#sort of prologue

[some-pers0n]

Memoir of an Albatross

Chapter 1 - The Legacy of a Monster

[1] [2] [3] [4]

(Art by Loquatic)

Chapter Description: Turtle and the Jade Winglet have decided to spend a night at the long forgotten Island Palace. Turtle is petrified. This is where Albatross, the mass murdering animus, had killed dozens. But, late into the night, he spots something strange.

The Island Palace was quite possibly the last place Turtle wanted to visit. Why would he? It remains as a scar on Pyrrhia, a reminder of the dangerous potential of animus magic. A stain on the Sea Kingdom's history of what happens when animus magic goes unchecked.

Albatross was not a dragon Fathom wanted to be. A mad dragon. A terrifying murderer. An animus who could not control his own magic. Simply thinking about him made his stomach churn. Knowing that it was a possibility he could end up like Albatross horrified him. He would be better than that monster.

So, hearing that the Jade Winglet wanted to spend a night at the Island Palace was definitely something he was not interested in doing. 

Unfortunately, Qibli and Kinkajou were firm in their decision to do just that.

"Oh come on," Qibli said, "it's only one night!"

"We shouldn't...be here," Turtle mumbled. "Isn't this disrespectful? I mean, we are just going to run around in a place where so...so many dragons lost their lives."

"And? It's not like they're alive to see it. They've been dead for a long, long, LONG time," Kinkajou called out. "Who cares? It's going to be fun! Trust us."

"It's supposed to be scary anyway. It's Faust's Hallow. Wouldn't it be a little fun to spend it at some creepy old palace? We rarely get together nowadays, and besides, didn't Queen Coral give us permission for this? Turtle, this is our one chance!"

Turtle reluctantly looked at her, sighing. "If you say so..."

He was never fond of Faust's Hallow. It was a biannual "celebration" of one of the forgotten brother of Imperial, Oracle, and Perception. As the NightWing legend goes, while the other dragons ascended into the night sky to become the moons, Faust remained. He was tied to the world with his earthly connections. Thus, becoming the first-ever spirit. It was the basis for SandWing spirituality, so to say that Qibli was interested in it was most definitely an understatement.

Turtle on the other talon? Well, all he could think about was death and horror. His older brothers took joy in dressing up as ghosts and scaring the living daylights out of the younger ones. Not to also mention the constant imagery of skeletons and mourning, with Coral always having a memorial for her lost daughters.

Then, of course, Albatross himself. The reason they were coming here. A legend was that Albatross's spirit had never passed on. That his soul remained at the Island Palace, restless and still just as mad as the day he died. There had been stories of overly curious and confident dragonets running home after an encounter with Albatross at the Island Palace. But, those were just silly rumours. Little myths. That's what it is, certainly. 

Albatross wasn't there. How could he be? Well, the story of Faust was based on him wandering the continent for eternity. Perhaps, maybe- no. It's a made-up story. Turtle wasn't going to fall for some sort of story his brothers would tell to scare him. He already had enough sleepless nights, filled with anxiety and worry over the concept of Albatross still being around.

He's not. He's dead. This was just going to be a nice, if a bit restless, night out in the ruins of the abandoned Island Palace. He will not be scared.

They touched down on the beach around it. If Turtle remembered correctly, this was the Sunrise Beach. It was empty, completely devoid of any sort of life. The palace in front of them was crumbling and tattered. The lavish white walls were discoloured and washed out from weathering an impossible amount of storms. It was covered in moss and sea flora, with barnacles growing on the base of the palace. The light of the setting sun basked the palace in an ominous glow of oranges and purples.

A deep, horrible feeling persisted within Turtle. It made him aware of the light sensation in his claws. The tiny burning from within. Only a little ways away, tragedy had taken place. Two thousand years ago, Albatross, his great-grandfather, slaughtered twenty dragons. He carries the same power he does. Even right now, he could kill all of his friends. One stray thought and who knows what would happen.

"Well, don't just stand there!" Kinkajou bounced ahead. "We've got a whole palace to explore! I call looking on the upper floors with Moon!"

"Wh- me? Uh...okay then?" She stepped forward, following after her. "See you, I guess?" She waved to Qibli and Turtle before disappearing off into the courtyard.

"So, that just leaves me and you." Qibli rested his wing on Turtle, pulling him closer.

"Hurray..."

"Where you wanna go? If they're going up, let's check out the ground floor. Gardens. See some cool old statues that've been crumbling from age."

"What fun..."

Qibli frowned. "Hey, look. I know you're a bit freaked out. You didn't really want to come here. I'm sorry for dragging you along. But, I promise it'll be fun! There's nothing here to hurt any of us. Even if Albatross is still floating around somewhere, I'll be there protecting all of you." He raised his tail, showing off his obsidian-black barb.

Turtle awkwardly chuckled. "I don't think you can really stab a spirit."

"Are you saying I've never fought a spirit before?" the SandWing grinned confidently. "I'll have you know that, as Queen Thorn's personal guard and adoptive son, I had to fend off armies of spirits. Vengeful ghosts of dragons. Such is the way of being queen, I suppose. Anyways, I just need to fight them. Give them the ol' one-two. Beat 'em off with a stick." He swung his arm, mimicking hitting something.

He laughed, feeling his anxieties melt away. Qibli looked back at him, a soft, genuine smile on his face. "Feel a bit better?" He patted him on the back. "Right, let's go exploring."

The experience was dampened by Turtle's constant anxiety, but even then he couldn't doubt the majesty of the palace. Despite its decaying state, it was beautiful. Quiet, with only the sounds of waves crashing in the distance and the gentle trill of the breeze blowing through. Roaming the vast, empty halls was an experience to say the least. 

It made him picture the nights that happened in this palace. Legends say that it was originally used for diplomats to rest, but also for parties and special occasions. Turtle, having the soul of a writer, felt his mind wander as he imagined the sorts of stories that would've spawned from such a place. The balls and weddings. The ceremonies and speeches.

