#it should have been given the chance to stand on its own two feet the same way luminaria did

[alteredphoenix]

I still think the biggest mistake Bamco made with Crestoria, and one I find that still affects it to this day, was listening to that part of the fanbase that complained that there weren’t going to be any legacy characters in the game and ultimately caving in to put them in anyway under the auspice that a cast of all-new original characters wasn’t going to be as effective as having familiar names to elicit interest in the long-time fans and bring in new players to join the fanbase.

Idk maybe it’s because of the differing mindsets between a Console Tales Game and a Mobile Tales Game (at least, there’s a very obvious - and understandable - reason for those mindsets in the West), but you don’t really see this kind of backlash in the former. Whereas in the latter introducing an all-new cast without legacy characters a’la Crestoria and Luminaria you’re going to have your dissenters (and your doubters) question whether or not it can have that same draw on people regardless of the narrative premise.

Setting aside the obvious pitfalls that plague mobile gaming, including legacy Tales characters into a game that was originally not intended to have any has the same reaction of shooting yourself in the foot and never bothering to patch it up because now you have a manga that’s going to be adapting the material - without the legacy characters. And there is no guarantee it’s going to include the plotlines or the sudden cliffhanger(s) that were alluded to in the game. Which leads to another problem because if it does it’s going to result in one of two things: expys of the legacy characters - which I don’t think parts of the fanbase are going to jive with because they won’t be those characters - or all-new characters that’ll have nothing to do with the legacy characters but will take those plotlines for themselves because DINGDINGDING the game is no longer available. And if those plotlines get resolved? There’s still no way to guarantee they would arrive at the same conclusions under the legacy characters had it continued in a visual media format.

What I’m saying is, Bamco should’ve just stuck to their guns and kept Crestoria as a legacy-free Tales title in the same way Luminaria was (although I do wonder if they would have included legacy characters in the same way Genshin Impact brought Aloy from Horizon over - make them playable in but have no effect on the canon story whatsoever - had it continued) because the decision to change course is going to feel like a black mark on Crestoria’s history.

[tteokdoroki]

*ੈ🌩️‧₊˚— the world in your name + eren jaeger.

૮˶ᵕ ༝ᵕ˶ა synopsis — in the quiet of the night, eren realises that he'd destroy the world for you. no matter what universe your love may exist in.

⭑ warnings — please read + mdni ! characters aged up, fluff, angst, childhood friends to lovers, mentions of nightmares, modern!au with some canon references, aot manga spoilers (?), marriage, eren has a son, not beta read ! - fem!reader.

⭑ words — 1.5K.

⭑ notes — hi !! hello its eren's birthday and if you've been on my blog recently you'd know that i'm falling in love w him all over again so... here's a soft lil one-shot for my boy. i miss him, i want him happy again. enjoy! - m.list ✩

“hey, ‘renren. what are you doing out here all by yourself?”

before he even has a chance to respond, you’re slipping a jacket over eren’s shoulders— tucking yourself under his arm since you know that he finds comfort in your body heat.

“nothin’ much,” he leans down to brush his lips over your forehead, taking the time to appease his guilty pleasure as he breathes in the scent of your shea shampoo. “got a little crowded in there. needed the air— plus the stars are out tonight.” he’s making excuses and he has no doubt that you’ll see right through his bullshit. eren can already feel the smile on your face as you bury yourself deeper into his side, your lips brushing up against him from over his clothes.

after a second of selfishly taking him in yourself, you look up— eyes glittering and loving, reading deep into eren’s soul just like they always have, and so easily too. “bullshit.” your voice lays flat but your eyes are amused as you tip toe up to reach eren’s cheek, kissing him there. he finds that cute, that he’s taller than you now and it’s the opposite of when you were growing up. that he’s big enough to protect you where you’d do the same for him as kids. “eren jaeger not wanting to be the centre of attention at his own party? you sick or somethin’ renren?”

“don’t call me that, we’re not kids anymore.” the brunette grimaces even though his heart bristles happily in his chest.

“you don’t even like the stars. you hate being cold.”

“i like them when i’m here.” eren wraps an arm around your waist and turns to face you fully, tugging you into his chest— his forefinger and thumb tilting your head up so he can look at you better. love you a little longer. “with you.”

you roll your eyes, but melt like butter under his touch. “don’t be corny, honey.”

“you love it when i’m corny. you think it’s romantic.” he says and god— there’s that smile again. the one where your eyes crinkle and it raises your cheeks so high, it looks as if you might burst with happiness. your smile, it makes the world turn on its axis, makes the waves it the shore and the leaves fall from trees and mountains crumble into the seas. it fixes everything, it fixes him.

“come back inside, eren. we’re all waiting for you.” your voice is so soft, he can’t help but shut green eyes away as you cup the side of his face with the softness of your palm, letting the tips of your fingers twirl through his chocolate brown locks in a way that makes the stress sag from his body. “our son wants to see you blow out the candles, make a wish before mommy puts him to bed.”

“we’ll put him to bed together. i just—“ eren is so fucking lucky, he’d be a fool not to take that as fact. you’ve given him everything; a happy life, a home, a beautiful son, and all the love he could ever ask for— even after everything he’d been through, everything he’d put you through over the years. he wasn’t the best to you, not always, but you stayed. when his parents died, when the world gave out beneath his feet and he couldn’t stand up on his own. you shouldered his burdens with him even though he wasn’t as half as good to you as he should have been. but he loves you with everything he has and everything he doesn’t.

he sighs in content, brought back to reality when you cup his face with two hands instead of one and he opens his eyes just to see how worried you look. “i’ll be there in a minute. just…stay out here with me for a bit.” eren wraps his hands around your wrists softly, grounding you while you ground him and his unfairly long eyelashes flutter against your gentle palms.

“okay,” you breathe, relieved that he’s back from wherever his mind had taken him. back to you. “another minute. as long as you need, ‘ren.” there’s that pet name again, the one tied to distant memories of summers and melting ice-pops and scraped knees. you’ve known him so long, you still know how to make his heart race and you’d even given him the honour of being called your husband.

eren loves you so much. he wonders if he’s told you that he loves you today or if he’s made you feel as such. you always make him feel loved, you take care of him and your beautiful son a little more than yourself— but he swears he’ll always be there to pick up your pieces if you fall apart like he’s done before. you need looking after too, and eren knows it’s silly but sometimes he holds back on his hurt and anguish because he knows you’ll drop everything to make it go away.

you’re his partner, his wife, his first love, the mother of his child and his equal— but eren won’t let you give away any more pieces of yourself, even if that’s what you’re supposed to do when you love each other. he’ll keep you whole, feed you pieces of himself instead, keep your world spinning because he loves you.

that’s why he doesn’t tell you about the nightmares he’s been having lately. the ones of another world. the ones where he tells you he’d flatten the world for you if you told him to and the one where you look at him as if he’s a monster.

even there, you find it in your heart to love him.

eren doesn’t tell you about the nightmares because he knows that in this life, if he had that same power… he’d flatten the world for you and your son— he’d do anything to keep you safe and happy. rip stars from the sky and buildings along with them, trample the earth until everything has no choice but to start anew. that’s how much he’d sacrifice himself for you, how many pieces he’d give up just to keep your smile the way it is. he struggled to love you with the words he needs, but he hopes to whatever higher being or power is out there that his actions are enough.

because eren jaeger loves you enough to kill the entire world in your name.

in this life and all of its alternatives.

“papa! come! cake time!”

the deep depth of eren’s thoughts is breached by his little son calling out to him from the sliding glass doors on your back porch with a sheepish mikasa in tow. its then that the older brunette pulls his forehead away from yours, a smile settling on his handsome and matured features as he crouches down to welcome his little boy into his arms.

he’s so much bigger than eren had realised, maybe time is slipping away from you both. he’s almost two, has eren’s eyes and his untamed hair, but the face is all yours. that smile, the one eren’s son is giving him is so big and bright and beautiful and it’s all yours. another gift you had given eren, another person to love.

“hey there lil’ man! daddy’s comin’, okay?” eren grins as his toddler clambers into his lap to give him a slobbery kiss and a squeeze— making his head spin with adoration. even more so than hen he feels you come up behind him and rub his shoulder lovingly. “give momma ‘n i a second, yeah?”

“‘mkay!”

the toddler jumps up to hug your legs next, tugging you in the direction of his aunty mikasa with a pout that could rival eren’s. “sorry for interrupting,” she whispers fondly and apologetically. “he wanted to come get you guys, he’s been trying to ward sasha off from eating the cake.”

“well we can’t have that, can we baby?” you coo as if you’ve got the world beneath your fingers— brushing back your son’s hair before you lift him into your arms, holding him close as if you can’t believe he’s real and that eren gave him to you. your little product of love. “let’s follow aunty mika inside ‘n get papa’s candles going. then aunty sasha can have some cake, how’s that sound?”

“good momma! les’ go! les’ go!” he chants excitedly, laughing along with you as you follow mikasa back into the house— away from the cold outside.

and it’s in that moment, that eren finds himself warm— even without you by his side. because you leave him filled with so much joy, so much happiness that he couldn’t ever feel like he was unloved. not even for a second. you and your son, you’re both all that eren has in this world, you’re what ties him to this very existence, what gives him a reason to keep going.

before he can even register it, eren reaches out for you both from his place on the porch— calling out your name before you re-enter the house. “i love you,” he murmurs so softly that he fears his words might have been lost with the sway of the trees in the wind. “both of you. so much.”

but then you smile, that same smile that eren would tear the world apart for and say. “love you too. and, happy birthday, eren.”

[painfulstretch]

idea/fantasy: i’m your overdue trans guy roommate. i share everything with you not knowing about your kink. i’ve started complaining about how sick I am of being pregnant, eventually you give into temptation and offer your help. you use teas and herbs and massages to jumpstart my labor. i comply happily, appreciating the help, and am even excited when i feel the first light contractions, i even have you time them to figure out when i should head to the hospital. i have no idea what i’m in for. 12 hours later im still in our apartment, totally at your mercy. i realized far too late why you’d been so eager to assist, and now i’m stuck on the bathroom floor trying to bring a 12lb baby to crown. i’m shouting and crying hysterically as each push wrenches me open, and there’s still a massive bulge sitting just inside. i’ve long given up on begging, the only help you’ll give is to hold my thighs wide apart so you can enjoy the show.

fuckkk anon, that sounds like the dream. getting the chance to see your huge belly everyday would already be great - i'd always be watching you, seeing how your struggle grows everyday, how you're constantly rubbing circles into your aching back and strained bump, hurting all over even before the contractions first started.

i have to bite my tongue when you say you're sick of being pregnant. i would love to see you like this a little longer, just to see how much more weight you'd be able to carry on your slim hips. but i also can't deny i'm excited for your labor. the desire to see you scream out your baby is far stronger than the wish to see you pregnant. so i help you kickstart your labor, and fuck the sight of you doubling over, moaning and panting in pain, every time a contraction hits, is just exquisite.

you're too busy riding out the waves of pain to notice my grin as i time your contractions and announce how short the pauses become, getting closer and closer to the real deal. i reach over to touch your massive belly every now and then, you lean into my hand not yet realising that it's not the touch of a friend trying to be supportive but more akin to a predator toying with its prey. i can't get enough of feeling your bump contracting harshly, and hearing you moan and grunt.

