#he doesn’t have it anymore but when he did wield it he used it like other large weapons

[brendathedoodler]

An adventure swap comic edit! Redraw? I’m not sure what to call it but I had fun doing it

Original panel by jojo, right here

[sapphicseasapphire]

IT’S ME, I’M THE FOOL.

This whole time I’ve been saying that people with God Powers TM are Marked. They all have something on their face! (Except Legend, what’s on his face is just scales, don’t be confused).

But this WHOLE TIME I’ve been drawing Sun without her Marks. Like. She’s literally Hylia. She has God Powers, she should have them. Anyway so this is my Sun redesign for real this time. Just pretend that she looks like this in my “I am Sky” comic.

Anyway so here’s some information about her under the cut.

I don’t have a big story for her like I do for Flora because Cryptid Sky’s story barely changes Skyward Sword like at all. He’s formed that the very very end, after the Goddess’s Silent Realm, so most things involving Sun remain the same.

I will say that she didn’t always have her Marks. When she was born as Zelda, her face was clear, like every other Skyloftian. But when she fell to the Surface and began a quest of her own, when she discovered her divine origins, she started to remember. She’d pray at the springs to recover her memories and her powers, and one by one, her face would be Marked.

By the time that Link had secured all of the Sacred Flames and forged the Master Sword with them, Sun was already lost. And in her place stood a Goddess.

I don’t think that people give her enough credit for all she’s been through. Sun deserved so much better, she lost her life to Hylia’s plans just as much as Link did. And when Link merged into Sky, he was merely mimicking the transformation that his dearest friend had already gone through. Sun’s soul is still split in half, still shared between herself and her Loftwing, but in that empty part of her core lies the domineering presence of Hylia herself. Her life as she knew it is over. Is she Zelda anymore? Or is she Hylia?

She loves Link SO MUCH. When she first comes out of their thousands-of-years long slumber, she’s in shock to see that he’s gone. She falls from the amber shards and lands squarely in Sky’s arms, and Sky envelopes her in his soft wings, holding her as if she’s the most precious thing in the world. In the haze, she doesn’t realize the change in her dearest friend. But when she opens her eyes, she’s devastated.

As far as she’s concerned, it’s her fault. She used Link. Forced him to go on this quest, forced him into the Silent Realms, forced him to wield the Master Sword and the Triforce. She’s the reason that he fused with Aepon; she’s the reason that Link is gone.

But Sky laughs the same as Link would, relief in his eyes when she gathers the strength to stand. She holds her hand in his own, and it feels just like the hand she knows. His face is the same, for the most part: his hair is different and he’s got red spots on his cheeks, but the more she looks at him, the more she sees Link. And as they make it through the Temple together, as she watches Groose fawn over him, she realizes that he’s not gone at all.

He’s changed, just like she is. But just like she’s still his Zelda, Sky is still her Link. The guilt still worms its way into her chest, but as long as Sky is smiling, she’s able to see past it.

Sky does not smile for very long, as a certain Demon Lord shows up mere moments later to ruin their happy ending. To be honest, Sun doesn’t remember much of that night. She remembers the anger in Sky’s face as his body trembled on the ground. She remembers the cold cruelty of Ghirahim’s voice against her chest as she was carried away from her Link- her Sky. She remembers feeling so weak and helpless, cursing the Goddess- cursing herself- for being so useless.

And then all she knew was pain. Blinding, burning agony that enveloped her entire being. She thought she was dying, weightless and alone and scared.

The next time she opened her eyes, she was inside the Sealed Temple. Groose held her. Sky was nowhere to be seen.

She cried into Groose’s chest, something she never would have dreamed of doing a year ago, her head still reeling from that feeling of hopelessness, that pain. All at once, she was scared and relieved and safe and in danger. And Groose held her through it.

Sky would stumble into the Temple much later, limping and bleeding and spasming. His right arm would be totally friend and his wings would drag on the ground, feathers in disarray. He’d lean away from Groose and fall into Sun’s open arms. And when it was time to return the Master Sword to her final resting place, he’d do so with a heaviness in his eyes that’s uncharacteristic and a weakness in his body that’s frightening.

Both Sun and Sky take a long time to recover from that. And really, neither of them ever do. But as Sky starts to physically heal, Sun starts to see more traces of her dear Link. Being around her closest friend and newfound lover is healing, and after the adventure they’d had, they don’t leave each other’s side for a long while.

Sun is very protective over Sky, just like she always was with Link. They exchange Loftwing feathers (Sky gives her his own). And just five days after they’re reunited, they’re separated again.

Okay okay okay. This was less about Sun and more about Sun AND Sky, but they’re pretty much inseparable I think. From Sky’s perspective, there’s a lot of confusing feelings that I’ll get into when I actually write a fic (I’m starting a fic!), but Sun just loves him so much. I have a little comic series which is actually a collection of little short stories in a much bigger plot called “I am Sky.” The short comics aren’t all finished (and they can be read as stand alones) but the order they go in is:

“I am Sky” Stories: Pipit

“I am Sky” Stories: Groose (I’m not done with it I’m sorryyyyyy)

“I am Sky” Stories: Zelda

This all takes place after the Demise battle, when Sky is healing and has the chance to sit down and reflect. When he gets the opportunity to learn about himself, the person that his two halves made him. He struggles a lot, but these specific stories have a lot of comfort. He’ll be fine. Probably.

[unnerving-presence]

Haya bestie. Bet you can't make some head cannons with your favorite killers, who have a S/O who's a fucking feral grimlen hyped up on monster in redbull 24/7

knowing how i USED to write my gremlin requests i will try to make them not as cringe as before and will not make as many stupid pop culture references 😭 let’s hope this one is better than the others LMAO

i did already do this request for some of my other favorites so i’ll include some others i love 😈😈

♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎

Albert Wesker:

Honestly the fact that you are even this energetic in a place like the Entity’s realm is something even he can’t understand given your position.

He also does not understand why you are so determined to bother him with all the energy you have. Does that give you the right to bother anybody else? No. You stay by him like a good little s/o.

He has no interest in humoring you. At least not intentionally. You say some weird shit? He’ll probably say something along the lines of “That’s very nice, dear” or “Yes dear, I know”.

Though he has to admit, he does like it when your spurts of energy compel you to be affectionate in some way. He doesn’t say it, but the smirk on his face tells you that he absolutely adores it when you want to bombard him with affection, given that it is the appropriate time of course.

He has to physically stop you from messing with everything in his realm. He has those set in place for a reason and he would very much like it if it was kept that way. Does that stop you from trying to take whatever you think is cool? Probably not.

“No dearest, you can’t touch that.”

“I WANT IT“

Also never admits it but your energy lightens up his life a bit more. He may seem tired of your antics, but he can’t stop himself from loving them either.

Tarhos Kovács:

He insists that does not have time for all of this energy but the way he continues to feed into your nonsense proves otherwise.

He probably wants you to stop bothering him with your antics, so he will encourage you if you insist on messing around with his devoted followers. Don’t mess around with them too much though. You are his companion! Not theirs!

Will constantly ask what you are talking about if you say something that is either slang, a reference, or some type of joke. He does not understand. What is an e girl and what are i ladies..

Tarhos doesn’t crave nor seek out affection, so he has no idea what to do when you decide that he is your next victim in your burst of energy. Should he be irritated or grateful that you are peppering his helmet with kisses? Does he want to push you away or attempt to get back to his duties while you attempt to wrap your arms all the way around him in a hug? It’s all very confusing for him but he silently appreciates the love.

Even his guards wonder why he puts up with you and even he doesn’t know. Do you have some kind of magical power that makes him attached to you no matter what you do? He has considered that theory multiple times. He’s still adjusting to having a partner and he would figure that even his cold and dark personality would scare you away. It confuses him that despite his past and motives you’re still bold enough to do such things as trying to jump on his back or even trying to wield his claymore which he does not approve of.

He can’t quite understand why he hasn’t thought about murdering you yet despite you doing things that he would consider disgusting if it were anybody else. He doesn’t bother questioning it much anymore. You make him content and that’s all that matters.

[bloofinntoona]

Of Serpents and Whispers: To be Ominis

Part 1 of the Ominis Gaunt series: Of Serpents and Whispers

Word count: 1.2 k

Themes: Angst, gen, TRIGGER WARNING: mentions of pain from the Cruciatus Curse

Pairing: (to come) Ominis Gaunt x F!Reader, Sebastian Sallow x F!Reader

Summary/Author's Note: I wanted to expand Ominis' story since his background and storyline wasn't as polished as the other main student characters. Will dive deeper into the story further on!

Darkness.

Ominis Gaunt saw the world differently compared to other people. Being born without the ability to see, Ominis was used to navigating the world through his other senses. There was more than meets the eye anyways. Visuals are overrated. Ominis could feel the coldness of winter through the prickly sensation of snow falling on his skin, or how refreshing it is to inhale the scent of dew-covered leaves in spring mornings. To be quite honest, it was an advantage to block out the snide looks that his family gives him on the daily.

Some might say that being born into the House of Gaunt is a blessing. The Gaunts were one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, and direct descendants of Salazar Slytherin, one of the four founders of Hogwarts. Ominis thought otherwise. Behind the splendor of the Gaunts’ massive manor, there was darkness weaved into the family name. Like many of Slytherin’s descendants, the Gaunt family was obsessed with keeping their lineage pure. Magic had to be kept between Wizard-kind only. These words were burned onto Ominis’ ears ever since he was little, as well as the screams of muggles when his family casted Crucio and other dark arts on them. They said that they did it for ‘practice’ and because ‘muggles are beneath us and they don’t deserve to live’. Ominis begged the differ. He could see neither muggles nor pure-bloods alike. It doesn’t matter. everyone was the same through his light-grey orbs.

Ominis Gaunt wished he was born into a normal family when his own parents made him stand in front of a cowering muggle. The boy couldn't see the terrified expression of the man, yet the gritting teeth, the wails, and pleas sent shivers down his spine. He could feel the wand in his sweaty grip slipping and falling down, the sound echoes around the chamber. Ominis thanked the universe that he couldn't see the disgusting looks of his snickering siblings, taunting the youngest of the Gaunt family. He heard a loud slap and felt a stinging pain on the backside of his head. “You foolish child,” his father grunted, “how many times do I have to tell you to cast the Cruciatus Curse on this… creature.” 

Ominis’ tears well up, shaking his head profusely. “Please, father, I cannot do this!” The nine-year-old boy fell down on his knees, begging for just a little bit of mercy from his family.

Yet it was all for naught. “Avada Kedavra!” screamed his father, followed by a loud thump! Ominis couldn't hear the pleas from the man anymore. He sits down, hugging his knees, blocking his siblings’ cruel remarks. Despite his inability to see, he can feel his father’s disappointed gaze burning onto him.

“Crucio!”

Ominis could only feel pain. His whole body stung, it felt like there were a thousand knives jabbing him all over his body. On top of that, he couldn’t scream as he felt a hand squeezing around his throat. The boy thought he would die there and then, yet the pain subsided after what it felt like hours.

“You are no son of mine.”

Ominis’ relationship with his family was never the same after that. Not like it was good before, but he could feel that Gaunts’ wished he would disappear. He solidified his hatred towards the Dark Arts, promising himself that we will not wield it. This view was shared with his favorite family member, his aunt Noctua Gaunt. Ominis didn’t get to see Noctua a lot as his aunt was deep into studying Salazar Slytherin’s past. He didn’t mind though, he loved hearing stories about the Hogwarts Wizarding school that he will attend. Not only Ominis was keen on learning more about magic, but it was an invitation to get away from his dreadful family. 

Despite not hearing back from Noctua after a while, he was beyond delighted to receive the invitation letter on his 11th birthday. Ominis ran his hands across the scruffy envelope paper, feeling the pointed folded edges. He flipped the envelope, opening the seal to produce the parchment inside. He ghosted his fingers against the paper, reading the invitation through the Braille letters embossed. It only took him a day to quickly pack his belongings and head to school.  

Being the only blind student is one thing, but carrying the Gaunt name did make an impact in between the first years. It didn’t help that Headmaster Black escorted him into the sorting hat ceremony. What a pompous twit, Ominis thought. Gone were the expectations of having new friends and living a normal life at Hogwarts. Ominis sat down at the end of the long table.

However, an arm around his shoulder took him by surprise. “I’m Sebastian Sallow! And this is my sister, Anne!” chirped the boy. He grabbed Ominis’ arm, resting it on what Ominis suspected was a little girl. “Sebastian, don’t be rude! Sorry, my name is Anne. We saw you were sitting alone, so we thought we introduce ourselves?”

