#shard-borne

[bread-wizards]

I find it interesting that out of all the party, Laudna and Orym are following in Ashton's footsteps a bit in hiding things from the party (Orym with the Nana Morri deal, Laudna with her interacting with/talking to Delilah more and more), and I wonder how much of it is the residual impact that Bor'dor's betrayal had on them.

[kirby-the-gorb]

[checkadii]

mfs do anything but finish their wips . like startign another, for example

[adahlenan]

        “ what you are, I was; what I am, you will be ”

[michyeosseo]

This pain will help you remember.

Zeng Li as SHEN MUYUE

THE LEGEND OF SHEN LI (2024)

[suolainensilakka]

Mortifying ordeal of being perceived vs the burning itching need to talk about the lingering will. Woe, tag ramble upon ye

[crimsontroupe]

by riu @ twitter

[wine-dark-soup]

What new life did you think the ancients tried to sacrifice to return their brethren from Zodiark? They weren't growing microbe colonies for that.

it's been a while since i completed shadowbringers so maybe i got things mixed up, but it was my understanding that the ancients were ready to sacrifice the half of the half of them that remained after zodiark's summoning. Making this sacrifice completely foolish in the eyes' of everyone with half a mind because what for? Why sacrifice those who are alive and well? What if they failed? Who was gonna be LEFT? Like they were on the path to erase themselves from existence because there were less and less of them

On the other hand it's true it'd be strange to assume there's a finite number of souls in the universe. But i do like the idea the same souls, sundered, unvariably come back. It just doesn't matter who those people were 12 000 years ago. Most of them probably had an office job anyway (that doesnt make them less valuable but it's a proof not every ancient was a walking hero)

[elementclangen]

Moon 177-Leaf-bare

This leaf-bare is proving to be a tough one.  Instead of passing on the greencough to Tornkit (4) as the Healers feared, Lightkit (4) died from it.  Additionally, Chervilcry (156) went missing and was found dead out in the territory.  The Clan is in shock that she’s gone.  There are no cats alive who remember a time without the beloved mediator in the Clan.  Peakspots (146) is hit especially hard by her death, as it leaves him as the oldest cat in the Clan.  One day, the Clan will have kittens who never knew Chervilcry in life, but Peakspots vows that Chervilcry’s memory will live on through him.  In a ‘bright’ spot, it seems that Brightfern (19) is widely beloved by the Clan.  She always has a kind word for everyone and has been especially comforting to Peakspots in his grief.   Wildcave (60) is also bonding with his little sister and congratulates her for a job well done.  Despite not being directly related to her, Gladepatch (53) feels fondness for Primcrest (19).  She’s part of the reason that his daughter is leader of the Clan and dark-cursed kittens are no longer killed.  He enjoys discussing Clan news with her.  Volcanoblossom (104) is not a fan of Sleepyfoot (43) and Pigeonspot’s (46) kits.  Elmpaw (7) is always bumping into her and Goldenpaw (7) drives her crazy!  Rabbitfur’s (33) mean streak continues to attract other cats to her.  This time, it’s Shard (74) promising to always look out for her.  Hey, if something works, why change it?  In other news, Glowpaw (13) has been given the warrior name of Glowquake, honoring his support.

[cosmicraelum]

Alexander, a mage with no memories

(I ramble about them in the tags.

[deathsmallcaps]

Mirror Snow White for the WIP game, please!!

I’ve bolded the part you encouraged me to add onto! Thanks! :)

I met my true love while I was limping along an empty road cutting through the grey wintry plains of Sasriu. I had heard of a king with a mystery: the hand of one of his daughters and a title if solved, and three nights of hot meals, a warm bed and a quick death if not. Having no skills beyond war - for I had been sold quite young to become a soldier - and now possessing a pair of boots but only one leg, I despaired at the life I saw ahead of myself.

‘Retired’ soldiers rarely live long. It was the start of winter and already the nights dipped well below freezing. No forests stood for me to take shelter, and the little villages around I wouldn’t dare approach - this kingdom had been staunchly neutral in the nearby wars and many small towns chased out soldiers, for fear of involvement. There was no denying my past; I had been captured specifically because it would be difficult to confuse and lose me in the ranks of the local peoples, and the war raged still.

