphasizing respect for the environment and concern for its well-being. This means we should take care of the planet and treat it as if it were our home. We should try to preserve what we have and protect it from destruction. If we do this, we will enjoy the benefits of the earth’s resources for many generations. Whether you’re planning a major remodel or adding finishing touches to your current bathroom, we’d love to discuss your project. Book your showroom consultation online.

Main Areas of Service in British Columbia:

Vancouver

North Vancouver

West Vancouver

Burnaby

Coquitlam

Squamish

Whistler

Frequently Asked Questions

What colour looks best in a bathroom?

There is no definitive answer to this question. Everyone has different tastes and preferences so what works in one bathroom may not work well in another. White, cream, light blue and pale green are some of the most popular colors for bathrooms. These colours create a tranquil and serene environment that’s often sought after in a bathroom. Of course, it is ultimately up to the individual to decide what colour looks best in their bathroom.

White is the most common choice for a bathroom because it makes the room appear larger and more brighter. It is versatile enough to be used with other colours. It creates a warm, inviting atmosphere and is a popular choice. Light blue is used often in bathrooms as it promotes relaxation. Pale green, which has a soothing effect and can help create a calm atmosphere, is another great choice for a bathroom. The best bathroom color is one that makes you feel relaxed and comfortable.

How can you renovate a bathroom with a limited budget?

Start by taking inventory of the things you have. This could include toilets as well as mirrors, sinks and mirrors.

After you have completed the list, you must determine if any items can be salvaged. If they aren’t, then they should be replaced.

Next, decide how much you are willing to spend on each item. Once you have a rough idea of how much you want to spend on each item you can start shopping for replacement parts online.

You can then update your bathroom after you have installed your new pieces. You can paint the walls or tile the floors. Or replace old fixtures with modern ones. Whatever route you choose to go, be sure to stick within your budget.

What does a bathroom renovation cost to increase your home’s value?

Bathroom remodels typically offer a return on investment (ROI) of around 60% to 70%, making them a solid choice if you want to add value to your home. The amount your bathroom remodel will increase the value of your home will depend on many factors including the scope of the project, the quality and location of your home. A bathroom remodel that is luxuriously finished in a high-end area of a wealthy neighborhood will have a greater return on investment (ROI) than a smaller, more affordable one.

Statistics

According to a 2019 remodelling report from the National Association of Realtors, 70 percent of consumers “have a greater desire to be home” after a bathroom renovation, so read on and soak up the secrets. (housebeautiful.com)

2023 bathroom design trends: Chromotherapy, which uses coloured lights to stimulate relaxation, was chosen by 25%. Preset lighting schemes for different times during the day were favoured by 29%. (https://nkba.org)

2023 bathroom design trends: Bathroom faucet designs reflected wellness concerns, with 61% choosing accessible lever handles, 48% choosing motion and 36% going for the touch or tap options. (https://nkba.org)

NKBA estimates that broken down, most of this cost comes from fixtures and plumbing (about 29 percent), followed by counters and surfaces (21 percent), labour (20 percent), and cabinetry and hardware (16 percent). (remodelista.com)

Glass tile is one of the greenest bathroom flooring options because it can be 100% recycled. (caddetailsblog.com)

2023 bathroom design trends: Windows above tubs were favoured by 51% of those surveyed. Skylights were selected by 37% of those surveyed. (https://nkba.org)

I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve had someone call and say they have an existing old tub (which, 99% of the time, is 60” wide once they’re pulled out) and want to convert the bathtub to a shower. (blog.innovatebuildingsolutions.com)

This article will reveal more about AntiBac surfaces and how Villeroy and Boch products have 99.9% fewer bacteria. (superbath.co.uk)

2023 bathroom design trends: Heated floors were favoured by a substantial 75% of those who responded to the survey.(https://nkba.org)

Keep in mind: they advise that, all told, your bathroom project should cost no more than 5 to 10 percent of your home’s value. (remodelista.com)

Other sustainability instruments developed by Noken include an ‘Eco cartridge’ (its two-position switch makes it possible to use 50% less water and energy), and a water ‘flow rate limiter’ (that uses jets and air to reduce water consumption). (decoist.com)

The average midrange bathroom remodels costs $27,164, according to the latest Remodeling Cost versus Value report, and it’s projected that you will recoup 58.9% of that cost when reselling your home. (architecturaldigest.com)

External Links

bhg.com

How to Paint Bathroom Cabinets and Make a Simple Vanity Upgrade

homeadvisor.com

Learn how much it will cost to remodel a bathroom

What is the Best Place to Spend Your Money on a Bathroom Remodel? | HomeAdvisor

How To

10 Mistakes You Must Avoid When Remodeling Small Bathrooms

Remodelling a small bathroom can be very challenging due to the limited space available. This is why you should always consult professionals when remodelling your home. We have listed some common mistakes made when remodeling bathrooms.

Not having enough money for the project. If you don’t have enough budget for your project, then it might be best if you wait until you do. It would be wise to start saving up now since remodelling costs could add up quickly.

Saving money on materials. It is not a good idea to try to cut corners during any renovation. It is important to get the highest quality products with the lowest prices. Quality is everything!

Buying too much stuff at once. The biggest mistake people make when remodeling their bathrooms is to buy too much stuff at once. Make sure you only buy what you need for the job, so you aren’t stuck paying for something you didn’t need.

Not planning how you will use the new space before you begin. Many people do not think through how they intend to use the new space. People decide to throw their stuff in the space, without thinking about whether they are useful.

Modifying the layout. Sometimes people feel like they know exactly what they want to do with their bathroom, but they end up changing the layout altogether, which results in making the space less usable than it was previously.

You can do the work yourself. Even though many people love working on DIY projects, you aren’t recommended to tackle them alone. Hiring contractors will ensure you have someone who understands what they’re doing and has the right equipment.

Too late for the project. Problems can arise if you leave it too late to plan and remodel your bathroom. There are many problems that can arise, such as leaky pipes or mold growth.

Being unorganized. Planning a renovation can be difficult because people often forget to plan the details, such as where to place the trash bin or the power outlets. It will be easier to stay focused when you have a well-organized workspace.

Not checking references. It is important to verify their backgrounds before hiring someone to renovate your home. Ask friends and family to tell you if they’ve had positive experiences with these businesses.

There are no shortcuts in safety precautions. Safety is essential, especially when remodeling a bathroom. To ensure your safety while working on the project, you must follow certain steps.

The post What Color Towels Should I Buy? first appeared on Vancouver Kitchen Renovation.

source https://vancouverkitchenrenovation.com/bathrooms/what-color-towels-should-i-buy/?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=what-color-towels-should-i-buy

[celtfather]

She Moved Through the Fair #592

Keep moving through the fair and through life with the Irish & Celtic Music Podcast #592. Plus, learn five things you can do in County Mayo, Ireland next time you go.

