#i'm going to assume this is the same person who sent in the last wings prompt and I'M SORRY

[insertsickusername13]

Winged rich? Richjake fic? RICH WITH WINGS. Jake loves his birb bf

I promised myself I'd write this over the weekend, then suddenly it was almost ten thirty on Sunday night and I panicked. But Rich actually has wings this time!!! Last time I got a wings prompt I made it metaphorical and I'm still sorry for that but they're literal this time!!

Word count: 1.7k (I wrote that in like a half hour, y'all, please be impressed just by that)

Jake had been to countless balls. He’d danced with kings and queens, princes and princesses, his hands placed tactfully on their hips as undercurrents of cruel politics weaved their way through conversations. He’d be perfectly entertained by the dance, involved enough that his partner felt wanted; needed. Had he been apathetic, or God forbid he show even an inkling of like or love or obsession, there would’ve been an impassable chasm between them. They’d never talk, they’d never confess. 

But he’d mastered his vaguely beguiled smile to the point that everyone he spoke to, whether they be on the dance floor or lingering on the outskirts, spilled every bit of themselves they had to give into Jake's hands.

He’d listened to depictions of nights so dark a wife found herself with a knife between her husband’s ribs, he'd heard confessions of love—not always for Jake, though on more than one occasion he’d been on the receiving end of pleading and overzealous compliments meant to seduce him into whatever relationship they wanted, whether it be romantic or sexual—and a myriad of other illicit secrets. 

One commonality though, uttered by every person he’d ever lured into his halo of greatness, was simply that they hated their lives. 

They hated the secrets. The layers to each discussion, the betrayals in every friendship guaranteed when one befriended a royal or lord. Most of all, they wept over the pressure—insatiable, constant, stronger than Jake could ever hope to be—pressing in from all sides. One slip-up and a kingdom fell. One slip-up and a son lost his claim to the throne; a daughter was married off to a man she didn’t love. He’d listened to every reason anyone could offer to hate being rich and important, and he just didn’t get it. 

He was high on the pressure, on the implicit power that came along with it. He’d be perfect until he was at the top. He’d watch himself in the mirror until he’d memorized every microexpression his face could make and beat them into submission. He was a golden child. More—a golden prince, groomed to be a golden king with a golden crown. His word, no matter its intention, would always be an order. With the flick of his wrist, he’d be able to level cities, build nations, save lives. Just as soon as he became king.

“You’re going to be the most dangerous tyrant this century has seen,” Rich said from Jake’s bed. He was on his back, arms outstretched above him, using the light of Jake’s bedside candle to cast shadows on the walls. His pure white wings were splayed out, the tips spilling over the edge of the bed. They barely reached the floor. 

“What,” Jake shot back, “Wanting to be king makes me evil? I haven't done anything wrong.”

He turned to face Rich, his back pressed against the vanity he’d been staring into. 

“I’m pretty sure I watched you trick a ninety year old woman into giving away half her kingdom earlier this evening,” Rich responded. He seemed almost nonchalant about it. He’d chastise Jake for all his wickedness, pretending to care for Jake’s senate meetings and overly political tea parties, but all the while he’d be struggling to bend his middle finger the wrong way just to try and make a shadow bunny. 

“That old lady watched her people starve for two decades while she feasted and traveled and painted. I did that kingdom a favor.”

Rich laughed and the sound was so enticing in essence Jake found himself subconsciously drifting toward the bed, every duty he was supposedly so obsessed with already forgotten in lieu of watching Rich’s back arch and the feathers of his wings ruffle with amusement. 

“Right, and you did it for the kingdom, right? Not for the adrenaline? For the power?”

The bed creaked as Jake kneeled on it. He was hardly a prince and barely a man as he crawled across the mattress until he was hovering just over Rich. He was looking down at him, his hands placed carefully over Rich’s shoulders so he could brush up against the tops of his wings if he moved his thumb just right. He’d only do that once he needed an advantage. 

“Hm,” he whispered, ducking down so he could press a soft, distracted kiss on Rich’s collarbone, “And what’s wrong with wanting a little power? You sure seemed to appreciate it last night.”

“Oh, no, that’s not a fair comparison, young man. I am not proud of that.”

Jake hummed in response as he trailed his kisses upward until he was tracing stars on Rich’s cheeks and forehead with his lips. He was purposeful with every peck—he created constellations he knew Rich would love, ones that existed and ones that didn’t. He only paused long enough to say, “So what do I do to stop my supposed fate? No one’s gonna stop me, Richie. That throne will be mine. I’ll own it as a good man or a terrible one.”

Rich made to wrap his wings around Jake, capturing him in the moment. In a flurry of panic, Jake stuck his thumb out to brush against the soft feathers as they left his reach. He felt Rich shiver underneath him, followed by a smirk that was much less nefarious than loving. 

“Well, I think you need a good influence to keep you on the right path. The holy one, if you must.”

“Holy? So an angel, then?” 

Jake wanted to be cocky with it—he wanted this to be a conversation littered with innuendos, hopefully with the end goal of Rich naked, but there was something about the warmth that enveloped him when Rich’s wings wrapped around him, feathers brushing up against his spine as they pulled him closer in a protective hug that blocked out the mirror in the background and the crown strewed uselessly on the floor somewhere in the room. He didn’t need sex. He didn’t need a kingdom. He kind of just wanted this. And that, more than the initial desire he’d felt for Rich or the secret, lustful kisses stolen in the shadows of courtrooms and thronerooms, was forbidden. Not by society, not by Jake’s father, but by every promise he’d made to himself since he was a little kid. 

The throne. That was all he wanted. 

“An angel? If you so desire,” Rich said mindlessly as he fiddled with the collar of Jake’s shirt. 

“I guess I’ll just have to keep you forever,” Jake murmured, his throat dry with the admission. Rich knew many things—he knew what the castle looked like from the perspective of the sun, knew the power of the wind and the way clouds felt as you plummeted through them, but Jake had been careful to make sure Rich only knew that Jake wanted him in bed and nowhere else. He’d worked even harder to make sure Rich didn’t find out that was a lie. 

Rich’s eyes darted from Jake’s collar to his face, expression open with hope yet locked with the knowledge Jake probably said the same words to a duchess six hours earlier just to trick her into giving up a fleet of ships or trading rights with the jewel-filled kingdom to the East. 

“Oh yeah,” he said, humor creeping into his tone, “Forever. I’ll sit on your shoulder and condemn you for ever little mistake, I’ll make sure you feel guilty every time you send a soldier off to die, I’ll remind you every morning that peasants suffer while you sleep, that—”

“My little angel,” Jake whispered. He was careful not to hurt Rich as he shifted so he was laying next to him, using one of Rich’s wings as a pillow and the other as a blanket. “My goodness, my purity, my—”

“Purity? Pretty sure you took that a while ago, princess.”

Jake looked up at Rich—possibly the first time he’d ever looked up at anyone, a consequence of both his height and his status—and tried to convey, without having to physically say it, the earnestness of every word he was saying, the utter truth engraved in them, the desperation tearing him apart joint by joint, limb by limb, as he waited for Rich to realize he wasn’t joking. He needed the rejection or he needed confirmation that Rich really would stay. 

“My little angel,” he repeated because that was the only thing to say that wouldn’t ruin him. 

The muscles of Rich’s wings flexed underneath him. To distract himself from the apprehension of waiting, Jake traced the shape of every feather he could find. The first one sang of freedom, the second of heaven, the third of the exhilaration of fighting the winds and sky for more altitude. He’d never been jealous of Rich’s ability to fly and he wasn’t then, but he suddenly felt the urge to shrink himself down and crawl inside Rich’s mind just to see how he viewed it. What did Rich feel as he fell? As he flew? Did he think it was pretty? Prettier thank Jake? Was his breath stolen by the mountains or oceans, and would Jake be willing to destroy them all if it meant Rich would finally set his sights on Jake and be completely and utterly taken by his beauty?

“Okay,” Rich whispered, “Okay. Forever. I’ll be here forever.”

Jake smiled and nuzzled against the wings that formed a protective bubble from the corruption Rich was so convinced he’d fall victim to. 

“I’ll make you a throne," Jake promised, "right next to mine. I’ll rewrite the laws. We’ll get married just as soon as I make it legal.”

Within Rich’s enclosed sanctuary, Jake could hear both their hearts beating. Rich’s was a lot faster than Jake’s.

“Yeah?”

“I’ll dance with you at every ball. I’ll make you a crown. You’ll yell at every councilor who says something immoral or wrong and no one will be able to hurt you for it because they’ll have to go through me to do it. You’ll make everything safe, angel.”

Rich’s ecstasy bubbled out in the form of a laugh that drew Jake up to his lips. He pulled himself close, hands around Rich’s waist and their legs tangled together. Rich wings curled up around them, unstained by the gold Jake bled and softer than anything else he’d ever known. 

“I love you,” Jake breathed, almost shaking with the effort it took not to simply fall apart in Rich’s hold, to melt into whatever Rich wanted him to be, “My little angel, I love you,”

[goatchulu]

jealous! lucifer x gender neutral! reader

Genre: fluff, ig? slight smut in the end.

Fandom: obey me!

Prompt: you find yourself in a fake relationship, and now you're introducing your "boyfriend" to the demom brothers. they don't take it so well, especially lucifer.

Warnings: mentions of drinking, mentions of harassment and stalking, they make out in the end, reader's gender is unmentioned for your imagination (and inclusion).

lucifer takes another swig of his whisky, a slight burning sensation lingering on his throat. no matter the amount of alcohol he consumed that night, he couldn't escape the bitter feeling that was left inside his chest.

the two of you have been hitting it off pretty well for the past few weeks, if he could say so himself. the harmless complimenting and the subtle glancing had turned into ardent flirting and shows of affection overtime. you two were finally going somewhere with your mutual pinning, or so he thought.

lucifer didn't think his small (not so small) crush on you would lead anywhere, really. nor did he think you would reciprocate his infatuation. but with all the friendly interactions you had of late, anyone would assume you two were together in a romantic light.

now look, lucifer prides himself as a person. he was assertive, efficient, productive, level-headed and the voice of reason when stress is most prominent. but as a lover? lucifer wasn't so sure. he assumed you'd like someone more jolly and eccentric like mammon or someone more confident and charismatic like asmodeus. he didn't expect for you to even spare him a second glance when it came to the dating game. lucifer was a busy man after all, and he wasn't the most expressive when it came to emotions; not very ideal for a lover.

but what lucifer also did not expect was for you to bring home a common demon boy and introduce him as your significant other.

let's just say that all the built up tension and courting were all ruined by a single dinner party.

you had gathered all the demon brothers earlier that morning, claiming you had an important announcement to make. you went as far as inviting diavolo and his loyal butler, barbatos, to spend the evening over for dinner. they thanked you for the invitation, but they unfortunately, could not attend because of their hectic schedules.

lucifer, on the other hand, was more than happy to accept your invitation (though he was quick to cover up the smile he held when you came up to him). seeing as he already lives under the same roof as you, anways. his happiness would soon be diminished and grinded into dirty, pathetic, dust, though.

lucifer's eyes narrow as mammon's loud laughter bounces off the walls of the dining room. lucienne, your "boyfriend", had managed to crack the demon up with one of his silly stories about a strange elderly wizard that sold expensive medication made out of fairy wings that turned out to just be bedazzled dragon fly wings. he worked wonders with the avatar of greed, considering the fact that just a moment ago, mammon was cursing in jealousy and resentment as you sat with your newly introduced boyfriend.

luficer would've told mammon to shut up, but he feared saying something far more vulgar out of anger. the previous tension was already eased into a more domesticated athmosphere (credits to lucienne's charm and humor), lucifer didn't want to ruin dinner for his brothers, and especially not for you.

i mean, lucifer felt betrayed, he felt used and-- and played. how could you lead him on like this? but deep inside, he knew there was something else. he felt disappointed, he felt defeated, he felt crushed, he wished he'd done something sooner before this lucienne stole you away from him.

but anyways, back to the dinner party.