One kind, lonely farmhouse had offered me warm soup and a haystack to sleep in, but I saw the thin faces of each child and knew I couldn’t stay long. Thus, I headed for the city - I would hopefully find shelter and stability, and perhaps even an ambassador with knowledge of my homeland. And if my plans didn’t pan out, at least it would be a swift death - not ending up as a frozen stranger on the side of the muddy road or a penniless veteran on the cobbles of some dank alley.

So I hobbled toward the city. Being a plains kingdom, they didn’t build especially high buildings for fear of windstorms, but it stood out all the same against the flat earth surrounding it. Still, despite having such a clear goal, it seemingly didn’t get much closer, with night and what I hoped was merely a big cloud fast outrunning me. Knowing from my luck and the change in humidity, I knew it was rain. I tried moving faster, but the wraps around my crutch pads had worn away so it was even more painful than usual, so I soon had to return to my usual pace.

A small bump interrupted the tedium, coming from a side road I hadn’t noticed before. It moved slowly, but it was clear it was also heading towards the city, so with a slightly lighter heart I continued forward. A talking companion for the road would likely make the trip easier, and may even offer information on the king’s mystery. All I really knew at the time was that his daughters apparently had a problem with sneaking out at night.

Once I got close enough, it took me a moment to recall the local greeting, but then “All things must end!”

The shuffling figure, adorned in many ragged scarves, quickly flashed a look to me, too fast to make out any features. “But some begin now.” She replied in a raspy voice.

“What brings you to Wocosm this fine evening?” I inquired politely. I was desperate for conversation, but would drop it if she showed disinterest.

She laughed, a disused rattle that seemed to surprise her. She flashed her eyes at me once again. “You must be very hopeful indeed if you believe we will reach the gates before sundown. Still, it is no matter. I am looking for shards.”

“A shard? My good woman, I believe you are headed the wrong way! While I would not recommend any to enter a battlefield, there are broken bits abound back the way I came. I know my leader even pays people to go over the fields for arrows and other reusable things. As long as you do not have an apparatus that would impede your travel through the churned, bloody earth,” I gestured to my crutches for emphasis, “you could make a decent living doing as such.”

She shook her head. “I have seen that terrible place, and while it contains an evil most profound, it is human and mundane. The shard I seek is magical in origin, and to put it plainly, induces heinous thoughts and situations among even the most peaceable peoples.”

I wasn’t sure what to say to that, but before a true response could form I saw a terrible sight. “Holy waters, you do not have shoes!”

“Hm? Oh, that.” She seemed unbothered, but I knew the importance of proper footwear.

Unable to think of a particularly witty rebuttal, I merely said, “But it’s cold!”

She stared at me blankly. Finally, I could see her eyes - black like mine, but shaped in an uncommonly beautiful fashion and ringed with near translucent blond lashes. Her face seemed much more youthful than her posture and manner seemed to suggest, yet her eyes held an age unknowable. The woman quickly hid her eyes again once she noticed my returned gaze.

Unable to do nothing, I carefully stopped and leaned one crutch against my body while I pulled my pack around. “Here. I have no use for it.” I handed her my extra boot, my other sock, and then the same crutch. “If we both are to make it to our destination, we need to avoid frostbite.” I had practiced walking with one crutch, and showed her how. “Pull your naked foot into your wraps, and use the crutch to move forward. It’s better than wearing off your soles before you find those wicked shards!”

Her mouth twisted, but she took my offerings all the same, and we walked on as the darkness overtook us both. I told her my name was Walt, short for Walter Johnschild, and she did not proffer hers, but instead told me things about the castle.

“Do you know much about the king’s mystery?” she asked. When I told her no, aside from the reward, she continued, “No matter. It is thus: The king of Susriu has twelve daughters, and every winter’s night for the last decade, their dancing shoes are dashed to pieces, despite never leaving their rooms and the guards stationed outside reportedly merely hearing the occasional snore. The princesses tell their father nothing, and he apparently needs to start marrying them off soon. However, if they are sneaking out, he cannot guarantee their virtue,” we both scoffed, “and has become desperate. So, he will reward any man who can solve this matter within the three nights he is allowed to stay in their rooms.”

