#Ashes Coalesce

[proofhead]

Chaos Magazine 11. ve 12. Sayılar

Aylar önce Chaos Magazine’in geri dönüş sayısının haberini yaptıktan sonra, yıl bitmeden bir yeni sayı ve devamında da yepyeni bir 12. sayı daha yayımladı Lainmeun – Murat Chaos Gökbulut. Derginin 10. sayısıyla birlikte başlayan renkli ve ciltli bookazin formatı öylesine sevildi ki geriye dönüp yıllar önce siyah beyaz çıkan 9. sayıyı bile “yalandan renkli” bastı. Dolayısıyla bu yepyeni renkli ve…

[traverse-our-universe]

if any of you guys listen to punk, post-hardcore type music, let’s talk @starry-skies-hazy-eyes

I’ll put some bands I like in the tags

[halfdeadsacrifice]

🎁 for Hilda!

Vayu stared for a moment, leaning one hand against a tree. A few paces away, almost a shadow against the twilight, was a girl -- rather, the girl, the one who was to be brought back to the town of Stadel.

A drawback of spending most his time away from town was that he was too disconnected from whatever situation it was to understand the story behind that bounty, but looking at its subject, something seemed wrong about the whole situation. Some part of him had already made up his mind on what he was going to do about this.

He kept distance between them, and spoke cautiously. "I heard a scream in the woods, somewhere."

Maybe it was her. Maybe she was only chasing it, same as him.

[yamujiburo]

Ketchum vs. Ketchum! Showdown in Cerulean City!

Woo! Finale time! I wanted to make this final battle feel special and give it more substance than I could do with just a comic. So! I got the help of @cyberwulf to write out this ending in fanfic form! Check it out here on AO3 if you prefer! If not, the journey continues below the cut~

prev / END

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / [X]

James Sidestory / Meowth Sidestory

A lot has happened since our Poké Moms began their journey. After a rocky start…

“*SQUAWK*”

…they’ve managed to catch some new Pokémon…

“Run! Run! Run!”

…in their own way.

“What a cute baby! You know, I have a son, too!”

With their month on the road almost up, Delia had just one more thing she wanted to do…

“I want to beat the Cerulean City Gym!”

But little did Delia know, there was a surprise waiting for her in Cerulean City!

“MOM??? JESSIE???”

“Let’s have a double battle! You and Ash versus Jessie and I!”

“You’re on! But I’m not going easy on you just cuz you’re family!”

“…What’s going on?”

Poké Mom Adventures

EP009

Ketchum vs Ketchum! Showdown in Cerulean City!

The water of the Cerulean gym battlefield glistened in the sunshine streaming through its crystal glass roof. Both teams gazed at each other with steely determination (and some lingering confusion, in Misty’s case) as above them, the Drone Rotom announced the rules.

“This will be a double battle between Gym Leader Misty and Champion Ash, and the challengers Delia and Jessie.” It projected a holographic image of both teams. “For today’s battle, each trainer may use two Pokémon. The battle is over when all of one team’s Pokémon can no longer battle.”

“All right!” Misty declared. “This is an official League battle for the Cascade badge!”

“And bragging rights!” Jessie added with a smirk.

“We’ll see about that!” Ash retorted. Misty glanced at him, taking in his clenched fists and gritted teeth. She’d seen Ash determined before, but… there was something here that she was missing. However, with the Drone Rotom hovering expectantly overhead, finding out what that something was would have to wait.

“Come out – Corsola!”

The Coral Pokémon landed on the rock in front of her, eagerly crying its name.

“This is a water-themed gym, so I’ll go with a Water-Type,” Ash remarked. “Oshawott, I choose you!”

“That’s the spirit, Ash!” Misty exclaimed. “It’s the job of a Gym Leader to help trainers learn type advantage and weaknesses by specialising in one kind of Pokémon, and around here that’s Water-Types!”

“Water, huh?” Jessie frowned as she considered the three Pokémon she had on hand. “Well, I don’t want my delicate little Ziggy to get her fur wet.” With a flourish, she tossed a Pokéball high in the air. “Go, Venomoth!”

The Poison Moth Pokémon emerged, hovering over the water.

“It’s a shame we don’t have any Grass or Electric-types,” Delia mused. “I guess we’ll just have to do our best with what we have.” Pushing her bangs out of her face, she called, “I choose you!”

Ash and Misty’s jaws dropped as the light from Delia’s Pokéball coalesced into a very large, very stern-looking Kangaskhan.

“I didn’t know your mom had such a strong Pokémon,” Misty whispered.

“Neither did I,” Ash whispered back. Movement at the corner of his eye caught his attention and he looked down at his starter Pokémon. “Something wrong, Pikachu?”

“Pika…”

Pikachu gazed across the water at Kangaskhan, ears and tail up, alert to… something. But before anyone could figure out what had caught his attention, there was a small cry.

“Kangaskhan!”

The baby squirmed, spooked by the glistening water lapping all around the rock. She buried her face in her mother’s belly and cried again. Cradling her young protectively, Kangaskhan gave Delia an apologetic look.

“Oh, of course!” Delia exclaimed. “I’m so sorry. Kangaskhan, return.” Cupping her hands around her mouth, she called across the battlefield. “That doesn’t count as one of my Pokémon, does it?”

“Of course not, Ms. Ketchum!” Misty shouted back. “Please choose another Pokémon!”

“If she’s got one,” Ash said with a confident smirk. “I’m betting she’ll send out Mimey.”

“I choose you… Clefairy!”

“Looks like you bet wrong, Ash,” Misty laughed as Ash stared in surprise at the Fairy Pokémon.

Above them, the Drone Rotom moved into position.

“Begin!”

“All right, Oshawott!” Ash called out. “Open up with an Aqua Jet!”

With a determined cry, Oshawott blasted a jet of water across the field, hitting Clefairy square in the belly and knocking the Fairy Pokémon off the rock and into the water.

“Ash Ketchum!” Delia exclaimed reproachfully. “That wasn’t very nice!”

Thrown off-guard, Ash gulped. “S-sorry!” (Oh man - I can’t believe I’m actually battling my mom!)

On the opposite side of the battlefield, a wet and bedraggled Clefairy clambered back up on the rock ridge, scowling at her attacker.

“Shake it off, Clefairy!” Delia urged as her Pokémon did just that, sending a fine shower of water droplets flying from her pink fur. “Use Disarming Voice!”

With a deep breath, Clefairy shot a vortex of pink hearts towards Oshawott, taking the Sea Otter Pokémon by surprise and knocking him into the water.

“Good work, Deerling!” Jessie shouted triumphantly. “Now it’s my turn!” She pointed at Corsola. “Venomoth, use Poison Sting!”

Venomoth hovered uncertainly for a few moments, then looked back at her.

“It doesn’t look like Venomoth knows that move, honey,” Delia remarked.

“Well, Dustox knew that move!” Jessie protested. “Venomoth should know it too, aren’t they both Bug-types?”

Venomoth just blinked at her.

“You really don’t know what moves your Pokémon knows?” Misty asked incredulously.

“Of course I do, just – just let me think!” Jessie spluttered, clenching her fists. “All right, Venomoth – use Gust!”

Venomoth didn’t move.

“Whirlwind!” Jessie tried. “Psybeam! …Tackle?”

Venomoth looked back and forth between Jessie and the battlefield as it fluttered about agitatedly, utterly confused by the barrage of unfamiliar orders.

“This is just sad,” Misty muttered, getting a nod of agreement from Ash. Raising her voice, she called out, “Corsola! Use Spike Cannon!”

Corsola glowed, and a split second later a shower of glowing white spikes slammed into Venomoth, driving it backwards towards the trainer box.

“Oh, no!” Delia groaned in dismay, wringing her hands. “Maybe we should’ve practiced with our new Pokémon before coming here!”

“We’re not giving up!” Jessie snarled, clenching her fists. “Venomoth! Get back out there!”

With a trill, Venomoth shook off the spikes, and floated towards its opponents again.

“Corsola!” Misty called. “Hit it with another Spike Cannon!”

Corsola began to glow.

“Well don’t just hover there!” Jessie barked out. “It’s about to attack again!” Venomoth looked back at her, and Jessie gestured angrily towards the battlefield. “Just do something! Anything!”

Once more, glowing white spikes shot towards Venomoth. This time, however, Venomoth dove towards the attack, sweeping its wings in front of itself at the last minute. Blue blades of light cut through the barrage of spikes, one hitting Corsola and driving it back.

“That’s Air Slash!” Ash exclaimed.

“Air Slash, eh?” Jessie shot her opponents a triumphant smirk. “Venomoth! Use Air Slash on that pitiful pink Pokémon again!”

“Hang in there, Corsola!” Misty called as her Pokémon was driven back for a second time. “Use Recover!”

“Don’t let it recover, Venomoth!” Jessie yelled. “Air Slash again!”

As her Pokémon geared up for another attack, she noticed Delia gazing at her in rapture.

“You’re so ferocious when you battle, Smoochum,” Delia remarked dreamily. She lowered her voice, waggling her eyebrows. “It’s kinda hot.”

Jessie blushed and giggled. “Baaabe, not in front of the twerps.”

Misty wrinkled her nose in disgust. “…Smoochum?”

“Freak out later, Misty!” Ash yelled. Venomoth was bearing down on Corsola, and the Coral Pokémon didn’t have much left. “Oshawott! Use Hydro Pump on Venomoth to protect Corsola!”

Leaping high into the air, Oshawott sent a powerful jet of water directly at Jessie’s Venomoth. With a cry, the Poison Moth hit the floor between Jessie and Delia, bounced once, and fainted.

“Hey, no fair!” Jessie bellowed, stamping her foot. “I was distracted!” She recalled Venomoth with a scowl. “I ought to ground you for making me look bad!”

“This is really weird,” Misty mumbled.

“You have no idea,” Ash sighed wearily.

“All right, you big blue blob,” Jessie growled to her faithful Patient Pokémon, “get out there and let’s win this thing!”

Saluting, Wobbuffet waddled forward, straight into the water. Jessie pinched the bridge of her nose as Wobbuffet awkwardly clambered up onto the protruding rock.

“Wobbles can’t attack unless he’s attacked first,” Delia murmured to herself. “Oshawott is strong, and Corsola can use Recover to gain back health. That means I’ve got to make this next move count!” She looked to Clefairy, wet and winded but not out of the battle. It was risky, but…

“Clefairy! Use Metronome!”

“Metronome?!” Misty exclaimed as Clefairy began to move her fingers hypnotically back and forth. “Now anything can happen!”

“Hold tight, everybody!” Ash called, just as the Fairy Pokémon’s fingers turned white.

Razor-sharp leaves whipped through the air, striking Oshawott and Corsola. The Grass-Type move was too much for the dual Rock/Water Type, and Corsola collapsed into the water, fainted. Oshawott was driven back against the rock ridge, and Ash held his breath, but the Drone Rotom only counted Corsola out.

“Oshawott! You hanging in there, buddy?”

With a grimace, the Sea Otter Pokémon gave him a determined nod. “Osha!”

“Ha!” Jessie cried triumphantly. “Now we’re even!” She clenched her fists, calling tauntingly across the battlefield. “Who’s next, twerpette? Togepi? Psyduck?”

“She sure is cocky for being down to just Wobbuffet,” Ash muttered.

“Not for long,” Misty replied with a smirk. She plucked her second Pokéball from her hip.

“Go – Gyarados!”

Delia’s eyes widened and Jessie took several steps back as the gigantic Pokémon appeared in the water. It glowered down at both trainers, making Delia swallow hard.

(Now’s not the time to lose my nerve! Gyarados is just a Pokémon like any other. All I have to do is-)

“Hey!” Jessie exclaimed angrily. “No fair using such a powerful Pokémon! What, are Staryu and Starmie at the Pokémon Centre or something?!”

Taken aback, Misty gaped at the former Team Rocket member in disbelief. “Since when do you care about playing fair?”

“Since you decided to use that monstrosity on a first-time trainer!” Jessie retorted with a shake of her fist. “That’s cheating!”

Misty paused, almost second-guessing her choice of Pokémon, when she remembered who she was dealing with. Squaring her shoulders, she shot back, “You’re not a first-time trainer!”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Ash muttered.

“I heard that!” Jessie bawled.

“It’s okay, honey,” Delia murmured, placing her hand on Jessie’s shoulder. “We can beat them. We just need to use strategy!”

“Gyarados!” Misty called out. Jessie may not have been the best trainer, and her track record with him was hit or miss, but Wobbuffet could reflect almost any attack. It might just have been luck, but Clefairy’s Metronome had taken out Corsola and left Oshawott just barely hanging on. There was only one choice of target.

“Use Hurricane on Clefairy, now!”

Rearing back, Gyarados shot a powerful blast of air directly at the Fairy Pokémon, sending her flying back to the trainer box.

“Oh no!” Delia cried. She knelt by her stricken Pokémon’s side, but it was obvious even without Drone Rotom saying so that Clefairy couldn’t continue. “You did a wonderful job, Clefairy.” Recalling her Pokémon, she rose, pushed her bangs out of her eyes, and called her second Pokémon.

“Mimey, I choose you!”

Ash clenched his fists. No more surprises – he knew what Mimey was capable of. Oshawott was tough, but he’d taken a lot of damage. If the Sea Otter Pokémon only had one move left, then Ash had to make it count.

“Oshawott! Hit Mimey with Aqua Jet!”

“Mimey, dodge it!” Delia cried out.

The Barrier Pokémon leapt high in the air, leaving Ash to watch, powerless, as Aqua Jet splashed harmlessly on the ground between his mother and Jessie. But before he could call out another attack –

“Now, Mimey, Focus Punch on Oshawott!”

There was no time for Oshawott to get out of the way. Mimey dove straight down, fist outstretched, and scored a direct hit. Both Pokémon vanished underwater. All four trainers held their breath. After a few seconds, Mimey burst out of the water, effortlessly leaping onto the rock. A moment later Oshawott floated to the surface, fainted.

“Good work, Oshawott,” Ash murmured as he recalled his Pokémon. He turned to Pikachu. “Looks like my mom’s a tougher trainer than I thought. You ready, Pikachu?”

The yellow mouse nodded, one tiny fist raised. “Pika!”

“You be nice to us now, Pikachu!” Delia cheered brightly.

Jessie was less optimistic.

“Babe, this isn’t looking good,” she murmured urgently. “I’ve been beaten by that Pikachu a zillion times! And that Gyarados looks strong. And mean! I don’t know if…”

She trailed off as the other woman took her hands.

“Now you listen to me, Jessie Ketchum.” Delia gazed into her eyes, a look of fierce determination on her face. “A zillion battles. A zillion losses. Against that very Pikachu. And you never gave up. So you’re not gonna give up now! Okay?”

Jessie stared back at her. Time seemed to stand still. Delia’s fingers were warm on her own as her words of encouragement hung in the air.

“Jessie… Ketchum?”

With the briefest of nods, Delia turned to face their opponents.

“Ash honey, don’t you hold back just because I’m your mom!” she called. “We’re going to give it our all, even if we lose!”

