#grave plot in the middle of the path

[beebsboard]

another wip until i get my paws on life and death... unsure about the color scheme but loving blue and white for willow creek

[ambiguous-avery]

When He Slides In...

Dean Winchester x fem!Reader/You | WC: 2768

Summary: ...And says “Fuck, I missed you.” After a hookup with the (in)famous Dean Winchester, you figured that would be the end of it. Too bad you could never seem to get him out of your mind. People always told you that you got attached too easily. And they were right. You were just another notch in his belt. He couldn’t possibly remember you...

Tags/Warnings: Smut 18+ MDNI, no use of Y/N, she/her pronouns, femme nicknames (sweetheart, pretty girl), reader is AFAB, oral (f receiving), P in V sex, PWP (Plot? What plot?), pining, pure filth because I have no chill, no beta we die like men

A/N: This has been sitting in my drafts for far too long. This was the title of an audio I listened to, and the line lives in my head rent-free. Plus I figured this would be a great birthday gift for our one and only boy!

The first time you met the Winchesters – and subsequently ended up beneath the eldest – was when you had called for some back up with a vampire nest you had found in a rural town in South Dakota. It was a routine hunt, but the nest had taken up residence on a farm with far too many places to be ambushed from. Thankfully, there was enough practiced experience between the three of you that the hunt only left you with several bruised ribs, Dean with a too-close-for-comfort almost bite, and Sam with a bloody gash cutting across his cheek. All in all, it could’ve been much worse. You had joined the two of them at a bar in town, eager to take a well-deserved moment of reprieve. And you left the bar with Dean. Just Dean.

After you parted ways, you fully accepted that it would be a one night stand, and your paths would never cross again.

Fate had different plans for you.

It was a standard haunted house case that pulled you to a small town in the middle of bumfuck, Iowa. Something something father killed his family when he was discovered having an affair before turning the weapon onto himself. And now he was killing other cheaters in the town. You’d have been tempted to leave him be – was he really doing harm by getting rid of those kinds of people? – if it weren’t for the fact that he would go after the affair partner as well who wasn’t always aware of just who they had gotten in bed with. It was a cut and dry case. Except you couldn’t find where the damn body had been buried, so you were having a hell of a time salting and burning the bones. The extended family had been so ashamed of what their son had done that they had buried him in an unmarked grave on the outskirts of town. 

You had just about hit the end of your rope when two very familiar Winchester boys rolled into town in a sleek Impala that purred like a kitten. And there he was. The one and only Dean Winchester, all swagger and bravado, and fuck, had he gotten hotter? Seriously, God hadn’t played around when chiseling him from marble.

“Hey, sweetheart, long time no see.” He grinned at you, his voice rumbling. 

Leave it to the grave-desecration-brothers to pinpoint where the cheater had been buried. It took several hours in the library pouring over a convoluted family tree before the three of you eventually found a living descendant and another hour talking with her and convincing her to let you guys go through old family books she had stored in her attic. Cheater’s sister happened to jot down which grave was his in her diary. Bleeding heart saved the day. You had ‘cheers’ed to that before knocking back your beer and excusing yourself from the bar with Dean in tow. 

Despite the long span of time you had spent apart, Dean was still familiar to you. The way his lips felt as he kissed you. The way your body seemed to slot against his just right. You couldn’t forget how he felt. Not when every touch of his had seared your skin and left imprints in its wake. Dean had ruined you for anyone else. Because he didn’t just leave his marks on your body. He had carved out a piece of your heart and taken it, leaving a hole in it that ached with every beat. Dean was a heartbreaker, and you were just another name on a long list of casualties. But you were on that list, and you lied to yourself, convinced yourself that it was good enough for you. 

“Dean,” you sighed against his lips, looking up at him through half-lidded eyes.

“Glad you didn’t forget me, sweetheart,” he said quietly, kissing you again. You could never forget him. Could never forget the way his hands felt as they teased at the hem of your shirt before sliding up your side. Could never forget the scent of leather and bourbon and cedar that encompassed him. Could never forget the way he looked at you and you let yourself believe just for a fleeting moment that maybe, maybe, you were something more than a hookup in his eyes. Dean’s touch was a flame, and he was going to kindle your entire world to ashes. And as long as he kept looking at you like that, you would let him. Over and over and over again. 

He trailed kisses along your cheek, across your jaw, and further down the side of your neck. His lips left your skin just long enough to slide your shirt over your head and make quick work of the clasp of your bra. He sucked a bruise just below your collarbone then soothed it with his tongue before dipping lower. Dean was attentive, leaving no part of you physically untouched but all of you still wanting. His nose dragged between the valley of your breasts, leaving another mark there. 

“You’re gorgeous; I hope you know that, sweetheart,” he murmured, and your response died in your throat as he sucked a nipple into his mouth, toying with it with his tongue.

There was so much you couldn’t say. Couldn’t tell him how much more you wanted from him. It was silly. You barely knew him in the bedroom and even less outside of it. But there was an undeniable spark between the two of you that you couldn’t shake. An unspoken pull. Something that kept the two of you in the other’s orbit. You were doubtful Dean felt it. It was just you and your silly little heart looking for anything to quell the loneliness that threatened to consume you. 

Dean moved lower, deftly ridding you of the last of your clothing so you were bare for him. And then his mouth was on you, stubble scratching lightly, and all thoughts were wiped from your mind in an instant. His fingers dug into your thighs, all lips and tongue on your clit and folds and fu-uck. You carded your fingers in his short hair, nails scratching against his scalp. He groaned, a low and guttural sound that sent vibrations through your core, and your answering cry was breathless, fingers scrabbling for purchase on his head or the bed sheets or anywhere. The sigh you let out when he slid a finger in you must’ve unraveled some of his self control because a second one joined it none too soon. He curled them, and your back arched.

 If you could form coherent thoughts, you might have had the wherewithal to wonder about when or where or how he learned his talents. But such wasn’t the case as everything tightened. Your tension collapsed into a litany of moans and gasps, and Dean was a solid presence between your legs. He was a maestro, and you were his instrument. He plucked at your strings until you came shuddering around his fingers, your nails biting into his skin. He coaxed you through your release, gently sucking and keeping a steadying hand on your leg. Your head fell back against the pillow, chest heaving. There were too many words that threatened to be the next to spill from you, so instead, you pulled Dean up by the hair and put every word you wanted to say to him in a kiss. It was deep and longing and you tried so hard to tell him just how lucky you felt that you got him for the night with it. If that’s all you ever got of him, it would be enough. It wouldn’t really, but you could delude yourself long enough to convince him.

He met your passion, one hand tangling in your locks and the other slipping beneath you to press against your lower back to provide counterpressure as he rolled his hips against yours. Your jaw went slack as you felt the length of him pressed against you, hot and heavy and hard beneath his jeans. You tugged at his shirt, desperate to get more skin to skin contact. Gasoline coursed through your veins, and if Dean didn’t set you ablaze this very instant, you were sure you would spontaneously combust. Thankfully, Dean was a smart man. He picked up on your desperate plea and stripped out of his shirt before briefly standing up to strip out of the rest of his clothes. 

As he looked down at you, his green eyes met yours, and you could see him searching for something. Acceptance? Approval? Adoration? All three? You’d give him all of those. Whatever it was, you could only hope that he found it as you looked up at him, sprawled out on the bed and propped up on your elbows. You took your time taking him in. The cut of his jaw. The broad expanse of his shoulders. The tattoo that sat just above his left pec. Your gaze dropped lower, and you couldn’t help but bite your lower lip before dragging your eyes back up to his again.

“Are you waiting for an invitation?” you ask, a sly smile tugging at the edge of your lips.

Dean pounced. He yanked you into a kiss, messy and primal, crushing you into the bed with his weight. You responded in kind by dragging your nails down the length of his back, needing to leave a mark of your own on him so maybe he’d remember you for more than a fleeting night. Dean groaned low in his throat, the sound ringing in your ears. There were no barriers left between you two, and you arched your body up into his, looking for all the contact you could possibly find. His hand dropped down to your ass and pulled you against him, his cock frotting against the junction of your hip. You raked your fingers in his hair and pulled it, pressing your mouth to the side of his neck and biting and sucking there until Dean was cursing under his breath.

“Hold on, sweetheart,” Dean bit out. You released him, eyes locked onto the angry red mark you had left. He fumbled with his discarded pants for a brief moment before pulling a condom from the pocket. 

“Smart man... smarter than me." 

It was good that he had his wits about him because you were more than ready to throw caution to the wind. You were a hunter. You risked your life every day. What was one more risk? You knew you’d be thankful when your brain wasn’t drowning in lust, though. He rolled the condom over himself before kneeling between your legs again. He grabbed the backs of your knees and spread your legs wide, lifting your ass off the bed before settling it on his thighs. Dean took a moment to guide his cock into place. His gaze met yours again, waiting and pleading. You gave him a subtle nod.

Dean rolled his hips, sinking into you with slow thrusts. You audibly sighed as he bottomed out.

“Fuck, I missed you.” He said your name, reverent and sincere. He said your name. Not sweetheart. Not baby. Not some nickname he probably used to mask the fact that he forgot the name of the woman under him. Your name. You whimpered.

“Dean... I missed you too,” you admitted. But he didn’t understand the depths of your words. He couldn’t. He kept a hand on your knee, keeping you splayed open for him. You braced a hand on the headboard and turned your face aside, biting the knuckle of one of your fingers and panting into it.

“No, no, pretty girl. Keep your eyes on me,” he said, leaning forward to grab your chin and guide your eyes back to him. The shift caused him to sink just a little deeper into you. You squeaked when your eyes met green ones. There, behind the lust and desire, there was Dean. And for a moment, you could see the vulnerability there. The lonely man who wanted to be needed. Needed to be wanted. 

“Move, Dean. I need you.”

And that’s all it took. Dean surrendered to what felt good and snapped his hips, pounding into you, thrilling at the way you moaned and moved with him and accepted every aggressive stroke like you were made for it. He lowered his body and leaned forward onto his hands so he could drive himself deeper into you. His hands found yours, and you entwined your fingers with his. He pinned you to the mattress, caging you beneath him. You shouted in response, your legs clenching against Dean’s sides and the drag of his cock setting every nerve alight. 

“There you go, pretty girl. You can take it. You can take me. I know you can.” His words were fuel for the inferno that threatened to devour you. You were trembling. Aching. He was the musician; your body was the instrument. You were a violin string. You were tuned too tight. You were breaking.

Your groans and cries turned to fervent whimpers, and you fought against his hold as your release danced just beyond your reach. Your eyes fluttered shut, and Dean clicked his tongue, commanding your attention. You stared up at him, eyes wide and bright, drinking in the sight of him as though it would be your last.

“Please,” you begged. Your voice sounded so utterly wrecked in your own ears, but you didn’t care. You had abandoned your dignity long ago. “Dean, please. Need more.”

“I’ve got you, sweetheart.” He let go of one of your hands, and his thumb found your clit, drawing tight circles around it. “Come on, pretty girl. Need you to come on my cock.” His breaths mingled with yours, and your answering cry was high and thready as you lost yourself in him. Your voice, so needy and desperate, must’ve been enough to be Dean’s undoing because the hand holding yours tightened as he rutted into you until he came in hot, throbbing pulses that sucked the energy out of the rest of his body. You clenched around him, and he let out a strangled groan as his whole body shuddered above you.

He pressed his forehead against yours, brushing stray hairs out of your face with his free hand. His other still clasped yours tightly, fingers still laced together. You leaned up to kiss him, and your lips met in a tender way. An unburdened, unhurried kiss. A kiss for the sake of kissing.  You could’ve stayed like that forever, but all too soon, Dean broke the kiss and peeled himself off of you, his hand leaving yours. He stood, moving to discard the condom before grabbing a towel from the bathroom. You sat up, watching his retreating back and taking pride in the red lines your nails had left in their wake. You could only hope he would remember you.

When he returned with a damp washcloth, he coaxed you back against the pillow as he wiped the sweat from your brow, muttering sweet nothings all the while. There was silence between you for a long while, and you realized too late that your time with him was coming to an end. He had set you aflame, and now you would have to find a way to rebuild. But you’d do it all again if Dean asked it of you. But when he spoke, you hadn’t expected the words that came out of his mouth.

“Do you maybe wanna... you know... stay?” he asked quietly. “For the night,” he added. You swallowed.

“Um... isn’t Sam due back sometime... soon?” Why were you making excuses? This opportunity didn’t even show up in your dreams. Dean wet his lips, not quite meeting your gaze.

“Well... not to be presumptuous or anything... but I might have told him to get his own room for the night.”

“Oh.” Oh. He had planned on you staying with him? You were done for. 

“Yeah... Uh, nevermind. You don’t have to. You’ve probably got somewhere better–”

“I’d love to stay,” you blurted out. “With you,” you clarified, as if it weren’t obvious. The smile that split across Dean’s face was blinding, and it became your new life’s mission to do whatever it took to see it directed your way time and time again.

“How about I order us some food? We can watch a movie and cuddle?” And really, you were only human. A request like that from Dean Winchester was as easy to fulfill as breathing.

---

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[dragons-and-dwarves-are-nice]

The Grim Reaper's Guide to Breaking Every Rule of the Universe /// Chapter 1

I just want to say thank you so much to everyone who showed love towards the prologue and the memes I made, I've ended up gaining more followers in the last week than I have in the last couple years lol. Unfortunately Alastor isn't going to make an appearance for at least two chapters, but I hope you like what I've written so far. Enjoy!

Summary: When touring America for the sake of it, you go to stay with your aunt in New Orleans for a while, taking up a peaceful part-time job restoring objects. But a few weeks in, a package arrives containing an old radio that's seen better days, along with a note seemingly written by someone who thinks they could fist-fight the Devil.

What you didn't know, was the hell of a path that was now set out in front of you. Not fist-fighting the Devil, but instead a very smug radio host who would have no problem spending the rest of his days driving you up the walls.

But two could play that game.

Tags: Demiromantic-Asexual Alastor x Demiromantic-Asexual OC/Reader - 1920s/30s New Orleans - fluff - angst - EXTREME slow burn - crack - Violence (It's Alastor what else)

Word Count: 5278

Warnings: Period-typical racism and sexism, Period-typical attitudes towards neurodivergency. MC'S RACE IS DEFINED DUE TO PLOT REASONS (also because she is based off my OC)

Taglist - comment or message to be added!

Now available on Wattpad and AO3 (please let me know if links aren't working)

< Prologue // Chapter 1 // Chapter 2 >

PART 1: Chapter 1

Congrats! You're Adopted

Impluvius (Definition): Soaked with rain. (Adjective)

New Orleans, Louisiana, USA – Tuesday, 11th June, 1929.

Arriving on your Aunt’s doorstep soaked to the bone in the middle of a hurricane was the last thing on your list of ‘crazy crap that could happen’. But alas, here you were, shivering and seething as you hauled your trunks up the steps to the front door. You were lucky enough that the area was only being battered by the edge of the storm, allowing you to find a sleeper train that was still willing to run from Montgomery to New Orleans, but it had left you in a sour mood when they had revoked their food services, because damn you were in the mood for a simple ham and cheese sandwich. And the mood only had to sour further when you found yourself standing outside the station for a good fifteen minutes waiting for a driver whilst you and your belongings were drowned by the ongoing summer downpour. Sure, you were used to the torrential downpour of the Yorkshire moors, where there were more wet days than dry, but you were prepared for that, not for the barbarous battering of the 70mph winds that forced you to stuff your useless hat away, leaving the once neat updo of hair that you had meticulously styled that morning to whip you in the eye whenever a gale flew past.

And, as if the gods had something out for you, the taxi that pulled up decided it would be hilarious to speed to a stop in the middle of the giant puddle that had accumulated next to the pavement, sending out a small wave that reached your ankles, soaking your frilly socks and favourite patterned heeled oxford shoes that your mother had gifted on your 18th birthday.

“Oh for Christ’s sake.” You hissed to yourself, lifting your foot to inspect the leather. The driver was lucky that they were already three years old, otherwise you would’ve given him a glare deathly enough to send him to an early grave. Or so you hoped.

Thankfully, the driver didn’t pay you much attention, clearly too tired for small talk, simply asking for an address. Though he had paused when you spoke, turning to eye you up and down where you were cramped uncomfortably between your luggage in the back seat, grunting out a “You English?”, to which you nodded, muttering that you were visiting your aunt. The drive was silent after that, the only sound being the loud sputtering engine and the rain that pounded against the windshield. Minutes passed and you were quickly outside the house, which led to now: trembling in your boots, rapping your knuckle against the green wooden door with wet hair clinging to your face and eyebags that could rival a chronic insomniac.

It wasn’t long until the sound of locks clicking and unlatching reached your ears, and the door creaked open, an eye peeking through the gap. After it landed on you, it quickly swung open, revealing your Aunt Agnes in a nightgown and robe, with an oil lantern in hand. At the sight of her, you gave a half-wave and shaky smile.

She gasped your name. “Oh, there you are my lovely! I thought you got lost in the storm!” Realising the state you were in, she hurriedly placed the lantern on the hallway cabinet, rushing out to help you haul your luggage in. “I was so worried your train had been cancelled by the hurricane. Here, get yourself out the cold – you can put your coat to dry by the fire.” She handed you your leather duffel bag before crouching down and lugging the largest trunk into her arms with a grunt. Making sure everything was in the hallway, she went to close the door, though you didn’t miss the wary scan she took of the street, or the diligent focus of making sure every lock and chain was in place. The wariness soon disappeared, however, as she spun around to face with a grin, her thick braid of long, brown hair whipping over her shoulder.

Giggling as she bounded over, she wrapped you up in a strong hug, and you reciprocated with matching eagerness, but also trying your best not to cringe at the squelching noises your waterlogged coat made. 

“It’s so nice to see you!” You said exhausted as you released her, teeth still chattering from the chill. “The rooves were practically coming off in Montgomery, so I’m surprised they were willing to keep the trains running.”

“Well there’s no need to worry about that any more, you’re here now! Come, I must get you warmed up.” she asserted warmly, leading you with a hand rubbing against your back, down the hallway into the kitchen. Rummaging through a wicker basket, she pulled out a spare nightgown. “Go see if your spare underwear is dry, then head to the bathroom across the hall and change into this. I’ll go make you some warm milk and honey.”

Thanking her, you quickly made your way into the living room where your belongings had been left, unlatching the clasps of the trunk to reveal your damp clothing. Luckily, there was some underwear in the middle that had not yet been affected, so you grabbed them and returned to the hallway to try and find the bathroom.

After several failed attempts of opening the wrong doors, you finally came across the bathroom, eagerly shedding yourself of your dripping wet layers, welcoming the warmth of the soft, dry underwear and ivory coloured nightgown. Returning to the living room, you dumped your wet clothes on your trunk, before walking around the sofa. Planting your behind in the armchair closest to the fire, you melted into the cushions with a relieved sigh, sticking your feet out in front of the flames to try and get some feeling back in your toes.

It wasn’t long before the clinking from the kitchen ceased, and your Aunt came back through, meticulously balancing a wooden tray with two large steaming mugs sat on top. Placing them down, she handed you the one covered in purple flowers. Thanking her, you instantly took a sip, letting the sweet honey and heated milk warm your insides as you watched your aunt take a seat in her own well-loved armchair.

“Sooo,” she began with a knowing grin whilst tossing you a crocheted blanket. “How’s America been so far for you?”

You scrunched your face in thought. “…Surprisingly not as bad as I thought. I think Great-Auntie Beatrice had influenced my opinion a bit too much growing up.”

Agnes rolled her eyes. “A bit?? That old woman has despised the country since that American lad up and left her back in the 1870’s.”

You snorted over your mug. “Well, she certainly has taught me to not raise my expectations about the place, but, I’ve got to say it has allowed me to be more impressed by what I see – especially the Appalachian mountains, they’ve definitely got a unique charm to them. Thank you, by the way, for letting me use your cabin up there.”

She waved you off. “Oh, it’s no problem, really. I would give you the place if the twins weren’t so keen on going up there.”

“Speaking of the twins, how are the three of you doing?” you asked.

Agnes let a weary smile cross her face. “We’re doing better, now anyways. The twins had some issues when starting school here – starting fresh at 16 in a completely different country certainly has its cons. It’s died down now, but in the first few months they were followed home by some kids who would taunt them for the way they spoke. Hell,” she laughed in disbelief. “they even had a teacher who thought they were Scottish for the first three weeks until I came in for a meeting about their grades and spent ten minutes explaining to her that not everyone in England speaks the same way as those pompous Londoners who squeal at the slightest bit of mud on their shoes.”

“What?!!” you guffawed, trying to stifle a laugh. “Please tell me they at least beat some of the kids up.”

“I wish.” Agnes sighed, sinking back in her chair. “But I don’t want anymore attention on them than they already have. Anything else and those kids will go looking for dirt on them and the last thing I want is for them to find out who their father is.”

You looked up at her in surprise. “You don’t??” you asked, perplexed.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Agnes said sternly. “I loved their father to the ends of the universe and back, but the two of them being mixed English-Japanese will garner the wrong type of attention here. God forbid, if it gets out their mum’s a pagan witch it’ll be the end of peace!” She vented, throwing her arms up in frustration.

You pondered her words for a moment. “But I thought New Orleans was considered a safer place for things like witchcraft? Isn’t voodoo a popular religion and practice here?”

