#it's been with me since... nov..ember?

[bukashki]

Is it true I'm an eagle? Is it true I can spread my wings?

Flying high, high, I'm a bird in the sky I'm an eagle that rides on the breeze High, high, what a feeling to fly Over mountains and forests and seas, And to go anywhere that I please

ABBA - Eagle (flashing video)

close-up:

they have their weapons ready but i think they're actually just going to kiss next second. sigh

[jplupine]

Primal Pred!Grimmjow x Prey!Reader

Pairing: Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez x AFAB Reader Word Count: ~4.6k Date Published: Nov 25, 2023 WARNINGS: 18+ Minors/Ageless get blocked, Exophilia, Established Relationship, Size Difference, Primal Play, Marking, Light Blood/Injury, Cunnilingus, Outdoor Sex, Feral Behavior, Name Calling [Asshole, Bitch, Kitty Cat], Creampie, Brat!Reader; Reader is AFAB but no gender is specified, Terms such as pussy/cock/dick/etc. get used

A/N: The follower milestone fic is finally finished! I want to thank everyone who participated in the event and everyone kindly supporting me ^-^ <3

  The crackling fire danced in the pit surrounded by pale stones. The shadows swayed with the light flickering shades of orange and white. Insects of the night called out their chorus from the darkness beyond the fire.

  You sat on a log with your fingers wrapped around a warm cup of coffee. It wasn't quite the same as what you brewed at home, but it did add a bit of comfort as you sipped it. The atmosphere was relaxing and made you glad you'd decided to go on a camping trip to get away from the bustle of work and city life.

  The dark night sky littered with glittering stars and the moon shining bright were so unlike the sky hidden by street lights back home. It was breathtaking.

  And given it was still in the transition time between summer and autumn, it wasn't too warm nor too cold out. You'd checked the weather forecast before heading out into the woods too, and it was supposed to remain like this for the next few days you were out there.

  An owl screeched in the distance before a stick in the fire snapped, sending embers up into the night sky as if they were trying to join the stars.

  You closed your eyes to just listen to the world around you; soaking it in while bringing the coffee to your lips. No sound of speeding cars. No foul smells from rotting garbage or fumes from exhaust pipes. And certainly no manager or boss nagging about work.

  It was bliss.

  You sighed and opened your eyes again. Glancing around, you began to wonder where your camping partner was. He'd gone off to stretch his legs, but that had been some time ago now.

  Looking into the shadows of the trees, you tried to see if you could spot him. You weren't all that worried since you knew he could take care of himself, but that didn't stop you from wondering when he'd come back. Taking another drink of your coffee, you stretched out your legs in front of you.

  However, as the fire popped and crackled, the woods began to feel different. The hair on the back of your neck stood on end as unease began to settle in. Something was wrong, but you couldn't tell what.

  Your heart began to beat faster as you sensed something you couldn't see.

  A low, thunderous rumble shook the air and made you jolt. It was hard to tell where the sound was coming from with how it bounced through the trees surrounding your campsite.

  Sitting up straight with your eyes darting around, you still didn't see anything. It sounded like an animal; big and dangerous. Slowly setting down your coffee, you reached into your pocket to grab your knife.

  It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing as the blade flipped out from the handle. Gradually rising to your feet, your grip on the knife tightened while your heart was pounding.

  You could feel eyes on you. Whatever the beast was, it was certainly watching you. Swallowing, you hoped the fire was enough to keep the thing in the shadows.

  Hearing a twig snap, your gaze shot in the direction of the sound. Eyes reflecting the fire's light shined from the darkness. Another rumbling growl came from the same direction as the eyes, and your heart beat faster.

  The eyes went lower, and you had a feeling the beast was getting ready to pounce. Brandishing your knife, the creature in the shadows seemed to hesitate as light shined against the blade. The eyes in the dark locked with yours before there was a loud rush of wind.

  The fire was blown out, leaving you surrounded in complete darkness until your eyes could adjust. You couldn't yet see but heard movement ahead of you.

  The beast was closing in.

  You ran and nearly tripped over the log if you hadn't caught yourself from falling. As you ran, your eyes became more accustomed to the night, allowing you to run through the trees faster. A roar that shook you to the bone silenced the rest of the woods, sending the other creatures into hiding to avoid getting caught.

  With your heart loudly pounding in your own ears, you nearly screamed when something grabbed your shoulder only to swing the knife instead. You felt the blade make contact before the beast roared. Everything happened so fast that you only saw a flash of fangs in the moonlight and claws before the knife was sent flying out of your hand. You heard it thunk as the blade was buried deep into a tree trunk.

  You didn't think twice, going into survival mode to run even faster.

  "Bitch!" A barked, angry voice made you nearly stumble. No, you must have misheard. You still didn't stop. When a fallen tree blocked your path, you vaulted over it and hoped it would deter the beast.

  However, as your legs carried you further, you could still feel the thing behind you, chasing you. What made it more terrifying were the sounds; the growling and snapping of sharp teeth like the razor point edges of scissors grinding against each other.

  You knew it was getting closer and were already picturing in your head how it would tear you apart once it caught you.

  You were grabbed from behind, getting jerked back by your jacket. Crying out from shock, you struggled and unzipped your jacket to slip out of the garment. The beast held onto the jacket as you scrambled away and managed to get distance.

  Looking back, you saw the creature as it stood a few yards away. Its body was lean and pale with a long tail whipping around behind it. It was bipedal with muscled limbs and long hair past their waistline. And your jacket was clutched in its hands while being pressed against the beast's face.

  When it looked at you, your breath caught in your throat. Those glowing eyes were set in a face that was all too human.

  It wasn't an animal. It wasn't human, either.

  "Grimmjow! You scared the shit out of me, you fucking asshole!"

  "I know. I can smell it." His face then lifted from your jacket with a displeased expression. "And you cut me, fucker." Grimmjow's low voice growled, and your eyes drifted to his cheek where there was dried blood but no wound.

  "It's already healed, you big baby." You retorted with a huff. His tail twitched as his gaze traveled over your face. Grimmjow's lips curled up into a vicious grin with his fangs exposed.

  "Why are you still standing all the way over there? Aw, are you mad?" His tone was mocking, and your hands balled into fists at your sides.

  "Yes, I'm mad!" You angrily pointed at the Arrancar without taking a step closer. "You made me think I was about to get eaten!"

  "I mean," Grimmjow cocked his head to the side as his ears perked up. His slit pupils widened a slight fraction, eyelids lowering just a bit as he looked over your body. "I never said I wasn't going to eat you."

  His tone and hungry gaze sparked something deep in your gut. Grimmjow's tail curled as he shifted his weight on his digitigrade legs, his paws so quiet when he took a step closer. You took a step back, maintaining the distance between you two.

  Grimmjow stopped to look at you again as the hunger in his eyes intensified. He slowly licked his lips like a beast would its maw.

  You knew the Arrancar well enough by now to recognize when the predator within him was stirring. You also knew if you made any sudden movement, he just might pounce and take you down like prey.

  The air felt electrified as you two just stared at one another, eyes locked as unspoken words lingered at the forefront of your mind. Grimmjow brought your jacket to his face again, making a show of inhaling your scent with a soft purr rumbling in his chest.

  You still didn't move. The Arrancar was on a precarious edge, and you weren't entirely sure what he would do next.

  Grimmjow suddenly threw your jacket to the side and lunged forward. You reacted as soon as you saw him move, turning to run as he landed where you had been standing just a second prior. He was on his hands and paws like a beast, watching you as you went around a tree.

  His instincts made his blood run hot through his veins, and you could feel those piercing eyes trailing after you. You'd set off the predator and ran like prey.

  The hunt was on.

  The bestial call that rang out through the trees made your heart beat faster as you weaved through the trees. Excitement and fear mingled together and fueled your legs to carry you further. Not knowing what he might do if he caught you had your mind racing with the possibilities.

  Skidding around a boulder, you changed directions. Running in a straight line would make it easier for Grimmjow to track you down, and you didn't want that.

  You'd learned to shift your weight and posture to make your steps quieter over the ground littered with dead leaves and did so now. You were going to do everything within your power to make this as difficult as possible for Grimmjow.

  Grabbing your beanie, you rubbed it against your neck to make your scent on it stronger before you threw it into the bushes. You went in the opposite direction in the hopes of confusing Grimmjow even if just for a moment.

  Panting, you hid behind a large tree surrounded by plants tall enough to cover you as you crouched. Leaning one hand against the trunk of the tree, you tried to catch your breath. Hearing a growl in the distance made you smirk.

  Going lower, you pressed your body down against the earth to look out from under the foliage without giving your position away. The moon and stars cutting through the trees gave you enough light to see beyond where you were hidden.

  Taking slow, deep breaths, your eyes scanned the woods. Far away, you spotted movement. Through the trees, you could see Grimmjow as spots of moonlight danced over his body.

  The Arrancar was still on his hands and paws, muscles rolling beneath his skin-tight clothing as his movements were reminiscent of a big cat. His tail swayed with his head held level with his spine and nose twitching as he scented the air.

  Watching him thrilled you. He was neither man nor beast and didn't care about keeping up appearances of either, and you liked that. You liked how he could posture and smirk like a man, and you also liked how he would act like an animal as he pursued you.

  It certainly appealed to a primal part of your brain in a way you didn't fully understand. You should be terrified of his power and destructive capabilities, but seeing how his feral eyes and silky hair shined in the moonlight as he crouched left you enamored.

  With Grimmjow crouching where he was, you could see the muscles in his thighs bunching beneath his clothes. You covered your mouth and nose to muffle the sound of your breathing as his furry ears began to swivel. He was listening to the woods around him, picking up sounds in several directions that his ears moved in.

  His eyes closed with his head tilting back. Grimmjow's fingers flexed with his daunting claws catching the moonlight. His head then rolled to the side, his eyes snapping open as he looked right at you with a grin.

  Your hair stood on end as the predator twisted and moved in your direction. Scrambling to your feet, you kicked up leaves and dirt before bolting to keep the chase going.

  You ran faster even as your muscles and lungs burned. Grimmjow roared, letting you know that he was closing the distance and fast.

  Something caught your foot, sending you tumbling across the ground right as the beast went flying overhead. Tripping over a root had saved you from being caught again.

  Grimmjow landed ahead of you and twisted with claws digging into the earth. Locking eyes with him as you pushed yourself up, your fingers sank into the soil beneath you. His tail whipped from side to side as you both were in similar positions on all fours, waiting for one or the other to make a move.

  You couldn't look away, panting as you tried to think of what to do next. Grimmjow's slit pupils widened as his top lip curled to bare a mouth full of fangs with a maniacal grin.

  He made the first move, lunging forward with a flex of his thighs and biceps. You reared back in an attempt to get away only to fail. He was faster, but you weren't giving up so easily.

  Grabbing a nearby fallen branch, you swung it like a bat and hit him across the face. He reared back with a vicious yowl while flashing his fangs. When his head swung back down, you used the branch to keep those sharp teeth away from you, already knowing how much of a biter the bastard was.

  His growling vibrated through the branch and up your arms as his fangs sank into the wood. Claws tore through the sleeves of your shirt as you struggled to get him off you. He was so strong, keeping you trapped like a mouse beneath him.

  Your pounding heart sent adrenalin rushing through your veins while you watched his long canines vanish into the branch as it creaked from the force of his jaws. His bite was powerful enough to break through the wood and sent a rain of splinters falling over you.

  His big hands grabbed your wrists and pinned them against the ground by your head. Kicking against the ground, you still fought to get free only to fail. His fangs snapped right in front of your face as you screamed, sounding more angry than afraid.

  "Got ya." Grimmjow sounded amused, but you snarled and moved to punch him. However, his strength was far greater than yours, keeping your hands firmly against the ground. "Mm, yeah. Keep struggling. I like it when my prey puts up a fight."

  He was mocking you, but you knew he was telling the truth all the same. Perhaps it was a part of the Hollow nature within Grimmjow that made him enjoy subduing you in such a way. It was domination through force when you put up a fight and didn't let him have you so easily.

  And this appealed to you as well. While you couldn't fight back the way another Hollow might, you also knew you didn't have to hold back as much with him not being human.

  Locking your legs around his waist, you twisted to switch your positions. Grimmjow fell on his back while still holding your wrists. The momentum kept going as you both rolled across the ground with him snarling and growling.

  You managed to wrench one hand free and grabbed the folded collar around most of his neck to yank it back. More of his scarred chest was exposed along with part of his shoulder and the side of his neck, and you sank your teeth into the muscle now bared. Claws tore through the side of your shirt as Grimmjow yowled.

  He roughly forced you onto your stomach, using his weight against your back to pin you down as he fisted your hair and made you bare the back of your neck. His breath was hot against your skin before his fangs scraped over your neck, causing goosebumps to rise even as he bit down. Grimmjow ground his hips against your ass as his chest rumbled.

  He had you now. With his sharp teeth clamped against your neck hard enough to cause small beads of blood to form, there was no more getting away. His erection pressed against you through the layers of clothes you both wore, letting you know just how worked up the Arrancar had gotten.

  You knew Grimmjow could smell your arousal and could hear the quick beating of your heart. Those two things in combination never failed to drive his instincts wild.

  His warm tongue lapped up the blood from the back of your neck as he purred. The sound of ripping fabric met your ears before you realized he was tearing through your shirt.

  "Grimmjow!" You snapped at him, but the garment was already ruined and being shoved over your shoulders. You didn't actually mind it; the action aroused you more, but you didn't want to give in just yet.

  "Pick your next words carefully." His voice was breathy with a warning tone as he spoke near your ear. His hands went down your sides to roughly grab the waistband of your jeans.

  "Or what? You'll bite me again?" You spoke while lifting your hips to push your ass against him more. "Try me, fucker." Getting your hands under you, you managed to undo the button and zipper of your pants, but Grimmjow tore his claws through the material while shoving it down over your ass and legs.

  You kicked off your shoes to let him take the last shreds of your pants off. They were tossed to the side without a care. Grimmjow then grabbed your hips to lift your ass higher into the air as you pushed your underwear down before he could get his claws on them.

  Grimmjow's hands went lower, spreading you open before eagerly burying his face between your thighs. His tongue lapped up your arousal with a low groan. Your breath faltered as you spread your knees further.

  You sucked your bottom lip between your teeth when his tongue dragged over your clit. His fangs brushed against your flesh as he pulled you closer to his hungry mouth. Grimmjow's claws pricked your skin before he let go.

  His lips and tongue were still on you, and based on his movement, you assumed he was undressing while still eating your pussy. You took in a sharp breath when he growled and the vibration was carried on his tongue. Your hips rocked back to chase the feeling, and Grimmjow grabbed your ass and squeezed.

  He was ravenous with his claws pricking your skin. By now, he knew what made you feel good and what could make you elicit the very sounds he wanted to hear. His growl shook you to the bone as wet sounds came from between your thighs.

  You were panting when his broad tongue swiped over your core before he pulled away. Grimmjow spit, his saliva landing on your pussy as your clit throbbed.

  One of his large hands grabbed your head to pin it against the ground, pressing your cheek into the dirt as the head of his cock slid between your wet lips. He mixed his spit in with your arousal while slicking up his dick. You could tell the Arrancar was eager from his unsteady breaths and his grip on you.

  When he finally pushed inside, you felt yourself stretching to accommodate his thickness. Grimmjow didn't go slow, thrusting deep until his hips hit your ass. You both grunted as your hands balled into fists.

  Looking over your shoulder, your gaze met Grimmjow's. Something in your eyes made his tail twitch.

  "You're being awfully impatient, kitty cat. You really that needy for me?" Your words made his nose scrunch up with a snarl. You had yet to truly submit to him even if your body had.

  Grimmjow fisted his hand in your hair, tugging on it to pull your head back and make you incapable of looking at him. His other hand grabbed your hip with his claws digging into your skin hard enough to leave marks. Without warning, he pulled out and thrust back in harshly, forcing a low moan from your throat.

  "Who the fuck are you calling kitty cat, bitch?" He growled, but you couldn't respond since he forced another moan from you. You'd pissed him off as intended, and he was going to fuck you into submission.

  He'd mistakenly believed the fight was over. Too bad that spark in you was harder to quell and you were certain to give the Arrancar attitude. He may have caught you, but he needed to earn your submission.

  Grimmjow let go of your hair to hold both of your hips, his heavy thrusts slamming his hips into your ass hard enough that you could feel the jiggle of your flesh. He was an animal pinning you in place as your mind swam with pleasure.

