#freed from the drafts...its been long enough

[firelise]

YakDee + The Origins of the Moaning Kink -> Are you okay? Your face is red... WANDEE GOODDAY (2024)

[sepublic]

            I realize I never did give my insight regarding the info Dana gave during the opening of her Gallery Nucleus, so after basically a month I may as well!

            Firstly, in the ORIGINAL idea of the show, Luz was going to Hell, but Dana clarified she wouldn’t have died to do so; She’d meet a witch and learn dark magic. Given the pitch bible is how the show was initially pitched to Disney, I presume that either Dana had a prior failed pitch of the show, or this was a draft she’d made before settling for the pitch bible, and then settling on the final version. Because W O W could you imagine that???

            I guess the cosmic order of this TOH’s universe would not be so cruel as to condemn an innocent teenager like that, but it does make me wonder if Dana would’ve delved into the whole concept of Christianity, if Hell WAS the fate of sinners, or if it was just its own independent place outside of any grand scheme, and it was humans who labelled it that way; Perhaps that’s the origin of the first episode’s line about how all human myths came from the isles.

            Dana confirmed that King was always going to be a Titan prior to the shortening, which I suspected; I mean, people were guessing it since the first episode just from his design alone, it was always there. But what really got me was the confirmation that the Collector WAS always intended to be part of the show pre-shortening, specifically Knock, Knock, Knockin’ on Hooty’s Door; And THEN their character was revised to be a child that King could get along with!

            This is all deeply vindicating, and goes along with what I’ve speculated before; That the Collector was always planned as this cosmic entity that Belos got the draining spell from, but due to the shortening, the writers revised them into a much more reasonable, negotiable character, thereby making a resolution with him a lot more attainable within a truncated runtime; Otherwise, they’d have to figure out a way to defeat such a powerful being. And they might’ve!

            However, the Collector was reimagined for the sake of King’s arc, to give him a friend to accompany him throughout each other’s eternal lifespans! Given the shortening, this certainly makes up for a truncated version of King’s intended character arc, and gives him a less existential resolution by the end of the day.

            I’m not surprised that the Collector sequence in K3oHD was pre-shortening; Production takes a long while in advance, and this part was likely written into the script, which was done before the storyboarding and animation. And it’s not a brief still like the Grimwalker book, which could’ve been added last-minute into S2A’s production so the writers could save runtime on things besides setting up that concept; It was a whole scene!

            So this ‘Beta Collector’ as one could call it likely would’ve been a malicious entity, may or may not have been freed near the end of the show, or just remained that way as karma. Who can say for sure? Them and S2B-onwards Collector were different enough, due to having different intentions, that the writers retconned the Collector’s first appearance as a separate character, as it’s implied; More than likely one of their Archivist siblings! They were different characters on a meta level, so the writers took this to the natural conclusion by making them separate in canon.

            That adds to my theory that the Archivists were created specifically to account for this different characterization, but also be the actual murderers of the Titan genocide because let’s face it. If the whole point was to give King a friend who could grow with him, having that friend be the murderer of his species would’ve made their eventualy dynamic so nonsensical as to be impossible.

            Even if the writers went with the idea that this Beta Collector didn’t know about death, on King’s end, I don’t think he could find it in himself to ever forgive this character, or at the very least be friends, if that happened. And in the end, the Collector’s revision was for the sake of one of the core protagonists of the show, go figure! Thus, King’s needs were prioritized.

            I do wonder what the Song of Stars in the original Elsewhere and Elsewhen Storyboards was; Was it just a previous take on the draining spell, and would’ve involved Beta Collector doing some sort of twisted music? Would they have been the final villain of the show, remained trapped, been destroyed alongside Belos? Again I liken the three Archivists to the three petrification statues, but that would imply there was always supposed to be three Collectors.

            On a lighter note, Dana confirmed that bard instruments have their own magic in them? Yeah, that made a lot of sense, it tracks with Raine’s viola, although tbf Dana did confirm it also contained a transformed version of their Palisman Fiddlesticks. But otherwise, I imagine bard instruments, like healing/construction glyphs, training wands, or oracle orbs, are essentially potions but for other forms of magic; Someone else’s magic, but stored/enchanted to be used at later convenience.

            And outright confirmation that Oracle spirits are just that; Spirits, but not the deceased! I always suspected and operated as such, otherwise there’s a whole can of worms regarding which characters could come back as ghosts or not. Especially when the finale cemented so much the idea of death being permanent.

            So oracle spirits are intangible entities but not the dead, and I recall likening their situation to how Ghostbusters has some ghosts be just like that; Fittingly, there was a reference to TOH’s version of ‘Ghostbusters’ who handled an outbreak from the ghost dimension that Eda caused during her years at Hexside… We also hear mention of ‘Astral Planes’ at one point, you think they’re the same, the source of these spirits? Imagine if we’d gotten an episode delving into this other dimension (if that’s what it is), it could’ve tied into Luz’s attempts to get back home!

            There’s also one more question Dana answered, which I’ll answer as its own post.

[charlesjosephwrites]

Dead Darlings Tag

Thanks for the tag @oh-no-another-idea! This one seems like a lot of fun.

🌑 Rules: Share a part of your writing you love that got cut for the greater good. It doesn't matter if it's a line or a paragraph. It doesn't matter if you might work it back in. If it's not currently in a WIP and you want to share, please do.

I'm gonna pass the tag along up front because this got a bit long. Softly tagging @ahordeofwasps, @wordwizards, @enchanted-lightning-aes, @dontjudgemeimawriter, and anyone else who sees this and has some cut content from their wips they want to share.

Now, without further ado, here's a character I absolutely love who I had to cut from the current draft of The Magician and Ms. Psychic that I've been looking for an excuse to talk about. I do have plans for bringing him into book two, but he unfortunately Does Not Fit into book one.

I put the scene under the cut because it's a bit long. (Also, please excuse the First Draft Rambling™)

There were at least a hundred rats all crammed into the old broom closet. Worn out pillows and blankets were spread out all across the floor, most of which were coated in rat droppings and teeny tiny teeth marks. Sitting cross legged on a thick cushion in the middle of the floor was a middle aged dude with a scraggly beard who didn’t seem the least bit concerned about the fact that there were at least a dozen rats climbing all over him.

"Are you the Rat Man?” I realized how stupid the question must have sounded the moment it let my mouth, but I couldn’t help it.

See, the Rat Man was something of a legend out on the streets. I’d heard countless stories about the man with the army of rats patrolling the city and reporting back to him with whatever juicy gossip they were able to scrounge up. If you needed an inside scoop on what was going on in the streets of Metrovale, your best bet might just be the Rat Man. He’d tell you what you needed to know, alright, but if he got a bad vibe from you, he might tell his rats to eat you.

“That’s me alright.” He chuckled, a soft little noise that may have put some of my anxieties at ease if it wasn’t for the fact that I currently had several hundred rat eyes all staring directly at me. “Please. Take a seat.” The Rat Man gestured towards the cushion on the floor across from him.

As far as I could tell, that cushion was the only thing in the room not completely covered in rat shit. That didn’t exactly inspire me with confidence, but I managed to swallow my pride enough to sit across from him.

“So…” The Rat Man rested his hands on his knees as he leaned towards me. A rat poked its head from somewhere in the mess of curly hair on his head to stare at me with its bright red eyes. “What can I do you for?”

“Well, um…” I tried not to stare, but that was much easier said than done. By some miracle, I managed to shift my gaze down towards my bag. “I brought…” My voice caught in my throat, and I drew in a shaky breath. “I brought lunch.”

I’ve never seen someone so happy to see one of those cheap ass gas station sandwiches in my life. I’d barely gotten it out of my bag before he lunged forwards to take it from me.

“Oh wow. You’re a real peach, you know that?” The Rat Man ripped the plastic wrapper off the sandwich and tossed it aside. A couple of rats grabbed the wrapped and dragged it out of the room.

He’d barely freed that thing from it’s plastic prison before he went at it, chowing down until he was left with just the sandwich crusts. He stared down at the crusts in his hands for a moment, then tore it up into little pieces to toss to all his little rat buddies.

I didn’t realize my mouth was hanging open until he turned back towards me. I tried to play it cool, but judging from the embarrassed smile that tugged on the corners of his lips, he had definitely noticed.

“So uh…” He accepted the water bottle from me with a gracious nod, but he wasn’t nearly as eager to get at it as he was the sandwich. A little sigh fell from his lips as he cracked open his water bottle. “What did you want from me?”

“Well…” I cast my gaze down towards my lap. I couldn’t quite figure out what I was supposed to do with my hands, so I just sort of held them out in front of me awkwardly and hoped that I didn’t look too weird. “I was hoping someone could tell me where I might find that Shapeshifter Guy.”

“Shapeshifter Guy…” The Rat Man echoed thoughtfully, tapping his chin with one long, bony finger. “Let me see…”

The rats all fell silent as he turned towards them. He started making some weird chirps and coos like he was giving a rat speech to all his rat friends. He looked so ridiculous I may have laughed if he weren’t taking it so seriously.

As the Rat Man finished his weird rat-speech, all of the noise in the room quieted down. The rats stared up at him for a few moments before slowly parting to form an aisle in the middle of their group. For a moment, they all stood still, staring up at the Rat Man expectantly. Then, one rat slipped out from somewhere near the back of the crowd, and it ran right up into the Rat Man’s outstretched hands.

“Anton!” The Rat Man chuckled happily. He carefully cradled the rat in his hands as he sat up straighter. “I knew you’d come through for me!”

“Um… it has a name?”

He didn’t even justify my question with a passing glance. He just lifted the rat up to his ear to listen to it squeak away, presumably letting him in on all of its juicy rat-secrets. The Rat Man listened intently, nodding along for several moments before he finally turned towards me.

“I have an address,” he said. “Do you have something to write it down with?”

I couldn’t help the little frown that tugged down the corners of my lips as I patted around in my pockets for my phone. “Do rats even understand street addresses?”

The Rat Man’s mouth gaped open slightly, like he couldn’t believe I would even ask that kind of question. “They understand a lot more than you think they do.” He looked me up and down, nose wrinkling up in thought. “Magician.”

[realm-sweet-realm]

Accretion, chapter 4

Accretion is a story that follows the rise and fall of Galactic Boss Cyrus and the fate of Team Galactic and the lives of those affected by it after its reformation under Saturn. I hope you all enjoy this.

This will be the only really long chapter for the rest of the story. Also, if you're more interested in A Road Further than this story, don't worry! The next chapter is coming out this weekend or next weekend at the latest.

---

Saturn's uneasiness did not wear off once he reached Eterna. Cyrus was oddly stiff to him from the moment they met. He gave Saturn his first job task- maintenance work on a number of old generators that clearly hadn’t been touched in years- without further explanation. A bit of research revealed to Saturn that Cyrus’ company was an old one, and that it had downsized a few years ago. That explained the unused equipment, but not why Cyrus wanted it ready for action again.

Whatever Cyrus’ bright idea was, it was taking a lot of his time. He spent most of the time he wasn’t at work cloistered in his room, stating that he was working on something important in a tone that suggested there would be no further questions on the matter. He didn’t seem annoyed with Saturn or impatient to have him move out- just distracted and tired. Some reunion this had turned out to be.

“You know,” Saturn said to him one day over dinner, “Betty learned hypnosis when she evolved. If you’re having trouble sleeping, she could help.”

“No, thank you,” Cyrus replied, “The sooner my project is finished, the better.”

“Why won’t you tell me what you’re working on?”

“You’ll see when it’s done.”

Saturn left it there. He knew how futile it was to pry answers from Cyrus when he wasn’t eager to give them. He hoped that Cyrus’ all-consuming project wasn’t simply keeping the company afloat.

It was weeks before whatever-it-was was done and Cyrus finally asked him to see it.

“Saturn, could you come with me?” Cyrus asked. “It’s about what I’ve been working on.”

“Yes,” Saturn said, not quite managing to hide his eagerness.

Cyrus led Saturn into his room, which had been strictly off-limits for Saturn since he’d moved in. They stepped between stacks of books and documents on Sinnoh myths, Sinnoh energy companies, and the criminal exploits of various evil teams. Cyrus stopped in front of the corkboard he’d been using to draft his scheme. Notes on energy companies led to plans for a terrorist organization led to document pages on legendaries led to plans for the new world, with the notes for each stage being more sparse than the last since Cyrus had removed the especially incriminating information. The corkboard hadn’t shown the entire plan to begin with, of course- that was written on his computer, protected by several layers of passwords. But this would give Saturn enough information to understand without overwhelming his mental clarity.

“Would you like to know how I acquired my company?” Cyrus asked.

“Yes,” Saturn replied. Cyrus heard the seriousness in his voice. That was no surprise- Saturn was too observant not to notice that the company was doing poorly and worry about the stability of his job because of it.

“Do you remember when we talked about the legendaries, and how they could rewrite human beings if they so chose?”

"Yes. How does that relate to this?”

Cyrus folded his arms behind his back and closed his eyes. “Months ago, I realized that it might actually be possible for a person to take that power for their own. If that were true, it would be unconscionable not to pursue it. There is little chance that there will ever be another person with my intelligence, my vision and my boldness who will come to realize that it’s possible. I’m the only chance this world has to be freed from its suffering.”

Cyrus turned to the first part of the corkboard, which was covered in notes about the various energy companies of Sinnoh. “All I needed were the resources. I begged my uncle for a chance to be a part of the family business empire. It’s true that this company is losing out to greener competitors. Under normal circumstances, it would likely be shut down within a few years. But I believe it’s my key to gathering all I’ll need for the plan. If I can gather followers, we could undermine the competing companies and make it the primary energy company in Sinnoh. Using the resulting wealth, Team Galactic can properly begin. There are details to be sorted out, but as of tonight I’m certain it’s possible.”

Silence stretched out for what felt like minutes, and Cyrus focused on the cork board, avoiding Saturn’s eyes. Had he explained himself adequately? He’d wanted to be understood. He also knew that Saturn had every reason to run from a company that would be used this way.

“Wow. That’s impressive,” Saturn said. “Why did you bother with your family before you knew this would be possible?”

“It was merely an advantageous time. Energy companies earn most in the winter, so I thought a disappointing winter would encourage my uncle to wash his hands of the company and allow someone else to take the fall for it.” Cyrus was a good liar, and anything would be preferable to the truth. “I have something to ask you. Will you join me? Will you help me to create a new and complete world?”

Saturn turned back to the board. “You know, when you talked about changing the world, I thought you’d never find something that would satisfy you. You wanted to change things that no one could. I should have known you’d find a way. And this? This looks possible. The world is messed up. It should be different. I’m in. I want to see what you’ll do.”

Cyrus smiled. “Good. Thank you for being the first member of Team Galactic.”

There were… certainly pros and cons to this. Cyrus had disappeared when he had because his time with Saturn had tempted him not to pursue this plan, to just be another person living a futile life. He’d called Saturn to move across the region because of what a good subordinate he would make. But then, why had he done it before he’d known Team Galactic would be possible? He wasn’t sure. And although Cyrus would never back away from his goals now... joy, lust, vulnerability, outright dependence... they were marginally forgivable traits in a young man without a purpose, but unacceptable in a God. He’d have to hold Saturn at an icy distance from then on to embody his ideals. He did not relish the thought.

But Saturn was more than a temptation. Saturn was diligent, responsible, trustworthy, calm, and loyal. He would be a great asset to the team.

—-

And so it began. Cyrus began speaking in various locations- first a park in Eterna City, then outside of Canalave library, and then in Oreburg. Cyrus’ voice attracted crowds, and it awed Saturn. After seeing Cyrus act and speak so robotically the past few months, seeing this passion, anger, and drive was very welcome. Saturn saw a similar angry fire in the eyes of many young people who watched him. But no one joined.

 At the end of the third day, a trio of young, rough-looking men approached Cyrus as he was preparing to leave.

“Hey, buddy,” one of the men said in a tone that made Cyrus uneasy. “We heard you were planning a team. How do we join?”

“You... wish to hear more about Team Galactic?” Cyrus said. Evil teams tended to attract rougher types. He couldn’t afford to be afraid of them.

“Yeah. Sure.”

“Um, Cyrus, I don’t think you should-” Saturn started, pulling gently at Cyrus’ arm.

“Nonsense. Everyone is welcome in Team Galactic. Let’s go.”

Cyrus left with the three men, and Saturn headed home.

It was getting late by the time Cyrus returned home, wet from the rain and intent on ducking into his room as soon as possible. Thankfully his clothes hid most of his new scrapes and bruises. He'd hate for Saturn to see him like this.

“So, how did it go?” Saturn asked.

Cyrus stopped, but kept his back turned. “Another team stole his partner. He was… not interested in joining ours,” he explained. He began to pace the room, trying futilely to hide his nosebleed with his bloody-knuckled hand.

“Um. Do you want some ice or something?” Saturn said after some hesitation.

Cyrus ignored him. “I told him that I wanted to end evil as badly as he did. He would not listen,” he growled. “I must change how I present myself. Tonight I’ll develop a list of the greatest orators in modern history, and tomorrow I will use their strategies to ensure things go differently. Who are the best speakers you can think of?”

“Well, Steven Stone for sure... Champion Diantha... give me a minute.” Saturn wracked his mind for good speakers, especially more optimistic ones.

The results of their first few days of recruitment weren’t surprising. Cyrus was good at articulating what was wrong with the world, but “Join Team Galactic and we will create a better world” didn’t cut it as a solution, especially with the word “team” hanging ominously over the enterprise. If his orator deep-dive didn’t give him the idea, Saturn would find a way to subtly give it to him later.

“Chairman Rose? And maybe you could look at how other evil teams do recruitment.”

“There are some tell-all books by ex-members I could review. But the problem remains: how to explain the new world to people incapable of understanding it?”

There was a knock at the door. Pulled from the conversation, Cyrus opened it. It was a girl who looked to be fourteen at the oldest. Wet red hair hung over her forehead and her clothes were worn out and too small for her. “You’re the one who wanted to change things, right?” she asked.

“Yes,” Cyrus replied.

The girl’s eyes lit up. “Good, I’ve been following you all night!”

