#or extend vision past normal reaches

[radiofreeilium]

Crowd sourcing plot points in my new wip

[illyrianbitch]

Beneath the Ashes of Our Broken Oaths

Pairing: Morrigan's Sister!Reader x Azriel

Summary: After abandoning the refuge of Velaris, you, Morrigan’s twin sister, returned to the forsaken Hewn City fueled by a vision for a better future. Now, your estranged family seeks your help when rumors of rebellion spread at a time of utmost inconvenience. Torn between your anger and a desire to protect the good, you begrudgingly agree and are forced to face memories of a past life and the unsettling presence of Azriel– the first man you ever loved.

Warnings: ANGST, Helion being compassionate and its sexy, Inner Circle slander (sorry feyre baby), Y/N is kind of a bitch (but its warranted and a slay), family trauma.

Word Count: 2.9k

Part Two

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

It was Helion, the High Lord of Day, who had seen the flicker of hope in your eyes. A man of discerning wisdom, he recognized your yearnings of a better world. He knew you, he knew your heart, and he trusted your vision— with the promise of your support shall he need it. You knew that your support, in the grand scheme of things, meant nothing to Helion. He had always held a heart of gold, of understanding, and he would have helped you without anything in return. But you had insisted, declared that you needed to give him something to thank him. Your support, he had agreed on. It was all you had left, anyway. 

Now, you stood before him, pleading. Your chest was tight and a calm panic filled your veins. You needed to act. You needed to keep things in place.

"Helion, please," your voice, normally composed, now carried a tremor, a plea that hung in the air, reeking of desperation. Low light poured through stained glass windows as the sun slowly set, painting a kaleidoscope of muted colors on the marble floors.

His eyes, usually filled with warmth, held a regretful sympathy. 

"Y/N, I wish I could," He replied, his voice caressing the air,  "But with the current state of affairs and your father’s growing paranoia, it's too risky. I can't jeopardize my people. My help is needed elsewhere."

Approaching you, he extended a large hand, gently cupping your chin, his touch reassuring and pained. "Give me some time, sweetheart."

Desperation deepened in your eyes, and the intensity of your plea swelled. Aching with fear and worry, your gaze remained locked on his. "I don’t have time. Hewn City corrupts swiftly. You know this.”

Helion sighed, a sound filled with a blend of both compassion and helplessness. "Perhaps you should reach out to Rhysand. His influence might help, now more than ever."

Yor felt a bitterness surface, like bile rising through your throat. A soft scoff left your mouth as you roughly pulled Helion’s hand away from your chin, withdrawing from his touch in offense. "Rhys had a chance to help. He didn’t. He couldn’t care less. I won’t go crawling to him."

Helion's gaze softened, a tender response to your rough tone. He let out a sigh and pulled you close to him once more. His touch sent a wave of comfort through you, something that happened often when you visited him to discuss these things. Helion was a man who loved physical connection— you didn’t mind it. It made you feel seen, understood. Now, you craved that feeling more than ever.

 "I don’t understand this contempt you hold. Surely they will want to help you. They miss you."

You rolled your eyes at this. Of course Helion would think so. As much as you trusted him and his admiration for you, he always did love your family. Your sister and your cousin would always be in your life, tied to you in one way or another. Frustration tinged your voice. 

"It's too late. Going to Rhysand now would draw unwanted attention or, worse, he’d halt my efforts because of some perceived danger."

There was a moment of silence, and your eyes bounced around the room, searching for somewhere to land that wasn’t Helion's burning gaze. Once more, he moved a hand to gently cradle your face.

"You cannot foresee every outcome. You're not a mind reader, Y/N."

A bitter laugh escaped you, and you looked up at him through your lashes. "I might as well be when it comes to family."

 "You've accomplished so much. Allow yourself a reprieve. You can't bear the weight of the innocents lives in Hewn City alone."

You blinked away the tears that welled in your eyes as you admitted, "I can't afford to stop. If I do, they'll think I've given up." 

"No," Helion asserted, his voice unwavering. "Your dedication is commendable, but you need to care for yourself. Let me help you."

You bit the inside of your cheek as you stared at him, his brows furrowed slightly and a sad smile on his face. He moved his hand once more, gently tucking stray strands of hair behind your ear. Then, he ran a finger along it, a soft caress carried by a weight of understanding. You shuddered at the lightness of his touch. 

 "Stay, Y/N,” He suggested, his voice smooth and low, “Let me be a distraction. You take care of others; let someone take care of you."

You leaned slightly into his caress, feeling the warmth radiating from his hand. A fleeting sense of comfort teased at the edges of your weary soul. Yet, reality swiftly reasserted its grasp, and you gently withdrew, a soft sigh escaping your lips.

"I appreciate the offer," you murmured, your voice tinged with regret. Your hand delicately intercepted his, guiding it away from your cheek. "But I can't afford the luxury of distraction right now."

He acknowledged your decision with a small nod. 

“I wish I could do more for you."

A tender smile found its way to your lips and you held his gaze for a fleeting moment of gratitude.

“I know.” You replied before you winnowed away, leaving the luminous embrace of the Day Court behind.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

You were on edge. You had been for the last few weeks. Now, after failing to convince Helion, you could feel it catching up to you, a dark hole forming in the pit of your stomach. It felt like you were being swallowed alive, eaten by your own anxieties and fear. But you didn’t have time for this. You couldn’t risk falling apart, becoming vulnerable. No, not at a time like this.

You had mastered the art of drowning your thoughts, of discarding the weight that threatened to pull you under. Tonight would be no different. The impending storm would be weathered, as it always had been. You would begin to drink your worries away, give them time to manifest, and then shove them away into the crawlspace of your mind, free to collect dust and rot away.

You moved toward a small table where a simple platter of dark amber liquid awaited. Your fingers tightened around a small crystal glass as you poured. As the first sip touched your lips, you felt the familiar burn, a welcomed distraction. The amber liquid offered solace, if only for a fleeting moment.

And then, you stilled. The creak of the floorboards behind you announced their presence, and you felt it—a pricking at the base of your neck, the subtle disturbance of the air as someone entered, no, appeared. Your body tensed instinctively, shoulders rigid, as you ceased your movements. You took a moment to compose yourself, closing your eyes and inhaling deeply-- a futile attempt to ground yourself.

You downed the drink, the warmth spreading through your veins, and set your glass down, a definitive thud echoing in the silence as it met the table. You turned around slowly, the ever-present undercurrent of anxiety beneath your skin momentarily masked by a face of composure. The simple décor of your home surrounded you—the tattered tapestries, broken furniture—all a testament to a life you had built in the aftermath of your return. One that lacked the color that you once held.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” Your voice, laced with both mockery and a hint of something darker, hung in the air.

In front of you, Rhysand stood tall and proud, a figure of authority. His eyes, once familiar and comforting, now held a look determination. His gaze held yours strongly, and for a swift moment, you saw them soften. But the tenderness quickly dissipated, his eyes narrowing with a slight tilt of his head. You ran your eyes along his face, then down his form, taking in the detailed and intricate patterns of his clothing— an embodiment of Night Court royalty. Then, you looked at him again, your jaw clenching. It had been a while since you looked into his eyes, a violet color deeply embedded into your mind. For a moment, his presence consumed your thoughts, distracting you from the other man that you felt in your home.

From the corner of your eyes, you could see the dark figure stepping out from the corners of your room. A darkness licked at your skin.

"Hello, Azriel," you acknowledged him, your eyes remaining fixed on Rhysand.

Azriel's presence was a dark whisper. The edges of your room seemed to blur with shadows as he stood there, a silent observer.

"I’ve come to request your help," Rhysand's voice cut through the stillness, his words carrying the weight of urgency.

Your response was swift, dripping with sarcasm. "Oh, that's rich."

The corners of the room seemed to darken further as Rhysand's frustration manifested in the clenching of his jaw. The subtle play of shadows accentuated the lines on his face, revealing the strain of a desperate plea.

"Please hear me out."

You shook your head. They shouldn’t be here. This was risky, dangerous. You needed them to leave. They needed to disappear, to let you go and never find you again. That was the only way you would be able to survive.

But every fiber in your being was screaming to do the opposite, to embrace your cousin and explain to him, tell him everything. You wanted to get on your knees and beg for the kindness he always showed you, to ask him about your sister. For him to tell you about his life, his love, his child. But you couldn’t. And from inside you, your heart tugged you to Azriel, his stoic form. You couldn’t look at him, couldn’t bear to catch his gaze. It was all so wrong. This disconnect, this anger you felt for them, for your situation, for yourself… it was eating you up. But this wasn't the time. So you pulled your thoughts together and focused on the one thing that had never let you down: your fire.

You reminded yourself of the resentment you held, deep down. Reminded yourself of how they had failed you, separated themselves from you, your vision, and the suffering of the good people here, in Hewn City— your city. Rhysand's city.

Ignoring his original words, you looked at Rhysand with the hint of a wicked grin on your face.

"Where’s your child bride? I heard she’s reading at the same level as your babe. You must be overjoyed."

Rhysand's expression tightened, anger simmering beneath the surface. The mention of his mate touched a clear nerve, and for a brief moment, you reveled in the discomfort you had caused. It was a twisted satisfaction, a way to regain some sliver of control in this unexpected encounter.

His temper flared, a fleeting glimpse of vulnerability replaced by a presence of anger that you knew all too well. He bit down on his frustration, attempting to maintain a semblance of composure. But you pressed on.

“I’m only kidding, take a joke, Rhysand. 500 years and you still have the emotional regulation of a teenager. Nice to see some things don’t change."

Rhysand's eyes flashed with a mixture of anger and confusion, observing you and your wall of icy nonchalance. His name sounded foreign on your lips, spoken with such malice and distaste. Even the last time he had seen you, during a bloody war against Hybern, you had not been so venomous. This was a fact you both thought of as you stood here, now, in front of one another again. You moved gracefully through the room, ignoring their presence, and opened a small box that sat on your table. The delicate aroma of sugar wafted through the air. You took a seat.

Azriel and Rhysand exchanged glances. Your fingers idly played with the box, an ornate creation that held delicate, candied treats. With an almost casual indifference, you brought one of the sweet confections to your mouth, savoring the taste as if the weight of their presence meant nothing to you. You could feel the tension building in the atmosphere, heightened by their growing sense of agitation and frustration. It radiated off of them like heat. You welcomed it with open arms, like a freezing child in the cold.

"These are the loveliest desserts,” You explained, bringing the candy close to your face with an examining eye, “Hard to come across here. But I know a guy.”

“Want one?" you offered, dropping your candy back into the box and extending it toward Azriel, whose stoic expression remained unchanged.

"What? Doggy can’t take a treat?" You taunted with a measured smile. You didn’t miss the slight flare of his nostrils, or the way his shadows began to snake up his arms, angry and riled up.

A tense silence lingered as Azriel remained perfectly unmoving, his eyes holding a depth of attentiveness that made you uncomfortable. But the discomfort within you sought distraction, and you continued with your mockery. You waved your hands in the air as a dismissal.

"Bah, you guys are no fun."

The room felt charged as you baited them, your attempts to deflect the gravity of their visit becoming slowly evident in every casual gesture.

Rhysand's frustration reached a boiling point, and he took a step forward, shifting the conversation.

"We didn't come here for sweets and jests. We came for you."

You chuckled, a sound that held a bitter edge. "Me? You must be desperate, Rhysand."

A flicker of hurt crossed his eyes, swiftly replaced by a steely resolve. "There are rumors of rebellion here,” He took a pause, glancing around the room as if he was contemplating continuing. He spoke again, “But, I'm dealing with a larger threat that has me on the defense. I cannot afford an uprising."

Your laughter cut through the air like a blade. "Is the idea of civil unrest among your people an inconvenience? My, what an issue, must be terrible."

Rhysand's patience waned, his features hardening. "Stop this, Y/N. We need your help to prevent a disaster."

You leaned back against your furniture, your eyes narrowing as you regarded him with a chilling indifference. "I've heard nothing about any unrest. You've wasted a trip."

Rhysand's gaze bore into yours, an unspoken challenge. "Azriel has been in Hewn City, gathering information. He's heard the rumors. I know you're lying."

In that moment, a silent battle waged within you. The desire to help, to make a difference, warred against the fear of exposing yourself to the dangers lurking beyond your sanctuary. The memories of the past, the reasons you returned, echoed in your mind. You wanted to help, but you knew their presence could unravel the delicate life you had crafted.

Rhysand's voice softened, a genuine plea beneath the layers of frustration. "Y/N, I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t serious. Why do you refuse to acknowledge that?"

Then, his eyes softened, sensing a crack in your facade. Inner turmoil clouded your eyes as you locked gazes with him. The conflict within you played out in the subtle tremor of your fingers, a telltale sign of something bubbling beneath your icy exterior. But as quickly as it manifested, you shut it down, fast enough to resolve Rhys of his attentive eyes. He swallowed and fixed his composure.

"Azriel has gained information that it's not just a rise against me. There are whispers of a rebellion against Keir himself. I need you to listen for information from your father."

Your father. A wave of nausea rippled throughout your body and you clenched your jaw in response. The title sounded strange coming from Rhysand, a stark reminder of your place here, of your place in his family. No, no. You thought. I will not let them see me falter.

Rhysand continued, "Azriel has gathered intelligence, but we need someone on the inside. We need you."

A cynical smile now played on your lips as you taunted them, "Maybe it's time for a change. The mighty High Lord struggling to keep control – how novel."

Azriel, who had maintained a cold silence until now, spoke up for the first time, taking a heavy step forward towards where you sat.

"We both know you do not mean that."

You turned your gaze to him, eyes dark. "And what do you know about what I mean, Azriel? You don't know anything about me."

Rhysand put a hand out in front of Azriel’s form, biting back his retort. The room hung heavy as you finally declared, "You've overstayed your welcome. It's time for you to leave."

Rhysand's eyes met yours with a determined glint.

"I will be back. Family does not give up."

His words pulled out a surge of anger bubbling within you. Family? Without a second thought, you stood up, your chair scraping against the floor. "Family, huh?" Your voice dripped with bitterness, and you moved toward him, anger etched on your face.

But before you could reach him, Rhysand winnowed away with a controlled fury, leaving Azriel lingering.

Azriel stood still, his eyes slightly narrowed, his brows furrowed at you. You met his gaze and felt a wave of guilt through your body, filling the hole where your fury once was a second before. If you didn’t know any better, it seemed as if Azriel was….. Disappointed? Hurt? But you stabilized yourself, pushing the observation away. Your anger, raw and unfiltered, had an intensity that took even him by surprise. He held your gaze. Then, like a wisp of darkness, he too disappeared, leaving you alone with the remnants of unresolved tension and the taste of bittersweet candied treats lingering in the air.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

a/n: hello hello!! welcome to my lil new fic!! im new here and i have no idea what im doing but i hope at least one person enjoys what has become my creative fictional baby. when i tell you this story has a place in my HEART....y/n here is multilayered and complex and flawed but that is why i love her!! serving cunt 24/7!!!

tumblr scares me so any feedback is so very loved and any advice is great too!! mwuah

[theemporium]

Violet fluff 💜 no. 53 W/ Quinn Hughes pls!! Congrats on 10k!!!

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

53. “Please, never apologise for wanting to be loved.”

.

You were a mess. 

It was funny that every year your birthday came around and every year, you told yourself that it would be different. You told yourself that you weren’t going to let expectations and past memories ruin your day, that you were going to have a good birthday, that you were going to break the cycle. 

It was funny that you believed yourself every year. 

And this year was no different. 

You pulled out all the stops to ensure that this year would be different. You made plans with a good group of friends you truly appreciated, you had yourself a nice dinner and made sure you had an outfit that made you feel good to go out in. 

Yet, despite all the measures you took, you still found yourself sitting on the side of the pavement somewhere in the early hours of the morning, far too drunk and far too emotional to even call yourself an uber. 

It was a pathetic sight, truly. One you would be far more embarrassed of if you were at least a little sober, but the countless rounds of shots had done well to mask every other emotion except sadness as you sniffled and cried and desperately tried to figure out where you went wrong this year. 

“Hey, are you okay?” 

You didn’t even lift your head, waving off the concerned voice as you sniffled. “Y-Yeah, totally fine,” you managed to blubber out. “M’okay, promise.” 

There was a pause before you heard feet scuffling towards you and the person let out a groan as they settled in the spot next to you. 

“Not to sound rude but you don’t look fine,” the voice said, their knee knocking against yours as you finally lifted your head to look at them. 

The blurry vision from your tears made it difficult to see who he was, but you could see vague features. Brown curls, pale skin, a kind smile. All things considered, he seemed like a friendly stranger to your intoxicated brain. 

“Yeah, m’not fine,” you confessed, leaning your head against his shoulder. 

“Bad night?” He guessed. 

“Yeah,” you sniffled, looking down at the ground as you let out a heavy sigh. “It’s my birthday.” 

