#rest in peace marm

[pangur-and-grim]

aw :( I don’t know if anyone else does this, but when my cats meow I’ll try to mimic the meow back at them, with as much accuracy as I can. anyway I just realized that I still have all of my old family cat’s meows memorized, even though he’s been dead for years.

[kindheart525]

Luster was feeling pretty discouraged after her failed attempt at bonding with Marmalade. For once she felt like she had a family member who understood her, who was on her level, only to find out how self-absorbed she was. In hindsight, she should have known when Marm got her the wrong ice cream on purpose, it was a sign.

It was disappointing, but Luster couldn’t say she wasn’t used to it. She wasn’t much of a group-project filly anyway, she actually learned a lot while working alone. And it looked like Marm was the same way…even more so. Group projects never went well when two ponies were fighting to take charge. 

So now Luster kept to herself, opting to spend her time reading and organizing her books in a peaceful but somewhat lonely state of solitude.

“That looks like a good one.”

“Ah!”

Luster nearly jumped out of her skin at the voice, turning to see one of her other cousins, Blackfire Phoenix, also standing at the bookshelf.

“Sorry. I’m not trying to read over your shoulder.”

Blackfire stepped aside a bit, even though she wasn’t close enough to read over Luster’s shoulder to begin with.

“Oh, okay, um…thanks.”

Luster stammered as she tried to gain her composure, though she already appreciated her cousin respecting her space.

“If you’re looking for something I can get out of the way, I’m just organizing.”

“No.”

Her cousin said a bit bluntly, but she was sincere about it.

“Keep organizing if you want. I won’t stop you. Not enough people appreciate the value of tidiness, so be my guest.”

Blackfire smiled a bit at this last part, nodding for Luster to continue what she was doing.

“Well, not enough ponies do either. I’ve even met teachers who can’t keep their desks clean or their lesson plans in order.”

“It’s the worst, isn’t it?”

Blackfire rolled her eyes playfully and they both chuckled together.

“It’s a skill that you develop, it takes a lot of practice. Some don’t want to put in the effort, while some just haven’t been taught how. It’s like Mom always says, self-improvement takes a lot of work but it’s worth the effort.”

“Yeah, that makes sense!”

Luster nodded along, warming up to her cousin but also impressed by her aunt’s wisdom.

“And, well, annoying as it is, I have this one teacher who is actually really smart even if he can’t keep his room clean. He’s really good at making math actually relevant. My Papa…”

Luster almost couldn’t believe she was bringing up either of her parents, and so casually too. She almost stopped herself but ultimately decided to share this memory with her cousin.

“He always told me everypony has their different strengths.”

Blackfire didn’t know her uncle at all, but she could tell that talking about him was hard for Luster. She didn’t want to press her to talk about him more than she wanted to.

“Mmm, he sure had a point.”

She looked over the bookshelf for something to cheer her cousin up.

“What’s yours? I’m seeing a lot of magic books here.”

“Yes!”

Luster lit up a little more, taking some books and starting to flip through them, passing a few to Blackfire so she could focus on one.

“My favorite is light work magic, there’s so much you can do to manipulate light! You can manipulate the colors, the brightness…well, just about anything! It’s actually really fascinating but I don’t want to distract you from something else.

“I have nothing in my schedule. I want to hear more. Go on.”

Luster was practically floored by this, in a good way. It was such a small gesture but it meant a lot to her for somepony else to show genuine interest in her passions. She hadn’t felt this way since…well, in a long time. 