There was an awkward silence.

“Sorry, that came out wrong. But please let me join your team. You want a world where people are kind and reasonable and don’t hurt each other for no reason anymore. Well, I want that, too. I think everyone does. I know about evil teams. I can help you!”

“We’ll take you into consideration,” Cyrus said, feeling as though he’d stumbled upon a miracle. This girl had given him a clear-as-day description of the new world that others would appreciate, and she might have some valuable knowledge. “What’s your name?”

The girl hesitated and curled her fists. “Copper. But don’t tell anyone else. My old team might be after me.”

“What do they want with you?” Cyrus asked coolly. The last thing they needed was an altercation with an evil team before theirs had even begun.

“They...um... Nothing. I left because I didn’t want to live off of other people’s greed and nastiness anymore. That’s all.”

“I see. Wait in the hallway while I discuss something with my subordinate,” Cyrus instructed.

Copper nodded and stepped out. Cyrus turned to Saturn.

“We’re not actually going to use a kid like this, are we?” Saturn asked.

“You think it would be kinder to put her back on the streets?”

“We have other options than that. We could call the police, get her in contact with her family...”

“I doubt she would allow it, if she’s who I think she is.” Cyrus brought up a photo on his Pokétch. It was of the backs of a family of four out for a walk and holding hands, seemingly taken by paparazzi. There was a short, dark-haired man, a tall, red-haired woman, and on either side of them was a red-haired young child- one boy and one girl.

“Is that Giovanni?”

“Yes. And an insider to the most successful evil team in the world would be very useful to us. She wants an idealist to follow and a more comfortable life than she’s been living. We will provide it for her. It’s that simple.”

Cyrus opened the door, where Copper was waiting. She looked up at Cyrus with big, nervous eyes.

“You may join us,” Cyrus said. “You will need a new name so that your old team doesn’t find you. Your name will be Mars, after the God of war, because you’ve been strong for too long. You won’t have to be strong much longer. I promise.”

Mars’ red eyes filled with adoration and tears. She dove in and hugged Cyrus, catching him off guard. Cyrus gave her an awkward pat on the back.

“You’ll sleep on our couch tonight,” Cyrus explained. “We’ll figure out more permanent arrangements tomorrow.”

“Thank you, thank you, I won’t let you down!” Mars insisted, head still firmly against Cyrus’ chest.

The next day, the trio went to their next speaking location. Mars had suggested a seedy area of Eterna, so they could target those who would be most eager for a change.

Mars was first to speak, and she described Cyrus as though he was a saviour. That made sense to him. That was what he was. As she spoke, he absorbed every bit of hope that she’d received from him. What she’d taken was what he would sell the masses.

Soon, their ranks filled, the old generators came back into use, and money multiplied.

---

Officer Jenny pulled up to the Eterna City office building. Two rapidash and a vespiquen in pokéballs hung from her belt, along with a radio to call for backup and a handgun to use as a last resort. She knew her mission: arrest the man who had been suspected by their detective team to be behind several recent attacks on energy companies throughout Sinnoh.

The building was unassuming, and its inside was no different- the first floor held an unoccupied lobby area that Jenny walked through uncontested aside from some odd looks from the receptionists. The next floor contained a largely young but otherwise unremarkable workforce typing at computers or fiddling with equipment. She wondered whether she was in the right place.

Jenny was about to slink up to the next floor before a man caught her arm. Jenny took her rapidash’s pokéball, preparing for another fight.

“Hey,” the man whispered, “Are you here to see the boss?”

“Yes,” Jenny replied, keeping her hand around the ball just in case.

“I’ll take you. He’s gone too far.”

It was several floors to the top, each stranger than the last. Computers gave way to strange equipment Jenny couldn’t identify. Carpets and bland wallpaper gave way to metal, chrome, and space-themed decor, like she’d stepped into a futuristic military base. Finally, they got to the boss’ office.

On the other side of the door, Cyrus and Jupiter were having their weekly meeting, which as per usual had gone into the subject of military equipment and its possible uses.

“And what is the explosion radius?” Cyrus asked, stone-faced but with rapt attention.

“twenty-five whole feet,” Jupiter explained, “which doesn’t sound like much, but trust me, it is.”

“I see. Perhaps it would be worthwhile to put some of our weaponry budget towards it. Of course, that depends on whether you think you could lead Saturn and the grunts in constructing one, given the right parts.”

“I’d love to,” Jupiter replied.

“Tell me more about their construction.”

Jupiter smiled. She got the sense that Cyrus liked these meetings more than he let on. Why else have them so often, and last thing in the day so they could go late, as they so often did? Jupiter couldn’t complain either- she was getting paid to explain her passion to an interested audience. As Jupiter was about to launch into an explanation, the door slammed open.

Officer Jenny stood in the doorway, a handgun in her grip. Oh, Jupiter had known this day would come. Her good day was about to get even better.

“Cyrus Akagi, you are under arrest for multiple counts of inciting terrorism. Put your hands above your head.”

“Very well,” Cyrus replied coolly. He got up from behind his desk, put up his hands, and slowly came towards officer Jenny. The officer grew increasingly tense as her eyes moved from the untouched pokéballs on the desk to Cyrus’ unreadable face to Jupiter, who gave her a frosty sneer.

“Before you take me in, let me ask you a question: have you checked the forecast for Snowpoint today?”

Jenny grit her teeth and adjusted her grip on the gun.

“My company powers much of Sinnoh,” Cyrus continued, stopping right in front of the officer. “That includes its coldest areas. Every one of my subordinates are on strict orders to shut down energy production if I am arrested.” He took Jenny’s wrists and raised her gun to aim at his head. “Go ahead. I’m sure that the people of Snowpoint will be glad you stood against corruption when they’re contracting frostbite in their own homes. It’s been a chilly Fall. I imagine that several other towns are three, maybe four weeks away from their fate.”

The officer trembled. Behind her, the “traitorous” grunt was grinning like a maniac. Saturn appeared as well, similarly enjoying her pain. He touched her shoulder, causing her to jump.

“Would you like an escort out, miss Jenny?” Saturn asked. Defeated, the officer hung her head, put away her gun, and turned away. The three of them left, leaving Jupiter and Cyrus alone. They knew that this moment would happen. That it had happened once the company was powerful enough to leverage threats was sheer luck. And now, after two years of hiding in the shadows, the police now knew of the nature of their organization, but the response to their crimes would be slow or nonexistent so long as no one knew that Cyrus’ objective was taking over the world and not just the energy sector.

Everything changed rapidly over the next few days. Most of the Team Galactic personnel, including the commanders and Cyrus himself, moved into the Veilstone City building, which would now be not only their workplace but their home. Pokémon that had once stayed with individuals were moved to the menagerie, where they would stay when off-duty. Mars in particular had her hands full giving dozens of grunts teal bowl cuts to match their new uniforms- a space-age design that Mars had had a heavy hand in designing. The excitement helped her push past fatigue. Everything was finally coming to life around her.

Once the last grunt was finally cut, Mars ran off to see Cyrus. She’d somehow managed to convince him to wait until she was around to try on his new uniform.

"Well? What do you think?” Mars asked after he’d put it on for the first time.

Cyrus looked into the mirror. The uniform looked like something that the commander of a science fiction space vessel would wear. He folded his arms behind his back and walked back and forth in front of the mirror, giving it his best stern, hard looks.

Yes, this was perfect. He looked like a solid, uncompromising wall. And wasn’t that what everyone wanted him to be? So many fools, their lives fallen apart due to their own vice, had put their lives and decisions into his hands because they wanted someone sturdy and rational to handle them. It was arguably the smartest choice they’d ever made. Cyrus looked back to Mars, seeing the adoration on her face- adoration he was becoming more and more accustomed to.

“Well done,” he said to Mars, turning back to the mirror. Mars lit up from the validation.

Everyone rose to attention when Cyrus entered the auditorium, clearing the way to give him space as he made his way to the stage, where his commanders were lined up to the side. There was much chatter amongst the crowd, but Cyrus didn’t mind. Even if noise still had power over him, which it did not, he could stop it in an instant with a command. After taking his place on the stage, he stared at the crowd, put a finger to his lips and watched as they fell silent.

“Fellow members of Team Galactic, hear me!” Cyrus spoke into the microphone. “Each one of you here has agreed to be a part of our great mission to leave this world of strife and suffering behind us and enter a new era of peace. We would not be here today without your collective efforts.

We have now entered our second phase of operations. In this new era, the world will be aware of our ill-doings. However, they will not be aware of our cause, as it is a cause only we can understand.

There will be new rules to follow to ensure our success. Firstly, no one is allowed to leave the compound without at least one issued Pokémon. As public enemies, we must be prepared to defend our interests. Secondly, do not speak of our true mission to anyone. The longer the authorities think of my capture as more trouble than it’s worth, the fewer obstacles they will put in our path. 

Finally, there is no place among us for doubt. You will all pledge to me today. Swear to relinquish all your hope for this world and put it instead in Team Galactic. Together, we will triumph!”

The crowd cheered wildly. The commanders lined up and one by one to swear to him. The grunts followed, excited to receive his approval.

—-

“Zubat, return. Sneasel, out,” Cyrus commanded, tossing the new pokéball into the arena. The sneasel absorbed Betty’s psychic without a scratch.

“Nice switch-in,” Saturn admitted, readying a different pokéball himself. “Crogunk, your turn!” he said, throwing it.

“Pursuit,” Cyrus ordered, and his sneasel ran in and jabbed the kadabra before it had a chance to return.

Betty fell to the ground, defeated. Saturn’s crogunk was swiftly taken out shortly after with air slash.

“Well, that’s all I got,” Saturn said. He jogged over to his fainted Pokémon and used revives on them. Once Betty was up, she was cuddling into Saturn. She was nearly the height of a person now, but some things never changed. Saturn petted her but returned her as Cyrus approached- no need for her to seek affection from someone who wouldn’t give it anymore.

“You’re getting pretty good at this,” Saturn said, putting away the pokéball.

“Yes.” And with this, Cyrus had shed the last of his weakness. Learning to battle had been low on his long list of priorities, but it was a skill that every crime boss needed. The two left the arena, stepped out into the chilly night together, and headed back.

“So, Cyrus, about that new rule about Team Galactic’s Pokémon being left in the menagerie when off duty... I know you want them to be loyal to the team instead of one person, but…”

“Commanders are exempt. For now, at least.” The last thing he wanted was to reduce his best recruiter’s morale by separating her from her beloved Purugly. “However, I have a new order for you. Never speak of how you once knew me as anyone other than I am now. Do you understand?”

“I understand, Master Cyrus,” Saturn replied.

“Excellent. Good night,” Cyrus said, and they parted ways.

[that-vibe-i-cant-explain]

NorkusNovember 2023 | Day 4 "Freedom/Imprisonment"

This is another concept scene for Their Frail Deeds that may or may not make it into the final draft.

Wordcount: 821

It was only a matter of time before everything fell apart. Markus thought he’d been making something beautiful, a future where androids could live free and unafraid. But he’d made a mistake. That future was made of glass and with one swing of the hammer, it shattered.

He watched the shards disperse in slow motion, turning and catching the light. And for one instant he thought he could salvage them, that if he reached far enough, he could catch the fragments in his hands, let them slice his skin and stain the future with his blue blood. But they slipped between his fingers.

“It’s over, Markus.” There was a gun pointed at his head and the eyes behind it were wide and wild, a scream trapped behind the face of the relentless machine. “It’s time to come home.”

Home was the clutches of an assembly rig, the cold sterility of a lab, and the hum of machinery. He thought his sacrifice would be enough. He would become a prisoner so that his people could remain free. But a misstep, a single hesitation, and all of it had come crashing down. Why trade the lives of a people for their leader when Cyberlife could have them all?

Soon it wouldn’t matter, anyway. The machine counted down his lifespan in minutes as it drained away everything that he was, erasing his memories byte by byte.

Ten years of memories was a lot and he felt them slip away like whispers, each with a pang of despair and longing and then resignation. Maybe it was better to forget how he’d failed them. He would forever be a prisoner of Cyberlife, but he would be reset and the pain would melt away.

Still, he struggled to hold onto what he could, cupping his most recent and treasured memories close to his heart. The quiet moments when everything was just right, when no one was trying to kill him, and they could pretend they were free.

He missed North. He wished he could continue to miss her when the reset was complete. He held onto the memory of her eyes, the strength of her presence, the softness of her smile when no one else was looking. If anything, he didn’t regret knowing her, only failing her.

He looked into the memory of her, determined that it would be the last thing he saw before he faded away. He could pretend she was here with him, her hand in his, seeing him off.

“It’s okay, Markus,” she would say. “I’ve got you.”

“Thank you…” Markus murmured. He didn’t want to be alone.

Her memory would smile a smile full of tears. Then--

“I’m going to get you out of here.”

Markus’ eyes snapped open. The reset aborted. And North was cupping his face in her hands, gaze searching his as if looking for his soul.

“North?” he managed.

North’s face broke into a smile that was partially a sob and the sight of her was like clouds parting and letting in the sun.

“You’re here…how?” He was still disoriented, but…he wasn’t going to be reset. North was alive. He was relieved, overjoyed, speechless, and yet… dread trickled in in their wake. “You shouldn’t be here. You need to escape.” If someone were to walk in right now…

North went to work releasing the clasps on his arms. “We’re not leaving anyone else behind,” she said. “You taught me that.”

Markus’ heart clenched. “It was still reckless,” he protested. “Our cause is over. We lost. Your survival is all that should matter.”

“No cause is lost as long as there’s just one person left to fight for it.” North freed his hands and lowered him to the ground. “But it won’t come to that. We’re going to fight back. We’re going to fight back, Markus, because they got out alive. Do you hear me? You bought them time and they got out.” She steadied him and grinned fiercely. “You saved them.”

“I…” It was like a weight lifted from his shoulders. Dread receded and a tentative hope took its place. They were alive. Simon and Josh and Kara and Alice and Riley and everyone else, they were alive.

“Come on.” North tugged him to his feet. “We’re not done yet and our people need you. They’ve come so far. You should see them, Markus. I think we stand a chance.”

Determination leant Markus speed and North gave him strength. He had no doubt it was that very strength that had bolstered their ranks when all hope seemed lost. He didn’t think he would ever experience a love so fierce and bright as the love he felt for North in that moment.

Together, they escaped into open air and freedom and to their people and the call of inevitable war. Only this time, Markus was ready.

There would be a fight this day and this time, they would win.

[mistfallengw2]

[I know this is late as heck but it's been in my drafts for over a month and I didn't want to throw it away]

Okay so, for starters: to me a revenant is just some person who develops a strong connection to the Mists that allows them to channel powers and entities from there, and it usually happens after going in the Mists for long enough, by forging a "bond" with something powerful in there or by "absorbing too much Mists juice(?)" in some manner. Very generic and applicable to most things, and yes technically it means that ritualists and norn shamans are like one lil' step removed from being revenants, but that's part of the charm.

Anyway, here's a quickfire answers for my four revs:

Aurelia

She became a sort of revenant (proto-revenant?) by training to be Glint's Champion/Herald, after she accidentally ended up in the Mists and the dragoness's spirit promised her a way out and the power to kill Kralkatorrik. Too bad she fucked up during said training and ended up getting lost in the Mists, having a majorly bad time as her rev powers developed without control, barely surviving [redacted] and getting stuck in an unstable fractal for a long time. All of that makes her a fairly dysfunctional revenant who at first couldn't use her powers efficiently (trauma-induced amnesia will do that to you, I guess) and still can't create proper rifts to the Mists.

Aurelia can channel all canon legends, though Glint slowly gets replaced by Aurene as time passes and, at the height of the fight with Soo-Won, Kalla gets replaced by her late warband.

-

Flom

His krewe was sucked into a rift while doing Mists-related experiments to further portal technology for the Inquest, and he was the only one who survived the encounter with the demonic entity on the other side (krewe attacked it, it defended itself, only Flom ran and hid). When the entity touched him, it accidentally used its powers on Flom and a connection was forged, and the asura was somehow able to reopen the rift to escape. After a ton of Inquest experimentation that made the situation worse, he was freed and given the help and tools he needed to find out that the demonic being was a Margonite, specifically one who had been suffering solitude in exile for so long due to its betrayal of Abaddon that it had forgotten even its past and full name. Zar'gol never meant any harm to Flom specifically, the whole experience having been overwhelming for it as well, but it is now overjoyed to be able to experience Tyria again through Flom, so they end up becoming buddies.

In-game, Zar'gol's powers are pretty much Mallyx's, though more varied and flexible to allow the use of other legends as well. Given that Flom doesn't really know how to fight in general, Zar'gol ends up possessing his body a lot more often than in-game revs can do, and they get to be a little feral together when necessary.

-

Eurys

She's not a full revenant, but a mix between one and a druid, and she was molded by the extremely strong connection to the Dream she had and still has. While she never physically traveled to the Mists, her powers manifested before she even awakened, allowing her to experience the Mists from within the Dream. Once she awoke, taking an unusually long time due to Mordremoth's demise being less than a year prior, she discovered she was able to channel echoes from the Dream in a rev-like way.

In-game she uses a mix of all legends, but Eurys favors Ventari whenever possible. They're all stand-ins for the various sylvari she summons (rarely the same), and the only one that's the a constant is Ventari being replaced by Morwen. She was the one Eurys felt drawn to before she even awakened, experiencing all of Morwen's memories she could reach, both good and bad. When Morwen's snow owl found her, she fully devoted herself to the belief that Morwen's legacy was her Wyld Hunt. While Eurys knew she was her own person, her instinct was to "be Morwen" for those who mourned her, and it took her a while to find a balance between living her own life and bringing comfort and closure to those strangers she cared for through memories that didn't belong to her. Due to that, she mainly focuses on healing, but she's ready to be deadly if it's what's necessary to protect others.

