#after a constant rift in space to the realms

[regonold]

Ok so i was listening to the tornado by owl city and thought of this

Portals to the realms should never be opened long for if they are the area around them gets corrupted a filled with ectoplasm burnt up from sustaining the Portal now the Fenton Portal has had this happen but it was unnoticeable due to danny cleaning the ecto filter

But slowly a pool of corrupted ectoplasm was building under the town of amity and oneday after yet another fight with one of his rouges it starts swirling now amitys natural ghostly ness has kept it contained within it's boarders

But the amount of "lazerus waters" here is enough to fully consume the city above it and it's started swirling growing up to encase the city above it

Far away from amity in the watch tower john constantine had called a meeting about a small town in illinois due to rising death energies there due to this they think that the ghost king is attempting to use a herald to summon him to this relam to reak havoc

So they go to try stop it and reach there in time to see a swirling green forcefield of sorts coming the town upon closer inspection they see a teen with snow white hair stinking of death magic with his hands in the force field john saus that must be the herald of the ghost king so superman flies to pull him away from the swirling green field

Danny on the other had is panicking his family his fright his people and his haunt are all in there he has to stop it he has to and now some asshole in blue is telling him to stop this? Oh hell no he'll save what's his thank you very much

[liquid-luck-00]

Red Binding 5

Maribat March Day 5: Anarchist

Accidentally wrote day 6 for day 5 whoops

Is it more chaos or general agrivation more than anarchy, yes. Do I love it all the same, also yes.

@maribat-calendar-events @maribatserver

First *** Previous *** Next

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"What is that!?!" Jason shouted, as a siren blared through the tunnels of the complex.

"You don’t know?" The girl, Marinette, shouted as she held her hands to her ears.

He could barely hear her but he shook his head regardless. Plagg flew up, his little paws holding his ears flat to his head.

I’ll go see what’s going on. He heard a light cheery voice in his mind. And then the little red bug kwamii disappeared. It wasn’t too long after that the Kwamii, Tikki his mind supplied, returned. The alarm started to quiet and became a constant hum.

"They found out you aren’t in your room." Her cheery voice supplied.

"Merde." Marinette cursed. "Are they going into lockdown or just high alert?"

"They are in high alert, but you need to get back without being seen."

"Okay." She got a look on her face and her attention snapped to him. "That might work."

"Mari what are you planning."

"They are looking for me, right?"

"Yes."

"But not him, right?"

"That’s the point, bluebell." Plagg huffed from on top of his head.

"Then all he has to do is get to my room and we can open a rift."

"That wasn’t the intended purpose of the spell, Marinette." Tikki scolded the girl.

"I’m sorry what are you talking about."

"A rift, is the byproduct of a spell. Items are able to traverse space and time instantly."

"So it can teleport things?"

"It acts more like a gate." Tikki supplied worry furrowing her tiny brow.

"So what’s special about it, people warp all the time."

"That isn’t the issue kid." Plagg flew forward. "It’s the fact that you will both need to pass through the celestial realm."

"It’s not impossible, right."

"Theoretically it’s not, it’s just no living being has tried before."

"But if this works we might avoid a civil conflict."

"We just don’t know the ramifications."

"Just lay it on us, what’s the worst that could happen?" Jason asked tentatively.

"That’s the thing we have no idea."

"You could walk out of this without injury, or worse your souls could be permanently erased."

"Well we have to try." Marinette squared her shoulders. "I can’t go out there without it becoming an incident. Please, Jason. I know this is a lot to ask, but please at least try."

He looked between her and the Kwamii. They looked worried , but ultimately didn’t stop her from asking. While she pleaded him to try. "Fine. Where is your room?"

"Um…" She thought for a moment before giving directions, she took a while as she recounted her steps.

"Since it seems like you are actually going to do this, you need to jump through at the same time, or else the rift could close. Understood."

"Yes." They chorused as he slipped out of his room leaving the girl, Marinette, there alone.

This doesn’t seem like you kitten. Plagg questioned as he made his way through the complex. Do you have a crush or something.

He didn’t answer, just kept walking.

You do! Plagg cackled.

It’s not like that! Jason shot back. I just don’t want to see her get hurt.

Hm. Plagg hummed, but ultimately kept quiet the rest of the way.

He was able to make it to her room without being stopped, and hopefully spotted.

Wait. Plagg popped out and floated to the door, pressing a paw to the surface. Pink light simmered before fading. She’s cautious. Go ahead.

He slipped inside and closed the door. Ready. What’s the spell?

Channel the magic about a foot in front of you, that’s where the rift will open. Repeat after me.

Okay.

དོ་མཉམ་གཏོར་བཤིག་དང་གསར་སྐྲུན་གྱི་སྟོབས་ཤུགས་ལ་བརྟེན་ནས་ང་ཚོས་ལྟ་སྲུང་瓢་འབུ་དང་བྱི་ལ་ནག་པོའི་མིའི་བར་དུ་གས་སྲུབས་ཤིག་ཕྱེས་ཡོད། དེའི་ནང་དུ་ཞུགས་པ།

(To bring balance the powers of destruction and creation, we open a rift between those who guard the ladybug and black cat. Accessium.)

The entire time he was seeing a light grow until it formed a glowing teal oval big enough to fit into. Tikki popped out of the portal. "Ready!" She chirped. "Plagg go through, On the count of three."

"On it, in two shakes of the tail." Plagg flew through.

"I hope this works, for all our sakes." Tikki sighed but he couldn’t focus on that. As she started to count. "One, two, three."

She gave him a nudge and he ran at the light.

He shut his eyes and it was cold, colder than it had any right to be but he didn’t stop. He felt something warm pass him so he opened his eyes for a second. All he saw was her bluebell eyes before they each continued in opposite directions. The second he made it back he promptly fell onto his bed. Exhaustion over taking him.

How do you feel, kid.

Like I was just pummeled by Fayez again.

Well nothing seemed to change physically, at least.

I can’t feel my face, Plagg.

I told you you need to train your magic more. He laughed at him.

Yeah well I did that.

Good job, kitten.

•••

Marinette just stepped out and watched as the rift closed slowly behind her, so she also released the magic that she was holding the other gate open.

Can you go check that Jason is okay, please Tikki?

I’ll be back. Tikki hugged her cheek. Don’t do anything reckless while I’m gone.

I make no promises.

Tikki sighed at her antics like every time before. Someone’s coming.

Mari nodded and Tikki zipped off to check on the other two.

She then realized that the wards at the door were removed, and she guesses it must have been Plagg who did so. But she feels someone approaching. So she does something.

She sat on the ground and started to meditate. But while she did that she concentrated her magic and created a veil around her to refract and reflect light. Thus making her invisible, at least while she stayed still, she closed her eyes to immerse herself in the magic. She continued to weave her spell as no one had entered her room. A bit of chatter was outside but she wasn’t focused on it. But that was when the door slammed against the wall making her jump, breaking her concentration on the spell. It started to break, the light becoming visible as it shattered, before completely disappearing.

"What were you doing?" She saw the demons head stalking towards her, his very being dripping venom and anger, so she stood up.

"At this moment wondering why you so rudely slammed the door open and are so rudely yelling at me."

She held her voice level, impassive, watching him.

"That is not what I meant, so answer."

He towered over her, glaring at her, and frankly she felt he wanted to kill her.

"Didn’t your commander give you the itinerary?" She asked, making her eyes bigger, innocent, and he took a step back.

"I believe the time would be close to 18:00 thus it would be our allotted time for our meditation."

"That doesn’t answer the question, you are only evading it." He was starting to get angry, barely contained, but they both know the implication if either were to strike.

"I was practicing light manipulation today as my meditation exercise. That is why you couldn’t see me when you first barged in."

He narrowed his eyes, calculating his next words carefully. "And what of your door?"

So there was something on the door, that probably made them realize.

"What do you mean by that?" She didn’t want to give him any information that could lead to her suspicion.

"Why was it open?" He was annoyed that he seemed to have to spell it out.

"I must not have closed it, when I handed in the itinerary." She was just rolling with it at this point.

"After all no one actually entered my quarters, or else we wouldn’t be having this call conversation, correct?" She knows no one did, if Plagg really was the one to break through her wards.

"Do not do this again." He growled, restraining himself greatly.

"I’m sorry but I meditate twice daily. So I will unfortunately not be able to abide by that particular wish."

"The man turned on his heel, his cape billowing behind him, but that didn’t hide the fact that he left with his tail between his legs."

He might have years on her, but she has the knowledge to back her claims. That and she has a newfound reason to spite the man. Everyone left the hall and her room. She closed the door and immediately put back her wards.

"That was rash, Mari." Tikki scolded her.

"But it worked didn’t it."

"You were playing with fire. The only reason he was so lenient was because the Pits of Lazarus are in such deplorable condition."

"You need to be more cautious, this recklessness will be your undoing."

"I’m sorry I worried you Tikki." The kwamii sat back on one of the pillows piled on the bed. "I’ll try and be better at it."

Tikki smiled and she knows she has to put in effort, but she really does need to think this all through. Mari climbed into the bed exhausted, next to Tikki.

Both of them are fine, and it seems you are too.

That’s good. Mari closed her eyes drifting easily to sleep.

