#whew this got away from me

[guitarsolosmakemefeellthings]

I had this idea for a while now but didn't have the courage to post it. (My courage comes in liquid form rn so don't look too close on spelling and all that) maybe I'll polish this a little once I am sober

I thought about Robin and Steve working in some lil bar/club as the people who book bands and whatever other acts come there. They have a lot of fun searching through the offers they get sent by artists. When they're being a little tipsy, they choose based on the looks of the artist entirely. Something along the lines of "oooh they're looking cute/hot, they can come to us".

Because the club is so small the team is pretty much like a little family. Idk maybe Nancy works the financial stuff, Jonathan obviously takes the pictures and takes care of programms and flyers, Robin and Steve take care of the artists or help Argyle behind the bar.

Lot's of the bands playing there are regular visitors. Playing there whenever they're in the area. Obviously Eddie and Corroded Coffin are one of the regular acts. They've played there almost every year since their first time and became great friends with the staff too. (If Eddie fell head over heels for the very cute guy that pretty much cared for almost all of their backstage needs, that's nobodys business but his)

In this particular case the line between professional stuff and friendship blur and more than once the Corroded Coffin guys stayed at a staff member's flat instead of a hotel. Usually they crash at Robin and Steve's apartment because they have the biggest spare room. (If Steve offers his room up for Eddie because he once complained about Jeff's snoring, that's entirely for the sake of Eddies sleeping schedule and nothing else)

Usually these days turn into a giant sleepover with random jam sessions at late hours of the night. They're all just a big group of friends having a beer or two and some weed after four of them had a great gig. Plus they pretty much see each other only once a year or so because Corroded Coffin are either touring, working on new albums or they're simply busy with their regular jobs. Sure they make a bit of money with their gigs but it's not like they're Metallica.

One year Steve gets an unexpected call from Eddie, a week before CC are supposed to play at their bar. He's a little nervous and asks if its okay if they bring along one more person to their gig, to help out with the merch stand and get a feeling forthe life on tour. Steve of couse says it's okay and tries his best not to freak out when he hears Eddie say "great! She'll be thrilled" before hangig up.

See the thing is, ever since the day Coroded Coffin played there for the first time, Steve was equally head over heels for Eddie. Sure metal was a bit different from what he usually listened, but it's not like he hated it either. Plus Eddie knew how to put on a show, capturing his fans and just make everyone have a good fucking time. He even climbed the balcony over the dancefloor once, playing a wicked guitar solo up there and nearly giving Steve a heartattack.

It didn't help that they've been flirting pretty much nonstop since CCs third visit, talking late at night when all their friends were asleep, about nothing and everything. They once or twice even made out after one too many beers, both knowing they wanted the other but neither had the courage to make the actual first step and now Steve was pretty certain Eddie found himself someone that isn't him.

By the time CC arrived at the bar, Steve had managed to pull himself together. He decided to be happy for Eddie and whoever managed to catch his heart, even tho it hurt like a bitch. Imagine his surprise when Eddie introduces him to their new merch girl Max Mayfield. As in Eddies sort of little sister. One of the things he and Steve talked about late at night was their respective "annoying little siblings" that they both were still very fond of.

After that revelation the day went on as usual, meaning Eddie and Steve flirting and earning eyerolls left and right. Robin had called them hopeless, today with backup from Max. Little do they know that it won't be hopeless for much longer.

During their last encore Eddie searches the little crowd of people for one very cute person in a way too bright outfit for a metal show, smile getting wider when he spots him. "That next one will also be the last song for today", he starts "it's a little different than our usual stuff so I won't be too upset if you leave early". That makes the crowd laugh and whistle. Eddie let's out a nervous laugh too before gripping his guitar a little tighter. "It's for someone right here in this room aand I hope I won't fuck all of this up" he says, looking over to Steve one last time before he starts playing.

And yes its a different kind of song from what he usually plays but sue him, he's in love. It's still heavy enough to make up for the lyrics he poured all of his heart into and surprisingly the fans don't seem to hate it as much as he thought. He hopes Steve doesn't hate it either. As the final notes ring out and the applause starts, he's too afraid to look for Steve again so he quickly sayes his goodbyes to the fans and hides backstage.

He knows he can't stay there forever, eventually making his way out to the merch stand with the other guys to help out Max and talk to the fans. The rest of the night happens in a blur. He's distinctively aware of giving autographs, taking pictures and eventually packing up for the night for the usual sleepover.

