#valorant fade kin

[viper-with-valor]

There's something rather nostalgic about this dossier from Fade. A blackmailing tactic she used to crawl her way into this protocol. With Omen gone, I have nothing left to hide. Still, reflection hasn't come smoothly with my mask slipping... Never could I truly admit my grip had loosened.

What is left, would be fear.

Fear I hadn't felt since the incident. Loss of control... Well played, Fade.

[thekinhelpers]

*starts to hypnotise you*

you want to join our chat.

cunt servants of the century trying to survive in a community with no kins because the source is overtaken by cisgender heterosexual dudebros. help us by clicking the link below. not a scam

only requirement: you kin from valorant. join or suffer.

[kincalling]

fade from valorant 🫡 looking for sourcemates, no one specifically. adult. interact w this if u wanna contact me

🐛

[bellofthemeadow]

Dawn ends the Night

Aemond Targaryen x Dayne!Reader

Rating: M for Mature (18 + no minors allowed)

Word Count: 2.8K

Warning: All warnings on the Series Masterlist, will update if necessary (Re-iterating, no minors allowed! Thank you)

Chapter Summary: As a newly woman grown, you learn of your fate as a woman in a men's world.

Notes: Guess who's back? Back again?! I AM BACK (again)!

Hello everyone, I'm thrilled to announce that I'm back! 🎉 After a brief hiatus due to my final undergraduate semester (which I just completed this past Monday – yay!), and amidst the hustle of graduate school applications, I'm finally able to return to writing.

I'm incredibly excited to embark on a brand-new series with you all. I've recently tumbled down the HOTD rabbit hole, and my obsession with Aemond Targaryen knows no bounds! 🐉 I assure you, my other fanfictions haven't been forgotten. I'm currently working on them and, with the festive season around the corner, I look forward to dedicating more time to writing and establishing a more consistent posting schedule.

Your support means the world to me and I love you all so so much💖 Feel free to reach out if you have any special requests, ideas, or if you'd just like to chat. I'm always so happy to connect with mutuals!!! Love you all

Taglist: (None yet)

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Prologue - The Ghost of Starfall

All your life, your father had assured you that you would marry into the Martel family, destined to reign over Dorne like the ancient Dayne kings of the Torentine. But these plans shifted when Quoren Martell welcomed his daughter, Aliandra, who was destined to become the future Princess of Dorne and Lady of Sunspear. And although the Dornish were much more unrestrained than their counterparts on the continent, you were quite certain that they would not accept you becoming the princess’ consort. Two women officially ruling Dorne? Even that would be a bit too radical for the love-loving Dornishmen.  

After his plans to make you the future ruling princess of Dorne fell through, your father started to envision a different future for you. You could still vividly recall nights spent perched on his knee, gazing up at the starlit sky. The cool desert breeze caressing your skin as you looked on in awe, your father's voice weaving tales of the grand life awaiting you as the Lady of Starfall. Those few precious moments, however, faded into memory with the arrival of your 13th birthday and the birth of Gerris. That misty morning marked a shift in everything when your brother came into the world screaming his little lungs out marked the end of your future as the Lady of the Dawn. As although Dorne's inheritance laws, shaped by Nymeria and the Roynar, endorsed absolute primogeniture, the stony Dornish your kin, those with deep roots in the First Men and the Andals, still favored the firstborn son. Technically, you knew you could challenge this tradition. You had the right, the means, and perhaps even the support of Qoren Martell to retain your birthright. 

Yet, as you watched your father, his eyes brimming with wonder and joy at the sight of his newborn son, a decision settled quietly within 13 years old you. And with a heavy heart but resolute spirit, you chose to step aside. You withdrew silently, without protest or fanfare, setting aside your claim for the love of your family. And as the years passed you by, you found yourself amid whispers and wishes for Gerris who was still but a babe, to inherit the revered honor of your house — the title of “Sword of the Morning," a symbol of unmatched valor and prestige among your kin, that only the braves and more chivalrous could inherit. Each mention from the courtiers was a poignant reminder of your own path, not as a son of House Dayne, but as its daughter. Not as the lady of the castle, but as its ghost, a ghost of better times, simpler times. But in quieter moments, you tried to find solace in the belief that there were other, perhaps more subtle, ways to serve and honor your family. You had read all that there was to read about rulership, about history and about philosophy and you knew that true power could manifest in a myriad of forms, not solely in the strength of arms. As you gaze upon the intricate tapestry of your family's history, you knew that your role was no less significant and that you would radiate with your own bright light. 

But for you, whispers of Dawn or grand destinies were absent, their echoes replaced by a more pragmatic reality. In place of tales of great adventures beyond the narrow sea, the halls of Starfall began to fill with a different kind of anticipation. The noble houses of Blackmont, Toland, Uller, and even the Yronwood sent their envoys and heirs. This cavalcade of suitors, a stark contrast to the dreams of your future before Gerris’ birth solidified your new role within the walls of your father’s castle. It was a shift, subtle yet profound, marking both an end and a beginning. You were no longer the future ruling Lady of House Dayne; you were now a key figure in its political future. 

Duty became a familiar companion, yet melancholia was your closest confidante, a shadow that dimmed the brightest of days. This deep-seated wistfulness made entertaining suitors an arduous task and instead, you found solace gazing from the high castle walls, eyes wandering over the sandy mounds and the winding Torentine, over the stony mountains that cradled Starfall away from the continent's heart. 

There, atop those ancient walls, you would lose yourself in dreams, wrapped in the embrace of solitude. It was in these moments of quiet reflection that you yearned to be something more, something beyond the expectations set upon you. They began to call you the 'Ghost of Starfall'. An ethereal presence, haunting the corridors and ramparts, a spirit adrift in her own thoughts, her dreams unfulfilled and stretching endlessly before her. 

But to your astonishment, your father never sanctioned any betrothals. Representatives from Yronwood, Blackmont, and Uller came and went, each departing without a pledge from the enigmatic ghost of Starfall. You refrained from asking why, harboring a fear that your inquiry might prompt your father to reconsider, possibly sending you away from your beloved star-gazing haven to the austere castles of Uller or the strict Yronwood. 

After your father's latest refusal of a suitor — a young, landed knight from the Reach, his brown curls soft and eyes a mesmerizing blend of green flecked with gold — you looked at your father, filled with uncertainty. “He seemed kind father.” you softly whispered. You could imagine yourself marrying this man, with long lazy days spent gazing into his warm eyes.  In response, your father rose from his starry throne and approached you, placing a gentle kiss on your brow. "My little star deserves more than a mere knight," he said softly. "I will find you a suitor worthy of the starry heavens, my sweet love." After this declaration, suitors ceased to arrive. 

Until this morning. 

In the dim pre-dawn light, your mother gently roused you, her movements quiet in the stillness before the castle stirred to life. With tender hands, she dressed you, her fingers weaving your hair into an intricate half-up updo, the lower strands cascading in soft curls. Her touch was soothing, almost melodic, as she adorned you in a gown of white and purple samite. Its gauzy sleeves fluttered ethereally, transforming you into the very ghost of legend whispered in the halls of Starfall. 

"Is it time?" you asked, a hint of apprehension in your voice, as she fastened a necklace around your neck, its purple stone shaped like a star glimmering softly. 

In lieu of a direct answer, she pressed a kiss to your forehead, her lips whispering a silent prayer. "Come, my sweet girl," she murmured softly into your hair. "Today, you must be strong." Hand in hand, she led you towards your father’s personal solar, each step resonating into the stillness of the morning.  

As you and your mother stepped into the solar, a sense of confusion washed over you. Before you, your father and Prince Qoren Martell stood in hushed, intense discussion, surrounded by a sea of scattered papers. They were so engrossed in their conversation that they failed to notice your entrance, prompting a deliberate cough from your mother. 

"Ahem," she cleared her throat pointedly, breaking their focus. 

The two men spun around, their expressions shifting from concentration to surprise. Your mother regarded them with a mildly unimpressed gaze, her poise unshakable. 

"My lords, a touch of gallantry, if you please," she chided lightly, gesturing towards you. 

As their eyes found you, you executed a graceful curtsy, the fabric of your gown whispering against the floor. Prince Qoren's face broke into a broad smile at the sight. 

"No need for such formality, my dear," he chuckled warmly. "Look at you, outshining the stars themselves! Fortunately, you've inherited your mother's beauty and not your father's," he teased, his eyes twinkling with mirth. 

A blush crept across your cheeks at his words. "Thank you, Prince Qoren," you replied shyly, "Your flattery is most kind." 

"It's not flattery if it's the truth, my dear," Prince Qoren Martell retorted with a playful wink. A heavy silence then descended upon the room, enveloping your parents and your distinguished guest, the great prince of the lands you called home. You felt like an unwitting participant in a jest whose punchline you didn't know, the unwitting fool in an unspoken joke. Yet, no laughter broke the silence. Compelled by your uneasy curiosity, you posed the question that hung unspoken in the air. 

"The journey from Sunspear must have been arduous, my Prince. We are honored by your visit," you began, your voice steady. "May I inquire as to the urgency of your need for me this early, and why the esteemed Prince of Dorne would grace us with his presence?" 

"Your wit matches your beauty, Lady," Prince Qoren replied with a sincere smile. "I've traveled from my home to discuss a certain missive, one that concerns both your father, yourself and the future of Dorne." 

"I gather this missive must be of great import to summon me before even the servants begin their day," you ventured, a hint of steel in your voice. "It seems a matter of secrecy." 

"Indeed, my daughter," your father interjected. "We've received a proposal regarding your hand in marriage." 

"And who might this suitor be, that his proposal warrants Prince Qoren's personal involvement?" you asked, your eyebrow arching with skepticism. 

"As your father's dear friend and as someone who has always taken a keen interest in your future, my Lady, all of Dorne has its eyes on you," the prince answered, meeting your gaze. 

Your skepticism remained. "So much so that it necessitates a journey from Sunspear?" 

Your mother, sensing the rising tension, interjected softly, "Come, sit with us, my dear." As you took your seat, your father tenderly grasped your hands, planting a soft kiss upon your knuckles. "The Dragons have expressed interest in you," he revealed, his voice laced with a mixture of pride and concern. 

Your breath hitched at the mention of 'Dragons.' There was only one house in all of Westeros and beyond that was associated with the winged fire breathing beasts. Starfall knew more than anyone else the dangers of their fire and of their wrath. 

Prince Qoren clarified, "This request likely originated from Otto Hightower. Our spies from the capital suggest the Greens are maneuvering for the throne. With old Viserys nearing his end, they're placing their pieces on the cyvasse board. Hightower may be a contemptible leech, but his cunning is undeniable." He stroked his dark beard thoughtfully 

But why would Otto Hightower want me?" you asked, your voice tinged with a mix of confusion and urgency. "Dorne isn't even part of their kingdom! We've aligned with the Triarchy and have been opposing the dragons since their arrival on our shores." The plea in your voice was evident as you looked over your parents and your prince, who stood unmoving yet deep in thoughts.  

