#-to do. Like the usually in these prompts the requirements for summoning at all is to just draw a circle and say some words and you'll get-

[savanir]

You shouldn't summon a Ghost King

Danny had felt the weird tug to the entirety of himself and instantly knew he was finally actually getting summoned for the first time. 

He'd winced through the whole process, knowing he should have listened to Clockwork and changed the requirements now that he was Ghost King... but even though Clockwork had seemed pretty serious about it, it just... kept slipping Danny's mind.  Listen, it's not that he didn't want to! executive dysfunction is a bitch alright, and it sounded like boring ghost paper work.

And it's been like... months now, maybe even a full year, maybe even longer. People don't really summon the Ghost King apparently, and Danny has been busy! He has school, he's trying really hard to get his grades back up. At some point he just completely forgot about it. 

He's really regretting not taking it as seriously as he probably should have now that he's randomly on top of a skyscraper in some massive city he doesn't recognise. And the city is... for a lack of better words, on fire. 

He can feel the suffering he can hear the screams, there is pain, chaos and fear all around him. Like a physical force pressing down on him.

The sickening part of it all is that he feels stronger than ever like someone injected him with 50 energy drinks directly into his veins but at the same time his stomach is recoiling violently, extreme jitters but not in a good way, absolutely nauseous. 

He's not really listening to whatever is going on directly around him on that roof, that's all far in the distance somehow, maybe he's disociating, maybe something else other ghost thing is going on, but Danny is just floating there in full king regalia. 

All he cares about it is snatching the weird creepy looking grimoire and getting some answers. 

And answers he gets because its very clearly stated in there that the Ghost King (Pariah Dark) wants a tribute to himself. Whomever deigns to summon him must prove willingness to his cause. Aka the whole conquering and genocide and tyranny thing. 

Over five hundred deaths would probably do but over a thousand was preferred, even more was obviously even better. That would show dedication and earn favour and- blah blah blah. 

Danny thinks he's going to throw up. 

It doesn't help that that's when the heroes show up and Danny is very clearly the big bad in this scenario even if it was completely unintentional.

Maybe they'll let him explain? Oh shit, that one looks so upset they're crying- maybe he can just go invisible instead...

This might be the worst night of his life. 

[jukkaricity]

Veilguard Appreciation Week 2025 - Day 6

Post-Veilguard snippet, this is assuming that Minrathous wasn't saved and Neve was hardened. + a bonus screenshot, Neve you are so beautiful.

Today's prompts for the @veilguard-appreciation-week:

Minrathous | Justice | "You know, I think you might be trouble."

“You know Rana will come sniffing around, right?” Elek stepped next to Neve. He was rubbing his hands together in unnaturally cold air, his breath turning to mist with every word. He looked rather uncomfortable. Neve glanced at him from the side of her eye, disguised by both her hair and a veil. She took a puff from her pipe. 

“I do.” She admitted, exhaling deeply, releasing both the smoke from her lungs and at least a part of the tension from her muscles. She’d been on this job for days. Since Ashur mentioned that the few Shadow Dragons left started disappearing in the catacombs. Since Hal let it slip that some of his regulars didn’t show up for too long. Since Elek mentioned that there were people missing on their rounds. It kept happening. Over and over. Like a cursed game of whack-a-nug.

Things were supposed to get better. They defeated the Evaniuris. Dorian became the Archon. The Venatori were supposed to be brought to justice. And yet constantly she’d see an ex-Venatori or a sympathizer get by with not much more than a slap on the wrist. And yet her workload only seemed to grow. 

“What do you want to do about it?” Elek kicked the frozen over body sprawled on the ground before them with the top of his shoe. He looked somewhat concerned, but Neve doubted it was the killing that worried him. The Threads were not revolutionaries. Not even a necessarily nice bunch, with Elek’s cheery disposition being an exception rather than a rule among them. While avoiding the Templars was part of the job, helping the needy, not so much.

 “Absolutely nothing.” She shrugged in response. The Threads had been doing exceptionally well for themselves since the rebuilding started. If there was one thing that she was doing right, that had to be this. She made sure any slavers were quickly removed from the area. Made sure that nobody would take advantage of the miserable state of Docktown after all was said and done. And mostly allowed Elek to keep running the Threads “business” ventures as they were before. She couldn't say she was entirely proud of all the compromises this required, but her options were limited and Threads took care of Docktown when it mattered. She was determined to keep protecting Docktown by any means necessary. And this included taking the justice into her own hands every now and again, even if it meant that the Templar Rana Savas was forced to come down to the port more often.

“If she finds the body, it’ll be pretty clear he was a blood mage” She continued finally as the two Threads that Elek brought over were finished checking the hideout for anything worth “repossessing”. The place was crawling with undead when she first arrived and the walls were all covered in runes that would, supposedly, assist in controlling the summoned spirits. Didn’t help him much after all.

“The ‘inexplicable’ disappearances in the port will cease. Everyone will be happy and move on. Case closed.” Neve shoved her pipe behind her belt and clasped her hands together with a smile while turning to face Elek directly. 

“It never stopped her before.” 

“No.” Neve chuckled and there was something gentle in her expression. Elek was not sure what was going on between those two, but he was too smart to even consider asking. “But I’m sure the Threads will come back with not a single thread left for her to follow, if she asks.” Elek barely stifled a chuckle.

“Really unfortunate,” he agreed with a nod instead. “But we did our best.”

Neve smiled approvingly. 

“Send word to Tarquin, would you? The passages are safe again.” She spun around with her usual grace and determination and headed off into the twisting corridors. As the metallic clicks of her prosthetic leg on the cold stone quieted down Elek couldn’t help but think she was the most dangerous thing in the catacombs. And that they were lucky she was on their side.

[rinixo]

auxilium

Tech/Reader | 2.1k | Rated E | smut, desperation, choking, dom!Tech, sex pollen

Tech needs your assistance in dealing with a problem you are all too familiar with. a/n: thank you all for the comments and reblogs 🥺

read on ao3

The persistent knock at your door jolted you from slumber's embrace. With a groggy eye, you checked the time, puzzled by the unexpected disturbance at this hour. You were not expecting anyone, and it was not uncommon for someone stumbling home from the bars to mistake your door for their own.

Another insistent rap echoed, urging you to rise. Rubbing away sleep, you approached the door, activating the sensor to reveal its caller.

A shock of blond hair greeted you. "Omega?" Surprise flickered as you took in her presence, rarely seen without her protective entourage of brothers.

"Tech sent me to fetch you. Says he needs your help," she explained, a bounce in her step.

Raising a brow, you inquired, "Help with what?"

"Dunno," she shrugged. "We just got back from a mission. He said it’s urgent."

A tinge of concern pricked your senses, but you nodded, excusing yourself to prepare. Unsure of what Tech could require, you hastily gathered an assortment of tools, stuffing them into your pack just in case.

Omega chattered incessantly as you made your way to the hangar, but your thoughts were elsewhere, mulling over the possibilities. Tech, with his incredible intellect, rarely sought assistance. Yet here you were, summoned for some unknown crisis.

Upon reaching the hangar, you found the Marauder parked in its usual spot, but Tech was conspicuously absent. Hunter, Wrecker, and Echo loitered nearby, each absorbed in their own tasks.

"What's the situation?" you inquired as you approached. Hunter glanced up from sharpening his knife, acknowledging your presence.

"Dunno. Tech asked for you. He's inside," he gestured towards the closed ramp.

"Is everything all right?"

"He's being a jerk," Wrecker grumbled, busy with a crate of explosives. "Been like that since we got back."

"Kicked us out of the Marauder," Echo added. "Said not to return until he says so.”

What an odd situation, you thought to yourself. Most of the time it was others taking time away from Tech, not the other way around. And while he could be blunt, he was rarely outright rude or mean.

With a groan, Hunter rose and motioned to the rest of the squad. ”We’re grabbing a bite to eat, freshening up supplies," Hunter explained, patting your shoulder as he passed. You thought you detected a smirk before he turned away. ”Good luck.”

—

The Marauder's door whispered shut, leaving you in the subdued light of the corridor. A peculiar tension hung in the air.

"Tech? It's me," you called tentatively into the quiet.

"Up here," his voice directed you toward the front of the ship. Tech's familiar silhouette was outlined against the closed shutters.

Approaching the cockpit, you spoke again, uncertainty coloring your words. "Omega said you needed me? I brought some tools -"

"They won't be necessary," Tech cut in. As you neared, you could see him seated in the pilot's chair, hands clasped in front of his mouth. His brow was furrowed as if in concentration, though his gaze remained fixed on the floor.

"What's going on? Are you hurt?" you asked, setting your pack down.

“No," came his flat response. "Not exactly." His tone was flat, controlled and measured, but you got the feeling he was trying very hard to keep it that way.

You observed a bead of sweat trickle down his temple, his leg bouncing with nervous energy.

More tense silence. Patiently, you awaited his explanation.

"We were acquiring a shipment of a certain plant, known for inducing a hypnotic effect when distilled. While in the greenhouses, I was unexpectedly exposed to it."

"I made a… miscalculation," Tech continued, his voice strained. "I didn't anticipate such a visceral reaction to its raw form."

"What do you mean?" you prompted gently.

"I suspect that, in normal individuals, the reaction would resemble the amatory agent you encountered in that abandoned outpost. But for me, an enhanced clone -" He paused, exhaling sharply through his nose.

"I'm not certain, but I believe its effects were amplified within my nervous system," he explained. “I was designed with enhanced intellect. My brain works faster and more efficiently than others. And it seems that instead of impacting me less, metabolizing faster, it impacted me more.”

A beat of silence stretched between you, anxiety beginning to grip your chest. "That sounds… unpleasant," you offered sympathetically.

He exhaled through his nose in an exasperated attempt at a laugh. ”Normal decontamination procedures didn't work," Tech explained, his voice carrying a weight of urgency. "I tried several antitoxins. I only have one option left, which is why I asked for you."

His head lifted, revealing a desperation in his eyes that you hadn't seen before. Behind the tint of his goggles, his dilated pupils betrayed his distress.

"Please understand that you can refuse," he said, his jaw tense with effort. "I debated whether I should even ask this of you, considering what it could do to you - to us."

You understood his unspoken request, though a part of you hesitated. Another bead of sweat traced down his jaw. You thought about how lucky you had been to have Tech to help you with your situation. Sometimes, late at night, you thought about what would have happened if he wasn’t there to help, and with resolve, you decided.

"Of course," you said, swallowing hard and setting down your bag. "I'll help you, Tech."

Relief softened his features slightly as he rose from his seat, replaced by a dark intensity. You stepped back slightly, shorter form quickly dwarfed in comparison to his height.

"You're the only person I trust for this," he murmured, voice cracking. Moving towards you, Tech took your hands. Guiding you towards the rear of the ship where the bunks were located, he used a slight stumble as an excuse to hold you more firmly.

"It's going to worsen before it gets better," you warned as Tech helped remove your top.

"I do not like losing control of my faculties," he admitted, his voice strained. "This is…difficult for me."

"I understand," you reassured him, more clothes slipping off as you moved towards your destination.

There was a flash of desperation in his eyes before he turned you around and guided you onto a low cot.

"Forgive my haste," Tech said, his voice stilted as he pulled down your undergarments. The sound of his own clothes hitting the floor followed.

You were not exactly ready for it when he entered you, and there was a slight burn and pinch as he settled into place behind you. Your breath hitched, and you bit down on the pillow you were clutching and winced through it.

Tech hissed out some unintelligible curses, his form coming down to press against you. His cock felt like iron, pressed in as far as it could go. You tried to spread your thighs wider, allowing him more space to chase relief.

He settled his face into the crook of your neck, and you could feel the rumble of the groan that left him.

“You’re so good,” he breathed out. “So good…” You flushed at his words, remembering how it felt the first time he had touched you. If Tech’s reaction was compounded, as he theorized, then you could only imagine how being inside of you was making him feel now. The initial feeling of relief was barely more than an afterthought once the need for further stimulation took over.

He was rambling, nonsensical professions of how tight, wet, perfect you were. His breath was hot against your ear, perfect composure betrayed by the substance coursing through his body.

It was animalistic, how he was mounted over you. Tech was someone you did not initially associate with ferocity. He was calculating, and intense. You would even venture so far as to call him egotistical and devious at times. His strengths were far more internal than external, but as he moved his entire weight over your body, the only word you could think of was fury.

Fury at his inability to solve this problem on his own. Fury at his incredible capacity for intelligence and logic being overrun by forces outside of his control. You knew how it felt because you had felt it yourself, in your own way, all those months ago in a dusty storeroom.

“I saw visions,” Tech croaked from where he had his face buried in the side of your neck. You tried to focus your eyesight. “From the plant. D-did you…?”

“N-no,” you managed to gasp out, breath hitching with every thrust. The desperation, the intense burning in your blood, the mindless pursuit of satisfaction, yes, but visions had not been a part of your experience.

A shallow laugh, and he brought his face up from your skin. “Under different circumstances, perhaps I would have a better explanation for what they were exactly.”

Suddenly he moved from inside of you, and before you could collect yourself you were flipped over onto your back. Tech hovered above you, spreading your legs to let himself back between.

“Whatever they were,” Tech breathed as he sheathed himself back into you, “I did not fully comprehend the meaning of desire before now.”

He lifted your leg up, still thrusting slowly into you. He pressed his lips gently to the side of your knee, staring at you with dark, hooded eyes.

You couldn’t tear your gaze away from his. This was a side of Tech you had never seen.

One of his hands came to settle across your exposed neck. You swallowed roughly, feeling his hand move with the motion. It was not hard enough to hurt or do any damage, but the pressure was unfamiliar. The sensation of your airway being ever so slightly restricted reminded you that the man currently fucking you was dangerous, powerful. He was someone designed to analyze every detail, to come up with solutions to problems before they even happened, for winning battles other soldiers would have lost.

His hand moved up, a thumb caressing the curve of your jaw, and you closed your eyes with the motion of it.

He had your life in his hands. He was using you, and you were letting him because you trusted this man utterly. Even with his current state, you could feel the genuine affection he had towards you. He was rough, straddling the line, but you knew, deeply knew, that he would never willingly hurt you.