i keep up the act for so long, i start to internally laugh at your naive nature. only when you say it's time to go to the hospital and i flatly deny it, do you become suspicious. suspicion turns to nervousness when you insist and i still don't comply, and then slowly morphs into panic, the clearer it becomes i'm serious and not just playing a mean joke. you become frantic, your words become pleading. i find i enjoy it massively. you've sunken to your knees, the contractions too strong to stay standing, and you're clutching your distended, rippling belly, tears forming in your eyes. you're begging, you're begging for quite some time. you cry, panicked, when i force my fingers inside you to check your dilation - you're dilating fast.

it takes hours until you give up and surrender to your fate of being my own personal entertainment. by now you're too deep into labor to try and argue anymore anyway. your panting and moaning has turned to screaming and sobbing. transition was definitely one of my favorite things to witness - the most painful part of labor. the way you shrieked and thrashed, big fat tears rolling down your cheeks. it lasted almost two hours, and i was thrilled the entire time, couldn't take my eyes off you for a single moment. i was kind of disappointed when it was over and you calmed down a little to take a breather. i decided you needed a proper birthing place - if you kept doing it here, our fine carpet might get dirty with your fluids. i dragged you to your feet, forcing you to walk to the bathroom despite the unbearable pressure in your pelvis. gravity brought the baby down faster.

and now we're here, on the bathroom floor. we have been for several hours now. the head is truly enormous, that bulge is probably the most beautiful thing i've ever seen. your skin stretched taut, an angry bruised red, and your lips fluttering around the top of the baby's head, trying to open up enough to let it pass. you've been trying for so long and still can barely get it crowning. i'm surprised you even got it all the way to your lips through your narrow hips if i'm honest.

your shouting and crying is music to my ears. your trembling, sweating body and your face scrunched up in agony are what my dreams are made of. i've watched you for twelve hours already, i'll gladly watch you for another twelve, or even more. i don't want it to end. i'll wait until you've got the head to a crown - i want to see how you react to the famous ring of fire, i want to see you writhe and wail as the burning stretch reaches its widest, most agonizing point -, i'll let you have that feeling of success for a few minutes because i'm not a monster, despite what you may think right now, you know? you can feel happy about your accomplishment. and when you've had your share, i'll place my hand on your bulging pussy.

didn’t i say i'd love to see you pregnant a bit longer but prefer seeing you suffer through labor? well, i realised... why choose when i can have both? i'll place my hand on the baby's head and give it a nice gentle shove. oh, the scream you let out as that white hot pain sears through your nether region up into your entire body will be glorious

[so-much-for-the-seashells]

Always

Dean Winchester (Supernatural) x GN!Hunter!Reader

Disclaimers: The only character I own is the reader insert.

Author’s Notes: I’m writing this the day after I swore I’d never do angst. Ironic, huh. I’m working on getting more power across in my words- hopefully that shows.

Anyhow, this is set after <S2 SPOILER> John dies saving Dean. Obviously, given the nature of his passing, Dean can’t talk to Sam about it- but in this story he has someone he can talk to.

Icons by @gosling-girlx !! ❤️❤️

As always, all notes are very much appreciated!

Content/Content Warnings: This is angst at its finest. A 16+ audience would be preferred on this piece.

“What if, for just once in your life, you manned up and actually talked to me?” My voice is loud. It’s booming, and it’s borderline angry. My hands are balled into fists at my sides, and my jaws clenched.

I’m just so done. I try so hard with Dean, and I’m always patient. When he doesn’t want to talk, I don’t pry. I’m there for him whenever he needs me, however he needs me, wherever, at any hour, without so much as a second thought. I’ve never faulted him for not being able to say “I love you,” or for not being gentle when I need him to be. And I will always do these things.

But I am not okay with being told to “Stop fucking doing that,” ‘that’ being me trying to ask him if he’s okay. I let him get away with a lot of things, maybe more than I should, but outright cussing and waving me off? That’s too much.

So fine. We’ve been yelling at each other at least ten minutes now. Far too loud for a shitty motel with paper thin walls, surely, but right now I need him not only to hear me, but to listen to me.

He’s stood down after that last question. His shoulders slumped from their tense posture, his jaw no longer clenched. He’s trying so hard to retain his scowl, but I see the tick in the corner of his mouth. I see the way that his beautiful green eyes start to water.

No matter what cruel things he said to me, I refused to retaliate. He can swear at me all he wants, but he won’t get the same treatment in return. Because nothing can take down the thick walls of the elder Winchester like human decency. Something he’s never properly gotten from anyone- his own father included in that omniscient “anyone.”

“So?” I ask, my hands still fists. I won’t back down until he does, I can’t give him the chance to roll his eyes and turn away like he would with anyone else.

“I-,” his voice gets caught in his throat. “Cause I’m no man, sweetheart. Certainly not man enough for you.”

“Cut the shit, Dean,” the swear slipped out of my lips before I could stop him. I see him flinch, and my heart pangs, fists unclench. Suddenly, I’m not so fired up. “Sorry, sorry. Listen, this isn’t about what you are for me. Because if it was, we wouldn’t be fighting. You’re perfect for me, Dean.”

“Just-,” I stop myself, moving back to sit on one of the dingy hotel beds with its ugly orange gingham duvet. I sit cross-legged, back against the flat puke-green pillows propped against the headboard, looking up at Dean who is still standing in the same spot like a statue. “C’mere,” I pat the bed gently.

He obeys wordlessly, a listless quality to the way he drags his feet to where I’m sat. He doesn’t sit, though, a clear tentativity in his watery eyes. “Dean, it’s okay.”

Okay to cry, I want to add.

Okay to feel.

Okay to be human.

He sighs. “I’m just not good at talking, Y/n. I never had anyone to talk to- my dad was my boss more than anything, I had to- have to- be strong for my brother, and anyone else who’s come into my life seems to fit into one of those two categories.” A singular, perfect tear runs down his face. His expression is stony, but his voice… while as deep as always, it has a broken quality to it, something he’s trying to hide.

“Dean. I’m not anyone. You can talk to me, you can be broken with me,” I urge, mentally willing him to come sit by me so I can touch him, hug him, anything.

Finally, he sits. I don’t reach out to touch him, not yet. He looks shaky.

“Listen. I know Sam’s been up your ass trying to get you to talk about him. I know aren’t big on touchy feely stuff, and I ain’t gonna push you. But I need you to stop lashing out at me when I ask you if you’re okay.”

His cheeks are flushed, eyes wide. His lower lip quivers, finally breaking his scowl. A sad, splintered chuckle leaves his lips. “Y’know, he’d do the same to me. I’d ask, sometimes, after a real bad hunt, and he’d lash out… I’m too much like him, y/n. That’s why I don’t want to talk about him.” His voice is just a little too steady, almost artificial.

“You’re not too much like him, not at all,” I say, reaching out to him, but stopping before my hand can touch his. I’m letting him be the one to pull the trigger, to decide if he wants physical touch right now. “You’re better than he could’ve ever hoped to be, Dean. He knew that. Sam knows that. I know that.”

And that’s what breaks the dam, tears freely falling down his stubbled cheeks. He takes my hand in his, holding tight before I tug at him, inviting him to lay in my lap. He obliges, head resting in my lap. I take initiative to run my fingers through his hair, something that I’ve found soothes him.

“I just-,” his voice is broken, there’s no hiding it now. “I’m sorry.”

“I know,” I murmur. “I just want to help you be okay, that’s all.”

We sit like that for a while, his head in my lap as he cries. He doesn’t sob, but occasionally choked up noises escape him, and it breaks my heart seeing him like this. Eventually, I find it in myself to speak again.

“I know he never really said it, Dean. But he loved you, he did. He trusted you. He was thankful for you,” I tell him, wiping some of the tears off of his face.

John Winchester might’ve been a sorry excuse for a man after Mary died, fine.

But it was clear that he loved his boys, especially Dean, even if it was in his own fucked up way.

I hated the Winchester father. Quite frankly, I still do. For the way that he had put revenge in front of the care of his kids, for the way he treated his kids, even into their adulthood. I mean, making an eight year old take care of a four year old? How bad of a father can you be?

He’s a son of a bitch. But in the end, even though the bastard never once validated his elder son (nor his younger)- and he should’ve- he died for Dean. And I know Dean’ll blame himself for it. But the fact that his dad loved him… that might be enough to make the self-resentment more lenient. That and the fact that he has me.

I won’t let him hate himself or feel unloved. I think John knew that- that Dean would have far better support if he was gone. I’m know he knew how much Dean respected and idolized him, but I also know damn well that he knew damn well that he was not good enough for his son. Not nearly good enough.

So hopefully, between me and Sam, we can mend the hole in his heart. Help him feel whole again.

But for now he needs this. To cry, to feel. Something he never felt he could, not in the presence of anyone else.

Gradually the tears slow to a stop. He sniffles, wiping his face, but not moving his head from my lap. “Thank you,” he whispers.

“Always,” I lean down and kiss him on the forehead. “I mean that.”

“I love you.”

There’s no stutter or pause in his words. He’s said them, plain and simple, as if this isn’t the first time he’s been able to get the words out. I guess it’s my turn to cry, because I feel a tear trickle down my face, landing on his. He grins a crooked grin at that. “Is it that bad a fate?” he jokes.

“No, no,” I choke on my laugh. “I love you too.”

And sure, there’s going to be more nights like these. Nights where we fight, and maybe sometimes they won’t end so well, so neatly.

There’s going to be more fights. Stupid fights, nasty fights.

But there will also be more I love yous. More holding. More feeling.

And no matter what happens, I’ll be there for Dean Winchester. Always. And I mean that.

[analogwriting]

Childhood Crush

Chapter 4: Copper

Killer x gn!reader

word count: 3.7k next

“Ah, I see they’ve upgraded to a scrapyard, hm?” You looked around, stepping over bodies. You assumed this was the first gang that your brother and his friends took care of. You examined them as you walked, noticing none of them were dead, just knocked out. Good. Sometimes your brother could get hot headed - you didn’t want him to kill anyone. Especially if this was just some kind of weird test of strength.

You noticed your brother and Killer on the ground in the middle of a clearing. Oh, this was most definitely a trap. However, you didn’t care as you rushed forward. “Tungsten! Killer!” You looked over the both of them, untying them and checking their vitals. Both of them were fine for the most part, just beat up real good.

“You shouldn’t…have come,” you heard Killer say. You rolled your eyes. “You should know by now I can’t just stand idly by.”

“He’s…right. They wanted to bring you here,” Eustass said, slowly sitting up. “Ah, don’t strain yourselves.” You sighed, looking at Heat and Wire. You handed them your bag. “You two work on patching them up for the time being, I’ll take care of everything else.”

“Having someone fight your battles again, Kid?” You heard a familiar voice. It was a couple octaves deeper since it had been a couple of years, but it was still recognizable. You felt your blood boil as you stood, gripping your bat tightly as you turned to glare at him.

Nathan and his friends all seemed much larger than before. Seemed everyone around you was growing while you seemed to stop doing so. You watched as Nathan walked over to you, easily towering you. Shit, he even seemed taller than your brother. Great. Awesome. This was gonna be fantastic.

“Long time, no see, y/n,” he said and you made a face. “Gross. I don’t like it when you say my name.” He just laughed, throwing his head back and making a spectacle of it. Your deadpan expression didn’t change. Was he always this annoying? You felt like he was more irritating than before. Maybe it was because you were in a sour mood.

Though, when it came to these things, you were always in a sour mood.

“You’re funny, you know that? I’ve waited for this moment a long time. You humiliated me last time and it seems that the gods have taken pity on me. Given me a chance for revenge by bringing you to me.” A smirk spread across his face and you just blinked.