"That is precisely why Otto Hightower is interested – not just in you, but in Dorne," Qoren Martell explained gravely, looking into your eyes. "We Dornish have a history of standing against dragons. We've never bowed, broken, or bent the knee. We know how to fight them, and we know hot to kill them. Now, Hightower wants our alliance to counter Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen's claim when they make their move for the throne." 

"But is Princess Rhaenyra not the legitimate heir? By Dornish law, she should be the future queen. If we were to engage in their politics, should we not we support the Blacks?" you questioned.   

"We might have aligned with Princess Rhaenyra," Qoren admitted with a hint of regret, "if not for her union with Daemon Targaryen. Remember the Stepstones? That debacle alone shows why it's dangerous for Daemon to wield any real power. He's not just a rogue; he's a warmonger." 

Qoren paused, weighing his words carefully. "Should Rhaenyra ascend the throne, Daemon would be right there, whispering in her ear. And let us be frank, he'd relish any excuse to launch an assault on Dorne, trying to conquer what Aegon the Conqueror couldn't. Whether it's for personal glory or just to satisfy his lust for war, it's a risk we cannot afford." 

A shudder ran through you at the thought of Dorne, bloodied and broken. Determined to prevent such a fate for your people, you asked in a subdued tone, "What is expected of me?" 

"Oh, my sweet girl," your mother murmured, enveloping you in a comforting embrace. "You are not obliged to do anything. If you wish, we will send Otto Hightower away with a message to shove his seven-pointed star straight up his arse, and we will stand against Daemon Targaryen if need be." she tearfully proclaim, her face in your hair.  

"You won't be forced into anything you're not willing to embrace. As for Otto Hightower, trust isn't a luxury I afford him as my experience with this man has taught me to be wary of his machinations. He is adept at playing the long game, and his latest maneuver is quite telling. By extending this proposal to your father and deliberately excluding me, he seeks to sow seeds of discord, perhaps hoping to weaken the unity that has long been our strength.His intentions, I surmise, are to draw you into the Hightower fold through marriage. Such a union could potentially sway Dorne's allegiance in the looming conflict for the Iron Throne."  

Pausing, Qoren looked out the window, then back at you with a solemn expression. "This is not merely a question of matrimony. It is a strategic move and our response will shape the future, not just for us, but for all of Dorne." 

You furrowed your brow in contemplation. "Why would we even entertain his proposal if his intent is to divide us?" you questioned. 

Prince Qoren's expression turned shrewd, cunning playing in his dark brown eyes"Precisely because we understand his motives. By accepting his offer on our terms, we control the game. It's like holding all the key pieces in cyvasse; we dictate the moves, and we can make the dragons dance to our tune." 

Your mind whirled, grappling with the enormity of everything they were telling you.  

"Consider carefully, my little star," your father said, "This decision rests in your hands. Whatever path you choose, know that we stand with you." 

"If I agree, may I set my own terms?" you asked softly.  

"Of course, my Lady," Qoren grants. 

"Accept Otto Hightower’s offer of marriage, tell him that we will aid him in his future conflict against Daemon Targaryen and the Blacks, but it comes with a non-negotiable stipulation: Dorne's independence is sacrosanct. We shall not yield to Targaryen sovereignty. Instead, we shall stand as allies, lending our support whilst retaining our autonomy. This, of course, hinges on your approval, Prince Qoren." 

Your mother's face registered shock. "But that would mean you'd be separating from Dorne, becoming part of their realm, no longer ours." 

“If it spares Dorne from being shackled by dragons, then I am willing to pay that price," you declared, feeling a shiver trace its way down your spine. With those words, you realized all that you were giving up. No longer would you be a daughter of Dorne; gone would be the nights spent stargazing from the ramparts, where stars seemed close enough to touch. You would miss the long walks on the ancient, stony steps, each one etched from the history of your ancestors. 

Gone, too, would be the fierce embrace of the desert sun in the mornings, its rays painting the sands in hues of gold and amber. You would yearn for the sweet scent of orange blossoms, a fragrance that always seemed to hold the very essence of your homeland. Instead, you would find yourself in the capital, and it would be there, in a place far from the lands that shaped you, that you would remain until the end of your days. 

My brave girl, stronger than any man in this land. A true Nymeria reborn," your mother said, her voice tinged with pride and sorrow. 

You mustered a smile, though it tasted bitter on your lips. "Nymeria was never bartered to a man she did not know. She carved her own destiny, fiercely and freely." 

"My girl..." your mother began, but you cut her off gently. 

"It's alright, Mother. I will fulfill my role to the end," you assured her, your voice steady, but your inside twisted uncomfortably. Who were you trying to convince, her or yourself? Your mother's breath hitched at your words, she closed her eyes holding you closer as if you would become a babe again, clutching at her skirts – not nearly a woman grown, ready to be delivered into the claws of the enemy.  

"Rest assured," your father added sternly, "If the dragons dare mistreat you, we will not shy away from invoking Joffrey Dayne's legacy and we will burn their city like their cursed beasts!” 

A pause hung in the air before you finally asked, "Who is it that Otto Hightower has in mind for me to marry?" 

"The King's second son, Prince Aemond Targaryen... the one-eyed prince.” 

Next chapter

[arthenaa]

house of arthena — masterlist, introductory, and rules

INTRODUCTORY —

writer: athen/ayen | 20 | he/him | sapphic | INFP-T

occupation: freelance artist, college student, writer

birthday: 10/04/2003

nationality: 🇵🇭

kins (can be best compared to irl): mizu, caelus, ominis, ren amamiya, sun jing (physical wise), geto suguru

interests:

media — blue-eyed samurai, jujutsu kaisen, shingeki no kyojin, chainsaw man, detroit become human, red dead redemption, hogwarts legacy, persona 5 royal, valorant, honkai star rail, genshin impact

artists — nct (all units but prefers dream), riize, lesserafim, newjeans, bada lee, lee youngji, laufey, kiss of life, exo

will write for the following — mizu, gojo satoru, geto suguru, ieri shoko, nanami kento, fushiguro megumi, kugisaki nobara, zenin maki, okkotsu yuuta, eren jaeger, pieck finger, mikasa ackerman, armin arlert, annie leonhart, makima, quanxi, power, aki hayakawa, denji, connor (all rk series), john marston, arthur morgan, sebastian sallow, ominis gaunt, imelda reyes, ren amamiya, akechi goro, jett, cypher, sage, reyna, neon, fade, iso, gekko, chamber, yoru, sova, jingyuan, danheng, blade, kafka, seele, albedo, xiao, kaeya, raiden ei, yae miko, alhaitham, childe, knave, nct dream, bada lee, hong seunghan, park wonbin, lee sohee, huh yunjin, kim chaewon, byun baekhyun, do kyungsoo

read more to check rules and list of works!

rules (for requesting)

— writer has the right to refuse request

— writer is a full-time college student and a part-time freelance artist doing commissions, there is no set time that he will upload and post said requests

— only refer to the list above when requesting (if your character despite in the same media listed above is not included, you may dm the writer if he is willing to write the request or simply state it in the request ask linked on his bio)

— writer prefers writing in gender-neutral terms or she/her pronouns, he will use this unless stated otherwise so make sure to include it in your requests

— nsfw is okay but always keep in mind rule 1

— writer appreciates reactions such as comments or reposts with messages a lot! <3 it just makes writing fun and enjoyable to know that his readers are enjoying his works :)

— writer will only do oneshots or 2-3 chapter works, (oneshots with multiple parts under the same theme eg. modern!au mizu or nocturne(interlude)!mizu are counted as oneshots under the same theme. they can be read as solo or just under the same category) longer chapter series will be done through commissions.

— if reader wishes to commission, refer to pinned.

LIST OF WORKS —

Blue-Eyed Samurai

nocturne (interlude) (p1)

my love mine all mine (p2)

blurred lines (roommate!mizu)

mizu as your roommate (pre-blurred lines)

creative team lead!mizu x concept artist!reader

Jujutsu Kaisen

GOJO SATORU

can't think right, too tongue tied, it must be love

Hogwarts Legacy

Masterlist here

Honkai Star Rail

KAFKA

Feelings with Kafka 18+

DAN HENG

Perception

ART

mizu x oc! blurred lines

nier x sebastian hogwarts legacy

seb x mc commission

nier and nora (ocs hl)

stelle x asta

ominis x mc x seb

tbotb concept art hl series

If you have any concerns or questions you'd like to ask, click the question mark emoji on my blog bio! or if you want to support me as an artist hehe listed below is my kofi. tysm!

[sereneshymn]

Prologue [mastery drabble: Dancer]

Welcome o eldest son of the sacred woods Inheritor of their serenity and grace Open your wings as pure as fresh snow Sing and dance in the great trees’ embrace

Order casts a heavy mist veil over the land Chaos echoes in ringing of fangs and blades And thus is your sacred duty to uphold With voice loud and clear shall you Balance the scales

So spoke the Goddess in her mercy and radiance This ancient covenant the torn world’s salvation The power to guard and defend this promise Bestowed upon the great Lehran’s nation

As you open your wings and look to the sky With feather-light steps and raised hands So too shall from your lips flow forth The sacred words that rule over our lands

When spirit falters and strength wanes But sword arm must yet stay in control You sing to the valiant warriors of Vigor And restore alike the body and soul

Sing praise to the brave soldier and his talons May his Valor be blessed and his heart fight true To the sick and wounded you offer Recovery And life returns to all, restored anew

Upon the lost, ailing and yearning for hope You descend with Bliss and show them the way Meanwhile the arrogant who defy our Goddess Shall always know Sorrow as they wander astray

Sing quietly, o guardian of ancient covenants May your gentle voice put the Chaos to Slumber May your loving hand forever stay calamity’s avatar May you save this world from being torn asunder

Yet if all hope dies and if salvation’s light fades And the right time comes to pray for Release You will stand silently behind Lehran’s kin Accept price of failure and watch all life cease

So says the great promise the Goddess accepted In her benevolence as she left this world to you So sing and dance in the calm shade of sacred tree Along with your kin until the sworn day is due

Sing to her of peace, sing to her of love Dance to your sister’s tune, join hands with your brother Always shall your heart know love and purity Forever shall her children look out for each other

Even if some of them are deaf to your message And meet you with stone, chain, hatred, cage and flame You must never lose yourself to tears, grief and despair Your soul must forever remain just the same

Sing even through silence, dance even if it hurts For to souls most weary you must offer repose As they cry out to you in fog at life’s crossroads Hold out your hands to them and to your heart close

For if you too falter and lose faith in tomorrow It will come at a too great to entire world’s cost The skies shall collapse and Chaos shall prevail And all hope for Rebirth will forever be lost.

[voodoochili]

My Favorite Albums of 2024

I'm typing this on a groggy New Year's Eve, my first one as a dad. It's been a life-changing year, to be sure. But as much as my life has changed, I still made a point to listen to new music–the thrill of discovery never goes away.

I am rapidly fading, so I will keep this short! It felt, to me, like an exceptional year for music. I've compiled my 100 favorite albums of the year, and I easily could have found 100 more. Read on to hear great new albums from Portugal's coasts, the rainforests of Brazil, the wards of New Orleans, and the deserts of the Sahara.