“She’s a lot like you, Ash,” Misty laughed. As Ash tugged the brim of his hat down to hide his blush, she raised her voice and called to the challengers. “You’re doing great, Ms. Ketchum! I’m really impressed by your abilities as a trainer. Now show me you’re worthy of the Cascade badge!”

“Hey!” Jessie yelled indignantly. “What am I, chopped liver?! My Venomoth pushed your Corsola to the brink!”

Misty grimaced. This was all still too strange – Jessie was a good guy? Jessie and Ash’s mom were… partners? She struggled for something positive to say about Jessie’s performance so far.

“Uh – yeah!” she managed. “It was, uh, really great how you figured out that one move.”

Jessie put her hands on her hips. “Ugh, could you sound any more insincere?!”

With a growl of impatience, Ash cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled across the battlefield. “Hey! Are we gonna battle or what?”

“Oh, we’re battling, twerp,” Jessie shot back. “And we’re gonna win!”

Ash grinned. “You ready, Pikachu?” The yellow Pokémon turned to look at his trainer. Ash pointed. “Quick attack!”

“Ha!” Jessie scoffed as Pikachu zigzagged along the rock ridge. “Wobbuffet, use Counter!”

Pikachu leaped forward…

“On Mimey!”

Delia and Jessie gasped as Pikachu pivoted and went straight for the Barrier Pokémon. Taken by surprise, he took the full brunt of the attack, losing his balance and hitting the water.

“A fake out!” Delia exclaimed. She beamed at her son with pride. “That was so smart of you, honey! You had us completely fooled!”

“Baaabe!” Jessie hissed. “I get that you care about him – I do too – but right now he’s the enemy!”

Delia tapped her fist against her head, grinning nervously. “Oh, right!”

“This is hurting my brain,” Misty groaned.

“How do you think I feel?” Ash grumbled.

Delia took a moment to centre herself and assess the situation. Pikachu didn’t have a Type advantage, but his Electric attacks were powerful – not to mention that Mimey was still wet. Of course, using them ran the risk of electrifying the entire battlefield, including Gyarados, but only one Pokémon needed to be left standing in order for that Pokémon’s team to win.

“Mimey!” she commanded. “Use Psychic on Pikachu!”

“Mr Mime!”

Mimey fixed Pikachu with an intense stare, his eyes and hands glowing blue. Blue light enveloped the yellow mouse as he was lifted into the air. Pikachu strained and struggled, but couldn’t break free.

Ash groaned in exasperation.

“Misty, go for Mimey!” he called. “If you weaken him, maybe Pikachu can break free. Plus, he’s a lot stronger than Wobbuffet!”

Misty nodded. “Right!”

“Hey!” Jessie objected. “Just because it’s true doesn’t mean you have to say it!” She shook her fist at them. “I raised you better than that, Ash Ketchum!”

“Wha – ” Ash took a step back, flabbergasted. “You didn’t raise me at all!”

“The heck I didn’t!” Jessie retorted. “Who kept an eye on you while you twerped your way through eight regions, huh?!”

Misty rubbed her temples. The whole situation was giving her a headache.

“Gyarados!”

The Atrocious Pokémon stirred itself and looked her way.

“Use Crunch on Mr. Mime, now!”

“Oh no, not Crunch!” Delia fretted, as Gyarados reared back, a sinister purple aura swirling around its fangs. “That’s a Dark-Type move!”

“Wobbuffet!” Jessie barked. “Get between Mimey and Gyarados and use Counter!”

Saluting, Wobbuffet leaped in front of Mimey, his body outlined in orange light. Crunch hit, hard, and bounced back twice as hard. Both Gyarados and Wobbuffet recoiled from the damage.

“Wobbles!” Delia cried out, as Mimey caught Wobbuffet in his arms.

“Don’t you quit on me now, Wobbuffet!” Jessie shouted.

Wobbuffet saluted weakly as Mimey pushed him back onto his paws. The distraction worked, and Pikachu dropped back to the rock, freed from Psychic.

“Keep the pressure on, Pikachu!” Ash yelled. “Use Iron Tail on Mimey, now!”

“Quick, Mimey!” Delia shouted as Pikachu somersaulted through the air, tail glowing white. “Use Reflect!”

Pikachu hit the invisible barrier and flew backwards, landing in the water.

“Gyarados!” Misty commanded. “Use Crunch again!”

“Mimey, keep using Reflect!” Delia shouted. “Don’t let them in!” She had to think. Poor Wobbles, he didn’t have much left – one more shot from that big Gyarados and that would be it. Not to mention that if Crunch hit Mimey, the battle would be over! She’d completely forgotten Gyarados could learn that move! Oh, maybe she should’ve used Zaggy instead…

Mimey obediently continued to use Reflect as Gyarados and Pikachu attacked from either side. Slowly the invisible barriers began to box them in, till Mimey and Wobbuffet were crowded together on the rock.

“Babe!” Jessie urged. “We have to do something or we’re gonna lose!”

“I know!” Delia groaned. “I just…” She cupped her face in her hands, pulling down on her cheeks. “…I don’t know!”

“Ms Ketchum!”

Delia lifted her head.

“You can’t let us back you into a corner!” Misty called. “Use your environment to find a way out!”

Ash shot her a glare. “Hey, whose side are you on?!”

“It’s my job as a Gym leader to help trainers to learn,” Misty explained with a smile. “Did you forget?”

“You didn’t help me when I battled you for the first time!” Ash replied indignantly, poking his thumb into his chest.

Misty glowered at him.

“That’s because you still owed me a new bike, Ash Ketchum!”

“Aaagh!” Ash placed both hands on his head, tugging his hat down. “Can’t you let that go already? It got repaired, didn’t it?”

While their opponents bickered, Delia had taken Misty’s words to heart.

“Use the environment…” she mused. There was only one place Mimey and Wobbles could go – but first they had to do something about the double attacks coming their way.

“Jessie!” she hissed, beckoning her partner to come closer. “Can you have Wobbles use Counter?”

Jessie looked at Wobbuffet, sweating nervously as he stood behind Mimey. She nodded.

“Okay,” Delia replied. She whispered quickly in the other woman’s ear. Jessie grinned, then straightened up.

“Wobbuffet! Use Counter on both those attacks!”

Without any hesitation, Wobbuffet moved in front of Mimey, body once more enveloped in an orange glow. Crunch and Iron Tail came back double on Gyarados and Pikachu, sending the two flying backwards. Both Pokémon landed hard on the rock, Gyarados almost wrapping around it with the force of the blow.

“On your feet, Pikachu!” Ash called. “It’s not over yet! …Huh?”

He blinked at the empty battlefield. Mimey and Wobbuffet had both disappeared. Ash tensed as he scoured the water for any sign of the enemy Pokémon, but the surface was still settling from the last bout of attacks. The sunlight streaming through the roof didn’t help either – it made the rippling water glitter.

Misty spotted movement a second too late.

“Look out-”

In tandem, Mimey and Wobbuffet burst through the surface, taking up positions either side of Gyarados and Pikachu, trapping their opponents between them.

“Good work, you two!” Delia cheered. She pointed dramatically. “Now, Mimey – use Psychic on both of them!”

Once more, Mimey’s eyes and hands glowed. Both Gyarados and Pikachu rose into the air, enveloped in blue light.

“Great strategy, Ms. Ketchum!” Misty called, earning a dirty look from Ash which she ignored. “There’s no point going for Wobbuffet – he’ll just Counter our attacks again.”

“Right,” Ash agreed. “We’ve gotta take out Mimey!” He raised his voice. “Pikachu!”

Misty did likewise. “Gyarados!”

Delia grinned. “Just as I thought.” She looked at her partner. “Get ready with Mirror Coat!”

Jessie blinked in confusion. “…Huh?”

“Thunderbolt –”

“Hydro Pump –”

“On Mimey!” both young trainers yelled in unison.

“Mimey!” Delia called, just as both Pokémon charged their attacks. “Drop them, use Light Screen and aim at Wobbles!”

“Aim at WHO?!” Jessie exclaimed.

There was no time to explain. Everything turned on a split second. Pikachu and Gyarados began to fall through the air. Several volts of electricity and a powerful torrent of water hit Mimey’s Light Screen and barrelled towards Wobbuffet.

The diabolical beauty of Delia’s devious plan suddenly caught up with Jessie. That pair of pathetic Pokémon were in for a –

“Now, honey!”

Jessie almost fumbled the command.

“M-Mirror Coat!”

Wobbuffet glowed, shrouded in a reflective aura. Everything seemed to slow down. The attacks hit. They bounced back at Mimey. Pikachu and Gyarados fell. Ash’s mouth opened in a silent noooo.

The timing was perfect.

Gyarados and Pikachu fell in front of Mimey, taking the full brunt of Thunderbolt and Hydro Pump, doubled by Mirror Coat. The sheer force of the attacks drove them along the surface of the water, causing huge plumes of water to rise into the air either side of them. The battlefield disappeared in a shroud of surf and spray.

“Pikachu!” Ash cried out.

All four trainers held their breath as the mist began to clear.

Jessie cried out in dismay on seeing Wobbuffet floating belly-up in the water. Ash groaned on spotting Pikachu doing likewise. Draped over the rock, Gyarados lifted its head weakly, then dropped it again.

Delia scanned the water, a smile spreading across her face as Mimey swam to the rock and clambered up, standing tall with a cry of, “Mr. Mime!”

“Wobbuffet, Pikachu, and Gyarados are unable to battle,” the Drone Rotom declared, as Ash sank to his knees. “The winners are the challengers, Delia and Jessie!”

“I… I can’t believe this…” Ash moaned.

“We…” Jessie couldn’t stop staring at the battlefield, Drone Rotom’s words ringing in her ears. “…we won?” She looked to Delia, and the joyful look on her face confirmed it. “We WON!!!”

Delia shrieked as Jessie caught hold of her and lifted her high in the air, doing a twirl before setting her back on her feet and peppering her face with kisses. “Hahahaha!” She turned to their opponents, pulling down on one eyelid while sticking her tongue out. “Suck it, twe – I mean, Ash and Misty! I knew this day would come sooner or later!”

“Jessica, I know you’re happy, but don’t be a bad winner,” Delia chided gently. “Magnanimity in victory goes a long way.”

“But baaaabe!” Jessie whined. “I’ve never had a victory this magnificent before!”

Delia just smiled and gave her a peck on the lips. “I think poor Wobbles wants you,” she remarked, nodding to the battlefield. “We’ll need to get him to a Pokémon Centre with Venomoth and Clefairy.”

Jessie nodded and went to haul Wobbuffet out of the water.

“Come on, you,” she grunted as she dragged the Patient Pokémon back onto dry land. Briefly she removed her cap and wiped the sweat from her brow. Fine, so she couldn’t taunt the twerps any more. Victory still tasted pretty sweet.

In her arms, Wobbuffet stirred and smiled weakly up at her. Jessie couldn’t help but smile back.

“How about that?” she murmured to him. “You’re a winner, Wobbuffet. I bet you can’t wait to tell the others.”

He managed a salute and a quiet “Wobba…” before Jessie recalled him to his Pokéball.

Ash, meanwhile, remained on his knees in the trainer box. “I can’t believe we lost to my mom.”

“You gotta admit, that last strategy was a thing of beauty,” Misty replied with a smile. She’d made her way out to the rock and was cradling Gyarados’s head, absently rubbing its crest. The big Pokémon opened its eyes and let out a quiet rumble. “I guess now we know where you get your battling skills from, champ!”

Stepping out of her sneakers, Delia carefully negotiated the slippery rock and fished Pikachu out of the water. A couple of vigorous rubs from his head to his tail, and the Electric Mouse Pokémon opened his eyes.

“You were great, Pikachu,” Delia murmured. She tickled him under his chin, getting a weak “Chaaa” in response. She made her way back to the side of the battlefield to find Ash, Misty and Jessie waiting. “You were great too, honey.”

Ash managed a smile as she handed Pikachu to him. “Thanks, Mom.” He gasped as he was pulled into a hug.

“That was such a fun battle!” Delia exclaimed. She loosened her hold just enough to look at him. “I can see why you like this so much.”

“Watch out, Ash,” Misty teased. “You might just have a new rival on your hands!”

Ash let out a distressed yelp.

“Oh no, I don’t have time for that,” Delia assured him with a wave of her hand. As Ash sighed with relief, she cupped his cheek and tilted his head up to look at him. “But travelling around this past month and battling with you today… it’s made me feel a little bit closer to you.”

Ash blushed, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Aw, Mom,” he mumbled with a grin.

“Ahem.”

Ash and Delia turned to see Misty holding out a Cascade badge.

“This is yours, Ms. Ketchum,” the Gym Leader declared. “You made the battlefield, your Pokémon and their moves work to your advantage. I’m impressed!”

“Oh, you’re too kind, really,” Delia replied, blushing as she accepted the badge. Its blue surface seemed to glitter in the sunlight streaming in from the roof. “I’ll treasure this, always. Thank you.”

“That’s how you win a badge fair and square,” Misty teased, shooting a wink Ash’s way.

The Champion rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

All three turned to see Jessie holding out her hand.

“What about me?” she demanded. “The perfect Pokémon battle partner? Trainer of vicious Venomoth and wild Wobbuffet? Where’s my badge?”

Misty sighed. Jessie had been on the winning team, and she had won a badge fair and square, but the whole situation was still bizarre.

“I’ll give you a badge if you explain what all…” She waved her hand between Jessie and Delia. “…this is about.”

“Delia and I dating,” Jessie scoffed with a shrug. “It’s not that complicated.”

“I got that part,” Misty shot back irritatedly, “I just…” She looked from Jessie, standing with her arms crossed, to Ms. Ketchum, who had one hand on Jessie’s hip, to Ash, who looked like he was hoping the floor would open up and swallow him. “…you know what, never mind.” Reaching into her pocket, she took out a second Cascade badge.

“I can’t believe this is happening, but… you earned this!”

Jessie let out a little cry of joy as Misty put the badge into her hand.

“Oh, Deerling, look how pretty it is!” she gushed. “Do you think maybe we could just get the prettiest Gym badges?”

“I don’t see why not,” Delia replied. “With James to run the restaurant, I can take vacations more often!”

“James is –” Misty glared at Ash, who pulled the brim of his cap down and giggled nervously. “We’re going to the Pokémon Centre and then you’re telling me what’s been going on, Ash Ketchum!”

“Let’s all go to the Pokémon Centre,” Delia suggested. “Our Pokémon battled hard today, they deserve a good rest.”

It wasn’t long before Nurse Joy’s tender care had Venomoth, Corsola, Oshawott, Clefairy, Wobbuffet, Gyarados and Pikachu feeling like their old selves again. Delia squeezed Jessie’s hand, murmuring “that’ll be you one day, Smoochum” as they watched Joy work.

“Well, we should get going,” Delia declared once they had their Pokémon back.

“We were going to stay and have dinner, Ms. Ketchum,” Misty said. She eyed Jessie reluctantly, but made the offer anyway. “…You’re welcome to join us.”

“That’s sweet of you, Misty, but we’ve been away long enough,” Delia replied, to both kids’ relief. “It’s time we headed home. Thank you both so much for such an amazing battle.” She hugged Ash tightly. “Don’t stay away too long, honey.”