“The gods did not bring me here. You beat up my brother and his friends more than likely knowing that’s how you’d be able to drag me out.” You twirled your bat in your hand and rested it on your shoulder as you looked up at him, absolutely bored of this conversation.

Nathan’s eye twitched. “You dare mock the gods?” A dark look spread across his face. “No wonder they brought you to me. You must be punished.”

You blinked. What the hell was he going on about? You shook your head, knowing there was no point in arguing with a madman. He was blind with revenge and you just needed to put him in his place again. Easy. 

From the corner of your eye, you noticed his cronies stepping closer to the two of you. You were currently running a million different plans through your mind. They were all much larger than you and had been fighting all these years. Sure, you sparred with the boys, but that was different. That wasn’t genuine fighting. They were all bigger too, but you could use that to your advantage. As long as you were quick enough on your feet…

You heard someone step from behind you, and you turned, swinging without hesitation. They stopped short, but you still clipped them in the jaw. They reeled back, holding it. “Fuck,” they grumbled and you gave a sheepish grin. “Don’t scare me like that.” Upon further inspection, you realized that it was the Nathan guy’s brother. You remember him trying to make a big stink about whomever their father was.

Two different people lunged at you from opposite directions with swords and you felt your body move on its own and that familiar feel of excitement. One backflip later and you had dodged their attack. 

“Still as nimble as ever, I see,” Nathan commented from his position. He hadn’t moved from his spot, more than likely enjoying the show. 

You heard a cry, looking over to see one of the sword wielders lunging at you. You turned out of the way, ending up right next to them as you swung your bat at the same time. Unfortunately for them, they turned to move but caught your weapon to their face, sending them flying. You flinched. “Whoops,” you said, still lack of emotion on your face. You walked over to them noticing they were bleeding, but breathing. “Oh good.”

You didn’t come here to kill anyone.

“I’d get them to a doctor soon. They have a skull fracture and probably internal blee-”

“Yeah, because of you, you bastard,” you heard someone ground out. You looked over, ducking as they swung a two by four at you.

You stood back up only to have your feet knocked out from under you by another person. You crashed to the ground backwards, but were able to bring your bat up in time to stop the barrage of fists from connecting with you. 

They grabbed at your bat, trying to rip it away from you, but you held onto it. With a burst of strength, you pushed forward, pinning them to the ground this time. You let go of your bat, confusing them in the process. This gave you enough time to punch them square in the face without issue. Twice. Then you stood up, ripping your bat out of their hands as they covered their face and curled up in pain.

“Broken nose, fractured jaw. Probably a couple missing teeth,” you said. 

Two down, three to go. They might have all been bigger, but they didn’t seem to be all that much tougher. You heard a battle cry, once again coming from above. “This again?” You stepped out of the way, letting them land on the ground before bringing your bat down on their back and knocking the wind out of them. They moved their arm, swiping their sword at you as a last ditch attempt and you jumped back, swinging your weapon and knocking their sword from their hand. The clattering echoed in the scrapyard.

You heard a cry, but this one wasn’t a battle one. And it was your brother. You whipped around, seeing the Delmark brother holding your brother by the hair with a blade pressed to his neck. “Eustass!” You stepped towards him. “Ah, ah,” his captor said, pressing the blade further into his neck and drawing a bit of blood.

You stopped cold. “Bigs, don’t worry about me, I’m fine,” your brother ground out, but it was obvious that was a lie. They had already been pretty banged up, so they couldn’t fight back very well. 

“Drop your weapon if you want him to live.” With no hesitation, your weapon dropped to the ground, the sound of steel on the concrete echoing all around. Your mind raced with what you should do now. There were two left. The brothers. If you could just get the one off yours-

Then you felt something metal press against your head and the click of a barrel. A gun? Were they fucking serious right now? Bringing a gun to a gang fight was against the unspoken rules but…you guessed this wasn’t the normal gang fight. They didn’t plan on letting you live this whole time. Fuck.

Your own eyes were wide and so were Eustass’. “Bigs…” Even the other boys were staring at you, frozen. With their own leader being held at knife point and you with a gun against your head, they couldn’t do much without someone ending up dead. You had to think fast.

Then your brother started squirming. You saw as the blade dug further into his skin. “Eustass, stop!” You stepped forward, stopping as you felt the gun press further into your head as Nathan’s voice boomed. “You want me to kill them?” Eustass immediately froze, obviously not wanting you to be hurt in any way.

“That’s better. Be a good boy and sit there, this is between me and y/n.” 

His attention turned back to you. “Now, simple question. Whose life are we sparing? Your life or th-”

“Theirs.”

“Bigs!” You shot a glare at your brother and he just looked at you. It was filled with all kinds of emotion. Hurt, worry, sadness, anger, panic, just about all of them were going through his face right now. As well as the others. 

You looked at Eustass. “Do you trust me?” He blinked, but nodded. 

“What the hell do you think you’re gonna be able to do in your situation,” Nathan cackled. “There’s nothing you can do!”

You heard the gun click as he readied it once more and you ducked right before he pulled the trigger. The bullet missed you and flew right for Nathan’s own brother, hitting him between the eyes - killing him instantly. You heard the gun drop to the ground as well as Nathan dropping to his knees. “No…” 

You didn’t want there to be a death today, but you didn’t have a choice.

You stood up, picking up your bat in the process. “Maybe you shouldn’t play around with guns if you’re not prepared for the consequences,” you said, your voice hollow. You stood above Nathan as he looked at you. With one quick movement, you used the butt of your baseball bat, bringing it down on his head to strike him down.

You thought you could stop there, but the anger and rage was slowly consuming you and you wanted nothing more than this man to be dead. This was twice he had brought harm to your brother. The first time was just because your brother was hot headed, but this time was for some petty revenge for a children’s scuffle. You were all young back then but he had kept ahold of that? 

You held your bat over your head, ready to bring it down on his skull in one, killing blow. “This won’t happen again.” You brought your bat down, only for you to feel it be yanked out of your hands. You turned, swinging your fist on whomever was going to fuck with you this time only for them to catch your fist and spin you around to pin your arm against your back. “Fuckin-” You squirmed against them.

“Let go!”

You brought your head up to try to headbutt whomever it was, only to meet solid chest. Of course you weren’t tall enough. You tried to solidify your stance to try and throw them over you but they dropped to their knee, causing you to fall on your own ass, but still being restrained. You continued to struggle before a voice finally broke through all the blind rage.

“Y/n, please calm down.” Killer? You immediately stopped. You supposed that made sense. Whomever had a hold on you hadn’t tried harming you in any way. Wait, but wasn’t he injured? How the hell was he able to hold you down so well? Were you that tapped out without realizing it?

Now that you were calming down, all the energy was leaving your body. However, you knew that you needed to properly patch everyone up, so you couldn’t collapse now. “You can let me go now,” you said, feeling irritation settling in. He did, standing up and helping you do the same.

You dusted yourself off. “Why did you do that? He doesn’t deserve to live after all he’s done,” you grumbled, glaring at Nathan who was curled up on the ground. Whether or not he was conscious, you had no idea. You reached for your bat only for Killer to kick it away. You glared at him.

“What’s the fucking problem?” 

“You need to calm down,” he said, an expression on his face that you couldn’t quite read.

“I am calm!” 

“Clearly.” He folded his arms across his chest and you glared at him.

Your brother picked up your bat, looking at it before he looked at you. You held your hand out for it and he shook his head, stepping back with it. “Eu-”

“With that look in your eye that you had as you swung at Killer, I don’t think you would’ve stopped at Nathan.” You noticed him clench his jaw and worry seemed to outline his features.

“What are you going on about?” You groaned, putting your hands on your hips. You were beyond irritated now.

“You looked damn near ready to kill him.”

“Yeah with what he-”

“Not Nathan.” 

You stopped, blinking. Your brother looked at you. “I think if we hadn’t stopped you when we did, you would’ve taken all of us out. Even when you did see it was Killer that had taken the bat, you proceeded to swing anyway. The bloodthirsty look didn’t leave your eyes.” He clicked his tongue, placing your bat over his shoulder.

You looked between them before you scoffed, rolling your eyes. “You two are dramatic.” You turned on your heel to head out of the scrapyard. “I wouldn’t hurt you guys.” You placed your hands behind your head as you walked. “Let’s go, I need to patch you up.”

“Where the hell are you going?” You turned to look at Nathan on the ground. He looked at you, grief and anger in his eyes. “Finish me off.”

You knew he was going to be torn up over his brother. The merciful thing would be to end him now, but…

“Play stupid games, win stupid prizes,” you said, walking away. He needed to suffer to atone for what he’d done. He broke the rules for fighting and brought a gun. This was his own fault. He pulled the trigger without thinking of all the possibilities that could happen.

--

Back at home, you started patching everyone up properly. You were quiet for the most part, mulling over what had happened. Were you really that bad? Would you have harmed your brother and his friends had they not stepped in when they did? 

You pushed those thoughts away. There was no point in worrying right now. What’s done is done and you had a job to do. Your brother was in the worst condition out of everyone. He had a broken arm and a broken leg, so you set him up in bed before you started to patch him up. Your salve could heal up cuts and scrapes pretty quickly, but not broken bones.

Maybe that would be what you worked on next. Something to speed up the process of healing bones.

Heat and Wire were pretty straight forward. They had cuts and scrapes, but nothing your medicine couldn’t heal up quickly. You also made a mental note to run to the store later. You still hadn’t been able to scale back the side effects for how hungry it made everyone. And with the five of you, you knew you’d be going through a lot of food the next week or so.

“Y/n.” You were brought back to reality as Killer sat in front of you. “Ya seem spaced out. You alright?” You looked at him and nodded, offering a small smile. “Yeah. Just thinking about what to get from the store later. We’re all going to be quite famished once the salve kicks in.”

Killer chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re too good to us.” You just scoffed, rolling your eyes as you looked him over. After your assessment, you came to the conclusion that he had a nasty gash in his head that needed to be stitched up and a sprained ankle. Nothing you couldn’t take care of quick.

“Now, I’m going to need to stitch up your head.” You moved to clip his hair out of the way so you had better access to the wound. “It’s gonna hurt, especially since it’s on your head.”

The man before you just scoffed and shrugged. “I’ll be fine. Nothing I can’t handle.” You prepared your things and looked at him from your peripherals. “Uh huh. You keep that spirit when you start raw dogging these stitches.” A small grin spread across your face and he chuckled.

You stood in between his legs so you could look over his head better. “We’re gonna have to get real close and personal here,” you mumbled, trying to still your racing heart. You could feel your down face warming up, but you knew he wouldn’t be able to see you since he had to keep looking down so you could see what you were doing.

“Fine by me.” You heard him say. You took a deep breath. “Here we go…”

The moment you pierced his skin, he hissed in pain. His hands found their way to your hips and gripped them tightly. Your body immediately reacted, heating up and your eyes widened in surprise. You bit back any kind of noise that was currently trying to escape your mouth. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

You cleared your throat, trying so fucking hard to concentrate on your task at hand. It was damn near impossible because every time he let up, he’d squeeze again when you had to pierce his skin once more. Why the fuck hadn’t you developed some kind of numbing cream yet? That was your next project, for sure.

Once finished, you took the clip out of his hair and he seemed to realize that his hands were on your hips. “Oh…uh…” You looked down at him as his face seemed to turn red. A fever? “So-” He pulled his hand away and you noticed blood.