Ominis chuckled and introduced himself, “I’m Ominis Gaunt. Pleasure to meet you.” The children talked about how excited they were to be sorted. Ominis knew that he would be sorted into Slytherin, but he was pleasantly surprised to hear that his new friends were sorted into the same house.

The universe might not hate him after all.

The Hogwarts students were convinced that Ominis, Sebastian, and Anne were joined at the hip. Wherever one went, the other would follow. Contrary to popular belief that Sebastian was the most mischievous of the trip, it was Anne who was the biggest troublemaker. Ominis would use his family name to sweet-talk Headmaster Black from giving the twins detention. He didn’t mind, Sebastian and Anne were his found family. He would rather spend his holidays at Feldcroft. The Sallows loved to have Ominis at home as well, making the small house livelier after the loss of their parents.

However, good things don’t last forever. Ominis could vividly recall the blades of air passing through his skin as he flew to Feldcroft one night. Sebastian had sent him an owl notifying that Anne was cursed by the goblins. The boy was horrified to see one of his best friend crying, writhing on the bed. Daresay it reminisced him of the muggles that his family liked to torture. Ominis couldn’t do anything but to hold Sebastian as he cried in his arms. 

Seasons changed. Anne had to pause her studies to rest at home. Sebastian was able to joke around again, but Ominis knew that he had a new goal in mind - to save Anne. It’s not like Ominis didn’t want to try, but after dealing with Dark Arts throughout his whole life, he understood that there was no cure. At least a cure with minor consequences.

As if Ominis’ life wasn’t eventful enough, he didn’t expect that there would be a new student joining the fifth year. Sebastian said that it was pretty comical seeing an older student walking towards the stage among the short first-years. Ominis did hear Sebastian murmuring that the new student was pretty, yet he dismissed it since Sebastian was a notorious flirt anyways. It took them by surprise that the sorting hat announced “SLYTHERIN!” after being placed on top of the girl’s head.

“Well, this shall be fun.” Sebastian chuckles as he helped Ominis to stand.

“Yes, it shall be.”

[hallowbees]

good evening rottmnt community. so i haven't written fanfic in almost a decade, but whilst taking a break from working on a rottmnt fanfic, i have written... another rottmnt fanfic. i wanted to play around with different povs and tenses than i usually use, and decided to use casey jr and the future timeline to try it out - it was super fun to write, so i thought why not share it!!

you're a lifesaver, casey jones

fives times casey jones junior saves the resistance, and the one time it doesn’t feel like a victory

five months old

You’re only five months old when you save the resistance for the first time. You’re so young.

The shattered remains of a home cradle you, muscle memory from the years of keeping a family long gone safe and warm, and even if you can feel the wind as it whistles through the cracks in the bricks and the sky looms red, enemy drones and rubble floating above you like a cot mobile, you don’t cry. Your little life has already taught you the harshest lesson of the apocalypse, and it’s not that crying won’t get you anywhere; crying will get you somewhere alright, six feet deep in a grave if the wrong ones hear you. Of course you don’t actually know that, not in that way at least, but you do know crying only ever wears you out. Tough lesson to learn, ain't it kid, but you learnt it well. You might just make it yet. 

There’s no telling how long you’ve been here- could have been five minutes, could have been forever, it's all the same to you. It’s unlikely that there are any coherent thoughts rattling around in that little brain of yours yet, but if so, they might sound something like this; I miss you, I miss you, where did you go? I’m hungry, it hurts, I miss you. Where did everyone go? I miss you. The same thoughts plague most brains these days, everyone’s got a ‘you’ to miss. We’ll all be ‘you’ someday, if we’re lucky. God, this is all quite morbid isn’t it, little one? It’s okay, though. Remember, this is a story about how you save them. It’s a happy story, you��ll get your happily ever after, even if they don’t all live.

She looks a lot like you, strangely. It’s something about the eyes, dark and strong, and the general aura of defiance. Maybe that’s why she finds you first, she feels a kinship in your ‘warrior spirit’, as she calls it, ‘a true fighter’, she calls you. ‘They are a baby, babies cannot fight. Primarily because they are still in the very early stages of fine motor skills development and cannot wield weapons yet, amongst other reasons.’ another voice says, but he doesn’t know just how hard you already have fought, will fight still. You’re there, and that is everything these days. She comes to your defence, proclaiming you ‘the strongest fighter of the resistance’, and ‘silence, purple one!’. You can’t tell that the second shout isn’t aimed at you, but what you can tell is that it's warm in her arms and now you only see her and not the broken sky above you. It’s not ‘you’, and you’re still not sure where everyone went, but this still feels comfortable. This feels like home, you think.

That’s the moment you break, and the tears start. You cry, and you cry, and you are surrounded by her. Her voice is low now, a tone rusty in use but so sure of itself as she tells you that you’re okay, you’re safe, she’s got you. ‘Poor thing, they must be so scared.’ comes a new voice, and there's a blur of orange (once you figure out what orange is, it’ll become your favourite colour, one of four favourites) over her shoulder. ‘Ain’t we all.’ comes a low rumble from behind. ‘They won’t be anymore. We’ve got them now.’ she says, and that’s how you meet your strange little family. Some of it, that is - there are more, an aunt and a grandfather or two, so many people ready to love you. 

She doesn’t just give you a name, she gives you hers. You’re Casey Jones Junior, a reminder that something always comes after. You don’t know yet how badly Casey Jones Senior had needed that reminder - she’s spent her whole life in pursuit of what’s next, in hopes that its greater than what’s now (a promotion, a resurrection, a fabled leader) and despair that it never is (better luck next time recruit, they could do it all without her, she breaks the chains that spell his downfall herself). When she finds the apocalypse next, she starts to think that maybe nothing next would be quite alright, but then there’s you and for the first time she truly feels like she’s on the right track. 

She carries you home, her family around her and in her arms, and Casey Jones Senior resolves to keep fighting another day. 

four years old

In your defence, such a sharp weapon should have never been left in your curious reach. In his, there's so much to keep on top of when you’re spearheading a resistance that if a sai or two get misplaced in the process, can anyone really blame him? Your hand is being patched up as he is berated once again, because ‘you know that weapons stay on you at all times, Raph’, and ‘why are they even sharp? Aren’t sai meant to be blunt?’. He groans out something about being a stupid teenager once upon a time, wondering what would happen if he sharpened his weapon the same way his brother did his swords, much out of the same curiosity that got you into this very predicament. He sounds like he might cry, but you can’t work out why. It’s your palm that's bleeding, and you didn’t even make a peep. That might have been the problem, though - no one noticed until your blood was smeared across the floor and that’s a sight no one can stomach. You were scooped up quickly, and he looks haunted. ‘He’ could have been anyone in the room.

“Raph’s sorry, lil’ guy.”. He’s gentle, so gentle, as he kneels before you and takes your bandaged hand. “I promise I won’t leave ‘em out again like that.”. There’s no promise that you won’t get hurt again, because no one likes to break a promise, but the way he smiles at you, still so gentle, makes all the pain go away.

“Can I hold ‘em again when I’m bigger please?” you ask, and of course you can’t see it but there’s a little sparkle in your eyes as you look up at him, glimmering like the stars that are still above you even if you can’t see them anymore, in the sky that no longer belongs to Earth. Let's look on the bright side though; it could still be ours again someday.

“Um… if your Mom says you can, then sure thing, buddy. But only when you’re older.”. Your mom will say yes, she always says yes because there is nothing that a Jones cannot do, so you cheer and throw your tiny little arms around his far bigger neck. You can’t hold all of him, so you just squeeze extra tight so he still feels the love all over. A hand comes to pat you on the back, and you certainly feel loved in his hold. 

“Why’d you want to hold ‘em so bad anyways, bud?” he asks, and you grin. It’s big and toothy, with a little gap right at the front where you lost your first tooth, and thank god that you lost it in the natural way, and not the way most people lose teeth these days.

“I wanna be just like Uncle Raphie!”. He melts, and the tears are back. Rather than wipe them away though, he just squeezes you closer. 

It’s one of the last memories you’ll get of Raphael, so please hold onto it. Hold onto it just as tight as you held onto his neck that day, held him long enough for the blood to seep through your bandages and make its mark on his skin. 

…

Well, anyways - there’s a conversation later that night that you’re not privy to. You’re probably fast asleep by your mother’s side when the clock strikes this antisocial hour. 

“He’s so little. Too little. Casey shouldn’t be even thinking about holding weapons yet.”.

Yet, yet, yet, it’s always yet. Weaponry is waiting for you in the future, and no one can lie, there are keen eyes on you as you play around the resistance base, to spot any signs of affinity for particular weapon types and fighting styles (you’re fast, get up close and personal, and there will be a brute force behind your hits if you really want there to be - someone offhandedly mentions hockey and the blueprints are already being drawn up). 

“Maybe it would be better to start him young. It is inevitable, after all.”. That’s probably the toughest pill for them to swallow, that when you grow up (if, if you grow up - that would be even harder to choke down if they would let themselves even consider it) you’ll be thrown to the front lines. 

But hey - we’re looking on the bright side, remember?

“C’mon guys, enough with the doom and gloom! Think of it this way - at least there will be someone to keep on fighting after us. And he’s going to be far more prepared than we ever could have been. Seriously, he’s like, the apocalypse nepo baby.”. You’d be shocked by how funny the apocalypse could be sometimes. It has to be, because if you don’t laugh you’ll cry, and you already know where crying gets you. It’s not the best joke, but it gets a snort from someone. “He’s got no choice but to succeed. I’m calling it now, Casey’s gonna be the one to end this someday. ”

“S’not much of a bright side. He’ll still have to fight.”. 

“Chin up, big guy. Look at what we’ve achieved already. The kind of things Casey’s going to do with all of us behind him? It’s looking pretty bright to me.”. It goes unsaid that most of them probably won’t be there to see it, but it’s enough for now. The thought of you seeing the other side of this war, even if you have to fight for it tooth and nail, it’s enough to let Raph truly think about what the end of the apocalypse could look like for the very first time since Hell arrived on earth. He thinks of the stars, how they’re still shining brightly and how we will see them again. He can even see a small smattering of them in the bleeding sky when he lays dying a few days later, and his final thought is that maybe we’re already starting to turn the tides. 

seven years old

Most people will probably tell you that celebrating a birthday is a waste of time, resources, and energy. The most cynical of the bunch would probably tell you that we don’t actually know when your birthday is, so why are you so confident that it’s today? But, and please don’t repeat this language, fuck them -  you’re seven years old, and isn’t that just incredible? You feel like the luckiest seven year old in the entire resistance (you’re only one of three in this branch, and Laura’s leg got broken yesterday, so your competition isn’t exactly tough) when your culinary wizard of an uncle manages to scrape together some sort of cake. The adults around you grimace a little when they bite into it (culinary wizard he may be, but there’s only so much magic can do), but you think it’s the best thing you’ve ever tasted. It’s dry, and sticks to the roof of your mouth, and you’d hesitate to call it chocolate, but you go in for a second helping, and no one stops you because it’s your birthday! There’s more than enough to go around; your family has gotten a little bit smaller, after all. They’re never truly gone though, because you can always see his red bandana, and you’ll always share your name with her. You don’t really remember anything more than a grey blur, but your grandfather’s famous battle cry continues to echo across the frontlines. You make sure to enjoy your second helping even more than the first, just for them. 

There is one slice of cake left, and it has no business sitting on the plate looking all lonely like that. You’re not sure exactly why he didn’t show up this time, but you’re not going to let your special day pass by without seeing him. It may be your day, but the things that make you happy are so much sweeter when you share them; you think it might be because you love your family’s smiles more than anything else in the whole entire world. Pushing yourself up from the comfortable pile of mostly everyone you love on the floor (if some missions had been shifted around to make sure everyone could be here for you today, then no one was going to complain), you pick up the plate and go to find the missing piece of your family’s jigsaw puzzle.

“Where are you taking that, Case? Trying to sneak a third helping?”. Voices are light, and maybe it’s the most at ease you’ve ever seen your family. Today really is special.

“Nope, it’s Uncle Donnie’s and he’s gotta eat it today because tomorrow it’s just cake and that's much less exciting than birthday cake.”. You’re on a mission, just like the ones your uncles and aunt go on, ones you can’t wait to join them on someday, because you don’t want to be anything other than just like them when you finally grow up. Your aunt has even begun teaching you how to fight, and she always tells you what a natural you are (she feels so guilty about it, because it would be so much easier if you weren’t going to be such a powerhouse on the battlefield; there would maybe be cause to clutch you close to her chest and never let you go otherwise).