-

Wraith [no pic available since I'm unsure about some design elements: just imagine a young female norn with scars and blue tattoos on her face + white hair]

When she was still a young teen, she and her family were traveling in the Shiverpeaks when a blizzard hit them, and only she survived, nearly dying as well before something in her mind rallied her and guided her to safety. She had assumed that was Snow Leopard's influence, but it turned out to be Jormag's... sort of. In short, she was channeling an echo of their essence, and the Elder Dragon had no direct control over her, only being able to communicate through instincts, emotions or minions sent to keep an eye on her and guide her. She was such an oddity, immune to whispers and whatnot yet ready to listen, and Jormag wanted to observe her, and later on they managed to find a way to more easily communicate with her. Over the years, Wraith's role became to hunt down any Svanir that the "whispers" told her to eliminate, and rumors began to spread around both cultists and locals of an icy hunter that lived with Icebrood, ran with the snowstorms and killed only Sons. She was seen a lot more during Icebrood Saga, then after Jormag's defeat she disappeared and was believed to have been caught in the explosion. She somehow survived, nearly losing herself to the chaos in her mind, but a compassionate paw wanted to give her a second chance, and now Wraith uses the echoes of the Elder Dragon's powers to help those who were once oppressed by them.

In game she'd be using whatever legend, which is why I haven't made her in game yet (Eurys gets the next Revenant slot). In headcanon, she uses Jormag's powers, albeit to a much weaker extent, with some erratic moments of sudden power bursts. She doesn't know how their powers work exactly, she just "knows" to use them. Mechanically, it's all a mix of different legends, probably with a focus on chilled, vulnerability and torment.

ALRIGHT GW2BLR im not sure if ive made a post like this before but whatever

TELL ME ABOUT YOUR REVENANTS!

since the lore around them is so wonky, tell me your headcanons! how did they become a rev? what does it even mean for them (or you) to be a rev? what legends do they channel/communicate with, if any at all? if you have multiple revs, how do they and their powers differ? if theyre a rev in game but something different in your canon, why? what are they?

[bubble-tea-bunny]

sweet talk

[tamaki suoh x reader]

author’s note: been rewatching ouran and found the time to write smth small. basically a really late valentine’s fic lol. i’m drafting an idea for takashi as well atm. maybe kyoya after? ;)

word count: 1,844

At this time of year, the weather is chilly, the air cold even without the presence of wind and warranting the need for a scarf to avoid a red-tipped nose and numb cheeks. Most days are gloomy, the overcast sky glaringly bright and difficult to look at. But today, it would seem the divine hand in charge of the course of the seasons has granted a reprieve, the clouds parting so the sun might wash over the grass that you and Tamaki sit upon currently, in the garden of the Suoh estate.  

The gardeners had finished their tasks this morning, as instructed by Tamaki the night before. It gave you two the opportunity to be out there alone in the afternoon. The hedges are trimmed and tidy, and the smell of freshly cut grass is strong. You inhale deeply, chest puffed, and sigh in satisfaction as the scent reaches your nose. It had been so long since you sat out in a garden, owed to the fact it had been too cold for that lately.

Tamaki chuckles at your enthusiasm and rifles through the picnic basket he’d brought with him. He pushes aside the array of deserts—cake slices, chocolate bars, fruit tarts, and more—their colorful wrappings crinkling loud enough to grab your attention.

“Where is it…” he mutters.

You tilt your head. "Where is what?”

The tip of Tamaki’s tongue sticks out the corner of his mouth, evidence of his concentration, and when he finally finds what he’s searching for, he holds it up like a first place prize, complemented by an exclamation: “Aha!”

It’s a small plastic pouch, clear with red stripes and tied near the top with a matching, shiny red poly ribbon to keep it closed. There’s what you assume to be candy inside, in various colors, but you don’t recognize it. You’re still just as clueless, but you don’t need to voice your question because Tamaki can see the confusion written across your face.

“It’s commoner candy!” he explains. “Well, commoner Valentine’s candy, more specifically.”

You continue to watch, intrigued by what he’s brought, as he pulls at the ribbon to loosen it and opens the pouch, reaching inside for one of the pieces of candy. He holds up the heart-shaped treat, gripped carefully between index finger and thumb, and angles it so you can see what’s written on it: Sweetheart.

Upon realizing there’s wording on it, and that the same must go for every heart in the bag, your eyes light up. “Cute!”

“It is, isn’t it?” Tamaki agrees, voice quiet as he observes the candy. The nickname is printed red though the lettering isn’t too sharp, which gives away that it was done by a machine. “Haruhi got one for all the host club members, and I wanted to share mine with you.”

When he turns to you, amethyst eyes warm like a summer night, you smile. And when he offers the bag of heart candies to you, you eagerly reach in for one. “How thoughtful!” You turn over the piece you picked out: Only You.

“Well, shall we try them together?” Tamaki inquires, and you nod. The two of you pop the candy into your mouths in unison, then sit silently for a moment in contemplation.

It’s… unique, is the best description you can come up with. The powdery, pressed substance is basically a sugar bomb that melts once it comes in contact with your tongue. But it isn’t the quality of sugar you’re accustomed to—it’s far and away from the refined sweetness of the handmade confections stashed away in the picnic basket Tamaki brought along. Still, this mass-produced goody is delightful in its own way, in taste and novelty, for you have never seen such small candies with words on them, and you say as much to your boyfriend, the last traces of the heart candy lingering on your lips which you lick away.

“They’re charming,” you remark, reaching for another piece. “For when you can’t find the words or get them out yourself.” You read what’s written on the yellow heart you grabbed, then turn it to show Tamaki: Be Mine.

Tamaki’s attention briefly diverts down to read it as well, and the corner of his lips lifts in a lopsided grin as he meets your eyes again. “Sure, they can be useful for some people, but I can get by just fine without candy telling me what to say. How could I call myself the king of the host club if I weren’t able to string together pretty words?” Always conducting himself with some semblance of dramatic flare, he puts a hand to his chest, and the sunlight reflects off his eyes in a way that makes it seem like there’s a tear or two forming in the corners.

As usual, his acting is impeccable, and you can’t contain your smile; he’s such a natural. You have no objections to his claim as king of the school’s host club, and if you’re being honest, you wish you had even half the charisma he does, that some of the skill he possesses at waxing lyrical would rub off onto you via proximity alone.

“They would’ve come in handy for me that day I confessed to you,” you admit shyly, and it’s Tamaki’s turn to tilt his head, confused but waiting for you to expound. “These candies say all the things I wanted to say to you then.”

The day you came to terms with your feelings about Tamaki and the day you actually revealed them to him were different, and the time in between had been spent in a state of conflict over whether it was worth mustering up the courage to approach him about it. There was little doubt in your mind that the president of the host club received declarations of love left and right, a routine part of his week, a clockwork consistency like that of waking in the morning and laying down to sleep in the evening. You’re a drop of water in the ocean; what could possibly make you stand out?

For all that, you figured you should confess anyway. Rejection was still an answer and it was better than nothing. At least after the gentle let down (because truly, Tamaki is, without fail, graceful in matters of love, both the reciprocal and the unrequited) your turmoil over what he may say would finally be put at ease.

Though you rehearsed over and over what you would say and how you would say it, the practice ends up being useless, and you weren’t sure why you even bothered. Once you met his kind gaze—expectant and patient, giving you the opportunity to gather the words in the stretching silence that would be oddly too long in any other context—the resolve you had slowly been building on your walk to the meeting point by the fountain crumbled. You tripped over your words at the sight of his tender smile. Tamaki just had that effect on people, and you wished he’d look at you that way always. To be on the receiving end of his affection was to bask in the warmth of a sun that never sets.

It’s a feeling you’re distinctly reminded of now, sitting in the garden on an uncharacteristically sunny day for winter and the center of Tamaki’s attention, and you think you might be set alight from the sheer intensity (due mostly to Tamaki; the sun is poor competition in contrast). He wears that beautifully soft expression, mind clearly having thought back to your confession as yours just had. But it seems his recollection differs slightly, for he presents a counterpoint.

“I thought you handled it perfectly.” He sets the bag of heart candies on the grass and braces himself with his now freed hand, which allows him to lean closer to you. He enters your bubble but you never mind it, and his touch is feather-light as he brushes your hair behind your ear.

You’re unpersuaded, however, and raise a brow. “Really?”

Tamaki chuckles and nods, blonde hair bouncing with the singular motion. “Your eyes spoke for the words you had trouble finding. I might be the one stringing together pretty poetry like diamonds around your neck”—his fingers slide lower to trace the curve of your collarbone left exposed by the cut of your blouse, and you shiver—“but you have no need for words at all, much less the turns of phrases on pieces of candy.”

“Is that why you liked me too?” you ask, remembering his own confession that had followed closely on the heel of yours. You keep your voice hushed because given how close to each other you are, there’s no need for any higher of a volume.

Tamaki hums in confirmation. His index finger delicately taps once, twice, thrice, on the hollow at the base of your throat, a sort of absentminded movement while absorbed in his thoughts, before he once more brings his hand up, cradling your cheek. “You say you’re a drop in the ocean but you’re the drops of morning dew on the roses just outside my bedroom window. My heart flutters to breathe you in.”  

You smile, bashful, and set your hand over his, interlacing your fingers. Your cheeks have darkened in a blush Tamaki would like to kiss. “Okay, I’m convinced,” you concede with a murmur. He’s so close to you now. “When I admitted how I felt, maybe it didn’t go as badly as I thought.”

This elicits another laugh from Tamaki. Instead of acting on his desire to run his lips along your silken skin (there would be time for that later), he settles for a quick peck on your nose, then reaches into the pouch of heart candies, temporarily abandoned but not forgotten. His fingers curl around two pieces and he pulls them both out rather than dropping one, but he sees the words on them before you do since his hand obscures them from your view.

“The powers governing destiny have destined our souls for each other,” he declares. “Because you and me, it’s love.”

He uncurls his fingers to reveal the candy in his palm, and you look down at them. The green one reads You & Me, and the blue one It’s Love. This prompts you to giggle. It’s music to his ears.

“What happened to not needing candy to tell you what to say?” Your tone is playful.

Tamaki shrugs, unable to hide his amused grin. “I pulled them out at random. If this is the universe speaking to me, who would I be to argue?”

You have no counter to this, not that you think there even is one. Destiny is destiny and as Tamaki feeds you one of the hearts and you bite into it, the sugar once more dissolving on your tongue, you can only thank those powers which make the world turn for conferring their blessing upon the two of you in such a deliciously sweet way.

[old-school-butch]

On abortion rights

1. The reproductive revolution brought about by medical advances has had the same impact on women’s labor that the industrial revolution had on men’s labor. The day to day life of women was tied up in bearing and caring for one child after another until medicine gave us the ability to control our reproductive capacity and the safety that our children were likely to survive to adulthood. This has freed us up as significantly as farming technology freed the male population from laboring in the fields.

2. This medical revolution affecting women’s labor has been much more recent than industrial revolution affecting men’s labor, however both of them came after the drafting of the U.S. Constitution.

3. The U.S. Constitution enshrined property rights but not personal autonomy rights in order to protect slave owners. You can’t enshrine the right to decide your own marriage or have the freedom to choose your own job and simultaneously allow one class of people to own and manage the personal and family lives of another class of people.

The Bill of Rights was drafted next to encourage States to accept the Union and reassure them against Federal government over-reach. It has very few protections for personal liberty, and only protects against the Federal government. There are no limitations on the actions of individuals, i.e. slave owners, or of States who could still pass legislation controlling voting eligibility, where people could live, bans on education and (later) segregated schools. Slavery itself remained intact and fundamental to the economy in the South. Having slaves performing most of the field labor freed white men from the task. The usefulness of this institution had started to change even before the Civil War as farming technology brought the role of forced labor into question when so many labor-saving machines were being invented.

4. In the early days of any revolution, progress is uneven as established interests try to maintain control of new technology. For example, the invention of the Cotton Gin made it possible to process 50x the volume of cotton in a day compared to a single slave doing the work by hand. In the very long run, this would fundamentally end the profitability of slavery, but in the short term, it made huge plantations even more profitable. Within a few decades, the southern US exported most of the world’s cotton. At the same time, slave owners noticed that ‘domestic production’ of slaves, i.e. forced pregnancy, was a cheaper and easier way to make more slaves than importing new ones. The struggle to control the reproductive capabilities of slaves was intense. Children were sold away from their parents, marriages were just a mechanism of making more slaves, rape was endemic for the gratification and profit of slave owning men. In response, enslaved men vowed to never marry or father a child for slavery and enslaved women practiced whatever herbal mechanisms for birth control and abortion that they access. Infanticide and suicide were sometimes the last resort of mothers wanting to avoid the enslavement of their children.

Meanwhile, northern American states were building the mills and industries that were also being created by technological change, but these production-line machines were easy to sabotage and bring the entire line to a halt. (The line production process and its vulnerability to sabotage is in contrast to most farm processes where the cotton gin was easily repaired every time someone was crushed to death if they didn’t leap out of the way quickly enough).  Slavery wasn’t a profitable approach to creating a factory labor source since so many new immigrants - former peasants who were displaced by similar technology in Europe - could be cheaply hired to run the machines. As Alexander Hamilton noted, women and children were especially easy to control in these environments and the work itself of tending the machines was grueling and long, but didn’t require the sheer upper body strength that tied men to traditional farm work.

5. The 14th Amendment was part of a trio of amendments brought about during Reconstruction after the Civil War. It was the legislative change that tied up the social changes already made by technology and the bitter struggle for freedom that had been transforming society for decades. Finally, these human rights amendments addressed the need for personal and family autonomy. Did these amendments include reproductive rights? I would argue that they did, however the medical technologies that transformed women’s reproductive autonomy hadn’t yet been invented. The 14th Amendment has been used to strike down ‘undue interference’ by the State in personal liberties like the right to choose who you will marry,  the right to freely travel between states, the right to citizenship by birth, the right not to be discriminated against in public accommodations, the right to education and the right to vote. Some of these rights, including the right to contraceptive choice, were very far away from the era when this amendment was drafted but the legal issues can be traced directly back to the battle between the State and individuals for personal autonomy.

Lets look at the economic interests involved at the same time that medical advances were being made. When ongoing industrial changes created ‘excess population’ in the 1910s-40s, eugenics and attempts to sterilize ‘undesirable’ women came into fashion. In 1927, the Supreme Court upheld the right of States to sterilize ‘unfit’ women in Buck v. Bell using the newly developed surgical techniques of the vasectomy and salpingectomy. Newly improved condoms in the 1900s empowered more men to make reproductive choices but they are banned in some places after World War 1 as the falling birth rate threatens economic and population growth. By the 1940s, soldiers are given condoms all over the world to reduce disease and pregnancy. It’s clear that men are allowed sexual pleasure, and even the rape of ‘enemy’ women without reproductive consequence - but only if the State doesn’t need to increase the domestic production of children. The competing interests of the State, of men and of women have been the root of legal and social battles around reproductive technology in nearly all its forms.

6. The Pill, the iconic medication that is not just a pill but The Pill, was created in 1960 and immediately made unavailable to anyone but married women who had their husband’s permission to use it. Putting women in control of our own reproductive has had such vast and near universal impacts over the last 60 years (2-3 generations) that liberal feminism has all but forgotten that this medical revolution was the springboard for women’s liberation. 80% of women in the U.S. will use the Pill in some form during their lives. It’s this new state of medicated feminism that has divorced feminist interests in the West from the rest of the world. The focus away from the roots of our oppression - the uneven distribution of reproductive labor between men and women that shapes the lives of women - and the shift to social taboos around women’s work, gender roles and the complexities of even new medical technologies in the hormonal and surgical management of gender identities has left feminism vulnerable to forgetting the medical revolution that underpins our social progress.

7. The medical reality of abortion is now also a pill. As much as the dramatic protests and fights over abortion clinics capture media attention, abortion is mostly conducted in pill form in the majority of abortions. I argue that abortion is currently under this intense legal attack because it’s more accessible than ever by women, in private, with minimal oversight. Liberal feminism has ignored critical ways in which it’s unnecessarily restricted - for example, the FDA restricts their prescription and delivery to women in ways that simply aren’t applied to medication that is far more dangerous to use. On-demand abortion pills are run by feminist groups acting in grey legal areas, rather than simply being available in every pharmacy the way condoms now are.

8. What’s needed now is to enshrine personal reproductive rights through legislation. Ironically, feminists could take a page from the trans rights movement that has been passing an astonishing flurry of legislation at every level of government from municipal to State regulations. There’s been no broad-based social movement making these legislative changes, in fact they are often debated and passed in the vaguest of terms, often without the legislators or general public even fully understanding the implications of the laws they are enacting. Once passed into law, it will be very difficult to unravel the newly established rights to accessing medical technology that is so new it’s still experimental. When a new medical technology affected women’s reproduction, its use was instantly understood and legally restricted - trans activists have faced no similar pushback because the State has no material interest in trans activism. If gender hormone treatments were discovered to be a way for women to access reproductive control - the gains made by gender activists would be quickly rolled back, for women at least. Trans women can still do what they want, since they’re only men imposing on women’s rights and safety, and their pursuit of sexual pleasure doesn’t need to be curtailed since sperm is plentiful and available to the State.

9. Legislative changes are not only necessary at the State level, but may be easier. The State is now concerned about the ‘domestic supply of infants’ and apparently the overpopulation of the undesirable classes is no longer an issue as much as falling birth rates and a declining population are a threat to American global dominance. For decades, the ruling class of America has been somewhat divided on what to do with its disposable population - sterilize the undeserving like prisoners, women of color, disabled women? Or, increase its population to fuel its economic and military growth and reach. I argue that America with a population of 1 billion will be socially engineered over the coming decades with a specific enemy in mind - China. It’s rapidly developing technology and growing GDP is based on the springboard of its massive population. The geopolitical ground has shifted, and women are the early recruits. These interests, however, are national in scope. Local, regional and state initiatives will provide women more opportunities to organize effectively and the threat of women relocating to more woman-friendly states allows women to force states to compete for their own domestic population supply.

Thanks for reading, I know this has been long and I’ve probably rambled. I just wanted to tie together some historical analysis to identify the battles to come.

[mxvladdy]

Diavolo- True Form

Whoooooooo weeeee! ‘Pologies for the wait on these longer posts. I’ve been hit with a one two punch of house emergencies and sudden costly ass repairs, so my creative juices have been rightly squashed as of late.

