#carnage and chaos and bloodshed.

[absolutesort]

day 28 — frankie & dylan.

setting :    living room  /   casa amor.

time :  idk sometime in the afternoon but obviously before the big game. 

featuring :    dylan, her best friend in the world, dont hate her  @cruelsxmmcr​

dylan.

he had noticed frankie rushing inside after the whole race and consequent naked laps, but with adela following her first, he figured he’d check up on her later. he sits next to her, bumping his shoulder to hers. “not going to lie, i never thought we’d streak together.” or with josh and val. but frankie and josh is the most shocking of it all. “day one’s not over yet and it’s already crazy.” he’s very rarely the type to want alone time, but after everything, he doesn’t mind some quiet time right now. 

frankie.

“really?” frankie responds, a bubble of bright blue gum snapping back against her lips. “that’s funny. i’ve always dreamed of streaking with you. it’s like the number one fun bonding activity for future inlaws. maybe callie and naomi are doing it in the other villa, too.” smirking, she shoves her shoulder back against his, then drops her weight back against the sofa cushions, legs lifting to tuck over his lap. “tell me about it. i’m wiped.” yawning, she tucks her head into one of the cushions, curling up like a cat. “y’wanna take a nap with me?” frankie asks, foot kicking against dylan’s thigh. “i’m a really good big spoon. and a little one. i just like spooning, really.” half-asleep, she blows another bubble of gum, only opening her eyes to see how large it’s gotten. 

dylan.

he lets out a loud laugh at her words. “you dreamed a little too hard, i reckon, but hey, your dreams just came true. true, we’re now bonded on a much deeper level.” he looks at her with a dimpled grin, moving to rest his arms over her legs. “oh yeah, mate, i’d kill for a nap right now. i need to be able to last through tonight.” he reaches to pop the bubble. “oops.” he grins. “okay, i’m the big spoon, you’re the little spoon. with arms like these, i give the best hugs and cuddles.”

frankie. 

"wow,“ frankie responds, astonished when dylan pops her bubble. "that’s like… dirty.” or at least it feels it somehow, swallowing the gum as he nestles in behind her for a nap. she wonders how much gum she’s swallowed in her life — whether it’s really all that bad or if, when she eventually kicks it, the coroner will cut her open like a pinata to find putty sculptures coating the inside of her lungs in a bright kaleidoscope of colour.  "i told miles you have dwayne the rock johnson arms…“ frankie muses, tiredly, as she tugs one of his arms over her waist, wriggling to get comfortable. "it sucks that we can’t just share a bed later. will you read me a bedtime story?” even though it’s 4pm, and the evening’s entertainment hasn’t even begun. she trusts that someone will wake them in time, and she’ll throw on a sequin boob tube, throw her hair in a bun, apply some lipstick in about five seconds flat and call it a day.

dylan.

"you lost the race and made me run around the villa naked, so i pop your gum bubble,“ he says like he’s retaliating, playfully narrowing his eyes at her before he lies down behind her. he’s so tired he’ll probably be out within the next ten minutes. he needs that nap if has to be his usual cheery self tonight, especially since there’s definitely going to be entertainment. "hell yeah, my arms being compared to the rock’s? that’s a grade A compliment.” he only wishes he can have the rock’s physique. his arm goes around the blonde’s waist, pulling her closer to him in a comforting cuddle. “mate, i know. i’m salty about that.” it’s like the producers are setting these rules with the sole purpose of tempting them to fuck up. he’ll probably end up sleeping outside, else he would’ve shared a bed with frankie if he could. “you want an australian tale?” he remembers a lot of them, all dating back to the days his grandparents would read him and callie stories as kids.

frankie.

eyes half-shut, her focus on the world is slipping, as if somebody had cranked up the dimmer switch. “i’ve got your gross germs in my mouth until i die, now,” she sighs, the only weight behind it being the vague desire to wind him up. she’s probably the least likely person in this villa to care about germs, a strident believer in the thirty-second rule when a sandwich hits the floor, licker of anything sticky she comes across and a serial minesweeper for abandoned drinks in clubs. “yeah. obviously. i’m great at compliments.” her hand fastens over dylan’s when he draws her closer, nuzzling into the warm contact. if one of their new roommates walked in right now, they might get the wrong impression, which probably wouldn’t help either of their chances at getting to know the bombshells ( a good thing, depending on who you asked ). still, it would be funny to fuck with them. frankie almost suggests as much, but she’s too tired for planning the mechanics of half-baked ploys right now, safe and sleepy in the comfort of dylan’s arms. “yeah, why not. does it have spiders? i love those freaky little fuckers.”

dylan.

"you’ll be fine. you like picking noses for dares, apparently,“ he retorts, a smile curving up his lips, although she can’t see it. he’s already shut his eyes and pretty much disconnected from everything happening around him, save for the conversation he’s happening with frankie. after having to hear four people tell him he’s made out a fool, all he wants is to think of something else. "spend one day with me and callie over there and you’ll meet like five different kinds. you’ll befriend them right away,” he says, keeping frankie close to him, arms tight. “i don’t think there’s a tale about spiders. there are ones about wombats, emus, and possums though.”

[izzabela]

Idk how to start with this but like how Hanzo is the last couple timlimes kinda clawed out of hell just to avenge his family and shit. Something along the lines of the reader doing it with one of the Lin Luei bros of your choice? Like they died during a mission gone wrong that ended in a massacre with only the Lin Kuei bro alive. So the reader just out of sheer desperation to get back to them bascially claws themselves out of the Netherrealm to try and get back to them. Their covered in burns and they look like shit, but their back

From the Depths of Hell - Kuai Liang x GN!reader

in which you come back home

a/n: DLC announcement, how we feelin?

ship[s]: kuai liang x gn!reader

warning(s): bodily injury(/ies)?, gore?, angst, non-kanon story, non-kanon lore LOL

the TATTOOS GUYS THE TATTOOS OH MY ELDER GO-

=====================

You looked at Kuai Liang's eyes as he stares at you. His eyes, that are usually focused and reserved, held a line of tears as he looks into your eyes.

The fight to defend the Fire Temple and Hourglass from another timeline threat ended, and the casualties in this were double Shang Tsung's atrocities.

While Liu Kang, his champions, and other titan allies remained relatively alright, mortal casualties from the Lin Kuei and the monks of the Wu Shi climb high.

This was not a war, not even a state of emergency. This was a bloodbath, a massacre- carnage.

It was so bad that the aid you and the Lin Kuei provided, most (if not all) of the men and women that were born into this clan, perished.

The lone survivors were you, Kuai Liang, Bi Han, and Tomas. Not even Sektor and Cyrax made it.

"My dear?" He calls out to you, and you smile as you happily close your eyes, arms are wide open for him to embrace you.

Except you can feel something pass through you. Like a wave of goosebumps, you don't feel the muscular body of Kuai Liang, nor the warmth of his arms.

You turn around and watch as he kneels on the ground, cradling a body that looks eerily similar to yours. You try to get his attention, waving your hands, screaming his name even. But when you try to grab his shoulder, your hand phases through it, and your eyes meet the gaze of your very own, lifeless, ones.

Kuai Liang's shoulders rack violently, rocking back and forth as he holds your cold body. There's a deep, ugly gash running down your collarbone to your stomach, scratches littering your usually clean face, and blood coming from the top of your head. You gasp, falling to your butt as you scoot away.

Your ghostly presence shakes again, this time two people passing through you.

"Brother..." Bi Han's voice is rough, but eerily soft as his eyes lay upon the situation at hand. Tomas is also by his side, and he looks into the sky as he fights the tears that threaten to fall.

"She told me she could handle it..." he mumbles, still rocking back and forth. "I let her go because she told me so..."

Suddenly, you could feel yourself slipping away from the bloodshed. Your arms tried to reach for something, anything, but the mysterious force that stole you from your dearest and his family was too strong.

One minute, you were in Earthrealm. Next, you found yourself in the chaos and eternal damnation of the Netherrealm.

The scenery of the realm frightened you. You had heard the rumors, learned from Ashrah as well, but seeing it in person was different. Jagged and sharp mountains painted the endless and borderless horizon. Echoes of the screams and cries of the damned can be heard throughout the realm, and no matter how much you cover your ears, it rings clearly through your hands.

"By the elder gods," you plea silently. Tears welled in your eyes, the overwhelming sorrow of this place filling your soul.

You begin to cry, wandering aimlessly in the terrain as your body begins to burn, scar, and tear at the elements it faces. What's worse, though, is that you couldn't feel it- not a single thing.

You couldn't feel the jagged stones and rocks that pierced through your feet and scraped your legs. You couldn't feel the fire that burned your arms and torso, your burns scarring over themselves as you wandered. And you couldn't even feel the tearing of your skin as debris from the whirling winds cut you up.

"No use... stay here... all alone... the fire welcomes me..." you mumble this mantra over and over again.

There is no possibility of keeping track of time here. Order, law, civilization as you once knew did not exist here- not when it's ruler-less, borderless, and populated with the most wicked.

And you had to walk through it all.

********

As you walked, Kuai Liang mourned. The loss of his clan was one thing, the loss of his beloved? You? Impossible to comprehend.

While everyone mourned differently, Kuai Liang was different. Fire is beautiful, but also dangerous. It can be wild, uncontrollable, an element of destruction. And by the elder gods, he was ready to explode.

The yellow-clad ninja's depression was violent and manic. He lashed out on everyone, almost burning his brothers and burning Liu Kang's champions. He did not sleep, his insomnia coming back full force to keep him training or sparring.

He wandered the empty palace, sometimes stopping in the courtyard and yelling exercise mantras- as if he still had initiates to train. He was falling deeper and deeper into a psychosis- and you weren't there to witness it.

Bi Han, Tomas, Liu Kang and his champions, hell even some of the Outworlders the Lin Kuei allied with, they all tried to help him, but it was no use. Kuai Liang was a ticking time bomb, and every little thing could be considered the ignition.

One night, Kuai Liang finally passes out from exhaustion of his insomnia. Tomas heard a thud in the hallways, and found one of the servants trying to pick him up. i know i said everyone died but do you honestly think servants go? Tomas tells the servant he's got it, and rushes to his brother in his study.

"B-Bi Han!" he stutters out, his brother on his back as he calls for the cryomancer.

Bi Han gets up immediately, and it's slightly scary for Tomas to watch him tie him down without saying a word.

However, it was for his own good, he'd been growing more and more unstable, taking him out traditionally would probably get one of them killed.

As Tomas watches his brother's chest rise and fall, Tomas prays for the first time in decades.

"God, whoever. If you can hear me, please..." he begs.

"Please return my brother."

********

You're not sure how long it's been since you've heard a noise other than a scream or cry.

But when you hear the faintest whisper of Tomas's voice, your tears cease and your humanity is brought back momentarily. You wipe your eyes and look left, right, down, and up, trying to figure out where and how you heard Tomas's voice.

"return?" you repeat what you heard.

The whisper grows into something more tangible, like a hushed tone someone used in the library. You can hear his voice more clearly, but not yet loud enough.

"Please- retu- bro-," you hear his voice whisper fragments of words.

You shut your eyes tightly, using the last bit of your energy to really zone in on his words.

"God... whoever. If you can hear me... Please. Please return my brother," his voice booms in your head. It's shaky, almost like he's holding in his tears.

"Oh Tomas..." you coo as your tears begin.

Tomas hasn't gone to church in decades. Being from Prague, The Czech Republic, catholicism used to be a major part of his identity. After his parents, he lost the spark and drive he had for the religion.

"The fact he is praying..." you mutter to yourself. "Oh elder gods."

Kuai Liang must've not taken your passing as well as his brothers. Death was natural in your line of work, Kuai Liang had hosted many burials in honor of his clans-people, but you were different. You weren't just a clan member, a ninja, or a woman.

You were Kuai Liang's, just as he was your man. You were his fire, his drive to fight, his partner for life. To be separated so soon... you can only imagine what it would be like in his shoes.

You wipe your tears as you get up from your spot on the ground. More burns appear, but they do nothing to you as you begin to tread for the end of this realm.

However, despite such a noble start, you realize the pain that once felt dull to you was creeping back in increments. Slowly, the agony began to settle in.

"I guess the more human I am, the more I'll feel again," you groan, walking the grounds of the Netherrealm as you try to find any semblance of an escape.

Finally, you stop at a huge wall. Looking up, you realize that it's emitting a haze of heat, just hovering your hand over it feeling like you got burned again. You think of stopping, returning back to the sad, yet easy life of a wandering spirit.

"No," you tell yourself. "Not when you have something to live for."

And so, you grabbed onto the stony wall, hoisting yourself up as you reach, grab, and pull yourself higher and higher. It's hot, scorching, melting your skin as more burns cover your body; you don't care.

Not when your beloved's brother prayed for the first time in years. Not when you realize the agony your beloved is living through as you lie here- wandering and helpless.

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

Blue.

Blue and white.

It's cold, too.

You aren't sure how long you had been climbing, but when you make it back to Earthrealm. And while the chill bites you, it feels like a warm hug.

The warmest of hugs.

Using the last of your strength, you pull yourself up and land into the powdered snow. You gasp as you lay in the snow, rolling around in it like a husky.

You're on hands and knees as you take in your surroundings, and bits of yourself too.

This is Arctika, that's certain. The fir and maple trees that are around this part of the small nation, the constant snowfall the region has is also an indicator. You climbed out of hell to finally be home, but that's the least of your worries.