  You were moaning, crying out into the night as he grunted and drove his cock deeper.

  "Listen to you." You could hear the smile in his voice. "Now who's the needy one?" You didn't trust your voice enough to verbally respond and settled on raising your middle finger. Grimmjow then went for your throat, wrapping his big arms around you while forcing you to lay flat against the ground with his large hand curled around your neck.

  He still rutted against you as his hot breath hit the side of your head. This position meant he couldn't go as deep as before, but the angle had his cock ramming into the perfect spot to make you buck and writhe. Grimmjow chuckled as you struggled to contain yourself beneath him.

  "That's it." His voice rumbled near your ear before his firm grip on your neck tilted your head up. "Submit to your king." Your moan pitched higher as your eyes fluttered closed. His lips and teeth brushed against the shell of your ear as he panted, making you shiver.

  His grip on your throat tightened but remained loose enough that you could still freely moan. Grimmjow wanted to hear you cry out, every moan a form of worship that stroked his ego. He knew with how pliant you were in his hands now that you had given over control and submitted.

  You felt the sweat forming on your skin as fire burned through your veins. Grimmjow's heat and weight on your back made your head spin as the pleasure made you buck. He grabbed one of your wrists and pinned it to the ground, exerting more control over your body as you bent to his will.

  Being trapped beneath him, you took whatever he gave with enthusiasm. Each heavy thrust made you fall deeper into the pit of pleasure. Grimmjow's mouth moved to the back of your neck again, licking the bite he'd already left while nipping in other places.

  Your voice shook as your toes curled, and the deep groan the Arrancar made was bordering a growl. You panted curses under your breath as Grimmjow fucked you, ramming his cock into the spot that lit your nerves aflame and made you cry out his name.

  Grimmjow ran his tongue over the bites littering your skin as he savored every sound you made. How you clenched around him drove him further toward the edge. His strong grip on your throat with his claws scraping against your skin only fueled your desire.

  The sounds of skin slapping against skin filled the air. Grimmjow's growls mingled with your moans and carried through the trees and into the darkness of the woods. He buried his face into your hair, inhaling your scent and groaning low with his hips grinding against your ass. His dick dragged against your walls, rubbing against every spot that made you squirm and gasp and moan.

  The carnality was bliss. You gave yourself to him completely, leaning into his touch while your spine arched from the pleasure wracking through your body. Grimmjow released your wrist and throat to grab your hips as his weight on your back pushed you further against the earth.

  His claws scraped your skin as his thrusts picked up speed, his balls smacking against you with his frenzied pace. Grimmjow sank his teeth into your shoulder with a groan as your blood coated his tongue. You would always wear his mark so long as you were his.

  Grimmjow pistoning into your wet pussy created lewd, slicking sounds that drove him wilder. Your taste, your scent, how you felt around his cock, and how wet you were for him made Grimmjow's head fall into such a primal state of desire. He was drowning in you and unable to come up for air until he could cum.

  So he fucked you harder, chasing that high and that feral instinct screaming in his veins to fill you with his seed. Claiming his prey in every way he could left both of you unable to think straight. You were drooling with your fingers digging into the dirt, muscles tensing and rolling beneath your skin.

  Your bodies being flush against each other meant everything was felt. Every twitch, every heartbeat, every sound that vibrated from the chest and throat.

  Grimmjow left scratches over your hips as he tried to pull you even closer. It was impossible, but that didn't stop his pleasure-clouded mind from telling him he needed to. He moaned into your skin while thrusting his cock as deep as he could go.

  You cried out with your thighs shivering, and that was the final thing that made Grimmjow snap. With shallow thrusts and animalistic grunts, his cock began to twitch while pumping you full of his cum. He didn't stop, continuing to fuck you through his orgasm and drive his seed deeper into your core even as it overflowed and dripped down your thighs.

  Grimmjow released your shoulder from his jaws, groaning and licking the bite while his cum mixed with your arousal. He let go of one hip and slipped his hand under you to find your clit. Being mindful of his claws, he pressed his fingertips against the throbbing bud.

  You bucked and moaned an octave higher. Grimmjow let go of your other hip to grab your jaw and make you turn your head for a kiss. His tongue dove into your mouth without warning and glided across yours as he devoured your moans. He soon had you cumming around his cock as you clenched and cried out in pleasure.

  He didn't stop until you were whimpering and dancing on the line of overstimulation. He pulled away with his nose brushing through your hair before his lips traveled down your spine with kisses and gentle nips as he purred. You propped your upper half up on your elbows and wiped the drool from your chin.

  Your skin still buzzed despite feeling sated. Grimmjow pulled his cock free of your heat and spread you open to see the mess leaking from your pussy. He huffed and gave a satisfied purr that rumbled deep in his chest.

  You looked over your shoulder to see Grimmjow admiring you with a smirk on his soft lips and his pupils still blown wide. Biting your bottom lip, you couldn't help but give a sultry smile.

  Pushing yourself up, you turned to drape your arms over his shoulders and capture his lips in a hungry kiss. Grimmjow's tail thumped against the ground as he wrapped his arms around you and held you close.

  "Maybe next time we should start the hunt naked." You muttered with your lips only centimeters from his. "Jeans are expensive, you know?" Grimmjow chuckled, and his warm palm traveled up your back.

  "Yeah. 'Cause you're really so concerned about that." His smirk didn't falter even as he had a sarcastic tone. "I'll hunt you however, my sweet bitch." Grimmjow nipped your bottom lip while purring, and you yelped when his hand smacked against your ass hard enough to make it sting.

[phantomphangphucker]

Phic Phight - “Harder, Daddy”. “Son?!?” “🤨” Cont.

@bubblegumbeech @library-of-cronos @ghostboidanny @ecto-mochi @miss-nov @thegayonthemoon

Chap.5 Show Me To My Wonderland

It’s been a few days now and Danhy’s pretty sure Maddie and Jack and the school have more or less accepted shit, at least he wasn’t getting bombarded with questions anymore and Maddie and Jack had more or less settled into just acting like nothings changed. He doesn’t get called ‘son’ anymore and they still make little faces over the ‘aunty’ ‘uncle’ thing but otherwise no change. Meaning they’re not really okay with it but going along with it anyways. Because it’s easier? Because they don’t want to make things worse? Because they don’t care? Hard to say and he legit barely cares. They’re still being ‘family’ and Jazz seems pleased so it’s good.

Even if they definitely didn’t think Danhy would actually get himself a ride to his actual parents. The fucking chariot was goddamn overkill, the royalty thing was still wild. Maddie more than Jack were definitely upset since she’d been all ‘are you really going?’, and both of them had been stiff and weird when he got back; they also thought the ‘king’ and ‘god’ thing was bullshit Danhy was being fed to ‘impress’ him and make him like his parents more. He was pretty settled on spending most weekends at the Keep, hadn’t dragged Sam and Tuck along yet but eh. Sue him if he, and his parents, wanted some ‘just them’ bonding time, Jazz was entirely in favour of that, same with Sam and Tuck; Jack and Maddie didn’t get a say especially since he knew what their opinion was already.

… He won’t be too surprised if they kick him out at eighteen, that or they’ll get way better and get over their bigotry. One was waaaaay more likely.

Especially because the lack of a seal thing was definitely doing shit, the strength he was absolutely right on, but now he’s growling and shit at anything that annoyed him. Oh, he also literally felt more ego-y, proud; it was weird when he was used to, like, basically almost the opposite. Which probably actually kept said ego in check? His dad had an ego bigger than he physically was after all. Pops was more self assured and confident rather than ego and pride; the ghost literally knew everything so figures.

And Danhy absolutely can sense when ghosts show up in Amity even when he’s in the Infinite Realm! It feels different, as if the pull and sensation is in the distance rather than right there with him; still useful and chilled out his protectiveness though.

The Phantom PR on the other hand? Oof, exactly as he expected. There was a lot of ‘is Phantom turning evil!’ and ‘is ghost puberty a thing?’ And ‘It’s showing its true colours!’. Then someone actually had the smart idea to ask Danhy, aka the guy who is the kid of the fucking ghost king, you know, the guy Phantom flew off into the sky to fight? Danhy spun some bullshit about how Pariah found out that Phantom, by protecting the town, had effectively been protecting his son as well, and as a result knighted the ghost for his services. So as such Phantom’s physical change was one part power boost -meaning he could protect the town better. Which most folks were in favour of these days. Jack and Maddie were not impressed- and one part the effect of getting an official title from basically the most powerful ghost ever; that led into Danhy vaguely explaining that ‘yes ghosts have titles and roles’ and ‘yes ghosts have a hierarchy system’, which led to ‘yes ghosts have governments’ and ‘yes ghosts have laws’. Jack and Maddie thought he was being foolish for believing the ‘lies’ his actual parents were telling him, even though Danhy was able to actually see that shit in action in person repeatedly. Either way Amity actually seemed to view the ghosts a little more positively now, and one of the popular girls attempted to teach Phantom how to brush fire hair; Ember got involved, he now knew how to do a pretty solid pony tail. It looked weirdly good on him and he was heavily encouraged to grow his hair out some; which he was actually debating on doing.

Oh! And a dude who apparently served in the military had some words to say about Phantom actually having armour now and how stupid it was that he hadn’t already been wearing that kind of thing. That had been soooo awkward, him having to basically shout about ghost clothing and how only weird ghosts usually added to it. Then Red showed up shouting about him being a weird ghost himself, which was absolutely right, and started shooting at him.

She seemed super annoyed Phantom was more durable now. He laughed at her. She shot at him more aggressively. He teased her all the more. She eventually wore herself out and just outright asked him to keep an eye on ‘Danny’ for his safety because she trusted Phantom more than ‘that psycho and who ever’s crazy enough to get with said psycho’. Was it weird he was a little touched by that? Probably.

Regardless, apparently a week-ish of time was considered ‘enough’ to let him adjust and get to know them before dropping the ‘THE REIGN OF DARK HAS AN HEIR” shit on the Infinite Realm. Meaning now Danhy has to get publicly introduced and made official and shit. When he asked if his fraid, Jazz included, could come he’d been given a very firm ‘this is your place as a ghost, this is meant only for ghosts’ and a ‘they’ll be part of this realm in time, like many others, they can be part of this with you then’. Danhy was still a little miffed they couldn’t be around what was basically a literal crowning and Lion King style child show off.

Danhy groaning as the dressers basically drag him around, they couldn’t speak and Danhy didn’t ask why, but they could be very aggressive about shoving him in random clothing that was so much more excessive than his standard shit. Meaning now he’s got on a silly, in his opinion, kilt and set of freaking Loki-style horns over his standard ghost clothing. The random neck gear jewelry, skull cape clasps, and bracelets were ridiculous too, ditto with the Norse time and family runes? face paint; dagaz, jera, thurisaz, and kenaz; if he’s remembering names right. Gebo and Wunjo on the back of his hands, marking him as a ‘gift that brings them joy’; that was impossible not blush over. Talk about embarrassing, ugh. Also! His ears are pierced now! Or hole punched really! Stupidly more painful than he expected, and he was going to fiddle with it so much. One of the plugs had a valknut on it and the others got a gear cog; nice and very cool looking. Sam’s parents were gonna flip and Sam’s gonna love every second of it.

Danhy huffing a little as the dressers push him out of the dressing room and right into ol’ Frighty. The ghost seems pleased, “you look more theirs”.

“We’ll excuse me if I’m not going to start wearing face paint and jewelry all the time, ear things are awesome though”. The kilt thing he might adopt, during summer and all that; one part heritage, one part comfort (Danhy did, in fact, start wearing a kilt during summer. He actually got compliments on it too! Even Maddie and Jack thought it suited him). Either way he follows after the knight ghost, eventually hearing all the chatter.

“-has returned to us! Regardless of certain one’s feelings of displeasure over his existence!”.

Danhy mentally laughs at that.

“Our high kings mad wrath quelled as his young kin’s grown fiercely and become battle hardened far more than you fools! And these lands will be his as well in time! Let any dead before him tremble in his own strain of darkness and might! The dying to pay their tolls in blood and servitude, should it be desired!”.

Danhy does not want people’s blood, ew. Though fighting did kinda spill blood and stuff.

“You all exist within his high royal highnesses darkness and know that he is what all good and evil fear! Be blessed that you’re allowed to bask in further darkness! A Phantom of darkness!”.

Oh cool, the FrightKnight is now walk/floating Danhy out to the crowd of ghosts, some who are probably gods and shit. Danhy’s totally not nervous! Not at all! Not one little bit!

… Sweet Zone, was that ever a lie.

“Presenting! Danhy Phantom! Ling of the High Ghost Sovereign, God of Death, Pariah Dark! And of the Ancient Guardian God of Time, ClockWork!”.

The FrightKnight standing off to the side and behind as Danhy comes to stand in between his dad and pops; his dad standing further forward than his pops who’s floating. That made sense since this was a royal -holy shit he’s royalty, that still hasn’t quite set in- event.

“A being granted life to know death all the better! A being well thrived in light and darkness! To know both better!”.

All the servants or squires or whatever begin chanting:

“Darkness of youth!”

“Darkness of old!”

“Darkness that bind!”

“Darkness that hold!”

“A Flame in dark!”

“A Flame in light!”

“A Flame by thee!” 

“A Flame raised right!” 

“Darkness of truths!”

“Darkness of lies!”

“Darkness that sleeps!”

“Darkness that flies!” 

“A Flame in war!”

“A Flame in might!”

“A Flame by thee!”

“A Flame known by sight!”.

Pariah stabs his sword on the ground, “SILENCE!”; which obviously shuts everyone up. Gesturing a hand aggressively at Danhy, “YOU ARE BUT PUPPETS FOR WE! FOR OUR SOCIETY AT LARGE! OF MIGHT! YOU ARE BUT DISPENSABLE TOOLS! AND SO LONG AS WE REMAIN NOT AN ENEMY OF YOURS WE WILL BE ENEMIES OF ALL OTHERS! THOSE WHO OPPOSE OUR REIGN OR SEEK OUR END! WHETHER WE STALK TOWARDS THEM! A LOOMING DEATH! NOW OR FROM THE SHADOWS IN TIME’S FUTURE!”.

“HAIL!”.

Pariah turns to Danhy, who’s trying to not look wide-eyed. His poor fucking ghost ears. “FOR YOUR ARRIVAL I SAT AND WAIT, I NEED YOU NOT! NOR DO I NEED YOUR ACTIONS TO REACH MY GOALS! YOU! YOUNG ONE! ARE NO PLAYER IN MY GAME! YOU MAY CHOOSE TO MAKE ALL YOUR ENEMY OR NONE! IT MOVES ME NOT! BUT A BLESSING YOU REMAIN UPON ALL! AND FOR THAT BLESSING UPON MY DARKNESS I DESIRE YOU TO WATCH NOT YOUR OWN FINAL GRAVE BE DUG BUT DIG OTHERS THEIR OWN! SO PRESENT YOURSELF FOR ALL! YOUNG ONE! AND KNOW THAT I AND ALL OTHERS ARE PLEASED AND HORRIFIED TO MAKE YOUR ACQUAINTANCE!”. A tiny crown forms in the ghosts massive hands, Danhy eyeing it as his dad puts it on his head; he can feel its connection to him immediately. New power flowing from it and into him, it was strange but the feeling settles nicely as if it was always meant to be there.

Then his dad steps back, nodding at watching Danhy’s ecto-field flare and settle properly, now letting Danhy effectively take the stage and say his piece.

Danhy’s not about to scream or bellow or whatever at everyone, the ecto in the air carrying his voice easily and there’s a pressure to his voice that has some kind of command to it, “I don’t present myself for your approval. And I’ll only laugh if you try and kill me; and then I’ll annoy you so much that you regret everything. I’ll use my claws on those who hurt me or mine. Otherwise-”, waving the crowd off to seem more chill about this shit, “-I’ll leave you to your bullshit and vices, which in the end may end or beat you as well. But then I had no part in that. But if you cross me I will make sure to be the last face you see, I can promise that. I’ll fight for fun or not. I’ll match that energy. So play nice or square up”.

He actually gets some laughs, cool. Go him. And a bunch of yeti’s yell, “PRAISED BE THE GREAT ONE! OH SAVIOUR!”. Much to Danhy’s great confusion.