Next

~~~~~~~~~~

Permanent Taglist: @jennifer-rose123 @toodaloo-kangaroo @joydone07 @mizzy-pop @starling218 @crystalqueertea

Taglist: @shizukiryuu

[florencemtrash]

The Wisp Between Worlds

CHAPTER TWO: THE GIRL AND THE WOLF

Acotar fanfic/rewrite. Inner Circle x OC. Eventual Azriel x OC.

Summary: Have you ever wondered what you would do (and do differently) if you found yourself trapped in the fantasy world of your dreams? For Nora, this fantasy of hers is about to play out when she finds herself portaled away to the Moral Lands south of Prythian. But all is not as it seems. Feyre Archeron is missing and the deadline to break Amarantha’s curse draws near. Who will save Prythian now?

Warnings: None for this chapter that I can think of, but expect angst, death, and sadness in the future.

Masterlist

________________

THIRTEEN MONTHS AFTER THE GIRL ARRIVED

The village people still whispered when she passed. With her strange features and unknown origin, coupled with the depressing lack of gossip in their small town, rumors spread like wildfire.

“She’s a high fae that appeared in the dead of night to Jaskiel Klavier,” Edna Evans whispered to her many sons, the youngest of whom still clutched her skirts in the marketplace so he wouldn’t get lost. “She promised him immortality if he would hide her in the moral realm. Can you imagine?! Even the fae are terrified of their own lot. Stay away from the creature.”

Others guessed she was Jaskiel’s bastard daughter, born to a mistress on the far east side of the continent who’d risked everything to reunite Nora with her rich, merchant father. What shame and disappointment the girl must have felt when she found out Jaskiel was penniless. 

The only rumor that pleased Nora was the one that labeled her a foreign-born royal, hiding in their small town close to the wall to escape assassins. The people who believed that were the ones most likely to leave her alone.

Still, none of their theories could come close to the ridiculousness of the truth - that she was really a being from another world, an unfortunate accident that had slipped through a rift in space-time and landed unceremoniously in the Moral Lands south of Prythian. As far as interdimensional beings went, Nora was incredibly boring. 

The trip through the rift had been brutal. To her it felt like years, maybe even decades, had passed with her body in a constant state of drowning. She’d been stretched into spaces both infinite and infinitesimal in size. When the pressure on her body had finally ceased she’d found herself cradled in silt at the bottom of a pond. With just enough strength and sanity left to emerge from the murky waters, Nora had dug her fingers as far into the loose and wet soil as they could go and promptly passed out. That was how Jaskiel and Dinah Klavier found her - soaking and swampy amidst the katniss plants.

“Ignore them, dear,” Dinah laid a hand on the small of Nora’s back as some of the townie boys sneered. Tommy Blicker, the blacksmith’s son, grabbed her arm roughly as she passed. His sturdy fingers were strong enough to support the dozens of iron rings he sported. His flat lips turned down when Nora didn’t react. 

Nora’s frown was deeper, eyes the color of strong coffee narrowed at the boy. Dinah slapped his hand away, giving him a deadly glare before he stomped off to rejoin his friends.

Iron, everyone in town wore it or had it concealed somewhere on their person: iron buttons, iron rings, iron necklaces. Even Nora wore iron in the form of two bracers on her wrists. But that didn’t stop people like Tommy Blicker from harassing her. She couldn’t imagine his disappointment when she hadn’t run away from him screaming. Everyone knew iron burned the fae.

The only ones who didn’t wear any metal at all were the Children of the Blessed.

Dinah steered Nora away as two of their cloaked members stepped into their path, preparing to intercept them.

“May the Mother bless you,” they called out in weak and wispy voices, waving a thin stack of papers in their hands. 

The stream of villagers on their way to the weekly market parted around them like water around stone. The shorter one with chestnut brown curls peeking out from beneath her hood caught Nora’s eye and immediately bowed, the other following shortly after.

Nora cast a wary eye towards the Children of the Blessed.

“They’re nothing but a bunch of religious fanatics. No need to pay attention to them.” Dinah’s lips tightened as she saw Nora fold in on herself, ducking her head as they continued on their way to the market. Nora instinctively pulled up her hood, wrapping it tightly around her head to keep the Children of the Blessed at bay. They’d snipped off a lock of her hair three months ago. It was such a small action - she hadn’t even noticed them at first - but more violating than anything else she’d experienced. She imagined them passing her hair around in their secret circles, scheming about what piece of her to take next so they might finally cross the wall into Prythian.

“Have you heard back from the other villages? About my letters?” Nora asked, trying to ignore the Children of the Blessed as their eyes followed them down the road.

Dinah sighed and shook her head. “I’m sorry dear. No one’s heard of your sister, Feyre.”

It was a lie she’d told Dinah and Jaskiel when she first met them - that she’d been separated from her sister after being kidnapped by slavers and taken across the sea from the Continent.

In truth, the only sibling Nora had was an older brother - charming and dead after being struck by a drunk driver 6 years ago. She tried not to think about her parents sitting in their now empty house - it hurt too much. 

Where was Feyre Archeron?

Someone must know about her. 

She lay awake at night dreaming about finding her and following her to Prythian. Perhaps one of the High Lords or ancient creatures there would be able to send her home.

Nora eventually split off from Dinah, shouldering the potato sack that held her beaver and rabbit pelts while her adoptive mother bought their weekly supply of food and medicine. Whatever money Nora was able to make would go towards buying Dinah a new pair of shoes. The current pair were flat as string and barely thicker.

Moriarty’s shop was as stocky and brick red as the man who owned it. Smoke curled its way out of the chimney, carrying with it the scent of blood and newly cooked meat. It made Nora’s mouth water. Her stomach clenched painfully - a feeling she was growing accustomed to. Gone were the days when all it took to solve her hunger was a walk to the kitchen or a drive to the nearest grocery store.

A stranger stood outside Moriarty’s leaning against the brick wall and fiddling with a thin, iron knife in her hands. Her silver-streaked hair betrayed her age, even though her body was as sturdy and immovable as a mountain. The hilt of her broadsword peeked out from behind her back and Nora tried not to stare at the angry scar that ran the length of her cheek, pulling at her jawline like someone had tried to trace her profile.

“You’re the fae girl, aren’t you?” The woman called out. Her voice held the reedy twang of the western villages.

They’re nothing but a bunch of religious fanatics. No need to pay attention to them.

But this woman didn’t look like one of the Children of the Blessed. 

“Excuse me?” Nora froze in her tracks, tightening her grip on the sack.

The older woman pushed herself off the wall, towering over Nora’s small frame and looking her up and down with a dissecting gaze. 

Nora jerked back as the woman flung out a leather hand, yanking her cloak down so she could get a look at the girl’s ears. The curve of them was distinctly human. Nora grabbed at her hair, flattening the locks against her skull so they couldn’t be snipped off.

“It’s just as I supposed - not a fae. Not at all.”

The woman’s eyes caught sight of her sharp cheeks - too sharp for a girl as young as her - and the gaunt brown eyes staring back. Strapped to her back was an old, weathered bow, far too large for someone of her size to handle. Concealed within the folders of her cloak was a quiver to match. The woman counted three arrows inside of it, the tips blunt and stained with blood. 

“You hunt?”

“...yes.”   

“Do you hunt well?” The girl’s eyes sharpened, lips turning downward. They seemed almost designed to frown.

“Well enough.”

“Beavers, squirrels, deer, maybe - if you’re lucky.”

She beckoned her closer, gesturing for Nora to open the sack so she could look at her meager offerings. There were 4 beaver pelts and two rabbits, already skinned - a decent hunt… but would hunts like this help her get through winter? Already the snow was sticking to the ground, covering tracks as quickly as they were made.

“I’ll give you 100 copper for the lot.”

Nora almost barked out a laugh. She was hoping, praying, for 40 from Moriarty - and that was if he was feeling generous. 100 copper… that would last them for a month. If they were careful - and they knew how to be careful - they could stretch it an extra week. A month… another month to wait for winter to come and pass them by. Hunting to save, not hunting to live until tomorrow.

“What, you want more?” the woman cocked an eyebrow.

“No!” Nora blurted out, “I just mean…” she hesitated. No one in their right mind would pay that much, “I’ll take it.”

Her heart pounded like a hammer against her chest as the woman carefully counted out 100 coppers, slipping them into a small leather bag and dropping it into Nora’s outstretched hand. She immediately picked out a metal piece at random, inspecting it for counterfeit marks.

The woman huffed, “My money is true, girl.”

“I’ve been told that before, ma’am.” Nora said, daring to be polite. Her voice was as clear as a songbird. “I mean no disrespect.”

“No. You’re just careful.” Nora handed over her bag to the strange woman, legs eager to run towards the grocers and find Dina. The weight of the coppers grew heavier by the second. 

“Girl,” the woman said sternly, hands back to the iron knife, “Don’t go out into those woods any more. It’s not safe.”

Obviously. Beyond those walls Prythian waited like a feral dog itching for release.

“I can’t.”

“Can’t what?”

“I can’t not go.” What choice did she have? With Jaskiel ill at home and Dinah already working herself to death, how could she not? “I’ll take my chances.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed, brilliant blue irises gleaming colder than the air around them. She pulled a single arrow out from her own quiver - paler than any Nora had seen before - and thrust it into the girl’s arms.

“Ashwood,” she said, answering Nora’s unspoken question, “Use it well.” 

With the faintest smile the woman walked out onto the main roads and disappeared into the crowd of townspeople. 

Nora waited a few moments for her heart to slow its beating before walking as quickly as she dared towards the grocers to find Dinah. Her eyes had grown to the size of dinner plates upon hearing of the money she’d earned. They worked to lessen the weight of coppers in Nora’s pocket, ordering Dinah new shoes from the cobblers and getting an extra supply of medication for Jaskiel before rushing home to hide the rest of the coins in the shredded upholstery of Jaskiel’s chair. 

Hunting to save, not to survive. 

For the first time in eight months, Nora felt some rush of relief enter her body. 

>>>

Use it well.

Nora repeated the words to herself as she stalked through the forest, a slender arrow notched in her bow. Not the ashwood arrow. No, that was far too valuable for her to waste on the doe she’d been tracking for hours now, carefully following its narrow footsteps in the snow before it could be covered over. Normally she preferred to leave the females alone. Killing them now would only make it harder to hunt in the future. But now… now Nora didn’t have a choice in the matter. Jaskiel wasn’t getting any better, if anything the cold was making him worse. He’d never fully recovered from the illness that had ravaged the village three winters ago and his legs remained bone-thin and twisted. Every night the frost seemed to linger at the edge of the door, waiting to breathe death upon the man she’d come to see as an adoptive father in these strange lands. Nora needed to hunt if she wanted them all to survive. It was this fear, this most basic need to live that had driven her further into the woods than she would normally dare go.

It was early morning, the sun’s light beginning to pool over the earth like a bleeding wound. The cold seeped through her coat and her boots - both hand-me-downs from Dinah - and she felt that familiar twist of hunger in her stomach. There had been no time to waste this morning as she set out from the dilapidated cottage on the edge of town, ready to dive into the shadowy woods that called her name. It was hard not to think about where she’d been only eight months ago - sleeping in her own room with central air to keep her toasty in the winter and cool in the summer. There were no such things in the Mortal Lands. She wondered if there ever would be.

Somewhere in the distance a branch rustled, cutting through the crisp, clean silence. The creature was coming towards her. Nora immediately strapped her bow onto her back before clammering up a tree. The bark was frozen beneath her fingertips, cutting through the thin wool gloves she’d saved up money for last month. But still she found every crack and crevice to latch onto, her body moving through the branches with hardly a rustle. She settled into a crouch, knees pressing into the nook between two branches as she squinted her eyes, searching for the doe’s tan coat to appear against the snowy backdrop. She could hear it now, the faint crush of snow being disturbed. 

There.

The doe slowly emerged from behind a thicket, shaking off the thin coat of snow that had accumulated on her back. Black marble eyes peered out and, seeing nothing, continued on her way through the woods.

Nora notched her arrow, holding her breath as she pulled back against the taut bowstring. Her breath ruffled the fletching.

Come on. Come on. Just a little closer.

The doe stiffened, head jerking up so that Nora could see its eyes widen. Before it could bolt she let the arrow loose. The doe stumbled as it ran, the arrow lodged in its neck when she’d been aiming for the eye. It bleated in pain, running back into the thicket and disappearing from sight. 

Nora cursed, clambering down the tree and taking off after the creature.

It couldn’t have gotten far, but then again if it ran too close to the wall she’d have a hell of a time dragging its body back to the village. 

She followed the trail of blood like breadcrumbs, the pull of hunger dragging her legs forward even though the beginnings of a headache flashed behind her eyes. Finally she found the creature laying in the snow, labored breaths slowing into nothing. Her relief was short-lived, however. 

There was another hunter in the woods today. 

Lurking in the shadows of an elm tree, sniffing the air and licking its lips, was a wolf. Its dusty-gray body was taller than a fully-grown man, shimmering coat catching the light as its tense muscles rippled beneath the skin. Something about it felt… wrong. She’d never seen a wolf before, couldn’t judge whether it was the right size or whether the magic of this world made them different. But a voice whispered in her that it was different, special.

Nora had three options as it stalked towards her, acid green eyes sparkling with power: run and hope she could outrun it long enough to climb a tree, shoot the wolf, or die. Only one of those options would guarantee her a meal and as her stomach clenched painfully once more, her choices narrowed.

She swiftly pulled out the ash arrow and drew her bow, holding her breath as she aimed. 

Use it well. Use it well.

Staring down the shaft she saw the wolf gaze at her, a familiar human emotion crossing its inhuman face. It took Nora a moment to recognize it. Relief. Relief flashed across its face. Nora froze as it tilted its head to the left, exposing its neck to her. 

This was a familiar scene - the huntress and the wolf. She’d read it in a book once in her old world; a book about a human woman who’d been stolen away to an eternal spring in Prythian.

No. No. This can’t be real. But the wolf didn’t disappear as she lowered her weapon and walked as close as she dared. His sharp, intelligent eyes continued to stare at her. 

“Faerie… that’s what you are. Isn’t it?” The wolf snapped his head towards her, green eyes widening. 

“Do-do you know Feyre Archeron?”

A flash of recognition and a growl from deep in its throat was all Nora needed in confirmation. Wherever Feyre was she wasn’t here in the human realms to continue this story, not in the way it had been written. A flurry of excitement, strange and fiery, rushed through her body. She didn’t know why she’d been brought to this world, but she did know that whatever answers existed were waiting on the other side of the wall.

She drew her bow. “I’m sorry.” Nora said, hoping it would provide some comfort to the beast, before she let loose her arrow, straight into the wolf’s right eye.

It took her hours to drag the deer carcass back home, even with the makeshift sled cutting trails through the thick snow. The wolf she’d left behind for whatever, or whoever, came for it. 

“Nora?!” Dinah rushed out of the house as the young girl emerged from the tree line, sweat lining her skin and slowly freezing there. She gasped at the doe Nora dragged behind her.

The small cabin was a flurry of activity, the scent of blood and flesh filling the air as Dinah made quick work butchering the doe on the kitchen table. They’d dry some to keep in the cellar and sell the rest at the market today.

Nora sat quietly next to Jaskiel, damp hair slowly drying in the heat of the fire, as he sipped his tea and munched on a crust of bread. Her own empty cup lay abandoned on the floor by his seat. It was an old armchair that smelled faintly of mildew with wooden legs that had been chewed upon by all manner of insects and mice, but he sat there like it was a cloud made of the purest silk. Anything that got him off his feet was a welcome reprieve from the chronic pain in his legs.

“Thank you, child.” Jaskiel said, his smile tinged with sadness as he gently ran his fingers through Nora’s hair, untangling the knots. He offered her the remaining half of his bread, which she initially declined. 

“Come now, Nora. You need to eat to keep up your strength. I can’t imagine the lengths you traveled today.”

With some hesitation and a bow of her head, she accepted the meager morsel, chewing it slowly so that it softened in her mouth. Even when the bread was gone the taste lingered behind, sweet and comforting on her tongue. 

Her eyes remained trained on the door as night slowly descended upon the village.

What have I done?

________________

Author’s Note: And here is Chapter Two! I recently came out with a masterlist for this fanfic because I plan to continue writing this extensively. Here’s to hoping I figure out my work and writing schedule so I can start posting consistently. Thanks for reading! As always please feel free to reach out and let me know your thoughts!

[forgottnseccnd]

@warpcursed continued from here.

" I am RECLUSIARCH COLUMBA of the Stars Repentant! " The mysterious Marine spoke with quite a bit of pride to his voice.

He couldn't remember how long it'd been! Oh, how long it had been since he last got fresh air in his lungs!-- Well, he couldn't call it fresh air, since what lingered was the scent of death with Nurgle's horrors-- How long it had been since he had finally seen another human being, a citizen of Mankind! What stood before Ozura was a relic of an old age, with purity seals plastered over olden Heresy-era armor.

The armor was painted with old midnight blues, vertically halved with a more pearlescent lighter blue paint. Gold gilded the armor, fabrics with High Gothic in all sorts of writing draped from near his shoulder plating to the floor like olden stoles, and all sorts of scratches and cuts and damage was all over the armor. Though, the deepest looked to be some markings that were made deliberately upon the chestplate-- in the shape of the Terran dove constellation, Columba.

The Reclusiarch's eyes barely blinked. They stayed locked on Ozura in a constant thousand-yard stare, some warp frost slowly melting and dissipating as the Astarte now got used to being in realspace once again.

" A PLEASURE, Ozura! " The Space Marine now grinned to him-- but quickly, as a gurgling croak was heard from another poxwalker that DARED to enter his presence, Columba had suddenly spun around and grabbed at the giant, heavily-tattered standard and drove the tip of it into the infected creature, killing it instantly with a rather loud, " SAINT OF SAINTS SMITE YOU, CREATURE! "

Then, as if he hadn't just killed the thing, he turned to Ozura right after shoving the corpse of it off his standard with his boot. " Now-- where was I? Ah... Right! My friend, which planet is this? And why are you here? Surely a battle-psyker like yourself wouldn't be sent here on your own. Right?... er, right? "

His big ol' grin had tinges of worry to it now that he was thinking on it all. He remembered traversing through the realms of the Warp, through the blood swamps of Khorne, the horrid gardens of Nurgle, the endless labyrinths of Tzeentch and the circles of Slaanesh-- but then, a rift in the Warp had appeared!... and he took that chance the moment he could, and found himself here. Surely, it had been due to this fellow here!... but where were his comrades? By Lord Aurelius, if this poor man had been left to his own devices-- with daemons of NURGLE, no less...!

[originemesis]

@kugel-bitch from xxx

Ever the stickler for rules (rules that could land either of them in hot waters if disregarded that is to say) the prospect of up and abandoning their post to go galivanting through a realm that is very much off limits to her is...just a touch nerve-racking. Under different circumstances she likely would've given him a thorough finger-waggling for even entertaining the thought, but earth just so happens to be of particular interest to her. Yearning for things that are so far outside the realm of the reachable seems to be a constant across all manner of cognizant creatures, celestial, infernal and earthen alike. She has never needed for much—wanted for even less. Desire is the killer of virtue, she'd been told, the seed of sin, the more you give in, the deeper it's wicked roots worm their way inside your soul. A slippery slope. So, she treaded through life carefully. Always carefully. Until the narrow, tightrope of a path which had been meticulously laid out before her converged with the comparatively vast, uncharted wilderness of his. And there was no going back to carefully after that. Every step feels like a gamble these days, but you could say she has developed a taste for games of chance over the years. And that smile—it makes it pretty easy to toss the dice most days. "You're insane."

She can't help how his laughter stirs loose a blithesome series of chirps from her lungs. "Actually insane—alright, alright, quickly then, before anybody sees!" The forms can wait until later tonight, she decides, right there on the spot, pallid hands shooting forth to grasp Adam by the lower arm and she proceeds to tow him toward the bleary, verdant space-time rift, wings beating to aid in propelling them out of the office space as swiftly as possible. "Ah! But what if we run into other humans? I'm going to stand out like a sore thumb, aren't I? Do humans come in these colors? And wings? They don't have wings, do they? If I get captured by human scientists and experimented on you're going to have to file my MIA report. I've got copies in my locker."

It wasn't exactly a secret that she (like so many others in the golden realm) found topics of the Earthen variety about as titillating as some seedy novel tucked into a choir book. But in their defense, he was the standard of what came from that particular creation, and he hadn't exactly made an impression to convince anyone above the clouds otherwise. Made her genuine intrigue in the matter all the more endearing in a way despite him assuring her in past conversations that she really wasn't missing much to be bummed out whenever he had to cut her loose and tag along with an archangel for whatever reason they needed the best conduit in heaven to portal down- which just so happened to be him, the first sentient (though not necessarily intelligent) being on Earth. Yeah, those lofty sluts would flip their shit if they heard he'd smuggled her down there considering her lower tiered position in service and all...and they would hear about it, but unfortunately for them, they were going to have to eat his whole ass later since after he was done with what he had planned, there would be no argument to be had. Maybe heavy side eyes from Sera, but hey- those were a dime a dozen these days.

"Nah, babe, I'm Adam ~ "

He fully expected her to sock him in the arm for that one, but he couldn't just not walk into an opportunity like that. "Y'know, like the 'A is for-' kind." Another snort followed shortly before there were talons in his sleeve tugging them around his desk which he made a blatantly slow attempt at maneuvering around as if he wasn't in as much of a hurry as she was- likely spurred on by the idea that work breaks should be short and so she had as little time as possible to see whatever it was he wanted to show her. "Oh, 'actually'. Another 'A as in-' stan. We love to see it-" Ok he lost a squawk mid snicker when she gave a hearty yank to get his slow ass up and going. "All right, all right- try to chillax, babe."

The shift through the portal was a seamless affair given it came of him and a soul irreparably bound in its own way to Earth, though the gravity shift could be a bit jarring...not quite as light as in heaven and not quite as heavy as in hell. Goldilocks zone. He gave his neck a little crack as he adjusted himself with a slight unfurling of wings and a shifting of robes. The wind was rustling the trees overhead just as restless in their shifting, and there were a lot of them. It was dark. Even if there were humans around, they wouldn't see shit. "Well, hopefully it's not a disappointment, but we won't see any of those slutties in here." An idle flick and twist of the wrist aimed to catch her catch her attention when he was sure it was already bouncing around to indicate the 'here' he mentioned as if presenting a tourist spot. Not that it had much of that going for it.

"Welcome to Eden, biiiiitch ~ eh...?" He paused, as if noticing the details around him and how they seemed familiar, yet new. The janitorial staff they replaced him with all that time ago didn't seem to be enjoying their gardening gig. "Bit dustier than I remember. Dirt's weird." He was already starting to make some adjustments though, divine ordainment allowing him to scoot some flower patches over the balder areas and shuffle their colors around for a more pleasant stage back drop while chirping distractedly over at her.

"Sooo...whatcha think?"

She was...halfway up a tree already, wasn't she?

[reel-to-real-emporium]

Random Reel-to-Real HCs || Part Two [And a few sprinkled in Reel-to-Real related Moxie HCs.]

Because the vault will take energy and essence of power from the keeper to balance or to manifest spaces, the keeper needs to replenish that essence. For minimal cases, that can be done with simple rest, and in times past, that’s exactly how other keepers would have done it. However, other keepers did not have their vaults as a constantly open and unanchored location. In times past, it was only ever fixated in one place, its roots firmly attached- appearing when necessary but never changing. Ever since Leigh severed the roots, however, it cannot be reattached. It can’t even stay in one place for huge increments of time without taking something out of Moxie because it is without anchor and will be pulled to the next source of power or the next large presence that requires its aid/has something to give it. This is why it took Moxie so long to get it to reappear in a world she was familiar with instead of simply floating in the rift between. There was no information on how to do it because it’d never been done before. After it was first severed, the vault was without its constant source of energy as well- making its dependency on its keeper that much greater. During the beginning of Reel-to-Real, it was hard to control and properly steer beyond getting pulled.

Because the normal methods of replenishing aren’t as applicable [both because of the circumstances of the vault and because of what Moxie is.] Moxie has had to find different ways to feed and take care of that little issue. Occasionally, yes- she can find creatures that are simply pure energy and feed off those, but other times it is not so easy. Life essence is what she needs, the powerful sort with experience- the older it is, the better as it balances both her and the vault. The timing of her becoming a keeper is both a good thing and a bad thing- the reason being that this would have been necessary regardless because of what Moxie is. The downside is Moxie doesn’t know that and just assumes that it must be part of being a keeper more than anything else. She’s aware that she isn’t human but there’s not a lot of information on what she is. The easiest medium for feeding in emergencies is blood and in truth, she’d prefer that to eating someone’s memories for more reasons than one. First off, getting memory to physically manifest is a pain in the ass, second- it's gone from the person entirely if she does that, and third- the emotions attached to those memories have different effects as well. No, that method goes against both her and the vault, she’d rather adhere something like that to a blank reel and preserve it than eat it herself.

Due to this need to replenish and how often her energy is used, she is quite powerful [albeit she doesn’t realize that and is tethered by the vault because it has to feed off her as a source] but it also means she has to take time to hunt every now and then when her reserves just aren’t cutting it. The instincts she has when hunting at first were terrifying to her because of how natural they felt.Moxie was surprised the first time the vault went anywhere aside from the world she knew. At first, not believing it, especially because it wasn’t something ever recorded. Her grandfather’s journal detailed meeting people from other walks of life, other species sure- but she didn’t have any idea that other realities were in the realm of possibility. Let alone that because the vault was no longer anchored, she would end up in them. The realization that media in her world was actually a reality in another was a startling one. Especially when some of the things she procured would shift to match that reality; movie titles changing along with their contents. A precaution the vault had taken only in the main section of Reel-to-Real. A fact that had actually pissed her off, deciding to take the preservation side of things more seriously just in case because like hell she was going to lose her favorite movies just because she got pulled into a new reality where it didn’t exist. Who knew how long it'd be before she could get to a reality where it did again? No, she wasn’t having any of it. Going to lengths to start building up an archive of copies in a new room and making a theater/viewing room to match just for that purpose.

Moxie isn’t sure what would happen to the vault without her. According to everything she’s learned and what little was recorded, it was more independent prior to her. But ever since the roots were severed, it became an extension of her and vice versa. Her leading theory is that there might not be an option to give the role of keeper to anyone else because its roots won’t take. And if she gets detrimentally hurt, the vault itself becomes unstable. She has figured out how to make buffers to buy time but beyond that…all she truly knows is the warning that with no keeper, the vault will crumble into nothingness along with everything within it. Memories, histories, artifacts, everything- gone.

Moxie has died before- but the vault would not let her stay dead and as a result, some of her grandfather’s office is not the same as it once was. She doesn’t know if it's because of her grandfather or it was because of the vault itself. Maybe it was a mix of both. But as far as she knew the vault was supposed to reach out and find a new keeper to preserve itself in a last-ditch effort. Further adding to her theory that she might be the only one who can be keeper now. Because of this, she is keen on trying to make sure she doesn’t die again- the results the next time around might be much worse.

Because time reacts differently in Reel-to-Real and it is capable of entering new realities; Moxie has experienced and gone through a great deal in what would have been a short amount of time in her former reality before the vault. Entire years' worth of events have occurred in between. Everything she learned about restoration and preservation was trial and error, having to repair and figure it out herself or through manuals she happened to find when originally obtaining something. Unfortunately, this does mean that in times past, she has lost some media because she wasn’t as experienced in it as she is currently. Now though, she is at least pretty well-versed and skilled in a great manner of things.

Contrary to popular belief, you can actually learn things from the movies! Not that Moxie will ever admit to this but sometimes in her more lonely times, she would go into her theater and mimic scenes in movies to learn how things were done. Some types of ballroom dancing for example.

[the-dream-weaver]

//@flameindream Hello, this is ladylensveracity, aka veracity_verocity_violence. I figured I'd use my other rp side blog to write this, since it would be easier to write with at this time. I didn't know whether I should send an ask or message you, so this was a good middle ground for me to try to interact. I do apologize in advance since I haven't fully roleplayed in a while.//

Mistakes are a constant with humans; whether it's saying the wrong thing in a conversation or remembering something else when speaking with someone...those are common mistakes to make.

Mistakes, however, looked a lot less common with Priscilla... especially since she wasn't technically human.

Some examples would include using sage incense instead of actual sage for purifying a living space, mispronouncing a Latin word in a ritual, and her current mistake...

Dream hopping after communicating with a hostile spirit.

Granted, she didn't want to dream hop during this time, one of her insomnia crashes just had to happen and it was the safest way to prevent the violent spirit from attacking her. The good news was that she lost the spirit...

The bad news is she did that by crashing through a rift in the Dreamscape with her formless body due to a lucky strike.

Priscilla was trying her best to put a physical dream form together that felt right with this realm; the feeling of the room she was in spinning, along with the adrenaline running through her, causing her to have some difficulty with the process.

"C'mon...Merda, C'mon!"

As she was cursing under her breath and the black mass that was her current form squirmed, she failed to pay attention to her surroundings...both the place and the beings that could be there.

[winchestersingerautorepair]

A Rift Between

A Brief(-ish) History of Dean, Cas, & Rifts

Let’s talk about rifts for a moment. And when I say rifts, I don’t mean their personal disagreements -- if I were to be discussing that, this post would be less of a brief history and more of a thesis paper. 

No, I’m talking about rift rifts. As in, actual, literal tears in the spacetime continuum. They are littered across the whole run of this show, and we’ve recently had two whole seasons devoted to them. So, the sudden reappearance of rift-adjacent plotlines carries with it a weighty load of textual relevance.

Dean and Castiel’s relationship arc, a fan favorite, began when Leviathans, the notorious fan-unfavorite, came into the picture. 

No, Maeve! Dean and Castiel’s relationship arc began in season 4, not 7! Cas was barely even in season 7! 

Well, let me explain. Season 7, the age of Sera Gamble, was a total show reset. Was it uncomfortable? Yes. Did we all hate it? Yes. But like with muscle, you’ve got to tear through the old before you can develop something new, and Season 7 did this job quite effectively. An identity crisis at that scale means either a massive change of pace or a creative death, and as the show is still on, number one it is. 

So, while we can most reliably chart the beginning of an intentional, substantive romantic undercurrent to Season 8, it is the waiting that allowed it to come to fruition-- Season 7 was a void, an unsustainable period of creative drought, a long cold winter in which seeds fell and laid dormant. And like the winter, it was necessary for rebirth.

This brings me to the first DeanCas rift: 

~~

The Purgatory Spell

Episode: 7x01

This tear in spacetime was the culmination of Castiel’s Season 6 character arc. It was the final, greatest betrayal, the irredeemable course of action which struck his relationship with the Winchesters a fatal blow-- and though his last act was to attempt to right his wrongs, the emergence of this rift meant estrangement and death for the relationship (and for Castiel.)

This incident is established as far more significant for Dean than it is for Sam, so I won’t spend much time justifying my classification of this rift as primarily DeanCas. It’s made pretty damn clear through Dean’s behavior throughout Season 7.

Castiel’s departure catalyzed the emergence of Leviathans. As the lore promised, they brought death and destruction to the whole ecosystem, purging the show and readying it for reincarnation; but I’ve already made this point.

As Destiel 1.0 dies, Destiel 2.0 is born.