Looking down at your body, you examine the serious burns that mar your arm. Like a crazy artist on a canvas, your arms are painted in splotches of pink and brown.

But why can you only see one arm?

Your leg also experience this type of artistry, except scars of deep cuts add more depth to this painting. You knew your leg would be cut up from the climb, but you didn't realize to what extreme they would be.

You honestly don't want to look at your face, but when you lick your parched lips, you limp to the nearest body of water you could find.

By the gods, you had never been so... shocked. No words could describe what happened to your face, but it's not a secret when it's this obvious.

A huge, healed burn starts from your right eye, down diagonally across your nose and lips, and ending at your chin. You also realize why you can only see one body part.

Your left eye has been blinded, and there's a scar over your eye as well. You don't remember when this happened, but it doesn't matter when it's real and on your face. You stifle tears as the realization sets in, and all the adrenaline that kept you alive leaves, and you pass out next to the water.

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

Kuai Liang remains in his room, bound to his bed as his brothers stare him in the face. He's livid, body temperature rising as he tries to use his fire to melt the chains that hold him.

Too bad they're imbued with magic.

"Release me at once! Bi Han! Tomas!" he seethes, venom dripping from his words.

Both men look at one another as they meet with sad eyes. For the first time in years, these two agree on one thing- that their brother has become unstable and a threat.

"We cannot do that, brother," Tomas says softly, and Kuai Liang is practically pulling the chains off the walls before a servant bursts through the doors of the bedroom.

"Grandmaster! I come bearing news-" but the servant is immediately yelled at by Bi Han.

"What do you have for us that allow you such disobedience?!" Bi Han screeches, but the servant is out of his water as he keeps talking.

"Grandmaster, master Tomas... She is here." The young men stare at the servant with semi-lax faces, and they push out of the way as the servant locks eyes with the bound pyromancer.

"How do you mean?!" Kuai Liang yells, arms shaking the chains, but it falls on deaf ears as they run out of the room.

Bi Han and Tomas are in the courtyard, and the servants are trembling at their knees as they carry your slumped body. Bi Han and Tomas rush to them, the former carrying your head and the latter at your feet and legs.

"This... is a trap. We saw her die," Bi Han states matter of factly.

"But look, brother," Tomas points out a damning feature of yours. "No one else in the clan has such a part on their body."

"Agh...." you groan, moving around as best as you can. The men move more softly, trying to keep you comfortable.

"(Y/n)?" Tomas calls, and you blink multiple times before the vision of an ashen-haired man appears in your eye.

"Oh elder gods, you're real," you whisper, touching his cheek as Tomas turns pink. You turn to Bi Han and touch his face too.

"It's not a dream...." you mumble to yourself, and Bi Han sits you up so you can breathe properly.

"That... is not possible," Bi Han mutters. "We saw you....die. Kuai Liang held you, he-." You cut him off at the mention of your partner.

"Bi Han, where is he? How is he? I heard he has gone mad, show me where-" it seems everyone in this family has a habit of not letting people finish their sentences.

"Wait, how do you know he was going crazy? You've been dead for months!" Tomas gets up, pointing an accusing finger at you with an accompanied glare.

"I heard you pray, Tomas," you say, getting up slowly to your feet. Tomas is shocked, a bit scared, but he nods as helps you. You arm is over his shoulder, and you limp.

"You look well for what the Netherrealm has treated you," Bi Han quips, and you raise a brow at his dry humor.

As you walk upstairs together, entering the room, and you're met with such a heart-wrenching sight.

Kuai Liang has wrist burns where the chains hold him. His eyes are sunken in, and he has deep and heavy eye-bags under his dimmed eyes. His skin is dull, but there are littered bruises and cuts all over him.

"Kuai Liang?" you ask carefully, voice echoing into bedroom. His head is up, and his tired eyes are bright at the sight of you.

"Oh... darling," you whimper, limping over to him as you wrap your arms around him, his warmth crawling all over your skin as you breathe him in.

"I'm here, I am here. You do not need to be afraid or angry, please beloved," you beg, crying as your shoulder wrack and shake.

Kuai Liang breathes you in, that natural scent of yours with the slightest hint of death. But it doesn't overpower your smell. In fact, it compliments your scent.

Kuai Liang's chains are removed, and finally his hands wrap around you. He holds you, so tight that he was afraid you'd leave again. He tries to look at you, but you're shy.

Also, mangled at the face, you cannot forget that your face isn't what Kuai Liang fell in love with.

"Kuai, no, please do not look,' you whisper. "I am not the same as I was before..."

Kuai Liang just holds your cheek, rubbing it as he smiles tiredly.

"You're as beautiful as the day I lost you." Your eyes well up in more tears as he kisses the scarred parts of your face.

You hold each other, your arms lovingly around his back.

It would take more than death to tear you apart from him.

=====================

no yap notes, see yall in the next fic!

[edgeray]

Arlecchino is not a person.

(Arlecchino x Reader Blurb) Content Warning: Death

There are many things that others have considered her. She is privvy to many labels that whispered voices have called her. Besides her obvious titles, she is called a dog of the Tsaritsa, a bloodthirsty monster, a demented psychopath, a weapon of bloodshed. Rarely is anything but her deadliness, cunningness, or madness--her ability to act as a loyal tool for her archon--ever considered. They are not wrong, she doesn't deny that much of her actions and purpose only lead to utter chaos or massacre. That's all she is to most nearly everyone, with the exclusion you, of course.

You never see her as such. You do not take her clawed hands and see them as a means to slaughter. Instead, you see them as another part of her to worship, another part of her to love, as you trace your lips over each and every knuckle, faint remnants of your love imprinted on them by the heat that wells underneath her skin from where your touch was last. And she is reminded you with that she is none of the things she is purposed to do, according to the Tsaritsa. With these hands, she can do more than just the service of her archon. With these hands, she can love you, hold you, revere you, the same way you do to her.

She is more than just a weapon in your eyes. In your eyes, you behold her as a lover--nothing more, nothing less. To you, she is simply the chanted name you sob into the clung sheets, or the name she signs under 'Your Love' in every letter sent to you. She is just Arlecchino, no Knave, Harbinger, or even the connection of the House of the Hearth to it. She is the one you wait for to arrive home and the one that bids her farewell when she leaves. The one you wrap your arms around, pulling her closer to soothe and comfort. The one you love so deeply and unfalteringly, no matter what she's done.

To everyone else, she is a tool.

To you, she is special. She is loved. Loved like a person with vulnerabilities and fears, with compassion and joy, loved like a human. And it is something so normal compared to the rest of her life that makes her wants to clutch this love to her chest forever, never wanting to let go.

To see her as anything but a machine wired for carnage is the only thing she asks of you.

Do you still love her as such? When her hands are dyed with your blood? When you cling onto her form, in the desperate animalistc way one would, begging to hold onto life for just a little longer? Do you still love her, when her claws are buried into your chest ripping out the heart that beats for her? Is it your profession of love to her that you're muttering with your remaining strength? Do you still love her, despite the tears running down your face?

Oh... what has she done?

Your chest has stopped rising and falling by the time the rush fades, her rationality and senses coming back to you. She doesn't know what has triggered it, but it is too late, because her beloved is gone, killed by the very hands you love to hold.

How foolish Arlecchino was, to be fooled into believing she was nothing but a mere person. How she was fooled into believing your love for her. How she was fooled into believing she was anything but a monster. She knows better now, regrettably, bitterly.

She wishes she never allowed you to convince her otherwise.

Arlecchino is not a person, and has never been. Only people deserve to be loved and in that moment that you died, she is no longer special, no longer loved, and no longer human.

---

A/N: How this series started is how this series ends.

This is the final part of my blurb series. If you guys thought that the finale for this was gonna be fluff. Sorry not sorry :).

Why did I decide to have Arlecchino kill Reader? 🤷‍♀️. I wanted the final blurb to be like anti-thesis to all the other titles (with the titles being "Arlecchino is a ___ person" and with this one being "Arlecchino is not a person.") I know I wanted to have this title but I didn't know how else to implement it besides this way.

If this is not to my usual quality of writing, sorry. I wrote this at 2 AM, even though this won't be posted until 10AM.

[cynic-spirit]

The insult

The room was filled with tense silence as the group gathered for a high-stakes meeting. Yn was seated a little away from the negotiating table, absorbed in a book, her presence barely noticeable to those involved in the serious discussion.

The negotiation was progressing smoothly until a man, known for his cutthroat business dealings, made a shocking proposal. He leaned toward Bucky with a smirk, his eyes glinting with a mix of arrogance and calculation.

“You know, Barnes,” the man Viktor said, his tone casual, “I’ll waive off 2 million extra if you throw in that red lips on the table.”

The room fell into stunned silence. Bucky’s expression hardened instantly. His entire demeanor shifted from calm and collected to a cold, dangerous intensity. His eyes narrowed, and a muscle in his jaw twitched with barely contained anger. The insult against Yn, his cherished and respected partner, had crossed a line.

Without a word, Bucky gestured sharply to Jorah, one of his most trusted men. “Jorah, take Yn to another room. Now.”

Jorah, accustomed to Bucky’s commands, quickly moved to Yn’s side. “Miss Yn, if you could please come with me,” he said, his tone polite but firm. Yn, unaware of the unfolding tension, looked up from her book with a curious expression.

“Is something wrong?” she asked, her voice laced with concern.

“Everything is fine,” Jorah reassured her, guiding her gently but firmly out of the room. “Just a change of location for a moment.”

As Yn was escorted to a separate room, Bucky’s focus returned to the man who had dared to make such an offensive suggestion. His voice, once calm, was now a dangerous growl. “What did you just say?”

The man, realizing his mistake too late, tried to backtrack, but it was clear Bucky had already made up his mind. With a swift, ruthless motion, Bucky signaled to his men. The room erupted into chaos as Bucky and his associates unleashed their fury.

Fists flew and weapons were brandished. The man who had disrespected Yn was quickly overpowered. The sounds of violence filled the room, punctuated by the man’s cries of pain. Within moments, he lay in a pool of his own blood, barely conscious, barely moving. The scene was brutal and unrelenting.

Bucky, his rage barely contained, stood over the man. His voice was icy and unforgiving. “No deal. Get this garbage of a man off of here.”

The remaining members of Bucky’s crew swiftly moved to dispose of the man’s body, ensuring that no trace of him remained. The room was cleared of the bloodshed, and the negotiation resumed as if nothing had happened.

Bucky, now calm and composed again, took his seat, his face betraying no sign of the violence that had just occurred. His focus shifted back to the business at hand. Sam, Steve, Thor, and Nick continued discussing the details of the deal, their expressions a mix of shock and resolve, but they respected Bucky’s silence and the unspoken agreement that they would not dwell on the violence that had just transpired.

In the other room, Yn remained blissfully unaware of the carnage that had occurred. She sat in quiet contemplation, occasionally glancing at the door, wondering why she had been removed from the main room but trusting that it was nothing serious.

After some time, Jorah returned to escort Yn back. “Everything is sorted now. You can go back in,” he said, his demeanor neutral but his eyes reflecting the weight of what had happened.

Yn followed Jorah back into the main room, her eyes searching for Bucky. When she saw him, he gave her a reassuring smile, though it was tinged with an underlying tension that she didn’t quite understand.

“Is everything alright?” she asked as she approached him.

Bucky nodded, taking her hand gently. “Everything’s fine, doll. Just some business to take care of.”

Yn gave him a curious look but didn’t press further, sensing that Bucky was handling things. As the meeting continued, she remained by his side, feeling a mix of unease and trust. Bucky’s protective nature and the events she had inadvertently missed were a stark reminder of how deeply he cared for her.

Yn’s eyes were drawn to Bucky’s hand and Her gaze settled on his knuckles, which were noticeably bruised and discolored. Concern immediately etched across her face.

“Bucky…” she said softly, her voice tinged with worry. “What happened?” She gently touched his bruised knuckles, her fingers careful and tender.

Bucky flinched slightly at the contact but quickly masked his discomfort with a reassuring smile. “Nothing, doll. Just had a small disagreement.”

Yn’s eyes narrowed with concern, though she tried to remain calm. “A disagreement? It looks more serious than that.”

Bucky shrugged, though the pain was evident in his eyes. “It’s nothing to worry about.”

Ignoring his attempt to downplay the situation, Yn reached for a small tube of ointment she kept in her bag for such occasions. She squeezed a generous amount onto her fingers and began to gently apply it to his bruised knuckles. Her touch was soft, yet purposeful, as she worked the ointment into his skin.

“Was the disagreement over something important?” Yn asked, her voice steady as she continued to tend to his hand.

Bucky watched her with a mixture of admiration and appreciation. “Yes, it was about something very important to me.”

Yn met his gaze, her eyes filled with understanding as she applied the ointment with careful precision. “I see. I hope it was resolved?”

Bucky nodded, his expression softening. “Yes, it was resolved. Everything’s taken care of.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear that,” Yn said with a warm smile, her fingers gently massaging the ointment into his knuckles. “You deserve to have everything resolved smoothly.”

She finished applying the ointment and looked at his knuckles, inspecting them closely. “I think this should be fine now,” she said, giving him an encouraging smile.

Bucky flexed his hand tentatively, noticing the relief that came from her care. “They’re perfect now,” he said, his voice filled with genuine appreciation. “Thank you, doll. You always know how to make things better.”

