#story tag: echoing strife

[skybristle]

rbs > likes

aaa another one of my iterators shared with @arti-cat !!! feathers ily I hope nothing terrible ever happens to him or her family

[melongraph56]

Yogscast: Tales of Arcadia AU

"god the yogs are so tales of arcadia coded im not ok, my thoughts are on hyper speed"

ok so quick summary of what tales of arcadia is for everyone at home graciously provided by wikipedia. a lot of the current timeline of the au is gonna focus on trollhunters so our main protagonist can have some development even though I thought of some scenarios outside of the current timeline whoops

Tales of Arcadia is a trilogy of animated science fantasy television series created for Netflix by Guillermo del Toro and produced by DreamWorks Animation and Double Dare You. The series comprising the trilogy follows the inhabitants of the small suburban town of Arcadia Oaks, which is secretly home to various supernatural creatures and the young heroes who fight against the forces of evil that lurk in the shadows. The three installments of the trilogy, Trollhunters, 3Below and Wizards, have been released worldwide.

- wikipedia

Trollhunters: Tales of Arcadia... follows the story of James "Jim" Lake Jr., a teenage boy who finds a mysterious amulet and stumbles across a secret realm inhabited by trolls and other magical creatures. Soon afterward, he and his friends are charged with protecting the world from the dangerous monsters that lurk in the shadows of their small suburban town.

- wikipedia

so basically this au is filled with magical creatures (trolls), aliens (akiridions), and wizards which is so yogs based!!! there are also beings called changelings who can switch between human and troll.

I imagine a lot of the old gen yogs as non-human and older, while the new gen are mainly human and as teens/young adults like kirsty who is human, however there are a few exceptions like briony who is a troll. technically briony isn't a teen because trolls live for a very long time though she is younger than some of the other trolls. I plan on adding more new gen yogs but need to figure out what role they would play in the au instead of them being just bystanders/background characters. I also intend on adding more SOI characters but I need to refresh myself on the lore

in the under cut I've assigned everyone as either a troll, akiridion, wizard, changeling or human. don't mind the extra bits, I'll explain those in another post along with some dynamics between characters

ALSO, quick note I'm gonna try to be very low-key with our resident demi-gods since the arcane order is a big spoiler in the trilogy. I'll tag posts accordingly to avoid spoilers if y'all are interested in watching the series

spoiler tags:

#yogscast: arcane order | #yogs: ao | #yogs: toa spoilers

au tags:

#yogscast: tales of arcadia | #yogs: toa

(while we're here some general tags)

xephos - akiridion

honeydew - troll

lalna - wizard

sips - akiridion

rythian - changeling

zoeya - troll (leader of trollmarket / protector of the heartstone)

littlewood - troll (previous trollhunter, deceased)

nanosounds - changeling

ross - changeling

alsmiffy - wizard/akiridion?

trott - troll

lomadia - changeling?

nilesy - wizard

teep - troll

ravs - troll

zylus - akiridion

daltos - changeling

strife - akiridion

parvis - changeling

boba - human (current trollhunter, main protagonist)

kirsty - human

briony - troll

pedguin - human

sarah - human

lalnable - changeling

echo/five - changeling

fumblemore - wizard (merlin equivalent)

swampy - wizard (guinevere equivalent?)

israphel - troll (gunmar equivalent)

the queen/jean - wizard (morgana equivalent)

mother - cosmic being

ridgedog - arcane order (bellroc equivalent)

kirindave - arcane order (skrael equivalent)

lying - arcane order (nari equivalent)

[askthedarksidersfam]

Infandum renovare dolorem

"To renew an unspeakable grief."

Tags: Whump (like really heavy whump), hurt/no comfort, angst, death of a child, graphic violence, taking liberties with the Nephilim, Eden's invasion, mentions of OC, dead dove do not eat, dissociation.

Summary: After War summons the others to Earth, the Four take refuge in Eden where the human survivors have been hidden. Strife is forced to relive his past as he sees the realm he tried to leave behind, and its ghosts. Finally Strife tells War the story behind the dagger he buried, and the heavy sin it carries.

“There are things from before. When the world made sense…”

“You don’t know me, War. I was a killer before this all went down.”

“No, this shouldn’t be here…”

“This deserves to be buried here among the dead…”

“Someday… I’ll tell you everything…”

Those words have long since echoed in the brain of the gunslinging Nephilim all those millennia ago spoken to his youngest brother in arms. In the deep pits of Hell and the derelict ruins of Eden did Strife confess to a deeper confines of his history that he wished he could cleanse from himself completely like dirt in a raging river. But despite how much he suppressed his memories, how much he tried to forget, Strife could not erase the inky blots in his soul of a sin so foul even Death himself would shudder in horror.

Suspended high above the scarred world where the last survivors of humanity lay in refuge, far away from prying ears and searching eyes of the humans Strife once spent his own hiding in as his time as Jones the Deserter. How long had it been since he had seen the very bones of the realm he had long since set fire to in the name of Balance?

Eden. The birthplace of humanity, now the only place they can call home. If this sad hovel of a place could be called a home.

Earth was in ruins, and worse for wear in the near century that had passed. The Destroyer’s armies had ravaged the planet, even as nature tried to take back the land. In the ten years Strife had abandoned his mission given by the Council to hide as the Human by the alias of Jones, he had seen firsthand the irreparable damage done to the species. Families and friends ripped apart, the grief of a parent losing their beloved children, and oh Creator, the innocent confusion of children wondering when their parents will find them again.

It made him want to scream.

Even though Strife did what he could to help the survivors in any way he could, it felt as if it wasn’t enough. Hunting and scavenging to provide for the encampment, his poor human medical expertise provided little in the way of a higher survival rate than doing nothing at all.

One thing stood above others though, something so painful to him, yet it brought joy to another. His care for the young ones who’d been placed in the Haven tree, for the children without their mothers or fathers. What made his heart ache was how young everyone in Haven really was, the oldest barely reaching their third decade. The children are a true testament of humanity's youth, and not just about those who survived, but in the eyes of the Universe. So young and to have been destroyed so soon by those who hold the power they don’t.

What a bullshit fate.

In Haven, Strife truly learned the unfairness of it all. The distant memories of humanity’s infancy trudged back up in his brain of when he so stupidly lead the humans to a metaporical slaughter, the tarnishing of their innocence and corruption by demon magics. He was responsible, so caught up in his grief, in his self loathing he didn’t recognize the signs of something greater afoot.

And look where that got him instead.

No less guilty as before. Those stained hands that wish they could wipe his ledger clean by “good deeds” in a dead world.

“There’s a reason you’re named Strife…” something utters in his brain, hissing vehemently as a serpent, slithering in the deep caverns of his dark psyche. He wishes he could disagree, but deep down he knew this was true, try as he might to deny. He’s meant to bring forth chaos in his path and upset the waking world with each breath he takes.

He’d have better chances of sprouting wings and flying than bringing peace.

Whether he meant to or not, Strife didn’t stop thinking of one of the young ones that he had come to raise. A young girl with a gentle manner and an even shyer disposition. But behind those eyes of hers, he could see a fiery spirit most admirable. She had a desire to live, to fight and do things even other humans feared to do. She saw beyond her instinctive fear and saw the beauty where others found an foe, and with time she convinced those around her to trust in those feared creatures. From strangers into beloved friends and companions.

She reminded him so much of…

‘No!’ Strife shakes his head, the chin of his avian helmet scraping against his chest piece as he tries to lose that treacherous thought. But it clings to him like a limpet to a rock. He can’t no- he won’t about them, not now at least.

‘It doesn’t hurt to still grieve over the past.’ Something more gentle whispers, soft as rain, the more sentimental, bothersome half of him tries. He recognizes the voice as one of the humans who’d been adamant on consoling him in his time as Jones, ‘Grief means that you loved, and it’s not wrong to love.’

But that’s just it isn't it? Strife, Rider of the White Horse, the Spirit of Discord and Enforcer of the Council, er- rather just Spirit of Discord, shouldn’t love. He’s supposed to be one of the most feared creatures in existence, there’s no room for such a dainty, silly concept of “love”. He’s a pillar, not a person.

Then why, despite all the eons of being who he is, does it hurt so much?

“Something troubles you brother?” The unmissable voice of War sounds from behind him, he can feel his heavy steps tromping through the grass. The soft ground partially muffled his strides which was probably why the gunslinger couldn’t hear his approach.

The back of Strife’s boot knocks against the little cliff he’s nestled on, curling in on himself now conscious over the fact his concern is so easy to read even though he’s faced away from the world. Damn War and his stupid concern.

So desperately Strife wanted to lie to War, brush him off with a well placed stretch and claim he’s “just tired”, it worked so well with the humans when things got too quiet. Deflect the conversation into something else, but that beautiful arctic already was mastered by Death and not him with his clumsy tongue. He couldn’t lie anyways for War in all his stubborn nature would try and pry it out of him somehow.

Still doesn’t make it any easier to tell him, even if there’s a lift of an invisible weight from his sagging shoulders. “Yeah, you could say that.” Brushing his hand through the stiff spikes for hair akin to that of spines rather than luscious hair humans or even War possessed. A demonic trait.

Either from a rare treat of sentimentality or from being away from prying eyes, War places himself to Strife’s side before gently settling beside his brother, a leg pulled flush against his chest whilst the other tucks under the gap of the bent leg. War keeps his arm propped on his knee as the other supports his immense weight. War seemed relaxed enough to put himself in this position, and secretly Strife appreciated that from him, as it gave him a false sense of security that this was a place to be fully vulnerable.

Tapping a claw on his armored thigh, Strife pretends to ignore the inquisitive raised brow War sends him, instead feigning interest in the distant ruins of Eden currently filled with the huts and houses of the refugees. The sunset painted the sky a heavenly hue of gold and oranges that seemed absolutely lackluster when compared to the bursting colors of Earth’s own sun. Eden may have been the magnum opus of the realms made by the Creator for His treasured humans but here it felt as if Eden were a cheap copy and Earth the masterpiece. ‘Not anymore’ he thinks bitterly, an acrid taste left in his mouth.

“Tell me,” Strife began, the faint creaking of leather telling Strife his younger brother in arms is listening, “did you ever think we’d ever see this place again?” He gestures to the place before them, recovering from the age-old battle with the lush overgrowth of Eden’s native flora that can be seen nowhere else. Although he knows the answer, it won’t do any harm in getting the old lug to talk a bit. Creator knows War almost never speaks, let alone about feelings.

Maybe the humans have rubbed off on him a bit more than he suspected. He never would’ve talked about feelings before, it's more likely he would rather put a bullet to his head before talking about his past. The present him however, is more… different from the one from millenia ago.

“No,” War starts, looking at the spanse of land before him, “I never imagined I’d ever set foot in this place after the war. This realm was supposed to be lost to the Universe, and its ghosts left behind.” Strife huffs, resting his elbow on his knee. “Doesn’t seem so lost to me,” he snarks, but the humor is lost on War as he solemnly stares in the distance, silent. The elder of the two then sighs, deflating like a popped balloon, “Though, I supposed it’s for the best. The humans need it more than anything. Even if we don’t like it, we have to just… deal with it.”

‘Though it still doesn't sting any less.’

“Strife, if I may be direct, Eden isn’t the only reason for your mood is it? There’s something else…” War trails off, prodding the metaphorical beast enough to elicit a response. He doesn’t answer immediately, feeling that War’s question hit him head on as if he were in battle and not just speaking. The silence in his hesitancy to answer is nearly suffocating. He doesn’t even pretend to hide his apprehension, his hand coming up to rake through his hair, turning his head away until War was no longer in his peripheral.

“It is, the humans you saw? The ones who greeted you and Fury when we arrived?” There it is, hitting the head of the nail.

Of course War didn’t know, being imprisoned for nearly a century, away from all that transpired on Earth. In the short amount of time the Four had been reunited, there was a lot to catch up upon. But it was rather hilarious to watch War and Death’s face when the survivors came to Fury, and she didn’t reject their greetings with a snide remark.

So much has really happened to everyone involved.

“Or perhaps, it was that one young human girl, the one who embraced you. She was especially fond of you. May I inquire as to why? You’ve been quiet ever since you saw her.” Strife nearly wishes the ground beneath him to swallow him up. A nice cozy grave where all the rest of his people lay. Ironic.

Strife can feel those blueish eyes trained right on him, waiting expectantly now that a can of worms has been opened and he can’t shove the proverbial worms back in the tin confines and throw it across the cliff. Try as he might, he doubts War would appreciate the notion of him trying to toss him off the edge to avoid this topic he was at the best, hesitant to speak about.

“She was from, when I was on Earth. When I was Jones. After I abandoned the mission from the Council,” he spat that word out as it were rot on his tongue, “I went incognito, made a glamored disguise as a human and became a refugee.” He can feel War’s icy stare bear into him, likely not truly understanding his motive completely given his viewpoints of always going through with what he must do. But he continues anyway, “After a while, I found Haven, a safe space made by Ulthane and some other Makers who took in any survivors. That’s when I met the kid.” Something akin to tenderness washes over the old Nephilim as his golden eyes glaze over with memories.

“She was so young, War, I still can’t believe she survived on her own for months before she found others. I saw here and I just, Creator, I was reminded of…”

It’s then does Strife’s tongue glue to the roof of his mouth, his throat clamping up to near suffocation to stop the words from escaping. His own body protects him from saying the next few words that bring back the worst of his memories, the lowest a Nephilim can go. He wishes- nay prays he could swallow those words that fly into War’s awaiting ears, but it’s too late as the younger tilts his head, opening his lips to ask yet another, damning question.