Steve didn't have time to talk to Eddie after the set, his brain was mush but in the best way and Argyle needed help behind the bar. He doesn't quite know how to function after such an Eddie way to confess, but apparently he does.

In the end they talk late at night again, only this time it's both of them curled up in Steve's bed and if they share a sickly sweet kiss before finally falling asleep, that's nobody's business but theirs.

[nolanhollogay]

"Behave." "Make me." + your obx ocs!

party pogues!!! they're pogues and they're at a party!! nova is having an emotional crisis but it's fine!!

(takes place between s1 and s2)

+

Nova loved alcohol. It made everything so much better. Like, yeah, maybe Kie was ignoring her for reasons she couldn't even begin to understand, and she didn't like Denver, her new Touron friend, as much as she initially thought, and John B and Sarah were probably dead and Mikey was blowing them off to hang out with Rafe fucking Cameron, and her stupid mom kept calling her but it was fine. Because she was drunk as fuck and not thinking about any of that.

JJ, Edgar and Pope were sitting beside her on the couch that someone had brought into the woods years upon years ago. Well, JJ and Pope were sitting next to her, Edgar was in JJ's lap, pretending to be annoyed as JJ tried to get him to make out. Kie was nowhere to be found, locked away in her house by her parents, like fucking Rapunzel.

Kie hated Rapunzel. She thought it was stupid that she was saved by a prince when she could've just used her long ass hair to get down on her own. Nova was indifferent because her favorite princess was the princess from The Princess and The Pea. She wondered what Denver's favorite princess was. Or Pope's.

"Pope, who's your favorite princess?" She turned to him, watching him sip slowly from his red solo cup. Whatever was in it made his face scrunch up in disgust.

"Like Disney princess, or real life princess, or–"

She cut him off. "Fictional princesses."p

He took another drink, hating it as much as the first sip. "Uh, probably Ariel from The Little Mermaid."

"Solid," she said. He smiled into his cup. "What about you, JJ?"

He pulled away from where he was not so subtly kissing Edgar's neck. "Brave, from Brave. Her bow n arrow was sick."

Pope scoffed. "Her name is not Brave."

JJ rolled his eyes. "Why else would they call the movie that?"

"Do you think Rapunzel's name is Tangled?"

Nova wasn't in the mood for their banter. "How bout you, Eddie?"

Edgar hummed in thought. "Dulcinea del Toboso from Don Qui—" He cut himself off with a yelp as JJ sunk his teeth into his neck. He elbowed him in the shoulder. "Ow! I was speaking."

JJ nodded. "Yeah, and you sounded so hot, I had to do something about it."

Nova couldn't see it because of the lack of light around them but she knew Edgar was blushing.

"Behave," he said, unable to keep the affection from his voice.

Leaning in for a kiss, JJ practically purred, "Make me."

Nova gagged. "Can you go be gross somewhere else? I just want to talk about princesses!"

Edgar pulled away. "Sorry, Nov." JJ, obviously very unapologetic, just glared at her.

"Isn't Dulcinea made up?" Pope asked.

Edgar gasped. "You've never read Don Quixote?"

They launched into a discussion about whatever the hell Don Quixote was, talking about knights and horses, and stopped paying Nova any attention.

She sighed, alone with her thoughts again.

Maybe she should call Kie, just to see how she was doing? They were more on the friend side of their frenemy situation now, it wouldn't be that weird.

But it would still be kind of weird.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, and her heart rose like it was in an elevator.

Except when she checked her phone it was just JJ texting her and not Kie having somehow read her mind.

From: Double J

u good? y r u being like that?

To: Double J

being like what?

From: Double J

a huge bitch

She knew it was just the alcohol in her system, but red hot rage flooded her veins. She got to her feet, turning to face him. "Fuck you."

As she walked away, she heard Pope ask, "What'd you do?"

+

Somehow she ended up at The Chateau, because she always ended up at The Chateau. She climbed into John B's bed, inhaling the scent of his stupid cologne. She used to hate it, but now she missed it more than anything.

"You should be here," she said into the darkness. "You should be here with me, telling me and JJ to stop fighting and dunking on Edgar and Pope for nerding out in the middle of a party and making fun of Tourons together. A Kook chick tried to buy weed off me and I didn't even get to make fun of her with you!"

She hugged his pillow to her chest. "Fuck you, John B. And fuck Sarah for her beautiful, giant heart. And Kiara for being the worst person in the world and refusing to leave my brain. And JJ for being a dick. And Edgar for being in love with him. And fuck Big John most of all for disappearing and getting us in this mess in the first place."