~~~

The Purgatory Portal

Episode: 8x07

Let us journey back to "A Little Slice of Kevin"-- the gayest thing to happen to Supernatural up to that point. Suddenly, Dean and Cas’s ambiguity is no longer a joke. It’s no longer flippantly referenced, but Built Into The Narrative In A Noticeable Way. After Season 7, Season 8 shocked the system, earning Purgatory celebrity status as the Destiel fandom exploded back to life. 

But, more important things. The events surrounding this portal not only codified romantic subtext, but reshaped their relationship by putting it in grave peril. Lovers trapped in separate worlds. There’s only like ten thousand examples of this in other fictional, romantic(-ally coded) relationships. Sigh.

As Destiel 2.0 dies, Destiel 3.0 is born.

~~~

Seasons 9, 10, and 11 are filled with near misses. Divisions between worlds/fates test and change their bond -- Heaven and Hell exert tremendous force on both, and the gates of Heaven and the Darkness’s breach of barriers flirt pretty openly with the rift theme -- but there isn’t anything that fits the profile cut and dry, so let us leap to Season 12. Five long years of glacial shifts, five long years of a slow, steady amping up of queer subtext. An argument can be made that it had graduated from subtext in some places, but both fandom and GA were frog-boiled enough in their interpretations for this argument to be an aside.

Destiel 3.0 reaches a transitional stage, and becomes Destiel 3.0+.

Now, It’s season 12. And like goddamned CLOCKWORK, six years after Season 6, another unstable tear in spacetime appears, and terminates Castiel’s character arc.

Rift? Check. Cas dead? Check. We’ve seen this pattern. Time for shit to CHANGE. And boy, did it.

~~~

The Rift

Episode: 12x23

Oh, boy. Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy. Castiel’s death in the Season 12 finale was a magnum opus of SPN’s romantically coded imagery. I could elaborate, but if you’ve read this far into this post you likely already know what I’m talking about. My point is, a hall of mirrors is the chosen space in which Destiel 3.0+ is killed. 

The relationship death lasts only a short while; their estrangement in separate realms is a five episode-long period of detachment and review. Our characters, as well as the viewers, stride through a hall of mirrors. In solitude, this DeanCas winter becomes a chance to reflect, because there is no better way to get a feel for the importance of something than to eliminate it. The crucial elements of Dean and Cas’s relationship, what they mean to each other, becomes clearer than ever before because, look! This is Dean without Cas! This is the show without Cas! Don’t you hate it?

I mean, guys. Mirrors. Cas spoke to a reflection of himself in the Empty. Literally. He addressed his greatest fears about relationships with himself. He was forced to rewatch his greatest mistakes, and what gets featured? Our first two DeanCas rifts. F*ck this show.

DreamHunter parallel! 13x10 reenacted this scene for us with Claire and Kaia. 

Then, 13x05 changes the whole game once more. You know, the episode titled Thanatology. The study of Death. Fuck this show.

As Destiel 3.0+ dies, Destiel 4.0 is born.

~~~

The intensity of the queer narrative amps up continually. Things are getting harder to write off.

Rifts between worlds, crossover and confinement, and estrangement, and the blurring of lines, and the breaking of old taboos/breach of old barriers dominates the remainder of Season 13 and Season 14. We hold this broad focus for a long time, and Dean and Castiel become the emotional equivalent of the plot arc, always there, brewing, but taking a backseat to the Big Stuff. A wall rises, and solidifies. Silver Pole of Communication Barriers, anyone?

Then? Season 15 kicks us in the Destiel balls.

Full disclosure: I didn’t see this next part coming. I dared not ask season 15 for anything this significant, so the last scene of 15x08 just about took my life. 