"you seem unusually quiet, lucy." asmo teases from across lucifer's seat. the phrase seems to capture everyone's attention, all eyes now on the grimacing and glaring lucifer.

"asmo's right, you haven't uttered a word since lucienne arrived, lucifer. is something wrong?" you chime in, causing lucifer to perk up. the thought of you worrying about his state sent sparks into his heart, but they were quick to disappear when lucienne asks him the same question.

"i'm fine." he replies to your concern, unable to hide the venom that strung on to his words. this only causes asmodeus to snicker, and leviathan to sink deeper into his seat. everyone else watches in concern as lucifer downs another glass of demom whiskey. you're about to ask him again, unsure about his reply, but he stops you before you could even form a word.

"i said i'm fine."

the air is tense, until eventually, mammon gasps out of nowhere. "don't tell me! lucifer is jealous!!~" he repeats in a sing song manner, only irking lucifer even further. no one else speaks up, the whole situation akward enough.

after a while, though, lucienne speaks up. he gestures at mammon, especially. hoping to stop the demon from escalating the situation. "hey mammon, wanna hear about that one time i accidentally professed my love for my eight grade math teacher?" mammon only settles back into his seat, ready for another laughing fit. the avatar of pride snaps at this, slamming his fists down the table before abruptly excusing himself with a "i have something to do."

he spares you one last glance. his heart aching with guilt from the way you had lowered your head in shame. lucifer didn't want to make you feel like he owned you, or that you weren't allowed to be with someone else... he just, he has enough reason to justify his anger right now and he really wants to dwell in it. he turns his head away from you, biting his lip to contain the guilt and pain that was threatening to seep out. he doesn't turn to look back as he walks away from the dining room in long and rushed strides.

lucifer walks down the dark hallways of lamentation, familiar with every nook and cranny the mansion had. he sighs in relief as his palm reaches out for a familiar door. it creaks as lucifer walks into his room, sounding just as glum as lucifer is.

he heads straight to his paperwork, silently hoping that they would provide him some sort of comfort. he tries to focus on anything but the thought of you or your unavailability, his mind barely processing any of the words that were printed out in front of him. he groans, his hands pulling on his jet black hair in frustration.

i mean, he should've expected this. lucienne was everything lucifer thought you would love. funny outgoing, caring, expressive, charismatic, a smooth talker and he looked at you with utmost respect and admiration. i mean, who in their right mind would choose old-schooled lucifer over the flawless lucienne?

you deserve lucienne and although lucifer thinks that no one in the three realms could ever deserve to call you theirs, he still thinks that lucienne is more deserving of you than lucifer could ever be. what were you doing to the poor demon? he was never one to admit defeat like this, and he especially wasn't the type of person that'd lower themself like this.

his rollercoaster of thoughts are interrupted by a gentle knock on the door. his ears already familiar with this particular knocking pattern. he can't help but straighten himself up, suddenly aware of the way his hair is all sprawled out. he slicks it down with saliva, muttering a small "enter" soon after he finshes checking on his appearance.

his mood lightens just a little bit at the sight of your face. as much as lucifer wants to hate you right now, he couldn't possibly feel that way towards you. never, not in a quadrillion light years.

you sit down in front of him, a genuine look of concern on your face. this makes lucifer visibly frown, catching you a bit off guard. "i wanted to talk to you about something, lucifer." his eyes grow curious and a bit hopeful, wishing it were about something that would distract him from the current situation or give him even the tiniest bit of closure.

"it's about lucienne." and once again, you manage to crush all his hope with only a few words. lucifer swears that if he hears that name one more time, he would personally shove your lovely boyfriend down the deepest depths of the underworld.

you watch his brows furrow and his fist tighten on his quill. lucifer looks far from happy to hear you talk about your significant other right now. "look, i know you'd rather not hear about lucienne again, but it's really really important and i want you to just hear me out. just this once, please?"

lucifer couldn't stand the pleading look you were giving him. your puppy eyes were a weapon that you used on him often, and they always managed to work. a tired sigh leaves his lips, if it meant getting it over with then he'd listen. "fine," he snaps, not before rubbing at his temple in obvious distress. he's said fine, but his body language told you otherwise.

"someone's kind of harassing lucienne at the moment. stalking him, giving him unwanted gifts and constantly professing their love for him when he's told them multiple times that it made him uncomfortable. they're an admirer of some sorts. i'm posing as lucienne's lover in hopes that they'd back off for a while, but i wanted to see if you and diavolo could do some actual help. it's worrisome, really. and it's been stressing lucienne out for the past couple of weeks. pretending to be his significant other is the most i can do for him, i hope you understand."

lucifer only freezes in shock, guilt washing over him all so suddenly. you call out for him, effectively snapping him out of his short daze. of course you'd offer to help lucienne out, you've always been a kind person. in lucifer's eyes, atleast. he coughs into his hand, avoiding eye contact with you as he degrades himself for his previous selfishness.

"of course, i'll do my best to make sure this harasser is punished. the school and i will ensure that lucienne won't be seeing this stalker anytime soon. just keep supporting him like this, i suppose. tell him he can sleep here for the night. thank you for informing me about this." you smile at lucifer's response, relief overwhelming your senses. if this meant that lucienne was finally going to be safe and unbothered, you were overjoyed.

you jump at lucifer, thanking him, all the while, squeezing the life out of him. his heart races impossibly fast at the gesture, and you can't help but smirk at the red that tainted his cheeks. "just so you know, i still like you. and only you, lucy."

his breath comes to a halt. he was no longer able to contain the butterflies that crowded his stomach; shock and well, pure bliss apparent on his face. "does this mean i can kiss you?"

"do anything as you please."

lucifer lunges at you. capturing your lips into a hungry and impatient kiss. his hands roam all over your torso, looking for anything he could hold onto. he settles for your waist and you drape your hands over his shoulders. heaven knows how long he's been waiting for this moment.

he manages to stumble through his room, leading you two to his bed. you part as he pushes you down to sit at the end of his king sized bed. he grins at the sight of you, disheveled and thirsty for more. the avatar of pride couldn't help but be excited for the faces you'll make in the unholy endeavors he's planning for you. he'll devour you, tear apart every innocent limb you have in your body. his imagination runs wild as he thinks of the many ways he'd mark you as his, exhibit you to the world and spread you wide open for his contenders to see. for them to know just how pathetic and needy lucifer could make you in an instant.

he bends down to kiss you again, pushing against your tounge with his own. he squeezes your thighs, digging his nails deep into the skin under the cloth still covering you. groans and grunts leave your lips as he countinues to caress your plush thighs.

as you two part, panting, a newfound possessiveness overtakes lucifer's eyes.

"you're mine."

[no-oneknowsmyname]

Hermit!Ghostbur AU chapter 2

Last night I felt in the mood to write more for this au. If anyone has any ideas on future interactions with Ghostbur and the Hermits, I'd be happy to hear them! I'm not sure how quickly I'd get to them, but I'd certainly try my best to eventually!

Summary: While stuck in limbo, a strange train arrived. After taking a chance and letting the train take him away, Ghostbur found himself waking up in Season 8 Hermitcraft with barely a memory to his name and a whole lot of new friends to make.

[chapter 1] [chapter 2]

-

Grian should have listened to his gut feeling that he shouldn't have left the strange newcomer alone during the night. The next morning, Grian emerged from his cave to find his starter home empty. Not a single friendly ghost in sight.

"So uh, what does this new guy look like again?" Mumbo asked as he worked his man-made wings over his shoulders.

"Imagine Grian, but darker brown hair and a yellow sweater," Pearl said. She too was preparing her wings, though while Mumbo's looked rather industrial, hers looked like a moth's.

Grian snorted. "He looks like a ghost. Besides, he's going to be the only person in this world that looks new."

"I still can't believe he just showed up on your train, G," Impulse cut in. His wings were also similar to Mumbo's.

Grian's were the only ones that were… connected to him. He had to find his wings like everyone else at the Beginning, but whenever he found his, they morphed to his back and became… apart of him. For everyone else, the wings needed to be strapped on.

Everyone pulled out their supply of rockets, and with a few more final words exchanged, they all took off into the sky, searching in different directions.

Ghostbur didn't have wings. He didn't seem to have anything on him, and as far as Grian remembered, he didn't have any extra wings stored at his old base. Ghostbur couldn't have gotten far. Hopefully, they'll be able to find him and bring him back to Boatem before letting the entire server know they lost their strange new addition. He hadn't even told Xisuma about Ghostbur yet. He could almost imagine how awkward that conversation would be.

"Hey guys, Etho found a ghost on my train, but we lost him this morning, send help pls" or something ridiculous like that.

Grian soured past Boatem, up to Pearl's towers and towards Cub's strange desert. His wings flapped heavily against his back, propelled by the rockets he released from his hands. They felt strange in this world, in the past two his wings were more… feathered. Bird-like.

He couldn't see any sign of Ghostbur near Cub's area, so he turned left towards the forests. With sharp eyes, he searched, and searched some more, until he finally spotted a familiar yellow sweater among the trees.

He descended to the ground and tucked his wings against his back. Before he confronted, he typed a single message into the communicator on his wrist.

[Grian] found him

A few seconds later, he got replies.

[PearlescentMoon] :D

[impulseSV] sounds good.

Thankfully, no one else replied. The hermits have long gotten used to ignoring conversations in chat if their name wasn't specifically mentioned. Normally, if a message was sent with no context, it's easy to assume it was meant for a specific person who did have that context. No one would ask further.

He was a short jog away from Ghostbur, but from here he could see that Ghostbur hadn't noticed him come. He looked rather focused on a sheep in front of him.

Worry sparked in Grian's chest at the sight of blue on Ghostbur's hands, but the closer he got he noticed it was just blue dye. Not blood.

Thankfully.

"Ghostbur!" He called.

Ghostbur nearly jumped a meter into the air, frightened. The sheep baaed and turned to stare at Grian as Ghostbur whirled around to do the same.

"Yes?" Ghostbur called, looking quite startled. "Who are you?"

Grian frowned. "Grian. Don't you remember?"

Grian knew Ghostbur had mentioned having a bad memory, but he didn't think it would be that bad.

Ghostbur frowned, then a moment later his face brightened. "Oh yes! I stayed in your home! Good morning, Grian! Would you like to meet Friend?"

"Friend?"

Grian approached closer as Ghostbur turned to the sheep. "I need to dye him blue, but this is definitely Friend! He has infinite lives, and he's always with me. He must have followed me here."

Grian regarded the sheep, then frowned as it regarded him back. It definitely was a strange sheep, its eyes were too… intelligent.

"We were worried about you," Grian said, deciding to let the whole Friend thing become an issue for later. "You should have told us you were leaving."

"I couldn't leave Friend all alone in the wilderness, could I?"

Ghostbur talked like it all made perfect sense. Grian sighed.

"Let's just… get you and… Friend… Back home, yeah? The other Boatem members want to meet you."