And so the two cousins spent the rest of the afternoon talking about their passions, demonstrating the tricks of the trade and discovering new ways to create a space that brought them joy.

~~~~~~~~~~

Previous: Weird Science Next: Peach Skin

Luster Dawn's cutie mark by Parcly-Taxel

Bookshelf by DayDreamSyndrom

[vintagevalentinex]

Decode, I

Okay so you asked for it and here it is!  The first installation of my Mycroft Homles/Reader series.  I have to confess, I’m really nervous about this.  This is actually a story I’ve been toying around with in my mind for at least two years.  It’s really special and important to me so please give me feedback, it is greatly appreciated.

I apologize for the lack of Mycroft in this first part!  I needed to set up the story and this was the best way I could think of doing it.

@girl-next-door-writes​

Decode, I by vintagevalentinexx Mycroft Holmes x Reader ~1400 words

“Please be sure to study for the upcoming final.  I would like to remind you that I will not be providing extra credit.  Good luck and I shall see you after the long weekend.”

You began to pack of your briefcase…err, it wasn’t precisely a briefcase, it was more like a black leather tote, but you knew you had to keep up appearances.  In a field dominated by old stuffy men, it was definitely difficult to further one’s career.  You weren’t one to try to conform to the standards that these stuffy old men set; you figured that people had been doing that for long enough. Where was it in the rules that said that a Harvard professor couldn’t wear a damn sundress to class?  It was hot outside, after all.  You knew it would be hard for people to take you seriously unless you wore pants, but you didn’t let that get in your way.

You were a bright child, always doing substantially better than those of your age.  During your childhood it had been recommended that you skip a few grades, but your parents decided against it, wanting you to be able to socialize with children your own age.  This made you reserved; the little boys and girls wanted nothing to do with a “know-it-all.”  You didn’t need them, or anyone, really.  You had yourself.  You had long ago made peace with the fact that you would live your life in a solitary existence, no one able to keep up with the whirlwind of your mind.  Shaking those feelings off, you made your way out of the building, making your way back to your apartment to continue your presentation for a convention on ancient languages.

John huffed after Sherlock, muttering and cursing to himself as the basically stomped all the way to Scotland Yard, Lestrade meeting them at the entrance.

“Sherlock, John! Glad you could make it!  Thought you might want to take a look at something that was delivered here today…”

Sherlock brushed past Lestrade.  “Yes Gavin, anything to not listen to the incoherent babbling of Mrs. Hudson all day.”

“Greg, it’s Greg damn it!”

You poured over another tome of text, your eyes growing weary.  It’s only a matter of time before I need glasses with the hours that I keep.  You mused to yourself, scribbling down some extra notes that you might need for your presentation. You jumped at the sound of your phone ringing, your mind not as focused and weary from translating texts all night.  Floating around your apartment and speaking in a very enthusiastic Italian, you starting collecting your belongings, placing them in your carry on for the weekend symposium on ancient languages.  It was nearing midnight when you finally were able to get off the phone, your things packed haphazardly in your suitcase.  Knowing you had an early flight you finally laid down, succumbing to sleep as soon as your head hit the pillow.

“Well…here it is boys, have at it!”

Sherlock and John peered at the crisp looking brown envelope that was sitting rather inconspicuously on Lestrade’s desk.  John looked back up at Lestrade perplexed, while Sherlock began to rant.

“Really Graham, your inability to open an envelope is the reason as to why you’ve summoned me from Baker Street.  Has the Scotland Yard really become so inept?”

Lestrade threw his arms up in the air, his face reddening, “Sherlock my name is Greg damn it!  And if you could so kindly remove your head from your arse you’d realize that the envelope was open.  Look at the contents.  And for the last time.  My. Name.  Is.  GREG!”

Rolling his eyes, Sherlock picked up the envelope, spilling the contents onto the desk.  His eyebrows rose but only a millimeter, the corners of his lips curving into a smirk.

“Now this is definitely not boring, Inspector…”

John gasped as he eyed the contents of the envelope, now strewn and spread out.  There were photos of three, very random seeming people, gruesomely murdered, their eyes removed, and it seemed as though their tongues were cut out as well.  Amongst the scattering of photos was a thicker, smaller piece of parchment. Scrawled out in a blocky lettering was what seemed to be a code of some sort, symbols that at first glance looked like a jumble of random scribbles.  John watched as Sherlock’s eyebrows furrowed.

“Can’t get it right away, can you?”

“I require silence John.”

“It’s really bothering you that you can’t solve it, isn’t it?”

“Don’t you have dates to flounder on?”

“I’m married Sherlock.”

“Oh…right.  Well do shut up then.”

It had been a long flight.  The duration was naturally long, but your neighbors on the plane made it seem as though you were on the plane for eons.  Between the crying babies and the whiny man behind you requesting the flight attendant every five minutes, it was needless to say that you were absolutely exhausted.  You hung up your “professional attire” in the closet and left the rest of your belongings in your suitcase.

Sitting on the edge of the bed you wondered how you were going to be received tomorrow at the symposium.  It wasn’t as though you wanted people to “like” you.  Hell, you’ve dealt with people not liking you your entire life.  Why should it change now?  What you were really concerned with was that your colleagues took you seriously.  You shouldn’t have to dress like a frumpy old school marm in order to be taken seriously, and there was no way in hell you were going to be anything but yourself.  You were going to march in there tomorrow, in your dress and blow the toupees off of those stuffy old men if it was the last thing you did.

Sherlock paced his flat, the slip of parchment in between his fingers.  He had been staring at it for hours, HOURS, and he was not any closer to figuring out with the solution could be for the cipher.  It was absolutely infuriating to him to have to resort to what he was about to do.  He picked up his phone.

“Well hello little brother.  And to what do I owe this call?  Not holed up in some jail cell, are we?”

“Save it, Mycroft. I have an interesting proposition for you.”

“Do you now?  And what could I possibly want from you, brother mine?”

“There’s a case I’m working on.  A code.”

“And you can’t solve it? My, that must be absolutely aggravating.”

“Do you want to look at it or not, Mycroft?”

“Text it to me.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes as he heard the click from the other end of the line, signaling that Mycroft had indeed hung up.  He took a picture of it on his phone, quickly shooting the text to Mycroft.  About ten minutes later, Sherlock smirked to himself when he received the reply:

Give me 24 hours.  -M

Running your hands through your hair one last time, you grabbed your materials and stepped out of your hotel room, ready to deal with the tedious mingling that was going to these kinds of events.  But you couldn’t complain too much, you were getting paid, after all.  Glancing at your phone, you noticed you had a voicemail.

“Were you able to solve the code, Sherlock?  We just received another envelope.  Same MO, more pictures, and another paper with funny letters on it.”

“I am working on it Inspector, may I remind you that I am doing your job.”

There was an audible exasperated sigh at the other end of the line, as if Lestrade was reigning in his emotions.

“Look, the real reason I phoned was because I reached out to a contact I had in the states.  There’s this professor…consults with the FBI and the lot on breaking codes.  Happens to be in London for the weekend…might be worth it to talk to the old man.”

Sherlock abruptly hung up on Lestrade, breezing past Mrs. Hudson as he left.

“And where are you off to in such a hurry?”

He turned, his lips in a half-smile.  “I have to see a man about a message, Mrs. Hudson.”

“Please call me back at your earliest convenience.  It is of the utmost importance.”  You shrugged your shoulders, tucking your phone away until after your presentation.

Next Part!

[thepilgrimofwar]

The Wintergales - Edited Roll20 Log

[Backdated to after A Girl of Wind and Winter, before Warplanning 2]

[Event Start]

The party approached the Wintergale Manor, prompted by a message from Zarannis. She had spent the last few days speaking with her family, convincing her father to grant an audience with the representatives from Emberheart. It was time she spent fighting a battle of another sort. One that she cared about. But as Beathyn led the way, the good agent of the Emberhearts swallowed hard.

Beathyn looked to the others to his left and to his right. He'd have preferred to come with some muscle in case things went south- But between Mr. Bladeborn who had lived up to his rambunctious name, and the scary lady that he had to convince not to turn him into a bloody pulp when he had first sought her out on the onset of the war... He felt more concerned about the Wintergales if negotiations DID go south. "So, both of you up to speed? Stenden wants to make it clear that while neutrality suits our purposes now- He is still the Lord of the Emberglades and the Cloudrends are part of that whether Lord Wintergale likes it or not."

Vissehn nods, straightening his very Fine Formal Hawk Jacket. Someone had bathed him. Someone had -dressed- him, and despite his off-colored eyes and the stubbiness of his ears, he almost looked respectable. Until, he opened his mouth. "Oi we're onnit, make this feller understand the whats and whos of what's happenin' aint outside their walls, not really. It's all the Glades, an' can't be sitting out."

Renalays:"The Law is the Law," is her cool response as the Lady Bloodhallow adjusts the stark-white mask covering the lower half of her features. "WIntergale makes it less a matter of the Emberglades and more the matter of the State, and we would not see those under us further fractured."

Beathyn makes a wry smile. "Excellent. Loyalties must be paid. So I think I don't have to mention this- But with the sorts of people I mixed with in the Sunguard, I think I better mention this: Please don't challenge people to duels to the death to get your point across- Don't hurl insults at our hosts- and for the love of the Light do not attempt to seduce Lord Mediea." With that out of the way, he huffed, and headed towards the manor.