“Remind you of who?” Those words were a blow to Strife’s black heart, and it felt as if the breath in his lungs was forced out in a brutal punch. His skin felt hot, yet freezing under the sweat that broke all over his body.

There’s no going back now.

Heaving a weary sigh, Strife puts his heavy head in his clawed hands, composing himself into something less of a train wreck. Maybe something shy of the verge of running head first off the cliff would be better before he finally opens his mouth once again, tongue dry as cotton as he rasps.

“Remember what I told you, the last time we were here. That one day that I’d tell you everything from before we met?” He can still hear the echoes of the past reverberate through the land the more he feels the memories bubble up from the deepest crevices of his eternal past he long since locked up. It’s so powerful he can almost feel the tickle of hair and the sweet smells caressing his nostrils. He hates that he can almost see their faces in the dying light.

“Yes, you did.”

“Well,” Strife sniffs, looking up to the retreating sun and the stars that peek through the growing darkness. “You remember that knife I’d buried…” his heart lurches in his throat, as does bile rise, the acrid taste coming to taint his tongue, Strife swallows down the last of his worries, as he lets the last of his resolve dissolve, thankful for the darkness that covers the sight of tears freely falling down his cheeks.

“That knife wasn’t for some assassination gig. It was personal.”

_______

The order of the Council echoes in his head, it’s as if he was hearing it for the first time and not countless hours ago.

“As your first mission as the Horsemen, you must eradicate the Nephilim from Eden! They invade the realm and slaughter defenseless humans in their wake! Not one soul is to be left unclaimed!”

Four pairs of hoofbeats galloped through the bloodsoaked battlefield, leaving behind nothing but carnage and death in their wake. Souls shriek and wail as they are ripped from their weak bodies and redirected into Death’s awaiting Amulet, sealing them away in a restless cage. The cries of the thousands strong army ring past the lush vegetation caked with human and Nephilim blood.

The heart of the battle wasn’t where the White Rider lay his gaze, but to the outskirts where stragglers, possible runaways fled for their own self preservation. His hawk-like sight honed in on the retreating figures, mostly those tasked with spreading word to those in other stretches of the realm, warning to either take arms or run. Not that they lived long enough to have the chance when he raised his pistol and eyed them through the sight before pulling the trigger.

None escaped the Sharpshooter.

The job was far from done. Strife knew this well, as his head swiveled to the far horizon where more and more Nephilim marched in a huge wave, splitting off into two huge groups around him. Likely attempting to outflank his brothers in arms as they forced their way through the defenses.

He’d let the others deal with the army, as they wouldn’t miss him too terribly as his orders were given. It’s for the best that he gets to the encampments Death had mentioned where all the others lay, those who didn’t join the fight. The very few who stayed behind that is.

“It’s for the best.” He utters to no one in particular. But he can’t find himself to believe those words as he sends his horse, Mayhem into a frenzied gallop, charging onward to reach one such encampment miles away.

Everything was a blur, as if peeking through a layer of thickly woven wool. All he could remember were the screams and the gunpowder as he reached the site, laying waste to all who charged forth in challenge. It wasn’t until Strife ventured further into the heart of the grounds did he realize that those left were nothing more than soldiers tasked with carrying out Absolam’s orders when more warriors poured in, given the scrolls of scrawled out messages. Warnings of their counterattack and a call to arms for all able bodied Nephilim to march forward in the name of “claiming a home”.

What a lie.

Lifting his head from the strewn corpses, he turned his attention to a most familiar sight. A Nephilim portal. The swirling mass of bluish purple magics, ripping a hole in the air enacting as a doorway. If doorways were meant to warp space-reality that is…

This is it. The gateway for the endless masses, or at least, one of them given Absolam was no fool.

As Strife commands his steed to move towards the portal, Mayhem snorts from underneath, unsure about this as he paws at the ground nervously. Pulling at the reins, Strife sucks a breath through his teeth to soothe his own galloping heart.

“Easy now.” But it’s unknown if it’s to the horse, or the rider as they both stare down the awaiting doorway. Shoving down the last of his nerves, Strife does his best to keep his brain from fogging up as he orders Mayhem forward, slipping into the swirling magic, the darkness enveloping them both.

_____

Although he’s done this thousands of times, there’s something that’s different about jumping into this portal. Strife had long since ignored the pulling apart of his cells, the electric buzz that floods his nerves and the kaleidoscope of sounds and colors that ensue traveling across the Universe. But this time, he can feel the pain in his atoms, the tingling leaves his body numb yet shaking and the cacophony of sound and sight that sends his brain into a frenzy. As if the Universe were punishing him for his actions against his own people. However, he attempted to ignore those thoughts that plagued his mind.

It’s until the pull of gravity weighs him down does the Sharpshooter open his eyes.

Dead ahead, a large village lay vastly deserted, the fires between several degrees of extinguishment, smoke filtering through the air. Golden eyes scanning over the expansive stretch of the land, searching for any signs of life to extinguish before he has to move on to the next mark.

Clicking his tongue, Mayhem obediently marches forward to the site’s outskirts, making wide berth to avoid an abandoned smoldering fire pit, plates of cooking food thrown aside and deep footprints in the slightly wet dirt. Likely those who were here heard word of them coming and rose to arms, even if it meant to disregard dinner.

Within his chest, Strife’s heart clenches as if it had been squeezed by a thorny hand. Even though so many Nephilim marched to Eden, not all had been alongside the Firstborn during the raid. Instead, they were just living their own lives, the very few who didn’t yearn for bloodshed. Which makes the sorrow in him rise like great tidal waves as those orders keep repeating from Death’s lips from over the battlefield.

“Ride on past the battlefields and to the old settlements. Eliminate everything and return.”

He hated how within Death’s tone, it had never been so steady yet strained.

Maybe he’s just reading far too much into it.

A piercing neigh tears Strife from his thoughts, forcing his eyes to refocus from the blur that they fell into to see Mayhem has stopped at the first set of huts surrounding them on both sides. Rising high above their heads, the sharpshooter takes the time to stay still in the ghosttown of a settlement, yet he can’t shake the feeling of being watched.

Muscles quiver under pounds of metal, loosening the tension of tense tendons. Hopping off his horse, Strife pats Mayhem on the neck before sending him away with a mental command, and he dissipates in a cloud of purple mist leaving the rider alone. “For the Balance” he tries to chant like a mantra as his feet carry him forward into the first house.

It’s what he tries to convince himself is right as he points Mercy’s muzzle right in between the eyes of two bright eyes that innocently gaze back, full of youth and promise.

He tries to not think about anything else, eyes trained to the floor as he squeezes the trigger, a resonating bang silencing the question that passes by the young Nephilim’s lips.

___

Deeper into the village, Strife kept his hands on the pistol’s handles in the case of an ambush should any who remained got brave enough to do so. Then again, the only he’d encountered so far were old warriors and a few children.

These facts did not sit well in his stomach the more he thought about it.

Near twenty souls he had claimed by the hands of Mercy and Redemption, but the job wasn’t over as he still had a few more homes to search before he had to inevitably ride back to Eden to rinse and repeat this process. With each pull of the trigger he can feel something inside of him be ripped apart.

But he must carry this out. Humanity needs a protector lest they all be slaughtered before the night ends.

There’s something that sends Strife’s heart dropping to his feet and tumbling down into the center of the planet. A most familiar gentle tinkling sound of a windchime in the soft breeze, and he knew who this belonged to as no other Nephilim in existence owned this peculiar object.

No, no, no, no! This can’t be!

Eyes wider than saucers, Strife’s gaze turns to the suspect of the sound and prays, he’s on the verge of getting on his knees and begging the Creator from this not being true. Golden eyes land on a strung up stick tied with delicately made clay bells decorated with wooden beads and teeth. The rungs clink peacefully against the clay domes, but to Strife, it feels like a death toll in his ears. He not only recognizes this home, but he knows it like the back of his own hand.

This is the home of his family.

He’d rather shoot himself in the head right now than step in there with the malicious intent he’s carried alongside him with every cursed step he took.

He could just… turn tail and leave. Run as fast as his legs could carry him until he collapsed or was killed. Anything but turning his own pistols against his mate Kasos. Yeah, he could just pretend that he got everyone, tell Death that everyone was taken care of and live forever without seeing her again. He’d rather live with that guilt than carry out some stupid mission.

‘But I’d never see Toka again, my sweet girl…’ Something moans.

‘You need to carry out this mission, or the Council will let them suffer the consequences of his actions.’ A sterner, more serious voice commands, tough and sharp as steel. It eerily sounds like War’s authoritative tone than his own.

‘Who’s to say they’re even here?’ another argues, scrabbling between the infighting of his psyche.

Yeah, don’t get too far ahead. Just check in there, and if they’re in there, I’ll figure it out later.

Though he doubts his options will be very glamorous for him either way.

But if he can take the wrath in exchange for their safety, he’d gladly take it.

Sucking a breath through his teeth, he finally takes a step towards the house’s curtained doorway, his legs felt as if they’re tied by lead weights, each more heavy and hard to lift than the last. Stepping in the domain feels as if he’s violating sacred grounds with his very presence and not returning to the home that is his.

Brushing the curtain aside, Strife sucks in a shaky breath as his hands begin to tremble. A million possibilities run their course, each scenario worse than the last as he steps into the familiar structure of the main room. Everything left the same as he could remember, or as well as it can be considering the Nephilim being a nomadic people left little in the way for permanent placement of furniture or anything else.

This hut, unlike some others, was larger with extra rooms, and left many possible places for his mate and child to be hiding. If they’re still here that is.

Letting his guard down in the form of his shoulders slackening and his hands falling to his sides and not hovering over the hilt of his twin pistols. He almost falls into a sort of trance as his eyes glaze over with the memories that litter this domain, the ghosts of the past practically dancing before his eyes behind a misty veil that only he can witness.

As his eyes follow the invisible child dancing through the den, the dopey grin across his face drops as he takes in the sight before him. A small, expertly crafted doll next to a well known, at least to Strife, knife. The weapon lies harmlessly in its leather sheath, but underneath, Strife memorized every curve and detailed carving engraved in the rare metal as it was his knife. A gift from his mate for when they officially decided to live as permanent partners, a rare and near unheard of practice. He had used it plenty of times in the past so much it never left his side, not even in sleep. Until today that was.

He had ultimately decided to leave it behind as to completely sever himself from all sentimentality when he came before the Council. They would like to see a cold blooded killer who flinched at nothing he put himself to be instead of a fidgety, loose cannon of a Nephilim who smiles at the thought of his partner and daughter. They needed iron handed enforcers, not silly fathers.

Boots thumping as he traverses over to the two near sacred items to Strife, his hands come to shakily pick up both the weapon and doll that seems near tiny in his armored hand. Two bead eyes black as coal peer innocently back at him, the head flopping cutely to the side in a questioning tilt. He’s never felt more mocked in his life. Those eyes kept glaring into him unblinkingly, casting a judgement only he would be under, weighing the potential of his crimes.

“Will you do it?” It screams at him.

Something within him snaps, as his clawed fingers clamp together in a tight fist, squeezing the doll into a near inch of its little inanimate life. The fabric strains to hold in the stuffing, those little eyes pointing to different directions, near to the point of popping free of its sewing. Just as Strife’s hand starts to quake with an unnatural amount of strength, he lets it go. He watches the little doll return to its normal, not squished state, save for a little distortion from his strangling.

He can’t stop the guilt that creeps up on him, as he thinks about the loving gentle hold the doll had always been subject to in Toka’s embrace.

Toka… Kasos…

He has to get them out of here.

Damn everything to the deepest depths of Hell’s lowest caverns and pits. In fact, who’s to say that what he’s doing is right? Absolam’s to blame, not those who didn’t march to Eden. Yet that didn’t stop him from slaughtering the others.

“You must eradicate the Nephilim!” The order echoes, leaving a foul taste in Strife’s mouth.

“RRRRAAAAAAAAAAAGGGHHHH!!!!”

A feminine shriek sounds off from Strife’s side, and just as quick as he is to hear the scream, he’s tackled from the side, tumbling down to the ground in a graceless heap. The wind is knocked loose from his lungs, stealing any sound he can make as the attacker begins her onslaught of brutal punches and clawing, scrabbling away to peel his armor off. In his own panic of blurred vision and no air, Strife began his own retaliation by dropping the doll and bashing his assailant on the head with a fist.

Despite the solid punch, she remains determined as she keeps tearing into him, even though the efforts are useless as claws do no damage on steel. In an attempt to throw her off, Strife attempts to lift his hips as to buck her off, but her heavy weight keeps her steady as her legs are locked onto his. He can’t reach his pistols this way, not without giving her an opening to either claw his helm off and scratch his eyes out or wrestle the knife out of his hands in order to kill him properly.

The knife!

Completely at the mercy of the woman, Strife lets his free arm come up to enact as a brace as he lets the other dagger wielding hand fll aside to fling the leather hilt off. But by doing this, she’s able to see what he’s attempting to do, and clamps her own hand over his, wrestling him for the weapon.

“You filthy traitor!” She bellows, digging her claws into the softer material of his armor does Strife unintentionally take pause as his brain goes into overdrive.