"More members? That's exciting! I cannot wait to meet them. Help me dye Friend first, please. He doesn't like not being blue. Here, have some Blue. I found plenty."

He handed the blue dye to Grian, and started to carefully and thoroughly cover Friend's fleece in it. Friend bleeted in content, then stared at Grian like he expected Grian to begin doing the same.

Creepy.

Grian swallowed down the feeling. It was just a sheep. He knelt down and began to help dye the fleece, deciding now would be as good a time as any to try and get more information from their new Boatem visitor.

"Do you remember anything?" He asked. "About where you came from?"

Ghostbur frowned, his thin fingers stuttering slightly in their work. After a second, the bright smile returned to his face. "Nope! Nothing! First thing I remember is waking up on your train."

Grian's frown deepened. He thought the first thing he remembered was getting on the train from a mysterious and dark train station.

Was his memory getting worse? Would he not remember today when it became tomorrow?

Who was he?

"You remember Friend," Grian noted instead of pushing for what might not be there.

"Oh, I would never forget Friend. He's too important to forget."

He said it like it made sense again.

Grian sighed, leaning back from the now blue sheep and wiping his hands off in the grass. Clearly, he'd learn nothing new here.

Grian placed down his ender chest and gave a lead to Ghostbur. He took it graciously, and together they walked back to Boatem.

-

"Hello, Friend," Pearl greeted the sheep like it was the most normal thing in the world. Ghostbur immediately began to blabber on about the sheep and what an amazing and cool friend it was. Scar, who had just woken up, joined in and verbally informed Ghostbur on how soft and sellable the fleece felt.

"So this is Ghostbur," Impulse said as he crossed his arms.

Grian nodded. "Do you guys think you can watch over him a bit? I need to tell X about him, but I don't want to announce it to the entire server yet."

"Sure, mate," Mumbo said. He looked rather excited. "We can give him a tour while we wait."

"Just as long as that tour doesn't involve him falling into the Boatem Hole. He spawned here with injuries. We don't know what will happen if he dies."

"Can a ghost die?" Mumbo asked, more to himself. "I suppose he can, because Cleo can die and she's not exactly alive either. It's strange that dead things can still die, I'm realizing. Makes you wonder what actually constitutes to being alive. I mean, I'm a potato and potatoes aren't usually alive like I am-"

"Okay Mumbo," Impulse said, patting his shoulder. Grian just rolled his eyes and glanced back at Ghostbur as the strange man laughed joyfully at Scar putting his hat on his head.

-

"So you're telling me, a new person spawned on your G-Train with no memories? Goodness me…"

Xisuma sounded rightfully concerned.

-

Grian returned to Boatem later that evening, just as the Big Moon first started to peak over the horizon. Xisuma landed beside him.

The rest of the night passed quite… dully. They found the others all gathered in Grian's starter house with Friend still leashed in Ghostbur's hands. Ghostbur met Xisuma with enthusiasm and chatted about how happy he was to meet so many new people. Xisuma greeted him kindly, and stayed around to ask Ghostbur questions that have already been asked before by Grian himself. Nothing new had been found out, and by the end of the night Xisuma dubbed Ghostbur the newest member of the server because there wasn't much more to do about it.

Strange appearances have happened on the server before. Impulse was summoned for crying out loud. If the hermits were collectively good at anything, it was welcoming newcomers regardless of their arrival. He wasn't even the first one to join mid-world as well.

Xisuma left soon after, leaving Boatem with their new neighbor. Grian smiled at Ghostbur, but he couldn't help but feel that while this was yet another strange event to add to the list right next to the sentient void below them and the ever growing moon… it might all be connected.

"We'll have to make room for you to build your own base, Ghostbur," Scar said, and Pearl nodded.

"Build my own base? I don't know how to build…"

"We can help you," Impulse said. "You're one of us now, and that means you'll need a proper Boatem base. We'll help come up with ideas and gather resources if you'd like."

The other Boatem members agreed amongst each other while Ghostbur looked both overwhelmed and happy at the thought of the task ahead of him. A task friends looked eager to help him with. Grian thought he looked more excited about hanging out with the other Hermits than actually building anything.

"I'll do my best!" He announced, and the others cheered.

And maybe… just maybe… this one strange new addition to the family could remain a good strange.

[professorsnape394]

The Potions Master’s Apprentice

Chapter Five: The Calm before the Storm

A/N: This is the fifth part to my fanfiction ‘The Potions Master’s Apprentice (Severus Snape x OC)’. Chapters 1-16 can be found already uploaded on Wattpad under the same name. Feel free to leave requests in my inbox for anything Snape related you want me to write. Leave a comment below if you wish to be added to my tag list.

Pairing: Severus Snape x OC (Dumbledore’s Granddaughter)

Summary: A talented young witch is employed as an apprentice professor at Hogwarts, but who will she be working under? Severus Snape is not best pleased with his new responsibility of taking on an apprentice, however she is relentless to create a friendship between them. Will she be successful? Or might the friendship just go a little two far? With the eyes of her grandfather constantly watching over them, an attempt at a relationship might not be in the cards for Aria Dumbledore and Severus Snape.

Word Count: 2128

Warnings: n/a

Credits to Gif Creator

Severus Snape spent the next two weeks drowning in fire whiskey. When he returned to his quarters after spending an evening with Miss Dumbledore, he could not get her out of his mind. He hated himself for it, but she had admittedly charmed him with her striking beauty and captivating personally.

Having somewhat sobered up from the evening drinks, Severus took it upon himself to crack open another bottle of Firewhiskey, downing glass by glass until he no longer remembered how he felt about the woman.

The days that followed simply became harder to forget about her, as she would often come calling to his office; private quarters and classroom in search for the brooding Professor. Each time she came knocking Snape shied away from her, keeping his doors locked, and poured yet another measure of the burning liquid down his throat in the hope that she would disappear from his memory all together.

This was not him. He thought to himself. His whole life he had resisted the temptation of women like her. This was not to say he had never felt the touch of another, he had in his youth had his fair share of women upon leaving Hogwarts. But never had he caught feelings like those that were threatening to surface, except for one other woman. The thought of his first love forced yet another glass of whiskey down his throat.

As of now his feelings for Miss Dumbledore were purely physical but he did not want to risk them developing into something much more complex. Vowing never to fall for Aria as he had for Lily Evans, Severus built his walls higher than before, making himself impenetrable to the charms of Miss Dumbledore.

Staring at the bottom of yet another empty glass the Professor knew the only way he could resist his urges and keep the woman away, was to use his feelings for her to fuel his (now) hatred. Every kind word she spoke to him was ammunition for mockery. Every question she asked him was an excuse to belittle her. Soon enough she would take the hint and keep her distance. At the very least it would surely provoke her frustration and spark disagreements between the two. No relationship with the woman would of course be better than a bad relationship, but if he had to settle, he would gladly take the latter.

Reaching the end of yet another bottle Severus dumped the vessel into nearby bin, finally retiring for the night.

Countless bottles of Firewhiskey and Nettle Wine later, the castle gradually begun to fill with numerous Professors and various other members of staff. The school year would resume in two days time and Severus needed to get his act together in order to once again face his new apprentice.

*

The night before the students were set to arrive via the Hogwarts Express, Headmaster Dumbledore sent out a formal reminder to the staff regarding the start of year feast. Aria was well aware the feast was a tradition here at Hogwarts where a ceremony was held and the new first year students were sorted into their respective houses. She was not, however, aware that the night before the official grand feast the professors sat down to a banquet of their own. It was stated in her letter than all staff were required to attend. Aria assumed this was included more or less for the benefit of Severus, whom she knew would try at all costs to avoid attending, possibly even more so now then any year before, though she wasn't entirely sure why the sallow-skinned Professor had been avoiding her these past weeks.

Admittedly, she missed the man, though they had only really spent a few days together, she was getting used his company and her loneliness only made the days longer. She had tried to talk to him, ask him why he had been avoiding her. However, after receiving no response when she sought him out, and due to their conversation at the Three Broomsticks detailing the man's introverted personality, she decided not to pester him further.  Instead, she chose to busy herself preparing alone for the school year. Until the past few days that is, when the castle begun to fill with Professors and she thought she may as well get to know some of them.

Almost instantly Professor McGonagall took Aria under her wing and set about introducing the girl to her fellow colleagues. The two witches got along so fast, Miss Dumbledore almost wished to become her apprentice instead. Sadly, Aria was not particularly skilled in the art of Transfiguration. After a few days of brief meetings with almost all of the staff, Minerva invited Aria to afternoon tea in her office. Getting on like a house on fire, Aria felt all the nerves that had been building up within her over the last month slowly melt away. Minerva happily chatted away with the young woman, feeling she too had found a great friend.

Sooner than Aria may have liked the subject eventually turned to the subject of her mentor, Severus Snape. Minerva couldn't wait to her Miss Dumbledore's thoughts on the man. Although she also considered Severus a close friend, she knew he would not be happy with the situation and was dying to hear of his reaction. It of course came as a great shock to her when Aria Dumbledore began to spill the details of her brief encounters with the Professor.

"He was harsh at first." Aria begun. "I knew he wasn't happy with the arrangement at all, he clearly resented me for coming here and invading his space. He seemed like a very foul man."

Minvera smiled knowingly at the young woman, never had she heard a description so accurate, though she secretly knew he was not all bad. Not that he would ever show it. She thought to herself, of course she was moments away from being proven wrong.

"Don't worry about it too much, my dear. He'll eventually get used to your position here and then he wont be so cruel... simply unpleasant." She chuckled to herself. "He's not truly as hateful as you might think. He does have a heart somewhere in there."

"Oh I know." Aria exclaimed. "It took a few days but we found a rhythm of working that suited us both. Eventually we were getting along quite pleasantly. That was, until the night we had a meal at the Three Broomsticks. Then I have no idea what happened, I haven't seen him since." Miss Dumbledore pondered.

"You and Severus had a meal at the Three Broomsticks." Minerva gawped, her eyes almost falling out of her head in disbelief.

"Yes, he didn't seem too keen on the idea initially, but he seemed to reason with himself and finally came around."

"Aria, my dear, dear girl." Professor McGonagall shook her head, trying to get a grasp of what the young witch was telling her. "You do realise Professor Snape, does not socialise with anyone." Minerva tried to state her point, hoping the woman would catch her drift.

"Yes, he did mention that. I guess he's coming out of his shell." She shrugged.

"No, no, no." Minerva shook her head once again, bringing a palm to her face. "You do not understand. I have known this man since he first came to Hogwarts at the age of twelve. He had rarely shown interest in any other human being his whole life, and he certainly does not go out for meals with his coworkers for a simple chat. Especially not one of your beauty."

"What are you saying?" Aria looked confused, not liking what the older woman was insinuating.

"I'm not saying anything, my dear." McGonagall placed a hand over Aria's, reassuringly. "Except... I consider Severus a close friend, and although he doesn't show it, I believe he feels the same. And never, I mean never, has he agreed to socialise with me just for the fun of it. The man never leaves his chambers, my dear."

What Minvera said stuck with Aria for the rest of the day.  She was even more confused than ever now. Why had Severus been avoiding her for so long, if he clearly liked her more than the rest of his colleagues. Why had he spent the time listening to her, talking to her and walking her back to her quarters, to only cut all contact the next day. She knew he was a mysterious man from the moment they met, but this was just plain confusing.

