#he'd still see them as unnatural lol

[oct0bra1ns]

What if y/n is scared of the thunderstorms because it reminds them of their parents fighting so they sneak into their brothers bedroom for cuddles

im melting man, crying also omg i think the brothers have become my favorite rn, i love them <3 I've kinda been trying to give them more character so ig i have the little basics of what they look like lol also i've grown oddly fond of calling them one, two three and four lol, also assume all this is happening at night or something :p also pink theme!!! also also everything in this is PLATONIC

masterlist

Reblogs and comments are appreciated

One never sleeps or rather he sleeps very little, being the head of the company, he has many things to look after, constantly on calls, looking through papers etc, as such he gets very little sleep. However, he probably has a set 'bedtime' for his sibling, especially on weekdays.

So when he sees his sibling crack open the door, he's a bit surprised. He sets down his papers, getting up from his chair , wondering why you stumbled into his room.

Being the eldest he was never there to see you cowering under the blankets when your parents fought, he was probably right there with your parents trying to either break up the fight or making sure they never went near where he knew his siblings were hiding. As such, he probably assumes you just happened to be scared of just the storm, not aware it brings back unpleasant memories.

Probably won't come to cuddle immediately, he tells you to go curl up on his bed and that he has a few things to look after but it doesn't take long for him to realise how much you toss and turn in the bed, pulling the blankets over your head.

For once, One decides to head to bed early or atleast try to, being accustomed to sleep schedule, he probably spends a while, still looking at his papers, absentmindedly brushing his fingers through your hair/holding your hand until he finally feels tired enough to lay down.

Very awkward while cuddling, he's so unnaturally stiff, it's horrible , half the time he sleeps like he's dead but also a very light sleeper as a result of his childhood, if he hears you having any nightmares, he's quick to wake you up, even if it ruins his sleep.

Two is probably the only person who takes time to wind down after every day, at night you'll probably see him using face masks while reading whatever catches his interest.

Two knows very well why you came into his room, he was the one to look after you and the others, making sure to usher all of you away from the mess, making sure all of you kept quiet, taking the blame for most things just so three of you could escape from their wrath.

Two pats the space next to his bed, letting you just lay there talking to him/ in silence, probably giving you a mask as well and don't worry, he'll remove it too.

Will probably read whatever he was reading to you or ramble about the things his students did or gossip he managed to overhear from his college.

Two doesn't sleep until he knows you're asleep as well. He is probably the best brother to cuddle with, the fluffiest blankets, the softest sheets and not to mention, he isn't as stiff as One is lol

Two does everything he can to make sure you sleep through the night without any problem. He wasn't able to protect his siblings from the aftermath of a ruined house but he'll be damned if he lets any of them suffer through it alone.

Three is probably the only person who sleeps early in the house, hell, he'll sleep through anything, nothing wakes him up.

You could just slip into the bed and he wouldn't notice until he woke up or you should wake him up first, although it takes a lot of effort.

He moves to the side so you can get in, draping the blanket over you before going right back to sleep. Three was never around to see that many fights, anything he saw a fight start up he'd walk out of the house, not coming back until much later.

But he's not stupid, he'll pick up if the storm makes you uncomfortable with the way you won't stay still. He'll be quick to pull you into a hug, mumbling at you to shut up and go to sleep (what an arse)

He probably has earplugs laying around somewhere and it the storm bothers you that much, he'll begrudgingly get up and find them for you.

Checks up on you in the morning instead, apologizing for really getting up and being there for you. If you didn't sleep well, he'll offer to find some excuse to give One so that you can stay home and sleep and he'll take you out somewhere on the weekends to make up for it.

Four being around the same age has also probably picked up unpleasant memories returning with loud noises, always being on his guard as a young child around his parents, making sure the both of you were never near them when an argument started.

If you walk into his room, you'll probably find him with his headphones on watching/playing something to keep him distracted from the storm.

Sleep doesn't come easy for him and even if it does, it's always plagued with nightmares, so tries to avoid going to sleep most of the time.

The moment you walk into the room he understands what's going on and moves over so you can join him on the bed to watch whatever he's watching, even if it means sacrificing his headphones for you.

If he's playing something, he'll ask you to join him and once again, hand the headphones to you so you can't hear the storm brewing outside. He lets you play whatever you want or if you don't want to play, he'll do it for you.

Once he notices you're asleep, he'll probably find some playlist for you to listen too before tucking you into bed. He'll gladly sacrifice his headphones and his sleep as long as your okay.

[restinslices]

Hey sorry I’m the Liu Kang requester that accidentally put you through a tone of pain (sorry bout that)

Gimme angst of him seeing the woman he loves dying and getting reincarnated over and over again and no matter what she keeps dying in his arms by unnatural causes. This is his last time, his final try to save her. Will he save her? Or will she die again?

Firstly, no need to apologize lol. I’m just brain empty 6/7 days of the week. Funny enough, once you sent this I got more ideas for Liu Kang so we’ll see more of him once I finish all my requests. Secondly, I really like this prompt. I really like this trope in general. But I feel like I wrote it so bad😭. I don’t feel like I did it justice. As I was writing it I was like “the hoes not gon like this. Why is my brain buns?”. So, apologies in advance-

When Liu Kang returned with Raiden after speaking to the Elder Gods, the last thing he expected was to see a blood bath caused by Sindel. 

Bodies laid on the floor perfectly still. It was like someone laid a bunch of mannequins down and dressed them up to look exactly like the kombatants he cared for, and honestly if this was all just some cruel joke and everyone stood up and laughed, he would've breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe the anger would kick in later, but he'd sigh and say how happy he was to see everyone still alive. 

The only body that moved was yours. 

Your legs moved very slightly and your voice was so quiet, he was sure he wouldn't have been able to hear it if he wasn't silenced by shock. 

He ran over to you and crouched by your side, “you are alright” he tried to offer both of you some sort of hope even if he knew it was not true. In reality you looked terrible. There was a deep slash that went from the side of your neck and diagonal down your body. Blood covered your clothes and soaked the floor beneath you and in all honesty, he had no idea how you were still alive. Perhaps it had something to do with the theory about animals. He wasn't calling you an animal and he didn't see you as a pet, but there was a theory that pets waited for their owner to return to them before they died instead of dying on their own. No one knew why. For comfort in their final moments? To say goodbye? For one last moment together? It was a question that would never get an answer and Liu Kang wondered if that theory went for friends and lovers as well. 

“Don't speak. Preserve your strength. We'll find you help”. Your hand went up to caress his face and Liu Kang leaned into it, his face memorizing how your fingers felt against him. He wanted to have hope. You were strong enough to raise your hand to him so surely you'd be ok if they got you medical attention. 

That hope was snipped from him within seconds. 

As quickly as your hand raised, it fell back to the floor and your body went limp. That was it. There was no inspiration speech you gave before you died or some emotional moment he'd see in the plays he watched. It was over as soon as it started. 

Your death upset him, yes. What really pushed him over the edge though is that his trip to the Elder Gods meant nothing. Shao Khan got closer and closer to invading Earthrealm and the Elder Gods refused to intervene. Their absence should've meant something. He should've came back with good news, but instead he came back with no answers, no help, no idea what to do next and hardly any friends left. 

Your death plus the others is what ultimately led him to going against Raiden and his own untimely death.  

In one universe, that was it. His pain was over. Liu Kang died, Earthrealm was invaded and Shao Khan killed everyone else. It's not what he wanted but being dead meant no more sorrow. Your bloody body was no longer imprinted in his mind and he would never touch his own face while imagining it was your hand again. 

That's what happened in that timeline. 

In another timeline, things were different, yet you still fell victim to a brutal fate. 

The past and present merged for reasons unknown. You, Liu Kang and Kung Lao were sent to the Academy to make sure your enemies would not reach the Grotto. After dealing with traps, Scorpion and a Revenant Jade, he could feel how tense you were. 

“You are silent” he stated, “it is not like you to be so silent”

“It's nothing”. You responded too quickly, but Liu Kang knew you. Sure, you could be quiet at times but completely silent? Your face bunched together? Fingers tapping against your leg as you walk? It wasn't “nothing” and he was sure he knew what you were thinking. It was something both you and Kung Lao seemed to think. Kung Lao had just been the only one to voice his concerns. 

“They were mistakes-”

“How many mistakes can one person make?” You interrupted, “how many lives can be lost because of 'mistakes’? Raiden seems to make constant mistakes that hurt everyone around him, yet he escapes”. He understood your frustration. After all, he was told Raiden murders him himself, but was it murder if it was an accident? Could any of this be pinned on Raiden, the man he worships and respects?

No. This wasn't on him. Everyone made mistakes and some of your deaths weren't on Raiden at all. Some of you made your own stupid choices that led to your death. His version of Raiden would never do something so foul to any of his followers on purpose. 

Liu Kang grabbed your hand -ignored Kung Lao's immature disgusted noises- and stopped the both of you from walking any further. “You can't lose faith in Lord Raiden”, you went to protest but he stopped you “if you want to blame him, then you have to blame me as well”. 

You looked even more displeased than before, like he had said something treacherous. Was it though? Liu Kang didn't blame Raiden when it came to all of your deaths. He blamed himself. He's Earthrealm's champion, the chosen one if you will, and he couldn't save anyone? Wasn't that the point of him? To save everyone and give everyone a sense of hope? 

Then his mind went to his Revenant self. In this timeline he saw his friends slaughtered like pigs and lived with this guilt, even if it was only for a short while. And now they were all revenants and Liu Kang couldn't help but wonder if this twisted version of himself still carried that guilt or did he see it as a blessing now? 

Your fingers touching his cheek brought him back to reality, but that calming feeling only lasted so long. He didn't know how to describe it or why he was feeling this way, but he felt this tenseness all over his body like something terrible was going to happen. 

“Why would I blame you for my death?”

That tense feeling became worse and he couldn't help but look around as he spoke, “I accompanied Lord Raiden to speak with the Elder Gods. If I had been there, then perhaps…” he didn't have to finish for you to understand. You snapped your fingers in front of his face and drew his attention back to you, 

“I don't blame you for my death”

“And I don't blame you either. How sweet” Kung Lao said impatiently, sarcasm seeping through his words. “Now can we keep walking?”. He supposed he was right, even if he hated it. Before he started walking again, you placed a kiss on his cheek and Kung Lao once again voiced his disgust with sarcasm, “can I give you a kiss too?”. 

“Something you wish to tell us, Kung Lao?” You joked and if it wasn't for the danger you three were in, he'd say he was really enjoying the quality time you three were spending together. 

Kung Lao went to respond, but was interrupted when a figure came into view. A man with brown skin and these weird cracks that made him seem like he had been broken and put together multiple times and golden clothing. He was tampering with something he should not have been and Liu Kang knew he was in for another fight. 

“Is there any point to us asking you to put those back?” he asked. 

The male hardly regarded him and responded with “they said you'd come”. 

“Who said?”. 

An eerily familiar voice spoke out from the darkness, “who do you think Kung Lao?”. 

Bright red eyes. 

That's the first thing he saw. 

Three pairs of these eyes lit up in the darkness, and the only time Liu Kang was able to focus on anything other than that, is when they all came fully into view. They were you, but a twisted version. The versions of you that were corrupted and no longer cared for Earthrealm, but about what they could gain and destroy. Your revenants. That feeling of dread got stronger and he put his body in front of yours like a shield. 

Revenant him spoke next, “welcome to your future. Courtesy of Raiden”. 

“Our future may be tragic, but it's not Lord Raiden's fault. You've all been warped by Shinnock's evil”. 

“Raiden’s continued ignorance gets others killed” revenant you said, “how many times can he excuse deaths by saying they're mistakes? While he consulted with the Elder Gods, Sindel wiped us out”. 

“Shao Kahn snapped my neck in the arena” revenant Kung Lao said. “Raiden saw it coming, and did nothing!”. 

“I would have defeated Shao Kahn, but Raiden wanted the glory. His lightning cut me down”

“No!” Liu Kang exclaimed, “I don't believe that!”. 

“One day Raiden will betray you. Then you'll believe”. 

What happened next is something Liu Kang has tried on numerous occasions to forget. It's why he tries to stay busy. As long as he's busy and his mind is preoccupied, his mind will hopefully not replay the events that happened. 

“It happened so fast” is clichè to say. He knew this, but it genuinely went by so fast. One moment he was fighting against himself, and the next everything went wrong. 

That sense of dread and fear got worse and worse and it wasn't for Kung Lao. He worried about him the normal amount you'd worry about your friend in kombat. All these feelings were about you. He had been so distracted and constantly looking over his shoulders at you, that he hadn't realized how desperate the revenants had gotten for a win. They were losing and they had to do something about that. 

Liu Kang didn't see “Kung Lao” take off his hat and throw it at him. All he remembers is seeing you run at him, colliding with the floor after you kicked him away, and the hat decapitating you. 

It was one of those moments where everything seemed to stop. In reality, he only stared at you for a few seconds. In his mind it felt as though he stared at your limp frame for hours before the blood pooling out of your neck was too much for him and he had to look away. 

He had failed… again. 

~

It seemed as though the Elder Gods enjoyed laughing at his torment because they gave him what could be his final chance. 

“Are you upset with me?” Liu Kang asked. Not too long ago he was forced to reveal the truth about the past timelines and the danger you were all in and since then you kept quiet and to yourself. He wouldn't blame you for being upset, but he really hoped you weren't. Confused or shocked, yeah. Just not upset. 

“I'm just thinking about our plan against Quan Chi and Shang Tsung” you answered quietly. He hated you weren't looking at him and for the first time ever he wished he had the power to read minds instead of fire. Maybe that was a blessing though. Your thoughts could possibly destroy him. 

“But that is not all” he challenged. “Tell me”. 

“Is that an order from my creator?”

He frowned and although he wanted to touch you, he kept his distance. “It is a request from your lover and friend”. You turned to face him and thankfully, you didn't seem upset. He expected something worse, like you yelling and looking at him and horror but instead you just looked lost. That was the best way he could describe it. 

“I'm sorry, that's not fair to you”. 

“You don't have to apologize to me. Just please, tell me what you are thinking”. You sighed and after what seemed like some debating, you stepped closer to him and grabbed his hand and the beating in his chest slowed. 

“Were we lovers in the past timeline?”, he nodded and he had a feeling he knew where this was going. “We are replacements for what you lost and that means-”

“No” he said louder than he planned to. 

“The memories you have with me aren't actually with me. I'm not the actual person you're in love with. You want me because you want her”

“You're wrong” his voice came out stern and his eyebrows lowered, “the reason I am yours is because I adore everything about you. I brought you back because I valued who you are as a person, but I was not drawn to you because of who you were”. He brought your hand to his cheek, the feeling being familiar in a painful yet comforting way. “I see you for you, and our memories are ours to make”. 