Check the blurbs for my thoughts and feelings about the best music 2024 had to offer, and scroll down to the bottom for a playlist I compiled of selections from the full list of albums.

Oh, and if you were wondering what kind of music my 7-month-old digs, he mostly likes The Traveling Wilburys. Something about Jeff Lynne's spit-polished studio sheen really calms his tiny little nerves.

And now, here are my favorite albums of 2024.

10. Mdou Moctar - Funeral For Justice: Mdou Moctar’s music reverberates with a righteous fury. Funeral For Justice, the Tuareg artist’s second album for Matador Records, is an incendiary screed against the foreign and domestic forces attempting to rob his home country of Niger blind. He takes aim at African leaders in the title track, excoriating them for protecting foreign interests to enrich themselves and their kin while their citizens’ “rights are trodden upon.” “Imouhar” is a plea to his Tuareg people to preserve their language and culture, no matter where they travel or what domestic pressures may arise. “Modern Slaves” painfully details the horrific practices of foreign (mainly French-owned) mines that work citizens to death and extract resources without providing their bounty for the local communities. Even if you can’t understand the lyrics, sung in Moctar’s native Tamasheq, you can’t mistake the rebellious intent of his searing guitar playing. Funeral For Justice trades some of the intricate picking and twisty songwriting of previous album Afrique Victime with a dose of pure muscle, turning the distortion up to ear-splitting levels. Moctar’s punishing guitar assault hits like a balm in trying times–as many other artists look to provide escapism, Mdou and his band are not afraid to confront oppressors head-on.

9. Being Dead - EELS: While nostalgia-crazed zoomers valorize the early ‘00s gestalt of “indie sleaze,” it’s important to remember that there was plenty of indie wholesomeness around, as well. Acts like Animal Collective, The Moldy Peaches, and The Unicorns strived to approach their music with a childlike wonder, delighting in experimentation, not caring whether something sounded "right" as long as it felt right to them. Austin, TX duo Being Dead brings back that attitude in a big way. I was charmed enough by their debut album When Horses Would Run to rank it in my top 20 albums of 2023, but for 2024’s EELS, they added some new arrows to their quiver. The duo of Falcon Bitch and Shmoofy (yes, those are the names they have chosen to use) have weaponized their naive, Sarah Records-style harmonies, turning rockers like “Firefighters” and “Godzilla Rises” into thrilling experiences. At times, like on album highlight “Van Goes,” they sound like a Goth version of the B-52s, while songs like “Ballerina” and “Blanket Of My Bone” channel the mutated rockabilly of early post-punks like Devo. They splatter ideas on their musical canvas like Jackson Pollock, with songs like “Big Bovine” warping from a pleasant motorik groove to a halting, shouting jingle (that reminds me of nothing less than “Palm Tree Girls” from I Think You Should Leave) and back again, while keyboard experiments like “Storybook Bay” and the closing “Lilypad Lane” (maybe recorded on this toy cat sound keyboard)  provide brief, but catchy breaks in the action. Just when the tweeness threatens to become overpowering, they unleash moments of true beauty, like the haunting “Gazing At Footwear” and the sighing “I Was A Tunnel.” At no point when listening to this glorious record will you know what’s coming next.

8. DJ Lycox - Guetto Star: Born in Lisbon, DJ Lycox is one of the foremost purveyors of batida, a style that blends sounds from Portugal and Africa into a percussive slurry. Lycox’s blend of batida, as shown off on his excellent album Guetto Star, is a particularly intense and aggressive one, each track layering several interlocking percussion parts to create head-spinning rhythms. The result can be intense and punishing, as on the visceral “Pedale Ku El,” with its trash lid snares and squelchy 808s underlying chaotic vocal samples, and the closing song “Energia,” which sounds like if Berghain moved under the sea to Rock Bottom. Just as often, though, Lycox plays around with lighter sounds: the guitar-driven “Edson no Uige” echoes the feathery bounce of Ivorian coupé-decale, “Staring At The Moon” beguiles with panpipe melodies and rubbery synth bass, and the glorious title track coasts by with a gentle, Afrobeats-style gallop, the signature batida 5-beat pattern adorned with playful vox synths and splashy pianos. It’s a record that works equally well in your earbuds on the subway or at a beachside Portuguese club.

7. Stacks - Want: Amsterdam-based label Knekelhuis consistently releases music that is so cool that it's nearly intimidating. The coolest of them all is Stacks, a duo of Belgian brothers, Jan and Sis Matthé, a pair of brilliant atmospherians who craft icy synth landscapes, over which they stack (duh) and manipulate their vocals until they resemble a choir of sorrowful robots. Seeming to emanate from an isolated corner of the Arctic (or a bedroom studio in Antwerp), their 2024 album Want is as stark and barren as an expansive tundra–the skeletal ”Seagulls” sounds like the ghost of Kraftwerk, while the enveloping “In Mazes” floats with the cold precision of a Gregorian chant. But the duo’s frigid affect is merely a mask for deeply romantic feeling: the propulsive “On The Heels” waits for a lover who may never return; “Is It Ever” pleads to reverse unrequited affection. Aching with melancholy, but never losing hope, Want is as sophisticated as the best 80s synth pop. Never resorting to nostalgic signifiers, it instead evokes the era through loving songcraft and a palpable sense of yearning. 6. Wishy - Triple Seven: What flavor of 90s rock do you prefer? Gauzy shoegaze? Slacker poetry? Doomy grunge? Indiana band Wishy makes it so you don’t have to choose, throwing all of the decade’s alternative styles into a blender and pureéing them into a sugary noise pop package. With bands like Teenage Fanclub, Mazzy Star, My Bloody Valentine, and Dinosaur Jr. as lodestars, Triple Seven is an album that revels in pulling guitars into strange shapes, from the graceful acoustic strums of “Just Like Sunday,” to the flanged-out bliss of “Triple Seven,” to the punishing brick-walled riffage of “Game.” These genre exercises would come across as mere imitations of a classic sound if the performances weren’t so tight, and the hooks so sticky. To their credit, Wishy doesn’t sound like a band from a bygone era, but a modern group with songs that work best in a 90s sound font, and like the best of that era’s guitar music, they create a wall of noise thick enough to swim in.

5. Magdalena Bay - Imaginal Disk: Magdalena Bay have dedicated their careers to uncovering the mysteries that exist within the digital ether. Part Joseph Campbell and part Weird Science, Imaginal Disk lloosely tells the story of an android that rebels against its creators, searching for meaning and humanity through the power of music (I think?). If there’s anything I love in an album, it’s a goofy, borderline incomprehensible concept (aliens have taken over Earth and have banned rock music…but a teenager has discovered the world’s last remaining guitar!), but the real draw is how the story provides a through-line for Mica Tenenbaum and Matt Lewin’s immaculately-arranged and compositionally-intricate take on pop music. Each song has a calling card that keeps you coming back: the driving 12/8 shuffle of “Killing Time”; the rubbery robot funk of “Image”; the spritely piano rhythm of “Death & Romance”; the theatrical bubblegum of “Tunnel Vision.” The record reaches an even higher gear in the final four songs, as the story of Tenenbaum’s character draws to a close, especially the brain-teasing “That’s My Floor” (which features the blown-out distortion that OG Mag Bay fans will recognize), and “Cry For Me,” a sweeping ballad with a grandeur that evokes peak ABBA. When the album’s introductory melody recurs in “The Ballad of Matt & Mica,” it’s a satisfying and cathartic conclusion to the album’s journey, and the emotional coup-de-grace on one of the most ambitious pop albums of the decade so far.

4. Chief Keef - Almighty So 2: In the decade since the release of his classic mixtape Almighty So, Chief Keef has been following his own muse, spawning new genres with offhand experiments, never trying the same thing twice. Released after several delays–he was tinkering with the album up to the very end–the self-produced Almighty So 2 feels like a conscious attempt by Sosa to make a classic album. I understand fans who prefer him off-the-cuff–or in the sneering smack talk mode he achieved in DIRTY NACHOS, his other 2024 full-length, produced by Mike WiLL Made It–but I was inspired by the totality of the artist’s vision: he structures his verses with a crescendoing intensity, giving weight to his boasts and bite to his punchlines; he piles kick drums atop one another, giving his epic soundscapes a footwork bounce. It’s an album of incredible moments, like the delayed entrance of the horns on the Wilson Pickett-sampling “1,2,3,” or the choir and piano breakdown in “Treat Myself,” or the bizarre hunting-related rant from “Believe” (“I could live in the jungle and come out with a hyena hat”), or the crunk horn riff that echoes through “Grape Trees,” or the impish flutes from “Drifting Away,” or Tierra Whack’s career-best verse on “Banded Up.” What sticks with me the most is how grateful Chief Keef seems to be to be alive and thriving: “How life been? It's been beautiful/Seven thousand square feet, n**** coming from a damn cubicle,” he spits on “Drifting Away.”

3. Mk.gee - Two Star & The Dream Police: According to the Book of Genesis, mankind once shared a common language. Uninhibited by communication issues, humans were able to build the Tower of Babel, a structure so great that it threatened the power of God, who struck down the tower and cursed humanity to speak a variety of unrelated tongues. Enter Mk.gee, a legendary mumbler, who seeks to return humanity to its pre-lingual glory through the power of emotional exhortations and chorused guitars. Forgive the labored intro! I mentioned in my Best Songs of 2024 post that I can hardly understand a word that Mk.gee says. But the man born Michael Gordon is better than almost anyone at communicating a feeling through sticky melodies and fleshing out his compositions with simple, yet effective musical ideas (my favorites include the underwater talkbox-esque guitar on “Rylee & I,” the splattering snares on “Candy,” the gauzy, “Crimson & Clover”-style riff that runs through “Breakthespell”). He seamlessly melds wildly divergent sensibilities, echoing high-budget ‘80s MOR (like solo Sting, or Mr. Mister, or Mike and the Mechanics) and blog-era bedroom pop (like Toro Y Moi or How To Dress Well) in equal measure. His enigmatic approach encourages close listening, inviting us to clock the intricate detail that lies beneath the lo-fi murk. He creates a world both inviting and foreboding, whispering sweet nothings even as he keeps the listener at arms length. When the skies open up, though, on highlights like “Alesis,” “Candy,” “Are You Looking Up?,” and others, it is glorious, hinting at new possibilities for pop music’s relationship with its past.

2. Cavalier - Different Type Time: When we tell the stories of our lives, we often think of the big, earth-shattering moments that change our trajectories and shape us who we are. But those momentous occasions are a mere fraction of our experiences. We mostly spend life, well, living–waiting for a subway, sitting on a windowsill, idling away the hours with an active mind. The music of New Orleans-via-Brooklyn rapper Cavalier revels in the spirituality of these small moments: the sleepless nights on the couch spent watching surreal infomercials; the offhand mistake that spawns an inescapable new nickname; a glance at a map that reminds you of all the places you will never visit. A return to music after a six-year sabbatical, Cavalier’s Different Type Time is a remarkable achievement, the product of a veteran in full control of his considerable abilities, and with a surety of purpose reflected in the wisdom of his internal monologue. Like most signees of billy woods’s Backwoodz Studioz, Cav can rhyme in dense, dazzling, labyrinthine circles (and he does, c.f. the “Tydro ‘97” outro to “Deja vu”), stacking entendres that reward repeat listens. Cav is a student of hip-hop, peppering his rhymes with references to the genre’s history and effortlessly evoking its greats: “Told You” feels like a lost track from Nas’s early days in Queensbridge, while “Badvice” echoes the soulful, loping vibe of Common’s Resurrection and “Yeah Boii” features a particularly epic sample of Flavor Flav’s signature ad-lib.