The announcer dude or whatever shouting, “you have seen and been beholden! Now BEGONE!”. Does everyone leave instantly? Yup! Well… almost everyone. Danhy’d bet money that the ones that remain are god ghosts.

ClockWork floating closer to Danhy, practically winding around him and grinning, “well, go on, say hello to your fellow gods, even though you are more Demi-god than god in truth”.

Why is this Danhy’s bullshit to deal with? Also, how is he actually a god at all? And of what? Zone fuck this shit. It’s kinda funny though ‘cause almost none of the ones he can see -there’s a fucking lot- have legs. Danhy going over with ClockWork in tow, Pariah sticking a little bit further back even though he was technically a god too; a god by conquested position or whatever.

Danhy gives a little wave, “hiyya, if you all wanna fight me now I’m gonna be so annoyed”. That gets him some snickers, laughs, eye rolls, huffs, and pouts.

“Hmmmm. We’ll see”.

“In time perhaps”.

“Now is hardly what I’d call appropriate”.

“That depends on your opinion on dogs”.

“I’d be annoyed fighting you too, pass”.

“Ha!”.

“You fool around with those living weeds, I’ll put you in your place eventually”.

“I doubt you care for the blade”.

“I’d rather just play!”.

“If only you were a girl…”.

“Meow”.

Honestly half of the responses, from the ones that even bothered, get drowned out by each other. The strange floating eyeball with skinny ass green arms, sneering, “you should not even exist, abomination”; is hard to miss though.

His dad snarling, “Observant”, and looming down over Danhy, glaring at the eyeball ghost all the while. Ah okay, so this asshole is the, or one of, the ghosts trying to fully off his tiny baby ass. Danhy immediately sticks out his tongue and flips off the ghost with both hands getting in on the action, “well I do, so piss on each others heads or whatever other weird thing y’all are into”. The ghost is very clearly scandalised, actually pulling their head back in offence. Ha! Suck on that. Jerk. Maybe try not being a baby murdering dumbass next time?

ClockWork frowns at the Observant, “you beings should beg for times forgiveness, rather than harassing that which you’ve done wrong by”.

“You’ve made a terrible thing, ClockWork, and with him of all ghosts”, the Observant feels like it’s glaring but who knows with something that doesn’t have freaking eyelids, “as he’s clearly proven himself more a monster that needs to be put down, more than anything else”.

Pariah snarls, “retaliation for harming my young is hardly unbecoming behaviour. You’re the foolish things here, my actions were earned and deserved, and I will tear you lot apart”.

Danhy huffing and kinda sticking his face out at the ghost, banter he could do, banter was his bread and motherfucking butter, “I guess you could say I’m a warning not to step on my parents toes, a terrible threat that’s for sure. I am a threat to you and if you choose to not fear me then you’ll fucking regret. Zone, you already should”, gesturing at the ghost lazily, “I mean, you totally forgot about me, right? but guess who came the fuck back? Bitch. You laid the bricks for me and this new age, dontcha know that when you gamble the house always wins”, and open mouth grins at the ghost. Is Danhy stealing lines from Vlad? Absolutely. Is Danhy trying to sound like he knows what he’s talking about and is more dangerous than he thinks he is? Definitely. Does Danhy want these eyeball assholes to either leave him alone or deeply regret just how much they’ve fucked with him even without him knowing they had? YES. Danhy could do without floating eyeballs making a thing out of trying to assassinate him or something all the time; he got enough of that with Skulker’s poaching/skinning attempts.

And hey! The eyeball ghost does actually float back away from him slightly, leery. ‘Eyeing’ or ‘staring’ at him then ‘glaring’ at Pariah, “your chaos and harm to the realm has weakened our sight”, ‘glaring’ at ClockWork, “we can not see him, correct this immediately”.

But a ghost that looks like a starry blanket with a horned mask laughs softly and meanly, “his so called harm has given us a ghost who sleeps, I see no issue with his actions”.

Pariah glaring down at the Observant, “I’ve done no wrong, you lost any right to watch him long ago. Remember this and begone, I can litter the realm with your bodies if it’s what I want”.

Danhy nodding and smirking at the eyeball thing, “even if all I’ve got is the Dark and Time to fill my heart, you’ll wish I never knew y’all tried to off me. ‘Cause know I sure as shit know it’s better to reign in the dark the serve you lot”.

But the eyeball looks to ClockWork, sounding chastising, “ClockWork, fix. This”. Oh that sounds like an order? Is there like some kind of hierarchy thing with time seers or whatever? But there’s no way in hell that the literal GOD OF TIME isn’t at the top of that right? RIGHT?

Danhy is still convincing himself he’s right as ClockWork leans over Danhy’s shoulder to put their face in the Observants, “you. Do not own me. You have misjudged your own place in the world and this realm, your self inflated sense of self a corruption all its own. There is nothing to correct as it is your actions that would have needed correction had they not already been”.

And then the Observant actually grabs ClockWork’s cloak and pulls them at him. Danhy snarling and ripping the things hand off his pops, “do that again and I’ll fucking break you, use your eyeball shaped dumbass heads as a goddamn soup cup; it’ll be on sight”.

ClockWork narrows their eyes, “do not mistake my calm demeanour for gentleness, time maybe be a slow and forever winding thing but it destroys everything in time”. And then ClockWork smashes the ghost in the chest with their staff, sending them indenting into a gnarled thick tree, “and you’re all out of time”, teleporting over to them and smashing their head into the ground. But with a twist of the staff the Observants back to being imbedded in the tree; ClockWork smashes their head down again. And again. And again. And again.

All the other god ghosts are smiling, smirking, laughing, or jeering; but they don’t get involved. Danny’s guessing there’s some kind of ‘non interference’ rule or some shit.

“Abandon you false rationality”, ClockWork smacks the eyeball in the cheek to the side this time. The Observant floats themselves up right ‘glaring’, “how dare you raise your powers against us”.

But ClockWork simply teleports right in front of the ghost in an instant, their face right in the Observants, “I was always meant to bathe in your hatred, as you were always meant to fall by the way side”. One of their time mirror screen things appearing behind the eyeball ghost, ClockWork seemingly pushing the ghost back through it easily.

? It’s possible to go through those things? That practically screams ‘time travel shenanigans! Do it Danhy!’. Danhy’s going to do something stupid with those things one day and everyone’s going to regret him doing it, mostly him of course ‘cause his luck’s just like that.

More of the time screen things pop up and the Observant just seemingly gets flung from one to another by… other ClockWork’s??? Okay Danhy’s not going to try and make sense of that one, since he’s pretty damn positive these aren’t duplicates. Danhy tilting his head and humming innocently, “watcha doin’?”.

ClockWork humming back, “giving them a taste of times far worse possibilities”.

“Neat. Can you hurl me through time screen thingies? It looks fun, like a really weird amusement park ride”.

The look his pops gives him is very judgemental. But a fishy looking maybe shark with too many legs laughs, poking Danhy with something similar to the trident from the Little Mermaid, “I like this one”. Danhy grins widely back, all teeth.

Another ClockWork drops the Observant at this ClockWork’s ‘feet’, or tail tip really, ClockWork grabbing their cape and hauling them up in the air. The Observant shakes as ClockWork speaks, “run. Away. I’m a fight you can not win. Learn humility, I’m the one who counts time down and on; you are but observers and nothing more”.

Pariah stomping over to loom down over ClockWork and more so the beaten Observant, “and I’m no toy for you. I. Am. Death’s. Bringer. I. Am Life’s. Pariah”.

Pariah simply watching as ClockWork tosses the Observant away, then taping their staff, “time up”, and the ghost seems to rip themselves apart from the inside and outside at the same time; being torn apart into nothing.

Okay. Check on the murdery thing. Danhy did not expect or want to see one of his parents fucking obliterate someone. Damn. Muttering, “I’m so not adding to this murder train”. One of the other god ghosts scoffing, “as if the existence of other beings matter”. Okay is pro-murder just a gods thing in general? Again, is he gonna have to watch himself for murderiness?

Another sneering, “especially the existences of lesser mortal things”.

Danhy rolls his eyes at the multi-winged harpy-looking ghost, “I’m at least somewhat mortal so piss off”; while ClockWork just sort of appears next to him, ruffling his flames.

“I hardly expect you to”.

It’s a little weird when it seems like a lot of the ghosts stiffen when the weird three-eyed cat hops in front of Danhy, even ClockWork feels to be watching them cautiously as the cat slinks around Danhy, purring. “A mIsssssPLAceDthINg, nO MATter wheRE hE beeeeeEeE. PecULiARimpeeEeeeeeerfECt tHIng. yeeeeeEEeeeEeeeEssS”, and hums, eyes squinted before slinking off to nowhere. Like, legit, the cat just pops away in an instant.

The other ghost gods kinda look at him leerily before up and leaving en masse. Leaving Danhy blinking and looking to his pops, “what the fuck?”. Even his dad looks a little bothered and leery.

ClockWork frowns, ominous, “most avoid any who get Remi’s attention, she’s one of the chaos gods. Ancient god of misplacement; while I can bend and pick preferred reality, she’s one who alters it entirely. Her interest in you does make sense so I wouldn’t worry much”.

Pariah crossing his arms a scowling, “not much, but still watch for her. I do not want my son being misplaced again”. Oh yeah dad was always going to be mad about that. ClockWork rolling their wrist, “of course, she may be harder to watch but I see all”.

Danhy grumbling, “well if she ‘misplaces’ all my good spoons I’mma be mad”; that gets him some fond looks at least. He will absolutely be mad though, nothings ever stopped him from throwing hands. and godhood, or whatever, wasn’t going to start stopping him and his hands.

More than a few verifiable gods looked into and chuckled to themselves about the young god and prince. Curious about him and his little domain. This… could be very interesting and many of them were very bored. Course they wouldn’t be too mean, crossing the time god or death lord was hardly a wise choice for any; crossing their ling was likely just as foolish.

Some wishing to make his little domain more proper in their minds. Others wishing to see what his dreams could make. Others wanting to see if he really was a ‘fight first’ type. Others instead noticing those around him, from a wonderfully orange-haired child, to a reincarnated pharaoh unaware of himself, to a gardens caretaker that could be so much more, to another half thing almost as misplaced and far more foolish, to a raged fuel child one day to be so close to being more machine than human.

Oh they weren't going to be bored for the foreseeable future for a very long time.

Whelp, at least all of that was over, now Danhy can just chill in the Keep, lounging over a stupidly massive couch that was mildly swallowing him up. His dad was still going through tablets, and his pops was observing the Observants reactions to Danhy’s existence… and to ClockWork obliterating one of them. Hint: the Observants weren’t happy. Hint: the Observants were fully planing to try and assassinate him again. Hint: Danhy fucking hated them. And so did Pariah. And so did ClockWork.

Well whatever, Danhy’s bored and he’s calling his friends, because he is so telling them this shit.

“Have your parents pissed you off yet?”.

Danhy rolls his eyes at Sam’s tone, “not everyone has parent issues, Sam. And the Fenton’s and me being weird doesn’t count ‘cause they’re not my parents”. Danhy can see dad’s smirk from here.

“So what’s up, Danny man?”.

Danhy shrugs to himself, “eh not much, I just got crowned and shit. Met some gods, meaning I, and Amity, might get harassed by some gods. Pops somewhat randomly murdered one of the gods that went attempted murder happy on baby me after they were being a major dick to us. Got called ‘saviour’ by some very loud yetis, not sure why”.

Pops interrupting him without so much as looking at him, “you’ll find out in a year or so”.

Danhy pouting, “that’s not as comforting as you think, pops”, shaking his head and ignoring his pops smirk, “anyway, I pretty much offered to fight anyone who annoys me, which I guess might not have been the best choice of words”.

Tuck laughs, “man! You like fighting so I’m not even surprised. Definitely dumb though”.

“Ugh, now we’re going to have more newer ghosts, damn it Danny”.

Danhy shrugs to himself, “I make no apologies. Fuck sorry, ‘cause I ain’t”, rubbing his neck, “I just don’t want the regulars, the ones who are halfway decent, to think I’m going to smite them or something”.

Sam snorting, “yeah wouldn’t want your go to misplaced aggression to get cold feet”.

“Sam, we’re dead, our feet are always cold”. Danny snickers to himself over her groan, “anything on your end?”.

Danhy can hear the shrug in Tuck’s voice, “outside of the fact that we’re still miffed we haven’t met your parents yet, come on man, Lancer wants to know if there’s ghost history books he can use for a ‘ghost history’ lesson while Mr. Shanell is stuck in the hospital”.

Danhy lifts his head up and stares at his dad, speaking into the phone, “sorry guys, you know things have been crazy but…”. When Pariah picks up on the staring and raises an eyebrow at his son, Danhy speaks back up, “wanna met my fraid? Like, properly?”, tilting his head back to look at his pops, “you too, Clockpops”.

Pariah eyes his tablet, “this is hardly amusing”, and puts it down; stomping over to Danhy and picking him up by the cape.

Danhy speaking into the phone as he’s lifted through the air, “whelp guess I’m fixing that right now, in coming guys”. They laugh meanly at him as they all hang up.

ClockWork sending away their screens and joining Danhy up on the giants shoulder, “it is rather about time”; Danhy snorts at that. Very funny. Changing back human since anyone seeing Phantom with Danhy ‘Dark’s’ parents was so not a great idea, at least so soon anyway.

…

Tuck shrieks, Sam putting a hand to her chest, when a massive portal pops open right next to them. Pariah, aka the guy who terrified the entire town not too long ago, stomps out; their goofy dumbass friend and another ghost they’ve never seen before on the giant ghosts shoulder.

Danhy basically sliding down his dad’s arm, jumping off at his hand, Pariah looked amused. “Hey guys! Presenting-”, gesturing at his parents, “-parental figures that don’t suck!”. ClockWork floats down and smacks him lightly over the head for that; Danhy pouting at him.

Sam instantly points up at Pariah, stomping forward some herself, “you better not try abducting the town again. Or hurt Danny. Or convince him to commit murder”.

While Tuck laughs to himself, Pariah raises an eyebrow at the goth, “I hardly have any reason to”, scowling, “if my son desires or not to kill then that is his prerogative. I have no interest in restricting him either way”.

Danhy doing jazz hands, “hooray for freedom of choice”, holding up a finger, “I’m not pro-murder though”. Pariah simply shrugs at that.

Tuck elbowing Sam, “ah come on, Sam, live a little. Enslave people! Establish your might!”. Danhy flicks Tuck in the head, “bad, Tuck, bad”.

ClockWork floats around the two teens, “know that we’ve met plenty, you were simply unawares”, holding up a fingers, “just because I left my charge in your and the Fenton’s care, does not mean I left him unattended”.

Tuck blinks, “huh. A ghost has been watching me sleep. Kin-”; ClockWork doesn’t even let Tuck finish before smacking him with the staff too. Tuck covering his head, “hey! Ow! Meanie!”. Sam smacks the part of his head that wasn’t covered for good measure. Tuck pouting at her before sticking a hand out at ClockWork and Pariah, “ow. Anyways, I’m Tucker Foley, that’s TF for Too Fine”.

Sam scowling at the boy, “you disgust me”. Her looking to the ghosts, one hand on her hip and sighing, “and I’m Sam Manson, even if someone already knows everything”. Tuck blinking and facepalming, “right. That”. ClockWork’s faint smirk is mean.

Pariah eyeing Danhy, “a bit foolish, eh?”.

Danhy waving his dad off, “hey, they’re dumbasses, totally different”.

Sam poking Danhy, “as if you’re not also a dumbass, Mr. Breaks You Own Hand With A Locker Door To Get Out Of Gym Class”.

Tuck pointing, “or sets a bathroom on fire for a cover story”.

“Or stores your thermos in your chest just because you can”

“Or fist fought a lamp because you said it looked at you funny”

“Or intentionally buys disgusting milkshakes just to see people’s reactions”.

“Or back flips to transform publicly”.

“Or has a crush on someone definitely trying to kill you”.

Danhy puts up his hands in surrender, “okay okay, I get, geez. No need to run a ‘dumb shit Danhy’s done’ lecture by my folks”. They laugh at him meanly. He loves his friends but they absolutely do know every embarrassing or bad thing he’s ever done; they could go on like this for a while.

Pariah grins wolfishly, putting his hand on Danny’s entire head, “good, a prince is meant for chaos”. Eyeing the two teens, “I doubt I require an introduction, regardless, I am Pariah Dark, overlord of the Infinite Realm, death god, and Danhy’s secondary progenitor”.