You smiled at him and instead of feeling relief, a familiar feeling of dread creeped up on him. 

No… no this wouldn't happen again. It couldn't. 

His calm facade slipped and the pain of the memory showed on his face. He tried to cover it up, but he was too slow. “Memories?”, you asked. He nodded. “What happened to us in the past timeline?”. 

He shook his head, wanting the memories to go away. “A story for another time” he replied grimly and stepped away from you. As bad as it sounded, Liu Kang didn't want to love you. He wanted to bring everyone back, including you, but he wanted nothing to do with you romantically. A mentor type of relationship would hopefully make the possibility of losing you hurt less, but fate brought you back together again. When fate brought you together, it always seems to cut you down. Two steps forward and three steps back. 

“I don't know if this will help, but if something terrible happened to me… I don't blame you. None of us blame you for any of our untimely deaths”

“I don't blame you for my death”

That was the last thing you said to him. 

Your words were so similar yet different, and that uneasy feeling got stronger. 

“Perhaps it would be best if you stayed behind” he tried to say as calmly as he could. Maybe this was the wrong decision, but he didn't wanna scare you and telling you about your untimely deaths in both timelines seemed like the wrong idea. 

“What?” You asked confused, “we need all hands on deck. I'll be fine”. 

“You can help in your own way”

“How?”. He hadn't thought of a task or an excuse to use and as he tried to rack his brain for an answer, you spoke again “for your sake I can stay right on your tail. You'll always know I'm right there but Liu…” your hand found his again, “over worrying only leads to bad things. Remember that”. 

What he felt next was weird. He considered your words and as he did so, that feeling of dread started to slip away. He didn't understand why and he didn't realize what the best course of action was until it was too late. 

You accompanied him and many others to stop Shang Tsung and Quan Chi and that went as well as anyone with his luck could expect. He had found out Shang Tsung from the original timeline was still alive and actively trying to destroy his era of peace, and then to make matters worse, an evil Raiden and Sindel made their appearance. Raiden was simple but being there and watching Sindel challenge them all gave him memories he didn't even have. 

He wondered if this is what happened to the past version of you. He wondered how different it was. He knew Sindel killed you and other kombatants. Is this how it happened? His attention went to you and that feeling of dread got stronger and stronger. 

This was it. This is when it'd happen. 

He stayed close to you the entire time and since he was so distracted, Sindel took the opportunity to use her hair to grab both your ankles and knock you both down. 

Liu Kang saw you try to get up to assist Sindel with her evil counterpart, and he gripped your ankle and pulled you towards him. 

“What are you doing?!” he saw how angry you were and he hated it, but he'd hate you dying even more. He kept a grip on you, so concerned with keeping you down, that he stopped paying attention to Sindel. He was only alerted to what had happened when he heard Kitana and Mileena scream. 

Sindel had been fatally wounded. 

Guilt pushed down on his shoulders and he let you go. Why couldn't he do both? Protect you and save Sindel? Then he felt even more guilty because he let out a sigh of relief when he realized that he broke the cycle. He won! 

He won. 

He won?

Why did that feeling of dread get stronger?

~

The feeling of dread and death got so strong, his shoulders actually felt weight on them. It felt like multiple people were pushing his shoulders down, while he tried his best to stand up. 

One last battle was left and he knew you absolutely could not go. This timeline must've been different. It made sense. The first one Sindel killed you, the second one revenant Kung Lao killed you. It must be the battle that kills you in this timeline. 

He couldn't let that happen. 

“You've gone mad if you think I'll stay here!” You weren't exactly taking his command the best, but he knew this was for the better. This battle had to be what would kill you. You had to stay far away and locked away. 

“I realize now what I must do to save you. You have to stay here until the battle is over. You'll be safe”. He tried to stay calm, hoping it'd ease your mood but it seemed to do the opposite. You weren't known to be angry, so seeing you look so bitter and hateful made his heart ache but he knew he was making the right decision. 

“You're insane. I have to help” you tried to walk away but he grabbed your wrist and pulled you towards him harder than he meant to. 

“No! Do as I say” he meant for it to come out commanding, but there was an edge of pleading. “Have faith in me”. 

“Faith?” You gawked, “faith? In you? What about you having faith in me?!” You yanked your wrist away from him and rubbed it. “I could've helped Sindel and saved her life, but you kept me down!”

“Sindel would have killed you! Forgive me if I can't allow that”

“So my life is more special than everyone else's? You let everyone fight, get hurt and die but somehow I'm more special? Do you not see how twisted that is?”. He didn't wanna think about it that way. He felt awful after Sindel's death, but he would've been paralyzed if it was you instead. It made him feel guilty, as if he personally killed Sindel himself. It wasn't like that though! You wouldn't have stood a chance! Why couldn't you see that?

“You never let me do anything. I love you, but you suffocate me! I can't be more than two steps away from you without there being a problem”. He was protecting you like he knew he had to. 

“I worry-”

“You worry too much! What good comes from being paranoid? I've said it before. Only bad things happen when you over worry”. You tried to walk away again and he grabbed your wrist again. 

“I can't let you fight with us!”

“Why can't I be your champion?!” You shouted. “Why Raiden instead of me?!”

“He won-”

“He won a mini tournament you didn't even let me participate in, even after I asked you to!”. You were right. He remembers you begging for days, but he always said no. He made the excuse that you were better by his side and for immediate support but in reality, you in Mortal Kombat was a risk he didn't want to take. 

You did something he didn't expect next. You pulled out the amulet Raiden was supposed to have, out of your pocket. “This should be mine”. 

“How do you have that?”

“Raiden is easy to steal from. I don't know how he's survived this long” you said dismissively. He didn't like it. That amulet gave you more confidence and he couldn't afford that. You'd understand why he was so protective once the fight was over. 

“It doesn't belong to you for a reason. You're not Earthrealm's champion for a reason. You can't fight in this war for a reason”

“You want to lock me up like I'm your enemy! Like I'm a prisoner! I'm not Bi-Han!”

“You are not a prisoner. You're protected”

You let out a frustrated sigh and took a moment to collect your thoughts. “I'll return this, but when are you gonna realize the only way we're gonna work is if you let me out this cage you built?”. The sudden softness of your words took him by surprise and his grip loosened enough so you could slip your wrist out. 

You walked away and the further you got, the more that pressure eased up on his shoulders. It didn't make sense. Why was that feeling changing now when you were leaving him? You weren't supposed to leave! You were supposed to stay here, safe and sound and wait for him to come back to you!

His mind was moving fast and without truly thinking, he shot fire in front of you. “Stop!”

He regretted it immediately. You had no warning and as the fireball passed you, it burnt one of your hands badly. You screamed and held your hand with your other, trying to soothe a wound he knew wouldn't stop aching that fast. 

His heart sunk and he froze. To say he felt awful would be an understatement. He wasn't quite sure how to place it, but “bad” or “awful” weren't the right words. He never meant to actually harm you. It was the last thing he wanted to do. 

Feelings of dread reached an all time high when you turned around, a mix of hurt and rage on your face. “You'd hurt me to make me stay?! Enough of your madness! If I have to fight you, then so be it!”. 

He felt the same feeling he had when he watched you die. Everything was so fast, yet slow at the same time. 

You pulled out the amulet and lightning flew. Liu Kang shot fire at it and that's when he realized his mistake. 

A reaction happened and since the lighting was attached to the amulet, all that power surged back at you, throwing you back and severely burning you. 

“By the gods! No!” he shouted and ran towards your body, which seized before going limp. 

No. This was not meant to happen. 

This isn't what he wanted. 

He held your now bloody and burnt form, hoping that someone you'd make a recovery. He wanted to scream and burn everything down to the ground. How did he manage to fail again?!

“Forgive me…” he muttered. 

You said nothing in return. 

As he sat there in complete silence, the smell of burnt flesh filling his nose and tears falling down his face, he thought back to your words from before. 

“Over worrying only leads to bad things. Remember that”. 

“You worry too much! What good comes from being paranoid? I've said it before. Only bad things happen when you over worry”.

That's when it hit him. 

Your death to Sindel may have not been his fault, but him carrying the guilt of your death plus others clouded his judgment. He refused to listen to reason. He attacked Raiden and he was killed because of it. 

He was so focused and worried about you during your battle against the revenants, that he became sloppy. If he was focused, he would've noticed Kung Lao throwing his hat at him. He would've reacted in time. You wouldn't have had to kick him away and you wouldn't have died. 

If he let you go, you could've helped and saved Sindel. 

If he let you join the final battle instead of being paranoid, he wouldn't have accidentally harmed you and you wouldn't have attacked him. He wouldn't have had to fight back and you wouldn't have died. 

If he wasn't so paranoid to begin with, you wouldn't have been as frustrated and maybe you would've actually stayed behind. 

How did he not see it before? He gave up his power as a Titan, fearing he'd go insane like Kronika, but in his own way he had done the same thing. His need to protect became over worrying and that became paranoia and he allowed it to destroy himself and worst of all, he allowed it to destroy you and your relationship. 

The crushing feeling getting lighter when you talked about him letting you go, or you walking away, was because that's what he was supposed to do. There was nothing wrong with protecting, but his paranoia led to your downfall more than once. Maybe there were even more timelines that ended in your death or both of your deaths. 

The more he understood, the more his chest burned and the louder his sobs got. How could he have been so blind? How many times had he failed? Why did the Elder Gods punish him instead of the actual evil people in the world? He wasn't perfect by any means, but where was this sort of punishment for people like Shao? Or Shang Tsung? Or Quan Chi? Or anyone else who had wickedness in their heart and fed off chaos and strife? Why did he have to suffer such a cruel fate over and over again?

Maybe if he could somehow get his powers back or see if Geras could reverse time or erase this timeline and start again, he could do better. 

He could erase all he did wrong. He could keep his era of peace. He could save everyone. He could save you. 

All he needed was one more chance. 

Although I think this is buns, the reader’s death mimicking Liu Kang’s death in MK9 eats down

[radioactivepeasant]

Free Day Thursday:

"Responsible Adults", the sequel: Jak tries to do a regular Jak Stunt and is shocked that it doesn't go over well

(Roughly a week after this one ends. Long post warning, as most of these are lol)

Night terrors were not an uncommon experience for Jak. They may not have been his nightly companions anymore, but when he did have them, they were intense. He woke up in a corner of his room, wedged beneath the sink. There was a vague sense that he was taking cover from something, or someone.

Blessedly, he remembered no details of the nightmare. But the terror still sent his guts quivering the way they had in the prison. Huddled under the cot both for warmth and silently praying the boots wouldn't stop at his door. That he wouldn't end up Tyber's new punching bag when he got bored of the old man in the cell above Jak's.

Tyber is dead. Errol is dead. Praxis is dead. I watched them die.

Jak repeated the words like a mantra until he could move his limbs again. He crawled out from beneath the sink, but the lingering fear made his room feel claustrophobic. Smaller than it really was.

At least he hadn't woken Daxter this time.

Jak put on his boots, but didn't bother getting fully dressed. He didn't even know what time it was. Why bother if the doctor and the king guy were just going to nag him about being sleep-deprived anyway?

It must have been early morning, before dawn; the moon had vanished and people were outside doing repair work on houses and fog-catchers.

Early morning was the best time to get any outdoor work done in Spargus. A small girl led a flock of caprids out of the stables and towards one of the other districts to graze on the cactus there, and a gang of trainees only a little older than Jak were taking advantage of the temperature to do an endurance run around the city.

Personally, Jak didn't see the good of such things. You learned to be fast enough or smart enough to escape your enemies, or you didn't. He'd learned through life and death experience, not a footrace with no winners.

"Easy with the straps there!" A stocky man backed into Jak, calling up to a team of three people.

"Ope-! Scuse me there, pipsqueak." The Wastelander stepped to the side as if Jak was barely worth noticing.

"Howland, that thing ain't cinched tight enough!"

They seemed to be trying to remove a corroded beam from the supports of one of the multi dwelling houses. It was already leaning at a precarious angle, as big around as a grown man. If that beam came down the wrong way, it would take a lot of the adobe structure -- and probably a lot of people -- with it.

"It's fine, Daru!" Howland complained, "I just cinched it!"

"Well cinch it again! That sucker’s leanin'!"

Jak frowned, but let his curiosity wash away the dregs of the night terrors.

"What's wrong with it?"

The unofficial foreman tugged at a bushy red mustache and shook his head. "Don't rightly know yet. Could just be age. Sand storms and salt air will do a number on this kind of metal after a while."

Jak wondered if that had anything to do with Sandover using wood and stone almost exclusively. He was about to ask why it had been anchored to a mud wall when there was a loud metallic clang. The last bracket holding the beam snapped under the weight, and the straps weren't enough to hold it.

Jak didn't remember moving. But then he was there, with the beam on his shoulders and the foreman on the ground, having narrowly avoided being crushed to death. Cold metal dug into his hands, pressed down against his head, and Jak knew that by rights he should've been dead.

There was a thrill of revulsion in his chest when he reluctantly acknowledged that the only reason he was standing right now was that the dark eco experiments had lengthened his muscle strands to twice the size of a normal hu'men's. It wasn't just in his dark form. That element of...unnatural...was just with him. Every moment.

"Frith! Oh my- HOWLAND! GET DOWN HERE!" Daru roared, "YOU COULDA KILLED SOMEBODY!"

"I got it," Jak said through gritted teeth. "Is there a place to put this thing down?"

"Not yet," Howland admitted as he shimmied down a ladder.

"We were going to cut it into pieces once it was secure, transport it that way to be recycled."

Jak craned his neck, but the motion jarred the beam. Hastily, he adjusted his grip.

"What's- What's around me?"

"Too much," said Daru grimly. "Just- Hold on, kid."

He winced at the boy's flat stare.

"Er...no pun intended. We're gonna, gonna get you out from under there, I promise!"

"Get it cut up first," Jak grunted, "And you won't have to worry about getting me out."

"And what if your hands get sweaty, huh?" Daru demanded, "Fat chance, little man! We're going to find something to hold this up!"

The other two men hurried down from the roof with saws in hand.

Oh gods. Handsaws. This was going to take a while.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Honestly, Damas should have been expecting trouble when he didn't start his day with a free heart attack after seeing eyeshine in the kitchen. The kid was diametrically opposed to the concept of sleep, so he wouldn't have been in bed. If he was off his routine -- and by now Damas had learned to dread something interrupting the kid's self-imposed routine -- then there was probably going to be trouble later.

When he refilled the fuel in the Beacon, fed the birds, and actually had a cup of coffee uninterrupted, he was suspicious.

