#ok yes this IS 1600 words

[teaandransacking]

In response to the Lockwood x reader smut I think that the “we might die tonight” concept is good thank youuuu

Hi! I hope you like this.

fever dream high in the quiet of the night

Pairing: Anthony Lockwood x female reader ~ Words: 1600 ~ content: heavy petting, swearing, sexual tension

a/n: let's agree that Lockwood is 18 or over for the purposes of this fic, ok? ok thanks.

The room is very still around you.

You wish Lucy and George were here, but they’re back at Portland Row, recovering from rapier wounds. Barely a scratch, Lucy insisted, but Lockwood won’t have anyone working unless they’re at full health.

That should count you out, really. You’re never at full health around him. He’s as distracting and frustrating as he is magnetic. You could just as likely kiss him as punch his stupidly handsome face. Most of the time you think you’d choose to do both simultaneously.

Lockwood eventually shrugs off his coat. You’re in the third (?) sitting room of this manor house in Surrey, waiting for the clock to strike seven. That, according to your clients, is when the Visitors arrive. It’s quarter past six - you’re always early, and for once, Lockwood is, too.

“Getting comfy, are we?” you snark.

He folds his long body into the armchair, and you have to resist looking at his lap. You could easily curl yourself up on it.

He lifts one shoulder in a half shrug. “We should rest while we have the chance. We’ll need our strength later, especially with our reduced numbers.”

You swallow. “Yeah. We’ve got this, though.”

He meets your gaze and nods one, decisively. “We’ll do admirably.” He stretches, and you almost miss it - the tiny wince that passes over his face.

He’s still in pain from the gunshot wound.

It was months ago, but-

Your throat goes tight to think of it. How you and Lucy and George closed ranks around him. How his eyes seemed so dim when he finally opened them. How limp he was.

You must make some sound of disquiet, because his eyes narrow and as always, he sees too much. “Are you all right?”

“Fine.”

He smiles, a little. “I’ll allow that I don’t know a huge amount about girls, but I do know when when they say fine like that, they’re far from it.”

You fold your arms over your chest. “You’re a massive hypocrite, you know that? You force Lucy and George to stay at home and rest, and meanwhile, your shoulder isn’t even fully healed.”

Something flashes across his face - vulnerability or pain, you can’t tell. “It’s fine.”

“Oh, and now who’s insisting they’re fine when they’re not?” You hiss, stalking over to him.

He stands from the chair, his face murderous. “You do not get to be in charge here. It’s my name on the door. I am responsible for all of you.”

“Yes! A job that, might I remind you, you cannot complete if you are dead!”

The word comes out in a sob and, startling yourself, you crumple against him.

His arms come around you instantly, and he gently tugs you down into the chair, urging your legs up so you are curled in his lap. You panic for a second but manage to arrange your rapier so it doesn’t stab either of you.

“You have a fucking death wish, don’t you, you prick,” you try to snap, but the seeing as you’re half-crying, the words don’t have the desired effect.

“Believe it or not, I fear death much more these days, now I have the three of you,” Lockwood says softly, pressing a kiss to your hair.

You freeze, and something in the air crackles.

You’ve never been alone together like this before. There’s always someone else in the house, or you’re walking somewhere - Tesco, Arif’s shop - and suddenly the yawning pit of need that constantly lives inside you around Lockwood opens its maw and begs.

“Can’t you just stay home just once?” you murmur into the soft, clean cotton of his dress shirt. “Just stay safe, for fucking once.”

“I’d be a pretty poor agency head if I did, darling.”

It’s the first time he’s used the endearment and it turns everything inside you to liquid. 

You lift your face and see that he’s gazing down at you, his dark eyes lust-blown, and he’s so tempting and so close. You slide your hand up his chest, cup his cheek. “Every time we do this, we court death. And I don’t want to die before we’ve had the chance to live.”

He inhales sharply at your words, and then his hands - warm and rapier-callused - cup your face and he captures your mouth a kiss.

It’s soft and sweet at first, then hungrier, deeper. Your tongues tangle. He tastes of bergamot and marmalade and it’s both exotic and comforting, and his mouth is pliable and delicious. You have limited time, so despite the fact you could kiss him for hours, days, you want more.

He makes a sad little sound when you break the kiss, and that alone makes you want to dive back in. 

Instead, you shift upwards, move to straddle his lap. When you next look down at him, his gaze is fixed on you, his eyes as black as night. He looks at you as if you personally hung the moon and every single star, and it’s heady, these feelings he always stirs inside you.

His hands slide down to your hips, pulling your body flush against his, and oh. He is definitely as into this as you are. 

His throat bobs as he swallows, and then he says, thickly, “Dreamed about this. Being near you. Like this.”

Your heart clenches. “Me, too,” you admit. You glance at the door. You’ll have to go out there soon. Endanger your life. Lockwood will protect you with his. You know it without a doubt.

“Hey,” he begins, and then he whispers your name in that low, buttery smooth voice. “Just be here with me. Don’t think about anything else.”

You almost snark back that he finally has a good idea, but this moment is perfect. You don’t want to ruin it, so you dip your head and kiss him, let your hands start to work on the knot of his tie. It slides through your hands, silky smooth, and then you’re deepening the kiss, plundering his mouth while your slip one, two, three of his shirt buttons through the tiny eyelets, then spread your greedy palms over the smooth, warm skin of his chest.

He groans into your mouth, and it’s a powerful thing, to rob Anthony bloody Lockwood of words, but then you find that any possible clever quip is stolen at your own mouth as his hands burrow under your jumper and cup your breasts through the bra. You arch into his touch, and he mutters something like “perfection” against your lips as he caresses you.

You grind into each other on the wide, soft armchair. He’s hard where you’re soft, and the pressure is exquisite. Impatient, you reach behind yourself, under your sweater, to unclip your bra, and when Lockwood feels the cups release and your bare skin against his, he swears, low and guttural, and making him come this undone makes you feral for him.

He pushes the hem of your sweater up, breaks the kiss, and then sets a hand under your bottom, urging you up so he can put his mouth on your breasts. His face is just a little rough from half a day’s stubble, and the tiny hurt grounds you as he lavishes attention on one breast and then the next, while the push and pull of pleasure makes you dizzy. You fist your hands in his hair, and it’s warm and silky.

You arch your back, pressing into his mouth, and all you can think is yes and don’t stop, and he doesn’t. He is nothing if not thorough, but then it’s not enough, and you’re impatient, every iota of you on fire. You unsnap your jeans and almost rip open the buttons, taking one of his hands from your chest and shoving it right where you want it.

To his credit, Lockwood is a fast learner - he can’t have become the UK’s youngest agency head for nothing, you suppose - and he finds your clit after a only few fumbles, quickly learning which movements make you cry out and press into his hands. 

You’ve wanted this for so long that you’re soaked, and it doesn’t take long before that tell-tale sensation begins to coil in your belly.

“Say my name,” he murmurs against the curve of your breast. “Please.”

And he circles his finger over you twice more and you come like that, squirming against him, breathing his name -  his first name - and he sighs as he works you through the orgasm, until you’re shuddering from it.

You drop a kiss on his forehead, and you’re about to ask if you can return the favour, find out what he likes, how he tastes, Christ that’d be hot - and the clock strikes seven.

Lockwood withdraws his hand, pulls your jumper down.

“This is not over,” you whisper.

He flashes that megawatt grin. “Not by a long shot.”

And reluctantly, you break apart and get ready to face whatever is behind the door in this old house. 

But you’ll do it together.

[ramblingoak]

how about being caught kissing with the cardinal?

Ooo yes, wouldn't that be nice! I wouldn't mind getting caught doing worse with him to be honest... Prompt is from this list of Kiss Prompts!

Yay Satan Day

Cardinal Copia x Female Reader ~ Copia does his best to distract you from your job

Warnings: Copia being a smug shit, vaginal fingering, nsfw, 18+ only, MDNI, 1600 words

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

He was doing that stupid thing with his eyebrows again.

You and Cardinal Copia had been stuck in a meeting with Terzo for close to an hour now.  Sister Imperator had instructed you all to create an event to try to bring the local community closer to the church.  ‘Something to show them we don’t spend our days sacrificing babies and having orgies’ were her exact words.  At least the baby part wasn’t true, but you knew of at least four orgies that had taken place in the last week alone.

“We should call it ‘Yay Satan Day’.”

“Can we focus on actually creating the event before we name it?”  You pretended you didn’t see Terzo rolling his eyes.  “And for the last time we’re not calling it that.”

Copia sighed and his chair creaked as he leaned back in it.  You gave him a quick glance but then forced your eyes away.  Most days you had a hard time keeping your eyes off of him, but it was always harder when he wore the white suit.  The bastard had to have worn it on purpose today judging by how he waggled his eyebrows every time he caught you looking at him.  You had no idea how this man had become a Cardinal, let alone win all those stupid employee of the month awards.  He wasn’t listening to a damn thing Papa was saying.

Terzo himself didn’t seem to be focusing that much either.  You really didn’t blame him, you were the one technically in charge of all the event and party planning at the abbey.  Usually Terzo’s main job at these things was to show up and look pretty.  The only thing he seemed interested in helping with today was naming the event, but he kept pouting after you shot down all of his ideas.  You weren’t naming the damn thing ‘Yay Satan Day’ no matter how many times he’d suggested it.

“Sorella?  Do you agree?” 

Fuck.  You focused back on Terzo who was looking at you expectantly.

“Yes sorella, I would like your input as well.  On his idea.”  

That son of a bitch.  You looked down at your notes to buy yourself some more time.  All you had on there was a small doodle of one of Copia’s rats.  You looked over at him, narrowing your eyes at the stupid smirk on his face.  When he raised an eyebrow you gritted your teeth and glanced away.  You were going to shave both of his eyebrows off when he fell asleep tonight.

“I think that as long as we uh, well as long as we stay under budget that should be feasible.”  

You wrote a quick note down like the responsible event planner that you were and smiled up at Papa.  Now he was raising one of his eyebrows at you, but you kept the smile on your face, refusing to back down.  Terzo chuckled and then popped up from his chair, straightening his clothes as he made his way around his desk.

“Well this has been great fun, but I’m afraid I’m needed elsewhere.”  You hid your notes when he stopped by you and tried to give him an innocent look.  “I’m sure you two can handle everything else, si?  Cardinal make sure my banner gets ordered.”

“Of course, Papa.”

When you spun in your chair to glare at Copia he was ignoring you and picking imaginary lint off his suit.  What the fuck had you agreed to?

“Ok, you two have fun, but not in my office.  Ciao!”

“Okie dokie, Papa.”

Copia caught your eyes as he called out to Terzo before the door shut behind him.  

“Copia, what does this banner say?”

“Nothing special.”  He bit his lip for a moment before continuing,  “Have you kissed me today?”

“Yes, several times this morning.”  You threw your pen at him, laughing when he squawked as it hit his suit.  “Have you forgotten already?”

“Ah well, you know.  Silly me.”

He held out your pen but as soon as you reached out to grab it he took your hand and tugged you out of your chair.

“Copia, no, I don’t have time.”  You sighed in exasperation when he successfully pulled you into his lap, not that you had put up much of a fight.  He wrapped an arm around your waist and held you tightly against him, smiling smugly at you the whole time.  “Are you happy now?”

“Mmm, si.  Very happy.  But…”  He stuck his bottom lip out a bit and you sighed.  “I wish we were kissing.”

“Oh, do you?”

“Very much so.  I think I deserve at least one for helping during the meeting.  Maybe two.”

“I’m sorry, how did you help?  All you did was make stupid faces at me!”

“I said I’d order this banner, didn’t I?  That’s very helpful.”

You wiggled around in his lap so you faced him, ignoring the little pleased grunt he made.

“You’re not ordering anything, Copia, what does this banner s–mmph!”

A hand in your hair and his mouth on yours stopped your question.  Normally you’d be annoyed at this tactic, but it had been a while since you’d kissed him last.  You settled against his chest, deciding to just let him win this time.  He made a pleased sound in the back of his throat and deepened the kiss, his tongue slipping in to tease yours.  After a few minutes he pulled away, sucking your bottom lip between his teeth for a moment before leaning back to give you a lazy smile.

“We should put you in a kissing booth for this thing.”  You groaned and tried to get up, but his arms stayed firm around you.  “No, no I’m serious!  You’re very good.”

“Copia, come on.  I’ve gotta go.”

He sighed and loosened his arms.  You immediately got up before he changed his mind, spinning and stepping back to lean against Terzo’s desk.  You watched as he rose from his chair, grunting a bit as he straightened up.  He reached down to tug at the crotch of his pants to give himself more room.  You felt endlessly pleased that he was already half hard just from a kiss, but when he noticed your smug look he raised that damned eyebrow again.

“Something to say, sorella?”  When you shook your head he stepped closer, resting a hand on either side of you against the desk.  “Do you like getting me all riled up?”

“Yes, I do.  It’s great fun.”

Copia muttered ‘brat’ under his breath before moving in to take your lips again.  This kiss was much more intense, your mouth opening under his immediately.  You buried your hands in his hair while his came down to your hips, his hands squeezing your flesh and urging you up.  Without breaking away from his mouth you let him help you onto Terzo’s desk, ignoring the sound of things clattering around as Copia shoved them out of the way.  Once you were settled he placed a hand on your knee, slipping it under your habit and up your leg.  The leather of his glove was warm against the skin of your thigh and you moaned into his mouth when he reached the hem of your panties. He broke the kiss and rested his forehead against yours.