ClockWork gesturing to themselves leisurely, “and I his primary. ClockWork, ancient god of time”.

Danhy eyeballing his dad’s hand that’s still on his head, “I have questions about that”. Sure he hadn’t ever directly asked how the zone ghosts had kids, especially with his pops being genderless, but he’d decidedly not asked.

Tuck putting up his hands, “I’m cool with not having those questions answered. Ew”.

Pariah crossing his arms, “I could hardly carry him while dealing with wars and skirmishes. Further, of the two of us, ClockWork is far more durable, immortal as they are”, and gives ClockWork a bit of a fond look.

Danhy makes a face, “well alrighty then”, he is so not pressing for more.

Pariah scowls, “considering their actions, I do regret that ever so slightly”. ClockWork still doesn’t look the least bit apologetic about everything.

Sam points at the large ghost, Danhy gets the feeling that she impressing him at least a little, “well I, we, totally do not regret it”. Tuck punching Danhy in the arm, “yeah, Danny-dude’s great and we like having our friend”.

“Yeah I couldn’t stand your blood mouth crap without him”.

“Oh like your grass mouth is any better”.

“At least I don’t eat dead things!”.

“Well my foods actually worth eating!”.

Then Sam has her boot in hand at record sped, Danhy snagging it while Tuck makes slightly fearful ‘do it Bitch’ motions. Danhy laughing at their antics, ah the comforts of the meat vs veggies argument, “and ecto’s the best of both worlds. Dead but also sometimes never alive or sentient”. They both make faces at him.

His dad has opinions about that while Danhy plays keep away with Sam’s boot, “you eat ghosts? I did not take you for minor cannibalism”.

And Danhy has never thought of it that way, wow. “I mean, I guess? Just like general ecto, you know, not whole ass ghosts flying around”.

Tuck chuckles when Sam tackles Danhy, absolutely getting back her boot. “Oh I’m sure the blob ghosts wouldn’t object”.

“Do not encourage him!”.

Pariah laughs loudly, “I’m sure threats of cannibalism would discourage any uprisings! A unique way to keep the masses in line! Ha! Your own brand of darkness indeed”. ClockWork smirking themselves, “I’m sure the Observants would be horrified”.

Danhy’s opinion on cannibalism do a one eighty right then and there, “in that case, I’m down. Fuck those guys”.

Sam blinks before nodding, “okay even I can’t object to threatening to eat the jerks that tried to murder baby you”.

Tuck humming, “thats more revenge than ‘Danhy’s just a cannibal’ though”, holding up a finger, “and I’m pretty sure ecto-wienies don’t count as just general ecto, man”.

ClockWork’s tone is mean, “they are not, they’re about as sentient as a typical whisp or blob or bleb”, poking Danhy in the check, “cannibalism indeed”.

Danhy play snapping his teeth at the finger, then eyeing them, “which you technically could have stopped but didn’t”; apparently his parents were just cool with Danhy damn near being a legit ghost cannibal.

“I get bored quite easily, why would I stop something with so many interesting kinds of possibilities and outcomes?”, ClockWork waving a hand lazily, “so long as you don’t cannibalise yourself, as you did in one times future”.

Sam and Tuck give Danhy disgusted and horrified looks, “DANNY! WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT!”. At the same time as Danhy mutters, “why would I do that?!?”, him then looking to his friends, “why am I getting in trouble for something that hasn’t actually happen!”.

“Because your pops is a time god!”.

“Because how could you even think about doing that in any timeline! What the Hell!”.

Pariah smacking him chastisingly on the back, which does make him jerk and wobble some, the guys hand was as big as Danhy’s entire body was! And there was the ghost strength at play. “Do not consume yourself”.

“I’m not going to! Oh my zone!”.

When did this meet n’ greet turn into Danhy scolding time?!? Yes he’s done a lot of weird and fucked up and dumb and reckless shit but seriously!

He gets a round of ‘good’s’ and a smirking clockpops in response. Jerks.

And then, bless Danhy’s luck, Vlad shows up. Takes in the three teens and two very powerful ghosts, one being the guy Vlad tried stealing from, and turns to walk away immediately with a, “oh butter biscuits”.

Danhy grinning ferally and basically giving chase, “where you going, Vladdie!? Dontcha wanna meet my real parents!?”.

“I was looking for the one who should be my knight! Not you!”.

“Frighty’s my dog! Get a cat!”.

The two teens and two ghosts watching Danhy ecto-blast Vlad’s shoelaces to nothingness, which of course results in Vlad blasting him into a wall. That of course turns into a transformed Phantom and Plasmius duking it out in the sky, Plasmius looking very miffed about Phantom being able to easily hold his own now.

Pariah letting his son have fun for a bit before snarling, “YOU!”, and launching himself after Plasmius, slamming the startled ghost into a wall with an axe.

ClockWork shaking their head before appearing next to Danhy, poking the boy’s crown, “perhaps you should not have that out while in your mortal lair? No?”.

Danhy blushing, “oh uh, right”, and absorbing the crown into his body. Oops.

“YOU ARE A FOOL WHO SHALL SUFFER! INSOLENT CREATURE!”.

“Aurgh!”.

Sam and Tucker shrug at each other before giving chase as well, weapons drawn and happily shooting at the vampire-themed half ghost.

…

Is anyone surprised when Pariah ends up pinning the ghost? No, of course not. Putting his far larger face looming over the half ghost, “know that it is only by my child’s request that I do not end your puny existence. You are lucky I have no interest in doing away with my son’s plaything”.

Vlad sputtering, “I. Am not. A plaything”.

Danhy pushing his head between them, inches from Vlad’s face and grinning mockingly, “you sure about that one, Vladdie. I’d call this play fighting, and you’re definitely not my friend or family”, then frowning and snarling, letting his green red eyes flash dangerously and with more power than they ever used to hold, “never cross my family again, Vlad”; exerting some of that ecto-pressure on the other halfa that Danhy could do now thanks to being princey.

Vlad chuckles awkwardly and nervously, “message received, Daniel”. Pariah squeezes him tighter with a growl, Vlad squeaking out, “Danhy. I mean, Danhy”.

All of them watching the injured half ghost fly away with his tail between his legs. Danhy is very smug, today has been a very good day. Sam and Tuck give him high fives.

Tuck laughing, “wicked crown, by the way dude”.

“I know! Right! And it somehow doesn’t look weird with the fire hair!”.

“I wish it did, you deserve it”.

“Sam! That’s just mean!”.

“Wait! Do you have ear plugs!?! Wicked!”

All three teens laugh, partly at Danny’s expense but mostly just because they can laugh together.

ClockWork settles on Pariah’s shoulder, humming, “it’s nice, is it not? A good outcome, I would say”.

Pariah almost sighing, “I will still mourn that I could not raise him, though his fraid is acceptable”.

“He remains young, there is still raise yet left to do; and the raising that’s been done is of lesser quality”.

Pariah merely huffs in response.

End.

[delicrieux]

Since you’re doing the Nov prompts. Lil’ request to chill in the box, but I feel like Jaskier needs some love with the Fireplace mayhaps? I feel like they melt together quite well.

I’m realising how vague that sounds now but I’m new to this requesting  Business <3

- 🥀

THE HEARTH; THE HEART  | endless drabble series (winter edition)  

summary: a story by a fireplace pairing: jaskier x nb!reader a/n: i lov ur brain & i also made it wintry for the vibes yk its the vibes milord!! used 40. humming tunes from this list

masterlist. ☕. reqs are open for the winter prompts list 1 & 2 ! 

Inside a frost covered cabin you rub your hands by a small fire made from the friction of twin stones - in the dark, there was a spark, and then there was light, and it shone on everything, but mostly your tired, bruised hands. The sudden plight of warmth made you exhale white smoke. Dank and moldy as this cabin is, for tonight it is your home.

Winds bang on panes of cracked glass and whistle inside. The damp wood does not take to the fire. Between the howls and your harsh breaths a trembling tune floats in the air. Jaskier, wrapped in old, moth-eaten sheets, sits beside you shivering, his hair still covered in a layer of snow. He had bravely marched into the storm for something that would burn, though what he brought made little difference. Better than nothing, though if this adventure was postponed, it would have been for the best.

Becoming bitter now would change nothing, only sour your already paltry mood. You keep your mouth shut and he continues to hum. The fire bites at your cold hands - one step closer and they’d burn.

But you grown lonely in this silence, and so your speak, “...Who would’ve thought.”

You feel his eyes on you rather than see them. Jaskier huffs, snuggling into the fabrics, “Everyone, probably. Or, everyone that knows the land better than we. And it’s tendency for blizzards midafternoon.”

“Which is to say... everyone.”

“’m sorry,” He rasps, and when you look at him, you find his expression that of a kicked puppy, “it’s my fault.” 

Jaskier seems truly miserable. You try to find humour in the situation with a small smile, “We both wanted to find him.” Him being Geralt, always leaving the Bard and the Traveler behind. You would reach out to grasp Jaskier’s hand if only he did not have both of his hidden, “Suppose he tired of us.”

“Of us?” He drawls, “Pshh--never. We’re a delight.”

“The funniest duet. And the most capable companions.”

“A true show of camaraderie and affection,” He continues, looking into the fire - it reflects in pretty embers in his eyes, “everyone loves us.”

You hum, “He must be frightened by how much he loves us, then.”

“I’ve told him that,” Jaskier says, “plenty of times. You know what he said to me?”

“Probably nothing.”

“You’re very clever.”

“And terribly cold, would you stop hogging the bedding and share it?”

He startles and flushes and unwraps from his cocoon. Soon enough, you’re ushered into his embrace, and he still smells like rose oil, only now mixed with old cotton and the scent of the forest. Body to body, you grow warm.

“Perhaps this isn’t so bad.” He laments, hands on your waist.

“Only that we’re lost and trapped.” 

He makes a face, “...Geralt will find us.” He decides, “If we can’t find him, it’s probably because he’s already looking for us. Fate’s funny like that.”

hope u liked it!! xx

[halitophobia]

Blind Eye - Four

Parings ⟶ OC x Hank's Daughter! Reader (TEMPORARILY) , RK800! Connor x Hank's Daughter! Reader (EVENTUALLY)

A/N ⟶ Ha...so let’s just pretend that I haven’t been gone since...dude I don’t even know...September? Yeesh...well, I haven’t forgotten about this story that I started and have not lost interest...I’ve just lost motivation. For ten months. Anyways, here’s part 4 and I hope you enjoy it. I appreciate everything and if you’re here, having read the past parts, welcome back! Long time no see...Alright without further ado, please enjoy :)

Much love.

Disclaimer ⟶  over the century I’ve been gone, I have not established ownership over DBH characters

Warnings ⟶ swearing, violence, mentions of death, stubborn reader, stubborn Hank, spoilers...?, slow burn, sLoW bUrN, SLOW BURN, alcohol abuse (Hankster), angst, toxic relationship, eventual....fluff, happiness, cute stuff, flustered Connor, flustered Reader, all the gushy-ness, and ?????smut?????

Word Count ⟶ 3228

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

----

NOV 6th, 2038

AM 10:53:11

    The sweet, comforting sound of middle-aged men arguing about an empty milk carton wakes you from your beautifully sound slumber.

    With one eye open, you tenderly lift your arm to flip over your phone. The blue light screams at you so invasively, you almost forget to check the time. As it renders in your brai-

Shit.

    You hurl the covers over and yank yourself out of bed. You have exactly seven minutes to get out this motel before they charge you another night. You hiss as the unnecessarily freezing floor hits your soles, then drop down beside your suitcase. Toiletries and clothes are strewn somewhat near, quickly finding their way into a miscalculated arrangement. You collapse onto the case flap for strategic compression, swearing as you catch your hair in the zipper. Once the suitcase is successfully shut, you stand triumphantly...and realize you are definitely not wearing pants. Comedically, you stare at the wall ahead of you, truly contemplating whether it's worth scavenging the depths of your now clumpy suitcase to find your sweatpants, or to run out in the bite of winter...

    With legs spread out around your luggage, you dig through, trying to cause the least amount of disturbance. However you forget the whole point of searching gently once you feel the familiar fabric and jerk them out not so gently, creating a volcanic explosion.

No, no thank you. Thank you for giving me this chance to further fuck up my belongings...

    As you seal the case shut with great difficulty, you quite literally launch it toward the door. You check the bathroom to make sure you're not missing anything, then race to your bag. With a cute jig, you shove your shoes on while fumbling with the door handle. As you slam the door behind you, you pause, seeing a completely calm and silent hallway.

Ba-da bing, ba-da boom...

Fixing a few strands of hair, you give your room a lock and sign out of the motel.

----

PM 1:10:45

"I'm home!" you holler, expertly chucking your keys towards a bowl on the kitchen counter. You watch as they collide with it and thrash the contents inside, bringing everything to the tile floor. Nice...

    You move through the kitchen (which functions as a hallway), into the living room - corner as you like to call it. To your left sits an aged leather couch, pillows deformed and flat. Across that is the ancient one; the almighty TV3000, surely made three thousand years ago...A rickety window directly in front of you allows natural light to flood a small area of wall below the completely meaningless picture Ben insisted on hanging. Speaking of, there he lays limbs strewn out, trickling down the couch. His jaw, fallen down, reveals a gaping hole which projects a discomforting grumble and snort. You study his breathing pattern, then let your eyes wander to his hands; one lazily rested atop his stomach, and the other hanging off the couch with the neck of a bottle between his thumb and index. You scoff.

"Ben," you test, with a nudge to the couch. "Ben." you repeat.

You sigh, moving beside him and crouching down to his level. "Wake up."

He grumbles in response, swiping his lips with his tongue.

"Ben, you've got a shift in twenty. Get up, shower, and go."

"Shhhhhhh..." he starts, "too loud."

    You swallow, lowering your gaze to the cracked hardwood floor. "How much did you drink last night?"

    Your eyes narrow as he shakes his head, adjusting his position. You stand, leaving to your shared bedroom. Ignoring the much disturbed bed and clothes dotting the floor. You dig around the closet, clutch a certain bundle, then return. You drop the clothes with a hint of 'you're a shit' energy, then watch as he frustratingly awakes.

"What the fuck?" he snarls.

"Get up, shower, and go." you repeat, accenting select words.

"Fuck you." he mumbles, sitting upright.

    He groans, letting his head still from the commotion, and with his eyes closed, he reaches for your thigh. He rests his head against it and sighs.

"How was the shift?"

"Good. Got a good bite that'll last us a couple days or so." you answer, involuntarily playing with his hair. He doesn't need to know how it really went and how you practically begged to be paid. Let's be honest, what did you contribute last night?

He yawns, "Then I don't have to go in for work."

You frown, pulling away. "Yes you do. Aaron said you're done unless you clean up your act."

"Yeah, yeah. Take a joke, will you?"

    He uses your thigh to stand, draping an arm around your shoulders. He places a lazy kiss to your forehead and grins. It's scratchy and rough due to his ignorance for lip balm.

"You're great, Y/N." he states, wandering to the bedroom.

    Your eyes close as you hear the shower running. Letting yourself fall back on the couch, you run a hand through your hair. It's been like this forever. You can't remember life before simply because you can't imagine this one being nearly as lively. You can't remember having to crunch out bills like this. You can't remember a floor that doesn't wail at you. You can't remember feeling so full that you need to un-button your jeans, or a silent neighbourhood with that one family that invites you over every Friday.

    That life you lived before seems so un-reachable, so beautiful, that it's become imaginary. You love Ben. You do. He makes you smile. He makes you laugh when times are tough. He holds you through bits of the night and tells you he loves you. Though he's changed. When you touched his lips, young and naive, he knew excitement. Hunger. Want. When alcohol touched his lips, plentiful and cool, he knew ease. Numbing. Solitude. You weren't a stranger to this behaviour, you'd seen- you see it with your father. You know how to handle it.

He doesn't mean that.

He's got other things that are worrying him.

He's just stressed.

He's just tired.

He loves you.

He does.

"We need more shampoo."

    Your eyes open, and are met with his, looking much younger and fresh. You nod, "I'll add it to the list."

"When uh, when does my shift end?" he asks, touching up his hair.

"Six-thirty."

    His nose scrunches, and with a sniff, he turns to you. Instantly knowing, you stand, meeting him at the counter. He offers a small smile, acknowledging the tired in your eyes. He looks good; showers always fix the bags. Maybe last night had a lighter mood...