When the sun rose and there were no echoes of truncated curses in the halls from guards running into Jak, he started to wonder if the kid had decided to work outside. Unusual, but as long as he didn't do anything that would make Dr. Petros yell at them both, more power to him.

But when the talking ottsel showed up in the throne room about an hour after dawn, frantically demanding to know where Jak was, Damas was concerned.

Those two were attached at the hip! Jak wouldn't have gone to look for work without Daxter.

There was a small crowd forming by the time Damas stepped outside. People were shouting encouragements, or conflicting advice about pulleys and snatchblocks. Had something fallen? Damas hadn't heard any impacts. As he began to pick his way through the crowd, the shouts took on new meaning.

"He's slipping! Somebody get under there!"

"How many more hands do you want? There's ten people holding the beam up!"

"Why won't he just let go?!"

"Standing this long, maybe his arms locked up-?"

A beam? People holding a beam-?

An accident. There'd been an accident and night watch hadn't caught it.

Thoughts of crushed citizens and mangled houses circled Damas’s imagination as he pushed through the rest of the crowd, close enough to hear the rasp of handsaws and the buzz of a lone angle grinder.

"Get the cart back in!" Someone yelled, "Next piece is almost off!"

From the looks of things, a crew of four had reduced a two-story high support beam by a third.

Ten Wastelanders were beneath the colossal pole, hands and shoulders braced against the metal as it shrieked and groaned. If even one of them slipped-!

Damas threw down his staff without thinking to join them, racing to catch the end beginning to slide.

"What happened?" he demanded, straining with the others to keep it from crushing the houses and themselves.

"Tie straps broke!" a man three people down called back, "If it weren't for the kid, it woulda come down right through the roofs of a couple houses!"

Kid?

Oh gods don't tell me...

Jak was standing in the very center of the line. His arms trembled, and sweat poured down his face. He didn't seem to hear anything happening around him, too focused on keeping his grip. He was beginning to pale.

"What's he doing here?!"

"Dunno!" A woman to the left answered. "He was already there when me and the girls showed up, but that was two hours ago."

"Hours?!"

Jak had been out here for hours, trapped, and Damas had been none the wiser?

"Why hasn't anyone gotten him out yet?!"

"We tried! The poor kid froze up!"

Damas gritted his teeth and pushed away images of the kid standing alone under that crushing weight for hours until help had woken up.

"Get a truck and winch out of the pit!" He ordered, "Forget damage to the streets, we'll fix it later! I want this thing taken care of now."

It took a full twenty minutes to get the Dozer through the narrow streets of the tower district. By that time, those who had been holding the beam first had cycled out for fresh arms to allow for water and eco. All except Jak. He'd accepted some water that someone poured into his mouth earlier, but still seemed to be unable to let go. He was at the fulcrum point, he insisted, and he wasn't going to let it tip. (Not that he thought he'd actually be able to move at this point.)

Fifteen people attached pulleys and cables to the beam from above, careful not to dislodge the hands of those below. When the cables had all been hooked to the Dozer's winch, the weight began, at last, to lessen.

There was a ragged cheer from the assembled Wastelanders as the end of the beam tipped up and the rescuers eased the other end to the ground. There would be extensive damage to infrastructure to deal with. But nobody had died, and there were no major injuries, and Damas would count that as a victory. Shaking out aching arms, he hurried to the center of the line, where someone was physically holding Jak upright. Damas took hold of the boy's stiff arms carefully.

"It's gone," he said, easing the limbs down, "It's gone, let go, Jak. Come on, you're done."

The kid made a sound, a soft rasping whine that might’ve been words. Then he collapsed.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

When the world drifted back into focus, Jak didn't know where he was. The smell of eco lingered around him, confusing the other scents that could have identified his location. He couldn't move his arms. Why couldn't he move his arms?!

It took a massive effort just to pry his eyelids up. Jak’s breath caught harshly between his teeth as he forced himself onto his side.

Well, that explained the lack of mobility in his arms. He ached like he'd been fighting beyond his limits again. The injection sites would be agitated again, he knew without looking. The pain radiated from his shoulders to his fingertips, skin, muscle, and bone.

The room was a blur. Brown and yellow slowly settled into more colors, ending in something either white or pale blue in front of his nose. The longer he stared at it, the more detail he could see. Pills of thread, clinging to loosely woven fabric. The texture and shape of the warp and weft shifted as he tried to move his hand.

He hissed in pain.

"Well that's what happens when you try to make a career as a load-bearing wall."

Jak tensed. Not alone. Not with Daxter.

Biting down on the pain, he dug his fingers into the pallet beneath him and forced himself upright.

This wasn't the hospital -- small blessings -- but it wasn't his room either. There was a low wooden bedframe on a wall a few feet away, on the other side of some kind of half partition full of plants.

"Where...?"

"Well you're about to think of it as prison," Damas answered from the opposite direction.

He was sitting at a table, hunched over a cup of coffee. The empty pot beside him was a story of its own.

"By the way, you're grounded."

"What?!" Jak sputtered. He started to get up, but fell back onto the pallet with a grunt of pain.

"Like rot!"

Damas glanced back over his shoulder. "Take it up with the doctor. He put you on bedrest, not me. Better yet, blame your own self! You could've let go at any time once the rest of the district turned up to help!"

"The whole...district?"

Jak blinked.

"I don't...remember that..."

Damas sighed and peered into into his mug.

"You've been sleeping most of the day, I'm not surprised. Even with the eco you'll probably be sore for a while."

"How -- ow! -- long was I out there?"

Jak cringed at the look in Damas’s eyes when the man turned around fully.

"Four. Hours. Four hours! Why didn't you let go when others arrived?!"

Was this a trick question? It had to be a trick question.

"Be...cause...I'm not supposed to let other people get hurt?" Jak answered with slow confusion.

Damas stared in complete silence for several seconds. Then,

"You're insane. My foster-son is insane. That's insane! In what world is "throw the youngest under the pillar" a rational solution?!"

"Uh. Haven?" Jak muttered peevishly. He tried to sit up again. "Look, just. Tell me which way my room is and I'll get out of your hair."

Damas pushed his chair back with a scraping sound.

"Mn. No. What part of "bed rest" didn't you hear?"

In brusque motions, he knelt and pulled the blanket back over Jak.

"You are not to do anything even mildly strenuous, or Petros will strangle me. And since I apparently can't trust you not to willingly walk into harm's way unsupervised, you get to camp out in here, and I get to work from home for the next few days to make sure you don't go try to lift a car or something!"

Jak was appalled. "You can't do that!"

Dry as dust, Damas retorted, "First of all, I'm king. Secondly, I'm your legal guardian. Yes I can."

Jak groaned in frustration.

"Where's Daxter?"

"Not grounded."

"Oh come on!"

[elyrch]

Dating Caspian the Merman (OC)

a/n: first time writing for one of my oc's. i hope you guys like it. kinda got a little too deep into writing about the biology of mermaids, sorry lol

caspian isn't a prince or really all that important in his city. of course, he is important to some of the people there, but he doesn't have a whole lot of things to really do.

you'd meet him when you go down to the rocky shores at night to think. coincidentally, he's also there- kind of bored, of course, but he's looking up at the moon as he wishes he could speak to humans without being in danger of getting harpooned.

this is the only real reason he goes there at night instead of the day- he loves the sun, but he knows that people are not as kind as they seem.

either way, you go to the shore and see him as he's laying on a large, flat rock. once you see him, you HAVE to reassure him that you're not gonna hunt him or tell anyone about him or else he'll be terrified. once calm though, he's pretty sweet.

he's got silver-white hair, long, slender fingers, soft blue eyes, and ears that are slightly pointed. he's also got very pale, almost to the point of being kind of blue, skin. on certain spots (where skin would usually be rough, like elbows) he's got pastelly blue scales that become more frequent as you look down at his hips, then his legs (or, really, the lack of legs. he's got a fish tail.) his hair is kinda brittle since he's in the ocean, but it's soft considering his situation. his nails are a little unnaturally sharp, but they seem to be dulled by how he uses them to move around on land (aka: the rocks act as makeshift nail files) and he's got a long scar across his stomach (it looks as though it quite literally tore through him) and he's got top surgery scars that are a lot paler pink, but are still visible.

on his body, he's got a few tattoos, as well- in my mind, mermaids use tattoos to signify which kingdom and family they're from- kingdom on the left wrist, and family on the right. wrists are very vulnerable, so showing the family and kingdom tattoos is customary before doing practically anything else, such as fighting for one's honor or whatever. caspian hasn't gotten a real job yet, so he hasn't gotten a tattoo for that- although his father is a successful coral and kelp farmer. job tattoos go on the sternum, as close to the heart as possible- caspian has a few ideas for his though. he's very good at the spear, so maybe he'd be a warrior or hunter of some kind.

according to mythology, mermaids and mermen were made by an angered witch who combined a village with fish to make them fish people. this means they have both lungs (above water breathing) and gills (underwater breathing). i don't really know how this works so just imagine its some like, second lung situation or whatever idk.

mermaids and mermen have different metabolisms to humans- they gain and lose weight very easily, and this can depend on the temperature of the water, how stressed they are, or what they eat.

his society is also highly matriarchal, as well- when he transitioned, his mother genuinely hated him since she thought he was betraying him. his father, though, understood after a while. shortly after their final argument, caspian's mother was harpooned by a human, and died in the cradle of the waves. this society believes burials at sea are honorable, so they did the ceremony without a body.

in order to like, date you, i don't think caspian would pull an ariel and get legs. he'd actually find a way to help you breathe underwater (like through a spell or something) so you can go into the ocean with him. he's very considerate!

overall 10/10 but i think he wouldnt know that seawater hurts your lungs the first time he'd drag you under, so he'd feel VERY VERY bad

thank you for reading! PLEASE tell me if you guys like it, teehee

swan banners by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

support banner by @saradika-graphics

[bambiraptorx]

Got bitten by the writing bug and stayed up last night writing this out lol

---

Leo's up in the middle of the night- nothing unusual for him- a glass of water in his hand as he makes the trek through the darkened lair back to his room. Normally he'd just drink it in the kitchen, but this is shaping up to be a night where he can't get to sleep no matter how much he tosses and turns and presses his shell against the wall and stares into the dark, waiting in the horrible silence for something to move-

Point is, he'd rather have some water in his room, for the next time he decides his throat is a little dry. Really, he should have invested in a water bottle by now. He skirts around the edge of the living room, half muttering to himself under his breath just so he stops listening so intensely to the utter lack of noise around him.

"It's normal, totally normal. Dad fell asleep in his actual room for once, that's why he's not here. And if he was, someone would have come by to turn the lights off. Besides, didn't Donnie say he was building in an automatic timer so the TV goes off after one in the morning? And it's definitely past one now."

He rambles to himself quietly, pushing through the discomfort and the shadows that never hold anything worse than misplaced memories. It's fine, really, there's nothing in the dark anyway, and if there was he would see it, and none of them ever had a taste for hiding- right?

Something slithers against the stone.

His heart stops. It has to, because there's no other reason for him to freeze like he does. That sound, that sound that he knows all too well because his brain replays it so often he isn't sure at first if it's real or not. He whirls around, his cup sloshing- where's the source? Where is it? Where-

There. Up against the wall just a little further ahead, something that he can't make out in the darkness. Something... small, with yellow-y glowing eyes.

"B-B-Bee?" He stutters, and his heart kicks into high gear, pounding and thumping against the inside of his plastron with a vengeance. "Wha-what are you... doing up?"

"Hungee," they say tersely, unblinking. Their eyes (just two for now) shine unnaturally in the dark. Not the tapetum lucidum kind of shine, with light reflected from an outside source, but an internal near-glow. A strange half radiance, that he's only seen in one other... person... in his life.

"An..." Bea's voice drops low, a bare difference from the silence that she's interrupted. "Cold."

Oh, poor kid. If there's anything that the two of them have in common, it's a hatred of being cold. For Leo, of course, he knows where it came from (there's a reason he's currently wrapped up in the biggest, fluffiest robe he can find, even when the lair is barely dipping into 'chilly'), but Beatrice? Anyone's guess, really.

Leo crouches down, careful not to spill his water any more than he already has, and holds an arm out. "Okay, little hellion, let's find your dad. He might be up."

Bea stares at his hand for a moment. "Where?"

"His lab, baby beans. Y'know, the place he used to keep you?" And should still keep her- Leo clamps down on that nasty little thought as soon as it passes through his head. He can't show any sign of that type of thinking around Bea, she barely trusts him enough as it is. And he, well, wouldn't be comfortable knowing she's out here alone.

Uncontained.

Wow, his brain is full of all sorts of fun little surprises tonight! And it is far too late slash early to unpack any of that!

Beatrice tilts their head to the side, a little too far, and steps into his reach. He scoops her up against his side, watching carefully as she all but burrows into the side of his robe, no longer bothering to hold to her turtle form as she does so. Must have been out for a while to get that cold.

"Let's go find Donnie, mmkay little munchkin?"

A tentacle reaches up and tugs at his robe's neckline, just a little too close for comfort. "Sssstay?"

"Oh, of course you can stay with him, booger," Leo laughs, and deliberately misses the other possible interpretations of their question. There's multiple evident, of course, like her wanting to say with him tonight or to have him stay with her and Donnie, but any other meanings are wholly irrelevant.

He's not staying anywhere near Beatrice on a night like this.

[regulus-blacks-lover]

in for a good crying session so i’d looove to see how prompts 43 & 27 would break me :’) im thinking sirius but whatever sparks the creative juices!! thank you lovely :>

43 “i’m right here. right here with you.” 27 “you had your chance.”

reader x sirius black, 1,152 words warnings: main character death, very sad and angsty, not proofread

prompt list

a/n: oh my god i'm so sorry this turned out so sad?? i had a second idea that's still sad but no death involved if you'd prefer - but i went with the needing to cry type of vibe for now. lmk if you want a redo w these prompts lol

You and Sirius had been living in hiding together for nearly two years, on the run from Voldemort's forces. Despite the danger that lurked around every turn, it wasn't all bad. You found warm places to sleep, and when there was nowhere warm to go, you held onto each other more closely than you already did.

"Do you think things will ever go back to how they used to be?" You asked him one night, both of you laying awake, unable to sleep.

In the darkness, you could just make out the rise and fall of his chest as he contemplated your question. "I'm not sure." He said honestly. "I'd like to think so, I miss our friends, I miss our life... But I'm just not sure."

"I miss our friends too." You whispered.

Beneath the thin blanket, he grasped your hand, threading his warm fingers into your own. "I'm glad you are here with me." He said, bringing your fingers to his lips and pressing a kiss to each one.

"You're not too shabby for an end of the world companion." You said quietly.