“Where did that come from?” You looked at his hand, looking for some kind of cut when he pulled his hand away, pulling you closer. Your face went red. “Kill-”

“It’s coming from you.” He lifted your shirt partly and you looked down, noticing a big gash in your torso that went from your side over and down to the front of your hip, near your pelvis. “Oh, would you look at that…”

“It’s coming from here too,” he mumbled, holding up your arm, revealing another cut down the underside. “Huh…I didn’t even notice…”

Though, now that your adrenaline was finally dying down, fatigue was catching up to you and you felt yourself sway a bit. Just how much blood have you lost?

Killer quickly stood up, sitting you down instead. “What do I need to do?” he asked and you shook your head, grabbing your utensils. “‘S fine. I’ll do it,” you mumbled, feeling your head start to spin. You closed your eyes for a moment to regain your composure.

“Like hell you’re fine,” he mumbled, swatting your hands away from your equipment. You opened your eyes and frowned. “You all are really bad at stitches,” you whined softly. You were on a rapid decline.

“We don’t have a choice now, do we? Start instructing me before you pass out and then you’re really fucked.” 

You made a face and sighed. You moved to sit in the chair sideways, leaning on the back so that Killer had more access to the wound. “Holy shit,” he mumbled. “That bad, huh?” You snorted.

You heard fabric tearing and it seemed to sober you up momentarily. “What the fuck?” You looked down, noticing he had torn away parts of your shirt to access the wound better. 

He looked at you with a raised brow. “How else am I supposed to be able to see properly with all this fabric in the way?” You just rolled your eyes. He looked at you for a moment. “What?”

“I’m trying to think of the best way to position myself…” You blinked slowly before looking down. Yeah, it was at a weird angle. He knelt down next to the chair. “This’ll have to do,” he mumbled. You nodded, resting your elbow back on the table to try and keep your arm out of the way while Killer worked under your instruction.

After a few minutes of guiding Killer through it, he seemed to get it. While his stitches were uneven and not perfect, they weren’t that bad either. “Bigs, what the fuck?” You looked over, seeing your brother being supported by Heat as they entered the kitchen with Wire in tow. “The fuck are you doing out of bed?” you demanded.

He completely ignored you. “Did that happen during the fight?”

“No, I just did this right now for fun.” You rolled your eyes. 

“Why the hell didn’t you say anything?”

“Probably because I didn’t notice?” You pinched the bridge of your nose. “I swear, tungsten, don’t pick a-” Killer hit a particularly tender spot and you hissed, not having the most control of your movements as you suddenly grabbed a fistful of his hair and tugged on it rather roughly. 

He let out a low groan in response, his own movements stopping. You were just lucky his injury had been on the other side of his head. “Are you okay?” you heard your brother ask. “The fuck do you think? I’m getting fucking stitches.” That’s when you noticed Killer’s hair still balled in your fist and you immediately let go.

“Shit, sorry,” you grumbled. He didn’t say anything as he took a moment before starting once more. You noticed his face growing more red. Maybe he had an infection? You made a mental note to check for a fever when he was done.

Once he finished up, he quickly excused himself. You assumed he might be salty at you for tugging on his hair. You had just patched up a wound on his head, probably hurt him. Shit. You sighed, shifting yourself to sit in the chair correctly. 

“How about we order pizza tonight?” Your brother’s face lit up along with the others’. “Fuck yeah.” You slowly stood up, heading towards the drawer to grab a menu.

There was no way in hell you were going to be able to cook tonight. 

[pickalilywrites]

Oh, do you still take suggestions for the babysitters au? bcs Eren y Annie taking Falco and Gabi to a haunted house its just so funny

ty this was fun. i'm glad ppl still like this au~

rite of passage

ereani. babysitting au. 1652 words.

The four stroll through the amusement park at a leisurely pace. Ever since stepping foot in the park, their trip has exclusively consisted of standing in line for roller coasters and riding said roller coasters. Falco’s complexion had paled after the first ride, but he had insisted that he was fine and wouldn’t hear of being left behind by the rest of the group or going on more casual rides. With each roller coaster they rode, Falco’s face turned paler shades of white before slowly turning an ashy gray and finally a sickly green. At their last roller coaster — a ride known as the Whirlwind that had sharp twists and turns, steep drops, and loop-the-loops with very few moments of calm in between — Falco vomited the contents of his stomach as soon as they had exited the ride and Annie had called off roller coasters for the rest the day.  

“I swear, I’m fine,” Falco says weakly even though his feet drag against the gravel because he doesn’t have enough energy to pick his feet up off the ground. Although Eren had suggested they take a break on a nearby bench, Falco had said he felt well enough to walk around the park so they could at least look at all the attractions instead of wasting time in one space even though that’s basically what they did when they were waiting for roller coasters. “I feel a lot better now. We should at least go on a few more roller coasters.”  

“No more roller coasters,” Annie says firmly. She glares at Eren who had perked up slightly at the mention of riding another thrill ride, but her boyfriend immediately wilts underneath her gaze. She returns her gaze to Falco and says in a gentler but still firm voice, “No more roller coasters. We’ve ridden enough for today, and they all feel the same after you’ve ridden enough of them.”  

“But we’re actually tall enough this year,” Gabi pouts and kicks at the ground. She does look apologetic when she sees the hurt in Falco’s eyes. She knows it’s not his fault that he gets motion sickness, but she’s still frustrated. “I wanted to ride all the roller coasters this time. We never got to before.” 

“Well, you guys did ride a lot of them,” Eren says. He has one hand behind Falco’s shoulders and rubs comforting circles on his cousin’s back. “We can always go back and ride the other ones next time. Anyway, I’m sure Reiner would be impressed with all the rides we’ve gone on.” 

Eren is referring to Gabi’s uncle. They had received the tickets for the amusement park from Reiner’s boyfriend Bertholdt. Bertholdt’s company had a successful year and had given their employees enough tickets to attend the park with their families, but Bertholdt and Reiner had a romantic getaway vacation booked the same day the tickets were purchased for and so they had encouraged Eren and Annie to go with Gabi and Falco. Eren, forever a child at heart, had jumped at the chance of going to an amusement park for free. Annie thinks he might be enjoying all of this more than the kids are.  

“I know, but I feel like he would have been super impressed if we went to all the roller coasters!” Gabi says. 

Eren notices the subtle slump of his cousin’s shoulders. He thinks for a moment and his expression brightens. “Let’s forget about roller coasters. Annie’s right. They’re overrated. Once you’ve ridden one, you’ve ridden them all. You know what you guys would enjoy even more than a dumb roller coaster?” 

“What?” the two kids ask, necks nearly snapping as they turn their heads to look excitedly at Eren.  

“A calming stroll through the haunted house!” Eren says with a grandiose wave of his hand to gesture at the haunted house attraction that they’ve conveniently stopped at. His enthusiasm is punctuated with the rumble of lightning that comes out of the nearby speakers and Eren’s grin grows even wider. “See, even the house agrees with me!” 

Gabi’s eyes widen in excitement. She had only been interested in roller coasters, but the prospect of exploring a haunted house intrigues her now that Eren has proposed it. Gabi admires him so much that she would do anything Eren suggests. Falco, however, doesn’t look as convinced that a stroll through the haunted house will be a good time. 

“How is anything about a haunted house ‘calming’?” Annie asks with a raised eyebrow. 

“Look, walking through a haunted house is a rite of passage,” Eren says. He’s taken on a diplomatic air, the sort of demeanor he takes when wants to be convincing. It’s not something that would convince Annie, but Falco and Gabi seem interested based on the way they’re hanging onto every word Eren is saying. “Everyone should go through a haunted house once in their life. If you haven’t bravely walked through a house designed to scare the living daylights out of you, have you even lived at all?”  

Gabi is nodding in agreement, but Falco still seems hesitant. He’s definitely interested, his body subtly turned towards the haunted house, but his mouth twists into an uncertain frown. 

“Isn’t it going to be scary though?” Falco asks. 

“It’s good if you’re scared! That’s what haunted houses are there for! It’s just human nature, after all,” Eren says with a dismissive wave of his hand. He looks over at Annie with a grin on his face. “It won’t be too scary. Right, Annie?”  

Annie’s mouth is set in a thin line. While she doesn’t find haunted houses particularly frightening, she’s not sure a squeamish twelve-year-old that had just puked his insides out would agree. To Falco, Annie says, “We don’t have to go to the haunted house. It’s stupid anyway.”  

“See, it’s not scary! Annie just said it was stupid!” Eren says as if the words “stupid” and “not scary” are synonyms. He grabs Falco’s shoulders and kneels so that he’s eye level with the middle schooler. “Come on, Falco! Rite of passage!”  

“Rite of passage! Rite of passage!” Gabi echoes, jumping up and down excitedly. 

Annie feels sorry for the poor guy. He’s still reluctant to enter the haunted house, his blue eyes nervously flitting back and forth between the house and literally anywhere else as he searches for an excuse. She places a gentle hand on his shoulder and pulls him towards her. 

“You two can go on your rite of passage without us. Falco and I are going to look for something else fun to do,” Annie says. 

“I,” Eren says standing up suddenly, his broad shoulders squared and chin held up high, “will purchase a cream donut for everyone who bravely enters the haunted house.” 

Falco senses Annie’s has piqued. Her grip on his shoulder has tightened considerably. He looks up at her face, her sapphire eyes lit with a blue flame at the mention of the cream donuts. “Miss Annie?” 

“Let’s go to the haunted house, Falco,” Annie says. She’s already guiding a bewildered Falco toward the haunted house. 

“Rite of passage!” Gabi and Eren cheer as Annie leads the way.  

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆ 

Their rite of passage if less of a rite of passage and more of a five minute walk into the haunted house that gets cut unexpectedly short after the first cast member — a poor, underpaid theme park worker dressed up as some zombie-mummy hybrid — popped out to surprise them only to be met with a surprise themselves in the form of Eren’s fist. It resulted in the cast member bleeding all over their bandages and makeup and Eren profusely apologizing for his reflexive instincts. The group was shortly escorted from the haunted house but not before pictures were taken of them so that they could be added to a list of banned haunted house guests.  

The four are currently sitting on a park bench eating the cream buns that Eren had promised before. Strangely, only Eren looks dejected after the events of the haunted house. The two kids don’t seem at all disappointed that they’ve been banned for life at the haunted house.  

“Are you going to-?” Annie begins. 

“You can have it,” Eren says, shoving his untouched cream bun into Annie’s hands. He’s sullen, cradling his other hand to his chest as he sulks.  

“I didn’t know a haunted house could be so fun!” Gabi says, kicking her feet back and forth on the bench as she takes another bite of her cream bun. She’s a sloppy eater and doesn’t notice all the cream and powdered sugar getting all over her face and clothes.  

“Yeah, it was super fun,” Falco agrees.  

“We were barely even there!” Eren protests. “We were there for like a minute and then we got kicked out! And now we can never go back again!” 

“Well, when you’ve been to one haunted house, you’ve seen them all,” Annie says with a shrug before taking a bite into her second cream donut. She relishes the taste of cool, sweet cream on her tongue as her boyfriend sulks beside her.  

“I thought that was roller coasters,” Gabi says.  

“It applies to most things,” Annie says. She pauses for a moment before adding, “Not donuts, though.”  

Falco observes Eren, a frown on his face as he realizes his older cousin’s shoulders are shaking. “Eren, are you ... crying?” 

“’m fine,” Eren mumbles before slumping down further on the bench. He leans against Annie, turning towards her so that his head rests on her shoulder. He shakes subtly, containing his crying as best as he can. In a low voice that can’t be heard by the other two, Eren whines to Annie, “My hand fucking hurts.”  

“What’s wrong with him?” Gabi asks, looking over at Eren.  