“It is, but it’s still kept more on the down-low. When you have a religion originating from a place like Africa, white Christians can get reeeaallll iffy about it, and it’s no different here – I believe there’s laws in place against parts of the practice.” She explained. “But it doesn’t stop them from keeping their shops open. Our neighbour Neliah runs a gorgeous corner shop near the outskirts – I can’t and won’t practice voodoo, but I do treat myself with a visit whenever I need new herbs, I could literally fall asleep in there with the lovely way it smells.” You smiled at the way she seemed to get lost in thought, though she quickly snapped herself out of it. “But anyway! How’s my sister doing? How did Emmett react with the news?”

You startled slightly at the sudden change. “Yea, mum’s actually doing alright. Dad… took a while to get his head around what was going on, you know, when he found her Grimoire and spell books, and the fact that we’d been hiding it from him for years, but he’s surprisingly calmed down about it. They still go to church, to keep up their reputation and all that, but he’s letting her hang up protection wards around the house, he even got involved with casting a spell with us at one point, even though he had no clue what he was doing the whole time.” You snorted, memories of your father’s wide eyes as he watched your mother wave a stick of incense around him, reminding you of the time when you were around six, you had returned from the forest by your house, covered in mud and brandishing stick-swords, declaring yourself as the deer queen as you dragged a shedded antler you had found among the moss through the back door – the look on your father’s face when he walked in from work to see you tying pink ribbons along the muddy, moss-covered bone was priceless.

Agnes let out a chortle, before sipping at her drink, her expression shifting slightly to one of mild concern. “And uh, how did they react when you were – ah – found out?”

Right, the whole reason you were here in the first place. “Not the greatest.” You said dejectedly. “Mum was distraught when they said they were thinking of taking me away – calling them every name under the sun the second they said ‘asylum’. So when dad suggested coming here, she jumped at the chance, but was crying the whole drive to the docks. I gave them an itinerary of where I was going to be and when, and they’ve been using it to send me letters and gifts, but it’s been hard being fully alone for the first time in my life.” You sank into your chair, tears building in your eyes the longer you spoke.

Agnes looked you up and down, her eyes filled with sorrow for you. “Well,” she began softly, standing up to approach you with a gentle hand on your shoulder. “you're not alone anymore, so you can forget about those stupid government officials and your, uh,” she squinted her eyes in confusion. “what do they call it?”

“Over action of the mind.” You forced out with a huff. “They don’t have an official name for it, but me being fidgety and forgetful is enough for them to call me insane apparently.”

She held her hand out for you to take, which you did, allowing her to pull you up. She said your name sternly. “You are not insane. You’re the loveliest, most intelligent girl I know – especially considering the amount of books you’ve read in your 21 years.” You gave her a small smile as thanks. “Now, I’ve readied your bedroom for you. It’s a little bare, but you're staying a while so I’ve left it to be up to your imagination, and with how fast your mind goes a minute, I’m sure you’ll make it the most fantastical and extravagant room in New Orleans.” She explained as she helped you pick up your luggage, leading you through the hallway and up the stairs.

Walking down the main upper hallway, you followed her down a second one to the left, until you came to a stop on the first door on the left side. Lowering her voice to a whisper, Agnes gestured to the door on the left further down. “That’s the bathroom. I’ve moved the boys’ stuff out and given them the second one across the main hall so you can have it to yourself.” She then gestured to the two doors on the right side of the hall, with a sign hanging on each, though the candlelight was too dim to make out the words. “That’s their bedrooms, so I’m afraid you’ll have to prepare for some loud wake-up calls.” She said with an amused smile.

Opening the first door on the left, she led you into a spacey room, that was, as described, quite bare, with only a four-poster bed pushed into the top-right corner, a dark, polished set of drawers and matching wardrobe facing the bed on the opposite wall, along with a familiar -looking changing screen in the bottom left corner decorated with storks flying above a Japanese landscape – you recognised it as one of the wedding gifts your uncle had gifted your aunt sixteen years ago. In the top left corner by the large open window was a vanity with clawed feet, holding up a large, ornate oval mirror, a cushioned stool pushed under it. Next to it was another door that led to the balcony. Nearer to the bedroom door was a large roll top desk, covered in drawers, shelves and pigeon holes, though the only object present was a small typewriter tucked under one of the shelves.

Excitement filling you, you strode across the room to the bed, the feeling of the fluffy rug under your feet a welcoming sign. Placing your trunk and bag down as gracefully as you could, you spun around to face your aunt with a wide grin on your face. “This is amazing!” you gasped quietly, mindful of the two other sleeping residents. “You didn’t have to give me all this.”

“Of course I did!” Agnes exclaimed, walking over to give you another hug. “Did you forget your mother and I practically lived and raised you and the twins together until just a year ago? I’m treating the three of you as equals until the day I die.”

Looking down at her, you observed the slight wrinkles appearing under her eyes, and the dark rings accompanying them that hadn’t been there the last time you saw her back when she still lived in York. Sighing, you stepped back. “I know.” You agreed warmly. “And thank you, for everything you’ve done so far.”

She ruffled the top of your head, your long strands of hair still clumped together with rain water and the clips you had failed to pin it back with. “Anything for you. Now get some sleep, it’s past midnight and the boys will be giving you the earliest and loudest wake-up call once they figure out you’re here.”

You agreed, bidding your aunt goodnight before taking the candle she left for you over to the vanity, where you spent the next ten minutes trying your best to find every pin and clip in your damp hair, then tediously trying to brush it smooth enough to then twist into a loose braid. You also quickly took out your belongings that were wet, hanging them over the screen and the drying rack you had found in the wardrobe. Satisfied you collapsed onto the double bed, bouncing slightly on the plush mattress. Burying yourself under the covers, you blew the candle out, bathing the room in darkness, and using the rain outside as white noise, you slowly drifted off, mentally preparing yourself for the twins when they would come to wake you up.

Oh, and wake you up they did.

New Orleans, Louisiana, USA – Wednesday, 12th June, 1929.

You were barely able to pull your heavy eyelids apart when the door in the far corner swung open, the door handle hitting the wall with a resounding ‘BANG!’, followed by a very loud “BOYS!!”, echoing through the house.

That wasn’t the end of it though. You had barely begun to turn over at the sound of several pairs of heavy footsteps bounding across the wooden floorboards, when two very heavy weights crashed on top of you, causing your eyes to fly open as the wind was knocked out of you.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!?!” you screeched, flailing about as much as you could until your arms were free, reaching over the covers to shove at the two long figure sprawled across you.

Loud giggling filled your ears, and you looked over your duvet to find two familiar identical-looking faces, with matching cheshire grins, peering over at you mischievously from where they laid across your body. Groaning, you flopped back down, choosing instead to stare at the forest green drapes strung across the poster bed. Though it was soon replaced by two mops of loose, curly hair as they peeked over the edge at you, one dark brown-almost black, the other a pale blonde. You were thankful of their opposite hair colour, because the only way you would’ve been able to tell them apart otherwise would be with the different freckles and moles dotted across their pale faces.

“Mum said you came in looking like a soggy rat last night.” Teased Allie, reaching out to prod at your cheek with a snicker.

Your own hand shot out, shoving his blonde head away. “Did not.” You responded groggily, as you tried to shove his twin off the other side of you. “Now get your fat arses off of me.”

They gasped in mock offence, immediately plopping themselves back on top of you, both reaching to poke and prod at your face. “You said a bad word ~” Ollie chimed in a sing-song voice, kicking his legs behind him playfully as he tried to shove a finger in your ear. Slapping them both away, you prepared for another onslaught, until determined footsteps drew closer to your door, and the two of them froze as their mother walked in, a wooden spoon grasped in her hand.

“ODESSEY. ADAGIO. Get off of your cousin before I send you to school WITHOUT breakfast!” She hollered, a thunderous look on her face.

The two of them collectively groaned. “Muuuumm, don’t call us thaaaat.” Whined Ollie, as he took his sweet time slowly rolling over your whole body before sliding off the bed to stand next to his equally grumpy brother. You followed not long after, sitting up at the edge to watch the ordeal with a smug smile.

“Call you what?! Your real names?! Well then, you better get yourselves downstairs!” she exclaimed, pointing at the door with the wooden spoon.

Reluctantly, they complied, but that didn’t stop Allie from poking his tongue out as he disappeared through the doorway, narrowly missing a swing from his mother’s spoon. Facing your aunt, you finally noticed that she was already up and dressed for work, donning a cream blouse with a blue ribbon tied around the neck, along with a matching blue maxi pencil skirt that reached just above her ankles. Her hair was meticulously styled in an updo similar to the one you had yesterday, her chestnut brown hair twisted back in swirls that ended in a loose low bun, with some strands neatly framing her face. She approached you, the short heels of her shoes muffled by the rug.

“Morning! Breakfast is ready.” She explained with a smile that you returned. “Freshen yourself up and come meet us downstairs, ok?” You agreed, and she disappeared back downstairs.

Rummaging through you clothes that were now thankfully dry, you opted for a loose blouse, and a pair of wide-legged tweed trousers, taking them to the bathroom. Slipping a leather belt through the loops, you quickly wet your hair over the bath, scrubbing in some shampoo and conditioner before rinsing it out and rubbing a towel over the strands until it was no longer dripping. Happy with the light makeup you applied, you headed back downstairs, running a hand through the wet tangles until you reached the dining table.

“I see what mum meant by soggy rat.” You turned to see Allie smirking over the table as you sat down in front of a plate full of English breakfast.

“I’ll turn you into a soggy rat.” You muttered back, stuffing half a hash-brown into your mouth, whilst simultaneously trying not to sigh in relief after not eating for at least 24 hours.

“OoOoh shiver me timbers!” he mocked back, waving his hands in mock fright.

Ollie’s tall figure appeared as he walked over from the kitchen - bacon, eggs, hash-browns and baked beans piled excessively onto his plate. “Mum told us you were going to be staying in our cabin up in the mountains.” He said as he sat down. “Did you like the gift we left?” he said with a grin half lopsided by the food he was shoving in his mouth.

You glared up at them from your plate. “Yes. The excessive amount of fake cockroaches in the bathroom was a very welcomed surprise. Odessey.”

The grin on your cousin’s face fell into a pout at the use of his full name. Letting out a prolonged grunt, he returned to his breakfast.

“Besides,” you started. “It’s not like I’m the only one suffering here. Apparently you’re both Scottish now.”

The two of them let out a collective groan, slumping in their seats.

“It’s not our fault Miss Sammie has less intelligence than a hamster.” Whined Allie as he stabbed an egg with his fork. “She thought Japan was part of China the other day!”

You let out a sharp laugh. “I hope that doesn’t reflect on your learning, or your mum will end up with steam coming out her ears.” You snickered.

“Thankfully it doesn’t.” replied Ollie, rolling his grey eyes as he stuck a whole wad of bacon in his mouth, making sure to not get any grease on his uniform. “Otherwise we’d be begging mum to move us back to England.”

“Speaking of moving, how are you guys finding it here?” you asked, hoping the answers were positive.

“Meh, it’s been alright.” Said Allie with a shrug. “The alligators are cool, but apparently we’re not allowed to wrestle them, which is soooo boring.”

“And the summers are shit. Nothing but heatwaves.” Ollie added.

“Well that’s what you get when you’re used to living in the North-East of England, where one of the nearest land masses is Norway.” You pointed out. “Plus English summers can be unbelievably humid, so I’m not sure what you’re whining about.”

“Oho, just you wait until July hits, then you’ll eat your words.” He retorted. “Hurricane season can be a bitch, too.”

“Don’t remind me.” You groaned. “I barely experienced the tail-end of one last night and it almost killed me.”

The two cackled at you, much to your annoyance, but is was cut short at the sound of your name being called. Looking up, you watched as your aunt poked her head around the doorway, the handset of a rotary phone pressed between her ear and shoulder, beckoning you over with an eager look, before disappearing back into the hallway. Quickly, you got up, marching round the table. Turning the corner, you watched as she ended the call. “Yes, yes. Thank you so much Mr LeBlanc, I’ll call you back as soon as I can. Yes – buh-bye now. Bye.”

Placing the phone back on its metal cradle, she whirled around to face you, excitement prominent on her features. “Sooo, that was Mr LeBlanc on the phone…” she proclaimed, eyeing you with a growing smile.

All you could do was stare in confusion, silence filling the wood-panelled hallway. Agnes darted her wide eyes between you and the phone, clearly waiting in anticipation for your reaction, but you only knew two things about New Orleans: jazz, and that it had a river shaped slightly similar to the London Thames. So you continued to stare.

Seeing that you weren’t going to react, she let out a sigh. “Mr LeBlanc runs Héritage Amour Réparation D’Antiquités on Julia Street down near the Mississippi River, and he’s willing to take you on as an apprentice?” she said as if it was the most obvious thing on Earth.

You blinked. “Wait, you’ve been looking for apprenticeships for me??” You gawked. “Since when??? I don’t think I even mentioned that I would be looking for one in the letters I sent you.”

“Oh, you haven’t.” she assured. “Your mum told me in a letter about a month ago when you were up in New York, so I thought I would speed up the process by looking for one for you.”

You continued to gawk in silence.

“Careful,” smirked Allie from over your shoulder. “You’re gonna catch flies.”

You didn’t even turn to face him as you reached a hand back, ignoring his whine as you smushed it against his face, shoving him back into the dining room.

“You –” you pointed at yourself. “You got me an apprenticeship??” She nodded excitedly. “Jesus Christ Agnes. At this point I’m gonna be indebted to you for the rest of my life!”

She clasped her hands together, throwing her head back as she laughed. “It’s no problem, really. I just want you to get settled in as soon as possible. I told Mr LeBlanc that if you accepted, he’s welcome to come for tea on Friday to meet you, then, if he’s happy, we’ll go for a day out around the city centre, and maybe visit him in his shop during that time. Sound good?”

You blinked repeatedly, trying to wrap your head around what your aunt was saying. “I – uh, yea. That would be great, actually.”

“Great! I’ll give him a call back, and you’ll meet him on Friday.” She proclaimed, satisfied as she picked the phone back up, holding the headset to her ear whilst twisting the numbers into the dial.

Still in a small state of shock, you turned back towards the dining room, slowly making your way back to your seat. Plopping down, you were met with the smug smiles of the twins.

“Looks like you’re gonna have to splurge big time on mum’s birthday. Don’t ’cha think Allie?” said Ollie, turning to his brother with a shit-eating grin.

His brother returned his expression with equal enthusiasm. “Oh yea. I was thinking, perhaps a top of the range Gramophone? I heard they have the new model in down at that shop on Canal Street.” He turned to you. “What do ya think cousin? Ready to serve our mum for the rest of eternity?”

All you could do was flick egg at their foreheads.

——

Friday came running up on you before you even realised, and here you were helping your aunt prepare roasted duck and vegetables whilst simultaneously trying to keep the twins away from the desserts in the icebox – you figured the sneaky buggers knew exactly what creaky floorboards to avoid. When the doorbell rang, Agnes encouraged you to go answer it, so, putting on a smile, you opened the door to welcome in your guest.

Mr LeBlanc was a warm and chirpy type of man: 63 years old with white hair and a matching frizzy moustache and beard, dressed in a smart blue shirt and neatly ironed trousers and slacks. He was around 5’7 – around the average height for men at this time. Sticking his hand out, he gave you a wide smile, and feeling the welcoming aura ride off him in waves, you gladly grasped his outstretched hand with your own.

“Bonne soirée! I do hope I’ve got the right address!” he laughed, his accent a funny mix between French and southern American. You assured that he was at the right place, introducing yourself. “Oh, what a lovely name! I am Ralph LeBlanc, but I’m sure your aunt has already informed you of me.” He said expectantly, voice slightly croaky and hoarse from old age.

Giving him a smile and a nod, you invited him in, bringing him to the dining room where your aunt and cousins were just finishing the preparations for dinner, and you all sat down, tucking into the delicious meal.

The dinner was successful, Ralph happily agreeing to take you on as an apprentice whilst also assisting him with running the repair shop, as he was currently the only one managing it. You had informed him of your history degree, and your school awards in art, and after that he was very eager to agree, almost acting excited when he invited you to come to the shop next Monday for a ‘starter shift’ where he would show you the ropes and make sure you were settled. It was as if the gods switched up on your luck, turning it round from the horrific start you had arriving here, and you weren’t planning on losing this good streak anytime soon.

“Now,” said Mr LeBlanc as he stood putting his coat on by the front door. “Make sure you are wearing something comfy and flexible, preferably pants if you own any, as we don’t want any skirts getting trapped in anything.” You nodded, and he paused for a moment, looking up at you. “Odd question, but how tall are you and your cousins? I don’t think I’ve met many with your heights, especially a woman.”

You glanced at your feet, now conscious of the way you towered over him slightly. “Last time I checked I was 5’9, and the twins are 6 foot. I uh, got it from my dad – he’s 6’1, and they got it from theirs.”

His eyes widened as he puffed his cheeks out. “La vache that’s tall. And did you say the boys were only 16? Wow, I really ain’t trying to make this sound weird but those magazine people would snatch you three up if they knew you were here.”

You laughed shaking your head, albeit nervously at the thought of having your picture taken. Thanking him, you waved him out and said your goodbyes.

Closing the door, you let out a relieved sigh, grateful that the evening was successful, and you retreated back to your room for the evening.

Thought it didn’t stop your excitement for the Monday to come.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I hope you've enjoyed it so far! The ending’s a bit rushed, and Alastor's not going to appear for a couple chapters, but I hope I can make the wait worth it. See you soon for Chapter 2!!

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[vanillablankcanvas]

You have a headcanon/idea for broppy proposal (they both proposed at the same time and it's cute)

But what about other brothers. Did they propose? Were they proposed to? Any ideas?

TROLLS PROPOSING

I keep changing my mind how I picture the Broppy proposal. My post planned out what basically everyone else is doing during, but not really the whole set up for the actual proposal.

Branch and Poppy Proposal

Poppy is hard to surprise.

If he steps one TOE into a jewelry store, the whole village would immediately know what's coming, so he makes the ring himself.

All those invitations he kept? He used them to spell out 'Will You Marry Me?'

And you know as he was actually speaking the words she also pulled out a ring and asked him.

Clay and Viva Proposal

With the Bergens help they moved a bunch of the Hole n Funs buildings to Pop Village.

It left the Hole n Fun practically empty.

Viva knew this was a good plan but it was still a sad sight to see her former home stripped bare.

Clay had a plan.

Clay appreciated the symbolism of 'starting a new chapter'

He organized a campout with all of the PuttPutt Trolls on the last night there.

When Viva wasn't looking, Clay had the PuttPutts take turns leaving the group and arranging the leftover fairy lights.

Later in the evening, the lights were switched on and they formed a path.

Viva followed them to the highest spot on the course, where Clay was waiting for her.

Right at sunset.

He had a very long, carefully worded speech written ready to go but when the time came he was tongue tied.

So Viva asked him. 😏

And boy does Clay love a good plot twist.

And he cried.

All the PuttPutts were like "FINALLY!"

In celebration the PuttPutts threw the biggest, the loudest and the craziest party ever.

John Dory and Sable Proposal

Everyone was joking about it for months.

Clay and Bruce telling Sable to go for the bouquet at Branch and Poppy's wedding and she's like "Awww you guys want to be related to me so badly huh?" "We like you more than John Dory." 😆

Her elderly mother and father are the kind to make jokes about how she's 'not getting any younger' 😑

They were in the middle of an argument when Sable sarcastically said something like "OH, I GUESS WE SHOULD JUST GET MARRIED THEN?!" And JD is like "YEAH WE SHOULD!"

...

JD "Was that an...actual-?"

Sable "I ugh... maybe now's not the best time to be talking about that. John, we're in the middle of an argument."

"I think that makes this the best time."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I don't know if you know this but Trolls like to argue with me a lot."

😑 "You don't say?"

"But for some reason I love when you argue with me the most!"

🥹

JD "I've spend a lot of time alone, waiting for things to happen and I don't wanna do that anymore. No more wasting time."

"When I'm here, with you, I'm not a former pop star or the Kings brother or nothing. I'm just... John Dory and you make me feel like I'm enough."

🥹

"So Sable, wanna maybe go get married?"

"You've rehearsed this haven't you?" 🥹

"I'll tell you when you answer the question." 😏

"You are such a moron but you are my moron. Yes, John Dory I would very much like to marry you."

*Pumps fist* "YES!"

"This does not mean you won our earlier argument."

"Yeah it does! I win! Woo!"

John Dory made their bands out of pieces of her old wooden leg and his leather glove.

Floyd and Boom Proposal

Boom asks Floyd.❤️

He visits Dom's grave to ask permission. 💔

By this point, Branch is officially King of Pop so Boom asks him as well.

He proposed after the last show of a tour, he invited a confused Floyd on stage.

The huge screen on the stage played photos and videos of the two of them.

His brothers were in the front row.

There were a lot of tears. (Floyd)

[tmpestuous]

moth to a flame - five

series masterlist

summary: bucky barnes was the love of your life, and you were his. there was no denying it. but after two years of dating, you found yourselves on different paths and decided it was best to go your separate ways. the only problem was how drawn you’d always be to him even after moving on.

pairing: College!Bucky x Reader

warnings: blackmail, angst (lots of it), awful ex boyfriend, toxic relationships, physical injuries (not reader or Bucky), hints of emotional torture/abuse

word count: 3.3k

a/n: taking quite a wild turn with this story. came up with this twist in the shower… (don’t mention it.)  this is a bit of a filler chapter for plot development’s sake. thank you once again for your patience. i hope you enjoy (: expect a lot more from bucky’s perspective soon!