Black Market Haggis, The Bookends, Stratford Symphony Orchestra, Ballinloch, Mary Beth Carty, Fire In The Glen, Logical Fleadh, The Out of Kilters, Crow's Nest, Clay Babies, Na Rósaí, Scythian, Reilly, Ryan MacNeil, Bill Grogan's Goat, Jen Midkiff

  VOTE IN THE CELTIC TOP 20 FOR 2023

This is our way of finding the best songs and artists each year. You can vote for as many songs and tunes that inspire you in each episode. Your vote helps me create next year's Best Celtic music of 2023 episode.  Vote Now!

Two weeks after the episode is launched, I compile your votes to update a playlist on Spotify and YouTube. These are the results of your voting. You can help these artists out by following the playlists and adding tracks you love to your playlists. Follow us on Facebook to find out who is added each week.

Listen on Spotify and YouTube.

GET CELTIC MUSIC NEWS IN YOUR INBOX

The Celtic Music Magazine is a quick and easy way to plug yourself into more great Celtic culture. Subscribe and get 34 Celtic MP3s for Free.

THIS WEEK IN CELTIC MUSIC

0:02 - Intro: Bed & Breakfast & Mitchell Petersen

0:11 - Black Market Haggis "Whistling Postman Set" from Better Than It Sounds

4:13 - WELCOME

5:22 - The Bookends with the Stratford Symphony Orchestra "Salvation Contradiction" from A Celtic Celebration: The Bookends with the Stratford Symphony Orchestra

10:07 - Ballinloch "The Man from the Daily Mail" from Rise Up!

12:45 - Mary Beth Carty "Dutch Tea Jigs" from Crossing the Causeway

16:16 - Fire In The Glen "Tha Mi Sgith / Gary Ford / Cailleach a' Ghobhainn" from Cutting Bracken

Tha mi sgith Pronunciation: Haaw mee shgee Cailleach a' Ghobhainn pronunciation: kyle - ach A - Gov - awn

19:45 - FEEDBACK

22:28 - Logical Fleadh "Lark In The Morning/Gold Ring/The Slammer" from Logical Fleadh (17 - Track Album)

Fleadh Pronunciation: Flaah

26:54 - The Out of Kilters "The Big Strong Man" from Hot Potatoes

30:15 - Crow's Nest "Lochanside" from Crow's Nest

35:07 - Clay Babies 'When the Boll Weevil Hit the Cotton" from Philomathea

37:56 - Na Rósaí “Lord Mayo" from First Rain

42:12 - CELTIC INVASION VACATIONS & THANKS

45:05 - Scythian "Fire in My Heart" from Roots & Stones

48:36 - Reilly "Black Velvet Band" from Durty Pool

52:21 - Ryan MacNeil "Cearcall A' Chuin (The Ocean's Circle)" from Shuffle

Cearcall A' Chuin Pronunciation: kee - urkle A  -  queue - inn

55:37 - Bill Grogan's Goat "The Blacksmith" from Third Eye

1:01:34 - CLOSING

1:02:31 - Jen Midkiff (she/her) "She Moved Through the Fair" from Collage

The Irish & Celtic Music Podcast was produced by Marc Gunn, The Celtfather and our Patrons on Patreon. The show was edited by Mitchell Petersen with Graphics by Miranda Nelson Designs.

Visit our website to subscribe to the show. You’ll find links to all of the artists played in this episode. You’ll get access to our Best of this Year Playlist. You can subscribe to our Celtic Music Magazine and get 34 Celtic MP3s for Free. Plus, you’ll get 7 weekly news items about what’s happening with Celtic music and culture online. Best of all, you will connect with your Celtic heritage.

Finally, please tell one friend about this podcast. Word of mouth is the absolute best way to support any creative endeavor.

Promote Celtic culture through music at http://celticmusicpodcast.com/.

WELCOME CELTOPHILE TO CELTIC MUSIC

* Helping you celebrate Celtic culture through music. I am Marc Gunn. I’m a musician and podcaster out of Atlanta, Georgia. This Podcast is here to build our diverse Celtic community and help the incredible artists who so generously share their music with you. If you hear music you love, please email artists to let them know you heard them on the Irish and Celtic Music Podcast.

You can find a link to all of the artists in the shownotes, along with show times, when you visit our website at celticmusicpodcast.com.

Do you have the Irish & Celtic Music Podcast app? It’s 100% free. You can listen to hundreds of episodes of the podcast. Download it now.

Hey Celtic Bands, I’m looking for new music and stories in 2023. To submit your band, just complete the permission form at 4celts.com. You’ll also find information on how to submit a story behind one of your songs or tunes.

Get a free Celtic Musicians Guide to Digital Music eBook. email gift@bestcelticmusic

THANK YOU PATRONS OF THE PODCAST!

Because of Your kind and generous support, this show comes out four times a month. Your generosity funds the creation, promotion and production of the show. It allows us to attract new listeners and to help our community grow.

As a patron, you get music - only episodes before regular listeners, vote in the Celtic Top 20, and you get a private feed to listen to the show.  All that for as little as $1 per episode.

I sent all of our generous Patrons of the Podcast a free sticker this week. Sign up in February 2023 and you’ll get a free sticker too.

A special thanks to our Celtic Legends: Marti Meyers, Meghan Walker, Dan mcDade, Carol Baril, Miranda Nelson, Nancie Barnett, Kevin Long, Annie Lorkowski, Shawn Cali

HERE IS YOUR THREE STEP PLAN TO SUPPORT THE PODCAST

Go to our Patreon page.

Decide how much you want to pledge every week, $1, $5, $10. Make sure to cap how much you want to spend per month.

Keep listening to the Irish & Celtic Music Podcast to celebrate Celtic culture through music.

You can become a generous Patron of the Podcast on Patreon at SongHenge.com.

TRAVEL WITH CELTIC INVASION VACATIONS

Every year, I take a small group of Celtic music fans on the relaxing adventure of a lifetime. We don't see everything. Instead, we stay in one area. We get to know the region through its culture, history, and legends. You can join us with an auditory and visual adventure through podcasts and videos.

In 2023, we’re going on a Celtic Invasion of County Mayo in Ireland. Here are 5 Things You Should Do in County Mayo, Ireland:

Go to Matt Malloy’s Pub in Westport.

Visit Westport House and take a train around town to get to know the history behind the Irish of County Mayo

Hike up Croagh Patrick, This pilgrimage area has a story that St. Patrick himself scaled this mountain and fasted atop it for 40 days way back in 441 AD. It’s definitely a revered site in this area of the country, and can make for a great stop on any trip to the region.

Take a boat out to Clare Island to visit O’Malley Castle, one of the castles owned by the Pirate Queen, Grace O’Malley.

Take pictures all along the Wild Atlantic Way.