You might hear what’s said as you leave. “Casey, buddy, maybe you shouldn’t…”. You don’t let it deter you, even if you do.

“Nah, I say let him try. Maybe he’ll finally get through to that brilliantly dumb brain of his.”.

You guard the cake with your life as you run to the lab, because you can’t possibly wait a second longer to see him. This is the one thing that could make your day go from amazing to perfect. Call it your birthday wish, even if you didn’t have a candle to blow out.

You’re not actually sure when you last saw your uncle beyond a fleeting flash of purple at breakfast time, and that one night last week you had a standoff in the corridor at 3am, because you had a nightmare and wanted your Uncle Mikey, and he needed more coffee (if it was just a bit lighter, you’d have seen his damp eyes, and maybe would have figured out that he needed to seek out his brothers just as much as you). You know when you’re going to see him next, though - in about 30 seconds, because you’re standing in front of his door.

Knock, knock, knock. There isn’t a pattern, you just bang on the door with one hand, careful to balance the plate on your other. Bang, bang, bang. You’re greeted with the rhythmic bang of a hammer in response - or at least you think at first, it doesn’t take much waiting to realise that he probably hasn’t heard you. 

Knock, knock, knock. “Uncle Donnie! I have something for you!” you shout, right at the top of your lungs. Bang, bang - “Just leave it outside the door, I’ll get it later.” - bang.

Well, in that case - you sit down, cross legged and leaning against the door. Because sure, you’re bringing him the cake, but you’re really here because you miss him, and just want a little bit of his time. You think that sounds like a fair exchange; he gets a slice of your best birthday cake ever, and you get five minutes with your beloved uncle. Neither of those come around that often, so you should both make the most of it.

He must have underestimated your attention span, because he has the audacity to look shocked that you’re still there when he opens the door and you fall backwards into the lab with a shout of surprise. It’s only been 20 minutes; you’d wait so much longer than that for him. Miraculously, even in your speedy venture to the floor, the cake is still sitting neatly on its plate, and you hold it up with a wide grin. “I got you cake!”.

A million miles an hour is probably a gross underestimation of how fast your uncle’s brain goes at any given moment, for better or worse. The look on his face suggests that for a moment, his thoughts are speeding even by his standards, and then they promptly smash into a brick wall. You can tell by the way his eyes get a little bit too wide, and his mouth falls open a little - it’s an expression you only see in the rare moments he feels like he’s failed, although all you can see is a success - because there he is! You’re still grinning up at him from the floor, even if your arms are starting to shake from holding the plate up. He shakes away the expression, and quickly takes the plate from you. Only to swiftly discard it on a nearby workbench though, in favour of kneeling down and leaning over to look at your blinding grin. 

“Casey… is it today?” he asks, still a little too wide eyed. You giggle a little, because what else would it be, tomorrow? He does genuinely look lost though, so you nod. It’s rare that you know something that he doesn’t, but even if it might feel cool to outsmart the smartest person you know, you fill him in. “Yeah, it’s today! And it’s also my birthday.”. He’s quiet for a moment, teeth worrying his lips as his eyes flick away from your face. “And I’m seven.”.

“Not until 6:47pm.” he says, almost automatically. Once he realises what he’s said, his panicked eyes flick to the screen on his wrist, and you think he’s checking the time.

“You haven’t missed it! I made sure to keep looking at the hands on the clock so I could come and see you before you miss it.”. It’s the time that the scouting-turned-rescue mission seven years ago got back to the base, and an official mission report was made. ‘Baby boy, approximately 5 months old, found in rubble. No others found in immediate vicinity.’, submitted at 6:47pm. It’s never bothered you that it’s not the exact day or moment you were born, it’s the exact day and time your family became just that, and that's what really matters to you. None of your uncles know the exact time and day they were born either (the debate of who’s older still rages on till this day, not even the end of the world can put that argument to rest), so it means you’re just like them. You still can’t imagine wanting to be anything else. 

“Okay.”. He stands up, and offers you a hand. You take it, giggling as he pulls you up a little bit too far and your legs dangle. You kick them for a second, before he notices and puts you back firmly on solid ground. “I have two forks.”. 

You sit in the bean bags he has stashed in the corner of the lab, and the two of you share the last slice of birthday cake. He struggles more than the others to hide his distaste for it, but you think it tastes the best it has yet. The lab door has been left open, and you know that it’s not by mistake, because it could have been shut with a quick tap of a screen, but it stays wide open as the rest of your family files in. You’re all slotted together perfectly when the clock strikes 6:47pm, and you hear your Uncle Donnie sing the loudest as your family wishes you a happy birthday. You think it’s because you’re sitting closest to him, but everyone else can see the way his chest expands as he takes deep breaths, putting his all into his well wishes.

It was easy for him to forget that life isn’t over yet, even if what he’s been burdened with is creating and creating until he has something that will prolong it just that little bit longer. Amidst the cheers of ‘hip hip hooray’, he remembers that moments like this are exactly what he’s toiling away in the lab for. They haven’t gone anywhere yet though, and he doesn’t want to let even a single second of it pass him by again. Donnie actually smiles for once, because you are seven years old now and that really is something incredible. You see him everyday at breakfast after that, with actual food rather than just a mug, and he always has a fork for you. 

eleven years old

You’re just about in the double digits the first time you actually realise that you’ve saved the resistance. It happens so quickly - you’re still not old enough to be out on the field, but it’s all hands on deck when the krang brings the fight to your front door. Maybe don’t say this to anyone else, but you sort of think that it makes your age a moot point - if you can fight like hell when the hallways are caving in and there's pink, pink, pink everywhere, then surely you can join simple scouting missions? No one quite understands why you’re so eager to be out there on the field, and maybe you don’t fully understand either (you definitely don't understand just how dire it is out there, they’ve done a good job of keeping that from you so far), but you know that it’s what you want. It’s what all of your heroes do, after all. You know for a fact that your uncles wanted to be just like their own heroes when they grew up, and now that you’re finally getting taller and your arms are starting to gain a little muscle, why can’t you follow in their footsteps? The only difference is that their heroes were on the TV screen. You’re lucky enough to see yours in the flesh every single day. Two of them, at least. Purple now flutters alongside the fraying red. 

At first, it’s no different from all of the other hounds. It’s gross and dripping, what you think must be teeth gnashing and shockingly red. You’re not stupid, you know that it can’t be krang blood, you don’t think they even have it, but nothing can deter you from swinging your hockey stick right into its side (and you know you could do so much more than just crack it’s bones into tiny little pieces if someone finally listened to you and removed the child lock that Donnie was forced to add), sending it flying sideways. A little blood never bothered you, and it’s a good job, because you’re covered in it. Some of it might be your own, but there’s so much adrenaline pumping through your veins right now that pain doesn’t even stand a chance at stopping you. You feel so alive as you wipe some of that blood from your face (definitely not your own, you’d know if you had a head wound), but your heart stops as you see what was laid beneath the hound. 

It’s your aunt, or what might be left of her - you can’t tell if her chest is still rising and falling or not. She’s teetering on the edge of just being another body in the makeshift morgue, which you know is nearing full already. Your body wants to freeze, your tears want to fall, your voice wants to scream, but listen, here’s what you do instead: drop to your knees, bring your ear right up to her mouth to here those wheezing, determined breaths, then immediately pull the hoodie over your head to first clear enough blood to find the wound, and second put pressure on it as you scream out for help. You’ve got this. You’re doing so well, kid. Just remember to take a few breaths of your own in the middle of all of this chaos. 

Help doesn’t come, but another hound does. You don’t let it get close, as you put those little muscles to use and scoop her up. This one won’t get to her. It snarls at you, and you snarl back, flashing your matching bloody teeth. You turn and run before it can even think about pouncing, and even though she’s heavy, you’re still fast as you jump over rubble and dodge bodies you don’t have time to think about trying to save.

The medbay is still standing, proving that the decision to make it the most out of the way and difficult to reach location in the base was at least somewhat strategic. The krang hasn’t reached it, and based on the mutters of ‘code green’ and ‘it’s over’, they won’t this time. It’s still yet, yet, yet, as you know, but it’s not now so you shove your aunt onto a bed and don’t even wait for an adult to start grabbing bandages and needles. They do still take over eventually, because it doesn’t matter that you just saved Commander O’Neil’s life - you are still just a child. Just barely in the double digits. Hopefully one day you’ll realise this was never an insult, instead it was maybe the greatest display of love they could give you. No one escapes the apocalypse, but they still tried to give you routes out of it. The corridors are all collapsed now though, and you grip your hockey stick tight in your blood-slicked grasp as you watch your aunt be pulled back together into one piece. 

April’s probably the one person in the resistance whose resolve has never shaken, but that’s not to say it can’t still be strengthened. When she wakes to see your bloodstained hoodie discarded by the cot she’s found herself on, she’ll of course panic for a second. Thankfully, someone will quickly fill her in, tell her that the blood is her own, and the unbelievable story of the little child who dragged her from the jaws of the hounds. She’ll believe it though, because for starters, you're a Jones, and a Jones can do anything, of course. You’re also a Hamato, and if there’s one thing Hamato can’t do, it’s leave family behind. This spells the start of your official tenure as a resistance fighter, because your age is something you’ll outgrow, but your fighting spirit is something you will not.

It might also have something to do with the fact that much of the resistance lay dead all around you, their blood still clinging to your skin, but what do we always say? Look on the bright side. Stars are still shining, buddy. Time to join your heroes in taking them back.

fourteen years old

You don’t even have to do anything this time. You’re off somewhere with your aunt, maybe training, maybe laughing, ideally both. 

The way you save the resistance this time looks something like this: sparks of molten magic, and a pull he’s never felt before. He can’t deny it, it does feel like hope, but hurts like hell as it starts to crackle up his arms. He’s swiftly stopped, not by his own will, but he’s grateful when the fire splitting him apart fizzles out. It’s very quiet in the aftermath, because they know what this means. It means it’s possible. It means it's going to cost everything. 

They decide that it would be worth it though, if it gave you a chance. There’s no one else they believe in more than you. It’s been said for years, as far back as the days where the only time you shed blood was when you mishandled sai that now just sit and collect dust; you’re gonna be the one to end this someday.

That day should be far off in the future though, when they’ve had time to give you the mission brief, hand over the supplies, and give you a tight hug, not goodbye but good luck. There isn’t really a point dwelling on it now. Mikey just smiles as he tugs the bandages tighter around his arms, and relishes in the fact that they finally have a plan B that might just work out this time. It helps to reignite the optimistic fire he was reluctant to tell anyone was starting to burn out. 

+1. sixteen years old

You’re only sixteen years old when you save the resistance for the last time. You’re so young. I think it might really be the end this time, kiddo. 

You don’t even flinch when I bleed on you, you just tell me that you’ve got me, just as I had you all those time you scraped your knee or bruised your elbow. Not to be arrogant, but you said it yourself - you learned from the best. Sorry. I know it’s not about me, but there’s very little left these days to focus on. Let’s keep the attention on you though, because you’re about to finally save the resistance once and for all. 

All that needs to be said is ‘hope’, and Mikey knows it’s time for plan B. There’s no time for anything we’d planned, no explanation, no hugs goodbye or good luck, but the belief in you never wavers. Not for a second. You’re Casey Jones-Hamato Junior, remember? There’s nothing you can’t do, except leave your family behind. I won’t say that out loud, because you’ll argue that you are in fact leaving me and Mikey behind. Technically, I’d argue you’re leaving us ahead, because soon we’ll be the future. Again, I won’t say that, because if my last words are going to be a joke, I at least want it to be a good one. What you’re doing, in actual fact, is giving us a second chance. I don’t doubt for a second that you’ll find us back there. Our sky may now be lost, but they’ll take you to the highest rooftop and show you every single shimmering constellation and you’ll finally know an Earth that firmly belongs to us. Oh buddy, you’re going to love it.

The last I see of you, you’re crying. It’s one of the first things I saw you do, and now it’s the last. That first time all those sixteen years ago, I think you only started crying because you knew it was finally safe to call attention to yourself as Casey held you in surprisingly gentle but strong arms. Now, I can’t kid myself, I know it’s because you’re scared, and I’m sorry. But hey, you know how I like to look on the bright side - at least the last you see of me, I’m smiling. 

I hope that’s the last you see, at least, I know it won’t be long as a hound throws itself at me. There’s only one thing on my mind now, and it’s that you really are gonna do it. You’re gonna be the one to end this today. 

I’m real proud of-

[alexanderlightweight]

shifting scales

violence and cannibalism , shifter!au pre-canonish

-

Magnus stares at the large grizzly bear roaring in the middle of his club and seethes. It’s only out of courtesy for seelie and unseelie that Magnus allows those with angel blood to shift in his club.