It’s almost as if you never learned your lesson when it came to avoiding Bucky. He always ended up in the same place as you, always saw you, and, of course, always approached you. 

It didn’t matter if it was in the dining hall, in the library, roaming around campus, the gym, the quad. Anywhere.

It was no different now. You were here at the internship and career fair solely on business, trying to find a research assistant per advice from the company funding your research. Though you’d have no actual choice in who it’d be, the board said it’d be best for you to pick out the candidates to apply.

That’s what you were trying to do. Not to sell yourself short, you’d been somewhat successful with 3 candidates lined up so far. But given your life being nothing short of a whirlwind in the past week, your mind often drifted elsewhere. 

You thought Bucky dating Sharon was the last you’d have to deal with. You wished that was the last of it. He didn’t seem all too thrilled with the decision in the times you’d seen him with her, even after you’d found out the news in front of everyone.

Nonetheless, it was the current truth. But somehow he always sought you out. His glances at you in the middle of a crowd were always soft, as if he was trying to communicate with you telepathically. Your eventual conversations were always cut short. And it had only been a week.

Bucky knew you were avoiding him, and he couldn’t entirely blame you. You were already distraught with Atlas digging your relationship into an early grave and then decided to spring news of his own relationship onto you. The truth of the matter was that Bucky had no idea why he ended up making things official with Sharon. In fact, she was the one who asked him. He was anything but prepared to take things more serious, but he hesitated then accepted to avoid the awkwardness of the situation.

He liked Sharon, but as he seemed to figure with every girl that had crossed his path in the past few months, she wasn’t you. He wished he could tell you that as he saw you in the middle of the gymnasium that he purposely came to find you in, but the universe had no plan for him to do that anytime soon.

You looked different. You felt different. 

It’s only been a week. And what a fucking week it was.

You could barely look Bucky in the eye as he approached the table, eyeing the purpose and hypothesis of your research. 

“Research assistant, huh?” He broke the ice, knowing full and well that the tension between you two was the last thing you wanted to speak about.

“The board wants me to get one,” you responded, avoiding his gaze and settling your eyes on the poster board that held all of your information on it. 

“What do you need to sign up?”

“Bucky…”

“What?” He asked, seeming genuinely curious. “Psychology is still my minor, you know.”

“You’re here for Tony’s dad. You’ve talked about it as long as I can remember.” 

Bucky’s dad may have his own business, but he was never the one to want things handed to him on a silver platter. He wanted to earn an internship, and the Stark internship was something he’d been dreaming of for months. He’d even gotten in Tony’s good graces enough to get a good word in about Bucky to his father. You knew he’d land it.

“Maybe I need a backup plan.”

“You and I both know that isn’t true, Barnes,” you shook your head.

He picked up the pen and filled out his information anyway. 

In all honesty, you knew he’d be the perfect person for this job. He has the grades, the experience, and meets all of the requirements.

But he can’t get this job. You know that.

“Hey, where’d you go?” Bucky asked, his blue eyes scanning your face for answers to a variety of questions running through his mind.

You shook your head. “Nowhere, don’t worry.”

Moving your eyes to avoid his stare again, you landed on Atlas staring right at you from across the gym. Swallowing anxiously, you cleared your throat.

“Um, thanks,” you said. “For signing up. You should go to the Stark table before it fills up.”

Bucky’s facial expression held the most confusion, but you were still looking at Atlas. Turning around, he followed your stare towards him ogling your table and nodded in understanding.

“Right,” he said in defeat. “I’ll see you around. I have to find Pietro anyway.”

You snapped your stare back towards him as he gave you a slight half-smile, one that definitely didn’t reach his eyes before he walked away.  

You expelled a deep breath from your lungs, though now feeling constricted. Atlas was all of a sudden at your table in seconds, but you were trying to avoid the impending anxiety attack creeping up on your throat.

“Don’t make a scene,” he said sternly, earning him an incredulous glare on your face.

“A scene?” You asked in disbelief. “How long are you gonna do this for?”

“However long it takes for you to get a grip of yourself,” he scoffed. “I tell you to leave Barnes alone and you still don’t seem to learn. And now more of your friends are getting too close.”

“What are you talking about, Atlas?”

“You’ll see,” he grinned before also walking away.

This agreement was eating you alive and it had only been 3 days.

Skimming through your recent emails, you furrowed your eyebrows at an unrecognizable one. Opening it curiously, thinking it was most likely spam, all you saw was a video file with an awfully cynical message.

You’ll know what to do when you see this. Make the right decision or else.

Clicking on the file, your eyes widened immediately, muting your laptop before Natasha accidentally heard something she wasn’t supposed to. 

You swear you could feel your heart drop to the seat you were sitting on, seeing a video only you and Atlas were meant to see. You shut your laptop immediately before packing your things to go confront the last person you wanted to see.

“Where are you going in such a hurry?” Natasha asked from the couch, peering up from her phone.

“I forgot something at the library, I’ll be back,” you lied straight to your teeth.

Driving to Atlas’s frat house only stressed you out even more. It was a short drive but to think you had no plan for whatever the fuck you were about to say to him. 

Parking in the driveway, you rushed out of the car and towards the front door, knocking frantically.

Atlas opened the door, looking a bit disheveled like he had woken up barely thirty minutes ago.

“Y/N?” He asked, confused as to why you were on his doorstep.

“Blackmail, Atlas?”

“What?”

“You’re blackmailing me with our-”  You couldn’t even say it out loud, lowering your voice to a whisper. “You’re blackmailing me with our sex tape?”

His eyes widened. “What are you talking about?”

“I got a fucking email with the video that only you and I have. Why are you confused? Did you show someone? Do you fucking hate me that bad that you’d show someone that video and have them blackmail me to get back with you?”

In a matter of seconds, Atlas seemed so sure of himself.

“What did you expect? That I was finally gonna get you laid and not show anyone?”

Your chest started to ache. Atlas wasn’t perfect but he wasn’t cruel. He wouldn’t fuck around and blackmail you over breaking up with him.

Or so you fucking thought.

“You’re lucky I didn’t send it around elsewhere. I wonder how that pretty research board you work under would feel about their newest pupil being so vulgar.”

“You wouldn’t do that,” you shake your head. “Please, Atlas.”

“You know what you need to do, Y/N.”

From that point on, Atlas had you binded. You felt like a big fucking idiot, having lied to Natasha, Wanda, and Steve about everything, telling them you simply had a change of heart.

They could all smell right through your deceit but decided to let it marinate. You were kind of grateful they did, but a part of you wishes they pushed you to confess.

The past three days had you feeling like you were going to implode any damn second. Your anxiety was through the roof, you feel so alone, and the worst part is you have to play through this sick game for your own career. 

What the fuck is wrong with me? You thought to yourself, trying to stifle your cries while taking a quick break in the bathroom. 

After you left the bathroom, you made your way back to the gymnasium, but not before seeing a glimpse of Pietro. You’d hoped Bucky was with him, giving his mention of him earlier, but all you saw was your friend getting pulled somewhere by someone else.

As you were about to investigate, one of the event coordinators mentioned that there were a few interests in your table, meaning your presence was needed.

This day is going to be long.

Bucky had an incessantly short temper. It had only gotten worse as he’d gotten older, but he learned to control it.

Today, however, he was so irritated that you could feel the frustration emanating from his body.

“Should we do something?” Sam asked Steve as they stared at Bucky from a bit down the hallway.

Bucky was trying to get work done, sitting on the floor with his laptop and notebook on the coffee table in the living room. 

“For once in all the years I’ve known him, I have no idea,” Steve answered, crossing his arms.

“He might break his pencil in a few seconds.”

“You know I can hear the both of you, right?” Bucky snapped as he turned his attention to his roommates and best friends.

They both raised their hands in surrender.

“You need to get laid,” Steve said, walking to sit on the couch, Sam following suit.

“I get laid,” Bucky retorted, resulting in laughs from the men behind him. “Sharon’s coming over later anyway.”

“Oh, that’s our cue,” Sam said, standing. Steve did the same shortly after.

“Where are you two going?”

“Somewhere the wench isn’t,” Sam called out as he exited the front door with Steve behind him, leaving Bucky to roll his eyes and finish his work before Sharon got home.

His irritation all day today was a result of the smug look on Atlas’s face today. He didn’t know much about what happened, but Steve had let it slip that you two had broken up. Yet he saw Atlas talk to you at your table, then leave the fair with you when you were free. 

He had no reason to be irritated, but he couldn’t help it. The suspicion was intangibly clawing at his thoughts, consuming his mind that a 20-minute assignment turned into a 3-hour one. He wasn’t jealous. No. He was concerned. You looked… scared, almost. Worried that something was going to play out. Your aura was completely different from any version of you he’d seen in all the two years he knew you. It was an emotion he never provoked from you, so he couldn’t put his tongue on it. 

Bucky hoped Sharon’s presence might alleviate his worry a bit, but he was in every mood but a horny one. Deciding on watching a movie together, the moment was cut short by pounding on the front door.

“That’s not scary at all,” Sharon mentioned as the pounding got louder and the horror movie on the TV didn’t make things any better. Bucky paused the movie, slowly peeking his head out of his bedroom door when the pounding happened again.

“Barnes, I know you’re fucking in there!” 

Bucky recognized Wanda’s voice, rushing to the door. Opening it to see Wanda barely holding up a bloody-faced Pietro, he quickly scrambled to help settle him inside.

“What the fuck happened?” He asked the redhead next to him, who was trying not to cry for the sake of her twin brother.

“I don’t know, I don’t know, he called me and told me he was here. He was looking for you and then I saw him barely conscious on the front stairs and-”

“Okay, okay,” Bucky soothed her rambles. “It’s okay. We need to take him to a hospital. Let me put my shoes and jacket on.”

Wanda shook her head. “He said no hospital.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“No,” Pietro rasped out. “No hospital. Questions.”

“Questions?”

“They ask questions at the hospital,” Wanda elaborates. “He won’t even tell me how this happened.”

“Ice. Bandage.”

“I can go get everything we need,” Wanda stands up.

“Wanda,” Bucky starts before Wanda shakes her head once more.

“He was looking for you. Can you stay with him?” She pleaded with Bucky through her eyes, earning her a nod from him in agreement before she headed out the door once again. 

“Y/N.”

Bucky turned his head towards Pietro. “What?”

“Y/N,” he repeated. “She- she-”

“Hey,” Bucky shushed him. “Relax, okay. I’m gonna get something from the bathroom to clean you up.”

Pietro said your name a few more times. Bucky was confused as to why he kept repeating it, and mixed with his concern for you from earlier, it didn’t sit well in his stomach. He called out for Sharon, who came to the living room, her eyes widening at Pietro’s state on his couch.

“Why do you keep saying her name?”

Pietro’s eyes land on Sharon. “Later.”

Bucky furrows his eyebrows, turning his attention to the very confused blonde standing across from him.

“Can you please get me the first aid kit from the bathroom?”

She nods, rushing back down the hall while Bucky turns his attention to Pietro once more, though his eyes are now closed.

“Pietro,” Bucky taps him, waking him up. “You gotta stay awake for me, alright? I have no idea if you hit your head.”

Pietro shakes his head. “No concussion. Just punches.”

“Still stay awake, alright? Until Wanda gets here.”

Pietro nods.

What a fucking day.

After cleaning most of his injuries and getting him in better shape, Wanda managed to convince Pietro to go to a hospital. 

Bucky accompanied the both of them, sitting in the waiting room while Wanda spoke to a doctor about Pietro’s internal injuries. It wasn’t as bad as they anticipated, but Pietro still wouldn’t fess up to telling anyone who’d want to hurt him so bad to begin with.

Bucky sighed to himself, closing his eyes momentarily before pulling his phone out and texting the one person on his mind.

Hey, are you awake?

It was nearly 1 in the morning, so he was shocked to see you reply so fast.

Y/N: yeah. can’t sleep.

Everything okay?

Y/N: nothing you can fix, bucky.

Ouch. 

Tell me. I’m worried about you.

Y/N: why?

Gut feeling.

Y/N: i’m okay. promise.

You just said I can’t fix the problem?

Y/N: i meant it.

Y/N: i should go to bed. goodnight.

Sighing to himself another time, Bucky texted Natasha.

up?

Nat: why are you texting me at this hour, Barnes?

Is Y/N in her room?

Nat: Nope. She’s at the devil’s place Nat: why? Should I be worried?

I don’t know yet.

Nat: ?

Something’s not right. Just don’t know what Still at the hospital

Nat: does she know?

I don’t know.

Nat: I feel the same

About?

Nat: something not being right. Something’s different Nat: between her and Atlas

Glad we’re on the same page.

Nat: let’s talk tomorrow

Gotcha.

Bucky barely got any sleep, whether it was because he was worried about Pietro or worried about you.

The doctors decided to let Pietro go after a few hours in the ER, citing that he needed rest but his injuries weren’t too drastic to keep him overnight. Icing the bruises and getting rest were the best remedies for him. Bucky had dropped him and Wanda off at her dorm, deciding it was best Pietro was with his sister.

Natasha was surprisingly awake, helping Bucky and Wanda get Pietro settled. Once he and Wanda were both asleep, Natasha joined Bucky in the living room.

“Surprised you’re awake,” Bucky said to relieve the silence.

It was a little past 4 AM, but Nat looked like her fate for the night was the same as Bucky’s.

“It’s hard to sleep when I’m the only one here,” she admitted, referring to both yours and Wanda’s absences. “Steve’s with his mom, Y/N’s with that asshole, and you know where Wanda was.”

“I’m sorry,” Bucky offered her solace with a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“You should stay,” Nat offered in return. “She mentioned she’d come back early in the morning. We could talk to her.”

Bucky sighed to himself. “What makes you so sure she’s even gonna talk to us?”

“Well, nothing,” Nat admitted. “But it’s worth a shot.” 

Bucky agreed to stay the night, taking the spot on the couch in your room. 

Honoring your word to Natasha, you slipped into the suite quietly around 6 AM. Much to your surprise, you found Pietro grabbing a glass of water in the kitchen.

“Y/N,” he spoke softly. 

“You should be resting,” you urged him, tears springing to your eyes.

“You know this is not your fault, right?” He assured you, though you shook your head.

“Pietro…”

“No,” he cut you off, his voice nothing more than a whisper. “What does he have on you?”

Knowing who he was referring to, you shook your head once more.

“What does he have on you?” You repeated to him.

Seeing 5 of Atlas’s frat brothers beat up on Pietro while two of them, including Atlas, held you back so you would be forced to watch was some sort of psychological torture you didn’t anticipate being subjected to. 

It was something you wouldn’t expect Atlas to be capable of. He had his faults and insecurities, but in your time together, he had never made you scared of him.

Now in the past week, you were terrified. Terrified of who he actually was and what he was capable of doing.

“You will find out soon enough,” Pietro assured you. “But you should trust me. I know you’re hiding something.”

You quickly spilled the contents of your ��agreement’ with Atlas to Pietro, after a few minutes of making him promise not to tell anyone. 

In turn, he had told you he’d seen Atlas doing something he wouldn’t want you to know, which was the reason behind his beating. He wouldn’t budge on telling you what it was, reassuring you once more that you’d eventually find out.

He also mentioned Bucky needing to know as well. 

“This will probably happen again,” Pietro warned you. 

“It can’t.”

“But it will.”

You sighed, pulling him in for a careful hug.

“You should go back to bed before Wanda wakes up.”

Pietro nodded, letting you help him walk over to his sister’s room and carefully lay down. Once he was secure, he gave you a look that let you know he trusted you. You nodded in response before retreating to your own room.

Opening the door, you found a sleeping Bucky on your couch, as if your heart strings needed any more tugging. He was in his t-shirt and boxers; you knew he hated sleeping in his jeans. You grabbed one of your throw blankets and covered him, though he quickly stirred a bit and woke up.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” you spoke softly.

“No, you’re okay,” he said with a rasp. “You okay?”

Knowing he could tell when you were crying, you avoided the conversation with a nod.

“Just need some sleep is all,” you responded while kicking your shoes off. 

Bucky acknowledged your energy, knowing you weren’t up for a conversation at the moment. But he knew something was amiss.

He just hoped he could pull you out of whatever trouble you were in before it was too late.

Thank you once again for reading! Will try and make the next chapter a bit better. 

[yeslikethewizard]

【 A Cat Among Wolves - Ch. 10 Update!】

LINK: Chapter 10 - the fever run FANDOM: The Scum Villain’s Self Saving System RATING: M, full tags and content warning on A03 PAIRINGS: Shen Yuan | Shen Qingqiu/Luo Binghe, One sided SQQ’s harem hopelessly in love with him

SUMMARY:

Shen Yuan never expected to be transmigrated—who DOES expect that sort of thing!? But here he is, in the world of Proud Immortal Demon Way as some NPC demon child who is at the complete mercy of the cultivation world around him. When he runs into Luo Binghe it is like fate itself plucked him up and set Shen Yuan into the world to be with the Protagonist. Keep him safe. Make sure that Luo Binghe won’t ever have to be alone in the world.

But staying at Luo Binghe’s side will be easier said than done, even if his mysterious heritage lands him in the good graces of the Scum Villain, Shen Yuan is still a demon. One living in the middle of a cultivation sect. Not to mention that something—something darker and stronger than Shen Yuan—seems to be messing with the plot, and not changing things for the better. Like Shen Yuan didn’t already have enough on his plate to deal with.

EXCERPT:

“The worst won’t happen,” Shen Yuan repeats, and Xun Fu reaches over to ruffle his hair again. Shen Yuan ducks away, “Say it.”

Xun Fu sighs softly, “I can’t guarantee that Xiao-Yuan.”

How bad is the injury, that he won’t even say that? Shen Yuan is trying not to panic. He’s not a child, he’s also a grown man. But he keeps thinking of the Anomaly Beast and it’s jaws around Xun Fu. He keeps thinking of watching Song Jia fall to the ground lifelessly, of Luo Binghe at her grave, of Luo Binghe saying that Xun Fu is all that they have left. He keeps thinking of the System, telling him that Xun Fu was a character that died before Luo Binghe joined Cang Qiong Sect.

“If it gets worse, Fu-ge will tell us?” Shen Yuan says slowly, looking up to meet Xun Fu’s eyes with his own. Xun Fu blinks and then nods at him slowly.

“I will,” Xun Fu responds. “Don’t be mad Xiao-Yuan.”

“I’m not mad,” Shen Yuan huffs. That isn’t exactly true. He’s a little angry but also aware that even being told about the injury doesn’t do much. Shen Yuan’s little herb sachets aren’t really for serious illness or injury, and if it’s above a doctor’s paygrade then his silly attempts at first aid won’t be useful.

No, more than anything, Shen Yuan is scared. System?

【 How can this System help User?】

Is… is it a required plot point for Xun Fu to die? Shen Yuan asks, he’s terrified of the answer. He hadn’t considered the question before. 

【 The death of Character: Xun Fu is not a significant plot point in the journey of the Protagonist. As such, it is not required for the story to progress.】

So we can help Xun Fu, Shen Yuan clarifies.

【 If it is within User’s power to do so, many characters may be saved from their deaths as long as it is not a required plot point. Only one character has plot armor in the story, the Protagonist, so others will require intervention or alteration of the plot to save.】

Shen Yuan’s stomach flips. He watches as Xun Fu sips dutifully at his medicinal tea and Luo Binghe starts to cook their dinner with determination. Shen Yuan doesn’t like that—what a non-answer! Sure you can save him, if you can save him!?  

Or�� or the story has changed enough that the path they’re on now is all that he’ll need to survive. Who is to say that the injury is even deadly? Shen Yuan hasn’t even seen it. He just has a bad feeling. That doesn’t have to mean anything at all.

[pxnsneverland]

Dark Temptation | Draco Malfoy x Hermione Granger (part 1)

(gif source: pottermoon)

plot summary: Despite being on opposite sides of an impending war in the wizarding world, Draco Malfoy, a young Death Eater, and Hermione Granger, fiercely loyal to the Order, cross paths when they are assigned as partners in a academic project. Forced to spend time together, their mutual animosity slowly gives way to an undeniable attraction, leaving both confused and vulnerable.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

pairings: Draco Malfoy x Hermione Granger

word count: 3,592

warnings/notes: I originally started this on Fanfiction.net but there were so many commission requests in my inbox that I decided to move it here. So I'm posting the first 4 chapters all at once :)

Chapter 1: Blood and Loyalty

The Dark Lord's eyes gleamed like twin rubies in the dim light of Malfoy Manor's grand hall. Draco stood ramrod straight, his shoulders squared with practiced poise as the circle of black-robed figures watched in silence. His father's absence left a gaping wound in his confidence, but he dared not let it show.

"Young Malfoy," Voldemort's voice slithered through the room, caressing the air. "You shall be my instrument at Hogwarts this year."

Draco's heartbeat thundered in his ears, but his face remained impassive. "Yes, my Lord."

"Dumbledore has lived far too long," Voldemort continued, circling Draco like a predator. "His death will be your gift to me."

A fleeting image flashed in Draco's mind – Dumbledore's kind eyes during the Triwizard Tournament, when Potter had returned clutching Cedric Diggory's lifeless body. He blinked it away.