“Happy birthday,” he replied. 

“Thank you,” you paused for a moment before continuing. If you were sober, you would have kicked yourself before unloading on a stranger like you were about to do. But you were drunk and upset and the stranger smelt really nice. “I don’t think I like my birthday. I cry every year. I don’t think that’s a good sign.” 

“You don’t have to like your birthday,” the stranger replied. “That’s normal. Loads of people don’t like their birthdays.” 

“It’s just bad every year,” you confessed, your eyes falling shut as you felt another wave of tears burning to fall. “It’s just so shit. And I feel like I need to make it important every year but there aren't people that make me feel important, you know?” You paused, frowning. “Sorry, that sounded so desperate. I didn’t mean it in a pick-me way but like—”

“Please, never apologise for wanting to be loved,” the stranger assured you, his hand dropping to your knee to give you a soft squeeze of reassurance. “Sounds like you need to find people in your life that appreciate how amazing you are.” 

You snorted a little. “Says the man who doesn’t know me and has seen me sob my eyes out on the side of the road.”

“Well, we can change that,” he said before extending his hand to you. “I’m Quinn.” 

You lifted your head off his shoulder, blinking a few times to look at his outstretched hand before you reached for it. “Hi, Quinn. Nice to meet you.”

.

[crimsonstonetranslations]

Shinrei Tantei Yakumo volume 11 - prologue

Shinrei Tantei Yakumo novel translation

Volume 11 - Worth of a Spirit

I’d like to ask those who deem my actions brutal. What are you willing to sacrifice for the sake of your loved ones? I will offer everything— That is all.

prologue

-

1

-

A square shaped hole on the floor.

No, this was no ordinary hole. Though enveloped in darkness, the man could make out a ladder extending underground from the mouth of said hole.

He happened to find this door on the floor by mere coincidence.

Had nothing been there, surely he would’ve just thought that the colour of the floor was slightly different in that area. It wouldn't even cross his mind to approach it.

Yet his ears had caught something strange earlier.

Clunking noises, like metal being hit.

He had gotten closer after following that sound, and when sharpening his vision, he noticed there was a door in the direction of that noise.

He should’ve ignored it, but nevertheless, his curiosity over the door overpowered all else.

By the time he came to his senses, he had already opened the door.

“What’s this?”

“There’s a basement area.”

“Don’t you guys feel creepy?”

The other students that were with him came closer, talking to each other and commenting with enthusiasm.

Just what actually lies underneath here?

Led by overwhelming curiosity, he intended to go down that ladder. But at that moment, something grabbed his arm.

It was a female student from the same seminar as him.

“You’re going in there?”

“I heard a strange noise just now,” he replied before lowering one foot, stepping onto the ladder.

Next, putting a hand in his pants pocket, he took out his phone and descended the ladder one step at a time whilst relying on the small light from his phone.

Reaching the end of the steps, he arrived in an open space.

Even so, the small light from his phone wasn’t enough to look at his surroundings in its entirety.

“What is this place?”

“Feels scary.”

Voices echoed.

While difficult to see because of the darkness, apparently the other students followed after him despite complaining in the process.

Using the light from his phone, he illuminated the room.

It was an old room, with both its walls and floor made out of bricks, and an area roughly the size of a large classroom. On one side of the wall were bookshelves storing a sizable number of books as well as documents that were poorly arranged. On the wall across it were shelves lined with medicine bottles. Then, placed in the middle of the room was an old operating table.

Only thing was—

No one was there.

Perhaps the noise he had heard earlier had merely been his imagination.

However, when he changed his mind and was about to head back, he discovered something strange.

That object resided in one corner of the room.

It appeared to be a box.

“What…is this?” he said as he approached the box.

The box was fairly old and made out of metal. Nearly every part of it had rusted.

Did this box used to store equipment?

No, that would be strange.

Something that looked like a talisman had been pasted on the box, and it wasn’t just one. The darkness made it hard to tell for certain, but there had to be at least thirty of them.

That wasn’t all. Something had been written on top of the lid.

Not with a marker or the like. The letters had been carved directly onto the metal.

He lifted his phone, casting a light over it, and read the letters.

This box shouldn’t be opened.

That was what it said.

Could this be someone’s prank? No, for a prank, this seemed like a lot of effort. Someone had been afraid of something, and had locked whatever it was inside this box.

By reflex, he reached out towards the lid.

“Is it fine to touch it anyhow?” asked one female student.

Under normal circumstances, he would’ve stopped his hand by now. Yet for some reason, he couldn’t resist the force of the box pulling him.

His fingers trembled slightly.

As if led by something, the man placed his palm on the lid of the box.

His fingers were greeted by the rough sensation of the rusty surface combined with the coldness of the metal.

You wouldn’t be able to return after opening it, a voice said to him.

A voice that sounded like it had spoken directly to him from within his eardrums, or from inside his brain. That might have been a sign that he had to stop here.

And yet—

He drew out his strength, attempting to open the lid of the box.

Several talismans ripped in the process and the lid opened alongside the creaking sound of metal rubbing against each other.

A powerful smell invaded his nose and he spontaneously turned his face away.

As he lifted his phone to peek into the box’s contents once more, he felt a piercing gaze from behind.

He turned around to find a man standing there.

Both of the man’s eyes were dyed blood red—

-

2

-

Along the riverside road that was part of her school commute, Sana squeezed the brakes on her bicycle.

Her bicycle came to a stop with a high-pitched squeak.

Still on her bicycle, she turned her face in the direction of the river.

My eyes weren’t deceiving me.

A girl was standing at the edge of the river.

However—

The girl’s condition was unusual.

She gave the impression that she was about to commit suicide by jumping into the river.

Not even Sana knew why she felt that way, even though she had merely seen the girl from the corner of her sight while cycling.

Besides, what should she do if the girl was contemplating suicide?

Even that was something she had no idea about.

It felt strange to call out to her even though the girl wasn’t doing anything in particular. Yet it would be all too late if the girl had already jumped into the river.

What should I do?

While she was thinking, the girl slowly turned her neck to look in her direction.

With her head lowered and her hair hung loosely, Sana couldn’t see her face very well.

Cold breeze blew along the riverside, making a wuthering sound as dusk drew near. On the opposite side of the river, a white heron flapped its wings and flew away.

Was it her own imagination?

Compared to before, the girl’s figure appeared larger—

No, it wasn’t just her feeling. That girl was slowly walking towards her.

As the girl drew closer, Sana noticed something.

The girl’s black hair was sopping wet. And not just her hair. Her uniform blouse and skirt were soaked through as well, almost like she had just come out of the water.

Drip, drip—Sana could almost hear the sound of water droplets falling from the girl’s body.

Before realising, the girl had already closed the distance between them until a mere five metres apart remained.

At this point, Sana noticed another peculiar thing.

The girl was barefoot.

In the middle of winter, had she really been walking around barefoot? No, regardless of the season, it would be unusual to walk outside barefoot.

“A-Are you alright?” she asked, her voice trembling.

Without answering Sana’s question, the girl extended both of her hands.

Her hands were so pale and skinny they felt impossible to belong to a living breathing human. Droplets of water dripped from the tip of her fingers.

“......”

The girl was saying something.

Even so, Sana couldn’t catch what the girl had said over the sound of the wind.

Once again, the drenched girl moved her lips that had turned purple.

This time, Sana was able to hear her clearly.

“I… never wanted that...”

Sana couldn’t understand what the girl wanted to say. Yet her words sounded terrifying, reverberating through her eardrums.

This isn’t normal.

Sana lifted her feet onto the bicycle pedals and rode the two-wheeled device with all her might.

She wanted to get away from the girl as soon as possible.

If she stayed there any longer, she might get dragged into the river by the mysterious girl. Consumed by that thought, Sana pedalled her bicycle using all her strength.

“I never wanted that…” said a voice next to her.

Eh?

She was currently cycling as fast as she could. Catching up on foot would be impossible. And yet, the voice sounded right beside her.

Unable to bear it anymore, Sana screamed—

[candywife333]

Sexy Snakey

ON THE FIRST DAY OF CHRISTMAS, MY TRUE LOVE GAVE TO ME

OFFICIALLY THE START OF 25 DAYS TO CHRISTMAS

ONESHOT

Pairing: enormous serpent hybrid j-hope (mythical creature with *cough cough* 2 Ds) x chubby botanist reader

trigger: dub-con , smut

This lagoon felt super eerie as I ventured further into a small clearing filled with trees. Fireflies zipped past me as I almost stumbled on a rock. What was this place? As such, this forest seemed desolate in the evening when I came to study certain flowers.

Though I was used to looking for different species of flowers in the evening times, something about the atmosphere today in this tiny lagoon unsettled me. I felt the cold breezing rushing around me, flicking my hair back and forth, occluding my vision partially.

The torquoise waters of the lagoon entranced me. As I got closer to peek at what could possibly inhabit the clear waters, I saw a tail? The tail of something lay in the waters. I panicked slightly, breathing in shallow pants as I approached the surface of the water.

A dark green tail of some creature ,bearing the width of my torso was waving around in the waters below. Now I was really getting scared. I should probably run away back to my cottage before something bad happened. I knew the forest wasn't the safest place according to villagers around the area, but I had never had issues before this.

As I turned back around to walk back to the cottage, barely holding myself from sprinting back in haste, I heard a voice. "Hi, darling", a dark voice purred. Pivoting back to look towards the lagoon, I saw something I would never have imagined in my wildest dreams.

It was a man. At least that's what it looked like. A man with a wide grin showcasing two rows of super long teeth (literally looking like hypodermic needles) built to tear into the flesh of unsuspecting prey. His arms and face and torso were all tan, a normal skin tone for humans. Yet, the fearsome part of his appearance was the blue green iridescent scales tapering waist down below him, extending into a long thick serpentine body that I could even see trailing down below the transparent waters. My eyes opened wide, trying to process this phantasmagorical view. I had to leave. And be fucking quick about it.

I started slowly walking away further and further from him. This creature was by no means normal and I did not want to die before I could celebrate Christmas this year. Yep, forget about me coming to the forest to look for my plants anymore this coming new year. Looks like it was a death sentence entering these premises.

The snake man continued grinning reassuringly, his teeth glinting in the weak evening rays of light. "Don't be scared sweetheart. I won't bite". He smirked, "At least, not till you beg me for it". He crooned in a sinister manner, "Why don't you come back and spend some time with me? Let's get to know each other better".

I felt like hyperventilating. A snake talking to me? Weirdest shit considering I don't even indulge in psychedelics. This must be some weird ass dream. But my snark kicked in as I mocked him, "Oh, come closer to you so you can snap my body in half, or choke me to death with that massive appendage and then consume me? That's what you consider getting to know each other"?

I was just a few seconds away from belting the vicinity. His responses stopped me in my tracks. "I wouldn't do that if I were you sweetheart. Riling me up like that when I can already smell your arousal tainting the air".

What?!!! I checked down at my panties in confusion, and surely enough I did feel drenched. As I stood there paralyzed in bewilderment, a green tail reached over and yanked me into the water.

I yelled, startled and terrified that this thing would now eat me alive. I wouldn't see another see another Christmas, or my mom, or dad, or Boo my calico cat. I was doomed. The creature warbled out in a sweet tone, "Stop flailing so much sweetheart. I will give you what you want no matter what".

He ripped off my clothes with his agile hands as I was bound , rendered immobile by his serpentine tail. His slippery tail curled around my bare skin, coating me with a viscous film. Ewww. What the hell? But before I could gag in disgust, it started feeling pleasant. The surprisingly warm temperature of the lagoon water lapping around me, as his tail curled around me, imprisoning me in it's embrace, yet at the same time carressing my stomach and inner thighs pleasantly. The tip of his tail curled around my right nipple, and as I yelped, the tail tightened around my nipple gently squeezing it.

It felt so good for some reason. He continued in this manner for another minute. Before I knew it, I could feel the friction of his scaly tail tip massaging my labia. It felt so good as he rubbed his tail up onto them, teasing the tip between my lower lips. I could feel myself getting wetter, not able to hold back my moans as he proceeded to rub his tail onto my clit.

I tried to be quiet, not wanting to give him an inkling of my arousal but his grass green eyes flashed in anger as he trilled out, "You better let me hear what is mine. Don't hold back darling, if you know what's good for you".

His hypnotic eyes narrowed into tiny slits, his forked tongue flicking out to lick his lips as I mewled out curses , not able to hold back anymore. I must've been quite a sight, legs open wide with my wet slit out to the crisp air, with a thick tail rubbing up frantically over my slit. He gripped the sides of my plush waist in his warm big hands, squeezing my flesh as he shoved his forked tongue into my mouth.

I lost my senses as he advanced the tip of his tail into my dripping pussy. Wrapping my thick thighs around his trim waist, I kissed him back. The scaly tail caught on the walls of my heat, pleasantly scraping against them.

Then suddenly, he pushed my back down onto a small bank of grass in the middle of the lagoon, opening up my thick thighs with his insistent hands, lavishing my clit with attention from his forked tongue. I felt a shiver go up my spine, heat pooling in my lower stomach as he continued to lick and suck. I could feel him nibble around my lower lips with his teeth very lightly. Moaning out of confusion and lust, I arched my back up to meet the attention of his mouth. Suddenly feeling a little embarrassed at my own enthusiasm, I attempted to resist , trying to close my legs, but he wouldn't let me.

He clicked his tongue, droning in a syrupy tone, "We can't have that much shyness now sweetheart". He trailed his long finger through my wet folds, "You are such a treat darling. So wet and warm, ready for the taking. I want to feast upon you, till you lose your senses". His warm breath fanned across my pussy as he encompassed his lips around my bundle of nerves, suctioning it as though he wanted to devour all of it in his mouth.

My slick trailed down his chin as he continued to lick languidly around my fluttering hole , spearing the opening with his long index finger.

I barely blinked when he rapidly replaced his finger with his long ribbed member, sinking it into my tight warm heat. The other member pleasantly rubbed itself across my clit, triggering an explosive orgasm, making my vision go white and my mind blank.

Slowly entering his other member into my heat alongside the other one, I winced, loudly crying out in pain. His hands squeezed my breasts as he pinched my nipples between his index finger and thumb. The pain slowly turned to pleasure as both his members strained against my walls , prodding at my cervix. The delicious stretch made me wrap my arms around his neck, filling his face with my tits that he sucked into his mouth. "Bear it sweetheart. Have to breed you and make you full with my babies".

I processed what he said, trying to shift away from his length that was pounding into my heat, horrified at what he was saying. I was not ready for a bunch of snake babies!!!! He gripped the nape of my neck firmly as he shoved his forked tongue into my mouth further, nipping at my lips and then soothing it with his saliva. Continuously stroking the pudge underneath my belly button, his eyes deviously glinted as he murmured, "Escape is futile". He kissed my brow as he plundered my pussy, kneading the sides of my stomach, confidently smirking, "Good try though sweetheart".

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

Rain, Rain, Go Away

Synopsis: You’re out on a commission when it begins to rain, and you come home to sickness and a very worried Foul Legacy.