Renalays:"I am no parlour person.... whether your castaway is, is another question." Someone's been talking to this wicked witch.

Beathyn glances at Vissehn.

Vissehn lifted a brow, and in very Eliza Doolittle manner, sheds about % of his terrible way of speaking. "I have no idea what you mean, marm."

Renalays:"'Madame' is the acceptable variant in these parts of the Kingdom," is her ONLY acknowledgement.

The party is directed inside by the Wintergale Guards. Their count, higher than usual but given the circumstances were understandable precautions. Inside sat Lord Mediea, who stood as his 'guests' entered the dining room. Zarannis got up from her seat, nodded at the three of the representatives and stood off to the side of the room.

Zarannis:"No armed posse, no tricks, just agents come to speak." She looked at her father-by-blood but not by name.

Renalays lofts one of those blood-red brows at Zarannis' brusque sentiment, turning to Mediea and offering a more courtly, "Well met, Lord Wintergale."

Mediea is an elderly elf. Most certainly already approaching the end of his life. But though grey hair covered his scalp, he still carried the platemail of his station on his back with ease.

Vissehn doffed his cap, offering a low and perfectly executed Hawk-bow to the lord, but said nothing as yet.

Mediea gives a long measured nod at Renalays. The courtly mannerisms of one of his three 'guests' was appreciated. "Well met indeed." He looks at Beathyn who stood at the head of the group. "So, you come with requests and I make none."

Beathyn mentally cancels the long-winded flattery he was about to make when he took the measure of the man before him. Clearing his throat, he makes a half-bow. "Lord Wintergale. I am Beathyn Val'cinder, this is Vissehn Bladeborn, and Renalays Bloodhollow. We come on behalf of House Emberheart. We've come to speak of Peace- Lasting peace- Long after this Civil War is over. Because the sentiment back in the Heartlands is troubled that one of their vassals won't answer their call for aid during these times- of all times."

Mediea remains expressionless. No doubt a result of centuries of political plays, backstabbing, and plying in the Emberglades. "I don't care for the sentiments of the boy in the Heartlands. The Emberglades hasn't had a real leader for close to a twenty years now- I'd rather have my loyalties lie with the Crown directly rather than... Middlemen." Lord Wintergale ends with his dismissive remark.

Vissehn glances to Renalays. She's the voice of the State here; he won't trod on those toes.

Zarannis keeps her eyes on the Lord, giving him a knife-like gaze into his back. Whatever she had spoken to her family about, it was clear that while she had made Mediea agree to having an audience, neither of them saw eye-to-eye on the situation.

Renalays:"That is not your whim to make, unfortunately, Lord Wintergale. Meredred Emberheart and the bargains he struck is what structures the hierarchy and jurisdictions of your lands according to greater Law as it stands. To withdraw your assistance in the matter of the rebel Illithia is one thing, to place yourself 'independent' as far as that goes, is another. You know yourself that such freedom amongst the aristocracy has never been the way of the Sin'dorei, before or after the Reclamation. Perhaps you have independence as far as this rebellion lasts - but the Emberglades will have a State-backed casus belli to pursue upon your heirs, if Zarannis Wintergale's own claim is not revived and pursued."

"There are ways to pursue your goals of a Cloudrend Glades free of the Emberheart's control - but this is an -elementary- way of performing it."

Mediea does not give away his thoughts from his expressions, but speaks once she is done. "Perhaps you are right. But you fail to understand that I am the will of my people. If it was up to me, I'd spend the rest of my days kissing up to the Emberhearts and let my children reap the benefits. But alas my people are tired of dying for someone else's wars. If we're going to have to die, we'll die for ourselves- Rather than some Lord sitting in gilded halls- or worse, a Horde Queen who is off her rocker."

Zarannis eyes narrow, tension rising in her brow as he speaks. But she stays silent.

Vissehn:"If I may sir-- they're tired of dying, period. And let me tell you, and I mean this as no threat, the forces they would face should this nonagression be considered a threat in itself are not something to be trifled with. Whether they die for Sederis or Stenden or you? Doesn't mean a fuckin' lot. And die they will, in a short battle or the political fallout of refusing to support your liege."

Renalays 's long swooping brows -twitch- at the idea of even considering something so... insignificant as the common people in this equation. The rest of her expression is unreadable underneath that mask. There is no physical glance towards Vissehn, but the slithering pull of her invisible Shadow upon the Tel'dorei is almost like a 'push' forward-- and there he goes!

Mediea tsked. "The people of the Cloudrends aren't tired of dying. Just don't for the wrong people and the wrong causes. True there are consequences to our actions but I will not send my people to die in some stupid civil spat." He sighs, his first show of emotion of the day. "I will remain neutral in this- Perhaps I will negotiate with the Lord that comes out on top of this Civil War- Perhaps I will not."

Beathyn changes tact, lowering his voice. "To paraphrase one of the main members of our coalition we have gathered. 'When we are done with Arenias, we will come for you.' Now- Personally, I do not wish for things to come to that- Which is why we are here, speaking, and trying to avoid... Catastrophe for you," he nodded at the second floor of the manor above him. "And your family."

Vissehn visibly swallows something back and looks to Renalays.

Renalays 's almond eyes squint....

Vissehn sings softly. "Crows and Hawk went flying down, tryin’ to catch a bastard..." His brow lifts.

Mediea narrows his eyes. "Hm." He turns towards Renalays, who spoke more of the stately language he was accustomed to. "So. What are your demands then? Support my rightful Lord? Send my people to die for yet another cause they don't believe it?"

Renalays:"Do not send your swords nor your people," is her sickly-sweet response, those same feline eyes tightening to hint towards the cheshire cat's grin underneath her mask. "Do nothing at all aside from what is -easiest- for you, removes all of the opposition you currently face. Support Emberheart by word, deny Illthia travel through your border. Reassert your obedience to the State - who has no interest in your want to kneel to us but in the maintenance of proper -Order- and -hierarchy.-"

"...then perhaps we will talk, me and you, about the raise of status for your heirs. -Lawful- independence that does not see you burned by Emberheart nor Phoenix Guard."

Mediea contemplates this for a moment. "And if I decide to do so, and the people do not?" He looks to Vissehn, who seemed to speak for the common man.

Vissehn tossed his mane of shorter hair. "Aye, well as I see it, you're not risking them none by closing your borders. They don't got any reason to take up with the soldiers, an' scurryin' with you won't make Illithia the firm force they'll wanna be-- they won't risk spreading thin to break your defense, and your people will only have to guard a strip of borderlands." He shrugged again. "Seems to me like they'd be well pleased to keep their lives, livelihoods, and indistinct notions of their honor, which matters. Keeps lords heads on their shoulders, when the people feel like they've been good and honorable at once."

Vissehn:"However, if you send a message by not participating at all-- by standing against none, and all at once-- well, when there's any little problem, famine, flood, armies at the borders-- suddenly they'll remember a certain stand and position."

Beathyn clears his throat. "And if you could allow Emberheart's forces through your lands to start a second front on Westhearth's... Western border." The last bit didn't roll off his tongue as well as he liked. "Then the war will be done with twice as quick with even less doubts of supporting- in word of course- the losing side."

Mediea places a hand on his chin, mulling over the solution presented to him by the party. "I won't make any promises at the moment. But this talk as been... Fruitful." He looks to Zarannis. Then back at the agents of Emberheart. "We will support Stenden in word. That I say. More than that," he gives Beathyn a look. "I will send word with Zarannis."

[Event End]

[laurenshield]

Fragments of a dream never born

 Erwin doesn’t think it is love.

He’s already been in love and he knows what it feels like: the heart flying in the space between lungs, the breath short like after a long race, the mind stopping at night and chasing golden dreams that will become impossible again in the daylight.  He know what being in love is like, and it has nothing to do with this.

Nothing to do with the hardness of Lev’s fingers gripping his wrist after an expedition ended and they find themselves alive in spite of everything, standing in front of each other in the darkness of a room; nothing to do with lips crashing on him, devouring his face, his jaw, his mouth, seeking the beat of the jugular, running after a warmth that doesn’t belong to blood and death. Levi doesn’t speak, during these moments, and Erwin doesn’t ask him to; when your head is full of screams, silence can be a welcome gift.

Erwin doesn’t think it is love, but it is something; and, he tells himself sometimes, always something more than what he deserves.

Their first time was strange and angry and confused, like the start of their story, like Levi usally is; the first time was Levi throwing himself on Erwin’s mouth as he hoped to choke the breath in his troath, Erwin holding Levi tight enough to break him, knowing he wouldn’t. The first time was the one when they realized the ground had disappeared beneath their feet and the only way to slow the fall was holding on to each other, the time when Erwin thought he saw Levi’s wings quiver in the shadow and he wondered how it would have been like to be able to fly so high, without chains made of corpes to keep you on the ground.

(The first time was the one they could have forgotten, hadn’t there been a second and a third and a hundredth- the time when Erwin held out his hand and Levi took it and they both stopped asking if there was something right in all of this).