Aunt Bellatrix cackled from the corner, her wild eyes dancing with sadistic delight. "My nephew, chosen for such an honor!" She practically vibrated with pride, as though Draco had been selected for a prestigious award rather than an assassination.

"I won't disappoint you," Draco said, his voice steady despite the cold dread pooling in his stomach.

Voldemort's lipless mouth curved into what might have been a smile. "See that you don't. The consequences of failure would be... most unfortunate. For you. For your mother."

At the mention of Narcissa, Draco's resolve hardened. His mother stood at the periphery of the gathering, her face a porcelain mask hiding her terror. This wasn't about blood purity anymore, or Potter, or even proving himself worthy of the Dark Mark that now branded his forearm. This was survival.

"I have devised a way," Draco said, the lie coming easily. He had no plan, not yet, but weakness was a luxury he couldn't afford.

The Dark Lord's skeletal fingers brushed Draco's cheek, cold as grave dirt. "Your father's failures have left a stain on the Malfoy name. This is your opportunity to restore it."

Behind his occlumency shields, Draco's mind raced with forbidden thoughts – of running, of confessing to Dumbledore, of finding another way. But outwardly, he nodded with conviction.

"When the deed is done," Voldemort continued, "you will take your rightful place in our new world."

As the meeting dispersed, Draco caught his mother's eye across the room. The fear reflected there matched his own, a secret shared between them. He was sixteen years old and tasked with murder, standing at a precipice from which there seemed no escape.

---

Far away from the oppressive atmosphere of Malfoy Manor, the Hogwarts Express cut through the rolling Scottish countryside, its crimson body gleaming under the afternoon sun. Inside a compartment near the middle of the train, Hermione Granger leaned forward, her bushy hair falling around her face as she lowered her voice.

"Something's definitely happening," she insisted, tapping her finger on the copy of the Daily Prophet spread across her lap. "These disappearances aren't coincidences."

Harry nodded grimly, his green eyes darkened by the weight of knowledge no sixteen-year-old should carry. "Voldemort's gathering strength. The Order knows it, the Ministry's finally admitted it, but nobody's really prepared."

Ron shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his lanky frame hunched as he glanced nervously at the compartment door. "Bloody hell, can we at least try not to say his name on the train? For all we know, he's got ears everywhere now."

"Fear of a name only increases fear of the thing itself," Hermione replied automatically, though her own voice wavered slightly. She straightened her prefect badge, a nervous habit she'd developed. "We need to restart the D.A. immediately. Not just for defense, but as resistance."

Outside their compartment, students laughed and chattered, seemingly oblivious to the darkness gathering beyond the safety of their world. A trolley rattled past, the witch calling out about Chocolate Frogs and Pumpkin Pasties, the normality of it jarring.

"Dumbledore's going to be giving me private lessons this year," Harry said quietly, his fingers absently tracing the lightning scar on his forehead. "He wouldn't say exactly what, but I think it's about Voldemort's past. About finding a way to defeat him."

"That's brilliant," Hermione breathed, her mind already racing with possibilities. "Knowledge is power, Harry. If we understand him, we might find his weakness."

Ron snorted. "Yeah, besides the obvious one of being a murderous, noseless git."

Despite everything, they all shared a brief smile before Hermione's expression grew serious again. She pulled a small beaded bag from her pocket, opening it to reveal a glimpse of what appeared to be an impossible number of books.

"I've been researching protective spells all summer," she said. "Undetectable Extension Charm," she added, noticing their surprised expressions. "I've packed everything we might need if..." She trailed off, unwilling to finish the thought.

"If we have to run," Harry completed for her, his voice flat. The countryside outside grew wilder as the train continued north. Rain began to spatter against the windows, the droplets racing each other down the glass, obscuring the view outside.

The rain's gentle rhythm against the train windows created a soothing backdrop to their conversation, almost lulling them into a false sense of security.

"You're always prepared, aren't you?" Ron said, eyeing Hermione's beaded bag with newfound respect. "Mental, but brilliant."

Hermione tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. "I just want us to be ready. The Daily Prophet might finally be reporting some truth, but they're still downplaying how dangerous things really are. My parents..." Her voice caught. "They don't fully understand what's happening in our world."

Harry leaned forward, about to place a comforting hand on her arm when the compartment door slid open with a harsh, deliberate clatter.

"Well, if it isn't Potty, Weasel, and the Mudblood," Draco Malfoy drawled, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle who filled the doorway with their hulking frames. "Planning your heroics for the year? Or just your funerals?"

The temperature in the compartment seemed to drop several degrees. Harry's hand immediately moved toward his wand pocket, while Ron half-rose from his seat, face flushing crimson.

"Shove off, Malfoy," Ron spat. "Nobody invited you."

Hermione's eyes narrowed as she studied Draco's face. Despite his typical sneer, something was different. Dark shadows underlined his eyes, and his usually immaculate appearance showed subtle signs of neglect—his hair less precisely styled, his school robes hanging loosely on a frame that seemed to have lost weight over the summer.

"No prefect duties today, Granger?" Draco asked, ignoring Ron entirely. "Or have they finally realized letting a Mudblood patrol the corridors was a mistake?"

Harry stood now, wand drawn but held loosely at his side. "Say that word again, and you'll regret it."

Something flickered in Draco's gray eyes—not the usual malice, but something more complex. For a heartbeat, Hermione thought she saw fear.

"Threats already, Potter?" Draco's voice carried its familiar contempt, but it sounded hollow, rehearsed. "You should be more careful this year. Things are changing."

"Is that right?" Harry challenged, stepping closer. "And I suppose you know all about what's coming, don't you?"

A muscle twitched in Draco's jaw. He pulled back his left sleeve just slightly—not enough to reveal anything, but the gesture itself was loaded with meaning. "More than you could imagine, Scarhead."

Rain lashed harder against the windows as the train swayed around a bend. Lightning flashed, briefly illuminating Draco's pale face in harsh white light. Hermione stepped forward, her eyes locked on Draco's face rather than his half-revealed arm. "Whatever you're involved in, Malfoy, it's not too late to make different choices."

A bitter laugh escaped Draco's lips. "How very Gryffindor of you, Granger. Still think everyone can be saved?" His voice dropped to a near whisper. "Some of us don't have the luxury of choice." For a moment, the compartment fell silent except for the rhythmic clicking of the train's wheels and the persistent drumming of rain. The tension between them crackled like the lightning outside.

"You don’t know anything," Draco hissed at her, his composure fracturing. His voice was so low Hermione was sure she was the only one who could make out what he was saying. His hand trembled slightly before he shoved it into his pocket. "You have no idea what's coming."

Crabbe shifted impatiently. "Let's go, Draco. They're not worth our time."

But Draco seemed unable to move, as though rooted to the spot by some invisible force. His eyes darted between the three friends, lingering longest on Hermione. "Watch your back this year, Granger," he said.

Was it a threat or a warning? Hermione couldn't tell, but something in his expression made her stomach twist with unease.

"Or what, Malfoy?" she asked quietly. “Are you going to kill me yourself?”

Draco flinched as though she'd struck him. For one unguarded moment, raw anguish flashed across his features before the mask slipped back into place. He said nothing. Then, with a sharp jerk of his head toward his companions, he turned and stalked away down the corridor.

Ron slammed the compartment door shut. "Bloody hell, he's even more of a git than usual this year."

Harry sank back into his seat, his expression troubled. "Did you see his face when Hermione mentioned killing? And that thing with his sleeve..."

"The Dark Mark," Hermione whispered, rubbing her arms as a chill ran through her that had nothing to do with the temperature. "You don't think he's actually become a—"

"Death Eater?" Ron finished, looking skeptical. "He's a foul little cockroach, but he's our age. What would You-Know-Who want with a teenager who can't even do proper magic outside school?"

"A spy at Hogwarts," Harry said grimly. "Someone to watch Dumbledore.” He leaned back in his seat. “Looks like I’m not the only one in trouble this year.”

- -

The Great Hall of Hogwarts blazed with warm light from thousands of floating candles, their glow reflecting off golden plates and goblets that lined the four long house tables. The enchanted ceiling above mirrored the night sky outside—clear and velvety black, studded with stars that seemed close enough to touch. The storm that had drenched the students during their journey from Hogsmeade Station had cleared, leaving behind an atmosphere of renewed freshness that even the ancient stone walls seemed to breathe in.

Hermione sat between Harry and Neville at the Gryffindor table, her eyes occasionally drifting toward the Slytherin table where Draco Malfoy sat surrounded by his housemates yet somehow looking utterly alone. He hadn't touched his food, she noticed, merely pushing it around his plate with disinterest.

"He looks awful," she whispered to Harry, who followed her gaze.

"Good," Ron mumbled through a mouthful of roast chicken. "Hope he's miserable all year."

Hermione sighed. Between this and the incident on the train, Malfoy didn’t seem like his ordinary self at all. Something was wrong. The clinking of a spoon against glass interrupted her thoughts as Professor McGonagall called for silence. The buzzing chatter throughout the hall gradually died down as Albus Dumbledore rose from his seat at the center of the staff table. His long silver beard gleamed in the candlelight, but Hermione immediately noticed something strange—his right hand was blackened and shriveled, as though it had been burned.

Harry gasped beside her. "What happened to his hand?"

Dumbledore, seemingly aware of the students' shocked stares, discreetly tucked his injured hand into the folds of his midnight-blue robes before spreading his arms in welcome.

"To our new students, welcome," his voice resonated throughout the hall without effort, "and to our returning students, welcome back! Another year of magical education awaits you, though I fear it comes during troubled times."

The hall grew quieter still. Even the ghosts, who had been drifting between tables, paused to listen.

"As you are all aware, Lord Voldemort and his followers are once more at large and gaining in strength."

A collective shudder ran through the Great Hall at the mention of Voldemort's name. Hermione saw several Hufflepuffs exchange frightened glances, while at the Slytherin table, reactions varied from smug smiles to carefully blank expressions. Draco Malfoy, however, had gone even paler, his knuckles white as he gripped the edge of the table.

"I cannot emphasize strongly enough how dangerous the present situation is," Dumbledore continued, his blue eyes no longer twinkling but intense and serious. "Hogwarts' magical fortifications have been strengthened over the summer, we are protected in new and more powerful ways, but we must still guard against carelessness and complacency. I urge each and every one of you to abide by security restrictions, should your professors impose them upon you, however irksome you might find them."

Dumbledore's gaze swept across the hall, making brief eye contact with students at each house table. When his eyes met Hermione's, she felt as though he could see right through her, past her concerns about N.E.W.T. classes to the deeper worry gnawing at her heart—the fear that this year might be their last at Hogwarts.

"But walls and spells alone cannot guarantee your safety," Dumbledore continued. "In these dark times, when forces seek to divide us, our greatest strength lies in unity."

At the Slytherin table, several students snickered. Pansy Parkinson whispered something that made those around her laugh, but Draco remained stone-faced, his eyes fixed on some middle distance.

"It is with this in mind," Dumbledore raised his voice slightly, the blackened hand emerging from his robes to gesture expansively, "that I am introducing a new academic initiative this year, one that will require cooperation between all four houses."

Murmurs rippled through the Great Hall. Ron groaned quietly. "Not another Triwizard disaster, I hope," he whispered.

"The walls between our houses have stood for too long," Dumbledore said, his voice carrying easily over the whispers. "Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Salazar Slytherin were once the closest of friends before disagreement drove them apart. Their division has echoed through the centuries, manifesting in the separation we maintain to this day."

The students fell silent again, captivated despite themselves.

"This year, all sixth-year students will participate in what we are calling the Unity Project." Dumbledore's healthy hand made an elegant gesture, and four large hourglasses appeared, floating in the air above the staff table. Unlike the house point counters in the entrance hall, these contained no gems, only swirling, colored mist—red, yellow, blue, and green. "You will be assigned to inter-house pairs. Together, you will research, develop, and implement a project that benefits not just Hogwarts, but the wider wizarding community."

The Great Hall erupted with noise. Excited chatter from the Ravenclaws, nervous murmurs from the Hufflepuffs, indignant protests from the Gryffindors, and outright objections from the Slytherins filled the air. Professor McGonagall's attempts to restore order with her spoon against glass were drowned out until Dumbledore raised his uninjured hand. Silence fell gradually, like snow settling after a storm.

"These partnerships," Dumbledore continued calmly, as though there had been no interruption, "will be determined not by your preferences, but by magical compatibility and complementary abilities. The Sorting Hat, with its unique insight into your minds, has already made these selections."

Ron's face contorted with horror. "Magical compatibility? With Slytherins? Is he mental?"

Hermione shushed him, though her own stomach had tied itself into knots. She glanced involuntarily toward the Slytherin table again, where Pansy Parkinson was whispering furiously to Blaise Zabini, both wearing expressions of disgust.

"The pairings," Dumbledore continued, "will be announced tomorrow morning at breakfast. You will then have your first Unity Project session immediately following, in place of your regular morning classes."

The Great Hall buzzed with anxious speculation as students leaned across tables, whispering predictions and preferences. Hermione caught Ginny's sympathetic glance from further down the Gryffindor table.

"This is a disaster waiting to happen," Harry muttered, pushing his treacle tart around his plate. "What's Dumbledore thinking?"

"Inter-house unity," Hermione replied automatically, though her own voice lacked conviction. "It's actually not a terrible idea in theory. If we're going to face what's coming, we need to be united."

Ron snorted. "Tell that to the junior Death Eaters over there." He jerked his head toward the Slytherin table. "Some of them would hex us in our sleep given half a chance."

The remainder of the feast passed in uneasy anticipation. When they were finally dismissed, Hermione found herself unable to sleep, her mind racing with possibilities as she stared at the canopy of her four-poster bed. Who would she be paired with? Luna would be interesting, or perhaps Anthony Goldstein from Ravenclaw. Even Hannah Abbott from Hufflepuff would be fine. But if she were paired with a Slytherin...

—

Morning arrived with golden sunlight streaming through the windows of the Great Hall, belying the tension that hung in the air as the sixth-years gathered for breakfast. Hermione picked at her porridge, appetite diminished by the knot of anxiety in her stomach.

"Just get it over with," Ron groaned as Dumbledore approached the podium, the Sorting Hat in his good hand.

The headmaster's eyes twinkled as he surveyed the apprehensive faces before him. "Ah, I see our sixth-years are eager to learn their pairings for the Unity Project." A few nervous laughs scattered across the hall. "The Sorting Hat has considered your magical signatures, your strengths and weaknesses, and your potential for growth together."

He placed the ancient hat on a stool before him. To everyone's surprise, the rip near its brim opened, and it began to speak:

"Four houses, long divided,

Now must work as one,

The pairs I choose are guided

By magic deep and long begun.

Where one is weak, the other strong,

Where one sees right, the other wrong,

Together they may find the path

That neither walks alone."

The hat fell silent for a moment, then spoke again, this time in a more straightforward manner:

"Justin Finch-Fletchley of Hufflepuff and Blaise Zabini of Slytherin."

A collective gasp rippled through the hall. Justin, a Muggle-born, paired with Zabini, whose mother was rumored to support pureblood supremacy

The Sorting Hat continued, its voice echoing through the stunned Great Hall.

"Padma Patil of Ravenclaw and Seamus Finnigan of Gryffindor."

Seamus whooped loudly while Padma offered a hesitant smile from the Ravenclaw table.

"Hannah Abbott of Hufflepuff and Theodore Nott of Slytherin."

Hannah's face paled visibly, while Nott merely raised an eyebrow, his expression inscrutable.

"Neville Longbottom of Gryffindor and Luna Lovegood of Ravenclaw."

At this, Neville's relief was palpable. He caught Luna's eye across the hall, and she gave him a dreamy wave that somehow managed to calm his obvious anxiety. The hat continued through the pairings, each announcement followed by reactions ranging from relief to horror. Ron was paired with Daphne Greengrass, causing him to choke on his pumpkin juice. Harry, to his visible dismay, was matched with Pansy Parkinson, who looked equally repulsed.

"This can't get any worse," Ron muttered, casting a dark look toward the Slytherin table where Daphne sat whispering furiously to her friends.

The Sorting Hat paused dramatically before announcing the next pair.

"Hermione Granger of Gryffindor and Draco Malfoy of Slytherin."

The silence that followed was absolute. Even the clinking of silverware ceased as all eyes darted between Hermione and Draco. Hermione felt the blood drain from her face, her porridge forgotten as her stomach twisted into knots. Across the hall, Draco had gone impossibly paler, his stormy gray eyes locking with hers for one electric moment before his face twisted into a sneer.

"No," Ron said loudly, breaking the silence. "Absolutely not. There has to be a mistake."

Professor McGonagall's lips thinned to a severe line. "There is no mistake, Mr. Weasley. The Sorting Hat's decisions are final."

"But Professor," Harry interjected, his voice tight with anger, "you can't possibly pair Hermione with Malfoy. He's—" He stopped himself, clearly restraining from voicing his suspicions about Draco's allegiances in front of the entire school.

Hermione felt dozens of eyes on her, including Draco's penetrating stare from across the hall. She straightened her back, lifted her chin, and forced her face into a mask of calm determination, though her hands trembled slightly under the table.

"It's fine, Harry," she said, her voice steadier than she felt. "The project is about unity, after all."

Dumbledore nodded approvingly. "Well said, Miss Granger. Five points to Gryffindor for embracing the spirit of our initiative."

As the Sorting Hat finished naming the final pairs, Dumbledore gestured toward the doors of the Great Hall, which swung open to reveal a corridor Hermione could have sworn hadn't been there before.

"Your project rooms await," Dumbledore announced. "Each pair has been assigned a space for your collaborative work. Please proceed there now for your first Unity Project session."

The sixth-years rose reluctantly from their tables, gravitating toward partners with varying degrees of enthusiasm. Hermione gathered her books, ignoring Ron's continued protests and Harry's concerned glances.

"I'll be fine," she assured them, though her voice lacked conviction. "It's just a project."

"If he says one word—one word—about your blood status," Ron growled, "hex him into next week. I don't care what Dumbledore says about unity."

Hermione squared her shoulders and made her way across the hall. Draco stood waiting by the doors, his tall frame rigid with tension, jaw clenched so tightly she could see a muscle twitching in his cheek.

"Let's get this over with, Granger," he said, his voice low and cold. They walked side by side down the newly revealed corridor, not speaking, not touching, maintaining a careful distance between them.

Stay tuned for part 2!! Click HERE to view!

[meepispeepis]

The Storm Before the Calm

~Ok, I'm finally getting on that MK1 cringe! Got ALOT of inspiration from these lovely creators and their combined arts of "oops, Kung Lao's dead again" works. And the brainworm is demanding that I finally put this into writing so, here we are! Once again, huge shoutout to these lovely artists who gave me the inspiration and please do check them out!~

@helsensm // @novicedraws // @randyzorra // @d3rpydoods

~Before we continue just wanted to put some mild context to ensure this makes sense. This isn't part of some long-winded series, so you might as well think you've flipped open a book and started reading in the middle of the story. Fire God Liu Kang starts getting deja vu as certain coincidences and events start playing out that are too eerily similar to how things played out during the MK9 game (Raiden getting a message from his future self and trying to interpret in time what that message meant to save the future - long story short: nearly everyone died and no one came out alright :D). All roads were seemingly leading to Kung Lao dying in his timeline and Liu Kang struggled on how to cope and deal with this. On one hand, he did not want his friend-…His new teacher…To die, especially since he tried so hard to tailor make this timeline to ensure everyone got a happy ending.

Yet, at the same time, he refused to stoop down to Kronika's level and start altering the timeline until it was his "perfect" utopia. However, his fears and suspicion about the situation become even more realized when Raiden gets gravely injured and the only thing that prevented him from kneeling over was the thunder amulet infused with his person (and some other magical shit, idk). From this, Raiden gains his iconic white hair, and this gives Liu Kang a heart attack. To make a long story short, Kung Lao ends up dying at the hands of the villains (In this short story, it's assumed that Shang Tsung is wholly responsible or had a hand in his death), Raiden is going through the stages of grief, but he's going down the same dark path as the previous Raiden, now becoming Dark Raiden. And Liu Kang has to finally interfere.~

Still confused? Too late, now on to the story! Next // Wilted Cherry Blossoms, Dark Thunderstorms, Burning Hopes: Remastered Characters: Raiden, Kenshi, Johnny Cage, Liu Kang, Shang Tsung, Mentions Kung Lao, Raiden's Sister (named her Fuji :D)

Word Count - 6,094 Ships: Raiden/Kung Lao - Hints of Kenshi/Johnny Cage

Warnings: Canon Typical Violence (but with less blood), Character Death

It was over.

It was done.

They stopped Shang Tsung and his nefarious plot; it was over. This was the part where everyone patted each other on the back, did a whole hoopla about "the power of friendship saved the day," locked up the villain, and went home. But maybe that time was lost a long time ago. Ever since…

Ever since Kung Lao died.

Aside from Johnny, Kung Lao always knew how to lift everyone's spirits, that didn't involve excessive Hollywood references that most of them didn't get. His self-confidence and pride always seemed to ooze onto everyone else. If Lao says he can do it, then so can we! It hurt everyone when he was unceremoniously slain by General Shao and Shang Tsung, a clean cut to his neck with his own weapon. And you know, it wasn't until that day that Liu Kang was gravely reminded that these men never had to experience death in such a manner. Each of them knew how to fight, added to the additional training they got with the monks at the Wu Shi Academy. But Liu Kang never taught them how to kill, to maim, to perform the one act no ordinary person should ever have to do.