"You get some sleep, yeah? I cleaned the bedroom a bit."

    You nod, returning his smile. He juts out his chin, looking down at you through his lashes. You lift, keeping you arms by your sides as you meet him for a kiss. He places his hand on your crown, pressing his lips on your hairline.

"See ya at nine."

"Nine? You get off at six-thirty."

"Stopping by Jordy's." he states, grabbing his keys that are on the floor with yours and a pack of gum. "Love you."

You frown, the door nearly secure in its frame-

"Pick up dinner, okay? I didn't get anything while you were out."

Now it's secure.

    A scoff leaves your lips as you look to the crack embedded into the doorframe. You've convinced yourself it grows deeper and longer, his eager 'goodbyes' being the cause. Succumbing to yet another pause, your eyelids flutter shut once again; though not for long. Now that Ben's gone, you have duties.

    Number one. Count empty bottles. Six and a half. Number two. Search for anything out of the order. A slightly bloodied rag partnered with a slightly bloodied countertop. Seems like someone was eager to open a bottle... And finally, get rid of his secret stash.

    Thankfully, he didn't stock up much. Maybe just enough for the weekend or a 'stop by Jordy's'. With a small exhale, you clutch two packs of beers, heading for the door three to the right.

"Ben?"

"Huh? Oh, I-what are you doing with those?"

"What are you doing with that?"

    His eyes follow yours, the expedition ending at his first two fingers. Between them burns a cigarette, merely used if not freshly lit. He left ten minutes ago...is this not his first?...Your eyes slender as the layers of thin paper slowly recede. The air is thick; squeezing both of you tight and still. The start of a lecture bubbles from your stomach while a story fabricates in his. The creases buried beneath the stillness of your face emerge, your lips quivering to expel words.

Though, yesterday's events rattled you enough.

"If you leave now, you'll arrive only minutes late."

    A low sigh seeps from your body as you step forward. You gingerly press your palm upon his lower side and your other on his fist. Nimbly, you dance your fingertips along his knuckles and with your eyes on his, you swipe the cigarette from his hand. It falls and you listen for the minuscule bump it'll make as it collides with the concrete.

    He thought that was the end of your show, but the respite was only an intermission. You tighten your hold on his abdomen, then crush the embers beneath you, a quick twist or two becomes music to your ears. His jaw tightens and his throat bobs. If only you knew how many more have touched his lips; blackened his lungs.

"Put those back."

    His voice slices the silence, but your hardened stare adds more. This is the first time he's caught you, but if only he knew how many more bottles have been sold to the neighbours; dropped by their door.

    He's relieved. You have yet another tear in your perfect image. He's usually one to slip up, this moment adding to his endless list of mistakes, but now, he concludes, you've got a growing list of your own.

    A change of emotion from your face doesn't come, and you turn around toward the door. Your fingers curl on its handle and you send him a side glance, entering the apartment. With that, he stares where you once were, swears and threats swelling his tongue; he could storm back in there and he will.

    But he needs this pay check. He needs this money. You don't need to know why.

----

PM 3:08:30

BZZZzzz...BZZZzzz...

    Your eyes snap open, a brief gasp travelling your throat. A quiet curse entangles with an exhale as you reach for your phone. Whoever's on the other end won't be receiving a cutesy 'hello'...you were napping so peacefully.

"Yes?" you offer, rolling onto your back.

    You're on your side of the bed; the clean side of the room, dragging your gaze over the popcorn-styled ceiling. As the caller begins to speak, a headache begins to form. Captain Fowler.

"Detective Anderson..." he pauses and you simply close your eyes, "I'm surprised you actually answered." he chuckles lightly, though you hear a more pressing undertone, indicating he has business to express.

"With all due respect, Captain...get to the point."

    He replies with a grumble, and you hear his chair squeak through the phone. It's a discomforting pause for him, but a moment to rest for you.

"I have a new shift an-" he starts.

"I'll save you the time. No."

"Y/N..."

"No."

"Look, you need to get back out there. Your position here is wavering. I have been easy on you for too fucking long and that desk can be filled quickly..."

    His voice is firm; comforting to you since it's all you've known. You smile softly. He's trying to threaten you.

"Fill it." you jest.

"You're willing to let that go, eh? Even to an android?"

The curve of your lips flatten and suddenly you're upright. That's fucking cold.

"Fowler you-"

"Hank was chatting it up an' everything. They have a common ground for dogs."

"Shut up."

"The thing was wigglin' in your chair, leaning back in it,"

"Shut up."

    This isn't fun anymore. This is getting too close to home. You're seething. The anger in you reaches your ears, pink from your sleep, now red from your wrath. You storm with rage, huff hot, heavy air...though this time, there's more to it. Not only are you raving...you're hurt.  

    It's that easy? That easy for you to be replaced? You never thought your skirmishing would come to this. Androids have taken everything from you. From both of you...and he does this?

"Y/N."

Leashed and choked, you're brought back to your senses.

"If I do this, will you discard of it?"

"Of...what? Th-oh. The android."

    Your jaw clenches, the skin around it bulging while you wait for his answer. You snicker. Hank's traded you for a piece of plastic. A rancid, putrid, self-centered-

"Get out of your head and listen to me,"

    None of those thoughts left your lips; you wouldn't let that spill. He can't know you're hurt. Because you're not. No. You don't care.

"Take the job."

"If you trash it, I will."

You won't budge. It's you or it.

    There's silence. A sigh, nearly a growl. Then a crackle through the line signifying a shift in his position.

"I'll see to it."

    It's an accomplishment. Hank's a downright fuckhead and he'll be the one to apologize. To make amends. In the meantime, you'll climb that tower and set his work ablaze. You'll fight against him. Make him pay for everything he's done. He'll watch, clutching onto his beloved robot as you succeed like he once did.

"Well?"

    Right, Fowler's still on the line. You aren't surprised he's hanging on. He's a soft spot for you ever since the incident; you and Hank, but you're more personable. You take advantage of him though. His calls, offering work. Shifts that you and Ben survive on. You'd be rubble without the cold Captain, surely. You don't deserve any of it, but on the other hand, the pride clouding your head traps the gratitude. Or maybe you can't find the words. The second sounds kinder, but you're not sure if you yourself even believe it.

"I don't have money for the trip." you bite.

'Thank you...'

"Your pay check will cover it."

'You're welcome...’

    To your surprise, a smile finds it way to your lips. He can't see it. You don't want him to. For the first time through this treacherous hike, there's rope for you to hold. It's frayed at the ends and secure to nothing but twigs, but it's presented itself and you take your chances.

"So when do I start?"

"Leave now. A Lieutenant plans to head out to a case and I direct you to join." he takes a moment, "This situation is critical and it requires you to be local."

    You nod. You know what he means. You'll need a place to stay. The first place that comes to mind is the motel you left earlier today...but even after getting this temporary job, it's expensive. Too expensive...

The Captain acknowledges your hesitance, predicting your setback.

"You know there's someone here with a home. And a dog..."

"Where do I meet the Lieutenant?"

    Fowler stops his pushing, but only this time. He speaks as you begin to pack while scribbling the address down. You sit on the suitcase an- oh...I should probably...

'Can't talk now. Leave a message.'

"Ben, I..uh...Fowler's offered me a job," subconsciously, you start to fiddle with the zipper on the case, "Well, temporarily...but it's still good money. So...I'm leaving now and uh...well I have to stay there for a couple days. I don't know how long um," you take a breath, suffocating your bag and the grudge you held, "look I'm sorry for today, I'll put some cash on the counter for dinner and...I'll give you updates. Um...see ya."

     A groan escapes your lips and you head for the door. Leaving this place doesn't tug or heavy your steps. You do this all the time. You're not attached to any places anymore...always sleeping in different rooms, organizing clothes into different compartments, dragging your luggage onto busses. It helps, in a way, knowing you don't have strong ties to one place other than...Ben. He helps too. Lets you know there's a sense of being somewhere. It's with him. You think.

    The doors of the bus slide open and you step in with ease. This is routine. You know this. The bus accelerates pulling you back, but it feels different, like this time, you might regret leaving. This time, you'll come back changed. Or you won't...come back.

----

PM 3:52:10

    The elevator ride is intruding. Clicking, clunking, rattling...hell you can't even think. You can't prepare yourself; put your mind at rest and focus on the case. Then, like bird shit slapping the top of your head, you realize...you have no idea what you're going in to. You don't know who this Lieutenant is, nor what the case is about. Is it in your area of knowledge? It has to be. Fowler wouldn't put you on foreign grounds. He is an ass though...he could do it to make a point.

    Your damned anxiety dances over you like a sugar plum fairy. Can this elevator go any faster? Your right leg starts to shake. It's a habit. Just get it over with. Just get it done. Just let it go. The words you feed yourself are no use. You're just regurgitating them back. It's pathetic, really. You've seen the worst of the worst, yet you shrivel at the thought of working with a stranger on an investigation you have no idea about. Cute.

The ding invades your mind and you bite the inside of your cheek. Hard.

Fuck it. Right? Fuck it!...

    A loud scrape sounds before the doors even budge. They part and you're face-to-face with a poorly papered wall. To the left, you look, is another wall, and to your righ-

"Mmph!"

    Adrenaline crashes over you while a person crashes into you. A heavy person. Before you can process, your chin's scaping the chipped floor and your arms are pinned from behind. Legs tighten around your hips while a hand presses your cheek. There's a halt in movement allowing you to assess the position and its gaps. Your eyes slam shut; you have to think and think quickly. You recognize a space between the legs and yank your top knee through, driving theirs to the wall. After creating an opening, you heave yourself out, bucking your shoes into their chest. Scrambling to stand, your ankle's caught in an excruciating hold and a growl from you is the first verbal sound. The skin on your left cheek burns again as it’s raked on the ground. You're being hauled back. You feel legs return to your torso and hands tearing yours apart to each ear. With your back flush on the floor, you finally look at your attacker.

What. the. fu-

"Connor! Hold them tig-Y/N?"

You glance back and forth at the two.

"Oh for fuck's sake."

----

[kolak-magiya-a]

Basics:

Name: Xadai Malaguld Birthday: 5th Sun of the 11th Astral Moon (Nov. 5th) Star Sign: Scorpio Voice Claim: Chris Parson (as Gladio) Theme: “Devil Trigger” Devil May Cry 5 (Metal Cover by Little V Mills) Job: Dragoon, Reaper Race: Au Ra Height: 7′7″ Weight: ~290lbs Age: 28 (32 by end of ShB) Gender: Male Sexuality: Demi-Romantic, Pan-Sexual Relationship status: Single Family: N/A Moral Alignment: True Neutral

Headcanons || Visage || Meta

Physical Notes:

Xadai is taller than the average Au Ra male by a longshot.

He has a notable tattoo on his left forearm, though it’s covered in scars and difficult to distinguish what it used to be.

(post Shadowbringers) Missing part of his left arm, between his shoulder and elbow.

Mental Notes:

Xadai suffers mild anxiety, though is loathe to show it.

He is quick to anger and has a tendency to resort to violence.

While trust is difficult to build with him, it’s strong once it does. If it’s broken, however, chances that it will be reforged are slim to none.

Brief History:

Xadai was born among those that lived secluded lives under the Ruby Sea, though his desire for something more quickly claimed him and he left for Doma when he was in his early 20′s. 

It was his arrival to the shores that changed his life forever, when he met a woman who hailed from Doma as her birth home - another Raen, like him, with vibrant green eyes and long brown hair. Xadai had not believed in love at first sight until that moment. 

Over the next few years, he grew to know her, and learned she was the daughter of one of the more well-esteemed families and the love she had for him was something that others coveted. He came to learn this the hard way, when he had returned to her one evening and found her brutally murdered - of which he had been framed for.

With no time to grieve, Xadai was forced to fight his way out of Doma. He ran far away, and didn’t stop until he found himself in Gridania. Having everything torn from him, Xadai turned his grief into anger. This anger earned the attention of less savory company, who turned him into a weapon. An assassin, who cared little about his targets and felt numb to any sympathy he would have felt otherwise.

This job, however, has earned him no small amount of enemies thirsty for revenge. Xadai has since made an attempt to leave the group of assassins, and has instead begun working on his own, taking whatever jobs are offered to him, whether they be more killing, or sabotage. Whatever pays the highest.

Plot Hooks:

Hunter and Hunted -

Xadai is a wanted man, namely for the reason of taking bounties on peoples’ heads and his talent in killing them swiftly. Many people have a price on his head and some care not whether he’s brought back dead or alive.

Blood covered Roses -

There’s a certain sadness behind the angry embers of Xadai’s eyes. Of a man guarding a broken heart as though his life depends on it. There’s hardly a time where he will let his walls down and those who manage that are few and far in between.

Ships:

;Show me how to be Whole again (Xadai x Julian) @ethereal-jule​

;Our worlds must be Holistic; You were meant to be here (Xadai x Porrima) @nomadiisms​

;We all hold pieces of this shattered heart (Xadai x Julian x Porrima)

[thereisnowarinbasingsee]

☕️ + atla tiktok

JUST TO PREFACE THIS BY SAYING MY INTERACTION WITH ATLA TIKTOK HAS BEEN V LIMITED SINCE EARLY 2021. I TEND TO SCROLL/ PRESS NOT INTERESTED WHEN I SEE ATLA ON MY FYP NOW, SO TAKE THIS ALL WITH A HEAVY GRAIN OF SALT.

atla tiktok kinda began early summer 2020, when the show had been just added onto netflix us. (correct me on this? atla has been on netflix uk for quite a long time now, so i'm not sure) people who grew up watching the show started rewatching it, and new people started getting into it and whatever. i interacted with it much more between spring 2020 while i was reconnecting with the show as well, to around maybe nov/dec 2020, when i started to deviate from that space and delve a little more into fanfic.

i think to start i have to say that i don’t think any fandom works particularly well when it reaches tiktok. i’ve seen a lot of fandoms (atla/lok, harry potter (i think marauders specifically) and miraculous ladybug- which is a fandom i’m not even primarily involved with, might i add) become rather convoluted once it reaches the tiktok space. so i guess you could take this for most fandoms, but yeah. 

primarily, i think that because of the nature of tiktok and the sheer way it works leads to a lot of new fans. the for you page allows you to interact with things you wouldn’t always usually be into. this means that there’s an influx of fans who come through tiktok. which is fair enough, i don’t actually care how you get into something. but a lot of these people tend to lose the chance to come up with their own ideas and takes on the characters and show, and just adopt the thoughts and ideals of people they’ve seen create content on the subject matter. it’s kinda a sea of people who tend to have the same views, lacking much difference in opinion (eg. avidly shipping zvkka, making jokes about katara’s necklace and her trauma, ignoring aang as a whole, disliking mai- and maiko as an extension)

as well as that, since it’s a newer platform, i’ve seen quite a lot of ship and character bashing in general being carried forward. not pleasant.

also i feel like because of how the opinions and views are spread within the space a lot of unhealthy stereotypes and characterisations (the whole thing when people hc meaner people as lesbians and then go on to say more stereotypically feminine/bubbly characters are bi/pan [i will not be going into this because i’m not a lesbian. i feel it’s not my place to talk about it’s negative impacts, but i do think it’s a dangerous thing], the whole infantilisation of zuko as a ‘soft boi’, seeing katara as essentially her ember island player depiction, you get the gist.) i often feel as if there aren’t many gen spaces within the space, which i feel is a pretty important part of fandom to have.

essentially, i enjoyed it at first. the ‘what atla characters would wear in my style’ videos were lovely, there were incredibly interesting analysis videos, v cool cosplay, stunning edits and jokes i actually lost my shit at but. it got pretty sour by the time i ended up leaving, and i generally dislike it now. 

[pacificnorthwitches]

Good morning, witches. The full moon in Taurus peaked today, Nov 12, at 5:34am PST (1:34pm GMT). As the calendar year is winding down to a close, this full moon helps us tap into our feminine energies and to come home to our true nature. Since Taurus is the fixed earth sign, we must allow ourselves to accept the earth's calling for us to embrace the sensory world around us. With the veil being thin during this season, we are opening access to the bridge between life and death. Remind yourself to fully be in the present moment.

We are currently experiencing a transit of Mercury passing directly across the sun. The sun is essentially magnifying the qualities of Mercury, especially communication and commerce. This event will not occur again until Nov 13, 2032. And since Mercury is currently retrograde in Scorpio, another fixed sign, we are more easily able to connect with that which has been hidden beneath the surface. This is an effective time to focus your intentions and open yourself to sympathy to resolve any issues you are experiencing. Meditate on gratitude for the blessings and privileges in your life, and also on why your soul chose to incarnate in this body at this time.