“You know I won’t, Mom,” Ash replied, blushing. He shot Misty a grin. “I’ll be home right after I kick Misty’s butt in our rematch!”

“Then I’ll see you soon,” Delia murmured. She let go of her son and gave Misty a quick hug and a wink. “Try not to beat him too badly!”

“Hey!” Ash exclaimed indignantly.

Delia stepped back, joining her girlfriend near the door of the Pokémon Centre. She gave her a look and nodded to both kids. With a sigh, Jessie trudged up to Ash and gave him a stiff hug.

“See you at home, kid,” she mumbled. Letting go, she turned to Misty. “Thanks for the battle and the badge, I guess...?”

The two gazed at each other for a few awkward moments, then Jessie took a step closer, slowly lifting her arms.

“Aah!” Misty hurriedly moved back, holding her hands up in front of her. “I don’t think I’m there yet.”

Jessie dropped her arms with a huge sigh of relief. “Great! Me neither.” She offered her hand instead, and the Gym Leader shook it.

Ash and Misty stepped outside the Pokémon Centre to see them off, their goodbyes ringing in the air as Delia and Jessie got on the road. Jessie slung her arm around her girlfriend’s shoulder.

“Happy, babe?”

“Yes and no,” Delia sighed. “I’m sad my journey’s over, but I couldn’t be happier about how it went. I made three wonderful new friends, foiled a nasty poacher, and that battle today –” She clenched her fists in front of her. “ – I never felt so alive! I can’t wait to tell Professor Oak and James and Meowth all about it!” She slipped an arm around Jessie’s waist. “I’m so glad you talked me into this.”

Jessie preened. “Oh it was nothing, babe, I –”

She broke off as Delia took hold of her hands.

“Thank you for making my dreams come true,” the other woman whispered. Jessie’s heart caught in her throat as she saw tears shining in Delia’s eyes. “Not just today, but every day we’re together.”

Jessie smiled, warmth blooming in her chest.

“It’s the least I could do,” she replied. Delia deserved more, so much more, for putting up with her, believing in her, loving her. Not to mention all she’d done for James and Meowth too. Maybe one day –

- but before Jessie could continue the thought, Delia leaned up and pulled her into a tender kiss.

THE END

“Oh, I can’t wait to get home to our nice comfy bed!”

“Ugh, me too. I hate sleeping on the ground.”

“…who said anything about sleeping?”

[revasserium]

A request for the prompt "Stolen kisses" + Zayne!! Thank you so much :D

also I love your writing SOO much <3

prompt list reqs are: temporarily closed

49. stolen kisses

zayne; 1,720 words; fluff, fem!reader, no "y/n", whipped!zayne, implied sex, but still very saucy, zayne is hornee 24/7 and hes not afraid to show it

summary: 3 kisses, some stolen, others willingly given

a/n: i believe in my heart of hearts that zayne is barely keeping it together around the mc

one. After dinner, when the pair of you are cleaning up and your sleeves rolled up to your elbows, his arms snaking around your waist to pull you back into him as he presses a kiss to your neck before trailing his lips up to your cheek. Your laughter rings through the kitchen, folding around the pair of you like wings. His smile is soft, is radiant, is tender and absolute as he pulls back to regard you with his searching eyes.

“Good dinner?” he asks.

“The best,” you answer, grinning as you trail a finger along his jaw to tangle your fingers in his hair.

“Good…” he breathes the word against your cheek, leaning in, the ends of his bangs tickling the skin of your face. You make to pull back, but his arms loop tighter around your waist, pressing you close, holding you against the solid cool of the marble countertop.

“But we haven’t yet had dessert.”

Heat flushes up your neck and up, up, up till you can feel your face burning, as you blink up at him from beneath your lashes, feigning innocence.

“I didn’t know we had dessert planned on the menu.”

His grin goes sideways, his eyes taking on a darker, more dangerous light.

“It’s not always planned but…” his voice trails off as a tingling shiver races up your spine, “It is always… considered.”

And then, he leans in to kiss you — and he kisses you with a hunger that has nothing to do with the scrumptious meal you’ve just shared and everything to do with the pulsing heat coalescing between your bodies as he lifts you up onto the counter.

He kisses you like he wants to ruin your mouth for all other tastes but him; he kisses you as if he’s already been ruined by the taste of you.

two. It is unprofessional; you know — and so does he — to do this here, with your back pressed against the wood of his office door, his white coat slipping off his shoulders, his glasses nearly knocked askance by the force of this kiss.

You’d always known that just beneath his smooth, tempered glass facade is the kind of roiling heat that makes up the heart of the earth, the kind of passion that licked at the mouths of volcanoes and rends the sky into nothing but a devastation of ashes.

But here, now, the only rending is his fingers pressing into the dip of your waist, the only devastation his tongue as it traces along the inside of your teeth. You hear yourself make a low, wanton noise and feel him react, his fingers tightening impossibly, his mouth ever and ever more demanding.

“Z-Zayne… we —” but the words die on your lips as he drops his to the bare skin of your neck. You can’t help the gasp that tumbles from your mouth, nor the sudden flash of memory — crystal clear and sharp, as if carved from ice — of the night before, when he had sunk his teeth into your bare shoulder and twisted your hair with trembling fists. It had been pain and impossible, improbable passion. All urge and fire, desperation and need.

“Shhh…” Zayne murmurs against your skin, groaning softly as he finds your lips with his own again. And you are helpless all over again. Weak against the burning need of his embrace.

A soft knock shocks both of you from the frenzied passion soaking through your bones, threatening to blot out your good sense entirely. You pull apart, gasping. From the other side of the door comes the muffled voice of a nurse -

“Dr. Zayne? Your next patient is here. Shall I let him in?”

Zayne hisses out another breath before pulling away.

“Yes, just give me five minutes - finishing a report.”

You can't help the amused grin that tugs across your lips as the both of you make to tidy the slight mess you've made.

“So… I'm a report now, am I?”

But Zayne only regards you with a light, challenging look, quirking his brows.

“No.”

You blink, confused. Then Zayne smiles.

“We’re nowhere near finished.”

A fresh wave of heat crests up into your cheeks as you purse your lips, casting your eyes anywhere but Zayne's pleased face.

“Unprofessional,” you accuse, through the word lacks any vehemence, marred by the extensive blush still coloring your cheeks.

Zayne straightens his impeccably pressed white doctor's coat before taking three swift steps into your space, his chest nearly pushing against yours. He reaches out to tilt your chin up towards him and you feel a hitched breath caught like an insect in amber, suspended perfectly between your lungs and your throat.

Slowly, Zayne draws his thumb across the plush of your bottom lip. You feel his breath fanning across it like a wave of summer heat, found at the heart of winter itself.

“Only in front of you.”

He pulls away just as another gentle knock comes at the door, the nurse's voice announcing the arrival of Zayne's next patient. Zayne casts you one last lingering, meaningful look before gently nudging you aside to pull open the door, the vision of a young and promising doctor as he greets his patient with a small smile, the other hand guiding you towards the opened door.

"Don't forget to take your supplements,” he chides in a voice just gentle enough to inform polite company of his fondness for you, but nothing in it would hint at the indiscretions that had been committed only minutes prior.

"Okay,” you say, ducking your head as you brush by the middle- aged man blinking at the pair of you.

"And… see you at home.”

You only manage a nod and a squeak as the nurse chuckles behind her hand and the middle- aged man makes a soft noise of understanding.

three. You are both eighteen, and teetering on the edge of adulthood — though he’s already well on his way to stardom.

“Congrats — on the Starcatcher Award —“ you feel your throat catch around the words, and suddenly, your mouth is dry, your cheeks hot, your fingers twisting behind your back as you rock on the balls of your feet.

Zayne watches you, his expression thoughtfully blank, but his eyes — they’ve always been his tell. You meet them and search them and feel the fire caught behind them. His Evol might be ice, but… his soul has always been something that burns.

“Thanks,” he says, and you can almost taste the unsaid words bubbling just at the back of his throat. You wish he would tell you, but there’s a depthless chasm cut into the air between the pair of you, rough and jagged and —

“Do you know what I received the award for?”

You blink, startled. You purse your lips, looking away. It’d been too painful, too much to look into it, the knowledge of his brilliance always nipping at your heels like an unruly dog. It had pushed you forward, yes, but only out of the fear that if you let up even one single step, he’d race too far ahead and… leave you behind.

“N-no — I haven’t —“

“For my research on congenital heart defects in infants.”

The world slows, tunnels, and tilts around you. Your eyes jerk up to meet his and there — you see it, the blistering heart of all his so-called fire — and you remember suddenly that if it’s cold enough, the body starts to process the sensation as heat. That ice and fire are not so different.

That ice can also burn.

You find your own hands clutched just above where your heart beats inside your chest and you see his eyes flicker down towards them.

“Zayne —“

“I start work at a clinic next week.”

A frown creases at your temple.

“Our first appointment is on Tuesday.”

Your frown deepens.

“What do you —“

“To qualify for the Hunter Program, you need a medical verification of fitness. And… a primary care physician.”

At these last words, his eyes finally cut away. And here, in the dying light of his brand new living room, the sunset turns his glasses opaque for just a second. You’re left blinking in the aftermath of that light, the afterimages will be stained behind your eyelids for hours after — just that look, the firm line of his shoulders, the determined set of his mouth, his jaw, the softness in his fingers as he reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering against the bend of your cheek.

“L-Lying on reports would be a medical malpractice suit waiting to happen,” you say, your voice shaking with either delirium or emotion, you’re not sure which.

Zayne quirks an eyebrow, “I have no plans on lying.”

“But —“ your fingers clench at your chest.

“I’m just… confident in my own skills, that’s all.”

The shadow of a grin twists his lips and he turns back to you, his eyes cast in threads of molten gold.

“Oh… of course,” you let out a soft breath of laughter, toppling back into the sofa and tossing your arm across your eyes. A moment later, you feel the cushions of the sofa sink beside you.

“Hey, look at me.”

You drop your arm and turn, your head still pillowed against the back of the sofa. Zayne’s gaze flickers over every aspect of your face before he reaches out to take your hand in his. Slowly, he leans down to press his lips to your knuckles, letting his lips linger there till you make a soft, questioning noise at the back of your throat.

He looks back up with a knowing smile.

“Shall we get something to eat?”

You jump to your feet, “Y-yes! My treat — a congratulations gift!”

Zayne considers for a moment before sighing, “Alright, but just this once.”

“What, we’re not allowed to go out to dinner now that you’re a certified doctor?”

Zayne’s mouth twitches with amusement as he reaches for his coat.

“No, we’ll still go out for dinner — you’re just no longer allowed to pay for them.”

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Fly by Moonlight

CW: Vaguely fantasy, hunting, possessive whumper referenced, bullet wound, guns, blood, makeshift surgery, implied dehumanization, scarring

Chapter One

-

The sky above them was an explosion of stars. With her head tilted back until it tipped against the sleeping bag, providing her the barest protection from simple dirt, she could see the Milky Way itself, winding its ghostly way from one horizon to the other. It was funny, to think that she was a part of that winding, sinuous length of endless light. 

The people who think they came from stars, she thought, must have been people who thought highly of themselves. There was nothing more incredible than this, and it seemed impossible to understand how something as amazing as stardust could coalesce into the reality of wind rushing through leaves around their campsite, the simple beauty of her own heartbeat and blood.

Alongside the universes she could imagine above her, the moon hung heavy and full. Supermoon time, it was so much larger than usual, blocking some of the stars when Anaya tried to find them. 

The moon, she thought, felt like what it was - a piece of earth thrown into space by asteroid impact. Like a mother who loses the grip of her child’s hand, and all of history had been the story of their slow reconciliation. Or maybe of the child running, always staying just ahead of her mother’s reach.

Anaya Cross laced her fingers together behind her head, her heavy, dark hair providing as much softness as any pillow. Beside her, in another sleeping bag, her boyfriend Eden had long since fallen asleep. His heavy, soft breathing and the sight of his ash-blond hair falling over his forehead was another kind of peace. Eden only slept well in the wilderness, and Anaya never slept well at all. 

Even if she didn’t sleep much, here, she could rest by watching the stars. Her eyes traced a constellation, catching on the edge of the corona borealis and following its C-shaped swing from one end to the other. 

Then, she heard a sound.

It was a faded sort of boom, as if someone in the park had set off a huge firework, one of those big mortar kinds Anaya had been terrified of as a child and still avoided today. She frowned, shifting uneasily and pushing herself up a little onto her elbows.

At first all she heard was the wind, the soft whispering of the leaves.

Then it happened again.

Boom.

Anaya took in a quick breath and sat up fully, head tipped to one side. This time, the sound was followed by a high-pitched squeal, almost a scream, but totally inhuman. Anaya’s breath caught, and she scrambled to push herself out of the sleeping bag, leaning on her knees over to shake Eden’s shoulder. “Eden-... Eden! Wake up!”

Eden groaned, slapping ineffectually at her hand, before his eyes finally blinked slowly open. They looked fogged over, still half-asleep, but he moved to sit as Anaya popped up to standing. “Wh-... what’sit?” It was all one run-on sound, hardly language. “Naya? What’ss… what time’sit?”

“I don’t know,” She answered, shifting forward slowly. Between the stars and the moon, the night around them was nearly as bright as daylight, only with a cool, almost blue tint to everything around them. “I heard something. Like a-... like a gunshot. I think. From a really fucking big gun.”

“You heard-...” Eden’s brain was still struggling to come online. He raked a hand back through his hair, leaving it standing up in wild chunks all over his head, before he started wiggling his way out of his sleeping bag, too. He stood, scratching at his stomach underneath his ratty old t-shirt, gray sweatpants hanging low on narrow hips. “A gunshot? Here? But-”

“Protected reserve, I know. But I definitely heard it. Do you think…” She trailed off. All she heard now was the wind, rushing through the trees. Only-... was it only the wind? Or was there a discordant note, crashing of something desperate running for its life?

Boom.

This time she could see Eden heard it too, his eyes widening. The sound was closer, louder, more immediate. Anaya and Eden’s gazes met, and then without a word spoken the two of them half-ran, half-walked as one to the edge of the clearing and away from the obviousness of their campsite. Eden’s car was parked at the camp lot a three-hour hike away, and they were deep within a part of the reserve no one was supposed to go to. It had seemed romantic, when they came here and chose this space, carefully marking their trail to ensure they could make it back. It had seemed like a way to get away from it all and really find peace, let Eden get some real sleep.

Now, though, it seemed to hit Anaya all at once that coming out here - alone, with only her boyfriend, with no one really aware of where they’d gone other than ‘camping’ - had been monumentally, impossibly stupid.

Anaya crouched down behind a tree, keeping the campsite in view. Woods like these could get you lost within a few feet of where you’d been, the trees so close together that they hid you from your own trail unless it was well-marked. Eden moved to be just slightly in front of her, shielding her a little.

Not that it would matter against a gun that could make a sound like that.

“Poacher?” She whispered. 

“Probably,” He whispered back. Now the crashing seemed close, and Eden’s body was warm against hers even as both of them were shivering. “But what is there even to hunt here? You can find deer anywhere in this stupid state, you don’t need-”

The answer to his question came flying out of the woods in front of them.