Her rage had melted into sadness and that melted into exhaustion, and before she knew it she was asleep, drooling on John B's sheets.

It didn't matter, they were probably dirty anyway.

[the-horny-vault]

I was asked to elaborate on this so here goes hehe

My kingdom is conquered, my throne usurped, and my body sold to the invader king in exchange for peace. The sheer, floaty gauze of my wedding gown clings to my curves as I'm escorted by my new husband's guards to my wedding bed.

They leave me in the chamber alone, nothing to do but sit and wait. Minutes tick by and my apprehension grows, all the ways this night could go flashing through my mind seemingly endlessly. He could turn out gentle, or not.

In truth, the first time I met him was at the end of the aisle, and all I know of my new husband is his reputation and the single hot, bruising kiss he'd left on my lips to seal our vows. I'm so caught up in my mind that I don't hear footsteps approaching until the door is flung open. The noise startles me to my feet, my heart leaping into my throat as if to choke me as I see Him step inside. I don't know what to do, so I simply stand and watch him, trying to hide the shaking in my knees as he does the same, his eyes seeming to burn straight through the flimsy material draping my body as they rake over my figure. He looms over me, broad and strong as he comes closer, setting a tankard of some alcohol down on the table.

I'm truly shaking now, trying not to cower from him as he crowds me slowly against the bed, never taking those dark, intense eyes off of me. Just as I find the courage to open my mouth to speak, his hand flashes out, gripping the back of my neck harshly, turning my words into a strangled whimper as he forces my head back. I can hardly move in his grip, just squirm pathetically. His free hand finds the pin at the center of my gown and he rips it free, causing the fabric to cascade open, hanging from my shoulders but leaving the rest of me completely exposed. My cheeks burn, and something burns between my legs as well, strange and unfamiliar.

His grip on my neck eases, the hand instead sliding the straps from my shoulders and leaving the dress to flutter to the floor. Immediately his hands are on me, squeezing and gripping my soft curves, groping me roughly.

"Brave little thing, aren't you, Princess?" His voice is rough and deep in my ear, sending shivers down my spine. "Giving yourself in exchange for peace, that's rare." Suddenly his hand is between my thighs, pushing my legs apart and sinking two fingers into my cunt before I can react or close my legs. The stretch forces a small cry from my throat, my knees almost buckling at the unfamiliar sensation.

"Do you really know what you did, though?" He muses over my shaky breaths. "Do you know what you signed up for?" He rocks his fingers once, twice in my cunt then they're gone, leaving me strangely empty. He steps back and quickly strips himself of his clothes, and I can't help but feel a little flutter in my belly at the sight. I have no other reference but his cock is just as big as the rest of him, thick and imposing and I don't know how I'm going to take it all. I must have shown my shock on my face, because he laughs. It's not a cruel sound but it makes my hair stand up.

He moves again, suddenly, his fingers digging into my side as he forces me back into the bed. It all happens too fast for me to process, in an instant I'm on my back, my legs are forced wide and his cock is buried in my cunt in one swift motion. I scream, the burning of his cock, huge and heavy in my cunt, wracks my whole body. My nails dig into his back but he doesn't care, rolling his hips and somehow sheathing himself deeper. I can hear him speak, but my brain can hardly understand his words as I feel like I'm being split open.

"this is the cost of peace, little Princess. You sold your body to be my toy, my breeding whore. All you're good for now is this sweet little cunt and those pretty curves, you understand." I want to scream, to fight, but I submit, tears streaming down my cheeks as I go limp with a weak whine. He uses my cunt relentlessly, slamming into me over and over until he cums with a primal growl, spilling inside and pumping my womb full of his hot seed. He sits back then, still buried in my pussy, and looks me over as I lay under him, my chest heaving and my body trembling from his abuse. One large hand wanders down my body, pinching and rolling my nipples, smoothing over my stomach until it rests above my womb.

"You're going to bear my heirs, Princess, I'm going to keep you full and bred, that's your purpose now." I still don't move as he pulls out and stands, taking a swig from the forgotten drink on the table before laying himself down beside me and dragging my body flush against his. As I lay there, playing what happened over in my mind, I came to a realization. He was rough, brutal, uncaring.

But I'd liked it.