It’s Kasos. His beloved mate.

In just the few seconds he is still, Kasos wrenches the dagger free in one fell swoop, and points the tip downwards before readying for a strike at his throat. In record time, Strife’s reflexes catch up before his brain can comprehend anything else, saving himself from metal piercing his esophagus, even just barely.

“You tratious bastard! Think you can just come into my home and kill us like you did everyone else here?! I’ll have your head on a pike after I tear that disgusting mask off your wretched face and see who you are!” Kasos bares her sharpened teeth, green eyes glittering with rage as she watches him in power, huge arms straining to push the blade down.

His eyes widen as those words finally dawn on him. Kasos doesn’t know it’s him. Of course not, as the Nephilim never knew who exactly the Four are, or were beforehand, save for Death. They’d all been given new identities as Horsemen, abandoning their past completely. To Kasos, he’s but a stranger.

It makes his heart drop.

But he still had to stop Kasos, lest he end up dead and her heart full of regret. In a desperate attempt, he swings his leg up until the tip of his boot meets with the back of her head, momentarily stunning Kasos enough for Strife to scramble free from under her. He keeps the weapon in his grip as he puts space between the two of them. Kasos screams fiercely at the loss.

What he does next, Strife will never know what possessed him to do so. Before Kasos could properly charge at him again, the gunslinger rips his avain helm off in one fluid motion, and casts it aside as he stares Kasos down with wide eyes. Now there’s nothing between them.

It seems to work like a charm as Kasos stops her stampeding, nearly tripping over herself as she stares at him with those glowing eyes of hers, so bright and full of horrified confusion. In his years with Kasos, she never seemed so vulnerable until now. He watches the terrified look on her face turn into confusion, then realization.

“Serjal?” She whispers.

Strife flinches at the name. ‘Not anymore.’ He thinks mournfully, not meeting her eyes.

“Serjal, w-what are you doing?!” She cries out, voice cracking. He never wished until now for the floor to eat him whole. He can only offer a pitiful glance, lips tugging downwards, not even able to form a half assed explanation. Shameful.

He can only stand there as Kasos slowly connects the dots, her eyes darting between him, the helmet and the pistols strapped to his hips. Her beautifully rugged face morphs from her befuddlement to unrestrained fury he’d come to love and just as equally fear. And even now, he still felt the same.

“Serjal you… WHY?!”

He tries not to choke on his next words. “The Nephilim… are a threat to the Balance. Eden is being invaded by Absolam as we speak. It’s my mission to ensure no one else is left.” Oh Creator, her eyes never have been filled with such agony.

“No one?! Including me?! Including our daughter?!?” Kasos roars, shoulders heaving with each raging breath she takes.

“I don’t want to kill either of you.” He confesses simply. “I thought about whisking you away somewhere where you can’t be found-”

“THAT DOESN’T MATTER! YOU TURN AGAINST US, AGAINST OUR PEOPLE!! I saw you in the village, the people you slaughtered. The children you slain! They did not deserve what you did!” Each word is filled with more and more venom and hatred that seethes in her very being. Deep down, Strife agrees with every word.

“You will not touch Toka. Because I’ll kill you first!”

Kasos launches herself forward with a newfound hellish need to kill and maim, unleashing the most primal and raw scream Strife had ever heard. Jumping into action, Strife falls into a familiar sensation of combat, his years of training catching up before his emotions can logically stop him. His feet brace for the oncoming impact, and he awaits for the right moment to strike, and he gets it.

Just as Kasos wraps her arms around his abdomen and reach for his pistols he comes to raise his armed hand and strike at her. Piercing her vulnerable neck with the very dagger she so lovingly carved and gifted for him as a present. Is most treasured possession in Creation. When cold metal stabs into flesh does Strife break out of his reverie does he realize the greatest mistake he can make. Even worse than accepting the Council’s invitation to take the mantle of the White Rider.

All he can do is collapse to the floor, right on his backside as Kasos lands atop of him, gurgling on blood. Blood is colder than ice, it ceases all movement as the male can only wrap his hands around Kasos’s head, cradling her so gently it’s as if she’d break. She doesn’t even struggle in his hold as the life in her is rapidly draining from her dying body. A wet warmness snakes down the sides of his face. Tears he realizes dully. Here, he lies still as the dead, apathetically wishing he could join them.

“Da?”

No…

Can’t for once the Universe grant him a break? He’d do anything other than hear that quivering, well known voice. Bile rose in his throat as the dark haired Nephilim pathetically turned his head over to see the visage of his young daughter at the door leading to his and Kasos’s shared bedroom. Toka’s eyes are wide and he can see their green tint behind her black bangs that she inherited from him. A tiny hand is covering her mouth as she trembles like a leaf in the wind.

He wished he could wipe those tears away.

“Da… what did you do? W-why did you do that to Mother?!” More tears fell down as he pushed himself up, ever so delicately he laid Kasos down, but not before removing the dagger out of habit. He wouldn’t give Toka such an impersonal death with a bullet, if he had to resort to it.

“Toka, dearest. My Sweet, I didn’t mean to-” he takes one step forward, but Toka steps back, afraid. It hurts more than any pain he experienced. “Please, let me explain…”

“No! NO! You hurt Mother!!” Then turning on her heel, Toka breaks into a dead sprint right past him and into freedom. Strife follows suit, keeping pace with the child as she tries to navigate through the village.

Even as he keeps on the chase, what’s stopping him from just letting her go as far as she can go? Give her a chance to live, even if she ends up alone and the last Nephilim beside him and the others. Sounds absolutely cruel, but is it more barbarous to slay her with his own hands? And rob her of the life she’d just begun to live? A life of what? Killing and conquering that he’d so carnally enjoyed? Constantly on the run if he decided to let her go?

If the Council found out, they’d hunt her down and she’d pay a terrible price. That’s if the bastard Angels don’t find her first.

It all was so hard to choose, but the more Strife put thought into it, the more obvious the answers became hate it as he does.

As his feet come to a still, he doesn’t look up as he unholsters Redemption and lines up the shot as Toka continues to run. Leagues ahead of him by now. But she can’t outrun a speeding bullet. He squeezes the trigger, feeling the recoil rock through his arms as a single sharp explosion cracks the quiet, a shrill whistle rockets past the air before meeting its target. Toka’s distant scream sounds off, sending Strife to hurdle into some unknown downward spiral. Just as he heard the scream, everything around him felt as if it were a vivid hallucination.

He doesn’t even recall commanding his feet to carry him forward, nor does he even seem to comprehend that the world around is moving when his vision is blurred and suspended in time. All Strife is ale to pick apart in this haze is the sky is slowly growing black with approaching dusk and the downed figure of Toka is gradually growing larger.

At last Toka is in full view, laying on her belly as a bullethole is marked in his backside, just at the thoracic vertebrae where her ribs start. Though her upper body frantically strains to carry her forward, her legs are completely useless, dead weight. ‘Paralysis’ he numbly notes.

In a great heap of clunking metal, the regretful father collapses beside his agonizing daughter who can only sob as he places a hand on her back. Right now to him, they are the only two people who exist in this very moment. Him, Toka, a sky full of stars and full twin moons. Actually quite a beautiful sight.

“Toka,” the girl stops her fighting to wearily sniffle and raise a heavy head, “look at the sky full of stars. It’s beautiful isn’t it?” She weakly answers as two hands come to envelope her torso, lifting her up into a seated position, leaning against her father’s chest as they both look to the sky together.

“It is…” She meekly responds, tears falling down her cheeks as one hand comes up to caress her hair, fingers carding through her locks as the other hand slowly raises with the dagger.

“Toka, my Sweet, my whole life, do you know your Da loves you so much?” Faintly, Toka chokes on a sob as she nods her head. Internally, he’s crumbling into dust. Nephilim never confessed about love, but here he was spilling it out, plain and simple. Why hide this away any longer?

“Da loves you so much. I love you more than there are stars in this Universe, I love you more than you can imagine. You are my everything, and you always will be. No matter what. I will look to the stars and always think of you and your mother.”

“Da…” Toka croaks, one arm weakly reaching out to the one that’s entangled in her hair, her fingers intertwine with his as the blade's edge comes to kiss her throat.

“I’ll miss you Da…” She squeezes his hand one last time.

“Me too.”

The blade meets her throat. After a few moments of Toka’s struggling, she finally slackens, her hand letting go of his as she stares into the starry night. Half lidded eyes void of their bright life that once brought pride to the old Serjal.

Bowing his head, Strife places a singular kiss on Toka’s forehead as he finally lets the dam within him burst.

Even after night turned to morning, Strife hadn’t left from his spot. Not caring for the eventual questioning to follow after he returns to Eden.

[rubberymen]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Fallen London | Echo Bazaar Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Major Character Death Relationships: The Jovial Contrarian & Emilia Hathersage (Fallen London), The Jovial Contrarian/Sinning Jenny (Fallen London) Characters: The Jovial Contrarian (Fallen London), April of the Calendar Council (Fallen London), Sinning Jenny (Fallen London), Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel Additional Tags: Character Study, Fallen London, Canon Disabled Character, platonic marriage, Neurodiversity, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Friendship, Arranged Marriage, Childhood, i once joked that his first name was actually august but then i got attached to it, The Hegelian Dialectic Summary:

"In philosophy and rhetoric, eristic (from Eris, the ancient Greek goddess of chaos, strife, and discord) refers to argument that aims to successfully dispute another's argument, rather than searching for truth. According to T.H. Irwin, "It is characteristic of the eristic to think of some arguments as a way of defeating the other side, by showing that an opponent must assent to the negation of what he initially took himself to believe." Eristic is arguing for the sake of conflict, as opposed to resolving conflict."

A fixture of high Society, the Jovial Contrarian is much admired and little loved. The story of his life is a dialectic with no synthesis.

A bit of a character study that got out of hand, with gratuitously self-indulgent characterization.

[afni-fics]

Elder Scrolls DC - A Reluctant Dragonborn - Chapter 19: Dragon Rising (part 3)

Elder Scrolls DC - A Reluctant Dragonborn - Chapter 19: Dragon Rising (part 3) by C_R_Scott Chapters: 19/? Fandom: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Red Robin (Comics), DCU (Comics) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Characters: Tim Drake, Lucien Flavius Additional Tags: Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Skyrim/DCU crossover, Reluctant Dovahkiin | Dragonborn, Not Beta Read, Alternate Universe - Skyrim Fusion, Modded Skyrim, Skyrim Spoilers, Tim Drake is Dragonborn | Dovahkiin, Batfamily-centric (DCU), Tim Drake-centric

Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter

Summary:

After the battle with the dragon at the Watchtower, Tim wakes up in the Temple of Kynareth for the start of his healing process.

-------------------------

"...Dovahkiin..."

"...Dragonborn..."

"...Motaad sizaan sil..."

"...Tremble lost soul..."

"...Thuri du hin sil ko Sovngarde..."

"...My overlord will devour your soul in Sovngarde..."

"...Draal fah dinok..."

"...Pray for death..."

***

Tim's eyes snapped open as he woke with a gasp to escape the nightmare of draconic voices whispering horrible things to him from the darkness. As his sleep blurred vision began to clear and the echos of his nightmare drifted out of reach, he became aware of several things one after the other.

First, he was no longer on the battlefield. Instead, he was in some sort of building, laying on his right side on a moderately comfortable bed. 

Next, the pain that had been wracking his body from his burns all week long were significantly dulled. There was a deep ache in certain areas, but overall things were far better than they had been earlier. 

Finally, while he was still very tired, suffering from what felt like a bone-deep exhaustion, he was also very thirsty. His gaze wandered around the small bedroom he was resting in and fell upon a nearby end-table with a ceramic pitcher and cup just out of reach.

Gingerly, Tim began to sit up, groaning softly with the effort. He almost didn't hear the soft footsteps approach the room and the quiet knock upon the doorway. He looked over to see an old Nord woman in a hooded robe standing there, a bowl and some linens in her arms. She smiled at him kindly. "You're finally awake," she said as she entered the room. "That's good. We've been concerned you might not wake up anytime soon." She immediately went to Tim's side and placed a cool hand against his forehead. Tim flinched a little, but didn't pull away completely. "Still a bit too warm, but at least your fever is headed in the right direction. Another day of rest and it should be broken completely."

"I'm sorry, but who are you, and where am I?" Tim asked.

"My name is Danica," she replied as she moved to the end table with the pitcher. "And you are in the Temple of Kynareth here in Whiterun. I'm the head priestess here." She poured out a cup of water and handed it to Timothy. "Drink slowly," she instructed before turning back to pour the rest of the water into the bowl she'd brought over.

As Tim brought the cup to his lips, he paused. He could smell something medicinal in the liquid, and the color was not quite right for just water. Still, he was extremely thirsty and he took small, careful sips until the cup was drained. As he drank, he watched as Danica placed one of the smaller linen towels into the bowl and soaked it before wringing it out and folding it into a compress. She then turned her full attention back on Tim and tried to gently encourage him to lay back down. 

The idea of laying back down and going back to sleep was tempting, and he was so tired, but still...

"I can't stay too long," he murmured as he tried to maneuver his legs off the bed.. "I need to speak with the Jarl about that dragon and--"

"No you don't," a familiar voice said firmly. Tim looked at the doorway to see Lucien standing there. He had a firm, determined expression on his face. "You are under strict orders by the Jarl himself not to set one foot out of this Temple until you are cleared to leave by Sister Danica herself." He stepped fully into the room and Tim could see he had a basket in one hand. Though covered with a cloth, Tim could see part of a loaf of bread and some fruit peaking out. 