...then, of course, there's the massacre, but Turtle would still rather not think about that.

After a long while of exploring through forgotten gardens, they reached the main gathering room. It was central to the rest of the palace, with several collapsed balconies around it. Dried-up ponds and steams littered the floor. In the middle of it all was a large, grand statue of a SeaWing. Despite the ruin around it all, the statue remained somewhat intact. Turtle could even make out the royal blue of which it used to be.

Off to the side was a large archway leading out onto the other beach. The setting sun was just about on the cusp of the horizon, painting the sky in vibrant oranges and yellows. The sapphire blue ocean pulled in and out rhythmically. It was as though it was the sea's own heartbeat.

"Woah..." he whispered, awestruck.

"Sure don't see places like this too often." Qibli walked ahead, eyes glazing over every detail.

"Hey!" a voice called from ahead. Turtle looked up, seeing Moon and Kinkajou on a balcony.

"What did you find?" Kinkajou asked.

"Not much. Bunch of gardens. Cool statues in them though," Qibli said. "How about you?"

"Bunch of old bedrooms," Moon replied. "Kinkajou thought she could find some treasure still. Checked all over. Nothing."

"Doesn't seem like it," Qibli said, "palace has been picked clean for centuries. Any chance for any sort of gems are probably all lost."

"Yeah..." Turtle quietly said. "Is anybody else feeling a little tired? Like they don't want to explore a big ruined palace that a bunch of dragons died in anymore and just sleep?"

The SandWing laughed. "I don't know about that."

"I'm feeling a little tired myself," said Moon. "It's been a long day of flying. I can probably lay down with Turtle if you don't mind."

"Oh come onnnn guys!" Kinkajou wined. "This is supposed to be a cool adventure for us! Sleep? Bleh! Gross! I want to stay up all night and look for all of these ghosts. It'll be fun!"

"I know, but...I just want to rest. Besides, this was all mostly for you two anyways." Moon opened her wings, flying down to the ground floor. "Sorry for being disappointingly boring..."

"No, no! It's all good." Qibli waved them off. "It's fine, really. Kinkajou and I can stay up and face those spirits ourselves. Buuutttt if you hear us screaming and calling out for help as we're being chased by a very scary old murderer dragon, you wouldn't mind helping us out, right?"

Moon and Turtle chuckled. "No, not at all." She turned her attention to Turtle. "I guess we can settle down here. I doubt we'll find a blanket of some kind."

"Ah, so we have to lie on the cold, hard floor."

"Yes, probably."

"Hey, if it'll make it up to you, I could try and find something. There's gotta be a stash of blankets that are still around," Qibli said, lifting himself into the air.

"Even after two thousand years?" Turtle asked.

"Worth a shot!" He shrugged, flying up to Kinkajou. "See ya around." He dipped his head before wandering back into the palace with the RainWing, leaving them both to themselves.

"Well, see you in the morning." Moon walked in a circle, patting the ground before lying down.

"Hey, quick question," Turtle said, "do you feel scared?"

Moon tapped her claws. "A little."

"You aren't just saying that to make me feel better, right?"

"Of course! It's just that, you know, being alone in a big palace. Makes me think about Darkstalker and that whole...thing." She sighed. "I know you're freaked out too."

"It's nothing, really. I'm just a little anxious over nothing. Spirits don't last forever, right? They move on. Pass onto some new stage of life we can't even comprehend. I doubt that he would still be here."

"He isn't, and, well, if he is, then we'll do everything to protect you."

Turtle glanced at his talons. There was a gentle tingling within them, a feeling he had only noticed when his magic was briefly taken away. "You shouldn't need to protect me."

"Hm?"

"I have magic, don't I? I should be able to protect myself. I should be the one protecting you in case something goes wrong."

"Nothing's going to happen though."

"I know, but, I still feel like I should be using it in case things happen. Stop being so scared of it. But..."

"But you don't want to end up like Albatross?" Moon asked.

He smacked his lips. "Yeah, pretty much."

She exhaled. "I'm sorry. But, it'll be a nice night, I'm sure. We can just sit and sleep if that makes you happy. The night will pass and we can listen to Kinkajou and Qibli and their adventures in the morning."

"That sounds nice." Turtle laid down next to her, yawning before resting his head against the marble floor. It'll be fine. He just has to sleep. When morning breaks, it'll all be over. When morning comes, Albatross will be gone.

He didn't know what time it was when he woke up. All he knew was that it was dark. Pitch black. Turtle blinked, his eyes slowly adjusting to the night around him.

He didn't wake up from some nightmare or anything. He didn't dream much these days. Instead, he felt a presence around him. A shift in the air. He couldn't pinpoint exactly what it was, but it was uncomfortable enough to drag him out of his sleep.

Around him were the rest of the group. Kinkajou and Moon were huddled together while Qibli held his wing over Turtle. Looks like the hunt for a ghost didn't turn out so well if they were all asleep here.

He wiggled out from under there, slowly rising to his feet. He looked around, trying to see if it was just his paranoid imagination or if there was really something amiss.

Then, off in the distance, he noticed something. A dim light. A faint glow out by the ocean up ahead.

Immediately, Turtle's stomach dropped. His mind instantly went to the worst thing possible. It was him. He was here and he was going to kill them all. Why would there be glowing right there if not for being the aura of some spirit?

No, no... It's fine. Deep breaths. It's all okay. It's probably a moonlight jellyfish. They glow in the dark. Maybe it washed up on the shore. He could help it out a little. If he did that, then maybe he'd realize there was nothing to be scared of. That there is no ghost. No dangerous, vengeful spirit of a long-dead murderer.

He steadied himself as he walked forward. He repeated to himself over and over that he's got nothing to worry about. It's all okay. He walked up to the edge of the archway, right before his talons would touch the sand.

It was a glowing dragon with a massive spear plunged right through its neck.