But despite that lyrical complexity, Different Type Time is very approachable, with warm production and distinctive sounds that tease the ear: the Hawaiian slack key guitar on “Pears,” the out-of-tune upright on “All Things Considered,” the early-digital bloops on “Doodoo Damien”–while Cav spins his webs. With its only guest rap appearances coming from “The Unhoused Brothers,” two homeless artists that Cav welcomed into his studio, Different Type Time inspires you to take stock of your life, encouraging us to be our best selves and to pause every once in a while to reflect on the beauty we experience every day. 1. Amaro Freitas - Y’Y: I listen to a lot of music and write a lot of words but I scarcely have the musical vocabulary to describe Y’Y, the latest album by Brazilian composer and pianist Amaro Freitas. The concept of Y’Y (pronounced “eeh-yeh, eeh-yeh,” an indigenous Brazilian phrase for water) is relatively simple: the album’s first half is dedicated to the buzzing rainforests and rushing rivers of Freitas’s native land, paying tribute to the crucial ecological zone and the life-giving oxygen it provides. Freitas’s piano resembles cascading raindrops and clapping thunder, as he attempts to render the fearsome beauty of his homeland into musical form. In the past, Freitas has spoken about his desire to “decolonize” Brazilian jazz–which in its dominant styles like Bossa Nova has often incorporated European song form–using his training to distill a new style that could only have emerged from Brazil. He prepares his piano with muted strings, transforming the instrument into a percussive force, giving heft to his polyrhythmic playing. The statement piece of the first half is the avant-classical epic “Danca dos Murtelos,” which double-tracks Freitas’s traditional piano with his rattling prepared instrument–when his left hand enters at the track’s halfway point, it feels like the descent of a vengeful god. While the second side isn’t as transportive and revolutionary as the first, it still brings some of the finest jazz I’ve heard all year, and furthers the artist’s mission to bring indigenous Brazilian sounds in the global jazz scene. He works with luminaries like London woodwind maestro Shabaka, searing guitarist Jeff Parker, and prolific harpist Brandee Younger to create a suite that implements his grand theories into action. On the title track, Amaro’s clattering left hand accompanies his traditional right, while Shabaka provides ethereal flute filigrees. “Mar de Circandeiras” finds Freitas and Parker trading solos as they work around a hypnotic theme. The final song, “Encantados,” is the culmination of the album’s many theses: arranged as a quartet, it combines polyrhythms, piano cascades, panpipe melodies, and dime-quick tempo changes, giving a thrilling preview of the shape of jazz to come.

Thanks for reading and happy New Year to all! Check below for the full list of 100, and find a Spotify playlist featuring selections from my favorite albums HERE

Amaro Freitas - Y'Y

Cavalier - Different Type Time

Mk.gee - Two Star & The Dream Police

Chief Keef - Almighty So 2

Magdalena Bay - Imaginal Disk

Wishy - Triple Seven

Stacks - Want

DJ Lycox - Guetto Love

Being Dead - EELS

Mdou Moctar - Funeral For Justice

Naima Bock - Below A Massive Dark Land

454 - Casts of a Dreamer

ScHoolboy Q - Blue Lips

Fievel Is Glaque - Rong Weicknes

Ariel Kalma, Jeremiah Chiu, Marta Sofia Honer - The Closest Thing to Silence

SahBabii - Saaheem

Tapir! - The Pilgrim, Their God and The King of My Decrepit Mountain

Fabiana Palladino - Fabiana Palladino

Chanel Beads - Your Day Will Come

Vampire Weekend - Only God Was Above Us

Arooj Aftab - Night Reign

E L U C I D - Revelator

Hana Vu - Romanticism

upsammy - Strange Meridians

Brijean - Macro

Milan W. - Leave Another Day

Moin - You Never End

Nilufer Yanya - My Method Actor

Empress Of - For Your Consideration

Caxtrinho - Queda Livre

Total Blue - Total Blue

Helado Negro - PHASOR

Ka - The Thief Next To Jesus

Kelly Moran - Moves in the Field

Nino Paid - Can’t Go Bacc

Clairo - Charm

glass beach - plastic death

Dummy - FREE ENERGY

Geordie Greep - The New Sound

Josh Johnson - Unusual Object

XAVI - Next

Six Organs of Admittance - Time Is Glass

The Cure - Songs of a Lost World

Jessica Pratt - Here in the Pitch

La Luz - News of the Universe

Anysia Kim - Truest

Astrid Sonne - Great Doubt

Rema - HEIS

Nala Sinephro - Endlessness

Loe Shimmy - Zombieland 2 

Myriam Gendron - Mayday

Mach-Hommy - #RICHAXXHAITIAN

Gillian Welch & David Rawlings - Woodland

Howie Lee - At The Drolma Wesel-Ling Monastery

Loidis - One Day

Kendrick Lamar - GNX

Shane Parish - Repertoire

Sideshow - F.U.N. T.O.Y.

Bilal - Adjust Brightness

Church Chords - elvis, he was Schlager

Djrum - Meaning’s Edge

Future - MIXTAPE PLUTO/We Don’t Trust You/We Still Don’t Trust You

Saagara - 3

SML - Small Medium Large

WizKid - Morayo

El Cousteau - Merci, Non Merci

MESSIAH - The Villain Wins

FLO - Access All Areas

MAVI - Shadowbox

Blue Bendy - So Medieval

This Is Lorelei - Box for Buddy, Box for Star

Mike & Tony Seltzer - Pinball

Tems - Born In The Wild

Chuck Johnson - Sun Glories

Valebol - Valebol

CA7RIEL & Paco Amoroso - BAÑO MARÍA

LL Cool J - The Force

Sinkane - We Belong

Reymour - NoLand

RiTchie - Triple Digits [112]

Nidia & Valentina - Estradas

Crumb - AMAMA

Vayda - VAYTRIX

Yasmin Williams - Acadia

Sisso & Maiko - Singeli Ya Maajabu

Liquid Mike - Paul Bunyan’s Slingshot

FearDorian - FearDorian

Amen Dunes - Death Jokes

Raphael Roginski - Zaltys

Lucky Daye - Algorithm

Che - Sayso Says

Kelly Lee Owens - Dreamstate

Floating Points - Cascade

Salute - TRUE MAGIC

Chow Lee - Sex Drive

Cindy Lee - Diamond Jubilee

G.S. Schray - Whispered Something Good

Boldy James - Across The Tracks (w/ Conductor Williams) / Penalty of Leadership (w/ Nicholas Craven)

MJ Lenderman - Manning Fireworks

Charli XCX - brat 

[sparkiekong]

Specter of War

Amidst the veil between, A soldier's spirit wanders, lost and unseen.

With chains of guilt, he's bound to this plane, A ghostly sentinel in grief's domain.

Once, he fought alongside his gallant kin, in battles fierce, where valor did begin.

But fate, sadly, snuffed out his comrades' breath, while he alone survived the dance with death.

Haunted by memories of war, he roams the night, his heart consumed by survivor's blight.

Why did he endure while others fell? In shadows' embrace, his soul dwells.

One eve, a gentle heart drew near, To the soldier's restless spirit, clear.

With empathy's touch and compassion's light, the living soul became his beacon bright.

They spoke of battles fought and lost, of dreams and hopes, of the soldier's cost.

The living one, with words so kind, Helped the ghost, his solace find.

"You bore the weight of a heavy toll, but it's not your fault; you can release control.

Your comrades' spirits, they still live, In the hearts of those who grieve and give."

The ghostly soldier listened well; His anguished heart began to swell.

With every tear, he let go of pain, as forgiveness washed over like rain.

In the living's warmth, he found his peace, Guilt's chains now shattered, he found sweet release.

Together, they walked towards the light, guided by stars that adorned the night.

The living soul, now friend so dear, Helped the soldier let go of fear.

As they approached, together, the ethereal door, The ghost knew he'd roam on nevermore.

With gratitude, he turned to say, "Thank you, dear friend, for lighting my way.”

And so, the soldier found his flight, Beyond the veil, beyond the night.

Bound for realms where spirits soar, He embraced the peace he'd yearned for.

The living soul smiled as heaven’s light faded, he knew the work he’d done was fated.

In the night's embrace, his purpose, full of grace.

In his deeds, a legacy he found, enough evidence to put minds at ease,

To leave this world unbound.

[pakhala]

Nakula and Sahadeva: The Silent Struggles of the Mahabharata’s Forgotten Pandavas

The Mahabharata is a sprawling epic of gods, warriors, and cosmic stakes, but amid the thunder of Arjuna’s arrows and Bhima’s roars, two Pandavas fade into the background: Nakula and Sahadeva. Often overshadowed by their larger-than-life brothers, these sons of the Ashwini twins carry a quieter, more human story—one of neglect, perfection, and unspoken burdens. What if their silence isn’t divine calm but a trap, a prison of roles they can’t escape? Let’s reimagine them through a modern lens, as the common man’s echo in a saga of giants.

Nakula: The Playboy Warrior Who Craved More

Nakula, the fourth Pandava, is the epic’s golden boy—stunningly handsome, a master swordsman, a charmer with horses. Yet his beauty overshadows his grit, leaving him sidelined in a family of titans. Sound familiar? He’s the bored playboy of today—a trust-fund kid with the looks and the life, but no substance to call his own. In the ancient tale, he might’ve masked frustration with swagger, yearning to be seen as a warrior, not a pretty face. Modern psychology hints at imposter syndrome or ennui; maybe he took reckless risks, flirting with death to feel alive. His end? A quiet exit—riding into battle alone, a suicide veiled as valor. Trapped by perfection, he’s the relative who’s almost great, but never enough.

Sahadeva: The Silent Sage Who Knew Too Much

Sahadeva, the youngest, is wisdom incarnate—blessed with foresight by Yama, cursed to watch fate unfold in silence. He’s the bright cousin eclipsed by flamboyant kin, the introvert who sees the crash coming but stays mute. Why? Neglect, perhaps, or learned helplessness—years of being ignored in a loud family taught him his voice doesn’t matter. In a modern retelling, he’s the genius who ditches the spotlight for a cabin, his brilliance a burden no one shares. In the epic, his silence screams isolation; he knows his son Suhotra will die, the war will scar them all, yet he’s powerless. Who helps the man who knows too much? No one—and that’s his cage.

Why Their Silence Matters

What do we lose without them? Not much, plot-wise—Kurukshetra churns on. But their value lies in what they reflect: the cost of being peripheral in a world of glory. Vyasa, the Mahabharata’s raw genius, plants them deliberately—not as heroes, but as mirrors to the common man’s struggles. They’re prisoners of their roles, not Yogis free of desire. Nakula’s perfection binds him to superficiality; Sahadeva’s wisdom chains him to futility. Their offspring—Niramitra, Suhotra—fade too, reinforcing their obscurity. It’s worse than being a nobody; it’s being a poor relative to success, a tension only detachment could ease.