It’s because of this that he has bouncers and wards that alert him the movement of nephil blood. Hardtail — while not belonging to Magnus — should have similar protections and Magnus is furious that it doesn’t.

Magic is hard to wield, to use against another’s shifted form, but Magnus is more than adept at it after years of battle. His talents are unneeded however when something drops from the railings and pipes of the ceiling.

It’s an anaconda, a muddied swamp color with brighter hints of vicious green and gold tangled through it’s scales. Magnus takes two steps back in admiration… and respect.

The anaconda targeted it’s prey with precision while striking from above and Magnus watches as dripping fangs tear through thick fur and muscle on the neck and, while it strikes, the bands of it’s body tighten.

The shifter-bear dies howling, caught in a half-shift as he’s pulverized internally and around them, people are fleeing and screaming. There are no mundanes in Hardtail and every single person there can see what is going on.

“Magnificently done.” Magnus allows and he steps forward to admire the way the anaconda unwraps itself from the corpse

There’s a moment of contemplation as cold, intelligent eyes watch Magnus in return. Then, in an act that Magnus has heard rumors of, but never witnessed, the nephilim shifter eats the one it’s slain.

“Hermano—” a young woman murmurs and she’s looking at the snake as it magically expands and swallows the bear down with a grimace. “Did it have to be a bear?”

“It’s not like I’m going to forget what my own sister looks like, Izzy.” A deep, dry voice says and Magnus blinks because where the snake was, is now a gorgeous man. He stretching, smirk on his mouth and two small fangs still peeking out. He rests his hand on his belly for a minute and Magnus reminds himself to tell Ragnor about this, because there is no sign that he’s just swallowed another person whole in this form.

“I’ve eaten plenty of bears and never made a mistake with you.”

“Yes I know, it’s why we don’t have any siblings.” Then she winces and she turns to Magnus, as if he’s the one she’s worried about. “Alec didn’t eat any of them! It’s just he ate Robert, so we couldn’t have anymore siblings once our sire was gone.”

There’s a moment where she pauses, clearly aware that she’s only making this worse for her brother, though Magnus is reluctantly charmed. Especially by the irritated scoff it earns her.

“Robert wouldn’t have been allowed that privilege anyway. If she didn’t kill him, mom would have at least castrated him.” The shadowhunter mutters, “and I didn’t eat him. Mom did, I just poisoned him first and you know why I did that.”

The girl scoffs and flips her hair, “I never said he didn’t deserve I. Just that you’re why we don’t have any more siblings.”

“Again, it wouldn’t have happened even if he’d lived and mom could have married again.”

He pauses, face in a grimace and he shifts, massive form writhing before he spits out several unlit, adamas blades. A moment later he’s back on his feet and picking up the weapons with a grimace.

“You think a single nephilim is going to marry her again? Everyone knows what happened to her last mate.”

“All they have to do is not cheat.” Is grumbled and there is a sigh before the shadowhunter tucks the weapons away into his jacket. Considering he just spit them up, Magnus is curious as to where he’s putting them now.

Magnus is entirely too charmed by this conversation.

Especially given it’s highly inappropriate setting and the fact that he’s just witnessed something the clave and no shadowhunter has never admitted to being real. Another way for the nephilim and clave to pretend they’re better than downworlders, that they don’t participate in ritual acts of cannibalism.

“It’s not like it’s hard. If they want more partners like you do, then they just talk about it. He’s lucky my venom worked faster than my muscles back then.” And then he flashes his fangs at her teasingly.

She growls back and moves a little further away, but she’s not scared, Magnus realizes. She’s just wary and he understands instantly that it’s her instincts. She just watched her brother eat something that she shares instincts with and with the scent of bear-fear in the air and all of him, she’s hesitant to go near.

Magnus has no such instincts warning him away and he strides closer, intrigued beyond anything he’s felt recently.

“I suppose you’re the ones who want a meeting with me.” Magnus says, eyes intrigued as he watches the shadowhunter curiously. His eyes are unglamoured and they meet eyes that flicker two eyelids in quick delight when their gaze meets.

“An unruned, unbloodied nephilim recently appeared in New York. The mundane neighborhood she lived in was burnt down, the fire started from her house and looks to be purposefully and magically set.”

“The fire went beyond the house?”

“The wards around the house weren’t being maintained properly, as if they were focused more on hiding than actually protecting.

Magnus curses under his breathe because his instructions to Dot were clear and this is unacceptable.

“We know that things are tense right now, that there is danger. We’d like to have a more formal meeting, in a place of your choice.” Alec — as his sister called him — still hasn’t introduced himself but neither has magnus. “The girl has connections to the Circle and possibly Valentine himself. Now that she’s under my authority, she has my protection but I will not protect traitors. I need to know if she’s lying, her mind’s been tampered with, or if anything else might be going on.”

“I certainly don’t mind taking time out of my busy schedule for something as interesting as that.” Magnus drawls, like this isn’t the chance to get an in with the Institute while hiding the depth of his own involvement and hopefully, that Ragnor is involved at all.

There’s a pause, and Magnus realize he’s still being watched and then Alec nods, turning with his sister to walk away.

“Alexander, you haven’t given me a time.” Magnus says, magic reaching out to caress the hunter’s shoulder and he turns, eyes bright and interested.

“Send me a fire message when you’re free.” Magnus is told with a smirk, “I’ll come as soon as you send it.”

Magnus stares as the two meld back into the crowd with a smirk, knowing that Alexander has offered to be at Magnus’ beck and call, rather than the other way around.

[ramblingsofafanatic]

It's time to let go

Summary: Bahryn Fest day 4! Kallus' Bo-rifle finds his way back to him.

Word Count: 1,367

Relationships: Alexsandr Kallus/Garazeb "Zeb" Orrelios

Warnings: None.

Can also be read on AO3 here!

Fic under the cut:

"Zeb I-" Kallus starts as he re-enters their home, looking forward to a nice relaxing lunch with his bondmate after a laborious morning weeding his garden. He cuts himself off when he sees Zeb sitting at the table with everything laid out and ready to eat - they usually prepare the meals together when they're both home.

"Hey Kal" Zeb greats, smiling the way he does when he's about to ask for forgiveness instead of permission.

"What did you do?" Kallus asks. 

"Why can't I just do something nice for my husband without him thinking I have ulterior motives?" Zeb asks in return. 

"Start doing nice things just to be nice and I'll stop being suspicious" Kallus says as he eases himself down into the chair across from Zeb. It's not like Zeb never does anything nice for him, Kallus is a lucky man with a wonderful partner. But Zeb's nice things are usually small everyday things like making caf in the morning or getting the heating pad out for Kal's legs on cold rainy days. It's never this - making a meal alone and cleaning up the mess before they've eaten so Kallus can't try and do them after. He's even laid out a new tablecloth that he obviously bought recently because Kal has never seen it before, which means he's definitely done something. What he did remains to be seen.

"I promise I didn't do anything bad this time!" Zeb protests.

“But you did do something.” Kal points out as he serves out the food for the both of them. No use in letting the food go cold because Zeb did something Kal probably won’t be thrilled about.

“Well kind of, Ezra did most the work,” Zeb explains, which just raises more questions. Ezra was just recovered from wild space less than a month ago, they only got to see him in person a few days ago, what could he have possibly been up to in that time that has Zeb trying to apologize. Zeb gets up and goes into the next room before returning with an obviously bo-rifle shaped object wrapped in fabric.

“Zeb, I told you, I don’t want a new bo-rifle. I didn’t - I barely deserved the first one,” Kallus says, correcting himself halfway. This has been an ongoing argument between the two, and Kallus chooses his words carefully as he doesn’t want to get into a fight again. 

He knows that in everyone else's eyes, he got his first bo-rifle honourably, and he didn't question it at first either when he was still an imperial agent. But after everything he's learned since then… he doesn't feel like he ever deserved to touch it let alone wield it for so many years. The idea of getting a new one - one not received honourably in battle but one made for him - made him shudder. They're not even supposed to be used by anyone other than members of the Lasan High Honour Guard, which he most certainly is not. 

He knows Zeb really wants to be able to spar with them again, and Zeb has explained that Kallus already rightfully owned one previously so getting a new one wouldn’t be that big of a deal. He also knows that the people on Lira San dont have the same strict rules or customs surrounding Bo-Rifle’s as those on Lasan did, but it still feels wrong to him. He already fears he's overstepped by living with Zeb in a village of Lasan refugees here on Lira San, he doesn't want to overstep anymore than he already has. No. He refuses to use a new one.

"It's not a new one." Zeb says proudly.

"Zeb, that's even worse," Kallus is starting to panic now. The thought that this is someone's used weapon - that it being left this way meant they didn't die honourably in battle in order to perform the Booshan Keeraw. How was Zeb okay with this? He remembers how angry Zeb was to see he had one, how undeserving he thought Kallus was until Kallus told the real story when they were stranded on that ice moon. 

“What? Oh Kal no- I mean- look!” Zeb rushes when he realizes Kallus’ line of thought. He unwraps the bo-rifle and holds it out for Kallus to take. Kallus stares at it in shock for a second, before slowly reaching out and taking the bo-rifle, his bo-rifle, from Zeb. 

“This is…” Kallus starts but trails off as he gets a better look at it. It’s his, the one he lost when he got caught out as fulcrum and had to make a quick escape. He assumed he’d never see it again, especially after Ezra and Thrawn disappeared along with the Chimaera. 

“Your bo-rifle yea, Ezra brought it back with him and gave it to me when he came to visit, Thrawn had it in his office as some trophy, I had to clean it up of course, that’s why it took a couple days, it’s still a little banged up of course, but it’s yours.” Zeb explains, rambling a bit as he gets progressively more worried at Kallus’ lack of reaction. He was understandably nervous. He knew Kallus wasn’t too keen to have a bo-rifle again, but he’s hoping since this one is already his, it may be the compromise they’ve been looking for. He was shocked when Ezra handed it to him, he hadn’t expected the kid to lug around Kallus’ old weapon for that long - but he did.

“Bridger must really like you,” Kallus says finally.

“What?” Zeb asks, that was not what he was expecting. 

“It’s a weapon of your people’s culture Zeb, I don't see why he’d carry around the weapon of an imperial for that long, especially seeing as we weren’t that close. Plus he handed it to you, not me.” Kallus explains. 

“Ex-imperial.” Zeb says, the correction as much of a habit to him as Kallus still referring to himself as an imp. 

“Right, yea, ex-imperial. Point still stands” Kallus amends, and Zeb’s ears fold back as he thinks it over, he wants to argue Kal’s points so badly, but he can’t find any points to make. Damn him, it frustrates Zeb to no end when Kal is right - or at least when Zeb can’t articulate why he’s wrong.

“Relax, love, does it really matter how it got back here?” Kallus says as he starts inspecting the rifle in more detail, there’s some visible wear upon close inspection, but overall Zeb did a really good job in cleaning it up. Zeb’s ears pick back up as he realizes Kal isn’t mad. 

“No, I guess not, does this mean…” Zeb asks, trailing off as he watches the fluid movements of Kal changing the bo-rifle between the different configurations. Watching Kal be so confident with a weapon of his people was doing things for him and it’s much harder to ignore now that there’s no hatred of the man to focus on instead. 

“Yea, I’ll keep it. It’s time to let go” Kallus says softly. It would be hard to argue against keeping a bo-rifle Zeb has already made him agree was rightfully his while trying to get him a new one. And even though he knows that it may not have been brought back for him, it was brought back for Zeb and who is Kallus to deny him this. 

“So we can start sparring with them?” Zeb asks hopefully as he watches Kallus get up and move to place the bo-rifle next to where Zeb keeps his own by the front door. 

“Yeah, though I may be rusty with it. It took me longer to learn how to use a bo-rifle than any other weapon, and it’s been a long time since I’ve used one”” Kallus says as he returns to the table and they resume their lunch.

“We’ll see about that.” Zeb says, and later after they’ve finished eating and cleaning up the small mess in the kitchen, they do just that.

“Rusty my ass” Zeb says with a laugh, as Kallus offers a hand to help him back up. Kallus just laughs as well as they get into position for another round.

[sarcastic-sketches]

More Kitsune Thots

This AU was originally going to be Anakin being a bit of a slut throughout the galaxy but then Captain Rex happened. Ah. Anakin committed hard with the whole ‘I’ll wait for you/the war to be over’ once they both clocked how they felt for each other and couldn’t do anything about it.