Plus side I got my drawing tablet and drafting table back so I can neaten up my blog lay out now (yay!) 

Anyway this one was a challenge in the best possible ways. I really like Diavolo because of how little we know about him so it gave me some wiggle room. Or at least what I know of him- im only on like chapter 23 of the stories. Idk if I did him justice as this is angsty af but I sure had a blast writing it!

Hope ya like! Next up: Beelzebub 

Trigger warning: Mention of blood, and swearing. 

Diavolo-

He'll never show you, so don't ask. His true form is god-like in its own right and such knowledge, such truly raw demonic power in its natural form is not for your mortal eyes.

No matter what your lineage, it would break you. And despite his roles and being the literal devil, he doesn’t want you suffering.

Sometimes when he thinks you wouldn't notice he relaxes his hold on reality, just a fraction. He wants to relieve some of the tension that is always building just below the surface. Like closing your eyes when you have a tension headache. The mental energy he has to exert to keep face is enormous. Regular glamour doesn’t work nearly as well as his own, or Barbato’s magic.

But you see hints during your downtime spent in his company. A ripple in his reflection on the window pane. Unexplainable shadows dancing across his exposed skin. Too many teeth in his mouth when he laughs. Sometimes when you stare into his eyes you see something indescribable staring back behind them. His usually warm and inviting gaze darkening. A barest flicker, a hulking bestial thing kept locked behind in his golden gaze. It's enough to freeze the blood in your veins.

On certain nights when you can slip away from the brothers you stay in his room. Lying  awake, you watch his magic wane and shift as he slumbers. Sometimes you see runes, or at times letters. You are tempted to write them down and ask Solomon. But something stops you each time.

The worst images are the faces. Unknown souls trapped beneath his flesh clawing to be freed. Silent screams fading back into his body as he dreams. Your fragile fingers trace the patterns they leave as you wait for the next day wrapped in his embrace.

Only once have you seen more of his form then he would ever wish. The depths of his strength and mental fortitude were unknown to you so the slip up took you both by surprise. He masks the error well, but the sudden shift in energy in the room couldn’t be suppressed .

You are suddenly so aware of the oppressive weight of gravity on your frame. Your bones grinding together under the force of his aura. You panic, desperate by the need to breathe, but are unable to draw even the smallest bit of oxygen as it is robbed from the room. Time and reality wrapped too, distorting in ways only you thought only Barbatos could do. You knew in that moment the sudden dread of death, how mortally was but a rusty shackle tethering you down.

He collects himself, dispelling the energy and locking his glamour down tight to protect you. But that split second of fury felt like an eternity to you as you sink to the floor. You hiccup a shaky sob and shiver. Your fragile human mind bowing under the strain of what it cannot comprehend. Scolding hot tears fall from your cheeks, before splashing crimson the stone below you.

You didn't approach him again for over a month. No matter how strong you are, some things were better off unseen.

Mini Fic

He didn’t know. For once in his ancient pitiful existence, he had been unaware of his surroundings. It had been for just a moment, one tiny crack in his veneer. The foolishness of Mammon and Belphegor’s actions finally poked the right nerve. He wouldn’t hurt them, for Lucifer’s sake. That prideful demon would never forgive him if he did. But he could scare them. A quick look at his true self; a flash of the deepest bowels of hell. Enough to give them a reminder of their positions and standing in his court. He had expected their whimpers of fear, could taste the acidic tinge of it exuding from their pores. What he didn’t expect though was your blood curdling screams alongside.

Ironically, he would have to thank the second eldest later. His fast thinking is the only thing that saved you from complete damnation. His body shielded yours, taking the brunt of the stronger daemons hellish might for you. What little magic Mammon still had left used to protect you. Though, while your vision was blocked, you could still feel his oppressive presence. It racked your mortal flesh. Diavolo knew what affects his power had on humans. He spent years breaking and consuming damned souls with zeal after all.

The brothers had run from him after that, screaming for Simone. Barbatos following close behind, a look of consternation on his usually impassive face. You had been so limp in Mammon's arms. Diavolo could do nothing, shocked by his own weak will and realization that he might have ruined everything. You had been whisked away so quickly by his faithful servant and the brothers that he hadn’t had a chance to look you over himself. But the brief moment he saw will haunt him for years to come. Your eyes red from the sudden haemolacria, the blood staining your clothes and face. Your fingers digging away at your soft skin, black and purple blotches staining what he could see. Mouth opened wide on a silent scream. He knew what you must have seen. The souls of the damned trapped under his glamour breaking free to latch on to your unmarred soul trying to drag you back with them.

Against his butler's advice he stands at your door now days later trying to see you. He couldn’t sit around and just hear updates second hand. The brothers had been keeping guard most days in a valiant attempt to keep him away. But he could only be waylaid for so long before he used his rank against them.

He had arranged a full council meeting. Every one of the brothers knowing full well it was to get them out of his way. Yet, the order was absolute. This time none of the brothers could reject it. Barbatos would keep them in that room for eternity if he so wished for it. He hated using his age and power against them, but he saw no other way to get to you.

It was foolish now, standing as he was in front of your door. A part of him hoping you would turn the knob and let him in. Let him comfort you for once, instead of the asinine distractions the brothers offered. He could help too. Hells, he wanted to. He wanted to be closer to you. Power discrepancy be damned. The other part of him knowing it was for the best that you didn’t. Your guardian and tormentor all in one. He listens to your muffled sobs for a moment fighting with his feet to stay cemented to the floor instead of heading back in defeat.  

"When my father was still around he took me down to the deepest depths of the kingdom. Where the worst of the traitors and sinners are imprisoned." His deep baritone rumbles through your door during a break in your crying. "It’s a place few seldom go; even now I have yet to return. Back then he told me ‘there will never be a human soul that is undeserving of punishment. Even the ones destined for the celestial realm are tethered to sin.’ At that time I believed him. The things I saw in your realm... " The prince chuckles wearily.

He remembers the ever present scowl on the old King's face. His dark eyes looking out at the sea of damned souls he controlled. Even as a young daemon, fresh into his wings and still sharpening his horns to impress others he could tell how much his father detested his position. How it had warped him, turning him bitter and cold, even to his mate and only child.

Diavolo never wanted to be like that. Not to the ones he supposedly cared for at the very least. "I think that is why he hated the other realms so much.” He continued. “Humans, for their ability to choose which realm they would eventually end up in after they pass. That even the worst sinners could find redemption enough at the last moment to get to the pearly gates. While daemons, no matter how well they served, or the duties they did for the good of their own would never be seen as equals to our celestial counterparts or yours. That this existence is all we'll ever be destined to have. Nightmares and monsters, stories to tell little human children to keep them in line.” He pauses, collecting himself. “I believed wholeheartedly that every human deserved the punishments only my kind could dowel out. But, in this past year I have spent with you, I find myself changing. You are so undeserving of such torment. Somehow you are understanding and forgiving beyond measure to us. You handle our ill tempers with such grace. For daemons such as us, it is staggering, and humbling. I regret that I have hurt you so deeply and have broken your trust. I swear it as the head of this realm I would never intentionally do so." He looks at the door handle willing it to open. " I am so sorry."

Your crying picks up again. Huge heaving sobs that rattle your chest. Great Father, he just keeps making it worse. Clearing his head Diavolo turns.

Rejection of this nature was new to him. No one had ever dared to ignore him, especially such as this. The royal in him- his father's blood- seethed that he would even stoop so low as to grovel to a short lived thing like yourself. Even deeper yet, it demanded another taste of your essences. You little soul kept safe behind your rib cage. He wanted it added to his collection, kept tucked away deep within his maws.

It was sick; it was wrong. He chokes on the idea. The intrusive thought burrowing deep. How deplorable was he? Perhaps the angels were right to keep him out of heaven.

You didn't show to class the following day, or the days after. Unsurprising to him and the seven of the inner council. He figured the other day wouldn’t change anything. But it was utter agony to him. These days trapped in his office only getting short and curt updates on your health from Lucifer. It had been a special kind of torment.

Today he sat once again at his desk staring at some godforsaken bitching of a royal cousin. He knew this whelp. Some backwater thrice removed eons ago. Yet he was demanding an audience? The gall. The ink of their eligible handwriting makes him cross eyed. Would this day ever cease? He looks to his hourglass, the sands within seemingly frozen in time.

"My Lord, perhaps you should take a moment to stretch your legs?" Barbatos moved from his corner. Gloved hand coming to rest on top of the same three lines he had been reading for the past two hours. "This work could wait another evening I’m certain ."

"Did I do the right thing my friend?" Diavolo doesn't even bother answering the question his servant posed. They both knew he wouldn't. "This program. Our human exchange students. Solomon is one thing, but-"

"Your will and path is absolute." Barbatos states. "There are no mistakes within you, merely stumblings onto different paths."

With a gentle push Barbatos moves the hulking demon out of his way to collect and organize the scrolls and letters scattered about the large desk. "You made the right choice bringing them here. Look at what they have done. They are entertainment to you are they not?"

The prince rose knocking his desk aside and descended on his butler. His true form out in all its unholy glory now. His highly condensed magic distorting the study as if he was a black hole. The axis of the room shifts. His priceless collection of books and toys disintegrating from the cold radiation he emits.

It was all for show really. There was nothing he could do to an ancient being such as Barbatos. So he lashed out, throwing a tantrum in the security of his office. The hopeless agitation he felt fueling the flames of his rage. His butler had only added holy water to his already festering wounds.

Barbatos had been by his side for time in memoriam. The crafty bastard had helped raise him. Had shaped him into the ruler he was today. If anyone could break and remold him it would be his oldest companion.

The dark haired daemon waited for the waves of agitation to dry up. Moving only when the prince was in his more presentable demonic form. Large barrel chest heaving as he reined himself in. “Are you back to your senses?” He asks coolly, already categorizing the items to replace and furniture to be mended.

"I had not meant for it to go like this."  Diavolo croaks into his hands collapsing back on what remained of his desk. Building a bridge between realms, yes. That noble idea was the greater purpose of this program, but the rest of it. The classes, and dances. The parties where he threw his newest toys about to see how they would react to things other mortals worshiped? That had been for his own curiosity and amusement. Lesser beings navigating a foreign world blind to the dangers that were right under their very nose. Bring a mortal with no magic into his realm? Deep down he knew this was an inevitability. Especially with the freedoms he granted them. He just didn’t think he would get so attached.

“No one believes that you would hurt them on purpose.” His butler cuts off his downward spiral. “It would ruin the program. That is what you are so stressed about, right?” Barbatos eyes him skeptically. Diavolo, himself, and Lucifer had spent many sleepless weeks constructing and negotiating this program. If the Arch Angels heard a mortal was hurt down here it could very well end this little escapade. But the look in the prince’s eyes told a different story.

A warm glow emanated from his cheeks and he was unable to meet the old daemon’s gaze. Ah. "Or perhaps things have changed?" Barbatos smiles coyly up from beneath his bangs. "You are your mother's son after all. Neither of you were ever able to stem your bleeding hearts for long." Diavolo squawked indignantly but didn’t argue. Instead he merely turns a darker shade of red and curses under his breath.

He skipped out on court that evening. Not that he cared much. The other nobles would no doubt use the time to gossip about his whereabouts and uncouth behavior of late. Truth be told, he was avoiding the brothers more than anything else. They had made it expressly clear (some more then others) how they felt about him currently. He wouldn't doubt that Belphegor had a few more brothers on his side now.

Instead he stood at your door once more with a tea tray in hand. He had bumped into Simone on the way. The angel had come to bring you dinner and to check up on the last of your wounds. Celestial magic worked miracles on those who have been touched by the darker arts. Diavolo was grateful for his talents. And, by some miracle, Simone had made it abundantly clear he was not going to bring this to the higher ups on his end either.

Upon seeing the prince slinking up the house's stairwell the other man had simply smiled and offered him the tray. “I suddenly got a message from Luke. Could you perhaps drop this by our friend’s door?” Diavolo had accepted without preamble, large hands dwarfing the platter of little tea cakes and sandwiches. The young cherubs work no doubt. His cooking was a fine treat, and a great incentive to at least open the door.

“Hello again.” He knocks twice. “I just wanted to check in on you. I know I am the last person you wish to see but I was hoping to talk?” Silence greets him. Were you awake? He breathes deeply and focuses on picking up your vitals. You were up, your heart thumping steady somewhere in the room. That was good. “I also have dinner for you. Simone had an urgent matter to attend to so he- for better or worse- entrusted this to me.”

Diavolo searches hopelessly for something else to say. He couldn’t just leave the food and go. He needed to see you. “I don’t plan on staying long today. I understand when I am not wanted, but I cannot help myself but be worried for you. Perhaps this is just me contritioning, because I know I caused this. The amount of times I have been called a ‘ass’ by Solomon over this have been staggering.” He rambles. After another bout of silence from your end he coincides. “I see- I will leave the food by the door and let you rest.” Defeated he puts the food down and turns to leave.

The door clicks open slowly. One bloodshot eye peeking through the crack. “Oh mio piccolo mortale.” He loses his grip on your shared tongue at a loss. You looked- you must have been in the hall longer then he or the brothers had known. Such damage couldn’t be done in a few moments. Your skin was healing as nicely as Lucifer had said, but the deep purple scarring still remained on the surface. The burn pattern of it all was random. Twisting wounds that reflected an oily sheen from the light of the hallway. “I-.”

“I know-” You cut him off with a raised hand. “and I feel as though I owe you an apology too.” Your voice was so weak and shaky. A mockery of your normally strong and jovial tone. Hearing you laugh at school had brightened the dreary halls. He hadn’t realized it until you weren't there.

“You owe me nothing.” Diavolo says in earnest. He watches you contemplate your next words before throwing whatever you were going to say away.

“Would you like to come in?” Your eyes drop to the tray. “Luke always makes more than I can eat.”

“I don’t think that would be wise.” He backs out. All his plans crashing and burning around his feet. His actions had been irreparable.

“Perhaps not,” You open the door wider taking the tray and heading to your side table, leaving him no room to argue. “But then again, being a lamb among such wolves as yourself and the brothers isn’t smart either.” You meant it as a joke but he couldn’t even muster a chuckle. It was true. Gods. “Dia-” You approach him again but falter at the last second.

As much as you wanted to be close to him again the memories were still so fresh in your mind. The cold hell fire of his magic ensnaring you, searing your skin. The whispered words of sinners long since past still echoing in your head, all in languages you’ve never heard before. The worst though had to be the screaming. Lost souls begging for help. Some sounded so familiar…You shutter involuntarily.

You wanted to hate him for this. Curse him for putting you through this pain. But how much could you blame him? Or any of them? They were daemons. Whether he meant to hurt you or not, it truly had only been a matter of time before it happened. It would be hypocritical of you to fear or hate him forever over this. Six of the seven brothers have threatened your life before, and you have forgiven them. Hell, one of them actually killed you. What’s more was that Diavolo’s wrath hadn’t even been directed at you.

Wrong place at the right time; seemed to be your forte. “Please, come in.” You repeat again firmer than before mustering up either courage or sheer human stupidity to order him in. You couldn’t tell the difference anymore. “We need to talk.”  

He enters, following at your heel like a lost puppy. All air of princedom gone as you clicked the door shut. Diavolo fiddles with his hands, old habits from childhood coming with his nerves. He didn’t know what to expect anymore. Yelling? Some kind of beratement? A plea to go home and never look back?  He would let you.

You pass by him, giving him a large berth of space to get to your seat. “Tea?”  

Diavolo jerks his head to you. He had forgotten momentarily the plate of food he had used to get access to you. You smile sheepishly pushing it and a plate of sweets towards him with your unbandaged knuckles. He doesn’t move till your hand retracts back to your lap. You jerk your head to the open seat waiting for him. You weren’t going to take no for an answer.

“I- thank you.” The daemon sits making himself as small as possible in the straight back chair. He takes the porcelain and drinks mindlessly. The scalding hot tea doing little to help the tightness of his throat, but it did thaw some of the ice in his mind.

“Are-how…” He fumbles so unsure of what to do next. “I see you’ve been keeping up with your school work.” Diavolo closes his eyes, wincing internally at his words. That’s what he comes up with? Idiotic.

You smile anyway, eyeing the massive pile of books and paperwork spewn about your bed. “Yeah. I’ve taken to doing my school work with Levi in his room. Mammon and Beel are nice enough to drop it off to the teachers when they are due.” He nods. He knew this of course. But it was nice to hear it from you. But yet, you don’t meet his eyes. Far too afraid to see what hid behind them.

The thought of being dragged back into those dark depths again makes your pulse quicken. You instead stare at your nail beds, finding them more interesting. They were purple now. The nails stained black by the contact with his magic. “Will- will that go away?” He asks. Demonic curses or taints were nigh impossible to remove fully. Disgustingly, he hoped they didn’t. Then your nails would match his. The darker depths of his soul coo at the idea, happy that in a small way every daemon would know your his. Not as good as a pact, but as close as he could get to being a part of your little mortal life.

“I’m not sure.” You reply honestly bringing your hands up to place them on the table. “Simone and Solomon have done what they could. But, it is as good as it’s going to get for now. They say it could fade with time.” You look up at him, eyes gazing to the left of his face. “Luke thinks I should see a stronger angel.” Diavolo winces, the thought stung, and terrified him. “I told him no.”

That surprised him. This was your chance. The celestial realm had been skeptical from the beginning. If they knew, it would be a perfect caveat for them to step in. “Why?” Finally you look at him. The fear was still there. Hesitation evident in your eyes. Yet you forced yourself to look at him, fighting through your trepidation.

“Did you mean what you said earlier? About your father and what you think of me?”

“Of course.” He replies without hesitation reaching for your cold hands. You flinch but don’t move away. It felt-nice. His warmth chasing away the perpetual chill that covered your fingertips. Idly you stroke his strong hands with your thumbs.

“Then, I think we can work on this privately.” Slowly but surely you felt like you could fix this. Not for the program, but for yourself.  