Here, now, he was no longer a soldier, a carefully constructed intellectual weapon designed for war. He was simply a man, reduced to his most basic, instinctual needs. And you were the only being in the galaxy who he sought to sate the fire inside of him.

The hand that was holding your leg up moved to where he was pistoning in and out of you, and rubbed his thumb over your clit.

“Is it like this for everyone?” Tech’s voice is hoarse. You frown up at him, unsure of what he means. His eyes flutter, then close. He’s lost in between your thighs, that ironclad resolve long gone with every squeeze of your cunt around him.

You know he’s close. You’ve learned his tells - his brow furrows, exaggerating the lines ever-present in his forehead. His hips falter but his grip on you holds tighter, desperate to maintain as much control as he can.

You asked him once what his orgasm felt like. He had described to you in detail how his testicles would tighten and his cock head would grow stiff in the microseconds before ejaculation. He had you stick your finger into your mouth and suck, explaining that it was the closest you could get to experiencing the same kind of sensation. You remember the intensity that he had watched you with, eyes scanning as if to memorize the way your tongue suckled around your fingers.

The relief that comes with his orgasm is palpable. He hitches your thighs under his arms and presses his entire form into you, making you squirm and gasp. The breath is knocked out of you as he fucks his spend as deep as it will go, the burning in his blood leaving him with every rock of his body.

You spend hours there with him, moved into every position you can think of and several you couldn’t. The initial pinch of his cock into you, unprepared, is replaced by what feels like a never-ending trickle of his spend out of you.

With every orgasm, he presses his mouth to your cheeks, your eyelids, your forehead, your mouth. And you accept them with the eagerness of someone who knows they are needed, desired, yearning to be filled. You lose yourself to exhaustion long before he is sated, content in the knowledge that Tech is finding what he needs in you.

--

part 2+ conclusion from Tech's pov next...? _(:Ⅰ」∠)

[steddieasitgoes]

written for @eddiemonth Day 16 Prompt: Library & Curious a/n: This one might be my favorite one I've written yet! It's set at the start of season 2! read on ao3 | link to my ao3 Edde Month series

Eddie’s well aware there are a lot of stupid classes that Hawkins High requires its student body to take. Algebra (there’s no reason for the alphabet and numbers to mix, except in very rare cases, like D20 type cases), Physics (what more do they need to know beyond what goes up, must come down), French (as if anyone from Bumfuck, Indiana could afford to go to France — okay maybe some can, but Eddie’s certainly not one of them that’s for damn sure), goddamn Physical Education (only way he’s running is if someone is chasing him, thank you very much). But the stupidest class of all has to be Study Hall.

An entire class dedicated to doing work for other classes? What kind of idiot dreamed this one up? Instead of letting them out an hour early, some guy, probably in a suit because all bad ideas come from guys in suits, decided to hold them hostage to do more work. It’s ridiculous. Not to mention, it’s one of the few times, outside of lunch, that the grades get to mingle with each other. Sure, lots of studying goes on in between freshmen drooling over seniors and sophomores paying juniors for last year’s test answers.

The only time Eddie actually liked study hall was during his sophomore year when he had it first period and could do all the homework he neglected to do the night before. It’s the only time it actually made sense. And the only time, thus far in his high school career, that Eddie actually turned in more assignments than not.

But now, he’s a senior stuck with study hall as his last class of the day, and he wants to die. Okay, maybe not die die. But die in the sense that he’d rather risk bodily harm escaping the hellscape that is the Hawkins library during 6th-period study hall than sit here. His freedom is so close — nothing but a few windows and a brick wall separating him from the brisk late-October air. Eddie can’t risk it, though. He’s already reached his detention quote for the semester, and if he wants to keep using the drama room for Hellfire meetings, he has to sit in this damn library seat and at least pretend to get some work done.

Which, honestly, isn’t the worst thing in the world. At least it gives him time to work on his latest Hellfire campaign without the prying eyes of Jeff and Gareth or the unnecessary questions from Freak. Sure, he’s supposed to be working on an essay for English Lit, but he doesn’t think Ms. Washington is going to appreciate his take on Frankenstein, so he’ll worry about coming up with a dumbed-down idea another day.

Besides, even focusing on his new campaign is hard enough with the idle chatter going on that the librarian is either pretending not to hear or is too tired of shushing them for.

It’s the usual sort of study hall gossip. Who’s screwing who. What teacher is going to pull a pop quiz tomorrow and become the biggest asshole at Hawkins High. The occasional nervous whispers of the geeks actually studying.

It’s all mindless chatter that drifts into the background when the topic of Tina’s Halloween Bash comes up. That’s the real gossip of the night. Who got the keg, and what other alcohol is being provided? Who is going to be the best dressed? What couple is going to get caught screwing in Tina’s parent’s bed? Are there going to be any good fights or breakups?

Eddie rolls his eyes. Jesus H. Christ, can’t anybody be original around here?

Unfortunately for Eddie, there’s no escaping Tina’s Halloween Bash since he’s been summoned to provide some extra party favors, as the “cool” kids like to call them. Eddie, never one to back down from being a thorn in a “cool” kid’s side, always responds with the same spiel: “Drugs. What you want is drugs, right? Or should I go raid Melvald’s for you?”

Whatever. Money is money, and Eddie can take all the money he can get his grubby hands on if he wants to get out of this shit-hole town when he graduates in June.

Glancing at his watch, he tips his head back in a silent groan of annoyance. Only ten minutes have passed since he slunk into the uncomfortable library seat. Christ, why does time move so slow, sometimes? Eddie tries to focus on his Hellfire notes in front of him, and he’s successful for all of thirty seconds before something catches his attention in the corner of his eye.

Nancy Wheeler and the former Hawkins High King, Steve Harrington, are whispering to each other by the pencil sharpener. He rolls his eyes. Of course, no one else in the library is paying them any mind. And why would they? Harrington fell from grace last year, and Wheeler isn’t exactly the “look at me” type. Still, Eddie finds them morbidly interesting in a way he finds all the tragic heterosexual couples in this stupid small town interesting.

Before Eddie has a chance to fall deeper into his cynical outlook on this stupid Hawkins High couple, Wheeler starts tugging Harrington toward the private study room in the back of the library. It’s a move that shocks Eddie to his core. Don’t get him wrong, he’s heard all bout Harrington’s little trysts in that very room over the years (thank you gossip mill for the very cheap porn), but he never would have assumed Wheeler would be the one tugging him toward it.

It’s that detour from who she’s supposed to be that has Eddie peeling himself off his chair.  At least, that’s what he tells himself as he saunters toward the stack of books in the back of the library closest to the private room. If he hears moaning or anything remotely sounding like they’re hooking up, he promises himself he’ll leave. He’s a freak in many ways, but a creep, he is not.

Glancing over his shoulder, Eddie can see the two of them in the small room. They’re close but not close enough to be doing anything beyond talking. From the look on her face, doing anything of that sort isn’t even on her mind.

Interesting.

Eddie creeps closer.

“Barbara. It’s like nobody cares. Except her parents. And now they’re selling their house.”

“Nance—“

Wheeler rants about something, but he misses most of it. Only catching the very end.

“It’s destroying them.”

No shit, Eddie thinks with another dramatic eye roll. Of course, losing their only daughter is destroying them. The Hollands are one of the few families around here that actually have a heart. At least they did before Barbara tore it from them by running away. Or so the story goes. Eddie’s always been a bit suspicious of Holland’s disappearance. He knows the runaway type, and a straight-A girl, with a well-off family who loves them like Holland had doesn’t fit the bill.

“I know. Okay? I get it,” Harrington says, glancing away from Wheeler to peer out the window. Eddie grabs the first book on the shelf and buries his face in it. It must fool Steve because he starts talking again. “But listen, there’s nothing we can do about it.”

“Yeah, we could tell them the truth.”

“This isn’t some game, Nance. If they found out that we told any…” He trails off again, and Eddie reaches for another book.

Eyes peering over the pages, Eddie watches as he shuts the blinds before presumably returning to Wheeler. With the blinds shut and their voices even lower, he can no longer hear what they’re talking about. Which is a damn shame because Eddie’s never been more curious about what the disgraced King was about to say than right now. 

+ + +

“M’telling you guys. It was weird,” Eddie says through a mouthful of Doritos.

They’re hanging out in Gareth’s garage. Jeff sits in the old recliner while Gareth stays perched behind his drum kit. Freak is running late, as usual, though Eddie’s not too pressed about it today. Too distracted filling the boys in on what he overheard in the library.

“I don’t know man; it sounds like she was just concerned about her best friend,” Gareth says, lightly tapping his drumsticks on his snare.

“Yeah, those two were inseparable, remember.”

“All the more reason why it’s weird she’s been mopping around lately. Obviously, she knows where Holland is. Or what happened to her.”

“Not this again,” Jeff groans, sinking further into the recliner.

“Yes, this again,” Eddie retorts, throwing Jeff an intense glare. “This town is weird as shit. If the Byers kid can come back from the dead—“

“I thought they proved it wasn’t actually Byers they found in the quarry,” The Freak says, finally joining them in the garage. 

“They did, but Eddie still thinks—“

“Shut up!” Eddie shouts, taking a moment to throw a Dorito at all of their heads. “Let me level with you for a second, okay? Yeah, sure, they said that kid wasn’t Byers, but they never said whose kid it was, which is weird. And then right after that, they “find” Holland’s car? It’s too coincidental, man. You know a story isn’t right when it’s too easy.”

“This isn’t one of our campaigns,” Gareth sighs. “Sometimes things really are just accidental coincidences.”

Eddie shakes his head, running his Dorito-stained fingers over his face. “Nah, man, m’not buying it this time. Harrington and Wheeler know what really happened to Holland. And I think they’re responsible for it.”

“So, what?” Jeff asks, leaning forward so his elbows rest on his knees. “You think they made her disappear or something.”

“Maybe Harrington got Holland knocked up, and his family gave her money to leave.”

“See!” Eddie shouts, slapping his hands together as he jumps on the balls of his feet. “Freak gets it! That’s the kind of thing I’m talking about.”

“Okay, but if Harrington knocked Wheeler’s best friend up, why would she still be dating him?” Jeff asks.

“And why would they both be hiding her from her parents?” Gareth adds.

Okay, so maybe these are valid questions, but Eddie doesn’t appreciate the doubts they’re throwing at him. “I don’t appreciate you doubting me,” he says plainly. “You’ll see. M’gonna figure this out.”

“Right, just like you figured out that Ms. O’Donnell was actually failing you for a reason and not because she had some vendetta against Wayne for not dating her.”

“Hey. That was a good theory, okay. One I still think is true, by the way.” Turning his back on the boys, Eddie crosses the room and tosses the empty bag of Doritos into the trash bin before heading towards his badly parked van.

“I thought we were practicing!” Gareth shouts after him.

“Just let him go,” Jeff sighs. “He’s impossible to work with when he’s in conspiracy theory mode.”

Eddie flips Jeff off, climbing into the van. “I’ll see you boys tomorrow.”

+ + +

Eddie’s been at Tina’s party for an entire hour and a half, and there’s still no sign of Harrington or Wheeler. Not that he’s actively searching them out, of course. He’s just had some downtime in between upselling Hagan for the world’s shittiest pot he could get his hands on, and explaining to some cheerleader how Special K hits differently if you snort it. Plus, his supply ran out about ten minutes ago, so he’s just buying time before someone notices him lingering and kicks his ass to the curb.

He’s about to save himself and whatever jock gets thrown his way the trouble, when he spots Harrington and Wheeler arguing by the punch bowl. He’s too far away to hear what they’re saying, but he has a sneaking suspicion it has less to do with the conversation he heard in the library and more to do with Wheeler’s drunken state. Case in point: the red liquid she just spilled all over her blouse.

Chasing after her, Harrington cuts through the crowd and makes his way toward one of the bathrooms. Eddie waits a minute before following them down the crowded hallway. Thankfully, no one is in line for this bathroom — still too early in the night for the alcohol to have hit their bladders — so he’s first in the unofficial bathroom line. Leaning casually against the wall, Eddie angles his ear closer to the door so he can hear inside.

It takes a minute for his ears to tune out the music and nonsense chatter, but when they do, he can clearly hear Wheeler slurring her words.

“You’re pretending like everything’s okay. You know, like we didn’t… like we didn’t kill Barb.”

Eddie’s never experienced shock before, at least, he doesn’t think he has; the early days of his life are a little hazy around the edges, but that’s the only word he thinks fits what he’s experiencing right now. Part of him wants to shove his ear closer to the door to continue listing, while the other part of him wants to run for the hills, screaming in victory. And if he’s straight with himself, maybe screaming in fear a little, too. Harrington and Wheeler murderers? Who knew?

He knew, that’s who!

He knew there was something shady going on between those two.

Pressing his ear closer, he can hear Wheeler slurring more words, though he’s not exactly sure what she’s saying. Honestly, he doesn’t really care what she’s saying. He’s listening for Harrington’s response right now. What does the mighty King have to say about the bomb she’s just dropped?

“This is bullshit,” she slurs.

“Like we’re in love?” Steve asks.

Huh, clearly, Eddie missed a step or two in his shocked state.  He’s not exactly sure how the conversation strayed from them killing Holland to their, clearly, toxic relationship, but the fact it did is all the proof Eddie needs. If they didn’t kill her, Harrington would have been vehemently denying her claim. And yet, he sounds like a kicked puppy dog right now because she doesn’t love him.

Join the club, Harrington.

The doorknob starts to jiggle, and Eddie bolts. It’s not that he’s afraid about coming face-to-face with the two who apparently killed Holland. It’s just that, well, he needs a minute to think about the information he’s just learned.

+ + +

With Gareth and Freak both busy supervising their siblings around Hawkins and Jeff on candy duty for his family’s house, Eddie has no one to share the good bad news with. RIP Holland and all that, but he’s sitting on some serious dirt right now.

The good part of Eddie’s brain knows he should head straight for the police station. Pull good ole’ Chief Hopper aside and gloat about how he did his job for him. But Eddie’s spent enough time at the stuffy station to know no one is going to believe him especially not against Harrington and Wheeler. He’d have better luck marching in there and turning himself in for her murder. Not that he’s going to do that.

He supposes he could tell Wayne about it, but he doesn’t need to be dragging his uncle into any more of his messes. And since Eddie has no proof beyond overhearing a drunken confession, a mess it’ll surely turn into.