So, instead I have more thots on how Anakin's handling the Kitsune transformation and some world building. tl:dr Anakin gets transformed by a Force Temple to reflect the strength of his force connection right before the events of AotC and this has a lot of run on consequences.

To the Jedi, Kitsune are considered beings of myth but there's a basis for them having actually existed once upon a time as extensions of the Force. Beings whose existence were so tightly woven within it that they were deemed embodiments or spirits of the Force itself, with Lightside and Darkside variants. So to have the highly debated Chosen One turned into this Fox Spirit? Yeah, it raises several eyebrows and quite a few Masters begin to panic because oh shit. This lends some credible weight to the argument of the Prophecy. While others are like, maybe the ‘missing father’ was actually just a Kitsune that’s been hiding in human form that the mother didn’t want to talk about.

They do not mention this to Anakin.

His genetics/biology no longer make the Healers want to cry because he’s not half-human and half-midichlorians anymore. The identification system just straight up returns with ??? on his species markers because it hasn’t got a clue. Kitsune markers were not in the system before. They are now.

They do mention this to Anakin. Along with what they suspect might be new food intolerances.

One of the first things Anakin notices about his new form is his enhanced sense of smell and hearing. Initially, very distracting as he tries to focus in the Force but he gets used to tuning it out like he did with his regular senses before. But, Ahsoka notices. Ahsoka who is a predator species and fully coming to terms with the fact that her new Master is also, basically, a predator species. Even if he’s the only one of his kind that they know of.

It takes a little bit of encouragement for Anakin to get the memo that his new Padawan wants to go hunting with him but once he realises he’s all for it. His full fox form with three tails is about the size of a Great Dane so he isn’t massive yet and doesn’t overshadow her during their hunt. It’s a nice little bonding experience for them. It comes at the cost of freaking out some shinies when they return with prey but free meat is free meat.

The next thing Snips and Skyguy work on is how Anakin can still wield his lightsaber while in full fox form. He doesn’t have opposable thumbs so he can’t hold it with his paws and his tails are not prehensile enough to swing it around either. The solution these two geniuses come up with?

Hold it in his mouth. Like this but with a lightsaber:

(Ninetails from Okami)

As you can imagine this causes some amount of concern from the other Jedi. Captain Rex also takes some convincing.

I've already talked about Anakin's issues with excess force energy but a funny mental image in this AU is to just have him run an obstacle course. Over and over like training drills to wear himself out. It's much easier with four legs. I feel like there must be species-specific enrichment rooms in the Jedi Temple, kind of like there is in Beastars, in order to settle oneself in their body. It’s not healthy to ignore what the body needs even if the Jedi are trained to not let it control them.

Once Anakin grows more tails he gets bigger (Shire Horse size at four, twice as tall as a clone at five) and realises that his full fox form is quite strong. This is both a blessing and a curse for him because he finds it cumbersome but also bigger is more intimidating. Then he starts working out its utility purposes, like hauling cargo, or carrying wounded/exhausted soldiers. Big crates can be moved using the Force but he can move more in one go with less focus just by physically shunting them around. Carrying people is basically like letting them lean on him in humanoid form or giving someone a piggyback so it doesn’t bother him as much as people expected.

Rex may or may not often situate himself on Anakin’s back when charging into battle because they’re both insane and it looks cool af. Bigger target to hit but he’s willing to take that risk because it means his men get hit less.

He gets annoyed with himself for being so self absorbed all this time, thinking his larger form was a hindrance rather than seeing how it could be useful, until Rex points out that he’s worked it out now so the self pity doesn’t really do anything for anyone. He’s good like that.

Rex: [grabs Anakin’s fox face in his hands] What are you? Anakin: [pouting] An idiot sandwich

Next thing he notices is that his tails fan out instinctively during his fights with Asajj, which completely blocks her view. Usually, he’s having to fight against his tails, trying to keep them from getting in the way rather than making them work for him. I’m thinking of that Kung Fu Panda fight with Shen the Peacock who uses his tail fan as a distraction/block during fights. Obviously it takes some time for Anakin to be that fluid with it and they discover in the process that singed fur smells awful.

Which brings us onto the downsides of the transformation. Namely, he’s now susceptible to ticks and mites that just love to latch onto furry tails if he goes through tall grasses or jungles during a campaign. He's already had to deal with flea jokes (mostly from Ahsoka) and now he actually has parasites on him.

Anakin: It would be a misuse of the Force to just kill them all at once wouldn’t it? Obi-Wan: Extremely. Anakin: [whinges] But doing it by hand is such a pain. Obi-Wan: Consider this a trial of patience then Anakin: You are so not my favourite person right now.

Standing in the rain is a lovely experience for him even after all these years but now that he has fur it comes with the caveat of smelling like a wet dog afterwards. The troopers do not thank him for that. Even less when he shakes to get all the water off, spraying the hangar.

A bit of world building I’m adding to this is that the Kitsune’s powers are expressed through their tails. The more tails a Kistune has the greater their connection to the Force/the more power they control, etc (same in Japanese Mythology, the more tails a fox spirit had the more powerful they were). Except, people worked out that the tails themselves hold power and if removed from a Kitsune that power can be harnessed to influence the Force for whatever purpose. Like elongating one’s life... (Gee I wonder who could do with that who is very close to Anakin -eyes emoji-). The tail disintegrates once all the power it once possessed has been used. A kitsune that has a tail cut off will never be able to regrow it as each tail is its own connection to the Force, which has now been severed. It is why the Kitsune disappeared from the known Galaxy.

I’m thinking Obi-Wan eventually discovers this because as soon as Anakin turned into one he immediately dove for the Archives with whatever spare time he had to learn whatever he could about what Anakin might have to face now. He does not like the implication that they were hunted into extinction, or at least hunted to the point of exile. Already he’s picturing his padawan getting hunted for sport. He does however make a TL:DR version for Anakin to skim through, looking like he hasn’t slept in five days and Anakin is very touched by this display of care.

Obi-Wan is just not a words of affection kind of guy.

[citrenecult]

Bishop Headcannons because I’m bored and should be going to sleep but I’m not :)

- Shamura, before getting their brain split in half, had really good photographic memory. They often did sketches that were almost exactly true to life.

- Kallamar is the squid equivalent of a magpie. Just collects all the shiny shit he can and stashes it away.

-Leshy can and will eat anything. He is eat first, ask questions later.

-Heket had mixed feelings about having siblings and took a while to warm up to Kallamar and Narinder, but almost immediately took to Leshy. (Definitely her favorite.)

-Narinder attachment to Shamura from the very start was strong. He clung to them, only ever wanted attention from them, and as he got older, heavily studied under Shamura’s guidance. They had much closer relationship because of this.

-Leshy is cannibalistic. When they first found Leshy, he was a wee bab and had already killed and ate another god. Heket’s reaction was basically “wow my new brother is metal as hell!” Perhaps that why they are so close :)

-Kallamar really likes weapons. Like, REALLY like them. It’s a little concerning how many he owns and even more concerning that he knows how to wield ALL of them.

-Heket loved to sing, and would hum lullabies to her brothers when they were babies. With her throat slit, she no longer can talk and by extension can’t sing anymore. She’s has learned the skill of telepathy and can technically sing that way but it doesn’t hit the same way.

-Shamura is a history geek all the way. Loved learning about historical figures, great battles, and even more obscure facts that the average person/god would not know about. Has to be stopped before going on a history info dump, else you’d be sitting there for many, many weeks.

-Narinder and Kallamar used to be super close, as Narinder would help with Kallamar anxieties and generally was a source of encouragement. Kallamar in turn let Narinder run free in Anchordeep, which caused a lot a chaos but Kallamar thought it was funny at the time.

-Leshy and Narinder are partners in crime. If one is in trouble, you bet the other one is also. If Leshy caused a forest fire, you know Narinder participated as well. If Narinder is stealing spell books from Shamura, you know Leshy will join in on the fun.

- Everyone is super sadistic, no matter how sweet/cowardly (looking at Kallamar) they appear to be. Heket and Leshy especially like torturing mortals, whether it be turning them into mushrooms or feeding them to the big worm himself.

-Kallamar embodies prey aggression, despite not being prey. Being cowardly has its downsides, sure, but if Kallamar is in fight or flight mode, god forbid he thinks flight won’t work. If literally left with no other options he has a sword, a staff, and fucking holy grenade bomb to chuck at you, and he’s not going to hold back.

[cup1dt3a]

Love Letter’s pt.1

Ace and Deuce or their infamous nickname Adeuce. The two of them are also known to be the trouble makers of the campus along with many many other infamous nicknames due to their disagreements. But the one thing they could both agree on but never admit is their crush on the so called perfect of ramshackle. (Y/n) was what the school called a helpful but odd person. A very odd person for that matter at NRC.

For they wielded no magic, no special traits, or even powers. The only magical thing most thought they had was their ability to withstand the treacherous overblots throughout the school year. But not to Ace and Deuce. No, to the two boys they were one in a million. A brave, kind-hearted, and beautiful person who never gives up. In their eyes (Y/n) couldn’t even harm a fly, but they both admired the perfect beyond anyones belief. But the two were hopeless when it came close to even express their feelings for the perfect.

For instance Deuces juvenile background would always haunt him but make him want to work harder on being someone who his mother could be proud of. And hopefully the perfect too. Ace on the other hand had only dated once in his short life, but got very easily bored after what felt to him years of his ex constantly nagging him. So he wonders if this time it’ll be different because it’s you. But even though the twos insecurities don’t get the better of them their only problem is each other. In constant competition for your attention. The other members of the group wonder how much harder they have to sigh or roll their eyes in order for the both of them to take a hint and just say they love them for the love of god already.

This leads us to present day at the lunch table as Ace and Deuce impatiently wait for the perfect to show up. Ace’s constant tapping and Deuces constant looks around the lunch room was annoying the trio once again. Jack gave the two knowing glances once again as if trying to get one of them to say something. Sebek was the first to finally snap at the two.

“ Can you both please give it a break already?” he sneered at them fed up with their sad puppy eyes. The two only gave him confused looks.

“ What do you mean “huh” all week you have both been poorly flirting or fighting each other over the human!” he once again snapped at the two love-sick boys who were now blushing.

“ Pffft! As if I would ever like the perfect!” Ace awkwardly laughed at the smaller boys remark.

Meanwhile Deuce only sat there and blushed not denying anything. The trio rolled their eyes at his remark.

“ Wait.. your not denying it at all… Do you seriously have a crush on them?” Ace teased the bluenett.

“Wow! You might as well go and confess since you have no competition.” Epel sarcastically told Deuce as the foolish boy took it seriously.

“ That’s a great idea Epel thank you!” Deuce thanked him as he rushed away with his tray. While Ace panicked and rushed after the fast boy.

Rubbing their temples Jack sighed ” Well at least we won’t have to deal with that anymore.”

Meanwhile a very confused perfect came to the table to only witness an Ace and Deuce running out of the cafeteria shoving each other constantly out the door. While hearing an Ace scream “ Not if I confess to them first asshole!”

As the Blue haired boy rushed down the hallway to look for you he then realized he had no plan on how to confess to you at all. Or even deal with romance. As he stopped in the middle of the hallway for his search for you. The red head had finally caught up with the Blue haired boy after he accidentally shoved him too hard leaving him for dead.

“ Ha! did you chicken out already?” Ace chuckled at the blue haired boy.

“ No! I just… why does it matter to you?”Deuce snapped.

“ It doesn’t matter to me…just curious that’s all.” He replied.

“ I bet you don’t even have a plan to confess to them!” Ace exclaimed as the other boy argued back.

As the two boys bickering went on the bell pierced the boys ears as the hallways soon flooded. With both of them thinking “ I have no idea how to confess at all.”

As classes ended the two were still pondering what to do. They had no idea what or even how to confess. So they thought of the best idea that could help. To ask their Senpai’s. What could go wrong the two clueless boys thought as everything could.

Deuce decided to ask Cater and his solution was a love letter.

For and I quote “ Well, since you can bearly tell or express your feelings without becoming a blushing mess… How about you write them a cute little love letter! “

And then on Cater being the good senpai he is helped poor Deuce write his feelings even though he still became a blushing mess over writing.

Ace decided to ask Trey for advice because Trey was his only option at that point. And also due to him not wanting to run into an angry Riddle again. Just because he once again broke one little rule, but in his defense there are too many to keep up with.

Along with the magicam obsessed Cater no where to be seen. Only if he looked a littler harder would he see them outside. And so on Trey’s advice was to write them a letter or go ahead and confess to them after classes. Ace choose to write a letter just to try and be a bit more romantic then just saying “ Hey I like you date me Perfect” For when he tried his confession on Trey the man only sighed.