Learn more about the invasion at http://celticinvasion.com/

#celticmusic #irishmusic #celticmusicpodcast

I WANT YOUR FEEDBACK

What are you doing today while listening to the podcast? You can take a screenshot of the podcast on your phone. You can send a written comment along with a picture of what you're doing while listening. Or how about a picture you took of a band that you saw.

How would you like to introduce an episode of the podcast? It’s super easy. Contact me for details.

Email me at celticpodcast@gmail, message me on Facebook, or contact me through Mastodon @celtfather@c.im.

jolena posted on Mastodon: "Marc I love your podcast. I'm totally blind so I'm not able to take a picture of myself and what I'm doing. But whether I'm helping my sister do stuff around the house, or exercising on Thursdays I'm listening to your podcast. Through the podcast I've been able to listen to some great artists that I wouldn't have heard if not for the podcast. God bless and have a great day."

Kellan Allen Arrington commented on Facebook: "I was in the tub! No pictures!"

Margaret Zavala commented on Facebook: "After working outside started the fire and relaxing with a good dram of my favorite scotch . While catching up on the podcast'

Alli Stevick commented on Facebook: "I usually work on art while listening to the podcast! Most recently, I have been doing woodburned (and painted) Hobbit houses.'"

Check out this episode!

[thorcat]

-Yukinko Snowflake

For those who wanted to take a look at the minion first, before buying it! <3

[ink-dreams-ffxiv]

Why am I here...

Contains mention of locations and settings in Endwalkers) Mixhe looked at the Elezen Wailer stretched out on the table. She was furious, but she wouldn’t let the man die. He was the catalyst that had caused her elder brother to be beaten to near death by the rest of the Wood Wailers in the man’s squad. The Elezen’s back was split open along the center of his spine, from the back of his head, to his tailbone, and Mihxe could tell it had been a wide bone bladed spear. Definitely not the thin bladed spear her brother was claimed to be holding as he had stood over the man. “What is that?” asked a Wailer looking at her wearily. “I am a Master Conjurer, and you question my methods?” she snarled at the man hovering over her shoulder. “You’re a Keeper of the Moon, so no, I don’t trust you.” She rounded on the man, her voice rising in fury. “GET THIS MAN OUT OF HERE! I WILL NOT ASK AGAIN!” An officer of the Wood Wailers came forward and grabbed the man’s arm. “Dumb Fool, she will heal him long before she lets her anger at us get the better of her, now shut the hells up and come with me.” Mixhe turned back to her task. She pulled a vial from her pouch, a needle and thread made for sewing men up. She turned to the pan of boiling water near the bed, and put both in the water. She worked the wax of the vial free and pulled the cork stopper. Using clamps she pulled the needle and thread from the water, and dropped in another set. Dipping the needle and first thumbs worth of thread into the vial, she turned to her task. The man’s groans of pains quieted, sleep overtook him before she finished the length thread attached to the needle. It took four more needles and thread, before she tool one of the cotton bolls on a stick, dipped it in the tincture, and swabbed it down the fresh sutures. Over twenty eight years later...

Sahxa shivered in the cold. Even Ishgard wasn’t this bloody damn cold she thought. Why the hells was I even here, she wondered for the umpteenth time. Kynuh, her wife, with her shield and armor was in the large room where the planning was going on. Meanwhile, Sahxa was overlooking cooking pots. She looked to the Ala Mhigan to her left, with a sigh. “Peel those carrots, or you will have the Limsan and Ishgardian contingent complaining. I get it that you and the Gridanians, won’t care, and it’s a toss up with the Ul’dahns.” The man just nodded, looked at the slices he had made. “Ignore those, but peel the rest,” she offered him with a smile. 