So, he opts for the third option and heads out to Skull Rock to do some thinking.

Maybe Freak is right, and it was some sort of jealous rage brought on by a Holland-Harrington pregnancy. Or maybe Holland saw something she shouldn’t have; the possibilities are endless, and Eddie’s imagination is limitless.

Eventually, he circles back to what he’s supposed to do with this information. Should he turn them in? Maybe not Wheeler; she seems like she’s experienced enough guilt as it and the girl has a bright future or whatever it is the teachers are always talking about. Harrington, though? Harrington, he should turn in, right? I mean, he didn’t even seem phased when Wheeler brought up the murder. Eddie’s watched enough horror movies to know that’s psychopath behavior right there. Besides, it would be nice to see the King behind bars. But then again, he hasn’t been the King in a while. And Harrington’s never really done anything to Eddie beyond standing idle while Hagan threw slurs at him. But he’s not hanging out with Hagan anymore, so maybe he should cut him some slack.

Though they did murder someone.

Jesus H. Christ.

Maybe this is why they say curiosity killed the cat — Eddie’s head is throbbing. He’s about to take another hit from his joint when he hears leaves crunching in the distance.

Shit.

Someone’s coming.

Snubbing out his joint against the rock, Eddie tries his best to make it seem like he’s just here, escaping the busy Halloween night. Which, like, he definitely is, but he can’t be too safe. Especially not when there are two teenage murderers on the loose.

“She thinks m’bullshit? She’s bullshit! Bullshit.”

The voice is unmistakable.

Jesus H. Christ could tonight get any weirder.

Eddie’s only escape is to run deeper into the forest, and he’s not about to do that so he makes himself comfortable on top of Skull Rock like a fucking sitting duck. Searching the pockets of his vest, he yanks out a pack of cigarettes and his lighter. Neither of which he was looking for. Of course, he left his pocket knife in his van. Stupid. So stupid!

There’s a moment of silence before Harrington emerges from the clearing. The moon is bright above them, making Steve’s tear-stained cheeks and red-rimmed eyes glow in the otherwise dark forest.

Maybe he is feeling guilty after all.

“Ah, fuck,” Harrington groans, stumbling to the ground.

Eddie watches as he rolls around for a moment, struggling to find his footing. If Eddie were a mean person, he might let Harrington suffer. But something about his behavior reminds him of a wounded animal, and Eddie’s always had a soft spot for bruised and broken things.

“Shit, Harrington, you okay?” Eddie asks, jumping down.

Eddie’s boots crunch against the leaves, startling Harrington. He manages to pull himself into a seated position and brandishes a near empty beer bottle in Eddie’s direction. “Stay back!”

“Woah, man,” Eddie yelps, hands raised in surrender in front of him. “Don’t kill me.”

“Oh, s’you,” Steve says, slumping against the tree behind him. He tosses the beer bottle aside and runs both his hands over his face. “Jesus. Why does everyone think I would kill s-someone?”

“Uh,” Eddie stutters, glancing around. Now’s his chance to make a break for it. Put those hours of physical education to good use and sprint to the van before Harrington has a chance to make him his next victim. But there’s something in Steve’s sad eyes and dejected voice that makes Eddie stay. “‘Cause you have killed someone before?”

“Man, what the hell are you talking about?” Harrington snaps, fumbling to get out of his jacket. “I’ve n-never killed anyone.”

“So, you didn’t kill Barbara Holland, then?”

“No! Jesus, ‘course not. Barb was… Barb was nice. She was good. Like Nance. Better than Nance, maybe. I don’t know,” Harrington whines, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Barb she’s… yeah, man, she’s dead. But I didn’t have anything to do with that. N-not in the way you think I did, at least.”

Harrington’s not making a lot of sense, which only spurs Eddie’s curiosity on more. Closing the distance between them, Eddie hops to a squat in front of him. “But you did have something to do with what happened to her?”

“Shit, man,” Harrington groans, words slurring more more. “S’complicated, okay. I can’t talk about it with you or her parents or anyone. Or else they’ll come for me or Nance or our families and then we’ll all be toast like Barb. And that… that thing that came out of the Byers’ wall.”

Complicated? Jesus H. Christ, Eddie’s never heard anything more complicated than the jumble of words that just left Harrington’s mouth. He can feel his heart racing in his chest, the realization that they’re alone in the woods talking about something someone doesn’t want Harrington talking about.

“What?” Eddie says more to himself than to Steve. “Harrington, what thing in the Byers wall? You’re not making any sense!”

“The thing. You know, the… the,” Steve hiccups. “The thing we can’t talk ‘bout, else they’ll come for us next.”

Someone will come for him and his family if he reveals what happened to Barb? And the thing in the Byers wall? He wants to ask who would come. What would happen? Is he being blackmailed? There are so many questions dancing on the tip of his tongue, but none of them win the war.

“Harrington, man,” Eddie says, shaking his head. “Are you in trouble? Do you, like, need help or something?”

Finally, freeing himself from his jacket, Harrington lifts his head and looks up. There’s a moment where Eddie’s life flashes before his eyes, but then the sad replay of his life is interrupted by Harrington’s hand on his cheek. A dopey-looking grin on his face as he squints up at Eddie.

“You have pretty eyes, M-m-munson. Anyone ever tell you that?” Steve slurs before promptly passing out against the tree.

What the hell has Eddie gotten himself into?

[ashthewaterghoul]

Mushy May Day 26: "Here, Let Me Help" - Zephyr/Ifrit & Brontë

Prompt list by @forlorn-crows can be found here All my Mushy May will be slightly shorter stories and can also be found on ao3 :) Words - 1k

Brontë is my kit oc for Zephyr and Ifrit and she is deaf. If I have made any mistakes in representing her deafness, please let me know! <3

    “Here, let me help” was a sentence often heard from the mouth of Ifrit as Zephyr struggled to do something from within their, often, limited range of motion. Ifrit never saw Zephyr’s conditions as a hindrance or obstacle; it was just a part of the mate he loved so much. He was always happy to help anyone he cared for and so being Zephyr’s primary caregiver was the most natural thing he could ever let fate bring to him.

    But, this particular utterance of that common phrase actually came from Zephyr’s lips, and was said to their Fire Ghoul mate.

    Since the death of Sister Imperator, Zephyr had received a larger amount of funding for all the medical intervention they need and Omega managed to seek out therapies and treatment options of a higher quality. They still had their myriad of issues, as in the nature of chronic conditions, but their management over them had increased drastically.

    And a dream that seemed impossible to the mates managed to come true. They finally had their kit, and their family was complete.

    They summoned their little girl, Brontë, using a variant of the summoning spell to call on lost and abandoned little souls. The energy required was a big question mark with how variable and sensitive Zephyr’s health often is, let alone the energy required to raise a kit. But the stars aligned and their Air ghuleh was alive and well.

    Brontë had the feathers and wings of a dove, her tiny brown horns had started to grow in and her smile was absolutely radiant. Her intuition of her daddies was insane as they always knew when Zephyr was having a bad pain day and needed more gentle hugs, or when Ifrit was a little stressed with all he now had to do on those days with caring for his mate and kit.

    Ifrit had a lot to learn about Air kits, and feather maintenance seemed to be a big one. Zephyr didn’t really have too many feathers to take care of anymore and so Ifrit had never learned. But Zephyr was always happy to teach their mate.

    Ifrit helped them to sit in the bath with their daughter, who was happily playing with her toys specifically for bathtime, showing her daddies every plastic fish she managed to catch.

    ‘Good job, little dove.’ Ifrit signed and spoke with a bright smile on his face, himself kneeling on a towel on the ground next to the tub.

    Brontë gave one of her usual high-pitched squeals, unable to hear just how loud she got without her hearing aids in.

    Zephyr kissed the back of her head, nuzzling her soft blonde hair and tapping her shoulder to get her to turn around and face them.

    ‘Daddy’s going to wash and brush your wings, okay?’ Zephyr always liked to give her some foresight as unexpected touches to her delicate wings often startled her, especially when she couldn’t hear the water moving very clearly behind her.

    Brontë nodded and turned back around as she splashed her hands against the water, appreciating the feel of it and what sound of it she could hear.

    Zephyr smiled as they sorted through her wings, making sure all the feathers were straight and gently picking out any larger pieces of dirt and debris they could see. Ifrit watched it all, keeping his tail in the water to make sure the bath stayed at a comfortable temperature.

    They grabbed a nearby comb fashioned from a stag’s bone that Ifrit had hunted and used it to comb through the fluff of their daughter’s feathers, wiping it off on a nearby towel after each pass.

    “Darling, can you pass that metal tin there?” They pointed to what they needed on the sink.

    “Here you go, Birdie.” Ifrit smiled as he handed it over.

    Zephyr got a clean comb and coated the teeth in the paste of animal fat, water and beeswax as it would help keep Brontë’s feathers shiny and healthy.

    “You just want a small amount like this,” they demonstrated, “or her wings will be greasy and matted.”

    Ifrit nodded as he watched with a studious gaze, memorising everything his mate did to their little girl.

    As Zephyr worked through the fluffy little wings they loved so much, checking in with Brontë too, they found a feather that had stopped growing a while ago, and the base saw a small bump from where another was trying to grow through.

    Brontë turned around to face her Daddy again with a smile, having been chirping and trilling at the mini-spa treatment.

    ‘One of your feathers isn’t growing, so Daddy’s going to have to take it out. It might hurt a little but I’ll kiss it better right away. Is that okay, baby girl?’ They asked and watched a lot of hesitancy come over her face before nodding.

    ‘Hold Dada’s hand?’ She signed and Ifrit didn’t hesitate to squeeze her tiny hand and place a kiss on it.

    ‘I won’t let go for a second, Princess.’ Ifrit signed back with one hand.

    It ended in a couple tears but after a lot of snuggles with Daddy, Brontë was back to her usual self with a healthy set of wings in no time.

    After she was dried off and in her pyjamas Zephyr asked, ‘Do you want your hearing aids on for story time?’

    Her yellow eyes, almost an exact match for Zephyr’s own, looked over to the pink case that held her, also, sparkly pink hearing aids before shaking her head.

    ‘Ear break.’ She signed before snuggling between her Daddies in their nest, not quite yet brave enough to sleep in her own room. Zephyr and Ifrit didn’t mind the extra snuggles with their daughter one bit though.

    Ifrit signed her her bedtime story, messing up in parts but he and Zephyr were still learning sign despite how quickly the three of them had picked it up in the months since their deaf daughter came to the surface.

    They had their own anxieties with raising a deaf kit as it was a completely different disability to Zephyr’s but they didn’t stop loving her for a single second since the moment she was in their arms.

    Their family wasn’t entirely typical, even for a pack of Ghouls, but it was theirs’, and they thanked Satan for it every single day.

[dailyadventureprompts]

Mystery: Daughters of the Drossyard Pact

Originally intended to be sacrifices n a fiendish ritual , three orphan sisters managed to outsmart the warlock who’d adopted them and managed to offer him in their stead, Inadvertently becoming the beneficiaries of his profane dealings. Decades later, with the renewal of the pact looming one of the sisters has gone missing, leaving the other two in a lurch fearing the other had something to do with it. One sister desperately wishes to be free of the deal,  while the other may be willing to do anything to hold on to the power it has granted her. Neither trusts the other but both want the party’s aid in discovering the fate or whereabouts of their missing sibling.

Adventure Hooks: 

A pious noblewoman by the name of Lia Rolland initially hires our heroes to investigate the disappearance of a local playwright she serves as patron to as well as look into the strange occurrences around the theater which have only seemed to escalate since. Sleuthing around turns up a gaggle of disgruntled actors and stagehands stretched to the breaking point by an endless series of accidents and mishaps and delays. On top of everything else, prior to her disappearance Mecona, the playwright,  kept insisting on revising the piece over and over again and was prone to bringing production to a halt for days at a time while she buried herself in rewrites, which is why no one initially noticed that she was gone.  If the party are careful with their questions they may just discover that lowborn Mecona and highborn Lia are apparently sisters, a truth discovered by a snooping costumer looking in on one of their meetings. 

As it turns out, the strange occurrences are the fault of a host of dark spirits that have taken up residence in the forgotten corners of the theater, who’ve been amusing themselves by causing all kinds of minor chaos. Inevitably the party will be victim to a few of their cruel pranks or sabotauge, escilating until have to fight an entire possessed prompts department and worse as the demons boil out like a kicked hornet’s nest. 

 Into the chaoic (and potentially burning) theater strides Doc Briar, a scarred and swaggering practitioner of dark magic who aids the party in putting down the fiendish threat before warning them not to trust their employer and portaling out.  Briar will be shadowing them for the rest of the adventure just in case they get into any more scrapes, though it appears she has a motive of her own. 

Background: Once there were three orphan sisters, Rose, Camellia, and Poesy, their parents and last name taken from them by an awful war that saw them bourne from the smouldering remains of village to the big city. For years they were overlooked in the crowds of other refugees, falling ever deeper through the cracks until they were atlast taken in by a cold-eyed man who saw them brought up as servants in his great an empty house. Warry Camellia suspected the man had torrid plans for them, but ever-practical Rose was willing to put up with anything if it meant the  younger two would be saved from the street.

The cold-eyed man did have designs on the sisters, but they were far more sinister than what cruel old men usually do to those who are dependant on them. The man was an occultist of great ambition, and had spent his life seeking the means of summoning a fiend capable of granting his desire for power. After much dark dealing he’d found one, Calceinatis the profaner, but her summoning ritual required betrayal on the part of the summoner. Thinking himself clever he brought the three sisters into his home, taught them the basics of his magic,  and claimed that he’d take the most promising of the girls not only as his apprentice, but as rightfully acknowledged heir to all his wealth and holdings.  Over the next few years the cold-eyed man moved his favor from one girl to the next, hoping to stoke resentment and envy between the sisters, laying the groundwork for that most nessisary betrayal.

It was reticent Cammellia was his eventual selection, passing over Rose who wanted it most and young impressionable Posey to whom he was most like an actual father.  He passed the middle sister off to his peers as his bastard,  an indiscretion from years back that he had sheltered out of shame and only now worked up the courage to admit. Society applauded him for it, and he grinned as he introduced his “daughter” to polite society, thinking of how the other two must have watched their sister from the back rooms with covetous hatred. 