His weight slipped beneath his talons and he fell forward. He tried to quickly turn around and fly, but, clumsy as he was, he tumbled and was now barreling towards it. He rolled along the sand like the most terrified armadillo to walk this continent before finally stopping. He froze completely. Paralyzed. His heart pounded against his chest as he tried to comprehend what to do.

After what felt like an eternity of waiting for an attack that never came, he sheepishly looked up.

Gazing back at him were two eyes, darker than the night around them. Their scales were a sickening pale grey. The most eye-catching thing of all was the silver spear that was lodged in his throat. Its hilt was stinking out one end, with the blade poking out the other. Faded stains of blood were dotted around his body, the most being around where the spear had hit him. Outlining the body was a gentle blue light that flicked like a lit candle.

The two stayed like that, staring. Turtle did not dare to blink, fearing that one small movement would instantly set him off. This was him. This was Albatross.

"Fathom?" the spirit asked. His voice was calm, if rather confused and surprised. "No, you can't be him. Fathom must have died ages ago. You're someone new. Someone in his likeness."

"...please don't kill me..." Turtle squeaked. He wanted to say something with more meaning. Cast a spell or anything. Yet, he was trapped in his fear. He couldn't think.

Albatross's expression dimmed. "Right. You must be terrified of me. I was so distracted by you looking like my grandson that I forgot about that horrible, horrible night. That night which made me what I am now." He tapped the spear. "Though, I do think you're the one to last the longest when seeing me. Most run. Maybe they'll throw something at me or try attacking me. Never works. Can't exactly kill a ghost, now can you?" He quietly laughed.

Turtle tried speaking again, but all that came out were mere whimpers.

"Goodness, you're petrified of me. I mean, anybody would. I haven't left the palace since the day I died, but I know enough to understand. I've been there when visitors come around. They steal the things out of my own house, cursing me and what I've done. It's upsetting to know what I am remembered as, but I don't blame you for being scared. I don't blame anybody. I should be condemned for what happened."

He finally shut his mouth. The more Turtle looked at Albatross, slowly, the less fearful he was. Granted, he was still very much horrified, but there was an air to the way the spirit spoke that resonated with him. That he was being genuine.

This wasn't what he expected. He pictured Albatross, the mad animus, as a being of chaos that the world has never seen. Some dark, twisted dragon who could barely control himself. He was imagining him to be vicious, bloodthirsty, and wanting nothing more than to kill.

Instead, he seemed mournful. He spoke warmly. There was reason and understanding in his body language. Even if it was idiotic, Turtle let his guard down somewhat.

"How...what..." he stammered.

"How am I here? I couldn't tell you myself. I've never read that much on spirituality and ghosts. But, I'm the only one left here. The rest have all gone away. Yet, I remain. I'm bound to this palace. I can't leave. If there was a way, I would've found it years ago. Then maybe I wouldn't be here, scaring you."

"You sound...sad," Turtle blurted out.

Albatross snorted. "Pff, do I really? I didn't know I sounded so melancholic. I haven't had anybody to talk to in ages. You're good company. Thank you for listening to an old sea dragon ramble, even if you're still scared. I know it's not much to you, but I promise I mean no harm. I've never meant harm. Ever. It's just..." He glanced away, breaking eye contact. "I was emotional. I had no excuse. I let my own instincts and desires take over my own better wishes. Despite doing everything right and trying my hardest to avoid it, it still happened."

He looked back at Turtle. "I'm sorry for what I've done for our tribe. You can run away now. I'll just be happy I had somebody to talk to, even if it was a one-way conversation." He smiled a crinkly, awkward smile.

Turtle stared. Then, he made what should've been the stupidest decision of his life:

He stood up but did not flee. He sat there. "My name is Turtle," he said quietly.

"Turtle?" he echoed. "You aren't flying away screaming?"

"Not unless you give me a reason to, I guess?"

"Isn't looking at a dragon who's killed dozens of dragons in one night enough of a reason?"

"It...should be, but I'm not that scared of you. You seem too sad to hurt me."

"Hurt you? I'd never do that! My magic is limited. I can't do much besides lift some rocks and play around with the water." He waved his talons. Behind him, a small amount of water rose into the air, shaping and twisting into the shape of a bird. A seagull.

"Even if I could do more, I wouldn't dare to hurt another soul. I've already done enough damage," he continued.

"You confused me for Fathom earlier. Your grandson, right?"

"Yes, Fathom." Albatross's eyes narrowed. "You have the wing patterns. You're royalty as well?"

He nodded. "...and I am also an animus."

He barked a laugh. "Really? I've never believed in reincarnation, but you're the spitting image of Fathom if I've ever seen it."

Turtle shuffled his talons. "Thanks. I got that once before."

"Hm? By who?"

"A big evil NightWing who wanted to kill the entire IceWing tribe. He was friends with Fathom as well. How did I meet him if he was alive two thousand years ago? It's a long story."

"Don't we all have long stories to tell." Albatross turned his back to Turtle, staring back at the ocean. "If you don't mind, may you sit next to me? I enjoy watching the sea."

Turtle hesitated, but he followed. He joined the spirit.

It was a tranquil night. A clear sky, the moons beaming down in their full glory. The cool salty breeze brushed against Turtle. Strangely enough, he felt at peace. He never would've thought in a million years he'd say that when right beside him is the ghost of Albatross, but what can you do?

"I'm sorry if this is selfish," Albatross began, "but do you have the time to listen to an old dragon's story?"

"Huh?"

"You seem like a wonderful dragon, Turtle. You're far too sweet than what I deserve. I apologize if it's a bit much, considering how I am still a murderer in your eyes, but could you listen to me tell my story?"

"Your story?"

"My life. Nobody ever heard about it. They only see me as a monster. I am, but I can't help but want something else. I want to tell at least one dragon about it. Set it all straight. Pour my heart out if only to get everything that's been festering inside me out into the world."

"That'd be alright. I like stories."

"It's not a very happy story. There's a lot of tragedy. Too much, now that I think about it. I'm sorry."