From the moment they met, Levi was an enigma. Erwin watched him soar above the floor in the the Underground’s poisonous air, grace and lightness and bones as sharp as blades, and decided he wanted him, like he had long resigned himself to want a life of blood and question, chasing after a truth that could exist only in his head. The things I could do, if I had him by my side, he thought. The things I could reach, if I had that strenght.

He won him, but not the way he had imagined: he brought him on his side with lies made of air, witha sword against his troath, with the corpes of two children who had counted on that strenght before he did. Erwin thinks back on that day, sometimes, and wonders: would it end another way, if Isabel and Farland didn’t die then? Would he and Levi ever forged the first ring of the chain that binds them, if not for the blood of that children?

(It’s a stupid question, he knows it. Everything he ever gained in his life came through someone else’s death. Why should Levi be the exception?)

They could die any moment: this is the one, bitter certainty that stained their evry meeting from the first, and maybe that’s why Erwin didn’t stop him when Levi clung to him like he was afraid to see him disappear the next second, when the whole world melted, for the space of an instant, in the soap’s scent and the unexpected sweetnes of a mouth used to insults and rebukes. And Erwin remembers thinking (before the first time, when there had been nothing between them but lingering gazes and orders followed by silent agreements): I cannot take even this from him. I already got his strenght, his loyalty, everything that’s left of his life. I cannot have this. I have nothing to give him in return.

But he’s a selfish man, always has been- so he takes what Levi offers, every time like it was the first because they could die any moment and he needs someone to stay, someone to understand, someone to know him: someone who looks at him and doesn’t see ghosts moaning under his feet and rivers of blood rusting in the feathers of his wings.

He never knew what Levi saw in him. Whatever it is, it had to be big enough, strong enough, to hold more weight than the rest- more than crazy planes, more than dead bodies forming a mountain higher than three circles of walls, more than the whispers that haunt them both and stick on their back, growling demons, monsters, madmen, murderers.

“If there’s someone who can defeat the Titans, it’s you” Levi told him once and Erwin felt something cold stab him, halfway between rage and shame, for what did he ever do to deserve such a total, undiying loyalty?

He swallows back the words burning on the tip of his tongue; he locks in a dark corner of his mind everything he should say and never will. And oh, there are so many things he could say.

“I don’t think I am so irreplaceable” it’s what he says, like it didn’t matter, as if every part of him wasn’t writhing thinking of everything Levi gave him, everything Erwin took without having the right to.

“You are” Levi replies in a matter-of-fact voice. Erwin swamps blood and bile behind a mask of marm, and thinks: Don’t hope I can save you all. I don’t think I can even save myself.

I’m not even half of the man you believe.

Sometimes, when the gaze in Levi’s eyes becomes too much to bear, he wants to tell him the truth. Take him by the shoulders, looking him in the eye, drop every mask and reveal to him that it’s not humanity he’s fighting for, that victory and peace are not the dreams moving his steps, that since he joined the Survey Corps he lied and lied and lied: so well that Levi believed him, so well that sometimes Erwin believed it too.

(Levi wouldn’t understand. Even if Erwin ever decided to explain, Levi wouldn’t understand- and how could he, when sometimes even Erwin doesn’t understand himself? Understand how you can live your life clinging to a vision, to a dream, to the only embrace that ever made you feel safe and loved; understand how you can give up everything for a path of blood and damned choices; and if he’s not capable of understanding, or forgiving, himself, how can he expect Levi to do it?)

Erwin watched Levi break into pieces more times than he can count. He watched him swallow Isabel and Farlan’s name among tears every night, write the shards and the laments of every dead soldier in his memory, spend silent hours trying to run faster than his squad’s ghosts- and failing.

None of this was enough to shatter him. Everytime Erwin feared he’d reach the breaking point, Levi stood up again: the world bit his flesh away from him but could never stop his heart. Year after year, death after death, Levi fought to keep his humanity with teeth and nails- it’s a kind of courage Erwin lost long ago, if he ever had it, and he knows he didn’t do anything to deserve such a heart in his hands.

He’s standing in front of the window in his room, his hands clasped behind his back, the world a wall of dark beyond the glass. If this was a normal night, Erwin’s mind would be a restless succession of planes, theories, dreams- but tonight all he can see are the broken remains of the soldiers butchered at Castel Utgard and when he finally opens his mouth to speak, he hears himself saying “I believe Mike is dead.”

The instant the words have left his lips, he wishes he could take them back, deny them, throw them away. I believe Mike is dead. Mike, who was the closest thing to a brother Erwin ever had, one of the few to have known him when there’s wasn’t any death to turn his gaze in stone, who now looks at him from under his feet, on the top of a tower of slaughtered corpse, and Erwin wants to look away and say I didn’t do this.

Behind him, Levi moves lightly, maybe to say something, but Erwin doesn’t let him too. There are days when Levi’s ability to lessen his burden is the only thing that keeps him standing. Tonight, it would be only salt on an open wound.

“If he was alive, he would have come back” he doesn’t now why he’s talking, he only knows he can’t stop. “If he was alive...”

But he’s not. Mike is dead, like Nanaba, like his men, like his father, like anyone who ever trusted and loved him- and if not even that can stop him, what will?

He doesn’t realize Levi’s presence until he puts his forehead between Erwin’s shoulder blades. Part of Erwin wants to push him away, but Levi’s hand grip his arm and keeps him there. He doesn’t speak, but he doesn’t need to; all the words he could say are in the silence surrounding them.

You at least, Erwin thinks. You at least, try and die after me.

For Levi, it’s all so simple. If you ask me, I will do it. If you say it, I will trust you. It’s the only thing about him that Erwin can never understand, the riddle he will never solve, but maybe this is a question he doesn’t want to answer: in an hidden, dark part of his mind, one Erwin never stares into, he remembers what it was to like tu trust, to believe, to lean on someone who could keep the universe in balance. He spent his life trying to wash his father’s blood on his hand, the one he loved more than anyone, the one he betrayed more than anyone,  and he swore to himself he would never need someone like that, ever again.

(But he does need Levi; a need that doesn’t have anything to do with desire, that sometimes turns to ice between his heart and lunghs until it chokes him, that makes him feel vulnerable and weak and selfish, oh so selfish. He needs Levi and the man Levi believes in, he needs the faith burning in his eyes like liquid silver, that faith he doesn’t deserve, that refuses to drown in lakes of shed blood. He needs Levi, and he stopped long ago to try and find a way back from this.)

Their last time is strange and confused and angry like the first; there’s the empty space of Erwin’s arm to remind them that they’re both made of flesh and blood, that a bite is enough to kill them, that there’s no way to be sure they’ll come out of it alive. It’s Levi’s eyer never straying far from his face like he was trying to memorize it, his hands moving on Erwin’s body with a desperate, unusal tenderness, a choked sparkle closing Erwin’s troath in a burning knot. It’s the words they said to each other in the office, Levi’s request and Erwin’s refusal, that Yes standing between them like a wall too tall to be climbed. After, they stay silent like they do everytime, the beating of their hearts a murmur of unspoken words in the darkness around them.

In the end, it’s Levi the first to break the silence, his hand holding Erwin’s wrist as if was trying to absorbe the heartbeat hidden in the veins. “Are you afraid?” he asks, and they both know what he really wants to hear, just as they know the question will never find the way of words.

In the shadow, Erwin shakes his head. “No” he replies calmly. It’ll become a lie only hours later, when he will ride towards his death with a smoke signal in his hand and the rest of his broken dreams behind his back. “One way or another, tomorrow it ends.”

Levi’s lips tighten, in his eyes a flicker he’s not quick enought to hide, his fingers sinking in Erwin’s flesh with a desperate urgence that screams more then any cry or plea- and the pain bursting in Erwin’s chest at that sight is stronger than the one he felt under the Military Police’s punchs, stronger than his bones crumbling under a Titan’s teeth. Not for the first time, he wishes he broke the chain binding them before it made them the same thing. He frees his hand from Levi’s hold and brushes his fingers in his hair. “I’m sorry” he says, and it’s all he can ever offer. I’m sorry I dragged you here with me, I’m sorry you have to risk grieving again after losing so much, I’m sorry I was never selfless enough to let you go, I’m sorry I never was the man you see. “I’m sorry, Levi.”

Levi doesn’t ask him what he means.

(He sees Levi, before the rock hits him; before everything collapses in pain and darkness, in the horror of soil dripping with blood, he sees Levi reaching the Beast Titan, as graceful and unstoppable as that first day in the Underground, and if he had ever learned to have faith in something, now he would pray for him.)

(You will live. It’s his last wish, his last request, his last vision; the last fragment of a dream never born. You at least will live, and you will do the right thing. You will for me.)

Original version in Italian here: https://efpfanfic.net/viewstory.php?sid=3869087

[benjisbento]

Pets I saw this trip:

Belle and Saria - the brides’ cats. Belle was a lovable DELIGHT and Saria growled at me (it’s okay, I still love you)

Nugget!!! - My best friend’s old yorkie rescue. He has no teeth and his tongue is always flopping out

Zeus and Loki - My best friend’s parents’ dog and cat. Zeus reminds me so much of my childhood dog and Loki is a brat but I love him

Charlie II - My uncle’s cat. Didn’t actually see him, but I was in his house