Yn smiled, her gaze lingering on him with affection. “I’m glad I could help. Just remember to be careful, okay?”

Bucky nodded, his gaze softening as he looked at her. “I will. Thanks to you, I’m feeling better already.”

As Yn placed the ointment back in her bag, she looked at Bucky with a gentle, reassuring smile. The simple act of caring for his bruised knuckles had reinforced the depth of their connection. For Bucky, the sight of Yn’s concern and the comfort of her touch made him feel more grounded, even amidst the chaos of his world.

Watching her focused expression, Bucky was overwhelmed by a profound realization. Every delicate movement she made, every concerned glance she cast his way, spoke volumes about the depth of her care for him. In this quiet, intimate moment, he saw her not just as his partner but as the most cherished and irreplaceable part of his life.

The realization struck him like a bolt of lightning. He had always known Yn was important, but now, seeing her so attentively tending to his injuries, he understood the true magnitude of her place in his life. She was his anchor in a turbulent world, the one person who consistently offered him genuine affection and unfiltered care amidst the chaos and ruthlessness of his existence. Her kindness, her quiet strength, and the way she looked at him with concern and love made him see how deeply he had come to rely on and treasure her.

As Bucky absorbed this revelation, his thoughts drifted back to Viktor, the man who had disrespected Yn and caused such turmoil. The anger he felt towards Viktor was rekindled, not just for the disrespect shown to Yn but for the thought that such an insult had gone unpunished. The severity of the situation was clearer now; it wasn’t just about business or power—it was about protecting the one person who meant the most to him.

Bucky's eyes hardened as he reflected on the violence he had unleashed in response to Viktor’s insult. He had thought he had dealt with it adequately, but now he realized that his response had been insufficient. Viktor’s offense was more than just an affront; it was a direct threat to something he held more precious than anything else in his life—Yn.

The room seemed to fade around him as Bucky's mind replayed the moments of violence, and he knew with certainty that Viktor had not been punished enough. The thought of someone daring to disrespect Yn in any way, to undermine her dignity or her worth in his eyes, filled him with a renewed sense of fury. He felt that Viktor’s punishment had to be more severe, more fitting of the insult he had dared to inflict upon the woman Bucky loved and cherished above all else.

Bucky looked at Yn, his gaze intense and filled with an unspoken promise. He knew he would not rest until Viktor had been made to pay fully for his transgressions. The safety and honor of Yn were non-negotiable, and he was prepared to go to any lengths to ensure that her dignity and respect were upheld.

“Thank you, doll,” Bucky said softly, his voice carrying a note of deep gratitude. “You mean more to me than anything else in this world. I just realized how much you’ve come to mean to me. And Viktor... he’s going to pay for what he said. More than he’s paid already.”

Yn looked up at him, her eyes filled with genuine concern. “Is everything alright, Bucky?”

Bucky smiled, though it was tinged with a fierce determination. “It will be. Just needed to take a moment to remind myself of what really matters. You’re my everything, and I won’t let anyone disrespect you. Not now, not ever.”

Yn’s smile softened, touched by his words and the depth of his commitment. “I appreciate that, Bucky. And I’m here for you, no matter what.”

Bucky felt a surge of warmth and resolve. He knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, Yn would remain his greatest source of strength and love. And as he looked at her, he was certain that nothing would stand in the way of protecting the precious bond they shared.

[captainjacklyn]

Malleus Draconia x Dragon!Yuu Part 1

A past well remembered :

Summary : In this world, Yuu is secretly a dragon who was accidentally sent to twisted wonderland and they now have to hide their true identity because of the atrocities humans once did to them. Afraid of being discovered, Yuu remains in the form of a human. Throughout their stay in NRC, they experience many misadventures and meet new friends everyday. However, things change when they later on meet the future king of briar valley who is a dragon fae.

Warning(s) : there isn't exactly any warning besides the fact that yuu lived a war between dragons and humans, they don't have any parents left (cause death), soooo yeah. Enjoy.

War.

Generally defined as a violent conflict between species, states or nations. A time of death, a time of bloodshed...

The purely truthful significance of destruction, sorrow, hostility, panic and tragedy. Times like these are meant to be forgotten and buried under the depths of the world all whilst remembering the fallen. The sacrifices of those who marched on forward to serve their kind despite being aware of the dangers that inhabited in those very choices.

Human beings were naturally afraid of the idea of anything 'new' and 'different', it was no surprise to how badly they reacted at the sight of a dragon.

To the mortals' eyes, these scaled giants were the monsters.

But in order to understand others, in order to maintain peace, we must show signs of empathy and look at the world from different perspectives.

Of course, it was of human nature to aggressively ambush those who rightfully came before. Only because they frightened them.

Yuu had unfortunately witnessed the carnage happening right before their eyes. They had seen the bodies of the wounded and dead, the despair of those who mourned their lost ones...It wasn't long before it was their turn to grieve, as both of their parents succumbed to the enemy's attack.

Many fought back, but others grew tired of the fighting. While others chose to take the human's side as symbols of peace but their intentions were seen as an act of betrayal. They were traitors.

By then, the race divided into three factions :

The chaos faction

Those who yearned for chaos and destruction.

The spectating faction

They don't work with either group or with each other, most despise the idea of fighting.

The harmony faction

Which values law and order, their goal is to bring peace between humans & dragons.

Yuu was a member of the harmony faction, they didn't want this unnecessary savagery in their world. They just wanted a tranquil life ! Yuu held a fondness for humans and they hated their need to fight amongst themselves. In one case, It was as them who was pacifying the populace of the city that they first encountered.

Alongside another dragon who, unbeknownst to them, belonged to the opposing faction. Formed a truce of sorts to observe the human world together; however, they fell out after their partner learned the humans under Yuu began to worship them as a god and wage war on non-believers. Following them destroying the palace built for Yuu, they briefly fought and went their separate ways.

Ever since that incident, Yuu roamed around the world. Refusing to participate in any activity as they slowly deteriorated to a spectator. Until...

"!!!!"

The only thing they last remembered...Was the sight of a carriage running towards them, and a blinding flash of light before waking up in their human form.

[Where...Am I ?] suddenly, a foreign voice spoke. It was honestly quite annoying to listen to.

"Hey you ! Give me your uniform !"

[..?]

[A...Racoon ?]

End of part 1, part 2 coming soon.

[icedragonlizard]

Headcanon: 'Star Allies Conferences' exist, and there are rules to follow in them

After the events of Star Allies, this group doesn't completely disband. While they've gone back to living their usual lives, there are periodical meetings that they attend to about 4 times a year. One per season.

These conferences take place in Planet Popstar's biggest country, Dream Land. In some parts of Dream Land, there are castle-like buildings that are similar to King Dedede's castle, and those buildings are the locations for the meetings. The meetings alternate between the buildings, so two meetings don't happen in one building in a row.

The purpose of these meetings is to see how everyone is doing, as well as whatever major events in the universe might be happening that may be worth everyone's attention. Who knows, it's not impossible that there could be a future threat as big as Void Termina that could warrant the star allies to band together to take it down, which is another reason why the group doesn't completely disband.

Kirby himself, of course, is assigned to attend these gatherings.

There are rules to follow in these conferences. The purpose of these rules is to ensure that the events go smoothly, and that everyone can be allowed to get through and leave the event without trouble.

King Dedede is in charge of the conferences, and thus he's the one that enforces the rules. He makes sure that the events go as smoothly as possible. The star allies won't be alone in the events, as there will also be several waddle dees from Dedede's castle that will attend. Should a star ally break a rule without stopping, Dedede can and will ask the waddle dees to escort that star ally out of the room. This headcanon is based on Dedede's line of "I'll be the one to keep the peace!"

Without further ado, let's go over the rules for these conferences:

(Keep reading tag because there's a lot of rules)

-No swear words allowed. Kirby is in the meetings, and the pink kid doesn't want to hear swear words, so please don't swear.

-Please don't talk about caterpillars. Kirby is scared of caterpillars, as even just talking about them can freak him out. So don't do it.

-No fights allowed. It is understandable that not all of the star allies get along with each other, but please refrain from fighting, regardless if verbal or physical. We need to let everyone have a chance to get through the event without having struggles with anyone else.

-Don't encourage fights to happen. We're mostly looking at Marx here, who tends to do that as he loves chaos. Please don't do that.

-Taranza and Dark Meta Knight are not allowed to interact or be near each other under ANY circumstance. The reason why this rule exists is because everyone knows that it's impossible to have these two near each other without carnage breaking loose. It is completely understandable that Taranza is blood-lusted over the fact that DMK had involvement in Queen Sectonia's corruption, but we can't have bloodshed in these conferences. This rule is also for the sake of Taranza's mental health, since we're concerned that it would be bad for him to consistently interact with DMK, hence why we try to enforce separation between the two even outside of meetings.

-It is not recommended for either Susie or Dark Meta Knight to be near Meta Knight. This isn't quite as severe as the Taranza and DMK bad blood, but Meta Knight would still feel rather uncomfortable if standing too close to either Susie or DMK, so it'd be for the best to not put him in that kind of situation during these meetings.

-It is best to not have Bandana Waddle Dee be near Marx, Magolor, Taranza, Susie, Dark Meta Knight and the Mage Sisters. We're well aware that you still hate all of them, Bandee. Please don't continue to accuse them of their past deeds, alright? Just let them be.

-Marx is not allowed to provoke anybody in these conferences. This rule exists because Marx is infamous for being a pain in the rear that loves to start stuff with others. Please behave in these meetings, Marx. Fortunately, we're aware that Magolor, Coo, Rick and Kine generally do a good enough job of supervising Marx and keeping him in check. If it's imperative for one of them to keep him under control at all times during a meeting, then please do it.

-Daroach is not allowed to steal anything from anyone. Obviously we can't stop Daroach from being a thief altogether, but please hold on to your thievery during these meetings. We don't need to have someone be upset because you stole something from them.

-The Mage Sisters are not allowed to try to indoctrinate anyone into their Jambastion religion. While we understand that you take pride in your religion and that you'd like to expand it elsewhere, the other star allies don't want to be indoctrinated, so don't push them.

-Don't ask Meta Knight or Dark Meta Knight about their faces behind their masks. It makes them cagey. They don't want to talk about it. It could cause DMK in particular to end up snapping.

-Magolor, let's not promote Merry Magoland or your other products. There may be times where you'll asked to talk about your stuff, and at that point it's okay, but don't bring up if you aren't asked to. The purpose of these meetings isn't to promote your stuff.

-Susie, let's not promote the Haltmann Works Company. We certainly appreciate that you've been shifting that company into a better direction to now be helping people with your technology instead of harming them, and it's fine to talk about it when we ask you to. But don't talk about it when you're not asked to. We don't need to have these meetings be overran by campaigning the HWC.

-Ribbon, let's try to not be possessive over Kirby. We know that you like him quite a bit, but if he wants to hang out with other star allies in the conference, then please let him. There may be times in conferences where he comes to you, so you'll get your moments, ok?

-Don't send art requests to Adeleine during these meetings. Inherently, that in of itself isn't bad, but we want her to feel like she can easily get through these meetings without feeling overwhelmed by art requests. So please just let her be, alright?

-Don't talk about the mirror world. Taranza still holds a grudge against the mirror world as a whole because of Sectonia's corruption, and talking about the mirror world might also make Dark Meta Knight cagey unless he chooses to allow the discussion to happen.

-If someone isn't a part of the star allies, they are NOT allowed to attend. This goes for the Mage Sisters to please stop inviting your lord Hyness to the events. Daroach, don't invite your fellow squeak squad members to join these events. We've also had an incident where Rick and Kine tried to get ChuChu, Pitch and Nago to join, and we thank Coo for stopping that from happening. Don't try to convince Elfilin to join these meetings, either, since he's not a star ally. To make it crystal clear, the only ones allowed to attend are Kirby, all the dream friends, and many of King Dedede's waddle dees to help enforce the rules. Nobody else is allowed to show up.

-Please don't talk about the incidents where King Dedede has been possessed. Our great king has PTSD over all those incidents and doesn't want to talk about them, so please don't make him uncomfortable by having the nerve to bring it up. Not to mention he's in charge of these conferences, so he'll instantly shut that talk down.

-Please don't bring up the death of Queen Sectonia. You'll cause Taranza to break down if you do that. He still mourns her death, so please don't make things complicated for him by bringing it up. We want him to get through these meetings without having to cry.

-Please don't bring up the death of Max Profitt Haltmann. Doing that will make Susie very upset, as she still has grief over him. She has a temperament, and mentioning her father's death could very well end up provoking her into pulling out her gun. We don't want this to occur, so please have decency and don't talk about that subject. This also applies to talking about her past daddy issues in general.

-Please don't talk about Another Dimension during these meetings. The reason why this rule exists is because both Magolor and Susie still have PTSD over their times of being stranded there, especially Susie. We don't want to give them the feelings of old wounds reopening, so let's prevent that by not talking about that place.

-Please don't talk about the time when Hyness sucked the life force out of the Mage Sisters and used their bodies as weapons. That incident is well behind us now, and they've moved to our side. Zan Partizanne in particular will become very upset if you bring it up, so don't do it in order to prevent her from lashing out.

-Francisca is not allowed to talk about her frozen trophy collection. Girl, you're already on thin ice (no pun intended) for choosing to keep that collection even despite us not wanting you to. If you have the gall to talk about it during these conferences, you'll make others freaked out or want to hurl, and we're not going to stand for that.