Foul Legacy Childe x Reader Pronouns: Gender Neutral (no pronouns mentioned) Genre: Fluff, Comfort Warnings: Rain, getting sick, coughing, you getting undressed once but it’s to take a bath, Childe being worried, mentions of crying

~ * ~ You really hate being an Adventurer sometimes. Sure, the pay was good, there’s an endless list of jobs, and it earned you the admiration of children and adults alike, but there was the occasional commission here and there that made you want to drop everything and pick up a standard office job somewhere in the city. Whether it was the weather, the season, or the work itself, some commissions seem to take years off your life- that’s what it feels like, at least. With a grimace you raise a hand upwards, shielding your face from the pouring rain that began not even a few minutes ago. This was ridiculous- when you had set out the sky had been cloudless and clear! Then some Archon or Adeptus or some other must’ve gotten upset, because everything had turned gray and a moment later, rainwater was unceremoniously dumped on your head. The slime balloon you were supposed to be escorting is entirely ruined, droplets soaking through the cargo and food inside, and with a sigh you tuck away your weapon, turning your back to the commission. The supplies are destroyed, anyway- might as well cut your losses and head home. Unfortunately, it’s a long trek back to Liyue- why you were assigned to travel past the Stone Gate instead of one of the Mondstadt adventurers was a great mystery, one you weren’t keen on knowing until you were somewhere warm and dry, with a hot drink and a soft blanket wrapped around your shoulders. And preferably, a purring Abyssal beast on your lap. The rain comes down in sheets, obscuring your vision and drenching your clothes and hair, and chill rapidly seeps into your skin. You shiver, rubbing your arms in hopes to bring back some semblance of warmth, but to no avail. There’s an audible squish with every step you take, mud clinging to your shoes and leaving dirty footprints on the slippery cobblestone path leading towards the Harbor as you tremble, the wind and rain chilling your bones. Your cheeks feel like you’ve been crying; little rivers of water winding down your face, but instead of being warm, they’re cold as ice. Ugh. You scrub at your cheeks, droplets hanging precariously from your lashes as you march towards home, ignoring all the people who stare at you from underneath umbrellas, perfectly dry. Normally you’d shrink and wither under their judgmental eyes and too-loud whispers, but right now you want nothing more than to get home and take a warm bath. When you finally, finally reach your little house you immediately unlock and shove open the door, tossing your keys and bag to the side before leaning your head against the wall with a small thud. “I’m home!” You yell wearily, rubbing your eyes and squeezing out your wet clothes. There’s a brief moment of silence before eager footsteps tap down the hall and stairs, Foul Legacy dashing over with a chirrup of joy, ready to scoop you into his arms. But he slows when he sees your state- your sopping clothes, hair clinging to your skin, a small puddle of water forming around your feet- and his chirps and trills fade to concerned whines, kneeling to meet your height. Childe’s claws extend slowly, the tips brushing delicately over your cheeks, a small whimper slipping from his mouth when you lean into his warm touch with a quiet sigh. You right yourself, flashing him a lopsided smile as you continue to wring the water from your shirt, mumbling absentmindedly when Childe begins nudging you away from the entryway and into the house. “I’m okay, really I am-” You sneeze. Then again, your nose itching, and a third time. Each sneeze sends shivers through your already chilled body, and when the fit finally ends you’re shaking, hugging yourself tightly. Foul Legacy simply watches, tilting his head disapprovingly as you sniff and rub your nose, and with an exasperated huff he gently pushes against your back until you begin climbing the stairs. “Okay, maybe I’m not completely fine…” You relent as Childe chitters in agreement, ushering you into the bathroom and hastily turning the knobs on the tub, allowing hot water to spill from the tap. Another sneeze slips from your mouth as you idly watch the steam twist and curl in the air, turning when Childe lets out a soft coo. There’s a small towel in his talons, clean and dry, and gingerly he wipes away the rain on your face, swiping under your eyes and up to your temples. Occasionally you scrunch up your nose as he rids your skin of any dirt and mud, only to laugh in surprise when he suddenly bumps his forehead against yours with an affectionate chirp. With every laugh, Foul Legacy’s wings flutter in delight, holding the towel in one hand and your cold cheek in the other. The bath is filled, hot and inviting, and Childe leaves you to your privacy with a sweet trill and a gentle headbump. Quickly you undress, peeling your sodden clothes away from you in disgust and letting them fall to the floor with an unceremonious thump before climbing into the tub, exhaling in blissful relief. The warm water soaks through your skin to your bones, chasing away the icy chill of the storm outside as you stretch out your legs and arms. With a deep inhale you grab your hair products and submerge yourself, determined to scrub and wash away all the mud that clung to you. The wash is quick, efficient, yet as you work off the dirt you can feel your throat becoming scratchier, your sneezes becoming more frequent and eventually transitioning into deep, awful coughs. By the time you rise and drain the tub, you’re dizzy and lethargic, the effects of the freezing-cold rain finally taking hold of your fragile human body. There’s a set of warm, comfortable clothes set out, evidently left by a certain Abyss monster, and you dress before shuffling out of the bathroom with a yawn. Childe perks up when he sees you, only to recoil when you let out a series of coughs, doubling over and wheezing from the force ripping apart your lungs. He cries in alarm, leaping off the bed and over to you, arms curling around and cradling you against him as coughs wrack your throat, your hands holding fistfuls of his lavender fluff. You’re warm, too warm- his claws skirt over your forehead and he whimpers in worry over how hot it is, not just from the bathwater. Yet his distress is quelled slightly when your coughs die down and you shift, snuggling closer with a tired hum. Childe carefully brushes aside a bit of your damp hair and you simply mumble incoherently, grabbing onto his hand with your smaller one and refusing to let go, and Childe has to keep himself from sobbing in adoration, the sight of you nuzzling against his palm filling his heart enough to burst.  Luckily you’re both already in your room, the bed outfitted with every warm blanket and pillow Foul Legacy could find, even raiding some from his own nest in the other bedroom. He sets you down on the mattress, pulling the covers over you with a near-silent coo and sitting down at your bedside. You’ve already drifted off, the strain on your lungs evident from how delicately you breathe, and Foul Legacy lets out a small, worried huff, claws wrapped around your fingers. He’s not good at this- perhaps as a human he was, but no longer. He’s much too big to properly take care of someone as small and fragile as a human, even less so you, out of fear of accidentally doing more harm than good. Childe presses his head into the mattress, small whines slipping from his mouth. Maybe he should’ve taken you to Baizhu. This could be something much more serious than a cold, what if you fall seriously ill? What if- “Legacyyy…” His head snaps up when he hears your hoarse voice, fur poofing in worry as he looks at you frantically, whimpering- is something wrong? What happened? Does it hurt- Oh, Archons, please don’t let his love be in pain- But you simply smile drowsily and raise the blankets, opening up your arms. “Come nap with me…” Childe stares at you, slightly shocked, his ruffled hair calming and settling as he hesitantly climbs onto the bed and nestles under the covers, letting out a tiny, flustered squeak when you instantly slot yourself closer, arms wrapping around his waist in an attempt to hug him. You can feel how tense he is under your fingers, the stiff way he holds you back, and in an attempt to soothe his worries you begin to carefully thread your hands through his soft ginger hair, murmuring quiet reassurances to him. “I’ll be fine, sweetheart… Just a cold, I promise…” Childe melts under your touch, nervously chittering and hugging you back as tight as he dares, trembling with unshed tears. And you simply lean up, tilting his chin with your hand, and place two kisses on his cheeks, one on his forehead, and a final one on his fanged maw. “Love you…” With a yawn and a cough you snuggle back down against his chest, unaware of the heat burning Childe’s face as he stumbles over his words, letting out choked, strangled yelps and chirps. He buries his head into your hair, rumbles muffled as he squeezes your waist, attempting to calm down. It takes a moment for him to be able to look at you again- you and your calm, sleeping self. Every so often you cough, sending shivers down his spine, but then you shift and cuddle closer, arms looped around your favorite Abyssal beast, and Childe feels his pounding heart ease into a steady rhythm, worries beginning to wash away. A lovestruck croon slips out of him, admiring your peaceful features despite how ill you are. How can you sleep so easily, feeling so sick? Perhaps it’s because Foul Legacy is with you, so everything will be alright. Quietly, Childe begins to purr, the soft rumbling from his chest filling the room as he moves himself impossibly closer to you, so he can lean down and gently press his forehead to yours, the soft skin so different from the tough keratin of his mask-like face. With a slow, sweet chirp full of affection, Foul Legacy lays his horned head on the pillows and wraps the blankets around you both, content to slumber until you awaken again. Ah, my lovely starlight. May the rain fade and the sun rise again soon, just for you. I will care for you until then, even if it rains forever.

[crossdreamers]

Today's anti-trans activism is about so much more than transgender people

The article "Today's anti-trans activism is about so much more than transgender people" discusses the current wave of extreme anti-trans activism, arguing that it extends beyond issues of gender diversity to reflect a broader fear of the unknown.

This fear is being exploited by political extremists to gain power.

Jack Molay reflects on the early days of transgender debates, noting that discussions were often centered around facts, science, and the lived experiences of transgender individuals.

At that time, there was a belief that consensus could be reached through evidence-based arguments. However, the current anti-trans backlash is not truly about understanding transgender identities or engaging in factual debate.

Instead, it is driven by emotions, particularly fear, and is used as a political tool to exert control.

Molay suggests that fear of losing social status, rather than actual poverty, led to Hitler's rise in Germany, as people sought security in the face of perceived chaos.

This fear-driven mentality is seen today, where distrust in the system and fear of poverty lead some to embrace authoritarian figures who promise a return to a glorified past. These figures blame societal issues on scapegoats, such as Jews and Bolsheviks in Hitler's time or "Gender Ideology" in the present.

Central to this narrative is the idealization of the nuclear family, seen as essential for maintaining social order. This vision supports traditional gender roles, where men are protectors and women caretakers, and resists alternative family models. Trans people is seen as a threat to this model.

The article ends on a positive note, however, referring to recent events in the US:

"This energized anti-fascist counter-movement is not succeeding because of its use of science and policy papers, however. The tactic that truly seems to work is to put up a contrast between joy, laugher and humanity on one side, and aggression, lies and hypermasculine policing on the other.  In this context the defense of marginalized groups become a sign of compassion and love. When I write this it seems like the Harris/Waltz campaign in the US is based on a strategy where the message is that it is the compassionate defenders of the weak who are the "normal" ones and the haters who are the "weird" ones. After all, being hopeful and glad is a natural human trait, so why not embrace it? "... In this context trans people might win. Not because we have science on our side, but because we have good people on our side.

Read the whole article here: "Today's anti-trans activism is about so much more than transgender people"

See also the sidebar to this article: "On the connection between fascism and transphobia."

Illustration: Pandagolik

[disruptveyouth]

SHUT UP & DRIVE

0 - you’re on your own, kid

summary: a deal is offered, unwanted memories resurface, and god damn why do women have to do everything themselves???

WC: 6.2k

warnings: angstttt, google translated French, mentions of Horner lol

a/n: buckle up besties

‘I looked around in a blood soaked gown and I saw something they can’t take away.’

“You’re a phenomenal driver, a real up and coming talent. We see great potential in you.” 

Normally, you wouldn’t believe a single thing to come out of Christian Horner’s mouth. But this, what he’s saying now, you can get behind. 

“That being said, we’re willing to extend an offer for a one year contract to have you race for Red Bull in the upcoming 2019 season alongside Max. We think you’d be a huge asset to the team.” 

You want to scream ‘what’s the catch?’ because there has to be one, right? Your rookie season driving for Toro Rosso was a good one, you favored better than rookies in the past. It was one of your strengths as a Formula 1 driver, the ability to mount pressure on your shoulders, bear it all, and come out shining like a diamond. But are you really that much better than your teammate Pierre, can you really fill the large shoes left behind by Daniel? 

What price will you have to pay for the risk Red Bull is taking choosing you?

Silence sits heavily in the room like it’s its own entity, taking up too much space, making the area feel too tight. You’re going to say yes, you and your team knew this was coming, it’s no great shock. Yet, it feels exactly that. Your fingers tingle, your throat dries, and you find it incredibly hard to focus your vision, everything appears slightly fuzzy and distorted. 

You want this, you’ve always wanted this. A chance to drive for Red Bull meant a chance to collect enough points to be a true contender in the World Drivers Championship. That’s every driver on the grids dream, to hoist the trophy, to read your name in big, bold font above everyone else’s. 

It’s so close you can taste it, right on the tip of your tongue, sweet and addictive. 

You want this. So, why can’t you reach out and take it? 

A extra pointy heel digs its way through your shoe under the table, the plastic sting of breaking skin clears your vision almost instantly. You don’t need to look beside you or down to the ground to know who’s heel has punctured you, Liz has taken a habit to wearing sharp shoes and aiming for your big toe. 

‘Waking you up’ is what she calls it. 

‘Borderline torture’ is what you choose to coin it. 

But, she knows you better than anyone else. She sees the signs and she knows exactly how to pull you out of a hole before you’ve buried yourself in too deep to crawl out.  Without her and her Red Bottoms, there’s no way you could have made it here. There’s no way, without beautiful and terrifying Elizabeth Canton, that you would be sitting across from Christian Horner, forming a wide smile and saying,

“I’d love nothing more than to drive for Red Bull in 2019.”

——

The Red Bull racing headquarters in Milton Keynes is nothing you haven’t seen before. Being a member of Toro Rosso gave you grand access to all that was potentially waiting for you, just a few rungs higher on the ladder. It’s been dancing across your fingertips, just out of reach. The sparkle of promise began to dwindle after the first few visits, but the gleam never completely faded out. There’s a different power bouncing against these walls now as you make your way through the various halls, taking your time to soak in the history and the future portrayed before you. 

To know that now you walk these halls as more than just a maybe, it brings something better than a twinkle of light and hope. It’s like an electric current that runs through you, hot and fast and thrilling. And you haven’t even sat in a Red Bull car yet. 

Time doesn’t matter, other people don’t matter. In that moment, it’s just you and the thrill and-

And a solid, warm chest that you round the corner directly into. Hands reach out to steady you but, before you can register the feeling of them against you, they’re pulled away. Your eyes collide with Max Verstappens unmistakable blue ones, closer and clearer than you’ve ever seen them before. 

That’s not entirely the truth though, is it? You have seen his eyes this close, even closer than they are now. All these years later and you can still practically feel the tingle and hints of warmth that his lips left behind on your skin. You hadn’t thought about it, hadn’t felt it, in a very long time. But with him this close, flooding your scenes with his scent and his smile and him, the memory is all you can seem to conjure up in your mind.

“This place is insane.” You grinned as your fingertips traced the delicate wallpaper lining the hallway you slowly walked through. The house of one of your friends from your karting days was bigger than the entire neighborhood you’d grown up in. It stretched for acres across the lush, green fields of Southern France. 

“It’s very .. bold.” Max kept close behind you, watching the way your eyes soaked up every inch of the environment surrounding you. 

“Bold? That’s the word you choose to describe this?” You gestured to the long hallway with its rich colored carpets and fancy crown molding. It was an unusually warm winter day in that area of France, a fresh, crisp breeze traveled the corridors of the mansion through various open windows. “It’s beautiful.” 

“It is.” You shifted your eyes to Max who was still looking at you, not at all as entranced by the ornate details of the home as you were. Sixteen years of life and you’ve never been looked at the way that Max looked at you then. It filled you up, stuffed you like a teddy bear full of cotton and comfort. You were young, too young to understand love but, what floated between you and Max was what you imagined love to be.

You leaned your back against the wall, submerging yourself in his stare. There weren’t a lot of times where you and Max found yourselves completely alone. With your racing careers, the words free and time weren’t necessarily within your vocabularies. And that little free time you did have was rarely spent together since you lived in different countries. That moment together felt rare, that moment felt right.

Max leaned against the wall beside you, close enough to reach out and touch.

“What are you thinking about?” He asked quietly, trying not to burst that bubble of peace you found yourselves in. You couldn’t gather enough courage to tell him the truth, to tell him you were thinking about how much you wanted to kiss him, to hold his hand, to be around him constantly. You were so sure he felt it too. You were so sure you saw a spark in his eye when he looked at you. You thought he reserved a certain tone of voice for you, one with coated with care. You truly believed he had a smile, one that only touched his lips when he saw you.

You were so, so wrong.

Words were the hardest puzzle to solve in your mind, actions somehow seemed easier. You leaned forward, slowly inching your way into his space. Anticipation thrummed in your chest, a feeling you equated so naturally to the moments before lowering yourself into a race car. It fueled you, shot through your veins, had you leaning deeper and deeper into him until his lips were a whisper away from touching yours. 

“Y/N.” He breathed out, the small call of your name drew a shiver from somewhere deep inside you. 

Without another thought, you connected your lips. And he kissed you back. Hot, liquid lava flowed through your veins, melting you against him. It wasn’t your first kiss but, it felt like it should have been. No kiss you had before could compare to that feeling.

Before you could register it, Max pulled away. You blinked slowly up at him, still a little dazed and unsteady under the new warmth that flooded your system.

“I’m sorry.” Max said before clearing his throat and straightening. A piece of your heart cracked then, a piece so small that you couldn’t feel the pain of it breaking just yet. “We shouldn’t have done that.” 

“What?” You straightened beside him.

“That was a mistake.” His eyes darted to the floor. A breath lodged itself in your throat, leaving you nearly gasping. “I don’t-“ Max scratched the back of his neck. “It’s not like that.” 

“What do you mean?” You asked. You knew what he meant, in that moment where all the warmth drained and you were left with the cold reality of his words, you knew exactly what he meant. But, you also needed to hear it. Because maybe you were wrong, maybe one of the best moments of your life wasn’t about to turn into the worst. 

“I don’t like you like that, Y/N.” He spoke through a tense jaw. You shook your head, stepping backward slightly. 

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not.” 

“You-“

“Why would I lie? Why if I liked you and I could have you, would I lie?” He released a deep exhale and shook his head, still avoiding your glassy eyes. “This isn’t what I want. You’re not .. good enough. You’re not it for me.”

You’re not good enough. You’re not good enough. You’re not good enoughyou’re not good enoughyou’re not good enoughyou’re not good enough-

Those words clung to the air in between the silence in the hall as you turned away from him, from your friendship, and walked out of that mansion in France. They clung to you as you returned home from your trip and got back to training. They clung to you the first time you saw Max again at one of your F2 races. They clung to you as, instead of smiling and wishing you luck, Max turned away from you and didn’t look back. 

Those words clung to you even now, many years later, as you found yourself still vibrating in his presence like a kid who thought she knew what love meant.