A few days later, you were standing guard outside what you hoped was an abandoned house in a muggle neighborhood. Sirius was inside, putting up protective wards around the place. He'd always acted like an idiot at school, but at the end of the day you trusted his protective enchantments much more than your own.

You were allowing yourself to get lost in memories of the days before you'd been on the run, back when you'd had weekly dinners with your friends- back when you and Sirius had dreamed of getting married. Before your dreams became mere survival.

Suddenly you felt it. A chill in the air as all the hair on your body raised. And then he was there. Voldemort, pale and cloaked in a long black robe. He was flanked by two Death Eaters. Behind them floated three ghostly figments. Dementors.

Your stomach filled with lead. You'd barely reached for your wand when it flew out of your hand. The two Death Eaters grabbed you by either arm, dragging you towards Voldemort and the dementors.

You kicked and flailed and pushed against their grasp, but their combined strength was too much for you, especially with the hopeless pull of the dementors in the air.

Voldemort grasped your face, his unnaturally long fingers digging into your skin. "Where is he?"

He didn't have to specify who he was looking for. You already knew. Sirius. His brother, already part of Voldemort's forces. It was rumored that Voldemort longed to have control over both of the Black brothers.

You set your jaw. You wouldn't let Voldemort use you to get to Sirius.

"Where is he?" He asked again. When you still didn't answer, Voldemort sighed theatrically and released his grip on your face. The Death Eaters still held your arms tightly.

"I did try to be civil, Y/N." He said with a sigh. "Do try to remember that."

He nodded at his henchmen and they released you. For a moment, you didn't understand. But the Voldemort was pointing his wand at you and saying, "Crucio."

Your knees buckled and you fell to the pavement, writhing in pain. You fought every instinct telling you to scream or beg for mercy.

"Crucio!" The cold voice came again.

You were on your side now, hands clawing at the pavement as if you could crawl away from the pain he was inflicting on you. Tears flowed down your face and you were panting from the effort to avoid screaming.

The curse came a third time. "Crucio!"

And you couldn't hold back any longer. "Stop! Please stop it!" You screamed.

Your vision was fading in and out as pain continued to rack your body. You heard someone behind you laughing, and then the sound of a scuffle.

And then - your heart lurched. "Stop! Let her go!" Came Sirius's anguished voice. You forced yourself to look up. The Death Eaters had him by the arms. He was fighting them with every ounce of strength he had, and for a moment you thought he'd be able to break free of their grip, but then there came a sharp tug in your hair. Voldemort was pulling you upwards by their grasp your scalp. He forced you to your feet only to press the tip of his wand harshly against your throat.

Your head was forced back so all you could see was the dark sky above, but from the sound of it, Sirius had stopped fighting. "Please. Let her go. I'll do anything." He begged.

"Sirius, Sirius." Voldemort tutted. "I don't plan to ask the world of you. I just need one favor. Consider it an exchange, really. Join me, and I'll let her live. Your brother has disappointed me, see you don't do the same."

"Sirius" You whimpered, Voldemort's wand still against your neck. "Sirius, it's okay." The wand was pressed deeper into your skin as fresh tears began to spill down your face.

"No." You heard him say brokenly. "I can't– I won't–"

"It's okay." You said again.

Voldemort sniffed. "Pathetic. See how little you mean to him? I ask one favor and he can't even do it, even if it would mean saving your precious life."

The pressure at your throat lifted, but your relief was short lived as Voldemort gestured to the dementors. They swooped in on you faster than you would have believed. They were pulling you apart, eating your joy, even before Voldemort stepped away from you.

You were vaguely aware of voices beyond the hurricane of dark and cold that surrounded you.

"Please! Please stop it! I'll do anything, anything you ask!" Sirius's voice was frantic and full of desperation.

"You had your chance to save her, and you didn't. Now you must live with the consequences." Voldemort said.

You were so cold. Your hands had grown numb and your teeth were chattering uncontrollably. You were aware of your body falling to the ground, but you didn't feel the pain as you hit the pavement. And then everything went black.

"I'm right here. Right here with you." A distant voice. Familiar. Sirius. It was Sirius, and it sounded like he was crying. Why was he crying?

You couldn't see him. You couldn't see anything. You were floating away.

A sudden image flashed through your mind; Sirius, holding a broken, limp body. Holding you.

He was cradling your dead body in his arms, whispering over and over "I'm right here. Please don't leave me. Please come back."

But you couldn't. No matter how you tried, you couldn't force that living piece of yourself back into that body.

Cruel laughter sounded, but Sirius didn't pay it any mind. He just kept holding what had once been you.

"I love you." You thought, before every trace of you vanished from existence.

[onepiece-oc-archives]

what's something you would not recommend when writing one piece ocs?

Hi, thanks for your question!

At first I thought it was a duplicate of the question I answered here but then I looked a little closer. So: In this post, I'll be focusing on the actual writing of OCs, as in fanfic stuff. If you're still in the creating phase, go here for my tips on what to avoid for that.

Alright, writing! My favourite activity on the world earth - I could literally write for entire weeks straight if I wasn't bound by the limits of my human body and mind lol

This list is probably going to be even shorter than the one for OC creation because I'm not about to mess with other people's writing style. Do what feels right for you. You should always be writing for yourself first and foremost because writing should be fun! That being said, there's one One Piece-specific tip I have for you:

Don't translate everything you see in the anime and/or manga directly into your writing. It won't work. Animation/manga and written stories are two very different mediums. I think the best way to explain this would be to look at the changes made between the animanga and the live action:

Changes had to be made because certain things just don't translate well into a live-action format.

For example, most characters don't yell out their attacks in the live action, because it comes off as very silly outside of the animanga format. They're real people after all. The characters who still shout out their attacks are either very silly (i.e. Luffy and Buggy) or... well... Sanji. He's very serious about it. I saw someone theorize once that shouting your finisher attacks is probably a pirate thing and Zeff taught Sanji that - so of course he'd take it seriously because he respects Zeff and takes his word as truth because Zeff used to be a pirate and he should know. Anyways, other example:

Sanji's heart eyes. We're sticking with my boy Sanji, simply because he works really well for tackling changes made to the live action made for genre/format/medium reasons. Why? Because Sanji, in the animanga, is a character who's very reliant on physical comedy. Don't know what I mean, maybe because you're an OPLA only fan (in which case: Welcome, glad to have you here <3)? Here, I'll show you:

That's animanga Sanji. Full-on heart eyes goof and noodle arms. As you can probably guess, this wouldn't work in a live action format. So, we went from literal heart eyes...

... to figurative heart eyes. Still very much head over heels for the ladies, still a hopeless romantic, still an idiot, but not so much of an idiot that it comes across as over-the-top and wildly unnatural.

I would highly recommend that you do something similar for writing One Piece fics, including OC fics. If you want to keep the over-the-top, physical comedy, cartoon logic elements from the animanga for your fic, I won't stop you. I've just noticed that, in my opinion, it's hard to pull off, because describing the absolute tomfoolery of the animanga can be very difficult, and I'm personally not too much of a fan of it. It works in specific situations (caught-up animanga fans might know what I'm hinting at), but I personally prefer my fics to feel more natural - like OPLA. Still silly, but silly in a way that works for a live action and/or written format. That might also have to do with my writing style as a whole, so, like I said, keep the animanga elements if you want or tone them down if you like.

One thing I love to do though is to drop hints to animanga tropes and elements without implimenting them fully. Best example? Sanji's heart eyes. Because look at him! Figurative heart eyes are a thing. Use metaphors and figures of speech, figurative words that imply something cartoony but don't have to be. It's really fun! I really don't know how to explain it better, but I hope you know what I mean.

So, now that I've talked about general things and canon characters and whatnot: What does that mean for OCs specifically?

Maybe try to make a rough separation between their drawn form and their written form - or between their animanga and live action version. This works especially well if you can draw (even just a little bit) but it's also just plain fun to think about without drawing anything. Think about what gags and animanga tropes your OC could have in that format and think about how those things translate to a live action or written format. Do they translate seamlessly? Do they have to be cut because they don't work at all? Would they be changed? Experiment with what works for your own writing style. How does your OC interact with your interpretation of canon characters? Generally: Throw stuff at the wall and see what sticks. The only way to start writing is to start writing and to try out what works for you and what doesn't.

And in case you don't know where you want to start with writing or want to try a few things out: Take a scene in canon that your OC would be participating in and write down your version of it. See what changes, try out the dynamics, get a feel for what works and what doesn't...

So yeah, I hope this helped! This feels pretty disorganized (I'm so sorry) but I hope I got my point across.

Hope you're having a lovely day!

[gingerteaonthetardis]

Apple cider, and any variant of Tucker and Rose you’d like (I know you have a couple lol)

thinky! thank you so much for this prompt. i once again just sort of started another au with it, because i have no self control. i just love putting these two in Situations. or three, rather. wilf showed up in this one, for some reason. hope you enjoy (when you get your internet back, lol)!

read on ao3 here. or send me a prompt here!

-

something for nothing

-

"Hot," Rose asked, thrusting out her hands, "or cold?"

In each was a paper cup, the left one gently steaming while the older man glanced back and forth between them with his usual consideration.

"That depends. Is it chocolate?"

"Nope."

"Coffee, then?"

"No." She failed to stifle a grin. "Sylvia would have my head and you know it."

An extremely unnatural-looking scowl made its way across his face. "It's not one of those fancy 'steamer' things, is it? Those always end up tasting like plain old spoiled milk."

Rose shook her head in fond impatience. "Just pick one, will you? Or they'll both be cold."

His eyes narrowed beneath his bright yellow bobble hat. "Fine, then. Hot," Wilf finally declared. "But this had better not be like the time you put chewy stuff in my tea."

"Boba," she corrected. "And don't worry, only liquid in there. And some spices, of course."

At this, Wilf took a long inhale, his nose hovering just above the thread of steam. It was endlessly endearing, how dubious he was about the whole exercise.

Then again, she had just been a stranger who walked up and offered him eggnog, that first time.

It had been nearly a year ago, around the holidays, and she'd been leaving after another long, tedious shift at the café across the way. Her manager had given rare permission to close up early after Rose pulled a double, but she'd not taken advantage: instead, she'd satisfied an intense exhaustion-fueled craving for eggnog by whipping it up right there in the shop.

But she'd made a bit too much, and with no one to share it with, she'd spied the old man at his newspaper stall—such a merry figure, like Father Christmas himself in a heavy red-and-white striped scarf, packing up his stacks of paper like gifts bundled in twine. He'd looked so cheerful and so cold, with his red nose and fingerless gloves, that she went out and offered him a cup of still-warm eggnog. He'd kindly offered a copy of Radio Times in trade, and suddenly they were talking like old friends.

That had been the beginning of a ritual which she held to after nearly every shift she worked. She never emerged without two cups of something to share, and he always held aside a paper or magazine he thought she'd like. They didn't always chat, but they did undeniably enjoy one another's company.

Rose thought of him almost like an adopted grandfather.

She watched with amusement as he put his eye to the narrow hole in the lid like it was the lens of a telescope, trying to see the colour of the substance within. She bit down hard on her lip. "What can you see?"

"Not much," Wilf admitted.

"Drink it! I promise there's nothing odd in there—well, too odd, I mean."

He shook his head at her, but he was smiling as he went to take a sip. She waited, holding her breath—and was delighted when his eyes lit up.

"Oh, that's not bad," he proclaimed, "not bad at all!" As he took another sip, Rose finally lifted her own cup to her lips.

Ripe apple, cinnamon, nutmeg—a faint hint of smoke—even cold, it all burst over her tongue, evoking a sense memory disconnected from anything she'd ever personally experienced. It reminded her of campfire nights after crisp autumn days, falling leaves and waning grey skies. Days so perfect they could really only exist in films, or books, or daydreams.

"It's cider, but with a little—something! Very good, Rose," Wilf added warmly. "So, what's the secret?"

"An infusion of lapsang souchong while the cider's warming up." She was a little proud of that one. "And all the usual suspects—clove, cinnamon, a tiny bit of anise… I have more," she said, patting her thermos where it stuck out of her messenger bag. She'd planned to take it home and sip it with her feet up in front of the telly, but seeing how eagerly Wilf drank from his cup made her want to share more instead. "Want a refill?"

"Let me see to what I've got first," he said, after another savoring sip. "It's good stuff! Is it going on the menu?"

She scoffed. "Of course not. Nobody around here wants fussy cider. They just want tea, or else coffee, black, no sugar—god, if you only knew how many red eyes I make in a day…"

"Well, it is Westminster," Wilf reasoned, looking around at the street which, while presently quiet, was crowded with buildings still fully lit up at long past six. "There's always some crisis they're perverting."

Rose hesitated. "You mean averting?"

"I meant what I said," he replied with a chuckle. "Takes a lot of energy to play at running the world."

"Yes, well, I just wish they'd get a bit more creative with their drink orders while they do it. Civilisation won't end if one of them branches out and adds a shot of vanilla to their latte! And," she went on, voice hushing dramatically, "then there's the peacoats. They all wear the same bloody shapeless things. What is with that?"

"Speaking of peacoats…" Wilf coughed, clearly covering a laugh. "Evening, Mr. Tucker!"

Rose tripped over her own feet whirling around to see who he was talking to, and then nearly stumbled up again when she saw who it was.

Malcolm Tucker.

The Malcolm Tucker.

The scariest man in British politics, and possibly in Great Britain generally, stood about a foot away from her.

She recognised his face from Wilf's newspapers and the occasional clip on telly: fair eyes, humped nose, harsh lines bracketing a restless mouth, head crowned with tarnished silver hair. Under the flat, unforgiving light of the street lamps, he looked hyperreal. But even someone who didn't know his face would see evidence of his hand everywhere. He ruled the media with it. He puppeted the ministry with it.

And he was shaking Wilf's hand with it.

"Wilf, how the fuck's business?" he greeted, breezing right past her, smiling with the kind of familiarity that couldn't be faked. It even looked sincere. He brushed close enough that she could smell the wool of his coat, and she winced.

"Better, now that your mug's back out of the papers, sir!" Wilf laughed, and strangely, so did Tucker. "What'll it be today? We've got the New Statesman, fresh out this morning. There's an interview with your man, that baldy economist—"

But the other man brushed him off carelessly. "Oh, please, none of that, I'm off the clock."

"What brings you round, then?" For a second, Wilf's eyes darted sheepishly her way, and she could only goggle back in confusion. It was like he didn’t want to give something away, something secret. To Tucker, he said, voice low, "Celebrity Skin?"

Rose's jaw dropped. "Wilf!"

"Now, now, Rose, you can hardly fault the man! Just because he's in government doesn't mean he's made of metal."