“Don’t you even think about tasting that!” She snarled as she turned around and found an Aura woman raising a ladle of liquid from the stockpot set into the coals. The woman turned wide eyes to her, ladle halfway to her mouth, saw Sahxe not only wore no rank, but she didn’t wear the colors of any of the Eorzean Alliance and continued to bring the ladle to her mouth. “There’s enough magic mushroom in that broth that you won’t see anything but the colors of sound for the next month.” Sahxa said, crossing her arms and glaring at the woman, who narrowed her eyes.“And who are you?” spat the Aura. A male voice answered before Sahxa could. “An alchemist who is working on tinctures and potions to help the wounded. Now do as she says before you end up convulsing on the ground and she has to rescue you from your own stupidity.” Sahxa looked up at the man who had walked up behind her. He looked down, studying her face, eyebrows drawn together. “Forgive me,” he began as he looked up and made sure the Aura had left the area. “Your Family name, it’s Relanah yes?” Sahxa narrowed her eyes, taking in the Twin Adder colors the man wore. “Yes…” The man nodded, “I can see Mihxe Relanah’s resemblance in your features.”Sahxa stilled, then turned back to the Ala Mhigan, “Take those, and the popotoes down to the other end, give them to the Mhigan at the big stockpots, it’s for him. Some kind of Mhigan soup or stew.” The man grinned then, nodding his head, grabbing the filled bowls and making his way down to the other end of what had become the cooking port. It was still cold, even with the long bank of fires being tended, with dozens of cook pots, and racks of cooking meats. She looked back to the Elezen man. “She’s my mother.” He shook his head, still studying her. “I was saddened when I learned she had left. She must still be with her Alchemist husband, though I admit, I no longer recall his name.”He made his way over to the pot of simmering mushrooms, looking into it. “This is his recipe?” Sahxa nodded slowly. “And the herbs?” “In my bag, let me get them.” The red haired Miqo’te moved to where she had laid her traveling bag. The big waxed canvas, with bits of fresh fallen snow, was heavy as she lifted it. She retrieved a large leather sack, and took out four bundles of cheese cloth filled with pungent herbs and barks. When she turned, she saw the Elezen man using the spider she placed near the large pot to remove the water logged mushrooms. She noted he had put on some gloves, and was careful to not let any of the liquid drip on him as he put the mushrooms in a bowl. “You are familiar with the recipe?” “Aye, your mother saved my life when I was younger. I had been split head to tailbone down my back by a spear. She dipped the needles into the tincture your father had made, and sewed me up.” He said while nodding, his face grim as he spoke. Like there was more to the story. “Tell me, Sahxa?” he said her name in a question, speaking it as Sah Zha. “Do I have that right?” “Sah-Sha” she corrected, to which he nodded again. “Sahxa, did your parents end up in the Sagolli? Or perhaps the deserts of Ala Mhigo?”She shook her head with a grin. “Othard, the Ruby Sea, that’s where my dark skin comes from. Years of fishing and being on deck, where it never snowed.” He blinked, his face full of surprise, before he reached out, then smiled slyly. “It took the Conjurer’s guild, working with the Alchemists and Botanists in Gridania nearly 10 years to come up with a tincture as good as your fathers. The Wailers really screwed up when they gave Mihxe cause to leave.” He shook his head sadly as he added the herb bags to the broth. “I can tend this for you while you work on other things. I have experience with the Gridanian, but I suspect, this being your Father’s recipe, it will be more beneficial.” He smiled wolfishly, “They still haven’t figured out how his keeps down infection.” Sahxa nodded, then began moving down the line, seeing which cooks needed what, and making it happen.Four bells later, sweat beaded on Sahxa’s brow. She had shed the heavy coat, wearing a blood splattered sweater and weilding a knife, cutting away a thick white bear pelt from tallow and meat. The tallow she cut into cubes and dropped into a pot. A Miqo’te wrinkled her nose, her Sun Seeker eyes squinting into the pot. “Stir it slowly, let the heat build and do the work for you” Sahxa admonished gently. The girl nodded. Sahxa turned back to her task, only to realize a dark shadow was moving in her direction from where the military people were planning. She frowned when she spotted the white hair and furred ears of Y’Shtola Rhul. The Scion had a smirk on her face as she took in the line of people behind the tables. Some serving food, others turning meat slowly on a spit, and others stirring pots.  Y’Shtola looked at Sahxa, her white clouded eyes taking in the red headed Miqo’te.“I am told you don’t exactly understand why you are here, other than to be moral support for your wife that is.” Sahxa nodded. Until she had learned of Kynuh’s ties to the Scions, she had been very very careful about avoiding them, especially the one standing before her. “If I can have a moment of your time please.” Began Y’Shtola. Sahxa lay down the knife in her hand, the tallow half cut away from the section of ribs on the table, and looked up at the woman. “Please make it quick, I need to finish getting this tallow rendered, the meat seasoned, and cut into strips for frying.” The Scion nodded, her dark staff cradled across her arm in a casual pose. “Would you look down the line please?” Sahxa did so. “I am to understand that every pot, every stack of meat, every crock,” she indicated the rows of clay pots that had been located in Broken Glass on a separate bank of fire a few yalms from the pole barn they had set up the kitchen in. “and from what I understand, a few pots of tinctures and potions.” Sahxa nodded slowly. She also realized the Sun Seeker, and the Elezen still slowly stirring the tincture of her father’s making, though he had taken breaks to tend other things, she realized as Y’Shtola had come forward, he had taken up the post again. “What of it?” “What is it that you are stirring?” Y’Shtola asked the Elezen Twin Adder. “A tincture. It’s good for removing pain, and allowing the patient to sleep. It’s also very good at making the blood thicken in the wound, and keeping away infection.” His words were full of pride as he spoke. “It’s Mistress Relanah’s Family Recipe.” Y’Shtola nodded, “You have used it before?” “It saved my life,” he offered, turning and lifting his hair so she could see the scar that had been covered. “An Ixal tried to split me from head to tailbone, but the bones of my spine thwarted him. If it had not been for Sahxa’s mother, I would have probably died, either from the blood loss, or the infection that would have set in with such a wound. An injury, I might add, that cost her more than just the time and the tincture. I also owe her elder brother my life, as he was the one who killed the Ixal.” Sahxa turned to him with wide eyes. He nodded slowly to her, “I was not able to testify on his behalf for three days. By then, your Mother and Father had left the Twelves Wood.”Sahxa was speechless, it was Y’Shtola who spoke next. “I see, so not only has this woman helped every single cook and soldier to feed an entire contingent, but has also managed to make tinctures and potions to heal the wounded, this young woman who has no idea why she was asked to come with us…” The Scion smirked again and began to turn away, but the Elezen again spoke up. “She also brought enough Lionfish spines that the Chirgons have extra needles for administering shots or connecting up bottles of fluids for the patients.” There was mirth in his voice. Sahxa just stared at Y’Shtola’s retreating back, then back to the Elezen. “I truly meant it, Sahxa, I owe your Mother and Father my life. It is why I left the Wailers and became a Twin Adder. They paid for me to learn Alchemy and field Medicine since I have no aptitude for Magic.”

[kyber-crystal]

forever & always || s.r

summary: you’ve long since given up on hoping for a better future, but steve’s there to remind you that there’s still something left living for. and you grow to realize that maybe, just maybe, that something was him.

words: ~1.3k (sorry this is so short)

warnings: angsty in the beginning, mild descriptions of blood, fluff in the end, cliche tropes, bad writing. post IW–pre endgame AU, some dialogue is from endgame; i don’t own any part of it. credits go to marvel.

a/n: yeesh this is a complete dumpster fire. i have no idea where this idea came from but i just sat down and decided to start writing, so here we are. buckle up and i hope you enjoy this (unedited) shitshow :3 friendly reminder that requests are open!

Amidst the aftermath of the Snap’s destruction, things were a complete mess. You found it hard to do so much as get up in the morning when the world had stopped moving forward—what was the point of waiting up for something that wouldn’t go on?

There were many nights in which you slid into bed and hoped you’d never wake up again and yet, you did wake up—in the early hours of the morning. And despite it all, you kept going. You kept going, you pushed yourself to make it through the day because you knew that nobody else would do it for you. 

You hardly ever got any quality sleep. If you were lucky, you’d get a solid two or three uninterrupted hours, and five was unheard of. You were falling—and Steve, being as observant as he was, noticed. 

He noticed how you’d lost the light to your face. You no longer glowed like you used to when you were fully engaged in a conversation. Your smile, that is, if you smiled at all, never reached your eyes. It was rather easy for him to differentiate a fake one from a real one—and he could tell you were struggling to maintain the façade. 

Steve felt guilty. Here you were, doing everything you could to stay afloat and pouring your heart and soul into keeping everyone else on the team happy and healthy, but you never found time to take care of yourself. He wanted to help. Seeing the woman he’d known for as long as he could remember slowly fall apart broke him—and the fact that there was little to nothing he could do about it only made it worse.

It was another one of those late nights for you. Natasha had tried to talk you out of helping her, but the pure exhaustion in her eyes was evident—so you’d convinced her to go to bed (you knew she hadn’t done this in days) and took over.

Rhodey had a solemn look on his face as you pulled up his hologram. “Hey, Y/N...where’s Nat? Are you guys alright?”

"Yeah...how about you? Where are you right now?"

"Mexico. The Federales found a room full of bodies," he answered with his arms crossed over his chest, "it looks like a bunch of cartel guys...never even had the chance to get their guns off."

"It's probably a rival gang, then," you shrugged.

"Except it isn't. It's definitely Barton. What he's done here, what he's been doing for the past few years...the scene that he left...I gotta tell you, there's a part of me that doesn't even wanna find him."

You were silent for a moment as you comprehended his words. "Will you find out where he's going next, check in when you hear something?” You looked at him hopefully. “Please? We can’t just...we can’t just give up now.”

"Alright, I'll let you know," he said with a sigh, before disappearing from the room.