“Verstappen.” You try your best to sound as unamused with his presence as possible.

“Still on a last name basis, are we?” His voice doesn’t hold any malice, it’s teasing in a way that makes you want to grind your teeth together. You roll your eyes, fighting against the grin pressing at the corner of your lips. “Well I believe now the proper greeting would be something along the lines of ‘hello teammate’.”

“Yes, I suppose that’s what we are now .. teammates.” The word doesn’t taste as bitter on your tongue as you hoped it would.

“Teammates and ..?” He raises a brow.

“And ..?” You raise an eyebrow back.

“Friends, Y/N, we’re friends.” A twinge of annoyance flashes across his face. 

“Oh,” you cross your arms over your chest. “So now you want to be friends?” His features soften, the veil of annoyance stripped away at your words. 

“Look, Y/N-“

“We do not need to have this conversation right now.” You take a quick glance around the hidden second floor hallway of the racing headquarters, thankful for all the attention being drawn to another level of the facility for the day. The more you thought about it, the more you didn’t want to have that conversation at all. Max rejected you. Then continued to act like nothing had happened, other than choosing to keep you at more than arms length away for the rest of your youth.

You had been heartbroken, yes. But overall, it hurt more that you lost a friend.

The longer you stand there, so close but still so far from him, the more you start to believe that being teammates with him will only make things between you worse. You’ve managed to stay civil, exchange encouraging words at times but, that was it. It could have been so much more. But, he made it clear it never would be.

When you turn to walk away, a hand claps around your own.

“I think we do.” Max closes the small gap of space you extended when you went to leave. “I’ve thought about it, for so long. And I’ve prepared-“

“You prepared?” You raise your eyebrows with a mix of amusement and horror. 

Max just shrugs. “Always good to be prepared”

“Right, well ..” You don’t give him a chance to continue with whatever he prepared to say to you if this moment ever arose. You can’t imagine he would somehow manage to break your heart again but, you certainly won’t be offering him the opportunity on a silver platter.

“It doesn’t matter what car I’ll be in,” you continue, tilting your chin up at him “or what you are to me, a teammate, a friend … I’m prepared to kick your ass this season. See you on the track.”

You step around him and make your way back toward your team, faintly hearing (and completely ignoring) Max mutter something along the lines of ‘we have to train together before that though’.

Conversation over.

——

You should have known right away that this wasn’t going to end well. When you took a glance around the group and realized you were alone in a circle made up of older, white, rich men, you should have known where this would head. Maybe you did, realization sat heavy in your stomach like a stone, but you chose to ignore the gut feeling. You chose to tuck your shoulders back, straighten up and plaster on that smile. That smile reserved for these kinds of men, the sweet and innocent and ever so fake smile. 

“I don’t suppose you could share with us how you pulled this one off?” A deep, grainy voice has you blinking away the glaze that was coating your eyeballs. 

“Sorry?” You clear your throat, still blinking rapidly in the direction. You try your best to ignore the rise of the man’s eyebrows, the presumptuous gaze he holds over you.  

“How did you manage to secure the seat with Red Bull Racing?” 

The strung out smile across your lips falters, you feel your muscles twitch downward involuntarily. A quick glance around the circle has your face falling more, you hold the genuine attention of all these men surrounding you. They’re curious to know too. Isn’t it obvious though? You earned the seat through hard work and good results for Red Bulls sister team, your talent spoke for itself. 

Didn’t it?

“Well, I assume based on what Christian has said, that it was because they saw potential in me. They believe that I could win a WDC.” You make an effort to keep your voice strong and sturdy under the heavy weight of their stares. A chuckle brakes out amongst some of them, a light and short burst of amusement. Like they know something you don’t. 

“You don’t suppose it’s because you’re a woman?”

“A-“ your voice cracks then, the pressures mounting mounting mounting and you can feel its crushing power against your throat. “A woman?”

Another chuckle. 

“That’s what you are dear, correct? You certainly look like one.” His gaze drops down your body quickly then slithers its way up and you’ve never been so mad about looking so good. At the beginning of the night, when you shimmied that tight dress on, the one that hugged your curves, extenuated your best features, made you feel beautiful, you knew you looked good.

Now, all you feel is wrong.

“Yes, I am.” Your face burns, so much that you have to physically stop yourself from pressing the cold glass of champagne you’re clutching to your cheeks. “And why would that matter?”

“Sweetheart.” the man tsked and shook his head.

“One would think Red Bull may see it as an advantage. To draw attention. To create a spectacle.”

“You know, sponsorships, brand deals, reputation, matters almost as much as racing results. Maybe even more.”

“With a female driver, Red Bull is basically opening up the doors to infinitely more financial opportunities.”

“It’s not like they need help winning races, not with Max showing the promise that he is.”

“Did you really think the reason was different from simply that?”

They were all speaking now, different voices, different insults, all being fired off from one mouth to the next all in your direction. All of it, all of those words and the different tones they spoke in, boiled down to one simple message: it was never about your driving. And it never would be. 

This misogyny is not new. This sexist attitude toward women in Motorsport doesn’t sting like the fresh cut of a blade against your skin. Instead it aches and burns like a deep wound that’s never healed quite right. One that every time it’s pressed, reminds you of the pain of experiencing it for the first time. 

You can’t let these words burrow into your skin no matter how strong and sharp are. Not when you’ve spent the past year fighting in the trenches to prove that you’re just as fast as any man in a Formula 1 car. You are more than your face and curves and your gender. You are your heart and your brain and your skill. 

You can believe it all you want yet, somehow believing that no one else ever will hurts more. 

“And why can’t it be both?” You hear yourself asking this group of men, these so called supporters of your team. “Why can’t I bring Red Bull good publicity and win them races? Why because I have long hair and prefer to have my nails painted does that make a difference? Why because I have a vagina does it mean I can’t be capable of having that kind of success?” 

You’re panting now, you hadn’t meant to say any of that, let along raise your voice while spilling it out. 

“Oh God ..” you breathe, still trying to catch your breath. “I’m sorry, I-“ you break off in another small gasp, words suddenly appear foreign and jumbled in your brain. As the silent seconds tick by, the darker your vision and your thoughts and your future become. 

“I’m sorry.” You mutter one last time before you bolt. 

The path to the exit is nearly clear, only a few bodies hang in the space between you and the fresh air you desperately need. The chatter and commotion of everyone else in the venue is nothing more than background noice to the sound of your own blood roaring in your ears. You aren’t paying attention to anyone or anything other than escape, you certainly aren’t hearing the calls of your name from close behind your heels. It’s only when a firm hand catches your elbow, halting you in place, does reality suddenly shift back into view.

“Where are you going?” Liz’s normally warm tone feels like ice against your skin. You knew she’d be pissed if she thought you were trying to ditch, especially with all the responsibilities you hold tonight, especially when you promised her you’d find her if you needed an out. This definitely looks bad, you can tell by the way her features are taut when you turn to face her. It is bad but, you can’t let her know that. 

“Just need some air. I’ll be back, I swear.” You can tell the sentiment passes directly through her. She only crosses her arms in response. “It’s the truth!”

“What happened?”

“Nothing.”

“Y/N.”

“Nothing!”

“Y/N-“

“Liz, please!” You snap your mouth closed after the sound of your plea echoes around you. Again, you hadn’t meant to raise your voice but, the emotion is clawing its way up your throat, desperate for an out. “I can’t be here right now.” You say in a much quieter, not at all composed tone.

“You have to be here. This is your job.” Liz keeps her voice lowered too but, it holds no softness, only a distinct sharpness you’ve become accustomed to understanding meant nothing but business. Liz is a woman but, she is not a coddler. She is not a mother who rocks and hushes, she’s a competitor who will pry and push because she knows it’s exactly what you need to succeed.

Look where she’s gotten you.

“Don’t you think I know that?” You step closer, holding a hand against your heart beating rapidly inside your chest. “But I can’t stand around and try to convince these people I’m someone that I’m not.”

“No one is asking you to do that.” Liz’s face softens, sympathy bleeds through the cracks of her tough facade. 

“Of course they are. Smile pretty but, don’t be too bold or else you’ll seem too cocky. Act innocent but, not too innocent or else you’ll seem naive. Show some skin but, not too much or else you’ll be asking for it. When had a man ever been accused of any of those things?” 

“You wanted this, Y/N. To be a woman in Motorsport, to show everyone that gender doesn’t matter. That anyone can drive if they have the determination to do so.”

“Yes, I wanted to drive. Not to play pet. I am me and it is becoming alertly clear that’s not enough.” Your fist clenches so tightly at your side, you can feel the half moons your nails are pressing into your skin draw blood. All of whatever face Liz puts on during work hours has disintegrated into a look of pain and understanding. 

“Go,” she motions to the door only a few feet from you two “be back before your speech.” You release a breath you didn’t know you were holding and turn for the exit. “But, Y/N.” You look over your shoulder. “Know that you will always be good enough to me.”

——

“30 minutes in and you’re already trying to make a run for it.” Max’s familiar voice startles you slightly. You spin around to see him sauntering his way over with an easy grin, looking effortless good in his suit. For a split second, you let the sight melt your frozen core. Then as soon as the split second passes, it’s frosted over again. Because of course everything is so effortlessly easy for Verstappen. 

“I wish.” You grumble, turning yourself back around to the view of the lake under the glowing moon. “I just needed some air.” 

“Mind some company?” His voice is much closer now, just over your shoulder. You suppress a shudder under his presence, the warmth of his body heat close to your own. 

The truth is that yes, you do mind company. In this moment, you want to be alone. You want to wallow and sulk and maybe cry until it’s all out of your system, until you can confidently walk back into the venue with your head held high and your confidence back where it should be. 

But you can’t get yourself to form the words to tell him to leave. Instead, you find yourself shrugging, feigning indifference. 

“Won’t they miss you in there?” You ask after a few seconds of nothing passed between you two other than the breeze shaking the bare branches of the trees around the water.

“I could ask you the same thing.” Max replies, both of your bodies stay facing forward. The wind picks up, brushing some hair off your shoulder, leaving goosebumps in its chilly wake.

“I doubt it.” You glance towards Max just in time to catch his eyes darting away from you, away from your skin. The goosebumps certainly do not go away after that.

When Max’s gaze find its way back to yours, you don’t shy away from holding his eye. Something has come loose inside you, a bolt or a screw jarred of its axis by those men in suits who talk as if they truly know you. Normally, you wouldn’t let yourself bask in the light and warmth of Max’s stare, you’d ignore any pulse of feeling that grew stronger in moments of closeness like this. There’s a reason why there’s been so far and few since that night all that time ago. 

Tonight, you find your walls already cracked, already unsteady. They’re breaking and it’s dangerous and you know that. Yet, you stand in front of him and hold his eyes and feel the vulnerability threaten to shatter you. 

“Can I ask you something? And can you be completely honest in your answer?” You lower your voice, keep it soft like the words passing between you are too fragile to be spoken at a loud volume. 

“Of course.” If Max is uncomfortable with the eye contact you’ve maintained, he doesn’t show it. Instead he draws his head a little closer, listening intently.

“Why do you think Red Bull asked me to take the open seat?” 

Confusion twists his features, his eyebrows pull in, his noice scrunches slightly. He doesn’t answer right away and you can feel yourself, in those fleeting seconds of silence, regretting asking him at all. It must make you seem weak to not have an unshakeable sense of confidence in who you are. It must make you seem foolish to seek the validation of your future teammate who, when it comes down to it, will be your fiercest competitor on the grid. 

“Because you’re an amazing driver.” Max says, like it’s obvious, like that was the easiest question he’s ever been asked. And you can’t deny the rush of affection mixed with relief churning in your chest at the response. 

“Am I?” You whisper, your voice hallow and weak against the strength of the winter wind. Max’s face softens before he reaches a hand out to touch your shoulder. “Don’t answer that.” You step away, down closer to the edge of the water. You can’t let him touch you, you can’t let him look at you with empathy and care and something else you can’t quite place. If you do, you’ll break. 

Why are you doing this? Why are you allowing yourself to spiral down this hole when you have dug and dug and dug until your hands were raw and your fingers bled, until you were finally on an even playing field? This can’t be how your stint at Red Bull Racing starts, this infection of self doubt with do nothing but spread until it’s taken you whole. 

“Y/N ..” You hear the crunch of Max’s dress shoes under the dead grass behind you moving closer. Enough of this. Enough of drowning in this feeling of uncertainty, it’s time to sink or swim. 

“I am a woman.” You spin around quickly toward Max. He blinks in surprise as he pulls his hand back down to his side. 

“Yes, you are?” 

“And I am a great driver.” You have to stop yourself from stomping your heel into the ground. 

“Yes, you are.” The corners of his mouth turn up, just the slightest bit. 

“And those two facts can coexist.” You feel your mouth curving up too though you don’t mean to do it. “And Red Bull can want me because I am both a woman who is paving a path for other women to be in Formula 1 and because I can win races and become a World Drivers Champion even if it means beating you!” 

Max’s eyebrows are raised, his lips pressing themselves into a thin line, and you can tell he’s fighting for his life against a rush of laughter threatening to spill out at your little burst. But he doesn’t laugh, he just nods and breaks out a wide grin. 

“I will gladly agree with you and accept that challenge.” 

You tilt your head to the night sky, releasing all the tension in your shoulders and sign. It feels good to get it out, to speak a truth you know so deeply in your bones. You belong here. And it certainly doesn’t hurt to have Max there, standing by you, agreeing with you. 

One thing you know about Max is that he doesn’t do something unless he truly means it. He’s fiercely loyal, honest to a point of almost rudeness but, reliable in a way that feels safe. What you see is what you get. 

Maybe that’s why it hurt so much when he told you he didn’t want you that night. Because as you knew all too well, Max doesn’t do something unless he truly meant it. 

That doesn’t matter now, though. The time for mourning the possibility of something between you has come and gone. A new era is upon you two, one of teamwork, possibly friendship. Something that could turn out great. 

Or so terribly bad. 

——

The crowd of the gala and their loud conversing was unchanged when you return into the venue, almost as if your absence didn’t send everyone into a discombobulated frenzy. What a shame. Regardless, you and Max blend seamlessly back into the masses just minutes before you’re supposed to make your speech. 

The lingering chill of the winter weather clings to your skin even inside the warm venue, surrounded by the heat of bodies and laughter and booze. Even as the seconds tick by, you shake underneath the silk of your dress. It would probably be proper of you to admit that what you’re feeling is not cold but, rather dread from knowing what’s to come. 

There are a lot of people in the room. A lot of important people who should mean a lot and do mean a lot to you and your team. Some of which had already heard plenty from you tonight. But, that doesn’t matter now. This is a new chance, a fresh opportunity, to show everyone that whatever preconceived notion about you they have was wrong. 

“Où étais-tu toute la nuit?” Where have you been all night? Arms wrap themselves around your shoulders from behind, pulling you back into a sturdy chest. One small inhale of a familiar spicy scent is enough to have you melting back into him, into the comfort of his hold. Pierre’s love language is touch, you found that out quickly after joining Toro Rosso. 

“Why are you so cold? You’re shaking.” He murmurs, rubbing his hands up and down your bare arms. 

“I was outside with ..” You turn your head back toward where Max is, or was, only to see his back retreating away toward a group of people on the other side of the room. 

“With Max? And you did not manage to kill him? I am proud of you.” Pierre smirks as you look back at him, causing you to roll your eyes and playfully smack his arm. 

“I’m as surprised as you are.” You chew on your bottom lips as the moments you spent alone outside with Max flash through your mind. “It was actually kind of … nice.”

“Wow, who are you and what have you done with my friend?” Pierre raises a brow and takes a cautious step backward, as if you’re suddenly contagious. 

The confusion of what happened outside mixed with the anxiousness of your impending speech is brewing into a dangerous concoction inside you. 

“I’m nervous.” You tell Pierre in a quieter, more serious tone. You didn’t want to talk about Max anymore or whatever transpired between you. 

“You’ll be brilliant.” Pierre’s smirk dampens down to a sweet smile. 

“Everyone expects something different from me. I don’t know what I’m supposed to say or who I’m supposed to be to please everyone.” You grit your teeth against the feeling of a fresh well of tears gathering in your eyes. 

“Mon ange,” Pierre rests a hand on your arm, squeezing it gently “you do not have to be anyone but yourself. That is plenty good enough.” You place your hand on top of his, hoping the contact will allow you to transfer the words from his mind directly into your bloodstream. 

“What am I going to do without you next season?” You chuckle softly, blinking back tears for an entirely different reason now. You and Pierre’s friendship has blossomed during your time at Toro Rosso. Though you know you’ll always still mean something to each other, to not have his constant support and companionship will feel like a brutal punishment you don’t deserve.

“Oh, mon ange, you will most certainly suffer greatly. And I will be sure to blow you a kiss as I pass you on the track in your fancy new Red Bull car.”