It would take a fool not to notice that the sisters had been on to his game for years, but the cold-eyed man was not just a fool, he was hollow hearted and narrow minded, ignorant of the bonds of love and convinced that all people were as motivated by the promise of power and station as he was.  While the sisters couldn’t know exactly what he had planned, they’d swore to stick by eachother no matter what, and so when their benefactor took them out to the great ash dusted badlands at the foot of the mountains as part of Cammellia’s “ascension ritual” they knew they had to act soon.   The rite had barely begun before the cold-eyed man tossed the sacrificial knife between the girls, claiming that he needed only one blood offering and the other two would be greatly rewarded if they did the deed. He drew close as the girls squabbled over the blade, unwilling to deny himself the violence that would lead him to everything he wanted, the oft imagined vision of young veins sliced open and spilling forth everything he could have wanted. 

The Cold-eyed man never could have imagined that his girls, his pawns, his wretched little orphans, would drive the knife into his belly with all the stregth their little arms could muster. That three little sets of hands would pull as one to tear open his fine suit and spill his guts into the ashen earth. 

He was still alive when the demon loomed over him, two sets skulls grinning, he was still alive when the sharp bear fangs started in on his flesh while the goat congratulated the girls on their marvelous betrayal and the boons they would be granted for this fine offering, he was still alive when the blunt goat teeth started in on his bones while the bear intoned that if the sisters wanted to keep these gifts they would need to return to this spot every sixth year and use the same knife to spill a few drops of their own blood or else… The demon did not finish what it was saying, the cold eyed man had finally died and so the meal was done. It disapeared, leaving Rose, Camellia, and Poesy to drag their father/employer’s body back to civilization, claiming to have been the victim of some savage animal attack. 

Motivations & Complications: 

Lia Rolland  (Cammellia): Forced to maintain the deception that she was the illgotten daughter of the man she helped murder has put Lia in a bind. She would like nothing more than to abandon his legacy and the pact but the resources granted to her but necessity has forced her time and again to rely on both. Wealth allowed her to support her sisters into adulthood, and the few supernatural abilities she’s allowed herself have seen her through hard times as she’s made a family and become a patron of the arts. She’d never break the pact on her own, fearing that all the good things in her life would be stripped away, but she’s terrified Briar has given in to her powerhungry nature and hurt or even killed Mecona to strike a new bargin with the demon of the drossyard.

Doc Briar (Rose):  A life spent looking out for two younger sisters convinced Briar that she need to do whatever it took to gain control of her life, which led to her fully embracing the gifts of the pact. She suspects Lia has done something with Mecona to ensure the pact cannot be restruck, and has hired the party as cover. Knowing she’s on a deadline for the next renewal of the ritual, she aims to track down both her sisters and convince them to return to the drossyard. Failing that, steal the knife and get a bit of Lia’s blood which she can hopefully use to stave off the demon for another half-decade. 

Mecona (Poppy):  Barely old enough to remember her parents before she and her sisters were taken in by the cold-eyed man, Poppy was the only one he seemed to show actual parental affection for, if only out of an attmept to make the other two resent their most innocent sibling. This gaslighting seeded her mind with confusion and guilt as to whether the cold-eyed man really meant them any harm, and if they were really without blame for killing their abuser.  These troubled feelings led her to the arts and later to the stage writing under an assumed name, having developed a real talent for portraying complicated relationships that resonated with�� audiences.  As the sixth anniversary of the pact rolled around her guilt over the mater came to a boil (were they really any better than the old man if they benefited from the same dark magic as he intended to use them for?), she decided to isolate herself, let the pact end, and see just what her sisters would do with the matter. 

Calceinatis: What the daughters of the drossyard do not yet realize is that they are once again being manipulated, this time by the fiend whispering in their minds and stoking their darker impulses. Sometime while devouring the old warlock’s soul the profaner realized that the three young women could be useful tools in feeding it again, but realized it would have to play the long game if it wanted them to truely turn the knife on eachother.  By feeding Rose’s ambition, Camellia’s fear, and Poppy’s regret, the Drossyard demon has separated the sisters and set them against eachother just as the cold-eyed man once did, Now all she has to do is sit back, wait, and let momentum carry one of the three past the point of no return. 

If you want to use this in your game, why not take a look at my How to run mysteries for d&d post. 

[clovermarigold]

Smoke & Ice Chap.1

Hey guys this is the first chapter of the smoke x oc/reader, bi han x oc/reader fic. This is somewhat of a trial chapter to see how I like the direction I started with. Currently working on chap 2, so it should be out soon. I swear I heard smoke’s voice lines, and I folded so fast 😂

I apologize for the pace of this chapter, I had to get at least some of the exposition out of the way. I promise future chapters won’t feel this slow. Feel free to give feedback on the pace, if it feels too slow or too fast give me a heads up.

Masterlist

Word count: 1554

“Okay, explain it to me again” Kenshi rolls his eyes at Johnny’s incompetence. “For the last time; Lord Liu Kang is sending us along with the Lin Kuei on a recruitment mission”. “Well, ok. But it doesn’t exactly explain why we are the ones going” Kenshi sighs deeply, prompting Raiden to place a hand on his shoulder. “What Kenshi means, is that Lord Liu Kang requires both the Shaolin and the Lin Kuei to have leaders present to convince the Hamadryad to join their place as earth realms protectors”. “Right! Right right… But why not send actual Shaolin” at that, both Kenshi and Kung Lao let out an in-sync groan of defeat. “Because, Johnny Cage, as contenders to be champions of this century's tournament, you are best suited for the task at hand” Liu Kang smiled to the others as he approached, Bi-han, Kauai Liang, and Smoke in tow. 

The four bowed to the god of fire, albeit some slower than others. “Oh great, this guy. You know you still owe me for my Hichuli” Johnny points at Bi han. “You will get nothing from me, cage” Kauai Liang held an arm out in front of his brother to stop him from approaching the American. Johnny smirked at Bi han’s visible anger, “So, who exactly are these hama-whatchamacallit”. 

“The Hamadryad were once one of the three protectors of earth realm, along with their sister’s the Shaolin and the Lin Kuei” Liu Kang explained, “However, they left our order before the last tournament”. “But why would a clan of earth forsake their duty” the soft spoken Raiden asked. A regretful look spread on the fire god’s face, “During the prior tournament the Hamadryad sustained heavy losses to their people. So much so that the elders decreed their recession from their duty and participation in the tournament”. 

“Heavy losses? I don’t know why I’ve never asked this, but.. Uh… What’s our record at this tournament” Johnny said with less than his usual snark. “Earth realm and Outworld have long been evenly matched. But Outworld is gaining strength. Should it win, its more militant factions will be emboldened”. “I thought you admired outworld” Raiden remarked. “It is a place of great knowledge, wealth, and beauty. But our realms do not share goals and beliefs. We coexist peacefully because Outworld respects our strength. Should we show weakness… our rival will become our enemy”. 

“And… this requires the aid of the Hamadryad” Raiden asks. “...The Hamadryad have long been among the greatest forces of earth realm, now, however, they are lost. It would benefit us all if they were to return” Bi han scoffed at the praise of the Hamadryad. “Come” Liu Kang instructed the group to follow as he walked towards an open path of stone. The group watched as Liu Kang summoned a fire portal, presumably to wherever the Hamadryad were.

Stepping through the portal they were met with lush green as they are surrounded in forest. “Huh, kinda reminds me of this movie I was in a few years back, we shot the whole thing in Greece, it was a box office hit” Johnny, being himself of course, said while filming the entire thing and scanning the area. “While I will not reveal our exact location, for the safety of the Hamadryad, I will confirm your suspicions” Liu Kang said, walking past them with his hands behind his back. “Oh, hell yes. We have GOT to go to this gyro place in Athens” the others walked past him, causing him to run to catch up while promising the gyros were worth it after stomaching all the bland rice they had with the Shaolin. 

The three Lin Kuei, however, hung back, walking at a slower pace. “I do not understand why we are wasting our time here” Bi han said, fists clenched. “Lord Liu Kang has requested our help. If he believes the Hamadryad can ensure safety for earth realm, then I believe him” Kauai Liang said, attempting to placate his brother. “These Hamadryad are nothing compared to the Lin Kuei, it is a waste of my time. I am grandmaster, I should be leading the others” Smoke and Kuai Liang shared a concerned look. “Were he here, father would advise us to proceed without protest” said Smoke, earning a scowl from the cryomancer. “Mind your place Tomas. Father may have taken you in, made you one of us. But your blood will never be Lin Kuei” The harsh words made the ninja momentarily pause in his stride, choosing to remain silent the rest of the journey. 

After about half an hour of walking the group came upon a large stone arch. “And this is where we shall part ways,” Liu Kang says. “Wait, you’re not staying” Johnny asks incredulously. “No, Johnny Cage, I will not. But I wish you luck in this endeavor, I hope that you all will return soon”.

“Wait, how long will we be here before we go back?” Kung Lao asks this time. “As long as it takes to convince the Matron of the Mangrove to rejoin us. Knowing her… weeks… at least” Bi han pushed past his brothers at this. “You expect us to remain here and leave the Lin Kuei without leadership for weeks,” he asks angrily. “The Lin Kuei will not be without leadership” Liu Kang says, “Kuai Liang will lead them in your absence”. 

“I am the Lin Kuei’s grandmaster. I should be the one to remain-”. “No, Bi han. This requires a leader of the Lin Kuei to be present. And Kuai Liang, similar to myself, would not be granted entry”. Bi han seethed at the notion that his brother would lead the Lin Kuei in his stead. Raiden broke the silence, “Why would you and Kuai Liang not be granted entry”. “The Hamadryad are a people similar to that of your legends of nymphs. Their life force is connected to that of their brethren tree they are born with. Because of that, fire is strictly prohibited within the Mangrove, Kauai Liang and myself, would be turned away” Liu Kang explains. 

“So, do we just go on in?” Johnny asked leaning to get a better view beyond the arch. “Whatever decisions you make from here on shall be your own. But remember, respect the rules of the Hamadryad, and learn from them” With a bow, Liu Kang, followed shortly by Kuai Liang turned back to the way they came. “Well, that was no help” Johnny said, earning a punch to the arm from Kenshi, “What- hey!” Bi han shoulder checked the actor, moving past him to go through the arch. “Alright, find this mangrove, convince their leader to join us, and don't start any fires… simple enough” Johnny said following the others through the arch. 

“Bi han you’re moving too fast” Smoke said gesturing to the others who were a good thirty feet behind them. “Liu Kang couldn’t have portaled us closer?” Johnny panted. “The longer it takes for us to get there, the longer we shall be stuck here”. “I understand your ambition to return swiftly but-” the faint sound of the breaking of wood caught the two ninja’s attention. 

Turning to the sound they are met with what looked to be a boy no older than twelve, staring at them like a deer in headlights. “Easy there” Smoke held out his hands to calm the boy, who though still, breathed heavily, eyes darting to each of them. In a flash the boy broke into a sprint, diving into the brush. “It seems our work will be done for us”. 

“Shouldn’t we follow him?” Kung Lao asks. “No, following him would only make us appear a threat. Better to let them come to us, and prove our intentions” Smoke said, turning to the others. The group sprawled out, finding places to stand and sit in the small clearing of the path. “So what was all that brethren tree stuff Liu Kang was talking about?” Johnny asked, kicking back to lean on a log. “Are you aware of Greek history, or is your ‘expertise’ limited to my clan’s history” Kenshi asked, making a reference to Sento “Yes, for your information, I do”.

“The Hamadryad are a type of dryad that are bound to a tree or a plant” Raiden explains, “When one dies, so does the other”. “Wicked, that’s definitely going in the movie” Johnny used his hands to gesture at an imaginary billboard, “Attack of the tree people”. Kenshi rolls his eyes, “Don’t you pay attention to anything the monks teach you. It’ll take a miracle for the matron to agree to anything with you around”.

“And what’s the deal with this matron? What’s her deal?” The others swear they could faintly hear smoke stopping Bi han from ‘shutting up the fool who won’t stop talking’. “The matron is the leader of the Hamadryad. It is usually a title to be inherited, like that of grandmaster. However, the last matron did not have children. And it was instead given to the oldest of them”. 

“Brother,” Smoke said quietly under his breath. “I am aware. We are being watched”. “Woah, who is Ms. smoke show” Johnny drew the attention from the group to the female figure emerging from the trees. “You are not welcome here, Shaolin. Leave”.

[siderealscribblings]

how close r we to akechi crashing out 🙏🙏

We have to be excruciatingly close because I tell you what I'm going to crash out if I have to write many more chapters where characters can't talk to each other about the thing they need to talk to each other about!

In any case, Merry Christmas Eve; have some WIP from the next chapter.

S.E.E.S. Tokyo - Indoor Demon Training Facility

Seven Years Earlier…

"Let's set expectations," Naoto said, chucking a kuda across the room for Goro to catch. "I don't expect you to master this on your first try."

Releasing demons in Tokyo required the utmost caution to prevent them from escaping and wreaking havoc. The smooth, white room Goro and Naoto stood in was so far underground and surrounded by more mundane and magical security than anywhere outside of Kyoto that escape was (almost_ impossible. And security was always a little more stringent when prospective Devil Summoners got their hands on their first demon; every fifty years or so a cultist slipped through S.E.E.S.' rigorous screening process and tried to use a Jack Frost to take over Tokyo. If Goro proved to be similarly diabolical, it was Naoto's unhappy duty to shoot him before he could do serious damage. 

Goro studied the tube in his hand, rolling it around curiously to examine the esoteric sigils on the kuda. "You sound like every other instructor I've had…before I surpassed their expectations." 

All that skill and he's still a cocky little teenager, Naoto thought, wondering if she was making a mistake for the eightieth time since taking Goro under her wing. "I look forward to being proven wrong…now, what's the first step?" 

"Visualize your familiar," Goro rattled off, focusing his attention on the image of a small fairy demon. 

"Second step?" 

"Understand what it can do and how you can contain it if things go wrong," Goro said, finger twitching as it threaded through the kuda's ring. "In the Pixie's case, not much." 

"Careful; plenty of demons look harmless enough but even a Pixie can do serious harm if not given the due respect," Naoto said. "Third?" 