“He’s fine,” Annie says. She pats her boyfriend’s head sympathetically. “It’s just a rite of passage. You’ll understand when you’re older.”  

[allylikethecat]

January OTP Prompts

Big news, its day two and I haven't given up on this January prompt list situation thing yet. Therefore, I am going to continue to attempt to write 500 words every day for the month of January, each little drabble based on the corresponding prompt. Hopefully I can keep it up!

2. New beginnings

“It’s perfect,” Matty whispered in awe, spinning in a circle as he stood in the empty space that would eventually be their family room. He could picture it clearly in his mind’s eye. Their well loved leather sofa, the heavy knit blanket from George’s mother tossed along the back, the two of them tucked together with their feet on the coffee table, the TV turned down low, neither of them bothering to give it any mind. 

Maybe they would get a cat, or another dog, or what was most likely, a goldfish. George had revoked Matty’s pet privileges ages ago when they realized that their regular lifestyle, recording then touring, then repeating the entire process wasn’t conducive for having a pet, especially not one that weighed nearly as much as Matty himself. 

The old house had been fine, objectively, but the new house, chosen together and then renovated was the chance for the first of many new beginnings. The space uninhabited by the ghosts of their previous home. Screaming fights in the kitchen, the side door slamming shut as George left to clear his head. Matty unconscious in the upstairs bathroom, his lips turning blue as his heart beat slowed. They had moved out of the master bedroom and into the guestroom. Matty hadn’t stepped foot in the master suite in the four years since that night and George didn’t blame him, the hair on the back of his own neck standing up whenever he was forced to confront the room. 

The new house was a long overdue fresh start, the new beginning, the new chapter, the first page of their new lives together. 

“You’re perfect,” said George knowing he sounded ridiculously sappy, but unable to bring himself to care, tugging Matty into his arms, the diamond on his finger flashing in the natural light streaming through the large bay windows. Another fresh start, another new beginning, making official what he should have years ago. Maybe the house was the second page of their new beginning, maybe the ring was the first. Matty’s eyes went wide when they closed on the house, and he stepped into the since renovated kitchen, George down on one knee, his voice shaking as he asked are you finally making an honest man out of me? 

Matty scoffed, his eyes bright. “And that my dear, is why I’m the one in charge of the lyrics.” He teased, rehashing an argument that they had been having for years, Matty unable to see himself the way that George did. 

He focused on the gray in his hair, the crinkles around his eyes, the scars on his body, the mistakes that he had made the way he had been beat down, chewed up and spit out. He didn’t see himself the way that George did, he didn’t see the life, the signs of a life lived, the perseverance of always getting back up, clawing his way back to his feet when anyone else would have given up and stayed down. To George he was perfect, each flaw Matty pointed out a reminder that Matty was real, that he was still here in George’s arms, his heart beating into a new beginning. 

Day: 1

[maraudersftw]

"Oh god. How long have you been standing there?"

Congrats love!!! ❤❤❤

Hey, Lauren! Remember when you sent this? 💖 Neither do I 🥲 But I wrote something for it, so thank you, queen!

Fighting Fear

Through the light veil of intoxication clouding his vision, he spots her across the room, stood near the fireplace with Mary Macdonald, a cup of punch in hand.

“—how he did that swerve and roll when the bludger came his way! Are you listening, Prongs? What’s—” Sirius’s annoyed tone morphs into a heavy sigh the very next second, and James doesn’t even need to turn to know that he’s spotted the girls too. “Ah. Suppose I’ve lost you now, then.”

With a self-admonishing shake of his head, James looks away, shifting so that his back faces the fireplace now; not entirely eliminating the temptation but lessening his masochistic tendencies somewhat. “It’s nothing,” he makes himself say, chugging a huge gulp of his own punch and instantly regretting the move when his insides recoil with horror. “I’m fine. It’s over… whatever it was.”

“Is it really?” Sirius asks, looking exasperated. “Because not a single person in the room—no, fuck that; the castle—would believe that, given the fat fucking clouds of gloom the two of you seem to carry around with you these days.”

James clenches his jaw. “What do you want me to say, Padfoot? I did what I could, but—”

“You gave up.”

That does it.

“She is the one who went fucking silent on me!” he hisses, fingers clenching around his now-empty cup. “I told her how I felt, I asked her out, because you—all three of you!—told me she had to feel the same way, and then I scared her off. It’s exactly what I'd feared, and now—”

“Stop whining for a moment, would you?” Sirius glares, snatching the crushed cup away from James's hand for no apparent reason. “She didn’t go fucking silent on you; she said she needed some time.”

“Yes, to think of how to let me down gently, no doubt.”

“You know, Prongs, Evans has called you arrogant ‘bout a dozen times in the past, but now is when you really need to pull your head out of your arse, mate,” he scoffs. “Give the bird a bloody chance. She’s never had her feelings all sorted out, like you have. She clearly likes to complicate matters and overthink them to death, and I shouldn’t have to tell you this, because you already know it! If you just stopped panicking like a headless bloody chicken, you’d see all of this more rationally.”

“Merlin,” James mutters, ears a little red. “What’s with you suddenly?”

“I’m tired of watching you mope around and be miserable. Disbalances the atmosphere in the dormitory.”  

“Right.”

“Are you gonna let her talk to you then? She’s been trying since Thursday.”

“I know,” James sighs, runs a hand through his hair. “I’m just—”

“Scared of getting your heart broken, I know,” says Sirius, rolling his eyes, though not without fondness. “That’s not going to happen. No one chases the person they want to reject quite that badly. If Remus hadn’t stopped her, she might’ve marched down to the locker rooms after the match today to find you.”

“You’re kidding,” James whispers, sudden images flashing through his mind about this potential confrontation that could have taken place. He thinks he sort of regrets its non-occurrence now. “You… really think I should take a chance?”

“For fuck’s sake, yes!” Sirius barks, eyes jumping towards the fireplace for a beat. “And I’d do it soon, too, because from the look of things, Evans has clearly started thinking you want nothing to do with her anymore.”

“What?” James frowns, turning around to find only Mary standing near the large, scarlet couch, glaring with undisguised annoyance right at him. “Okay, she does not seem well pleased.”

“No shit.”

“Where’d Evans go?”

“Outside,” Sirius replies, clapping James firmly on the back. “Now go fix this or Macdonald won’t be the only one hexing your balls off.”

“You can try,” he says, mostly distracted as his feet carry him towards the portrait hole. Heart thundering behind rib-cage, skin too red-warm, breathing a little unsteady, James opens the portrait to step out, all the while trying not to completely lose it.

At first, the corridor looks seemingly empty; quiet and unoccupied given the late hour, and he wonders how she could’ve possibly gone somewhere far so quickly. But then a soft, rustling noise catches his attention, and his eyes scan the space to land on the barely-visible movement of a shadow within the nearest alcove.

He swallows, keeps his footsteps light so as to not startle her, and moves closer.

However, before he can traverse the entire distance, she steps out of the darkness, a soft gasp of surprise escaping her lips when she notices him, feet coming to an instant halt. At the sight of her, something in his chest flutters madly, then tightens to the point of pain; her eyes are sad and red-rimmed.

“Oh god,” Lily says, “How long have you been standing there?”

“I haven’t—I just came outside to—not long,” he blabbers like an idiot, feeling worse by the second. Fuck, had she really been out here, crying by herself? “I came looking for you, actually.”

“Really?” she asks, and he finds his brows climbing high when she juts out her chin a little defiantly. The action almost makes him smile with its familiarity; but only almost. “Are you just saying that because you ran into me here and have nowhere to go? Because from what I’ve seen, James, you haven’t seemed very interested in even looking at me lately, let alone looking for me.”

Merlin, this wasn’t going well. “Evans—”

“So, if awkwardness is all you’re trying to avoid, please don’t worry. I can leave you be in peace. You don’t have to feel bad—”

“Lily, stop.” He frowns, takes a step closer so she’ll see he means to go nowhere. “I’m not here because I felt bad or anything like that—although, yes, I’m not feeling too grand at the moment. I came here to tell you I’m sorry.”

He’s surprised her again; the tension evaporates from her shoulders gradually, green eyes widening. “What?”

“I’m sorry. I’ve been such a prat.” James runs a hand through his hair, finds it difficult, suddenly, to keep holding her gaze. “I knew you were trying to talk to me, but I kept avoiding you because I was scared that you’d—” say it, say it! “—that you’d say no. Or worse, that you wouldn’t even want to be my mate anymore. It was just easier to run away from that, I suppose.”

He breathes out deeply, feeling a strange sense of relief even as his heart still continues to trill in anxiety. Lily blinks, lips parted, expression painted in stunned disbelief.

He rushes to add: “That’s not to say that I still feel the same way! I mean, am I afraid? Well, yes, deathly. But I’m ready to accept whatever your answer is, Evans, I promise I am. I never should have expected you to have an immediate response anyway, and I know that—that you probably don’t feel the same way, but I respect your feelings, so… yeah.”

Fucking hell, his face feels like it’s positively on fire.

But at least his embarrassing spiel has resulted in light pink splotches on Lily’s cheeks too, which he notices only a little too well when she steps even closer, leaving barely any space between them.

“So, you were not avoiding me because you changed your mind?”

“Changed my mind?”

“About how you feel… about me,” she elaborates, voice quiet.

He can only gape in response. “You have to be kidding me. Are you absolutely mental? You thought I could just move on, change my mind, about you in four bloody days?” He scoffs, or laughs, or sobs a little—it’s hard to tell. “Honestly, Lily, that’s the most ridiculous—"

“James,” she says softly, effectively shutting him up, and in that half of a millisecond in between, James thinks that if she’s about to let him down after saying his name like that, she’ll need to take a lesson or hundred on how not to be heartbreakingly cruel. Thankfully, what she does instead is smile the most beautiful smile he’s ever seen on her, and pull him down with a light tug on his jumper. “Thank you for respecting my feelings, but I very much feel the same way.”

And before his brain can even catch up with the words, before the grin on his face has any time to materialize, Lily’s lips slide softly over his, stealing his breath, heart and sense all in one fell swoop.

[permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88]

Old Town Road | Halbrand/OC (part 1)

Summary: It was supposed to be a simple arrangement. Give up her freedom, and save her family home. The ultimatum was one Tilda had grown to accept, given that she could stay as far from her would-be captor's presence as she wished. But when chance forces her into closer proximity with the man known as Halbrand, she will find that her patience is not the only thing being tested. Particularly when what he seems to desire most, now, is her heart. (Yellowstone-ish AU).

Warnings: alternate universe, original character(s), house fire, death of a parent, burn scars, toxic relationship, Stockholm syndrome, angst, allusion to smut, unrequited love, enemies to lovers.

Other: Please let me know if you would like to be added to a tag-list!

When Tilda first returned home, she had not intended to veer away from the part of the drive that led to the front door of the house she had lived in for her entire life. She had not intended to follow the dirt path down to the bunkhouse to seek out her dearest friend—a man who had been like family to her for years—rather than finding her parents and brother, instead.

Her feet had seemed to move of their own accord, until she was standing in front of the bunkhouse door, turning the doorknob, and stepping inside. In next to no time at all, after a shout of surprise reached her ears, she had found herself wrapped in the warmth of her friend's embrace.

Moments later, the two of them were resting on their backs in a nearby field, eyes staring up at the slowly darkening sky while their fingers twined together as easy as breathing. The calluses on Isildur's palm were a familiar sort of comfort that Tilda had missed more than words could say. Hushed conversation occasionally broke the comfortable silence between them, while the evening air grew colder, and time soon slipped away from them as they remained content in the safety of a long yearned for reunion.