"It's not him scandalizing me," she shot back with a laugh. "Wilfred Mott, I learn something new about you every day."

“Got to keep you interested, don't I?” Teasing though his tone was, there was also a glint of genuine pride as he added, “Or else I'll stop getting the best hot drinks in London hand-delivered to me!”

They were so busy sharing smiles that it took her a moment to remember they had audience. A rather intimidating audience. One of his iron-dark eyebrows was arched in something like humour. “That so?” Tucker said, eyeing her up and down.

“She’s more than just a pretty face, she is,” Wilf replied, and she felt herself flush. Whether it was from Wilf’s blunt, overenthusiastic praise or the assessing look she was receiving from the Prime Minister’s media enforcer, she couldn’t tell. “You should—oi, Rose, why don't you give him a little of that cider stuff? Mr. Tucker looks cold. Or maybe that’s just his personality.”

She rolled her bottom lip between her teeth, amused by the blatant ribbing. He’d accompanied it with a wink, and Tucker didn’t seem offended. In fact, his smile was back, spreading slowly, like it was foreign to his mouth.

“Not sure that's a good idea, actually,” she said.

“Why not?” asked Tucker, locking eyes with her for the first time. There was just something about his face; she knew she ought to be intimidated by him—and maybe she was, a little—but she was at least equally fascinated. He looked just like a man, ordinary.

Except not.

His gaze was too intense for that. Like it was used to cutting right through people. All day, people with glazed-over eyes muttered orders at her—barely seemed to even notice her. It was a startling change, to feel so… observed.

She blinked. “Do you usually risk drinks from strangers?”

“You're saying you wouldn't, if you were me?”

“If I were you—there’s an idea,” she dared with a breathless laugh. “If I were you, we probably wouldn't have quite so many bald, boring blokes in office. And things would probably get a bit more West Wing. But I wouldn't risk poisoning, no.”

“You're clever, then.” The smile that played around his mouth was a shade off the one he’d offered Wilf, but she liked it all the same. “Cleverer than me.” Her eyebrows jumped, and the corners of his lips only ticked higher. “I'd love a warm drink, if you can spare one. It's been a… very long day.”

And she didn’t know quite how, or why, or anything at all, but her hands just started moving on their own, sliding down the strap of her bag to the pouch with her thermos. She was actually going to share her drink with the Hitman of Downing Street, the thing that lurked under the beds of the ministers she saw on television.

You couldn’t make this stuff up.

“Easy, now,” Tucker drily warned. “No sudden moves. I might get clever.”

She chuffed a laugh. “Not likely.” But she slowed anyway, attention bouncing momentarily to Wilf—who was watching their exchange with a rapt and wildly amused expression—before she turned back to Tucker.

His eyes were more reflective of the colour of the sky than she’d ever imagined eyes could be. So blue and grey that it was like looking through the clearest water at the river stones beneath.

She couldn't quite shake off the observation—couldn't manage an appropriate amount of detachment as she withdrew the thermos and twisted it open. Concentrated steam burst free, smelling sweet and enticingly sharp, and she extended the mug out to him.

He took it. And when their fingers brushed over the warm metal, it hit her.

Attraction.

What she was feeling was attraction.

Her first thought was oh, Mum’s going to brick herself if I tell her. Which, of course, Rose wouldn’t. After Jimmy Stone and the complete fiasco he’d created in her life as a teenager, she knew better. But what would Jackie Tyler say about Malcolm bloody Tucker? He'd been working in politics for practically half Rose’s lifetime.

She could just imagine her mum's face, the repulsion and horror, and the picture was incongruous enough that it successfully pulled Rose out of her stupor. She withdrew her hand, feeling the cold snap of air instantly, more fiercely than she might have.

With a tense eye, she watched him lift the thermos to his lips. Watched him drink, slow and contemplative. He didn't seem particularly slow or contemplative by nature, so it must have been for her benefit. Her fingers made fists, which she wedged into her coat pockets.

He took another sip. Then proclaimed, “That's very good. Is that tea I taste?”

Her smile bloomed without thought or permission. “Secret recipe,” she said. “Now you owe me four pounds fifty.”

Those eyebrows leapt again before resettling even lower than before. He looked very intent. “You charge our mutual friend,” and here, he glanced at Wilf, “for cider, too, or is it just me who pays for the privilege?”

“Well, you know what your sort say—no such thing as a free lunch. Or cider,” she added, realising exactly what was about to come out of her mouth and doing nothing at all to stop it. “Wilf pays me back in magazines and good conversation. So what'll you give me, Malcolm Tucker?”

And god, she was actually doing it. She was flirting with him.

Beside her, Wilf was laughing into his fist. Part of her was embarrassed—or would be later—that she was making a fool of herself in front of the old man. He’d certainly rub her nose in it the next time she popped out with a drink. That was just what family did.

But there was another part of her, a much deeper and more untameable part, which insisted on saying, What the hell? Why not?

After all, this would probably be her only chance to tease one of the most powerful men in England. The prospect of pushing him, even a little, felt dangerous, rebellious. Deliciously improbable. And if there was a little extortion involved, well—he was hardly a man with clean hands.

One of those hands, she noted, slid into the pocket of that ridiculous peacoat—which was, she could admit, beginning to grow on her a little; it contrasted sharply against his skin and hair, so pale and severe—and he withdrew something small and white and rectangular. He extended it to her, but before she could take it, his hand snapped back. He seemed on the verge of smiling again.

Then, tipping back his head, he took another long drink from the thermos. A long, long drink.

She grinned, watching his throat bob. The bastard was draining the mug. Getting his money’s worth, she supposed.

She found she didn't mind. Her evening was shaping up to be substantially different than she’d expected.

Only when he'd finished with a faint hum of appreciation and returned the thermos did he give over the proffered card. It was simple, unremarkable white cardstock with crisp black text.

Malcolm Tucker

Director of Communications for the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom

10 Downing Street, Westminster, London

Below were two phone numbers. One was crossed out, the smudged ink suggesting he’d done so recently. The second number was indicated as his personal line, and her breath caught. Was he mad, handing out this information to a veritable stranger? Did he know the trouble she could make for him if she started, say, making copies and handing them out with every cup of coffee she sold to his more politically repellant enemies? Of which there were many?

“Don't get clever,” he warned her, and there was a trace of real threat there. She felt it. It made her spine straighten and something senselessly warm unfurl in her belly. Then he said, mildly, “Call it an IOU.”

She looked up at the man before her and wondered if he was mad—or perhaps just fearless—or possibly, she guessed with a tilt of her head, he was lonely.

But whatever he was—and however much she needed to get her head checked for being so intrigued by it—there was only one way to find out.

Rose slipped the card into the back pocket of her denims, meeting his unwavering eyes the whole time, smiling to herself. She bit down on the tip of her tongue to prevent it spreading.

“Well,” she said, trying to sound tough, “it’s not exactly four pounds fifty. But it’ll do.”

Tucker smirked. And—oh, yeah, she thought. Mum’s definitely gonna lose it.

[opheliajupiter99]

Once Upon a Rapture Pt.4

(Fair warning, this'll probably come out like a scene straight of Jekyll and Hyde. Nothing too bad, just ya know, Torbek lol)

The sounds of heels click-clacking across tile floor echoed as a young woman emerged from the depths of the Surgical Wing of Rapture's Medical Pavillion.

Her name was Clementine. She had long, braided blonde hair, in the form of a single long ponytail that trailed down the length of her back, and a simple white t-shirt with a somewhat faded dark blue skirt, as well as silky white stockings. Slung over one shoulder was her purse, which matched her skirt, and clutched in the hand of her other arm was a second bag, this one a plastic medical bag, full of her belongings.

She'd recently been discharged after a cosmetic surgery, curiosity of course of Rapture's top cosmetic surgeon, Dr. J.S. Steinman. She worked down in Siren Alley, specifically the Pink Pearl, and normally, unlike the girls down in Eve's Garden, she wasn't pressured to get cosmetic surgery.

Her boss, Daniel Wales, saw the value in having a wide variety of girls that could fit various niches, rather than an army of 'perfect' girls that all looked the same. She was tall and muscular, so she fit what he liked to call the 'lumberjack' mold. This time, however, was a special circumstance; she'd gotten injured during a visit from a particularly unpleasant client, leaving a bad bruise over part of her face and some damage to her right eye socket.

She was fine, but she wasn't in any condition to 'sell the merchandise' as it were, so off to Steinman she went. It was quite late, she'd been discharged basically in the middle of the night, so nobody else was around. Likely, the only person she'd run into at this hour was the nurse manning the front desk near the entrance, but she had a ways to walk until then. However, she wasn't quite as alone as she expected...

She went further, heels still click-clacking away, coming down decently wide hallway, some chairs sat about, likely for waiting as they were near some of the smaller offices, some of them tipped over but most of them still standing. She stopped in her walking however, as she saw a figure, sat hunched against one of the walls.

It was a very, very tall man, with unnaturally long limbs, covered by a ratty, moth-eaten blue blanket, his head hung low, dark brown hair growing thick all over his body like he was straight out of the Wolfman. He clearly heavily used ADAM; not just because of how gruesome his appearance was, but because of his occasional twitching and mumbling to himself.

He also had an overturned bowler hat beside him, within were a couple of quarters and a few nickels. She frowned as she stared upon the man, for two very different reasons; the first was out of pity, seeing the poor man, likely with barely even enough coin to get him upon the train, much less get him a hot meal.

The other however, was one of concern. The man seemed so familiar somehow; his demeanor was completely different, which was why she paused to ponder it at all. But he reminded her of the very client that'd gotten her stuck with that mad surgeon in the first place. Honestly, so many of her clients were mutated in some fashion, that she didn't find it too odd they'd started blurring together in her head.

She pushed the thoughts aside, for the moment at least, and walked up towards the man, her heels alerting him of her presence, his head lifting up. He watched her as she put two ten-dollar bills into his hat; it was a good chunk of her last paycheck, but she felt the man deserved it, in his terrible condition.

He smiled; his smile was just as horrific as the rest of him, but she did find her heart softening at how genuine the smile was despite that. "T-Thank you miss!" He declared, his voice hoarse and scratchy, but his tone just as genuine as his smile. She smiled back, bowing her head. "Ya welcome buddy." She was much calmer now, especially now that he'd spoken; she recalled her rough client having a cockney accent, so she must've indeed been mistaken.

"What's ya name?" She inquired, the man adjusting in his seat upon the floor slightly to meet her eyes better. "T-Torbek." She tilted her head. "Torbek? Huh, never heard that one before." She said with a soft chuckle, the man rubbing his arms shyly. "W-Well...T-Torbek's real name is T-Torrence Beck, but, people keep s-saying T-Torbek. So, T-Torbek says that now t-too."

She hummed, feeling worse for him the more he spoke; the way he constantly stuttered, the way he oddly talked in the third person. This man must've had one hell of a life down here in this dump. She did truly hope it got better for him, but right now, she had to get back to Siren Alley. Daniel knew she was being discharged tonight, so he'd start kicking up a fuss if she didn't get back to work.

"Well, I'm Clementine. I'm real sorry sugar, but I really gotta get goin'. Use those bucks well, ya hear?" She said, beaming another smile, Torbek maintaining his own, sharp, stained teeth visible past the mass of fur that covered his face. She gave him a curtsy, then continued on her way.

She kept on walking for some time, through the massive hospital, turning through corridors and occasionally stepping through one of the underwater tunnels that connected the different sections of the hospital. She was just a little while more of walking away from the entrance when she heard something; it sounded like some clacking against metal.

She turned around, looking around the stained and rusted walls of the hospital, eyes darting up and around. She didn't see anyone. She swore she heard something...but maybe something just fell off a table? She shook her head, and turned forward again, continuing to walk.

It didn't take long before she heard another clack, this time much closer to her. She jumped, startled, turning back around to look about frantically, but again saw no one. She took a deep breath, trying to calm down, this time not turning around but instead backing up, keeping an eye out to make sure no one snuck up on her.

That is until she bumped against something. It wasn't a wall, it wasn't a pillar...it was...some-one-. She could feel them breathing, her form frozen in terror, as a pair of long arms slowly uncloaked and came into view, and tightly wrapped around her.

"'Ello love."

A bloodcurdling shriek echoed through the empty metal hall, the nurse at the reception desk too far away to hear, the shriek only further muffled by the metal and water that lay between her and her only chance of salvation.

She was found hours later - or rather, what was left of her. Merely a near unrecognizable mass of blood and viscera, slashed apart violently by long, razor-sharp claws.

[bluemoonperegrine]

Wolf Be Upon Yeet: Part I

@vicarious-rebel and I have been chatting about her headcanon of the Moon Knight and Werewolf By Night characters hanging out in Bloodstone Manor Addams-Family-style. My favorite part of her headcanon is the monster OC she dreamed up: a sentient version of the Bloodstone. She introduced monster!Bloodstone in the short fic "Of blood and stone". 

I enjoyed. Had questions. Asked them. Vi replied. We started riffing on stuff, and it's hilarious.

We decided that some of you goofballs might enjoy our silliness and are sharing edited versions of it. Well, we might be. Here's the start of it. I'll see how this post goes over to decide if I want to edit more of our back-and-forth into something intelligible for everyone.

So, the least you need to know:

Elsa, Jack, and Billy Swan live at the manor full-time.

Elsa and Jack are good friends.

Jack is over 200 years old. He doesn't have control of his wolf form. Werewolf him looks just like he did in the special.

Ted, Marc/Steven/Jake, and Layla visit the manor a lot.

Some or all of them go on missions together.

Vi's text is black. bluemoonperegrine's text is blue. (I mean, of course.)

aight so you asked how the Bloodstone would react to Khonshu and I think that depends on whether it considers divine and monstrous to be the same or similar enough conceptually

it considers Jack a monster even though he really only transforms during a full moon so "human for the most part" doesn't cut it

still I don't think we have any info on how it reacts to divine beings (and I'm not really a comic nerd but there's nothing there either as far as I know)

so if the only distinction it makes is human vs non-human, then it would probably react to Khonshu the same way it did to Jack

but it wouldn't be successful in actually landing a hit

yeah, I'm with you on how the Bloodstone would perceive Khonshu: monster. It's pretty binary: there are monster and not monsters. Unnatural and natural.

Ironically, monster!Bloodstone is inherently unnatural. Hence the identity issues you mentioned the other day.

It would be funny if it looked in a mirror and realized "Oh shit. I'm a monster!"

How intelligent is Stony? (monster!Bloodstone needs a shorter name, lol) Like a mammalian alpha predator? Smarter than that?

Stony <3 I love it, it's like a pet name

I'm not entirely sure, to be fair with you. It's definitely smart enough to recognize faces and tell edible from inedible things (maybe even tell reflection from actual thing apart) but that's all "in development", I guess.