“Are you wet for me?”  You gasped into his mouth when he ran a finger over the silk covering your cunt.  “If I take my glove off will I feel how much you want me?”

“Only one way to find out.”

Copia growled, bringing his hand up to his mouth and tugging the glove off with his teeth.  Another growl rumbled in his chest when he tasted you on the leather.  When he was done he tossed it behind you onto the desk and leaned in to kiss you again.  His bare hand quickly found its way back under your skirt and you gasped when his fingers slid under your panties.  He rested one right at your wet entrance and you both broke away again, panting into each other's mouths when it easily slipped inside.  A smug grin broke out on his face, but before you could snap at him the door opened and Terzo waltzed back in.

“What are you two still do–ai!  No!  What did I say?!”

You shoved Copia away and jumped down from the desk, frantically straightening your skirt.  Terzo had switched to Italian as he and Copia began to snap back and forth at each other.  You grabbed your pen and notebook from the floor, freezing when Terzo turned with a finger pointed at you.

“Sorry Papa!”  He waved a hand at you and then stomped over to his desk.  Muttering under his breath as he straightened up the things you and Copia had knocked over.  You glared at Copia when he snickered as he walked towards you.  “Stop that!  You got me in trouble.”

Copia grabbed your hand, grinning as he tugged you towards the door.

“Far worse things have been done on that desk.  He’ll get over it.”  

“Hey!”  Both of you turned at the sound of Terzo’s voice, you watched warily as he glared at you with his hands on his hips.  “We’re calling it ‘Yay Satan Day’.”

“Ugh, fine!”  You ignored Terzo’s triumphant grin and turned back towards the door.  “I hate you both.”

“Si, I know.”  Copia opened the door for you and squeezed your hand when you went into the hall.  “Let’s uh head back to your room to clean up a bit, okie dokie?”  

More shouts from Terzo stole your attention away and you peered around Copia to see Papa poking something on top of his desk.

“Cardinal!  Come get your glove!  Satan, where has this thing been?!”

You looked at Copia and smiled before squeezing his hand back.

“Okie dokie.”

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

my masterlist

my ao3

[ikeromantic]

One more day!! Haha, thank you so much for doing these. Your writing is always so fun to read!

I always stop what I'm doing when I see a new post 😊

I would like to request something (maybe, hopefully?) Interesting with Cyran, battlefield, and gingerbread!

That is quite the compliment ^_^ I will be honest with you, this was one of my favorite asks nonnie! I saved it for last. I'm not sure it's quite gingerbread - maybe more eggnog? But I loved the prompt and I hope you'll enjoy the story. Approx. 1600 words of Cyran and the Belle on a battlefield. IkePri New Years Event story! TW for violence.

The air was thick with smoke and the scent of spilled blood. The distant clang of armor and the groans of the wounded sounded deceptively distant. Emma took a breath. She was exhausted and frightened. But there was more to be done. More she could do. Her chin lifted, lips firming. 

“Once more into the fray,” she whispered, and then stepped away from her hiding place in the lee of a fallen wall. She scurried from one hiding spot to another, getting closer to the sounds of battle. Emma came around a low, grassy hillock and with a step, she was back amidst the chaos.

Men in armor fought, clashing where opposing sides met. Emma couldn’t tell who fought for which army. The colors of their crests were smeared with mud and blood and ash. She tried to avoid them altogether. Darting past, hiding in the tall grass, and ducking behind the wreckage of what was once a bustling border town. 

Emma made her way through the battlefield, her progress slow. At each fallen soldier, she paused to check for signs of life. Kneeling in the muck, fingers to their throat or wrist, if their state was not clear. Her bag of supplies hung heavy across her back, full of bandages, waterskins, salves . . . 

She realized now what a naive idea it had been to come here. But staying behind, waiting in safety while people bled and died . . . There was no way she could sip tea and eat cakes while Cyran was out here, fighting. Her mind flitted to the red headed soldier. His easy smile, his kindness, the warmth of his touch. A sharp ache pierced her chest as she thought of him lying on the ground.

“No.” The word slipped through clenched teeth. That wasn’t going to happen. 

Emma paused as she spotted another soldier lying on his side in the mud. She didn’t see any knots of fighting men nearby, though they could appear at any moment. With a breath, she hurried to his side. 

The soldier’s eyes were closed, his face clenched in pain. Blood pooled beneath his hip, rust-hued and smelling of copper and salt. He was still breathing. 

With a silent prayer of thanks, she knelt. “Hey. I’m going to touch you, ok? I need to roll you over.”

He opened his eyes. “O-ok.” His words were strained, breathy. He tensed as Emma gently moved him onto his back. The soldier wore the colors of Obsidian on his armor. An enemy soldier. No wonder he was nervous. 

“I’m not going to hurt you,” she reassured him. “I don’t care where you’re from.”

The soldier nodded, relaxing a little as she examined him.

Emma could see the deep cut just above his pelvic bone. Just under the fauld, where the gap in metal was covered only by thick padding and leather. It was split wide open and soaked in blood. There wasn’t much she could do, but if she bandaged him, he might make it until real help could get to him. 

“Is it . . . is it bad?” He watched her face intently.

“Yes.” Emma’s voice didn’t shake as she told him the truth of his wounding. Not the way it had the first time today, or even the fifth. She’d lost count of the times she answered that question during this battle. “I’m going to clean and pack the wound. I need you to stay still and quiet, even if it hurts. That way -” she cleared her throat, fighting the tears that wanted to come, “that way you’ll make it to the medical tent where they can stitch you right up. You’ll be just fine. If - if you stay still. And quiet.”

When she looked up at him, she smiled. His narrow, pinched expression eased. “Are you an angel?”

“Afraid not. I’m a book seller, among other things.” Emma couldn’t meet his gaze for long. She got to work. Keeping her hands and mind busy, focusing on the litany of tasks. Clear the space. Clean the wound. Apply the salve. Pack the opening. Wrap and bind it. One step at a time. 

She was so focused that she didn’t note the approach of two men, one chasing the other. They rushed her tiny clearing, trampling the grass. The fleeing man tripped on the wounded soldier’s leg and came crashing to the ground. Emma noticed him then, and nearly lost her head as she jerked upright in surprise. 

The pursuer swung his sword wildly, lunging toward his fallen opponent. It was only luck that his blade parted the air and not Emma’s neck. A bit of her hair fluttered to the ground, following the sword’s passage. 

Despite their proximity, the battling soldiers barely seemed to notice her or the fallen man as they fought on. The one on the ground scrambled to his feet, barely getting a blade up to defend himself. 

Emma scooted out of the way. She had a dagger strapped to her leg, but that was a last-ditch weapon if she were attacked. There wasn’t much she could do with it against armed and armored knights. 

The fight didn’t take long. In mere heartbeats, one of the men was on the ground, his last breath bubbling between his lips while the other gave a shout of victory. Emma thought he would move on to another target, but instead, the remaining soldier looked down at the wounded man. And stabbed him.

His sudden act of irrational violence brought a shout to Emma’s lips. The sound burst out of her before she could stop it. A wordless sound of horror, a primal negation of what she was seeing. Her hand lifted, reaching. As if she might stop the blood that gushed now from the wounded man’s neck. 

Her shout brought the soldier’s attention to her. His face was hidden beneath his helm. Only his eyes were visible through the slit. Hard green eyes, like stone. He raised his sword. 

Emma closed her eyes. She knew what was coming. Tense, breathless, she waited. But instead of a sharp blade, there was only a sudden clang, followed by a heavy thud. Her eyes sprang open. 

“You never like to stay where I put you.” Cyran pushed his hair back from his face with a sigh, but he was smiling even so. “Are you alright?”

Seeing him like this, as if he’d stepped straight from her thoughts and into the battlefield, made her heart do strange things. Beating too fast and off-rhythm, a bruised ache thrumming through it and down into her limbs. She gave him a silent nod. 

He held out a hand to help her up and then pulled her against him in a tight hug. She could feel the uneasy thud of his heart, giving the lie to his calm demeanor. Cyran pressed a kiss to the top of her head. 

Emma let herself be held, taking strength from his warm embrace. She didn’t even mind the press of metal buckles or the hard finish of his armor against her cheek. He was alright. Alive and well. And he’d saved her life. “Thank you.” Her words were muffled against his chest. 

“Don’t thank me for that. Thank me when I get you back to someplace safe.” He let go and took a step back, his gaze roving over her and then the clearing. “Dare I ask what you were doing out here? I hope you weren’t looking for me.”

She had been, of course. But not just that. “I was . . . trying to help. Bandaging wounds and - and giving them water. I sent some that could walk toward the medical tents but -” Her eyes dropped to the body of the soldier she’d been trying to help. His death felt so senseless. All of this death did. 

Cyran’s gloved thumb wiped away a tear before it could fall. 

“Please don’t make me go back. I can’t just . . . especially now and -” Emma felt the words tangling in her throat. All of the suffering, the lost lives, the awfulness of it. She couldn’t walk away. 

“You know, Clavis might actually kill me for this but, I understand.” He took a breath. “I don’t suppose you want some help? I’m not bad with a medical kit and I’ve got this big sword here. Pretty good with it, if I do say so myself.” 

Emma laughed despite everything. Or perhaps, because of it. His cocky smile, and that mischievous gleam to his eye. As if they were about to steal some pastries from Yves’ garden party instead of trying to save lives in the middle of a bloody border war. He was ridiculous, but so was she. “I’d say so too, so it must be true.”

Cyran grinned, his cheeks heating. He cleared his throat. “Alright, well let’s get to work then.” 

“Thank you.” She reached for his cheek, cupping it gently. He was so strong for her, but fragile too. Emma felt a rush of love, her whole chest tight and warm and full to overflowing. 

He leaned close. “Don’t thank me yet, remember?” His kiss surprised her, even as she responded. His warm lips were firm and silky soft, and his mouth tasted of whiskey and blood and smoke. What passed between them was a promise, an oath to survive this day. Their lips sealed a vow to hold each other when this was all over, no matter what came. His touch was hot with the undercurrent of passion held in abeyance, gentle with the sweetness of pure love, trembling with the bitter tang of sorrow, and the salt of tears not yet shed. 

When he pulled back, his warmth stayed with her. “I remember.” Emma smiled at him. 

“Good.” He grinned back. “Now, let’s get moving.”

[dfroggofarson]

i wrote a oneshot about a hot NPC dilf. its 1600+ words. i'm really proud of myself.

when i was doing this quest, i had to come to the realization that i, in fact, do have some daddy issues. and that i have no idea of their origins, but so be it.

the more daddies for my perverted imagination, the better my day is.

if you haven't done the Golden Slumber world quest so far, i highly recommend it! it's long and sometimes annoying, but man, anything for hot dilfs (and their also hot daughters).

ok, that's all, i'm done simping. requests for other stories are open, as always.

fluff, comfort embedded. no smut for y'all horny ppl. sorry, not this time ;)

enjoy! ^^

A difference between sky and sky.

A night in the desert wasn't a joke to anyone. It was rough, cold and merciless, killing anyone that missed to take care of themselves. Most mobile creatures had already found a shelter as soon as the Sun started to dive into the treshold of the horizont, hiding itself behind the gold of endless dunes. No matter if it were just animals, people, or monsters - survival made everyone behave similarly.

That night wasn't anything different than the previous ones. You and your two companions have been traveling for two days - for the fifth time. You commisioned them yet again to escort you while you collected some redcrest and other materials from the desert for special herbs. And why not just commisson them to bring some, without you having to travel such a long and tiring journey, or just buy what you need from the mercenants? You asked yourself at least a thousand times. For example, when you almost stepped on a giant scorpion-like thing, got hit by an especially massive tumbleweed, tripped on a scarab, and even when you got into a fight and almost lost all of your dignity?

Yes, you asked yourself a lot of times.

But you only trusted yourself when it came to collencting materials. After all, only you knew what exactly you needed.

And... Maybe you just enjoyed traveling with them on a regular basis.

Because every one or two months you came to Aaru village and commissioned them for the very same reason, and there wasn't even a single time they turned you down. It started nearly a year ago, when you had no idea of who to trust and how this region works, but out of sheer luck you bumped into - literally, right to his chest - the perfect people. And ever since you only commissioned them and no one else.

So there were the three of you: a still unexperienced, clumsy alhemist's apprentice, depending too much on their deputees; an always smiling, funny and kind, but at the same time life-threatening girl; and her father, a whole natural force, like a billion-years-old mountain looking like he could even challenge Morax himself with his bare two hands.

Well, a colorful team, might as well to say, you tought to yourself as you were laying in your tent. It was a strange friendship between the three of you. You were almost best friends with Jeht, you could talk and laugh about almost everything. And even tough you never talked much with Jebrael, he had proven that he really did care about you, so you considered him as a dear friend as well.

Despite these dangerous journeys, they were the most awaited people in your whole month.

Minutes passed, then half an hour, and then a whole, and you still could not sleep. Getting bored of trying, you sat up and started to think again. But after another thirty minutes you got bored again, so you decided to do a little stargazing. It might help you fall asleep.

You put on some clothes, and opened the tent. You almost tripped in your own legs as soon as you saw the tall, threatening figure's back infront of you-

Oh, wait. It's just Jebrael. Yeah. He's in your team.