A Modern Spin

Imagine them today: Nakula as the tabloid darling who crashes his life in a blaze of boredom, Sahadeva as the recluse who opts out of the family circus. Their ancient silence becomes modern crises—mental health, identity, the weight of comparison. Vyasa’s sparse strokes invite us to fill the gaps, to see them not as demigods but as us: flawed, trapped, and quietly human. In a tale of epic noise, their stillness is the loudest story of all.

[gobboguy]

Chapter 41: The Orcs, Reunited

Gelbeg's gaze traversed the small, cool chamber, its walls hewn from dark stone adorned with intricate reliefs depicting the ancient battles and triumphs of a long-lost Naga race. The stone carvings told tales of valor and conquest, remnants of a bygone era when the mountain echoed with the clash of swords and the roar of victory. Yet, amidst this silent homage to a forgotten past, Gelbeg found no solace, only a haunting reminder of the emptiness that now pervaded their surroundings.

With a furrowed brow, Gelbeg inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with the heavy scent of Orcs that hangs thick in the air. However, the absence of familiar sounds—the hearty laughter, jovial banter, and playful snorts—left a void in his heart. Turning to Arrowcatcher, his voice carried a note of concern and confusion as he questioned the fate of their people and the enigma of their current predicament. "What has happened to our people? Where are we?" he asked, his words echoing off the stone walls.

"Chief Gelbeg," Arrowcatcher began, his voice trembling with emotion, "we find ourselves deep within the heart of the Frozen Spine Mountains, in a sanctuary our people discovered during our journey from the desolate Gorkin Mountains." His eyes glistened with tears as he recounted their arduous trek, the trials and tribulations that led them to this ancient Frost Naga fortress. "It is here," he continued, his voice cracking with reverence, "that our brethren have forged a new home, a bastion against the unforgiving cold, reminiscent of our beloved Orc Island in the frozen north." He paused, overcome with gratitude and disbelief at Gelbeg's survival, his gaze locking with that of his Warchief.

Weakly attempting to rise, Gelbeg's strength faltered, and he sank back onto the stone floor, his head spinning with dizziness. "What befell our kin?" he murmured, his voice strained with anguish. "My offspring…where were they?"

Arrowcatcher's voice trembled as he recounted the grim tale of survival and loss. "After the massacre at Gorkin, only a handful of our people managed to evade the clutches of Calona's forces," he began, his tone heavy with sorrow. "We fled, desperate to escape the relentless pursuit. For a decade, we've wandered as nomads, hunted and harried at every turn, our numbers dwindling with each passing year."

Gelbeg's heart sank as Arrowcatcher delivered the devastating news about his people. "And my children?" Gelbeg's voice quivered with anguish as he braces himself for the inevitable answer. The weight of his loss crushed down upon him as Arrowcatcher solemnly confirmed, "They didn't survive the massacre. We mourned their loss deeply, Warchief, but their memory lives on among us."

As the stone door creaked open behind Gelbeg, a figure burst into the room, filling the space with a sense of urgency. It was Gelbeg's mother, Saera, her elderly form showing the wear of time.

Saera, the elderly Orc, bore the marks of a life fully lived. Wrinkles mapped intricate patterns across her weathered face, tracing the passage of time with each crease. Her once-dark hair had faded to a muted grey, framing her face in wisps of silver. She still had the typical physique of an Orcess, sagging breasts and a protruding belly, but now she was slightly thinner and mealy looking, as if she hadn't eaten a good meal in weeks. Despite her aged appearance and starved look, there was a strength in her stance, a resilience that spoke of a lifetime of perseverance.

Clad in a simple attire suited to her rugged lifestyle, Saera wore a fur loincloth that hung loosely around her hips, offering modesty without sacrificing practicality. Her feet were encased in sturdy fur boots, worn from years of traversing harsh terrain. Above, her torso remained bare, revealing weathered skin adorned with scars and marks of battles fought and won. It was a testament to her resilience, a symbol of her unyielding spirit in the face of adversity.

With arms outstretched, she envelops Gelbeg in a tight hug, her voice trembling with emotion as she exclaims, "My son! My son yet lives!"

With a mixture of relief and emotion, Gelbeg gently patted his mother's back, tears glistening in his eyes. The sight of her alive filled him with a profound sense of gratitude, dispelling the fear that had gripped his heart. Despite the trials he had endured, the uncertainty of their fate, he found solace in the knowledge that his people endured, his mother among them. Gathering his resolve, Gelbeg rose to his feet, his movements unsteady yet determined. Turning to his comrade Arrowcatcher, he spoke with conviction, eager to discover the fate that awaited their people. "Let's go, Arrowcatcher. Show me what has become of our people."

As Gelbeg was led by the arm by his mother, Saera, and guided by Arrowcatcher, they traversed the labyrinthine halls of the mountain fortress. The smooth black walls of stone loomed overhead, adorned with intricate reliefs of ancient Naga artistry, depicting scenes of battles and triumphs. Despite the grandeur of the artwork, the fortress bore signs of neglect and decay, with some rooms in disrepair and sections of the structure collapsed from years of abandonment.

As they navigated the dimly lit corridors, Gelbeg could feel the biting cold seeping through the cracks, chilling the air around them. The atmosphere was heavy with the weight of despair, casting a gloomy pall over the Orcish refuge. Despite the hardships endured by his people, Gelbeg's determination remained unyielding as he pressed forward, eager to uncover the truth of their plight and restore hope to his kin.

As Gelbeg, Saera, and Arrowcatcher entered the grand hall of the Orcish refuge, they were greeted by a sight reminiscent of the ancient Ajanta caves. The hall was vast, its walls adorned with crude drawings and carvings depicting scenes of Orcish history and struggle. The flickering torchlight cast eerie shadows across the rough-hewn stone, adding to the somber atmosphere.

In the center of the hall, a great horde of Orcs gathered, their poorly kept fur clothing hanging loosely from their emaciated frames. Malnutrition had taken its toll on their once robust physiques, leaving them gaunt and weak. Many wore expressions of despondency, their faces etched with lines of hardship and sorrow. The once proud warriors now appeared as shadows of their former selves, their sagging bellies a stark reminder of their diminished state.

Amidst the crowd, Orcish children cried plaintively, their feeble attempts to suckle from their mothers met with little success. The women, too weak to provide nourishment, looked on with anguish, their eyes reflecting the despair that permeated the hall. It was a scene of destitution and despair, a testament to the harsh realities faced by the Orcish refugees as they struggled to survive in their newfound home.

Taken aback by the sight before him, Gelbeg struggled to comprehend the state of his people. The once-proud Orcs, revered as the superior race of Sidhedark, now stood before him in a pitiful state of degradation and despair. The shame of their plight ignited a fierce rage and profound sadness within him, stirring a tempest of emotions in his heart. Despite his disbelief, Gelbeg found himself stepping forward, compelled by an indomitable sense of duty and responsibility towards his kin. As he moved, the eyes of his people turned towards him, their expressions a mix of astonishment and hope, as if witnessing a miracle unfold before their very eyes. In that moment, their collective voices rose in a cacophony of surprise and disbelief, echoing through the cavernous halls of their refuge.

"My fellow Orcs," Gelbeg's voice thundered through the cavernous hall, resonating with determination and resolve. "For too long have we languished in the shadows of our former glory, shackled by the chains of our past. But I stand before you now to proclaim that our time of redemption is at hand! We shall rise again, not as conquerors and pillagers, but as champions of peace and harmony!"

With unwavering conviction, Gelbeg painted a vivid picture of their future, a future bathed in the verdant hues of a land known as Farfield, where Orcs could coexist with other races in harmony. "No longer shall we be defined by the violence of our past, but by the promise of a new way—a way of peace and cooperation," he declared, his words ringing with hope and possibility.

As Gelbeg raised his fist in defiance, a surge of emotion swept through the gathered Orcs. Though some among them murmured with uncertainty, more than half rose to stand, their fists clenched in solidarity with their Warchief. For they saw in Gelbeg's vision a glimmer of hope, a chance to forge a new destiny for themselves and their descendants. And as they pledged their loyalty to Gelbeg and his vision of a brighter future, the cavern echoed with the resounding promise of change.

[thepaperpanda]

A BRIEF COLLECTION OF POETRY: Dune

Number of poems: 4

Author: Bear

A/N: I hope you'll enjoy a few poems concerning the world of Dune

In the sands of Arrakis, where spice is found, A duke arrived, his fate unbound. Leto Atreides, a man of great might, To govern Dune, and its harsh plight.

With his lady by his side, And his heir, a source of pride. He faced the desert and the foe, To establish his rule, he fought toe to toe.

But treachery was in the air, And a betrayal was waiting there. For his allies turned against him, And his dreams were left dim.

Despite his valor, he fell in a trap, And his legacy was left to wrap. But Leto Atreides, a man of renown, Will never fade, he will always wear the crown.

Upon Arrakis, sands doth reign, Where Duke Leto seeks to gain. A world to hold, a dream to chase, But lurking in the shadows, an evil base.

The Baron Harkonnen, a name of dread, A cruel ruler with darkness fed. In league with the Emperor's plot, To bring the Atreides down and their dream to rot.

The Duke arrives with noble intent, A new beginning, a life well spent. But in his heart he knows the risk, Betrayal and death, a fate to whisk.

Lady Jessica, his love and strength, Her presence with him to the end, at length. But even her powers cannot avert, The Harkonnen's wrath and their cruel assert.

In the end, the Duke's fate is sealed, His sacrifice and courage revealed. On Arrakis, he fought and fell, A hero's death, a tale to tell.

So let us mourn for Duke Leto true, His loss, a tragedy, forever anew. But his memory will always survive, In the hearts and minds of those who strive.

From Caladan's seas to Arrakis' sand, Duke Leto Atreides leads his land. A hero born of strength and might, A noble lord with honor bright.

In royal court and battle grand, He stands as leader, true and grand. With strength and wisdom, he commands, The might of armies in his hands.

In darkness, he leads with shining light, A beacon in the endless night. With courage, he faces fear and dread, For his people and his house, he bled.

In death, he falls as martyrs do, His spirit soaring, strong and true. A legend born of honor's flame, Duke Leto Atreides, forever in fame.

In the world of Arrakis, where sands did drift and shift, There lived a noble Duke, Leto, with a family to uplift. His rule was just and fair, his people looked up with pride, And in his wife, Jessica, he found love, with whom to confide.

But destiny is cruel, and it struck with a mighty hand, As the treacherous Harkonnens plotted their plan. They ambushed the Duke, and he fell with a cry, His lifeblood on the sand, his legacy to die.

But Leto's memory endures, in the hearts of his kin, And Jessica carries on, with the strength from within. For the Duke's spirit lives, in every noble deed, And in his loss, a legacy, for all who would lead.

[kincalling]

fade from valorant, looking for anybody. doesn't really matter as long as we're from the same source. my canon is the same as canon lore. but as an addition, i am certain that the person i was looking for back then, was agent 08.

if you're between 16-18, like this and i will contact you right away.