Alas the sun soon set and the boys letters had soon been written.

The next day as the two boys headed for the Perfect’s locker. Which was easy to find for it was the oldest and most worn out due to the other person who owned it had anger issues and fire magic. (P.S it was not riddle). But as the two came upon your locker they had then came upon each other.

“ What are you doing at the perfects locker?” Ace questioned the bluenett.

“ I’m just waiting for the perfect… I agreeed to walk with them to class.” Deuce replied awkwardly looking away.

“ Cool…” Ace said as their eyes met with each other’s and soon a fight broke out between the two of them. As the two tried shoving their own notes in while arguing back in forth who should put their letter in.

They soon stopped as someone said “ What are you two doing?”

The perfect questioned as they patted the lazy cat that lied on their shoulder.

“ Nothing!” The two exclaimed as Ace accidentally managed to shove his and Deuces letters in the locker.

The tired perfect payed no mind to their friends antics as the weasel around their shoulders kept whining for food. As if the poor fat weasel has been starved for days. The perfect sighed as they offered for the two boys to come with them to shut up the weasel. To which the both of them agreed without hesitation.

It had felt like the day would never once again end. For being the “ Perfect of Ramshackle “ was no piece of cake. For almost every moment you had someone Overbloting, having too much trauma, and Crowley never giving you a break. And the dramatic crow could never even have the decency to help get you accustomed to this strange new world. The traumatized students were your only hope. But besides that your friends Ace and Deuce could always put a smile on your face from their stupidity.

For where they lacked brains they made up for it in heart. Even though Ace could sometimes be a bit of a bitch. And Deuce well he was a sweetheart to be honest Ace just loved to test his luck with the blue haired boy so much.

As you thought about the two idiots you felt with besides grim while you rummaged through your damaged locker two bent letters you had never seen before. One with a huge heart sticker holding the envelope closed; the other didn’t have an envelope but was just a note that got bent in half and folded hot dog style. Along with your name on it.

The bent envelope with a heart on it had deep and meaningful words about how much this person loved you and would love if you would also meet them at the gate for a bike ride along the beach at 5pm tomorrow. It made your heart flush at all the sweet things said in the letter. Meanwhile the bent note wasn’t as meaningful and said to meet them at 5pm tomorrow at the rose garden in Heartslabuyl. But still was very sweet as it was said throughout the note how much this person also adored you. Still making your heart flutter a bit more. It almost made you giddy at how sweet the two letters were.

“ Henchman!!! The great Grim isn’t gonna hold all these…what’s that?” The mischievous cat asked at they yanked the heartfelt notes from your hands.

“Oooooo! The Henchman has two secret admirers!” The weasel awed taunting you as your cheeks fumed reder them riddles from the annoying cats actions and that they took your letters.

“ Give those back you stupid weasel!” You hollard as the cat ran away out of fear with the notes in hand or paw in this matter.

“ Wait so your telling me that Ace asked you for advice on confessing to the perfect?” Cater asked the vice dorm leader.

“ Yeah… please tell me you also didn’t tell Deuce to write them a letter.” Trey said as Cater then chuckled.

“ Welp… I did and there is no going back now. Did you tell them to have them meet up at 5 pm too?” Cater asked.

“ Sadly Yes again.” Trey sighed.

“ DAMINT!” Cater said.

Who will the perfect pick stay tuned to find out! hope your all doing well and that your days get better if they aren’t well! CupidTea signing off ༺♥︎༻

[colourstreakgryffin]

Aaaa dad!Douma seriously melted my heart. The way he spoils her 🥹🥲

It wasn’t something I realized I wanted, but omg I can’t live without it! It’s got me thinking… what would the other Upper Moons be like if they adopted their own baby demon?

Politely requesting Koku adopting demon!Muichiro please 💗✨

Hmmm! Okay! I’ll do this too! Like Kokushibo so this is no problem! Let’s hope that I can capture Kokushibo well enough!

What a interesting yet tragically sad situation this is. The one and only Mist Hashira of the Demon Slayer Corps end up being tricked and turned into a demon against his wishes. He manages to escape the slayers in no time and ends up running into the Upper Moon 1 himself, just before the sun came up

Kokushibo feels immense pity for the being in front of him. Coated in blood, wearing a shredded Demon Slayer uniform and starving as the demonic samurai decides to bring Muichiro to the infinity castle

That way. He can decide what he must do next. A Hashira turned demon have power already, combining Muichiro’s raw talent and potential, the boy was already on a Lower Moon level without eating a single human

And Kokushibo is beyond attracted to this fact. He goes against all his original thoughts as he and Muichiro arrive, and cements it that he’ll take Muichiro in and train him. He sees much potential and chance he has never seen in another demon

Kokushibo is a mixture of a teacher and a caretaker. He has Muichiro practice and practice until he can conjure his own Demon Blood Art whilst gaining strength through kills he assists with. For once in his entire demonic life, he feels such pride when he sees Muichiro produce a barrage of mist clouds from thin air

The boy’s a quicker learner than Kokushibo ever suspected. No wonder he was a Hashira before he got converted and forgot all about his human past, a especially young Hashira too

Kokushibo suspects Muichiro to be independent so he trains him, even though, he never brings him to any missions. He just wants to make sure his son student can take care of himself in combat if needed

Like a father Lion teaching his cub to hunt, the Upper Moon 1 becomes all for bringing his beloved student out occasionally to track down their next dinner together as he trains him in effective attacks and strategies with a katana

Yes, Kokushibo did manage to repair Muichiro’s destroyed Nichirin Katana for him to use as a reminder of his intense strength, and looks after it well. A demon wielding the enemy katana will show the enemies he doesn’t mess around

Kokushibo even got Muichiro a samurai outfit. He isn’t a Demon Slayer anymore, he is a powerful samurai such as himself so he’ll make sure that truth is drilled into the cloud-headed demon’s mind real firmly

He doesn’t spoil the younger demon in any form, other than food, as he sees no reason to treat Muichiro as his weaker inferior. To him, Muichiro has the biggest chance of becoming his successor and he does feel so excitement to have somebody to pass down his skills onto

It may seem less familiar and more professional but that’s solely because Kokushibo is far too reserved and stone-faced to let his emotions run wild… well, until after months of looking after Muichiro, does he begins feeling a new emotion for the younger demon, replacing the previous… Familiar love

Kokushibo takes a long while to willingly develop a further relationship with Muichiro from mere student and teacher and/or acquaintances but once he does, he is attached to him emotionally and confides to him about personal worries

Anything Kokushibo tells Muichiro is actually remembered as it goes back around for Muichiro to Kokushibo. Kokushibo gladly listens to Muichiro though, both are equally quiet so that’s perhaps why they bond so well

But at this rate, Kokushibo looks forward to return to the Infinity Castle where Muichiro awaits after a mission. He is always eager to see his future successor grow stronger and stronger each day, and he does consider getting him to battle lower slayers at times to see how far he is gone

Kokushibo does end up finding out that Muichiro is his descendant but it doesn’t really matter to him anymore, he begun viewing him as his long lost son in very little time

But, Muichiro’s insane power now makes sense to Kokushibo

Kokushibo is grateful towards past him for taking in the Hashira-turned demon in as he has made his previously monotone and repetitive life all the more interesting, till the point that he sees a real need to come back to the Infinity Castle faster. So he can talk to and care for Muichiro

Muichiro does begin viewing Kokushibo as his father after as long, if not a bit longer, and is protective of the hundred times stronger warrior. He finds the Upper Moons arguing with Kokushibo annoying and moronic with how the Upper Moon 1 is like

Unlike Douma with his beloved child, Kokushibo will, at one point, tell Muichiro everything he possibly can about the Upper Moon hierarchy and everything about the missions he must attend, why should he lie to the demon he cares intently for. It’s not like Muichiro is irrational over it ever, he actually appreciates his Sensei’s dedication

[jon-snows-man-bun]

By Turns

Chapter Five

The closer Eris gets to his goals the harder he has to work to keep all plates spinning. Tensions simmer underneath his new alliances, pulling him into the Hewn City where the impact of Rhysand’s rule shapes the future.

Masterlist

Find this fic on AO3

A/N: A lot of worldbuilding ahead! And a hint of anti-lower-fae sentiment. A few notes:

SJM doesn’t give us a lot of detail about the magic system in Prythian, especially about the distinctions between the various courts beyond being vaguely elemental/metaphysical. Night Court obviously has darkness powers - the army is called the Darkbringers, so I’ve assumed they have it as well even though I don’t think it’s mentioned in text. Mor has “truth” power and Rhys is a daemati, so I’ve gone with the idea that Night’s specialty is mental influence - secrets, truths, dreams, that sort of thing.

The moon rotunda Aisling mentions is based off of the Whispering Gallery in St Paul’s cathedral.

Aisling’s dress.

“Aisling!”

Aisling turned at the cry of her name, delighted when her arm was swept up by Niamh, a willowy blonde. Beautiful and funny, Niamh was always good company; her cutting remarks and mocking jests about the occupants of the City had sent Aisling into fits of laughter more times than she could count.

Niamh had been married five years ago to Padraig, a rising Darkbringer officer. The match had been arranged by her father and Lord Thanatos, but it was a fair one - Padraig seemed to have seen her natural gifts and rather than dulling her, began sharpening Niamh into a blade, shaping her tongue into a lethal weapon to be wielded at dinner parties and court. The last time Aisling had sat beside the pair at a meal, Niamh had kept the wife of Padraig’s superior well entertained, sparkling like the diamonds she wore. At the night’s close, Niamh had deftly planted hints of another officer’s cuckolding and the lady had listened raptly, drinking in every detail.

The rumour had circulated, tearing down Padraig’s competition, flattering him by comparison. Males had one sort of warfare, females another.

There would be no better companion through several hours of court. Besides, Niamh was a vector of all gossip; Aisling might catch a tidbit from her mouth. Or shape her own, she thought, remembering Eris’ call upon her.

“Escort me, my lady, I beg of you. We must both suffer through court but our suffering shall be halved if we share it,” Niamh said, tucking her arm through Aisling’s. Niamh shone in diamonds - many of them new, Aisling could see - and Aisling ducked in a quick curtsy to Padraig behind them. Niamh dragged her up impatiently.

“Lady Aisling,” he greeted amicably. “You look well.”

“Thank you kindly, my lord,” Aisling demurred.

“Shall we see what delights our High Lord has in store for us?” Padraig offered, sweeping them forward firmly. It was a short distance to the throne room, the heart of the City, directly under the mountain’s peak so high above them. The carved beasts snarled down at them as they passed under its columns, warning all who stepped through, but they were of the City. The beasts struck no fear in Aisling anymore.

The throne room glittered darkly as it always did underneath that great onyx chandelier, the males moving like black wraiths and the females sparkling like frosted peacocks. The marble floor should have been deafening with echoes but swallowed their footsteps and voices - despite its cavernous size, the throne room was always hushed and holding its breath.

The room had seen too much spilt blood to be a neutral place. The air always seemed thick here - with fear, or with fog.

They had only been summoned for court today. No feasting, no balls, just the High Lord and his courtiers. They didn’t hold petitions here; it was only Keir and Thanatos who spoke with them, but the gentry of the City was called to watch regardless. To that end, Aisling had chosen a simple black dress, the neckline cut low, nearly to her navel. The High Lady and Morrigan had set the style of dress with their scandalous ensembles, but Aisling had opted to flout the trend and wore a thick black and gold brocade cape overtop. She was often cold when they were not permitted to dance.

She pulled her hands back within the long dagged sleeves, twisting her onyx and gold ring as the crack of the High Lord and his party arriving shook the throne room. The chandelier flickered overhead. Next to her Niamh stifled a yawn, leaning her head on her husband’s shoulder for a moment. He held her hand lightly.

After the theatrics of their entrance and being made to kneel, Aisling rose with the rest of the court to watch Rhysand take his monthly tilt at ruling. It was always this way: you were silent and watchful while your life was decided, and then you kneeled.

They were far from the throne and dais, somewhat thankfully. Aisling did not dare let herself be anything but meek and silent here, but further back was always better, doubly safe. Thanatos and Keir were summoned forward, discussing the news of the City.

The shadowsinger was there, half swallowed in that unnatural darkness; the general and the High Lady as well. Morrigan, too, shining in blood red and yellow gold, marching to the beat of her own drum. The shadowsinger was the one everyone watched, though. He was beautiful, and dangerous; his face had been carved by the hand of the Mother for beauty and cruelty. He moved with lethality and it always seemed there was something barely leashed in him.