Cool.

After your heartbeat kind of went back to normal, you just stood there, studying the man's silhouette. If the muscles and scars armoring his massive body could tell you their stories, you'd probably listen to them for years long. When he fights, he does not have any spare movements, and the way he swings his weapon with such pure brutallity and unique elegance... This controversiality always left you tremble and speechless at the same time.

You snapped out of your toughts as you approached the man, not having any better idea as soon as you saw him. You were sure he's heard you, but just in case, you stepped on a drained brach to alert him of your presence. He did not turn his head towards you, and didn't say a word when you sat down next to him. You both remained silent for long minutes.

"Aren't you tired?" You asked, breaking the silence. "It's been a long day. You should take a rest, too."

"It's my turn on watch," he replied. "And Jeht is also tired. I'm fine. You should be the one taking a rest."

"But I can't sleep. I just keep thinking about everything."

"Hm," he 'said', still not moving an inch. Sometimes you wondered how a man of such a figure could act so unnoticeable and noiseless.

"For examle, the sky," you pointed at the stars. "All the orbs can be seen from there so much better than from Lyue harbor or Mondstadt. It's probably because of the light pollution, or I don't know."

"I tought you were a scientist?"

"Well... sort of, but this is not my field. I'm more into alchemistry. Or, at least, I'm trying," you laughed nervously, scratching the back of your head in embarassment. "But I'm not that good, no matter how hard I try."

"That's not true," he opposed, slightly turning his head toward you. "The ointment you gave us was really effective."

"Ah, yes. That is the only one I'm proud of," you chuckled. "And the anti-sweat bandages! I see you still use them," you smiled at him, looking at his arm.

"See, these things are useful. Just keep it up."

There was silence again. You stared at the endless black of the sky, toughts racing trough your head like a tumbleweed in the wind.

Somehotw, sitting in silence with him wasn't uncomfortable, like it was with other people. You could collect your toughts and think silently, while feeling perfectly safe.

You wanted to experience it more. Not just every one or two months.

"How much more materials do you need for the following months?" He asked suddenly.

"Well... Hmm... I need a few more redcrest, five scarabs and three more ajilenakh nuts... but I think that's all for now. But I'll think it trough the morning."

"Good. Jeht and I have to head back to the village soon, so we can collect them tomorrow and then start to take our way home," he said casually.

Like it didn't mean that your journey, your only chance to finally have some time for yourself, but be safe and with friends at the same time wasn't about to end in a few hours.

"Oh," you replied. "Okay, no problem."

"And you know, you can commission others to these trips, too. I have some reliable acquintances, so I can recommend you some of them. You don't have to aks us every single time."

Ouch.

You gulped. Did that mean that he wasn't enjoying your company? Definitely, you declared. But he seemed to be okay with it... Is there something wrong with you? Or with anything? Did you do something wrong?

Oh, silly question. Even when establishing the camp, you couldn't help properly, because the tent you tried to make always collapsed as soon as it had the chance, and it was always Jebrael who helped you fix it. You could only make some food, but that wasn't so delicious either, rather flavoured with herbs to make your companions feel better. But that didn't mean they enjoyed it as much as you did...

Were you overreacting again? Yes. But was it logical? Absolutely, for this time.

They were... he was important to you. It did matter what he said. Maybe a little bit too much.

"Right. That's true. I should probably ask someone else, too, you two must be busy as well," you laughed again, but this time much more nervously. "I'm sorry I bother you with this every month. Seriously." You nodded, holding back your tears, trying to find some excuse to leave the scenery as fast as possible. "Oh, can you feel it? It's getting so cold! I'd probably go back and, you know, try to get some rest... Good night, then!"

You quickly jumped up from the log you were sitting in, waving a quick "goodbye", then turned your back on him and walked to your tent.

How could you be so blind... Why would you think that he enjoyed spending time with you? No one enjoyed your company, that's why you didn't have any friends. You were nothing more than an ignorant little pharmacist who had no idea about the dangers and pressures of the world Jebrael lived in. He's porbably had some more important business to take care of, and you had no right to tell him to stay one more day just because-

"The... The stars. What's the difference between Lyue and here?"

You froze, slowly turning your head back to him. His head was facing the sky, hands resting on his knees relaxed.

He looked so peaceful all of a sudden.

You gulped again.

"We- well," you started, playing with your hand in embarassment, "there are so much more lamps in Lyue. It's a harbor, after all, and it's always bathing in light, so you cannot see the night sky so well..."

"Hmm. I haven't seen it in a long time," he whispered.

You turned your head to look at him. You had no idea why he was wearing, or why he had to wear that blindfold. You never asked about it. Once you tried to talk to Jeht, but she just brushed it off with an "I dunno, he never talks about it," and that was all.

Jebrael never talked about himself, not even to his daughter.

But something changed this evening.

He seemed to be more... open. To have a conversation. Even if it was just about the sky.

And he started to open himself for you.

You snapped back to reality, forgetting that you should probably carry on the talk. You made your way back to the log, sitting down next to him where you were just moments ago. It was still warm.

"Do you... want me to tell about it?" You asked silently.

For a moment, he didn't reply. Then he slighly nod.

You smiled.

Well... at least that's something to begin with.

} > -- • -- < {

The next morning, when Jebrael woke up, he found himself under a blanket - and with you leaning onto him, head on his right shoulder. He focused on the sounds surrounding him, but he couldn't hear Jeht's breathing, only yours. But when he moved his left hand, he found a short message.

'Wouldn't want to wake you two up, went to grab some branches. Not gonna be back soon. ;P'

Jebrael let out a small sigh, cautious not to wake you up, and just listened to your peaceful breathing for a few minutes.

And then he cracked a small smile.

That business in the village could wait a few days.

} > -- • -- < {

[empyr-lymbo]

Pairing: MK x male!Reader Rating: NSFW Summary: What happens when you mix hunger and horny…well, this. Warnings/Tags: SEASON 5 SPOILERS YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED, canon-typical violence, cussing, theft, some humor, public nudity, making out, sloppy toppy, 69 hehe nice, and questionable decisions being made in Pigsy's shop.  Word Count: 1600+ words

In the middle of the night, when all–if not most–of Megapolis citizens were in their beds resting after a day of working, playing, or just living their lives. A few weeks after the city went through another apocalyptic-esque event, the regular schedule of people's lives continued or drastically changed due to their newfound abilities. 

Yes, that's right, people had powers now apparently–you included.

Now, your ability wasn't anything to laugh at, especially when you began to learn the ropes of your funny-looking powers. You looked like a cat demon with the tail, paws, claws and all. 

What made stealing easy was the fact you could use your claws as lock-picks, your paw prints never left any traces that could link back to you, and when you shifted back to your original form, who would question you about a cat demon stealing stuff?The cogs and wheels in your head spun fast enough to light an idea in your head. If you could successfully pull off a few…'heists' here and there, who was going to stop you?

There weren't any regulations made yet about limiting the use of one's power, and you fully intend to make use of your power since you really didn't have any other choice. Your new and sometimes uncontrollable feline urges made it difficult for you to continue your job, which led to you losing your only method of income and already on the path of losing your shitty apartment as well. 

With no choice and the threat of hunger looming over, you began enacting your plot and stole from a few convenience stores. From there, the thrill of taking things from others—-and for free might I add—was addictive; a sugary sweet feeling that had your heart pumping out of your chest. 

Perhaps this confidence boost might have been your downfall. Particularly because after breaking into a random noodle shop you found yourself against a wall with a weapon keeping you immobile. 

"Let's try this again, tell me why you're here-" The dark-haired male yawned. "-at three in the morning? This place doesn't open till eleven." 

You flexed your claws, the sharp points sheathing and unsheathing as you shifted your eyes around trying to come up with an answer to the discombobulated guy. 

"Uhh…uhh," You bit your lip. "Taxes?" 

"...huh?" 

"Huh?" 

Wonderful.

"You came in here…with a large brown bag…at three for…" The headband donning male exhaled harshly. "Taxes?" 

"Yes, that's right." 

"...I'm gonna knock you out now." 

"Wait, wAIT-!"

Before the guy could give you a concussion, you ducked from the swing of his staff and rolled off to the side–scrambling to your feet as the weapon came crashing down at where you retreated to. 

You snatched your partially filled bag from the floor and sprinted for the door. Unfortunately, this small shop meant the distance between you and your attacker meant he was right on your ass as you had your hand on the doorknob. 

"Hrnk-!" Your collar was yanked back as you crashed to the floor, bag thrown to the side again before something heavy pressed against your chest.

"Just make this easy on me and I'll make sure you wake up at the hospital." 

"I'M NOT DOING THAT??"

The guy rose the staff above his head, taking a moment to release yet another yawn. You took that chance to sweep your leg across his feet, and before you knew it your positions were switched. You, standing above the sleepy male with your foot on his chest, and him laying on the cold, hard floor looking like he'd drop dead at any second. The dark bags under his eyes weren't doing him any justice either.

"Ok, ok, I might have come at a bad time but I seriously wasn't gonna do anything bad, I swear!" You tried to reason. 

"..."

"Sure, I might have been a bit suspicious carrying around a bag, but what guy doesn't have a man purse every now and then?"

"..."

"C'mon, dude, say something?!" 

 "...zzzz."

"Are you…are you fucking kidding me-" You slapped a paw over your face and dragged it down to your mouth, your fangs peeked out from your lips as you tapped the pads of your paw against your top lip. What to do, what to do…

This guy knew how to fight and you certainly weren't equipped to take somebody like him head on, especially when his face became familiar to you with each second…wait, this was—oh fuck, no wonder that staff and his strength was crazy–

He was the goddamn student of the monkey king, and you were caught trying to steal something from him. 

Sweat began to form on your brow as your fluffy tail curled between your legs. The nerve-wracking situation turned worse when the guy—now you remembered being named MK–began to wake up.

 

"..mmhm?" MK opened his eyes and tilted his head at the feline humanoid staring back at him. "Friend…foe..?" 

"Friend! Definitely a friend!" You answered without much thought. You relaxed your shoulders and removed your foot from MK's chest, it was the least you could do for your 'friend.' "We were…errr…having a sleepover! Yeah! Can't believe you forgot!" 

"Mmm…oh," MK slowly rose to his feet but before you could place a hand on his arm to guide him out of the shop, you were thrown against the counter with your arm twisted behind you. You howled in pain as the male behind you applied more pressure on your bent limb. 

"Nice try, but I never have sleepovers during the weekdays!" MK triumphantly laughed. 

"C'monnn, lemme go and I'll never come by here again!" 

"Promise?" 

"I swear on my grandma's dentures I won't come here again." 

"Huh, well, knocking you out for a coupla days can do that too."

"Ugh, please! Just-!" A crazy idea popped in that head of yours as you fell silent. You were suddenly made aware of how close the supposed hero's crotch was against your butt. If you moved your hips a little-

"What are you doing..?" MK recoiled as he felt you grind against him. The feeling shocked him so much he loosened his hold on your arm, allowing you to turn around and tackle him to the floor. 

"Cat got your tongue?" You purred. Your hands planted on either side of his head, your tail flicking behind you as you sat in his lap. MK felt goosebumps form on his arms, but he didn't know if that was from the chill of the tiled floor or the warmth spreading down to his-

"Oh?" You felt your cheeks heat up as something poked against your thigh. "Oh my, I didn't know you were this easy~" 

"H-hey! It's been a while okay?" MK cried out in his defense. "Just get off and I'll let you go, concussion-free." 

"And leave you like this?" You laughed as you leaned down, your mouth ghosting over his quivering lips. "I could help y'know…food isn't the only thing I enjoy taking~"

MK bit his bottom lip as his gaze tore away from your dilated pupils, his face turning into a rosy hue as the tent in his pants throbbed a few times. 

"...nnnmmmahhhnooo…ah…fuck it," MK shot up from the floor and slammed his mouth against yours. You responded in kind, moaning into the kiss as his hands ran underneath your shirt. Both of your bodies pressed closer, clothes being discarded as they were thrown in every direction, and the noises the two of you made would make anyone's face flush with shame. 

"Name…" 

You made a confused sound as the strings of saliva connecting between your mouths broke 

"Your…name?" MK muttered as he moved to suck on your neck. You hissed as the sharp pain of teeth puncturing your skin shot up your spine, your claws responded by dragging down MK's back. 

"You can-" You winced as MK's hips rolled against your thrusts, your bulges rubbing against each other through the thin material of your pants. "-call me whatever you want~" 

"Mm 'kay, babygirl," MK pushed you down, his hips forcing you to lay pancaked on the tiles as his thrusts quickened as his desperation to cum came from how girlish those moans of his were beginning to sound. 

"Anything but that," You deadpanned. "Literally, anything else, man." 

"Ha..ho…mmfph! I'm gonna cum, I'mgonnacumI'mgonnacumI'mgonnacum-"

You sighed seeing as the exhausted male was probably too focused on trying to get his rocks off to hear your complaints now, 'specially when he was humping against you like a bitch in heat. 

You laid there rubbing the back of his messy locks as he released a few curses. His body shuddered against yours as a wet spot formed on his pajama shorts. The monkey king's successor heaved a euphoric sigh as his body collapsed on top of yours. MK's beating heart thumped fiercely against your chest–something you took note of as you rolled him on his back. 