A corner of Tim's lip quirked upward despite himself. "Oh really? So we're listening to the Jarl's orders now?"

"We do when the Jarl's housecarl Irileth herself has decided to fold you under her wings as a fellow 'soldier-in-arms' and has made your recovery one of her top priorities." Lucien remarked as he set his basket down on a nearby dresser. "Apparently she has a reputation of being a strong advocate for the soldiers under her command, despite her stern demeanor, as well as a reputation of speaking her mind with the Jarl when something troubles her. This..." Lucien made a vague circular motion with his hand that seemed to indicate Tim's whole physical state. "...troubled her greatly." He shrugged. "Apparently when Irileth speaks, Jarl Balgruuf actually listens. Imagine that... A Nord actually taking the words of a Dunmer to heart. Will wonders never cease?" 

Then Lucien's expression turned more serious. "So long story short, the Jarl has instructed that you be given all the time you need to recover from your illness and injury. The Temple itself is not to be disturbed by anyone unless they are approved by Irileth or if they are in serious need of healing themselves. So please, Timothy. Will you please just sit back and rest? This is the first time you've woken and been coherent in three days."

"Three days?" Tim echoed with slight disbelief. 

Lucien nodded and took a seat at the foot of Tim's bed as Danica added a pillow so Tim could recline comfortably, but be upright enough to eat. He pulled out an apple from the basket and began to peel it with a small pocketknife. "You were deathly ill when Irileth had her men brought you to the temple after the battle with the dragon. Your burns were deeply infected and all the stress of that battle exasperated your condition." Once peeled, he cut a slice and offered it to Tim.

Reluctantly, Tim laid back down on the pillows, a soft sigh escaping him when Danica pressed her compress against his forehead. The cool cloth felt good, and the medicinal aroma from the liquid wasn't an unpleasant smell. It was rather soothing. Tim had a suspicion that the herbs had some sort of soporific effect, but he wasn't really in any position to complain against it. Still, for the moment hunger beat out the immediate need for sleep, so he took the offered apple slice and took a small bite.

While he ate, Danica took a chair next to the bed. Then, she gently took Tim's left burned arm. The young man startled at the touch, but Lucien reassured him. "It's alright. Just let her work."

Curiously, Tim watched as Danica focused on his arm, holding it with her left hand. She murmured what sounded like a soft chant under her breath and held her free right hand over the area that was scarred by the burn. A warm golden aura radiated from her hand and eventually travelled to his injury. Tim watched with awe as the lingering ache in his arm began to fade even more, and the wound itself began to look far better. Rather than an infected angry red wound, it now looked more like an aged silvery scar that was a few shades lighter than his normal skin tone. After a few minutes, Danica finished her chant and she returned Tim's arm to him. 

"That's... amazing," Tim whispered as he tentatively touched the scar. 

"How does that feel? Is there any lingering pain anywhere in the arm?" Danica asked.

Tim moved his arm experimentally, testing the range of motion he now had. When his face reflected a twinge of pain around his elbow, though he didn't complain about it, Danica used her magic to heal the area with a more precise touch. 

As Danica worked, Lucien watched with a content expression as he continued to cut fruit, bread, and cheese and feed them to Tim. Eventually the priestess was finally satisfied with the state of Tim's arm and shifted her focus to his back. This part of his body, it seemed, was still in a worst state than his arm. Even after several passes of healing magic, there was still quite a bit of pain left deep in the muscles and bone and it showed on Tim's face, though he didn't complain verbally about it.

"I think that is enough for now," Danica announced after a final pass. She gently stroked some of Tim's hair from his face, She could feel the heat of his lingering fever radiating off of him, and carefully repositioned the pillows so he could lay back down completely. "The burn and infection on your back went far deeper than what your arm endured. Because of your fever, you'll need to rest before we can proceed with more healing."

Tim, for his part, was exhausted. Though he didn't do anything except eat and sip water while he was being healed, he felt as if he'd just run a marathon. He closed his eyes as the compress was placed on his forehead again, and he relished how good it felt against his overheated skin.

Danica didn't leave immediately, though. She studied Tim for a moment. "Just wondering, young man, but were you sickly as a child?"

Tim cracked open his eyes. "Sickly?"

"When you were a child, were you prone to illness and took a long time to recover?" 

He shook his head. "Not as a child, but last year I received a... permanent injury that I've been told might make me more prone to illness." Tim wasn't about to try and explain how he'd lost his spleen and its function. He was unsure how much knowledge of human anatomy and the function of individual organs was known here. He hoped the vague explanation would be enough. 

Danica sighed. "The costs of war..." she murmured with a shake of her head. Clearly she was assuming his injury had been from the current Civil War strife plaguing Skyrim. She then went over to the nearby dresser and pulled open the top drawer. From it, she removed an amulet and tied it around Tim's neck. 

Curiously, Tim lifted it from his chest to get a closer look at it. The amulet was strung on a leather thong, appeared to be forged from iron and some other pale metal he couldn't identify, and was shaped to look like a bird in flight. In the middle of the bird was a sky blue gemstone. It was a lovely piece of jewelry, but that was not the most remarkable part of it.

"It's warm?" he mused. Tim wasn't sure, but it almost felt like the warmth was pulsing like a heartbeat.

"It's an amulet of Kynareth," Danica explained. "She is our patron Divine here at the temple. Through Kynareth's blessing, the amulet improves one's stamina when you wear it. This should help with improving the speed of your recovery while in the temple." She gathered some of the dishes and spent linens. "Now get some rest. I'll check on you in a few hours.

Once Danica was gone, Tim turned to Lucien. "So... who is Kynareth?"

"She's one of the Eight Divines," Lucien explained. "A nature goddess of the sky, air, and wind, and the patron of travelers who traverse both land and sea." He smiled a bit. "When you're feeling better, before you leave the Temple you ought to take a moment and pray for a blessing at the shrine here. It wouldn't hurt to seek Kynareth's guidance as we try to find your way home."

Tim gave Lucien a strange look, and the scholar's smile faded. "Is the worship of gods different in your homeland?"

"Well... There are different religions throughout my world. Some believe in many gods. Others believe in just one." Tim sighed. "And still others don't believe in any at all." He glanced away from Lucien. "And back home... I fall into that latter category."

Lucien's jaw dropped and his eyes went wide. "You... You don't believe in any divinity?! How does that even work?" 

Tim shook his head with a shrug. "I believe in science and in things I can see with my own eyes. I believe in real mortal people who live their lives and make their choices. I believe in the existence of powerful beings who have abilities that far outstrip those of normal human beings. There are plenty of those on my home world. But I don't believe them to be gods and I don't believe in any necessity to worship them."

"Have you always believed like this?"

The younger man's expression became clouded and distant. "No... not always..."

"What happened? What changed?"

Tim sighed. "I... really don't want to talk about it."

Lucien regarded Timothy quietly. It seemed that the scars visible on the young man's skin were not the only ones he carried. Never in his own life could Lucius even fathom the existence of a spiritual injury that could mortally wound a person's faith itself. 

It was a disquieting thought.

"Timothy... I..." Lucien started to say after a long moment of silence, but paused. He noticed that Tim had curled up onto his side and his eyes were now closed in slumber. Lucien's gaze softened as he rose and pulled the blankets over Tim's shoulder. "You may not believe in our Divines here, but I'll pray that they watch over you regardless," he whispered before blowing out the candles and leaving the room. 

There, in the dark of the room as Tim slumbered, the blue gem set in the amulet of Kynareth seemed to glow faintly. 

As he slept, the voice of the dragon that had plagued his nightmares before did not trouble him again.

  -------------------------

Note:

Unfortunately no screenshots with characters in this scene. Just couldn't seem to get a right angle for any screenshots within the Temple of Kynareth. I have included an image of the Amulet of Kynareth Tim received. In-game all the amulets of the Divines offer some sorts of buffs to your characters, and it seemed appropriate that a stamina buff might help Tim since he's sick. I also figured that since Kynareth/Kyne is going to feature heavily during the journey of the Dragonborn, despite Tim being an atheist, she might be a bit "invested" in his well-being.

Just because you don't believe in a goddess doesn't mean she doesn't believe in you.

But because she is one of the Divines and not one of the Daedra, she's not going to be able to interact with Tim directly, but I think there needs to be some obvious-ish indirect influence. I need to think about this... Hopefully I'll have a better idea by the time Tim starts making his journey to meet with the Greybeards.

#elder scrolls dc#fanfiction#tim drake#skyrim fanfiction#batfam fanfic#red robin#batfam#crossover#lucien flavius#wip#afewnovelideas

[nusaran]

Five Favourite Passages from 2020

2020 has been a drought year for me in terms of writing or drawing for that matter. Most are WIP passages, I think two have been published so far.

Thank you for tagging me @elveny​!

Tagging forth: @anchanted-one​​, @semper-draca​​, @chispas-and-broken-bindings​, @chubbyooo​, @aureli-us​, @inqorporeal​, @a-muirehen​​, @roguescarlett​​, @the-sith-in-the-sky-with-diamond​​

Scary Tales of the Reach: The Spinner and the Midwife (published on r/teslore as part of apocrypha. This was a part from a story which was written like a lore book that can be found in The Elder Scrolls. Since Greymore and Markarth came out around this, it turned out to be a tale from the  Reachfolk’s folklore . On the origin of the frostbite spider.)

“You have failed too many times, Mortal.”

“Mighty Spinner-“

“It matters not. In the end, I gain what I wished for.”

Many hairy legs sprouted from the large mole and jumped from the midwife’s face. A spider, larger than any the midwife had ever seen crawled over the ground. Frost formed on the blades of grass beneath its feet and the midwife felt warmth flee from her body.

“Consider this bargain fulfilled, Mortal. You gained your children while I have gained mine.”

The rest is under the cut for length and make it easier for viewing on mobile :)

Acolyte

(unpublished: I thought that Korriban must have been once a thriving world until it was destroyed. All those dead couldn’t have been properly laid to rest and I imagined there are a lot of restless ghosts wandering those sands.)

Ghostly-white spectres hovered in front of her: pearl-white shimmering against the bright burnt orange red sand lying to her feet against the stark grey metal road. Little ghosts stood in front of her, where the entrance to the bank would have been. Children? Eyes widening, she could only watch as they twirled and danced on the spot. Ghostly laughter wafted through the roar of the gust of sand that had suddenly picked up.

The Voice of Strife (published: Ayera – the Dragonborn – and her companions are in the final fight against Potema who is trying to possess Ayera to gain a powerful vessel.)

Agony spread like an inferno through her body and she could no longer summon the strength to even lift her head.

Yet with crystal clear clarity the cackling, the sneering laughter from Potema echoed through her skull.

“Your power is remarkable, maybe unrefined, untrained… but in my hands, little bastard of mine, you will accomplish so much. The power at your fingertips will dwarf anything Nirn has ever seen. Your friends must die for you to fulfill your full potential.”

Ayera did not have the strength anymore to even scream. She could not save them.

The Way Home (unpublished chapter: The politics of Ulfric Stormcloak’s Court has taken too much from Senja Ice-heart. He rejected her and their two children in favour for a better political marriage and sent them to the College of Winterhold. Senja is furious and is not above of letting him feel her wrath.)

“You need to tell them.” Senja did not bother to turn to look at Ulfric who had walked up next to where she was looking at a map hanging on the wall. “Etheana has not stopped talking about returning to the palace.”

“I will tell her soon, Senja. I just got to spend time with her and Irena, let me have this undisturbed for a bit longer.”

“How long are you going to wait? You cannot wait until the night you depart!”

“I promise I will tell her.”

“Good.”

“Senja-“

This time Senja turned her head to send him a cold glare. Joerik and Galmar visibly tensed behind them. “Yes, your Majesty?”

Ulfric cast his eyes down, something he had always done when he was rethinking what he was going to say. “The terms you negotiated for the Crown are more than we had expected.”

Senja cocked an incredulous eyebrow at him and he winced.

“You did excellent.” With that Ulfric turned sharply on his heels and then he was gone.

Joerik chuckled into fist as soon as the door to the door was closed behind Galmar.

(unpublished: Senja’s father is outraged at the injustice done to his daughter. )

“She seems healthy and strong,” Tamerion assessed, regarding as the toddler grasped his finger and looked half confused on what to do next. “A lot has happened.”

“You could say that, Papa,” she sighed, looking deeply into her goblet where the deep red wine Tamerion had brought along had been poured. “I am still processing.”

“If you give the word,” Tamerion growled quietly. “I will zap him for you.”

Senja shot him a half-amused and half-disapproving look. “You know that won’t serve anything.”

“Still,” Tamerion continued. “Even I enjoy some petty revenge.”

“He is the High King and you are the Commander of Helgen…”

[lamiasluck]

The God of Health

I’ve gotten the chance to talk about my god au because of the lovely @juju-on-that-yeet so I wanted to post a lil origin story I thought of for Edward! Here’s a brief explanation of that au btw

Tags: @alvie-ashgrove @emptynarration @theshysepticeye @verse2wo

Warnings: Character death and violence

-

“Bring him to the town’s square!” an aggressive voice pierced through the loud crowd.