[sepulchritude]

Fucked up that buying new herbs and spices means eventually running out of room in the spice cabinet. Them shits should exist in hammerspace

[excentricat1]

I respect Stoker’s decision to make the “reality” of the book differ slightly from the “folklore” presented by his expert Van Helsing.

Vampires are created when a vampire feeds on someone and then they die he says. But there is no plague of infant vampires in Dracula’s castle. Dracula himself explains to Mina that she must take some of his blood as he forces the issue.

Lucy began to turn before death, sharpening teeth and alternately clutching and rejecting the garlic. Mina too is turning even now. She is marked unclean already, with sharper teeth and dreams full of Dracula’s evil thoughts.

It is not that they turn after death. The process of turning is the process of killing their soul. Leaving it trapped in a body animated by malevolent hunger for eternity. This is why Mina needs Jonathan to understand her. To understand that his willingness to follow her is not following the one he loves, just her form. She is dying each day that Dracula lives.

[hibiscuslynx]

thinking about personifications. always. but like, how they view themselves. this is the sky and these are the trees and this is the dirt. you are the dirt, you are the trees, and in some ways you are the sky. blue sky, cloudy sky, rainy sky—there's a type of sky you are associated with, so, in a way, you are the sky, and your jurisdiction does extend into the air between your borders, so yes, you are the sky. you are also a body. living and breathing, with limbs you move on your own, a brain you call your own. a brain that functions on its own, though? not necessarily. no. free will is a myth. you couldn't break free of some of your traits if you tried. no amount of self help, no amount of reflection, no amount of anything at all could free you (the body) from yourself (the people, the ideas, the stereotypes). the question is not, who am i, then, without free will, if i am not in charge of my own brain, but rather: when you stand on a state, your state, you, between your borders, where do you end and where do you begin? you (the body) and you (the land) and you (the people) and you (the government) and you (the ideas) and you (the stereotypes) and you (the brain). parts of a sum. the distinctions are important. you could not function if you saw them as a whole. you are your own person and yet you are not. for example: the people. you shake the hand of a resident and you look in their eyes and you are them, whether you like it or not. they make up you. they are your children and they are your parent and they are the living, breathing, mortal parts of you. if they die do you die? fuck, you can't think about that. but, the fish in the river and the birds in the sky. they are mortal, too. and they are you, too. you, you, you, it's all you, because you are the state. you are the state—everything in it, everything that calls it home, whether its the microorganisms in the dirt or the specks of dust in the wind. the atoms in the sky. the atoms. H20, C02, and the like. atoms. that's all you are. atoms that don't abide by the laws of nature. yes, you get sick, but you don't die. you don't decompose. you don't decay. immortal. you're an immortal being made up of mortal parts that control you. you're not quite a puppet because you have some semblance of free will despite what you just said earlier, but the point still stands. you're nothing more than the sum of parts. but why? why do you exist? looks like you have something in common with the people. you are them, afterall. you look like them and you think like them too. so you (the brain) wonder why you (the body) exists. don't wonder too hard. don't wonder about your existence because you begin wondering about all existence. a negative feedback loop. instead, turn to religion. the religion you have no choice in choosing or leaving. try to find an answer. realize that there is no neat ending to this. no bow to put on the wrapping. this story is ever continuing and you are ever wondering. maybe you should give up trying to find an answer. stop wondering. stop thinking. you exist, whether you like it or not. you are a sum of parts, whether you like it or not.

[asterbats]

drew my new kitten as a “warmup” but have to stop here because shes being a rascal

[marvus-xoloto]

I have a question, but it’s going to sound a little silly: why do you think people are so drawn to Marvus? I’ve been in the Hiveswap side of the fandom for nearly 3 years, and I honestly don’t understand the attraction. Most of the responses I get to this question are some variant of “he’s hot”, but I thought I’d ask you since you’re one of the few creators I’ve seen who actually treats Marvus like a three dimensional character-

Ha thank you :') I'm just a character driven kinda dude; I generally love all of them (except...... one lmfao)

I mean, I think you basically got it. A very surface level reading of his route- using no critical thinking here- is that "hot guy is so woke, DEFINITELY wants change, clearly cares about you specifially out of hundreds of thousands, and saves you from dying." His route also came out when the whole "himbo" thing was popular, and he became the fandom himbo, even though he isn't particularly nice or stupid lmao (the former is likely because he saves you from dying and like, hand feeds you; the latter likely simple fandom implicit racism i.e. the use of aave=less intelligence). And I think it's important to know that a majority of people in fandom spaces are going to take that surface level reading. (Frankly, I heacanon he's not even conventionally attractive, but kinda odd looking and striking in that compelling, "you shouldn't be attractive, but..." kinda way. That's bc I write fs marvus and not hsw marvus, tho, but that's a topic for another time).