MK had his eyes closed the entire time as he felt you move him around, he hadn't had the strength to care about what you were doing now—that is until something warmth and hard pressed against his mouth. His first reaction was to reel his head back, but groaned as the back of his head hit the ground. MK opened his eyes to find the head of your dick leaking pre in front of his face and the cool air hitting his lower half—

Wait. 

You had his shorts pulled down enough to free his cum-covered cock, your lips wet from licking them earlier as your hand wrapped around the base. It wasn't long, but it looked thick enough to get the job done, which you silently appreciated as you took the tip into your mouth and swirled your tongue around it. A bit salty, but you did not mind the taste too much.

"Oh, fuck," MK whined, he hadn't forgotten to take care of you and leaned up to hesitantly lick along your shaft. You paused at the feeling of the brief, modest licks against your cock. This guy really sucked at this. Anyway, the two of you continued to slurp on each other's dicks, some more experienced than the other.

MK's gag reflex started acting up as soon as you began drilling your dick deeper by lowering your hips to match the tempo of his head bobbing. Conveniently, the tight constriction around your cock felt so good that you finally reached your climax and moaned around MK's dick as you twitched and painted the walls of his throat white.

As your cock began softening, you pulled off the dark-haired male's dick and jerked him to completion. By the end of it, both of you were tired, sweaty, and in need of a new pair of underwear. 

MK promptly fell asleep, not before feeling a pair of soft lips peck his forehead before his vision went dark. 

When he awoke again, it was to the terrifying sight of Pigsy standing over him with a spatula in hand. 

🍜 - I do not give permission for anyone to translate, copy, republish, or plagiarize any of my written works. I provide no permission for any of my literary works to be used in artificial intelligence. mdni banner by @willsgraphics!! --- sparkle banner(s) by @adornedwithlight!!

[the-five-bright-stars]

FBS Draft Scene: Still Undone

Word Count: 1600

Author's Notes: This has been a landmark scene in my head for a long time, but I realized recently I had never really told anyone about it! This takes place in the middle of the story. Content Warning spoils the heaviest part of this segment, so try to skip over it if you want to be surprised! Sorry I can't blank it out!

Summary: While searching the abandoned winter grounds of the carnival Taps once worked for, he and Riker discover the body of Hinge, Taps' childhood sweetheart. Title comes from Orville Peck's 'Hope to Die,' Taps and Hinge's theme.

Content Warnings: Dead robot, body desecration, attempted revival and subsequent putting down

Previously: Taps and Riker were being dragged back to New Amida by Kilroy and Lucy, but at a split second opportunity, stole their car and made off. While laying low, Taps is revealed to have an emotion blocker in his head, which Riker hastily removes, causing Taps to start experiencing extreme mood swings and reactions. Afterward, they decide to search for clues as to the whereabouts of Lindy, Taps' missing sister, and the first place to search is where Taps saw her last-- the carnival winter grounds where they worked together, now abandoned.

-

　Taps shuffled through the dusty papers in the desk drawers, keeping the lights of his eyes dialed up. Riker had their one flashlight tucked between his cheek and his shoulder and was picking the locks on the filing cabinet on the other side of the room, muttering under his breath. They’d checked a few other rooms in the deserted building before finding this office, all of them trashed in the time since the winter grounds were abandoned. The rooms had been shifted around after Taps left the carnival, except for the big storage room where they’d found, miraculously, a still sealed gallon of diesel.

　　Taps was trying not to let that diesel’s presence distract him. There were lots of reasons why a carnival might have that on hand, not just the one that he feared. Right now he had to focus on finding clues of where Lindy had gone.

　　“Got it,” Riker said, pulling open the top cabinet drawers. He wrinkled his nose at the contents; they probably smelled musty. “What year did you leave, again?”

　　“1959,” Taps said. “November.”

　　“Right, so--” Riker paused. “You were built in ‘47? Christ, you were still a kid.”

　　Taps silently straightened up and walked around the desk. “Demétrio had to move our contracts fast,” he said. “Medical bills. Here, I found a key, if there’s nothing in that one.”

　　In the second-to-bottom drawer, they found something. The manila folder nearly crumbled as Riker shifted it up into the light. It was unlabeled, but as Riker flipped through the tops of the papers within, he perked up. “Contract receipts. Jackpot.”

　　Taps leaned closer, staring at the papers as Riker jumped to the back of the folder. Focus, he thought. Don’t think about--

　　“Bettencourt!” Riker exclaimed. He grinned at Taps, pointing to a yellow page. “Bettencourt, L. Sale of contract: 1961. I can’t believe we fucking found it!”

　　Taps was frozen; his engine slowed. Riker’s smile began to dim.

　　“Hey,” Riker said softly. “You OK?”

　　“Yes,” Taps said, voice stiff. His illuminators had turned to pinpricks. “Yes. I just--”

　　Riker reached out and rested a hand on Taps’ shoulder. “Relax. This is big, and you’re just getting your feelings together. You need a minute before we get out of here?”

　　Taps vented a small burst of air, his head dropping forward, and he nodded.

　　Riker gingerly folded the receipt along its age-old crinkles before putting it in the inner pocket of his jacket. He stood with a grunt, rubbed his knees, and then held his hands up to his mouth, puffing a faint, misty cloud of hot air over them.

　　After a few minutes, the pair stepped out into the hallway, the shattered window at the closer end spilling moonlight across the floor. They walked carefully toward the exit, but stopped at the door, hearing whooping voices in the distance.

　　“Those damn teenagers are still here?” Riker growled. “Shit. They better not fuck with the car.”

　　Taps opened the door a crack and peaked through. “I can see their flashlights. They’re between us and the car, but I don’t think they’re moving toward it.” Taps paused, thinking. “There’s should be another way around, through the warehouse. I think the door was this way…”

　　They slipped as quietly as they could through the office building to the side door, then darted to the warehouse. Like the office, any sort of padlock had long been broken off, and the door opened with a soft creak. Riker flinched at the sound, then ducked inside, turning to wave Taps through. Taps only hesitated for a split second.

　　The main chamber of the warehouse was a disaster. Riker tried to keep the flashlight pointed at the ground as they walked, but the light would twitch nervously toward any open doors they passed. Riker’s foot collided with something and he yelped as it tumbled forward; Taps froze again, staring at the black diesel canister lying on its side, lit up in the circle of yellow. Riker breathed through his teeth.

　　“Christ, thought that was a rat for a second,” he said.

　　Taps stepped forward and picked it up, sloshing the liquid inside. Riker frowned at him-- or more specifically, at his eyes. Taps could feel his lights narrowing again.

　　“Taps?” Riker asked, voice a quiet hiss. “What’s the matter?”

　　“There was another robot,” Taps said. “His name was Hinge, and he ran on diesel.”

　　Riker stared at Taps for a moment, and Taps stared past him. There was a large doorway with no door just ahead of them, with smears on the ground, grimy shoe prints leading in and out. Before Riker could form a response, Taps had moved into the doorway.

　　There was something in there, against the far wall.

　　Taps’ footsteps were jerky as he took one, two steps in. Even with his illuminators turned all the way up, the shape was hard to make out. But it was big and bulky, crumpled forward over itself.

　　The flashlight shone past Taps shoulder, and Riker swore.

　　Hinge’s body sat with its back against the wall, head bowed forward over its bent legs. The left arm was missing below the elbow, and the chassis and the wall surrounding it were covered in spray paint. The graffiti on the wall made a terrible halo around the slumped form.

　　Taps barely registered his legs moving. He walked forward as if compelled, the carnage that had wracked Hinge’s body more apparent with every step. At some point he had dropped the diesel canister; it wasn’t in his hand when he knelt, almost falling, and reached out to touch Hinge’s knee.

　　“You stayed,” Taps whispered to the corpse. “Why did you stay?”

　　Taps couldn’t stop staring at Hinge’s face-- the hanging jaw, the dark holes of his glass-broken eyes. Some irreverent vandals had messily applied zigzags and meaningless blobs and a singular holographic sticker across his wide torso. Hinge would have hated it. Would hate it. Hated it.

　　Taps stood and turned sharply, nearly knocking into Riker. He ignored the words that stumbled out of Riker’s mouth and snatched the diesel canister off the ground, unscrewing the cap as he hurried to Hinge’s side. His fuel intake was just behind his left shoulder.

　　Taps did not stop pouring when Riker grabbed his arm and pointed the flashlight in his face, but he did start to hear him again.

　　“--can’t do this, buddy, there’s nothing left--”

　　“He has two ignition switches,” Taps said. “One on each side. I can’t reach both at once.” He turned his head and locked eyes with Riker. “I need you to hit the other switch.”

　　Riker’s eyes were round, the whites of them catching the light that bounced back into his face.

　　“What? No. I won’t,” Riker stammered. “Taps--”

　　“Do it,” Taps snapped. And then, venomously: “You owe me.”

　　Riker’s jaw snapped shut, and slowly his brows furrowed, the crease between his eyebrows deepening darkly. For a long moment he said nothing. Taps removed the nozzle from Hinge’s intake, and was just feeling the stirring of hesitation when Riker whipped around. Taps thought he might be storming out of the room, but he turned at Hinge’s feet and came back to his other side.

　　“You’re going to fucking regret this,” Riker snapped, casting the light over Hinge, looking for the switch.

　　Taps reached out and pried Hinge slightly more forward from the wall, enough to slip their hands beneath his shoulder blades. “Just press, and hold for three,” Taps said. “One… two… three--”

　　There was a gurgle and a bang from within Hinge’s chest, and he jerked violently. Black smoke spat from his mouth, and one eye flickered. Riker pulled back, and Taps’ hands snapped out, ready to steady him.

　　“Hinge? Hinge!” Taps cried. “It’s alright, it’s--”

　　Hinge continued to spasm, and Riker jumped back as his only arm swung aimlessly. Sounds gargled out of his voice box, a waterfall of half-words and metallic screeches, and with a full-body jolt he fell onto his left side, nearly taking Taps down with him. Hinge-- his body-- contorted on the ground, thrashing and scraping itself on the concrete, howling.

　　Taps stared and realized what he had done.

　　“Hold his head.”

　　Riker was holding a long metal rod, some piece of detritus from the floor.

　　Taps could have screamed, but with threadbare restraint, he did not. He only knelt and did his best to hold onto Hinge’s head, a hand on both sides. Hinge was--had been-- was so, so strong, and it was difficult to steady the head.

　　Riker missed the first blow, the end of the rod bouncing off the center of Hinge’s faceplate. The second spike hit true, going deep into the eye socket, back into the elongated skull. Riker wrenched the rod to one side, then the other, and with a snap something gave away, and Hinge’s body went still.

　　Taps kept holding the head as Riker-- Riker was crying, Taps dimly realized-- as he pulled the rod free and tossed it aside. The flashlight had been left on the ground, pointing at Hinge, and Riker retrieved it, knuckles bone white around the grip. He was breathing heavily, teeth grit, and his wet eyes shot accusing darts at Taps.

　　‘“I owe you?”’ Riker hissed bitterly. “I should have told you to get in line.”

　　And then he did leave, stalking out into the hallway. Taps heard him begin to retch, and he looked down again. He ran a hand over Hinge’s forehead.

　　“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry, love. You deserved the whole world. Better than this. Better than me.”

[sp4ceboo]

The Hunter and the Culinarian: Darth Maul x Reader

A/N: don't mind the millions of metaphors i put in the end i didn't know how to finish it ok

Warnings: swearings, violence, blasters,

Word count: <1600

Unbeknownst to many Sith and many more Jedi, you're in possession of a rather remarkable little secret. You, and only you, have seen the sight that graces your eyes nearly every morning, heard the gleeful notes of a soft baritone voice as he works, tasted the wonders of his phenomenal creation. Your husband, Maul Oppress himself, weilder of the cruel, crimson double bladed lightsaber, master of thousands of deadly, efficient fighting techniques, user of the mysterious, miraculous Force, is quite the chef.

To put it shortly, he makes great Gi dumpling soup. And Tiingilar. His Mustafarian Lava Bun is absolutely delectable, not to mention the Franikhad he cooks up, or that Corellian Ryshcate he made for you after you got some disease from a snotty Mon Calamari child... Oh, and the Quor'sav Fried Steak he made for you after that one hunt, or the one time where he made his own, slightly healthier version of the Raxus Slider from Dex's Diner.

There's nothing you love more than coming back from a long, arduous hunt to the smell of hot, just-out-of-the-oven food, apart from maybe the hug that follows - usually involving you dropping the bounty on the floor, chucking your rifle in the opposite direction (once you check the safety's on, of course) and hurling yourself at his back, trusting his connection with the Force to inform him that a heavily armoured Mandalorian is flying in a collision course for his ass. The expression on his face is always priceless, the soft melody dying an untimely death in the back of his throat as he drops the wooden spoon in his hand and catches you with the strength and precision of  a Sith lord. You can almost the strong grip of his powerful arms now, can almost hear the deep chuckle he'll let out as you kick your feet, toes brushing the ground from where he's lifted you into his embrace.