-To prevent Flamberge from snapping, don't mess with Francisca. We don't need to have the flame general go into a fiery rage and burn things during these conferences, so let's not provoke her by saying or doing anything bad to her precious little sister that she protects.

-Marx is only allowed to talk about clockwork stars for educational purposes. It's fine to talk about them to let others learn more about them, but do not try to convince anyone to go to outer space to summon one. We know what you did to Kirby back in the day. Even if you don't intend to pull something like that again, it's best to not convince anyone to think up of a wish to grant to a clockwork star.

-Don't talk about the Master Crown. Magolor is trying everything he can to leave that incident behind him, and bringing up that incident is going to heavily disrupt that. No need to upset him by doing that.

-Don't bring masks from Merry Magoland into these meetings. Show your true faces, please. We also don't want Taranza or Susie to feel uncomfortable because you chose to wear a Sectonia or Haltmann mask. They came to terms with those masks existing, but please don't rub it in their face. Magolor also won't approve of that.

-Francisca's soda gun is only allowed to be used in a meeting if it's to hydrate Kine. We understand that Kine is supposed to be aquatic, and although he can manage to be on land for a few hours, it could still be helpful to give him a drink. We're fine with Francisca letting him drink from her soda gun. But do not use that soda gun for any other reason whatsoever aside from letting Kine drink from it.

-Nicknames are fine, but cut it out if someone asks you to stop. Some of the star allies aren't really a fan of being called nicknames, so don't make them eventually ticked off by keeping on doing it.

-Everyone, please treat Gooey like a precious boy. Because he is. He deserves to be cherished. Give him all the headpats. King Dedede made this rule exist as he wants to project his feelings about Gooey to everyone else. Not like he can blamed for that!

That's all the rules. 30 of them! Hope you liked reading all of this. Lol, gotta make sure the star allies get through these events without trouble occuring. Obviously, without rules like this in place, there'd be problems because many of them don't get along with each other!

Unfortunately, these rules do sometimes get broken. Oof!

Thanks for reading, everyone!

[bookishbrewer]

Jax & the Tumblr Sexyman phenomenon - an opinion piece:

This is just my opinion. I may be misremembering, misunderstanding things. I'd love to have a civil discussion + be corrected if necessary.

So, The Amazing Digital Circus released it's 2nd episode and the reception was overall very positive. The episode was written very well and tackled sensitive subject matter such as existentialism, friendship, guilt, denial & abandonment with as much grace as possible within the limits of the story.

All of that being said, there was a new controversy in the horizon: the portrayal & arc of Jax.

In the pilot, Jax is portrayed as, well - a douchebag:

When Pomni first arrived, he essentially encouraged her existential crisis, mocked her for freaking out & made fun of her (in addition to making fun of the rest of the gang).

He broke Gangle's comedy mask, as she was crying over it being broken.

He uses Zooble's arm as a scratching stick (& gets choked for it, good for Zoobie).

He disregards Zooble being dismembered & taken away by the gloinks (even as they're literally screaming in agony as they're being taken away by hostile NPCs).

He (maybe) put centepides in Ragatha's room, even though it is "literally her only fear".

He deserts both Pomni & Ragatha immediately as they find out Kaufmo has been abstracted (Pomni is new & still horrified & he may know about the pain that glitching can cause to Ragatha if she's caught by Abstracted!Kaufmo).

He throws a bowling ball at Kinger after he lies to him about Kaufmo's mental state (which may especially worry him both because he is losing his own mind & because he may have lost someone to abstraction before, namely Queenie). Causing the 3 of them to fall down the "Zooble hole".

Allows & disregards Zooble being consumed by the Gloink Queen (right after refusing to help them because they were "rude").

He pushes Gangle after mockingly suggesting that she goes first.

He tells Zooble to shut up. For really no reason (after being rude & dismissive of them the entire day).

Mocks Kinger for not "even being relied on to abstract".

Moving on to episode 2:

After one of the mannequins gets run over by a truck Jax exclaims: "oh, violence!".

Jax wants to shoot the thief!NPCs "until they're unrecognizable" and shouts at Gangle for being uncomfortable with the idea.

He throws Pomni (who's on her first out-of-circus adventure) out of the truck.

He calls Gangle "submissive & agreeable" (I mean, it's funny. But still kind of a douche move, given how sensitive she is).

He blackmails Gangle over "the figurine thing" so she does what he wants (ram into the thieves' trunk because "it'll be epic").

He hints that Ragatha's hair looks like licorice in front of a candy-eating fudge monster.

Jax is later seem distraught over the fact that there was no "big final battle, bloodshed, chaos".

He left the kingdom's gates open so that there will be carnage in the candy kingdom anyway (even though he won't even be there to witness it. Sadistic a-hole xD).

He doesn't attend Kaufmo's funeral

So, in conclusion: Jax is an a-hole (to quote Pomni).

But, the fandom was incredibly, well, surprised. A lot of fans immediately latched onto Jax, shoving him into the "bad boy" in need of "fixing" archetype. Obviously, tons of ships started (FunnyBunny, RibBun, Jagatha, KingRabbit, ClownBunny etc), headcanons about him "actually being a sweetheart", Human!Fanart and much more.

Now, I'm not saying that there's anything wrong with being huge fans of barely developed characters & creating headcanons while waiting for more canon appearances, but that isn't the only thing that happened.

Besides comments like these:

There was also outright backlash against Gooseworx, including alledging she "retconned" Jax in accordance to the fandom's reaction to him (when in reality she predicted the backlash & divide over Jax over a half a year ago):

in addition to essentially blaming her for "Sexyman-bait".

Now yes, Jax does fit the bill of a "Tumblr Sexyman": tall, thin, douchebag, chaotic, sarcastic, cynical, implied to have deeper lore, shipped with just about anyone (well, maybe besides Bubble, wait... WAI-) & I'm sure there's other stuff that I missed. He even has his own Sexypedia page (which I didn't even know was it's own website but hurray! Research!).

He can definitely join the ranks of (reads from scrapped paper): The Ouncler, Bill Cypher, Sans Undertale, a lotta vivziepop characters (no shade!) & others.

But honestly, I think fans need to ACTIVELY try to pretend Jax was portrayed as anything else but a meanspirited jerk.

One of the most popular theories I saw is that Jax was in Kaufmo's funeral, but out of sight, even though we had 2 outward shots of the funeral, and Jax was nowhere to be seen:

Their basis for this theory? This:

That's right. A 2 second snap shot of Jax (still) looking salty & then leaving. You remember how this happened before? RIGHT BEFORE THE VERY SAME EPISODE?? Fans thought that this:

Was going to be some sort of "angsty" or "character development" scene, and even went so far as to theorize that this episode may be a "Jax Episode".

But then we found out the reason:

Not enough violence.

Jax's character essentially reminds me of a 13 year old with a copy of any GTA game, enjoying the freedom to destroy property & NPCs as he pleases through the limitlessness of a sandbox high-quality game. That's who he's actually meant to be, at least from my understanding of it.

I think Jax is a great SUBVERSION of the Tumblr Sexyman trope: he isn't some "bad boy" (shoo, Nifty, SHOO!), he's just, well. An a-hole. If my memory serves me right, Gooseworx did refer to Jax as "chaotic evil". Meaning: characters who are driven by their own desires and will do anything to achieve their goals, often disregarding laws, ethics, and the rights of others. They revel in chaos and destruction for their own sake. Though, granted, he was also discribed as a "troubled individual" about which the audience will learn more of. Also, he's 22. While technically an adult, he's still very young.

To conclude, I think fans of the "Tumblr Sexyman" trope/characters are really reaching with Jax, and it sometimes escalates way too much (to the point both the creator & VA are involved). I don't think Jax was written to be another "bad but sad boy" (if you'd pardon the Owl House reference), but I do think he's going to be interesting to watch unfold.

I understand that some people love their tropes, but let us all be mindful of each other as fans & casual viewers, and of the creator & team.

Thank you for reading 🙏

[ahopelessromantika]

"I do not know what came over Father's mind to marry you as his concubine when you are as young as me, but I will not stand for it."

She watches him lazily from where she is resting, her cheek prepped on her palm and her elbow digging into the soft mattress. The entire side of her petite body lies on the bed regally, the skirts of her silk dress daintily flowing around her, and she reaches for the bowl of grapes placed in the bedside table.

"No matter how hard you protest, nothing will change," she hums, her bright eyes glinting with amusement.

He ignores her statement.

"You are a wildcard."

She pops the grape into her mouth. "And?"

"Which is why I must find a way to eliminate you. Heaven only knows what you are planning to do, enchanting my Father, the damn general of this country, to take you as a concubine."

"I am a wildcard," she agrees amicably, rising from her bed with the grace of a feline. "A loose cannon. But everyone knows a wildcard is a blessing when you know how to deal with your own cards."

His eyes narrow at her. "What are you implying, woman?"

A wicked smirk curls the corners of her lips, and she tilts her head at him condescendingly. Locks of her hair cascade down from the jade pin holding them together in a messy bun, and the shape of her dress cling to her body enticingly, as if tempting him to unwrap them and play with her in bed for a bit.

No. Bad thoughts.

She studies him, entertained but scornful.

"Deal with your cards well, make your decisions wisely. My actions will be based on your actions. If you want to wield me as a weapon, prove yourself first. Alternatively, I can just slit my dear husband's throat, cause an uprising, and slink away in the chaos."

"So you are planning on assassinating him," he intones.

"And cause a massacre," she helpfully adds, shrugging.

He grasps the hilt of his sword that is hanging by his side, scrutinizing and ready to attack at the slightest hint of hostility. "Why?"

"Master wants it so he can take over. It'll stabilize the country, he believes. But what the old fool doesn't know is that I have other plans."

"Such as?"

"Apart from uprooting this country's corruption?" She smiles a grin, all bite and teeth. "We're not close enough for me to share the details with you, boy. Unless you want to work with me and save your Father's life?"

Three choices. First, to kill the woman. Second, to let her be with her plans and allow her to cause a massacre that will include the assassination of his Father. Third, work with her and reduce the bloodshed, only killing when necessary.

All decisions include carnage.

"Fine," he snaps. "But once this is all over, I don't want to see your face here anymore, understand?"

The delight that brightens up her pretty face is vicious and full of malice.

"Deal."

-by ahopelessromantika-

Note: I imagine this as an enemies to lovers plot. Like, for clarification, the concubine is about the same age as our ML here, as stated in the first dialogue, and my mind just can't help but ship them lol!

[windsweptinred]

Metamorphosis

(Part 3... Atleast two more parts to come 🙈)

Part 1, Part 2

The Dreaming had stopped. There was no other word for it. Above, the clouds danced and drifted to an artistic halt. Below, the burning embers of chaos stopped their consuming crawl. It appeared like an unending painting. Part fantastical, part macabre, captured on canvas. In Hob's arms, its little king in waiting sagged. Fine features smoothing, muscles softening, as he gently sank into a peaceful rest. 

Hob looked to Dream inquiringly, who shook his head in bewilderment. Not his doing then. He turned to Death who shrugged her shoulders mystified, though her gaze was sharp, alert, glancing hither and there. Like prey, Hob thought. Checking its way was free of jeopardy. 

He passed Daniel carefully to Dream, who took him tenderly, ever so gently rocking his charge. And stood, casting his gaze about the realm from their high vantage point. Nothing… nothing moved, time had seemingly frozen mid breath. 

"We hail you, Father."

Hob spun on his heel, arms raised defensively. His body instinctively forming a protective shield over Dream and Daniel. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dream's eyes widen, before he pulled the boy further into his embrace, one hand curled loosely about his head, nails elongating and sharpening, like a snake baring its fangs. Behind them, he heard  the sounds of  great wings unfurling. Good, Death had taken the rear. The Dream's sandwiched between them. 

Before them stood three women, Hob, recognised instantly from the tales Dream had wove for him on quiet nights. Mother, Maiden and Crone. Yet this was not fate before him, this was fury and retribution. Smoke and grime clung to their skin like grotesque war paint. Blood dripping from their fingers like scarlet talons. This was carnage, bloodshed and frenzy. This was Dream's judge, jury and executioner… Ravenous for their pound of flesh. 

Hob's blood thrummed with adrenaline and rage. "You! What have you done?" 

They cackled in unison, a jarring sound with no warmth to it. It set his nerves on edge.

"We do nothing, All Life." 

"All Time." 

"You wish this to stop? Make it so."

"You will not mock him! Those are our father's titles, and you shall use them with more reverence than to deride a man you are not fit to look upon." 

Hob turned to Dream, shocked at the venom in his voice. His lips were twisted into a growl, fangs sharpening. 

"Father's,  lover's …" 

"Both, neithers…" 

"But always so." 

Dream's head reared with a snap, mouth set in a violent snarl. Darkness bled from iris, through his pupil, until his eyes were a pitch, fathomless black. Starlight pinpricks flaring in the centre like a nova. 

"Desist talking in riddles you harpies!"

They let out another hideous cackle. Hob's anger soared. For once, he wished he was more than mere flesh and bone, more than human…So he might have the power to smother them.

"Harpies are we? So cruel, landless king." 

"You wound us, once of the seven."

"Mind your tongue, Dream no longer, lest we rip it from you." 