"No no! It's alright. I do want to hear it. What life was like for you," he said.

Albatross cracked another smile. "Thank you..." He sounded as though he was fighting back tears.

He waved his talons, the water rising once more. "I suppose I should start it when it all went wrong." The water slowly began to shift into the form of a dragon. "The day when I discovered my magic." 

[ghost-proofbaby]

so who’s gonna write a quiet place au with eddie

[omen-of-ice]

Fay, omfg I'm in love with Kaladin, I'm sighing for him like a hopeless maiden, I want to be held by his arms and kiss him oh so gently, oh so softly.

I’m so glad that you like him so far! In fact, due to me being too excited to wait, and because I want you all to at least have a small inkling to the world of Arlatha, I’ll share the link to the prologue of Omen of Ice, which only consists of Kaladin and the MC.

I will warn you though that it’s fairly short (only around 4K), but I hope you enjoy it all the same! The stats haven’t been implemented yet either (just as a forewarning for anyone confused about that).

I hope you enjoy interacting with Kal!

The link is here!

[princehendir]

I always think about how while all wardens exist regardless if you play them (and in those versions they just die I believe canonically) brosca is the only one we see the corpse of and I was wondering if you had thoughts about what leske there says about how he watched brosca die

Well it makes me feel. Insane. First of all. I do appreciate how completely emotionally and physically thrashed he sounds in those line deliveries (Brian Bloom when I get my fucking hands on you)

The line "all over a stupid bet" is really striking to me tbh. I've seen people (with offense) interpret it as him saying that Brosca stopped eating on a bet, like as a dare? But now that I've listened to it again I really don't think that's correct. I think the "bet" being referenced is the one that Beraht made at the Proving. He's saying that all of this, Brosca's death, which has clearly affected him very deeply, Leske himself half-starving and being forced to beg a stranger for help, is because of money, Beraht's money, and that feels stupid. It doesn't make sense for this to have happened because of that, all this suffering over something that he doesn't feel is meaningful. It's an interesting arc for him, given that what's left of Beraht's money & power, the fraction of it that Jarvia has offered him, is basically what he tries to kill Brosca over if they are the Warden. I think that the version of Leske that watches Brosca die in that cell would probably find the actions of the version of him that doesn't completely incomprehensible, and vice versa.

[ethosiab]

i am inflicted with the curse of "imagine every AU and story as a video game". yeah theres no cure. yeah im stuck like this and have to translate most of my creative vision into a less time consuming and energy consuming medium, therefore losing some of the essence of the work along the way.

[oh-bonerline]

“Okay,” Ross says, taking in a breath. “Where do we start?”  Matty pushes a bit of Ross’ hair back behind his ear with two fingers, only for the strands to immediately fall back out. So he does it again and then a third time and then Ross reaches up and takes hold of his hand, pulling Matty in, securing his arms around him, stilling him.  With his face buried in Ross’ neck, Matty asks, “What happened this afternoon with John?”

we'll knock around and see - chapter twelve (part one) on AO3

[aria0fgold]

The clock rewound, begin the count from 99.

Odile stared up at the ceiling, her vision blurry with the other eye obscured by a light coming from her face, or rather, the cracks forming on her body. It's just about what she expected, really. Taking on the entire House, not allowing even a single break during any battle, pushing and pushing far past the limits of what one body could take, all by herself… She did it all by herself. She was at her wit's end, anyone would be, with the very situation she found herself in, anyone would be. To be stuck in a timeloop, to witness the people you care about get hurt over and over again, to witness the victory of a battle hard won only to start over again and again, to witness the end of the journey and listen to the broken record that is the Headhouse Maiden over and over again.

She never really understood Why? Why are they stuck in a timeloop? Why is she the only one that remembers? Even after going through so many loops, finding out more about the secrets of the world, wish craft, the island north of Vaugarde, the King, Siffrin… Right, Siffrin, the most suspicious one of all, to be able to read that strange script in some loops. Some. Some… Odile didn't like the prerequisite for it. To die to the King's strange attack, it seems to have a next loop effect on Siffrin, she didn't like it. Not one bit. But it did tell her something, that whatever is happening right now is connected to him in one way or another.

Not like it matters now though, her vision on her other eye is completely obscured by a blinding white light. And her hearing, has gotten muffled, she can feel her… family members, by her side. They seem to be speaking, shouting as well maybe.

I wonder if they're calling me stupid…

She'd chuckle if she could. After all the hurtful things she had told them prior to… this. She wouldn't even mind if they start cursing at her. She deserves it. Odile moved her one somewhat good eye to see who was beside her. It was Siffrin, she thinks, and someone else, Boniface, maybe. Are they crying? Out of anger or worry? Is the one blurring her vision death… or tears? She doesn't know anymore. She can see the silhouette of an arm moving, hers maybe, she can't feel it, but maybe it is. There are numerous cracks on it, a blinding light seeping through. That's hers alright.

The King is gone, right? She wanted to confirm. Vaugarde will be saved, right? She wanted to ask them. Everything will be alright now? She didn't want to die with any regrets.

Well, at the very least, the funeral ceremony of Ka Bue was fulfilled in a way, not in a traditional sense and definitely not what she expected to happen either. With a body seemingly made of gems, to shatter upon death. It's hauntingly beautiful. At the very least… She won't have to burden them in her death…

[You… Closed… Yo u yyyyooo u u u uuu u rrrrrrrr r r eeeyy e ee e ee sss s s ss s . . . ]

[.. . . . . .. . Yoouu u uuu rr eyeeeee e ee esss s s s… o p e n e d . . . once more.]

Odile flinched, an electrifying jolt seemingly passed by her body, beads of sweat immediately formed on her forehead, with eyes blown wide, she quickly scanned her surroundings. She's back… at the shop in… Dormont…??? How…? WHY?!

Her gaze darted to the sound of the door opening, it was Siffrin with Mirabelle seemingly following behind him. And he… looks like he's seen a ghost…

Get back on the stage, researcher.