He's literally a pet rock. With... viscera and stuff

speaking of Jack, I was actually kinda worried his reaction was ooc

hmm. lemme reread it keeping in mind that he's an old man

bc Jack is a monster and he's certainly seen some freakier ones but on the other hand how often do you see the ultimate weapon against monsters become a monster and then go for your neck?

pff Jack is an old man, please have mercy on his heart

he looks fantastic for 257

i'd say it's a 50/50 chance that he'd run for his life or freeze. Of the four responses to a threat (fight, flight, freeze, fawn), fleeing or freezing make the most sense.

I think he'd have run if Marc weren't there.

yeah, I think so, too. It seems to be his go-to reaction to threats

but maybe his instinct went "wait, someone close to you is here, you can't leave them"

or maybe he freezes depending on the situation (if you can count his reaction to Elsa in the maze as freezing)

I think his brain went offline for about a minute when Stony showed himself

Jack.exe has stopped working, please restart

Once some of the adrenaline had waned Jack would probably think "I can't abandon my friends even though this thing could end me in a fraction of a second"

LOL jack.exe

* opens task manager, kills thread *

from what I understand the Bloodstone is only supposed to weaken monsters so that kinda holds true for Stony boy here

it was basically trying to paralyze Jack

I know nothing about the Bloodstone other than what was in the special

It's interesting to think about a werewolf's reaction to stuff that can seriously hurt them. It's a very short list.

same here but from some of the easter egg/analysis channels I've watched they sometimes talk abt the Bloodstone in the comics and so far none of them mention anything abt it being able to properly kill a monster

so I think of Stony as being able to send just enough neuroparalytic toxins or electric shockwaves to incapacitate a monster but not necessarily kill them

not that Jack knows that in the moment

or any of them really

I like how your mind works. You're figuring out how Stony ticks. The characters may or may not catch up

I am indeed figuring some of this stuff out as we speak

I'm already imagining Elsa trying to figure out how to take care of Stony. What does he eat? Steel? Cinderblocks? tiny ghosts?

she throws all this random crap in his space and watches what he does

Jack watches from far away with binoculars

lol, Jack and Ted watch the show from afar.

"I don't know what she's thinking, Ted. I mean... look at that thing!"

the serious version of what Stony eats would probably be raw meat/blood/whatever else it needs to maintain the viscera

the funny version would be if Elsa eventually figured out it can run on a chicken diet bc of that

Have you watched Death Note?

long time ago, yeah

"L, did you know gods of death like apples?"

that and "I'll take a potato chip...AND EAT IT."

I like the serious and funny versions of figuring out Stony's dietary needs

Ted, nodding along to Jack's concerns

Stony would make for a very efficient clean-up crew after a hunt

he's the goat of monsters

it gets even funnier when you imagine it wasn't Elsa but one of the mk crew to figure it out

gotta be either Steven or Jake

Marc or Jake casually throw a chicken nugget at it for funsies and whoops, what do you know it likes it

they train it to do tricks

they would!

I just love the image of Marc being completely unphased by the thing after the initial encounter so when the system n Jack are visiting Elsa for whatever reason and Stony pops up we have

Jack: internally screaming in terror

Marc: oh hey bud

Marc keeps chicken nuggies in a ziplock bag in a coat pocket for Stony

the system overall gets along with Stony, Steven especially likes teaching it tricks and playing fetch with it

Jack: Marc, have you been eating a lot of chicken?

M: ...no?

J: You... always smell like chicken now. Cooked chicken, I mean. Fried, to be specific. Just a little.

M: * pulls a ziplock bag with nuggs out of his coat. It says "Stony <3" in Sharpie*

J: ...oh.

lmao Jack being secretly jealous

(Why don't *I* get chickie nuggies?)

"how come this thing gets chicken nuggets from him all the time? what does it have that I don't??"

He'd start hanging around in wolf form in hopes of treats 😂

crackpot theory: Marc has some kind of natural way of getting along with monsters

just Marc, or the system?

just Marc

however the rest of the system also has their way of getting around

Steven would use his big brain

Steven manages to get on most monsters' good side by being his genuine, curious and respectful self while Jake has more of a chill vibe that can disarm even monsters with time

and speaking of wolf Jack, yes he'd absolutely start sticking around the system more often for treats

especially when you consider Marc gives me dog person vibes he'd probably cave at some point

Elsa sighs, rolls her eyes, and points this out to the boys

Ted just wheeze-laughs

oh Ted has the time of his life teasing Jack for it

Elsa, too

I love this so much words can't do it justice

my general idea of the WBN crew is that they are a tight squad and teasing is just a given

"I'm not that dog-like!" *scratches behind ear*

it's good-natured teasing. if anyone crosses a line, the other party backs off and apologizes, if indirectly

Elsa: you're jealous that Stony gets all of Marc's attention, aren't you?

Jack, sweating: I don't know what you're talking about

aight we've touched on Jack being jealous for attention

aside from hanging around the system more in wolf form, he also tries to spend more time with them as a human

preferably outside of Bloodstone manor

first off, he's not jealous of that thing you guys, he's noooooootttt

and secondly, since Stony can be surprisingly quiet for a giant monster he can lurk the house and sneak up on anybody

that essentially means it constantly tries to sneak up on Jack and he can smell when it's near and that freaks him out

also I headcanon that Jack likes bubble tea and routinely tries to get the system to try it but they're obstinate

he lets up on Steven when he says he's vegan but the others aren't so lucky

plenty of puppy eyes

also it just occurred to me that it would be double funny if Layla also started showering Stony with affection and Marc was secretly a little jealous as well

he would never admit it ofc but he also wouldn't have a grudge against it bc hello???? it's Stony

the thing kinda has a soft spot for Marc bc of the treats (and that first encounter bc I think it would appreciate bravery, somehow)

Does Stony like Jack? Why is he sneaking up on him?

I can almost imagine Stony as a scary/annoying kid hanging around Jack looking for attention. Maybe

Bubble tea! 😆

So who exactly is the WBN crew? Elsa, Jack, Ted, Stony 😂, the system, and Layla? Anyone else?

I can only see Elsa and Jack being at the manor full time, or at least a lot. Being 200 yrs old, Jack must have a few places... unless he's largely itinerant. And Ted has to guard the nexus in the Everglades

the WBN crew are Elsa, Jack and Ted while Layla and the system are the MK crew

Stony would initially stalk him bc "monster bad" but he does eventually realise that's not the case for Jack but still does the stalking bc he is in fact A Little Shit

what are the other naughty things Stony does?

Stony usually bumps into things or pokes them bc he's curious about his surroundings

this leads to the endearing cat-like behaviour of "push things off the ledge and see what happens" and what happens is that sometimes things break

Lol Stony. He's like a cat and a dog

exactly

Does Stony have anything like catnip? Stonynip? lol

Stoned Stony

The bad jokes/puns write themselves 😆

maybe bloodroot (sanguinaria). It grows wild out here.

I'm not sure he'd have something like that tbh (plus the bloodroot sounds like it could actually hurt him but who knows, we're talking about an eldritch being spawned from a frekin jewel)

which would be funnier: Jack never getting over Stony and freaking out every time he saw it or getting to a point where he just sees it and goes "not you again"

I think the "why not both" option is for him to be in "freak out every time" mode for, like, weeks, then slowly transition to "oh god, you again"

from "oh god, you again"(terrified) to "oh god, you again"(exasperated)

Maybe the MK system and Elsa have an intervention with still-freaking-out-over-Stony Jack to encourage him to chill. If he doesn't he'll repeatedly have coronaries, heal up, then have more. Ugh. 😂

oh yeah, poor him

constantly on the verge of a heart attack

Swan's reaction to Stony would be fun to play with, too.

lmaooo yeah

I fully picture him agreeing with Jack at first that Stony is freaky but then he sees how it treats Elsa and he's like "actually you know what? this thing's chill, I don't even have to clean up after it"

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

Congrats to anyone who got this far!

There's a backstory to the title of this post. It'll be revealed in a later one.

Also, for anyone who wants to read more Stony hijinx, see my short fic "Something Awful This Way Comes."

[ghost-town-story]

Slides in nonchalantly

Gimme the 49 special please :3

The 49 special is Wake the Dead by blessthefall, which is a secret 2-for-1 deal! (mostly cause I like 'em both and didn't wanna choose between them hehe)

(ps content warnings for plenty of talk of death and/or necromancy. In case the song title didn't tip you off lol)

Spotify Wrapped Prompts! Send me a number and I’ll write a snippet based on the corresponding song!

(So first up we have a bit of Despereaux and a more villainous version of Revenant, based off of the title)

Revenant darted around a corner, disappearing into the rising fog. Despereaux only had enough time to hope this wasn't a bad idea before he turned the corner after them.

Almost immediately, the fog seemed to swallow him whole, the world turning white and silent in an instant. Despereaux slowed to a walk, listening for Revenant, but he could barely even hear his own footsteps.

"Revenant!" he yelled, his voice loud and shocking in the unnatural silence. "Come out and fight me head on, you coward!"

Revenant laughed, sounding like they were standing right behind Despereaux. He whirled around, but only saw empty air and eddying fog.

"Oh little hero," Revenant purred, still sounding way too close for Despereaux's comfort. "Didn't anybody ever tell you not to yell so loud?"

A sudden breeze blew past Despereaux, slowly clearing out the fog and revealing the unmistakable shapes of headstones around him. Cursing how easily he'd followed them into the trap, Despereaux turned until he found Revenant.

The necromancer tilted their head, eyes crinkling in a way that suggested they were grinning behind their mask. "After all," they said, their hand lighting up with a familiar bone-white glow, "you don't want to wake the dead."

~

(And for the second, a bit of René being forced back into their old hero role, based off the lyrics)

By the time the elevator reached the 24th floor, they had managed to somewhat slip back into their old hero persona. But after so long away it felt faker than ever, just a facade of glitter and sunshine glued over something that might have been a person once.

Sirona took a deep breath and exited the elevator. The route to the office was still ingrained in their head, and bile rose in their throat with every step that took them closer to it.

Finally, after what felt like too short an eternity, Sirona reached the office. They took a deep breath, then raised a hand to knock.

"Come in."

Just the sound of his voice was enough to activate a sort of flight-or-fight response, the sudden adrenaline pricking uncomfortably at their skin. Sirona gritted their teeth and forced themself to open the door.

Lodestone sat behind his desk as usual, but to Sirona's relief he wasn't alone in the office. Raven stood just behind him, and while she likely wouldn't do or say much, her very presence would likely keep Lodestone more in check than if he was alone.

"Ah Sirona, lovely to see you again," Lodestone said, standing up as Sirona entered the office.

"Cut the shit," Sirona said, "and sit the fuck down." They were grateful that their vocoder hid whatever waver their voice might have had.

Lodestone frowned, but he reluctantly sat back down. "Very well then," he said. "I'll cut to the chase. It is well past time you return to your duties and the team. I'll let you have the weekend to tie up any loose ends you may have, but I expect you to be back here on Monday."

Anger sparked in Sirona's chest at his words, at how he'd assumed they'd just fall back in line like a good little pet. Anger was good. It burned away some of the fear, at least.

"No."

The frown deepened. "That was not a request."

"And I'm not negotiating." Sirona leaned against the back of a chair, unwilling to sit and put themself any closer to Lodestone. "I know full well you want me back under your thumb, but I'm done with that shit. For all intents and purposes, Sirona died in that accident years ago."

"And yet you're standing here in front of me," Lodestone said dryly. But as his eyes swept over them, Sirona could practically read his expression. They had broken every one of his dumb appearance rules, and he wasn't happy his perfect little healer didn't look so perfect and angelic anymore.

A bark of something that was almost laughter escaped their throat. "Do I look like a hero to you?" they demanded. "Do I look like anything more than a ghost?"

"But you're still alive," Raven pointed out.

Sirona looked at her with the most deadpan stare they could muster. "Am I?" they retorted. "Or did I just resurrect a corpse to make you--to make him happy?"

"That's enough," Lodestone snapped, even as Raven looked away with a queasy look on her face. "Monday. Or else. Do you understand?"

Sirona's heart thudded somewhere in the vicinity of their throat, the background city noise drowned out by the rush of blood in their ears. But they swallowed hard, gripped the back of the chair tightly, and straightened up. "Yes," they said. "But let me make myself clear: Sirona. Is. Dead. And there's nothing you or any other hero can do to change that."

With that, they turned on their heel and stalked for the door, hoping that neither hero could tell just how badly they felt they were shaking.

"Sirona," Lodestone growled, and Sirona instinctively flinched. But they'd made sure they had no metal on their clothes or body for Lodestone to grab onto, and even as things rattled behind them, they didn't feel his powers dragging them back.

They paused by the door as one more thought occurred. "The least you can do is show some respect and leave the dead to their rest," they said over their shoulder.

[rosesradio]

ok, quando anunciaram a terceira temporada de hsmtmts eu senti que portwell ía terminar.

Então minha cabeça foi direto, "pelo menos eles poderiam ter uma cena de beijo enquanto choram" eu sei, é brega e dramático, mas é o tipo de breguice que eu consigo gostar, por ser bagunçado e confuso e eu acho que devo ter visto só uma vez, então estou com vontade de consumir mais disso.

Você pode fazer o que quiser com essa informação.

Obs.: Nada contra beijo na chuva, mas me causa entranheza e parece ser desconfortável .

(for @ririiswhoiam so you can see this amongst the loads of st stuff i've been reblogging--)

ok, when they announced the third season of hsmtmts i felt portwell was going to end.

So my head went straight, "at least they could have a kissing scene while crying" I know, it's cheesy and dramatic, but it's the kind of cheesy I can enjoy, because it's messy and messy and I think I must have seen it. just once, so I feel like consuming more of it.

You can do whatever you want with this information.

Obs.: Nothing against kissing in the rain, but it makes me feel uncomfortable and seems uncomfortable.

yeah, for me i didn't necessarily think portwell was going to end going into s3 because i was just, like, a regular fan that thought portwell was cute. then ricky came in at the end and i kinda immediately knew, but i clung to hope anyway

and if you don't like the kissing in the rain trope, i imagine how you feel about the rina rain kiss theory, based on that thing that was posted about the set? lol

(but i'd have to agree with you. i've never participated in that trope in real life 🥲 but i think it's cute and would write it, but practically speaking it does look uncomfortable. if the rina girlies are right about their theory though, good for them, sounds cute--)

anyways, here’s a drabble for you, sorry it took approx. 17 million years (one week)

Gina could hear him through the door.