“No!” Edward struggled against the men dragging him by his arms. “You can’t do this!” His voice was drowned out by the crowd’s cheers. Soon enough he was tied against a pole surrounded by the face of people he once called his patients. 

He wasn’t hated, that was far from the truth, they were desperate. As desperate as Edward was to escape this torment. “Let me go! Please!” 

Prayers were chanted amongst the crowd. Another man stood in front of Edward, armed with a knife. Edward recognized him, he failed to save his wife from the plague that fell upon the town. He could see the pain in his eyes.

The man leading the event continued to call out amongst the village. He looked up at something unseen. “Oh mighty gods... please hear our prayers!” 

“This isn’t right!” Edward shrieked. The crowd fell silent, somber expressions painted each of their faces. Even the man in front of him shared their look of remorse, eyes vacant as he stared at the knife he was holding. He was breathing heavily and shaking. “Please... you can’t do this...”

The man tore his gaze from the knife and looked at Edward. “May the gods have mercy on our souls and cure us of this plague. With this sacrifice-“ 

“This isn’t the solution!” Edward struggled against his binds. “You can’t rely on the gods for this. You need my help!” Some gasped and looked at him with shocked expressions. As if he was the crazy one here.

“We need divine help!” the man snapped. “This plague has killed too many of us. Too many good people.” The knife glistened against the sun’s rays. Edward swallowed harshly at the sight. “You’re a good man, Edward, please, forgive us for this.” 

Edward stayed silent, looking at the crowd in desperation. The man raised the knife, causing him to flinch. “No, I’m your best bet on-“ The knife was put to his throat.

--

He woke up with a start as if he had a bad nightmare. Immediately, he grasped at his neck, noticing the rough skin of a scar. His eyes widened at the feeling, and he slowly lowered his hands that never stopped shaking. He looked around. He wasn’t in the town’s square anymore; it was completely dark.

“Hello?” His voice echoed against the shadows. No response.

He shook his head. Memories of betrayal and pain flooded his mind like the damned plague that flooded through the town. His town. 

“How could they do this...” While one patient died, he saved five in their place. He was the best in his field. Why, as he remembered the town’s faces he could recall helping them with their strife. And this is how they thanked him? 

Tears began building up in his eyes. They trusted him with their lives. He found it harder to breathe through his weak voice. He thought he could trust his life in theirs. The sob that escaped him was loud and filled with despair. He trusted them. His hands clenched and grabbed at the wispy black floor, as he collapsed forward and cried out his anguish. They betrayed him; when all he offered was compassion.

“It’s not fair, is it?” A foreign voice rang within the dark room. Edward couldn’t find the effort to care. He stared vacantly at his own hands. A shadowy mist emerged in front of his kneeled form. Soon enough, the mist formed into the shape of a man. 

“They didn’t appreciate your talents, doctor.” Edward slowly looked up at the figure; not caring for how his tears stained his face and disheveled his appearance. While shaped like a man, he knew he wasn’t staring at anyone human. Even if his vision was blurry, this wasn’t natural.

This figure was pale; dressed in elegant, dark clothes that looked expensive. He held an analyzing gaze as he looked down at Edward; black eyes seemingly emotionless. Still, this figure didn’t act malicious to him. “It wasn’t your time yet,” he said in a low, sympathetic tone. 

Edward couldn’t help but whimper at the thought. He tried to wipe away his tears on his sleeve; a pained scowl now plastered on his face. “I did so much for them...” 

The figure nodded solemnly. “You did. You were a noble man.” He walked around the distraught man with a look of disdain. “A soul like you doesn’t deserve this.” This wasn’t supposed to happen. Edward’s death, like everyone else’s, was maliciously planned to go with fate’s plan. Such a barbaric sacrifice never listened to order. “As an act of mercy,” he started as he looked down at Edward, “I can send your soul back.”

Send his soul back? Edward’s eyes light up at the thought, only for that light to be extinguished not a second later. “Back there...?” His voice was strained and dripping with disbelief. “To my village?” 

The figure nodded. “Yes, and with it, I’ll give your people nothing but a warning for this sin.” 

Edward furrowed his brows at the thought. “You won’t cure the plague?” 

“No, they should learn that acts like this will give them nothing.” 

A pit formed in his stomach. His mind flashed back and remembered all those faces. Everyone who was complacent or encouraging his brutal murder. All for something that wouldn’t get solved easily. “Then... then I don’t want to go back,” Edward concluded. “They’ll kill me again.” 

“I’ll make sure you live a life of luxury.” 

He was brave enough to snap at the other. “No, no, you don’t understand! I don’t want to see them again!” 

The figure seemed taken aback by his attitude. “Are you sure?” 

The pain, he could remember it. As his throat was slit the last thing he saw was the remorseful, but stern face of his past patient. He could remember the blood. He could remember the shame. “I’m sure. You can punish me for all I care. I’m not going back there.” 

The figure nodded, pity apparent on his pale features. However, his expression quickly turned dark. “I want you to understand what you’re saying, Edward.” 

Black mist swirled around him, forming shadows that wanted to reach out and grab him. “I underst-” They traveled up and tightened around his neck. He could only let out choked gasps as he fruitlessly grasped at them.

The figure leaned down, looming over the doctor. “You are not going to be treated like the rest. I’m going to turn you into a creation that will make humanity cower and praise you. You’ll be just like me. Do you understand?” 

It was surprising he could think with his blood and air getting cut off from his head. Cower and praise? That didn’t sound too bad. To become what his patients feared and worshipped. To be able to have them regret their betrayal against him. To be able to have them listen. He nodded, or at least, tried to. 

“You’ll be an interesting one, doctor,” the figure purred. “I greatly appreciated your cooperation.” 

The hold around his neck lessened. Edward felt immense pride in his chest as he took deep breaths of air. Whatever this was, it would be something new. Something bigger than what he was before. This figure, no, this god standing over him felt appreciation? He wanted to chase that feeling like a hunter to its prey. Was he being selfish for this? His village was selfish when they killed him. He shook whatever apprehensive thoughts he had out of his head. It was too late now; he made his choice. He needed this. He needed to earn back his respect and pride. Nothing fake. He’ll make sure he gets sincerity.

He looked up at the god with a smile. It’s weak, but still conveyed his feelings. Finally, the appreciation he deserved.

[moth-with-a-pen-archive]

20 First Lines Tag

Tagged by @andiwriteunderthemoon, tysm!

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20 stories just list them all). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line. Then tag others!

My favorite is probably the one I wrote for Raven, I like the way it establishes the narrative voice!

One pattern among my lines is that they've improved over time as I've gotten better at quickly establishing the tone of the story.

Novels

Despite Illusion (retired, 2018)

The end of the world began with a scream.

Rune (retired, 2020)

“Hey, asshole! Welcome home.” John shouted from the other room. Rune’s roommate was fused with the couch, as usual, unaware of the mess around him.

Ranthan Rot (current high fantasy wip)

Metaphor’s heart raced as they stepped up onto the stage, chased by the final stanza of the traditional song of kings. It echoed throughout the royal chapel for a few seconds longer before the room fell silent.

The Dawn Court (current sci-fi wip)

Disc was not proud of what they'd done. Everyone told them they should be, patted them on the back and congratulated them on the promotion. Then they went back to their quiet lives, feet happily planted on home soil. Sure, going off on interstellar voyages was impressive, but it was the sort of thing no one actually wanted to do themselves.

Tagging @mothwriter, @isherwoodj, @quilloftheclouds, @blindthewind, and anyone else who wants to!

More first lines below the cut!

Short Stories

Rainshower (complete, urban fantasy, might post it here sometime? a young girl strikes out on her own and finds life to be not what she wanted)

Brindleton, it seemed, was the place to be. A new club or apartment complex went up every month, and there were always ships in the harbor.

Out of Sight (complete, sci-fi, vignette-style. illegal alien hybrids are raised underground, evading the government's capture)

It was time for birthday wishes soon enough. Aloe baked a ration cake, and Erik helped his daughter blow out the candles. “What did you wish for?” She put a finger to her lips. “Can’t tell!”

Bigger Things (retired, fantasy, the heir to a fortune finds himself with the very same powers that killed his brother)

Welcome. We’ve been waiting for you. There’s no time to waste. The universe has chosen you to join our ranks. Have a seat, will you? It’s time to draw some cards.

A Raw Engagement (complete, contemporary, an upperclassmen seeks out a simpler life)

The party was too loud. Most parties were. Too loud, too bright, too full of besuited trust fund babies. Onyx said his hellos, his “nice to meet you”s, and he snuck away.

Remember Me (complete, fantasy, character is aware of the reader)

“Hello again.” Indigo lifted her gaze to the sky. There were pools of ink where her eyes should have been, as if she was being eaten by the night’s darkness. “Do you remember me?”

Raven (tbd, historical, a grandmother teaches about an ancient tale)

She’d been born on the harsh mountaintops, and traveled to the village beside the ravine. She’d been penniless, starved, withering away more every day. Same as anyone else. The woman who saved us from the tyrant was hardly an outlier. What had done it, then?

Chasing Midnight (complete, fantasy, yet to be posted. a girl runs away from home and fights to change her fate)

You already know how this will end. The beginning, however, may surprise those who care to listen. It was not a hard life, or one full of strife, that drove me to do what I did. On the contrary, my lot was an easy one.

Borrowed Time (tbd, sci-fi, humans explore an abandoned planet)

Expedition 5 landed without much fuss, and their commander became the dozenth woman to set foot on Trappist-1C. The rest of the crew filled out a line on either side of her, and they all took in their surroundings.

Anew (complete, sci-fi, guy goes back in time to save the library of alexandria)

I was among many eager volunteers for the time travel program. Some did it for the money, others for the prestige. Most just wanted to explore. Fair enough. I was the same way only a few months back.

As the Snow Falls (complete, low fantasy, a boy tells tales of days gone by)

A little boy strikes ivory keys as the snow falls and falls. His name is Chance, for he would never dare take one. He’s not fool enough to make the same mistake twice.

It's 3 AM on a Friday Night (complete, contemporary, posted here)

Another train gone, and you stand alone.

Centennial Parade (complete, litfic, a person is drawn into an endless revel. to be posted)

There is a parade, and no one knows about it, but everyone has joined. Everyone. No, that’s not quite right. Not you, not the girl, not the good man in the antique shop. But maybe they have joined and they just don’t know it yet. Maybe you and I are all that’s left of the world before.

[camphalfbloodgv]

𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐏 𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐅-𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃:  𝑘𝑒𝑒𝑝𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑔 𝘩𝑒𝑟𝑜𝑒𝑠 𝑠𝑎𝑓𝑒 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝘩𝑎𝑟𝑚 (𝑚𝑜𝑠𝑡𝑙𝑦) 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑡𝘩𝑟𝑒𝑒 𝑚𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑛𝑛𝑖𝑎 !

tucked  away  in  the  woods  in  the  northeast  of  long  island,  new  york,  is  a  camp  for  children  of  the  gods  of  olympus.  yes,  the  greek  gods  we  all  heard  stories  of.  surprise,  surprise,  they  exist !  with  magical  borders  that  keeps  monsters  and  invaders  out,  the  camp  houses  twelve  cabins  for  all  demigods  that  choose  to  stay.  while  the  camp  provides  shelter  and  a  place for  the  children  to  meet  others  like  them  and  connect  with  their  half - siblings,  it  also  prepares  them  for  battle  through  intense  training  sessions.  are  you  a  lost  demigod  interested  in  joining  us ?  well,  pack  your  bags  and  come  to  half - blood  hill,  farm  road  3.141  long  island,  new  york.  we  are  waiting  for  you.

𝐈.  𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

please  track  and  tag  your  starters  with  gv. camp halfblood.

characters  of  all  fandoms  are  welcome  to  join !

duplicates  are  allowed  if  the  muses  are  twins

the  youngest  a  character  can  be  is  sixteen  and  the  oldest  is  twenty - five  (  i  erased  the  whole  ‘  most  demigods  don’t  live  past  twenty  years - old  ’  because  i  know  most  muses  these  days  are  over  eighteen  and  i  wanted  to  give  everyone  some  wiggle  room  to  work  with ).

if  you  want  your  character  to  be  the  child  of  a  god  that  isn’t  listed  here,  that’s  okay !  they’ll  be  placed  in  cabin  eleven,  along  with  hermes’  children,  unclaimed  children  and  children  of  minor  gods.

any  further  questions,  feel  free  to  contact  me  through  ask  or  im.

𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐋𝐘 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 !

𝐈𝐈.  𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐆𝐎𝐃𝐒

bellamy  blake  ( @slaysfear )  —  twenty - three.  son  of  ares.  cabin  counselor  &  defense  instructor.

caroline  forbes  ( @sheoptimist )  —  eighteen.  daughter  of  aphrodite.  cabin  counselor  &  self - entitled  head  of  event  planning.

clarke  griffin  ( @shebore )  —  eighteen.  daughter  of  apollo.  cabin  counselor  &  healer. 

echo  azgeda  ( @azgedaspy )  —  twenty - three.  daughter  of  athena.  cabin  counselor  &  sword  play  instructor.

edan  sallow  ( @skaikom )  —  eighteen.  son  of  poseidon.  swimming  instructor.

edna  ‘ eddie ’  earlson  ( @sterxid )  —  eighteen.  daughter  of  eris,  goddess  of  strife  and  discord.  camper.

elizabeth  ‘ betty ’  cooper  ( @coopaers )  —  eighteen.  daughter  of  athena.  camper. 

elsa  ( @greyheroes )  —  twenty - two.  daughter  of  khione,  the  god  of  ice.  camper.

octavia  blake  ( @earthreina )  —  eighteen.  daughter  of  hades.  camper.

rapunzel  carter  ( @itsgclden )  —  eighteen.  daughter  of  alectrona,  the  goddes  of  sun.  lifeguard.

sam  winchester  ( @damnedtm​ )  —  twenty - one.  son  of  hades.  healer. 

stefan  salvatore  ( @salvatoraes )  —  eighteen.  son  of  apollo.  camper.

taylor  borelli  ( @fidelixcorde )  —  twenty.  daughter  of  ares.  hand  to  hand  combat  instructor.

veronica  ‘ ronnie ’  lennox  ( @ofdamages )  —  eighteen.  daughter  of  demeter.  camper.