As a final note, we would like to thank our dear followers for staying with us during our recent and unexpected hiatus. I, Ember, have been especially struggling with my disabilities. But the cosmos has finally brought me to a place of contentment and control of my illnesses. We are immensely grateful for all of your support!

For more astrology and witchcraft insights, please follow us here at @pacificnorthwitches. If you would like to support us, you may do so by making a purchase in our shop (see our site link in our bio) or order directly from our Facebook page.

[itsclydebitches]

RWBY Recaps: Vol. 5 "Lighting the Fire"

This is a re-posting from Nov. 4th, 2017 in an effort to get all my recaps fully on tumblr. Thanks!

I would like to begin this review by extending a heartfelt apology to Yang Xiao Long. I should have never doubted her.

A few posts ago I mentioned how surprised I was that Yang would choose her Mom over Ruby, especially given her character short on top of an already single-minded personality. If there’s one thing that can be truly said to define Yang, it’s the love and protective streak she has for her sister. So I was thrilled at the reveal that this whole trip was essentially a strategic smokescreen. As Yang puts it bluntly: “I’m not here for you.” She’s always been heading towards Ruby. The only reason Yang is making this emotional pit-stop is because Raven can save her time.

We’ve known since the train that Raven can open portals, but until now it’s been up in the air whether that’s her semblance, something extra (like Qrow’s morphing ability), something that was bestowed on her, etc. Well, it turns out that first time’s the charm. Raven’s semblance allows her to bond to certain people—Yang, Tai, and Qrow—and form portals to their immediate location. Pretty nifty when you think about it, especially since Yang knows Qrow will have found Ruby by now. If she gets to Qrow, she gets to her sis. Except for the fact that Qrow is off looking for more huntsmen. Potential problem?) Still it’s a wonderful twist, especially since RWBY already has enough character arcs about kids trying to reconcile with their abusers. Given Yang’s headstrong nature, it just didn’t feel right for her to try and bond with a long-absent mom. Demand a favor though because “nothing is going to keep me from my sister”? Yeah. That’s Yang.

Not to say she hasn’t changed, of course. Though many are still uncomfortable with the way her PTSD is being written, I’m glad to see that this persistent shaking remains. Obviously not glad in the sense of, “Yay kids suffering!” but glad that we’re given acknowledgment that trauma has lasting effects and Yang will need to continue to work at her new life and against her new fears—things aren’t solved through one good crying session. We get to see her in a real fight for the first time since Beacon and, as many guessed, her new arm is outfitted with a gun to balance out the other half of Ember Celica, doubling as a decent shield in a pinch. It’s also notable that Yang’s style has changed a bit. Her movements are more controlled; graceful even, more like Weiss’ (and isn’t that something given the end of the episode). In short, Yang’s hand-to-hand has become more measured, as opposed to the ‘charge and hit as hard as you can’ technique that we saw pre-Volume 3. It makes sense, given that the last time Yang rushed in without thoroughly evaluating her opponent she lost that arm. Even her conversation is a little cooler. “Good to know, thanks.” This is a Yang that retains her confidence, but with less of the arrogant taunts. She’s growing up and though much of that growth stems from trauma, it’s still lovely to see.

Back in Haven training has begun. Ruby is… really not good at hand-to-hand. But she’s improving! This whole sequence is a study in excellent facial expressions, as two kids—both of whom are uncomfortable with this situation—attempt to beat each other up the old-fashioned way. The animation moves smoothly from comic fear to stubborn determination. Oscar actually manages to land a punch that knocks Ruby down and I laughed aloud at his frantic apology. He shouldn’t have lost focus. Ruby comes back with a swing of her own seconds later.

However, as usual there are significant details paired alongside these humorous scenes. After Oscar takes his hit Ozpin asks, “Mind if I give it a shot?” and immediately takes control. This is interesting, given that just last episode (only a day earlier?) Oscar had to focus and deliberately give up control to Ozpin. It took time. Now we don’t even get to see whether Oscar agrees to the switch—Ozpin is already there.

Now yes, they’re eventually meant to merge into one person, or at least share this body in a way reminiscent of that. That’s presumably the end goal (unless Shannon McCormick’s recent comments hint at something we don’t know yet). However, the fact that we see Ozpin’s power over Oscar in the same episode that Raven drops her cryptic comments brings back the theory that Ozpin isn’t quite as benevolent as we’d like to believe. The only true evidence for that (given his actual kind nature and the fact that Raven herself definitely can’t be trusted) is because that’s just how these stories go. Oh, I have no doubt that he’s doing things for “the right reasons,” but like Dumbledore and Gandalf before him, Ozpin’s quest to do what’s right for the world no doubt involves a great deal of sacrifice, complicating the morality there. If Raven considers Ruby a “lost cause” for so much as associating with Ozpin, that’s a pretty heavy implication--if we choose to believe her--that anyone near him will get chewed up and spit out by this war, regardless of what Ozpin might do to try and stop it. AKA, Pyrrha. Casualties are inevitable. (In fact, there’s a lot of potential similarities here between the corners Ozpin is backed into and Qrow’s semblance. For both, everyone around them suffers, regardless of intent). Ozpin’s screen-time this season has been just a little too lighthearted and his persona just a little too grandfatherly. I’m waiting for when these complications come back up and bite everyone on the ass, reminding them that they’re in the middle of a war. 

Anyone who spends five minutes with me in the RWBY fandom knows that Ozpin is my favorite and I’d like nothing more than for him to remain the wise, kindly headmaster figure indefinitely. I want him alongside Team RWBY to the very end. However, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if Raven drops some very uncomfortable information about him next episode, the “truth” that she insists Yang and Weiss don’t know about yet. She could be referring to Ozpin’s cursed nature, but Raven has already admitted that she was once in his employ and can clearly never go back to that, so I suspect there’s far more to her discomfort than just a little reincarnation. Whether we believe her—whether that will be enough to turn the audience against Ozpin even more than they already are, especially when it’s coming from someone like Raven—we’ll have to wait and see. And no doubt all of this will tie back to Raven’s work in securing the Spring Maiden.

The implications of all this are still at least a week off though. For now the training session remains as happy as possible when you’re preparing to take down your world’s embodiment of evil. Ren has a lovely moment where he explains various theories on semblances: how they might be a reflection of your personality, or vice versa, or have no true connection to who you are at all. So basically... semblances could be anything. The magic structure keeps getting flimsier as time goes on. Regardless, Ruby confirms a long-held belief that her semblance came out during training one day (with Qrow?) and Nora was… struck by lightning. And survived. Good god this girl’s life is horrifying.

The big question then is: What is Jaune’s semblance? And what is Oscar’s? It honestly never occurred to me that he’d have a semblance of his own to unlock, rather than just inheriting something from Ozpin. In fact, what’s Ozpin’s semblance? Does he still have one? Or was it lost long ago after his first merge? I'd like to think that he has at least two at all times: his original semblance (or magic, perhaps) and whatever his host is capable of. I'd actually be interested in seeing an Ozpin who retains the semblances of every person he's merged with, but given that Cinder managed to kill him, I doubt we'll be seeing that kind of power. I suppose time manipulation is still a possibility given how that fight was animated, but again, I think we’d have already heard about such a powerful ability if that card was on the table. It's certainly not the curse itself… that was forced onto Ozpin by the Gods. So maybe—just maybe—Volume 5 will give us three semblance reveals instead of just one. And Ozpin’s comment that there are heights to achieve beyond just unlocking your semblance opens doors for power-ups within our main cast.  

This is actually a lot packed into the shortest episode of the Volume thus far and if you thought we were finished…

Weiss: “Your mom kidnapped me?”

Yang: “YOU KIDNAPPED HER?”

I nominate this as one of RWBY’s greatest moments. I honestly couldn’t have asked for more from their reunion. Harking back to last week’s episode, Weiss demonstrates that she really doesn’t need anyone to save her. Yes, she was still in that cage, but only because she was going for subtly and strategy over a brute-force escape plan. (Remember, that’s Yang’s territory.) When she sees that Yang is somehow here that plan goes straight out the window. One knight at full strength and Weiss has busted out of her prison, running to back up Yang in a very outnumbered fight.

RT knows when to cut things back though and reminding everyone that, ahem, the Grimm are still a formidable enemy was a smart move. Raven might not have any qualms about fighting family, but she won’t let that anger draw a whole horde of Grimm to her camp. She gives Myrtenaster back to Weiss and invites them inside for that talk.

But first we have this.

I love that Weiss hugged first. I love that she freely abandons Myrtenaster in hostile territory to do so. She never would have done that a year ago. They’ve been through so much though and the fact that she can freely say how much she missed Yang says heaps about her character development.

It’s a beautiful shot to end the episode on. And if you listen closely, there’s the sound of Freezerburn shippers sobbing happily in the distance…  

Other Details of Note

Raven’s bandit sitting waaaaay far back on Yang’s motorbike. Bet you ten lien he tried to wrap his arms around her waist and got another punch for his trouble.

The click of gears we hear as Yang stretches her arms. Nice touch there.

“I’m her daughter, after all.” There’s some of the taunting Yang we know and love.

Can’t say I was a fan of the music during the RJNR-Ozpin-Oscar chat scene. It felt… sitcom-ish? That’s not quite right, but too upbeat and noticeable for the moment. I shouldn’t be distracted from the conversation by whatever the music is doing.

I found Raven’s first greeting to Yang creepy in the extreme. You’re so strong and patient, doing everything you can to make your dream a reality. Talk about trying to butter someone up when you don’t actually know anything about that person. Raven’s attempts at welcoming Yang ring so false that it just hits home how estranged they are.

We've had a lot of 'crane shots' (for lack of a better word) this Volume: during Salem's conversation with Lionheart, before Sienna's assassination, now as Yang confronts her mother. I'm not sure what exactly to make of this yet, only that it's been a frequent technique the last few episodes and has definitely caught my attention.

[starcunning]

Suffer Me to Cherish You: 6 Nov

man if only i could just suplex everyone in authority shit would be so much simpler

Previously: Week One Previously: 4 Nov, 5 Nov

They had left the next morning, on foot, leaving their birds with X’rhinne, along with a linkpearl. During their hike to the Well, Rhinne had called to report the return of the scouts, and X’kher related to her the location of the Amalj’aa encampment where the others were being held. It was cut into the cliffs above Zahar’ak, and X’shasi was glad of her experience as a mountaineer.

Because of the remoteness of the camp and the difficulty of the climb, the Amalj’aa were not expecting them, and Shasi took the lookout by surprise, dropping onto his back from a cliff overhead, sword entering at the neck and exiting at the throat in a spray of too-hot blood. Fray dropped down beside her a moment later, and she got a sense of his amusement from the look in those golden eyes. She did not return his hidden smile, only turned her gaze upon the camp.

How long had it been since the first time she’d done this? Even before Thancred Waters had pulled her up out of the dust and enlisted her aid, as a member of the Immortal Flames it had been her duty long since to quell the threat of Ifrit’s awakening. That peace had been bought in blood, and would be purchased anew this day.

Fray followed like a shadow—apt, perhaps, given all he sought to teach her—as they went deeper into the mountain camp. She could smell the iron on the air, of rust and of blood; could scent the smoke of flames that never went out. She thought of the Bowl of Embers, of the squad mates that had walked into that place with her and never come out.

When they found the cages, they were guarded by a half-dozen Amalj’aa. There was little room for subtlety, and she was not a subtle tool. And never had been, she had to admit to herself. So she walked into their midst, lifted her sword, and challenged them openly.

The lizard-men swarmed her, and she gathered her aether and sent it pulsing outward, rippling through the ground beneath them as though it might swallow them all whole. Most of them were unarmed, but it mattered little—their claws were wicked enough, scraping over her arms and ringing along the length of her blade. It bothered her little. She was used to being outnumbered, though at least now she felt equipped to handle it.

One of them lifted its voice to bellow the alarm. She silenced it a moment too late, arterial spray washing over her face. That was becoming too familiar a sensation, she thought, then shook it off. “Fray,” she called instead, “the cages.”

He shot out from behind her, charging between the lizard-men heedless of the dangers. Aether pooled darkly around him, trailing behind him like a banner of war, murky as ink. Claws and spiked fists cut through the cloud of darkness. Most missed her, giving her the chance to whirl about and deliver an arcing slice. Two more of her opponents fell, the crowd now halved. But that only allowed her to better see what approached.

The chains of silver about his neck announced him as a priest of Ifrit. So too the scepter of bone in his hands. It glowed ember-bright for just a moment, and then she felt the gout of flame blister over her, charring her side.

She should have been afraid. Instead she was determined. One of the pugilists caught her with a punishing blow, the spikes of his knuckles buried in her wounded side. She cried out, and Fray looked back at her. Shaking her head, X’shasi lunged forward and buried her sword in the Amalj’aa’s gut, allowing herself to be invigorated by its death.

“You next,” she declared to one of the remaining Amalj’aa. As though responding to her goading, it stepped in, raking its claws across her. She felt the pain suffuse her, well in her chest like an unvoiced scream, and allowed it to enshroud her. The tip of her sword scored the Amalj’aa’s leathery skin, but did not penetrate, not until she swung around and caught him on the back stroke. Sweat and blood slicked her body, covered her face. She could taste it with every breath, and let it fuel her.

She was shorter than the Amalj’aa. That only made it easier for her to drive her sword upward, beneath the ribs, so that her opponent died on her blade, blood running down. Over the hilt, over her hands, their last desperate breath leaving them without a sound. Like an execution.

One left.

Flame blossomed around her once more, singing her hair, burning bare her tail. Two left, she recalled. Her eyes darted about, looking for Fray. He was still occupied with the cages, and the priest advanced unchecked. The last pugilist struck her across the face, driving her with the force of the blow. She turned the movement into kinetic force, directing her aether with her steps, lashing out to wither him. His next strike was not half so potent, easily batted aside. She drove her blade into his gut, twisting as she pulled back, and then disengaged at a sprint, advancing on the priest.

Flames buffeted her with every step. She could feel the hilt of her sword grow hot in her hands, even through its leather wrapping. She knew how the magic was made. She knew how to unmake it, and steeled herself against the flames.

The priest seemed shock when she shook his next blast off, emerging from the flames to stand before him. She swung her sword. He threw up his arms to intercept the blow with his staff. The bone splintered; the aether channeled through it shattered too, washing over both of them. X’shasi called the darkness to her like a second skin and shrugged off the worst of the explosion of aether. The priest was not so lucky; she could smell his charred flesh. It cracked and crumbled beneath her slashes, crumbling like ash. Still the priest was desperate enough to try and cast without a focus, and still she pressed him. He was fueling his spells with no less than himself, and her last blade stroke was almost perfunctory. Almost a mercy.

When she looked back at the cages, the Lynx tribe captives were still cowering within the bars of iron. X’shasi wiped her sword on a scrap of clothing not already soaked in blood or charred beyond use, and stowed it as she ambled down the hill. With every step, the pain she had ignored during the battle returned to her. Fray met her halfway, holding a hand out to her.

“Wait,” he said. “We could commune, now. We should commune now.” “No,” she told him. “You need to hear the voice! You’ll never find her if you put this off!” “That’s not why I came, Fray. Don’t ask again.” “You’re going to have to make a decision at some point, Shasi. Do you want to be a hero, or do you want to be a dark knight?” “I want to save them,” she said, brushing past him.

Every part of her ached. She had to pant for every breath she took, and each one tasted of blood and ash. She lifted her voice and found it raw. “It’s safe now,” X’shasi declared. “We came to rescue you.” She fumbled for a canteen of water, wanting to wash clean her face. Then, guiltily, she reconsidered it, holding it out in offering to her tribesmen.

It still took a solid minute for the first of them to emerge.

The Well was not so far a diversion on the trail from Zahar’ak to the Lynx camp, and so they made the stop. In any case, X’shasi wasn’t sure she could have made the hike in a single day, nor could the captives. They seemed glad to stop and rest in the oasis—the Well was in truth a mountain spring, and its waters pooled in a pond ringed with trees and leafy bushes. The Lynx tribe miqo’te were exhausted, and it seemed a fine place to camp. Fray offered to take the first watch, and X’shasi—for all her intentions to relieve him—slept clear through until morning. Then she wandered down to the edge of the spring.