You’re about to bite back with a grin on your face when you hear the distinct sound of feedback from the microphone on the stage. All of the fear lingering inside you swarms up your body and settles in your chest. Pierre rests a gentle hand on the small of your back as your attention is drawn to the front. It’s time.

Somehow, by way of a miracle, you manage not to hurl on your shoes while you patiently wait and watch the various presidents and CEOs of sponsors speak. They express their love for Red Bull, their appreciation to be a part of the organization and their excitement with their investments in the teams future. Which you happen to be a very big part of. God, you might just crumble up and die at this point. Can you really do this?

“Thank you, everyone again for all of your commitment to our program, to the members of our team.” Christian Horner smiles against the microphone and holds a stage presence like no other. You desperately wish you knew his secret, his key to appearing ever cool and confident. Maybe too confident. 

“As the Team Principle for Red Bull Racing, I cannot be more excited for what’s to come. I know I say that before the start of every season but, this time I really mean it!” Laughs radiate through the venue. “No really, we have a great engineering team building us a race winning car and a driver lineup that can undoubtably deliver us results. In fact, we are introducing a new driver to our team this year. Up from our sister team, Toro Rosso, this driver has significant potential. We’ve seen her do brilliant things in her rookie year and look forward to standing by her when she accomplishes more in a Red Bull Racing car. Everyone, please extend a warm welcome to our newest driver, Y/N Y/L/N.”

The steady, loud sound of clapping and cheering surrounds you on all sides. Some turn to face you, Pierre included, his own prideful smile in place as he applauds you. You send him one last grateful look before navigating your way through the crowd toward the stage. You keep your hands in fists by your side, holding the shivers of nerves and to your surprise, excitement, at bay.

Christen extends a hand and helps you step up the small steps toward the stage. With a deep breath, you take the microphone from his hold with a smile. Christen offers you one back with a small nod before stepping to the side, letting the lights pointing on the stage swallow you and only you whole. Behind the glaring yellow light, you can hardly make out the faces of the crowd but, in the back of your mind you’re reminded of just how many faces there are, their focus solely on you.

“Thank you Christian for your kind words. And thank you to everybody at Red Bull who believed in me enough to offer me this opportunity. I could not be more grateful to be here. I think it goes without saying but, I’ve wanted to drive a Formula 1 car for as long as I can remember. And to now be given the chance to do so with such a legendary team, I’m honored.” You adjust your slick palms on the mic and take another breath.

“I am not the first female Formula 1 driver. There have been many amazing women to proceed me in this sport and I would not be here if it were not for them. If I hadn’t gone to the tracks as a kid and saw girls racing among all those boys or turned on the TV and saw women racing, and winning, against those men, I would not have believed it was possible for me to do the same. Yet, here I am. Every time I sit in one of these cars, I picture myself as a child, I think about who I saw, who showed me what I could achieve. I hope that if nothing else comes of my time at Red Bull, of my time in Formula 1, that I at least continue to pave that path for females in Motorsport the way they have paved the path for me.”

“Being a woman does not put me at a disadvantage. It is the way that women are perceived that changes the way I have to act, the way I have to race, the person I am allowed to be. I always have and always will be proud to be a female in this sport, hopefully changing the future. But, above all else, I am a race care driver. And I’m thrilled to now be a driver for Red Bull Racing. Thank you.” 

taglist: @laura-naruto-fan1998 @opium-den @honethatty12​ @sabrilad @idkiwantchocolatee @revengze @lawwwy @storyteller-le @butterflyydancestuff @indieclarke (if for some reason the tag didn’t work, sorry!)

[njorlpinipini]

Vision users and you! An exploration of common themes and qualities in wielders of different elements

Vision users and you! Observations of common themes regarding the wielders of different elements

DISCLAIMER: this is not a 'criteria' for who gets what vision. Think of this more as an exploration of patterns in Genshin character design, now that we've got a decent sample size from each element to look at.

Anemo users are, to put it bluntly, nosy bastards. They are always watching and listening, even if it seems like they're just zoning out. While they of course make for excellent spies and investigators, (no secrets are safe from the wind, after all) their natural curiosity and observant nature can also bring them success in fields such as alchemy and mechanics. Although living in Observer Mode has its perks, it does not make for a healthy social life; even the most extroverted of Anemos tend to be wallflowers, finding much more enjoyment in people-watching than actually participating in conversation. As for the introverts, getting them to leave their workshop/office/remote mountaintop for any social gathering is a monumental task that usually requires some degree of threatening, cajoling, and/or promises of snacks; when reaching out to them, don't be surprised if you get nothing but dead air in response.

Like the rocks their powers are derived from, Geo users are stable, dependable, and the least likely to turn and run for the hills when things go south. This reputation for reliability in turn inspires loyalty from their peers; Geo users often find themselves in charge of governments, armies, or criminal enterprises, with many loyal employees/troops/minions rallying around them. In addition to strong leaders and hard workers, Geo users also make great actors- their composure is second to none, and you'd sooner catch them dead before catching them breaking character. Unfortunately, despite being excellent at standing their ground, Geos can be extremely susceptible to pressure from behind; they can often be coerced into performing dangerous, demeaning, or completely insane tasks, especially if they feel their personal pride is at stake. You can't stop the rock, but you can push it forwards a bit if you have the right leverage.

The disposition of an Electro user will vary depending on their relation to their base desires and obsessions- their "inner animal." Some Electro users are embarrassed by the animal, and keep a tight lid on it whenever they're in public. Bottling up all this energy inside makes them very prickly and unapproachable, which is fine because it means there's less of a chance people will discover the army of plushies hiding in their closet. On the other side of the Electro spectrum, there are users who open their souls entirely to the world, shocking others with their erratic and bizarre behavior. They will show you all their limited collectibles and they will explain the lore behind each one, whether or not you asked. Once you accept that they're never going to 'act normal,' however, they can be surprisingly easy to get along with. The most fearsome of all Electros are, of course, the ones in the middle. These users have learned to wield their animal as a tool, knowing when to turn up the theatrics, when to keep a low profile, and when to get just under your skin. Those who carelessly play along with their antics may quickly find themselves the ones being played.

Dendro users want to see people thrive. They will extend a hand to the most broken of souls, seek out cures for those once thought doomed, and develop a comprehensive diet and exercise plan for all their friends. They know you can be better, and they're going to help you be better, until you push past the dirt and weeds and blossom like the brilliant flower that they know you are. Some are so dedicated to helping others that they neglect their own well being, much to the dismay of their friends and family. While these sorts of Dendros are extremely compassionate, their determination to see the best in everyone makes them vulnerable to emotional manipulation. Other Dendros focus on their own growth first, snaking their way through all manner of trials in pursuit of self betterment. Whether it's running errands across the world or a cushy, well-paying desk job, they seek a place where they can put down roots, unfurl their leaves, and bask in all life has to offer.

Of all the different types of vision users, Hydro users are the greatest visionaries (ha.) They are those with both the will change their world, and the social, financial, or political clout to make that change happen. Their beliefs vary- some campaign for the rediscovery of old traditions, while others call for revolution- but they all want to make waves. In their quest to turn the tides, nowhere is off-limits; Hydros will search the stars above, sink to the lowest depths of the Abyss, and even kick down the gates of Celestia if they have to. The scariest Hydro users are the ones who forgo the soapbox and pulpit in favor of pulling strings behind the scenes. These are true masters of social intrigue, who move with equal confidence through the currents of the world's grandest palaces and its filthiest slums. If one of them decides you are an obstacle to their plans for change, it's likely you'll be floating face-down in the river before long.

There are two main strains of Pyro user. The first and most common type are the optimists. They carry a ceaseless, brilliant flame in their soul, and they want to share its warmth with the world in any way they can. With spectacular performances, heart-pumping music, or even something as mundane as having a hot meal and a warm bath ready for you at home, the Pyros are on a mission to make the world just a little brighter with their infinite enthusiasm. Some will argue that there are places where such an attitude is 'inappropriate.' A Pyro optimist will tell you that you can't spell 'funeral' without 'fun.' Of course, not all Pyros are like this. There is a second, less common type- the realists, who know that warmth and light must be defended with force. They drive back the encroaching shadows, getting their hands bloody so that others don't have to. They might not be as outwardly affectionate as the optimists, but you'd better believe they care just as much, if not more.

Cryo users are plagued by ghosts. Some are haunted by their heritage, their lives dominated by the weight of an ancient family legacy. Others believe themselves to be sinners, and seek absolution from pasts stained in blood. Many got cast into the adult world at an extremely young age, and never got the chance to be children. At least one will never get the chance to grow up. Cryo users often feel like perpetual strangers, subject to whispers and frigid stares despite going above and beyond to prove their worth. Even when they are being praised for their achievements, they wilt at the attention- they don't want to be special, they just want to be normal. Don't assume that the Cryos take all this lying down, though- many have dedicated themselves to fighting the demons head-on. They expose corruption, tear apart deeply entrenched and outdated doctrine, aim sledgehammers at their nation's most profitable industry, and even bust literal ghosts. For these 'icebreakers,' it doesn't matter that they might turn the entire world upside down; the ugly truth will be revealed, and the spirits of the past will be put to rest.

[sneaky-geeky]

What if everyone in Limited Life felt their time differently. Lives not measured only in minutes and seconds, but in something else. Something unique. Something that had followed them though all the games before, and now counted down to their next death.

(4,283 words)

———————————————————————

For Grian, it’s the sun. He has a sundial, small enough to fit in the palm of his hand, and whilst he knows how to read it, he’s not exactly clear how it’s meant to show him how many hours he has left. As far as he’s aware, and he double checks just to be sure, the sun is moving just as it always has, and under a cloudless midday, there should be only the smallest sliver of shadow. But that’s not what he sees when he pulls it out to check. The shadow is long and dark and tells him that it’s barely past dawn. He triple-checks the sun again, just to be sure, but it remains high in the sky, and so he turns instead to the horizon. There, only visible when he squints, is another sun, smaller and coloured a deep, dark red.

It rises quickly as his hours tick by, and soon he doesn’t have to pull out the sundial to locate it, hanging ominously in the sky. Even at night it burns, its harsh light a counterpoint to the moon’s cold glow, and a constant reminder of his times slow passage. By the time he turns yellow it’s nearing its height and begins to burn almost as bright as the other sun which had continued its normal rotations through the sky. And then it begins to descend and as his final life approaches, he gets to witness the most beautiful sunset. This small red sun which represents each moment of his life lights the very sky on fire, a blood-coloured glow which dominates the sky through night and day. There’s no escaping it, with each passing moment it sinks further below the horizon, and the sundial he now holds in blood-coloured hands shows him precisely how little time he has left. His own mortality hangs above his head in glorious colours, but he knows the rules better than anyone and he will break them however he has to to extend that sunset a little longer.

———————————————————————

For Scott, it’s the stars. During the days he can almost force himself to forget that now more than ever before, they are all doomed to die, but as the night closes in he has no choice but to face reality. During the first hours of this game, he notices no change, the night sky remains as illuminated as it ever was. His first sign that something is wrong is as he idly traces a constellation, but his eyes are caught up short as he notices that a star is… missing. He tells himself that it can’t be right, he must be looking at them wrong, or there’s some cloud blocking his vision, but no matter how he squints the star is just gone, and it only gets worse from there.

Each night the deep black of the sky stretches further, with fewer and fewer stars to break up the unending void. With each passing minute, another one blinks out of existence. He even sees it happen a few times, his heartbeat beating in time with the ticking clock inside him causing another star to burn away. As the hours pass and even he, once known for his mercy, is forced to do whatever he must to hold on a little longer, Scott realises that he no longer recognises the sky above him. The stars have become few and far between, leaving only the unkind void watching over him. He fights under unfamiliar constellations now, and as his time reaches its final gasping breaths, those last stars abandon him too. When his time at last runs out, above him hangs only the unknowable.

———————————————————————

For Pearl, it’s the moon. From the moment this new world began she knew that. The first night, before even an hour had passed, it hangs heavy and full and bright above her head. Nights like this one always made it hard for her to sleep, when the clear moonlight illuminated the world in silvers, and she chose to not even try and rest, instead lying in dew-soaked grass soaking in the light. For a second it brings her back to nights far up in a tower, alone save for the furred warmth of a dog by her side, watching the skies for any sign that she was not to blame, but that was another world. Here it’s a fresh start, and despite knowing otherwise she can manage to convince herself that she has all the time in the world as a full moon hangs above her.

It’s only because she was watching the moon so carefully that first night that she notices the changes so quickly. Even as her first hours slip away from her, the moon does too. No longer does it light up the world quite so brightly, and she can only watch as each night it wanes further. Under a dull half-moon’s glow she reaches her yellow life, and her minutes begin to tick dangerously low. She no longer has the time to lie back and simply relax, and her nights are no longer a time of pale light. Instead, she hunts for extra minutes through half-cast shadows, trying to slow the waning of the slender crescent she sees above her. As her final hours approach its light abandons her too, only a new moon left to watch over the same old story of their struggle against the inevitable. As her final death approaches, she is left with only memories of the full moon’s glow, and the knowledge that she will do whatever she must to return it to its full glory.

———————————————————————

For Scar it is, ironically enough, scars. He’s never exactly been great at staying alive, and that fact is clear for all to see through the reminders of those deaths which mark his skin. He’s not ashamed of them though. He knows his strengths, and he’s an expert at spinning the most dramatic tales of how he got each wound. It’s a surprise then, when he opens his eyes in this new world and finds only smooth, unmarked skin. The others notice, but don’t seem to think too much of it so Scar trie s not to let it bother him either. “New world, new me”, he thinks to himself, mind already spinning with potential schemes. Only as the first hours begin to pass does he realise what it means.

The first one to reappear is a blast mark down his left side from a creeper which had caught him completely unaware. Next, as time continued to tick, was a jagged mark on his right calf, the remnant of a broken leg gained in a sandy ravine a long way from here. Every few hours it’s another one: the mark of an axe slashing across his back, burn marks across his chest, claw marks down his forearms where the zombies had scratched at him. He knows what the final one will be when his time has all but run out; a scar over his heart where the line which once connected him to a soulmate had been ripped away. His scars are a sign of what he’s survived, but as each one comes back he knows that they’re also a reminder. No matter how fast he talks, what alliances he makes, his time is running out, and he’s never been good at avoiding death for long.

———————————————————————

For Jimmy, it’s feathers. He’d always hated when the others had made fun of him, called him cursed, or doomed, the canary of these death games. Every time he swore it would be different, but every time he died first, and every time it got a little harder to convince himself that it was just bad luck. He finds the first one before an hour had passed, a pale-yellow feather, almost golden in the sun. It’s caught in his hair, and as he flicks it away he manages to convince himself that the colour was just a trick of the light and he’d simply gotten a little careless whilst killing chickens. They come more frequently after that though. In his hair, landing softly on his arms, a flurry of them when he shakes out his jacket to put it on. Once there’s a trail of them, beckoning him into the woods and the fact that he decided to spend that day safely within his base is entirely unrelated. At least he can ignore them when his time is plentiful, but as time slips away, the reminder of his curse becomes more obvious.

When he awakens on his yellow life, he is greeted by a pair of wings upon his back, the feathers as vibrant as the name above his head. He can’t fly, of course, but the wings remain, a symbol of his role that’s clear for all to see. For a while he almost thinks that that could be the end of it, he has become the canary and he never needed a timer to beckon him towards his doom. But then the feathers start again. They don’t appear from nowhere this time, every golden plume which drifts past him now comes from his own wings. With each step, each passing minute, he loses more, and each yellow feather he sees is only a reminder of his own tragic fate. By the time he becomes red, his bedraggled and bloodied wings are those of a bird caught in a net, destroying itself in its own desperate struggle to find freedom. Every time he swore it would be different, but now more than ever time was not on his side, and his struggles will only quicken his own death.

———————————————————————

For Tango, it’s… nothing at first. He hears the others muttering about it at the beginning, in between the chaos of gathering resources and making alliances: the changes they can feel coming over them as the clock begins to tick, the constant dread of feeling time slipping between their fingertips. He feels nothing of the sort though, if anything he feels good! He’s got friends, supplies, and at least part of a base. Maybe, he thinks, this time it will be different, and something good will come out of these games.

Or maybe that optimism at the start was the cruellest part of it all. Without that joy, he wouldn’t have been able to notice the creeping anger which began to replace it. He tried to reign it in, to laugh and play along with the rest of them in pretending that nothing was wrong, but with each passing hour his control slipped away. Old hurts he’d thought forgotten rose unbidden to his mind. Time begins to slip away from him and the desire for revenge gets harder to ignore, the urge to find all those who’d betrayed and destroyed and left him for dead grows stronger. He finds himself seething with anger, remembering the people he’d thought of as friends turning their backs on him, the slash of an axe against his back, a home in flames before him. He can control it for now, but he knows that by the time his name is as red as the mist which begins to cloud his vision, there will be nothing left of him beside the rage.