[skybristle]

rbs > likes !!

one of my new iterators from me and @arti-cat 's group... soooo obsessed with him. the top 'scars' are painted on btw AHSLKJFDSLKJFSDLKJFD thank u dust for supporting trans rights. you are allowed to thirst btw AHSHFDSLFKJDS

[scribeofmorpheus]

Counterpart Epilogue

Pairing: Bucky x Reader x Framework!Steve

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Words: 2k | AO3

A/N: Short and punchy guys! Counterpart has been a wild ride. And thus conclude’s this story. But you know what they say about one door closing... I hope you join me for the Spin-Off: The Liberators. Send me an ask if you want to be tagged in that going forward.

Warning: flashing gif below!

Like, reblog or leave a comment -it’s highly appreciated! ☺

EPILOGUE: THOSE WE LEAVE BEHIND

 "And do you regret it?" Your therapist inquired from behind the safety of her clipboard, her eyes shielded by the thick glass layer of her lenses.

You had been startled from your wondering thoughts, fingers shifting the ring on your left hand absentmindedly, "What?"

"Everything that happened?" She used her arm to prop herself straighter in her leather chair. "Every time you come in here, you express regret for your actions, talking about how you wished you could take it all back, how you wished you could return to the way things were before. But you've never actually said it aloud. So, I'll ask you again: do you regret everything that happened to you all those months ago?"

Your bottom lip froze half an inch from the other, your focus drawn to the sounds of rain hitting the roof. It was like being under a meteor shower.

Discontent with the silence, your therapist pushed forward, "Alright. Perhaps we should move onto something a little easier to talk about… How are things with your husband?"

Two separate faces flashed into your mind and for a second, you had lost your bearings, the depths of your mental discord colliding into uncertainty. Visions of another life bombarding your cerebral peripheral and you had to hold your eyes shut for a brief moment.

You therapist craned her neck to study your reactions better, "Y/N?"

"I… S-sorry.” You shook yourself back to the present. Back to the now. “Things with my husband…" You twirled your wedding band some more, a grievous impression permanently stamped to your brow. A kick and a jostle inside of you alerted you to the baby’s movements, your eyes trailing downwards to see a soft bump nudging forward and then systematically retreating over your protruding belly. "They're good. Better now that I'm off active duty. He worries. Though now he's just gotten substantially better at hiding it."

She scribbled something on her clipboard with a thoughtful, "Hmm." When her pen was returned to its resting position, she asked: "And how are you fairing with your impromptu return to civilian life?"

"It's…" You took your time, searching for the appropriate response to sum up the last few months. "An adjustment period."

"And what of the medication? Any further side-effects?"

"My memory gets a little foggy some mornings. But it's getting better. At least I can go an entire day without getting one of those mind-numbing headaches. The prescription change has been beneficial I think," you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear as you watched her jot something down with an elated look on her face.

"That's good to hear," the ticking clock let off a soothing tune for a few beats. "Ah, it seems that's all we have time for today." She placed the cap over her pen and placed her clipboard on the table.

"Same time next week?" You anchored your arms on the arm-rests to make it easier for you to lift your much heavier body out of the tight chair.

Your therapist mulled over a thought, "No, you seem to be improving immensely, I think it's a safe bet to cut down our meeting time to every other week. Give you more time to adjust to your new normal. You can also limit yourself to one pill a day now."

"Got it doc. See you in two weeks then," you grabbed your bag off the floor and stretched out your hand to grab onto the doorknob.

"Oh, and agent Y/N," she called out to you. A huff left your lips as you slowly turned to face her again. She smiled wryly, tucking her hands into the small pockets of her blazer. "Hail Hydra."

You held her gaze for a long pause, the oscillation between raindrops growing farther and farther apart, the grey clouds were starting to part, stray slivers of stubborn sunlight beaming through the skylight.

"Nice try doc," A cheeky smile crept across your lips as you turned the doorknob, a clicking sound emanating off the latch. "Oh, and you asked me if I regret what happened."

She leaned closer, hands keeping her steady over the table, eyes narrowing studiously.

You looked down at the warm metal on your left hand. "Only on the bad days."

 Bucky was leaning against the frame of his car, thumbs hooked over the edges of his jean pockets, sunglasses framing his strong jawline. He beamed a smile at you as soon as he caught wind of you exiting the large building. Striding over to smother you in a warm embrace.

He peeled his sunglasses back so he could stare down at you affectionately. His body relaxed and at ease, once you were trapped within the circumference of his protectively locked fingers pressed against the small of your back.

You exhaled contently, a brightness exploding in your chest. It was probably the hormones making you overly emotional, but he loved seeing that side of you. He loved bringing that side of you to the surface. Honestly, he loved everything about you and he wasn’t averse to letting you know it every morning you woke up either.

"How're my girl's doing?" he asked with his cheek firmly planted on your scalp.

"Hmm, we're fine. Just tired," your stomach betrayed you, letting out a whale call from hunger.

"Fine huh?" he teased, placing his hand protectively on your swollen bellybutton.

You swatted him away, not in the mood for a belly rub. "Maybe I am a little hungry."

"Can't have that, can we?" He laced his fingers in yours dragging you to the car with his long strides while you waddled behind him trying to keep up.

After Bucky made a fuss of strapping the seat belt around you, the two of you sat in comfortable silence as he drove back to the compound.

You cradled your bump when you felt the baby become particularly energetic with its kicks, the discomfort from your pressed bladder making you constantly shift your legs about.

"How do you know our baby's going to be a girl?" You blinked up at him.

Bucky grinned like a love-struck fool, hand inching away from the stick shift towards the spot where your belly kept fluttering from the movements within. "A hunch."

You leaned your head against the window, "I think it'll be a boy."

"If he's anything like I was as a kid, we're gonna be in big trouble."

You placed your hand behind his neck, massaging the point where his nape hairs subsided, "Ditto."

He chuckled, lacing your fingers again with one hand on the steering wheel so he could kiss the ring on your finger. "Either way… I'm happy."

You looked through the rear-view mirror. A ghost that looked eerily like Steve glared at you through hooded eyes, sending shivers down your back as you gulped. You kept eye contact with the phantom in silent provocation. A psychological form of warfare reserved for you and those you left behind.

"So am I."

 When you got back to the compound you saw Wanda and Sam lifting boxes out of your room. Wanda's boxes hovered close to her, surrounded by the ruby threads of her misty projections, eyes a shade paler than her defensive red. Sam had a sweat patch forming around his shirt's V-neck.

"What's all this?" you asked.

Sam set a box down with a loud exhale, "I thought you were gonna try and keep her away until we were done settin’ up the crib in the new room?" he directed his question at Bucky.

Bucky shrugged, "My girls were hungry."

Wanda held a joyous type of energy in the way she playfully hovered the boxes about, "It was supposed to be a surprise. We're setting you two up in the suite on the top floor. There wasn't much space in your old room for the crib."

Your eyes began to well up from tears of joy, a soft laugh echoing out in the otherwise quiet hallway. Bucky instinctively moved closer to you, the sound of your voice acting as a type of magnet for him, an undisputable pull.

"You guys," you fanned at your eyes. "I don't know what to say."

Sam slinked his arm around your neck, "You don't have to say nothin'…we’re your family now. And family looks out for each other."

You sniffled as Wanda joined in on the hug, her hair tickling your nape, "I always wanted a sister."

Bucky didn't join in, he knew this moment was for you and you alone. He was perfectly happy watching you glow from all the affection and adoration you were receiving. A sensation of pride injecting through his veins with every strong heartbeat.

 Wanda kept you blindfolded with her slender fingers, light travelling through the gaps between her fingers as she led you towards your new room.

"Ta-da!" she bellowed when she whipped her hands back.

You opened your eyes and took in the sight of your newly decorated, oldly furnished and spaciously laid out room. The crib was strategically placed in the lightest part of the room. A mobile of palnets spinning above the yellow bumble-bee print spread.

Wanda placed her head on your shoulder, having to bend her knees slightly to reach your height.

"Wanda," you clasped her hand in yours. "It's perfect."

"I know," she said with a proud smile. "It's easy to decorate a room when you move everything with a single thought."

You both laughed.

Leaning against the wall was the same phantom from the car, his dark eyes leering at you with both desire and disgust, venom oozing off his words, mangled by strife and irreconcilability, "I gave up everything for you."

You blinked him away and turned on your heel, nudging Wanda's head off of you. Suddenly a rush of blue and silver screened past your vision and for a moment you saw Pietro in Wanda's features.

She looked at you with concern, "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah," you nodded. "I've just been thinking."

"What about?"

"The baby," you patted your bump. "And names. I was toying with the idea of naming it Peter if it's a boy, after you brother."

Wanda gasped, her eyes becoming glassier with each stretch of time. A tweak working over her agape mouth.

"And if it's a girl, Wanda. Because you were both instrumental in bringing me back. You both saved my life. That’s one of the reason’s I asked Sam not to destroy the Framework. I couldn’t live with myself if I destroyed the people I had been made to believe were flesh and blood. The people I believed were once as real as you and Bucky and Sam are to me."

Speechless, Wanda threw her arms around you and let out a shaky laugh filled with glee. The two of you swaying about in the room while Bucky and Sam leaned against the door frame watching with satisfied looks.

 Talia stared at the bloodied knife she had used to stab Steve in the back in order to save Y/N from his murderous clutches before she disappeared in that strange beam of light that seemingly disappeared with her. The blood had dried now, shavings of red plasma peeling off the serrated blades stainless steel. A trophy of her misgivings.

Tania Belinsky was dead. Her neck snapped without reservation and just like that this cruel, bleak world had taken another person she came to care for. A person she broke down her walls for.

James was gone too. He hadn't contacted her in over several hours. They had a system. A protocol. He hadn't followed it. She knew for certain he was gone and she was left alone in the world once again. The empty feeling in her heart was survived only by the hatred in her veins.

Pietro sat on the cold ground with his head in his hands, tears running down his bruised face as he mourned. Shuri presided over him, an anchoring grip placed on his shoulder as a quiet life-jacket intended to keep him afloat through the maelstrom of grief that he was cast into. Just like Talia, Pietro had lost two people closest to him in the span of a few minutes. To say it was crippling was an understatement.

Sharon sat in the far corner of the brick room, she hadn't uttered a single word since the retreat. Her only constant was the tremble in her hands that refused to subside.

"They know who we are now," Shuri stated gravely. "It won't be long before they come for us."

Rage, pure and unnerving, pooled around Talia's eyes, "Good," she spat vehemently through grinding molars.

Everyone in the basement looked up at her with perplexity tugging on their eyebrows. She stalked off towards the spray-painted graffiti of a raised hand signing out an L, implanting the knife in the centre of it with a single swing, a crack forming around the plugged tear. The assassin in her had been sorely let down when she didn’t draw blood from the stone wall. "Let them come. It's time we stop hiding. It's time to draw the line in the sand."

 “It’s time for liberation,” Sharon muttered.

“It’s time for liberation!”

 Natalia Romanova's storyline continues in The Liberators.

Counterpart tags, message me if you want to be added to my Steve or Bucky taglists for future stories!

Tags: @ladybugsfanfics​ @ninaminaromina​ @xstevenat​

AFWHI & Permatags: @gruffle1 @thechickvic @notawarriorjustyet @savethehoneeybees @fangirl-colo @dormousse @smallmarvel @ren-ni @sargentbucket @nikolett3 @wnygirl2012 @jentismyname @evilgeniuslabz-blog @myrabbitholetoneverland @sleepingspacedragon @500daysofbecky @reidreader 

Thanks for sticking with me through the end, you guys are awsome! ♥  

[kitt-andrea]

The People and the Planet

The places we walk write poetry, but the people we are with create the places we walk. Be careful where you tread.

I cannot see: the route around the corner or the small woods alongside the back path or that place itself without thinking- of a morning we waited with baited breath, or the evenings in ease as we sang and drank and hoped our childish joy at adult delights could be heard from outside. Times we created a space that could not be recreated.

The University may tell us The Slate is a conference centre, but we were there when it was Our Occupation, its halls echoing with the sound(s) of resistance. They may turn up the speakers to drown us out, but nothing can contain the voices of youth- full of love. We accepted this experience to be unique and stand alone, so more poems have come from these weeks than we read to each other inside. And we made art, on cardboard and in photographs, and tunes strummed quietly on a guitar.