Your gut instinct was to call Steve, but before you could find your hand on your phone, you pulled it back. He was probably busy at the moment—you didn’t want to burden him any further when he already had enough on his mind.

Placing your hands on the edges of the desk, you pushed yourself out of your seat and got up. You grabbed a glass out of the pantry and decided to pour yourself a cup of cold water to clear your head, ignoring the sharp hunger pangs in your stomach that told you it really had been forever since you’d last had a proper meal that wasn’t three cups of coffee and half a banana. And that had been four days ago. 

You were often too busy drowning in your own thoughts to focus on anything else.

Out of nowhere you’re hit with a splitting migraine that has you struggling to stay standing upright and suddenly the world is spinning and everything is blurring together you can’t breathe. As if it was going in slow motion, the glass fell out of your hand and shattered into a million tiny crystalline fragments upon hitting the floor, and you sank down with it. 

You felt the sharp edges digging into the palms of your hands and the bottoms of your feet and it stung, but compared to what you’d been through in the past, it was nothing. The metallic smell of blood overwhelmed your senses. The tears kept coming and coming and your head was hurting, your body ached immensely—everything hurt. 

Steve quietly entered the compound and immediately stopped in his tracks when he reached the kitchen.

“...Y/N?”

You tried opening your mouth to speak, but no words came out—instead, a hoarse cry escaped your lips—and the sound sent daggers straight through his heart. There’s crimson stains on your shirt and on the kitchen floor; you’re covered in blood and sweat and tears and there’s glass everywhere. It’s a complete mess, but he doesn’t care. 

Disregarding the complete kitchen disaster around him, he carefully kneels down next to you and pulls you forward, and you collapse into his arms.

He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t say a thing as you let it all out. Your tears begin leaving dark spots on his shirt but he remains quiet. He’s dead silent. Steve brings a hand to the back of your head and gently pushes it towards his chest, and you continue sobbing into his shoulder as he smooths your hair back and uses his other arm to pull you closer. 

You clutch his shirt with every ounce of energy you have left. You cry and cry and cry until you feel like your throat is going to tear apart from the sheer force of it and your seemingly never-ending river of tears has finally run dry. You’re not sure exactly how long you’re like this for—sitting in the middle of the cold kitchen floor, wrapped up in his arms and clinging to him as if he was your sole remaining lifeline—but you’re there for a while. And he’s patient, whispering soothing words of encouragement and sweet nothings into your ear to calm you down.

“It’s okay, I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

...

You’re quietly sitting on the edge of the bathtub as Steve is kneeling in front of you and picking the glass out of your skin. He winces when he thinks he’s being too rough, but you don’t even do so much as flinch. 

He dips a cotton boll into the small bowl of alcohol on the counter, starting to gently dab on the cuts scattered across your knuckles and cheeks. Steve wants to ask why you were in such a state when he found you, but he knows better than to pry. He knows that before anything else, he’s supposed to be there for you—to listen.

“I miss them,” you mumbled. 

“I know. I miss them too.”

You glanced up at him with glassy eyes, and his heart shatters all over again. “Do you think we could get them back?"

“Of course. There’s always hope.”

“...You really think so?”

“Ever since you came into my life, I never stopped. Hoping, that is.” Steve cleared his throat. “If we can find a reason to keep going, then I don’t see why we can’t achieve anything we want.”

You cracked a small smile at his words, and he reached up and gingerly wiped away the remnants of your tears. When his hand finds its place against your cheek, you place your own hand over it—and let it stay.

You were ready to go. You were planning to leave for good, but seeing his piercing yet gentle blue eyes and breathtaking smile pushed you to stay. If you couldn’t keep going for yourself, you had to at least do it for him. 

And so you did.

...

general tags: @arkofblake @anakinswhore @captainchrisstan @naomiiiiiiiiiii04 @patzammit @rynhaswritersblock @capcapcapsicle @musicalkeys @buckybarnesthehotshot @zaddychris @optimistic-dinosaur-nacho @sylvie-writes @sis-it-dont-add-up @poesflygirl 

permanent tags: @sandwitch-god @renaissancecherub @voguesir​ @fl0ating​ @cicicantblog​ 

steve/chris tags: @speechlessxx​ @angrybirdcr​ @marvelfanatic16​ @epiphanybucky​ @smokeandnailz​

[chrysalispen]

Prompt #4 - Clinch [NSFW]

AO3 Link HERE. Response under cut.

======

"Stop it, Garlond."

"Stop what?"

"Stop stealing the covers." A violent yank upon the insulated woolen blanket. "There's a blizzard out, in case you hadn't noticed."

The other boy sat up, squinted at him... and rolled his eyes.

"Go back to sleep, Scaeva," Cid grumbled.

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he curled himself back into a roll of the coverlet until all that was visible in the near-blackness of this remote corner was a tuft of platinum-colored hair. 

Nero bas Scaeva scowled at his rival -- what he could see of him, anyway. 

It was the middle of the night; the lecture hall was dark and silent and the wind screamed around the eaves of the building. All that was visible in the fogged-over windowpanes was frost and sleet, tightly packed into the corners of each steel frame, and the waves of ice and snow carried in each bracing gust that rattled the glass. 

The headmaster had deemed the inclement weather too dangerous to allow the students to leave, for one could not even see to the next building in the storm, and it would be as much as one's life was worth to make the attempt. This was the third night in a row they'd been snowed and/or iced in, and Nero had managed only a few hours of broken sleep for waking up freezing cold and exposed to the elements. Meanwhile Cid would be lying next to him, deeply and happily asleep and curled in a tight ball in all of the lined and insulated cover he'd rolled into over the night.

Also he whip-kicked regularly. And he had cold feet.

On top of all his other failings, Cid bas Garlond was also a dirty blanket thief stealing precious warmth and Nero was too tired to even make the barest attempt at civility.

He reached over with both hands and savagely yanked a corner of the blanket back.

"What-hey!"

"It's cold and you're hogging the blanket."

Cid fixed him with a murderous glare before he pulled on the blanket with all his might.

Nero, not expecting more than token resistance and refusing to yield his corner of the blanket, collapsed with a yelp. His weight rolled into the blanket until the pair were tangled and submerged in fabric, and it was then their fight began in earnest, scuffling and wrestling and spitting insults at each other as each tried to gain dominance and win the blanket tug-of-war.

"Insufferable prig!"

"Arrogant ass!"

The dull smack of a fist against a jaw.

"Is that all you have?" Nero sneered. "You punch like an asthmatic toddler, Cidolfus."

"Shut up," Cid spat. "If I liked I could beat you blindfolded."

"With those overcooked noodles for arms? I doubt it."

"You-"

"Oi! Garlond! Scaeva!"

The pair of students froze mid-clinch: Cid with his hands wrapped around Nero's throat, Nero with a handful of Cid's linen undershirt in one fist. They stared at each other, then squinted through the weave of the blanket.