The water was blessedly cool against X’shasi’s skin as she knelt on the shore to scrub her face. “You should leave it,” Fray said. “It itches,” she protested. “Let him see it,” Fray said. “He should know the cost of the things he asks from you.” “He didn’t ask.” “No, he simply expected.” “I volunteered,” she countered. “Why?” Fray asked. “You know he’s no father of yours.” X’shasi frowned, struggling with her boot as she pulled it off. “It’s true, I left the tribe and don’t really want to rejoin it,” she said. “But that doesn’t absolve me of all my responsibilities to them. Even if they were strangers—” “They practically are.” “Even so,” she said, raising her voice just slightly. “I would have helped.” “Why?” he repeated. “It’s what I do,” she said, pushing herself to stand. She waded into the water, letting the spring wash away the ash and grime. “This isn’t the hard part. This is what’s easy. This is what’s clear.” “You have a choice.” “Abandoning innocent people to be sacrificed to call a primal, when I could save them? There’s no choice at all.”

Her clothes were still stained, still singed, her wounds still visible. She ran a hand along the gash in her forearm with concern, looking back at the shore. Fray said nothing, but one of the other miqo’te was watching her. “You’re hurt,” she said. X’shasi looked at her—still a girl, though nearly a woman, at least as they counted such things in Ul’dah. “I’ve had worse,” she said. “I could help you,” the girl told her. “I’m Rhiri, Rhinne’s apprentice, I know a bit ...” “What about the others?” X’shasi asked. “I can make it back to camp alright, so don’t worry about me.” Fray scoffed from his place on the bank. X’shasi only looked at him. “I can at least make sure nothing gets infected,” X’rhiri offered. X’shasi shook her head, spraying droplets of clear water from her hair. “Alright,” she assented, wading out of the cool spring.

X’rhiri had some skill as a conjurer, and X’shasi felt her wounds close painlessly, though the flesh was still scabby, not yet healed. She swung her tail about to inspect it and found the flesh pink and hairless, the tuft of white fur at its tip all but burnt away. X’shasi let it go with a sigh, and X’rhiri looked almost apologetic. “I do feel better,” she told the young apprentice. “Good,” she said. “I think the others are ready to set out whenever you are.” “Sure,” X’shasi said. “Just give me a minute.” X’rhiri nodded and withdrew, tracing the banks of the Well to rejoin the others on the far bank. “How come you didn’t do that?” she asked Fray, offering him a hand up. “It’s not as easy as it looks,” Fray told her. His gauntlet was frigid in her own, colder still than the spring water. “And you didn’t ask.” “You’re angry with me,” she said. “About yesterday.” “Yes,” he said flatly. “We’ll deal with that once they’re safe.” “As long as we deal with it.”

When they approached the mesa that sheltered the Lynx camp, X’shasi found herself at the fore of the group, the former captives arrayed behind her. The sun had dried her clothes and hair over the hours of the hike, but effort had slicked her skin with new sweat, and some of her wounds had reopened to gild her with blood. However haggard she felt, there was a grim determination in her core—and in her eyes, perhaps, for among those who came out to see the advancing party stood X’khilo Nunh, and when their eyes met, she saw something like fear upon his face.

She stood on the plateau and addressed the Lynx tribe: “I came here to deliver a single message, and so I tell you now that Ala Mhigo is free; that the mountains of Gyr Abania will welcome you home. But I must tell you also that X’khilo Nunh would have seen you return there without those behind me, including members of your council. Do with that knowledge what you will.” “Is that a challenge?” X’khilo called back. “It is not,” X’shasi said. “I could not take your post from you even if I wanted it. You may fight me, if you like, and you will lose, and it will remain what it is: the truth.” To Fray she said more, in a lower voice. “We’re leaving.” “I thought you might like to stay,” said X’rhiri. “I can’t,” she said. “Give my thanks to your mistress, but I’m leaving tonight.” “Where are you going?” “The Bowl of Embers.”

[nightlykora]

Forbidden Part 4

Sage

10:27 AM, Monday Nov. 16

Me - Do you like Kennedy

Her drink drippled down her shirt. 

Me - I know you like guys and girls. So you must like her. 

Sage - I havent liked her since year 10

Me - Well then why where you are staring at her stomach 

Sage - .....

Sage - shut up

Me - lol

She gave me a side eye. 

"Let's go swimming!" She said and walked her plate over to the dishwasher. 

"I don't have a swimsuit." Ash said in question. 

"We'll figure that out later." Sage said running the opposite direction of the stairs. 

Jarred chased after her and so did Ash. Me and Willow looked at each other and went after them to. I was the last one in the echoey pool room. Jarred was over by the hot tub messing with the settings box that looked like a light switch. Ash and Sage were staring at the pool. 

"What color do you guys want the pool to be?" Jarred asked not looking at us. 

"A ember color." Willow said. 

He pressed a few buttons, and the pool became the color Willow requested. 

"Well let's just swim in our under clothes."  Sage said as she unbuttoned the front of her night jumper leg first.

I honestly didn't rember her wearing that the day before but she did have a backpack, so it was probably in there.

"Yeahhh I'll be fine. I have some things I need to turn in online." I said and went to sit on the chair. 

I looked up after I sat down, and Sage had got to the top of the buttons. She clearly wasn't wearing a bra.

"SAGE! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?" I yelled.

Jarred turned to look at her clearly scared of what she was doing. As soon as he realized his face turned a bright shade of red. All he could really see was her back because she had taken her jumper off. 

"What?" she asked confusedly.

I signaled to her chest, and she looked down.

"Oh shit!" She said as she reached down for her jumper, "I completely forgot." 

"Sage! You can borrow my shirt!" Jarred said throwing his shirt at Sage still not looking. 

Willow jumped in the pool. Ash was still standing there. She turned around and looked at me. She walked over and sat at the foot of the chair I was sitting at and stared at the pool. I thought Sage looked different the day before, but I guess that was why.

"Jarred! This is a white shirt!" Sage yelled. 

He covered his eyes and started to run to the door. 

"I'll go get you a shirt." He said.

Sage just jumped in the pool without a care. It might have been because it was just us girls, but I didn't know. Willow was on a pool float and was looking at her phone. 

"Oh my god! Sage look at this photo Piper just sent me of her with Quinn." Willow said as Sage rested her chest on Willow's float.

Piper was Willow's older sister by five years making her 21 years old. She wasn't her entire sister, but her stepsister. Her dad had Piper in a marriage before Willow was born. Her dad divorced Piper's mom when she was one and meet Willow's mom and then had Willow and Dove in that order. Dove is 3 years younger than Willow making her 13. 

Sage's older brother was six years older than her, so he is about 23. Sage and Quinn had been inseparable till he left to travel with Piper on and off. Now it's just Sage and her mom because her dad had passed in a car accident when Sage was seven. Piper and Quinn had been dating for four years, but according to Willow, they liked each other when they first met. 

"Are they coming to Thanksgiving for me or for you?" Sage asked. 

"Probably you because they went to mine last time." Willow replied.

I looked at Ash who was still sitting at the edge of the chair. I sat down my phone, and she looked at me. 

"What?" She asked. 

"I'm kind of surprised you're not swimming. You love it." I said as she looked back at the water. 

She mumbled something.

"What was that?" I asked.

"I don't like swimming in bikinis." She said

I had forgot about that. I was the only one she ever told out of our whole friend group. Before we went to high school, she was a lot bigger than she was now. Because of that she had obtained stretch marks around and waist and became extremely uncomfortable about them. Personally, however, I thought they looked cute on her, but I never did tell her that. She told me that she thought they were a big deal and that everybody else would make fun of her, so she never told anybody but me. 

"Come here." I said and patted the side of the seat beside me.

She moved up and placed her head on my shoulder. I started rubbing her head and checking my assignments. I had an urge. I separated her skirt and nice shirt on her stomach. I saw her marks and traced them with my fingers. She looked at me. I fixed her clothes to cover it back up.

"Sorry. I don't know why I did that." I said and put both hands back on my phone. 

She sat up, "It's fine I liked it." She said and stood up. 

She took off her skirt slowly then her shirt. I was just starting. It was honestly kid of hot. She stood there for a minute.

"Oh, hell yeah Lynn," Sage said, "Look at those hips! Shakira who." 

Jarred came in with his eyes covered, "SAGE! HERES A SHIRT!" He said and ran out the door. 

Sage got out of the pool and slipped the shirt on and ran out the door.

[eorzeasntm]

ENTM November Challenge

Hi everyone!  The theme for the ENTM November challenge has been decided.  ENTM wants you to go out and take a screenshot on the theme:

The Raven

That’s right, the theme is simply the Edgar Allen Poe poem!  (If you are like me and haven’t read it since middle school, I have placed it under the fold for you.)  This challenge is completely free style so do whatever you want to interpret it - just focus on taking the most beautiful screenshot that you can.

Three ways to enter:  Submit a full sized screenshot to eorzeasntm at gmail dot com, send a direct message here on Tumblr to eorseasntm OR submit it to Katarh Mest on the ENTM Tumblr Discord. (You can join our Discord channel here!)

To ensure your entry is not missed, please verify that you receive a confirmation from Kat.  Note that Kat will be offline from November 14th-18th and unable to answer emails due to a scheduled surgery, so don’t panic if confirmations are delayed during that time. 

Who can enter:  Anyone!  The monthly challenge is open to all members of the FFXIV community, even if you have never even heard of ENTM before.

Key Dates:  Entries will be accepted until 10:00 PM Eastern on Friday, November 23rd.  Voting will go up no later than 12AM EST on Nov 24th.  Voting will remain open until 10:00 PM EST  on Friday, November 30th.  And the winner will be announced December 1st!

Monthly challenges are decided by community vote only so don’t be afraid to advertise, advertise, advertise!

Prizes:  The winner is allowed to request a minion from the Mog Station (or other item of similar value) as well as pick out the theme for the December challenge.

This poem came from:  https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/48860/the-raven

The Raven

BY EDGAR ALLAN POE

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—    While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. “’Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door—            Only this and nothing more.”    Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December; And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.    Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow    From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore— For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore—            Nameless here for evermore.    And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;    So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating    “’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door— Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;—            This it is and nothing more.”    Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer, “Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;    But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,    And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door, That I scarce was sure I heard you”—here I opened wide the door;—            Darkness there and nothing more.    Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing, Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;    But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,    And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Lenore?” This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Lenore!”—            Merely this and nothing more.    Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning, Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.    “Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my window lattice;      Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore— Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;—            ’Tis the wind and nothing more!”    Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter, In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;    Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;    But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door— Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door—            Perched, and sat, and nothing more. Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore, “Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no craven, Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore— Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!”            Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”    Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly, Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy bore;    For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being    Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door— Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,            With such name as “Nevermore.”    But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.    Nothing farther then he uttered—not a feather then he fluttered—    Till I scarcely more than muttered “Other friends have flown before— On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before.”            Then the bird said “Nevermore.”    Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken, “Doubtless,” said I, “what it utters is its only stock and store    Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster    Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore— Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore            Of ‘Never—nevermore’.”    But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling, Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;    Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking    Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore— What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore            Meant in croaking “Nevermore.”    This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;    This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining    On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er, But whose velvet-violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er,            She shall press, ah, nevermore!    Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.    “Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he hath sent thee    Respite—respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore; Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!”            Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”    “Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!— Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,    Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted—    On this home by Horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore— Is there—is there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me, I implore!”            Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”    “Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil! By that Heaven that bends above us—by that God we both adore—    Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,    It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore— Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.”            Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”    “Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!” I shrieked, upstarting— “Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!    Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!    Leave my loneliness unbroken!—quit the bust above my door! Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!”            Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”    And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;    And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,    And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor; And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor            Shall be lifted—nevermore!

[maria-sultada]

Shades of November

I always dreaded the first days of November. The wistful warmth that danced with the cold yuletide breeze shattered the edges of my soul. And yet, somehow, I realized it was exactly what reminded me not to forget.

When I was a child, I did not find any beauty in the Halloween season. My town, where people used to plow land biannually to earn their living, was not the best site for children to enjoy the luxury of participating in trick-or-treat games and Halloween parties. Television channels that became the temporary home of manananggal, tyanak and white ladies were enough to send a crippling shiver down my spine. At night, I avoided peeking under my bed, terrified of a boogeyman that might jump out.

I refused to turn my lights off during November. Shadows urged my mind to plunge into the sea of uncertainty I didn’t want to bathe myself in. I was scared of the dark. It was too overwhelming that it seemed to render my existence insignificant and helpless.

Despite my attempts to use the familiar comfort of the light, wide-eyed monsters tiptoed silently toward the corners of my mind, mocking and haunting my subconscious. It was enough to dissolve the pixie dusts in my dreams and turned them into bits and pieces of nightmares.

Luckily, I had my grandfather. Bleary eyed and with a mind still fogged with fragments of the night’s dream, he would jump out of bed whenever he heard me crying in my sleep. His rough hands, calloused by years of expert farming, would shake me back to reality. He would fight my imaginary demons with the tune of Leron Leron Sinta and Bahay Kubo as his armors.

Amang, as what I fondly called grandfather, was my knight in shining armor. When my father died before I was old enough to understand loss, Amang taught me not to fear the dark. He said I should not be scared when there was a parade of werewolves out there, circling in the darkness of the real world and preying on the innocents one by one. I was told to become the wolf instead. He taught me how to be brave, how to turn my battle scars and rough edges into my strength.

Frankly, I never knew I needed so much strength until the day before I turned 19 - the day my grandfather passed away.

Perhaps death could revise people’s perception of living. It’s funny how between a second and a heartbeat, it could change fear into sadness, sadness into regret and regret into an endless trail of excruciating pain piercing through the heart.

Since Amang’s death, I began to see November as a painful rather than a scary month. Suddenly, my fears of Halloween monsters faded. They were replaced by an intense yearning in my chest. It was spiced with a bitter pint of regret on wasted opportunities - on ‘thank yous’ and ‘I love yous’ that could have been uttered.

November made me recall the bittersweet figments of memories my grandfather left me. After the time and effort it took to mask my loss with a cheerful smile, the month forced me to relive the moments that I desperately tried to repress in my mind.

The troubling boogeyman that I once thought reigned under my bed has transformed to a more haunting, endless list of life’s milestones that Amang was supposed to witness. All the missed graduations, birthdays and broken hearts have killed me several times in the years that I wondered why I was still breathing. Each year, the list of unattended events grow longer and longer – becoming more painful than the previous ones.

Somehow, being alone during Halloween no longer scares me. I have managed to befriend the dark. Loss has lulled me to find peace in my empty unlit space as I try to hold onto old little vestiges of what used to be a living, breathing soul. Misery taught me to find comfort in the shadows as I think how I went from holding my grandfather’s warm hands to holding a cold photograph, from seeing his face to trying to revive its contours in my memory.

The leaves of November 2017, however, fell in a different shade for me.

As I searched the semi-crowded grocery store for the perfect candle to light beside Amang’s new home - the rectangular gravestone with his name embossed on a piece of marble - I realized how I was wasting life mourning my loss and dreading a particular month.

Well, I cannot drive out shadows in a windowless room, I need to let the light in. I began to accept that clinging to the false hope that things would stay the same made me stagnant and vapid. It’s amazing how in just a flicker of a moment, I was transported from tumultuous longing to the infinite serenity of holding on and letting go.

Looking among series of packed waxes, I realized I could never stop people from leaving just as I can’t stop the world from turning. It’s natural. They leave because, well, they have to. Everything is ephemeral. Everything will eventually go, whether people like it or not.

Perhaps the act of lighting candles on the graves of lost loves was not for the dead, but for those who were left behind - a reminder that people’s lives were like candles; we must burn bright and touch as many lives as possible before reaching our eventual melt down.

But how?

I resolved to become a wolf despite the loss. I decided to be unafraid to the outcome of life, to remember to breathe in the laughter and cherish the tears; to dive into hope and land into love. I bled but chose to persist- to dream, to struggle, to try.

I decided to live.

Filled with a new brand of hope, my steady footsteps marked the Bermuda grass once again. I became one with the sea of people who have started to find solace in the middle of a spacious lot filled with sturdy crosses. The bright embers that flew off from colorful candles, the breezy wind fragranced with smell of flowers and the chirping of birds resting on gravestones reminded me of the beauty of life and death. I mean, what could consistently go wrong in a perfectly imperfect world as this.