Although we carry these beauteous creations around now, they belong to Our Occupation, just as much as we belong to it- and it belongs to us. This space is sacred- even now (!) it has been defiled by the business people who bring strife and inequality into its precious rooms. These days it longs for our return; for its fulfilment. When we trampled in mud and hope, it rewarded us: its/our safety and ecstasy made us almost divine, no matter how broken so many of us are. Proof marginalised people can exist in this world happily, given a place and space and autonomy. Some would interpret our relationship to the building as one that deified the occupants, but this is unfair. Rather, we simply were allowed to exercise our own free-will. The oppressed taking control of some part of their lives is so foreign → alien → undesirable to some that they can only see us as malevolent dictators (the powerful have blamed those with less power for the existence of power).

In the winter’s cold nights, light filtered in from the high windows there weren’t blinds for, so ever-bright, the clarity of camaraderie and wisdom illuminated us. We learnt something new about life, the world, each other- every moment. Enlightened to our potential, upon entry we made the toilets gender-neutral and drew over the binaries they had once represented. The speakers extended to the bathrooms, so we played the music of fun throughout the whole area; my fondest memories are of brushing teeth with friends after a long day and finding joy in the odd intimacy of it all.

And there was an intimacy. We all slept in the same room- we said for warmth. But truly, it was to become close and foster trust among each other, until at the end of the first dramatic week we laughed and sang Les Misérables. Management had heard the people sing, and laugh and cry and become one voice over the wind. Still we were in awe at an industrial dishwasher and walk-in fridge, so we filled the kitchen with humus and collective responsibility to keep Our Occupation tidy. Those heavy desks told us “anything is possible”; we proved that all fourteen days we lived there, and I hope management see that and think- ‘a rag-tag group of young people with a cause held an entire building for a fortnight’- we cost a few hundred thousand pounds in damages, but a lot more in propriety. Because for the first time on Warwick University grounds, the collective/we belonged. Belonged in a way none of us did in our first-year accommodation or in common rooms. We had made that environment and treasured it. So occupying became an art we had mastered. Respect and resistance and recognition. Our collective name is engraved deeper than even the walls now, and so The Slate belongs forever to Warwick For Free Education.

But what of Senate House? Some stories are not good ones. Brutality. Screams. Unjust. I watched. The video of that infamous day for the first time and could not hold back tears, still brought to desperation knowing how friends suffered. Like some fucked up Holy Day, I remember December 3rd 2014, when three were arrested, but a day later the protest was a thousand strong and their occupation opened the eyes of so many who stayed after that, and still resides in those whose hearts are open to resistance. And they try to tell me that religion is dying. So I’ll have faith in a day I didn’t see and try to hold dear those who suffered so that JUSTICE/PEACE might take root.

So, I will well up every time I must go into that place, and think of all the horrible things there and try to figure out where [redacted] was standing when they got dragged away and sprayed with CS gas, and where [redacted] ran to try to stop an arrest, and how [redacted] was forced outside with lights glaring and cried- the screams haunting the lobby.

It is said, to take your pain and make it into something beautiful is an art. I say taking your pain and making it is beautiful all on its own. The ability to feel what you feel, acknowledge it and to create something from it, to twist it into something you can hold, to mould yourself around the shape of pain and hold on is beautiful. Surviving pain is an art, and you hold the paint brush. Although I can never experience what they did, I shall write my pain in this knowledge and hope I have done enough. Because chest tight fists clenched heart palpitation feet ready to run and mind whirring is not how I should feel giving in my key to reception. This is not the reaction of someone not deeply disturbed, and generational trauma can be condensed into university overturn. We are learning to overcome this- somehow.

I must remind myself some moments we move the landscape are not ones of fear and media buzzing, but of everyday life. Although the flat I lived in last year feels desolate and distant to me, the path towards it is enlightened with the memories of walks with friends before we would go separate ways. [The first time we hung out, I did not know if it was a date, or how to understand their lack of words, but] Or another day, with a new companion we wrote the words in our heart onto those styrofoam letters across the university, and once again Warwick For Free Education was written, inside a heart. The letters only stayed the rest of the week but we still collaborated to cover our campus with giggles and protest and belonging: that week navigating campus was the easiest it had ever been.

When two different groups convened on some bench, a gust of nature/poetry told me to commit this moment to memory for when I feel sad- and so this bench sings of contentment. I remember how the sun came out for the first time in months, so we sat for hours without getting cold and drank bad beer. So many hours spent preparing what I had to say, but it felt so worth it. Or in their small room, like mine, filled with food and laughter and the casual intimacy that comes with close spaces and closer friends. Going to a talk and advertising a boycott and- for once- everyone laughed. Mocking our mental illness(es) but feeling alive and free despite it all. I have remembered. This day and the places we made.

We have made this wasteland, once barren of passion and heart, bearable- not quite home, but a place we could be. So we were, we are, and the poetry of protest chants shall continue to grow from the crude soil, rough and through weed killer, beautiful in resistance. On a campus so artificial, where nothing is natural and the conditions so harsh, we shall continue to grow through the cracks, accomplishing what few others today can do: we find our roots firm, because they are entwined together, in solidarity forever. Maybe one day our hard work will bloom into the song of a generation. Resonating off the halls of Our Occupation.

November 2017

[flipperbrain]

Salty Ask List

Since @killian-whump​ is contractually obligated to tell everyone to DO THEM ALLLL!!! and I wouldn’t want her to get into legal trouble, here’s my complete salty ask list. No one else is paying attention anyway so thank you Shari! ❤️😂 I put in a cut so it’s not too annoying though it’s not super duper long.

1. What OTPs in your fandom(s) do you just not get?* Swanfire or whatever it’s called. Neal was such a minor character and a coward imho, that I don’t get why people still cling to the pairing and ignore 85% of what actually happened on the show. But whatevs.

2. Are there any popular fandom OTPs you only BroTP?* Is HookedQueen popular?? I can definitely see the sex appeal and I’ve toyed with the pairing and had fun with it in reblogs and artwork, but I really just see them as friends… though who knows they may be dating now, never say never.

3. Have you ever unfollowed someone over a fandom opinion? If it was a non-stop rude opinion that was not properly tagged? Definitely. People have unfollowed and blocked me for far less. i.e. criticizing Leanne Aguilera about something she tweeted pertaining to another fandom. I’d do it again because it was shitty, just fyi.

4. Do you have a NoTP in your fandom? Are they a popular OTP?* GoldenQueen, I don’t think it’s popular, is it popular?

5. Has fandom ever ruined a pairing for you?* This is probably a question that I should take the fifth on but, the response to Season 7 by some fans wrecked captain swan for me a bit, I’ve come back around now that some time has passed and I’ve cleaned up my dash, I can enjoy them and write about them again. It’s not quite the same but I hope eventually it will be.

6. Has fandom ever made you enjoy a pairing you previously hated?* I saw a lot of hatefulness from some $Q fans for a long time on twitter, I know that doesn’t represent ALL fans but it was what I was exposed to. I didn’t like how Killian had to be this awful person in order to make the ship work, like just do your thing and leave him out of it. I can’t say I enjoy it per se, but I’ve come to understand why folks like it. I’m a ship and let ship kind of gal, if it makes you happy and you’re not tormenting other people, then go for it.

7. Is there anything you used to like but can’t stand now?* There’s some scenes that at first blush I loved, but the more I’ve seen them and thought about them, I can’t stand them now.

8.Have you received anon hate? What about?* Season 7 definitely. Hatred for Wish!Hook and KnightRook… And that time I dared to make HQ art, well I won’t even mention that.

9. Most disliked character(s)? Why? I think Belle is boring but I don’t dislike her. Gothel is pretty universally hated but she was a great villain, she didn’t get all soft and fuzzy, she was a jerk to the end. So I disliked her yes, but in a good way.

10. Most disliked arc? Why? I didn’t like the All Saviors Die thing in Season 6. Emma just looked stressed out most of the time and cried a lot, there was too much angst between her and Killian and not enough happiness because this trauma was always hanging over their heads. it wasn’t a pleasant ride for me. The wedding was great but it ended up being kind of rushed. I wish S6 had been calmer and happier so we could enjoy the engagement without all the strife, but that doesn’t make for good TV I guess.

11. Is there an unpopular character you like that the fandom doesn’t? Why? I don’t like Neal but I loved little Baelfire. I thought he was a great kid, not sure what happened there.

12. Is there an unpopular arc that you like that the fandom doesn’t? Why? I’ve seen a lot of things disliking the Frozen arc, that it was shoehorned etc, I hadn’t seen the movie when the arc began and have since but don’t see the thrill tbh but I liked it on OUAT, and I LOVED Anna. She was super cute and funny. I felt like overall Frozen was done well.

13. Unpopular opinion about XXX character? Most of the issues I have are more to do with writing that I felt was OOC, I can’t think of anything specific.

14. Unpopular opinion about your fandom? I don’t know if it’s unpopular but there’s a lot of very set-in-their-ways rigid fans in the fandom who are unwilling to let people enjoy what they enjoy. To me it’s like the news, if you only live in an echo chamber and listen to the voices of likeminded people, you never grow in your thinking and learn to understand other opinions. You don’t have to like it but lashing out with hate never helps anyone.

15. Unpopular opinion about the manga/show? That I loved it from start to finish. I even love the things I hate.

16. If you could change anything in the show, what would you change? I would put more focus on the characters and their backstories, and less on action for action’s sake. There was too much unnecessary drama imo.

17. Instead of XYZ happening, I would have made ABC happen… Oh gosh, If A&E’s intention was to make Regina a more sympathetic figure, and it seems like it was, I would have dialed back on some of the dreadful things she inflicted on people. I ended up really liking Roni, but you have to ignore a lot to make her Queen of all the realms. But hey, the people have spoken.

18. Does not shipping something ‘popular’ mean you’re in denial and/or biased? Nope, unless you are in denial or biased.

19. What is the one thing you hate most about your fandom? When fans shit on the actors and go after them over their own ridiculous fantasies about their personal lives. I really, really, really hate that.

20. What is the purest ship in the fandom? Hook x hook of course!! They are beautiful and pure and I love them so much!!

21. What are your thoughts on crack ships? See 20. :D

22. Popular character you hate? I don’t hate any character. They’re just out there doing their fairytale jobs.

23. Unpopular character you love? Henry? He really annoyed me but grew on me in the last 2 seasons. Plus Jared is adorable in person and so is Andrew, I have to love them.

24. Would you recommend XXX to a friend? Why or why not? Would I recommend OUAT? Absolutely!! It gave me something to hold onto when I really needed it, and for the most part it has a wonderful message. There’s always hope!

25. How would you end XXX/Would you change the ending of XXX? I would get kraken on ending the curse way earlier in season 7 so KnightRook had a little time to be together. I loved that many of the stories were wrapped up in the series finale and all of the familiar faces we got to see, but it was packed so full that it felt rushed. They had all of 7B to fit bits and pieces, why it all had to come to a conclusion in the last 2 eps I dunno.

26. Most shippable character? Killian Jones. He goes with everything, even himself.

27. Least shippable character? Happy. For reasons.

[leonawriter]

OK I just finished watching Advent Children for the first time since getting some freaking CONTEXT and, well, I have thoughts.

First off, I kept getting confused on what happened where, because I’d read how the kids ended up in the Forgotten City, but then the big battle at the end was in Midgar, definitely, and... yeah, watching it again helped! 

Basically, the timeline is confusing. Not even just the way it bounces around with flashbacks - I could handle that! I write that shit. I can follow it. But the way things are pretty much ‘they arrive, no, now it’s two weeks ago, now it’s back in the present day, now they’ve already arrived in the Forgotten City, now Cloud’s back home, now Cloud’s racing through the glowy trees of the Forgotten City, now he’s back in Midgar, now they’re fighting. 

I’ve seen how far away that place is. It should probably take several days to get there, not several hours! I can understand the Remnants not taking rest stops, but the kids? Cloud? And there is in fact some water - or at least silty beach - to cross in order to get to the Northern Continent from Midgar, too.

I can excuse Genesis’ short travel times in Sombre Morrow because for one thing, he can fly, and for another thing, he has no sense of self-preservation anymore and lacks the ability to understand actual self-care. He’ll push himself that far in how far he can fly in as short a time as possible. 

But Cloud? Cloud does not have a wing. He has a motorbike. One that does not have wings either. Cloud, how are you doing this.

Okay, other things.

I... now have more ideas of how to write Denzel. For one thing, I don’t know how much I’d known about how Cloud found him before other than ‘I found him outside Aerith’s church, and I thought she sent him to me’, but... wow, the kid literally roots around in Cloud’s bike when he sees the PHS/phone’s still there, and tries to call his family, probably knowing that there’s no chance anyone will answer since they’re all dead. If you’ve seen or played the rest of the games, or even just the main game, it’s kind of obvious how they died, too. And then this kid calls Seventh Heaven, the number that’d kept being listed as unanswered, and... says he doesn’t know what to do. And then collapses in pain from his Geostigma, which - if you’ve read On The Way To A Smile, or the wiki pages, then that was probably because Denzel was having a moment of doubt, wondering what he had left to live for.

Which also explains why Tifa was able to get through to him later in Midgar after he’d been Jenova’d! Because Jenova - or Sephiroth’s hatred and despair - can’t hold onto someone who has something to live for. Something they desperately want to protect. The Geostigma was still there, but just like how Cloud was able to stay himself and push Sephiroth’s influence away, so was Denzel. It doesn’t take being Cloud Strife to be able to do that. It just takes having something you cherish.