"Steel yourself," Goro said, elbowing his doubt out of his mind. "Focus only on imposing your will on the demon. Be alert for anything it could use to gain the upper hand." 

The smooth walls were designed to provide rouge demons with few weapons to turn against their masters, but Goro had plenty of personal demons that would be all too happy to turn against him. The image of his mother burning alive had to go back in the cold, dark lockbox he usually kept it in; any sign he was compromised could be the door the Pixie could use to break the thin psychic control link that bound him to the Pixie. 

"Then?" Naoto prompted, tensing as Goro gripped the kuda's ring. 

"Pull the pin," Goro said, pulling the kuda's pin and flooding the room with green light. A small woman with red hair fluttered in the air in front of him, blinking as it stared at an unfamiliar hand on her kuda. 

"Hey, who is this little geek?" The Pixie huffed, glaring at Goro. "This is a new low, even for you creeps! Who the hell do you think you are, summoning a demon such as-" 

"Shut…up," Goro said, tightening his grip on the kuda. Pixies were the the first demons presented to Summoners for a number of reasons, but one was that they could be relied on to knock upstarts from the academy down a peg or two. Weak as they were, they were stubborn, prideful, and bratty to a demon. She fully expected Goro's arrogance to be reduced to a more manageable level after getting told off by a woman the size of a water bottle…but to Naoto's surprise, the little demon shut up when commanded to do so. 

"Ugh…w-well, I was just asking," the Pixie muttered, looking irritated but cowed. "I hope you don't-hey!" 

Goro's fingers twisted, tugging an invisible psychic strand to pull the Pixie forward. "Easy Akechi," Naoto said, one hand on her pistol in case things got too far out of hand. 

"I got it," Goro said, brow knit as he glared at the Pixie. "If you don't want to spend the rest of eternity sitting on a shelf, you'll do what I say; I can and will make sure you never see sunlight again unless you show me a healing spell like a good little housefly." 

Too aggressive, Naoto thought, though the Pixie's resistance seemed to be waning. He's not negotiating with her; he's just bullying her into submission…but why the hell is a demon just rolling over for a sixteen year old boy? 

Even a Pixie should have put up more of a fight, but with only minimal grumbling, the Pixie snapped her fingers, washing Goro in a glowing green light before Goro twisted his wrist and sent the Pixie back into its kuda. 

"Well?" Goro said, glancing at Naoto. "Does that meet your expectations?" 

Surpasses them, Naoto thought though for the sake of Goro's swollen head she didn't say it. "Skillfully done…though not every demon can be strongarmed like that. Sooner rather than later you're going to be asked to handle demons that aren't afraid of you…and then what?" 

Goro looked thoughtfully down at his kuda. "...demons respect strength, don't they? I guess I'll just have to get stronger than any demon that thinks they can disobey me." 

Yoyogi Park Outskirts 

"How's the feed?" 

Sumire stuck her tongue between her teeth as she reached to put the last cable in the socket in the back of her computer. "Coming online; I'll let you know if I have any issues." 

SysCon agents were spread out in a circle huddling around computers set up on flimsy metal folding tables. Behind them, a ring of police cars kept the curious public away from the park while the S.E.E.S. auxiliary agents prepared to support the effort inside the park. 

"Sound is coming on…video feed is-oh for fuck's sake!" " Sumire choked as the image of the Phantom Thieves appeared on the monitor fed from Akechi's lapel camera. 

"Yoshizawa?" Mishima asked, craning his neck around the side of the screen. "Everything al-" 

Sumire stood up quickly, grabbing her laptop under one arm and yanking it out of the power supply. "Sorry, m-my energy drink is catching up to me and I need to find a bathroom. Back in a flash!" 

"Oh, the porta potties are over-" Mishima turned back to find that Sumire had disappeared, likely in search of a bathroom that didn't smell like a festering sewer. "...yeah, don't blame you." 

Stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid! Sumire thought as she ran, both about her partner for throwing himself at demons too big for him to handle alone…and herself for chasing after him.

______________________________________________________________

Yoyogi Park

The crack of distant pistol fire and the roar of the second Hell Biker's engine seemed so quiet next to the sound of the blood rushing in Goro's ears. A towering demon with a flaming skull for a head was circling around for another pass at Goro, but all he could see was Joker and the others as they stared at him, just as frozen as he was. 

"Hi Goro…" Noir said, raising her hand with a pained half-smile as Morgana emerged from the brush, looking as dumbstruck as a cat could look. 

"I…y-you were-" 

"Right," Goro said, his throat tight as he looked at the Phantom Thieves. "The word you are looking for is right and I'll thank you to repeat that to Naoto once she gets here." 

"Oh good, the pig-cat is here too," Panther sighed, pulling a whip from her belt. "Just what I wanted." 

"Well, if you don't like that cat, I have another," Goro said, cracking open another kuda with his teeth and releasing a large white lion with a long reptilian tail. "Take your pick." 

The Cerberus snarled, tugging on the psychic lash that bound it to Goro as flames danced on the tips of its fangs. 

"Neither is my preferred choice," Joker said, reaching an arm out to stop Panther as he stepped forward, hands raised. "...hey there." 

"Kurusu," Goro spat, unable to keep the quaver of indignation out of his voice. "Nice of you to show your face at last…I see you brought the family with you this time. Although something tells me I've seen you geeks before." 

"Wait, for real?" Skull stammered. "Why didn't you say something?!" 

"Skull, don't get excited; he knows it was us at the dart parlor," Joker said, holding Goro's gaze. "Don't you?" 

"Are you all done lying?" Goro asked. "All out of bullshit smokescreens and fake-names?" 

"I'm fifty percent bullshit smokescreens and fake names at this point," Joker said. "Look, before you pull that trigger, just let us get Niijima somewhere safe. After that we can sit down and talk or-" 

Goro drew his pistol, aiming the shaking barrel at Joker's head, triggering a flurry of drawn guns from the other Thieves. "Again with the fucking gun…" 

"I have orders to take Niijima to our headquarters," Goro said as Cu Chullain flourished his spear next to him. "So I guess one of us is going home unhappy tonight…scratch that; one of us is going home tonight." 

"What more do we have to do to prove that we're not trying to kill your prosecutor?" Queen growled.  

"If we wanted to hurt her, we would have done so already," Fox said, hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "Don't you understand that?" 

"I don't understand demons; I kill them," Goro said, gripping his sword tighter. 

"Every word out of your mouths and everything you do is some kind of manipulation." Morgana hissed. "We're not going to let you carry Lady Sae off into the night without-" 

"Hey!" Goro glanced out of the corner of his eye at the last Hell Biker who had finally wheeled around to face him. "You killed my bro you little piss-stain!" 

"I'm devastated," Goro said as Cu Chulainn turned his attention to the Hell BIker. 

"This doesn't concern you, skull-for-brains!" Skull of all people said. "Trot back to your boss before we arrange a family reunion; we gotta talk to Goro here." 

"Unless you want to end the night in a puddle of magatsuhi?" Panther suggested, a predatory glint flashing in her eye. 

"A…p-puddle?!" The Hell Biker snarled, revving his engine and sending spluttering flames up the bark of a nearby tree. "Do you know who the fuck I am?!" 

"A very dead demon if you don't crawl back under your boss' skirt before I lose my patience," Goro hissed, his Cerberus' lip curling back in a snarl. 

"Was he even alive to begin with?" Joker sighed, leveling a glare at the Hell Biker. "Can't exactly kill something that was born a flaming skeleton shitstain, can you?" 

"I will find a way or I will invent a way," Goro assured him, turning his attention back to the Phantom Thieves. "And that goes for the lot of you as well; tough as you think you are, I'll come up with a way to kill you before the night is out." 

"Really?" Joker asked, taking a step forward only to have Goro's gun barrel jab inches away from his face. "Why don't you try shooting me? Don't think you've given that a shot, have you?" 

"Goro, what are you doing?!" Morgana hissed, fur bristling even as Joker made no move to draw his own weapon. 

"Good question; what are you doing, Goro?" Joker asked, yellow eyes narrowing at Goro as the pistol shook in his grip. "For a slayer of demons, you don't exactly live up to your reputation." 

"Shut up!" Goro snapped, fighting down a wave of nausea that suddenly gripped him the moment he put his pistol in Joker's face. The trigger was right there, but his finger felt heavy and tight; like the muscles in his body were tensing up, trying to prevent him from shooting Joker. 

"Hey, dipshits, stop ignoring me and come fight!" The Hell Biker snarled, cracking his flaming chain like a whip. It was an impressive display of hellfire and metal…or it would have been if anyone was paying the slightest attention to him. The Phantom Thieves all seemed to hang on Joker's word, guns lowered but ready to raise them again should Goro overcome his hesitation. 

"Goro shoot him!" Morgana hissed. 

"Shut up!" Panther snapped, angling machine gun at Morgana. 

"Yeah, Goro, shoot me," Joker said. 

"You shut up too!" Queen snapped, glaring at Joker. "Joker, please, let's just get out of here before-" 

"Goro's not going to kill me," Joker said softly, meeting Goro's gaze with a deceptively soft look. "Are you?" 

"You…don't know the first thing about what I'm going to do to you!" Goro snapped, although Goro was somewhat shaky on that point himself. What could he do if just aiming a gun at Joker brought such dread as though he were making a terrible mistake. 

"I don't think you do either," Joker said, gripping the barrel of Goro's gun and jamming it between his eyes despite Skull's hiss of displeasure. "Something's stopping you, isn't it? Something you can't quite explain but you know deep down that killing me is a bad idea-" 

"Shut the fuck up!" Goro snapped, golden light from the streetlamp flashing in his dark pupils as the pistol felt unnaturally heavy in his grip. "I swear to god you freaks are all going to die here; Narukami, Shirogane, and Kirijo are all in Tokyo. Any one of those monsters could solo your whole team, so get the hell away from here before they-" 

Goro's throat tightened, a small, scared voice bubbling up from somewhere deep inside chest and startling him enough into nearly dropping his weapon. His Cerberus snarled, biting at the psychic lash that kept it bound to Goro, sensing the hesitation in its master's voice. Even his demons weren't obeying him…what was it about the Phantom Thieves that made him so weak?!

"You almost sound like you care about us," Noir said softly, flinching as the Hell Biker seemed to get over his fear of fighting six Fiends at once and decided to charge them. 

"I don't give a fuck, who's here in Tokyo right now!" The Hell Biker roared, spinning his chain around like a lasso. "You shitheads killed my brother; you're all gonna-" 

Two pistol shots rang out as Goro and Joker's arms moved in tandem, drawing and firing two rounds that sunk cleanly through the Hell Biker's eye holes. Its skull exploded in a beautiful gout of flame, the bike slamming into a tree as silence once again fell over the park. For a moment, Goro locked eyes with Joker, the elation of victory quickly subdued as he hurled his useless gun to one side and settled for slugging Joker in the side of the head. Fox lunged and was blocked by Cu Chulainn; Queen's advance was stopped by the Cerberus. Morgana's shrill, feline wail rattled the teeth of every demon in the park and sent the remaining birds scattering into the night sky, and the battle was well and truly on.

[btower3689]

Natures of Celestials 2/2

Read my last post here for context or die.

Let's continue.

Manifestation through Visible Light

This can mean a couple things. In our world, celestial entities usually only appear as visual light when they are putting a great deal of energy into being visible. Even the lower end of the visual light spectrum requires more energy than radio or microwaves to manifest in our dimension. Basically, because this range of frequencies is comparably smaller than the rest of the EM spectrum, you will only ever be able to physically see an angel or daemon in the visual light spectrum if they really really want you to.

Lesser spirits often manifest as hazy, less opaque white lights.

Lesser Spirits

Full body apparitions are considered quite rare for all spirits, but especially Higher Angels, Gods and Daemons. However, when they truly want to appear in this way, they can be quite vivid. 

Unnatural (Supernatural) lights

Longer wavelengths mean less energy, higher wavelengths mean more energy. In the context of celestials, angels and daemons that have an extremely high vibration will appear to have a melam that is coloured on the higher (shorter) end of the spectrum (violets, indigos, and blues), whereas, an entity with a lower (longer) vibration will appear on the lower end of the spectrum (reds, oranges, and yellows).

Therefore, if we know what color a celestial corresponds to, we can get a general idea as to how fast their vibration is and by extension how “high" the entity is. In reality, the light itself has no color, but luckily for us, the human eye is able to distinguish between these wavelengths in the form of color. 

Most Lower Gods would rather opt to appear in the mindscape realm of the practitioner, (in the practitioner’s head) than to literally appear in the physical world, but it does happen on occasion. Entities will manifest in colors corresponding to their wavelength in the mindscape as well.

Unnatural highly saturated colored light

When humans are overwhelmed with too much colorful information, our eyes see it as static. Entities can induce static by presenting as rapidly changing jumbled light rays, usually for the purpose of preventing a human from observing them. This can be malevolent or benevolent. Angels usually employ this as a defense mechanism to protect a practitioner’s eyesight when they are nonconsensually summoned, due to it usually prompting them to look away. Seeing static in only one section of your vision is a good sign that an entity is standing there and is uncomfortable in your presence. 

Static Entities

Daemons are commonly known to absorb light rather than emitting it like angels do, not sparing any energy but rather keeping it all to themselves. Because of this, some lower entities (shadow people) may appear to be shrouded in darkness and many daemons are not associated with any color other than red (the longest, lowest wavelength) or blackness itself.

Dark Entities

Manifestation through Ultraviolet Light 

This is a higher form of energy that is usually reserved for higher hotter entities and serves as another good reason why angels and daemons could not coexist with us in our world. 

Because angels and daemons are incredibly hot burning, their temperature is high enough to let the electrons acquire that amount of energy that is necessary for them to let out UV rays. This is one of the bigger reasons it is generally impossible for normal humans to look directly at angels in their truest form, just like looking directly at the Sun, this will cause blindness and extreme health defects. On our planet most UV rays are luckily absorbed by our atmosphere. However, if an angel was to manifest fully in the material world, the entirety of humanity would have no protection from these rays as they would greatly overwhelm the atmosphere, leading to the development of severe cancers, and ultimately the decimation of most life on Earth. 

To celestials, however, these rays are more or less inconsequential and do little harm. Higher energy UV rays affect lower spirits and are often used against them. 