What the year apart had taken from them seemed all but irrelevant in those moments, a fact for which Tilda was far more grateful than she could ever put into words. It brought a comfort that she was not entirely certain she deserved. Together, she and Isildur had fallen asleep under the stars, all thought of returning to where the both of them should have been forgotten, at least for the moment. And that had been where it all went wrong.

The smell of smoke had registered first, dragging Tilda out of a dream she forgot as soon as her eyes opened to drink in the flicker of the flames at odds with the darkness of the night that had once enveloped them. It burned against her nostrils, and caused hot tears to prick at the corners of her eyes.

When she tried to drag in a breath—a gasp—it nearly caused her to choke. One hand flew to her chest while the other reached out on instinct to push against a still-sleeping Isildur's side. And even as she scrambled to her feet to take in the full sight of the horror unfolding before her, Tilda knew.

She knew that it was already too late.

It was easy to see the men that lived in the bunkhouse frantically milling around it, trying whatever they could to douse the flames. Flames that rocketed skyward in spite of those efforts. That mocked the men who had called the building home as they devoured it, whole. Though the men tried to suppress it, the fire had clearly already gained too much power. Too much time to spread from the outer wall, to the roof, destroying everything in its path.

As soon as Isildur managed to rise to his own feet to stand beside her, horror apparent in his expression as he drank in what unfolded before them, Tilda could hear his muted curse. Only seconds later, he started running towards the flames to lend his own assistance however he could, and panic seized at Tilda's chest in response. An image of her friend being consumed by those flames, along with the bunkhouse, flared to life within her mind.

Her mouth opened, only for her to choke on a scream, any attempt at calling Isildur back to her side thwarted before it ever began. Tears began to track down her cheeks in earnest.

Left with no other choice, lest she wish to stand aside while her friend risked his own life, Tilda soon forced sluggish limbs to race after Isildur as best she could. The panic over losing him that threatened to strangle the life from her veins pushed her forward, regardless of her fear. Nearly to the bunkhouse, and desperate for a way to help, she scrambled through her frantic mind for a solution, but that was when she saw it. The dimmest flickers of still more of the reddish-orange flames that burned her retinas and seared against her skin, coming from out of the corner of her eye.

Instinctively, her gaze snapped toward the sight, and her movements stalled. Her heart twisted within her chest, as horror overtook her features in little to no time at all.

While distracted by the larger inferno of the bunkhouse before her, Tilda had failed to notice the beginnings of something similar racing along the northernmost edge of her very own home. She had not seen the shadow moving towards the trees that lined the border of the property nearby. The shadow of a man on foot, racing to avoid being seen.

Again, she found herself rooted in place, as though terror truly did possess the capability to freeze her limbs without ever asking for her consent. Her vision dimmed for a moment as that terror threatened to pull her beneath its weight for good.

Only when a hand came to rest upon her shoulder did Tilda feel herself being pulled from that abyss, her attention once again fixed upon Isildur's familiar features. Upon the understanding and fear in his own gaze. Clearly, he knew the nature of her thoughts, even in spite of her never once getting the chance to speak to them out loud. He knew that she was thinking of her father. Of her mother, and Bain, and if they still slept on, unaware of the threat that drew nearer with every moment spent idle.

Aware that she must have been impossibly torn between staying to help him in the futile efforts to save the bunkhouse, and fleeing toward her family, a saddened look overtook Isildur's understanding, even if only for a moment. Not long after, his hand drifted down to reach for, and squeeze her own.

Still unsure of what to do, Tilda allowed herself to cling to the comfort inherent in such an act, though the ache within her chest as Isildur pulled his hand free once more was almost too painful for her to take. And even if she wanted to reach for him once more, searching desperately for a connection to rid her of the feeling of being alone, she did not, her features settling into a grim sort of determination as soon as her friend uttered a singular word.

"Go."

With the knowledge that further delay would hardly serve her, Tilda watched as Isildur ran back towards the bunkhouse. She sent a fervent prayer heavenward that he would remain safe from the peril of the flames.

Though hardly reassured that such a prayer would be answered, she forced herself to turn away from Isildur's retreating frame in order to face her home. She forced herself to push aside the regret that swam through her at the thought of how easily she had put off joining her family immediately after her return.

Her breath caught in her throat for what must have been the hundredth time as she once again drank in the flickering blaze of flames that licked at the siding, growing stronger, and hotter still. And then, Tilda did the only thing she could do, whether her presence ended up doing anyone any good, or not.

She ran toward home.

[mazisetsa]

She took a deep breath as she walked through the dense trees, shrubs, flora, and fallen trunks, the sound of naught but fauna echoing through the vast land, steps quiet as if to not disturb their habitat. As if such mattered. The trek towards the clearing where the moon could shine through at its peak only a few yalms as she continued on. 

‘After all this time you still remember…’ A voice easily recognizable echoes through her head, words soft a hint of uneasiness in them. Though she stayed silent, stomach rolling as she continued on, pace quickening. She wanted to see it, the place where they had spent many moons trying to strengthen her aether; where she felt truly free. While it was the place where none but the voice’s kin knew of. Sacred ground hidden on an island far off from most anything. The place in which her fate would be decided. 

There were two outcomes possible, the voice had said there was a seventy-three percent chance things would go in their favor. With everything they had managed to gather within the past week, those were their odds of success. Yet, the remaining twenty-three percent made her stomach roll with waves of nerves. She trusted her companion with her life, the talks she had had with those close to her had been… enlightening - all she needed to do now was… have faith. Faith in her companion and faith in herself. 

As she reached the clearing things were eerily calm, she took time to look around, settling on a small spot near the water and near the glimmering crystal protruding from the earth beneath her bare feet. A soft sigh given as she reached into her bag, carefully she kneeled on the damp earth, setting down the roll of leather and carefully untying it. 

Six aspected shards, three the size of her forearm teeming with aspected aether; air, earth, and fire. The three other shards, the length of her palm. Lightening, water, and ice - all containing less amounts of each element as she began setting them out. Shimmering green placed down first to the top left of where she would stand. Striking purple was next placed directly to the right of the green. Blazing red placed to the right of the previous two as she walked south a few steps. Loamy brown placed directly perpendicular to the last. While glistening white was placed to the left. Finally she placed turbulent blue again set to the left of the white, perpendicular to the shimmering green. 

She let out the breath she had unknowingly held as she moved to examine her work, standing in the center of the crude circle she had laid out with shards of the elements found on the star - each represented a piece of them. Or so they believed when it came to her own - naught was certain for her ever. 

‘You trust me, yes?’ the voice echoes again, her ears twitched as she nodded nibbling slightly on her bottom lip. She did. With all she was. 

“Y-Yes Y-Yasushiba, I-I t-trust y-you.” she managed out, voice quiet as she looked up at the stars, mismatched eyes flitting across the dark expanse until she found the moon - almost at its peak. Another deep calming breath inhaled and exhaled as she kneeled yet again, hand in bag as she searched for the notepad with the instructions written. “A-Almost t-time y-yeah? D-Do y-you w-wish f-for m-more a-aether b-beforeh-hand…?” she stammered as usual, gaze trailing to the glowing shards protruding from the ground. 

‘We rested last night, all should be alright, [pattee]’ ||Petal|| The voice echoed once again. ‘Though the moon is mere minutes from its peak, it is time.’ 

She nodded and took one last deep, calming breath. Hands moving to carefully unclasp the necklace she never was seen without. Carefully she set it into the bag. Though soon enough her mismatched eyes would fade to a pale silver, her mannerisms much less hesitant. Those pale silver eyes quickly took stock of the work her ward had done. Satisfied, she gripped the notebook and stood, steps light as she made her way back to the center of the crude circle. She takes a deep breath of her own as she sets their body down, legs crossed as her gaze trailed back toward the sky, any minute now and the moon would be at its peak, she would be at her most powerful. She’d take any and all the help she could get for their safety. The warning the eccentric woman had given her still rang fresh in her mind. 

As the moon reached its peak she called forth her shimmering silver aether, allowing it to dance over their skin as she closed her eyes. ‘Call forth a little of your aether, Mazi. Allow it to dance with mine, as we have practiced. Speak the words we have learned, trust in me as I trust in you.’ Yasu murmured in their headspace, as Mazi followed the instructions, calling for her own semi-faint teal aether. Both silver and teal danced across their body as Yasu began the chant. “Sicut nos alica setam teximus. Conscientia nostra una sit, animabus nostris concordibus innexa. Utramque flatu aperiamus portas intelligentiae et veraeque. Dum hoc carmen loquimur, claustra nostra solvant in aethera nuda et nudi, alterius tamen complexu integra. Nostrae cogitationes et affectus uniant, libere fluentes, et incantationis choro permixti. Ex virtute kami misceantur spiritus nostri, et vinculum nostrum crescat in aeternum.” || “As we weave this ritual of merging. Let our consciousness be as one, our souls entwined in harmony. With each breath, let us open the gates of understanding, empathy, and trust. As we speak this incantation, let our barriers dissolve into the aether, leaving us bare and vulnerable, yet whole in the embrace of the other. Let our thoughts and emotions unite, flowing freely, and mingling in a dance of enchantment. By the power of the kami, let our spirits merge, as our bond grows ever stronger.” || They chant in unison, as Yasu draws from the moon and each other - being cautious of Mazi’s own aetherial levels as she continues. 

The aspected crystals began to glow around them - first fire and earth, then air, followed by the lightning, ice, and water - the longer they continued chanting the words ingrained into their minds until - everything faded to black. 

It seemed to be deja-vu as she walked briskly through the dense forest, through the shrubbery, the fallen trees, it all. Her brows furrowed as she continued on “Y-Yasu?” she called, her voice echoing through the silent forest. She continued on, head on a swivel as she looked for any sign of life, yet something tugged on her to look up. As she did she noticed not a star in the darkened sky, the moon nowhere to be found. “Y-Yasu?!” she called yet again, with the same result as she chewed on her bottom lip. 

She continued to wander, calling every so often to her companion a pit forming in her stomach the longer she did. “Y-Yasu… I-I n-need y-you… p-please d-don’t l-leave m-me…” she whispered softly, though the words seemed to echo as she squeezed her eyes shut. She sat down on the dense forest floor, leaning against a fallen tree and curling in on herself at the stinging in her eyes. “Y-Yasu p-please…” 

At that moment the ground disappeared from under her, a startled squeak sounded as she reached out for something to grab onto, mismatched eyes widening as a jeweled hand reached out in the midst of the darkness “Y-Yasu!” she reached out for the hand, bracing for impact as they both continued falling… somewhere. 

The warm touch of her companion’s hand and the warmth spreading in her right eye soon consumed her entire being, it felt comforting until it became too hot. Yet, she took another deep breath, staring up at Yasu. She trusted her with everything she was, they knew the dangers. But this would help them both. 

An ear splitting rumble sounded from under them as she turned her head to see the ground changing, their headscape, she realized, morphing, the landscape she always enjoyed changing right before her eyes as she turned back to Yasu allowing herself to relax as they continued drifting through the sky. Until they were floating mere ilms from the newly formed ground. 

She let out a breath as they floated, staring up at her other half with wide eyes as Yasu leaned down floating towards her until she could wrap her arms around the smaller fox. “Jaago” || Wake up || Yasu whispered softly as things yet again faded to black.

[antihibikase-archive]

offering.

By all accounts, the opinions of garbage should not matter.

But, like a bitter remedy, the taste lingers.