A huge wolf that somehow still looked half-grown and spindly, with too-long legs and giant paws, flashed through their campsite in a reddish-gray gleam lit by moonlight. Until it tripped over Anaya’s cooler full of beer and went tumbling, high-pitched whimpers and whines filling the air. Anaya jerked forward when she realized the cooler now had a red smear along the white lid, but Eden grabbed her arm to pull her back out of sight. 

“It’s bleeding!” Anaya hissed. “That poacher shot it! We should go help!”

Eden’s grip only tightened. “It’s not a dog,” He hissed back. “It’ll just attack you. Not to mention the poacher will shoot you, too. Just stay here, Naya!”

The wolf stood on shaking legs, a low soft whine in its throat. The light of the moon seemed to turn the tips of its red fur to silver, reflected in its strangely human-looking eyes. Anaya blinked at the sight of scarring around its snout, like something had been wrapped there at some point until it dug in. It limped to the edge of the clearing, tumbling hard to one side before righting itself. Blood streamed from one back leg, clumping the fur and leaving a dark stain. 

The wolf’s tongue hung from its mouth and it panted heavily even as it tried to lick at the blood and the wound beneath it, ears pricked and moving constantly. Its tail was tucked between its legs. Its nose went to the ground, picking up the scents of Anaya and Eden probably, and Anaya shivered when it growled.

The low rumble was more frightening than the sound of the gun.

At least the gunshots hadn’t been about her.

After a long pause, the wolf’s growl ended. It did what Anaya could only call taking a deep breath to steady itself, and then limped heavily away, out of the clearing in the general direction of the main hiking trails where Anaya and Eden had started their hike out here. Its nose stayed low, and Anaya heard Eden let out a breath in a rush once it was out of sight.

“Uh… what do we do now-”

Anaya clapped her hand over Eden’s mouth, shushing him and yanking him further back around the tree trunk.

The man with the gun - and holy shit, Anaya didn’t even know they made guns that big - stepped into the clearing, taking in the sight of the destroyed campsite smeared with wolf blood with a baffled, incredulous expression. He wasn’t too much older than them, maybe in his thirties, but he had a hardness to his jaw that said whatever his age, the years had definitely sucked the life out of him.

“Well… shit.” The man huffed, moving forward and using the muzzle of his gun to nudge the blood-stained cooler, lifting up the sleeping bag Eden had been in only a few moments ago. He ran a hand back over his crew cut, looking around. “Hey! Is anyone here? Anyone hurt?” The sound of concern in his voice seemed real. 

But Anaya and Eden were alone, in the woods, in the middle of nowhere. And this guy had an enormous fucking gun. They stayed silent, in the dark.

“God damn it.” The poacher sighed, looking down at the sleeping bags. “Shit shit shit. If he killed somebody… that little shit. Fucking campers on our land. Bet he chased them off. I’ll have to call Bill and report it. He’s gonna kill me when he sees Rusty got out, let alone that he made a mess out of campers… if they find bodies on our land again, we are going to have the government up our fucking ass…”

He pulled out a compass and looked at it, then looked ahead, eyes scanning the ground. He must have seen some of the wolf’s blood on a leaf in some underbrush, because he moved forward confidently then. He went through the clearing, from one side to the other, and then was gone. 

Anaya and Eden waited until the sound of the man moving through the forest had faded into the distance, and then looked at each other. 

“... Did we go too far and end up on private land?” Anaya asked.

At the same time, Eden said, “Did he say ‘if they find bodies on our land again?’”

Both of them stared at each other in silence for a few seconds. Then, as if they’d come to some agreement that didn’t need words, they moved out to the wreckage of the campsite. Anaya rolled up the sleeping bags while Eden checked on the small cooler, wiped the rest of the blood off of it with a shudder, and then shifted it back into the heavy pack he’d carried out here. Anaya felt the tension rising between them, until it was tight enough it might snap. Her heart pounded so hard it found its way up her throat, making her occasionally stop to catch her breath. The two of them pulled their socks on and then laced up their hiking boots after. Neither even bothered to dress in daytime clothing. Their sweatpants and t-shirts seemed like enough, for now. 

The hike back was silent and slow.

They put one foot carefully in front of the other, following the markings Anaya had left wrapped around trees in non-obvious places. She undid each and every colorful ribbon, packing them back away. Taking back everything they’d brought with them. No sign they’d ever been here at all, ideally.

She found herself wondering where the park ended and private land began. There’d been no signs, no warnings. Not any that they saw, anyway. Then again, it’s not like you could mark every square inch of a wild forest like this one.

Above them, the moon hung heavy. When its light cut through the canopy overhead, it made everything otherworldly and beautiful.

If only Anaya could appreciate it, and not take every quiet step sure she’d see the end of a gun between her eyes the moment she looked up.

At some point, they got close enough to the trail for cell phone signal to come back, and her phone buzzed with a handful of missed messages. Nothing that suggested anything big had happened while they were out of reach. She didn’t dare check it - not yet. Not until she felt sure that the light from her screen wouldn’t draw in either an injured, probably hostile wolf and a healthy, definitely hostile guy with a gun.

She kept cycling her thoughts back to the sight of the thing. Something had been off about it, but she didn’t know enough about guns to even begin to know what. Hell, she didn’t know enough about guns to even know if anything was actually off, or if she was just thinking of movie-guns and not understanding that the real thing was different.

Exhaustion dragged at the edges of her mind, even as adrenaline kept her so wired that she knew she couldn’t possibly have fallen asleep even if they simply laid down right here. Hours passed, Eden and Anaya saying little to each other. They heard the boom just once more, far enough away that they felt themselves finally able to relax.

Wherever the guy had tracked the injured wolf, it wasn’t in the direction they were going. 

Finally, they stumbled back out onto the trail. 

Anaya checked her phone, as surreptitiously as she could.

It was almost three in the morning, and they had another good two hours of hiking on the trail before they got to the parking lot. 

“I say we sleep in the car,” Eden said, voice heavy and husky. When Anaya glanced over at him, his half-lidded eyes reminded her of a sleepy kitten, and she found herself smiling, briefly overwhelmed with love for him. He frowned back at her. “What?”

“You’re cute,” She said. He shook his head and started walking again, but she caught the edge of his smile before he turned to hide it from her.

“Pretty sure the T was supposed to make me handsome, not cute,” He said over his shoulder as he started walking again.

Anaya had to stifle a laugh - talking might be okay, might be safe, but laughter carried further. Especially Anaya’s laughter, which had a tendency to be too loud, according to her mother. Too loud, attention-taking. Just like all her emotions. “Well, you’re definitely handsome,” Anaya said brightly, falling in behind him. “You’re just also cute. You were handsome before the T, too, by the way.”

He didn’t say anything, but his shoulders straightened a little, and she caught the edge of a flush to his cheeks.

Her feet ached by the time they had Eden’s car in view, the ancient Subaru with its huge trunk thanks to the removed backseat a white gleam in the pinkish light of early dawn. The moon was still visible, just now beginning to fade as sunlight overtook it, wiped it out. Each throb was in time with her pulse, and Anaya’s brain seemed to have become mush at some point.

They could sleep in the back of Eden’s car, if they made it to a safe parking lot or something in town. Maybe the diner where they had parked before they came up here, those people had seemed pretty cool about it. 

Eden came to a sudden stop, and Anaya walked into him so hard the two of them both stumbled, Eden with a huffed breath, an oof that any other day would have been funny. But now Anaya just groaned. It better not be the poacher having found them. She was too damn tired to deal with that, or even be scared of it anymore.

At least if he shoots me I can get some damn rest, she thought.

Out loud, she only mumbled, “What?”

Eden swallowed. Anaya could hear it. Something about that woke her back up all at once, sent brand new adrenaline flooding through her. Her head began to pound in time with her feet and her heart. Would anything not hurt by the end of today?

“There’s something under our car,” Eden said, voice hushed. 

Anaya stiffened. “The wolf?”

Eden took one step forward, and then another. He squinted. “... No. I think it’s… a person.”

“A what?”

Who would be out here? Thanks to flooding on the more well-known trails, this park had been more or less empty of tourists. It was one of the reasons Eden and Anaya had chosen this for their off-trail campsite. Eden moved slowly forward, and Anaya followed him. Once she got closer, though, she moved more quickly, dropping her bag next to the car and moving into a crouch.

The sound of her pack hitting the pavement made the boy curled up under the car flinch, his arms jerking to cover his head with his hands, knees nearly to his chin. Anaya caught a glimpse of reddish-brown hair through his fingers, a swath of pale skin marked with brown freckles at the shoulders, the tip of his nose.

“Hello?” Anaya whispered, reaching slowly out. Her fingertips just touched the boy when his eyes snapped open and he looked at her with wild, animal terror.

His eyes were the same color as the wolf’s. 

His hair was the same color as the wolf’s fur had been, reddish brown, maybe tipped with some gray.

His left leg had a wound blown right through it - bullet wound, Anaya thought a little wildly, I’m looking at the entrance and the exit’s at the back, he’s lucky it didn’t hit the artery there - and the blood was… everywhere.

The boy’s lips pulled back from his teeth in a useless snarl. His teeth were flat, human, except for maybe his incisors being a little too long, a little too sharp. He had scars marked across his face, around his neck, all over his arms. Some old, simply silk-soft skin marked in risen lines, some fresher, still bright red. A couple even looked like they’d been bleeding recently, too. He made a sound that Anaya only realized after a beat was an attempt to growl.

“... This is the wolf,” Anaya said, voice low. “Eden… Eden, this is the wolf.”

“What? No. That’s clearly a dude. The poacher must have seen him and shot him.”

“No, this is-... his eyes Eden-”

“That’s not a wolf, Naya. End of story. That is a dumbass teenager who did dumbass things. Somebody’s probably looking for him.”

Anaya thought of the poacher’s confusion, his angry concern. “... Yeah, somebody probably is.”

Eden dropped into a crouch beside her, casually pulling out the knife he always had on him, flicking it so the blade showed. “Naya, something’s wrong with this kid.”

The boy’s eyes went to the gleam of sharp metal and he whined, curling up tighter. Anaya frowned, looking at his leg. The blood. The wound. The way the boy’s skin was ash-pale under his freckles. The scars, half of them rough but the other half precise.

Knife-blade scars. She had some old ones herself, although hers had been self-inflicted.

She reached out and laid a hand on his arm, felt it trembling under her touch. She could barely reach him, he was so far under the car. “Hey.” She gentled her voice as much as she could, rubbing lightly. Goosebumps rose where her fingertips went, but the trembling seemed to settle a little. “Hey, kid. You’re… you’re really hurt. We’re gonna call someone-”

The boy scrambled backwards away. “No!” His voice came out hoarse, as if he wasn’t used to speaking - or speaking with a human mouth, anyway. “No! Don’t! Don’t call!” He made it to the other side of the car, scrambling to his feet. Anaya went to chase him, but in the end she didn’t have to - as soon as he tried to put weight on his leg, he went down hard, scraping the palms of his hands on the pavement and letting out a pained cry.

Anaya swallowed. “Eden-”

“I’ll call 911-”

“No,” she whispered. “He’s scared of that. Let’s just… let’s just put him in the back of the car, yeah?”

Eden paused. “Naya, are you fucking out of your mind? Where are we gonna take him? He needs a hospital.”

“Or a vet clinic,” She muttered, ignoring the look Eden gave her at the dark joke. “No, let’s just. Okay, let’s just… we have our first aid kit. You know how to do stitches-”

“Stitches, sure, but I’m not exactly qualified to treat wounds like that.”

“Try. Let’s get him into the car. Hey, kid? Kid, hey.” Anaya went to the crumpled heap of teenager, grasping onto his arm. He shivered and tried weakly to pull away, but between the pain and the blood loss, he wasn’t exactly able to put up much of a fight. Eden opened the trunk of the car and threw in their packs while Anaya helped the boy to stand. She could hear Eden laying down the towels and sleeping bags, opening up the first aid kit.

That’s why she loved him. He might think she’d lost her mind on this, but he’d still follow her lead.

The injured boy gripped onto her once he was upright, his eyes dancing in terror from Eden to Anaya and back again.

“Don’t,” He whispered. “Don’t.”

“We’re just going to get you bandaged up and something to eat,” Anaya said, voice soothing, easing him into the trunk until he could lay down in there. “Then we can talk, okay? First off, we need to stop the bleeding.”

Those odd eyes stared at her, but he laid down on his side slowly. Anaya had been vaguely aware the boy was naked, but only now did it hit her that the boy didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he just didn’t care. 

“I’m Anaya,” She said, softly, taking his hand and holding it while Eden took a wet cloth and began to wipe away the blood to try and get a better look at the wound. “I’m Anaya Cross, and this is my boyfriend Eden Yarrow. We’re going to help you.”

“There’s no exit wound,” Eden muttered, looking at the backside of the boy’s thigh. “He needs a surgeon, Naya-”

“Well, good thing you trained to be one, huh?"

"Yeah, before I quit residency-"

"Eden, just... can you get the bullet out?”

Eden exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. “Probably. It's a pretty clean wound. I definitely shouldn’t, but…”

“Well, try.” She turned back to the boy, rubbing her thumb over his knuckles, back and forth, back and forth. The kid stared at her like she’d grown a second head, but he didn’t pull his hand back. He just… watched her, with those strange canine eyes. “Hey. We’re gonna get the bullet out of you, and then we’ll help you get somewhere with people.”

“No,” He said again. His eyes moved from one to the other. “No… people.”

Eden’s eyes closed. He muttered something under his breath that Anaya didn’t quite hear. Then he moved to dig around in the first aid kit again. 

“Okay. Well, we’ll figure that bit out as we go, then. Can you tell us your name?”

She thought of the poacher mentioning Rusty.

The boy was quiet for a long, drawn-out silence broken only by a hiss when Eden used a sanitizing wipe on the wound, cleaning it out again as best he could. Finally, almost under his breath, he whispered, “Misae.”

“Missy?” Eden said, nose wrinkling. “Your name is Missy?”

The boy’s odd eyes narrowed. “Misae,” He repeated, a little louder. Mih-say-eh. Some of the gravelly hoarseness was leaving his voice, the more he spoke. Anaya wondered if he didn’t speak often. 

“That man with the gun called you Rusty, I think,” Anaya said, keeping her own voice gentle.

“... their name for me.” Misae hissed through his teeth, lips pulled back in a snarl again as Eden began to probe into the wound, eyes closing tightly. Tears leaked fro the corners of his eyes. Anaya gave him both her hands and he gripped on tight enough to hurt, making a sound that was clearly meant to be a canine whine. “Not… my name.”

“But Misae is your name.”

“Y… Yes.” His head lowered until the top of it, the shaggy reddish hair, pressed against her. He kept pushing against her, until she twisted one hand free and laid it there, scratching her fingers against his scalp. His whining softened, then. It was all so terribly… doglike.

No.

Wolf.

Anaya tried not to look as his leg twitched and oozed blood even as Eden carefully worked one of the tools he kept on hand into the wound, searching for the bullet. Misae didn’t answer at first. She leaned over, hoping her voice could carry through the pain. “It’s okay, honey. You’re going to be okay.”