Magical Manifestation in the form of UV radiation in our modern world is exceedingly rare and would only be employed by high entities to cause harm to living things- which is something they tend not to do. 

They may, on the other hand, utilize UV rays to be absorbed into plants if they want their energy to be harbored within the physical realm, in a way giving them a very limited physical form similar to that of a human host, but with fewer capabilities. Old Gods often did this with plants during the Ordovician period. Due to climate change and human influence, this form of manifestation is seldom used in today’s world.

Manifestation through X Rays and Gamma Radiation 

We’ll combine these two as the most energetic forms of radiation an entity may present in as, and most destructive. X and Gamma Rays differ in wavelength but serve the same purpose for celestials. 

This is almost never observed as a form of manifestation in our world and is more or less irrelevant from a practitioner’s sandpoint. However, these energy forms are very significant in the ethereal realm and the ways that celestials interact with each other. 

On smaller scales against lower enemies, angels emit x and gamma rays to overpower lower spirits and daemons. This is usually fatal to lower spirits who cannot withstand the incredible levels of radiation. Cruelty.  

Angels and daemons can also employ the use of extremely high frequency waves like x and gamma rays to aggress each other. A celestial with enough energy can weaponize nearly unlimited levels of x and gamma radiation to cause harm to their brethren if they choose to. This is due to a process that is very similar to the method used for gravitational force but to a far more intense degree. Higher Angels and Daemons can gather their mass to such an infinitely small point that their gravitational pull creates a black hole, the event of which will generate an Accretion Disk. 

These blazing disks of Primordial Material can literally be used as weapons against other massive celestial beings as they emit near infinite levels of ionizing radiation which has the ability to denature and break down other celestials, energizing them to such a degree that they cannot contain themselves. Their information is corrupted and forced apart, ending their consciousness. Final Death. 

A Lower God (left) obliterating angel (right) with x & gamma rays

Celestials aggressing each other in this way usually do not interact beyond their event horizons, as it would force their matter to merge which is a risky affair for both parties. Celestial beings cannot merge consciousness, and the force of both celestial’s gravity is usually far too great to be resisted by one entity alone. The information cannot be reused, and is considered irretrievable as the two consciousnesses are doomed to infinitely collapse into each other. Absolute Death. 

A Mistake

Rather, celestials weaponize the extreme levels of radiation emitted from their Accretion Disk, never actually coming into close enough contact with each other to merge, but causing irreparable damage to their opponent. This takes unfathomable levels of energy and extreme attunement into their own gravity as, without absolute and total control, an angel runs the risk of being unable to resist the pull of their own gravity and will be stuck in this state indefinitely until they eventually evaporate. 

Two Angels in Combat

Higher Angels make the conscious decision not to absorb the energy of another celestial into their singularity because it is a violation of Angelic Law. However, there have been many instances of Gods absorbing angels and other Gods, literally adding their energy to their consciousness. With enough energy and gravity, celestials can force other celestials to become a part of their consciousness, effectively killing them and recycling their materials. This is the driving force behind the Celestial War. 

Manifestation through Mechanical Energy  

Existence in the form of motion. The celestial manifests as motion itself and interacts with an object or person for a very short amount of time in the form of a push or pull. This form of energy is invisible but observable in the ways it affects the world around it, similar to sound energy. This requires a great amount of energy and is usually a very quick and single motion. With more energy an entity may be able to move multiple objects at once. 

This is one of the more common ways daemons will manifest, usually in the form of an impact, such as throwing objects across the room, slamming doors, and banging on walls. Human spirits that have recently passed are more talented at manifesting in mechanical energy than non-human spirits like fairies because they are literally closer to the material plane. So even though this operation takes immense energy, the distance it must travel is comparably shorter than it would be from an angel, daemon or fairy, meaning human spirits (ghosts) often manifest in this way.

Collective angels do not usually employ the use of mechanical energy as a form of manifestation unless it is natural of their function. For example, certain Angels of the Natural World like Angels of Wind may use mechanical energy in mundane situations over forces of nature. 

Mediums may employ this form of manifestation by allowing an entity or spirit to move a part of their body, usually their hand, to communicate in writing. (This is distinctly different from an extremetal possession, which is when an entity takes full control of the energy in a person's limb). In a ritual setting, a practitioner may be compelled to dance and move in specific ways - or be moved by an entity in a specific way- in summoning. 

In the ethereal world, celestials use high levels of mechanical energy to aggress lower spirits, rotating their matter to such an insanely high degree that they reach their maximum possible rotations per minute and ultimately explode or evaporate.

Manifestation through Electrical Energy 

In the natural world, high celestials may manifest as natural lightning under the right conditions. Unnatural lightning conjured directly from the celestial does not require the use of mechanical energy to manifest. Only specific celestials of a certain nature can conjure lightning in the ethereal world, unnatural lightning in all forms is reserved only to them. 

Manifestation through natural lightning is a high level technique reserved for high entities as it involves the use of mechanical energy creating static in the atmosphere which is then converted into electrical energy in the form of lightning. Therefore, the celestial does not conjure the lightning itself, but rather conjures the means to possess lightning. 

Extremetal Possessions are performed by taking control of the electrical energy already present in a person’s limbs. Consistent contact with High Angels is known to create neurological side effects.  

Celestials are also able to be contained within any electrical circuit, but manifest far better at higher voltage. Celestials are known to make lights flicker and often overwhelm flashlights and other simple electrical devices. If you find yourself within a high entity’s Zone you can expect simple electrical devices to malfunction.

In the ethereal world, similar to X and Gamma Rays, celestials can and often do use electricity as a means to aggress other entities, usually lesser spirits that can be extinguished through intense shocks. 

Manifestation through Sound Energy 

This is also considered a high level technique because it requires the use of mechanical energy. Higher amplitude requires more energy to manifest. Entities may utilize longitudinal waves to communicate, vibrating air particles in a specific way to be detected by humans or other creatures. The use of sound waves can also be used to harm or heal humans and other entities. Animals like dogs and cats are often able to observe entities in these forms of sound when humans cannot. 

Infrasound

This is below the human range of hearing and occurs naturally on Earth in many forms like earthquakes as well as from man made sources. Large animals like whales use Infrasound to communicate. While these sounds may at times be used to communicate with these animals, they are usually used by celestials to intimidate humans. 

In humans, sounds in this frequency can cause vertigo, imbalance, intolerable sensations, incapacitation, disorientation, nausea, vomiting, bowel spasm; and resonances in inner organs, such as the heart. Giddiness, vomiting, loss of consciousness, and blindness may afflict you. 

When people suddenly get an immense feeling of dread or feel sickly during hauntings and rituals, it may be because an entity is weaponizing infrasound against them. Many Old Daemons utilized infrasound to cause mass hysteria in the past. 

In the ethereal world, at a high enough amperage, infrasound can be used to harm nonhuman lower spirits, effectively extinguishing them. 

Audible Spectrum 

Different audio frequencies have different effects on humans. Daemons have often been known to use sound to deceive humans and lead them to danger. Ex: Hearing a scream or a baby crying with no source.

In the same way that infrasound can cause health defects in humans, different audible sound frequencies can aid and heal humans. More energy is required to heal than to harm. Benevolent entities may manifest as specific frequencies to help practitioners during magical operations. Different frequencies can aid in different things from improving focus to raising self esteem. Healing Angels often manifest in these same frequencies. 

High Daemons may utilize sound frequencies in their Enn, a mysterious chant that a practitioner uses to attune themselves to an entity’s realm. Angels are known to manifest in music. 

White Noise 

White noise contains all frequencies across the spectrum of audible sound in equal measure. To humans, white noise is to sound what static is to light, and is used by celestials for a similar function. 

While static is often used to disorient humans, white noise is used to subdue them. White noise is effective at blocking out all other sounds, which is effective at relaxing humans as the brain focuses on the jumbled information. In ritual settings this can aid in achieving a trance like state. Entities can manifest as white noise to affect sleep patterns and generally induce tiredness in humans. Different forms of white noise, such as pink noise, may also be used. 

Ultrasound 

In the material world ultrasound has little effect on humans, but celestials can use this energy at high enough levels to heal lesser spirits. Angels and Daemons often use ultrasound to offer spiritual healing to humans. 

Manifestation through Chemical Reaction  

In the material world, this form of manifestation requires the most expertise as it is actually the use of potential energy in material objects as it is converted into other forms. It is less convenient for this reason, because the specific materials needed are unique and may not always be present. Chemical reactions are a means to achieve manifestation through the use of the material world. This gives power to Entities of Alchemy.

The rearrangement of electrons in a chemical reaction is what allows the entity to manifest. In this way, a summoning for an entity that mainly exists in the energy conjured by chemicals may look more like a scientific operation than a spell. 

Entities that correspond to Fire also utilize this method of manifestation. Heat reacts with fuel and oxygen and causes fire to bloom. The fire we can see is a result of this chemical reaction, as this energy is used it produces heat and light. The amount of available energy affects how the fire looks and how entities manifest. Most celestials can possess fire in the material world. In ritual settings entities often require that candles be lit to increase their presence. 

A celestial may demand a specific element or chemical be combined or react with another in their summoning. Usually these are base elements that cannot be broken down into smaller parts (on the periodic table). 

Smaller chemical reactions (such as the striking of a match) may be used during a magical operation, but the use of specific elements themselves is what defines this form of manifestation. Entities that employ chemical manifestation have a deep relationship with Alchemy. 

In the context of psychedelics and drugs in general, chemicals that alter the brain’s chemistry can also be employed in summoning rituals. It is worth noting that there are entities that reside in these psychedelic spectrums that can be contacted through the use of mind altering substances. Some rituals may even consider it a mandatory step in the magical operation. 

LSD God

Higher entities that manifest in psychic spaces like realms can utilize the chemical energy generated by the human mind to attune them to their realm. Both angels and daemons can interact with humans in dreams. 

In magical relationships, Entities of Illusion can interact with humans through hallucinations when the practitioner is in a trance. The daemon will not have to physically manifest in the material realm but will be perceived in great vividity by the human. This is the closest angels can legally get to possession. 

Possession 

With all this considered, a possession can be understood as a high level two-step manifestation of the chemical and electrical energy generated by a human or animal brain. This can only be achieved after overpowering a human’s identity and establishing full domination of their mindscape. 

Daemon’s must first drive the host to such a point of hysteria and madness that they are unable to discern reality from fiction. In this disoriented state, Daemons can convince the human consciousness that they are one being. The human then allows the Daemon to take dominance over the functions of the body. This is a parasitic relationship. The Daemon has full access to the human’s memories and has the ability to alter or delete them. 

Energy must be maintained at a constant state. Too little will allow the human to take back dominance, too much will fry their components.

Daemons however, unlike Chimera, cannot truly merge consciousness with humans, therefore the death of the human spirit will result in the death of the entity as it presents in the material world.

Death cleans the information of all energy. The greater entity will not die in the ethereal realm but may be severely injured. Daemons can opt to end the possession before death, but the human will be more resistant to possessions in the future. The Daemon will then have to go through the process of dominating a human soul with a new host. For this reason possessions are not very attractive to Daemons.

Collective Angels do not possess humans as it is a violation of Angelic Law.

Okay, I think this post is long enough. This may seem extremely meticulous but these posts really do help me think through the mechanics of the entities and how they relate to us in our world. In my next posts I might go more into the dynamics between witches and entities and psychics because I’m still spotty on those subjects. Thanks for exploring my weird reality with me. X 

[demon----dean]

WIP Wednesday!

Okay, technically Thursday in this part of Europe already, but you get the drift.

This is from a silly fic I am writing loosely based on this writing prompt:

"You, an evil sorcerer, decide to summon a demon. You expected a large, monstrous being, as was illustrated in the book, but are surprised to find a child. The demon you summoned is seemingly six and on their first summoning mission!" by @wordsnstuff

Let's make it modern Obikin, Obi-Wan is a grieving lawyer and baby!demon!Anakin is very eager to impress him. 😄 (He may or may not be also imprinting on Obi-Wan like a baby duck, who knows. ;))

Obi-Wan staggered back into the library, Qui-Gon’s favourite place in the house he guessed now belonged to him. 

He knew his father had been into the occult, and it was a petty thought to seek a spell, but Obi-Wan felt like he would go and do something unforgivable himself, if justice wasn’t served. 

He fumbled and eventually managed to open the secret compartment where the oldest and most precious books were hidden.

“Let’s see…” He mumbled, allowing himself to drop to the floor, the room spinning as the alcohol worked through his system. 

“Spells… Spells to have a good harvest, spells to attract romance… Summoning spell…” Wait. That might be the one he needed! 

He flipped to the right page and paled as he saw the evil creature with goat body, horns and sharp teeth staring back at him.

A demon.

He could summon a demon and make sure Maul didn’t walk free.

Obi-Wan shivered and rubbed his face, feeling incredibly guilty for not keeping to his usual calm and rationality. 

He was only half aware of going to the kitchen for another swing of the whiskey and herbs and candles required for the ritual. 

As he came to again, he was kneeling in the middle of the library, carpet pushed aside and the ancient book open next to him.

A sigil drawn in blood. 

He took a shuddering breath and cut his palm, careful as he dipped his index finger into the crimson liquid and started tracing the winding lines from the book onto the floor.

“Forgive me.” He mumbled to the ghost of Qui-Gon, undoubtedly watching over him from somewhere above and judging his inability to let go.

As Obi-Wan finished the sigil, he lit the candles and herbs, focusing his drunk brain to read the Latin enchantment.

His tongue felt heavy, and his voice trembled, but all the years at law school were paying off as his Latin was semi decent even intoxicated.

“Daemon, esto subjecto voluntati meae!” He finished, his heart beating as the temperature seemed to suddenly drop and then rise fast.

The ground under him was quaking.

Oh no. What is this blood thirsty creature tears me apart and won’t listen to my commands? He wondered in panic as the sigil started to glow. 

Well, it was too late to turn back now. Whatever sort of monster he had called to this dimension, he would have to face it.

The lights flickered rapidly, between one blink and the next, there was a figure standing before him. 

The figure…

Was a small boy, dressed in rags. He had a bowl cut and round cheeks. He looked adorable and innocent, except for the unnatural golden eyes and small black stubs peeking out from the hair on top of his head.

Obi-Wan instantly felt himself sobering, almost as if he had been dunked in ice water. 