This thought circled in her mind even as she made her way to the Great Hall for the first meal of the semester. Although she knew Severus was required to be there, she presumed he would keep his distance, and with the overwhelming amount of staff and topics to get caught up on she did not expect they would have any conversation at all.

When she arrived the table was already more than half full, but still Severus was no where to be seen.

"My dear, sweet, Granddaughter." Dumbledore beamed. "Come and join us." He beckoned her over, gesturing to the empty space next to his at the top of the table. Thankfully she had been positioned next to Minerva, though she feared for who would take the seat opposite, knowing that almost everyone except one was present.  Embarrassed by her Grandfather's introduction she hurriedly sat down, and began talking with Minerva, hoping no one was staring at her too much.

Dumbledore wasted no time in waiting for the final seat to be filled, and it seemed the rest of the staff had forgotten that Severus even existed. That was until, half an hour into the meal, when the doors to the Great Hall, swung open violently, causing a loud and startling bang to echo through the gigantic room. Instantly the ramble of excited chatter stopped, everyone staring at the culprit. Almost immediately upon noticing the bat-like Professor enter the room, cloak billowing behind him, the chatter commenced once more. The Potions master's reputation was more than proven to Miss Dumbledore, as it appeared even the staff did not want to face his wrath. His presence was known and he was feared. This was more than enough to intimidate Aria into keeping her mouth shut for the rest of the meal.

"I'm glad you could finally join us, Severus. Please, sit." Dumbledore spoke softly, grinning at his friend.

Snape did not return the gesture, his features perturbed into an aggravated scowl.

"It is a wonder I even made it here at all, Headmaster." Severus sneered. "I suppose everyone else received a letter, detailing the time of the feast. However, sadly." He spat. "My owl must have fainted on the job, for I did not receive such a thing. Is it your intention, to excluded me, Professor Dumbledore."

The chatter had quietened now, everyone curiously listening in to the dispute. A dispute, which Dumbledore appeared to find rather amusing, evident by the growing grin appearing on his face. Taking a slow sip of wine, Albus let the Professor stand waiting on his answer.

"That is not my intention, at all, Professor Snape. But I assumed due to the ever expanding collection of empty FireWhiskey bottles in your rubbish bin, that you would be, shall we say, preoccupied, at this time." Albus shot him a disapproving look and a small frown before, turning his attention elsewhere.

"How dare you." Snape raged, ready to continue the argument Professor Dumbledore deemed complete.

"Take a seat, Severus, before you miss any more of the meal." Albus continued, like he had not just outed Severus' small drinking problem to the whole of the staff. This however, was the incentive Severus needed to sober up and act professionally once more. He knew this was a warning from his employer and if he continued his antics his job would be on the line. His replacement was already lined up. He thought, reluctantly taking his seat across from said woman.

As everyone had, Aria couldn't help but listen to the conversation unfold. Terrified of catching Severus' eye, she focused on the three rogue peas that danced around her fork. She thought about the Professor sitting alone all those nights he had ignored her, downing glass after glass of whiskey. Knowing him, he didn't seem the type to have a problem like that. He was clearly a very disciplined man with rock solid self-control. So what on earth could have forced him to act in such a self-destructive manner?

At least now she had an answer as to what he had been up to while avoiding her all this time but the main question still remained. Why?

Taglist:

@ayamenimthiriel

[sophi-s]

Day 29 #Grief

Whoops. I actually ended up writing a short piece for this one as well and uh... I think I accidentally created a new ship... :O

To Mourn Together

By: sophi-s (me)

Franchise: Darksiders video games

Words: 1 961

Warnings: None

Characters: Uriel, Nathaniel, Abaddon (mentioned)

_________________________________________

With utmost certainty, one could say it was one of the brightest nights in the White City. Of course, with the buildings in the color of gilded snow, every night seemed bright. But that one particular night the full moon spilled its cold, silver light all over the angelic city, bathing it in a pale glow that reflected in the smooth surfaces and illuminated the warm darkness as the gentle gusts of wind blew through the quiet and empty plaza.

Aside from the sentries patrolling the streets, all of the Heaven's denizens were long asleep in their homes. All of them.

Except for one.

A figure of a lonely angel threads lightly through the city, grand white wings folded neatly at his sides, just like his hands behind his back. His golden battle armor is discarded in favor of a simple set of clothes. There's nothing threatening him after all. Lost in thought, he doesn't acknowledge guards greeting him as he passes by. He walks seemingly without purpose, reconsidering the not so recent events.

Your friend serves the Shadow.

The Archon? Corrupted?!

Impossible!

Leave me, Horseman. I must think of what to do now…

He shook his head with an exasperated sigh. One hundred years. It's been over one hundred years since all of this happened. And yet, all this felt far too fresh in his head. As though it happened merely yesterday. Sweeping his gaze over his surroundings, he realised he'd left for the outskirts of the White City, where the grand Tree of Life stands tall and magnificent as it has since the day Heaven was created. But to his surprise, he wasn't alone here after all. At the foot of the Tree, his keen white eyes spotted another angel. A woman. The same silver hair, any other angel possesses, fluttering on the wind, wings of golden, radiant feathers slumped sadly against her back as she stood there, gazing out at the locked gate to the Well of Souls. Strange. He assumed he would be alone.

Since he wasn't trying to sneak up on her, she heard him approach quite early and whipped around to face him, her own robes billowing, but the moment she laid her golden eyes on him she simply sighed.

"Oh. It's just you, Nathaniel.."

"So it is."

Nathaniel murmured, silently wondering who she'd been actually expecting, and stood for a few long moments, looking at her. A black ribbon with a darkened feather tied around her right wrist caught his attention and something twisted painfully in his chest. Even blackened and bathed in Hellish corruption, the ribbon was unmistakable and the feather spoke for itself..

"What are you doing here, Uriel?"

He found himself asking nonetheless. It's been a long while since they last talked. After all, Nathaniel had been sent away from the Hellguard shortly after Uriel joined their ranks. And it was so long ago.. Humming quietly, Uriel turned away to look up at the Tree's tangled canopy of small fluttering leaves.

"A year…"

She sighed when Nathaniel came closer and stood beside her, watching her stare into the black sky where the moon gazed down on them like a gigantic, round eye.

"It's been a year since Abaddon died.. exactly a year, day to day."

Nathaniel nodded in agreement, looking at Uriel's fingers absent mindedly stroking the end of the ribbon tied around her forearm. Even though he'd been away from the White City for quite some time, rumours about the commander of the Hellguard reached Nathaniel even in Lostlight. If they were true, then no wonder Uriel takes Abaddon's demise so personally. He could only imagine what was going on in her head throughout this year. He wasn't going to stop her from spitting out what she'd been choking up inside of her.

"And yet.. I still sometimes wonder. If I should've done something. Stopped War… I don't know."

"He'd been the Destroyer, Uriel. As much as I disagree with it, you couldn't do anything else for him."

Furrowing her eyebrows, Uriel huffed and lowered her head.

"I know. But… I still have this in my head. The sight of him reaching out to me for help. What if…"

She hesitated, something that was very unlike her. Nathaniel raised his eyebrows curiously, waiting for her to speak up. He had his suspicions from the moment Death brought the news of Abaddon's fate and he couldn't help but wonder if Uriel thought the same way.

"I refuse to believe he'd planned it from the beginning. What if all of it wasn't his choice? He can't have been in his right mind! What if before War killed him, in his last moments Abaddon, the real Abaddon, came back? What if… there was still something worth saving in him?"

Nathaniel's suspicions turned out to be true. She thought just like he had. Now it was his turn to look up at the sky. Indeed, there was something so enchanting about this particular night..

"I wondered myself, Uriel. Many times in fact…"

The younger angel crossed her arms and glared down at her boots as though they'd done something wrong. The branches of the Tree creaked mournfully as the wind tugged on them and ruffled feathers of both angels standing below. Its gusts were getting stronger and its voice whistling against nearby structures brought to mind a sorrowful cry of a lost soul.

"Abaddon taught me everything I know. I had known him my whole life. It feels so… empty without him."

I can't believe he's gone. That's what she truly meant to say and Nathaniel knew it but said nothing of it. He knew that feeling quite well. Better than most. Abaddon had been his friend after all…

"Sometimes I feel like he's still here. Watching over me like he always has.."

Uriel chuckled humorlessly, as though she meant to laugh off the ridiculousness of her claim but Nathaniel didn't feel like laughing. He laid his hand on Uriel's shoulder, nearly making her jump in the process.

"Who says he isn't?"

He could clearly see her jaw visibly clench tightly at his assumption. Not that he could blame her. Nathaniel knew all too well what Uriel was going through. He didn't want anyone to feel like he does and he wished to offer her comfort, compassion. But it's not easy to do so while he grieves as well.

"Do you think I could've changed it?"

Uriel suddenly asked, making Nathaniel's eyebrow wander up.

"During the initial Endwar.. Do you think if I was a little faster back then…"

"Uriel."

The deep tone of his voice had just the result he was counting on as she cut off to finally look him in the eye. Nathaniel placed his other hand on her other shoulder and said sternly

"Even if so, it doesn't change anything. We can't turn back time. Thinking this way won't make you feel better."

"And how could you possibly know?"

It was just the matter of time before Uriel snapped and brushed Nathaniel's hands from her shoulders. There was fire in her eyes, burning like the hottest blaze of Hell.

"You don't know how I feel."

Frowning gently, Nathaniel heaved out a long suffering sigh.

"Quite the opposite in fact.. I know exactly how you feel…"

This seemed to have given Uriel a pause.

"I've known Abaddon even longer than you have. He was my close friend, one of the very few I had. When the news of his fall reached me I kept wondering if it would've been different if I was there. This one, wretched thought stayed with me for a whole century, like a festering wound that refuses to heal. If you seek understanding, I assure you, you will find it in me."

Would it have been different if I knew of the darkness that threatened Lucien? Sometimes he still has those doubts... In shock, Uriel opened her mouth a couple of times only to shut it again as she couldn't find suitable words. Until..

"I'm… sorry. I had no idea…"

With an unhappy smile, Nathaniel shook his head. He wasn't going to take offense. Grief does strange things to people. Uriel snapping at him wasn't the worst thing that could've happened.

"Past cannot be changed. Blaming yourself will not bring you peace of mind. We must march into the future."

Snickering quietly, Uriel looked away.

"You speak words of wisdom.. But I cannot decide if they help me either."

Humming thoughtfully, Nathaniel measured Uriel. Her heart was bleeding profusely, even though she kept it hidden away. He knew how to recognise inner turmoil. From his own experience.. Fortunately, he knew just the way. And honestly, after all this.. Abaddon's treason, Lucien's collapse into the hateful darkness.. he probably needed it as much as she did. Carefully, but insistently, Nathaniel reached out to Uriel and gently pulled her into his arms.

"Nathaniel? What.. are you doing?"

Uriel didn't stop him, probably because of confusion and surprise. Not getting pushed away was a small victory in itself. He was more than happy to explain it to her. Going back to memories of that peculiar human who accompanied Death everywhere always warmed his heart.

"A good friend of mine had told me once that embraces can bring comfort. Especially in sorrow. Does it help you ?"

For a long moment Uriel didn't answer. She was thinking. Up this close Nathaniel could feel her heart rapidly hammering against her ribcage. But then she finally returned the embrace and placed her head on his chest with a heavy sigh.

"It does. Even if a little.."

A tiny note of wonderment in her voice was barely perceptible but definitely there. For a few minutes both angels stood like that in silence before Uriel spoke again.