That horrid voice rings in his ears as he recalls an incredibly broken man, a hateful husk of what was once a threat, sneers at his very presence and mocks him for being alive, living a now-meaningless existence now that he has fulfilled the role he was meant to play.

An offering to the gods should not be walking the earth.

Like how it has been for the past two years, he completely blanks out and allows the actual grown-ups that surround him to continue their questioning of this madman, not even wasting a single second to glance at his direction to observe if the villain’s vile words pierced through his stoic exterior.

He supposed that was fair. 

Deep down, they were all thinking the same.

Once was a blessing, but twice was a miracle.

He should be grateful.

But he isn’t.

How could he, when what he’s been living for, even if he didn’t know it, had been cruelly ripped away from him?

He should not have been given a third chance.

An offering to the gods should not be given such things.

Whether it be a gift from the divine himself, or a cruel trick from the devil, Cheren finds himself “alive” and “well”, “blessed” to be able to spend the rest of his life by the side of his beloved family and friends.

A life that was now empty, its gaping hole unable to be filled with the false promises of a successful, flourishing career and a stable relationship with those he held so close to his heart.

An offering to the gods should not be living a brazen life.

The chair next to his slides against the floor, signaling they had enough of what they came for. The men on his sides stand, and he merely follows.

That doesn’t stop Ghetsis from spitting venom at Cheren’s direction, forever holding a grudge against him for his part in the downfall of Team Plasma. 

But that was quite a generous way of putting it, isn’t it?

He did no such thing. It was the heroes that did everything.

Cheren was no hero.

He was only an offering to the dragons. 

An offering to the gods themselves.

How else would they awaken the legendary dragons if not for a sacrifice?

An offering to the gods should not be so presumptuous of their own importance.

He lets his feet carry him forward, mindlessly following the rhythm of those who walked in front of him. He does not dare to partake in their conversation about deciding the final fate of the apprehended sage and his trio of shadows. 

He has no right to.

An offering to the gods should not be speaking out of turn.

When his name is called, only then does he speak, if not curtly. 

The questions are that of empty concern.

Or perhaps they were genuine.

He wouldn’t know, and he didn’t dare assume otherwise.

An offering to the gods did not deserve compassion or looks of pity.

A false smile stretches across his face, a bitter chuckle bubbling out of his throat. 

The opinions of garbage did not matter. He tells them that.

He tells himself that.

They look unconvinced, but discomfort sets in and they don’t push further.

They believed his words. They agreed with him.

An offering to the gods should not be walking the earth.

Yet here he was, Cheren Slater, sacrifice to both Reshiram and Zekrom, wearing the mask of a devoted youth who had sacrificed his mind and body to ensure the victory of the heroes of truth and ideals. 

[yjwhatif]

Given the fact that bad Blue Beetle litterally call him slave in a flashback I think it is pretty indisputable that Bart was one at one point. But do you think that Bart was born into slavery ? (I hope this question wasn’t asked yet)

This is a very interesting question that I have never actually thought about and i really appreciate you asking me it - though I will apologise again for how terribly long it’s taken me to respond… my brain hasn’t been engaging with things the way I want it to and it’s just made keeping up with everything impossible… but that aside, I think I’ve finally figured out what my answer is…

The idea I’ve currently got in my head (which is absolutely subject to change should anyone want to share their headcanons on the subject) is that Bart was born in hiding - maybe there were others around, maybe it was just him and his parents - either way they stayed hidden from the reach for a number of years. In that time he received a lot of love from his parents - they cared for him, played with him, told him stories of heroes in masks and capes - had you not known they were living in an apocalypse things would seem pretty nice… but of course, they were still living in an apocalypse and because of that there was always tension in the ash filled air. There was always a need to be ready for anything, to run at the first sign of trouble and not stop for anything - and so Bart never stopped. As soon as he learnt how to stand on his own two feet he never stopped moving - he helped his mother with her tasks, assisted his father with his, found his own tasks to tackle - he learnt through doing and by doing his mind grew fast beyond its years. He may not have had much on him in terms of muscle or weight - thanks to the extreme lack of food available - but he was always very smart. He had the kind of mind that could take in a lot of information without faltering and was quick witted enough to figure out the answers without dwelling on it for long…

Then things happen… his father picks up signs of the reach being in the area, he races back to his family and tells them they need to move on now. He says goodbye to Bart, then runs out to draw the Reach away from Meloni and Bart’s escape - and that’s the last time he ever sees his father again. Bart and his mother make their escape,though it doesn’t go so well as they eventually get spotted - Meloni knows Bart has a better chance of getting away without her so tells him to run as fast as he can and not look back - for anything. With reluctance he does go - he runs and he runs - evading a great number of reach soldiers - though he falters, his mind remains on his mother, his focus falls behind and the next thing he sees is blue… then black.

From that point on Bart is a subject of the reach - tested on for meta gene research and experimentation, then put to work as one of their slaves. Even when still so young the Reach are able to detect how powerful Bart is capable of being and he’s enrolled straight into their tests and simulations. He puts up a lot of protest until his mothers life is used as leverage against him - he ultimately gives in in order to protect her from extra suffering whilst under the Reach's thumb. For years he’s dragged between testing and working - pushed both physically and mentally to his very limits and beyond. It’s utter hell which he eventually goes numb to… It’s the only way to survive - fighting it got you nowhere but forgotten in a hole in the ground - the only way to survive was to bide your time and play the game until the right moment presents itself…

Within this time his experience of loss only increases, friends, strangers, fellow metas subjects - death was common place in the time of the apocalypse - even his mother was lost to him - his final tie to this tragic world… but not before giving him one final message - Don’t look back… and this time, still with a little reluctance in his heart, when his way out reveals itself, he makes sure he doesn’t. He and Neut craft their plan and Bart escapes into the past - leaving the life he knew behind and erasing it to only the recesses of his mind where it stays locked away and hidden from prying eyes…

The rest is history…

And those are the current thoughts I have on the subject. Whether that would be a feasible interpretation - I have no idea - but I hope this answer’s alright. Again, I am totally open to any other headcanons… especially because this doesn’t consider any other family dynamics or relationships that may exist in dc canon that could be included in the yj universe - I don’t know about that stuff well enough to know how to include it…

Sorry again for the delay… while I may be truly terrible at actually responding at times (most of the time), I really do read and appreciate every message I receive - so thank you for sending me this Anon! 🙏💛

LB

[askvectorprime]

Dear, Vector Prime.

How did Draculas come about? Does he sip Energon from other Cybertronians?

Dear Vehicular Vampire,

There is an eyewitness account, from which I present the following extracts, which should illustrate the rise and fall of the being to which you refer:

30 June

[...] With a roar which seemed to shake the very heavens the whole castle and the rock and even the hill on which it stood seemed to rise beneath our feet while beyond the window a mighty cloud of black and yellow smoke volume on volume in rolling grandeur was shot upwards with inconceivable rapidity from the cliffside. I was so appalled with the suddenness and the grandeur that I forgot to think of myself, but was thankfully spared by the fallen masonry. The Count departed to survey his estate, warning me not to leave my accommodation which yet remained standing. Gripped as I was by the conviction that further volcanic aftershocks would be forthcoming, and perceiving at long last the opportunity to escape Castle Dracula, I took my only chance for survival and disobeyed him for the first time. [...]

30 June—continued

[...] Between me and the moonlight flitted two great bats, one black as pitch, the other gleaming as though its very skin were made of silver. They circled each other, the unfathomable dance of creatures caught in the throes of their animal nature, and for a moment the darker of the two was lost against the black of night—and when I next spied movement an instant later, what I saw was no petty vermin, but the Count himself, his eyes blazing with some sort of demoniac fury. What followed could not have been some trick of the light, as before my very eyes the silver bat began to change in kind, its wings folding inwards and coming apart and resolving into a colossus sheathed in steel-blue armour. With an unearthly grating tone it reached up as though to lift its helm, and performed the act which marked beyond all doubt that devilry was at work—for underneath, the colossus was without a head. With mechanical motions it set the helm upon the ground and it unfolded into the shape of a man who stood eye to eye with the Count and said in steel tones: "You are like us—a Transformer." It would be impossible to describe the expression of hate and baffled malignity—of anger and hellish rage—which came over the Count's face. [...]

3 October

[...] When that bat of metal alighted before us, we saw with horror what the Count had done—where a creature of God would have its gut, there was only a coffin of stained glass through which we could see the slack face of Dracula, cathetered into the machinery. With a distinct, rising, chattering sound, it began its metamorphosis, its own mechanical sinews pulling apart its body from within. When at last the roiling metal settled I saw that selfsame colossus I had beheld on that unforgettable night in the Carpathians, now daubed in black tar and adorned with a grotesque cast-iron approximation of formal wear, shrouded by a cape. And I was appalled to realise that Count Dracula, who had once professed such a longing to become English and walk the streets of London as a master of the land, now possessed a body to match his name, neither man nor woman, fit only to withstand the fires of hell. From his fangs glinting like mercury in the light of the full moon dripped motor oil. [...]

5 November, evening

[...] One moment my good friend was standing next to me, and the next he had vanished as if he were a mere apparition, and I was left desolate in the face of this display of power, this Draculus who could unmake a man with a glance. My friend, who I had marked as an eccentric from the very moment we met, when he did not proffer his hand for me to shake, who travelled not by carriage as ordinary men do but by automobile, but who nonetheless had given us courage with his certainty that he knew Draculus’ weakness, to high explosives—gone in an instant! I steeled myself, believing for sure that my own death would shortly follow. Then sounded out the full-throated rumble of the ambulance’s engine, and I was astonished to see it rise up onto feet of its own, an unthinkably tall figure clad in gleaming white which I could only perceive as an angel, sent from heaven in fire and brimstone to strike down this evil beast amongst men. And when it spoke, in the metallic tones of church bells, it was with the voice of our friend Dr. Van Helsing—"You have defiled the body of my friend," said this seraph. Draculus spoke evenly back, though his iron visage betrayed his shock: "Automaton—my Impaler claw will drain the very life from you, and you will join your brethren in their tomb beneath my castle." [...]

[ebaeschnbliah]

Already they seemed to have been tramping on, on, endlessly to the mountains' roots. They were more than weary, and yet there seemed no comfort in the thought of halting anywhere. Frodo's spirits had risen for a while after his escape, and after food and a draught of the cordial; but now a deep uneasiness, growing to dread, crept over him again. Though he had been healed in Rivendell of the knife-stroke, that grim wound had not been without effect. 

His senses were sharper and more aware of things that could not be seen

One sign of change that he soon had noticed was that he could see more in the dark than any of his companions, save perhaps Gandalf. And he was in any case the bearer of the Ring: it hung upon its chain against his breast, and at whiles it seemed a heavy weight. He felt the certainty of evil ahead and of evil following; but he said nothing. He gripped tighter on the hilt of his sword and went on doggedly.

The Company behind him spoke seldom, and then only in hurried whispers. There was no sound but the sound of their own feet; the dull stump of Gimli's dwarf-boots; the heavy tread of Boromir; the light step of Legolas; the soft, scarce-heard patter of hobbit-feet; and in the rear the slow firm footfalls of Aragorn with his long stride. When they halted for a moment they heard nothing at all, unless it were occasionally a faint trickle and drip of unseen water. Yet Frodo began to hear, or to imagine that he heard, something else: like the faint fall of soft bare feet. It was never loud enough, or near enough, for him to feel certain that he heard it; but once it had started it never stopped, while the Company was moving. But it was not an echo, for when they halted it pattered on for a little all by itself, and then grew still.