Buster and Clementine - My camp moms’ pups. It was Clementine’s Gotcha Day! I know that they would both LOVE to meet Tobiy. They watched Defunctland with us

Zippy and Tilly - Buster and Clementine’s turtle siblings. Zippy ate dinner with us at the table

Viola and Olivia - The Indiana cats. Olivia only likes four people and I am apparently one of them, but only when Viola isn’t present. I think it was Viola’s birthday?

Honorable mention - My brother’s cat Marm that had to be put down the week before I came 😢 Rest in peace, you cranky old bastard

[moonstoneunivs]

Hey Guys taking a little tiny break from Dino’s to bring you characters I am very proud of drum role… THE SEVEN COLORS. I actually made these guys last Pride, but never got to show them off so here they are. They’re all (obviously) are based off one of the colors of the rainbow 🌈 ROYGBIV and their written to be the best fricken entertainers of all time they can do everything, sing, dance, cook, city planning, they got it all. So here’s what their like.

Cinnamon: Is the un proclaimed leader of the group and is a love letter to black women she’s based on blaxploitation and just a hint of Foxxy Cleopatra. Also all of the them have a place in the LGB, Cinnamon is a Lesbian.

Marmalade or MARM: Sorry he turned out so ugly Marmalade is supposed to be a daddy Lion. He’s definitely the most fighting capable and and is Gay like Joey Jay. He’s based on Leomon from Digimon.

Chi Chi: Is fun bubbly and a ray of sunshine. She designed after Helen from Chuck E Cheese and other anthro birds of the like. She’s the Bisexual of the group.

Ozzy: Is a quiet Trans man, but once he gets going there’s no stopping him from wowing the pants off you. He’s definitely got some Gottmik in home because I thought his story about Fem trans men was beautiful and I wanted to write a character like that for people.

Coner: A Queer man who is magical entertainer who dazzles people with his bouncing and stones. I never got to color him in all the way I ran out of ink.

Windigo: Windigo is Burlesquey and fabulous, their definitely flirty and they love putting on a naughty show. Their intersex and there’s definitely some Sasha Velour influence here, gender is a construct tear it apart.

Violet: Is the Ally of the group big and beautiful and one Hearse of a performer. She based on Violet Beauragaurde from Willy Wonka, but most importantly the Denise Nickerson portrayal may she Rest In Peace.

And that’s all happy pride everyone 🏳️‍🌈

[scrivenerofmossflower]

Martin of Mossflower Chapter 15

Word Count: 3k read on ao3 Chapter Summary: Volunteers set out to deliver food to Ferdy and Coggs, unaware that they’re walking into an ambush. 

First Chapter : : Previous Chapter 

The line of woodlanders who had volunteered to ferry food to Kotir set out in the early afternoon. Mostly noncombatants and a scattering of new friends from Loamhedge, they were flanked by Skipper's crew, while Amber's troop swung through the lower terraces of the canopy.

“Do you ever feel as if you're inviting trouble, going armed?” Columbine asked Gonff and Martin. The three of them walked abreast near the back of the party, with Sayna and Dinny close behind them. “It feels almost as if we're asking to be attacked.”

“Y’ never know what the cat is plannin’,” Gonff said reasonably. “If we do get attacked, better t’ be prepared for it than t’ be caught off guard.”

“I suppose,” Columbine said, though she still sounded doubtful. “I just don't see why we have to fight at all. Surely Tsarmina will give up?”

“She won’t,” Martin said with a shake of his head.

“She’ll have to,” Columbine said, just as firmly. “Ballaw keeps saying an army marches on his stomach, and he's right. If she can't feed her soldiers, and she can't find us, she'd have to admit defeat. Wouldn't she, Miss Sayna?”

Martin spoke before his mother could. “Tsarmina's not rational enough to give up, even if it meant she and her army would starve. She would never let us simply escape and live in the woods on our own.”

“Peace, you two,” Sayna said. “Columbine's right, Martin—deciding to fight is deciding to put lives at risk. And not just your own,” Sayna added, cutting off his protest before it could form. “But Columbine, I'm afraid Martin has a point as well. We won't be free until Tsarmina and her army are gone from Mossflower, and though it is true that she must be having some trouble keeping her soldiers supplied, I do not believe she is likely to simply leave.”

Martin gnawed on his lip, thinking again what he'd been turning over and over in his head since the previous summer. Tsarmina was only part of the problem. He'd listened to the Corim's reminisces and speculations. Mossflower was a peaceful country, undefended, ripe for conquest, yes: but it was the fortress that had caught the wildcat's attention seasons before he was born. If Tsarmina was driven out, there was nothing to stop another warlord from coming in to exert his own power. More and more, Martin was convinced that Kotir itself must be destroyed. Though how he would go about doing that, Martin couldn't begin to imagine.

“The price of driving her and her army out will be high, though,” Sayna said. “The price of war always is so.” Martin glanced over at her, only to see her gazing in his direction, eyes unfocused. Not for the first time, he wondered if she was thinking of his father.

The small group walked in silence for a time, before Gonff bounced his haversack higher across his shoulders and said, “Race ye to that two-topped hawthorn.”  

Distracted by his own thoughts, Martin blinked. “What?” But the mousethief was already gone, with Columbine on his tail as the both of them pelted towards the tree. “Hey, wait, not fair!” Martin took off after the couple, Dinny close behind.

Sayna watched all four dash ahead, dodging around the others in the party and shouting apologies when they came a bit too close to jostling someone. Gonff never could stand to let things be serious for very long, she thought fondly. He was so good for them all.

Still a little shaken by the encounter below the dungeons with the Gloomer, Mask spent the morning and afternoon of his second day in Kotir avoiding officers and waiting for darkness to fall. He'd lifted plenty of useful information, and more than once had heard snatches of Ballaw's song being hummed under the breath of a bored soldier on duty. He hadn't managed to make contact with Gingivere and the two hogbabes, but that was Chibb's department for the moment.

He'd seen Tsarmina send Cludd out with a small, lightly armored force, and guessed the cat hoped they'd be able to catch any search parties sent out to find Ferdy and Coggs. Mask couldn't help but be a bit disappointed in Tsarmina for that. Did she really think it would take them a full day to realize two of their own were missing, especially two who were so very young?

Still, when Cludd came hurrying back before evening like someone had set fire to his tail, Mask's blood had run cold. Unnoticed, he shadowed the weasel on his way to report to the queen, and had to duck quickly out of sight behind a corner when Cludd almost collided with her on the way up the stairs.

“Milady, I've come with expert intelligence on the movements of the woodlanders—”

“Yes, I already know,” Tsarmina cut him off. “Get four platoons ready to leave by the southern gate—they're heading for the eastern wall. We can circle around and cut them off that way.”

Mask listened intently to the voices that echoed down the stairwell, wondering what on earth the Corim's plans were. Why had they sent a group to Kotir? What was going on? Mask started down the stairway, determined to get outside the walls so he could warn his friend.

He was brought up short by a gruff shout from behind him. “You there! Weasel!” Cursing under his breath but careful to keep the frustration from his face, Mask turned. Cludd was stomping down the stairs. Mask lifted his borrowed spear in salute. “Come with me to the barracks. We'll be out on the parade ground and ready to march in five minutes, is that understood?”

“Yessir,” Mask rasped, knowing he'd lost any chance to slip away and warn the woodlanders to retreat now. Blast that weasel's hide! What a perfect time to manage to be competent!

Still steaming, Mask followed Cludd to the barracks, trying to think of a way to sabotage the ambush Tsarmina had planned.

The sun was just dipping below the horizon as they finally drew closer to Kotir. The party reconvened in a small clearing a half hour's march from the gates of Kotir, to organize and send scouts ahead. Chibb fluttered off to make sure Gingivere was expecting them and aware of their plan. Skipper and Amber took stock of their respective fighters, making sure they had full quivers and skins for slingstones. Sayna took charge of the rations, distributing them through her dozen or so volunteers and asking one last time if anyone wished to stay behind.

The last quick march was made in almost absolute silence as they met at an oak near to Kotir's eastern wall. Chibb was pacing back and forth upon a low hanging branch, wings tucked neatly behind him. Amber dropped into a crouch right beside him, startling him into a short flight and a flurry of coughing.

“Madam!” he said reprovingly from a higher branch, once he had caught his breath. “Kindly consider a less startling method of announcing yourself!”

Amber gave him a sardonic look, and didn't reply. Instead, she unslung her bow from her shoulder and strung it. Chibb ruffled his feathers and hopped back down.

“Everything shipshape, Chibb?” Skipper called lowly from below.

Chibb cleared his throat twice before replying. “Ahem, yes, it certainly appears to be so, though I have my doubts.”

Skipper nodded seriously, though there was a slight amused twinkle in his eye. “We'll be here and gone before any soldiers can show up,” he said. “Or eagles.”

The party piled the ration packs at the bottom of the elm. The squirrels ferried them up the tree to Chibb as easily as walking over level ground. Sayna directed the whole operation, checking that each pack was light enough for Chibb to manage without trouble, and making sure the more substantial food was carried first.

“Mum?” Martin asked. Even as Sayna’s paws were steady and sure on each pack, her eyes darted about the surrounding woodlands. “Something wrong?”

Sayna paused in rebalancing two of the haversacks. “I’m fine,” she said, straightening to look around the clearing again. “It may just be Chibb's nerves getting to me, but I can't shake the feeling that—”

An arrow flew out of the dark and embedded itself in the elm a foot above her head.

Amber had notched an arrow to bowstring and sent it zipping back into the gloom before anyone else had processed what had happened, and right before a full volley of arrows buzzed through the air. “Ambush!” she hollered over the sudden noise of battle. “Ambush, take cover, all of you! Skip?”