"The rest of us are trying to sleep," continued the disgusted voice, one that belonged to a classmate. "Knock off your lovers' spat or I'm waking up the professor!"

Cid cleared his throat.

"Sorry," he said.

"Right, sorry," Nero echoed.

No response save a grunt, a rustle, and silence. 

Suddenly the entire situation struck them both as absurdly trivial. Their scowls relaxed into grins, and Nero wasn't sure which of them started laughing first.

~*~

"If you'd just sit still for two seconds so I could get this bloody knot untangled-"

"Fuck's sake," it felt almost impossible to keep himself quiet with his breathing a harsh and erratic rasp, heartbeat muffled as though someone had shoved cotton bolls in his ears, "would you hurry up, Garlond-"

"Nineteen summers old and you haven't changed a bloody bit."

"What," Nero managed, “is that supposed to mean?”

"I mean you still run your mouth too much." Cid's knuckles brushed over his rigid length, confined as it was within a pair of breeches that at this moment felt tight enough to crush him, and Nero groaned between clenched teeth, careless of anything but the immediacy of his own need. His stomach was a solid wall of tension and his cock throbbed in time with his pulse, a slow trickle of slick warmth leaking against his belly and into his smalls. "Patience is a virtue, you know."

"Patronizing me with one of your daddy's lectures,” his hands gripped Cid’s wrists, slender hips rocking in slow thrusts to meet only empty air (much to his present frustration), “such a romantic gesture."

"You're the one who's gone and tied double knots in leather, somehow," came Cid's retort. His breaths, hot and trembling, came in ragged hefts of heat against Nero's shoulder. "If you want me in your pants so badly, maybe don't make getting into them a heroic challenge."

Nero laughed, a thin and trembling thing. The woolen blanket over their heads was paper-thin and anyone would be able to hear even though they'd dragged themselves into one of the maintenance closets. As much as he wanted to curse and cry out the risk was too much.

Another useless tug. He shoved Cid’s hands away and began to work the belt loose. "Give over, I'll do it myself-"

"If you rip your pants we're *both* going to have some explaining to do."

"We'll be wearing robes over our clothes for the graduation ceremony anyroad," he growled, yanking the belt back and forth. "I'd rather explain ripped breeches than-"

The overtaxed belt, a secondhand item already worn by years of use, snapped beneath his demanding fingers. 

He scrabbled desperately at the buttons until they gave and he was able to tug his pants, smalls and all, down to mid-thigh in one graceless force of motion. Nero spared a quick and triumphant smirk, one interrupted by a soft and sibilant hiss when the cold air sent gooseflesh prickling down his legs.

"Told you I'd manage fine without help."

"I just loosened them for you," Cid said with a laugh, blue eyes alight with amusement before one of those arms (strong arms, Nero thought distantly, watching the smooth flex of muscle beneath pale flesh) pinned him to the cold ground. There was no space heater in the supply closet and he winced at the sensation of cold slate against his bare back-

-and forgot all about it in the next breath, his mind and soul a hot and perfect void of cogent thought when the wet and agile heat of Cid's tongue lapped with deliberate languor from base to tip and he was engulfed in his lover's mouth.

Limbs grappled in wool, body wrapped in warmth.

~*~

It's too quiet.

The Crystal Tower slept once again, and Nero tol Scaeva stood alone, gazing across the trench and up at the spires reaching for the heavens like fingers.

Such a beautiful sight, one not beheld by the eyes of man for thousands of years. The sheer scale of it was majestic and overwhelming and somehow so unnecessary, he thought. Xande's little thumb of the nose, perhaps. A tangible symbol of his defiance of his own nature. Just part and parcel of his attempt to become as a god-king, timeless and eternal. No such thing existed for the children of man, finite and ephemeral as life was - not that this had stopped the last Allagan Emperor from making the attempt.

Memory, black and ominous, fluttered errant at the fringes of his perception. Resolutely he pushed it down, carefully compartmentalized like crumbling files in an old drawer. 

G’raha Tia would have shut the doors on himself by now. Periwinkle-blue eyes, brittle and distant, watched the facets reflect the coral-tinged light of the sunrise, refracted light glittering with a diamond-like brilliance along each gleaming edge. Will the passing of time dull your power to remember us, I wonder, should anyone ever manage to open those doors and rouse you?

He couldn't countenance it, this strange sorrow and guilt he felt. All for a man he barely knew, and the fact he felt either of these things at all for a man who was, after all, little more than an acquaintance?

It annoyed him deeply.

Eyes still fixed upon the overly elaborate mausoleum - a fitting tomb for an emperor, he thought vaguely - he removed the aetherometer from his pocket.

Time was a funny sort of thing. Once there would have been a time in which the aftermath of his choices would have proven too much for him to bear alone, and Nero would have found himself standing in front of Garlond's tent, seeking entrance to that bedroll, pride clutched like an old blanket in arms that trembled with his own internal weakness.

Time was, he thought. 

But time had passed for him and for Garlond, like ice-melt under the remnants of a broken bridge. And many of those old passions, he found, the old and violent desperate, had cooled alongside his rancor.

Against the glare of the rising sun his eyes fell shut.

His hand gripped the aetherometer in a tight clinch, cold metal and glass digging into his fingers - and then relaxed, balancing its weight in his palm before he flung it into the waiting maw of the trench.

The light of a new day awaited.

[nadana-vhet]

Prompt 12: Tooth & Nail

Rating: Teen? cw violence I did not mean for this to get so angsty I’m sORRY.

-----------------------------------------------

“Your friends were a disappointment. But you – you will entertain me, will you not?”

N’adana readied her shield as Zenos approached her, vision closing in as she focused solely on her opponent. Her surroundings quickly blurred around him – the burning of Rhalgar’s Reach, the smell of smoke and blood, the presence of Alisaie and Pippin flanking her as they prepared to fight with her.

But all she could see was him.

He did that to Shtola.

N’adana charged forward with a fierceness her friends had scarcely seen before. Her blade clashed with Zenos’s, no room for error on either side of the fight. Watching them fight was like being in a trance – blades moved faster than you could keep track, both blocking and parrying each other in a deadly dance.

“I have no need for this rabble,” he spat, knocking the three of them back in opposite directions away from him. I am much more interested in you, he seemed to say as his predatory eyes practically burned a hole through her chest.

N’adana recovered quickly, the adrenaline coursing through her too strong to keep her down for more than a moment. “Alisaie, Pippin!”

“We’re fine – don’t worry about us!” she heard Alisaie call out, but she couldn’t see where she was. Her vision was still focused on Yae Galvus, who stalked towards her at a languid pace.

N’adana rushed towards him once more, and once she made contact she pushed all of her weight against her shield and into his chest. He used his sword to push back, knocking her to the ground and quickly trying to take a stab at her. She was fortunate enough to roll out of the way and stand once again, throwing herself at him again with no hesitation.