Frodo was on guard. As if it were a breath that came in through unseen doors out of deep places, dread came over him. His hands were cold and his brow damp. He listened. All his mind was given to listening and nothing else for two slow hours; but he heard no sound, not even the imagined echo of a footfall.

His watch was nearly over, when, far off where he guessed that the western archway stood, he fancied that he could see two pale points of light, almost like luminous eyes. He started. His head had nodded. `I must have nearly fallen asleep on guard,' he thought. `I was on the edge of a dream.' He stood up and rubbed his eyes, and remained standing, peering into the dark, until he was relieved by Legolas.   (A Yourney in the Dark)

‘Last night I told you of Sauron the Great, the Dark Lord. The rumours that you have heard are true: he has indeed arisen again and left his hold in Mirkwood and returned to his ancient fastness in the Dark Tower of Mordor. That name even you hobbits have heard of, like a shadow on the borders of old stories. Always after a defeat and a respite, the Shadow takes another shape and grows again.’

‘I wish it need not have happened in my time,’ said Frodo.

‘So do I,’ said Gandalf, ‘and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given, us. And already, Frodo, our time is beginning to look black. The Enemy is fast becoming very strong. His plans are far from ripe, I think, but they are ripening. We shall be hard put to it. We should be very hard put to it, even if it were not for this dreadful chance.

‘The Enemy still lacks one thing to give him strength and knowledge to beat down all resistance, break the last defences, and cover all the lands in a second darkness. He lacks the One Ring.    (The Shadow of the Past)

‘A Ring of Power looks after itself, Frodo. It may slip off treacherously, but its keeper never abandons it. At most he plays with the idea of handing it on to someone else’s care - and that only at an early stage, when it first begins to grip. But as far as I know Bilbo alone in history has ever gone beyond playing, and really done it. He needed all my help, too. And even so he would never have just forsaken it, or cast it aside. It was not Gollum, Frodo, but the Ring itself that decided things. The Ring left him.’

‘What, just in time to meet Bilbo?’ said Frodo. ‘Wouldn’t an Orc have suited it better?’

‘It is no laughing matter,’ said Gandalf. ‘Not for you. It was the strangest event in the whole history of the Ring so far: Bilbo’s arrival just at that time, and putting his hand on it, blindly, in the dark.

‘There was more than one power at work, Frodo. The Ring was trying to get back to its master. It had slipped from Isildur’s hand and betrayed him; then when a chance came it caught poor Déagol, and he was murdered; and after that Gollum, and it had devoured him. It could make no further use of him: he was too small and mean; and as long as it stayed with him he would never leave his deep pool again. So now, when its master was awake once more and sending out his dark thought from Mirkwood, it abandoned Gollum. Only to be picked up by the most unlikely person imaginable: Bilbo from the Shire!

‘Behind that there was something else at work, beyond any design of the Ring-maker. I can put it no plainer than by saying that Bilbo was meant to find the Ring, and not by its maker. In which case you also were meant to have it. And that maybe an encouraging thought.’    (The Shadow of the Past)

‘O Gandalf, best of friends, what am I to do? For now I am really afraid. What am I to do? What a pity that Bilbo did not stab that vile creature, when he had a chance!’

‘Pity? It was Pity that stayed his hand. Pity, and Mercy: not to strike without need. And he has been well rewarded, Frodo. Be sure that he took so little hurt from the evil, and escaped in the end, because he began his ownership of the Ring so. With Pity.’

‘I am sorry,’ said Frodo. ‘But I am frightened; and I do not feel any pity for Gollum.’

‘You have not seen him,’ Gandalf broke in.

‘No, and I don’t want to,’ said Frodo. I can’t understand you. Do you mean to say that you, and the Elves, have let him live on after all those horrible deeds? Now at any rate he is as bad as an Orc, and just an enemy. He deserves death.’

‘Deserves it! I daresay he does. Many that live deserve death. And some that die deserve life. Can you give it to them? Then do not be too eager to deal out death in judgement. For even the very wise cannot see all ends. I have not much hope that Gollum can be cured before he dies, but there is a chance of it. And he is bound up with the fate of the Ring. My heart tells me that he has some part to play yet, for good or ill, before the end; and when that comes, the pity of Bilbo may rule the fate of many - yours not least.   (The Shadow of the Past)

JRR Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings, The Fellowship of the Ring, A Journey in the Dark & The Shadow of the Past

[pluckyshroom]

watch the speedpaint and hear the spooky little tale below narrated on tiktok!

Before we moved into the new house, mama gave me two rules: she said that i should keep a diary to ‘make sense of these big changes in my life’, and that the woods that lined the backyard were off limits. I didn’t appreciate being treated like a baby about it, but since she’s been stressed with everything going on, I didn't argue. It’ll give me a chance to practice my writing, at least. Though for the record, moving isn’t a big deal, and I don't care about a bunch of boring trees.

It’s a spooky looking wood, to be sure. Almost all its leaves are gone for the season, and it makes them look dead compared to the much prettier red and yellow maples in the front yard and around town. But unpacking has taken up most of my time, so I haven't given them much thought until yesterday when I went into town.

Mama sent me to buy a few groceries, and told me to learn the streets since I'm getting old enough now to do stuff like this for her--errands, she calls them. I would have decided on my own to do some exploring since I hadn't really gotten the chance yet anyway, but I promised her to be good about it.

Everything here is small and close knit--not just the people but the buildings. They look like a mouthful of crooked teeth, the way that the roofs all stand at different heights and angles while all smushed together, but I took note of which ones were on which blocks like I promised, and eventually found the corner store where I was supposed to get our milk, packaged noodles, and bread.

The clerk is a weird but friendly kind of man, I think. His hand is missing some fingers, probably war scars or something, and his eyes sparkle a little too bright, like he knows something I don't; but I minded my manners all the same when I brought my things to the counter. He asked me how I was enjoying the town and the house, and I said just fine, though I wondered how he knew. Maybe because I'm the only new face he’d seen in a while and he assumed, or mama called the store to tell him I was coming so she could keep her fretting to a minimum about my making it there and back.

But the weirder thing was that he said the same thing mama had: just make sure to stay out of those woods. My curiosity got the better of me, and I asked why. He answered matter-of-factly as he put the milk and bread into a crisp paper bag, saying that nothing that goes into them comes back out ‘unchanged’. I didn’t know what he meant, but the twinkle in his eye got brighter in a way I didn't like. I paid him with my crumpled five dollar bill, got my change, and left without saying much else.

I know it sounds silly, but since then I've had this creeping feeling in my stomach that the woods know I'm aware of it. My bedroom window gives a direct view into it, and every time I look, it’s like it wants me to go in. I won’t, not only cos I promised mama but I saw a deer and her baby go just now, and I can’t explain this in a way that doesn’t sound crazy, but once they got past the tree line, they didn’t look right--like their features couldn’t decide how to be deer features. I swear for a second, the doe looked like she had feet.

[phonyphreaker]

Werewolves Part 1

I stared angrily at the Werwolf facing me. It’s red eyes glared back into mine, hatred glowing in them. I felt every fiber of my body shaking as I faced it in the hallway of my home which I had grown to call my Prison. I had been here too long. It was time to escape or die trying. I held up the heavy wrench in my hand that I had stolen from the garage and postitioned it to strike. The Werwolf growled and sunk its claws into the carpeted floor, a ripping sound accompanying it.

“I’ve given you everything!” The Werwolf’s voice was low and threatening. “And you repay me by running away!?”

It ripped a huge chunk of the carpeted floor up and flung it backwards aggresivly.

“You trapped me here!” I yelled, my hatred of the Werwolf that had been building up over the past sixteen years was now overflowing after I had tried to hide it for so long. “I am a prisoner to you! You don’t give me any freedom! All I do is what you want! And I am sick and tired of it!”

The Werwolf hunched over into an crouch, bearing its teeth. “Put the wrench down and I might forgive you and lessen your punishment.”

I stared straight into its fierce gaze, knowing that I would never obey the monster again. “NO! You aren’t in control of me anymore! I’m leaving now! And I hope I never see you again!”

“Ungratful human!” The Werwolf screeched as I leaped towards me, claws outstretched.

For a second, time seemed to slow and I froze at the sight of the giant creature hurling towards me, murder in its gaze. What was I doing? I was going to die. I could always give up. Maybe it wouldn’t kill me then. But I was snapped out of my trance as soon as it had came, and I knew I had to escape. As the Werwolf’s muzzle came so close to me that I could feel its hot breath on my face, I swung the wrench with all my might at its face, hitting it squarely on the side of the jaw. The Werwolf let out a cry of pain and I heard something crack as I connected. Slightly jarred, the Werwolf limped back a pace, allowing enough room for me to dart by it and continue down the hallway. As I reached the end of the hallway and started down the stairs to the lower floor, I heard the Werwolf crashing after me, its heavy steps getting closer every second. Panic filled my chest and I knew that it wasn’t likely I was going to escape. I hadn’t in the past. I nearly tripped over my own feet as I jumped down the stairs, taking them two at a time until my feet hit the floor of the first story. I was suddenly struck in the back, sending me falling head over heels and crashing to the ground, hitting my head on a wooden bookshelf. My back and head began to throb as I pushed myself onto my knees and started to stand. But I only took two strides toward the living room before agony shot through the back of my legs. I crumpled to the ground, gritting my teeth against the pain. Looking up, I saw the front door to the house a couple yards away. Only the dining room table lay between me and the door. A cold hand suddenly gripped my neck and I was lifted into the air, squirming in the Werwolf’s grip as I tried to gasp for air. Its grip only tightened as it twisted me to glare directly in my eyes. I chocked, clawing at its hand desperately. It bared its teeth.

“You should have just given up when you had the chance.” It growled in my face.

I kicked it as hard as I could in the stomach and it doubled over, dropping me. Racing toward the front door, I skidded around the dining room table, knocking over a chair behind me as I fled. I was within three feet of the door before a heavy weight dropped onto my back, taking me to the ground. Agonizing pain shot through my back as I felt the werwolf’s claws dig into me from behind. Its hot breath bathed my neck and my heart practically stopped as I scrabbled underneath him, trying to escape even though I knew I had already lost.

The front door suddenly swung open in front of me, a cool breeze blowing in from outside. Another dark shadow loomed over me now, and I dared not look up at the other one. Instead, I stared past the huge Werwolf that had now entered and was barely able to make out the trees that slowly swayed in the cool winter breeze. White snow littered the ground, making my heart ache. All I wanted was to leave.

“It tried to escape again?” The second, bigger Werwolf that had just entered asked in a low voice that sent shivers down my spine.

It slammed the front door, blocking my view of the outside world. I glared up into its yellow eyes, feeling nothing by hatred for my captors.

“Yes, it did.” The Werwolf on top of me got off, lifting the wight off my aching my body.

I laid there, feeling tears well up in my eyes, knowing that I might never be able to leave. But I knew I would try again and again, no matter what happened. I had to escape. Someday.

“Take it to the basement. I will deal with it properly there.” The bigger werwolf ordered.

I blinked the tears out of my eyes. Why me? Why was I here anyway? Why couldn’t I just leave? I’ve tried everything. The smaller werwolf which had been chasing me earlier grabbed my arm and dragged me to my feet. I stumbled after it as he headed to the kitchen, feeling dread rise in my stomach. As it pulled me through the kitchen to the basement door at the far wall, I promised myself something. I will leave. I will be gone. Even if I have to die to do so, I will. I guess I can try again tomorrow. Tomorrow will be good as any day. I have to see the world again.

TBC.