———————————————————————

For Etho, it’s fire of course. It’s always haunted his steps in these games, and it’s only natural that it continues to do so. They all knew that their time was running out from the very first second, but no one else seemed to feel it the way that Etho did. Even at the start he couldn’t stay still too long lest the heat got too intense, and he tried to stay close to the team he’d found in the hopes that the babble of their voices would drown out the crackling of the flames. At least in the Nether he could pretend the heat was natural (and if he flinched at the sound of the popping lava at least no one noticed), but as the hours slipped by it got harder to ignore.

The warm tropical water of this place could do nothing to cool the fire which seemed to creep up his veins, and sometimes he found himself wishing for the familiar press of cold snow walls against his back, if only to give himself a moment of comfort. As green slipped into yellow what was once an uncomfortable heat across the back of his neck, would become a constant burning that was far too familiar. Even through the mask, every gasp would become like breathing in smoke. The pink light of a sunrise on the waves would appear, just for a moment, like a flaming inferno reaching towards him. He could hardly bear to enter the forest when every other tree seemed to burst into fire as he passed by it. He’d learnt the hard way that when the flames began, they would only spread, and with each passing minute they would only burn hotter. He could run from it all he liked, but when the timer got low, he knew that everything would burn.

———————————————————————

For Bdubs, it’s a clock. This comes as a surprise to no one, and he happily shows it off to anyone who’ll listen. It’s little more ornate than the one he usually carries, the gold bright and polished with delicate creeping vines and fragile flowers engraved around its edges, but this too is no surprise. The clock had always been a gift to buy his loyalty after all, and his loyalty is a beautiful thing. He soon realises that a clock is all the others see, however. Just a clock, with no strings attached.

As his time begins to tick, it is only Bdubs who sees the blood. The stains which begin to mar its edges as time runs down, the scrapes and dents and scratches. It continues to tick despite the damage, each movement bringing him a little closer to death. He finds himself holding it even closer than he normally would, almost hypnotised by its steady and relentless movements. He can’t wipe away the blood, can’t fix the damage that his love and betrayals have done but at least he can track the passage of his time and know how much he has left to devote to another. When his name is green, and even as hours pass and it turns yellow, he will give whatever he can, but he knows that one day that clock will shatter. When the hour gets late, he will do as he always has. His loyalty is a beautiful thing but just as fragile as a delicate clock face and when the clock stops ticking, he will be alone. He knows time better than anyone but now it’s not on his side, and he knows from bitter experience that loyalty alone will not save him.

———————————————————————

Joel doesn’t care what his is. He’s never been in these games to win, not really, and if anything he’s just waiting for his timer to get low enough that he can shed these false pretences. He makes alliances, builds bases, pretends to be civil, but he knows that it won’t last. He’s only here to fight, to kill, to feel the thrill of the hunt once more. The first time he went to grab his shovel and looked down to find a sword in his hand instead, it was almost funny. As the time passed, and it happened over and over again, however, he began to get an idea of just how his minutes were being measured.

After a few hours it became a challenge to swing his axe into the trees, to not take a few steps over and swing it right into his teammates’ unsuspecting backs instead. As time wore on it only got worse. In every passing moment he saw opportunities to kill, and something deep within him ached to see so many chances not taken. With the descent into yellow he gained some freedom at least, finally had the ability to strike back, to sate the biting hunger inside him. But as the time continued to tick it would never be enough, each kill would only hold it back for a time and even as his own death drew closer he would have no choice but to hunt for one more kill.

———————————————————————

For Martyn, it’s eyes. At the start, it’s more a creeping feeling of being watched than anything else, but at least he can blame that on the general feelings of paranoia which accompany these games every time. But as his time gets lower, with each minute taking him closer to yellow, it gets worse. Peering eyes become leaves or clouds or simply nothing at all when he turns to look at them properly, but he knows what he saw, and these days his own eyes are the only ones he can trust. He’s played many parts over these games: the loyal hand, the ally in the shadows, the spurned soulmate, but through every life they have watched and as time ticks lower, they stop even attempting to hide it.

Eyes watch him from the darkness of each restless night, and his every day is haunted by the peering eyes of figures he can’t quite make out. He still struggles against his fate, pointless though it might be, but soon even the eyes of his allies flash purple as he passes them by and he knows that everything he’s doing is only entertaining them more. When the sky itself seems to blink at him he feels his time running out fast, knows that the show is almost over. He could kill, draw their gaze away from himself a time as they go instead to watch the suffering of another, but they will always return. When his time runs out, he knows he will be surrounded by eyes uncountable, and he will have no choice but to perform.

———————————————————————

For Cleo, it’s flowers, and the rot which inevitably destroys them. For the first few hours they bloom wherever she goes, blossoms of blue and orange which follow in her footsteps. They find them creeping through the cracks in the makeshift base they’ve created, leaves and vines finding any gaps in the foundations and pushing inside. As their hours decrease, the flowers only increase in number. Trees seem to come into blossom as she passes, and if she spends too long in one place it becomes a riot of multicolour petals. She knows these games though, and from what she’s seen there are only two constants: decay and death. Alliances rot, leaving behind only hurt and thoughts of revenge, but even those teams which stand the test of time will eventually crumble as death claims them. There is no escaping the slow and steady passage of time.

As their name turns yellow, so too do the flowers which follow them, a sickly yellow which spreads across each petal. A creeping rot which withers the vines and eats away at everything it touches now follows her. Within just a few hours the flowers which still manage to grow in their path crumble like ash at even the softest touch, and instead of the colours, in her wake she leaves only grey decay. Time slips through her fingertips, life turns to death, and it is no longer only the flowers they created that decay away, but the entire world. Now the trees are brittle beneath their hands, a dark rot pressing up from beneath the bark, and when they stand still the ground rots away beneath their feet. By the end she is as grey as the dead world in which she finds herself, only her heart still beating a bright vibrant red. But whilst all else has decayed away, they still stand strong, and will continue to do so until the final hour.

———————————————————————

For BigB, it’s the shadows. The days are bright in this world, and it’s certainly warmer than any of the other times they’ve played these games, but even from the first day he can’t shake the feeling that it’s not quite as bright as it should be. Beneath the thick cover of the dark oak forest the dappled sunlight hardly seemed to reach him, and even out in the open fields there are shadows where there shouldn’t be. In another life he would have welcomed them, the shade providing cover for clandestine meetings and secret soulmates, but here it’s like the shadows are beckoning him and he doesn’t want to know what would happen if he listened to their call. If anything, the night is a relief, at least then he can convince himself that the darkness is natural, but each dawn the sun rises, his time ticks lower, and the shadows get a little darker.

As the hours pass, he realises that it’s not just in his imagination. Not only are the shadows deeper and blacker than they should be, they really are reaching out towards him, trying to pull him into their void. It doesn’t matter where the sun is, the shadows always lean his way and even down in the caves torches are no longer enough to banish the darkness. He knows his time is really running out when they begin to move. Shadows begin to writhe along the ground, cutting through the light like ink as they try to reach him. There’s nowhere left to run where they will not find him, and with the final minutes passing him by, he hasn’t got the time to left to search for another solution. It’s a familiar feeling, killing out of desperation to save his own life, but it’s a decision he’s made before and will make again if it buys him another few minutes in the light.

———————————————————————

For Impulse, it’s a pocket watch. He’s almost insulted when he first sees it. At first glance it’s a little too similar to a golden clock, glinting in the sunlight as he’s betrayed yet again, but as he inspects it again he realises that the similarities are only superficial. The face is beautiful in its own right, a delicate design of brass and a soft ticking noise which accompanies each movement of the second hand, but he’s more interested in what lies beneath it. When he finally manages to get some time alone and unscrew the back, however, the redstone inside is like nothing he’s ever seen, and even with his impressive talents, he can’t make heads nor tails of the miniature moving pieces. He spends some time fiddling with it, trying to understand the inner workings and figure out a way to quietly wind it back every now and then to give himself a little extra time, but whatever he does, the minute hand continues to move steadily forward.

For a while he thinks that’s the end of it, a complex little pocket watch that he always keeps close at hand, but as the time begins to pass, he realises that the ticking he can hear doesn’t originate from that at all and it’s only getting louder. It comes from all around him, the ticking of a life slowly running out, and soon it's impossible to ignore. With each tick, all he can think about is everything he has left to do: the allies he will leave behind, the plans left unfinished, the old enemies who still walk unpunished. He can’t die yet, but still the seconds pass him by. As the pocket watch he can hardly bear to put down draws closer and closer to its final chime, the ticking in his ears sounds more and more like a heartbeat, drowning out all else. It’s never been clearer to him that his time is limited, but he has never been one to leave things unfinished, and there are still things that must be done before the end.

���——————————————————————

For Skizz, it’s only being able to watch as he is quietly and slowly abandoned. It’s something which has become all too familiar to him through these games. An army behind him, standing back and watching him charge in alone. A team he created, led, and then died for refusing to help him. But he was nothing if not an optimist, and at the start it was easy to convince himself that this time it would be different. As his friends gathered around him, announcing themselves his bodyguards, and promising to protect him he couldn’t help but laugh along, and even as he died again and again, he didn’t blame them. Their good intentions didn’t last long though, the good things never did in these worlds.

As his first few hours were stolen, he could see their attentions slipping away from him, leaving him unguarded once again. They weren’t doing it on purpose, he was sure, but as his time got lower it was like all memory of the alliances they’d once had begun to slip away. Even by the time his yellow life began, it was like the friendships he’d tried so hard to maintain were eroding, and he could only watch from the sidelines as the others fought to protect one another. He had never betrayed, had always given everything he could to his team, yet this was apparently his reward. Left behind by the very people who’d once promised to save him, his hours run down faster and faster. Then he really is alone, the others apparently forgetting that they’d ever been allied at all. Abandoned and afraid, he realises that there’s no one else he can rely on.

[dragnelly]

Spoiler warning — Wand Mastery

My little twist on this quest. Still in the process of editing. Not sure if I love it or hate it. I’m currently open to requests for future scenarios. Thank you in advance for reading my writing <3

While pacing around Ollivander’s, you glanced at the endless amount of rectangular boxes, filled with wands, each different from the next, all waiting to choose their equal. Unsure what to do with yourself, you pressed the back of your thumb to the bottom of your lip, resisting the urge to chew on your nail. You broke the habit years ago but the hand placement gave you some sort of comfort. The shop keeper had disappeared to the back of the store to create your special request, for what felt like hours ago. Normally, you are relatively patient but the last few days have kept you restless. There was so much to do and you no longer had the luxury of time. Ranrok. Victor Rookwood. Lodgok. The Keepers. Professor Fig. Poppy. Natty. And Sebastian. Your mind was going down endless rabbit holes. What were you going to do? What could you do?

You gazed behind the counter, searching for any signs of movement. When will Ollivander be done? Will he ask questions? Would you able to alleviate his curiosity? After minutes past, it finally dawned on you. Apart from inside the shop, it was strangely quiet. Hogsmeade was always lively, even at night. Witches and Wizards filled the streets, causing all sorts of commotions. But right now, maybe even for a while without you taking notice, there was nothing. You moved to the entrance of the store, peering through the yellow tinted windows. Not a person in sight. How odd. You cautiously extended out your arm towards the door as your other hand grabbed your wand. Simultaneously, your heart picked up its pace, pounding against your chest while your adrenaline raced through your veins.

You took one last glance at the back of the shop for Ollivander before you pushed through the door. Welcomed by the spring air, the sun momentarily blinded you. Instinctively, you squint your eyes and as your vision adjusted, a familiar voice cut through your spine, sending your consciousness into another spiral. “I’ve been looking for you.”

It was Victor Rookwood. Before you could react, an unrecognizable voice shouted, “Expelliarmus!” Your wand slipped between your fingers and into the air. You tried to catch it but it was too late. It clanked against the ground, too far from your reach. Too far for you to stop what was about to happen next. You examined the surroundings before glaring at Rookwood, taking a mental note of your enemies. There was a total of four Ashiwinder Soldiers blocking any exits you might’ve tried to use to escape. You’ve taken down more at a time, you could easily end this right here, right now. But without your wand? You clenched your jaw as something you never asked before crossed your mind, where was help when you needed it?

Unbeknownst to you, Imelda Reyes and Sebastian Sallow were close, hidden by the disillusionment charm. Imelda, with all her strength, held onto Sebastian’s arms from behind as they witnessed these events unfold. She knew there was more Ashwinder scouts and assassins lurking through the streets of Hogsmeade and as much as Sebastian Sallow annoyed her, she wasn’t about to let him go charging into this situation without some sort of plan.

It was earlier in the day when Imelda persuaded Sebastian to peel his eyes off a rather strange looking book to accompany her to Hogsmeade. And as fate would have it, just as they were getting ready to head back towards Hogwarts, witches and wizards apparated all over the town. Both the teens knew them to be followers of Victor Rookwood simply based on their attire. When Sebastian blurted your name, she knew he’d do something foolish. This boy, she thought when he took off running, needed to be more honest about his feelings because when he was not with you—he was always talking about you. Once she caught up to him, she convinced him that if he wanted to stay in Hogsmeade, they should used the disillusionment charm. After all, they didn’t even know if you were here.. but sure enough, they found you.

“What do you want?” You question Rookwood.

“In light of what Ranrok knows, you must agree our interests align.”

“Our interests will never be aligned.”

“You’d let Goblins take what’s rightfully ours? The final repository belongs to wizardkind. We would be fools not to work together.” Slowly, he walked towards you. You parted your lips to speak but could not form any words. For a minute, you truly considered what this man was saying but in the end, you shook your head in response to your own thoughts. Victor saw this gesture and with irritation he said through his teeth, “That repository is my birthright.”

“Charles Rookwood wouldn’t have wanted you near it.” You said, this time, with no hesitation. Victor menacingly chuckled while he continued to walk towards you, halting when he was only a few inches away from you.

“The arrogance. Should’ve known better than to try and reason with a child.” You clenched your fists, he had the audacity to call you arrogant? He spoke again with a low tone but still loud enough for everyone to hear, including Sebastian and Imelda, “I’ve always said, children should be seen, not heard.” All at once, your eyes widen as a small gasp escaped your lips and Sebastian broke free from Imelda’s grip—his disillusionment charm disarming. Victor Rookwood seized your arm and before Sebastian could get three steps in; you, Victor, and the Ashwinders apparated.

“Sebastian!” Imelda chased after him for the second time today, picking up your wand off the ground in the process. However, Sebastian only stopped when he reached the area you and Victor stood just moments ago. This was all Rookwood’s fault, he thought, he casted the curse Anne that unfortunate night. Not Goblins. Not Ranrok. Rookwood was the one who uttered the ridiculous, infamous phrase. And now—he has you.

Unexpectedly, Sebastian flipped around to face Imelda, causing her to flinch. Of course she’d never admit to that. He looked down at her hand and instantly recognized your wand. It felt like his blood was starting to boil as rage consumed every part of his mind, body, and soul. He couldn’t do anything for Anne and he didn’t do anything for you. Sebastian snatched the wand out of Imelda’s grip and unknowingly said aloud, “Not this time.”

[willxmeyers]

WILL + LEMIE

where: coral cottage bed & breakfast, garden who: @lemielewis x @willxmeyers what: a birthday engagement 💍 when: may 10th 2024

Will: Tugging at the collar of his favorite Tom Ford suit; Will couldn’t help but look back over the past year. Something about birthdays had always made him melancholy. Last year was downright disastrous. Well, not the exact day per se. It had been exactly what he’d wanted, a silent drift into his 40s without any of the fuss. However, his secrecy about it had resulted in a break up that had set him back into his old ways. The pacemaker inside his chest wasn’t the only thing that kept him alive. But Lemie too, who had never left his side, even when she probably should have. If it weren’t for her, Will doubted he’d be celebrating another trip around the sun.

Things were different this year. This year, he was downright terrified. The first birthday he’d ever wanted to celebrate, but not for him. For her. Time felt like it was running out but all he could do is stand and wait for her to arrive, shuffling on the spot. Their reservation at Neptune wasn’t for another hour. But he’d managed to escape back to the Cottage early, stating there was from work men who needed him. When she’d called to check in to see how long he’d be, Will had asked if she could meet him here instead. An orchestrated move that he hoped would result in her walking through the back doors and into the garden. Their garden. Where he had a one very important question to ask.

--

Lemie: Finding beautiful dressed laid out on the bed she shared with Will was becoming a recurring event and Lemie couldn't even pretend not to like it. She had never been that into clothes, but there was something incredibly sexy about him knowing exactly what she enjoyed and would look good on her. He knew her in a way maybe only her brother did, which was a feat in itself. Not many people were allowed to see past her walls.