[carpathianskies]

If nothing else exciting happens in my life outside of my control I should have something pretty fun to share with you guys on Friday xx

[ladyanaconda]

The Beginning

Contrary to what most people believe, living in Solas isn’t necessarily expensive. It has more to do with the neighborhood, the size of your home, the amenities you get, and your salary. Even someone with a low salary could get a decent place to live if they know where to look and adapt to whatever their income can afford. 

As its name implies, the ‘middle-ground’ neighborhood—also called The Outskirts— was in the city’s western suburbs. Most of the dozens of homes were small but with their own yards and gardens. The residents had enough income to live comfortably, nothing more. But they were happy. 

The one thing Besteel did not like about this neighborhood was that the houses all looked alike, especially at night and under a torrential downpour. He was glad he’d chosen to don his traveling cloak, or he’d be soaked to the bone right now. 

Something wiggled against his chest. He looked down at the sash wrapped around his shoulder and chest, holding something within. The Dorcean clutched it tightly—yet tenderly—to himself and patted it with his lower hands. 

“Sh-sh-sh. It’s okay, little one. We’re almost there.” He cooed, getting the little bundle to soothe down. 

Besteel kept looking around for a while until one house, in particular, caught his eye, warm light faintly shining through the first-floor window. Still, he couldn’t help but feel nervous as he approached the door. Is this the right house? The last thing he needs right now is a stranger chewing him out for awakening them at this hour. 

However, he needed to get a roof over his head right now.

After a deep breath, Besteel began banging on the door. 

...

Redimus’s sleep was suddenly interrupted by a loud, almost violent banging on his door. He was tempted to ignore it but had to relent when he realized it wouldn’t stop. Damn it, who could it be at this hour?

Reluctantly, he went downstairs. The continuous knocking started getting on his groggy nerves.

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” He growled under his breath. “Who’s this?”

“Your worst nightmare.”

The familiar voice snapped Redimus out of his drowsy state, and he opened the door. 

“Besteel?”

His brother was the last person he expected to see on his doorstep at this hour. Is he still in bed and having a dream? 

“Can I come in, or are you leaving me out in this climate?” Besteel asked dryly.

Redimus was about to say he might do the latter as punishment for waking him up this early until he noticed Besteel’s lower arms protectively holding something to his chest, shielding it from the rain. 

“Is that…?”

Besteel folded a part of the sash away to reveal a tiny, red-furred Dorcean cub peacefully napping against her father’s chest. 

That was all the confirmation Redimus needed, and he moved aside, wordlessly granting his brother entry into his home. Besteel sighed in relief as he sat on the couch, pulling his hood down. Thankfully, his daughter was still sleeping. 

“I’d offer you something to drink, but I ran out of usquebaugh.”

“Whose house did you wreck this time?” Besteel inquired half-jokingly.

“Haha, very funny. Don’t make me wish to have left you outside.” Redimus murmured. “What brings you here at this hour, anyway?”

“You haven’t heard? I guess news travel much slower in Solas.”

Redimus was confused by his brother’s response. But then he recalled hearing some rumors from some Dorcean hunters around Solas. He hadn’t paid that much heed back then, but now…

“Is it about…?”

Besteel looked down. “I’m retiring, Redimus.”

A tense silence hung in the air. 

“I guess the tribe didn’t take it well if you came all the way to Solas.”

“You could say they had a divided opinion. Some understood my reasons, and others didn’t. I’ll leave it like that.”

“Did ‘you-know-who’ make a big fuss?”

Besteel stiffened. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

The red cub started squirming again. This time, she began to cry and squeal, prompting Besteel to take a red pelt out of his cloak to swaddle her in. The little one immediately soothed down as she snuggled into the warm fur. 

“Do you have a place to stay?” Redimus inquired. 

“Not yet, considering I just arrived a while ago. I was going to start looking in the morning.”

Redimus thought, then said. “You know… I got a spare room upstairs.”

“Oh, no, I can’t ask you for that. From what I’ve heard, you’re barely getting by.” 

Redimus crossed his arms. “Do you think that little of me, brother?” He asked, offended. “I’m not doing that badly. I know when to save money. In any case, having a housemate might lessen the financial burden.”

A thunder startled the cub awake again, and she began to cry.

“…’Sides, what kind of brother would I be if I let you go back into that storm with your daughter?”

The spare room upstairs was small but comfortable, with a window that overlooked Solas’s skyline—granted, it still needed some cleaning and fixing, but the brothers figured that could wait until morning. Right now, they just wanted to lie down and sleep—especially Redimus. 

Besteel tenderly cradled his daughter in his palms as he lay down, watching her content sleep. She began to squirm again as thunder startled her awake. 

“It’s alright, my little beastie. We’re going to be okay as long as we stick together. It’s gonna be the two of us against the world.”

The cub opened her eyes, acknowledging him—they were light grey, just like his. Her tiny claws touched his nose, giving him an adorable purr. Smiling, Besteel nuzzled her little body, chuckling as she clung to his snout in a hug afterward.

“Sweet dreams, Fayluna.”

[autisticrosewilson]

In Trouble

Um. This is a joke that's not a joke that spawned from a conversation with @perseus-jackass about Nurse! Jason and Red X! Grant, that spiraled into a Miraculous Ladybug style love square situation lmao. OG's will remember when this was an ML blog, you could say I'm going back to my roots. Also this story is omegaverse! It's not really mentioned till Jason's pov but I don't want to blindside anyone

"Scream if you have to." Robin says gently, before wrenching his shoulder back into place. Grant does scream, he jerks and writhes but gloved hands hold him in place while his bones shift under the skin. There's a white hot pain that spreads through his arm, an aching relief as everything is realigned, and then everything goes prickly and numb.