Guided with my recent realizations and my lost loves’ memories in heart, I resolved to move forward – not to surpass this emotionally dragging month – but to continue living in the days, months and years that would follow until better tomorrows have replaced the painful yesterdays.

Written on: Nov 7, 2017

[canadiansme]

The 5-Second Trick For Justin Crabbe

Solutions could possibly be nearly anything from just one-motor propeller aircraft to your Boeing 737 outfitted with initial-course seating; a lot of the jets are owned by businesses that use the Jettly network to nutritional supplement the ownership Value. ” this past summer were dedicated to her memory. Crecente performed a job during the arts Centre’s creation of the exact same clearly show 9 several years previously. Under his leadership, Jettly has Sophisticated its functions and network of plane and air operators throughout over a hundred ninety nations around the world and territories around the globe. However, the new entrants proceed, as I outlined very last thirty day period. And this thirty day period Canadian-primarily based Jettly is the newest newcomer seeking to revolutionize personal jet journey. Just after trying a seat-sharing model that ran afoul of laws, its serial entrepreneur founder Justin Crabbe has taken a whole new tact. Want to know ways to vacation in type, just like the pros? We sign in with Repeated fliers to Learn the way frequently they fly, their favorite Places and what… The working day was August 26, 2011. Maritime Justin Crabbe was patrolling close to a dam in Afghanistan after a bomb-sniffing Pet dog had undergone. Bomb-sniffing puppies are capable of finding and point out improvised explosive gadgets Except if the IED is in water. Nicholson went upstairs and found Crabbe on the ground of the lavatory, based on the account furnished to Julia Crabbe’s brother. The door had to be compelled open since her system was blocking it. “You may set within an application from Canada for any flight to Germany and China, as well as the app would instantly commence gathering quotes comparable to how you should simply call an Uber,” Crabbe mentioned. “The expansion has actually been great. We acquire Many flight requests each month.” A number of months back, Glenn Douglas, operator of LA Custom Pools of Yucaipa, received a call for a swimming pool bid and satisfied with U.S. Marine Cpl. Justin Crabbe. Following the First Assembly, Douglas made a decision he planned to donate time and expense to get a specially-developed pool for Crabbe, a decorated soldier who was injured in 2011 although serving on his 2nd deployment in Afghanistan when an improvised explosive unit exploded and resulted while in the lack of Section of his remaining hand and both of those legs higher than the knees. Households for our Troops crafted Crabbe an tailored dwelling, one of 173 nationwide in November. Douglas said it was just the correct matter to carry out. “After i achieved with Justin, I had been so amazed,” claimed Doug­las. “He didn’t notify me who he was and wasn’t in search of nearly anything absolutely free.” Douglas and his relatives at­tended the Residences for Our Troops critical ceremony in Nov­ember and claimed it had been daily life shifting. “I used to be moved,” he said. “It was heat and touching. Now we have a extraordinary Local community.” Douglas agreed to style and design his pool. “I instructed Justin I would give him $10,000. Customers may have to traverse rather brief distances as speedily as feasible, and private planes are occasionally the only real method of connecting to 1000s of tricky-to-attain regional and personal airports across the country. You can also make as lots of requests as you want and each quote can contain several legs. On the opposite aspect, operators shell out over a signing up for cost on an analogous scale. Drink of selection (while in the air and on the bottom): In air on on the bottom it’s hands down a great glass of Crimson WINE. Turns out, non-public travel so Justin Crabbe appealed to him he don't just renamed his Bombardier The Indispensable, he went forward and purchased jet operator NetJets in 1998. Crabbe had initially reported he were fidgeting with the firearm when it went off and shot Crecente, In line with , the web site for your Austin Statesman newspaper.

[thisdaynews]

Trudeau victory prompts ‘Wexit’ talk in Canada’s West

New Post has been published on https://thebiafrastar.com/trudeau-victory-prompts-wexit-talk-in-canadas-west/

Trudeau victory prompts ‘Wexit’ talk in Canada’s West

“Is it real? Yeah. People are mad,” Randy Hoback, a Conservative Party member of Parliament in central Saskatchewan told POLITICO. “I’ve never seen it like this.”

Citizens in the Western provinces of Alberta and Saskatchewan agitated for political change in Ottawa over the last year as attempts to build a coastal pipeline expansion continued to falter and as farmers got trounced by trade tiffs with China.

They got what they wanted in their region — Conservatives swept all but one parliamentary seat in the elections, leaving Trudeau’s Liberals with virtually no presence in Canada’s oil country. But it didn’t translate to new federal leadership, as Trudeau’s party dominated in Eastern Canadian cities, including Toronto and Montreal, and still commands a strong plurality of seats in Parliament.

The result: talk of a break with the rest of Canada — dubbed “ Wexit” on social media — is accelerating as some in the western part of the country say enough is enough.

A Trudeau spokesperson said the government is considering ways to incorporate western perspectives into the incoming government. Some pundits are suggesting he should take the rare step — for Canada — of appointing an unelected person to the Cabinet he’ll swear in on Nov. 20 to ensure that oil country’s views are heard.

The elections also breathed new life into a Québécois separatist party previously believed to have been extinguished in the East. The Bloc Québécois reinvented itself — by downplaying talk of independence, ironically — and more than tripled its seat-count from 10 to 32.

Long the two most restive regions of Canada’s federations, Alberta and Quebec have often shared similar complaints about an intrusive federal government; Quebec’s concerns, in particular, occasionally dominated the national agenda as the province nearly left Canada.

But the political dynamics in western Canada are driving the conversation in Ottawa this week. And at the heart of the West’s disillusionment is the oil industry, which is a major driver of the nation’s economy.

Politicians in Alberta and Saskatchewan say the livelihoods of many of their residents are under attack from Ottawa, given the Trudeau government’s focus on shrinking Canada’s carbon footprint to combat climate change.

“I think this is maybe a little bit more serious,” said University of Calgary political scientist Barry Cooper. “And because so much of it is symbolized in this kind of concatenation of environmentalism and basic anti-Alberta sentiments, it might actually lead to something.”

The head of the province, Alberta Premier Jason Kenney, regularly joins in the Ottawa-bashing, including last week when he blamed the Trudeau-led economy for his own budget cuts.

Kenney has obliquely nodded at separatist sentiments since coming into power last spring, though he used the months before the federal election to call on Canadians to vote Trudeau’s party out of power, rather than pushing for his province to go it alone.

With the results in, Kenney is calling out Ottawa as unsupportive during the province’s economic downturn and imploring Albertans to “be self-reliant.”

Kenney faces a complex dual challenge: Being seen as fighting for Alberta without letting nationalist passions rage out of control. David Cameron famously got burned trying to simultaneously fan, and contain, those nationalist flames, with the result being Brexit.”

Trudeau will need to overcome the perception in Western Canada that he campaigned against Alberta and Saskatchewan in the final days before the election if he wants to prevent alienation from growing, Hoback said.

Westerners will be watching to see whether he appoints anyone from those provinces to Cabinet, and, if so, whether he opts for a mayor who represents one of the few urban centers of the prairies or for someone hailing from a rural area.

“This government has to now really take Western Canada seriously, or it’s going to lose it,” Hoback said.

The day after the election, Kenney promised to appoint a panel of “eminent Albertans” to conduct a deep-dive into the province’s position within Canada and to come up with ideas on how to “fight for fairness in the confederation.”

Duane Bratt, a political science professor at Mount Royal University in Calgary, said the panel is a smart move for Kenney because it provides an outlet to Albertans venting about separatism.

“He can focus then on governing … and he will assign this panel to deal with all the anger,” Bratt said.

To the east, these are actually lean times for Quebec’s once-mighty independence movement.

That French-speaking nationalist cause once brought huge crowds into the streets and also packed far more formidable political power than anything currently existing in Alberta.

Five times, the province elected a provincial party devoted to achieving independence from Canada. It’s held two referendums on the issue, and in the most recent, in 1995, Quebecers came within one percentage point of voting to leave Canada.

But the formerly powerful provincial party, the Parti Québécois, has sunk to fourth place in the provincial legislature.

Support for independence, which decades ago had soared into the high-50s, languished in the low-30s in surveys over the last few years.

One academic who studies opinion polling and has analyzed hundreds of surveys on Quebec independence since the 1970s says the movement is at its nadir.

“You know that sovereignty is low when pollsters don’t ask the question anymore,” said Claire Durand of the University of Montreal.

Some of the PQ’s senior members have quit to form other parties, including the current premier of Quebec, who runs a soft-right government that never talks about separation.

So how did a federal version of the separatist party triple its seat-count in Monday’s election and re-emerge as a political force that potentially cost Trudeau a parliamentary majority?

By not talking about separation at all.

The Bloc Québécois, historically seen as a minor-league adjunct to the PQ and a messenger for separatists’ complaints to the federal Parliament, was on the verge of extinction. But in this campaign, it managed to reinvent itself.

The new party leader, Yves-François Blanchet, took up every cause promoted by popular Quebec Premier François Legault.

But a telling moment occurred during Blanchet’s triumphant election-night speech: Supporters began chanting the old Quebec independence slogan, “On veut un pays! (We want a country!)” and Blanchet replied, “Me too,” before he smothered those embers with a wet blanket: “For this time, the achievement of [independence] is not our mandate.”

Quebec’s and Alberta’s independence movements differ fundamentally in that the francophone province’s issues have always revolved around identity and culture, whereas Alberta’s has always been political, Bratt said.

“But when people see Quebec opposed to pipelines and receiving equalization [payments], you can understand where that anger comes from,” he said. “It’s like, we’re paying you, and you’re running low-cost daycare and stopping Alberta’s resources from getting to market, but you’ll take our money. And that’s a big problem.”

The University of Calgary’s Cooper says Alberta has the economic ability to achieve independence, unlike Quebec. And being independent from Ottawa would give the region more latitude to insist on things like building pipelines to the British Columbia coast, he said — or else Vancouver doesn’t get gas deliveries, or every train traveling from east to west gets stopped for inspection in a newly independent Alberta.

Still, Alberta is landlocked and there would be huge costs in transitioning away from Canada, Bratt notes. And even though Alberta’s economy has been sluggish for the last five years, its economy still outperforms much of the rest of the country.

But there’s another factor at play in Alberta’s anger: The prime minister is a Trudeau.

Albertans still recoil at the memory of the National Energy Program, which was instituted by Justin Trudeau’s father, the late Pierre Elliott Trudeau. That policy was geared toward handing Ottawa more control over Canada’s oil industry.

What remains to be seen is the extent to which separatist passions die down as Canadians gets further away from Election Day or continue to simmer — and how the country’s politicians, both federal and provincial, respond to that.

“I love my country. I’m proud of what Canada has been and what it can be together. We are the strongest together, so I’m going to fight for a unified Canada,” said Hoback, the Conservative MP.

“Unfortunately, I don’t get to control the chess board. Justin Trudeau does,” he added. “We’ll see what he does. The ball’s in his court.”

Read More

[newstfionline]

Everything Around Him Burned. He Stayed Put, and Lived to Tell the Tale.

By Simon Romero, NY Times, Nov. 22, 2018

PARADISE, Calif.--As his neighbors fled, Kevin Jeys read. Then, as a mammoth wildfire moved in, he took a break from flipping through a New Yorker magazine and stepped outside to see what was happening.

“Propane tanks were exploding all over the place, people were screaming and the embers from the buildings on fire around me were crackling,” said Mr. Jeys, 62, a paralegal who writes briefs for criminal defense lawyers. “But I knew then and there I wasn’t going anywhere. I thought, where the hell am I going to go with three cats?”

So, Mr. Jeys--who does not own a cellphone or functioning vehicle but does, in addition to the three cats, have a cockatoo, a zebra finch, two tree frogs and a red translucent bearded dragon lizard--stayed put. Somehow the home he rents on Birch Street emerged unscathed from a firestorm that turned most of Paradise, Calif., into charred ruins and killed dozens of area residents.

Just about the entire town of 27,000 people has evacuated to safe zones. But not Mr. Jeys, who was outside his home on Tuesday. He still isn’t going anywhere, he said.

Mr. Jeys’s remarkable decision to stay in a home that somehow survived the Camp Fire offers a glimpse into the unpredictable behavior of both wildfires and those trapped in them.

Up and down suburban lanes, in one cul-de-sac after another in Paradise, some of the only structures that remain standing are the brick fireplaces of homes otherwise gutted by the firestorm. What remains of families’ personal effects are laid bare. There are also a number of homes and businesses intact, vacant of their owners and an inviting target for thieves.

Nearly every natural disaster includes people like Mr. Jeys. Some refuse to leave during Category 5 hurricanes, arguing they are safer in their homes than in panic-ridden traffic jams. Others express fear of looting if they leave, opting to defend their property.

Mr. Jeys listed his pets as his top reason for staying. He said it dawned on him quickly that it would be impossible to evacuate with them all, especially because his Mazda pickup remained broken down and stranded in front of his house.

“I didn’t want to be a burden on anyone who was in their own car trying to flee,” Mr. Jeys said in an interview outside his home. “And I had my strategy for making a stand to protect my home.”

That plan of action involved a garden hose. Mr. Jeys said he used it to spray the roof of his one-story home and extinguish nearby embers. For those patches of fire beyond the reach of his hose, he stomped on them with his cowboy boots.

Mr. Jeys acknowledged that the fact that his home was made largely of cinder block instead of wood or drywall may have made the structure more fire resistant. Still, he pointed at the dry pine needles in his yard--fuel for a fast-moving wildfire--and wondered why they didn’t burn.

A fire crew in Paradise also lent a hand, extinguishing a blaze that was ripping through an alleyway behind his dwelling. From his front porch, Mr. Jeys said he could still see nearby structures going up in flames. He glimpsed squirrels and birds scurrying along the ground on an empty lot in front of his home, as if escaping the heat above.

“I woke up the next day and Paradise looked a little like Dresden,” said Mr. Jeys, clad entirely in black from head (felt brimmed hat) to toe (those cowboy boots).

Surviving the Camp Fire was one challenge for Mr. Jeys; enduring its aftermath is another.

Power and telephone services went off after the fire, on Nov. 8. Three weeks later, they have yet to come back on. Mr. Jeys, who relied on a landline to access the internet, does not have a way to keep in touch with people on social media.

Asked why he never got a cellphone, Mr. Jeys stared shortly into the distance before responding. “My ex would say it’s because I’m a Leo who’s resistant to change,” he said. “That sounds about right.”

However, Mr. Jeys, who explained he was a journalist in this part of California until economic upheaval in the newspaper industry forced him to change professions, said he stayed informed by listening to a local AM station on a battery-powered transistor radio.

To keep warm at night, when temperatures in Paradise dip into the 40s, Mr. Jeys said he used a wood stove. Water service in his home has been restored, but he does not have hot water, which means he has not bathed for a while.

“I’m too chicken for cold water,” Mr. Jeys, bespectacled and generously whiskered, said.

Otherwise, Mr. Jeys has largely relied on the kindness of strangers and friends to make it through this ordeal.

For sustenance, Mr. Jeys said that members of work crews in Paradise had given him sandwiches and bottles of water. They’ve also doled out other essentials, like batteries and bags of cat food. He repeatedly praised the generosity of those going house to house in the town looking for the remains of missing people who may have died in the fire.

Since the fire hit, Mr. Jeys said he found himself grappling with feelings of guilt and bewilderment. He said he had listened to radio reports on the staggering number of people who died in the fire, now at 84, as well the hundreds listed as missing.

“I know people who escaped with only the clothes on their backs,” he said. “Others didn’t make it out at all, and here I am. I find myself asking how that can be sometimes.”

Mr. Jeys said he was also pondering the apparent randomness of which structures were razed in the fire and which ones remain unscathed.

Nearby, on Skyway, the commercial strip winding through the town, the Pelicans Roost Restaurant, Dutch Bros. Coffee and Meeho’s Mexican restaurant somehow remain standing. The same cannot be said for the Main Event styling salon, Maria Celeste’s Gastropub or Jack in the Box, all destroyed.

Meanwhile, Mr. Jeys is still reading each morning and spending time with his pets.

Mr. Jeys said he did not venture far when he strolled around Paradise. He heard through the grapevine of workers sifting through the rubble that the town might have another person or two who similarly decided to stick it out. But if so, he said, he hasn’t run across them.

Gazing at the conifer and oak trees that still tower over his home, he said the tragedy reminded him how unpredictable life can be.

“Look at me,” Mr. Jeys said. “I now live on an island in a sea of destruction.”