Maybe.

Hopefully.

Misae groaned, finally laying his head directly in her lap. She could feel his tears soaking into her sweatpants, the hitching of his breath as he fought not to sob. His voice was a whisper she barely heard, twisted around his pained, frightened whimpers.

“Th-thank… thank you…”

“Found it!” Eden shouted, triumphant. He might have been reluctant to do this, but there was a reason he’d worked so hard to fill his first aid kit with anything you might need to stay alive in the wilderness when medical care was too far to get to in time. There was a reason he’d trained as a surgeon. He was good at this, he always had been. He wiggled the little tool, making Misae cry harder, but then something bloody and shimmering beneath the red came out, and Eden dropped it on a towel beside Misae. “Intact, even. Nice.”

Eden was focused on getting the wound closed up and stitches sewn. Anaya though, watched blood slide along the surface of the bullet, too big, a terrifying size. The gleam of the metal, though, along with the strange runes carved into it, made her eyebrows furrow. “... Eden.”

“Mmmn?” He dipped the needle, pulled it through skin. Anaya knew if she looked she’d faint dead away, so she kept her eyes on the bullet. On the shine. 

“That’s… that hunter shot him with silver.”

Eden stilled and looked up, his eyes catching on the bullet, too. Then shifting over to Misae, who was shaking like a leaf, eyes open now, wide and almost sightless. In shock, Anaya thought, not that she knew for sure or even really understood what being in shock meant. But it reminded her of people going into shock in the movies, on television. Eden’s eyes moved to meet Anaya’s.

“Once I finish stitching him up,” He said, voice low and calm, “We drive this car as far away from here as we can get before we stop.”

“We’re taking him with us.” 

“... Naya-”

Anaya’s jaw set and she raised her chin. “We’re taking Misae.”

Eden looked down at the boy, who didn’t seem to hear or even see the two of them any longer. Then he huffed and went back to what he was doing, sewing slow, careful, precise stitches even as he had to continually wipe away blood, too. “Fine. We go as far as we can with him, and then we… think about what we do next. Figure out how to call his family or something.”

“Fair.”

“Good.”

“Great.”

They paused, and smiled at each other.

Then Misae whimpered, and Anaya realized she’d stopped scratching his head. She started up again, and felt some of his shaking settle once more. “Do you have family?” Anaya asked, trying to distract him as Eden finished up. “Someone looking for you?”

Misae was silent for so long that she thought maybe he hadn’t heard her.

Then he answered, voice low, “No family. Not… anymore."

"Did you run away from them?"

"No.” Misae's body shuddered, and Anaya found herself rubbing her thumb in little circles just behind one ear. "No."

"Then-"

"Dead. Everyone... is dead. But me."

-

[papiliotao]

・❥・THE ELYSIAN PURSUITS OF ACADEMICS

♡ — Reader: GN

♡ — Characters: Albedo, Alhaitham, Kazuha, Scaramouche, Xiao

♡ — Synopsis: studying with him

♡ — Content: fluff, modern AU, school AU of some sort

♡ — A/N: I definitely didn't write this in an attempt to unwind after like three weeks straight of quizzes and tests. If you're currently suffering through school (or remember going through something similar), I hope this fic will help ease your pain! Also, if you like this please consider reblogging or commenting!

ALBEDO, who agrees to help you study without informing you that he has ulterior motives. While it is true that he wants to aid you in any way possible, a more selfish motive also lies concealed behind his gracious actions.

Lately an unfamiliar emotion has had a grip on him. It lingers, following him around, making its presence known through the uneven rhythm of his heartbeat and the way his cheeks haphazardly become rose-tinted. And while the feeling has haunted him throughout euphoric daydreams and sleepless nights alike, he finds that it is most potent when he is with you.

So now, he is sitting in the library with you, attempting to quell his curiosity and confirm his hypothesis by spending time with you to discover the catalyst for the unexplainable sentiments that plague his heart. As he glances down at his books, he notices that a thick fog fills his mind, permeating every corner of the space with tangible clouds of exhilaration. His eyes can't help but wander to you every once in a while. It almost as though there is a magnetic force drawing his aquamarine irises to you.

Whenever he is finally able to avert his stare, soft tufts of his ash-blonde hair fall and tickle his face, obscuring his view of you. However, out of a desire to seem inconspicuous, Albedo never moves to brush the strands of hair away, and one day, when you inevitably notice, you decide to help him.

A fleeting touch causes a cherry hue to dust his cheeks, and when you make eye contact with him, embarrassment overtakes Albedo. As he mutters a barely-audible "thanks" under his breath, Albedo comes to a conclusion.

He loves you.

ALHAITHAM, who is irrefutably genius yet one of the worst study partners. Ironically, his brilliance is ultimately the reason he is an ineffective tutor. Whenever he tries to explain anything to you, he uses complex terminology that sounds otherworldly, and he brings in concepts that are much too elaborate and obscure.

To some degree, Alhaitham enjoys seeing the clueless expression on your face as he uses his wits to concoct a verbose response to your questions, and when your features twist into a coalescence of confusion, he finds it oddly gratifying rather than irritating. It's endearing, and the way you attempt to keep up with his complicated explanations instead of giving up causes the slightest bit of emotion to slip through his logical front as his heart warms and a soft smile breaks loose on his face.

However, when pessimistic musings begin to spill from your lips into the air of the tranquil library, Alhaitham decides that perhaps it's finally time for him to try harder to accommodate you instead of maintaining his admittedly pretentious habits for his own amusement.

He knows that it's not your fault that you can't understand everything he says, so he doesn't see why you're criticizing yourself, but for you, he makes an effort to put your needs over his own leisure. Despite the fact that you can't see eye-to-eye, Alhaitham can still pick up on your feelings of insecurity and insufficiency, so he tries his best to slow down for you.

KAZUHA, who silently admires you as you chew on your bottom lip, allowing a groan of frustration to escape you as you exhale. To Kazuha, you look absolutely adorable. He suppresses the laughter threatening to bubble up and out of his chest, raising one of his hands to his mouth in order to conceal the tender smile blossoming on his face behind slender fingers. His ruby eyes feel permanently fixated on you as you mull over an assignment, and they sparkle with unspoken adoration with every move that you make.

He knows he should be studying, but he finds it impossible to concentrate on anything in your presence. You make his heart race erratically, and the utterance of his name from your lips whenever you need help penning down eloquently-conjured phrases sounds sweeter than the soft clinking of wind chimes in a gentle spring zephyr. 

Sometimes he longs to see the day where you finally catch him staring from across the table you're seated at, but you're always too focused on your work to notice anything off. So for now, he takes every opportunity he can to silently observe you, picking up on all your more subtle mannerisms.

And after each session of quiet hours spent in the library that pass far too slowly yet all too quickly at the same time, Kazuha takes your hand in his and walks you home, basking in the warm artificial glow of streetlights. Your bag is slung over his shoulder as the two of you stroll back to your house in the midst of a silent evening. The crisp evening air sends tingles down your spine, but Kazuha's comforting touch prevents you from shivering.

When you finally reach your destination, Kazuha says an earnest goodbye. Unbeknownst to you, he is already anticipating your next study date, walking away from your front door with a love-struck grin adorning his pretty face.

SCARAMOUCHE, who calls you an idiot for the fifth time in the span of an hour. The words leave his mouth with ease, as if insulting people is second nature to him. And perhaps it is, because whenever he helps you study, he can’t help but spout harsh fallacies whenever you get a question wrong, reprimanding you for your lack of understanding.

Although his words are rather cruel, you aren’t in a position to refuse Scaramouche’s assistance. When he’s not busy badmouthing you, the indigo-eyed boy is actually capable of offering valuable feedback. 

Besides, there are times where he actually shows some semblance of care for you. On days where you overwork yourself, Scaramouche never fails to find a way to discreetly complain about how long you’ve been studying, effectively forcing you to take a break. He likes to pretend that he’s doing it for his own sake, but deep down, he’s really just trying to look out for you.

If only you knew the full extent of his affections toward you. Every touch of your soft hands to his as you hand him your pen makes his heart flutter, and each "thank you" that falls from your lips causes a pale sunset blush to dust his fair cheeks. Perhaps one day, you will realize that all the brutal insults he sends your way are all made in a desperate attempt to conceal his overwhelming feelings for you.

XIAO, who feels his heart seize up each time he leans closer to you to get a better look at the homework causing you an unspeakable amount of grief. When he talks to you to answers your questions, his voice noticeably softens, and when you turn to him to thank him for helping you, he immediately averts his sunlit gaze.

He buries himself in piles of textbooks to distract himself from the perplexing butterflies settling in the pit of his stomach. However, whenever you call his name to ask for his assistance, his attention immediately snaps back to you.

He's surprisingly patient while teaching you. Although he's rather strict, his methods are effective, and he is completely honest with you if he believes you need to work on something. Xiao can't help but feel a twinge of guilt whenever your face falls as you get a question wrong. However, he knows that being truthful is the best way to aid you in fixing your mistakes.

And when all is said and done, Xiao finds that the way you smile with satisfaction evident in your features upon figuring a difficult concept out is the greatest reward he could ever ask for. The grin that adorns your face is woven from the stuff of dreams, and he hopes he will have the privilege of seeing for the rest of his life.

I don't really like the way I ended Albedo's (sorry), but I was too sleep-deprived to think of anything else :( Anywayyyy, have a lovely day!

[rainyinautumn]

Scar does not lay down and die. He’s fought too hard to go out like that.

It’s a strange feeling, to know that he’s in full control of when he dies. No one chasing him down, no ticking clock, no curses. Sure, he doesn’t have regen, but he has a full row of hearts—a whole life ahead of him that he can spend in Sunflower Valley.

He doesn’t remember until he arrives that there’s nothing for him there. It’s about fifty percent craters. Some of them are blackened by the wither, and others by gunpowder. Despite it all, though, there are still sunflowers. Not many, but they’re facing his way when arrives, as if trying to be the welcoming party he never had. Scar sits down at the edge of one of the craters and swings his feet back and forth over the drop. It’s not deep enough to kill him, hardly even deep enough to take a heart off of him. The ash settled at the bottom is picked up by the wind, blowing into Scar’s boots and hair. He doesn’t wipe it out. It’s his only reminder that he wasn’t always alone in this world.

Across the crater, the air shimmers purple. Before Scar can figure out what it is, the color coalesces into a ghostly figure with a faint halo that shines just like the sun. Grian smiles at him wanly and holds out a bouquet of poppies and lilacs.

“You’ve won, Scar,” he says. “It’s time to go.”

“But I’m not ready yet,” he objects.

“He didn’t get me any flowers,” Scott mutters as he sits down beside him, transparent and crowned with a dozen tiny stars. “Trust me, you’re ready. You’ve won. There’s nothing left.”

“Well, I never had much anyway,” Scar says coolly. “Can’t say this feels too different.”

“I know.” Pearl’s voice comes from his other side along with the soft glow of the moon, and his heart aches, unwilling to turn toward her. “I know, but the game’s over, Scar. You did well.”

He wants to tell her sorry, but that would be disingenuous. He wouldn’t change a thing about that fight—the only thing he regrets is that it had to be her.

“More than well, I’d say.” Martyn takes shape in the center of the crater, his coral crown glittering the angry red of Mars. “I’m loving the trend of villainous winners we’ve got going here. Who do you think’s gonna be next? Joel? Gem?”

“Maybe we’re due for a more heartfelt finale,” Scott says, sending a sidelong glance Scar’s way. “No offense.”

“Didn’t you win through a battle royale?” he retorts.

“Didn’t we all?” Grian sighs. “It’s just the way of the game. Killing people. It’s a bit hard to get a heroic winner out of that.”

Scar stares at his feet. “I thought I’d feel more relieved,” he admits. “Like I’d- like I’d, y’know, won something. Now that the adrenaline’s gone, it’s all just kinda…”

“Empty?” Grian fills in for him.

“Disappointing?” Scott suggests.

“Sad?” Pearl says.

Martyn kicks a rock. “Fleeting?”

“One of those things,” Scar sighs. “So… now what?”

“I already told you,” Grian huffs, tired but good-natured. “It’s time to go.”

“Die, you mean,” Scar says. “It’s time for me to die.”

Martyn draws an axe that looks far more corporeal than the rest of him. “It’s my turn to take you out,” he tells him. “I was planning on a nice quick beheading, but I’m open to suggestions.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Scar stammers, scrambling backward. “I don’t get to choose how I go?”

“Well, sort of,” Grian explains. “You’ve won. The only thing that can take you out now is another winner.”

“Pearl zapped me when my time was up,” Martyn says. “Didn’t hurt for more than a second.”

“And what if I don’t let you?” Scar asks.

Scott puts a hand on his shoulder, but it goes right through. “There’s no way around this, Scar.”

“Martyn has to kill you,” Pearl reiterates. “It’s not up to him, or us, or you. No one can move on until you’re gone.”

“Says who?”

Grian gestures broadly at the horizon. “Who do you think?”

The Secretkeeper looms in the distance, a dark sky overhead. It’s watching him. Scar knows it is. It’s waiting, impatient as ever, for its final task to be completed.

Martyn hefts his axe over his shoulder. The move should be threatening, but there’s no malice in it. His hand sits firmly on the handle, white-knuckled and duty-bound, but the rest of him is relaxed. He doesn’t want this to be a fight.

“I guess everyone’s waiting on me, huh?” Scar says. “Let’s get this over with.”

He walks up to Martyn and kneels, removing his hood to expose the back of his neck. He feels the cold edge of the axe blade placed against it and screws his eyes shut.

“Any last words?” Martyn asks.

“I’m taking away all your reputation points for this.”

He laughs, genuine and nostalgic. “Fair enough.”

The axe lifts, and a breeze ruffles Scar’s hair as it comes back down on his neck.

There’s a searing flash of pain, and then nothing. His eyes stay closed, staring at the darkness.

“Scar,” Grian says, his voice closer than before. “Scar, it’s done.”

He blinks warily, taking a moment to process the view he sees. The rest of the world now has the shimmering transparency of the ghosts, while the other winners are now solid and real in front of him. Grian is still holding the bouquet—when he extends it to Scar, it changes shape, twisting into a flower crown.

“Wait,” Pearl says. “One last thing.” She waves her hand and two glowing sunflowers wrap themselves into the wreath, blooming side by side. “There.”

Grian steps forward, right in front of Scar, who’s still kneeling in the center of the crater. “Congratulations, Scar,” he says. “You won.”

The crown is a perfect fit.

[hyvyinjie]

‿‿‿·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ 𝒉𝒐𝒑𝒆 ·˚ ༘

ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ | ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀʀᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ʟɪɢʜᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʟᴇᴀᴅ ᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜ.

ᴍ! ᴍᴜʟᴛɪ-ꜰᴀɴᴅᴏᴍ! x ɢɴ! ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

﹒⪩⪨﹒you’re the sun painting colors to my life.