Your feet drag in the desert dust. How you wish for the insufferable, hot headed Zabrak now, with an unconscious bounty that feels like it's made of the solid beskar slung over your shoulder, the sun beating down on you as you trudge towards the ship - a mere speck on the horizon. Yes, you may tease him all the time that you're the bread winner, but sometimes you wish you were the one at home, pottering around in a 'please do nothing to the cook' apron and humming contentedly to yourself. You reckon you might even be able to avoid burning the whole ship down, although the food you produce may or may not be inedible. It's safe to say that the roles you both carry are fitting - you can't prepare food for your life, and if you put Maul on a hunt he'll either lose patience or find some trace of Kenobi that he can pursue eternally until you remind him that you'll all starve if he leaves you alone to do the cooking.

With every step, the arches of your feet radiate pain all the way up your legs, and the tiny silver glimmer on the horizon seems to slip further and further away, taking with it your promise of food and a pretty, tattooed, Zabrak man wife. The bounty over your shoulder groans, and you don't even think twice, you just sling the Iktochi onto the ground, watching passively until he stumbles, tripping over a rock, and you shoot out a hand to grab his arm in a vice like grip, steadying him. Digging the barrel of your blaster into his back, you urge him forward.

'Don't even fucking think about trying anything,' you huff grumpily.

Without the heavy, insistent weight of the bounty on your back, you relax a little, picking up the pace and forgetting your plans to just leave it all to hell and kill him, even if it meant you had to take half the pay. You roll your eyes when the Iktochi trips again, this time dropping to his knees on the ground. It doesn't escape your notice that he scoops a rock off the ground, probably a last resort weapon, but you ignore it for now - he'll be in carbonite soon, and if he tries anything, he'll have to deal with a grumpy, half starved Mandalorian and a Sith Lord with anger issues.

You're almost to the ship, happily trundling along, so close that the sun reflects off the hull and right into your eyes, when the bounty makes a break for it. It's rather pitiful, if you're being honest. All he does is launch himself in the opposite direction, the rock that had been previously hiding in his sleeve reappearing and rebounding with a clear, laughably bell like noise off your helmet. Maybe he'd been banking on the fact that you'd rather have him alive so wouldn't shoot immediately, but you're smarter than that - the blaster setting flicks to stun in a millisecond, and in the next, he's falling, eating the dust.

Staring at the unconscious body before you, you wrinkle your nose. Are you really going to drag that dead weight all the way up to the ramp, prop it up while you prepare the carbonite chamber, then struggle to not get your arm frozen in the process? It takes less time for you to decide than it took for you to stun the quarry. No. No way.

'Maul!' You yell, banging on the side of the ship. 'I'm home!'

A few seconds later, the ramp slowly lowers, and he pokes his head out, a smile brightening his face. He's a sight for sore eyes, shirtless and clad in nothing but some boxers and the iconic 'please do nothing to the cook' apron that he bought for himself after you... attacked him while he was cooking too many times: a common morning occurrence, which he claims is a bother, but secretly, or not so secretly, enjoys. His tattoos form constellations up his arms and across his muscle sheathed chest, and you watch, starry eyed for a few seconds before you shake some sense into yourself. Maker, you don't even have the strength to run into his arms today, instead waving helplessly at the body on the floor with a sheepish smile.

'Some help?' You ask. 'I'm in a bit of a Sith-uation here.' He groans. 'My love; that was awful.' 'I beg to differ, Maul. It was hilarious.'

The crimson Zabrak rolls his eyes, strolling down the ramp and over to you. He pauses before you, and you think he's going to bend down and hoist the bounty into his arms, but instead he lunges forwards and grabs you, throwing you easily over his shoulder. You yelp in protest, beating your fists against his back, but don't do much else in terms of struggling - you can finally relax, and although you'd envisioned actually sitting down while Maul supplied you with a glass of water and a kiss on the head, this will do just fine. Swinging your legs, you watch from your upside down position as Maul stoops to grab the Iktochi's tunic, slinging him onto the opposite shoulder like a sack of those fried Protatos they sell in Coruscant.

'Alright,' you sigh. 'I can see you're trying to make a point here.' 'Was it with success?' 'Yes, unfortunately,' you growl. 'Put me down, Oppress.' 'No need to get feisty,' he croons. 'I made Tiingilar.'

It's actually almost embarassing how fast you perk up. Food will do that to a hungry Mandalorian like you, you guess. No one makes Tiingilar like Maul does - you haven't tried something as authentic tasting since you left Mandalore, but then, it would make sense, as he was ruler of Mandalore for a while. Knowing Maul, he probably figured out how to make the dish in private, testing out and measuring the exact mass of the spices to add.

Maul sets you down gently at the table as he hauls the bounty over to the carbonite freezer, and you dig into the steaming stew, setting your helmet on the table beside you. Smiling, your Sith sits down beside you, pausing your hurried eating when he cups your jaw, tilting your face to his so he can kiss you, his lips pulling up into a grin against yours as you snake a hand around the back of his head to pull him closer, leaning into his touch. Once he releases you, it doesn't take you long to eat the food he's prepared for you, and you groan, cradling your food baby as you set the clean bowl onto the table.

'That was so good, Maul,' you sigh. 'You spoil me.' 'Anything to see that pretty face of yours,' he replies with a disarming grin. 'Oh, so that's why you cook so much,' you tease. 'And because I love you,' he whispers, voice dropping a few octaves. You smile - so hard your cheeks begin to ache. 'I love you too, Maul.'

It doesn't take you another second - you fall into his arms, the way a comet streaks towards a planet, trapped in its gravity. You are his star, yet you find yourself orbitting him, the shine of glittering galaxies glimmering in your wonder struck eyes; he cradles you in his arms, anchoring you, grounding you, and you wish to stay there forever, sheltered in the arms of the most dangerous man in the universe. He snares you in his grip, yet in doing so, he secures you. The two of you dance together within your own self made solar system, twirling among planets and spinning past asteroid fields, destined, as two star systems are, to collide. And when you do, you explode in a shower of glittering lights, again and again and again, clasped tightly in each others arms.

[kay-elle-cee]

Happy Valentine’s Day 💌

Send this to five different people anonymously, and tell them three things you love/appreciate about them to brighten their Valentine's day!

What I love about you:

*opens scroll 📜 * *opens powerpoint* *excel spreadsheet* <- since you excel in writing 😏

*clears throat* it all started in the early 1600’s Little Kelsey was just a KC a little nugget in a world full of Snape’s…. Oh gosh that would be worse than a zombie apocalypse 😬, a-and oh dear I promised myself I would get emotional 🤧 I need a minute (and $10,000 deposited into my bank account bi-weekly for the rest of my life 👀).

Where was I? Oh yes, young KC she’s the angst to my pain. She puts the I in ibfibg, (yoo, I just realized without the I it’s bfgf, it’s like you manifested James and Lily being endgame in the story. Shocked pikachu face 🫢)

I no longer will complain by the amount of angst in her fic— ok well I still will complain because 🤨 missy, that’s my heart on the line! But fine, it’s yours you’ve stabbed it plenty of times anyways I’m immune to the pain by now 😒. Oh is that a dagger, I suppose give it your best shot.

ANYWAYS,

1. The love of angst I believe that solidifies a bond, that being said send ibfibg to a certain Mr.K, no I’m not talking about Kelloggs if that’s what you’re asking. (Did you see a bookmark on ibfibg? Someone who isn’t a mutual may have added a note on there. I wouldn’t know cause I didn’t do it)

2. You are the proudest HUFFLEPUFF that I’ve ever met, but you hide in the shadows with the Slytherins out of fear of being outcasted. Need not worry, friend I know the truth 😉

3. Sense of humor is always 🤌🏽 plus the way you enjoy putting Lily through pain and adding 🙂 to your fics I know I’ll end up like 😭 and I know your not sorry at least your honest 🥹🥹

1600s???? HOW OLD DO YOU THINK I AM NENA ANON?

Just kidding. Thank you so so so much for all your lovely words (all the time, not just here!) I just read the bookmark on ibfibg and I'm CACKLING oh my god 😂 The highest of high praise!

I find it so funny that you're on a single-handed mission to prove I'm a Hufflepuff while I'm just a normal, average (non-evil) Slytherin. Cursed Child has it's major problems but Scorpius Malfoy is a little Slytherin cinnamon roll I'll treasure to the end of my DAYS. (also no shade to Hufflepuffs! My bff group is split 2 Hufflepuffs and 2 Slytherins, like a buddy system)

Thank you again so much Nena Anon <3 This gave me quite a good giggle! I promise (warn?) there is more angst on the way, and I hope you enjoy it!

[harley-the-pancake]

Ok here’s my take on reblogs

I reblog a fuck ton.

I also have a decent amount of followers, in the 1600s.

Yes, there are a number who are bots, inactive, different fandoms but still.

Yet my top posts half the time?

Reposts of images on Instagram or Twitter.

And honestly? It’s frustrating.

I want fic activity when I post, sure, but also I get why I don’t get as much sometimes (no fic tag for me, random hours, a link instead of words)

But also, y’all are even shit with shitposts! AU ideas! Theories!

It’s just frustrating.

[gabessquishytum]

Ok ok I'm coming in from AO3 because my brain is obsessed with the "write Hob with a little (a lot?) chub", focused specifically on the latter. Can't stop thinking that at this rate he's def going to outgrow his clothes, because I can't see neither Dream nor him stopping.

Maybe Dream starts getting tempted by his own cooking, considering how much his boyfriend enjoys it. The body contrast can still happen if he fills out, but Hob keeps getting fatter.

It's the last day of the year so I'm allowed to be horny on main, right? RIGHT??? Because this is uhhhh good shit right here my dudes.

It's about the intimacy you know??? Dream cooking and baking for Hob with his own hands, feeding him a fork full of something again with his own hands,,, and these are two creatures who have experienced terrible deprivation, Hob starved to the point of death in the 1600s and although his immortality saved him from that, it meant he had to live with the pain, the destruction in must have wrought on his body, the psychological impacts it must have had. And then there's Dream who spent 100 years deprived of physical touch, all comfort, clothes, maybe even air. It takes a lot to come back from that, right? And as much as they are also kinky motherfuckers, they're also in love, and that means caring for each other with body and mind.

So is it a surprise that Dream wants to see his beloved safe and comfortable? Absolutely not. Does he take it a little too far? Probably yes. He's an intense kind of guy, he doesn't half-ass things. Every time Hob has to donate a shirt to a charity shop bc it no longer fits right, Dream is absolutely aroused but he's also soothed. He's keeping Hob warm and providing for him. Everyone keeps telling him what a good job he's going, how cute the relationship weight gain is. To Dream it feels like security.

And Hob is loving life??? He's so happy, he loves his job and his friends and Dream, and he feels safe. He feels cared for, and that's kind of amazing because he doesn't generally allow himself to be cared for by anyone. It's his job to look after people. But with Dream it's OK! He can be soft and vulnerable. And he just enjoys being spoiled by Dream, with all the hand feeding and the touching and the satisfied look that Dream gets whenever Hob clears a plate.

Is Dream gaining a little weight also inevitable? At this point, yes. He's more comfortable than he's been in centuries. He is voraciously loved by Hob. And he's surrounded by food at lot of the time, and he isn't always immune to things that smell and taste good. Post-fishbowl his physical body is still tired and he gets a boost of energy whenever he eats, even if he doesn't need it. He gets a little padding over his abs and he finds he rather likes it - he keeps poking and touching his own stomach. He looks like a person. He feels. Good.

And Hob is fucking feral about it! Dream has always been a bag of bones (a very sexy one, but still). Now there's a lil tummy there too. Dream has this habit of sneaking his hands under Hob t-shirt and squeezing his belly (even in public!!) and now Hob gets to return the favour!!

And then there's the sex, but I need at least 6000 words to talk about THAT. Anyway. Now you all know what I'm thinking about in the dead of night.

[psalmonesermons]

About the bible Part 1b

Possible objections to the authority of the Bible

If we reject the authority of the Bible, then we appoint someone or something else as the authority for your own faith. We can usually agree that some parts of the scripture are true, but which ones will we accept, and which ones will we reject? We need to pray to the Lord that He will show us what is the truth in the Bible.

At this stage, new believers will come to understand that their view of the scriptures will be directly affected by their view of God. If you think that God is distant, and never speaks directly or communicates with people then you will doubt that he communicates through the Bible and directly with us. We need to realize that God both speaks to mankind and that he has written a book specifically for his children i.e. the Bible. The Bible is self-consistent all through its 66 books since it is God who wrote it in tandem with the human authors (see study 2 for more details).

God communicates with humans.

A few examples of God speaking to humans.

Genesis 1:28 God speaks to Adam

Genesis 3:9 God asks Adam, where are you?

Genesis 6:13 God tells Noah the technical specifications of the ark.

Genesis 12:1 The Lord speaks to Abraham.

Deuteronomy 5:22 Two million people heard God, and we learn that the finger of God performs the writing of the ten commandments on the tablets.

Exodus 31:18 We can read the ten commandments written by God.

God is a communicating God. Are you listening?

God is a God who intervenes, like in our salvation experience.

What do we believe about the Bible?

2 Timothy 3:16 All Scripture is given by inspiration of God, and is profitable for doctrine, for reproof, for correction, for instruction in righteousness, 17 that the man of God may be complete, thoroughly equipped for every good work.

All Scripture is given by inspiration of God as the authors were moved by the Holy Spirit, we therefore believe that the Bible in its original manuscripts (Hebrew, Aramaic, and Greek) is without error and therefore it is historically and scientifically true. This view is less popular nowadays. You may wish to look up the lower and higher critics to see how they (former) defend or in the latter case attack the Bible (the JEDP authorship of the Pentateuch). The Bible says in many places that Moses wrote the Pentateuch [1].