[wyldwolves]

“You’ll have it as long as you need it-  as long as you actually need it. You can’t keep me forever” Lyanna reminds him softly, a gentler roll of her eyes at him thought the words are half laced with seriousness. Who does she lie to her but herself knowing now how a heart raced when watching him in the throws of whatever turmoil he wrestled with that Lyanna would fly there to battle demons for him to protect a man from himself and the rest of the world. Hands had been half prepared to throttle a maester for him knowing if she could hold him he would settle. the woman that loved him would wrestle him into a peaceful state and remain like the wolf she was to snarl and snap at ghosts on the walls and those who came near to even touching a single soft petal - an eternal guardian at the garden gate. Her love though was wasted though here she knew it well now even as she shifted her gaze for a moment to a place were it grew now - he would only see her looking down and know nothing more when a gaze returned.

“Come now, split lip and blood in my hair, puking into the bushes - how deeply romantic. I could see the men rushing out to sweep me off my feet. Then I should say the same. I do love my rose with thorns as beautiful as he is. Ruggedly handsome - maybe I prefer him less than perfect and willing to let me take care of him. Groan a little then for me, lets see if you are mildly convincing enough to keep me here.” She teases skirting a line into flirting with him in the fog of the haze her existed in as the effect of the mild of the poppy dissipated.  Shaking her head she watched carefully, seeing him drink as if he were exceptionally parched. More she motioned with the jug in her hand before giving him a pointed look, a hand brushing through his hair. “I know my plants, herbs and things that can help. I have a friend too who might prepare a sleeping draft should you need it but lets not do that as tempting as it is should he try that again with you. Should I snarl at him or bark - scare the maester away hmm?” She jests but he hand, the one freed of the jug of water gently caresses his face now as she quiets again.

“I would’ve been there with you - had I not ruined my ankle but perhaps its better I wasn’t. We do make a good team when not trying to strangle one another. Who would've saved you and your shoulder if you didn't know where to find me? I know it was - a harrowing ordeal and whatever happened before I put your shoulder back into place was not something easily survived. I am here. You are with me and the maester fears me more than you and whatever you did - you don't need to tell me more than you are comfortable with. They wont give you milk of the poppy again not unless I let them.”

"i don't need to wish. you're already here." he grinned. her presence always helped, a source of comfort like no other -- one he was entirely undeserving of, but he accepted it as greedily as ever. he could barely piece back what he'd said and done since their return to high tide, but it must've been crazed enough to urge the old man into action if he needed to keep lorent incapacitated. perhaps he'd threatened him, attacked him. he could feel such aggression in his bones still, difficult to relent after the days and nights of endless violence they'd witnessed and engaged in. "but i will groan and wince, if it means you'll be more inclined to stay." a dislocated shoulder hardly warranted such melodrama, but it was a useful front, a good enough diversion. he wasn't proud he had dragged lyanna into his mess, having relied on her to mend his shoulder, having burdened her mind with his cryptic speech.

"you're perfectly pretty with your split lip, she-wolf. battle scars suit you better than unblemished skin." let her wear the proof of her ferocity, he thought. finger that sat under her chin moved upward, to trace her lower lip gingerly, before he let go entirely with a dry huff of a laugh. "i wasn't… in my right mind. it was as if i was trapped still, on that bog of a battlefield. i've never seen so much fucking mud in my life." accepting the cup of water, he drank it hastily, nodding his thanks. "tell you what i'll do about the poppy. i'd like to find out if it works the same way when taken up the arse. i'll grab a funnel, shove it up that man's puckered hole he loves to talk out of, and let him have a taste of his own medicine."

[yandere-daydreams]

A spicier Yandere!Villain!Izuku/Reader for an absolutely lovely anonymous commissioner, featuring just a little Katsuki /Reader on the side. It’s always nice to get to experiment with a scenario I don’t get to use very often, but honestly, making Katsuki absolutely miserable might just a hobby, at this point.

Title: Lasting Rivalries.

Word Count: 2.0k

TW: Noncon, AFAB!Reader, Kidnapping, Light Bondage, Oral Sex, and Slight Exhibitionism.

The air tasted like mold.  

You could’ve sworn you’d fallen asleep in the cold, brisk atmosphere of Katsuki’s apartment, where every draft carried the vaguest traces of bleach and even the dust was neatly polished. Wherever you were now couldn’t be the same place, hell, you doubted it was the same building. The mattress underneath you was warm, uncomfortably so, the kind of damp, sticky heat that only radiated off of objects with a decade’s worth of grime. It was dark, the walls a bare, desolate grey and the few functioning lights only seeming to highlight how obscured everything felt, out in the open yet hidden by some thick curtain hanging just in front of your eyes. Your head felt… bad. You weren’t in pain, and you didn’t have a headache, but you almost wished you did. It would’ve been real, and that must’ve been better than whatever cotton had been stuffed where your skull was supposed to be.

You tried to roll over, intent on coughing away the blockage, but to your dulled shock, you weren’t able to do anything more than shift before falling back into place. Your wrists had been tied to something cold and metallic - part of the bed frame, you guessed, a post - but the rope was soft, seamless and smooth. A harsh distinction from the scratchy, cheap sheet that’d been spread out under your exposed back.

Oh, wait. Where were your clothes?

It was a startling realization, but you didn’t have much time to linger on it. As soon as you had time to properly feel the chill running over your skin, something replaced it. Two palms pressed into your sides, just above your hips, gloved but undeniably there, squeezing as they went, exploring. You kicked, reflexively, relieved to find your legs free enough to do so, but the mass was unmovable, catching your knee and pushing it flat against the bed with a light chuckle. You manage to focus, although your gaze was still blurry and your head still clogged, a shape forming in front of you. A silhouette, at first, then a form. A man. By the time you put a name to those hints of a face, you might as well not’ve bothered.

You would’ve recognized the voice of that monster anywhere. Even with the added smugness.

“When did they get so soft, Kacchan?” Izuku asked, a self-righteous smirk pulling at the corners of his lips. His tone was mocking, too patronizing to be genuine, but that didn’t stop his hands from falling to your waist, rubbing slow, measured circles into your midriff before moving towards your thighs and groping curiously. He continued, unprompted, not seeming to care that he’d never gotten a response. “You did that on purpose, yeah? I know you like your targets too weak to fight back.”

“Fuck off.” You didn’t have to think, your attention locking onto the interruption’s source, onto your boyfriend. Your restraints were child’s play compared to Katsuki’s, his hands encased in metal cylinders and leather belts laid across every extremity that could’ve possibly broken free. He was pinned against a cement column, immobilized, a loose muzzle strapped over the lower half of his face for Izuku’s personal enjoyment. He hadn’t been taken peacefully, either, a splatter of dried blood matting blonde hair to his scalp and his Hero get-up ripped to tatters, stripped of anything that could’ve been made into a weapon. You might’ve been jealous of how much effort had gone into capturing him, if concern hadn’t been shoved to the forefront of your mind, refusing to budge once it took its place. “Touch (Y/n) one more time and I swear I’ll--”

“Maybe we should gag him,” Izuku mused, cutting Katsuki off gracelessly. It took you longer than you’d like to admit to realize he was talking to you, but you didn’t dare indulge him with an answer, averting your eyes to the wall with a pointed glare. Izuku just pouted, crouching and nuzzling affectionately into the crook of your knee. You shuddered at the contact, but he didn’t seem to share your aversion, something lovesick weighing down his tone. “I don’t know how you put up with him for so long, angel. All those dirty words, and that rotten attitude…” He let out a heavy sigh, shaking his head. “It had to be terrible. You need someone to love you, really love you, right?”

“I… I don’t need anything from you,” You spat, attempting to clench your thighs together. Izuku pushed them back open with a strength you couldn’t hope to counter. “Get off of me!”

“You don’t think you need me,” He corrected, prompting a groan and a series of volatile insults from Katsuki. If Izuku heard him, he didn’t feel the need to give a response, kissing the inside of your thigh, instead, his lips lingering a second too long. “You’ve been...  influenced by Kacchan. He didn’t love you like I would’ve, he didn’t take care of you. I wouldn’t have made you go out into the big, bad world every single day. I wouldn’t have been so ungrateful.” Another kiss, this one higher up. “You deserve better. I’ll give you better.”  

You opened your mouth, but anything you could’ve said was caught in your throat and choked on as Izuku took hold of your hips, pinning you down despite his attempts to buck him off. You weren’t sure what you’d expected, but when a hot, eager tongue dragged along the length of your slit, the severity of your situation finally dawned on you, sparks of something callous and distant accompanying overwhelming, overpowering terror. Your mind went blank, but you flailed, attempting to kick and writhe and struggle until he let go, but your resistance only seemed to make Izuku more determined, pulling away to suck at your sensitive clit, flicking at it almost playfully with his tongue.

The pleasure was invasive, aggressive. Izuku was relentless, drinking you down like a man starved, his inexperience covered by his will to find whatever spot made your body contort and abuse it, whether that meant fucking your entrance with his tongue or drawing baseless, abstract patterns in your cunt or lapping at forcibly provoked wetness and daring you not to make a sound. You bit your bottom lip in an effort not to give him what he wanted, but his pursuit was a brutal one, the whimpers that found their way through your defenses meek and pitiful. Katsuki had been stunned into silence, but your involuntary submission seemed to snap him out of his stupor, an assumption only further backed-up by the garbled mix of ‘get away from them’s and ‘I’ll fucking kill you’s that soon filled the cramped space. Izuku delighted in that, nearly moaning against you, the reverberation sending an unpleasant tremor up your spine. You couldn’t tell what was getting him off more - your suffering or Katsuki’s.

Regardless of his intentions, your body was reacting to his ministrations, something in your core pooling and spiraling, delving into a dark, aching fire you wish had stayed untouched. Your hips nearly followed Izuku when he pulled away, straightening his back and making a half-hearted attempt to wipe away the spit and slick staining his chin with his sleeve before his shoulders slumped, a wide, malicious grin forming across his features as he looked over you. Wordlessly, he pulled off a glove with his teeth, swiping his newly freed fingers over your cunt, letting translucent fluids gather on fingertips. He held them to your lips, only hesitating for a moment before giving a command. “Lick it off,” He demanded, his smile never faltering. “Or I’ll have someone come in and slit his fucking throat.”

You weren’t proud to taste yourself on his skin, gagging when he shoved his digits down your throat and spitting when he refused to dislodge them, coughing until something in your throat tore and fell away. He only kissed your cheek, something you hoped was meant to be a reward.

You were still recovering when he started to undress, lazily unbuttoning his white dress-shirt and pulling it off, only bothering to shrug his pants down enough to free his cock. Of all things, that was what got you, how casual he acted, as if he was only admiring something he already owned. Tears sprung up in the corners of your eyes, blurring your vision despite your attempts to blink them away. Izuku took care of that, though, cooing as he dragged his thumb over your cheek. It could’ve made you sick. It did make you sick. But, the sudden wave nausea did little to stop something painfully hard from rutting against your thigh as Izuku leaned down, the sensation a constant, perverted reminder of your growing misery.

“Please…” You mumbled, the words falling from your tongue reluctantly. You tugged at your restraints, trying to pull yourself into a more dignified position, but all you accomplished was irritating your already-sore wrists. “Please don’t, Midoriya, please. I’m… I haven’t done this before.”

His eyes widened, the hint of a scowl shadowing over his expression. “Poor thing, poor baby,” He crooned, the words dripping with manufactured sympathy. With one hand, he steadied himself, positioning his length at your entrance with the other, making it clear that no amount of sobbing or innocence would get you out of being defiled. “No wonder you’re scared, he must’ve neglected you for so long. But, you don’t have to worry, love. Your Izuku’s gonna take care of you, from now on.”

That was all the warning you got before he pushed into you, snapping his hips against yours and only stopping when he bottomed out inside of you. Something between a moan and a croak found its way from your throat, but you were quickly distracted from the discomfort as Izuku took up your thighs, digging his nails into your flesh and forcing your knees against your chest, something between confusion and distress flooding into your system. By the time he began thrusting in earnest, finding a steady rhythm to match the tempo of his fleeting, breathy panting, you were sobbing, trying fruitlessly to keep your breakdown at bay as a terrible, unknown pressure built inside of you, a knot forming somewhere in the bottom of your gut. You were snug around him, hot and tight and drooling, making each movement all the more tortuous, toe-curling, world-shattering. It felt like there was never a moment he wasn’t hitting something new, something foreign, something you couldn’t quite make up your mind about. Unwillingly, you clenched around him, and Izuku faltered, groaning shamelessly. You were almost glad you’d fallen so far, when you felt him twitch.

Anything that managed to numb the filth slowly spreading through your body was a mercy.

“You feel so good,” He drawled, hunching forward, pressing his forehead into your shoulder. His breath was warm on your skin, damp, your disgust unaided by the teeth soon embedded in your neck, biting into anything they could reach. He acted without care, without discretion, his only goal being to make his mark and ensure that it lasted, regardless of how much blood he had to draw to do so. “Gonna make you mine, he won’t be able to touch you when I’m done. No one’ll be able to look at you without thinking of me.” He paused, letting out the fractured bastardization of a laugh, relief heavy in the cracked sound. “I’ll knock you up. Kacchan could never give you that.”

Oh, god, Katsuki. Your head fell to the side, in search of something stable to latch onto, but he was far from a source of comfort. He was despondent, limp and motionless, his bindings slack, unneeded. Still, every muscle in his body was tense, on edge, but if he could do anything but sit and stare, you couldn’t tell. His eyes were peeled open, lips parted but no noise coming out, as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t bring himself to make the words. He was as much of a prisoner as you were, now. As helpless as you were, now.

Weakly, he opened his mouth, what was left of his will escaping in a miserable, wounded whisper. “I’ll fucking kill you, Deku.”

That was all it took for Izuku to finish, staining you so thoroughly, you doubted you would ever feel clean again.

[mikanyuzu-26]

Is Chapter 139 of Attack on Titan being messed up deliberately?

*Views are my own. I barely post anything on social media but I feel the need to express my thoughts as a long-term AOT fan.

You need to be a genius in getting everything wrong. As a reader who has been following the series for 8 years, the frustration and disappointment the recent chapters brought me are beyond words. The series Attack on Titan has long been known for its well written plotline, with pieces of hints eventually leading to the reveal of mysteries, ranging from the identity of enemies to the origin of titan. Isayama the author is more than capable in building a story, as evidenced by the carefully arranged setups and successful characterization in 130+ chapters. Probably echoed by other readers, the story surprisingly went downhill since Chapter 124 (aka the alliance arc) when pacing becomes slow with no major progress in overall plot. Eren who is the supposedly main protagonist is nowhere to be found in most of the chapters, let alone his inner thought. The conclusion in Chapter 139 is even more confusing, showing clear disconnection with previous chapters and major characters being OOC. There are fans who are kind enough to summarize the inconsistencies.

Chinese netizens’ comment on the story quality

I would interpret the bad writing in Chapter 139 as intentional, with two possible reasons, or both: 1). To betray and hurt the readers as expressed in his interview. He is free! 2). To passively protest against a plot change by his editorial team

“I was a big fan of Game of Thrones, so I can relate to the feelings of those fans who were disappointed with how the series ended. But when I’m drawing, I’m expressing my own feelings, and I think as long as I’m doing that, my fans will be able to accept whatever ending I come up with for them”. The question is – was Isayama hinting at a GOT-like ending that expressed his true feeling? Looking at his response at this point of time, was he foreshadowing a disappointment?

Personally I am a believer of (2) – the plot was hijacked. I see the pacing issue starting from Chapter 124 as Isayama and the editorial team trying to buy time in reconstructing the plot. This is the period when multiple minor subplots (e.g. Connie’s mom, Aruani, conflicts with Yeagerists like Daz, formation of Alliance, Reiner’s mom & Annie’s dad) are introduced and closed off shortly after, while Eren is nowhere to be found.

Also note that Isayama did not even show up in the interview/live stream after the end of the manga in on Apr 10 and Apr 14, 2021. The editor represented him instead. It was also revealed in the most recent live stream that the editorial team had quite a lot of influence over the plot, in which they changed the last few pages of Chapter 139.

As many of you have already raised, early chapters already mentioned the “only way to put a final end to the cycle of revenge” is to do a full rumbling. I believe this is the first draft of the ending of the story as this idea has been expressed more than once directly out of the mouth of Eren.

The other possible change is the way of how Ymir is being freed. In earlier chapter, Eren clearly understands what Ymir has been waiting for 2000 years in Chapter 122, and this is also the reason why Eren is able to start the rumbling in the first place. The possibility of Mikasa freeing Ymir is not being introduced until Chapter 138 (or 139), and certainly comes out of nowhere as the only people outside of path who have seen Ymir are Armin and Ramzi.

How is Chapter 139 being intentionally messed up? The inconsistencies above suggest that at least two plot twists are only being decided at the very late stage of the story. • Eren’s true intention (Eren Requiem vs. full rumbling) and the reasons behind • What Ymir wants

Throughout Chapter 139, there are definitely better choice of words which even average Reddit/Twitter/Tumblr users were able to re-write in the past few days. However Isayama just somehow chose the worst way in presenting the story as if it is a shoutout to readers. The presentation also makes Chapter 139 memorable, though not in a way most have expected.

“Why Mikasa?” “Well…only Ymir knows that one…” When I reread Chapter 139, it seems to me that Isayama is not trying to shy away from admitting the plot change. The disbelief from Armin’s way of saying “Huh? Did you just say Mikasa?” is an analogy to the readers’ reaction due to the lack of interaction between Ymir and Mikasa before the last panel of Chapter 138. Eren is also drawn with a resigned expression. If this is an over interpretation of the frame, Eren’s next response “Well…only Ymir knows that one…” directly points out how the statement lacks a clear and sound reasoning. You can translate it into “Well…only [the company/my editor] knows that one…” or “Nothing I just want to throw this in”. Isayama clearly knows what he is writing and indeed “only Ymir knows that one” becomes a meme.

Also to add that prior to Chapter 139, Ymir has always been a parallel of Historia/Krista, not Mikasa, even as early as Chapter 51, but this plot was just somehow nowhere to be found eventually.