Dream made to rise, before stopping short, looking down at Daniel. The sudden movement had caused the youth's head to slip from Dream's shoulder and now it lay on his chest, nose nestled into Dream's breast. He watched as Dream took a deep intake of  breath, expression calming. Before resettling on the ground, Daniel cradled protectively in his arms. Glaring fiercely at the Fates. Hob felt something primal surge through him at the sight. 

"Look at him snarl, look at him coo." 

"With babe in arms." 

"What a sweet, fierce mother."

Dream's eyes turned to deadly slits and Hob mentally prepared to throw his everything into halting the charge of an enraged Endless, all righteous vengeance and protective bloodlust. Child still wrapped to breast, like a glorious trib warrior of legend. Until two great wings came down, wrapping about  Dream and his gleaming ward. Like the old nativity scenes, Hob thought in passing. Of blessed mother, sacred child and divine angel. 

And oh, what wings! A kaleidoscopic array of colours, casting rainbow hues as a crystal refracts light. All about her sang with life and vibrancy in their presence. Then, with a shift of their feathers, they were immense, dark windows to the universe. Utterly devoid of all light, pulling forth energy from everything that surrounded her, as if she bore two black holes at her back. 

This was truly the second child of Night and Time. All existence, yet absolute absence of life. They crossed in front of Dream, to guard or to barricade, Hob could not rightly say. 

"Dream, cool your temper brother. Do not let them goad you. Be careful."

"Yes, do be careful. Not like sister Death."

"You're one to talk, mistress of cradle and grave."

"Look at what your mishap has wrought."

Death swept back her wings, flaring them out tall, proud, imperious. How many painted Michael's, Gabriel's and Raphael's hand stolen her likeness? Yet come nowhere near close to capturing her splendour.

"I will be your death one day, Great Ladies," she warned. Tone unusually foreboding. "Do not seek to play games with me."

The Fates looked upon her, unabashed. Maiden, pitying, Mother, knowingly, Crone, gleeful. 

"Death of all indeed." 

"Death, sibling slayer." 

"Death, parent butcher." 

Death flinched back violently, as if struck, posture curling inwards. The crone stepped forward, pointing a finger, gore covered and gnarled towards Hob. 

"Filled him up with too much time, didn't you dear? Were you foolish enough to believe there would be no repercussions? "

Death looked to Hob, staring at him intensely. The kind of penetrating stare you could feel against the hairs of your skin. A stare that seeped through him like vapours, clawing its way down his nose and mouth, stealing away his breath. Flooding down his throat in torrents, making him gag and splutter. Down, down it travelled. Along veins, sinew and marrow. Filling every crack and crevice, until it finally every inch of him sang and screamed. Then out through every pore it fled, back to the eyes of Death. Who swayed on her feet, once, twice, before regaining her bearings somewhat, gazing at Hob with a look of pure astonishment. 

"All this time?" She croaked. "I felt him ebb, I felt another flow. And I searched. Yet there you were in, the whole time in plain sight."

Hob felt his head fill with static. "Death have pity, for pete's sake! What are you talking about?!" 

"There is a reason I do not withhold my gift from mortals often. For a life without death, is no blessing… But a curse. Oh you shall live forever, immortal, undying. But I cannot halt the march of time. You will continue to grow old, age, your body will decay about you ... .Unless, I ask a boon of our Father." 

"Please keep him young. " 

"Please keep him fair." 

"Please keep my brother from despair." 

Then, the Fates were upon him, circling like wolves closing in on wounded prey. Salivating at its dred. He twisted and pivoted, trying to keep track of their movements. But it was futile. One went, another appeared in her place. To his right, to his left, infront, behind. His heart pounded… Thud. The Maiden, fair but fickle. Thud. The Mother, warm but grasping. Thud. The Crone, wise but cruel. 

"And Time fed you, unworthy mortal." 

"Heartily took the teat didn't you?" 

"Greedy human, took and took and took." 

"Took too much, gluttonous childe."

"Full to the brim, overflowing with life." 

"Poor old Time. " 

"Left him waning, while you waxed." 

Hob back away from them, head swimming, "I didn't.. I… Please, I don't understand any of this?" 

Death lifted her head, sending him a look, part sympathy, part contrition. "Oh Hob. It will all make sense, when the time comes." 

"The time can go fuck itself off Tower Bridge!" 

A strange sound, out of place amongst the tension, rang through the air. All eyes shot to Dream, who sat, head thrown back in unrestrained, near hysterical laughter. 

"Oh ladies. This is his divine retribution for loving me? Then you have grown soft in your dottage." He smirked smugly at the Fates. 

"You think robbing him of humanity shall break his spirit? No. You see before you a man who rejoices in the time. Every second of it! The good and the bad. The nostalgic memories of time past, the everyday wonders of time lived. The hopeful potential of time to come. He doesn't waste a minute of it! He respects and revels in time." Dream looked to Hob, features aglow with pride and adoration. "He shall embrace its dominion and make a masterpiece of it."

He shook his head disparaging, seemingly both amused and despairing of himself. " How did I not see it?" 

Rising elegantly, despite carrying the burden of Daniel's unconscious form. Dream stood, head raised proudly, eyes aflame. Shining with absolutely certainty. King no longer he may be, thought Hob. But here still stands a monarch born. 

Dream passed  Daniel carefully to Death. Gazing tenderly at the youth with a serene smile. He stroked a finger through the  white curls, then learnt closer, whispering, as if not to wake him from his slumber. "How lucky you shall be, little Dream, to have such a guiding hand."

Turning he threw a haughty, disdainful look at the ominous trio. "You wish to wound me, by tearing me away? Well you do not! For I am content in the knowledge my siblings will be cherished and protected. I rejoice that I leave sweet Dream and kind Time behind me. And know creation will be all the better for it!"

Oh, Hob thought. You brave, glorious, kind creature. We do not deserve you. 

Dream turned to Hob, features softening at once as he took a step, then a half stride, half run towards him. Hob opened his arms, capturing him, drawing him into a tight embrace. He tucked his nose into Dream's hair, breathing in the familiar, grounding scent. 

" I do not wish to be Time. He can take it back! "

Dream ran soothing hands over Hob's arms, shushing compassionately. Hob's heart flooded with shame. Here was Dream on the brink of death. So courageous in the face of it. And he was offering comfort to Hob, with life and power incomprehensible ahead of him. 

"I know. I know my love. But you have no more choice in this than young Daniel does. Are no more to blame then he is for any of this." 

Taking Hob's face in his hands, Dream  looked at him, eyes full to the brim with admiration and affection. 

"But oh my darling, you shall be glorious!"

Hob exhaled, part bitter huff, part sob.. leaning his brow upon Dream's. "I just wanted you Dream."

"Dream no longer." 

"The King is Dead." 

"Dream lays in Death's arms." 

"All Hail the Boy King." 

"Be silent, you vicious hags!" Dream hissed vehemently. 

Pulling back enough to properly look into Hob's eyes, Dream beamed at him. Hob clenched his eyes shut, clutching tighter at his slim hips. He couldn't bear the sight of  Dream's compassion, Dream's strength, Dream's hope. Not when he knew its bittersweet intent. He'd tried, he'd tried so hard to save him. He had failed. This was goodbye. 

"Remember me" 

A kiss was placed on one cheek, 

"My pride in you"

Then the other. 

"My love for you."

A devotional kiss to his lips. 

"Teach them as you taught me. That they have so much to live for." 

Be brave for him. He took Dream by the shoulders, taking in every part of him. Frantic to burn the sight of him to his thoughts for all time. Running his hands across neck, face, through his dark locks before holding him about the jaw, thumbs running along sharp cheekbones. Memorising those eyes… Those eyes. Who could compare to you? I shall never love another. I will wait for you. I have waited before, I will wait again… until we find each other.

He leaned in, and tried to pour everything he had ever felt, everything he would continue to feel, into their last kiss. 

…....

"We hail you, Dark Mother" 

Dream sprung away from Hob's embrace. They were no longer on their high perch, overlooking his realm, but now stood on the shores of creation. The skies above were that of midnight, causing the dark sands and waters to take on an even inker hue. As if all about them was night sky. Glancing frantically about, he sort his sister and successor with alarm. "Daniel, Death?!" 

"Do not fear for them love. This fate is not theirs to share." There was the Maid, expression almost affectionate. 

Hob placed an arm about his shoulders, pulling him close. "Why have you brought us here?" 

The Fates, stains of slaughter now gone, an adopted air of sageness now present. Stood observing them. 

"The wheel has turned."

"Once maiden…" 

" Fickle, flighty. Always chasing whims and wishes."

" Now mother…" 

"Loving, protective, selfless." 

"What?" 

The mother gestured to Dream. "Change always comes with sacrifice. We fail, we fall, we learn. Some. Slower than others.." She cast a critical eye at Dream. Who would have baulked in offence, if he did not accept the truth of it. 

Hob's face contorted with anger. "So all this cruelty, was what? A test?!" 

The Fates stared back impassionately. 

"Fate is cruel." 

"Life is cruel." 

"Time is cruel." 

Hob stared down at them, serious and commanding. "I am not." To Dream, it sounded like a promise, a pledge. He leaned into Hob's side. My tender hearted man.

The Crone stepped forward, nodding at Dream with an unaffected air. 

"You wish to keep him?"

Hob's hold tightened about him. "Oh yes."

The Mother shook her head at them in exasperation. 

"Then do it! Foolish boy."

"Where there is Time, there must be Night."

"Order, Chaos" 

"Life, Unlife" 

"Father, Mother" 

The Maiden smiled sweetly at them. 

"And found your Night, long ago, did you not?" 

The air around them filled with sounds, oh so familiar of centuries past.

"Did I hear you say you have no intention of dying?"

"Err, yeah, yeah that's right."  

"So do you still wish to live?"  

"I've got so much to live for."  

"Then I shall take my leave of you and prove you wrong. "

"I'll be here… In 100 years… And if you are too.."  

"You're late."

"I've heard it's impolite to keep one's friends waiting."

"Find him."

"Name him." 

"Claim him."

And then, they were gone…

.......

"Me?" 

Dream gazed blankly at the dark sand below his boots. The grains were beginning to shift under his weight. A slight breeze blew in from the waters, sending them drifting. Time was gradually returning to the Dreaming it seemed. He twitched his fingers, calling it forth. It rose lethargically, twisting and furling about him in intrinsic patterns, before slowly, almost reluctantly drifting from its master. Swirling back to settle on the dunes below, laying in rest for the command of its new lord. He looked then to the skies, the stars twinkled back shly, as if unsure if it was yet appropriate to greet their new little master. The transition was not complete then.  

"Me?" 

He pondered on all that had gone before. Look at you, shining like a star. The stars… They're singing… This has never happened before. The knowledge settled about him. Yes, him…It had always been so. Had it always been so? Father had always lamented he had too much of his mother in him. Was that why mother had clung so hard to him? Had she known, deep down. Looked at him and saw her end. 

He felt Hob caress his cheek and looked up into bright eyes, shining almost golden like a sun, despite the darkness. And that smile, that smile that had lit his way for centuries. 

"Who else would it be?" 

With an elated laugh, Hob lifted him by the waist, twirling him about in the air. "Then the most beautiful, wonderful being in the world."

Dream let out an overjoyed shriek before  Hob settled him against his stomach, arms still wrapped tightly about him, holding him off the ground. Dream grasped at his hair, pulling him into an ardent kiss, then another. Then another. 

Breaking apart, Hob quirked a brow at him mischievously, before asking, "Did I hear you say, you had no wish to leave me?" 

Dream laughed, before smiling widely. "Yes, that is right." 

Hob fought back a grin, before adopting a smug, haughty expression. "Then you must tell me what it is like." 

Dream rolled his eyes at the impression, then captured Hob's mouth in another kiss. The events of the past day poured through his mind. He was free, he was free! Free to live, free to love, free to love Hob, forever. No one could ever again forbid his happiness. 

Hob set him down, arms still tight about him. He looked at Dream like he'd received every answer to every prayer he'd ever begged for. 

'My once Dream… My beautiful Darkness…my Night'.

(Uff, that was a roller-coaster to write! Rubs hands together gleefully. Next up... The transformation!)

[convexicalcrow]

"I could blow it up right now, guys. We could blow it up right now and start this war. Oh, I so want to."

It's not that people mistook Grian as a catalyst for war, but for Cub, he found himself thriving during the Civil War. Vex magic had never been this potent, and not just because of the vast ravine of Vex magic crystals that had been found under the ConCorp complex. Chaos, bloodshed, carnage, it all filled Cub's dreams, as did the happy screaming of the Vex as war came closer.

The problem was that the Hermits weren't quite as eager for war as Cub was, and without Scar around to, well, not temper his more stupid and risky ideas, but to at least be a sounding board, Cub went a little mad as the two teams built their bases and then did nothing. There were traps, there was psychological warfare, there were attempts to play one team against the other. As a neutral party only interested in war profitteering, Cub was just in it for the diamonds and the chaos. It was in ConCorp's interest to start the war, after all! ConCorp doesn't start ceasefires, they end them. And Cub was determined to end this one.

The Hermits looked like tiny mice circling the flag as they gathered around it. Cub was hiding above them on a drone, though given how high up he was, he probably didn't need to be invisible. Still, better to take every precaution. And someone had placed TNT on the flag, and his bow fingers were itching to loose an arrow. He could hit it from here. He could blow that flag up. They'd blame each other. Conflict would ensue!

God, it was so tempting. But he had to wait, heart pounding in his chest, as he counted Hermits, trying to determine when they had all arrived. It was so close, he was so close to the war he wanted. He coupled his comms unit into the drone's audio feed so he was able to listen in to their conversation without being present. He didn't want them to know he was here, that would ruin everything.