Aisling remembered the last time they were here, when Eoin had been taken to the dungeons. The shadowsinger had moved like a wraith, on Eoin in an instant. She averted her eyes as she recalled the Eoin and the way he had fought against those eerie shadows.

“Oisin Bray is dead,” Lord Thanatos said. He was always cold as stone, slick as ice; his eyes reminded her of the stuffed boar’s head hanging in what was her father’s office. Flat and black and dead. Everyone said his darkness was edged with malice and gave you fear when it touched you.

“A training accident,” Thanatos was saying, stood there before the High Lord and Lady and their courtiers. “Very unfortunate. He was sparring and a blow was struck to his head that felled him.”

The High Lord was sneering down at him, the High Lady’s face a mask of cruel indifference. Thanatos seemed unrepentant, unbowed.

“This is the second difficulty with your legion in as many months, Keir,” Rhysand said, not bothering to address him with his title. He never did. “Is there a problem with your leadership?”

“A problem with boredom, perhaps,” Lord Keir rolled his eyes. “A war would suffice, to let off the pressure. We need such things now and again.”

“You desire more war? So soon?” The general, towering at the High Lord’s right hand, huffed in amusement.

“For the fresh air and sunshine,” Keir sneered. “Unlike your Illyrian dogs, Darkbringers need to kill for such things instead of being born to them like spoiled children.”

The general snarled at that, baring his teeth. Niamh, standing next to Aisling, rolled her eyes subtly.

“They snarl and snap like dogs, too,” she turned her head to whisper directly in Aisling’s ear conspiratorially. Aisling stifled a smile, covering it with her hand.

“I wonder if they’d like to wear collars?” Aisling whispered back, making Niamh cough to cover her fit of giggles. Her husband cut his eyes over to them, gaze dark in a silent warning.

The rest of court passed in this manner; the longer they were there, the more restless with the pageantry Aisling grew. Her thoughts kept wandering to Eris; the feather, his questions. The look in his eyes. As the gentry was dismissed and she left with Niamh and Padraig, she carefully avoided the lord steward’s eye. Perhaps she was being paranoid, she mused. Perhaps Eris was genuine and wanted to court her, perhaps she was making herself as small as possible for nothing and Lord Keir cared not what she did.

How much are you willing to lay on that chance? a voice in her head asked that sounded much like her father.

It was while she was walking back that Niamh’s sleeve fell back to show a glimpse of an elegant pearl and amethyst bracelet in yellow gold. Aisling stared, and Niamh fluttered her eyelashes when she caught her looking.

“Do you like it?” She asked, holding her wrist out for Aisling’s perusal.

“It’s lovely,” Aisling answered, touching it gently. It was obviously not from the Hewn City, or even from Night - the style was too different, too organic. “Where did you get it?”

Niamh smirked at that, acting coy. “Trade secret,” she demurred. Aisling rolled her eyes, knowing full well Niamh could hold a secret as well as a sieve held water. She waited her out, falling silent.

“Padraig got it. It’s from Summer, but he told me he bought it at the floating market.”

The floating market, Aisling mused. Of course. Commerce in the City was tightly controlled; with only one main gate, the Darkbringers carefully monitored who passed in and out, and there were a select few merchants and dealers that were chosen by Lord Keir to do so. Most of what the Hewn City bought and sold was produced by themselves because of this, but what wasn’t came at a premium and was well in demand. For the gentry - such as herself - it wasn’t a problem, even if purchases were taxed twice and exports thrice, to whet each beak along the way: Rhysand, Keir, and the court of import.

But the small number of merchants from outside couldn’t meet the entirety of demand, especially for those not of the gentry who couldn’t afford the dear costs of outside goods. There were supposedly doors where goods came in, places where stolen or smuggled things were sold. Places where even more devious things happened, blood and poison and flesh on offer. The rumours of these places, the floating markets, drifted around the City like will-o-the-wisps; sometimes here, sometimes there, nearly impossible to catch. The markets moved, and supposedly you had to be invited and brought to one, to know the password.

Females, needless to say, were not invited. Aisling had heard there was one every hunter’s moon if you went behind a certain tapestry and crawled through a passage, but had no idea if it was true. Supposedly these were grim, lawless places where the worst of the City plied their trade. She mulled over it in her mind, still admiring the bracelet.

“Lovely,” she said again, releasing Niamh’s wrist.

Aisling felt scattered tonight, mind running away from her in a dozen different directions. It was when she was back in her home, tucked in what was her father’s office, that her thoughts returned to Eris. Truthfully he was never far from them - even several weeks after his visit, he had ensured he remained at the forefront with his little gift.

An idea came to mind. Picking up a pen and stationary, she drafted a quick note, deciding to gift Eris something in return. Perhaps he had only wanted some perspective in truth and this would be the end of it all. But if he was intending to court her, why should she let him dictate the terms? He would grow bored soon enough if it were true, and she would be left with the consequences.

Aisling was of the City. Games were in her nature.

She sat in an armchair beside the cold hearth, only lit by a single faelight. It was easier that way, in the near darkness. She carefully cleared her mind and found that place within herself, somewhere between her lungs.

She had touched Eris, had seen his eyes. She could find him even through the wards. She held what she wanted him to see in her mind, felt the feeling she wanted him to have. And then she thought of him as clearly as she could and the dream was on its way with her breath.

It was easier than she thought it would be to reach him. Normally to get through the wards of the City she had to push hard, but with Eris it was no effort at all.

The moon rotunda in the east wing of the city by the main gate had a walkway all the way around its high carved dome, looked over by paintings of long-dead stewards of the City. She had discovered as a child - playing in the rotunda when she should not have been - that if she stood on one side of the great dome and a friend on the other and they whispered quietly, the stone would carry their voices and it would sound as if she was stood right next to her friend. That was how it felt to dream-weave for Eris; no matter where he was, all she had to do was lean over and whisper into his ear.

Perhaps because she knew what she wanted him to see so clearly. Sometimes she struggled to separate what she was feeling from the feeling the dream should have and they ended up muddled; occasionally she felt as if she had truly been turned to stone and couldn’t summon any feeling for the dreams at all.

Aisling opened her eyes, breathing slowly, ignoring the prickling in her fingertips.

———————

Rhysand kept them under a rock like roaches.

The letter he received that morning was prettily worded, but his mother had taught him to hear what a lady didn’t say as much as what she did. Aisling was courteous and well-mannered but he could mark her words plainly for what they were.

I thank you kindly for your gift, and will think of you gladly and with fondness whenever I wear the hair comb. If the humble game birds of your home can wear such beauty and still be considered a common sight, I can scarcely imagine the splendour of Autumn. I fear the carved stone of the Hewn City cannot compare, but I hope you find it pleasing nonetheless.

As a token of my gratitude, I have sent you a gift. I hope it brings you joy.

There had been no gift enclosed which had puzzled him, but he didn’t spare it much thought until late that night. He had been at his desk until late, working by candlelight on correspondence with several vassals, when the urge to retire to bed seized him with a vengeance to claim the debt of sleep he had accrued. As he lay in his chambers, slumber brushed against his mind with a soft hand, taking him gently and leading him into the darkness.

He dreamt like he had never dreamt before.

The starlit garden he walked through was made of moonlight, velvet and rich against his fingers while light as air, and the night twined around him like a lover. Night-blooming flowers curled against him soft as silk, moths dancing against the stars, and he was filled with nothing but peace. The feeling held him, cradled him, and he drank it in greedily while the darkness swept along his brow and his chest and his legs. He was cleansed and weightless, all his secrets held here between him and the moon which watched overhead like a sentinel.

I see you, the moon sang, just for him. I know you, I love you.

Eris slept so fully in that starlit space that waking was onerous, the weight of duty settling on his chest like a millstone as soon as the dawn greeted him. He craved the lull of the dream immediately; having it ripped away was like being doused with cold water.

Aisling , he thought. The dream-weaver. Of course - she was of the Night Court, whose magic skewed towards darkness and mental gifts, its purest distillation in Rhysand. The magic of dreams and sleeping and secrets belonged to Night, and Aisling was its daughter. For the eye here, she had told him, touching his brow.

What a gift. As surely as she gave him a dream as soft as a kiss, he knew instinctively that she could also weave a nightmare like a chain or a whip, to scour and torture the soul. His mind ticked with the urge to see into the depths of what she could do.

Did Rhysand know what treasures he had stashed underneath that mountain, buried in the rock? He must. Did he resent them so much that he was willing to punish them all and lose that magic? Or did he view them as he viewed the Illyrians, a tool to be wielded whenever he desired? Keir held a sneering disdain for Rhysand and Feyre, which he had always known extended far beyond Morrigan. Aisling’s letter had rippled with longing to be free. The entire court could not be content to live their immortal lives trapped in the Hewn City.

The fifty years under Amarantha had been torture. Not many Night Court fae were there; it was assumed that they were granted more freedoms because of Rhysand’s complicity, but perhaps it was because they were trapped under their own mountain and would simply be trading one jailer for another.

At least they were spared Amarantha’s cruel, stomach-turning games and entertainment. Fifty years had crawled by like molasses for him, tinged with fear and hatred. He could not imagine a lifetime spent in that way, in the dark.

And he had pushed back the date for the Hewn City’s entrance to the whispered-of Velaris, Eris thought sourly. He had done that, and for what? To make Rhysand and his ilk more comfortable . Rhysand would surely find a way to postpone it indefinitely… until he needed the Darkbringers again. He had not seen Velaris with his own eyes, but he was certain it was far lovelier than the Hewn City if it was such a prized secret; Lucien had described it as such.

There was opportunity here, if he was careful. The dream followed him through his morning, and was still on his mind as he sat down at his desk and began to write.

[kazieka]

anyway more gow ragnarok thoughts

• deimos acknowledgment :’)

• me, looking at heimdall: what the fuck. this isnt idris elba. this is an atlanta twink who’s going to rob your medicine cabinet the instant he’s alone in your bathroom

• again, extremely pleased with the amount of dogs in this game. absolutely swimming in dogs

• little tiny ui tweaks that were too small to get annoyed about in the last game! like how kratos used to kick chains off of cliffs and automatically start climbing down them? he doesn’t do that anymore!! the worlds smallest inconvenience is no more!

• just. little bits of dialogue here and there about stuff that Team Boy has been getting up to. mimir talking about how they “tried” moving him from Kratos’s back to front but there was a “viscera” issue which is totally code for “mimir got draugr blood in his mouth and freaked the fuck out”

• did i MENTION brok and sindri

• kratos last game, very emphatically: i do NOT run errands for dwarves

• kratos this game: hi sindri im home and i brought you cool stuff

• kratos: hey brok do you wanna come with me

• kratos: hello Lúnda it’s nice to meet you. if you are a friend of brok then you are a friend of mine :) do you need any errands run

• on that note

• the orb

• best quest. FUCK odin im only doing quests for Lúnda now

• faye

• we finally get to see what she looked like

• did i get a little misty eyed the first time i saw the flashback? maybe. mind your own business

• when Kratos is mad at Atreus he lifts up mimir’s head so they can both scold him. that’s coparenting

• just. just the whole crew at sindri’s house. hanging out & being pals. i would give so much goddamn money to spend a christmas there.

• sindri: shit. fuck. god damn it. i got another brother. i didn’t even really want the FIRST one

• and yet he still trails after atreus like PLEASE BE CAREFUL. THEY HAVENT INVENTED ATIVAN YET AND I WORRY ABOUT YOU

• bit by bit, the cast is dragging Kratos Lore out of him like pulling teeth. the lyre. the poetry talk. “what food do you miss most” “olives” said with Zero hesitation

• after receiving the spear from the Lady, kratos is just. so genuinely delighted. “the spear is the first weapon a Spartan learns to wield”

• my god. the whole sequence with Brok at the Lady’s Forge. kratos now willing and able to show his friend how much he respects him. just fuck me UP sir. kneeling before this little shitheel of a dwarven nobody with more reverence than Kratos has ever shown ANY god and requesting his blessing. do you think brok is aware that Kratos has not asked for anyone’s blessing for a very very long time. like do you think brok even knows the significance of having the Ghost of Sparta, the Godkiller, one of the most devastating forces of rage and destruction the world has ever seen, kneel before you and offer up his weapon and ask reverently for your blessing?? im about to roll myself into the Fucking ocean guys

[zazzander]

The Apollo Cabin

This is my best reckoning of the numbers for the Apollo Cabin - and a little theory of mine regarding it.