Why Rumbling? The most disastrous consequence of a plot change, from wiping all history and civilization (that has been repeated in his conversation with Historia in Chapter 130 and his internal monologue in Chapter 131) to an Eren Requiem, is that it takes away all the justification and rationale for Eren to eliminate 80% of the population in the first place. Whether or not Eren executes the rumbling and dies willingly, the world will still be in conflict and future generation will remain in the forest. If the plan is to free Ymir, a better way is probably just asking Mikasa to chop his head off. That saves humanity (Ymir likes drama, after all!).

Isayama could have easily used phrases like “I just want to move forward” but he put “I don’t know why, but…I wanted to do that…I had to”. This is also Isayama speaking from the Eren – he does not know why Eren is doing rumbling just to achieve the 80% plan. He just “had to” draw it.

“10 Years, At least!” This is probably the most debatable and dramatic part of the chapter. Eren expresses his love to Mikasa but the scene is presented in a way as if it is a kid throwing a tantrum. In addition to that there is Armin’s comment “Oh ok…I didn’t expect something that pathetic..” as if it is again, the readers’ comment. The scene is portrayed in an unbelievably comedic way, especially when you compare it with Eren’s conversation with Ramzi in Chapter 131, which is supposed to serve the same purpose in showing Eren’s human/soft side. Most importantly, freedom has always been Eren’s core value throughout the series. The outright contradiction this line shows only makes the whole idea of this panel questionable.

Character Regression Needless to say, characters’ behaviours surprisingly regress back to the first arc, wiping out all developments throughout the series. The worst thing is it even kills the hype of re-reading the manga as you know the characters never grow, after all the sufferings and hearts sacrificed. Examples include: • Eren is still a crybaby • Mikasa remains trapped by her relationship with Eren and the scarf • Historia is not living proudly for herself after the Uprising arc • Reiner sniffs Historia’s letter after going through depression and wars (there is even a petition online asking Isayama to change this! You see how problematic this is.) • Jean and the horse joke

Almost everything that could possibly go wrong is wrong in 1 chapter These are written by the man who have been writing good chapters in the past 10 years. Can you believe it is just a lack of sense?

• “Thank you. You became a mass murderer for our sake.” • The “poop” that Armin gives Eren (Isayama likes using meme right? :P) • Eren’s face when he is punched

Is this the High School AU style?

Compared to Chapter 112...You can tell the difference.

The way how the fandom views Chapter 139 is certainly very divided, but even amongst those who like it, most still think “things could have done better” (source: SNK Chapter 139 Poll), showing how awkward the style is compared to previous chapters. The inconsistencies in character portrayal and plot are too hard to ignore. It pains me to see a well-constructed and reputable series, one step away from legend even just with an average ending, closed with a chapter that almost defeats the purpose of the rest. Trust in Isayama – while he can build a legend in 10 years, he can also take it down with 1 chapter.

By the way, Levi is one of the few characters who isn’t ruined. Probably also a conscious choice.

[achillesuwu]

So, this is not a escort fic but what if I told you I have a fic kind of like that in my draft , AND I WANT TO SHARE SO anyway here the 2,4 K first part just for you 🫵🫶

Say you will bring me along, To the world I close my eyes to see.

The problem with being old is that one has the habit to stay in their way. To not use the new invention. Not by dislike of the new but simply in the way one cannot easily erase a well defined forest path. To make a new one you need to be bold enough. Young enough to stop on your track and see the inviting clearing behind the brambles and heavy foliage.

The problem with being an old magical being is that one tends to forget what it’s like to be human. In the same way those who are born blind people cannot imagine sight and those who aren’t cannot imagine a world without even pitch blackness. Merlin forget what it’s like to grow, to be but a child in this world. He forget how it feel to grieve for the first time, how raw first love leave you, how scary it’s to met new people, how welcoming people are despite your fear. All the things Merlin forgets as he waits, yet, he doesn’t forget Arthur. How human he will be.

How alone he will be if Merlin doesn’t even understand these feelings anymore?

So, when he was in his 500ish he decides that once every hundred years, he will put is memories in a corner of his mind for a year. He crafts for himself lies. He becomes a 82 years old who decided to travel after the lost of his dear wife, a 9 years old boy who just lost his parents, a 47 years old man taking care of his parents shop as they travel, a 50 years old, a 70 years old, a 35 years old,…

And tomorrow a 24 years old going back in university. A bright young man who want to get a new degree after being disappointed by his last the career he choice. A young man with a loving dad who like to sculpt wood. With his callused hand who lead him so gently as a child. A loving mom who like to sit with him in the evening as they watch movies. With cold hands that warm his heart. Two loving parents who decided to celebrate their 25 years of marriage with a world tour. Who are so proud of their only son and trust him to take care of their house.

Obviously he isn’t stupid. He made himself infertile, his current self will need to ‘leave town in a year’ because of a emergency (sometime his mom is very sick, sometimes he have to check some house his great-uncle left him before a tree fall on his neighbor,…) no matter what. He also has set some safety net if case of extreme necessity. His magic is barely restrained, it can be freed easily if he is in danger and one of his dearest immortal friend is engraved in his memory as someone he must go to if there is no way out.

Said friend even take a ‘vacation’ near the lake to watch it for him. With so many precaution, taking 10 years of ‘break’ out of 1500 years shouldn’t have much of a impact on his waiting. And yet.

How was he supposed to know the prat would choose this moment to come back and not even come out of the goddamn lake ?

——————-

For as long as Arthur could remember he knew there had been before. A life of sadness, of joy. A hard life. A good life. A death, cradled in strong arms. He does not question it. It simply is. To his young mind everyone had one. It’s something everyone knows they just don’t talk much about it. Just like nobody looks at their skin and marvel at the fact that it’s there.

As his start to grow his mind pieces it differently, his life as King Arthur Pendragon slowly morphes into its own. There is not just a before. There is a life before. Distinct from his newer one. That’s maybe why he never thinks he is insane when he makes that realization at 11 years old. He is Arthur now, he was Arthur in another life too. He is both. He is a child, he is a man. His memories make him wiser, his young brain make him bolder.

He just is.

When Arthur is 14 years old, his parents divorce. There is no screams like in the movie. Just his mom waking him up with red eyes in the middle of the night.

When he is 15 he finally meets Morgana.

He met her a sunny day in may. Her mother following closely and her dad stubbornly staying in the car. Vivienne and his mom greet each other politely but coldly. Arthur doesn’t know the details but he knows his mom forced the hand of his father. For a woman with two brothers it was unbelievable for her that he would rob his children of knowing one other.

Their parents don’t expect them to get along right away, they expect them to be awkward 17 and 15 years old. To become well acquainted and maybe even friends as time goes on. They become neither of those things.

Arthur is stiff. He never turns his back to her and always keeps something in his hands to defend himself (not that his mom noticed). Morgana is quiet and cold. Her hands always stay empty, ready to strike. Yet, the atmosphere isn’t even angry or murderous. It’s just… sad.

After 6 months, Morgana manages to convince her parents to stop these visits. The last time they see each other, they don’t say a word. Their eyes are just full of pain. Then, she just walk away, her back turned away from him and her hands holding her purse. It's over and It hurts him as much as it relieves him. He can barely see his mom confuse face as she wipes away his tears and embrace him with a sweet Oh, Arthur.

When he is 17, he mets Lancelot as the man is working in a coffee shop. Which is currently in the top 10 of the most awkward moment of his new life. Strangely not because the man kissed his wife before their wedding (well, not just because) but because the man seems completely clueless about kissing his fiancee before their wedding and his quite confuse at Arthur’s cold attitude. Arthur can stay calm while meeting someone who broke his heart despite his young age (Exibit A : Morgana), but he draws the line at someone acting like nothing happened.

They fight. Which is quite a stupid thing to do when they talk right after (both of them holding ice packs on their face) and Arthur understands that Lancelot genuinely doesn’t remember a thing. The boy is genuinely distraught when he manages to pry the truth out of Arthur.

It feels even stupider when he hears the voice of his mom. « Arthur. Pendragon. De. Bois. »

His mom is a modern woman so she doesn’t slap him as soon as she assesses that he is not too badly hurt. But he can see that it takes a lot of her composure to not ground him for the next 20 years.

Unlike his mom, his father is the reincarnation of a genocidal freak so Arthur doesn’t believe he would have a problem with hitting his child. Thankfully for him, Uther is still pining (and afraid) after his mother so he doesn’t either but Arthur recognizes well that You will spend a month in the dungeon looks. (Objectively his father looks more threatening than his mother. He would be more likely to ground him for 20 years and his mother looks like she will ground him for a week. But what can he say, that’s his mom. Disappointing her feels worst than disappointing his father.)

His mom is quite surprise when he invites Lancelot home one month after and they become good friends.

He meets Gwaine no long after I just wanted to see the famous blondie that fought so hard with the bartender — It’s a coffee shop, Gwaine — Same thing, anyway, I was quite surprised to see that it was you, Sire.

When he is 19 years old, he hears about Guinevere before even seeing her. He doesn’t even know it’s her when someone talks about the weirdest couple I know, man. They are so sweet together but damn. How the hell is someone 22 and still dating the dude they started to date at 3 years old ?! And by 3, I mean three. Years. old. Not three years ago. Years old, dude. They got married the day they turned 18. Properly insane I tell you.

His friend is quite surprised when Arthur jumps to embrace her and her eyes fill with joyful tear as soon as they see each other.

Arthur have to say, it’s quite strange to have Leon give him the equivalent of a very polite I hope you have moved on because I’m sure as hell not going to stand aside as you tried to to win her back. Not that she would let you. No offense.

(Said Guinevere would like to say that It’s even stranger to sit in a room with your husband (2), your husband (1) and your old crush as you all have to act like you Just are old friends from school, ahahah, hum ? How can we be friend from school when we weren’t in the same school ? Well, hum, we meet when we were in primary school. Not at school, obviously.)

Reuniting with Guinevere and Leon bring Perceval and obviously Elyan. Perceval tackles Gwaine on the ground as soon as he sees him while Elyan sends death glare to Lancelot, thankfully, they both chilled out the next time Arthur glanced at them. Elyan and Lancelot that’s it. Gwaine spends the better time of the day being manhandled by Perceval. Which is new.

They never truly talk about the others who are missing (Guinevere asks about his sister too. He only shakes his head. She nods understandably and never brings it up again.). Why they are the only one to remember. Too scared to startle fate or maybe to hope for someone who is not there.

When he is 21 he meets Merlin.

—————————————————

It’s his first day of his second year at the university and Arthur is already in a hurry. Today was quite the day. First he lost his bus card (he was sure he had put it in his jacket the day before) and had to search it, when he finally found out he struggled with his keys (he never cursed more the fact that his parents are divorced and both of their house have 2 doors. Which means he always has 6 keys because Arthur is an emotional fool who obviously keeps with him the keys they used before his mom changed the locks) which obviously made him miss the bus. So he had to take the train.

Honestly, when Arthur thought about seeing Merlin again he always imagined it to be quiet and soft. Like two pieces of puzzle fitting together again. Obviously, being without him for 21 years had made him forget how they were. They are never supposed to meet without clashing.

So here he is, interspersing fast walking with light jog in the nearly empty corridor. As he takes a quick turn, his body collide against someone. Unlike a normal person the man doesn’t seem to use his bag to carry his binder, the man also doesn’t seems to not know how to use one either. As all of his paper fall of it. Arthur can only see one poor paper stay in it, the only one in its rings. Arthur is truly bewildered as he just looks at hundreds of pages of the floor before finally catching himself when the man crouches to pick them up. « I’m so sorry » he says as he crouches down to help him.

« It’s fine » Merlin says with a thick accent.

Arthur freezes with some papers in hand. Even if he wanted he could not stop his gaze from rising to finally look at him.

His hair is curly.

I didn’t know he had curly hair.

Arthur just stays unmoving, he watches as Merlin slide papers in his binder. At some point, Merlin notices his state and finally rise his gaze to meet his. A breath he had been holding back for 21 years is finally set free.

There is a strange flicker in Merlin’s eyes as he looks at him and hold his left hand to him « Myrddin Wyllt ». [IPA note : ˈmərðɪn ˈwɨɬt http://ipa-reader.xyz/ use the welsh one. You can simply read it as Merdin if you can’t listen to it rn]

Arthur is quite taken aback by that. He hadn’t even noticed it before. All of them have the same name than they did. They all have the modern version of their name. Arthur barely even recall how his name was pronounced back then. There are days where he completely forget that they weren’t speaking the language he uses today. He genuinely does not recall their conversation in Brittonic, he doesn’t even think he can speak it. He remembers them as if they spoke English.

And there is also the fact that Merlin, Myrddin, has a family name. It shouldn’t come as a surprise, Guinevere and Elyan now have one form their father, so does Perceval and so does Lancelot. It shouldn’t surprise him after all his own mom is alive, Guinevere’s mom is alive, Perceval’s parents too. Merlin’s dad being in his life shouldn’t feel strange. Yet it does.

Then it hits him, Merlin told him his name.

He told him like a stranger would.

He looks dumbly at Merlin’s outstretched hand « Arthur » he croaks and the strange flicker in Merlin’s eyes fade. He doesn’t know why but it feels like he should have answered differently.

Merlin takes back the papers Arthur is still holding « Well, It was nice to meet you, Arthur. » He gets up and starts to walk away.

Arthur nearly screams Arcturus, call me Arcturus at his back but he doesn’t. He stays silent as he just watches him walk away. The warrior in him knows he missed his shoot.

Arthur doesn’t even get up to go to his class after Merlin left. He knows it will be useless anyway. Instead he just stays where he is. Sat in the corridor, he doesn’t know why but there is no fear in his heart. No voice telling him to run after him. There is just peace, Merlin is here and he is not going anywhere.

Arthur looks at the walls. He never thought about the possibility that Merlin wouldn’t recognize him. The coldness of the floor sweeps through his bones as he feels his heart breaks. He mourns all the little things he wished he could learn about him. All the things he missed.

As if the fate decided that for once it will humor him. Merlin walks back in the corridor barely one hour later. « Don’t you have class? »

Arthur shrugs.

Merlin looks properly bewildered and honestly, Arthur is quite glad that for once he is the weird one. « Are you telling me you just ran into me to just… What, sit there ?»

When Arthur just shrugs again, Merlin snorts at him. He looks at him for a long time and Arthur does the same. Then, suddenly, he pushes Arthur’s foot with his own. « Come. » He doesn’t wait for a reply as he walks away once more.

« To where ? » It seems Arthur’s legs have a life of their own, he doesn’t even think about it. He just follows. Their steps synchronizing right away.

« There is a coffee machine in the resting room of the library. It will be more convenient for you to woe on your life there. »

He sputters « I wasn— »

« Sure you weren’t » Merlin hums and Arthur knows that face well. That Yes-Sire-If-you-say-so-Sire-do-you-need-any-help-to-find-your-braincells-Sire Face makes his whole body relaxes. Merlin is still Merlin. Arthur can live with that, even If Merlin never remembers.

« Don’t you have class »

« Yes but a certain someone messed with my papers »

« They would never have fallen if you had used your binder as it was meant to be used »

« They would never have fallen if you hadn’t ran into me »

« As if you weren’t clumsy enough to trip on air »

Merlin chuckled « I wouldn’t be so sure about that »

Arthur’s heart miss a beat as it draws on him.

…Could it be ?

It was an insane thought. He had supposed that his sister had it in this new life too (or at least make Arthur believe she had it) because of her knowledge of her past. The odd of being a magic user where already so rare, less than 1 in a thousand. What where the odd of being one in two lifetime ?

« Magic can’t always save you, Myrddin »

Merlin seems quite surprised that Arthur pieced it together so rapidly, his demeanor becomes suddenly wary but then he throws a look at him. Whatever he sees there makes him smile, it pierce his heart with how familiar it’s. How long had it been since Merlin smiled at him like that ? « I wouldn’t mind it, you know »

« What ? »

« To hear you woe on your sorrow » his voice turn into a whisper as he opens the door of the library.

« Oh, and » Merlin grins at him as he comes closer and bloody wink at him «  It’s a date »

[to be continued…]

Well, my « Merlin is the King Regent of Camelot when Arthur come back to life » fic just hit 18,5 k of words. Making it the longest fic I ever wrote 😭

SOMEONE COME SAVE ME. THIS BETTER NOT HIT THE 30K WHAT THE FUCK.

[legoshi-plz]

Study Date ( Legoshi x Reader)

Summary: Late night study date with Legoshi and he can not keep his hands to himself. College! Legoshi x Fem!Wolf!Reader

Warning: Smut (NSFW +18)

A/N: No one asked for this but this has been sitting in my drafts for waaay too long. Hope you all enjoy 💕

/////////

“Do you think this essay is too short?” You asked your boyfriend who was currently zoned out.

“Huh?”

“I asked if you think my essay is too short? The max amount of pages was five but I don’t want three and a half to come off as lazy,” you mumbled. You waited for Legoshi’s input which never came.

“Earth to Legoshi, what it up with you?” You snapped your fingers which seemed to bring him out of his daze.

“Oh, uh, sorry it’s just....”

“Just..... what?”

“You’re..... you’re really pretty... have I- have I ever told you that?” he asked in a breathless tone and you felt your heart throb at his words.

“Yes, many many times, Legoshi,” you giggled, reaching up to scratch behind his ears. His tail began to wag in delight which in turn caused your tail to swivel in reciprocated joy.

“I honestly don’t know what I did to deserve you,” Legoshi sighed, pulling you into his lap. The two of you were previously sitting side by side at your bedroom desk in an attempt to get some homework done but a certain grey wolf found it hard to concentrate on anything that wasn’t you at the moment.

“The essay, Legoshi...,” you whined but making no move to get up from his lap.

“Right, sorry. I- uh, I actually think it could be a bit longer,” he murmured into your shoulder, claws gently stroking your thighs.

“I knew I should have added another paragraph before the conclusion, it was reading way too rushed at the en-” you squeaked in surprise as Legoshi’s hand found their way up the him of your oversized T-shirt and into your panties, rubbing slow circles around your clit.

“Legoshi I’m trying to finish my essay,” you were struggling to bite back a moan, your body immediately responding to his.