Grant lays there panting, staring up at the smoggy night sky. Gotham doesn't even give him the courtesy of stars after subjecting them all to her madness. Robin had at least been kind enough to lay down his cape before his impromptu field med session, but goosebumps are spreading up his arms the longer his bare torso is in contact with the New Jersey air. At least Robin had helped him remove his shirt instead of cutting it off, as he'd threatened to.

"Good job," Robin praises, "you took that so well!" He grins, a certified Robin smile. Suddenly, Grant knows where all the stars went.

"Uh, thanks." Grant says absently, eyes tracing over the glint of too-sharp canines peaking out from cracked lips. Robin's a lip biter, he notes, the flesh has been scraped off. They'd probably bleed with little to no effort.

Grant wants to try, wants to taste it.

Slade clears his throat, and Grant remembers that his family is in the room, among several other hostages, and about twelve previously armed men who are now very unconscious. Robin himself has moved onto taking stock of everyone in the room, likely doing a head count and checking for any other injuries, but he signals for Slade to wait. He tilts his head slightly, finger coming to rest on the communicator in his ear.

"Okay folks, police are en route and the parameter has been cleared. I'm going to lead you all to the nearest exit, keep your head low and try not to make any noise. Listen carefully and stay behind me." Robin pops out of his crouch, helping Grant up as he gives the group orders.

"Look, kid-" Slade starts, and is promptly cut off by multiple snorts from the other hostages. The Gothamites, Grant realizes when he notices how calm they are. The collective reaction seems to throw his father off for a moment, but he continues. Grant feels a flash of second hand embarrassment. "Shouldn't you let the professionals take care of this?"

Robin smiles placatingly, it's got customer service written all over it. "I understand this is an upsetting situation, especially for a tourist, but we have everything handled." He assures.

Slade goes to say something else but Robin doesn't spare him a second glance, pulling out a handful of zip ties from one of the pouches of his belt. He gets to work ridding the men of weapons before tying their hands behind their backs, and then looping more zip ties through those to fix them all firmly together. None of them would be going anywhere anytime soon. He kicks all their guns to a far off corner anyway for good measure, but pockets a hunting knife one of them had been carrying.

"Secured," Robin chirps to whoever is on the other side of his comm, "Where to next?" He rolls his shoulders, resting his hands on his hips. After a moment Robin nods to himself. "Got it, meet you outside."

Grant watches as he heads towards the door, most of the hostages easily following his orders, they stay close together and seem to default to herding the omegas and pups in the middle. He almost gets swept up in it, shielded by the crowd, but then Slade's big hand is on his back bringing him and Joey to the front of the group just behind Robin.

He's shorter than he seemed earlier, when he was looming above Grant, backlit by flashing red lights like a blood soaked angel. He's slimmer without the cape wrapped around him, but with his gaze stuck to the muscle flexing in Robin's thighs he can tell the dark haired boy is stronger than he looks.

Robin leads the way, crouched low and keeping to the wall. The crowd does the same, unusually calm as they gently shush the children and tourists who aren't quiet enough. The implicit trust is breathtaking, the easy way that Robin commands the crowd with a cocksure smile and easy confidence. They only run into trouble once on the way to the exit and Grant barely has time to flinch before him and Joey are both shoved behind dad. Grant strains to see how Robin reacts to the two guards rushing at them but all he can make out is a flurry of movement and flailing limbs. There's the cracking of bone and then Robin's ringing laughter and then the hallway is still and quiet again. Slade's grip on his shoulder is still tight, Joey still pressed to Slades back. Grant nudges forward in time to see Robin securing the unconscious bodies.

He turns back to the crowd, hair a little messy and cheeks a little red but hardly even out of breath, and motions for them to keep going. They do, the group easily parting around the crooks before clustering back together. Like fish, Grant thinks, absently reminded of a trip to the aquarium not long ago.

They all file out in a straight line when they reach the exit, Robin holding the door open and checking behind for any stragglers before breaking away from the group to stand beside Batman. He looks even smaller next to the imposing figure of the Bat, but the cops seem to take his orders seriously.

Grant is pulled away by Slade and he barely realizes where they're going until he hears his mom's voice. She pulls him into a hug, all warm tobacco and vanilla but it almost doesn't register. She pulls Joey in next, peppering his face with kisses and surely staining it with her dark lipstick in the process. Her and Slade are talking about something over his head, but everything sounds like it's underwater. His attention is pulled back to Robin, sitting with some of the younger pups who are having their statements taken, someone's chubby toddler being bounced on his knee. He assumes the man in the nearby ambulance is the child's mother if his intent gaze and round belly are anything to go by.

Without thinking he clutches the fabric around his shoulders tighter. It's heavier than it looks, soft but tough. The outside is plastic-y, like a raincoat, but the inside is silky fabric slips pleasantly over his skin. He feels a tug on it from behind him, tuning back into the immediate conversation.

"Now what is this?" His mother frets.

His mouth opens but he doesn't say anything at first. "Robin gave it to me." He manages, the first thing he's said all night. He clutches the cape tighter, unwilling to let it go. It's a comforting weight, it feels like all that's keeping him on the ground, like if he lets go he'll simply float away.

His mother reaches for his face, tilting towards her. Her eyes are sharp but not angry, studying his expression and the look in his eyes carefully. Whatever she sees makes him purse her lips and glance towards the ambulance. "Oh my baby, you're in shock." She tells him, but the meaning behind the words doesn't register.

"First time getting his shoulder reset, he'll be fine." Slades voice, an attempt to be reassuring. Grant tenses before the words fully compute.

"WHAT!" His mom's voice is loud and shrill enough to make his ears ring and he knows they're going to start a fight.

He's shaking, he realizes, gaze dropping down to the trembling of his good hand where it's resting on her elbow. He doesn't remember moving it. Her skin is warm under his hands, he can feel the way her muscles are tensing as the voices around him raise.