The doors here had to be about twenty feet tall, the wood polished and the handles a gleaming gold. But there was no...art to them. Her mother had taken her to theaters all across the country, and Gina had observed the design that went into everything, that made them beautiful. Here, at the Success School (EJ had called it the "Suck School" the entire way here, which he seemed to be under the mistaken impression was clever) everything was...lifeless. The halls had art, sure, but they were all portraits of old presidents or business executives. It was unreasonably cold in the building--on the tour, Mr. Caswell said the cold kept students awake and ready to work.

Gina hugged herself close in her hoodie, frowning. She could hear him, still. Yelling. It didn't scare her, not really, but it was unsettling. EJ had been down this whole trip--Gina wouldn't be happy either, under the circumstances. He'd asked her to wait outside, and she intended to give him as long as it took. She tapped her foot, nerves crawling as she looked over the railing to the floor below. There, she could see students--from about early high school through college-aged, walking down the hall in orderly sections. They weren't exactly...marching in line, though the students moving left stayed on the right side of the hall, and vice versa. There was no mingling. It was unnatural.

EJ didn't belong at a place like this. He probably knew that from the start. He told her he would have explained that on the phone, had he been willing to be on the line that long.

Suddenly, the door burst open, and EJ was walking out briskly towards the stairwell.

"EJ, wait!" Mr. Caswell called. "You can't be serious about this. Any kid would be lucky to have the opportunities I'm giving you--"

"Then give them to someone who wants them!" EJ fired back. "Someone who needs them. Not just to the privileged kids whose parents pay you a fortune under the table. If you can't help me," EJ paused, his breath stuttering, his face flushed. "Try helping out someone else for once..." With that, he started down the stairwell, as if worried his father would chase him, grab him.

Mr. Caswell looked at Gina, then, causing her heart to leap with a stab of anxiety. For a moment, she'd forgotten she was even here, and not just watching something she wasn't supposed to. Which, in this case, was probably true.

Gina frowned, hand on the stairwell, watching EJ's retreating figure for a moment. She looked back at Mr. Caswell, who seemed...exasperated. Gina couldn't find it within herself to feel bad for him.

"You know," she started, her voice distant from herself, as if she were having a dream or watching a movie. "If you listened to him and appreciated the talents he had, you might've been able to save this." she nodded in EJ's direction. "You only have yourself to blame." With that, she hurried down the stairwell to join EJ, not at all interested in further conversation with Mr. Caswell.

---

"I'm sorry," Gina said once she got in the car, hugging her knees. "That was..."

"Horrible?" EJ filled in with something of a bittersweet smile, and Gina nodded. "Yeah, it was. I'm sorry you saw any of that. I shouldn't have brought you with me, I just--"

"No!" Gina shook her head. "That's not what I meant at all. I want to be here, through the good and bad. Because, like...yeah, I'm your girlfriend, and you wanted the trip to be...somewhat romantic. But underneath that, I'm your friend. I want to be here for you, like you're there for me."

"I can't believe I thought this trip was gonna be romantic,” EJ sniffed, laughing softly as he wiped his eyes.

“It was!” Gina said. “It totally was. I mean, that diner--”

“Chocolate dipped strawberry cake, which, I have to admit, was pretty amazing,” EJ chimed in.

“And you were convinced the day was ruined because we were running on about a gallon of gas, but then what did we find two minutes from the diner?” Gina asked with raised eyebrows.

“A gas station,” EJ nodded. “Which I’m still convinced came out of nowhere, like something supernatural...”

“And then the hotel, with the hot tub--”

“That we had to share with all those kids splashing around,” EJ fired back, but he seemed amused nonetheless.

“Yeah, that wasn’t...great,” Gina laughed. “But it was still pretty romantic to me. So thank you.”

“Thank you,” EJ replied. “Seriously, I don’t--”

“Elton John, don’t get choked up,” Gina shook her head, her eyes welling up. “Because if you cry, I’m gonna cry. But if you need to...that’s okay. I get it. You don’t have to keep pretending just for me...” Gina leaned in, smiling sweetly as she wiped the tears from EJ’s cheeks, and he gave her a weak smile in return.

EJ then leaned in further--a little uncomfortably so, Gina noticed, because of the center console--and pressed his lips to hers. Gina kissed him back, fingers running through his hair for a moment before pulling away.

“We still have the whole way back to look forward to,” Gina said softly. “And every day after that. We’ll figure it out together, okay?” she took his hand in hers, giving a gentle squeeze.

EJ nodded, squeezing her hand back. “Yeah, together.”

[prismbearer]

Sylv & Emet-Selch?

Thank you for the ask! :)

Ah, okay so... This is messy. Sorry in advance, thus readmore...

I can't really say I "ship" them in a normal capacity because frankly, it's more of a contentious narrative foil that makes them both angry in SHB proper.

As someone I initially started as essentially, the basic Meteor Survivor background (aka no memory of her life prior to Dalamud bc I had no familiarity with FF and jumped right in) she struggles with her personal identity and not having a home to return to that she can remember. At a basic level, she's always felt she failed the people she lost or left behind from whatever life/childhood she had before. (I am playing with re-introducing her to those connections, but I am uncertain if I should.)

Given what is likely a guarded reception to being a random duskwight with no known ties waking up in the Twelveswood, her initial curiosity and wonder about the world became somewhat disenchanted (alongside of course what was probably a chaotic road to recovery following the devastation). She embraced the adventurer concept versus trying to force a home in Gridania and after being unable to find anything about her past within that setting, eventually gives up on the notion all-together and becomes more stoic and reserved over time. I HC that her little pseud is adapted from the Sylphs actually lol. Anyway.

I do like that narratively on the first, WoL wakes up in a new world in the woods. It's a nice mirror to post-Dalamud for Sylv to me. She wakes with the same curiosity and wonder that is quickly smothered by the reality of the situation again.

I really do think that Sylv's typical stoicism and silent resilience might disgust ES at a personal level. While she did get more expressive in HW, time and distance from it through SB and then the strain of her situation on the First make her fall back into the silent stoicism with the polite exterior to cope. She sees her Self as separate from her Role for a long time.

Her Azem (Thesis), of course, was more of a true concept of freedom of self expression to the extent of being either charming or impossible to deal with. So this "faded", unnatural version of someone he loved, who in his mind, is seemingly too weak to be or express themselves, lacking in personal connection or motivation to push beyond the boundaries of their situation... To see them as someone who is All Duty would probably be alarming, off beat.

And yet, does ES not have his own differences from who he was? Is he just as unrecognizable to those who once loved him? He is still infuriated of course, but with the hue of her soul, and on occasion the heroism that should not have to be slips and she is less guarded, more traits of Azem etc. Basically I think if they'd have any positive interactions at all they'd be inconsistent. Hot and Cold. And not just because of ES. Their relationship is inverted in personal presentation from the past, and also warped in motivation. (But still I do not see it on level with some of the dark ES content despite how I explain it. Canonically dark, not more so. I do not think he'd personally want to cause her undue suffering in a physical manner. She is making choices and he is observing. She has seemingly become more reserved and he has seemingly become more expressive.)

Sylv also hates herself in this manner and sees coping like this as weak but ultimately prioritizes doing what must be done over her personal feelings on the matter. At this stage she still sees her sense of self as completely separate from the WoL and to be of less significance than her path. (HW for her is Self > WoL as she lost the blessing and felt she was making her choices herself vs guided by a deity etc. She was initially determined to find a sense of balance, but lost sight of that through SB. Mostly as she reconnects with the Scions and a greater purpose and prioritizes personal connections more internally.) But frankly the distance/dissonance from a sense of self would be something that ES would find uncanny if not abominable. (Tho this is not so dissimilar from his coping mechanisms over the millenium?) So frankly, I think he'd needle and provoke intentionally, and then I presume without proper reaction, maybe even do so maliciously out of disappointment. (Toxic bitter resentment and also, reluctant hope cycle.)

Still, her strength is an indication that the rejoinings are working As Intended. He'd have the canonical faith etc, but I think in private interactions, they'd mostly be deliberately provoking each other or maybe quietly commiserating. Over time Sylv would become less reserved bc of the burden and pain of the light, and more honest/expressive with him (in a hot/cold way) which would delight ES but still it wouldn't be True Enough for him. She struggles to even keep up the polite hero stuff with the general populace the further into SHB she gets, so as that deteriorates with the light, and she feels more isolated, its more about pushing through to what she is trying not to perceive as herself being another inevitable heroic sacrifice, like Ardbert. She gets more and more upset about the idea of being martyred in the back of her mind, which makes her doubt Hydaelyn etc. Sylv struggles as much with the concept of sacrifice as her Azem.

I do not have a lightwarden AU for Sylv bc to be frank I do not think even with as toxic as I see their connection, that it is a potential reality. Sylv is afraid it is, but I just don't see it coming to that. Far more likely, her death and the release of the light I think. With them, even with the toxicity, it is mutual and supportive--in a warped way. I do not feel that ES would want to see even this strained version of Azem torn asunder or corrupted completely by the light. Her suffering is acceptable as it is chosen, as she is actively choosing to support the path of Hydaelyn etc, her death is acceptable as it is a choice, but not the destruction of the accumulation of all his work. (also tbh I just don't have it in me to go full light corruption on her...)

On his end, I see it as being presented with Sylv as a test of how successful the rejoinings have been essentially. In his mind, he is only ascertaining how effective their (the Ascians) efforts have been, though I do personally feel some part of him (sentimental constructs and all) that was still able to love those he lost, plotted the alternative path (however theoretically unlikely) that led to what would happen with his demise.

Frankly, his death is a part of her development into understanding she needs to try harder to define herself within and outside of her role, though it isn't until through a chunk of EW that she starts to realize that who she is as WoL is not as divorced from her self of Self as she assumed. That these motivations and actions as the "hero" are in fact aligned with her nature, and that resisting that out of ignorance and fear only made her miserable. EW brings her full circle at the end wherein she realizes she is and can be a complex person with or without memory or history or duty.

There was something about feeling like ES saw her and understood her, even if at the worst of herself, that she didn't want to lose. She deeply mourned ES without really understanding why, though in her mind she'd destroyed him beyond any hope of his survival I guess. Him helping with Elidibus is confirmation of his survival, which helps her let go of her building (misguided) resentment. But the promise to continue, to move forward and Remember keeps her from deteriorating, and instead inspires her to be more forthright. It's a wake up call etc. SHB calls for the breakdown of these internal divisions of self, and forces her to recover or fall apart; to see herself and all things as a functional part of a whole. ES is both antagonist and guide for her in this. She loves him for the role he plays, but also hates him for it. She is happy to feel some sense of belonging and a potential concept of home or beginning, even if it is not quite right and no longer exists, but is also uncomfortable with it. It's all dichotomy and longing and dissatisfaction and growth. But ultimately despite everything, she feels fond-- especially after he dies. And then Elpis is like, a whole thing.

Anyway, tldr it's just canon to me, but it is so good.

IF I AM pushing for shippy, I would probably have to consider her feelings for Ysayle never being articulated and her regrets over that. If I did, she might be more reckless abandon without finesse, and feel desperate to avoid regrets over impulses and feelings she would typically restrain herself in. I could theoretically make it happen. But I wouldn't AU it beyond canon probably for ending with SHB etc.

[pearblossommina]

ToG Read-A-Long, Empire of Storms, day 8

Ch 45

“And maybe the fact that Dorian could even look at a female with interest after seeing Sorscha beheaded was a miracle.”

I wanna be real clear. The reason Dorian x Manon kinda makes me uncomfy has nothing to do with Dorian’s heartbreaking loss of his former lover Sorscha. I support Dorian finally getting a chance to heal, to change, to grow as a character, to return to his slut era if that’s what he wants to do, and I know Sorscha would be happy to see his heart healing too. Manon is really hot and amazing and Dorian should be beyond thrilled that she would ever consider being with someone like him. I just… don’t like how random it feels? I don’t know how else to say it, lol. It feels like everybody else has some chemistry, an underlying reason to be in love… Even Aedion and Lysandra have a certain dynamic. Manon and Dorian don’t really, and they kinda went from 0 to 100 in the last chapter and it felt really forced and unnatural.

“Dorian had once been notorious when it came to women, but this ... Aelin snorted, wishing Chaol were present, if only to see the look on his face.”

He’d be upset, and then he’d want a turn with Manon, because he likes to date everyone Dorian dates. He’s very normal and that’s a very healthy way to treat your ultimate platonic best friend who you love…

Ch 46

I got kinda bored in this chapter

I’m genuinely not sure how

It’s like, the action can only escalate so far, ya know? I need a dang minute to breathe. I thought we were gonna have a nice quiet time on a sailboat. With the only conflict being the interpersonal conflict of Dorian wanting to set Manon free… and Aelin wanting to not set Manon free…. And Rowan wanting to do whatever Aelin wants to do…. And no fierce ferocious demons, or bloodhounds, or ilken, until we, y’know, get where we’re going.

Idk lol

I just don’t have time to care about the high stakes action element, not right now for whatever reason.

Ch 47

I’m glad they all won, everybody relatively unhurt.

Fenrys seems to be the most at risk of dying but I don’t really know him that well, so, I’m not attached to him if he does go.

A little bit of a moment for Aedion with his estranged father, aww, how sweet.

Dude, are Lysandra and Aedion ever gonna talk about their impending wedding?

Ch 48

I wish I could be normal about Dorian and Manon, lol. They still aren’t doing it for me.

“He tried to scent her, but the vomit was too overpowering, the space too small and full of brine. He stumbled back a step, shutting out the thoughts.”

OMG. ALIEN. He has pregnancy trauma! You better be hurling because you’re scared. Or else you better be prepared to deal with the fetus… Rowan cannot handle the concept of a pregnant girl in eminent danger. And you guys are pretty much ALWAYS in eminent danger. Get yourself some plan B, and talk to your boyfriend about conceiving a child when you’re ready and when there’s not a scary war happening.

Ch 49

Elide and Lorcan. Nice to see you again.

They stepped off the river and right back into eminent danger.

Ch 50

I’m so glad Elide has the sheer rage and righteous anger inside her to murder that thing!

She did it for Manon. I miss Elide and Manon. I think they are a way better ship than Dorian and Manon, lol. My heart is just gay, and Manon is just a dream.

(I think Elide and Lorcan have pretty good chemistry, and I don’t mind reading about them. But deep down inside I guess I’m still shipping Elide and Manon.)

(I know it’ll never happen, but it SHOULD have)

Ch 51

“They had only discussed the matter once last week. When she'd crawled off him, panting and coated in sweat, and he'd asked if she was taking a tonic. She merely told him no.”

Perfect!