~~~

The Purgatory Rift

Episode(s): 15x08, 15x09

Dun dun DUN!!

This twist was my favorite Christmas present, because it communicated to me that the writers have an understanding of Dean and Cas’s history to match our own. Not only are they actively writing them utilizing the Destiel playbook, they obviously care immensely about the destiny of their relationship. I am speaking too soon to say this definitively, but this mission has all the hallmarks of a plot device designed to serve many purposes in respect to Dean and Castiel. They’ve got ALL the ingredients. There are so many things tied in here that it gets pretty damn near fanfiction territory.

Please read my reaction to the purgatory twist if you need context, as I don’t feel much like regurgitating it. This post is long enough, lol. (A bloom that grows only in one place? Fuck you, writers. You’re going to KILL me.)

~~~

So, to recap: In a universe defined by barriers and guidelines, a relationship that refuses to be defined will be under constant siege. Dean and Castiel suffer from the sheer reality of walking lines between two designated states of being-- friends and lovers, angel and human, take your pick. The current order isn’t friendly to beings who don’t fit a category. Until the barriers are stripped away, they cannot exist as they are, and rifts will continue to rip them apart. 

The Purgatory Rift of 15x08 is such a big deal because it fuses themes. The rifts of the Dabb era have merged with the gateways of the Carver era. Not only are our long-standing almost-lovers returning to their relationship’s place of origin, they are doing so by breaching physical barriers designed to keep them apart; and all the while, the most dangerous, important rift is not the one in the fabric of reality, but the one in their relationship. 

I expect this major rift to end no differently than it has in the past. Dean and Cas will be separated, and Cas will be out of reach. And then, they’ll be reunited. But, where will that take us? What will the next reincarnation look like? 

As Destiel 4.0 dies, something will be born.

[rainmonarchdraws]

okay so i know we aren't super happy with the endings (and i think it has a lot to do with fanservice and lack of of a big picture, but thats another post) BUT this post is about how i see scout's story developing post canon!

Upright

so of course we see Muriel reconnecting with the Kokhuri (summer festival anyone?) which is FANTASTIC and i definitely think that continues

And it sort of makes scout feel left out bc i think subconsciously they know there's a big rift between them and their family, even if they can't remember what it is or how it happened

On top of consciously not having any memories before Asra brought them back to life

So i think Muriel would encourage them to investigate into their family

The tricky part is, even though Asra knew scout really well before they died, they still didn't talk about their family much and purposfully distanced themselves from that part of their life

As far as they were concerned, being a street kid with asra was the only thing they needed (the two would have been in their late teens together before they got the shop)

So i think the angst really comes in when Scout starts regaining their memories and realizes their situation isn't like Muriel's, where his family sent him away to protect him and would welcome him back with open arms

Scout left (ran away) in the throws of a fight with their parents. they said some very awful things, and burned that bridge as best they could (they were 16, so you can imagine the kind of pain they tried to inflict)

(Keep in mind their patron arcana is the Lovers, so their stuff revolves around choices, relationships, and the lasting effects of those decisions)

So should they seek out their family, there's no guarantee that they'll find the love they've been craving

And it might take a long while for them to get to the point that they would go looking, because they need to feel totally secure in their found family before they're comfortable with all that

And anyways i think the upright ending sets up that narrative well :)

Reversed

So ive been enamored with the devil!Muriel AU for a while and i think the reversed end sets this up well too!

So basically, monster hunting gets exhausting at some point so scout and muriel start looking for ways to un-break the world

It would take a while tho. Muriel is not interested in trying to hold the whole world on his shoulders anymore

But when they look into it, they realize that the arcana realms still need a Devil, and I think after a while that life appeals to muriel - he'd be in control of his own space, sequestered away from everyone (except scout)

And the decision appeals to scout too, its a very final, black and white choice, and it means they're working for the greater good without the constant maintenance (the monsters just keep coming and its hard to feel like they're doing much at all)

By this time, their friends in vesuvia have stopped trying to contact them - Muriel is driven by the need to isolate, and Scout is driven by their devotion to him (the Hermit and Lovers dovetail nicely here), and Asra, Julian, and Nadia know that isn't going to change anytime soon

So Muriel becomes the Devil and starts separating his realm from everywhere else (which i imagine creates a chain reaction with other realms, slowly strengthening the divide "across") (i dont know that muriel and scout would be especially aware of this, but they know putting the devil back on his throne is the right thing to do)

Goblin devil au shenanigans ensue, Scout is in the process of becoming a thrall

(Once again, notice how the lovers are on the devil card!!)

Although their passion is cooking, they also enjoy clerical type work (this was great for their shop with asra, he brought home magic stuff and they organized it) so i think they'd occupy themselves with the Devil's previous and still active deals ie The Courtiers

Obviously, muriel does not care for them, refuses to make anymore deals with them, and may start the process of destroying them to give power back to their patron arcana (maybe. might take a while)

so frankly i am very excited about my apprentice and that feeling outweighs any disappointment i feel from muriels last chapters lol

[chroma-ki]

Two Hearts, One Mind

This is a one-shot BakuDeku fic that I wrote and posted on AO3 about a month ago. I posted the link onto my blog a while ago, but wanted to get a copy of it up on here as well to spread the love.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24653701

Summary:

It was almost like they were kids again, curled under a blanket in Izuku’s childhood bedroom - talking of heroes and villains and imagined futures. But they weren’t children anymore. Life had swallowed them whole, crushed them down and spat them back out into mangled versions of themselves that no longer fit together the same.

AKA - A sleep-deprived and anxiety-filled Deku runs into his childhood friend and current rival in the middle of the night. Kacchan wont let him get away so easily.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

In the  heavy, dreary silence of night that settled over the Alliance Heights common room, Izuku Midoriya rubbed his face for the hundredth time, fighting against sleep, as he scrawled another note onto the page in front of him.

With the next big exam right around the corner and his work study program keeping him from attending class on a daily basis, Izuku had spent the last three days studying during every free moment. Between his work study, daily courses and his extracurricular training with All Might, the 24 hours in a day felt like not nearly enough.

Free time was a luxury he didn’t get to have. It had been that way since before UA. Since he’d first met All Might, really. At this point, the drive to push forward, to go beyond his limits, was like a constant mantra in his head.

He needed to seize the moment - every moment - if he wanted to reach his goal. No excuse was good enough; no pain great enough. He had too many people counting on him to succeed - to many promises to keep - to himself and to others.

But in times like this, in moments when the pressure built too much, the enormity of his dreams felt like an insurmountable weight upon his shoulders; pressure so intense it threatened to crush him completely.

His brain was a muddled mess, his body sore and aching from a long day of training. Maybe a few hours of sleep would fix it. Maybe if he closed his eyes for just a moment, he would finally get some peace; some relief.

Izuku’s heavy-lidded eyes searched for the clock at the other end of the room, squinting to read the time thanks to his sleep-deprived brain, and couldn’t help but to let out a defeated sigh as it read 4:05am. He’d been studying for five hours; much longer than he’d initially planned.

Another all-nighter . All Might was going to kill him if he kept overdoing it like this.

An unexpected racket sounded from down the hall, startling Izuku into reluctant alertness. It was too early for any of his classmates to be awake, but the thought alone was enough to have him packing up his books and flipping off the common room light, preparing to slip out and back up to his room as quickly as possible.

He was too exhausted to make pleasant conversation; too drained to offer a smile. Running into anyone would only require explanations from him that he didn’t have the energy to give.

As Izuku hastily shoved the last notebook into his backpack, a familiar disarray of blonde hair came into view and Kacchan stumbled his way into the kitchen, his crimson eyes dazed with sleep and a muted yawn on his lips. Izuku froze.

Like prey caught by its predator, he only watched in tense silence as Kacchan blinked - aware of the moment his childhood friend caught on to his presence in the room, even in the darkness of night.

“What the - What the hell are you doing here, Deku?”

Kacchan’s voice was rough, gravelly in his half-awake state, and an annoyed frown played across his lips as his eyes adjusted to the darkness and took in Izuku’s disheveled appearance; the backpack in his hands. His eyes narrowed in what Izuku could only interpret as disdain.

“I-,” Izuku started, and then paused. Nothing he said would satisfy Kacchan anyway. It never did. “I was just leaving.”

Without another word, Izuku zipped his backpack closed and threw it over his shoulder in one swift motion. Making a quick bee-line for the hallway, he kept his eyes on the ground, every inch of his body aware of Kacchan’s presence - until a hard, muscled arm whipped up to block his path.

“As if,” Kacchan growled, the rough grate of his voice like the scratch of sandpaper against Izuku’s already frayed nerves.

It was enough to cause Izuku’s gaze to lift; his eyes meeting ones of deep blood red. His breath caught in his throat. From fear or something else in the charged space between them, he wasn’t sure, but their eyes held nonetheless.

He prepared himself for what could only be a string of insults, a lash at his pride or whatever else Kacchan felt like throwing his way this early in the morning - but none came.

For a moment, they only stared at each other in tense silence. Then, Kacchan lowered his arm and turned toward the kitchen counter without another word; pulling out one glass, then another. Izuku watched with anticipation as Kacchan filled both glasses with water from the tap, taking a deep gulp of his own, and pushing the other towards the edge of the counter; toward Izuku.

A silent offer.

Izuku found himself at an impasse - the desperate desire to escape to the confines of his room and allow himself to rest, if only for five minutes, warring with the magnetic pull of Kacchan’s presence.

Lifting his stiff and aching arm, he reached out a hesitant hand toward the glass, allowing himself a small sip and waited for Kacchan to make a move - to set the pace of this interaction.

“Talk. Now, nerd. What were you doing down here before I caught you?” Kacchan finally asked, his tone acquisitory. “Must have been up to no good, if you thought you could sneak away from me so easily.”

Izuku let out an exasperated sigh. God , was he not in the mood for this.

“I was studying. That’s all,” he spat bluntly, not entirely prepared for the way his voice came out in a clipped, irritated tone - more bravado than he actually felt. “Are you satisfied?”

He was definitely losing his mind.

Kacchan’s eyes widened slightly - but he didn’t snap back. It seemed he was also ill-prepared for sass this early in the morning.

His eyes flashed in the dim light of the room, the corners of his mouth turning down into a scowl, but otherwise Kacchan seemed calm; calculated. A side of the explosive boy that Izuku knew existed, yet rarely saw up close.

“Not in the slightest, nerd,” Kacchan muttered in way of reply before brushing past Izuku and heading for the front door of the dorms. Without another word, he opened it and left it wide as he stepped out onto the front porch of the dorms and into the still, black night.

There was little need to suggest that Izuku should follow. It was implied, as most things were when it came to Kacchan. It was a dance they had performed time and time again. And Kacchan always took the lead.

With a resigned droop of his shoulders, he followed Kacchan outside and stepped into the cool night air, taking in a deep breath that filled his lungs. The crisp chill of the air sang to Izuku’s senses, pulling him back to a state of alertness he hadn’t known in hours.

Until now, he hadn’t realized how much he’d needed a breath of fresh air - or how much his body craved the glass of water that he still held firm in his hand. If he didn’t know any better, he’d assume Kacchan was actually being...considerate. But assuming Kacchan’s intentions when it came to him was something out of the realm of Izuku’s expertise.

Since their second fight at Ground Beta - since all their dirty laundry had been bared to each other in a blur of fists and rage - Izuku knew that there was more to Kacchan that he had yet to uncover. More to the boy he’d spent his entire life chasing. No matter how tired he was, no matter how worn down and beaten, Kacchan’s hold on him was like a vice grip around his heart. As it had always been.

Kacchan sat on the porch step, his back to Izuku, as he gazed out into the empty night. A picture of stoic perfection against the dark sky. Despite the rift that had grown between them over the years, it was a sight Izuku thought he might never tire of.

Without invitation, he slowly made his way forward and lowered himself to the step at Kacchan’s side, his gaze following Kacchan’s as they both stared at nothing; locked in their own heads. The moment felt more private - intimate - now that they were outside. He’d be lying if he said it didn’t make him nervous. After a brief moment to collect himself, he spoke.

“I’m not trying to hide anything from you. Honestly. I really was just studying.”

“Hah,” Kacchan scoffed, his gaze never moving, but his demeanor remained cool; distant. “You lie too easily for someone who claims not to hide anything. Yet you somehow still manage to be shit at it. Why is that?”

Izuku only frowned in confusion, unsure of what to say. Why did Kacchan always assume the worst of him? Claim that he was keeping secrets? It was knowledge that didn’t sit well in his head. Kacchan knew the only big secret Izuku really had. What else was there to tell?

He felt the familiar feeling of frustration rise in his chest.

“You obviously didn’t sleep, if the horrendous bags under your eyes are any indication,” Kacchan continued. “Everyone else managed to study without turning themselves into a pathetic mess. So what’s the deal? If you’ve got something bothering you, just spit it out. Pisses me off that you don’t say what you actually think.”

Izuku took a moment to ponder the boy’s words before answering matter-of-factly.

“I have to do better. It’s as simple as that. I have to try harder than anyone else here if I want to succeed. What does it matter how I get there? I’ll keep going until I have what it takes.”

Kacchan turned to him then, his lips pressed into a thin, frustrated line; his crimson eyes searching for answers in deep pools of green. He opened his mouth and paused, as if warring within himself over what to say, and then spoke.

“Jeez, Deku. You always say stupid crap like that just to piss me off, don’t you?”

“No, I -"

“Listen here, nerd. Stop with the bullshit,” Kacchan snapped, his voice dropping to a vicious, low note. “Why bother making yourself sound so noble, huh? Like you’re somehow so much more driven than the rest of us just because All Might gave you his stupid power.”

The words coming out of his mouth sounded raw - unrestrained - and they cut through Izuku like a searing blade in his vulnerable state.

“All of this - gettting into UA, training to be a hero, getting your stupid provisional license - it’s all been so easy for you. You’ve got All Might giving you everything you could possibly need. But, if you run yourself into the ground worrying over stupid shit, then it will have all been for nothing . We don’t all have our dreams handed to us on a silver fucking platter.”

The explosive boy rarely spoke so much. But when he did it was always what he really thought - what he really felt . Kacchan wasn’t one to beat around the bush. It dove straight under Izuku’s skin, boiled his blood, in a way that he hated.

He was so tired; worn down and running on fumes - and hovering way too close to the edge of sanity to hold back the thoughts raging around in his brain.

“Y- You think this is easy for me? Hah,” Izuku scoffed, the deliriousness making him brave.

Kacchan’s eyes widened slightly but they held Izuku’s firm and true as his fears and anxieties came pouring from his mouth like a bursting dam.

“You’re right. Meeting All Might,becoming his successor, learning from him, it’s more than I ever could have dreamed. He’s had my back since the beginning - and his help is more than I deserve - but it will only get me so far. You don’t think I’m reminded every single day of how lucky I am that he chose me? You think I’m so full of myself that I wouldn’t see the big picture?”

The words were spilling out of him so quickly, he could barely contain himself. The building pressure of having to prove himself, having to turn himself into someone that was worthy of the gift All Might had given him, had already been eating at him for months. He’d done everything... everything he possibly could to reach this point. And now, having to justify it to Kacchan was only evidence that he needed to work harder - that he had more to prove.

“You were born with a quirk. I had to earn mine. And I’ve spent every day since pushing harder and harder to prove that I’m worthy of what he gave me. Me - a useless, quirkless nobody who never deserved a second glance. Not even from you. So no, it hasn’t been fucking easy , Kacchan. Just because you know my secret doesn’t mean you know how I feel.”