When Kung Lao died, it shocked everyone. The only one seemingly keeping themselves together was Kenshi. Coming from his Yakuza background, he has done plenty of dirty that he wasn't proud of. But Johnny? Liu Kang still remembers the reviving actor's disbelief, trying his damndest to do all he could for Kung Lao, even pleading with Liu Kang on what to do. But perhaps the one person who was hurt the most that day was Raiden. They were friends, childhood friends…lovers, even…Liu Kang can never scrub away the scene of Raiden being the first to notice his friend wasn't getting up (he was the closest to the body) and slowly descending to hold his boyfriend tightly. Raiden blocked out the world at that moment; the rest of the crew had to step in and finish the fight while Raiden grieved over his friend.

And things were never the same after that.

It was over.

It was done.

Kenshi and Johnny already shackled the unconscious Shang Tsung and started tending to their wounds. There was silence between them as they repaired themselves, barely making glances to the other. It wasn't until Kenshi spoke up, pointing out that Johnny was wrapping the bandage wrong and took the reigns in patching the star up. Johnny didn't put up a fuss. In a small way, he's kinda glad Kenshi said something. To break the silence and bring back that camaraderie they once had before. Feeling Kenshi touch him again, a wave of memories started flooding back to Johnny. The days when the 4 of them (Johnny, Kenshi, Kung Lao, Raiden) were always in each other's spaces. Arms thrown over each other's shoulders, whenever they were in a goofy mood; they were always leaning against the one nearest to them. That intimacy, he misses it.

"There," Kenshi softly says, completing the last patch on Johnny to ensure it wouldn't get infected.

Johnny couldn't help but return a sad smile and nod, "Thanks, Kenshi."

Then the silence began again as they both sat in silence, waiting for Raiden and Liu Kang to return once they were done with what Johnny called "the super laser beam like in that one Marvel™ movie." When they heard the sound of roiling thunder, that was their cue that the other pair had returned. Kenshi was the first to look up to see Raiden floating high above them, with black clouds shadowing him. It was a near-terrifying sight. His glowing eyes and hair, the crackles of lightning sparking off him, and the foreign look of godly contempt that was plastered on his face. Doesn't help too, that they each learned some time ago who Raiden was before Liu Kang altered the timeline. With this display of power, Raiden might as well be a god.

"Hey, Raiden, no need to worry! We had this one in the bag." Johnny gestures over to Shang Tsung, still enjoying his dirt nap. "He'll be going away for good once we figure out what our version of Arkham Asylum should be for the bastard."

Kenshi scoffs and shakes his head slightly, but it wasn't one out of annoyance. He knows what Johnny is trying to do, lightening the mood.

Raiden, however, does not reciprocate; remaining still as a statue in the air. Kenshi stares back at Raiden, anxious about what the thunder go-his friend, was thinking.

"…Hey, Raid-bro, we were told there was a chance of blue sunny skies when coming out here. Care to move the dark clouds out the way?" Johnny tries again with being jovial, but Kenshi can hear the hint of anxious tension in his tone.

After another long silence, Raiden finally descends, but where he was going was toward Shang Tsung. Johnny and Kenshi rise from their seated area as they closely watch Raiden slowly meeting the ground. By the time Raiden reached the surface, almost as if on cue, Shang Tsung started to stir awake, perhaps thanks to the constant thunder cracking in the area. Shang Tsung was already a beaten mess, with dried blood and dirt caked on his freckled face. His brown eyes meet with Raiden's glowing white eyes, and he has the gall to smirk at him. The prisoner readjusts himself, sitting straight up as he leaned against a tree.

"Love what you did with your hair, Raiden." Of fucking course, Shang had to go there.

Kenshi and Johnny both do their best to not flinch and cringe upon hearing that, knowing full well that it struck a nerve with Raiden, even if the farm boy wasn't showing it.

And as if Shang was further egg-ing Raiden on, he starts looking around, as if he's expecting someone to be here, but they happened to be missing. "Now, where is that pompous, hat-throwing circus act you often dragged along with you? Called in sick?"

"That's enough, Shang Tsung. Don't let us muffle you too." Johnny was the first to speak on everyone's behalf, his rising anger apparent as he growled.

Shang ignored Johnny, his eyes still trained on Raiden, meeting him eye-to-eye. "Oh~, don't beat yourself up for his departure, Raiden. You can rest easy that he died a prideful fool who didn't know when too much was enough."

"Hey, shut the fuck up!"

There was a one-sided back & forth, Shang Tsung constantly taunting the quiet Raiden while Johnny was trying to get Shang Tsung to stop talking. Eventually, Johnny starts grabbing the sorcerer by his ruffed-up shirt and tries intimidating him into keeping his mouth shut.

There are benefits to being half-blind and wearing a blindfold. Kenshi has been looking head, seemingly staring into nothing and nowhere, but the sight that Sento gave him allowed him to keep his peripherals on Raiden. Watching him closely to ensure that he doesn't do anything stupid. And Kenshi would be right to watch Raiden because the younger man started to approach the arguing pair.

Kenshi steps in front of Raiden, "Whatever you're thinking, don't."

"Get out of my way, Kenshi," Raiden's voice was like a coming storm, eager to wreak havoc on anyone and anything that stood in its way.

Kenshi had to choose his words wisely, one wrong move or phrase and he will erupt. They've seen it happen more than once. "Please, at least let us wait for Liu Kang before-"

"Ha! Still letting that proclaimed Fire God lead you around on a leash, Raiden?"

Kenshi now physically cringes before making a sharp turn toward Johnny, "Shut him up!" Kenshi can see sparks crackling of Raiden and he further obscures his view of Shang Tsung. "Raiden, he's trying to get into your head. Don't let him!"

"He knew, you know? Liu Kang? For someone who altered the timeline to fit his "perfect vision," a lot of strange coincidences have been happening as of late. I mean, I became a sorcerer when I was supposed to be a beggar. And you were a simple farm boy. But look at you now, a master of the storms and the skies," Shang Tsung side-eyes Raiden deviously, "He must've known that Kung Lao was going to die."

"Get out of my way!" the air starts to pick up, his hair and clothes ruffling in the wind, and more lightning static bounces off Raiden.

"Ok, time for your muzzle, dog," Johnny approaches with a mask-like device meant to silence individuals who wear it. As he tries to place the mask on Shang Tsung, the sorcerer hits him square in the dick (a technique he has learned to adopt later down the line thanks to the foolish actor), causing Johnny to have the wind knocked out of him as he backs away a couple steps. "N-not cool, man! Not cool!"

But this landed Shang Tsung a couple more minutes. "He could've prevented it, Raiden. Kung Lao may have died at the General's hands, but you know who truly caused his demise? Liu Kang could've stopped it all from happening. He went through all the effort to neuter you and me. Because of his biases over a timeline that no longer exists! He claims that he "doesn't interfere with affairs" because he wants us to become masters of our own fates, but we were never in control of it to begin with. Liu Kang decided for himself what we should be; all I did was defy his logic and plan."

"JOHNNY!" Kenshi shouts as he tries to hold Raiden back, the young man now struggling to get past the blind swordsman.

"I'm working on it!" Johnny replies as he hurries back to Shang Tsung with the mask.

"I SAID GET OUT OF MY WAY!!!" Raiden screams.

He can feel it. He can feel the amulet infused into his body responding to his anger, his grief, and his drive for vengeance. The condensed storms locked away in that amulet desire to give Raiden that release. Kenshi grunts as he starts feeling shocks ripple through him while holding tight onto Raiden.

"RAIDEN DON'T LISTEN TO HIM; YOU'RE BETTER THAN THIS!"

"Liu Kang could've saved your friend, Raiden. You know this as much as I do. He has the power to do so; he simply didn't use it. All under the idea of restraint. That's what makes you and I so powerful. We're not afraid to take the power we're given and use it to its nigh limits. The one who you should be angry at is the man who calls himself a friend to you."

Finally, Johnny wraps the mask around Shang Tsung, silencing him until it's eventually removed. But the damage was done. It wasn't until now that Johnny noticed that Liu Kang still hadn't arrived.

"Where's Liu? Kenshi, where's Liu!" Johnny says as he anxiously watches the struggle between Raiden and Kenshi.

Kenshi doesn't get a moment to entertain an answer as Raiden yells at the top of his lungs, a bust of electrifying energy emitting from him, from the amulet, knocking both Earthrealm warriors back a considerable distance. The pair lang roughly on the soil in an audible groan as they jerk and hiss at the shocking ripples still assaulting their bodies. Kenshi was the first to slightly recover, but it must've been some time before he regained his senses because when Kenshi frantically looked for where Raiden had gone, he saw the thunder wielder punching Shang Tsung to a bloody pulp.

"Raiden, ugh! Raiden, stop!" It hurts for Kenshi to get up, but he ushers all the strength he still has and rushes over to Raiden.

Kenshi rips Raiden off of Shang Tsung and doesn't bother to look the sorcerer over (that's what he gets for running his mouth), keeping his attention wholly on his friend (and his hand on the hilt of Sento).

"Raiden, we've been over this. Please, don-"

"GET OUT OF MY WAY!!!!"

Kenshi isn't given a moment to calm the man down as bolts of lightning come arcing towards the swordsman. Kenshi dodges out of the way, unsheathing Sento in the process; the line of shocking energy completely decimates a nearby tree. The time for words was over; now it's time to, in Johnny's words, bring out the "Hulk Buster."

Raiden raises his hand to the grey skies above, capturing lightning in his hand before hurling various sparks at Kenshi. The swordsman goes on the defensive, dodging and ducking behind cover, trying to avoid actively harming Raiden. But the more he placed distance between him and Raiden, the more Kenshi was bobbing and weaving past his thunderous attacks. Kenshi would be mildly saved as Johnny surprises Raiden by grabbing him from behind and trying to restrain him.

"Raiden, pull it together, man! We don't want to hurt you!" Johnny struggles to say, the shocks of lightning constantly snapping at him.

Kenshi rushes out of hiding and builds up momentum, hoping to get one good, non-lethal, strike in to knock Raiden out.

"Where the hell are you, Liu Kang..." Kenshi muttered to himself, slightly out of breath as he was exerting all his power into running and reaching Raiden as soon as possible. "Johnny! Hold him down, just a bit longer!"

"I'm-ACK, FUCK!" Johnny shouts as he feels another shock of electricity course through him, "I'M FUCKING TRYING!"

Raiden was howling like an animal, trying to shock Johnny off him. Lightning bolts were falling out of the sky as it struck the grounds around them, destroying everything it touched. It was almost like the lightning strikes were even chasing Kenshi as every bolt of lightning was always some inches away from hitting the swordsman.

He was close, almost there, just a bit more.

Raiden finally throws Johnny off him, elbowing him sharply in his face. Conjuring every bit of power of the storm, Raiden fried Johnny. The pained screams from the actor nearly shake Kenshi to his core.

"JOHNNY!!" Kenshi screams.

Raiden notices the swordsman approaching and disrupts his abuse of his friend to focus on Kenshi, redirecting the powerful blast and hurling it at the blind swordsman. Guided by Sento, Kenshi locks himself in a blocked battle with Raiden's powerful lightning attack, locked in a Harry Potter wand duel as Sento protects Kenshi from the attack. The mystical powers of Sento was able to withstand the ever-present assault, but Raiden was unhinged, not withholding the full potential of the thunder amulet. Then the impossible happens.

Sento cracks.

Kenshi quickly rolls out of the way and tries to get to safety before Raiden completely breaks Sento. But Raiden saw this coming, using his other hand to conjure a whip-like lightning bolt at Kenshi, lassoing him and dragging him to the ground, before giving the swordsman a devastating shock.

"Raiden!"

For once, the farm boy actually stops his assault. Leaving Kenshi and Johnny unconscious after constantly being shocked to near death. Raiden looked behind him, and there he was.

Liu Kang.

The Fire God stares at the scene in utter shock, eyes darting between the sizzling Johnny and equally as cooked Kenshi. Raiden, eyes & hair slowly dimming in brightness, keeps his eyes trained on Liu Kang.

'He could've prevented it, Raiden - Liu Kang could've stopped it all from happening - Liu Kang could've saved your friend, Raiden. You know this as much as I do.'

Shang Tsung's words echo in Raiden's head.

"...Did you know he was going to die?" Raiden, for the first time, speaks coherently. Possessing the soft voice that he's known for.

"What? Raiden, what hap-"

"ANSWER THE DAMN QUESTION!" In that same instance, Raiden's voice booms like thunder (even the skies above respond, crackling thunder in the distance with his anger), his white hair and eyes glowing brightly. "YOU KNEW KUNG LAO WAS GOING TO DIE, DIDN'T YOU!!" Raiden points his electrifying finger at Liu Kang accusingly.

Liu Kang's mouth opens and shuts before he finally answers Raiden. "...Certain circumstances and events that transpired hinted that Kung Lao could die. But not once did I know for certain that Kung Lao would meet his untimely death."

There's a long, silent pause between the two; only the roaring wind breaks the stillness. Liu Kang dares to break his eyes away from Raiden, looking for the one Kenshi and Johnny were supposed to contain, Shang Tsung. It looked like in the scuffle, he used that opportunity to get away, his hairpin lying on the ground dirtied with blood and dirt. Whatever Shang Tsung said to Raiden, it riled the former thunder god. Liu Kang kicks himself for being unconscious for so long. The device he and Raiden went to disable knocked the wind out of him and rendered Liu Kang out of commission for a moment. When he awakened on the vacant platform the device was on, Raiden was gone.

Liu Kang looks back at Raiden, the man's head now facing the ground, fists balled. The next thing that comes out of Raiden's mouth breaks the Fire Gods' heart.

"Why did you let him die," his voice cracks, and Liu can hear the tears Raiden shed.

"Raiden...I..."

"Even if you didn't know fully that Kung Lao would die, why didn't you tell us! Why didn't you save him? Or let us help you save him!" Raiden sobs, his knees feeling weak.

"...I did all I could, Raiden. I tried to protect him...But I couldn't shelter him. I had to trust that Kung Lao would make the choices necessary to follow his own path. I wasn't going to take that choice from him."

"How would he know what path to take if YOU NEVER TELL HIM WHERE IT WILL LEAD HIM!!!" Another sound of roiling thunder, lighting sparking off Raiden as he snaps his head toward Liu Kang. "You could've told him, us, what could've happened! You could've stopped this!"

"I did not want to burden you with the knowledge I knew and felt!" Liu Kang raises his voice, not to match his anger, but because the winds were picking up and the thunder was practically deafening him. "I didn't want you or him to spend every waking moment; questioning each move you took, each decision you made! I wanted both of you to become masters of your own fate!"

'He claims that he "doesn't interfere with affairs" because he wants us to become masters of our own fates, but we were never in control of it to begin with. Liu Kang decided for himself what we should be.'

"No...NO!!" Raiden shouts as he slings a lightning bolt at Liu Kang. A shot the Fire God effortlessly dodges.

"Raiden, please!"

"YOU CREATED THIS TIMELINE. THIS NEW UNIVERSE! YOU COULD'VE PREVENTED THIS! YOU HAVE THE POWER TO, I KNOW YOU DO!"

Another reckless throw of a lightning bolt, scorching a nearby tree as Liu Kang steps out of the line of fire. "Raiden, please, you have to understa-"

"I LOVED HIM, LIU KANG! WITH ALL MY HEART, I LOVED HIM!!! AND YOU TOOK HIM FROM ME! YOU DID THIS TO ME!!"

Raiden rips open his shirt, revealing the amulet fused with his person, a permanent reminder of the trauma everyone endured...That he endured...

"BRING HIM BACK! BRING HIM BACK TO ME!" Raiden's feet crackle with electrifying power as he lunges towards him, performing a move Liu Kang knows far too well as Raiden flies at him like a speeding torpedo, locking Liu Kang as they both collide into various trees.

Liu Kang grunts as their movement is halted by a large rock, but he's not given a moment of reprieve as Raiden starts socking him in the face multiple times. Screaming phrases that Liu Kang could not focus enough to bear their meaning. He's then thrown about in a large circle, and when Raiden releases his grip, Liu Kang goes flying again.

Liu Kang crash lands into a nearby lake. It takes him some time to gather his strength to swim out of the waters. He coughs and spits out blood, Raiden isn't holding back, the powers of the amulet having provided him with strength and vigor. But he was still mortal. Liu Kang can take a beating, but one wrong move and a bit of force; and Liu could kill Raiden. Liu Kang assesses his surroundings, mainly looking for where Raiden has gone or where Raiden could potentially come from.

Fortunately, Raiden's rageful cries gave him away as he came crashing down like a speeding bullet from the sky toward Liu Kang. Hoping to catch him in a flying kick maneuver. Liu Kang was able to block the attack, the force of the kick skidding them both further from the lake that Kang emerged from. There is a back-and-forth between the skilled fighters as each attack is swiftly blocked by the other. Well, more like Liu Kang was the one being swift. Raiden was filled with hatred and rage, his attacks were more akin to a wild animal attacking and defending itself.

Liu Kang had to hold back. Unlike Kenshi, who somewhat matched his power level, one wrong flaming fist and Raiden could be K.O-ed to his grave.

"Raiden, I am not your enemy. Everything I did for Kung Lao, I've always had you in mind! Whatever Shang Tsung told you-"

"Oh yeah, go ahead!" Raiden opened his palms and bent his fingers, colliding his hands on each opposite side of Liu Kang's head, sending shocks of electricity to his head and disorienting the Fire God as his ears started to ring. "Blame it all on Shang Tsung! Blame every single problem and inconvenience on the fucking sorcerer! Because gods forbid you take any responsibility for yourself and own up to the fuck up THAT YOU MADE!"

Raiden grabs Liu Kang in a crushing hug and sends both of them flying in the sky, high enough for Raiden to send a highly concentrated bolt of lighting onto Liu Kang; Raiden being able to withstand such powerful energies. Liu Kang screams in anguish as he's tased ten times over, and then thrown back to the earth below. Liu Kang leaves a crater where he landed and for a moment, doesn't move from his spot.

It took every fiber of his being and willpower to slowly get himself back on his feet. Liu Kang didn't even have to look to know that Raiden was behind him. Between gasps, coughs, and hacking up blood, Liu Kang tries to plead with Raiden.

"...Raiden...I don't want to hurt you...I know you're...Grieving. He meant everything to you as you did to him...But Kung Lao wouldn't want us to fight. Not like this..."

There was a long pause, yet again.

"Don't you dare tell me what Kung Lao would've wanted. You don't get to speak for him or anyone, like you always do!"

"Raiden-"

"You think you know what Kung Lao would've wanted when you knew nothing about him. Not like I did. Do you want to know what Kung Lao would've wanted? You want to hear it from someone WHO ACTUALLY FUCKING KNOWS HIM!?! Let me tell you!"

Raiden forcefully turns Liu Kang to face him before clocking him in the face.

"Kung Lao would've wanted to know how he was going to die so that he could prevent it!"

Another crack.

"He would've thanked you for trusting him with this knowledge so that he could come back home with me in peace!"

Another crack, blood staining his knuckles.

"HE WOULD'VE WANTED TO LIVE WITH ME. SPEND THE REST OF HIS LIFE WITH ME! HIS FUCKING BOYFRIEND!"

Another crack after Liu Kang weakly tries to block his other fist attack.

"HE WOULD'VE WANTED TO DIE PEACEFULLY. WITH ME BY HIS SIDE! NOT IN A FUCKING REALM THAT HE DOESN'T BELONG TO, FACING DOWN A HORNED-FACED FUCKER AND THAT DAMNABLE SORCERER! TO ONLY DIE BECAUSE THEY USED HIS WEAPON AGAINST HIM! LEAVING HIM TO BLEED ON THE DIRT!"

Another crack, an uppercut that sends Liu Kang stumbling back some feet.

Liu Kang spits out another glob of blood mixed with saliva. "We all can't choose how we die, Raiden."

"Yet, you chose for him to die there."

Something within Liu Kang snaps, anger was boiling. "Kung Lao chose to not listen to me when I asked him to not interfere, Raiden!" Liu Kang tries to hold back the poison he truly wanted to emit.

One too many times has he heard this. How Liu Kang was the reason Tarkat exists. How it's his fault that Kitana and Mileena's mother was dead. How it was his fault that Shang Tsung and Quan Chi were in deplorable working and living conditions. How it's his fault that Reptile and Smoke lost their loved ones. How it's his fault that events and circumstances that did not go in their favor, even if it was out of everyone's hands, was HIS FAULT.

He was tired of it. Tired of explaining his reason for not keeping the position as the Keeper of Time. Tired of defending himself against the actions and motives that others have. Tired of expressing how while he may have remade this timeline and altered events, he never once had it planned to control the lives of mortals; leaving their motives and fates in their own hands and suffering the consequences of doing so.

Red and blue flames start to erupt from his arms where his draconic tattoos were printed, his eyes giving off a godly glow.

"I already told you why I withheld that information from him. I wanted him to have peace. Both of you, to have peace." Liu Kang tries his best to keep his calmly attitude as he picks himself up.

"And how do you know he wouldn't be at peace if he at least knew what was coming!?!" Raiden spits back at him

"And how would you?"