🎧

[delimeful]

or set your teeth against my throat (1)

warnings: vampires, blood, injury, violence, abduction, non consensual blood drinking, depressive thoughts, mild hypnosis, murder mention

-

Vampires, Roman was finding, seemed to have an even more shit sense of hospitality than he’d previously assumed.

Maybe it was ungenerous of him, considering this was the only coven he’d interacted with up close and personal, but he wasn’t really feeling particularly generous at the moment. When he’d been cornered, isolated from the rest of his pack, he’d expected a quick and valorous death, fighting to the last. Not… this.

Another rock made contact with the bars of his cage, the clang of stone on metal vibrating around him. His ears twitched down to flatten against his skull without his input, and he snarled low in his throat as a jeering laugh rose from the crowd.

As if it wasn’t bad enough, being taken hostage for whatever nefarious purposes they had in mind, bound and muzzled like some common animal, no, they had to parade him through the streets and batter his cage with pebbles and glass and whatever other projectiles the bloodsuckers thought fitting to torment their captive audience with.

None of it could get through the enchantment on the bars, so he wasn't struck, but it was still rough on the ears. And his feelings.

Not that they cared. That was probably the point, actually.

Gathering his resolve, he forced himself to remain still and unflinching as another shard of rock hit the cage and spun away, clenching his hands to keep them from trembling. None of this mattered. It didn’t matter what they did to him, because he would not break. He wouldn’t tell them a single thing about his pack, not one scrap of information.

He would die first, and without regrets.

-

As it turned out, the coven-- Kin of Æternam, they called themselves-- didn’t seem to care for information. Not a single vampire spoke to him as he was moved further and further into the town, and he couldn’t exactly initiate a conversation himself with a gag in his mouth.

Instead, he watched, and found to no surprise that he didn’t like what he saw.

He’d known many vampires were nomadic, but it was one thing to distantly know and another thing entirely to see the human town around them, half the houses smoldering and the other half looking uncomfortably ransacked. He could see the dark splatters of dried blood along walls or among the dirt, though mercifully it seemed like it had been long enough since their invasion that any remaining human bodies had been cleared away.

Roman didn’t risk interacting with humans often. He knew the tales that were spread about werewolves, and the last thing his tiny pack needed was an angry mob on their tails. Even with his reservations, though, he would never wish something like this upon them. Upon anyone.

The Æternam vamps walked among the ruins casually, as though this was everyday scenery, and Roman supposed that for them, it probably was. Simple routine; find a human settlement, feed to their unbeating hearts’ content, hold revel, and then depart again. Rinse and repeat.

It was enough to turn his stomach, and he was almost grateful when his view of the town was blocked off by their entry into the large stone fort that loomed over all else. Almost.

His opinion of the place went downhill as soon as he saw the ostentatious throne and the vampire sprawled across it, both placed on a literal gilded pedestal. Dark raven hair, corpse-like skin, and glowing red eyes painted the picture of the archetypal tyrant vamp. He found himself strangely disappointed by the lack of originality in the man’s presentation. If he was going to die to a bloodsucker, couldn’t it at least be one with a sense of style?

One of the attendant vamps pulled the door of his prison open, and Roman lunged against his restraints with all his might, snarling past the muzzle. The attendant flinched back, but the iron cuffs that bound him held firm no matter how hard he strained. The vampire on the throne laughed, the way one might at a child throwing a tantrum.

“Oh, you are a spitfire, aren’t you? All the better.”

Roman tried to convey how much this guy’s villain aesthetic sucked with his heated glare alone. He was pretty sure Virgil could have created a better evil persona than this guy in his sleep. At age twelve. While feverish. It was sad, really.

The platitudinous prick-- Roman instantly decided to alternate between very clever and very rude nicknames for the guy in his head-- beckoned, and the attendant unlocked the chain keeping him bolted to the floor of the cage. They proceeded to grab the connecting bar between the cuffs locked around his arms and maneuver him up the steps to the pedestal with probably more force than strictly necessary.

Roman had been riding in that cage for hours, and as such, had time to prepare for a lot of potential scenarios. He grew more and more tense the closer he got to the trite enthroned bastard, mentally readying himself for what was likely to be at best an assault on his person and at worst, a horrifying and gory death.

Instead, he was steered to the side of the throne, and then shoved to his knees, at which point he realized that a horrifying and gory death might not be so bad after all. Because now the attendant was locking his cuffs into a new platform, one that was designed to force him to stay hunched over and kneeling at the side of the throne. He growled, prying at the restraints, but there was little give in the cuffs. He was stuck like this, practically on display for the world to see.

“Perfect, right where a mutt like you belongs,” Vlad the Contemptible smiled sharply, as though proud of his pitiful insult.

Were all vampires this insufferably smug? Like, was it part of the package, along with the dumb looking fangs and the tacky glowing eyes? He was glad that werewolves had eyes that merely reflected light, like the respectable, well-designed creatures of nature they were.

It was possible that Roman was rambling, mentally, a little bit. He wished desperately that he could protest the indignity of it all, denounce these freaks and their humiliating tactics, but in this state, there was little he could do but glare impotently.

The bloodsucker seemed entirely too content to ignore him and his glaring hatred entirely for the next few hours, which confused Roman at first. Clearly, he was still alive for a reason, and he felt as though he’d done more than enough waiting to learn about his fate at this point. Plus, his knees hurt.

At the very least, the pain in the neck on the throne next to him seemed like the type to gloat, so why wasn’t he?

As dusk fell, Roman got his answer. More and more vamps filtered into the wide stone hall, filling the space with their corpse-cold bodies and idle chatter. Once the last bit of sun had faded over the horizon, the Toothed Tyrant slowly straightened up in his seat, drawing all the eyes in the room to him. This was what he’d been waiting for.

What was the point in gloating about your evil deeds without an audience to lavish you in praise for it?

“Kin of mine. As I’m sure many of you have noticed, we have a... guest with us this evening.”

Roman shivered as those icy, glowing gazes moved towards him, jeering or morbidly curious or hungry. He pulled at the chains once more just to have something else to focus on, the shift and clink of the metal drowned out by his rapid heartbeat in his ears. He wondered if the vamps could hear it, too.  

The pitiful excuse for a villain was still talking. “... fullest potency once the full moon hits, and our hunt will decide who claims such a reward.” His half-lidded gaze slid over to Roman. “A beast like this one has engaged in plenty of hunts before, I assume? Though, probably not as prey. I’m sure it’ll get used to the sensation eventually.”

Even with the gag, Roman could snarl as fierce as any wolf, and the rumbling growl emanating from his chest made some of the closer vamps lean away.

It didn’t seem to have any effect on the worst human leech of them all. He just smiled in a satisfied sort of way before rising to his feet. “What a rebellious spirit. Perhaps you should save that for the hunt, mutt?”

Think up some new nicknames, you absolute bore, Roman thought at him, just in case those rumors about vampires reading minds were true.

The vamp walked closer, until he was at the edge of the platform and Roman had to crane his head back to see his face.

“Let’s give us both a taste of what’s to come, then.”

Without pause, there were suddenly hands on his shirt, dragging him upwards until the restraints threatened to dislocate something. One moment, he was nearly face to face with the vamp, meeting those eye-searing red pupils. In the next, his vision blurred as sharp pain shot through his neck.

The vamp had sunk its nasty fangs in on either side of his jugular, not deep enough to kill him, but enough that it would only take the slightest twitch of the head for his throat to be ripped right out. His body kept frozen even as he began to choke, his mouth tasting of iron and salt.

There was nothing he could do. He couldn’t escape, couldn’t attack, couldn’t even die until these monsters allowed it. The more he fought and resisted, the tighter their grasp on him would become, and the more he would suffer. It would be better to just give up now, save himself the trouble.

(Why am I… That’s not right--)  

Roman only realized the vampire was withdrawing when those sharp teeth finally pulled away carelessly, causing a new wave of pain to roll through him. He automatically tried to reach for his throat, to stem the bleeding, but his bound hands could barely rise a few inches. He bent his head down instead, his pride stinging silently as a cacophony of mockery sounded all around him.

Once his fingers touched flesh, however, he could only feel shallow cuts rather than the gaping wounds he knew should be there. He coughed wetly, and red splattered across his hands, but he could breathe once more. However bad the bite had been, it had healed near instantly.

Of course. It was beginning to sink in that they wouldn’t let him perish that easily.

The vampire king was speaking again, eyes brighter than before, and his words blurred together and slipped away from Roman’s understanding. He could only notice the smear of deep red on the vampire’s face, and shudder where he lay as a chill set into his bones.

-

Time passed in a haze, marked by the constant flurry of vamp activity in the fort around him, the occasional meal to keep him alive, and his connection to the ever-waxing moon.

He felt a faint sense of concern about the way days seemed to slip away, and also about how far away and hard to grasp the concern itself felt. There was something seriously wrong when the growing light of the moon felt more like an approaching deadline than a relief.

The one other thing marking the time, he would much rather forget. Every night without fail, no matter how he fought, the same vampire would drag him up and plunge dagger-like teeth into his throat, leaving him drained and weak on the cold floor afterwards.

Roman wasn’t a fool; he knew that the bites were the reason he felt so exhausted and fuzzy. He just couldn’t do anything about it. The feeling of helplessness only grew stronger and stronger after each night, and slowly, he began to lose the will to fight the dreary feelings off.

By the time the night before the full moon hit, hope was hard to find.

He was slumped awkwardly against the ground when the door to the chamber creaked open, and the noise jolted him out of his dozing as quick as anything. His muscles went rigid and tense.

The head vamp hadn’t drank from him yet today, having left in the middle of the day with an  extensive entourage for… something. It had probably been mentioned in earshot-- they weren’t very careful about what he did and did not hear-- but Roman hadn’t been paying enough attention. Maybe they were scouting out new territory?

Regardless, he had sort of been hoping it would keep the bloodsucker out of his hair for long enough that he could recover even just a bit before… before he ran out of time. So much for that.

To his surprise, there was no trace of the vamp’s normal arrogant strides. In fact, there was barely any sound at all. Roman could only tell that someone was approaching by the shifting of shadows and that dusty undead smell.

Suddenly, there was a cold palm on his arm, and he jerked up with a jagged snarl, his mind screaming at him to do anything to prevent being bitten again. The palm was yanked away instantly, and Roman could see the silhouette of the vamp before him.

It definitely wasn’t the head vamp. Smaller, and with curled hair that reflected the torchlight. He couldn’t see his expression, and his mind still screamed dangerous. His growl increased in intensity as the vamp extended a hand again, but he’d called Roman’s bluff: he had no way to defend himself in the restraints. Whatever the vamp was going to do, he couldn’t stop it.

The vamp’s other hand rose, and Roman couldn’t stop himself from flinching.

It made it all the more surprising when he heard the clank of a key in a lock. His eyes shot open, and to his disbelief, the chain connecting his cuffs to the platform went loose, no longer attached. A moment later, the vamp’s hands were on his cuffs, but rather than grab them and drag him, there was another clank.