When he was finished, Izuku resisted the urge to slap his own hand over his stupid mouth. He’d really gone and done it now - he just knew it.

Kacchan’s body was tense beside him, his explosive hands clenching and unclenching into fists at his sides. Izuku waited, holding his breath in anticipation of the backlash he knew would come. Instead, Kacchan’s mouth turned up into a satisfied smirk.

“Fucking finally.”

Izuku could only gape.

“It’s about damn time, Deku,” He continued, the growl in his voice sending shivers down Izuku’s spine; the rumble of thunder before a storm. “You’ve got my attention. So go ahead. Yell. Rage at me. Give me everything you’ve got. Make me understand.”

“Why?” Izuku asked, unable to keep the question to himself.

“All Might already told me his side of the story after our fight,” Kacchan explained, pushing forward on the palms of his hands so that his face was only inches from Izuku’s. “So tell me yours. Fill in the pieces I’m missing. Let me inside that thick head of yours - and maybe I’ll listen.”

Izuku wasn’t quite sure he was hearing correctly. Maybe he’d fallen asleep on the couch and all of this was some messed up dream concocted by his overloaded brain. But the coil of dreaded anticipation in his stomach felt real. The brush of Kacchan’s breath against his face felt real.

“What do you want to know?” He asked, the words a breathless whisper on his tongue.

“Everything.”

“You’re going to have to be more specific than that, Kacchan. Ask me, and I will answer honestly.”

Kacchan’s gaze narrowed, but the intensity in them didn’t lessen. Ever since they were children, Kacchan had been a master of intimidation - among many other things. He was used to getting what he wanted. But Izuku had never been good at giving Kacchan what he wanted. Maybe this time could be different. Maybe things could change.

“Let’s start with the day of the sludge villain attack,” Kacchan started, matter-of-factly, finally giving Izuku a reprieve as his demeanor relaxed. “When you ran in to save me.”

Izuku slowly nodded his agreement.

“Why did you do it?”

“Do what?”

Kacchan rolled his eyes, annoyed. “Why did you run in to save me?”

This wasn’t the type of question Izuku had been expecting.

“All Might said that’s when he decided to give you his power. So, tell me. What were you thinking when it happened?”

It took Izuku a moment to formulate an answer. But when he did, he had to turn his eyes away from Kacchan’s intense gaze. His answers were meant to be honest, but that didn’t mean Kacchan would like them.

That was the point of all of this, wasn’t it? The open, honest truth. Nothing more, nothing less.

“I think it was the look on your face,” he answered, his voice coming out small.

He felt more than saw Kacchan shift uncomfortably beside him.

“Explain.”

“I don’t know. When I saw your face - when I knew it was you - my body just moved. It- It looked like you were asking for help. Even if I didn’t have a quirk - even if I was useless - I had to save you. There was no other option.”

“I wasn’t,” Kacchan muttered, but there was no bite in his words. “Asking for your help, I mean...”

“You didn’t have to. It was you.”

The air was pulled taut between them - a worn, frayed line damaged by years of resentment, anger and pride.

Even with his vision trained on the step below his feet, Izuku could feel Kacchan’s eyes on him like a searing brand. It was making his heart race; his stomach flip. This conversation wasn’t like their other talks; talks that had involved a fury of fists and broken screams.

This was new.

It was a few awkward seconds before Kacchan spoke again - actively avoiding Izuku’s comment - but he’d heard it all the same. He was listening.

“Next question. When was the first time you used it? The power, I mean.”

“The day of the entrance exam,” Izuku answered without hesitation.

“You- You what?”

“I used it for the first time the day of the entrance exam. Wrecked by body completely,” Izuku said, a huff of a laugh on his lips. “You would have hated it. I was pathetic.”

“What the hell, Deku?”

“I had ten months to get myself ready for the exam. Ten months of training to prepare my body for this quirk,” He said, lifting his crooked hand as he spoke - allowing a spark of green lighting to course through his fingers. “It was hard, but I finished that training the morning of the exam. It’s not like I really had time to test it out first.”

“So, you’re telling me that you passed the entrance exam - into the highest rated hero course in the country  - without ever using your quirk before? Without even testing it out? Don’t you hear how ridiculous that sounds?” Kacchan’s voice was quiet, but wavered on a hysterical edge. “You really are something else, you know that?”

Izuku’s eyes were drawn back to Kacchan like a moth to flame. The boy he’d known all his life was watching him with an expression he’d never seen before. His crimson eyes gleamed in the darkness but - at least for the moment - they were for no one and nothing in the world but Izuku.

Since when had Kacchan started looking at him like that? It made Izuku’s breath catch in his chest.

“I know. But don’t you see? Passing the exam, getting into UA, everything I’ve done since then - none of it was enough. It took me months of training - months of analyzing and study - just to be able to use it without breaking apart entirely. Literally.”

Izuku didn’t bother to hide the solemn look that he knew must be on his face as he gave his thoughts voice.

“I have months to play years of catch-up. I see that every time I look at our classmates. Every time I look at you. What I am now - who I am now - still isn’t enough. That’s what bothers me.”

Kacchan seemed to contemplate his words a moment, but his penchant for insults seemed worn out - along with his pride. This Kacchan was exposed - unguarded and honest.

“Now that I think I can understand. The ‘not feeling like enough’ shit.”

Kacchan’s knuckles were white, skin and bone straining with the pressure in which he clenched them, but after a few moments he let out a disgruntled groan and flopped himself onto his back against the porch. He stared up the ceiling, unseeing, before starting again.

“Ever since my quirk manifested, people have always had their eyes on me. Like they were just watching - waiting to see what I would become. They told me I was special. And I believed them. I- fuck. I’m not good at this, dammit.”

Izuku watched as a pained expression crossed Kacchan’s face.

“I thought their praise meant that I was strong. But I was wrong. It made me blind. I didn’t see that until I got to UA. Until you-” He paused. “It made me question a lot of shit about myself.”

Izuku knew what it cost Kacchan to say such things aloud; the vulnerability it exposed to acknowledge any sign of weakness. But for Kacchan to have thought that he wasn’t enough was… incomprehensible to Izuku.

As quietly as he could, Izuku laid back on the ground next to Kacchan - risking closeness with the boy who’d always been his inspiration. Kacchan didn’t seem inclined to move away, so instead they lay side by side, just allowing themselves to inhabit that same headspace - be on the same page, for once. It was like drawing in a breath of fresh air.

Izuku felt more alive than he had in days.

For a few minutes they stayed in comfortable silence, only the sounds of their breath and the songs of crickets leaking into the night air around them before Izuku picked up the thread of conversation, his voice a whisper of breath between them.

“What’s the next question?”

For a while they went back and forth like that - Kacchan interrogating him with question after unexpected question while Izuku cast aside the filter of his mind and poured out truth after truth. It felt good - more than good. The weight of his anxieties didn’t feel so heavy, as he was sharing them with Kacchan.

At some point, they rolled to face one another and Izuku couldn’t hide his smile against the expressiveness of Kaccchan’s face as they spoke; his striking features mesmerizing as the first changing colors of sunrise danced along the horizon.

It was almost like they were kids again, curled under a blanket in Izuku’s childhood bedroom - talking of heroes and villains and imagined futures. But they weren’t children anymore. Life had swallowed them whole, crushed them down and spat them back out into mangled versions of themselves that no longer fit together the same.

But maybe time was ironing out their kinks. Maybe each time they pulled back the curtain, just long enough to truly see each other, they were able to discover where the pieces used to fit. Where they could fit again.

They spoke of numerous adventures - those lived together and those lived apart. They spoke of fighting styles and refined techniques. They spoke of good times and bad, of fights won and lost; they spoke of All Might.

“I don’t have to like it,” Kacchan said, a small smirk on his face. “But I understand what he saw in you - why he picked you.”

“What do you mean?” Izuku asked, leaning his cheek flat against the floor, relishing in the coolness of it against his flushed face.

“I've seen it too. Ever since we were kids. Always pissed me off,” Kacchan said, reaching out a hand and poking Izuku none-too-lightly in the chest. “ That’s one of the reasons why you shouldn’t be worryin’.”

“If you say so, Kacchan.”

“Damn right, I say so,” Kacchan huffed, his crimson eyes drifting closed under the weight of exhaustion. “Don’t let that stupid head of yours get in the way. Stay beside me, Deku. Don’t let yourself fall behind. Keep fighting, and I’ll fight with you.”

“Nothing would make me happier,” Izuku mumbled, a yawn escaping his mouth as he followed Kacchan’s lead and let his eyes fall shut.

Consciousness was fleeting and Izuku felt himself drifting as his relaxed body and mind fought to succumb to its most basic needs. But he didn’t want this moment to end.

In his half-conscious state, he felt something brush his face, pushing the hair from his eyes, but couldn’t bother to open them to see what it was.

“Sleep, nerd. I’ll wake you up when it’s time for class.”

Izuku nodded mutely but reached out blindly, his hand searching for Kacchan’s arm but instead found the solid planes of his chest. That would do.

“Stay.”

Kacchan said nothing in way of reply, but Izuku felt the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath his scarred hand and allowed himself to succumb to the blissful darkness. He drifted off to sleep with the thought in his head that, as long as Kacchan was by his side, everything might just be okay.

When the bright morning sun woke him hours later, Izuku found his hand twisted in the fabric of Kacchan’s white shirt and the explosive boy sleeping like the dead beside him.

[seven-ish]

❛ ☆ › david corenswet & he/they / male ‷ watch out , seven ace winslet has crash-landed into roswell !! they look 26 years old and celebrate their birthday on February 16th . they are from Roseburg, Oregon, have lived in roswell for 2 years and are currently working as librarian (Out of This World). one thing you should know about them is he likes to narrate book pages by memory ‷

Mathilda Winslet was the most renowned witch of Roseburg, Oregon ( and probably the only one ), but honestly she was a fraud, she tricked her customers with premade readings and generic guesses, oh and you can thank her sneaky child Seven, for the occasional accurate guess ( she would send the little one to go spy on people ).

Born from a man with no name; Mathilda would always refer to him as "your father", "my dear love", "that beautiful man" but never names. Seven grew up with an imaginary image of a man described as "the most elegant and handsome young man you'd ever meet". He was told his old man was English and absolutely out of this world, that he had a thick accent and his clothes remained forever impeccable. Seven Ace never gave much of a thought to this man he had never met, but his mother --oh, his poor mother-- she would fake an English accent all throughout Seven's childhood for the simple need of making of her son quite a decent descendant of the tall and handsome English man.

Failed gymnast due a hereditary defect in her knees, Mathilda threw her son into the same fraudulent career + theater + improv. Poor kid, he could barely hold on to school, his mother’s job and the amount of hobbies he spent the afternoon in.

Growing into lie and deceit caused Seven to absorb it like a nutrient, turning him into a master of manipulation and lies. He was 13 when they were at home ( a cozy place closer to the woods than the actual town ), it was late at night, Mathilda had went downstairs for a glass of water and she didn’t notice one of their cats was sleeping on the steps of the stairs. She tripped and rolled downstairs and upon raising her head, she watched an odd... thing. One could call it some kind of rift, it was causing a wild wind inside the house and nobody knows what exactly the woman saw, but her eyes remained stuck towards the otherworldy gate for 7 minutes in front of her until darkness engulfed her and she went unconscious.

That was only the beginning; Mathilda closed her psychic business and focused a 100% in her weird experience, trying to recreate it, thinking it was her beloved, trying to reach back to her. Using her savings and canned food, she managed to keep her son and herself afloat for a couple of years, but even Seven started to get tired of her weird obsession that most likely was nothing.

Things change when Seven is almost 18 ( thank, gods ) and one night he hears the door slam open, causing him to wake up. Sneaking skills are used thinking it might be a wild animal or an intruder, but instead, he sees his mother walk out on her nightgown towards the woods. A storm is hitting the town. He calls for her, tries to reach for her, but a thunder strikes between them, throwing him back in a frightened jump as his mother stands at the entrance of the woods and when she turns briefly to him, he can see her smile and vocalize: “it is him” and she goes in.         She was never seen again.

But Mathilda’s obsession not only wore her down, it also wore her son down and even infected him as well. He became obsessive, he stopped sleeping, he could… he could even hear his mother’s voice calling from the the walls, he just wanted to find her.

Seven always felt there was something off about him. He would fall asleep in his bed and wake up laying on the floor of the local grocery store or he would go to the bathroom, but opening the door would, instead, lead to the kitchen or the living room, or his mother’s room! He even started to medicate believing his mother’s tragedy had done nothing good with his head, Meds were not ideal, they would kill down his spirit and wouldn’t allow him to hold to a job, so he exchanged pills for tea, finding that some of them could keep him calm and grounded.

Seven is 19 and he is ALONE in a forever shifting old home near the woods so he starts researching throughout his mother’s documents and things; he stumbles against a journal and all of it is savagely written with notes that make no sense whatsoever, somehing about dimensions, portals and similar things. Something tickled inside him and before he knew it, he was being pulled towards the nearest wall by an unseen energy. The surface of the wall distorted into a vortex and like that, he is gone as well.

He spent the next 6 years hopping without control between his home dimension to other ones; some of these were just parallel ones without many changes but others... oh, boy; no one would ever be ready for the Lovecraftian horrors and apparitions that Seven had to share space with for so many years, in and out. Of course you can tell all these experiences left him... touched.

Severe trauma and nightmares affected him even while he was in his original dimension and he developed an eccentric behavior and an uncontrollable habit to suddenly vanish in thin air, just to be dragged back into another realm of horrors.    He never spoke a word about it, though.

The terror has planted its seeds deep in his brain, but also there is this weird sensation of otherness; since he came out of his long trip that lasted years, there was this weird feeling, this… HUNCH that he actually never left, that something else stole his shape and conscience and walked out instead of him, that a seven-eyed beast is nesting inside his body while he remains tortured and lost in an eternal dream…

                                 But maybe he has been drinking just too much lavender tea. 

                                                            Maybe he is just crazy.

He moved to Roswell upon hearing the rumors of strange things happening in there and in fact, since he moved out of his mother’s house, he has been feeling better, he has travelling less and his mind feels a little more at ease, but the sudden dimensional blinks still haunt him and probably always will, but worry not! Seven has learned to accept and embrace these weird things in an attempt to save his brain from entirely shutting down, even if that means he will lose himself completely at some point.

As one of the librarians, Seven is loud and sometimes obnoxious, holds an incredible memory and will recite entire pages of his favorite books. Eccentric and intriguing, he is someone you’d either love or hate to encounter. Seems to know everything about everyone in this little old town. Roswell’s own Cheshire Cat, an enigmatic creature with an immense knowledge about the town’s affairs ( most likely due him snooping into historical papers and townsfolk’s files ). Still, he may be your local gossipy neighbor.

RANDOM FACTS:

His name is a wordplay of Seven Eyes, alluring to his weird situation regarding his powers.

Dresses in almost vintage clothing only, from 40′s to 60′s

Still practices gymnastics in his free time.

Lives at Greystone Complex and has a constant fear of sending the entire complex into a neverending trip.

He might lie just... because.

English accent but has never been to the UK whatsoever.

Chaotic energy af.

Still lives in his mom’s house, the neon signs of her old business still remain on at nights.

Doesn’t like pronouns whatsoever, refer to him with any of his names, otherwise he will get pouty. He feels he has barely an identity, so simple pronouns instead of his name make him feel like the person is stripping them out of the remaining self Seven has (feel free to use he/they pronouns when writing tho).

PINTEREST

TL;DR: Hybrid man cannot control the dimensional doors he opens and keeps being sucked into them making him experience Lovecraftian horrors almost every day. Obnoxious and surprisingly wise, he is Roswell’s librarian and knows a lot of stuff about people bc he is hella nosy.