"So guys, I'm, I'm having second thoughts about this, you know. Because I dunno about you, but I've spent a lot of time building up this base. This is like a whole season's worth of work we've put in here, so you know, is it worth it? Dunno if I want to do this," Grian said, and his words did nothing to calm Cub's nerves.

"You're afraid I'm gonna blow holes in it with my ghast cannon!" Impulse jeered.

Grian's terrified 'yes!' in reply didn't help. God, Cub wanted to blow that flag up right now. Let the war begin already! None of these second thoughts. No walking back now. They'd built their bases. They'd built their weapons. They'd set traps and found a battlefield and done more than enough sabre-rattling for Cub's liking. The only thing missing was bloodshed. The battlefield was crying out for blood. Let the Hermits bleed for each other, let the chaos reign! The Vex would have this war one way or another!

"Okay, this is gonna be a very delicate procedure guys, I think we gotta bomb 'em, we gotta bomb 'em," Cub decided, having had enough of their back and forth taunting.

He looked down through the wings of the drone, trying to find the best place to bomb. "'k, potion check, potion check," he muttered to himself, making sure he had enough time left, which he did. "We're good, we're good."

There were a few spots between the wings of the drone where the flag would be easily hittable from his position. If not a bow, some TNT might also do the trick if he timed it right. And he did have some TNT and a flint and steel at hand. He just had to get the aim and the timing right.

"Alright, this is good, this is good, people are trash-talking, this is fantastic! Yep, yep, this is it, this is the moment! They're gonna blame each other! They're gonna blame each other!"

He started placing TNT around the drone, and lit it, sending it down on them as he flew away from it, waiting to see the carnage. Vex magic was flooding through his body as the deaths came in, god this was glorious. He could taste a little blood on his tongue. Now the true carnage could begin!

Welsknight was blown up by cubfan135 MumboJumbo was blown up by cubfan135 Tango was blown up by cubfan135

"There we go, there we go, there we go! We got 'em! We got 'em! Let's get out of here! Let's get out of here! There we go! There we go! Perfect! Perfect!"

Cub laughed as he moved away from them, the slow falling potion allowing him to get away without using rockets which would have given his position away. He landed some distance away, close enough to see what was unfolding.

"Shots fired! So many shots fired!" Cleo could be heard saying over the cries of shock and accusations.

"We did it, guys! We did it, we did it!"

Nothing felt better than this, seeing them all scatter and blame each other. Sure, a drone had been sacrified, but it was for the greater good, especially once the ghast cannon fired up. The G Team's lawn was on fire, zombies were flooding into the ghast cannon's grounds, chaos took hold as both teams finally fell into conflict. Cub was happy, the Vex were singing, this is what it's all about, baby!

[orqheuss]

Stamped on these lifeless things

(Human!Alastor meets Demon!Alastor - A character study)

Summary:

Its lips curled, revealing gum in a daunting sneer. “How could I be anyone else?” Clenching Alastor’s hand again, it pulled him closer until they were nearly touching noses. Its breath smelled like carnage. He was helpless under its gaze, stuck staring into its eyes as they shifted into what looked like radio dials. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw its antlers growing again. “I’m you.” *** With his final moments quickly drawing near, something approaches Alastor that has him questioning everything.

Word count: 3.9k

Tags: Blood, Gore, Discussions of murder, Discussions of abuse (child and spousal), Mentions of cannibalism, Religious themes, Character death, Morally grey characters, (possible) hallucinations, Death by animal

A/N: Based on a TikTok I saw by @domdrawsanimation about Human Alastor meeting his demon self.

I met a traveller from an antique land,

Who said—“Two vast and trunkless legs of stone

Stand in the desert. . . . Near them, on the sand,

Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown,

And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,

Tell that its sculptor well those passions read

Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,

The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed;

And on the pedestal, these words appear:

My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings;

Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!

Nothing beside remains. Round the decay

Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare

The lone and level sands stretch far away.”

~ Percy Bysshe Shelley

The dogs were coming for him. 

He could hear their constant howls, snarling teeth nipping at the wind whistling through the trees and at the skin of his ankles as he ran faster than he had ever run before. Tree branches whipped against his face, neck, arms, any inch of skin they could reach, dripping his blood against the cold, unforgiving forest floor like he had done to so many before under his knife. The rush of the water to his right laughed at his panic, jovially wishing for his demise after all the horror it had seen. The willow trees mourned for the bodies that had been piled against their roots. It was only fair that he would die in the place where he felt that he truly lived, deep within the forest he deemed his personal hunting ground of all things living. A selfish creature in all aspects of his life, even in the choice of souls taken. Ridding the world of what he saw as filth was well and good until he found solace in the act of bloodshed. Until he felt the warmth of his first victim under his hands as he squeezed the life from another. Until he saw the face of his father in the eyes of his dead. Selflessness only went so far; it did not condone brutality in the name of righteousness. 

He believed himself something reverent before this night— untouchable by the unseen forces of the universe. Vermillion chested like a cardinal against the first snow of winter, and canines sharp like the ridges on his blade. Not a soul dared walk the streets at night, lest they fall victim to the Bayou Butcher. Little did the people of New Orleans know, the Butcher only hunted the most vile beasts— too hideous for even the wilds of nature to swallow. 

Monsters who hurt for money.

Monsters who hurt for power. 

Monsters who hurt for fun. 

It could be construed that he would fall under the latter category— the hunt was exhilarating, and the flesh between his teeth more bewitching than like anything before. He took joy in their pleas for mercy; pleas that they had heard many times before from the mouths of their loved ones. Loved ones who walked around town with makeup caked on their faces, hiding the evidence from the world like they should be ashamed of the behavior. Like they were at fault for all this wretched chaos. It was pleasure turning in his gut at night, the thought of warm ichor pouring from between his fingertips like a soothing balm— aloe against his scorched and blistered hand after his father held it over a burner. It was personal for him. Personal in all ways something could be deemed personal. 

He believed himself holy. Sacred. Divine. At his knife fell multitudes of souls, undeserving of mercy far past their last breath and deep into the putrid hereafter. They did not get a heaven. If it was up to him, they would not get a hell, either. They would float, stagnant, undeserving of pity, in the darkest pit of the metaphysical. 

Too devilish for heaven. 

Too cruel for hell. 

Too important for purgatory. 

A secret fourth thing of his own creation. 

His high horse carried him up and down the streets, its skeleton legs strutting against the cobblestone paths and puffs of hedonistic smoke cascading from its barren skull, for he was death incarnate. Holy sacraments overflowing with his name grew inside of his chest and bloomed out of his ribs like the thorny spires of a bramble bush, its bittersweet fruit growing in the cavity where his mother carved out his heart and took it to her grave. 

He didn’t need a heart anyway. What was love to a god? 

What was a god to a murderer?

What was a murderer to a man? 

What was a man to a god?

Now, that was the question under all of this— these lifeless things at his feet— the steps to his savage throne. 

What, truly, was the life of a man to the whim of a god? 

But, of course, he was no more a god than a raindrop was a flood. In the end, he was hardly even a man, just a soul with something to prove to no one else but himself, paving a path to his own downfall. The path had to end eventually. 

It ended in a clearing of trees. 

His feet left skid marks in the once untouched earth as he stopped, breaths panting heavily from his chest and hands resting on his knees. His lungs heaved for air, somehow gaining none of it even when surrounded by the purest form of oxygen. It was only a matter of time before the dogs caught up to him— the stench of blood heady and thick on his clothes. Where he once found a sick comfort in the copper was now nothing but regret. 

It was only fair that the tragic hero of this sick fairytale had his moment of revelation near the end of the story. 

In this moment of clarity, he chastised himself for being so careless. It was newly spring— a new hunting season for those who did not fear the bayou. Curse him for believing he would still be safe within the trees while staring directly at their flowering leaves. Of course there would be others in his woods; he did not truly own them, after all. Public ground attracts the public, and while the Bayou Butcher made his claim on the land, that did not stop the fearless from traversing the haunted landscape. He racked his brain for a solution, anything that would get him away from the metaphorical pit he was edging closer to and closer to the solace of his home. There was nothing in his brain besides the desire to flee, and the hope of survival. His breaths were shaky when he finally stood from his laurels, the coolness of the night nearly turning it to vapors before his eyes. If he could see it, that is. His glasses had long ago fallen from his face, leaving the world around him nothing but a hazy blur of greens and the blackness of true night. He couldn’t go back for them, even if there was a chance that they were still intact. It didn’t matter, anyway. He was trapped at the moment— nothing around him but empty air and the brush of trees. No sights to be seen before him. No warmth to be felt against his chilled skin. No weapon to his name. No way to defend himself against a force stronger than his will to live. 

And how he wanted to live. 

He was not a religious man, no matter how much he pretended he was for his mothers sake. But, for the first time in a while, he considered prayer. 

Alastor.

The wind whispered his name, the syllables like ice against the back of his neck. He whipped his head around, head nearly tumbling from his shoulders at the owlish-ness of the behavior, eyes wide and searching for the source of the voice. Finding nothing around, he focused again on thinking of a way out of the situation he placed himself in. 

“Alastor!” 

It was hissed this time— a snake in the tall grass of his backyard. This was not the wind, there was no mistaking it. Someone knew his name. Someone was speaking to him. Someone saw what he had done.

Fear clouded his better judgment, releasing his voice from the confines of where it had been lodged under his quaking jaw. “Who’s there?” 

A shiver inducing chuckle seemed to fill the space around him, drowning out any and all sounds other than the sickeningly malicious voice. “Take a guess.” 

Petrifying terror filled his veins like never before. Was it his time? Was this a divine intervention? “God?” 

The leaves shook for him as another laugh was released into the air. “Oh, no. He doesn’t make house calls.” The mysterious voice paused. Alastor could hear its smile everywhere. “Not for sinners like you, at least.” 

Anger festered in his gut at the teasing lilt. It was a struggle to not shout into the night. “What do you want from me?” 

The voice got louder now— closer. Radio static blended with each word, and the hairs on his neck stood at attention. “Everything,” it said. “And also nothing.” 

Alastor growled, hackles raised like an animal cornered. “What are you playing at? Why are you here?” 

“Ah, that’s the word. ‘Playing.’” It came from his right this time. He flung his neck in the direction, ignoring the sting it caused in his muscles. There was nothing but darkness among the thick trunks of the trees. 

Then, the voice came from his left. His neck cracked against the velocity of his movement. “Playing is often associated with games. Would you say we’re playing a game?” 

Alastor’s anger grew stronger, fire burning in his blind eyes. “No, this isn’t a game! Tell me who you are!” 

He could hear a quick swishing through the leaves as the mystery person ran through the thicket. They— it— moved at inhuman speeds. No dog could run that fast; no bird could fly at that speed. The smell of fear-drenched sweat permeated the copse. He remembered something that he had read in a book once, long before he decided to try his hand at hunting humans. Animals can smell fear. Even though this was definitely not an animal, it was worth every penny to try his damndest and seem strong— resolute. Nothing could truly frighten him. At least, that’s how he tried to look on the outside; there were other emotional tells than his body language. 

The thing seemed to go even faster now, laughing at the panic shimmering in Alastor’s eyes— mocking him for his desire to know who, or what, he was dealing with. Its terrible, scattered cackle was coming from all directions. This couldn’t be a human, there was no possible way. But, if it wasn’t human, then what was it? 

No, Alastor said to himself. This has to be human. There’s no other possible answer. 

Now was not the time to lose his sanity. 

He tried to hold onto logic for as long as it would allow, his nails digging into the solid base of fact and truth before it could be ripped away from his clutches.

But, there was no logical explanation for this. Logic was not his friend anymore. 

“No, I suppose there isn’t time for a game right now.” 

It sounded like it was coming from directly in front of him. Or behind him. Or to his left, or his right. It was everywhere. It was nowhere. It was somehow all of the above. 

“They’re close now, you know. It would be best to run.” 

Alastor didn’t need to be told twice. With all the strength left in his boneless legs, he bounded for the outskirts of the circle, intent on getting away from whatever the hell was with him. Whatever it was, it certainly wasn’t good. He was not one to believe in anything spiritual before, besides a small dabble into voodoo on occasion, but if he made it out of here alive tonight he would hold a new respect for everything of the sort. 

Too bad he wasn’t getting out of there alive. 

As soon as he crossed the treeline, an imaginary force pushed him back into the clearing. Alastor landed hard on his back, sending a new tremor of pain through his body. He hissed at the spasm that shocked up his spine. 

The voice laughed again, getting more deranged by the minute. 

Terror bubbled in his stomach when he realized that it was beginning to sound familiar. 

He stood from the ground, pushing all of his weight onto the fronts of his feet in case he got another moment to run. As of now, he was truly cornered. Something shimmered along his path of escape, the material giving the black night a starry quality. Whatever this being was, it had some form of magic, and it was toying with him. 

Alastor summoned every ounce of bravado he had left in his trembling body, determined to remain brave and undaunted until the very end. He was the Bayou Butcher. He didn’t get scared. Gods did not fear gods. 

But, something whispered in his mind. You are not a  g o d.

Shoulders squared, he shouted into the night. “Enough games! Tell me who you are before I gut you like a fish.” 