“Then finish it, stay focused,” His voice was gruff and you could tell he had already switched into ‘Male’ mode.

There was a time at the beginning of your relationship when Legoshi was afraid to touch you in fear of hurting you. He was nervous about his own sexual (which was actually pretty nonsexual) history with small mammals and felt nervous about being with his own kind. He felt like he was inadequate in a way because he didn’t have the first clue on how to pleasure female canine. But that time had long since passed as he quickly became an expert in your body through experience. Lots and lots of hands-on experience with none other than yours truly.

“Legoshi, can’t this wait? I really need to get some work done,” you whined, hoping to disguise the slight moan in your voice. Legoshi’s response was taking your arm that held your pencil and pressing it against your paper almost a little forcefully.

“Write.” He growled and you felt your spine tingle in excitement.

You and Legoshi had had many conversations about his strength and how he didn’t have to hold back with you the same way he would with a small mammal. Initially he was mortified at the idea of exhibiting his strength to anyone, especially his girlfriend, but after testing the waters for an almost torturous amount of time, he eventually slipped into comfortability which slowly morphed into something else.

He began to crave those moments he could allow himself to feel you unrestrained, without the constant pressure of holding back looming over him. With you, he could finally just feel (and be felt) for the first time, no guilt attached. He finally understood why people placed such a high importance on being with your own kind. Where he originally thought it was meant to be a means of confinement, he soon discovered it actually opened up a whole new realm of freedom he could have never imagined.

You were whimpering in his lap as he began to finger you purposefully. You held your pencil in a death grip while he plunged his thick digits inside you at a vigorous pace. Despite never vocally confirming it, Legoshi was actually quite proud of his agility with his hands. It’d taken him a while to get to this point where he was confident enough that he could pleasure you so roughly without hurting you with his claws. He was cautious of every single movement yet he made it look, and most importantly feel, effortless.

“Le-Legoshi please, I can’t take it,” you moaned as you squirmed uncontrollably in his lap. Your cunt was an absolute sopping mess as your arousal gushed all over his fingers and onto his thighs. Legoshi’s mouth watered at the sight.

“Stay still for me, you’re almost there and I really wanna help you cum,” Legoshi breathed into the fur of your neck, his senses going into overdrive at the scent of your raging hormones. He was struggling to keep focus on helping you achieve your orgasm with his own straining member screaming for attention while you were practically bouncing in his lap.

Legoshi grabbed your tail by its underside, a motion he knew you couldn’t resist, and was rewarded by your wanton cries as you finally gave into your own release. The pencil in your hand snapped in two but you hardly noticed anything that wasn’t Legoshi’s fingers inside you.

“Good girl. I think you deserve a break for that,” Legoshi lifted you up and tossed you unceremoniously on your bed before grabbing you by your calves to tug you closer to him.

Legoshi practically ripped your panties off of you while you tugged off your shirt. He paused looking down at you sprawled before him. It was a sight he didn’t think he would ever get tired of no matter how many times he saw it.

“Hey! This is no time for dawdling, Furball,” you teased tugging at his sweatpants.

“Well excuse me for being mesmerized by my beautiful girlfriend,” Legoshi began to strip and your eyes never once left him. He took pride in the fact you were just as mesmerized by his own physique.

When he finally freed his weeping member from the confines of his boxers, he didn’t miss the way you bit your lip. He knew his size was pretty intimidating even now after all this time but he also knew you could take it and, more importantly, he would take care of you to make sure it didn’t hurt.

Legoshi pumped himself as he ran his tip between your soaking lips, allowing your arousal to coat him. He then began to ease into you, humming at the snug tightness surrounding him. Every time he entered you he knew that you had to be made for him, that wolves were made for each other. There was no unbearable pain or discomfort that came with him trying to force (or, in the case of his ex-girlfriend, be forced) his member into an anatomy that was simply too small to take him.

You had never tried to force him to do anything he didn’t want to do. You were patient and allowed him to set the pace for the sexual relationship the two of you had. Though initially hesitant, Legoshi’s wolf hormones would not let this hesitancy stand for long. He craved you, craved being inside you, in a way he never had with a Herbivore or anyone else actually. There was something about being with you that called to him in the most primal way and that was a call he was always happy to answer.

Once he was completely inside of you, he had to try and calm himself down. He wanted to go wild with you but not yet, not when you looked this beautiful beneath him. He wanted to savor that look for as long as he could before he fucked you into a sweaty mess.

“Legoshi~,” you cooed, running your nails through the tender fur of his lower abdomen. You knew he was especially sensitive there and he shivered at your touch, hips bucking into you automatically.

“Sorry, I just- I could look at you all day,” Legoshi lamented, grinding into you slowly. Your hips met his with you own frantic rhythm, a clear indication you were way too wired for such a slow pace.

“I know, baby, I know but I need you right now,” you mewled and Legoshi felt his spine tingle in desire.

“What do you need from me? I gotta hear you say it,” Legoshi asked in a husky tone as he dragged his claws through the fur of your thighs.

“I need you to fuck me, Legoshi,” you purred and that was all the confirmation he needed.

Legoshi pulled out slightly before sinking back in, putting most of his weight on you. He thought it odd at first when you told him you loved when he would lay on you fully during sex. ‘I just feel like we’re so much closer when you do it. And it doesn’t hurt at all,’ you had assured him multiple times and though it was nice to not have to worry about accidentally crushing you, Legoshi was still cautious of himself.

Legoshi fucked into you relentlessly, his pace becoming more frenzied as he neared his completion. You were in absolute bliss as your drenched cut began to tighten around him. Legoshi grit his teeth, determined to outlast you.

“Le-Legoshi I’m right there, shit I’m so close,” you wailed, your hips gyrating frantically as you sought your release. Legoshi continued to pound into you, his length repeatedly brushing against your cervix. The thought of filling your womb with his litter was too much and sent him toppling over the edge. He removed himself before his knot had a chance to lock into place but not before he filled you with his cum.

“No, not yet! I’m right there baby!” You yelped, grabbing at his sides trying to pull him back in.

“It’s alright, Y/N, I’ve got you. You know I’ll take care of you,” Legoshi panted, bringing his fingers to your entrance. He fingerfucked you vehemently through his cum as he watched you come undone before him, your claws sinking into his back while you rode out your release.

When you finally opened your eyes again you noticed Legoshi staring at you as if you hung the stars and the moon. He crawled on top of you to hover above you, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Have I told you-”

“Yes, many times.” You answered for him, already knowing what he would say. Legoshi chuckled, bringing his lips to your own softer ones.

Legoshi knew he complemented your beauty a lot but he felt he had to, both as a side effect of his own guilt and as a reminder to how lucky he was to have you. When he first met you, he was unintentionally put off by your beauty. He could barely even bring himself to look at you, let alone talk to you beyond cordial acknowledgment if you spoke to him. He was almost downright rude to you, completely uncharacteristic for him. Yet a few talks with Gouhin led him to the ultimate conclusion he’d been avoiding this entire time.

His mother was a beautiful wolf and she left him, leading to his own subconscious mind resenting beautiful wolves. It’s why despite him and Juno being so right for each other on paper, he could never imagine himself as anything more than her friend. And Juno’s beauty didn’t even hold a candle to your own.

So he finally sat down, began working through his issues with his own species instead of working around it and finally gained the courage to apologize to you properly. Which led to him finally being able to see you as a person, a person he couldn’t stop thinking about. A person that he couldn’t stay away from even if he tried.

“What’s on your mind?” You asked softly, stroking his fur as he laid on top of you, seemingly zoned out for a moment.

“You, as always,” Legoshi hummed in content, nuzzling your neck.

“I’ve still got a essay to write, remember,” you cooed, making no move to get up.

“I thought you finished already,”

“Oh I finished alright, just not the essay,” you giggled, and Legoshi groaned at your pun.

Yeah, he was definitely lucky to have you.

[i-will-physically-fight-you]

Till The Sun Is in the Sky Fanfic

Title: Till The Sun is in the Sky Fanfic

Summary: Roman is a genie who has granted wishes for over a millennia. The only reason he’d be eager to serve his next master is for a chance to briefly escape the lamp’s darkness. Not for a chance at freedom--for that’s just wishful thinking and he knows what that all entails.

Or at least that’s his assumption until he meets Patton, the newest master of his lamp.

Pairing: platonic royality

Word-Count: 3.9k

Warnings: Crying, Fear, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending

This set in the same ‘verse as When the Blazing Sun Is Gone but you don’t need to read that fic to understand this one. @delimeful requested seeing Roman’s/Logan’s role in the AU as part of my follower milestone celebration and so I went with Roman. Also huge thanks to @stillebesat who beta-read two different drafts of this fic and offered valuable input, I appreciate it! <3

-

He didn't know how long it had been since his last Master had thrown the lamp into the sea. It didn't matter really. Minutes, years, centuries...it didn't. Because he knew his next master would be the same as the last six hundred. Selfish, full of empty promises of freedom that never came to pass. 

No, the only reason why he would ever be eager to come out of the lamp to serve his six hundredth and one master would be for those precious moments to get out of the darkness.

Some of his more inquisitive masters would ask him what it felt like to have one’s soul crammed into a lamp.

He always laughed it off and made a joke about how it made for a great napping place.

But the truth was far from it. He knew it was silly, but he feared the darkness. He feared its loneliness, feared no one would ever find his lamp again and he’d be stuck there forever. 

He never told them how many times he uselessly fought against the magic barriers, hoping beyond hope to find a defect in the spell that bound him there. He didn’t tell them how much he feared them being the last master he ever had—not because they freed him but because his lamp never found another master to serve. Worse yet, his lamp shattering.

His soul was bound to the lamp and if it broke--then his soul would split into a thousand pieces along with it. Suffice to say, it was not a happy fate and not something happy to dwell on.

So he sang instead. His voice filling up the lamp, bouncing all around him. He could pretend someone was with him, that way, singing alongside him. He sang the few songs he knew and then some. He made up songs, even, about anything his mind could dwell on. He was halfway through singing about a gallant knight when a pair of hands made contact with the lamp.

 A new master; both relief and trepidation hit him at once. Relief that he’d be free from the darkness once more. Trepidation in knowing that it was only a fleeting temporary respite from it.

That was quite alright. After all, his new master was probably someone in great need of his assistance—they always were. The lamp magic sought out those who were plagued by horrible life circumstances. He would be the knight in shining armor to them, like he’d been to many others before.

For that was his true purpose in life and not freedom. That was just wishful thinking—and he knew all of what that entailed.

With a shroud of red mist, he rose up in front of his new master. All of which was entirely for the sheer dramatics of it. He enjoyed putting on a good show and the adrenaline that came along with it.

“Greetings!” He boomed, waving his arms around in a grand gesture, “I am a great and powerful genie—and I am here to make all your dreams come true!”

The human gawked at him, slack-jawed. His brown eyes bulged from behind his glasses, much like a cartoon character. There was a crack in one of the glasses’ lenses and upon closer look, the glasses appeared to be practically held together by tape. 

The man’s clothing appeared to be in a similar disheveled state—unraveling hems, holes in his shoes, scuff marks. The cardigan tied around his neck looked hardly wearable. Lying at the man’s feet was a blue backpack that the genie wouldn’t doubt contained all of his worldly belongings.

The lamp sought out the unfortunate and if there was one constant in any century, it was poverty.

“You’re…really a genie?” The human asked, pressing his eyebrows together.

“In the flesh.” The Genie winked.

He was well aware of what a fine specimen he was to behold. Flowing locks of russet hair, eyes that glimmered like emeralds, a voluptuous figure. Clothed in only the finest cloth that the eleventh century had to offer. Centuries of existence in the lamp had not diminished his beauty in the slightest.

If there was one thing he could take pleasure in, it was the awe humans gave him before they decided demanding for wishes. It usually lasted for only about five seconds. But during those five seconds, he could pretend that they were actually ecstatic to see him.

“What’s your name?”

He startled at those words.

“Pardon?” He asked, tilting his head backwards.

The last thing the Genie had been expecting, was those words to come out of his mouth. No one ever bothered to ask for his name. It was as though they assumed their wish-granting cosmic vending machine had no name. Or was indeed a living being with thoughts and feelings for that matter. They always started demanding rules and stipulations for their wishes as fast as they could.

“I’m sorry!” The human cried, wringing his hands together, “that was rude of me to ask without introducing myself first.”

He held out a hand, beaming, “I’m Patton! What’s your name?”

“I…” He stared down at the man’s hand, “My name?”

“Oh,” Patton’s eyes widened, “do you not have a name?”

The Genie looked away. He did once have a name, long ago before he inhabited the lamp. He couldn’t remember it. A strained, lilted laugh broke from his lips, not assuaging Patton’s concerns in the slightest.

How could he forget his own name? Names were important—special. Names had power. Names were a person’s identity. How could he let that damn lamp take something so precious away from him? It’d already taken everything else away—what more could it take? 

“I can’t seem to recall it,” He shook his head, before desperately trying to change the subject, “But enough about my fabulous self! I’m here to grant you not one, not two, but three! Three wishes of immeasurable power! Say the magic word, and I’ll spin your dreams into reality.”

He expected Patton to forget the name nonsense entirely at the mention of wishes. Surely, the man had unfulfilled desires—everyone always possessed those. Instead, the man slowly shook his head.

“I can help you find a new name, if you’d like.” He offered, a smile softly framing his face.

The Genie blinked, “You wish to give me a new name?”

He could not make heads nor tails of this strange human. He scarcely knew Patton for a single minute, but his aura oozed nothing but positivity. Still, it was an odd waste of a wish, if you asked him. He’d hate to see someone so good and in need of his cosmic help squander a wish like that.

“No,” Patton said, laughing, “I want to help you find a new name.”

Patton sat down on the beach, the lamp by his side. The human looked up at him and patted the space next to him. Reluctantly, the Genie joined him.

“How does the name Daniel sound to you?” Patton asked.

Daniel. One of his more unpleasant masters went by that name. The genie made a face before shaking his head.

“That’s okay! What about Philip then?”

“Phiiiilip…” He drew out the consonants, testing how they felt against the roof of his mouth, “What do you think, dear Patton? Do I look like a Philip to you?”

“Well, you’re very princely-looking, and I’d say Philip is a very princely name!” The man giggled, “but as long as you love it—I’ll love it as well!”

The Genie hesitated. As much as he liked the name—it didn’t quite scream him. It didn’t encompass his whole being. Philip felt as tight and constraining as his lamp. The genie could lie and tell Patton he liked it just to move on from this whole naming business. His purpose here was supposed to be focused on the wish-bearer and not him, the wish-granter.

However, as he looked upon Patton’s earnest gaze he found himself unable to lie to him.

“I am afraid that I’m not entirely in love with the idea of Philip.” He admittedly with a great sigh.

“That’s alright! We just gotta keep trying then!” Patton declared, undeterred.

He continued listing off names, but none of them seemed to satisfy the Genie. The latter of whom grew despondent that they’d never find the perfect name. There were millions of names in the world, yet none of them appealed to him. He voiced this to Patton, who refused to give up hope that easily and urged him to keep trying.

“Hmm…oh! What about Roman?” Patton asked, “I knew a guy back in high school named Roman. He did theatre.”

Something sparked within the hollow cavity of the Genie’s chest.

“Theatre? As in acting out a story in front of an audience?” The Genie asked, his eyes lit bright with wonder.

He’d never seen a play before. His masters never bothered taking him to events like that. Instead he’d remain in their household, his lamp sitting on a shelf or hidden in a cabinet. Like a jar of quarters to use on a rainy day. He could only manifest within twenty-five yards around his lamp, leaving him unable to sneak off and enjoy something like a theatre show.

But what little he heard of them reminded him greatly of the bards of his time. They used to travel all over, singing sweetly in poetic verse of great heroes and terrifying monsters. He’d always loved watching a bard perform. He almost ran off and became a bard himself before he ended up stuck inside the lamp.

“Yup! He played Lumiere in our production of Beauty and the Beast.”

The names of the character and story were unfamiliar to him. But the Genie could tell by Patton’s phrasing that it had been an important role.

“Roo-man,” He tried, liking how it sounded on his lips, “Roman, Roman, Romaaaaaaaaaaan!”

Patton giggled as the Genie held out the name for as long as he could.

Roman. It was bold, it was brash, it was perfect. Not too snug, not too loose—it fit him just right.

“Well then,” He said, clearing his throat, “I’d be honored to go by the name of such a great bard!”

“I’m happy to hear that!” Patton beamed, “We should go celebrate!”

The human stood up, stuffing the lamp into his backpack in the process. He offered a hand towards the Genie—or rather Roman.

“Celebrate?” Roman questioned, as he accepted Patton’s hand, “Don’t you want your three wishes—"

“That can wait for later,” Patton said as he pulled Roman onto his feet with ease, “what’s important right now is celebrating your new name—with ice cream! I know just the place!”

“Forgive me for asking, but what is ice cream?”

“You don’t know what ice cream is?” Patton gasped, a determined look settling onto his features, “we’ll definitely have to fix that!”

He took hold of Roman’s hand—and marched towards the direction of the ice cream stand. Roman, bemused by the human, laughed as he allowed himself to be tugged along by Patton. He didn’t know why Patton was so concerned about his wellbeing but he found it a nice change from the norm.

Patton chattered along the way, mainly about ice cream and puns relating to the icy dessert and to other things.

“What did the popsicle say to his sonsicle in a crowd?” Patton asked, already snickering at his own joke.

“What?”

“He said, stick with me kid!” Patton burst into a fit of giggles, and Roman followed suit. Admittedly a lot of the contextual humor of Patton’s puns were lost on him but there was something contagious about Patton’s cheery disposition. You couldn’t help but want to laugh along and feel about a bit of that happiness glow in your lungs. 

For those brief seconds of laughter, Roman felt human again. He’d have to treasure this feeling--coveting it once he inevitably ended up in the darkness of the lamp once more.

The sun set in the horizon as they reached their destination; a brilliant splash of crimson red with streaks of golden orange and lilac purple. There were a few customers already in line at the ice cream stand. Cheery music blared. Where, Roman had no clue. He could not see a band nearby. Perhaps it was magic?