For the first time in days, fresh air grazed his wrists. His hands were free.

A surge of adrenaline hit him, and he twisted quicker than the vamp could react, pinning him to the ground with a knee to the abdomen and a hand over his throat. It would keep the creature from getting enough air to call out an alarm. With his other hand, he immediately tore at the muzzle, his nails going claw-sharp to tear through the straps. He spat the remnants of the wretched thing out, and turned his attention to the vamp.

Cold hands curled over Roman’s own, like he wanted to pry the hand off his throat, but other than that, he wasn’t struggling against Roman’s hold. Oddly enough, his chest was rising and falling in an uncanny mimicry of panicked breathing, and even his eyes seemed oddly dark for a vamp. Roman would have thought him a human if not for the unmistakable fangs.

His grip tightened at the reminder. “You’re not getting any more blood out of me,” he growled, his voice rough and crackly. His whole body felt out of practice. If he stood up and bolted, he risked falling flat on his own face, and if he turned and the vamp lunged…

No. Easier to just… just vanquish the vamp so he couldn’t do anything. One less thing to worry about during his escape.

He lifted his other hand, claws pinched together as a makeshift stake. The vampire twitched once, his mouth opening briefly as though to speak, and then seemed to slump. His hands stopped tugging at Roman’s fingers around his neck, and he pinched his eyes closed, bracing for the blow.

Roman frowned. Was this a ploy for sympathy?

He could feel the way the vamp trembled under him, unnaturally lifelike.

… It was an effective one. Shit.

He lowered his hand slowly, loosened his grip, waiting for the moment the stranger dropped the ruse and lunged. It didn’t come. He just kept waiting for Roman to hurt him.

He abruptly felt a little sick to his stomach. He let go of the vamp’s throat. The guy opened one eye slowly, like he thought it was a trick.

“If you get up from this spot, if you even twitch before I’m out of this building, I’ll make sure you regret it,” Roman threatened, a growl under the words and his lip curling up slightly to bare his teeth. “You won’t get mercy twice.”

The vamp’s expression did something complicated (Confusion? Relief? Disappointment?) but when Roman scuttled back, he stayed laid out on the floor, not moving a muscle. Roman let a breath out slowly, some of the tension fading from him. “Well… good. Keep doing that.”

He could practically hear Virgil sighing as his awkwardness overwhelmed any menace his threat might have instilled. It wasn’t his fault he was off-script, okay? This vampire was… weird.

Roman shuffled back a few more steps on weak legs, and then, once he was sure he was far enough away, he let the shift wash over him like a warm breeze. Four unsteady legs were better than two, and if he leaned a little on his instincts, his inner wolf would make his gait mostly smooth. It was a small but invaluable aid as as he sprinted down long, musty halls until he was finally, finally out of that cursed fortress.

Roman was so relieved he could have cried. He was still weak, and his head was still foggy, but he didn't stop until there was finally trees around him and dirt under his feet. As he collapsed, the night air still tasted like victory.

[lady-haborym]

Mavuika listened intently to Feykrokiin's words, her expression one of deep respect and understanding. The dragon’s acknowledgment of their shared purpose resonated with her, and she felt the weight of their collective struggles and triumphs echoing in the air around them.

“Indeed,” she replied, her voice steady yet warm. “I have not forgotten that bind us. Our paths converged when the shadows threatened to consume our land, and together we stand on the cusp of change.” Her gaze turned toward the horizon, where the last vestiges of sunlight were fading into twilight. “You are no longer hidden; we are united in purpose and strength. Each of us plays a vital role in this fight, and our bond is one that transcends our individual natures.”

She met the dragon's verdant gaze, feeling the weight of his wisdom. “It is true, our homeland is shared, and your kin’s presence has been a beacon of hope for all of Natlan. The skies above us have been empty indeed without the sight of you and your kind soaring through them. You’ve claimed this land alongside us, and we are honored to fight by your side.”

She paused, looking out over the remnants of the battlefield, the air still thick with the scent of smoke and determination. "None of us will forget the sacrifices made in this fight, whether by human hands, Saurian strength, divine intervention or dragon might. Each contribution is vital and the Lord of the Night bears witness to our deeds." She paused, letting her words linger in the air before continuing. “We honor each other through our actions, and I will ensure that the valor of every being who stands against the abyss is recognized. We are all bound by our duty to protect Natlan, and together we shall forge a future where peace reigns."

"Trust in that, and let that be enough."

Or so she says, & yet, beneath worn body, the irritation gnawing at skin, even he knew better.

What is enough?.

A kept thought to himself as Kinich went away, till eventually, there was no sign of him... atleast for the time being.

Verdant hued eyes lingers on his departed chosen one, before shifting to Mavuika. Most of them, would not take too kindly to what they would consider measly or substantial praises, cimpliments, however one might call it.

But for Feykrokiin?, a little recognition and due respect has never really been unwelcome.

''Lady of Fire'', a simple greeting in turn as further escape fanged maw, ''surely you have not forgotten. It was long foretold; our arisal should it become dire, for it was thine plan'', and from then on, they've no longer need to hide.

From then onwards, the sky of Natlan will no longer be quiet, feel empty without the sight of them since long ago. Sure, by age standard, the green dragon was not that old, some have been around back to the Sovereigns War.

He was, however, older than the Archon before him.

''Tis but our promised land as well, there are no need for flowery speech'', or to cover up what she truly intend on doing to put an end to the chaos.

The world or should he say, Celestia, gave Natlan as a homeland for the remaining dragons, its only natural they would defend it.

''But it would equally foolish to not offer due credit to the valor of humans and Toci's intervention'', in which the mentioned name should be around, & if not there, likely inside or someplace else.

[queenjanai]

so here’s “part two” of this cowboy au, because i can’t help it. thanks to everyone who read and liked and previous post!

She didn't see the woman for two days after their brief encounter. She asked the saloon's owner who helped manage the bar, a young woman with a pair of round glasses, if she had seen the newcomer, but the owner only shook her head, her skirt swirling around her as she filled another glass of beer. 

When she did see her again, she wasn't the one who made the move. The woman entered the saloon, and walked right to the table where she was sitting with Gren.

Gren turned to meet her eyes, and after Amaya followed him, she found the woman standing right in front of them.

"Good afternoon," she said, and Amaya swore she saw a shadow of discomfort passing her face. She would have rejoiced in that, if it wasn't for how tense she was. The woman slid her hand to her waist. "Could we have a word, miss?"

Amaya held her eyes. There were thousands of things she wanted to do, much less rational than a conversation. The woman had valor, she admitted, as she held Amaya just as much.

She nodded and rose from her seat, Gren rushing to follow suit. "Alone, I'd rather," she told Gren, who remained on his feet. He looked at Amaya, who nodded at him, and followed the woman to her table.

Sitting at the woman's spot by the door, Amaya felt different. Colder, perhaps, as if she has entered her territory, even though this table was no different than all the others. The woman sat upright and rested her arms on the table, which was certainly more civil than how she acted when drinking alone. 

They gazed at each other. Amaya didn't have Gren, but she did have her notebook. Not her preferred means to communicate, but better than nothing. If the woman was as smart as she seemed, she realized by now Amaya was deaf.

Finally, the woman spoke. "I apologize for not speaking with you sooner, and if I brought you dishonor."

Amaya suppressed a smile. This stranger couldn't damage her honor even if she wanted to, but this wasn't the time for games of pride. Amaya took out her notebook and began to write. Took you long enough. What is your business here? She spun the notebook to the woman.

Her eyes drifted across the page, and the tip of her tongue traced her lips as she read. "I hoped for a conversation, not an interrogation," she said, her fingers brushing the paper. "I'll grab us something to drink."

Amaya stood before her, the sharp move attracting the eyes of some curious diners. She would very much rather for the woman to stay in her place, even if it meant fetching some drinks.

She returned with two cups of beer, the foam licking the thick edges of glass. The woman inclined her head when Amaya set the cup on her side, but didn't hurry to drink.

Neither did Amaya. Now, you were about to tell me what are you doing in Katolis, she wrote again.

The light refused to fade from the woman's eyes. Amaya didn't remember the last time she encountered someone who was so amused by her irritation. That was, until she answered. "I am looking for someone," she said, and reached for her cup.

So it was true then. Amaya picked up the pencil again. A member of your family? You won't find them here. You're the only stranger around.

"You'll be surprised by the footsteps strangers leave, as small as they can be," she leaned back in her seat, and loosely crossed her arms in her lap.

The irritation grew in Amaya's stomach. She didn't know what to make of this woman. First she was gleeful, then quiet, and distant, and witty all the same. She scribbled on the notebook again, faster this time. Makes me wonder if I'll regret yours.

If that remark wounded her, she didn't show it. "Are you kin with the mayor?" Amaya nodded. "Figured you might be, seeing how protective you are of this town. Katolis is certainly the largest city I've visited yet."

How many cities is that?

"Six," she glanced at the ceiling, and nodded, then took another sip. "Listen, I don't mean any harm. If I don't find useful information here, I'll be on my way, but I'll appreciate not to be treated as a threat."

Amaya almost scoffed. Makes it hard to trust you when you won't say who you're looking for.

She intertwined her hands as she read, her thumbs brushing against each other. "I'm looking for my brother, Amaya," she said, and looked away at once to see if anyone has heard that. 

Her tongue slipped. Why is this such a discreet detail? is a thought that would have crossed Amaya's mind if she wasn't struck by something else. She dragged the notebook to her. You know my name.

She smiled, although her brows furrowed. "Yes, and you know mine."

This was true. Of course she knew her name. After Gren her told her what he knew, she went to Harrow to hear it again. Gren was sweet, and honest without doubt, but Amaya wanted to get Harrow's impression. 

Yet she extended her hand all the same. "Janai. Lux Aurea." 

Amaya took her hand. It was warmer than hers. She had waited for Janai to introduce herself, to see if she would follow the simplest courtesy, and it seemed like Janai was going to keep her wondering until the last moment. 

Janai reached to her belt, and a couple of coins fell from her hands. "Thank you for the drink," she said, and donned her hat, and left.

[365daysofsasuhina]

[ @sasuhinabigflash2020​​ || Day Fourteen: Cooperation ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata, Uchiha Fugaku, Uchiha Itachi, Uchiha Shisui ] [ SasuHina, blood, vulgarity ] [ Verse: Of Monsters and Men ] [ AO3 Link ]

[ Previous ] [ Next ] [ This piece is a prequel to Day Eighteen ]

He’s trained his entire life for this.

For as long as he can remember, Sasuke has been taught the ways of his people: those of them who, into years long past, have striven to defeat mankind’s greatest enemy.

Monsters.

Woven into their culture as gods and spirits, the true faces of many kami, yōkai, and other inhuman beings are in fact little more than creatures of nightmares that have haunted humanity for uncounted eons. They steal, they kidnap, they murder...and they must be eliminated.

The Uchiha have been hunters for uncounted generations, at least back to the fabled warrior Madara, who was claimed to have slain a kitsune of nine tails. And now, with his training nearing completion, Sasuke is to join the ranks of his kin as a true hunter of those who call themselves Nightwalkers.