“Ahead of ye, marm!” The otters had already fanned out into battle positions, screening the unarmed woodlanders from the soldiers. “C’mon, crew, that thicket looks a bit full. Give 'em a good rattlin’ broadside!”

The air buzzed with smooth riverstones, eliciting more squeals of pain and dismay from the contingent of soldiers still hidden in the underbrush. The enemy broke cover, wielding pikes and spears as they charged across the narrow sward. Tsarmina was in the lead, armored and helmeted, a sword in her clawed grip and the light of battle in her eyes.

“Steady,” Amber said, tail flat along the branch. Her troop were arrayed around her in the foliage of the elm, the soft creak of wood just audible as they pulled their bowstrings tight. She sighted down her own arrow, the back of her paw just brushing her cheek. “Steady, let them get a bit closer. Wait for my signal.”

Skipper heard the command and echoed it to his slingers. “Don't loose until the arrows 'ave flown,” he said, spinning his sling low. “Hold now, they're almost here. Martin, Gonff,” he added to the two mice in his ranks. “Once we launch this volley, ship out. Rearguard the rest, get 'em to safety.”

“Aye, aye, cap’n,” Gonff agreed for both of them, his usual cheerful smile grim as he swung his sling and picked out his target.

For their part, the noncombatants kept behind the line of otters. Under Sayna's direction, Columbine and Ben Stickle were grouping the wounded together in preparation of retreat. Sayna had sent the three moles in their party behind the back of the elm to dig an escape tunnel. They had had to circle farther beyond enemy lines to find ground firm enough to not risk collapsing under the stress of such a large escape. It was a more dangerous escape than Sayna would have liked, but she knew that Dinny, Billum, and Urthclaw would have dug closer if they felt they could risk it. The soldiers were unlikely to notice activity behind them when they were under attack by otters and squirrels, and Skipper and Amber would do all they could to mask their escape. It would have to do.

“Stay calm, stay quiet, and keep your heads down. We'll soon be safe,” Sayna assured the group as they slipped away.

Amber decided the approaching soldiers had come close enough. “Archers, fire!” Her voice rang clear over battlecries, threats, and taunts of the charging soldiers.

“Slings away!” Skipper bellowed immediately after, and a sound like hail hitting stone broke through the clearing. More screams and cries. Columbine wiped her eyes and took a deep breath, before squaring her shoulders and ducking under a brother's arm.

“Not long, now,” she said softly, echoing Sayna's words.

Gonff popped up on the other side, having disengaged after the initial volley as ordered. He gave her a reassuring smile. “C’mon. Let's get ye both to safety.” Martin was close behind them, helping up Ben when he tripped in the rush to get away.

Sayna entrusted the last of the rations to Brush and Birch, two brawny squirrels who'd duck around the side of Kotir with Chibb and finish the mission. Finished at last, she hurried after the retreating woodlanders.

Martin had chosen to act as a rearguard and was standing at the entrance to the escape tunnel when he saw her, skirt hitched up in both paws as she ran to catch up. Two of Tsarmina's ferrets saw her at the same moment.

“Mum!”

The mousewife looked up and took in the situation at a glance. Rather than lead the two soldiers to the escape tunnel, Sayna changed direction, taking off into the woods.

Without a second thought, Martin tore off after her.

Sayna yanked her skirt from yet another grasping bush and kept running, vowing to herself that, should she get out of this alive, she was never wearing skirts into Mossflower Woods again. There was no time to drop out of sight and hide, or even to plan much more than three steps ahead. Sayna dashed on, stumbling over roots and tussocks hidden in the darkness of Mossflower Woods.

The pair of weasels behind her hadn't slowed, and may even have been catching up. Ears pricked back to listen for her pursuers and her attention split, Sayna was taken by surprise when she broke free of the underbrush and into a clearing. Stars wheeled overhead as she went sprawling tail over ears. Sayna scrambled back to her feet, heart racing, and was halfway across the clearing when the weasels broke cover as well.

“C’mon, rebel, ain't nowhere else for ye to run,” one of them growled, though both he and his comrade was breathing hard. “You'll pay for running us about like that.”

“Ho, wait a second,” the second weasel said, rocking back on his heels and planting his spear butt first into the ground. “I thought ye said ye saw somebeast runnin' away. She's just some lil' mousewife. Ye ran us a mile around the forest for some lil' mousewife? Really?”

Sayna watched the pair of them warily, taking slow steps backwards. If she could get across the clearing and out the other side, she might make it home free.

“A rebel's a rebel!” the first weasel argued hotly, head turned over his shoulder but still coming closer. “And it'll be a lot easier to capture some mousewife and take 'er back to Tsarmina than one of those blasted otters!”

“She ain't gonna know nothing useful,” the second said, shaking his head. “Not worth it, mate, and definitely not worth chasin’—”

“Oi, you, don't move!” the first said, noting for the first time that Sayna was closer to the opposite side of the clearing now. “I’ll kill ye if ye take another step!”

“And I'll kill you if you lay a claw on my mother!”

“Martin,” Sayna breathed, and closed her eyes briefly, though whether in relief, exasperation, or fear even she couldn't have said. Of course he had followed them. Why had she ever assumed otherwise?

Martin had stopped at the edge of the clearing, sling loaded and ready in one paw, eyes burning as he stared down the pair of weasels. “You might think it easier to take a mouse than an otter or a squirrel, aye, but try it! Try it, and see how wrong you are!”

The second weasel looked about as frustrated as Sayna felt with this new development, but the first spat on the ground contemptuously. “Two o' ye and two o' us,” he said, gesturing between the pair of them. “An' any captives is better than none. We'll take ye both back to Kotir, and ye can try mouthing off to Tsarmina, see how far that gets ye.” He made a move towards Sayna, only for a rock to thwack hard against his spear, sending shocks reverberating all the way up his arm. “Yargh! Why, you little worm!”

Martin glared defiance at the soldier, wordlessly daring him to fight. For a moment, it looked as if it might work. The weasel snarled, and raised his spear as if to throw—only to turn and stab down at Sayna instead.

Three things happened at once. Sayna flung herself to one side, the spear tearing through her skirt and drawing a line of pain down her side. Martin screamed, horror and rage sounding to the treetops.

And the second weasel drove his spear into his companion's back. The weasel crumpled to the ground. He never knew what happened.

There was a brief silence as Sayna clutched her side, staring at the soldier from where she still say on the ground. “Sorry for lettin' ye be scared like that, marm,” he said, pulling the helmet off and scrubbing one paw through his head fur. Dust flaked free, leaving behind dark fur that looked almost black in the moonlight. “I’d hoped t'not have t'do that. Suppose I thought I could talk 'im out of it, but ah well.”

It took a moment for Sayna to get her mouth working again. “Mask?”

The disguised otter nodded, loosening and removing the slivers of wood that had narrowed his muzzle into something weasel-y. “Aye, marm. Saw this 'un go off after ye, and figured I'd be best served makin' sure you were all right. I thought I'd play dead back at the battlefield and slip off to rejoin our crew once they hauled anchor. I've got some news for the council, not all o' it good.”

Sayna took a deep breath, and nodded, gingerly picking herself up. “Your timing is deeply appreciated, friend. Thank you.”

Martin was there the instant she faltered, taking her weight entirely. She could feel him shaking, and his eyes were still wide, still a little wild. She straightened, put one arm about his shoulders, and pulled him down into a comforting hug, nuzzling against his ear. “Mum, you’re hurt—”

“I’m all right. It'll keep until we get to Brockhall, it's not deep.”

He relaxed into her slowly. “I was so angry. I saw you fall. I saw you die.”

“I didn’t.”

“I thought you did.”

“I didn’t,” Sayna repeated softly, squeezing him to her and pressing a kiss to his temple. “Come on, warrior. Let's get home.”

[sovereignsabove]

WELCOME TO THE ELDEEN REACHES!

Eastern Reaches:

Merylsward:

With Meryl meaning “by the sea” and Sward meaning “expanse of short grass,” Merylsward is a quiet and rustic farming village to the far north of the Reaches. It is the furthest north civilization ventures in the nation, and is the nearest you can get to the Icehorn Mountains without ocean-sailing or forest-delving. Merylsward’s town square features a complex scaredeer fountain, dozens of hollow lengths of bamboo filling the air with carefully-timed soothing tipping-tube music all day and night.

Featured Locations: The Seasaltlick Tavern and Inn: run by Brandy and Bailey Rialto, a retired sailor and her current husband. Meryl’s Wards, Meryl’s Wands, Meryl’s Swords: a trio of supply shops run by “Marm” Meryl Lavinia, with public front rooms and adventurer-only back rooms. Warden Yurt: the equivalent of a Town Watch Station, the resident Warden of the Wood is a razorclaw shifter druid named Astro.

Redleaf:

A village named and known for how trees grown there naturally present red leaves, needles, and blossoms year-round, no matter where the seeds come from. The village maintains its typical hunting/gathering lifestyle around the House Vadalis outpost’s day-to-day dominance.

Featured Locations: House Vadalis Kennels: run by Leo d’Vadalis, focused on breeding and training hounds, raptors, and other hunting animals. The Redleaf Inn: run by Kellibelle d’Ghallanda, this bed and breakfast is a go-to spot for nature-loving honeymooners.

Varna:

The commerce/trade hub of the Reaches, Varna makes great use of its location on the shores of Lake Galifar. It boasts enclaves for all 12 Marked Houses (with Vadalis being juuust a bit larger and more crenulated), but also hides various black markets dealing in less-than-legal animal products poached from across the Reaches.