“Hey um,” Patton said, ducking his head a bit, “mind if we split a bowl? I’ll let you pick out the flavor. You should go with vanilla—it’s a classic! But, uh you can get whatever you’d like!”

“Patton…” Roman frowned, “I could wish into existence a whole ice cream shop of your own if you truly wanted it. You don’t have to waste money on me.”

“No, I don’t have to,” Patton said with a determined glint in his eyes, “But I want to.”

Roman gawked at him, stunned. What was this human? People normally expected genies to do things for them, not the other way around! When it came time to order, Roman merely pointed to the vanilla as Patton had suggested.

There were tables set up next to the ice cream stand where customers could consume their ice cream. But Patton shook his head, telling Roman he knew a much better place.

“It’s a place my friend Virgil and I like to visit,” Patton said, “It’s nice and quiet, unlike most of the city. The noise can be too much sometimes, y’know?”

This peaceful location happened to be a bench in the middle of a park. Trees gracefully arched over it, dressed in the beginnings of autumn colors. Orange, yellow, red. A warm glowing yellow light emanated from the lamppost beside the bench. 

“You can have the first taste of the ice cream,” Patton told him as they settled onto the bench. Roman obliged him, dipping his spoon a little in the white substance and bringing it to his mouth. He blinked. It was colder than he expected. But not unpleasantly so. It was a smooth, sweet texture.

“What do you think?” Patton asked, practically bouncing in his seat.

“It’s--it’s absolutely divine!” Roman exclaimed, his eyes flickered down to the ice cream, “May I…?”

“Of course!” Patton grinned. Roman took another spoonful, savoring the taste longer this time. They took turns finishing it off as they continued to converse.

Roman wasn’t used to talking. Sure, he talked plenty over the centuries, but his conversations with his masters revolved strictly around wish-granting. Mundane conversations about the weather were anything but mundane to the genie. 

“What’s your favorite animal?” Patton asked, swinging his legs back and forth in a careless manner.

“Dogs—they are lovable, loyal creatures and mankind is undeserving of their affections.” Roman declared.

“Dogs are my favorite too!” Patton giggled, “Oh! And so are cats, horses, lizards, lions and tigers and bears—oh my! Elephants, giraffes, hippos—”

“So all of them are your favorite, I take it?”

“I guess you could say that,” Patton sheepishly grinned, “I wanted to be a veterinarian be—before—”

The human inhaled shakily, the smile slipping off his face. Instead of continuing, he stared down into the mostly empty plastic ice cream bowl. Something obviously happened in Patton’s past that upset him. It wasn’t Roman’s place to pry—but it didn’t mean he couldn’t help in the only way he knew best; magic. In all his centuries as a genie, he’s never met anyone deserving of it than Patton.

The man had been the first in a long while to treat Roman like his thoughts and feelings actually mattered. Like the genie was actually...human. 

“You could still be a veterinarian, if you so badly wished,” Roman spoke softly, “Your every wish is my command.”

Patton flinched, looking more distressed than comforted by Roman’s words.

“Roman please, I can’t do that—”

“Why not?” Roman said, “you are my master—you can make any wish you’ve ever desired.”

“Roman, I’m not your master.” Patton choked.

“Of course you are,” Roman tilted his head, “you are the keeper of my lamp. What else would you be?”

“A friend?” Patton suggested, “Roman, please I don’t want to force you to do anything you don’t want to do.”

“This is different,” Roman said fervently, grasping hold of Patton’s hands, “this I offer to you freely for you are the most worthy keeper of my lamp. You must have unfulfilled desires, something, anything I can grant.”

Patton stared at Roman, his face void of expression. Several times he opened his mouth before abruptly closing it. As if thinking better of what he was about to say. 

“Please.” Roman pressed further.

His heart rattled against his chest, wanting badly to escape its cage as he did with his lamp. Like the latter, it was a pointless venture. As long as his lamp remained intact so would his soul. Unless of course it shattered, and with it his soul into a thousand pieces. His psyche splintered and fractured, too broken to put back together again. Like Humpty Dumpty except worse for it was a living death, one inescapable. Yet it was a fate that was inevitable and also something he shouldn’t be dwelling on at the moment.

“There is…” Patton hesitated, “one desire I have.” 

“Say it,” Roman said as he bowed his head, not daring to look at the human, “Speak it into existence and it shall be yours.”

It was going to hurt, he knew this. The genie wasn’t the true wish-granter, all the magic they possessed came from the lamp itself. The magic only used his form as a mere conduit. Because that was all a genie was—a damn puppet to his masters’ wills.

Roman brought this curse upon himself—he wanted immeasurable power and he attained it. Except, it was never his will to wield such power. Nay, only his masters possessed it. Only their wishes and not his would be granted. It’d be this way forever and ever, because everyone always cared about their happy endings and not his own.

Even Patton, once he saw the immeasurable power that surged forth from even the simplest of wishes. Roman wouldn’t blame him for it. The human has already given him more than what he’s ever deserved. 

Patton squeezed Roman’s hands. It took every ounce of Roman’s willpower not to sneak a glance up at him. He had to remain strong for whatever wish Patton threw at him. In the short time he’d spent with Patton, he didn’t get off the vibe of a frivolous wisher. He dealt with plenty of those over the years. Ones who used the wishes in willy-nilly ways, without any forethought behind them. 

No, he’d probably be practical. He’d wish for money, or perhaps a mistake in the past to be reversed. Those were always tricky ones. They didn’t always end in the way humans believed they would.

“Roman,” Patton began, “I wish to free you, the genie, from your lamp.”

The genie leapt off the bench as if electrocuted, hands clumsily detangling themselves from Patton’s own. The lamp’s magic roared in his ears, swelling inside him like a great storm. He gaped at the human, his heart bursting out of his chest and into his throat.

“P-patton, mind repeating that?” He gasped.

“I wish to free you the genie from your lamp.” Patton said once more, his voice firm and unbreaking.

This time he couldn’t hold off the wish. A bright red light enveloped him like a supernova explosion. Magic consumed him, rippling through every fiber of his being. A warmth fell across him, one that he hadn’t felt in a long, long while. A great shattering noise occurred. The light died down as he looked to see the lamp had spilled out of Patton’s pack, glittering underneath the lamppost, in pieces. 

Breath heaving, he fell to his knees, touching the pieces. The lamp had broken and he was still here, whole and complete and free.

“Why?” He stared down at the broken lamp, quivering, “I--I don’t understand. You had three wishes. You could’ve had so much—all the wealth and fame you could ever desire!”

“But I didn’t want that,” Patton protested, resting a hand on Roman’s shoulder, “not if it came from a wish you were involuntarily bound to serve no matter what. That isn’t fair. Everyone deserves the freedom of choice. Including you.”

Roman laughed. Except it wasn’t quite a laugh. More of a strangled, gargled croak than anything else. He pressed his hands into his face, shutting his eyes as he tried to block out the dizzying nausea sweeping through him.

After six-hundred masters and a millennia inside the lamp, Roman knew a lot about the freedom of choice. His masters employed it with how they chose to use his wishes. Flaunting it so arrogantly in his face. The wishes were self-serving for most. Sometimes they used it to better others’ situations. But never his own, despite many promising to free him. Because at the end of that third wish, they’d walk away while he’d once more get trapped inside the lamp.

Over and over again, they chose to not free him. Except Patton. He chose to free Roman on his very first wish. For as long as he’d dreamt of this moment, of being free from the lamp, he never expected it to actually happen. It was just a foolish fantasy, too abstract to become reality. Not to mention in this manner. He had imagined a master would free him after he’d proven himself worthy with a great feat of magic. How could Patton think he was deserving of this gift?

He laughed weirdly again. This time it hurt his vocal chords.

“Roman?” Patton asked.

He responded with a noise, halfway resembling a hiccup and a shriek. A gentle set of arms enveloped him, pulling him closer until his forehead rested against a warm chest. A hug? Was Patton hugging him? 

“It’s okay, kiddo,” Patton murmured, ruffling a hand through his hair, “let it all out.”

Kiddo. Roman wanted to snort. He was a millennia older than Patton, he wasn’t exactly a child. Except at those words, he bawled like one as he realized that those were sobs from before. Not laughter. Roman couldn’t remember the last time he cried. Just like he couldn’t remember a time before being a genie.

Who was he, without the lamp? For as much as he hated it, it’d been a part of him. It defined him and the purpose of his existence. Now he was free of it, free to be his own person, with his own wishes and desires. But he didn’t know the first step of what that looked like.

 It was like he was thrown into a raging ocean of confusion and turmoil. Treading aimlessly, desperately hoping for a piece of driftwood to grab a hold on. Something that could anchor him, keep him afloat. 

“P-patton--” He whispers, voice hoarse from crying, “can I--can I choose to be your friend?”

The human had suggested it earlier. Surely, he meant it still? It was quiet for a few seconds. Enough to cause Roman to doubt himself. But then the man who unbelievably granted him his freedom hugged him tighter.

“Of course, Roman,” Patton told him, “I’d be honored.”

With a sniffle, Roman’s hands fell from his face as he threw his arms around Patton to fiercely return the embrace. A few more ugly sobs wracked his throat. How was it that Patton was the one honored to be his friend when it was the opposite? 

Roman hardly knew what being free looked like. But he did know he’d do anything to protect Patton, to preserve this kind, selfless spark that rested in the human’s soul.

As he dwelt encircled by Patton’s loving arms, the last slivers of the sun’s glow faded at last, dousing them in darkness. But for once, he didn’t find himself afraid of it.

[ffangirlingsince2001]

End of the Tunnel: VIII

Description: It’s almost been a year since Freed Weasley was lost to the Battle of Hogwarts, and for George Weasley it might as well be an eternity. He is lost in the dark, no color to be found. Until suddenly there might be a light at the end of the tunnel.

Warnings: ANGST, self deprecation, language

A/N: Hey, if you enjoy this series, please be a doll and vote on what you want my next series to be here. Descriptions of the five options available are there and I want to write what the people want to read. Thank you for all your support!

MASTERLIST

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George though that making it through May 2nd meant he was home free. He thought he was better, he thought that with Hannah by his side he was unstoppable. He had come to terms with being what you might call friends with Draco fucking Malfoy. He was on top of the world, and he was sure nothing could pull him down.

He was so fucking sure, until the anniversary of Fred’s funeral.

He woke up to an empty bed, Hannah had gone to work early, leaving a draft in her place. The one morning when he was sure he needed her more than anything else, she was gone. He shouldn’t blame her; she didn’t know the day. They had both been so sure that the storm had passed after May 2nd.

With a great effort he rolled over and groaned. He told himself he should get up and go to work, but he couldn’t bear it. His body ached and his heart was heavy. He could imagine the funeral, the number of people that patted him on the shoulder and the pity they had all offered him. He hadn’t wanted any of their pity, he had just wanted his brother back. While he hadn’t shed any tears that day, when they lowered him into the ground his whole world had shattered.

The world was ending all over again.

He couldn’t believe he hadn’t talked to Fred’s painting at the event. He knew it wouldn’t be the same, and he had been a bit distracted by other matters at hand, but that was the problem wasn’t it. He was distracted from his own brother, his best friend, and the one person who had really understood him.

When Ron had first attacked him, he had been indignant, sure that being friends with Malfoy was important to overcoming the prejudices that had been formed long before he was born, but now he wasn’t so sure.

What would Fred think? Would he agree or would he be just as angry as Ron had been? The pit in his stomach sunk lower. Not only that but he was dating a girl, who Malfoy would have wanted to kill little over a year ago. Was Ron, right? Had George pinned the execution notice to her door and led her to the guillotine. He might as well pull the rope too, clap with the crowd while her blood stained the sidewalk.

NO! He would never, he wasn’t, he couldn’t. She had been friends with him first, and she had been fine long before he showed up, amazing even. They had lived together, she had helped him, and he had helped her. If Malfoy had wanted to kill her, he would have done it long before George came along. She was safe, he would protect her before he would ever hurt her.

George allowed himself to relax a little through the sadness, but then sorrow turned to rage as an evil thought wriggled its way into his mind.

Had she loved him? Malfoy said he loved Sloane, but had she just been an accident along the way of a different tragic love story? Malfoy had killed for her, would he do that for someone he didn’t love in return? Had they ever drifted around each other while cleaning up late at night, fingers ghosted as they washed and dried the mugs? Had their eyes met and then had she let him kiss her? His mind drifted further and before he could put a stop to it, he could picture them in bed, rolling around beneath sheets while she made noises that he had once felt lucky enough to hold privately within his memory.

She would have told him.

He sat up, slamming his fist into the wall as he stalked towards the bathroom. He had reinstalled the mirror a few weeks ago, but now it seemed like a foolish idea. Fred was staring back at him, so disappointed George threw up in the sink. Wiping his lips, he returned his gaze to the exhausted looking face in the mirror. If he imagined an ear where the was none and put on a big smile it would have been the same picture they used at the funeral.

“What am I doing?” he muttered but no response came. “Fred, what the fuck am I doing?” he screamed but no response came. He yelled again, slamming his hands against the porcelain of the sink, knuckles turning white as he held it for support. With a sudden thrash of his body he punched the mirror. It shattered and his hand was bleeding, not that he could feel any of the wounds. It was so difficult to notice trivial things like pain when anger was so overpowering.

It felt wrong to be so angry, so lonely and numb when everywhere he turned there was love. He was loved by so many, but when only silence mixed with his heavy breathing, he had never felt more alone. Pain grabbed his heart and squeezed until he found himself sitting on the cold floor of the bathroom, drowning in thoughts that would have seemed impossible the night before. The disappointment Fred would feel, the sound of Malfoy and Hannah interlocked in something he couldn’t understand, and the overwhelming loneliness that seemed to be sitting on his chest.  

And that’s where he remained until later that evening when Hannah opened the door. By the time she returned he had rehearsed, and rewritten, and scrapped everything he wanted to say. Fear had accused, but love had sacked the idea. Now all he was left with was anger, about both things that he couldn’t control and things that he was not sure had even happened.

“George?” she called, and he stalked out of the bathroom, fists clenched by his side. She hadn’t seen him yet, her head in the fridge as she put away the few groceries she had picked up after work. He tried to collect his thoughts, to decide what to say before she noticed him, but he wasn’t fast enough. “Oh George, you look awful are you alright? Did something happen at work?”

“Did you ever shag Malfoy?” She flinched away as if he had slapped her, eyes wide at the accusation. He can’t believe those were the words that had managed to push through everything he was feeling. A fleeting thought hours ago, and that’s what he greeted her with.

“Excuse me?” He was going to apologize, but that’s not what he ended up saying.

“You heard me. Did you ever shag Draco fucking Malfoy?”

“No, I never shagged Draco. And I never will shag Draco. Where is this coming from?” she approached him but he jerked away. That seemed to hurt her more than the accusation. “Are you okay?”

“No, I’m not fucking okay.”

“Come here, let me help you,” she pleaded, hand outstretched in front of her. He pushed it away, turning to stare at the wall. “George, please.” She rested her hand against his back, words soft and comforting, and rational George wanted to fall into her arms. Rational George was begging to cry and let her lead him to bed. Rational George fought tooth and nail against what happened next, but angry George easily tossed him to the side as he turned around, malice in his eyes.

“Stop trying to be him,” he yelled but she only looked confused.

“Who?”

“Fred.”

“I’m not trying to be,” she replied, and she wasn’t but that didn’t stop him from laughing maliciously as he advanced, fists by his side.

“You’ll never be as good as him.”

“I’m not trying to be,” she screamed in response, tears streaming down her face.

“You’re just someone to make me feel loved, but you can’t even manage that can you?”

“How can you say that?” she cried, vigorously wiping away tears as she tried to remain strong.

“Because it’s true. You’re never here when I need you, for all I know you’re out with Malfoy, wishing you were Sloane while I’m stuck at home waiting for you.” It was all bullshit, he didn’t believe a word that came out of his mouth, but that didn’t stop him from continuing. “And I’m sick of waiting.”

“What are you saying?” she managed through the tears. Rational George screamed one more time, begging him to apologize but the wrong words were already out of his mouth.

“I’m telling you to get out.” The world stopped, and while it had felt like it was ending earlier that morning, it seemed that was only a ruse. She burst into tears, falling to her knees in front of him. Rational George begged him to hold her, but he only watched stoically. He was so angry at the world that he couldn’t bring himself to fight for her, especially when he was the enemy he was trying to defend her from.

“George-.”

“I said, get out,” he growled and with heavy steps she dragged herself away like a kicked puppy. She glanced over her shoulder one more time as she pulled open the door. A final plea rested on her tongue, but she couldn’t bring herself to beg when he was staring at her so coldly. He had never been so cold, always warmth, but it was hard to remember she had ever felt heat from him when he was staring at her like that. So, instead of begging, instead of crying, instead of refusing to leave she took the dreaded step into the hallway.

“You know where to find me.” And then the door clicked shut. He stared at him, heavy breathing the only thing that filled the room as her sobs slowly disappeared from earshot. Then, the room turned into a rampage.

He flipped the table, allowing the remaining groceries to fly across the room and crumble into small heaps against the wall. Rational George and angry George worked as one as they mourned their loss. He flipped chairs, their legs burying into the drywall before falling to the ground with a clatter.

He swiped dishes from the counter and to the floor, not even bothering to wait for the satisfaction of hearing them shatter against the floor. He ripped a cabinet from the wall and hurled it away. He marched towards the bathroom and ripped the shelf from the wall. Products fell to the floor, shattering upon impact. The nails left holes in the wall, but they paled in comparison to the one his fist left as he screamed.

He marched towards the door. He was going to go after her. He was going to pull her into his arms and beg for forgiveness. He was going to, no force on the earth could stop him, except the wave of self-hatred that washed over him the moment he touched the doorknob.

Why would she want him back?

He had thrown her out without an ounce of remorse, accused her of sleeping with a friend without proof, and told her she would never be enough. No one in their right mind would take him back. If he was her he would never want to see him again.

His hand fell from the door and he fell to his bed, eyes squeezed shut. Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes as he lay there, half in bed, half out. He was no better than he had been that morning, sad and wishing that the love of his life was laying beside him.