What I've always found interesting is that people ignore the toilet humor of his route like, across the board unless they really hate him haha. Power of being able to like, idk, go "bark bark woof woof" on the internet or whatever.

This is why fandom faves tend to be fandom faves: if they are conventionally good looking, there's plenty of varients of blorbo on the "evil vs sweet" and "pathetic vs cool" chart. People tend to like characters who are either a. like them (Tyzias, Chixie) b. like someone they think they'd be attracted to IRL (Mallek, Marvus, Chahut) or c. completely "pathetic" and woobifyable (Lynera, Ardata). Sometimes it's a combo of all of them.

No hate or judgement here btw; i really believe the fandom experience should be fun for ppl. I personally dislike surface level readings of charas, tho, bc I'm a reader. I like meta and analysis and the like haha.

[noamuth]

Combat

Dalamus is not a warrior. He was never a part of Menzoberranzan's army, and never got formal military training, but the highly competitive and sometimes literally cutthroat reality of business and daily life meant he had to know his way around a blade at the very least for self-defense purposes.

Dalamus uses a modified Sargh'elgg style of fighting. Sargh'elgg focuses on agility in combat rather than strength, and normally employs the use of a single light weapon such as a rapier. Dalamus favors a dagger in his right hand.

There have been times when he has had would-be thieves attempt to get away with his jewelry, or even attack him in order to steal from him. He has defended himself and killed in self-defense, without remorse.

His first real combat scenario was at his Blooding against the Displacer Beast, but even then it was mostly watching and waiting for the right time to strike. He did also kill someone during his Blooding, in self-defense.

He killed his brother, Orgoll--a premeditated murder--while Orgoll was distracted in a Trance state and did not have time to defend himself.

It is possible he has killed a jeweler rival before, albeit with "underhanded" tactics such as poison. Murder is murder but in Menzoberranzan one is only in trouble if they get caught in the act, no one cares enough to seek out perpetrators after the fact.

The only official training he got was during his consortship with Nedvyllanna, offered to him so that he may be able to protect the Matron Mother in the case of an emergency, ready to lay down his life for her. It provided him with experience using rapiers and swords as weapons, as well as help him refine his dual-wielding with his daggers, morphing his Sargh'elgg style into something resembling a Draa velve style, or a hybrid between the two. Although 10 years is not much to an elf, it is still 10 years, and a lot of training can happen in that time. In a one-on-one match, Dalamus can hold his own.

During his escape from the Underdark, he focused on running rather than fighting, and still ended up with an injury that would forever change his confidence in battle.

On the Nautiloid, he had a few small skirmishes with stragglers, but let the other survivors do the bulk of the fighting.

All this to say that while Dalamus has a decent amount of training plus almost two centuries of self-taught skills, has been in fights, and even killed others, he has very little actual combat experience, let alone combat experience within a group. He prefers to approach with stealth, although opportunities for stealth are far more limited on the surface than in the Underdark.

When confronted, his pride as a drow, his anger at his situation, and his pain all make him appear eager to fight, eager to prove at all times that he is strong and capable and unwilling to back down. But the truth is it serves the same purpose as a rattlesnake's tail or open mouth with fangs bared--saying "I don't want to fight, but if you threaten me further I will do my damnedest to make you regret it."

His back injury slows him down and can sometimes prevent him from twisting or bending without pain, the severity fluctuating day by day. The light of the surface affects his concentration, and the heat burns away his stamina at an accelerated rate compared to those who have lived there all their lives. And yet, all this forces him to try extra hard to appear dangerous in an attempt to avoid conflict.

If conflict becomes unavoidable, make no mistake, he is dangerous. He is vicious and does not fight honorably. He fights with speed and agility, and with poison if available, aiming quick strikes at vital or strategic points. He is not above using cruelty to gain an edge or prove a point, reveling in the feeling of power that cruelty offers.

Dalamus is most useful in combat at nighttime or in the shade, with indoor locations counting as shade. Light sources indoors will not affect him negatively, but removing light sources may give him an advantage depending on the amount of natural light present and the enemy type/abilities.