Even with his soothing voice, he definitely struck a cord with Raiden as he goes for a swing at Liu Kang. This time, Liu Kang grabs his fist and twists it, not enough to break the bone, but to cause painful strain.

Raiden shouted in mild pain as he tried to swing his other free hand at Liu Kang. Similarly, Liu blocks the attack, grabbing his wrist and unintentionally burning him slightly.

"Raiden, I'm not going to say this again. Stop this." Liu Kang looks Raiden dead in the eyes. Despite his calm face, there was a silent roaring flame behind his features. The kind of look that screams "I don't want to hurt you, but I will if you give me reason to."

Yet, Raiden did not listen. He headbutts Liu Kang successfully, forcing Liu Kang back with a bleeding nose. That was the straw that broke the camel's back. In a fit of rage, Liu Kang yells as he punches Raiden square in the face. He didn't use his full godly strength, but it sent Raiden flying through multiple trees before slamming against one tree trunk. Liu Kang huffs and puffs, the anger slowly dying down and the realization of what he did quickly coming to him.

"Raiden!" Liu cries as he rushes as fast as he can to the former thunder god.

When he found his body, Liu Kang feared the worst. It happened as the old Raiden said. They were always destined to fight, to kill each other, and Liu Kang couldn't avoid it in this timeline. But the moment he heard Raiden's labored breaths, Liu Kang felt an overwhelming relief wash over him.

"Raiden! Raiden, I'm so sorry! I didn't- I didn't mean to," Liu Kang was stumbling over his words as he held Raiden upright, unsure of how serious his wounds were.

Raiden was going through the shock of it, breathing not only labored but in quick succession. Liu Kang tried to help Raiden match his breathing, to calm him down from the pain and shock.

"Are you," Raiden swallows between shaking breaths and stuttering speech, "Are you going to l-let me die? Like you did Lao?"

Liu Kang meets Raiden eye to eye. Raiden was bleeding from his head, streams of red running down his face with twigs and sticks entangled in his white hair. He's never going to let this go. Whatever Shang Tsung told him, it infected him like a parasite. As long as Raiden lived and breathed, Kung Lao's death will always be Liu's fault.

...Unless...

Liu Kang huffs, he never thought he would have to do this again, not since Shujinko. Liu Kang positions Raiden as comfortably as possible as one would be leaning against a tree with multiple broken bones and aching muscles.

"No, I want to grant you peace. I know that you don't want to hear this...But Kung Lao would've wanted you to find peace with his departure."

Liu Kang starts building up flames that run up his arms, performing the many monastic dances he learned from the previous timeline and the current. As the flames roared, they soon floated to Raiden and encompassed him. They never burned him. Raiden tries to crawl away from the dancing flames, believing them to char him to a crisp.

"Kung Lao would've wanted you to look fondly on your friendship and love, and seek to replicate that love with others. He would've wanted you to live happily, even if he wasn't there to provide you with that happiness."

"L-Liu Kang, what are you-wait...No!" Raiden's eyes start to water as he can feel his memories slipping. Not just the ones with Kung Lao, but everything before Liu Kang found him. His previous adventures in Outworld, in the Netherealm, in Chaosrealm, his ventures with his closest friends...The first time Kung Lao told him the three words, "I love you." Everything. "Liu Kang, no! Don't, please don't!"

Liu Kang, almost coldly, ignores Raiden's pleas as he takes it all away. Reverting Raiden back to the simple farm boy from Fengjian who simply wanted to protect and guide his village.

"...You are right, Raiden," Liu Kang says between paused breaths, trying to hold back tears as he committed the deed. "It is my fault. I shouldn't have thought that I could groom you or Kung Lao to become protectors of Earthrealm like you were before. I shouldn't have taken you away from your family, your friends, and your home in hopes of raising you to become grand warriors. I have placed your loved ones and you in so much danger...All because I clung onto a life that no longer exists...I'm sorry."

With that said, Raiden passes out from his injuries as Liu Kang finished the last of the memory wipe. Liu Kang stares at Raiden's slumbering body, and he can't help but scream and cry.

Finally allowing himself to grieve ever since that fateful day.

-

Fuji finished up the last of the clothes just in time when dinner was ready. She was having a hot pot this night, filled with various greens, potatoes, sweet potatoes, corn, radishes, and various mushrooms. All placed into a chicken broth seasoned further with a tomato and pork bone soup base. Fuji sits at the table with a bowl full of the soup and she does her best to not look across the table...Where her brother Raiden would be...

Raiden told her a long time ago that he was placed in a very powerful position and hard at work with Mr. Kang. He brings back money and unique souvenirs with questionable origins. And he always makes sure to visit her occasionally when he's coming back to Fengjian.

But this was one of the many occasions where the house felt too big, even with their elderly mother and father sleeping in the other room. She missed having her older brother around, for the longest time, he was her only friend. Her closest friend. I mean, sure, they were siblings, and they had their "sibling moments," but with him gone, she never felt more alone. But her being alone wasn't the main problem for Fuji, it was Raiden's sudden silence.

Ever since Kung Lao's passing, Raiden hasn't been returning her calls, answering her letters, or even visiting the family. Doesn't help, too, that none of his friends live in Fengjian, and aside from Kung Lao and Johnny's number (she's never calling that man, btw), she can't even reach them to know what's up with her brother. It's gotten to the point where she has saved up some money to take a week's vacation to the U.S. where her brother is currently working (or so Raiden told her).

Before Fuji knew it, she was already done with her bowl (2 bowls actually) and she saved the leftovers for her parents when they awaken. As she was washing up the dishes, she hears a knock at the door. Hmm? Who could be visiting her at this hour?

…Could it be!

"Give me a moment!" Fuji says hurriedly as she dries her hands; making her way to the front door. A tiny bit of hope fills the young woman. Could this be Raiden? After so long!

She swings open the door, hope and glee plastered on her face, but it quickly turns to confusion and worry. "…Liu Kang…Raiden!?!"

Outside was Liu Kang carrying a bandaged and mostly healed Raiden. "I'm sorry to come at such a late hour, Fuji. May I come in."

"What happened to my brother!?! Did someone mug him? Was he attacked?" Fuji ushers Liu Kang to enter the home and shows him to Raiden's old room, still possessing his old belongings even before he left.

Despite her questions, Liu Kang did not answer her. She asks again and again about her brother's condition, who did this to him, and why, but she is met with silence. She watches Liu Kang gently place Raiden on his old bed, and just as he came unexpectedly, Liu proceeded to walk back outside.

"W-wait! Liu Kang, please, tell me what happened! Who hurt my brother! Why did this happen-" Fuji tries to stop Liu Kang by grabbing at his wrist, but she saw something that shocked him.

Liu Kang's eyes were red as if he was crying not too long ago.

"…What happened…"

There's a long pause between them. All that Liu Kang does is slightly tilt his head toward her, his white eyes meeting hers, before saying, "I'm sorry, Fuji. Your brother has been relieved from his service…And this will be the last time we will see each other."

And just like that, Liu Kang left. Fuji watched Liu Kang leave, fading away in the horizon, with more questions than answers.

"Ugh…My head."

Fuji nearly scares herself when she hears Raiden in the other room and moving about. She rushes back to him and helps support her brother when she sees that he is still unsteady.

"Raiden! Liu Kang, your boss from the States dropped you off, and you're bandaged, and unconscious, and Liu wouldn't tell me why you were like this and-"

"whoa, whoa, Fuji, slow down! Start over, who's Liu Kang again?"

Fuji pauses. "…Liu Kang…Your boss…"

"Fuji, I have no idea who that man is," Raiden hisses in pain as his muscles start to ache again. It's only now that he realizes that he was bandaged badly. "Did he do this?"

"I-I don't know. I thought…I thought you would tell me…"

"Well, I don't know who I angered to get this treatment, but if this Liu Kang fellow helped me back home, I'm surely appreciative. I'll have to lay back down. Can you get me a hot towel, please?"

Fuji helped her brother back to bed and gave him his requested towel, but she found herself staying in his room for the entire night as if she were a child again. She couldn't sleep as she was plagued with questions about what happened to Raiden. Better yet, the line of work that he was in that he got this terrible treatment. And unfortunately, she might never get those answers again. Raiden doesn't remember anything in the past couple of years, even seemingly forgotten about Kung Lao's death and funeral. His memories were missing and he couldn't give a reliable answer to what happened in his life past the day that he went into Madam Bo's restaurant after a bet with Kung Lao.

Even worse, she can't ask Liu Kang. Because just as he promised and foretold, they never saw Liu Kang again. - ~Holy shit this was longer than I anticipated. Also, I do not like Liu Kang's memories loss powers, but will I use it for the sake of angst? You fucking know I will bby! This is my pseudo-first fan work for an official fandom and I hope everyone liked it. Once again, a lot of this was inspired thanks to the lovely artists who contributed to the "oops, Kung Lao dies again" AU and I want to thank them for jumpstarting this silly little AU in this silly little game about beheading people with your bare hands. Sorry if there were some grammatical and spelling errors, was working on this throughout the evening and past midnight (quite literally 4:26 where I'm at lmao). I might make a sequel to this because I'm getting ideas of Kung Lao returning, but not as he used to be (Revenants in MK1, ayo?)~ UPDATE! I have now officially made a writer's blog so that this doesn't get lost in my clustered main blog! Any future installments about this and other writing pieces will go to this blog! @420thewritersroom

[galedekarios]

honestly, it's just for a bit of fun and to explore the dynamic! it's not a dynamic i see skipping off into the sunset together, but as incredibly interesting nonetheless.

it started when i was talking with friends about how their dynamic might be and that i'd love to be a fly on the wall when raphael and gale talk.

they both strike me as very refined, very verbose, very intelligent. i think they'd have really sharp and witty interactions, where one thinks they are outsmarting the other.

like i first started to think about the potential in their dynamic after gale's convo where you meet raphael for the first time, seeing right through him and what raphael actually says and wants, and trying to figure out a way to beat the devil at his own game ("what is human is fallible.") and in early access, gale could approach raphael to make a deal of his own if you don't help gale getting magical artefacts to consume.

i can see (an origin) gale approaching raphael to find out more. about the tadpoles. about the orb. especially once the artefacts stop working.

i can see them drinking tea or a fine vintage red together and chatting rather pleasantly, even though it's really like... verbal warfare between a high int, genius level wizard and the literal devil.

raphael is so eloquent, whip-smart and clearly appreciates the finer things in life and gale does as well. literature, poetry. knowledge. ambition.

gale is one of the few companions who will not dismiss raphael's offer at salvation right off the bat, but rather argues that they should look deeper, look into his motives, what raphael wants and how the group can use that to their advantage:

"But let me play the devil deal's advocate:  the man is too eager. Do not dismiss his offer out of hand. Raphael is a cambion, which makes him part human. And what is human, is fallible. Fact one: there's something very strange and very powerful about our tadpoles. Fact two: a devil offers to take it away. What if the tadpole is what he really wants instead of the customary price that is our souls? If I'm right, there's a mighty bargain to be made. Remember his Cormyrian rhyme? 'Down came the claw'. Perhaps we should start growing our nails."

plot twist: gale actually does outsmart raphael, and raphael is like

so, all of that that then led me down the path to more self-indulgent hcs, like "what if raphael and gale knew each other before we meet either of them in the game?" and i thought about two scenarios:

their first meeting at one of those rather fancy wizard balls in waterdeep that gale talks about attending ("mine was a popular hand at the annual blackstaff ball."). we know raphael has portals to all major cities and places, waterdeep included, and is keen on finding people with potential and power, making his connections across the worlds.

perhaps raphael sensed the potential there because we know that gale was brimming with it before being brought down low by the orb.

i had the clearest picture of gale taking a breather gale a breather on a balcony and then there's this sudden acrid smell of sulphur in the air.

"my, my, what manner of place is this?"

(he's a loser and still uses the same line years later in the middle of nowhere, on the road to baldur's gate.)

the other scenario i really enjoyed was thinking about the second meeting perhaps, after gale rebuffed him before, perhaps (stragically on raphael's part) a few weeks after gale has acquired the orb.

"and so we meet again! i can offer you help, my dear, with your... matter of the heart," whether he means the falling out with mystra or whether he knows about the orb remains unclear until raphael taps his chest, the very same spot where on gale's own the scars the orb left behind can be seen.

raphael offers salvation. temptation. yet gale declines for now. he had just made one grave mistake, he's not about to make another just as disastrous one.

yet.

and raphael leaves, graciously accepting the dismissal, but not without leaving behind a little piece of brimstone. a calling card, if you will.

ANYHOW. sorry for rambling you've just enabled my crack ship fixation that i've had since ea came out, lol.

i will leave you with this thought and then shut up:

you know what gale/raphael is prime material for? hand kisses. like, a low bow, a kiss on the hand, and that slow glance up at the other.

[jlilycorbie]

A brief history of the frustrating evolution of the (still) untitled fantasy WIP

You could probably say it started with a warrior woman on a steppe with her pet monster, surrounded by angry centaurs.

There needed to be a reason why the centaurs (who were part antelope instead of horse, and had single horns) were angry with her.

And there was a book I'd written with a friend back in high school that could maybe provide some sort of plot for her?

She was on the steppe trying to find answers because there was a grave by her home, and she didn't know who it was for, but she suspected it was someone she loved. So who was it, and why couldn't she remember?

Zaya got her name and so far, she's kept it. She has dark skin and straight black hair that's shaved on one side to show off tattoos that identify her as a hero among her people. She's a warrior woman who was a middle child who learned to fight protecting her delicate younger brother. It was a great surprise when her warrior father was going to take his next child to train and chose her over her younger brother.

Aleksani came from that old book with my friend. She had a different name, and she never got a clear motivation in the original book. She was evil, though. Now she looks very different, with hair like a dying fire--black and grey and red--and unsettlingly pale skin and green eyes. She has pointed ears and sharp teeth. And she's a princess, maybe? She's driven to save her kingdom, and she's lost her family, and that drives makes her do terrible things.

Nideszda also came from that old book. She had a different name, and went through a couple before she landed on that one. She looks a lot like Aleksani because they're from the same people, though she's less unsettlingly pale and she had amber eyes. She was adopted by insular forest people, and she never really has any clear adopted family? And she faces harassment and racism for being an outsider. She's got a bond animal that was something different, but now all the bond animals are either black or white.

The forest people are deeply insular and hate outsiders but for some reason they're ruled by a king from outside the forest? But not anymore, because that never made sense.

Tsinte was also from that old book, also had a different name. She was a wanderer, which was apparently a viable career path, and Aleksani wanted her for...reasons? So she got taken in by the forest people and she made friends with Nideszda and got her own bond animal, too. She has undefined powers that include reading minds, and maybe Aleksani wants her because she was somehow involved in what happened to Aleksani's kingdom.

And Miyarki was Zaya's wife, and she was dead at the beginning of the story. But fridging a wife is gross and I don't want to do that, so she and Zaya find each other at the end of the book. But that's still a bummer. What if they find each other in the middle of the book and Miyarki gets to be part of the story? Miyarki's from the same part of the world as Aleksani and Nideszda, but she's got darker skin than Zaya, and her hair grows red in the warm seasons and white in the cold seasons. She has a degenerative condition, so she walked with a cane when she and Zaya last saw each other, and she's now a wheelchair user. She's moved on since she had to start her life fresh, and she's living with someone.

But look, I'm interested in building a world that's very different from ours. I want to see what a world would be like if people met each other and started vibrant trade networks, but the world never had racism, sexism, homophobia, transphobia, xenophobia, no colonization, no capitalism, no war, no royalty.

Wait, if there's no war, Zaya can't be a warrior. And also it means that her backstory can't be how amazing it is that her dad saw her and trained her. That would be normal.

And I really like the image of that mysterious grave, but it's silly. Got to let go of that.

And if there's no royalty, Aleksani can't be a princess. Maybe she's the child of an academic? Who was involved in whatever endangered her land?

And Nideszda. This is a world where the circumstances that would lead to adoption outside of families or communities would be vanishingly rare, so she definitely has some trauma from being brought into a strange community and not knowing what happened to her family...but she's loved and supported by that community since there's no racism or xenophobia around here.

Also, the bond animals are very different. Hers is now Kysi, a kopaulinok--a giant venomous spider otter with eight legs, six eyes, and markings like a peacock spider. The forest people (it's now called the Nyctine Forest, it's on one side of a range of mountains that border the steppe) are called Padanche, and they know themselves as the Folk. They identify themselves by the animal they most commonly bond with, so Nideszda is from the Kopaulinok Folk.

Zaya's a monster hunter. This is a world with big, dangerous creatures that need to be kept away from people and crops. She's known as a hero because a pair of dragons were hunting passing caravans in a mountain pass, and in an attempt to impress a pretty lady with one of those caravans, she tried to take on both dragons alone. She succeeded, but was gravely injured, and the pretty lady saved her.

The pretty lady, Miyarki, saved her in order to yell at her for killing those poor dragons, couldn't she see one of them had damaged wings, they probably had eggs together, now Zaya has to get herself together because she's going to help Miyarki find and save those eggs. So Zaya crawled through the mountains with a potentially mortal wound to find those eggs, then Miyarki got her back to her house and both nursed Zaya back to health and hatched the eggs. They stayed together until the babies were old enough to release back into the mountains, and Zaya escorted Miyarki to the place where she was originally going.

On her way home, Miyarki stopped to visit Zaya again and ended up staying. Zaya hunted monsters, Miyarki sometimes rescued them, nursed them to health, and released them with Zaya's help. That's how they ended up with a clutch of orphaned unagul eggs. Unagul are dangerous--huge creatures that are a mix of goat or sheep and bird. They're feathered, and they have four legs with long talons, wings that are more useful for gliding than flying, horns, long teeth. They are not considered tameable, let alone domesticatable. No one known had ever successfully hatched their eggs, either.

But one did hatch. He's sort of a bighorn sheep and Brahma chicken. He's got talons on his wings and venomous spurs on his back legs. And whenever Miyarki and Zaya tried to release him, he followed them home. They finally told him if he followed them back again, they'd make him a capon, and he did so...they did. And they named him Scavats, and Zaya rides him when she hunts monsters, and he mostly follows her around like a puppy and wants scritches.

And everything was going great until one day Zaya and Miyarki woke up tangled together in bed and didn't recognize each other. But it was obvious both of them lived there. They figured things out as best they could and tried to rebuild their lives together. And they found a map Miyarki had with a country neither of them could remember, so they went out to figure out what was going on...

And forgot what they were doing and went home.

They did that multiple times, until once Zaya got home alone and didn't even remember that something had gone wrong.

Except she can look around her house and she knows something is missing. And she has this map.

So finally she sets out, and somewhere on the steppe, Scavats hunts and kills and eats a lone yearling unicorn antelope called a zaigen, and that night a group of Huudzairen--unicorn antelope centaurs--find them and are furious that she killed their lost zaigen.

She owes them a blood price, but also she's got a map that shows a country called Djaetyrot, and in their city is Aleksani, who remember Djaetyrot, and needs help saving it. And maybe Zaya can help.

Meanwhile, Aleksani has tracked down Tsinte for the first time since something terrible happened to Djaetyrot, because Tsinte was there a decade before when Aleksani's mother and her mother's mentor tried something foolish that uprooted all the magic in Djaetyrot, and not only wiped it off of their world, but made everyone in the world forget about it and anything that came from it.

People mistake Tsinte for a child, but she's older than she looks. She hasn't aged in that decade, and she claims she remembers nothing, and now she's connected to the world differently from everyone else. Other people draw magic from the world. Tsinte can take magic from people and return it to the world.

Also, the world is sentient and aware of the people on it. Part of why Aleksani's mother and her mentor failed at whatever they were doing is the world swallowed them for what they were doing, and it's trying to mend the wound it left by erasing all memory of it.

And Tsinte doesn't actually speak any languages. She's so highly telepathic that she can skim the native language from anyone she's speaking to. It means she's uncanny and unsettling, and she always speaks like she's making noises without understanding their meaning. And while most people can speak what's known as travel talk, Tsinte can't.

She also doesn't actually bond to an animal while she's with the Padanche. They assume she did because she can communicate directly with them.

And maybe Nideszda should be a side character instead of a main character? She's sort of got her own story to explore, but she's somehow off on some sort of coming of age adventure while everyone else is doing something else.

I still need to smooth out a few more details about WTF Aleksani's mother and her mentor were doing. I know they met Tsinte and used her ability to sort of reverse the natural flow of magic in the area, and Tsinte's trauma from it is what's causing the desolation in the place where it happened and the amnesia through the rest of the world.

And now I realize that means she can't hear or understand Djaetyli people. Which means I need to rewrite her intro and first interaction with Aleksani. And she can understand and interact with Nideszda because she has so little connection left to Djaetyrot and is so thoroughly Padanche now.

And maybe Nidezda needs to lose all her POV chapters because there's nothing for her to do on that level in this story. Which will require yet more rewriting.

And that's where I am now. I already got 40k words into this story and had to drop everything and rewrite it from scratch. Now I'm 45k words in, Miyarki hasn't even made an appearance yet, and I need to make more serious overhauls.

Also, all but the most distant bones from that old story with my friend are now gone, which is just as well. I felt guilty about using it at all, and it probably never really belonged here.

I think this time I can keep writing the story and worry about those major revisions later because they aren't as radical at the first few changes.

But man. This story has been difficult from the beginning.