In other words, we believe in the verbal, plenary, infallible, inerrant inspiration of the Bible.

Why verbal? Some people came along and said, well, the Bible contains truth, but It is not the real words of God that God spoke. Oh yes, it is. We believe in the verbal inspiration of the Bible i.e. that God spoke these very words.

Why plenary? The Bible was spoken by God. Did he just miss a little bit out? No all of it (the full scripture in the OT and the NT) was spoken by God. The Bible is filled with the words of God.

Why infallible? The Bible is the good rule for our lives. It is the only rule that we have for our lives although this is unpopular with many people.

4. Why Inerrant? This means it is without error, in the original manuscripts. By the way, if you say any part of this has error in it, then why should you believe any of it?

So that is what we believe. The Bible is the verbal, plenary, infallible, inerrant, and inspired word of God. God breathed it. That is the word of God that we believe.

It is OK to get excited about the Word of God. What a wonderful book. The Bible has 66 books, 1189 chapters every one of them given by God. That is what we believe. Written in three languages. Hebrew, Aramaic, Greek and written over a period of 1600 years. That is the time span between the books written by 40 authors over 60 generations, and the authors are all entirely different types of people. And yet they all agree the Bible is the inspired Word of God.

Amen

Questions to be answered in Part 2 Why should I read the Bible?

Is there any indication in the Bible that it is the Word of God? We will consider some of the science in the scripture that was known to the writers of the Bible thousands of years ahead of the relevant scientific discovery.

How did God give the bible to us?

[1] Romans 10:5 For Moses describes the righteousness, which is of the law, that the man which doeth those things shall live by them.

[repost-this-image]

Medieval Europe and SW Asia in One Post

Fun fact for those outside the US: Americans are mostly taught the history of our own country in K-12 schools. (In some states, badly.) We get 9-10 years of US history, 1 year that’s divided up between Civics (how the US government works) and the history of the individual state you’re in, and 1-2 years of World History that does NOT cover anything in Europe or SW Asia after the fall of Rome. Which means that to learn that stuff, you either have to take those history courses in college/university, or do a lot of independent reading.

I did a lot of independent reading.

So here’s a brief overview in very broad strokes of Europe and SWA from roughly 450 - 1600 CE. If you want to know more, I highly recommend the YT channel Extra Credit Extra History. It is well-researched, worded in a way that isn’t as horribly dry as the Durants’ books, and comes in bite-sized pieces that you can enjoy on the go.

(History behind the cut.)

The Fall of Rome and the Early Middle Ages

OK, first of all, only the western half of the Roman Empire actually fell in the fifth century CE. Everything from roughly Greece on eastward stayed Roman under the new capital of Constantinople. Constantinople had its own large library and was a center of learning and culture to rival Rome in its heyday. (This is important to remember for later.)

In Europe, you mostly had a bunch of tiny kingdoms under feudal lords, with the Catholic Church being a sort of cultural glue holding everything together. Most people were illiterate, but the Catholic clergy kept as much ancient knowledge preserved as they could, all in Latin. Most people could speak Latin as a result of the Roman Empire taking over their country a few centuries back, so it made sense as a universal language for Europe.

Because most educated people were in the clergy, the Catholic Church became not just a major religious power, but a huge political power as well.

Meanwhile, the Arabian peninsula was mostly a bunch of warring tribes until the late 7th century CE, when this guy named Mohammed united the Arabs under a religion he called The Way of Peace, or as most of us know it today, Islam.

The Muslims proceed to not only form a pretty strong nation known as the Caliphate, but to take over almost all of SWA (Constantinople and a bit of modern-day Turkey held firm), the Sahara Desert, and the Iberian peninsula (modern-day Spain and Portugal) within 100 years of Mohammed’s death. This is one of the most rapid expansions of an empire in history. Everybody was taught Arabic, and the Caliphate took a strong interest in learning and preserving as much knowledge as they could. In terms of cultural advancement, you could think of them as basically Rome 2.0.

In the 9th century, this guy known as Charlemagne the Frank is crowned Holy Roman Emperor by the Pope and proceeds to take over France and most of central Europe. He stops the expansion of the Caliphate from going past the Pyrenees mountains too. The Holy Roman Empire (which still doesn’t actually include any of Italy, much less Rome itself) remains a major player for like 900 years.

France itself has two French languages by this point, named by how you say "yes." Langue d'oui will become standard modern French. Langue d'oc, also known as Occitan, is still spoken to this day but is slowly dying out.

Britain and Ireland are, at this point, minor insignificant little islands that nobody in mainland Europe cares about, except for the Vikings, which do a lot of pillaging and also establish quite a few towns and territories in Ireland, Britain, and an area of northern France that gets the name “Normandy” from all these Northern invaders.

Meanwhile, a bunch of feudal lords are expanding their holdings into little kingdoms, bringing about the High Middle Ages.

The High Middle Ages

Then in 1066, a couple of centuries after the Vikings settle in Normandy, a Norman named William decides to conquer England. All of England’s royalty for the last 1000 or so years have been descended from William the Conqueror.

Meanwhile, the Ottoman Turks have taken over the Caliphate and called it the Ottoman Empire. This empire will stand until WWI (no really).

“Oh No,” says Pope Urban VI, “Muslims have taken over the Holy Land! That’s where Jesus lived and stuff!” So he begs the nobles of Europe to go on a crusade to take back Jerusalem. This goes horribly. There are ten Crusades over the next couple of centuries. They are mainly notable for how sadistically cruel European knights were in their butchery of the Jewish and Muslim people living in the Levant. None of them succeed at retaking it.

Meanwhile, Eleanor of Aquitaine, a French noblewoman, marries King Henry II of England. If you know the Robin Hood story, then you know her 2 kids: Richard (the Lionheart) and John II.

John II was disliked by the people because he was very, very bad at making war. So the nobles came up to him and had him sign the Magna Carta, which established the British Parliament.

Traveling minstrels called troubadours are totally the latest musical craze at this point. They mostly write in Occitan and are the source of a pretty big chunk of the European secular music that's survived from the Middle Ages.

In the 12th century, the Ottomans finally do what they’ve been trying to do for centuries and take Constantinople. And one of the first things they do is start translating all the ancient books into Arabic so they can learn lots of Cool Stuff.

Traders then bring this Cool Stuff, including new numerals they adapted from the ones used in India, to Europe, where it gets translated again into Latin and the educated classes go gaga for all the new old knowledge.

But wait, time out, says the Catholic Church. You can’t use those new Arabic numerals. The Roman numerals are what we’ve been using for centuries and we’re pretty sure that it’s like, blasphemy or something to not use Roman numerals. A bunch of cities actually banned Arabic numerals for years until the Church came around and realized that God probably doesn’t care how you write numbers and also Arabic numerals are way easier to work with.

The Late Middle Ages a.k.a. The Renaissance

So now we’ve got good times in Europe. Kingdoms have been gradually expanding, so there are fewer tiny little fiefdoms dotting the land and more moderate-sized kingdoms. Traders are getting Cool Stuff from Asia. Crops are doing well. Yeah, things still suck if you’re Jewish, but for the Christian majority, things are going pretty good.

And then the plague happened.

The Black Death killed off about 1/3 of Europe’s population at the time, and kept coming back in waves from 1352 all the way to 1666. Nobody knew exactly how it was spread, except that it might be through the air. It’s terrifying for everyone, because unlike famines, the rich can’t buy their way out of a plague.

At the same time, things are heating up in England and France.

You know how Eleanor of Aquitaine was a French noblewoman? That technically, according to France, made the English king a vassal, or subject, of the king of France. And Edward III was all "No way, bite me" and France was like "Yo mama" and they started the Hundred Years' War.

(It was technically 119 years long, but when the war's that long already, what's a couple of decades, amirite?)

England ended up taking over most of France at one point, a French peasant girl named Joan wore armor because she believed she'd gotten a message from God, and by the end, France owned France again.

Meanwhile, England had just gone from "a tiny insignificant country on some island that Europe doesn't really care about" to a major player. They fought a war against France! And held their own for most of it! And France had been a big deal pretty much since Charlemagne!

The Bohemians in what is now the Czech Republic tried to start their own church and their own democracy in one fell swoop, and the Church came down hard on them.

The Cathar Christians in the region of France known as Albi caught the Church's attention as well, and since the Cathars were essentially heretics, the brutal Albigensian Crusade wiped out entire villages.

Meanwhile, the Church's view on witchcraft has changed.

See, for most of the Middle Ages, the official view was that if you accused your neighbor of witchcraft, that meant you were a heretic, because you believed in supernatural powers other than God and the devil. So people didn't do a lot of accusing people of witchcraft.

But with plague going on, and people needing easy scapegoats, and a lot of medieval people really hating on women (see: Thomas Aquinas, Martin Luther, and the dude who wrote the Malleus Malificarum), you had a recipe for Bad Times. Jewish people, people with leprosy, and Romani were blamed too, because they got blamed for most everything. But now, people were very focused on the idea that the devil was making trouble by tricking women into practicing the Dark Arts.

Thus, western Europe began hunting "witches." This is not the same thing as the Inquisition, although they happened at the same time. And no, most of the accused were not actually witches, nor were they Pagans. Wicca didn't exist yet either. Please stop stating these things as undisputed fact. I am begging you.

This also meant that a lot of zealous would-be witch-hunters were killing cats, and since cats keep the rat population down, and the plague was spread by the fleas on those rats, you can imagine how well that went.

Anyway, despite all the doom and gloom, Italy was having a Renaissance of ancient art styles, featuring cool people like Leonardo da Vinci, Michelangelo, and a bunch of other dudes who didn't have Ninja Turtles named after them but were still pretty great.

In the Holy Roman Empire, this dude named Gutenberg figures out movable type, and immediately uses it to print out Bibles in both Latin and German, so that everybody can read the Bible and you don't have to go all squinty reading hand-written copies in the church that are so expensive that they have to be chained down.

And then there's Spain.

The Reconquista and Why It Ruined Everything

Spain, as you'll recall, was mostly ruled by the Ottoman Empire. There was a lot of splitting up and reshuffling of kingdoms there for a while, but in the late 15th century, the young rulers Ferdinand of Castille and Isabela of Aragon decide to take Spain back. And since they're Catholics, this Reconquista (literally "reconquest") basically meant "kick out all the Jews and Muslims from Spain and take all their stuff."

So now the royal couple has a ton of stolen liberated gold in the treasury, and they want to trade with the Indies and get even richer. And when this dude from Genoa comes along saying he thinks the earth is smaller than everybody says it is and you can totally just sail west to get to the Indies, Isabela's like "Sure, I've got money to burn. Here are 3 ships."

And that is how Christopher Columbus ruined everything for the Native Americans, and as an added bonus, introduced syphilis to Europe and ruined things for a lot of people there. But the Spanish got rich AF and that's what matters, right?

Meanwhile, because Spain is Catholic now, it gets permission from the Church to run its own special Inquisition in order to find any remaining Jews, Muslims, or heretics in Spain. If you know anything about the Spanish Inquisition other than the Monty Python meme, then you understand why this is a Very Bad Thing.

The Sixteenth Century

At the same time, Spain was also fighting England and France over Flanders.

Not Homer Simpson's neighbor but the region of Flanders, which is now Belgium and parts of the Netherlands. Everybody basically wanted to take over Flanders and get hold of its awesome natural resources.

Everybody also wanted to take over as much of the New World as possible and send expeditions over there, especially since there was a chance there might be a Northwest Passage to Asia so they can get those sweet, sweet Asian spices without having to travel overland. Unfortunately, the Americas go north as far as the ice caps, and south almost to Antarctica (which the Europeans still don't know exists yet), so that's not happening.

In Rome, the Catholic Church is using money from the sale of indulgences to build some church or whatever. Martin Luther, a German monk, is Not Amused and nails up 95 reasons why, thus starting the Protestant Reformation.

In England, Henry VIII is busy having a lot of wives, starting his own church, and basically being a rather poor king, overall.

The Portuguese are mad because they feel like they've gotten the short end of the stick. So the Pope decrees that everything east of a certain latitude in South America goes to Portugal, and everything west of the line goes to Spain. Which would be awesome except that South America has a lot more land west of the line than east of it. But the kings of Spain and Portugal are bound by the Church's decree, and there are no take-backsies.

Spain has the most powerful navy in Europe at this point. It's even called the Invincible Armada. Until 1588 when Queen Elizabeth I raises up the new most powerful navy in Europe and kicks the Armada's collective ass.

Meanwhile, a fringe sect of Christians in England believe that the Anglican Church is too much like Catholicism. One group believes that it needs to be "purified" of Catholic influence. The other believes that they need to just completely separate from the Church of England altogether. Because these are views that could easily make you a head shorter (if you get my meaning), they move to the Netherlands, where there's freedom of religion. This is unusual. In most of Europe at the time, you had to be the same exact kind of Christian as the king, or at least pretend to be. Anyway, this is a fairly small group of people, and I'm sure they'll have no real influence on events in the future--

Ohmygod, they just settled New England. And rather than wanting freedom of religion, they want everybody to follow their church. Whoopsie.