Whenever possible, he prefers to approach with stealth, and possibly poison his blades for an extra advantage early on. Having him focus on one enemy at a time will maximize his efficiency and end battles quicker than if he is thrown into a group.

He can use his darkvision or infravision to inform the group of unseen enemies--although both are mostly useful at night. Using infravision during the day, even indoors, will often have poor results thanks to the surface being naturally warmer than underground; it will cause a severe headache if used for too long.

When party members are at a disadvantage in the dark, Dalamus can use Faerie Fire or Dancing Lights to illuminate enemies or the environment. He can also use Darkness to blind enemies.

Dalamus has above average knowledge of poisons, and relatedly, antidotes. He is perceptive of traps, both mechanical and persuasive variety--although the latter might just be his paranoia assuming everything everyone says is a trap, just in case. He is good with lockpicks and for unlocking doors or chests.

Although he would never say it in such words, he is a follower, not a leader. He is used to living under strict rules and being given tasks and duties, being subservient under the priestesses rule. On the surface, however, his cooperation is a bit more difficult to secure due to distrust. Not that he trusted priestesses, but it was either obey or die. The surface does not seem so strict, and he does not view anyone as having a higher station than him.

[lowlights]

👀 Swallow for Javi P. please

Of course, my dear!

Javi P x gn!reader. oral (m receiving), reader asking Javi to take control for the night, cumplay, hints to praise, smutty smut smut.

You wanted this.

Asked for it, in fact.

You had a terrible week and just wanted to shut your brain off for a while. No decisions. No self-doubt.

You just wanted to be told what to do and used a little bit.

It had taken some convincing, but Javi understood what you needed. This was how you needed to be taken care of.

You had eagerly followed his orders to get on the bed and lie on your back with your head hanging off the edge.

You've talked about wanting to do this before and Javi clearly remembered, so you greedily swallowed his cock when he thrust it into your mouth. He was gentle at first, waiting for any signs of discomfort.

Was it comfortable? No. Did you care? Definitely not.

He comes quickly into your warm little mouth and watches you swallow once before pulling out and cradling your jaw.

"Hold it. Hold it in there," he commands. You nod, wide-eyed.

After a moment, he releases your jaw. "Swallow."

God, it feels so good to hear how he praises you for the rest of the night as he makes you come three times.

You needed this.

~~

Send me things if you want

[ufonaut]

“Green Lantern! I-- I couldn’t have missed you!”

“What do you think?”

“I don’t see how--? I fired at point blank range! I must’ve hit you!”

“You’re missing now!”

Alan Scott in Green Lantern (1941) #37

(Robert Kanigher, Alex Toth)

[iron-cutting-meteor-sword]

*to the tune of Spider-Man theme*

Goemon, Goemon

Does whatever a samurai does

He can slash, anything

Right in half, what a king

Watch out!

The coming of Goemon

[morocosmos]

Febuwhump Day 6 - Secrets Revealed

Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV Characters/Relationships: Warrior of Light, Fordola rem Lupis (minor characters: Lyse Hext, Alphinaud Leveilleur, Arenvald) Content/trigger warnings: None

Been in my head, have you? Had a little peek at my past?

You don't know a godsdamned thing about the life I've led!

Moro’a watched in horror as Fordola clutched her head, deep in the throes of what could only have been her very own Echo vision. The desire to grab the hyur by the shoulders and shake her out of what she was seeing seized the Keeper with iron jaws, and it was only with every onze of his willpower that he was able to force the storm back, nails digging painfully into the flesh of his palms as he shook from the effort.

“Moro’a,” Lyse called out softly, the concern in her voice unmistakeable. He fought to remain calm, but he felt more sick with each passing moment, helpless to do anything but wait for the visions to pass and see just what Fordola might expose.

Without warning, she cried out, nearly staggering back into the mattress behind her. As Fordola regained her balance, she stared at Moro’a with red-rimmed eyes. “Y-you…” she gasped. “All that power…all that pain…Ishgard, Corvos – your people…”

The storm swelled; Moro’a took a step towards her. “What did you see,” he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

Fordola eyed him like a cornered wolf. “Too bloody much is what I saw–” She didn’t have time to finish her sentence as Moro’a lunged forward, tackling her into the mattress and against the wall. He could hear the others shouting behind him, but the raging tempest had burst through and was now swelling through him, drowning out their voices. “What did you see!?” he snarled. “Tell me!”

Fordola growled in response, craning her neck to meet him with daggers of her own even as she struggled. “Everything!” she shouted. “The scorn, the lies! The betrayals! The endless loss, the endless fighting…and yet here you stand. How? Why?”