I’m glad you guys talked about it like responsible adults. But um. I’m still team don’t-plan-your-pregnancy-around-war, lmao. Maybe try to keep some Plan B around, at least until the Erawan is defeated, and good triumphs over evil, and you can, you know, carry a pregnancy to term without giving your boyfriend severe PTSD

“She'd kept the thoughts about it at bay. But now, with that flower-smelling wyvern vanishing over the horizon.

The last piece of the Wing Leader had vanished with him.”

😭

NO

Why!

I hate this

I’m way too emotionally invested in Abraxos and Manon…

NO! Please don’t go! You can’t do this to me!

[hale-of-stiles-heart]

25. “You weren’t suppose to see that.” geraskier. perhaps geralt ashamed of some "monsterous" attribute of being a witcher? or maybe creature!jaskier who's been trying to keep it hidden?? or something else entirely, up 2 u :p

Thank you so much for the prompt! I apologize if it's a little rushed, I wrote it all in one sitting lol

"You weren't supposed to see that."

The words are accompanied by the taste of the griffin's blood, still warm though the creature lies dead at Geralt's feet, aquiline eyes staring up at him unseeing and glazed over. More of its blood coats Geralt's front from chin to sternum, black in the moonlight and drying on the leather of his chestpiece.

Standing on the edge of the thicket of trees and thorny brambles where Geralt had finally managed to take the griffin down is Jaskier, one hand pressed to the side of a sycamore tree and the other curled in a fist and held to his chest. His eyes are wide, with shock and fear and concern, and soon Geralt fears disgust.

He turns and dips his head so he won't have to witness the hardening of those soft blue eyes, won't have to watch as Jaskier's shock at nearly being discovered by an enraged griffin gives way to repulsion of the monster that had ripped the griffin's throat out. It'll be bad enough when Geralt catches the scent on the evening breeze, the gut-roiling reek of disgust he's so intimately accustomed to after decades of walking the Path.

He spits a bit of tissue out, grimacing at the feel of more lingering in his mouth, stuck between his teeth like bits of gristle, canines coated with blood. It had been his only option, ripping the griffin's throat out with his teeth, one he typically wouldn't resort to had he not lost his swords in the prolonged tussle with the griffin.

But armed with nothing else save his trophy knife, woefully ineffectual against a live griffin, Geralt had done the only thing he could and sunk his teeth into flesh and blood and the griffin's thick mane, killing it before it could skewer him with its beak. He hadn't realized Jaskier had wandered away from camp until he'd risen from the griffin's supine form, freezing in his tracks with the griffin's tongue still in his mouth when he spotted Jaskier standing in the shadows, gawking at him with his big blue eyes blown wide.

Geralt has done well to hide the more monstrous parts of himself from Jaskier. Doesn't eat raw meat in front of him or let his elongated canines show too much when he speaks, keeps his pupils round and human-like when the light allows it though he can do little for their unnatural color, has never wanted to look the predator he truly is. Has never wanted Jaskier to look at him like a monster.

He kneels beside the griffin, keeping his head down to avoid looking at Jaskier as he pulls his knife from its sheath and begins the work of cutting the griffin's head free of its shoulders, a trophy for the wine baron who had posted the contract. Later, once the sun has risen above the horizon, he will collect his swords from wherever they've been scattered and direct Roach back to Beauclair to collect his pay. And there he will part with Jaskier for what he is sure will be the last time.

It's always been inevitable, a fact that has always lingered in the back of his mind during his time with Jaskier. It was always bound to happen; perhaps Jaskier would find a new muse and devote himself to them rather than follow a witcher across the most dangerous haunts of the Continent or perhaps he would finally settle down with one of his many lovers who would be lucky to call him husband.

Or this. Jaskier would finally see the most bestial parts of Geralt and finally discover his missing common sense, departing Geralt's life like dandelion seeds whisked away by the wind but remaining in his foolish heart like the most stubborn of weeds.

He's just sunk his knife into the meat of what remains of the griffin's neck to start cutting when he hears the sound of boots moving across the soft grass and closes his eyes with a rough sigh. Then he stills because the footsteps are creeping closer rather than running in the opposite direction.

A hand alights on his shoulder and he drops his knife like it's burned him, head turning so fast he hears a joint crack in his neck. Jaskier is standing beside him, face half shrouded in darkness and absolutely angelic in the moonlight, eyes practically glowing.

There is no disgust in his voice when he speaks, no fear or malice or shread of any misgivings, only concern as he simply says, "Geralt?"

Geralt rises to his feet for a lack of anything better to do. For lack of anything better to say, he says again, "You weren't supposed to see that."

To his surprise Jaskier just lets out a soft laugh, reaching up to tuck a few strands of hair behind Geralt's ear. His fingertips graze the side of Geralt's forehead, then trail down his jaw, the touch as soft and affectionate as ever. Despite the horrific sight of the griffin's death. Despite the blood on Geralt's armor, on his face.

"I'm not scared of you, Geralt," Jaskier says plainly, voice whisper-soft. "Nor am I disgusted or any other thing you might think I am. I know you, I know who you are, and what you are."

His fingers stray down to Geralt's medallion, coated in blood but easily wiped clean by the swipe of Jaskier's thumb across its surface, the silver glinting in the moonlight. Jaskier's eyes return to Geralt's, a sweet smile quirking his lips up. "You are a witcher but more than that you are my friend and I will not love you less for the parts of you that make you you."

Geralt can only gape at him, his words reverberating in his head like thunder, electrifying him like a bolt of lightning. He feels as though he has been carved open but rather than pain he only feels warmth, flowers blooming in his lungs as his blood sings.

"Now, I would be more than happy to help you collect the baron's trophy but this doublet is from the Silk Islands and I'm to perform at court in a few day's time," Jaskier informs him, though Geralt highly doubts Jaskier would truly be happy sawing off a griffin's head. "So I am going to return to camp, check on our dear lady Roach, and wait for you to return."

Geralt's nods mutely, more unsure than ever what to say. Jaskier's smile does not waver, even as he takes one of Geralt's gloved hands in his own and raises it to his lips to press a kiss to Geralt's knuckles, paying no mind to the blood that stains his lips.

confession starter prompts

[dickwheelie]

have a short hallowoods fic about yaretzi rescuing polly. i wanna post this before ep84 drops tomorrow just in case it becomes completely not canon (and i might have missed some canon details anyway lol). blease enjoy.

content warning for mild descriptions of gore

______________

Apollyon had never believed in angels.

He should know; he had been one once. Oh, it was a long time ago, but Polly doubted things had ever really improved up there in the Higher Offices. Even if the lot of them had suddenly decided one day to put down their halos and harps and actually do something productive for once, he didn't think salvation for the fallen would be a top priority on the list.

(To be perfectly clear, he didn't believe in demons either, but at least with them you knew where you stood.)

Now, as he lay in a bloody, unfashionable heap in the mud of what had once been Queens, Polly settled into the knowledge that salvation was not coming, and never would. The avenging angel above him wasn't even the genuine article; he was only a puppet, a pathetic, small man who thought that being used by a higher power was the same as being respected by one. Just you wait, Polly could not say with the ruins of his silver tongue, as soon as you kill me, they'll be done with you. You'll be tossed aside, thrown away, where all of the light they've ever given you will sour . . .

The work for the Industry had sustained him, for a time. But that, too, had scraped and seared at his soul, or what was left of it, and it wasn't until he had built his own family that he had ever understood what that word meant. But now they were gone, too, and it was all his fault.

Rick Rounds raised a mangled, arboreous arm to strike him down one final time, and Polly smiled weakly, and closed his eyes to the light above.

No, there were no angels here. Just the detritus of a dying world, and a foolish man, and a foolish, foolish demon, who had let the best, most beautiful thing in his life slip through his fingers.

But then Polly heard something that made him reconsider. A low, familiar growl, somewhere off to his right. He peeked one eye open, and saw that Rick Rounds, arm still poised to strike, was looking off into the shadows of a nearby concrete shell that had once been the lobby of a high-rise. Polly carefully followed his gaze, and gasped aloud as he saw a sight he'd never dared hope to see again.

The sight of a starwolf at their full, glorious height, fangs bared and yellow eyes glowing, fur caked in the blood of their prey, muscles and claws and fur sparking with power, would inspire instinctual fear in any creature for whom mortality was a passing concern, and for demons most of all. But for Polly, the sight of this starwolf, his starwolf, inspired only a deep, rushing spike of relief, and yes, of love--more than he had ever felt for anyone above or below.

"Yaretzi," he whispered with his wrecked voice, and he knew that she heard him, and understood.

Yaretzi roared, loud enough to shake the ruins of New York, and her claws dug into the cracked concrete like an excavator. Her fangs flashed, still bloody from whatever had fed her, and it must have been something very powerful indeed, Polly thought.

"Let him go," Yaretzi said, her voice as big as she was, as big as the span of the star-flecked sky which swam in Polly's vision.

"You," Rick Rounds grunted, and he stood, backing away from Polly. He brandished his arm in Yaretzi's direction, as new bark and roots grew unnaturally fast, dwarfing his own body, which looked weaker by comparison than when they had first arrived here. "Devil-wolf. I thought I already killed you."

Yaretzi made a sound that might have once been called a laugh. "To kill a starwolf is an honor the likes of you will never know," she said, and she did not give Rick Rounds time to reply before she leaped towards him, easily clearing the walls of the fallen building and landing with a cracking thud that shook the earth.

When the dust cleared, Polly could see that Rick Rounds was lying on his back in the rubble, pinned by one of Yaretzi's front paws, which was nearly as big as Rick was. It looked as though she could crush him with a single downward push, but when Polly looked again he saw that Rick was pushing back with his tree arm with such strength it was preventing Yaretzi from crushing him, keeping her paw hovering a few inches above his chest.

Polly tried, in vain, to raise himself up on one elbow, but his body did not seem to be responding to his commands very well as of late. If only he had the strength to--to do anything.

"Devil-wolf," Rick Rounds said to Yaretzi, his voice choked and thick, and Polly knew his mouth must be full of blood from the impact of being knocked to the ground by what essentially amounted to a living bulldozer. "The demon is--mine. You're not gonna--save him now." Rick Rounds tried for a laugh, but it sounded more like a death rattle. Still, the bark of his arm did not falter, even though the rest of his body had been wrecked against the broken concrete under him. "I've been--blessed, by the Lord, and He will not let me fail. He has given me power, and He will not let me--"

"Shut up, you pathetic stain of a man," Yaretzi said, and raised the paw that had been pushing Rick into the ground, and claws extended, she swatted him away. The impact sent him flying across the piles of broken concrete, and he slammed into several of them as he went, like a discarded rag doll. Finally, he came to rest in a little patch of dirt at the base of a crumbling brick wall. With a single leap, Yaretzi was upon him again, and this time she did not strike out.

She did not have to. Even from a distance, Polly could see that Rick Rounds wasn't faring well. His body lay broken and battered, and the only part of him that was not bloodied was the arm that was not his own. Even as Rick struggled to raise his head to look up at Yaretzi where she cast a shadow over him, his tree arm stretched up towards her, ready to fight again, always ready to fight until its host had no life left to give . . .

The mass of bark and roots shot out at Yaretzi, pummeling her squarely in the chest, and then her muzzle, and then her throat, and then her eyes . . . but unlike before Yaretzi was not thrown across the ground, and her stance did not even falter. There was no unnatural flux between human and wolf as there had been at the ruins of the carnival, and no blood except for that which still dripped from Yaretzi's maw. 

Yaretzi stared down at Rick Rounds, and her gums drew back and her teeth flashed, and beneath her Rick Rounds' eyes went wide with fear. He murmured something, and Polly was too far away to hear it, but he wouldn't have been surprised if it were a prayer. Whatever it was, he did not get the chance to finish it. Yaretzi was upon him then, her claws and teeth tearing through his skin to reveal his innards, transforming his torso into a fountain of red gore, painting her muzzle with it. The tree which had eaten Rick Rounds' flesh trembled and began to crumble apart, shivering with what might have been despair as its host screamed in agony, his wide eyes fixed on the sky above, and for a moment there was a flash of green amongst the red, and then Rick Rounds grew still under Yaretzi's paws.

For a moment there was nothing but the sound of dripping blood, like the silence before an encore. Polly wished he could still applaud.

Instead there was the slow shuffling of Yaretzi moving across the ruined street to where Polly lay, and when she looked down at him, her eyes were golden and pained.

"Yaretzi," Polly said, his voice almost gone, and he tried to smile for her, though he dreaded to think what that charming mouth of his looked like now. He reached up his single, feeble hand to her muzzle. "You did it."

Yaretzi did not reply, only drew a large tongue across his face and what remained of his arm, and he laughed weakly. It sounded more like a cough. "I love you, too," he said.

"Apollyon . . ." This close, Yaretzi's voice was almost too loud, its rumble so deep Polly felt it in his bones. He wanted to crawl inside of it and fall asleep.

"I would ask how you're still alive . . . but I think I know the answer to that already. Who's the lucky demon?"

"Even on death's door, you talk too much," Yaretzi said, but she leaned forward and placed her huge forehead against his, and he felt his eyes slip closed. "I'll tell you everything later."

Polly wasn't quite done, though. "Mort?"

He felt Yaretzi's great head nod against his own. "He is safe, and not far away. I can smell him now. I will take us to him, once you are healed."

Polly tried not to scoff too hard, lest he dislodge a rib. "That's rather optimistic of you, my dear Yaretzi."

"Hush." Polly felt Yaretzi's huge, warm bulk lay down next to him, one great foreleg carefully resting on his other side, a makeshift shelter made of dark fur and a steadily beating heart. Polly allowed himself to be pulled close, to rest in the soft crook of Yaretzi's neck, her soft fur soaking up his dripping blood. "You will sleep now, and when you wake you and I will collect Mort, and then we will run together on the paths made by the starlight."

Polly peeked open a single eye, and saw something few from the Industry have ever been so fortunate to see: the smile of a starwolf. Yaretzi's yellow eyes were shining, and her lips pulled back to show her gleaming fangs. She looked like she might either eat him, or fight at his side for the rest of eternity. She looked like she might kill an angel and save a demon. She looked like she might do anything at all. Polly's exhausted heart leapt in his chest.

"Apollyon, have you ever ridden on the back of a starwolf?"

Polly did not believe in angels, and he barely believed in demons. Humans, he could take or leave depending on the day. For a long time, he had believed only in himself, and that had worked out fine, until it hadn't. Until he'd met a revenant who lived in a diver's suit, and a wolf who no longer ran amongst the stars.

He could believe in them, he thought. He could believe in them, and if he did he expected he'd never need to believe in anything else.

He closed his eyes again, and turned into the comforting dark of Yaretzi's fur, and believed that someday he would wake up, surrounded by his family, on a road paved with stars.