"Do you think he's at peace? Abaddon, I mean…"

Staring at the shorter angel in his arms, Nathaniel harrumphed. The Charred Council was surely bent on condemning Abaddon, sentencing him to damnation even after his death. He only hoped that the Horsemen made short work of them before they were able to fulfill their dire promises and cast the already tormented soul into Oblivion. Nothing was sure. The only way to confirm either was to travel to the Kingdom of the Dead. Nathaniel couldn't say for certain that Abaddon has his rest or if his spirit in this very moment wastes away in nothingness. The mere thought made his stomach churn. But he didn't speak his fears out loud. He didn't dare.

"I do sincerely hope so…"

An answer as good as any, he supposed. It wasn't a "yes" but neither it was a "no". Perhaps it would be just enough..

"Thank you, Nathaniel.. I'm glad you came here…"

Somehow, an odd, heavy presence lingering about was abruptly lifted from the air when Uriel whispered into the edge of his coat but stayed motionless where she was, unwilling  and not ready to pull away just yet. Mourning is always easier with a companion. For just a second Nathaniel could've sworn he saw something… someone… move out of the corner of his eye but just as suddenly as they appeared, they were gone. It was most likely nothing. Just a fleeting trick of his imagination. Nathaniel rested his chin on top of Uriel's head and closed his eyes, listening to the wind blowing gently overhead and to her heart beating right next to his own. Two different rhythms that seemed the same. He didn't wish to leave just yet either. Luckily, he didn't have to. There was no need for hurry. It was still the middle of the night. No one will see them here, vulnerable and weak, slowly mending their broken hearts from the pieces.

They still had time…

_________________________________________

Bear with me, I just wanted those sad dorks to lift each other's spirits up. It's not my fault that I'm so trash 😂

At least I drew Nathaniel properly, as I promised :P

Darksiders Inktober drawing prompts by @imagine-darksiders

[bbq-hawks-wings]

Really long ask - Part 1: Hi, sorry for this long rant, but I just wanted to vent since I saw this latest story posted on AO3 and I am restraining myself on commenting on their story so I'm just letting my anger out here about it and other issues regarding fan-depiction of Hawks. It's vaguely related to your post on how DabiHawks or Dabi+Hawks stories make it all about Dabi and always made Hawks out to be the one who starts the problems in their relationship or is the one trying to get Dabi's

Content warning: passing mention of r*pe in a fanfiction.

LOOOONG post under the cut.

(Cont.)

Dabi's attentions when it's canon that it's the complete opposite. This latest story that came up in my feed was about Hawks "harassing" Dabi (who apparently has a backstory of r*pe) and Twice helps Dabi works out his feelings. Among the hoards of tags condemning Hawks, they decided to use "Hawks is very uncool in this fic heads up" so that's another one to add to my filters. I think I also have to block the "Dabi Needs a Hug" tags too bc he's always woobified like heck. 

I really want to read stories where Hawks interacts with Twice since they have a bond/drama with each other, but people have been adding Dabi and either making it seem like Hawks has been gaslighting Dabi in their "relationship" or with Twice. I can acknowledge stories where Hawks feels guilty for what he had to do or Twice being anger/betrayed over Hawks' actions since that is actually what happened; but I will not stand for Dabi claiming Hawks took advantage of Twice or Twice and Dabi having feelings for each other with Hawks in the way bc Dabi is a) the one who let Hawks in b) knew Twice is gullible and c) used Twice as bait. Even in the stories that are cute/causal+funny, Hawks is always the one who gets threatened with fire, harsh insults, or guilted into compliance but the seriousness of the first 2 are always brushed off and the third kinda makes me want it that Hawks doesn't have friends bc most people write him as a bad friend who only cares about his own problems (especially the ones that write Hawks like a celebrity/night club person). 

On writing Dabi, his issues always take priority over everything else, his family loves him, and the lov is always chill with him. He's usually written as the fun asshole/caretaker (bc of his big brother status or ablity to cook). Those factors aren't bad by itself, but it's extremely irritating when the writers/artists can give that level of care to Dabi, but just reduce Hawks to a meme who is a workaholic for the government/scared of punishment & not bc he really cares about the people he saves/helps. It's not like I hate the DabiHawks pairing, but the majority of the content (esp the recent ones), are frustrating to read & Hawks' character is usually written in bad out of character extremes. I am really mystified that I'm praying for canon content rather than fanmade most of the time.

Phew! After the back and forth it looks like we got to the end of that! (Or did we?! *Dun dun DUUUUN*) If not, though, feel free to keep the asks rolling. Lol Foxy and I are usually pretty happy to receive as many asks as people want to send even if it takes us a while, individually, to get to it. Now to finally address what you sent.

I find myself in a weird place when it comes to OOC fanfic because on the one hand people can write whatever they want, and I don’t really have a place to criticize them; but also when they blatantly and willingly misinterpret a character so they have grounds to bash on them it also leaves me acutely uncomfortable. I don’t think I’d call it “problematic” as much as a squick? Like, if they’re willing to blow past all the obvious proof to the contrary about their claims of a fictional character just because they hate them, then are they willing to do the same thing to a real person? Usually, those kinds of thoughts are pointlessly extreme, but we know those who unironically and/or unapologeticly call fans of the heroes “bootlickers” so... It’s like, ooc vent fics are also fine; and if you want to rewrite a character to fit the narrative scheme you’ve set up that’s cool as long as its tagged (“ooc [character]” or something) and/or just mention in the a/n that they knowingly and willingly mischaracterized them for the sake of the fic. Just. Don’t. Claim. It’s. Canon.

And speaking of canon, as much as I’m sure Horikoshi knew Hawks and Dabi were going to end up shipped I think it’s obvious that he never was going to canonically write them ending up together, yet here comes the “canon must validate my headcanon” crowd calling him a bad writer because the author had some bigger narrative goal in mind than having two pretty anime boys kissing.

And the worst part to me is, I feel there’s a distinct slice of the DabiHawks crowd missing out on some of the possibilities of this ship by intentionally mischaracterizing them. Like, the aesthetic equal/opposite draw of the ship is phenomenal as it is and I don’t even ship them, but I can see a wide range of possible fics based solely on the principle that they are canonically incompatible!

At the end of the day, Dabi is a dime-a-dozen edgelord - that pain in the butt OC that so many newbie D&D players make that they think is so deep and dark and mature, but is about as cookie-cutter as they come. It’s not that this kind of character is unsalvageable or a hopeless Gary Stu character, just that they don’t often come across as compelling in and of themselves or that they need more than just selfish hatred to carry them through a series. Two kinds of edgelords that can be done well are the “Out of the Ashes” edgelord and “I’ll Pull You Into Hell With Me” edgelord. The first kind recognizes there’s more to life than their sad backstory and getting even and thus choose to aspire to more noble causes - think Joel from The Last of Us. The second recognizes they’re actively doing wrong and come to embrace it - being more concerned with getting what they want than taking the moral high ground - think Frank Castle, aka the Punisher - and even these darker, “unsaveable” kinds of edgelord antiheroes can have redeeming qualities such as meeting and helping a young hopeful and telling them, “I know I’m on the road to hell, so if you want to save yourself you’d better not follow me.”

Dabi actually has what he needs to become the second type right now (assuming he’s Touya) and could even evolve into the first not unlike Kratos from God of War, but that potential can’t be fully recognized until you admit that he’s fundamentally self-centered and a bad person as-is. He may have the tragic backstory complete with justifiable hate at his genuinely abusive father, but rather than using that as fuel to see that never happen to anyone else like it did him - he just wants to get even. He burns people alive, knowing well he’s participating in the same destruction that his father committed to make him what he is now. He doesn’t recognize any of the merits of hero society and is only concerned with burning it to ash. He could use what happened to his family to incite compassion in his heart and take others under his wing, but instead he uses people as a mean to his own ends. He isn’t even proper grimdark - he’s just your run of the mill egotistical megalomaniac with a punk aesthetic.

And that’s still a good character in the grand scheme of things, maybe just not alone! Moreso, it’s a good villain and EVEN BETTER when you put him next to Hawks who is at his core:

Fundamentally Hopepunk!

Hopepunk is about being good and kind as an act of rebellion against a cruel and unfair world no matter how bleak it gets or how badly you’re beaten down. Despite his own cruel past, Hawks still has a heart to help others for no other reason than to help them, he constantly changes the odds to save as many people as he can when he’d be given a pass for letting the cards fall where they will, and not only is his aim to “help others” but to make sure that there’ll never be need for heroes again. He’s an active rebel against the system fighting with kindness and goodness, fervently looking and listening for the next opportunity to do good.

In agreement with you, Hawks and Twice are interesting to explore because while Twice is an optimist looking to make the world a better place, he’s still a step or two removed from Hawks’ worldview because Twice refuses to let go of the “family” he found for himself while Hawks is willing to sacrifice himself for others. That dynamic is so interesting, and it’s what made them so initially compatible and subsequently heartbreaking in canon.

And it’s such a disappointment to see this unwaveringly earnest character reduced to “shitty fratboy” so often. For a lot of people newer to his character I can understand the confusion, but there really isn’t an excuse if you’ve been reading the series, and the possibilities for fics with this canon personality are just so much more interesting to explore, especially with Dabi as his sort-of opposite.

For DabiHawks to work well, you have to recognize that something has to give in either of them. Some of the juiciest, most angsty content is when you have two characters grow close together over commonalities only to be reminded that despite everything else they share, that One Thing will always keep them from truly being able to see eye-to-eye. Either Dabi has to grow past his hatred and relearn compassion and empathy, or Hawks has to lose grip of that hopeful vision he has and fall into despair. Both options are good to explore, but both require the acknowledgement that Dabi’s view of the world is fundamentally bleak and selfish, especially compared to Hawks’. For a supposed revolutionary out to change the world for the better whose a diamond in the rough with a heart of gold, that’s not exactly on-brand; and at the end of the day the issue is that some are unwilling to admit that what they wanted Dabi to be is likely not going to happen and they love that fake version Dabi more than they love what Hawks actually stands for which is why Hawks always gets the shaft in the end.

I still personally hold a bit of a grudge against the DaiHawks ship as a whole purely because, as you said, Dabi always seems to take priority over Hawks instead of letting the two build a dynamic together. Hawks is always the one who has to give, and the torture porn some have made him go through to “make the ship work” is downright disturbing to me. Even at its height DabiHawks content completely flooded the Hawks character tags on Tumblr with some of the same problems that have persisted to this day such as emphasizing their aesthetic as opposed to their dynamic and rampant mischaracterization.

Anyway, that’s my long-winded response. What do you think, @autumn-foxfire?

[bigskydreaming]

I'm not sure if you got my request because i didn't had internet when i sent it, so i'll write it again xd Do you think Dick (and the batboys in general) are famouse like Bruce? Because in the comics there's not any clue about it, i've never seen anyone say something like "oh look! Its Dick Grayson!, y'know, Wayne's first ward/son And its a shame, because reporters would make such a hard life to all of them, it would maka a good narrative tool

Honestly, this is a prime example of that inconsistency I rant about, and also DC’s refusal to just COMMIT on even the most basic aspects of their universe like….uh…how many kids does Batman have. 

afhsahfklahsklfhal

Like, you would think that would meet the MINIMUM requirements of “shit you should probably have figured out and make sure everybody’s on the same page with” but DC’s like….nah, that’s not important.