A screech of feedback assaulted his ears. He pressed his hands desperately to the sides of his head, gritting his teeth at the pain spiking through his brain. Wind whipped at his face, pushing his fringe into his already semi-blind eyes and stinging the cuts lining his cheeks. Before him, a shadow emerged from the darkness of the forest, its form nothing more than a trick of the light but still tall and imposing. It was taller than a redwood, the silhouette of a person taking shape before his very eyes. Antlers stretched from what Alastor assumed was its head, each piece of blackened ivory reminding him of the mangled tree branch outside his childhood bedroom window. Long claws grew from its hands, each sharp and pointed perfectly for slaughter. The most horrible thing was its mouth. Wide and stretched across its face in a smile, teeth bared and serrated— like taking damascus steel to a whetstone. Alarm bells rang frantically in his head. Horror cowered in his eyes. It loomed closer to Alastor, towering over his shaking form. 

This thing was a nightmare, and he was in its domain. 

Then, as if nothing more than an illusion, it shrunk. 

In front of Alastor now, instead of the colossus demon that once was there, was now a form quite close to his own height. Everything about it was the same besides the size. It still stood quite close to him— if they both reached out a hand they would touch fingertips. It was lanky in shape, thin arms and legs bracketed by a slim waist and wide shoulders. Its hands, if they could be called hands, were clasped behind his back, its spine straight and taut with tension. Somehow, the smile it was sporting was much more menacing at this size. 

It chuckled darkly, reaching a hand outwards and presenting it like a handshake. “Shake my hand, and I’ll tell you what you want to know.” 

It was a terrible decision— the farthest thing from wise than Alastor had been in quite some time. But, my God, he was scared. It was such an encompassing feeling, like spiders crawling across his skin, scratching at his scars until they reopened and biting at his skin until it was red and blistered. He could feel the cold touch of his father closing in on his neck, ready to squeeze the life from his tiny body before doing the same to his mother in the other room. He hadn’t been older than twelve when he committed his first murder. Memories flashed across his mind like a moving picture show, and if he had the strength to push them away he would do it in a heartbeat. 

His hand was clasped in the shadow’s before he realized what he had done. 

The thing squeezed tight to him, holding on like it was the last thing it would ever do before cackling once more into the night. Alastor struggled against its hold, but all of his efforts were futile. It was not budging. Color began to bleed through its form, starting from the large, red ears atop its head and moving downwards quickly. Everything about it was red and black. Red eyes with red pupils. Red and black hair. Red suit, not much unlike his own. Red nails digging into the skin of his hand and refusing to let go. Its voice began to take on a more static quality, the frequency buzzing in the air and filling Alastor’s ears to the point of flinching. It grated on all of his nerves. The more that was revealed of the thing before him, the more he realized that it was a man. The beings eyes were trained on his own, staring him down like a predator hunting the best possible game. The demon, because that’s what it was, he realized, drank in his obvious fear like the richest wine money can buy. 

Its voice was no longer warbled when it finally spoke, a transatlantic accent heavy in its words. “Hello, Alastor. Pleasure to be finally meeting you, quite the pleasure.” 

Alastor stared into the red abyss of its eyes, refusing to blink lest it bite off his head with its ravenous yellow teeth. “What are you? Who are you?” 

It tutted, squeezing his hand tighter in its vice grip. “Oh, come now, Alastor. Surely you’ve realized who I am by now! I remember being so much more observant at this age.” 

The air around him screeched to a halt. 

No. 

No. 

All of the blood in Alastor’s body fled from his head and pooled in his feet, the limbs feeling like lead had been injected directly into his bloodstream. His mouth had the distinct taste of bile and dread. He wanted to hurl himself to the ground, let the earth swallow him whole and never let him dig his way back to the surface. He wanted to hunch over and expel everything from his stomach until he was nothing but bone and skin and ligaments. He wanted to do anything to get his damn body to MOVE. Everything in him prayed to the Fates that what was hinted at wasn’t true. This couldn’t be true. It couldn’t be. 

Alas, the Fates had never been kind to him before; why would they start now?

Anguish clouded over his expression, a plea dripping from his lips like the moon bled across the night sky. “Please, no…” 

The demon stretched his smile ruefully, each point on its elongated teeth catching on what light remained above. “Yes.” 

Its lips curled, revealing gum in a daunting sneer. “How could I be anyone else?” 

Clenching Alastor’s hand again, it pulled him closer until they were nearly touching noses. Its breath smelled like carnage. He was helpless under its gaze, stuck staring into its eyes as they shifted into what looked like radio dials. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw its antlers growing again. 

“I’m you.” 

It finally released him, then, shoving him into the dirt and glaring down at him with malice in its eyes. Blood began to drip from the corner of its stretched lips. Alastor could do nothing but stare. 

“I’m only going to say this once, so listen carefully.” It said, wiping its hand against the front of its blazer before tucking both behind his back again. Its ears twitched atop its head. 

“I am you. You are me. This is what lives inside of you— what you will become quite soon—”

“No—”

“DO NOT—” It moved with that inhuman speed again, leaning down until it was eye level with him and grabbing his jaw in its claws. “Interrupt me.” It snarled— animalistic— feral. 

“I don’t remember being such a sniveling welp. Accept the truth, Alastor. I am as much of you as you are of you— we are two sides to the same, sadistic coin. The sooner you accept this fact, the sooner you can achieve your full potential in the afterlife.” His smile somehow became more ferocious. “And you will achieve it. I am the best you will ever be. Your puny murders on this plain are nothing compared to what I have done in the depths of hell. People will fear your name like never before, and you will relish in it.”

It released Alastor roughly, standing back to its full height and leering down at him. 

“I have come only to give you a taste for what’s to come. This was for my enjoyment, not as a warning. Do not get this twisted. My reasons are my own; you will come to realize that soon enough. Even still, this was quite enjoyable, I assure you.” 

Alastor attempted to find his voice again, his words leaking out feebly and choppy with fright. “You— you aren’t real. You can’t be real.” 

It chuckled to itself, looking down at him with something almost akin to pity. “Real or not real, you are seeing me now, you have seen me before, and you will see me again.” 

Flashes of red hair and yellowed teeth scream across his memory— things that his mother told him were just nightmares— things that hid in his closet or under his bed. He shivered. It has been with him for quite some time. 

A thin microphone appeared in the demon’s hand seemingly out of thin air, and with a swish of the stick green magic began to buzz around its form. It smiled down at him, one last time, and for the first time Alastor realized that its grin actually met its eyes for once. True, demented happiness buzzed in the air with its residual radio static. 

“That’s all the time I have, I’m afraid. I will be seeing you very soon, Alastor.” It paused, glee dancing in its eyes. “Or, more accurately, you’ll be seeing me.” 

With its final words, the demon vanished once again into a mass of shadow. Its form breathed through the air, bringing back the soft spring wind and the sound of cicadas chirping through the night. Even the trees seemed relieved to have the demon gone, like nature sighed with relief after being trapped for so long. Everything seemed to be back in balance at last. 

Alastor released the breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

He could only revel in his own relief for a moment before the sound of a twig snapping drew his attention to something moving in front of him. Where the demon was once standing was now the hazy image of a prowling dog, haunches raised and ready to attack. An aching dread curled around his ribs at the sight. His heart leapt into his throat. The animal's teeth were bared at him, eyes narrowed and twitching with each step closer. The smallest pink hue could be seen against its teeth— flesh, as Alastor quickly came to realize. Fear squeezed at his throat once again, and his mind ran wild. 

Please no, it can’t end like this.

I’ll do better. I’ll be better. 

God don’t let me die like this. 

I don’t want to die.

Mama, help me.

I’m so scared, mama. 

And then the dog leaped.

Like what you read? Here's more!

[sourpatchys]

Chapter three: Blood

Time: Quarry

Rating: nothing explicit. Mentions of walkers and death.

Word count: 1.3k

Summary: a magnetic pull, and a nights rest. The two survivors are growing closer by the day.

A/n: this took much longer than I had hoped for! I’m going to try my hardest to get the next chapter out much faster haha, hopefully the wait was worth it!

Guidelines masterlist Daryl!Masiterlist

The camp was in utter ruins when Daryl had returned.

Walkers were clawing their way into rib cages, ripping away the flesh and bone— screams echoed throughout the hills and trees, begging— pleading for help.

Any negativity Daryl had, from Merle, the weird fucking nursing home or the pieces of shit he had to live with— it all fell away in an instant. He was firing, shaking, even screaming— his body moved on pure instinct shuddering in a way he had never experienced before.

He was fighting for his life— for the life of others. Ripping arrows through the air, his eyes frantically searching for an end.

The way here was calm and quiet. He was pissed— angry and upset. His brother was gone and all he had to show for it were the people who left him to die. Walking home on an uneven trail, kicking the rocks under his shoes, cursing any god that would listen for ruining any life he had left.

The closer they got— the more Daryl started to pick up his speed. His muscles began to tense, a hot swarm of fire ants lighting up under his rugged skin. Something in his mind— in his body— started screaming, yelling at him, telling him to move faster. It felt as though he had lost all control, his legs were moving before he could even wonder why.

The sun had set by the time the small misfit group had returned, its burning rays hidden under the horizon, leaving terror in its wake.

He wasn't sure exactly what he was trying to accomplish— smashing in the heads of the dead with anything he could get his blood crusted hands on. At points he used nothing but the soles of his boots, caving in the skulls of the monsters he'd come to despise over the passing few months.

The blood was warm, washing over his burning skin like a safety blanket. Each pass of his fists, his axe or his bow, lightening the load of horror little by little.

It felt as though it had lasted hours, the adrenaline making every move he took feel slow— as if he were a movie on rewind— unable to reach the end.

Daryl's skin was sticky, his face was hot and his heart felt as though it was going to rip out of his chest. He was looking for something— static electricity was shooting through his brain like lightning, unwilling to stop, forcing his body to move— refusing to let him rest for even a moment.

His vision was blurry, fading lines together— the overwhelming darkness of the night only worsening his disheveled state. It felt as though he were having a panic attack, unable to catch his breath, chest caving and screaming for the release of pressure.

The moment he saw the group, huddled together and checking for injuries— something in him stilled.

He wasn't sure what did it, be it the proof that there were survivors, or the overwhelming pull of knowing everything was finally over— but the static left, replacing itself with cotton.

—

The attack on the camp alerted everyone to the dangers of staying still— something had to change and it had to change fast.

You weren't sure if you had ever felt that level of panic in your life— the overwhelming feel of being alone— forgotten.

It didn't make sense— nothing about your mind or your body's reaction to the chaos made any fucking sense. You understood the fear— the urgency of safety and the pull of death.

But why— why did you feel so utterly alone? You weren't alone— not even slightly. The entire group was with you, witnessing the carnage and bloodshed. They all saw Amy being ripped apart, her curdled screams for help. They all saw the ripped muscles and pointless deaths. Hell— they protected you! Killing any of those vile things that got near you.

Your mind was in a haze— unable to focus or understand. You felt like a child lost in a grocery store. The yelling of those who had left, running into camp from their mission and joining you in your fight for survival— it was the only thing that threw you out of your mangled state of mind.

Sleep did not come easy that night. The corpses of your newfound friends still littered the outside, rotting into the ground and killing the grass below.

Your pillow felt as if it were filled with rocks, your blanket cut into your skin like needles— and the ground felt twice as hard.

Part of you wondered how Daryl was doing.

Perhaps it was a way for you to distance yourself from the carnage, but you still couldn't help but wonder if he was okay. Merle hadn't come back that night, his presence erased entirely, never to be spoken of again.

Sighing in defeat, you sat up, ripping your needle pointed blanket away from your clammy skin and making your way towards the outside world. You didn't allow yourself a gander. Your eyes focused solely on your slippered feet, making a slow crawl towards the bright blue tent in the other side of camp.

The smell that plagued your nostrils was almost enough for you to call it quits— the undeniable rot and decay rising from the soil. Even without the visuals, it was impossible to ignore.

But the sight of that closed up tent door kept you right on track. It was like a pull— a magnetic connection that you couldn't ignore.

"Daryl?" You whispered, your index finger bent, tapping lightly on the closed up mesh. "Are you up?"

There was shifting behind the blue door before the zipper eased its way down, the small sound echoing through the hills, daring you to make another.

“What do you want?” His voice was gruff, his southern lull deeper than you had ever heard it before.

“I wanted to see how you were doing?”

His milky blue eyes looked you up and down, casting a spell of unease, unsure of what to make out of your nightly visit.

“Why?” He asked, finally removing his eyes from you and looking around at your surroundings. Unzipping the door all the way and stepping back. “Get in here, you don’t need to be out there.”

Thankful for the separation, you stepped inside, plopping yourself down on the hard floor and crossing your legs— unsure what to do with yourself in the new environment.

Daryl sat himself across from you— mimicking your own actions from the day before, as he turned on his bedside lantern, placing it between the two of you.

“I couldn’t sleep— I got to thinking about you.”

“Oh yeah?”

His eyes were unreadable, staring right through you.

“You never answered me.”

Grunting, the archer leaned back in his hands, pulling his eyes away from you once more, choosing instead to look up at the makeshift ceiling.

“M’fine. Couldn’t sleep either.”

It was silent after that, though it wasn’t unpleasant. You found yourself calmer than you could ever recall being before, sitting tight in a broken down bright blue tent.

Feeling more comfortable, you allowed yourself to stretch, pulling your legs out from underneath you as you adjusted.

“Tomorrow— whatever we end up doing, and wherever we end up— can I leave with you?”