“What is thy bidding, my master?” The boy asked in a tone way too serious for his high voice, and got down on one knee. 

Obi-Wan gaped and tried to decide if maybe he should just run. Or more likely he was still extremely drunk and hallucinating. But it was a child! He couldn’t possibly ask of him what he had intended!

“I… I wanted… This horrible man, Maul, he… He took my father for me and I sought revenge in my rage. I see now that I was wrong. I would never ask you to hurt him or anyone else.”

The boy looked confused and a bit nervous now.

“Master, I am very capable. I can fetch his head for you!”

“Jesus, stop that. Stop calling me Master and stop… Stop talking about murder so casually. Please rise.” Obi-Wan pleaded, his head throbbing.

"Rise, my Master?"

"Yes, rise and... And sit on the couch. Yes. I shall make us some tea." Obi-Wan spoke with more confidence than he felt.

Dear lord, was he really inviting the demon child over for tea?

It would seem so.

[ezplumbingusa8]

5 Signs You Need Professional Drain Cleaning in Riverside

Why Do You Need Emergency Drain Cleaning Plumbers in Riverside?

Drainage systems are so vital in every home and business establishment in Riverside. Anything short of having these clogged drains and sewer backups results in great inconvenience, if not posing serious health risks. Where some tiny ones could be dealt with using certain DIY procedures, ongoing problems warrant an emergency plumber in Riverside in order to be handled. Failure to recognize these signs causes damage to repair costs as well as serious plumbing emergencies.

1. Toilets, Sinks, and Tubs Drain Slowly

If slow drainage occurs, both in the water sinks and in the bathtub, it becomes a point requiring urgent attention. This usually comes about because of hair, soap scum, grease, and many other blockages in the pipe. A plunger or even over-the-counter drain cleaner may afford temporary relief or at best help, but for sure, there is no substitute to professional cleaning, involving electric snakes and hydro jetting methods, for the chances of future clogs.

2. Occasional Blockages

In case, you undergo repeated clogging of drains despite regular plumbing maintenance then possibly this is indicative of complex plumbing issues. Repeated clogging can mean one important clog in sewer line needing specialized equipment for safe and thorough unclogging. Hydro-jetting is advanced equipment which will be used by Riverside Emergency Plumbers to safely get rid of these clogs and drain your property seamlessly.

3. Bad Smell from Drains

A drain that emits a foul odor is an unqualified indication that something is amiss. For example, persistent smells of sewage usually imply that food particles have built up, along with fats, oils, or organic wastes that have clogged the pipes and supported the growth of bacteria. Should persistent smells continue every time you try to clean your drains, a plumbing professional should be summoned to inspect and properly clean your drains.

4. Gurgling Pipes

Weird noises like gurgling or bubbling should not be present when water is flowing through the pipes. The presence of air trapped in the pipes due to some level of blockage or venting difficulty is usually responsible for that noise. An emergency plumber from Riverside would have grasped the issue and set your system back on tract.

5. Back Water into Other Fixtures

One of the urgent signs of a drain blockage is when water backs up into other fixtures on flushing the toilet or using the sink. This generally indicates that there is serious obstruction deep down in the plumbing system. If not dealt with, this would give an opportunity for possible water damage due to sewer back-ups and health hazards as well. So, it is vital that you reach out to a certified plumber without any delay to avert complications.

Need for Professional Drain Cleaning

The truth is that DIY solutions don't always tend to be effective, and sometimes worsen already persistent problems. There are numerous advantages accrued from hiring professional drain cleaning services. For example:

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Higher Technological Level: These professional plumbers use high technologies now to find and remove blockage installations, such as drain snakes, hydro jetting, and camera inspections.

Helps in Avoiding Future Problems: Regular maintenance and cleaning prevent severe clogging, leaking and damage to pipes.

Safe and Environmentally Friendly Techniques: Chemical cleaners purchased at stores can harm pipes in the long run. Professionals employ safer and more efficient techniques.

When to Hire an Emergency Plumber in Riverside

All drain issues do not need to be addressed immediately, but certain situations call for prompt action. Hire an Emergency Plumber in Riverside if you have:

Sewage backups posing health risks

Several drains clogged simultaneously

Sagging or overflowing toilets

Continuous water leakage

Rotten smells signaling potential sewer line damage

Preventive Actions to Maintain Drains Free of Blockage

Avoidance of pricey plumbing repair involves these easy preventive actions:

Refuse pouring oil and grease down the drain

Employ the use of drain strainers to capture hair and trash

Run hot water through drains frequently

Call for routine cleaning of drains

Conclusion

Having the drainage problems neglected may bring about severe plumbing emergencies. So if there are symptoms like slow drainage, foul odors, or recurring clogs, the best way to make sure everything remains tiptop in your plumbing is to call Riverside Emergency Plumber. Professional drain cleaning does not just clear up the things of most current issues but also a preventive approach to avoid extra expenses in the future. If you are noticing any of the signs above, don't wait, but call a trusted plumber in Riverside today!

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[writteninscarlet]

maybe we should ... y'know , check it out ? ; @transistorized

cult classics - horror prompts ;; accepting

Of course that was the sensible thing to do. When something was not quite right, or there was an annoyance in your life it was better to sort it rather than letting it fester. Common sense, no?

And when something was quite literally going bump in the night, in a not-so-fun way, then was it not right to check it out and see what was happening? Halloween did bring out the crazies in people. And blah, blah, solemn vow, blah, uphold duties, be good and kind, live long and prosper... the Avengers code. They ought to help.

However, if horror movies and novels had taught Wanda anything (and they had taught her many things though most not useful), it was that one didn't simply just check out something like that. That usually led to trouble. Like opening some portal or summoning something. Or worse, people crying. Or requiring advice that was not 'witchy'. Besides, when you gave anything attention, it usually fed of such energy. There was a good chance that getting to the bottom of things would only make the situation worse.

Was she going to say that though?

Of course not.

It wasn't simple bravado stopping her from saying no and leaving him to it.

Curiosity killed the cat - and it was damn well going to get Wanda some time, too. Hopefully not today or in the near future, but some day.

Something was not quite right and if Tony was offering to be part of her Scooby Gang to investigate then she would take him up on it. He could be the Velma to her Daphne. Or was she a Fred? ...Was she the Velma? No, no - with his scepticism (though slowly coming around) of the supernatural, it suited him to a tee. Nevermind, all could be decided later.

"Well, I did have other plans - watch paint dry and my plants grow, listening to Clint about his latest arrow invention... But you know, I rather think this is something we perhaps should check out. No time like the present? It is perhaps best to investigate such creepy things whilst there's still daylight." She was teasing of course.

Mostly.

"It's likely just some kook or someone playing into the theme of it being..." she sought out a better term, then sighed and murmured, "spooky season." She was all for frights and spooks, but the term, for her, didn't quite roll of her tongue all the time. "Or perhaps something a little hungry that got a little lost." This was the season for amateurs attempting to summon little frights. Wouldn't be the first time the wrong thing came knocking at the door - and then kicked it down.

It would be fine. What happened in horror movies wasn't a true reflection of real life.

...Unless you were the two of them. Chaos awaiteth. What FUN.

[siderealscribblings]

Devil Summoner: Akechi Goro vs the Phantom Thieves Chapter 33: Half Life

Six Years Earlier… S.E.E.S. Tokyo - Floor 0 Indoor Devil Summoning Training Facility

"Let's set expectations," Naoto said, chucking a kuda across the room for Goro to catch. "I don't expect you to master this on your first try."

Releasing demons in Tokyo required the utmost caution to prevent them from escaping and wreaking havoc. The stark, white room Goro and Naoto stood in was so far underground and surrounded by more security—both mundane and magical—than anywhere outside of Kyoto that escape was (almost) impossible. And security was always a little more stringent when prospective Devil Summoners got their hands on their first demon; every fifty years or so a cultist slipped through S.E.E.S.' rigorous screening process and tried to use a Jack Frost to take over Tokyo. If Goro proved to be similarly diabolical, it was Naoto's unhappy duty to shoot him before he could do serious damage. 

Goro studied the tube in his hand, rolling it around curiously to examine the esoteric sigils on the kuda. "You sound like every other instructor I've had…before I surpassed their expectations." 

All that skill and he's still a cocky little teenager, Naoto thought, wondering if she was making a mistake for the eightieth time since taking Goro under her wing. "I look forward to being proven wrong…now, what's the first step?" 

"Visualize your familiar," Goro rattled off, focusing his attention on the image of a small fairy demon. 

"Second step?" 

"Understand what it can do and how you can contain it if things go wrong," Goro said, finger twitching as it threaded through the kuda's ring. "In the Pixie's case, not much." 

"Careful; plenty of demons look harmless enough, but even a Pixie can do serious harm if you don't respect what she's capable of," Naoto said. "Third?" 

"Steel yourself," Goro said, elbowing his doubt out of his mind. "Focus only on imposing your will on the demon. Be alert for anything it could use to gain the upper hand." 

The smooth walls were designed to provide rouge demons with few weapons to turn against their masters, but Goro had plenty of internal demons that would be all too happy to turn against him. The image of his mother burning alive had to go back in the cold, dark lockbox he usually kept it in; any sign he was emotionally compromised could be the door the Pixie could use to break the thin psychic control link that bound the Pixie to his will. 

"Then?" Naoto prompted, tensing as Goro gripped the kuda's ring. 

"Pull the pin," Goro said, pulling the kuda's pin and flooding the room with green light. A small woman with red hair fluttered in the air in front of him, blinking as it stared at an unfamiliar hand on her kuda. 

"Hey, who is this little geek?" The Pixie huffed, glaring at Goro. "This is a new low, even for you creeps! Who the hell do you think you are, summoning a demon such as-" 

"Shut…up," Goro said, tightening his grip on the kuda. Pixies were the the first demons presented to Summoners for a number of reasons, but one was that they could be relied on to knock upstarts from the academy down a peg or two. Weak as they were, they were stubborn, prideful, and bratty to the last. Naoto fully expected Goro's arrogance to be reduced to a more manageable level after getting told off by a woman the size of a water bottle…but to Naoto's surprise, the little demon shut up when commanded to do so. 

"Ugh…w-well, I was just asking," the Pixie muttered, looking irritated but cowed. "I hope you don't-hey!" 

Goro's fingers twisted, tugging an invisible psychic strand to pull the Pixie forward. "Easy Akechi," Naoto said, one hand on her pistol in case things got too far out of hand. 

"I got it," Goro said, brow knit as he glared at the Pixie. "If you don't want to spend the rest of eternity sitting on a shelf, you'll do what I say; I can and will make sure you never see sunlight again unless you show me a healing spell like a good little housefly." 

Too aggressive, Naoto thought, though the Pixie's resistance seemed to be waning. He's not negotiating with her; he's just bullying her into submission…but why the hell is a demon just rolling over for a sixteen year old boy? 

Even a Pixie should have put up more of a fight, but with only minimal grumbling, the Pixie snapped her fingers, washing Goro in a glowing green light before Goro twisted his wrist and sent the Pixie back into its kuda. 

"Well?" Goro said, glancing at Naoto. "Does that meet your expectations?" 

Surpasses them, Naoto thought, though for the sake of Goro's swollen head she didn't say it. "Skillfully done…though not every demon can be strongarmed like that. Sooner rather than later you're going to be asked to handle demons that aren't afraid of you…and then what?" 

Goro looked thoughtfully down at his kuda. "...demons respect strength, don't they? I guess I'll just have to get stronger than any demon that thinks they can disobey me." 

Read More...

Start from the Beginning

[divinegrey]

𝘽𝙍𝙀𝘼𝙆 & 𝙍𝙀𝙋𝘼𝙄𝙍 / 𝙨𝙚𝙫𝙞𝙠𝙖 𝙭 𝙛!𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

oh? what's that? nobody wants sevika fics? fine, i'll do it myself. here's another prompt from my drafts that i never posted. this one wasn't requested but it is for my friend who loves sevika.

prompt: you're zaun's resident expert of mechanical limbs and it's not uncommon for you to be summoned to the last drop to fix a certain someone's arm. as for the woman whose arm you're fixing? well, let's just say things go further than usual.

words: 1639

warnings: cursing, sevika being kind of an asshole but we love it anyway

The toolbox lands on the table with a loud thump, causing the light above to flicker out for a fraction of a second.

Sevika’s eyes move up before her head does to take you in, regarding you with a scowl on her face. She takes the smoke from her mouth, blowing out grey-brown plumes into the air through the corner of her mouth. Her eyes flick to the other side of the table, and she makes a mere gesture at her two playing partners.

You pull up a stool and sit down, opening the lid to the toolbox as the other individuals scatter like the wind. Sevika sweeps all of the cards on the table into a single pile, straightening out the deck until each side is meticulously sharp and clean. From within the box, you pull out a collection of small, fine tools made specifically for an occasion like this.

You meet Sevika’s hard gaze and say, “You look like shit.”

“Aren’t you just being a sweetheart today?” Sevika replies. You reach over to move her ridiculous one-shouldered cape, but she smacks away your hand to do it herself. “It’s fine, I’ve been doing the necessary repairs.”

“Right, but I’ll hazard a guess that you haven’t cleaned out any of the moving parts since the last time I checked up on you, so they’re probably full of gunk,” you say, picking up a screwdriver and holding out your other hand. Sevika rolls her eyes and extends her arm. You grab the hand and press your fingers into the plates in order for them to activate and reveal the heavy screws keeping the hand connected to the forearm.

For years, you’ve been serving as Zaun’s resident expert on mechanical limbs. Limbs of any type, whether it be arms, legs, hands, fingers, or even more… sensitive regions require a type of repair with delicacy only you’ve mastered. It’s brought you plenty of wealth and protection from the unsavory types, especially those with body modifications that rely on maintenance.

One such unsavory type is Sevika, Silco’s right-hand man.

You’ve learned how to handle her. The first time you met, you believed she was going to put your head through the wall. Now? You barely flinch any time she says a crude insult meant to wound you. Doesn’t faze you at all.

You remove the hand joint. Sevika makes a noise, laying the rest of her arm on the table and giving you better access to disconnect all of the parts and organize them.