“Hm, yet you stand. Mayhap you have potential,” he growled, parrying her sword once again.

Despite all physical odds, N’adana pushed back furiously against every swing and stab he managed to throw at her.  Each parry and swing became like second nature to her – like fighting was breathing itself.

Her vision was going red by now, throwing every ounce of her being into her efforts to best Zenos Yae Galvus. “You killed them, you monster!” she screamed as she swung at him, “I will not let you live after what you’ve done!”

“Don’t stop now…” he purred, pleased at how easily the Warrior of Light quickly sank to such a bloodthirsty level of anger.

It was so easy to push her further down as she fought tooth and nail against him. She wasn’t deterred in the slightest, brushing off every hit or swipe like it was nothing. She slammed her tiny body against his chest so hard that he actually stumbled.

She wanted him dead in that moment. She wanted his being to be erased from very existence.

Before she could take advantage of his weakness, he pushed back, N’adana barely avoiding is counter.

“It would seem I misjudged you. This ends now.”

And then suddenly, N’adana was on the ground. The burning sky above her spun as she heard the heavy thud of footsteps approaching her.

The miqo’te tried desperately to stand, but he was upon her by the time she had gotten up to her knees. He slashed at her before she could pick up her sword again, cutting a gash straight through her breastplate and across her stomach.

“N’adana!” she heard a familiar voice call, but she couldn’t tell where it was coming from. All she could smell was smoke, all she could taste was blood, and all she could feel was searing pain.

“Pathetic.”

It was the last thing she heard before everything went dark.

 -----------------------------------------------------------

N’adana groaned as she came back into consciousness, and suddenly all she could hear was “oh, thank the gods you’re awake.”

She opened her eyes to see the twins sitting dutifully at her bedside in the infirmary of Rhalgar’s Reach. The light that threatened to blind her also let her know it was about midday, through the archways in the stone that lead outside.

“How are you feeling?” Alphinaud leaned forward, pushing her back down onto the cot as she tried to sit up.

“Like shit,” she managed, though she didn’t know how, since her mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton bolls. “Is Shtola- “

“She’s recovering just fine,” Alisaie assured her, standing up and moving over to a table where she began to pick out pieces of bread and cheese before bringing them back over and putting the plate next to the bedside table. “Eat when you’re ready. I’m sure you’re hungry – you’ve been out for two days.”

“Two days?” N’adana groaned, this time pushing away Alphinad’s hands as she forced herself to sit up. Her stomach growled as she picked up the plate of bread and cheese, suddenly too hungry to restrain herself as she shoved a piece of cheese in her mouth.

Alphinaud nodded, “You collapsed after helping some of the wounded, assumedly from loss of blood. It may have just been the fact that I was preoccupied with healing others, but it didn’t even seem that you were as injured as you were.” He went on to explain how there was now a nasty new scar across her stomach and ribs, but he did his best to minimize the damage as much as possible. “Let me go get you some soup, I’m sure you’ll want something more substantial than that,” he smiled softly at her, squeezing her hand gently before he got up.

Once Alphinaud was out of earshot, Alisaie leaned forward and lowered her voice. “So, about that fight with Zenos,” she bit her lip as if she were nervous. Worried. “The way you were fighting, I… I’ve never seen you fight like that before. It was as if you were-“

“Just like him?”

“That’s not what I was going to- “

“I know, it’s just…” N’adana hung her head, catching herself with her hand and rubbing her forehead, “When I saw what he did to Shtola, everything just… went red. I had this uncontrollable urge to rip him limb from limb, to destroy his very being.”

Alisaie frowned, leaning back in her chair and propped her chin in her hands as she thought on her friend’s words. “I suppose I’m simply surprised. Sometimes I forget that you are prone to the same emotions as we are.”

N’adana’s cheeks felt hot, “What, like I’m not a person? That because I’m the Warrior of Light that I should just be this perfect, flawless- “

“That’s not what I meant!”

N’adana went quiet as her eyes began to burn with tears, turning away from Alisaie to wipe them away.

“N’adana-“

“No one thinks about how I feel, do they? I’m expected to be this perfect hero with no flaws, ready to fight for Eorzea without a moment’s notice. No one notices when I’m angry, or uncomfortable, or sad, or… tired.” She sighed. Suddenly she was very tired. “I’m tired, Alisaie. I’m tired of being treated like I have to be this perfect person, just because I’ve killed a few primals or whatever.” She didn’t bear to look back, keeping herself turned away as she continued to sniffle and wipe tears from her cheeks.

Alisaie was quiet for a few moments, the only sound between them the sniffling of a scared, lonely child. Before she could speak again, Alphinaud returned with the soup he had promised.

“I’m back with – what happened?” he looked at his sister, who looked to be the guilty party. “Alisaie, what did you do?” Alphinaud hissed at her.

“I believe I’ve something to attend to.” The red mage muttered lamely, standing up and stalking off before N’adana managed the courage to turn back around.

Alphinaud tried to comfort N’adana about an argument he knew nothing about, but she didn’t give him anything to help his case. She simply thanked him for the soup and ate it quietly, avoiding his eyes as he waited to see if she opened up.

She didn’t.

Once Alphinaud left to find his sister (presumably for answers), N’adana simply rolled over and fell back asleep, trying to remember what it was like before she felt like everything and everyone depended on her.

[bettycooperoutfitwatch]

4x03 Chapter Sixty: Dog Day Afternoon

What an episode. Maybe in my top 5 Riverdale eps? It’s possible. I’ve never thought about ranking tho. 

The bright raspberry color of this skirt reminds me of the wool one she wore a few times in season 2. But this is a denim mini with a raw hem. 

We also saw Betty in a number of rainbow-trimmed sweaters in season 3 (see 309 or 310.) So this outfit is very par for the course. She pairs it with some floral kicks she’ll wear throughout the ep (different from the floral sneakers she wore in 401. Keep an eye out for motifs.)

Please recall the last time Betty stepped out in this sweater—in 322, she was under the ‘protection’ of the Farm while trying to get to the bottom of their nefarious schemes. And she was successful! She found out they were harvesting organs! This sweater has a proven track record!

But it’s also a sweater in which she gets captured and detained twice, so. Mixed history. 

Betty’s had this teal phone case since the beginning of the show, but this is the first time I recall seeing Alice’s phone (which Edgar has confiscated.) I love that they match, it’s a nice subtle link between the two of them when they’re so distanced. Nice visual storytelling. 

Star studs. 

Polly, still in a headband.  

Girlfriend hot-wires a bus!!!!! What a legend.

Here I must shout-out, yet again, the ever useful @riverdaleclothing​ & @riverdalefashion​, without whom we would not know that this print bomber is reversible, and that we’ve indeed already seen it before, in 320.