But first...one final test.

Hunt a monster. All on his own. And bring back its head as proof of his valor and victory.

Of course, their methods aren’t as...publicly acceptable as they were in the days of old. After all, these creatures can appear human, and do their best to hide their true nature among real men. To do battle with one in a public place would see human officers called. And explaining their mission would be a breach of their secrecy and vows.

This will be a test of more than just his skills in the hunt. He must remain undetected, and not bring risk of exposure or shame to his clan.

But he’s ready.

As he prepares to depart - barred from returning until he brings back his prize - several of the men of his family gather to see him off. His brother, father, and cousin all give confident smiles.

“Make me proud, my son,” Fugaku offers, chin raised.

“Hai.”

“Just stay focused, and stay safe,” are Itachi’s words, replied to with a nod.

“Kick ass.” Shisui gives a rugged grin.

At that, Sasuke snorts. “I’ll do more than that.” It’s then, with little left to say, he takes his leave, the gate shutting behind him.

From here on out...he’s on his own.

Unlike his ancestors heading out on horseback with silver naginata, Sasuke’s equipment is far more modern: a motorcycle, and a pistol...along with some knives and shuriken, a tantō strapped along the small of his back under his coat. All pure silver.

Parts of the old ways are still the best ways, after all.

Mounting up and revving the engine, he leaves his family’s removed home in the foothills behind. Despite the risks of running alongside humanity, it’s far easier to find a monster hiding in plain sight within cities and towns than anywhere wild. Like rats, they follow civilization wherever it goes, hoping they aren’t the unlucky ones caught in a well-stocked trap.

But one of them is about to see their luck run out.

Passing through a few small villages, he eventually finds his target: a decent city of about a hundred thousand souls. A vast majority of which are truly human...but at least a small fraction are anything but.

To begin, he makes his way through the belly of the place. Despite their reclusion into the dark of night, monsters are still attracted to the lights of downtown. Spotting one isn’t easy...but that just means he’ll need to do his homework.

Most initiations take at least a few weeks of careful study, stalking, and only after all the hard work, slaying. He hardly expects to be home in time for breakfast. Instead, he finds himself a decent hotel room...and then goes on foot.

He lacks a werewolf’s keen nose or a harpy’s sharp eyes. Finding a fake among the crowds isn’t easy for a human, even one with his training. It only gets you so far when your body is limited in ways a monster’s is enhanced. There’ll be no shortcuts.

Entering a variety of nightlife business, he observes. Asks questions of the staff. Searches for telltale signs. While there are the rare places that are majority or even purely Nightwalker, finding one is like finding a grain of rice in the snow. His far better bet is finding a loner that risks going to human places, instead.

As confident as he is...he’s not sure he could take on an entire hornets’ nest by himself, anyway. There will be time for raids when he’s a little more experienced, and not on his own.

Adapting to a nocturnal routine is a bit difficult at first, but soon enough he’s walking the night streets like one of them, rising with the setting sun and sleeping once it rises. Slowly but surely he familiarizes himself with his surroundings.

And then, after biding his time...he catches a break.

A woman. She’s been frequenting a laundromat, open-late market, and a few other shops...but only after dark. Possible to explain with a night shift, but he doesn’t buy it. And after tracking her home to an apartment, he’s all but certain she’s not nearly as human as she appears to be.

She’s Nightwalker. He’d bet his favorite katana on it.

Now all that’s left is to pick the proper moment to confront her, confirm her specie...and kill her.

Leaning against a building across the street, he watches through the windows as she goes about doing her laundry. Dainty hands fold garments of white and various shades of purple. Already her groceries sit in a chair nearby, ready to be hauled back home with her clothes.

But she won’t be making it there tonight.

Patience ever his virtue, Sasuke moves only as she steps out. Her route is entirely on foot. That’ll make things easier. No trains to navigate. All he needs is the quiet street her small apartment building sits on. He’s already taken care of the security cameras that cover her path. As soon as she’s in range, he’ll strike.

Tailing her is easy. For being one of them, she doesn’t seem too anxious. Might be a powerful one, then...or just naive. His family often targets this town for their work, and any Nightwalker worth their salt knows it. Perhaps she thinks herself too small a fish to be bothered with.

But any monster is still a monster.

Rounding the final corner, Sasuke feels his muscles quiver in anticipation. If all goes well...he’ll be home in a few hours with his honor intact and place among his clan secured. He just needs to -

“Kyah!”

Startling at the cry, too lost in his thoughts, Sasuke mentally curses his lapse in attention and refocuses. The woman’s bags are scattered across the roadway.

She’s...being attacked?

Blinking in confusion, Sasuke rests a hand on the hilt of his blade. Where did they -?

“Lookie lookie here...a tasty little morsel! And you’re even Nightwalker...that’ll make it even better!”

Turning to a nearby recessed alcove into a building, Sasuke spots them. A long-coated figure holds his target by the throat, her feet kicking a foot off the ground.

“L-let me go!”

“Shush now. Just need a taste, then I’ll be on my way. If you don’t squirm, it won’t be five minutes, beauty. No muss, no fuss. I’ll even lick you clean, heh heh heh...”

“I said...let me go…!”

In less than a blink, her form changes. Arms become wings, lower legs scaling and growing talons. With a kick, she forces the man back several paces.

“Gah! You little bitch…!” He holds his middle, and Sasuke notices the sharp smell of blood. Seems her claws struck true. “It didn’t have to be this difficult! Might just kill you now for the trouble!”

Immediately, Sasuke finds himself torn. Vampires are a far bigger threat to humans than a harpy. But if he attacks the vampire, odds are she’ll get away! He’ll still have a prize, but -?

Unfortunately, it’s then he’s noticed. “Great, another liability…!” The bloodsucker bares sharpened teeth at him. “This one smells human...not as fancy as my feathery feast, but I won’t turn down a second helping...!”

Eyes narrowing, Sasuke then draws his short blade, the silver glinting in a nearby porch light. “I’m afraid I’m not your typical easy pickings, monster. Your thieving of blood ends tonight.”

Red eyes widen. “...a Hunter…?”

As the vampire hesitates, Sasuke glances to the harpy, still catching her breath along the door and partially Shifted. They lock eyes, and Sasuke realizes he’s about to do something very stupid...but two against one is better than a duel.

By unspoken agreement, they both launch forward. The harpy, closer, wraps her avian feet around the vampire’s upper arms. Wings flutter to keep her airborne and hold him in place.

“What the hell are you -?!”

With as much speed as his human body can muster, Sasuke streaks forward, plunging his weapon into the monster’s already-torn gut as one hand grips the handle, the other at the butt and pushing it to the hilt.

A howl of unspeakable pain breaks out in the night before cutting short, the blade withdrawn and instead slashing an exposed throat. Reduced to gurgles, it eventually fades as the harpy releases her grip and lets the corpse fall.

An eerie silence falls over the street.

Panting, Sasuke stares at it for a moment before looking up. Blood has splattered over the woman’s form, now fully human again as she sags in the aftermath of panic and adrenaline.

...he could probably take her.

And yet, something stays his hand.

...he’s never heard of Nightwalkers attacking other Nightwalkers before.

Fear is still plain on her face, speckled with crimson. Her shoulders shake. If he were otherwise unaware...he’d think her human.

Deep in his mind, something cracks: a resolute belief suddenly seems...flawed.

Swallowing harshly, she looks to him in return. Something in her sobers. “...are...are you going to kill me, too?”

A moment of silence. “...I was,” he admits. “...I followed you here.”

“...but…?”

“...but you’ve clearly had enough excitement for one evening,” Sasuke replies, leaning down to clean his blade on the vampire’s coat before sheathing it. Another knife is drawn in preparation for beheading him...but he hesitates, not wanting to scare her.

...why should he care if he scares her?

She, too, looks confused. “...but I thought -?”

“Want me to change my mind?”

“N-no!”

“Then get out of here before I do,” he retorts, making his next action obvious to give her a chance to avoid it.

Clearly skittish now, she skirts around him and hastily picks up her things before fleeing to the nearby gate to her building.

...and then she pauses.

Taking out a waterproof canvas bag to hide away the head (and keep the contents from leaking), Sasuke turns to her.

“...w...what will you do with...the rest of him?”

“...clean up crew’ll handle it. Which means you need to get inside before they get here and see you.”

Expression torn, she still lingers.

“...do you have a deathwish, or what?”

“I-I just…” She bites her lip. “...thank you.”

“...for?”

“For...saving my life. I wouldn’t stand a c-chance against someone like...s-someone like him. I...I owe you.”

“Not sure a Hunter is someone you want a debt with.”

“Debt is our highest form of currency,” she murmurs, earning a furrow of his brow. “We - Nightwalkers, that is - we take it v-very seriously.”

“I don’t want anything from you. It’s bad enough I’m thinking about letting you live. I’m breaking my own code right now!”

She flinches. “...may...may I ask your name…?”

A curt sigh escapes him. “...Sasuke. Uchiha Sasuke.”

“I’m H-Hinata. Hyūga Hinata. Someday, I’ll...I’ll repay you.”

“Just forget about it, and get inside,” he hisses, shooing with his hand. “Any of my friends see you out here, they’ll kill you. And I won’t stop them.”

After one last pause, she gives an awkward dip of a bow before retreating inside, her things all a jumbled mess in her arms.

Watching her go, Sasuke just sighs as an unmarked van pulls into the street. From it, several Uchiha underlings emerge and begin the task of removing the scene.

“Sasuke-sama,” the driver greets with a bow. “It’s good to see you. You succeeded, then?”

Wordlessly, Sasuke holds aloft his satchel.

“Excellent. I can radio ahead and let them know you’re coming?”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“Very well.”

Mood inexplicably soured, Sasuke returns to his room, ending his rent and hopping astride his bike for the way home. A heaviness weighs in his gut.

He knows where she lives.

Knows her name.

He should tell someone so they can finish her off, or just do it himself.

...and yet…

...this isn’t good. His first official hunt, and he let a Nightwalker get away. No one knows, but...he does. Regret simmers in his chest.

...but so too does a kind of relief settle over him.

If anyone in his clan ever finds out...he’ll likely be stripped of his rank at best, and outcast at worst. To let one of their destined enemies escape alive is an unspeakable shame.

...but how was he supposed to kill her when she looked at him like that? With those big, stupid eyes…?!

Sighing curtly in his helmet, he banishes the thought. Just...forget about it. Take your victory. Leave the rest behind and never look back.

...and pray she never finds you and tries to repay that debt.

It just might cost you everything.

     Welp, I’m now TWO days behind but...hopefully this being longer makes up for it? ^^; I was gonna try to catch up more today but GOLLY it was ridiculously hot and I spent most of the day melted in my chair, blegh. And it’s gonna last at least two more days so don’t expect much from me until then kjdfjhg      ANYWAY      Longtime readers likely know my monster verse, BUT. I switched up roles again! This time Hinata’s the monstie, and Sasuke the Hunter. But he just can’t harm a hair on her pretty little head, no matter what verse they’re in xD      I’d ramble more but it’s honestly still hot and I’ma just...go bake to death in my bed, lol      Thanks as always for reading!