So that's the Middle Ages in a nutshell, or at least the parts of it that I know about and can remember off the top of my head. Please read more about this stuff instead of relying solely on this post. It'll get you a bit of knowledge, but it's hardly the equivalent of taking an entire course on medieval history.

[fcntasmas-archive]

also to play the prompt game, buddie + historical au (the period can be dealers choice. 💕)

combining this prompt with one from anon: Anonymous asked: Chris & Buck + arcade because turns out "historical", for the dealer, simply meant the 1980s! i hope you enjoy this mess anyway fadsklf ily <3

The thing about owning an arcade, Buck thinks, is that it’s often filled with asshole teenagers. Buck loves kids. Loves them. He can count on birthday parties pretty much every weekend, which is where most of his revenue comes from, and he’s always happy to accommodate the kiddos. He built this arcade from the ground-up, got it for dirt-cheap after the Atari video game burial of ’83, when the video game industry was predicted to fail and never recover from the E.T. game that was so bad, it’d made Buck cry a little. He bought it at a time when he didn’t know what he wanted to do with his life, and it turned into the most successful local endeavor he could have ever thought up in Los Angeles, California, the epicenter for everything coming up tech. Which means, of course, being popular with the kids, but also being popular with asshole teenagers, and having to watch them like a hawk every time they traveled into the arcade in hoards, like they were just waiting for the opportunity to feel Bigger and Stronger than the younger kids, who usually came round after school to wait for their working parents to pick them up outside of the pick-up and drop-off area. Buck’s basically a glorified babysitter, on weekdays. Which he doesn’t totally mind. He meets some interesting kids. There’s Thomas, for example, who wears heavily-prescribed glasses and talks with a lisp but knows more about Star Wars than Buck knows, like, in general; there’s Henry, who owns a pet turtle and always walks in with a surprisingly heavy bag of coins every Tuesday and Thursday; and there’s Raul, who likes to hog Pacman like it’s nobody’s business and Buck has to bribe with a dollar every time to get him to give someone else a turn. But nobody comes close to the bond he’s formed with Christopher Diaz.

If Buck could only choose one thing to thank this place for, it would be Christopher Diaz. His aunt – or, great-aunt, like Christopher’s corrected him about a dozen times – drops him off every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday after school, then scurries to her evening shift next door at the 24-hour ER center. Buck and Christopher took to each other immediately – they both have an affinity for Mortal Kombat, and the kid’s pure sunshine, hands down. He’s always smiling and he’s always got a nice thing to say about his classmates or his teachers or his aunt – great-aunt – and he laughs at pretty much every single one of Buck’s jokes, which is so totally fair, since Buck is, objectively, hilarious.

(Shut up, Maddie.)

On the days there are asshole teenagers, however, Buck invites Christopher behind the counter and they’ll play a game of cards instead, or work on his homework together. He hasn’t seen them be mean to Chris just yet, and Buck still keeps an eye out for any bullying, but he’d rather not risk it with Chris. He can’t explain it – there’s just something about the kid that makes Buck’s protective instinct kick in, because he’s been coming here for nearly a year and it’s almost like – well, he’s Buck’s friend, weird as it is. Buck’s friends are of limited number and usually just as busy as him, and, sure, he doesn’t burden Christopher with all the weird adult stuff he has no business being burdened with, but they’re still friends, in a sense, and the kid’s aura is absolutely unmatched.

He’s a good kid, is what Buck’s getting at.

And if his dad is easy on the eyes, well.

Right, so Eddie Diaz picks Christopher up after his usual shifts at the fire station. He didn’t seem too happy to be doing so the first month or so, usually eyeing Buck with suspicion, but eventually he seemed to thaw and accept this weird dynamic between Buck and Chris, even going so far as referring to him as “Christopher’s Buck” once, which made him feel all stupidly proud.

Eddie Diaz looks like what Buck imagines someone who wanted to make the perfect man in a lab would at least use as a template. He’s thankful about choosing the low-lighting in this place every time he feels his cheeks warm when Eddie smiles at him, or thanks him for looking after Christopher, or says something like, “did you grow your hair out? I like it” or “Shaved? Bummer”.

It drives him crazy. Because not only is Eddie just – that– but he’s also got the coolest kid on the planet, and Buck is just some weirdo who owns an arcade that Eddie probably doesn’t think about outside of the maybe half-hour he hangs out with them after his shift, if he’s lucky. Sometimes Eddie’s so burnt out he’ll be in and out in less than a minute, offering Buck nothing more than a half-hearted smile and a goodbye.

And he thinks that’s all there is to it, all there usually is to it, just this stupid one-sided crush, until one Wednesday evening, after he’s finished helping Chris with his math homework, Eddie walks in, looking a little bit like a deer in the headlights, and Buck can’t help but furrow his brows in concern and ask him what’s wrong as soon as he’s withing hearing distance.

“Nothing,” Eddie replies, a little too quickly, and he seems to realize this. “I mean – I just—” he clears his throat, watching as Christopher gathers his things at a glacial pace. “We were just – I was, uh, talking to my coworker – my friend, really, we’ve been working together for a while now, and she – she was wondering—”

Buck feels his heart sink to his feet. “You’re not – trying to set me up with her, are you?”

Christopher sighs deeply beside him, but all Buck can focus on is the way Eddie’s face morphs into seven different expressions before settling into a mortified one. “No, no, I was just – she and her, uh, partner – they’re going to dinner this weekend, at – there’s this neighborhood, that, uh—” Eddie rubs at the back of his neck. “Okay, let me try this again.”

Christopher zips up his backpack. “Can I wait outside?” he asks Eddie, looking amused.

Eddie turns his gaze on him, and Buck thinks it’s a little – glare-y. “No, Christopher, you can wait by the door.”

Chris sighs dramatically. “Fine,” he reaches around Buck’s waist in a hug, one that Buck immediately returns. “Good luck with him.”

Before Buck can ask what that means, Christopher’s making his way over to the entrance, and Buck’s left with Eddie Diaz in all his attractive, impressive glory.

“I’m not – I would really appreciate it if you didn’t punch me in the face for asking this,” Eddie says, and Buck feels a little affronted.

“I would never—”

“Yeah,” Eddie snorts. “I know. I know, you would – you’re probably going to – even if—” Eddie sighs irritably and rubs at the bridge of his nose. “You are – infuriatingly kind, is what I’m getting at. And you – my kid loves you, and you have these fucking dimples—”

Buck’s eyebrows shoot upwards.

“—and I feel like if you were to punch anyone, it wouldn’t be for what I’m about to ask you, so—” he clears his throat. “Buck. My friend Hen and her girlfriend Karen asked if I wanted to join them for a date night on Saturday. The only catch is, of course, I, uh, don’t have a date.”

Buck blinks at Eddie, then realizes he’s waiting for a response.

“Oh,” Buck pauses. “That’s…a bummer?”

That sounded genuine, right? Eddie totally buys that Buck thinks it’s a bummer he’s not dating anyone?

Eddie’s chuckle is shaky. “Yeah,” he licks his lips, and Buck pretends he doesn’t follow the motion. “You’re – I was wondering if you would like to. Come with me.”

Buck takes a second. “In lieu of a date?”

Eddie blinks at him. “No,” he replies slowly. “As my date.”

Buck is silent. “That makes more sense.”

“Yes.”

“Than just – in lieu of one.”

“Definitely.”

“Because you’re – it’d be like, a double-date thing.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Which you’re asking me on.”

“Correct.”

“And not…as a joke?”

“That’s—” Eddie frowns. “That would be incredibly cruel, why would anyone—”

“Yes,” Buck interrupts, before Eddie finds himself on a tangent. “I mean, yes, I would – that would be good. I would like that. I would – I do – own other clothes than, uh, jeans and my business t-shirt, so, that would be – I would enjoy that very much.”

Eddie’s lips have been turning upwards at the corners this entire time, until they’re set on a full smile. “Happy to see what you look like out of the outfit, then.”

Buck makes a sound that’s somewhere between an aborted laugh and the croak of someone taking their last breath.

“I’ll share the details with you on Friday, yeah?” Eddie asks, and Buck just nods and nods and nods, because he doesn’t think he has motor function over any part of his body anymore. “Okay,” he grins. “I’ll, uh – see you then, then.”

“In a while, crocodile,” Buck replies loudly, then realizes Eddie didn’t – it doesn’t work if he didn’t—

Eddie just laughs, face the same kind of bright Christopher’s contorts into when he’s filled with joy, and suddenly all Buck can think is, God, please, please, let me be so lucky.

Once Eddie and Christopher are out the door – Christopher waving goodbye happily from the exit – Buck can’t do anything but stare at the spot where the Diazes disappear for a good two or three minutes until a tiny Timothy’s walking up to the counter and says, “Mr. Buckley? Someone threw up on Tron again.”

Buck sighs.

“Yep.”

[headspace-hotel]

okay so one of the most interesting/relevant things my current history class has taught me

I learned in high school that the first African slaves were brought to America in 1619. But here’s the thing. We don’t actually know if they were slaves or indentured servants.

And here’s why that’s significant: Slavery hadn’t really fully become racialized back then. Likewise, there wasn’t yet the idea that African=slave, necessarily. In the years following 1619, there were African slaves, indentures, and free people in North America. In the 1600’s, race wasn’t really even a fully mature concept. From my reading, people didn’t necessarily see skin color as constituting “race” or see “race” as an immutable, biological quality.

What changed? European countries wanted to maximize their profits from their colonies in the Americas, and it was most profitable to own people as slaves. Literally what caused it was just that life expectancy in the colonies increased and it was more profitable to own a person’s labor for life.

It’s insane; in Virginian laws in the 1600’s you can see the transition to a racialized view of the world. In 1643 laws regulating the behavior of “servants” didn’t even mention race. Punishments for indentured servants, for things such as running away, often involved having more years added to their servitude.

In 1661, a law is passed in Virginia that uses the term “negroe.” In 1680, the law regulates the behavior of enslaved people further, making it illegal for any “negroe or other slave” to move about freely without a permit or to carry a weapon. Runaways who resist being apprehended can now be punished with death. The 1680 law has a bit that is interestingly worded: “...if any negroe or any other slave shall presume to lift up his hand in opposition against any Christian...” This is an echo of the viewpoint that religious identity was the most important part of a person’s identity. Watch what happens:

In 1691, the law punishes and prohibits “negroes, mulattoes, and Indians intermarrying with English, or other white” people, and prohibits people from setting “negroes” and “mulattoes” free. The law has fully constructed the idea of racial identity (notice that “white” exists now). Words denoting a person’s status of servitude have become increasingly replaced by “racial” indentifying terms (the law doesn’t say ‘you can’t free slaves,’ it says ‘you can’t free black people.’) IIRC, around this time laws were passed making enslaved status hereditary as well.

(All of these can be found in the book Colonial and Revolutionary America by Alan Gallay (it’s a textbook and I don’t particularly recommend it but it has some good resources) who in turn is quoting from The Statutes at Large: Being a Collection of All the Laws of Virginia, from the First Session of the Legislature in the Year 1619.)

I guess my point here is that it tends to be taught like “Europeans thought Africans were inferior so they thought it was ok to enslave them” but it seems to be closer to the truth that “slavery was profitable so Africans were increasingly considered inferior so enslaving them could be justified.” Like the belief in race didn’t create racialized slavery; it was the other way around. People think of the idea of “race” as being obvious and racism being a Just How It Was In Ye Olden Days, but “race” as we know it? Was literally just constructed as a justification for evil. It’s not something that people naturally construct in their understanding of the world.

Likewise before like 1650 or so, we don’t see English eyewitnesses to Native American nations assigning the idea of “race” to them. English people literally thought that if English people were born and brought up in the Americas, they would look like Native Americans because they thought characteristics like skin color were at least partially environmental. (The book I read about this is Indians and English by Karen Ordahl Kupperman and I highly recommend it.) Kupperman goes so far as to argue that it’s likely that English depictions at the time showed Native Americans as having more “European” features not because the artists were intentionally white-washing them, but because from their perspective a person’s features were not important in portraiture for depicting who they were; it was their clothing and posture and dress and the objects they were portrayed with that was supposed to depict that. (She then goes into a tangent about English portraiture at the time and it slaps.)

I don’t know. I have a problem with how racism in the past is treated with “they didn’t know any better” or painted with ignorance. The idea of race isn’t even that old.

Like, literally, the Europeans didn’t think it was okay to pillage and exploit the Americas because of their belief in race. The idea of “race” was formed out of their desire to pillage and exploit.

[kueble]

Completely Unnecessary

This is for @detectiveriley for the Witcher Bog discord exchange.  I hope you enjoy it!  You asked for hurt/comfort with fussing over Geralt.  I hope this delivers!

Teen, 1600 words. Warnings: canon-typical violence

---

Geralt knows this fight isn’t going his way, but it’s too late to do anything about it.  He focuses on swinging his sword, trying to bring the griffin down or at least injure it enough that it won’t go looking for Jaskier back at their campsite.  The beast swipes at him, and he’s barely able to move aside.  He has a tight grip on the sword, but his dominant arm is definitely broken and he’s always been weak on this side.  Still, he has to at least try, if only for Jaskier’s sake.

Sweat and blood are dripping down his face, and he shakes his head to clear his vision as he rushes forward again.  Clutching his injured arm to his chest, he barrels into the griffin, managing to thrust his sword into the soft underside of its belly.  It lets out an unholy squawk and starts to sway, and Geralt is barely able to step back and avoid being crushed as he slumps to the ground.