Featured Locations: Foalwood: House Vadalis ranch just north of the city, run by Briar St. Price of House Vadalis (she is a druid both unaffiliated and unpopular with the druids of the Reaches). Secretkeeper: a large awakened strangler fig who host has long since died and rotted away, leaving what appears to be a 60-foot-tall hollow tube made of welded crisscrossing vines; Secretkeeper is located in a susurrus grove that muffles sound, allowing their visitors to share their deepest secrets; those who do, receive gifts based on the juiciness of their donations.

Central Reaches:

Mosswood: Once a thriving area, rich with humanoid and animal life, about 30 years ago, a serious disease (Blood Root) started to take hold, and the local druids, the Children of Winter, held that it was nature’s will, and refused to provide medical assistance. When the disease spread beyond the Mosswood, druids of other orders stepped in and cut off the spread of Blood Root, but at the cost of their peace with the Children. Now, the Mosswood is home to the sparse few survivors of the disease…the Children of Winter who never got sick, and the nondruids who never got better.

Wolfwood: Wolf’s Paw is the largest settlement near the Wolfwood. Led by Slara (ranger) and Lorgan (druid, Watcher of the Wood), this thorp is 100% shifters. They play a shifter sport called Hrazhak (full-contact Capture the Flag with claws and fangs). Recently, the shifters of Wolf’s Paw have spread out their Hrazhak league throughout the Wolfwood. Like, aaaaall throughout. Have fun with that.

Western Reaches:

“Deep woods” does not even begin to scratch the surface of the Western Reaches. To get there, you’d have to make it past packs of shifters, five flavors of druids, awakened trees and animals, and multiple weak spots in our reality leading to coterminous zones that could result in the rest of the campaign taking place in the feywild. Let’s be very honest: if you find yourselves in the Western Eldeen Reaches, I’ll have had time to write a supplemental.

Yes, you may take that as a challenge.

[old-souldier]

#5 Prank

It was the 21st, Fifth Astral Moon, 1553 6AE.

Jordan woke up, bruised, hungover, and chilly. She rubbed her eyes. She sat up, pulling away the burlap blanket and felt a cold breeze.

It was then she realized the following:0

She was naked.

She was in a jail cell.

She had a killer headache.

She covered herself up again in the burlap blanket, the rough cloth brushing against her skin like sandpaper.

"What in the Seven 'ells..." Jordan said aloud.

"Finally awake, are we, Private Kennedy?" a husky voice said. It was a tall Sea Wolf woman in a Barracuda Knight outfit. Jordan Immediately recognised the insignia of a Sergeant

"I... Aye, marm..." Jordan looked down, before asking in a raw voice, "Wha' 'appened ta me clothes?"

"Navigator only knows..." the Sergeant sighed. "We found ye at the Anchor Yard splayed on top of the gull statue making "whooshing" noises and calling out for, accordin' ta witnesses, quote 'ma sweet Emmie baby girl, I miss ye and so does me tongue'."

Jordan froze for a minute, trying to process the words she just heard. "Ah, shite..." she finally replied.

"Shite indeed, Private." The sergeant stifled a laugh before correcting herself. "Can ye even recall what ye were doin' last night, lass?" the officer asked.

Jordan brushed a hand on her short, buzzed hair. "Well, I just came back inta town after a stint patrolling the Northwest La Noscea and the cliffsides 'round O'Gohmoro..".

The night before Jordan and a trio of young men sat around a table in a small dockside bar, the Navigator's Bosom. They were passing around pints of dark beer. After a rough clink of cups, spilling some foam on the table, they all downed their pints in one swig before slamming the cups down. On the table. At once they all cried out with a satisfied "oh!"

"Aye, that 'it the swivin' spot!"  Jordan exclaimed, wiping some of the residue from her face.

"Nothin' like that first pint after comin' 'ome ta ease yer troubles." Salulu Pilulu exclaimed, the Lalafellin man remarked before lighting a pipe.

"First cups' always the best one." Bluomwilf added.

"Aye, just like the first woman ye 'ave when ye get inta town too!" A Midlander, Redmond, remarked to raucous laughter from Jordan and Bluomwilf, and a mild nod from Salulu.

"Ye don't 'ave t' get quite so vulgar just because we're in a place like this, Red..." Salulu remarked, taking in a bit of pipeweed.

"Ah, yer no fun," Redmond added, "Kennedy understands what I'm talkin' 'bout, aye?"

Jordan laughed, "Aye, aye/ Though tonight I think I'd rather spend it with good friends than trying me luck at the Member."

Bluomwilf laughed, "Ye gotta get back in there sometime, shrimp! This is where ye n' I differ. Ye can't keep  'oldin a torch for a lass that's off n' been married for two cycles."

Jordan nodded, "Aye, aye... when ye fall fer a lovely raven-haired byoot 'ard and then lose 'er, I'll listen ta ye, ye fat bastard."

Bluomwilf smiled. "Red n' I were thinkin' about goin to a show tomorrow night. Yer welcome ta join. I 'eard the dancers like performin' fer interested lasses, even willing ta go 'the extra malm or two'." He raised his eyebrows in an overly suggestive manner.

Jordan thought about it for a moment. "May'aps... but I need more drink in me first." She looked out to a barmaid, "Lass! Another round fer the table! On me gil!"

As they drank another round, Jordan said. "Aye, this is what I'm achin' for tonight! Say Bluomwif, let's see if'n I can drink ye under the table."

"Yer already 'alfway under the table, shrimp."

"The only thing that's shrimp-like 'ere is that thing ye call a cock."

Bluomwilf laughed. The Sea Wolf waved the barmaid over. "Two bottles of whiskey and two cups. We're celebratin' this eve!"

An hour later, Redmond and Salulu sat amused. The Midlander was half-asleep from drink and Salulu was having a laugh as Jordan took her tenth shot. She bobbled left to right like a buoy in choppy waters, but, after a second to steady herself, she slurped the last few drops in the shot glass and violently slammed it upside down on the table in front of her.

Bluomwilf, looking about as worse for wear somehow, slurred, "Twelve Dammmit... if'n I grow up with ye... I'd swear ye was a Sea Wolf in a Lalafell glamour....:

Jordan countered, "Enh, ye've always been a lightweight....n' a coward... nex-next round... what number issit?"

"11, Jordan." Salulu pointed out helpfully as he poured whiskey in Bluomwilf's glass.

"Aye 'leven. Gooo 'wilfy"

The young Sea Wolf grunted and took the shot glass. He stared at the glass, concentrating as he brought it to his lips and drank, his eyes shut.  Looking at the table, he moved to place the glass down, but missed and dropped the glass on the floor, the glass clinking and rolling under his chair as he leaned back and let out a groan.

"Well," Red piped up. "Looks like the whiskey's swallowed 'im up."

"Wand'rer blesssss me iron liverrrr," Jordan said as she raised her arms to polite applause from the conscious companions.

After sighing in satisfaction, Jordan brushed her fore'ead, "Gods, it's gettin' mighty warm in ';ere."  She stood up and, with a wobble that looked like would keel over at any time she stumbled outside.

"Ah, that's nice, " Jordan thought as the crisp fall air his her face. "'Tis a nice sky... I member when Emmie n' I use ta gaze at the stars after we did it in her room... she wore this lovely filly robe and I was in just me britches when we sat on the roof of 'er 'ouse 'n'... *hic*"

Jordan began stumbling up towards the Upper Decks. She wandered the oil lamp-lit streets and found a lit building. Outside a lone young woman stood outside. She was a Midlander, a bit on the short side, but with long black hair and a low cut tunic that advertise ample décolletage.

Jordan took a look at her and let out a long low whistle as she walked by.

"Like what ya see, sailor?" the woman asked.

Jordan covered her mouth with her hands. She swayed from the momentum for a bit until she settled and said, "pardon.. S'not polite ta be catcallin', but yer a byoot... a sight fer me sore eyes."

"I can make a few other things sore, if ya 'ave the gil, missy." the Midlander woman replied with a wink and a wave of her hand, making a point of showing her beautifully painted, but short nails.

Jordan stopped for a moment and reached into her pockets. "I shouldn't but. enh, just got me pay, I can live a little."

"Why don't we step in, 'ave a drink, and a nice talk. Just us gals," the woman giggled and as though using conjury, beckoned Jordan inside, the Lalafellin woman easily pulled in behind her.

In a small parlor, the woman poured Jordan some brandy in a glass over ice. "This is a nice one, Flight of the Fish Gull, they call it. 'Ave a drink."

Jordan looked a bit nervous now, having sobered up a tad. "Aye, looks good. What about you?"

"Oh, I've been nursin' a cheap rosé. Ye'd much prefer the brandy, love." The woman smiled and poured herself a glass of wine. Before sitting down quite snugly next to Jordan, letting the Lalafell rest her head on her bosom.

"Cheers 'en, "Jordan said raising a glass and taking a hearty swig.

Five minutes later, Jordan was passed out asleep. The woman stood and smiled as sealed the cap on the brandy.

"Poor sod, well at least she'll learn 'er lesson." The woman took no time grabbing Jordan's coin purse, stripping the young woman and throwing her out on the street. Jordan staggered about the only road she could see before ending up at a dead end.

"Oh, I'm a bleedin' fool I am..." the young woman moaned. She looked up and saw the white stone statue glisten in the moonlight. "Ye's da only one 'oo understands me, tiny bird. Les' fly away from our trubblezzzz..."

"Enh, last I remembered, I was drinkin' with me squadmates. The rest's a blur." Jordan finally answered after thinking on it for a few minutes.

The Sergeant sighed. "Well, he're some loaner clothes that should fit you, Private."

"Aye ma'am. Thank ye ma'am."

"Normally we'd fine you for disturbing the peace n' public indecency-"

Jordan winced. "Aye?"

"But due to your status as a Private in the Knights of the Barracuda, we've decided to discipline you internally. Your immediate superior officer, Sergeant Styrnskoefsyn has already taken responsibility for your action and will be dealing with you as is considered appropriate.

Jordan nodded. She knew six months of Latrine Duty was in her future.

[pangur-and-grim]

Please show us more pictures of Marmaduke he is a Goliath and I love him very much

he was a huge boy, and a wonderful boy, and the reason I love cats today

my sister found him all skinny and matted wandering the neighbourhood, and took him home. and even though we were a ‘no cats allowed household’, after he started exhibiting stomach problems (constantly vomiting up the meals we gave), my dad assumed that any shelter we gave this scrawny mess to would just euthanize him, and so we kept him. and he healed up into a BEAUTIFUL fluffy tabby, with the loudest most persistent purr I’ve ever experienced (think a chainsaw revving, at all times)