𝒽𝑜𝓅𝑒, a twisted blessing.

according to the ancient fable of pandora's box, hope itself was the final and most cruel punishment inflicted upon humanity - a false promise of relief, a deception cloaked in the guise of salvation.

with all else reduced to ashes, what rationale was left in his continued existence? a steadfast dutybound spirit was the sole ember still glowing amidst the lone tether.

if the cold caress of the reaper was to loom upon his door, he would not resist its finality, should his will to endure this blighted existence irrevocably extinguish.

but then, just as the incandescent light in his eyes waned—you coalesced to his life in a riotous inferno of visceral ravishment.

roseatte palettes and ambegurine auroras bursted forth like a dazzling display of fireworks illuminating the night sky. coruscating cobalt clashed with verdant virtuosity, sweeping away the monochrome that had shrouded his world.

it was as if he had stirred from a nightmare—awakening to a reality that was truly worth living for.

♡ ˚ · . 良い一日をお過ごしください、愛 !

[marzipanandminutiae]

What’s the New England vampire panic?

:D

:D :D :D

IT. IS. FUN.

(to research- it was probably horrifying to live through. just so we're clear)

basiclly, it was a series of incidents in response to tuberculosis outbreaks throughout New England (Connecticut, Massachusetts, Rhode Island, New Hampshire, Maine, and Vermont) during the late 18th and 19th centuries. it wasn't actually a single event, but rather isolated cases of TB being blamed on revenants rather than disease. where this belief prevailed, people frequently exhumed the alleged vampire, burned their heart or another organ on a blacksmith's anvil, and mixed the ashes into water for living consumptive people to drink

unsurprisingly, this never worked

though the earliest documented incident was in 1793, most people's awareness of this phenomenon coalesces around the 1892 death and exhumation of Mercy Lena Brown, of Exeter, Rhode Island. after dying of TB at age 19, Mercy was posthumously accused of afflicting her brother with the disease. despite drinking the ashes of her heart and liver in water, he- shocker! -died. the Brown case reached the popular press, who reacted to it with a sort of morbid fascination. "look what these crazy backwards Country People did" energy. Brown's grave has become a popular site for legend-tripping among Exeter teens since then- the game is to stand there and say, "Mercy Lena Brown, are you a vampire?" and see what happens

aforementioned classism and/or regional prejudice is a fascinating aspect of the Vampire Panic(s). like I said, a lot of the commentary- even going back to the 18th century -takes a tone of bemused horror that such superstitions could still exist, and of judgment on the intelligence of those involved

but honestly, before widespread understanding of TB bacteria...it COULD have been vampires, for all people knew. most of them were aware that it wasn't, but when your choices are "it's a disease; do nothing and watch your loved one die" vs. "it's vampires; do this thing and your loved one might not die, even though there's no proof it works," one might want to feel like one was at least trying

and unlike other mass hysteria cases a la Salem, nobody actually got killed because of a Vampire Panic. just saying

(there's a theory that Bram Stoker may have been partially inspired by the Brown case in writing Dracula, but I've seen no compelling evidence that it inspired him any more or less than any other vampire story)

[spriteofmushrooms]

Pls… pls elaborate 👁️👁️ so I can change my answer (in spirit) from crying a few days ago to crying right now!

Jiang Wanyin lies broken on the ground. Jin Ling, screaming, swings Suihua at the monstrous yao he'd just been pushed away from, the one that killed his jiujiu. Lan Jingyi should help, should move, but--anything that could kill Jiang Wanyin--

A clarity bell chimes as Lan Sizhui begins to play his guqin. The moment breaks, and Lan Jingyi leaps to flank the yao.

The battle is blue-lit by their signal flare and the full moon. Starbright sword flares sweep across the forest. Flashes of Jin Ling's qi, the golden brown of wutong leaves in autumn, bury themselves in the yao with every qi-laced arrow.

But it's only once Wen Ning holds the yao still that Wei Wuxian, responding to their flare via Hanguang-jun, eviscerates it with his trapped ghosts.

Hanguang-jun who is staring where Jiang Wanyin lies, his white robes bathed in red.

"Ah, stay back, a-Ling," a man's mirthful voice says. "Your jiujiu would be upset if I caught you, too."

Jin Ling starts "who the fuck" but is interrupted by Hanguang-jun's "Wei Ying."

Lan Jingyi turns to see Jin Ling's silhouette limned in red; Jiang Wanyin's body transformed by red; and a transparent youth in YunmengJiang-style robes sitting astride Jiang Wanyin, as bright and red as the setting sun, surrounded by a rainbow whirlwind of qi.

"Lan Zhan," the boy says laconically as a nearby tree cracks and falls. "Don't be boring for once, alright?"

As Lan Jingyi watches, the boy rests one hand on Jiang Wanyin's upper dantian and plunges the other into the swirling qi around them until all transforms to red. Another snap breaks the night, and Lan Jingyi realizes.

The little qi lights are from plants, bugs, and lesser spirits; the youth is draining the forest. An ash-black circle spreads from Jiang Wanyin.

Whose chest is moving.

"Jiang Cheng, wake up, ah? You're going to be late if you stay in bed all day." With the stolen vitality pulsing through him, the youth's features are clearer. He's handsome, his face much sweeter than Jiang Wanyin's sharp beauty. Mischief curls at the edges of his smile.

From Lan Jingyi's side, Wei Wuxian says coldly, "How often have you done this to him? Forcing foreign qi into his system will inevitably cause backlash."

The youth's smile sharpens. "Do you care, Wei-wanbei?" Without moving his hand, his thumb caresses Jiang Wanyin's cheek. "Besides, if I make it mine before I give it to him, is it really so different from spending years coalescing it into a golden core? His body knows me well."

"Gusu can integrate this part of your soul with the rest of you," Hanguang-jun says.

The youth laughs, and Wei Wuxian says "don't bother, Lan Zhan."

Ignoring his cultivation partner's advice, Hanguang-jun continues, "You will never rest until all pieces of your soul are joined. Let go of Jiang Wanyin, and come to me."

Jin Ling shifts. "You're healing jiujiu, right?"

"I am," the youth says, turning away from Hanguang-jun.

Jin Ling moves between Jiang Wanyin and Hanguang-jun, Suihua bare in his hand. "Let him do what he wants."

"How many times must Wei Ying destroy himself to fulfill a life debt to the dead?" Hanguang-jun demands, hand on Bichen.

Lan Sizhui finally speaks. "Hanguang-jun, Jin Ling, shouldn't we wait until we know more? None of us have the expertise to weigh in on Wei-xiao-gongzi's situation, do we? Applying theory without evidence could be harmful, too, Hanguang-jun." Then the traitor turns to Lan Jingyi. "If Zidian hasn't expelled Wei-xiao-gongzi, doesn't that mean Jiang-zongzhu is not possessed?"

"Yes," Lan Jingyi tries, then clears his throat. "Yes, Zidian wouldn't let its master be possessed. This must be something else."

A small voice interrupts the argument. "Wei... Wuxian?"

"Can't you call me shixiong just once, Jiang Cheng?"

"Started training first," Jiang Wanyin whispers.

"How would you know when my parents started training me? Especially since I'm older, and my mother is from a different tradition. Perhaps Baoshan Sanren starts her disciples at their hundred day celebration, hmm?"

"Stupid," Jiang Wanyin says. Then, "You're dead. Saw it."

"That was just my idiot body," the youth says with a smirk.

"Fuck you," Wei Wuxian spits.

At the noise, Jiang Wanyin's eyes flick to them. "A-Ling?"

"I'm fine, jiujiu!"

"Everyone's here because it's so rare to you lazing around," the youth says. "Do you think I could sell tickets? See Jiang Cheng take a break, only fifty tael!"

"Jiang-shixiong," Jiang Wanyin says, eyes back on the youth, taking huge rasping breaths between phrases. "Sounds better. Sixty tael, maybe."

"If he doesn't recognize you, then you don't know what this will do to him long-term," Wei Wuxian says.

"Oh, I do. I just wipe his memory every time. It keeps Jiang Cheng from digging me out of him, you know?"

"What."

The youth smiles beatifically down at Jiang Wanyin. "Did you think you got away with all of your not-quite-suicide, shidi? Did you think there wasn't a cost to being careless with yourself? Poor Pan Fu,¹ did his hero really not know what he gave his life to?"

"No!" Jiang Wanyin's fingers twitched, but even now his arm was more gore than whole. "Stop, stop. Shixiong, stop. Pan Fu, Pan Fu..."

"Still sad about that brat even now? Why am I not surprised. He wasn't even that strong of a cultivator; he just reminded you of me. Let go already."

"I raised him," Jiang Wanyin cries. "Don't, please, please."

Merciless, the youth bent down until their faces are centimeters apart. "What can you do to stop me? What have you ever been able to do against me, shidi?"

"Let me die, let me die, let me die, please let me die."

For a moment, the youth only gazes at Jiang Wanyin. "No," he says, and pours more of the forest into his shidi.

¹ Pan Fu is from this ficlet. No, Wei Wuxian wasn't jealous, why would he be? Pan Fu was simply to hand when Jiang Cheng threw himself into danger.

(To protect Pan Fu. But why should that matter? Jiang-zongzhu can't die for one of his hundreds of disciples. What would they do without him, hmm?)

[undercoveravenger]

Hearts Aflame

Pairing: Peeta x Fire spirit!Male!Reader

Requested: Yes

Request: “Peeta bakes and meets a fire spirit who falls for him”

A/N: Happy Halloween! Here’s part 1 of your Halloween surprise, though there’s more to come. Hope you enjoy!

-----

Peeta had always been afraid of the basement in his parents’ house- dark and dingy and always a bit cold despite the fire raging away in the bulky furnace in the corner. Mostly though, he was afraid of whatever lurked within the flames in the furnace. He’d seen it once when he was a kid, glowing golden eyes watching him through the swirls of fire, only just able to make out the edges of the figure as it stepped forward, holding out a hand like it was going to get him. He’d turned and ran then, running away up the stairs and bolting the door behind him. Ever since then, he had done everything he could to avoid going back into the basement- offering to do his brothers’ chores in exchange to get one of them to go down there instead of him, hiding and enduring his parents’ punishments when he was found to get out of it. 

Now though, with District 12 in ruins and little but the foundations left of many of the homes of the village, he’s left waist deep in rubble and debris trying to take stock of what was salvageable and what would need to be completely rebuilt. He’s faced worse in the last year and a half of his life than what he thought he saw when he was little, so as much as unease is beginning to build in his stomach, he presses on, hefting charred beams out of the way as he tries to unearth what’s left of his family’s home.

His heart lurches in his chest as he moves a couple of splintered beams out of the way and reveals that same old furnace, the big glass window in the door spiderwebbed with cracks but otherwise unchanged. The fire inside had long gone out, but even still Peeta could see a faint glow from a couple of lightly burning embers. 

Almost without conscious thought, his fingers drift to the handle of the furnace. The cold metal bites into his hand just enough to get him to hesitate, but the promise of confronting his old fear has him pressing on, twisting the heavy metal handle and wrenching the door open. The gust of fresh air rushes over the coals, sending sparks skittering throughout the furnace and the few coals that had a bit of heat left flare up, shooting from the dim red they’d been glowing to a brighter gold and he can feel a bit of heat coming off of them now. 

As Peeta watches, something shifts within the waves of heat emanating off of the coals, shifting and rising from the pile of ashes to coalesce into something more tangible. It starts to take shape as it’s exposed to the air, smoke and sparks and flame cooling and hardening over into skin and hair and admittedly handsome features, completed by those glowing golden eyes that Peeta had remembered from all those years ago. 

The spirit steps forward, emerging from the furnace for the first time that Peeta knows about, standing tall before him with squared shoulders and a bright grin, and looking very nearly human for all that Peeta knows that he isn’t.

“Thank you,” the spirit says, voice low and warm like a fire crackling lowly in the hearth on a cold day. Comforting in a way you wouldn’t really think about but can’t help recognizing. “For freeing me.”

Peeta blinks then, startled by the calmness of the creature he’d feared all these years. “You were… trapped in there?”

He nods slowly, the glow in his eyes dimming to a soft (e/c) and Peeta really can’t find it in himself to be intimidated any longer, despite the creature’s power. “I was. I made a deal decades ago to help your father’s father succeed and he double-crossed me. I’d been there ever since, until you let me out.” 

“I’m sorry,” Peeta says because he can’t really think of anything else that he can say. “I’m sorry that I didn’t help you sooner.”

The spirit shrugs, bright grin sparking back to life and the spark in his eyes reigniting, “You didn’t know, I can’t hold it against you.” He takes a look around then, seemingly fascinated by all the changes from the last time he’d seen the outside world. He turns back to look at Peeta then, grinning softly as he takes Peeta’s hand in his, “There’s things that need taken care of now that I’m free, but I can assure you, this won’t be the last you see of me Peeta,” he presses a soft kiss to the back of Peeta’s knuckles and seems to spark along the edges of his figure, the firm outline of him breaking apart into little wisps and sparks of fire before Peeta’s eyes as he starts to dissipate, flaking away until all that’s left of the spirit are those glowing eyes, and then even those extinguish.

Feeling a little foolish for being afraid of the fire spirit all this time, Peeta finds himself hoping that he’ll keep his promise as he returns to his work.

[blueberrypancakesworld]

If you’re taking headcanon requests, I have a very specific idea for Frollo that’s been living rent free in my head for awhileeeeeee.

Imagine Frollo being summoned as a ghost into the modern world by a nonbinary spirit medium or witch. Just, let this man loose his entire mind as a FAR too lovely witch is running around chatting with ghosts, and trying to calm him tf down in the process XD

Probably doesn’t help that “nonbinary witch” would probably sound like evil itself to Frollo lol

The horror of the new day

Frollo x nb!reader

warning : just some funny things and a very confused Frollo

Info : Thanks for this request @add-a-bit-of-neurospice it was an interesting idea/concept but was like I said really,really fun to write. Frollo just in our time and dies again of the ,,sins" he sees everywhere :) I hope you like it and have fun reading ;)

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

Hell had been his home since he had fallen into the flames in front of Notre Dame, the stone had crushed his body and the flames had not left him as ashes, he had been in hell.

His faith was right after his soul had left his body he found himself in. The infinite inferno was burning again, an eternal flame that tormented him until he threatened to lose his mind.

Time was irrelevant and he no longer had any feeling for it except the pain of seeing the souls of his victims and enemies pass by, but he hardly paid any attention to them.

Until one day in infinite time he felt his body rise from the flames and was freed. It had to be God he was convinced as the flames around him. Around him became less and less.

The darkness enveloped him before he heard a distant voice calling out to him, saying his name. Looking around for the person, his soul coalesced into the image, his body easily visible around the ring that had suddenly appeared.

He was heavier than the flames, heavier than the pain and it held him. It held him until the darkness around him receded, his voice became clearer and when he lifted his gaze he was standing in a room. ,,What is this?" he asked, confused as to why his jellyfish had ended because when he ascended he was supposed to be in the clouds, singing and becoming an angel.

,,Oh my Lillith, it worked!" he heard the voice more clearly and saw the right person. The first thing he noticed was the pointed hat and the necklace with the pentagram. A witch someone he would have burned immediately if he still had the time.