Why she chooses to wear a pale pink jacket on a fairly covert mission? Let’s not examine it too deeply.

What a thoughtful shot of the high-tops, thank you camera team!

The flowers almost look like cotton bolls. 

(Notably NOT Ms. Grundy’s gun.) 

The reference Riverdale is making here is really overt, and we all sort of knew it the moment we saw the promo photos.   

But it didn’t make sense to me until we find out that these are Evelyn’s clothes. Betty doesn’t plant bombs, she defuses them (l i t erally, in this episode.) But Evelyn’s a true believer of the Farm. She’s (ostensibly) about to drive this bus off a cliff, Farmies in tow and Alice & Betty strapped to the front to dissuade the FBI (or fucking Gov. Dooley’s mercenaries??) from opening fire. Whatever—what I’m saying is she’s all in on the Farm. 

And Patty Hearst was (seemingly) all in on the Symbionese Liberation Army—well, this is the topic of like nearly 50 years of debate, and we’re not gonna get to the bottom of it in a tumblr post about Betty Cooper’s wardrobe. I’d recommend Jeffrey Toobin’s American Heiress, if you’re interested.

The Farm’s turn towards the militaristic allows the wardrobe dept. to delve into some slightly different late 60s/early 70s trends than we’ve seen so far. The Farm can no longer pretend they’re innocent flower children, we’ve seen their organ-stealing truth. 

It’s a lot of paisleys and woven knits, until suddenly you’re on lock-down in an abandoned hotel and people are getting their fingers cut off. Then it’s all civilian military chic and Faye Dunaway doing Bonnie Parker.  

Just some beret and stealth-hair appreciation. 

The ☮️ is *chef’s kiss*  I recently learned the history of the peace sign! Here, edify yourself.

I...just need this to be here, that’s all. On this post. Riverdale Wardrobe Team, you astound me. 

Here’s a picture of Evel Knievel for you, to really drive it home. 

(Fckn cute.)

Betty’s a repeat wearer of pajamas (as most humans are, granted.) 

The lettuce-edge shirt made its debut in 302, but the whole outfit (pink shorts included) showed up in 309.

Queen of Cozy Socks. 

Ru-roh.

Analog. And I didn’t even bring up the rocket. 

Summary: Four outfits—including one 'borrowed’ wholesale from Evelyn

Backpack 2.0?: No backpack!

Best outfit: I’m fond of purple sweater (does she leave it at the hotel??? RIP), but we’ll give this one to Patty Hearst

[claihn]

She stared down at her toes and curled them in the sand to feel the squishy sensation. It was the only thing she could do to help channel out her nervous energy. The lapping waves threatened to touch her feet and towards the rocky part of the coastline she could hear them thundering against the jagged cliff side. Cotton boll clouds peppered the blue sky above while flitting gulls cried in their flight.  Kini tried to smooth out her pastel yellow dress, but the breeze enjoyed undoing her efforts. It was just a simple garment with thin straps and no embellishments, but it was new. That made it special enough for her and this day. This was the day she was going to officially meet her brother. It wasn’t that she’d never seen A’khato before, but it had always been passing glimpses. Outside of family gatherings or holidays, in which her time was still limited, A’kini spent all of her time practicing her magic and learning the proper way of things from her teacher or whoever was available. Even if she wasn’t always busy, when she was done the small child was bade to stay inside or wherever she’d been last left.  Meanwhile, her brother was busy doing a little bit of everything as far as she understood.  He was talented, smart, strong and incredibly remarkable- everything that Kini was not. He had studies just like her, but they were more plentiful and of a grander scope. Not to mention all the physical training, hunting and tribal affairs he also had to attend. Kini was very aware how much everyone in her tribe did and just as sharply she felt the great weight of what that meant in regards to her own existence. If it weren’t for A’khato, then she might never have been allowed to remain. At least, that was what was repeatedly told to her. She had to learn well and quickly in order to be as useful as possible to him and to never be a burden. This was her place in the tribe. It was her birthright, if she’d any rights at all. “Hello sister.”   Her gaze snapped up to find A’khato standing directly in front of her with a wolfish grin upon his young face. Despite only being a handful of years her senior, they were in the age gap where he had already began to hit a growth spurt and easily towered above her petite form. Wild, thick black hair hung around his shoulders to frame his fierce, slitted golden eyes that seemed to carry the weight of all of his being behind them. “H-hi b-brother!”   A’kini felt her throat tighten and she nearly stared at his feet instead before catching herself. Her blue gaze forced itself to look up at his own and for a moment, the two siblings eyed each other in silence while the world chattered around them. His footsteps within the sand showed that he’d come out from around a large boulder, likely quickly in order to sneak up on her when he’d noticed she wasn’t paying attention. “Isn’t this the part where you kiss my feet? Worship the ground I walk upon? Confess your love and undying loyalty? I know they’ve told you everything they think about me and my place here. I’m going to be our future King and you’re my servant.”  His smirk widened and he took a step closer, invading her personal space while his tail lashed energetically behind him. “A special little servant made just for me.” “S-sorry!” Her right ear flattened and her unscarred features wrinkled into a grimace. This time she couldn’t help but lock her gaze at his feet, which were wrapped in dark, loose sandals unlike her own bare ones. Her stomach twisted and she found herself struggling to comprehend exactly how she felt about the moment. Afraid? Excited? Anxious? Did her feelings matter? “Look up at me.” His hand cupped her chin and he twisted her head to the side, examining her profile while her own azure eyes attempted to obey. Her tail was completely still and both ears were twisted back now.  “If I told you to go swim out into the ocean until you drowned, would you?” “Y-yes!” Kini stammered out, although her owlish eyes widened in fear that he might decide to do exactly that. Instead, A’khato barked out a laugh and released her. His pearl of laughter gave way to a purr before he crossed his arms and bore into her with another stare. Even though he was still a young boy, the Seeker exuded confidence and unrivaled knowledge of his place in the world.  “You’re not trash yet, Kini. They have no idea what I really want, so I guess it’s only natural they’d fail to teach you properly. So I’ll do it. Maybe it’ll be fun. You just better learn everything fast, because I’ll kill you myself if you’re nothing but an eyesore. Got it?” A’kini quickly nodded, biting her lower lip as she struggled not to let herself cry. Her brother noticed and let out a derisive snort, rolling his eyes before he reached into his pocket. He pulled out a thin bangle of rose gold that was adorned with a small jingle bell of a similar hue. The entire piece was rather simplistic, but his intelligent eyes glimmered with understanding at what this would mean to someone like Kini. A’kini, who not once had ever earned herself a piece of jewelry or the honor to wear anything upon her body. “I have a gift for you if you pass the first lesson.”  A’khato twirled the small looped accessory on his finger.  “I don’t want your dirty lips touching my feet, so instead let’s see you bow.”

[[ Writing Challenge #17 | Obeisant ]]