“How can h-” I broke off when the city walls’ bells started tolling, signifying that the gates were about to close. Coincidentally, the sky broke open a quarter mile behind us.

The woman turned to me and placed the coldest kiss I’d ever felt aware upon my forehead. “Now go!” And she puffed up her cheeks, blew out, and a great wind, cold and sharp, carried me to the gates, billowing a cloak that had not been on my shoulders a moment before. The guards did not seem startled by my sudden arrival, and I swung quickly past the gates and into town.

The castle was on the other end of the city, which was unfortunate. I did my best to make my way over, but the cobblestones were not kind to me or my crutches. The rain caught up to me before I was even approved to go through the castle portcullis, and I nearly slipped. A young guard sniggered, but an older fellow smacked his helmet in irritation, causing it to spin and cover his face somewhat.

We nodded at each other. The elder seemed hale, but not all marks of war are visible to the naked eye. The youth, grumbling as he set his helmet right, was ordered to escort me to the dinner hall. He slouched and side-eyed the entire walk, and when he opened the door and announced me, he tapped the crutch closer to him with his foot. I stumbled into the surprised feasting hall.

[impossible-rat-babies]

hey what if eyrie’s fray was just a young version of their daughter that died like hey eyrie here is the worst part of your guilt and helplessness pleading with you to love and forgive yourself

[midnightwind]

half considering making a side blog for my warrior of light to toss all my little half formed headcanons onto, but I barely have any of those and social interaction makes my anxiety implode

[inkykeiji]

Now would bmb dabi ever get jealous over tomura paying all his attention to reader in their new poly relationship? i feel dabi is jealous over everything 😂

very good eye anon!!!!!!!! you are completely right!! and dabi’s jealousy is something my christmas series will be exploring in detail!! it’s interesting, because he is jealous of both of them. he’s jealous of reader getting tomura’s attention, but also tomura getting reader’s attention!!! it’s a very complex, paradoxical emotion for him to be having and it’s a lot of fun to write hehehe c:

but yeah ur so right tho he is jealous over everything, even things he shouldn’t really be jealous over—things a normal person wouldn’t be jealous over—and much of that comes from dabi’s deeply rooted self esteem issues; things that are buried so deeply in his soul, in the very core of his being (thanks, trauma) that they’re subconscious, innate, at this point, so intensive, so embedded and immersed in who he is that he doesn’t even know those issues exist.

[ghostsinthecellar]

found another box with broken glass stuff :/

[morocosmos]

FFxivWrite2022 Day 29: Fuse

Moro’a woke with a jolt, feeling as though he were being crushed under the weight of the very star.

Gasping for breath, he sat up, fistfuls of fabric clenched tight in his hands until the rapid tempo of his heart slowed, and the cool air of the early morning had chilled the sweat on his forehead.

"You slept terribly as well?" Koh’sae had awoken and turned towards him, reaching out with a clumsy hand as he spoke. Moro'a stifled a yawn, sliding his hand into his lover’s and feeling grateful for the comfort. “Bad dream,” he murmured back. A patchwork of scenes flew through his mind, fraught and unfamiliar: the ground under his feet as he was running towards...a tower? Sparks of something bright and loud, followed by pain. His hands outstretched, feeling the tips of his fingers burn as he’d strained against a terrible force – and then that awful, crushing weight –

“Come here,” said Koh’sae. Moro’a shook the visions from his head and sank back under the covers, curling up against the other Keeper. Real life was not that much better. Even in the low light, he could see that half the room remained in disarray, with furniture toppled and possessions scattered about by the strong tremors that had shaken the city, sometime after the first bell past midnight. Fortunately, none of the walls had been damaged; neither of them had ventured outside since, but if the worst had come to pass, and something happened where Dalamud was concerned….