But when he looked further at the she-devil, he saw pants instead of a dress and her hair was short. A demon. ,,Demon, why did you call me?" he asked, a hint of fear in his voice, it must be a powerful being if it could summon him with a ring. ,,Demon? Oh no, I'm a witch, a medium do you understand Frollo?" the person asked him and continued to walk around the room excitedly, collecting ingredients, clothes and books and muttering to themselves.

It was a sight that confused and unsettled him. It couldn't be his time, in his time there was no glowing sun on the ceiling, no clocks that seemed so small and thin.

And this glowing book on which his summoner was typing only confused him even more. Suddenly he felt the ring that had summoned him glow and he understood even less what was going on. ,,Okay, Frollo, listen. You are in the year 2023 and I have to ask you a few questions for a assignment," he listened to the demon and gradually realized that hundreds of years must have passed.

Hundreds of years in which he suffered that felt like the eternal time of an hourglass. The world and especially the church seemed to have changed.

The more he saw of this wonderful space, the more he realized that there was neither a cross nor a holy image of Jesus and Mary. ,,Two thousand and twenty-three... and you demon summoned me?" he asked hesitantly and stopped in front of a glass box with a sun in it and saw a snake inside.

The demon's soul animal. He turned back to the strange creature in disgust. ,,Yes, I did, to be more precise, my first summoning. How do you feel, or rather, what was it like to fall to your death like that?" The person asked again and the spirit looked down at the ring.

The world was strange to him things had changed and yet the hellfire had stopped. Talking was not a sin and if it meant staying away from the fire why not...nothing could be worse than hellfire. ,,I fell dear summoner creature, the flames had surrounded me but not caught me. It was the stone that broke my body before the fire could take me," he began to tell, walking around the room and seeing the interested look on his necromancer's face.

He saw how the summoner continued to make notes while he told his life story.

It felt good to talk again and not just think about pain. And the longer he talked, the more interested his counterpart became. Maybe he even told untruths, lies, but in order to be heard, to be right and not get caught in the fire, he would tell this witch, this demon everything.

Even after death, his justification and his guilt had not changed. But why should it? He had a listener who believed it and that was all that mattered in the here and now.

Even though he had to admit that the longer he looked around this strange room, told his story and listened to the witch, he was still interested in these new things around him. Maybe he would have to make a contract to take on this kind of witchcraft.

He even had to smile once when he managed to scare the stranger. When he showed him the picture when he died. However, this only led to the stranger turning on music or something similar on the glowing book and starting to pray wildly and say prayers.

It was very confusing and these words like cell phone, light bulb and non-binary were things he called divine and devil. But all this time he started to like the company when he sat down in the chair that was touched by the witch, giving him access.

Even if his gaze went to the suns around him, his gaze was always on his savior while Frollo strove over the ring…for a moment he was completely grateful to have been saved…maybe there was still hope…for his soul in the end.

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

Hope you enjoyed it @add-a-bit-of-neurospice

[mariacallous]

A month after the Hamas attack that murdered 1,400 Israelis, including entire families, the country is still at war. Israel has launched a ground offensive aimed at “defeating Hamas.” Israelis are mourning their lost ones, attending funerals, dealing with well over 200,000 people displaced from their homes near the border, identifying bodies, and fearing for the fate of the more than 240 remaining hostages,

The country is caught between the front lines in the Gaza Strip, where the death toll of Palestinians has reached nearly 10,000 people, and the ongoing conflict with Lebanon-based militant group Hezbollah in the north. Settler violence has surged in the West Bank, with armed militants raiding villages, torching fields, and firing at Palestinians, and even targeting Israeli peace activists. The West Bank death toll has surged to 154 Palestinians killed by Israeli fire since Oct. 7.

But after a month of conflict, is it still possible to imagine not just a cease-fire, but a peace? A bruised peace movement is struggling to come to terms with the brutality of Oct. 7—but some see the possibility of hope among the ashes.

Normally, during wartime, citizens rally in support of their government—the so-called rally-around-the-flag effect—and a wave of national unity is evident. Israelis are helping farmers in the south with the harvest, members of the ultra-Orthodox community have volunteered to cook and serve in the Israel Defense Forces (IDF), and mothers have donated breast milk for orphaned infants. It is estimated that almost 50 percent of Israelis have volunteered since the war began, all while the public and the military are engaged in a substantial activation of reservists.

But the sense of popular determination stands in sharp contrast to the profound decline in trust toward Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu and his government. Public confidence in Netanyahu is at a historic low. According to a recent poll by Israeli Channel 13 News: Some 44 percent of respondents believe that Netanyahu is directly responsible for Hamas’s attack, and 76 percent believe that he should resign, with 47 percent suggesting he should do so after the war and 29 percent calling for his immediate resignation.

A verse from Haim Nachman Bialik, widely considered Israel’s national poet, has begun to circulate on social media suggesting anger at the government juxtaposed with the cohesion of the populace: “It is the unseen wind that propels the ship forward, not the sails flapping noisily above the mast.”

Despite the resilience of civil society, it’s hard to imagine what comes next. Popular frustration has not coalesced into the organized demonstrations seen in the past, such as in the wake of the Sabra and Shatila massacres, when hundreds of thousands of Israelis called on then-Security Minister Ariel Sharon to resign, or after the 1973 Arab-Israeli War, with a protest that partially led to the resignation of Prime Minister Golda Meir. Nor have they matched the scale of more recent protest movements, such as the demonstrations against an attempted judicial overhaul.

Even before the Oct. 7 attacks, Netanyahu, Israel’s longest-serving prime minister, was already under pressure. He was contending with charges of bribery and fraud, and his efforts to enact judicial reforms—which aimed to diminish the power of the Israeli Supreme Court and potentially make it more difficult to oust him from office—had triggered some of the largest public protests in the nation’s history.

The Israeli liberal left has suffered a setback because the momentum of the anti-judicial reform and anti-Netanyahu protests was stopped in its tracks. Though Netanyahu is widely blamed for the security failure, that frustration hasn’t been channeled into renewing the movement; instead, demonstrations have been mostly limited to installations and peaceful protests to raise awareness to the hostages.

“Israeli society is in a state of shock. We are still identifying bodies, still attending funerals. People feel that this is not the moment to restart protests,” said Ido Dembin, the executive director of Molad, a liberal think tank, in an interview with Foreign Policy. “Moreover, there is a deep disconnect between the public’s desire for Netanyahu’s departure and the political leadership, which has yet to acknowledge this pressing demand.”

The hurt on the left is all too physical. Some of the kibbutzim that were worst hit by the Hamas attack, such as Be’eri, Nahal Oz, and Holit, are strongholds of leftist ideology. Among those murdered was Hayim Katzman, a peace activist; among those kidnapped was Vivian Silver, a dedicated peace advocate. Hundreds have been murdered, including many who devoted their lives to peace, Arab-Jewish solidarity, and the pursuit of ending the occupation. Maoz Yinon, whose parents both were murdered, has been vocal about his support for peace.

Public outrage at the right-wing government, with individuals such as Heritage Minister Amichai Eliyahu, who controversially suggested dropping on atomic bomb on Gaza, is evident. Ministers are chased away from hospitals by relatives of the injured.

“We’re seeing the unraveling of the right-wing doctrine that managing the conflict without end while weakening the voices of moderation is sustainable,” Labor Party Knesset member Naama Lazimi said in an interview with Foreign Policy. “Netanyahu and his colleagues have long empowered Hamas, because it served their interest by halting progress toward political dialogue. This approach has significantly undermined the Palestinian Authority and resulted in one of the gravest crises since Israel’s foundation.”

Yet there’s little public appetite for a cease-fire. According to a poll from the Israel Democracy Institute, even though Israelis lack clarity about the objectives of the operation in Gaza in relation to the government’s goals, they support the army and its mission. Save for Ayman Odeh, the head of the left-wing Hadash-Ta’al coalition, who along with 35 Israeli Jewish and Arab rights groups issued an open letter, no other Israeli leader has called for a cease-fire.

Many Israelis view the war as a necessary action to eliminate the threat of Hamas—and don’t put a lot of weight on Palestinian lives. The same Israel Democracy Institute poll showed that nearly 48 percent of Jewish Israelis surveyed think that Palestinian civilian suffering should not influence Gaza conflict strategies, and 36 percent say it should be given  “not so much” consideration. Meanwhile, 83 percent of Arab Israelis feel “very much” or “quite a lot” in agreement that it should be taken into account.

There are several reasons for this, beyond the sense of anger over the attacks. First, the lack of leadership has led Israelis to place an overinflated trust in the IDF. They trust it because with 300,000 reservists called up, most Israelis know someone who is serving.

Second, Israelis aren’t aware of the magnitude of destruction in Gaza. “Israelis are among the least aware of what’s happening in Gaza,” Dembin said.

The Israeli media, influenced by Netanyahu over the years, has also normalized extreme right-wing rhetoric. This includes people such as researcher Eliyahu Yossian, who suggested that the IDF should adopt the brutal behavior patterns of Hamas militants: “Zero morality, maximum bodies,” he declared on a prime-time TV show. “Liberalism has become the cult of the devil.”

Ratings have shot up for Channel 14, a Netanyahu-loyal TV channel that has taken a jingoistic line. Channel 12, the most popular channel, provides little coverage of the ongoing bombardment in Gaza—in part because journalists either need to get authorization from Israeli authorities to enter the enclave or enter another way.

As Shimrit Meir, once an advisor to right-wing former Prime Minister Naftali Bennett, wrote, “Someone decided about 20 years ago that coverage of the other side is leftist, and since then, the coverage of the opposing perspective has been minimal. This has strategic implications. For example, the heavy price Gaza already paid with bombardment. The feeling in Israel is that until we enter by land, nothing has happened.”

Protests against the situation, or even expressions of solidarity with the hostages, have also been met with censorship, suppression, or even violence.

Four former Arab Israeli Lawmakers were arrested over plans for anti-war protests. Uri Horesh, a professor at Achva College, was suspended from his job for posting against the war. Additionally, the police banned anti-war protests in the cities of Umm al-Fahm and Sakhnin.

Violence broke out at a Tel Aviv protest when a bystander accused the father of one of the abducted children of being a “traitor” and told him that he wished for “your daughter to die.” Left-wing activist Yona Roseman wrote, “Unlike the impunity the police have extended to far-right mobs, left-wing activists are facing detention and arrests for much less.”

National Security Minister Itamar Ben-Gvir has been particularly provocative. A former Kahanist—an outlawed party that advocates for a Jewish theocratic state and supports the annexation of the occupied territories—Ben-Gvir, who was convicted of expressing sympathy for terrorism, attempted to incite animosity against Israel’s Arab population at the onset of the war by claiming that there were indications of planned riots.

When those failed to materialize, Ben Gvir called to simplify the process for citizens to acquire firearms. Just last week, an Israeli rapper called the Shadow, known for his extreme right-wing views and online activism, was spotted on the Tel Aviv boardwalk carrying a gun.

“Unfortunately, there are those who have taken this tragedy as a chance to become vengeful and violent” said Alon-Lee Green, the director of Omdim Beyachad. “Right now, we are concentrating on Jewish-Arab solidarity,” Green said. “We are able to show people that Arab society is equally appalled by the murder of Israelis, and that we are in this together.”

The left, already marginalized domestically, feels further betrayed and alienated by a global left that has often engaged in apologism for the massacre, framing it as just another salvo between the oppressed Palestinians and their Israeli oppressors. Israel’s left find itself caught between the trauma of Hamas’s violence, a feckless government, and the dehumanization and abandonment by those who claim to stand up for human rights.

Yet despite the absence of leadership, the suppression of anti-war views, and a profound sense of alienation from the international community, there are signs of an increasing recognition of the conflict’s consequences and the potential for civil society and international actors to pave a new way toward resolution.

There is a growing awareness among Israelis and the international community that Hamas is distinct from the Palestinian people and their aspirations for self-determination. The actions and comments of Hamas leaders have solidified the movement’s status as an outcast, regardless of whether Israel can “erase” it.

Indicative of this perspective is the suggestion by Tzachi Hanegbi, the head of Israel’s National Security Council and a known security hard-liner, that the Palestinian Authority should take over governance in Gaza if Hamas were to be defeated. While it’s a controversial suggestion, it underscores an acknowledgment by some Israelis of the Palestinian Authority as the legitimate governing body for the Palestinians.

Emboldened by recent electoral gains—which saw Ben-Gvir ascend to the role of internal security minister and Bezalel Smotrich become finance minister (both of whom have been under investigation by the Shin Bet in the past)—the settler movement had overreached, underestimating the determination of mainstream liberal Israel. The liberal public began to connect the dots between the assault on the Supreme Court by the government and the attacks by settlers in Palestinian villages such as Hawara. “Where were you in Hawara?” became a chant in the anti-judicial overhaul protests.

The public has also become aware that on Oct. 7, just two battalions were deployed to maintain security at the Gaza border, while 32 units were dedicated to protecting the settlements.

This overstep by the settler leadership has unintentionally cast a spotlight on the immediate threats to democracy that many Israelis now perceive with growing clarity. The settlers and their allies not only benefit from the occupation, but also endorse an agenda that erodes democratic values. They promote a model of Israeli governance that is in sharp contrast to the pluralistic, democratic values held dear by a substantial segment of the population.

This animosity may lead Israelis to acknowledge that reining in the settler initiative, dismantling illegal outposts, and granting the Palestinian Authority more autonomy is not just a partisan issue; it’s a matter of existential importance. Settlers have used the cover of war to increase their violence in the West Bank, a phenomenon that the U.S. White House has called out aggressively

Another powerful factor is the White House’s renewed vigor in seeking to resolve the conflict with a sustainable long-term solution. As President Joe Biden’s approval ratings decline domestically, in Israel, his unequivocal support for the Israeli populace—and his critiques of leadership—have garnered respect even from those who were previously doubtful.

“Since the war began, Biden has proven that he is a true leader in this conflict. Even right-wingers, who had until recently written him off as senile and ineffectual, have started to change their tune,” Dembin said.

A Maariv poll showed that if elections were held today, a centrist coalition would have 78 seats. This would give it a mandate to govern effectively the day after. The old right/left paradigm is dead for now. This could give the White House a way in to create a package that could suit a wide range of the Israeli population.

U.S. Secretary of State Antony Blinken stated that Gaza “must not be reoccupied” discussed the Palestinian Authority taking control over Gaza when the war is over. PA President Mahmoud Abbas’s approval—albeit as part of a wider Palestinian state—shows that there is some possibility of that proposal working

Yair Lapid stated in an Al-Arabiya interview that the Palestinian Authority should govern Gaza post-conflict, with backing from the global and Arab communities. He added that this could revive two-state talks. And Netanyahu himself has remained implacable, suggesting that Israel will control Gaza for the foreseeable future. However, in a private conversation, Biden suggested that Netanyahu’s reign is on borrowed time.

And so, amid this crisis, a window has opened to find a sustainable solution to the conflict. Members of the Abraham Accords, along with states contemplating the normalization of relations with Israel—such as Saudi Arabia—hold potential sway in convening an international conference.

When it comes to the Israeli public’s readiness to support a process leading toward Palestinian sovereignty, Dembin is cautiously optimistic.