CONNECTIONS:

Neighbors

Regular clients

Someone that witnessed him disappear into a rift

Someone who found him all weak and shaking after a week-long-trip or smthn.

He is a versatile character so anything goes!

[alternativewinxcontinuity]

Nymphs of Magix: Profiles (1/3)

Sabrina Yanli Sotterana/T'ana

(Character Death)

Sabrina

Home World: Loc'Brennah

Purview: Fairy of Transformation (Rumoured to have been born a witch)

Hair Colour: Black Eye colour: turquoise-green Skin: black with pale blue-green marbling along her spine, shoulders and hips Height: 5'/152.4 (shortest of all the Nymphs) Personality Key Words: (low-key) mischievous, inquisitive, contemplative, relaxed Hobbies: People watching, harmless pranks, lazy about as a cat, investigating rumours Favourite Foods: anything with intense flavour, anything tart Pixie: Mógū, Pixie of Mushrooms and Fungi (Aggressively energetic, talks about herself in the third person, carries various poison powders on her persons at all times.) Status: Unknown – all contact was lost, no attempts to locate her were successful Last Known Location: Unknown – somewhere in the far edges of the Magical Dimension near the Tumultuous Nebulae, a region of space known for dimensional rifts and wormhole like anomalies.

Loc'Brennah is a dark world, literally a realm of constant night. Its people possess dark toned skin, often marbled with small patches of pastels. The 'World of Hidden Things', its people can see in almost total darkness, and have the unique species wide ability to see through illusions and deceptive magics. Their visual range can cause discomfort when off world and they often wear tinted glasses to help regulate the problem.

The people of Loc'Brennah have a language that is only half verbal, speaking in an apparent monotone, their inflections are done through physical actions in a subtle sign language and micro expressions that makes their language almost impossible for the UTS to translate properly, leaving many outsiders feeling uncomfortable when interacting with the Loc'Brennei.

Sabrina is actually considered to be a very expressive individual amongst her people, since her time at Alfea learning to emote for non-Loc'Brennei, she was considered to be 'excessively exuberant' in the terms of her people, and wears baggy clothing when she can to hide the automatic 'over' emoting she developed.

As The Fairy of Transformation, Sabrina excels at all form of transformative magics, and is a top tier shape-shifter. Made uncomfortable by other peoples discomfort, she avoids them where she can, but is not by any means anti-social.

She enjoys spending her free time as a cat and watching the general flow of life and people around her. She met T'ana and Yanli for the first time in her cat form, and they assumed she was an actual animal, tempting her with small treats of food and spending the day giving her cuddles.

After an awkward reveal the trio had a laugh about it and decided not to worry about it. T'ana and Yanli continued to spend time giving cat-form-Sabrina pats, cuddles and ear scratches.

Sabrina was raised by her two paternal aunts after her mother passed away and her father went into seclusion to deal with his grief. She doesn't talk about them often but has a good and loving relationship with them.

While they don't not get along, Sabrina occasionally had difficulty working with both Io and Ellena because of their exuberant personalities, and though she considers T'ana and Yanli to be her best friends, Sabrina often finds herself working with Syffa to solve mysteries around the magical dimension.

Some years before the Fall of Domino, Daphne began getting inexplicably sick, normally in short bursts and strange things began happening throughout the Dimension. An increase of strange and often negative occurrences drew the attention of Sabrina and Syffa who saw some kind of pattern in the seemingly unrelated cases. Following a lead, they promised to be back in just a few weeks.

Their last known location was in the Tumultuous Nebulae. After contact was lost, several searches for the missing Nymphs were launched, but while Syffa's body and their ship was recovered, no sign of Sabrina was ever found.

-

Yanli

Home World: Melody

Purview: Fairy of Resonance

Hair Colour: black Eye colour: dark brown Skin: alabaster with a hint of peach Height: 5'2”/157.08 Personality Key Words: compassionate, mediator, elegant, patient, caretaker, cheerful Hobbies: playing the Guzheng (a (type of zither) string instrument that looks like a board with 21 strings), making soups, being with her friends, people watching Favourite Foods: soups Pixie: Tùzǐ, Pixie of Rabbits (absolute fraidy-cat, will hide behind Mógū and Ambra, once kicked a monsters head off in a moment of terrified bravery.) Status: Deceased Current Location: Hidden Cemetery - Melody

Normally the most elegant and demure of the Nymphs, she comes from an old family of fairies and wizards who specialise in combat with spiritual type monsters and curses that afflict the spirit.

The eldest of several siblings (some adopted), she lets her playful side show when indulging their childish antics.

Her favourite flower is the Lotus and she enjoys making soups for the people she loves. (Soup was the only food she never messed up, regardless of what kind it was.)

Seemingly the least likely to throw hands, Yanli will verbally berate anyone who dares to talk shit about her siblings or friends.

Yanli was trained from a young age to play the Guzheng, and used it in several of her magical Ritual Spells. Ritual spells are a more uncommon but not rare form of magic that take a little longer than a normal spell but can be more finely tuned to one's needs. Musical Ritual Spells were particularly common amongst the Melody clans who specialised in spirit hunting, and Yanli created dozens of spell songs over the course of her life, all written down in a personal spell book.

Yanli was called home to assist with a case of suspected possession just as the search for Sabrina was winding down. The case turned out to be more widespread than first suspected, not a small case of spiritual possession as first thought, but an entire small town under the influence of a 'still unknown' entity. Yanli gave her life protecting her family and releasing the victims from their spiritual imprisonment.

After her death, several clans tried to ask for spells from Yanli's book (which she had previously denied) but no one could find it.

(The only member of her family who doesn't respond with 'we don't know where it is' is the oldest of her adopted siblings Mo Ying, who's reply is “even if it wasn't destroyed, she didn't want you to have it.”)

((Mo Ying absolutely has her book. Yanli was (and still is) his favourite sibling, he was often accused of having a 'sister complex' before his family realised he was gay.))

-

Sotterana / T'ana

Home World: Eraklyon

Purview: Fairy of UnderGround* (Lit. 'The unfertile Bounty of the Element of Earth')

Hair Colour: Brassy blonde Eye colour: deep amber Skin: bronze-tan Height: 5' 8”/ 172.72 cm (Tallest Nymph) Personality Key Words: steady, hard working, patient, fidgety, compassionate Hobbies: metal work, people watching, petting Cat!Sabrina, listening to Yanli play, making things from spare pieces of wire, collecting interesting looking rocks Favourite Foods: crunchy things like flaky pastry, savoury things Pixie: Ambra, Pixie of Treasures (easily distracted, adores shiny things.) Status: Deceased Last Known Location: The Labyrinth of Pazzia – outer reaches of the Magical Dimension

Born on the continent of Isis on Eraklyon, T'ana comes from a long line of Intuitive Magicals who have been forging magical weapons since the Unification of Eraklyon. The first known Fairy in the family, it wasn't until T'ana's early-teens when her family realised her mild hyperactivity was a result of her Magical Core having no proper/sufficient outlet.

Her family, filled with craft masters and Heroes raised all their children in preparation of joining the family trades, which lead to T'ana developing control of her magic before any outbursts occurred. During a collaboration with another family (Yanli's clan), Yanli and T'ana were told to wait out of the way, only to be found by the creature their families were hunting, together Yanli and T'ana managed to fight the creature off, revealing T'ana's status as an Active Magical/Fairy and cementing their friendship forever.

T'ana's over abundance of energy growing up made her a little twitchy, and she took to bending small pieces of wire into various shapes to keep her hands busy and out of trouble. Once the route of the problem was found and addressed, she kept the habit used to the way it helped her mind focus. (Occasionally swapping out wire bending for stroking Sabrina's fur.)

As a fairy whose purview covers all subterranean matters, from ores and minerals, to fault lines and tectonics, her ability to navigate unfamiliar tunnel and cave systems is unparalleled.

Physically the strongest (and tallest) of all the Nymphs, T'ana sports the standard 'super' strength of stone and metal type fairies, which is bolstered by her years spent learning her family's craft as a weapon smith.

When not performing her duties as a member of the Nymphs, or just hanging out with her friends, T'ana could be found working along side her family, both as a crafter and as back up for Hero family members.

T'ana was lost not long after Yanli, and the remaining Nymphs often wondered if her grief over loosing her two best friends played a part in her death.

T'ana and two of her cousins went hunting rumours of an evil (possibly Fairy Hunting) wizard, and became trapped in an ancient and cursed labyrinth. The only surviving party member claimed that the third member had turned on them suddenly, ranting about how they were never appreciated.

Wielding their prize creation, a knife that turned a magic user's power in on itself, they managed to stab T'ana before the surviving cousin could stop them.

The knife caused T'ana's magic to turn against her, transforming her into a stone statue, and released a magical shock wave that caused the entire area to collapse. Both T'ana and her killer were lost in the ensuing destruction, no retrieval party was able to find them, and eventually her family accepted her death and tried to move on.

[voidsentprinces]

Prompt #2: Bargain

The airship’s floor boards creaked as the large statured man traveled across it. Finely, dressed from head to toe in a style fitting that of a financier. Even after all these years inhabiting this previously, mortal coil. It still felt limiting, cramped, and unbecoming of his original being. But, he knew better than to complain. Twas what was required to fulfill the contract that was agreed upon so long ago.

Slowly, he sat down upon the steel and cushioned arm chair that sat behind his finely made desk. His gaze lingering on the empty office space save a few counters, some chairs, a rug and nick nacks. Including, as he gazed upon it, a monochromic cube that inexplicably exploded forth from a bag. That had been granted a bewildered adventure when they delved into the Palace of the Dead. It wouldn’t of been such an experience, had the bag not clearly been an easy thirteen times the cubes lesser in size and capacity.

But, here it was delivered exasperately by the confused spelunker. For a pretty bit of coin. And no shortage of pep talking convinced the individual to relinquish it. A novice observer might of considered the exchange to be a master stroke. To convince someone who bent and broke themselves. Risking life and limb only to emerge from the pits of despair with only a cube to show for it? A bargain well struck.

Mammon felt less so about it, it was something else to add to his collection. He felt no attachment to it. No greater interest than that which had first appeared in his view. He saw it, he was drawn to have it, he haggled and bargained and it became his. And now it rested in the office on a creaking airship for no better purpose than to, perhaps, rest a mug on. It was rank among the lowest spot in his history of bargaining.

Letting out a sigh, the bones of his vessel ached with exhaustion. He had been at this some time. Perhaps, he was growing old finally? There was a strange occurence. Was he, perhaps, the first Primal in all of the Source and its Reflections to reach old age? Had many of the Primals even counted the seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years, or centuries they had been constantly summoned by the beast tribes? Did they count each time a Warrior of Light or one blessed by Hydaelyn smoting them out of the Realm as a finite existence?

Listen to him, he had thought, considering a mortal concept such as aging or time. Was he not immortal in spirit, if not body? Such philosophies bored him, despite his sudden umbridge with the subject. His eyelids grew heavy, his back slack, and he began to rest in his comfortable chair. His memories winding back the clock of that bygone age.

It is neither known nor recorded in the now long-lost annuals of Tartarian history. Whence Mammon was first summoned upon the realm. What was recorded was his great stature and great revel he expended upon his followers. While many Primal’s natures naturally lead them to temper their followers. And twist them to their will. Mammon seemed to be granted an unmatched wisdom, even in his youth. He foresaw what could be built and brought forth should free will be granted to his followers. Had one had hindsight about that comings and goings of Tartarian. They might of considered Mammon’s wisdom, naivety that eventually lead to his down fall.

But so it was, the primal never once enthralled any being who became his child. The many beast tribes and mortals that flocked to him. Speak of tribute, gifts, and promises. Bargains made, bargains broken, bargains haggled, renewed and sealed. Though it is said his shoulders touched the heighest point in the sky. His head alone blocking out the sky and his being nearly as massive as the shard he remained on. There was never an ordeal too small or too insignificant for the Primal to see to.

Whenever the tiny creatures that made Tartarian their home approached him. The great Mammon would lean down from the sky, bringing clouds down with his head. And meet the being face to face. Causing fog to naturally form as he bent down to greet the arrival. Always listening, considering, and then speaking when the little ones were done. The legends speak that Mammon taught the tiny beings to build, trade, hunt, and percieve value in currency.

Mortal and Beast Tribe grew in their own civilizations. Commerce and trade flowed freely. The tiny beings began to speak, communicate, plot, and produce for each other. But, always with knowledge came a wave of ignorance. It only took a few whispers and propeganda from tiny beings seeking to have control for themselves. To label Mammon and those who still brought tribute to him, savages. Heretics. Beings to be brought low.

And so it was not long before these greedy individual built their own towers, their own armies, who marched out filled with vainglorious justice to kill his children. Eventually, an army would break through and challenge Mammon. Who smote them with ease. The tiny greedy ones then began to pray to any being who would hear them.

Inevitably, their prayers grew and gave Hydaelyn succor. And she in return blessed individual adventures with her echoes. And these would-be Warriors of Light went forth to combat the perceived woes of the world. Emboldened by their victories, they eventually came to fight Mammon and his children. The fighting was fierce. But, so ancient was Mammon and so influential, these Warriors of Light could only weaken the great beast.

It was then that a Black Mage stepped forth having learned a sealing principle to bind a Primal to his will. Given to him by a kindly old man wearing a red mask. Ascians, no doubt wanted to create chaos in Tartarian. And no better chaos than smoting the greatest Primal on the shard. But, so it was the Mage bond Mammon to his soul with the aid of the echo. And the great beast was sealed inside him.

So great and ancient was the beast and so young and foolhardy the Mage. That instead of fully cooperating, the beast and the mage constantly fought for control over the Mage’s being. It wasn’t long before the Mage became a danger to his comrades. Fleeing and secluding himself in a mountain range far, far away. Without his comrade’s aid, the Mage began to hear the Beast’s whispers. Promises of knowledge, wealth, glory, and power.

The Mage would try his best to combat these constant flights of fancy. Delving into his studies in an attempt to truly bend the beast to his will. Hours became days. Days became months. And nearly a year to the day of the sealing, the Mage had run out of time. The Ascians, unfortunately, in laying low Mammon had brought upon a precipes that would engulf the shard in Rejoining. And the Warriors of Light were too slow to stop them. They had failed.

The hermit mage found the would being engulfed in dark and the element of Ascian choosing. As the black and void consumed, corrupted, and tore apart life. The mage finally opened his ears to that insidious beast. And Mammon made a bargain, it knew of a way to postpone the Mage’s demise. And get revenge on the Ascians who would now sap the shard of all life.

The Mage hadn’t need for details, he shook hands with the great Beast. Mammon came into control. And true to his word, they body survived...in some capacity. The Mage’s consciousness was gone, naught was left of the previous Warrior of Light. The Primal’s essence and the oncoming void providing too much for even Hydaelyn to shield. But, his body remained and Mammon filled up every lacking aspect of it. Making it his vessel, he wandered the void until some fool Ascian ripped an interdimensial rift while combating another Warrior of Light.

Mammon found his way into Eorzea just as a research facility was set to explode. Suddenly, the previous primal was dropped many yalms down into the world below. Through flame, dark, and allaghan debris. Eventually washed ashore in Horizon. Mammon aimed to keep his bargain with the mage. Having never failed those who became his children before.

Opening his eyes from his rest, a grin formed on his face. He would avenge Tartarian and those Warriors of Light who lay him low. And in return, he would crush the Ascians who deprived him of the many bargains he had yet to take part in. When they snuffed the light out of his realm.

@sea-wolf-coast-to-coast

[rueitae]

Welcome to the Neighborhood

Allura is not dead and the story isn’t over. Fight me.

I needed to time heal after season 8. Please take this post canon fic and do with it what you will. 2200 words. Thanks you @sp4c3-0ddity for the usual. <3

Read on Ao3