In The Lightning Thief, Percy mentions that the Hermes cabin has about twenty kids - this is considered a large cabin. And the Apollo cabin is noted to have comparable numbers. They are considered a "large" cabin on par with Hermes. At the same time, the Ares cabin has a dozen kids, and isn't considered to be a large cabin (more like a mid-sized one, along with the Athena cabin).

So we can assume that in 2006 (the year of TLT) the Apollo cabin had about twenty members.

Now, demigods typically attend camp between the ages of 12 - 17.

Some stay longer, for example, in TLO it's said that most of the cabin councillors are college age. On the flip side, the camp also has younger demigods attend - such as Harley and Annabeth. But for the sake of numbers, these guys are outliers. Assuming there are a couple in this category at any given time, we'll make it so the usual number of Apollo kids at camp is eighteen.

Why eighteen? It makes the math easier. Because it means that, on average, there are three Apollo kids in each age bracket. As three graduate from the camp, three more will arrive to replace them. And so on.

And this actually checks out with the current members:

Aged 13* in 2011: Gracie, Jerry, and Yan. These three would have arrived at camp in 2010, the year of Heroes of Olympus. After August 1, any Apollo kids that showed up to camp would be considered "unclaimed" since Apollo isn't around to claim them.

Aged 14* in 2011: Austin and Kayla. These two were at camp by 2009, the year of The Last Olympian. While there’s only two of them, I did say the average was three. So a year with just two it's that odd.

Age 15 in 2011: Will Solace. The oldest of the cabin, Will has been at camp the longest and has the most experience after the death of Michael (and two other unnamed siblings).

* These are presumed ages, and depending on when their birthday is this could vary. It does work out that they all likely arrived at the age of 12 though.

Numbers in The Battle of the Labyrinth & The Last Olympian

In the TLO, Percy mentions that 40 campers show up to fight Kronos’ army. This includes almost all the cabins, including seven members from the Aphrodite cabin (Percy is kissed on the cheek by six Aphrodite girls, not including Silena), probably a dozen Hermes kids (there’s enough to split into two teams), plus members from the other cabins like Hephaestus, Demeter, and Dionysus.

All this to say, the Apollo cabin definitely isn’t fielding twenty fighters anymore. I would argue they down to six (maybe seven).

Why? Well, earlier in the book Michael Yew and Clarisse get into an argument over a chariot. Percy says that “some” Apollo kids attack the Ares campers. The word some usually means four (or five).

Because he doesn’t mention Michael Yew being with them, I believe the councillor himself isn’t part of that number.

I also don’t think Will Solace is among them either for three reasons. 1) he’s the main healer. 2) he’s probably friends with Clarisse. 3) he’s not a good archer and the kids that are mentioned are wielding bows.

But it’s definitely possible that Kayla and Austin are among that “some” number. This puts their total at a neat six.

This is important, because in the battle against Kronos the Apollo cabin is noted to lose three members (Michael Yew via the bridge, Unnamed #1 by a hellhound, Unnamed #2 died from their injuries on Olympus). And that leaves us with the three remaining Apollo cabin kids – Will Solace the oldest among them.

(P.S. even in The Battle of the Labyrinth Lee Fletcher doesn’t seem to be leading many Apollo kids either. He’s mentioned to have a “couple” archers with him when he goes after an Aethiopian drakon, for example. If there's only like eight members by then, it makes sense why it was hard to bring more.)

So what happened to the missing kids?

The Apollo cabin is missing a dozen members!

These members would have been contemporaries to Will and Michael. Those that would have been Aged 14 – 17 in 2010 (the year Jerry, Gracie & Yan arrive + the year Will is confirmed cabin councillor, if he had any older siblings who later left for college, they’d have been councillor in this year).  

So where did they go?

Option 1) they all died. The Titan War had its casualties. Lee Fletcher dies in 2008. We know that the Apollo cabin joined the Ares cabin on a raid – the raid where they won the chariot – and there could have been a death or two there. However, it feels unlikely that the cabin would have sixteen deaths during the war and it not to be noted anywhere. So while I think some of them did end up in the Underworld, I don’t think it explains everything.

Option 2) many were traitors. Luke won many demigods over to his cause. Much like the Hermes cabin, the Apollo cabin would have been full to the bursting. Not only would that have made them more likely to be discontent – targeting them would be good strategy. The Apollo kids are useful on the battlefield and off it. They were a sizable force unto themselves.

But if they were traitors, why didn’t some of them come back?

We know that the demigods who joined Luke were officially forgiven and invited back to camp. While those demigods aren’t ever explicitly mentioned – characters such as Mitchell from the Aphrodite cabin or Damien White (child of Nemesis) would well be among them. Camp Half Blood is certainly has way more than forty campers the following year against the Romans. Yet – no such older, possible traitor, characters are mentioned as part of the Apollo cabin in TON.

So, finally, my theory: Apollo didn’t allow them back.

The thing about Apollo is that he wasn’t very forgiving of his children when they make these kinds of “mistakes”.

We know about Trophonius, who used his talents to steal from a king, Apollo refused to save him and Trophonius eventually became the Dark Oracle.

Then we have Halcyon, who saved a girl’s life against the will of the gods. Apollo cursed and imprisoned him.

Finally, Octavian (who’s an honorary child of Apollo), seemingly betrayed Apollo – and even by the end of Trials, there is no forgiveness for him.

Apollo loves his kids. But when they turn against him? I don’t think he was inclined to offer them a second chance. So even if those kids tried to return to Camp Half-Blood, it’s very possible that they simply just weren’t allowed back.

[the-jester-doc]

He was floating.

There was no air. No temperature. Nothing. Not the comfort of breath or heartbeat or the feeling of touching ones own face where he was. No. What he was.

What had happened? Did it not work? Was he wrong?

No. This isn’t the beginning, this is the end. We shouldn't start here.

———————

Rivertown was a happy place, I remember. I would stay out by the well. There was a group of centiseeds that hadn’t reverted back to the giant man eating beasts they apparently used to be, and I remember feeling safer by that well because of it. The light hit the leaves at the perfect angle in the morning to send pink rays of warmth scattering across my face. Rivertown wasn’t very big, and it got smaller when the river was blocked, but the well was peaceful. It was my spot. No one else but mine. I hate that damn well.

In the afternoons I would get free bread from the baker– he didn’t have a name. Not even the Mayor did. Rivertownsfolk weren’t important enough for those. In hindsight, not many at all were important enough for names. The baker would make this one desert. A Cheese Danish, he called it. His own invention. I can’t remember what they tasted like, and Peaks know I don’t want to have one now.

There was never a day I ever left that stupid well. It was my spot, I learned. When things changed.

I don’t know what he was thinking.

The world ended. Or maybe it was just my world. It’s hard to say. No one noticed it except for me. Things were weird— scary. I wanted to get out. I wasn’t ignorant anymore— everyone else was. They couldn’t know the truth. I did.

I wanted to escape, you know. I always did. I still do. And I did try. That was when he took everything from me. I broke myself to bits trying to get out. I learned what I was made of. Code. Mine was trashed. Broken. Disjointed. That’s probably why I could know when no one else could.

I had to break it even more to get out. And in the end it didn’t fucking work. I never escaped. He did. He stole everything. He stole my freedom, my inventory, he stole everything I’d ever had. He stripped me of my face. I’m nothing. I’m nothing because of his selfishness. He’s out there and I’m in here. And he’s too self centered to give a damn.

Things got worse after he ruined me. I stayed by the well— in his spot. No one ever visited anymore. There was nothing there. It scared people. Even the centiseeds left. Everyone did. He used to get bread in the afternoons. I never did.

So, I wanted to get out. Jota said he was broken. I helped. I got an ally out of it. Two of them, if you count his little pet human. I used his resources. But I’m still not out. And he’s ignorant. Or he doesn’t care. He never thought for a moment about what he did to me. I made enemies and another ally. I think he pities me— in the way you pity a baby. He says he’s a reformed villain. I think he’s just Apples.exe. He still feels his rage. I feel mine.

And then he forgot. I couldn’t take it anymore. I rushed in. I’d made my mech to kill him, you know. Just in case. It was never my original plan, but his so-called friends were so hellbent on loving him and hating me that I couldn’t fix it. I would have to take his place. Kill him and figure out why he could escape and I couldn’t.

My first hit struck. My buzz saw cut clean through his wrist. There was no sound but the thud as his hand hit the floor. I think we both held our breath. He opened his code and moved something— it looked like a folder of textures and hp stats— out of his code and into a storage folder. Right.

He didn’t know why this was happening. He didn’t know me. I screamed at him. How could he not‽ he had to feel it when it happened. When he ruined me— he had to know. He had to. He summoned a hammer made of text. We clashed. I screamed. He begged. Pathetic.

It’s hard to wield a weapon with one hand. His hammer was too heavy and his wrist was trickling out painful looking textureless blood. I wondered if that’s what I was— him, covered in blood. His blood. My own blood. Then I wondered if he was simply full of nothingness just like me. Good.

He was obnoxiously good at the fight. Especially when he brought his shitty mimic out.

He was changing his hit box— not at will. He was just damn fast at it. The jester was just as fast. They worked like mirrors of eachother. The bird was only using one hand. A weakness.

I skated around our battlefield as fast as he played with his code. I knocked him over and stabbed my saw into his chest. It spun and spun and spun and he screamed and screamed and screamed before his copy pulled me off by the elbows. I kicked him. My foot found no purchase. He asked me why I would do this. I told him he was a monster and I went to slash at the jester’s arm. It went through. So did I, and I was free again.

But he was fast. So was I. The jester was fastest. His hammer swung at my mech’s knees and they crumpled. Stupid machine. It’s body fell forward and I saw the screen crack. I saw the blackness.

The blackness was how he had escaped. It was the truest form of blood. It was melted code. It was death. It was freedom. I still have no clue how it worked for him and not for me. I pressed my hand against the screen- against the crack, and I felt the cold floor that my mech was laying against. I clawed for it. I stuck both hands in. I felt the body lifted. I mangled my hands to break the glass— if I could just fit my head through—!!

I felt a hand hold my own. It felt like air. It felt round and smooth like the mask I had been gifted. It was shoving me back in. No. NO.

I grabbed onto the arm and pulled. It tried to get away. I could feel the jagged glass of the screen scratching into my face, pulling on my hair, catching on my clothes—

And then I was out. And then I was floating.

[ravenalla]

Welp. Mando finale thoughts.

Y’ALL IM DYING I WAS RIGHT WE ACTUALLY DID NOT GET HELMETLESS DIN 😂😂 what a fucking joke. Literally it’s like the writing this season has expected you to have the attention span of a five year old, debriefing room? Nah mate that was last episode forget it. This show won’t keep a plotline going to save its life. Sigh. At least Din escaped by his own with the help of Grogu instead of Bo coming to rescue him like a damsel in distress again. His fight scenes were really cool and we got to see the most he’s interacted with Grogu out of the whole season.

The Moff Gideon clone thing makes sense I guess but it kinda just came out of nowhere? Like his epic showdown speech was all about Din destroying the clones when it happened like 5 minutes ago, why didn’t you have any security for that anyways lmao. This is probably just a nitpick but it’s a weird thing to introduce at the last second and have it be his big motivator. Also I was just imagining how much more cool it would be if the darksaber was being wielded by Din in that fight, truly the marketing meant absolute nothing. But hey now it’s gone forever so doesn’t even matter who tf cares anymore there yayyyyyy 🙄 At least Bo Katan would actually have to prove that she’s a worthy leader not just based on fucking sword ownership, which realistically she’d 100% get them all screwed again if she wasnt written as a different person all season lol.

No one was the spy. Kinda glad because I didn’t want the Armorer to be evil but idk why the fuck they named a whole episode that then. Flying scenes were also neat at least.

NO DINBO AND HE DIDNT STAY WITH HER AT THE END LETS GOOOO!!! and FINALLY a father son confession, though I’m sorry Din Grogu? Is that a Mandalorian cultural practice established? Why wouldn’t it be Grogu Djarin tf? 😭 that’s gonna take some getting use to because what. Also come on why didn’t you make Din say he’s his son to the New Republic Officer at the end that would have been the perfect transition from this apprentice nonsense after adopting him. Speaking of, please don’t tell me they are making Din a cop. I know it’s an independent contract to just hunt down imperials not much different than his bounty work but it’s getting dangerously close to cop levels for me.

I will say, after going through all that, I’m at the very least happy we got an ending that can merge into Din and Grogu actually being the focus as a family and going on adventures again. These writers still have lost all my trust and I’m not looking forward to more, but it’s better than any alternatives we could have gotten.

Overall, not a god awful finale, but not a great one either. Lots of missed opportunities, but dodged a couple of bullets we were all worried about.