Despite being the most contradictory person on earth, she put on the dress and met up with Will in the garden, their spot. The place when the two of them had paused the bickering long enough to find a middle ground. "You know I'm not your personal Barbie doll, right?" Lemie asked him as she walked out into the garden, her narrowed eyes meeting his. She couldn't let him know she enjoyed this so easily after all. "What is it now? Another fancy restaurant? Quick getaway to Paris?"

--

Will: His smile widened as she turned the corner, seeing her appear before him like a vision. Lemie looked exactly as he hoped she would. He’d ruminated over this moment for months now. Wondering what was the best way to ask, how many people should be there, would she want it photographed or was that borderline creepy? None of those worries mattered as she took a step out into the garden. Eyes narrowed and barbed tongue, it contradicted the dress that flowed down her hips. Feminine and light. Something she’d wished she was but never thought possible without changing herself. Will never wanted her to change. Not a single thing.

The lights in the garden trees sparkled, just like his eyes did as he watched her. Whether or not her suspicions were higher than normal, he couldn’t tell. “Paris is overrated.” Will shakes his head, smile still etched on her lips, reaching up to his eyes. “I thought we could just.. talk for a second,” Will said, taking a step towards her, hand extended for her to take. “Then dinner,” he adds, in case she was worried about what their conversation would be about. “You look beautiful.”

--

Lemie: There was something intoxicating about the way Will looked at her whenever she appeared wearing one of his extravagant dresses. Anything she deemed too feminine usually looked ridiculous on her or it had until she met him. He had somehow led her to believe that just about anything suited her even though that couldn't possibly be true. Maybe it was just that somewhere along the way, only Will's opinion had started mattering. Who cared about the snickering cheerleaders from high school when he thought she was soft (when she felt like it) and caring (ditto)?

Lemie frowned in response to his comment, walking closer to him and putting her hand in his extended one. "Paris is overrated? Are you okay? Did you hit your head?" Her heartbeat picked up when he mentioned a talk. This couldn't be good. "Did you make me put on a dress to break up with me? Because that is grounds for murder and I bet the local cops would turn a blind eye under the circumstances." Alright, her fears were a little ridiculous admittedly. He didn't look like a man about to break up with his girlfriend. "I look alright. You look very dapper. I've mentioned how much I love you in a suit, right? About a million times?"

--

Will: Now wasn’t the time to get into his personal thoughts about Paris. To him, there were too many tourists and the whole city smelt a little like a urinal. But he shook his head, laughing a small chuckle as she threatened to murder him. Admittedly, it was a little reassuring to see her so nervous. It mirrored his own internal giddiness.

He had to disagree with her assessment of herself. Will had never seen a person more radiant. But he chose to not fight her on it. “You may have mentioned just a few times,” he replied with a smirk, taking her hand and giving it a warm squeeze. Will wanted to put her fears aside, reassure her that only good could come out of this situation.

Leading a little further into the garden, away from the house that he’d purposefully cleared for the day, Will stopped and looked at her. “I’ve never had a favourite place,” he begun, eyes looking down at her hand in his own. “A lot of my life was just trying to find the least shit place to be, looking for the thing that hurt the least. And I lived that way for a really long time.” Will fought with the urge to make an old man joke. “When I moved here, I slowly realised that this place.. was what people meant when they said somewhere could feel like home.” His throat bobbed a little as he looked from her hand to meet her eyes. “But it’s not this place. It’s you. You’re what feels like home.”

“You know that I’ve not always been the best person. I can be selfish and stubborn, I hate admitting when I’m wrong. And despite all these flaws, you love me anyway.” Despite her better judgement, he thought. “And I love you. More than I’ve ever loved anything or anyone,” Will released her hand to reach into his pocket and get down on one knee. “You’re the only person I’ve ever wanted to spend my life with. Every minute of every day,” he looked up at her, eyes misty and full of love. “So, Lemie Lewis, will you marry me?”

--

Lemie: It was still odd to Lemie that no matter how weird she got or what she might throw at him, he still looked at her with nothing but love in his eyes. No matter how far she pushed the limit, Will wouldn't budge. It was still mind-boggling that someone could love her this fucking much and that she loved him just as much.

"Not enough if you ask me. Seriously, when you add the accent on top of it? We're reaching James Bond level of hot," she insisted, moving closer to him while running her thumb on the back of his hand. She tilted her head to the side slightly as he started talking about the garden and favorite places, her eyebrows scrunching in confusion.

Just as she was about to throw one of her cynical, sarcastic comments at him, it dawned on her that this wasn't just the start of another extravagant date. She'd seen enough movies to know that this was usually what people said right before pulling out a big ol' ring. She froze slightly, her heart skipping a beat or twenty. She understood exactly what he was talking about, the feeling of a person feeling so safe and familiar. That was what he felt like to her.

"I don't know that. I know you're the best person whose made questionable decisions. Who hasn't?" She managed to say, voice strangled right as he did exactly what she had expected him to. "Fifty percent of marriages end in divorce. Or so I've heard." Definitely not the thing to say in replied to a marriage proposal, but a very Lemie thing to say. "Are you sure you want to marry me? I don't think I'm the main character in this love story, I might just be the evil ex-girlfriend. No one marries the evil ex-girlfriend."

--

Will: If Will hadn’t been the midst of proposing, he’d have thrown his head back in a laugh but instead, it was more of a quick chuckle in response. Of course she couldn’t just accept that she was the love of his life. Lemie’s instinct to believe she was unlovable was something that they had in common. “I’ve already been divorced,” he reminds her with a smirk. “And it wasn’t so bad.” Not that Will wanted his marriage with Connie to be anything like what he had with the woman in front of him.

“If I wasn’t sure, Lemie, I wouldn’t be fucking up the knees of my favorite suit right now,” he motioned down to the garden floor with his head. “And you’re not evil. You’re the woman I love, the one I want to grow old with. Have a bunch of little rugrats with. I want to sit on a wraparound porch and yell at teenagers who walk across our lawn with you.”

He tried to not let his spirit falter. “If you think it’s too soon,” Will implores, “I won’t take it personally. We can make this an annual thing where I ask you to marry me until you inevitably say yes. I’ll pop a reminder in my calendar.” There was little doubt that this was what she wanted but it was more about whether or not she thought she deserved it.

--

Lemie: Lemie sometimes forgot about the whole entire life Will had before they met. Honestly, she sometimes forgets about the life she had before she met him. In a lot of ways, it felt to her like her life began the second his smug face walked into her life and not one second sooner. "Are you saying you're already planning our divorce? The ring isn't even on my finger yet, William."

The suspicion in her eyes vanished at the mentioned of children, the thought softening something inside her she didn't even know existed. Kids had always been a non-factor in her life, but now… My god, did she want them. She wanted to experience everything with him. "You want kids, huh? You don't think we'll fuck them up the way our parents did us?"

She shook her head immediately, trying very hard not to snatch the ring right out of his hands in order to make sure he didn't take it back. "No, it's not too soon. In fact, it's taken you way too long," she told him with a crooked grin, extending her hand out to him. "Yes, I'll marry you. Put it on."

--

Will: “No,” he replied instantly. “I’m trying to assure that if getting divorced is the only reason to not marry me.. it’s a risk I’m willing to take.” Will hadn’t made this decision lightly, even if it did seem like the most natural thing. They lived together, they loved each other. There wasnt a minute he wanted to be apart.

Will made a face. “We already have a child,” he countered, knowing Paprika would be disappointed in not being recognized for the baby he was. “But human children? Of course I want them. And I don’t worry about becoming our parents because there’s no way we’d let that happen.” Will would make damn sure of that. “I want everything with you.”

His smile widened, taking the square cut diamond ring out of the box as instructed and slid it up her finger. It fit perfectly, as it should considering how much sleuthing he’d done to make sure it was the right size. Nothing had felt more right in that moment, he stood from his kneeling position. “I thought you might say that,” he replied cheekily, cupping her cheeks with his hands and kissing her. A moment he’d never forget.

--

Lemie: No matter how cynical Lemie might be, she actually believed him when he said divorce wasn't in the cards for them. She was certain that neither of their parents had ever loved their partner as much as they both did. "Fine. I guess I'll have to take it with you then. It's not like you can take the leap by yourself," she said petulantly, as if she were doing him a favor. In actuality, he was doing her a solid by proposing to her.

"Sure, but we can't actually fuck up a cat… Can we?" The thought of Paprika needing therapy, a kid however… much more likely. "I'd be unbearable pregnant. I obligated to warn you. You know, in case you want out. Because once that ring is on my finger, there's no getting it back. You would have to pry it out of my cold dead hands."

Lemie held her breath as he slid the ring on, the fit perfect somehow. This man had definitely been plotting. "We're not doing a big wedding," she warned, hating the thought of all that attention on her. Being Will's wife would come naturally, but being a bride? Not so much. "And you had the nerve to look like you thought I might say no?" She asked him with a grin as he leaned in for a kiss, her hands moving from his sides to his back to pull him closer.

--

Will: He’d barely stood from his kneeling position before she was warning him, her brow furrowed. “I don’t need a big wedding,” Will assured her. “I’d drive us to Vegas right now if that’s what you wanted.” Whatever she wanted, he’d give her. That is all he’d ever wanted to do. Take care of her, love her. Despite the weight that hung heavy on her shoulders, it was what Lemie deserved.

“I’d knew you’d say yes, eventually-“ Their kiss was chaste, not necessarily wanting to get too hot and heavy. Will was sure they’d celebrate in that manner once they were home. He did trail a few kisses across her cheek, around her neck, smiling all the while.

Taking her hand again, he looked down at the ring before glancing back at Lemie. “Do you like it? Lucky helped me pick it out.” Another conspiratorial player in all of this. Will had let Paprika know that morning, however, the ginger cat didn’t seem all that interested and simply went back to licking himself. “I had my mother’s engagement ring, I thought about it but.. there’s probably some generational curse on it.” Will bristled at the thought. “If you don’t like it, we can look for something else. It just.. I thought you’d like it.”

--

Lemie: It wasn't like there were very many people that Lemie even wanted at her wedding in the first place. Lori, Lucky, Cherry… Those were her people essentially. "I don't know about reading my vows in front of an Elvis impersonator, but let's keep it uncomplicated. Our favourite people, loads of food, kitschy music and the two of us. That's all I need," she told him with a grin. Her parents wouldn't be anywhere near their special day, that was for damn sure.

"Of course. Saying no didn't even cross my mind. Not even to fuck with you," she pointed out seriously, as if this was big of her. It was, in a way, but it was also how normal people reacted to a marriage proposal.

"I love it. It's perfect. I can't wait to walk around town with this baby and flash it in everyone's face. I'm definitely posting it on Insta, my mom will combust from jealousy." This was exactly the kind of ring she had always wanted for herself. Not necessarily the cut, but the size of the diamond was definitely a goal of hers. "Yeah, no. I want this to be ours alone. We're nothing like your parents or mine." She stood up on her tip-toes, her fingers curling in his hair as she pulled him down for a quick kiss. "It's perfect, unsurprisingly. No one knows me like you do."

--

Will: Will leaned in to give her a quick kiss, almost unable to keep his lips off her. The happiness he felt, it was not to be contained. It was in his eyes, his smile. “Sounds like we’ve already made her first wedding plan.” Lemie hardly seemed like the Bridezilla type and Will had already done the big wedding with the hundreds of people only there to judge. “Just us and the people we love.”

He glanced down at ring, moving it slightly with his thumb. “Lucky helped,” Will added, smiling. Partly because he was the only man Will wanted to tell but also because he was… traditional. He wasn’t going to ask for Lemie’s hand from any of her parents, it was an outdated notion. But if there was any doubt in Lucky’s mind that this wasn’t a good idea, Will wanted to know before he got down on one knee. “If you didn’t like it, I was just going to throw him under the bus.” In a true brotherly style, Will thought jokingly.

He was unsure of the time, wanting to stay in this moment forever but.. “we have reservations for dinner. At Neptune.” Will contemplated just abandoning their plans to take her up to a vacant room upstairs. But nights like these needed to be celebrated properly. And his fiancée and the new diamond on her finger deserved to be shown off.

--

Lemie: Will had done all of this before, but Lemie liked to think it felt like the first time for him too given the circumstances of his first marriage. He might care for Connie, but not in the way he cared for her she hoped. She inhaled sharply, surprised to find she felt sort of anxious about the planning that was to come. "Maybe we can do it here. In the garden, I mean," she suggested, her fingers running through his short hair.

Her eyes were also locked on the ring, already used to seeing it there. "Of course he did. He knows me best. After you, obviously." She never thought she'd be able to say that someone knew her better than Lucky, but she had found that person in Will against all odds. "I would've let you, I'm a pro at throwing my siblings under the bus. It's usually Lori, but I could stab Lucky in the back for you."

The only thing that could rip her away from this moment was food, which again proved just how well he knew her. "Perfect. I'm dying to show this baby off and feed off everyone's jealousy."

[bluberimufim]

Your suffering is a price too steep for me

Hello! I took out a wisdom tooth today and after such a tragic ordeal (it was extremely easy and quick), I have decided to ease my pain (I'm literally fine) by posting a new snippet!

This is the biggest one yet (about 1k words) but I love this scene so so much and I want to share it with you! It was in the snippet poll a couple of weeks ago. It was the "Seth and Theo arguing about the war" one.

taglist: @little-mouse-gardens @wildswrites

No trigger warnings today!

Now, every time she and Theo strolled through the hospital, she felt the other healers’ eyes on her. Their voices lowered to whispers as she passed, but she could hear them rattle on enthusiastically when they walked out of her field of vision. Theo found it very funny. “Ever since I healed that soldier, they won’t leave me alone,” Seth grumbled. “They’re giving me a headache.” “Well, I think they’re adorable,” Theo replied, looking over her shoulder to make sure the healers they’d run into were no longer within earshot. “I like their enthusiasm.” Seth looked away, her eyes fixed on the windows that filled the corridor with light. She could barely wait to return to camp. “They’re healers,” she sighed. “I have… complicated feelings about that.” Theo placed a hand on her shoulder and they both stopped in the middle of the empty corridor. The sunlight made her eyes shine, like two red stars. “I know,” Theo said. “I know how you feel about them.” “I don’t want them to feel the need to heal people. I’d have preferred it if they’d never discovered the potential of their own magic. So many of them are so young…” Seth paused, furrowing her brow. “But also… I can’t stop thinking about how things were when I was on their side. I still remember the Master Healer Lady, encouraging all those girls to give up their souls to any soldier that needed them. And seeing Asha do the same, knowing that, despite it all, she’s still enforcing it, makes me feel… small.” Theo squeezed her shoulder. “I can’t say I fully understand what you feel, but-” “Even if a single healer can prevent dozens of deaths, I’d prefer it if none of them ever saved any lives. No one deserves to have magic like this.” Theo stretched her arms out to hug her, but Seth stepped back, grabbing one of her wrists. “Why aren’t you ever like this at camp?” she asked. She was neither angry nor sad, just put off by her behaviour. “Why have you suddenly stopped ignoring me?” “Seth…” “No, Theo. Why are you behaving as if the past few months never happened?” Theo sighed, ripping her wrist from Seth’s hand. The small medal she wore over her chest jingled with the sudden movement. “Can’t I spend time with you? Can’t we talk normally anymore?” “Why do you only do that when we’re here?” Theo sighed. She looked to the side, avoiding Seth’s gaze. “When we’re here, I can pretend that we’re not in the middle of the war.” “You’re the one who wanted to come!” “I know!” Theo shot out. When she turned to Seth, her eyes seemed to spark for an instant. “I know it was me! I know I dragged you here with me! You don’t think I think about that every day?” “I chose to come! I came for you! If you’re so desperate to pretend you’re not in a war, why don’t you go home? It’s not as if the Goddess of Time can find you there.” Theo’s shoulders lowered with a sigh. She choked on her next words. “I… I hate the war too,” she murmured. Her hand flew to her medal, and she turned to look at how it glistened in the light. “I hate it so much…” “Then go back home.” “I can’t!” “Of course you can! If we ran right now, the Goddess of Time wouldn’t be able to catch us.” She reached towards Theo’s hand and squeezed it reassuringly. “We’d be safe from her. At home.” “And the rest of the time?” “Extend your dominion to the whole town. Make all the people subject to your divinity. I don’t care. Come home.” Theo shook her head, but she still held Seth’s hand, hidden in the fabric of her embroidered healer’s cloak. “I can’t.” Her voice was weak, as if she was on the precipice of tears. “I can’t. They need me. I believe I can end this war.” “By killing more people?” “More people would die without me. At least like this, they have an advantage, even if it is… even if it hurts me a lot.” “Screw them! Let’s go home!” “And let the war go on? And let more people die?” Seth sighed.