So I mean…..I’m reasonably certain - like this is just my personal belief, but I’d put money on it being right, lol - but I think the primary reason there’s so little mention in the comics of how Bruce’s kids are viewed in the public eye/how much the public are aware of them (in the New 52, at least, as pre-Flashpoint there was a lot more plot around that kind of thing, especially back in the 80s and 90s)……

…is because 90% of the writers and editors have no clue either, and nobody wants to be the one to ask, and like, open that can of worms. I 100% think you could ask five different writers at DC which kids Bruce has OFFICIALLY adopted in this current continuity, and get five different answers, lol.

There’s been so much handwaving about Dick’s status ever since Spyral, and again - I think its because nobody bothered to think through the logistics of the Hypnos/global-mindwipe machine BEFORE writing it into the story, and then once it did occur to any of them to like….wonder just how specifically it worked, they were like, fuck it, better just be as vague as possible. So, according to Grayson, everyone Helena didn’t program into the exclusion list before the satellite was activated should have no recollection of Dick Grayson, which is why he was able to ‘go back to his old life’ and be Nightwing again, without worrying about his secret identity having been unmasked…..

But what does that mean for his official identity as adopted son or even just ward of billionaire Bruce Wayne? People can’t have NO memory of Dick Grayson and still remember that Bruce Wayne took in a kid named Dick Grayson. I mean, as far as I can tell, the overall consensus in the comics seems to be that after the satellite was activated, Dick just kinda started from scratch as ‘Dick Grayson’ like, he was free to be himself again, but it was like he was a blank slate/came out of nowhere as far as everyone else was concerned. But again, that means as far as anyone outside of their close circle of family and friends know….Dick Grayson is a non-entity to Bruce Wayne and the two have no history. 

Which I mean, is fairly shitty and you’d think if nothing else, there’d be massive story potential there for delving into Dick’s character and his relationship with Bruce and examining how he felt about ‘having his old life/identity back’….except with the caveat that as far as the world is concerned, his life and identity don’t and have never included his father.

Cut to DC: Naaaaaaaah.

But even WITH that, plot holes persist, and abound, because…..why didn’t the satellite erase the Court of Owls’ knowledge/memory of Dick? Even before Luthor gave Cobb those goggles and files to help him with bringing Ric into the fold, Cobb clearly was already stalking Ric and knew exactly who he was….the Court obviously already had that doctor in place while he was still in recovery…so, whoops. I mean, you could probably come up with an explanation about the Court, via their own tech and resources, having had some protections in place 24/7 that kept the satellite from affecting them even though they weren’t on guard for it specifically…..but again, Occam’s Razor….I feel like the real answer is DC just didn’t care enough to think things that far through. Especially since the average Bludhaven citizen, like Bea, at least didn’t seem totally blown away when Ric revealed to her that amnesia aside, he was supposedly some rich billionaire’s adopted kid….which again suggests that as far as the writers were thinking, people in general are familiar with the idea that Bruce Wayne has more than one kid.

Then you’ve got Jason’s whole situation, and to be honest….I really only have the vaguest idea what’s going on there, because reading Lobdell books is against my religion, and I am a devout and deeply spiritual person, as you all probably can tell. I mean, I know that there’s something going on where like, Jason had himself legally resurrected in the public eye and is openly referring to himself as Bruce Wayne’s formerly-assumed dead foster kid……but like, is that the official official word, or would other writers if you asked them say they’d been operating under the assumption Bruce had adopted Jason too at some point in the Rebirth timeline, or….idek, man.

I…..honestly don’t have the faintest fucking clue what to make of the many back-and-forth retcons about Tim and his parents and his official place in the Batfam/relationship with Bruce, and am actually slightly terrified of even trying to make sense of that clusterfuck of a Gordian knot, so my official stance on Tim is to just like….back sloooooowly away from the anthropomorphic-migraine-masquerading-as-a-backstory, without like….agitating it and accidentally setting off another multiverse Crisis birthed wholly from just that one all-consuming black hole of a retcon.

I mean, there’s a reason I basically just shoehorn all the kids’ official pre-Flashpoint family statuses into anything I write in Rebirth continuity, and that’s not just stubbornness and my refusal to play the “now this kid is adopted…now he’s not…now he is again….except he’s not….oh he’s adopted again…..oh wait now he’s not again" game. 

Its like. Also for the sake of my sanity and stuff.

(And also hahahahaha fuck you DC times infinity, every time you use the words “blood son,” or “real family” in a comic, or have one of Bruce’s other kids refer to Bruce as “your father” when talking to Damian, as if that’s not an utterly bizarre and roundabout way for any sibling to refer to their mutual parent and thus I j’ete REFUSE to acknowledge it as valid….ahem, anyway, my point is, every time they do that in a comic, I double down and headcanon Bruce throwing a random as fuck gala for literally no other purpose than to remind all of Gotham that he has half a dozen kids and they’re all better than everyone else’s. Ugh. Kill it. Kill the “blood son” nonsense with fire and lightning and also lots of stabbing maybe).

Anyway, that’s my official stance on DC’s stance on Damian in the books.

Then as far as Cass goes….ugh, her origins were pretty much utterly butchered by the New 52, which IMO has also failed to give us Cass and Bruce bonding and dynamics sufficient to Sate Mine Ire™, sooooooo…..I mean, my perception of the current canon is that Cassandra’s official status is “secret mystery foster child that nobody really knows about,” but because I do not care for that and there’s the whole not sufficiently sated ire thing I mentioned, I officially reject this canon and willfully replace it with pre-Flashpoint Bruce and Cass love and adoption. DC’s welcome to kiss my critically acclaimed hiney if I’m doing it wrong.

Which brings us last, but certainly not least, as its only this way because I go sequentially and Duke is still Shiny and New comparative to the others and will be until the next inevitable fostering/adoption/clone hi-jinks bumps him up the sequential ladder (except I randomly switched Damian and Cass around this time because LOOK I DONT MAKE THE RULES, THERE ARE NO RULES i hvea Adhd hiccup sob leavem e aloooone soooooob)…..

Duke’s official status, much like the rest of the Batkids, can be summed up as Honestly, I Really Don’t Have A Fucking Clue And Am Just Winging This Whole Thing.

I mean, there’s less inconsistency with him, due mostly to the fact that so few writers other than Snyder use him (boo, hiss, and not just because I hate having to give Snyder credit for stuff - look, I love his Duke, but I loathe how he writes Dami, its a thing, I just…don’t get me started). But what inconsistencies there are….well….they’re a bit glaring.

Basically one major storyline showed Duke as being an official foster kid/ward of Bruce’s and living out of the Manor with Bruce and Damian and occasionally Tim when he’s not off road-tripping around the multiverse….and then Batman and the Signal had Duke in the care of his uncle, who was stated to be his legal guardian and Duke was constantly sneaking out in order to meet Bruce in the special Signal-cave he built specifically for Duke to operate out of so he didn’t have to like, drive all the way out to the Manor to change just so he could then drive back into the city and patrol. And then Batman and the Outsiders just said fuck all that, here’s Duke and Cass hopping hemispheres with the Outsiders every other issue, so apparently nobody’s making unscheduled visits anywhere back in Gotham to make sure these two are where they’re legally assumed to be, which again, for the record is…..*error, source not found*

LOLOL and the really fun thing about this little back and forth is I’m pretty sure allllll these conflicting takes are all the work of the same writer. Like. GET ON YOUR OWN PAGE, DUDE.

Also, again I have to assume the “Can’t Be Bothered To Give A Shit, Or Maybe They’re All Just Really Bad At Logic” curse has struck again, because….uhhhh…..

….at no point anywhere in Duke’s stories have I seen Bruce or literally anyone else express concern about the fact that Duke living with Bruce as his official foster, like he definitely and clearly was at some point at least…..means that literally every single one of his We Are Robin friends who knows that he was taken in by the Batfam (and there’s several of them who know this)….like, by the transcendent properties of You Can’t Honestly Think They’re That Dumb, that’s a good five or six civilians out there who probably took all of five seconds to play connect the dots and figure out the Wayne family, having officially taken Duke in on paper…..is pretty likely the Batfamily.

I mean, I like all of Duke’s friends and would definitely headcanon/write them as all being trustworthy and able to keep this knowledge to themselves for Duke’s sake, if nothing else, but I mean, its pretty unprecedented for Bruce to out himself and all of his kids/allies by extension, to like, that many civilian teenagers all in one swoop….

…sooooooo, you’d think, AGAIN, logically, maybe, perhaps, this is the kind of thing that should be brought up in a narrative somewhere as a plot point worth delving into, y’know, just for shits and giggles and maybe a little bit of that whatchamacallit - oh right, character development, but.

Cut to DC: Naaaaaaah.

 *throws up hands and does the I Can’t Even Shuffle all the way home*

In conclusion:

DC is a mess. The official/public status of each and every Batkid is a mess. Except for Damian, the blood son, but we have that pencilled in on the schedule to be killed with fire and also stabbing, so he can get filed under ‘just a fucking mess’ with the rest of his siblings. Hashtag Solidarity.

I mean, I say just write or headcanon their official status however you damn well please, and it’ll STILL be more effort than I believe DC has put into organizing and staying consistent with all of this, and thus STILL make more sense than what we currently have to work with.

*Shrugs* If they don’t care enough to provide a clear canon blueprint to follow when mapping the Bat Family Tree, I can’t be bothered to care if the one I make up myself happens to contradict one single mention of one kid’s official status as claimed by one issue of one book.

Especially if it was written by Lobdell.

Jason’s just a foster son my ass. grumble mumble bitter vengeful swears and a pox on all DC’s houses. WHY DO YOU PEOPLE HATE ADOPTION SO MUCH, INQUIRING MINDS WANT TO KNOW AND ALSO FUCK YOU.

[reyleaux]

because I'm totally ridiculous and this is my new platonic crackship: 18 for Ben Solo and Rose Tico as nerd teamup forced to work together and developing A Rapport.

biTCH ME TOO, THE FUCK.

special shoutout to @futurecatladies, who I know is always down for that good good roselo content. this is technically platonic with shades of background reylo, but i think with just a minor nudge and minimal squinting one could consider it roselo instead (or even ‘also’). 

--

Rose watches him work from behind, half grateful and halfincensed.

On the one hand, they’re barreling away from the Limiter, the First Order’s newestflagship, at high speed. She’s safe – relatively – and on her way home after onlya day in a holding cell that could have easily become an eternity. Things areas good as they’ve been in at least a week, and for Rose that’s saying a lot.

But on the other, the other half of this ‘they’ is Kylo Ren,the one and only Supreme Leader of that same Order from which they’re currentlyrunning.

He opened her cell an hour ago with a serious look on hisface that said he didn’t want to think about what he was doing. She nearlypissed herself in terror but put on a brave face.

“Here to kill me?” She asked him, impressing herself withher defiance.

“Shut up,” Kylo Ren said in a low and slightly nasal voice. “Shesent me. We’re going.”

“I’m not going anywhere,”Rose spat back. “Not with you. Who sent you?”

She could see the tops of his bottom teeth as he sucked in abreath. He closed his eyes. “Rey.”

She scoffed, put off by his dramatics. “Rey sent you.”

“Don’t sound so incredulous about things you don’t understand.”

If the look on his face hadn’t convinced her of the honestyof this frankly baffling admission, his sharp and perfect recitation of herlast conversation with Rey did. It was like he’d been sitting with them in herroom, taking notes on the strange and meandering argument they had aboutrepairing the new base’s laundry equipment.

It was, in a word, unnerving.