once I was old enough to have my own cats, another side of Marmaduke was exposed. he was TERRIBLE at communicating with other cats (my assumption is he was taken from his mother/litter too early, and never learned how to cat)

his behaviour toward cats was the same as his behaviour towards humans: make eye contact and trot up meowing. a human would find this cute, and reward him with affection and attention! a cat finds all these things (direct eye contact, vocalizing, and a swift approach) intensely threatening, and goes into defence mode.

so Pangur and Grim did not like the awkward old man much. but his good intentions eventually were acknowledged, as we did have some moments of peaceful cohabitation, which made him very happy

in the end though, age gets us all. he was declawed by his original owners, and the years of walking on the wrong bones of his feet led to painful arthritis and a strange, pancaked look to his paws. 

he also developed hyperthyroidism, which ruined his fur quality and made it stringy and prone to matting. because of this, in his last few years he was usually shaved and in a little old man sweater

Marm had a lot of problems. he vomited constantly, urinated on beds/clothing when stressed, and could not for the life of him figure out how to interact appropriately with other cats, but I loved him intensely. he was my childhood friend, and this blog would not exist without him.

Rest In Peace you awkward old man

[ltsharif]

(via Introductory Note)   Quran Chapter 36: Intro (Pt-22, Stg-5) (L-2705) درس قرآن Introductory Note Chapter “YAA-SIIIN” – (YASIN) – 36 ‘A-‘uu-zu  Billaahi minash-Shay-taanir- Rajiim. (I seek refuge in Allaah from Satan the outcast) Bis-Millaahir-Rah-maanir-Rahiim.(In the name of Allaah, the Beneficent, the Merciful) With regard to configuration, this is Thirty Sixth Chapter of Holy Qur’an, in which there are Five Sections. It was sent down during the middle times of stay at Makkah. Its name has been made by uniting two letters of alphabet – Yaa and Siin. This chapter begins with the same word “Yaa-Siiin”. It has been mentioned in the Sayings of the Messenger (grace, glory, blessings and peace of Allaah be upon him) (Ahaadith) that this Chapter is the Heart of Holy Qur’an. And every difficulty becomes easy by reciting it. Therefore it has been instructed that it should be recited before the person who is going to die, so that he/she may get deliverance from the trouble of the agonies of death. It has been described in this blessed chapter that Messenger-hood is Inevitable. Certainly Muhammad (grace, glory, blessings and peace of Allaah be upon him) is His Messenger. Nothing happens if the disbelievers deny. However, such is the constitution of the world that its some people will believe in his Messenger-hood and some will not be convinced of it, but contrarily they will oppose. His believers are fortunate who will be in rest and peace after death. But the disbelievers will never accept him and after death they will be suffering from pain and troubles. Behavior of believers and disbelievers has been manifested by a particular example. Sorrow has been expressed on the deniers of the Prophets (peace be upon them) that they have been buying severe torment of the Hereafter by their fearless behavior. After informing about the importance of the Messenger-hood, the attention has been drawn towards “Oneness of God (Allaah Almighty) and the way of knowing Him”. Signs of His Divine Power have been spreading in the universe, which have been directing towards its Creator and That Who gives life to its living creatures. After that, sketch of the Day of Resurrection has been drawn. It has been described that honors and awards will be bestowed to the Believers but the Disbelievers will be punished very severely. Then it has been explained concerning the importance of Holy Qur’an and that it is not the Book of supposed and poetic thoughts. Reality of every matter and thing has been manifested in it. After that, it has been caused to understand: Mankind’s turning away from Allaah Almighty is nothing but stubbornness. Human beings should worship Him after guessing correctly concerning His Divine Power and understand it thoroughly that coming back to life again after death is compulsory for every mankind. Reproducing anyone after destruction is not difficult for Allaah Almighty. Everything of the world, whether that is big or small, is under His control. Whatsoever He intends to do, He commands and that comes into existence without any delay. He is Pure from any kind of evil, fault, weakness or helplessness. You all will be returned to Him. Transliterated Holy Qur’aan in Roman Script & Translated from Arabic to English by Marm aduke Pickthall, Published by Paak Company, 17-Urdu Bazaar, Lahore, Lesson collected from Dars e Qur’aan published By Idara Islaah wa Tableegh, Lahore (translated Urdu to English by Muhammad Sharif). https://muhammadsharif120.wordpress.com/2020/06/07/introductory-note/

[ltsharif]

(via The mansion of eternity)   Quran Chapter 35: 34 & 35 (Pt-22, Stg-5) (L-2688) درس قرآن The mansion of eternity Chapter “FAATIR’” – (The Creator) – 35 ‘A-‘uu-zu  Billaahi minash-Shay-taanir- Rajiim. (I seek refuge in Allaah from Satan the outcast) Bis-Millaahir-Rah-maanir-Rahiim.(In the name of Allaah, the Beneficent, the Merciful) وَقَالُوا۟ ٱلْحَمْدُ لِلَّهِ ٱلَّذِىٓ أَذْهَبَ عَنَّا ٱلْحَزَنَ إِنَّ رَبَّنَا لَغَفُورٌ شَكُورٌ 34  ٱلَّذِىٓ أَحَلَّنَا دَارَ ٱلْمُقَامَةِ مِن فَضْلِهِۦ لَا يَمَسُّنَا فِيهَا نَصَبٌ وَلَا يَمَسُّنَا فِيهَا لُغُوبٌ 35 34.  And they say: Praise be to Allah Who hath put grief away from us. Lo! Our Lord is Forgiving, Bountiful- 35.  Who, of His Grace, hath installed us in the mansion of eternity, where toil toucheth us not nor can weariness affect us. 34.  Wa  qaalul-Hamdu  Lillaahil-laziii  ‘azhaba  ‘annal-hazan.  ‘Inna  Rabbanaa  la-Gafuurun-Shakuur. 35.  ‘Allaziii  ‘ahallanaa  Daaral-muqaamati  min  FazliH.  Laa  yamassunaa  fiihaa  nasabunw-wa  laa  yamassunaa  fiihaa  luguub. Commentary Nasabun – (toil, labor, fatigue during working), Luguubun – (weariness of mind after finishing the work), It was commanded earlier that the people who will choose Holy Qur’an as their Guide, will at last enter the Garden, where they will be adorned with ornaments of gold, and silky raiment will be provided to them for wearing. In this verse, it is commanded: Their entire afflictions will be removed and their all confusions will disappear after looking blessings, luxury and relief in the Garden. They will have no grief or sorrow. And when they will be informed that “Now it is your permanent abode, you will dwell here forever”, then they will be very happy. They will observe that all required things are being provided to them without working and toil. They will have to do nothing, so they will never be tired. In such condition, it will come out from their mouths without thinking: Praise to Allah, who has removed from us all sorrow. When they will compare their worldly sufferings, grief and sorrows with ease and comfort of the Garden, then they will rejoice greatly with pleasure and say: Thanks Allaah Almighty Who bestowed us the Garden for settling always by His Grace. Neither we have to do here any hard work as we used to do in the world and nor we feel any weariness of mind. Allaah Almighty has bestowed us rest and peace as retribution of those toils which we endured in His worship and in obedience of His Commandments during our worldly life. It all is His Bounty. We could find here more ease and comfort, if we had worked in the world more hard. Transliterated Holy Qur’aan in Roman Script & Translated from Arabic to English by Marm aduke Pickthall, Published by Paak Company, 17-Urdu Bazaar, Lahore, Lesson collected from Dars e Qur’aan published By Idara Islaah wa Tableegh, Lahore (translated Urdu to English by Muhammad Sharif). https://muhammadsharif120.wordpress.com/2020/05/22/the-mansion-of-eternity/

[ltsharif]

   Quran Chapter 34: 16 & 17 (Pt-22, Stg-5) (L-2640) درس قرآن Tamarisks and something of a lote tree Chapter “SABAA’” – (Saba) – 34 ‘A-‘uu-zu  Billaahi minash-Shay-taanir- Rajiim. (I seek refuge in Allaah from Satan the outcast) Bis-Millaahir-Rah-maanir-Rahiim.(In the name of Allaah, the Beneficent, the Merciful) فَأَعْرَضُوا۟ فَأَرْسَلْنَا عَلَيْهِمْ سَيْلَ ٱلْعَرِمِ وَبَدَّلْنَٰهُم بِجَنَّتَيْهِمْ جَنَّتَيْنِ ذَوَاتَىْ أُكُلٍ خَمْطٍ وَأَثْلٍ وَشَىْءٍ مِّن سِدْرٍ قَلِيلٍ 16  ذَٰلِكَ جَزَيْنَٰهُم بِمَا كَفَرُوا۟ وَهَلْ نُجَٰزِىٓ إِلَّا ٱلْكَفُورَ 17 16.  Then they were froward, so We sent on them the flood of ‘Aram, and in exchange for their two gardens gave them two gardens bearing bitter fruit, the tamarisk and here and there a lote-tree. 17.  This We awarded them because of their ingratitude. And punish We ever any save the ingrates? 16.  Fa-‘a’-razuu  fa-‘arsalNaa  ‘alayhim  saylal-‘Arimi  wa  bad-dalNaahum  bi-janna-tayhim  jannatayni  zawaatay  ‘ukulin  khamtinw-wa  ‘aslinw-wa  shay-‘im-min-  sidrin-  qaliil. 17.  Zaalika  jazayNaahum  bimaa  kafaruu.  Wa  hal  Nujaaziii  ‘illal-kafuur. Commentary When peace and rest is acquired by the mankind in all respect, climate is suitable and produce is abundant, then nothing is visible to him save it that he should fulfill his all desires. If it is caused to understand him that all things are in his possession by the kindness of Allaah Almighty, so he should be thankful to Him and choose the way directed by Him, then he becomes haughty. Consequence of such people can never be good as it has been described in this verse. It is commanded: They did not agree to those who advised them. Therefore We punished them. A heavy flood came; which broke the Dam. That big Dam was near their Maarib Township. It was called Saddi-Maarib or Aram. Entire gardens of fruit and fields of green crops had become desolate due to deep water, and when the water was dried then nothing was safe there. At the place of those two gardens of fruit, two dry fields were born, in which there were gardens of bitter fruit, tamarisks and something of sparse lote trees. It is commanded: We awarded them because of their ingratitude and fulfilling their desires. When a man forgets manners and commits according to own will, then at last he is ruined like this. But the people who are grateful to Allaah Almighty and act upon His commandments, He saves them from worse consequence and gives them good rewards. Transliterated Holy Qur’aan in Roman Script & Translated from Arabic to English by Marm aduke Pickthall, Published by Paak Company, 17-Urdu Bazaar, Lahore, Lesson collected from Dars e Qur’aan published By Idara Islaah wa Tableegh, Lahore (translated Urdu to English by Muhammad Sharif). https://muhammadsharif120.wordpress.com/2020/04/13/tamarisks-and-something-of-a-lote-tree/