“I would think yes, they might get on board, but it would need to be a measured, gradual approach that reassures Israelis that their safety is front and center—not just an American push for regional peace,” he explained. “Israelis seem to warm up to the idea of peace and coexistence when there’s a solid proposal in play and tend to reject it when there’s nothing tangible in sight.”

[us3rnam3-r3dact3d]

and my body remains (but the person is gone)

Chapter 2: that fire from within (i put it out to grieve him)

Ao3| 1.9k Words | David's POV

David comes to help.

TW: Blood, allusions to dismembered body parts, aftermath of trauma.

David was supposed to be taking a math final. He watched, out of the corner of his eye, as the clock on the dash of his sedan flipped over to eight o’clock. He knew he was going to miss this test the minute he’d gotten off the phone with his dad. He’d abandoned the uniform he’d laid out the night before, left his packed backpack by the door, and stuffed an empty duffel bag with enough clothes for himself and his dad to last a few days. 

Something was wrong with Asher. So he and his dad would take care of him. It was as simple as that. 

That didn’t mean, of course, that he didn’t have a spike of anxiety when his missing the final was cemented in time. David had made perfect scores on all of his math tests that year, beating out his ninety-seven average from last year. He hoped that Mrs. Hatchworth would allow him to retake the final without a penalty. These were mitigating circumstances, afterall. She was unempowered, so she didn’t understand the way that a crisis rippled through a shifter pack, but she certainly could understand a family emergency. 

Asher’s house was dark and quiet when he pulled up. Something had felt distinctly off since last night. David had woken just after midnight, pulled from a strange dream. He’d been running through the woods, searching for something. He could have sworn he heard Asher’s voice calling out for him. 

That crushing need to find him, to protect him, still stirred uncomfortably in David’s chest. The pack bond that tied them together pulsed with worry. David’s core bounced along with his heart, his threads reaching for Asher’s familiar magic. 

A few years ago, when their cores first emerged, Ash had expressed that it felt strange and foreign inside of him. He said that it felt like something had crammed its way between his ribs, leaving him too full. David felt almost the opposite. He had had a hole in his chest since he was a child, and when his core coalesced, that hole filled up. It fit perfectly inside of him, and despite Asher’s discomfort, his magic fit perfectly too. 

They were meant to be like this, he and Ash, their cores as familiar to each other as they were to themselves, too much and too little and evening each other out. 

There was a cardboard box sitting on the front porch. He stared down at it as he rang the doorbell, his brow pinched in confusion. It was one of those filing boxes his dad used for pack paperwork and kept piled up, unorganized, in the garage. It drove him crazy. Those things held on to moisture like nothing else. The cardboard of this box was beginning to crumble under the dark, viscous liquid that was pooling in its bottom. 

David knew what blood smelled like. He swallowed at the tang of metal forming in the back of his throat. He wrinkled his nose and stepped around it. 

His dad came to the door, his face creased with something heavy and uncertain. David’s dad was, considering it all, a pretty carefree guy. He looked so unnatural like this, stressed, on high alert. 

“Where’s your uniform?” His dad asked, looking over David’s sweats and t-shirt. 

“I’m not going to school.” David replied simply. He didn’t ask, he told. He thought that there was very little in this world that could stop him from getting to Asher in this moment. “Ash needs me, right?” 

His dad stared at him for a long, tense moment. For the first time in a long time, David was very worried that he’d done the wrong thing and that his dad was going to be upset with him. 

And then a smile, soft and dampened, broke out on his dad’s face. One heavy hand landed on his shoulder and pulled him into a tight, back-cracking hug. David’s dad was a tactile person, and he wasn’t afraid to show his love and pride through touch like some men were. David usually bristled when Gabe hugged him, ruffled his hair, pressed their foreheads together in pack-greeting. But now, he let his dad hold on as long as he needed. 

“I love you, David.” He murmured into David’s shoulder. 

“I love you too, Dad.” He replied. 

His dad tried to warn him. He didn’t give David any details, but he was a smart person. Something had happened to Asher last night, and he was changed. That much David could feel in the air of the O’Connell house. Something was missing that had been there before. Asher was changed and he might not be back to normal for a long time. He might never be. That was fine. David didn’t need anything from Asher, never had. All he needed was Asher there. 

Mrs. O’Connell was on the floor of Asher’s bedroom, the lavender fabric of her dressing gown spread around her like rippling water. Her fiery curls, the same as Asher’s, fell around her face and head in a halo. She was facing the shadowy space under Asher’s desk, piled high with unfinished homework and a few, half-built lego sets. Her hand was outstretched towards the darkness, her fingers twitching lazily. 

At first, David thought that something was wrong with her, but she jerked and looked up as he came in, magic rippling through her body and threatening to shift as she processed a new aura in her vulnerable space. Her eyes locked with David’s and her shoulders slumped. She sat up, drawing her dressing gown close and crossed her legs under her. 

“David,” she said softly and held a hand out to him. He entered the room slowly, mapped out his movements clearly so he wouldn’t startle her. 

When they were eight, Asher had fallen out of an orange tree in David’s backyard and snapped his leg in half. Mrs. O’Connell hadn’t let Asher out of her sight for weeks afterwards. 

David slipped his hand into hers, and she pulled him down to kneel next to her. Her hand rested on the nape of his neck and bent his back so that their foreheads brushed together. David had always found pack-greetings to be somewhat uncomfortable. Contact wasn’t always easy for him, especially with people he didn’t know or didn’t know well. The pack was family, of course, but he wasn’t close to all of them. It was easy and familiar with his dad and with Asher, who always seemed to be touching him somehow, somewhere. Mrs. O’Connell seemed to note his discomfort. She was as tactile as her son, always running her palm over his forehead, pulling him into hugs, pressing kisses into the crown of his head, even when he grew taller than her. But she kept her distance from David, respected his space. It was something he had always appreciated about her. 

So he knew, in this moment, that the contact was for her sake and not his. She held him there, exhaling as a weight left her shoulders. 

“Shifters like having their pack close by,” his dad had told him when he was very little, “especially when somebody is hurt.” The O’Connell’s stayed in their house for three weeks after his mom died. Asher was glued to his side the entire time. 

Mrs. O’Connell broke away, her face turned down bashfully. She looked back over her shoulder to the space beneath the desk. He followed her gaze. At this level, he could see what she had been reaching to. Asher was pressed tightly against the corner, his long limbs wrapped up into a tight ball. His shirt was torn and hanging off of him awkwardly. Blood was smeared over his face and hands. Not his blood. The same blood that David had smelled on the porch. 

“Aíne,” his dad called from the doorway. She didn’t look away from Asher. Neither did David. “It’s here.” She took her bottom lip between her teeth, her body tensing.

“I’ll stay with him.” David said softly. “I won’t let anything touch him.” 

Mrs. O’Connell’s gaze finally broke away from Asher and back to him. Her eyes held his captive for a long, tense moment. Finally, she unfolded her legs from under her and stood. Her hand came to his cheek and tilted his head up so she could press a kiss to his forehead. 

The door closed behind her. David let his breath out in a puff. 

He lowered himself fully onto the floor, laid out on his side, so he could meet Asher’s eyes. They were open and wild, something crazed and defensive in them. Ash looked so different, even from how he had looked the day before. Christ, it had barely been twelve hours since he’d seen Asher. He’d left David’s house around seven-thirty the night before to head home. David had been on him about reviewing for their math final. He should have driven Ash home. He should have gone with him. He should have guarded him against whatever had hurt him this badly. 

He blinked, squeezed his eyes shut. That was ridiculous. Asher was capable as all hell. He didn’t need David to look after him like a lost puppy. David was still getting used to the possessive thing in his chest that had come with his wolf. At least he’d stopped snapping at the other kids in school when they touched Asher or Milo. 

Ash seemed to be looking through him, eyes glazed and strange. David exhaled slowly and tried to calm himself. 

“Ash,” he said, his voice painfully quiet, “I’m right here. Whatever you need… whenever you’re ready. I’m gonna be here.” 

He extended his arm out, palm up, towards Asher. He mirrored Mrs. O’Connell’s vigil. 

Eventually, she came back, Mr. O’Connell with her. She knelt next to him, her fingers running through his short, dark hair. She smelled like blood. At some point, they both shifted. He found his head pressed against the warmth of Mrs. O’Connell’s coat. Mr. O’Connell stalked the room a few times before settling, sitting sentinel with his back to David and Asher, perched and ready for anyone who could enter unwanted from the bedroom door. David pressed himself into them, his core thrumming to the sound of pack, pack, pack. 

The afternoon sun had cut across the room by the time Asher moved. David was sitting in the warmth and quiet, so close to sleep. He barely contained the jolt that ran up his spine when cold, thin fingers spread across his palm. He opened his eyes wide. Asher’s were staring back, a bit clearer, a bit more his. 

“Hey,” he said softly, “hey, Ash. We’re here. When you’re ready.” 

It took hours, coaxing Asher out inch by inch, slow movement by slow movement. By the time the sun had set, Ash was pressed against him, head to toe, his head resting on David’s outstretched arm, his fingers curled tightly in David’s t-shirt. David moved just as slowly, left Asher the room to pull away or reject every touch. He didn’t, though. 

His shoulder ached from being pressed into the ground, his thigh numb from resting under his other leg. He was sweating from the heat of having two wolves pressed on either side of them, and Asher’s space heater of a body curled against his chest. He didn’t move, though, didn’t complain. 

As long as Asher needed him there, that was where he’d stay. If it meant he spent the rest of his life curled up on Ash’s dirty bedroom floor, it would be a life well spent. 

[ilyuu-archive]

warnings : spiderman scara,,,,,,,,, hurt/comfort, fluff (at the end), exes to lovers, argument, injuries, mentions of blood, lmk if i missed anything!

a/n : this is so rushed head in hands

all thanks to @gekkow <3

“…again?”

there’s no response.

at the edge of the balcony, on the handrails, is a someone that you’ve seen a bit too many times for your liking (and yet not enough.) his mask is pulled off, showing you a face too familiar.

a shaft of moonlight frames him, and grazes his skin as to shine on the scars that tears - blotches of blood mar, and whether it was his or someone else’s, the stench of iron, copper, is something you don’t see yourself adjusting to anytime soon. his suit, tightly clinging to his body, bears ash, cinders to it as motes of embers float around him if you know what to look for. webs stick to the rails.

in the backdrop, sirens ring. an echo of disaster yet again.

strands of his hair are strayed, unruly, as it sticks to his skin in all sorts of ways. you took a step, and, even as the dark of the night seems to swallow him whole, just barely, you see him stiffen. you soon find yourself before him, and with little to no hesitation on your part, you cup his cheeks in the palm of your hand, and try to brush his hair into order (into what you’re used to.)

his breath hitches.

“i’m no doctor, y’know,” you told him, words with a bite, and yet, softer, quieter. your fingers comb his fringes. “you can’t keep coming here every single time you need a patch up.”

“…don’t know where else to go,” is all he says. you still. there’s a lack of… anything in his voice, his words. just a husk of himself. “this is the only place i could think of.”

he doesn’t meet your eyes.

you don’t know how to take that.

the silence finds the two of you again as you step back, seeing the locks of his hair, fade in with the night. free of ash, if debris, of any sign - it made you let go of the breath you didn’t even know you were holding in. (one of the many things from the last few months that made you think.)

“alright,” you let go of him, and turned, “let me just get the first ai—”

“[name].”

the way he calls your name has you in a grip. his shadow looms over you, lofty, and dragged out that you’re engulfed in his own sort of faint darkness. he alights himself from the rails and takes a step towards you, and that alone has you still. he notices and stays where he is for a bit - the bit that stretched on into minutes.

“i…” he sighs, and the sound is coalesced with thoughts and feelings that feels foreign to you. you aren’t sure whether you’d like where said thoughts and feelings were going to lead him to, even as you know now.

“can we talk about this later?” those are words you’ve played on loop as of late, scratching on its record; it tastes of vinyl. “this isn’t a good time fo—“

“will that time ever come then?”

“i… i don’t know.”

“you’re not sure if anything as of late.”

“as of late, as you put it, someone came back into my life after leaving out of nowhere. so, no, everything i thought i knew, i— it doesn’t seem to be the case anymore.”

he falls quiet.

“you can’t just— just come and go whenever you want to. that just…” you bit your lip, a searing pain cut into the skin, and taste a bead of blood. the feeling doesn’t compare to this feeling, these feelings. “that just hurts. dammit, kuni, it hurts.

those feelings of loss, wondering whether it was something you’ve done, and all those nights, staying up until the sun itself welcomes you anew, turning on those corners of thoughts, memories with him. everything was alright, everything seemed fine - you were happy, more than happy, with him and every single shred of memory you look into has been blanketed in bliss.

and you were sure he felt the same. the small smiles on his lips, the quiet acts of affection he did to express himself in his way, the way he looks at you - was it all some sort of vision you’ve deluded yourself to fall for since the very start?was it something at all? or was it nothing? was everything nothing?

and those thoughts from those nights seems to flood into your head yet again. you aren’t sure (anymore.)

and when he wrapped his arms around you? awkward, light, and yet, gentle all the same? you felt like crying right then and there, in the one place, in the arms of someone you love, that you didn���t find yourself in for a while. you didn’t mind if some of the blood smears on you, you didn’t mind if the ash clings onto you, you didn’t mind.

and you didn’t like you didn’t mind. you didn’t like how you didn’t mind the way he held you, as if he wasn’t the first person who’d let go all those months ago. as if he want the one who left and never did look back, as if this entire thing that held the two of you so tightly, so tenderly, was simply a tie to be soon cut.

“to be the reason,” he says, and a silver of himself shines through, “that you’d get hurt, sooner or later, whether or not i was the one who caused it… i wasn’t going to risk it.”

“so leaving was the only choice you had?”

“it… was for the best.”

“even you don’t believe that.

“maybe not. i didn’t want you to be harmed simply because of what i’m involved in, in what i commit to on a daily basis.” his fingers curl into your hair. “because… because of me. i won’t let that happen. i didn’t want to let that happen.”

a pause.

“…do you hate me?”

“i do.” you feel his arms slacken a bit. “every single time i tried to sleep, and every single time i saw something that reminded me too much about you, i hate you all over again.”

“and then i fall in love with you in those same things.”

you turn around in his arms, and notice how close he is to you, a bit closer than either of you expect. he turns his head to the side, for your sake, giving you some space, but he follows along with you as your fingers tilt his head back to you. there’s a spark the two of you shared, flitting across your fingertips.

“it’d hurt, kuni, i’m not going to lie. and don’t think just because you had the intent to protect me is going to fix this or make me feel better either because there are a lot more of ways to go about that.” you wrap your arms around his waist, and feel him tense all over again, all on ends. his nerves are soothe, though, as your hand caresses his back in soft, slow strokes.

“…just don’t leave me again.”

he settles himself in the crook of your neck, taking in all of you - from your warmth, overwhelming the cold of his skin, the tremble of your voice, and all the other things that seemed to slip from his fingers over the months without you. your fingers shivered, pulling on his shoulders, leaving dents into his skin - he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“of course.” he pressed a peck to your forehead. the softness of his lips against your skin softened your nerves, if only for a bit, a second out of thousands.

“i’d rather be beside you if anything happens.”

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