He turns back to Robin, but the boy is already staring at him. At least Grant thinks so, hard to tell where he's looking with the white lenses, but he's facing Grant's direction. His lips are twisted, displeasure or concern maybe, and Grant wants to soothe him but he doesn't know how. Then his head tilts, just slightly, and Grant realizes that Robin had been looking at his parents. He can feel Robin's attention on him fully now, settling over him like sunlight. It's warm and grounding and he can feel his body again. Robin smiles, small and proud and encouraging. A secret just for Grant, to keep and cherish and own. And then Robin is turning, attention maddeningly taken by the others that Grant has just remembered. He feels cold, the kind of cold you feel in the early morning when you've just slipped from your warm blankets, the kind that settles on your skin and then sinks into your bones.

Grant's eyes don't leave Robin until the car pulls away, and as he's craning his neck to catch one last glimpse he sees Robin standing on his tip toes to wave Grant goodbye. He waves back, but the windows are tinted and they're already too far away.

Jason has a secret, and an embarrassing one at that. He knows if anyone ever found out he'd never be able to live it down. Jason doesn't even know how it started really, it's not like he's ever been interested in the latest trends or celebrity gossip.

Jason will blame Rena, because it's easier than analyzing the alternative. Technically it started with a routine hostage situation, but for deflection purposes, it starts with a link to an app that's trying too hard to be Vine. He'd squinted at it, toothbrush still in his mouth, half convinced it was a rickroll.

Jay: Why are you up?

Ren: Why are YOU up?

Jay: I asked you first.

Ren: I messaged you first

Jay: Not how that works.

He had rolled his eyes at the time, finishing up his nightly routine, reluctantly chewing on the multivitamins he's supposed to take every night before bed. The gummies only, never the pills.

Ren: did you watch the video

Jay: I'm not clicking an unknown link, Rena.

Ren: wow full name

Jay is typing...

Ren: Not an excuse for you to use my real full name

Ren: seriously watch the video!!

Jason remembers huffing, he probably put it off till the last second, until he was curled up in bed and on the cusp of finally getting some rest. It's all secondary to the video though, the familiar face split into a wolfish grin, those pretty eyes catching the flash of cameras and sending a wink towards the viewer. It's obviously some kind of rich person event, paparazzi lined up and a carpet laid out on the damn ground, but you wouldn't know it from how the boy is dressed. The orange and blue jacket over the button up would probably make him snort usually, but all he can think about is broad shoulders and warm skin under his hands. Unwarded he remembers what Grant's bare chest looked like, and then the image of strong shoulders wrapped in Jason's cape. He doesn't know how many times he watches the video before the next message comes through.

Ren: isn't he hot?

Jay: Who is he?

Jason already knows of course, but Rena doesn't know that, and he's not keen on informing her. She might start getting ideas.

Ren: Grant Kane, he's some old money CEOs son from New York or something

Jay: And?

Kentucky, Jason corrects mentally, Adeline Kane is from New York but the Wilson family lives in Kentucky.

Ren: I heard his mom is coming to your charity gala next week

Jason's heart skips a beat, teeth sinking into his lip to bite back the giddy grin trying to break through.

Jay: Once again, and?

Ren: And? C'mon when do we get to see new faces at these things? Especially ones as pretty as his!

Jealousy twinges in his chest, churning hotly in his stomach for a moment before he's hit with a flash of guilt.

Jay: oh? You interested

Ren: Pft nah

Ren: this is for you

Ren: my ducks are in a row

Jay: Hurtful, but whatever. I don't even know him. Maybe I don't want that duck in my row.

Ren: Start being real with yourself rn

Ren: I'm coming over tomorrow so we can decide on what you're wearing<333

Usually he matches with Bruce, or Dick if he shows up. He can only imagine what Rena is going to try to talk him into. Technically, Jason is unpresented, even though everyone else his age has already. Most pups present around thirteen, Jason is turning sixteen soon. Leslie says it'll be any day now, that with time, and love, and a steady three meals a day Jason will come into his own in no time. Jason isn't so sure.

Rena herself is a beta, but she's always been a bit of a rule breaker. More so than Jason anyway. She always goes above and beyond with her outfits for these things, with the kind of passion obviously bred from living with the biggest fashion mogul in Gotham. He can only imagine what her plans to play matchmaker are going to entail.

Ren: I've enlisted Eddie to help me

Jason stops, fingers hovering over the keyboard, jaw slack. The indignity! He doesn't need a- an intervention to help him get a date!

Jay: When did you guys even start talking?

Ren: YOU gave me his number

Jay: That was a courtesy! You weren't actually supposed to use it!

Ren: 😜

Jason scowls at his phone. He switches over to his chat with Eddie, certain the omega is still awake watching a terrible obscure movie he's going to tell Jason all about when they see each other again.

Jaybin: I've been betrayed, forsaken, abandoned.

KD: Ok edgelord lmao

Jaybin: STOP laughing I've been the victim of a conspiracy!

KD: Are people on Twitter calling you guys vampires again or do they have something more interesting?

Jaybin: Not that kind of conspiracy.

KD: ???

There's a pause as Eddie stops typing, Jason assumes to go Google it, before his speech bubble pops up again.

KD: Is this about me and Rena wingmanning for you

Jaybin: SO YOU ADMIT TO IT! FIEND! SCOUNDREL!

KD: Weird way to say thank you but okay

Jaybin: I don't need help.

KD: ok well we would LIKE to help

KD: please let us

Jason purses his lips. He hates when Eddie does this. Like he's the one being difficult here. Sometimes he feels like everyone treats him even younger than he is. Just because he hasn't presented doesn't mean he's a baby. He can't wait to be sixteen, hopefully by then he'll know his designation too.

Jaybin: Fine, but I retain full rights to veto anything you pick or any plan you make.

Eddie's response is a gif of a cat doing a happy dance, and though he rolls his eyes he likes the message. He's added to a new chat immediately, one with the three of them in it. Rena sends the video to this new chat, apparently named Operation: HONEYPOT. Jason finds quickly that his lack of admin rights means he can't change it.