But then again, Rose muses now, watching dumbfounded as Ren’supper half disappears into an access panel on his own personal shuttle to rip out the fusebox that powers the ship’s tracker,what about him isn’t unnerving?

“Literally everything about this is illegal!” She halfyells, half hisses.

Kylo Ren grunts as he knocks against something on his wayout of the panel. He has a sparking fusebox in one hand and a hydrospanner inthe other, slightly charred from where she assumes he used it to pry off the fusebox.

“Appropriate that now would be the time I start living up tothe name.” He sounds almost wistful.

He stands and drops the fusebox onto the nearest surface, abuilt-in bench along the wall. He towers over her, but Rose hardly notices, confusedand on-guard at his cryptic admission. “What?” She asks, chin tilted high.

“What do you care about legality, anyway? You’re a Rebel.”

“What do you mean ‘living up to the name?’”

He looks taken aback. “What do you mean, ‘What do you mean?’”

Rose wrenches the spanner from his hand and brandishes it athim. “Don’t repeat my question back at me!”

“You don’t know who I am?”

“Of course I know whoyou are, Kylo Ren.” She spits the name at him, already tired of whatever gamethis is. “You’re the worst thing that’s ever happened to the galaxy.”

“No,” he says, a little quieter. “Before that.”

Rose grits her teeth. She wants to scream. “Out with it! Wedon’t have time for a dramatic reveal right now!” There’s a following pause andshe’s about to warn him not to bother if it’ll make her hate him any more thanshe already does, when—

“Ben Solo,” Kylo Ren says, voice low, eyes lower. “That wasmy name.”

She can tell he’s expecting a gasp, the gentle cracking of aworld-altering revelation. And maybe three weeks ago – before Finn and Rey andnarrowly escaping death on Crait and the First Order beginning its incomprehensibleand rapid implosion – she would have obliged him.

But Rose Tico is different now. More skeptical, yes, but alsoless afraid.

Which might be why she reaches up to grab his chin and tiltshis face down towards her. Her eyes skim the flaring bridge of his nose, thefeline tilt to his eyes, the unruly, triangular brows. She scrunches up hernose, remembering what she can of Han Solo’s face from the holos she’s seen.

He’s surprisingly calm for someone being manhandled by anenemy, if that’s still what they are.

Fair enough, shethinks, that might as well be true, too.

“Well, Solo, putit to some kriffing use.”

She can tell that the smile he cracks is supposed to becharming – that it would have been on Han’s face, all loose and careless – and shecould have expected it to be menacing, even sad.

But what it is instead is absolutely goofy.

His cheeks wing out and he has a gap between his front andeye teeth on both sides. Even worse, he has dimples. Rose can’t help herself.Her eyes roll back.

They’re flying through First Order-controlled space in aship that is (probably) technically stolen, possibly about to do irreparabledamage to the Order and definitely goingto do irreparable damage to the (probably) stolen ship in the process. Disablingthe tracker will be absolutely necessary to making their escape through hyperspace,but the entrances and exits of the lanes are now fully monitored by the Order,meaning that they’ll be apprehended almost instantly once they emerge out ofFTL.

No matter how much Rose knows they’re doing the right thing,it doesn’t change how kriffing dangerousit is, nor how stupid.

She tells him as much.

“Son of Han Solo or not, you can’t fly a ship that’s, one, ina million pieces or, two, booted by C-Dot.”

“Then let’s not get booted.”

“Uh-uh,” Rose says, actually wagging a finger in the face ofKylo Ren, menace of the galaxy. “Let’s just boot them first.”

“It’s an expensive ship, but there aren’t torpedoes.”

“No, we can be cleverer than that.”

“We?”

“What do you know about electrical interference?”

A distant, slightly horrified look crosses his face. “Some.Biologically speaking.”

“That’s fine,” Rose says. “I know enough. What weapons do we have?”

“There’s a standard short-range IR-73 blast canon mountedunder the hull and a miniature rail gun under the cockpit,” he snaps, havingwritten enough reports on this shuttle to answer Rose’s question withoutreflection.

“Wow,” Rose says, flat and sarcastic, “I’m surprised it’snot an IR-80. And here I thought you liked your guns big.”

She turns towards the cockpit and Kylo huffs something likea laugh and follows without thinking. The IR-80 is the blast generator thatsits inside the surface cannons of a star destroyer. Mount one on a ship thissize and it’d blow you back twenty-thousand clicks every time you fired.

“That’s actually—”

“What General Hux suggested in the armaments meetingyesterday,” she finishes for him, giggling as she goes to tap her handheldsplicer into the cockpit’s consol. “I know.”

Kylo Ren tilts his head, looking for all the world like acurious dog. Rose raises her brows and jiggles the splicer in her hand, a small,satisfied smile dimpling her cheeks.

“Didn’t have a lot else to do. Thought I’d get intel, listeningin on the monitors, got a laugh instead.”

Rose ducks away to focus on her task, muttering and swearingunder her breath as she fights the override protocols coded into the ship.

“Okay, almost there.” She presses a button and swivels as ahatch opens nearby. “Grab us those PPE’s.” She points and Kylo obeys, largebody crossing the cabin’s vertical and horizontal space with little more than astretch. Rose doesn’t bemoan her stature, but she kind of wishes she could dothat.

Kylo Ren tosses her a suit and begins pulling his own on. “Theoscillator, right? From the life support block.”

“Yeah,” Rose says, pleasantly surprised by his deference toher orders. “We’ll vent the ship.”

“Then move it into the charging block of the rail gun.”

“I thought you said you didn’t know much about electricalinterference.”

“I don’t,” he says, zipping up the rubberized collar of thesuit. “But she does.”

This time Rose’s brows and lips scrunch up with her nose. “Youmean Rey again. You can say her name, you know.”

His eyes sweep down. Rose’s brain momentarily short-circuitsas she recognizes the look and color on his face. He’s…bashful? Embarrassed? Maker,she really doesn’t have time for whatever thisis.

“You know what?” She flicks a hand in front of herself, asif shooing a fly. “I’m not gonna worry about it.”

He seems relieved, nodding as he pulls on his helmet.

“For now,” she adds. Butjust try to stop me later.

Once they’re suited up, Rose presses another button and thehum of the shuttle’s engine vibrates just lower than before.

After a quick test of the suits’ comm system and asuspiciously synchronized nod, Rose initiates the depressurizing sequence andthey’re plunged into the echoey silence of the vacuum.

They work with minimal banter this time, careful to avoid jostlingthe oscillator and hooking it into the rail gun’s generator system withcareful, coordinated hands.

Rose explains in a soothing, even rhythm how the oscillatorwill charge the rail gun bolts with ionic energy. At the low-power setting she’sprogrammed into it, that will make the bolts effectively nonlethal, but perfectfor their intentions. The ionic charge will ripple through the systems of thetraffic monitoring stations and reverse the current on board for a fewmicroseconds. They’ll essentially have a small power surge, but won’t gooffline. If they time it right, they won’t even notice the shuttle at all. Ifthey time it wrong, they’ll notice the shuttle but not its missing tracker.They’ll get by on looks. It’s actually…she takes a moment to be proud ofherself. It’s actually a pretty foolproof plan.

To her surprise, Kylo Ren agrees.

What’s more, they manage to pull it off. Even in two layersof gloves and a terribly restricting helmet, Kylo is a damn good pilot,managing to target the nearest waystation within microseconds of their jump outof hyperspace. Doesn’t even use the tracking systems. Is that how the Forceworks? Rose will have to ask Rey.

Or, well, she guesses she could ask Kylo. Once this is over.

Once they’re past the scanning range of the traffic stationsand have returned the oscillator to life support, they hang around in thecockpit, PPE’s half-peeled off with the arms tied at their waists. Just in casethey have to suit up again. Kylo taps on the ship’s cloaking and spools hisbody comfortably into the co-pilot’s chair.

“Shouldn’t you be—?” Rose asks, gesturing to the otherchair.

His eyes flicker to hers in confusion, then it clicks. “Iusually don’t, uh—”

“Oh,” she says. Huh.

He stiffens, “I can—”

“No, that’s fine.”

He coughs low in his throat, looking away and running a handthrough his hair. Scrunched up like this, he actually looks capable of feelingself-conscious. Scratch that, he does look self-conscious. Rose recognizes it,feels sympathetic to it, even against her better judgment.

Things have been changing fast, recently. She’s starting togive up on fighting it anymore.

“Also, uh, ‘shut up’? Seriously?”

He shoots her an indignant look.

It doesn’t frighten her at all. And from what she can tellthrough her steely and unwavering gaze, he can tell. His face softens just alittle in response.

“It’s been…” Silence stretches out as his gaze falls out offocus, swimming through the endless mid-distance of space.

“One hell of a week,” she says, “I know.”

He leans back and kicks his feet up on the console. “Ofcourse you do.”

[thiswaycomessomethingwicked]

I'm sorry we don't have 25 cents or whatever kind of cents in my country so, Napolington cryptid hunter, maybe? (They got like, Abraham Lincoln vampire hunter but why theres no Nap or Arthur im sad.)

Prompts in place of currency works. If Pale ever gets formally published it will kind of fall into that category? But no. I take your meaning. I will see what I can do. Though, I do parse folklore creatures and cryptids as different. Vampires, with their origins as revenants, pre-date cryptids. I personally consider 1800-give or take- my cut off. So, Jersey Devil is a cryptid. Vampires, fairies, werewolves, Host Of Demons In The Sky, selkie, etc. etc. are all folklore. 

ANYWAY. I continue to take your meaning.

Have some cryptids. 

Wrack and Ruin

Part I. 

Getting to America wasn’t the difficult bit. Which, perhaps, is the most shocking part. What had it taken? Him messing up the Duke of Wellington’s hair with a piece of paper. His brother’s letter.

‘I have to go,’ he had said. Imperiously. One must never stop performing imperial-ness. It is a mandate.

‘Go where?’

‘To New Jersey,’ only he pronounced it with Italian vowels. Wellington made a face as he worked out the English in his head. Oh yes, his expression seemed to say with incredible distaste, the Americas. Full of Americans.  

‘Why?’

Napoleon had then unfurled the letter completely and placed it on the table before Arthur. Joseph’s letters lack the commanding nature of his brother’s and instead there was a pleasant lilt to them. He was telling a story and bringing them along with him into the Pine Barrens. That uncanny valley. Then there was the description of a creature hitherto unknown to man. Arthur had snapped the letter away from Napoleon’s dancing fingers.

‘Ridiculous!’

'No.’ Napoleon was grave. 'My brother is many things but he is not a man for flights of fancy.’

'This is a farfetched excuse to take you away from England.’

'You can come too.’

Arthur had faltered. That had been the fatal mistake for within that falter had been Napoleon’s means of winning the day. Back up for Wellington had not arrived in time and then suddenly they were on a government mandated trip to ensure that the 'dratted Americans’ did not end up with something that would give them an un-do advantage.

'Fly creature!’ Lord Eldon had exclaimed. 'Imagine 1812 but poor Brock facing a flying creature!’

Arthur had shrugged, 'he’d probably have shot it first then asked questions. Impetuous man. Anyway, he didn’t last much longer than 1812.’

'Doesn’t matter, your grace, you take my meaning.’

And he had. And with a lack of grace for his grace he had consented to this goose-chase with a far too enthusiastic one-time-emperor of France.