Moro’a was hauled back, clawing the air as Arenvald and Lyse restrained him. “Moro’a! Please, calm down!” Alphinaud pleaded. His words were as cold water to Moro’a’s senses, and the Keeper stilled, breathing hard.

When the storm had calmed enough for him to speak, he nodded. “I’m alright,” Moro’a said quietly, and only then did Arenvald and Lyse release him, though the latter remained nearby. Reluctantly, he looked up towards Fordola; the Butcher seemed to be regarding him with anger rather than contempt now.

“You saw everything, didn’t you?” he retorted. “Then you know why.” Without waiting for the others, Moro’a turned on his heels and walked out of the cell.

[journeyofthemoonprophet]

Unfortunately for you, the half of the patrol you need is on a hunt. They won’t be back until late evening, according to Sota, if not well into the night. “Maybe even morning,” he says, glancing out over the raised path you’ve found him on, “with demons now roaming about.” You have no choice but to wait for them to come back.

"There you are!”

The new voice behind you turns out to be Akemi, near breathless as she bounces up the path to meet you. She all but flops into your palm when you crouch down to pick her up. “Y’know,” she pants, “for someone that looks like you... you were really hard to find!”

Apparently Yawa sent her to find you after hearing from the girl in the square, with an added instruction to make sure you eat something before you come back for the night. Akemi, however, talks you into turning your trek back into a proper tour of Wep’keer, insisting that it’d be better late than never. She eagerly points you this way and that, calling out to anyone she recognizes and eagerly introducing you to anyone who is brave enough to ask.

“You’re making Yawa’s instructions very hard to follow,” you tease between introductions.

“Aw, hush!” Akemi huffs, smacking her tiny hands against the crown of your head as you smother a laugh. “Besides, Bikki’s stand is right across the square from Granny Yawa’s. If we wait a little bit, he’ll probably have a fresh batch of dumplings when we get there!”

At one point, the two of you pass what she calls the ‘playground’. It seems there’s a snowball fight going on, and a mix of pups and children toss and dodge flying snow in all directions. Akemi grumbles about being too small to join in, but your attention is snagged by a successful strike. The pup that’s been hit makes a dramatic show of howling, coughing, and flopping over in the snow; you know he’s just playing dead, but you still find yourself holding your breath until he giggles and rolls back over.

“Hey, that’s not fair!” a girl cries (presumably the one who took the lucky shot). “Get back down! I got you!”

“No way!” he barks, shaking himself off before popping back into a boy’s shape. “Now I get to be one of the throwers!”

“Nuh-uh!” She stamps her foot, huffing angrily. “You’re supposed to be dead!”

Akemi is giggling, but you feel like you’ve suddenly been shot by a stray arrow. You’re supposed to be dead! You’re supposed to be dead... At some point, it’s no longer the children’s voices saying it, and hundreds more begin echoing in your skull from all angles, demanding to know how you escaped and pondering on why it was you. Moshiri’s words remind you about being hunted down, and many voices from the heavens and moon chorus after it: because you should be dead.

Something cold smacks your thigh, and you're tugged back out of your thoughts. “Sorry!” yells a voice, and you blink to find your eyes refocusing. It’s only now catching up to you that a wayward snowball’s hit you in the leg, and the children are now staring at you. “Hey... are you okay? It didn’t hurt that much, did it?”

Come on, you have to say something. If only to get their eyes back off of you. “I... still have a bruise there,” you insist, loosely waving a hand while you brush yourself off. “I’ll be fine; maybe next time I’ll be well enough to play.”

The kids seem satisfied and return to their game. Akemi, however, climbs down your hair to plunk herself on your shoulder. “I thought the bruise was on your other leg,” she whispers.

“It is.” You busy your hands with pulling your coat tighter around yourself. “I think we should go back now.”

“What? But we still have plenty of daylight before--”

“Akemi.” The word is a bit firmer than you intended, and when you shoot her a glance she leans away a bit. This is going from bad to worse, and you force yourself to take a breath before trying to speak again. “Let’s... just go back to Yawa’s. You can show me the rest of Wep’keer tomorrow, okay?”

Maybe it’s because she can now see your face, but Akemi proves quick as usual to catch on. She hums a bit, then scoots a little closer to your ear. “Maybe we should still eat something first?” she suggests quietly. “Granny Yawa will be mad if you try to skip out on a meal, you know.”