~~~~~

She sees them all, every possibility in every reality, every moment that makes one branch from the other. Billions of new realities are born every tick as decisions are made in everyday life.

A yalmore turns right instead of left. Her nana chooses a different dress for her to wear on her tenth birthday. A man picks up a piece of trash instead of leaving it on the beach. Each one creates their own strand of reality.

It doesn’t hurt, all this information, at least not her head.

She aches as Earth is destroyed before Voltron is reformed, the Paladins only children. Her heart is sick watching as Lotor grows up in cold loneliness time and time again.

She reaches out to change it, to prevent her loved ones from pain. She finds herself unable to touch or affect anything.

So she observes; all at once she experiences joy for her friends and mourns for what could have been and what has been lost. She sees millions of realities where she has a family of her own, sometimes with Lance but not always. The number of children vary and if her oldest is a girl or a boy. In others she remains single but alive.

Only in the one she left behind does she become what she is.

Which is… what, exactly?

Allura isn’t sure, but it becomes harder to see the different realities through watery eyes. She sees her happy ending unfairly play over and over in different ways. It does nothing to soothe the longing in her heart.

Over time she learns each reality like the back of her hand and begins to foresee the divergent realities. Soon, she cannot tell what is the past and what is the future.

What’s the point of having all this power - of having to leave her loved ones - if she cannot do good?

Physical contact, the first since she sacrificed herself, surprises her and interrupts her concentration.

“Careful, sweetheart. Too much work this quickly will make you go mad.”

Allura turns around in the white void to greet her guest.

Of all the people she expects to visit her in the afterlife, Bob is not one of them.

Allura believes herself a reasonable person, and the last time she saw Bob he’d held her and the other Paladins captive on his game show.

She summons her bayard with a growl and wraps her whip around the surprised host, jerking him and his floating platform towards her.

“What do you want?” she seethes in his face. “Is this your doing?”

“Hey! I’m not the one who decided to go out in a blaze of glory!” he protests, raising his bound hands as high as he can. “That was all you.”

“‘Great judge of heroes’, my quiznak!” Fury fills her heart remembering Coran’s explanation - oh Coran she misses him so much already - of the supposed judge of those who would do great things. “Did you know all of this would happen? Did you know Honerva would try to destroy everything?”

Allura hasn’t seen Honerva since parting with the Paladins. To think all of this, her fate included, culminated from a desire for family.

But blood does not a family make. Allura takes that to heart above all else. Her Paladins are alive and thriving, so she can endure whatever this is for their sakes.

“Hey, I keep tabs on potential heroes! That’s my job! It’s your job to watch different realities, Ms. Lion Goddess.”

Allura lets his words sink in, a pit falling in her stomach. “What… did you call me?”

“Lion Goddess,” Bob says dryly. “Welcome to the neighborhood, by the way. Norlax and I got you a fruit basket. Which I’d love to give to you, if you’d be so kind as to let me go.”

“Can’t you just...poof out, or something?”

“In my realm? Sure. Not in your place though.”

Allura lets the blue bayard revert to its base form. The flash of anger is nearly gone, replaced with a weight in her heart she isn’t sure she wants.

Lion Goddess is what the Arusians first called her, a title she rejected. Even now she does not wish for it.

She now knows this isn’t death.

Bob hovers closer, wrapping a friendly arm around her shoulders and dropping a basket of Altean fruit in her unprepared hands.

“Thank you… Bob. It’s lovely.” Though the words fit the situation, they taste strange as they leave her mouth. The mundane exchange feels like it should take place anywhere other than in this void.

“You’ll get used to it,” Bob assures her as if reading her stunned thoughts. “Take some time to spruce up the place. You’re only limited by your imagination, your realm, your powers, your fashion. And you, kid, have plenty of it, what with bringing back Altea and managing infinite realities and all.” He rolls his eyes. “Just wait until you start getting heroes petitioning your help for their cause. There’s only one you for all realities after all.”

Everything still feels so fresh, the battle and her actions that followed. The looks on the faces of her Paladins - her family by choice - as they said goodbye brought fresh pain to her heart. So perhaps that is why she asks, “Is that why you have guests, Bob? Do you miss your loved ones too?”

Allura doesn’t know why she expects anything different when he shrugs off the personal question with a smirk. “The circumstances are a bit different, but our goals of keeping order in the universe are the same.”

“So you are lonely,” she presses. She wishes to be anywhere else - with either her father and all her loved ones who waited for her, or with those she left behind.

Bob shrugs. “It comes with the job, but there’s no rule against visitors as you can see from yours truly,” he says with a proper bow. ”Is that why you gave him a part of yourself? Do you want them to find you?”

Allura looks at her hands, pink energy glowing around them in anticipation of her will. Lance doesn’t seem to mind the marks, a constant reminder of her sacrifice even more than the statue they built. Does it make him lonely every time he saw his reflection? “I wanted to give him something, anything, after he gave me so much. Can I - is there a way for me to go home?”

“Not without tearing the fabric of space and time,” Bob says, and Allura’s hope sinks. “But hey, what else is new for the Paladins of Voltron?”

Allura doesn’t want that, nor does she want more painful goodbyes.

Only bounded by her imagination, Bob says. Perhaps she can tell them she is alright, that she is going to watch over them; ask if they are truly happy…

She finds them asleep at night in her mind’s eye, in the reality she had left. The small act of Lance, Hunk, and Pidge wearing their Altean pajamas warms her heart. Surely of all realities, here she should be able to do something. She reaches out to the life force she left, eager to leave a message with Lance.

Instead her will finds a stronger and older link. Platt dreams of sampling Hunk’s cooking, Chuchule of sunbathing, and Chulatt of exploring Kosmo’s thick fur.

Allura clasps her hands together, hopeful. “Friends, please, can you hear me?”

Plachu’s whiskers tremble and he wakes, head turning as if searching for her voice.

The others rouse slowly while they chatter, wondering if they all dreamt of their tall friend.

Success! But now...what can she say? Can she just...bring them here?

Black lightning strikes in the distance and demands her attention. Allura severs her connection with the mice in time to see Bob jump in response to the flash.

“What… why is that here?” he shrieks in an understanding that chills Allura’s spine, because she too recognizes it.

The rift entity, the thing that started Zarkon and Honerva towards their path of destruction. The thing she used to bolster her own powers…

And never removed from herself.

“It came with me,” she says in growing dread. Here where she had access to every reality...

The frequency of the flashes increases, getting closer by the tick. The edges of the white void darken as it approaches.

She turns to an awestruck Bob. “How do I stop it? I cannot let it get to the other realities!”

“I’m neutrality personified,” Bob explains as they back away from the black void. “It’s a creature born of the rift between realities; you need the same energy to oppose it.”

Power trembles at her fingertips, begging to be released. Allura grits her teeth. If this is her role now, to protect all realities and keep her family from having to fight any further, then she will do it.

Bob yelps and hovers behind her as the black lightning surges towards them, the last remaining bastion of light. Allura meets it head on, dropping Bob’s gift as the darkness halts at her outstretched arms. It twists around her body, searching for an entry point.

You used us once, let us in again, it taunts.

“Never again,” she spits, and her quintessence overwhelms it.

Not even a yalmore is capable of such otherworldly screeches. The entity from the rift between realities shrinks to its smallest form, resting in the palm of her hand and emanating a soft pink glow.

Because Allura wills it to be contained.

But Honerva proved that containing it is not a permanent solution.

Allura parts the white void as if it were a curtain. It opens to the quintessence field, the place from which it originated, where she allows the entity to drift under her magical supervision. She closes the rift with a wave of her hand.

It will never corrupt again.

Bob breathes a deep sigh of relief and slumps in his chair. “That was a close one. The realities without Voltron are a lot less traumatic.”

Allura tries to imagine what life would be like if the comet had never landed on Daibazzal. She only has to look in on the right reality and the peace she could have had pains her. But… then she never meets her Paladins. In its future, Keith is never born, and Shiro passes away far earlier than is right.

She closes her mind to that reality. She doesn’t want a world where neither of them is there.

To think that small thing was responsible for the corruption of Honerva and entrapped the other Alteans.

She gasps in horror. “I never removed it from the others.” She frantically searches for the malignant entities and visions of the affected Alteans appear in the void above her. Allura tenses. There are five of them still out there. “I need to get them back into the quintessence field as soon as possible!”

“You won’t be able to trap them if they’re outside your realm,” Bob says. “I couldn’t do a thing to you Paladins until you entered my nebula. You may be able to see realities, but you can’t change them - that would defeat the purpose, wouldn’t it?”

“Then Voltron’s work is not yet complete,” she says sadly. Her friends can’t rest, not when Voltron is the only other force that can oppose these creatures.

“That thing getting into any of our realms is a bad idea,” Bob tells her, “but I don’t have to tell you what could happen if it does.”

“The corruption of all realities,” she agrees. Guilt fills her gut. She sacrificed herself to restore all realities, yet she delivered a malignant entity right where it could do the most harm. But… “If I could contain this one, I should be able to contain the other five before they find a way here on their own. It isn’t safe to leave them unaccounted for in the universe. The Paladins will need to form Voltron to bring them to me.”

Bob grins knowingly, snapping his fingers. “See, you knew the whole time.” He laces both sets of hands together and crosses a leg over his knee. “So, how are you going to bring the Paladins here?”

“Not while you are visiting,” she says sternly. “I will not have you taking them in for your quiznaking game show again.”

Bob sighs dramatically. “Too bad. I was looking forward to seeing a rematch of Shiro versus the Snick.”

She needs to contact Lance and the mice, but first, she needs to get the Paladin’s attention. They also need a way to find her. Lance is good with directions, but his methods would fail in deep space.

Her mouth tugs up slightly, but she’s unable to smile fully with longing overtaking her. There is no greater bond in the universe than between Lion and Paladin, the same bond that allowed Zarkon to chase them across galaxies.

And she was bonded to all of the Lions.

Twin pedestals rise on either side of her. She places a palm on each one, her power flowing through this realm and into the greater universe.

She reaches the Blue Lion first, and her message is instantly understood. The Lions roar in acknowledgement. After the Paladins witness the send off, Allura bids the Lions to join her.

Now she waits for the Paladins to follow, looking forward to a very happy reunion.

[ask-jaghatai-khan]

Greater Warhammer Chronology Headcanon

I initially had this idea based on a joke about how since technology is always being lost and regressing in 40k, Warhammer Fantasy must be the last battlefield in the galaxy, after everyone blew themselves back to the stone age on one planet. With Age of Sigmar out, I took the idea even further.

Basically the universe is in a constant cyclical battle with Chaos, which Chaos is always fated to win. However, each time Chaos wins and destroys reality, the new one that rises from the ashes is more and more resilient. In 40k Chaos is nigh-unstoppable even against legions of starships and enhanced warriors, where in Fantasy the armies of Order manage to make do with determination and faith despite there being two massive Warp rifts spewing over their planet, and with far less infighting to boot. In Age of Sigmar, Chaos isn’t even safe from being purified once it has its hands on a mortal’s soul.

So the Warhammer Fantasy world (which I think is called Mallus? – clever.) is one of the last remaining worlds in the galaxy, after the Warp bled outwards so much to engulf all of 40k. Almost none of the races of it are really “native”. In the final throes of the galaxy, the remnants of the Old Ones made a return, working with the forces resisting Chaos to ensure one last chance at escape. They fortified the planet against Chaos incursion, and trillions of refugees died trying to get to the last haven. Some didn’t make it, but their legacy lives on in various ways – the Dark Eldar are gone, but their seed of pride still lives on in the Eldar; the T’au are gone, but elements of their culture persist; and while the C’tan have been wiped out, the anti-space wounds they left in the Warp would eventually resurface as a dark curse on humanity.