He stared at you, unsettled— confused by the request. Though, he couldn’t find it in himself to deny you.

“Whatever.”

A warmth unlike any you had ever felt seeped into your skin, glowing and trailing along through your veins. A smile— small yet true— made its way onto your face, a gleam of hope finding itself inside you once more.

“Thank you Daryl.” You beamed, placing your hand on his knee.

Soon enough you found yourself drifting, your eyelids growing heavy as your face began to tingle. It didn’t take long before your once restless night became something else entirely.

Next chapter

[bigsoftmarshmallow]

Okay, so I'm pretty sure you liked one of the posts that partially talks about their backstory, but I don't think you've read anything about Karina specifically.

h/t/t/p/s://www.tumblr.com/aikoiya/721484702337351680/loz-karina-goddess-of-love-passion?source=share

This is pretty important to her as a character, but so it this:

h/t/t/p/s://www.tumblr.com/aikoiya/727413120124993536/loz-gerudo-pantheon?source=share

The thing about a lot of those scenes is that they would mostly only happen before Demise became Demise. Afterwards, he'd be more likely to actively try & r*pe her.

Like, yes. I always wanna give characters a chance, but the problem is that unless a character wants to change, then they won't.

Do not pass go & do not collect $200. The buck stops with you.

Yes, he could reform, but he doesn't want to. I see him as the type whose addicted to the chaos & the hate & the bloodshed & the carnage.

In some ways, he reminds me of the Joker. "Some people wanna watch the world burn."

As Demise, he is too far gone. However, Ganondorf, to me, acts like his Sword of Damocles.

Yes, Ganondorf is Demise's hatred reborn, his Ara Mitama, but that isn't all he is. He's also human. Meaning that he can change given the right influences.

Which means that Ganondorf is both Demise's hatred upon the world & Demise's best chance at any form of salvation.

In all honesty, I tend to take a degree of influence from Shintoism & Buddhism with him. While I don't believe in such philosophies IRL, they do give me new & interesting angles to look at characters from.

And my depiction of Demise takes a degree of influence from Susano-o. And, he's known for having been cast out of the heavens to live as a mortal (though, with the things he could pull, he must've been a mortal sorcerer).

But, the thing is, there is a shitton of evidence to suggest that the actual curse that Demise placed upon Link & Zelda isn't reincarnation. Because reincarnation already existed within their world &, according to Shinto & Buddhist philosophy, every living thing is subject to reincarnation.

It is only further proven by Demise's own words, he uses a very specific term in the original Japanese. Rin'ne, which is the Japanese term for the Hindu word Samsāra, which is the neverending cycle of life, death, & rebirth.

Now, in the English, he said was that, "my hatred will follow."

"Follow." You can't exactly follow something if it's not already in motion.

What I think is that, Demise isn't causing Link & Zelda to reincarnate. I think that that was already going to happen regardless.

I believe that Demise's actual curse isn't so much forcing them to reincarnate (which, how would he even do that; he was never stated to have power over souls), rather I believe he's attached his own hatred to their souls & essentially piggybacking off of a natural phenomenon that takes place on their earth. His curse makes it so that, whenever they are reborn, they'll experience misery in some form or fashion.

Which brings me to my next point. I think that Hylia gave up a whole lot more than what a bunch of fans believe she did.

Thing is, in a world where reincarnation is real, the only way to escape it is the give up on all worldly attachments. Which, I don't think even most deities can boast about themselves.

Especially not Hylia. She is VERY attached. So, when she became mortal, she sort of became subject to Rin'ne like any other mortal. Whether she knew or she didn't, that's a different story, but I still think it to be true.

Anyway, tangent, my bad. I see Ganondorf as being parallel to Susano-o time as a mortal.

And, you know what? He eventually makes amends. But he's only able to through living as a mortal. Or at least, that's the angle I'm going with.

And, in a way, Karina sort of represents Demise's, or Gàlondo's Kushinada-hime. Susano-o's eventual wife. (But only represent her. If she actually was Kushinada, then she'd be transformed into a comb most of the story. XD)

But, bottom line is that, according to Buddhism, it's actually not

Another interesting thing is that, while yes, the Triforce bears a surface-level resemblance to the concept of the Holy Trinity, I think it has more in common with the 3 Confucian Virtues.

And, do you know what those virtues are?

Courage

Wisdom

.

.

.

.

Benevolence.

And, do you know what Conficius believed of benevolence? It is humaneness. Or love for others.

That it starts at the home, but shouldn't stop there.

One could even argue that it is an extension of Aristole's idea that one's relationship with others reflects the relationship that we have with ourselves. In other words, how you view or treat yourself can affects how you view or treat others.

Which makes self-compassion (philautia) rather than narcissism (narcissis) very important. Because arrogance is often times a sign of someone who is secretly insecure.

And, interestingly enough, Karina is a goddess of all types of love & of healthy relationships (among other things), meaning she likely knows what she's talking about.

Anyway, back to where I was. Confucian benevolence is described as a moral sense that begins with one's own family & that strong foundation allows for such feelings to flow outward to one's community & beyond.

So, what happens when one's family or home is not strong. If the filial love isn't allowed to flourish?

Now, that by no means indicates that one can't be benevolent without a good home life or relationship with one's family. But just like how one can still learn how to read later in life, if it's nurtured early in life, it's comes easier.

But yeah, that's my logic.

Sorry for the infodumping.

Is Demise a terrible being? Yes. Do I love him?

... yes...

I really wish I could like me a hero for once. Alas, my heart is forever tormented by villains and antiheroes!

I am always here for your Universe's lore, my dear. You have incredible storytelling and information to give on WHY something should be the way it is in your version of Hyrule! I cannot wait to see more about it!

I actually have all the links you give me saved on my notes app to be able to pull them up whenever I am able to read... AKA when my brain lets me actually sit down to read.

[addaxus]

ARIZONA SILVER TOWN STAINED CRIMSON FROM BLOODBATH!

SCORES OF DEAD LITTER CITY STREETS!

HELD UP IN GUNSMITH!

SOUTHWEST BOOGEYMAN STRIKES AGAIN!

The gleaming beauty of a booming Arizona mining town has been marred by the permanent scars of horrible bloodshed. For here was the scene of one of the most violent shootouts in state history! A local posse ambushed four members of the Almería Anarchists, a self-proclaimed revolutionary gang. Their recent crimes up to the shootout include selling stolen liquor, horse theft, and arson. According to one popular theory, the gang intended to cause mayhem and panic within the town so they could take the silver for themselves during the chaos.

One member was killed by a rifle shot to the head, setting the remaining three on a brief chase through town. Two members barricaded themselves in a local gunsmith's shop, firing at anyone who approached. Despite all odds, these defiant reprobates remained firm, mowing down everybody in their sights with the store's arsenal of weapons and ammunition. The posse's morale soon broke down, leaving the Sheriff and his three deputies alone. Fortunately, the Sheriff thought he had some leverage by holding the third Anarchist hostage. He had no idea how little the hostage was valued by his fellow outlaws, as one of the duo, a poncho-clad Mexican, shot him in cold blood before murdering the Sheriff and all three deputies. The Mexican and his accomplice then rode away through the very carnage they had wrought.

Further eyewitness accounts confirm that the Mexican was El Ojos Diablos. His bounty has increased by $1250, increasing the amount to $3000. Why do the Almería Anarchists allow such a valuable individual to ride with them? It's plausible that they're trying to keep their numbers up in the face of rising losses.

[lionews]

TW/// ⚠️⚠️Talk of phobias!!!!!!⚠️⚠️

Below I am going to list phobias with their definitions and which snakes could bother those with these phobias :3

Note some of these are listed because of the slithering NPCs likeness to the phobias origin. Some phobias may have multiple names or meaning.

Phobias this event could trigger:

- scopophobia- fear of being watched: Madness, Serpentine, terror

- Arachnophobia- fear of spiders: Frenzy, havoc, terror

- Aichmophobia - fear of sharp objects: Carnage, demise, doom, evil, havoc, frenzy, malice, massacre, wrath, terror, obliteration, schism

- chiroptophobia- fear of bats: end, chaos

- Entomophobia- fear of insects: frenzy, terror, caedes, havoc, massacre

- Erythrophobia- Fear of red: slaughter, wrath, rage, massacre, malice, fury,

- Helminthophobia- fear of worms: annihilation, madness, mayhem, rage, Quietus,

- Herpetophobia/Ophidiophobia- fear of reptiles/snakes - entire event.

- melanophobia- fear of black - void, terror, mayhem, horror, end, frenzy, demise, annihilation, chaos

- Necrophobia - fear of death: bloodshed, death, mors, mortuus, necrosis, schism

- Ophthalmophobia- Fear of being stared at: madness,

- phasmaphobia- Fear of ghosts: horror, void

- Radiophobia- fear of radioactivity: corruption, Quietus

- Trypophobia - Fear of clusters of holes or bumps: corruption

- Odontophobia- fear of teeth: entire event

- pyrophobia- fear of fire: fiend, destruction, chaos

- pteronophobia- fear of feathers: fury

.

[thebalancer]

Everlasting Flower: Nae Sarang~Lies of P Fanfic: Prologue

{Welcome to my Lies of P fanfic. I figure I post here on Tumblr just to make my Tumblr active again. This story was posted on A03. I hope you enjoy.}

~~~~Nae Sarang: A Korean word meaning “My love”~~~~~~

The cold dribbles pour on the dystopian city once a perfect world recked in coat of bloodshed and death. No nearby individual around - only the sound of the clicks of the heel boots against the rusty streets original covered in friendly citizens under a bright sunny day such as herself; those going on their day for work, jobs, or whatever they may go. Now, the road that once took her little feet to the bread shop every Saturday leads her in a long-lasting nightmare she cannot escape from. The shaky tired breath puffing out the human’s slightly open human’s lips trying to ease the racing heart inside the cage. The left hand in a clutch of a sharp knife coats in a dirty cloth. An incident in a childhood place - death almost snatched her way, but the dangerous risk the young woman took learned from the studies in the past saved her life.

Blood stains of her own mixed with the oil stains from the metallic murderers hunting for her own soul covered her elegant short purple dress that sway from the gloomy breeze.

Alone.

Lost.

So Cold.

Afraid.

The survivor has only herself and the task told by a trustworthy White Rabbit who sacrificed her life for the “child” from the harm of the large puppet threatening them: Go to Hotel Krat. The safe haven in all of the city. Use the pocket watch given by the white rabbit to guide the way. It is the only way to safety until she can reunite with the ones she got separated from. In hopes they all still live before she can. Armed with a sharp dagger carve like a deadly blade found in the blacksmiths crafting station, the rose clings onto it with the hand previously covered in small harmless cuts from things like a papercut or a cat scratch, now coat in large cuts and bruises. The knife originally used for cutting innocent, everyday meals becomes a dangerous murder weapon she must use to defend herself.

Battle after battle.

Death after death.

All blood. No escape.

Everything she must do to survive.

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

Loosing her breath after making a daring escape of fleeing from a pack of hungry puppet dogs as if they’re hunting down their main prey, the dark heavy rain continues pouring down - no signs of stopping any time soon. Enough where the young innocent girl with long, silky hair held by a headband, an neat uniform under a proper coat from a well-trained alchemist over her shoulders, and frames in helping see words better seem to be in the past. That young girl is now dead; in replaced with the older one with short, dark blonde that let her natural waves through, a look more suited for a survival in the wasteland, and eye makeup that’s not too heavy or too light, but enough where her eyes stand out. However, even some of the makeup is wearing off from the carnage. Her beautiful pale face many adore now show another side of her, a fighter.

The cold creeped on her skin quickly causing the muscles in the body to try and regenerate heat as possible, yet the nervousness the survivor is undeniably experiencing that the muscles are having a difficult time relaxing. As fight or flight are at stack. In a situation like this, one…. Must kill or be killed in this city after all.

A sudden red glow sparks on her heart, on the dress latched a gem brooches shaped into a heart. Seemingly connecting its energy in the blue crystal wrapped around her neck.

“What is it?” She asks out loud, sounding both frustrated and tired from all the chaos happening around her. The ergo belong to a deceased relative of hers whispers - being a Listener has both its strengths and weakness….at least for her. They tell her the hotel’s not far. She’s getting close to the destination up north. She should make sure to use the pocket watch gifted by White Rabbit lady Kochou in guiding her the right path.

There.

She sees it.

Hope.

The safe haven.

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

A gigantic structure high as a sturdy castle appears from the mist before her very own earth eyes. Full injured lips lift up in a form of a smile. Finally, at long last, the location she strived in finding.

“The hotel…..I made it,” She mutters to herself. The pain cause her to tense up and hiss. “Hopefully, there’s people that can help me…..I’m not a puppet, so I’m fine.”

The survivor knocks on the grand door. A voice of the defense system speaks from the speakers: “Welcome to the sanctuary of the Grand Coverant. Prove your identity. Who are you?”

“My name is Rhosyn Syltha. I am a human. I seek refuge here.” Answered she.

“Grand Coverant Fourth Law: A Puppet cannot lie. Welcome to Hotel Krat.” And the doors unlock. She grabs the handle of the giant structural door. A relieved exhale comes out while pulling open the new chapter in life.

Rhosyn made it to the safe haven. Safe from all harm outside. Inside the hotel shine the beacon of hope and peace surrounding by ancient structures.

Welcome to Hotel Krat.