Sevika watches you the entire time. Not her arm. You. This, you’re keenly aware of, her heavy gaze on your side profile as you clean out the pipes that allow the shimmer canisters to flow properly. Gunk is a serious problem to have if it builds over time, so Silco has you come around every two months to clear out Sevika’s mechanical limb. Optimum efficiency is the baseline standard for Silco. You agree.

Her eyes are… a mash between analytical and something else. You would like to know what the other part is, but that would be letting her know that you’re aware of her looking. You’re not about to give her that satisfaction— she’d be smug about it until next week, and you already see her enough at the Last Drop brooding in the corner to last a lifetime.

“Keep staring at me like that and I’ll put the arm back together and smack you with it,” you comment not so lightly, wiping a rag over some plates that had accumulated far too much dirt. Sevika had completed the daily repairs and tweaks necessary to keep it functioning, but the grime never seemed to bother her unless it got in the way.

“Can you even lift it?” Sevika says. Her finger taps a pattern on the wooden table, a rhythmic movement that creates a nice, subtle noise in the background.

“It’s a lot lighter now that I’ve emptied the shimmer pipes,” you say, turning the forearm section over. You press down on a plate to expose the inner wires and circuitry that allows the arm to operate so you check everything. Internal processes are looking fine, nothing is out of place or out of the ordinary; for as much as you gripe about having to deal with Sevika often, her arm is one of the finest pieces of mechanical prosthetics you’ve seen, not including your own.

“Huh. Never woulda taken you to be someone so smart at this kinda shit,” Sevika drawls, pinching her smoke between her fingers to take another inhale of it. You watch the smoke plumes flow from her nose— you catch a whiff of it. Expensive. Sevika clearly likes the uppity brands over the rest. It’s a scent you recognize only because it was the same kind that your father used to smoke.

“And what is that supposed to mean, Grumpy?” you say. You take the heaviest shoulder joint of the arm into your hands. You eject the shimmer chamber and check for rust or gunk build-up inside of it. “You think I ain’t qualified for this?”

“Don’t know. Silco never mentioned a damn thing about you before the first time,” Sevika replies. “I think you’re plenty qualified, in fact.”

Your hands pause for a fraction of a second then you simply resume your work, doing the last rounds before putting the shoulder back into the anchor. Sevika grunts, making a restrained noise with the limb locking into place. You attach the upper arm joint, the elbow, the forearm, and then you slide the hand back into place. After tightening the screws, you step back and retrieve a shimmer canister from the toolbox and place it into the chamber.

It locks and pushes down. You witness the veins in Sevika’s shoulder up to her neck and face glow with a pulse of shimmer going through her bloodstream, the injection sending the mechanical arm to life. The fingers flex and respond to her movement, and Sevika exhales, curling her hand into a fist. You won’t admit how hot it is to see her gain subtle confidence back with the mechanical arm.

“The grip on the fingers is wearing out,” you comment. “I’ll come back in a week to fix it.”

“I promise you, the fingers will feel good regardless,” Sevika says. It takes a second for you to realize what the fuck she means by that, but when you do, you feel the hairs on the back of your head stand on end. You raise your brow at Sevika. She does the same thing. The bench she’s sitting on slides back as she rises to her full height.

Several inches taller than you.

“Making innuendos over threats now, are we?” You remark, raising a brow at Sevika. The woman just huffs out a tiny laugh, walking around you until the back of your legs are pressed against the table. Where the hell is this coming from, you think, but you’re not about to stop it. Sevika, for all her incredibly rough edges and brutish behavior, has always had a certain… appeal about her that consistently captures your attention.

Makes it exceedingly difficult to get your work done sometimes.

Sevika steps closer, tilting her head down and forcing you to crane your neck all the way back just to keep her gaze. She’s a powerhouse of a woman, and she knows that. You brace yourself against the table— it’s simply you and her in this secluded alleyway, nothing but the thick vapor from her smoke keeping you two company.

In a moment of boldness, you reach up.

You take the smoke from her lips and place it between your own, drawing in a strong inhale. Instead of blowing it out, you simply open your mouth and let the smoke spill out from the sides of your lips. Sevika, to your credit, looks almost frozen by you, her deep grey eyes unable to draw away from the vapor slipping between the gaps in your teeth as you give her a grand ol’ smile.

“Qualified, for damn sure,” Sevika mutters. Her mechanical arm cages you into the table, her other wide, firm palm coming to the back of your neck. You drop the smoke from your hand, letting it fall on the ground in favor of whatever the hell Sevika is doing with the pads of her fingers on a tender spot at the base of your skull. It causes you to turn into complete putty at her mercy; you see she likes that, just by the look in her eyes.

You aren’t aware of any other present reality other than the one you’re trapped in with Sevika, but you find that you don’t mind that when she finally leans down and puts her lips on yours. The taste of ash and smoke is overwhelming— it’s bitter and gritty on the back of your throat, and the smell of wood and whiskey comes off her clothes in waves that make your head just a tad woozy. You put your hands on the belt loops of her cargo pants and pull her closer.

God, she’s so fucking tall you can’t stand it.

“Why don’t we cut the chit-chat outside and take this somewhere else since you wanna be so damn insistent on knowing my qualifications,” you say, following it with a not-so-gentle bite to her bottom lip. Something bordering on a growl slips out of Sevika’s mouth, plus an instruction to pack your shit up and follow me.

You’re not about to argue. You’ve seen what that mechanical arm can do. Well… most of it. You have the gut feeling you’re about to see what else it can do, judging by the glint in Sevika’s eye as she pulls you through the Last Drop and to her room.

~~~~~

A/N: sevika simps, I hear you. we rise.

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

Congratulations on the milestone!! You deserve it. Thank you for all of your hard work and amazing writing you share with us. I absolutely love your Thrawn pieces. He has such a unique voice and you really let it shine through. I have to admit I swooned about 100 times reading through the different prompts and imagining them with Thrawn, but in the end I am nothing if not a sucker for the hurt partner trope, and the thought of Thrawn taking care of a potentially injured reader just Does Things to my heart. So I humbly request the prompt “taking the other’s hand to look for injuries” with Thrawn x reader.

Again, thank you so much for putting these incredible pieces out there for us to enjoy. Your hard work is appreciated and thoroughly loved.

💙, stars-suns-and-spaceguns

A/N: Thank you so much for all those kind words. It really means so much to me. 💙

You were a mess and it was all Captain Reeves fault.

You were still just a junior lieutenant; a glorified mechanic really. Compared to the rest of your peers, walking around in their finely pressed uniforms, you were often sweating and partially covered in oil. Captain Reeves made it her mission to point out every instance you were out of uniform, as if you could be expected to keep a jacket on when you were upside down in a TIE-Fighter for hours on end.

Luckily, any complaints Captain Reeves might have had were dismissed by Grand Admiral Thrawn. He had taken note of your improvements on the fighters, as well as the droids and other sections of the ships you had repaired. This attention had sparked an unwanted rivalry between yourself and Reeves, one you were paying for now.

You straightened your jacket, trying desperately to look passably professional as you approached the Grand Admiral's office.

Reeves had informed you, quite last minute, that Thrawn had requested a report on your progress. You were surprised as usually such reports were given by the hanger officer, but Reeves insisted Thrawn wanted to speak to you. You were doubtful at first, but it was obvious how annoyed she was at being passed over. It was likely the reason she gave you no time to shower or attend to the cut you had gotten just minutes before.

You had rallied though, making a quick bandage around your hand and grabbing your notes before running halfway across the ship.

The door to Thrawn's office slid open.

You allowed yourself one last deep breath and stepped inside.

Thrawn stood behind his desk, his attention on the projected schematics in the center.

Your shoulders relaxed, the mystery of why you were summoned resolved. He wanted to compare your improvements to the standard TIEs to his TIE-Defender project. No elaborate presentation required.

"Junior Lieutenant Y/N," he acknowledged, stepping out to meet you. "I thank you for your promptness. At ease."

"Of course sir," you said. Suddenly your training didn't seem so bad. You hadn't even realized you were standing at attention. "Captain Reeves told me your wished to speak to me."

"I do. I understand you have been able to improve the TIEs gunner accuracy by fifty percent."

"Yes, sir," you said, a warm feeling spreading through your body at the praise. "I have the notes here, if you care to look them over."

You handed him your data pad. To your surprise, however, he did not take it. His lips pressed into a fine line as his eyes narrowed.

"You're injured."

You looked down, suddenly remembering the bandage covering your palm.

"Just a scratch, sir," you said.

He didn't say anything for a moment, taking the data pad out of your grip.

You thought that would be the end of it, but instead of continuing your conversation, he placed the pad on the desk before offering his hand to yours.

"If I may."

It wasn't an order, but you were in no position to refuse him.

You tried your best to ignore the sudden heat in your cheeks when your skin met. He handled your hand with care, turning it over to examine your work.

The blue of his fingers looked so strange compared to your own. They were long and elegant, but there was a roughness to their texture. They held the scars of combat and wire burns just as yours did. It was a similarity you should have expected, but surprised you all the same.

He glanced up at you, silently asking for permission.

You didn't trust your voice, only managing a small nod in response.

Gently he pulled away the now red stained cloth until the only thing surrounding your wound was air.

You winced at the sight. You hadn't thought it was bad as all that.

Thrawn's frown deepened. "Why did you not report to medical?"

"You requested my presence, sir," you said, lacking a better excuse. "I was told it was urgent."

Why didn't he just let go of your hand? Surely by now he could feel how your pulse was racing.

He shook his head. "Captain Reeves should have given you leave for a proper examination. I will speak to her later."

"Please, don't," you blurted, unable to stop the words.

Thrawn's eyes met yours, forcing the air right from your lungs.

"Part of a captain's duties is to ensure the health and safety of those under their command," he said, simply. "If she's been neglecting these duties, disciplinary action must be taken."

Your throat was dry, but it was clear he was waiting for some kind of answer.

"I only meant..." You swallowed. "I don't think she was aware, sir."

"Perhaps, but this is not the first time something similar to this has happened."

Your silence was answer enough. He was right, of course. Any little inconvenience Captain Reeves could send your way she did. There was a reason small nicks and burns covered your hands and arms. Nothing life threatening. Nothing that could be considered a true neglect of duty, but enough for you to keep your own med-kit in arms reach at all times.

You hadn't thought anyone noticed, but Thrawn had.

"I will speak to her," he repeated, firmly. "In the meantime, report to medical. Once you are cleared for duty, we may continue our conversation."

"Yes, sir," you said, with more breath than you meant to. "Thank you, sir."

He nodded in approval and it was only then did he release your hand.

"Dismissed."

You did not wait a second longer. Cradling your injured hand you swiftly made your way to the med bay, your feet carrying your forward while your mind remained with Thrawn.

It was nothing. Grand Admiral Thrawn was unique in the Imperial Navy for actually caring about his crew, even a low ranking officer such as yourself. He simply wished for you to remain efficient in your duties. It wouldn't do well for the mechanic to not have use of their hands.

Still your thoughts lingered his touch and the intensity of his gaze. It was a moment, but a one only you and he shared. Perhaps, if you were lucky, you would have another. At the very least, it was very likely you would be dealing with Thrawn directly going forward instead of Captain Reeves.

Things were about the change. You just knew it.

(8/20)

[robininthelabyrinth]

Oh, im full of ideas today apparently. One more mini prompt, not sure if it follos the requirements tho. Nmj is maybe of wrh generation, so far he has outlived any other nie. No one knows how and is not particularly chatty on it either.

Everyone called him eldest brother. 

Not just inconstant spoiled young men like Nie Huaisang, but everyone. From the youngest listing child to the wrinkled white-haired old elder - Nie Mingjue was everyone's eldest brother. He was conscientious and caring, checking in on them, scolding them for not taking care of themselves, cheerfully bullying them to do more training or their work or chores or whatever. He was dearly beloved, and also one of the most common targets of mutual grumbling. 

He had been there for a very long time.

His current position as sect leader was an aberration from the norm; usually, he remained firmly in the background, helping out with all sorts of things but responsible for none. It was only the premature death of the last sect leader, with little Nie Huaisang far too young to inherit, that had brought him out of the shadows, furiously mad and swearing vengeance. Despite the trouble such an oath would bring them all, the sect supported him and covered for him - they appreciated his rage on behalf of one of their own.

They didn't ask too many questions.

They didn't ask where he had come from or how exactly he was related to them; they didn't ask how old he was or how it was that he had never aged. The most popular theory, advanced under the covers of adolescent sleepovers, was that he was the original founder of the Nie sect, with Baxia the legendary butcher blade turned saber; the competing theory was that Nie Mingjue himself was that infamous saber, having cultivated to human form and decided to stick around to shepherd his master's descendants.

It didn't really matter, really. No matter who or what he was, he was their da-ge.

They loved him.

So when someone dared to try to hurt him...

"In all politeness, sect leader, fuck your revenge," Auntie Xiefei croaked, eyes red with rage that made Nie Huaisang inch back on well-justified terror. "I don't want a slow gentlemanly tearing off of that miserable bastard’s face. Now that we know who it was, I want him writhing on a pole and left for the birds to eat."

Nie Huaisang coughed. "I mean, it's not that simple, Auntie. He's the sect leader of Lanling Jin and Chief Cultivator, you know."

"He hurt da-ge! What do we care who he is?"

"It would start a war," Nie Huaisang protested.

"Let it!"

Nie Huaisang looked around his throne room, filled with bloodthirsty growls, and gulped. He didn't want to be a war leader.

"I wish Wei Wuxian was here," he said wistfully. "He could have helped get things back to normal."

"Is that what it'll take for you to agree to go ahead and fix this?" Auntie Xiefei growled. "Fine. We can fix that, and then you fix this. Right away. Agreed?"

"Uh," Nie Huaisang said intelligently. "I think Wei Wuxian’s body was completely destroyed, Auntie, and his soul doesn't respond to summons - the Jiang sect and the Lan sect have been trying..."

"Bah, what do they know?! Bloodless, toothless summons like theirs naturally won't get you anywhere - you need meat. Leave it to me. You get what you need on your side, and we will go get da-ge back. Got it?"

"Yes, Auntie. As you say, Auntie."

Nie Huaisang hoped that Wei Wuxian would be able to bring Nie Mingjue back...preferably before the Nie sect declared war on the rest of the cultivation world. A bit of a tall order, but he was sure Wei Wuxian would be up for it!