He huffs, watching the two messages back and forth. Sending photos he's already seen and telling him information he already knows about Grant. The screen slowly goes dark as his eyes flutter closed, burying his face in the milky hazelnut scent just barely managing to cling to the shirt he's been using as a pillowcase, the MCTC logo pressed against his cheek.

It's a guilty pleasure, he supposes, Grant's smell in his nose as he imagines what his voice sounds like, of Grant pressing into his touch instead of flinching away. He switches to an app easily passing as a calculator, inputting the password without thought to pull up the tracking grid.

He skims over everyone else's - Bruce and Alfred are in the manor, Natalia is in her manor on the boundary of Little Italy and Summerset, Dick's phone is at least in his BludHaven apartment, Barbie is still staying at her dad's house until she gets used to her wheelchair - the one he's looking for is marked with the Robin symbol, blinking steadily, somewhere in Kentucky. The sky is probably clear for him, a star filled sky unobstructed by the pollution of the city. He imagines Grant staring out at the sky, red lip caught between his teeth, thinking about Jason. What he might be doing as he does.

Jason nods off, eyes fluttering shut, matching his breath to the gentle pulse on the screen.

[okitanoniisan]

im at the point in my rgg hyperfixation where shit i say about kiryu is like. nigh unintelligible unless you can piece together my scattered riddles and/or have access to the inside of my brain

[lonewolflink]

Chapter 4 of Wheel, Snipe, Celly (aka the ryeji college hockey au) is LIVE!!!! 

For those who have been keeping up/sending me asks, you’ll see that the previews/teasers I posted here on tumblr are not in Ch.4. I ended up splitting Ch. 4 into two, so all the training camp scenes will be in Ch. 5 instead!

-Link

[macklesufficient]

i have watched. the latest episode of the vampire program.

[amandayetagain]

I love speeding ahead to write future scenes

quite possibly the most relatable thing you have ever said.

[wishdeeznuts]

Hey

Hey

You

Yea you

Don't tell anyone this but,,

I'm gonna leak the first couple pages of AFWS (that are currently entering the process of being redone) due to the drastic artstyle changes and the fact that I'm finally actually trying to script it and not just going off the first thing I think of ,,,

Maybe later today

Maybe next week

You'll never knowwww

Ghost noises ooooooo

[tathrin]

I’ve been working on that LotR Zombie AU that I talked about a while ago, and it’s been fun! I’m actually several chapters in, and still enjoying it mightily, so I’ll hopefully start actually posting it soon but.

I keep going back-and-forth on whether or not I want to include this chapter or not. It’s pure exposition scene-setting, and while I enjoyed writing it and it was very helpful initially when I was figuring out the background for it all, it’s mostly exposition that gets covered better in other places now.

And I just can’t find a good place to insert it. I keep moving it around in between other chapters, and every time I’m like “yes, there, it fits there”...until I change my mind and move it again. So I think it might be time to just admit that it doesn’t fit anywhere, and cut it completely.

But before I do that, I figure I might as well share it with all of you:

It started, at least in Mirkwood, when the king came home. He was dead, of course; had been dead for three thousand years at that point. The world had changed so much in the years since his death that he would have barely recognized it—had he been conscious enough to see the lands he walked through. But he wasn't; he was dead.

He was Dead, and the Dead followed after.

Oropher, and Gilthawen, and Rhosslas, and Teithion, and Hebinastor, and all the others who had died with their king in the land of Mordor where the shadows lie. It started when the dead came home.

Their bodies should have rotted away to nothing long ago, nothing but the ghosts of dead faces staring up unseeing forever out of the fetid waters. They should have; but the Necromancer who had ruled that dark land, who had clawed his way out of his own grave more than once before, had left a mark on Mordor too deep to be erased even by his own destruction.

He had been a craftsman, after all, that maia once called Sauron and once called Mairon and even, once, named Annatar. He had been a craftsman, and his favorite medium was souls.

Perhaps someone should have worried more about those bodies in the Dead Marshes outside the land of Mordor. Perhaps someone should have worried sooner about the way their faces did not fade from the foul waters, even when their flesh was centuries gone.

Perhaps someone should have remembered that “Necromancer” had been one of the names by which he had been known, too. Perhaps someone should have remembered why.

The bodies in the Dead Marshes had drained to dust and rot centuries ago, leaving nothing but dead echoes rippling in the water. But that water lay outside a Necromancer's lair, in lands that had been long poisoned by his arts. Dead and gone they were, those Men and Dwarves and Elves and Orcs who had died fighting there so long ago; dead and gone and rotting…

But even dead, the echoes of their souls endured. Trapped, corrupted, their spirits rotting from within, they endured. And, eventually, they Rose.

The Risen Dead were no army to be commanded by the Wraiths who held dominion over the ruin of Mordor now. Their unliving corpses were driven only by hunger for life, for flesh.

Many of the Dead eventually followed the smell and sound and flickering lights of a great city to Minas Tirith, and there they fell on the white walls of Gondor's great capital first in a trickle and then as a tide. By the time the city knew to shut its gates, death was already inside the walls. An army of the dead stands there now—frothing and snapping, moaning with mindless hunger—outside the walls they cannot breach, while the few who slipped inside before the gates were shut lurch and spread through the winding tiers of the city so that Minas Tirith rots from within.

Others scattered, wandering off in whatever direction their lifeless eyes turned to in pursuit of any whisper of life that caught their senseless attention enough to draw them onwards. The Dead are everywhere now, found far beyond the reach of the rotting legs of those first corpses, for their infection spreads even faster than they do: it passes silently through air and water, undetected, not strong enough to kill…but inescapable, too. Now those dead who die in Middle-earth by other means Rise as well, and they spread the infection ever onwards in a growing wave of corpses and moans.

But Oropher…Oropher came back to Mirkwood.

Some said it was Dol Guldur looming like a lodestone, drawing the Dead. Others said it was because even in death, the forest still called her old king home.

Whatever the reason, he came, and Death followed with him.

Oropher came home, and the Rising began.