Other races, like the Orks, Eldar, humans, and certain abhuman strains would live on, some being modified by Old Ones to better survive in the face of the Chaos threat (such as the Dwarfs and proto-Ogres). Others, like the Lizardmen, were created wholesale for similar purposes. While the world would start to develop its own ecosystem apart from the influence of the Warp all around it, some things show up again later. A massive Tyranid bioform, scarred and rendered impotent by Warp energy, falls from the sky in the far future, infecting the Ogre race with the latent remains of the Hive Mind’s hunger. Warpstone, created from the shattered remains of planets in the stormy ruins of the galaxy, falls to Mallus to be used by creatures of Chaos. Etc, etc.

And then, Warhammer Fantasy happens. The survivors of 40k were essentially brought back to the stone age, and lived as such with a few exceptions, as their origins faded into myth. What I find funny about this is that I like to think the scales of the two settings are actually equivalent. That is to say – if it looks like a Norscan could fight an unarmored Space Marine, it’s because he could, if briefly. Only the strongest and most resilient survived the apocalypse, and even the lowliest peasant is the descendant of those determined enough to have reached Mallus in the final days, even if many other heroes gave their lives.

And, of course, Age of Sigmar sprouts off from there. Each time the cycle completes, Chaos wins only to birth a reality more capable of resisting them. Time is convoluted, so sometimes souls cross between eras, but it’s always the same Chaos Gods. In some ways, Chaos is succeeding in its ultimate philosophy of strength above all else – each new universe breeds stronger and stronger stock, magically and physically, to the point Chaos is starting to become less undefeatable. You can also see this in the structure of the settings – in 40k the Warp and Realspace are distinctly separate, if connected, with the Warp intruding on the galaxy by the actions of Chaos. In Fantasy, the effects of the Realm of Chaos are an everyday part of life, which sometimes produces non-corrupting and useful results like magic and hybrid creatures. In Age of Sigmar, the whole setting is rife with magic, and could be seen as fully fused with the Warp, with pockets of stability (the Realms) essentially invading that dimension previously under the complete control of Chaos. Magical Warp energy becomes more and more common, but the forces of Order have adapted.

[fadingcoast]

Death of the Lie  ||  Chapter 7: Hope

AUTHORS: @fandom-and-feminism​ & @fadingcoast​

Summary: Odin and his daughter Hela are the perfect conquerors of the universe. The nine realms fall one after the other into their clutch. After Odin takes a second wife and has a son with her, he doesn’t need Hela anymore. Hela abandons her father and ends up marrying Laufey, a sworn enemy of the Aesir people. Not long after, she becomes pregnant with Laufey’s child. Odin cannot let that son be born, but against all odds, the boy survives. Odin is forced to bring him back to Asgard to be raised as his own until he could make further use of him. The half-Jotun-half-Aesir boy grows up to look and act a lot like his mother, which disturbs Odin, and makes him treat the boy horribly. Odin’s lies are deep and complex, but one day the boy will find out the truth about everything he is.

PAIRING: None. RATING: Teen. WARNINGS: Graphic depictions of violence. Graphic depiction of childbirth. Child abuse. Angst. Bullying.

No real warning for this chapter!

Taglist is open!!

Masterlist

@igotloki @xalgaliareptx @wolfpawn @fairlightswiftly @christy-winchester @silverhart93

Chapter 7: Hope

To Loki’s great surprise, Thor had been right. In the months leading to his departure many things did, in fact, change.

That night, despite being exhausted, Loki opened up to his brother. Once he started talking it was difficult to stop. It was as if a dam inside him had held back all of his struggles and all of his words for so many years, and now it was beginning to break. For the first time in forever, Loki felt he was being heard. He confided in his brother all the nights he had cried himself to sleep, trying to overcome the urge to self harm, as well as all the nights he didn’t succeed and ended up on the healers’ ward, beating himself up over his constant failure.

Thor listened patiently to Loki’s recounts of hiding in corridors and empty cupboards to get away from his friends. Of hiding the bruises from their parents, or making cheap excuses. Thor listened, it didn’t matter that half of what Loki was saying he already knew. He had been there when his friends planned to “prank” his little brother. He had been there when they carried out their plans. He had been there when the palace staff alerted Frigga, and had watched from a safe distance how Odin had dismissed and blamed Loki for everything. He had played ignorant to the scheming and had laughed about it afterwards, and Loki had paid the price.

Thor knew they were beyond apologies now. He had seen most of it and done nothing. Like their own father, Thor had blinded himself to Loki’s suffering. He had played it as harmless jokes when they were kids, and after that he just assumed Loki would just accept them. He hadn’t wanted to see how much damage and torment he was causing, was enabling.

That night, he had been with his parents when the Einheri came carrying Heimdall’s warning. Thor had to see for himself what his mother had told him a million times and he had refused to believe. The blood stained blade on the floor, the slash on Loki’s wrist, the pinkish water… Thor couldn’t lie to himself anymore.

He had to make amends before it cost Loki his life.

The first step was for Thor to have a serious discussion with his friends. They were confused by his request to leave Loki alone, as Thor would not reveal the true motives behind his change of attitude. Yet, it was easy to threaten them with telling the King about their treatment of a Prince of the Realm and expulsion from court.

The one time Fandral took Thor’s words lightly, he ended up being pinned down by Mjölnir for a few hours.

Loki caught on to what Thor was doing, but decided not to say anything. He was grateful that his brother was finally standing up for him. They trained more together, and shared ale after dinner. Thor even invited Loki to join him at the tavern, but wasn’t surprised when he declined.

The only thing that didn’t change was Odin. He was as dismissive of Loki as always. Despite his initial support, Loki knew his father wasn’t happy about him going to Alfheim. He suspected Odin was hesitant to surrender control over Loki’s life and was furious there was no other way to “fix” him. Odin’s attitude enraged Thor; how could he still treat Loki the way he did knowing what his indifference and constant disapproval caused?

Once or twice, Thor tried to talk to his father about it, but if Frigga didn’t get through Odin, Thor doubted he could.

.-

The first cold day of the season finally came. The sun was shining bright, but the wind coming from the mountains was chill. It marked the end of the hot season. And it meant Loki had to leave Asgard. He was animated by the prospect of studying seidr in an actual Sanctum. It was clear that his mother, as powerful as she was, couldn’t advance his education any further. But a sense of dread came along with it. He had been homeschooled for most of his life, and his social skills weren’t exactly advanced. The idea of sharing classes and spaces with other people as he developed a skill he barely understood himself was at least overwhelming.

Loki had never come in contact with the Elves of Alfheim before, so he studied their history and their customs as best as he could while preparing to leave. He learned King Frèyr was the current ruler, though he was Vanir by birth. Politics were obscure and some of the information was missing from the Asgard archives, but apparently the elves liked the King enough.

Odin and Frigga had invited the king to Asgard, to arrange Loki’s stay at the palace and his inclusion to the school. Frèyr came across as nice, light hearted and amenable. He had even praised Loki’s magic after Frigga made him do a small demonstration, as to explain why they needed him to go to Alfheim. It was clear to the King of the Elves that Loki’s potential exceeded the extensive but still limited seidr knowledge that the Queen possessed.

Loki knew he would be welcome at the palace in Alfheim. Getting accepted into the Sanctum was another matter, one he would have to tackle once he got there. But Frèyr still assured him that if he didn't get accepted, the regular teachers were just as good, and vastly superior than the Aesir ones anyway. Odin shifted uncomfortably at the claim, and Loki had to suppress a laugh. He could’ve sworn Frèyr winked at him.

During Loki’s preparations, the rift between himself and Thor began to heal. Loki knew things would never return to the way they were in the carefree days of their early childhood, before Thor’s pride and Loki’s fear changed everything, but the scar that formed in the wound in their brotherhood hurt less and less every day, and Loki believed one day it was possible they could be real brothers again. For the first time in as long as he could remember, Loki had hope of a brighter future.

.-

Loki trudged down the Bifrost bridge with Thor and their mother, silently. His head was a cornucopia of emotions. He felt sad, excited, happy, fearful, anxious, nervous… all at the same time. Frigga held his hand, offering a smile to calm him down.

“How aren’t you cold?” Thor asked, closing his cape around him to keep the chill out.

Loki shook his head and shrugged. “I am cold, it just doesn’t bother me.”

“Well, everyone knows I am the hotter brother,” Thor said, with a playful smirk.

“That would only mean I am the cooler one,” Loki said plainly.

Thor laughed loudly, and slapped Loki hard on his back, making the younger brother huff and trip a little. Loki glared at him, with a hint of amusement behind it. They were nearing the Bifrost chambers, and could see Heimdall waiting for them at the gate.

“Your majesties,” he greeted them with a nod. “Alfheim is ready for your arrival, my prince.” Heimdall stepped aside and placed his large sword into the Bifrost heart. “I will let you say your goodbyes.”

“I am actually going to miss you, little bro,” Thor said. “I wish we had more time… that I had made more time, for you.” He sighed deeply.

Loki smiled faintly. “I ain’t dying yet, Thor.”

It was meant as a joke, but Thor looked concerned anyway. Loki shook his head.

“I mean it. I ain’t dying yet,” Loki said more seriously.

Thor didn’t answer. Instead he gave his brother a tight hug, one of those that made Loki wheeze. Both brothers giggled. Loki turned to Frigga.

“Are you sure you don’t want us to come with you?” Frigga asked, holding his hands.

“Yes, mother. I need to do this by myself.” Loki gave her hands a small squeeze. “King Frèyr will be waiting for me. I’ll be settled in the castle in no time and I promise I will write every full moon.”

Frigga smiled and looked up at him, cupping his face in her hands. “You’ve grown so much.” Loki was almost as tall as Thor now, all impossibly long limbs, taut muscles and lean build.

Loki hugged his mother tightly, burying his face in her shoulder.

“Why- why didn’t he come?” Loki muttered quietly before stepping back and looking at Frigga.

Thor let out a small groan, and Frigga glared at him.

“He’s... busy. Niflheim dwarves are complicated and temperamental,” she said with a faint smile.

Loki nodded in disappointment, but decided to let Frigga believe he accepted her lie.

“Where are your trunks?” Thor asked, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

“Why would I need trunks? I can summon my belongings once I get to the palace,” Loki said, as it was the most obvious thing in the nine realms.

“Right!” Thor said, shaking his head.

Loki stepped to the circular gateway and nodded to Heimdall. The massive sword chirred as it moved, lighting the Bifrost alive. Energy hummed and the chamber vibrated as the spire whirled into the right position. Loki smiled at Frigga and Thor one last time before the multicolored light swallowed him.

As fast as it started, the Bifrost came to a rest.

Frigga took a deep breath. She was still wringing her hands in a nervous habit, reciting a small prayer in her mind.

“Why are you making excuses for him?” Thor asked in a low tone, distracting Frigga from her thoughts. “You know what you said is not true, I know it’s not true. Loki knows it’s not true!” He stared hard at his mother. “One of these days your first instinct with Loki won’t be to lie to him.”

Frigga didn’t answer. Thor didn’t know how true his statement was.

.-

Loki arrived on Alfheim safely after a short ride on the Bifrost. The sight that greeted him was breathtaking: a massive forest of ancient trees like he had never seen in Asgard spread across the horizon, as far as the eye could see.

In the clearing where he landed was a circular structure made of white stones, with three trails leading out of it. A guard was stationed on each road, and one was accompanied by another guard and a young woman. Behind them, 3 horses awaited. They approached Loki.

“Prince Loki of Asgard,” the woman greeted him with a kind smile. “I am princess Sigyn of Alfheim.” She curtsied politely, a gesture Loki was unused to seeing from royalty. “I send regards from my father, King Frèyr. He is preoccupied at the moment and has sent me to bring you back to the castle.”

Loki bowed. “I wasn’t aware of King Frèyr having a daughter,” he said, curiosity getting the better of him.

“Asgard archives are… incomplete,” she said simply. Loki had the sensitivity of not asking more questions just yet. “May I inquire about your belongings?” she asked, looking around.

“Oh, I will summon them at the palace. I didn’t want to be carrying around everything.”

Sigyn looked slightly impressed. “My father spoke highly of your magic, I suppose he wasn’t bluffing.”

She made a gesture to the royal guard, and he got the horses ready.

“The ride through the forest is short, and leads right to the palace,” she said, signaling Loki to follow her. “We’ll get there in time for lunch. After that, my father has left a present for you in your chambers.”

“A present?” Loki asked, surprised.

“We are celebrating the Equinox this evening,” Sigyn informed him. “We know it’s not something you celebrate on Asgard, so Father wanted to make sure you had the proper attire.”

Loki was grateful for the gesture. Coming here was already more than he had ever expected, and being received so warmly by the King and his daughter was almost overwhelming.

They rode together, making small talk along the way. Loki asked her many questions about life in the palace and the Equinox festival. She explained how the change of season was important to the elves. The start of the cold season was the start of a new cycle of life. The trees would lose their green leaves, the fields would be harvested for the last time before the snow, the fish on the lakes would be mature enough to catch. It was a celebration of nature giving her last gifts to the land before she went to sleep.

“It was my mother’s favorite celebration, according to Father,” Sigyn finished with a warm smile.

“Was?” Loki asked cautiously.

“My mother passed when I was very little.” Sigyn explained. “I don’t remember much of her. I only know what Father tells me.”

“I am sorry.” Loki said.

“Don’t be.” Sigyn smiled again. “Queen Iwaldis of Alfheim was loved by everyone, and she is remembered fondly by my father and her people. After she passed, Father made sure I would never feel like something was missing.”

“Must be nice to have a loving father.” Loki said, lowering his gaze. Sigyn stared curiously.

“Your father doesn’t approve of magic, does he?” she guessed. “Well, he does look like someone who will rather punch a rock and break both hands in the process to prove a point, than be willing to just vanish it.” She rolled her eyes. Loki couldn’t help but snort with laughter, and Sigyn covered her mouth with her hand. “I am so sorry!” She looked slightly mortified, and apologized profusely. “My father always says my tongue will be my undoing.”

“It’s okay.” Loki said with a smile. “You are not wrong.”

Sigyn watched as Loki’s smile faded. She could see the sadness in his eyes.

“With Queen Frigga being of Vanir descent, one would think the Aesir would welcome more magic wielders into their life,” she offered.

“The Aesir have no problems with magic, as long as women are the ones wielding it,” Loki pointed out.

“How very backwards of them,” Sigyn muttered with disdain.

Loki knew he should be offended, but he laughed instead.

“If Father is right about you, you’ll do just fine here,” she assured him. “We have little time for brute force, mindless boasting, and big hammers.” She stressed the last word, eliciting a smirk from Loki.

The horses came to a stop, right outside a huge stone arch. Sigyn dismounted and Loki did too. The guard that had accompanied them led the horses on a lateral road toward a grand stable.

“Prince Loki of Asgard,” Sigyn said ceremoniously. “Welcome to the Palace of Alfheim.”

.-

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