Sephiroth, it seems, rather clearly does not cherish a thing anymore. Pain, hatred, and despair has taken that away from him. Just as Marlene said at the beginning - First he hated Shinra for what they’d done to him, and then he began to hate everything, and the Planet itself.

Talking of Sephiroth and Cloud... wow. Oh wow. Can I just... watching them fight was beautiful? I’ll freely admit there were moments before Sephiroth winged it when I went ‘ah, yes, I can see why people ship them’, and it had nothing to do with hate-ships (fun fact: it disturbs me when I see ships that centre around how much two characters that hate each other, especially the way these two do in canon, and especially with the way Sephiroth pushes on his trauma buttons like it’s a game, because to him it is). It was all, as I’ve said before, even... it’s all about how in tune they were, how they could go toe-to-toe with each other at their best, pushing each other to their limits. In fact, it’s the reason why I get so excited about the idea of them becoming platonically close friends in any of my AU stories. Because if that’s what they’re capable of in canon, then just imagine what they could be capable of if they were working together.

On the subject of ships, although I can’t say anything convinced me enough about Cloud and Tifa - though I can definitely say that they care about each other a great deal, and I can definitely see how Tifa could have been frustrated - I loved all of the interactions with Aerith and Zack? Aerith and Zack tag-teaming with each other on helping Cloud get back on his feet without forcing him into anything.

...Back on the Remnants, and with the sheer number of times I noticed them saying and doing real stupid, dorky shit, I had to wonder aloud at one point, “just how much of a dork was Sephiroth before he died?!”. Because, seriously. The Remnants are bits of Sephiroth. They’re possibly even bits he didn’t even know he still had! So, yeah, those are all things that Sephiroth could have done at some point if he’d been in the right situation, and if he’d had the right upbringing that’d allow him to be more open, and know how to be open.

Other Sephiroth things is that my main impression is... I echo Cloud’s statement of “I pity you. You don’t get it at all - there’s not a thing I don’t cherish!” because... Aerith told Kadaj that it’s okay, you can let go now, and that’s... really how it is. Sephiroth’s not letting go. He’s got this mistaken hold on the idea of coming back again and again, he downright refuses to let go. I don’t really see that as inspiring. I see it as sad. And neither Loz nor Yazoo were able to let go either, which is rather representative of Sephiroth’s own resolve. Especially since they keep on fighting even when they’re dissolving into the lifestream. When there’s no more point to fighting. When Sephiroth’s gone and Jenova’s cells are all used up and Kadaj has accepted his fate (even though he thought he was going to ‘mother’, not Aerith, but the feeling of her was what he was reaching out to, to me).

Purely aesthetic thing that annoyed me? Almost everyone is dressed in dark clothes. Everyone. I saw hardly a single bit of colour anywhere other than Aerith’s dress. You look at a group shot from above? It’s a sea of muted, unsaturated, greys and dark browns and blacks. C’mon SE, I’m sure even in a post-apocalyptic scenario like this people will try to find some damn colour.

[allmyloveavery]

if this was a movie ~ j.m

A/N: this one’s for @nightsspentthinking hope you like it bub you said fuck me up and i tried? idk you be the judge of it. I did this moodboard a while back and my romeo and juliet loving ass just couldn’t resist writing this based off of that moodboard. (also @jonahgarl wanted to be tagged in this if i posted it so here ya go love)

Requested: nah fam I just woke up to the thought of this concept and I was like gotta blast and write this fuck my homework 

Summary: You’re on a holiday in Verona and like juliet you find your romeo (only without the dying lmao  like could you imagine I would actually write a modern-day version of that and killed them at the end wow that would be wild) 

‘Two households, both alike in dignity,

In fair Verona, where we lay our scene,

From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,

Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.

From forth the fatal loins of these two foes

A pair of star-cross’d lovers take their life;

Whose misadventured piteous overthrows

Do with their death bury their parents’ strife.

The fearful passage of their death-mark’d love,

And the continuance of their parents’ rage,

Which, but their children’s end, nought could remove,

Is now the two hours’ traffic of our stage;

The which if you with patient ears attend,

What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend.’

You drag your friend Marina along the street via Capello in excitement as you get closer and closer to casa di Giulietta, Juliet Capulet’s house. You can’t wait to get a picture with Julia’s bust touching the right side of her chest for luck in love, stand on the balcony where the whole thing went down according to Shakespeare. You weren’t in a relationship so you wouldn’t be hanging a love lock on the gate or posting a little love note on the walls but regardless of that you were super excited to see the house from your favorite love story. 

As you and your friend approach the line to go in you notice the boy in front of you. As cliche and ‘that only happens in movies’ as it sounded, you felt your heart drop for a second and admired his smile as he laughed at something his friend had said. His laugh sounded warm and hearty and it echoed through your ears after the boy had already stopped laughing. Marina waved her hand in front of your face “hellooooo earth to y/n, did I vanish or something?” You snap out of the mesmerized trance you were in as you were looking at the tall dark haired boy. “No, why would you say that?“  Marina didn’t even have to say anything to answer your question. Instead, she just rolled her eyes, glanced at the boy and raised an eyebrow to you. "Okay fine, you caught me, but I just couldn’t help myself.” You say as you throw your hands in the air in defeat. “You’re such a hopeless romantic, gosh." 

Marina shakes her head as she smirks at you. "Not gonna lie though, he’s pretty cute.” You gasp dramatically and exclaim “are we going to have to battle for his love?” Marina takes a step back before saying “I challenge you to a duel.” You both laugh before both letting out a sarcastic “my oh my”, not realizing the boy you were supposedly gonna battle over was looking at the two of you with an amused look on his face. You feel a tap on your shoulder and turn around to face the handsome stranger. “May I ask whose love you’re battling for?” You fight the urge to blush with every fiber in you and calmly answer: “actually we don’t know his name yet.” You hear that soft laugh again that mesmerized you in the first place. “Oh, well, we can fix that” he says before pausing and sticking out his hand for you to shake, which you gladly take. “My name is Jonah." 

Your eyes widen as you realize he knew you and Marina were talking about him. Too in shock to respond to what he’d just said you just stare at him as a little smile grows on your face. The boy that just introduced himself as Jonah winks at you before saying "how about instead of battling I take you out on a date instead?” You chuckle and pretend to think about it for a second. “Hmm I don’t know challenging someone to a duel to battle over love sounds pretty cool.” He looks at you and smirks “Not as cool as standing on Juliet’s balcony saying ‘O Romeo, Romeo wherefore art thou Romeo’ to a complete stranger you just met.”

 A little baffled by how smoothly he picked that up you stay silent for a second. “Are you insinuating that this supposed first date would be us acting out one of the most iconic scenes in the entire play?” Jonah nods his head and makes a little bow “that’s exactly what I’m insinuating m'lady.” “That actually does sound cooler than battling for your love."  He can’t help but smile to himself at your response. "Does that mean you’ll be the Juliet to my Romeo?” You blush and try to hide your face with your hair “I’d be your Juliet any time.” Jonah takes your hand bows down and gives a gentle kiss on top of it. “I trust your words, just call me your love.” he says and wiggles one of his eyebrows. “You do know that like comes after the balcony scene, right Romeo?” He rubs his neck and bites his lip while looking at you. “Of course I do.” “Mhm, sure.” “Hey” he whines and shoves you softly. 

When it is finally your turn to go inside both you and Jonah go up to the balcony and stand there admiring the view. Jonah is standing behind you with his arms wrapped around your waist as you take a few pictures until you finally hear Jonah speak up. “A promise is a promise, I’m gonna go downstairs and stand under the balcony for the highlight of our date.” You nod in agreement excitedly and when Jonah is standing under the balcony you start reciting the famous lines “O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father and refuse thy name; or if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love and I’ll no longer be a Capulet.” When you’re done reciting all of Juliet’s lines you hear Jonah speak from under the balcony. “I take thee at thy word. Call me but love, and I’ll be new baptized. Henceforth I never will be Romeo.” Last but not least you recite Juliet’s last line in that scene, “What man art thou that, thus bescreened in night, so stumblest on my counsel?" 

You make your way back downstairs to the garden to meet Jonah and he hands you two little pieces of paper and a pen. "What’s that for?” you ask him with a puzzled expression on your face. “We’re gonna post a love note on the wall.” Still confused you look at the little notes and back at Jonah. “But why do I have two notes?” Jonah flashes you a smile and simply says: “one for the love note and one for your number. You didn’t think I’d go all out like this and not get your number right?” and with that, he swung his arm over your shoulder. “And they say chivalry is dead” you jokingly say to him as you quickly scribble down your number and hand him the piece of paper. You make your way to the love note wall with Jonah and when he looks away you quickly scribble “ I didn’t find Romeo of Montague but I did find Jonah and that’s basically the same thing.” on the little paper before handing Jonah back his pen and waiting for your turn to put the note on the wall. 

[skybristle]

FINALLY I HAVE ALL OF THESE CUNTS NAMED. i made a like 10 iterator local group [Echoing Strife] with dear mutual @arti-cat !!!!!!! its crazy !! most of them were born like yesteday so no designs but im gonna dump about them. the whole theme of their group is they're based on the echoes /their monolouges. also some ancients that are important [more info under cut]. rb and comment on my ramblings boy

Metropolis: Clawing at the 'Clouds' [senior] [he/him] Sky Islands: A Second of 'Silence' [they/them] Wall/Silent Construct: Relentless Earthly Cacophony ['Rec'] [any/all] Chimney Canopy: Three Binding 'Feathers' [he/she/aer] Shoreline: A Precipice of a 'Promise' [she/it] Shaded Citadel: Seeing Past 'Ichor' [he/him] Subterranean: Solitude of Uncovered 'Omens' [they/it] Undergrowth: [Undisclosed] 'Vex'ing Desires [he/ve] Farm Arrays: Joyful Envision of Tranquility ['Jet'] [he/him] Bitter Aerie: From the 'Depths' to the Heavens [they/any] + Ancients: A Thousand Flakes of 'Dust', One Resolute Cause [she/her] Tangled 'Kestrel', Clawing Desperately [they/she] Cacophony's Caw, 'Crows' Descend [he/him] [child] 'Cardinal' Descending from Afar [he/him] [child] 'Wrens' Hopping, Blissful Eve [she/her] [BABY]

clouds: no talk him he angy. once again one of my seniors sucks at their fucking job. theres a fire in his heart filled with cancers and poppy tarts /ref hes gonna fuck everything up as soon as shit goes wrong. he gets therapy from a cat though. go shitty lesbians go. sometimes reffered to as claw demeaningly

silence: Old Man /silly . they are the mediator and are very concerned with their younger iterators. ends up really fucking things up with the constant fighting between vex and omens [ill get to that] and vex maybe explodes them [silence has a very weak structure to begin with]. oh also silence can overhear echos. hehehehe

rec: haha dumb IDIOT gave himself the rot!!!! she kind of did it when she was young and dumb and has come to really regret it, but chooses to use the remaining time he has building a better life for the creatures around him rather than concern himself with his infection and past mistakes, much to the dismay of its fellow iterators

feathers: silly little guy!!! had a crush on one of aer techs [kestrel] and grew very close to them. maybe cried like a little bitch when she managed to sneak her kids [crow & cardinal [wren probably wasnt born yet]] down there when she couldnt find someone to babysit. imagine having an iterator be ur nini to help you with your homework . its really silly to me. Sure Hope Mass Ascension Doesn't Ruin Everything! [feathers bioengineers scugs like them to Cope. it does not help]

promise: just kind of bitter and angry. it did so much work for its city, gave up everything, all for nothing at all. just for her to be abandoned in the chase for ascension. accidentally pingpongs vex's beliefs REALLY TERRIBLY while shes just kind of awkward about it because she doesnt like omens on principle but doesnt side with vir either

ichor: funny little guy . loved by his citizens. Knew about the mass ascension before it happened but didnt tell anyone so everyone [especially feathers] is really really fucking pissed at him. oops king.

omens: def the most devoted to ascension and the problem, while also studying past civilizations and Grand Cycles. viewed mass ascension as a good thing and is happy their creators moved on. watches vex spiral in Real Time and is kind of freaked out. theyre somewhat conjoined [not as much as moon&pebbs but they share a lot of systems particularly their comms arrays] which led to lots of fighting between them Constantly only driving them deeper into hatred and resentment. theres only a certain point when omens actually becomes Scared of him, however....

vex: ohhh you mentally ill little boy. fairly normal until Dust [the leader of a very violent and large anti-ascension movement] corrupted him as his mentor. uh. ve likes to believe it was beneficial and 'enlightened' vir but really it just turned him into an angry person, especially when mass ascension happened and dust got ascended which only cemented his beliefs. fights a fuckton with omens and believes in the holiness of the cycle. very unbecoming of an iterator. sure hope he doesnt do anything terrible!

jet: built at sea, collapsed due to a great flood/tsunami before mass ascension. believed to be dead and very distant from the group, they were a source of a lot of drama. hes actually alive though! he was built with Some waterproof measures in mind so hes functioning to an extent down there. in yuri we trust [with depths]

depths: originally built as spectacle + as a lighthouse to work alongside jet, but jet collapsed before they were completeted. oops. feels very hollow and purposeless, until a messenger from the sea shows up with a pearl . otherwise depths is very distant from the group [mainly distance and poor comms] and also when trying to learn about jets clouds found it insensitive with the wound being 'too fresh' and kind of exploded on them. woops.