You really just want to get out of here (and, let’s face it, Akemi wouldn’t be able to stop you if she tried), but she has a point: Yawa would definitely scold the two of you if you came back unfed. You’re pretty sure she picked that argument on purpose, but all the same you have to admit defeat. “... okay. But no detours. Please.”

That seems to satisfy her, and Akemi wastes no time climbing back atop your head to guide you once again. Instead of waving over the people you pass, she explains to curious onlookers that you’re not feeling your best right now and need some space. To your surprise, they seem to understand right away; as if they’re used to this sort of thing, despite having never seen you before in their lives. You let her do the talking when you get to the merchant, as you’re still running a bit on autopilot as you’re handed the pouch and sent on your way.

“Kuki gets overwhelmed really easily,” she explains when you’re mostly out of earshot from the square. “Though she isn’t good at talking her way out of things like you seem to be.”

“Right, the two of you are friends.” Given what little you know of Kuki to begin with, this must be a regular occurance for her... even if it isn’t for you. “You must be used to... this, then.”

“I mean, a little. But you’re pretty different from Kuki.” She hops down to your arm before you can push Yawa’s door open, tipping her head back to look up at you. “You still seem kinda rattled,” she murmurs. “Did something spook you up in town?” She gasps a little, then whispers a new thought: “Did you get a vision? Like you did in Yoshpet?”

You kind of wish she hadn’t said that; now that prophecy is fluttering awake too, future and past mixing in your head like oil and water. “... I do have a prophecy, but I received it before you caught up with me. It’s... hard to explain what happened at the playground, Akemi.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

The thought of trying to sort any of your head out loud threatens makes your stomach churn along with it. You try to push the feeling back down; you don’t need that on top of everything else ringing in you. “Not really.”

[viskovie]

Chibs headcanon - liquorice

It’s no real secret that Chibs can be partial to a sweet every now and then, and that his favourites are hard candies of just about any kind. 

As a boy, his nan used to keep a tin of boiled sweets for whenever his ma brought him to visit, and made it into a sort of treasure hunt to keep him occupied. He’d tear through her house in his overalls, shrieking with delight every time a brightly coloured candy found its way into his chubby little fists. Ma would roll her eyes, making him swear up and down that he wouldn’t eat them all at once. But he always snuck away to indulge. In hindsight, he suspects she probably knew all along. 

Once he’d found the last of the treasure and made the usual empty promise, he’d toddle outside to his favourite spot in the garden to enjoy the spoils of his hunt. Nanna’s fat old she-cat loved to lie in the sun amongst the stringbeans and he would often sit down next to her in the dirt, one hand migrating between his pocket and his mouth, the other buried in her thick grey fur. 

These days, he hasn’t the patience to search for his sweets, and no cat or beans to sit amongst. The only thing that hasn’t changed is his abject hatred of liquorice. He can’t stand the stuff. Just the smell of it is enough to have him gagging. Juice -bless his kind heart- passes him a jellybean one day, as they lounge on the roof to soak in the last of the summer sunlight and share a joint. He’s not really paying attention, too absorbed in his high, and the candy is in his mouth before he realises what it is. The distinctive sickly-sweet flavour hits his tongue and it’s so unexpected that it jolts him out of his aimless thoughts. 

“Oh my- Jesus fuckin’ Christ!” He splutters, making a face. 

“What?” Juice asks, the weed taking the sharp edges off his concern. Chibs doesn’t answer for a moment, instead chasing the taste away with a long, determined swig of his beer. 

“You want another one?” He offers, trying to take the joint back. 

“No way.” Chibs replies, passively letting him have it. “You tryna kill me, boyo? Be more humane to just push me off the roof!” 

“Why would I wanna do that?” Juice says, brows furrowing. He seems to be having a hard time connecting the dots through the smoke haze. 

“I don’t know. But I fuckin’ hate liquorice, an’ here you are feedin’ it to me!” He answers annoyedly. Juice draws back, looking a little hurt. It occurs to Chibs that the kid didn’t actually know. Hell. 

“Nah, m’sorry. Not yer fault.” He mutters, running his unoccupied hand through his hair. Juice smiles, easily forgiving, and passes the joint to him. He leans in as if to share a secret. 

“I don’t like it that much either.” He whispers with a wink. “We can save those ones for Tig.” 

~ 

@magickhajiit 

[mefilas]

so fucked up that I'm going to college in a few months actually. who let that happen