[feedthepheasants]

Writing Interview Tag Game!! eeeeee!!!!

thank you thank you thank you for the tags @dr-demi-bee & @mothermoth92 !! ♥♥♥

When did you start writing?

I feel so silly saying I've always been a writer. As a kid, I loved telling stories and creating/performing as characters in a variety of facets. I remember in elementary school (foggy on what grade), I had a creative writing project where we had to write a short story based on a picture. My mom got a call home two weeks later when I hadn't turned it in - I just couldn't stop writing.

When I got into middle school and found ~the boundless wonders & horrors of unrestricted internet access~ I started writing even more - one shots, fanfics, short stories, play scripts, the beginnings of would-be novels. And I still have my first laptop, with all of that stuff still on it! I just can't remember my password. :')

Are there different themes or genres you enjoy reading than what you write?

Absolutely!

As a reader, my top genres are fantasy/adventure, historical fiction and classics. That said, I enjoy romance/romantasy, sci-fi, mystery/thriller memoirs and contemporary novels more and more as I get older! But my first love has always been fantasy/adventure. One of my more unconventional tastes as a reader, however, are dissertations and research papers/articles on historical topics, and pre 13th-century plays/fables/short stories/poems!

My writing (especially in recent years) has primarily been in the fantasy/adventure genre. I've dabbled in others, mostly contemporary/romance stories and playwrighting, but I feel most comfortable in fantasy/adventure by a long run.

Is there a writer you want to emulate or get compared to often?

I think to be compared to any prolific writer would genuinely be an honor I would carry with me to my grave!

As a fantasy writer, I have taken many notes on GRRM's writing and world-building and applied it towards developing my own voice as a writer. Erin Morgenstern and Pierce Brown are two writers I would add to my 'aspire to be' list, though I have so many and it's so hard to choose!

Can you tell me a bit about your writing space?

I write wherever and whenever I can.

Most of the time, that's my couch or my bed, but it's also been my work office, the car, my gate at the airport, the bathroom at a party, a creaky kitchen table at a pet/house-sitting gig..

However, my favorite place is definitely my couch with my autumn-scented candles, plethora of blankets, and my cushy headphones playing my 26 hour film score playlist. Add some fuzzy socks and Ghibli films on my TV and nobody will see me for a week. Bonus points if it's raining outside!

What's your most effective way to muster up a muse?

Again, sounding silly here, but you know that one William Blake poem? "To see a world in a grain of sand / and heaven in a wildflower / hold infinity in the palm of your hand / and eternity in an hour" ? That's how I feel about mustering a muse.

Literally anything can spark an idea for me, be it a plot, a character, or a moment in a story. It's very important to me to write what I know, and to write about the world and people around me, so I base a lot of my characters and their backgrounds/stories around the experiences of myself and the people in my life - the close and the distant, the old and the new. Even a breeze can send me into a flurry that won't rest until I write whatever I'm thinking down, which is why I keep a mini notebook and my notes app accessible at all times!

Are there any recurring themes in your writing? Do they surprise you?

Most of the time, I find myself writing about characters who don't feel like they belong in one place. They're split between something; a decision, two people, two paths their lives could go down. In fact, the novel I've been working on and intend to submit for publishing in the near future is just that: the two primary characters are based off of myself, split in two. And boy has that been a rollercoaster ride!

Other general themes that have made their way into most of my writing are complex familial relationships, growing up (because we never really stop!), people coming and going in life, and the idea that you can never go back, no matter how much you try. Also, always the 'what could've been' of every choice. I think reflecting upon life-isms is one of my favorites, because it's something you see in literature through history and connects us with those who came before - again, realizing we're not alone.

What is your reason for writing?

Writing has always been an escape for me, and it was, for a very long time, the only thing I had that was ever mine.

Performative is a great word to describe my upbringing. Not going into too much detail, I often felt very 'on display' at family functions and other social gatherings when I felt uncomfortable or uneasy performing (I was an instrumentalist for 17 years, and was always forced 'asked' to entertain at functions). It had been a beloved hobby of mine, but I grew to resent it because of how often it was used against me.

So, when I got my first computer and began writing and posting stories, I didn't tell a single soul from my personal life. Especially not when I gained traction on the websites my writing was posted on, nor when I had earned a significant following. For years, the only people who knew were the internet friends I'd made through writing. Even now, there are only a handful of people in my outside life circles that know I write, and even fewer have ever actually read any of my creative writing. I think I still have a fear of losing something very dear to me. I like the anonymity - there's less pressure to exceed expectations, and there's fewer eyes to watch you fall.

Is there any specific comment or type of comment you find particularly motivating?

Receiving comments in general is extremely motivating. I rarely share my work with people in my outside life circles, so I mostly rely on feedback/interactions with friends/readers online. Honestly, just knowing that people enjoy the work I produce means the world, whether it's through a like/kudos, reblog, or anything.

What really makes me crazy (in a good way!) is when people do character analysis or relation to my work. It's very rewarding (and quite frankly, very healing) to see when others identify with the experiences, thoughts or feelings that I write about. I tend to spiral and feel very isolated during difficult periods of life, and the reminder that I'm not the only one is very comforting.

How do you want to be thought about by your readers?

I want to be someone who, when I post a project, at least one person is excited to read what I've created. I've been in a lot of rooms where I've felt like what I feel or have to say doesn't mean anything, so I think the idea of reaching one person who does want to hear/read what I have to say would absolutely rock my world.

What I don't want is to be the kind of writer where readers can't engage critically with what I've created. I think both positive and critical feedback are essential to me as an artist. If I write something that just isn't great, needs work, has plot holes or doesn't make sense for how I've led a character's development thus far, constructive feedback is more than welcomed. As I get older, I get better and better at separating my art from myself, which makes taking criticism easier, and makes me more receptive to making the necessary changes.

What do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer?

It's been a controversial topic in the past, but I love creating flawed people who make mistakes. That's just a part of life - everyone does things they wish they could take back, things they regret, words they wish they'd never said. I put a lot of that into my characters (with original works predominantly) because I think it makes them more relatable. Nothing irks me more than when a main character always makes the dutiful choice, the sacrifice, and does everything right.

I LOVE when a character fails! I LOVE when they make a mistake, and lose a battle. It means they learn something. I LOVE when a character trusts, and is so egregiously betrayed that I'm doubled over on the floor, heaving for breath and about to be physically sick because I cannot believe what just happened (looking at you, Red Rising). Because I have a lot of my own regrets, I try to find closure through writing. It doesn't always work, but it helps.

When you write, are you influenced by what others enjoy might enjoy reading, or do you write purely for yourself, or a mix of both?

I try to write a little bit of both. I want to write things that are personal and meaningful to me, but I also want to write things that people can relate to.

In regards to my novel-in-progress, I've taken a story that I really want to tell, and have polled so many readers and read so many forums and threads about what readers want and don't want in the older-y/a fantasy/adventure range, and have been adapting characters and plotlines to meet those. (For example: I love the heightened stakes of war and political drama, I love heavy lore and world building, I love devasting romance, and I also love smut. Still haven't found a book that hits the mark with all of these!)

How do you feel about your own writing?

Yikes!

I don't by any means think I'm a bad writer. All artists get self-conscious and doubt their work at times - I tend to do that more often than not, especially when I post something for people to read and react to. I definitely think I have a lot of room to grow, but I also recognize that I have come very far.

I also recognize, that I have strengths when it comes to writing styles, and I 100% have weaknesses. Unfortunately, my current fic is written in first person present tense - why, god why, did I do this to myself? I hate it! I love the character, the story is very close and personal to me, but the longer it's gone on, the harder it has been to push through - though there has been progress recently! After this, however, I'll stick to third person or narrative '_ x reader', because it's what I feel most comfortable with.

The biggest thing is that I enjoy the stories that I want to tell, but I'm so indecisive about how I want to tell them. Sometimes, none of the words feel right, and other times, all of the words feel right and I can't make a decision because they all feel different even when they mean the same thing!

As always, no pressure tagging @crimson-and-lavender , @waterdeep-weavemoss and @honeybee-bard !

[raitrolling]

Where the Wolfsbane Blooms

[Easy reading version on Toyhou.se]

(This drabble is related to @cloudbattrolls' Harbinger plot, and takes place at the same time as Last Stand.)

Mikiel had been waiting for this moment.

Perigees had passed since Thrixe’s disappearance, but he had done nothing but wait. Biding his time, throwing himself into his work, keeping his skills sharp and his anger even sharper. Gone were the times that he would complain at the sight of some unexplainable abnormality, replaced now with a cold efficiency to destroy anything that crossed his path.

It was all he could do to stay sane, at least until Ginger gave him the call.

They told him to expect to be summoned a few nights after their first call, which gave him ample time to prepare. The head of Special Operations had taken his notice that he was summoned by the Mantle of Pestilence themself as a job of grave importance, making Mikiel Gaia’s representative in assisting with restoring the balance between the two realms. Many of Gaia’s agents, like all other entities on Alternia, had been barred entry from the realm after the fae closed the courts, meaning that they could not send in any back-up to assist him.

But, that did not mean they were unable to provide the blueblood with any assistance.

In his hand were three doses of psiionic stimulant, each contained within an auto-injector needle. Mind honey is a highly-controlled substance on Alternia, yet Gaia had something equally as potent on its side: Magic. Mikiel had been warned by the medical staff to not exceed more than one dose over twenty-four hours, as given his highly unstable psiionics they could not be certain that his body would be able to handle the strain they will put on his heart.

As he tucked two of the injectors into his pockets and stared down his present targets, the last thing on his mind were any safety concerns. Being safe will not bring his moirail back.

When he was teleported into the Summer Court, he was barely given any time to take in his surroundings before Ginger had informed him of his task: Keep the advancing fae at bay, and buy the two trolls they were assisting as much time as possible to catch up to their quarry. Supposedly they were seeking out one known as The Fireseer, the sole roadblock between this world and The Furthest Ring.

Their goals aligned with his, and that was all he cared about. The rest of these damned fae realms could burn to the ground, as far as he was concerned. 

Ginger had also provided him with some minor protective spells before they parted ways: One to shield his eyes from the Court’s endless daylight, and one to lessen the impact of any magic or wounds caused by the fae. Typically he did not enjoy the idea of being subjected to magic, but he had to respect their practicality. 

The battlefield in front of him was a coastal wasteland: A strategic location to provide himself with ample room to let his psiionics loose, and pools of boiling water behind him created a chokepoint to defend as the main group made their escape. The sun shining above him felt like it should have been burning his skin like that of Alternia’s brightest star, but his psiionics combined with Ginger’s spell protected him from any discomfort related to the unusual temperature. 

He could see swarms of disease-ridden amalgamations approaching from the horizon, and knew it was time. With a silent nod towards Ginger, he set out to fulfil his duty.

Ice began forming at his feet as he pulled off his gloves, holding the needle between his teeth while he clenched and unclenched his hands. The temperature of the Summer Court would ordinarily not be ideal for his psiionics, his frozen footsteps not spreading out as fast as he would like. He kept advancing until he was in the middle of the field, staring firmly ahead at the disgusting creatures in front of him. 

He could feel the many pairs of eyes on him, scrutinising him with suspicion. He is but a single troll, powerless against the fae’s sheer numbers in their forces and lacking in any natural defenses that their species was accustomed to. A mind fragile against supernatural interference, a body incapable of regenerating itself infinitely…

But they knew what just one troll could be capable of, after the intruder had destroyed so many kin, and they knew that there must be a reason if Pestilence had called upon him specifically.

That reason made itself clear when the blueblood bared his teeth and snarled, almost wolf-like in nature, then drove the needle into his own thigh.  

That snarl became a pained howl as Mikiel doubled over, clutching his head as the stimulant ignited his psiionics, sending shockwaves of power throughout his entire body. His vision tripled, his head felt like it was splitting apart while his heart threatened to tear out of his chest, and he felt like he was going to vomit. 

The landlocked fae did not stand a chance against the resulting blast of pure psiionic energy.

The ground within a twenty metre radius of Mikiel froze within an instant, consuming everything in its path. Pillars of ice spikes shot up metres in the air around him, and as he staggered backwards sent even more soaring up into the air. He could hear a cacophony of sounds as those capable of flight screeched at the sight of entire squadrons of fae swallowed up by the ice, their horrified expressions captured inside their frozen prisons. 

Breathing heavily, his hand moved to his chest to feel his heartbeat. Each breath felt like he was getting speared by icicles forming within his own lungs. His glasses cracked under the rapid drop in temperature, making the swarms of creatures ahead nothing but dark inhuman blurs. Ice stuck to his clothes and climbed up his legs, reminding him that he needed to get moving now lest he end up just like his foes.

He took a moment to attach his ice skate blades to his boots, and charged forward. 

Mikiel ducked and weaved amongst the ice spikes shooting up at all angles around him, baiting the fae to try and get within his reach. The one drawback of his cryokinesis was that he cannot freeze anything that is not directly touching either himself or the ground underneath him, but after dealing with abnormalities at Gaia, he had developed a new strategy. 

A mass of insectoid limbs with monarch wings dive bombed in from his left. Mikiel turned on his skates and swung out his arm, using his entire body to guide the fast-growing ice spikes into the same arc. The fae stopped in its tracks for just a second too long and was pierced by a spike directly through its central core.   

Another one down. God knows how many to go.  

Mikiel kept moving, keeping as many fae eyes on him as possible, leading them around the battlefield and spearing them with his spikes whenever the opportunity struck. To stop moving would be to die. Any moment spent standing still would allow the disgusting creatures to pile onto him, overwhelming him with their sheer numbers.

But, while quick and with the power of at least ten psiionics surging through his veins, he was not invincible. 

A nautilus-like disease fae, using its crystalline shell to camouflage against a pillar of ice, shot its tendrils out at the skating troll, and managed to get a grip on his arm. Mikiel stumbled, caught unaware, and was forced to grind his blades to a halt. With its prey ensnared, the fae sprouted more tendrils, this time tipped with sharp needle-like points, and aimed them at the blueblood’s neck. 

Mikiel disregarded those entirely, instead grabbing onto the tendrils that’d wrapped around his other arm. He yanked them towards himself with all his strength to dislodge the fae from its hiding place, and the needle-tipped tendrils missed their mark, one only managing to nick the side of his neck while the other flailed about uselessly. He felt the creature’s grip tighten around his arm, but quickly the tendrils stiffened and froze, ice consuming the rest of its body.

It may have wasted precious seconds, but Mikiel felt some satisfaction from stomping on the newly-formed ice sculpture until it was nothing but a pile of frozen chunks.

This back-and-forth continued, until it seemed that the fae’s numbers had drastically decreased. Mikiel did not feel as if he had thinned out their numbers that dramatically, and could only assume they had performed a strategic retreat. Good, as he could feel the effects of the stimulant start to wane. He was able to breathe for a moment, and slowed down, retrieving a second pair of glasses so he could survey his surroundings. However, the lens cracked quickly from the shift in temperature, and Mikiel swore under his breath.

His neck itched where the nautilus-fae’s tendrils had scratched him, the beginnings of a rash forming. 

This section of the Summer Court had also been transformed into a frozen wasteland, spires of ice haphazardly dotted around the area encasing many fae within. Those who had been speared by the spikes had already dissolved, leaving only traces of their melted remains glimmering in the realm’s abnormal sunlight. 

There were no other traces of fae in sight, meaning… 

Mikiel heard a distorted call, a chorus of synthesised war horns crying out at once, then felt the ground underneath him rumble. The spikes around him cracked with each tremor. When he turned around, his jaw almost dropped.

It was substantially larger than the others he had fought, and while slow and lumbering it emanates the pure power of a phantasmal beast. Four sturdy hooves cracked from centuries of warfare held up a body much more dinosaur-like in appearance, and atop of its long neck was a head resembling a chimera of horse and crocodile. Its head revealed flashes of exposed bone between shaggy strings of peeled skin, and similar needle-like bones lined down the creature’s back at odd angles, finishing at a leathery tail thin as a whip.

A lengthy maw filled with fangs smiled down upon Mikiel, and its tail cracked in intimidation. Blackened skin sloughed off its body in chunks like irradiated flesh, a twisted parody of death and rebirth as new sheets regrew in its place only to be scorched and discarded. The ice floor underneath its feet sizzled as it walked, but through shattered glasses the blueblood could not tell what was dripping off its rapidly-decaying body.

He knew nothing of the fae’s hierarchy or how to identify the diseases they represented, but he could tell by its size and its ornate headdress decorated with summer foliage that the seasonal Courts had summoned one of its strongest combatants. A Royal Knight. 

He reached into his pocket to pull out a second injector. He was told to not exceed the limit of one dosage per night, but this wasn’t the ordinary circumstances he would be facing on Alternia, this was a literal do-or-die scenario. And he needed all the power he could get.

Mikiel was prepared for the consequences as he jabbed the needle into his thigh, but that did not make its activation any less painful. Again he screamed and staggered, holding his head as the same affects struck him twofold. Ice stuck to his hair and lanced up the filed-down stumps where his horns once sat, and another wave of spikes shot out from the ground in a brilliant wave as his nerves fried. He felt the burning all the way down to the tips of his fingers and toes, and tasted blood in his mouth from the strain his body was being put under. 

He was hearing sounds and seeing colours that did not exist, but his target was large enough that he did not need to clearly envision his next move. Barely able to remain steady on his feet, he took off, the ice carving a path through all the spikes for him to gain enough speed.

Then, focusing his power, the path he had created lifted off the ground, becoming a perfect ramp for him to leap off - and onto the fae’s back. 

Fuck, this thing is hot. Even with his psiionics protecting him, he could still feel the beast’s skin sizzling against his boots… As betwixt the fleshy peels lay tumorous boils which continuously oozed searing-hot acid, covering the fae in a viscous layer of boiling corrosive tar. Bubbles burst and shot flecks of acid upwards, burning tiny holes into Mikiel’s clothing, while ice continuously creeped over his body, instantly melting then reforming to protect him from the heat.

He knew now that his original plan was a bust, there was simply no way his psiionics would be able to freeze this monster. Goddammit.

The fae howled a horrible draconic roar, lurching it’s body from side to side in an attempt to shake the blueblood off. Mikiel made a grab for the rows of exposed needle-like bones running down its spines. He attempted to spread his ice down them, but they too were too hot for his cryokinesis to affect them. The best he could manage was preventing his hands from blistering upon exposure. 

Reaching out from one spine to the next, he made his way up the creature’s back, gritting his teeth through the pain of his psiionics being pushed into overdrive. He had to make this work, he had to stop this thing no matter what. Perhaps if he could not freeze it from the outside, then - 

A sound of a whip crack caught his attention, and he spun around. The tail. A long, leathery-looking thing, far more flexible than the fae’s sauropod-like appearance made it seem. It curled up like a scorpion’s stinger, and lashed forward at Mikiel. He dodged, still clinging to one of the spines to maintain his balance, but the sludgy consistency of the acid at his feet made it difficult to move. 

But the fae was not aiming to spear the cryokinetic, and the tail’s position was in a perfect spot to coil itself around Mikiel’s throat.

Mikiel panicked, clawing madly at it as he felt its grip tighten, digging his nails into its leathery flesh. He managed to pull it off him, but it kept fighting back. With the intensity of a cornered animal, he grasped a length of the tail between his fists and bit down, hard.

There was a loud crack as rather than sinking his teeth into what appeared to be flesh, Mikiel found bone hard enough to shatter his fangs. He cried out in pain and lurched backwards, wiping his hand against his mouth and tasting bloodied gums. Damn beast, he should have known that he was not dealing with a creature made of anything remotely similar to Alternian animal biology.

Yet, despite the relative stupidity of his move, the fae’s agonised shriek proved it had some impact. It withdrew its tail from the blueblood, changing strategies.

He leaned forwards to cough up all the gunk inside his mouth: blood, ice crystals, and a few shards of shattered teeth. His jaw seized up with pain, sending another wave of dizziness to distract him from the beast’s next move.

The Patron’s Mark alerted him to a sudden surge of magical energy around him. Light crackled in the air, forming rings of magical circuits that entrapped Mikiel before he was able to react.

Shit.

He couldn’t move.

The damned beast had cast a binding spell. Goddamnit, he was warned that the fae were capable of casting magic, why didn’t he think-

Before he knew it, the fae struck again. As fast as lightning, its tail smacked against him and sent him flying. He was powerless against it, and unable to move his body to lessen the near-instantaneous impact with the ground.

He heard his elbow crack against the frozen floor, but he couldn’t feel it. He continued to slide across the ice, seeing stars and incomprehensible blurs, until his body finally ran out of any momentum.

The blueblood let out a groan. Ice crawled up his arm to hold it in place, not that he was able to move anything while the spell still had its hold on him. It was starting to wear off, however, as he was able to move his head and spit out all the remaining shards of broken teeth. He knew he’d have to get them all removed when he returned, so that new teeth could grow in their place. If he was able to return. He had no plan of even attempting to make it out of this battle alive, because if he’d faltered, that could have spelled the end of Thrixe’s return. Why now? Why worry about returning home?

When he heard the rumbling of the Knight lumbering towards him, he knew why. It was because he knew he was going to die. And as its jaws clamped around his body, piercing into his flesh, oozing blood and threatening to crunch his bones, he realised he did not actually want to die.

The beast shook its head from side to side, playing with its food, and then tossed Mikiel upwards. His body ragdolled as the force of the fae’s swing and gravity interacted with one another, and he gazed directly down its open maw.