Joseph looks like Napoleon. Or, perhaps, it is Napoleon who looks like Joseph. Only a slight difference in height which is in Joseph’s favour and it is the round face, the pleasant smile, the deep set eyes. Joseph’s calmness was settled in his movements. He was gentle in all ways that his younger brother was not. What interests Arthur is that Napoleon seemed softer in the presence of his brother, tempered. A calmer version of the usually more intense man.

'I have heard much about you,’ Joseph says as he leads them out back to a garden. 'I have an ice-machine, Napoleonne. I must show it you.’ He turns to Arthur, 'the reviews are generally positive.’

'About me or the ice-machine?’

'Both,’

The brothers coo over the mechanism as one of Joseph’s servants endeavours to make ice. Napoleon takes up a glinting chunk and holds to the sun. Light refracts against his face. A bit of water drips over his fingers and soaks into the cuff of his frock. Dark blue turns black. With a sly smile towards Joseph Napoleon whips around and chucks the ice towards Arthur.

'Got you,’ he shouts gleefully.

'You did not!’ Arthur is indignant. Other members of Joseph’s unofficial court of his Bordentown estate are watching them with abject fascination. Titters, whispers, laughs. He is not a carnival animal. Napoleon is all smiles.

'I did indeed, sir.’

Arthur adjusts his frock and waistcoat and brushes absently at his arms. 'You did not.’ He says it quietly. Napoleon is evidently unconvinced.

'Try something else,’ Joseph says once another batch of ice has been made. 'Perhaps milk? Or coffee once it has cooled down.’

Morning coffee is produced and the servant attempts this but there are limited results. After a few more liquids are attempted they repair inside for Joseph has decided that it is time to discuss the great matter at hand.

-

'It has been put about,’ Joseph explains. 'What I saw so I am afraid you are not the first to come searching the woods. We looked directly after I sent the letter. And again a few days after that. There were no signs. Do you know the story?’

Neither men do and Joseph pours them drinks as he shares the few versions he has picked up of this so-called Jersey Devil.

'Child of a witch, child of the devil, or a thirteenth child of a woman.’

'Jerome might be devilish but I’d hardly go so far as to call a thirteenth child necessarily demonic,’ Napoleon chides.

'I agree. How is Jerome? I haven’t received any letters lately.’

'Oh he’s well. Stirring up trouble. Sleeping with all the wrong women.’

Arthur clears his throat, 'gentlemen.’

Joseph is apologetic. Napoleon just shrugs.

Continuing the story Joseph explains how local legend says that the Jersey Devil will prey upon cattle and poultry. It is during the coldest winters that there are the most sightings with its hoof-prints up on rooftops and in barn yards but with no trail in or out. As if it landed our of the sky.

'But brother, what happened to you?’ Napoleon asks. 'All mysterious creatures appear as if by magic and eat cattle or kill cattle or put elf shot in cattle. That is uninteresting.’

'I was hunting alone, oh don’t make that face at me Napoleonne, I know, I know. Regardless, while I was out in the woods of the estate I noticed some peculiar tracks upon the ground. They were uneven, misshapen, the left larger than the right and shaped like horse or donkey hooves. No shoes, though. The oddest part is that it looked as if the creature walked on two legs.

As I was inspecting the prints I heard a hissing noise behind me. A quiet exhaling hiss. Turning around I found myself facing a tall, winged creature. Its eyes were yellow and its head that of a horse. Legs bent backwards at the knees, the feet I didn’t see but I can only assume them to be the hooves that made the marks. We neither of us moved for a long moment, me or the creature, then it curled it s lips back, hissed between misshapen teeth and flew off.’

The study is quiet. There is gentle spring sun warming the desk, the gentlemen, their drinks. It comes in through beautifully etched glass. Arthur is thinking through how this creature could, at all, pose a threat to British military endeavours but he admits that without seeing it first hand there is little to go off.

To clarify a few points Arthur asks how tall it appeared. Joseph stands and measures about a head above himself and says this was the top of the head. The wings arched above that further still. And how many are there? Arthur asks. Only the one to Joseph’s knowledge.

'It is a singular beast,’ Joseph says. 'I had hoped to find it again and capture it. It would be a great discovery for natural science.’

'And a fine thing to have shot,’ Napoleon adds. 'Not many can say they have killed an creature of folklore.’

Joseph heartily agrees adding, 'I take it you will both want to set about looking for it immediately.’

'As soon as possible,’ Arthur says. Napoleon, he can tell, is enjoying himself. Best to have done with the creature then load the contrary emperor back on a boat to England. 'If that is amendable. We are here unofficially, as you know, and so time is of the essence before the President or some such will desire to have dinner with me.’

'He’s been a foul mood,’ Napoleon explains in a stage whisper. 'Ever sense he was made Minister of the Occult. Before then he was such a charming fellow.’

Joseph grins. They are both grinning. They are both grinning and looking at him. It is cat-like. Arthur grimaces. He makes a mental note to himself, Never let either occupy the same place in exile. It will run the world to wrack and ruin.

Part II

[catbountry]

Further Discussion of Nazi Punching Ethics

Izzy: There are many many times when it's OK to punch Nazis.

Izzy: When they've committed no crimes, have never met you before, and have their back turned to you isn't one of them.

Izzy: Shit like that is how you get Weimar Germany.

Cat Bountry: http://pastebin.com/LVrdM2fd

Izzy: "HORRAY, NAZI GOT PUNCHED IN THE FACE! BTW guys be safe there's some Nazis that are being really aggressive for some reason, be safe uwu."

Minty: I want your opinion but actually I don't care

Izzy: So far this person is claiming it's a good thing because it emboldens the worse parts of the left-wing? The very part that's been killing the left from within?

Cat Bountry: Yes.

Minty: The neo-left

Izzy: " at the point where people are openly violent, it does more good to be violent back and show defiance then stay silent like in ww2."

Izzy: There were two bad moves by the left in Weimar

Izzy: The regular left refused to acknowledge the Nazis existence, much less debate with them.

Izzy: The equivalent of the modern "no platforming".

Izzy: This let the Nazis both spread their ideas unchecked, and made them look like they were saying something important and revealing big secrets, otherwise why would the powers that be try to censor them?

Izzy: And then the radical left fought them with violence.

Cat Bountry: So basically they're creating THE EXACT SAME CONDITIONS that lead to Hitler's rise in the first place?

Izzy: You noticed?

Cat Bountry: HA HA HA HA HA HA HA FUCK.

Cat Bountry: I wish it'd been you debating this lady.

Izzy: We even have a Great Recession, and a recovery that's only helping the upper class.

Izzy: And even worse, we don't have Communism as a radical alternative, because it's failed so recently, while Nazism and fascism, for the most part, failed 80 years ago.

Izzy: (Not to imply Communism was good.)

Izzy: The Commies fought the Nazis and their brown shirts with violence.

Izzy: Both sides happily instigated the violence.

Izzy: And it served to reinforce both sides biases (dunno if that's the right word to use here) and led to more people moving from the middle to the extremes.

Cat Bountry: BUT IZZY, WHAT ARE YOU SAYING PEOPLE SHOULD HAVE DONE IN 1940'S GERMANY, IZZY? I REALLY WANT YOU TO ADMIT I'M RIGHT ABOUT PUNCHING NAZIS IN THE FACE UNPROVOKED BECAUSE "RHETORICAL VIOLENCE."(edited)

Izzy: By 1940 IT WAS TOO LATE

Minty: But what do you feel about this Nazis

Izzy: Germany was already full Nazi and their War Machine had started rolling into the rest of Europe.

Cat Bountry: Yeah I pointed that out.

Minty: What do you FEEL

Izzy: We're talking WeimarRepublic here.

Cat Bountry: Keep reading, I'm sure you'll love it.

Cat Bountry: I had to share.

MissMarie: It's pretty bad,

MissMarie: they keep trying to double back and want you to admit punching nazis is okay.

Minty: @Septapus wormhole send "HORRAY, NAZI GOT PUNCHED IN THE FACE! BTW guys be safe there's some Nazis that are being really aggressive for some reason, be safe uwu."

SeptapusBOT: Message sent! You can use any wormhole 2 minutes from now.

Minty: Time to get anon hate via wormhole

MissMarie: I want someone to make a callout post on tumblr about wormhole messages

Minty: I still can't believe people are still sending communist propaganda through the wormhole

Minty: What have I started

Izzy: There are some actual communists out there.

Or Maoists.

Minty: The communist uprising of discord

Minty: I WAS JUST MEMEING

Minty: ITS JUST A PRANK BRO

Izzy: Wow, having a Trump icon next to my words in your screencap is not good optics. You can't tell that it's a messed up, mocking image of Trump I'm using in the cap.

Izzy: Hell, I'm not sure how obvious it is to you guys, at least without clicking on it and seeing the bigger animated image.

Cat Bountry: It's not animated.

Cat Bountry: It's just distorted.

Cat Bountry: Why, did you really try to make your icon an animated .gif?

Izzy: Yes, it showed as animated when I uploaded it and when I view it in my account.

Izzy: It's not a big animation, it's just contributing to the distortion.

Izzy: Yes, it showed as animated when I uploaded it and when I view it in my account.

Izzy: It's not a big animation, it's just contributing to the distortion.

Cat Bountry: There is literally no animation when I view it.

MissMarie: nope

Izzy: Is it animated (shaking) when you view my profile, at least?

MissMarie: It looks like Trump has 4 eyes.

Izzy: "rhetorical violence"? What is this bullshit? I've been seeing a lot of this lately from the far-left,

Izzy: Mainly to justify using physical violence or violent censorship against people who verbally offend them.

Izzy: http://4chanpol.tumblr.com/post/130041431174(edited)

Cat Bountry: That was the point I realized I was talking to a wall.

Izzy: There's such a thing as "fighting words", but those go directly to personal insults, and still don't legally justify violence. (Though I'll have to check the law.)

Cat Bountry: They're not protected under free speech though, I don't think, if they're implying an immediate threat.

Izzy: I'll have an answer for that in a bit.

Izzy: Also, IIRC, the left gained a handful of seats in Congress this last election, but not nearly as much as they assumed they would.

Minty: @Septapus wormhole send Making the mother of all omelettes here, Jack- can't fret over every egg!

SeptapusBOT: Message sent! You can use any wormhole 3 minutes from now.

Cat Bountry: I STAND CORRECTED.

Izzy: Google it and check?

Cat Bountry: http://www.wsj.com/articles/republicans-are-confident-about-retaining-control-of-the-house-1478634160

Cat Bountry: You were right.

Izzy: "i think the right to freedom (general) and inherent human worth trumps the right to freedom (of speech)." That makes no sense? Freedom of Speech is one of the most basic freedoms.

Cat Bountry: I KNOW, RIGHT?

Izzy: "rights are social constructs" They're wrong again

Izzy: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Natural_and_legal_rights

Izzy: Only legal rights are social constructs.

Izzy: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Negative_and_positive_rights

Cat Bountry: I don't think these people actually know what "social construct" even means anymore.

Izzy: "is the right to be safe more important than the right to express unpopular oipiinions without fear of violent retaliations?"

Izzy: "fuck no? "

Izzy: Well, you got them to admit it.

Izzy: I hope they remember that their opinions are unpopular too, and they've just justified violence against them and theirs.

Cat Bountry: Did I really mispell "opinions" that badly?

Izzy: Yep. I don't blame you two for mispelling tho, tumblr chat ain't great for that.(edited)

Cat Bountry: It's pretty hilarious, though.

Izzy: yah

Izzy: anyway, I have to run out, be back in a bit

Cat Bountry: Later, gator.