“I don’t give a damn about the war. Let them all die. Let the war go on forever. I don’t care.” She brought Theo’s hand closer. “As long as you’re with me, in peace, I couldn’t care less. I don’t mind the war if I’m not looking at it. It isn’t hard.” Theo pushed her away and took a step back. “You’d let this violence continue for years and years just because it’s not directly in front of you?” Seth straightened her spine. She knew that Theo hated what she was saying, and it felt like being stabbed through the chest “Yes. As long as you’re with me and the war is far away from us. Yes.” “I can’t believe you’d let the war go on for such a selfish reason! We finally have a chance to win, to stop the deaths of all these soldiers and healers, and you say you want none of that because you want me by your side. Don’t you see that, for the first time in decades, we can be, finally, once and for all, at peace?” Seth looked into her flaming red eyes, now covered in shadow. “At the cost of your suffering?” “My suffering is nothing compared to theirs. My Mother created me with her own hands to fight in this war and this is what I’ll do.” “Even if it kills you?” She took a step closer. “Even if you end up like Dora?” “Yes. Because I’ll have ended this war.” “What about me.” “I’ll spend the rest of my life with you. As soon as the war is over.” With no reply, Seth began walking in the opposite direction. She held her cane more tightly than usual, pressing it against the marble floor with such force she thought it would crack. She felt as if she was going to fall at any moment. “Your suffering is a price too steep for me,” she said, turning back, already a few steps away. “To me, it can compare to nothing.”

(Sorry for the weird break in the text. Tumblr wasn't letting me post otherwise...)

First time Seth's cane gets featured in a snippet?? Iconic

Also, Theo saying "I'll spend the rest of my life with you once the war is over"??? Sure you will, girl. All 5 minutes of it.

I genuinely love this snippet!! It was so fun to write!!! Seth is such a selfish character and she's got a kind of... unhealthy attachment to Theo, I'd say? And this has already been shown extensively (i.e. Seth hunting down a goddess for 30 pages to look for Theo), but this is the first time she's verbalizing the extent of her possessiveness. Literally, her only motivation is "be with Theo".

I hope you enjoyed today's snippet! Because I did! Have a great whatever time of day!

[stellar-waves]

staring down the sun [3] *

⏯ chapter index

⚠ warnings: angst, mentions of death and grief/mourning

. . .

you were wrong, you were right

. . .

She had set Connor’s rosary on the table for when the guards would bring him in for the session. It wasn’t easy convincing the warden that the MacManus brothers could be trusted with their rosaries under Elena’s supervision. “They would only have them in session if I think it’s necessary for their mental well-being.” When the warden still wasn’t satisfied, she offered to sign some liability statement. Something about being responsible for the prisoners’ personal effects, and then something else about the state not being responsible for any injury sustained while including such items during a therapy session. 

The door buzzes just before opening, and Connor walks in, handcuffed like usual and with the guard directly behind him. Elena watches his eyes lock on his rosary while the guard removes the handcuffs. Connor sits down, oddly hesitant to reach for the beads in front of him. He softly thanks the guard as the door buzzes again, leaving Connor and Elena alone in the room under video surveillance. 

“You really want to break me, don’t you?” Connor teases in Spanish as he carefully picks up his rosary. 

“I keep my word. Surely you can understand that,” Elena replies, the Spanish words rolling off her tongue easily. 

She shifts in her chair, straightening her back. “I’d ask you how you’re feeling, but real men hide their feelings, so…”

Connor chuckles, smiling as he places the rosary around his neck. “It was something my friend Rocco said once.” 

She remembered reading about the boys’ Italian friend in their file. “Before he died?”

He shakes his head, again seeming to lose himself in a memory. “No…it was after.”

“After?”

“Yeah, after.” Connor hesitates and strangely lets his guard down a little. “Like in a vision or dream or…something.” 

Elena sits with his words, repeating them in her head, assuring herself she heard him correctly. “It’s perfectly normal to see someone we’ve lost in a dream. And it can feel so real; you swear it actually happened.”

“Aye, it felt so real until we woke up.”

She arches an eyebrow. “Wait. We? You and Murphy had the same dream about Rocco?”

Connor folds his arms on the table, his mouth twitching up to one side. “Well…yeah.”

Elena writes a few keywords in her notebook. “Have you had the same dreams before?”

“Aye.” He looks at her curiously. “That’s weird, yeah?”

She shakes her head no as she sets her pen down. “Not necessarily, especially with twins.” 

“Ye saying ye worked with this sorta thing before?” 

Elena smiles. “Sort of. Not professionally, I’ve had some close friends with twin siblings, and they’d explain it’s pretty common for them.”

“Well, that explains that.” 

“Any dreams about Romeo?” 

Surprisingly, Connor smiles. “Aye. About a month ago. Fucker was laughing that he made us cry.” He looks down. “He was a good guy. Had a lot of heart.”

Her next question sits uncomfortably at the back of her throat. “What about your father? You and Murphy have any dreams about him?”

Connor squirms a little and looks away. He sniffs once, clenching his jaw before looking back at Elena. “Aye.” 

Without a word, Elena pulls out the pack of Camels from her jacket pocket, handing a cigarette to Connor and extending her arm to light it for him. He drags the smoke in and out slower than usual, narrowing his eyes toward Elena with a sly smile. “Ye came prepared today, lass.”

Her cheeks flush, and she pulls a cigarette out for herself because fuck it. “Do you and your brother talk about these dreams?” 

“A bit.”

“What does your father say to you?”

Connor rubs his thumbs on the wooden cross hanging low on his torso, carefully studying the places where the metal ring circles through. “That he’s sorry for everything. For not being there for us. For getting us involved in his past.” 

“Do you forgive him?”

He nods, sucking in a shaky breath before taking a more stable drag off his cigarette. 

The day before, Elena had posed the same question to Murphy. His eyes twinkled with love, tears pooling that refused to fall down his face. “Aye. He was there for us in the end.” He smiled. “That’s all that matters now.” 

Of the twins, she would’ve figured Murphy as the brooding, hold-everything-in brother. 

Connor wipes his eyes with the heel of his hand, unable to look up at Elena. She can see his mind spiraling, wondering what to do with the pain he holds inside. 

She stamps out the cigarette in the ashtray and says his name softly. He finally brings his eyes up to meet hers, and she can see the tears still welling in his eyes. Fuck. I broke him.

“I really miss him,” Connor whispers in Irish. He holds his eyes on Elena, searching for hope to hang on to. “Would it be ok if I pray for a bit?”

She nods, swallowing the lump forming in the back of her throat. “Of course. Take your time.” 

As Connor quietly recites various Catholic prayers of forgiveness, Elena looks back in her notes to avoid looking like she’s just sitting there watching him. At one point, though, her eyes drift up to study his hands holding his rosary. Those hands have fired countless bullets, killing dozens of men. Evil men, to be fair, and he killed them. It’s not something anyone should take lightly. But she does understand why he did—he and his brother both. 

She thinks back to last week and the question still hanging between them: what does Connor want for himself? What could he possibly want that he doesn’t share with his brother? 

His voice quietly saying, “And shepherds we shall be…” catches Elena’s attention. The family prayer. She’s heard it before, and it makes sense that Connor would want to recite it now. “…In Nomine Patris, et Fili, Spiritus Sancti.” 

Connor removes his rosary, sets it on the table, and retrieves his still-lit cigarette from the ashtray. He takes a slow drag, his eyes seemingly at peace. “Thank you, Elena.” He doesn’t say her name often, nor does Murphy, so hearing it in that thick Irish accent still feels strange. It sounds like her mother, God rest her soul.

“You’re welcome, Connor.”

After another puff off the cigarette, Connor exhales through his teeth. “Do ye think that’s what I want? Peace?”

A chill runs up the back of her neck as she feels like he’s been reading her mind this whole time. “For yourself?” She can’t help feeling a slight panic that he’ll find out her deepest, darkest secrets. That’s not how this is supposed to go.

He’s quick to explain himself, like he doesn’t want her to think he’s being selfish. “I mean, I want Murph to have peace too…”

“Yeah, but it’s different when you want it for yourself. And I think that’s fair.” Elena reaches across the table and carefully takes Connor’s rosary, feeling the smooth wooden Celtic cross between her fingers. “You deserve peace.” 

He hesitates before bringing his eyes back to meet hers intently. “Ye think so?”

“Muinín dom.” Seems only fitting to respond in Irish. 

Trust me.

. . .

. . .

⏮ [2]

[4] ⏭

[scarletooyoroi]

With a firm gaze fixed upon the parchment before him, it wasn't any external details that gathered his attention, rather, it was taking a dive into the recesses of memory to recall times experienced during the Vision Hunts.

This particular tale finds itself charted to the anomaly of a building upon the coasts of Watatsumi. Where it served as a veritable guard during the vicious times he found himself under pursuit; Suigetsu pool. It was a fortress woven in architecture that had divine level resistance to the cruelties of water and its pressure. In a way, it feels as if the circumstances have prompted the mechanisms to protect him from those underneath the Narukami banner. ..And the things discovered there?

This is what he busies the setting he frequents with the scratching of a pen on paper.

' My travels have allowed me to discover a current of truth from those fated days. To learn of old wars and the bygone woes of that era of Watatsumi. The legacy of Umigozen and Mouun and the eve of Orobashi's downfall. The spear I've recovered during conflict had a name, one whispered to me most particularly when I settled or found reprieve by the sea. Wavebreaker's Fin.

Is this a normal occurrence? Proof that either my strength had grown or that my sense managed to extend to further reaches? Teyvat has no shortage of rumors that strife is an essential key in carving a path to hidden strengths. In that same vein, through the absorption of Mora and crystals I've managed to forage, the lingering voice within the spear speaks alongside of its returning strength..'

'Telling of all it witnessed. Emotions of its wielder, even leading me to the hidden mansion within Suigetsu pool, Umigozen's domain.. I think such a discovery had brought surge of vigor to the weakening morale of our forces at the time. For myself, it felt as if I was allowing a bit of the past.. some distant connection, whatever it may be, to find peace.'

'While I've sworn to keep secrecy on their techniques in terms of honor. I believe that songs performed by the sea holds a much deeper purpose now.. and part of me wonders if others beyond the Divine Priestess's ability, are trying to see if they can reach.. no, reform that old potential into something new.'

There's a line of satisfaction as he settles the pen down for the time being. There was less of a frantic buzz within his mind with these thoughts being physically expressed. Despite being a good stretch of ocean away from the lands of Inazuma, often does he find his mind turning back to those days. Just the itch of bringing the wavebreaker back into his hand had to be resisted.

"I've.. certainly have a lot more I need to process than I thought. Thinking back on it now, those days are certainly a blur." A chaotic, messy and heart wrenching travail at its core. Even now it breeds pain within his heart of heart's, proud in the bitter reminder of what his resolve carries so firmly in the current day. What Thoma is glad for however, is that a desire imbued within any adventurer's heart was not exchanged as a price.

[rosieshipper]

An end

Summary: When Rose is pushed to her absolute limit by Papa, she finally snaps and turns against him

Trigger warnings: blood, gore, graphic depictions of death, child abuse and referenced animal death

“Not good enough, Six. Try it again.” Papa’s voice was ringing in Rose’s ears, her vision blurry as blood trickled seemingly endlessly down her lips and even going as far to drip down her chin. “I’m trying my best, Papa.” She managed to seethe out through clenching teeth as she felt her head throbbing. Papa was trying to get her to shapeshift into what he referred to as her true form

A form where she was at her most powerful. She had only managed to pull off this form before when Papa and the other lab workers pitted her against a small group of four wolves, expecting her to kill them all and win. But of course, she was no match for the animals and was nearly killed by them. As a last act of fear and trying not to die, she shapeshifted into her true form. A form in which long sharp claws formed at her fingertips, two of her fangs extended down past her lips into two long tusks, a pair of sharp antlers sprouted from her head and a pair of large black wings unfurled from her back. In this form, Rose had practically lost herself in a fit of pure primal rage as she slaughtered all of the wolves. By the time the carnage was finished, she came too and promptly lost consciousness, returning to her normal self

Ever since then, Papa had only wanted Rose to attempt to attain that form once more, claiming that that form was when she was at her strongest, which wasn’t exactly a lie, but it wasn’t easy for Rose to take that form. No matter how much she tried, no matter how hard she focused her powers into shapeshifting into that form, she could never do it and would only continue to disappoint Papa. And he wasn’t very kind about her continued failures. There were multiple nights that she spent in the isolation room and she was certain that she had permanent marks on her neck from when he used the collar on her. All of her attempts, all of her struggles, it was never enough for him

“Clearly you’re not trying enough. You took that form so easily the last time, what is stopping you from doing it again?” Papa spat rather harshly as he berated her for her poor attempts at shapeshifting into that form. Rose could only shake in both fear and exhaustion as she felt her body just about ready to give out. “Gonna die..had to save myself.” She gritted out as she forced herself to look at him. “That’s no excuse. It’s no different from any other form you take. Now, I’ll give you one last chance, Six. Take the form or else I’ll have no choice but to collar you.” Papa told her firmly, his gaze both fierce and intimidating, causing her to flinch away from him

Rose could feel her heart pounding wildly in her chest. She didn’t want to be collared. She was sure if they collared her when she was this exhausted and this weak, she would die. So, with all the strength and power that she could muster, she focused all of her powers onto shapeshifting into the form that Papa wanted her to shapeshift into. She concentrated so hard, focusing so strongly that she didn’t even breathe. More blood began to trickle down her lips as her form shifted and wobbled, fluctuating between multiple different forms as she tried to focus on the form she wanted. But all of her efforts were dashed as she let out her bated breath and opened her eyes, only to see that she wasn’t changed at all and Papa was very unhappy

“I’m sorry, Papa. I really did try. I tried as hard as I could. Please no collar.” Rose pleaded with him as tears of fear began to well up in her eyes. But when she saw him reaching for the collar and the remote, her heart rate kicked up a notch and she began to hyperventilate. “No Papa please!” She begged as he approached her. “You have failed me, Six. It is only fair that you are punished for being a failure.” Papa told her as he strapped the device around her neck once he was close enough to her. “Papa please let me try again! I’ll do better I promise!” Rose was full on sobbing now as she watched him crank up the voltage

But there was no stopping him, whatsoever. Soon enough, Rose felt her entire body tense up as a powerful electrical current shot straight through her veins, making her fall to the ground as she let out loud shrill screams and cries of agony. As her vision began to darken, Rose thought for sure that she was gonna die. But in her last fleeting moments of consciousness, she felt her body begin to contort as her powers kicked on and as she took on a brand new form, she had a sudden burst of energy and with one swift clawed hand, she reached up and grabbed the collar, using all of her strength to pull the collar off, breaking it in two

Once the collar was off her neck, Rose stood up with a pained groan and managed to catch a glimpse of herself in a nearby mirror. Her form, it was the one she took when she had to face those wolves. It was the form that Papa had wanted. Papa. As the name rolled inside Rose’s head, she began to feel this anger she had never felt before build up inside her and she slowly turned towards the man, eyebrows furrowed as a deep hateful snarl twisted her lips

When she saw him, she could tell a part of him was scared. He stared at her with wide fearful eyes as he took a few steps back and her scowl only deepened as a dark burning hatred filled her up inside. “Papa..” She growled, slowly stalking towards him. “Six, that’s enough. Go back to your normal form.” Papa demanded as he took a few more steps back, but Rose didn’t listen, sge just kept stalking him until his back was pressed up against a nearby wall. And eventually she stopped when she was no more than a couple of feet in front of him. She stared at him with wide hate filled eyes, ones of the likes in which Papa had never seen come from any of his children. He didn’t understand what was happening, why Six was not listening to him and he knew deep down that there would be no stopping what would happen next

“PAPA!” Rose suddenly screeched before sprinting right at him and tackling him to the ground. He let out a startled shout as he felt her sharp claws digging into his torso, but the pain didn’t end there. As Rose had him pinned down, she grabbed ahold of his arm and twisted it in a way that it should have never bent and effectively snapping one of his arms, shattering the bones inside. Papa let out a wail of utter agony and tried his best to call for help, but suddenly couldn’t when blood began to fill inside his mouth. It wasn’t until it was too late when Papa realized that a massive chunk of his throat was missing and blood was covering Rose’s mouth as she spit out a chunk of his flesh

Papa slowly slipped out of consciousness after that as he had lost too much blood. But Rose didn’t care that he was dying, she still had too much energy and power and a whole heaping pile of anger and hatred that she needed to get out. So she continued to mutilate and utterly vicerate Papa’s body, tearing it to shreds. By the time Rose was finished with her rampage, she finally came too through her blind rage as the form she was in slowly turned back to her normal self. At first she was confused. What happened to her? Why did she seemingly black out for god knows how long? But it wasn’t until she saw the blood covering her hands and body and Papa’s mangled corpse in front of her did she realize what she had done

Papa was dead…and Rose was to blame

Tags: @astralshipper @aricka-and-her-fictional-others @magicalpuppyprincess @recordplayershipping @wolfofthedead