Then, he recalled his previous idea. An idea that would only work if -

The jaws of the fae clamped back down on him, but this time he’d managed to move just enough to twist around and avoid getting swallowed whole. It was biding its time with play, single-minded as fae tend to be, awaiting the moment its binding spell wore off and its prey could truly feel his last torturous moments. His leg was trapped between its fangs, and he was hanging upside-down outside of its mouth. 

Blood was rapidly rushing to his head, if it wasn’t already pouring out the previous bite wound, but he’d been fighting the dizziness from the psiionic stimulants this entire fight. All he needed was one thing: For his foot to be touching the inside of the fae’s mouth.

He wriggled his leg, and then hit something solid.

There.

Mikiel activated his psiionics with a guttural roar, and the fae suddenly fell still. Ice consumed the inside of its mouth and spread throughout its internal structure, and then - 

It howled one last final, unholy scream before hundreds of icicles pierced through its flesh from the inside-out. Mikiel was unceremoniously dropped from its maw, and could only watch as the beast exploded in a flurry of acid and viscera.

It was finally over. He’d taken down one of the Summer Court’s Royal Knights, and any last fae remaining scattered.

The blueblood felt something drip onto his face, then another landed in his eye as the shattered lenses of his glasses were unable to catch it.

Ah. The ice spikes still looming above his head are starting to melt. His psiionics have stopped working. Is that… Is he dying?

He found he could move his body again, but was too tired to stand back up. Weakly, he attempted to move his arms. The left - useless. His elbow had shattered when he first hit the ground, as all he could feel was a dull pain shooting up his arm. The right, though - he moved his hand in front of his face. It was shaking, likely from blood loss, but through his blurry vision he could tell his fingers had blackened, frostbitten in appearance.

But it wasn’t frostbite, it was burnout. If he could see properly he would notice the scarring continuing down his arm, light blue lighting bolts patterning his skin. The same scarring also present on his face, barely visible amongst the frost covering his skin.

He dropped his arm back down, landing on his chest. Ice was spreading over his body in a feeble attempt to slow the bleeding from the fae’s jaws. His leg was similarly covered in a coating of ice. He didn’t know why his own body bothered to protect himself like this, when it was only sapping away the last of his strength.

He supposed he had Ginger to thank for the fact he was still breathing now, albeit weak and laboured. If it wasn’t for their protection, he likely would have already bled out and died. Or maybe the impact of the fae’s tail that sent him flying would have killed him. Or maybe it would have been the boiling acid that covered the monster when he landed on it.

Or maybe it would have simply been from the sun, still bearing down on him while he stared into the clear blue sky. So many things that would have ordinarily caused him to give up and accept death, but in what felt like his last moments, he knew he still wanted to live.

He thought of Thrixe. Jumbled, disconnected thoughts as his mind drifted between the realms of consciousness and unconsciousness... He hoped this was enough, to bring him home. He knew Thrixe wouldn’t be proud of him for pushing himself this far, but he hoped that he would understand why he did. He hoped to see him smile again, one last time…

…

…

By the time Ginger was able to return to find Mikiel, he was already near comatose.

[junglefurytrash]

💜 "I chose to craft my own path. Will you follow me? For the cold is harsh, but my jam will forever be warm and pure." 💜

----

💜 " They were wrong to call you the moon. That is not who you truly are. No, you are the eclipse itself. You are the darkness, intimidating and powerful.. And you are the light, tender and beautiful. You were told you shall shine the brightest when there is no moonlight.. And so you become the light in turn, that guides the sea's waves in the shadows. ... I know I can likely never replace what you lost back then.. Your family, your Sea.. Your special pearl.. But I will give you all I can.. You, who are my Radiant Eclipse. " 💜

🖤 " . . . " " You.. Who are my Little Flower..- My Faithful Seamaiden. . Thank you. " 🖤

----

HELLO CRK TUMBLR, I BRING YOU A COOKIE WHO IS GAY AS HELL FOR A MERMAID/SIREN.

She probably deserves better explanation then that.

So this is Lavender Cookie! Originating from the Dark Cacao Kingdom, she is a Magic sword-wielder who is prioritised to go in the middle of a team.

Originally when she was a younger cookie, Lavender was a nurse and medical attendant of the kingdom, until one day she was approached by Affogato Cookie, enticing her to join his growing group of disciples so she could have access to better resources to better help people. She followed him, their regime, physically and metaphorically blinded from the truth until the plot of the game occurs, where Lavender realised that things were not as she was told as a disciple. With her opened eyes, Lavender Cookie removed her blindfold, and took up her Butterfly Blade in order to take true action to mend the world.

Said mending the world has meant going on adventures like helping Crunchy Chip with protecting the Soul Jams in Odyssey, seeking down the remaining Ancients.. And calming the wrath of an angry mermaid/siren met at sea. While originally Black Pearl was more than content to lure the land cookie to their grave (it isn't a captain but it would certainly make do), she found herself.. Intrigued by them, instead, and eventually enamoured, because "oh no oh fuck I accidentally fell in love with them instead of drowned them nO WAIT SHIT-"

Fortunately for her, Lavender is equally in love, and though neither side will admit it openly or make the first proper move (Lavender doesn't want to push boundaries and Black Pearl is scared of committment after Lord Oyster), everyone knows these two have a thing for one another. The Eclipse and her Flower just need to be brave enough to make the first official step, and maybe that will help them both heal from past hurts. We shall see. ;)

Bases/Reference Links: OG Lavender Cookie Base Sword Ref Costume Pose Ref

[roadtodeltarune]

Earthbound Week 1 Update

(PART 1/4)

I'm back! It took a couple days longer than I would have liked. I got sick and then had a power outage. However, this gave me plenty of time to play Earthbound. And aside from the power outage, I played a lot.

I'm going to do lots of comparisons to Mother 1 today, it's hard not to. I'll start off by saying my pace is incredible. I'm moving at lightning-fast speeds! I've gotten six out of eight melodies and have every party member. That's not even mentioning levels. Right now I'm in the high 40s-low 50s. In Mother 1, these would be end-game levels, but it's late middle game in Earthbound! (At least I assume I'm in the late mid-game)

Rewinding a bit, let me go over just how far I am. Last time, I ended off with the second melody. After that, I returned Bana(Paula) back to her home and talked to Everdred.

He gave me 10,000 dollars! At first, I tried putting it in the ATM, but that didn't work. So, I walked around Twoson, trying to figure out how to use the money. Going to the theatre, I talked to the Runaway Five, who recognized Bana and gave us tickets.

I watched the show and then talked to the Runaway Five again. They said they were in debt but when I used the money, they didn't take it. I went to the manager and gave it to him, paying their debt. Then, they offered to drive us to Threed to avoid the ghosts. This was all a happy accident. I forgot about the theatre while I was saving Bana and I hadn't tried going south yet.

In Threed, I talked to everyone. This gave me lots of info on the ghost issue, but I did this because Bana said we'd meet a new friend here. However, I couldn't find them!

Out of options, I decided to just continue the plot and went to the far end of the cemetery. I triggered a cut scene and...

I got kidnapped.

Bana tried calling out for help with her telepathy.

This was so cool! I got to play as Apple(Jeff)! It's such an interesting way to make the world feel bigger, the adventure feel grander, and build a stronger connection to the characters. I figured it would be like Mother 1, where I went to different towns and convinced a kid to join my team, like with Bana. I like this much more, however. Even though he starts at level 1, this gives me time to test him out and grow attached.

Compared to Onion(Lloyd), he's both lacking and better. I think it'd be better if he had more specific items like Onion's Laser and Plasma Beams, but he makes up for it by fixing broken junk. And he essentially does have Laser/Plasma Beam equivalents, but they're equipable now.

I soon got Bubble Monkey, a great addition to the team. Until proven otherwise, he's this game's EVE. Not because of his power, but because he's only in the game for a short time and I already love him. With him, I leveled up Apple a few.

I made my way to Dr. Andonut's lab. The journey wasn't too bad, it was actually pretty fun. But really? He hasn't seen Apple in ten years? He's like what, 11? Father of the decade award.

I took his saucer for a ride, going to save-

Ouch- Well, now Apple saves Bana and Straw(Ness)!

I explored a bit more, but it seemed like the only thing to do was battle this tent. Luckily, I saved Apple's Big Bottle Rocket for a boss fight, so the tent was gone fast.

Side note: I'd like to mention Apple's "Spy" ability is very useful, helping me know the weaknesses of enemies. When fighting bosses, my first turn with Apple is either Big Bottle Rocket or Spy.

After that, I was able to go down the grave, well, thing in the cemetery. It was a long, treacherous path. Lots of opportunities for leveling up, but not much for healing. I made it out though.

I found Saturn Valley, and I love these guys. The way they talk is funny and they're so nice. I feel like it's basically this game's version of Magicant. It's a funny place full of helpful guys where you feel safe.

Okay, I was going to stop this Belch-guy, because he's the leader of the zombies and ghosts; but after seeing him enslave the Saturns, I was mad, I wanted justice.

So the first attempt didn't go so great...

At first, I tried using the Fly Honey, because they kept saying how it's his favorite food, but that made him belch in our faces and take a bunch of damage, so I rewinded and fought normally.

Apple told me he was weak to hypnosis, so I kept putting him to sleep and wailing on him, again and again. It was only when I was about to die that I realized maybe I should hypnosis and then use the Fly Honey, so he couldn't burp. But it was too late.

On attempt 2, my plan worked. Nothing beats the Psi Juice, PK Freeze, and Big Bottle Rocket combo

After fighting barf incarnate, I washed up, drank some spiked coffee, found the 3rd melody, and visited the purified Threed. Time for the desert!

[wardenred]

Angstober 4: "I want to believe you"

I was kind of going to keep using Angstober prompts for the exploration of that one plot bunny, but after writing some Tim/Leo fluff I had to rewind and write some angst for them, too. I was in a mood and craving emotional drama. Those boys do it well.

The club is called Discombobulation. A stupid name that perfectly matches Leo’s stupid feelings.

This was supposed to be a date. The thought swims in circles around his dizzy brain like a feral fish locked into a too small bowl. He tries to get rid of it, to focus on something else, anything: the oppressive weight of the crowd, the heavy beat of what the DJ mistakes for music, the prickling heat of liquor sliding down his throat.

He can’t.

Because this was supposed to be a date. Wasn’t it? Was it? He doesn’t really know the answer. Neither of them explicitly said so, but he thought. He hoped.

The hope made sense, didn’t it? Up until they came here, Tim had been acting like this was a date. Like he was happy to spend time with Leo. Sure, he chose this club without asking if Leo would prefer something else: a trip to the movies, a quiet walk around the city, maybe even just a night at home. But Tim loves clubbing, and that’s how they first met, and Leo sometimes enjoys it, too—he wouldn’t bother having a fake ID otherwise. He doesn’t mind it at all when he’s having a good night. When he feels confident and secure and knows that there’s someone by his side he can relax and lean on.

Not when he’s stuck by the bar watching Tim eye-fuck some other guy across the pool table, turning his back on Leo time and time again.

“Another?” the bartender asks, and Leo realizes the glass in front of him is empty. He can’t remember if it was his second one or his third. It feels like all the alcohol turned solid and rolled into a big slimy ball and that ball is now stuck in his airways.

He can’t trust his voice. He shakes his head, slides some cash toward the bartender—too much, probably, and he’ll yell at himself for it later, but he’s always got so many things to yell at himself for, what’s one more—and stumbles his way toward the exit. The most straightforward path lies through the dance floor. The crowd closes in on him. That must be what graves feel like, with all the weight of earth and maggots. He keeps his head low, elbows tucked in, his magic simmering within him—a spark threatening to ignite into a blaze. He stomps down on it as hard as he can. No one here deserves it.

Outside, a faint sheen of rain greets him. He draws a breath; the air is too thick, too damp, too slimy. A lot like that ball in his throat. Leo still tries, because that’s what you’re supposed to do, right, when you’re on the verge of a panic attack? You’re supposed to breathe. One, two, three, four, hold, one, two, three, four, release.

His attempt only result in a coughing fit. He moves as far away from the club entrance as he manages, gets stuck in the middle of the parking lot. Keeled over, hands on his knees. Droplets of saliva and snot land on someone’s shiny expensive car. 

“Hey. You okay there?”

For a second, Leo doesn’t even recognize Tim’s voice through the low ringing in his ears. His mind is filled with all kinds of humiliating images involving strangers trying to help him and then realizing just how pathetic he is. A waste of their time. They should have just passed by without giving him a second glance.

Then a warm hand lands on his shoulder, and he knows. The images don’t subside, not right away. Still, he relaxes a little into the touch, despite the stupid scene in the club, despite everything.

“Do you need some water? Are you choking? Should I slap you on the back? Was there something in your drink that you’re allergic to?”

I’m fine, stop fussing, is what Leo should say. What he’s going to say.

Instead, when he opens his mouth, out comes a bitter, “Like you care.”

Tim’s fingers slide down his arm and he takes a step back, a sliver of damp, cold emptiness between them. Leo wipes at his face, once, twice. Rolls up his turtleneck’s stained sleeve before turning.

“Of course I care,” Tim says as soon as their eyes meet, and he already sounds defensive. A great start. They’ll be snipping and yelling at each other in no time. That’s how it always ends, or at least that’s how it ends half the time, which is half the time too often. Why do they even bother?

“I’m sorry,” he says, and Tim should be sorry, too, but he won’t be, will he? He never is. “I’m probably coming down with something. I’d better head home.”

Disappointment flashes in Tim’s eyes, but he nods. “Okay. My place or yours? And, um, I forgot my jacket.” He points his thumb toward his club. “Do you mind if I go grab it real quick?”

“You don’t have to go with me.” Why would Tim even offer? It makes no sense. “You’ve been clearly having fun. So go on. Have fun.”

Tim frowns. “I just stepped away to play one quick game.”

“Yeah,” Leo agrees. “That’s how it always starts.”

“I did ask you to play with me!”

“I don’t know how! And you told me you don’t like teaching people to play!”

“What? Fuck’s sake, Leo, it was months ago.”

“Well, sorry, I didn’t realize I was supposed to learn—”

“That’s not what I mean! I don’t mind teaching you!” 

A bird croaks and flaps its wings, spooked into the sky from the top of someone’s car. In the dark, Leo isn’t sure if it’s a rook or a crow. Either way, this reeks of a bad omen. 

Tim’s shoulders are hunched, fists pressed against his thick studded belt. “I don’t mind at all,” he says again. “I told you things are going to be different this time.”

Leo is beginning to feel like a bad guy. Unfortunately, that doesn’t lessen his the anger.

“I know. I want to believe you.”

“But you don’t.”

The best Leo can offer is a helpless shrug.

The sky stops spitting drizzle at them and barfs forth a proper rainstorm, complete with distant flashes of lightning.

[whitepolaris]

i-4 Dead Zone

Halfway between Daytona and Orlando is a quarter-mile section of Interstate 4 known to locals as the "Dead Zone." This short span of asphalt, located in Seminole County at the south end of the interstate bridge across the St. Johns River, has become legendary for its high number of traffic accidents. Depending on sources, there have been an estimated 1,048 to 1,740 car crashes at this location since the highway opened in 1963, a significant number of which involved fatalities. State officials blamed traffic congestion for the unusually high number of crashes, but others have attributed the cause to something more sinister. To understand the basis for the I-4 Dead Zone legend, we need to take a trip back in time.

Prior to 1880, this area was an untamed wilderness, part of a large grant owned by Henry Sanford, head of the Florida Land and Colonization Company. In 1886, the area was divided into ten-acre parcels in a scheme to start a Roman Catholic community called Saint Joseph's Colony. Sanford believed that he could unload some real estate quickly by attracting Catholic immigrants from Germany to his colony. He appointed a priest, Felix Swembergh, to oversee the plan. However, according to central Florida historian Christine Kinlaw-Best, the effort got off to a bad start: Only four immigrant families settled there, and in 1887, there was an outbreak of yellow fever, which wiped out four members of one immigrant family.

At the time, Father Swembergh was away in Tampa, attending to other fever victims. (He eventually succumbed to the disease himself.) Fearing that the fever was contagious, others buried the bodies of the immigrants in the woods, with no last rites and no priest in attendance.

By 1890, Saint Joseph's Colony had evolved into the rural town of Lake Monroe, named after the local lake. Part of the land was cleared for farming, except for the tiny cemetery where the bodies of the immigrant family lay. When Albert S. Hawkins bought the land in 1905, the graves sat like an island in the middle of a cultivated field, but time had erased the names on the four wooden markers.

The origin of the graves had long since been lost, but local tradition said the burials were of a "Dutch family who had died from the fever." According to accounts, Mr. Hawkins leased his land to other farmers and warned them not to tamper with the little burial plot, a warning that required heeding. One farmer tried to remove the rusty wire fence surrounding the graves, and on the same day, his house burned down. Weird things also happened in the Hawkins home, which stood at the edge of the field. Allegedly, his home burned down after Hawkins ignoring his own warning, removed the nearly rotted wooden markers. After Mrs. Hawkins blamed the fire on the graves, Mr. Hawkins quickly replaced the markers.

With all the weird shenanigans, the Hawkins field became known locally known as the "Field of the Dead." In 1959, the farm was purchased by the government to make way for Interstate 4. During the survey for the right-of-way, the four nameless graves were marked for relocation. However, bureaucracies being what they are, the graves were never moved. In September 1960, fill dirt was dumped atop them to elevate the new highway.

This is where history gets weird. At this same instant, Hurricane Donna slammed into South Florida and plowed its way across the tip of Florida toward the Gulf of Mexico. Then, on the very day that the graves were covered with fill dirt, Donna changed direction near Tampa and headed northeastward across the peninsula. Strangely enough, her deadly path paralleled the surveyed the new highway. The big storm's eye passed over the graves at midnight on September 10, 1960. Donna's fury, the worst experience in central Florida in generations, halted highway construction for nearly a month.

One the day that Interstate 4 was opened to traffic, a tractor-trailer truck hauling a load of frozen shrimp became the Dead Zone's first casualty when it mysteriously went out of control and jackknifed right above the graves That was the beginning of a weird legacy of accidents, people claim their cell phones will not work or that static disrupts their radios in this section of highway. A few have claimed encounters at night with wispy balls of light that zigzag just above the pavement. Is it payback time for the dead, or have people's imaginations gone wild? Whatever the case, locals swear there's something sinister at work here, and it may be caused by an eerie secret just beneath the asphalt.

Will Never Drive on I-4 Again

I always heard about this strange part of the highway but did not believe it until I had two accidents right in the middle of the dead zone: two different accidents in two different months. I will never drive I-4 again. I don't know if this is caused by spirits or some other anomaly, but it is too dangerous in that spot. You are more likely to be hurt in the dead zone than by some terrorist act. I encourage everyone to read about the dead zone and make up your own minds. I plan to steer clear of the place. -Scotty

Dead Zone Kills Cell Phones Too

One explanation you haven't considered for "dead spots" like the one on I-4 is limestone deposits close to the surface. My grandfather, an engineer, tells me that limestone absorbs radio waves. I have found personally that many of the local spots where I lose cell phone signal have large limestone deposits. Anyway, it's something to consider. -Kyrie

Another Dead Zone Accident

I never knew about that haunted spot on Interstate 4 until I looked at this site. I saw I never knew, but have experienced it because the only car accident I ever had happened right where those graves are, and what is really eerie is my steering wheel locked up for no good reason, causing me to crash into the guard rail and tore up the whole side of my Buick. So I am a true believer of the I-4 Dead Zone and warn others to take heed. It really exists; there is something weird about that area! -J. Collins

Will Avoid Dead Zone at All Costs

I just read about the I-4 dead zone. Being new to Florida, I had no idea about the graves. My daughter and I are sensitives. We got very uncomfortable and almost frightened when we drive over that area-so much so that I avoid it at all costs, even if I have to drive 20 miles out of my way. Now I know why. -Bambi

Sensitive to a Presence in the Dead Zone

I visit Florida frequently, riding my motorcycle down from S.C. I guess you can say I'm "sensitive" to paranormal things, to a point anyway. I usually can feel and sense a presence more often than actually see it. I've been on I-4 MANY times and have felt something riding over that bridge and in the surrounding area. -Dano

Another Dead Zone Victim

I read about that Dead Zone spot on Interstate 4 near St. Johns River. Believe it or not, the last two times that I vacationed in central Florida, I had a car accident at that very spot. The area is now under construction, but I don't think it will change things-there is something very strange about that section. -Johnnie l.

The Secret That Lies Beneath

Anybody ever hear about the I-4 dead zone up between Orlando and Deland, near the St. Johns River? There is a half-mile section of I-4 that is supposedly haunted because there is a family cemetery that is covered up by the highway. There have been over a thousand traffic deaths there in the past few years. The state road department admits to the high incident rate but has covered up the secret that lies beneath the interstate. If you drive on I-4, beware of this area. It is truly haunted, or something really strange is going on there. -J.K.

Something Evil About That Part of the Interstate

I believe there is something evil about that part of Interstate 4. I have been involved in three accidents in that place-once as a driver and twice as a passenger in another person's car. But get this: My neighbor's cousin was killed in a motorcycle crash at that same spot a few years ago. Yes indeed, something is paranormal about the I-4 dead zone. They can fix that bridge all they want-but the dead zone will still be there. -Jan