He leaned inwards to kiss Koh’sae, losing himself in the warmth they pooled together. He didn’t want to think about the possibilities just yet, not when he was already exhausted, stretched thin; they both were. Neither of them had fallen asleep till long after the tremors ceased, compounding upon the last few sennights of long hours at work and little sleep – the flood of orders sent to the Armorer’s Guild had not slowed, not even as the last of the battalions were sent to Carteneau, and so Koh’sae returned from the forges well after sundown. And as for Moro’a, the arcanists were equally taxed, perhaps more so as they struggled between the repurposed supply docks and the infirmaries.

The latter had by far been the worse burden, for more and more injured were coming to Limsa Lominsa, whether from the war or from the beasts who had grown fierce and unpredictable in the wake of chaos. So stretched were the city-state’s chirurgeons that they had begun to call upon the arcanists to assist them in healing, even novices such as himself. Good practice, Moro’a had told himself grimly, more than once. He couldn’t confidently heal anything worse than minor burns or lacerations, but at least he could do so consistently, and it left the more experienced healers free to tend to graver injuries.

“Mmm….stop thinking too hard,” Koh’sae murmured, propping himself up on one arm as he rolled over so that he was leaning over Moro’a. He began to kiss his way down Moro’a’s neck, and in the comfort of the dark, the arcanist closed his eyes and sighed, sliding his hands around the Koh’sae’s warm hips as the other Keeper shifted closer. Not being able to think sounded positively fantastic right now – a half bell or so of bliss before they had to return to work….

“Aah!” Moro’a’s eyes snapped open as registered Koh’sae’s gasp as a shout of pain. Koh’sae was clutching his hand, where blood had begun to flow from beneath a shard of some sort.

Moro’a pushed himself up immediately, wide awake as he looked at Koh’sae’s hand. “Careful. Don’t pull it out.”

Koh’sae was cursing in a steady stream of hisses and growls, but he heeded Moro’a’s words, staying put as the arcanist lit a candle, then retrieved and prepared his healing supplies.

When he was ready, Moro’a examined Koh’sae’s hand with a grimace. The shard was ceramic, presumably from a broken mug or bowl from the floor, and buried deep. He could remove it and make sure the wound was clean, but he didn’t trust himself to heal Koh’sae’s hand entirely, and certainly not within the hour.

“Can you heal it completely?” Koh’sae asked through clenched teeth. Moro’a shook his head, and the other Keeper cursed again. “Twelve. I cannot work like this,” he lamented. “Of all the bloody times and places….”

“I can still hasten the recovery, and I’ll see what can be done afterwards,” Moro’a assured him. He took Koh’sae’s palm and very, very slowly, prised the shard out from its bed, wincing as the other man trembled. As he did so, he felt a strange sensation – pinpricks of signal that seemed to pass through from Koh’sae’s hand to his. It was as though he were…perceiving the injury, sensing the depth and shape of the wound in a way he’d never experienced before. Is this something to do with my aether? I haven’t cast any spells, Moro’a wondered, frowning.

Seconds later, they both let out shaky breaths as the shard was at last freed. As Moro’a took the cloth he’d dipped in freshly boiled water and wiped the blood around the wound away, he felt the strange sensations again. Even more strangely, he was filled with a certainty he hadn’t possessed before, and he was convinced he could heal the injury.

“I’m going to try to heal it,” Moro’a told Koh’sae, before he had time to doubt. His lover looked at him, slightly puzzled. “Are you sure?” he questioned.

“Yes – let me try.” A part of him still wasn’t sure whether his Physick would be capable enough for the job, but as Moro’a held out his book and summoned the required aether to the palm of his right hand, the restorative magic swelled through his arm, faster and stronger than he’d ever felt. The spell had barely left his lips before Koh’sae’s hand glowed, and they both watched as the wound grew smaller, closing perfectly shut.

Koh’sae stared at his palm, holding it to the light. It was as though the cut had never been there. “How in the Lover’s name did you do that?” he exclaimed.

“I….I have no clue.” Moro’a felt as perplexed as Koh’sae looked – casting the spell had taken almost no effort at all. There was still a lingering uneasiness in his chest, as well as things had turned out. He should ask one of his seniors about this later.

“Well, I’ll not be one to chase away a boon,” Koh’sae laughed, and after a moment of deliberation he leaned forward to kiss Moro’a on the nose. “Perhaps it was just love, aye?”