He tries to stay on his feet, but he’s lost too much blood at this point.  He’s pretty sure at least a couple of ribs are broken, and if he’s not mistaken, one has pierced his left lung.  He wheezes as he collapses to his knees, dropping his weapon as he falls.  The griffin is in its death throes, body twitching as it dies.  At least Jaskier will be safe.

His last thought before he loses consciousness is that he really should have brought his potions bag with him.

---

Geralt’s whole body is throbbing when he wakes up.  He doesn’t even bother trying to move yet, just lays there with his eyes closed as he assesses the damage.  His chest is tight, and he remembers the pain that shot through him when the griffin he’d been fighting kicked him in the sternum.  His right arm is broken but healing quickly, too quickly, and he imagines that Jaskier found him and managed to get him to a healer in time.  Though how, he has no clue, as they were pretty far from the town that gave him the contract, and he is fairly certain he was dying.

His legs seem ok, but it’s hard to tell for sure since he’s caught in a painful daze right now.  Still, it should feel worse.  The healer obviously knows what they’re doing.  He doesn’t feel overly drugged or out of it, so the healer must have some magic as well.

He blinks his eyes open and looks around the room.  They’re in what looks like a tent, which is odd, but there’s a warm fire going in the corner and the scent of mint hangs heavy in the air.  He starts to sit up, hissing as his ribs tell him it’s a bad idea, and all he hears is a heavy sigh from behind him.

“Are you trying to undo all the work I’ve done?” Yennefer asks, sighing again.  He tries to turn, but he can’t, and is thankful when she steps into his line of sight.  Apparently there’s a lot more to the tent than what he can see, which makes sense if she’s involved.

“Jaskier used the xenovox?” he guesses, and she nods solemnly.  “It’s only for emergencies.”

“You nearly died, you idiot.  It most definitely falls under the emergency category,” she reprimands, but there’s no heat in her voice.  “He was frantic.  Thought you were bleeding out in his arms.  And while I’m sure the ballad would have been very heartfelt and flowery, thankfully it can wait for another day.”

“I forgot my bag,” Geralt mumbles.  “Didn’t mean to worry anyone.”

“Yes, well you did.  So now you get to deal with some mother-henning,” Yennefer says with a shrug. 

“Geralt!” Jaskier shouts as he bounds into the tent.  His hair is wet, and his shirt unlaced, but he’s grinning wildly as he races over to the bed.  “I’ve sat at your bedside, ever the forlorn lover, for two days and you wake up when this one finally talks me into cleaning myself up at the stream?  Utter nonsense.”

“She couldn’t magic you up a bath?”

“Her chaos was put to better use,” Jaskier says, giving him a pointed look.

“Turns out bringing someone - a witcher mind you - from the verge of death takes a bit more out of me than I’m used to,” she replies, offering a small smile.  She turns and heads to the table, picking up a tea kettle and pouring something into a mug.  She blows on it as she returns, cupping it in both hands before nodding at Jaskier to help him up.

“Careful, small movements,” Jaskier tells him as he sits against the headboard and helps Geralt do the same.  He’s mostly leaning on Jaskier, reveling in the solid warmth of him, and his body protests as he shifts, but they collectively manage to get him upright.  Yennefer hands him the mug of tea and he takes it with shaky hands, rolling his eyes when Jaskier reaches out to help hold it.

“I can handle this,” he complains, but is immediately given two matching looks, and even he knows when to admit defeat.  Yennefer slides onto the bed behind Jaskier and curls up against his other side.  She rests her head on his shoulder, and he slings an arm around her.

It’s all rather domestic, and if he wasn’t half dead, he’d be a lot more excited about it.

“Where is Ciri?” he asks before taking a tentative sip of what he finds out is mint tea.  Yennefer added a little honey, and he smiles into the warm mug, realizing how lucky he is that these two want to spoil him.  He never knew how good things could be before they came barreling into his life.

“Vesemir has her.  I made arrangements for her to stay about a month or so.  Meaning that sadly, you two will be stuck with me for a bit,” she answers with a soft smile.  Jaskier reaches up and ruffles her hair, laughing when she swats weakly at him.

“I should be ok in a couple of days.  As much as I love having you here, you don’t need to make me your priority,” he says, frowning into his tea.  Ciri needs her more.  Sure, they had all holed up at Kaer Morhen for a while, but Ciri’s chaos was more than the old keep could handle.  She was better off with Yennefer, as much as he longed to keep them both near.

“Bullshit,” Jaskier says dryly, arching an eyebrow when Geralt opens his mouth to argue.  “We deserve to be lazy for a bit.  Besides, you get the joy of my company year round, but poor Yen only sees me for small snatches at a time.  Have a little compassion.”

“As long as we all agree it’s unnecessary,” Geralt concedes with a pout.  His ribs choose that moment to act up, and he nearly spills his tea as pain shoots through him.  Without blinking an eye, Jaskier takes the mug and hands it off to Yennefer who sets it on the bedside table.  Geralt lets out a weak cough and collapses on him again.

“Completely unnecessary,” Yennefer snorts before leaning across Jaskier’s broad chest and looking him square in the eyes.  “If I ever have to hear Jaskier that frantic again, I’ll kill you myself.  Now how about we take a little nap and then I can show you the new armor schematics I brought you.”

“New armor?” Geralt perks up, and both his lovers shake their heads at him.  He’d be lying if he said he didn’t adore every second they get to spend like this.  Perhaps they’re right and they do deserve to be lazy for a bit.  The war and the monsters will still be there in a month.

And he has two very good reasons to make sure he will be, too.

“Yes, apparently it’s from the manticore school.  Funnily enough, it has a place for your potions, right here,” she trails her fingertips from his shoulder to his breastbone, and Geralt hums thoughtfully.

“Potions? On a hunt? How remarkable!” Jaskier sighs out, and Geralt just buries his face in the crook of his neck, groaning as he hides from their sarcastic judgement.

“Could I have a bit of a break, considering I nearly died?  If you’d both be so kind as to fuck off?” Geralt asks with a smirk.  Jaskier gapes at him, faux offense written across his face, and Yennefer rolls her eyes again.

“Only if you rest and let us take care of you.  No complaints.  You’ll do everything we tell you to,” she says, shooting him a pointed look.  He nods sharply and she offers him a soft smile.  She’s gorgeous when she looks at him like this, like they belong to each other.  He’s not sure how he got lucky enough to have these two to nag him for the rest of their lives, but he’ll take it.

“And then once we’re all healed up, perhaps we can let her boss us around for real, if you catch my meaning?” Jaskier giggles, winking at him in a way that should be ridiculous but somehow isn’t.  His body is far from ready for what he’s suggesting, but Geralt nods anyway, his eyes closing on their own accord.

This time, as he drifts off, it’s to a warm hand on his back and the scents of home surrounding him.

[the-sprog]

So since I'm very bad at remembering my ideas, I'm gonna throw this out there and hope one day I'm like "WAIT didn't I have an idea for a fic??? What was it???" And I will find it on my tumblr.

It's about Danny Phantom, obviously.

There are actually two of them in here so:

The easiest one: Jack and Maddie are not stupid. I mean they're scientists, the use the scientific method. One of the things about the scientific method is that if you do a bunch of tests, based on an hypothesis and only one of them comes out disproving it, then your hypothesis is incorrect.

Phantom has disproved basically all of their hypothesis.

So, next thing to do? Create a new one. Do new tests. They take Jazz's suggestion and try and see if the ghosts of Amity are actually conscious. Because obviously they're sentient, but are they like animals? Or are they like robots with artificial intelligence?

Or even better yet, are they like humans?

They grab Phantom's attention and ask him if he would cooperate for this test. A simple Turing test. Obviously they're still wary because of everything that happened with him, and do the test with witnesses to keep both Phantom's and their minds at ease.

He passed the test. With flying colors.

They're shocked and ask him if he knew peaceful ghosts that would be willing to take the test (because, y'know. Scientific method. Need to try over and over again). Phantom would have to explain that not all ghosts are as human-like as him (as, first of all, he's a halfa, but he doesn't say that. And second, lots of them are blobs or animal-like ghosts), but cue his parents meeting Jhonny and Kitty (cause I like the idea that they have a truce with Phantom and that going out of the zone helps them with their couple problems), as well as Shadow (example of a less human-like ghost). Then Sidney, Dora, the Fright Knight (cause king ghost Danny ftw) and Frostbite.

They all pass, more or less. Some, like Dora, the light and Sidney, where given away by their choice of word, but other than that all of them passed the test.

OK SO MORE COMPLEX ONE:

I love crossovers. I love finding ways of putting the two universes together, of making them work with each other, adapting the rules so that they apply to both. (With Danny Phantom it's also really cool to just... Make him travel the multiverse. He doesn't adhere to the rules of where he goes to, so it's always hilarious. But we're not here for that now).

One of the best ones to do this with is My Hero Academia. Whenever a show has someone with powers I end up asking myself "how should that work in the world of my hero?" And start trying to incorporate it in the lore.

So, first thing first, we're getting rid of the canon story of my hero. Completely unrelated to the show. This takes place decades in the past, when the first people where developing quirks (so if I wanted to write something with this and actually use my hero characters, I'd make it so that they where hit with a time traveling quirk or that Clockwork was somehow involved).

The Fenton's hatred for ghosts? Make it discrimination against the people who have quirks.

Danny being half-ghost? His quirk's fault. He calls it Ghost, for simplicity, it allows him to come back as a sort of ghost-like creature after he dies. Somehow, one day, he doesn't die completely so his body fixes it the only way it know how. Making him partially ghost.

Obviously that would mean that all the ghosts he fights aren't ghosts anymore. They're villains with quirks, and their powers would be based on what they can do on the show, minus the basic intangibility, invisibility and flight.

Obviously only Sam and Tucker would know he was Phantom and he had a quirk, he's also kinda the only one in town with one. People would be a little racist against quirk havers, but the kids, like in the show, come around to it. And actually start loving Phantom and thinking of him as a hero.

How do I fit Vlad in all of this? Ehm ahhhh this is the one thing I didn't think about. Very basic, but could give him a power similar to Danny, were instead of a ghost, he becomes a vampire. But his quirk is caused by an accident in college, so it's artificial.

Why does Skulker (who doesn't have a quirk. He's just a guy in a suit) hunt Danny? He has a very unique quirk.

Does Dani exist? I mean. Yeah. Cloning is not so farfetched, especially with the existence of quirks.

Clockwork can control time, he involuntary does that being a child, then an adult then an old man thing. The Observants are people without quirks that keep him in check, an organization that made a pact with him to stay young forever or something in change of idk what. No idea what Clockwork would get out of it I won't lie. Money maybe? Or somehow they found a way of keeping him there against his will?

Walker (and I'll make a seperate post about this) is an ex guy in white. Yes they still exist, but they hunt quirk havers instead of paranormal stuff. Walker was kicked out because he actually has a quirk but lied about it. He's after his own kind in the show as well. I mean, he's a stickler to the rules, but he only ever seems to care when it's ghosts that brake them. Correct me if I'm wrong, but never has he punished a human. His quirk is making semi-sentient minions. They're not copies of himself. They're like clay humans with basic forms. They all look alike and have no special characteristics.

Frostbite is just... A yeti. With cryokenisis. It's a mutation type quirk.

Same goes for Wulf, he's just a humanoid wolf that can create teleportation portals. I can't think of a reason why he would only speak Esperanto though. It could be something similar to Five from umbrella academy. He accidentally got stuck in the 1600 as a kid and managed to come back only relatively recently.

I feel like all the other ghosts have obvious powers.

Cujo can become ginormous,

Technus can control technology,

Dora and Aragon can become dragons,

Jhonny gives people bad luck and can control his shadow,

Kitty can make man disappear,

Ember can mind control using music,

Spectra can use people's negative emotions to stay young,

Bernard has shapeshifting,

Youngblood can't be seen by adults (side effect: can't grow old) and his sideckick has a variant of shapeshifting where he can only transform in animals. A definitive father figure),

Box ghost can control boxes,

Pandora can control the plagues of the world,

Desiré can make people's wishes come true,

Sidney can swap bodies with people,

Undergrowth can control plants,

Pariah Dark- I... Actually don't know...

Lunch Lady can control food,

Aaaanndddd no more come to mind.

I want to do something with this AU but I can't really think of an interesting story, other than "kids from 1A get misplaced in time and Danny has to help, discovering the existence of Clockwork and the Observants, whom he hates. So he tries to get Clockwork out of there with the other kid's help" but that's it, really.

I actually have a 3rd idea, but it basically works the same as the MHA one. Crossover with the X-Men.

Substitute quirk havers with mutants and quirks with mutations and you get the idea.

The plot would be more of a "Danny gets recruited by Xavier after the trauma of almost dying activated his mutation and goes to live at the mansion. This happens after the events of season 3, alla salted to make sense in the world of Marvel, but without Phantom planet. He makes friends there, since Sam and Tucker aren't with him and everything is fine and dandy and happy. Until it comes out that the Fentons actually contribute to the creation of the Sentinels, because they hate Phantom that much.

So Danny has to infiltrate his own family to get info on how the Sentinels work so they can destroy them, since his parents are still oblivious and they made it so that the Sentinels wouldn't attack Danny thinking that his accident just somehow make him register as a mutant on machinery" and that's it.